Gospel Story Finder

Six-year-old Catherine sang as she followed Joseph and his plow down the long brown furrows, dropping yellow kernels of corn into the newly turned soil.
Joseph called over his shoulder, “If Alvin doesn’t get back with some money, all that corn will go to the land agents. And from what I hear, they won’t share it with a cutworm or a crow or anything else.”
Catherine had heard her father talk about land agents, but she wasn’t sure just what they were. “What are land agents, Joseph?” she asked.
Her brother pulled the ox to a halt and explained, “They’re men who sell property. If there is a drought or your crops don’t sell and you can’t pay the mortgage money, they come and take the farm back.” Then he paused for a moment, remembering his father’s dawn-to-dark labor when they’d first cleared the land of trees to plant crops.
The whole family had helped tap the thousand sugar maple trees in the spring. Joseph also remembered the split-wood chairs and baskets and the straw brooms his father had made to sell to help pay for the farm. His father had even worked for other farmers to earn money. But still there wasn’t enough.
Catherine brought her brother back from his recollecting. “Are they going to take our farm, Joseph?”
“It looks like it, unless we can raise some more money. We’ve all helped. But it hasn’t been enough.” Joseph sighed as he slapped the reins against the rump of the ox. “I wish I could do something more.”
“You’ve been helping to clear trees and plowing and planting the corn and pumpkins. That’s a big help.
“Sure. But we need money. And we need it right away.”
Catherine let out a deep breath and sat down on the broken black earth. “Will we have to let the land agents take our farm?” she asked.
“ If we can’t pay all the mortgage money, we will. And the law supports them. But it just doesn’t seem right after we’ve spent two years clearing trees from 24 hectares of land and planting crops and building a four-room log house besides. They’d only turn around and sell it again for a lot of money, and we wouldn’t get anything for all the improvements we’ve made.”
Catherine understood now why some folks said the land agents were really land robbers.
Young Joseph looked into the open window of the house. His mother was just lifting the lid on the cooking pot in the fireplace. She left the stew sputtering against the pot lid as she called to her family, “Supper’s ready!”
Later after supper, Joseph’s father, as always, felt for his spectacles. When his hand found the lower right-hand pocket of his vest, that was the signal for a reading from the Bible and for family prayer.
That night the family had an extra long prayer. Father Smith thanked Heavenly Father for his “mercy which endureth forever.” Then he pleaded for help in somehow obtaining the money that was needed. When all members of the family had added their amen, they sang the usual hymn:
The song was interrupted by a loud knock. Mr. Smith opened the door and invited a neighbor from down the road to come in.
“Thank you, Joseph. I came to ask if you’d let me hire one of your boys for a few days. I need to dig a well.”
Alvin was away working and young Joseph knew his father needed Hyrum to help cut trees. “I could do it, sir,” he said eagerly.
His father smiled. “Joseph’s able. He’ll give you a good day’s work for a day’s pay.”
“I know your boys are good workers. They’ve worked alongside their father until they’re better than most men. That’s why I’m here. Young Joseph will be fine.”
Joseph was so happy that he had to take a big breath to keep from shouting out loud: “The Lord is surely opening up the way. We will get the money we need. I’m sure of it.” He was so sure that he wasn’t a bit surprised when Alvin arrived home a few days later with the money he had earned. Just the same, it was a tense moment when the whole family gathered to count their savings. Is it enough? they wondered.
Joseph held his breath as the money was counted. It was enough; they had enough. Tears and laughter mingled as they realized that Alvin’s earnings added to what Joseph and the others had been able to raise would save their farm!

It was a beautiful summer morning in the northern German countryside as my husband and I drove from our home in Frederiksberg, Denmark, toward the county where my mother’s mother was born. Like a child looking forward to the fulfillment of a great wish, I got a lump in my throat when I saw the first road sign that said “Ladelund.” Ever since joining the Church, I had had a burning desire to submit my grandmother’s name for temple work. Often I had had divine guidance in my genealogical research, and I was eagerly looking forward to helping give my grandmother the full blessings of the gospel.
In northern Germany, vital records are scattered about in various church parish houses, rather than being gathered together in a central archive. So I had written to Ladelund to find out just where my grandmother’s records were located. Then I had telephoned the priest to set up an appointment to borrow the books containing those records.
When we arrived at the cozy little house in Ladelund, the priest’s secretary greeted us warmly. She went to the safe to get the book I had received permission to borrow, then returned, looking confused. “The book you need is not here, but it was here yesterday,” she said. Together we searched among the shelves of books, but we could not find it.
I was bitterly disappointed. I had done so much work. Why wasn’t Heavenly Father helping me now? I went to our car to wait for our next appointment several hours later. As I sat there crying, I got the idea that we could drive to the little town where my grandmother’s family had lived. Even though it had been more than a hundred years since the family had lived there, I just wanted to see how it looked.
We arrived in the tiny town at about noon, and we could see no one about. As we drove past the nine or ten houses, I finally spotted an older woman washing windows in her home. We stopped and I ran in to see if she knew anything about my grandmother’s family. As I stood at her front door, I glanced at the name plate. My heart seemed to skip a beat when I saw the name Carstensen—my grandmother’s family name!
Just then the lady opened the door and with a beautiful Slesvig accent asked what I wanted. After I explained my work, she said, “Oh, so it’s mother’s pedigree you want to see. I’ll get it.” She left the room and returned to spread before me a pedigree showing my relatives back to the 1600s. Beside the name of each married couple, with their dates of birth, marriage, and death, it listed all the children, with their place of birth and marriage. This one document gave me more information about my grandmother’s family than I could have gotten from the church records. Now I knew exactly where I needed to look for the children in the family.
After I had returned home to Denmark, I received a letter from the Ladelund church. The secretary enclosed the information from the missing book, explaining that it had been placed in the wrong cabinet by mistake. Thanks to this “mistake,” however, I have found not just one, but more than a hundred names of my German family. Indeed, the Lord had been helping me all along, even though I had not realized it at first.

When Stephen and Richard were born in 1985, twins were exciting, triplets happened occasionally, and quadruplets were rare. That septuplets were even possible was a relatively new idea.
Being in the first set of septuplets born in the United States brought a lot of attention to their family. Sadly, only Stephen, Richard, and their sister, Patti, survived the first few weeks, and the brothers were left battling cerebral palsy. Soon all the attention diminished, and the brothers would learn that being different isn’t easy.
“They’ve had to deal with a lot of teasing growing up because they couldn’t do some of the things other kids were doing,” says their father, Sam.
When their friends or family members play sports, Stephen’s and Richard’s participation is limited. But the two boys don’t see themselves as handicapped. They always give everything their best shot.
For example, when Richard (whose reflexes are better than Stephen’s) got a skateboard, Stephen wanted to ride it too. He didn’t give up until he had learned to balance and roll slowly down the street.
“He’s got real stick-to-itiveness,” Brother Frustaci says. “Neither of them gives up.”
Every Young Man
The Frustaci brothers’ challenges haven’t kept them from enjoying life. Stephen loves to play with the dogs, read, and run. He recently made his school track team. Richard loves music, skateboarding, and playing water polo.
Their challenges also won’t keep them from earning the Duty to God Award.
“There are some requirements Stephen won’t be able to do,” stepmom Toni says, “and some might have to be modified. But I think kids with challenges would be able to accomplish most of these requirements.”
Among the Duty to God goals for priests are to get a part-time job (something Stephen hasn’t been able to find yet), get a driver’s license (something he probably won’t ever be able to do—much to his dismay), and hike 15 miles with a pack in two days or less (the 15 miles is fine, but the pack is out).
Even so, with a little help the brothers are capable of completing enough requirements in each category to earn the award—which is only fitting, since like every young man, these brothers have a duty to fulfill and a desire to fulfill it.

When I was 10 years old, I was exposed to pornography. After that, I became heavily involved in it for two years. When I was 12, my mother decided to have a family home evening on the law of chastity. I realized during this family home evening that I had a problem and that it was unhealthy and wrong. I told my mother about it, and she helped me get rid of the pornographic materials I had. Later that week, I received a blessing from my bishop.
For the next three years, I tried to stop using pornography, but I kept having relapses. One night when I was 16, I was struggling especially hard. I remember falling to my knees and praying for help, because I knew that when we have challenges, we need to pray to Heavenly Father for all things. During my prayer, I received peace and strength.
I then had the idea to fill my time with something good to replace the temptation. I started to work diligently on Personal Progress. As I did, I felt my Savior’s love. Heavenly Father helped me to vigorously focus on Personal Progress instead of pornography. The more I focused on the teachings of Jesus Christ in my Personal Progress, the more I became resistant to the temptations of pornography.
Heavenly Father also helped me in other ways during my struggle. He helped me realize that I couldn’t go on the computer alone or else I would be tempted to search for pornography. I decided that when I wanted to use the internet, I would use the computers at a nearby public library instead of the devices at home so that I would always be surrounded by people.
With the help of the Lord, I finished my Personal Progress and received my Young Womanhood Recognition. I felt so good and proud and thankful to my Heavenly Father for helping me to get this far. My relationship with the Lord felt so strong because I had relied on Him for so much help. Eventually, having become clean and strong, I went on to serve a mission.
Heavenly Father is willing to help us with our righteous desires if we ask Him. I know how important it is to use the grace of Jesus Christ’s Atonement at all times. If we desire to overcome our weaknesses and turn to God, He will help us.

Photograph courtesy of the author; illustration by Jennifer M. Potter
Illustration by Jennifer M. Potter
I used to spend summers traveling through Europe with a dance team. Our audiences, performances, and energy levels varied, but we had one tradition that always stayed the same: we closed every show by singing “God Be with You Till We Meet Again”1 in the language of the country we were visiting. Because most of my dance team belonged to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we loved this tradition. It was a wonderful way to connect with our audiences and share Heavenly Father’s love.
Near the end of one of these trips, we had just crossed the border into Germany and were practicing the song in German for upcoming performances. But upon arriving, we found out that this particular region of Germany spoke Sorbian, a dialect that bore little resemblance to the song we had so faithfully practiced.
On the bus ride to our performance, I was exhausted and just wanted to sleep for the whole drive. But our directors had other ideas. They had asked our guides to translate the hymn into Sorbian. Now they wanted the entire bus of half-asleep performers to learn the song just hours before our performance.
We did our best. At the end of the show, we stood together on the front of the stage and began to sing. I remember feeling surprised as the unfamiliar words I had jumbled a few hours earlier came to my mind easily. I felt my earlier doubts about our readiness to sing fade as I relied on the Spirit to remind me of the words.
As we finished dancing and began to sing, the Spirit brought the words of the song to my mind.
Photograph courtesy of the author
The audience members looked surprised and then thrilled. When the song ended, a hush fell over the crowd. Then they stood and began singing a song back to us, which they later explained was a song of gratitude they usually saved for special occasions.
I felt the Spirit so strongly in that moment, even though I couldn’t understand what they were singing. I was so grateful the Lord had helped me communicate His love despite my feelings of inadequacy. I was reminded that Heavenly Father’s love is a universal message. Despite whatever differences we might have, all of us can understand the language of the Spirit.

At the Face to Face event for single adults in June 2021, Elder Neil L. Andersen of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles counseled single adults: “We have to find other people of faith. … In this world that we live [in], we [have] … to have other people of faith who we can connect with at the very deep level of our faith and talk openly about how our prayers are answered [and] how we feel the Holy Ghost. … You might get that from … your family, but … you [have] … to go out and find them!”1
As one of the participants in that event, I was placed in a group with six amazing disciples of Christ who have become some of my closest friends. Although our backgrounds, cultures, and personal situations are very different, we were united in our testimonies of Heavenly Father, the Savior, and the gospel. After the event concluded, we have continued to stay close friends. Our love for each other and our faith in Heavenly Father and the Savior help us continue to support each other through life’s ups and downs.

President David O. McKay loved horses. One of his favorite horses was named Sonny Boy. Even when he was President of the Church, he kept horses on his farm in Huntsville, Utah, so he could ride them whenever he visited.
Once, someone stole a hand-carved saddle from President McKay’s saddle house on the farm. President McKay valued the saddle greatly and felt very sad when it was stolen. After that, he was very careful to keep his saddle house locked.
One hot summer day, several members of President McKay’s family were visiting the farm. Two of his sisters were driving past the saddle house when they saw that a window had been left open. Fearing that another theft would happen, they stopped and closed the window.
Later that day, they told President McKay what they had done, hoping he would be as relieved as they were. But the prophet’s forehead creased with worry as they explained what they had done.
“I left that window open on purpose,” President McKay told his sisters. “There is a birds’ nest inside, and that is the only entrance the parent birds have to carry food to their babies. I think I shall just have time to run over.”
“We can easily run over and open the window again. It’s no trouble,” one of his sisters offered. She knew that President McKay needed to leave soon to get back to Salt Lake City.
“It’s all right,” he said. “I must pick up a rope that needs repairing anyway.”
President McKay reached for his sister’s hand, gave it a squeeze, and left to rescue the bird family. Before long he had gone there and come back home again.
“Was everything all right?” his sister asked when he returned.
“It was just as I expected,” President McKay said. “One bird was outside trying to get in, and another was inside attempting to get out.” He patted her arm gently. “But, all’s well now.”
President McKay was a very kind person. He knew that Heavenly Father was mindful of all of His creations, and he had a special love for Heavenly Father’s creations too.

It was Saturday morning, and Eli was crouched in the goal box, ready to pounce. He jumped and dove, doing his best to keep the football out of the net. But it was hard! Then right before the end of the game, the ball slid past his hands. The other team had scored! Eli’s team had lost. He was so sad.
The next day at church, Eli walked slowly to his Primary class, still feeling glum.
Eli saw his friend Kate outside the classroom. Kate’s mom pushed Kate’s pink wheelchair inside. She hugged Kate before leaving to go to her own class.
“Hi, Kate,” Eli said.
Kate couldn’t answer or wave back, but she always looked right into Eli’s eyes so he knew she heard him.
Usually Kate smiled when Eli said hello, but not today. Is Kate sad? Eli wondered. I know what that feels like. He still felt sad that he hadn’t stopped the other team from scoring the winning goal.
Eli sat by Juan and Makell as Sister Young started class. Then Kate whimpered. Sometimes it was hard for Kate to sit still because her body hurt.
“Kate, are you hurting today?” Sister Young asked.
Kate started to cry.
“Maybe a Primary song will help,” Sister Young said.
The class started to sing. Kate loved music. Usually she sang along by making happy sounds. But today, Kate just cried.
How can we help Kate feel better? Eli wondered.
Then an idea popped into his mind. “I know!” Eli told Sister Young. “I’ll push Kate’s wheelchair a little bit.”
Eli had seen how Kate’s mom gently pushed her chair when Kate needed to feel better. He hurried over to Kate and started rocking her wheelchair slowly back and forth.
Kate stopped crying.
“Can I have a turn?” Juan asked.
“Me too!” Makell said.
As Sister Young taught the lesson, Eli and his friends took turns pushing Kate’s wheelchair. Kate smiled. The whole room seemed brighter.
By the end of class, everyone was smiling.
“Helping Kate makes me happy,” Eli said.
“I’m glad,” said Sister Young. “It makes Heavenly Father happy too. He loves Kate and wants her to feel better. Sometimes we get to be His helpers.”
Eli looked at Kate. “You help me too,” he told her. “Every time you smile.”
Kate grinned.
As Eli headed home from church, he felt as warm as a football field on a sunny summer day. Maybe I can’t catch all the footballs, he thought. But I can still use my hands to help people.

In my enthusiasm and excitement on my first day of service as a mission president, I asked the zone leaders I had invited to my home, “How much of a typical day in missionary service are you normally under the vibrating, powerful influence of the Spirit?”
They obviously did not know what to say. They acted like I had caught them by surprise. Having been converted to the Church as an adult and not having served as a young, full-time missionary, I assumed it was natural that a missionary would be always under the influence of the Spirit. How surprised I was when no missionary was saying anything.
Finally, one of them spoke up. “Last Thursday night, while we were teaching the Lehman family, we were feeling the Spirit.”
I remember my immediate response was, “That was it? How about the rest of the day?”
As soon as I asked my zone leaders what they experience when they are under the influence of the Spirit, they were all participating, describing the different effects the Spirit has in our lives. They agreed that being under the influence of the Spirit fills us with satisfying joy. It enhances our ability to make necessary adjustments, even in the most difficult circumstances. This Spirit helps us develop our intellectual capabilities and even delivers the motivation to use them. The zone leaders agreed that under the influence of the Spirit, some things that can seem uncomfortable, like hard work, getting up on time, going the extra mile, overcoming homesickness, overcoming flaws of character, and other personal sacrifices, become easier.
It became clear that, under the influence of the Spirit, we are empowered to act in wisdom. We see the complexity of a problem in its simple parts and see possible solutions unfolding in front of our eyes, to our own surprise. In other words, our creativity is developed and multiplied. That which is a burden without it becomes a privilege when we are under the influence of the Holy Spirit.
Many times in our lives it happens that the gifts of the Spirit rest dormant in us. We are not even aware of the full extent of their existence, as it was with my missionaries. Did they not have the Spirit? Of course they did. They had even passed the test of forsaking their own self-centered plans to become sacred witnesses for the Lord Jesus Christ. Still they had not fully understood the workings of the Spirit.
Why did the one elder feel the Spirit as he was teaching the Lehman family? Because at that time he and his companion were completely focused in their search for divine guidance. Too often we are not aware of the powerful gift which rests dormant in us. We cannot be grateful for that of which we are not aware, nor can we activate its power.

My name is Micah Bybee. I’m a fourth grade student at Millville Elementary School in Millville, Utah. My teacher, Mrs. Bartelt, asked for volunteers to work as peer tutors in her classroom. She explained that she needed them to teach a few students who needed extra practice in reading. I like reading, and I wanted to help other children have fun reading. My parents gave their permission for me to be a peer tutor in my classroom every morning for twenty minutes.
It took Mrs. Bartelt about four days to train me to be a peer tutor. I learned how to teach a special reading assignment to a girl named Erica Bothwell (a fictitious name)* who has a learning disability. Most of the time it was fun and exciting to be a peer tutor. But it also took a lot of hard work to help her learn how to read words that I thought everyone knew.
I taught Erica how to sound out letters and to read words from a workbook and some other books. Afterward, she read her lessons to Mrs. Bartelt. It was exciting to hear Erica say the sounds and words that I had taught her. She and I were both excited when our teacher placed a special marker on the bulletin board after Erica had completed her first workbook. I invited her over to my house after school, and we celebrated by eating ice cream!
Erica worked very hard during our tutoring sessions, and we enjoyed being together every morning, sitting at a separate table where we reviewed words. She was patient with me, and I learned to be patient with her. Words that came easily to me were often very hard for her to learn. She was often frustrated because she couldn’t learn as fast as most of the other students. But whenever she was discouraged, we worked even harder to learn new words. I brought some stickers from home to give to her whenever she passed off a chapter in her workbook with Mrs. Bartelt. Sometimes after school, Erica and I would practice her reading assignments and do math homework too.
I felt like a real teacher as I tutored, and I noticed that my own schoolwork improved. I concentrated more during school, and I studied harder. Before I became a tutor, I didn’t like doing my homework. Now I do it because I understand how valuable it is to try hard and to learn new things. I was able to practice my own reading skills, too, which made me a better reader. I am more accepting now of children with handicaps. My mother said that I’ve become more tolerant of my sisters’ behavior at home too. Now I accept them for their own personalities and abilities and try not to be critical of their imperfections.
Erica hadn’t liked reading because it was so difficult for her, and she’d felt embarrassed when she tried to read in front of others. The tutoring taught her reading skills and gave her confidence to read more difficult words and stories. She began to feel the joy that comes from being able to read an entire story and understand its meanings.
Erica and I became good friends, and I learned that people who have handicaps like to do many of the same things that I do. I also better understand that we are all children of our Heavenly Father and that we should respect and love each other. We have differences, but we are more alike than we realize. For example, Erica and I both enjoy riding our bikes. We watch TV together and go to swimming lessons on Saturdays. We even practiced reading the Book of Mormon together. I’m so glad that I had the chance to be her tutor. I think that she’s glad too.
I worked with Erica for the whole year, and the time went very fast. It wasn’t very long before she started checking out books from our school library. Her mother and dad were excited to hear Erica reading to her brothers and sisters.
When the school year was over, I wondered who learned the most—Erica or me.

As I neared my 12th birthday, there were several requirements to be completed before I could graduate from Primary. One was to recite the thirteen Articles of Faith in the prescribed order. The first twelve articles were relatively easy, but the thirteenth was much more difficult. It was remembering the order of the virtues that presented the challenge. Thanks to a Primary teacher who was patient and persistent, I finally completed the memorization. …
“We believe in being honest, true, chaste, benevolent, virtuous, and in doing good to all men; indeed, we may say that we follow the admonition of Paul—We believe all things, we hope all things, we have endured many things, and hope to be able to endure all things. If there is anything virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy, we seek after these things” (Articles of Faith 1:13).

It was at first with wonderment, then disbelief, and finally with tears that I read “The Ugly Orphans” by Cindie, Vikki, and Adrian Moyer in the December 1982 New Era. We were ecstatic to find that our family was the answer to another family’s prayers. Our daughter, Gena, was the “little girl with the soft brown eyes” who took “Luke” from the Moyer family at sacrament meeting so many years ago in Medford, Oregon. Luke was renamed Heidi (as she was not male as they thought, nor were the other three), and she has been a joy to our family for all these years. The miracle of the puppies that someone tried to destroy continued for several weeks. We also knew and shared these miracles with the other two families who received puppies that evening. Heidi is a beautiful dog and looks just like a miniature Lassie, quite unlike the way she looked when we got her. It taught our family that one never knows when he might be the answer to someone else’s prayer.
The Lind FamilyAlbany, Oregon

President Spencer W. Kimball was a friend of the Savior. When he was in the hospital ready to undergo open-heart surgery, his bed was being wheeled down the hall and into the operating room by a young hospital attendant. The young man accidentally smashed his finger in the door frame. He was in pain, and he took the name of the Savior in vain. President Kimball, although already sedated, opened his eyes and gently rebuked the attendant: “Young man, don’t say that; He’s my best friend!”

As soon as she got up, Katya ran to the window to survey the sky. “Papa! Papa!” she called. “The day is clear and lovely.”
As Katya dressed, she hummed in anticipation. There would be no lessons this morning, and, best of all, she’d have her papa to herself for the whole day.
Katya’s father, an ornithologist, was one of the best-known scientists in the Soviet Union, and the two of them were taking a boat on the Volga River to count waterfowl. It was a great treat for Katya. She had looked forward to it for weeks.
Since just before her fifth birthday, Katya had lived with her parents in the wild-life preserve. She knew that she was fortunate to live in such a beautiful region. Lately, however, for some reason she didn’t really understand, she felt as if something were missing.
As her father led the way to the boat dock, Katya told him about her latest letter from her pen pal, Larissa. She remembered the letter exactly: “Dear Katya, I am taking time from my studies to write you a description of First Day. The newspapers, radio, and television made a great fuss about the start of the new school year. And as you can imagine, Masha and I helped each other get our clothing ready for the big day. On First Day morning, all school children, along with parents and younger brothers and sisters, walked to school. The school doors weren’t opened until the important people of the town had given their speeches about the wonders and joys of education. Everyone cheered, and finally we gave our teachers flowers to celebrate the new year. I wondered how you passed First Day in the preserve. Please write all the details. Both Masha and I will read your letter eagerly!”
Papa listened to Katya’s account of the letter. Then he asked, “Would you like to leave the preserve and live in town where you could go to school with other children?”
“No,” answered Katya. “I’m just very interested in Larissa’s and Masha’s adventures.”
But Katya was troubled. When she answered Larissa’s letter, what could she say that would interest a girl who led such an exciting life? How could she expect anyone who’d never even seen this place to understand how much she loved her quiet, uneventful life here?
The truth was that Katya never wanted to leave this place. She intended to do just what her father did here—the very same work. But still, she was troubled. She felt like the country mouse in the story that she’d read to her brothers, and the life of a country mouse was not very exciting.
Katya loaded the lunch basket, a blanket, her binoculars, and Papa’s bag into the shallow metal motorboat. Because the boat was neither deep nor heavy, it could skim quickly across the water. It was also easy to row. The noise of a motor could frighten the birds away, so Papa would use the oars when they approached the flocks.
With the motor roaring, Katya and her father sped along the surface of the cold lake. After a while, they entered a region where beautiful lotuses bloomed.
They’re as big as dinner plates! Katya thought. I wonder if Larissa has ever seen such flowers.
Papa shut off the motor. “Time to start rowing, I’m afraid.”
Katya took her binoculars from the case and started to watch the sky for ospreys.
Soon Papa slowed his rowing. They were at the entrance to the part of the lake where he thought he might sight swans swimming, and he didn’t want to startle them.
Just then Katya caught sight of an osprey! As she watched through her binoculars, the bird sighted a fish from high in the air, dove immediately after it, and surfaced with the fish in its beak. I wonder if Larissa has ever seen anything like that, Katya thought. It would be wonderful if everyone on earth could visit the preserve and observe the wonders here. And it would be even better if Papa could teach them all about everything here.
Katya stood up in the boat and attempted to focus her binoculars on a second osprey. Without warning, the boat rocked under her feet. A second later, Katya was underwater. The water was cold and deep. When she felt herself rising at last, she reached for the surface and the side of the boat. Then she felt a firm hand on her arm, and her father hauled her into the boat. He wrapped her in the blanket and held her tight. “I thought you were interested in the study of birds, but instead, I find that what you really want to learn about is fish!” he teased.
Later, while busily counting birds with her father, Katya wondered if Larissa’s going to school with her family on First Day could be any happier than what she and Papa were doing. And as the boat took them home at sunset, Katya was no longer troubled about being a country mouse. She and Larissa inhabited different worlds, but through their letters, they could share each other’s lives. The experiences that she had might not be as exciting as those of her city friend, but they were just as interesting.

One day while studying for my seminary class, I had a beautiful and distinct impression. As I was reading over the lesson for the next day, I saw the face of a friend from school and had the strong feeling that I should share my testimony with her.
Despite the clarity of this impression, I was afraid. I was worried that my friend might reject me, particularly because she didn’t seem to be the kind of girl who would be interested in joining the Church.
I thought back to a talk by Sister Mary N. Cook of the Young Women general presidency in which she challenged us to work hard and be valiant.1 I wanted to be like this, so I wrote this girl a letter and testified of the truthfulness of the Church and of my love for the Book of Mormon. The next day I slipped a copy of the Book of Mormon, together with my letter, into her bag.
To my surprise, my friend was very receptive to the gospel. Starting that day, she would tell me about what she had learned in her study of the Book of Mormon. A few weeks later, I introduced her to the missionaries. Almost immediately, she received a confirmation from the Holy Ghost that what she was learning was true. The missionaries and I cried as she told us of her feelings. My friend was soon baptized, and her parents were amazed to see the changes that had occurred in her.
I am so happy I was able to overcome my fears and help bring the gospel into her life.

Will listened wide-eyed in the light of the campfire as a scout reported to their wagon master, Mr. Dillow, that he had seen a huge herd of buffalo. “It’s a reg’lar sea of the critters, spread out over that valley floor, yonder across them rocky bluffs!” the scout said excitedly, pointing westward.
I must see them! Will promised himself, as he listened to the men plan a dawn hunting party to provide fresh meat for the wagon train.
So far, the trip from Missouri had been dull and disappointing. All day long they plodded through choking clouds of dust or through cold rain and mud. Setting up the camp at night involved unloading iron kettles, chopping wood, and refilling water barrels when everyone was weary from the day’s trek. Repacking the wagons before dawn in the chill morning air and still being half asleep was worse. It was nothing like the exciting stories he had read about the West. He had seen no Indians and only very small herds of buffalo from a distance. This might be his only chance to see such a herd.
With a full moon lighting his way, the blond boy slipped away from the ring of covered wagons and cooking fires and searched out a sloping game trail up the bluffs. He felt certain he could see the heard and be back well before dawn and before he’d be missed.
Will was almost to the summit when he realized that he was being followed! How often Mr. Dillow had warned the children about staying close to the train. “Out here,” he warned, “there is safety in numbers. You have to know this country to realize the danger. Besides hostile Indians, there are pumas, rattlers, blinding sandstorms, and flash floods. You can die of thirst under a blazing sun, freeze to death in a mountain snowstorm, or find you’ve walked into quicksand. There will be no private adventuring on my wagon train!”
The boy hesitated. Remembering the warnings about pumas and rattlers seemed to make his heart leap into his throat. The wagon master was a rough, red-faced bellowing man of action. If he had seen Will leave, he would have grabbed him by the seat of his pants and overall straps and dragged him back to camp. So he was sure it wasn’t Mr. Dillow who was following him. Then he heard his younger sister Becky cry, “W—Will? Where are you? I—I’m afraid. Wait for me!”
Will pretended to be angry, but he was so relieved that he could have hugged her. “I can’t do anything without you tagging along after me like a puppy! You were supposed to be asleep under the wagon; what are you doing here?” he asked.
“I was only pretending to be asleep,” Becky explained. “I knew you’d slip away to see the buffalo, and I wanted to see them too!”
Will couldn’t send her back along and risk her getting lost. And he wouldn’t have time to take her back and return. There was nothing to do but let her go with him. “We have to see the herd and get back before first light so no one will miss us. If you can’t keep up with me, I’ll make you wait by the trail until I start back,” he warned.
“I can keep up. I’m as strong as you!” Becky retorted, boasting a little. Will knew she was wiry and fast-moving and the threat of being left alone to wait spurred her on. But when she began to lag, he relented and slowed down until she caught up with him.
“Look at that! There must be thousands and thousands of them!” Will whispered in awe when they reached the crest of the hill and saw the shaggy buffalo spread out over the valley floor. They made their way down the slippery trail for a closer look.
“They have found good water and grazing here,” he murmured. “Just look how much bigger they are than the few we’ve seen so far.”
Engrossed with watching the closest buffalo, he was annoyed when his sister suddenly gasped and clutched his arm in a tight grip. He impatiently tried to shake her loose, but Becky held on tightly.
Will whirled around and swallowed hard when he saw the tall Indian brave standing between them and the trail! His mouth went dry and his heart pounded like a drum as he watched several others move in on each side of them. The braves moved silently like ghosts. No wonder he had not heard them.
He looked for a way to escape, but they were trapped! Are the Indians going to harm us or will they be friendly? Will put his arm around his sister and pulled her close. He thought again of Mr. Dillow’s warnings. How he wished they had obeyed orders never to leave the wagon train. And he thought about their parents. Will they ever discover what happened to us? If we’re killed or taken away, they’ll only have Baby Ben left. He could see tears sparkling on Becky’s cheeks, but she was too frightened to cry out.
A horse and rider moved out from the trees. He was certainly their chief, by the look of the elaborate feathered headdress he wore. Will stared curiously at him. A white cloth was bound and knotted around his jaw. Has he been wounded? Will wondered.
The first man began to speak. He pointed at the chief, then away toward where the wagon train had stopped for the night. Will couldn’t understand, but still he began to feel better; for the Indians obviously wanted something, and had made no attempt to harm them.
Will pushed Becky behind him and watched the man’s hands. Again, the brave pointed from the chief to Will, then his hands made a swooping motion. Does he mean up and over the hill? Will wondered. The brave made a circle in the air. Is it the ring of covered wagons? The Indian showed his strong teeth, then held his jaw and made a groaning sound.
“A toothache! The chief has a toothache,” Becky whispered. “Don’t you remember how Grandma used to tie a cloth around her jaw when her tooth hurt?”
The brave put his fingers on one of his teeth and made a jerking motion. “You’re right, Becky. I guess they’ve tried to pull it and can’t without instruments. I think they are asking if there is a dentist with us,” Will said quietly. He stepped forward and nodded his head. He pointed at the chief, then toward their train. Will pulled Becky forward and showed them the gap where her two front teeth were missing. The men began to smile and nod their heads.
“What are you doing, Will?” Becky cried. “You know that I pulled those two loose teeth myself! We can’t take them to the wagon train. When they find out we don’t have a dentist along, they’ll probably scalp everybody and burn the wagons!”
“We have Dr. Stieger. He has all kinds of instruments. He could do it,” Will said.
“But he’s not a dentist or even a real doctor. He’s a veter … a vetnar … an animal doctor!” his sister wailed.
“I know that,” Will said gamely, “but he might be the only chance we have of getting out of this spot alive!”
The sky was turning pink when they approached the circle of covered wagons. One of the guards shouted an alarm and the Indian band stopped and waited. Mr. Dillow hastened out to meet them, pulling his suspenders up over his underwear. He stared in disbelief when he saw the children riding double on the horses of two Indian braves. Anger tightened the muscles of his face.
Will couldn’t meet Mr. Dillow’s accusing eyes. He stared down at the ground and explained to the stunned group of settlers, who silently gathered behind the wagon master, what had happened. “Their chief has a bad toothache. I didn’t know what else to do, so I told them Dr. Stieger is a dentist and can pull it for him,” the blond boy finished miserably.
Dr. Stieger was a timid, nervous little man. His face went white with fear and he began to shake his head. “I’m a veterinarian not a dentist. You expect me to yank a throbbing tooth from the jaw of that man who is already reeling with pain? He’d kill me! I won’t do it!”
“Oh, yes you will, Dr. Stieger,” the train master said through gritted teeth, trying to keep a reassuring smile on his face. “You have no choice—and neither do the rest of us. Anyone knows it’s going to hurt. The chief is prepared for that and braced for the pain. Now, get your medicine bag, and act like the best dentist in the world!”
Once he realized he had to do it, Dr. Stieger calmed down a bit. His face was still pale, but he had stopped shaking so hard. The chief sat in a chair, his face impassive, as the little man hesitantly selected a pair of pliers and approached him. Fortunately, the Indians’ efforts to pull the tooth had loosened it. No one was more relieved than Dr. Stieger when one strong jerk removed it.
The chief, who had not flinched, stood up and spat. He rubbed his lumpy jaw and smiled. Poor Dr. Stieger wobbled off, dazed, holding the large tooth, still clamped in the pliers, out in front of him like a candle.
“What’s he saying?” Mr. Dillow asked one of the scouts, as the chief spoke and motioned westward.
“He thanks the good tooth doctor for relieving his misery. And the children for bringing him here. He says he will permit the train to cross their land and escort us to the river,” the scout replied.
“That will save us six hard days of travel!” Mr. Dillow exclaimed incredulously. “According to treaty, we’ve always had to go around his tribe’s land. Tell him we appreciate and accept his generous offer.”
Will’s smile faded as the wagon master turned back to them. “We’ve been lucky this time, but if you two ever leave my train again, I’ll skin you alive!” he growled.
“Y—yes, sir!” Will stammered. “But you don’t have to worry about that. A herd of wild horses couldn’t drag us out of sight of the wagons again!”

I had learned of the Mormon church through a friend of mine, and when I was 13 years old I was baptized. One of the main reasons I was attracted to the Church was the love and concern I felt from the members of my ward.
I had become quite close to a family in my ward—the Fishers. I was their babysitter. They were my friends, and I grew to love them very much. I loved to babysit for them, and they accepted me for the person I was. I knew they cared about me, and I felt secure when I was with them.
To make a long story short, in the next few months I ran away from home twice. The Fishers went to Social Services and requested that I come live with them. I was surprised but thrilled! After several court trials, I was placed in their home as a foster child. I was 14 years old.
That was eight years ago. As I look back over the years, there are many memories. But perhaps the greatest memory I have is being legally adopted and going to the St. George Temple to be sealed to my parents. My whole family was present, grandparents and all, and it was a peaceful, beautiful, and glorious day.
My parents have worked very hard with me. They encouraged me to go back to school, and I graduated from Brigham Young University. It was a great day, and my parents helped me to make it possible.
There are so many other things my parents have done for me, I could never name them all. However, the most important thing they did was to take me into their home and to love me. My parents helped me to learn to love others. They taught me about the gospel. They answered my questions. They had faith. And they were and still are my examples. My parents gave me the opportunity to have a family and to experience the security of belonging.
When I first went to my foster home I was bitter and felt sorry for myself. I often asked myself, why me? It all seemed so unfair. Fortunately, I have since learned that the experiences I had during my first 14 years of life were meant to be. Those experiences have made me into the person I am today. Those experiences were to teach me. Yes, I had to learn to have compassion for others who may be hurting. I have promised myself to never forget how it hurts to be lonely and frightened.
There is no doubt in my mind that my parents were to be mine. My patriarchal blessing tells me so. We just all came together in a different way. I want to repay my parents for their love, help, and understanding, and I know I can do this by living a good life, helping others, and remaining faithful to the gospel. This is what they would want me to do. I know because it is what they have done in their lives.

When I was a boy, my maternal grandfather had a large cherry orchard. I had the opportunity to work in the orchard, mostly in the summer during the harvest of the cherries. As a very young boy, I found that the extent of my involvement was being handed a bucket and then sent up a tree to pick the cherries.

The harvesting of cherries changed significantly when my grandfather purchased a machine called a cherry shaker. This machine grabs the trunk of the tree and shakes it, causing the cherries to fall out of the tree onto nets that are used to collect the cherries. I noticed that when the shaker would begin to shake the tree, almost all the cherries fell out of the tree within seconds. I also noticed that it didn’t matter if the tree was shaken for 10 seconds or a full minute, some cherries would not fall. They were truly unshakable.

When I got baptized, I immediately wanted to leave the Primary to go to Young Men and be able to begin my priesthood service. I started to really know my Heavenly Father and my identity. I helped clean the building on Saturdays, and came very early on Sundays, sometimes even before the building was open. As I grew older, my desire to serve a full-time mission grew likewise. Through seminary and institute, I was able to prepare for my mission and had the privilege to serve in the DRC Kinshasa West Mission from 2021 to 2023. I’m grateful for the restored gospel and for the joy it has brought to me and to my family.

Something happened to me that I found of great help to me, and it may be of help to you. A memory was replayed in my mind. It was of a hotel ballroom in New Brunswick, New Jersey. We were in the New Jersey District, a single district that covered the whole state.
There was no building, no gym, no stake center, and so we traveled to a hotel ballroom for what must have been a district conference. I was sitting on a folding chair somewhere near the back, next to my mother. I must have been very young because I can remember putting my legs through the back of the chair and sitting aft instead of forward. But then I remember hearing something—a man’s voice from the pulpit. I turned around and looked. I still remember that the speaker was at a rostrum set on wooden risers. There was a tall window behind him. He was the priesthood visitor. I don’t know who he was, but he was tall and bald, and he seemed very old to me.
He must have been talking about the Savior or the Prophet Joseph, or both, because that was all that I remember much of hearing in those days. But as he spoke, I knew that what he said came from God and that it was true, and it burned in my heart. That was before scholars told me how hard it was to know. I just knew of certainty—I knew it was true.
You can have that same confidence, not of yourself, but from God. He lives, and He communicates with His children. This is the Church of Jesus Christ, and He leads it. No assignment in it need ever overwhelm you if you know that and listen for the Master’s voice.
Now I can hear the young deacons saying, “Well, now, that may be fine for you, but surely you don’t think that’s going to help me in my assignment down here in this deacons quorum.” Oh yes, I do. I was a deacons quorum adviser. A boy, the president, presided in the meetings, and I taught the lessons out of the scriptures and out of the manual.
Illustrations by Ben Sowards
I remember one boy in the quorum had to miss a few meetings, and so he sent his brother to the class with a tape recorder. His brother recorded our meeting and took it home. It happened more than once. When the deacon came back, I asked him why. I don’t remember his words, but I remember that it was clear he knew what I knew. God was trying to speak to that deacons quorum. The boy wasn’t anxious to have a tape recording to hear me; he was trying to hear God. He knew where to listen and how to hear.
He’d read the scriptures for us in class, and I knew he knew them and loved them. And so, even when I wasn’t teaching very well, by the power of the Holy Ghost and from knowing the Master’s voice in the scriptures, he could hear what he needed to hear. The memory of that black recorder with its tape turning will always remind me of the scripture which says, “He that hath ears to hear, let him hear” (Matthew 11:15).
I spoke at his funeral just a few years later. He lived about as many years as the Prophet Joseph had lived when he saw God the Father and Jesus Christ in the grove. My deacon hadn’t seen a vision, but he had heard the voice of God through His servants in a deacons quorum. He wanted to hear, he knew how, and he had the faith he could. Like the boy prophet Joseph, he knew the heavens were open.
You and I can take confidence in that assurance. If you and I will study the scriptures and pray and tune our hearts and ears, we will hear the voice of God in the voice of the people that He has sent to teach and guide us and direct us. You and I can take confidence in that assurance for the Church itself. However large the kingdom will grow (and it will fill the earth), you will not ever feel lost or forgotten, and you need never feel overwhelmed. God will call people to care about you and to teach you. And if you will listen and hear the voice of God, the kingdom will roll forth to its appointed place, ready for the coming of the Master.
None of us can see now all the wonders of technology and organization and buildings that God may give us; but you, just you, hearing the voice of God through your teacher and leader, will always be at its heart.
I testify that God loves His children and can tell us what is true. I pray that we all may have ears to hear, that He may guide us.