Gospel Story Finder

There’s one in every school. You know the type. The girl who seems to live a charmed life. Everything she touches—schoolwork, friendships, extracurricular activities—turns to gold. You wonder what her secret is and hope that maybe a little of whatever it is will rub off on you. But deep down inside you wonder if you can ever really be like her, because people like that seem to only come one at a time.
The Laurels in St. John, New Brunswick, Canada, however, seem to have misunderstood that “rule.” Instead of only one shining star in their school, all the Latter-day Saint girls are recognized on campus.
Take Sacha Koumbias, for example. She is student council president and works on a committee to build school spirit. Melissa Spragg loves to be in school musicals and plays. Virginia Clark—Ginnie to her friends—stands alongside Melissa in two of the school’s choirs and is a great dancer. Finally, Erin Robichaud was recently selected as the high school’s student of the year.
You might expect that in a group like this, there would be fierce competition, maybe even a little jealousy. But instead of jealousy there is support; instead of competition, encouragement. The girls say that when there are only four of you in a school of 1,000 students, there’s just no room for anything but good feelings and a lot of help from each other.
Being a member of the Church is what life is all about for these girls. When they talk about what excites them the most, it’s not an upcoming school dance or game; it’s the dedication of the Halifax Nova Scotia Temple. So, if it’s not what defines them, why spend time on all that extracurricular stuff?
“People at school know who we are,” says Melissa. “I think all of us feel a little bit responsible to stand out so that people will know Church members are good people.”
The high-profile activities these girls are involved in also afford them many opportunities to share the gospel.
“My friends always want to know why I don’t drink,” says Sacha. “I think that sometimes they think it’s a little weird, but they seem to respect us.”
That respect comes in handy when the girls are defending what they believe in at school. Like the time Sacha and Erin talked in one of their classes about how important marriage is, despite the fact that the rest of the class seemed to think that “a piece of paper” wasn’t necessary for people in love. Or the countless times Ginnie has told classmates that she does not now, nor will she ever, smoke cigarettes.
“When you face a bunch of people telling you that what you believe is silly or strange,” says Erin, “it’s nice to know that you’re not the only one who thinks a certain way. It helps you stay strong.”
Life isn’t always smooth sailing, even for these girls. Of all the problems this group has faced, they agree that Erin’s was the most dramatic. During a youth conference trip to the Toronto Ontario Temple a few years ago, Erin noticed that she was suddenly covered with what looked like huge bruises from head to toe. But she hadn’t been injured, or even jostled, in any way. It was only a matter of hours after she discovered these bruises that Erin was in a hospital in Ottawa—a day-long drive from St. John. She had acute lymphoblastic leukemia.
“Since I was so far away, I lost touch with friends from school, but Melissa and Sacha both came to see me,” she says. The years following weren’t always easy. Erin’s treatment was aggressive and tiring.
“Your perspective really changes after something like this,” she says. “Having good friends, good family, and the gospel is really what’s important.”
That support group comes through for less dramatic problems, too. Melissa dated a nonmember for a while. Melissa says they were too serious, and she felt that it wasn’t leading her toward the temple marriage she has as a goal.
“I knew I needed to end it,” says Melissa. “It was really tough, probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I knew it was the right decision, though, and the girls really helped me through it.”
Ginnie and Sacha have struggled with the stress that comes with the busy lives they lead. When things get too stressful, they know they can turn to their friends for understanding.
“It helps me to know that my friends are worried about the same things I am, especially getting good marks in school,” says Ginnie. “It doesn’t seem so bad when I know that they worry too.”
Soon the girls will be graduating from high school and receiving all the honors and accolades that girls like them typically get when they graduate. But that’s not what these girls will remember most about their years together. They’ll remember fun and good times, things like slumber parties, youth conferences, and stake dances. They’ll remember girls’ camp and testimony meetings. They’ll remember that they are daughters of Heavenly Father and that they had sisters in the gospel to help them stay strong.
No one ever told these girls that in order to win, everyone else would have to lose. Instead, they help each other, pushing and pulling until everybody reaches the top. And, not surprisingly, they not only make room for the four of them, but they always leave a little extra space, just in case someone else would like to join them.
Not long ago, there was a new addition to the Laurel class in St. John. Nathanielle Pître, who speaks French as her first language, doesn’t attend the same school as the rest of the Laurels. Instead, she attends a French-immersion school (her family is from French-speaking Quebec). Nathanielle, the only member of the Church in her school class, says she relies on the strength she draws each day at seminary.
“Sometimes it’s hard to be the only member at school,” she says. “But going to seminary, being with the other kids my age, really helps me feel good all day.”

It had just started to rain when seven-year-old Angela stepped into the tent. Her two older brothers, Michael and Mark, were already inside. Mom and Dad had their own tent set up not far away.
“Let’s say our prayers before we get into our sleeping bags,” Michael said.
The three children knelt in prayer. Angela thanked Heavenly Father for her many blessings, and she asked Him to keep them safe from the storm and to help them sleep well.
After her prayer, she slid into her sleeping bag. For a long time all was quiet except for the plomp, plomp, plomp of the rain against the roof of their tent. Then she heard Michael’s voice. “Hey, Angela, wasn’t Mount Rushmore cool?”
“Yes,” she answered with a yawn.
“So were the animals in the park,” said Mark.
“I liked them too,” Angela agreed. She pictured the buffalo calves grazing so close to the road that she could see their eyes watching the slow-moving cars.
Flash! Boooooom!
Angela squeezed her eyes tight. “Go to sleep,” she told herself. “It’s just thunder.” It had rained almost every day that her family had been on vacation. Every time it rained, lightning shot across the sky like hot arrows, and thunder echoed on and on like beating drums.
Flash! Boooooom!
Angela pulled the sleeping bag over her head. “Go to sleep,” she told herself again.
“Mark, are you awake?” Michael whispered into the darkness.
“Hmmm?” Mark’s voice was heavy with sleep.
“Are you awake?”
Flash!
Mark opened his eyes. “I am now,” he said.
Boooom!
“Angela, are you awake?” Michael asked.
“Yes,” Angela whimpered. “I’m scared. I want to go to Mom and Dad’s tent.”
“It’s raining too hard,” Michael said. “You’ll get soaking wet. Besides, it’s not safe to go out in the lightning.”
Angela frowned. “But I’m really scared.”
Flash! Flash!
“You don’t need to be scared,” Mark said. “The lightning is really cool! It’s just a bunch of static electricity in the clouds.”
Boooom!
“And the thunder sounds like a big whip!” he added.
Angela shuddered. “I don’t like it!”
Flash! Boooom!
“Well, then think of things that make you happy,” Mark suggested. “That might help.”
Angela closed her eyes and thought about a field of yellow flowers. She imagined herself running down a hill into the field, laughing.
Flash! Boom! Flash! Flash! Booooom!
“It’s not working,” Angela said, shaking. “I’m still scared.”
Suddenly, rain began pelting their tent. Angela scrunched deep within her sleeping bag. What could she do to stop feeling scared? Then a quiet thought entered her mind. “Why don’t we sing?” she shouted, hoping her brothers could hear her above the noise. “My Primary teacher said that singing Primary songs can help us feel better.”
“OK,” Mark said loudly. “What should we sing?”
“How about ‘I Am a Child of God’?” Michael suggested.
Slowly, quietly, Angela started to sing.
“I am a child of God,
And he has sent me here …”
Angela stopped. Her brothers weren’t singing with her. “They must not be able to hear me,” she thought. So she sang louder.
“Has given me an earthly home
With parents kind and dear.”
Her brothers were singing now.
“Lead me, guide me, walk beside me,
Help me find the way.
Teach me all that I must do
To live with him someday.”
(Children’s Songbook, 2–3)
Flash! Boom!
“Now what should we sing?” Angela asked.
“Let’s sing that one again,” Michael said.
Over and over, Angela, Michael, and Mark sang “I Am a Child of God” until the storm passed and peace returned to their tent.
“It worked!” Angela told herself as she snuggled into the warmth of her sleeping bag. “Finally I can go to sleep.” As she closed her eyes, another thought gently filled her mind. “I am a child of God, and I know He will help me find the way.”

Frequently the heavenly virtue of patience is required. As a bishop I felt prompted one day to call on a man whose wife was somewhat active, as were the children. This man, however, had never responded. It was a hot summer’s day when I knocked on the screen door of Harold G. Gallacher. I could see Brother Gallacher sitting in his chair reading the newspaper. “Who is it?” he queried, without looking up.
“Your bishop,” I replied. “I’ve come to get acquainted and to urge your attendance with your family at our meetings.”
“No, I’m too busy,” came the disdainful response. He never looked up. I thanked him for listening and departed the doorstep.
The Gallacher family moved to California shortly thereafter. The years went by. Then, as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, I was working in my office one day when my secretary called, saying: “A Brother Gallacher who once lived in your ward would like to talk to you. He’s here in my office.”
I responded, “Ask him if his name is Harold G. Gallacher who, with his family, lived at Vissing Place on West Temple and Fifth South.”
She said, “He is the man.”
I asked her to send him in. We had a pleasant conversation together concerning his family. He told me, “I’ve come to apologize for not getting out of my chair and letting you in the door that summer day long years ago.” I asked him if he was active in the Church. With a wry smile, he replied: “I’m now second counselor in my ward bishopric. Your invitation to come out to church, and my negative response, so haunted me that I determined to do something about it.”
Harold and I visited together on numerous occasions before he passed away. The Gallachers and their children filled many callings in the Church. One of the youngest grandchildren is now serving a full-time mission.

Nellie and her sister eventually moved south from the Salt Lake Valley to Cedar City. Here Nellie married William Unthank and reared their six children. With a leather apron slid under her damaged legs, Nellie crawled about their small home on her knees, keeping it spotless.
Nellie willingly worked at whatever she could to help provide for her family. Along with other jobs, she took in other people’s clothes to wash, and made articles to sell to add to the family income. If anyone offered food or assistance, she insisted on repaying the favor. As a way of showing gratitude, she gathered her children once a year to clean the church meetinghouse. While the boys carried water, the girls washed windows, and Nellie scrubbed the floors.
William carved wooden “cup feet” for Nellie, but they only irritated her never-healing stumps. Later, through donations, wooden legs were given to Nellie, but these she only wore on special occasions, because they added to her constant pain.
Despite poverty and pain, Nellie rarely complained. She had come to know her Heavenly Father in her sufferings. From the shoes provided for her bare feet, the carriage sent when she couldn’t go on, help given to her through a lifetime of affliction, Nellie Pucell Unthank knew she could count on the Lord.

The hands on the clock seemed glued in place. Every time I looked, they showed the same time. Why didn’t the teacher come to start the exams so that my agony could finally be over?
Like most Japanese students, I was scared to death by the college entrance exams. In our country, those who fail the tests aren’t allowed to attend a university. Students often stay up late all year long to cram, and they have a favorite saying: “He who sleeps four hours passes; he who sleeps five hours fails.” Like my friends, I had spent many sleepless nights in preparation and had received countless urgings from my parents to “make sure you pass those tests.”
For me, though, the exams carried even more weight. They might make a difference between whether or not my parents would allow me to be baptized. For four years I had been trying to convince them, especially my father, that joining The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints would be good for me. He would hear nothing of it, always insisting that, for now, schooling was more important.
If only I could pass these exams, college would be assured and the pressure would be less. Perhaps then my parents would grant permission for my baptism. I looked at the clock again. Three minutes to go …
Last of all, my thoughts drifted to the beginning of this school year-my last in high school, the year of preparation for the college entrance examinations. I knew I would not be allowed to join the Church until the exams were over. I also wondered if my parents would allow me to be baptized even after the tests. One thing was certain, though. If I failed the exams, my parents would say, “The reason you failed is because you spent so much time with that church!” I had to prove that what they were thinking just wasn’t right. Somehow I knew that passing those tests was the key to my baptism, but I couldn’t see how.
I studied harder than I ever had before. Schoolwork passed ahead of everything, even Church assignments. Seminary studies began to pile up, but I rationalized that in order to be baptized, it was worth neglecting seminary in favor of schoolwork. The lack of seminary study worried me, however, for it was there I had grown the most and felt the strongest testimony. Now that testimony seemed to be shrinking as 13 home study books cluttered my shelf. My conscience told me I wasn’t doing what was right, that even with school there should be time for Church work and seminary too. On February 25 I promised myself I would complete all 13 books by March 4, the day exams began. Sandwiched in between my other schoolwork, seminary workbooks became a welcome break. On March 2, I handed all of my assignments, completed, to my amazed seminary teacher.
“It’s time,” the teacher supervising the exam said. I looked at the clock and whispered a prayer. Like a squadron of robots, the college entrance exam candidates rose and entered the testing area. Reluctantly, I joined them.
I passed! I couldn’t believe it! I was so excited! But several days later, when the scores were posted, I was listed. I would be able to go to college! I rushed to my parents with the good news and also asked if now I could finally have my wish—to become a member of the Church.
“No,” my father said simply. He startled the words right out of my mouth.
But my mother, although she had never done so before, came to my defense. She reminded him that I had been true to my studies and true to my religion for four years. “That’s such a good church that I don’t think my daughter would be doing anything wrong by joining it,” she said. “It is such a good church. I can understand why my daughter wants to go to it all her life.”
The three of us talked for hours, and I slowly realized my parents weren’t against me but loved me. They were concerned for my welfare and didn’t want me doing something blindly. I’m grateful to have such wonderful parents. I think they realized, too, that I wasn’t joining the Church on a whim. They gave me permission to be baptized! I made that covenant and received that ordinance on the same day I graduated from the Young Women program. My friends from seminary helped plan the baptismal service, and most of my family attended.

A few years ago I accompanied a group of Explorers from our stake on an excursion. We sat around talking about the subjects that interest young men, and soon the subject of girls came up. I asked, “What about ________? She seems to be a pretty sharp girl. She’s attractive, has a neat figure, and seems to have a good personality.” There was some shoulder-shrugging, and then one of them said, “Well, she’s … uh … well … uh … you know.” Another added, “She’s kinda straight.”
I asked these Aaronic Priesthood brethren just how straight they thought a Latter-day Saint girl should be to be popular. We also considered how straight they would want their sisters to be. What these young men finally said to me was, “We don’t expect a girl to lower her standards, but she should have a sense of humor, be fun, and be a good sport.” Maybe it can best be summed up with this description of a Venturer by his friends: “He’s cool, but straight.”

Just a few years later, though, Bishop Hales suffered the first of multiple heart attacks that would sap his strength. In addition, there were problems with his lungs. As an avid golfer, however, he couldn’t resist a friend’s invitation to play a round of golf at St. Andrews, where the game was created, in Scotland. It wasn’t until the final hole that he sensed a heart attack coming on. Asking his colleagues to call an ambulance, he took a knee to rest. Then he confidently finished the round by making a long putt.

For the youth of the Allen Second Ward, located just north of Dallas in Texas, the most significant event of the year isn’t youth conference, camp, or high adventure activities. It’s a two-day mission experience in which the priests and Laurels are paired up with full-time missionaries.
The youth were challenged to set appointments with nonmember friends, and other members helped with referrals. After an MTC-type training experience in the chapel, the youth helped teach discussions, tracted, ate dinner with member families, and had a testimony meeting.
“It was awesome!” said Josh Hopewell. “We got a couple doors slammed in our faces, but that’s part of the job. It comes with the territory.”
Said recent convert Jason Mckenty, “I know this church is true. It’s just the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I learned so much in two days!”
Jeni Smith summed up most people’s feelings when she said, “I’m really glad I came. I think the missionaries do such a great job. You may be hot and sweaty, but when you get in that first house and leave them with a copy of the Book of Mormon it’s worth it. I’m really thankful to have been part of it. I’m so thankful for Jesus and what he has done for each of us. I love this church a lot.”
Now the younger kids in the ward can’t wait to be priests and Laurels, and the priests and Laurels can’t wait to serve missions of their own.

Christopher’s next birthday was an important one because he would be eight years old and could be baptized. He smiled whenever he thought of the pirate party his mother had planned and his favorite foods she would cook.
Early one morning Mother called him to the phone. It was Grandmother Jo. “Would you like to come to my house on your way home from school today?” she asked. “I have a very important treasure to share with you.”
The only treasure Christopher could think of concerned pirates and an X marking the spot for treasure on a treasure map. He eagerly agreed to go.
The school day went by slowly for Christopher, but finally the last bell rang. He ran all the way to Grandma Jo’s, and he was out of breath when she opened the door and gave him a big hug. “Christopher,” she asked, “would you like some hot, freshly baked whole wheat bread?”
Christopher nodded his head as the smell of it grabbed him by the nose and pulled him into the kitchen. He sat down at the kitchen table and watched the butter melt as his grandmother spread it on a slice of hot bread. Then she added homemade raspberry jam, and his stomach gave a little growl, begging for a bite. Grandmother Jo handed him the bread and poured him a glass of milk. Oh, how he loved that taste!
When he had finished eating, Christopher followed Grandmother Jo to the living room, where a curious-looking box sat on a low table by the sofa.
“Now that you’re going to be eight, I want to share a special treasure chest with you,” she said. Carefully she opened the lid, and Christopher saw a glint of metal. His heart beat faster as he imagined pirate gold and jewels!
Grandmother Jo reached in and pulled out a small velvet box. She opened it to reveal a medal. “This is the Purple Heart medal awarded to your Grandfather Thomas, who fought in World War II,” she explained. “He was wounded on D-Day.”
Christopher proudly held the medal in his hands. Grandfather must have been very brave, he thought. Grandmother Jo took a picture from the chest and showed it to Christopher. It was Grandfather Thomas. He looked handsome and brave dressed in his soldier uniform.
Now Grandmother Jo took another photograph out of the treasure chest. “This is my wedding picture,” she explained. She pointed to the handkerchief she was holding in the picture and pulled one from the chest. “And this is the same handkerchief that I had that day when we went to the temple to be married. My mother and grandmother used it for their weddings too. The lace was crocheted by my grandmother.”
Even though it looked old, Christopher knew it must be a priceless possession to Grandmother Jo.
Next, Christopher’s grandmother showed him a gold ring set with a ruby. “Your grandfather first wore this ring when he was on his mission,” she explained. “And then your father wore it during his mission too. Would you like to wear it on your mission?”
Christopher’s eyes widened. “I sure would,” he replied. “Can I try it on my finger now?” The ring was too big, but Grandmother Jo assured him that he would grow into it.
This is a real treasure, he decided, and not just because it’s made of gold with a ruby stone. He imagined himself wearing a white shirt and a dark suit. And there on my finger will be the ring!
Something momentarily caught the light when Grandmother Jo showed Christopher a miniature Eagle Scout pin that she had received from Christopher’s dad when he became on Eagle Scout. “Oh, I was proud of him as he stood so straight and tall to accept the award. Then he gave me the pin and kissed me.”
How happy Grandmother Jo looks, Christopher thought. When pirates found their treasures, they were very happy, but not in the same way that Grandmother Jo is right now.
Grandmother Jo explained that this chest held wonderful memory treasures. “And because they are so dear to me, I want to share them with you,” she told Christopher. “These are my people, and I belong to them. And so do you!”
Her face beamed and she chuckled as she showed Christopher a picture of a big white horse harnessed to a cart. In the driver’s seat sat a girl dressed in old-fashioned clothes. “This is your Great-Great-Grandmother Alice, who won every race she entered with this horse and cart! The roughest, toughest boys were always challenging Grandmother Alice to a race, but she was the winner every time!” Grandmother Jo said. “She practiced hard, loved her horse, and treated it with kindness. She was so careful about its feeding, watering, and brushing that it would do anything for her.”
Christopher smiled as he imagined riding along with his Great-Great-Grandmother Alice as she won a race.
Grandmother Jo looked at Christopher and wondered if he could see that these treasures were worth more than any silver or gold. She hoped that he saw that they were symbols of bravery, kindness, and devotion.
Next from the chest came a beautiful watch. The case was of shining gold, and it swung back and forth from a gold chain in his grandmother’s hand. “My Great-Grandfather Charles was a pioneer policeman and bodyguard to Brigham Young,” Grandmother Jo told Christopher. “He always wore this watch in his vest pocket.”
Christopher looked at a photograph of his great-great-great-grandfather. He has a handsome beard, he decided. I like his eyes … so kind and loving. Christopher held the watch and pushed a little lever. The face cover popped open so he could see the hands. How many times did my great-great-great-grandfather open this watch? he wondered.
The clock on the mantel chimed, and both Grandmother Jo and Christopher were surprised that the time had passed so quickly.
Christopher’s eyes were shining as he remembered his different ancestors. They are all my people! he thought with pride.
Grandmother Jo had more treasures in her box, but it was time for Christopher to go home. “Would you like to come again and find out more about my memory chest?” she asked.
They made a date for the next week. He told his grandmother that he would like to visit with her every week—and not just for hot bread and jam.
Christopher enjoyed hearing stories of the family members Grandmother Jo had told him. He felt that they were almost like old friends.
Grandmother always said that friends were a treasure! What fun it will be, he thought, to find out more about my family! Maybe I can make my own treasure box. If I start now, it might fill a whole room someday!

Recently an attractive young woman came to my office with her parents. She came from a good family, but she had lost her way and now was in serious difficulty. She was unmarried and expecting a child and wondered what she should do. My heart went out to her. I think she loved the Lord. She had forgotten that those who love the Lord keep in touch with him and keep his commandments. She had control of her emotions until I asked her if she said her prayers. Then she began to cry.
How important it is that we communicate daily, and more often if necessary, with our Heavenly Father. He always loves us whether we are good or bad. It takes initiative on our part, however, if he is to bless us.

Before my Cub Scout pack left for day camp, we said a prayer that we would be safe on the drive. About halfway there, a big truck moved into our lane without signaling. We got sideswiped! I felt a big bump and heard a loud honk, but our leader was able to stop the car safely on the side of the road. We were late for day camp, but no one was hurt. I was really glad we said a prayer before we left.Larsen O., age 8, Minnesota

Carmen was born into a religious family in Guatemala City, Guatemala. When she was nine years old, Latter-day Saint sister missionaries taught her family the gospel. She enjoyed attending Primary and spoke of a new feeling of happiness in her family. A year later the family was baptized. She says, “This was a wonderful, wonderful time.” She recalls President David O. McKay (1873–1970) visiting Guatemala in 1954 and teaching the children the principle of tithing. At age 17 she was called to serve in the Central American Mission and was grateful to share “the hope of a better life and being together forever.”

Aaron’s mother came through the door, a bag of groceries in her arms.
“Mom!” Aaron jumped up and gave her a hug. He took the groceries and set them on the kitchen counter.
Aaron was home alone in their apartment after school while his mother worked. It was only for a couple of hours, but it was the loneliest time of the day.
“Hey, Buddy,” she said, “got your homework done?”
“Yep. What’s for supper?” he asked as he showed her his notebook.
Aaron’s mother sighed. “Oh, I don’t know. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll just sit down for a few minutes before I get us something to eat.” She sat down in her “resting chair.”
Aaron’s mom was usually tired after work. His dad didn’t live there anymore, so it was just the two of them.
Aaron hid a small disappointed sigh. His mom put her head back on the chair and closed her eyes.
A few minutes later the phone rang. “Hello,” Aaron answered politely, “Jackson residence.”
“Hi, sugar. How’s my boy?” a familiar voice asked.
“Grandma! I’m just fine. What’s up?”
“I just called to wish your mom a happy birthday. Is she home yet?”
“Yes,” he answered, “but she’s asleep. I didn’t know it was Mom’s birthday. I’ll go wake her up.”
“No, child,” his grandma said quickly. “Don’t bother her while she’s resting. I’ll call back later tonight. Take care, sweetie!” And she hung up.
Aaron put the receiver back down. Hmmm, Mom’s birthday. …
He remembered his own birthday a few months ago. The cake and ice cream were great, and so was his present—a blue remote-control race car! Oh, how he had wanted one! His mom had said that it was too expensive, but somehow she’d managed to get one for him.
“I’ll have a party for Mom!” he said out loud. Oops! I’ll have to be quiet—and hurry! But what can I do? I don’t have any money, and I can’t go out alone, anyway. I’ll have to make something, instead—I know!
He went to his mother’s jewelry box. She had broken her favorite necklace a few weeks ago. It was made of beads from Africa and had belonged to Aaron’s great-grandmother. Aaron had helped his mom pick up all the beads when it broke, but she hadn’t had time to string them back together. He found some new string and carefully threaded it through the beads one by one. He couldn’t remember the exact pattern but came as close to it as he could.
The new string was a little shorter than the first one, but it would still fit over her head. There were a few beads left over, so he put them back into the jewelry box.
He tiptoed past his mother into the kitchen, wrapped the necklace in a blue paper napkin from the table, and found a piece of yarn for a bow. It made a nice present. But it looked kind of small all alone on the table.
I need a cake, he thought. He looked through the kitchen cabinets and spotted the peanut butter.
I know—I’ll make a peanut-butter-and-jelly cake! I hope we have some jelly.
Aaron got out bread, peanut butter, and jelly, put a slice of bread on a plate, and covered the top with peanut butter, then jelly. He put a second slice of bread on top of that and spread it with peanut butter and jelly too. A third piece of bread went on top of that. For the frosting he just spread a third layer of peanut butter. Carefully he wrote Happy Birthday in the peanut butter with a knife. It looked a little plain, so he put dots of jelly here and there for decoration. Perfect! He found two of the candles from his own birthday cake and put them on top. He wasn’t allowed to use matches, so his mom would have to light them.
Aaron heard her stirring in the next room. Please don’t wake up now—I’m not ready! he thought.
Finding a large yellow envelope in the trash, he cut off all the writing until he had a small piece of plain yellow paper. With a colored pen he wrote, “You’re the best, Mom!” After folding the card and putting it next to the present and cake, he hurried to put away the groceries that she had brought home. Then he even swept the kitchen floor.
Everything looked great! Aaron felt good about his hard work. Now he could hardly wait for his mother to wake up. He crouched down behind the table and fidgeted.
Finally he heard Mom get up and say, “Goodness! I’d better get supper on. I wonder what Aaron’s doing.” She walked into the kitchen. “Well, what’s all this?”
Aaron jumped up. “Surprise! Happy Birthday, Mom!” he shouted.
“Why, Aaron, did you do all this?”
“I sure did!”
Aaron couldn’t remember seeing his mom smile so much. She grabbed him up for a big hug. “This is the best kind of birthday!” she exclaimed happily. They laughed and danced around the kitchen.
“Here,” Aaron said. “Open your present!”
She opened the blue paper napkin. “Oh, honey, you fixed Grandmother’s necklace for me. It’s so beautiful. Strong too. And a card!”
She read the card. She looked at everything for a long time. “Buddy,” she said with tears in her eyes, “you’ve made today the most special day for me.” She held Aaron close. “I love you so much.”
“Aw, Mom,” he said, pulling away. But he did feel pretty special.
After a supper of soup and salad, they cut into Aaron’s cake and ate every bite!
Later, as Aaron’s mom was tucking him into bed, the phone rang. “That’s Grandma,” he said. “She called while you were asleep.”
Mom kissed him on the forehead. “Thanks for a wonderful birthday, Aaron. Sweet dreams.”
Aaron listened as Mom told Grandma all about the special birthday. She laughed as she talked, and sounded happy.
Aaron felt happy too. Yes, this was the best kind of birthday.

Rafael Mateo and his son, Whalincon (known as “Whally”), paused in the darkness of a stormy afternoon and eyed the rushing waters of the rain-swollen river. Rafael, first counselor in the branch presidency, and Whally, the branch elders quorum president, were returning home after a Sunday full of meetings at their chapel in San José de Ocoa in the Dominican Republic.
They were already drenched from trudging through the downpour and crossing the flooded Río Ocoa that created a dangerous barrier between the chapel and their home. During the dry season, the 6-kilometer (4-mile) hike descending from the chapel on one side of the valley then up to their home on the heights of the other side usually takes an hour. But when the river floods during the rainy season, Rafael and his family have to take a three-hour, 15-kilometer (9-mile) detour to find a place where they can ford the river with some degree of safety.
Rafael had completed the journey countless times before. He had crossed the river every day for 12 years to get to work. Being called two months after his baptism to serve as branch president, a calling he held for six years, only increased the number of trips. After that it was a call as elders quorum president. Then he was called back into the branch presidency.
But familiarity with the river didn’t diminish its danger, and the swift water of the flooded rivers could be as deadly as the wide river they fed. Not long before, an overflowing river had swept a neighbor off his feet, killing him in a mad rush down its narrow course.
Father and son hesitated at the water’s edge; then Rafael stepped in. The river was not wide, but because it channeled so much water, it was cut surprisingly deep. The cold, swift water first pulled at his knees, then his waist, and soon swirled about his chest.
Rafael knew he was in trouble. The streambed was slippery and uneven, and the powerful current threatened to steal his footing. Halfway across, he used all his strength to stay upright, and he found himself powerless to move forward or backward.
Just when he thought he was too weak to fight the flood any longer, he felt a push from behind that thrust him toward the opposite bank. It wasn’t until after he had reached the other side that he realized his savior hadn’t been Whally, who was still on the opposite side.
He attributes his rescue to the power of the same Savior who has helped him survive the threatening pull of other trials, both physical and spiritual.
“I’ve had to throw myself many times into the river up to my chest in the service of the Lord,” says Brother Mateo. “But I feel a great debt to the Lord. He has given me not only the opportunity to serve Him but the endurance.”
Like King David, Brother Mateo knows the Savior “took me, he drew me out of many waters. He delivered me from my strong enemy” (Psalm 18:16–17).
That testimony has carried him through trials more subtle than, but just as real as, crossing the river that stormy afternoon with Whally.

Victor and his story are well known in his home city, Guayaquil, Ecuador, and he has served as an inspiration to many. He said it’s important to take advantage of every moment in life to help others. “Part of our happiness depends on our helping others to be happy,” he said.
His wife, Mercedes, said once they were invited to appear on television in Quito, Ecuador. During the trip home, a woman stopped them and thanked them. Her son had lost his leg, and Victor’s story had motivated him. The boy had said, “If he can, why can’t I?”
Once he accompanied the missionaries to teach an investigator. “Is he a member of your Church?” the investigator asked upon seeing Victor. The missionaries responded affirmatively, and the investigator said, “Well, if he’s a member, baptize me now.”
“It’s because of his example and the way he lives his religion,” said Sister Ann Long, who served with her husband, Clyne, as missionaries in Ecuador at a Church employment resources center.
Unemployed people came to the center, and after watching a recorded news story about Victor, they often were motivated to successfully search for and obtain employment.
“They said, ‘We don’t have any excuse,’” recalled Sister Long.
On the last day of their mission, the Longs, having not yet met Victor in person, wanted to find and thank him for his help. They found him working in the temple. They wanted to do something to help this man who has helped so many others. After returning home, they began making plans to help Victor receive prosthetic legs.
The Longs found a company in the United States willing to donate prosthetics, but when Brother and Sister Penafiel arrived in Utah in June 2006, they discovered that because of a miscommunication, prosthetic feet had been donated but not legs. Because their visas would soon expire, Victor and Mercedes had until July 24 to raise the necessary money for the legs.
Media organizations in Utah did news reports on Victor, and a donation fund was set up. Donations both small and large began coming in. “It was something that was beyond our comprehension. God helped us understand in that instant His love and His power,” Victor said.
With the donations, enough money was raised for the prosthetic legs. Victor looked forward to the long-anticipated ability to again “walk, walk, walk.” On July 13, 2006, Victor took his first steps in more than 30 years as he began the physical therapy process.
However, the prosthetic legs caused excruciating pain. After being unable to adjust to them, he visited another specialist. The pain resulted from a nerve problem that would likely worsen if he continued using the prosthetics and that doctors recommended against trying to repair surgically.
Victor was sad that he would have to give up his new legs, but in typical Victor fashion, he turned the experience into something positive, expressing thanks that the doctors discovered the nerve problem.
Then Victor donated his prosthetic legs—and with them his dream to “walk, walk, walk”—to the company that provided them, so that they can be donated to people in Haiti.
“At least they’ll help someone,” said Victor. “Not just one person, but two. They’ll be a great help. That’s how I see it.” Instead, Victor received a motorized wheelchair.
“I don’t know why all of this happened,” he said. “But I know it wasn’t a surprise to the Lord. We don’t always comprehend how He works. But he manifests His powers in many ways. I know He knew about this nerve problem before I came, even though I didn’t. Yet, He brought me here. Now we have to wait to see why He brought this all to pass. He knows. For that I feel fine. Because I know He knows what he’s doing.
“To lose a finger or hand, an arm, a leg is a difficult situation, but while there’s life, there are reasons to be happy,” Victor said. “And if God is in our life, it’ll be much better.”

As a child, I loved to hear stories about Noah, David, and Daniel. Later, I read a children’s collection of Bible stories. Then, when I was ten, I decided to read the Bible itself from cover to cover.
I made that attempt more than once, always with the same results. Each time I read past Genesis, I became overwhelmed by the complexity of the Old Testament and quickly lost interest.
Then, when I was nineteen years old, I was converted to the restored gospel—and rediscovered the scriptures. Now that I had the added insight of the Restoration, the scriptures became a source of rich and unending delight.

One day at school, my friends were making fun of a girl. I was trying to be nice to her because she had it kind of rough, and lots of kids were mean to her. When the bell rang at the end of the day, my friends said, “Hey, let’s get her coat before she gets it and throw it in the boys’ bathroom.”
I knew that this would not be nice and that it would make the girl feel very bad. I thought about what Jesus would want me to do, and I told them that it would not be a nice thing to do. They did it anyway, and it made me feel very bad.
The girl was really sad and asked them to get it back. They just laughed and ran off.
I told the girl that I was sorry they were so mean to her and that she was my friend. I got her coat for her. I’m glad I stuck up for her. I know that I did what Jesus would want me to do, and I am very glad.

During Christmas, I was going home teaching and I had a prompting to take my violin and play a Christmas carol for our families. I played for the first two families, but I didn’t see why I had had the prompting. Then we went to the last family (who were less active), and that was when I knew. I played for them and could see that they were moved; the Spirit was there. They started taking the missionary lessons.Martin Perez, 18Midland Second Ward, Odessa Texas Stake

This is a time when I received a prompting from the Spirit. Let’s return one last time to my Father’s story. One night, I was watching my Father working on the new edition of our family home. He was wearing his tool belt and he was working so hard. He was laying the tiles on the floor and trimming some of the tiles so they would fit just right. He loved to work. He was in his element and he was happy. Suddenly, a thought came to my mind. The thought was that my Father was leaving soon. I wondered to myself, perhaps he is going on a trip soon so I dismissed the thought. Two days later, my Father passed away. I was immediately taken back to that moment when I received the thought. It was an impression from the Spirit. I received a personal revelation that my Father was leaving, little did I know, that he would be departing this earth life.

I hope you will learn to recognize the Holy Spirit. By living the gospel and keeping the commandments the Spirit will always be with you. This will cultivate a spirit of happiness in your life.

A few years ago, my family didn’t go to church. Then one day, my friend Cory asked me if I wanted to go to church with him.
I went for a couple of weeks and then asked my mom to go, too. Pretty soon, Mom was called to work in the Primary.
After church, we told my dad about what we learned. My little brother, Kasey, reminded my dad of the Word of Wisdom.
I kept asking my dad to go to church with us. Then one day, he surprised me by saying, “I’m going to go to church.”
Now we are sealed in the temple.