Gospel Story Finder

Last year, I damaged my ACL so badly that I had to get major knee surgery. When I found out the surgery was one of the most intensive knee surgeries, I was terrified! I asked for a priesthood blessing and fasted. My family members fasted for me too. My recovery ended up being smooth and quick, and I was so grateful for that.
Fasting can be hard, but for me, the blessings from fasting always outweigh the hunger. It’s a small sacrifice we get to make, and the blessings you receive from giving up two meals and donating fast offerings are totally worth it, no matter how inconvenient it seems.
In this world, we like instant gratification. But if you fast consistently and do other things while you fast, like read your scriptures or work on Personal Progress or Duty to God, you dedicate time to the Savior. As you’re consistent with that, you will be blessed. NE
Elaina K., 17, Washington, USA

Recently, a man sent me a book. He is a doctor of philosophy in a great university. He told me that reading that book had become a significant experience in his life. I read it. It is the story of a boy in Paris who, in an accident, was blinded at the age of eight. It is an account of how when darkness surrounded him, there came a new light into his life. When he was 16 or 17, the Germans conquered France and German soldiers marched into Paris. This blind boy, a brilliant student, organized a resistance group. He and his associates ran an operation for getting information and circularizing it with a little newspaper they printed on a duplicator. The effort grew until they were distributing more than 250,000 copies an issue. Then he was betrayed by a member of the group, arrested, and sent to Buchenwald. There in filth and despair he lived with similar victims. He could not see, but there was a light within him that rose above the tragedy of his circumstances. He survived as a leader among those in that foul camp. The little newspaper he started became a great newspaper. I read that book and was lifted and strengthened by the story of that remarkable young man. If you cannot find good heroes and heroines for your children on television, help your children find them in good books.

Jenay watched as Mommy set the freshly baked white cake on the kitchen table. Tonight was Christmas Eve, when her family would celebrate Jesus’s birth.
Jenay liked going caroling with her family, baking gingerbread men, and decorating the tree. But remembering Jesus’s birthday was her favorite thing to do at Christmas.
Can I help you put the icing on the cake?
We need to let it cool first.
Jenay helped Mommy clean off the counters and wash the dishes. Do you think the cake is cool now?
I think it’s just about right.
Mommy and Jenay spread fluffy white icing on the cake.
After dinner Daddy asked the family to gather in the living room.
Even though we know that Jesus was born in the spring, we like to celebrate His birthday at this time of year.
Mommy read the story of Jesus’s birth from the Bible and the Book of Mormon. Then Daddy bore his testimony of Jesus’s Atonement and Resurrection.
One by one, the family members opened their presents to Jesus and read what they had written on a slip of paper. With Mommy’s help, Jenay had written, “Be more reverent at church.”
I’m proud of each of you. All of your gifts show your love for Jesus Christ.
Mommy cut the cake and served it on fancy dishes. Jenay took a bite of cake and smiled.
I love Jesus, and I know He loves me.
A sweet feeling of peace settled over her like a cozy warm quilt.

When I was a deacon like many of you young men, my father and I hiked to a mountain stream to fish for trout. As my dad attached the bait to the hook on the end of my fishing line, he told me that I would need to set the hook in the fish’s mouth when it tried to take the bait, or it would get away. I did not understand what it meant to set the hook, so he explained to me that the hook needed to be embedded in the fish’s mouth when it struck at the bait so it could not shake the hook loose and that the hook would be set if I quickly pulled back on the pole when the fish tried to take the bait. Now, I really wanted to catch a fish, so I stood on the bank of that mountain stream like a coiled spring, every muscle taut, waiting for the telltale movement at the end of my pole which would signal that the fish was trying to take the bait. After a few minutes I noticed movement at the end of my pole, and in that instant I jerked back on the pole with all of my strength, expecting a big fight with the fish. To my surprise, I watched as that poor trout—with the hook now set very firmly in his mouth—was launched from the water into the air over my head and landed on the ground flopping behind me.
I have two observations from that experience: First, a fish out of water is miserable. Although its gills, fins, and tail work very well in water, they are all but useless on land. Second, the unfortunate fish I caught that day perished because it was deceived into treating something very dangerous—even fatal—as worthwhile or at least as sufficiently intriguing to warrant a closer look and perhaps a nibble.

Such was my experience as pertains to President George H. Watson, who today serves as first counselor in the Naperville Illinois Stake presidency.
Brother Watson wrote a letter to me, never mailed, dated 3 October 1978, which tells of his conversion to the Church and of his baptism, which took place in the summer of 1959 in eastern Canada, where I served as the mission president at that time. I did not receive this letter until this past year, when it was carried to me by Elder John E. Fowler, who discovered its existence while visiting with the Watson family following a stake conference in Naperville. Both Brother Watson and I have some modest reluctance in sharing with you his private letter, but feeling the impression that the account would help to encourage many of you brethren participating in this worldwide priesthood meeting this evening, we shall do so.
I will conclude by reading President Watson’s own words. He wrote:
“Dear Elder Monson:
“This is a letter out of the blue. Its purpose is to thank you for the letters you wrote some twenty years ago—one to me and the other about me—and to let you know the effect they had on my life.
“My name is George Watson. In 1957, at the age of twenty-one, I emigrated from Ireland, where I had grown up, to Canada. The main purpose of going to Canada was to put together sufficient money to do postgraduate work at London University.
“The firm for which I worked was in Niagara Falls, and I found a room at the ridiculously inexpensive cost of $6.00 per week. The only drawback was that I had to drive the landlady—age seventy-three—to church each Sunday in St. Catharines, Ontario.
“I soon found this chore to be very annoying, as she used the twenty-five-minute drive to try to get me to see the missionaries from her church. I resisted this very effectively for better than a year, until one day she told me that there were two young ladies coming to supper, and would I care to join them. It is very difficult to be rude to lady missionaries!
“I did a great deal of thinking over the next few months and decided that although what eleven sets of missionaries were telling me felt right, I would have to give up too much, besides which I was fed up running my landlady to church. In order to stop her asking for the ride, I decided to take her half an hour late on the next Sunday and to go in and sit with her in an open-neck shirt, sneakers, and sports slacks. I thought this would embarrass her and she would not ask me again.
“My plan worked perfectly, except that she was not annoyed at being late, and I made as much impact as a damp squid. We arrived just as the Sunday School was splitting for class. I would not go into class and spent my time talking to a very fine man who was crippled and who ‘understood’ me. As I was to return to Ireland eight days later (July 1959), he suggested that I should join the Church on the Saturday before I left. He was to call and confirm this during the week, but I effectively countered this by not answering the phone all week. On Sunday, after a sleepless night, I phoned him to apologize and was baptized in Hamilton virtually on the way to the airport—knowing that I would never meet any Mormons in Ireland and that the Church would lose track of me.
“I have no idea, President Monson, where you found my address in Ireland, but on the Friday after I returned, I had a letter from you welcoming me into the Church, and on Sunday at 9:00 a.m. there was a knock on the door and a President Lynn stood on the doorstep saying he had had a letter from President Monson in Toronto asking him to watch over me.
“The next few months or years were traumatic. Three meetings on a Sunday were entirely unreasonable; no way would I speak in front of that group; they can’t expect more than 10 percent. Even more traumatic, my girlfriend set out to show me how ridiculous I was. She ended up being baptized.
“We now live in Illinois with three wonderful children. I often sit and ponder why the Lord has blessed us so greatly. We have all had reason to feel His sustaining hand in difficult times.
“Although it is unlikely that we will ever meet, I would like to very sincerely thank you for taking the trouble to write those two letters. They have completely changed the course of our lives. I am grateful for the knowledge of the Savior’s purpose in coming to earth, my relationship to Him, and what He expects of me. The courage and steadfastness of Joseph Smith, the Prophet, and the knowledge that he imparted to us will always be a source of inspiration to me. I am thrilled at the opportunity of serving in the Lord’s Church.
“May the Lord continue to bless you in His work, and thank you for the effect you have had on my life.”
“[signed] George Watson”
This past Christmas, when George Watson and his beloved Chloe came to Salt Lake City to visit two of their children and a son-in-law, they came to my office, that we might formally meet. They expressed their testimonies and again conveyed their thanks for all who had participated in this human drama, this miracle in our time. Tears flowed, prayers were offered, and gratitude conveyed.
It was an appropriate season of the year for our visit together, when all Christendom pauses for a brief moment and remembers Him—even Jesus Christ—who died that we might have eternal life. He who notes the fall of the sparrow surely orchestrated the search-and-rescue mission that brought the Watson family to His fold. May we ever be found in His service and on His errand is my humble prayer, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

When my family lived in Mesa, Arizona, our one-year-old daughter became ill with viral meningitis. When the doctor diagnosed the illness, he told us that we would know within the next twenty-four hours whether she would live or die. We began to fast and pray for her recovery. She lingered near death for a week, much longer than the doctor had expected in terms of seeing some kind of change.

After that week of struggling, we again fasted, and the ward joined us. When we prayed, fasted, and said to the Lord, “Thy will be done,” a peace as tangible and real as anything we have ever experienced came to our minds. We were not in turmoil, nor were we anxious about the matter. We did not know whether she would live or die, but we were at peace. Happily, she began to recover.

A second experience in the branch dealt with a kind and conscientious woman who faithfully turned in envelopes containing a few coins for payment of her tithing. One day as she came to church, she was also holding in her hand a plastic sandwich bag with a piece of dried-up bread in it. She handed the plastic bag to us and said: “If you are going to belong to a church, you ought to contribute. I can’t contribute much, but I can contribute the sacrament bread.”
As we used her bread for the sacrament, the whole experience carried an additional meaning that day. Going through my mind was the verse that reads: “And Jesus sat over against the treasury, and beheld how the people cast money into the treasury: and many that were rich cast in much.
“And there came a certain poor widow, and she threw in two mites, which make a farthing.
“And he called unto him his disciples, and saith unto them, Verily I say unto you, That this poor widow hath cast more in, than all they which have cast into the treasury:
“For all they did cast in of their abundance; but she of her want did cast in all that she had, even all her living” (Mark 12:41–44).

Once, when I was twelve, my parents allowed my friends and me to spend a few days in a cabin in the mountains not far from my home. We spent time hiking and exploring the forest, and we even cooked our own food.
After a few days, we got tired of our own cooking and decided to go to the store, which was about three miles away. With several dollars between us, we hiked there under the hot sun, dreaming of the frozen fudge bars and other treats that we would buy.
Finally we arrived at the store. What a welcome sight it was! Inside was a pinball machine that cost one nickel to play. After playing a game, a person might get his nickel back, or he might not. Soon my friends and I had spent all our money on the pinball machine, and we had to go back to the cabin with nothing but growling stomachs and tired legs to show for our trip. I learned from that experience to never gamble again. I also learned that sometimes we have to put off what we want right now for what is really more important.

I was 14 years then and had not entered university. I got my first degree before going on a mission. I entered university life in Nigeria. University life was different and influenced me. Then the miracles began. After you get your degree, you are required to do a year of national youth service. When I was called to do my national service, I was called to Lagos. Normally, a lot of people pay money in bribes to the government to go to Lagos, but I didn’t pay anything. While I was in Lagos, I had a mighty change of heart and I prepared to go on a mission. From Lagos I was sent to Accra as a missionary. I met my wife and came back to Accra after my mission, and we got married in 2010.

With it comes the right and the authority to govern in the Church of Christ. I recall the experiences I had long ago when I was a member of the Council of the Twelve. I attended a stake conference where the president was a man of wealth and affluence. He was very successful by the standards of the world. He lived in a magnificent home. He met me at the airport in a beautiful car. We had lunch at a first-class restaurant. And yet he was humble in his office, anxious to learn, and ever willing to do the right thing in administering the affairs of his stake.
I subsequently went to another conference. The president met me in a car that had seen many seasons. We stopped at a fast-food place for a bite to eat. His home was extremely modest—neat and clean and quiet but not richly furnished. He was a carpenter by trade. He had none of the fancy things of the world. He, too, was a wonderful stake president doing his duty in a remarkable way. He was excellent in every respect.
Such is the wonder of this priesthood. Wealth is not a factor. Education is not a factor. The honors of men are not a factor. The controlling factor is acceptability unto the Lord.
All of the Authorities who are here tonight could testify that in the reorganization of stakes they have had remarkable and inspiring experiences. I recall being assigned to reorganize a stake about 40 years ago. The president had suddenly died. The Brethren asked me to go down and speak at the funeral and reorganize the stake. I had never done this before. I was new as a General Authority. I was to be all alone.
When I arrived, I was taken to another town, where I participated in the funeral service. I asked all of the stake officers and the bishops to remain after the service and announced that a reorganization of the stake would take place the next evening.
I asked the mission president to sit with me as I interviewed the brethren, none of whom I knew. We interviewed late into the evening. I soon discovered there were problems in the stake. There were divisive feelings. When we were all through, I said to the mission president, “I am not satisfied. Are there not others?” He said, “I know of only one man whom we have not interviewed. He moved here rather recently on a transfer in his company. He is the second counselor in a bishopric. I do not know him well. He resides in another city.”
I said, “Let’s go see him.” We drove and went to the hotel where I would be staying for the night. Here I was, having interviewed all of these brethren and having not found one that I considered worthy to preside and having scheduled the reorganization for the next evening.
We arrived late at the hotel. I called the man; a sleepy voice answered the phone. I said that I wished to see him that evening. I apologized for calling him so late. He said, “I’ve just gone to bed, but I’ll put on my clothes and come.”
He came to the hotel. The conversation that followed was most interesting. He was a graduate of BYU in petroleum geology. He worked for a big oil company. He had served elsewhere in positions of responsibility in the Church. He knew the program of the Church. He had served a mission. He knew the gospel. He was mature in the Church. And the territory for which he was responsible as an employee of the oil company was exactly the same as the territory of the stake. I told him we would telephone him in the morning and excused him.
The mission president went on his way, and I went to bed.
At about three o’clock the next morning I awoke. Doubts began to flood my mind. This man was almost a total stranger to the people of the stake. I got out of bed and got on my knees and pleaded with the Lord for direction. I did not hear a voice, but I had a very distinct impression that said, “I told you who should be stake president. Why do you continue to ask?”
Ashamed of myself for troubling the Lord again, I went to bed and fell asleep. I phoned the man early the next morning and issued to him a call to serve as president of the stake. I asked him to select counselors.
That evening when people gathered for the meeting, there was much speculation as to who would be the stake president, but no one even thought of this man. When I announced his name, people looked at one another for a clue to discovering who he was. I had him come to the stand. I announced his counselors and had them come to the stand.
Even though they did not know him, the people sustained him. Things began to happen in that stake. The people had known for a long time that they needed a stake center, but they had been uncertain and argumentative as to where it should go. He went to work and within 18 months had a beautiful new stake center ready for dedication. He unified the stake. He traveled up and down, meeting the people and extending his love to them. That stake, which had grown tired, came to life and literally bubbled with new enthusiasm. It stands as a shining star in the large constellation of stakes in this Church.
Brethren, I can testify to you that revelation from the Lord is made manifest in the naming of a stake president. I once spoke in this meeting on bishops, and tonight I wish to say a few words about stake presidents.

As a young college student, Giuseppe Pasta found his belief in God constantly challenged by atheistic friends. He began intensive study of the Bible to strengthen his beliefs, and his study did indeed bring Giuseppe closer to God. But it also convinced him that the church of his forefathers was somehow incomplete. In it, he had learned basic moral principles, but he felt there must be more to the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Where was this additional truth?
When his prayers for further enlightenment seemed to go unanswered, he concluded that perhaps he was not righteous enough. He sought to humble himself in service to patients at a charity hospital, where “I found what the pure love of Christ is.”
Then one day he met two Latter-day Saint missionaries “street-boarding” (explaining the gospel with portable displays) outside the hospital. That meeting led, after a long period of study, to his conversion but he did not tell his family at first about his baptism.
When they learned of it, they were devastated. Friends presented him a petition, with hundreds of signatures, begging him to come back to the “true church.” An interview was arranged for him with the cardinal of Turin, in the hope that the cleric could persuade him to change his mind. They became friends. Convinced at length that young Giuseppe was sincere in his beliefs, the cardinal counseled him to be true to them.
Giuseppe Pasta has been a member of the Church for twenty years now, long enough to qualify him as a Latter-day Saint pioneer in Italy. He was an executive with the Fiat corporation for seventeen years before he was hired to open the Church’s first regional office in Italy. As a temple sealer, he has had the privilege of uniting many of his countrymen for eternity in the Swiss Temple. Currently president of the Italy Rome Mission, he directs some 150 young missionaries in bringing gospel truths to other Italians.
Like President Pasta, many Italian Latter-day Saints reordered their lives to join the Church after discovering gospel truths they had not known existed. Like him, many of them are pioneers in their families and in their country.

Tonight I would like to speak to the priesthood of God in their capacity as the Lord’s shepherds. Elder Bruce R. McConkie stated: “Anyone serving in any capacity in the Church in which he is responsible for the spiritual or temporal well-being of any of the Lord’s children is a shepherd to those sheep. The Lord holds his shepherds accountable for the safety [meaning the salvation] of his sheep.” The bearers of the priesthood have this great responsibility, whether it is father, grandfather, home teacher, elders quorum president, bishop, stake president, or other Church calling.

Initially I speak to the worthy young men of the Aaronic Priesthood. When I was a very small boy, my father found a lamb all alone out in the desert. The herd of sheep to which its mother belonged had moved on, and somehow the lamb got separated from its mother, and the shepherd must not have known that it was lost. Because it could not survive alone in the desert, my father picked it up and brought it home. To have left the lamb there would have meant certain death, either by falling prey to the coyotes or by starvation because it was so young that it still needed milk. Some sheepmen call these lambs “bummers.” My father gave the lamb to me, and I became its shepherd.

For several weeks I warmed cow’s milk in a baby’s bottle and fed the lamb. We became fast friends. I called him Nigh—why I don’t remember. It began to grow. My lamb and I would play on the lawn. Sometimes we would lie together on the grass and I would lay my head on its soft, woolly side and look up at the blue sky and the white billowing clouds. I did not lock my lamb up during the day. It would not run away. It soon learned to eat grass. I could call my lamb from anywhere in the yard by just imitating as best I could the bleating sound of a sheep: Baa. Baa.

One night there came a terrible storm. I forgot to put my lamb in the barn that night as I should have done. I went to bed. My little friend was frightened in the storm, and I could hear it bleating. I knew that I should help my pet, but I wanted to stay safe, warm, and dry in my bed. I didn’t get up as I should have done. The next morning I went out to find my lamb dead. A dog had also heard its bleating cry and killed it. My heart was broken. I had not been a good shepherd or steward of that which my father had entrusted to me. My father said, “Son, couldn’t I trust you to take care of just one lamb?” My father’s remark hurt me more than losing my woolly friend. I resolved that day, as a little boy, that I would try never again to neglect my stewardship as a shepherd if I were ever placed in that position again.

Not too many years thereafter I was called as a junior companion to a home teacher. There were times when it was so cold or stormy and I wanted to stay home and be comfortable, but in my mind’s ear I could hear my little lamb bleating, and I knew I needed to be a good shepherd and go with my senior companion. In all those many years, whenever I have had a desire to shirk my duties, there would come to me a remembrance of how sorry I was that night so many years ago when I had not been a good shepherd. I have not always done everything I should have, but I have tried.

4. The wife, the husband, and the Lord. A verse in one of Paul’s epistles had bothered Susan for several years: “Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands, as unto the Lord.” (Eph. 5:22.) She now felt comfortable enough with Bill to approach the subject. “How would you interpret this scripture?” she asked. “How can we liken it unto ourselves?”

Bill thought about it for a moment. “Well,” he finally responded, “in the mission field when we were confronted with a tough question, we often found it helpful to read the verses before and after the passage to put it in the proper context. Let’s see what the other verses say.”

“Be ye therefore followers of God, as dear children;

“And walk in love, as Christ also hath loved us. …

“Submitting yourselves one to another in the fear of God.

“Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands, as unto the Lord.

“For the husband is the head of the wife, even as Christ is the head of the church: and he is the saviour of the body.

“Therefore as the church is subject unto Christ, so let the wives be to their own husbands in every thing.

“Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ also loved the church, and gave himself for it. …

“So ought men to love their wives as their own bodies. He that loveth his wife loveth himself.

“For no man ever yet hated his own flesh; but nourisheth and cherisheth it, even as the Lord the church. …

“Let every one of you in particular so love his wife even as himself: and the wife see that she reverence her husband.” (Eph. 5:1–2, 21–25, 28–29, 33.)

After a discussion of this chapter, Bill and Susan agreed that the basic principle involved was to love each other in the same way the Savior loves us. That is, we should be willing to serve one another and even be prepared to die for each other. Bill remarked, “Sweetheart, Paul says that wives should submit themselves to their husbands and that the husband is the head of the wife ‘eve as Christ is the head of the church.’ I want to ask your forgiveness for the many times I’ve failed to be a Christlike husband. Too often I’ve thought only of my own needs and pleasures without giving a second thought to you and the children. I really am going to try harder to incorporate the Savior’s teachings in my life, to serve you and the children rather than commanding you and making demands on you.

“There have been times,” he continued, “when I’ve really felt like a henpecked husband. I guess I felt like I was being pushed into submission to you. But since we’ve been trying to incorporate the scriptures into our lives, I’ve come to realize that no husband who gladly loses himself in the service of his wife and family can be considered henpecked—because he is doing exactly what makes them happiest, and their happiness becomes a great source of joy in his own life.”

I had gone to my friend’s house one day, and her mother asked me if I wanted some tea. I said, “No thanks. I don’t drink it.”
Her mother asked, “What if I make it very weak?”
I told her that I’d have to ask my mom. So I phoned my mom, and she agreed with me that drinking even weak tea would be breaking the Word of Wisdom. So I told my friend’s mom, “My mom said no.”
After that, I was happy that I followed the Word of Wisdom, and I still am. I am also glad that I am following the counsel of the prophet.
Karina Sadler, age 11Abbotsford, British Columbia, Canada

Listening to the Prophet Joseph Smith tell the story of the angel and the hidden plates, young Porter Rockwell’s adventurous nature was stirred. The Smiths and Rockwells, frontier neighbors in Manchester, New York, often visited each other.
Although Porter was eight years younger than the Prophet, a bond of friendship between the two was quickly formed. Later, when Joseph needed money to publish The Book of Mormon, Porter picked berries by moonlight—after his chores were done—and sold them. When there were no berries to pick, he gathered wood and hauled it to town to sell. The money he earned was given to the Prophet.

Jay Roberts stared out the window and sighed, then slowly stirred his cereal. He could hardly believe that summer was already gone.
“Hurry up, Jay,” Mother called from the hall. “Dad is ready for family prayer before he leaves.”
After the prayer, Jay carried his cereal bowl to the sink, then trudged up the stairs to brush his teeth. Who invented school anyway? he wondered.
When the school bus arrived, he dutifully climbed on. There were only a couple of seats left. He chose the one across the aisle from his best buddy. “Hey, Lance,” he said.
“Yo,” Lance replied. He said “yo” all the time now, after seeing a guy in a movie do it.
“Who do you want for a teacher?” Jay asked.
“Anyone except Mrs. Turnbull,” Lance replied. “I heard she’s really hard.”
Suddenly Jay was aware of a slight groan beside him. He turned around and saw a very small boy sharing the seat. “Hey,” Jay said to his neighbor, “I’m Jay.”
The little boy hesitated a moment before mumbling, “My name’s Rickey.”
“Well, hello, Rick,” Jay answered. “What grade are you in?”
“None.”
“None? What does that mean?”
“I’m just in the kid garden.”
“You mean in kindergarten?” Jay asked, trying not to smile.
Rickey nodded solemnly. “And I’m not sure where the garden is.”
“It’s OK,” Jay assured him. “There will be teachers at school to help you get where you’re going. And if there aren’t, we’ll show you.”
Rickey stared at Jay for a moment and then asked, “What’s your grade?”
“Lance and I are in fifth grade,” Jay replied, motioning toward his friend.
The little boy looked across the aisle and waved to Lance.
“Yo, Rick,” Lance said, nodding his head.
“This bus is pretty scary, huh?” Rickey said. “I mean, I never was in such a big car before.”
“Yeah,” Jay replied, “it’s bigger than anything else on the road. Everybody gets out of the way of the bus. And all the cars have to stop when we’re getting off and on.”
“Oh,” Rickey replied, looking around with a new interest. He turned toward the window. “I do kind of like looking down at all the cars.”
“I’ve been riding the bus for years,” Jay said importantly. “It isn’t too bad.”
Rickey looked at Jay’s bag. “What’s in there?” he asked.
“It’s my lunch—a peanut-butter sandwich, an apple, some raisins, and if I’m lucky, a brownie.”
“How do you know?” Rickey asked.
“I told you, I’ve been doing this a long time. Mom used to pack a different sandwich every day, but then she found out that I just traded them off, so now she just packs peanut butter.”
“Traded?”
Jay nodded. “Right. It works pretty good. Whatever you don’t like, you just trade with someone else. Sometimes you can get some really good stuff.”
Rickey considered this information. “Lunch sounds fun.”
“Did your mom tell you about recess?”
“Yes,” Rickey replied. “That’s playtime. But I don’t know who to play with.”
“You’ll make friends,” Jay replied, looking at Lance. “I guess friends are the best thing about school.”
“How come?” Rickey asked.
“Because they help you solve problems and get you through the tough stuff.”
“Like what?”
“Like when you don’t do so well on a test, and they play with you at recess and help you remember you’re the best soccer player in school. Or when you get a goofy part in a play, and they tell you it’s cool in front of all the other kids. That kind of stuff.”
The bus pulled up in front of the school, and Rickey still looked scared.
“It’s OK, Rick,” Jay told him. “Come on.”
“I’m afraid of the teacher.”
Jay gently pulled Rickey to his feet. “You don’t have to be afraid of the teachers. They’re kind of like your mom or dad away from home.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely,” Lance chimed in. “I even called my kindergarten teacher ‘Mom’ once.”
Jay looked at his friend with a raised eyebrow.
“Well, it was only once,” Lance said, shrugging.
“Let’s go,” Jay said, as the three boys walked toward the door. When they arrived at the kindergarten class, Rickey peered inside and was greeted with a smile from his teacher.
“Gotta go,” Jay said. Lance was already hurrying toward the fifth-grade classrooms.
“Listen, Jay,” Rickey told him, “if anyone makes fun of you about that play or something, just tell them you’re my friend.”
Jay nodded his head. “For sure!” With a wave he started off down the hall. Turning the corner, he saw Lance motioning to him.
“Hey, Jay,” Lance called, “we’re in the same class. We have Mrs. Turnbull!” Surprised by the grin on Jay’s face, he asked, “Did you hear me?”
“Absolutely!” Jay kept on grinning.

“On the other hand, think of some of our elders coming from the country or the reservation to a larger city for the first time. These new experiences are fun and challenging. Do you remember Elder Descheenie?”
“Sure, I remember him. He was a Navajo elder, dark eyes, black curly hair, and a wide smile that made you wonder what he had been up to. He was a good elder.”
“That’s him all right, and he was a good elder. Let me share this story from a letter I received from him: ‘Did I ever tell you about my first and second day at the MTC? Well, I was the only Navajo speaker that went to the MTC that first day. On my first day there I did all right in finding my apartment and classes, but my second day I got up late and came to find out that everybody had gone to their classes already that morning, so I took a shower and decided to go to class, too, but couldn’t find my class. I walked in every hall and every building but still couldn’t find my classroom, so I just gave up and decided to go back to my apartment and stay there until my companion came back.
“‘So I was headed to my apartment, but I couldn’t even find my own apartment either, so I decided to try the building that was next to me there. I still couldn’t find my own room, so I started toward the rest room when I saw many girls headed into the building that I was in, and I thought to myself, I couldn’t be in the girls building could I? The girls were still headed this way, and I thought to myself again, I must be! I ran out of there flying, and I was so lost I didn’t know what to do so I walked over to the bookstore and there I found my companion. Was I ever glad to see him again!
“‘I told him what had happened to me, and he was about to die laughing at me. Anyway those were the good old days. We had some baptisms last Saturday, and we’ve got some more coming up too. I was going to write you a long letter, but I’m running out of news so I’m going to close here and do some more work. Have a nice day, and thanks for everything, and we’ll see you soon. …
“‘Elder D.’

And Anna? She’s still sharing the Book of Mormon with friends. Out of her more than 60 penpals, she has found four with an interest in the gospel. She has sent each of them a copy of the book.
“One young woman lives in a little town in Siberia,” Anna says. “There are no missionaries there, and she is far from the closest branch of the Church. I write to her about the things we learn in the missionary discussions, and she likes that. She knows about the Bible, and I told her we study the Bible, too. But I told her the Book of Mormon, Another Testament of Jesus Christ, makes the Bible more complete. She said to send her a copy so she could see what we mean.”

My parents have always encouraged me to read A Liahona (Portuguese), but I never did until I moved away to go to college. Being on my own made me think about my priorities. I decided then that I would start reading A Liahona each month from cover to cover. When I received the first issue, there were moments when I felt that what I was reading had been written specifically to me. The words were encouraging and inspiring. I felt the Holy Ghost testify of their truthfulness. From that day on I have waited with great anticipation for the arrival of every issue.
Evelyn Monteiro Lee Hin,Barão Geraldo Ward, Campinas Brazil Castelo Stake

My grandparents used to take me to church while my parents stayed home, but that started to change the day the missionaries came to our house to visit my family. They taught my mom about the Church. When I turned eight, Mom and I got baptized on the same day. That was really neat. My whole family started going to church together. We started praying, paying tithing, having faith in Jesus Christ, repenting, and studying the scriptures.
My parents saw how the Spirit touched our lives. Mom and Dad had the desire to be sealed in the temple. They couldn’t wait for me and my brothers to be sealed to them. They went to the bishop to ask how they could do this. They worked hard to prepare for the temple.
We picked a day to be sealed in the temple. We invited Grandma and Grandpa and friends too. Grandma was so excited she cried. She told us that it is important to be reverent in the temple. She also told us we would all be dressed in white.
When we got to the temple, my three brothers and I went into a room where we sang songs and played quietly while we waited for Mom and Dad. I felt the Spirit there.
Then my brothers and I got dressed in white clothes and went to see Mom and Dad in the sealing room. They were dressed in white too. They looked so happy when they saw us. We all knelt together and put our hands on Mom’s and Dad’s hands. My baby brother, Caden, put his hand on the very top and smiled at us all. We were so happy at that moment. I could really feel the Spirit.
Mom said it was the most special day. It was my favorite day too because I knew we can be together forever. That made me feel happy.