Gospel Story Finder

Twelve-year-old Saajan has never seen a temple in person.
“My mom has always had a goal to go to the temple,” Saajan said. “Her love for the temple is contagious. Now my goal in life is to visit the temple.”
Saajan was born in India, but when his parents got divorced, he moved with his mom to the United Arab Emirates. “My mom works really hard. She’s like a superhero to me. Even during the hard times, she never gives up.”
Saajan’s mom and grandma joined the Church in India a few years before he was born. They read the Book of Mormon and knew it was an answer to their prayers. Saajan grew up going to church with his mom, and he was recently baptized after waiting for his father’s permission.
“Getting baptized was one of the best choices I have ever made,” he said. “And when I received the gift of the Holy Ghost, I felt so warm and joyful inside.”
Now Saajan is passing the sacrament for his ward and preparing to enter the temple. He received his temple recommend, and he can’t wait to enter the Dubai United Arab Emirates Temple when it is finished.
“When I heard that they announced the temple, I personally felt it was for me,” Saajan said. “It was an answer to our prayers. I was shocked because they’re building it right where we live! I will be able to take a train directly to the temple and go as often as I want. I’m also excited for the Bengaluru India Temple that my grandparents will be able to visit.”
Saajan is excited for his grandparents to have the Bengaluru India Temple near them.
Saajan wants to do temple work for his other ancestors as well.
“I’m preparing myself so that I will be worthy to enter the temple. I want to do what I can to help all of my ancestors. I have such an exciting opportunity to serve the Lord and do the things pertaining to the kingdom of God.”

One year ago, to earn money to prepare to go on a mission, I joined a Chinese folk dance group going to Japan. I was not allowed to leave the group to go to church because it was such a long way to go. Fortunately though, two missionaries, Elder Porter and Elder Anderson, came to visit me and brought me Church magazines to read. They had to travel a long way, but they knew how much I needed contact with the Church. The Church magazines really helped me while I was unable to attend church.
For six months now I have been a full-time missionary preaching the gospel to my own people in the Taiwan Taipei Mission. I really appreciate the Church magazines and the two dedicated missionaries who brought them to me and encouraged me to go on a mission.
Victoria Jang Lien RongTaiwan Taipei Mission

Primary was over, and 10-year-old Ruben was looking for the missionaries. They were going to walk home with him. Elder Sánchez and Elder Rojas had taught Ruben and his older brother, Diego, the missionary lessons and had baptized and confirmed them. Now Ruben thought of them as his best friends.
Ruben looked through the window of a closed classroom door. There they were! But what were they doing? Their hands were on the head of a man in the ward, and it looked like they were saying a prayer like they had when Ruben was confirmed.
When they came out of the room, he asked the missionaries, “What were you doing?”
“We were giving Brother Mendoza a priesthood blessing,” said Elder Sánchez. “It’s like a special prayer, and it can give comfort, help someone know how to solve a problem, or even heal someone who is sick.”
The next Sunday, Ruben looked for the missionaries after church again. “Can you come to my house and give my mamá a blessing?” he asked. “Her back is hurting a lot.”
They all hurried to Ruben’s house. Elder Sánchez and Elder Rojas talked to Ruben’s mamá. She was a member of the Church, but she had not been to church for a long time.
“We understand you are not feeling well, Sister Garcia,” Elder Rojas said.
“My back has been hurting badly for several weeks,” she told them. “I have met with many doctors, but they haven’t been able to help me.”
“Ruben asked us to come and give you a priesthood blessing,” Elder Sánchez said. “Would you like us to do that?”
“Oh yes, please,” Mamá said.
As the missionaries put their hands on her head and gave her a blessing, tears rolled down Mamá’s cheeks. When they were finished, Ruben hugged her. “I know the blessing will help you,” he told her.
Three days later the missionaries returned to see how Ruben’s mamá was feeling. “I am so happy to see you,” she told them. “The pain in my back started to go away after you gave me the blessing, and now it is completely gone!”
“Heavenly Father healed you, Sister Garcia,” Elder Sánchez said. “And He allowed us to help Him by using our priesthood authority to bless you.”
The next Sunday—and every Sunday after that—Mamá went to church with Ruben and Diego. She knew that the power of the priesthood was real, and so did Ruben.

Praying for Missy
One day after a big storm, my friend’s cat, Missy, was missing. We looked all over, but we couldn’t find her. I said that we could pray. My friends weren’t sure how, so I showed them. We all knelt down and each said our own prayer. Then we got up and started looking again. A girl ran over to us and said she found Missy! I was happy that I shared part of the gospel with my friends.

My parents’ lives together began in an unusual way. It was 1936. They were dating seriously and were planning to marry, when my dad received a letter inviting him to serve as a full-time missionary in South Africa. The letter said that if he was worthy and willing to serve, he was to contact his bishop. You can quickly see that the process of being called as a missionary was very different in those days! Dad showed the letter to his sweetheart, Helen, and they determined without question he would serve.

For two weeks before he left, Mom met Dad each day for a picnic lunch in Memory Grove near downtown Salt Lake City. During one of their lunches, having sought direction through fasting and prayer, Mother told her dear Claron that if he still wanted to, she would marry him before he left. In the early days of the Church, men were sometimes called to missionary service and left wives and families at home. So it was with my mother and dad. With the approval of his priesthood leaders, they decided to be married before he departed for his mission.

In the Salt Lake Temple, Mother received her endowment, and then they were married for time and all eternity by President David O. McKay. Theirs was a humble beginning. There were no photographs, no beautiful wedding dress, no flowers, and no reception to celebrate the occasion. Their clear focus was on the temple and their covenants. For them, the covenants were everything. After only six days of marriage and with a tearful good-bye, my dad left for South Africa.

But their marriage was more than just the deep love they had for each other. They also had a love of the Lord and a desire to serve Him. The sacred temple covenants they had made gave them strength and power to carry them through the two years of separation. They had an eternal perspective of life’s purpose and of promised blessings that come to those who are faithful to their covenants. All these blessings transcended their short-term sacrifice and separation.

While it certainly wasn’t an easy way to begin married life, it proved to be an ideal way to lay a foundation for an eternal family. As children came along, we knew what mattered most to our parents. It was their love for the Lord and their unwavering commitment to keeping the covenants they had made. Though my parents have both passed away, their pattern of righteousness is blessing our family still.

The example of their lives is reflected in the words of Sister Linda K. Burton: “The best way to strengthen a home, current or future, is to keep covenants.”2

I recall an experience from pilot training in World War II. Air cadets were posted to colleges for ground training. We were assigned to Washington State University at Pullman. Eight of us who had never met were assigned to the same room. The first evening we introduced ourselves.
The first to speak was from a wealthy family in the East. He described the private schools he had attended. He said that each summer their family had “gone on the Continent.” I had no way of knowing that meant they had traveled to Europe.
The father of the next had been governor of Ohio and at that time was in the president’s cabinet.
And so it went. I was younger than most, and it was my first time away from home. Each had attended college, I had not. In fact, there was nothing to distinguish me at all.
When finally I got the courage to speak, I said, “I come from a little town in Utah that you have never heard of. I come from a large family, eleven children. My father is a mechanic and runs a little garage.”
I said that my great-grandfather had joined the Church and come west with the pioneers.
To my surprise and relief, I was accepted. My faith and my obscurity were not a penalty.
From then until now I have never felt uncomfortable among people of wealth or achievement, of high station or of low. Nor have I been ashamed of my heritage or of the Church, or felt the need to apologize for any of its doctrines, even those I could not defend to the satisfaction of everyone who might ask.

I stared at the note on my desk. For a long time I tried to ignore it. But finally I unfolded it and read:
Nicole, I am soooo sorry! Please forgive me.
Your friend 4ever,
Laurie
I crumpled up the note—loudly, so that Laurie would get my point. Then I threw it in the wastebasket and glanced over at her. She looked as though she was going to cry.
When the bell rang, I headed out the door as quickly as possible. I could hear her calling to me, but I just kept walking. When I got to the gate of the school, I finally turned around. “Stop following me,” I told her. “I’m not going to forgive you, Laurie—not ever.”
“But—”
“You told lies about me!” I yelled. “I was nice to you. I was your friend. And what did you do? You told lies about me!”
Laurie’s eyes were full of tears. “Nicole, please, I’m so sorry.”
I just gritted my teeth. “I hope it’s worth it to you—being friends with Sharon and Beth.”
“They’re not my friends.”
“Then you really blew it, didn’t you?” With that said, I stormed away.
When I got home, I was still so angry with Laurie that my stomach was in knots. Around five o’clock, my best friend, Audrey, called. “Laurie just left here,” she said. “She wanted me to talk to you and ask you to forgive her.”
“She walked all the way to your house?”
“Yes, I guess so.” Audrey sighed. “Anyway, she wanted me to tell you why she lied. She went over to Beth’s house after dance class, and Sharon was there, and …”
Audrey continued talking, but I hardly listened. I didn’t care why Laurie lied. All that mattered to me was that she did.
“Anyway,” Audrey said when she’d finished her story, “Laurie feels really bad. She wants you to forgive her.”
“I’m not going to—not ever.”
The next day, Megan talked about uninviting Laurie to her party. “The only reason I even invited her was because you told me to.”
“Or she could come,” Kim put in, a mischievous grin on her face, “and when she’s not looking, we can squirt ketchup down her back, and …” Kim continued, suggesting all sorts of mean things we could do.
Everyone seemed to think it was a great plan. Everyone but Audrey and me. I glanced over at her, and she gave me a grim look. Audrey is really nice. She’s not into doing mean things—that’s one reason she’s my best friend.
“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” I told them.
“What do you mean?” Kim asked. “We’re doing this for you. Laurie told lies about you.”
“I know. And I’m mad at her, but—”
The bell rang and we went back to class.
For the rest of the week, my friends came up with meaner and meaner things to do to Laurie. I felt sick. I couldn’t forgive Laurie, but I couldn’t do horrible things to her, either. I didn’t know what to do.
On Sunday, I didn’t want to go to church. I had to give a talk in Primary on forgiveness. The week before, when Sister Sharp assigned me the talk, forgiveness had seemed like a good topic. People do things wrong sometimes, and it’s important to forgive them. When we do things wrong, we want Heavenly Father to forgive us. We should do the same for others.
Well, all of that seemed great last Sunday when I wrote the talk—but that was before I knew about Laurie’s lies.
Still, no matter how hard I begged, my mom wouldn’t let me stay home. “Sister Sharp is counting on you to give your talk.”
So I went to Primary and gave my talk. But I felt like a big fake. There I was, talking about how Jesus forgave everyone, even the people who nailed Him to the cross. And I couldn’t forgive Laurie. I felt awful.
Sunday night, I finally knew that I had to forgive her. But knowing you should do something and actually doing it are two different things. I didn’t like feeling upset and angry, yet how could I forgive Laurie for betraying me? I couldn’t even pray anymore because of the guilt I was feeling.
I woke up in the middle of the night from a nightmare. I’d dreamed that Laurie came to Megan’s party and we were all really mean to her. Somehow—I’m not sure how we did it—we knocked out all of her teeth. Laurie was crying and looking at me with no teeth. “Will you forgive me now?” she asked.
I couldn’t go back to sleep. Finally I threw off my covers and knelt at the side of my bed. “Heavenly Father,” I cried, “Please help me forgive Laurie.”
I explained to Him why it was so hard for me to forgive her. “I was nice to Laurie. She was new in our class, and no one else would talk to her. But I went out of my way to be her friend, and I had my friends be friends with her, too. And then she told lies about me.”
I told Heavenly Father what Audrey had told me on the phone the other day, that two of our classmates, Beth and Sharon, had made her feel stupid. Laurie had told them the lies so that they would not be mean to her anymore.
“What she did was wrong,” I told Heavenly Father, “but—”
Suddenly I didn’t feel angry anymore. I mostly felt sorry for Laurie—sorry that she’d felt that she needed to lie. It’s hard to go to a new school and have to make new friends, especially when some are being unfriendly.
So I forgave Laurie. But talking my friends into forgiving her wasn’t easy. After talking with Audrey, I told them, “If you’re still planning on doing mean things to Laurie, then Audrey and I won’t come to your party. We’ll have our own party and invite Laurie.”
“Nicole, calm down,” Kim said with a laugh. “If you think she’s worth another chance, we’ll give her one.”
“She’s worth it,” I told them. “Everyone is worth it.” Jesus Christ taught me that.

Then one evening, so late that my thinker had stopped working for the day, Arnfinn challenged me to an IQ test. He sat down on one side of the dining room table and started making up equations and mathematical formulas in order to answer the questions. I was on the opposite side of the table drawing pictures to solve the problems presented. We finished and compared our test answers, only to find that we had achieved the same answers. That’s when I realized that the test was similar to our lives together.
Let me explain: He does things one way, and I do them another. But we have the same goal, even though the way there may vary. Reaching that goal is like the IQ test: while he makes equations and I draw pictures, we still get to the same answers.
I know I could never do his job as a lawyer, and I am pretty sure he would find my line of work as a writer and water-color artist difficult. The trick has been to find him cute when he does things differently from me instead of being annoyed. Difference can be an exciting learning experience if we let it. I told Arnfinn one day, “If you can teach me some things and maybe I can teach you some, we will turn out OK one day.” We both have to be teachable, and it’s an ongoing process. Admiration has become a key word.

“Everyone out to the car,” Mr. Johnson called to his family as he opened the front door. “Church begins soon.”
There was a bustle of last-minute activity as scriptures were gathered up, hair ribbons tied, and sweaters donned. Mrs. Johnson came hurrying from the bedroom, with baby Alice in one arm and her bag of Primary materials in the other.
“Wait for me,” four-year-old Thomas called as he headed to his bedroom to put on his socks and shoes. When he came out of the bedroom, he heard the sound of the car backing out of the driveway. He threw down his shoes and ran to the door, but by the time he got there, the car was rounding the bend in the road. No one saw Thomas slump down in the doorway. Tears filled the corners of his eyes until they spilled down his cheeks. “I was coming,” he cried softly.
When his feet started to get cold, Thomas went inside, shut the door, and locked it. He remembered Mom telling them that they should keep the door locked when she and Dad weren’t home. He kicked one of his shoes angrily as he walked to the couch and threw himself onto it. I wish I had put my shoes on when Mom told me to, he thought sadly. Then I would have been ready when Dad called.
After crying for a few minutes, Thomas began to get frightened. He’d never been at home by himself before. He tried to think about another time when he’d felt frightened and about what he’d done then. A few nights earlier he had had a scary dream. When his mother came into his bedroom to comfort him, she had helped him offer a prayer to Heavenly Father. “You can ask Heavenly Father to give you a feeling of peace any time you are frightened,” she had told him.
He knelt down now by the couch and wiped the tears from his eyes. He folded his arms, closed his eyes, and bowed his head. “Dear Heavenly Father,” he began, “I’m sorry I didn’t put on my shoes and socks when I was told to. Please help Dad come back to get me, and help me to not be afraid. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
He still felt a little nervous as he sat on the couch and looked around the living room. Then he saw the photograph on the piano. He quickly climbed onto the piano bench and picked up the photograph. He sat on the couch and studied it carefully. Then he hugged it close to him. Peace filled his heart.
A few minutes later he heard the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. He knelt on the couch and looked out the big window. It was Dad! His father ran up the steps, unlocked the door, and called out, “Thomas? Where are you, Buddy!”
“I’m right here, Dad.”
“I’m so sorry we left you!” Dad gave him a big hug. “Were you scared?”
“At first,” Thomas admitted. “Then I said a prayer. And then I saw this.” He showed Dad the picture of the family dressed in white, standing in front of the Logan Temple. “I remembered that our family is forever, so I knew you’d be back for me.”
“You weren’t the only one praying, Son,” Dad said with tears in his eyes. “I had a prayer in my heart that Heavenly Father would comfort you until I could get home. And now I see how He did.”
“You put the picture back, and I’ll put on my shoes,” Thomas suggested. “Then we can go to church together.”
“Together forever,” Dad said with a wink.

I’m so hungry!
Me too. Let’s stop here.
Hmm. I’ll just have a snack at home.
Want one? Here.
Oh, I didn’t see you pay for it.
Oh … uh … I didn’t. I just took it. Some of the other kids take stuff all the time.
I can’t take this. I wouldn’t feel good about it.
I don’t really feel that good about it either.
I think I know what will make us both feel better.
You were right. I feel a lot better after taking it back.
Me too. It always feels good to do the right thing.

My beloved brothers and sisters, I am grateful for this opportunity that is mine to bear witness of the divinity of this great work and testify to all the world that we are led by a prophet of God. I don’t think I’ve heard any more convincing words of love than those I’ve heard when I’ve been in the temple with President Benson and his dedicated Counselors and he says, “I love you, my Brethren. I love every one of you.” From the depths of his heart, he has proclaimed to us the true significance of love for our fellowmen.
A few years ago while we were in Sydney, Australia, my wife and I received a letter from one of our grandchildren. He wrote: “Dear Grandma and Grandpa, I just turned twelve years of age, and the bishop called me into the office, and he said, ‘I have some questions to ask of you, Bruce. Bruce, you’re twelve years of age now, and so I need to know if you love the Lord.’ I told him I do. ‘Do you say bad words, Bruce?’ ‘No, bishop, I never say bad words.’ ‘Do you love your mother and dad?’ ‘Yes, bishop, I do.’ ‘Do you pay your tithing, Bruce?’ ‘Yes I do, bishop.’
“You know, Grandpa and Grandma, the bishop said that I could receive the Aaronic Priesthood because I was twelve years of age, and he asked me if I knew what the Aaronic Priesthood was. I told him that I knew a little bit and that I could be ordained a deacon. You know, the next week the bishop asked who I would like to be ordained by. I said I would like to be ordained by my dad. So my dad put his hands upon my head, and the bishop stood around and so did my uncles, and my dad conferred the Aaronic Priesthood upon me and ordained me a deacon.
“Now, Grandma and Grandpa, you’re a long way away, but I know that you’re a General Authority and some day you’ll come home. You know, I can’t wait until you come home because I know you’ll sit on the stand, and then Grandpa, I can pass the sacrament to you.”
I think that is the true meaning of love, of families.
I express my love to my devoted sweetheart and eternal companion. I’m grateful for the matriarch that she is in our family. I am grateful for each of our children; I am grateful for their families. I’m grateful to the Lord Jesus Christ for his atoning sacrifice. I’ve come to know him more assuredly as I have sat in council with your great leaders. I testify to you that they are men of God.
I like a scripture that I reflect upon frequently, and I think of it when I think of them, “For they were set to be a light unto the world, and to be the saviors of men.” (D&C 103:9.) I bear witness that those who come into the kingdom will eventually say unto them who have helped them come into the kingdom, “You were a light unto me, and I acknowledge you as literally being a savior to me.”
Another of my favorite scriptures that I would like to share with you is, “Search diligently, pray always, and be believing, and all things shall work together for your good, if ye walk uprightly and remember the covenant wherewith ye have covenanted one with another.” (D&C 90:24.)
Inscribed on the granite walls of the temple here in Salt Lake City is the constellation of Ursa Major, or the Great Bear, commonly known to you as the Big Dipper. If you were to project a line through the bottom two stars opposite the handle, it would point to and bisect the North Star. The mariners and those who have been lost at sea or on land have looked to the North Star to find their bearings.
I bear witness that there is, figuratively speaking, a “North Star” leading us today—a beloved prophet of God. Look to him. He will point you to the way of truth and righteousness. Look to the Savior, for he will give you life eternal.
Again I express my love to you, President Benson, to your dedicated and devoted Counselors, to the General Authorities, and to the body of the Church for your love and sustaining influence. We have come to love you in the Pacific islands; we have come to love you in Europe, where we served; we have come to love the Saints all over the world. My lovely companion and I shall ever remember this association with grateful hearts as we continue to bear witness of the atoning sacrifice of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.
I bear witness that the Church has been restored, that Joseph Smith is a prophet of God, as is a living prophet today, President Ezra Taft Benson, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

In recollecting times where I have acknowledged the hand of the Lord in my life, I was reminded of a time when I was eleven years old. I had an accident that punctured my spleen. This required hospitalisation and, in advance of the operation, going without food and drink for what seemed like an eternity. I particularly remember being in a large room, feeling vulnerable and alone in the early hours of the morning. I silently prayed for help to ease my anxiety and discomfort. Within a very short period of time, a nurse came and offered me an ice cube wrapped within a cotton bandage to suck on. The relief and refreshment felt like a luxurious feast. More importantly, however, I recognised and acknowledged the hand of the Lord.
A scripture in Psalms was fulfilled in that hospital bed. That night “I sought the Lord, and he heard me, and delivered me from all my fears”.2 Though this may seem trivial, my attempt to ask and exercise faith was answered. And I had not only felt physical relief, but I also felt that He knew me.

They point to Tiffani as the one who first started formally investigating the Church. During her junior year of high school, she started dating an LDS boy. She began attending church with his family and eventually started meeting with the missionaries in his home. Gradually, she made some changes in her lifestyle. Her friends noticed, but they thought it would pass. But to Tiffani, it was no fad; her testimony had begun.

Meanwhile, after investigating the Church for more than a year and a half, Tiffani was ready to be baptized. Nine days after Sara’s baptism, Tiffani’s baptismal service was held.

My family and I were roasting hot dogs around a campfire when I fell out of my chair and burned my arm. I got a third-degree burn on my elbow. It hurt so bad. My sisters hugged me and tried to make me laugh while my brother went to get my dad’s consecrated oil. My dad gave me a priesthood blessing. He blessed me to heal quickly and feel no more pain. The pain went away. When we went to the hospital, the doctors and nurses were surprised that I was cheerful and talkative. I made them all laugh. I know the blessing helped me to heal quickly. I am thankful my dad has the faith to use the power of the Lord to bless me.

It was a beautiful shawl. Chi-wee could see that clear across the trader’s store. Dark blue on one side and glowing red on the other, and with a fringe of the same two colors, it looked warm and soft.
Chi-wee also saw the look in her mother’s eyes as she passed her hand over its surface. In Chi-wee’s heart a fierce little voice said: “My mother shall have that shawl.”
It was trading day for Chi-wee and her mother. In the early morning they had come in the wagon of Mah-pee-ti the sheepherder. They carried with them the pottery that Chi-wee’s mother had made to trade at the store for food and clothing.
It had been a long, bumpety ride from the high mesa town to the canyon store, a ride over the wide desert of many-changing colors, up and down sandy washes. But it was a ride that Chi-wee dearly loved and of which she never tired. There were many living things to see on the way: prairie dogs, lizards, horned toads, sheep, and sometimes, away in the distance, an antelope or a gray coyote. And then there was always the excitement of wondering whether Mah-pee-ti’s old wagon would hold together when they jostled down a deep wash and struggled up on the other side. But for as many years as Chi-wee could remember, the wagon had always made it.
Now Chi-wee came close to the shawl and felt it with her fingers. It was soft and very warm. “Will you buy it, Mother?” she asked eagerly, laying her cheek on the soft wool.
Her mother shook her head a little sadly. “No, my little one. We must trade today for food and not for the things we do not need.”
“But you do need a shawl—this shawl!”
“We will not speak of it anymore,” said her mother, turning away. “We have money for food only, my daughter.” Then Mother spoke to the trader of the flour, sugar, and grain that she needed.
Chi-wee stood looking at the shawl. Somehow, my mother shall have this beautiful shawl, she resolved. While her mother carried some of the food out to the wagon, Chi-wee went to the trader. “What is the price of that shawl?”
“Six dollars,” answered the trader with a kindly smile. “It is all wool and very warm.”
“Will you trade it to me for the necklace that I have on. See, the shells are the color of the sky when the sun comes up.”
The trader stooped and looked at it. “It is beautiful. I can give you two dollars for it. But I could not exchange the shawl for it. I’m sorry.”
Chi-wee felt her heart grow very heavy, and all the way home she had no eyes for the lizards, rabbits, and prairie dogs that scuttled out of the way, nor for the tumbleweeds and cactus or the faraway blue buttes. Her mind was busy with plans to earn money for the wonderful shawl. But how could she earn that much money before someone else bought it?
She could weave a little, but that took a long time, and it took money to buy the colored wools. She could try to make pottery, but she knew that she couldn’t make it well enough to sell.
When next they went to the trader’s, Chi-wee looked eagerly for the shawl. Hot tears stung her eyelids when she could not find it. “That beautiful shawl—has it been sold yet?” she asked the trader.
He looked at her for a moment with a puzzled frown on his face. “The shawl?” A look of remembrance came into his eyes as he answered her. “No, it’s still here. Do you want to buy it?”
“Yes,” she said quickly, looking to see that her mother was beyond hearing. “I want to buy it, but I have not all the money right now. Here!” and with trembling fingers she unclasped the little shell necklace and thrust it into his hand. “Could you keep the shawl a little while for me? I will bring more next time.”
“I will keep the shawl for you until the end of next month. If you can bring me the rest of the money by then, you shall have the shawl.” He turned to assist the other customers who had entered his store.
The next few weeks were busy ones for Chi-wee, happy ones too. Had her mother not been occupied with her own work, she might have noticed that Chi-wee made many trips into the desert for which she gave no explanation, and when she returned, she seemed to be hiding something. When the next trading day came, there was a bump under the little girl’s shawl that had not been there on other trips.
When they reached the trading post, she handed the trader a big jar of wild honey. Her heart was beating fast with excitement and happiness. She did not tell of the pain caused by the needle-sharp cactus quills that stuck her fingers or of the painful lumps on her arm from the stings of angry bees. There was just deep pride in her voice as she said: “I have brought this to pay on the shawl.”
There was a look she did not understand in the trader’s eyes as he took the honey. He turned quickly and spoke to a stranger standing nearby holding a parcel. Finally he turned back to her. “I’m sorry, little girl. I waited until the end of the month. When you didn’t come, well, I just sold the shawl to this gentleman. Wouldn’t you like any of the other shawls in trade for your bracelet and honey?”
To Chi-wee it seemed as if the world turned black. Her mother’s shawl had been sold to this stranger! She could not speak. Words would not come. Everything began to swim through the sudden rush of tears. She saw the stranger walk to the door with his bundle under his arm, and the trader turn to attend to those who waited at his counter. She stumbled out of the store and into the waiting wagon with a storm of anger and grief in her heart. But she did not cry anymore. She sat in silence all the way home.
When they reached home, Mother called her to help with the parcels in the wagon. “And take your package,” she said. “The stranger said that you bought it from the trader. With what did you buy it, little daughter?”
Chi-wee opened her eyes wide and stood as still as a statue while her mother placed the package in her arms. Then she tore off the paper. There was the shawl—her mother’s shawl! Attached to one corner was a little card. On it was written: “It is your love for your mother that has bought this shawl, little girl of the mesa. And it is my love for a little girl like you that gives you back your precious treasure.” And there, beside the shawl, wrapped in a bit of paper, was her pink shell necklace. Now Chi-wee cried hard—but the tears were tears of happiness as she gave the shawl to her mother.

One summer evening my parents and I swung in the squeaky glider on the front porch and fanned ourselves with the evening’s Register-Mail. We were hopefully searching the twilit skies for a thundercloud, but only heat lightning appeared to lick the sky.
A train clattered by on the tracks across the road, then tooted as it passed the State Street intersection. Daddy pulled out his pocket watch and remarked, “Mail train’s right on time.” Then he continued, “Dulcy, you ought to get to sleep a little earlier tonight. The circus train starts unloading at five o’clock in the morning.”
I knew he was right but I hated to miss the nightly game of hide-and-seek with my friends, the Shane kids, who were just coming up the walk.
“Dulcy, can you play?” Emmalou called. “Walter said he’d be it.“
“Not tonight, I have to go to bed early.”
They drifted away as Mama said, “Dulcy, before you go upstairs, there’s something Daddy and I would like to tell you.”
We got up, brushed june bugs off the screen door, and went inside to sit down by the dining room table. Mama fidgeted with the bowl of zinnias in the center of the table. “We received a letter from my cousin Martha today. She’s sick and needs someone to look after her boy. He’s coming tonight,” she said.
“Oh boy!” I exclaimed. “Someone new to play with. Will he stay all summer?”
“No, just for a few days. His grandma is driving up from Missouri. He’ll spend the summer with her.”
“How old is he?”
“About your age, maybe a little younger,” Daddy put in.
“Dulcy, I want you to show him kindness and understanding while he’s here,” Mama continued. “He’s not had much.”
“Yes, Mama.”
“Now brush your teeth and go to bed.”
Upstairs I decided to count to a million by fives, determined not to go to sleep until the boy arrived. But I never made it past one hundred and fifty.
It seemed only moments later when my Mickey Mouse alarm clock rang. And even before I opened my eyes, I knew something in the room had changed. My white china dogs still marched on their shelves; the dolls and stuffed animals still sat in their corners. What was different? Then, from deep within a heavy comforter over the daybed, came a muffled sound.
“Is that you Clipper?” I said, wondering if my dog would emerge. “You’ll get fleas on Grandma’s quilt.”
The comforter was tugged downward to reveal the largest dark eyes I’d ever seen. “Good morning.” I said. “My name’s Dulcy. What’s yours?”
“Jebediah E. Banks,” came the answer.
“That’s a big name for a little boy like you.”
“It was my Granddaddy’s, and I reckon I’ll grow into it.”
“Till you do, I’ll just call you Jeb. Do you want to see the circus train unload?”
We sat side by side on the window seat while, across the road on the spur track from Peoria, the spectacle began. Work lights cast a yellow pall on the scene and threw long, grotesque shadows upward into the nearby trees. Men dressed in overalls worked swiftly, lifting machinery, tying off ropes, and transferring the calliope to a waiting truck. Animal handlers in knee-high boots helped maneuver red and gold cages off the flatcars with only an occasional snarl of protest from within. In their slow, plodding manner, the elephants carried poles and timber in their trunks without a sound or gesture from anyone.
I cast a glance at Jeb.
“Is it real?” he whispered.
“Of course it is,” I replied.
He turned to stare at me questioningly. “But the elephants,” he said, “they’re yellow.”
“They just look that way on account of the lights.”
When the train was completely unloaded, we climbed back into our beds. I lay staring at the ceiling, puzzled about Jeb. How can a boy of seven or eight not know what’s real and what isn’t? I wondered. After breakfast, I’ll have to teach him the difference.
That morning Jeb and I sat on the porch steps while I figured out what to do. But Mama already had plans. She came out and handed me a brown paper sack. “You and Jeb take these string beans down to Grandma so she can cook them for supper. Hurry along now.”
Our bare feet slapped on the hot sidewalk as we hurried the two blocks to Grandma’s house. “Grandma,” I called as we went in the back door. Then I saw the note on the kitchen table.
“DULCY,” it read, “HAVE GONE TO STORE. HAVE SOME COOKIES.”
I pulled out the brown stone cookie jar and we selected two ginger drops each. As we sat at the table and made the cookies last as long as possible by eating around the edges, I said, “Jeb, I’m going to show you the difference between what’s real and what isn’t. I’ll show you make believe first.” Then I went to the pantry.
I carried about a dozen bottles and cans of different kinds to the table. I arranged them with the tallest in the middle, flanked by the next tallest on either side, then the next in height, until the shortest bottles stood at the ends on each side.
This is a pretend game I made up,” I explained. “You’re going to be the only other person in the whole world to know about it.” His dark eyes brightened slightly.
“This is my Sunday School class,” I began. Then I introduced him to the containers that were pretend pupils, each with a name and with a part to give as they stepped out of line to say their pieces, the way my real class does for the special Mother’s Day program every year. For the grand finale, the Sunday School-bottle class sang, “Mother, I Love You” before they were dismissed. Naturally, I said all the pieces and sang the song; and the bottle named Dulcy knew her pieces best and the one named Walter forgot his.
“Now it’s your turn,” I told Jeb.
He traced the design on Grandma’s tablecloth before he said, “I don’t know how.”
“Just try,” I pleaded.
“No, I can’t do it,” he insisted.
“Then let’s go home,” I snapped as I put the bottles away.
Later, we sat under the pear tree in my backyard.
“Are you mad at me?” Jeb asked.
“No.” But I didn’t sound much like I meant it.
Moments later I turned to look at him and found him staring straight up into the tree. “What in the world are you looking at?” I asked, giving him a nudge.
Slowly, very slowly, he said, “There’s a yellow elephant sitting right up there.” He pointed to the highest branch.
I looked up before I realized what had happened. “Jeb!” I squealed. “You’ve learned how to pretend!”
We climbed as high as we dared and stayed in the tree the rest of the day. Mama sent our lunch up to us on a rope pulley and in the afternoon brought out a sack of fresh sugar cookies.
The next day we climbed back into the pear tree after breakfast. In the late afternoon it began to rain and Mama called us inside. We cut through the garden as Jeb said, “Tomorrow, let’s get up earlier and play with my elephant.”
“Tomorrow your grandma is coming and you have to go to Missouri.”
“I can’t go.” He stopped by a neat row of calendulas. “I can’t leave my elephant.”
“Don’t be silly,” I told him, looking up into the rain so it would pepper my face. “There isn’t any elephant in the pear tree.”
He pulled back his arm and doubled up his fist as though he were going to hit me, but I managed to get out of the way. Mama appeared before we had time to do any damage to each other. “Dulcy,” she shouted, grabbing me by my collar. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, picking on a child so much smaller.” Jeb slipped away from her and climbed back into the pear tree. “I’m going to call your father,” Mama said, looking at me. She turned toward the house, but I headed for the pear tree.
“Come on down, Jeb,” I said.
“No!” he declared, sobbing. “I’m never coming down. I’m going to stay with my elephant forever. He’s the only one in the world who loves me.”
And right there I should have told him. I should have said, “I love you, too, Jeb.” But I didn’t because I was only ten, and was still smarting from our verbal battle.
“Well then, why don’t you take your stupid elephant and go join the circus?” I shouted, and turned and ran through the downpour into the house.
Soon Daddy came home and gently coaxed Jeb out of the tree. Mama spooned hot potato soup into him and put him to bed. The next morning I awoke early to a dully, gray dawn, heavy with moisture. Jeb’s bed was vacant. I hurried down the hall and shook Mama.
“Has Jeb gone to Missouri already?”
Her eyes widened in alarm and together we ran to my room. His pajamas were neatly folded on the quilt, the only evidence that he’d ever been there. We woke Daddy and the search began.
Thinking of the pear tree first, we went outside, using Daddy’s flashlight to cast a beam into the mother of pearl mist hanging on the branches. The tree was strangely empty, emptier than yesterday, and I had the craziest feeling that Jeb really had taken his elephant with him.
Then I remembered what I’d said to him. I told my folks that Jeb liked the circus a lot, so we headed for the fairgrounds.
Daddy and the manager organized a search. While acrobats in robes of scarlet scoured the main tent, a family of midgets hurried to the clown’s wagon. The bearded lady kept Mama and me company, reassuring us this had happened a thousand times before, and they knew just where to look for a runaway boy.
The sun broke through the overcast and I managed to slip away to find the elephants.
They were staked near some scrub oaks, and I found Jeb sitting in the shade nearby. When he saw me, he said, “They’re not yellow, Dulcy. Only mine is yellow.”
On the way home all I managed to say was, “I’m glad you found your elephant, Jeb.” I wanted to say more but the time for that had passed.
The moment we turned onto Second Street, we saw the old Packard coupe with the Missouri license plate parked in front of our house. As we pulled into the driveway a lumpy, middle-aged woman with set lines on her face hurried out of Mrs. Adams’s house next door. I knew she must be Jeb’s grandma.
Within moments she had taken him by the hand and walked to the Packard. Jeb paused with one foot on the running board, shook his hand free, and turned around. He stared at me with those sad brown eyes for one long moment, but without any sign of farewell or that he’d ever known us. Then he turned and climbed into the car and they chuffed up the street, turned onto Pearl, and disappeared.
I hope he took his elephant. It’s all I had to give him.

The missionaries first traveled east to New Bedford, Massachusetts, where they hoped to find a ship going to their mission area. When they couldn’t find one, they booked passage on a ship traveling to the Society Islands (French Polynesian Islands) in the South Pacific. They set sail on 9 October 1843.
After they had been at sea only a few weeks, Elder Hanks, a young man who had suffered from ill health, died and was buried in the Atlantic Ocean. The three remaining missionaries continued on. Their voyage took them east and south across the Atlantic, around the Cape of Good Hope, across the Indian Ocean, along the southern coast of Australia, and into the Pacific.
The first island reached by the ship was Tubuai in 1844. The people there showed the missionaries kindness and hospitality, and when some of the people pleaded with the elders to stay, Addison Pratt left the ship to teach them. Serving alone there for many months, struggling to learn the Polynesian language, he baptized 60 out of a population of 200 and organized the first branch of the Church in the South Pacific. To this day, the Latter-day Saint community on Tubuai is a strong one.
Elder Pratt’s two former companions traveled on to Tahiti, where their teaching met with far less success. After a few months, Elder Rogers traveled west to a small group of islands and Elder Grouard sailed to the island of Anaa in the Tuamotus. Elder Rogers again met with little success and much opposition. When rumors finally reached him of the death of the Prophet Joseph Smith, he began to fear for the safety of his family in Nauvoo, and he returned to America. He died during the exodus from Nauvoo.
The people of Anaa, on the other hand, came to greatly love Elder Grouard. He was the first white missionary of any religion to come to their island, and many of them accepted the truth he taught. He baptized over 600 people, organized five branches, and called local officers to serve. He wrote to Elder Pratt and asked him to come to Anaa, as there was too much work for him to do alone.
Elder Pratt responded to his companion’s invitation, and a conference of the Church was held on Anaa with more than 800 in attendance. At this time Addison Pratt decided to travel back to Church headquarters to request more missionaries to help in the work in the South Pacific. Leaving Elder Grouard behind, he traveled first to California, then to the Salt Lake Valley, arriving in September 1848, one week after his wife and four daughters had arrived there from Winter Quarters.
He shared his experiences with the Saints, taught Tahitian classes, and prepared to return to Polynesia. In 1850 he set out with a new companion, James S. Brown, and the promise that his own family and other missionary families would soon follow. They did follow, and despite growing problems with the French government in the islands, the missionaries and their families served until 1852, when they were forced to return to America.
Forty years passed before LDS missionaries were allowed back into French Polynesia. When they returned, the missionaries found that many members had remained faithful despite the lack of contact with Church headquarters, but many others had fallen away. The work began anew in 1892 and has continued with a few interruptions to this day. The gospel truth has shone in these islands for 150 years!
There are now four stakes in the Society Islands, and a beautiful temple stands in Papeete, on the island of Tahiti. The stories of the early missionaries are remembered and shared often by those who now send their own sons and daughters as missionaries to other countries and other islands.*

The raspberries were red, ripe, and juicy. Whitney had never seen quite so many. Mom had bought several large containers when they were on sale, and now she wanted Whitney to help her make jam. Whitney loved jam on toast in the mornings or on hot rolls when they came out of the oven. Her mouth watered at the thought of the treat.
Mom lifted a sack of sugar out of the storage bucket. “Start putting the raspberries in the strainer,” she instructed. “Then run them under the water in the sink until they’re clean. Be sure to pick out any bits of leaves you find.”
Whitney filled the strainer, cleaned the berries, and dumped them into a big bowl. She refilled the strainer and went through the process again and again. It hardly felt like work to her.
After Mom finished measuring the sugar, she took lots of clean jars out of the dishwasher and stacked them on the countertop. Once the dishwasher was empty, she pulled several more jars out of a cardboard box and placed them in the dishwasher.
“Why are you doing that?” Whitney asked. “They don’t look dirty to me.”
“Some of the jars have been sitting on the shelf downstairs for a while. I just want to make sure that they are all clean before we fill them with jam.”
Mom and Whitney worked together for several hours before Dad and Wendee, Whitney’s sister, came home. “Put on some aprons and come give us a hand,” Mom called to them. Dad started mashing up the last of the berries while Wendee began labeling the finished jars.
“Honey, before you put away those jars, make sure all the lids are sealed,” Mom said to Wendee.
Whitney stopped stirring and laughed. “Sealed?” she asked. “Are they getting married or something?”
Now Dad, Mom, and Wendee laughed.
“Well,” Whitney said defensively, “Mom told you to make sure the lids are sealed. So what are you going to do? Take them to the temple?”
Wendee picked up a jar and showed her younger sister the lid. “See, the lid has to seal to the jar so the jam won’t spoil. If the lid doesn’t seal, the jam won’t last. We’re not talking about the temple.”
“Well,” Dad said, “maybe we are. Think about it—isn’t it the same with families? The ones sealed in the temple by priesthood authority can last forever. Those that aren’t sealed aren’t going to last.”
“Keep mashing the rest of those berries while you preach your sermon,” Mom said as she started spooning finished jam into the jars. Whitney reached out to steady the jars while Mom worked.
“I thought getting sealed just meant getting married,” Whitney said.
“Not exactly,” Mom explained. “A man and a woman can get married anywhere, but when they marry outside of the temple, it’s only for this life. Couples married, or sealed, in the temple can be married forever.”
“Now who’s preaching?” Dad asked with a smile.
“Sealed means linked together or hard to break apart,” Mom explained. “When you get married in the temple, you are linked eternally to your spouse and your children. We seal the lids to preserve the jam. Being sealed in the temple preserves families.”
“These berries are all mashed. What’s next?” Dad asked.
“Just take those last few jars out of the dishwasher.”
“I feel another lesson coming on,” Dad said. “See, Mom cleaned the jars before she filled them with jam. Sealing jam in a dirty jar would not work. It’s the same way with the temple. We have to be clean and worthy to enter the temple. That’s the only way the sealing counts.”
“I’m impressed,” Wendee said. “Dad, you’re pretty good.”
“So is this jam,” Mom said. “Now, who wants some before we put it all away?”
Over the next few weeks, everyone in the family enjoyed the jam. Whitney liked it best of all.

When Fabian shares his testimony, Jordan says, he draws power from his conversion, his love of the gospel, and his blessings.

“He saw the blessings that came to his family, which is what inspires him to be so brave and straightforward in sharing the gospel with his friends,” Jordan says. “Once he was testifying to an investigator about what a big blessing it was for his parents to get married but how hard it was for him to wait four months after his baptism for his mother to get baptized. His emotions overcame him, and he was moved to tears. He then testified that if we keep the commandments, God will take care of us.”

“OK, Mckay, it sounds like you need a time out.” Mother’s voice was smooth and calm, but Mckay could still hear the strain in it. “You two shouldn’t be acting this way.”
Mckay frowned. “Then why doesn’t Josie have to sit in a ‘quiet’ chair? She started it by calling me names.”
Mother sighed as she peeled and sliced bananas on top of the banana cream pie she was making. Instead of answering Mckay’s question, she asked him one, “How old is Josie?”
“She’s only three, but she drives me crazy,” Mckay replied, huffing the words from his mouth as if they were hot peppers.
Mother ignored his rudeness. “And how old are you, Mckay?”
Mckay swallowed some of the angry lump in his throat as he began to realize what his mother was trying to say. “I’m eight.”
Mother smiled and nodded. “Do you think that that might be why you’re sitting there, instead of Josie?”
Mckay only shrugged. Mother continued, “I think that Josie knows something is wrong, but she doesn’t quite understand what or why.” Mother slipped the pie into the refrigerator. “But you understand, right?”
Again Mckay shrugged.
“Read Josie a story, and then you may be excused,” Mother said.
Josie overheard and ran to the bookcase. She picked out her favorite story about Adam and Eve and scooted her chair next to Mckay.
As Mckay read, he knew that Josie was more interested in the pictures of the animals than the story, but he still read every word because he knew that his mother could hear.
Mckay closed the book when he’d finished. Josie opened it and begged him to read the story again. Mckay looked at Mother, who was waiting to see what he would do.
“Fine,” Mckay said. This time he simply told the story. “Adam and Eve chose to eat the fruit that God told them not to eat. As a result, they knew right from wrong and they had to leave the Garden of Eden, and that’s the end.”
Josie giggled, “Read again.”
This time Mckay grumbled, “Mom, do I have to?”
“I don’t think she minds your quick version,” Mother said with a smile. “But there’s one thing that you could add this time.”
“What?”
“You forgot the part where Adam and Eve told the Lord they had eaten of the fruit. They understood that they had made the choice to disobey one law to obey another, and that they were accountable for that choice, right?”
Mckay was thoughtful as he looked at the picture of Adam and Eve leaving the garden. They knew what they had done, and they were ready to accept the consequences of their choice. In other words, they were ready to do whatever Heavenly Father said that they needed to do now. McKay had never thought of it that way before.
“They don’t look happy and carefree anymore, do they?” Mother asked.
Mckay flipped the pages back to the beginning of the book. His mother was right. At the start of the story, they looked different—sort of like Josie.
Mckay was quiet all through dinner. He thought of his baptism, remembering how long he had waited to be eight so that he could be accountable. For the first time, he was thankful that Heavenly Father had made him wait to be baptized until he truly understood that he was responsible for his own choices.
When Mother passed out the banana cream pie, Josie couldn’t wait politely for Mother to help her eat her piece. She quickly grabbed it and started eating with both hands.
“Oh, Josie,” Mother gently scolded. “What a mess!” She wiped Josie’s hands and mouth and changed her bib.
Mckay ate his piece as quickly as he could. He dropped a gooey banana on his shirt.
“What a mess!” Josie repeated to her mother as she pointed at Mckay’s dirty shirt.
Taking his napkin, Mckay wiped his shirt clean, smiled, and simply said, “Yep, but I’m old enough to know when I’ve made a mess, and I take care of it the best I can.”
“Mess all gone!” Josie clapped her hands in surprise as if she thought the shirt had been cleaned by magic.
Mckay laughed, “Wait till you’re eight, little sister. Then you’ll get to clean up your messes, too.”
Mother smiled and winked at Mckay. “That’s right, Josie. Just wait.”