Gospel Story Finder

One bishop’s wife commented, “When my husband became bishop I had a hard time, suddenly realizing I had all the yard work to do—plus all the housework. He wasn’t around and I had to do it.” Her husband agreed. “It puts a lot of strain on my wife. But that also puts an important responsibility on me. I’ve got to remember that when I get home and the dishes from last night’s dinner are still in the sink and the living room is a mess and the lawn needs mowing I can never, never complain. Instead, I must begin to work and help—and get some of the children to work, too. My wife never complains about what I do; why should I complain about what she does?”

Boy Scout Christian Washburn, inspired by the strength and courage of his younger sister who has had cystic fibrosis since birth, decided to organize a fund-raiser for cystic fibrosis research as his Eagle Scout project.
“Laura Beth has a continually positive attitude,” says Christian. “During all those times in the hospital, good or bad, Laura Beth would always have a smile for you.”
Christian’s project, a walk-a-thon, raised more than $50,000 for the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation’s research.
Christian and ten other Scouts in the Orange Sixth Ward, Orange California Stake, all received their awards at the same time.
“I’m proud to have been a part of this great effort, and I’m proud of my sister,” says Christian.

One of my duties back on the farm was to feed my fathers sheep. During the cold winter their survival was dependent on my supplying them with hay and grain we had stored from the summer.
Beneficial as that was, nothing could compare with the Spring, when I would open the gate and guide the sheep out onto the grassy slopes where they could forage for themselves. Instead of huddling in bunches waiting to be fed, they would move freely over the hillsides, searching for and feasting upon living food from its original source. By fall they were always fat and healthy.

Last July I visited the Church’s Polynesian Cultural Center in Hawaii. Before the evening show of dancing and music from various island cultures, I went backstage to thank the performers. I arrived during those frantic moments before the show began. Scores of performers were hurrying through the last-minute tasks required to coordinate their efforts in a fast-moving performance. I wondered how the director would bring this turmoil to order in preparation for my brief remarks.

It happened as if by miracle. On signal, one strong voice began, and the strains of “We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet” quickly swelled into a beautiful chorus as the uniquely talented young people brought their thoughts into harmony with the Lord.

We had a similar experience in our family. Last spring some of our children and fourteen of our grandchildren had a family outing in the mountains. One of our activities was a meeting to share experiences and testimonies. We gathered at the appointed time, but the little people were only gathered in body. The large spirits in those little bodies were clamoring for more of the exciting outdoor activities they had been enjoying. The cabin where we met was too small to contain them, and it seemed as if a dozen restless children and their outcries were ricocheting off the walls in every direction. Grandparents will appreciate the apprehension I felt at trying to sponsor something serious in that setting.

Suddenly the instinctive wisdom of young mothers rescued our efforts. Two mothers began to sing a song familiar to the children. Others joined in, and within a few minutes the mood had changed and all spirits were subdued and receptive to spiritual things. I offered a silent prayer of thanks for hymns and for mothers who know how to use them!

When I was 17, about ready to graduate from high school as a very average student with some handicaps, as I thought, everything around us came apart one Sunday morning. The next day we were called to the high school auditorium. On the stage was a chair with a small radio. The principal switched on the radio. We then heard the voice of President Franklin Delano Roosevelt as he announced that Pearl Harbor had been bombed. The United States was at war with Japan.

Later that scene was repeated. Again the voice of President Roosevelt, this time announcing that our country was at war with Germany. World War II had exploded across the world.

All at once our future was uncertain. We did not know what was ahead. Would we live to get married and have a family?

By the time we graduated from high school, many of our classmates had marched away to war, some of them never to return. The rest of us were soon to enter the military. We did not know about our future. Would we survive the war? Would there be enough of the world left when we returned?

Against the certainty that I would be drafted, I joined the air force. Soon I was in Santa Ana, California, for preflight training.

I did not then have a firm testimony that the gospel was true, but I knew that my seminary teachers, Abel S. Rich and John P. Lillywhite, knew it was true. I had heard them testify, and I believed them. I thought to myself, “I will lean on their testimonies until I gain one of my own.” And so it was.

I had heard about patriarchal blessings but had not received one. In each stake there is an ordained patriarch who has the spirit of prophecy and the spirit of revelation. He is authorized to give personal and private blessings to those who come recommended by their bishops. I wrote to my bishop for a recommend.

J. Roland Sandstrom was the ordained patriarch living in the Santa Ana stake. He knew nothing about me and had never seen me before, but he gave me my blessing. In it I found answers and instruction.

While patriarchal blessings are very private, I will share a short quote from mine: “You shall be guided through the whisperings of the Holy Spirit and you shall be warned of dangers. If you heed those warnings, our Heavenly Father will bless you so that you might again be united with your loved ones.”

That word if, though small in print, loomed as big as the page. I would be blessed to return from the war if I kept the commandments and if I heeded the promptings of the Holy Ghost. Although that gift had been conferred upon me at baptism, I did not yet know what the Holy Ghost was or how the promptings work.

What I needed to know about the promptings I found in the Book of Mormon. I read that “angels speak by the power of the Holy Ghost; wherefore, they speak the words of Christ. Wherefore, … feast upon the words of Christ; for behold, the words of Christ will tell you all things what ye should do.”

For a final profile, I mention the mother of one noble missionary son. The family lived in the harsh climate of Star Valley, Wyoming. Summer there is brief and warm, while winter is long and cold. When a fine son of nineteen said farewell to home and family, he knew on whom the burden of work would fall. Father was ill and limited. To mother came the task of milking by hand the small dairy herd which sustained the family.
While serving as a mission president, I attended a seminar for all presidents held in Salt Lake City. My wife and I were privileged to devote an evening to meeting the parents of those missionaries who served with us. Some parents were wealthy and handsomely attired. They spoke in a gracious manner. Their faith was strong. Others were less affluent, of modest means and rather shy. They, too, were proud of their special missionary and prayed and sacrificed for his welfare.
Of all the parents whom I met that evening, the best remembered was that mother from Star Valley. As she took my hand in hers I felt the large calluses which revealed the manual labor she daily performed. Almost apologetically, she attempted to excuse her rough hands, her wind-whipped face. She whispered, “Tell our son Spencer that we love him, that we’re proud of him, and that we pray daily for him.”
Until that night I had never seen an angel nor heard an angel speak. I never again could make that statement, for that angel mother carried with her the Spirit of Christ. She, who with that same hand clasped in the hand of God had walked bravely into the valley of the shadow of death to bring to this mortal life her son, had indelibly impressed my life.

“It’s a pity you’re so short that you have to stand in the front,” my teacher said. “You’re the worst dancer in the class.”
These words were said to me in front of my entire choir class in high school. They were said with humor, and I responded with a small, forced chuckle, but truthfully, I was mortified. My teacher had choreographed simple dance steps for us to follow to perform with one of our concert pieces. Unfortunately, I’ve always been clumsy, so I struggled to get the steps right. And her words pretty much snuffed out my already miniscule flame of self-confidence. What she said was true: I was too short, and I couldn’t dance. I wondered if I would I ever be good enough.
That experience was just one of many times when I didn’t feel “good enough.” In those moments, I focus only on what I don’t have or what I can’t do, rather than what I do have and what I can do. It’s one of Satan’s greatest tools he uses against me and so many others.
After my choir teacher told me I was a horrible dancer, I was so discouraged. I had always tried to prove myself by trying to be good at what others excelled at. And I failed every time. I couldn’t shake the thought that my only talent was being a professional benchwarmer. I felt like God had forgotten to give me the right amount of “enoughness,” like He seemed to have given everyone else.
One day in seminary, my teacher gave a lesson about God’s creations. He showed us mesmerizing photos of outer space. I remember gaping at all the galaxies, stars, and planets that were shown—each one of them unique, mysterious, and beautiful in their own way.
And that’s when I realized something.
Out of all the phenomenal and unbelievable creations God made, He took the time to make me. A small, seemingly insignificant, ordinary human, who didn’t realize how extraordinary she actually was. A human uniquely set apart from all others. A human who was given her own, specific plan. A human with boundless potential and a divine destiny.
Me.
It was this moment when I finally and full-heartedly believed that “the worth of souls is great in the sight of God” (D&C 18:10). I realized that He truly thinks the world of me, and I have just the right amount of “enoughness” in His eyes.
In the end, I never did learn how to dance well. I can honestly say without any shame that I really am an awful dancer. But that’s OK! Because through the years, I’ve discovered many talents and strengths within me that I never knew I had. They’ve been revealed over time as I’ve relied on the Lord and had faith that He knows I’m good enough. Yes, we all get discouraged from time to time, but when we take a step back and truly realize the significance of who we are, our remarkable strengths, our unique abilities, and the Lord’s hand directing our lives, we are better able to endure this life with faith, hope, and exceptional confidence.

Tom was worried. He wished now that he had remembered what day it was when he first woke up. He could have pretended to be sick so he wouldn’t have to go to school, even though it would have meant staying in bed all day. But now he sat there at the table, staring at the darkening heap of brown sugar he had piled on his oatmeal. Suddenly his mother’s voice broke the silence. “You had better hurry, Tom, or you’ll miss the bus.” He sat up straight in his chair and began to gulp down the cereal that was now cold.
Upstairs he busied himself with dressing. Then he stepped out into the cold January morning. The weather did nothing to improve his spirits. The overcast sky was a dull gray, and a cold wind was blowing snow out of the northwest. It seemed that the only time it snowed big flakes was when it warmed up.
The bus was late that morning, and for a few happy moments Tom thought that school had been called off. Yet the roads were all plowed, and at last in the distance he recognized the yellow school bus. It was only half full when he got on, and most of the kids were in the front of the bus where it was warmer. He walked to the very back, then laid his books on the seat beside him to discourage anyone from sitting there. He didn’t feel much like talking.
When Jim Winters got on the bus, he spotted Tom right away, picked up Tom’s books, and sat down beside him. “Hi!” Tom nodded, wishing Jim would go away. “Do you think you can whip him?” Jim asked.
“Sure,” said Tom, although he didn’t like the idea of fighting. He wished that the gang had picked someone else as their leader, although he enjoyed the feeling of authority at times. Jim seemed to sense that Tom didn’t want to talk and kept quiet for the remainder of the ride. The bell rang as soon as the bus arrived, and the sound was like a last-minute reprieve. Tom even managed to smile at Miss Culler, their teacher, as he slid into his desk.
Tom went over again in his mind the plan the gang had decided upon to initiate the new boy Marty Simms. Jim Winters and Danny Ryan would tell the new boy at recess that it was his turn to haul wood for the school stove. Tom would be waiting when Marty went out back of the school to get the wood. Tom would tell Marty that if he wanted to get along in the school, he’d have to fight then and there.
The morning recess came all too soon. Pulling on his sweater, Tom slipped out the side door and around to the back of the building. The woodpile was still there, hidden from the school by the huge elm trees surrounding it. This was a pleasant spot in warm weather where the gang usually ate lunch. But today it was a desolate place, with the stiff tarpaulins, like ghostly shrouds, thrown over the piles of wood to keep them dry. Tom sat down on a chunk of wood that had worked loose from the pile and waited.
Marty came around the edge of the woodpile and stopped. Tom knew by the frightened look on the new boy’s face that he sensed he had been tricked. He mumbled something about fetching firewood, and Tom stepped in front of him. Tom could not help feeling sorry for this new boy. He hated himself for being there, but now the rest of the gang had arrived at the woodpile. He looked at Marty, whose face still had the look of a cornered animal, but his eyes shone with a certain pride and defiance that Tom found disconcerting. “You’re going to have to fight me if you want to stay in this school,” Tom declared. Marty said nothing, but moved back several steps and raised his hands.
The boys circled each other there in the shadow of the woodpile, oblivious to the shouting around them. The smaller boy’s arms struck out, but Tom managed to dodge each blow, so that the jabs hit only empty space. Tom waited for an opening and when it came, he smacked the new boy hard. Marty staggered a moment, then grabbed Tom, and they both fell to the ground. They rolled in the snow pounding each other. Tom’s weight soon began to tell. Finally the smaller boy blurted out, “I give! I give!” and Tom stood up, then watched the retreating figure. He did not hear the cheers of the other boys or feel them pounding him on the back. He didn’t feel the least bit like a hero; instead he felt ashamed of himself. Tom vowed that if he had anything to say about it, Marty would be the last new boy coming to the school that had to undergo such rough treatment.
The bell rang to signal the end of recess, and the gang began to drift toward the schoolhouse. Tom could tell that Miss Culler had already heard of the fight, for she gave him a strange look as he sat down at his desk. Finally she walked down the aisle, looked at Marty and asked, “What happened to you at recess?”
Marty looked away from her and mumbled, “I fell on the woodpile, Miss Culler.” She stood for a moment in front of him, then wheeled around and walked briskly to her desk. Tom knew that she was angry and her anger only made him feel worse.
The next several days seemed like an eternity. Marty kept to himself, and Tom did not have a chance to speak to him. On the third day the sun came out, and by noon the snow was soft and packy. It was ideal for making snowballs and the gang soon had a fort built of snow. Tom and Jim were chosen to choose up sides for a snowball fight. It was Tom’s turn first, and as he looked out at the eager faces, he caught a glimpse of Marty standing alone near the corner of the schoolhouse. His voice rang loud and clear across the schoolyard, “I’ll take Marty Simms!”
Marty stood still for a moment as though he couldn’t believe his ears, then proudly he walked forward to take his place with the gang behind the fort.

On the surface, life for Axel V., 18, seems pretty perfect. “My whole family are members of the Church,” he says. “We like to do a lot of things together, like play baseball and serve. It is a marvelous thing. I am so thankful to have been born in the gospel.”

But when you look a little deeper, Axel says, “We all have difficult times. My parents are converts, but there was a time when my dad wasn’t active in the Church. I told him that I wanted him to come back, but he didn’t.

“Then back in 2013, my dad attended Primary where my sister was conducting. It was very inspiring, and because of those testimonies of those children, my dad came back to the Church.”

Even though they’ve been active ever since, “We have not been sealed yet as a family.” That’s hard for Axel, because, as he says, “The family is essential to the plan that the Savior has for each one of us. My parents made a goal for us to attend the temple as a family to be sealed for this life and the eternities. We would be very blessed to attend the temple together.”

At the end of 2020, a conversation with a longstanding sister of the Hyde Ward, Manchester Stake, brought a local women’s refuge to the attention of the ward’s Relief Society. The conversation highlighted the need for support of women fleeing domestic violence, particularly during times of the COVID-19 pandemic.
This sister had once accessed the refuge as a place of safety, and a place she could receive the best advice for moving forward, following a crisis in her marriage.
The Hyde Ward Relief Society made the decision to focus its service for 2021 on this often-hidden cause, and local women’s refuge, Ruffley House, were excited to receive the support.
In discussion with the refuge’s manager, it was jointly decided the support could be offered in the following ways:
Collecting new and used bedding sets
Collecting new and used towels
Making tote toiletry bags for women on their arrival at the refuge
Making drawstring toiletry bags for children
Collecting toiletry and personal care items, over the course of the year, to fill the bags.
Unfortunately, these efforts coincided with the national COVID-19 lockdown, but individuals and wards continued to set aside their donations in preparation for two collection days in March 2021.
In the meantime, monetary donations were made by individuals from the ward and stake, amounting to £1,000, which enabled the purchase of three Samsung tablets (for use by women and staff to make housing and benefit applications) and a garden shed.
The final donations of bedding and towels were astounding. Three large carloads were delivered and received by the staff of Ruffley House. They were thrilled to be able to replenish their own stocks of these precious items and share them with outreach teams supporting struggling families in the local area.
The toiletry-bag section of the project continued throughout 2021 in the Hyde Ward, the sewing team making 123 beautifully crafted bags and members collecting a selection of items each month for a final bag-packing night in January 2022.
The Relief Society president, Ruth Holt, commented: “We have, and continue to enjoy, the opportunity to serve; it has given us an opportunity to think of others when it would otherwise be easy to dwell on our own difficulties.”
The manager of Ruffley House was effusive in her thanks: “I would like to say a huge thank you to yourself and all the amazing people who have put all their love and time into making up all the donations of the bedding, towels, and toiletries throughout the year, the many drop-offs you did and the money raised to buy the wish-list items that we asked for. It is people like yourselves who recognise that others need support; the difference this makes for individuals is always visible for us to see.”
For 2022, Hyde’s Relief Society have moved on to its next project, working with a local charity called Cascade that provides support for children and families in need of the basics of life.

When differences between you and your siblings become great and talking with them is out of the question, it is time to ask for help. You may need a parent, your bishop, or some other adult you both trust as an objective third party. Instead of taking sides, this person acts like a football referee, making sure the discussion is fair and beneficial. Talking in this way helps you discover what the problem really is and how you can solve it.

David and Jenny finally confronted each other with a “referee” and learned how to solve their disagreements. They fought often because neither respected the other’s privacy. Jenny would borrow from David without asking and eavesdrop on his conversations. David read Jenny’s private letters and journals. They frustrated and upset their family with their arguing.

Together and sometimes alone, they met frequently with the “referee.” She helped them discover their feelings about themselves and each other by acting as a moderator while they did the talking. In the end, they learned how to respect one another and to resolve disagreements.

It is wrong to assume your brother already knows you love him so you don’t need to tell him. Let your love be shown by good deeds; however, let it also be expressed verbally. The most important thing Jenny learned was how to say, “David, I love you.” Even Steve, afraid of sounding “corny” at first, found that reminding Brian that he loved him made it easier to get along. “The more time I spent alone with him, the easier it was to say,” Brian says.

Kiera (11), Dane (10), and Annie (7) Bennion know the true meaning of family togetherness. While most families see each other only in the morning, after school, or on weekends, the children in the Bennion family see each other all day long, every day. That’s because the Bennions don’t go to a regular public school like most of the children in Beaverton—they and their brothers and sisters have school at home, with their mom as their teacher. Home schooling isn’t for everyone, but the Bennions felt that it was necessary for them.
“We really wanted to focus on family unity and self-worth,” their mother, Sandy, explains. So she and her husband, Gary, looked into the possibility of teaching their children themselves. They found out that their local school district allowed them to do so as long as they registered with the district and made sure that the children passed a state test once a year. After fulfilling these requirements, Sandy was given permission to teach her eight children in their own home.
Recently, as a home school project, they had a preschool in which the five older children—Aaron, Brittany, Kiera, Dane, and Annie—taught the three younger ones—Michelle (6), Ammon (4), and Lehi (2), as well as eleven other paying students. It was a good experience for them all, but not an easy one. “Sometimes it was pretty hard to keep the smaller kids under control,” Kiera admits.
During the school year (they usually get summers off, like regular school), the family starts off each day with a devotional. They wake up early and gather in the living room, where they say a prayer, sing hymns, and read the Bible. “We read our Book of Mormon at night,” Annie adds. The family also uses this time to practice singing. They enjoy singing in parts and sometimes prepare musical numbers to perform for a special event like their ward talent show.
They also do an annual Christmas “open house,” where they go caroling at a number of houses in their ward and neighborhood. Everyone who hears them delights in the Bennions’ performances. The practicing is hard, and sometimes performing is scary, but all their hard work pays off in the joy they bring to other people through their music.
Of course, the family isn’t always practicing for a performance. Most of the time, they just sing hymns or fun songs together. According to Dane, they may not perform for others more than five or six times a year, but they’re always singing on their own.
While the whole Bennion family is special, each of the children stands out with his or her own unique talents and personality. One time when Kiera was three years old, her parents took her to see her cousins perform in a band in which they played violins. That night at home, Kiera walked in with her mother’s high heel shoe tucked under her chin and a screwdriver in her hand, pretending to play the shoe like a violin. Now she takes lessons on a real violin and on a piano, but it’s easy to see that her love for music started long ago.
Dane is considered the family mechanic. He likes to tinker with things and figure out how they work. When he grows up, he wants to be a pilot or an engineer because he likes planes and he likes fixing things. He visits the OMSI (Oregon Museum of Science Industry) to see the neat things that they have there. Dane also has a playful streak. He’s always making funny faces in photographs or teasing his brothers and sisters.
Annie, short for Annelise, likes to wear bright colors like red and yellow. Anyone who knows her enjoys her happy smile and playful, fun-loving nature. She’s very adventurous and wants to be a mountain climber someday, if not a famous singer. She has a great voice for being only seven.
One of the fun things about the Bennion family is that all the boys have Book of Mormon names: Aaron, Dane Nephi, Ammon Jared, and Lehi. Dane says that he would like to be more like Nephi because his middle name is Nephi.
While Annie doesn’t have a Book of Mormon name, she says she wants to be like Nephi, too, because she’s like Dane and Dane is like Nephi. Kiera’s favorite Book of Mormon story is about the Brother of Jared and how he was able to see Jesus Christ because of his great faith. She knows that everyone on earth has the opportunity to earn that same blessing if they are faithful and obedient to the commandments of God.
The Bennions love to do active things together. Almost every member of the family has his or her own bike. One of their favorite vacations is to camp with their ward on the coast, an hour and a half away, and ride their bikes on the roads and trails there. Dad has also promised the family a long biking trip in Utah in the near future.
There are lots of fun things to do at home too. They have a basketball hoop in front of their house, and all the kids spend lots of time practicing. They also like climbing the tree in their backyard, jumping on their trampoline, or picking blackberries for Mom to make into a pie.
Another member has just joined the family. Little Moroni was born in October 1997, bringing great joy to his family. He is showered with affection from his eight brothers and sisters. After all, there always will be plenty of love for one more in this large, talented, fun-loving family.

Jimmy Anderson’s life had changed drastically when his family left Denmark for America. He limped along beside his family’s wagon. A few yards in front of him, his stepmother, Caroline, walked. Snatches of her Danish words now drifted back to him. He watched as she looked up at Fader (Father), who sat on the wagon seat, driving the ox team. Jimmy heard Fader’s voice answering her. It was a comforting, familiar sound in this strange new land of sagebrush and endless miles.

“Jimmy.” Caroline’s voice woke him from his thoughts. “Run fetch that stick, please.”

Hobbling off in the direction of her pointing finger, Jimmy soon found the little sage branch. Part of it lay under a pile of buffalo dung. The animal was nearby, Jimmy knew, for this pile was not one of the dried chips used for fuel, but a stinky, fresh one. If kindling wasn’t so scarce, he would have left the branch. He picked it up, scraped it off in the dirt, and carried it to the woodbox Fader had attached to the back of the wagon.

Jimmy looked down at the rags wrapping his feet. I hope there is a stream at the camp tonight, he thought. Whenever there was enough water, he soaked his rags so that they would peel away from the sores on his feet.

“Why the long face?” Jimmy looked up to see his older brother and hero, John.

“My feet hurt,” Jimmy admitted.

John laid a comforting hand on Jimmy’s shoulder. “What’s this? Do I hear murmuring?”

Jimmy shook his head. “I was just answering your question. You’re lucky, John. You have boots.”

“Aye, little brother, but even feet in boots sometimes bleed when you’ve walked as far as we have.”

Stepping over a rock, Jimmy asked, “So what do you do when your feet hurt?”

“I think about the blessings.”

“Blessings?” Jimmy looked into John’s face. He saw a mixture of peace and conviction.

His older brother nodded. “God has restored His ancient authority, Jimmy Boy. Because of that, we can be united as a family forever.”

“One day we will be with Moder (Mother) again.” A warm feeling filled Jimmy.

John nodded. A tear seeped from his eye and rolled down his dusty cheek. “Sore feet is a small price to pay.”

“That’s not the only price, John. I still have bad dreams about the fire.”

John tipped his hat to shield his eyes from the sun. “Do you also remember what Caroline found in the ashes?”

“A lump of gold—enough to make two wedding bands and pay our fare to America.”

“See? Even in the fire there was a blessing.” John gave Jimmy an encouraging pat.

“Lars,” Fader called John’s Danish name, “skynd dig (hurry)!”

“Coming.” John ruffled Jimmy’s hair, then trotted away.

Jimmy wished for a walking stick. He shook his head. It wouldn’t do me any good, anyway, he thought. It would just be used for kindling.

Thinking about the gold in the ashes, Jimmy imagined finding a treasure bound up in his rags. He grinned as he grasped the handle on the lid of the woodbox. Hopping along on one foot after the rolling wagon, he found a good toehold and climbed up. Finally perched on top of the box, he picked at the knots in the ragged strings until he had untied them. He loosened the cloths covering his feet and peeked among the folds—nothing.

“Oh, well.” He retied the knots. “At least I got a ride—and we’re going to Zion, where people won’t burn your house down if you’re a Mormon. And there isn’t as much dust up here.”

He even smiled and waved as he looked back at Brother Bysbee in the next wagon.

“I see you found a seat, Jimmy.” Brother Bysbee laughed good-naturedly.

“It’s better than walking!” Jimmy answered. It felt good to be sitting, even though the wagon ride jolted and rattled him to the bone. He looked out over the hills of gray-green sagebrush, the home of jackrabbits, prairie dogs, and buffalo—and soon his home, too. Long before he was ready to move, he heard Fader call, “Jimmy, please get that scrap of wood.”

Jimmy sighed. He was tired. To get down, he’d have to jump. That would hurt. But Fader had called. Gritting his teeth, Jimmy leaped. As he tumbled in the dirt, he rolled out of the way of Brother Bysbee’s oxen.

Suddenly Jimmy heard a bellow of rage. He looked to the opposite side of the wagon. An angry buffalo thundered from behind a bush and charged the woodbox! Its massive head crashed into the box and splintered it. Screams, shouts, and bawling from the startled oxen filled the air. “Whoa!” Brother Bysbee called. “Whoa there!”

Stamping, pawing, and snorting, the buffalo ran past Jimmy so close that he saw the crazed look in the animal’s eyes. Gunshots exploded.

“Jimmy!” The boy looked up to see Caroline and John running toward him.

From the front of the wagon Fader called, “Are you hurt?”

“I’m all right.” Jimmy called back.

He reached out his hand, and John helped him to his feet. “You were right about the blessings, John. If I hadn’t obeyed Fader, that buffalo would have killed me!”

“Two blessings came out of that one.” John agreed. “The Lord spared your life, and He provided buffalo meat for everybody in camp.”

As Jimmy reached down to pick up the broken pieces of the woodbox, he hardly noticed his sore feet. “We’ll have a good fire tonight!”

“By our standards the villagers of San Gabriel had very little, but they gave beyond their means. We were constantly showered with gifts of flowers, food, and mementos. But our first realization of how much they cared was exemplified by a six-year-old girl. As we were leaving the village after our fourth visit, young Cielo ran up to us with a bouquet of flowers. Before she could speak she burst into tears. After moments of surprise and confusion we were told that she had to return to school the next week and would not be able to attend our lessons again. Her unexpected display of emotion touched us deeply. As we tried to hold back our own tears, we assured her that we would visit her on Sunday.
“There were other such incidents during those weeks that also left lasting impressions, but our final visit was a fitting climax. As we sat in that humble, one-room chapel for the last time and felt the rain trickle in through the leaking roof, we were moved. We couldn’t hold back the tears as the members presented each of us with an onyx necklace they had made themselves. Through her tears one sister commented, ‘The chapel cries too because you must leave us!’
“As one man handed us each a box of candy, he earnestly asked us to convey the love of the Mexican people to the Saints in the United States.
“He wanted us to know that they too love the gospel. He wanted the world to know that Saints exist in San Gabriel.”
Carol Peterson, Fort Worth, TexasStana Smoot, Centerville, Utah

Last year I went on a hike with my dad and brother. We hiked deep into the canyon. We soon started exploring a side trail. We found large caves and great lookout points. We climbed higher and higher over loose rocks and steep hills.
After a while we were completely lost. We didn’t know which way to go to get to the bottom of the canyon. We got stuck in thick brush, losing sight of both the top and bottom of the canyon. I started to get really frustrated. I did not know where to go, and neither did my dad!
It was getting dark and cold, and we were far from getting out of the canyon. I knew that Heavenly Father knew which way to go.
I said, “If we want to get out of here, we need to pray!” So the three of us knelt down in prayer, asking Heavenly Father to lead us out of the canyon.
As we started to walk, a feeling told me that when I saw a straight tall tree, I should turn left. After I turned left, I saw our car. I knew that Heavenly Father helped us get out of the canyon. Heavenly Father answered our prayer, and we made it out safely—just as the sun was setting.
I am so thankful for the power of prayer and for Heavenly Father’s listening ear.

My daughters, ages 8 and 10, seemed to be growing farther and farther apart. As their mother, I ached inside to see the bickering between them and the mean looks they often directed at each other.
During this time I was praying earnestly to the Lord to help me with my own weaknesses. I prayed that He would help me learn what I needed to learn about charity, and I was led to some beautiful passages of scripture.
One night things came to a head with my daughters. I lost my temper and, after ranting and raving at them, stormed outside to cool down and think. After a few minutes, the Spirit began to soften my heart, prompting me to go inside and apologize to my eldest daughter, who had caught the worst of my temper.
As I entered her bedroom, I saw my 10-year-old daughter kneeling beside her bed, weeping. She looked up at me with tears in her eyes and said, “I don’t know what to do.” She told me she wanted to pray and read her scriptures so she would feel better, but she couldn’t because she felt so bad.
When she told me how sorry she felt for her part in our quarrel and then said I was not to blame, oh, what shame I felt. We talked a while and then turned to the scriptures, where I read to her about charity, “the pure love of Christ” (Moroni 7:47), and shared some of the things I had learned. At that point her younger sister looked in the room, and we invited her to join us. I then explained, in words an eight-year-old could understand, what we had read about charity.
After I had finished, both girls turned to me with big eyes and expressed a desire to be filled with this great love spoken of in the scriptures. We then knelt and, as Mormon counseled, humbly asked the Father to fill us with this love (see Moroni 7:48).
Touched by the Spirit, we could not help but weep. We rose from our knees, embraced, and expressed our love for each other. At that moment I saw an eternal sisterhood and friendship begin to bloom between my daughters, and I was comforted.
Their relationship has continued to grow since then. They have a greater desire to work out their differences, show more patience, and share their belongings. I am grateful for their righteous desires and efforts.
I will always treasure that experience, and I pray that there will be more like it as we continue to strengthen the bonds of charity and love in our home.

Sacred music is an important part of any Church gathering and when the committee coordinators looked for someone to conduct a special choral item for this event, Sister Adele Wi Repa from Auckland Henderson Stake’s West Harbour Ward was the first person who came to mind.
“I had a giggle when Brother and Sister Smith said that,” Adele says, “because I don’t think they knew anyone else! But I felt very grateful and privileged.”
Adele’s first task was to find the right song for the occasion. She searched the internet for suitable sheet music, but it soon became clear that she needed to arrange the song herself. To allow the choir time to learn her composition, Adele gave herself one week, and stopped working on the song at the end of that week despite her concerns that it wasn’t quite finished yet. The result of her effort was a beautiful arrangement of the well-loved hymn, Joseph Smith’s First Prayer.

I have always enjoyed sports. When I was growing up, my home in Tremonton, Utah, was a gathering place for the boys in the neighborhood, and we loved to play softball and football in the pasture and basketball in the yard.
As a young man, I was invited to be on a semiprofessional baseball team. I was thrilled! But I soon found out that the games would be on Sunday. I talked with my father, probably trying to persuade him that it would be OK because I would still be able to go to my Church meetings, then play baseball in the evening. My father listened carefully and then asked me to think about how my decision might affect my friends and others who might be watching.
I thought about that advice, and I knew what I should do. I turned down the offer to play on the team. It wasn’t an easy decision, but it was one I have never regretted. Ever since, I have tried to remember that the way I choose to live my life can affect others.

I first encountered this principle in high school. I considered myself to be unattractive, and so it was easier for others to think of me as unattractive—a vicious circle. But I had the fortune to acquire two friends, Janice and Jim. Janice thought that I had a wonderful personality, and it was easy for me to be pleasant around her. Eventually I found it easier to get along with other people because she had instilled confidence in me.
Her faith in my desirability helped me improve my grooming. I confided to her that I had always wanted to perm my hair so that it would be curly all over, but I was afraid that the other kids would make fun of it. She was so enthusiastic about this idea that I permed my hair and loved it. Janice also never saw the 15 pounds that I needed to lose; and because she helped me think of myself as thin, I lost the weight.
Jim was also a good friend. He was not interested in me romantically, but he still thought that I was attractive. When we became friends, I stopped wondering if the dresses I was buying looked similar enough to what everyone else was wearing and began to consider if Jim would like them. Because Jim was a good enough friend to let me know when I looked good, I gained confidence in my taste and I became able to buy and do things because I liked them. Because these two friends had patience, confidence, and the ability to see the Dulcinea in me, I have become happy with myself.

Youth today have lots of temptations, like certain trends, some bad types of social media and music, inappropriate language, and alcohol and drugs. My classmates at school don’t have bad intentions, but sometimes they invite me to try these things.
I’ve had to learn to say no. As my classmates have gotten to know me better, they’ve realized I’m not like everyone else. I have earned their respect by showing them I can be a normal teenager without having bad language or behavior.