Gospel Story Finder

While Benjamin’s mother was busy unpacking moving boxes, he went out to ride his tricycle. He peddled back and forth in front of his new house. Then he peddled from corner to corner and back again. Soon Benjamin wiped his brow. He was tired. He got off his tricycle, climbed up the steps to the porch, and tried to open the door. It was locked. Benjamin knocked and yelled, “Mom, I’m thirsty.”
No one answered.
“Mom,” he yelled again. “I need a drink.”
Still no answer.
Benjamin looked at the tall door. “This looks like my door,” he said. “But maybe I’m at the wrong house.” He climbed back on his tricycle and looked at the doors of all the houses. They were all tall. Just like his door.
“I know,” he said. “My house has a brick chimney.” He rode past every house again. All the chimneys were brick, just like his.
Benjamin scratched his head. He looked up and down the street. He wondered how he would ever find his house.
Then Benjamin remembered his garage. It was big enough for two cars. Benjamin peddled fast to find that garage. But all the houses had garages big enough for two cars, just like his. Tears filled Benjamin’s eyes. “I’m thirsty,” he cried. “And I want my mom.”
“Is something wrong?” a voice behind him asked.
Benjamin turned around and saw a letter carrier.
“I can’t find my house,” he said, wiping away his tears. “All the houses look the same. They all have tall doors. They all have brick chimneys. And they all have garages big enough for two cars.”
“You do have a problem,” the letter carrier said. “Maybe I can help.”
“How?” Benjamin asked.
“Come walk with me while I deliver the mail on this block, and we’ll look for your house together.”
A hint of a smile crept across Benjamin’s face. He followed the letter carrier up a front walk.
“Ring the bell,” the mailman said.
A girl answered the door, and Benjamin’s shoulders drooped. “I don’t have a sister,” he said.
At the next house, Benjamin turned away when an old man took his letters.
The tears came back to Benjamin’s eyes. His body trembled. “We’ll never find my house,” he cried.
The letter carrier put his arm around Benjamin. “Come on, let’s try the next house.”
Benjamin looked at the house. It had a tall front door. It had a brick chimney. And it had a garage big enough to hold two cars. Benjamin knocked. “Maybe this is my house,” he said.
“Coming,” called a voice.
Benjamin jumped up and down. “It’s my mom! It’s my mom!”
When she opened the door, Benjamin leaped into her arms. “I was lost,” he said. “I couldn’t tell which house was ours. They all look alike.” Then he saw some numbers next to the door. “What are those?”
“That’s our address,” his mother said.
“One three five,” Benjamin read as he slid down from her arms. “Do all the houses have the same numbers?”
His mother shook her head. “We are the only house on this street with the numbers one three five.”
“Oh,” Benjamin said. “Now I know what to do next time I can’t find my house.”
“What?” asked his mother.
“What?” asked the letter carrier.
“I don’t need to look at the doors or the chimneys or the garages,” he said. “All I need to do is find the numbers one three five. I’ll never be lost again.”
And with a big smile, Benjamin ran inside for a drink.

Fabian is also helping with an elder’s quorum project. There is a sister in their branch whose husband died five years ago. Later she joined the Church. Her family disowned her and refused to help her and her two daughters. The branch is building them a home. Fabian helps work on the house with the elders. Sometimes the full-time missionaries and the young people in the branch also help. Fabian shovels sand to make cement, and under the direction of the elders, he helps with the building and cleaning up. He is happy when he is helping others.

It was at Dixie that Kalin was first introduced to the Church. He became friends with some Polynesian players who were returned missionaries. Kalin says, “They welcomed everybody. They were so friendly and nice. I felt comfortable around them.”
One of his new friends, Jack Damuni, tells what happened. “I was in my room doing some homework. A Catholic friend came in and started asking me questions about the Church. Kalin walked in, sat on my bed, and just listened. We were talking about the Godhead and how the Spirit lets you know if things are true, and about our purpose here on earth. Kalin wasn’t saying anything. I turned and looked at him, and he started crying. I knew what was happening.”
Of course, Kalin remembers everything about that day. “Religion had always interested me. I listened to what both of them were saying. I was really struck by a lot of things Jack said. It was a good feeling that I had.”
They were an hour late for a team meeting. The coach bawled them out for being late until they told him they had been talking about the Church and were too involved to think of anything else.
As they were walking back to the dorms, Kalin started asking more questions. “Hey, Jack, what was that I felt back there? I felt something that really touched me. It made me cry.”
Jack said, “Remember when we were talking about how the Holy Spirit lets you know when things are true? That’s what it was.”
Kalin said, “It’s a good feeling. I felt calm.”
As Kalin began taking the missionary discussions, some strange things started to happen. Jack had warned his friend that once he started reading the scriptures and became interested in the Church, people would try to convince him that the Church was wrong. It happened just as Jack said.
“People started being involved in my life who never had been before,” said Kalin. “They were telling me how racist the religion is. To me, the black and white thing has never been an issue—never has been and never will be. I can’t honestly see anyone entering the celestial kingdom if they are prejudiced. Christ said we are all his children.”
Jack Damuni baptized his friend and watched him grow and progress as he became more and more involved in the Church. Two years later, Jack was Kalin’s teammate on the Brigham Young University football team. They are still very close, like brothers. Jack has seen a big change in Kalin. “He’s focused. Everything he does is focused on the gospel.”

Now, it’s probably not as hard to remember the day you were baptized—your second birth. Listen to what Lan-Ting, a Beehive girl from the Philippines, wrote about her baptism: “I felt like I had been born again. What an extraordinary feeling of cleanliness, sinlessness! My mother’s tears flowed like a fountain of pearls, and I could tell these were tears of joy! My mother told me sincerely, ‘Lan-Ting, today I am relieved to say I can turn you over to the Lord. I trust He will accompany you along the roads of your life’” (letter in possession of Young Women office).

When I was six years old I learned a valuable lesson. My father had traded his farm for an interest in a general merchandise store in Driggs, Idaho, and he was to be the store manager. Father had been managing the store just a short time when he received a bulk shipment of candy packed in wooden pails. One morning I went into the storeroom and found all the pails had been opened so that the candy cases in the front of the store could be filled.
All that luscious-looking candy was such a temptation that I helped myself to several kinds and then filled my pockets. But to leave the store, I had to pass through the front part where my father was working. He spotted my bulging pockets and, putting his arm around my shoulder, took me into the back room and talked to me about the importance of being honest.
Then Father asked me to empty my pockets, explaining that he owned only half of the store and that whenever any member of his family took anything from the store it must be paid for. If things were just taken without being paid for, we would actually be stealing from his partners.

After his wife suffered a heartbreaking miscarriage during their first pregnancy, Solofo Ravelojaona felt that their prayers were answered a year later with their second pregnancy. He and his wife, Hary Martine, consider the birth of their daughter to be one of their greatest blessings. Solofo explains, “Because we asked God and He gave her to us, we gave her a name that, in Malagasy, means ‘God’s answer.’”
Solofo, a young adult from Madagascar, holds to the knowledge that God answers prayers and in time blesses the faithful. “Life is hard,” says Solofo, “and when people don’t get what they want, some start asking, ‘Why did this happen to me?’ They might leave the Church or question their belief in God. But when we live the gospel and read the scriptures, it’s easier. When you really live the gospel, you can really see the blessings.”
Living in a country with serious challenges, such as extreme poverty, instability within the government, a weak infrastructure, and natural disasters, it’s clear why Solofo says life is hard. But for him, the blessings that living the gospel brings outweigh any hardships. “I cannot even count the blessings I receive, as long as I live the gospel,” he says.
Because the Church is relatively new in Madagascar (the first branch was organized in 1990), Solofo says the hardest part about being a member is the rumors and misconceptions about the Church. Solofo comments that, just as in Lehi’s vision of the tree of life, “people may not fully embrace the gospel because they feel ashamed in front of their friends and scared that they’ll be rejected by their family.” What makes Solofo different, he suggests, is that, “I have never been ashamed. I live the gospel, and I always want to share it with my colleagues, even though some of them aren’t really interested.” He often shares his simple testimony, so much so that his co-workers nicknamed him “pastor.”
In the midst of economic and political turmoil, Solofo and Hary Martine rely on the blessings of their temple covenants (they were married in the Johannesburg South Africa Temple one year after their missions—his in Uganda, hers in Madagascar), as well as their trust in the Lord. “I have the gospel, and I just put my life in God’s hands,” Solofo explains. He can rely on his solid testimony because he already has faith in “God’s answers.”

I fell in gym class at school and hit my head on the floor. My head hurt really bad, and my stomach was upset. I also felt weird and very tired. When my dad got home from work, he gave me a priesthood blessing. After the blessing I wasn’t scared anymore. My mom and dad took me to the emergency room, and the doctor said I had a concussion.
Five days later my mom took me to the doctor again. This time they rushed me to a children’s hospital. It turned out that I had fractured my skull and had a bleeding artery in my brain that caused two blood clots. The doctors were really surprised that I was doing so well. I know it was because of the blessing my dad gave me. I stayed in the hospital for three days. When I got home, the bishopric came and gave me another blessing. A lot of people prayed for me. Within weeks the blood clots were gone, and I made a full recovery.
I know that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ know me and love me, and I look forward to the day when I can hold the priesthood.Matthew Nielsen, age 7, Aurora, Illinois

How you spend your time while you wait for the breaks is as important as your other preparation. Don’t waste it just waiting. Do something that can add new luster to the next round of recommending letters. I think of Sally, who took two part-time jobs, one to pay bills with and the other to give relevant experience in computer analysis, while waiting for a job with an important research institute. And I think of Stan, who enrolled in night courses in accounting to qualify for work that put him through law school. And Jim, who taught retarded children how to swim as partial preparation for a career in recreation or counseling. And Arlene, a creative Sunday School leader who let nothing—not even her wedding—interfere with that responsibility.

Many know Elder Clark G. Gilbert as president of BYU–Pathway Worldwide and as past president of Brigham Young University–Idaho. Many also know him for his innovative development of online higher education programs at both institutions.
Elder Clark credits meaningful Church service—helping young men in inner-city Boston, Massachusetts, USA—for preparing him to take educational opportunities to larger audiences. That service opportunity came as he was busy with graduate school and caring for a young family.
“Those young men didn’t always have a lot of support. They became a part of our lives, and we grew to love them,” he said. “I learned to listen to the Lord and knew He was in their lives. I could hear Him telling me what I needed to do for them.”
Elder Gilbert said the Lord taught him about the needs of other people. “It wasn’t just that He was preparing me for education, but He was showing me what He could do in the lives of people at a deep, personal level.”

The class was dismissed. Boys and girls gathered their books with their usual youthful chatter. They left the seminary building singly or in groups, their eyes and interest focused on their next activity.
Alone now, I slumped rather wearily into my chair at the front of the classroom, perhaps a bit discouraged and certainly distraught. Today had been especially trying. I had played center stage in a recurring scene with Dennis.
He had challenged nearly everything I had said about the gospel. He had resurrected for reexamination some questions I thought we had put to rest in previous discussions. Several times he had skillfully forced me into a position where I had to take a stand. I had once again borne testimony to the truth of the eternal principles I was teaching and had added my own personal witness.
Now, sitting at my desk, I began to wonder if on some things I had been too firm, too dogmatic. Certainly, I had taught the Church position supported by scripture, by the Brethren, and by my own personal experience. But had I been so firm that youth could not accept? Would I lose boys like Dennis or girls like Alice who sometimes took his part?
I was prayerfully pondering this question as I began straightening my desk at the front of the classroom. John, one of the students, stopped by to collect some books he had left behind.
“How ya’ doin’,” he said.
“Fine John. How are things with you?”
“Great! I enjoyed your class last period, even if Dennis did lead us away from the lesson for a while.”
John was a little cautious as he framed his next question. “Does it bother you when he challenges what you say and takes the negative side?”
I quietly admitted that it did but that my real concern was my apparent inability to reach Dennis and convert him to a more positive attitude of faith in the Lord’s teachings.
John smiled. “I thought you felt that way,” he said. “Let me tell you something about him.”
“Dennis has many friends who are not members of the Church. He seems negative here in class, but when he gets over to high school, he becomes you! The arguments he gives in class are the arguments he gets from his friends. The answers you give him are the answers he gives back to them. He’s just storing up ammunition.”
John picked up his books and smiled a good-bye. I sat down again at my desk, smiling. Suddenly everything fell into place. When Dennis asked questions in the future, I would understand. I would be glad to help him find answers.
Then a fear swept over me. What if I had faltered? What if I had compromised? I would not have won Dennis over—I would have betrayed him and I would have betrayed the sacred trust of being his teacher.
It was the Apostle Paul who said, ““If the Trumpet Give an Uncertain Sound”, who shall prepare himself for battle?” (1 Cor. 14:28.) We don’t blast the trumpet in someone else’s ear, but neither do we indiscreetly sound its message; rather, the call should be sweet and sure and certain of sound.

It might seem like it would be hard to spend Christmas in another country, away from friends and familiar traditions, but Natalie Bone, a Laurel in the Orem Utah Lakeridge Stake, Lakeridge Eighth Ward, will tell you it can be the very best way to spend a holiday.
“It wasn’t really hard to be away,” she says. “It felt like I was really doing something purposeful.”
Natalie and her parents spent last Christmas at an orphanage in Cuautemoc, Chihuahua, Mexico. While they were there, Natalie distributed to the children gifts purchased with money that was donated by members of Natalie’s ward, her classmates, and others who are friends with Natalie’s family.
“I was impressed at how polite and appreciative the children were. They each shared their gifts with the others. I learned a great lesson about being grateful and sharing,” says Natalie.

Photograph by Shaun Stahle
Elder Brandon Burton served as a proselyting missionary in the Philippines Cabanatuan Mission for eight months. “I loved teaching in Tagalog and felt that I had adjusted to the culture,” he said.
Unfortunately, he started to experience unexpected challenges.
“I felt like my life was slowly losing its color, and it was difficult to see the joy of the work,” he said. “Eventually, after I was diagnosed with depression, my mission leaders and I concluded that I should go home to navigate my new health challenges.”
Elder Burton was disappointed. He said, “I thought I was ruining God’s plan by coming home.” But he worked with his stake president to transfer to a service mission.
Through a series of miracles that took place before Elder Burton even boarded the plane home, his parents met individuals at Church headquarters who gave him the opportunity to serve the Lord with his unique skills and abilities.
The rest of his mission included teaching the gospel in the evenings, helping with articles for the Liahona magazine, working with horses, and serving in the Bountiful Utah Temple.
“God clearly showed that this was His plan and that He would provide for me,” he said.
“God clearly showed that this was His plan and that He would provide for me.”
Elder Dale G. Renlund of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles has said that “service missionaries bring great blessings to themselves, but more importantly, as they are doing this work, they’re blessing Heavenly Father’s children in unique ways.”
Elder Burton concluded, “I thought I came home because I was broken, but I learned that is not true. I transferred to a service mission because that is where God needed me, and He provided a way.”

We sat in her living room—she in her nineties, I in my thirties. Her health and the snowy weather wouldn’t allow her to come to the bishop’s office for tithing settlement, so I had stopped by her home instead.
She handed me two pieces of paper. One was her own handwritten record of the contributions she had made to the Church during the year; the other was a computer printout listing the same information.
“As you can see,” she said, “my records perfectly match the ward clerk’s.” I couldn’t help thinking that if there had been a discrepancy, the error wouldn’t have been hers.
Then I asked the question bishops are supposed to ask in these situations: “Sister, is this a full tithing for the year?”
She looked at me with incredulity in her eyes. There was a brief pause. And then, with mock indignation, she chastised:
“Bishop, that’s the most ridiculous question I have ever heard!”
In her case, I couldn’t help but agree. We laughed together as I gave her a hug. I had known the answer before asking the question. But I also knew she was glad for the opportunity to give a verbal accounting of her faithfulness.
Last December was my first Christmas as bishop and the first time I had conducted tithing settlement. Never before had I seen so clearly the beautiful correlation between those two events—tithing settlement and Christmas. And I discovered how appropriate it is that Christmas is the season when members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints are asked to meet with their bishop and give an accounting of their year’s worth of offerings to the Lord.
I was overwhelmed by the spirit of giving as faithful ward members came into my office—as individuals, as couples, and as families—and declared privately that they had paid a full ten percent of their income to the Lord that year. I was filled with a spirit of gratitude as most of them also reviewed with me the additional contributions they had made to the missionary and fast-offering funds—funds set up to help others in need.
Some of these offerings were large, some small. But all had been generously and willingly given.
I thanked the members for their generosity. I thanked the widow for her mite, the child for his pennies. I thanked teenagers for paying a full tithe on money they had earned bagging groceries, mowing lawns, or harvesting pumpkins. I thanked college students, single adults, young parents with small children and small incomes, and middle-aged couples with larger children and larger incomes. I thanked unemployed or retired members who had given much less than in earlier years—but still a full ten percent.
Never before had the Christmas spirit of giving been so present for me.
Then an older, graying couple came in. They had paid a full tithe and had given generously to the fast offering and missionary funds. As we visited, the husband said, “We would also like to contribute another check to the ward missionary fund. We’ll leave it up to you to credit this money to whichever missionary needs it most.” (At that time, fifteen missionaries were serving from our ward.)
When he handed me the check, I was astonished at how much additional money they were contributing. “But you gave that same amount a couple of weeks ago, with the same instructions,” I said. “Are you sure you can give that much again—and so soon?”
He and his wife assured me they could. And they reminded me that their gifts were to remain anonymous.
Then a young couple with several young children came into my office. Earlier that day in sacrament meeting, we had read a letter from the First Presidency, announcing that an additional category of voluntary contributions was now available to Church members—a “humanitarian fund.” Money donated to this category would be sent to Church headquarters and used for projects benefiting people worldwide, regardless of religious affiliation. This couple had lived in a developing nation and had witnessed the great needs there. Now they were donating a substantial sum to that fund, trusting that it would be put to the best possible use. I looked at their little children and then back at the parents. And I thought, “How can you do without this money at Christmastime?” But I had an idea that perhaps their Christmas would be even more fulfilling as a result.
Then there were the people who had contributed freely to the ward missionary fund, even though they had no missionary sons or daughters. There were those who had given to the general missionary fund and to the general Book of Mormon fund. And there were those who had contributed toward the yet-to-be-built Bountiful Utah Temple—even though they knew that the Church now pays for building projects through tithing, rather than through a separate building fund.
Later, another couple came in. They, too, had contributed liberally throughout the year. As we were about to conclude our visit, the husband said, “Bishop, is there anyone in the ward who has special needs this Christmas? We don’t have a lot of extra money, but we would like to give what we do have to someone who needs it.”
Immediately I thought of a single mother in our ward. She was doing her best to be self-reliant and certainly wasn’t looking for a handout. But money was tight. She was going back to school, and there were medical bills to pay. Surely she would be a worthy recipient of this couple’s generosity.
I accepted their offer in her behalf. They told me they weren’t interested in knowing the name of the receiver. And they, too, wanted to remain anonymous.
The husband pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and stacked several twenty-dollar bills on my desk. As he was doing so, his wife said, somewhat apologetically, “It’s not much. But now that our children are grown, we don’t feel that we’re doing as much in the ward as we used to. This is the least we can do.”
I protested at her apology, knowing they were doing much in their Church callings and in their quiet service to neighbors and to an elderly parent. And I thanked them for being so generous.
The next day, while taking the money to the recipient, I became a little uneasy. How would she receive this gift? Would she be offended? Would she hesitate to accept it?
When I handed the money to her, I described the spirit in which the gift had been given and encouraged her to receive it in that same spirit.
She accepted the money gratefully.
“I can accept this,” she said, “because when times were better for me, I often gave anonymously, just like this.” Then she told me about the secret projects her family had done over the years. She told me about times when she had purchased a frozen turkey and left it, with all the trimmings, on someone’s doorstep. She told me about anonymously mailing money to people who needed it, and about purchasing a coat and boots for the child of a needy friend. Now, in her time of need, she was a gracious receiver.
As I reviewed the monetary contributions so many ward members had made during the year, I couldn’t help remembering, too, their year’s worth of donated labor: The people who, week after week, had provided lessons and leadership—wherever they had been called to serve. The young men and young women who had cleaned the yards of elderly members, both in spring and in autumn. The sisters who had helped a member with wall-papering and painting. The elders and high priests who had done heavy yard work and repairs for those who were unable to do it alone. The young women and Relief Society sisters who had visited a homeless shelter several times—taking food, supplies, and encouragement. The young men who, without needing to be reminded, had gone out in teams and shoveled elderly members’ walks and driveways each time it snowed. The Scouts who had collected toys and books for the Primary Children’s Medical Center. The sisters who had taken meals and reassurance to the sick, the grieving, and the homebound. The priesthood brethren who had given countless blessings of health and comfort. The members who had donated time at the Church cannery to fill the shelves at the bishops’ storehouse. The many people who had quietly listened—and cared—and lifted. And the ones who had served in many ways without anyone else knowing anything about it.
And I thought of the many thank-yous from gracious receivers.
One was from a nine-year-old boy. Following is the letter he sent our Relief Society president and me after his family had received a load of food from the bishops’ storehouse (I have changed his brother’s name in order to preserve anonymity):
“Dear Bishop Gardner and Sister Thomas,
“I just got home from school. Ricky walked in first and said, ‘What in the … ?!’ Then I saw what he just saw. Food … Food! Food all over the place! Boxes, bags, cans, and even cartons of milk and eggs! Ricky said, ‘Look! There must be a million oranges!’
“We wanted to thank you, Sister Thomas, and the whole Church (especially our ward) for all the help you’re giving us right now, especially all this nice food donated from the bishops’ storehouse. It’s such a wonderful feeling to feel so loved, so cared for, and thought about.
“Gratefully.” (And he signed his full name.)

July 1
Dear Sarah,
So much has happened that I don’t know where to start. The home teachers came and helped Dad give Lindsay a blessing. After that, she wasn’t so scared. But she looked so little standing there with her bag in one hand and that big stuffed penguin under her other arm. I guess Mom and Dad told you in their letter that the surgery went fine. They let me go see Lindsay the second day. She still looked pretty sick.
After Lindsay came home, Mom had to spend a lot of time caring for her, and I helped a lot around the house, I didn’t have much time for the garden. I didn’t go all week, and when I finally got over there on Saturday, Mr. Trujillo was really sad. About half of our tomato plants were gone. Gophers got them. They just burrow underneath and pull the plants down—one day you see them, and the next day you don’t. He said he didn’t know how to get rid of the gophers. He was afraid to put out poison because pets might get into it. And he didn’t want to flush the gophers out and bash them over the head the way some people do. He’s really a nice man.
I told him I’d pray about it, and he kind of smiled and patted my head. On Sunday I fasted and prayed for Lindsay to get all well and for a solution to the gopher problem.
Monday morning I thought of Billy Swenson who lives down by the river. Remember him? He’s the kid who has live traps and catches squirrels and stuff up in the canyon. I went to see him, and we made a deal. He said that he’d come and trap the gophers and turn them loose down by the river if I would give him some tomatoes, three pumpkins, and two watermelons when they’re ready.
Mr. Trujillo was pretty surprised and happy. He looked at me in that puzzled way he does sometimes.
It took Billy four days to get all the gophers, but they’re gone. Yesterday we set out more tomato plants.
Love,Angela the Problem Solver
July 15
Dear Sarah,
How great to hear that the Gonzales family was baptized!
Guess what we had for dinner—zucchini squash that I grew myself! Mrs. Trujillo gave me a recipe, and Mom cooked it. Even Lindsay ate some of it. Mr. Trujillo says we’ll have beans in two more weeks.
I thought raking and planting were bad, but this week we’ve been hoeing weeds, and I have blisters again (not as bad as before because my hands are tougher) and a backache. But Mrs. Trujillo made lemonade and cookies, and we sat under the peach tree and ate them. They told me some stories about Mexico, and they asked about you. I told them about the Gonzales family. So it was kind of nice, even though I had aches and pains.
Love,Angela the Contented Gardener
August 10
Dear Sarah,
Nothing has been worse so far than picking beans. Mr. Trujillo can’t bend over now, so I picked all the beans, my rows and his. Your back aches, and the leaves make your skin itch, and the sun is beating down on you. Mrs. Trujillo gave me an old straw hat to wear. We got three bushels! Mr. Trujillo smiled and said, “There’ll be this many again in about ten days.” I could have cried. But by then it was cooler, and Mrs. Trujillo brought out ice cream with fresh peaches sliced on it. Then you’ll never guess what happened—Mr, and Mrs. Trujillo took me into their garage and gave me one of their kids’ old bicycles. It was all clean and shiny, with new paint and new tires and the chain all oiled. I gave them both a hug.
I took a big, juicy peach home to Lindsay, and she ate it all!
Have you found any new people to teach?
Love,Angela the Cyclist
August 20
Dear Sarah,
Mr. Trujillo and I took the beans to the Farmer’s Market and sold them. I got $8.00! After tithing, that’s $7.20 I have ready to send you, but I’ll wait till I get some more.
Yesterday I picked beans again. It was easier this time.
Do you remember the Claybourne family? The ones with all those kids? Well, he lost his job, and they’re having a hard time. Mom said they’re trying to get by on their food storage, so she wondered if I would mind giving them the beans from this picking to freeze for the winter. Mom said she’d like to freeze some, too, and that would help us have more money for bills and for you.
So I told Mr. Trujillo why I wouldn’t be selling my beans this time, and he looked at me sort of funny again, then gave me a bushel from his rows too. We gave the Claybournes zucchini also.
I hope you won’t mind about the bean money.
Love,Angela the Delivery Girl
September 2
Dearest Sarah,
We sold some tomatoes this week, and I got $13.00. They’re easier to pick than beans, and I like the way the vines smell. I also like to stop every now and then and eat one—all juicy and warm from the sun. I wish I could send you one in the mail.
I hope that you’ll understand this part. I was in a store last week, looking for notebooks and pencils for school, when I saw this little sweatshirt just Lindsay’s size with a penguin on it. She needs school clothes. I knew it would remind her of you; she still adores the penguin you sent her. It was $9.99, and so I bought it for her. Lindsay was thrilled. She put it on and wouldn’t take it off, even for bed. But after tithing and the notebooks … well, I hope you understand.
School starts Monday.
Love,Angela the Spendthrift
P.S. I promised the Claybourne kids some pumpkins for Halloween and a watermelon.
September 15
Dearest Sarah,
Thanks for not minding about the sweatshirt. Enclosed is a money order for $7.20.
Mom says having the vegetables is helping. The bills for the operation are getting paid gradually, and Lindsay’s eating fine now, and Mom and Dad always seem to find the money to send you.
Now for my surprise! The Trujillos are having the missionaries come and teach them! They came over last night, and the elders taught them the first missionary lesson. Mr. (Brother) Trujillo gave the prayer and thanked Heavenly Father for “the flower”—he meant me!—“that bloomed in his garden and showed him a more beautiful way of life.” Wasn’t that beautiful? And they’re coming back next week for another lesson.
We served watermelon from the garden!
Love,Angela the Missionary

The Toit Rouge Stake Presidency of Abidjan, Cote D’Ivoire, launched a cultural event known as Culturama in August 2018 at the Toit Rouge Stake Center. The organizing committee comprised the stake presidency, bishoprics and stake officers.
Elder Dekaye, Area Seventy, was present and presided over the launch of the ceremony. In his opening remarks, Brother Konan Amani Aime Christian, second counselor in the stake presidency and president of the organising committee said the objective is to “bring all members together on one hand and unite members and leaders on the other hand.”
A member of the organizing staff, Brother Zoh Didier, said that Culturama is a set of wholesome games and entertainment that includes cultural activities, sports, board games and Scripture knowledge and Church History Competition. He added that this program will take place throughout the vacations and will bring together all seven wards in the stake.
Elder Dekaye congratulated the initiative and organization of such a cultural event within a stake. He also helped the congregation to see the link between Moses 1:39 and Culturama. He then encouraged everyone not to procrastinate what we can do now, but rather to take actions like these and rejoice, because that is the purpose of life. He said that we can do this by using the “five-­second” technique, that is, counting to five and getting up to do what we have to do. “In this way, we will overcome everything in life and accomplish greater things.” After that, he asked the whole congregation to stand up and practice this right away. Everyone got up and shouted for joy as they jumped after five seconds. Finally, he encouraged everyone to continue to socialize in Zion, after which he officially opened the event.
To close the ceremony, there was a parade of all the seven wards on the podium, each with its own flag and logo and the presentation of the different trophies and medals.
The first competitions began on the same August 4 after the opening ceremony and continued every Wednesday and Saturday until September 15, 2018, the day of the final contests and the closing ceremony of the first Culturama.
On that day, both members and investigators in the stake, as well as members of other stakes, rushed to the stake center at 8 a.m. to attend the final contests in the various disciplines.
Before starting the competitions, the stake president took the opportunity to congratulate all the members for their mobilization in the first edition of Culturama. He then encouraged the ward leaders and everyone to be more involved for the upcoming year. He pleaded for fair play and tolerance during the competitions.
There was joy and enthusiasm on everyone’s face. There were all age groups: children, youth and adults as well as the elderly. Some were dancing, while others came to support their various wards that qualified for the final. The first competitions of the day were basketball, athletics, and football.
At the end of the ceremony, everyone was really happy to meet again, and we could see the unity and closeness the Toit Rouge Stake Presidency had hoped for.
Finalists and winners of the various Culturama 2018 competitions:
Basketball (Nouveau Quartier 1st Vs Attecoube): winner ? Attecoube
Athletics 4 x 100 m relays (Nouveau Quartier 2nd, Attecoube, Sante, Abobodoume): winner ? Nouveau Quartier 2nd
Athletics 100 m sprint (Sante, Attecoube, Toit Rouge 1st, Nouveau Quartier 2) : winner ? Sante
Football ( Nouveau Quartier 2nd Vs Kote): winner ? Kote
Scrabble (Attecoube Vs Sante): winner ? Attecoube
Draughts (Toit Rouge 1st Vs Sante): winner ? Sante
Awale (Attecoube Vs Sante): winner ? Sante
Scripture and Church History (Toit Rouge 1st Vs Attecoube): winner ? Toit Rouge 1st
Choir Competition (All Wards): winner ? Toit Rouge 1st

I couldn’t help noticing Kristy, a beautiful brunette I’d had a crush on since my freshman year. She was with some of her church friends. I decided to go see what she was doing.
“Hi. Are you ready for the big game?”
“As ready as I’m going to be. It should be a good game! What are you doing?” I didn’t really care but I wanted to sound interested in what she was doing. I heard girls like that.
“I’m passing out flyers on tips that have made my life wonderful. Do you want one?” Kristy asked in a hesitant tone. Well, I did notice that she always seemed happy and confident. I guess that’s why I was so attracted to her.
“Sure. Why not?” I took a pamphlet, and she gave me a beautiful smile.
I pulled out the flyer and read the title: For the Strength of Youth.
What a strange title, I thought. I’m already strong from weight lifting, but I guess I could use some extra strength. I started reading about standards, dating, language, sexual purity, and other stuff. I had never heard anything so crazy in my life. Why would anyone want to live by these standards? I was, however, curious about some of the beliefs. Like most others my age, I wondered about life and what I was going to do with it.
I talked to Kristy the next day about what I read. I was so amazed at how strong she was about her beliefs in the standards explained in the pamphlet. She then asked me if I’d like to meet two of her friends. Her friends turned out to be missionaries from her church.
During my discussions with the missionaries, I felt something I had never felt before. I had a feeling that told me what they were saying was true. I began to understand why those standards were so important, and how I could, by living those standards, bring more happiness to my life and become a stronger person.
With the help of Kristy and her “friends,” I was soon baptized. I’ll always be thankful for her great example. She helped teach me that being strong is more than building physical muscles. By sharing For the Strength of Youth with me, I learned about standards that helped me develop my spiritual muscles.

“Pizza face!”
I winced and sunk down into the bus seat, trying to disappear. The 20-minute ride home from school every day was pure torture for me. Lance and Sean always took the seat right behind me, and thought up as many names for me as they could. My face, full of acne since the fifth grade, provided them with such entertainment that they acted like I should be proud to receive so much verbal creativity.
I would run home from the bus stop, sit in the corner of my room with a blanket over my head, and cry. This experience was detrimental to a young girl’s self-esteem, but after a few months the boys moved on to some other poor soul with a visible affliction.
My self-esteem seemed to recover at the same rate my acne cleared—slowly. By high school a pimple was rare for me. On the other hand, both Lance and Sean, whom I still avoided, had acne problems of their own. They were much more withdrawn and had few friends.
“Serves them right,” I would think. “Now they’ve got exactly what they made fun of me for.” I felt inclined, even entitled, to some revenge of my own.
My chance came one day when Sean and I were alone in a large school hallway. He didn’t see me walking his way, and when I judged he was close enough for maximum damage, I said in a most disgusted way, “Pizza face!”
He winced, hung his head, and quickened his pace. As I watched him fleeing my torment, looking so alone in the huge hallway, I was astonished at what I felt. I had expected to feel triumphant. Instead I felt guilty and small.
Revenge had seemed like the clear answer for me, but standing there in the hall, I realized that revenge was empty. I felt worse than I’d ever felt in my life. I wanted to apologize. I learned my lesson that day: revenge is not the way to heal your inner injuries.

I was 21 years old and part owner of a beauty salon. I taught a Primary class at church. My life was good, but I felt restless. It seemed that there was something else that I needed to be doing—I just didn’t know what.
My bishop called me into his office one Sunday and asked me if I had considered serving a mission. I was totally caught off guard. I had been a member of the Church for only two years and had never thought of serving a mission.
I told the bishop that I didn’t think a mission was right for me. As I was leaving his office, he said, “Well, if you change your mind, let me know.” I thought the topic was closed, but the bishop’s words continued to echo in my mind.
I asked myself how I could possibly serve a mission. I was the only member of the Church in my family. How would my family feel? What would I do with my share of the beauty salon? Could I handle serving for a year and a half?
As I pondered these questions, I was prompted to read the Book of Mormon. I picked it up and turned to the eighth chapter of Alma. As I read about Alma and Amulek embarking on their mission, I knew that I also needed “to declare the words of God” (verse 30). The next Sunday I told my bishop that I had changed my mind and I wanted to serve a mission.
My family was supportive, and I was able to sell my share of the beauty salon. I served in Caracas, Venezuela, and I continue to reap the blessings of having honorably served the Lord.

Lisa looked at the big, empty glass jar that Dad set on the kitchen table. Then she peered at the bag of popcorn kernels sitting next to it. What was Dad up to?
“The scriptures teach us that we’re always supposed to keep our lamps full of oil,” Dad said, starting off their family home evening lesson. “Back in scripture times, lamps were what people used to see in the dark. They didn’t have lightbulbs.”
Lisa squinted at the jar. “So the scriptures say we need to keep our lights on all the time?” She liked her nightlight. That wouldn’t be such a bad thing. But how was that jar supposed to be a light?
“In a way, yes,” Dad said. “But this is more about having a light on inside you. By keeping the commandments we can feel the Holy Ghost. That’s one way to have a light on inside.”
Dad asked Mom to read a story in the Bible about 10 people who needed to go to a wedding. The wedding was at night, but only five people had their lamps ready to go. The other five had to leave to put oil in their empty lamps. By the time they got back, they were too late, and they missed the wedding. (See Matthew 25:1–13.)
“It’s a parable,” Mom said. “That’s a story that teaches a lesson.”
“What we learn from this story,” Dad explained, “is that we need to keep oil in our own lamps at all times. We always need to be ready and have light inside us.”
“But how?” Lisa asked. She didn’t really understand all this oil-lamp stuff.
Dad grinned. “That’s easy. By keeping the commandments. And guess what? We just did that.” Dad dipped a small spoon into the bag of popcorn kernels, scooped out a spoonful, and poured it into the empty glass jar. The kernels clattered on the bottom.
“We just had family home evening,” Dad said. “That’s keeping a commandment, and it puts oil in our lamps. We don’t have a real lamp, but we thought this jar could work as a substitute.”
Lisa looked down into the jar. Those kernels didn’t even cover the bottom.
“But it’s still so empty!” she said.
“It won’t be that way for long,” Mom said.
Lisa wasn’t so sure. She thought it would take forever to fill such a big jar with such tiny scoops of small kernels.
The week went on, and Lisa mostly ignored the jar. Each small scoop simply didn’t seem to make much difference. Every day, however, Mom and Dad made sure to put in a scoop whenever the family kept a commandment.
After two weeks Lisa finally took a good look at the jar. She could hardly believe her eyes. It was already halfway full!
“Mom, look!” she said, pointing to the jar.
“I know, sweetie. We’re making great progress,” Mom said.
Lisa started getting more and more excited every time they read scriptures, went to church, and kept other commandments. She felt happy knowing they were doing what Heavenly Father wanted.
Two weeks later, the jar was full to the very top.
“I’m proud of our family,” Dad said, holding up the full jar. “This is exactly what the scriptures teach us to do. We kept the commandments each day. And bit by bit the light inside us grew bright. Now who’s ready for our family home evening activity?”
Lisa cheered and clapped her hands.
But even better, she realized, was knowing they had followed the commandments.
She made a promise to herself that she would always keep oil in her lamp.

Photograph courtesy of the author
For a hobby, I took up beekeeping. Soon, people started asking me if they could buy some of my honey.
After selling a little honey, I thought about paying tithing on my “interest” (Doctrine and Covenants 119:4). I really didn’t think of the money I earned, however, as an increase. I spent a lot more on beekeeping equipment than I made selling honey.
But I remembered that tithes are holy to the Lord. As members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we honor Him by paying tithing. Paying tithing is an expression of our faith in God and His promises.
I remembered that those who pay tithing receive this promise from the Lord: “Prove me now herewith, saith the Lord of hosts, if I will not open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it” (Malachi 3:10).
I accepted the Lord’s challenge and paid tithing on my honey sales. On the tithing slips, I wrote, “From honey money.”
A short while later, a friend came to my house and said he knew someone whose beekeeping husband had passed away. The widowed wife wanted to get rid of all her husband’s beekeeping equipment and was thinking of throwing it away. Instead, my friend took me to pick up the equipment.
All the beekeeping equipment I had ever wanted and wished for—and more—was there, including all kinds of honey-extracting equipment.
Nobody gives away beekeeping equipment. But within a week after I made the choice to pay tithing, Heavenly Father opened the windows of heaven and rewarded me. I believe chance had nothing to do with it. I have a testimony that Heavenly Father knows me and my desires. My testimony of the importance of paying tithing has certainly grown.