Gospel Story Finder

To conclude their year of study of the New Testament, the three seminary classes of Merced, California, held a mock trial to hear witnesses give testimony about the death and resurrection of the Savior. To add authenticity to the proceedings, they received permission to use a local courtroom at 6:00 A.M.
Students were selected as jurors, court reporter, bailiff, and members of the press. Others were asked to participate as witnesses, representing biblical characters. The trial was conducted with witnesses testifying as to what they knew and had seen. Each witness was cross-examined. The courtroom was crowded with spectators as those students not assigned parts were invited to watch.
The jury returned with a verdict, indicating that the evidence presented supported the claim that Christ died on the cross and was resurrected.
The seminary students were involved in something out of the ordinary and were given the chance to examine the significance of the world-changing nature of the crucifixion and resurrection.

Cami was staying overnight with Grandma and Grandpa. They had fun playing together until bedtime. “Let’s get your dress ready for church tomorrow,” Grandma said.
Cami liked going to church, but she felt a little worried. Would Grandma and Grandpa’s church be the same as hers?
The next day at church, Cami sang songs and took the sacrament. The Primary sang a special song just for her. She saw a picture of Jesus and listened to a story about when He blessed the little children.
When Cami got home, she ran to show Mommy and Daddy the picture she colored in Primary. “Guess what?” she said. “Grandma and Grandpa’s church is just like our church. We all believe in Jesus!”
Mommy hugged Cami. “We are all part of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” Cami smiled. She was glad that Grandma and Grandpa’s church was her church too!

When you say the name Lilia Carasciuc, you are speaking of two people: a mother and her daughter. Both Lilias are from the Republic of Moldova, a small country next to Romania. And both Lilias are pioneers. They can both claim to be the first Moldovan members of the Church.
Lilia, the mother, was baptized in the United States while she was visiting on a grant from the U.S. government, making her the first Moldovan baptized. That was in May 1997.
Then just six months later in November, her daughter, Lilia, became the first person baptized actually in Moldova. Since she was the first of several to be baptized that day, she treasures the honor of being allowed to be the first to join the Church in her country. Today both Lilias have been members for more than six years.
At first the only Church members in Moldova were three Latter-day Saint Americans: John Nielson and Paul and Betty Morris. They met in the Morrises’ home for sacrament meeting. Two elders from the România Bucharest Mission were sent to Moldova, and then the sheep began to recognize the voice of the Shepherd. Lilia and her mother began attending meetings after Lilia’s mother returned from the United States.
The younger Lilia tells the story of her conversion: “I started attending Church meetings six months before my baptism. I had my mother’s example this entire time. She introduced me to the Church by giving me a hymnbook. I came to love the first hymn I looked at, ‘Love One Another.’ I knew then that God wanted me to feel special and loved.”

“Before the big dam was built near Hyrum, there was an open place called ‘the holler.’ That’s where my Grandfather Wilson had his pastures. One of the grandchildren’s duties was to take the cows down to pasture every morning. Nearby was a stream where we fished and swam. The ‘holler’ was located between Hyrum and the town of Paradise. The holler was truly a paradise for us kids. We’d get together there with our cousins and swim, fish, hunt, and play all day long. Toward evening we would get the cows and lead them back home to be milked.”

Let me tell you a story about some children who knew who they really were and who understood their relationships to each other.

The story occurred at a track and field meet for children with special needs. The children had trained and were so excited for this day. Try to imagine the parents of these ­physically or mentally challenged children who had decided to run in these races. The parents thought that if their children could win, it would be good for their self-esteem.

The parents sat in the stands waiting for the races to begin. Their children were on the track getting ready for the 100-meter dash. As the gun fired, all nine contestants began to run. Not long into the race, one of the boys fell down, hurt his knee, and started to cry. The other racers, hearing him cry, stopped, turned around, and went back and gathered around him. One little girl with Down syndrome kissed him on the head and said, “Now that will make it ­better.” Together they lifted him up, joined arms, and walked to the finish line together.

To the parents, what had begun as an exciting race was now a little confusing as they watched those little athletes walk to the finish line together. The parents stood and cheered. And they cheered for a long time. They realized that these children knew all along who they really were and what winning really means. The parents thought self-esteem would come from winning, but they learned that self-esteem comes from doing esteemable things every day.

Illustration by Glenn Harmon
Max and Blake sat on Blake’s front porch eating ice-cream treats. It was a hot day, and the cold, sweet ice cream tasted just right. They both concentrated on eating every bit of their ice cream before it dripped onto the concrete. Blake finished his and sucked on the wooden stick.
“Hey, do you wanna play in the sprinklers in my backyard?” he said.
“That sounds great!”
“Race you!” said Blake, and he hopped up and ran around to the backyard gate.
Max finished the last bite of his ice cream as Blake disappeared around the corner of the house.
“Hey, wait for me!” Max shouted as he hurried after Blake. When he reached the gate, he flung it open, remembering too late to watch out for Blake’s dog, Chief. Chief ran out through the gate, his large furry body pushing Max out of the way.
“Chief, come!” Max shouted.
Chief stopped in Blake’s front yard. He cocked his head and grinned at Max, his tail wagging.
Max spoke calmly as he inched toward the dog. “C’mon Chief. Come back.” Max was almost close enough to grab Chief, so he kept speaking gently and stretched out his hand.
Chief lurched away and raced down the street at full speed, still wagging his tail. He was fast. Max ran after Chief and tried not to lose sight of him.
Max followed Chief until he felt like he just couldn’t run anymore. His muscles ached, and his throat burned from breathing hard. All the while, Chief ran ahead of him, getting farther and farther away from home. Max was really worried now. He couldn’t go back for help without losing sight of Chief, but he just didn’t know how much longer he could keep up. And if he couldn’t catch him, Chief would be lost. The thought of losing his best friend’s dog gave Max a sick feeling in his stomach.
Max stopped running, his heart still pounding hard in his chest. He closed his eyes and said an urgent prayer that he would be able to bring Chief home safely. Max looked up from his prayer and saw Chief dash through an open gate into a neighbor’s backyard. He followed and quickly closed the gate. His shoulders sagged with relief. Max knew this was an answer to his prayer. Chief was trapped in the yard.
Max knocked on the front door of the house and explained the situation. The kind neighbor helped Max hold Chief’s collar and walk him back home. Max was tired from his run, but he felt really grateful to Heavenly Father. He was so glad he’d remembered to pray for help.
“Hey Max, where’d you go?” said Blake as Max led Chief into the backyard. “I was getting the sprinkler set up and didn’t see you leave.”
“Aw, me and Chief went for a run. Let me tell you about it.” Max smiled as he set Chief free to play in the sprinklers. Then he double-checked to make sure the gate was closed tight.

William Prabhudas of the Bangalore Second Branch works in a courthouse. He knows how heart wrenching it can be to see marriages torn apart. That’s one of the reasons he and his wife were so eager to find strength in the temple.
“Like most couples, sometimes we have small issues to work out,” he says. “But working them out is so much easier when we both have an eternal perspective.”
His wife, Sheela, says that going to the temple has helped not only her and her husband, but it has also helped their children: Celesta, age 13, and Doris, 7. “We were sealed as a family,” Sheela says. “It was a good feeling. We forgot the outside world, and it was like heaven for us. We talk about it all the time.”
“What a blessing to be sealed to my wife,” Brother Prabhudas says. “And then they brought our daughters in, dressed in white, to join us. It reminded me of cleanliness—cleanliness in our lives and in our homes. Cleanliness and the temple go hand in hand. When we are clean, the Lord promises—in His house of promises—to bless us.”
Celesta recalls that her family worked, planned, and saved for two years to be able to travel to the temple. But most of all, she remembers being in the temple with her parents and that her aunt and uncle and cousins were also there to see her family sealed. “Afterward, we all held hands together. We looked in the mirrors and thought about eternity,” she recalls. “It was beautiful. I knew I wanted to belong to my family forever.”

Some years ago I read an article that told of the less-than-spectacular career of a quarterback on the football team of a small rural high school. This young man managed to make the team, but it was clear he was not going to be all-state or all-American. Indeed, it didn’t look like he was going to be all-anything, except perhaps all battered and bruised. He was the fourth of the four quarterbacks.
By season’s end he had never been called into a game and had given up hope. During the final game of the year he pulled off his shoes, wrapped himself in a blanket, and settled on the bench to watch his buddies play.
Midway through the game he heard the coach shout his name. He was startled and wondered if he had been mistaken. Then it came again, right from the coach’s lips, “Hey, you! Get in there and move the ball!”
What should he do? His first impulse was to lapse into a coma. His second was to pretend he didn’t hear. His third was to say, “Wait, coach. Wait while I put on my shoes.” He did the only manly thing. Strapping on his helmet as he ran, he made straight for the huddle; his white-stockinged feet were conspicuous to the players on both teams, as well as to the spectators and the coach, who also must have been ready to lapse into a coma.
He called the play, but the shock of his first game was obviously a little disconcerting. By the time he took the snap from center he had forgotten the play he had called. His teammates moved to the right, but he gamely went left. There, alone against the world, he met the opposition head-on and was swallowed up in the snarl of the onrushing linemen.
He said later, “No one expected me to make a touchdown. Even running the wrong way was understandable. But there was no excuse for a quarterback without shoes” (Improvement Era, Sept. 1969, 44).

I understand the young man who wrote this song had lost his father not long before and was expressing his deep feelings. They are most meaningful to me because I lost my dad, very unexpectedly, when I was only thirty-one. I thought my dad would live forever. He was too big, too strong, he was my hero, and yet without warning he was gone. Though I was married with children of my own, I missed him so much. I just craved to have him hold me once again. Please live each day so that you will not have regrets, no matter what may happen.

Our ward has spent the past several months working hard to educate our young women about the importance of modesty. We started with an evening devoted to fashion. Our Young Women leaders showed us clothes that cover but still look good and flatter us, and we were told where to shop for modest clothes that are cute and fun. They also taught us how to get a more natural look with our makeup.
One Young Women leader surveyed some of the members of our stake, asking their opinions about how girls dress. For example, one of the young men surveyed said, “I don’t respect girls who dress immodestly.” Another said, “I don’t care about girls who dress like that [in revealing clothes].”
One comment from a priest spelled out what most of the young men seemed to feel. He said, “There’s a line between suggestive and attractive. A lot of young women try to play the line, not just in their clothes, but in their makeup and attitude, too. It’s unattractive when they look suggestive and act stuck up.”
The young men’s responses consistently showed they were unimpressed by and uncomfortable around young women who wear revealing clothes.
At the end of the evening all of the young women signed a modesty oath card.
Each time we dressed modestly for a Church function, we got a check mark on our cards. After the 12th check mark, we got a gift certificate for a juice smoothie, which really gave us something to look forward to. We keep the cards with us now as a reminder to stay modest.
A couple of weeks after our modesty night, one of our Young Women leaders set up a photo shoot for our Young Women activity. It was so much fun! She took pictures of us, and we got to show off our modest attire. It is exciting to look at all the fun pictures we took and the cards we completed and to know that we accomplished our goal.
You may be wondering how well we have been doing with our modesty program. Well, I can say we are sticking strong to staying modest. All of the girls in my ward have completed their oath cards, including one girl who isn’t a member of the Church yet. Though we’ve finished the program, we continue to dress modestly, even at school, which is amazing since my school has no dress code. The students can wear whatever they want. But our girls choose to dress modestly and stand as witnesses at all times and in all things and in all places.

Priscilla Samson-Davis, a sister in Ghana, has known struggles. There have been many rocks on the path of her life. As a teacher she has watched families nurse children through dysentery and malaria, work hard, barter daily for sacks of rice, onions, tomatoes—any food to keep their loved ones alive. She serves as a visiting teacher, regularly traveling on the bus to see a sister on the other side of town. When asked if this task were a burden, given all she had to manage, she simply replied, “It’s not hard. The woman I visit can’t read. When I go, I read the scriptures to her.”
Her simple answer testified to the faith and assurance she had that she was on the proper path. Though her bus route was halting and likely wound up and down streets, in the Lord’s eyes it was truly straight and narrow, for she was going in the right direction. She was about her Father’s business. She exemplified the spirit described by President Ezra Taft Benson when he said, “The best measure of true greatness is how Christlike we are” (in Conference Report, Apr. 1986, p. 100; or Ensign, May 1986, p. 78).

I was in the ninth grade. A year in which it seemed I was halfway to nowhere. Confidence was not part of my nature. My actions were largely controlled by my feelings of inferiority. Perhaps it was the low light of self-doubt that made the following experience such a bright and guiding star.
Third hour I sat near the back of the classroom. My feet extended as far forward as I could stretch them. By sitting in this manner I was scarcely visible from where the teacher sat at her desk in the front.
Friday was the day for current events. When the roll was called, each student had two choices—he could either answer “Prepared” or “Unprepared.” If his response was “Prepared,” he had to give a talk. If his response was “Unprepared,” he didn’t have to do anything. I quickly grasped the idea that the word unprepared was the word that would get me off the hook.
As the weeks went by, each time my name was called I responded almost with dignity, “Unprepared.” My friends also mastered this word. We all, as a group, made it easier for each of us as individuals.
Once as I was visiting with the teacher, I noticed my name in the performance roll book, and behind my name was a long series of negative signs. This worried me but not enough to make me stand up in front of my friends and give a talk. Speaking to a group seemed like the most frightening of all things.
A girl that I liked very much sat in front of me. I liked her so much that on the way to school I would think of clever things to say to her, but when in her presence, my mind would go blank and I would become almost tongue-tied.
One day when the teacher called the roll and got to my name, I replied, “Unprepared.” It was then that this girl did me a great favor. She turned around, looked back at me, and said, “Why don’t you get prepared?” I was not able to listen to any of the reports that day. I kept thinking of all sorts of wonderful things like, “What does she care, unless she cares?”
I went home, found an article in the newspaper, and read it time and again until I had finally committed it to memory. I cut the article out, folded it, placed it in my wallet, and carried it with me all week.
The next Friday I was there in my usual seat in the back. The teacher started to call the roll without looking up. Finally she got to my name; she said, “George.” And very quietly I gave a great speech—I said, “Prepared.” She stopped calling the roll and looked up at me. I poked my head up as far as I could and nodded. The girl turned around and smiled. My friends looked over at me like, “Traitor.” Then I sat waiting my turn, saying to myself, “What have I done?” I was scared. Then I made a magnificent discovery. It was all right to be afraid if I didn’t let it stop me from doing what I should.
My turn came. I went to the front and started to speak. I remembered every word, and after the last word had crossed my lips, I stood there for just a second, and a priceless thought passed my mind and found its way to my heart. I said to myself, “I like you.”
I returned to my seat and sat down. I didn’t hear any of the reports, but as my heart pounded within me, I kept feeling over and over again, “This is the only way to live.”
I have since learned that the word unprepared really does take you off the hook and lead you away from pressure. By learning to say that word you really don’t have to do anything, but you never know the joy of doing something that causes you to say to yourself, “I like myself.”

“Because a temple is sacred, the Lord asks that it be protected from desecration. Anyone may enter who is willing to prepare well for that privilege. The concept of preparation prevails in other fields of endeavor. I remember when I was but a young boy, I told my parents I wanted to attend the university. They said I could, but only if I worked hard in preliminary schooling and met all the requirements for admission to the university. Similarly, we must qualify for admission to the temple. We prepare physically, intellectually, and spiritually.”—Elder Russell M. Nelson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, “Prepare for Blessings of the Temple,” Ensign, Mar. 2002, 18–19.

“My parents always had Church assignments, and they taught us the importance of serving in the Church. My mother had a calling in the Relief Society and was the Mutual president. She also directed the ward choir. I remember Dad punching down bread dough or taking loaves of fresh bread out of the oven or washing and folding diapers while she was fulfilling her Church callings. As we were growing up, we would always be excused from the chores to do Church assignments.”

I have spoken on three or four occasions to the women of the Church during the past ten years. I have received in response to these various talks a substantial number of letters. I have kept some of them in a file marked “Unhappy Women.”
These letters have come from many areas. But they are all written in the same tone. I wish to read you a portion of one of them which was received only last week. The writer has granted me permission to do so. I will not disclose any names.
Said she: “I met my husband when he was a freshman. He was from a very active family with many years of service in the Church. He was so enthused about serving a mission. I thought we shared the gospel as our most important value in this life. We both enjoyed music and nature and had a high priority on gaining knowledge. We dated a few months, easily fell in love, and wrote to one another while he served an honorable mission. When he came back home, he got back into school and we were married in the Salt Lake Temple. We followed the counsel of Church leaders and began our family. I had been attending [the university] on an Honors at Entrance scholarship, but I became pregnant and sick and left school to devote my time and energy to my husband and infant son.
“For the next eighteen years I supported my husband while he finished school, got some work experience, and started his own business. We both served in leadership positions in the Church and community. We had five wonderful children. I taught the children the gospel, how to work, how to serve, how to communicate, and how to play the piano. I baked bread; canned peaches, apples, tomatoes; sewed dresses and quilts; cleaned house; and tended my flowers and vegetables. In many ways it seemed that we were an ideal family. Our relationship was sometimes sweet and sometimes difficult. Things were never perfect because I am not a perfect woman and he is not a perfect man, but many things were good. I did not expect perfection; I just kept trying.
“Then came the crash. About a year ago he decided that he never loved me and that our marriage was a mistake from the beginning. He was convinced that there was nothing in our relationship for him. He filed for divorce and moved out. ‘Wait,’ I kept saying. ‘Oh, no. Stop! Don’t do this. Why are you leaving? What is wrong? Please, talk to me. Look at our children. What of all our dreams? Remember our covenants. No, no! Divorce is not the answer.’ He would not hear me. I thought I would die.
“Now I am a single parent. What an enormous load of heartache, pain, and loneliness is behind that statement. It explains so much trauma and so much anger from my teenage sons. It explains so many tears from my little girls. It explains so many sleepless nights, so many family demands and needs. Why am I in this mess? What did I choose wrong? How will I ever get through school? How will I get through this week? Where is my husband? Where is the father of my children? I join the ranks of tired women whose husbands leave them. I have no money, no job. I have children to care for, bills to pay, and not much hope.”

Years ago, after moving to a home in Murray Utah a kind neighbor brought over a box of tulip bulbs that were surplus from the abundant crop they had recently thinned. We were excited to add them to our new landscape and worked hard that fall to get them all planted. The wintry weather arrived early that year and although we planted many of them the ground froze before we got all the bulbs snuggly settled in the rich soil. Several of the bulbs were left in the cardboard box and abandoned in the garage forgotten through the long winter.
As spring came we noticed the planted bulbs pushing up green shoots through the newly thawed ground. We could hardly wait for them to bloom. It was not until then that we remembered the other bulbs, the ones that never got planted. We felt bad that the spring display of bright colorful tulips would be less than what it could have been. We found the box with the unplanted bulbs in the back corner of the garage while rummaging for gardening tools. My wife took the box to the garbage can planning to throw out the deserted bulbs but to her surprise she saw that they were also sending up shoots. These tender little plants were doing their best to fulfill the measure of their creation under much less than ideal circumstances. The other tulips had been nurtured beneath the soil while these little bulbs were doing their best to push out their blooms without the benefit of dirt or sun in a cold dark garage. We took these brave little bulbs and immediately planted them in the same flower beds as the others. In a matter of weeks, they had caught up to those previously planted bulbs and by the time they bloomed you couldn’t tell them apart. Since God made it possible for tulips to bloom under less than ideal conditions, imagine how infinitely greater He has endowed each of us with the capacity to progress and prosper through difficult life situations.

May 26, 1853 I went to Fourchu, a place 6 or 7 miles from Gabarouse. On my way along the beach I saw a large duck on the waves, picking among the kelp. This was a desolate place, no houses for 6 or 7 miles. The Spirit said to me, “You are going among strangers. No Saints there. Take the bird with you.” So I sat down right where the wave broke and the bird floated straight towards me, picking among the kelp and sea weed. When it got close to the shore it put its head under its wing, so I jumped and caught it. It was lively enough then and tried to get away. So when I got to Fourchu (6) I went to a house, asked if that was Mr. Cann’s. They said yes. I told them I had come over from Gabarouse to preach the Gospel to them. I had forgotten the duck. I then happened to notice them looking at it. Says I, “Here is a bird. I saw it out on the water and I thought I would bring it along, that it might be good to eat.” Says he, “Is it hurt?” “No, Sir.” I handed it to him. Heexamined it very close and said it was all right. It was cooked. We ate it. It was fat and good. A few came in. We had a meeting. The sectarian minister had poisoned the minds of the people, but Mr. Cann and family treated me very kindly … and spoke favorably to others of me.

It was the morning of the examination, and I prepared my backpack hurriedly. No, I wasn’t forgetting anything—not my schoolbooks, my glasses, or my trusty Book of Mormon. I had everything—including anxiety, which worsened as soon as I saw the university buildings.
It was still early; the professor hadn’t arrived, but other students were waiting with me. Everyone else was talking, but I sat in silence, close to panic. I couldn’t back out now. This test was too important for me and for my family. I had to show my relatives that, even though I had many Church commitments, I hadn’t neglected my studies. I had to pass this oral exam—but anxiety was shutting down my ability to smile and to remember what I had studied.
I looked out the window. The sky over my beautiful city of Naples, Italy, was incredibly blue, and my thoughts immediately turned to God. For several minutes I looked into the immensity of the heavens and spoke with my Heavenly Father. Peace came over me. I felt an assurance that God was with me.
While the other students continued to talk among themselves, I took my Book of Mormon from my backpack and began to read. I lost track of those around me as I was comforted by what I read in the scriptures. All of a sudden, a thought shook me: “It’s useless for you to stay here. You can’t answer the professor’s questions. Get out of here. Take the exam next month.” I made the mistake of listening, and again I felt very alone and very close to panic. The words penetrated into me, and I was about to shut my Book of Mormon and leave, believing I couldn’t succeed.
Then I remembered my prayer to Heavenly Father earlier, along with the peace I’d felt. With all the strength I had, I cried out in my heart, “God is with me.”
This time, joy overcame me, and I had no more fear. All my worries vanished in the warm light of heavenly reassurance.
Finally the professor arrived. When it was my turn to be questioned, I went into his office with a look that gave only a tiny indication of the peace I felt in my heart. And I came out of the office with a radiant smile. I had answered all the professor’s questions and scored the maximum possible!
Discouragement is one of Satan’s strongest weapons. He must have known that if he could hit his target this time, my family would have thought they had a reason to criticize the Church.
But with Heavenly Father’s help, I overcame doubt and discouragement. Now I know that if I do my part, Heavenly Father will help me. I need not fear. I cannot imagine a greater joy than knowing God is with me.

The moon was big and round and bright, just as it should be on the night of the Moon Festival. I held my glowing paper lantern higher, hoping that the Old Man in the Moon would see me amid the other children. The whole park gleamed with brilliant Chinese lanterns.
I dashed up the hill to where my parents and sisters sat on a blanket, nibbling moon cakes. My eldest sister, Mei Lai, was gazing at the moon. I knew that she was probably dreaming about that boy who took her to the dance last Saturday. That’s a girl for you! I thought. I’m glad that I’m not a girl.
Not that Mei Lai didn’t have a right to think about love tonight. Everyone thought about love during the Moon Festival, or Mid-Autumn Festival, the proper name that my sister preferred to call it. On this night the Old Man in the Moon supposedly wove an invisible red thread around couples who would one day get married.
Even I was thinking about love. But not that kind. I was thinking about how I could love my neighbors. My Primary teacher had told us last Sunday that we should, and ever since then, I had been wondering how I could ever do it. I couldn’t think of any neighbors in our apartment building that I even liked—especially not that new boy down the hall! Why, he didn’t even speak Chinese! The first time I saw him, I just kept looking at his eyes. I had never seen such blue eyes, except maybe on TV.
Once I had tried talking to him in the English that I was learning in school. “Where are you from?” I asked.
Looking at me oddly, he lifted up his nose and declared, “I’m an Aussie.”
Whatever an Aussie was, I certainly didn’t know. I went home and asked Mei Lai, who knew English well.
“An Aussie is someone from Australia,” she told me.
My mother’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “Sun Ling, it will soon be time to go home.”
“Oh, let me run once more through the park.”
“Well, you be careful with that lantern. Remember that you have a lighted candle in it.”
“I will.” As I sprinted down the hill, I looked up at the Old Man in the Moon to see if he was still watching me and my glistening paper lantern. I ran and ran, with my eyes turned upward toward the beautiful full moon.
Suddenly—CRASH! Was it a wall? No, it was a body. Another person and I tumbled over and over each other. It was the Aussie. When we finally stopped, we raised our tousled heads and looked at each other. I blurted out, “What are you doing here? This is a Chinese holiday!”
It was a good thing that he couldn’t understand my Chinese. I indignantly grabbed my lantern, which miraculously lay unharmed on the grass. In my mind I grumbled, Even if I wasn’t looking where I was going, it wasn’t really my fault. After all, he’s the one who doesn’t belong here.
A sizzle and a flare made us both jump up. His colorful paper lantern was in flames. My mother’s words flashed through my mind, “Be careful with that lantern.”
I looked at him. Then I cocked my head in amazement. Out of those blue, blue eyes tears were dribbling! It had never occurred to me that an Aussie could cry too.
The boy’s lips began to quiver, and he said, “My dad gave me that lantern.”
I didn’t understand all his words, but I understood what he meant. And I felt awful! I tried to remember how to say I’m sorry in English, but all my words came out in Chinese.
Suddenly, in Chinese, he said, “I’m sorry too.”
I blinked with surprise. Why he knew some Chinese words after all. He smiled at me. I smiled back.
The next day I strode into the house, banging the door happily behind me.
“What’s that huge grin for?” Mei Lai asked as she stirred vegetables and pork together in the wok.
“Oh, I’ve been learning to love my neighbor. Jim’s my friend now.”
“Who’s Jim?” she asked
“He’s the Aussie I told you about,” I replied, peering over the sizzling wok. I perched on a tall stool. “Do you know what? Before he came here, Jim had never even heard of moon cakes. So I gave him one with an egg-yolk center. When he bit into it, he sort of shriveled up his nose and tried to smile. I could tell that he didn’t like it.”
“So, do you think he’s still your friend?” Mei Lai laughed.
“Well, I did let him try a lotus-seed moon cake after that, and he ate every bit of it and smacked his lips.”
“I’m glad that you gave him something he likes,” said Mei Lai.
“I did give him one other thing that I hope he likes. I gave him my Book of Mormon.”
“Your Book of Mormon!” exclaimed my sister. “Whyever did you do that?”
“Well, because it’s the most special thing that I could share with a friend,” I answered.
“But how do you expect him to read it?” she said. “He doesn’t even read Chinese.”
“Joseph Smith translated the characters of the Book of Mormon from another language. Maybe God will give Jim the gift to translate too.”
“Look,” Mei Lai explained, “Joseph Smith was a prophet. Not everyone receives the gift to translate another language.”
I looked at my sister intently. “Mei Lai, I’m still glad that I gave the Book of Mormon to him.”
It was the week before Christmas. Someone knocked at our door, and Mei Lai opened it to blond-haired Jim. My friend didn’t see me sitting in the corner, so he spoke in English to my sister. “I read your book,” he said, holding up a blue book with Chinese characters of the Book of Mormon engraved on it.
“You read it!” she gasped. “But—but you don’t know Chinese, do you?”
“No. What I meant to say,” Jim explained, “was that my tutor read it to me. He comes every day to teach me Chinese, and so we have been reading it together. In fact, my tutor was wondering if he could get a copy of his own. Also, would it be possible to get a copy in English for my father?”
My sister finally closed her mouth from her astonishment. She smiled, motioning to me.
Jim turned and saw me. “Oh, Sun Ling,” he said in halting Chinese, “this book you gave me is very interesting. I am curious to find out more about it. Can you help me?”
“I’ll be happy to help you,” I replied slowly to make sure that he understood my words. “I can think of no better way to love my neighbor from Australia.”

Lydia’s birthday was coming.
“What do you want for your birthday, Lydia?” Mom asked.
Lydia thought for a few minutes. Did she want a new toy? Did she want a book to read? Then Lydia knew what she wanted the very most.
“I want to visit the temple,” Lydia said. She wanted to be with her family. She wanted to go somewhere happy. And what place was happier than the temple?
On Lydia’s birthday, Mom, Dad, Lydia, and her sisters got ready to drive to the temple. Lydia even got to invite her friend Grant.
It was a long drive. But that was OK. Lydia told jokes with Grant and her sister Lucy. She told a story to her little sisters, Eliza and Ellie.
And finally, Lydia could see the temple. They had made it!
“Look at the angel Moroni!” Lydia said. She pointed up at the temple.
As soon as she got out of the car, Lydia raced to the temple gates.
There were beautiful trees around the temple. The trees had bright orange and yellow leaves. The leaves on the ground crunched as Lydia and her family walked around the temple.
A big gust of wind blew through the trees. Lydia watched the leaves fly through the air. She ran to catch a leaf before it hit the ground. It was beautiful! She put it in her pocket.
Dad read the sign on the temple. It said, “Holiness to the Lord: The House of the Lord.”
“That means we can feel close to Jesus here,” Mom said.
Lydia felt peaceful. This was a very happy place!
As they drove away, Lydia pulled out her leaf. When she got home she would put it in her special box. That way she could always remember this wonderful day!