Gospel Story Finder

Swish! The basketball sank through the hoop as the final buzzer rang. Josh had made the shot! They had won the game! He jumped up and down and high-fived his teammates as the bleachers roared to life. “Go Lions!” all the parents yelled, and Josh smiled to hear his mom cheering loudest of all.
On the drive home, Josh couldn’t stop grinning as he replayed the game in his head. “Wow,” he thought. “I’m so lucky to be a part of this team. And my coach is really great too.” He thought of how Coach John always complimented every player and did funny cheers to get the team excited.
“And I’m glad Mom and Dad let me sign up this year,” he thought. They’d even come to his games. Sometimes he felt silly when Mom cheered so loudly, but he was secretly happy his family was there.
He started to list other blessings in his mind. He had a nice teacher this year who helped him with math. His family had just gotten a dog, and Josh found out he was pretty good at training animals! Just last week, he found out his Primary friends would be going to camp with him, and Josh couldn’t wait to learn some new sports there … The list could go on forever, Josh thought with a smile on his face. Heavenly Father had given him fun talents and loving family members and chances to try new things.
“Mom?” he said.
“Yes, Josh?”
“I just love being me! If I were somebody else, I would wish I were me!”
Mom laughed and squeezed his knee. “You are pretty great, kiddo!”
Josh turned to face her. “Thanks, Mom. Thanks for everything.” He grinned and settled back in his seat. Winning a basketball game was great, but just being himself was the best feeling of all.

Bryan stared at his cereal and twirled his spoon around. “I can’t eat, Mom. My stomach hurts.”
“Bryan,” said Mom. “I know that it’s hard to move and go to a new school, but you’ll do just as well here as you did before.”
“But, Mom,” said Bryan, “all my friends are in my old school. I won’t know anyone here.”
“You’ll make new friends,” Mom reassured him.
“But the school year’s half over,” Bryan complained. “The kids know each other and have chosen their friends. They won’t have room for me to fit in.”
Mom put her arm around Bryan’s shoulders. “Remember last week in family home evening when we talked about how we can find answers to many of our problems by reading the scriptures?”
“I remember,” Bryan answered. “But I don’t remember any scriptures about kids having to make new friends in a new school.”
Mom smiled. “Maybe not,” she agreed, “but I can think of a scripture that will help here.”
“What scripture?”
“It’s about the Savior. John wrote, ‘We love him, because he first loved us.’ * In other words, Jesus didn’t wait for people to be friendly to Him. He just loved them and was a friend first. It’s like the song in the Children’s Songbook, ‘Kindness Begins with Me.’ If you take the first step, I promise you that you’ll soon have lots of friends.”
“I’ll try, Mom,” Bryan told her. “But it’s not easy when you’re new.”
“I know,” Mom answered, “but by lunchtime you should feel better. I packed your favorite lunch.”
“Thanks, Mom,” said Bryan. “I’ll see you later,” he added as he kissed her good-bye.
Mrs. Bishop, the teacher, was expecting him. As soon as the bell rang, she said, “Class, we have a new boy this morning. This is Bryan Wright. Bryan, we’re glad to have you with us.”
Although the children smiled, as the morning went on, Bryan could tell that they had already settled into groups. Then, after recess, he found a note stuck in his desk! Bryan was surprised. Who would write a note to him? Bryan unfolded it and read:
DEAR BRYAN,
I WANT TO BE YOUR FRIEND. BUT FIRST YOU HAVE TO FIGURE OUT WHO I AM. I’LL GIVE YOU A CLUE EACH DAY TO HELP YOU. HERE IS YOUR FIRST CLUE: I AM A BOY.
YOUR MYSTERY FRIEND
The children were working on an assignment, and no one was looking at Bryan. As Mrs. Bishop called on children that afternoon, Bryan listened carefully, trying to learn each child’s name. On the way home, he caught up with a group of boys, and as he walked with them, he wondered, Could it be Jason? Larry? Maybe it’s Tony? Or Jeff?
The next morning, Bryan gobbled down his breakfast.
“Slow down, Bryan,” Mom laughed. “Yesterday you couldn’t eat a bite, and now I’m afraid you’ll swallow the spoon!”
But Bryan couldn’t wait to get to school. As soon as he arrived, he checked his desk. Sure enough, there was a folded piece of paper. He opened it and read:
DEAR BRYAN,
ARE YOU READY FOR YOUR NEXT CLUE? HERE IT IS: I HAVE BLOND HAIR AND BLUE EYES. GOOD LUCK!
YOUR MYSTERY FRIEND
Bryan looked around the room carefully. About half the boys had blond hair. During the day, Bryan tried to talk to as many of them as he could so that he could see what color eyes they had. He learned more names and discovered that there were many friendly children in the class. But he still did not know who his mystery friend was.
The next day was Friday. Bryan was anxious to solve the mystery so that he would not have to wonder about it the whole weekend. But Friday’s clue was more mysterious than ever:
DEAR BRYAN,
YOUR CLUE FOR TODAY IS: I LOVE TO PLAY BASEBALL. IF YOU CAN’T SOLVE THE MYSTERY TODAY, DON’T WORRY. HERE’S AN EXTRA CLUE FOR YOU TO THINK ABOUT OVER THE WEEKEND: SHOELACES.
YOUR MYSTERY FRIEND
Shoelaces? Bryan was confused. Not only did he still have a mystery—nearly every boy in his class loved baseball—but now he had to figure out what shoelaces had to do with it. Again he talked to as many children as he could, including the girls, hoping that someone would give the Mystery Friend away. But in spite of getting to know many children better, Bryan still did not solve the shoelace mystery.
The weekend seemed long. Mom and Dad were really happy that Bryan was excited to go back to school, and they did their best to keep him busy. Finally Monday came, and Bryan found another note stuck in his desk:
DEAR BRYAN,
THIS IS THE LAST DAY OF THE MYSTERY. REMEMBER THE FINAL CLUE: SHOELACES. SEE YOU SOON!
YOUR MYSTERY FRIEND
Bryan thought about shoelaces so much that when Mrs. Bishop asked him what five times nine was, Bryan answered, “Shoelaces.”
During art, when everyone was supposed to draw some type of transportation, Bryan drew a train riding along shoelace tracks. When lunchtime came, he walked down the line of waiting children, looking at their feet. He saw white shoelaces, black shoelaces, and blue-and-white-striped shoelaces. He saw brown shoelaces, pink shoelaces, and even purple polka-dot shoelaces.
And then he saw them—yellow shoelaces covered with black question marks! Question marks are for things you don’t know, he thought. And things you don’t know are mysteries, so these are the mystery shoelaces! He looked up to see a smiling face with blue eyes and curly blond hair. “So you’re my Mystery Friend, Jim,” he said.
“Yep. You figured me out. Now we can be friends!”
“I think we already are,” Bryan told him. “And you did me a real favor too.”
“What favor?” asked Jim.
“I was so busy trying to figure out who you were that I forgot to be shy and I got to know everybody in the class. My mom was right. By being a friend first, now I have a whole classroom full of friends—and one very best one, besides!”

The young people from the Lacey First Ward remember the roots of their area at least once a year when they gather enough wild food from the seashores and hillsides around Lacey to have a first class “wild” banquet.
To prepare for this year’s dinner, they dug clams at nearby Potlatch State Park and collected enough butter clams, horse clams, and cockles to make clam chowder and still have fresh-steamed butter clams. While some of the young people were digging clams at low tide, others waded out with small landing nets and caught crabs. Still others put out small crab pots. Each crab was carefully examined to make sure it was a male and was of legal keeping size—more than six inches across its shell. The young people went to a member’s farm and picked several pails of wild blackberries. Another member in the ward donated some salmon, and the dinner was well on its way to becoming a reality. Much of the preparation was done before the day of the banquet when corn and other garden produce appeared out of members’ gardens and blackberry pies made almost unbearably good smells in several kitchens.
All of the young people and many of their parents met at the lovely Tolmie State Park where they enjoyed canoeing and volleyball and general beach-combing before they feasted on the fruits of their foraging.

What would you do if a frantic mother came running toward you with a lifeless baby in her arms? If you had hours of lifesaving training in Scouts like Karl Durst does, you’d probably do what he did. He administered CPR to the child and saved its life.

Karl’s neighbor’s 11-month-old baby had slipped under the bath water and lost consciousness. The mother dialed 911, then ran her baby next door for help. Karl, an Eagle Scout, had come home early for lunch (the only day all summer he’d done that), and was the only one at home when his neighbor came. Karl was shocked but acted quickly and efficiently, and soon the baby was breathing and crying again.

Karl is a priest in the Rigby Fifth Ward, Rigby Idaho Stake.

Carolina Caetano began coming to Young Women class when her parents returned to church after years of inactivity. Although she had enjoyed Primary as a child, Carolina had never been baptized and was now unfamiliar with the Church and its members. “When you come back, you feel really shy because you don’t know anyone anymore. So at first I didn’t go much,” she says.
But soon the missionaries and Sister Pimentel began to visit Carolina’s home to teach her the gospel. “Whenever [Sister Pimentel] prepared a lesson, she came to my house to explain it to me. And she always helped me read the Book of Mormon,” says Carolina.
Carolina also started making friends. “The thing that helped me come back the most and what helped me want to get baptized was the strong friendships I made here. The girls were always around me, always calling me to say, ‘Hey, come to the activities. Come this Sunday.’ They were always reminding me.”
“Every convert deserves a responsibility. … Of course the new convert will not know everything. He likely will make some mistakes. So what? … The important thing is the growth that will come” (Liahona, July 1999, 122).
Like Carolina, 16-year-old Katarina Echaniz quickly made friends after being introduced to the Church by a ward member. Through the missionary discussions and her friends’ example, she also quickly gained a testimony. Shortly after her baptism, she was called to the Mia Maid presidency. “I felt responsible because there were girls depending on me to do my calling,” she says. “I wanted to do everything well.” Katarina says the assignment has helped keep her strong in the gospel.
“I am making a plea for us to reach out to our brethren and sisters who have known the beauty and the wonder of this restored gospel for a brief season and then for some reason have left it. …
“If [members] respond to this challenge, I honestly believe that they will taste the sweet and wonderful feeling which comes of being an instrument in the hands of the Lord in leading someone back into activity in His Church and kingdom” (“Becoming a Better Home Teacher or Visiting Teacher,” Liahona, September 1998, 37).
From the first time she came to church, 16-year-old Moema Duberley loved it. “The girls were very receptive and tried to help me get to know everybody,” she says. “It made me feel like the Church was my second home.”
But it became difficult for Moema to come to church when her mother stopped attending a few months after their baptism. Partly because of her calling but mostly because of their friendship, Katarina began calling Moema.
“Sometimes I felt like I was bothering Moema,” says Katarina, “but I kept trying because I felt it was important, and I knew God was going to help because I was also praying.”
After months of Katarina’s and other girls’ fellowshipping, Moema returned to full activity. “I came back because I was missing everything I had been learning at church and my relationship with God and the members.”
Now Moema and Katarina share a special bond. “I’m really grateful because I needed a friend when I was less active,” says Moema. “I’m very thankful for Katarina being like this for me. When you spend time away from the Church, you begin to feel that maybe you won’t be accepted. But when people call, it feels good to know you’re not forgotten.”
As for Katarina, “I feel really happy and thankful that Moema came back,” she says. “And it worked! I prayed and it worked.”
“Every convert is a son or daughter of God. Every convert is a great and serious responsibility. It is an absolute imperative that we look after those who have become a part of us” (Liahona, July 1999, 122).
Their seminary friends helped recent converts Daniele Ramalno, age 14, and Pamela Silva, age 16, after they moved into the ward.
“When we’re around nonmembers, some guys will start making fun of us. But the boys from seminary always look after us and treat us nice,” says Daniele. “They encourage us, too.”
“They are very good friends to me,” says Pamela. “They always give us rides to seminary and to activities.”
“It is our obligation to reach out in helpfulness, not only to our own but to all others as well” (“Thanks to the Lord for His Blessings,” Liahona, July 1999, 105).
Not only are the young women of the Botafogo Ward helping each other, they also continue to reach out to others who are not yet active, as well as to members of their community. Whether they are serving in a city park or a shelter for homeless teens, whether they are writing cards to or calling less-active girls, whether they are talking with each other or standing together as they repeat the Young Women theme—there is a singular bond among these girls as they strive to be living examples of the prophet’s words.
“You young men and young women, … I plead with every one of you … to find out about the converts to the Church and put your arms around them and make friends of them. … Please, please, reach out to every convert in the Church and help him or her to become established in the faith” (meeting, Guadalajara, México, 10 March 1998).

When I was a youth, I didn’t know what the Holy Ghost felt like. I was around 12 years old when my mother sat me down and asked me this important question: “Mark,” she said, “has the Lord ever told you through the Holy Ghost that the Church is true?”
I wasn’t in the business of lying to my mom, so I honestly and sheepishly responded “No?”
She then said, “Heavenly Father wants you to know for yourself, but you need to put in the effort. If you will read the Book of Mormon and pray, He will let you know of its truthfulness by the Holy Ghost.”
I had my own copy of the Book of Mormon, but I had never read it on my own. With the determination to take this invitation seriously, I started my own spiritual journey. Each night before I went to bed, I read a chapter or so in the Book of Mormon. As I knelt down to pray, I asked Heavenly Father to let me know that it was true. As I prayed, a peaceful feeling rested upon me. I felt good inside.
Were these feelings from the Holy Ghost? I wasn’t really sure. This was all new to me, and I didn’t know what the promptings of the Holy Ghost felt like. I wondered if an angel was going to come visit me or if perhaps a great divine light would appear in my room. Nevertheless, with sincere desire to receive the promised knowledge from the Holy Ghost, I continued to read and pray night after night. Every time I prayed, I felt feelings of peace, and I felt good inside.
It wasn’t until later that I realized the Lord had been answering my prayers all along, but I had been looking for a different kind of answer. I just didn’t realize that we can “feel” the promptings of the Holy Ghost.

With these thoughts in mind, an incident I was privileged to witness a few years ago takes on additional significance. I had a meeting scheduled with President Spencer W. Kimball. He had asked me to review some files and bring him some recommendations about them. As I descended from my office in the Church Administration Building down to the first floor where his office was, I became aware that the foyer of the building was filled with young people.

It was summertime. A traveling musical group had arrived at Church headquarters unannounced. They had been touring some of the national parks and had given concerts in several states. Impulsively, they had decided to come to Church headquarters to perform for the prophet.

President Kimball’s secretary, Arthur Haycock, was talking to them. He kindly explained that the prophet was extremely busy and was not feeling very well. Others had previously arranged appointments. He was very sorry, but the President would not be able to see them.

There was great disappointment. Brother Haycock sensed this, and in an attempt to make everyone feel better he suggested that perhaps they would like to come into the inner waiting room and sing. He assured them that this would be appreciated by others in the building. He said that in all probability the strains of their music would filter throughout the building, and President Kimball would be able to hear them even though he would not attend their impromptu concert.

This seemed to be an acceptable alternative, and the young visitors enthusiastically formed ranks and began to sing. Two or three songs were sung. As a closing number, in honor of the prophet they had not seen, the group softly and reverently commenced “We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet.” As they did so, from my seat in the waiting room, I noticed a shadow appear in a nearby doorway. It did not move during all three verses of the song. When the choir concluded, a slight figure stepped into view. It was President Kimball. He moved quickly to congratulate the conductor and thanked him for coming. He expressed admiration at the sweetness of the song; and then, caught up in the spirit of the moment, he began to shake hands with the members of the choir.

I watched with love and admiration. In that familiar, low, husky voice he would step up to a young person and say, “Thank you for coming,” “My, you are lovely,” “My, you are handsome.” To the young men he would ask, “I hope you are planning to serve a mission when you turn 19?” To the young women he would say, “I hope you are planning to marry in the temple when the time comes?” One by one, he extended this greeting to each of the singers.

He eventually came to a tall, rugged-looking baritone on the back row. The young man knew what the President was going to say before he arrived, and as the prophet took his hand he said, “President, I want you to know that I sent my papers in before we left California. I can’t wait to get home to find out where I am going on my mission.” President Kimball paused. He had left people in his office while he came out to listen to the choir. But obviously the young man’s statement had intrigued him. He stopped, stepped back, looked up into the handsome youthful face and said, “Would you like to know now?”

“I sure would,” was the reply, “but they told me I would have to wait until I returned home.” President Kimball smiled and said, “I think we might be able to tell you now.” He turned to Brother Haycock and asked him to telephone the Missionary Department and find out where the young man was to be called. Then the President finished shaking hands.

After a few moments, Brother Haycock returned. He had a folded piece of paper in his hand. He jokingly said that the Missionary Department had been reluctant to give him the information. He had to explain that the prophet wanted it. Then he gave the folded slip to President Kimball.

President Kimball stepped in front of the choir, which was still standing in almost assembled formation. It was as if he were the choir director. He opened the paper, looked at the boy, looked back at the paper, and then looked again at the young man. Then, including the entire group in the scope of his mischievous question he asked, “Are you sure you want to know?” By this time the young man was so anxious that he could scarcely contain himself. “Oh, yes!” he said. With the eyes of everyone upon him, President Kimball looked again to the paper, chuckled, and announced, “Taiwan.”

Pandemonium spread through the choir. They began to congratulate their friend on his mission call. President Kimball wished him well and waved good-bye. He went back to those who were waiting for him. The young visitors left the Church Administration Building thrilled, but somewhat unaware, I think, that they had participated in an extraordinary experience.

As the only Church member in my family, I had to overcome many obstacles to serve a full-time mission. One of these was financial, and I spent countless hours looking for jobs so I could earn enough money for my mission. Finally I found a job watching over someone’s home. Although I made only a small amount, I managed to pay tithing. Then I found another job teaching English to three children. It more than doubled my salary, and I could keep both jobs. What a blessing! After working for some months—always paying my tithing—I finally received my call to serve in the Cambodia Phnom Penh Mission.
Sometimes I think of the Lord as a master and myself as one of His servants. If I am a lazy servant who does nothing but sleep, eat, and entertain myself, will He be able to reward me? No. But if I labor diligently, will our Master withhold His blessings from me? No. He will reward me more than I deserve. And if we are obedient to the law of tithing, how generous will our blessings be then? He has said that there will not be enough room to receive them (see Mal. 3:10; 3 Ne. 24:10). This is the Lord’s wonderful promise to all who pay tithing.
Eng Bun Huoch, Ta Khmau Branch, Phnom Penh Cambodia South District

Sammy liked to memorize scriptures. He couldn’t read yet, but he already knew six articles of faith and many verses from the Book of Mormon and Bible. Mom wrote a scripture on a card and drew a picture on the back to help Sammy remember. Sammy knew scriptures about the Savior, gratitude, service, the stripling soldiers, and Nephi. He felt good inside because he was learning the scriptures.
One Sunday before Primary opening exercises, Sammy waited reverently on the CTR 5 bench beside his teacher, Sister Taylor. He folded his arms and listened to the music. Then he heard Sister Hunter, the Primary president, talking to Sister Taylor.
“I just found out that the boy who was going to give the scripture is sick today,” Sister Hunter said. “I’m going to see if an older child can read a scripture for us on short notice.”
Sammy quickly thought about all the scriptures he knew. “I can give a scripture today,” he told Sister Hunter.
“That would be great, Sammy,” Sister Hunter said. “Can Sister Taylor help you find and read a scripture?”
“I don’t need any help,” Sammy said.
Sister Hunter and Sister Taylor looked surprised. “Are you sure?” Sister Taylor asked.
“I have lots of scriptures memorized,” Sammy said. “I just learned a scripture about King Benjamin. I could say that one.”
“OK,” Sister Hunter said. “Will you please come sit up front?”
Sammy felt his heart beat faster as he walked to the front of the room and sat down. He was a little nervous, but he was confident he could say the scripture.
After singing “Book of Mormon Stories,” Sister Hunter said that Sammy would give the scripture.
Sammy walked to the pulpit and stood on the step stool. He took a deep breath and then spoke into the microphone: “Mosiah 2:17. When ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God.”
Sammy stepped down and went back to his seat, smiling the whole way. A warm feeling came over him. He was grateful that he had helped Sister Hunter in Primary. And he was grateful that even though he couldn’t read, he could still learn the scriptures.

“This really happened here?” Sharon murmured. The bronze statue showed Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery kneeling before John the Baptist to receive the Aaronic Priesthood.
“We don’t know exactly where the event happened,” Dad said, “but we know that Joseph and Oliver were praying somewhere near the river when John the Baptist appeared. The Melchizedek Priesthood was restored later by Peter, James, and John.”
Sharon listened to the Susquehanna River gurgling behind the trees and felt warm sunlight shining on her face. A peaceful, happy feeling swelled inside her. She felt that way a lot lately.
She and her family were traveling with a group visiting some Church history sites. She had felt the Spirit in the Sacred Grove, at the Hill Cumorah, and now here in what was once called Harmony, Pennsylvania.
“I believe what happened here,” she thought, “but I have a hard time imagining it.” The word priesthood reminded her of her brother passing the sacrament or Dad giving her a blessing, not angels appearing.
As she climbed back into the car, she took one last glance toward the peaceful river and tried to picture the glorious event that had occurred. But it seemed like too much for her mind to grasp.
A week later, the tour group stayed at a campground with a fun playground. Sharon enjoyed running around after a long day in the car, and she hardly noticed when fireflies started coming out.
“It’s getting dark. We should probably go in soon,” her friend Emily said. “Come push me on the swing one more time.”
Sharon agreed. As Emily gained momentum, Sharon pushed harder. “Faster!” Emily giggled.
Suddenly, Emily’s little sister Darcy darted through the darkness—right into Emily’s path. Emily’s feet rammed into Darcy, and she crumpled to the ground.
Emily leaped from the swing and fell beside her motionless sister. “Darcy! Darcy! Are you OK?”
Darcy didn’t respond. She looked like a limp potato sack lying on the ground.
Sharon’s heart pumped wildly as she tried not to panic. “Stay here!” she told Emily. “I’ll go get help.”
Sharon found Emily’s dad, and they ran back to the swings. Sharon breathed with relief as Darcy opened her eyes and whimpered. Then Darcy clutched her arm and screamed in pain.
“Emily, please go tell Uncle Steve that we need to give Darcy a blessing,” Emily’s dad said. He scooped Darcy into his arms and hurried toward their campsite.
Emily grabbed Sharon’s arm. “Come with me!”
Sharon swallowed the lump in her throat as they explained to Emily’s uncle what had happened. It scared her to see adults acting so worried. The three hurried back to Emily’s campsite, Sharon silently praying that Darcy would be OK.
When they stepped inside the dimly lit trailer, Sharon saw Darcy lying calmly on the bed. A familiar, peaceful feeling came over her as Emily’s dad whispered in Darcy’s ear, “Uncle Steve and I are going to give you a blessing.”
Sharon folded her arms and closed her eyes while the men placed their hands on Darcy’s head. As she listened to the reverent words, a warm feeling grew stronger and stronger until she was tempted to open her eyes and peek. It felt as though warm sunlight were filling the room.
She remembered standing on the banks of the Susquehanna River the week before, sunlight shining through the trees. She remembered the bronze statue of John the Baptist, Joseph, and Oliver, and suddenly she understood what had happened there. Though she couldn’t see angels, she felt heaven’s power streaming into the room.
Her heart burst with joy as tears trickled down her cheeks. The priesthood wasn’t just something her brother used in church to pass the sacrament. It wasn’t just something that helped her dad say comforting words whenever he gave her a blessing. It was Heavenly Father’s glorious power to lead, bless, serve, and perform miracles—all restored through a humble latter-day prophet.
The sacred places Sharon had visited flashed through her mind, including Carthage Jail, where the Prophet Joseph had been martyred. She cried harder as she realized that Joseph Smith had sacrificed everything so that heaven’s power could be on earth today.
Emily’s dad said, “Amen,” and Sharon opened her eyes. She smiled to see she wasn’t the only one wiping away tears. Everyone else had felt the power, too.
The next day as Sharon and her family ate breakfast at the picnic table, Emily walked over to their campsite.
“Good morning, Emily,” Sharon’s mom greeted her.
“How’s Darcy?” Sharon’s dad asked. Sharon had told her parents all about what had happened.
Emily’s eyes danced. “My parents took her to the hospital to make sure she was OK, and do you know what the doctor said?”
Sharon shook her head.
“He looked at her arm and said that it was broken, but the X-rays proved him wrong. He said he’d never seen bruising like that without a broken bone, and he couldn’t understand why hers wasn’t broken.” Emily smiled knowingly.
Sharon grinned back, grateful that she understood why. It all went back to a miraculous event that had happened on the banks of the Susquehanna River—the day the priesthood was restored.

A Relief Society presidency in Pleasant Grove, Utah, met with their bishop to discuss ward goals before planning Relief Society classes. Based on those goals, Relief Society leaders planned a meeting where a sister in the ward shared how she uses Preach My Gospel for family home evening. They also arranged several gardening workshops, including how to store food from one’s garden. Of the presidency’s meetings with the bishop, the Relief Society president says, “We feel our bishop’s love, knowing he is praying to the Lord in our behalf.”

My name is Micah Bybee. I’m a fourth grade student at Millville Elementary School in Millville, Utah. My teacher, Mrs. Bartelt, asked for volunteers to work as peer tutors in her classroom. She explained that she needed them to teach a few students who needed extra practice in reading. I like reading, and I wanted to help other children have fun reading. My parents gave their permission for me to be a peer tutor in my classroom every morning for twenty minutes.
It took Mrs. Bartelt about four days to train me to be a peer tutor. I learned how to teach a special reading assignment to a girl named Erica Bothwell (a fictitious name)* who has a learning disability. Most of the time it was fun and exciting to be a peer tutor. But it also took a lot of hard work to help her learn how to read words that I thought everyone knew.
I taught Erica how to sound out letters and to read words from a workbook and some other books. Afterward, she read her lessons to Mrs. Bartelt. It was exciting to hear Erica say the sounds and words that I had taught her. She and I were both excited when our teacher placed a special marker on the bulletin board after Erica had completed her first workbook. I invited her over to my house after school, and we celebrated by eating ice cream!
Erica worked very hard during our tutoring sessions, and we enjoyed being together every morning, sitting at a separate table where we reviewed words. She was patient with me, and I learned to be patient with her. Words that came easily to me were often very hard for her to learn. She was often frustrated because she couldn’t learn as fast as most of the other students. But whenever she was discouraged, we worked even harder to learn new words. I brought some stickers from home to give to her whenever she passed off a chapter in her workbook with Mrs. Bartelt. Sometimes after school, Erica and I would practice her reading assignments and do math homework too.
I felt like a real teacher as I tutored, and I noticed that my own schoolwork improved. I concentrated more during school, and I studied harder. Before I became a tutor, I didn’t like doing my homework. Now I do it because I understand how valuable it is to try hard and to learn new things. I was able to practice my own reading skills, too, which made me a better reader. I am more accepting now of children with handicaps. My mother said that I’ve become more tolerant of my sisters’ behavior at home too. Now I accept them for their own personalities and abilities and try not to be critical of their imperfections.
Erica hadn’t liked reading because it was so difficult for her, and she’d felt embarrassed when she tried to read in front of others. The tutoring taught her reading skills and gave her confidence to read more difficult words and stories. She began to feel the joy that comes from being able to read an entire story and understand its meanings.
Erica and I became good friends, and I learned that people who have handicaps like to do many of the same things that I do. I also better understand that we are all children of our Heavenly Father and that we should respect and love each other. We have differences, but we are more alike than we realize. For example, Erica and I both enjoy riding our bikes. We watch TV together and go to swimming lessons on Saturdays. We even practiced reading the Book of Mormon together. I’m so glad that I had the chance to be her tutor. I think that she’s glad too.
I worked with Erica for the whole year, and the time went very fast. It wasn’t very long before she started checking out books from our school library. Her mother and dad were excited to hear Erica reading to her brothers and sisters.
When the school year was over, I wondered who learned the most—Erica or me.

Another missionary, who served in Colorado, USA, was sent home from his mission for disciplinary reasons and excommunicated from the Church, but he was later rebaptized. “Coming home was hard,” he says. “I felt lost and empty. At times, the most difficult part of coming home was [finding] the motivation to keep going to church, reading the scriptures, and praying. The simple things were the hardest.”

But he found strength in the support of friends and family and in working to repent.

“Setting goals, meeting with my bishop, and going to the temple when I was worthy were keys in being able to come closer to my Heavenly Father,” he adds. “I remember times when I couldn’t meet with my bishop or accomplish some goals; the adversary was always right there, tempting me.”

His recovery was made possible by “always remembering that I have a Heavenly Father who loves me and wants me to be happy. Having a testimony of the Savior’s Atonement and of repentance, we can always come closer to God no matter how distant we might feel.”

“Looking back on my mission,” he continues, referring to the months he served before the events that led to his being sent home, “I still feel like it was one of the best experiences I’ve ever had. I learned a lot, and although it didn’t turn out the way I had planned, I was still able to see lives change because of the gospel. I made some mistakes, but my testimony has grown so much more as I’ve striven to repent and keep moving forward.”

He wants others who returned early because of their choices to know that “the world isn’t over. Coming home is a first step toward repentance. Once you go through this process of repentance, you will have gained so much. That heavy burden will be lifted. There is no better feeling than knowing you are in the right in the sight of God.”

“Just love them,” adds the missionary who served in Colorado. “Encourage them to always remember the atoning sacrifice of Jesus Christ.”

I want to describe the characteristics and tactics of two cheetahs Susan and I watched hunting their prey and relate some of the things we observed to the daily living of the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Cheetahs are the fastest land animals on earth and reach running speeds as high as 75 mph (120 km/h). These beautiful animals can accelerate from a standstill position to running as fast as 68 mph (109 km/h) in less than three seconds. Cheetahs are predators that sneak up on their prey and sprint a short distance to chase and attack.
Susan and I spent almost two hours watching two cheetahs stalking a large group of topis, Africa’s most common and widespread antelopes. The tall, dry grass of the African savanna was golden brown and almost totally obscured the predators as they pursued a group of topis. The cheetahs were separated from each other by approximately 100 yards (91 m) but worked in tandem.
While one cheetah sat upright in the grass and did not move, the other cheetah crouched low to the ground and slowly crept closer to the unsuspecting topis. Then the cheetah that had been sitting upright disappeared in the grass at exactly the same moment that the other cheetah sat upright. This alternating pattern of one cheetah crouching low and creeping forward while the other cheetah sat upright in the grass continued for a long time. The stealthy subtlety of the strategy was intended to distract and deceive the topis and thereby divert their attention away from the approaching danger. Patiently and steadily, the two cheetahs worked as a team to secure their next meal.
Positioned between the large group of topis and the approaching cheetahs were several older and stronger topis standing as sentinels on termite mounds. The enhanced view of the grasslands from the small hills enabled these guardian topis to watch for signs of danger.
Then suddenly, as the cheetahs appeared to be within striking distance, the entire group of topis turned and ran away. I do not know if or how the sentinel topis communicated with the larger group, but somehow a warning was given, and all the topis moved to a place of safety.
And what did the cheetahs do next? Without any delay, the two cheetahs resumed their alternating pattern of one cheetah crouching low and creeping forward while the other cheetah sat upright in the grass. The pattern of pursuit continued. They did not stop. They did not rest or take a break. They were relentless in following their strategy of distraction and diversion. Susan and I watched the cheetahs disappear in the distance, always moving closer and closer to the group of topis.
That night Susan and I had a memorable conversation about what we had observed and learned. We also discussed this experience with our children and grandchildren and identified many valuable lessons. I now will describe three of those lessons.

A true champion, after giving everything he can, calls on God for extra help.
Cathy Ferguson, age 17, was struggling in the backstroke swimming event, 15 centimeters behind the leader. She could hardly feel her arms and legs, but kept battling—8 meters, 7 meters, 6 meters, 5 meters. She kept swimming harder, until she pushed through to win. In that moment of glory, she could hardly control her tears, but she said, “I just kept praying, ‘Please God, help me keep going.’”

I want to do something really nice for Halloween, Mary Kathleen,” Samantha said to her doll as she laid her on the bed. “It’s only Saturday. We ought to be able to think of something to do by Monday that would surprise everyone.” Samantha thought and thought as Mary Kathleen seemed to stare at her with big blue eyes. “It’s harder to think of nice tricks to play on Halloween than bad ones,” Samantha moaned.
Samantha wandered down to the kitchen, where her mother was baking cookies. “Mmmm, they smell good, Mom. Can I help?”
“Sure, honey. I’ve rolled out the dough. Will you cut out the cookies?” As Samantha placed them on the cookie sheet, they reminded her of faces. Suddenly she smiled brightly and held up a big round cookie. “Mom, can I make some witch cookies and take them to all our neighbors on Monday? It could be a Halloween family home evening treat for them.”
“I thought that you wanted to go trick-or-treating,” Mom said.
“I can do that, too, if I have time. But I want to do something nice for our neighbors first.”
“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” said Mom. “Let’s get started. I’ll make an extra batch of cookie dough.”
While the extra cookies were baking, Samantha made white icing for the witches’ faces, red for their eyes and noses, and chocolate for their hats. Then she started decorating the faces. She had to work as fast as she could to be finished by bedtime.
Monday after school, Samantha took a stack of paper lunch sacks, wrote “Happy Halloween” on each sack, and placed ten cookies in each one. Then she put on her witch costume and made up her face to look like her cookies. Mom laughed. “I don’t know which looks scarier,” she said, “you or your cookies.”
It looked like a storm was on its way, so Samantha quickly put her sacks into a small laundry basket and started down the street. First she went to the Porters’. They answered the door so fast that all she could think to say was, “Happy Halloween.” She giggled and waved as she left. Samantha decided to go to the fire station next. Brother Sanchez, her Primary teacher, worked there. I’ll really surprise him, she thought as she headed for the station. On the way Samantha saw a group of her friends from school.
“Hi, Sam,” one of them yelled. “What do you have in your basket?”
“Witch cookies to give out for Halloween.”
“You must be kidding! You’re supposed to get treats on Halloween, not give them away. Think of all the fun and goodies that you’re going to miss.”
“I’ll go trick-or-treating as soon as I get these delivered,” Samantha explained. But as the other girls headed for the new subdivision, Samantha thought, Maybe I will miss out on a lot.
Just then Samantha felt a big drop of rain. Then another and another. Suddenly the rain was pouring down. Samantha looked for a place to get out of the downpour. The nearest building was a shelter for the homeless. Samantha ran through the front door.
“Look what the storm blew in,” a kind-looking man said. “A real live witch with a basket full of tricks.” Samantha looked around. The room was small but warm. Several people, including children, were sitting around a long table, eating crackers and hot soup. Some of them were shy, but most smiled at her. “Would you like a bowl of soup to warm you?” the man asked.
Samantha was cold and starting to get hungry. “Could I call my mom first to let her know where I am and ask her if it’s all right?” she asked.
“Sure. There’s a phone over there.”
Samantha called her mom, who said she could stay. “I’ll come and pick you up in a half hour. Then you might still have time to go trick-or-treating before family home evening.”
Everyone teased Samantha about her laundry basket of tricks as they ate their soup. The more they teased, the more she smiled, because she knew what she was going to do. When they had all finished eating, Samantha felt warm and comfortable. Everyone else there seemed to enjoy having a Halloween witch with them. She got up and picked up her basket.
“Before I go, I want to show you what’s in my basket. Instead of tricks, I have treats for you.” She passed out the cookies until everyone had some.
“Oh, look—witch cookies! Real witch cookies, just for us!” exclaimed a little five-year-old girl as she smiled at Samantha. Everyone thanked Samantha, and she felt happy about what she had done.
When her mom came to pick her up, it was still raining hard, and Samantha knew that she would be doing no trick-or-treating that night. But it didn’t matter to Samantha—it had still been the best Halloween ever!

Today is the first day of camp, and we did the swimming merit badge. A leader threw a brick into the pool, and we each had a turn to jump in and get it. I wasn’t sure how Bryant would do, but I tried my best to help him know where to go. I shouted directions to him from the side of the pool. He probably couldn’t hear underwater, but he didn’t give up. He kept feeling around until he found the brick. He finished on time and earned his badge. It was awesome!

Our family has always enjoyed a Christmas tradition of setting out a ceramic Nativity scene—complete with Wise Men, camels, shepherds, sheep, and, of course, Mary, Joseph, and baby Jesus. Each season the Nativity scene was the same.
One year when my children were young, I carefully unwrapped each piece and set them up to represent the first Christmas. The children gathered around to watch. We talked about the birth of Jesus and the visit of the shepherds and the Wise Men. Then I cautioned the children, as always, not to touch the pieces, explaining that they were fragile and easy to break.
This year, however, the temptation was too great for my two-year-old daughter, Elizabeth. The day we set up the Nativity scene, I noticed several times, with some irritation, that a camel had wandered from its appointed place or a sheep had strayed from the watchful care of the shepherd. Each time, I returned the piece to its rightful place, then tracked down the culprit and admonished her to leave things alone.
The next morning, Elizabeth awoke and went downstairs before I did. When I walked into the living room, I noticed right away that the manger scene had been disturbed again. All the pieces were clumped together in a mass, as tightly as they could be fitted together.
Impatiently, I stepped forward to put things right; but I stopped short as I realized that some thought had gone into this new arrangement. All twenty-three figures were grouped in a circle, facing inward, pushed together as if to get the best view possible of the figure resting in the center of them all—the baby Jesus.
The Spirit touched my soul as I pondered the insight of a two-year-old. Certainly, Christ should be the center of our holiday celebrations. If we all could draw in around our Savior—not only during the Christmas season, but during each day—what a better perspective we would have. The love he offers to each of us would be easily shared with others who have not ventured so close.
I left the Nativity scene arranged according to Elizabeth’s design that year. It served as a simple reminder during the rest of the season of what Christmas is all about.

Spiritual healing is illustrated in the story of Warren M. Johnson, pioneer ferryman at Lee’s Ferry, Arizona. As a young man, Warren Johnson came west seeking his fortune in gold in the summer of 1866. He became very ill, and his companions left him under a tree in the yard of a family in Bountiful, Utah. One of the daughters found him and reported there was a dead man out in the yard. Although he was a complete stranger, this kind family took him in and nursed him back to health. They taught him the gospel and he was baptized. He eventually ended up as the ferryman at Lee’s Ferry.
In 1891 the Warren Johnson family suffered a great tragedy. Within a period of a short time, they lost four children to diphtheria. All four were buried in a row next to each other. In a letter to President Wilford Woodruff, dated July 29, 1891, Warren told the story:
“Dear Brother,
“In May 1891 a family residing in Tuba City, came here from Richfield Utah, where they had spent the winter visiting friends. At Panguitch they buried a child, and without disinfecting the wagon or themselves, not even stopping to wash the dead child’s clothes, they came to our house, and remained overnight, mingling with my little children. …
“We knew nothing of the nature of the disease, but had faith in God, as we were here on a very hard mission, and had tried as hard as we knew how to obey the Word of Wisdom, and attend to the other duties of our religion, such as paying tithing, family prayers etc. etc., that our children would be spared. But alas, in 4 1/2 days [the oldest boy] choked to death in my arms. Two more were taken down with the disease and we fasted and prayed as much as we thought it wisdom, as we had many duties to perform here. We fasted some 24 hours and once I fasted 40 hours, but all of no avail for both my little girls died also. About a week after their death my fifteen year old daughter Melinda was stricken down and we did all we could for her but she followed the others, and three of my dear girls and one boy [have] been taken from us, and the end is not yet. My oldest girl 19 years old is now prostrate with the disease, and we are fasting and praying in her behalf. … What have we done that the Lord has left us, and what can we do to gain his favor again[?]
“Yours in the gospel
“Warren M. Johnson”
In a subsequent letter to his friend Warren Foote, Brother Johnson testified that he had found a spiritual peace:
“I can assure you however, that it is the hardest [trial] of my life, but I set out for salvation, and am determined through the help of my Heavenly Father to hold fast to the iron rod, no matter what trials may come upon me. I have not yet slackened in the performance of my duties, and hope and trust that I shall have the faith and prayers of my brethren that I may live so as to receive the blessings, you having authority, have placed on my head.”
The seventh article of faith states that, among other spiritual gifts, we believe in the gift of healing. I believe this gift extends to healing of both the body and the spirit. The Spirit speaks peace to the soul. This spiritual solace comes by invoking spiritual gifts, which are claimed and manifested in many ways. They are rich, full, and abundant in the Church today. They flow from the humble and proper use of a testimony. They also come through administering to the sick following an anointing with consecrated oil. Christ is the Great Physician, who rose from the dead “with healing in his wings,” while the Comforter is the agent of healing.

I met one such young man not long ago while I was attending a stake conference in another country. We were about to conclude a Saturday afternoon meeting with the stake presidency when a knock came at the office door. The president opened it, and I saw a hand give an envelope to him. It had my name on it. The letter inside introduced me to a young man who needed an interview in order to be accepted as a missionary.

As soon as our meeting with the stake presidency was concluded, I excused them and invited the young man in. His initial appearance shocked me. I couldn’t believe he was being recommended to go out and serve as a missionary. His clothes were somewhat wrinkled; he needed a shave; he reeked with tobacco smoke; he even had some sort of paperback book rolled up in his hands. What could he offer in the service of the Master, I thought.

And then it happened—he walked over and shook hands with me. As I looked into his eyes, I was electrified. He was different. He was special, in spite of his outward appearance. As we sat down he told me his story. He first excused himself for appearing to be untidy and in a hurry. He said he had just gotten off the bus after a 13-hour ride from his home and, if I didn’t mind, he hoped he would be able to be back on the bus in another hour for another 13-hour ride to his home.

I then began to put two and two together. I knew now why his clothes were wrinkled and why he needed a shave. I knew the tobacco smoke was not of his choosing, but from the close confinement in the bus. I made another observation. That paperback book in his hand was the Book of Mormon—well read, well used, a priceless possession. He went on to say that three years ago he had joined the Church because of his association with our young people. He said they were different. His parents had given him permission if he wanted to, but warned that if he did, he would no longer have a bed in their home. He could no longer live with them as their son.

When he was baptized, his father kept his word and opened the back door, telling him never to return. The young man didn’t. He moved in with friends. He told me that for the past three years he had been working and going to school. He said he had saved over $2,000 to keep himself on a mission. Please, could he go, he said; he wanted to more than anything in the world. The impression of the Spirit said yes, and he’s now part of the army of 18,000 stalwarts who are out covering the earth as servants of the Master.