Gospel Story Finder

While I was at the area conference in Buenos Aires I met a young man who is the head of the Gillette Razor Company for the whole of South America. He set out as a boy to live the way the Lord wanted him to live, to magnify any office he held in the priesthood. He went from Argentina to BYU, where he became studentbody president. From there he went to work for the Gillette Company in the United States and has just been called to be the head of his company in the whole of South America. He translated for President Kimball in all of his talks while in the area conference.
He said to me how honored he was to be able to translate for a prophet. He told me what the gospel meant in his life and how it had prepared him for the work he is now doing.

Elder Thomas H. Hilton and Sister Sarah M. Hilton were serving on a mission in Samoa, where they lost three of their children, between 1891 and 1894. Little Jeanette lived less than a year, George Emmett for only seven days, and Thomas Harold for a year and a half.

Of the death of Thomas Harold the record says: “On Sunday the 11th, he was not feeling very well. … For two days following he appeared to be improving, but on the morning of the 14th, his mother again became concerned about his welfare. From then until his death, on March 17, 1894, everything that loving hands could do was done for his recovery, but he grew rapidly worse. …
“Oh how loath we all were to believe that it was so! How sad to see our dear sister again bereft, and her so far from dear parents and friends who she has left for the gospel’s sake.
“Thomas Harold Hilton was about one and a half years old, a beautiful little boy and very dearly beloved by all the missionaries, as well as the natives who knew him. Much sympathy is felt for the bereaved parents and the blessings of the Lord are invoked upon them.”

I am reminded of the grandfather who got on the airplane. As he went down the aisle looking for a seat, he came to an attractive woman, and he said, “Are you a grandmother?” And she said, “Yes, I am.” So he passed her up. He went on and repeated it again. Finally he asked a lady, “Are you a grandmother?” And she said, “No, I am not.” He said, “May I sit down? I want to talk about my grandchildren.”

In 1856, Julia and Emily Hill, sisters who had joined the Church as teenagers in England and been disowned by their family, had finally earned passage for their way to America and had almost reached their longed-for Zion. They were crossing the American plains with the Willie handcart company when they and many others were stranded on the trail by an early October storm. Sister Deborah Christensen, a great-granddaughter of Julia Hill, experienced this touching dream about them. She said:

“I could see Julia and Emily stranded in the snow on the windy summit of Rocky Ridge with the rest of the Willie handcart company. They had no heavy clothing to keep them warm. Julia was sitting in the snow, shaking. She could not carry on. Emily, who was freezing as well, knew that if she did not help Julia stand up, Julia would die. As Emily wrapped her arms around her sister to help her up, Julia began to cry—but no tears came, only soft whimpering sounds. Together they walked slowly to their handcart. Thirteen died that terrible night. Julia and Emily survived.”

Sisters, without each other, these women probably would not have lived. In addition, they helped others survive this devastating portion of the journey, including a young mother and her children. It was Emily Hill Woodmansee who later wrote the beautiful words to the song “As Sisters in Zion.” The verse “We’ll comfort the weary and strengthen the weak” takes on new meaning when you imagine her experience on the snow-packed plains.

“If you want to share the gospel in a meaningful way, the approach is really important,” said Tara, who investigated and joined the Church while she was in junior high. “If my friends had told me, ‘Ours is the only true church. Yours is wrong, and you’re going to go to hell if you don’t get baptized,’ I would have been totally turned off. Instead, they invited me to some of the activities. When I went, I felt this great, warm love, like Heavenly Father was trying to reach out to me—trying to tell me something. I felt it when I was with those friends too, and I wanted to find out why they were like that.”

I also think of my mother and father and how they faced the troubles of their day. They both entered BYU in the 1930s during the Great Depression. They met at BYU, married in 1936, and had their first child early in 1938 while they were still in school. They struggled to pay tuition and to earn enough money for food and rent. My father majored in agronomy, and as he approached graduation in 1938, the unemployment rate was 15 percent, about twice what it is today. He wondered if he would be able to find a job and support his wife and child. One of his professors encouraged him to take the civil service exam, and he did well enough on the exam that he was offered a job with the Soil Conservation Service within the Department of Agriculture. He was assigned to do soil surveys in New England, North Dakota—a small town in the southwestern part of the state. It was not where he or his wife would have chosen to go, but it was a job, and they went.

When they arrived, they discovered that there were no other members of the Church in the town. Dad and Mother held Sunday School in our home, and occasionally the full-time missionaries, who served in Dickinson, 30 miles to the north, would visit us. Money was tight, and some vital commodities were rationed during World War II, including gasoline, meat, sugar, and butter. These items were in short supply, and rationing was the only way to make sure everyone got their fair share. Even if you had money to buy more, you were only allowed to buy small amounts of the rationed items.

When I was six we moved to Dickinson, North Dakota, and after 14 years of marriage, my parents were able to buy a home. The economic situation improved somewhat after World War II; we had basic necessities, but with six children it was a challenge for my parents to meet their expenses. My mother taught us Primary at home, and we held church in our living room with our family, the two full-time missionaries, and Frank Whitney, the only other Church member in the town at the time. Gradually the Church grew—several families moved in, and a few were baptized. We rented a hall in the community center to hold church services. My Dad worked with the local Lions Club and Methodist Church to start a Scout program.

When I was 13 my dad was transferred to Bismarck, North Dakota, a beautiful little town on the Missouri River. My parents bought a three-bedroom rambler with an unfinished basement and no garage, and our family had one car, which we all shared. Mother took a job as a medical stenographer. I was happy that there was a small branch of the Church in Bismarck with several other teenagers. Our branch met in the basement of a local hotel, and as we set up for church on Sunday mornings, we usually had to clear away a few beer cans that had been left from the night before. As the branch grew, we were able to rent a small church from the Seventh-day Adventists.

At that time, Church policy was that local units had to earn a certain percentage of the cost before they could build a chapel. I remember many branch bake sales being held so we could earn money and one day have our own chapel. In addition, members were encouraged to contribute what they could to the building fund, but the branch was small and most members could not afford to give much. Accumulation of funds was slow, and I wondered if we would ever be able to build our own chapel. Finally, when I reached age 18—after years of dreaming, planning, and working—we had earned enough to pay our share of the cost to build a small chapel.

After I left North Dakota, the Church continued to grow. The Bismarck Stake was organized in the 1980s, and then in 1998 a small temple was constructed. For those of us who grew up in North Dakota and lived through the early struggles, the construction of a temple in Bismarck was a miracle that we had never dreamed could happen. Prior to that time the closest temple was in Idaho Falls, Idaho, 750 miles away.

My parents married and graduated during a challenging time—the Great Depression. They were sent to a cold and unknown place far from their families and their beloved Utah. Mother and Dad experienced North Dakota blizzards, rationing during the war, and the birth of a handicapped son. They went forward with faith and did the best they could during difficult times. As I look back on my life, I cherish the experiences I had in North Dakota. It is not where my parents would have chosen to raise us, but I thank God for sending them there. We associated with many good people of different faiths who enriched our lives, and we learned much from facing economic and spiritual challenges. I thank my parents for their faith and courage through much adversity. They taught us well and were true to their ideals.

Except for the time his family lived in Hawaii, Elder Bradford spent most of his childhood in Mapleton, Utah. It was there that he learned about animal husbandry and agriculture, interests he pursued as an adult. “When I was a boy, I milked cows, helped raise horses, and did other kinds of farm chores. When I was very small, I would put a bucket of grain down on the ground, and when the horse lowered its head to eat out of the bucket, I would climb onto its neck and scoot onto its back. Later I learned how to break and train horses properly and how to groom and put shoes on them. I also participated in rodeos as I was growing up, and I won quite a few awards.

“My father and I trained ponies (mostly Shetlands) to ride; to work in harness, pulling stagecoaches and surreys; and to work as live merry-go-round horses. We took the first Shetland ponies to Hawaii. I bred and trained horses until I was called as a General Authority.

“Dad was a hard worker in his business and in the Church. He tried to make his time at home with the children quality time, and he was a very good teacher. His method of teaching was to thoroughly explain something to us and then to have us do it, sink or swim. He used to say that he didn’t want to put an old head on young shoulders but that he wanted us to learn as quickly as we could.

“I remember once when Dad had my brother and me help him build a corral. After we had measured where the postholes would be, Dad suggested that we have a posthole-digging contest the next morning and that he would challenge us both. He would start digging in one direction, and we would start digging in the opposite direction. Whoever dug the most postholes would win.

“Unbeknownst to us, Dad slipped out that night, and at each place where he was going to dig the next day, he soaked the ground with water. The next morning Dad easily shoveled the dirt and rocks out of his holes while we struggled with digging bar, pick, and shovels. The lesson we learned was that there is often a better way to accomplish a task if you think about it carefully.

“Childhood is a wonderful time in a person’s life. I would counsel children to remember to do three important things: (1) Listen to what your parents have to say and obey them. Our Father in Heaven has given you parents to look after you until you are able to provide for your own physical needs and until you are mature enough to make correct decisions. (2) Pray often. Prayer is communication with your Heavenly Father. (3) Develop faith. Develop faith by studying the teachings of Jesus Christ and by praying that you will be able to understand the meaning of the scriptures.

“Remember that the Lord told His disciples, ‘Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven’ [Matt. 18:3].”

Charlotte Clark was just six years old when her family left Nauvoo, Illinois, to travel west to the Salt Lake Valley. It was a long, long way to walk. Charlotte walked so much that she wore out her only pair of shoes. Every night when Charlotte knelt to pray, she asked Heavenly Father for a pair of shoes.
One day Charlotte and her sister were picking berries when Charlotte saw a pair of shoes. She and her sister ran back to their mother and father, saying, “Heavenly Father sent me shoes, and they fit perfectly!” Charlotte’s father was concerned that the shoes belonged to someone who had lost them. He told Charlotte that if the shoes belonged to someone in their wagon train, she should return the shoes to their owner. Charlotte’s family showed the shoes to everyone, but no one claimed them. Charlotte’s prayer was answered.

After my childhood challenges, I am confident that Heavenly Father knew exactly what I needed to enable me to trust my eternal companion. He placed many steadfast examples of fatherhood in my life. These included my righteous grandfather, who loved the Lord, and a diligent home teacher who—understanding my family’s financial limitations—took me on as a student at his art studio and inspired me to follow in his footsteps professionally. In my young adult life, heavenly healing was also delivered through the unexpected blessing of gaining a righteous stepfather, who was patient with my hesitancy to trust a father figure and who continually showed me kindness.
A watercolor painted by the author of her husband and daughter. She was inspired to pursue art by her home teacher—one of the father figures in her life.

A few days after our sixth son Scott was born, we took him home from the hospital. We were greeted at the front door by our excited children. I sat on the sofa in our living room and began unwrapping the quilts for Scott’s brothers and sisters to meet him. Five-year-old Amanda sat by me. As she saw her brother, she said, “Oh, mama, I am so excited. Even though I have never seen him before, I love him already.” Even though we have not met many of you, we love you already. We pray for you, that you will be happy. We pray that you will work hard, that you will do your very best, that you will be safe, and that this semester will bless your life.

As time passed, I went into surgery for fusions of the broken vertebrae. The incisions finally healed, and I began therapy each day to see how much of a return of the nerve function we could hope to accomplish. At first there was no response, and I was shocked to see how shrunken my arms had become. All the muscles I had built up through heavy farm work were gone, and we were starting all over again.
Many discouraging, fruitless sessions followed. Then one day, as I was watching the therapist work on the small bicep that remained, I saw a twitch! This was the first sign of life in my arm in fifteen weeks! We began to work on this twitch, and in a week it became a twitch to the second power. This little improvement became a source of hope. I honestly feel that this was a result of the administration by the priesthood, because by all rights I should have remained totally paralyzed for the remainder of my life.

Consider the lifesaving power in this story. A few years ago, twin girls Brielle and Kyrie were born prematurely to the Jackson family. They were placed in separate incubators to reduce the risk of infection. Kyrie, the larger sister at two pounds three ounces, quickly began gaining weight and calmly slept. But Brielle, who weighed only two pounds at birth, could not keep up with her. Suddenly one day Brielle’s condition became critical. The nurse tried everything she could think of to stabilize Brielle. Still Brielle squirmed and fussed as her oxygen intake plummeted and her heart rate soared. Then the nurse remembered a procedure she had heard about. She said to the worried parents, “Let me just try putting Brielle in with her sister to see if that helps.” The parents consented, and the nurse slipped the squirming baby into the incubator with the bigger sister. No sooner had the door of the incubator closed than Brielle snuggled up to Kyrie and calmed right down. Within minutes Brielle’s blood-oxygen readings were the best they had been since she was born. As she dozed, Kyrie wrapped her tiny arm around her smaller sibling (see Nancy Sheehan, “A Sister’s Helping Hand,” Reader’s Digest, May 1996, 155–56).

It’s 7:00 P.M., and you’re on problem number four of your math homework. The first three problems have taken 20 minutes. Your sister pokes her head in the room and says, “Come on. Family home evening’s about to start.” What do you do?
If you’re Tracy Brook, 15, of the Ottawa Ontario Stake, you drop your pencil and go. She says, “When I have a lot of homework, at first I think, ‘Oh, I don’t have time for family home evening.’ But then after family night is finished, I feel a lot better.”
Why does Tracy feel this way? Because family home evening blesses her life. “It strengthens everyone’s testimony,” she says. “We get to understand more about the Church and the scriptures.”

After serving for a time in Salzburg, I was transferred to Zürich, Switzerland. While I was there, Brother Julius Billeter, a member of the Church, approached me. He was a professional genealogist, and he told me he had seen quite a few Wirthlin names in his work. He offered to research my family lines. I wrote home, and my father thought it was a wonderful opportunity, so we hired him to begin.
A year later he handed me a book. It was 36 centimeters long, 46 centimeters wide, and weighed 6.2 kilograms. It was filled with nearly 6,000 names of my ancestors. It was a priceless volume that I treasured. Just before my missionary release, I packed the precious book in a steamer trunk along with some of my other possessions and shipped it home. I prayed that it would arrive safely and that the precious family history would not be lost.
I arrived home before the trunk. Weeks passed. Still no trunk. I began to worry that the irreplaceable book had been lost. Six months after I had arrived in Salt Lake City, I received a call from the Union Pacific depot. A trunk had arrived for me. I rushed down to retrieve it, but when I saw it, my heart sank. The lock on the trunk had been broken.
I pried up the lid, and when I looked inside, my heart fell further. Everything had been soaked with seawater. What is more, I could tell someone had rifled through my belongings. Some things were missing.
I gingerly removed the layers of clothing, searching for my precious book. When I reached it, my heart overflowed with joy. Not only was it there, but the papers were completely dry! I know the book was preserved through divine intervention.

“Why does André have to stay in my room?” Chad complained.
“Because he’s closest in age to you,” Mom said.
Chad’s family was hosting a French foreign exchange student. André was fourteen, two years older than Chad.
“He does weird things,” Chad said. One morning André had asked if he could have coffee with breakfast. He said everyone in France drank coffee, even the children.
“Maybe he thinks the things we do are weird as well,” Mom pointed out.
Chad thought about that.
When Chad’s alarm rang early Sunday morning, he jumped out of bed. Chad had just turned 12, and this was the day he would receive the Aaronic Priesthood.
André rubbed his eyes. “It is Sunday. No school.”
Chad nodded. “True. But I’m going to church. You can come if you want.”
André sat up and yawned. “Thank you. I would like that,” he said.
At church, André watched as Chad was ordained a deacon by his father, the bishop, and another man in the ward.
“What is this Aaronic Priesthood?” André asked on the way home.
“The priesthood is authority God gives so we can do things for Him here on earth,” Dad explained.
André turned to Chad. “What kinds of things can you do? You are only a boy.”
“Next week I can pass the sacrament.”
“That is where you eat the bread and drink the water?” André asked.
Chad nodded.
During the next week, André asked more questions about the Church. Chad did his best to answer them.
When Chad and his father planned a shopping trip to buy Chad a suit and white shirt for Sunday, André asked to come along.
“Sure,” Chad said.
At the store, Chad looked at suits with his father and André. “I like this one,” Chad said, pointing to a dark navy suit.
Dad nodded. “It looks nice. Let’s find a white shirt to go with it.”
“Why do you get so dressed up?” asked André.
“I want to look my best when I pass the sacrament to show respect,” Chad said. “The bread and water remind us of Jesus Christ and of the promises we make when we are baptized.”
André looked thoughtful.
“André sure asks a lot of questions,” Chad said to his father later that evening.
“He’s adjusting to American culture,” Dad said. “Not to mention learning to live with an LDS family.”
As the weeks passed, Chad spent more time helping André learn about the Church.
When it was time for André to go home, Chad had a hard time saying good-bye.
“I’ll email you,” Chad promised.
Several months later, Chad’s family received an email from André saying he had been baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He included pictures of himself dressed in white and standing between two missionaries.
“That’s the best news ever!” Chad said.

A memory I cherish from growing up in New York City is spending Christmas with my family. My parents, three older brothers, younger sister, and I enjoyed sharing meals and exchanging gifts. Even with how busy both my working parents were, Christmas was our special time to spend together.
Christmas was never the same when my parents divorced. I was 11, and we never got together like that again.
At age 17, I first heard about the gospel of Jesus Christ and wanted to learn more when I heard that families can be together forever. I was amazed to discover that God has a plan of salvation and exaltation (see Moses 1:39).
God’s plan, in the words of President Russell M. Nelson, is “fabulous.” God wants all His children to be guided safely home to live with Him again. He has said, “I am able to do mine own work” (2 Nephi 27:21), but we have the wonderful opportunity to participate in His work with Him. This has brought me a sense of direction, purpose, peace, and hope throughout my life.
In our day the Lord has revealed:
“O ye that embark in the service of God, see that ye serve him with all your heart, might, mind and strength. …
“Therefore, if ye have desires to serve God ye are called to the work” (Doctrine and Covenants 4:2–3).
God desires that we serve Him with all our heart, might, mind, and strength and that we love Him with the same intensity (see Doctrine and Covenants 59:5). Our love for God enables, empowers, and enhances our desires to serve. As we act on those desires, our ability to serve and love Him and our neighbors is strengthened. God’s power then comes, and we can see His hand in our lives.
As I serve God—because I love Him—I can feel of His love and assurance that He loves all His children and wants us to return home to live with Him again. He also does not want us to return alone. He wants us to bring our families and others to the gospel as we serve with love for Him and His children.
We participate in God’s work more effectively when we have His help. As we do our part and seek inspiration, the Holy Ghost can guide us in the work. When the Lord called Enoch to be a prophet, He said, “Behold my Spirit is upon you, wherefore all thy words will I justify; and the mountains shall flee before you, and the rivers shall turn from their course; and thou shalt abide in me, and I in you; therefore walk with me” (Moses 6:34).
Additional help comes to us as we receive temple ordinances and make and keep the covenants. When we go from just attending the temple to worshipping in the house of the Lord, we come to understand that ordinances and covenants connect us to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ in a powerful and intimate way.
President Nelson has taught that this covenant relationship “makes everything about life easier.” It does not make life easy, but binding ourselves to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ grants us access to Their strength, which increases our ability to participate in Their work. As we go forth, we can walk side by side with Them and feel Their power and influence in our lives.
God’s work is not always easy. When I have days that I feel discouraged or disappointed, I remind myself of the “why” of doing His work, which is that I know that God lives and that Jesus is the Christ. The Holy Spirit has witnessed and confirmed this to me again and again. I can never deny that. Because I love Heavenly Father and His Son, I seek to please Them by participating with Them in Their great work.
If you ever feel inadequate or that you don’t have the right skill set for this work, join the team! Most of us feel that way from time to time. In those moments we need to be like Nephi and be “led by the Spirit, not knowing beforehand the things which [we] should do” (1 Nephi 4:6). If we go forward with faith and do what we can, the Lord will guide and assist us and multiply our efforts just as He did with the five loaves and two fishes (see Mark 6:41–44). Whatever we bring to the Lord, He will use to further His work of salvation and exaltation.
Another reason why we have been invited to participate in God’s work of salvation and exaltation is that He and His Son, Jesus Christ, want us to become holy, even as They are. As we work alongside Them, we learn more about how we can become like Them.
In this work we invite others to become like Jesus Christ by discovering the joy of repentance. President Nelson has said that repentance is a process “of doing and being a little better each day.” It is a chance to change, to grow spiritually, and “to become more like Jesus Christ!”
We can help others make their homes feel like heaven so that someday heaven will feel like home and they can be prepared for the life to come.
There is joy in this work! President Nelson has taught that “regardless of what is happening—or not happening—in our lives,” we can find joy when we focus on Heavenly Father’s plan and our Savior, Jesus Christ. Heavenly Father’s plan is possible only through His Son. Jesus Christ was willing to do the will of His Father and sacrifice everything for us. If not, we would have been lost forever. He knew that it was the only way for us to return home to live with Heavenly Father and to find joy. President Nelson has taught, “Joy comes from and because of [Jesus Christ]. He is the source of all joy.”
What a wonderful blessing and opportunity it is for us to assist in this important work of salvation and exaltation and help others return safely home, where our Father in Heaven and Jesus Christ long for us to be.

Once, in talking with Ligia about charity, I happened to mention that I was a loving kind of guy. She agreed that I was loving with those who loved me back, but that was not the meaning of charity. I was taken back and argued with her. Later there came into my life those whom I would love. I gave them my love, my time, my energy and they loved me not. I gave service and of every resource I had and they never reciprocated. I proffered my efforts, my money, my heart and my home and on a good day they were disinterested and on a bad day they were simply apathetic. I sacrificed much for them and they never saw it.

Then one day, I had no more love to give, yet I had to love and I needed to love. No morsel of recognition of my sacrificial love was ever given and my love died, it failed me. That natural gift of mine was no more. I needed a spiritual gift to continue to love. And I discovered a deeper meaning to charity: what it has been to sacrifice for love and know very well that they shall never, ever love me. But I loved them then and I love them still. And I have caught a glimpse of a Christ-like love.

I Love Family History! I didn’t always appreciate family history work. That changed when I was baptized for one of my ancestors in the Chile Santiago Temple.
I was a deacon the first time I went to the temple. When I was about to enter the baptismal font, I felt the presence of someone enter the room. I looked up and saw an old man dressed in old clothes. I felt his love and gratitude for me because I was doing his vicarious work. After I was baptized for him and came up out of the water, I looked around for him, but he was no longer there.
I used to think that the temple would provide the names for temple work, so I wasn’t interested in doing family history research. But this experience got me excited about looking for my own family names.
One day I got on my computer and saw that I had received an email from the Church with a family name. I felt that I needed to research more names, so I asked my mother how I could effectively look for names and gather more information about my ancestors.
So far, I’ve found 11 family names, and I know I can find even more. These people never had the opportunity to be baptized while they were on earth, and they have waited a long time for their temple work to be done. I’m glad I can help them through temple and family history work.
Lucas,16, Santiago, Chile

Keryn stuffed an extra pair of jeans into her suitcase, then squeezed it shut.
“There!” she said to herself.
She had been looking forward to the school trip for months. Her class would be at camp for two days, living like pioneers—making candles, cooking over fires, even helping to build a log cabin.
Keryn glanced around the room, trying to spot anything she had missed. Her toothbrush was packed. She had clean clothes and an extra pair of shoes—oh, she’d better grab her old sweatshirt.
As she picked up her sweatshirt off the floor, her eyes fell on her scriptures on the table by the bed, and she froze.
Each member of her family had agreed to read the Book of Mormon daily, and so far Keryn hadn’t missed a night. But how was she supposed to read it in a cabin full of girls from school? With a sigh, she unlatched her suitcase, stuffed her scriptures between T-shirts and jeans, and sat on the suitcase to close it. Maybe she could find some quiet time to go off by herself and read.
“C’mon, Keryn. Race you to the campfire!” Sarah took off, and Keryn ran to catch up.
The day had been fun and very busy. Keryn had chopped at a log to help build the cabin, dunked candlewicks into wax over and over, carved a whale out of soap, and swum in the lake.
The fun carried on through the campfire time of singing songs and listening to a storyteller. Finally, Keryn, Sarah, and two of their cabinmates marched through the darkness to the cabin arm in arm, singing loudly.
The girls flopped onto their bunk beds, told stories, and laughed about the day. Then one by one they began to get ready for bed.
Keryn brushed her teeth, then climbed onto her top bunk and listened to the others. She had decided to leave her scriptures in the suitcase, but she just didn’t feel right. Then these words came into her mind: “Read them. You know you need to read them.”
Reluctantly, Keryn climbed out of bed and pulled her scriptures out of her suitcase. Then she climbed back up and tried to open the Book of Mormon without being noticed.
No such luck. She had just found her place in Mosiah when Sarah poked her head over the edge of the bunk. “What are you reading?” she asked.
“OK,” Keryn told herself, “it’s time to be a missionary.”
“It’s a book like the Bible, and it’s called the Book of Mormon,” she said aloud.
Sarah climbed up on the bunk with her. “What’s it about?”
Carol and Tasha gathered around too.
Keryn sat up. “Well, right now I’m in a part called Mosiah, and a prophet named Abinadi is preaching the gospel to the wicked king and his priests. He’s telling them about the Ten Commandments and all the things they should already know. But they’re doing evil things instead.” She scooted over so Tasha could climb up.
“What happens to them?” Tasha asked.
“Well, later Abinadi won’t deny God, so the king has him killed.”
“What?” exclaimed Sarah. “That’s awful.”
“Yeah, it’s really sad,” Keryn agreed. “But Alma, one of the king’s priests, really listens to Abinadi. He ends up teaching the gospel to lots of people.”
“That’s awesome,” Tasha said. “I read my Bible most days, but I didn’t bring it here.” Then she flipped onto her stomach and reached down to the bottom bunk. “Hey, Carol, did you see me jump in the lake?”
Keryn smiled as the conversation turned back to the day’s events. She was glad she hadn’t left her scriptures in her suitcase, glad her friends didn’t make fun of her, and glad she had a chance to tell them about the Book of Mormon.
She looked at Sarah, Carol, and Tasha, now talking about their craft projects, then turned back to her book and continued reading about Abinadi and King Noah.

“Mother, may I have some wax paper!” Luis called as he ran onto the sunny patio. “I want to write a magic message to Pepe.”
“A magic message?” Mother questioned. She snipped another bright hibiscus before she stepped into the cool house.
“Yes, I’ll show you.” Luis placed a sheet of blank paper on the kitchen table. “A sheet of wax paper goes on top of the paper,” he explained.
In neat letters Luis printed on the wax paper.
Dear Pepe,
Please come over.
Aunt Marian gave me a …
Worry clouded his brown eyes. Luis looked up.
“P-a-r-r-o-t,” Mother spelled for him.
Luis repeated the letters as he wrote. Then he carefully added his name to the bottom of the message.
“I don’t need the wax paper anymore,” Luis announced as he dropped it into the wastebasket. The paper still looked blank.
“May I go over to Pepe’s and give him my message?” he asked.
“Of course, Luis,” Mother smiled, “but there’s nothing on your paper. How can Pepe read your message?”
“It’s magic,” Luis replied.
Chuckling to himself, Luis scurried out the door, pausing a moment by the gnarled olive tree to examine a large cage. Then he hurried on to Pepe’s house.
Soon Luis was back, flushed with excitement and waving another blank sheet of paper.
“I taught Pepe how to write a magic message,” Luis bubbled. “Here’s his answer.”
Mother set the white bowl filled with hibiscus blossoms on the table and looked at the blank paper. Luis took a pencil and began covering the sheet of paper with black marks. Soon the sheet was all black except where Pepe had written over wax paper. Those spots remained white.
Luis read:
Dear Luis,
I can come. What did you name your parrot?
Pepe
From the patio door a timid voice called, “Luis, have you read my magic answer?”
“Yes!” Luis called.
Pepe beamed.
“My parrot’s name is Geronimo,” Luis confided.
And together the two friends ran across the patio to the cage by the olive tree.