Gospel Story Finder

Sam pedaled his bike as fast as he could up the hill. He leaned forward. The air whipped through his hair. His friend Liam pedaled next to him.
“Getting tired?” Liam said.
“No way!” Sam said.
Their friend Eric was already at the park at the top of the hill.
“Komm schon! Come on!” he yelled.
Sam and Liam reached the top of the hill. The boys parked their bikes and sat under a tree.
Liam picked up a rock and threw it. “I’m bored.” There weren’t many places to go in their small village in Switzerland.
“Me too,” Eric said. He scratched the dirt with a stick.
“We could keep biking,” Sam said.
Liam scrunched up his face. “That’s all we ever do.”
“Let’s do something funny!” Eric said. He hopped up and walked over to the bike rack, where lots of bikes were parked. Sam and Liam followed him.
Sam’s stomach felt tight. Sometimes what Eric and Liam thought was funny wasn’t funny to him. Eric and Liam liked to tease other kids and say rude things in class. But maybe this time would be different.
Besides, there weren’t many boys in Sam’s class. If he wasn’t friends with Eric and Liam, who would he be friends with?
“Let’s take the valve caps off all the tires,” Eric whispered. “We can hide them by the tree.” He knelt down by a shiny red bike and twisted a little plastic cap off one of the tires.
Liam laughed. “Yes! That will be so funny.”
Sam sighed. Nope. This time wasn’t different. “I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe we should just go.”
Eric shoved Sam’s arm. “Aw, come on!” he said. “No one is even looking.”
“They’re just little parts,” Liam said. “No one will even notice they’re gone.”
Sam tried to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach. Taking the valve caps wouldn’t ruin the bikes. He shrugged and nodded.
The three boys quickly took all the valve caps off the bike tires and ran back to the tree. They hid all the caps under a rock and sat down to watch the bikes. Liam and Eric were giggling.
Soon a man walked up, unlocked his bike, and rode off.
“See? He didn’t even notice,” Liam said.
But I did, Sam thought.
The rest of the day, Sam couldn’t stop thinking about the valve caps. He wished he could give them back, but he had no way to find the bikes’ owners. He knelt down and told Heavenly Father about it.
“I feel awful,” Sam said. “I wish I had never done it. Please forgive me, Heavenly Father.”
The next day, Sam and his friends rode their bikes to the park again.
Once again, Eric said, “Let’s take the valve caps!”
Once again, Liam agreed.
Sam remembered his prayer. And this time, he felt a little braver.
“I don’t think we should,” he said.
“Why not?” Liam said, frowning. “No one even noticed yesterday.”
“I wouldn’t want someone messing with my bike,” Sam said. Before either boy could answer, he hopped on his bike. “Race you to the bakery!” he yelled. Then he started pedaling as fast as he could.
Eric and Liam grabbed their bikes too.
“No fair! You got a head start,” Liam called.
Sam grinned as his friends raced after him. He whispered a thank you to Heavenly Father. He felt much better.
This story took place in Switzerland.

Two weeks later, however, my mother was back in the hospital. She had started to hemorrhage and was hospitalized for another two weeks.
Like most fifteen-year-old girls, I had had my share of thoughts about romance, marriage, and babies. But nothing I had ever dreamed of had prepared me for what I then faced. Not only did I have my father to cook for, but I had the four other children as well—breakfasts, lunches, and dinners. There was also the laundry to wash and, to top the list, a two-week-old baby to care for.
At times I thought I wouldn’t make it. But that new little girl and I developed a very close bond; I felt as though she were mine. I recall one day when a few sisters from our ward came by to help out by offering to take the baby for a while. But after all we had gone through to get this little one, I told them they couldn’t have her and ordered them out of the house. (I had a hard time explaining my actions!) My mother called all of the ladies later to explain how very tired I was, and that I didn’t mean to be so rude.
How happy we were when mother came home! She found a very fat little baby girl (and why not? I had thought if the baby cried she must be hungry, so I fed her constantly), and in spite of me, everyone had survived.

Knowledge made the difference in Denver Mendiola’s life—knowledge of the English language, which she learned only two years ago, and, most important, knowledge of the truthfulness of the gospel.
Twelve-year-old Denver has not had an easy life. She was born in the Philippines, and her family was introduced to the gospel by missionaries tracting there. When Denver was ten, her mother was shot and killed, and her family divided. Denver came to the U.S. to live with her sister.
But Denver is not bitter. In fact, she was one of the happiest, most energetic girls at the encampment. Even when a minor accident caused her to need stitches, she was smiling and had a ready laugh. She’ll tell you it was because the doctor who sewed her up was gorgeous, but her positive attitude goes deeper than that. “I know that I’ll see my mother again, and that makes me happy,” she says. “I love being Mormon, and I know that the Church is true.”
That knowledge gives Denver a merry green to add to the rainbow.

It’s been just over a year now since my parents and I joined the Church, and it hasn’t been an easy time for us.
We were taught by two of the finest missionaries and gained a strong testimony. But when we decided to be baptized, people told us we would be lost and end up in hell. We were told we were no good. We received a great deal of persecution. I lost all the friends I had at my old church, which I’d been attending for eleven years. I had done a lot of baby-tending and when I changed churches, the parents of the children I used to care for told me that they would never hire me to care for their children again, that I was a bad influence, and that they never wanted me in their home again.
That all hurt me very badly. I was harassed at school, and when I came home, there would be pamphlets against the Church in the mailbox and threatening phone calls.
The threats against us almost postponed our baptism. When my father received one the day we were to be baptized, he nearly canceled the baptism. But we went through with it.
And you know what? I’m really glad we did. I told my mom that I didn’t care if I lost all my friends. Yes, it hurt a great deal, but I knew that Jesus Christ had died for my sins. He had been beaten, spit on, and stabbed, and had had thorns put on his head. My troubles didn’t seem so bad in comparison.
I still get criticism about joining the Church, but Jesus Christ has helped me pull through. I have my baby-tending jobs back, and we no longer receive any more threats. I have found truly beautiful new friends in my ward, where there is a great deal of love, friendship, and caring. I would go through all the hardships again and face even more. I thank Heavenly Father so very much for bringing me into the true Church.

The members of our ward in the Grand Junction Colorado Stake were taught the true meaning of service as we witnessed a new deacon pass the sacrament for the first time. I never thought I would be a witness to such a humbling event that had most of the members shedding a tear or two.
Brother Braden Anderson bowed his head during the sacrament prayer then looked up to get ready to pass the bread to his section of the ward. He was helped by Brother Renner as he reached to take the tray of bread. You see, Braden Anderson has cerebral palsy, which makes it difficult for him to move, talk, or reach for a tray.
As I saw a big smile cross his face, I looked immediately to our good bishop, Braden’s father. I saw the face of Bishop Anderson turn from anxiety to gratitude that his son could fulfill his duties as a new deacon.
I heard some members whisper to each other, “Look at Braden. He’s smiling, wow! He’s fulfilling his duties.” I saw some other members take off their glasses to wipe away the tears caused by understanding the important lesson that unfolded before our eyes.
For me, Braden’s strength lifted me up so much that there was not room for tears—just the excitement of knowing that he was doing something others would have deemed impossible. Though he had help from Brother Renner, it was Braden who was doing his duties as a deacon.

Jaymee was bored. There was nothing to do … nothing fun, anyway. She looked at her coloring book and crayons.
“I’m tired of coloring,” she thought.
Jaymee looked at her dolls with their colorful dresses, shoes, and purses.
“I’m tired of playing with my dolls,” she thought.
She looked at the books and magazines on her shelf.
“I’m tired of reading,” she thought.
Jaymee walked into the family room and looked at the television.
“I’m tired of movies and TV shows,” she thought.
Jaymee wandered around the house and found her mother in the kitchen washing dishes.
“Mom, I’m bored,” she said. “What can I do?”
“I can’t think of anything for you to do right now, Jaymee,” Mom said, squeezing a sponge into the hot, soapy water.
Jaymee found her brother Matthew in his bedroom. Toys, books, and clothes were scattered on the floor.
“Do you want to play, Matthew?” she asked.
“I have to clean my room right now,” he said. He picked up a truck and dropped it in the toy box.
Jaymee went outside. Mrs. Johnson was weeding her garden. She wiped her brow with a small towel, bent down, and pulled another weed. Jaymee didn’t even ask Mrs. Johnson if she wanted to play.
No, there was nothing to do. Nothing at all.
Jaymee sat down on the front porch. She started to think about what her Primary teacher had taught them. Jesus Christ had helped people, and He talked about how important it was to be a good neighbor. Jaymee smiled. She wanted to be like Jesus. She got up and hurried back into the house.
“Mom, can I help you?” she asked.
“Yes, Jaymee.” Mom handed Jaymee a dishcloth. “It would be a big help if you dried the dishes.”
When the dishes were done, Jaymee went to Matthew’s room.
“Matthew, can I help you clean your room?” she asked.
He looked surprised and said, “Yes.”
She picked up clothes, blocks, trucks, and books. At last they were done.
“Thanks, Jaymee,” Matthew said.
Jaymee went outside and saw Mrs. Johnson still weeding the garden. Jaymee went back into the house, poured a glass of cold lemonade, and took it to Mrs. Johnson.
“What a thoughtful thing to do,” Mrs. Johnson said. “Weeding makes me so hot and thirsty.” She finished the lemonade. “You are such a wonderful neighbor, Jaymee,” she said.
Jaymee smiled, and then they finished weeding the garden together.

For some reason, I vividly remember Christmas that year. Maybe it was because we had just moved to sunny St. George, Utah, or because Grandma, Grandpa, and Granny had come down to visit. Perhaps it was memorable because Jenny was visiting from BYU, or because Emily was still living at home. But I think the main reason I remember that Christmas was the unexpected gift I gave Granny—a gift I had originally intended for my family.
All year I had cross-stitched the red letters “Families Are Forever,” and just days before had finished the stick people lined in a row at the bottom of the pattern. It was a simple sampler—the kind with lines to sew over and big X’s. But I had worked on it diligently and finally had it ready for my family to open on Christmas morning. However, I wasn’t quite prepared for what happened.
Noah played Santa Claus and handed out brightly wrapped boxes with somewhat smashed bows on top. Granny didn’t have as many packages as the rest of us, so Noah handed her the family gift I had made to open. Before any of us realized what was happening, Granny began praising my work and thanking me for this keepsake. Seeing the love and excitement in her eyes, I didn’t have the heart to tell her it wasn’t hers.
I didn’t know then the happy feelings I’d later feel as I walked by its prominent place on her wall. Nor did I know that when Granny went to live in a rest home, my sampler would be one of the few possessions to go with her. I couldn’t foresee the numerous times she’d glance at it, reminded of its eternal perspective.
Time has wound down and it’s only a matter of days until Granny doesn’t wake up to the life we know. I was with her recently, and found it hard to hold back the tears as I glanced around the room to behold her keepsakes: family photos, birthday cards, and a sampler in a faded frame hanging by the door. Granny was curled in a ball softly breathing as she slept, perhaps dreaming of the heaven she’d soon know. As I rose to leave, I gently placed my hand on her shoulder, communicating the love I felt inside. I walked away, glancing over my shoulder to say good-bye.
Families are forever. I didn’t plan to give Granny my gift that year, but I wouldn’t for the world change the fact that she got it. Someday that simple, homemade sampler will have a special place on my wall, reminding me of Granny’s love, of the life she lived, and of the day we’ll meet again.

For example, when Kenneth Miklya was converted to the gospel, the priests quorum in the St. Paul Minnesota First Ward took care of all the baptismal arrangements, under the bishop’s direction. One seventeen-year-old priest conducted the service, another presented an appropriate spiritual message, and a third baptized him. During the following months Ken received the Aaronic Priesthood and was ordained a deacon, a teacher, and a priest—all by his fellow priests quorum members. “It was a meaningful experience for all the young men involved,” says Thomas A. Holt of the St. Paul Minnesota Stake. “The priesthood became a reality to them. Most of these young men are currently serving missions.”

Our little blue Volkswagen rolled down the country road, carrying us farther and farther away from the home we had grown to love so much during the past five years. Mom was driving the car that contained my two younger sisters and me, and Dad was ahead in a borrowed truck that was loaded high with beds and tables; our old upright piano; and boxes of dishes, dresses, and collected memories. Leaving our little town of Potlatch, Idaho (population 880), for the big city of Lewiston, Idaho (population 26,000), was traumatic. I was 12 years old, and I knew that the sidewalks, drive-ins, and paper mill of this strange new place I was moving to could never replace the fresh country air and close friendships I was leaving behind. I was sure the best part of life was over, and I tried to resign myself to my fate.

After we were settled in our new little home, I spent most of the hot summer days lying on my bed listening to records, reading, and writing letters to my friends. Yet, as August drew to a close, I began to get more excited about attending this big junior high school that had almost as many people as the whole town of Potlatch.

With a new dress and a nervous smile, I entered the building that September and went to first period English. I took a seat near the front of the room and was delighted when the girl in front of me turned around and introduced herself.

As the days continued, I found that, miracle of miracles, the students here were really not so different from my other friends. They also liked the Monkees, hamburgers with mustard, and football games. They also weren’t too excited about math tests, cold weather, or the rival junior high school. I began to feel a part of things and even quit plotting to return to Potlatch for my senior year. I played the clarinet in the school band and quickly found that being in that organization offered me the security of belonging to a group. I didn’t know then that there was an even greater group that was soon to enter my life.

Although I was a member of the Church, when we lived in Potlatch I had usually attended a Protestant church located just behind my house. (There was at that time no branch in Potlatch, and our family seldom traveled the half-hour distance to the nearest ward.) When we moved to Lewiston, however, we began attending Sunday School at the LDS church. It was large, and the people seemed quite friendly—I couldn’t believe how welcome they made me feel! I became good friends with a girl named Teresa, and one day she invited me to come to Mutual. I had no idea what that was, and even after she explained it to me, I figured it must be something like 4-H. What a surprise to find that both boys and girls attended and that we had interesting classes and fun activities! I became involved in Church activities and hardly ever missed Mutual. Mutual was the place where I felt the greatest warmth and acceptance. I didn’t have a testimony of the Church at that time, and the reason I attended was because of the love and friendship extended to me by my friends and leaders. I could feel a warmth there that influenced my life in a very positive manner.

Today when I hear the names of inactive boys or girls, I try to remember that each of them is a potential active member. I am grateful to Teresa, a wonderful friend who kept inviting me to Mutual until I came, and for those open-hearted people in my ward who loved me into activity. I am grateful they did not say, “Oh, well, another inactive girl. I wonder what her problem is?” I’m glad that instead, they thought, “I wonder what her strengths are? We need her.”

Mutual gave me so much—firesides, girls’ camp, slumber parties, eternal friends. And perhaps most important, it gave me the beginnings of a testimony of the gospel and the understanding of what a tremendous influence Mutual can be in the lives of young men and women. For many years I was one of the many inactive little girls throughout the Church; how grateful I am that I wasn’t allowed to remain one forever! I wonder how many inactive members are waiting for us to invite them back into the Church? President Harold B. Lee once said, “What you have to give just may be enough.” From personal experience I know that sometimes that doesn’t have to be very much at all.

Many of the early Saints “experienced this mighty change in [their] hearts.” It awakened them to receive temple blessings that strengthened them in their duties. Early Saints in Nauvoo went “to the temple all day and long into the night” to receive ordinances and make covenants before they began their journey westward.
Sarah Rich, a Relief Society sister in Nauvoo, said this: “Many were the blessings we had received in the house of the Lord, which has caused us joy and comfort in the midst of all our sorrows and enabled us to have faith in God, knowing He would guide us and sustain us in the unknown journey that lay before us.”
With hearts changed through faith in the Savior, they relied on the power of His Atonement. They were awakened to act. They knew deep in their hearts that there was one—the Savior—who understood their personal adversity because He suffered it for them in the Garden of Gethsemane and on the cross. He felt their fear, their doubt, their pain, and their loneliness. He suffered their sorrows, their persecution, their hunger, their fatigue, and their loss. And because He suffered all these things, He could say to them, “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”
And they came. They trusted in and followed the prophet. They knew the journey would be long, their duty difficult. They knew that sacrifice would be required, but sustained by their faith and cleaving to their covenants, they were spiritually prepared.
Before leaving Nauvoo, a group of Saints wrote a message in the assembly hall in the temple they were forced to abandon. It read, “The Lord has beheld our sacrifice: come after us.”
Recently I participated in a pioneer trek with young men and young women in our ward. Each morning I asked myself, “What is my sacrifice? How do I come after them?”
On the second day of the trek we had pulled our handcarts eight miles (13 km) when we came to a place on the trail called “the women’s pull.” Men and women were separated, and the men were sent ahead up a hill. As we started to pull our handcarts, I looked up to see our priesthood brethren, young and old, lining both sides of the trail, hats off in respect for the women.
The path was easy at first, but soon we were in deep sand, and the hill grew steep. I had my head down and was pushing with all my might when I felt a tug on the cart and looked up to see Lexi, one of our young women and my neighbor. She had pulled her handcart to the top and, seeing our need for help, ran back. When we reached the top, I wanted so much to run back to help those following me, but I was breathing heavily and my heart was pounding so hard, the words heart attack entered my mind more than once! I watched with gratitude as other young women dropped their handcarts and ran to help.
When everyone reached the top, we took some time to record feelings in our journals. I wrote: “I didn’t prepare well enough physically so didn’t have the strength to help those following me. I may never need to pull a handcart again, but I never want to let my sisters down spiritually, never!”
It was a sacred experience that awakened me spiritually to my duties to my family and others. Throughout our journey I reflected on what I had learned.
First I thought about my sisters, those who had pulled and those who continue today to pull their handcarts alone. Nearly 20 percent of the women in those early handcart companies were alone for at least part of the way. These were women who had not married, were divorced, or were widowed. Many were single mothers. They all pulled together—covenant daughters, young and old, in different life circumstances, on the same path, with the same goal.
Those who ran to help their sisters in need reminded me of rescuers, both seen and unseen, who are quick to observe, see a need, and act.
I thought of the Lord’s words: “I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up.”
Lining both sides of the trail were faithful, obedient, covenant-keeping men. Their priesthood power—the power God uses to bless all His children—lifted, strengthened, and supported us. They were a reminder that we are never alone. We can have this power with us always as we keep our covenants.
I thought of the men who were separated on the journey from families, leaving them to pull the handcart alone. Many men died on the journey. Some sons stayed behind to serve missions in their native lands. Others had emigrated earlier to prepare for their families’ arrival in the Salt Lake Valley. Some men were absent by choice, having chosen not to keep their covenants.
Like those who went before, many today live in circumstances that are not ideal. We continue to teach and strive for the ideal because we know that continually striving will keep us progressing along the path and prepare us for opportunities to receive all promised blessings as we “wait upon the Lord.”
Each of us has had and will continue to have adversity in our lives. This mortal life is a time of testing, and we will continue to have opportunities to use our agency to choose what we will learn from the adversity that will surely come.
As daughters of God, we continue on the path in faith because we recognize, as President Thomas S. Monson taught, “The saving ordinances received in the temple that permit us to someday return to our Heavenly Father in an eternal family relationship and to be endowed with blessings and power from on high are worth every sacrifice and every effort.”
It isn’t enough to just be on the journey; we must be awake to our duty and continue with faith as we draw upon the comforting, strengthening, enabling, and healing power of the Atonement.
Sisters, I love you. I don’t know many of you personally, but I do know who you are! We are covenant-keeping daughters in His kingdom, and endowed with power through our covenants, we are prepared to do our duty.
Relief Society prepares women for the blessings of eternal life by awakening us spiritually to increase in faith and personal righteousness. Let us begin with ourselves. Let us begin where we are. Let us begin today. When we are spiritually awake, we will be better able to strengthen families and homes and help others.
This is a work of salvation, and the strengthening and enabling power of the Atonement makes it possible. Awaken to who we are. Awaken to our duty. We are daughters of our Heavenly Father, who loves us. Of this I testify in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

A man who grew up in the Church, served as a full-time missionary, and married a lovely woman was surprised when some of his siblings began speaking critically of the Church and the Prophet Joseph Smith. After a time they left the Church and tried to persuade him to follow. As often happens in such cases, they bombarded him with essays, podcasts, and videos produced by critics, most of whom were themselves disaffected former members of the Church. His siblings mocked his faith, telling him he was gullible and misled. He didn’t have answers for all their assertions, and his faith began to waver under the relentless opposition. He wondered if he should stop attending church. He talked with his wife. He talked with people he trusted. He prayed. As he meditated in this troubled state of mind, he recalled occasions when he had felt the Holy Spirit and had received a witness of truth by the Spirit. He concluded, “If I am honest with myself, I must admit that the Spirit has touched me more than once and the testimony of the Spirit is real.” He has a renewed sense of happiness and peace that is shared by his wife and children.

President Thomas S. Monson told a story about a man from the eastern United States who was traveling by bus to California. In Salt Lake City a Primary girl got on the bus and sat next to the man. They started talking, and he asked if she was a Mormon. She answered yes. He asked her what Mormons believe. It was a big question for such a young girl. What would you have said? Imagine the look on the man’s face as she recited and explained the Articles of Faith. He couldn’t believe it!

After she got off the bus, the man thought about her courage and knowledge. As soon as he arrived in California, he called the local mission president and asked questions about the Church. The missionaries came to see him, and later the man’s entire family was baptized—all because a Primary girl knew the Articles of Faith and had the courage to share them (see Ensign, April 1994, pages 67–68).

A woman was converted up in Idaho. She comes down to see me often. She calls me after nearly every conference. She is a nurse. She gave me a check for $500 for the children’s hospital because, at the death of her husband, one of our Saints stepped in to tell her what she might expect in the future if she just knew the truth. I got a letter from her recently. She said she had found more love in this church than she had ever known in her life—even from her own mother.

Every summer Davey and his family drove to Huckleberry Hill Campground in their camper. Tim’s family went at the same time, and the boys had become good friends.
They fished and swam in the lake, picked wild huckleberries on the hill, and sometimes went to the little grocery store near the campground. They liked going to the grocery store. It had a candy case with a great many kinds of candy. They would look through the glass at pink and yellow marshmallow chicks, bananas with creamy filling, and wax bottles of cherry juice. A little bell suspended over the screen door jingled whenever it was opened.
One day as Davey went up the road to the store, he kept touching the dollar bill in his pants pocket. His mother had said, “Davey, take this money and buy two pounds of potatoes. You may have ten cents for candy, and bring back the change.”
Why did she tell me to bring back the change? he wondered. I always bring it back.
When Davey passed Tim’s camper, he called, “Tim! Want to go to the store? I have ten cents for candy!”
Tim bounded out of the camper. “Sure,” he said.
At the store Davey and Tim opened the door and smiled as the bell jingled. No one was in the store and they raced to the candy case. “Boy! I want one of those big jawbreakers,” Tim declared.
“I want a red licorice whip. Wonder where Mrs. Beady is.”
They looked toward the curtained doorway at the back of the store, which Mrs. Beady always came through when the bell jingled.
On the counter, Davey saw a huckleberry pie covered with plastic wrap. A knife lay beside it. “Wowie!” he cried hungrily. “I like huckleberry pie better than anything.”
“Not me,” Tim said. “I like huckleberries best when you eat them right off the bush.”
“I like huckleberries any way, but pie is best—even better than candy.”
Tim grinned. “I dare you to take a piece.”
“That’s stealing!”
“Double dare you!”
The pie looked so good that it made the juices in Davey’s mouth run. Oh, how he wanted a taste of that pie!
Tim said, “I don’t think Mrs. Beady is here. All you have to do is lift a corner of the plastic and take a piece.”
Maybe just one teeny slice, Davey decided. No one will know. I’ll do it! Davey had the pie about an inch from his mouth when the boys heard a rustling sound behind the curtain. He stuffed the pie into his pants pocket.
Tall, thin Mrs. Beady came through the curtain. She looked down her long nose at them. Davey wondered if she ever smiled.
“Well?” she questioned.
“T-two pounds of p-potatoes,” Davey stammered.
Picking up a bag, Mrs. Beady went over to the potato bin. She weighed the potatoes and said, “That’ll be thirty-four cents.”
Behind her, Davey wiped his sticky huckleberry fingers on the back of his T-shirt. Then he remembered that the dollar was under the pie in his pocket.
“I forgot the money,” he lied.
“Tut, tut, tut,” Mrs. Beady clicked her tongue against her teeth. “You boys from the campground?”
They both nodded and murmured, “Yes’m.”
“Then you don’t have far to go for the money.” She put the bag of potatoes under the counter.
“Yes’m. I mean no’m,” said Davey. He tried to get in front of Tim so Mrs. Beady wouldn’t see the huckleberry on the back of his shirt. They fell over each other going out the door.
“Why did you dare me to take that pie?”
“Well, I didn’t make you take it. Aren’t you going to eat it now you have it?”
Davey pulled the gooey mess from his pocket. “Right now I hate huckleberry pie,” he said. “Wonder how much a piece of pie costs.”
“A quarter. But you didn’t take a big piece. Bet Mrs. Beady doesn’t even know you took it.”
Davey said sadly, “I know I took it. And I only have the ten cents we didn’t spend for candy. Do you have any money?”
“Nope. Say, the front of your pants are beginning to turn kind of purple.” Tim pointed to the large spot soaking through Davey’s pocket.
“Wowie! My new pants! My mom’s going to be really upset.”
“Maybe she can dye your pants purple. My sis got huckleberries on a dress once and my mom dyed it purple.”
Tim’s suggestion didn’t make Davey feel a bit better.
When they reached his camper, Tim said, “Mom wants me to pick huckleberries for supper. Want to come?”
“I’m sick of huckleberries. I’ll never—” Then Davey had an idea. “Sure. I’ll get a pail. See you on the hill.” And off he ran to his camper for his mother’s largest pail.
On his way to the hill, Davey pulled out the dollar. George Washington had turned purple! Holding the bill under a campground spigot, he washed out most of the huckleberry juice. He shook it and tried to blow it dry.
Halfway up the hill, Davey could see Tim popping berries into his mouth. Not one huckleberry will I eat, Davey promised himself. I’ll bet I can pick at least half a pailful before Mom calls me home.
While he picked, Davey thought how dumb he’d been to take Tim’s dare. But I shouldn’t blame Tim, he decided. I knew better than to steal. He remembered something he had read aloud just last week in Primary, something about not stealing or lying. He felt awful. And now I’ve stolen and lied to Mrs. Beady, he worried.
Tim shouted, “The berries are thicker over here!”
But Davey wanted to pick by himself. He had to gather a lot of berries to half fill the pail, and the sun had almost dropped into the lake.
In a short time, Davey’s arms were purple and scratched from the berry bushes. And his blue pants were now huckleberry-spotted all over.
“Davey! Da-a-vey!” his mother called.
“Oh-oh,” Davey muttered. “She’ll be wanting her potatoes. I’ll have to quit. Anyway, the pail’s over half-full.” He struggled down the hill with his heavy load until he reached the road. Then he lugged the pail to the grocery store.
Mrs. Beady was still there. “Time you came back after those potatoes,” she chided.
Davey showed her the pail of huckleberries. “I picked them for you,” he said.
Mrs. Beady smiled.
Davey put the damp dollar on the counter. “Will the berries and ten cents pay for the piece of pie I took?” he asked.
She smiled again and nodded. “It wasn’t a full-size piece. You must have worked real hard picking all those berries. Just look at you! I do thank you, young man.”
“Thank you,” said Davey.
He scooped up the bag of potatoes and dashed out the door, pausing to give it an extra jingle. He felt a wonderful sense of relief as he sped back to the camper. I’ll never, ever take a dare like that again, he promised himself. then the next thought made him smile: What if I really do have to wear purple pants!

Oh, sisters, we love you. While visiting Mexico recently, I had a glimpse of the sisterhood we are all feeling tonight. Imagine this scene: We had just finished Primary on Sunday morning, and the children, teachers, and I were spilling out into the crowded hallway. Just then the door to the Young Women class opened, and I saw the young women and their leaders. We all reached out for a hug. With the children holding onto my skirt and the women close around me, I wanted to express the feelings I felt at that very moment.
I do not speak Spanish, so only English words came into my mind. I looked into all of their faces and said, “We are daughters of our Heavenly Father, who loves us, and we love Him.” Everyone immediately joined in, in Spanish. There we were in a crowded hallway, reciting together the Young Women theme as we said, “We will stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places.”

Mom, we’ve been thinking about our Australian cousins, Max and Mindy. You said their mom is your second cousin.
What does that mean?
Miranda and I have the same great-grandparents. If we’d had the same grandparents, we’d be first cousins.
I’m getting a little confused.
Well, let’s look up our family tree on FamilySearch.org. That’ll make it easier.
At least you can’t fall out of this tree and break your arm.
So that’s how we’re related to Max and Mindy!
Meanwhile, on the other side of the world …
Mum, we’ve been wondering—
—how we’re related to our cousins Matt and Mandy …
When you start learning about family history, interesting things can happen!
At least you can’t fall out of this tree and break your arm.

The heroic accounts of what these pioneer women sacrificed and accomplished as they crossed the plains are a priceless legacy to the Church. I am moved by the account of Elizabeth Jackson, whose husband, Aaron, died after the last crossing of the Platte River with the Martin handcart company. She wrote:

“I will not attempt to describe my feelings at finding myself thus left a widow with three children, under such excruciating circumstances. … I believe … that my sufferings for the Gospel’s sake will be sanctified unto me for my good. …

“I [appealed] to the Lord, … He who had promised to be a husband to the widow, and a father to the fatherless. I appealed to him and he came to my aid.”

Elizabeth said she was writing the history on behalf of those who passed through like scenes, with the hope that posterity would be willing to suffer and sacrifice all things for the kingdom of God.

Ajan smiled big when he heard a knock on the door. Madda (Mom) had invited their ministering brother to help with a special home evening.
He opened the door. “Wah gwaan, Brother Williams!” (“What’s up?”)
“Everyting is irie!” Brother Williams said. (“Everything is alright!”) He handed Ajan a bag of mangos from his tree.
Brother Williams sat down on the couch. Madda asked Ajan’s little sister, Dana, to say a prayer.
After she finished, Brother Williams said, “This year, Ajan will be turning 12. Does anyone know why this is a special year for him?”
Ajan’s little brother, Tejaun, wiggled excitedly. “Because he can get the priesthood and pass the sacrament!”
“That’s right!’ Brother Williams said. “But there’s another reason too.”
He opened his wallet and pulled out a small piece of paper. “This is a temple recommend.”
He handed it to Ajan.
“Cool!” Ajan ran his fingers over the gold temple on the card. “What do you do with it?”
“I show it to the person sitting at the front desk at the temple. It shows them that I’m worthy to go inside.”
“I wanna see!” Dana grabbed it from Ajan and studied it closely.
“How do you think you’d feel if you had a recommend of your own?” Brother Williams asked.
“I’d feel special!” Ajan looked up from the card. “But I don’t know if I can go to the temple. It costs a lot to buy a plane ticket to go there.”
“I can’t go to the temple very often either,” Brother Williams said. “But my recommend reminds me to always be ready to go inside.”
Ajan thought for a minute. “I want to be ready too,” he said. “How can I get a recommend?”
“You meet with the bishop,” Brother Williams said. “He will ask you some questions to see if you are ready.”
“So it’s like a test?” Ajan asked, a little nervously.
“It’s more like a conversation,” Brother Williams said. “The bishop is your friend, and he wants to help you be ready.”
Ajan nodded. He liked the bishop.
“Would you like to see the questions?” Brother Williams handed Ajan a piece of paper with some questions on it. Dana and Tejaun huddled around him to see too.
“Number one,” Ajan read. “‘Do you have faith in and a testimony of God, the Eternal Father; His Son, Jesus Christ; and the Holy Ghost?’”
He brightened. That was easy. “Yes!”
He kept reading the questions, one by one. Madda and Brother Williams explained what a few things meant.
Then Ajan read another question: “‘Do you understand and obey the Word of Wisdom?’” He frowned. “Once D’andre gave me some rum punch when I was at his house,” he said. “But I don’t ever want to drink it again. Does that mean I can’t have a temple recommend?”
“Keeping the Word of Wisdom means not drinking alcohol, and rum punch has alcohol in it,” Brother Williams said. “But you can always repent and be worthy to go to the temple.”
“Because of Jesus!” said Tejaun.
“Exactly!” Brother Williams said. “Then your temple recommend can remind you to keep obeying the Word of Wisdom. And to always be ready to go to the temple.”
Ajan grinned. He felt much better.
“Maybe I’ll get to go to the temple sometime soon,” Ajan said. “And when I do, I’ll be ready!”
This story took place in Jamaica.

When I got back from my mission, I met a beautiful lady named Sandra Joelene Lyon at stake conference. We both attended Idaho State University in Pocatello but lived in Blackfoot. The best part about commuting was that Sandra and I carpooled in the same group. I could tell she was one of God’s precious daughters, and I knew she was the right one for me to marry. One day I sat next to her in the car and said, “You know, you really ought to write your missionary a ‘Dear John’ letter because you know you’re going to marry me anyway.” It wasn’t quite that simple, but after a couple of years we were married.
We got engaged in December, which makes Christmas especially meaningful. Being married for eternity is the greatest gift we could have given each other. My wife is a wonderful blessing as she provides gifts of love to me, our children, their spouses, and our grandchildren. Her love does much to keep our family united.

While on a flight to Peru a few years ago, I was seated next to a self-proclaimed atheist. He asked me why I believe in God. In the delightful conversation that ensued, I told him that I believed in God because Joseph Smith saw Him—and then I added that my knowledge of God also came from personal, real spiritual experience. I shared my belief that “all things denote there is a God” and asked him how he believed the earth—this oasis of life in the vacuum of space—came into existence. He replied that, in his words, “the accident” could have happened over eons of time. When I explained how highly improbable it would be for an “accident” to produce such beauty and order, he was quiet for a time and then good-naturedly said, “You got me.” I asked if he would read the Book of Mormon. He said he would, so I sent him a copy.
Now, I do not know whether my atheist friend ever read the Book of Mormon or joined the Church. My second friend did. For both of them, my responsibility—my opportunity—was the same: hold up the gospel light—to love, share, and invite each of them in a normal, natural way.