Gospel Story Finder

A few years ago, my mother was diagnosed as having a malignant brain tumor. Despite the crushing news, my father, a firm believer in miracles, insisted that she could recover if our family exerted the necessary faith. We prayed fervently, and Mother received many priesthood blessings. But her condition grew steadily worse.
Desperate yet undaunted, Father continued to attend the temple daily. As I stood at the window and watched him leave for the temple early one morning, I remembered a day many years earlier, when my little brother was thrown from a horse. Thinking he had suffered only a little bruising and a bloody nose, I was devastated when he died late that night. My world caved in, and for months I mulled over the painful question, Why hadn’t Heavenly Father sent a miracle to save my brother’s life?
I turned away from the window, thinking about miracles: Who is entitled to them? Are they granted strictly by faith? How, exactly, do you measure a miracle? Then I thought of my mother. Now she seemed to be slipping away—dying from a second brain tumor some thirty-five years after her first one had been removed. She had lived happily and productively—a full life—and I wondered if there could be another miracle in store for her.
When I kissed her for what would be the last time in this life, I told her I loved her. The serene look on her face as she passed away convinced me that I had witnessed one of the greatest miracles of all. Because of the reality of the gospel and of Christ’s resurrection, I knew she was smiling again, embracing all those loved ones who had gone on before.
I still don’t know how to measure a miracle, but it no longer matters. Miracles happen with every breath we take. And sometimes the best miracles are not in living, but in going home.

One evening several years ago as I was driving home from work after having picked up my two children, I momentarily lost consciousness. When I came to, I found myself looking up over the dashboard just in time to see a pickup truck right in front of me. The collision caused me to lose consciousness again. When I awoke, my vehicle was on its side and my children were screaming.
Several people rushed to help me and my children get out because our car’s engine was on fire. I was extremely sore all over, but my children and I escaped serious injury. My greatest concern at that moment was for the occupants of the vehicle I had hit.
Through the hours that followed and into the next day, my attempts to find out about the people in the other vehicle didn’t succeed. Finally, a hospital social worker came to my room and informed me that the driver of the other vehicle had been killed. I was devastated.
In the days following the accident I took time off work to recover physically, mentally, and emotionally. I also learned what had happened. I had crossed the center line into oncoming traffic and had hit a vehicle head-on. I also learned that the wife of the man who had lost his life had been a passenger in the vehicle and had been seriously injured. They had a large family, and although most of the children were grown and on their own, some were still at home. It was so disturbing for me to think that I had caused another human being to lose his life, a wife to lose her husband, children to lose their father, and grandchildren to lose their grandfather.
My physical wounds were healing, but the mental and emotional wounds were not. I kept asking myself, “Why did this happen?” I knew it had been an accident, but that did not make me feel any better. I was unable to sleep or cope with life. I couldn’t bear the thought of what the other driver’s family must be feeling.
I tried to get on with life and return to normal, but nothing seemed to work. All I could do was pray. I remember pleading for Heavenly Father to take this pain and suffering from me because I knew I could not continue on like this and fulfill my most precious callings as a wife and mother.
Then one day my doorbell rang. I opened the door to find a man standing on my porch. He had a very solemn and uneasy look on his face. Without saying a word, he handed me a box and an envelope. Accepting the gifts, I stood there, waiting for him to say something. After a moment I asked the man if I knew him. He shook his head and introduced himself. I instantly felt a lump in my throat as I recognized his last name. He was the eldest son of the man who had died in the accident.
I invited him in, and we talked for a long time. Our families had several common acquaintances, and he had heard through them what a difficult time I was having. He said his wife had asked him how he would feel if he were in my shoes, and that brought him to my doorstep. He told me his family knew it was an accident, and they knew their father and husband had received a call home from our Heavenly Father. He let me know his mother was going to be fine. We then hugged and cried for a time.
The envelope he gave me contained a card expressing that their prayers and thoughts were with my family and me. The box contained a small shelf plaque that reads:
“Dear God,
“We work and pray, but at the end of the day, no matter how hard we try, there are still many reasons to cry. So please send us angels to comfort us in our fears and help us turn the small successes into cheers. Amen.”
My prayers had been answered. I was able to sleep that night for the first time in the two weeks since the accident.
Since then I have seen this man and his wife from time to time, and they always ask how we are doing and if there is anything we need. I remain humbled by their thoughtfulness and unselfishness.
One general conference Sunday, between the morning and afternoon sessions, my doorbell rang again. It was not only this man, but also his mother and younger brother. They did not stay long, but I cherish their visit. Once again they came bearing a gift—a beautiful painting of Christ with this scripture inscribed on it: “I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls” (Matt. 11:29). The mother and I hugged and cried.
This family has taught me a kind of forgiveness and love that I never knew. I testify that through others our Heavenly Father and our Savior can convey Their love to us. I know Heavenly Father hears and answers prayers, and I now know that sometimes we have to let the atoning sacrifice of the Savior take away our pain when we have done all we can do. I am thankful that this family was able to feel and follow the promptings of the Spirit to answer my prayers.

In February 2016, the full-time missionaries began visiting us. At first Pat thought they were coming over to help on the farm. When we accepted an invitation for them to teach us, he thought the lessons were just for the children.
As the missionaries were preparing to teach us their first lesson, Pat went out to work on the tractor. After about 20 minutes, I could see that they—two sisters and two elders—were deflated. At that moment, I felt that I should get Pat and ask him to come listen for a couple of minutes.
Later the missionaries told me that they had been praying that that’s what I would do. They knew that Pat needed to hear what they were teaching.
After the missionaries had taught us for several weeks, Jesse, Bo, and Frank wanted to be baptized. Pat thought that was great, but he felt that he was “beyond salvation.” That was before he met Von and Glenda Memory and heard Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles speak during general conference.
When we saw Brother Memory at church, I recognized him from when I was a child. He was now serving as the ward mission leader. Pat introduced himself, telling Brother Memory that he really wanted the Church for our children.
“That sounds good,” Brother Memory said with a twinkle in his eye. “We’ll do it for the children.”
A few weeks later, after a lesson from the missionaries on the plan of salvation, Brother Memory said, “Boys, we’re going to talk about your baptism.” Then he added, “And then we’re going to talk about your dad’s baptism.”
Pat said OK, but his doubts about his readiness and worthiness persisted until general conference that April.
“You may be afraid, angry, grieving, or tortured by doubt,” Elder Uchtdorf said in his talk. “But just as the Good Shepherd finds His lost sheep, if you will only lift up your heart to the Savior of the world, He will find you.”1
Pat said: “Before then, it hadn’t occurred to me that I really could be a part of this, that I was worthy of salvation. But after listening to Elder Uchtdorf, it hit me that it wasn’t too late for me. I actually have a shot to get to heaven. I had never felt anything like that. From then on I knew. This is the Savior’s Church. We found it. I got baptized and received the priesthood. A week later I baptized my boys. When our girls were old enough, I baptized them.”
A year later, we were sealed in the Birmingham Alabama Temple.

In the marvelous experience of Brigham Young in February of 1847, when the Prophet Joseph appeared to him in a dream or vision, Brigham pleaded to be reunited with the Prophet. Brigham Young asked the Prophet if he had a message for the Brethren. The Prophet said:
“Tell the people to be humble and faithful, and to be sure to keep the spirit of the Lord and it will lead them right. Be careful and not turn away the still small voice; it will teach them what to do and where to go; it will yield the fruits of the kingdom. Tell the Brethren to keep their hearts open to conviction, so that when the Holy Ghost comes to them, their hearts will be ready to receive it.”
The Prophet further directed Brigham Young as follows: “They can tell the Spirit of the Lord from all other spirits; it will whisper peace and joy to their souls; it will take malice, hatred, strife and all evil from their hearts; and their whole desire will be to do good, bring forth righteousness and build up the kingdom of God.” (Manuscript History of Brigham Young: 1846–47, Historical Dept., The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, pp. 528–31.)

“I am so excited to see my friend again,” one young woman kept telling her parents as she prepared for the special reunion. She had recently returned home after having lived far away. She had looked forward to this moment for a long time.

When the two friends saw each other, they were all smiles. They hugged and laughed as they left together to enjoy becoming reacquainted. However, the parents were surprised when their daughter returned home much earlier than expected.

“What’s wrong?” they asked.

“I was so excited to talk the way we used to, but she just spent the whole time text messaging her other friends.” Her hurt and disappointment were apparent as she declared, “I wish texting had never been invented.”

This morning, I invite you to join with me on an African journey. You won’t see any lions, zebras, or elephants, but perhaps, by journey’s end, you will see how thousands of members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints are responding to Christ’s second great commandment to “love thy neighbour” (Mark 12:31).
Imagine for a moment the rural, red dirt of Africa. You see from the parched and barren earth that rain has not fallen in any measurable quantity for too many years. The few cattle which cross your path are more bones than flesh and are being driven by a blanket-covered Karamojong herdsman who, with sandalled feet, trudges on in hope of finding vegetation and water.
As you navigate the rough and rocky road, you see several groups of beautiful children and wonder why they are not in school. The children smile and wave, and you wave back with a tear and a smile. Ninety-two percent of the youngest children you see on this journey live in food poverty, and your heart groans with anguish.
Ahead, you see a mother carrying a carefully balanced five-gallon (19 L) container of water on her head and another in her hand. She represents one of every two households in this area where women, young and old, walk more than 30 minutes each way, each day, to a source of water for their family. A wave of sorrow washes over you.
Two hours pass and you arrive at a secluded, shady clearing. The meeting place is not a hall or even a tent but rather under a few large trees providing shelter from the sweltering sun. In this place, you notice there is no running water, no electricity, no flush toilets. You look around and know you are amongst a people who love God, and you instantly feel God’s love for them. They have gathered to receive help and hope, and you have arrived to share it.
Such was the journey of Sister Ardern and me, in the company of Sister Camille Johnson, our General Relief Society President, and her husband, Doug, and Sister Sharon Eubank, director of the Church’s Humanitarian Services, as we travelled in Uganda, a country of 47 million people in the Africa Central Area of the Church. On that day, under the shade of the trees, we visited a community health project that is jointly funded by the Church Humanitarian Services, UNICEF, and the Ministry of Health of the Ugandan government. These are trusted organisations, carefully selected to ensure the donated humanitarian funds of the members of the Church are prudently used.
As heart-wrenching as it was to see malnourished children and the effects of tuberculosis, malaria, and incessant diarrhea, there came to each of us an increase of hope for a better tomorrow for those we met.
That hope came, in part, through the kindness of Church members from around the world who donate time and money to the Church humanitarian effort. As I saw the sick and the afflicted being helped and lifted, I bowed my head in gratitude. At that moment, I better understood what was meant by the King of kings, who said:
“Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you … :
“For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in” (Matthew 25:34–35).
Our Saviour’s plea is to “let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven” (Matthew 5:16; see also verses 14–15). In that far-flung corner of the earth, your good works brightened the lives and lightened the load of a people in desperate need, and God was glorified.
On that hot and dusty day, I wished you could have heard their prayers of praise and gratitude to God. They would have me say to you in their native Karamojong, “Alakara.” Thank you.
In that distant land, on that unforgettable day, I stood then and stand now as a witness of the soul-stirring and life-changing compassion of members of the Church, both rich and poor.
All those months ago, we found the hungry and the afflicted on a dry and dusty plain and were witnesses to their pleading eyes for help. In our own way, we groaned in the spirit and were troubled (see John 11:33), and yet those feelings were tempered as we saw the compassion of Church members at work as the hungry were fed, the widows were provided for, and the afflicted were comforted and their tears dried up.

This story happened in the Philippines.
“Mano po! Hello!” Arkin said to Grandma when he got home. He greeted her by bowing and pressing the back of her hand to his forehead.
Grandma smiled. “Your dad is waiting for you with the fish. Hurry and go help him!”
Arkin’s dad was a construction worker. He worked very hard to earn money for their family. But they didn’t have much. And sometimes Dad couldn’t find work. When that happened, Arkin helped him sell homemade tinapa (smoked fish).
Arkin and Dad put the packs of tinapa in a basket and carried it outside.
“Thank you for helping me,” said Dad. “I hope we sell enough to pay for a ride to church this week.”
Arkin’s family lived in a small village near rice fields and a fishpond. It was just him, Dad, Grandma, and his older sister. They were far away from the chapel. To get to church, they had to pay to ride a tricycle (a motorcycle with a sidecar). If they didn’t have the money, they had to walk for two hours.
“I have faith that Heavenly Father will help us,” Arkin said. “Let’s go!”
First they went to their neighbor Aling Nena’s house. She always bought tinapa from them.
“Good afternoon!” Arkin said.
Aling Nena opened the gate for them. “Oh, my two favorite people are here!” she said with a smile. She gave Dad some money, and he gave her two packs of tinapa.
“Thank you for buying from us!” Arkin said. “It really means a lot.”
Arkin and Dad walked back out to the street.
“Tinapa! Tinapa! Delicious tinapa!” Arkin called. More people bought fish from them.
It was hot outside, but Arkin didn’t mind. He and Dad sang “Count Your Blessings” as they walked. Every day was a blessing for them!
They kept singing and selling. Arkin almost didn’t notice that their basket was empty.
“Look, Dad! We sold all the fish!” Arkin said.
Dad smiled. “Yes, it’s a blessing.”
Arkin was glad they had sold so much tinapa. It would help pay some of their bills, and there was enough for a ride to church on Sunday!
But tomorrow was Saturday, and that was when they helped clean the church. So early the next morning, Arkin and Dad woke up to start the long walk to the church building. They always walked to save money for Sunday.
“Aren’t you tired of cleaning your church every Saturday?” asked Grandma before they left.
Dad put his hand on Grandma’s shoulder. “Cleaning the church is one way we serve the Lord.”
Arkin nodded. “We get blessings for cleaning the church. Heavenly Father helps our tinapa sell out so we can buy food!”
While they walked, Arkin and Dad sang more hymns. Then they worked hard to clean the church. Arkin wiped the dust from all the windows and chairs. Dad swept and mopped the floor.
When they were done, the bishop shared pandesal (sweet rolls) with everyone who helped. Arkin ate his snack with a big smile. It would be a long walk home, but his heart felt joyful and thankful. When they came back to church tomorrow, the building would be clean for everyone to enjoy and remember Jesus Christ. He was happy he could help.
Illustration by Margarida Esteves

3 Satan did not want people to join the Church. He tried to plant negative feelings and seeds of doubt in the hearts of the investigators. One such nonmember was Newel Knight, son of Joseph Knight, who had befriended the Prophet Joseph Smith.
4 Joseph asked Newel if he would say the prayer at a future meeting. Newel said that he would.
5 But Satan caused Newel to become so fearful that he refused to pray at the meeting, saying that he was afraid to pray out loud.
6 Newel told the Prophet that he would go into the woods later to pray alone. But after several unsuccessful attempts to pray in the woods, Newel felt an evil influence. He felt uneasy and went home.
7 Newel’s wife was worried about him, and she asked Joseph Smith to come and help her husband. Joseph Smith used his priesthood power to bless Newel and to cast out the evil spirit that had invaded Newel’s body. Newel recovered quickly, and a short time later he was baptized.

With just a month left on my mission, I felt like I needed to take action and find my family’s records before I returned home. I prayed to know if there was something more I could do, and I felt a distinct prompting from the Spirit telling me that I needed to get a copy of those vital records that I had seen months ago. I told my mission president that I felt like I needed to return to my family’s village in Switzerland and explained why. The village was 87 miles (140 km) away, but my mission president gave me permission to go anyway.
It was dusk when the narrow winding road took us up the mountain into the hamlet of Vergeletto. We stopped at the focal point of town, the Catholic church. My companion and I were then drawn to the cemetery across the street from the church that was all lit up with candles.
As we entered the cemetery, I clearly and strongly felt the Spirit guide me like I never had before. That feeling and the fresh alpine air created a sensation I will never forget. In the cemetery, it seemed that every other tombstone had my last name on it. We even saw my great-grandfather’s tomb; it said people went to him to repair their broken bones.
We returned to the church to see if we could find the priest. There we met an old man, who told us it was Il Giorno dei Morti, or a holiday known as the Day of the Dead (which would explain all the candles in the cemetery). The man told us that the priest had services in neighboring villages and would be back in two hours.
My companion and I waited, and when the priest returned, I reminded him of our encounter a few months earlier and then asked if I could see the vital records of the parish again.
He agreed.
The priest brought out a box of books that were hundreds of years old. I told the priest that our Church was microfilming parish records in Parma, Italy, 170 miles (274 km) away. I asked if he would allow us to take the records for a few weeks and have them copied.
He again agreed. I was shocked.
As we left town, I marveled at what had just happened and even checked the rearview mirror to see if the priest was running after us with a change of heart. Two weeks later, we returned the records to him, as promised.

It sounded simple. For two weeks I was to choose a family member and every day give something small to the person to express my love. I chose my little brother because we usually did not get along very well, and I figured this would be a good opportunity to draw closer to him. I decided to do it anonymously, and for the first week I bought him small bags of candy and various trinkets, leaving them by the side of his bed or under his pillow. After the week was over, I was thinking, Wow, this has got to be the easiest Personal Progress goal ever!
The second week, however, fell during our family camping trip, and the absence of convenient stores seriously complicated things. But I soon found that all it took was a little more creativity. Instead of buying things, I started doing things. I helped him roll his sleeping bag, whittle a marshmallow stick, and untangle his fishing line. Thinking constantly of ways to serve my brother strengthened our relationship incredibly, and I could see clearly the promise being fulfilled: “He that loveth his brother abideth in the light” (1 Jn. 2:10).
The last day of camp I lay in the dark tent, deep in the woods, listening to the soft calls of the birds and the gentle splashing of water from the nearby lake. The wind rustled through the tree tops, and I felt a cool breeze across my face.
“Someone tie up the window,” my brother mumbled sleepily. I felt him shiver beside me and suddenly realized that I had not done anything for him that day. I tied up the window, but since it was the last day, I felt I should give him something extra special. Maybe when we get home, I can buy him something especially expensive, I thought. No, that won’t do. It has to be today, and he is almost asleep. I lay quietly, thinking for a moment, and then rolled onto my side to face my brother.
“Warren,” I whispered.
“Hmmmm?”
“I love you.”
He was quiet for a second before he clearly responded, “I love you, too.”
I lay on my back and looked through the “sun roof” at the clear, dark sky and smiled.

Prayer was a very important part of my life. As a child, I was taught to pray. I remember one time when I was riding out to the ranch with my father. As he drove, he started humming or singing, “‘Ere you left your room this morning, Did you think to pray?’”* Then he glanced at me and asked, “Son, did you pray this morning?”
“No.”
“Don’t you pray in the mornings?”
“I pray at night,” I replied.
At that moment, he took the time to explain to me the importance of praying in the morning and at night. From that time on, it became part of my life to pray both morning and night. In 2 Nephi 26:15 [2 Ne. 26:15], we are told that “the prayers of the faithful shall be heard.” We often experienced that scripture. I learned in my youth that as we were faithful and did our part, the Lord blessed us.

Raúl and his family live in the small Paraguayan town of Piquete Cué. In the nearby town of Limpie, there is a beautiful LDS meetinghouse where a ward meets. But each Sunday, Raúl and his family pass the Limpie Ward’s meetinghouse on their two-hour bus ride to the town of Villa Hayes. There they attend a tiny branch that meets in a small rented house. Why don’t they go to the ward that is so much closer to their home?
“Because the branch in Villa Hayes needs us,” says Raúl’s father, Luciano, who works as an industrial engineer. “There are so few members in the branch that they really need us there.” Brother Aquino is first counselor in the branch presidency. Sister Aquino has been Relief Society president and now teaches a Primary class.
Raúl attends Primary and loves to learn more about the Book of Mormon. “I don’t know how to read it yet,” he says. “But my mamá and papá read it to me.”
Raúl often bears his testimony in sacrament meeting. He told the branch members recently that he’d had a headache—but when he prayed, it went away.
He also remembers the time his dad was seriously sick. Raúl’s mother thought he was going to die. She rode a bus to the missionaries’ house to ask them to give him a blessing. They weren’t home, so she left them a message. When they arrived several hours later, Raúl’s father was so sick he could hardly talk. The missionaries gave him a blessing—and within half an hour, he was up and feeling much better.
“I really want my eight birthday to come so I can be baptized,” Raúl says. “And I want to be a missionary.”
Raúl already is a missionary. “I know that the Book of Mormon and the Church of Jesus Christ are true,” he says. “I would tell children all over the world to try to love everyone—especially the children that I see in the streets who don’t have a home. They make me cry a lot. Be thankful to Heavenly Father and also to our parents. Love the Church of Jesus Christ, take the sacrament, and always pray.”
Then Raúl climbs up his favorite tree. From his leafy perch, he waves good-bye.

A true story from Ghana.
Nyamedo ran to the bus with his little brother, Kwame. They climbed the steps and sat next to a window. Nyamedo looked outside to see the sun shining on the green trees. Their school was going on a field trip to a nature reserve. Today would be an adventure!
“Hey, Nyamedo!”
Nyamedo’s friends Ralph and Sierra sat down on the seat across from him.
Ralph tugged at Nyamedo’s sleeve and whispered. “When we get to the park, let’s go exploring!”
“Yeah!” Sierra said. “We can have our own adventure.”
Ralph nodded excitedly. “We can sneak away before the first activity.”
Nyamedo imagined all the things they might see in the wilderness. Tall trees, cool animals, and maybe waterfalls!
“That sounds fun! Let’s do it,” he said with a smile.
When the bus pulled up to the nature reserve, Nyamedo and Kwame got off the bus together. Their teachers told everyone to stay with the group and not wander off.
Ralph walked up to Nyamedo. “Remember the plan?” Ralph whispered.
Nyamedo nodded. But then he stopped to think. Exploring the wilderness sounded exciting, but Nyamedo also knew it could be dangerous. What if they got lost or hurt?
Suddenly, he felt a voice speak to him. Stay with Kwame.
The voice was still and small. Nyamedo knew it was the Holy Ghost.
He was worried that his friends would be mad at him for not exploring with them. But maybe the Holy Ghost was protecting him.
Nyamedo turned to Ralph. “Sorry, I actually have to stay with my brother,” he said. “He’s my responsibility.”
Ralph frowned.
“But you said you’d come!”
“The teacher said we should stay,” Nyamedo said. Ralph sighed and walked away.
Nyamedo and Kwame went with the rest of the students and followed their teachers. First they went on the zipline. The wind rushed against their faces as they soared over the bright green trees. It was like flying!
Next the guides at the reserve taught them about some of the animals that lived there. Nyamedo and Kwame couldn’t wait to see them. They learned about zebras, monkeys, snakes, antelope, and lots of birds! After seeing all the cool animals, they went rock climbing and horseback riding. Later they played games.
Nyamedo was happy he had stayed back with Kwame. If he hadn’t, he would have missed out on so many fun things!
When it was time to get back on the bus, Nyamedo saw Ralph and Sierra. They ran up to him.
“We almost got chased by angry monkeys,” Ralph whispered. He looked a little scared. “We could’ve gotten hurt.”
Sierra nodded. “It’s good you didn’t come.”
“Whoa,” said Nyamedo. “I’m glad you’re OK!”
The Holy Ghost really was protecting me, he thought. He held Kwame’s hand as they got onto the bus together.
He was grateful that the Holy Ghost had kept them safe and helped them have a fun adventure.
Illustrations by Cam Kendall

During the monsoon when heavy rains swelled the Ciliwong, a monkey PLOPPED in front of Kancil while she was nibbling on tender young liana leaves. Kancil reared back on her tiny hooves and her large eyes rolled wildly. “Why scare me so, Monyét (monkey)!” she cried.
“Hurry, Kancil,” Monyét urged, “your grandmother is gravely ill. She wishes to see her family one more time. I’ve just risked my life leaping from branch to branch over the Ciliwong to find you. Hurry, before the river bandjirs (floods).”
Kancil dashed toward the Ciliwong, but the fast-rising waters were already touching the upper banks. Her familiar stepping boulders were hidden under the rushing waters. How was she to get across to her seriously ill grandmother?
Just then a large tree trunk, felled by the storms, came floating by and halted in a whirling eddy at the river’s edge.
Kancil lifted one tiny hoof to see if the trunk were solid. Then she noticed nostrils and beady eyes. She stepped back and did some quick thinking. “Hello there, Buaya!” she shouted over the roaring river.
Buaya’s piercing eyes never left Kancil. He had not forgotten his humiliating defeat in front of his girl friend and this time he vowed he’d get even.
“Guess what I just heard!” Kancil shouted even louder.
Buaya only stared, hoping to lure her into the water.
“Monyét claims the Kancil family far outnumbers the Buaya family!”
“Impossible!” cried Buaya, his eyes looking even beadier. “The Buaya family has always outnumbered every family in the jungle.”
“Monyét says there are more of us than you!” Kancil switched her short tail while keeping a wary eye on Buaya.
“‘Tis a lie!” Buaya’s tail slapped the water in disgust.
“Ask Monyét!”
Buaya’s eyes searched the tree branches overhanging the Ciliwong, but Monyét was nowhere to be seen.
“Why don’t you call all your family members together and I’ll call mine. In an hour we’ll meet again and count them and get this over with once and for all!” Kancil shouted.
Kancil had to make her preposterous proposal twice because Buaya never quite trusted her. But Kancil’s eyes looked so big and anxious and sincere that Buaya dove into the river and within half an hour was back with sisters, brothers, uncles, aunts, cousins, nephews, nieces, grandparents, and other distant relatives.
When Buaya saw only Kancil on the riverbank, his tail slapped the water. “Where’s your family?” he shouted.
“On the other side. I sent Monyét to tell them about our argument, and they’ll be waiting to be counted. In the meantime let’s start counting the Buaya family.” Kancil continued smoothly, “You line up side by side in rows across the river and I’ll count you. When I’m finished, you shall count my family.”
The crocodiles lined up side by side, feet touching, and Kancil jumped from back to back, counting, “1, 2, 3, …” until she reached 207. Then she jumped onto the shore. “Thank you friends!” she shouted, making a curtsy by bending one slender hoof under her tiny body, “for making a bridge. I was in desperate need to get across!”
All the crocodiles’ tails churned the muddy river into a bandjir that overflowed the banks for miles. But Kancil ran ahead of the spreading flood till she was safe with her grandmother.

My wife and I were in the front of our yard one day when the newspaper boy came down the street on his bicycle. His bicycle was loaded with papers. About 20 or 30 yards (20 or 25 meters) in back of him, there was another boy following him on a bicycle. I was not sure at that time what their relationship was, but I did notice they were coming down the street at a pretty good clip.
When the newspaper boy came to our sidewalk entry, he was traveling too fast to make the approach to our home, and, as a result, he went one way, the bicycle went another way, and the papers went everywhere. Noticing the boy had fallen on the lawn and was not hurt, but realizing that he would undoubtedly be embarrassed from the fall in front of his friend, we moved toward him.
At the sight of this perfect three-point landing, if we may refer to it as that, his companion shouted his pleasure and laughed heartily with complete and full enjoyment at the misfortune of his associate.
Trying to relieve the embarrassment of the paperboy, knowing he didn’t want help but he wanted to have his pride repaired a little, I took a few more steps toward him and said: “It’s kind of a low blow to have your friend laugh when you’ve had a bad spill, isn’t it?”
He went on picking up his papers without even looking up. Finally, he had the papers back in place and got on his bicycle; and as he started out away from our home, he made the remark: “He isn’t my friend—he’s my brother.”

I remember thinking of this freedom and this peace when I faced a young man and a young woman across the desk of my office. He was handsome, tall, and manly. She was a beautiful girl, an excellent student, sensitive and perceptive.
The girl sobbed, and tears fell from the eyes of the young man. Both were university students. They were to be married the next week, but not in the kind of wedding of which they had dreamed. They had planned that to come three years in the future, following college graduation.
Now they found themselves in a situation that both regretted and for which neither was prepared. She was pregnant. Shattered were their dreams of schooling, the years of preparation they knew each needed for the competitive world that lay ahead. Rather, they would now have to establish a home, and he would have to support his family with whatever work he could find.
The young man looked up through his tears. “We allowed ourselves to be led astray,” he said.
“We’ve cheated one another,” she responded. “We’ve cheated one another and the parents who love us—and we’ve cheated ourselves. We were betrayed. We believed those who told us that virtue is hypocrisy; and we’ve found that the new morality, the idea that sin is only in one’s mind, is a trap that’s destroyed us.”
They spoke of a thousand thoughts that had crossed their minds in the fearful days and the anxious nights of the past few weeks. Should she seek an abortion? The temptation to do so was there. No, never, she had concluded. Life is sacred under any circumstance. How could she ever live with herself is she took measures to destroy the gift of life even under these conditions?
The child could be placed for adoption. There were excellent organizations that could assist in such a program, and there were good families anxious for children. But they had dismissed that thought. Whatever happened, he would never leave her to face the burden alone. He was responsible, and he would meet that responsibility even though it would ruin the future of which he had dreamed.
I admired his courage, his determination to make the best of a difficult situation; but my heart ached as I watched them, distressed and sobbing. Here was tragedy. Here was heartbreak. Here was entrapment. Here was bondage.
They had been told of freedom, that evil was only a thing of the mind. But they found they had lost their freedom. Nor had they known peace. They had exchanged their peace and their freedom—the freedom to marry when they chose to marry, the freedom to secure the education of which they had dreamed, and, more important, the peace of self-respect.

Let me tell you about two sister missionaries who called at a home one morning before the husband went to work. They were welcomed in, so they immediately told about Joseph Smith’s first vision, the angel Moroni, the gold plates, and the restoration of the priesthood. Then the senior companion, noting that about forty-five minutes had gone by, said, “We would like to return next week to tell you more.”

To which the husband exclaimed, “Next week?” He walked to the door, locked it, put the key in his pocket, and said, “You’re not leaving here till you’ve told us all you know about Joseph Smith and this restored gospel!” They were there all day. The family asked for baptism that same evening.

Betsy King Duzette waded into the frigid water of the Mississippi River. The 58-year-old widow and convert from Connecticut was then baptized for her uncles, mother-in-law, and her husband’s stepfather.
The Prophet Joseph Smith had recently taught the Saints, in August 1840, about the doctrine of baptism for the dead. In their excitement, they performed baptisms in the river, since the Nauvoo Temple was not completed. Women were baptized for men and men for women. Soon, however, the Lord revealed to Joseph Smith that baptisms for deceased ancestors must be done in dedicated temples (see Doctrine and Covenants 124:28–35). And in 1845, Brigham Young announced that women should be baptized for women and men for men.
Betsy’s husband, Philemon Duzette, had died six years earlier. She braved the chilly waters to be baptized for his deceased relatives as well as her own. That included baptism for Philemon’s stepfather, Jesse Peas, who died 50 years earlier when Betsy was a young girl. She may never have met him but likely knew of him and knew his name and his relationship to Philemon and his mother, Martha Wing. Betsy had known Martha when she was alive.
Betsy was baptized as proxy for Jesse almost immediately following the revelations on baptism for the dead. And she and her husband named one of their children after Jesse. Philemon’s biological father, also named Philemon, died when he was an infant, and Jesse Peas became his stepfather when Philemon was three and helped Martha raise him.
Just as Betsy King Duzette believed and trusted when she waded into the Mississippi River on behalf of her stepfather-in-law, we, all of us, can be connected, sealed, bound, and welded together eternally.

In early 1991 I was involved in a car accident that left most of my body paralyzed. Since then I have had a lot of time to compare my life before that incident with my life now. In some ways it is similar. Yet there are numerous differences.
Before my accident I had the attitude that I should try to perfect the four basic aspects of my life. Ranked in order of importance at that time, they were: (1) physical ability, (2) mental ability, (3) spirituality, and (4) emotional stability.
One year later, perhaps the only thing that has changed is the order of importance of these four vital cornerstones of my life.
Before the accident, my perspective was that of an 18-year-old athlete who thought he knew everything. Although I grew up in a religious family and felt good about my beliefs, spirituality was not my top priority. Instead, physical strength, speed, and quickness were more important to me than either religion or school. I felt that going to school was a necessity simply to remain eligible for sports.
Although I did fairly well academically, I often found myself practicing the sport of the season rather than studying for a test or completing an assignment. I had academic goals and important religious goals, but none of these took precedence over my athletic aspirations. The experiences I’ve had the last two years have helped me better understand what is really important.
Since February 16, 1991, the day I fell asleep driving my truck, I have had the opportunity to look at life from a completely different viewpoint. I have had a lot of time to think about and adjust my priorities. I still love athletics and believe they have the potential to build character. But they are not the most important thing in my life anymore. I recognize now that my religion, my family, and my friends are the foundation for my happiness, not a touchdown or a home run.
My mind is the most precious asset I have, and I realize that it must be exercised even as my legs or my lungs were exercised in athletics. I am grateful for the opportunity I have to attend college and gain knowledge. While the last two years have slowed me down physically, they have accelerated my spiritual and mental maturity.
Realizing that obtaining knowledge and spirituality is an on-going process, as well as increasing emotional stability and physical ability, I believe that the last two years of my life have been a step toward those elusive goals.
Not many people have the chance to actually live life from two very different positions. Because I can, I am grateful I have had this opportunity. It has helped me realize why my spirituality, mental capacity, emotional stability, and physical ability must be placed according to their importance.

Brrrrring! The bell rang for the last class of the day. Now that Megan was in middle school, she went to different classes during the day. And there was a lot to learn. Megan was glad her last class was for study time. That meant she could start on her homework.
Megan sat down at an empty table. A boy named Bennett walked up to her.
“Hey, Megan, you’re Mormon, right?”
“I’m a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” Megan said.
“So, you think Joseph Smith wrote the Book of Mormon or something, right?” Bennett asked.
Megan said a quick, silent prayer to know how to an?swer. “He translated the Book of Mormon,” she said. “God called him as a prophet to help bring back Christ’s Church.”
Bennett scrunched his nose. “That’s crazy,” he said. He laughed and walked away.
Megan’s face felt warm. She stared down at her book.
“Hey, Megan.”
What now? Megan looked up. “Oh. Hi, Taj.”
“Sorry about Bennett,” Taj said. He sat down across from her. “What you were saying sounded important to you.”
“Thanks,” Megan said. “It is.”
“I think I know how you feel,” Taj said. “I’m the only Hindu at school. It’s hard when people don’t try to understand your beliefs.”
Megan sometimes felt lonely as the only member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints at their school. But she’d never thought that other kids might feel that way too.
“My parents say that when someone is mean it’s because they don’t feel happy inside,” Megan said. She twirled a pencil around her fingers. “I wonder if Bennett feels sad. Or lonely.”
Taj tilted his head. “I’ll bet you’re right. Maybe he needs a friend.”
Megan grinned. “Maybe he needs two!”
The next day at study time, Megan and Taj saw Bennett sitting alone at a table.
“Hi, Bennett,” Taj said.
Bennett looked surprised. “Hi.”
“What are you working on?” Megan asked, plopping into a chair.
“History.”
“For the quiz tomorrow?” Taj sat down too.
“Yup,” Bennett said.
“There’s a lot to remember,” Taj said. Bennett nodded.
“Maybe we could quiz each other.” Megan opened her history book. They took turns asking and answering questions until the bell rang.
“Hey, Megan, I’m sorry about yesterday,” Bennett said as they stood to go. “I heard some stuff about your church and was curious.” He shifted back and forth on his feet. “I believe different things, but I should have been nicer.”
Megan smiled. “Thanks. My church is important to me, but it’s OK if we believe different things.”
“I think we make a good study group even if we have different beliefs,” Taj said.
Bennett grinned. “Me too. And I think we’ll do great on that quiz.”
This story took place in the USA.