Gospel Story Finder

“Students, here is the math portion of the test,” Miss Higgins said as she handed out papers. “Remember, you need to fill in the circles on the answer sheet completely. Just do your best, and I’m sure you will do fine.”
Most of my fifth-grade class groaned. We had been taking tests all day, and we were tired. But I wasn’t too worried. I was good at math. I took out my pencil and checked the eraser.
“Now, keep your eyes on your own paper,” Miss Higgins said. “The test will end at 1:30. Ready, begin.”
I began working on the problems carefully and took my time to fill in each circle on the answer sheet. Most of the problems weren’t too hard. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Brent scribbling furiously. I laughed to myself. “Slow and steady wins the race,” I thought.
All of a sudden, Miss Higgins’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “Time’s up! Pencils down, everybody.”
I looked at my paper in horror. I still had two columns of circles to fill in! “How could this have happened?” I thought. “I usually do so well!”
I looked down at my scratch paper. I had written the next answer, but I hadn’t filled in the circle yet. I glanced around, then carefully filled in the correct circle.
Trying not to think about what I was doing, I continued working on problems and filling in answers. No one was looking at me. I quickly filled in five or six more circles.
“Lauren!” said a loud voice from behind me.
I jumped and whirled around to see Miss Higgins. The class was silent. I wished I could fall into a hole. I felt my eyes filling up with tears. I quickly erased all the answers that I had filled in after the time was up and handed my answer sheet to Miss Higgins. She took it away, and I put my head on my desk and hid my face in my arms.
I had been cheating! An awful blackness filled me up inside. My whole class had seen me, and now my teacher probably wouldn’t trust me ever again. I knew I was supposed to be honest. Instead, I had disappointed my teacher, myself, and, worst of all, Heavenly Father. And I had pushed away my conscience without really thinking about it.
The rest of the day continued as usual—or, at least I think it did. I didn’t answer any questions or talk to my friends. That same heavy, dark feeling stayed with me. I knew I needed to repent.
After class, I gathered all my courage to apologize to Miss Higgins. I could see the disappointment on her face. “I’m sorry,” I said. I couldn’t say anything more. I ran back to my desk, grabbed my backpack, and started to hurry out the door.
“Lauren,” Miss Higgins called.
I stopped, fearing the worst. “Yes?”
“Promise me you will never cheat again.”
“Oh, I promise!” I said. I had already made that promise to myself a hundred times that day.
“Good,” she said. “Thank you.”
The dark feeling began to leave. After class I said a prayer, asking Heavenly Father’s forgiveness and thanking Him for a kind teacher. Peace filled my heart. It felt good to be clean again.

The desire to perform fit perfectly into gymnastics, another of Diane’s lifelong loves. It was hard to convince her parents that gymnastics was a good thing for her, and even then she had to do something more.

“Our family had seven children and couldn’t afford to pay for Diane to have lessons. She went down to the gymnasium herself and told the coach that she’d do anything for them. So after practice sessions she’d clean the gymnasium—vacuuming mats, cleaning bathrooms, whatever, to pay for her lessons,” says Marie.

A few years ago one of the members of our family had a remarkable dog named Ben. On a beautiful fall day, some of us were walking in the fields. Ben was going back and forth in front of us, sniffing the ground, tail wagging, obviously enjoying himself. After a while, Ben came limping up to his master and, with a pained look in his eye, held up his front paw. Between two of Ben’s toes was a thorn. The thorn was carefully removed, and Ben ran off, no longer limping nor bothered by the pain. I was amazed that Ben instinctively seemed to know that the thorn needed to come out to relieve the pain and to know where to go to have it removed. Like Ben, we also seem to instinctively look for relief from the thorns of sin that inflict us. In contrast, however, we do not always seek our Master for relief, and many do not yet know who their Master is.

He was 16 when he first caught the vision of the gospel of Jesus Christ. From that time on, Daniel Choc’s main goal was to be engaged in the service of his fellowmen. This desire was fulfilled only months later when he was called to serve as a part-time missionary. He was later called as the first full-time Cachiquel missionary in Guatemala. And finally, on March 29, 1976, his earthly mission came to an end.
At the time the gospel opened his mind, Daniel had received only three years of schooling. He was needed at home to take care of the family cow. His father, Pablo, now branch president at Patzicia, didn’t have a pasture, so the cow had to be grazed along the sides of the roads. Until he was 16, it appeared that Daniel would join the countless other Indians of Central America who had little or no employable skills. Fortunately, he and his sister Carmela, then 14, were invited to spend two years in Paradise Valley at the Foundation for Indian Development, a laboratory farm school directed by Brother Cordell Andersen.
Although a member of the Church, Daniel had never had an opportunity to give a speech, bear his testimony, be advanced in the priesthood, or have a calling or position.
At Paradise Valley, Daniel responded to Church opportunities and to educational experiences. He was almost immediately advanced in the priesthood and was called to be Sunday School president. He also took the lead in directing family home evenings for one of the family groups of the school. He then confided to Brother Andersen that in spite of the Cachiquel reputation as a family-oriented people, they weren’t happy in their homes and families. He determined he would be the stimulus to change this upon his return to Patzicia.
Daniel quickly learned the various agricultural and health care skills taught at the laboratory school and soon became a tractor instructor. In September 1971, he was called to be a local missionary to the Pokomchi Indians. During his 16-month mission he and a companion taught and baptized 26 Pokomchis.
Brother Andersen wrote, “Our family thrilled as we witnessed his first speech in church and his first spoken testimony. Progress was rapid for this humble Indian boy who responded eagerly to the previously undreamed of opportunities to improve himself and learn to help his people. He worked hard, played hard, and in his quiet way influenced a whole community of Pokomchi Indians for good.”
After completing two years of training at the school, he returned to his hometown. The branch members there were amazed at his growth. In a later discussion with Brother Andersen, he outlined a plan, which has since been used for creating the first all-Indian cooperative in Guatemala, the Center for Indian Development. Daniel was keeping a personal promise to do what he could to benefit his people and help them break the cycle of poverty.
Shortly after returning home he was called as the first full-time, LDS, Cachiquel Indian missionary. On February 4, 1976, an earthquake devastated the country. He lost his mother and two brothers in the disaster.
Elder Choc did not abandon his mission, but like other missionaries, he spent his preparation days helping to rebuild the damaged areas. He and several other missionaries were on such a project on March 29, 1976, at Patzun when a wall toppled, crushing him. Elder Choc was rushed to a nearby field hospital, but he was already dead.
He was taken home where a makeshift roof was constructed on the site where his home had once stood. Curtains from the destroyed chapel were used for shade as members, neighbors, and missionaries gathered to pay tribute to Elder Choc.
Two former companions spoke at the funeral. “He was my junior companion, but he taught me so much that I always knew that he was the leader,” one of them commented.
Many will remember Daniel Choc because he was the first of his people to serve on a full-time mission. Others will remember him because he gave his life while in the service of his fellowmen.

Many years ago my twin brother and I left our home in Göteborg, Sweden, to serve the Lord as full-time missionaries in England. During our flight to London, numerous thoughts ran through my head. For one thing, my brother and I would have to separate in London, and for the first time in our lives we would not be together every day. But the thing that worried me most was that I didn’t know the English language well. At that time missionaries from Sweden did not receive language instruction or any other training; they were sent straight from home to the mission field. I thought of my twin brother, who was gifted in languages. My interests leaned more toward technical subjects, and for this reason I had not spent much time studying languages in school.
After I arrived in London and then finally in Birmingham, the headquarters of the England Central Mission, the mission president and his wife greeted me with huge smiles and all possible warmth. Everyone I met at the mission office was happy and enthusiastic and spoke with me about things such as study guides, tracting, companions, and so forth. But I could not understand much because their language was new and foreign.
Despite the kindness of the people around me, I felt overwhelmed. How could I ever testify of the gospel in this strange language? I spent much of that first night on my knees, asking Heavenly Father why He had sent me here and if there had possibly been a mistake.
The following day an assistant to the mission president showed me a scripture—Ether 12:27. I got out my Swedish Book of Mormon and read: “If men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them” (Ether 12:27).
If anyone had a weakness, I did. Questions arose in my mind: Do you believe what is written in this verse? If so, do you have the courage to exercise the faith required? And can you humble yourself before the Lord so that your weakness can become your strength?
As a struggling young missionary, I thought back on this experience and realized that because I had received a confirmation from the Lord that the Book of Mormon is true, then what I read in the book of Ether was also true. I knelt in humble prayer before my Heavenly Father and expressed my inner feelings about my mission call and my language weakness. I promised Him that I would get up early every morning to study and memorize the 70 pages of lessons and scriptures we were to use to teach the people. I told Him I had faith that He, in return, would help me learn the language so that I could testify of Him and of His Son.
Early every morning thereafter, I prayed to Heavenly Father and said, “Here I am; let us start.” In a relatively short time I was able to testify that the scripture in Ether is true. My ability to speak English—a weakness when I first started serving my mission—became a strength to me.
This experience has been a blessing to me all of my life. Many times I have thought new Church callings were beyond my abilities. Then the Spirit has testified to me and reminded me of the experience I had as a young missionary in England. With great gratitude these many years I have felt strength radiating from those words that are recorded in the book of Ether. Through the power of the Spirit, they can give each of us strength, guidance, and hope.

One talk to which I should like to refer was on chastity. The president spoke plainly and in a way that the people not only could understand, but could not misunderstand. He used the analogy of a ship on a stormy sea, and said that many ships had been lost, with their cargo and passengers, through collision with other ships, icebergs, and rocky shoals. He explained that a new signaling device was being perfected that would detect any danger of collision and keep signaling to the captain until the danger was averted.

He said our young people are traveling oceans where great disasters can come unless warnings are heeded, and added:
“As a leader of the Church, and in a measure being responsible for youth and their well-being, I raise my voice loud and strong and unfalteringly to say to the youth: ‘You are in a hazardous area and perhaps in a period of your lives where there are some dangers. Tighten your belts, hold on, and you can survive this turbulence.’ When we have been warned we should listen and put it into our lives and be sure that we avoid the shoals and the rocks and the danger points.”

I see in my mind another pioneer woman who helped the families in a Monclova, Mexico, branch make their homes learning centers. I met her on a Sunday in September 1975. Adelita happily showed me the things she had done in her own home to motivate her children to study, then told of things she was doing to help the other sisters in the branch teach their children better study habits. Adelita herself was illiterate, yet she placed great value on education. Humble and gracious, she desired only to serve.

My wife and I came to better understand this truth through the loss of our beloved son Georg, who was 27 years of age when he died. When this occurred, I was serving as president of the newly created Austria Vienna South Mission, which included the countries of the former Yugoslavia. Following a zone conference in Zagreb, Croatia, Sister Wondra and I were given a message that we should call home. Soon our beloved daughter-in-law Regina was on the telephone, crying out in the anguish of her soul, “Papa, Georg is dead. Georg is dead!” Subsequent extensive investigations were unable to provide any reason for his death. Our son had never been seriously ill. His heart simply stood still, without any medical explanation.
Georg was such a special son, full of joy and life, full of love for us and for his own family, pure in heart and without guile. In 1989 he had been one of the first missionaries to be sent to East Germany during what was a great time for missionary work. He spoke often about the baptisms in which he and his companion participated but never about the number of baptisms—he felt these experiences were too sacred to be reduced to statistics. At the end of Georg’s first letter from his mission, he wrote: “Don’t miss me too much. Life has to go forward without me.” On the day of his death, he had read President Gordon B. Hinckley’s message “The Victory over Death” and had underlined, “How tragic, how poignant is the sorrow of those left behind. The grieving widow, the motherless child, the father bereft and alone—all of these can speak of the wounds of parting” (Liahona, April 1997, 3).
Our family has suffered from these wounds. We miss Georg so very much! But there is also a burning feeling in our souls that because we believe in the Atonement, in the death and Resurrection of Jesus Christ—because we believe in the message of Gethsemane, Golgotha, and the empty tomb—we can also trust, during the sorrowful moments in our lives, that God is a God of love, mercy, and compassion, even when we don’t understand what has happened or why. God accepted the sacrifice of His Son, Jesus Christ, who suffered all things “because of his loving kindness and his long-suffering towards the children of men” (1 Ne. 19:9).

There is a young woman in Korea who is the first member of the Church in her family. She held her well-worn Personal Progress book and said she dreamed of having a gospel-centered family. A Young Women president in Armenia is carrying out the Young Women program faithfully although she does not have a Church Handbook of Instructions written in her language.

Imagine my delight as I read the December 1979 Feedback letters and saw one from a very special returned missionary with whom we have not been in contact for at least two years. I say special (and all missionaries are special) because this young man—a “greenie”—and his senior companion taught our family of nine about the gospel of Jesus Christ. And may I add, we didn’t make it easy! Because of their dedication to the Lord and our (rather weak) testimonies, we were all baptized, and most of us continue to grow stronger in the gospel every year. One of us is attending BYU and planning a mission. Another is setting goals for a temple marriage. Others are fulfilling jobs in our ward. To top it all off, we were recently sealed in the Salt Lake Temple for time and all eternity. I wish our special elders had been there and that we had stayed in closer contact. Thanks to DeMar Clegg and Kevin Wagner for setting the example and leading the way. They will always be very special to us.
Incidentally, one of the first gifts we received as investigators of the Church was a subscription to the New Era.
Joyce TaylorEl Toro, California

While these appeals were being pursued, Joseph Smith organized a volunteer army of Latter-day Saints to assist in the redemption of the land of Zion. By February 1834 he had enlisted an advance guard from the Kirtland area and eastern United States. Other units later joined in the 1600 kilometer trek to Missouri. The 205 volunteers, known as Zion’s Camp, intended to cooperate with local militiamen in Missouri in implementing Governor Dunklin’s promise of a peaceful escort for the Mormon exiles. But the governor withdrew his offer. He feared that if he cooperated with the Latter-day Saints, disgruntled Missourians would start a civil war. Instead he urged the Saints to sell their contested lands and move elsewhere.
Representatives from both sides met June 16, 1834, at the courthouse in Liberty. Church spokesmen offered to buy out the old settlers, but they refused to sell. The Saints would not agree to sell their lands, and thus negotiations ended in a stalemate. A few days later, at the final encampment of Zion’s Camp, along Fishing River, just outside Jackson County, Missouri Joseph Smith received a revelation directing the Saints to temporarily postpone their efforts to reclaim their lands. A week later he discharged the volunteers. Many of them drifted back to Kirtland, Ohio in small parties while others remained in Missouri.

Thanks for printing the great article by Peggy Wiseman on the Playmill Theater. The article and pictures brought back wonderful memories of visiting the Playmill last summer and many summers before. We have a cabin in nearby Idaho, and I try to make it at least once a summer. Last summer my friend and I were so impressed by this group that we stayed an extra day just to see another show. The kids who work there are so excited about their “jobs” that you just can’t help but join in their excitement! My advice to anyone who’s going to be anywhere around West Yellowstone is don’t miss the Playmill!
Becky RoundsOgden, Utah

Chris watched as a man in a Scout uniform carefully placed six cars at the top of the track. “Our car is in lane two,” Chris whispered to his dad. His stomach was aching. He wished they had stayed home.
“Which one is yours?” Sarah, his sister, asked loudly.
Chris pretended to not hear her, not wanting to draw attention to his car.
But Sarah persisted. “Chris, which one is yours?”
“It’s the one in lane two,” Dad answered her. “The yellow one with the red stripe.”
“Oh!” Sarah exclaimed proudly. She turned to her friend, Brandy, and pointed up at the cars. “That’s my brother’s car. The yellow one with the red stripe.”
Chris looked at his dad. “Will you please make her be quiet?” he begged.
Dad smiled understandingly. “Sarah,” he said, “would you and Brandy get us some cupcakes, please?”
Sarah was delighted with the assignment. She and Brandy hurried off to the kitchen.
“Thanks,” Chris muttered.
“Cheer up, Son,” Dad said, putting his arm around Chris’s shoulder. “It’s not the end of the world. It’s just the Pinewood Derby.”
Chris forced himself to smile. “You’re right, Dad. We can try again next year.”
Dad nodded. “This year is just for practice. We’ll do better next year.”
When everything was set, the crowd cheered and the races began. Chris didn’t want to look, but he couldn’t help himself. He stood up to get a better look as he watched his car win the first race. “We won!” he gasped in disbelief. “Just barely, but we won!”
“I guess the car’s in better shape than I thought,” Dad said.
Sarah and Brandy returned with cupcakes for everyone. “How did your car do, Chris?” Sarah asked.
“It won!” Chris told her happily.
“Really? I thought it was broken.”
“It is,” said Dad. “And the races aren’t over yet. They race the cars six times, once in each lane. Then they average the times. We’ll see how our car holds up.”
The car didn’t hold up very well. It went slower each time it raced. In the last race, Chris’s car crossed the finish line well behind the other cars.
Brother Rogers came over. “I’ve never seen anything like it. What happened? Your car started out great.”
“I’ll show you.” Dad picked up the car and turned it over. The back left wheel was sitting awkwardly on the axle. “Our car had an accident before the race.”
“Oh?”
“My little brother, Adam, threw it,” Chris explained. “I wouldn’t let him play with it, so he grabbed it and threw it.”
“It was a pretty good throw, but a pretty bad landing,” Dad added. “It cracked the wheel and bent the axle. I managed to straighten the axle, but there was nothing I could do about the wheel.”
“And where’s Adam now?” Brother Rogers asked.
“My mom stayed home with him,” Chris said. “She said she didn’t think he would enjoy watching the races. I think maybe she was afraid he would ruin someone else’s car.”
Brother Rogers ruffled Chris’s hair. “I have a little brother. They can be a trial sometimes.”
Chris nodded his head. “That’s for sure. But it wasn’t really his fault. All he wanted to do was roll it across the floor like I was doing. If I had let him have a turn, he wouldn’t have thrown it.”
“Think of it as a learning experience,” Brother Rogers said. “Next time you’ll be more patient with him.”
Chris nodded.
The man in the Scout uniform whistled loudly. “If I could have everyone’s attention, please. We have some trophies and ribbons to award to the winners.”
Chris picked up the cupcake Sarah had brought him. “Well, I guess I’ll eat my cupcake now.”
Sarah smiled. “I’ll go get you another one if you want me to.”
“No thanks.”
“I’m sorry your car didn’t win,” Sarah said. “Maybe it will get a prize for being the prettiest.”
Chris shook his head.
Brother Rogers announced the names of the boys with the best overall times. Chris watched as each boy shook hands with Brother Rogers and took his prize. Next, there was an award for the best-looking car. Sarah shook her head sadly when Chris didn’t win.
“We have one more prize,” Brother Rogers announced. “We have a prize for the car with the single best time. And the winner is Chris.”
Chris looked up, surprised. “Me?” he asked, fearing he had heard wrong.
“Yes, you,” Brother Rogers laughed. “Your time in the first race was the fastest time all night.”
Chris hurried up to the podium, wiping the cupcake off his hands as he went. He smiled as Brother Rogers handed him the trophy.
Chris hurried to his seat. “Check it out,” he said proudly, holding the trophy out for his dad to see.
“Let me see!” squealed Sarah. As she reached for the trophy, she lost her balance and started to fall.
Chris and Dad both grabbed Sarah and held her steady as the trophy fell to the ground. It landed with a loud crack, and broke into two pieces.
Chris groaned. “Not again.”
Sarah started to cry. “I’m sorry.”
Dad picked up the pieces. “I’m sure we can glue it back together.”
“What happened?” Brother Rogers asked.
“Just another learning experience,” said Chris. He turned to Sarah. “Don’t feel bad. I know it was an accident. Anyway, it makes sense that my broken car should win a broken trophy.”
Sarah smiled through her tears. “You’re not mad?”
“No, I’m not mad. Let’s see if there are any more cupcakes. I think Adam would love it if we took him one.”

When I was about your age, I learned the importance of a straight and narrow path and how difficult it was to be focused and stay on it. I grew up in a very small town in the foothills of the Canadian Rockies. My dad was a farmer, and I learned to work! Every summer I drove the tractor for him, mowing and raking hay, hauling hay bales, and plowing fields. I remember when I first started to learn to plow and cultivate a field. Dad explained the importance of plowing a straight furrow or a straight line. If you went crooked, there would be spots missed in the field and the weeds would take over. He said: “If you will keep your eye focused on the fence post across the field and let that be your goal, you will plow a straight furrow. Don’t let the bumpy terrain throw you off. It’s when you start looking at the end of the tractor that the holes and bumps take you off course and you begin to go crooked.” Then he left me to do the job.
I remembered about the fence post across the field for several rounds, then I started singing songs to make the time pass. I sang every song and hymn I knew, and those I didn’t know I made up. I was singing at the top of my lungs and having a good time when I noticed my dad walking through the field towards me. I stopped the tractor and he said, “Can you tell what has happened to the straight lines?”
I said, “What do you mean?”
He said: “Look at the line. Your first few rounds are straight, but evidently you quit paying attention to where you were plowing. You must have quit looking at the fence post across the field—your goal. Can you see that gradually each time you’ve gone around, you’ve just gone a little crooked until now there are big spots in the field?” He got on the tractor and drove a few rotations to straighten out the lines. As he got off to let me try again, he said, “Sharon, always pay attention to where you are going.”

I had a wise bishop who called me in when I was twelve. He said, “LeGrand, we need some organists in our ward. I’d like you to take an organ class at the McCune School of Music. It costs five dollars for ten lessons. The ward will pay half of it, and you pay half.” I’m sure my mother put him up to it and paid the ward’s half.
I took the class and started to play the organ. When I was fourteen, I became the ward organist. In my high school days, I played the piano in a dance orchestra. That was a lot of fun. I loved the rhythm, and I could usually make five or ten dollars a night. When I was in dental school in Kansas City, Missouri, I played the organ at a Presbyterian church. It was a great experience for me. I played a lot of LDS hymns for them. They especially enjoyed “O My Father” and “Come, Come Ye Saints.” After playing at their service, I would get on the bus and go play a pump organ at our service.

My friends and I decided to give it a try. After a few attempts, we added a significant new component. In addition to becoming more observant ourselves, we shared our selfies with members of our extended families. This helped us to connect with them as we shared our everyday discoveries.
After talking about these “awe walks” for a few weeks, one sister in my ward commented: “Some of us are very involved in family history. This is a good way to supplement our own personal history by talking about our personal insights and observations.”
Another sister, who missed seeing family members during the coronavirus pandemic, said: “During COVID, I felt more alone and isolated than I had in years. Even our children and grandchildren stayed away so that we wouldn’t get the virus. We missed seeing them and talking about their plans. We thought sending these selfies with brief comments could be a good way to express gratitude for our blessings without being preachy.”
Initially, family members didn’t quite know how to respond. Mostly they gave one-word replies like “Nice” or “Interesting.” But as we continued, we received more comments and had conversations with extended family members that otherwise would never have occurred to us.

“Breakfast is ready,” Goolie informed her sister as she fastened her long skirt. “Cinnamon harvest begins this morning.”
“You don’t have to remind me,” Sirimova said crossly as she fussed with her hair. “I wish I had found a job in Colombo so I would never have to harvest cinnamon again.”
A sadness filled Goolie. “Cinnamon bark from Sri Lanka (formerly Ceylon) is enjoyed by people around the world!” she said feelingly.
“But the work is too hard,” Sirimova protested.
“Hard work has not hurt us,” Goolie argued. “I love living here.”
Sirimova scoffed. “When you are as old as I am, you will feel differently about living in an obscure village.”
The thought frightened Goolie. “I love our village,” she repeated quietly. Then she quickly finished her breakfast rice.
When there was no school, Goolie could spend the entire day harvesting cinnamon bark. She paused for a breath of fresh air on the veranda of their sturdy house Father had built. The magic of the morning sent happiness tingling through her. She loved the banyon, calamander, and satinwood trees growing among the palms surrounding their house. This morning the first rays of golden sunlight glimmered off shiny leaves everywhere.
How can Sirimova bear to leave such aparadise? Goolie wondered.
Goolie got her tools and hurried down the path to their cinnamon trees. She cut three-year-old shoots about the thickness of a walking stick. Folding her long skirt about her legs, she squatted beside the pile in the peeling area. With her gonakokatha (semicircular blade), she began scraping her first stick, savoring the cinnamony smell. Then she rubbed it up and down with her urachi (brass rod) to loosen the bark. With her talana kokatha (knife), she split the bark the length of the stick and peeled it.
“Perfect!” Goolie exclaimed, proud that she hadn’t forgotten her skills from last year’s harvest. With nimble fingers, she worked swiftly, telescoping the peels inside one another to form a quill. These would remain in the drying area four or five days. Then the quills would be tightened by rolling them on a board before further drying.
Sirimova finally arrived, frowning. The bark split as she attempted to peel her first shoot. “Nothing is going right this morning,” she complained.
“It is not the morning,” Goolie said. “It is you who does not feel happy. Grandfather says happiness is a state of mind.”
“You have been listening to Grandfather too much,” Sirimova accused. “Happiness is having things too.”
“We have all we need,” Goolie pointed out.
“I want more than necessities!” Sirimova declared. “Grandfather is old. He does not understand.”
“You must not speak of Grandfather that way,” Goolie warned. “He loves us. He is happy serving the people of our village, in sickness and in health. And everyone takes their problems to him because he is so wise.”
Sirimova shrugged. “Oh, I love Grandfather, but the world has changed since he was young. Now there are radios and motorcars and movies, and we cannot afford any of these.”
“Father has promised us a piece of fine jewelry when the cinnamon harvest is finished,” Goolie reminded her.
Sirimova tossed her head. “I want many pieces of fine jewelry!”
Goolie thought of Grandfather, her parents, and her young brothers and sister. Everyone was happy except Sirimova. How can I bring happiness to her? she puzzled.
That evening, Goolie went to see Grandfather.
“Your face, my child, mirrors that all is not well,” the old man perceived. “Is it of the heart or of the body?”
Goolie told him of Sirimova’s unhappiness. “It makes me very sad,” she said.
Grandfather took Goolie’s hand in his wrinkled, leathery ones. His eyes shone with wisdom gathered over many years. “Happiness cannot be bought with money. One can develop it only by giving of oneself.”
“But how can I help Sirimova understand, Grandfather?”
“We cannot choose happiness for another,” the old man counseled wisely. “We can only love another.”
Goolie thought long about this. Then she said, “Thank you, Grandfather.”
In spite of everyone loving Sirimova, her unhappiness increased as the cinnamon harvest progressed. Then in late July a letter came informing her of a job as a maid in a new hotel in Colombo, the capital of Sri Lanka.
Mother smiled bravely through her tears as Sirimova danced into her arms. Goolie saw Father swallow hard. “This calls for a celebration,” he declared. “We shall go to the botique (gift shop) this very day for a piece of fine jewelry.”
“Thank you, Father,” Sirimova cried. “This is the happiest day of my life.”
Goolie escaped to the veranda. “This is the saddest day for me,” she whispered, tears spilling from her eyes. “Our family will never be complete again. Happiness is gone from my life.”
“Come, Goolie,” Father urged. “You have worked hard. You shall choose a piece of jewelry also.”
“The harvest is only half over,” Goolie protested. “I can wait.”
But Father insisted she go with them.
Goolie’s thoughts were sad as they walked to the botique.
After Sirimova had chosen a necklace, Goolie made her choice.
“You have chosen earrings that match my necklace!” Sirimova exclaimed. “I wish I …”
“Are they not a bit old for you, Goolie?” Father asked kindly.
“They are what I want,” Goolie insisted.
That night before going to sleep, Goolie looked at her earrings and whispered, “They are so beautiful.”
At dawn the next morning, Goolie gathered small pieces of dried cinnamon bark. She packaged her new earrings with some of the fragrant bark before time for her morning chores.
After breakfast, Father brought the bullock cart, and Sirimova put her things into it.
It was a tearful family good-bye. Before Sirimova climbed into the cart beside father, Goolie hugged her sister. “I shall miss you,” she said, trying hard to hold back the tears.
“I shall miss you, too, little sister,” Sirimova said.
Goolie pressed her gift into Sirimova’s hand.
“What is this?” Sirimova asked.
“It is my surprise for you,” Goolie replied. “Do not open it until you get to Colombo.”
“Thank you,” Sirimova said, giving her an extra hug.
“I love you,” Goolie called as the cart lumbered away. And strangely her heart seemed to overflow with happiness.
Have I proved Grandfather’s wisdom—that happiness is found in giving? she pondered.
Then almost as though she were answering her own question, Goolie smiled happily as she waved good-bye.

As subscription levels among our active members increased, we received many favorable comments. Carla Virginia Soares de Oliveira of the Amarais Branch said: “I’ve been a member of the Church for five years. But I started receiving the Liahona only last year. The things I had not yet learned in Sunday School or Relief Society, I am now learning through the Church magazine.”

King Charles III, at the conclusion of His coronation service in Westminster and before leaving the Abbey, met briefly with representatives of all the major religions. This was an unprecedented moment as part of the coronation but a significant one. It acknowledges the diversity of belief in contemporary Britain and a need for people of faith – and of no faith – to work together for harmony and unity in our communities and in society at large.

For Sam, high school isn’t just about sports. She likes going to school and learning. She confesses she actually likes chemistry, something she won’t say out loud in the halls. And she loves starting her day in seminary. When her friends ask her what time she gets up and they hear her say, “Oh, 4:30 or 5:00,” they’re surprised. But for Sam, early-morning seminary is the best. “There are about eight different high schools in the Fenton Ward, so my Church friends are all spread out. When we get together, it’s fun. We joke and laugh and have a good time. By the time I get to school, I’m wide awake.
“I’m actually trying to bring my school friends and Church friends together,” she says. “At first they were hesitant about meeting, but now my school friends tell me that they like my friends. They like the wholesomeness about us. They just like the things we talk about.”
During one game, Sam looked up into the stands and saw her parents sitting by her Young Women leader with two of her best friends from school and one of her friends from the ward. They were laughing, and Sam remembers being amazed and pleased. “The next day at school, that’s all my friends could talk about—how nice this girl was and how she didn’t use inappropriate language and didn’t talk about vulgar things. I’m glad my Church friends can leave an impression like that. They’ll remember that.”