Gospel Story Finder

I’m from Guadalajara, Mexico. I love eating traditional Mexican food, especially tlayudas (large tortillas with yummy toppings), and celebrating Mexican Independence Day and the Day of the Dead.
Recently, my parents got divorced. At first, I felt like it was my fault, but I now know it wasn’t. If you are going through something similar, please know it’s not your fault either. I’ve learned that reading the scriptures helps and that it’s good to consider seeing a psychologist or trying new things like baking, drawing, or exercising.
Though this experience has been very difficult, I’m not worried anymore. Going to church, listening to God, and keeping His commandments have helped me increase my faith.
Sometimes when you are going through something hard, it’s easy to distance yourself from God. But as I’ve fasted and prayed fervently, I’ve stayed on the right path. I know God loves me.

“My Young Women leaders had challenged me to finish reading the Book of Mormon by November,” says Sierra Hoffman, a Mia Maid from Albany, Oregon. “I was in the middle of it when President Hinckley gave the challenge to all members to read the Book of Mormon before the end of the year.”
She could have simply finished from where she was. And she did. Then, after completing her leaders’ challenge, Sierra turned back to 1 Nephi in late November and started reading again—this time to meet President Hinckley’s reading challenge. She read each night, sometimes for several hours.
“The spirit that filled my room and my heart as I read was amazing!” she says. “Passages that I had never noticed before stood out and touched me deeply. Verses that had confused me before made sense. Tears would fill my eyes as I read about the Savior visiting the Americas.”
Sierra also noticed a change in her 10-year-old brother as he, too, began reading from the Book of Mormon daily. He became more loving, kind, and respectful. Just as President Hinckley promised when he made the challenge, there was a greater feeling of the Spirit of the Lord in the Hoffman family’s home.

Not too long ago, I lacked self-esteem, refusing to care for or accept myself. I had a serious case of the “I feel worthless” syndrome.
My parents tried to encourage me.
“Put on some makeup, Paige,” my mother would say hesitantly, knowing any suggestion could cause an eruption from me. Talking to me was like walking on eggs for her.
“Just leave me alone!” I would exclaim, louder and angrier than I had intended. I knew my parents had spent many sleepless nights worrying about their daughter. I wanted to be alone, which in return made me feel lonely, angry, and self-destructive. But then something happened to change that.
One Sunday evening, my mother insisted that I go to a stake youth fireside. In the car on the way to the stake center, I argued with my mother. As I remember, I was always looking for an argument, anything I could use to blame others for my misery.
“I don’t want to go to their stupid fireside. I’ll just sit in the car,” I said.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Paige. Of course you’ll go,” my mom answered.
When I walked into the chapel, I noticed a group was already sitting, not in the pews, but on the stand. Trying to go unnoticed, I sat down.
A youth leader tapped me on the shoulder, “Paige, why don’t you come and sing with us?”
“I’m sorry, Sister Daines, but I haven’t been here for any of the practices. I don’t even know the name of the song.”
“Don’t worry,” she said as she helped me up from my seat, “you’ll be fine.”
Before I knew it, the stake president was introducing “a vocal number by the great youth of the stake.” Panic raced through my heart.
The pianist touched the keys and the opening bars of “I Am a Child of God” echoed throughout the chapel. Tears slowly slid down my cheeks, and I began to sing with the group. I knew the words to this song. I had all along.
“I am a child of God,” the words came from my lips. I looked out on my parents who were smiling from the front row. Their eyes said, “We love you.” My mother began to cry, and I knew I was not alone. I was a child of God and had been sent to parents kind and dear.
From that moment, I knew I had value. I was significant to my parents and most importantly a child of God. Finally, I stopped listening to all the negative voices inside of me and heard a voice that said, “Paige, you are a child of God.”

Danilo hurried through the halls of the school. Ahead of him, his dad was emptying a trash bin. Danilo hoped his dad wouldn’t see him. He lowered his head, trying to blend in with the other students. He felt embarrassed that his dad was the school custodian.
“Good morning, son,” his dad said as Danilo passed.
Danilo walked faster, pretending not to hear. But the other boys had already noticed.
“Hey, Danilo,” a boy called out. “There’s your dad, the school sweeper! Maybe he needs your help.”
“Don’t be mean to Danilo,” another boy chimed in. “Mr. Santos can do so much more than sweep. See, he can empty the trash too!”
The boys all laughed.
Danilo couldn’t wait to go to middle school next year. Maybe the teasing would stop then. He glanced over his shoulder. His dad worked with a smile on his face. How could he ignore their mean words?
Danilo ran into the auditorium. The school was having an assembly to announce the teacher of the year. His best friends, Nathaniel and Frances, had saved a seat for him.
“Who do you think the teachers chose?” Nathaniel asked.
“I hope it’s Miss Ocampo,” Frances said.
“She’s really good,” Nathaniel said. “But I like Mr. Torres most. Who do you want to win, Danilo?”
Danilo thought about his teachers. “I like all my teachers. It would be hard to pick just one.”
The principal stood up. The assembly was starting!
“It’s time to announce the teacher of the year,” the principal said. “This year, we have many wonderful teachers. But in the end, our choice was a little different.” He held up the plaque. “Our teacher of the year is Mr. Santos, our school custodian!”
Danilo couldn’t believe it! His dad, the teacher of the year? But he wasn’t even a teacher!
Danilo’s dad walked up to front of the room. Everyone clapped and cheered for him. The principal shook his hand. Then he said, “Some of you probably don’t think that Mr. Santos is a teacher. But he teaches us every day by his example. Each morning, he arrives at school before anyone else. After school, he is often the last to leave. Any job is honorable if you work hard and work cheerfully. This is what Angelo Santos has taught us. That is why Angelo Santos is the teacher of the year.”
Danilo thought of his dad emptying the trash bins. He knew how hard his dad worked. And he didn’t let what others said bother him. Maybe he could help Danilo learn how to do that.
After the assembly ended, Danilo stood up. “You go on without me,” he told his friends.
Danilo walked to the front of the auditorium. People were standing all around his dad, shaking his hand and patting him on the back. Each of them thanked him for his example. Danilo waited at the edge of the crowd until everyone had left.
His dad looked up from his plaque and smiled.
“Who would have thought it was possible?” his father asked. “Me, custodian of the school.”
“I’m so proud of you, Dad.” Danilo rushed forward and hugged his father. His father. The teacher of the year.
This story took place in the Philippines.

On Thursday 19 May 2022, we had a temple trip for service missionaries. Sadly, not all the missionaries could attend—but for those that could, it was a wonderful time in a sacred place.
The sun was out, and the grounds were beautiful. Being new to the mission at the time, it was good for me to meet some more missionaries.
I still feel nervous every time I go to the temple and get left alone, or even with another person my age, almost as if we are left unsupervised! But I love the feeling I get when I’m in the temple with other service missionaries (though as wonderful as the elders are, I’d definitely like more sisters in the mission!).
The temple brings a peace to my heart, even when I don’t understand everything that is going on around me. I know that Heavenly Father has a plan for us, and we won’t understand everything in this life—but that we can also bring any questions we have to Heavenly Father. He loves us and He is there for us, no matter what.
Elder and Sister Kimberling, the service mission leaders, brought a picnic style lunch for us to have afterwards. I love that they are always there to take care of us missionaries, whenever we need. They are the best. I had a wonderful time with everyone and hope that sometime soon everyone in the mission can enjoy the temple together.

A year after Carlos joined the Church, he and María decided their house was too small for their growing family. So Carlos designed and built a new, larger home. It is beautiful and spacious—with lots of room for children and friends. Nathalia is practicing the piano in the living room. Verónica is doing homework at the dining room table. Marcelo is outside playing with Alfie, their cocker spaniel. And Sandra and Andrea are giving their dolls a party. Guests are treated like family here. A barbecue, a covered patio, a trampoline, and a swimming pool are out back. The garden is full of vegetables, pineapples, and sugar cane. And the trees are heavy with fruit: bananas, oranges, guavas, avocados, and mangos.

Carlos dedicated their home when it was finished. “A spirit of love and happiness reigns here,” he says. “We’re trying to comply with what the Lord wants. And all these things have been added to us, just as the scriptures say.

“These are really unimaginable blessings,” he says. He shudders when he realizes how close he came to losing—or giving up—everything. “I have no time for my social clubs now. Instead, we have our family gatherings. And I give most of my time to the Lord. While I’m driving, I’m thinking about the members of the stake and their problems. There’s lots to do. I wasted forty years of my life. Now I need to give Him my time.”

“Carlos is the best member of the Church I know,” says Sister Roig. “He magnifies his callings, he loves the gospel, and he’s the greatest defender I know of Jesus Christ and Joseph Smith.”

I wish I could get in touch with the person whose letter was published in the September 1986 feedback section under the title “I wish I had a friend.” I had a very similar experience in my lifetime. When I was nine years old we moved from a ward where I had wonderful friends to a ward 30 miles away from my old one. I never fit in with the large crowd of kids my age in my new ward. I struggled along for nine years, never really quitting, but sometimes attending Mutual and Sunday School only half of the time.

But I consider myself a survivor. When I moved away to attend college I made a new beginning, and I did my best to be the “Marcy” in my student ward. I sought out those who sat alone or seemed shy, and I tried to be a friend to them. By doing this, I built up my own confidence and again found myself confident around anyone in our ward.

My story has a happy ending. I have since married in the temple and have had three children. If I could make contact with the writer of “I wish I had a friend,” maybe we could compare experiences and learn from each other and perhaps bring about a happy ending for this story, too.

Rubí Monzón, 24, who recently returned from her mission, is the seminary teacher. “When I was fourteen, my mother died,” she says. “It was very hard on my family. Often I would be home alone, feeling lonely. One time, I was crying, and I heard a voice telling me that I wasn’t alone and that the Lord was with me and would help me. It was a soothing voice, and it made me feel good. Since then, I have felt at peace, knowing that the Lord loves me and will always be with me.”
Three years after her mother died, Rubí and her family were sealed in the Guatemala City Temple. “I feel grateful for the opportunity Heavenly Father has given us to become an eternal family. I know that through obedience I will always be with my mother, father, and brothers and sisters. Many times I think about my mother, and I know that in just a short while we can all be together again.”

When I was a child, my family traveled to the Tokyo Japan Temple. The 12-hour car trip was long, but we were grateful for the time we got to spend together, and we spent the drive discussing our excitement about going to the temple.
At the time I wasn’t yet 12 years old, so I was only able to enter the temple lobby. But the sacred nature of that space filled my heart with the warmth of the Spirit.
I could have stayed in that lobby forever. So when it came time to return home, tears started streaming down my face. The temple quickly grew smaller and smaller in the distance as we drove away, and I already missed the strong Spirit I had felt inside.
I was determined to return one day. If the Spirit was that strong in the lobby, I couldn’t wait to experience what it felt like to actually go inside and perform ordinances. I wanted to do whatever I could to prepare to go inside someday.

In addition to the strength they find in seminary, youth in Guyana fortify themselves from other sources as well. For example, 16-year-old Michael Ramgobin of the Demerara Branch says that For the Strength of Youth is a great help to him.
“Everyone should have this,” he says, holding up his copy of the pamphlet. “It really helps you make decisions that are right.” He recommends reading it over and over again, “because it seems like every time you do, you find something new to help you.”
The only member of the Church in his family, Michael says family members support his membership because they see such a difference in him since he became a Latter-day Saint. “I feel a lot more confident as I keep learning more and more about the gospel,” Michael says. He particularly enjoys listening to general conference and attending youth conferences. “I feel I have become part of something real.”
What else has strengthened Michael in the year since he joined the Church? “Reading the scriptures. As you read, the Holy Ghost helps you see things you didn’t see before. Then with the faith you have in Jesus Christ, you find your way. That’s why my testimony keeps building every day.”
The youth in the branch help each other, too. “We share our concerns and encourage each other,” Michael says. In fact, he feels similar encouragement from everyone in the branch, and was particularly impressed when some of the missionaries presented him with a white shirt and tie.
“When I walked into church the next Sunday, everyone said, ‘Wow, you look like a real missionary.’ I feel a difference when I’m dressed that way.” A full-time mission sounds exciting, he says. It would be a good way to continue the great day that dawned when he joined the Church.

Later I remarried and moved to a new ward, where I was called as the Relief Society president. One day while I was cleaning my house, I had the distinct impression to visit a less-active sister who had recently lost her husband. I brushed away the thought, thinking that I needed to do other things that day. I’m embarrassed to say I received the same impression two more times before I finally acted on it.
When I arrived at the sister’s house that evening, it was dark. I rang the doorbell and waited. I knocked loudly and waited some more.
As I turned to leave, the porch light came on, and the door slowly opened. The sister hesitantly poked her head through the opening. I will never forget what she asked: “How did you know to come?” She told me she had spent the whole day crying and felt that she couldn’t go on without her husband.
We talked for a couple of hours that night. I don’t remember much of what we said, but I do remember telling her, “I truly know what you are going through.” I assured her that time was her friend and that the Lord would watch over her. As we talked, I noticed that the grief-stricken look on her face had been replaced with an expression of peace.
At the end of our conversation, I gave her a heartfelt hug. I felt so thankful that I had been prompted to visit her. I knew that our loving Heavenly Father had allowed me to help Him help this sweet sister in her time of need.

I wonder how many of you, like myself, always have a ’To Do’ list on the go? The first one I can remember doing was for my GCSEs and consisted of how many hours I should spend revising each subject. In the years since it has included tasks to do around the house, things for our family, household finances, work, church or spiritual related activities and always things to do connected to whatever calling I hold. I remember a time when I was in my early 30s and feeling utterly overwhelmed when I looked at the huge list before me. We had 4 young children, Ash was on the stake presidency and I was stake Young Women president. On that day I was prompted to read an article written by the then Young Women General President, Sister Ardeth G. Kapp, and one sentence in the talk changed the way I felt that day and in all the days since. She said, “We live in a time when we can do more, have more, see more, accumulate more, and want more than in any time ever known. The adversary would keep us busily engaged in a multitude of trivial things in an effort to keep us distracted from the few vital things that make all of the difference.”
That’s the key, isn’t it? To focus on the few things that could really make a difference. But how do we know what the few things are? Our personal relationship with the Lord and our family are probably at the top the majority of the time. But what else?
Twenty-three year old Tom Monson, a relatively new bishop, before leaving home that night, had received a telephone call informing him that an older member of his ward was ill and had been admitted to the hospital for care. Could the bishop, the caller wondered, find a moment to go by the hospital sometime and give a blessing? The busy young leader explained that he was just on his way to a stake meeting but that he certainly would be pleased to go by the hospital as soon as the meeting was concluded.
Now the prompting was stronger than ever: “Leave the meeting and proceed to the hospital at once.” But the stake president himself was speaking at the pulpit! It would be most discourteous to stand in the middle of the presiding officer’s message, make one’s way over an entire row of brethren, and then exit the building altogether. Painfully he waited out the final moments of the stake president’s message, then bolted for the door even before the benediction had been pronounced.
Running the full length of the corridor on the fourth floor of the hospital, the young bishop saw a flurry of activity outside the designated room. A nurse stopped him and said, “Are you Bishop Monson?”
“Yes,” was the anxious reply.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “The patient was calling your name just before he passed away.”
He vowed then and there that he would never again fail to act upon a prompting from the Lord. He would acknowledge the impressions of the Spirit when they came, and he would follow wherever they led him, ever to be “on the Lord’s errand.”
In 1 Nephi 11:1 it says that Nephi sat pondering in his heart what he should do. He wasn’t pondering whilst reading, hunting or cooking. Nephi sat specifically to ponder and he waited for the Spirit to prompt him on what he should do.
I am currently serving in the Relief Society, so when a sister’s name comes to mind, I try to ponder like Nephi and allow myself time to pause. And then to follow the promptings that come – sometimes it’s as simple as a text to say: "Thinking of you.” “How are you doing?” “Love you" or it might be a phone call or a personal visit. What I do know is that when I have followed the promptings of the Spirit it has always been the right thing to do. I know that those I have contacted have needed to feel the love and care of the Saviour through His promptings to me.
Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf said, “In the end, the number of prayers we say may contribute to our happiness, but the number of prayers we answer may be of even greater importance. Let us open our eyes and see the heavy hearts, notice the loneliness and despair; let us feel the silent prayers of others around us, and be an instrument in the hands of the Lord to answer those prayers.”
I pray that I may always listen to my Heavenly Father as He whispers His purpose to me and that I might be brave and noble enough to carry out those things. I know the Lord lives and that we are part of the Lord’s church on this earth today. And that each of us has a special purpose to fulfil for Him at this time. We can know that purpose as we pray and follow Him in all that we do. I testify He lives and He loves us.

Billy stared out the shed window at the pouring rain. “Nothing to do,” he muttered.
“That’s funny,” said Grandfather. “The world is so full of interesting things for me that I hardly know what to do first.”
“What are you making, Grandfather?”
“I’m making a music box for a little boy I know.”
“Who, Grandfather?” asked Billy, enjoying this game that they often played. “Do I know him?”
“I’ll give you three guesses.”
“Is he a bad boy?”
“No. I never give presents to bad boys,” Grandfather replied, his eyes twinkling.
“I know. It’s for me!”
“Right. But only if you help me make it. See all these rubber bands? There are wide ones and narrow ones, thick ones and thin ones. Some of them will be the strings for your music box.
“We’ll use this sturdy cardboard box that has a lid. I’d guess it’s about seven inches long, maybe four inches wide, and two inches deep. Take this pencil and ruler, Billy, and draw a one-and-a-half-inch line sideways on the center of the lid just above its middle [see illustration]. Now take this knife and carefully cut through the lid on the line you’ve drawn.”
Billy cut a neat slit.
“Good,” said Grandfather. “Now I’ll draw a half-moon an inch above the slit [see illustration]. Can you cut along that?”
“I’ll try, Grandfather.”
“Not so hard, was it? I’ve made a two-inch bridge out of stiff cardboard. It has a little tab on the bottom of it. The tab is an inch and a half long and must fit snugly into the slit you just cut. See if that tab fits into the slit.”
“Is that OK, Grandfather?”
“Fine and dandy. Put the cover on the box, and we’ll put a line of glue around the bridge where it touches the lid to make the bridge secure.”
After the glue had dried, Grandfather said, “Now, Billy, put this narrow rubber band around the box and over the bridge.”
Billy struggled a bit, but finally he had the rubber band on the box straight.
“Now it’s my turn,” said Grandfather, smiling. He added a slightly wider rubber band. Soon they had five of them on the box.
“Let’s see how it sounds,” said Grandfather. He plucked the strings. “Ouch! That one is sour. Let’s try another one.”
Ping!
“That sounds good,” Grandfather said, pleased. “Now let’s arrange the rubber bands by pitch, starting with the highest tone.”
It took several minutes to change the bands. Then Billy plucked them. “It really makes music, Grandfather! Thank you.”
“We can improve its sound by putting a tighter band here,” Grandfather suggested, plucking a loose one. Plunk!
After adjusting and changing two bands, Billy learned that by pushing a a rubber band down with his finger and then plucking it, it would sound higher than it did before. The closer to the bridge he pushed on a rubber band, the higher the note he could play. Soon he was playing “Three Blind Mice,” “Popcorn Popping,” and lots of other favorite songs. “Grandfather,” he said happily, “I hope you’re always here when I have nothing to do.”

A few weeks later, as I was walking through the school library, my friend Brian asked me if I wanted to come to his baptism. Brian and I didn’t have any classes together that year, so it had been quite a while since I had seen or spoken with him. The previous year we had sat next to each other in a history class and had partnered up for a class project. Our project topic, randomly assigned by our teacher, was “Joseph Smith and the Mormons.” I remembered Brian had been quite interested in the topic as we did our research. However, he also liked to joke around, saying things like, “Remind me which wife number your mom is” and “There is going to be this fun party this weekend, but oh, wait—you’re Mormon, so you would be no fun to go with.” Thus, I initially dismissed his baptism invitation as another joke at the expense of my religion. He did not seem like the type ready to join a church with such “restrictive standards.”
But the next words out of his mouth stunned me as he described the whirlwind of the past few weeks of his life. He explained overhearing a fellow classmate and member of my ward invite someone to a question-and-answer activity at the Mormon church. When the person receiving the invitation declined, Brian asked our classmate if he could come along instead. Following the activity, he immediately began taking the missionary lessons. He read the Book of Mormon. He prayed about it. He knew it was true. He really was getting baptized, and if I wanted to, I was welcome to come. After all, he said, I was the one who introduced him to Joseph Smith and the Mormons.

I remember my beloved grandmother, Mary Caroline Roper Finlinson, making homemade soap on the farm. The soap had a very pungent aroma and was almost as hard as a brick. There was no money to buy soft, sweet-smelling soap. On the farm, there were many dusty, sweat-laden clothes to be washed and many bodies that needed desperately a Saturday night bath. If you had to bathe with that homemade soap, you could become wonderfully clean, but you smelled worse after bathing than before. I have since developed a daily appreciation for mild, sweet-scented soap.

When I was 16, I participated in a student foreign-exchange program for a year. I went from my home in Ukraine to a small town in Arizona, USA, where I stayed with a Latter-day Saint family. I had never heard of Latter-day Saints before.
The exchange program didn’t allow the family to preach to me, and I wasn’t allowed to meet with the missionaries. But I chose to attend church with my host family and participate in all Church activities.
I felt the Spirit with that family, and I felt much love at church. At that time I didn’t know that what I was feeling was the Spirit, but my heart was touched.
When I returned to Ukraine, I missed that feeling very much. I remembered how my life was when I went to church and lived gospel teachings. I realized what was missing, but there was no church and no missionaries where I lived, so I thought I would never have that feeling again.
About four years later, however, some missionaries knocked on my door. I was so happy to see them. While they were out working, they had listened to the Spirit, which led them to my house. I’m so grateful they were obedient. I was baptized and confirmed soon afterward.
Since then I have been sealed in the Stockholm Sweden Temple to my husband, a returned missionary who is from Russia. And now there’s a temple in Kyiv. We plan to attend regularly.
The temple is the most amazing place on earth. It is a place where you can be close to Heavenly Father. I feel so grateful that in the temple we can receive one of the greatest gifts given to us by Heavenly Father: to be sealed as families for eternity.
I am grateful to the members of that Latter-day Saint family who helped me feel the Spirit, starting me on a journey that would lead to a family of my own that is sealed together forever.

Almost four years ago, I went to live with my father, a faithful member of the Church for 20 years. I had not been attending church at all and knew little about the gospel.
Gradually I began going to church. Then one Sunday at stake conference, I heard Elder Adelson de Paula Parrella, an Area Authority Seventy, give a talk about tithing. Although I didn’t understand much about this law, Elder Parrella spoke with such confidence, faith, and spirit that I decided to pay tithing from that day forward.
When I began to pay tithing and offerings, something marvelous began to happen in my life. The Spirit began to fill my heart, and like the prodigal son, I was guided to return to the true gospel path. The Lord even blessed me so greatly that I was able to serve as a missionary in the Brazil Fortaleza Mission.
I know that when we are faithful in paying our tithing and a generous fast offering, the Lord can bless us temporally and spiritually.
Rafael Barcellos Machado, Parque Pinheiro Ward, Santa Maria Brazil Stake

President Juan Medina is serving as branch president for the second time, but this experience is a bit different. This time, he can’t see those he is ministering to. “I lost my vision little by little, but I did not lose the capability to serve that the Lord has always offered me,” President Medina said from his home in Sonora, Mexico. “Being able to minister to my brothers and sisters is a privilege.”
During the COVID-19 pandemic, President Medina called each member of his branch to see how they were doing. He said that this not only helped others but also helped him feel less stressed and depressed. “It is through ministering, whether someone has ministered to me or I am ministering to others, that I come to know the true love of Christ.”
President Medina said he especially loves working with newly baptized members. “You can see a clear difference between their lives before and after baptism,” he said. “Love changes them.”
When asked about the challenges he faces, President Medina didn’t mention his visual impairments at all. Instead, his comments focused on the people who are missing from sacrament meeting each week and how he wants them to know how much they are missed.
“The biggest blessing I have received is that my life has changed through the gospel,” he said. “Being blind has not changed that.”

A true story from the USA.
“Are you ready?” Mami asked.
Anika nodded and hugged her teddy bear. She was bringing it to church. She hoped it would help her feel brave.
Anika had a part to say in the Primary program today. But she was new to this country. She didn’t speak much English. She was going to say it in Spanish instead. Would everyone understand?
Mami gave her a hug. “I know you’re nervous. But remember, the Holy Ghost will be with you! You are not alone.”
That made Anika feel a little better. She smiled at her teddy bear. Then there will be three of us, she thought. Me, my bear, and the Holy Ghost!
At the Primary program, Anika’s class talked about what they had learned that year. They went to the stand one by one. Soon it was Anika’s turn.
She hugged her bear. She could be brave!
“My family studies the scriptures with Come, Follow Me every night,” Anika said in Spanish. She took a deep breath. “We learned how Joseph Smith forgave those who hurt him. I can forgive others too. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Anika went back to her seat. Her teacher smiled at her and her bear. “Good job,” she whispered. “Both of you were very brave!”
Anika felt warm in her heart. She had been brave! And she knew the Holy Ghost was with her.
Illustrations by Katie Rewse

In World War II, I was in a military hospital in Africa for a few days with a respiratory infection. The hospital was staffed with native orderlies who were to keep the hospital clean, change the beds, and generally be of help to the patients. Because of the prevalence of malaria and its carrier, the mosquito, we slept under large mosquito nets which hung from the ceiling and covered the whole bed. One night as I went to bed I slipped my wallet under my pillow and drifted off to sleep.
Some time later in the night I was awakened and startled to feel some hands slipping under my bedclothes. I suspected that a thief was after my wallet. I instinctively grabbed one of the hands and switched on the light. My wallet slipped out from under the pillow. To my surprise, I held the arm of the native boy who was the orderly assigned to clean my room. All he said in defense of his action was, “Don’t worry. I am a disciple.” He could tell from the look on my face that I did not understand. In further explanation, he said simply, “I am a disciple. I am a Christian. I do not want your purse. I was only tucking the mosquito netting around your bed to protect you from the mosquitoes while you slept.” I came to know that this young man was not only a Christian, he was a disciple.