Gospel Story Finder

“If I missed one Sunday,” Gail Mosher of Corner Brooks says, “I’d have the whole branch on me doorstep as soon as Church was out. They’d be wantin’ to know if something was wrong. That’s a great feeling.”
Gail became interested in the Church after seeing several of the “Home Front” public service messages on television.
“There came a point in my life when I asked myself, ‘Who am I and what do I want out of life,’” explains Gail. “I’d gone to every church here, but there was always something missing. Then I saw one of the ‘Home Front’ commercials on the telly. It was about families. There was an address at the end of the message. They sent me a pamphlet on genealogy, but it just whetted my appetite. There was so much more I wanted to know. So I wrote again. This time a whole box of books and pamphlets came. On the back of the pamphlets was an address and a phone number. The first thing I asked was where the Mormon chapel was. I haven’t missed a time since. It’s such a good thing. Being baptized was the best thing I’ve ever done.”
Gail has been called to serve a mission in Denmark.

One winter day, I was walking the school grounds with my friends Alice and Trevor when we came across a sign that read: “Cups of tea now available.” Excitedly, Trevor offered to buy us each a cup of tea. “No, thank you,” I said.
Trevor offered me tea each day, and I continued to decline. Finally, he asked me why I wouldn’t drink the tea. I told him about the Word of Wisdom, hoping that he would understand. But he just turned it into a big joke. He tried to get me to break the Word of Wisdom.
“It’s not like you’re taking drugs,” he said. “A cup of tea is harmless!”
The next week, he and his friends started teasing me even worse. I tried to hold my head high, though it wasn’t easy.
Over time, they felt bad for their actions and stopped teasing me. One day, my teacher told me: “You have always been an example of your faith and religion. I am proud of you.”
I am proud of myself too. It isn’t always easy, but I know I’ll be blessed for standing up for my standards.
Nicolé M., West Midlands, United Kingdom

On one occasion, a missionary in the final week of his mission reminded me that I had given him clearance two years previously to serve a mission. The clearance had been extended with some reservations on my part because his life before his mission had been dotted with transgressions. He said, “You allowed me to go into the field after due repentance and after I promised that I would be strictly obedient and would work diligently. I can assure you that I have worked hard and have obeyed every rule.”

Then he said something very significant. “I will always wish I had never done those things in the first place. But I feel that my sins have been forgiven. I feel perfectly clean.” He had been cleansed through selfless service and by developing a close association with the Holy Spirit. He had been through the refiner’s fire, and impurities had been burned away.

Tanya had an uncle problem. Her mom had brothers but no sisters. Her new dad had brothers but no sisters. She couldn’t remember her other dad, who had died when she was very young, but he had brothers and no sisters too.
There were Uncle Max, Uncle Al, and Uncle Ed. There were Uncle Gerry and Uncle Bob. There were Uncle Vince, Uncle Rick, and Uncle Tony. Not one of her uncles was married, so there were no aunts for Tanya to visit and no cousins for her to play with.
Tanya’s uncles always made a fuss over her. Uncle Max played football with Tanya, Uncle Al read her stories, and Uncle Ed made her carvings out of soap. Uncle Gerry helped Tanya with her schoolwork, and Uncle Bob helped her with her stamp collection. Uncle Vince sang with Tanya, Uncle Rick played his guitar, and Uncle Tony told Tanya jokes. It was never boring when her uncles were around.
At school concerts, Tanya’s mom and dad sat in the front seats. Next to them sat all her uncles. They took up the whole row. They didn’t just clap when Tanya’s class was on stage—they stomped and whistled and cheered.
“There are Tanya’s uncles,” everyone said. Sometimes it embarrassed Tanya a little bit.
At picnics in the park, her uncles played football, baseball, and tag with Tanya. They raced each other across the park and whooped and hollered and laughed.
“There are Tanya’s uncles,” everyone said. And Tanya would blush.
At Halloween her uncles dressed Tanya up as the front part of a dragon and gave her two flashlights to use for its eyes. Behind her was a lumpy, bumpy, green garbage-bag dragon with eight pairs of uncle legs. The back end of the dragon thumped and bumped and giggled.
“There are Tanya’s uncles,” everyone said. Tanya wished that her uncles wouldn’t be so noisy.
One day Tanya asked her mother, “Can we have just one uncle visit at a time?”
“Why, honey?” Mother asked. “Don’t you think it’s fun when we’re all together?”
“Well, there are so many of them that sometimes it seems noisy and confusing,” Tanya said.
“You’re lucky to have so many uncles, Tanya. Lots of kids don’t have any relatives nearby,” Mother reminded her. “Besides, which ones would we leave out?”
Tanya thought for a moment. She loved all her uncles. “I guess we couldn’t choose just one,” she said with a sigh.
One day Dad came home from work looking worried. “Our company’s closing down here,” he said. “We have a choice—we can move to a city where the company has a job for me, or we can stay here and look for other work.”
“There probably aren’t any other jobs in this area in your field,” said Mom.
“I know,” Dad replied, “but how can we move away? All our relatives are here.”
“I think it would be fun to live in a different place,” said Tanya. “Can we, Dad? Please?”
Tanya and her mom and dad talked it over. The uncles came and talked it over too. Finally they all decided that it would be best for Tanya’s family to move. Tanya could hardly wait.
When moving day came, Uncle Max, Uncle Al, and Uncle Ed carried boxes outside. Uncle Gerry and Uncle Bob helped Dad carry furniture. Uncle Vince, Uncle Rick, and Uncle Tony packed everything carefully into the rented truck. The uncles did not sing or whistle or laugh. One by one they quietly hugged Tanya and Mom and Dad good-bye.
Tanya sat in the cab of the truck between Mom and Dad. Her uncles stood in the driveway and waved as the truck pulled away.
Tanya didn’t sniffle like Mom or look miserable like Dad. She was too excited thinking about the trip to her new home more than a thousand miles away.
Soon they were all settled in their new house. Dad thought that his new job was even better than the one that he had left. Mom loved their new house and neighbors. Tanya liked everything about the new city, especially her new friends at school and at church.
But at school concerts Mom and Dad sat in the front row next to people that they didn’t know. Nobody stomped or whistled or cheered when Tanya’s class was on stage. The audience just clapped politely for every class.
At picnics in the park Tanya’s new friends played football, baseball, and tag with her. They raced each other across the park and whooped and hollered and laughed. But it wasn’t the same as the picnics she remembered.
When Halloween came, Tanya made her own costume; it was just for her. Afterward there was homemade pizza at her home. She and her friends played spooky games together. And though they laughed and yelled together, somehow it seemed too quiet.
“I wonder what the uncles are doing,” said Tanya one day.
“They keep pretty busy,” Mom answered. “Someday we’ll visit them, Tanya, but we have to save the money. It costs a lot to go that far.”
“I know,” Tanya said, sighing a bit wistfully.
The first year there was not enough holiday or vacation time to make the big trip to see the uncles. The next year Mom was sick for a while, and they had to pay medical bills. The third year their old car broke down, and they had to get a new one.
“I guess we’ll have to wait another year, Tanya,” Dad said. “I’m sorry.”
That week there was a public speaking contest at school. Tanya had never entered one before, but the prize was five hundred dollars, so she signed up just before the deadline. The local service organizations that were sponsoring the contest had chosen “Peace in Our World” as the topic.
The day of the contest came, and Mom and Dad sat in the front row. All the other contestants had written careful notes. Their speeches were clear and confident. They talked about world affairs, strong armies, and good government. The audience clapped enthusiastically after each one.
Tanya spoke last. She had not written any notes. She talked about the lumpy, bumpy Halloween dragon. She talked about soap carvings, stamp collecting, singing, and picnics in the park. Most of all she talked about her uncles.
“People all over the world can love each other, look after each other, and have fun together,” she said, “just like families. That’s what peace is all about.”
Tanya sat down, and the audience was quiet. At first she was afraid that everyone thought that her speech was dumb. Then they began to clap—and they kept on clapping! The judges had no trouble making their decision: Tanya was the winner!
“What will you do with all that prize money?” one of the judges asked.
“Buy some plane tickets,” Tanya replied happily, hugging Mom and Dad.
That summer when the three of them left the plane and entered the airport waiting area, there were Uncle Max, Uncle Al, and Uncle Ed … and Uncle Gerry and Uncle Bob … and Uncle Vince, Uncle Rick, and Uncle Tony! They were stomping and whistling and cheering. They were hollering and whooping and laughing. They were thumping and bumping and giggling.
But Tanya didn’t care if they were being noisy. “There are my uncles!” she squealed, running happily toward eight pairs of outstretched uncle arms.

The funeral was held on Tuesday morning. I didn’t go. I couldn’t stand to see them put her into the cold earth. Besides, I had been to LDS funerals before. Always they were so cheerful and positive, telling us to have faith in God and that things would be fine with the departed loved one. I wasn’t sure I even believed in God anymore. I went fishing in an effort to forget the pain I was feeling.
I arrived home as the sun was sinking in the evening sky. My fishing expedition had been a failure, and I badly wanted to speak to my father. Jason and Bronwyn were solemnly seated in the living room, but Dad was nowhere to be found. I went to look for him in the yard.
When I was a little boy, I had a pet dog called Bunyip. He was my best friend. We were inseparable. But one day Bunyip was bitten by a snake and died. I was shattered, and there was nothing my parents could do to console me. So my father went into one of the fields and painted a huge smiling face on a large granite boulder. He called it the Happy Rock. After that, whenever I felt sad, I would go to the Happy Rock, and my sorrows seemed to magically vanish.
It was here that I found my father, perched atop the boulder, its great, smiling face showing the strains of time. He looked pathetically vulnerable as he sat, gazing sadly at the retreating sunset. I quietly announced my presence. For a moment, he didn’t respond. Then a wistful smile briefly crossed his sun-browned face.
“I guess the old rock has lost its magic,” he said. Then, for the first time in my life, I saw my father cry. Again I felt bitterness within. How could the Lord give us a Christmas gift like this?
Weeks passed and I quit going to church. There was nothing there for me. A few people visited, encouraging me to go back, but I wouldn’t listen. How could I ever feel comfortable in church again?
One day I got a call from Sister Robinson, the Relief Society president. “Oh Brad, I’m so glad you’re home,” she said. I immediately felt my defences go up. If this was something to do with church, she could forget it.
“Yes, Sister Robinson, what can I do for you?”
“Well, it’s like this,” she began. “I’m supposed to be at the hospital tomorrow to read to some of the children, but I won’t be able to make it. I was wondering if maybe you could go in my place.”
“Gee, I don’t know,” I started to object.
Sister Robinson cut in: “Brad, you don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I don’t know who else to ask.”
I finally agreed to go because I didn’t know how to refuse her. Putting down the phone, I wandered into the living room. With four days left before Christmas, it looked as if the Christmas spirit had passed right over our place. There were no decorations, no trees, no Christmas cards. Instead we had sympathy cards lined up along the mantelpiece. If my Christmas was to be miserable, at least I could try to take some of the Yuletide cheer to some little kids in hospital.
At the hospital the next day, I was assigned to a frail little girl named Marcie. They told me she was nine years old. She looked about four. She was hooked up to some kind of machine which kept her alive, yet she smiled as if she hadn’t a care in the world. I felt awkward, dressed in my robes of self-pity, while she lay upon her deathbed as cheerful as spring sunshine. We visited for a while. As we talked, I marvelled at her wisdom and perspective. I didn’t know what was wrong with her—I didn’t have the heart to ask. She knew that she probably wouldn’t see her tenth birthday, yet she wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t bitter.
I surveyed the pile of books at her bedside. There were many to choose from. “What would you like me to read to you?” I asked.
She pointed to a worn copy of the Easter story. “That one,” she said.
I picked it up. “Honey, you don’t want to hear this. It’s Christmas,” I told her.
“No,” she repeated, “I want to hear that one. It’s my favorite.”
So, during the hot Christmas season, I read of the sufferings of Christ to a little girl who loved God. When I finished, she was staring into my eyes with a look that pierced my soul. Placing her tiny hand into mine, she said, “I have lots of pain, but never as much as Jesus had. When I’m really hurting and I’m all alone, I speak to the Lord because he knows how I feel. He loves me.”
I hurried home that afternoon because there was someone I wanted to speak to. When I got back to the farm, the first place I headed for was the Happy Rock. It was out of sight of the house and was an ideal spot for what I was about to do. Dropping to my knees, I opened my mouth to pray, but nothing came out. My heart was thumping. Finally, in desperation, I cried out, “Oh God, where are you?”
From a million miles away, deep within my own mind, I heard the glorious tones of an orchestra. The music grew louder, until it crashed over my being like a wave from the ocean. Then, as clearly as any spoken voice, I heard the words of a favorite carol: “Then pealed the bells more loud and deep: ‘God is not dead, nor doth he sleep . …’”

Association with other LDS students offers a vital support system. Harvard University sophomore Mary Carol Jones located three other LDS students when she arrived on campus her first year. The four of them came up with a creative way to support each other. Each morning they rolled out of bed early enough to spend an hour jogging through campus before classes. Not only did they exercise physically, but spiritually too. They took with them their scripture mastery cards from seminary and memorized them together, reciting in between breaths.

Sister Wallace is my new CTR teacher, and we are beginning to study a lot about preparing for baptism. One of the things that will help us, she says, is to share our testimonies with others.
One Sunday she told us, “Testimonies strengthen people. Bearing your testimony is a way to express to the Lord and others what the gospel means to you and why you believe in it. Now,” she said, “I challenge each of you to bear your testimony. Next Sunday is fast and testimony meeting. Who would like to do it then?”
Nobody raised his hand. Not even Lisa Wilkes, who is always trying to please Sister Wallace.
“I know that it can be a little scary,” Sister Wallace admitted, “but if you do it, you’ll receive something special.”
My best friend, Mark, was becoming interested. “You mean that all we have to do is to stand up and bear our testimonies, and we’ll get something special?” he asked.
“Yes—if you are sincere when you bear your testimony, I promise that you really will receive something special.”
After church I walked home with Mark. On the way he asked me, “Are you going to bear your testimony next Sunday?”
“I don’t know. Are you?”
“I don’t know. What do you think we’ll get if we do?”
“Beats me. Probably a treat or something.”
Mark’s eyes showed his anticipation. He said excitedly, “I bet I know what it is—one of those giant homemade candy bars that Sister Wallace is famous for.”
“Hey, yeah!” I exclaimed. “That has to be it.”
“I’d sure like to get one,” Mark said enthusiastically. “I’m going to stand up next week for sure.”
All day I thought about what Sister Wallace had said, and I thought about my conversation with Mark. Sister Wallace wasn’t the kind of teacher who rewarded us for every nice thing that we did. Mark had asked her if all we had to do was stand up and say a few words to get something special, and she’d said that we had to be sincere. I still wasn’t sure what she meant by that, so when Dad tucked me into bed that night, I asked him what it meant to be sincere.
“Sincere about what, Adam?”
“Oh,” I said, “you know, sincere about what you’re saying.”
“Well,” Dad said, “when you’re sincere about what you’re saying, you really mean it. Take last night for instance. When your mother asked you to do the dishes, you said that you’d be happy to. But you weren’t sincere, because you complained the whole time. You didn’t really mean what you had said. But when you told me that you loved me and then went straight to bed when I asked you to, I knew that you’d been sincere, because you showed me that you did love me.”
“Can you always tell is someone is being sincere?” I asked.
“No,” said Dad. “A lot of times you can’t tell. But you can always know within yourself if you really mean what you say.”
I thought about that all week long, and I wondered, How will Sister Wallace know if we’re sincere and should get something special?
Sunday morning I woke up early. I took a shower and put on my best tie. I wanted to look extra nice, just in case I decided to bear my testimony.
Mark’s family sat next to mine during fast and testimony meeting. Just before it started, Mark leaned over and said, “Well, this is it.”
I tried to smile, but I couldn’t. Now that we were in the chapel, I was kind of scared.
Lisa Wilkes was the first person to bear her testimony after the bishop. As she sat down, she glanced over at Sister Wallace and smiled.
For a while nobody else in my class got up. Then about halfway through the meeting I saw Mark slowly edge out of his seat. Oh no, I thought. Now I’ll have to bear my testimony. I just couldn’t stand the thought of watching Mark eat his candy bar and listening to him tell me what a chicken I’d been.
Mark seemed nervous, but he took the microphone when it was handed to him, cleared his throat, and mumbled a few words so fast that before I knew it, he had finished and sat down.
After catching his breath, he looked over at me and grinned. “That wasn’t so tough,” he whispered. “I can hardly wait till we get to class.”
I tried to smile but couldn’t. Something was wrong. Mark’s testimony hadn’t seemed right. It didn’t seem as if he’d cared much about what he was saying, and I remembered what my dad had told me.
After a while Mark leaned over and whispered, “Aren’t you going to stand up? You want to get a candy bar, don’t you?”
I did want a candy bar, but I still hesitated. Suddenly Sister Wallace’s words came back to me. “Bearing your testimony is a way to express … what the gospel means to you and why you believe in it.” That was it! That’s what sincerely bearing your testimony really means. It isn’t a way to get chocolate bars or to please your Primary teacher or to be like your best friend. It’s a way to sincerely let others know why you are thankful for the gospel.
Suddenly I wanted to bear my testimony—because I had a lot of things to be thankful for. I thought over exactly what I wanted to say before I stood up. I loved my family and Heavenly Father and my teachers at church and all the Church leaders. And I knew that I wanted to go on a mission when I was older, so I decided to mention that too.
I was still nervous, but I felt really good as I stood up. When I got the microphone, I cleared my throat and said, “I want to bear my testimony …”
It wasn’t a very long testimony, but I meant every word of it. When I sat down, I had a special feeling come over me. I can’t describe it, but it was the greatest feeling in the whole world.
When we got to Primary class, Mark was licking his lips. I’m sure that he was still thinking about a giant candy bar. When Sister Wallace went over to the chalkboard and began hanging up some pictures, he couldn’t stand it any longer. “What about the treat that you said we’d get if we bore our testimonies?” he asked.
Sister Wallace turned around. “What treat?”
The excitement on Mark’s face instantly vanished. He looked around the room at each of the kids before he sheepishly said, “You said that we’d get something special if we bore our testimonies.”
Sister Wallace sat down in a chair, looked straight at Mark, and asked, “Didn’t you already get something special?”
Mark fidgeted for a minute. “No,” he said in a whisper. “I thought that you were going to give us something.”
Sister Wallace looked at Lisa and me. “Did either one of you receive something special?”
My stomach almost tied itself into a knot, but I knew that I had to answer. “I did,” I said.
Sister Wallace smiled. “Why don’t you tell us about it, Adam.”
“Well,” I began. “You said that we had to be sincere in order to get something special. I tried to think about what the gospel means to me before I bore my testimony. And then I tried to speak clearly so that everyone would know that I really meant it.”
Sister Wallace nodded. “You bore a beautiful testimony, Adam, and I could tell that you meant every word. But tell me, what special thing did you receive?”
“It was a special feeling,” I said. “I can’t exactly explain it, but it felt real good.”
“That’s exactly what I knew you’d receive,” said Sister Wallace. “That feeling was the Holy Ghost letting you know that what you were saying was true.” She turned to Mark and added, “Don’t worry, Mark. You’ll have many opportunities to bear your testimony. And when you do it sincerely, you’ll receive that special feeling too.”
All that day I carried that feeling with me. I was glad that Sister Wallace hadn’t given us any candy bars. That would have ruined it. When I said my prayers that night, I thanked Heavenly Father for giving me the courage to bear my testimony. But mostly I thanked Him for teaching me about being sincere so that I could feel the Spirit, the best gift of all.

Mimi tried not to squirm, but it was hard for her to sit quietly in church. The bench wasn’t the right size for her little body. Mimi remembered Mom saying that reverent behavior in church shows love for Heavenly Father. Mimi loved Heavenly Father very much, but it still wasn’t easy to sit for so long. Mom also said that sitting quietly in church was less difficult if you paid attention to the meeting, so Mimi tried to listen closely.
This Sunday was fast and testimony meeting. Sister Richards said how grateful she was to work in the nursery. After she finished, Jason stood to bear his testimony. Jason was only a little older than Mimi, about her brother, Ben’s, age. Mimi listened as Jason said, “I know the Church is true. I know we have a prophet. I love my family. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Jason sat down. Then his little sister, Ava, stood up. Mimi was surprised; Ava was in Mimi’s Primary class. Wasn’t Ava scared to speak in front of so many people? But Ava walked right up to the pulpit and said, “I love my mom and dad and my grandma and grandpa and my brother, Jason. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
After a few more grown-ups spoke, Tyler, another Primary child, bore his testimony. Tyler said he loved his family, adding, “I try to be good. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
After church, Mimi said to her parents, “Next fast Sunday, I want to bear my testimony.”
“That would be nice,” Dad answered. “Have you thought about what you would like to say?”
“Oh, yes,” Mimi said. “It’s easy. I’m supposed to say, ‘I love my family. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.’”
“Well,” Dad explained, “those are very good things to say in a testimony, but they are not necessarily what you are supposed to say. Do you know what bearing your testimony means?”
Mimi nodded, then stopped. Maybe she wasn’t exactly sure what bearing testimony meant.
Dad noticed her puzzled face. “Bearing testimony,” he explained, “means telling people what you believe or know is true. It’s not just repeating words you’ve heard others say. It is saying what you have faith in or what spiritual things you have learned or what the Holy Ghost tells you in your mind and heart.”
“Was Ava wrong to stand up and say what the others said?” Mimi asked.
“No,” Mom answered. “She wasn’t wrong. She’s learning to bear her testimony, and that’s wonderful. She’s learning to speak in front of people, too. And she’s learning what things people have testimonies about. But as she grows, she will have spiritual experiences that will help her own testimony grow. Then when she bears her testimony, she will have some personal things to say.”
“Mimi, if you want to bear your testimony, that’s great,” Dad said. “But first, think about the things you feel deep inside. What do you really know or believe is true? And why do you feel that way?”
The next day started like any other Monday. But after school, Mimi’s neighbor, Mrs. Martin, greeted her at home. “Your mother isn’t here, dear. She took Ben to the hospital. I will stay with you and your little sister until she or your dad can come home.”
Mimi’s eyes widened, and a scared feeling filled her stomach. “What’s wrong with Ben?”
“The doctors at the hospital said his appendix ruptured,” Mrs. Martin explained. “It was all full of infection, and it burst.”
Mimi was frightened. “Is it dangerous?”
“Well, it’s pretty serious, but the doctors operated quickly to take it out. And your dad and grandpa hurried to the hospital and gave Ben a blessing. He should be fine. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about now.”
But Mimi did worry. The scared feeling in her stomach became a sick feeling. She went to her room and sat on her bed, thinking about Ben. After a few minutes Mimi noticed a notecard her Primary teacher had given her on Sunday. She read the scripture on it: “Whatsoever thing ye shall ask the Father in my name, which is good, in faith believing that ye shall receive, behold, it shall be done unto you” (Moro. 7:26).
Mimi slipped off her bed onto her knees and prayed. “Heavenly Father,” she whispered, “please help Ben be all right. I know we argue sometimes, but I really love him. Please bless him to get better. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.” As Mimi finished praying, she felt warm all over, and the sick feeling faded away.
Later, when Mom came home, her face looked tired, but she smiled at Mimi and her sister and hugged them tightly. “Everything is going to be all right,” Mom said. “Ben is very sick, but in his blessing he was promised he would heal quickly and without too much pain. He’ll have to be in the hospital for a while, and I’ll go back tonight to be with him.”
Before Mom left, she prayed with the girls. Again Mimi felt the warm, peaceful feeling all through her body.
After a few days, the doctor said Ben could leave the hospital. “I expected him to need to stay longer, but there’s no sign of infection now—I’ve never seen anyone heal so quickly.”
The doctor may have been surprised, but Ben wasn’t. “Wasn’t I promised in my blessing that I would get well fast and without too much pain?” he said.
Mimi just smiled.
Before long, life was back to normal. On fast Sunday, just as she had said she would, Mimi bore her testimony. When she stood up to speak, her knees trembled and her tummy felt funny. She never realized so many people could fit in the chapel, and they were all looking at her! She almost wanted to sit down again. Then she saw her family smiling at her.
She took a deep breath and began, “I know that Heavenly Father is really there and that He listens to our prayers. I know because when I prayed to Him about something really important, I felt warm and calm inside. And I believe in the priesthood and in blessings, because everything my dad promised in Ben’s blessing happened just the way he said it would.” Mimi looked at Ben. “And I believe in the scriptures because they promise that Heavenly Father will answer our prayers. I know that He answered mine. And I love Him. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Mimi felt an even greater love for Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ as she walked back to her seat. She saw tears in Mom’s eyes, but Mom was smiling. Daddy slipped his arm around Mimi and whispered, “Now that is what bearing testimony is all about.”

Twenty-two-year-old Caroline Tippets sat in the congregation listening to her brother Alvah Tippets address the branch in Lewis, New York, USA, over which he presided. As with her fellow branch members, she had come to this meeting in September 1834 in fasting and prayer to hear an important message from Alvah. He read from a revelation that the Prophet Joseph Smith had received in December 1833 about how the Saints could redeem land lost when Church members were expelled from Jackson County, Missouri, a few months earlier:
“Let all the churches gather together all their moneys; let these things be done in their time, but not in haste; and observe to have all things prepared before you.
“And let honorable men be appointed, even wise men, and send them to purchase these lands.
“And the churches in the eastern countries, when they are built up, if they will hearken unto this counsel they may buy lands and gather together upon them; and in this way they may establish Zion” (Doctrine and Covenants 101:72–74).1
Alvah then opened the meeting for discussion about how the Saints in Lewis could fulfill this commandment. They decided that members should contribute whatever they could. Caroline’s brother Joseph Harrison Tippets and their cousin John H. Tippets would then take the money to Missouri and give it to Church leaders there.2 As Caroline heard these words, she decided that she would contribute what she had. As a single, 22-year-old woman, she wanted to do her part to fulfill what the Lord had asked, and she gave almost $150 as her donation.
Although $150 does not sound like much to us today, it was a significant sum of money in 1834—the equivalent of about $4,000 today.3 Who was this young woman who contributed so much money?
Caroline Tippets was born on October 21, 1812, to Joseph and Abigail Tippets in Lewis Township, New York, where her family had lived since 1805. Along with her older brother, Alvah, she had an older sister, Permillia, and a younger brother, Joseph Harrison. In 1826 their father died, and she and her siblings went to live with their cousins William and Abigail Tippets in Lewis.
In March 1832, John H. Tippets, who was working about 12 miles away, heard about the Book of Mormon, likely from Amasa Lyman, William E. McLellin, and Jared Carter, who were preaching in the area. He shared the news with his cousins. There is no record of how Caroline responded, but she must have gained a testimony of the book and the man who translated it—Joseph Smith. In May or June 1832, Caroline and the rest of her family were baptized.4
Caroline’s brothers worked in sawmills, but there is no record that tells us how she earned money. Perhaps she sewed clothing or worked in the homes of others in the area, both of which were common occupations. Whatever the case, she saved the money she earned, and her $150 contribution was about 20 percent of the branch’s total contribution ($850) in 1834 for the purchase of lands in Zion.5
After the branch decided to consecrate the money and have Joseph and John take it to Missouri, Caroline expressed a desire to accompany the two. The three left Lewis in October 1834, and in November they arrived in Kirtland, Ohio, where Joseph Smith was living. Because it was late in the season, the three decided to stop in Kirtland and counsel with Joseph Smith and the Kirtland high council as to whether they should continue on to Missouri or stay in Kirtland for the winter. On November 28, Joseph and John met with the high council, with Joseph Smith presiding. After discussion, the high council told Joseph and John that they should stay in Kirtland for the winter. Since they wouldn’t need the money for Missouri land purchases until the following spring, the high council asked them if they would be willing to loan some of the money to Church leaders in Kirtland to help with debts, some of which had been contracted as part of the construction of the Kirtland Temple.
According to the minutes of the meeting: “It was ascertained by the council [that] Sister Caroline Tippets held $149.75 of the money. … She was accordingly called into the council and expressed a willingness to loan the same. A note … in favor of Caroline Tippets of $150 [was given] due April 15, 1835, [and] signed by Joseph Smith Jr., Oliver Cowdery, and F[rederick] G. Williams.”6
Caroline’s willingness to loan the money was a great blessing to Joseph Smith and the Church at that time. The day after the meeting, November 29, Joseph and Oliver knelt in prayer and gave “thanks for the relief which the Lord had lately sent” through the Lewis branch and Caroline.7
The following spring, having been repaid, Caroline, Joseph, and John departed Kirtland for Missouri with the money. Later that year, Caroline married William Plummer Tippets, her first cousin and John Tippets’s brother. In 1836 she died giving birth to their first child, who died as well.8
Caroline’s life was short, and she is not well-known by most in the history of the Church. In many ways, she is like millions of other members who go about their lives quietly serving without recognition and without fanfare. At a time when the Lord asked Church members to contribute what they had for the redemption of Zion, she heard Him and followed His direction. Her willingness to listen to the Lord’s word through the Prophet Joseph and then act on it helped the Church in a time of need and helped her contribute to the work of the Lord.

The New Era is my favorite magazine. I eagerly await each issue. I particularly want to thank you for the February 1987 issue on temple marriage. My best friend is getting married in the temple in June, and after I read that issue from cover to cover, I let her borrow it. It was really an eye-opener for us both and answered a lot of questions we had. It also made me realize what a blessing it is to get married in the temple, and it makes it even easier to stick to my goal of going there someday. But when I’m in doubt, you can be sure I’ll sit down and read it all over again!

The ballerina glides across the stage—spiraling, spinning, then springing into the air so easily it’s as if she caught gravity napping. She is in every movement a fluid expression of freedom.
Like many little girls, when Maria Victoria Rojas Rivera of Chile—Mavi to her friends—was four years old, she decided she wanted to become a ballerina. And like all of those other little girls, she quickly discovered that the grace and freedom she saw on the stage came at a pretty steep price. The effort and discipline required to become a professional ballerina are too much for many young dreamers.
“When you’re little, you don’t understand the sacrifice it takes,” Mavi says. “When I started studying at age 10, our teachers told us that half of our lives would be spent dancing. We’d have to give up a lot of things.”
Things like free time and certain foods. Mavi would have to put a lot of time and effort into exercising and practicing. She’d have to watch carefully what she ate. And after schoolwork and dance, there wouldn’t be much time for friends.
Mavi decided that her dream was important enough to her to try.
“The teenage years can be a complicated time,” she says. “My friends didn’t always understand why I wouldn’t eat certain things or stay out late with them.”
Mavi learned early on that what appeared to be restrictions on her freedom were actually the only way she could free herself from things that would keep her from her goal.
“I chose not to stay out late, and I chose to spend time practicing instead of going to the mall with my friends,” Mavi says. “If I was tired because I stayed out too late or if I didn’t know the steps because I didn’t practice, I couldn’t dance.”
That kind of discipline isn’t easy, but Mavi says it is worth it.
“Everyone has moments when you want to give in,” Mavi confesses, “but you have the power to choose. Discipline can appear restrictive, but self-discipline is a choice. And I chose to accept this lifestyle in order to dance.”
At some point during her drive to become a ballerina, Mavi realized that dancing was not the only goal she had or the only worthwhile thing she would need to sacrifice for.
Along the way, she gained a desire to follow Jesus Christ, and she realized that what ballet had taught her about discipline applies to gospel discipleship as well. Just as her friends had wondered why she would do what she did for dance, they asked why she lived such restrictive gospel principles.
“I explained that we have the liberty to choose, and I chose to accept this lifestyle in order to be free from sin and have the Holy Ghost with me,” she says.
Or as the Savior said it, a disciple must “take up his cross,” meaning to deny oneself all ungodliness and every worldly lust and to keep God’s commandments (see Joseph Smith Translation, Matthew 16:26). Such self-discipline brings us to “liberty and eternal life, through the great Mediator,” while trying to live outside the commandments leads to “captivity and death, according to the captivity and power of the devil” (2 Nephi 2:27).
“Obedience brings greater freedom and peace than anything,” Mavi says. “My goals aren’t limited to this earthly life but include eternity.”
Mavi floats across the stage like a leaf carried by the current, stretching and flowing from one move to the next—développé and pirouette, glissade and grand jeté.
A ballerina can make her body move in ways that would hurt most other people. This freedom of movement is essential for communicating with the audience. But even though a good ballerina makes every move look effortless on stage, she has put in a lot of effort off the stage.
After eight years of sacrifice and hours of training almost every day, she was living her dream on stage—and in the gospel.
“People think it looks so beautiful and graceful,” Mavi says. “But the movements are very controlled. It takes a lot of strength to control yourself like that.”
The gospel parallel is important. Following Christ takes strength. And the rewards are sweet.
“The rewards from so many sacrifices are that I can dance,” Mavi says. “I feel strong, and I feel the guidance of the Holy Ghost in every step I take—on stage and off.”
According to Nephi, once we’ve felt the desire to follow Christ and have been baptized and confirmed, we must still endure to the end (see 2 Nephi 31:19–20). For Mavi, ballet requires similar dedication.
After dancing in Paraguay, she returned to Viña del Mar, Chile, to teach for a few years. Now she wants to take her dancing to the next level. She has set new goals that have taken her to Argentina, Germany, Ireland, and Spain to study and audition with different ballet companies.
She knows she must continue to strive—both on the stage and in the gospel. She must continue with discipline if she wants the freedom to dance. And she must continue in faith if she wants the freedom that comes from discipleship. “If ye continue in my word,” the Lord taught, “then are ye my disciples indeed: and ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free” (John 8:31–32).
Mavi has to put in a lot of effort off the stage to stay healthy and in shape. Aside from watching what she eats and getting enough rest, Mavi exercises a lot, and she dances at least five hours almost every day. But she doesn’t take care of herself just because she’s a dancer.
“As a member of the Church, I understand that my body is the temple of my spirit. As an artist, I need every part of my body to work right, so I protect it as best as I can. But as a member, I already knew I should do that.”
Her testimony of the Word of Wisdom’s inspired nature has been strengthened by her experience with ballet. “When you treat your body right, you can tell,” she says.
You have to take care of yourself to be a ballerina, but Mavi says, “We should all take care of our bodies, even if we aren’t dancers. We don’t get to choose our bodies, but we should all be grateful for and take care of what we have been given. They are gifts from God, and we’ve each been given our body for a purpose.”

Tanner usually watched the weather forecast on TV to find out if it would be warm enough to wear shorts the next day. One night he was surprised when the weatherman mentioned something besides the weather.
“A meteor shower will light up the sky tomorrow night,” the weatherman said. “The forecast calls for clear skies, but the best view for stargazers will be away from the lights of the city.”
“Awesome!” Tanner exclaimed. He liked looking at the stars, but he had never seen a meteor shower before. “Dad, will we be able to see it from our house?”
“I think we might be able to spot a meteor or two, if you can stay awake that late,” Dad said with a smile.
“I can,” Tanner insisted.
All the next day Tanner looked forward to watching the meteor shower. He felt like it would never get dark enough. It was pretty late when he and Dad finally stepped outside into the warm night. Even though it was past his bedtime, Tanner was too excited to be tired. Dad found the perfect spot in the backyard. They lay down on their backs and stared up at the millions of flickering lights.
“Look at all the stars,” Tanner said. “Does the universe ever end?”
Dad shook his head. “We see just a tiny part. No one really knows how many stars and planets there are,” he said. “Did you know that some of the stars you see are suns for distant planets?”
“That’s cool!” Tanner said.
While they waited, they talked about space and stars. Dad pointed out a satellite as it moved across the sky.
After a while, Dad and Tanner started seeing meteors. Some were bright points of light with long tails. Others blazed by in exploding flashes that quickly disappeared. One followed another, a little like fireworks in the night sky.
“Did you see that?” Tanner asked, pointing to a fading streak of light.
“That was a good one,” Dad said.
“There’s another one,” Tanner said as a brilliant light burst into view.
They watched the sky for a long time and saw many meteors before Dad said it was time to go inside and get some sleep.
Tanner was having so much fun he wished he could stay up until morning. “Let’s do this again sometime,” he said as he stood and reluctantly walked to the back steps of their home.
“We will,” Dad said.
“Thanks,” Tanner said with a smile. Even though he didn’t want to go inside, things had turned out even better than he’d expected. He got to stay up late, gaze at the stars, and see so many meteors that he lost count. But the best part of the whole night wasn’t any of those things—it was the memories he had made with Dad.

The sun was setting when Mikel and his little sister, Ainhoa, drove the cows home from the mountain pasture. The days were shorter now with a nip of fall in the air. It would get colder in the Pyrenees Mountains as winter approached.

“There’s our house!” shouted Ainhoa, waving her stick.

Although other Basque homes were built similarly, Mikel thought their house was the most beautiful one in the village. The house was of whitewashed concrete, two stories tall, with a red roof and green shutters at the windows. The sign written in Basque above the door said, “May Peace Be in This House.”

Their dog Eguzki barked at the heels of the cows until they were all in the pen and the gate shut behind them.

“Patxi said he might take me to market tomorrow!” Ainhoa said excitedly as they reached their house. “He was gone so long in the mountains with the sheep, I almost forgot what he looked like!”

Mikel walked slowly to the door. He wanted to go to market tomorrow, too, but someone had to stay and watch the cows. He wondered if anyone would remember his birthday. No one had said anything about it for the past week. Everyone had been too excited about seeing Patxi, Mikel’s older brother, who had been with the sheep for four months in the high mountain pastures.

Inside the house the family was gathering for dinner. Patxi, with his broad smile and white teeth, his sunbrowned face and twinkling brown eyes, was sitting in the dining room talking to his father. His mother and sister Garbiñe brought in platters of bread, cheese, and roasted lamb from the kitchen.

After dinner Ainhoa put her arms around Patxi’s neck. “Will you take me to market tomorrow, Patxi? You said I might go with you to sell our fat pig and some cheeses. You will take me, won’t you?”

“Of course,” Patxi said. “I never forget a promise.” Garbiñe put a plate of butter on the table and sat down near her big brother. “My friend Mirentxu has been waiting to see you since you left last May, Patxi,” she said. “She will be at the market tomorrow too. Don’t forget to say hello to her.”

“I won’t,” Patxi promised.

Mikel pulled off his jacket and beret. He sat on the hearth of the fireplace next to Amama, his old grandmother, who was mending a torn pair of pants. She nodded at him and smiled.

Amama always understood what Mikel was thinking. She said, “Tomorrow we will have three men in our family. Your father and Patxi and Mikel, who will be twelve years old.”

Mikel looked up at his grandmother and smiled.

In the morning when it was time to take the cows up to the pasture, Ainhoa watched Mikel put on his jacket and beret. She gave him the lunch his mother had packed. “I will get you some lemon drops while I am at the market,” she promised.

“If you want to,” Mikel said unhappily. Although he stumped out the door, his rope-soled abarcus (shoes) did not make much noise.

As he opened the cow pen, his father appeared with the two mules, ready to go to town. “I know you would like to go to market with Patxi, Son, but I hope you understand that you are needed here.”

“I understand,” said Mikel. He waved his stick, and Eguzki barked at the cows. They started, one by one, up the mountainside.

When Mikel reached the high pasture, he could see the roofs of the village far below. How he wished he could have gone to market with his big brother, Patxi.

From the cow pasture, Mikel could look up and see the shepherds’ huts high on the mountainside where Patxi had lived while he watched the sheep. It was lonely up there except when someone from the village brought food and supplies to the shepherds once a week.

Mikel patted Eguzki’s head. “Patxi is a brave man,” he said to his dog, “to live up in that hut through summer storms and heat. There are wild animals there too!”

Mikel didn’t mind spending time alone with the cows. He loved them and had a name for each one. They trusted him and followed him readily, so he rarely had to use his stick. He liked to sit in the shade of a beech tree or put his feet in the stream on hot days. But looking up into the high mountains now, he thought he might get a little lonesome if he couldn’t come home for dinner every night.

During the summer Mikel helped his father on the farm, and a man from the village watched the cows. However, these few weeks, Mikel and Ainhoa had to watch them until the men had stored enough fodder to feed the animals through the winter.

At midday Mikel ate his lunch—a ham sandwich, cheese, and some artichokes. Then, knowing that Eguzki was nearby to watch the cows, he lay down and took a nap. When he woke up, Mikel felt lonely on the mountainside and wished Ainhoa were with him. To occupy his time, Mikel sang a song Patxi had taught him about a captive bird.

In the evening as the cows walked slowly home, one by one, Mikel saw his entire family waiting by the cow pen. When they saw him coming, they shouted and began to sing a birthday song. Ainhoa handed him a bag of lemon drops when he met them, and Patxi gave him a heavy package. “I bought it for you in the market,” Patxi explained. “It is for you when you are in the high pastures and feel lonely.”

When Mikel was inside the house, he opened the package. There were three books—a Bible, a book by a man named Shakespeare, and Robinson Crusoe. “These will be good companions on the mountainside,” he said, holding them out.

Mikel’s father looked proudly at his son. “We have another man in our family now. Mikel is twelve years old today.”

“We need another man in our family,” Patxi said, “because I’m going to America. It will be your job to watch the sheep, Mikel.”

“When did you decide this?” Mikel asked. He knew that men sometimes went to America because they were better paid and that some of them had sent money back home. But few of them ever returned.

“We talked to a man in the market today,” Mikel’s mother said sadly. “America is still a land of opportunity. A young Basque sheepherder can make good wages there. Patxi will work for a man who lives in Idaho and who owns many more sheep than we do. Patxi will send money home to help us.”

“Then I will take care of our sheep,” Mikel promised.

“I wondered if you were old enough to do it,” Patxi said. “Then today when I saw how you stayed with the cows without complaining, I knew you were almost grown up.”

“Thank you,” Mikel said as he carefully placed the books in his knapsack. He looked over and saw Amama sitting by the fire, nodding and smiling at him.

For many New Caledonian young adults, their missions help prepare them for a lifetime of Church service. Syoelanne (Syo) Ulivaka received a call to serve as second counselor in the bishopric only a week after being released from his full-time mission. “I had just finished my mission,” Syo says. “I was tired, and I had told myself, now I’m going to rest.” But he still accepted the call. “I realized I’ll go where the Lord wants me to go. I’m in His service—not just for two years, but for life.”
Since he served in the bishopric, Syo has now gotten married, has a child, and has moved to a different ward. But he continues to serve and fulfill his Church callings.
Elder Earl C. Tingey, emeritus General Authority Seventy, told young adults: “A Church calling is one of the most wonderful blessings you can enjoy at your stage of life. You have so much to contribute to the ward or branch where you live. Your talents and skills are necessary to a growing Church.”3 Syo isn’t the only young adult on the island whose skills have been put to use to help the growing Church—other young adults serve in almost every capacity at the ward and stake level. Syo says, “We try to bring back the things we’ve learned on our missions to strengthen our stake and our wards.” These young adults make many sacrifices in order to strengthen the kingdom in their home country, but as Syo remarks, “what we sacrifice is mostly our time.”
Some young adults have two or even three callings. “That can be a blessing for them, but it can also be a burden,” says Syo, as many struggle to balance the demands of young adulthood with their Church responsibilities. “It’s hard to do everything at the same time.” But Syo found that when he put the Lord first, the rest was easy to accomplish. He says, “The Lord has helped with everything else—school, finding a wife—it was all in the Lord’s hands.”
Syo recognizes that, when it comes to serving the Lord, “We are His tools.” In these times of Church growth, the Lord will call upon the Saints of all ages, everywhere, to accept responsibilities to build and strengthen His kingdom. Are we ready to answer that call?

A while ago, a stake president and I were visiting members of the Church in a local neighborhood. After we finished our scheduled visits, the stake president asked me if we could go see one more family. He felt impressed that we should talk with them.
We knocked on the door, and a sister opened it. She looked at me, but she didn’t know who I was, so she didn’t express much. I pointed my hand toward the stake president, who greeted her by name. As soon as she heard and saw him, she rejoiced. Standing there at the door, they both hugged each other and cried together. This set the tone for our visit. We didn’t know that the sister had received chemotherapy the day before. She felt too weak to care for her adult son. So I helped the stake president dress her son, and we put him in his wheelchair. We fed him the food that another sweet sister from the ward had brought earlier, and we helped with other tasks. Before we left their home, we were able to bless them.
All that was going through my mind during this visit was a confirmation that Jesus Christ loves them deeply. He understands them and personally knows the pain of their unique situation. Almost the entire visit happened in silence. On this occasion we did not give a big sermon or share our favorite scripture, but the Lord blessed us with His Spirit abundantly.
My dear brothers and sisters, on that day when a priesthood leader felt impressed for us to visit a mother and a son that we did not have on our agenda, I proclaim that God knew they needed us. And at the end, I was the one who was ministered to. On that day, I received one of the greatest lessons of the Savior’s love for us.

Will R., 15, of Cheshire, England, first heard about the British Pageant from ward friends and decided to audition because it sounded fun. When he got the part of David Ashton, a young man who learned the truth by reading the Book of Mormon, he knew that he would have to make a sacrifice if he accepted the role.
Participating meant that Will would have to give up his summer vacation. Instead of doing his normal summer activities, he’d have to attend weeks of long rehearsals. But Will knew he would be blessed if he accepted the part, because if he did, he’d be sharing his testimony through acting, singing, and dancing all summer long.
In the end, the sacrifice he made to share the gospel “was worth it.” Will explained that because of his sacrifice, he not only “learned so much and made new friends,” but he also grew spiritually. “Being in the pageant has increased my testimony,” he said. “As I met and heard the testimonies of other youth, their examples strengthened my own testimony.” Will felt the truth in his own life, and it strengthened him—which will better help him share it with others too.

Should you become discouraged in your efforts, remember that sometimes the Lord’s timetable does not coincide with ours. When I was a bishop many years ago, one of the leaders of the young women, Jessie Cox, came to me and said, “Bishop, I am a failure!” When I asked why she felt this way, she said, “I haven’t been able to get any of my Mutual girls married in the temple, as a good teacher would have. I’ve tried my very best, but my best apparently wasn’t good enough.”

I tried to console Jessie by telling her that I, as her bishop, knew that she had done all she could. And as I followed those girls through the years, I found that each one was eventually sealed in the temple. If the lesson is engraved on the heart, it is not lost.

“Soldier!”
Meltiar Hatch leaped to his feet and saluted the man on horseback. The Mormon Battalion had been on the march since dawn. Meltiar had taken advantage of a break to bring his sixteen-year-old brother, Orin, to rest in the shade of a tree. He hadn’t heard the officer’s horse until it was right next to him.
Lieutenant Smith returned Meltiar’s salute. “At ease, soldier.” He looked down at Orin, who lay unmoving, his eyes closed. “Your companion looks to be very ill.”
“Yes, sir,” Meltiar said sadly. “He contracted the fever at Fort Leavenworth, but I know that in time—”
“Time? Time?” Lieutenant Smith loudly interrupted. “This troop has no time. The untimely death of our former commanding officer has set us back two weeks. We cannot defer to the sick and the weary. Leave him.”
Meltiar’s protests were ignored as Lieutenant Smith turned and gave the order to assemble. As the drums sounded, men began to scramble to collect their provisions and line up. Meltiar sat down heavily and put his head in his hands.
“Meltiar,” Orin’s voice was barely audible. “Forgive me. I joined up only because I wanted to finally be useful, like you were in Nauvoo. I never imagined it would end like this.”
“Well, none of us imagined we’d ever be led by Lieutenant Smith, either. Few of the Gentile leaders have been unkind; he’s just the worst of the lot. Let’s not forget the promises given by Brigham Young and the Twelve,” Meltiar said with conviction. “If we conduct ourselves properly on this march, our lives will be spared.” He put his pack and canteen in Orin’s hands. “Here are some extra food and water to keep you for a while. I must go now, but I’ll be back, I promise.” He got to his feet.
“I never meant to be a burden.”
“Brothers can never be burdens.”
Later that night Meltiar awoke with a start. He wondered why he was alone in the woods in the middle of the night. Then he remembered that he was on an urgent mission, that someone’s life depended on him. His first thought was that he was still a messenger in the Nauvoo Legion.
Meltiar shook his head to clear his jumbled thoughts. He spoke aloud to himself. “The Prophet Joseph is dead. I couldn’t have prevented his assassination. However, I should’ve gotten help when my horse went lame, instead of trying to walk to Carthage. Then I might’ve delivered the last message from his loved ones before he died.” He shook his head sadly. “But I was young and full of pride, just as Orin is now.”
At the thought of his brother, Meltiar stumbled to his feet. That’s whose life depended on him now! Weary as he was, he had to keep walking. The two previous nights, Meltiar had another soldier help him bring Orin back to camp on horseback. Each morning, when Lieutenant Smith discovered what had happened, he angrily ordered that Orin be left behind again. Last night Commander Smith had informed Meltiar that if he wanted to keep up his “foolhardy venture,” he could no longer disturb the sleep of other men or beasts. That was why he was now alone and on foot. And he knew that he must be only about a third of the way back to where he’d left his brother.
Meltiar had prayed fervently for help when he’d set out. He knew he had an impossible task. Even if he had not been exhausted from lack of sleep, it would take him most of the night just to reach Orin on foot. Although Orin was much improved and could probably walk, he couldn’t travel very fast in his weakened condition. Meltiar knew that if he didn’t reach the battalion before it pulled out at dawn, it would leave them both behind. But he also knew that he could never leave Orin.
Several times on these night trips, Meltiar had had the uneasy feeling that he was being watched. Now he was certain he saw movement by a large rock up ahead. He stopped walking and slowly reached for his pistol. But the pistol was gone! He must’ve dropped it back where he’d fallen asleep. He started to reach for his knife but froze when an Indian stepped out of the shadows. In the light of the moon something glinted in the Indian’s hand. It was Meltiar’s pistol!
As Meltiar stood wondering what to do, he heard the sound of a horse approaching. Could someone from the battalion be following me? he wondered. Or could it be another Indian? The Indian appeared not to have heard the sound, but stood unmoving, the gun down at his side.
When the horse came into the clearing, Meltiar’s heart sank when he saw that it was an Indian pony with two riders. Meltiar closed his eyes and prayed for help.
“Meltiar?” a familiar voice said.
Startled, Meltiar opened his eyes to see that one of the riders had dismounted and was approaching him cautiously.
“Meltiar?” the voice repeated, “Is that you?”
“Orin?”
The two brothers rushed together in a brief, fierce hug, then turned to face the waiting Indians. The Indians had both mounted the pony, leaving the brothers’ guns and packs on the ground. One Indian slowly raised his hand in a salute. “Brothers,” he said before they turned and rode off into the shadows.
“That’s what he said when he came and got me,” Orin said. “I thought he meant that something had happened to you, so I went with him, even though I was scared. How did they know we were brothers?”
“They’ve been watching us these past few nights,” Meltiar said with sudden realization. “And maybe they could see how much we cared for each other. They could also see how much we needed their aid, so they helped us! Or—” he smiled at Orin—“maybe he meant that we are all brothers.”
“I’m grateful for their help,” Orin said softly, “but sometimes it isn’t easy to accept help from others.”
“I know what you mean.” Meltiar leaned on Orin. “But if you are as strong as you look, now it’s time for you to be useful. I need your help to walk back to camp. I hate to be a burden, but I am very tired!”
“I am much stronger now, Meltiar. Don’t worry,” Orin told him with a smile. “Brothers can never be burdens.”

Dixie and her friend Jimmy struggled up the steep bank of the ravine. In one arm she carried a large black cat with an orange spot on its nose. “I’m going to call her Desdemona,” she panted, scrambling up onto the sidewalk.

Jimmy scrambled up beside her. “That’s a strange name,” he said.

“My mother told me about a beautiful cat she once had named that.” Dixie stroked the cat as it nestled comfortably in her arm. “Maybe she’ll feel more like letting me keep her if we call her Desdemona.”

“Maybe,” Jimmy said. Then he frowned and added, “I didn’t think that they allowed pets in your condo.”

“Well, not dogs, but a few people have cats.”

“She may belong to someone,” Jimmy said, warning his friend to not become too attached to the cat. “She doesn’t look starved.”

“Bobby Feltz told me that she sleeps in an abandoned shed and eats mice and squirrels in the ravine.”

“Maybe,” Jimmy said. “Maybe not.”

“Oh, oh. They’re out on the porch.” Dixie stopped abruptly as they approached a large Victorian house. Several elderly people sat in rocking chairs on the large front porch. “I hate going past here.”

“They don’t bother me,” Jimmy said. “My grandpa’s in a rest home.”

“Oh.” Dixie didn’t know what to say to that.

They were in front of the home now, and one man had come down the front walk and stood leaning on a cane, watching them. “You there,” he said. His voice was hoarse and raspy, but commanding.

Jimmy stopped. “What do you want?” he asked.

“I want to see that cat,” the old man said, pointing at Desdemona. “Bring it up onto the porch. The ladies want to see it too.”

Jimmy turned toward the house, and Dixie followed reluctantly.

“What’s your name?” Jimmy asked as they climbed the wooden stairs.

“Colonel Stayner.” The old man turned to the women. “Ladies,” he said, “look what these fine young people have brought for you to see. Children, this is Miss Bessie.” Dixie and Jimmy nodded, but Miss Bessie only looked at her hands. Dixie thought that the old lady’s face was the saddest face that she’d ever seen. “This is Mrs. Jones,” Colonel Stayner went on, nodding toward a lady who was staring into space. She looks grumpy and cross, Dixie thought. “And this is Sarah.” Sarah smiled kindly at them. “Look at this nice cat,” the colonel said.

Miss Bessie lifted her head very slowly and looked at the cat in Dixie’s arms. She slowly raised her hands toward Desdemona.

“Let her hold the cat,” the colonel rasped.

Dixie reluctantly placed the cat in the lap of the sad old woman, and the cat promptly curled up and began to purr. Miss Bessie slowly stroked the cat with her wrinkled hand.

“What a lovely cat,” said the lady introduced only as Sarah. “What’s her name?”

“Desdemona,” Dixie answered.

“Desdemona,” Sarah repeated. “That’s a beautiful name, but what made you think of it?”

“My mother had a cat named Desdemona, so I named her that.”

Sarah smiled. “What a thoughtful girl you are,” she said.

“I want to hold the cat!”

Dixie was startled by Mrs. Jones’s loud voice.

“After Miss Bessie,” the colonel said kindly.

“After Bessie, after Bessie!” Mrs. Jones shrilled. “She gets everything first.”

A moment later the colonel picked the cat up off Miss Bessie’s lap and put it on Mrs. Jones’s lap. Desdemona settled comfortably again.

“She’s a real people cat,” the colonel said.

Dixie nodded. Desdemona seemed to love all the attention given her by the old people.

Finally the colonel picked Desdemona up quickly from Mrs. Jones’s lap. She grabbed at the cat but missed, and the colonel put her back in Dixie’s arms.

“Please may I pet her a minute before you go?” Sarah asked. When Dixie stepped closer to the old lady, she stroked the gleaming black fur with her tiny hand. “Desdemona,” she said slowly. “You can call her Desi for short.”

“Yeah,” Dixie said. It really wasn’t a bad idea.

“We have to go now—it’s dinnertime,” Jimmy said.

“You young people come again,” the colonel commanded.

“And bring Desi,” Sarah said.

The children clomped down the steps. They didn’t say anything until they were well past the old house.

“Were they really so bad?” Jimmy finally asked.

“Well, Sarah and the colonel seemed pretty normal, but Mrs. Jones kind of gave me the creeps.”

When Dixie reached home, her mother asked, “Where did you get that cat?”

“In the ravine. She doesn’t belong to anyone—I checked. Her name is Desdemona. Isn’t she beautiful?” Dixie set Desdemona down on the floor, and the cat walked calmly around, her tail high and regal. She rubbed against Mother’s legs.

Mother smiled. “My Desdemona was pussy-willow gray.”

“May I keep her, Mom—please?”

“Even if she doesn’t belong to anyone else—she’ll still need shots and things, and that all costs money.”

“I could pay at least part of it out of my own money,” Dixie pleaded.

“Well, Dixie, I guess you can keep the cat if no owner shows up, but she’ll have to have a box and be confined in the apartment all day while I’m at work and you’re at school. She may not like that.”

In school the next day, Dixie kept thinking about Desi’s being alone in the apartment all day. “A people cat,” the colonel had said, and it was true. Desi liked everybody. And she liked lots of attention.

When Dixie unlocked the door to her apartment that afternoon, Desi streaked past her and down the steps, raced across the lawn and up the trunk of a sycamore tree, and sat on a branch, swishing her tail wildly back and forth.

“Come on, Desi,” Dixie called. “Come here.”

Finally the cat ran down the tree trunk, across the lawn, up the steps, and into the apartment. Dixie followed and gathered Desdemona into her arms. “Was it awful being in here alone all day? It was nice to have you to come home to, but you must have been lonely.”

“A people cat.” The colonel’s voice echoed in Dixie’s mind, and she remembered Miss Bessie’s scrawny hands raised toward the cat. “What a thoughtful girl you are,” Sarah had said. And Mrs. Jones: “I want the cat!”

Dixie hadn’t realized that old people loved animals too. Still holding Desi, Dixie headed for the rest home. The colonel and Sarah waved as she approached.

“It’s the girl with the cat,” Sarah said to Miss Bessie, who raised her head slightly.

Dixie climbed the steps and put Desi into Mrs. Jones’s lap. Mrs. Jones still looked off across the lawn, but her hand came down gently on Desi’s warm back. Desi purred loudly.

“You came back,” the colonel stated. “Mrs. Jones will keep the cat forever if you don’t take it from her. She’s selfish.”

Mrs. Jones stopped stroking the cat and turned her face slowly toward Dixie. “Bessie’s turn,” she said, putting the cat in Miss Bessie’s lap, where Desie again purred contentedly.

Almost before she thought, Dixie asked, “Could you keep her here?”

Miss Bessie stopped petting the cat and raised her head, her face brightening a little.

“She’s your cat,” the colonel said.

“I just found her. And I have to leave her alone all day. She’d be happier here.”

The colonel limped toward the door and called, “Mrs. Samson!”

A large woman in a white uniform came quickly and stood in the doorway.

“This fine young lady wants to give us this beautiful cat named Desdemona,” he said.

Mrs. Samson regarded Desdemona curled up in Miss Bessie’s lap. “We had a cat here once several years ago. This one looks like a civilized sort. Why not?”

Sarah smiled her sweet smile. “Thank you, Mrs. Samson,” she said. Then she turned to Dixie. “You are the nicest girl I’ve met in some time. Come by often and see Desi—and us.”

“I will,” Dixie said.

Walking home, she kept picturing the happiness on the old people’s faces when Mrs. Samson had said that the cat could stay. Miss Bessie had even smiled slightly. Tomorrow, Dixie thought, maybe Jimmy will go with me to visit them all.

Alison listened eagerly as the bishop announced that their ward would be having a Christmas open house this year. “We want it to be a special evening,” he said. “It will be a wonderful opportunity to invite friends and neighbors.”
Alison loved the Christmas holidays. She liked shopping for presents for her family and friends and singing Christmas carols. And she loved reading the story of Jesus’s birth and thinking of Him as a small baby.
The bishop’s next words caught her attention. “Because of the open house, we won’t be having our traditional ward Christmas party this year.”
Alison frowned. “No party?” she whispered to her mother. The ward Christmas party was one of her favorite parts of the season.
Mom put a finger to her lips.
“Some of our friends and neighbors do not understand that we are Christians,” the bishop continued. “We want them to know that we believe in Jesus Christ.”
Alison thought about that. She remembered when her best friend, Erica, had said that Mormons weren’t Christians. She didn’t understand what Erica meant, so she had asked her parents about it.
“A lot of people focus on the name ‘Mormon’ or ‘Latter-day Saints,’” Mom had explained. “They forget that our Church is named for Jesus Christ.”
The next day at school, Alison had told Erica the first article of faith: “We believe in God, the Eternal Father, and in His Son, Jesus Christ, and in the Holy Ghost.”
But Erica had just shrugged. “Then why don’t people call you Christians instead of Mormons?” she asked.
Alison turned her attention back to the bishop.
“The open house will focus on Jesus Christ,” he said. “We’re asking families to bring nativity sets, and we will have a live reenactment of the Nativity scene.”
As the time drew near for the open house, Alison started getting excited. Mom and Dad invited an elderly neighbor to go to the open house. Alison invited Erica.
The night of the open house, Alison helped Mom wrap both of the family’s nativity sets in newspaper. Then Mom and Dad drove her to pick up Erica.
When they got to the church, Alison and Erica looked at nativity sets from Japan, Austria, the Philippines, and many other countries.
Then the girls went outside where the young men and young women were acting out the Nativity. There were live cows, sheep, and even a nanny goat. “Everything but a camel,” Alison said.
The bishop asked everyone to gather in the chapel. Alison and Erica sat with the Primary children. The children sang “Picture a Christmas”1 and “The Nativity Song,”2 and the ward choir performed parts of Messiah.
“That was really great,” Erica said on the ride home. “I wish my parents could have come.”
“Maybe next year,” Alison said, smiling. She thought about the open house and realized she hadn’t missed the Christmas party after all.