Gospel Story Finder

It was left to Primary teachers, Young Women leaders, and priesthood leaders to provide me with gospel instruction. When I was seven years old, my junior Sunday School teacher taught us about prayer, and I wanted to pray. She taught us about tithing, and I wanted to pay tithing. She taught us about fasting, and, well, I was only seven years old, so I didn’t want to fast. But when she taught us about baptism, I wanted to be baptized. I am grateful for my goodly parents, who supported me in my decision and who later also became members of the Church.

The youth of Caerphilly Ward, Cardiff Stake, prepared for the Christmas season of 2020 in a most fitting way. In conjunction with Care4Humanity and LDS Charities, they worked on the SNUG Pack initiative (socks, neck-warmers, underwear, and gloves). In just a couple of hours, 1,012 packs were assembled and tagged, ready for their journey to refugees in Calais.
Sister Deb Barry, who was instrumental in organising the efforts, said, “One of the things that really stood out to me when I spoke to the youth about why they wanted to come and participate in this activity, many of them responded that ‘they couldn’t imagine seeing people being cold this winter and this would help people stay warm and cared for’.
“What was great about this was they knew this was for refugees in Northern France but when they spoke about who was receiving these items, they referred to them as people. This, to me, was probably one of the most beautiful moments and a reminder of what we should all be learning from our youth. I spoke to them individually and they all saw this service as helping the individual person.
“It’s a great reminder how the Lord has asked us to look for the one and care for one another. Our passport, identity, wealth, age, gender, and so on, aren’t what is important. Keeping people warm this winter, and allowing them the dignity they deserve as well, is so important. I loved that the youth have just felt that, and they then teach this to the younger youth coming up.”

I recently decided to try a new recipe: a bûche de Noël. A beautiful, swirly chocolate cake.
During the first few minutes of mixing, my lump of dough looked nothing like the example I was following. “This is not working out,” I said. And as the tedious task of mixing wore on, I also wondered, “Is all this work even worth it?”
After some redoes and a lot of patience, I tried a new bûche de Noël recipe. There were several moments when I thought it was going to fail, but in the end, it turned out fantastic!

The dorm was quiet Saturday night because nearly everyone except Carol was on a date. She studied until 10:30 and went to bed.
A little past midnight the overhead light flashed on, and her roommate Natalie bounced in and gleefully announced her engagement to David. For the next 15 minutes she sat on Carol’s bed and gave a complete playback.
Finally she stopped, looked seriously at Carol, and said, “Oh, I’m sorry. How must you feel listening to me go on and on?”
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s not fair that I’m a junior and engaged and you’re a senior with no prospects. You must hate me.”
“I’m happy for you.”
“How can you be? This is your last semester. If you don’t find anyone now, what’ll become of you?”
“Don’t worry,” Carol said nonchalantly.
“You’re so brave,” Natalie said, “but don’t worry. Now that I’m engaged, I’ll devote my efforts to helping you find someone. Now don’t fall asleep because while I brush my teeth I’m going to plan it all out.”
As soon as she left, Carol’s smile vanished. What would she do if nobody ever asked her to get married? She never used to think about it, but lately it kept surfacing, like some Loch Ness monster in her mind.
A minute later, smelling of toothpaste, Natalie returned. “I’ve got it all figured out. You can date David’s roommate—his name is Tom. He’s a senior too, so he must be as desperate as you.”
Natalie spent the next few days coaching Carol, teaching her stock phrases designed to boost a guy’s ego. Carol didn’t find it strange that Natalie believed they were necessary to impress a guy, but what did surprise her was that for the first time in her life, she was trying to fit someone else’s mold, because she very much wanted to find a husband.
David and Tom were invited for supper on Saturday evening. Carol hoped that Tom would not be too much like David, who never seemed completely human to her. She could imagine that he was a cleverly made robot, and that someone plugged him in at night to recharge his battery pack. Also there was his smell—the aroma of the chemistry lab always permeated his clothes.
At least Tom was not a chemistry major, Carol thought. He was a civil engineering student specializing in concrete, one who had brought fame to the school by designing and building a concrete canoe which actually floated and had won a race against other colleges.
By the time Saturday night arrived, Carol was wearing Natalie’s dress, sporting her hair style, and mouthing the guaranteed phrases.
Finally the time arrived and so did David and Tom. Carol’s first reaction to meeting Tom was to inhale sharply, trying to find out if the rancid smell coming from the pair was from David or Tom. Was it nitric acid or sulfur dioxide, she wondered, trying to remember back to her high school chemistry class.
“Well, let’s get acquainted, shall we?” David said heartily, attempting to be warm and human. “Carol, I keep forgetting—what’s your major?”
“Music education,” she said, repeating the answer to the question David asked each time he came to pick up Natalie. It was his version of conversation.
“Oh sure,” he said with a superior grin. “You came to college to learn how to sing songs and play games—right?”
“Actually,” Carol said, fighting to maintain her pleasant smile, which Natalie stressed was a necessity for the evening, “it’s a difficult discipline.”
“Oh sure. I bet you have to learn how to use the pitch pipe, don’t you?” David said, laughing at his little joke.
Tom turned to her and said, “I’m sure there must be more to it than just singing songs.”
She liked him for rescuing her from David’s superiority complex. She leaned toward him and took a whiff. He was not the one who smelled like rotten eggs. It must be David.
“Yes, there is,” she said.
“Would you like to tell me about it?” Tom asked.
“Oh, there’s not much to tell. Besides, I’m dying to hear about your concrete canoe. I heard about you winning the race against the other schools.”
“Well, it floated. That’s one of the most important things you want in a canoe.”
“And you built it yourself?” she said, gushing the way Natalie had taught her.
“It wasn’t that hard.”
“Oh, I could never do anything as complicated as that. You must be so smart.”
Natalie winked at her to tell her she was doing well with Tom, and then she left to borrow something from another apartment. David sat down and played with his $700 programmable calculator.
A few minutes later Tom again asked about her major, and she offered to show him what she was doing that semester. She went to her room and returned with a tuba mouthpiece.
“Where’d you get that?” he asked.
“Brass workshop,” she said.
His eyes widened in astonishment. “You made that in a brass workshop?”
“No,” she laughed, “a brass instrument workshop. I have to learn to play every instrument, and right now it’s the tuba.”
She showed him how to hold his lips for the mouthpiece.
“I’ve always wanted to play the tuba,” he said.
“I brought it home for the weekend. If you want, I’ll bring it out for you to try.”
In a minute she was back from her room with the tuba.
“Play me a song first,” he said.
“This will be ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’,” she said, preparing to play. With some difficulty, she made it through.
“When I hear that song on the tuba,” he said, “I picture a two-ton lamb who roams the fields scaring the socks off the local coyotes.”
He’s got a sense of humor, she thought approvingly.
Just then Natalie returned, took one look at the tuba, and said icily, “Carol, could I have a word with you in private?”
They went to their room.
“What on earth are you doing?” she asked. “Do you think a guy will fall in love with a girl tuba player?”
“He seems interested in it.”
“Oh sure, he’ll say he’s interested, and he’ll let you make a fool of yourself, but let me tell you, when it comes to taking a girl home to meet his parents, it won’t be the girl with the tuba. No sir!”
“Why not?”
“Tubas aren’t feminine! You can play the piano or the violin or the clarinet for him, but the girl who plays the tuba will never marry.”
If there had been anyone else waiting in the kitchen, she might have argued with Natalie about the tuba, but she felt a deepening interest in Tom, and in the worst way didn’t want to harm her chances.
“What should I do?” Carol asked.
“I’ll get David to put the tuba away. Here, you put on this crocheted shawl of mine and go in there and imply you made it.”
“Imply?”
“Just go in and ask him how he likes your homemade shawl. Say to him, ‘Alhm made this shawl.’”
“I don’t want to lie.”
“It’s not lying. There’s a lady down the street, her last name is Alhm, and she made it, so you can tell him that Alhm made this shawl.”
A few minutes later Natalie coached Carol in the kitchen with the shawl.
“Are you cold?” Tom asked, looking at the shawl.
Carol wasn’t sure what she should answer so she looked at Natalie who nodded her head. “Yes, a little.” Then her conscience got the best of her. “No, not really.”
“It’s pretty.”
Natalie looked sharply at Carol and waited.
Finally she did it. “Alhm made this shawl,” she whispered.
“I can’t hear you. What did you say?”
“Alhm made this shawl.”
“Really? You made it?”
She looked down at the floor and knew she was blushing, and then shook her head and said, “No, not me, a Sister Alhm made it. I don’t know anything about crocheting.”
Natalie cleared her throat and asked to see Carol again. They both returned to their room.
“Why can’t you just do what I say? Then he’d fall for you. Don’t you like him?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Then just do what I say.”
“I’ve never lied like that. It makes me nervous. And I don’t like the idea of putting up a phony image.”
“Everyone does it—it’s a part of life to hide things from others. Listen to me. I can make him fall in love with you if you’ll just cooperate. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, but who would he love?”
“He’d love you.”
“Which me—the real me or the phony one?”
“What does it matter as long as he asks you to marry him? Okay, we’ll forget the shawl, and I won’t ask you to lie. I’ll go in and ask you to drain the spaghetti, and David and I will leave to borrow some dessert goblets. You say to him, ‘Tom, this pot of spaghetti is so heavy. You’re so strong. Could I get you to lift it from the stove and help drain it?’ And after he does it, you tell him how wonderful he is.”
“I’ve drained spaghetti by myself since I was ten years old,” Carol said quietly.
“I know, but men need to feel strong and masculine, especially these days when they’ve been replaced by electricity. Besides, what’s the harm? Men are supposed to be strong, aren’t they?”
A few minutes later Tom lifted the large pot off the stove onto the counter next to the sink.
“You’re so strong,” Carol said, nearly choking at the words. She dumped several pitchers of cold water on the noodles to rinse them out, and then asked him to tip the pot so the water would run out.
“How’s that?” he asked.
“A little more.”
He tipped it too much, causing the noodles to rush into the kitchen sink, at the same time spilling water all over their shoes.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Don’t worry about it. Just think of the mess I would’ve made if I’d tried to do it myself.”
She went to her room, found another pair of shoes for herself, and decided the only thing she had that he could wear was her ancient slippers with the bunny face on each toe. They were well worn with all but one of the button eyes missing and one bunny ear gone.
“Golly, look at them,” he laughed as she brought him the slippers.
“I got ’em as a joke my first semester here. I’ve worn them for nearly four years now.”
“Poor bunny rabbit,” he said, looking at the one eye on one of the slippers. “Do you ever write imaginary talks?” he said. “Brothers and Sisters, each of us in life is given a new pair of bunny slippers. But what do we do with them? For some of us, the little ears have come off, and we haven’t got around to sewing them back on. Brothers and Sisters, what have you done with life’s bunny rabbit slippers?”
She smiled and told him he was clever. She wanted to say more but was afraid it might be the wrong thing.
They had left the water on to let the spaghetti rinse itself out, and soon heard the water overflowing onto the floor.
Tom turned the water off and scooped the noodles out and plopped them back in the pot. The entire drain pipe was crammed shut with noodles.
Just then David and Natalie returned with the dessert goblets.
“Why are you both looking down the drain?” David asked.
“It’s clogged,” Tom said.
“Let me take a look,” David said, scooting Tom and Carol out of his way. After carefully examining the situation for a while, he summed it up, “There’s noodles in your drain pipe. That’s your problem.”
Carol backed away from David. Maybe it was hydrochloric acid she was smelling.
“Somebody forgot to put the stopper in the drain,” David said ominously.
“I always put the stopper in the drain,” Natalie said self-righteously.
“Well, somebody forgot,” David said. “If the stopper had been where it belongs, the drain pipe wouldn’t now be full of noodles.”
Natalie and David looked with silent accusation toward Carol.
Tom took a large knife and stuck it down the drain pipe, trying to cut the noodles into little pieces.
“No, no, that’s not the way!” David barked. “If we’re going to do a job, then let’s do it properly. We’ve first got to remove the trap down below. Let me show you.”
With a flair for the dramatic, David opened the cupboard below the sink and pointed. “You see that bend in the drain pipe there? That’s what we call the trap. Do you see it there, Natalie?”
“Oh yes,” she said, “there it is. Oh, David, you’re so smart. How did you ever know about that? I’ve never noticed it before. So that’s the trap.”
“I’ve got a pair of pliers in my car,” Tom said.
“No, not pliers,” David said, on his knees looking at the trap. “Pliers would be the very worst thing to use. Let me give you some advice. In plumbing, if you use the wrong tool, you can harm your threads. Do you know how many people end up buying new fixtures because they’ve harmed their threads?”
Carol wanted to put her hand on Tom’s arm and tell him she didn’t care about plumbing threads, but she didn’t say anything. Natalie hadn’t coached her about what to say when the drain is clogged.
“You know,” David continued, “it’s a good thing I always carry a set of tools in my car. Natalie, will you take this key, go out to the car, open the trunk, and bring me a pipe wrench?”
“I can get it for you,” Tom offered.
“No, no. Natalie and I are a team, aren’t we, dear?”
“With you telling me what to do, we are.”
“While you’re doing that, I’ll clear away this junk down below so we can get to the trap.”
“You’re so smart,” Natalie said before leaving.
A minute later she returned with the wrench.
David, whose head was in the cupboard, pushed himself out, took one look at the wrench and scowled. “No, dear,” he said, his voice grating, “this is a crescent wrench and I asked for a pipe wrench. Can you go out again and get me a pipe wrench?”
Natalie smiled faintly and looked as if she were going to cry.
“Now what’s wrong?”
“I left the keys in the trunk.”
David sat up on the floor and stared at her. “Why would you do a dumb thing like that?”
“I had to go through the entire tool chest, and I must’ve set the keys down while I was looking.”
“You left the keys in the trunk and then closed it?”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Sorry isn’t going to open the trunk, is it? Without the keys, how am I going to get back to the lab and check my experiment? Well, we’ll just have to get the keys, that’s all.”
“I’m sorry,” Natalie pleaded.
“I have to watch you all the time, don’t I?”
That’s when Carol realized that if you play the role of being less than you are, then before long people will treat you that way. Suddenly she didn’t want to play the games Natalie had set for her, even if it meant that Tom was turned off by it, because she realized that she was important and if she didn’t treat herself with respect, nobody else would.
From now on, I’m going to be me, she thought. And if that turns the guy off, then that’s tough.
Natalie started to sniffle. “I’ve ruined the whole evening, haven’t I?”
“Maybe next time you’ll remember to make sure you have the keys with you when you close the trunk,” David continued.
“Yes, dear, I will.”
“Well, it’s water under the bridge, isn’t it? We’ll have to take out the back seat, crawl in through there, get the keys, and fix the drain. We might as well get going.”
“I don’t think I want to go out and watch,” Carol said.
“Aren’t you going to help us?” David said.
“I don’t think so. We’ll just stand around watching you do everything, and I don’t want to do that.”
She realized that Tom was looking at her with a bewildered expression on his face.
“The least you can do is come out and show some interest,” Natalie said. “It’s your fault the drain was clogged anyway. The least you can do is show appreciation to David for making things right.”
“Maybe David will need some help,” Tom said, trying to smooth things over.
“All right,” she said, walking over to the tuba.
“I hope you aren’t planning on taking that outside,” Natalie said.
“I am,” she answered.
“You’ll never get married,” Natalie whispered as she marched past her. Carol followed after her playing “Mary Had a Little Lamb.”
To watch David giving a detailed description of everything he was doing one would have thought he was the first man on the moon.
Tom and Carol sat on the hood of the car and traded off playing the tuba. Every few minutes, Natalie would look up from her reverential attention to David’s work and give them a withering glance because they were not paying sufficient homage to his efforts.
After David had retrieved the keys, fixed the drain, and cleaned out the trap, he decided to return to the lab to check on his experiment. Natalie left with him.
Carol and Tom sat in the kitchen, talked, and played the tuba.
“You know,” Tom said contentedly, “this is a picture, isn’t it? Me here in these bunny slippers, you playing songs on the tuba. I think I could do this forever.”
“That won’t be possible,” she said, finding enough courage to tease him.
“Why not?”
“Next Wednesday I have to turn in my tuba, and it’ll all come to an end.”
“And then what?” he asked, looking as if he had a little more than tubas on his mind.
She looked at him for a second, smiled, and said, “The trombone.”
“Ah, the trombone,” he repeated with a grin. “One of my favorites.”
Two weeks later, if you had been standing on the shore, you might have marveled at the sight of the handsome couple in a concrete canoe, the guy paddling slowly along the shoreline while the girl happily played a love song on the trombone.
Well, it wasn’t actually a love song. It was “Mary Had a Little Lamb.” But it was played with deep feeling.

It took me a lot of years to reach rock bottom, and having arrived, seeing only loneliness, feeling only emptiness, I thought in despair of giving up. Then my mother came to visit me and asked if I would like to receive the New Era. I used to find them lying around the house and read them from time to time, and I recalled how much I enjoyed the stories, so I told her to order a subscription for me. I received my first issue in January, have just finished reading February, and am looking forward to next month. The articles introduce me to Latter-day Saints with strong testimonies and reflect such courage, faith, and hope that I find I no longer despair. I no longer see only loneliness or feel only emptiness. I find that I have taken heart, drawing strength from the words of the leaders of the Church.
I soon found myself talking about the Church to my cell partner, reading interesting passages from the New Era out loud and answering his more and more frequent questions until he finally picked up the January issue, which led to more discussions, more questions. Today when the guard brought me my February issue of the New Era, my cell partner took it and read it before I did. Afterward we spent a couple of hours discussing what we had read, getting farther into Mormon beliefs and history. He asked me if I’d get him a Book of Mormon and help him to become a member. I can’t tell you how that made me feel. I haven’t led an exemplary life, but I have never passed up an opportunity to proclaim that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the true church of God. The New Era has provided me with an opportunity to do so again and to present the gospel to another and see him embrace it. For this, and for the many hours of reading enjoyment, I want to thank you.
Name WithheldNebraska State Penal Complex

I challenged eight couples in my former home stake in California to set aside their comfortable lives of planned retirement and to bless the Scottish Saints with their gospel knowledge and service.

Arthur Thulin had been a bishop, his wife Myra a skilled teacher. Arthur anxiously wrote that he was nearing seventy and might die in Scotland. I replied, “Arthur, you are going to die somewhere; Scotland is a great place to die—but when you die, die with your boots on, not in a comfortable rocking chair.” The Thulins came, blessed the lives of many, and Arthur lived several years after their two-year mission.

Mika always looked forward to dance class. She loved listening to the music. She loved practicing her butterfly skip and getting it just right. And she especially loved it when the whole class moved together. When they did that, it was like the dancers were all the same. It felt like she wasn’t the only one with Down syndrome.
Today they were learning a new dance step. Mika watched her teacher leap into the air. She watched the other girls try. Some figured it out right away. Mika tried over and over, but she just couldn’t get it right.
“Will you help me, Teacher?” Mika asked.
The girl next to her looked at Mika. Then she leaned over to her friend. “Why does she talk like that?” she whispered. Both girls turned and looked at Mika.
When Mika got home, Mom was kneading dough in the kitchen. She had flour on her cheek. Usually that would make Mika laugh. But today she just dropped her bag to the floor and sank into a chair at the table.
“How was dance?” Mom asked.
“Terrible,” Mika said. “I asked for help, and a girl said I talk funny. Then she stared at me.” Mika looked down. “I don’t want to go to dance anymore.”
“Oh, Mika! I’m so sorry,” Mom said. “Dad and I love watching you dance. We’re so proud of how hard you work!”
Mika felt tears starting to come. “I don’t like the Down syndrome in me. I wish it wasn’t so hard for me to learn new things. I even have to practice talking!”
Dad sat down by Mika and put his arm around her. “Mika, we love you so much. We wouldn’t change one thing about you.”
But Mika just shook her head and buried her face in her arms. “I don’t want to be different. I want my Down syndrome to be taken out of me!”
Mom and Dad were quiet for a few moments.
“I have an idea,” Mom said. Mika peeked out over her arms. “Why don’t you pray and ask Heavenly Father how He feels about you?”
Mika thought about that. She liked saying prayers. Slowly, she nodded. “Can you write down the question so I’ll remember what to ask?”
Mom wrote the question down. Then Mika took the paper and went to her room to pray.
A few minutes later, when she came into the kitchen, Mika’s face was lit up like a light bulb. “Heavenly Father answered!” she said.
“What did He say?” Mom asked.
“He said, ‘Mika, I love you just the way you are,’” she said. “And He said it with a LOUD voice!”
The next week at dance, Mika didn’t worry about what the other girls thought about her. Instead, she noticed another girl, Sara, who looked sad. Sara was having a hard time learning some of the new steps too.
When Mika got home, she decided to write a note to Sara. She drew lots of hearts. Mom helped her with the spelling.
“Dear Sara,” Mika wrote. “You’re a great dancer. I want to be your friend. I am happy you are in my dance class.”
Mika couldn’t wait to give Sara the note. She wanted Sara to feel happy and loved at dance too.

Another “father” who was placed in my life was a member of my stake presidency. President Merrill was always at our stake dances, Young Women camps, and youth conferences.
As I was preparing to leave for college, President Merrill felt I needed some fatherly advice before heading into the world. His voice was gentle and soothing. I could feel his concern. I knew he loved me. He told me he would go as far as the Salt Lake Temple to attend my wedding.
A few years later, I called my father to announce my engagement. He was cold and indifferent. Nothing had changed. I tried not to cry. I turned to my Heavenly Father in prayer, and the Spirit reminded me of President Merrill’s promise. I wondered if he would remember what he had told me several years before. Did he really mean it? I picked up the phone and dialed his number. President Merrill answered. I stumbled through telling him of my engagement and asked if he remembered his promise to me. “What temple are you getting married in?” he asked.
“The Salt Lake Temple,” I answered.
“Then I will be there,” he said. He drove 13 hours in the snow to be there for me. When I walked into the sealing room with my future husband, he was the first person I saw. He was my father that day!

My father used to be a fisherman, and he worked hard. Sometimes he would go fishing long before dawn and not return home until after dusk. It didn’t matter how many hours or in what horrible weather he had to work; he remained dedicated to providing for us. I never heard him complain about how hard he had to work. That’s because his own comfort didn’t matter to him. He cared only about bringing a smile to his children’s faces. My father would ensure that we always had the necessities of life, so we never had to worry that we would go without.

But a mystery remained to be solved.
Some years after my conversion, when I visited father, I asked, “Dad, why did you never mention the gospel to your children?”
He took a deep breath, looked out the window for a moment, and then he said, “I never mentioned the gospel or the Church to any of you because I did not feel worthy to do it. But I never ceased to pray that one day all of you would hear it preached by an authoritative voice and be converted. I have yearned for that blessing, in spite of my sins.
“Actually, there was a time when my father’s family was very strong in the Church. My parents were converted in the early years of this century and raised us children in accordance with the gospel. My mother was local Relief Society president. But when they emigrated to California in 1926, I stayed behind to marry your mother. Her parents were bitterly opposed to the Church, and under the stresses and strains of that period, I soon became inactive and lost contact. Although I never doubted the Church, I began to do things far removed from its teachings. My conscience would haunt me concerning you children; but once a break in communication is made, it is very hard to reestablish them. I am grateful that you children have joined the Church. I imagine the elders were surprised as well. They came looking for me, an inactive member, and found my children who were interested and wanted to know more about the gospel.”

To celebrate the rededication of the Laie Hawaii Temple, more than 2,000 youth gathered in November to present a program titled “The Gathering Place.” At the beginning of the event, the youth stood shoulder to shoulder in the Cannon Activity Center of the BYU–Hawaii Campus as they heard President Thomas S. Monson speak.
“Today will be a night you will never forget,” he said.
The participants danced, sang, and presented a visual display of island history and culture. It also celebrated Laie, Hawaii, as a “gathering place” for early Church members and others.
“It was the most amazing thing,” said Briana Garrido, 15, of Wahiawa, Hawaii. “I have never been so thankful.”

Every year Dino Bear knew when it was time to get his winter bed ready. He took the quilt from the den shelf, put fresh clean sheets on his bed, and fluffed up the pillow. When Dino finished, his eyelids were usually heavy and he was ready for a good long sleep.
But this year Dino was wide awake. He didn’t even yawn! “I’ll be sleepy soon,” he said to himself. But days and weeks went by and winter finally came—yet Dino wasn’t one bit sleepy!
“I’ll put on my nightgown and nightcap and go to bed anyway,” he mumbled to himself. So Dino snuggled down under the quilt and shut his eyes. But his eyes wouldn’t stay shut. Soon they were wide open and staring at the ceiling.
“Maybe a spoonful of honey will help,” Dino decided. But after five spoonfuls of honey Dino was still wide awake.
Then Dino started counting sheep. He counted 100 sheep, 200 sheep, 300 sheep—but he wasn’t sleepy.
Before long Dino’s stomach growled. “I’m hungry!” he moaned. “But the honey’s all gone and the cupboard is bare!”
“I must go out into the winter world and look for food,” Dino decided. Outside it was snowing hard. Dino knew all about autumn snow, but this blowing, stinging winter snow made it hard for him to see. The snow made his tracks disappear like magic and hid familiar trees and streams!
“There’s no food,” Dino complained. Then he suddenly saw something move. Dino ran and stumbled toward it. And there was Arnie Beaver!
“What are you doing?” Dino called out as he saw Arnie gnawing at a pine tree.
“What do you think I’m doing?” Arnie grumbled.
“If I knew, I wouldn’t ask,” Dino answered politely.
Arnie wiped his eyes, squinted, and shouted, “Dino Bear! You’re supposed to be sleeping!”
“I can’t sleep,” Dino complained.
“I’ve never heard of a bear with insomnia!” Arnie declared.
“Well, now you know one,” Dino replied. “I can’t sleep.”
Arnie gave Dino some pine needles. “You must be hungry.”
“I am, and thank you!” Dino answered. He wished the pine needles were berries, but he was so hungry that he ate them anyway.
Arnie began to clack his razor sharp teeth. He was ready for work on the pine tree again. “Come to my house later, Dino,” Arnie invited the sleepless bear. “Maybe I can help your insomnia.”
Dino walked off to look for more food. Soon he saw something move, and there was Dora Deer!
Dino ran and stumbled. Soon he was close enough to see that Dora was stringing red berries! “Why are you doing that?” Dino shouted.
Dora wiped her eyes, took one look at Dino, and exclaimed, “Dino Bear! You’re supposed to be sleeping!”
“I just can’t sleep!” Dino grumbled.
“A bear with insomnia?” Dora asked sharply. But then she smiled and gave Dino some of the red berries she was stringing. He gobbled them all up in one mouthful.
Dora laughed and said, “Why don’t you come to Arnie Beaver’s house later? Maybe we can help your insomnia!” Then she began to string red berries again; so Dino walked off to look for more food.
When the light began to grow dim, Dino started for Arnie’s house. Even before he reached the door, Dino heard laughing and singing. When he finally stepped inside, his black eyes opened wide! The pine tree Arnie had gnawed down stood in the center of the room. The red berries Dora had strung were wound in and out of the pine tree’s green boughs. And a big pine cone sat on the top!
“Merry Christmas!” Dora called out.
“Merry Christmas!” Arnie cried, thumping Dino’s furry back.
Merry Christmas? Dino thought. This winter world is very strange!
Dora gave Dino a big bowlful of berries and honey.
Arnie gave him a cup of warm mountain goat’s milk. “It’s good for your insomnia,” Arnie explained.
Dino ate the berries and honey, and he drank the warm goat’s milk. Then he sat and looked at the beautiful tree and listened to Dora and Arnie sing some songs.
“What are you singing?” Dino asked, wishing his eyelids weren’t so heavy.
“Christmas carols!” Dora and Arnie said happily together.
“This—this Christmas is so—so good,” Dino said, “so—so. …”
But Dino never finished what he started to say, for he was sound asleep!

Illustration by Jens Magnusson
I didn’t know many people at my new middle school. Most of the kids I knew went to a different school, and the few friends I did have were making some bad choices. I was in a tough spot. I didn’t want to be a loner, but I knew I needed to leave the friends I had in order to do what was right.
I was going to have to make new friends.
That has always been a challenge for me. My self-confidence was awful. I was super self-conscious. Small talk was ridiculously hard. And I’m not comfortable opening up to people. The few times I tried, things just didn’t work out. You know things aren’t going your way trying to find good friends when your most promising prospect ends up asking if he can copy off your test. I was beginning to lose hope.
Yet, the prophet had just promised that God could “raise up friends” for those who turn their lives over to Him.1 That’s what I desperately wanted, but I had no idea what it meant to turn my life over to God—until one day, of all places, in the lunchroom.
My daily lunch routine was a series of painful decisions. Sandwich or mystery meat. Peas or carrots. Sit with friends who were headed the wrong direction or sit alone, making it clear to everyone in the room that I was friendless. Mostly it was sandwich. Sometimes it was peas. Sometimes it was carrots. But I could never bear the shame of sitting alone.
Until one day, as I stood holding my sandwich and peas, I finally decided I would rather sit alone than continue down the path my friends and I were headed. Without realizing it, I had just turned my life over to God. I had chosen what was right over what was easy.
Making the right decision was all He needed me to do. I didn’t even have time to take a step toward an empty table before I heard a voice call, “Hey, Adam! Come sit with us.”
It was Curtis. I was shocked. Not only was he one of the most popular kids in the school, but I also knew he had a strong testimony and high standards. His group of friends made a space for me at their table. They remained my friends through our school years, missions, and temple marriages.
I learned a couple of really important lessons that day. I learned God loved me. I learned He wanted to bless me but couldn’t until I had made my decision to follow Him. And I learned that turning my life over to Him wasn’t easy, but it was simple. I just need to choose Him over me.

Peace McBride, a seamstress’s helper in Philadelphia, is delivering a dress for her mistress, Mrs. Root, when a crowd in front of a large church piques her curiosity. Pushed inside the church by the surging crowd, Peace stays to hear the Prophet Joseph Smith deliver an electrifying sermon. The Holy Ghost reveals to her the truthfulness of the Prophet’s words, and afterward she asks about being baptized. Remembering her errand, she hurriedly delivers the dress, then returns to her mistress to confess her tardiness. Instead of anger, Peace’s mistress rewards her with kindness and has Peace sew while she reads to her from this “new” Book of Mormon.
“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Root said the next morning. “I just don’t think that you should be baptized without your parents’ permission.”
“It will be months before my regular summer visit,” Peace pleaded. “The elders will be gone by then. I might not have another chance to be baptized!”
“I just can’t let you do it. You’re still a child, my dear.”
“I’m twelve years old, old enough to be an apprentice.”
Mrs. Root sat with her head bowed, thinking. “You know, Peace, I promised your parents to take care of you as if you were my own child. If you were my child, I wouldn’t let you join a church that I know so little about.”
“But I know that it’s true,” Peace said earnestly.
Again Mrs. Root looked thoughtful. “How long will the elders be here?”
“I don’t know. I think a week or two.”
“How is the best way to learn about Joseph Smith and to know if he’s telling the truth?” Mrs. Root inquired.
“We could read more of the Book of Mormon together,” Peace suggested eagerly. “If it is true, then wouldn’t the prophet who translated it also be true?”
Mrs. Root smiled.
“Yes, I believe that you’re right. Therefore, I promise to let you be baptized if after we’ve read the Book of Mormon, I’m convinced that it’s true. Does that sound all right?”
“Oh, yes! But can we finish it before the elders leave?”
“We’ll take turns reading while the other works. That means that we’ll have to work twice as fast,” she warned.
“I will.”
From then on, whenever they could, they read aloud to each other from the Book of Mormon. It was slow going for Peace at first, but as they read, her ability increased. They laughed together as they struggled to sound out the new and strange names. They were touched by the hardships that Nephi endured because of his brothers. Their hearts ached at the wickedness of Alma the Younger and his friends, and they rejoiced when an angel helped the young men turn their lives around.
They eagerly read of the Savior’s visit to this new continent. They grieved as they read of Moroni’s sad plight. To be the last one of your people left on the earth! To be hunted by your enemies, never knowing when you would die! That took courage and conviction in what you believed. They wept together as they read Moroni’s last words.
“Mistress Root,” Peace said as they closed the book, “have you prayed about what we’ve read?” Hope filled her heart as she waited for the answer.
“Yes, my dear, but I haven’t had an answer yet.”
“We’ve finished the book now. Will you pray about it again? Surely after what we’ve read, you can see that it must be true. It sounds so much like the Bible. I felt even closer to the Savior as we read about His visit to the Nephites. I wish that I could have been there!”
“Yes. … I, too, begin to feel the truth of it. There is much wisdom in this book. I’ll pray again tonight, I promise.”
In her own prayers that night, Peace pleaded with Heavenly Father to grant Mistress Root’s request to know the truth. As she lay in bed before sleep came, she thought about how happy she was now that she knew her Heavenly Father and His plan for her.
Already up when the excited girl came downstairs the next morning, Mistress Root placed a plate of food in front of Peace, then sat down beside her. “Well,” she asked, her eyes twinkling. “Aren’t you going to ask if I prayed about the book?”
Seeing the glow on her mistress’s face, Peace knew the answer.
“I know that it’s true, dear Peace, and I want to be baptized too.”
On Christmas Eve, Peace followed Sister Root to a spot by the river where a small group of Saints had again gathered for baptism. It was bitterly cold, and fear clutched at the young girl as she thought of the dark, swirling river. Shivering, she remembered that she’d never learned to swim. Standing up straight, she shook off her fear, moved forward toward the river, and stood on the riverbank as Sister Root waded into the water.
When she emerged a few moments later, trembling, but radiant, Peace held out a warm cloak for her.
“Your turn now, Peace,” she said. “And may the Lord bless you for helping me to find such happiness.”
Wading through the slush at the edge of the river, Peace shook as the icy water closed around her. But when she clasped Elder Winchester’s hand, the shivering ceased. He pronounced the baptismal prayer and lowered her into the water. As she came up out of it, a feeling of light filled her from head to toe. She felt so warm that she didn’t even notice the cold as she walked barefoot back through the snow to where Sister Root waited for her with a thick, dry cloak.
In the warmth of the room above the shop, the elders confirmed Sister Root a member of the Church. Then they placed their hands upon Peace’s head, and, through the power of the priesthood, confirmed her a member of the Church and conferred upon her the gift of the Holy Ghost. As they placed their hands on her head, she experienced again that feeling of peace and light. She knew that what she had done was right.
Later, as Sister Root and Peace sat by the warm fireside, Peace felt a desire grow inside her. It was something that she had been thinking about all week. She had the truth, and so did Sister Root. Because they were blessed with that knowledge, they must now share it. “Sister Root,” she began timidly. “I have need to ask something of you.”
“What is it?”
“I’d like to have a few days to visit my family in Chester Springs.”
Sister Root was pensive. Travel was hard in the winter and very expensive, and Peace’s family lived in a distant county. The older woman studied the solemn face before her. “I think that I could spare you for a time. Is something wrong?”
“Oh no,” Peace reassured her. “Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s wonderful! That’s just it, you see. I need to share my knowledge of the Savior and His gospel with my family. I want them all to hear what I’ve learned.”
Sister Root looked fondly at the girl before her. “It’s not easy to travel now, but I see that you must go. Since you’re set on this, I think I’ll give you your present now, instead of waiting for morning.” Walking over to the cupboard, she took a handkerchief-wrapped bundle out of hiding and placed it in Peace’s hands.
Peace unwrapped the bundle and found several small coins. It would be enough to pay for her trip! Hugging Sister Root, she began to cry. “I can’t thank you enough.”
“Tomorrow I’ll start asking around,” Sister Root offered, as she wiped her own eyes. “Maybe someone is going that way. I’d feel better knowing that there was someone to watch over you.”
“Thank you,” Peace said, “from the bottom of my heart.”
A few days later, with a warm coat, a packet of food, and her precious coins, Peace rode a stagecoach to Chester Springs. She found her family and shared with them the story of how she had come to know that the Church was true.
Peace’s parents listened carefully. Her mother cried and her father asked many questions. Peace answered them as best she could and testified of the Book of Mormon and of Joseph Smith. Before long, her parents, too, were convinced.
They agreed to be baptized.
Peace rejoiced when she saw her family enter the waters of baptism, and she felt grateful that Heavenly Father had allowed her to help bring them the gospel. She knew then that the truth she had found was meant to be shared.

“All those who can sustain Brother Rulon T. Sheets as our new bishop, please show it by raising your right hand.”
My hand shot into the air. I was excited to have Brother Sheets as our new bishop. His daughter, Peggy, was a friend of mine. Even though she was a few years older, she often invited me to activities at her house. Brother Sheets would pop in and out of these activities, showing us a certain dance step with Peggy or taking his turn at a guessing game. Sometimes he would make popcorn and sit down and talk with us for a while.
I was happy to sustain Brother Sheets as our new bishop. But as I held my hand up in church and looked around at the chapel full of upraised hands, I wondered what kind of support my small, 11-year-old hands could offer to such a great man.
One of the first things I did was use my hands to make cookies for our new bishop. My mother told me that bishops spend a lot of time at the church and sometimes miss meals at home, so we whipped up a batch of our best oatmeal cookies. I stirred the batter until it was just right. Then, when the cookies were ready, I carried them carefully to his house. He was thrilled, but I wanted to help more.
A few weeks later, I was at an activity at Peggy’s house. She put me in charge of the music. I used my hands to turn the dial on the radio, listening for a station with appropriate music. Then I turned down the sound so it wasn’t too loud. This was the bishop’s house, and I wanted to help make it a peaceful place.
When school started, the bishop’s family invited a foster girl named Carla to live with them. The first time I met her I extended my hand and welcomed her. I knew it would help the bishop if Carla was able to make some new friends.
As the months passed, the bishop became ill and had to use a cane to help him walk. My mother said he was sick and he needed our prayers and support more than ever.
When my 12th birthday approached, I had an interview with Bishop Sheets. My mom and I walked to the church and arrived just as the bishop got out of his car. He gave me a cheery wave and shuffled over to the sidewalk. I noticed that, even though it was Saturday, he had dressed in a suit and tie just for my interview. I felt honored.
When the bishop got to the curb, he paused and looked worried. I realized that he was too weak to step up. I ran over to him.
“Take my hand,” I said. “I can help you.”
Gratefully, he grasped my hand and pulled himself up. Then I ran ahead of him and pulled open the heavy church doors.
“I should be doing that for you,” he said softly. “Thank you.”
In his office he eased himself into his chair with a sigh. He then asked me to offer a prayer. I folded my arms reverently, and even though I didn’t mention the bishop in my prayer, in my heart I asked Heavenly Father to bless and strengthen him.
When the prayer was over, the bishop looked more like his old self again. He sat up straight in his chair, and there was a light in his eyes. At the end of the interview he gave me a firm handshake, which I happily returned.
As my mom and I walked home from my interview, I thought about how much I loved Bishop Sheets, and I knew he was called of God. I was grateful that, even though my hands were small, I could still find ways to support and sustain my beloved bishop.

I first heard about the BYU-Pathway Worldwide program when I was in India. Most Church members were enrolled in this program. I was surprised that the Church offered the program in other countries but not my home country of DR Congo. But I could not join BYU-Pathway at that time due to my intense graduate studies, but my prayer was that the program could one day be offered in my home country and that I could join and learn more about it.
In 2019, the program was approved, and I was among the first generation of students in Kinshasa to be enrolled. The beginning was difficult for me, because I had a full-time job and lived in a different area from the meeting location. But I had the support of my family and my friend Patrick Kalambayi. We both walked a long distance to attend the meetings and returned home late. Sometimes we didn’t have electricity. We were looking for places with electricity to charge our computer.
At one point, the government authorities shut down internet due to some political issues. My friend and I went to the local UN agency for help, telling them we had to send our school assignments and we needed connection to the internet to do our homework. I have a testimony that Heavenly Father puts people in our path to support and help us in times of adversity, such as electricity and internet access shortages.
After completing PathwayConnect, I decided to enroll in the public health program at Brigham Young University-Idaho. I completed a certification in public health planning and implementation, health method evaluation and epidemiology. I have learned to support the world in disease prevention and developed a pandemic health program. I was very happy to support my country during the COVID-19 breakout in Kinshasa. People were amazing. I learned more skills about how to control this disease in my community.
The BYU-Pathway Worldwide program helped me to understand that we must be faithful and improve our skills to establish the kingdom of our Savior on the earth. This program increased my knowledge of the Savior and motivated me to gain more skills and to become more faithful.
Instead of dwelling on difficulties and struggle, I have learned to trust the Lord and to pursue my education at famous universities across the world. Today I am proud to say that I earned three university degrees: one from my country, one from India, and one from the United States. As a result, I have increased my income, my faith in Jesus Christ, and my skills in the field of public health.
The skills that I learned during my journey have helped me to build a health nongovernmental organization and work in mental health awareness in the DRC. My recent experience, when I was applying for a new job as a public health specialist at the Center for Disease Control in DRC, the human resources team was surprised that I have an American degree and I live in Congo, and it was easy for them to verify this from my diploma.
The hiring process was interesting and each step I went through, I learned to be ready due to the PathwayConnect program, preparing my CV and cover letter, enjoying the interview, and showing people my unique qualifications. I am grateful to my Heavenly Father for the opportunity He gave me to join the team of the Center for Disease Control in DRC to prevent, detect and control disease in my country.
As an African, we are blessed to have an American degree, serve our community, and strengthen the Church in our local area. BYU-Pathway Worldwide blesses my life, my family, and my country in this specific time. The program helped me to understand the principle of working hard quietly and to let your success be your noise.
Whatever level you are in life and whether you have a degree or not, please join the program and work hard, the Lord knows your effort and will assist you to gain a new degree and develop more skills and the world will pay you based on your education and skills.

Grady Grimshaw was always grumbling. He grumbled when Mom served her latest creation for dinner: barbecued tuna pizzawiches. He grumbled when Dad told him to make his bed. He grumbled when his little sister tied bows on his fierce stuffed gorilla. And he grumbled when he walked Pepper, the dog, and she had to stop and sniff at every bush and mailbox.
Grady was always grumbling.
One sunny day while Grady was dutifully walking Pepper, he passed the house of Mrs. Sherman, who was outside weeding her rose garden. “Hello there, Grady,” she called to him, pushing back her floppy sun hat. “Lovely day, isn’t it? Would you like to take a rose home to your mother?”
“Roses make me sneeze,” Grady said, walking on.
As he neared the Cooper home, he saw Mr. Cooper fixing his lawn mower. “Hi, Grady,” Mr. Cooper said. “Nice dog you have there.”
“She has fleas,” Grady said, not stopping for a second.
Then he came to the Parnell house. On the porch, asleep in a chair, was a tiny woman he had never met. Her white hair was pulled into a tight little knot at the top of her head, and she wore a big plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Every breath she took ended in a high-pitched whistle.
Grady wished he could whistle like that.
The woman suddenly opened one eye. “What are you staring at?” she demanded crossly.
Grady jumped. “I—I’ve never seen you before.”
“Well, I’ve never seen you before, but I’m not standing around gawking, am I?”
“No, ma’am.”
The woman closed her eyes again. Grady hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
The woman’s eyes flew open, “Goodness, child, are you still there? What is it you want?”
“Aren’t you going to tell me what a nice day it is—or that you like my dog?”
The woman peered up at the sky. “Clouds. It’ll probably rain. And I don’t like dogs. They stink.”
“Pepper doesn’t stink,” Grady said defensively, “at least, not unless you get real close.” He plunked himself down on the porch step. This was not at all the way most adults he knew acted.
The woman sighed. “Who are you, anyway?”
“Grady Grimshaw.” He pointed. “I live down there, in that brown house.”
The woman raised herself up a little. “That corner house? How dreadful! I lived on a corner once. All the neighborhood kids trekked through the yard on their way to school and killed the grass and dropped things. Had to put up a big old ugly fence.”
“I like living on the corner. I get to live on two streets instead of just one.”
“Well, I’d rather live on my own one street, thank you very much,” the woman said. She reached for a glass of water on a nearby TV tray.
“What’s your name?” Grady asked as he handed her the glass.
“Dinah. Dinah Parnell. Only I’m never in the kitchen, and I don’t know any banjo players, so don’t sing that old song at me.”
“I won’t.” Grady felt Pepper tugging impatiently on her leash. “I guess I’d better go,” he said, standing up.
“Yes, I guess you’d better.” Mrs. Parnell closed her eyes. “But you can come back sometime, if you want.”
Grady was thoughtful as he and Pepper headed for home. Mrs. Parnell sure was different from most other ladies he knew.
Mom was putting the finishing touches on a sardine and broccoli casserole, and Grady got out the plates to set the table without even thinking about grumbling. “Mom, have you met that Mrs. Parnell lady?”
“Dinah Parnell?”
Grady nodded.
“Yes, I have. Did you meet her just now?”
He nodded again. “She doesn’t seem very happy.”
“Well, she’s not, really,” Mom said, putting the casserole into the microwave. “She’s Mr. Parnell’s mother, and she’ll be staying there awhile because she isn’t well. I think it’s hard for her to be away from her home. She’s lonely.”
“She sure grumbles a lot.”
“I think she could use a friend.”
Grady thought about that for a moment. His face brightened. “Would you help me make some brownies tomorrow after school so I could take some over to her?”
“Of course—that would be nice, Grady.” Mom smiled. “Here, would you stir this orange juice for me, please?”
Grady took the pitcher and was so busy thinking about Mrs. Parnell that he didn’t grumble this time, either.
The next day, Grady took a plateful of warm brownies to Mrs. Parnell. She only managed a “Humph!” when he came up the porch steps, but she listened when he told her about the bee that had gotten loose in class that day, and she only grumbled about the rain and the price of tomatoes in the grocery store.
A few days later, Grady went to see her again. He told her about his bicycle accident, and she showed him the scar on her hand from when she had fallen off her horse many years ago. He complained about the boy at school who fell on the cupcake Grady’d taken in his lunch, and she told him about the girl in the third grade who used to call her “Curlilocks” in front of everybody, so she’d put a rubber snake in the girl’s book bag and the girl yelled and then they both started laughing and became good friends. This time Mrs. Parnell only grumbled about how her eyes didn’t work very well anymore. Grady got her favorite book from inside and read to her.
Grady liked visiting Mrs. Parnell. He started looking for other grumblers who needed to be cheered up, too, and pretty soon, he decided that instead of a grumbler, he would be a grinner. He grinned when Mom served oatmeal turkeyburgers for dinner. He grinned when Dad told him to put away his toy cars. He grinned when Pepper shook water all over him after her bath. And he grinned when his little sister pushed the two-million-piece puzzle he had been working on for three weeks off the table.
(Well, that last one wasn’t quite a grin—but it wasn’t a very loud grumble!)

On the day before Easter I rode my bike to my great-grandpa’s house for an Easter egg hunt. I found 26 eggs. It was fun. After the hunt, I played army games with all my cousins and brothers. I climbed into the barn hayloft to spy. I walked across a beam and slipped off. I landed on the lawn mower below. It hurt, but I only got a few scratches. I know that Heavenly Father protected me from getting badly hurt because every morning my family prays that we will be safe. Heavenly Father answered our prayer, and I am thankful.Jayden K., age 9, Idaho

Many of you during your lifetime have had a pet that may have come to a tragic end, with sad moments following. Some years ago while traveling on a family vacation, we acquired a rather unusual pet, which was a small, friendly, not-too-long water snake from the beaches of Puget Sound. My children named him Sneaky, as short for Sneaky Snake.
Early one morning while the family was off walking near the motel, Sneaky somehow got out of his cardboard box. When the room attendant entered to tidy up the room in our absence, Sneaky, seeing the open door, headed for it. She slammed the door shut in absolute terror, and since Sneaky got caught in the door, we might say he came all apart.
It was the end of Sneaky, the beginning of a nervous breakdown for the girl attendant, and a time of weeping and disappointment on the part of our children.
Now there is a lesson here. The attendant had erroneously perceived Sneaky as something less than the friend he was.

From the time the Aldous family enrolled in his school, Master Kim had been watching them closely. There was something about them that made them stand out from other people. “I was impressed by the support they gave each other,” he says. “And by the emphasis they put on family and personal growth.”
Eventually the Aldous family invited Master Kim to church. He began taking the missionary lessons and was baptized.