Gospel Story Finder

We were coming down a hill, feeling tired and frustrated. It was our 16th day in Sogod, Philippines. We had opened this area to missionary work and had spoken to a host of people as we climbed up and down the hills of the city. But we had yet to find anyone who cared enough to listen to our message. Rejection filled our days with sorrow.
Sogod—a small paradise, really—faced a beautiful, tranquil bay, and Elder Archer, my American companion, and I were knocking on doors that day. “Let’s stop and plan for a few minutes,” Elder Archer suggested, wiping his forehead. His neck and arms were sunburned, and my shoulders were aching from the weight of 30 copies of the Book of Mormon inside my backpack. We sat under a tree and looked at our weekly planner.
“Our next appointment is at 6:30 tonight. It’s only 3:30. What do you want to do?” Elder Archer asked.
“Let’s continue tracting. See that street going to the river? I think it’s a good area. And besides, it’s got plenty of shade with all the coconut trees,” I said.
As we made our way down the hill, I prayed in my heart that we would not be rejected again. As we reached an unfamiliar junction, we met an old couple carrying bamboo poles, bundles of wood, shingles, and tools.
They seemed a little embarrassed when we offered to help carry their load. After we insisted, they finally gave in—and off we went, not sure how far we had to go. We must have been quite a sight because as we entered the neighborhood, many people gathered on the street to see two strangers in white shirts and ties carrying this old couple’s bundles.
We were surprised to find out that the materials we were carrying were to be used to build a temporary home to replace one toppled by a typhoon. As we talked with them, a curious crowd gathered around us trying to find out who we were. There were smiles of gratitude on the faces of the old couple as we left, and we were happy about what had happened.
Carrying some bundles for an elderly couple was such a simple task, but it opened the doors to missionary work in the area. People didn’t forget what we had done, and they became more interested in hearing the gospel. Elder Archer and I witnessed how this simple act of service blessed Sogod. I labored there for almost four months and witnessed wonderful growth of the Church.
I now understand the promise the Lord makes to those who give true service to others—there is lasting joy in giving, in helping, and in bringing souls to the truth. We learned this for ourselves that day in Sogod.

I have always learned in Primary and at home that we should be honest. We should not keep what does not belong to us, we should return change when we receive too much at the store, and we should always tell the truth even though we may be punished.
One day when I was nine, I was waiting on the school patio for my mother and I saw a wallet on a bench. There was money in it.
I thought about what I should do. My mother works very hard to take care of my two sisters and me, but things weren’t going very well at home. I thought about what I could buy.
Then I started to worry about the person who had lost the money and how much she would miss it. I sat down and waited because I knew she would come to look for it.
After some time, a very upset woman appeared and asked, “Have you found a wallet?”
I answered, “Is this it?”
Her joy was so great she hugged me. She thanked me again and again.
At that time, I did not even think about why I made the decision to be honest. But when I told my mother about it later, she said the Holy Ghost had whispered to me and I had listened to the still, small voice.
I am grateful for having learned to be honest.

As Sister Simpson and I walked along lower Queen Street in Auckland, New Zealand, the other day, we came to a particular place not far from the wharf. There we paused for a few moments as I related to her the incident that took place at that very spot during my first mission.
I could still see in my mind’s eye a very old Maori couple who stood at the curb with thousands of others waving farewell to the Maori Battalion as they marched down to their troop transport and off to war.
The old couple became very excited as one young soldier glanced their way with a big smile. From their Maori conversation, it became apparent that this was their great-grandson going off to war.
His would be an atomic war with sophisticated equipment capable of killing by the thousands—so unlike the Maori wars of the late 1800s that the old Maori had participated in as a young tribal warrior.
Soon the boy was gone from view, and it was then that the old man turned to his wife and said (perhaps a little cynically), “Ka tahi kua pakeha tatou,” which in effect means, “So now we are civilized.”

For her Faith in God Award, Chevon Rayner is working on several activities and keeping a record of them in her journal. For the “Learning and Living the Gospel” category, she created a gospel crossword puzzle with 72 answers. She made it up from notes she took in her Primary class. She is studying the piano to develop her talents and meet the great need for pianists in the branches in Malaysia. Chevon also organized a dinner and made cakes for Valentine’s Day for the eight missionaries in her area. This is part of her “Serving Others” requirement. She also reads the scriptures every day.

When President Nelson invited the women of the Church in October 2018 general conference to read the Book of Mormon before the end of the year, Matthew, Andrew, and Isaac, along with their father and younger brothers, decided to offer Mom their support. “We’ll read it with you!” they said. Every morning before seminary, they woke up to read together.
Matthew, Andrew, and Isaac are amazed that their family finished the Book of Mormon in just two months. “It usually takes us a year,” Isaac says. Together, they discovered the blessings of following the prophet’s invitation.
“If you do what you’re supposed to do,” Andrew says, “like building a relationship with Heavenly Father through prayer, scripture study, and staying fully active in the Church, life is so much better.”

Early in April Chauncey traveled to Salt Lake City with LeRoi, who had been staying with him. They took the train as far as Ogden, where Chauncey visited his cousin, his uncle, and other relatives, and went to the cemetery to see the burial spot of his father, who had been murdered in 1894. They then continued to Salt Lake City. The busy day was not over: “On arriving LeRoi C. Snow took me through the electric light works, business college, bicycle school, and Christensen’s Dancing Academy. … We then went to my aunt’s house.”
The next day, after a trip to the depot to get their baggage, LeRoi showed him ZCMI, the Deseret News building, and the natatorium, where they took a swim. On April 6 they went to see the City and County building:
“It is a fine, large, immense and beautiful structure in outside appearance, with a town clock and tower, in which we were favored with the privilege of ascending into. We went through the principal halls and some rooms, winding our way gradually to the top. We were in the clock and saw the four chimes that make known the time. At last we reached the high tower and could see all over the city, being up a height of 263 feet.”
After attending all of the sessions of general conference, they visited the Deseret Museum and Science Building at the University of Utah and attended a class in theology at LDS College. Later Chauncey visited the gymnasium and the public library.

I feel like whenever I hear testimonies about paying tithing, they always include miraculous, earth-shattering experiences.
I’m grateful for these testimonies, but I’ve never had this kind of experience before.
But then again, I’ve never had the Spirit knock me on the head, either—it has always been more subtle.
I’ve always paid tithing. I’ve never really considered not paying it, originally because my parents expected it, then as I went to college because I felt inspired to. And as I got married and started having kids, I continued because I had faith in Jesus Christ and a firm testimony of the blessings that can come from paying a full tithe.
When I pay my tithing, things just kind of work out. We always have enough food. Things end up being a little cheaper than I thought they would be, or I’m able to find sales or coupons. Granted, I have to work for it—it takes effort and faith. We save and we are frugal and we budget. But when all is said and done, at the end of the day, I always know things will be OK because I’ve paid my tithing and done the best I could and put the rest in God’s hands.
As I was thinking back on my experiences and why I have such a strong testimony of tithing, I thought of something interesting. At least for me, the blessings of tithing are not like the manna from heaven. I don’t just get random checks of money in the mail or random meals from someone who was inspired to bring me something. It’s more like when Jesus fed the 5,000 (see Matthew 14:14–21). A young man offered all the food he had. The Savior gave thanks to God and then fed everyone, with only five loaves of bread and two fishes. And miraculously everyone was filled, and there was food to spare.
There have been some weeks when I have not been sure what I would eat because I needed to feed my family. But somehow there is always enough. Food doesn’t just appear. But I feel satisfied with a smaller portion and so does my husband. I don’t get extra cash, but I am able to stretch what we do have farther.
It’s amazing how Heavenly Father works with us and with what we need. Everyone is different. Everyone’s needs are different. And so our blessings are different. It’s amazing how aware of our needs He is, both physical and spiritual. I’ve been blessed by paying my tithing. I want you to know that.

Brent ran downstairs, his little sister, Lindsey, following close behind. “Mom!” Brent cried. “Lindsey won’t leave us alone!”
Brent’s best friend, Clint, had come over to play. The boys were playing with Brent’s fire truck and putting out the fires in the skyscrapers they had built out of blocks. “Lindsey always wants to do what we’re doing,” Brent said. “Why can’t she go away?”
“Brent, please be nice to your sister. She just wants to spend time with you,” Mom said.
“But, Mom, she always wants to tag along. Can’t she do something else for a while?”
“How about if we color together, Lindsey?” Mom asked. Lindsey nodded.
“Thanks, Mom,” Brent said as he started back up the stairs.
“Don’t forget, Brent,” Mom called after him. “You and Clint have practice for the Christmas program in less than an hour.”
“OK, Mom,” Brent replied.
“Mommy, why doesn’t Brent like me?” Lindsey asked, tears forming in her eyes.
“He does like you,” Mom said. “But sometimes he just wants to be with his friends. Brent loves you very much, even if he doesn’t always show it.”
A little while later, Mom took Brent and Clint to the church to practice for the Christmas program. Brent was excited. He was going to play Joseph this year. Before, he’d always been a sheep or a shepherd or a Wise Man. That was neat, but this year would be the best ever.
“OK, we’re going to practice the scene at the inns,” Brother Mitchell said. “Joseph and Mary, take your places. Innkeepers, it’s time.”
The Primary children hurried to their places onstage as Joseph and Mary approached the first inn.
“Please, do you have a room that we could stay in for the night?” Brent asked. “My wife is going to have a baby very soon, and she needs a place to rest.”
“I’m sorry. There’s no room,” the innkeeper said.
“Come on, Mary. Let’s try another place,” Brent said. They walked to the next innkeeper. “Hello, sir. We’ve come a long way, and my wife is going to have a baby very soon. Do you have a place where we can stay?”
“No, we’re all full. There’s no room.”
Brent went to the next innkeeper and knocked on the door, then the next, and then the next. The answer was always the same.
“There’s no room.”
“No room.”
“No room.”
“I’m so sorry, Mary,” Brent said. “Let’s try this one last place.” He turned and knocked on the door. “Sir, please, we’re very far from home, we have no place to go, and my wife is going to have a baby very soon. We’ve tried every inn in town. Do you have anywhere that we could stay?”
“I’m sorry. We’re all full.”
Joseph and Mary turned away slowly, looking sad. “I’m sorry, Mary,” Brent began. “I don’t know what—”
“Wait! Wait just a moment,” the innkeeper called after them. “Maybe I have a place after all. Come with me.” The innkeeper led them to the stable with cows, sheep, and other animals. “It’s not much, but you can stay here if you like.”
“This is wonderful,” Brent said gratefully. “Thank you very, very much.”
* * * *
A few days later, Clint was at Brent’s house again. They were playing in a big box, pretending it was a fort that protected them from invaders. But Lindsey kept bothering them, asking if she could come inside too.
“Lindsey, why don’t you go do something else? Can’t you see that there’s no room for—” Brent stopped mid-sentence. He thought of the words that he’d heard just a few days before: “No room, no room, no room.” He thought of Joseph and Mary and the baby Jesus, who meant so much to all of them. Then he looked at his little sister.
“I’m sorry, Lindsey. Of course there’s room for you. There’s always room for three.”

“We are going to sing in church next week,” Sister Hardy, the Primary chorister, announced. There were murmurs of excitement and surprise among the Primary children.
I raised my hand. “Why are we singing next Sunday?” I asked. “It’s not Mother’s Day or Father’s Day. Easter was a long time ago, and it’s not Christmas yet. It’s only November.”
Sister Hardy smiled. “I know it’s not a special occasion, Eliza, but I feel we should do this.” She turned back to the group. “We’ll be singing one of your favorite songs: ‘Latter-day Prophets.’”*
That was one of our favorite songs. Enthusiastically we practiced the song, holding up pictures of each prophet as we sang his name:
Joseph Smith; then Brigham Young;
John Taylor came third, we know,
Then Wilford Woodruff, Lorenzo Snow;
Joseph F. Smith, remember the F,
Heber J. Grant and George Albert Smith;
David O. McKay was followed by
Joseph Fielding Smith,
A mighty man was Harold B. Lee,
And now we’ve named past prophets, you see.
Our prophet today is loved by all;
He’s Spencer W. Kimball.
So many prophets! I counted the pictures. Ten, eleven, twelve in all! I knew that Heber J. Grant called my grandpa on his mission to New Zealand. I knew my mother met David O. McKay when she was a little girl.
I knew that Joseph Fielding Smith called my dad on his mission to Hong Kong, but it was President Kimball that I knew best.
President Kimball had been the prophet my whole life. I loved to hear his gravelly but kind voice when he spoke in conference, and I tried to do what he taught. My family had a big garden because President Kimball told us we should plant one. I was trying to keep a journal and memorize scriptures because that’s what President Kimball had done since he was a little boy. Because President Kimball received the revelation on priesthood, my good friend, Abdul, could be sealed to his family in the temple. I really did love President Kimball. He was my very own prophet, and I was glad my Primary could sing about him in church.
But during that week, something terrible happened. On Wednesday my mom came into my room with tears in her eyes. “I have some sad news, Eliza. President Kimball died last night.”
Suddenly there were tears in my own eyes. I felt lost. My very own prophet gone? Who would lead us now?
Mother knelt by my bed. “Let’s pray and thank Heavenly Father that we were guided by such a wonderful prophet for so long. And let’s ask Him to bless and comfort sweet Sister Kimball.”
We prayed, then we hugged each other and cried a little. It made me feel better.
“I’ll miss him,” Mom said.
“Me too,” I said. Then I remembered something. “Mom, we’re singing ‘Latter-day Prophets’ in church this Sunday. Do you think we’ll still do it? Or do you think Sister Hardy will pick another song for us to sing?”
Mother shook her head. “I think Sister Hardy was inspired to pick this song. It will be a special tribute to President Kimball. I’m sure you’ll sing it very well.”
My mother was right. We did sing it on Sunday, just as it had been written. And even though President Kimball was no longer “our prophet today,” he was still “loved by all.”
As I sang I felt comforted. I knew that Heavenly Father would never leave us without a prophet to guide us and show us the way. Just as eleven prophets had come before President Kimball, many others would follow after him. Each prophet would be called of God, and each prophet would be loved by all—just like my very own prophet, Spencer W. Kimball.

Ellen sniffed the moist sea air as she leaned over the bow of the great sailing vessel. The Hudson had sailed away from the coast of England just weeks before. Ellen had cried that day as she waved farewell to some of her friends and family in the cheering crowd. But they were tears of joy. Finally, after years of working and praying, her family’s prayers had been answered. They were going to the land of their dreams—America, the land of Zion!
Ellen enjoyed the sea. During the few times she was able to slip away from taking care of her younger brothers and sisters, Ellen liked to lean over the bow of the ship and let her hair blow wild while she searched for dolphins and other sea creatures.
Ellen’s heart sank as she heard a voice behind her. “Ellen! You must come. It’s time for breakfast prayers.”
“Coming,” Ellen grumbled. Stepping back from the ship’s railing, she tried her best to straighten her hair. “More prayers,” Ellen thought as she hurried toward the hatch that led to the lower part of the ship where her family and all of the Saints ate and slept. Prayers in the morning, prayers at night, prayers by herself, prayers over meals, prayers with the Saints, and prayers with her family. Ellen bit her lip. She didn’t want to be ungrateful for the miracle of sailing to America. But was there such a thing as too many prayers?
As Ellen approached her family, who were already kneeling, she wondered if her mother could tell what she was thinking. Ellen knelt down and looked at her mother’s tired face. Life on the ship had not been easy for her mother. She, and many of the other passengers, had experienced terrible seasickness during the recent storm that had rocked the ship for days.
Guiltily, Ellen bowed her head when the leader of their company asked her father to bless the food. She thought of her mother as he asked for a special blessing upon those who were sick. Then he thanked the Lord for the food and asked Him to protect the Saints that day.
After breakfast, Ellen was assigned to care for her younger sisters on the deck. She took them to a place that was out of the way so they could watch the sailors rushing around shouting orders at each other. Ellen noticed the captain near the bow of the ship. He was searching the horizon with his looking glass. She wondered what it would be like to be the captain of a great ship. Suddenly, the captain’s face grew pale, and he began to pace back and forth, stopping every few steps to look through his telescope.
“What could have upset the captain so much?” Ellen wondered. “Let’s go look at the ocean,” she whispered to her sisters, taking their hands in hers. At the bow of the ship, Ellen shaded her eyes and scanned the ocean. At first, all she could see was a small black dot on the horizon. But soon she saw what had made the captain’s face grow so pale.
A large ship was sailing straight toward them at a fast clip. “Pirates!” whispered a man beside her. She could hear the fear in his voice. Panic ensued as parents began calling to each other to find family members and to take the children below. Ellen stood frozen, watching the men scramble around in search of anything that could be used as a weapon.
“Get those children away from the bow,” yelled a crew member.
Ellen shook herself out of her frozen state and led her sisters down the hatch, but as soon as the children were with her mother, she rushed back up to the deck. She was worried about her father. He’d never fought anyone in his life, let alone pirates. She wondered what she could do to help.
The passengers on the Hudson grew silent as the pirate ship sailed closer. Ellen stood next to her father and gasped as the ship came so close she could see the color of the pirates’ hair! She looked up at her father and saw his lips moving in a silent prayer. Feeling frightened, she began her own silent prayer, asking Heavenly Father to forgive her for her bad attitude that morning.
The two ships sailed side by side for what seemed like an hour. The pirates and the passengers on the Hudson gazed at each other in silence.
“What are they doing?” Ellen whispered to her father.
“They’re probably wondering if our ship is worth robbing,” her father whispered.
They waited in silence until suddenly there was a shout from the pirate ship. Ellen could feel her father’s body tense. Then, to Ellen’s surprise, the pirate ship slowly turned around and began sailing away from the Hudson.
Ellen let out the breath she had been holding. Silently, she offered up a prayer of thanks, remembering her father’s prayer for safety that morning.
“The Lord was surely watching over us this day,” her father said, laying a hand on Ellen’s shoulder and watching the pirate ship sail away.
“He surely was,” Ellen thought, and then she smiled, realizing she now knew that there was no such thing as too many prayers.

The Auckland New Zealand Harbour Stake recently stepped back 50 years and once again made the twenties roar.
The stake held a Gold and Green Ball to celebrate its first birthday, and 750 Church members showed up dressed for the occasion—complete with flapper dresses, boas, and skimmers.
The Charleston and Black Bottom were revived, and everyone joined in chorus to wish the stake a happy birthday. The hall was turned into a makeshift garden for the event, and everyone had a roaring time.

“You’re up early,” Mom said as she walked into the kitchen. It was the day of the trade fair, and I had gotten up a little earlier than usual to make sure I was ready to go.
“I’m just checking my ornaments,” I said. I opened a paper sack on the table and counted my handmade Christmas wreath ornaments. I had been working on them for a month, ever since Mrs. Moore announced that we would have a trade fair to practice what we had learned about supply and demand and bartering. I hoped my ornaments would be a hit with my classmates!
When I arrived at school, my classmates had boxes and bags of their trade items. I looked around the room as they set out their goods: Suzelle had woven pot holders, Mark had made key chains out of hemp cord and silver charms, and Kylie had hammered together some bark to make boxes.
“I can’t wait to start trading,” I said to Jason, who was setting out some of the colorful balls he had made from balloons filled with sand. “Everyone brought really cool stuff to trade.”
“Yeah, except for Lucas,” Jason said.
I looked at Lucas’s desk. He was setting out a few rocks that were different colors. It looked like he had gotten some rocks from his yard and drawn on them with markers.
“Think anyone will trade with him?” I asked quietly.
“No!” Jason laughed. And he was right. I noticed that Kylie’s boxes were gone right away. My ornaments were pretty popular too. About halfway through the trade fair I only had two ornaments left.
I also saw that no one had traded with Lucas for any of his rocks. It seemed like he was trying to shrink or just disappear. I felt bad for him, but what could I do?
“He should have put more effort into it,” I thought. “If he had set aside more time to get ready for the trade fair, he wouldn’t have this problem.” But I kept watching Lucas, hoping someone would trade with him.
It wasn’t long before Mrs. Moore said, “All right, everyone. Five more minutes to finish your trading.”
Lucas’s shoulders slumped. I knew he was feeling terrible. I also knew what I had to do.
“Lucas,” I said, “I’d like to swap one of my ornaments for two of your rocks. Would you like to trade?”
Lucas smiled a little and let me pick out two rocks. I handed him one of my wreath ornaments.
As we cleaned up the trade fair, I was sad that no one else had traded with Lucas. But I felt good because I had tried to include Lucas, and I had made him smile. It felt so good that I wanted to make him smile again. Maybe we could play basketball at lunch or hang out after school.
I smiled too as I looked at the rocks on my desk. They had started to look kind of nice to me.

But Ana Verano, faithful to the traditions of her forefathers’ church, became stubborn when she realized her husband was serious about joining The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She felt she didn’t need to be baptized again. So they reached an agreement: since the children liked the Church, he would take them there after his baptism. She would continue to go to her church.
But repeatedly during the week preceding Sig’s baptism, Ana dreamed of the Savior’s baptism by John in the River Jordan. She concluded that it was an indication, meant just for her, of the right thing to do.
Sigifredo and Ana were baptized in January of 1974. Their son Edison was baptized later that year, after his eighth birthday.

Once I received a text from my Young Women leader that really changed my perspective. My brother had just gotten married and I had posted a few pictures on Instagram. My leader said:
“I’ve been thinking about you. I see comments that people make on your Instagram. They say things like ‘you’re gorgeous,’ and ‘you look so perfect.’ Jill, please remember, NO ONE is perfect, and you don’t have to be.”
Then she talked about the things that really matter and wrote:
“Being ‘gorgeous’ has nothing to do with how you look but with who you are. Look up 1 Samuel 16:7. Don’t pay too much attention to what people say about how you look. Listen to those who care about your heart.”
This was the best advice I have ever received. It made me think about how important it is to remember the things that really matter and to not get consumed with the things that don’t matter. And it also helped me to not let things like people’s comments about my looks affect how I view myself, but instead to listen to the people who care about my heart.

“Will you accept a call to be elders quorum president?” On the surface, the request was simple enough. But for Robert D. Hales, then a graduate student working toward a master of business administration degree at Harvard University, there was no simple answer. In his heart, Robert was willing to accept the call, but he knew that professors discouraged students from any outside activities because of the intensity of the graduate program. He also knew he needed to talk it over with his wife, Mary.
The Hales family lived in an apartment with their two small children. As Robert and Mary discussed the call, they knew it would be extremely difficult for Robert to keep up with his master’s program and to serve as elders quorum president. However, after much prayer and discussion, Mary said, “I’d rather have an active priesthood holder than a man who holds a master’s degree from Harvard. We’ll do them both.” The next day when Robert came home from school, he discovered that Mary had walled off a section of the unfinished basement in their apartment. This small office would give Robert a place to study and help them both serve the Lord.
“I put myself in the Lord’s hands when I made that decision,” says Elder Hales now, nearly 40 years later. “That decision was much harder to make than when, years later, I accepted the call to serve as an Assistant to the Twelve and left my business career behind. Some people may have trouble understanding that, but I believe you really show the Lord who you are and what you are willing to become when you make those hard decisions as a young person.”

On February 15, the burden of this covenant weighed heavily on Brigham as he crossed the Mississippi. That afternoon, he pushed and pulled wagons up a snowy, muddy hill four miles west of the river. When only a few hours of daylight remained before evening would darken the way ahead, Brigham remained determined not to rest until every Latter-day Saint wagon west of the river arrived safely at Sugar Creek.30
By now, the plan to send a small advance company ahead to the mountains that year was already delayed. Brigham and other Church leaders had left the city later than planned, and some Saints—ignoring counsel to stay in Nauvoo—had crossed the river and camped with the advance company at Sugar Creek. After fleeing the city so quickly, many families on the trail were disorganized, ill-equipped, and underprepared.
Brigham did not yet know what to do. These Saints would surely slow the others down. But he would not send these Saints back to the city now that they had already left. In his mind, Nauvoo had become a prison, no place for the people of God. The road west was freedom.
He and the Twelve would simply have to press forward, trusting that the Lord would help them find a solution.31

In Holland during World War II, the Casper ten Boom family used their home as a hiding place for those hunted by the Nazis. This was their way of living out their Christian faith. Four members of the family lost their lives for providing this refuge. Corrie ten Boom and her sister Betsie spent horrific months in the infamous Ravensbrück concentration camp. Betsie died there—Corrie survived.
In Ravensbrück, Corrie and Betsie learned that God helps us to forgive. Following the war, Corrie was determined to share this message. On one occasion, she had just spoken to a group of people in Germany suffering from the ravages of war. Her message was “God forgives.” It was then that Corrie ten Boom’s faithfulness brought forth its blessing.
A man approached her. She recognized him as one of the cruelest guards in the camp. “You mentioned Ravensbrück in your talk,” he said. “I was a guard there. … But since that time, … I have become a Christian.” He explained that he had sought God’s forgiveness for the cruel things he had done. He extended his hand and asked, “Will you forgive me?”
Corrie ten Boom then said:
“It could not have been many seconds that he stood there—hand held out—but to me it seemed hours as I wrestled with the most difficult thing I had ever had to do.
“… The message that God forgives has a … condition: that we forgive those who have injured us. …
“… ‘Help me!’ I prayed silently. ‘I can lift my hand. I can do that much. You supply the feeling.’
“… Woodenly, mechanically, I thrust my hand into the one stretched out to me. As I did, an incredible thing took place. The current started in my shoulder, raced down my arm, sprang into our joined hands. And then this healing warmth seemed to flood my whole being, bringing tears to my eyes.
“‘I forgive you, brother!’ I cried. ‘With all my heart.’
“For a long moment we grasped each other’s hands, the former guard and the former prisoner. I had never known God’s love so intensely, as I did then.”

Jesse fidgeted from one foot to the other and chewed hard on his bottom lip. He couldn’t believe that he had really rung Mrs. Finster’s doorbell. Maybe she wouldn’t answer. Some of the kids at school said that she was a witch, but Mom said that that was silly and to not talk mean about people.
Jesse glanced back at the huge rosebush next to the sidewalk. He and his best friend, Billy, walked by that bush every afternoon on their way home from first grade. It was loaded with large pink flowers. He could barely see the top of Billy’s head ducked behind that bush. He could have just used his pocket knife to cut off a rose—Mrs. Finster would have never known. Maybe he could still do it. …
The door opened suddenly, and Jesse jumped. A gray-haired woman, her face creased with wrinkle upon wrinkle, stood silently in front of him.
“I’m Jesse Brown. I wanted a rose for my mama, and you have a bunch, and pink’s her favorite, and it would make her really happy, but it’s OK if you say no. Sorry to bother you.” Jesse turned to run. Billy was already halfway down the block.
“Wait just a minute, young man. You want one of my roses for your mother, is that it?”
Jesse turned slowly back to face her, “Yes, ma’am, if you don’t mind.” He hoped that he could remember his manners—this was no time to mess up.
“Haven’t you heard that I eat little boys who bother me?”
Jesse would have run, but his legs wouldn’t move. “Yes, ma’am, but I don’t believe it. It’s against the law, you know.”
Mrs. Finster’s smile lit up her whole face. It twinkled from her eyes and melted away most of her wrinkles. “I’ll get my clippers, and we’ll get the biggest, prettiest pink rose your mother has ever seen.”
As they walked down the driveway, Mrs. Finster said, “Your mother must be very proud of you. Other boys might have just taken a rose. But you see, if a rose isn’t clipped just right, it damages both the bush and the flower. I’m glad that you asked first.”
“Me too.” Jesse felt pretty good inside. Mama would be pleased with him—and she was going to love the rose!
They searched the bush together for the biggest, brightest rose. When they found it, Jesse thought that it smelled almost as good as fresh-baked cookies. Mrs. Finster clipped it so that it had a nice long stem and handed it to Jesse. “Be careful of the thorns,” she warned with a smile.
Jesse held his prize gently in his hands. “Thank you very much,” he said. He turned and started for home.
“Stop by anytime,” Mrs. Finster called after him. “I have plenty of roses.”
“I will,” Jesse promised as he waved back to Mrs. Finster. “I’ll stop by soon.”

I love to read the New Era. I can’t wait for it to arrive each month. But the April 1987 issue came just at the right time.
On March 17, one of the best friends I’ll ever have died. I received the April issue in March, so I thumbed through it on the day after she passed away. I remember seeing the article “When a Friend Dies.” I was emotionally struggling with her death—very much so in fact—when I picked up the New Era and started to read it.
When I had finished, I was so deeply touched that I knew she was all right and that everything was okay.
I want to thank you so much for that article. I don’t know how I could have overcome this crisis without you.
Brooke WakefieldTaylorsville, Utah

Long rows of the finest vegetables grow in the rich desert soil of southern California’s Imperial Valley. Fine people grow there, too. One of them is Darla Miles (9) of El Centro. El Centro is 45 feet (about 14 m) below sea level, but Darla’s goals are as high as the land is low. She loves the San Diego California Temple on the other side of the mountains and plans to be married there someday. In the meantime, “I want to go to college and get a good education. Then I want to go on a mission like my tía (aunt).”
Darla’s mom, Alma Puga, and her dad, Blake Miles, were both single parents when they met, fell in love, and married. Blake was the father of Jordan, and Alma was the mother of Pedro, Daniela, and Gabriela.
Later, when Darla was born, she became another strong bond binding two families into one.
Darla is easy to get along with and eager to make others happy. If a plateful of cookies is swiftly disappearing, she is sure to take one—not for herself, but for her dad. She is a natural peacemaker, and a little bit of a matchmaker, too. She often grabs her mom’s hand and puts it on her dad’s hand. Other times, she’ll write her mom a love note as if it came from her father, and then write a note to her dad from her mom.
If she should have a disagreement with a brother or sister, she’ll ask, “Will you forgive me?” Then, she says, “I’ll draw something for them or write them a note. If Mom and I are unhappy with each other, I’ll write a note to her and ask a brother or sister to give it to her. Then she will write a note back to me, and we’ll get together.”
These same tender feelings reach to heaven. “I love Heavenly Father because when I can’t find something or when I cry or when I’m scared or feel really bad, I pray and He helps me a lot. When somebody else is sad, something inside me tells me to go do something for him or her. One time, my sister couldn’t find a library book. She was sad because she thought she would have to pay for it. I prayed for her, and then I found the book. I’m thankful for my great mother and father and all the things Heavenly Father has made for us.”
She likes learning about some of those creations in school. A good student, she especially enjoys reading and math. She stays ahead of her grade level in most subjects and usually gets 100 percent on spelling tests.
Darla is responsible for dusting, cleaning her own room, and taking care of her many small fish, all of them named either Cheetah (boy fish) or Xena (girl fish). Without being asked, she has started feeding Marcy, the family dog. Sometimes she also takes care of Mizzy, the neighbor’s pup who thinks she belongs to the Miles family and keeps digging under the fence to join them.
The whole family enjoys reading, especially the scriptures. Darla received a set of scriptures when she was six years old and immediately began reading the Old Testament.
They are all musical, as well. Darla plays the piano, as do her brothers and sisters. Everyone enjoys camping, too. They often camp among pine trees in the mountains or go four-wheeling on nearby sand dunes. One year, the family went on a trip to Washington, D.C., and Church history sites without once staying in a motel. They were plagued by mosquitoes but enjoyed the wonder of fireflies. Darla’s favorite part of the trip was visiting the Sacred Grove in Palmyra, New York.
The Mormon Battalion came through the Imperial Valley in 1847. The family often joins a hike retracing a part of that historic trek. Darla has been three times on a nine-mile (more than 14 k) segment of the hike, which takes place at night to escape the fierce summer heat.
When she was eight, Darla was baptized by Jordan and confirmed by her dad. “I felt good,” she recalls. “I felt clean.” At the baptism, Brother Miles demonstrated how not to pray for inspiration, using a telephone as a prop. He picked up the receiver. “Hello. Good-bye,” he said and hung up. He explained that it isn’t enough to ask for help. We must also listen for the answer.
Christmas is Darla’s favorite holiday because it celebrates Jesus’ birth and because she likes to make presents. On Christmas Eve, her mom lets her stay up late to make pictures for everyone in the family. She gives them out on Christmas morning.
The family really celebrates two Christmases. They celebrate a “Rubio Christmas” on Christmas Eve. The Rubio Christmas includes a large, extended-family fiesta with piñatas, singing, and such delicious foods as homemade tamales and menudo soup, Darla’s favorite. Menudo is made from cows’ intestines. Tamales are made with meat, potatoes, olives, and seasonings wrapped in cornmeal and steamed inside corn husks. They are far better than the canned or plastic-wrapped tamales in stores. Another Christmas favorite is champurado, a drink made with chocolate milk and coarsely ground meal.
On Christmas morning, the immediate family members exchange gifts the American way. Then they enjoy an American Christmas dinner of mashed potatoes and gravy, yams, and turkey with cranberry sauce. The season is twice blessed by the two cultures.
Above all, Christmas and every day is blessed by Darla’s love for Jesus Christ. “Jesus is my Friend and my Savior.” Just as the waters of the Colorado River make it possible for crops to grow in this desert, His gospel has helped Darla grow into the wonderful person she is.