Gospel Story Finder

It was years after I was a deacon when I learned what that means practically. For instance, as a high priest, I was assigned to visit a care center sacrament meeting. I was asked to pass the sacrament. Instead of thinking about the process or precision in the way I passed the sacrament, I instead looked in the faces of each elderly person. I saw many of them weeping. One lady grabbed my sleeve, looked up, and said aloud, “Oh, thank you, thank you.”

The Lord had blessed my service given in His name. That day I had prayed for such a miracle to come instead of praying for how well I might do my part. I prayed that the people would feel the Lord’s love through my loving service. I have learned this is the key to serving and blessing others in His name.

Not far from this tabernacle there lived two sisters. Each had two handsome sons. Each had a loving husband. Each lived in comfort, prosperity, and good health. Then the grim reaper visited their homes. First, each lost a son; then the husband and father. Friends visited; words brought a measure of comfort; but grief continued unrelieved.
The years passed. Hearts remained broken. The two sisters sought and achieved seclusion. They shut themselves off from the world which surrounded them. Alone they remained with their remorse. Then there came to a latter-day prophet of God, who knew well these two sisters, the inspiration of the Lord which directed him to their plight. Elder Harold B. Lee left his busy office and visited the penthouse home of the lonely widows. He listened to their pleadings. He felt the sorrow of their hearts. Then he called them to the service of God and to mankind. Each looked outward into the lives of others and upward into the face of God. Peace replaced turmoil. Confidence dispelled despair. God had once again remembered the widow and, through a prophet, brought divine comfort.

Certain techniques for handling peer pressure can be helpful, according to Jerroll Taylor of the Norfolk Virginia Second Ward, who’s been in the military for nine years. “At each of my duty stations, peer pressure has been considerable. But I’ve found that most people or situations can be handled by using either humor or a direct, serious discussion, depending on the situation. I’ve also realized that my greatest asset has been a strong testimony I developed after boot camp when I realized the military was going to make me either sink or swim. I’ve been blessed in being able to baptize at least one person at each duty station, and that’s been a very rewarding experience.”

John Oii introduced his small ancestral village of Kuriva to the gospel in September 1986 when he returned from Port Moresby to bury his son, who had died from a snakebite. During a traditional two-month mourning period, Brother Oii shared stories of Joseph Smith and the angel Moroni. So many villagers were interested that Brother Oii requested missionaries to teach the eager listeners while he acted as interpreter.

By March 1987, 40 Kurivans had been baptized, and a small branch had been organized. That same month, Elder James E. Faust of the Quorum of the Twelve dedicated a one-room, thatched-roof chapel that members had built out of local materials. Membership in the branch has more than quadrupled since 1987. With help from the seminary program, 15 young men have prepared for missions. Most of them have served in Papua New Guinea.

What a state championship game this has been! Hillside and Boxer hammering each other all night, and now it’s down to this—four seconds left, Boxer leads by two, 77–75, but Hillside has the ball. Can they go anywhere but to Ryan Wilson? He’s having the game of his life. Thirty-two points, four steals, 12 assists. He’s been hot all night. But does he take the final shot? Everyone knows he’s the go-to guy, and you can bet that Boxer’s defense will be all over him.
Hillside needs to inbound quickly and get off the shot. Okay, here they go. Boxer has two men on Wilson. Whoah! How’d he get free? He’s got the ball, he starts a drive … No, he pulls back. Did you see that fake? Unbelievable! Is he behind the line? Yes, it’s from three-point land, and it’s … GOOD! Hillside wins! Ryan Wilson gives Hillside its fourth consecutive state championship!
Boy, he’s done everything right tonight. Everything. Defense, passing, scoring. Now he wins it all with a trey from downtown! Two men on him. He fires off a prayer. But for Ryan Wilson, once again the prayer has been answered …

When my parents realized my desire to be baptized, they surprised me by agreeing to have the missionaries come for a visit. When they arrived at our home, my parents had a good feeling. After talking for a while, the missionaries invited us to sing a hymn, “Love at Home” (Hymns, no. 294). As we sang together, my mother had tears in her eyes. Everyone was touched.
This experience softened my parents’ hearts, and a year and eight months after I first met the missionaries, I was baptized. I later served a mission in Utah and have had many wonderful opportunities in the Church.

Although my mother was not a member of the Church, she was a very religious woman, and she had responded to the promptings she felt. When the war began, she had decided to build a bomb shelter not too far from our home in Indonesia. In it she had stored food, water, medicine, and clothing. These supplies had sustained us for eight months when we were not allowed to leave our property. She had also stored the family jewels in the bomb shelter, and before we were taken away to the concentration camp, my mother had told Baboe Kit to use the stored food to save her own family from the famine that was already rampant. But as soon as Nanny had found out where we were interned, she had carefully stuffed my doll with some of the jewelry and had walked the 192 kilometers to bring it to me.
The discovery of the jewels changed our lives. The proceeds from their sale first brought us warm clothing and furniture to make our lives more comfortable. Eventually they enabled us to obtain higher education. The training I received because of Pop Mientje’s treasures meant better employment and higher wages, both in Amsterdam and later in America.
The influence of Baboe Kit has remained with me throughout the years since my ninth birthday. For many years I felt guilty and had nightmares about her death—until one day I realized that Nanny had known she was risking her life.
She had been willing to die for me. And because of her sacrifice, those ninth-year birthday whispers that were once only dreams have become reality. Not only have I had birthdays with cakes and gifts and ice-cooled lemonade, but I have also fulfilled the destiny of which my mother spoke. I have had the opportunity to receive and accept the restored gospel of Jesus Christ, and through the gospel I have come to a greater understanding about the kind of love shown me by Baboe Kit. “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” (John 15:13.)

Christa worked for a seed company. One day she got a complaint that puzzled her.
“The seeds don’t work,” a customer said.
“Did you plant them in good soil and give them water and sunlight?” Christa asked.
“No! That would mean getting dirty.”
Christa decided to write instructions: “You must plant the seeds. You can’t set them on the shelf and expect them to grow.”
Soon she got another complaint.
“I planted the seeds, and I was hoping to have tomatoes for dinner. Now I am very disappointed.”
“Wait,” Christa said. “Are you saying you planted the seeds today?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” the customer replied. “I planted them a week ago.”
Christa added another guideline: “You must be patient and wait.”
All went well until Christa received another complaint.
“I planted the seeds, gave them water and sunshine, and waited. But I got zucchini!” the customer said.
“You ordered zucchini seeds,” Christa said.
“But I don’t want zucchini. I want pumpkins! I planted the seeds in my pumpkin patch!”
harvest: the food picked from a garden
Christa wrote: “The seeds you plant determine the harvest.”

Several years ago a good friend in Washington, D.C., a member of the Church, came home and found his house being burglarized and ended up tussling with the burglar. The burglar shot him, almost completely severed his spinal cord, and he is now paralyzed from the waist down. As I visited with him in a hospital in Washington, D.C., he told me movingly and tearfully, and with a sense of gratitude, how he had now, as a matter of prayer and great reflection, been able to forgive this man, his unknown assailant, for the great tragedy that he had inflicted upon him.

The Spaniards’ attitude was reinforced when Simón was sent to Spain for further education. By this time he was a slim young man with a thin, suntanned face and dark piercing eyes. He was a better athlete and horseman than any of his admiring friends who benefitted from the almost limitless supply of money Simón provided for their pleasures.
One day while riding his horse, Simón was stopped by the police, searched, insulted, and told that he was no longer welcome in Spain. He was furious at the incident, for it pointed out more clearly than any of his tutor’s words the low regard that the Spanish rulers had for Creoles. Then began his dream to free all of South America from Spanish rule and make it one glorious republic much like the United States of America. Although this dream was not realized, Simón Bolívar is now often called “the George Washington of South America.”

Mama Wong and Annie
Photograph courtesy of the author
After I was baptized in June 2002, I shared my faith with my mother. Though Mama Wong often attended church with me, she did not want to learn more.
At last, 10 years later, Mama Wong chose to be baptized. I was thrilled. Sadly, a few years later, she stopped strengthening her testimony and made excuses for not attending church.
I urged her to come to church, but that only caused contention. Eventually, I quit pushing her so that I wouldn’t harm our relationship.
During the October 2019 general conference, President Russell M. Nelson invited Church members to “design [our] own plan” to strengthen our testimony of the Restoration.1 As I thought about his invitation, I felt strongly that I should do something to make things better between Mama Wong and me.
For my New Year’s resolution, I committed myself to read the Book of Mormon with Mama Wong. Whenever she said her eyes hurt, I said, “You can just listen.” When she said she needed to do the dishes, I followed her to the kitchen and kept reading out loud.
It turns out that Mama Wong listened closely and remembered what I read. Over time, she chose to read on her own. Later she told me that an ordinary man could not have written the Book of Mormon. She had no doubt that the book is the word of God. For me, seeing her go from being uninterested to wanting to read and bear testimony of the Book of Mormon is a miracle.
After Mama Wong was baptized, I worried that she had joined the Church just for me. But now she has a testimony of her own. For years I tried to “fix” her, but all she needed was the simple, powerful word of God.
I’m thankful for a living prophet who always gives us timely guidance. If we act upon what he teaches, great blessings will follow. This experience showed me how much the Lord wants to bless us. All I did was read a few chapters to my mother from the Book of Mormon. Then the Lord took over!

On October 6, in the year 1536, a pitiful figure was led from a dungeon in Vilvorde Castle near Brussels, Belgium. For nearly a year and a half, the man had suffered isolation in a dark, damp cell. Now outside the castle wall, the prisoner was fastened to a post. He had time to utter aloud his final prayer, “Lord! open the king of England’s eyes,” and then he was strangled. Immediately, his body was burned at the stake. Who was this man, and what was the offense for which both political and ecclesiastical authorities had condemned him? His name was William Tyndale, and his crime was to have translated and published the Bible in English.
Tyndale, born in England about the time Columbus sailed to the new world, was educated at Oxford and Cambridge and then became a member of the Catholic clergy. He was fluent in eight languages, including Greek, Hebrew, and Latin. Tyndale was a devoted student of the Bible, and the pervasive ignorance of the scriptures that he observed in both priests and lay people troubled him deeply. In a heated exchange with a cleric who argued against putting scripture in the hands of the common man, Tyndale vowed, “If God spare my life, ere many years I will cause a boy that driveth the plough, shall know more of the Scripture than thou dost!”
He sought the approval of church authorities to prepare a translation of the Bible in English so that all could read and apply the word of God. It was denied—the prevailing view being that direct access to the scriptures by any but the clergy threatened the authority of the church and was tantamount to casting “pearls before swine” (Matthew 7:6).
Tyndale nevertheless undertook the challenging work of translation. In 1524 he traveled to Germany, under an assumed name, where he lived much of the time in hiding, under constant threat of arrest. With the help of committed friends, Tyndale was able to publish English translations of the New Testament and later the Old Testament. The Bibles were smuggled into England, where they were in great demand and much prized by those who could get them. They were shared widely but in secret. The authorities burned all the copies they could find. Nevertheless, within three years of Tyndale’s death, God did indeed open King Henry VIII’s eyes, and with publication of what was called the “Great Bible,” the scriptures in English began to be publicly available. Tyndale’s work became the foundation for almost all future English translations of the Bible, most notably the King James Version.1

Be clean for your own peace of mind. I spoke the other day with a young man who wished to go on a mission. In previous months he had been immoral. He and the girl with whom he had been associated thought they had done a clever thing. But he had come to realize that he had taken from her something precious that could never be restored, and that he had lost something of his own for which there was no compensation. With tears running down his cheeks he made his own judgment that he was unworthy to go into the world to teach to others a standard of behavior he had been unable to live himself. He had neither peace nor gladness.

At age 15 Katya was returning from a trip with a community youth group. She was surprised when her father told her that he had invited the missionaries to teach her. He made it clear that while she was welcome to listen, he was not interested.
Katya set a time to meet with the missionaries. “As I listened, I felt that this is the right way to go. I remembered those feelings I’d had going to church as a child. And after a while, I decided to be baptized,” she says.

Recently I attended a sacrament meeting given by children with special needs. Each was disabled in hearing or sight or mental development. Beside each was a teenager assigned as a companion. They sang and played music for us. Facing us on the front row was a young girl who stood and signed to those behind us who could not hear.

Jenny gave a brief testimony. Then her parents each spoke. They told of the utter agony they had known when they learned that their child would never have a normal life. They told of the endless, everyday trials that followed. When others would stare or laugh, Jenny’s brothers put an arm protectively around her. The mother then told us of the love and absolute joy Jenny brought to the family.

Those parents have learned that “after much tribulation … cometh the blessing” (D&C 103:12). I saw them bound together by adversity and refined into pure gold—true Latter-day Saints.

They told us Jenny adopts fathers. So when I shook hands with her, I said, “I’m a grandpa.”

She looked up at me and said, “Well, I can see why!”

“Alexander, please be quiet and put the bear away. It’s time for the sacrament.” Alexander put the bear back into his sister’s diaper bag and slumped down on the bench. I know I’m supposed to think about Jesus during the sacrament, he thought, but I don’t really know what to think about. Sometimes he tried to imagine what Jesus Christ looked like. Long hair, a beard, white clothes, and sandals, maybe with lots of straps. It seems like Jesus walked around a lot, he thought.
I walk a lot, too, he decided. I’d like walking home from school if it weren’t for Zachary. Why does he have to bother me? He’s always walking close behind me and stepping on my heels. One of these days, I’m going to clobber him. I’ll just turn around so fast, he won’t have time to duck, and I’ll whack him with my backpack. No, that would make Mom and Dad sad. What can—
The deacon brought the bread, and Alexander remembered that he was supposed to be thinking about Jesus Christ. He passed the tray along and tried to concentrate again. He remembered the words of a Primary song: “It shouldn’t be hard to sit very still And think about Jesus, his cross on the hill. … It shouldn’t be hard, even though I am small, To think about Jesus, not hard at all.”* He tried to picture the images in the song. He thought of the poster that Sister Behunin had made to teach them the words of the song. Sister Behunin always makes good posters, he decided.
He heard the priest begin the prayer on the water, and he closed his eyes and again tried to concentrate. “… that they do always remember him, that they may have his Spirit to be with them. Amen.”**
“Always remember him.” Remember what? It’s hard to remember something I don’t even know, Alexander thought.
After church, Dad reminded him that he was in charge of the lesson for family home evening and asked how it was going. “Do you need any help?”
Alexander hadn’t even started preparing. “Can you help me find out more about Jesus? I want to know what I’m supposed to remember about Him. You know, like in the sacrament prayers?”
“Well, what do you already know about Him?”
“Christmas … He slept in a manger. He got lost once as a boy. I think they found Him at the temple. He walked around a lot and talked to people. He got baptized. He died on the cross. He was resurrected. And He talks to the prophet today.”
“That’s good, Alexander. That’s all true. Now tell me about the Savior and you. Does He know your name?”
“Huh? Me? How would I know if Jesus knows my name?” Alexander tried to remember a story about Jesus talking to children.
“Why don’t you tell us about Jesus Christ and children for family home evening. I’ll help you find a few scriptures.”
Alexander was nervous about that. Sometimes it was hard for him to read the scriptures by himself. But he knew that Dad would help him, so he agreed. His dad showed him a few scriptures to read and told him to come and talk with him after reading them.
The next night, Alexander was ready for family home evening. First he told the Bible story from Mark 10:13–16, where Jesus’ disciples scolded the people for bringing children to the Savior and He told His disciples to let the children come to Him. He held them and blessed them.
Then, from 3 Nephi 17:11–13, 21 [3 Ne. 17:11–13, 21] in the Book of Mormon, Alexander told about Jesus Christ visiting the Nephites and inviting the children to come to Him. He waited until every child had been brought to Him. He prayed with them and blessed them one at a time. Alexander finished by bearing his testimony. “I am thankful for Jesus. I know that He loves me. I believe that He knows my name.”
The next week during the sacrament, Alexander listened to the prayer. Then he got out his Book of Mormon. He turned to 3 Nephi 17 [3 Ne. 17] and found the verses he had marked in red the week before. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine standing in a crowd and seeing the Savior. He imagined Jesus asking to see the children. He tried to imagine climbing up on Jesus’ lap and hugging Him and hearing Jesus say his name and give him a special blessing. He tried to think of what Jesus would say to him, and what they would talk about.
After church, Alexander’s mom told him she was proud of him for being so reverent during the sacrament. He didn’t say anything, but in his heart, there was a special warm feeling.

I was busy in my last year of high school when Dad decided that our family should begin an intensive study of the scriptures to help my brother Bruce prepare for his mission. Dad’s goal was to read the entire Book of Mormon before Bruce left, tape-recording our voices as we went along. Since Bruce and I were the only two of my parents’ seven children still living at home, Dad would herd Mom and the two of us into the living room every day after school, and we would take turns reading a chapter.
I wasn’t thrilled with this idea. I was particularly opposed to the tape recording. So more often than not, I would head out the door to work or to a school-related activity just as scripture time began, secretly glad that I had an excuse to miss out.
To my surprise, the family finished the Book of Mormon a few months later, and Dad eagerly tackled a new project. There were still several weeks before Bruce was to leave, so Dad decided we should read and record the four Gospels from the New Testament. I complained this time, telling Dad that I didn’t see the point: we could buy audiotapes of professionals reading the scriptures, and they sounded a lot better than we did. Still, Dad persisted. “Carole, one day these tapes will be a great blessing to us,” he said. I remained unimpressed and a little uncooperative.
The weeks went by, school was almost over, and I had fewer excuses for missing scripture reading. But as I participated more often, I began to enjoy these times together with the family. I especially liked to hear Dad share his personal insights about passages of scripture. Soon I began to sense the peace that comes through studying the scriptures. We finished reading the four Gospels shortly before Bruce left for the Missionary Training Center. We made a copy of the tapes for him and a copy for ourselves.
Dad had been right all along about those homemade scripture tapes; they did become a blessing. After Bruce left, I noticed how comforting the tapes were to Dad. He often listened to them, partly just to hear Bruce’s voice, I thought, since they had been very close. Sometimes at night Dad would fall asleep listening, and I would smile to myself as I heard the familiar click when the recorder had run to tape’s end.
Those tapes also blessed me in a way that I never could have guessed. When Bruce had been gone for more than a year, Dad died quietly of a heart attack on a bright September Sunday. I remember wondering how it could be so beautiful outside when all seemed black to me. By the next day, all of our family members had gathered except Bruce, who had determined to finish his mission.
That evening, after talking with my bereaved brother on the telephone, I was feeling sad. I went upstairs to Dad’s room and dejectedly sat down at his desk. I noticed his well-used tape recorder lying nearby. Inside was one of our tapes of the New Testament, which Dad must have listened to the night before he died. I began rewinding the tape, stopping it at random, hoping to find solace in hearing the gentle resonance of Dad’s voice. I hadn’t really been listening to the words, but suddenly I sat upright as my father spoke from the tape:
“Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.
“Ye have heard how I said unto you, I go away, and come again unto you. If ye loved me, ye would rejoice, because I said, I go unto the Father: for my Father is greater than I” (John 14:27–28).
I listened to that passage over and over; the words seemed to reach out and wrap a comforting arm around me. Through my tears, I found them in my Bible, marked them, then went downstairs and shared them with my mother. Despite our sorrow, we realized that Dad was at peace and that he wanted his loved ones to be at peace, too.
Peace did come to us that night, and it continued to come slowly during the months that followed. Since then, I have often tasted the sweet peace of the New Testament.

Petey didn’t want to be a Sunbeam. I knew because I sat on the row behind the little chairs. At first they were empty. Then, one by one, the new Sunbeam class walked in.
I nudged my friend Ryan. “Hey, there’s your little sister Maggie!”
He shrugged, but I could tell by his smile that he was proud to be a big brother in Primary now.
I knew some other Sunbeams, too. There was Ralph’s little brother Jakey and Caitlyn’s little sister Ashley. The only one I didn’t know very well was the boy with the wild brown hair—Petey. His hair stuck out all over the place like a bird’s nest.
The bishop had introduced Petey’s family to the ward during sacrament meeting just last week. I’d turned around to see if they had a boy I could play with, but the only names he announced were the parents’ names and “Peter Alexander.” Petey didn’t have any brothers or sisters. Maybe if he’d had a brother or sister, he wouldn’t have been so scared.
As soon as the Sunbeams walked to their chairs in front of the whole Primary, Petey started to cry—loud. Sister Evans tried to make him feel better by holding him on her lap and showing him her happy/sad-face puppets, but it didn’t do any good. He sucked in big gulps of air and cried even louder. Finally, Sister Evans carried him out.
Some of the children giggled when they could still hear him bawling in the hallway, but I felt sorry for him. I remembered going to a friend’s birthday party once. There must have been 20 children there who I’d never seen before. It was scary being around a bunch of people I didn’t know, but at least I knew my friend and his parents.
Petey probably didn’t know anybody at Primary. That’s when I got an idea—what if I wrote him a letter? I could draw him some pictures and tell him that I’d be his Primary buddy if he wanted. I was so happy with my idea that I didn’t even mind when Janice kept kicking the back of my chair or when my brother took my favorite spot on the bench during sacrament meeting.
With Mom’s help, I wrote my letter that night. It was fun! I told Petey he’d learn a bunch of neat songs in Primary. And I told him about the Primary talent show that was coming up. Maybe he’d get to hear me sing with my brothers and sisters. Then I drew a picture of Nephi shooting an arrow and my remote-control monster car racing another car. I figured if I liked those things, then maybe he did, too. I signed my name and asked Mom to help me find his address. Then, at the last minute, I cut out one of my school pictures and dropped it in the envelope so he’d recognize me at church. Mom mailed it for me the next day.
I got so busy at school that week I forgot I’d even sent the letter—until Sunday! After we arrived at church, I hurried to the Primary room and waited for him to come in. That’s when my stomach started doing flip-flops. The longer I waited, the more I wondered. Had he gotten my letter? What if sending it had been a really bad idea? What if he didn’t like it? What if he didn’t want a Primary buddy? What if he didn’t want to come back to Primary at all?
Then I saw him! He trudged in behind Sister Evans and slid onto the little chair right in front of me.
“Hi, Petey!” I said, but he must not have heard me because he didn’t turn around or say “hi.”
I could tell he still didn’t want to be a Sunbeam because he sat really close to his teacher and stared down at his lap. “At least he’s not crying,” I thought hopefully.
Then disaster struck!
“Peter, would you please come up front so we can sing you a welcome song?” Sister Peterson asked. She hadn’t been at church last week, so she didn’t know that Petey was shy.
I held my breath.
“Come on up, Peter,” she said with a smile. “Don’t you want to hear our welcome song?”
Petey shook his head, clutching his teacher’s arm even tighter.
All the other children were waiting for Petey to burst out crying. And maybe he would have. His chin was already trembling, and his eyes were wide like a frightened rabbit’s.
That’s when I surprised myself. “I’ll go up with you, Petey,” I heard myself say.
Petey switched from looking at all the children to looking at just me. Did he recognize me from my picture? I guess he did, because a tiny smile crept across his face.
“OK,” he said quietly.
He held my hand really tight as we stood in front of the whole Primary. They sang the welcome song nice and loud like they did every time they welcomed someone new.
“Way to go!” I whispered when I took him back to his seat.
He grinned and waved at me.
And that’s when I knew—Petey was going to like being a Sunbeam after all.

Ali smiled as she closed the last bright blue envelope. Her eighth birthday was next week! She had spent the whole morning making invitations for her birthday party.
“Ready to go?” Mom asked.
Ali nodded. They were taking an invitation to her friend Tiffany in the hospital.
“I think Tiffany will be glad to see you,” Mom said as she and Ali climbed into the car. “Her mom told me they had to shave off some of her hair for the surgery.”
Ali’s eyes got wide. “But school is starting soon! How can she go to school with no hair?”
“They didn’t shave off all her hair—just a little bit,” Mom said. “And taking care of our bodies is much more important than how we look.”
Ali ran her fingers through her own long hair. It almost reached her waist. “I feel sad for Tiffany.”
“That’s why we’re going to visit her,” Mom said. “It’s part of bearing one another’s burdens.”
Ali scrunched up her eyebrows. “What does that mean?”
“It means helping others when they are going through a hard time,” Mom said. “It’s something you’ll promise to do when you get baptized.”
Ali smiled. Her baptism was coming up! “So I guess helping Tiffany feel better is one way I can practice doing that?” she said.
“Yeah,” said Mom. “That’s a great way to think of it.”
When they got to the hospital, Ali followed Mom to Tiffany’s room. They walked down a long hallway with brightly painted walls and open doors. Inside the rooms, Ali could see children resting in big white hospital beds. Some of them didn’t have any hair.
Finally they got to Tiffany’s room. Tiffany was happy to see Ali.
Ali saw that Tiffany had a bandage on the side of her head. “How are you feeling?” Ali asked.
“Pretty good,” Tiffany said. “The doctor says the surgery went great.”
“Yay! I’m so glad you’re OK,” Ali said.
Then Ali held out a bright blue birthday invitation. “When you’re feeling better, I hope you can come to my birthday party! And maybe you can even come to my baptism.”
Tiffany gave Ali a big hug. “Thank you!”
When it was time to go, Ali walked back down the hallway with Mom. Ali noticed a poster hanging on the wall. It had a picture of a girl holding a long ponytail of her hair. She was smiling. The top of the poster said, “Donate Your Hair for Wigs.”
“Mom,” Ali said. “Can I do that?” She pointed to the poster.
Mom turned to read it. “But Tiffany doesn’t need a wig.”
“I know,” said Ali. “But there are lots of kids at the hospital who do!”
Mom smiled. “I think that’s a great idea.”
On the morning of Ali’s birthday party, Mom took Ali to get her hair cut. After lots of combing and snipping, Ali looked in the mirror. Now her hair reached just to her chin. She felt happy inside when she imagined a girl sitting in a hospital bed, putting on a wig made with some of Ali’s hair.
“How do you feel?” Mom asked.
“So happy that I made up a joke,” said Ali. “Want to hear it?”
Mom nodded.
“I’m getting a head start on my baptism promises!” Ali said with a laugh. She couldn’t wait to keep helping others bear their burdens.

Illustrations by Maryn Roos
Saturday morning at the Cooper house
Don’t tell me Matt and Dad are still sleeping. I thought I was the lazy one on Saturdays.
Oh, they’ve already had breakfast and left. They went to see Matt’s new friend, Franco.
He has a new friend already? That’s not fair. I haven’t found any new friends yet. I wish we hadn’t moved!
We’ve only been here a week. Just give it time. You made lots of friends at your old school. You’ll make friends here too.
Remember, if you want to have a friend …
I know, I know. If you want to have a friend, be a friend.
Meanwhile, at Franco’s house …
Hi, I’m Josh Cooper.
I’m Hector Delgado.
Some of these rocks are really cool. What’s this one?
That’s a geode. Lots of them are hollow, and some have awesome crystals inside. My dad says geodes are like some people—not much to look at on the outside, but pretty cool inside.
If they’re like people, are any of these rocks musical?
What do you mean?
Because then we could have a rock concert!