Gospel Story Finder

Knowing that I have covenanted to take upon myself the name of Christ gives me a sense of duty to follow Him, but it’s not always easy. One time at a group activity I saw a kid who didn’t have anyone to talk to. I felt like I should go talk with him. At first, I didn’t want to. I am not that great at putting myself out there to make friends. But remembering what Christ would do, I found the strength to make a new friend. As I was talking to him, I could feel the Spirit prompting me to ask questions and have fun.
Evan A., 16, Utah, USA

I learned years ago a very important lesson. I think it was the second time I’d ever met President Harold B. Lee; I had been introduced to him once before. I was serving as a member of a stake high council, and on one occasion the stake president presented in our meeting the name of a man to be called to a position of leadership in the stake. I was teaching seminary at the time, and Brother Leon Strong, also a seminary teacher, had talked to me a time or two about this man. We’d commented on what an able man he was and how sad it was that he couldn’t do more than he did because of a handicap relating to his wife. She had one personality trait that I think could be characterized by the term malicious; I think that identifies what it was.
When the stake president presented the name of this man for a presiding office in the stake and called for a vote, the two of us cast negative votes. That’s rather unusual. The president talked it over for a few minutes, and then said that he felt he’d like to proceed anyway, and asked if we would sustain him in issuing this call. Immediately the issue changed. In my mind, then, it was a vote to sustain the stake president, not necessarily a vote for this man to office; and when he called for a vote, Brother Strong and I joined the other ten members of the stake high council affirmatively, approving the call of this man to office.
When our stake conference was held, a month or two later, when the ordinations were to take place, Elder Harold B. Lee, of the Council of the Twelve, was the visitor. After the conference we’d assembled in the stake center for the ordinations. Elder Lee had ordained a bishop and his counselors and some others, and then this man was called forth to be ordained by the member of the Council of the Twelve. Brother Strong nudged me—we were sitting together—and with a smile on his face he leaned over and said, “Well, Brother Packer, now we’ll see whether this Church is run by revelation.”
Elder Lee put his hands on the head of this man, began the usual introductory words to an ordination, then hesitated. Then he said words to this effect: “The other blessings relating to your activities and life and occupation that you’ve heard pronounced upon the others here apply to you as well, but there is a special blessing.” And then that man received the longest blessing, the most pointed of them all; and in reality, it was not a blessing for him but a blessing for his wife. It was a very interesting thing to see.
Immediately, when the meeting was over, I went to Brother Lee and said, “Did you know this brother before you ordained him?”
“No,” he said. “I didn’t know him. I think I hadn’t seen him till I came into this room.”
I said, “He received a very unusual blessing.”
And Elder Lee said, “Yes, I felt that.”
Later, the president of the stake explained: “I meant to talk to Elder Lee about that and tell him that here was a man who had need of a special blessing, but in the press of business, we just didn’t have time.” And so Brother Strong was right. That day we did see whether this Church is run by revelation or not.

A few years ago, my wife and I stood at the trailhead of Japan’s highest mountain, Mount Fuji. As we began our ascent we looked up to the far-distant summit and wondered if we could get there.
As we progressed, fatigue, sore muscles, and the effects of altitude set in. Mentally, it became important for us to focus on just the next step. We would say, “I may not soon make it to the top, but I can do this next step right now.” Over time the daunting task ultimately became achievable—step by step.
Now a brief word of caution. The commandment to be like Him is not intended to make you feel guilty, unworthy, or unloved. Our entire mortal experience is about progression, trying, failing, and succeeding. As much as my wife and I may have wished that we could close our eyes and magically transport ourselves to the summit, that is not what life is about.

President Benson devoted his life to testifying about Jesus Christ and the Book of Mormon. Here are my personal remembrances of President Benson:
First was his ability to sincerely communicate one-on-one directly with each of us who served with him. He would sit at his desk. I would be seated just to his right in a chair facing his large swivel chair. He would sit there with his large from-plowboy-to-prophet hands, our knees almost touching, and look me directly in the eyes with a depth of inner feeling that touched my very soul and tell me what was important for me to know or to do in my life or calling. When I left his office there was no doubt in my mind that I had been instructed by a prophet of the Lord.
Second, President Benson was fearless in the cause of truth and right. He was a living example of the words of the hymn “Do what is right; let the consequence follow” (Hymns, 1985, no. 237). God bless his memory.
On one occasion in Europe I remember kneeling in prayer beside President Benson when we were at the point of selecting a stake president. What a great joy to participate with him in prayer and understand the true order of prayer and what it means to be able to call upon the Lord for revelation.

Early in 2002, my mother was diagnosed with terminal cancer. A few days later, my husband was also diagnosed with cancer. These were some dark, difficult days for us as we tried to handle the challenges we faced. It would have been easy to do what Job was encouraged to do: curse God and die—ignoring our commitments to the Lord and others and wallowing in despair. However, even when our circumstances change, our commitment to the Lord must not change. There is no sliding scale. We cannot get a rain check or opt out from our commitments, even for a time. We must stay on track and be lifted up by Jesus’ example. Putting our trust in the Lord and following His example is the best way to endure the trials of life and keep our commitments.

That plan is making a difference for Humberto Canarte of Portoviejo, Manabi province, Ecuador. Humberto and his wife support five children and two grandchildren on one hectare of good farmland near the Pacific Coast. For the Canarte family, farming is survival. In past years, their living has been meager.
Two years ago, Humberto Canarte was planting just corn and peanuts. Today he is also harvesting soybeans and vegetables. He still plows by hand and clears weeds with a machete. But he now plants hybrid corn, and he plants it in rows closer together. As a result, he now harvests as much as 5,500 kilograms of corn per hectare, more than double what he used to harvest. Two years ago, it took as long as a year for Humberto’s chickens to reach market size. Now, by feeding them a better balanced diet, he can raise chickens in eight weeks using only one-tenth of the feed he previously used.
Today the Canarte family is better nourished. Not only do they eat more chicken and eggs, but they can also afford to buy rice with the money they are making on their corn. Now, too, their diet includes more vegetables from a small garden they cultivate. In fact, the Canarte family harvest has increased threefold over past years.
What has made such a startling difference? The Benson Institute calls it small-scale agriculture. Two years ago, institute personnel farmed two plots in Portoviejo, training farmers and the local agriculture department in techniques that make small-plot farming more productive. Last year, Humberto and six other farmers who have learned those techniques tripled their yields.
Two BYU graduate students are training Humberto Canarte and the other six families in Portoviejo how to farm more productively. Malaquias Flores is a master’s degree candidate from Chihuahua, Mexico. He and Neils Tidwell, an animal science major from Idaho, with their wives and children, live in Portoviejo. “We feel good being able to help them have a better way of life,” they say. They feel confident that the seven families are fully capable of carrying on the program after Benson Institute personnel leave Portoviejo.

When I was 13, my mother decided to return to her church. I went with her every Sunday for several months and soon joined the church’s youth group. I loved many things about this church, but I always felt like there was something missing. I continued to go until one day at a youth activity the other youth found out I was not a member of the church. The teenagers in the group began shunning me, and I eventually stopped going to church altogether.

Later, in high school, I took a comparative religions course. I learned a lot about many religions and realized there are a lot of good people with the best of intentions. But no religion ever seemed quite right.

I had convinced myself that no church was right and decided to live by my conscience, read the Bible (by this time I had bought my own), and do my best to live in accordance with the teachings of Jesus Christ. After all, no one in my family went to church, and they were all honest, good people.

In May of 2000, after seeing a movie about the life of Jesus Christ, I was so deeply touched that I earnestly prayed to God. I knew if I was patient, while continuing to do my best to follow Christ, I would receive answers to my prayers. I faced many tests in the months that followed. Through these tests, I became better at receiving the Spirit’s promptings.

Later that year I felt I should go to the visitors’ center at the Washington D.C. Temple to see the Christmas lights. I had been to the visitors’ center to see the lights before but had never inquired about the Church or its beliefs.

As I strolled through the visitors’ center, looking at the many displays, I thought of my cousin and another friend who were planning to serve missions for this church. I had studied about many religions but never this one. I was a little curious.

In my head I asked, expecting no answer, “Why in the world would those two men, or anyone for that matter, give up two years to serve missions—and at their own expense?” Much to my surprise, I received a humbling response. The soft whispers of the Spirit pierced my heart as my eyes fell upon a replica of gold plates. I was drawn to them. As I looked at them, I felt a powerful feeling of love, safety, and comfort, and in my mind I heard the words, “These are important. Learn about them.”

Immediately, I found a missionary and asked her about the plates. She told me about Joseph Smith translating the Book of Mormon. She also suggested I meet with the missionaries, but I declined.

The next day I went to the library to read all I could about the plates and the Church. I bought a copy of the Book of Mormon from a used-book store and began reading. I also read about the Church, but I wanted to learn more, so I decided to attend a church meeting.

I knew if I studied and prayed, God would confirm to me that this is the right church. So that’s what I did. I watched and waited patiently. And sure enough, my prayers were answered. On March 25, 2001, I was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

This is the Church of Jesus Christ. There are many good churches with many good people, but The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the church of our Lord and Savior, and it is the church with which our Heavenly Father is well pleased (see D&C 1:30). Our Heavenly Father loves us, has a plan for us, and will guide us back to Him if we earnestly seek Him.

Hannah sat under the kitchen table, crying softly.
“What’s wrong, Hannah?” Mama asked.
“I can’t do anything right.”
Mama got under the table with her and held her close. “That’s not true.”
“Yes it is. I’m always making mistakes and having accidents.”
Mama thought a moment. Then she helped Hannah out from under the table. “Come with me,” she said. They went to the hallway mirror and looked at their reflections. “Do you know what I see, Hannah?”
Hannah stared at her reflection. “What?” she asked, still sniffling.
“A very important person who’s loved very much.”
Hannah smiled a little.
“And I see a beautiful smile, too. Daddy and I love you because you are special just the way you are.”
“But I can’t do anything right,” Hannah protested. “I spill my milk. I can’t tie my own shoes or button my shirt. I can’t even write all of my ABCs.”
“Hannah, you do a lot of things really well,” Mama reassured her. “You draw beautiful pictures of flowers and animals. You always talk kindly to our neighbor, Mrs. Green. And how could I hang the laundry on the clothesline without you there to hand me the clothespins? You’re my helper.”
When Hannah still didn’t look convinced, Mama went to the closet and got out a picture album. She led Hannah to the sofa and opened the album. “Do you know who this baby is?” Mama asked.
Hannah smiled. “That’s me.” She loved looking at these pictures.
“And what a good baby you were! You couldn’t do anything for yourself yet, so Daddy and I fed you when you were hungry, washed you when you were dirty, and loved you with all our hearts.”
Hannah studied the picture.
Mama turned several pages. “This photo was taken when you were about one. You were just beginning to walk.”
“Did I fall a lot?” Hannah asked.
“Yes, you did. But you always got up and tried again. Now you can run and jump and dance beautiful dances.”
They browsed on through the book and saw many pictures of Hannah. In each photo, she was a little older and able to do more things by herself.
“Everything we learn to do must be practiced over and over before we can do it well,” Mama said. “But remember that we will always love you, no matter what you can or can’t do.”
“Just like Heavenly Father loves us—just the way we are.” Hannah remembered learning this in Primary.
“That’s right. Heavenly Father loves us even when we’re not perfect. But He also helps us grow,” she added, hugging her special Hannah.

Fu-yen Li lived in the little village of Tao Yuan below the mountains in southern China. Like most children, he spent a lot of time playing. Early one morning, he and Chun were playing pirates when his father Fu-hui appeared. The older man was holding a straw basket in one hand and a lantern in the other. “Fu-yen,” said Fu-hui, “I want you to come with me.”
“But we are playing pirates,” protested Fu-yen.
Fu-hui was firm. “Fu-yen, you can play later,” he insisted, nodding his head.
Fu-yen kicked a pebble out of the way. He glanced at Chun, hoping his playmate would understand, and followed his father up the narrow, rocky path toward the mountains. Every now and then Fu-hui glanced back and nodded his head and Fu-yen hurried to catch up with him.
Fu-yen’s straw hat kept slipping off his head. He retied the strings under his chin, but soon the hat was hanging down his back. It was warm and beads of perspiration began to appear on the boy’s upper lip. He looked down at the village below. The terraced gardens were sparkling like jade in the sun. But the peaceful scene failed to overcome his disappointment. I’d rather be playing with my friend, he thought.
Fu-hui seemed to know what his son was thinking. “You are unhappy, my son,” he began, “but you will learn a great deal today—a special kind of lesson.”
“But,” complained Fu-yen, “I learn in school. Isn’t that enough?”
Fu-hui smiled. He remembered when he was a boy and how he had wanted to play most of the time.
“Sometimes one learns more by actual experience,” explained Fu-hui. “Seeing things in physical form will benefit you all of your life.”
Fu-yen looked away. “Where are we going, Father?” he finally asked.
“To the caves.”
“What’s at the caves?”
“Swifts. The breeding season of these birds must be over by now. The nests can be collected.”
“Nests? What are you going to do with birds’ nests?” Fu-yen asked.
“Make bird’s-nest soup,” answered Fu-hui.
Bird’s-nest soup! Fu-yen wondered. Then he recalled once eating soup that his mother claimed was made from birds’ nests. It had tasted so much like chicken that he had thought she was teasing him.
“Who would want bird’s-nest soup!” he muttered.
“Bird’s-nest soup is a delicacy because the nests are available only once a year after the breeding season,” Father explained. “I shall sell them.”
Fu-yen remembered the village marketplace where farmers gathered to sell their wares. His father had taken him there once. It was so crowded with people that he was glad when they had returned home.
Silence stretched between the father and his son until they came to the caves. Several small brown swifts flew out as they entered. Fu-hui lighted the lantern, and slowly their eyes adjusted to the darkness within. The musty odor in the cave reminded Fu-yen of their chicken coop. Nests lined the walls, and broken eggshells and feathers lay everywhere.
Fu-yen studied the nests clinging to the walls. “I have seen such nests in the village,” he reminded his father. “Why come all this way to collect them?”
“Only a special kind of swift’s nest is used to make soup,” Father said. “There are as many as seventy-five species throughout the world. Many of them are in Europe. There is one type of swift in America called the chimney swallow, because they build their nests in unused chimneys. They make their nests out of sticky saliva and cover it with small sticks, but such nests are not pure enough to eat. These nests used for soup are made wholly of dried saliva and are built by the swift genus called collocalia, of the species fuciphaga. Only their saliva becomes milky white when it dries. The whitest nests bring the highest price.”
Fu-yen stared at the nests that resembled half-saucers on the wall. He held the lantern while Fu-hui loosened some to put in the basket. They moved deeper into the cave.
“Look!” cried Fu-yen. “This nest must have baby birds in it. I can hear them cheeping. Father, please don’t take it.”
Fu-hui smiled. “We will wait until the young ones take flight.”
Fu-hui lifted Fu-yen up so he could see into the nest. The tiny birds were crying for food.
“Oh, Father,” he said, “they are so little and helpless.”
“You know, Fu-yen, parent birds love their babies just as we love our children. They watch over them and teach them how to live so that they can survive.”
“It made me happy to see those baby birds,” Fu-yen said. “I, too, want to watch over them and protect them.”
“Life is precious in any form,” said Fu-hui, lowering Fu-yen to his feet.
Just then the mother bird returned with insects to feed her young.
The baby birds cried out again, stretching their necks to be first. One by one, the mother fed her young.
Fu-yen and his father came out of the caves into the bright sunlight.
“I am glad you came with me,” said Fu-hui. “It is only once in a while you can collect birds’ nests for soup.”
“I’m glad, too,” admitted Fu-yen. “I can hardly wait to see Chun’s face when I tell him about bird’s-nest soup.”

These intrepid pioneers were waiting for apostolic direction on how and when they would be heading further west. Everyone’s plans were altered when Brigham Young, the President of the Quorum of the Twelve, issued a call for men to volunteer to serve in the United States Army in what came to be known as the Mormon Battalion.

Robert Harris Jr. was one of over 500 Mormon pioneer men who responded to that call from Brigham Young. He enlisted, even though it meant he would leave behind his pregnant wife and six little children.

Why would he and the other men do such a thing?

The answer can be given in my great-great-grandfather’s own words. In a letter that he wrote to his wife when the battalion was on its way to Santa Fe, he wrote, “My faith is so strong as ever [and when I think of the things that Brigham Young told us], I believe it about the same as if the Great God had told me.”

In short, he knew he was listening to a prophet of God, as did the other men. That is why they did it! They knew they were led by a prophet of God.

In that same letter, he expressed his tender feelings for his wife and children and told of his constant prayers that she and the children would be blessed.

Later in the letter, he made this powerful statement: “We must not forget the things which you and I heard and [experienced] in the Temple of the Lord.”

Combined with his earlier testimony that “we are led by a Prophet of God,” these two sacred admonitions have become like scripture to me.

Eighteen months after departing with the battalion, Robert Harris was safely reunited with his beloved Maria. They stayed true and faithful to the restored gospel throughout their lives. They had 15 children, 13 of whom lived to maturity. My grandmother Fannye Walker, of Raymond, Alberta, Canada, was one of their 136 grandchildren.

I had the privilege of seeing this on a grand scale in the U.S. Senate, where there is normally an imbalance between the show horses and the work horses. I can vividly remember standing next to Lyndon Johnson, then majority leader, one day in a Senate chamber anteroom as we both read the ticker tape with a news story about a major bill coming out of a Senate committee after months of labor. One senator, who had not been attending the sessions while the hearings were being held and the tedious testimony was being taken, had managed, nevertheless, to show up the very day the bill was reported out of committee to take his bows before waiting TV cameras. He was one of those senators who would show up for the opening of an envelope. The man at my side, later to become president, profaned in his disgust for the show horse senator, declaring that the show horse senator was also a lazy liberal who let other liberals do the work while he took the bows.

So often in human affairs I have learned the many depend upon the few to lead, to set the pace, to show the way, to deal with the detail.

One day when I was seventeen years old, I was washing the family car in anticipation of going on a date that evening. My father came out of the house to observe what I was doing. He criticized me to the extent that I felt as if I was doing nothing right. Finally I said something like, “Dad, get off my case. Don’t you understand this is the first time I have ever been a teenager?” He looked at me and said, “Pal, don’t you know this is the first time I have ever been a father?” I grew wiser that day because I realized we all are learning together within a family. We cannot expect our parents to be perfect any more than we can expect ourselves to be all that we hoped to be.

In 1997 I found myself on what was supposed to be a 10-day working assignment in La Victoria, Venezuela. When I realized that I wouldn’t be returning home to Italy as soon as I expected, I began looking for a Latter-day Saint chapel so I could go to church on Sunday.
One day at lunchtime I made friends with a young Italian engineer who knew where to find a chapel in Maracay. He made a map for me. I had a car at my disposal, but unfortunately I hadn’t yet taken the medical examination required to obtain temporary permission to drive.
I was new to the area, I had only a sparse knowledge of Spanish, and several people had advised me against taking public transportation alone. I faced a dilemma. As Easter Sunday approached, I really wanted to renew my covenants by partaking of the sacrament. If I didn’t drive, how could I attend church in Maracay? If I did drive, I risked being stopped for driving without a permit.
As I considered my options, the 12th article of faith came to mind: “We believe in … obeying, honoring, and sustaining the law.” Rather than drive, I knew that I must obey the law of the land (see D&C 58:21), even if doing so meant missing church.
A few days later I transferred to a hotel where several of my co-workers were staying. On Saturday morning, after a walk I returned to the hotel, still trying to figure out how to attend church the next day. As I passed the reception desk, to my surprise, I saw a copy of the Liahona in Spanish.
“Who is a member of the Church here?” I asked. Someone responded that the magazine belonged to one of the hotel workers. The receptionist went to his office and invited him to meet me. As we chatted about the Church, this good brother told me that there was a ward right there in La Victoria and that the chapel was located just a short walk from the hotel. He told me he would be happy to meet me the following morning and accompany me to church. What joy!
I ended up being in La Victoria for two more months. During that time I built many friendships as I happily participated in meetings and activities. Shortly after Easter, I obtained legal permission to drive, which enabled me to attend stake conference in Maracay.
While I was in Venezuela, my testimony of the importance of obeying the law of the land—even when inconvenient—was strengthened. I also obtained a testimony that Church publications are an effective way to share the blessings of the Lord.

The spiritual roots of my family tree have been strengthened for three generations because of the unwavering faith of my great-grandfather.

Another example in my family history reminds me not to doubt. In 1913 in Mexico, Elder Ernest Young and his companions preached the gospel to my great-great-grandmother Maria de Jesus de Monroy, a widow; her three daughters, Natalia, Jovita, and Guadalupe; and her only son, Rafael—my great-grandfather. They were baptized on June 10. Two months later, citizens of the United States left the country because of the Mexican Revolution.

On August 29, 1913, the day President Rey L. Pratt and all American missionaries were to depart, Rafael Monroy, a 34-year-old convert of two months, went to the mission home to express his concern. “What is going to become of us?” he asked. “There is no organized branch in San Marcos, and we don’t have the priesthood.” Listening to Rafael’s concerns, President Pratt asked him to sit down. He placed his hands on Rafael’s head, conferred on him the Melchizedek Priesthood, ordained him an elder, and set him apart as president of the San Marcos Branch.

Rafael, who understood that his baptismal covenant was sacred and eternal, also understood that he should share the gospel. For 23 months he and his counselor, Vicente Morales, helped in the conversion and baptism of more than 50 people. They preached to dozens more.

Then, on July 17, 1915, the revolution arrived in San Marcos. Revolutionary soldiers accused Rafael and Vicente of belonging to and supporting the opposing army, hiding weapons, and belonging to a strange religion. They took them prisoner, tortured them, and hanged them until they fainted. Then the soldiers gave them one last chance to save their lives. They would be spared if they would renounce their religion. Rafael answered, “I cannot do it, for I know that what I have received is true.”

Rafael and Vicente did not doubt. They acted consistent with their knowledge and testimony. At the end of that day, they were executed by the Liberation Army of the South, giving their lives for what they believed.1

São Paulo, Brazil—Jose Evandro Pontalti was close to fulfilling the dream of most Brazilian boys to become a professional soccer player, when he decided to serve a full-time mission.
Jose was playing for a minor league soccer team in Cambara, Brazil, when the team trainer, Brother Alcides dos Santos Goncalves, introduced him to the Church. Brother Goncalves would discuss the Bible, family relations, and similar topics with the team. Then he moved away.
Jose began to read the Book of Mormon and soon gained a testimony. The Church was not organized in Cambara so he had to travel to Bauru, near São Paulo, and to be baptized.
While in Bauru, he played in a soccer competition, was named the team’s best player, and received an offer from the Regatas do Flamengo, a professional team. After some months as a reserve team member preparing to turn professional at age twenty-one, he decided to serve a mission. Despite arguments from the club owner and coaches that he could be giving up a promising career, Jose would not change his mind.
Even though some people don’t understand his decision, says Elder Pontalti, “I am very happy to be serving in the São Paulo South Mission.”

Topsy Turvey Turtle was crawling slowly down the path. He looked at the big black pot over the fire. “Whose stew?” he asked.
“Mine,” answered Rimsey Rabbit. “I wouldn’t call it stew yet, though. So far it’s only water.”
“I have some potatoes we could add to it,” offered Topsy Turvey Turtle.
“Thank you.”
Topsy Turvey Turtle and Rimsey Rabbit chopped up the potatoes and added them to the boiling water. As they sat down to wait for the potatoes to cook, Missy Mouse scurried towards them.
“Whose stew?” she asked.
“Ours,” answered Rimsey Rabbit. “I brought the pot and the water, and Topsy Turvey Turtle added the potatoes.”
“Well, I have been to the market to buy these lovely white gloves, and while I was there, I bought some fresh, crisp carrots. Shall I add them to your stew?”
“Oh, yes, please!” said Rimsey Rabbit. “I love carrots.”
After Missy Mouse added the carrots to the stew pot, the three sat down to visit. While they were chatting, Sweetie Skunk waddled down the path.
“Whose stew?” she asked.
“Ours,” answered Rimsey Rabbit. “I brought the pot and the water, Topsy Turvey Turtle added the potatoes, and Missy Mouse donated the carrots.”
“Oh, but you need some seasoning.” Sweetie Skunk took a packet of salt and a packet of pepper out of her pretty sequin purse and added them to the stew. As she was putting the lid back on the pot, Belushy Bear lumbered out of the woods.
“Whose stew?” he asked.
“Ours,” answered Rimsey Rabbit. “I brought the pot and the water, Topsy Turvey Turtle added the potatoes, Missy Mouse donated the carrots, and Sweetie Skunk put in the salt and pepper.”
“You need an onion for stew,” Belushy Bear boomed in his deep voice. “May I add an onion to your stew?”
“Of course,” replied Rimsey Rabbit.
So Belushy Bear pulled an onion out of his backpack and added it to the stew. Not long afterward, Polly Pig sniffed and snuffled her way into the clearing.
“Whose stew?” she asked.
“Ours,” answered Rimsey Rabbit. “I brought the pot and the water, Topsy Turvey Turtle added the potatoes, Missy Mouse donated the carrots, Sweetie Skunk put in the salt and pepper, and Belushy Bear brought the onion.”
“Sounds very tasty, but you need some green beans and peas for your stew. I have some that I could add, if I may,” suggested Polly Pig.
“Beans and peas are very tasty,” said Topsy Turvey Turtle.
“Yes,” everyone agreed. “Please add them to the stew.”
Polly Pig carefully flung her feather boa (scarf) over her shoulder so it wouldn’t get into the stew, then tossed the beans and peas into the pot.
By this time there was such a gathering that it had become a party. Topsy Turvey Turtle played his flute, and they all began to dance. Everyone was laughing and talking so loudly that Hilary Hen had to shout to get anyone to notice her.
“Whose stew?” she hollered.
“Ours!” everyone shouted over the music. Topsy Turvey Turtle stopped playing so that Rimsey Rabbit could explain who had brought what. When he finished, Hilary Hen looked into the pot.
“Would you like some flour to thicken your stew?” she asked. “I have some that I would be happy to donate.”
“Yes, please,” everyone else agreed.
Hilary Hen added the flour to the stew very carefully so that she wouldn’t get her newly polished shoes all dusty.
“I think it’s finally stew,” said Rimsey Rabbit, peering into the pot.
Everyone crowded around. The clearing filled with hungry murmurs of “It certainly looks like stew” and “It smells like stew.”
Rimsey Rabbit dished up steaming bowls of it for everyone, they sat down at the table, and he said a blessing. Then, just as they were about to start eating, they noticed Ragamuffin Raccoon watching them from the edge of the clearing. His clothes were torn and worn but very clean. He looked hungry. “Whose stew?” he asked.
“Ours,” answered Rimsey Rabbit. “I brought the pot and the water, Topsy Turvey Turtle added the potatoes, Missy Mouse donated the carrots, Sweetie Skunk put in the salt and pepper, Belushy Bear brought the onion, Polly Pig added the green beans and peas, and Hilary Hen donated the flour to thicken it.”
“Oh,” said Ragamuffin Raccoon sadly. “I don’t have anything for your stew.” He started back into the forest.
“Wait!” cried Rimsey Rabbit.
“Yes, wait!” shouted Hilary Hen.
“We don’t have a guest,” suggested Belushy Bear.
“And we need a guest,” agreed Sweetie Skunk.
“Will you be our guest?” asked Polly Pig.
“You can sit between us,” invited Topsy Turvey Turtle and Missy Mouse, making room for him.
Rimsey Rabbit served up a delicious bowl of the savory stew for Ragamuffin Raccoon, and he joined them at the table. The stew and the company were so good that everyone had second helpings.

A true story from Austria.
Are you excited for school to start?
Yeah, but I’m worried about math. What if I can’t do it?
It’s OK to be scared. School can be hard, but Heavenly Father can help you!
Would you like a priesthood blessing before you start school?
Sure!
Thanks, Dad!
What is five times seven?
Thirty-five.
Hmm …
Got it!
How was school?
Good. I was able to concentrate in math, just like Dad said in my blessing.
Heavenly Father is helping me focus. I can do math!

It got rave reviews.
The Shropshire England Star called it “jolly,” “most commendable,” and “excellent!” Sound like a smash-hit musical comedy? Well, it was actually a ham soufflé.
But the ham soufflé did have the help of four other courses and the culinary expertise of nine teachers in the Telford England Ward. The quorum had received catering lessons from their adviser and had decided to put their new talents to the test.
They invited 75 member and nonmember guests to their dinner. For two hours everyone feasted on grapefruit, consommé, fresh vegetables, ham soufflé, chicken chausser, and creamed potatoes, with English trifle for dessert.
The group began at 8:00 A.M. to cook and decorate. The women’s editor of the Shropshire Star wrote, “Most cooks would have flaked out. But that’s the sort of spirit you might expect to find among church members who actually helped with the building of their own chapel. And it’s clear that the youngsters are made of the same stern stuff.”
Besides the press, a local candidate for Parliament also attended the dinner. The newspaper noted that the nonmembers saw “with some envy that none of the church members needed alcohol to enjoy themselves.”
Perhaps the old saying will change to read, “The way to a convert’s ear is through his stomach.”

One of the General Authorities once interviewed a young man who had gone into the mission home who had made confession of a transgression which disqualified him from missionary service.

The General Authority was amazed at the sordid nature of what the young man had done and asked, “Where on earth did you get the idea to do things like this?” He was shocked when the young man answered, “From my bishop.”

During a preliminary interview for the young man’s mission, the bishop had said, “Have you ever done this? Have you ever done that?” describing every unworthy and depraved act he could think of. Such things had never before entered the young man’s mind, but they were in his mind now! The adversary put in his way the opportunity and the temptation—and he fell!

Going to a wedding reception alone isn’t always comfortable. But when an old friend invited me to his wedding dinner, I knew I couldn’t miss the opportunity to celebrate with him and his new bride.
The day of the wedding, I arrived just before dinner started. I spotted an empty seat and asked one of the women at the table if it were taken.
“Are you supposed to be here?” she questioned, eyeing me suspiciously.
I had no idea what prompted the question—or the manner in which she asked it. There wasn’t someone checking a guest list. The seating wasn’t prearranged. I was on time and dressed appropriately. What could be the problem?
I smiled nervously. “I’m a friend of the groom,” I assured her. She nodded, so I sat down and tried to strike up friendly conversation with the six couples at the table. Whatever discomfort I had felt before was magnified given the “welcome” I’d received. I desperately scanned the room for someone—anyone—I knew, but aside from the groom, there wasn’t a familiar face anywhere.
But then it happened. My friend, seated next to his bride at the front of the crowded hall, stood. As he did so, he saw me on the opposite side of the room. He paused, smiled, and placed his hand over his heart as if to say, “Thank you for coming. I know you sacrificed to be here. It means so much that you’re with us.”
A feeling of relief and happiness washed over me. Whatever anyone else thought, in the groom’s estimation, I belonged. I smiled as I mirrored his gesture. I hoped my friend knew how much I wanted to celebrate and share in his and his wife’s joy. Whatever social awkwardness I had felt was gone in that 10-second exchange, and I spent the rest of the evening infused with confidence.