Gospel Story Finder

The air was bitterly cold at nearly 12,000 feet as the sun sank quickly across the valley behind the mountains, and the first stars appeared. Thousands of other lights twinkled more than 7,000 feet below me as the residents of Utah Valley began dinner in their warm homes.
I was comfortable in my sleeping bag but puzzled. How could I explain the strange urge that had brought me through snow and ice to the top of Mount Timpanogos in late October? The climb had been cold and difficult. Why had I come?
I was in my second year of law school and though I was an experienced hiker, I hadn’t been in the mountains for months. The first snows of autumn blanketed the upper slopes of the mountain range, but I suddenly had the inexplicable desire to spend the night on the summit of Mount Timpanogos.
It seemed a crazy idea, but at noon I threw my camping equipment into my pack and drove up the canyon to where the mountain trail began.
Was I looking for adventure? Did I simply need a change from the routine of law school? I wasn’t sure.
There were only a few hours of daylight left when I began hiking, so I hurried along the trail through scattered trees. Soon I was climbing the steep east side of the mountain.
After I’d traveled a few kilometers, I was shocked to see another climber on the trail ahead of me. When I moved closer, I could see the hiker wasn’t a typical mountaineer. She was a middle-aged woman laboriously plodding her way toward the summit. She carried only a small pack with no night-time survival equipment.
She said she had been on the trail since morning. She proudly told me it was her first hike ever, and she was determined to reach the top.
“Don’t let your perseverance get you in trouble,” I warned her. “You’re probably not going to reach the summit before nightfall. You’d better turn back soon or you’ll have to find your way down in the dark.”
I continued past her up the trail, certain she would turn back in a few minutes. After all, she didn’t even have a sleeping bag. She could freeze to death if she were trapped on the mountain overnight.
I climbed past a lake on the mountain’s eastern shoulder and began to trudge through fresh snow at 10,000 feet. After a harrowing and exhausting traverse along the steep north slope of the peak, I was faced with an even steeper 500-foot ascent over scattered patches of snow and ice. A fall here would have ended in an uncontrolled slide down thousands of meters.
I finally finished my climb on the knife-edged ridge that was the 11,750-foot summit of Mount Timpanogos. The mountain’s sheer western face fell away at my feet, giving me an incredible view of the Utah and Salt Lake valleys.
I unrolled my sleeping bag in the small, roofed shelter that stands at the summit. The stone floor wouldn’t be too comfortable, but at least the shelter’s waist-high metal walls would keep me from rolling off the mountain.
As the sun set, the temperature began to drop rapidly. I spent a few minutes enjoying the view, then retreated to my warm sleeping bag for the night ahead.
As I slept, I heard a voice in my dreams. The voice was crying for help. The cries continued until I suddenly sat upright in my sleeping bag and realized I wasn’t dreaming. The shouts drifted up from far below, but I heard them clearly through the clear night air.
It seemed impossible, but someone—and I knew who—was wandering the icy mountainside in the darkness and cold.
I pulled on my pants and jacket and followed my flickering flashlight in the direction of the cries. I found the middle-aged woman standing in total darkness on the edge of a thousand-foot cliff.
“I got stuck on the mountain when it got dark,” she explained. She tried to appear calm, but the nervous way she spoke told me she was very frightened. “I got lost. I didn’t think it was this far to the top! I lost both my flashlights off a cliff an hour ago.”
She shivered and chattered as we stumbled back up the ridge. Her name was Jane. Her husband would still be waiting for her, she said, in their car at the foot of the trail.
Back at the shelter, I gave her my sleeping bag and told her to stay in it. She resisted at first, but shivering wildly, finally agreed. I put on all my warm clothes, wrapped Jane’s spare sweater around me, and settled in for what I correctly assumed would be one of the longest and coldest nights of my life.
I was far too cold to sleep and Jane was too excited, so we stayed awake and talked. At one point during the night I was reminded of the famed naturalist John Muir, who had once survived a night trapped on an Alaskan glacier by dancing a Scottish jig until morning. I hoped it wouldn’t get so cold that I’d have to do that.
At 4:00 A.M., with the temperature at five degrees Farenheit, we saw the flashlights of a search and rescue team 1,500 feet below us. I signalled with my flashlight, and shouted the news that Jane was okay. “We’ll be down at first light,” I yelled. “Wait for us.”
Sound carried remarkably well in the still, mountain air. Their distant “Okay!” response was easy to hear.
When the first traces of light touched the mountain, we started down the steep, icy slope. Before we reached the rescue party, Jane and I knelt together in the snow to thank our Heavenly Father that tragedy had been averted. Our prayer at 10,000 feet convinced me that the biblical promise was true: Not even a sparrow could fall to the earth without our Father’s notice, much less my new friend.
When we were finally off the mountain, Jane’s husband cried with joy and relief. He had been sure she was dead until he had seen our light early that morning. The search and rescue volunteers were similarly relieved. They said they remove the bodies of less fortunate climbers from the mountain every year.
What was I doing sleeping on top of Mount Timpanogos so late in the season? It seemed obvious to me then, as it still does to me now, that I was led there to make sure Jane got off the summit safely. I had done something right, following that irresistible urge to climb the mountain. Even at ten thousand feet, the Lord does indeed move in mysterious ways.

My brother, Greg, and I participated in the Hill Cumorah Pageant in New York for two summers. One summer, when I was about sixteen years old, I was really searching for a personal testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel. I thought that this would be the perfect time to get it. One night after the performance, I decided to go to the Sacred Grove alone. It was a beautiful, clear summer night. I thought, This is it—the place, the time. What more ideal setting could I have? I prayed for a long, long time—well over an hour. Nothing happened. I finally gave up and walked back to Palmyra, wondering, What did I do wrong or what didn’t I do right? What was missing?
I’ve since thought a lot about that experience. One of the lessons I learned from it was that you shouldn’t try to dictate to God the timing or the content of revelation. It was later that summer—when I was home by myself in a little basement bedroom, reading the Book of Mormon—that a witness came very powerfully. It just overwhelmed me. I know from that experience the truth of what Joseph Smith witnessed and the truth of the Book of Mormon and the reality of the Savior. That hasn’t been my only witness, but it was a great strengthening of my testimony.
I found that you don’t have to be in a special place to receive that witness. You will receive answers to your prayers if you are earnest and keep asking and searching. I’m glad now that my answer didn’t come to me when I first asked. I might have thought that you have to go to the Holy Land for a testimony of Jesus or to the Sacred Grove for a testimony of Joseph Smith. Anywhere in the world, the Lord will speak to you.

Early in our marriage we lived in Anchorage, Alaska. One night I awoke from a deep sleep and found myself consumed with an urgent thought. I woke my husband and asked if he had locked the sliding glass door in the back of the house. He said he had. I tried to put the thought out of my mind and go back to sleep. I kept telling myself I was just being paranoid, but the feeling that I needed to lock the door persisted. Sleep would not come. Finally, I had a distinct impression: “Kelli, go lock the back door!”
I pulled myself out of a warm bed and walked downstairs. The glass door appeared to be locked. I started to walk away, but then I pulled on the door handle. The door slid open! The lock was set, but the door had not been closed tightly enough to engage the lock. I pulled the door closed, locked it securely, and went back to bed.
When morning came I gave little thought to my experience of the night before. But as I pulled the curtains open, something caught my eye. Large footprints in the snow led up to the door and then away again. The thought I had tried so hard to toss aside had kept an intruder from entering our home.
How very grateful I am for the prompting of the Holy Ghost, which protected our family that cold winter night. It has forever changed the way I listen.

Several years ago I visited a large automobile dealership and looked at many new automobiles. One in particular caught my eye—a convertible sports model with all of the fancy equipment you could imagine. It had push-button everything and more horsepower than a division of cavalry. How I would have enjoyed a car like that when I was in high school! It occurred to me that you of high school age may be interested in owning such a car.
Will you imagine something with me? Imagine that I have decided to present to a typical teenager a car such as this, and you are the one who has been chosen. On the evening of the presentation, I see that you are not quite financially able to run such a car, so I generously include free gas, oil, maintenance, tires, anything your car will use. I’ll give you all of this, and the bills will come to me.
How you will enjoy that car! Think of driving it to school tomorrow. Think of all the new friends you will suddenly acquire.
Your parents may be hesitant to let you use this car freely, so I will visit with them. I am sure they will be reluctant, but because of my position as one of the leaders of the Church, they will consent.
Let us imagine, then, that you have your car, everything to run it, and freedom to use it.
Suppose that one evening you are invited to attend a Church social. “There are just enough of you to ride in my station wagon,” your teacher says. “You may leave your car home.” When they come to take you to the party, you suddenly remember your new convertible, with the top down, parked at the curb. You run back in the house and give the car keys to your father, asking that he put it in the garage, for it looks as if it may rain. Your father, of course, obediently agrees.
Later you come home and notice your car is not at the curb. “Dear old Dad,” you muse, “always willing to help out.” But as the station wagon pulls into the driveway and the lights flash into the garage, you see it stands empty.
You rush into the house, find Father, and ask where your car is.
“Oh, I loaned it to someone,” he responds.
Then imagine a conversation such as this.
“Well, who was it?” you ask.
“Oh, that boy who comes by here regularly,” Dad says.
“What boy?”
“Oh, that … well, I have seen him pass here several times on his bicycle.”
“What is his name?”
“Well, I’m afraid I didn’t find out.”
“Where did he take the car?”
“That really wasn’t made clear.”
“When will he bring it back?”
“Well, there really wasn’t any agreement on that.”
Then suppose that your father should say to you, with some impatience, “Now you calm down. He rushed in here. He needed a car. You weren’t using it. He seemed to be in a frantic hurry over something, and he looked like an honest boy, so I gave him the keys. Now relax. Go to bed. Calm down.”
I suppose under the circumstances you would look at your father with a puzzled expression and wonder if some important connection had slipped loose in his thinking mechanism.
It would take a foolish father to lend such an expensive piece of equipment on an arrangement such as that—particularly a car that belonged to you.

1 Isn’t your little brother getting baptized next week, Ramón?
Yeah, I envy him.
How come?
2 Because he’ll be a hundred percent sin-free, and I’ve made my share of goofs since I was baptized.
Yeah, like that last shot you took. But don’t you remember what Sister Simon told us about the sacrament?
3 I guess not. What’d she say?
She said that if we have faith in Christ and repent of our sins, then when we take the sacrament each Sunday, it’s like being baptized again.
4 That’s right—I remember now. She said that we renew the covenants we made when we were baptized.
Wow! If I repent I can be as squeaky clean as my little brother.
5 The next Sunday
6 In Primary Class
You’re right, Ramón. And if you keep the covenants you renewed today, you’ll continue to have his Spirit to be with you.

After joining the Church, what Edwin wanted most was for his family back in India to learn about the gospel. The problem was that there were no missionaries in India to teach them! Edwin and Elsie wrote a letter to Church headquarters asking them to send missionaries to India.
What came next was a big surprise. President Spencer W. Kimball called them to serve as missionaries in India!
And now, here they were.
Their first stop in India was Edwin’s brother’s house. Edwin’s parents and siblings were there too. Right away, Edwin and Elsie started teaching them. Their family was happy to learn about the gospel.
A few weeks later, Edwin and his family gathered around the swimming pool in his brother’s yard. The pool had been cleaned, painted, and filled with fresh water. Everyone was wearing white. The women wore flowing saris that draped over their shoulders. The men wore loose Indian-style jackets and trousers.
Edwin stood in the pool with his father. “Samuel David,” Edwin said, “having been commissioned of Jesus Christ, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.”
Edwin felt happy as he baptized his father. He felt even happier when he baptized his mom next. By the end of the day, Edwin had baptized 18 people!
The next day, Edwin and Elsie rode a train for six hours. They visited more family members and taught them about the gospel. Edwin baptized four more of his relatives in a nearby river.
Finally, Edwin and Elsie took a 16-hour train ride to visit Elsie’s parents. Elsie’s father was a leader in another church. He didn’t get baptized, but he thought the Book of Mormon was a good book. He helped translate the Book of Mormon into Telugu, one of the languages spoken in India.
When Edwin and Elsie finished their mission, there were enough new members to start one of the first branches of the Church in India! Edwin and Elsie were happy when they returned to Samoa. They were grateful Heavenly Father had sent them on a mission!

The first time I paid tithing, the amount was five cents. With my father, I went to the office of the bishop, who solemnly accepted my five pennies and wrote out the receipt. Then he stood and, coming from behind his desk, sat next to me. With his hand on my shoulder, he gave me the small but significant slip of paper and said, “Ronald, you have made a good beginning, and if you continue as you have begun, you can be a perfect tithe payer.” The idea of being perfect at anything seemed well beyond my ability. I was trying hard just to be a good boy. But with those words, the bishop inspired me to strive for perfection in that one basic aspect of the gospel. The blessings, both temporal and spiritual, have been abundant.

Each of us remembers with affection the teachers of our youth. I think it amusing that my elementary school music teacher was a Miss Sharp. She had the capacity to infuse within her pupils a love for music and taught us to identify musical instruments and their sounds. I well recall the influence of a Miss Ruth Crow who taught the subject of health. Though these were depression times, she ensured that each sixth-grade student had a dental health chart. She personally checked each pupil for dental health and made certain that through public or private resources, no child went without proper dental care. As Miss Burkhaus, who taught geography, rolled down the maps of the world and with her pointer marked the capital cities of nations and the distinctive features of each country, language, and culture, little did I anticipate or dream that one day I would visit these lands and peoples.

Elder Hugh B. Brown shared a story that illustrates that God knows best:
I was living up in Canada. I had purchased a farm. It was run-down. I went out one morning and saw a currant bush. It had grown up over six feet high. It was going all to wood. There were no blossoms and no currants. I was raised on a fruit farm in Salt Lake before we went to Canada, and I knew what ought to happen to that currant bush. So I got some pruning shears and went after it, and I cut it down, and pruned it, and clipped it back until there was nothing left but a little clump of stumps. It was just coming daylight, and I thought I saw on top of each of these little stumps what appeared to be a tear, and I thought the currant bush was crying. . . . I looked at it, and smiled, and said, “What are you crying about?” You know, I thought I heard that currant bush talk. And I thought I heard it say this: “How could you do this to me? . . . I thought you were the gardener here.” . . . I said, “Look, little currant bush, I am the gardener here, and I know what I want you to be. . . . And some day, little currant bush, when you are laden with fruit, you are going to say, ‘Thank you, Mr. Gardener, for loving me enough to cut me down, for caring enough about me to hurt me. Thank you, Mr. Gardener.” [Hugh B. Brown, “The Currant Bush,” New Era,January 1973, pp. 14–15; emphasis in original]

I learned another lesson from my mother. As a girl she had diphtheria and nearly died. Later she had spinal meningitis. Her father died young, and so my mother and her brothers helped support their mother.
All her life, she felt the effects of the trials of illness. In her last 10 years of life, she required multiple operations. But through it all, she proved faithful to the Lord, even when bedridden. The only picture on her bedroom wall was of the Savior. Her last words to me on her deathbed were these: “Hal, you sound as if you are getting a cold. You ought to take care of yourself.”
At her funeral the last speaker was Elder Spencer W. Kimball. After saying something of her trials and her faithfulness, he said essentially this: “Some of you may wonder why Mildred had to suffer so much and so long. I will tell you why. It was because the Lord wanted to polish her a little more.”

Mandy’s giving the lesson at the Cooper family home evening.
… so if we listen, the Spirit can tell us if we’re doing something wrong and need to repent.
After the lesson …
Good lesson on repentance, Mandy.
Hey, I heard about a great new ice cream shop. Let’s go there for our treat. I don’t know that neighborhood very well, but the GPS I got for Christmas should get us there.
Cool!
Turn left onto Jackson Street.
I think I know this area after all. If we go past Jackson a couple more streets and then turn, we can avoid some traffic lights.
Uh-oh!
Turn around and proceed to Jackson Street. Then turn right.
Guess I should have listened to that little voice the first time. Well, I’ve listened now, and I can get back on the right track.
Thanks, Dad. You just acted out my repentance lesson!

Two years before, when Jeanette and I were at girls’ camp, a testimony meeting was planned for the last night. When we were leaving our cabin for the bonfire, I told Jeanette, “When this night is over, I think I’ll know for sure the Church is true.” But even after testimony meeting I didn’t, not for sure. Not for sure—that was the problem.

That night after the meeting we told ghost stories. One of the older girls told about a story this German guy wrote. It was all about Christ coming back at the end of the world, but instead of saving everybody and taking them to heaven, he tells everyone the resurrection is called off—just a fake. Then everything starts falling apart and flying every which way. The whole universe comes apart at the seams. I had nightmares about that story. It still makes me shudder.

One day I was watching a movie at a friend’s house, and I didn’t feel good about the movie. And then I remembered the article in the Friend magazine about a boy who was at his friend’s house and he didn’t feel comfortable playing a video game, so he played cars instead. This gave me courage, so I told their mom that I didn’t feel comfortable with the movie. Then she changed the movie. I had a warm feeling inside because I knew I did the right thing.

A speaker was trying to demonstrate the evils of alcohol. On a table in front of him were two glasses full of clear liquid. He explained that one of the glasses was full of water and the other full of pure alcohol. He put a worm in the glass of water, and it swam happily. Then he put the same worm in the alcohol, and it died.
“What conclusion do you reach?” he asked.
A voice from the back of the room cried, “If you drink alcohol, you’ll never get worms.”
The conclusion to be drawn from this story, of course, is that you can hear or see—you can perceive—exactly what you want to perceive, according to your own prejudices.

When it seems like “Been there; done that” is the reaction to every suggestion made in planning youth activities, then you might try what members in the High Wycombe Ward in the Staines England Stake did. Think of something challenging and interesting, then see if it can be done.
The teens suggested that it might be great fun to record their own CD for their super activity. That meant writing the lyrics, performing the music, and, before anything else, making assignments.
What kind of song could they write? First, it had to include everyone, and some people readily admitted that singing was something they’d rather listen to than do. They agreed that to include everyone, they really needed something simple with some sections to pull in everyone. Lindsey Judd, a Mia Maid, agreed to write the lyrics. One of the Young Men leaders agreed to compose a background track.
Lindsey said, “My first source of information was For the Strength of Youth. That is where I found the topics to write about. I looked some of those topics up in the scriptures and found a really good first line in D&C 45:57. ‘For they that are wise and have received the truth, and have taken the Holy Spirit for their guide, and have not been deceived—verily I say unto you, they shall not be hewn down and cast into the fire, but shall abide the day.’ I had my topics, some scripture lines, and my own knowledge. I just started to rhyme.”
Next came the practicing. The date for the recording came, and 19 youth and 5 leaders drove to a small recording studio for what turned out to be a three-hour recording session. The professional musicians who ran the studio were overwhelmed to have 19 teens crowding into the small studio. Some parts took many retakes to get right, and other parts made it in one take. Every teen participated; every voice was recorded. The musicians asked some meaningful questions about the young people, who asked if they could say a prayer after the session was over.
The best parts of the day didn’t end up on the recording. MaLanie Robison said, “I learned how important it is for everyone to work together as a team. When we were all singing together, all bunched up around the microphones, I kept thinking how cool it was that each person, with his own unique talents and differences, could become one and sing about our similar belief in the Savior.”
“I think our recording of a CD was great,” said Richard Holt. “It taught us the importance of teamwork, patience, and, most important of all, we proclaimed the gospel.”
With the CD finished, the young people discovered that words put to music really make them easier to remember. “I think it was good,” said Camilla Warren, “to give the song words that remind us of our standards.”
So, as their song says, “Whether you’re in Malibu or in Timbuktu, if you pray with faith, He’ll always be there. He’ll be there to guide you and to answer your prayer.”
And in the background, you’ll hear the High Wycombe Ward youth humming along.

Long before the sun rises over Buenos Aires, Argentina, the moist morning air carries quiet sounds of students arriving at a chapel located in a busy area of the city. A key turns, and the door is opened. A group of students enter, and then the door is locked—a standard security measure in the dark hours before dawn. A soft knock, and someone runs to let in more students, whose smiles and cheer belie the early-morning hour. In all, 13 students arrive to begin their day by studying the New Testament. After class, they enjoy a simple breakfast prepared by one of the parents. Fortified in body and spirit, the students leave for school or work.

In the midst of the last-minute hubbub of parting friends, a woman walking down the street sees the meetinghouse gate open and hesitantly enters. “Are you Mormons?” she asks. “My son wants to be like his cousins in Mendoza who are Mormons. Can someone tell me about your church?” Coincidentally, missionaries arrive at the chapel, and arrangements are soon in place to introduce the woman to the gospel of Jesus Christ. This scene, illuminated by the early-morning rays of the rising sun, captures two sources of hope for the future of the Church in Argentina: the strength of the rising generation and a growing missionary harvest.

I close with a WWI story from a book by Lucy Gertsch Thomson:
"After fighting in a bitter battle, a soldier pleaded with his commanding officer to let him go out on the battlefield to search for his missing companion. The commander said it was of no use, for no one could have lived through the hours of constant fire. The soldier insisted and was finally granted permission. Sometime later he returned with the limp body of his dead comrade. "I told you it was useless," commented the commander. "But you're wrong sir" the soldier said. "I got there just in time to hear him whisper, 'I knew you'd come.'"[6]

Several years ago when I was teaching a grade-one class, the principal sent a note inviting anyone who wished to give a voluntary contribution for a grade-five pupil who had had an accident. I read and explained the message to my pupils, telling them that the boy really needed financial help. I told them that any amount of lunch money would be welcome. Some said, “I only have ten pesos.” Others said, “I have money, but it’s all for my lunch.” I felt sad because no one wanted to give. Then silence covered the four corners of my room. When I was about to pass the note on to the next class, a boy named Joseph handed me six pesos and said, “Ma’am, I want to give this money.”
I asked him, “How much lunch money did you bring?” He said, “Six pesos.”
I told him, “Just give two pesos and spend four pesos for food.”
“No, I want to give all of it!” he said. “I’m full already.” With that example, the other children in the class gave some of their money too.
When lunchtime came, I said to Joseph, “You don’t have food to eat now because you gave all your money.”
He smiled at me and said, “I’m happy that I did.”
I shared my food with Joseph, and as we ate together, tears flowed from my eyes. It felt good to see a child who was so generous at his young age. I thought, “If everyone were like this little boy, our Heavenly Father and our Lord Jesus Christ would be happy for us.”
Three days later, Joseph asked me, “How is the boy who was hurt? Is he OK now?” Again I was amazed. No one else in the class remembered the injured boy—only Joseph, who had given everything he had. It may not be necessary for us to give our lives as the Savior did, but we can have charity if we make Him the center of our lives and follow His example and teachings.

This story took place in New Zealand.
Jacob’s gumboots squished into the ground wherever he stepped. He followed his brother, Isaac, carefully across the yard back to the house. There were leaves and branches all over!
A hurricane had hit New Zealand a few days before. Because of the storms, there was lots of flooding. Jacob was grateful his house didn’t get flooded, but lots of their friends’ houses did. Their family friend Monique and her husband Mark lived in a historic house that was now flooded.
Jacob H.
Jacob and Isaac were moving things out of Monique and Mark’s house so they could mop the floors. They gathered loads of papers from all over the house. They found recipes, photos, and letters. Some of the papers were a little wet, but luckily not ruined.
They put the papers in a plastic bin and moved them to the trailer outside. The trailer was a little home Monique and Mark were staying in until the house was safe again.
After gathering all the papers, Jacob walked to a cupboard and found some board games and plastic toys. Some of the games closer to the floor were wet.
Jacob wanted to make sure they did a good job helping. “What next? Do you want us to move these toys and games out?” he asked when Mark walked by.
“Yes, please. Thank you!” Mark said.
Jacob and Isaac gathered the games and toys in their arms and carried them to the trailer. They raced back to the house for the next assignment.
Isaac H.
“Thanks for the help, you two,” Monique said.
“No problem,” said Jacob. “What next?”
She looked around. “Do you mind mopping the floor now?”
Jacob took a mop from Monique and got to work. He did his best to mop up the puddles of water from the dark wood floors.
His legs and arms were starting to get tired when someone called, “Time for lunch!”
Jacob finished, then ran outside to meet Dad, Isaac, Monique, Mark, and some other friends.
Dad handed him a brown bag of fish and chips. The smell made Jacob’s stomach grumble. He’d been so focused on mopping he forgot about lunch! He took out a chip and dropped it into his mouth. Mmm, warm and salty.
“Thank you so much for your help,” Monique said while they ate. Her eyes were shiny with tears. “I don’t know what I would have done without all of you.”
Jacob felt a warm bubble fill his heart. He forgot all about his tired body. It would have taken Monique and Mark much longer if they had to clean out the house by themselves! He had helped friends in need.
“Thanks for helping today,” Dad said on the car ride home.
“It was fun,” Isaac said.
Jacob stretched his sore arms. “Yeah. Plus, if Jesus was here, He would have done the same thing. Right?”
“I think so too,” Dad said. “I’m sure Jesus is really happy you were there to help Monique and Mark.”
Jacob liked making Jesus happy. He wanted to be someone Jesus could always trust to help.
“What next?” Jacob asked.
Dad laughed. “What do you mean?”
“What are we going to do to help Jesus next?” Jacob said.
Dad grinned. “There might be more storms coming, so we can help make sandbags. Then we can take them to our friends so their houses don’t flood. How does that sound?”
Jacob smiled. “Perfect.”

In addition to the summer farm work, Franklin’s father kept him busy at home. To make sure he didn’t run out of jobs around the house and to develop his sense of responsibility, his father had fifty chickens in the backyard. Franklin had to feed and water the chickens, keep the chicken huts clean, and gather the eggs. Since there were more eggs laid than the family needed, he was allowed to sell the extra eggs and keep the money. Brother Richards said, “I’m grateful that I had a father and mother who taught me the joy of working, the value of spending less than I made, and the importance of paying my tithing.”