Gospel Story Finder

Last year I had the opportunity to baptize my little brother. It was by far the most spiritual and rewarding experience in my life. As the second of nine children, I was 17 when my little brother Jase asked me if I would baptize him. I immediately felt unworthy. Although I hadn’t stolen anything or committed any major sin, I still felt as if I weren’t ready for such a great honor and responsibility. I felt like this was something my dad would be better at.
I explained my concerns to my parents, but they assured me that I could do this and that it would mean a lot to Jase if I did. With my parents’ encouragement, I agreed to baptize Jase and began to prepare myself mentally and spiritually so I could truly be worthy to use the Aaronic Priesthood power I had received.
On the day of the baptism, as my brother and I stepped into the font, a calm feeling came over me, and I was able to recite the words and perform the ordinance without a mistake. I believe many blessings have come from this one event. I not only drew closer to my brother, but I also drew closer to my family and the Lord. I know that this experience will always stand out as one of the most special in my life and that it will help me as I strive to prepare to serve a mission and give others the same opportunities to be blessed by the power of the gospel in their lives.

I once visited a mission in southern Europe. I arrived on the day a new missionary was preparing to return home at his own insistence. He had his ticket to leave the next day.

We sat together in the mission president’s home. The missionary told me about his challenging childhood, of learning disorders, of moving from one family to another. He spoke sincerely of his inability to learn a new language and adapt to a new culture. Then he added, “Brother Andersen, I don’t even know if God loves me.” As he said those words, I felt a sure and forceful feeling come into my spirit: “He does know I love him. He knows it.”

I let him continue for a few more minutes, and then I said, “Elder, I’m sympathetic to much of what you’ve said, but I must correct you on one thing: you do know God loves you. You know He does.”

As I said those words to him, the same Spirit that had spoken to me spoke to him. He bowed his head and began to cry. He apologized. “Brother Andersen,” he said, “I do know God loves me; I do know it.” He didn’t know everything, but he knew enough. He knew God loved him. That priceless piece of spiritual knowledge was sufficient for his doubt to be replaced with faith. He found the strength to stay on his mission.

Three of us were at another friend’s house, playing and watching television. A show came on that I was not allowed to watch. I watched for a few minutes, but I got a sick feeling inside. I wanted to be like my friends, so I tried to ignore the feeling. But the longer I watched, the worse I felt.
When I finally got up the courage and told them that I couldn’t watch the show, a funny thing happened. Two of my other friends said, “Oh, yeah, we can’t watch it, either.” The fourth friend got really mad and ran and locked himself in the bathroom. The three of us changed the channel and waited for him to cool off.
When I went home, I told my mom what had happened. She said that she was really proud of me because it must have been a hard thing to do, especially when I knew that my friend would be mad. She told me that the sick feeling I had had inside was the Holy Ghost trying to remind me to choose the right.
I’m glad that I stood up for what was right, because it helped my friends do the same. Even better than that, it got rid of the sick feeling inside me!

Mildred Coloma Rivera was born on April 17, 1941, and grew up in rural San Manuel, Tarlac. She came from a large family, with her parents engaged in tedious farm work. “We were a poor family,” she recalls, “and we struggled economically, so I looked for opportunities to earn.”
In 1961, Mildred started working for an American family at Clark Air Base in Pampanga. The Apel family were Latter- day Saints and Mildred was intrigued by the family’s faith. She told the family head, Charles Apel, that she wanted to come to Church with them on Sunday, to which Brother Apel replied positively.
Mildred liked what she saw and felt. “I knew right away the Church was true,” she affirms, “and I was interested in the Church because of the friendliness of the Apel family and also the members.” She was taught gospel principles by members of the small Church unit in Clark, as there were no missionaries available in that area.
Mildred soon gained a testimony. “I want to be baptized,” she excitedly told the Apels. The Church was so new in the Philippines that the pioneering missionaries—who had been given authority to baptize converts—were too far away in Manila to know about Mildred and her request. Thus, unit leaders in Clark had to get special permission from Church headquarters in Salt Lake City to baptize her.
Mildred waited patiently and prayed for a positive response. Her prayers were answered when permission was granted to hold a baptismal service, which took place on August 5, 1961. On that day, Mildred Coloma Rivera was baptized by Brother Paul Sharp, becoming one of the very first members of the Church in the Philippines.
“I felt so elated that I kept thanking God for being baptized,” Mildred joyfully remembers. Sister Rivera became one of the pioneer members of the Angeles Branch and grew in her testimony of the restored gospel as she prayed, read the scriptures, and attended Church services.

The next day the girls left their backpacks behind, carrying with them only canteens and crackers and cheese for lunch, and mounted the assault on the peak. As the elevation increased, forests gave way to scattered trees, trees gave place to shrubbery, and finally, there was nothing to climb but barren, broken rock.
“For safety’s sake, we have a system—we keep talking to each other and keep each other aware of where we are,” Sister Visker said. “That way, if loose rocks fall, we’re able to give warning and get out of the way.”
“It was hard climbing,” said 16-year-old RaLene Neal. “Sometimes we were on our hands and knees.”
“But we had our fun, too,” 17-year-old Shelly Michelsen wrote in her journal. “We took turns sliding down a glacier and had a super time. Then we pushed on along the ridge until we reached our goal. I sat down as close to the edge as I dared and, like the others, looked in all directions. A cool breeze was blowing around my hot face, but I felt calm and restful. We were so filled with the beauty of our surroundings—the rippling lakes, the pine forests, mountains in all directions, even out into Wyoming. I felt very in tune with my Father. I thought of how he must have felt when he looked over all he created and saw that it was good.”
“One of the men in the ward told us before we left that it couldn’t be done, that we couldn’t climb to the top of Mount Watson,” Becky Palmer, 15, said. “So when we got there we felt like we had achieved the impossible.”
“I thought,” Shelly continued, “that even though we’re not always up in the mountains, we can still have the same feeling, the same reverence for God’s work. I think life with its hardships is a big mountain, but if we keep at it, there’s a time when we’ll reach the top and look down at what we’ve done, and we’ll know that it’s good, too.”
Maria Lecon, 15, said she was “most impressed with the spirit we felt up there. I knew that the Lo.”
For Edie Coats, 17, it was a time of gratitude. “We just moved here from Virginia, and I was a little bit scared. But the first Sunday, everyone was so friendly to me. They were coming on this trip the next Saturday, and they wanted me along! I think by coming on the trip, I really got to know the girls in my ward.”
Most of the girls kept journals of their experiences and feelings, and there on the mountaintop, the group paused and wrote poems. “I felt like every poem was sort of a journal in itself,” Shelly said, “because it came from the heart and described a special time in our lives.” At a morning meeting the next day, the young ladies read their verses to each other.
Of course, the slide down the snowbanks left a pleasant memory, too. “We used the same garbage sacks we had used before in the rain as ’sleds,’” said Rachel Palmer, 17. “The glacier was less slick at the bottom—it looked steeper than it was. But a couple of times we did have to use our feet for brakes.”
Dinner that night and breakfast the following morning were cooked and served in number 10 cans, the main “pan” carried on the excursion. “We did bring utensils and a skillet or two, but the large cans really helped keep weight in the packs to a minimum,” Sister Visker explained. Around the campfire the girls each shared one positive thing they had learned about someone else since the trip began and also drew names to see who they would be the “wood elf” for. Wood elves do mysterious, anonymous kind deeds for someone else in a camping group.
The next day was to have been spent “puddle jumping” (visiting one lake after another). “But when we got to the first one, Wall Lake,” said Marlene Neal, 15, “we liked it so well that we stayed.” Activities at the lake included cliff diving, fishing, and swimming.
“We had to check it out and make sure it was safe before we started cliff diving,” Marlene explained. “We had to make sure there were no rocks on the bottom and that the water was deep enough. And an adult supervisor trained in lifeguarding and first aid had to be there all the time, too.”
At first, the divers were scaring the fish away, so the swimmers moved to another location. Then one of those fishing scared the fish away! “Sister Visker helped me get a little fake fly way out away from the shore,” Maria said. “As soon as it landed in the water, a big fish came along. It scared me, so I threw a rock at it.”
Marlene also had her problems fishing: “I’d hook the grass at the bottom and all my lures and sinkers would get torn off. But it was still fun.”
The various activities of the day left the girls tired, but not too worn out to express their feelings during a testimony meeting. They read their favorite scriptures to each other, spoke again of their love for nature, for the gospel, and for the Lord, and talked about the lessons they had learned on their trip: lessons of perseverance, sacrifice, relaxation, and sharing the load.
“It’s unbelievable the feeling you get on top of a mountain,” said Sandy Kay, 17. “If you have an open mind and a humble heart, it can really help straighten out your priorities and help you see the reason why we’re here.”
The next morning the girls had loaded up their gear and they were on the trail home. But they weren’t rushing away. Somehow they wanted to linger just a bit longer, savoring the strength of the hills they had learned to love.

In 2007 the University of Washington invited me to a banquet honoring its female athletes. I had played tennis at the university 44 years earlier, and my tennis partner and I had won the Northwest championship in doubles. At the banquet I would be recognized for my achievement.
On our way to the dinner, my husband and I picked up Lynda, a friend from our days as students. She was also the one who introduced me to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints when I was 33. Together we enjoyed seeing our former campus and old friends.
However, when I went to pick up a packet and name tag prior to the banquet, I was disappointed to discover that printed on them was the name “Sharon Krull,” not Sherry Krull. “Oh, well,” I thought, and I crossed out Sharon and wrote Sherry instead. But the mistake continued through the night. Later in the evening, when the host introduced me as an award recipient, he called me “Sharon.” The plaque he handed me also included the error.
It wasn’t a huge problem; I was grateful to have been invited to the banquet, and the people in charge of the event promised to replace the plaque with one bearing the correct name.
The next day was Easter Sunday. My husband and I had spent Good Friday at the temple and had spent much time during the week pondering the Savior’s last days on earth. But the most powerful part of Easter that year came during sacrament meeting, when our bishop made this statement: “How grateful I am that the Lord knows my name.”
I felt a great joy come over me. As much as I had enjoyed the previous evening, the happiness I felt at this truth far outweighed anything I felt from receiving “the honors of men.”
I too am grateful that the Lord knows my name, but more important, I am glad that at age 33, I came to know His. I am eternally grateful that when two missionaries asked Lynda if she knew of anyone they might visit, she wasn’t afraid of offending me by giving them my name.
I came to know the reality of the Savior by reading the Book of Mormon, which testifies of Him. And as I came to know the Savior and joined His Church, I became a new person in Him.
My life changed then, at my baptism and confirmation, and it changed again that powerful Easter morning when I received the witness that Heavenly Father and the Savior really do know our names. I cannot fully express the joy that it is to know Heavenly Father and the Savior—and to know that They know me.

When we are willing to serve, we strive not to complain or murmur, because we do not want to tarnish our service in any way. Complaining may be a sign of wavering commitment, or that our love for the Savior is not as it ought to be. Left unchecked, murmuring can progress to outright rebellion against the Lord. This progression is seen in the life of Ezra Booth, an early convert to the Church in Ohio who was called as a missionary to Missouri.

As he left Ohio in June 1831, Ezra was upset that some missionaries were able to travel by wagon while he had to walk in the summer heat, preaching along the way. He murmured. When he arrived in Missouri, he felt deflated. Missouri was not what he had expected. Instead, he looked around and noted that “the prospect appeared somewhat gloomy.”

Ezra became increasingly cynical, sarcastic, and critical. Upon leaving Missouri, instead of preaching as he went, as he had been asked to do, he returned to Ohio as quickly as he could. His initial murmuring evolved into wavering and finally into losing confidence in his earlier spiritual experiences. Soon Ezra left the Church and “ultimately ‘abandoned Christianity and became an agnostic.’”

Our daughter Mindy has become an expert at seeing people separate from their worldly overlay. She sees the good in a person where no one else seems able to recognize it. We were moved when she wrote home from Argentina early in her mission, “What an interesting eye-opener to realize, as a missionary, that the people you teach are better than you are”—a far cry from the innocent young elder who served with us in New England who hesitated to teach a family because the father smoked. We must learn to separate people from their failings.

The ten members of the Toowoomba seminary invited their teacher and their parents to participate with them in baptisms for the dead. Since the Sydney Australia Temple is 1,100 kilometers (682 miles) away from Toowoomba, it is a rare opportunity for the youth to do temple work. After a 12-hour bus ride, despite sore muscles and weariness, the youth were eager to begin. Four days and four baptismal sessions later, the class had completed 981 baptisms for the dead.
Johanne Mutzelburg, the seminary class president, said, “This experience of being together as a class for four days brought us all closer together as a group.”
Johanne loves seminary. “I think it’s great to have friends in the gospel,” she says.

When I was a student at BYU–Provo a number of years ago, we had an experience that was part of an education class. We were to go on a three-day camping trip west of the Utah Valley area, which is basically desert. The first day, we arrived at our destination. The second day, it started to snow – heavy snow. A decision was made that we would pack up and leave versus staying the second night and into the third day. I realize that to some of you, snow is very foreign.

We started back out, and this was in the days before there were a lot of four-wheel drive trucks or cell phones. We ran into difficulty in the deep snow. We became confused at a fork in the road and took a wrong road. Eventually, we were stuck in the snow. A few of us hiked out to the main highway and caught a ride to the nearest community. This was a small Utah community named Eureka. About the only thing that was open at that time of night was the local bar/café. They connected us with some help, so we could help the others come out. As the people who were going to help us were establishing our location, I described the area, turn-off, etc. They finally said that this was the “No Name Road,” and that it wasn’t usually scraped to clear the snow until spring.

I have thought about the name of that road many times in my life – “No Name Road.” Sometimes, we can be on this road not knowing where we are going or what path we are on. A vision of where you would like to go and expectations of what you need to do is paramount. A vision of the blessing and opportunity of learning is special. Searching, pondering, praying, studying, and seeking inspiration will help create your vision for learning. It is important that we establish the road and path to follow.

For a couple of weeks I had been noticing a small tremor in my right hand. I persuaded myself it was only stress. Raising seven children can be a challenge, but when five of those children have multiple disabilities, life can be overwhelming at times. My schedule was filled with doctors’ appointments, therapies, daily medication routines, and the constant challenge of helping children struggle with seizures, mental retardation, bipolar disorder, and congenital heart disease.
My husband, Ron, had recently been called as bishop of our ward. We were grateful for his opportunity to serve and prayed daily that he would be able to bless the lives of those in our ward. Little did I realize that we would be the ones receiving the blessings.
Finally, I could ignore the tremor no more and sought medical help. As I left the doctor’s office that day, my life had changed forever. Parkinson’s disease was the diagnosis. Questions and fears flooded my mind. How would the disease progress? How would I care for my family? How would I continue to support Ron in his new calling? I longed for answers and desperately needed peace and comfort. The Savior’s words came to my mind: “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” (John 14:27).
Over the years I had become comfortable with the idea that the Lord had given me my quota of trials; I thought my life would be spent caring for my children with their special needs. I did not resent this idea and even felt great peace and joy as I looked to my future. We had accepted the challenges and disabilities of both our sons, along with raising our two beautiful daughters. We even felt the strong desire to add to our family by adopting three more children with special needs. Each time we entered the adoption process, we experienced miracles as we were guided through each step of the way. There have been tremendous challenges but also tremendous blessings.
In the weeks following my diagnosis I often found myself on my knees, pleading with the Lord. I learned that Parkinson’s is a progressive disease and that I would continue to lose control of my muscles. The more I read, the more frightened I became. I spent many sleepless nights. I also felt an impression from the first words of the diagnosis that there would be no miracles to remove this trial from me and that I needed to learn something from this experience. I felt so alone and wondered if the Lord was displeased with me, if He still loved me.
Then one night, as Ron was getting ready to go to Mutual, there was a knock at our door. We opened the door and found a delicious meal left anonymously on our front porch. A loving note stated that every week on this night a dinner would arrive. As I tasted the goodness of this delicious meal, not only was my body fed, but my spirit also. I realized I am not alone and the Lord does love me. I tasted again of the sweet peace He has promised us. I was grateful for these dear secret angels who honored their baptismal covenants “to mourn with those that mourn” and “comfort those that stand in need of comfort” (Mosiah 18:9). I knew that through the ministering of these “earthly angels” I would find the strength to make it through each day.
It has now been more than three years since we found that first dinner. Every Mutual night since then we have received a wonderful meal, always left anonymously on our front porch. Ward boundaries have changed, and people have moved in and out of our ward. But the meals continue to come. Often I have struggled with a particularly difficult day, forgetting it is our “Secret Angels Day.” And then the doorbell rings, and I find another delicious gift of love.
My disease continues to progress, and there are still many unanswered questions. But I know I am not alone. I have felt the peace that comes from trusting the Lord and accepting His will. I know that many of the trials we encounter in this life are for our good and help turn our weaknesses into strengths. I also know that we do not have to bear our trials alone. The Lord always answers our prayers, but often the answers come through those who are willing to serve and be His “secret angels.”

During that winter, I had been wanting to test out Moroni’s promise that the missionaries had shared with me. So one night, I waited until everyone fell asleep in our one-room home. Then, by candlelight, I read Moroni 10:4–5: “And when ye shall receive these things, I would exhort you that ye would ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, if these things are not true; and if ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth of it unto you by the power of the Holy Ghost. And by the power of the Holy Ghost, ye may know the truth of all things.” [1]

As soon as I read those verses, and before I could utter my prayer, my heart was on fire, and that fire transferred through my entire body, and a distinct, unmistakable thought came to my mind, saying that this book was from God and everything that the Church is teaching is true and good. This miraculous experience was a gift from God to me, and it became the fertile ground where my faith could take root.

One day I received a party invitation from one of my best friends, Joshua. The only problem was that his party was going to be on Sunday. I told him that I really wanted to be with him on his birthday but that Sunday was the Sabbath Day and not a day for me to go to parties. I asked him if he could change it to Saturday so that I could go. I learned that since he is Jewish, his Sabbath Day is on Saturday. Joshua understood why I couldn’t come to his party. Instead, I took a present to his house on Tuesday after school and shared leftover cake from his party. Tuesday even turned out to be his real birthday, and it was fun to share it together. He had even saved a party bag and treats for me!

They knew the value of the heavenly gifts received in the Nauvoo Temple. They are the ones who travelled across the plains at great sacrifice and personal suffering. My great great grandfather, James Godson Bleak was one of those. He was a member of the Martin Handcart Company that suffered so severely in the trek to Utah. From his biography, we read:

Twenty-six-year-old James Bleak had already endured a lifetime of loss before he began the handcart journey. Four of his siblings had died very young, his father had died when James was 14, his mother when he was 16, and the only other member of his family, his younger brother John, when James was 18. His life began to reverse course the next year, when he married Elizabeth Moore. Two years later they both joined the Church, and the next year James was called to serve in the presidency of the Whitechapel Branch in London. He then served as branch president from 1854 until he emigrated in 1856.

James and Elizabeth Bleak and their four children all survived the handcart trek, though they suffered greatly. In September, James had been so ill that Francis Webster and others pulled him in their handcarts. During the last month of the journey, James's feet became so frozen that the flesh dropped off his heels.

The Bleaks also came close to losing their 5-year-old son, Thomas. Two women in the company were helping care for him, and after a cold night they awoke to find him lifeless between them. James described how Thomas was miraculously healed after the women brought him to his parents:

"[I] began by anointing him with consecrated oil, and praying over him, calling upon the Lord to keep His promise that not one of the family should fall by the way in gathering to Zion. Tests were applied, but not a heartbeat or other sign of life was in the child. . . . After what appeared to [be] a very long time, [I] thought [I] saw a slight flutter in the child's throat. . . . Finally, by God's power and blessing, the dear child unclosed his eyes and is now a resident of Salt Lake City, father of nine children and likewise a grandfather."

Despite these difficulties, James Bleak never wavered in his faith or even in his feelings of gratitude for the opportunity to come to Zion. On the day he arrived in Salt Lake City, crippled with frozen feet, he wrote, "I feel to rejoice greatly and give praise to God for my safe arrival in Zion with my wife and children."

When young Gordon had a bout of whooping cough, his doctor suggested that he spend time in the country to recover, so his father purchased a 30-acre fruit farm in Millcreek, on the southeast side of Salt Lake City. The farm did more than help the boy regain his health—it helped him and his brothers learn to work. Each Saturday during the spring and fall, his father took them to the farm. The family lived there during the summer months and in town during the school year.

These good friends made a big difference, but not having the gospel taught in my home with a supportive family still put my ongoing conversion process at risk. My gospel interactions in the Church became even more crucial to my growing conversion. Then two additional angels were sent by the Lord to help.
Another angel sent to help me was the Young Men president, Marco Antônio Fusco. He was also assigned to be my senior home teaching companion. Despite my lack of experience and different appearance, he gave me assignments to teach in our priests quorum meetings and home teaching visits. He gave me the chance to act and to learn and not just be an observer of the gospel. He trusted me, more than I trusted myself.

This glimpse in summary. It was in a school of instruction, the School of Prophets, that the Prophet asked that each in turn speak, that as the revelation says, all might not speak at once but “that every man may have an equal privilege” (D&C 88:122). The subject was faith. Scriptures were quoted. The last man to speak, as it happened, was Brother Kimball, who in effect said it’s all been said but I can say one thing, tell you a story. My daughter, Helen Mar, was standing near the table and her mother left her saying, “Don’t touch those dishes. Don’t break one of those or I will whip you.” Vilate left, and Helen Mar did what little children do when they are told not to do it. Not just a dish was broken. The whole table leaf collapsed. Now she went out, as she had watched her parents do, near a tree. We don’t know what she said, but it would have been simple enough. “Bless my mother that she won’t whip me.” Vilate returned. She saw the situation. She flared. She took Helen by the hand into the bedroom. She assumed the angle. And then she couldn’t go through with it. And the arms of Helen Mar came around her neck and she said, “Oh mother, I prayed that you wouldn’t. I’m sorry, sorry.” When Brother Kimball had finished, every man in the room, including Joseph, was in tears. And Joseph said, “Brethren [these are grown-up, strong, independent, willful, intelligent men], that is the kind of faith we need, the faith of a little child going in humility to its parent” (see Whitney, pp. 69–70). That sums it up.

One of the things I’m most grateful for is my mind. I know Heavenly Father gave us the ability to think and learn throughout our lives. For example, I have loved studying music and learning to play the guitar, piano, and organ. I like to show my gratitude for this opportunity by sharing music with others around me.
The young men and young women in our ward have an ongoing service project at a nearby home for Alzheimer’s patients. About 20 of us show up once a month and sing songs for the residents. We also just sit and visit with them afterward, sometimes eating treats together. I’m amazed at how much the residents enjoy and appreciate these short visits. Their faces just light up! They’re so happy to see us when we walk through the doors.
Sometimes when we go on the monthly visits, my older sister Grace and I play our guitars while all of the youth sing songs—often hymns—in the main room. I also play the piano on some of our visits. A few times when I’ve played songs that the residents know, they will sing along.
It’s a simple thing we’re doing, but I can tell it makes a big difference in their lives as well as ours. It’s nice knowing I can help brighten their day by spending time with them and sharing something I’ve learned.
Serving others is a great way to put my own problems in perspective. By sharing my talents and time, I’m reminded how blessed I am. I feel good making others happier.
Madeleine H., 15, Maryland, USA

Lupe sat on the front steps of her apartment building. She was lonely. Her friend Ramona was away for the day, and Lupe had nothing to do and no one to play with.
I wish I had a pet, Lupe thought. But there was a big sign in her apartment building that read NO PETS ALLOWED.
Lupe saw her Uncle Jorge walking along the street with a package under his arm. He sat down on the steps beside her. “This is for you,” he said.
Lupe was excited. She opened the package. In it she found some wonderful treasures—a pad of white paper, crayons, colored pencils, and a little pair of scissors.
“Thank you!” cried Lupe. “Thank you, Uncle Jorge.”
Lupe had a happy afternoon. She drew with her colored pencils on the white paper. She colored with the crayons. She cut with the little scissors.
That evening Ramona came home. She and Lupe sat on the steps of their apartment building.
“I have a lot of pets,” said Lupe.
Ramona shook her head. “You can’t,” she said. “Pets aren’t allowed in our building.”
“But I have pets,” said Lupe. “I got them from Uncle Jorge.”
Ramona looked as if she did not believe Lupe.
“I’ll tell you about my pets,” said Lupe. “I have a brown and white giraffe, a black and white zebra, a black gorilla, an orange monkey, and a red rooster.”
“That’s impossible,” said Ramona. “Nobody has pets like those.”
“I have,” said Lupe. “I’ll show you.”
Lupe took Ramona upstairs to her apartment. In Lupe’s bedroom Ramona saw hand-drawn pictures of a giraffe, a zebra, a gorilla, a monkey, and a rooster.
“See!” Lupe laughed. “My pets are paper pets!”

A true story from the Philippines.
Lhensay bounced in her seat next to her mom as their jeepney drove through town. Sunday was Lhensay’s favorite day of the week! She loved going to Primary and learning about Jesus Christ.
The jeepney pulled up to their stop. Mom held Lhensay’s hand as they walked to the church.
After sacrament meeting, Lhensay walked to Primary with her friend Maria. On the board there was a picture of a young man praying in the woods.
“Good morning!” Their teacher, Sister Cruz, pointed to the picture. “Does anyone know who this is?”
“That’s Joseph Smith!” Lhensay said.
Sister Cruz smiled. “Yes, that’s right. And what did Joseph Smith do?”
Lhensay looked back at the picture. She knew that Joseph Smith was a prophet, but she didn’t know much else.
“He was the first prophet of our church,” Maria said.
“Right again!” said Sister Cruz. “When Joseph was young, he didn’t know which church to join. He went into the woods and prayed to God to find out which one was true. He also asked for forgiveness of his sins. As he prayed, a very bright light appeared. Do you know who was in that light?”
Lhensay and the rest of her class waited.
Sister Cruz put another picture on the board. This one showed two men standing above Joseph Smith in the air. They wore white robes and shone brightly.
“Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ showed themselves to Joseph,” Sister Cruz said. “They told him that he would restore Jesus’s Church. We call it the First Vision.”
Lhensay raised her hand, eyes wide. “Was it for real?” she asked.
Sister Cruz nodded. “Yes, it was!”
Lhensay’s heart felt warm. She knew that what Sister Cruz had said was true.
That night, Lhensay kept thinking about Joseph Smith. “Mom, how can I see Heavenly Father and Jesus, like Joseph Smith did?” she asked.
Mom gave Lhensay a hug. “Most of us won’t see Heavenly Father and Jesus like Joseph Smith did. But They can still speak to us through thoughts and feelings from the Holy Ghost. Then you can know They are always with you.”
Lhensay thought about the way her heart felt warm when Sister Cruz told them about the First Vision. That was the Holy Ghost, sending her a message from Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ! She smiled and hugged Mom back. They had spoken to her, just like they had to Joseph Smith!