Gospel Story Finder

Dad was out of town on a business trip, so the only one to greet me when I limped off the plane from my mission was my mother. She held me and we cried.
I took as many medical tests as possible, but the doctors could not find the problem. Taking off my missionary tag nine months early was the hardest thing I have ever done. I felt like a failure for not finishing my mission.
Being a missionary had always been in my plans. When my older brother left on his mission, I dressed up with a homemade name tag to see him off. When the mission age change was announced in 2012, I had just turned 19 and knew that the announcement was an answer to my prayers. I danced around the room, filled out my paperwork that day, set up my medical appointments, and put my papers in within the week. I received my call to the California Anaheim Mission two weeks later and reported to the missionary training center two months after that.
I hit the mission field with “greenie” fire and never wanted to slow down. My trainer and I literally ran to some lessons because we were so excited to teach. For me, being a full-time missionary was the most natural thing in the world. I was awkward and struggled at times, but there was nothing more amazing to me than being a missionary.
Around eight months into my mission, my companions and I were given bikes because of a car shortage. I hadn’t ridden a bike in a long time and wasn’t entirely sure how to do so in a skirt, but I was thrilled anyway. After a few weeks, though, I developed a pain in my side that would come and go. I ignored it and kept working.
The pain became more frequent and more intense until one night my companion had to take me to the emergency room. I took many medical tests but the doctors couldn’t find the source of my pain.
In the weeks that followed, I prayed to Heavenly Father to make the pain go away and received several priesthood blessings, but it just got worse. Every possible position hurt; the pain was constant. But I decided that I could get used to it and kept going.
One day I collapsed on the side of the road, unable to move anymore. I was transported to the hospital to do tests with yet again no results. I tried to take it easy and sit on bus-stop benches with my companions and teach people as they waited for their buses. I sat through lessons, biting my lip through the pain. I eventually pushed myself too far and ended up in the hospital again. I realized that I might permanently damage myself if I stayed on my mission. After a lot of prayer, I received the answer that I should go home to sort out my health issues.
When I realized I was home for good, I was devastated. But I tried my best to maintain my faith and scripture study. My family handled it well, but the other people around me weren’t sure how to react to my situation. They kept asking me questions, and I barely kept it together. One man, however, called me unexpectedly and told me that his son had come home early from a mission a long time ago. He told me that this trial had the potential to destroy my faith and happiness and that it frequently did with many early-returned missionaries. “What you have to remember,” he said, “is that as long as you are trying as hard as you can to live your life righteously, it’s always a step forward no matter what happens outside of your control.”
That became my motto, and I relied on it heavily for the next year. For eight months I could barely walk, but people would still judge me when they found out that I had come home early. They said that there were people with worse medical conditions who had finished serving. They didn’t understand why I couldn’t have finished, even with medical difficulties. It was agonizing to hear this when I had loved my mission so much, but I had faith that Heavenly Father had a purpose for my trial and that it would be a step forward.
I began school again and started dating. I could see that I was progressing, but I felt that I would always view my mission with a little bitterness. Then a friend of mine reminded me that the Savior’s Atonement can heal all pain and bitterness. With His help I could be happy when thinking about my mission.
I knelt down and prayed to my Heavenly Father. I told Him about my pain and my efforts to be healed and comforted. I asked if He would take away the bitterness I felt. After my prayer, the Lord opened my eyes to see my mission from His perspective. Both my service and early return were a part of the Lord’s plan to help make me into who He wanted me to be. I could see the miracles that He had provided since I came home. It has been a hard path, but now I can look back on my early return home with peace, knowing that God has my best interests at heart.

When I was young, we moved to the city of Cartagena. Many boys there were smoking marijuana. I feel that I was blessed because I was never invited to do it. When I was ten or eleven, I became a Boy Scout. I was the only one in my public school, so I was chosen to be the leader for many things, and I wore my uniform in parades. I remember collecting things for the poor people in the city. I remember the joy of giving.

The way for you to be happy is to love others and to be obedient. You can set a good example at school and in your family. You can also set an example as a good citizen of your country. If we want to have strong nations, they must start with you children.

On August 15, 1991, another important experience happened. Crystal; her sister, Dawn; her mother, Melodie; and her father were sealed together as an eternal family in the temple. They had traveled eleven hours by bus with twenty-nine other members of their South Royalton Ward to the Toronto Ontario Temple. Mother said, “The ward gave us so much support that it seems like a big family now.” Both girls remember seeing only individual reflections of themselves in the mirrors when they first entered the sealing room, but after they were sealed to their parents, they saw a reflection of their entire family going on forever. Later that night, Crystal had a dream that assured her that Heavenly Father loved her and would never leave her.

A respected business leader once encouraged Elder Stevenson to “learn, earn, and serve.” In 2004 the “serve” part of that equation was tested when Elder Stevenson and longtime business partner Scott Watterson were both called to serve as mission presidents. They felt they needed to explain to various stakeholders and customers why they were temporarily leaving their company. One by one they visited them.
“When we described our call and that we would serve for three years without compensation from the Church, they respected the goodness of that,” he says. They left the business in the hands of a trusted executive team, and it prospered.

When rare king tides swept over isolated Parama Island in western Papua New Guinea on 22 October 2024, residents of the town’s only village had nowhere to turn for help. In only a few hours, the floods left many homes wrecked, subsistence farming plots destroyed, and community wells fouled by seawater.
About 400 people live on the beautiful but remote island in western Papua New Guinea. Nearly one-third of them are members of the Parama Branch of the Daru Papua New Guinea Stake.
When word of the disaster reached the stake center in Daru, Church leaders acted quickly to send immediate relief. Food, water, tarps, and water filters were shipped from Papua New Guinea’s capital city of Port Moresby to a waiting barge in Daru.
From Daru, the supplies, along with Church humanitarian missionaries skilled in disaster recovery, and local Church missionaries and leaders, traveled up the Gulf of Papua to the Fly River, and then inland to reach Parama Island.
On arrival, they found damaged homes and ruined community resources, but resilient and confident Saints already working to do their part to rebuild their damaged village.
When the barge and accompanying dinghies arrived during the late morning low tide on 29 October, the water was too shallow to allow them to bring their supplies into the village, so supplies were transferred to smaller dinghies, which moved closer to the shoreline.
But in the end, the dinghies could come no closer than a kilometer from shore, so the village came to them.
Throughout the afternoon, villagers combined with missionaries in walking back and forth through two kilometers of tidepools to collect the food, clean water, and water filters, and carry it all into shore.
In all, it took more than three hours to transfer the supplies from the dinghies into the village.
The relief supplies were stacked in the village square, as preparations were made for distribution to villagers.
Once all the supplies were brought into the village, families gratefully received their shares of the supplies that they had just carried across the water.
In Port Moresby, Johnny Leota, the country office manager, reflected on the blessings that often come from trials. “After the devastation of the king tides, the resilience and faith of the people of the Parama Island shine through as they joyfully receive temporary relief to aid them through this challenging time in their lives. Their gratitude and love of the Saviour has increased as they witness His love through emergency efforts from the Church. Continued relief efforts will include finding solutions with local leaders of the community to safeguard against future disasters.”
Restoring Parama Island to its pristine condition will not occur quickly. But the Parama Saints, with their friends and neighbors, know that they will not face their ordeal alone, and that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints stands ready to provide support, both temporal and spiritual, as these Saints of God and their neighbors work together to rebuild their beautiful but temporarily damaged remote island home.

While serving as a member of the Council of the Twelve, Elder McKay owned a big boar named Caesar. One Sunday morning Caesar broke out of his enclosure. Not having time to repair the fence before boarding a train, Elder McKay put him in the chicken coop. But he forgot to tell any of his boys about it. That night at 2 A.M., the McKay household was awakened by the incessant ringing of the telephone. Answering it, and fearful that a tragic message was involved, they received a telegram over the phone: “Caesar in chicken coop. Water him!”

One August I went to the Salt Lake Temple with my father and stepmother after spending a long summer in Oregon. I had been looking forward to the visit because I had been feeling overwhelmed about going back to school. I wasn’t sure if I could meet all of the requirements of my upcoming junior year.
While my parents went in to participate in an endowment session, I went to do baptisms. Going to the temple had always been a spiritual experience for me, but that day I didn’t feel the Spirit, which increased my lonely feelings. I decided to say a prayer.
In my prayer, I admitted I didn’t know how to feel better but asked for a chance to help someone else. When I opened my eyes, there was a girl my age by herself who appeared to be confused. When I asked if she needed some help, she said it was her first time in the Salt Lake Temple and didn’t know where to go. As I helped her find her way around the temple, we enjoyed our time together doing baptisms. I know helping her was the answer to my prayer.

One of the best lessons on choice I learned was from my dad. Whenever the carnival came to town, I was eager for one more ride or one more something. One summer day my dad gave me a silver dollar. He said, “Go buy what you want.” That was a lot of money for me because the rides and refreshments only cost a nickel or fifteen cents back then. I remember going with my friends to the carnival. I priced everything—cotton candy, the rides, the side shows—and I figured out how many of each thing I could get. At the end of the day, I came home with my whole dollar. I had realized that it was my dollar, and it had become more valuable to me because it represented choice. By keeping the dollar, I still had the choice. Once it was gone, the choice was gone.

I constantly pray for my family’s success and well-being. But some things haven’t yet worked out how I’d hoped. I started to wonder if God was hearing my prayers. As my uncertainty worsened, I prayed less often. I thought, “Why should I pray when I don’t feel anything?”

But then one day, I realized that I was doubting God. He has always been my Father in Heaven, my greatest support and strength. I started crying. When I got home that day, I knelt to pray because I felt spiritually and emotionally lost.

After praying, I felt comfort, warmth, and love. I knew He was with me. I know Heavenly Father sees our struggles and hears our cries. From that day on, I understood that He has big plans for my family—plans that require His timing and my patience.

The warm August sun gave Margaret a feeling of peace and happiness as she gingerly set one foot exactly in front of the other and balanced herself with outstretched arms. The abandoned, rusty train track glowed like a long brown ribbon as it ran off into the distance. Jeff, her brother, was right behind her.
“C’mon, slowpoke,” he chided her as he accidentally stepped on the back of her shoe.
“Oh, Jeff, look what you’ve done! This is the first time I’ve stepped off the track since we began. You go ahead of me if you’re in such a great hurry.”
She glanced across at her best friend on the other rail and grinned. Allison was having a harder time staying on, and she reminded Margaret of a circus tight-rope walker. Cory, Allison’s brother, was quite far ahead of them. He’d had more practice at rail walking, but it seemed to Margaret that he skipped off often, even though he moved faster.
Looking down the track, Margaret had warm memories of past days when her father came home from the mine with coal dust on his face, hands, and clothes, set the wooden kitchen chair in the middle of newspapers spread out on the floor, and carefully removed his boots. Even more carefully he shook out his tucked-in pant legs. Margaret liked the sound of the coal particles falling onto the paper, and she mentally compared each little pile with the previous night’s. She missed those days. Diesel engines and other inventions had almost eliminated the need for coal, and many of her father’s friends and coworkers had had to move. It will be all right as long as Allison and Cory Anderson stay here, she thought now.
Cory was now out of sight around the bend and headed toward the forest. It was full of wonderful paths created by the miners when they’d walked between the town and the mine. The children spent hours galloping through the trees on pretend horses or playing king and queen on the large boulders in the woods. “Pretend” was always their favorite game, and Cory had a new variation in mind as he waited for them.
“Let’s pretend we’re miners,” he suggested, “and that we’re searching for gold. We must find it by dark so that we can take it to the wicked king and free the good prince before the rats go into his dungeon. Rats always come out at night, you know, and the prince hates them—they scare him almost to death!”
The four friends galloped through the forest toward the old tipple. Margaret was surprised at how quickly the three-story gray building where the coal had been washed and sorted had deteriorated. A few of the windows were broken, and the whole building seemed to be sagging as they stared at it in the shadows of the late afternoon.
To their dismay, they saw that fencing had been put up and that no-trespassing signs had been posted.
“Well,” sighed Jeff, “so much for finding gold.”
“Aw, c’mon,” Cory argued. “We aren’t going to let a little fence stop us. We can find a place to climb through.”
They found a sagging wire, and each crawled through as they held the other wires apart.
Just then something very strange happened to Margaret. She thought she heard a very quiet whisper: “Don’t go in there!” She wasn’t sure where the sound came from, but it seemed to come from deep inside her. Or did it? Maybe she had just imagined it. But as they climbed the hill to the back of the tipple, her spine seemed to tingle.
The four friends peered into the opening where the coal cars had once rolled on tracks into the building and were filled. It was dark and foreboding, and, of course, the boys had to hoot like owls and make ghostly sounds as they entered.
“Jeff,” Margaret pleaded, “it’s time for us to go home. Please, Jeff, don’t go any farther in there! Allison, Cory! Let’s go home now. Please!”
“Ha! Look at Margaret. She’s afraid.”
“No, I’m not. I just don’t want to go in there, that’s all.”
“C’mon, Margaret,” pleaded Allison. “It sounds like such a fun game, and I don’t want those two boys teasing me about being a scaredy cat. We’ll only be in there for a few minutes.”
“C’mon, Margaret,” begged Jeff. “This is the most fun we’ve had in a long time. All we have to do is cross the boardwalk and dig up the gold on the other side. It will only take a minute, and then you can run right back out.”
Margaret could see the board walkway just inside the big entryway. It seemed like only yesterday when she had stood with her father, watching the coal pickers standing on the boards next to the conveyor belt. It was their job to sort the “bony” coal, which was full of rocks, from the good ore by throwing the bony lumps over their shoulders into a huge bin behind them. The good coal continued on to a waiting coal car, which hauled it away to be processed. Even with her father there beside her, Margaret hated the steep drop behind the boardwalk. Now, standing just inside the old, dilapidated tipple, she felt much more uneasy. “I know what I’ll do!” she said. “I’ll stay here on guard while you three get the gold. If the wicked king’s men appear in the forest, I’ll hoot like an owl three times.”
“Good idea!” Cory seemed relieved that Margaret’s fears hadn’t discouraged the others. “You wait here, but hide inside the door. Spies might be crawling all over the forest, and you wouldn’t want to be captured and thrown in with the rats too!”
Margaret watched them scamper across the boards and into the dark shadows. She sighed as she glanced outside. Early evening was usually her favorite time of day because it was so peaceful. However, she wasn’t feeling very peaceful just then.
Her thoughts were shattered by a loud crash and the sound of splitting wood. She heard a scream and more splitting wood, then silence. She froze for an instant with the deepest fear she had ever known. Filled with panic, she ran to the edge of the boardwalk. She could see nothing, and she could hear only her own heavy breathing.
“Jeff! Allison! Cory! Somebody answer me. Jeff, please—answer me!” She tried hard not to breathe as she listened for a sound. None came.
She sobbed, then fell to her knees. “Please, Heavenly Father, help us. Help them not to be hurt!” Scrambling up, she ran out of the tipple, down the hillside, back through the fence, and through the forest. She slipped and fell, rolled and tripped for what seemed miles to her home.
When she gasped out what had happened, her father’s face went white. As he grabbed his miner’s hat and other equipment he thought he might need, he said, “I’ll stop by the Andersons’ on my way. I may need all the help I can get.”
“We’re going too!” Margaret’s mother was emphatic. “I’ll get some blankets and coats.”
Five very grim faces retraced the path to the tipple. Five very serious pleas were silently sent heavenward.
When they reached the entrance of the dark, rickety building, the two mothers and Margaret waited while the men lit the lights on their hard hats, gathered the ropes, and cautiously advanced to the edge of the bony bin.
“Jeff! Cory! Allison! Are you all right?”
Jeff answered. “Yes, Dad. I think I’ve broken my arm, but otherwise we’re fine.”
The two women and one very relieved Margaret gave thanks as they hugged each other with joy.
The house seemed extra cozy to Margaret when her parents tucked her into bed later that night. Cory and Allison were bruised, badly shaken, and very dirty. And Jeff had broken his arm. How grateful they all were that the bony bin had been half full instead of empty and that only the wind knocked out of them had prevented them from answering or even functioning for a few minutes. It had taken a while for them to crawl through the dark bin to find each other, but they were glad to be together until help came.
“Margaret,” her mother asked when she bent to kiss her good night, “why didn’t you go farther into the tipple with the other three?”
“My Primary teacher taught us the same thing you and Dad did about the still, small voice and how it speaks to us when we need comfort or are in danger. She said that it sometimes is so quiet that you can hardly hear it and that at other times it is clear and loud. Well, I heard it this afternoon when we were on our way to the tipple. I should have told the others about it, but I wasn’t sure until the boardwalk caved in. All I know is that it caused me to be afraid, even though I didn’t feel that way at first.”
Her father gently hugged her. “I’m grateful for your teacher—and for a daughter who paid attention in class. It might have taken days for us to find you. However, there was one thing you didn’t pay attention to when you played around the tipple. Do you remember what that was?”
Margaret thought very hard, then said, “Yes, Dad. We should never have crossed the fence that had those no-trespassing signs. That was very wrong. You taught us to regard warning signs and to not trespass on other people’s property. We were so excited about our new game that we just ignored those rules. None of this would have happened if we’d listened to our consciences right at the beginning.”
“That’s right, honey. We all learn through our experiences, and Jeff has learned the same lessons you have. I’m sure that Cory and Allison have learned them too. One of the greatest tools we can use in helping us through this life is to become a listener. We’re grateful that you did listen the second time.”
Eight hearts gave thanks that night to Heavenly Father, who also had listened that day, just as He always listens.

Years ago when we moved from one ward to another, I was given a class of Primary boys to teach. As I asked about each boy on my roll card, my adviser answered about one, “Oh, you can’t interest that family. They have never been active!”
Young, full of hope, and idealistic, I made personal visits to each home on the list prior to the first class. Upon visiting the home of the “inactive” boy, I discovered two other children of Primary age. After explaining the activities I had planned for the summer, I said that I would be happy to pick him up each week since my children wouldn’t fill up the car. In fact there would be room for all of them if they would like to go with me.
I was treated very kindly and made to feel that they were happy I had come, regardless of the boy’s decision. “You give it some thought,” I said, “and I’ll drive by, just in case you decide to join us, okay?”
The following week when I drove hopefully into their yard, my happiness knew no bounds, for not only was he all dressed up and ready to go, but the other two children as well!
Many months later, during a cold winter when I found myself too ill to teach my Young Women class, in fact too ill to even take my children, my daughter’s new teacher offered to take them all with her for several weeks.
This thoughtful teacher was the mother of my little Primary boy. She was not only active now, but one of my children’s teachers and a wonderful blessing to me and my family.

I have been drawing pictures for my whole life. When I was little, I drew all the time. My mom asked me to tell her the story for each picture I drew. I told her the stories, and she wrote them down for me.
From a young age, I wanted to become an artist. I loved watching animated movies. I wanted to be part of making something like that. My mom always believed in me, and she helped me believe that I could do it.
To get better at art, I practiced a lot. I volunteered for things. I drew posters for community events. I painted store windows. I painted banners. One time I helped paint sets at an opera house.
These experiences taught me that art was a way that I could serve. I had fun using my talents to help others. I felt more motivated because I was making something beautiful for someone else.
When I grew up, I became an artist for Disney. I tried new things and developed talents I didn’t know I had. Heavenly Father led and guided me to where I needed to be.

Name a town?
In a small town in Kentucky, USA, the very first postmaster didn’t think much of his own handwriting. He figured that if a town had a number as its name, then it’d be easier to read and understand that name on an envelope even if somebody had bad handwriting.
He reached into his pocket, counted the loose change (88 cents), and Eighty Eight, Kentucky, was born. The town name stuck and has been used ever since.1

Even though it was a cold, hard piece of plastic, at that moment my chair was my only friend. Our English teacher had asked us to express our opinions about controversial statements. If you supported a statement, you were to move to the left side of the room. If you didn’t support it, you were to stay to the right. “First statement: Coed sleepovers should be allowed,” she said. There was a brief pause, then a giddy stampede to the left side of the room. I was the only one left sitting.
In my mind it wasn’t an option to go to the left side of the room. I knew what I believed. So I stood up, faced my friends, and told them I didn’t think coed sleepovers were appropriate. As I did so, I said a silent prayer that my words would make sense and testify of truth. Then the bell rang, and the students scrambled to collect their backpacks. A girl from my class stopped me in the hall. “I just wanted to say that was really brave of you,” she said. “I don’t think I would be able to do that.” I smiled and said a silent prayer of thanks to Heavenly Father for showing me that I was able to touch someone.
Although that was a difficult experience, I was able to define myself. Because I had the gospel in my life, I knew where I stood and I knew nothing could shake me. I eventually found friends who really cared about me and respected my beliefs. I am a much happier person because I understand that when I stand up for my beliefs, the Lord is with me and He will never leave me alone.

David peered down at the chewed rope end in his hands. Dusty had freed himself again. Dropping the rope, the boy ran to the coop. He opened the door and counted the chickens, pointing his flashlight at each one. They clucked softly and blinked their eyes. All 18 were there. The week before there had been 20 hens, but Dusty, the yearling Labrador retriever David had bought for hunting, had killed two. After the killing, David had promised his father that he would work with the dog, tying him up until they could be sure he would do no more damage.
The boy walked quickly back to the post where his dog had been tied. “Dusty,” he called softly; then he glanced beyond the house at the sky. The glow in the east was becoming brighter.
He moved out past the haystack and whistled. He heard something moving beyond the fence in the field and crawled through. A dark form became Dusty, who bounded toward the boy, then crouched down, front legs forward, and barked. David reached for the rope, but the dog bounced away, ready for their usual romp.
“Dusty!” The words shot out. “Come here!” The dog came closer, and David grabbed the end of the rope. Even in the half-light David could see something smeared around Dusty’s jaws. He put out his hand and touched it; his fingers felt sticky. He ran his hands over the dog’s body—no cuts or breaks. Small tufts of something like fur clung to the black-red around the dog’s mouth. The dog had killed a cottontail once. David took some of the stuff in his palm and shone the light on it. Despite the blood he saw that the pieces were yellow, kinky. It was sheep wool.
David climbed under the fence, pulling Dusty behind him; then he leaned against the stack of hay. The dog could have gotten into the sheep hides that were tacked to the shed wall, but that wouldn’t explain the blood. “Stupid dog!” David jerked the animal back to the post where he untied the short rope and retied the long end onto Dusty’s collar. Just to be sure, he ran to the pelts, moving his fingers along their edges. They were untouched. Watching the back door of the house, he walked back to Dusty and stood next to him. He thought of their neighbors who had sheep—Johnsons, Morgans, Franklins, Mitchells.
Several years before, David had seen a sheep-killing dog shot. The recollection raced through his mind. He moved toward Dusty, then hesitated. Working the knot loose from the post, David quickly led him to the water trough. He tied him and sprayed water from the hose over Dusty’s head and chest. The dog shrank back, but the boy pulled him up again. Then, with a curry comb from the tack room, he cleaned the half-dried blood from Dusty’s hair and rubbed him all over with a gunny sack before tying him up again. He took the short, chewed piece of rope and put it in a paper sack in the trash barrel.
By now it was light, and David hurried to finish the chores. He looked at the back door. With his brothers grown and gone, David was responsible for the chores. For once he was glad his dad hadn’t come to help as he sometimes did. He had fed the pigs and chickens and was just separating the calf from the milk cow when his dad called from the back door. He tried again to get the stubborn calf in its pen before he left, but his father shouted, “Just come! I’ll do that later. Hurry!”
David went into the kitchen and followed his father through the house out to the truck. Climbing in, he looked across at his father’s grim face. “Something’s got into Morgan’s sheep. I saw them when I was down watering the cows.” David turned away, staring out the window. His hand gripped the seat edge. He didn’t look at his father all the way there.
At the pasture, David walked to open the gate. The sheep were huddled in a corner. The boy put his shoulder against the post to free the loop from the top. As he swung the gate around, he saw that halfway down the field several sheep lay quiet in the grass.
“Leave it open,” his dad called from the window of the truck. “I phoned Morgan, and he’ll be here soon.” David climbed back into the truck. They drove into the pasture and stopped by the first dead sheep. David opened the door and walked over to the carcass of the ewe.
His father stood next to David, shaking his head. “Probably a pack of dogs.” The boy looked up, the corners of his mouth turned down. A few flies crawled slowly over the flesh and yellow fat where the wool above the ribs had been laid back.
“Rotten deal,” his dad muttered, looking down the field at the other sheep. David nodded as he pushed on one of the sheep’s legs. It moved loosely.
“Davie.” He turned to see his father pointing down the road to where dust billowed from behind a truck. “It’s Morgan. He’ll want to know about Dusty.”
David bent over as if examining the sheep. “He’s tied up,” he mumbled without looking up.
“Are you sure? He hasn’t pulled himself loose?”
David put his hand out, touched the sheep on the neck, then pulled back quickly. It was warm and reminded him of the time he had touched the shot dog.
“David!” The bullet had crashed into that dog’s shoulder, smashing it. David looked at the truck turning into the pasture.
“No. He was tied up. I checked him this morning.”
David felt his father’s eyes on him; then he heard “Good.” The boy stood up. He watched his father walk toward Morgan, who was getting out of his truck. The two men shook hands.
“You see what did it?” Morgan leaned over the dead sheep.
“Nope. Too sloppy for coyotes though.” David’s father pushed a flap of loose skin on the side of the ewe with his shoe.
Morgan stood and turned toward David. “I think you’re right. I’m looking for dogs.” He was still looking at David, who was unable to move. There was silence; David heard his father’s steps, then felt his hands on his shoulders.
“Well, you’ll have to look somewhere else.” Morgan scowled for a minute, then turned back to the sheep. “Help me get them out of here.” David hadn’t moved, but stood looking at the ground. When his father called, he slowly came to help them. Bending over the body, they each grasped a leg, then lifted the sheep up, flopping it over into the truck. They drove on to the next dead sheep and tumbled it in with the other.
The last one wasn’t dead yet and tried to get up when they came. Morgan pulled a .22 from in back of the seat and shot her behind the ear. In the truck bed the bodies looked strange, sprawled together, their legs sticking out.
“I’ll call them that have dogs around.” Morgan’s voice was bitter. “We can’t have this happening.” The door to his truck slammed; dust followed him up through the field.
They got into their own truck. David picked at a torn place in the knee of his pants. Then he stopped and stared out the window.
“How much would those three cost now?” David looked up at his father.
“Oh, about $300.”
David played with the knob of the bin. He had $43 in his savings account. Summer was over, the time when he could make some good money, and he had spent quite a bit just getting Dusty. Even if he did pay back every cent, who would let him keep a sheep-killing dog?
“That’s sure a loss to Morgan.” His dad turned into their driveway. “I hope they find the dogs.”
David nodded, “Yeah.” He walked slowly up to the front door, then moved faster as his mother called out, “Hurry! The bus’ll be here any minute.” She was taking food out of the oven, where it had been kept warm, and setting it on the table. David put his school clothes on, then washed, his eyes showing in the bottom of the mirror. He reached for the soap, then stopped and listened. His mother had said something about a pack of dogs. “Was Dusty with them?” she asked.
“No.” It was his father’s voice. “Davie said the dog was still tied.” David refocused on his own image in the mirror, and then he bent over and scrubbed his hands. At the table he pushed the eggs into the potatoes on his plate.
“Are you feeling all right?” his mother asked, laying one hand on his arm.
“I’m just not hungry.” David moved his chair back and excused himself.
“Those sheep all torn up don’t exactly make for a good appetite, do they?” His father wiped his hand across his mouth.
In his room, David sat on his bed. Dusty wouldn’t try to get loose during the day, and tonight he’d tie him double tight. David would tie him with baling wire. He couldn’t chew through that.
“The bus’s here.” David took his book bag from his mother’s hand and ran out the front door. He climbed onto the bus and sat with the other sixth graders from the valley.
Butch, Mr. Morgan’s son, was talking with the other boys. “Yeah, there was six or seven dead.” David started to say something, but then stopped. “Dad said he’d shoot any dog anywhere around them sheep.” Butch went on, the others still watching. “I didn’t find no blood on my dog, but I chained him up anyway.” David thought of the Morgan’s dachshund, then laughed nervously with the other boys.
“What about your dog, Jimmy?” Butch still had them all listening. They turned to Jim Mitchell.
“That’s none of your business!” The boys, even Butch, were silent. Then Butch said, “Well, you’ve got to realize we just can’t have sheep killers around here.” But now the other boys were turning away.
David looked at his hands. He and Jimmy, sitting in the same seat, didn’t talk at first. Then Jimmy turned to David. “There was blood on our dog. Dad said we’ll probably have to get rid of him.” David said nothing but looked out the window on the opposite side of the bus. The bus passed their own field where his dad was just climbing onto the swather. David waved, making only a small motion, then leaned his head against the seat in front of him and looked at the floor.
Although the other boys moved straight to the lawn to play football after the bus unloaded, David went inside to the library. He found the book which he had read after Dusty had killed the chickens. It had told him that “once an animal gets a taste for blood, it isn’t easy to break him of that habit, but sometimes tying the victim around the dog’s neck will help.” They had left the chicken tied to Dusty until it was greasy and stinky, but it hadn’t worked. He had killed another chicken and now some sheep. David smiled at the thought of Dusty with the sheep tied around his neck. But he soon frowned again. “Once an animal gets a taste for blood. …”
The bell rang, and David went to his class. He watched Jimmy Mitchell, who sat staring at his desk, supporting himself with one hand to his forehead. No man in the valley would keep a sheep-killing dog. He looked across at Butch Morgan. He was chunky, like his father, and had plump cheeks and pink skin. He thought of Mr. Morgan’s .22. Dusty’s head would flop over; his body would crumple. He shook his head, bending over his book again.
“David,” he looked up at the teacher. “Will you work the first division problem for us now?” David walked to the front of the room, trying to remember how these problems should be done. He scratched the numbers onto the blackboard, then returned to his seat. He realized that he had forgotten to invert before he multiplied.
History seemed to go overtime, and the class dragged on through science. Finally the day was half over. David stood in line for lunch. Before he knew it, the secretary was holding out her hand for his ticket. He fumbled for his wallet and took out a ticket. He started to put his wallet away, but then he stopped, running his fingers across the deer pattern his dad had cut into the leather. It had been perfectly formed and carefully shaded, unlike store-bought things. He slowly folded the wallet and put it in his pocket.
David ate his lunch alone, away from the others. He then went back to the library and read more from the book about dogs. He turned the pages awhile, then put it away, walking to look out the window. Whatever the book said, people in the valley would remember that Dusty was a killer.
Butch, Kenny, and the others were out playing ball. David watched as Jimmy marched across the playground and pushed Butch down. David moved through the door and joined the group just as a teacher broke up the fight. Butch ran for the building, one hand across his face, his nose bleeding. The teacher walked away with one arm around Jimmy’s shoulders.
“What happened?” David asked.
“Oh, Jimmy called home and found out that his father shot their dog,” Kenny Jesperson answered, kicking his foot against the pavement.
David walked back to his class, his hands in his pockets. Jimmy came in and slumped into his seat. David watched him for a long time, but he turned quickly when Jimmy looked up. David felt his face turning red; he hoped no one noticed. He sat staring at the page.
The rest of the day was as slow as the morning. At last it was over. David wished the bus driver would go faster, but he went at half speed as usual. Then the bus stopped, and he was running from it, going around to where Dusty was tied. The dog wiggled his entire body in greeting. David found several loops of baling wire and hooked them together, trading them for Dusty’s rope. David held his arms around the dog and felt the fur against his face. He got some food and poured it into Dusty’s dish. The dog gulped the food, noisily crunching the pieces with his teeth.
David walked into the house. His mother was washing the dishes, singing as she dipped the plates into the soapy water. Half-afraid, David asked, “Where’s Dad?”
“Out in the machine shed.”
David hesitated; then he turned through the door and moved his feet several steps toward the shed. He stopped in the yard, returned to the kitchen through the back door, and walked to his room.
David lay on his bed. “They would shoot him if they knew.” He took off his shoes and slowly pulled off each sock. He walked to his dresser where the family picture stood. His older brothers were there and his dad was directly behind David in the picture, his hands on David’s shoulders. The boy held the picture; then he put it back. He finished dressing and left to do the chores.
“No TV tonight, eh?” His mother smiled as he walked through the kitchen. He shoved the screen door, letting it slam behind him. When he turned at the back gate, she was standing behind the screen, wiping her hands and watching him.
He put the milk bucket on the post next to the gate of the cow pen and walked over to dump wet barley to the grunting pigs. They ran in circles around him until he slopped it into their trough. The chickens ran to the fence, pecking at his feet as he filled their food and water containers. Some of them flapped their wings, trying to fly to the food. As David turned, he saw his father, squatting before Dusty, scratching the dog’s ears. Dusty wagged his tail. His dad’s back was toward David, who watched unnoticed. His dad stood; David turned to get grain for the cow. He poured the grain in front of her, and then sat on the milk stool, his head against the cow’s flank. He milked fast until his forearms ached.
“How was school today?”
“All right, I guess.” He turned his back to the milking.
“Only all right?” His dad was smiling. David kept milking. His father walked away, and soon David saw him return, pulling the strings off a bale of hay he had brought for the cow.
“I helped Morgan dress out the last sheep. It was good it wasn’t completely wasted.”
“Yeah.” David’s hands hurt, but he milked harder and harder.
“About through out there?” his mother called from the house. “Dinner’s ready.”
His father looked over at David’s nearly full bucket. “We’ll be right there,” he shouted back to the house. As David stripped the last of the milk from the cow’s teats, his dad climbed the fence to let the calf out of its pen. David finished and walked to the gate, where he stood waiting for his father. He looked at the ground. Tomorrow he would ride to school with Jimmy, sit in the same classroom. His legs and arms felt weary. When he was smaller, if he were tired his mother would hold him, rocking in the chair.
“Davie?” His father had already passed through the gate and was turned back, waiting for David. “Is something wrong?”
David’s chest tightened again. He thought of eating dinner tonight with his mother and father watching. He shook his head, blinking his eyes quickly. Then, gripping the pail handle, he moved through the gate. The boy heard the gate shut; then he felt his father’s hand on his shoulder, turning him around.
“What’s the matter, Davie?” David leaned against his father’s chest, feeling the man’s arms around him. He felt the cloth of his father’s shirt, rough on his face. He felt warm, but then the fear made his body grow tight again. He stepped back, still gripping the handle of the bucket, and looked up. His father’s face was puzzled. David began quickly.
“Dusty …” He waited, eyes down, until he could talk again.
“Yes?” His father took a step closer.
David took a breath. “Dusty was one of the dogs that killed Morgan’s sheep.”
His dad stared at him. “How do you know?”
“There was blood and wool on him this morning.” David kept his eyes on the ground. “I washed it off.”
His father’s shoulders seemed to sag; he looked away from David. The boy hesitated, then walked to the house, putting the milk bucket on the table. His mother looked at him, but neither said anything. The door opened and David’s father came in and rested his hand on David’s shoulder.
“What do we do now?”
David touched his father’s arm, then walked to the phone. “I’ll call Morgan.”
“Come on.” His father moved toward the door. “Let’s drive over there.” He told David’s mother what had happened; then together they walked through the back door of the kitchen. The screen door banged shut behind them.

It was finally here. My favorite time of the summer: Young Women camp. I was super excited because I was bringing my best friend, who was of another faith.

A few weeks earlier I had started bringing my friend to Mutual. She enjoyed the first activity and wanted to keep coming back. The other girls and I talked a lot about Young Women camp, so when it was almost time for camp, she asked if she could come. I said yes, of course, but the problem was convincing her parents. They weren’t keen on the Mormon religion and had denied her going with me to church before.

I went over to their house to bring the papers for camp and talked to her parents about letting her come, but I wasn’t sure they would let her go. That night I prayed earnestly to Heavenly Father that her parents’ hearts would be softened. I called back the next day and they had agreed to let her go!

I was glad my friend was coming to camp but nervous at the same time. I was scared that she would feel out of place when we played gospel-oriented games or sang hymns around the campfire. I was also scared because I felt like my friend didn’t really care for religion. I spent a lot of time praying that things would all go well at camp.

It turned out that I hadn’t needed to worry. All of us, including my friend, had fun playing games, hiking, and laughing. It was the night hike and testimony meeting, however, that were my favorite parts of camp.

It was stake camp, and every ward had their own campsite. For the night hike, the girls were separated into several groups and then each group took turns going from one campsite to another, where they had different speakers talk on women who had “lived as they believed” (that year’s camp theme). As we sat around the campfires and listened to the different speakers talk about courageous women, we felt the Spirit so strongly.

I glanced from time to time at my friend but couldn’t read her expression and couldn’t tell if she was paying attention to anything the speakers said. As we neared the end of the night hike however, my friend turned to me and the first words out of her mouth touched me deeply.

“I’m going to camp every year.”

I smiled and silently thanked Heavenly Father that my friend had been able to feel the Spirit. She had enjoyed the games and having fun, but she had felt the Spirit, and it was what made her want to come back again.

The next night was our last night at camp and our testimony meeting. My friend was confused as to what a testimony was so I quickly explained as best I could. She didn’t look too excited. After the opening prayer, the bishop and several young women bore beautiful testimonies and the Spirit was very strong.

My friend, who never liked to talk in public, stood up to share her feelings. She explained that even though she was of a different religion, watching us girls read our scriptures and pray had touched her. She said that after being here at camp, she wanted to start being a better person and was going to try to be nicer to her family. She also said that coming to camp was probably the best decision she had ever made. She sat down and I glanced over at her and saw there were tears in her eyes. I had never seen her become emotional or cry, but the Spirit of the Lord touched her so deeply it moved her to tears.

This experience at camp taught me a lot about how the Spirit touches the lives of others and about the power of testimonies. The Spirit can speak to everyone regardless of who they are. I now better understand the importance of having a strong testimony and sharing it with others. The gospel can touch the lives of those you would never expect.

Inclusion and exclusion are common themes when you speak to families with food allergies. Cynthia’s nine-year-old son, who is allergic to peanuts and tree nuts, was anticipating attending a day camp. However, on the morning of the camp, a call came from a leader asking him not to attend. They could not accommodate his allergies.

“I hung up with her and sobbed,” Cynthia recalls, “the sorrowful, bottom-of-my-heart tears for my little guy who was excluded again.”

Katie Edna Steed, disability specialist manager for the Church, notes: “The Savior would leave the 99 and seek after the one. We need to remember that example—to see the one and be aware of the one.”

There is much that members with food allergies and their ward families can do to show love and make church participation safe and inclusive.

What can families with food allergies do?
Families with allergies can explain their needs to leaders and teachers—and communicate again as leaders and teachers change. They can offer to supply safe food and help plan menus and activities. They can provide simple, life-saving training and emergency plans. They will be understanding when members express fear or reservations, but they will patiently educate members and work together to find safe and inclusive options. They should ask for reasonable accommodations that the ward can make and sustain.

What can ward members do?
Ward members can seek to understand individual situations. Ward members should defer to parental instruction about giving food to a child. If food is necessary for an activity or lesson, teachers and leaders can ask individuals and parents if the food will be safe. Ward members can invite individuals and parents to participate and problem solve as circumstances require.

Suzanne has several food allergies. She has been particularly touched by the sensitivity of the priests in her ward as they prepare the sacrament. “I am so humbled by the young men who have made it safe for me to take the sacrament,” she says.

One Sunday, the sacrament was not passed to her. The priests preparing it had noticed that her bread had been cross contaminated by the other bread on the table.

“They found me after sacrament meeting, explained what happened, and told me they had received special permission from the bishop to administer the sacrament to me in a classroom,” Suzanne says. “I cried as they blessed and passed the sacrament in that small room. I could feel the Savior’s love so strongly and His knowledge of how much I had struggled with this challenge.”

“Showing willingness to make a safe environment at church for people with severe allergies is also showing a willingness to bear one another’s burdens,” says Suzanne.

Francesca’s daughter is now in Young Women. Her Young Women president felt prompted to help this family in their burden. “I felt like we needed to do what it took to make sure she was not forced to choose between her safety and her worship,” she said. “I prayed about how we needed to face this situation and felt firmly that we needed to embrace this family and make sure they were fully included.”

Youth leaders accepted the challenge to plan an overnight youth conference that Francesca’s daughter could safely attend. Francesca helped plan the menu and shop for food. The young men power washed the griddles before cooking on them.

“It was wonderful!” says Francesca. “I cried and felt God’s love through their kind, inclusive actions. So did my daughter.”

Tanner’s family has felt many miracles, large and small, since losing their son. They hope increased awareness of food allergies is one of them.

“It’s not that these kids with allergies are irresponsible. It’s not that they aren’t paying attention. But they are kids,” says Tanner’s father, Terry. “It just takes one second of letting your guard down.”

But ministering can help them keep their guard up. “Ministering, by definition, means attending to the needs of others,” says Dr. Olson. “Everything about the Church is based on the needs of the one and making sure their spiritual and physical needs are being met.”

Sharon Eubank, First Counselor in the Relief Society General Presidency, taught: “Christ tenderly told the Nephites, ‘I have commanded that none of you should go away.’ … It is an unwavering requirement of Christian disciples and Latter-day Saints to show true love to one another.”12

For Francesca, after a personal struggle to understand why her child faced the challenge of a food allergy, she came to realize, “Sometimes God heals someone with a disability to show forth His glorious works, and sometimes He allows someone to keep their disability because He wants His works to be made manifest in how others treat that person. God gives us all opportunities to learn to be kind and learn to be like Him by allowing us to be a miracle for someone in their suffering.”

One day I was coming back from my dad’s house. It was Sunday morning, and he asked me if I wanted to stop and get something for breakfast. I definitely wanted to stop. I was hungry, but after we remembered that it was Sunday, I told him that I didn’t want to stop. I wanted to keep the Sabbath day holy. That day I was happy because I did what was right. And I also helped my dad to choose the right. Good choices help me feel the Holy Ghost.
Isaac J., age 8, Idaho, USA

“I’m scared,” Ada said. It was her first day of school in Taiwan. But she didn’t speak Chinese like the other students. How could she make friends? Who would she play with at break time?
Mom gave Ada a big hug. “It’s OK to be scared.”
Ada frowned. “I don’t know how to make friends here.”
Mom gave her another hug. “If you get nervous, maybe you can think of a Primary song. Will that help?”
Ada nodded. Then she walked with Mom to her classroom. Her teacher was waiting for her. “Ni hao!” the teacher said. Ada tried to smile. She didn’t know what those words meant.
Ada said goodbye to Mom. Then she found a desk and sat down.
She looked at the other kids. Some of them were talking to each other. Others sat quietly like Ada. Ada was nervous. It felt like bees were buzzing in her stomach.
Then Ada saw a girl who was crying. Ada wanted to help her. But how could she help when she couldn’t speak Chinese? What if the girl didn’t want help?
But then Ada did what Mom said. She thought of the words of her favorite Primary song: “Love one another as Jesus loves you.” Ada knew the Holy Ghost was asking her to help.
Ada sat next to the girl. She put her arm around her. Then she patted her back like Mom did when Ada was sad. The girl stopped crying! She hugged Ada back.
Ada pointed to herself. “Ada.”
The girl pointed to herself. “Mei,” she said.
Ada smiled. She sat by Mei the rest of the day. Even though they didn’t speak the same language, they had fun together. They ate their lunches together. They played together at recess. And Mei helped Ada learn new words in Chinese!
Ada couldn’t wait to tell Mom about her new friend. She knew that if she followed Jesus, she wouldn’t have to be afraid of anything.
This story took place in Taiwan.

Photographs by Richard M. Romney
Many exciting changes have come to the Church thanks to inspiration received by President Russell M. Nelson. Two of these changes have had a direct impact on the Clarkson brothers from California, USA:
Young men can now be ordained to a priesthood office in January of the year they turn 12, 14, and 16.
Youth are eligible to obtain a limited-use temple recommend beginning in January of the year they turn 12.
For brothers Matthew (15), Andrew (13), and Isaac (11), these changes have brought new opportunities to serve and progress in the gospel of Jesus Christ—not just on their own but together.
In January 2019, Matthew, Andrew, and Isaac all experienced a day of firsts. Andrew says: “Matthew became a priest, I became a teacher, and Isaac became a deacon at the same time. None of us were at the ages where we would have advanced before.”
“On my first day being a priest,” Matthew says, “I broke the bread for the sacrament and blessed it. I was kind of nervous. My hands were shaking a little bit when I said the prayer, but it was really amazing.”
New to the Aaronic Priesthood, Isaac now has the chance to learn from his older brothers. “It was cool because I was with my brothers and some of their friends,” Isaac says. “I felt the Spirit when I passed the sacrament for the first time.”
Along with receiving the Aaronic Priesthood and passing the sacrament, Isaac also attended the temple to perform baptisms. His father baptized him first, but then came a surprise:
“I got to baptize my brother!” Matthew says.
“I never expected Matthew to baptize me,” Isaac says. “But he’s a priest now, so he could. It was really a cool experience. I could feel the Holy Ghost.”
Matthew, Andrew, and Isaac aren’t the only brothers in the Clarkson family. There are four more: Levi (9), Eli (7), Sam (4), and Titus (2), and a baby on the way.
When President Nelson invited the women of the Church in October 2018 general conference to read the Book of Mormon before the end of the year, Matthew, Andrew, and Isaac, along with their father and younger brothers, decided to offer Mom their support. “We’ll read it with you!” they said. Every morning before seminary, they woke up to read together.
“When we took on this challenge, I thought it was going to take a lot of time,” Andrew says. “I worried that I wouldn’t have enough time to do everything I wanted to do, like play the guitar or hang out with my friends. But I realized that it just doesn’t work like that. The more I was into reading the Book of Mormon, the more time I actually seemed to have. I realized that if I keep up on reading the scriptures as much as possible, my life is balanced. I have more time in the day.”
Matthew was going through a hard time when the family started reading every morning. He says, “I wasn’t doing well in school. I struggled with my personal scripture study and my relationship with Heavenly Father, and I kept it all to myself. I didn’t talk about it with my parents.”
However, as Matthew spent more time reading the Book of Mormon, the gospel began to take first priority in his life. He also put more effort into school. He worked hard and got his grades up.
“I also realized how much Heavenly Father and my parents love me and how much they help me. And I have a greater testimony of Jesus Christ. He has helped me overcome bad habits and helped me get my life headed in the right direction. I’m so glad we took President Nelson’s challenge as a family. It changed my life.”
Accepting President Nelson’s invitation also strengthened Isaac’s testimony. “We circled the words God, Lord, Redeemer, Savior, and Christ every time we found them,” he says. “On the day we finished, I flipped through the Book of Mormon and saw all the words I had circled. I thought, ‘Man, that’s a lot!’ I had never noticed how many there were. I felt much more spiritual reading the Book of Mormon. I’m glad we did it.”
Matthew, Andrew, and Isaac are amazed that their family finished the Book of Mormon in just two months. “It usually takes us a year,” Isaac says. Together, they discovered the blessings of following the prophet’s invitation.
“If you do what you’re supposed to do,” Andrew says, “like building a relationship with Heavenly Father through prayer, scripture study, and staying fully active in the Church, life is so much better.”
These three brothers have helped each other progress in the gospel. They follow the prophet, who has called on members “to increase their faith in our Lord Jesus Christ and in His Atonement, to … [make] and [keep] their covenants with God, and to strengthen … their families.”1