Gospel Story Finder

A brother in one of our other branches had served a prison sentence for abuse. He lost his family, his church membership, and his priesthood blessings. However, after being released, he sought out the Church. He repented; he partook of the Atonement. He was rebaptized and worked hard to be worthy to receive the Melchizedek priesthood. I remember well how joyful he was when we ordained him. He had given in to sin, to opposition, but his subsequent repentance brought him great happiness.

On an evening in November 1999, when our family home evening was finished and we were going to bed, my mother said, “Don’t forget that next Sunday is fast Sunday, OK?”
I asked her if we were going to fast as a family for a specific purpose.
“I don’t know yet,” she replied.
Suddenly, I felt impressed to fast and pray to prepare to receive my patriarchal blessing.
At 10:00 P.M. I had not been able to go to sleep, so I went to my parents’ room. I felt there was something I had to do that night. My mother told me to read for a while and she would turn out my light later. I went back to my room, picked up a school textbook, and started to read. I found some information I needed for a school assignment that was due the next day, information I had not found in my other books.
When I finished the assignment, it was about 11:00 P.M. I placed the book and the assignment on the desk and went to bed. But even though my body and mind were tired, my spirit was uneasy. I lifted my head a little and noticed that the very wrinkled first page of a First Presidency Message was sticking out from a pile of books. I retrieved the November 1995 A Liahona (Portuguese) and started reading “Serving the Lord and Resisting the Devil” by President James E. Faust, Second Counselor in the First Presidency. The last section of the message was entitled “Fasting and Prayer.”
After finishing the article, I promised myself I would pray and fast about my patriarchal blessing. Then I placed the magazine on the desk and again tried to sleep—but to no avail. So I picked up A Liahona again and turned the page. “My Miracle” was the title of the very next article. I was touched when I realized this article was a young woman’s experience of receiving her patriarchal blessing. She said it is necessary to pray and fast in order to prepare ourselves spiritually for a patriarchal blessing.
I had spoken to my bishop before about receiving my blessing, and he felt I should wait. After I read the young woman’s message, I understood the reason for his reply. I had not fasted or even prayed about this matter. After finishing the article, I knelt and prayed fervently to my Heavenly Father. For the first time in my life, I felt the presence of the Holy Ghost. After this prayer, I put the magazine away and was able to sleep.
I prayed and waited anxiously all week. On Sunday I fasted, and I went to see the bishop. After hearing about my experience, he said, “I think you’re ready for your patriarchal blessing.” It made me very happy to know that the Lord wanted me to learn about fasting and prayer—and to prepare spiritually for my blessing.
I know the Lord loves us. He gives us patriarchal blessings to guide us.

Don was born with a withered and almost useless right arm. It would have been easy for him to feel sorry for himself and shy away from physical activities requiring the use of two arms. But he has never let it be a problem. If you were to say something to him about his handicap, he would probably answer in all sincerity, “What handicap?” Don plays golf, baseball, and basketball, and is able to compete very well. The withered arm is usually a problem for him only upon first acquaintance. Once you know him you forget all about it. He is a student officer in his high school and has many friends. Don’s parents have never dwelt upon his “handicap.” They expect him to perform well in the things he does, and his ability to meet their expectations gives him a feeling of capability and self-esteem.

One bishop taught his new deacons quorum presidency these duties. So the young presidency began to talk about what that might look like in their quorum and in their ward. They decided they should start visiting elderly ward members to see what they needed and then do that.

Among those they served was Alan, a rough, often profane, and sometimes hostile neighbor. Alan’s wife, Wanda, became a member of the Church, but Alan was, as we say, something of a piece of work.

Still, the deacons went to work, comically ignoring his insults, while they shoveled snow and took out trash. Deacons can be hard to hate, and Alan eventually began to love them. At some point they invited him to church.

“I don’t like church,” he responded.

“Well, you like us,” they said. “So come with us. You can just come to our quorum meeting if you want.”

And with the bishop’s approval, he came—and he kept coming.

The deacons became teachers, and as they continued to serve him, he taught them to work on cars and to build things. By the time these deacons-turned-teachers became priests, Alan was calling them “my boys.”

They were earnestly preparing for missions and asked him if they could practice missionary lessons with him. He swore that he would never listen and never believe, but, yeah, they could practice at his house.

And then Alan got sick. And he softened.

And one day in quorum meeting, he tenderly asked them to pray for him to quit smoking, and so they did. But then they followed him home and confiscated all of his tobacco stash.

As his failing health put Alan into hospitals and rehab centers, “his boys” served him, quietly exuding powers of priesthood and of love unfeigned (see Doctrine and Covenants 121:41).

The miracle continued when Alan asked to be baptized—but then he passed away before it could happen. At his request, his deacons-turned-priests were the pallbearers and the speakers at his funeral, where they—fittingly—warned, expounded, exhorted, taught, and invited all to Christ.

And later, in the temple, it was one of “Alan’s boys” who baptized that erstwhile deacons quorum president in proxy for Alan.

Everything John the Baptist said to do, they did. They did what deacons, teachers, and priests do all over this Church and all over this world.

I sat on our front steps and thought my very hardest. The Twenty-fourth of July parade was just a week away, and I still didn’t know how I could win the fifteen-dollar prize for the best-decorated bike. There just had to be a way.
“Alex,” Mom called, “are you going over to help Sister Wilson this morning?”
“Yeah,” I answered, getting to my feet. “If she calls, tell her I’m on my way.”
As I walked over to Sister Wilson’s, all I could think about was winning the bike prize. I was saving money to buy my own bike. In fact, I’d already saved twenty dollars, but I still didn’t have enough for a bike. I really needed one, too, so I was in a real jam.
“Hello, Alex,” Sister Wilson called as I went up her walk. “Are you ready to go to work?”
I nodded. Sister Wilson was down on her hands and knees, pulling weeds from her flower bed. She had on her old straw hat and brown cotton work gloves. I don’t know why she wore them. The glove fingers had holes in them, and the band on her hat was gone. The hat brim was so ragged around the edge that her face was always freckled with bits of sunshine.
Once I asked her why she didn’t get a new hat and new gloves. She chuckled and said, “Oh, these will do me just fine. Besides, new ones cost too much.”
Sister Wilson was a widow, and she didn’t have much money. That’s why she couldn’t pay me for working. I didn’t mind, though, because she always gave me cookies and punch and told me stories.
“Are we pulling weeds today?” I asked.
“I am,” she answered, “but I have another chore for you.” She took me around the side of the house and back to the garage. She didn’t have a car, so she used the garage to store things in. The sunshine poured in as she opened the garage door.
“I want to get rid of a lot of this stuff and straighten up what’s left,” she said. “And I need a big strong boy like you to help me. Just bring everything outside and set it in the driveway, and I’ll look it over and tell you what to throw away and what I want to keep.”
I couldn’t believe all the good stuff Sister Wilson had in her garage. I found a real old army helmet, one like they used in the army way back before Dad was born. There was a leather bag full of marbles—real old ones. They looked like they were made out of hard clay. There was even an old record player with a big wide horn on top that looked like a giant morning glory. I laughed when I saw that.
I’d emptied most of the garage when I saw some handlebars poking out from behind a pile of boxes. When I pulled the boxes out, I saw a huge red bike with a wire basket fastened to it right behind the seat. The bike had big thick tires and wide fenders. It was kind of old-fashioned looking, not like any of my friends’ bikes.
Just then Sister Wilson came around the corner of the house. “Looks like you found Old Red,” she said with a grin.
“Old Red?” I asked.
“That’s what my husband always called it,” she explained. “When we had the drugstore down on Main Street, Brother Wilson used it to deliver prescriptions and things to folks who couldn’t get to the store. That bike’s been all over town, and it’s almost as old as I am.”
“I’ve never seen a bike quite like this, Sister Wilson.”
She laughed again. “No, I don’t suppose you have. I’ll bet it’s a lot bigger than your bike, isn’t it?”
I shrugged my shoulders and said, “I don’t have a bike. I’m hoping to buy one, though, as soon as I make some more money. And I’m going to try to borrow a bike to ride in the parade and maybe win the prize for the best-decorated bike.”
Sister Wilson pressed her lips together and straightened her hat. “There should be a tire pump in all this junk,” she said. “Let’s find it and pump up those tires and see if Old Red has any get-up-and-go after all these years.”
The pump was hidden way back in the corner under some old hip boots, so by the time we found it, we’d cleaned out the whole garage. I pumped up those old fat tires, and they still held air!
We found a wrench and put the seat all the way down. Then we oiled the chain and everything and pushed Old Red into Sister Wilson’s backyard. I had to roll it over to the back step so I could climb on. As soon as I had my leg over the bar, I pushed away from the step. I thought I was going to ride across the lawn, but all I did was fall over.
I tried again, and I fell over again. I don’t know how many times that old bike fell on me, but I finally got so I could turn the pedals and hold onto the handlebars without tipping over. The only problem then was that I needed to look at my feet to pedal, and while I was looking at my feet, I ran right into Sister Wilson’s apple tree.
I pushed that old bike back to the step and tried again. One time I ran into the back fence and scratched my face on the rose bushes. My pants got caught in the chain a couple of times, too, but I didn’t quit until I could ride Old Red all over the back lawn without falling or bumping into something.
“I hope I didn’t bang Old Red up too much,” I said as I pushed the bike back to the garage.
“Oh, I’m not worried about that. Nothing will hurt Old Red. I just hope you didn’t hurt yourself.”
The rest of the day I worked with Sister Wilson. Everything she wanted to keep was put back into the garage, and the rest of it was carried out to the curb for the garbage truck. When we were finished, Sister Wilson gave me some molasses cookies and milk and told me about when Brother Wilson rode Old Red around town.
The night before the Twenty-fourth of July, I was sitting on the front porch feeling real sad because I still hadn’t found a bike to ride in the parade. Mom poked her head out the front door and said, “Sister Wilson wants you to go over to her place for a few minutes.”
I walked over and knocked on her door.
“Hello, Alex,” she said with a smile as she opened the door. “Are you ready for the parade tomorrow?”
I shook my head. “I couldn’t find a bike. Everyone is riding his own bike in the parade.”
“How would you like to ride Old Red?” she said with a twinkle in her eye.
I followed her to the garage. She opened the door and said, “Do you think Old Red will win you anything?”
I couldn’t believe my eyes. Right in the middle of the garage was Old Red. It was all cleaned and fixed up fancier than I’d ever seen a bike. The wire basket behind the seat was made into a little covered wagon with a sign on the back that said: CROSSING THE PLAINS ON OLD RED. The back wheel had colored paper on it that made it look like a wagon wheel. Right in front of the handlebars was a big paper ox head, and the handlebars kind of looked like its horns. Some paper legs were fixed on both sides of the front wheel so that when the wheel turned it looked like the ox was running. I’d never seen anything like it.
“Do you think this will win you a prize?” Sister Wilson asked again with a laugh.
“You mean it’s for me?” I gasped.
“I surely wasn’t planning to ride it,” she said, still chuckling. “You’ve been helping me so much that I thought maybe I could help you.”
The next morning I pushed Old Red down to Main Street where the parade started and where the judges were. As soon as I got there, I knew Old Red was going to win. The other bikes looked nice with their paper streamers and colored wheels, but not one of them was as fancy as Old Red.
Mr. Peters gave me the blue ribbon and a check for fifteen dollars. He said I should ride Old Red at the front of the parade, right behind the flags. I was sure proud. Everybody stood and clapped and talked about what a fancy bike I had.
After the parade I took my check down to Bob’s Market to cash it. Later, when I rode Old Red up to Sister Wilson’s house, she was out on her front porch snapping green beans. “Well, congratulations,” she said and smiled.
I climbed off Old Red, leaned it against the porch, and placed a big brown paper sack in Sister Wilson’s lap.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“It’s for you,” I said. “It’s your part of the prize.”
She reached into the sack and pulled out a pair of brown gloves and a yellow straw hat with a blue ribbon around it. “But, Alex, you were going to use the money to help buy your bike.”
“I know,” I said, “but I decided I could wait for my bike. You need the gloves and hat. Your old ones are worn-out. I still have enough money to pay my tithing and some left over that I can save for my bike. Besides, just winning and riding at the head of the parade was good enough for me.”
Sister Wilson shook her head and thought for a minute. “You know, Alex, I was proud to see someone riding Old Red again. That old bike’s been pretty lonely out there in the garage by itself. I sure hate to put it back there.”
“Well, where do you want me to put it then?” I asked.
“This bike needs someone to take care of it and ride it and keep its tires pumped up and keep it from squeaking. Would you like to have Old Red?”
My mouth dropped open. I didn’t know what to say. “But, Sister Wilson, won’t you need it?”
She laughed. “I don’t ride bikes anymore, and Brother Wilson surely doesn’t need it. In fact, I’m sure he’d want you to have the bike.”
“But I couldn’t just take it. I mean, it’s your bike.”
Sister Wilson nodded her head. “I’ll tell you what. I have a few chores around here that need doing. If you’ll help me with those for the next couple of weeks, I’m certain you’ll have earned Old Red. Is that fair?” I nodded my head. “And in the meantime, you take care of it for me.”
I was so excited that all I could do was nod my head again as I climbed on my very own bike and rode home.

Name: Billy Matthews
Age: 18
Sport: Track and field (discus)
Location: Washington, USA
Major Achievement: 2007 Washington State high school discus champion with a throw of 164 feet, 8 inches.
“In track two of my goals were to earn a scholarship and to win the state title. I had also set the goal to serve a mission. During my senior year I was offered two scholarships. I worried about which school to attend, and my throwing marks began to suffer as well. Eventually another school offered a scholarship, and athletically I was sure this was the school for me. But once again my marks decreased, and I began to question my decision. I finally realized something I had learned from one of my seminary teachers: ‘Don’t give up what you want most, for what you want now.’ That’s what I had been doing. I decided that I needed to put the Lord first in everything. Shortly after making this decision, my marks rapidly improved, and I went up in the state rankings, and soon I won the regional and state titles. By putting the Lord first, I had no worries and felt comforted. I was blessed for sacrificing what I wanted ‘now’ for what I’ve always wanted.”

One Sunday, right in the middle of the branch sacrament meeting, a woman walked in the door off the street. She was a homeless woman who was wearing dirty, ragged clothes, coughing, choking, and blowing her nose into a filthy handkerchief. In a loud, hoarse voice she said, “I want to sing! I want to pray!” and walked right to the front row and sat down next to a member who was wearing a white blouse, leaned against her, and laid her head on her shoulder. The member immediately put her arms around this guest and held her in her arms throughout the remainder of the meeting. It happened that the speaker had been talking about the parable of the good Samaritan as the woman had come in. As this woman coughed and choked, the speaker continued telling of the parable. As he came to the end of his talk and was quoting a relevant scripture, suddenly, in a loud voice, this homeless woman finished giving the verse that the speaker had begun. In talking of this after sacrament meeting with the speaker, we thought it had probably been a long time since someone had affectionately put an arm around our visitor. We wondered what better illustration you could have of the parable of the good Samaritan than what we had just seen, and we were reminded of the Savior’s words that preceded His telling of that parable, “Thou shalt love … thy neighbour as thyself.”

Four days after arriving in the valley, Wilford had been riding alone several miles from camp when he saw twenty American Indians on a ridge ahead of him. In coming west, the Saints knew they would encounter Native peoples along the trail and in the Great Basin. Yet they had expected to find the Salt Lake Valley largely unoccupied. In reality, the Shoshones, the Utes, and a few other tribes often came to the valley to hunt and gather food.
Cautiously turning his horse around, Wilford started back to camp at a slow trot. One of the Indians galloped after him, and when only a hundred yards separated them, Wilford halted his horse, turned to face the rider, and tried to communicate with improvised sign language. The man was friendly, and Wilford learned that he was a Ute who wanted peace and commerce with the Saints. Since then, the Saints had made additional contact with Indians, including the Shoshones from the north.14

When my wife and I were a young married couple, we tried repeatedly to establish a firm habit of reading the scriptures together every day as a family. When our oldest child was about seven years old, we finally made it a daily habit. Reading first thing in the morning, we continued faithfully from that time forward. Once the habit was established with the other children, the younger children were eager to participate as they became old enough. Often we had to read before 6:00 a.m. because of early-morning seminary.

Young married couples are in a position to start their own righteous family traditions—holding daily family scripture study, having family prayer, and preparing their children for missions and temple marriage.

Our cleanup person at school wanted to give us a treat for being nice. She put little bags of candies in our mailboxes (where we put our things to take home). Our teacher, Mrs. Richardson, showed us how to reach all the way to the back to make sure that we have all of our papers and things.
When Emily reached all the way back, she couldn’t find any candy, and she was sad. She told everyone that she didn’t have any candy, but no one else shared. I said, “I’ll give you my candy.”
She said, “Thank you.”
I felt good inside because I did the right thing. Mrs. Richardson told my mom what I did, because she thought it was really nice. My mom was very happy to know that I am trying to be like Jesus at school.

My wife and I likewise wanted Jesus Christ’s miraculous compassion to heal our newborn daughter. Doctors had discovered a large mass in her abdominal cavity. They diagnosed her with infantile neuroblastoma. Because she was just two weeks old and the malignant (cancerous) mass was large, her prognosis was not hopeful.

Filled with faith in Christ’s ability to heal her, I gave her a priesthood blessing before we went to the children’s hospital. During that experience, no words came to my mind. It was blank. Seeking to muster any words possible, the only phrase I could utter was, “You are in God’s hands.”

Disheartened by that experience, we headed to the children’s hospital where the medical team would perform surgery to biopsy the mass, see how far it had spread, and determine what, if anything, they could do for our daughter. Before the surgery, I again gave my daughter a priesthood blessing and had the exact same experience as before; I could utter only the words, “you are in God’s hands.”

After handing our daughter to the surgeon, my wife and I wept bitterly. When our bodies were unable to produce any more tears, I sat in frustration. I began to wonder if the compassionate miracle we had sought was not given because my faith or worthiness was insufficient. Why had Christ performed so many amazing acts of compassion for others but would not do so for us?

I felt prompted to read the story of Lazarus found in John 11. The interaction between Christ and Martha stood out to me. It felt like Martha was hoping for the same thing I was hoping for, that it was not too late for my daughter to still be miraculously healed. In response to Martha’s request, Jesus Christ said, “I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live:

“And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die. Believest thou this?” (John 11:25–26)

At this moment, it felt like Jesus Christ was talking to me. I felt that if I had eyes to see, Christ would have been sitting next to me waiting for my reply to His question. As I pondered my answer, conviction filled my soul, and I answered, “Yes, I do believe in the Son of God and all that He offers.”

Another question came to mind: “What has Jesus Christ made possible for children who die before the age of accountability?”

Again, in my mind, I replied, “That all children who die before they arrive at the years of accountability are saved in the celestial kingdom of heaven” (Doctrine and Covenants 137:10).

“Do you believe this?” was the response. Again, conviction filled my soul, and I answered, “Yes.”

The thought came into my mind, “Then you understand that she will be with God and can still become like God. What more do you want for her? You can enjoy that life with her as well when you stay faithful to the temple covenants Jesus Christ has revealed.”

I concluded that the greatest miracle in my life would always be the Atonement of Jesus Christ. There was nothing I wanted more for my daughter than for her to receive all of the blessings Jesus Christ has made available through His atoning sacrifice and sacred temple ordinances. A compassionate miracle was given to us—the miracle that matters the most.

“But I don’t know anybody who wants to know about the Church,” I protested in family home evening. “My friends know that I’m a Latter-day Saint, and they don’t ever ask me to tell them anything.”
“But, Aaron, you need to ask them,” Dad pointed out with a smile. “Nobody expects you to go around knocking on people’s doors, but you meet people every day who might be interested in listening to the gospel message. You have to have courage to ask them, though.” Dad thought for a moment, then added, “Aaron, you’re named after two great missionaries.”
My full name is Aaron Ammon Anderson. Dad and Mom had named me after two of the missionary brothers in the Book of Mormon, and they didn’t want me to ever forget it.
“Aaron and Ammon were willing to do anything to share the gospel. Nobody else thought the Lamanites were interested in the gospel, but because Aaron and Ammon had the courage to try, they had wonderful success. Surely you can think of someone who might want to know about the Church?”
There were only a few Mormons in my school. Although I didn’t go around telling everybody that I was a Mormon, a lot of them knew. “I guess I could ask Bryan,” I muttered, figuring that he was the easiest guy in my whole class to ask.
“Oh, he’s the one you took to Cub Scouts last month,” Mom said, pleased.
I nodded, feeling that I was finally off the hook.
“What about your teacher, Mr. Santos?” my sister, Karen, asked.
“I’m not asking Mr. Santos anything,” I snapped. “He likes me. I don’t want to ruin anything. Besides, I already have my person.”
Mr. Santos was the best teacher at school. Everybody liked him, and he liked everybody. Everything he did in class was exciting and fun. The last thing I wanted to do was ask him if he wanted the missionaries to show up at his house. I didn’t want him to think I was weird.
“I think Mr. Santos would be a wonderful choice,” Mom spoke up. “Every time I’ve talked to him, I’ve been impressed by how kind and considerate he is. He has a wonderful wife and a darling little family. They need the gospel.”
“Mom,” I grumbled, “I’m asking Bryan. If you want to talk to Mr. Santos, then go ahead.” I hesitated. “But wait till I’m out of fourth grade.”
“Asking him about the Church won’t change how he feels about you, Aaron,” Dad said. “In fact, what you can do is give him a gift.” Dad handed me a Book of Mormon. “Take that to school with you. If everything is right and you feel prompted, give it to Mr. Santos and ask him to read it.”
I took the book because I wanted everybody in the family to stop bugging me. But the next morning when Mom slipped it inside my backpack, I complained, “I don’t want to haul a Book of Mormon to school. People will think I’m weird!”
“Take it. Just in case.”
I was in luck—Bryan was the first guy I ran into at school. “Did you see the game between San Francisco and Denver last night?” he asked excitedly.
I shook my head. “We were having family home evening.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s something the members of my church do every Monday night.” Then I figured that since I’d gone this far, I might as well take care of my home evening assignment and get it over with. “Are you interested in learning more about my church, Bryan?”
“Huh? Why would I want to know anything about your church? I’m a Baptist. You should’ve seen the game, though. Denver almost squeaked out a win. If they had made the field goal at the end, they would have won by two.”
I heaved a sigh of relief. That wasn’t as bad as I’d expected, and I was probably the first one in the family to complete my missionary assignment.
As I sat down in class, I opened my backpack and saw the Book of Mormon. I pushed it to the bottom of my backpack and took out my other books. As I did, I looked up at Mr. Santos. He was at the front of the class, smiling and calling the roll. I shook my head. There was no way that I was going to talk to Mr. Santos about the Church. Besides, I had already asked Bryan.
The rest of the day, I kept thinking of Mr. Santos and the Book of Mormon Mom had stuffed into my backpack. At the end of school that afternoon, I cleaned up after an art project. Before I knew it, I was alone with Mr. Santos. Gathering my things together, I started for the door. “See you tomorrow, Mr. Santos.”
He looked up from his desk and smiled. “You take care of yourself, Aaron. You got another hundred percent on your English quiz.” He winked at me. “Keep up the good work.”
As I pushed open the classroom door, I paused. “Do you need any help this afternoon, Mr. Santos?”
He leaned back in his chair. “You don’t want to hang around here any longer, do you?”
“I wouldn’t mind. I could run to the office and call Mom and let her know.”
Mr. Santos grinned. “Well, I don’t ever turn down good help.”
As I hurried down the hall, I thought about Aaron and Ammon in the Book of Mormon and about how their offering to help had led to the conversion of many Lamanites. I shook my head. All I was doing was giving Mr. Santos a hand, not preaching the gospel. But I couldn’t stop thinking about Ammon and Aaron.
Mr. Santos had me clean out and straighten some cupboards, then put the books on the racks in the reading center in order. He had received an order of new social studies workbooks, and he asked me to stamp the school’s name on the inside cover of each. Then boards needed to be wiped down and the art materials organized.
Mr. Santos was in the room only part of the time. When he returned, I was getting ready to leave. “Are you giving up on it?” he asked with a smile.
“I’m finished.”
“Finished?” He seemed surprised. “You’ve done everything?”
I nodded.
“You’re some worker, Aaron Anderson. I can go home before dark, thanks to you. I have a couple of boxes to carry out to the car; then I’m out of here.”
“I’ll give you a hand. I’m heading out that way.”
Mr. Santos grinned. “You’re going to spoil me, Aaron.”
We both grabbed a box, Mr. Santos locked the door, and we started down the hall. “Are you a fisherman, Aaron?” he asked me.
“Sure, I like to fish,” I answered, smiling. “Dad loves to fish, too, but we don’t get to go very often.”
“I have the same problem.” Mr. Santos thought a moment. “You know, Aaron, we ought to make the time. I know a great place to fish not far from here. You, your dad, and I ought to pick a day and just go. What do you think?”
“Sounds great! You name the time, and I’ll tell Dad that we just have to.”
“That sounds like a solid yes.” Mr. Santos opened the trunk, and we set the boxes inside. He thought a moment, then asked, “How about this Sunday? We can get up early and make a day of it.”
I looked away, suddenly feeling sick. Here I had a chance to go fishing with Dad and Mr. Santos, but I knew I could never do it on a Sunday. Would Mr. Santos ever ask me again? Strangely, I thought about when King Lamoni offered to give one of his daughters to Ammon for a wife.
Mr. Santos saw me duck my head and look away. “Sunday isn’t a good day?”
“I’d love to go with you, Mr. Santos. Honest. But Dad and I don’t fish on Sundays.”
A knowing smile touched his lips. “I bet you’re a Latter-day Saint, aren’t you?” His question sounded like a compliment! “You’re just like Andy Frazier!” He glanced across the parking lot with a far-off look in his eyes. “Andy and I were in the Marines together. The first time I met him was a Sunday morning. We talked and hit it right off. I asked him if he wanted to drive into town and catch a movie. He turned me down. He said that he was headed for church. That’s when I found out that he was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
Mr. Santos turned back to me. “We became good friends. He didn’t drink anything stronger than orange soda. He didn’t cuss. He didn’t smoke.” Mr. Santos smiled at me. “But there were a lot of things he did do. Nobody worked harder than Andy Frazier. And he could shoot!” Mr. Santos wagged his head. “Nobody in the whole battalion could shoot like him. I don’t think there was a better member of the entire Marine Corp. At first some of the guys kidded him about his religion, but he didn’t let it get to him.
“One day we were on parade, marching around the parade field. When we marched, we sang out different cadences. Some of them are pretty funny. Some of them are …” He paused and shook his head. “Well, some of them have some pretty bad words in them. They aren’t the approved cadences, but at times we used them. Well, Andy had complained to the sergeant a number of times, but he just said that Andy needed to toughen up a bit.
“One day we were using a cadence that was downright dirty. Andy broke ranks and headed right to the major, who was off to the side of the field. When I saw him go, I thought, Andy, you’re one dead duck. You’re going to get booted right out of the Marines.”
Mr. Santos smiled at the memory. “He didn’t get thrown out. He saluted the Major and told him that he was a Marine and proud of it but that he had been taught not to use filthy language and didn’t expect to have to use it or listen to it to be a good Marine.” Mr. Santos smiled again. “The major told the sergeant that from then on Andy was to choose the marching cadence. Now that took courage! I’ll never forget Andy Frazier. I think you’re like him.”
I thought of the Book of Mormon in my backpack that I hadn’t wanted anybody to see. “Maybe you’d like to know … well, … what made Andy the way he was,” I ventured. I pulled out the Book of Mormon. “Would you like to have this?”
Mr. Santos took the book. He brushed his hand across the cover. “I think I have one,” he said softly. “Andy gave it to me.”
“Did you ever read it?”
“I promised Andy that I’d read it, but I haven’t yet.” He handed back my Book of Mormon. “Thanks, Aaron, but I think I’ll look for Andy’s.”
As I headed home, I felt great. Even though Mr. Santos hadn’t accepted my Book of Mormon, I was glad that Mom had stuck it into my backpack.
The next day when the last bell rang, Mr. Santos called out to me. “Aaron, would you mind staying after school for a few minutes?”
“Do you need more help?” I asked as the last of the other students left the room.
“Not exactly. At least not the kind of help you gave me yesterday.” Mr. Santos opened one of the drawers, reached in, and pulled out a Book of Mormon. “I found Andy’s book. My wife and I read the first four chapters last night.”
“You did?” I gasped. “Did you understand it?”
He nodded slowly. “I think so. But if I get to something I don’t understand, do you think you can help me?”
“Sure. And if I can’t, I can find someone who can.” I grinned, thinking of Aaron and Ammon, suddenly glad that I had been named after them.

One night our family went out for pizza and games. When I finished eating my pizza slices, I was still hungry. I wanted to take a slice from my sister Eden, but my parents said not to. A minute later she decided to give me her last slice. That made us all smile.
Two nights later, Eden finished eating her dinner first. It was one of her favorite meals, and she wanted another helping. When I heard my mom tell her it was all gone, I decided to share mine. Eden was happy, and I felt good sharing something with her that she really likes. I remembered the good example Eden was to me when she shared her pizza.

Spencer’s family were also members of the Church. That made me nervous, because I had been taught my whole life that if I walked inside an LDS church, I would see fire and go straight to hell.
But Spencer and other Mormons were really nice to me, and I felt comfortable around them. So even though I was pretty scared of the Church, I went to church with them a few times and met a lot of other good people.
Their kindness helped soften my heart.
One of my new friends, Rick, was a member of the Church too. The night before he left on his mission, I told him I was feeling frustrated. I couldn’t go into the military, I didn’t want to go to college, and I didn’t know what to do. He looked right at me and said, “You should go on a mission like me.”
That statement hit me like a ton of bricks. I said, “All right, I’ll go on a mission.”
He laughed and said, “Well, you have to be a member of the Church first.”
I met with the missionaries with Spencer’s family after Rick left for his mission. Six weeks later, Spencer baptized me. I was almost 19 years old.
Still, things weren’t perfect after that. Most of my family was not happy that I joined the Church. My dad even offered me a brand-new pickup truck if I would just forget about it. But my brother Roger supported me. When I told him I wanted to serve a mission, he told me to give it 110%. Whether I was serving a mission or not, he told me to always do my best.
When I told him I wanted to serve a mission, he told me to give it 110%.
I tried to prepare the best I could by studying the scriptures, praying, and going to a mission prep class. While I was on my mission in North Carolina, I lost myself in the work and did my best to follow Roger’s advice to give it 110%.
Ten years later, I lost my dad to cancer. Even though he and I had hard times, I love him so much. As I leaned down to hug him and say “I love you” one last time, he said something I will never forget. He told me he was proud of me and that he was glad I served a mission. Two years later, Spencer got to baptize me for my father in the temple.
My family may not have approved of my joining the Church, but because of their unfailing love and the example of my friends and their families, I was able to serve a mission, be married in the temple, and help my dad after he passed on. I am grateful to be a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

The File on Jerry
To everyone around him, Jerry was a normal, happy, well-adjusted Latter-day Saint youth.
That is, he was until he turned sixteen. Then he began having troubles. He couldn’t get along with his parents. To his teachers and old friends, it seemed that Jerry had decided to abandon them. He developed the reputation of being a loner. His grades deteriorated and he quit going to church.
As time went on, Jerry ran away from home twice for short periods. The police found it necessary to question him about a burglary.
The cases of Jerry and Cindy are true. They don’t know each other, but they do have something in common: Both of them are young Latter-day Saints who were having troubles. But today they are secure about themselves. Jerry has found new confidence in himself, which makes him feel good about his home life and school activities. He is planning on a mission. Cindy has developed a warm relationship with her family and even enjoys talking to her parents. In fact, she has helped some of her friends with their problems.
There is one other thing that Jerry and Cindy have in common. Both were helped tremendously in overcoming their problems by meeting with their bishops, who in turn through the stake president brought into the setting some professionals from the Church’s Social Services Department.

Jenny reached for the nearest pans to put them into the water. “Oh, no!” she thought. “Not the muffin tins!” The muffin tins were always hard to clean. She would have to scrub out each section one at a time and keep checking to make sure they were completely clean.
As Jenny worked, she started thinking about muffins. Her mother had made banana muffins for breakfast that morning. Banana muffins were her favorite kind, and this morning they had been hot and delicious. Jenny had never made muffins before, but she knew her mother had to get up early to make sure they were ready before school. And her mother probably hadn’t gotten much sleep last night because of Elizabeth’s crying. Jenny rinsed the muffin tins carefully and set them out to dry. Somehow, washing the muffin tins didn’t seem like such a chore anymore.

I started going to church with some friends in our neighborhood. But then we moved and I stopped going.
In my new school I signed up for seminary. I began reading the scriptures daily. One night it hit me just how much my life needed changing. I had been learning about the gospel, but I hadn’t been living it. I was still hanging out with people who made it difficult to live righteously. I knew I had to get serious about changing my life. The next day I went and talked to Brother Porter, my seminary teacher. He told me when and where my ward met.
The next Sunday I went to church but sat down in the back of the chapel. It took a while to make friends because of my reputation, but I kept going each week because I knew that was where I was supposed to be. For my 15th birthday, my other grandma gave me a gift certificate for a haircut and some new clothes. A few days later I was ordained a teacher.

We believe in you because we know you can be honest. A television channel ran the story of a 10-year-old boy named Josh Bowers from West Jordan, Utah. He found a wallet that had $530 in it. Josh didn’t hesitate. He picked it up and took it to his mother. The wallet belonged to a mother of four, and the $530 was rent money she couldn’t live without.

Josh really wanted a new bike. But he knew the money was not his. The relieved young mother gave Josh $40 for returning the wallet. Josh planned to use some of the money to get his old bike tire fixed. But a viewer, on hearing the story, had Josh pick out a brand-new bike “to reward him for being an honest guy.”1

In 1978, Isaac was eight years old. He lived in a small village in Cross River State, Nigeria. His house was made of bamboo poles packed with mud and had a roof made of palm leaves. Isaac loved his village and all the people who lived there.
The village was surrounded by a lush, green forest. There were palm trees, banana trees, ferns, and bamboo. To get to the next village, Isaac walked down the dirt road through the forest or rode his cousin’s old bike.
His family had a small farm on which they grew their own food. They ate soup and gari, a dish that looks like oatmeal and is made of boiled roots. One of Isaac’s chores was to walk down to the river and get water for his mother.
On Sundays, Isaac and his family went to church. Their meetinghouse was also made of bamboo and mud, and it had a neat, white sign: THE CHURCH OF JESUS CHRIST OF LATTER-DAY SAINTS. There was a big brass bell in front.
At church, Brother Ekong taught them about Jesus Christ. He read to them from the few books they had received from Salt Lake City. They sang hymns. Isaac’s favorite hymn was “Come, Come, Ye Saints.”
Isaac and many other people in his village had strong testimonies that the Church is true. They were waiting for missionaries to help them learn more about the restored gospel. Brother Ekong did not have the priesthood. He could not baptize them. More than anything, Isaac wanted to be baptized and become a member of the Church. His father told him, “The time will come when we can be baptized.”
When Isaac and his sisters went into the forest to cut sticks for firewood, he prayed for missionaries to come. While he sat on the bank of the river and watched the colorful fish swim back and forth, he sang hymns. He often pretended that the Mormon Tabernacle Choir was singing with him.
One day his father told the family that they were going to have a special meeting on Saturday. Before the meeting, they would fast for twenty-four hours. The meeting was to pray for missionaries to come.
On Saturday, Isaac and his family put on their best clothes. Isaac’s stomach growled with hunger, but he didn’t notice because he was so excited.
Soon the bell rang and the people of the village gathered at the small meetinghouse. It was very crowded. Brother Ekong led them in a hymn and then prayed that the Lord would send missionaries. Many other people took turns praying. Isaac’s mother had tears on her cheeks. They sang again; then it was time to go home.
As the people were leaving, they heard a motor. A car pulled up in front of the building and stopped. Two men and two women got out. Isaac had never seen anyone with skin so pale. Brother Ekong talked excitedly to them. Then he went to the bell and rang it loudly. Everyone quickly returned to the meetinghouse.
Brother Ekong welcomed the four strangers and sat them at the front of the building, facing the people. He told them that the village had been waiting for this glad day for many years. One of the men, Elder Rendell Mabey, stood and told them he was a missionary sent to them by the prophet, President Spencer W. Kimball.
Elder Mabey bore his testimony of the restored gospel. Then Elder Cannon bore his testimony, and their wives also bore theirs. The day was very hot, but no one wanted to leave. The people asked many questions. Elder Mabey promised to return and teach them more. He said that their time had come and that they soon could be baptized.
On the last day of December, 1978, Isaac’s family and many others gathered on the riverbank. They found a spot in the river that had a deep pool. When it was Isaac’s turn, he waded into the gentle river. Elder Mabey took him by the wrist, said the baptismal prayer, and lowered him into the water. The sunlight sparkled on the surface as Isaac waded back to shore. His heart felt warm and sparkly, too.
Twenty-one years later, Isaac stood in the pool of water with his eight-year-old son, Raymond. Isaac now held the priesthood and could baptize his son. His heart was filled with joy as he remembered the beautiful day he had been baptized in that same river. He was very grateful that his time had finally come.

This story happened in Taiwan.
“Are you ready?” Terry’s older sister, Hailey, popped her head into his room. “It’s time to go practice for the Christmas play.”
Oh yeah! Terry and Hailey were in a special play for their ward Christmas party.
“Almost ready!” Terry pulled on his jacket and walked to the front door. “Who else will be there?”
“Mia and Jake. And some kids from Jake’s school,” Mom said. “The other kids don’t go to our church, but they’re excited to help.”
Terry froze. He didn’t realize there would be kids he didn’t know at the practice. There was no way he would be brave enough to say his lines in front of them.
“I don’t want to go anymore,” Terry said.
“Why not?” Mom asked.
“I don’t know the other kids,” Terry said. He always got nervous talking to new people.
“But you can make new friends. And I’ll be there with you,” Hailey said.
Terry shook his head. “Maybe next time. Can we practice my lines at home for now?”
Mom nodded. “OK. But if you want to be in the play, you’ll need to practice with the other kids soon.”
Terry liked practicing at home. It was easy! But he knew he needed to practice with the other kids too.
At family prayer a few nights later, Terry had an idea.
“Can we pray that I’ll have courage to join the practice?” Terry said. “Maybe Heavenly Father can help me.”
“Of course,” Dad said. “Good idea.”
They all closed their eyes and folded their arms.
“Dear Heavenly Father,” Dad prayed, “please help Terry to have the courage to go to play practice.”
On the day of the next practice, Terry walked into the church with Mom and Hailey. His heart was beating fast, but he wanted to try. He felt ready. Heavenly Father and Jesus must be helping me! he thought.
“Terry! We’re so glad to see you,” Sister Tee said.
Terry smiled and nodded. Lots of other kids were already talking and laughing. He saw Jake and Mia. But he didn’t know the others.
Sister Tee told the kids where to sit and when to speak while they practiced. Terry was still nervous to sit by kids he didn’t know, but he tried to remember Dad’s prayer. It helped him feel better.
They practiced the songs and their lines over and over. The kids sitting by Terry were fun. They made him laugh a lot!
A few days later, it was time to for the play. The church was decorated with lots of Christmas trees, lights, and ribbons. Everyone wore red and green.
Terry hardly felt nervous anymore. He liked being with the other kids, even the ones he didn’t know before!
During the play, Terry felt good. And when it was his turn to speak, he said his lines loud and clear.
After the play, Terry found his family.
“Great job!” Dad said.
Mom smiled. “You looked like you had a lot of fun.”
“I did! I’m glad I was brave enough to do it,” Terry said.
Terry couldn’t have done it without Mom, Dad, Hailey, and Heavenly Father. Praying for help and being brave was totally worth it!