Gospel Story Finder

Salmon, Idaho, may have the friendliest fireplugs of any town in the U.S. As a community service project the Aaronic Priesthood youths and Young Women of the Salmon Idaho Stake volunteered to paint city fireplugs a shiny yellow with red caps. Once they got started the young people decided to add a little zest to the project, and several fireplugs wound up with “Have a Happy Day,” “Smile,” or “Howdy Do” painted on them.
Wayne Van Hoose, president of the Salmon First Ward youth committee, said the young volunteers, ages 12 to 17, divided into groups for the project, with the city furnishing the paint and the young people the brushes and the elbow grease.

I was baptized on December 5, 1993, in the city of Minsk. At that time, it was the only city in Belarus with a branch of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I attended worship services there, but I lived in Borisov, 40 miles (70 km) away. I was 17 years old, and there was sharp opposition in my family. But because of the trials I had at that time, my faith and testimony of the truth were strengthened. I was even fortunate enough to go to the temple twice in Freiberg, Germany, to perform baptisms for the dead. I impatiently awaited the time when I could receive my endowment.
In 1996 I began dating my future husband. Igor gladly accepted the news of the Restoration and was baptized on February 23, 1997. On March 1 we were married. Having a strong testimony of temple work, I wanted more than anything to go to the temple as soon as possible.
In September 1997, we moved to St. Petersburg, Russia, where Igor studied at the university. Our daughter Nelly was born there. Even after Igor had been a member for a year and a year had passed since our marriage, we still couldn’t go to the temple because we didn’t have visas and couldn’t get exit papers.
When Nelly was six months old, I became pregnant. It seemed to me we were in a hopeless situation. Igor couldn’t find steady work because he didn’t have a visa. He was holding down three jobs, but it wasn’t enough money for us to live on. Igor’s parents helped by sending money and food from time to time, but I was practically in despair because of our financial struggles. I felt even worse because we couldn’t go to the temple. In August 1998, after the exchange rate rose sharply, we decided to return to Belarus.
Our second daughter, Yelyena, was born in Minsk on January 6, 1999. Igor had a steady job now, but we still didn’t have enough money to go to the temple. Gradually we saved, however, and at the end of August 2000, we took the children to Germany. Igor has relatives in Kaiserslautern, and we stayed with them.
Early on the morning of September 2, we began our journey to the temple in Frankfurt. Although the trip was very tiring and included two transfers, we were full of enthusiasm and joy. We are grateful to all the temple workers, the temple president, and also the sisters who watched our daughters while we went through the endowment session. That was an unforgettable day! It is difficult to put into words the feelings we experienced there, but they were very good.
After the endowment session, we went into the sealing room, where Yelyena was already crying (it was her nap time). I hardly heard any of the sealing ceremony because of the crying, but we were very happy anyway. That was the most wonderful trip of our lives because we were in the house of the Lord.
We even managed to return to the temple. In February 2001 a group of members from Minsk went to Freiberg. I wanted to participate in the ordinance of sealings for the dead, since I had heard so little during our own sealing. I was grateful when Igor and I were invited to participate.
We now have a son, Robert, and as a family we attend the Minsk Second Branch (or, as it is known in Belarus, the Second Religious Community of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Minsk). And while we have overcome several difficulties, we now have new ones. I am very grateful for all of these trials. No matter what happens to us on this journey, Heavenly Father wants only good for us. No one else can help us in our most difficult hour. If we reject Him because of some difficulties, it would be like throwing away a life preserver because it did not keep us from falling into the river.
The burden is easy and the yoke light when we are with the Lord. He will not give us trials we cannot bear.

When President Russell M. Nelson invited us sisters to read the Book of Mormon by the end of the year (“Sisters’ Participation in the Gathering of Israel,” Oct. 2018 general conference [Ensign or Liahona, Nov. 2018, 69]), I decided to try. I finally finished reading the Book of Mormon (for the first time on my own!) at 11:55 p.m. on December 31. Then I asked Heavenly Father if it was true. I didn’t really feel anything different, but I shrugged it off.
As time went on, though, I started getting a bit worried about not receiving an answer. I thought that eventually, I’d feel a KABLAM, and I’d just know it was true—but I never got that mind-blowing feeling. I finally reasoned that I might as well read the Book of Mormon again and see what happens. So I went back to 1 Nephi and started over.
At that time, I was a captain on my robotics team. When I’d sit down to read my scriptures, I was often worrying about some aspect of our team. But as I read the Book of Mormon, I began to see how it applied to my problems, and I started to recognize a pattern of the Lord’s hand helping me. It was a huge faith-building experience. I really did know the Book of Mormon was true; I just hadn’t realized it before.
Now I’m reading the Book of Mormon again. As you read it, you can come to know it’s true as well.
Katy B., Rhode Island, USA

Spencer Douglas of Alabama, USA, decided to give up some social events so he could get the most from seminary. For his first two years of seminary, he woke up at 4:00 a.m. to attend, and the last two years he woke up at 5:00 a.m. He says, “I couldn’t participate in a lot of late-evening activities with my friends because I would need to be in bed early. If I didn’t, I would not be able to fully participate and learn the next morning.” For Spencer, it wasn’t just about showing up to class, it was also about being awake and prepared to learn.

Not long ago I was speaking to Relief Society women in North Dakota. After our Saturday morning meeting, we boarded a chartered bus with some of the sisters who had attended the leadership meeting to return for a women’s fireside in South Dakota. We expected the bus ride to take four hours. It took the rest of the day and part of the evening.
The bus broke down three times.
We spent half the afternoon at a rest stop, but after a tedious wait, the bus driver finally got the motor going.
This could have been a miserable experience. There were families anticipating their mothers’ return; there were rides waiting to take some women on the bus another three hours to their homes. It was hot.
But on that prairie ride I had both a learning and a spiritually fulfilling experience. Two hours from our destination, one of the sisters stood in the aisle at the front of the bus and bore her testimony. One after another, sisters spoke of the power of priesthood blessings in their homes, of direct answers to prayers during serious illness, of the influence of the Spirit in employment opportunities, of being guided in accepting the gospel. Through their testimonies, I saw how easily the light and truth of the gospel influenced their daily learning experiences.

On one occasion while serving in the temple I observed a 12-year-old boy, dressed in white, who had come to perform proxy baptisms and confirmations. He was in a wheelchair, for he had been born without arms or legs. His spirit was whole and his small body was only temporarily deprived. He had come to the temple intending only to do confirmations, which at first appearance seemed quite convenient as he remained in his wheelchair. But, with encouragement from ordinance workers, he was taken into the font and there immersed as proxy for others who, if permitted to witness, must have wept at the honor of having such a special son of God baptized for them.

I imagined that this young man, in far greater proportion than myself and others, understood the great miracle of a body, complete and whole. He did not feel sorry for himself. His spirit soared and he bore a fervent testimony. He had learned to swim like a dolphin. He could write with a pencil in his mouth. He could attend to many of his own needs. He undoubtedly was also grateful for the heavenly assurance that someday his tabernacle would be added upon and perfected, in the image of his God. The boy's name is Gabriel. For a brief moment we were blessed by the presence of our own angel Gabriel in the Bountiful Temple. He came without wings, or even arms or legs.

When I started college, I was prompted to join the cross-country team. The team watched everything I said and did, not only because I was the captain, but because I was a member of the “Mormon” Church.
I was asked questions about the Church constantly. They were amazed that I wouldn’t drink coffee or party on weekends. Before every race we huddled and I would offer a prayer to help us do well. It was great to share my testimony and beliefs with the team.
Our season was ending, and we had one more race in Spartanburg, South Carolina. We stayed at a Marriott hotel, which had a Book of Mormon in every room. I found a teammate reading a copy. When I asked her why she was reading it, she replied that she was interested in what it was about. Excited, I bore my testimony to her of its truthfulness. Many of the other girls on the team had joined us in the room, and they asked me questions about the Book of Mormon.
When we got home I invited my best friend on the team, Rosa, to go to church with me. She enjoyed the meetings and felt peaceful there. After that, Rosa came to church almost every week. It was so wonderful to see the gospel touch her life.
About a month later I received an unexpected phone call from a young man on the men’s cross-country team, Brendan. He told me that he had taken the missionary lessons and was getting baptized in a week! I was so happy and thrilled for him. Both Rosa and I attended Brendan’s baptism. Rosa also took the missionary lessons and later chose to be baptized.
Looking back on these wonderful experiences, I am amazed that so many blessings resulted from joining my college cross-country team. I learned you don’t have to be set apart or wear a badge to be an instrument for Heavenly Father. Through my actions and living the gospel, my teammates wanted to know more about the gospel, which led them to baptism. I found that truly “by small and simple things are great things brought to pass” (Alma 37:6).

As time passed and we both matured, we started to talk to each other about school, teachers, friends, and all the other things that concerned us. Tommy and I actually became friends. In high school, Tommy was a senior when I was a sophomore, and it was nice to receive advice from an experienced student. We were both in the marching band, and even though we had our own friends, Tommy was always willing to talk to me or help me in any way. He had developed a real sense of humor, and I enjoyed spending time with him.
I remember nights when we would be the only ones up, doing our homework, and Tommy would serve us both some ice cream. We would talk late into the night. Tommy was a wonderful example to me, and I was always learning something from him. He chose good friends, and I never saw him hesitate to choose the right. I especially respected him for how well he treated my parents. Whenever we came home from school, Tommy would go into the kitchen to get something to eat, and we would sit down and chat with Mama about the day. Somehow, the conversation always drifted to things deeper than school. I will always cherish those times.

Orphaned at the age of eleven, Daniel Webster Jones traveled from his home in Missouri to the western United States in 1847 with a company of volunteer soldiers who went to fight in the U.S.-Mexican War. “Gambling, swearing, fighting, and other rough conduct” were part of his every day activity he later wrote in his autobiography, Forty Years among the Indians, (Salt Lake City, Utah: Juvenile Instructor Office.) So Daniel Webster Jones in his early years seemed an unlikely person to join the Church, spend forty years proselyting among the American Indians, and with little formal training in Spanish help make the first Spanish translation from the Book of Mormon. As it happened, he was a good person to do all of these things.
He does not talk about his early life, but somewhere he had gained a strong belief in God. During the three years he spent in Mexico with the volunteer army, he “took part in many ways in the wild, reckless life that was common in the army;” but still would not partake of “strong drink and other worse vices that I could see were destroying the lives of my friends.”
Because of his life-style, he says, “I felt condemned, and often asked God in all seriousness to help me to see what was right, and how to serve Him; telling Him I wanted to know positively, and not be deceived.” In his rough way, he felt that people living in his time were entitled to a prophet too; that it was not right “to leave them without anything but the Bible.”
He left Mexico in 1850 with a large trading company traveling to Salt Lake City. On the way, he was badly wounded by a gun accident, but managed to survive until his companions got him to the Latter-day Saint settlements near Provo, south of Salt Lake City.
In that day, the Saints were often ridiculed by travelers, but when he overheard some of his friends reading the Doctrine and Covenants and making fun of it, he thought of his prayer asking for modern revelation. He left his companions, moved in with a Latter-day Saint family, and began investigating the gospel as he recovered from his injury. “Everyone was kind and treated me with great confidence,” he remembered. “I listened to the elders preaching and soon concluded they were honest and knew it, or were deliberate liars and deceivers. I was determined, if possible, not to be fooled, therefore I commenced to watch very closely.” He was particularly impressed by the lack of bitterness that Latter-day Saints felt toward the Indians, in spite of recent battles.
When he learned about the Book of Mormon, “it seemed natural to me to believe it. I cannot remember ever questioning in my mind the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon, or that Joseph Smith was a prophet. The question was: Are the Mormons sincere, and can I be one?” When he decided that he could be, he spoke to Isaac Morley, who had been one of the first converts to the Church in Ohio.
It was 27 January 1851, wintertime, and Brother Morley “was just going out to get a load of wood with his ax under his arm.” Remarking quietly, “I have been expecting this,” Brother Morley used the ax to chop through thick ice formed over the nearby lake—and Dan became a member of the Church.
The next twenty-three years were busy ones. He farmed, traded with the Ute Indians, was ordained a seventy, married Harriet Emily Colton, acted as Brigham Young’s interpreter when he dealt with some Mexicans in Sanpete County, helped rescue the handcart pioneers stranded by winter storms, and continued his friendly contacts with the Indians, both as a member of the Church and as a government official.
Then in 1874, he was summoned to Brigham Young’s office and was called on a mission to Mexico. “I had expected this call to come some time. I had both desired and dreaded the mission,” he says frankly, knowing how hard a mission would be in Mexico. He and Harry Brizzee were both called and told to prepare themselves. Since “Brother Young said he would like to have some extracts from the Book of Mormon translated,” they “began to study and prepare to translate.”
Although both spoke Spanish, Daniel “often thought how good it would be to have a Spanish-speaking native to help us.” A few months later, Brother Brizzee met a stranger, Spanish-speaking Mileton G. Trejo, who had heard about the Church in the Philippine Islands and had come to Utah to investigate it. He soon was baptized and began translating selections from the Book of Mormon into Spanish with Daniel’s help and support.
In 1875, Daniel reported to President Young that they were ready to start on their mission. Authorized by President Young, Daniel soon raised $500 to pay for the printing of the first set of Spanish selections.
In a later conversation with President Young, Daniel was asked how he proposed to prove to the satisfaction of the authorities of the Church—none of whom spoke Spanish—that the translation was correct. Daniel suggested this test: they would select a book, Brother Trejo would translate a passage into Spanish, Daniel would take the Spanish translation and, without looking at the original book, translate the text back into English. President Young accepted the suggestion, and when the Brethren received a copy of Daniel’s translation from the Spanish, President George A. Smith, then a member of the First Presidency, “laughingly remarked, ‘I like Brother Jones’ style better [than the original]. … The language is more easily understood.’”
But that was not the only exceptional experience Daniel had in connection with the translation. He says:
“When the printing started, Brother Brigham told me that he would hold me responsible for its correctness. This worried me so much that I asked the Lord to in some way show me any mistakes [as we proofread the printed sheets].
“Brother Trejo’s manuscript was written in modern language style. When I called his attention to errors he invariably agreed with me. He often remarked that I was a close critic and understood Spanish better than he did. I did not like to tell him how I discerned the mistakes.
“I felt a sensation in the center of my forehead as though there was a fine thread being pulled smoothly out. When there was a mistake, the smoothness would be interrupted as though a small knot was being passed out through the forehead. Whether I saw the mistake or not I was so sure it was there that I would show it to my companion and ask him to correct it. When this was done we continued on until the same thing happened again.”

As a teenager I attended stake conference with my parents. Elder Harold B. Lee was the presiding authority and speaker.

My father had been up all night long watering his 10-acre field of strawberries. He was fighting to stay awake and most of the time losing the battle. But he wouldn’t think of staying away from stake conference, especially knowing that Elder Lee would be speaking.

We were all a little surprised when Elder Lee stood and started calling some young women from the audience to share their testimonies. My father, who was usually right about such things, poked me and said, “You’ll be the next speaker.” I thought, Surely he will not call on me. I’m sitting in the first row of the recreation hall. As I looked up the aisle, I realized how far it would be to the pulpit. I was the next to be called. And sure enough, it was the longest walk I’d taken in my life.

I accepted that invitation from Elder Lee, and as I walked back to my seat, dear people in the audience would squeeze my arm or pat my hand. I was lifted by that experience, and we will each be lifted as we gain the courage to accept invitations from the Lord and His leaders. The invitation to walk with the Lord is a long walk.

Conscious of the debt they owed the workers, Church leaders announced that the first session of the dedication would be a charitable event. Those who attended were asked to contribute a dollar to help pay the impoverished laborers.

On the morning of May 1, fourteen-year-old Elvira Stevens left her camp west of the Mississippi and crossed the river to attend the dedication. An orphan whose parents had died soon after the family moved to Nauvoo, Elvira now lived with her married sister. Since no one else in her camp could join her for the dedication, she went alone.

Knowing that it might be years before another temple was built in the West, the apostles had administered the endowment to some young single people, including Elvira. Now, three months later, she climbed the steps to the temple doors once more, contributed her dollar, and found a seat in the assembly hall.28

The session opened with singing from a choir. Orson Hyde then offered the dedicatory prayer. “Grant that Thy Spirit shall dwell here,” he pleaded, “and may all feel a sacred influence on their hearts that His hand has helped this work.”29

Elvira felt heavenly power in the room. After the session, she returned to her camp, but she came back for the next session two days later, hoping to feel the same power again. Orson Hyde and Wilford Woodruff gave sermons on temple work, priesthood, and the resurrection. Before closing the meeting, Wilford praised the Saints for finishing the temple even though they would have to abandon it.

“Thousands of the Saints have received their endowment in it, and the light will not go out,” he said. “This is glory enough for building the temple.”

After the session, Elvira returned to her camp, crossing the river one last time.30 Saints in Nauvoo, meanwhile, spent the rest of the day and night packing up and removing chairs, tables, and other furnishings until the temple was empty and left in the hands of the Lord.31

My son Tanner taught me this one day when he was eight years old. Tanner had decided to switch from skiing to snowboarding that year, and it was his first day on the slopes. Now, those of you who have snowboarded know that the first day is typically horrible and painful. In fact, most instructors say that you can’t make a decision about whether you like snowboarding unless you’ve tried it three days, because most people still hate it after the first two days. I still haven’t tried snowboarding, and I’m not sure I ever will. But if I do, I will have to rent one of those giant sumo costumes with all the extra padding just to protect myself from all the falls! I haven’t done it yet.
Well, Tanner’s first day on the snowboard proved to be like most first days—very painful and frustrating. Initially he started down the mountain with his older brother, who knew how to snowboard. But every two or three feet Tanner would fall down, catching a toe and landing on his stomach or sliding his heels too far and landing on his rear end. He was crying and yelling the entire way down the mountain! He got to the point where he didn’t even want to try standing up anymore; instead he just slid down the mountain on his bum. And after what seemed like two hours, he finally reached the bottom of the hill. He was exhausted physically and mentally. He was in pain, and I was very tired of dealing with my cranky son.
Fortunately we were staying in a lodge at the base of the resort, so we decided to take a break. I figured Tanner was done for the day anyway. So, after a good lunch and sitting around a bit, I was surprised when Tanner said he wanted to go out again. I asked him if he remembered what the morning had been like. But he said he wanted to try again anyway. I don’t know what happened, but that afternoon his attitude was completely different. He kept getting up every time he fell, and by the end of the day he could butter down the hill pretty well. And today he can carve a line down any hill his older brothers can ride.

I was having a hard time feeling like I fit in. My family had recently moved clear across the country. The ward we moved into had a large youth group, but this was the first time I would be the “new guy.” The worst part was that I had to go to a new school, and the thought immediately flashed through my mind, “Who am I going to sit with at lunch?” Maybe I would see someone from church, but I didn’t want to barge in on someone else’s lunch table, especially since I didn’t know if they would even want me there!
The first day at school seemed to drag on forever. Finally the lunch bell rang. As I slowly entered the lunchroom, I prayed to Heavenly Father to help me find someone I knew. I glanced around to see if I could recognize anyone. No one. So I made my way to a table on the far side of the lunchroom and ate my lunch.
Later that day during math class, I recognized a familiar face. I had seen David at seminary that morning. He asked to see my schedule and discovered that we both had the same lunch period. “Hey, where were you at lunch today?” he said.
“I ate on the far side of the room,” I responded.
“Well, tomorrow come and sit with me at lunch,” he said.
I’m grateful for a loving Heavenly Father, who knows each of our needs and who answers each of our prayers. I’m also grateful for someone who was willing to extend a hand of friendship. Something as simple as an invitation can make all the difference.

"When our children were very small, I started to write down a few things about what happened every day. Let me tell you how that got started.

"I came home late from a Church assignment. It was after dark. My father-in-law, who lived near us, surprised me as I walked toward the front door of my house. He was carrying a load of pipes over his shoulder, walking very fast and dressed in his work clothes. I knew that he had been building a system to pump water from a stream below us up to our property.

"He smiled, spoke softly, and then rushed past me into the darkness to go on with his work. I took a few steps toward the house, thinking of what he was doing for us, and just as I got to the door, I heard in my mind—not in my own voice—these words: 'I’m not giving you these experiences for yourself. Write them down.'

"I went inside. I didn’t go to bed. Although I was tired, I took out some paper and began to write. And as I did, I understood the message I had heard in my mind. I was supposed to record for my children to read, someday in the future, how I had seen the hand of God blessing our family.

"Grandpa didn’t have to do what he was doing for us. He could have had someone else do it or not have done it at all. But he was serving us, his family, in the way covenant disciples of Jesus Christ always do. I knew that was true. And so I wrote it down, so that my children could have the memory someday when they would need it.

"I wrote down a few lines every day for years. I never missed a day no matter how tired I was or how early I would have to start the next day. Before I would write, I would ponder this question: 'Have I seen the hand of God reaching out to touch us or our children or our family today?'

"As I kept at it, something began to happen. As I would cast my mind over the day, I would see evidence of what God had done for one of us that I had not recognized in the busy moments of the day.

"As that happened, and it happened often, I realized that trying to remember had allowed God to show me what He had done.

"More than gratitude began to grow in my heart. Testimony grew. I became ever more certain that our Heavenly Father hears and answers prayers.

"I felt more gratitude for the softening and refining that come because of the Atonement of the Savior Jesus Christ.

"And I grew more confident that the Holy Ghost can bring all things to our remembrance—even things we did not notice or pay attention to when they happened." [1]

Keoni Barney, 16, is a recent Church convert in the Mount Vernon Stake. “All the kids were just so nice,” he says. He found out about the Church when he moved in with his aunt and uncle and started dancing with the youth at their practices. He says his friends’ examples helped him gain a testimony. “I’ve never seen so much energy out of a group of youth in my entire life,” Keoni laughs. He says he can’t keep up with them, but maybe it’s the over-sized collar on his disco outfit that’s holding him back, he jokes. “I love having the opportunity to be in the dance festival.”

When I held an online interview with Darlyn and she turned on her camera, she gave me the biggest smile. It was morning in Singapore, and she had gotten up early to meet with me before getting her three kids to school and herself to work.
Darlyn had always wanted to get a master’s degree, but at 36, she was diagnosed with stage four breast cancer. This upset her plans for further education and her plans for life.
As I listened to her story, I thought that if anyone had a right to be upset with difficult changes, it was Darlyn. But she pointed out the blessings and mercies she’d received and the people who had served her. Darlyn accepted the change of plans with grace. Instead of focusing on what she had lost, she focused on the experiences she had gained. Just as President Russell M. Nelson taught, “The joy we feel has little to do with the circumstances of our lives and everything to do with the focus of our lives.”1
Ultimately, Darlyn joined BYU–Pathway Worldwide because she wanted to keep her mind healthy. She told me she didn’t hate having cancer—she was grateful it led her to BYU–Pathway and to deepen her relationship with Jesus Christ.
I left that conversation wanting to change my perspective of change. Because Darlyn had put aside resentment and anger about her circumstances, she was able to take control of her life. Instead of challenges and change deterring her progress, they propelled her forward.

Four years ago I spoke in this setting about couples serving full-time missions. My prayer was that “the Holy Ghost [would] touch hearts, and somewhere a spouse … [would] quietly nudge his or her companion, and a moment of truth [—a moment of decision—would] occur.” One sister later wrote me about that experience. She said, “We were sitting in the comfort of our family room enjoying conference on television. … As you spoke, my heart was touched so deeply. I looked over at my husband and he looked at me. That moment changed my life forever.”

Sofía was almost eight years old. She was getting ready to be baptized. She was learning lots of important things. One thing she had learned about was prayer. She knew she could pray to Heavenly Father anytime. She knew she could pray anyplace.
One day Sofía and Mama decided to visit Papa at work. It would be a long trip. Papa worked in another town. They would have to ride on a bus, then in a truck, and then in a taxi.
During the bus ride, Sofía fell asleep. She woke up when she heard a baby crying. A mom and dad with a baby had gotten on the bus. The baby was sick and crying loudly. The baby’s parents looked worried.
Sofía felt sorry for the baby. She felt sorry for the parents too. Then she had an idea. She whispered in Mama’s ear. “Could I say a prayer and ask Heavenly Father to bless the baby?”
“Of course,” Mama said with a smile.
Sofía bowed her head and said a silent prayer. She prayed hard. She asked Heavenly Father to bless the baby. She asked Him to help the baby feel better and stop crying.
Sofía knew that we do not always get what we pray for. She also knew that our prayers are not always answered right away. But in a short time, the baby calmed down. Then the baby stopped crying. She seemed to feel better. Her parents did not look so worried.
Sofía felt warm and happy inside. She was happy for the baby—and for the baby’s parents. She knew Heavenly Father had heard her prayer.

I want to tell you about my little brother, Hans. When he was born, he didn’t seem to like being here on earth. He would wake up in the night, and when he saw that he was still here, he would start crying. He would only stop when Mom fed him. After he got older, he seemed to feel better about being here.
We slept in the same room, and at bedtime we always played games. He would never just go to sleep. After Mom kissed us goodnight and shut the door, Hans would jump up, hold onto the rail of his crib, and begin to bounce. He would wave and yell at me until we both were laughing hard. I really liked sharing a bedroom with him, even if he was a baby.
Some people think that babies are a bother, but Hans wasn’t. He was good. He would watch us, then try to do everything we did. He used to go around the house picking up little pieces of rubbish that no one else saw. Then he would run to the wastebasket and throw them in. He always tried to help everybody. He was smart about it too. One day he decided to help Mom. He climbed up onto the stove when he was alone in the kitchen. Later we found him sitting beside the burners stirring a pot full of cold water. When we came in, he clapped his hands and said, “Oh, see!”
Hans was very adventurous. He wasn’t afraid of anything. His best trick was to climb up our big bookcase. He could get nearly to the ceiling. Mom always lifted him down, but I thought that he was better than a mountain climber.
Once I did something terrible to him without meaning to. He was coming up the stairs, steadying himself with his hand on the wall. When he got to the door at the top, his hand poked through where the door hinge is. I didn’t see him, and I slammed the door on his finger. He screamed and screamed. Mom and Dad rushed him to the hospital because the end of his finger was badly cut and he needed stitches. I felt awful. But when he came back home, he gave me a hug, so I knew that he still loved me. He was really brave and hardly ever cried about his finger, and he wasn’t even two years old! I felt awfully proud of him.
When the weather was nice, we used to go for walks together down the street. He really liked to play in the vacant field, running on his little legs along the paths. He liked the flowers and bugs and birds too.
I guess that we had the most fun one day when Mom went visiting teaching. She left Daddy to take care of us. He was busy in his study, so we looked for something fun to do until Mom got home. Hans opened a cupboard and took out a big can of flour. He took off the lid and showed it to me. It looked like something fun to play with, so we took it into the living room, where he poured it all onto the carpet. Then we rubbed it in big circles. If felt soft and nice. Hans rubbed a white circle around one of his eyes. He looked so funny! Mom came home right after that, and she couldn’t get mad when she saw how funny he looked. She just got her camera and took a picture of us.
Now I’m really glad that she took the picture. It helps me to look at it. It helps me to tell you about Hans too. You see, he got really sick last month—Mom said it was meningitis. Even though the doctor and the bishop came to help, he died, and I don’t ever want to forget him.
We all cried when Hans died. Mom and Dad hugged each other and cried. They hugged me too. Our neighbors and friends came over, and they cried. I’m glad that our friends were there. Mom and Dad had to be gone sometimes, getting things ready to bury Hans. It helped to talk to my friends. It helped to just sit on the porch with them beside me.
Mom decided to make a little white suit for Hans to wear for his funeral. She got the pants made, but when she had trouble with the jacket, one of her friends took it and finished sewing it. She and Dad went to the mortuary to put the suit on Hans.
After Mom and Dad came back, we all dressed in our Sunday clothes. My grandmas and grandpas were there too. We went together to the mortuary to see Hans. The stake president, who is also the mortician, was there, and he put his arm around me. That helped me feel better.
I never saw anyone dead before. I knew that Hans would be different, that he wouldn’t be able to talk to me. I wondered how I would feel when I saw him.
Mom held my hand, and we went into a beautiful room with lots of flowers. There was quiet music playing. The room was just for our family so that we could be alone with Hans.
Hans was lying in a casket. It looked like a little white bed. His eyes were closed. He looked different, but he looked nice.
Hans’s funeral was in the morning. All my cousins and aunts and uncles came. Our friends and neighbors were there, too, and we sang “I Know My Father Lives.” Mom and Dad played a song for Hans on the piano and then talked a lot about Jesus.
Hans is buried near a little pine tree. I like that tree. Dad says that we can watch it grow. It will remind us that Hans is really alive, too, only with Jesus.
I know that Hans will always be my brother because Mom and Dad were married in the temple. I didn’t know how important that was until Hans died. Now I do.
Sometimes we go to the cemetery to put flowers on Hans’s grave. I told Mom that it’s kind of like the park where we had our family reunion. She hugged me tightly and told me that when Resurrection Day comes, the good people who have been buried will meet with everybody that they love, and it will be the biggest family reunion that you ever saw. I can hardly wait to hug Hans when he is resurrected. I miss him a lot, but I know that he is happy because he lives with Heavenly Father and Jesus.
When I die, I won’t be afraid, because I will see Jesus, and I will be with Hans again. I am going to try to be as good as Hans was so that we can live together some day.
When I take the sacrament, I think about how Jesus was resurrected so that we can be too. I love Jesus for doing that. Even though Hans is dead, because of Jesus I can feel happy.

Saríah Moya, 15, became friends with a young woman who said she and her family were atheists. But she admired Saríah’s standards and her willingness to be true to them amid criticism. They talked about the gospel many times, Saríah gave her a copy of the Book of Mormon, they prayed together, and Saríah’s friend went to church with her. “Yesterday she came to a Young Women activity, and we sang a hymn,” Saríah says. “Afterward she told me, ‘I do believe in God.’ I realized that my example had helped someone find Heavenly Father.”