Gospel Story Finder

Because his father believed that boys should learn to work, he bought a farm. The family lived there in the summer and went there on Saturdays in the spring and fall. They pruned trees in winter and early spring, then picked the fruit in late summer and early fall. Young Gordon learned to work hard. He also learned the beauty of nature that God has given us “and the bad things that happen when nature is abused.”†

“It’s hot!” Joseph complained to his little brother, Loren.
Yesterday a heat wave had blasted through town. Now they were trying to play marbles, but Joseph was so sweaty that his shooter marble stuck to his fingers.
“Let’s go for a swim!” Joseph said.
As the boys walked toward the Little Colorado River, they saw Sam and Frank, who ran to join them.
“Swimming’s just what we need to cool off!” Sam said, kicking a rock.
“Sure is,” Frank agreed. “Too bad we don’t have a sweet treat to take with us.” Then he looked at the field they were passing. The afternoon sun blazed off the smooth round watermelons in Farmer Davis’s patch. “Hey, Joseph,” Frank said, “I dare you to climb over that fence and get us a ripe watermelon.”
“I don’t know …” Joseph said. “Isn’t that stealing?”
Loren looked uncomfortable too. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
“Come on,” Frank said, pushing Joseph toward the fence. “No one will ever know.”
“What’s the matter?” Sam teased. “Are you chicken?”
“No,” Joseph said, squirming.
Frank started to climb the wooden fence rails. “Come on, don’t be a baby. I’ll go with you.”
Joseph frowned but scaled the fence and jumped with Frank into the watermelon patch.
“Don’t worry,” Frank said. “We’ll only take a small one. No one will even miss it.”
Joseph grabbed the closest melon and raced back to the fence. The other boys laughed and took turns carrying the heavy melon as they ran to the river. Finally they broke open the watermelon. The sticky sweet juice that trickled down their chins was delicious! But Joseph already wished he hadn’t taken the melon.
On the walk home, they finished off the last of the melon just as they passed the watermelon patch again. Joseph ducked when he saw Farmer Davis in the field. He glanced up and waved at the boys, who quickly tossed the melon rinds to the side of the road. Farmer Davis frowned, took off his hat, and scratched his head as the boys hurried by.
Joseph felt terrible. It had been wrong to take the watermelon. He knew he had to tell Farmer Davis what they had done and ask for forgiveness.
That evening Farmer Davis visited Joseph and Loren at their house. “One of my prize watermelons went missing,” he said. “I was wondering if you boys happened to see anyone in my field as you passed by today.”
Joseph looked at his shoes, a knot tightening in his stomach. “Yes, sir,” he said quietly. “We were with some other boys, and I took a melon from your field. We took it to the river, and all of us ate it together.”
Farmer Davis pressed his lips into a straight line. “Taking a melon that you didn’t grow is stealing.”
“I’m really sorry,” Joseph said. “I don’t have any money, but I could do some chores to repay you.”
“I ate some too,” Loren said. “I’ll help.”
Farmer Davis thought for a minute. “Tomorrow morning, when you’ve finished your chores at home, come by my field. I think I can find some work for you.”
That night Joseph asked Heavenly Father to forgive him for taking something that didn’t belong to him. He prayed that next time someone asked him to steal something, he’d have the courage to say no. The knot in Joseph’s stomach loosened. Tomorrow morning he would go to the Davis’s farm and do whatever chores the farmer asked him to do. And he wouldn’t complain about the extra work—or the heat.

When our children were young, I took them to a pet store to redeem a coupon for a free goldfish. Two hours later we emerged with a puppy, purchased with the children’s own money. That night we put the puppy in the laundry room to sleep. In the morning the room was a mess. The children were expected to clean up, but they felt it was too much. “We can’t!” they sobbed.
That night we held a family home evening on the subject of consequences. “When you bought the dog,” their father said, “you didn’t think about the consequences. Now the dog is part of our family, and you must take responsibility for her.” We discussed how consequences always follow any choice we make, and we encouraged them to always make righteous choices.
The dog recently died after 14 years as part of our family, but the life lessons she helped teach us will always remain.
Jill Grant, Victoria, Australia

One summer we visited my Grandpa Joe, who is not a member of the Church. When we were beginning to eat breakfast, I said: “Wait, Grandpa Joe! We forgot to thank Heavenly Father for the food.” He looked surprised but closed his eyes while I blessed the food. I always try to be a good example for Grandpa Joe, and now when I go to his house, he waits for me to say the prayer. I know that others watch what I do, and I hope to always make Heavenly Father happy as I teach by my example.

“Am I always going to look like this?” I groaned, staring into Raelynn’s mirror. My freckled face stared back at me in dismay.
Raelynn was my best friend even though she was a little older than me. She was already in junior high, and she told me about makeup and which clothes were “cool.”
Last summer, we used to pretend we were famous singers. We pretended our dolls were supermodels we had seen on magazine covers. We curled each other’s hair and pretended we were customers in a fancy salon.
Now Raelynn acted more grown up.
Lately I was getting bored of pretending too, and the real person I saw in the mirror made me sad. My teeth seemed too big for my mouth, and my face was covered in splotchy freckles. Worst of all, I had hairy arms! Famous singers never had hairy arms.
Raelynn stood next to me and frowned at her reflection. “Maybe we’ll be prettier when we grow up,” she said.
I was surprised. Even Raelynn, who knew everything about being cool, did not feel pretty. Our moms often told us we were beautiful, but that didn’t make me feel much better. Moms always say things like that.
When I turned 12 and started Young Women, I still felt ugly. Now I was even taller than my sixth-grade teacher! The boys in my class didn’t let me forget it and often made fun of me.
One Sunday, my new Young Women leader stood up to teach. I stopped staring at my oversized feet and looked into her face. The room grew still. I felt the Holy Ghost telling me that I was about to learn something important.
“Heavenly Father loves you,” Sister Brower said. She explained that Heavenly Father is pleased with how His children look because He created them. “You are some of His most beautiful creations.”
Beautiful creations? I pictured sunsets, mountains, and beaches. I felt reverence for Heavenly Father when looking at nature, but I had never felt much reverence looking at myself.
Slowly, I started to feel light and happy. “Satan wants me to feel sad if I don’t look like the girls on TV,” I thought. “But Heavenly Father made me different on purpose.”
Satan wanted me to worry about my freckles and feel sorry for myself. Heavenly Father wanted me to feel His love and grow closer to Him. As His daughter, I had more important things to do than to try to look like someone famous.
I went home from church that day knowing I was beautiful, and not because I had changed. Now I could see what I had been all along—a unique, beloved daughter of God.

A few days before he finished his doctoral program and returned to Korea in September of 1951, Brother Kim attended the Hill Cumorah Pageant with Brother and sister Wood. On Sunday, they attended a special testimony meeting for local missionaries in the Sacred Grove. After the meeting, Brother Kim met Church President David O. McKay, who was also attending the meeting. “As we walked from the grove,” Brother Wood said, “Brother Kim cradled his right hand in his left and, with his cheeks still moist, he kept repeating, ‘I have shaken the hand of the Prophet of God.’”

As we talked about it and as I looked at that beautiful little baby, I thought of last summer. Ruby and I were up in Idaho for a short visit, and we met some people from Mountain Home, Idaho, the Goodrich family. Sister Goodrich had come to see us and had brought her daughter Chelsea with her. In part of the conversation that we were having, Sister Goodrich said Chelsea had memorized the proclamation on the family.

To Chelsea, who is now 15 years old, I said, “Chelsea, is that right?”

She said, “Yes.”

I said, “How long did it take you to do that?”

She said, “When we were young my mother started a program in our house to help us memorize. We would memorize scripture passages and sacrament meeting songs and other types of things that would be helpful to us. So we learned how to memorize, and it became easier for us.”

I said, “Then you can give it all?”

She said, “Yes, I can give it all.”

I said, “You learned that when you were 12 years old; you’re now 15. Pretty soon you’ll start dating. Tell me about it. What has it done for you?”

Chelsea said, “As I think of the statements in that proclamation, and as I understand more of our responsibility as a family and our responsibility for the way we live and the way we should conduct our lives, the proclamation becomes a new guideline for me. As I associate with other people and when I start dating, I can think of those phrases and those sentences in the proclamation on the family. It will give me a yardstick which will help guide me. It will give me the strength that I need.”

The youth of the Tampa Florida Stake had a great idea. They decided that every youth in the stake should have a subscription to the New Era. So they went to stake members asking for contributions to pay for the subscriptions. In return for the contributions, they pledged to finish landscaping the front of the recently completed stake center. The response from stake members was excellent, and the young men and women soon raised enough money to meet their goal. The orders were sent in, and soon every home in the stake in which a youth resided was receiving a copy of the magazine.
One day shortly before a stake conference, the young men and women of the stake showed up at the stake center and went to work landscaping. They put in turf and shrubs and soon had the place looking great. One young nonmember bicycling past thought it looked like so much fun that he stopped and joined in. As a little extra incentive, there were barbecued hot dogs for all the laborers. Because of the industry of the stake youth and the generosity of the stake membership, the stake center looks a lot better, and every youth was exposed to a potentially life-changing influence.
One of the youth to receive the magazine was Heather Duke, 14, of the Tampa Third Ward. “I like it,” she says. “I haven’t found a story yet I don’t like. It’s helped me a lot, and I’d like to keep taking it. I read it every time it comes out. I just sit down before I go to bed and read the whole thing, and my sister reads it with me.
“Before I got my gift subscription, all I knew about the New Era was that it was a Church magazine. I didn’t know it had so many interesting stories in it. I’m getting two other youth magazines, and I read the New Era more than I do those.”
Those who worked on the project received as much pleasure as those who benefited from it. Lisa Mirsky, 16, reported, “I really enjoy doing service projects. So I just started calling around the ward, and I soon had about ten sponsors. Nobody turned me down. The ward was really supportive of us. One of the first people I called said, ‘Put me down for three subscriptions.’ They were really glad to do it.” Lisa found she did not really need a slick sales pitch. “I just went out and said, ‘As a youth service project, we’re hoping you’ll contribute seven dollars for the New Era to go to the home of a youth who doesn’t have it,’ and they said, ‘Sure.’”
As always, the reward of service was happiness. “I was really happy to take part in the project. I knew it was what I was supposed to be doing, and I felt a great satisfaction in doing it. It was something that could make a real difference in people’s lives. I love the New Era myself. Whenever I get it I sit down and read it right away. First I read the Mormonisms, then the Message, and then I go on from there and read the whole thing—every month. I know that it’s helped me. I’m the only member of the Church in my family, so it’s especially welcome.” Giving the New Era has a special meaning for Lisa. “The first year I got the New Era, my best friend gave it to me as a birthday present, and I just renewed my subscription in July.” So a kind favor is passed on. “I loved the project,” she added. “I’d like to do it again.” The landscaping on the chapel also brought great satisfaction and some sincere appreciation. “The Sunday after we had done the service project, everybody said, ‘Oh, it looks so great outside!’ They loved it.”
Debbie Carter, 14, of the Tampa Third Ward, tells the same story. “It was fun. It was no trouble getting people to contribute. I telephoned people, and then I went out and picked up the money they had promised.” How many turned her down? “Nobody. I even called some inactive members, and they thought it was a great idea.”
D. Briane Adams, the stake Young Men president, helped the youth organize and carry out the project. He was thrilled with the response, both on the part of the youth and the membership of the stake. “It may be that this thing will sow seeds that won’t be evident for years. I’ve found that some of the kids come from pretty tough situations, but when given half a chance, they’ll respond in quiet, positive ways. If you were to go out and visit them and ask them to come to church, they think they’ve got an image to uphold, and they would say ‘no way!’ But if they sit down in an idle moment and pick up the New Era because there’s nothing else lying there and read about good positive experiences, they may say, ‘that’s not so bad.’ That was our whole idea. Even if we touch one kid out of the whole stake through this program, it’s well worth the effort. And you never know who’s going to come in the home. It might not be just the kid. The parents may pick it up, or some friends may look at the pictures. I think there will be benefits from this that we won’t ever know about.”
In the meantime, there are some benefits he does know about—increased enthusiasm on the part of the youth of the stake and sincere gratitude from the active youth who had not been able to receive the magazine because of financial or other reasons.
And of course the stake center’s looking better than ever. The results have been exciting. But of course that’s what happens when some great young men and women get a great idea and make it happen.
If you would like to organize a similar project in your stake, your stake executive secretary can help you order the gift subscriptions. You might wish to provide each youth in the project with a pledge sheet something like this one used in the Tampa Florida Stake.
HELP US PUT THE NEW ERA IN THE HOME OF EVERY YOUTH IN THE STAKE.
____________________________________Name of youth obtaining pledge
As a service project, on January 14, the youth of the Tampa Stake will begin landscaping the area between the stake center and Fletcher Road. Your donation (pledge) of $8.00 will provide a one-year subscription to the New Era for a youth who does not now have this excellent publication. We have been counseled by our leaders to take steps to place this publication in the homes of all youth from the ages of 12 to 18 who would not normally receive it. We will also accept pledges for subscriptions to go to new converts as they are baptized in the stake, at $8.00 per subscription. In return for your pledge, we guarantee at least four long hard hours or completion of this phase of landscaping work—whichever comes first.
MAKE YOUR PLEDGE BELOW:
NAME No. of subscriptions TOTAL$

Young Women in the Park Ridge Ward, Brisbane Australia Stake, are not content to wait for service opportunities to present themselves. They go out and find them. For their service project a couple of years ago, the girls went to a nearby blind hostel and visited the people who were staying there.
“At first, everyone was a bit nervous, not knowing where to go or what to say. Gradually the barriers of age and sight were overcome and the young women were chatting and learning about their new friends’ lives,” says Sariah Wesener, a Laurel.
The girls made the project a monthly activity, and were soon performing concerts for their newfound friends. After travel became too difficult, the girls had to say good-bye to the residents of the blind hostel, but they have decided to find ways to serve others every month.
This year, each girl is donating a can of food per month to those in need.

After my childhood challenges, I am confident that Heavenly Father knew exactly what I needed to enable me to trust my eternal companion. He placed many steadfast examples of fatherhood in my life. These included my righteous grandfather, who loved the Lord, and a diligent home teacher who—understanding my family’s financial limitations—took me on as a student at his art studio and inspired me to follow in his footsteps professionally. In my young adult life, heavenly healing was also delivered through the unexpected blessing of gaining a righteous stepfather, who was patient with my hesitancy to trust a father figure and who continually showed me kindness.

“You are each to write a poem,” the teacher said. The girls in the third-grade class smiled at each other and quickly started writing. But the boys looked uncomfortable and wondered what they could write, especially Roberto.
The teacher told them that the one who wrote the best poem about mother would have a gold star pasted by his or her name on the blackboard. Roberto half closed his eyes, trying to imagine what it would be like to see his name with a big, shining golden star beside it. But his dream lasted only a moment for he was sure that no poem he wrote would ever be judged as the best one.
Roberto looked at the blank sheet his teacher had given him. He bounced his pencil on its eraser end and then started to make some marks on the paper. I could easily draw a star, he decided, lots of them; but that wouldn’t mean very much, not nearly as much as if a big, gold one were placed beside my name on the blackboard!
Debbie waved her hand. “I’m through,” she announced when the teacher called on her. “May I read my poem now?”
“All the poems will be read at three o’clock this afternoon and you may read yours first,” the teacher promised.
Promptly at three, the teacher called on Debbie who stood up proudly and read:
Mothers buy dresses and shoes and things.
They give us parties and rings.
We wish them a Happy Mother’s Day.
We hope mothers are here to stay.
Bobby was next:
Mothers make clown suits and lemonades
And fix sore toes with keen band-aids;
But there’s one thing she can’t do, and I wish she could—
That’s learn to like bugs, like mothers should.
Eagerly the children read the poems they had written for their mothers, all except Roberto. “I can’t make a poem,” he explained. “The words don’t rhyme.” The children exchanged amused smiles. “But I’ve written what I feel,” he continued, and then Roberto read:
Mothers … mothers make …
Well, mothers make you hurt inside …
When you haven’t got one.
He looked around at the boys and girls, expecting them to laugh because he couldn’t write a poem. They looked back at him. There was no laughter in their eyes.
And everyone in the third grade was glad when their teacher put a big, gold star on the blackboard next to the name of Roberto José Martinez.

Who would have known that a decision I made when I was 11 would influence the rest of my life?
At that time, my family seldom attended church. But my brother and I attended Primary. My teacher, in a lesson on temple marriage, said, “You have to decide now that you’re going to be married in the temple. It can’t wait. Decide today.” That was the first time I remember feeling touched by the Spirit, and I did decide, right then, that my goal was to marry in the temple.
For a few years, nothing changed. I seldom attended church, but I thought differently. I believed someday I would go to the temple.
Eventually that one decision began to affect other decisions. When I was 14, I decided that a person planning to go to the temple needed to take seminary. I saw myself as a seminary-going kind of person.
My friends from seminary attended Young Women activities, so I started going, too. I decided someone who planned to receive temple blessings would be helped by earning her Young Womanhood Recognition award. It wasn’t easy because of my late start in Church activity, but a great leader helped me set extra goals to catch up.
One of my goals was 100 percent attendance at Church meetings for one month. It was hard to have my parents drop me off each week. Sometimes I coaxed my little sister into going with me so I wouldn’t have to sit alone. Achieving that goal helped me see that I was a church-going kind of person.
I made mistakes, lots of them. Sometimes I became discouraged and thought my temple dream would never come true. A loving bishop guided me, taught me about repentance, and helped me find the determination to endure. He helped me remember that no matter how difficult, reaching the temple would be worth every effort, every sacrifice I made.
Turning 16 brought more decisions. One of my Sunday School teachers warned, “You will marry someone you date. Make sure you date the kind of person you can marry in the temple.” I took his advice seriously and asked myself about each friendship, “Is this the kind of person I could go to the temple with?” Sometimes my judgment was off. Still I kept to my plan until I found the right person to marry in the right place.
My parents supported me in all my decisions. Mom and Dad stood with me on the stand in sacrament meeting the day I received my Young Womanhood medallion. They were there when I graduated from seminary. They were with me when I received my patriarchal blessing, and they supported me as I attended Ricks College.
They were both with me the day I walked to the doors of the temple. I had finally reached the point when I would enter the temple and receive the blessings I had learned about and looked forward to. The statue of the angel Moroni, reflecting in the early morning sun on the temple spire, seemed to proclaim my joy to the world. I kissed my parents good-bye as I entered.
If I had waited to decide where to marry, it would have been too difficult to leave my parents outside and be married inside the temple. I wouldn’t have had a strong enough testimony of the gospel, of the importance of the temple, and of the necessity of making eternal covenants. I may not even have had the opportunity to decide. Leaders, bishops, and friends had helped me. My family had supported me. But I never would have made it if I hadn’t first decided I was going to be married in the temple.
In the temple I learned more about Heavenly Father’s plan for me. I learned I hadn’t completed my goal at all. I had only made one more step. So I decided right then to keep my temple covenants, no matter how difficult. I decided I will someday return to live with my Heavenly Father.

“It’s my life! I’m not hurting anybody else.”
What most amazed everyone was that John* seemed so sincere when he said it. He really didn’t seem to realize that he was hurting people all around him. He obviously loved his family. He was, in fact, remarkably sensitive and thoughtful. He saved his money to buy his mother a figurine she admired. He cleaned the garage for his dad when he hurt his back. He was consistently kind to his brothers and sisters, especially Becky, who was two years younger.
John had walked Becky to school when she started kindergarten, let her wear his baseball caps, and listened to her talk about which boys were really cute. The day she registered for junior high school, he showed her how to open her locker.
John’s problems had started in the seventh grade when he had tried marijuana. He soon moved on to a variety of drugs. Despite prayers and counseling from both the bishop and professional therapists, he continued his drug use. He also began a life of flamboyant immorality. “Hey, I’m not hurting you. And I’m not hurting them. Every one of those girls knows what she’s doing. What we do doesn’t hurt anybody else. Besides, we’re careful.”
His whole family continued to love John and looked for ways to help him. Becky especially stuck by him, and he stuck by her. When Becky married Hal, John immediately put his arm around his new brother-in-law and said he’d always be available if they needed help. And he always was. He drove out into the rain to help pull a stalled car off the freeway. He helped clean the house when Becky was pregnant. He brought wonderful little surprises to his nephews as they came along. Sometimes he simply showed up with a bag of groceries and offered to fix dinner.
Then, suddenly, Becky needed a lot of help. When Becky became sick that summer, the doctors found that her constant cough stemmed, not from flu or pneumonia, but from cancer. Chemotherapy had very little effect; radiation helped but did not stop the tumor.
The cancer continued to spread so rapidly that the doctors said Becky’s only chance would be to have massive radiation. The problem was that radiation strong enough to kill all the malignant cells would also kill the healthy cells in her blood. They could be replaced by a bone marrow transplant, but the donor needed to be a person genetically similar to the patient, usually a brother or sister. When Becky explained the need, each of her brothers and sisters hurried to the hospital to give tissue samples.
A few days later, the entire family went with Becky to the hospital to learn the results. They sat together in the waiting room, watching anxiously as the doctor came toward them carrying a file folder and one of the little blue cards the lab technician had made for each of them.
When Hal asked if there was a match, the doctor said, “Possibly.” Then he asked which one of them was John. John stood, and the doctor asked if he would come with him for a moment. They disappeared into a small office. When they returned, John sat down dejectedly at the end of a long couch. The doctor explained that John was the only member of the family whose genetic pattern was a close match to Becky’s. He was, in fact, an excellent match, but he couldn’t be a donor, at least not for six months.
John’s blood test showed no infections, but his history of sexual activity and IV drug use put him at high risk for AIDS. If he were infected, he could pass that infection along to his sister. The doctor explained that there is no test for the AIDS virus itself. All that can be detected are the antibodies produced to fight the disease, and those take six months to develop. The hospital continued to look for a good match.
It turned out that Becky didn’t have much time, certainly not six months. Within a few weeks the cancer was so widespread that even massive radiation couldn’t stop it, and Becky was gasping for every breath she took. A friend, watching her labor to breathe, expressed his anger with John, but Becky simply said, “I knew when the doctor first told me about the tests that John’s lifestyle would make it impossible for him to help me. I forgave him then.”
Hal made arrangements for a burial plot and tried to explain to their children why Mommy couldn’t play with them anymore. Becky’s parents cared for their daughter and their grieving son.
And John? In some ways, his life changed. Yet his addictions and patterns of behavior are so strong that he has been unable to change them right away. But it’s been a long time since anyone has heard him say, “I’m not hurting anybody.”

One Christmas experience is especially poignant. After describing his destitute circumstances and his feeling that all about him seemed to have so much, he describes a trip he made to town one day before Christmas to buy “something for my chicks.”
“I wanted something to please them, and to mark the Christmas day from all other days—but not a cent to do it with! I walked up and down Main Street, looking into the shop windows … everywhere—and then slunk out of sight of humanity and sat down and wept like a child until my poured-out grief relieved my aching heart; and after awhile returned home, as empty as when I left, and played with my children, grateful and happy … for them.”

A neighbor received an original and useful gift from her sister last Christmas. It was a file box filled with the makings for a year’s worth of family home evenings. Each manila folder contained a lesson and mounted visual aids clipped from the current manual. Also included were paper napkins and a variety of stickers for the children to glue on them for refreshment time. The mother reports that the file, with lessons ready-to-go, has been one of the best gifts her family has ever received, and it’s been used by parents and children alike.

More than 200 youth from the Las Cruces New Mexico and El Paso Texas Stakes came together last summer for one purpose—to help those in need. Armed with gloves, water bottles, and sunscreen, they came eager to serve.
Some of the youth painted houses, some moved mounds of gravel, some pulled weeds, mowed lawns, and pruned trees and bushes, while others cleaned up loads of garbage. In all, 4 churches and 57 homes were transformed and beautified during the two-day “Helping Hands” youth conference. Rebecca Daw, a member of the youth committee that organized the conference, said “Service helps both the giver and the receiver. It helps us become better, stronger, more loving people. We need to be out doing stuff, doing hard work.”
Of the 57 families that benefited from the service projects, 52 were not members of the Church. By the time the service projects ended the second day, 7 of these families had requested copies of the Book of Mormon. Along with all the service projects, the youth also enjoyed food, activities, and a closing fireside with a slideshow and testimonies on the second day of the conference.

Rising Fawn heard the big man’s prayer before she reached the clearing where Melissa, her white friend, lived. “Oh, no!” the Indian girl whispered, as she saw the little group gathered around an open grave. It looked like an ugly scar in the glistening snow.
Who died? Rising Fawn wondered. She stayed hidden in the pine trees and quickly ran her eyes over each member of the family. The mother was missing! And Melissa was holding a tiny, wailing bundle. The blond girl wiped away her own tears and reached down to comfort a small sister. The other children clung together, tearstained and bewildered, as their frozen-faced father began to fill in the lonely grave. His steamy breath spiraled into the cold air as he worked.
Rising Fawn retreated to the riverbank. The grief of the white family was her own. She had hidden and watched them from the first day their clumsy covered wagon creaked into Elk Valley. That they had come to stay was evident. The parents had immediately set about cutting trees and building a cabin. How hard they worked! Even the smallest of the seven blond children helped to gather stones from the river for the chimney and fireplace, and that was how Rising Fawn met Melissa. When the children were called away for meals or to help with other things, the Indian girl selected and piled up stones to help them.
It was Melissa, the eldest, who had slipped back to the river to spy on their mysterious helper. Rising Fawn remembered how frightened the girl had looked when she found herself confronting an Indian! Rising Fawn smiled and pointed to the pile of stones—her gift to the hardworking white children.
She and Melissa had been secret friends throughout the summer and fall, and now it was winter. Gradually the girls had learned to communicate, although neither spoke the other’s language.
Rising Fawn understood why she was never invited to visit the cabin by the way Melissa started, face flushing with guilt, when she was called by her parents. Usually Melissa ran away quickly and often without even a good-bye wave. Such actions told Rising Fawn that the parents either feared or disliked Indians, so Melissa could not tell them about her friend.
It made Rising Fawn sad to think that white people so readily believed all the evil things they had heard about Indians before moving west. Hers was a peaceful tribe. Her heart held only friendship for the new white settlers.
Melissa had not come to the river since the first snow fell, and the Indian girl missed her. The family’s clothing was not right for such frigid weather. They wore no furs or pelts. Perhaps that was why she no longer saw her friend.
Rising Fawn and her brother made a pair of snowshoes for Melissa. She, her mother, and an aunt also made nine pairs of skin mittens for the white family, laced together with the rabbit fur inside for added warmth. Long before dawn the Indian girl slipped up to the cabin door and left the gifts and a large packet of venison. She waited many afternoons but Melissa had never used the snowshoes to come to their meeting place by the river.
The Indian girl came as often as she could, through light snows or blizzards, to leave some meat or a few smoked fish at the cabin door when her family had enough to share. But she always hurried away, for Rising Fawn was afraid of the bearded white giant of a man who seemed to dislike Indians.
Rising Fawn swept snow from a log and sank down to consider the calamity that had befallen her friend. Melissa would have to be the mother of the family now. It was an awesome job for a young girl. Pioneer life was difficult, even for strong women. I will help Melissa! I will even if her father forbids it! the Indian girl vowed, tears slipping down dusky cheeks.
But the baby! How can it live without its mother? she worried. The family had no cattle—not even one cow—only the pair of oxen. Rising Fawn arose and walked back toward the cabin, her snowshoes leaving webbed tracks.
Smoke curled from the chimney, but there was no sign of the children. Rising Fawn shrank back behind a pine tree and watched the father pick up his axe and head into the forest. He looked dazed. Cords of wood were stacked by the door. Rising Fawn’s face softened with understanding. They needed no firewood. The man’s need was to be alone with his grief. Working with the axe would help.
The girl’s heart hammered as she removed her snowshoes and knocked on the cabin door. Would Melissa be afraid? How long would her father be gone? Melissa was working at the fireplace, her back to the room, when a small boy opened the door. Rising Fawn stepped inside and closed it. Melissa turned and dropped a ladle when she saw her. How thin and pale the white girl was! Melissa stared at her friend, then ran to her, weeping.
The Indian girl clasped her close for a moment. Then she gently pushed her away, still holding her hands. They had very little time. With signs, Rising Fawn told Melissa that she had watched her mother’s burial. She pointed at the baby and explained that her aunt, a new mother, who was young and strong, could easily feed both babies until the child was old enough to eat soft foods. Could she, Rising Fawn, take the child to her village?
Melissa’s tearstained face brightened with hope, then her shoulders slumped. Her father considered all Indians to be unfeeling savages. He would never allow it. And if he did not, this small new brother would not live and grow old enough to run, laugh, and play. Her mother would have died for nothing!
Both girls froze as the door crashed open and the father stormed in. His face was flushed with anger. He had followed Rising Fawn’s tracks back to the cabin. The children huddled together, big-eyed, as their father lashed out at their older sister. Rising Fawn felt sick. She had caused her friend added grief. Her face was expressionless, but her eyes reflected scorn for this man who would allow his child to die because of prejudice. The insults she couldn’t understand didn’t matter. Proudly, she held herself as tall as possible, her black eyes fastened on the man’s blazing blue ones. The silence that followed his angry words seemed to hold everything in suspension. Rising Fawn tried not to hear the infant’s weak and hungry wails as she left.
It was dusk when Rising Fawn heard the shout that a white man was approaching the village. She was glad that it was Brown Fox who entered her mother’s hogan with Melissa’s father carrying the baby! Brown Fox spoke English. The girl laid aside the moccasin she was beading and stood to listen as Brown Fox spoke the white man’s words.
“He says that his daughter, who is now the only mother his children have, was very angry with him after you left. For the first time he has seen that her temper matches his own.” Brown Fox translated further, “She reminded him of the food that has been left at their door when they had no meat. She said that she would not permit the baby her mother died giving birth to, to die also and that she would bring it here herself to be nursed by an Indian mother, if he did not have the courage and good sense to do so himself.”
Brown Fox waited patiently as the shamefaced father continued slowly. “He says he has been a very foolish man and that his daughter is wiser than he. He asks you to forgive him and to take his son to your aunt until he is older. You and your people are welcome at his cabin. If we need his help or his oxen, he will gladly oblige us. He wants to be a friend and neighbor.”
Rising Fawn smiled and took the tiny bundle the white man was holding so awkwardly. She cradled it in her arms and laid her cheek against the baby’s blond hair. “Tell Melissa’s father that we will care for his child as for one of our own. He brings us a weak, motherless infant. We will return a strong and healthy son to him. Tell him that Rising Fawn speaks these words: We have always been his friends—and now he is ours.”

“And if it so be that you should … bring, save it be one soul unto me, how great shall be your joy with him in the kingdom of my Father!” (D&C 18:15).
As my bishop read this verse, my heart jumped. I could see myself at the baptism of someone I had introduced to the gospel. My friend would be so happy, and everyone would know that my friend was going to be baptized because of me. My joy would be great.
Angela’s name instantly came to mind. She was my best friend, and she needed the gospel. I was certain that hearing the gospel and knowing she was a daughter of God would help answer her questions and build her up.
The next day I asked, “Hey, Ang, my church is having a barbecue on Saturday. Would you like to go?”
“Sure,” she responded, “that sounds like fun.”
She attended, and over the months, I continued to invite her to every Church activity I could think of. After every activity I would ask her, “So, Ang, what do you think?” This led to discussions about eternal principles. I was happy. Any day I would be able to reap the blessings Heavenly Father had promised.
On a winter night just before Christmas, Angela and I decided to take a walk around the Washington D.C. Temple. The Holy Ghost encompassed us as we walked, and I knew she could feel something.
“So how do you feel?” I asked.
“I feel like I want to be baptized. … Wait,” she cautioned when she saw the excitement in my face. “I can’t be baptized now, and I can’t have the missionaries come and visit me. My parents would never allow it. But will you teach me everything you know?”
Taken back, I answered humbly, “Yes, I’ll try to teach you everything I know.”
Later that night I thought about the promise I had made. Everything I knew? But what if I didn’t know enough? Was my testimony strong enough? Did I really know the gospel was true?
I decided I would start the very next day to learn everything I could about the gospel, to gain a real testimony of its truthfulness.
With vigor I started reading the scriptures every night. My prayers became more heartfelt as I pleaded for both Angela and me to know the gospel was true.
Slowly the results came. In our discussions I was sometimes led by the Spirit to say things that I hadn’t thought of until that moment. My testimony grew stronger as I bore it. The scriptures became real to me.
My parents were there to help me. They were a valuable resource, and I learned to love and appreciate them more.
Five years later Angela still isn’t a member of the Church. If I judged myself according to my eighth-grade expectations, I failed. I did not sit at a baptism and receive the “joy” of everyone’s praise as the one who had brought a friend to the gospel. However, my expectations have changed. I have brought my own soul closer to God. Even if Angela never joins the Church, the studying and teaching I did were not in vain. She learned more about the gospel, and sharing it with her converted me. And it helped me to be more effective in sharing it with others.
The joy promised in the Doctrine and Covenants does not mean worldly praise. My joy is great because I know my Savior better and have gained a strong testimony of His gospel.

One missionary, Matte Te?o, was severely burned before leaving Samoa, but he came to Hawaii anyway. Doctors feared his charred hand might need to be amputated. Many of his fellow missionaries prayed for him. While in the temple, Brother Te?o cried out to the Lord, “Touch this hand.” “Fix this hand so I can help whatever little bit I can.” He began to heal immediately. Today his hand bears no scar. He now serves as a sealer in the Laie Hawaii Temple and says, “This temple … has a powerful influence throughout these communities not only here, but throughout the Pacific” (in Christensen, Stories of the Temple in L??ie, Hawai?i, 328–330).

The most outstanding example of individual effort that I know of is represented in the college career of Jim Thorpe. Of Lamanite ancestry, he attended Carlisle Indian School. There he compiled a record that has never been approached. He was one of the main players on the football team and was such a hard runner that for fun he would tell the other team which way he was coming. When his team had to kick the ball, he could kick it 64 meters.
One year little Carlisle Indian School defeated mighty Harvard University, with Thorpe kicking and running to score the points that won the game. Another time against Army Academy, he picked up one Army kick and ran 82.2 meters with it to score, but it was called back on a penalty. So Thorpe picked up the next kickoff and ran 86.8 meters to score!
In track and field, Carlisle Indian School faced a tough dual meet with strong, unbeaten Lafayette College (in Pennsylvania). Jim Thorpe came to the meet accompanied by one other man. Since Lafayette College had a squad of 48 athletes, an official said, “You mean the two of you are the whole Carlisle Indian School team?”
“No,” said Thorpe. “Only me. The other fellow is the student manager.”
Against Lafayette College that day, Thorpe won the high jump, broad jump, shotput, discus throw, 109 meter hurdles, 201 meter hurdles, and finished third in the 91.4 meter dash. Carlisle Indian School won the meet 71–41.