Gospel Story Finder

Hey, Sam!
What’s wrong?
I can’t find Floppy, my elephant from Great-Aunt Alice!
I’ll help you look.
We’ll never find him.
Let’s say a prayer for help.
Heavenly Father, please help us find Floppy.
Hmm …
Sam! Look!
You found him!
Let’s say a prayer to say thank you.
Heavenly Father, thank you for helping me find Floppy.
Now there’s one more thing we should do.
Can I play too?
Heavenly Father cares about what we care about! We can pray to Him anytime, anywhere, about anything.

Even when I was a young woman, most of my callings in the Church involved teaching Primary children, and this influenced my decision to pursue a degree in elementary education. But the choice of a major wasn’t the only way Church teachings affected my education. That became very clear as I prepared to graduate.
The last project I had to complete was a final paper that I would defend in an oral exam before three judges. The judges were some of the teachers who had taught my classes.
My paper carefully finished, I spent part of the evening before the oral exam with my boyfriend’s family. When I left to go home, his mother said she hoped everything would go well and quoted, “If ye are prepared ye shall not fear” (D&C 38:30).
The next day came. Dozens of memories passed through my mind. I remembered how I decided to leave the city where I grew up to further my education; I remembered all the sacrifices my family had made to finance it. I could not disappoint them. My final exam had to be a success.
My classmates were also waiting to take their exams. All of us were concerned about the questions the judges might pose, but I felt secure because I had prayed for help and because I knew that God knew the effort I had made to organize, research, and write my paper.
My turn came. After explaining my paper to the panel, I began to answer questions. After asking several on the topic I had covered, one of the judges queried, “How much work did you put into this paper?”
“A great deal,” I replied. “I gave it everything I had because I wanted it to be innovative.”
“Burned the midnight oil?”
“No, I don’t usually stay up late doing schoolwork,” I said. “I organize my day so I can get my work done.”
The faces of the judges clearly showed surprise. The same judge remarked, “I find it strange that you should admit you haven’t stayed up late. We know your classmates have, for many a night.”
One of the other judges said, “Let me tell you about this student. She has time for everything. I can say so because I know her. She has time for her studies, her friends, her family, and she even attends church.”
“Really?” the other judge was again surprised. “What church do you attend?”
“I’m a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
“Oh, yes, I know what church that is,” one said.
“And we are taught to go to bed early so we can be invigorated the next day.”
I felt calm and safe talking about the gospel, even though I was surprised to be asked about religion during a professional exam.
“Your paper was written with great feeling. It is excellent. I suppose this is also due to the habits instilled in you by your church.”
“Yes,” I said. “I was taught at church how to teach children, and it has really helped with my degree.”
“You took to it like a fish to water,” one of the judges joked. “We hope you won’t stop going to church, because you owe much to the values you have gained there.”
Soon I was excused from the room so the judges could come to a decision. Two minutes later they called me back in.
“It wasn’t hard for us to reach an agreement. In view of your exemplary conduct, your excellent grades, and the paper you defended today, our verdict is unanimous in favor of graduation, with honorable mention. Congratulations!”
When I told my family, they wept for joy.

As a teen, I remember looking at my family tree and wondering how we would ever get my father’s side of the family tree populated. My father, Joseph Terribilini, is a first-generation American. His father, Giuseppe, emigrated from a small village in the Swiss Alps that we didn’t know much about. I had always wanted to make progress in my family history, so I often prayed for help in knowing how to overcome the roadblocks we faced.
But Heavenly Father was aware of these roadblocks. And beginning with my mission call, I felt Him guide me as a series of six miracles from Italy to Alabama helped us fill in the gaps on my father’s family tree.
I had always had a feeling that I’d serve my mission in Switzerland where my ancestors once lived. So when I got my call to Italy in 1970, I was surprised but excited. In the language training mission (now called the missionary training center), I found out that southern Switzerland, where my ancestors came from, was actually part of my mission. I knew Heavenly Father called me to that specific place for a reason.
Partway through my mission, my companion and I were assigned to be zone leaders over an area that included southern Switzerland—and we had a car.
We went to my family’s village, Vergeletto, and looked up one of my cousins. He showed us around and introduced us to the parish priest, who, upon request, showed us the books of vital records for the area. We then returned home, but a seed had been planted in me that would grow throughout my mission.
With just a month left on my mission, I felt like I needed to take action and find my family’s records before I returned home. I prayed to know if there was something more I could do, and I felt a distinct prompting from the Spirit telling me that I needed to get a copy of those vital records that I had seen months ago. I told my mission president that I felt like I needed to return to my family’s village in Switzerland and explained why. The village was 87 miles (140 km) away, but my mission president gave me permission to go anyway.
It was dusk when the narrow winding road took us up the mountain into the hamlet of Vergeletto. We stopped at the focal point of town, the Catholic church. My companion and I were then drawn to the cemetery across the street from the church that was all lit up with candles.
As we entered the cemetery, I clearly and strongly felt the Spirit guide me like I never had before. That feeling and the fresh alpine air created a sensation I will never forget. In the cemetery, it seemed that every other tombstone had my last name on it. We even saw my great-grandfather’s tomb; it said people went to him to repair their broken bones.
We returned to the church to see if we could find the priest. There we met an old man, who told us it was Il Giorno dei Morti, or a holiday known as the Day of the Dead (which would explain all the candles in the cemetery). The man told us that the priest had services in neighboring villages and would be back in two hours.
My companion and I waited, and when the priest returned, I reminded him of our encounter a few months earlier and then asked if I could see the vital records of the parish again.
He agreed.
The priest brought out a box of books that were hundreds of years old. I told the priest that our Church was microfilming parish records in Parma, Italy, 170 miles (274 km) away. I asked if he would allow us to take the records for a few weeks and have them copied.
He again agreed. I was shocked.
As we left town, I marveled at what had just happened and even checked the rearview mirror to see if the priest was running after us with a change of heart. Two weeks later, we returned the records to him, as promised.
Due to the penmanship, the use of Latin, and the deterioration, the records were hard to read. But then, just a few years ago, I noticed hundreds of records from Vergeletto had been linked to my ancestors in FamilySearch. Family lines that used to only go out three to four generations now extended seven to nine generations!
It turns out a professional genealogist in Alabama, USA, who is not a member of the Church shares a branch of the global family tree with me. He had accessed and read the records from the books I had copied in Italy and attached them in FamilySearch. This man is amazing; we have since collaborated several times. He explained that uploading those names and sources is his way of paying back the Church for all their work in making records available in FamilySearch.
Now my dad’s side of my genealogy fan chart is full of names. And I’ve been blessed to do their temple work.
I’ve often looked back wondering why a Catholic priest would allow a young American—who was also a missionary for another faith—to take his collection of vital records out of the country for copying. Were my ancestors praying for me? Were they praying for the priest’s heart to be softened?
I don’t know—it could have been both those things. But I do know that Heavenly Father can help bring about miracles when we seek His help. And as Elder Dale G. Renlund of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles has promised, family history work holds so many blessings for those on both sides of the veil: “God will strengthen, help, and uphold us; and He will sanctify to us our deepest distress. When we gather our family histories and go to the temple on behalf of our ancestors, God fulfills many of these promised blessings simultaneously on both sides of the veil.” 1 The Lord directs this work, and when you trust Him, He can work miracles for you and your family as you strive to gather Israel.

This past summer our deacons quorum brought two members into full quorum activity and introduced three nonmembers to the Church. The quorum took a 270-mile bike trip from Kirtland to Dayton, following the path of the Zion’s Camp expedition. The deacons and advisers, the bishop, and many of the parents drove to Kirtland on a Saturday. They attended Church and visited Church historical sites the next day. That evening they had a fireside. Monday they started out on their bikes. It took a week for them to pedal to Dayton. They camped overnight at campgrounds, bicycled in the rain, and contended with traffic. One of the best parts of the trip was that one of the boys who was handicapped pedaled right along with the rest of the group.

It was still dark in the hogan where the young Navajo boy lay sleeping on a bed of soft white sheepskins. He heard nothing until a firm hand shook him gently and the sound of his grandfather’s voice reached his ears.
“Wake up, Kee! You must hurry before the sun is up.” Kee opened his tired eyes slowly and stared up toward his grandfather’s wrinkled face. He did not want to get up so early, but it would not be good to show disrespect.
Without a word, he sat up and slipped a light woolen jacket over his plaid shirt and denim pants. As he pulled open the heavy wooden door, his grandfather handed him the familiar stick.
Kee peered out into the morning darkness, broken only by a thin, crooked line of light outlining the ridge of the mesa in the distance.
It is so very, very far away, he thought.
With a sudden jolt, the Indian boy darted from the hogan, running past the sheep corral and out across the barren land. He could barely see the clumps of sagebrush that he jumped over. As he ran faster and faster, his heart pounded loudly beneath his shirt. The cool morning wind parted his thick, black hair as he ran on and on, clutching the stick in his hand.
The mesa was getting clearer now as the sun began to rise above it. Kee was filled with awe as he viewed the beauty of the rising sun each morning. Calling on all his strength, he increased his speed. He must not stop now, it was still so far away. The muscles of Kee’s legs stretched and pulled as he ran harder and harder. His eyes stared straight ahead at the line of golden sunlight as it rose higher and higher above the red rock formations and then suddenly burst into the sky. A new day had come.
Panting hard, Kee slowed his pace and stopped. With a powerful jab, he thrust the stick deep into the earth as a witness of his strength. Only then did he allow his body to relax. He sank to the ground to rest.
As the young Navajo boy gazed at the towering red rocks glistening in the early morning sun, he could almost hear the words his grandfather had spoken so many times.
“Every morning you must run to meet the sun. Run as fast as you can until you can run no more, then plant a stick in Mother Earth. Your legs will become stronger and stronger until one day you will plant your stick at the foot of the mesa. Then you will be a man, my son.”
And so morning after morning Kee had run to greet the new day, and each time he inched closer to the horizon.
Will I ever become a man? wondered Kee as he eyed the distant formation. I’m sure I will never reach the mesa and I am tired of running. It is foolishness that the old man speaks.
“Tomorrow, I will only run and hide behind the sheep corral,” Kee said to himself as he strolled lazily back to the hogan.
As he neared his grandfather’s home, Kee sensed that something was wrong. Always before he had been greeted by the sight of the white-haired man waiting in the doorway and smoke curling from the center of the roof. Now the doorway was empty and the smokeless pipe atop the hogan meant no fire had been built. He rushed inside and quickly looked around the eight-sided room. It was empty and he became frightened.
Each summer Kee came to the isolated home of his aged grandfather to help with the sheep and to be taught the ways of his people. He did not always understand the things his grandfather said, but his heart was filled with love and respect for the old man.
Where can he be? wondered the boy as he stood frozen with fear to the hard-packed earth floor. Suddenly, a low muffled sound came from the other side of the log walls. Kee rushed outside and ran around to the back of the hogan. There, by the large pile of cedar wood, lay his grandfather with a look of pain across his face.
“I was getting firewood,” he whispered. “When I fell the big logs rolled onto my legs.”
Kee knew that the logs had to be moved to free his grandfather. He pulled on the logs but he could not move them.
“My arms are not strong enough!” Kee cried. “What can I do?” The old man looked into the eyes of the frightened boy.
“Your arms may not be strong, but your legs are very strong, my son,” he said. “Run as fast as you can to the home of Uncle Hosteen Begay. He will bring help.”
Kee ran faster than he had ever run before, and as the muscles stretched and pulled he felt great strength in his legs. Feeling fear for his grandfather’s safety, he pushed harder and harder, leaping over clusters of rabbit brush and dashing past the scattered juniper trees. His heart beat fast, but he did not tire nearly as easily as he had before.
In a shorter time than he thought possible, the boy had reached the distant hogan of Hosteen Begay and several uncles were on their way to care for his grandfather.
Kee stared out toward the colorful mesa and thought of the many sticks he had planted in his attempts to reach it.
“It is not foolishness that the old man speaks after all,” he declared. “Tomorrow I will gladly run to meet the sun!”

What a special day for Andrea! She was going to school for the very first time.
“I painted a picture of a tiger,” she said, racing into the house after school. “I listened to a story about a big brown bear, and I even have my own hook for my jacket. Can I go to school again tomorrow?”
“Yes,” her mother replied.
The next day when Andrea came home, a smile covered her face from ear to ear. “We went on a nature walk,” she said. “I found three bugs, two sticks, and a purple flower. I even have a new friend, named Samantha. Can I go again tomorrow?”
“Yes,” Andrea’s mother said with a smile.
The next afternoon, Andrea raced up the stairs two at a time. “Mom!” she hollered. “Guess what? We have a gerbil in our classroom. He lives in a glass case, and we named him Patches. I even drew a picture of Patches. Do you want to see?”
“What a handsome gerbil,” Mother said, admiring Andrea’s picture.
“Can I go to school again tomorrow?” she asked.
“Yes,” Mother replied.
The next afternoon, Andrea skipped into the house and plopped down at the table for milk and cookies. “We saw a movie about a lost polar bear,” Andrea said, wiping her mouth after a big gulp of milk. “Samantha and I played ball at recess. I had sixteen bounces without a miss! Can I go to school again tomorrow?”
Mother nodded and bit into a cookie.
The next afternoon, Andrea sang all the way home from school. “Oh, Mom,” she said, hugging her mother, “I made a truck using scissors and glue and lots of colored paper. And you should’ve seen the tower I built with blocks. Before it fell, it was this high.”
“That’s a mighty tall tower,” Mother said, looking at Andrea’s upraised hand.
“Can I go again tomorrow?” she asked.
“I’m sorry, Andrea,” Mother replied. “You can’t go to school tomorrow.”
Andrea’s eyes widened, and her smile melted away. “But I want to go to school,” she said, blinking hard. “School is fun.”
Mother knelt down and put her arm around Andrea. “School is fun,” she said. “But you can’t go tomorrow.”
“Why not?”
“Because tomorrow is Saturday,” Mother explained with a hug.
“Saturday!” Andrea said with a laugh. “Oh, I forgot! But can I go to school again on Monday?”
“Yes,” Mother told her. “You can go to school on Monday.”
“Good,” Andrea said, and she raced outside to ride her bike.

I had always wanted a horse, and I shared that desire with my father as we worked together on the farm. One day, Dad took me to a horse auction with him to buy a pony. We sat and watched as different horses were brought into the arena. Before long, four foals were shown. Dad started to bid and eventually was the highest bidder for a sum of eleven dollars. As highest bidder, he had first choice to buy any one of the foals.

He turned to me and said, “OK, Son, which one do you want?” I was so excited! My dream had come true. There were three healthy foals and one that was scrawny and thin. I picked the scrawny one. I felt sorry for her and told my dad, “She needs me.”

We didn’t have any way to get my new foal home, so we took the backseat out of the car, and my father sat in the back of the car, holding the colt while my uncle drove us home.

I named my new friend Lady. She was very tiny and young; I had to feed her from a bottle three times a day. She followed me around and was almost like a member of the family! She mimicked everything I did. If I squealed, she squealed. When I ran, she ran right behind me. I enjoyed graham crackers, and that was her favorite treat as well. She grew into one of the most beautiful, award-winning, and well-mannered riding horses I have ever seen.

I was a 13-year-old Latter-day Saint young woman living in Gilbert, Arizona, and each year our stake held its yearly girls’ camp in the mountains of Prescott, Arizona.
That year, at the beginning of camp, our leaders gave us each a small spiral notebook. On the inside cover of each was written our name, the name of the camp, and “Summer of ’76.” On the first page of the notebook was the heading, “I hope, I wish, I dream.”
We were instructed to write in this notebook our hopes, our wishes, and our dreams for the future. We were also told to put our notebooks somewhere safe. Our leaders hoped that when we were grown up, we would take our notebooks out and see what our dreams had been and if we had achieved them.
I took our leaders’ words to heart. I filled page after page with my hopes for the future. When I came home from camp that year, I unpacked my suitcase and took out the little spiral notebook and set it carefully inside my hope chest.
Years went by, and I gave little thought to the notebook. Over the next 20 years, I went through many moves. I transferred the contents of my hope chest to a cardboard box, which I labeled “Mementos,” and that box followed me wherever I went.
One day, 20 years from the day that I wrote in that notebook at camp, I walked into my garage and saw the box labeled “Mementos.” I decided to get it down and see what was inside. I began pulling out items. Then I came across the little spiral notebook. I opened it to the first page and read, “I hope, I wish, I dream.”
I began to read and ponder what I had written—of my desire to be married to a good man in the temple and my desire to have a big family and a happy home. I had written of my desire to keep the commandments. I continued reading about how important it was for me to not compromise my principles and to keep the light of the gospel in my life.
I paused for a moment from my reading and thought about how my life had turned out. I had not compromised my principles. I had married a good man in the temple. We had three children at that time. We were a happy family, and we taught our children the gospel. All that I had read had come true or was coming true.
I then went on to read of a more specific dream I had. The last sentence I had written was, “I want to write a book.”
After reading this, I found myself standing perfectly still, in awe. Then my heart began pounding, and I smiled as my entire being was filled with a warm tingly feeling. I closed the little notebook and held it close to me. A publishing company had just accepted my manuscript for publication.
I received a strong testimony that day of the power of goal setting. I received a testimony that our Heavenly Father loves us and will help us in achieving our hopes, our wishes, and our dreams. I believe that when I was 13, I knew what I wanted to do in my life, and I knew what Heavenly Father wanted me to do. I believe in the importance of setting righteous goals now and not compromising your principles. If you do set righteous goals, they will become reality.

As Orson continued his search for deeper religious truths, the persuasive voice of Sidney Rigdon soon convinced him to join the Campbellite movement. The new sect’s belief in baptism by immersion for the remission of sins struck a responsive chord in the mind of young Hyde. At Sidney Rigdon’s invitation, Orson moved to Mentor, Ohio, to live with the Rigdon family, where he entered the Burton Academy and was ordained an elder in the Campbellite church. In the fall of 1829 he accompanied Sidney Rigdon on a mission throughout Ohio.
Orson’s beliefs in Campbellism were challenged in 1830 by a group of unusual young men who visited Kirtland. Among these were Oliver Cowdery, Peter Whitmer, Jr., and Parley P. Pratt. Their message concerned the coming forth of the Book of Mormon and the restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Orson received the peculiar doctrine with mixed emotions. He resolved to read the famed “Golden Bible” (Book of Mormon), and after having read a portion of it, preached against it several times. After one such occasion, however, his opinions began to change. He recorded, “For the first time, I thought that the ‘Mormon’ bible might be the truth of heaven; and fully resolved before leaving the house, that I would never preach against it any more until I knew more about it, being pretty strongly convicted in my own mind that I was doing wrong.”1
As he reexamined the message of the Mormon elders, the rebuke of the Spirit caused Orson much unhappiness and deep remorse. The Prophet Joseph Smith was living in Kirtland, and Orson, eager to know the unusual man of whom he had heard so much, frequently attended meetings, public and private, at which the Prophet spoke about the new religion. He attended meetings at which he “heard the arguments pro and con, but was careful to say nothing.” In his autobiography he wrote:
“I marked carefully the spirit that attended the opposition, also the spirit that attended the Mormons and their friends, and after about three months of careful praying and investigation, reflection and meditation, I came to the conclusion that the Mormons had more light and a better spirit than their opponents.”2
Orson was baptized in the Chagrin River by his friend Elder Sidney Rigdon (who had converted to Mormonism), and was then confirmed and ordained an elder by Joseph Smith and Sidney Rigdon on the banks of the river. During the month of November, Orson enthusiastically accepted a call to serve a mission with the Prophet Joseph Smith’s older brother Hyrum. Soon after returning, he was called to serve a second mission to the eastern states, with the Prophet’s younger brother Samuel as his companion. They proselyted without purse or scrip, relying on the hospitality of those contacted for their food and lodging.

Once I was awakened by a call from an anxious mother. Her premature child was not expected to survive the night. She asked for a priesthood blessing. As I approached the suffering child, the mother stopped me, looked into my eyes, and asked, “Are you worthy to bless my child?” That was an appropriate question. One never feels completely worthy, but we must do our best to be so. There came a strong prompting to bless the child to recover. The worthy mother continued professional treatment and exercised her faith. The Lord responded with the additional blessing needed. And the child recovered.

Marie Purcell, of the Massey Park Ward in the Auckland New Zealand Papatoetoe Stake, experienced the joy of this work when she and her parents sealed her beloved grandfather, Afele Schwenke, to his family—a blessing he did not receive in his lifetime despite his faithfulness and service to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Afele Schwenke, born on April 10, 1912, was deeply rooted in his faith and dedicated to his family. Together with his wife, Soala, Afele served the missionaries of Malaela Aleipata for nearly two decades. The couple opened their home to the missionaries, insisting they stay in their Western-style house while Afele, Soala, and their children lived in their Samoan fale. His generosity left a lasting impact, and his home became a place of gospel teaching.
Although Afele had a strong testimony and faithfully paid his tithes, he struggled with fully living the Word of Wisdom. His love for the Church never wavered, but he passed away in 1967 without receiving the blessings of the temple.
Years later, while reviewing family history records, Marie and her parents discovered that her mother’s sealing to her parents had not been recorded. Marie immediately felt a strong spiritual prompting—not only did her mother’s sealing need to be done, but also her grandfather Afele’s. His face came to her mind, and she knew that temple work needed to be completed.
Trusting this prompting, the family scheduled a sealing appointment. However, when they arrived at the temple, Marie realized they were not fully prepared with the required documents. They proceeded with other ordinances, but in the sealing room, both Marie and her mother felt a distinct sadness at leaving the ordinance undone.
Determined to finish the work, Marie and her parents scheduled another appointment. On April 6, 2024, they returned to the temple, fully prepared. Marie and her father would stand as proxies for her grandparents.
When the sealer called her mother’s name, a deep feeling of peace washed over them. Marie remembers tears flowing as they completed the ordinance.
Through the Atonement of Jesus Christ and the sacred work of the temple, Afele Schwenke and his wife, Soala, received the blessings of eternity.
As saviours on Mount Zion, we can offer our ancestors the same gift of exaltation Christ offers to us. Reflecting on the experience of sealing her grandparents, Marie shared, “I testify that the joy that comes from participating through family history brings eternal happiness.”
“I have felt those on the other side of the veil through this great and marvelous work. And I know that they embrace with excitement receiving these sacred ordinances, as I embrace with joy on this side of the veil uniting my eternal family.”
The sealing power reminded her that the blessings of the Atonement extend beyond the veil. As Doctrine and Covenants 128:22 invites, “Shall we not go on in so great a cause?”

A Coach’s Conversion
Like many other young adults, football coach Solomon Eliya Tumane had questions about religion. “I wanted to know about God and why He asks us to pray, and about Jesus Christ and why He died for us. I was confused, but I was studying the scriptures, particularly the Old Testament.
“Then one day I was coming from work, and I saw two missionaries. I asked them the question about Jesus Christ. As they talked about Him, I could tell they loved Him. They invited me to come to church, and when I did, I felt something inside telling me that this was what I had been looking for all those years.
“The missionaries taught me to pray and that it is important because it is our way to talk to Heavenly Father and to find the truth. I accepted what the missionaries taught me. I knew it was the true gospel, especially when we would read the scriptures together and pray about them.”

Take 50 eager students, 1,260 empty containers, and 21 tons of wheat, and you have an energy-packed service project that’s still sending tremors through southern California.
Junior college students at Los Angeles Pierce College—many of them enrolled in the Woodland Hills Institute of Religion—took upon themselves one goal: to help families get food storage.
And orders they got! In fact, so many people from throughout the Los Angeles area responded to the service project—even some nonmembers—that they had to arrange for three shipments of wheat to fill orders for 63 tons.
The first step was to investigate food storage requirements—protein and moisture contents as well as best packaging methods. With the tracks laid, the students began the task of crew organization, paper work, and word-of-mouth advertising in preparation for their first shipment of 21 tons of hard winter wheat.
The delivery day was never to be forgotten.
After the wheat arrived the real work began; the wheat was poured into containers, sealed airtight, and loaded during a heavy rain onto pickup trucks for personal delivery to each home.
“I’ve never been so wet and worked so hard in my life,” said Meli Estrada with a laugh. “And I’ve never seen so many kids having so much fun together.”
“Most of the people couldn’t believe we were delivering right to their doorsteps,” commented Claire Smith.
For most of the young people the real satisfaction came with the comments from customers who said, “This is what it took to really motivate us to get our year’s supply.” And, “We don’t have any room, but if kids are going to work this hard to get it to us, we’ll store it in our living room if we have to.” Another said, “I’ve never known a thing about wheat, but I’m going to learn right now how to make bread.”
A free bonus with all orders was a mimeographed sheet of whole wheat recipes and a food storage checklist.
The consensus of everyone involved in the food storage project was summed up by Pat Morley, a nonmember from Canoga Park: “It’s great to be together with your friends doing something fun and at the same time doing something that is so necessary.”

It’s a tragedy that so many children dislike their parents. I won’t pretend that I too am not guilty of sometimes becoming frustrated with my parents. When I do, I sit down and start writing down what it is about my parents that’s making me so upset. Next, I contrast these downsides with my parents’ strengths. Within a few minutes, I find that I’m reminiscing about my childhood, which my parents worked to ensure was a great one. I love my parents, and I know that there are probably sacrifices that they’ve made for me that I will never even be aware of.

At one time Thomas worked with both President Brigham Young and United States President James Buchanan to clear up a misunderstanding that could have resulted in a war between the Saints and the government. Soldiers had been sent to Utah. With Thomas Kane’s help, however, a solution was found before there was any bloodshed. President Wilford Woodruff later told him: "You were an instrument in the hands of God, and you were inspired by him to turn away … the edge of the sword."

Abba loved Primary, and today it was more fun than usual. The lesson was on giving. During the lesson, they sang her favorite song, “‘Give,’ Said the Little Stream.”* On the way home from church, the words of the song kept going through her mind, “‘Give away, oh! give away.’”
The next day, she went to the library to see her friends at story time. As she got ready, she kept singing the song to herself, “Give, then, as Jesus gives; There is something all can give.”
That’s it! Abba thought. There is something I can give. She dressed quickly and ran out to her mother. “May I use your big blue tote bag today, Mom?”
“Of course you may,” Mom told her. “What are you going to carry in such a large bag?”
“I’m going to wrap up presents to give to people today! I want today to be different.”
Abba and her mother left the house with the tote bag full of the little presents. They were Abba’s own toys, and she was going to share them with others who needed them.
The bus came, and Abba found a seat near the front. A small girl sitting nearby was crying while her mother was trying to quiet a fussy baby.
Abba reached into her bag and handed the girl a present.
Abba’s mother told the girl in her best Spanish, “It’s a gift for you. Open it!”
The little girl looked at her mother, then quickly opened the gift when her mother nodded yes. Soon she was sitting quietly, playing with a small doll.
The people on the bus were all smiling.
Abba and her mother got off the bus long enough to do some banking. When they walked into the bank, one of the customers seemed very angry. He raised his voice to the teller, then stormed away.
Abba saw the sad look on the teller’s face and tugged at her mother’s sweater. “May I give a grown-up a gift?”
“Sure—but first let me ask if she would like one.”
Abba walked up to the counter as her mother told the teller about the gift. Abba handed it to her and watched as a smile broke out on the teller’s face when she opened it and saw a pretty yellow airplane! The teller held it up for the other people in the bank to see.
As Abba and her mother walked out the door, they could hear the other people laughing and talking happily about the gift.
Abba told her mother jokes as the bus sped past the skyscrapers into downtown.
Her friend Jessica met her at the library with some sad news. Jessica was going to move soon. This was the last time that she would see Abba.
When the story hour was over, Abba gave Jessica one of her presents to help Jessica remember her. The storybook cheered Jessica up, and all of Jessica’s library friends hugged her good-bye.
The last stop for the day was at Abba’s big sister’s dance school. Abba loved to go there and play with the older children while she waited for her sister to finish her class. Today, however, instead of being greeted by playing children, she saw one of the teenagers standing by the door crying.
“What’s wrong, Olivia?” Abba asked.
Olivia said that one of the boys had called her a name and made fun of her.
Abba was afraid to offer a toy to a teenager, but she thought about it for a minute and decided that it might help. She was right!
After opening the gift, Olivia dried her tears, picked Abba up and spun her around and around in a big hug. Then Olivia ran inside to show everyone her gift.
All the other teenagers laughed happily as they played with the sparkly bouncy ball. Soon Olivia had forgotten about the mean boy.
That night before she said her prayers, Abba cuddled with her mother. She asked why everyone had seemed so happy, when she had given a gift to only one person at each place.
Her mother explained that everyone was happy because she had given a gift more important than the little toys. She had given the gift of love, and everyone had felt it!
“We are a church … in whose name is the name of the Lord Jesus Christ. We bear witness of Him, and it is His example and His teachings we try to follow. We give love.”President Gordon B. Hinckley(Ensign, June 2000, page 75.)

I was 17 years old at the time and was curious about my brother’s conversion and his enthusiasm about his newfound beliefs. He introduced a couple of missionaries to me and my sister. One of their lessons, about eternal families, grabbed my attention. This doctrine convinced me that this was the church for me—and the two young missionaries were so handsome, who could deny them? In due course, I and my sister were baptised, even though our father did not approve. As a Baptist, called to teach Japanese members in Japanese about the Holy Bible, my father had strong but narrow views about the teachings of Christ. But our mother attended our baptisms.

Elder Sheffield has been under the knife eleven times in major surgery and many more times in surgery lasting less than an hour. The greatest desire of his life was that the surgery would make him acceptable for a mission. A year before he entered the mission field, he had his final operation. Since he has been on his mission, he has averaged seventy to eighty hours a week in proselyting. He is greatly loved by all.
He has been a great blessing to missionaries who thought they had problems. In one interview his companion told me that Elder Sheffield’s shoulder separates and falls out of place quite often. When this happens he is in severe pain. It happens most often during the night. When I interviewed Elder Sheffield, I suggested that we put him in a local hospital here and have the doctors do what needed to be done to correct this problem. He looked me in the eye, and with a sternness seldom seen he said, “President, I have spent most of my life in hospitals, and when I complete my mission I am returning to several more major surgical operations. I promised the Lord that if he would let me serve a mission, I would not spend one day in the hospital during the two years no matter how sick I was or how much I suffered.”

Every year, fifth-graders at my school can go to a camp called Sky Ranch. They sleep in cabins, swim, and learn about the outdoors. My parents didn’t have enough money for me to go, but they said they’d help me earn it.
The Fourth of July was coming up, so we decided to make some cute Uncle Sam flag holders. We figured out how much money we needed to buy the materials and still have enough money for me to go to camp. We needed to buy flags, wood, and paint to make fifteen holders.
Dad bought and cut the wood. Mom and I painted the holders. When we were finished, Dad and I started to sell them. We sold seven that Saturday. At Sunday dinner, Grandpa asked, “What about paying your tithing?” I had forgotten about tithing!
We decided to raise the price of the flag holders, but we only sold one, so we knew we had to lower the price again to what it was and find another way to earn the money I still needed. Mom said that we had to pay the tithing first and that the Lord would bless us for it.
On the last Saturday before the Fourth of July, we sold all but two flag holders. Then a man came up and bought those two. Upon learning why we were selling them, he gave me an extra twenty dollars!
I am very excited about going to Sky Ranch, but I’m even more excited about learning that the Lord will bless you when you pay your tithing first.
Melissa McKenna, age 10Allen, Texas

We are all aware of Hurricane Mitch, which devastated Nicaragua and Honduras last October and November. With terrific force it flooded homes and caused mud slides. More than 10,000 people died and another two million were left homeless. This very strong hurricane destroyed homes and covered streets with mud that seemed as hard as cement.

Almost immediately the Church began sending life-sustaining food, clothing, medicine, and blankets to help both members of the Church and those of other faiths. Once the shipments arrived at their destination, Church members came by the hundreds to unload the trucks and assemble the supplies into boxes. The items in each box would sustain a family for a week.

Our dear President Gordon B. Hinckley, who is the chairman of the General Welfare Committee, felt troubled by the suffering in Central America. One sleepless night he felt a prompting to go and offer his love and support to those who had endured this great loss. The prophet’s visit lifted the spirits and gave hope to thousands. “As long as [the Church] has any resources,” he told them, “we will stand by you in times of trouble.” And I testify to you, brothers and sisters, that he truly is a prophet of God. And I sustain him with all my heart.