Gospel Story Finder

President Hinckley said in a worldwide leadership training meeting: “I am convinced there is no other organization anywhere to match the Relief Society of this Church. It has a membership of more than five million women across the earth. If they will be united and speak with one voice, their strength will be incalculable. … It is so tremendously important that the women of the Church stand strong and immovable for that which is correct and proper under the plan of the Lord.”
I have pondered and studied this inspiring charge, and I have sought answers regarding how the women of this Church could fulfill President Hinckley’s challenge and promise. How can they speak with one voice and stand strong and immovable for those things which are correct and proper? Within the plan of the Lord there are specific things Latter-day Saint women must do because they are daughters of God, chosen to come to the earth at a time which has been called “a very difficult season in the history of the world.”
In order to do our part as women under the Lord’s plan, we must stand strong and immovable in faith, strong and immovable in family, and strong and immovable in relief. We must excel in these three important areas which set us apart as the Lord’s disciples. Through Relief Society we practice being disciples of Christ. We learn what He would have us learn, we do what He would have us do, and we become what He would have us become. When we gather with this focus, the work of Relief Society is relevant whatever your circumstance—whether you are 18 or 88, single or married, have children or not, or whether you live in Bountiful, Utah, or Bangalore, India.

“The gospel brings unity to the family,” says retired military officer Antero Andrade, who was baptized in 1993 on one of São Vicente’s windswept beaches. Brother Andrade knows whereof he speaks: not only did his wife, Orisa, and their two sons join the Church, but so did his parents and all his brothers, sisters, nephews, and nieces. Only his daughter remains unbaptized—and that is because she is too young.
Brother Andrade is president of the Mindelo District, which is named after Cape Verde’s second-largest city. The nation’s two other districts, based in Praia and Fogo, and 12 of its 16 branches are all led by native Cape Verdeans, most of whom are recent converts. The islands are part of the Portugal Lisbon South Mission.

I speak also of missionary service. I was recently in London, England, and there we held a meeting with the missionaries serving in that area. Representatives of the British Broadcasting Corporation filmed part of the service. They are preparing a documentary of our missionary work in the British Isles.
Prior to this I had been interviewed by a representative of the BBC Radio Worldwide Service. He had seen the missionaries and noted their youthful appearance. He asked me, “How do you expect people to listen to these callow youth?”
In case some of you do not know the meaning of callow, it means immature, inexperienced, lacking sophistication.
I replied to the reporter with a smile, “Callow youth? It is with these missionaries today as it was with Timothy in the days of Paul. It was Paul who wrote to his young companion, saying, ‘Let no man despise thy youth; but be thou an example of the believers, in word, in conversation, in charity, in spirit, in faith, in purity’ (1 Tim. 4:12).
“The remarkable thing is that people do receive them and listen to them. They are wholesome. They are bright, they are alert, they are upstanding. They are clean looking, and people quickly develop confidence in them.”
I might have added, “They are a miracle.” They knock on doors, but not many are at home these days in a city like London. And so missionaries approach them on the street and engage them in conversation.
It is not an easy thing for a sensitive young man or woman to do this. But they come to believe in these further words of Paul to Timothy:
“For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.
“Be not thou therefore ashamed of the testimony of our Lord” (2 Tim. 1:7–8).
They recognize that fear comes not from God but from the adversary of truth. And so they develop a capacity to engage people in conversation concerning their work and their message. They and their associates will bring into the Church during this year of 1995 almost 300,000 converts. That is the equivalent of a hundred new stakes of Zion and more than five hundred new wards in one year.

It was at the beginning of our Primary lesson, when we are especially reverent, that Sister Gentry said, “I want you all to close your eyes.”
We all shut our eyes, wondering what she was going to do next.
“Very good. Now I want you to picture yourself walking up to the doors of the meetinghouse. As you look around, you see that the grass hasn’t been cut in a long time and that big clumps of weeds are growing here and there.
“You enter the building,” Sister Gentry continued, “and walk down the hall toward the chapel. The hallway is littered with crumpled papers and broken crayons. The walls have scribbles on them and dirty handprints. A big cobweb hangs in the corner.
“Passing the cultural hall, you see plates of stale food piled up on tables. Crushed cups and dirty napkins litter the floor. The stage curtains have gaping tears in them, and the carpet is badly stained from spills that were never cleaned up.
“Entering the chapel, you notice the shabby seats. On closer inspection, there are dust bunnies under the benches and in the corners. Discarded programs are sticking up behind the hymnbooks. And candy wrappers and dry cereal are scattered on the benches and floor.”
Sister Gentry paused for a moment. “Now open your eyes and tell me how you felt during your imaginary tour.”
We all agreed that we felt dirty and sad and wouldn’t want to go to such a place again.
Sister Gentry explained that our meetinghouse is the Lord’s house, a sacred place. And we all need to do our part in keeping it clean and beautiful so that His spirit will be there.

As our children’s awareness began to grow beyond the protective walls of our own home, Christmas became more and more Santa and glitter. As this excitement and anticipation grew, the birth of our Savior seemed farther and farther from our hearts and minds. My husband, Bob, and I tried to bring the true spirit of Christmas back into our celebration in ways that would be meaningful to the entire family. One year we established a pattern of traditions that has served us well and provided meaningful Christmases for many years.
We chose a family home evening lesson for the first week in December that focused on giving service as a way to celebrate the Christmas season. We made a cardboard manger and provided a container full of straw. Each time a family member performed an act of service, we put one piece of straw into the manger. The children eagerly sought meaningful acts of kindness with which to earn a straw for baby Jesus’s manger, and we filled the manger three times over that year.
Bob happened to spot an old-fashioned lantern in a store’s display of Christmas decorations. He bought it, and it provided the inspiration for the culminating event of our religious celebration. After our family party and dinner on Christmas Eve, the children dressed for bed and gathered in the largest bedroom upstairs, away from the nativity scene in the living room. We turned off all the lights in the house and explained to the children that we would be taking a pilgrimage to see the newborn King of kings. We prepared for our journey by singing traditional carols and then proceeded to the living room, singing “Oh, Come, All Ye Faithful.” Bob led the way, holding the lantern with its flickering candlelight to brighten our path.
Upon reaching the little stable, we sat quietly and sang a few more carols. Then we presented the manger to baby Jesus. It was filled with straw representing gifts of love we had given throughout the month. Everyone who wanted to do so expressed his or her love for the Savior. The Spirit of the Lord was in our home and our hearts that evening. The children went calmly and quietly to bed—still eager for the morning to come, but also feeling love and appreciation for the Christ child, whose birth we were celebrating.
Each year, as we get caught up in the frantic preparations for Christmas, we have a sense of peace, knowing that the commercialism will be tempered, at least to a degree, with a few moments of meaningful worship. Even at the height of anticipating Christmas morning, the children look forward to the special time we spend each Christmas Eve with the newborn King.

During the summer my two brothers taught me how to play soccer. They taught me to run the field and guard the goal. Even though they are older, I play with them and their friends.

On the morning of the last day of school before the Christmas holidays, I had the strangest thought pop into my head. I was tying bows around bunches of gourmet candy canes to give to my friends when my mind said, “You should give one of these to Megan*.”
What a crazy idea! Megan, a very popular girl in my English class, was terribly mean. In addition to the rude things she said to me, she and her friends were always giggling and pointing in my direction. She made me feel horrible. Why should I give Christmas candy to someone like that?
Today was always the best day of the whole year at Valley Middle School. Like the last day of school in June, schoolwork would be pushed aside in favor of movies and games. But what made it even better than that was the candy we exchanged with our friends. As we went from class to class, our stacks of goodies grew and we found out who liked us enough to put us on their gift list. You could tell who the really popular kids were by their enormous piles of candy. Someone like Megan would have to bring an extra bag to carry everything. She certainly didn’t need anything from me.
I was confident I would have a respectable pile of sweets myself. I was nowhere near being part of the popular crowd, but it was a big school, and I had a large group of friends. However, because I was one of the few Latter-day Saints in the school, I really stood out. Anyone who stands out too much in middle school becomes a target for teasing, so, unfortunately, I had as many tormentors as I had friends.
It is sometimes really tough to know how to deal with people who pick on you. I had long ago decided that the best way was just to ignore them. But sometimes this just didn’t seem to work. Earlier that school year, two girls in my science class had hurt me so much with their cruel words that I finally burst and fired similar cruel words right back at them. This landed me in detention, and I spent a miserable afternoon picking up trash. Worse than the actual punishment was how horrible I felt inside. I knew my actions weren’t Christlike, and that hurt me more than anyone’s awful words ever could. After that, I stuck like glue to my old policy of keeping silent and expressionless, hoping people would get bored with me. But Megan still hadn’t given up trying to have fun at my expense, and I had been wondering recently if there were something more I could do besides just turning the other cheek.
Looking down at the candy canes in my backpack, I realized that the Spirit had just given me a solution to my dilemma. I thought of Matthew 5:44, in the Sermon on the Mount, where Christ says, “Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you.”
“Well,” I thought, “it’s worth a try.” Even though the thought of doing such an unusual thing scared me, I told myself it couldn’t make the situation any worse.
I almost chickened out. It was the very end of the class period before I had the guts to approach Megan. When I called her name, she turned and looked very surprised that I was speaking to her.
“Here, this is for you.” I held out the candy.
She looked at me very suspiciously. I could tell she was trying to figure out what the trick was. I knew she thought I was trying to do something mean because she knew she’d never done anything nice to me. So I smiled and said, “Merry Christmas,” hoping she would trust me just a little bit.
She took the candy. When I turned to walk away, and it was clear that there were no strings attached, she said, “Thank you.”
I wish I could say Megan and I became friends after that. We didn’t. But she left me alone the rest of the school year, and her eyes lost that hard, malicious glint when she looked at me.
I like to hope I gave her more than just candy that Christmas. I hope that’s what happened, but maybe it didn’t. Maybe she never thought about it again. But I was changed for life after that simple exchange. I was filled with the joy of having done what Jesus would have done. The gift I gave her paled in comparison to the gift I received—a taste of charity, the pure love of Christ, a feeling sweeter than all the Christmas candy in the school.

There was a need in the early days of the flood cleanup for heavy equipment. A request was made for tractors and front-end loaders from stakes both near and far. We thought in terms of 5 or 6 outfits. Soon after the request was made, the area welfare leader from Soda Springs, approximately 165 miles away, called and said, “President, I understand that you need some tractors and front-end loaders. We are ready and prepared to bring 150.” I told him that 20 would be marvelous.

I often feel that I have too many demands placed on me also. My piano practicing falls behind and my schoolwork doesn’t get done because I feel overwhelmed. The Church is demanding, as are my friends and parents.
I have now realized I must set my priorities. I know that I can only do the best I can and that I cannot do everything all of the time.

“Best party we’ve ever had,” smiled a girl as she sank exhaustedly onto the grass. “Just hope the paint comes off my slacks.”

“Seek to Serve” was Salt Lake Highland High School Seminary’s goal. Instead of the usual cookies-and-punch party for one of their yearly socials, seminary leaders chose to devote a complete day of service to someone who really needed it.

A neighbor of one of the seminary teachers had been unable to take proper care of her home for some time. An elderly widow, she wasn’t up to the rigors of house painting and weed pulling.

But 171 seminary students were.

Nancy Harker, social chairman, organized the entire event. Tickets for the “social” were sold at $1.50 to raise money for plants, paints, seeds, and other supplies. Then on Saturday afternoon the party began.

As the students arrived they began sanding, scraping, and painting the entire house. Seven loads of debris were removed from the yard. Bushes were trimmed, trees pruned, and flower beds weeded and planted. A large portion of the backyard was cultivated and turned into a vegetable garden.

The widow supervised the project. “Oh, I just can’t believe this,” she said. “Here I am, not even a member of their church, and there are 171 young Mormons painting and cleaning up my house!”

Six hours later as the last weed was pulled and the last paint brush was being cleaned up, it was impossible to tell who was happier—the widow or the students. One participant summed up the feelings of most participants when he said, “I guess service is just realizing we’re all brothers and sisters.”

One day while carefully crawling over the frosty cliffs in search of random fossil bones, I came upon a spot where a few fossil mud-balls and some interesting bone scraps seemed to suggest it might be an area worth prying into. Our general collecting technique was to find a single bone exposed on the surface, harden it with shellac, and then chisel it free. In this one spot, however, I felt an urge to dig and see what might be below the surface. I pried several shoe-box-size sections of sandstone free with my ice ax, and kneeling down on the cold, dry sand, I split them apart for examination. I chanced to split one fragment in a manner that exposed a curious triangular bone about two inches long displaying a single tooth. I studied it for a moment and, unable to identify it, wrapped it carefully for Dr. Colbert to examine back in camp. I spent several hours on this small cliff. In so doing, I forgot to watch my face and as a consequence received a nasty frostbite on my right cheek and nose. The skin in these areas formed hard, cold, white patches.
That evening while I was eating and undergoing a painful thawing, Dr. Colbert came dashing into the mess hut and cried, “You’ve got Lystrosaurus!” I looked on my plate, then at my sleeve, and felt the back of my head, but failed to comprehend his excitement. “Lystrosaurus,” he repeated. “You’ve got Lystrosaurus!”
I sat there blinking dumbly and twitching my red nose. Finally I began to comprehend that he was referring to my day’s collection and not to my physical condition, and also that Lystrosaurus was the scientific name of a mammal-like reptile found abundantly in Africa. It seems I had found the right maxilla (upper jawbone) of one of these curious creatures, which have but two teeth in their entire skull. This unusual characteristic makes a bone from this animal a very important diagnostic fossil. Their presence on Coalsack Bluff as well as in Africa and India meant but one thing; these continents had once been joined as part of Gondwanaland!
My frostbite was still my most impressive feeling at that moment, but I later realized I had discovered what is said to be the single most important object that has yet been found relating to earth history, for it was first proof that there was once a great supercontinent on earth. Future exploration will naturally follow with possible discovery of complete fossil animal skeletons, but they will only be additional information, for the vital moment of truth has passed. The first discovery has been made.
It has now been one year since that discovery, and several workers have now published aggressive articles on continental drift. Although some of them ignore fossil vertebrates, they proceed with a confident vigor made possible only by a frozen nose and the revelation of a little one-toothed jawbone on Coalsack Bluff.

Nathan A., 8, Arizona, was baptized on his birthday and received a special gift—the gift of the Holy Ghost. He has a Friend magazine from 1979 that has a picture of his dad in it when he was nine.

A famous doctor once visited a dejected and despondent old woman. He found that she was alone and separated from the world but that she also had a beautiful greenhouse where she raised African violets. The doctor gave the woman a prescription. She was to subscribe to her church’s newsletter, and whenever there was a baptism, marriage, sickness, or death, she was to send an African violet. Following the doctor’s instructions, the old woman gave away hundreds of potted plants. At her death the newspaper headline read, “The Queen of African Violets Passes Away and Is Mourned by Thousands.” What turned this dejected old woman into someone loved by so many? It was giving to others, not keeping for herself.

Illustrations by Jana Christy
Abby stared at the words on the TV screen: HURRICANE KATRINA HITS NEW ORLEANS. There were pictures of houses flooded clear to the roof. Her eyes widened. “Mom, have you seen this?”
“Yes.” Mom sat down. She looked sad. “So many people lost their homes.”
Abby slumped back on the couch. “I wish I could do something!”
“You can always be a friend.”
Abby looked up. “How?”
“A lot of the people who lost their homes are coming to Texas. Maybe some will come to your school.”
Mom was right. A few weeks later, Abby spotted a new girl sitting in the corner, staring down at her desk. Her hair was really short, and she wore long earrings that almost touched her shoulders. Abby thought they looked nice on her. But it was definitely a different style than she was used to seeing.
“This is Jasmine,” Mrs. Franklin said. “She’s from New Orleans. Let’s all make her feel welcome, OK?”
“Yeah, right,” someone whispered. Abby turned to see Isabella and her friends giggle behind their hands. Abby caught Isabella’s eye and looked away. Isabella always made her nervous.
The next day at lunch, Abby saw Jasmine sitting alone, picking at her food. Isabella sat nearby with friends. “She’s so weird!” said one of the boys sitting by Isabella. Everyone laughed. Jasmine just stared down at her tray.
Abby felt like she should sit with Jasmine, but she didn’t want to be teased too.
Then she remembered what Mom said. How would Abby feel if she lost her home and had to move someplace where she didn’t know anyone? She knew what Jesus would want her to do.
“Can I sit here?” Abby asked. Jasmine looked up and nodded.
“I’m Abby. Nice to meet you.”
“You too.”
“Cool earrings!”
Jasmine gave a small smile. “Thanks.” Abby sat by Jasmine every day that week. Jasmine never said anything about Isabella, but she always looked sad whenever Isabella and her friends laughed. Abby wished she could do something to make Jasmine feel better.
One day after school Mom poked her head into Abby’s room. “Wanna go to the mall?”
“Sure!”
Abby’s favorite store was selling surprise bags filled with mystery items like jewelry and nail polish. She bought one and pulled out a pair of long feather earrings that weren’t really her style. She remembered Jasmine’s long earrings. Maybe Jasmine would like them?
The next day Jasmine beamed as she put them on. “This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me!”
Abby smiled back. “They look so great on you!” Then she saw Isabella watching from across the room, and her smile faded.
In gym class Abby and Jasmine were on the same dodgeball team. Isabella and her friends stalked over with their hands on their hips.
“Hand over those earrings,” Isabella demanded. Jasmine shrank back.
Abby’s heart was thumping. But she wanted to stand up for Jasmine. “Leave her alone.”
Isabella crossed her arms. “You should’ve given those earrings to me. Why her?”
Jasmine flinched. Abby swallowed and stood up tall. “Because she’s my friend.”
Isabella glared. “Whatever.” She turned and left.
Jasmine threw her arms around Abby.
“Thank you!” Jasmine said over and over. “Thank you! Thank you!”
Abby was glad she had stood up for Jasmine. She had chosen to be brave and kind, like Jesus. And now she had a new friend!

While the men worked on a shallop (small open boat) from the ship, hauling it up onto the beach for repairs, the women went ashore to wash clothes. After the shallop was repaired, Miles Standish, the military captain of the colony, with Captain Jones and a group of men, most of them Pilgrims, set out to explore. Daily they prayed for guidance.
On December 21, the travelers stepped ashore at the site of a deserted Indian village. Old and weathered cornstalks rattled in the breeze where land had been cleared. A brook sparkled and babbled down a hillside. Nearby was an excellent harbor. In one field was a great hill that commanded a view of the sea and land roundabout. Why the place had been deserted was a mystery.
“We’ll build our new Plymouth here,” Captain Standish announced.
When they returned to the Mayflower, William White looked anxiously about the deck for his wife, Susanna. Then he saw her coming toward him. Placing a tiny bundle in his arms, she said, “My husband, our little son was born while you were gone.”
Tenderly, William uncovered the tiny pink face. “So our little traveler has arrived,” he said, beaming.
Standing by, Governor Carver exclaimed, “Aye, William, your little son is the first white child we know of to be born in New England. He should be called Peregrine (traveler).”
“Peregrine White,” William mused. “That is what he shall be called.” Then noticing Ellen’s eager upturned face, he asked, “Do you want to hold the baby?”
“Oh, yes!” she exclaimed. Gently he laid the bundle in her arms, and Ellen smiled with pleasure.

Prior to my membership in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I associated for many years with another Christian denomination. There, the notion of prophets and apostles was a thing of the past. Discussion about topics such as modern revelation or living prophets and apostles were prohibited.
In 1995, I was still working on my understanding of this doctrine when President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) visited London. We were invited to a special meeting at Wandsworth Stake center. There, something indescribable happened which strengthened my testimony of a living prophet. As the company started entering the chapel, my attention was immediately drawn to President Hinckley, and I had an overwhelming feeling as if a voice spoke to me saying “This is the living prophet on the earth today. He is the mouthpiece of the Savior”. I am grateful for that personal experience. This became an anchor to my understanding of the need for a living prophet and the importance of following his counsel.

Determination and faith add yet another dimension to British seminary study—early-morning classes.
Five mornings a week, youth gather in a home, chilly chapel, or other meeting place, to dig into their scriptures before school and even before paper rounds. Some students face daunting obstacles. Like Philip Halford of Leicester, many live far away from where classes are held and public transport isn’t available. Philip was lucky. His brother had a milk round. Philip hopped on the milk float and rode part of the way.

Danny Price sat on a stump in the woods behind his house, chewing his fingernails. In two days school would start, and he still didn’t know anyone in Sutton. Who was he kidding? He didn’t know anyone in the whole state of Illinois except his parents, and they didn’t count.
“Eeeeeya!”
“Wha—?” Danny sprang off the stump and faced his attacker. Before him stood the skinniest girl he’d ever seen. Her thick black hair was braided down her back, and Ping-Pong balls taped to wires stuck out of a headband in front. Her face was painted with red and green polka dots, and she held a flashlight in her hand like a laser rod. Beside her stood a huge dog.
“Did I scare you?” She looked hopeful.
“Well, maybe a little.”
She looked so pleased that Danny almost wished he’d said he’d been terrified.
“What’s your name?” asked the girl.
“Danny Price. We just moved here. What’s your name?”
“Today it’s Stella Andromeda. This is my trusty dog-droid, Sir Sirius. Tomorrow I’ll probably be somebody else, though. Maybe Florence Nightingale.”
“Who’s that?”
“Oh, she was this wonderful nurse, and she—Hey, maybe you can be a wounded soldier, and I’ll cut off your leg!”
“I don’t know …”
“We can switch if you get bored.”
“Well … maybe.”
“OK. We’ll wait and see who you feel like being before we decide.” She frowned and said, “But if you just want to be yourself, I’ll probably just be me, and you don’t know my real name.” Stella Andromeda considered the problem for a moment. “Well,” she said at last, “I’ll just have to tell you. I’m Albergetta Simonetta Veronica Lynn Blankenberry.”
Danny counted. “You’re the only person I know who has five names.” He thought it was great, but Stella Andromeda didn’t seem to agree.
“Isn’t it awful?” she moaned. “If you have to, call me Al. But only when I’m being me, OK?”
“OK.”
“Good. But what’ll we do now? Do you want to explore the Dark Galaxy with Sir Sirius and me?”
“Sure!”
“You’ll need an outer-space name.” Stella Andromeda looked the new space cadet over while Sir Sirius sniffed his toes.
“How about Star Avenger?”
Stella Andromeda frowned. “What do you think, Sir Sirius?” Sir Sirius licked the space cadet’s tennis shoes and barked.
Stella Andromeda grinned. “Welcome to the space rangers, Star Avenger.” She shook his hand, then put a finger to her lips.
“Do you hear that?”
“What?”
“Come on.”
The two space rangers and their trusty dog-droid trotted steadily through the astral forest. Actually Star Avenger kept getting caught in briars and tripping over tree roots. But his space friend assured him that all he needed was a little practice.
“I hear it now!” whispered Star Avenger. “It sounds like an alien war party.”
“Let’s sneak up and spy on them.”
The space rangers crept through the forest until they reached a ridge that sloped gently down to a thin creek and back up on the other side. Two younger kids—“They’re third graders,” whispered Stella Andromeda—stood with their backs to the rangers, while another crouched over something small and still. She poked it with a stick, and they all screamed with laughter.
“What do they have?” asked Star Avenger.
Stella Andromeda’s face had become very red. Her eyes were dark and stormy. “They’re teasing a ’possum. It looks dead, but that may be just an act.”
“What do you mean?”
“ ’Possums sometimes play dead so that their enemies will leave them alone. It doesn’t look like the act’s going to work, though.”
The kids seemed to be enjoying the game. The girl with the stick poked the ’possum again, while one of her friends tried to feed it some moss. They all laughed hysterically.
Now Star Avenger’s face was every bit as red as Stella Andromeda’s. His hands curled into fists.
“I can’t stand this,” he muttered. “We have to rescue it.”
Stella Andromeda nodded and pulled her laser rod from her pocket.
“Let’s go.” She began to run down the slope, whooping at the top of her lungs and slashing the flashlight around her. Star Avenger added his own war cry and leapt down the ridge after her, with Sir Sirius growling at his side.
Startled, the third graders looked up at them. One lost his balance and fell into the creek. He scrambled out and crawled up the ridge without even looking back. The girl with the stick threw it down and ran along the creek bank, screaming all the way. The remaining tormentor hesitated, then decided two space rangers were more than he could handle. He turned and raced after the girl.
Star Avenger chased the enemy until he heard Stella Andromeda call him back. When he returned, she was hunching over the ’possum. “Is it OK?” he asked, kneeling beside her.
“I think so. At least it’s breathing, and I can’t see any cuts on it. Let’s leave it alone and see what happens.”
They sat down on a fallen tree a few feet away. Sir Sirius lay at their feet.
“Cross your fingers,” whispered Stella Andromeda.
They waited a long time. Star Avenger got a cramp and had to stand up, and still the ’possum didn’t move. “What if it dies?” he whispered.
“We’ll give it a proper space burial.”
Finally the ’possum stirred. Sir Sirius’s ears pricked up, but Stella Andromeda grabbed his collar before he could move. For a long minute the small, beleaguered creature looked warily at the space rangers. Then it turned and sidled quickly up the ridge and into the woods.
“It’s gone home,” said Star Avenger.
Stella Andromeda nodded. “Which is where I should be going.”
“Stella Andromeda,” said Star Avenger as they turned for home, “I think that tomorrow I’ll be an Indian.”
“Great! Sir Sirius will be our trusty sidekick, Bear, and I’ll be Running Buffalo, and we can have a rain dance and a peace council. That is … if you want some company.”
“I’m counting on it!”

We grew so close together over the years as friends that even after I was married she continued to teach me great lessons. We lived next door to each other. When I would return home from work, I had to pass her home before going into my home. During her later years she had arthritis, and I always worried about her health. One of the first days after my wife and I were married and I arrived home from work, I stopped in at my mother’s house before going to my own. I will never forget the experience of having her take me by the arm and escort me right back out of her house with this counsel, “You go see your wife first and tell her you love her. Then you can come and see me.”

Pioneers Traveling to the Temple, Maria Alicia Matos Strauss, 10, Bolivia. “This is one of the first caravans to travel to the temple. They had a few car troubles.”