Gospel Story Finder

When Henry and Mary entered Salt Lake City on September 15, 1866, it had been more than four years since they had seen their mother. Henry walked proudly at the head of the train, his clothes in tatters, his hair sticking out in all directions. In honor of the occasion, he was wearing a pair of boots, many sizes too large, that he had discovered in a burned-out pony express station.
His mother was nowhere to be seen. When the company halted for the last time, Henry sat on a crate in a wagon, heartsick, watching the happy reunions between loved ones. At last he saw a woman in a red and white plaid shawl approaching. He went to her and said, “Hey, Mother.”
“Is that you, Henry?” she asked. “Where is Mary?” Mary was hiding inside a wagon, ashamed of her ragged clothing. The family was finally reunited. However, there was sad news. During her journey to Utah, Sister Roberts had watched her baby, Thomas, weaken and die. She had buried him in a donated breadbox coffin along the way.

Last general conference, I was called by President Monson to be the new Young Women general president. As I stood in the presence of a prophet of God and was given this sacred trust, I pledged that I would serve with all my heart, might, mind, and strength. Prior to this calling, I had a small plate inscribed with a motto that read, “I can do hard things.” That little plate bearing that simple motto gave me courage. But now if I could change that motto, it would read: “In the strength of the Lord, I can do all things.” It is on that strength that I rely today as I stand at this sacred pulpit.
Last April, two days after general conference, we held our first meeting as a newly sustained presidency. We hiked to the top of Ensign Peak, and as we looked on the valley below, we saw the temple with the angel Moroni shining in the sun. For each of us, it was clear. The vision for our presidency was the temple. And our responsibility was also clear. We must “help prepare each young woman to be worthy to make and keep sacred covenants and receive the ordinances of the temple.”
The temple is the reason for everything we do in the Church. The temple was the reason our pioneer ancestors left their established homes and came west. It was the reason they suffered privation and even death. Temple covenants were the reason that, although babies were buried along the way, those pioneers could sing:
Come, come, ye Saints,
No toil nor labor fear;
But with joy wend your way.
Some lost everything but came into the valley with everything, really—temple ordinances, sacred covenants, and the promise of eternal life together as families.
Just two days after the Saints arrived in the Salt Lake Valley, Brigham Young and his associates hiked Ensign Peak. Atop that peak they unfurled a banner—a yellow bandana tied to a walking stick, which symbolized an ensign or standard to the nations. The Saints were to be the light, the standard. Last April, atop Ensign Peak, we three women also unfurled a banner which we made from a walking stick and a gold Peruvian shawl. It was our ensign, our standard to the nations—our banner calling for a return to virtue.
Virtue is a prerequisite to entering the Lord’s holy temples and to receiving the Spirit’s guidance. Virtue “is a pattern of thought and behavior based on high moral standards.” It encompasses chastity and moral purity. Virtue begins in the heart and in the mind. It is nurtured in the home. It is the accumulation of thousands of small decisions and actions. Virtue is a word we don’t hear often in today’s society, but the Latin root word virtus means strength. Virtuous women and men possess a quiet dignity and inner strength. They are confident because they are worthy to receive and be guided by the Holy Ghost. President Monson has counseled: “You be the one to make a stand for right, even if you stand alone. Have the moral courage to be a light for others to follow. There is no friendship more valuable than your own clear conscience, your own moral cleanliness—and what a glorious feeling it is to know that you stand in your appointed place clean and with the confidence that you are worthy to do so.”
Could it be that we have been slowly desensitized into thinking that high moral standards are old-fashioned and not relevant or important in today’s society? As Elder Hales has just reminded us, Lehonti in the Book of Mormon was well positioned on the top of a mountain. He and those he led were “fixed in their minds with a determined resolution” that they would not come down from the mount. It only took the deceitful Amalickiah four tries, each one more bold than the previous, to get Lehonti to “come down off from the mount.” And then having embraced Amalickiah’s false promises, Lehonti was “poison[ed] by degrees” until he died. Not just poisoned, but “by degrees.” Could it be that this may be happening today? Could it be that first we tolerate, then accept, and eventually embrace the vice that surrounds us? Could it be that we have been deceived by false role models and persuasive media messages that cause us to forget our divine identity? Are we too being poisoned by degrees? What could be more deceptive than to entice the youth of this noble generation to do nothing or to be busy ever-texting but never coming to a knowledge of the truths contained in a book that was written for you and your day by prophets of God—the Book of Mormon? What could be more deceptive than to entice women, young and old, you and me, to be so involved in ourselves, our looks, our clothes, our body shape and size that we lose sight of our divine identity and our ability to change the world through our virtuous influence? What could be more deceptive than to entice men—young and old, holding the holy priesthood of God—to view seductive pornography and thus focus on flesh instead of faith, to be consumers of vice rather than guardians of virtue? The Book of Mormon relates the story of 2,000 young heroes whose virtue and purity gave them the strength to defend their parents’ covenants and their family’s faith. Their virtue and commitment to be “true at all times” changed the world!
I truly believe that one virtuous young woman or young man, led by the Spirit, can change the world, but in order to do so, we must return to virtue. We must engage in strict training. As the marathon runner Juma Ikangaa said after winning the New York Marathon, “The will to win is nothing without the will to prepare.” Now is the time to prepare by exercising more self-discipline. Now is the time to become “more fit for the kingdom.” Now is the time to set our course and focus on the finish. A return to virtue must begin individually in our hearts and in our homes.
What can each of us do to begin our return to virtue? The course and the training program will be unique to each of us. I have derived my personal training program from instructions found in the scriptures: “Let virtue garnish thy thoughts unceasingly.” “Cleave unto [your] covenants.” “Stand … in holy places.” “Lay aside the things of [the] world.” “Believe that ye must repent.” “Always remember him and keep his commandments.” And “if there is anything virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy, … seek after these things.” Now more than ever before, it is time to respond to Moroni’s call to “awake, and arise” and to “lay hold upon every good gift, and touch not the evil gift, nor the unclean thing.”
Recently I attended the blessing of our newest granddaughter. It was a holy sight to me as my husband and our sons, along with many other loved ones, encircled this little infant. She was so elegant all dressed in white—and it didn’t hurt a bit that she was named after her two grandmothers! But the thing that touched me most was the blessing given by her father, our son Zach. He blessed little Annabel Elaine that she would understand her identity as a daughter of God, that she would follow the examples of her mother, grandmothers, and sister, and that she would find great joy as she lived a virtuous life and prepared to make and keep sacred temple covenants. In that sacred moment, I prayed that every young woman might be encircled, strengthened, and protected by righteous priesthood power, not only at the time of birth and blessing but throughout life.
During the solemn assembly last conference when President Uchtdorf called for the sustaining of our new prophet and First Presidency, I watched the entire congregation of priesthood brethren arise and stand. I felt your strength and your priesthood power. You are the guardians of virtue. Then I was overcome with emotion when he said, “Will the young women please arise?” From my seat, I saw all of you arise and stand together. Today there could be no more powerful force for virtue in the world. You must never underestimate the power of your righteous influence.

It was fire drill day at a Logan, Utah, elementary school, and fire drill captain Joe Cook, a stalwart sixth-grade student leader, was determined to post a good time. He was pleased when, at the ringing of the alarm, students began to evacuate the building rapidly. “This will be record-setting time,” young Joe thought. “We’re going to go down in history.” Then just as fame seemed within his grasp, Joe heard the announcement: “Someone is still in the building. The building is not clear.”
As record-breaking time ebbed away, Joe Cook finally saw one lone first-grader emerge from the building. It was his little brother, Quentin! Joe had been denied his rightful place in Cache Valley history by his own flesh and blood!
Fuming, Joe barked, “What on earth were you doing?”
Quentin held up a pair of large, worn boots and said, “Joe, you know that [and he mentioned a friend’s name] sometimes has to wear hand-me-down shoes that are too big for him. When the fire drill rang, he took off running and ran right out of these. He didn’t want to ruin the drill, so he left them and ran outside barefoot. I went back to get his boots for him because I didn’t want his feet to be cold in the snow.”

While I was a mission president in Texas, I was informed that a particular missionary had lost his testimony and wanted to go home. Some checking disclosed that doubts of the divinity of his call had been planted in the young man’s mind by an investigator. In an interview with the so-called investigator, I experienced special discernment that enabled me to know that the man was actually a minister of another religion, posing as a college student and pretending to be honestly examining the Church. Confronted with what had been revealed to me, he became confused and admitted his fraud. With the truth known, the missionary stayed and completed an honorable mission.

I was a little stressed out. It was seventh period, and by the end of school I had to turn in my biography, which would be read to 500 of my classmates at a prom assembly. What did other people honestly want to hear about me? I wasn’t popular like everyone else selected for the honor of being on the prom court. Did anyone really care?
Suddenly, a girl named Sammy piped up, “Shelby, you’re a funny guy! Just be yourself.”
Then Derek chimed in, “You’re always talking about your church. Why don’t you say something about that?”
Jokingly I responded, “Why don’t I just offer everyone a free Book of Mormon? That would be a bit different.”
Everyone laughed and dared me into actually doing it.
I scribbled something down and read it to my classmates. They laughed and said they liked it. So, I turned it in.
The day of the assembly came, and I was a bit nervous. I didn’t exactly hang out with the “popular crowd” on the weekends. Most of the kids on stage had been royalty on multiple occasions, and they acted like it was routine. I sat back and casually tried to fit in.
Before I knew it my senior class began filing into the auditorium. The class president took care of some class business and then started introducing the prom court. I sat, nervous and excited, up on the stage and listened as the other biographies were read. The girls stood up one by one and were escorted by guys from the court. They walked into the aisles of the auditorium while someone continued to read their biographies as they made their way around the auditorium and back to the stage.
Then my turn came. I escorted a girl and headed for the aisle. I could hardly take the anticipation as I waited for them to get to the part about the Book of Mormon. How was everyone going to react? What would people say about me?
I finally heard the announcer read, “One of the most important things to him is his church. Speaking of which, if anyone would like a free copy of the Book of Mormon, feel free to call him or just ask him, and he’ll be more than happy to get you a copy.”
There was a slight snicker in the crowd. Some church members might have thought, “If only they knew he wasn’t joking!” or maybe, “Shelby’s gone a bit overboard this time.” Other kids may have groaned, thinking, “There he goes again. He’s always talking about his church.”
There were, however, a couple of students who took notice. Three friends came up to me during that next week and asked if they could have a copy of the Book of Mormon. I don’t know who was more surprised when I asked for three copies of the Book of Mormon—the missionaries or me. I made sure all three of my friends got a copy and offered to have the missionaries teach them. Only one of my friends, Joel, said yes.
Joel started coming over to my house a couple times a week to meet with the missionaries. It was really fun. The missionaries were such good teachers. The things they taught about—the Apostasy, the Restoration, and the Book of Mormon—just made so much sense. Joel seemed to agree.
One day the conversation moved to baptism. The missionaries turned and looked at Joel and said, “Joel, will you follow the example of our Savior, Jesus Christ, and be baptized by someone holding the proper priesthood authority?”
Suddenly, I couldn’t breathe. My mind started racing. What in the world had I done? Missionaries were talking to my friend about baptism! What would he say or think? Would this affect our relationship forever? All I could do was sit and eagerly await his response.
Joel paused, looked at the missionaries, and said, “That’s something I’ve been thinking about a lot. Yes. I think it’s something I want to do.”
I really liked what I was hearing. Joel continued to take lessons at my house and was eventually baptized.
Looking back, I wish I had been a better missionary in high school. It’s so easy. All I did was randomly ask if anyone wanted a Book of Mormon. Three kids took me up on the offer, and one was baptized.
While sharing the gospel can be easy, it is also a skill. That skill will only come through prayer, scripture study, talking with more experienced members, and plain old practice. All the Lord expects of us is our best. It is His work. We need to pray for those experiences and then follow the Spirit and open our mouths when those opportunities come.
After seeing the excitement missionary work can cause, I want to to share the gospel with people for the rest of my life.

The main reason I went to church my junior year of high school was because my parents never gave me any other option. But I had an experience that changed my life. One Sunday a new girl was in our Sunday school class. I felt prompted to slide over a few chairs and introduce myself. As we talked, I realized that Kristeen was very shy, so I took it upon myself to introduce her to our class. I assumed she had just moved into the ward, and she and I became fast friends.
A month and a half after she joined our class, I received a phone call from our ward mission leader. He told me that Kristeen and her mother were getting baptized and that Kristeen wanted me to speak at her baptism. I was floored; I thought Kristeen was a member all along. I also felt like I was the wrong person to speak on baptism, but I accepted the invitation.
To prepare for the talk, I used some scriptures on baptism, the fourth article of faith, and a good-sized chunk out of True to the Faith and called it good.
The day of Kristeen’s baptism was beautiful. She looked so confident and cheerful. I could tell she was excited and ready for baptism. Then it came time for me to speak. I’ve always felt comfortable speaking in front of large groups, so the talk seemed cohesive. Things were going well until I read Romans 6:4: “Therefore we are buried with him by baptism into death: that like as Christ was raised up from the dead by the glory of the Father, even so we also should walk in newness of life.”
I could feel the Spirit, and I knew that I had not been keeping my baptismal covenants fully. I started crying and did my best to finish my talk. I was jealous of Kristeen, that she was going to be baptized and have the slate of her life wiped clean and renewed. But I was even more overcome by feelings of happiness for her and for her strength. She wanted to follow Christ.
How wonderful it is to know that we can be made pure by baptism and that if we fall even a little short, we can repent and be made whole again through the atoning sacrifice of Christ. I am so thankful for my Heavenly Father’s plan and for Jesus Christ and His eternal sacrifice for me. I know that if I keep trying my best and continue to repent, I can also “walk in newness of life.”

Desi squinted at her book, trying to focus on the story. It was hard when her four-year-old sister, Libby, was playing on Desi’s bed.
“Mom!” Desi called. “Will you please make Libby get out of our room?”
“Is she bothering you that much?” Desi’s older sister, Claire, asked from the top bunk bed.
“Yes, she is bothering me,” Desi said.
Mom came in and knelt down next to Libby.
“Honey,” she said, “your sisters are trying to read, and it’s almost time for bed. Let’s go to your room, and I’ll read you a story.”
“But I want to sleep with my sisters,” Libby said.
“I know,” Mom said. “But you need to sleep in your room.”
Mom picked up Libby and carried her out of the room. Libby started crying. Desi frowned. She wasn’t trying to make Libby cry! Sometimes Libby acted like such a baby. Why couldn’t she be fun to play with, like Claire?
Libby had been asking to sleep in their room for days now, but they never let her. They didn’t let Libby do a lot with them. No wonder she was so sad, Desi realized.
“Claire,” Desi said, “I feel kind of bad for Libby.”
Claire leaned out over the bunk bed to look at her. “You’re the one who wanted her to leave.”
“I know,” said Desi. “But I think we should do something for her.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know.” Desi put her head back on her pillow and tried to focus on her book.
That night Desi kept thinking about Libby. What could they do that was extra special? Suddenly she had it. They could have a sisters’ sleepover party for her!
The next morning Desi told Claire and Mom about her idea. They loved it, and Mom said they could have the party that night!
At lunchtime Claire wrote a short message on a piece of pink paper. She rolled it up and tied it with a purple ribbon. Desi slipped it onto Libby’s plate.
“What’s this?” Libby asked when she found it. She pulled off the ribbon and unrolled the paper. She handed it to Mom to read.
“Dear Libby,” Mom read, “you are invited to a party in our room tonight. Wear your pajamas and bring your doll. Love, Claire and Desi.”
Libby smiled big. “I’m going to a party!”
Desi was excited too.
After dinner Claire and Desi ran to their room. Soon Libby knocked on the door.
“Princess Libby!” Desi said, opening the door. “Please come in and sit on your royal throne.”
She led Libby to a chair decorated with colorful streamers.
“We now present the Princess Award to Libby Jackson,” Desi said. She handed Libby a sparkly seashell while Claire clapped and cheered.
“And now we shall play the Princess’s favorite game!” Desi said.
“Can I pick any game at all?” Libby asked.
“Yup!” Claire said.
Libby ran to her room and came back with her favorite board game. The three girls sat down to play together.
Normally Desi thought Libby’s games were for babies, but she was actually having fun. She even liked reading Libby’s favorite stories together.
After Mom turned off their light, Libby and Desi snuggled together in Desi’s bed. Desi was too happy to fall asleep right away. Making Libby smile and laugh was so much fun! She couldn’t wait to play with her sisters tomorrow. Both of them.

Not long ago I went to school early on my bike as usual, because I am a crossing guard (skolepatrulje) at my school in Copenhagen, Denmark. We have to start at 7:45 A.M., and at 8:00 we go to our class. This particular day I took off my equipment in the basement when we finished and was the first to enter my classroom.
One of the boys from my class tried to block my way, and I fell. He fell on top of me, and my bike keys, which I usually carry on a chain around my neck, fell off.
Unfortunately, I didn’t notice that they came off. A girl from my class found the keys, took them, and put them in another girl’s bag. But she forgot to tell me. When the teacher came in, everybody forgot everything about the incident.
School ended at noon that day because my German teacher was ill. When I went to my bike, I found out my keys were not around my neck. I emptied my bag, but no keys. I tried to think when I could have lost my keys but didn’t remember anything. I felt sick, and it seemed as if my brain stopped.
I had to go back and ask one of the teachers to let me call my dad. He came and took me and my locked bike home. He wasn’t very happy that I had lost my keys.
When I went to bed that night, I was wondering if I would ever find my keys again. I was very worried, because if I didn’t find them, I would have to walk to school, and a new key was very expensive for me. Suddenly the thought came to me that I always could pray to Heavenly Father because He could help me and He knew where the keys were.
I got up, fell on my knees, and asked Him to help me find my keys.
The next day in school my math teacher asked me why I was so silent. I told him I had lost my bike keys.
Right then the girl who took the keys suddenly remembered that she had picked them up, so she asked the girl next to her to look in one of the small pockets in her bag. My keys were there.
I know to some people losing a set of keys may not seem very important. But to me it was very important, and I also think it was important to Heavenly Father. I know we can always ask Him for help when we need it.

A few years ago, a 19-month-old girl, Hope Gentile, was diagnosed with a tumor in her lower back. “Over the next five months of surgeries and chemotherapy,” Hope’s father, Nicholas, said, “Hope’s battle for life created a kaleidoscope of experiences.”
One night during Hope’s second five-day round of chemotherapy, Brother Gentile noticed how much hair she had lost. Her remaining strawberry blonde wisps painfully reminded him of her mortality. Nevertheless, he found solace in the Lord’s promise that “a hair of [her] head shall not fall to the ground unnoticed” (Doctrine and Covenants 84:116).
“I felt that Jesus Christ was deeply aware of Hope’s journey—and our heartache,” Brother Gentile said. “He did ‘not leave [us] comfortless’” (John 14:18).
During bedtime one evening as he read a board book to Hope, Brother Gentile asked in a silly voice, “What does the owl say?” Giggling, Hope replied, “Hoo, hoo!” Then he asked, “What does the cow say?” Hope proudly responded, “Moo, moo!”
At that moment, a picture of the Savior in Hope’s bedroom caught Brother Gentile’s attention. The Spirit prompted him to ask, “Hope, and what does Jesus say?”
Hope snuggled into his shoulder, opened her big blue eyes, and whispered, “‘Hold you.’ Jesus says, ‘Hold you.’”
Brother Gentile gently hugged Hope’s tiny body and deeply sobbed. As Hope hugged back, she whispered, “Love you, Dada.”
Jesus will hold us and bless us during our trials if we let Him.
Hope’s trial and uncertain future drew Brother Gentile, his wife, Christina, and their family closer—to each other and to the Savior. “Jesus was holding our family in His loving arms,” Brother Gentile said. “I have pondered the tender truth God taught me through my daughter’s words: Jesus will hold us and bless us during our trials if we let Him.”1
Hope Gentile, four days before her first chemotherapy treatment in March 2015.
I am happy to report that the Gentile family’s faith and prayers were answered. Today, Hope is a healthy, happy 10-year-old.

When I was speaking to newly called missionaries, I asked for all who were twenty-four years of age to stand, because that is the age Joseph Smith was when the Church was organized. Five stood at this meeting, and I asked one of them to come up and tell us how he happened to come into the Church, and to bear his testimony. He said he was in the armed services in Vietnam, and that while there he met some of our young men, one in particular who was living and teaching the gospel, and as a result this young man is now a member of the Church. He explained the great difference it had made in his life, how he had repented of what he had done, and how he came to understand the purpose of life. And then I asked the other four. Two of them told the same thing in bearing their testimony—that they had joined the Church while in the armed services. It was a thrilling experience to realize the effect of young servicemen who were devoted, who had testimonies of the gospel and the courage to live and teach the gospel and bear testimony, while in the armed services.

It was a blessing for the nine members from our Vieux-Fort Branch to travel to the Dominican Republic Santo Domingo Temple in April. I’m grateful for the brother who assisted in financing the temple trip. I pray that I’ll be able to have the opportunity to send many more members to the temple that they may also experience the wonderful joy, peace, calm and love the temple holds. Our group had the opportunity to do their family history and saving ordinances for many of their deceased family members. My experience of baptizing my grandparents on both sides of my family was the opportunity of a lifetime.

Antonella and Mariana loved going to church each week. But now they couldn’t go to church in person because of the COVID-19 pandemic. They had Primary class online, but it just wasn’t the same.
Antonella and Mariana missed going to Primary in person. A year ago, their family had moved from Chile to Canada. The pandemic made it hard to make new friends. They missed being able to learn about scripture stories with the other kids. And they missed having lessons in Spanish like they did in Chile.
One day, after having church at home, Antonella and Mariana looked online for something to help them study Come, Follow Me.
“I wish we could find more videos in Spanish,” Antonella said. She thought for a moment. Then she had a great idea. “We could make our own videos for Come, Follow Me every week.”
“Yeah, and we could do them in Spanish!” said Mariana. “Then we could share them with other kids too.”
Mamá and Papá said they could help. The whole family was excited!
First the family read the scriptures for the week’s lesson. The girls planned what they would talk about. Then they started to make the videos. Antonella and Mariana took turns recording themselves as they talked about stories in the Book of Mormon. At the end of each video, one of them shared something they learned from the lesson. Then Mamá and Papá helped them make the video to post online.
At first, they didn’t always know what to say. But reading the scriptures and learning more about the lessons helped them.
One Sunday, Antonella and Mariana sat in front of the computer for their Primary class. This week’s lesson was about the stripling warriors in the Book of Mormon. “Why did the stripling warriors go to fight?” their teacher asked.
Mariana unmuted their microphone. “I know!” she said. She and Antonella had made a video about that story last week. “Their fathers promised God that they wouldn’t fight, so the sons went instead.”
Antonella nodded. “And their mothers taught them that if they had faith, God would keep them safe.” She smiled at Mariana. It was fun to study the scriptures together.
That night at dinner, Mamá asked, “How was Primary?”
“Good!” Antonella said. “Making the videos has helped me learn a lot more about the scriptures.”
“Me too!” said Mariana. “I can answer a lot of the questions in Primary. And we know the scripture stories better.”
“I’m glad the videos have helped you,” said Papá. “I think they’ve helped a lot of other people too!”
“That’s right,” said Mamá. “Sharing what you’ve learned and how you feel about the gospel is a great way to serve!”
Mariana smiled. “I like that we can serve this way,” she said. Then she turned to Antonella. “Let’s start planning next week’s video!”
This story took place in Canada.

The second lesson was learned several years later when we were more financially secure. Our wedding anniversary was approaching, and I wanted to buy Mary a fancy coat to show my love and appreciation for our many happy years together. When I asked what she thought of the coat I had in mind, she replied with words that again penetrated my heart and mind. “Where would I wear it?” she asked. (At the time she was a ward Relief Society president helping to minister to needy families.)
Then she taught me an unforgettable lesson. She looked me in the eyes and sweetly asked, “Are you buying this for me or for you?” In other words, she was asking, “Is the purpose of this gift to show your love for me or to show me that you are a good provider or to prove something to the world?” I pondered her question and realized I was thinking less about her and our family and more about me.
After that, we had a serious, life-changing discussion about provident living, and both of us agreed that our money would be better spent in paying down our home mortgage and adding to our children’s education fund.

I know of a young priest who was asked by his bishop to fellowship an inactive quorum member. The bishop indicated that others had failed in their attempts to recover the boy. The final words of the bishop’s commission were: “Please save _________.” After many tries and failures, the miracle was wrought—the inactive returned to full activity in the quorum. It was thrilling for me to hear the hero in this experience bear testimony of the joy which he received as a result of his soul-saving efforts.

A true story from South Africa.
Aurora loved Sundays. She got to visit Great-Granny’s house.
Aurora wanted to play hide-and-seek. Mom asked if she would help bake a cake first.
Aurora knew Granny loved lemon cake. She wanted to help make Granny happy.
While they worked, Aurora told Granny what she learned in Primary.
Finally Aurora and Granny played hide-and-seek! “I love Sundays because I get a Sunday helper,” said Granny.
“How do I help you? We just played,” said Aurora.
“You help when you spend time with me and show me love!” said Granny.

I read one experience of a woman in her mobile home. As she heard the winds approaching, she went into her bathroom and crouched down on the floor hoping to avoid injury. She felt her trailer shake, she was jostled around, and then everything was quiet. As she crouched motionless in her bathroom, she heard the voice of her neighbor who lived approximately 50 yards away from her. The voice said, “I am here in the front room.”
She thought somehow her neighbor had come into her trailer and was looking for her. She soon, however, was very surprised to find that was not the case at all, but that the winds had lifted, carried, and landed her trailer upright on the top of her neighbor’s trailer. She had not realized it, but her trailer had been flying through the air. Her neighbor was actually below her, in the neighbor’s own mobile home.

One of the first Otavalo Indians to accept the gospel was Rafael Tabango, who lived on a small plot of ground just outside the city. Though he could not read well, Rafael felt a powerful spiritual witness in the message two young missionaries had brought to his home and soon gained a testimony of the Book of Mormon. After being baptized, he committed himself and his family to the service of the Lord. Every Sunday thereafter Brother Tabango arrived at the small rented meetinghouse and handed an envelope containing his tithes and offerings to the missionary who was serving as branch president. Brother Tabango’s modest income came from a job in a textile mill and from what he could grow on his small plot.

Not long after their baptism, Sister Tabango and several of the couple’s children became seriously ill. Brother Tabango prayed for their recovery and did all he could to provide medical care. On Sunday, when Brother Tabango handed the branch president his donations for the week, the young missionary handed back the envelope, expressing concern that Brother Tabango would need the money for medicine that week.

Brother Tabango again handed the envelope to the missionary and with great conviction said, “President, this money is not mine—it is the Lord’s. I have no right to buy medicine with his money. Please accept my tithing.”

The very next day, Brother Tabango’s prayers were answered as each sick family member recovered.

One Sunday after sacrament meeting, the children and we teachers were to go directly to our classrooms instead of meeting first in the Primary room. When I got to my classroom, I realized that I had left my teaching materials in the Primary room. I told my class to sit down, that I would be right back. Before I hurried away, I said, “Be quiet now!”
When I returned, the classroom seemed unusually quiet. I slowly opened the door and peeked inside. My students were all kneeling, their arms folded and heads bowed, quietly waiting for me to return to have class prayer.
I want to say thank you to my class! You are all really trying to do what Jesus Christ would want you to do.

Following a recent stake conference, Sister Lindsay and I were blessed to visit another household of faith located in rural Idaho. The young father in this home was suffering from a critical illness. A picture forever etched in my memory is of a mother and five beautiful children, together with this dear brother’s priesthood quorum leaders, kneeling around his bedside pleading with Heavenly Father for the life of this good man. He was then administered to within this circle of faith. It was our blessing recently again to meet this young couple and to hear their beautiful witnessing, their humble outpouring of spirit, of the Lord’s blessing in the restoration of the husband’s health.

“What took you so long?” Robby asked as I stomped out the back door and into the backyard, where he and Ryan were waiting for me.
“I’ve been hauling out the garbage,” I grumbled, dropping down under the cherry tree, “and I’m sick of it. All I do at home is work! I have to make my bed when I get up, clean my room, hang my clothes up, take a bath at night, work in the garden, empty the garbage. Brother! All I do is work, work, work. And if I even look cross-eyed at Annie or Sarah, they start complaining and Mom and Dad yell at me for teasing them.”
“You have it pretty tough all right,” Robby muttered, sitting next to me, “but no worse than I do. I have a hundred chores to do too. That’s the trouble with being a kid. Everybody is always bossing you around and making you do things.”
“I can hardly wait until I’m a dad,” Ryan said with a smile. “I’m not going to do anything that I don’t want to do. I’ll make my kids do everything.”
“You’ll still have to go to work,” Robby pointed out. “Dads do have to go to work, you know.”
“Yes, but they do fun work,” Ryan said. “All my dad does is sit at a desk and sign papers and talk on the phone.”
“That’s why he gets to boss you around,” Robby pointed out. “He makes all the money.”
“Then if we were making our own money, we could do anything we wanted.”
Ryan shook his head. “I don’t think my dad would care how much money I made. He’d still boss me around.”
“Our parents couldn’t boss us around if we weren’t around to boss,” I said, excited. “Let’s leave home and be our own bosses. I already have a little over six dollars.”
“I have four dollars and twenty-three cents,” Robby volunteered.
“And I have five dollars and two quarters,” Ryan added. “That means that we have”—he closed his eyes and started counting on his fingers—“almost sixteen dollars!”
“And we could get more, lots more,” I said. “We could collect cans and sell them to the store.”
“Sister Wheeler pays me to run errands for her,” Ryan put in.
“And sometimes Brother Randall pays me to rake the grass after he’s mowed,” Robby added.
“Wow!” I declared. “We’ll have tons of money. Just think—no more chores!”
“But where would we stay?” Robby asked.
We sat down, put our chins in our hands, and did some hard thinking. “The fort!” I suddenly burst out.
We all laughed out loud because we were so excited. There was a vacant lot behind the Petersons’ place a couple of blocks away. It was filled with old boards, abandoned cars, big metal drums, and lots of other good junk. We had used some of the boards to make ourselves a fort between two old cars.
“That’s it!” Ricky agreed. “We’ll live in the fort.”
“And if we live there,” Ryan added, “we won’t have to worry about making our beds or doing chores or anything.”
“Do you suppose our moms will care if we run off and live in the fort?” Robby wondered aloud.
I gulped. “Well,” I mumbled, “I don’t think that we should ask them. But,” I added quickly, “we can leave them a note.”
We stood up. I was a little scared, but I just knew that I’d have to leave home or always get bossed around and have a million chores to do.
It didn’t take long to pack my things. I grabbed two pairs of jeans, three T-shirts, a pair of socks, my basketball shoes, my football, and the little can that held my money. I rolled everything up in two blankets and tucked them under my arm. Just before I slipped out again, I grabbed a piece of paper and wrote, “I’ve gone to live in the fort with Robby and Ryan. Somebody else will have to do my chores. Don’t worry, we’re getting jobs. I’ll come back to visit.”
A half hour later we were pulling Ryan’s loaded red wagon toward the fort and laughing and talking. We could hardly believe how lucky we were. We’d all been able to pack our things and slip back outside without being seen.
When we reached the fort, we spread our blankets on the ground inside to sleep on, then stuffed everything else into the corners. The place didn’t look nearly as big as we remembered it. Everything fit, but just barely.
For a few minutes we just sat cross-legged on the floor of the fort and looked around and grinned. Boy, were we proud of our new place!
“The first thing that we’d better do is get some food,” I finally suggested. “We can take the wagon so that if we find any cans along the way, we can pick them up. And we can haul all our food back in the wagon.”
By the time we reached the store, the wagon was full of cans. A checker took us to a scale at the back of the store. “That comes to fifty-two cents,” she said.
“Fifty-two cents!” We all gasped. “Is that all?”
We added the money to what we already had, grabbed a shopping cart, and started down the aisles. “What do we need?” I asked.
“I want some soda pop,” Robby spoke out.
“And we just have to get some candy and some doughnuts,” Ryan added.
“And I want some cookies and potato chips,” I said. “They’re my favorites.”
It was great to be able to buy anything that we wanted without anybody telling us no.
“Is that about enough?” I asked.
“We probably ought to get some good food, too,” Robby muttered.
“You’re right,” I agreed. “Let’s get some cereal.”
We grabbed a box of sugar-coated cereal and a jug of milk and pushed the cart to the checkout counter. “That will be twenty-one dollars and eighty-seven cents,” the lady announced with a smile.
“Twenty-one dollars!” I yelped. I looked over at Ryan and Robby. All of us studied our groceries. “Let’s put these back,” I said, grabbing the cereal and milk and one bag of candy. “We don’t need them for a few days. We’ve had enough good stuff at home.”
It was way past noon when we made it back to the fort. And we had been so hungry that we munched on doughnuts, granola bars, cookies, and licorice as we walked.
When we got there, I asked, “Should we have lunch now?”
Ryan made a face. “I don’t want to eat anything,” he moaned. “My stomach is making funny noises, and it feels as though it’s going to pop. I think I’ll lie down for a minute.”
“You’re not going to take a nap, are you?” I gasped. “We don’t have to take naps.”
“That’s right,” Ryan said, sitting up.
So we just sat in the fort and munched on chips and talked about how great it was to be on our own. Pretty soon it got warm inside the fort, and I began to yawn and stretch. Finally I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. I lay on my blanket and went to sleep.
It was starting to get dark when we finally woke up. We sat up and looked around. I grabbed a bag of chips, and Ryan and Robby started on a bag of candy. We tried to wash everything down with soda pop, but it was warm and just gagged us.
“My hands are sure sticky,” Robby muttered. “I sure wish I could wash my hands. I wouldn’t mind a bath.”
The sun had gone down, and the only light in the fort came from the sunset’s last glow. Once a cat scratched across our roof and we all jumped. A while later a dog barked.
“Maybe we ought to have some supper and go to bed,” I suggested in a whisper. “We’ll have to get up early and find work.”
“What’s for supper?” Ryan asked.
“We could have some more cookies or marshmallows or—”
“Yuck!” Robby gagged. “I don’t want any supper if that’s all there is.”
“Me either,” Ryan muttered.
We were quiet again, just sitting and listening.
“You know,” Robby whispered after a while, “I didn’t really have a lot of chores at home.”
“Me either,” Ryan agreed. “Mom did lots more than I did. She had to wash the dishes and the clothes. She made dinner. Why, she was working all the time. And she didn’t ever get to play.”
“Yeah,” I mumbled. “Moms never have it too good when it comes to doing chores. Everybody did chores around my place too. I wasn’t the only one that had to take out the garbage. My sisters helped, too, and had other things to do.”
“I’m tired of being sticky,” Robby whined. “And I’m tired of being scrunched up in this dirty old fort.”
“Do you know what I could be doing if I was home?” Ryan asked. “I could be playing catch or working in the garden with Dad. Shoot! I didn’t mind working in the garden when Dad was there. He made it fun and would tell me stories.”
We were quiet for a while. Then Robby started to sniffle. “Do you think our moms and dads would let us come home?”
“We could ask them tomorrow,” I muttered. “We could—”
“I don’t want to go home tomorrow,” Robby whimpered. “I want to go home right now. I’m sick of doughnuts and cookies and junk and this old fort. It’s all your fault,” he accused me, jabbing a finger in my direction. “It was your big idea to run away!”
I ducked my head. “Maybe they haven’t found our notes yet,” I offered.
“I don’t care if they’ve found my note or not!” Robby burst out. “I’m going home right now.” He didn’t even wait to pick up his things. He just started out the door and headed for home.
“Well, if he’s going,” Ryan said, “I’m going too. You can have all the rest of the junk we bought.”
I didn’t stay there alone very long. I grabbed my blankets and clothes and started for home.
It seemed awfully late, but the porch light was still on and so were some of the lights in the house. I was about to walk inside, when I remembered that I didn’t live there anymore. So I reached up and rang the doorbell. The door flew open, and there was Dad. “Well, hello, stranger.”
“Did you find my note?” I blurted, looking down at the floor.
“Your mom said something about a note.”
I swallowed hard. “Well, then I guess that I’m just coming for a visit,” I said, disappointed.
“Well, stranger,” Dad said, “you can visit us anytime. Come in. I’ll tell your mom that you’re here.”
He didn’t have to, though. She’d heard me talking and came running from the kitchen. She hugged me and kissed me. I didn’t even pull away as I usually did. It felt good to have her squeeze me.
“Did you get a good job?” Dad asked.
“Well, we sold some cans.”
“How long can you stay?” Dad asked.
“How long will you let me stay?” I whispered.
“Oh, you could stay an hour or so,” Dad answered. “You’re probably anxious to get back to your fort and Robby and Ryan.”
“Not really,” I muttered, shaking my head.
“Well, if you’re not in a hurry to get back to your fort,” Dad said, “why don’t you spend the night? Or you can stay here forever, if you want.”
I looked up at Mom and Dad. They were both grinning, and I could feel my heart thumping madly in my chest. I wanted to jump and shout and squeeze them both around their necks. “You mean it?” I gasped. “Even though I ran away, you’ll still let me stay?”
“Sure we mean it,” Mom answered, hugging me again.
“And I’ll take a bath,” I promised. “And I’ll do my chores.”
I never thought a bath could feel so good. And before I climbed into bed, I cleaned and straightened my room. Sarah and Annie came to see me, and I didn’t even tease them.
Mom and Dad came in and tucked me in between the clean-smelling sheets and kissed me. When they were gone, I slipped out of bed and knelt down and said a little prayer. I didn’t ask for anything. Not one thing. But I did a lot of thanking because I had a mom and dad who loved me enough to let me come home, the best place in the world!