Gospel Story Finder

Nicole Antúnez loves to jump rope. She’ll jump in place or while skipping along or even while running down the sidewalk with her long dark hair bouncing behind her.
Not long ago, Nicole learned a new trick while jumping. It was something she had been working on for days. She was so excited about finally figuring it out that she wrote about it in her journal as soon as she could.
That’s because Nicole loves to write in her journal even more than she loves to jump rope.
What she writes about can be different every day. She writes about people she knows or places she has been. She writes about favorite foods and special friends. And she writes about things she has learned, like her new jump-rope trick.

For Elder Jared Roberts, now serving in the Florida Fort Lauderdale Mission, choir helped him decide to serve a mission. “Choir seemed to help me start my week right. It helped us keep the Sabbath day holy, singing praises to God. It also helped me make important decisions. Having a chance to sing at many missionary farewells helped me see how important the Church is and can be to others. It was amazing how many songs we sang related to missionary work. I firmly believe that belonging to the choir helped me make the right decision in going on a mission.”

5. Sam went to the store to buy a candy bar. After he had chosen the one he wanted, Sam reached into his jacket pocket for fifteen cents but the money wasn’t there. He left the store wondering what had happened to his money. When he got home a candy bar fell out of his jacket pocket as he hung it up. He had been so concerned about losing his money that he had unintentionally put the candy bar into his pocket. Should Sam return the candy bar to the store and explain what he had done, even if it embarrasses him?

When I was a little girl and throughout my youth, my father would come into my room each night and ask me about my day. I can’t remember much of what I said to him; I just remember that he would listen. He showed he cared enough about me to give his time to me. Because of that, I adored my father and trusted the things he said. Just by being kind and interested in me, he made me feel like I put the moon in the sky!

When it was my turn to say family prayers, I felt prompted to pray for my uncle. I didn’t know that he was going to have surgery. I felt a warm feeling inside when I found out.
Helene L., age 8, Virginia, USA

Diagnosed with bone cancer at age 14, Mason met the challenge with faith. His mother relates, “Mason still battled with fear, but he chose to not let it limit his faith and love.”
In August of 2021 my wife and I met a dear couple whose friendship we have come to cherish. Their son, Mason, had just been diagnosed with a rare bone cancer known as osteosarcoma. Prior to the diagnosis, he was by all appearances a healthy 14-year-old with a sore leg and stained baseball uniform from sliding into home plate.
Soon, however, Mason’s life seemed to capsize. He was abruptly launched into daunting discussions with medical professionals about chemotherapy, radiation, surgery, possible amputation, and life expectancy. His mom describes what happened when doctors asked if he would like to know the probability of survival: “After a long silence of processing new and overwhelming emotion, tears silently fell to the floor. He boldly answered, ‘No, thank you! I’m good!’ With those few words, he resolutely began choosing how he would face his trial.”
Mason’s cancer was aggressive. His body rebelled against each life-extending treatment. His mother shares, “We felt an overwhelming desire to freeze time, but time moved forward and we experienced the loss of everything we had known as normal.” She continues, “Alongside the crushing fear of the future, we also witnessed the creation of strength, power, and peace beyond our earthly capabilities. We had no other explanation than this: God amplified our capacities. We received miracles, though different than those we wanted at the onset.”
Mason’s mother recounts, “One night Mason walked by the bedroom where I was saying prayers with his eight-year-old sister. Through her tears she voiced her worries about her brother. I held her tightly, and we cried together. Mason kneeled beside us and wrapped us both in his weakening arms. He chose to wade deep into uncomfortable emotions and set aside his personal fear so he could help his sister and me. He strengthened us to face our sorrow by joining us in our sorrow.”
“Mason realized he didn’t need to wait to be cured before his faith was strengthened,” his mother says. “He was able to trust in God, and this enabled him to loosen his grip on his own vulnerability. I watched miracles unfold within our family and even within the community as God helped us see that love was—and is—more powerful than fear. Mason still battled with fear, but he chose to not let it limit his faith and love.”
Just six months after his initial diagnosis, Mason courageously graduated from mortality. He repeatedly chose to let God prevail and was delivered from all his fears.

As she became a young adult herself, Ioana wanted to do the same and help others feel welcome in the Savior’s Church. Though she felt nervous about reaching out to people she didn’t know, she was learning to listen to the Holy Ghost and trust the promptings she received.
When another young woman joined, Ioana got up the courage to talk to her. They discovered a mutual interest in music, and Ioana offered to teach her to lead the singing. Before long they were spending time together, serving as branch pianist and music leader.
“As I prepared myself to receive the guidance of the Holy Ghost, I started to notice Him putting thoughts in my head, answering my questions, prompting me,” Ioana said. “There were times I didn’t know what to say, and then something would come. It felt right when I said it. I’m learning to trust the Holy Ghost.”
She learned that often the things that help others feel like they belong aren’t big. For her, it was being included in Sunday School or activities, playing sports or crazy games, baking cookies, and having dance nights. “It wasn’t fancy. It was just having a good time or being able to talk. And when it’s connected to something spiritual, that can make it extra special.”

In the summer of 1980, I was nearing the end of my service in the Massachusetts Boston Mission. One evening we had an appointment to teach a promising young college student about the plan of salvation.
Several times during the course of the lesson, I was almost overwhelmed as the Holy Ghost repeatedly witnessed to me that the principles we were teaching were true. I remember praying almost out loud: “I already know this. I have taught this lesson numerous times these past two years. I am grateful to feel thy Spirit, but please witness to our investigator as well!”
A short time after this evening, I met with my mission president, and he informed me that my mother had been killed in a tragic automobile accident. Naturally, this sudden loss came as a tremendous shock to my family and our entire community. But once the emotions of the moment passed and I had occasion to reflect, I recalled with perfect clarity the powerful witness of the Spirit I’d received during that plan of salvation lesson. I knew that this was the work of a loving Heavenly Father preparing me for the loss that was to come.
A day never passes that I do not miss the teaching and companionship of my mother. But a day also never passes that I am not reminded of how a loving Heavenly Father carefully prepared me for that loss.

Valerie Walters and Becky Warnick, dressed in white robes with sparkles in their hair, were participating in an angel choir, singing about the birth of Jesus Christ. Seated between Valerie and Becky was Chelan Feller, also dressed as an angel. Chelan needed the comforting shoulder of Becky and the kind touch of Valerie to be able to participate. Chelan attends the American Fork Special Education Seminary, and she, along with 40 of her fellow students, were participating in the first of what they hope will be their annual Christmas pageant. Serving the American Fork Training School in Utah, the seminary has classes geared to the levels of their special education students.
Valerie and Becky, 18, were just two volunteers from the Alpine Utah 11th Ward who volunteered to help the Special Education Seminary stage their pageant. Each special needs teen was assigned a helper to assist in putting on costumes over everyday clothes, to be by the sides of the students as they spoke or sang their parts, and to accompany them as they entered and exited.
It turned out to be an exciting evening. With parents and families crowding the seminary building, the age-old story of the Savior’s birth was presented. But more than the story, the example of kindness and unselfishness that represented the Savior’s life also filled the room.
Becky said, “Many of the students can’t bear their testimonies in words, but when I look into their eyes I see that they know Christ.”

I was in a busy airport last week and there, amidst great numbers of people rushing to catch their planes, was a father kneeling down by his son, patiently feeding him an ice cream cone which the son was too small to hold himself. The little boy needed help because his snowsuit, which kept him warm, also made it impossible for his arms to bend. I thought to myself, “What a great dad!”

In the four short years of Bimbo’s life, he had many experiences. One winter my brother had scarlet fever. In those days no one was allowed to leave the home during such illnesses. My father went to live with his parents for three weeks so he could continue his work. The rest of us, including Bimbo, were not supposed to leave the house.
A quarantine sign was placed in a window and no one came to visit but the doctor. Whenever Mother opened the door to let the doctor in, Bimbo would dart out. Then Mother or I had to chase him up the street and bring him back to his “prison” so he wouldn’t carry the disease to anyone. I don’t know who disliked the quarantine period most—me, my mother, or Bimbo.

When Brandon arrived at his grandparents’ home to spend the day, he hugged Grandma hello, said goodbye to his mom, and pulled off his jacket. Then he quietly peeked into the living room to find Grandpa.
Grandpa was sitting in his favorite chair, reading the newspaper in his pajamas and robe.
Brandon ran to the middle of the room and yelled, “Boo!”
Grandpa jumped and dropped the paper into his lap. “Who are you?”
Brandon giggled. “I’m Brandon.”
Grandpa laughed. “You’re not Brandon. You’re too big. My Brandon is little. He sucks his thumb and always has his blanket with him.”
Brandon laughed. “That’s when I was a baby. I’m bigger now.” He stretched as tall as he could. “I can do a somersault.”
“You can’t do a somersault,” Grandpa said. “You don’t know how.”
“Yes I do,” Brandon insisted. “Watch.” He did a somersault right there on the living room carpet.
Grandpa clapped. “That’s wonderful! Come and give your old grandpa a hug.”
Brandon ran across the room and threw his arms around Grandpa.
“My Brandon gives better hugs than that,” Grandpa said.
Brandon squeezed him tighter. Then Brandon giggled and said, “You’re not my grandpa. My grandpa doesn’t wear glasses.”
Grandpa took off his glasses.
“And my grandpa doesn’t have a prickly face.”
“Is that so?” Grandpa said. He folded his newspaper and led the way to the bathroom, where he spread shaving cream over his cheeks and chin. With each stroke of the razor, more of his face appeared. When he finished, he wiped his face with a towel and asked Brandon, “Do I look like your grandpa now?”
“You look like him,” Brandon answered, “except that my grandpa wears regular clothes.”
“Give me a minute, and I’ll find some.”
Grandpa stopped in the hallway. “Have you checked the bird feeders? My Brandon always checks the bird feeders.”
“No,” Brandon answered. “I’ll do it right now.”
Brandon ran to the dining room and knelt on a chair by the window. A tiny green bird was at the sugar-water feeder. The bird’s wings moved so fast that Brandon couldn’t see them.
Grandpa came in and watched the bird with Brandon. After the bird flew away, Grandpa asked, “Did you like that robin?”
“That was a hummingbird,” Brandon answered.
“My Brandon calls them robins,” Grandpa said.
“Not any more,” Brandon insisted. “You told me the birds that use that feeder are hummingbirds.”
Grandpa laughed. “They are hummingbirds, but you’re not my Brandon.”
Brandon jumped off the chair. “Yes, I am your Brandon. I’ll show you I am.” He pulled Grandpa to the workshop in the garage and picked up a wooden box without a top. “This is the birdhouse we’re making. Here’s the first nail I pounded. See, it’s crooked. And this is the brown paint we bought to paint it with.”
“Well,” Grandpa said, “you know a lot of things my Brandon would know. But my Brandon likes to go to the park on a nice day like today.”
“I am your Brandon, and I want to go to the park.”
“Are you sure you’re my Brandon? I don’t want to go to the park with a stranger.”
“I am your Brandon, and I want to go to the park.”
“Do you have a red jacket? My Brandon has a red jacket.”
“I have a new jacket,” Brandon answered. “It’s blue, just like yours.”
Brandon ran to the kitchen and put on his new jacket.
Grandpa got his jacket from the closet. “Well,” he said, “look at that. Our jackets do match. Do you have a red baseball cap? My Brandon always wears a red baseball cap.”
“Here it is.” Brandon put on his cap. “My grandpa wears a black cap.”
“Here it is.” Grandpa put on his black cap. “My Brandon has a ticklish spot right here.” Grandpa tickled Brandon.
Brandon wiggled and giggled and squirmed all the way to the back door. He opened the door and ran outside. “I’m your Brandon, you’re my grandpa, and we’re ready now. Let’s go to the park!”

When he finally made the decision, it was easy. He laughs now about all the attention he received: “I had been on the offensive line my whole career, and it’s not like a lineman gets a lot of recognition. I got so much more recognition for making that decision than I ever got for playing football. People wrote me, telling me what they thought about the decision I had made, good or bad. I never got so much mail in my life.”
Some people asked whether he had considered all the factors, and some asked if he had thought of all the money he could make. Eli laughs, “One of the most interesting things to me was that people would say, Haven’t you thought of this and this, when I had been thinking about it for ten years and had considered those things maybe a million and a half times.” The letters were entertaining, but they didn’t change his mind or cause him to reconsider. He had been very careful in making his decision, and once he made it he was firm.

Walnetta Broederlow McCall was only nine years old when a missionary asked if anyone could play piano for their fledgling congregation. “I gingerly put up my hand!” she recalls. The missionary, Elder Charles W. Ashman, was not deterred by her age or inexperience. He gave Walnetta hymns to practice, and the following week, she became the pianist for their meetings.

One minute Norene was sitting quietly in the passenger seat with her little brother, Mark, while her sister, Janette, drove toward home. The next minute the car went out of control and crashed into a cement culvert.
The accident happened so fast Norene only knew that her face hurt, that Mark lay on the floor much too quietly, and that Janette sagged against the steering wheel with blood dripping from her head. A fear worse than any she had known in all her eight years seemed to freeze Norene’s body, and she began to cry.
She heard voices coming closer to the car. “You call an ambulance, and we’ll try to get them out before the car catches fire.” Hands reached in and lifted Norene through the window.
“Are you all right?” a woman asked.
“Yes, but my brother and sister—”
“We’ll have them out in a minute. You lie right here on the grass and rest.”
The man who had come to help pulled at the car doors, but they wouldn’t open. He climbed through the back window and over the seat to get Mark off the floor. He handed the still unmoving two-year-old out the window to the woman. After she laid Mark on the grass beside Norene, she and the man carefully lifted Janette through the broken glass.
Janette moaned weakly and opened her eyes. She tried to reach out to Norene, but her hand fell to the grass by her side and her eyes closed again.
“The ambulance should be here any minute,” the woman told Norene, putting her arm around her shoulder. “Don’t cry any more. They’ll take good care of all of you. Where’re your mother and father?”
“They went on a trip,” Norene replied. “My big sister knows where.”
“Well, the folks at the hospital will find them, and everything will be all right. Don’t you worry.”
The trip to the hospital was a frightening one. The siren was going, and the attendants were too busy with Janette and Mark to offer Norene any comfort.
At the hospital a nurse helped Norene onto the bed in a little room and cleaned the cuts on her face. Janette and Mark had been taken to a room down the hall. Norene tried to answer all the questions the nurse asked, but there were many things she didn’t know. Then a new nurse came in and put her arm around Norene’s shoulder.
“Your sister is too sick to tell us very much, but whenever she is able to talk, she says, ‘Get the elders.’ Norene, do you know what that means?”
“Oh, yes! She wants you to call the missionaries.”
“What missionaries does she mean?”
“The Mormon missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” Norene answered. “Can you find them?”
“I don’t know if there are any in our town, dear, but I’ll try to find one.”
“Can I see my sister and brother now?”
“Not yet. The doctor is still with them. I’ll be back, and as soon as possible, I’ll take you to see them.”
When she was alone, Norene began to pray. She asked Heavenly Father to help her sister and brother and to please bring Mom and Dad to them quickly. When she opened her eyes, the door had been swung open and she could see nurses and doctors hurrying back and forth, pushing carts and carrying trays filled with bandages and medicines. Then she saw two young men. Their faces were unfamiliar, but Norene knew who they were. They wore suits and had name tags. She had never been so glad to see anyone in her life. Norene ran out of the room. “Are you the elders?” she asked.
“Yes, we are,” one of the young men answered. He glanced at a paper. “Are you Norene?”
“Yes.” She threw her arms around the young missionary’s waist. “Will you give my brother and sister a blessing? They’re really hurt.”
“We’ll be glad to, Norene,” the other missionary replied. “Would you like a blessing too?”
“Yes, please,” she answered.
An elderly couple hurried down the hall. “We got here as soon as we could,” the man said, all out of breath.
“Brother and Sister Kendall,” the first missionary said, “this is Norene. We’re going to administer to her and her brother and sister now.”
A calm feeling came into the room when the elders put their hands on Janette’s head and then on Mark’s. They asked Heavenly Father to heal them and to help the doctors do everything they needed to do. When Norene’s turn came, a peaceful feeling took the place of the frantic one she had had, and she knew everything would be all right.
The doctor and nurses came back into the room to take care of Janette and Mark. One of the nurses said, “I’m afraid you won’t be able to see your brother and sister again until tomorrow. Please go out to the waiting room now and try to get some rest.”
Norene and the missionaries went back into the hallway. The elderly woman held out her hand. “Until your parents are located and can get here, how would you like to come home with us?” Sister Kendall asked. “My husband and I are here on a mission, too, and we have grandchildren back home who are just about your age. It would be a treat to have you stay overnight with us.”
Norene thought for a minute. She felt sure that Heavenly Father would watch over Janette and Mark and that He must have sent these kind people to take care of her until her mom and dad came. She reached out, put her hand in Sister Kendall’s and walked with her toward the door.

My husband, Eddie Uele, and I have three children: Indie-Rose, Rollo, and Kamaukiterangi (Kamau). On 12 Jan. 2022, we tragically lost our then 2-year-old son, Kamau.
That afternoon, playing and laughing with our children in our bedroom, we suddenly realized Kamau was missing. Moments later, Kamau was found unconscious in our backyard. Eddie performed CPR until the paramedics arrived while my family and I pleaded for Heavenly Father’s help.
Kamau was rushed to the hospital where a team of doctors were waiting for him. When we arrived, Eddi and I were taken to a private room where we spent the next few minutes holding each other’s hands, still in constant prayer. A doctor finally walked in, sat down in front of us and began to speak.
I couldn’t hear any words that he was saying as everything around me had become still, quiet, and peaceful—then, as clear as day, I saw my son in front of me playing with a little toy truck, giggling and happy. It was then that I knew my son had died. I also knew that this was Heavenly Father’s way of preparing me for what was to come.

Sixteen-year-old Tiffany* has another story. “I remember one time in particular when I was around five years old,” she writes. “I went to spend the night at my grandpa’s house with my older brothers and sisters. … I told Grandpa that my stomach hurt, and he told me to get a pillow and come sit on his lap. That was when it started.”

Ace was just pulling the crawdad trap up toward the bridge when the children heard it. “Kittens, I think,” said Cindie. “Maybe in the tall grass there near the water.”
“No, it sounds like baby birds,” said her sister Vikki. “Over on the other side of the creek by those blackberry bushes.”
The two girls and their younger brother quickly clambered down through the brush toward the pitiful cries. “Over here!” shouted Cindie. “I’ve found a gunnysack!”
Anxiously, the young people fumbled with the twine and opened the sack. Inside were four very cold, very hungry newborn creatures, their eyes still closed.
“Kittens?” asked Vikki, holding one baby close.
“They look like tiny pigs,” observed Cindie, peering closely at another.
“Let’s get back up to the bridge,” said Ace. “Dad will know.”
“They’re puppies,” said dad. “Really young and really ugly. It looks like someone driving over the bridge threw out the pups to drown them in the creek. But they missed the water. These pups can’t be more than a few hours old.”
“Poor babies. We’ll just have to take care of them,” said Vikki, 11-year-old protector of all things living. “We’ll take them to grandma’s house and feed them right now.”
“Yeah, dad, we can check the crawdad trap later. We need to take care of the pups now.” It was unusual for six-year-old Ace (legally known as Adrian) to consider anything more important than trapping—and releasing—crawdads while vacationing at grandma’s house in Oregon.
“We’d better hurry. This one looks pretty weak,” observed Cindie, age 14 and the most practical of the three.
“Whoa, kids. Let’s think for a minute,” chimed in dad. “We’re on vacation 800 miles from home. We surely can’t take these pups home with us, and I doubt if anyone else would want four mongrel dogs. It might be better if …”
“If what, dad? Maybe other people can throw innocent little puppies in a creek to drown, but you’ve always said that we should protect living things.” The determination in Cindie’s voice was evident.
“Besides, dad. I think Heavenly Father intended that we be here this morning so that we could rescue these poor little things. We’ll figure out what to do with them later. Right now we’ve got to hurry and get them some milk.”
Minutes later mom and grandma were examining the foundlings—and asking the same practical questions adults usually ask when young people bring home newborn pups. Meanwhile, Cindie put some milk in a saucer and tried to feed one of the crying pups.
“I’m afraid that won’t work,” said grandma. “They’re so tiny that they’ll have to be fed from a bottle. Who would have a bottle with a nipple that small?”
“Maybe a doll’s bottle?” suggested Vikki. “But where can we get a doll’s bottle?”
“And that’s not all,” said mother. “For the first few days, they probably won’t be able to digest regular milk. I’m sure they’ll need milk from a mother dog.”
“But we’ve got to do something,” said Ace. “We can’t just let them starve.”
“Is there a pet store in Oregon City?” asked dad. “Perhaps they could help us.”
“I’m sure there is,” replied grandma. “But is it wise to spend the time and expense to rescue four mongrel dogs that no one will want? They can’t stay here, and you surely can’t take them back home with you. They’d never survive the trip.”
“It might have been kinder in the long run if you had left them at the creek,” mother quietly observed.
By now Cindie had located the telephone number of the pet shop and had started dialing. “We’ll find a way, grandma. Heavenly Father will help us. But first we’ve got to find a way to feed these poor crying babies.”
And a way was found. Two very expensive cans of dog milk and two doll bottles were purchased. Each pup was fed, almost constantly, and wrapped in a warm cloth. Eventually they received their names: Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John.
The days which followed were taken up with feeding and loving the puppies. The girls learned that newborn puppies cry mightily if not fed periodically—all day and all night. On short trips to visit uncles and aunts, the pups were brought along so that they could be fed—and so that they could melt the hearts of potential owners.
But to no avail. Aunt Janine already had a dog. Aunt Karen surmised that one more dog at her house would result in one less husband. Uncle Dennis had two dogs, and grandma had cats. No luck. Neighbors and friends were approached. No luck. Pet store owners were implored. No market for ugly orphan pups.
Each day in their prayers the family members asked Heavenly Father to help them find homes for Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. But as they prepared to leave for southern Oregon to visit grandpa, four little puppies still had no homes. A family council was called to consider the options. The family knelt in prayer, and each of the children asked Heavenly Father to help them find homes for the pups.
Finally a decision was made: The pups would go to southern Oregon—but no further. If grandpa couldn’t take them, and if no other homes could be found when the family reached Ashland, the pups would have to go to the pound.
The trip to grandpa’s farm was a happy one. The young people took turns feeding the now fat, happy pups, and they took endless delight in the puppies’ antics. Both Mark and Luke started opening their eyes. And the children discovered that Mark ate the most, that John cried the loudest, and that Matthew was a girl!
But the four pups were still homeless—and the family was getting closer and closer to grandpa’s farm. Three worried young people entrusted all to a kind Heavenly Father and offered many silent prayers from the back seat (plus a few were offered from dad and mom in the front seat).
One prayer was answered; grandpa took one pup! At least John would be spared, grow up on a farm, and be loved.
All too soon the time at grandpa’s was gone, and the prayers for Matthew, Mark, and Luke were still unanswered. Only one last faint hope remained: Brother “Cwik.”
The family stopped to have dinner and attend sacrament meeting with family friends, the Cwiklinskis. Cindie, Vikki, and Ace were heart-broken to discover that the Cwiklinskis already had a dog and a cat and a goat. There just was no way the family could take in three pups.
On the way to sacrament meeting, the pups were fed once more so they could stay in the car in the shade and not cry while their rescuers were in church. Before going in, Cindie, Vikki, and Ace each offered a silent prayer to remind Heavenly Father that after church they would drive to Ashland—the last stop for Matthew, Mark, and Luke.
Cindie spent most of sacrament meeting with her eyes closed, praying for a miracle. Vikki cried softly into a handkerchief. Ace chewed his lower lip. Too soon the meeting was over; the family was in the foyer and moving toward the door.
Then a miracle began to unfold. “Cindie,” whispered Brother Cwik, “run out to the car and bring me those pups. Bring everything—the milk, the bottles, the blankets—everything. And hurry!”
Cindie was back in a flash, and Brother Cwik showed the pups to the Young Women of the ward. Matthew, Mark, and Luke were passed from hand to hand and lovingly fussed over as Brother Cwik recounted how the babies had been miraculously rescued.
If a potential dog owner wavered in her decision to adopt, Brother Cwik mentioned the canned milk, the feeding bottles, and the blankets. Luke went first—to a young girl with soft brown eyes. With his arms around Cindie and Vikki, Brother Cwik mentioned how earnestly the girls had prayed that someone would adopt the orphans. An older girl with long, blonde hair finally persuaded her parents to permit her to take Mark.
Only Matthew, the little female puppy, remained. People were drifting away now; super-salesman Cwik was losing his audience. It appeared as though no one would take an ugly orphan female pup. Suddenly, running down the hall with Ace came a nine-year-old boy, his eyes shining.
“Have you got any puppies left?” he shouted. “Dad says it’s all right. Are there any left?”
Indeed, there was one. A nine-year-old boy got his birthday present a week early, and three young people learned some important lessons about faith and works and the value of all living things. All the way home the family thanked Heavenly Father for hearing and answering prayers.

There it was, just lying on the sidewalk! I stopped and stared at it. “Hey, what’s wrong with you?” I looked up to see my new friend, Sally, standing beside me. “Look,” I said, “someone’s wallet.”
Sally had just moved to our neighborhood, and I was glad to finally have a member of the Church who was my own age around. “Let’s see if there’s any money in it,” she said, picking it up. “Wow! Have you ever seen so much money in your life!”
My eyes nearly popped out of my head. There must have been a thousand dollars in it. “See who it belongs to,” I said. But Sally was too busy counting the bills in the wallet to pay any attention to what I said. I tried again. “Stop that—it doesn’t belong to us.”
“It isn’t our fault somebody lost his wallet,” she said. “Besides, haven’t you ever heard of ‘finders, keepers—losers, weepers.’”
“But it isn’t ours,” I repeated.
“Don’t be such a baby!” Sally was getting angry. She made me promise not to tell anyone about the wallet.
“Come on,” she said, “we’re rich! Let’s go buy some candy.”
I didn’t want her to be mad at me, so I went along.
Later that night, when I was in my room, Mom came in. “Are you feeling OK?” she asked. “You hardly ate any supper.”
“Sure,” I mumbled.
“Are you worried about your talk next Sunday?”
I had completely forgotten about my talk. It was supposed to be on how the Holy Ghost can guide us.
After Mom left my room, I tried to work on it, but all I could think about was the wallet and whoever it belonged to.
A few days later my older sister, Beth, said she’d help me work on my talk. “What’s wrong with you, Shortstuff—you’re not paying attention.”
I started to cry. I’d promised not to talk about the wallet, but I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Sally and I found a wallet with tons and tons of money in it. We spent some, and now I feel just awful!” I blurted out as fast as I could. I felt better just having told her.
“No wonder you’re having so much trouble writing this talk, kiddo.” She smiled.
“Huh?”
“Your talk is on how the Holy Ghost can guide us, and you’re experiencing that firsthand.”
“What do you mean?”
“Think about it—about what you’re feeling now about the wallet. Where do you think those feelings are coming from?” She looked at me, waiting for an answer.
“You mean it’s the Holy Ghost trying to guide me to do what’s right?”
“You’re a smart kid! Now I think you need to talk to Mom and Dad.”
I went to my dad and told him the whole miserable story. He called Sally’s dad, and they came over. I could tell that Sally was really upset with me. My dad had me replace the money I’d spent. Sally grudgingly promised to repay her dad for the money she had spent. Then my dad called the owner of the wallet, who came over right away. Dad told him the whole story.
The man shook our dads’ hands and smiled at us. “Thank you for returning my wallet,” he said. “I was worried about it. It must have been very hard to find that much money and give it back.”
I looked down at my feet and mumbled, “Yes.”
“Well, I’d like to give you a reward.” He reached into the wallet and took out a twenty-dollar bill.
“We can’t take that,” I said. “We should have returned the wallet to you right away.”
The man nodded, put the money back into his wallet, thanked us again, and left.
Sally wouldn’t even look at me, let alone talk to me. But I was glad that I’d told, even if it meant losing Sally as a friend. I felt good inside knowing that I’d followed the promptings of the Holy Ghost and finally made the right decision.
That Sunday I gave my talk on how the Holy Ghost can guide us, even when we don’t want to listen at first. Sally sat in the front row and smiled at me. I think she was as glad then as I was that we’d returned the wallet.
After church we walked home together and talked a lot. I hoped that we wouldn’t find anything else. But I knew that if we did, the Holy Ghost would guide us to do what we should.

Since no two people have the same needs and personalities, the inactivity of a friend is an occasion for sincere and thoughtful prayer. The Lord may guide you toward a line of action that is just the thing to renew your friend’s interest in the Church. Maybe your Mutual class can decide on a project that he will not be able to resist. Maybe you will sense that the right course is to drop the gentle tactics and confront him very boldly. (A friend of mine was startled back into activity when her usually mild-mannered sister exploded one Sunday morning: “Jane, your attitude is utter nonsense, and you know that as well as I do. Get ready for Sunday School right now!” She said later that everyone had been so understanding and tolerant that she had begun to think her inactivity didn’t really matter.)