Gospel Story Finder

The Develis’ moved from Brazil to New Zealand in 2018, a year after they married. Andressa’s English was limited to a few phrases like “good morning” and “thank you.” Fortunately, Andre had more exposure to English due to his mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, helping them settle in their new environment.
Andressa said, “I was raised by my grandparents in a small town in Brazil, and we were really poor. Public universities are reserved for the best students, and I was just an average student, so I didn’t get that opportunity.”
She found an affordable nursing course but wasn’t interested in it—she just wanted to further her education. After graduating, Andressa and Andre decided to move to New Zealand for greater opportunities.
Upon arriving, Andressa looked for ways to improve her English. She attended language classes and worked for several families tending their children, which helped her English progress significantly. “Language immersion is key!” she said.
Yearning for more professional growth, Andressa was accepted into the BYU-Pathway program in 2020, where she completed her general proficiencies in English and mathematics before earning a teaching English as a foreign language certification under the professional studies degree, which opened many opportunities for her.
“That’s what I love about BYU-Pathway. It’s a pathway to marketable skills,” she said. “It’s a flexible pathway to a bachelor’s degree, and you can work and achieve certificates along the way.”
After completing her certificate, Andressa took online courses in communications through Ensign College and completed a certificate in social media marketing. She knew she was on the right pathway when she helped with the social media efforts for Auckland’s Light the World giving machine in December 2023.
“Social media can be quite a challenging space, but I think it can be used in positive ways,” she said. “That experience helped me see how I could make a positive difference in others’ lives.”
“BYU-Pathway has blessed me with a constant drive to seek better opportunities,” Andressa said. “That’s a lesson I will carry with me the rest of my life.”

I was in the ninth grade. A year in which it seemed I was halfway to nowhere. Confidence was not part of my nature. My actions were largely controlled by my feelings of inferiority. Perhaps it was the low light of self-doubt that made the following experience such a bright and guiding star.
Third hour I sat near the back of the classroom. My feet extended as far forward as I could stretch them. By sitting in this manner I was scarcely visible from where the teacher sat at her desk in the front.
Friday was the day for current events. When the roll was called, each student had two choices—he could either answer “Prepared” or “Unprepared.” If his response was “Prepared,” he had to give a talk. If his response was “Unprepared,” he didn’t have to do anything. I quickly grasped the idea that the word unprepared was the word that would get me off the hook.
As the weeks went by, each time my name was called I responded almost with dignity, “Unprepared.” My friends also mastered this word. We all, as a group, made it easier for each of us as individuals.
Once as I was visiting with the teacher, I noticed my name in the performance roll book, and behind my name was a long series of negative signs. This worried me but not enough to make me stand up in front of my friends and give a talk. Speaking to a group seemed like the most frightening of all things.
A girl that I liked very much sat in front of me. I liked her so much that on the way to school I would think of clever things to say to her, but when in her presence, my mind would go blank and I would become almost tongue-tied.
One day when the teacher called the roll and got to my name, I replied, “Unprepared.” It was then that this girl did me a great favor. She turned around, looked back at me, and said, “Why don’t you get prepared?” I was not able to listen to any of the reports that day. I kept thinking of all sorts of wonderful things like, “What does she care, unless she cares.”
I went home, found an article in the newspaper, and read it time and again until I had finally committed it to memory. I cut the article out, folded it, placed it in my wallet, and carried it with me all week.
The next Friday I was there in my usual seat in the back. The teacher started to call the roll without looking up. Finally she got to my name; she said, “George.” And very quietly I gave a great speech—I said, “Prepared.” She stopped calling the roll and looked up at me. I poked my head up as far as I could and nodded. The girl turned around and smiled. My friends looked over at me like, “Traitor.” Then I sat waiting my turn, saying to myself, “What have I done?” I was scared. Then I made a magnificent discovery. It was all right to be afraid if I didn’t let it stop me from doing what I should.
My turn came. I went to the front and started to speak. I remembered every word, and after the last word had crossed my lips, I stood there for just a second, and a priceless thought passed my mind and found its way to my heart. I said to myself, “I like you.”
I returned to my seat and sat down. I didn’t hear any of the reports, but as my heart pounded within me, I kept feeling over and over again, “This is the only way to live.”
I have since learned that the word unprepared really does take you off the hook and lead you away from pressure. By learning to say that word you really don’t have to do anything, but you never know the joy of doing something that causes you to say to yourself, “I like myself.”

The story is told of a group of men who were talking about people who had influenced their lives and for whom they were grateful. One man thought of a high school teacher who had introduced him to Tennyson. He decided to write and thank her. In time, written in a feeble scrawl, came the teacher’s reply:
“My Dear Willie:
“I can’t tell you how much your note meant to me. I am in my 80s, living alone in a small room, cooking my own meals, lonely and like the last leaf lingering behind. You will be interested to know that I taught school for 50 years, and yours is the first note of appreciation I have ever received. It came on a blue, cold morning, and it cheered me as nothing has for years.”

While on a business flight several years ago, I found myself seated next to a man from the Netherlands. I was eager to visit with him since I had served in Belgium and the Netherlands as a young missionary.
As we became acquainted, he gave me his business card with the unique job title of “professor of happiness.” I commented on his amazing profession and asked him what a professor of happiness did. He said he taught people how to have a happy life by establishing meaningful relationships and goals. I replied, “That’s wonderful, but what if you could also teach how those relationships can continue beyond the grave and answer other questions of the soul, such as what is the purpose of life, how can we overcome our weaknesses, and where do we go after we die?” He admitted that it would be amazing if we had the answers to those questions, and I was pleased to share with him that we do.

A Sunbeam teacher wrapped each of her class members one by one in a blanket to teach them how the Spirit feels like the comfort and security of that covering. A visiting mother also heard the lesson.

Many months later the mother thanked the teacher. She told how she had been less active when she accompanied her young daughter to Primary. Several weeks after the lesson, the mother suffered a miscarriage. She was overcome with grief when suddenly she felt a great warmth and peace. It felt like someone had covered her with a warm blanket. She recognized the reassurance of the Spirit and knew that Heavenly Father was aware of her and that He loved her.

Daniel ran into his house. He was sad.
“What’s wrong, Daniel?” Mom asked.
“Jake was being mean to kids at recess. I told him to stop,” Daniel said. “He got mad. He called me a name. He said he does not want to be my friend.”
“I’m sorry,” Mom said. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”
Mom and Daniel walked to Mom and Dad’s room.
Mom took a jar of pennies from the shelf. She poured the pennies onto the bed.
Clank! Clank! Clank!
“Pick a penny, Daniel,” Mom said. “You can keep it.”
Daniel picked a very shiny penny.
“Why did you pick that penny?” Mom asked.
“I like that it is shiny,” Daniel said.
“Friends are like pennies,” Mom said. “We should choose friends who make us feel good.”
That night when Daniel went to bed, he prayed to find a friend who would help him choose the right so he could feel good.
Daniel remembered a boy who liked to play basketball at recess. Daniel liked to play basketball too! Maybe they could be friends.
Daniel was happy the next day when he got out of bed.
“How do you feel today?” Mom asked.
“Great!” Daniel said. “I’m going to make a shiny-penny friend!”
At school Daniel played basketball with the boy. He was nice. They had a fun time. Daniel was happy to have a shiny-penny friend.

I really liked your June 1997 Question and Answer about music. A month before I read that, I bought a CD that I didn’t know had some bad songs on it. My mom read through the lyrics and told me I shouldn’t listen. I then told my mom I couldn’t even hear the words. So I listened to it anyway and actually felt pretty bad. Even though I had heard the song before, I had never felt so bad listening to it.
Name WithheldSt. George, Utah

At an age when many kids are trying to establish their personal independence and want to avoid their parents as much as possible, it’s a little unusual to see that Treasure and Mindy’s parents are their best friends.
“They say we can tell them anything, and no matter what we do, they’ll still love us, even if they don’t love what we did,” says Treasure.
“And I believe that,” says Mindy. “They’ve proven it.” One time Mindy was out with a group of friends who were doing a little mischief in people’s yards. Mindy wasn’t actually involved, but a few hours later a state trooper pulled into their driveway and collected Mindy to go help them clean up.
“My parents told me I shouldn’t have been with those kids, and they were right,” says Mindy. “I got punished, but they hugged me first and told me they loved me. It’s always been like that.”

Some years ago an interesting account appeared in a New Zealand newspaper about a family—a man, woman, and their two young children—and their ocean voyage.
In a well-stocked 35-foot sloop they departed on an extended trip. After a few days out, their boat struck a reef off New Caledonia. The four occupants managed to get into a life raft with some water, food, and a radio before the yacht was lost. After some anxious hours, their radio distress signal was picked up in New Caledonia, and before long, they were reached by an air/sea rescue helicopter.
When the four family members were safely ashore and being interviewed by reporters, the woman kept repeating, “We’ve lost everything! We’ve lost everything! Everything we had was in that sailboat. All of our money, our clothes, and our possessions are gone. And the yacht was not insured. We’ve lost everything!”
As Earl Nightingale, a well-known philosopher, reported this story, he went on to comment on the lack of proper preparation of which this family was guilty. Reefs in the South Pacific are well charted. Insurance is always available and learning skills of sailing should be part of training processes before venturing out into open seas.

The would-be football player stood five feet one. Seen among the padded knights of the gridiron, the slender freshman looked like the answer to a “what’s wrong with this picture” puzzle. But when Dene Garner’s father Norman had taken his infant son in his arms 15 years earlier in Dewsbury, Yorkshire, England, he had blessed the child that he would always “walk tall,” and now Dene stood straight and strong. If there were only 105 pounds (including pads) on his whipcord frame, there was thunder in his left foot, and he knew it. He had often seen it launch soccer balls screaming into the net. Now he was here to prove that it could send a football arching away like an artillery shell.

The coach only had to watch him kick a few to realize that there were game-winning points stored up in that foot, and he didn’t waste any time starting to mine them. Since that decisive day, Dene Garner, 17, has been the first-string placekicker for the Alta High Hawks in Sandy, Utah.

In a testimony meeting in Bari, Italy, you can imagine my surprise when a young man stood up and said, “If it hadn’t been for the missionaries, I wouldn’t be here today.” He then went on to tell how his mother and grandparents had been found in Paris, France, by Elders Ben Walton and James Paramore 30 years earlier. After many meetings, the family was baptized. Now this son was on a mission. I later learned that over the years more than 170 people had been baptized by that family. I had been privileged to serve a mission, and those two and a half years were crucial to my testimony. I cannot thank God enough.

When I was given the assignment to speak in the priesthood session of general conference, I immediately thought of a wonderful Primary teacher. Her great desire was to prepare us to be worthy of receiving the priesthood. She grilled us on the requirements then in place for graduation from Primary—memorize the names of the members of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and the Articles of Faith. She also made us a promise—if all of us could recite the thirteen Articles of Faith by memory, we could choose the place and go on an outing for our last class.
We decided on a special spot we liked to hike to on the rocky slopes just above the first dam at the entrance of Logan Canyon, in northern Utah. There was a small, flat space in these rocky cliffs that had a natural fireplace where you could cook hot dogs and roast marshmallows. When we chose the location, however, we did not consider our teacher, who was older and certainly not the athletic type. If we had thought about it more carefully, it might have occurred to us that she would have a difficult time making the hike. Her promise was her bond, however, and she gamely followed us.
First we climbed up the small hill. In our day there were no power lines to prevent access. With some help our teacher made it up the hill. Once over the top we dropped down into a rocky ridge to a place we called “Turtle Back.”
After we arrived, it took our teacher a little while to catch her breath. By the time we prepared to sit down and eat, she had recovered enough to teach us our final lesson. She told us how she had enjoyed teaching us in Primary for the last two years. She complimented us on how we had mastered the Articles of Faith. She could call out the number of any one of them, and we could quote it back to her. Then she said memorizing the Articles of Faith would mean nothing more than a lot of words unless we understood the doctrines and principles contained in them. She encouraged us to study the gospel doctrine taught in each of the Articles of Faith. She explained that the doctrine found in the Articles of Faith was divided into sections.
The power of our teacher’s words has been a source of inspiration to me because of the emphasis she placed on gospel study. The scriptures guide us to a standard of truth by which we can judge the knowledge we are receiving, whether it be true or false. True doctrine comes from God, the source and foundation of all truths. The teachings and concepts of true doctrine are found in the gospel of our Lord and Savior. False teachings come from Satan, the father of all lies. His desire is to pervert, change, and alter revealed truths. He wants to deceive us so some of us will lose our way along the journey back to our heavenly home.
My Primary teacher instilled in me a determination to study the doctrines of the kingdom. She taught me to seek the deep meaning contained in these simple Articles of Faith. She promised me that if I would invest in learning these sacred truths, the knowledge I acquired would change my life for the better, and I testify to you that it has.
After my teacher’s wonderful lesson on that mountain in Logan Canyon, we noticed that we had stayed a little longer than we had planned. The evening was drawing to a close, and we realized we had a problem.
My teacher had struggled to arrive at our special spot, but returning presented a major challenge for us. This only compounded the poor selection of a place for our outing. The climb back was difficult for us, but even more so for a person of her age.
As we struggled to help her back up the hill, two policemen appeared. The Primary president had sent them out to find us, fearing we were lost. The drama of the event and the lessons taught made it an unforgettable experience in my life.

Dear Brother Cooper,
My name is J. Jovita Pérez Acosta. I was baptized on 1 December 1965 in Tulancingo. I always thought I would very much like to thank you for bringing the gospel into my life.
When you taught me the gospel, I was 12 years old and was spending the summer in Tulancingo. I remember clearly the day I heard the history of Joseph Smith. I felt it was true, and that same night I knelt for the first time and prayed as you had taught me. On that occasion I learned how to talk with my Heavenly Father.
My mother was angry with my father because of my baptism, and they sent me to a Catholic boarding school. There were no members of the Church in all the area. I didn’t even have a Book of Mormon. But I continued to pray, and the seed you planted in my heart began to germinate.
One day while analyzing my religious situation, I felt that Heavenly Father was not pleased with me. I was confused. I told Him I wanted to belong to His Church. I asked that He help me be a good daughter to Him. A little while after this, I felt compelled to write to the [LDS] Church school in México City to ask to be enrolled there. I was accepted. It was then that my testimony began to form.
Seven years later my three younger sisters joined the Church, and they also went to live at the Church school. My mother had us attend her church during the summers; but even so, we read the scriptures, and we began to have family home evening. Ten years after my baptism, my mother and my youngest brother were baptized. A year later my father was baptized. We were the first member family in our town and in all the towns roundabout. The nearest meetinghouse was four hours away. My parents would travel every two weeks to go to Church services there.
During this period I became very ill and went to live for some months with my parents. We had family home evening every week. My mother would invite almost everyone around, and about 30 attended.
One day I called the mission home in México City to ask that missionaries be sent, and this was how the first branch was born in all that region. My father was the branch president, and my mother was the Relief Society president. Now there are many branches in the other towns, and they have been formed into two districts.
My youngest sister converted the man who is now her husband, and they both served missions. He is a bishop in Ciudad Juárez, and they have five children. Two of my nephews and a niece have also served missions. My oldest son returned last year from his mission, and my daughter is currently serving in Washington, D.C. My youngest son leaves next month to serve a mission in México.
In all, my parents have 26 grandchildren who are members of the Church. As you can see, one of the little seeds you planted many years ago has been transformed into a tree, and it is giving fruit and producing seeds for new trees. Isn’t it glorious? When my oldest son left for his mission, I told him that all he had to do was plant with love in the vineyard of the Lord. Perhaps he would never see the tree grow and produce fruit, but the Lord would.
The gospel has given me much happiness, and without it, I don’t know what my life would be. I know that Jesus Christ is my Redeemer and that His work will move forward, blessing the families of the earth.
Your sister in the faith,Jovita Pérez

Men of the priesthood, I remember a story about a schoolteacher who asked a returning class what their fathers had taught them about self-reliance during a summer vacation. After several accounts were told, she asked Johnny what his dad had done. And Johnny replied, “My dad taught me how to swim; he took me out in the middle of Utah Lake, threw me overboard, and told me to swim back to shore.” “Wow,” the teacher said, “that took a lot of courage.” And Johnny replied, “It wasn’t bad at all after I got out of the gunnysack.” Well, my young friends, life will be a challenge, but our Father in Heaven has given us the means to get through it safely. Let’s talk about that for a few minutes.

Rochelle moved to a modest duplex in an affluent area in the western United States after spending time in a homeless shelter. Divorced and caring for several children, she worked at two jobs, sometimes three, to be able to afford food and rent, and had been less active, off and on, since her conversion.
“Even though just about everyone in my new ward seemed better off than I was,” she explains, “they reached out to me and accepted the way I dress. Everyone really cared.”
Although under significant financial pressure, Rochelle never resented others for their easier circumstances. “I want to be more secure, definitely, but I never looked at my neighbors’ houses and felt that God had left me behind,” she recalls. “I could feel Him walking beside me even through my poor choices.”
Although Rochelle’s work schedule has been a challenge at times, ward leaders and friends ultimately helped her fulfill a yearning to attend the temple. “Going to the temple regularly helps me be grateful for how far I’ve come,” she observes. “I don’t worry that others might seem ahead of me.”
Rochelle admits that she and her daughters struggle and “are not a perfect LDS family.” Yet she also recognizes that “everyone has problems and no family is really perfect,” a perspective that liberates her from looking sideways at others instead of focusing on her relationship with God.
“My daughters can see what a difference the gospel has made in my life,” she says. “I can feel the difference too and am busy enough with work, family, and Church that I don’t have time for comparisons. I’m just happy to be on the right path.”

When we consistently study the scriptures, it can change not only our perspective, but also the way we deal with problems. At the end of an especially tiring day, Susan Wyman of Canton, Georgia, was preparing dinner while balancing her baby on her hip and trying to entertain her active three-year-old. In the midst of the confusion, her toddler pulled a carton off the counter, splattering eggs all over the newly scrubbed floor. Sister Wyman says her normal reaction would have been anger—but this time she noticed the shock and remorse on her son’s face. She knew that he had not made the mess intentionally. She was able to calmly clean up and cope with his awkward attempts to help.
“Even as I did this,” she remembers, “I wondered where my patience had come from. The Spirit let me know that it was because I had risen that morning and studied the scriptures.”

In high school I began running cross-country and track, but I didn’t really know much about distance running. I had a friend, though, who had run long distance in another state, and he helped me capture a vision of how to succeed. That influence and the inward determination to follow through helped me learn discipline and to be a successful runner in high school and at Brigham Young University.
Running wasn’t something that came easily for me. It took a lot of work—hard work. I studied and applied different training techniques. I read about distance runners who were setting world records and how they trained. A highlight for me was when a friend and I rode a bus all night to watch a world-class indoor track meet in a distant city. Success came as I caught the vision, studied, applied what I learned, and disciplined myself to achieve my goals.
The lessons I learned from running helped prepare me for my mission.

In my ward our visiting teaching was scarce and temple attendance was very low. As the visiting teaching leader and a temple worker, I prayed that this could change. I used Elder Richard G. Scott’s conference talk, “Temple Worship: The Source of Strength and Power in Times of Need” (Liahona, May 2009, 43) to speak in both sacrament meeting and in Relief Society. The ward members were touched. Visiting teaching is now almost at 100 percent, and many are attending the temple and putting into practice the steps Elder Scott outlined in his message. A thousand thanks to Elder Scott for his beautiful message and to you for the Liahona.
Ana Meza de Eulogio, Peru

I didn’t really mean to bring the cow to Primary that Sunday morning. I didn’t even know who the cow belonged to. On my way to Primary, this silly Holstein cow suddenly lumbered up behind me, mooing at the top of her lungs.
“Go home!” I shouted, trying to shoo her away. “Go home!” Not that I knew where her home could be. Cows usually didn’t just wander around our small town.
I ducked my head and started jogging, hoping that none of my friends would see or hear the noisy cow following right on my heels. But things only got worse. Rounding the corner, I saw Sister Allred, my Primary teacher, sitting on the church steps, crying.
Now I’ve really done it, I thought. Sister Allred is already a nervous wreck because of our class’s behavior. And now I’ve brought a cow to Primary! I thought about last week’s Primary class. It had been so bad that I’d even told my dad about it. Tony and Jimmy had been throwing chalk, tipping over chairs, and snickering whenever Sister Allred asked a question.
“In my day,” Dad had said, fuming, “those boys would have gotten a good whipping with a willow branch for not respecting their elders.”
I could almost feel the sting as he spoke. But I hadn’t told him the complete story. Scott and I had been in on those pranks too. Sure, I wanted to be nice to Sister Allred, but being part of the group was even more important to me.
“Hello, Phillip,” Sister Allred called, wiping her eyes with a tissue.
“Hello,” I murmured, hoping that she would mistake the cow for an extraordinarily large Dalmatian.
With her eyes all teary and puffy, Sister Allred didn’t look as pretty as she usually did. I had always thought that widows were supposed to be ancient. But Sister Allred wasn’t much older than Mom.
“Is something wrong?” I asked, hoping that her tears had blocked out the sight of the cow.
“Oh, nothing, really,” she said, starting to sniffle again. “I’ve just been thinking that maybe I’m not the right person to teach your Primary class.”
“I know how you feel,” I said. “The last teacher who resigned from our class dubbed us the ‘Frightful Four and Sweet Emily Clawson.’” I squirmed when I said “Frightful Four,” because there were only five boys in our class and Brian Tennyson never came. That meant that I was one of the Frightful Four, and right then I wasn’t particularly proud of it.
Suddenly the cow planted her forelegs on the step right beside Sister Allred and mooed loudly in her ear.
I was aghast, but Sister Allred didn’t seem to mind. “Phillip,” she said, “you never told me that you had a cow.”
Just then I saw Sister Parkin, the Primary president, and a redheaded boy heading toward us. Where can I hide the cow? I agonized.
But Sister Parkin looked right past the cow and shouted to Sister Allred above the cow’s mooing. “I want you to meet another member of your class.”
I looked at the redheaded boy, who was staring at the ground.
“This is Brian Tennyson,” said Sister Parkin. Then she fled.
My heart seemed to skip a beat. So this is Brian—the boy Mom and Dad are always telling me I should fellowship. While I was staring at him, a rubber band whopped the side of my head. I turned and saw Tony and Jimmy gleefully loping toward me.
Now I was in real trouble. I was caught between an obnoxious cow, a crying teacher, a shy boy who needed my example, and the two worst terrors of the Primary. To make matters worse, Emily Clawson came bouncing up to Sister Allred and smugly announced, “I read all the scriptures that you talked about last week.”
“Say, Emily,” taunted Tony, “we’ve finally found another girl to read scriptures with you.” He jerked his thumb toward the cow. “Want to ride her into class?”
Sister Allred cleared her throat and said, “I think that we can manage without the cow.”
After opening exercises, the lesson started with no major catastrophes, but only because Scott’s dad stood just outside the door for a while. The loudest sound came from Emily answering questions. I wondered how long it would last. It didn’t last long. Suddenly there was a terrible bellowing outside our window. The cow had found us. She was stamping her hooves and mooing louder than ever.
“I know what’s wrong with that cow!” Sister Allred exclaimed. “It’s past her milking time. The poor thing’s in pain.” She started gathering up her lesson materials.
My eyes widened. “What are you doing?”
“Why, I’m going to milk her,” Sister Allred replied. “I can just as well teach a lesson outside while I’m milking.”
“You know how to milk a cow?” chortled Tony.
“I used to do it all the time when we had the farm,” she answered.
Tony wrinkled his nose and gave one of his “Oh, sure” looks to Jimmy.
“But I need your help. Would you and Jimmy please find me some pans in the meetinghouse kitchen?” she said.
“Who, me?” said Tony, pointing at himself unbelievingly.
“Yes, you!”
Grumbling, Tony and Jimmy shuffled down the hall.
Brian tugged hopefully on Sister Allred’s sleeve. “May I help too?”
She smiled. “You and Phillip can find me some paper towels and a pan of warm water.”
The bellowing cow was dripping milk in a puddle by the time we gathered around her. Sister Allred stroked the cow gently. “Don’t worry, Bossie. We’ll take care of you.”
Tony and Jimmy brought half a dozen pans from the kitchen, and I brought warm water in the biggest bowl I could find. We thought that we had lost Brian until we saw a cowlick of red hair sticking up behind a tremendous moving pile of paper towels.
“It looks as if we’re well stocked,” laughed Sister Allred. “Now, does anyone know what we do first?”
Brian was standing beyond the circle of the group. Finally he cleared his throat. “I know,” he offered shyly. “You need to wash the cow’s udder with that warm water.”
“That’s right,” said Sister Allred. “Have you milked cows before?”
“No,” replied Brian. “But my grandpa used to have cows, and I watched him.”
Soon everyone was helping to wash and dry the cow’s udder—everyone except Tony. I could see him hanging back, watching us silently.
“What’s next?” asked our teacher.
“Milking!” we exclaimed in unison.
Expertly, Sister Allred began to squeeze the cow’s teats with both her hands. Thick, warm milk squirted into a pan. Soon she pushed back her chair. “Anybody else want to try?”
“I do!” Brian piped up. A freckled grin creased his face as he squeezed a trickle of milk into the pan.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Tony edging closer. He began patting the cow’s neck. He cleared his throat again. “Before he died, my grandpa told me about milking cows too. He said that it’s important to always be gentle and kind to them.”
Sister Allred smiled. “Tony, I’m certainly glad that you’re here today. You’ve just taught my Primary lesson. It’s about being gentle and kind.” She chuckled. “Well, it doesn’t exactly talk about cows. But it does say that we should be gentle and kind to everyone, and that must include cows.”
“Does that also include Primary teachers?” blurted out Brian.
Sister Allred looked at Brian in surprise. “Yes, I suppose it does.”
“Of course, it’s easy to be kind to you. You’re the best Primary teacher I’ve ever had!” He lowered his voice. “You know what else? You’re the best cow milker I’ve ever seen.”
Sister Allred leaned down. Her smiling blue eyes looked prettier than I’d ever seen them. “You know what, Brian? I bet you can all learn to be great cow milkers.”
Soon we were all taking turns milking, even Emily. We must have lined up a dozen times.
“Wow,” said Tony, “I wish my grandpa could see me now.”
Suddenly we heard a voice behind us. “Anybody want a job? I never guessed that I was going to find my cow in the hands of such good milkers.”
We all looked up. A stooped old man was gazing at the pans filled with warm, creamy milk.
“I heard that my cow had headed in this direction, but I never thought that she’d get this far.” He paused and rubbed his gray chin. “I’m serious about that job offer. I can’t even get this much milk out of her myself. Oh, you wouldn’t have to milk very often—only when my wife and I want to get away for a day or two. Betsy here is our last cow, and we don’t want to give her up. She’s mostly a pet.”
“I’d love to milk her,” said Brian.
Tony ground the toe of his shoe into the dirt and motioned toward Sister Allred. “I wouldn’t mind doing it if our teacher helps us. She’s real good at milking. I’m sure that you could trust us to be gentle and kind to Betsy.”
Sister Allred smiled and put her arm around Tony. “I think that my five boys, Emily, and I could handle a job like that.”
I patted the black and white cow, and Betsy gave a final, contented moo.

I grew up on a farm outside of town. One evening, my parents were away at church meetings, and I was left in charge. One of my younger brothers ran into the house and told me the garage was on fire. The garage was only a few feet away from our house.
The one side of the garage where my father had been repairing a tractor was on fire, and flames had reached the car on the other side. I told my brothers to get far away from the garage so they wouldn’t be hurt. Then I grabbed a broom and started beating out the fire.
One of my brothers came to help, but he suddenly caught on fire and started to run. I yelled at him to stop and roll, but he just kept running. I chased after him and pulled him down to put out the flames. The thought came to me to have him stand in the canal near our home. I told him to do that while I put out the rest of the fire.
I know I had Heavenly Father’s help in knowing what I needed to do to put out the fire that day. The doctors said that if I hadn’t told my brother to stand in the cold water of the canal, he would have needed surgery from the burns. Instead he healed so well that there was only one small scar on his foot. It was a miracle.
I know that Heavenly Father listens to our prayers and that He watches over us. He stands ready to help us when we pray, listen, and follow the promptings of the Holy Ghost.