Gospel Story Finder

That the Lord spoke with Moses out of a burning bush is true, the Israeli guides tell tourists. But what may be a miracle in its own right, they add with a smile, is that there was a bush to burn!
Looking out over the barren land surrounding them, a group of BYU study abroad students about to climb up Mount Sinai could see the reasoning behind the saying. For miles the flatlands sprouted only the sparsest of vegetation, while hills jumped up in tortuous mounds of twisted rock and sun-bleached boulders.
Even though it was 3:00 A.M. and a cool desert breeze whispered in the shadows, it was easy to anticipate the heat that would wilt even the hardiest hiker come noon. That’s why the trek began so early. The group would be atop the peak at sunrise.
No one knows for sure if the jagged hill called Sinai today is the same mountain Moses toiled up to meet Jehovah, but many authorities agree that the terrain is appropriate and the location is, at least, in the same general region. It was certainly easy to look around and wonder, to recall the scripture study of the past few weeks.
As Moses wandered into Jethro’s camp in Midian, to the east, how sweet the well-water must have tasted to the exiled prince of Egypt! There he defended Jethro’s daughters against bullying shop herds, and there he married Zipporah, the oldest daughter. In Midian Moses received the priesthood from his father-in-law and raised two sons. Mount Sinai, also called Horeb, may have beckoned to the man many times during the years he wandered as a shepherd in its shadow.
“And when forty years were expired, there appeared to him in the wilderness of mount Sina an angel of the Lord in a flame of fire in a bush.
“When Moses saw it, he wondered at the sight: and as he drew near to behold it, the voice of the Lord came unto him,
“Saying, I am the God of thy fathers, the God of Abraham, and the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob. Then Moses trembled, and durst not behold.
“Then said the Lord to him, Put of thy shoes from thy feet: for the place where thou standest is holy ground.” (Acts 7:30–33.)
Was this, then, the holy ground where “the Lord spake unto Moses face to face, as a man speaketh unto his friend?” (Ex. 33:11). Was this the place where Moses received his call to lead Israel out of bondage, where he was tempted by and overcame Satan, the place where he “cast his eyes and beheld the earth, yea, even all of it … the inhabitants thereof”? (Moses 1:27–28). Was this the place where God explained that his work and glory is “to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man”? (Moses 1:39).
Wendy Gibbs stumbled on a loose rock, but caught herself before she fell. “The moon was almost full,” she explained, “but the mountains blocked its light from our view. So we traveled by the light of the stars, stumbling, falling, and losing the trail at times. It seemed as though we were heading to where heaven and earth met.”
“As we hiked, I couldn’t help but think of how Moses must have felt hiking up to see the Lord,” said David Barrus.
But it was Chari Webster’s comment that recalled another great episode in the history of Sinai. “I kept thinking of what great love the Lord must have for us as his children. He is so patient as he watches us make mistakes while we grow and learn. I found myself relating to the children of Israel and their questioning of the guidelines of the Lord, because we had questioned our situation during the past week—living in close quarters in the sand, sweat, and sunshine, without showers. I thought of our murmuring against our leaders,” Chari said.
It was to Sinai that Moses the prophet returned, having invoked the power of the priesthood to force Pharoah to free his slaves and having commanded the waters of the Red Sea to part. For 40 days and nights Moses tarried on the summit, while below the tribes coerced Aaron into covering the calf idol with gold. It was from the rock of the Mountain of God that the tablets of the law were carved twice, once for an obedient people and the second time after Moses broke the first in anger. It was from Sinai that the children of Israel embarked on 40 years of wandering in the wilderness.
It took more than two hours for the BYU students to work their way to the top of the mountain. The large group broke into smaller squadrons, each one searching for the trail.
“It was a pretty difficult mountain to climb, but we all made it,” said Susan Josie. “At times I thought I couldn’t keep going, especially when we reached the stairs near the top (many years ago Christian monks from a nearby monastery carved 3,750 steps in one of the steepest faces).”
“Many times we would lose the path,” said Peggi Ince. “We would call out to those ahead of us so we would know the right direction. We learned a great love for one another as we guided ourselves to the top. But the physical aspect of the climb wasn’t as gratifying as the spiritual. The thought that this might be the place where Moses received the Ten Commandments swelled in all of our minds.”
“I felt as if the Lord strengthened me as I climbed to what I considered a sacred spot,” said Janette DeWaal. “The feeling of the Spirit was strong. I was especially glad to be able to be there with my twin sister, Janene.”
“Being so close to nature brings me really close to my Father in Heaven,” added Janet Zarbak. “It gives me a spirit that I can find only when I am in such beautiful surroundings. Even though it took me about three hours to hike up, it didn’t seem that long until I tried to stand up and my feet wouldn’t move!”
“We reached the top under a full moon and a sky full of bright stars,” said Gary Brown. “The silhouette of the jagged peaks of that desert land was beautiful, even though they are so dry and barren.”
“The climb was hard, but the reward was the greatest,” said Janet Brown. “As soon as those first rays spread across the horizon, it made me forget the hurts.”
Somehow, it was impossible not to sing while waiting for the sunrise. The choruses of “High on a Mountaintop” and other hymns built to a fervor even Moses would have admired.
“I thought how blessed we were to be the only ones on Mount Sinai at that moment and to witness that sight,” Susan said. “I was so touched I cried for two hours straight.”
“What feelings and thoughts are stirred in this land where so much history has taken place and where the Lord spent so much time with his covenant people!” Kathy Stillman wrote in a letter.
“I know that I can never read the Bible now without being able to picture it in my mind,” said David Roche Turley. “It’s hard to fully appreciate and understand the trials and hardships that the people of God undertook and accomplished to help God’s plan go on.”
“We sat on the top and watched the sun gradually rise to its fullest,” Janene said. “What a magnificent sight! We were all humbled and pleased to be in such a place. We felt close to heaven.”
A testimony meeting had been planned, and no one was surprised when three hours after it began, testimonies were still being borne.
“I think the Lord must love the tops of mountains as much as I do, because there are so many important events that have occurred on mountaintops,” said Brad Knaphus. “I felt close to my Savior and close to the prophets of old.”
“What a glorious experience we had holding a testimony meeting looking out over that rugged wilderness,” said David Barrus. “What a glorious experience Moses must have had also. How much Moses wanted the children of Israel to have the same experience, yet they would not. How disappointed he must have been for them.”
“My testimony has been strengthened so much by studying the Old Testament in the land where many of its events occurred,” said Sheri Frazier. “The Old Testament people have become real people to me. My heart and soul seem to have formed a deep relationship with these men and women of God, and I appreciate their faithfulness, integrity, loyalty, and love.”
Soon the sun would shine so hot it would blister the rocks themselves. The students knew they must return quickly to the buses below where lunch was waiting. In the bright daylight the path would be easier to follow, and the descent would be simpler than the climb. But like Moses, whose face shone when he returned from conversing with the Lord, the students would come down from Sinai aglow with mission and purpose. Their task: not to liberate the slaves of Egypt, but rather to break the bonds enslaving those without the gospel; not to lead the children of Israel through the wilderness, but to lead their friends to the truth. As Moses did, they would bear testimony that God was and is and will be, for they too had been to the mountain and felt his presence there.

A little more than a mile from the temple is another gathering of Church youth. Church College is a high school for almost 700 students, most of whom are Latter-day Saints who live in or near Hamilton.
One of those students is Natania Katene, 17. You’ll most likely find Natania working on her shots at the netball court. She knows about determination and hard work—physically speaking. She also knows they are vital for spiritual growth.
Natania, at nearly 6 feet, 2 inches, is on the Church College netball team, but that’s not what sets her apart. “I won’t express my anger on the netball court. I put [my anger] into my shooting,” she says. “I shot really well last year,” she smiles. Natania knows the Lord expects her to use her talents wisely, and she’s trying hard to do that by working on becoming more Christlike and relying on the Holy Spirit.

It was the trip of a lifetime for 76 members of the Jos Nigeria District. They traveled to the Aba Nigeria temple in August 2023.
The travel from Jos to Aba was 749 km making a total of 1,498 km traveled. The journey had its challenges but once they reached the temple, those challenges were forgotten. Hearts were eager to go into the temple.
Because of the desire to go to the temple, youth and recent converts prepared themselves for proxy baptism. With the help of the district temple and family history specialist, most of them came with family names. The experience touched hearts and increased testimonies.
On this trip, 23 members had been previously endowed. There were 25 individuals going to the temple for their own endowment. Half of those were prospective missionaries preparing to go on a mission. One of those has already received her mission call and shares her experience and testimony.
The Jos district had four families that were sealed together for time and all eternity. It was a great thing of joy for other members to witness this ordinance performed for exaltation.
This trip will long be remembered by those that were able to attend. In fact, even with the bad roads, car challenges, and hot weather, the members asked, “When is the next trip?” as if the long journey did not matter, because it doesn’t.

One day Grandpa’s best friend, Carlos Sanchez, wiggled his bushy eyebrows and said, “Well, Hitty, I’ve got one today that will stump you! Riddle me this: How can you hatch a chicken from a boiled egg?”
Mehitabel frowned as she thought. Suddenly she smiled at Mr. Sanchez. “I know! If you grow a patch of boiled peas, then scatter them around the boiled egg, the chicken will come out of the shell to eat the peas.”
The listeners clapped their hands and nodded their heads. Mehitabel had given a very clever answer.
Grandpa slapped his knee and chortled, “That Mehitabel! You just can’t beat her!”
After Mehitabel ate the ice-cream cone Grandpa’s friends had bought her, she went off with her jump rope. She always tried to go ten times around the duck pond without a miss.

During my life I have had many experiences of being guided in what I should do and in being protected from injury and also from evil. The Lord’s protecting care has shielded me from the evil acts of others and has also protected me from surrendering to my own worst impulses. I enjoyed that protection one warm summer night on the streets of Chicago. I have never shared this experience in public. I do so now because it is a persuasive illustration of my subject.
My wife, June, had attended a ward officers’ meeting. When I came to drive her home, she was accompanied by a sister we would take home on our way. She lived in the nearby Woodlawn area, which was the territory of a gang called the Blackstone Rangers.
I parked at the curb outside this sister’s apartment house and accompanied her into the lobby and up the stairs to her door. June remained in the car on 61st Street. She locked all of the doors, and I left the keys in the ignition in case she needed to drive away. We had lived on the south side of Chicago for quite a few years and were accustomed to such precautions.
Back in the lobby, and before stepping out into the street, I looked carefully in each direction. By the light of a nearby streetlight, I could see that the street was deserted except for three young men walking by. I waited until they were out of sight and then walked quickly toward our car.
As I came to the driver’s side and paused for June to unlock the door, I saw one of these young men running back toward me. He had something in his right hand, and I knew what it would be. There was no time to get into the car and drive away before he came within range.
Fortunately, as June leaned across to open the door, she glanced through the back window and saw this fellow coming around the end of the car with a gun in his hand. Wisely, she did not unlock the door. For the next two or three minutes, which seemed like an eternity, she was a horrified spectator to an event happening at her eye level, just outside the driver’s window.
The young man pushed the gun against my stomach and said, “Give me your money.” I took the wallet out of my pocket and showed him it was empty. I wasn’t even wearing a watch I could offer him because my watchband had broken earlier that day. I offered him some coins I had in my pocket, but he growled a rejection.
“Give me your car keys,” he demanded. “They are in the car,” I told him. “Tell her to open the car,” he replied. For a moment I considered the new possibilities that would present, and then refused. He was furious. He jabbed me in the stomach with his gun and said, “Do it, or I’ll kill you.”
Although this event happened twenty-two years ago, I remember it as clearly as if it were yesterday. I read somewhere that nothing concentrates the mind as wonderfully as having someone stand in front of you with a deadly weapon and tell you he intends to kill you.
When I refused, the young robber repeated his demands, this time emphasizing them with an angrier tone and more motion with his gun. I remember thinking that he probably wouldn’t shoot me on purpose, but if he wasn’t careful in the way he kept jabbing that gun into my stomach, he might shoot me by mistake. His gun looked like a cheap one, and I was nervous about its firing mechanism.
“Give me your money.” “I don’t have any.” “Give me your car keys.” “They’re in the car.” “Tell her to open the car.” “I won’t do it.” “I’ll kill you if you don’t.” “I won’t do it.”
Inside the car June couldn’t hear the conversation, but she could see the action with the gun. She agonized over what she should do. Should she unlock the door? Should she honk the horn? Should she drive away? Everything she considered seemed to have the possibility of making matters worse, so she just waited and prayed. Then a peaceful feeling came over her. She felt it would be all right.
Then, for the first time, I saw the possibility of help. From behind the robber, a city bus approached. It stopped about twenty feet away. A passenger stepped off and scurried away. The driver looked directly at me, but I could see that he was not going to offer any assistance.
While this was happening behind the young robber, out of his view, he became nervous and distracted. His gun wavered from my stomach until its barrel pointed slightly to my left. My arm was already partly raised, and with a quick motion I could seize the gun and struggle with him without the likelihood of being shot. I was taller and heavier than this young man and at that time of my life was somewhat athletic. I had no doubt that I could prevail in a quick wrestling match if I could get his gun out of the contest.
Just as I was about to make my move, I had a unique experience. I did not see anything or hear anything, but I knew something. I knew what would happen if I grabbed that gun. We would struggle, and I would turn the gun into that young man’s chest. It would fire, and he would die. I also understood that I must not have the blood of that young man on my conscience for the rest of my life.
I relaxed, and as the bus pulled away I followed an impulse to put my right hand on his shoulder and give him a lecture. June and I had some teenage children at that time, and giving lectures came naturally.
“Look here,” I said. “This isn’t right. What you’re doing just isn’t right. The next car might be a policeman, and you could get killed or sent to jail for this.”
With the gun back in my stomach, the young robber replied to my lecture by going through his demands for the third time. But this time his voice was subdued. When he offered the final threat to kill me, he didn’t sound persuasive. When I refused again, he hesitated for a moment and then stuck the gun in his pocket and ran away. June unlocked the door, and we drove off, uttering a prayer of thanks. We had experienced the kind of miraculous protection illustrated in the Bible stories I had read as a boy.
I have often pondered the significance of that event in relation to the responsibilities that came later in my life. Less than a year after that August night, I was chosen as president of Brigham Young University. Almost fourteen years after that experience, I received my present calling.

Johanna was only eight when war came to her village in Holland and everything changed. When Johanna was ten, conditions were so bad that her only chance for life was to escape with an older sister and hide in a farmhouse many miles away from their home.
The two girls live with the Oosterveld family, who keep them hidden in an upstairs room—hidden from prying neighbors and from German soldiers who set up an office in the room just below them. Johanna and Sini spend days quietly in bed, bored and lonely and longing for exercise and fresh air. They spend years hidden away from the world.
This unforgettable book touches the heart and holds the reader breathless with excitement, wondering what will happen next. It was named a Newbery honor book for 1973.

But it isn’t just high-profile activities that bring missionary opportunities. Dustin’s friends noticed he didn’t drink. They asked questions, and soon Dustin was sharing the Book of Mormon and For the Strength of Youth pamphlets with the guys on his floor. Holly’s roommate, a Christian, noticed that Holly read her scriptures daily just as she did. She wanted to know more about Holly’s beliefs, and now they occasionally study the Bible together.

Rhoeta M., age 15, from Idaho, USA, discovered that she needed good friends as she was investigating the Church. “When I began attending sacrament meeting, classes, and Young Women, I was instantly greeted by many friendly faces and a caring community. I was included in all the activities, and the new friends I made encouraged me to follow God’s plan. They helped me set and accomplish my spiritual goals.” After learning more from the missionaries and connecting with her friends at church, Rhoeta made the decision to be baptized. “I am so grateful to have found such good people,” she says, “and I’m blessed to have had such an excellent transition into the Church!”

President Woodruff described how Joseph Smith found this particular seer stone named Gazelem buried underground: “The seer stone known as ‘Gazelem’ … was shown of the Lord to the Prophet Joseph to be some thirty feet under ground, and which he obtained by digging under the pretense of excavating for a well.”6 Though that separate seer stone is less well known by many members than the stones found in the box with the gold plates, President Woodruff revered it as sacred. The day after he dedicated the Manti Utah Temple, he wrote in his journal that he “consecrated upon the Altar the Seers Stone that Joseph Smith found by Revelation some 30 feet under the Earth.”7

Didiya sat on the bank of the rising river, looking down into the murky water. It was the rainy season in Kenya, Africa, and the eight-year-old girl waited and watched for the danger she knew would come—danger to the women who came to dip water into their earthen jars and danger to the cattle the herd boys brought here to drink.
The valley people passing saw her and said, “Ah, Didiya is watching today. She’ll let us know when the danger comes.”
Now, as Didiya bent forward, watching the water intently, she thought of her father and the days when they had watched the water together.
The girl’s thoughts were interrupted when a neighbor came by with a bowl of hot gruel. “Morning greeting, Didiya. I’ve brought you some food. You must be hungry, for you’ve been watching since daybreak.”
“Morning greeting, Auntie,” she said. “Yes, I am hungry. Thank you. I’ll let you know when the danger comes.”
“Yes, I know you will,” the neighbor said and returned to her home.
A sudden shadow moved swiftly below the water’s surface. Didiya leaned over to look more closely. A second shadow followed, then a third.
One shadow rose to the surface and a snout appeared, then a scaly head. The danger was here!
Didiya scrambled to her feet and ran shouting, “The crocodiles have come! The crocodiles have come!”
A woman had started toward the river, carrying an empty water jar on her head. “Stop!” a neighbor called. “The crocodiles have come.”
The woman, a newcomer in the valley, shouted back, “How do you know?”
“Didiya has warned us. She saw them in the stream,” the neighbor said. “They come every year when the water is high.”
“Who’s Didiya?” the newcomer asked, ignoring the warning and continuing on toward the river, but more slowly.
“She’s the girl who has been watching for the crocodiles since daybreak,” the neighbor said, walking toward the woman. “Didn’t you hear her shout a warning as she ran by us?”
The newcomer stopped now and put her water jar on the ground. “If I can’t dip water here, where can I fill my jar?”
“You’ll have to go up the valley to the nearest well.”
“But that’s a mile from here,” she objected. “How long will I have to carry water from there?”
“Until Didiya tells us that the crocodiles have gone. They won’t stay after the water goes down,” the neighbor explained.
“Why does Didiya watch for the crocodiles?” the woman asked.
“Her father began watching years ago, after crocodiles had dragged most of his cattle into the water. He didn’t want to lose any more cattle, and he wanted to protect his neighbors’ herds too. When Didiya was big enough, she sat with him to watch. Two years ago he went to Lagos, Nigeria, to find work, hoping to save enough money to come home and buy more cattle. When her father left, Didiya took over the job of watching for the crocodiles.”
While the women talked, Didiya ran upstream as far as the district school, calling out the danger to the valley people. At the school she asked the teacher to tell the pupils.
“You’re a good girl to watch every year and warn us,” he said. “Don’t you want to come to school? You’re old enough now.”
“Oh, I’d love to! But who would watch for the crocodiles?” she asked. “Besides, Grandfather doesn’t have the money to pay the school fee and buy a school uniform for me.”
“Your father wants you to go to school,” the teacher said. “He talked to me about it before he left, and he has been sending me a little money toward your schooling every month. It isn’t enough yet, but maybe we can think of some way for you to come to school.”
Didiya smiled her appreciation, then turned and ran toward the more distant pastures, shouting her warning, “The crocodiles have come!”
“Morning greeting, Didiya,” the herders called. “You’re a good girl to warn us.”
When the people of her part of the valley had been warned, Didiya sat down under a baobab tree to rest. Now there was time to think about what the teacher had said. She looked down at her bead-trimmed dress and thought with longing of the uniforms the girls at school wore, the lovely blue jumpers and white blouses. With pockets!
Because she was tired and felt so comfortable between two high roots of the tree, Didiya fell asleep. Later the sound of rain falling on the tree’s leaves awakened her. She looked up into the branches, thinking about this curious tree with wrinkled bark that looked like the skin of an old elephant and its branches that looked like roots sticking up in the air.
Suddenly she heard shouts coming from the direction of the watering place. A herd boy from another part of the valley had brought his cattle to drink there, and his biggest, strongest steer had waded out into the stream and had started to drink. A crocodile had grabbed the steer by the mouth and nose and tried to pull it into the water. But the steer had pulled harder than the crocodile, which was now slowly being pulled onto the shore.
People came with heavy sticks and hit the crocodile, but their blows didn’t hurt its scale-covered back. However, the dry land was not as pleasing to the reptile as the water, so it released its hold on the steer and crawled back into the river. The steer shook his head and bellowed with pain. Gathering his thirsty cattle together, the herd boy drove them farther up the valley to water at a shallow, safe place.
The day after the crocodiles appeared, all the pupils at the school were asked to gather on the playground. They brought their mats, which they had made of yellow grass in the handwork class, and sat on the ground. After a prayer, the teacher read to them the Apostle Paul’s words about bearing one another’s burdens. Then he said, “I chose these words because of Didiya, who warns us every year of the crocodiles. She, and her father before her, have borne a burden for us when they have watched the river for danger and have warned us. Nobody told them to do it, and nobody pays them for their efforts. Who can say how many cattle have been saved or what injuries our people have been spared by heeding their warnings?
“Yesterday I asked Didiya if she would like to come to school. She said, ‘But who would warn the people of the crocodiles?’ I told her that a plan could be worked out for that. Then she said that her grandfather couldn’t pay her school fee or buy her a uniform.
“Didiya’s father has sent me some money toward her school expenses, but it isn’t enough. It seems to me that we’ve let Didiya bear our burden long enough and that it’s time for us to bear hers. Two things have come to my mind: One is that we work out a plan for taking turns watching the river during the rainy seasons. The other is that we give the people of the valley a chance to repay Didiya by contributing enough money so that she can come to school. Will you talk this over with your families and neighbors, and let me know how they feel?”
The villagers enthusiastically agreed to the teacher’s plan. Soon there was enough money to pay the rest of the school fee and to buy the uniform. Didiya went to the valley store and bought the blue and white fabrics. Then she took them to the tailor, who sat at his sewing machine on the store porch.
“Don’t forget the pockets,” she said to the tailor.
“You don’t need to tell me how to do my work,” the tailor said teasingly. “I’ve been making uniforms ever since the school started. I’d never forget the pockets!”
The next time the school drum sounded from up the valley, Didiya was ready, dressed in her new uniform. For her lunch she carried a boiled sweet potato wrapped in a banana leaf in one pocket. In another pocket she had a small wooden deer that her grandfather had carved as a present for the teacher. The happy girl beamed as all along the way her friends called out, “Morning greeting, Didiya.”

Summer H., age 10, Nottinghamshire, England
My friend invited me to play on Sunday. I thought of a nice way to explain to her that Sunday is a spiritual day for me to worship God and spend time with my family. I felt warm inside after that.

It was an ill-fated, watermelon-selling trip to Alaska that exhausted all my hard-saved college fund, so I got a job as a graveyard-shift fry cook at a Provo diner. That was my first year at BYU.

My father grew up on the island of Java in Indonesia. During World War II, he was forcefully separated from his family and interned in a concentration camp, where he suffered unspeakable hardships at a young age.
After more than 65 years of marriage, my mother, who suffered from Alzheimer’s disease, passed away in February. My father, at the age of 92 and still living at home, visited her as often as he could until she passed away. Some time ago he mentioned to my younger siblings that the dreadful experiences in the camp in Indonesia during World War II had prepared him to patiently care for his wife for so many years as she fell ill and deteriorated from this horrible disease and also for the fateful day he had to entrust her primary care to others and could not be by her side anymore. Their motto has been and still is to “Just carry on,” having a perfect hope in Christ to be raised up at the last day and to dwell with Him in glory forever.

This experience was a wake-up call. As I spent the next few years contemplating what I could do if I lost Barry, I did volunteer work, attended workshops, and applied for several part-time jobs. But I had no marketable skills, and no one would hire me.
We live on a farm, with pastureland for a few animals, so I began to research farming as a living. One day an idea came to me: flowers. After researching flower farming, I decided to give it a try. I went to a conference for flower growers and prepared to transition from pastureland to row crops. Then, in November 2016, I signed up for a Self-Reliance Services class on how to start and grow my own business.
The 12-week course was exactly what I needed. I had a basic business plan and lots of fun ideas, but I lacked organization. Ideas came up in class that I hadn’t considered before. I acted on each one. As I worked that first year growing and selling flowers, the suggestions and principles I learned in the class came into play:
I found a low-interest business loan.
I expanded my market to include farmers markets and flower shops.
I booked several events on our farm as an expansion of my services.
In late 2017, after my first year of farming, I realized that selling to flower shops was taking too much time. “What if I opened my own flower shop?” I wondered. The local flower shop had closed, and the building had become an eyesore. So my husband and I bought it, fixed it up, and opened a flower shop that also sells art and local crafts. In addition, I opened a plant rental and interior plant design business.
I sell my flowers through our shop and at coffee shops, boutique stores, and a kiosk at the local airport. Each day, I harvest what I need.
I have a testimony that the Lord cares about my business. He has helped me create financial security for myself and part-time jobs for several women who want to work flexible hours and for students working their way through school. One of our daughters manages the flower farm, and two of our sons do much of the farm work, including helping to build a greenhouse. Barry helps in the evenings and on weekends, doing the heavy lifting.
We all support each other and work together. It has been a blessing for everyone involved. I keep busy but still have time for my family, Church callings, ministering duties, and volunteer work.
Working from the time I plant a seed or a bulb to when I present a flower to a customer gives me a tremendous sense of accomplishment. I have no doubt that the Lord has enlarged my abilities and made much more of me than I would have become on my own.

Pornography pretends that it is no evil stranger—that it is not a problem and is not addictive. That is a lie. One 12-year-old boy recently wrote to the New Era, telling of his experience viewing pornography when he was alone at home. While initially it was exciting, he soon felt deep despair. He wrote: “I have been trying my best to forget those images. I would like to say to anyone reading the Friend or New Era that while porn might be pleasurable, it really wrecks your soul and is hard to recover from.”

Late September
washes a season’s green
beyond field and village
and age seventeen;
only leaves rinsed in afterglow
stir at Joseph’s homespun
passing.
He once knelt in
April grove,
drenched with that glory
of Father and Son.
Then summer
wove roots through
his harrowed soul
as those parched by mockery
claimed the heavens
closed.
Autumn wind
shimmers into the trees,
quickening vision
of his pending task;
these hands will
lift voices
silenced by stone,
fullness like morning
tide gathering
home.

In Cagayan de Oro Elder Cook told local young adults, “Your righteousness is needed, and this nation needs to be stronger. There will be an impact as a result of the Church’s strength in the Philippines that will bless people all over Asia.”
He encouraged members to focus on what is most important, conquer doubts, exercise faith, and marry in the temple.

Terry leaped out of the car and watched her family mingle with the crowd. Grandma was already kissing Mother. Grandpa was shaking Dad’s hand. Everywhere she looked there were relatives and more relatives. But where was Becky?
Two ice-cold hands grabbed her waist. “Gotcha!”
Terry screamed and jumped, then turned and saw Becky grinning at her. Becky’s black hair was pulled back into braids, and her brown eyes twinkled. “Welcome to the family reunion, cuz!” she said, merrily.
Terry wondered if she had changed as much as Becky had. Last year Becky had had short hair and glasses. Of course, last year I was two inches shorter, she thought. And my brown hair had been straight, not permed.
But outside changes didn’t matter. Inside they were the same, and seeing each other only once a year didn’t put a dent in their friendship. Instead it made them use their time together to its fullest advantage.
“Come have dinner,” Terry heard Aunt Georgia say as the whole group headed toward the backyard, where long tables were piled high with food.
Becky grinned at Terry. “I’ve saved us a place near the corn on the cob.” She escorted Terry to their seats, and they gingerly sat down on the makeshift benches.
“What plans do we have?” Terry asked, reaching for the corn with one hand and the mashed potatoes with the other.
Becky lowered her voice. “Are you tired of being treated like a kid?”
Terry nodded. “Every year it’s the same: ‘You’re too young. Let one of the older kids handle it.’ When do we get to be older kids?” She waved her corn for emphasis.
Becky agreed. “We’re nine years old and deserve some respect!”
“But how do we prove that we’re old enough to do the same things that the older kids get to do?” Terry asked.
“We should do something spectacular,” Becky decided.
“Well, I don’t know about spectacular,” Terry said, pausing to slap a mosquito. “But maybe we could do something responsible and helpful. Grown-ups love that.”
Becky’s eyes widened as she looked around the farm’s backyard. “I know!”
Terry was puzzled until she saw what Becky was looking at. “You mean … ?”
“Sure! It’s a chore that Grandma has to do every day.” Becky paused to eat a bite of dessert. “Won’t she be pleased when we do it for her?”
“I don’t know,” Terry said, doubtful. “She doesn’t even let any of our aunts do it for her. Maybe there’s more to it than we know.”
“What could be so hard?” Becky smiled. “Unless, of course, you’re”—she giggled—“chicken.”
Terry laughed too.
“Tomorrow morning, early,” Becky finally whispered through her giggles.
“OK,” Terry replied. “I didn’t eggs-pect to sleep late.”
This remark sent them both into another bout of helpless laughter.
When the sun rose the next morning, Terry’s eyes popped open as if an alarm clock had rung. She reached over to shake Becky. Grandma and Grandpa would be getting up soon to do the chores. The rooster crowed, and the cows were mooing by the barn gate.
Becky and Terry wiggled out of their sleeping bags on the front lawn and ran sleepy fingers through their rumpled hair.
Quietly they crept to the back of the house and eased open the kitchen door. All was quiet.
Hanging on the wall next to the door was the egg basket. Every morning Grandma collected the chickens’ eggs.
Terry smiled, envisioning Grandma’s face when they presented her with the basket full of eggs. This would prove that they weren’t little kids anymore.
Outside the chicken coop, they could hear the hens clucking and the rooster crowing. It seemed very loud. Terry hesitated and saw indecision in Becky’s face as well. “Chicken!” she whispered and swung back the bar holding the door in place.
They had imagined that the chickens would be in neat little boxes, clucking gently, with eggs in piles on the floor. It wasn’t at all like that.
When they walked in, the chickens were suddenly silent. Then, as if they had been waiting for just this moment, they launched an attack. Three chickens cornered the girls while the rest surged like a tidal wave of feathers through the open door, the rooster in the lead. Then the three attacking chickens sought freedom themselves.
“What are we going to do now?” Terry whispered in a quavery voice.
Becky offered a one-word solution: “Panic!”
The girls ran into the yard. They tried to catch the chickens but without any luck. In desperation, they ran into the house, yelling, “The chickens are out! The chickens are out!”
Soon the backyard was filled with pajama-clad adults and children chasing chickens. The chickens seemed to view this as great sport. They used the small children for cover and ran between the legs of adults trying to grab them. They hid under the porch, and a few even flew as far as the lower branches of the oak tree, where they roosted and watched the fun below.
Uncles were shouting, aunts were waving bathrobes, children were laughing, and chickens were clucking. Grandma Christensen came out of the house, surveyed the backyard filled with feathers and family, then turned and went back into the house.
Huddled by a window in an upstairs bedroom, Becky and Terry hoped to hide out until the excitement died down.
Suddenly they heard a quiet voice behind them. “Interesting circus outside, isn’t it?”
With a gasp they turned to face Grandma Christensen. She stood just inside the door, looking past them out the window.
“Now I wonder how those chickens could have gotten out?”
Terry and Becky exchanged guilty glances. “We let them out,” Terry said, solemnly. “We’re awfully sorry.”
“It was an accident,” Becky asserted. “We were just trying to help.”
Grandma looked them both over sternly, and then her eyes softened. “Well,” she said briskly, “they’re out. Now, how are you going to get them back in?”
“Us?” They looked at each other and then at the feathers flying in the yard.
“Well,” she continued, “you were inventive enough to get them out. Just show the same ingenuity in getting them back in. Consider it a challenge.”
Numbly they nodded. As Grandma turned to go, Terry asked, “How did you know we’d be up here?”
For the first time Grandma smiled. “Because this is where I hid when I left the gate open and let my father’s cows into the garden.” She went out, closing the door behind her.
Five minutes later Terry and Becky went downstairs. By that time the yard was a combat zone. Chickens were still running and clucking all over the yard. The rooster sat on a windowsill, just out of reach, crowing directions to his troops. In the human ranks, enthusiasm had been replaced by desperation. Several chickens had three of the younger cousins backed up against the barn and pecked their toes whenever they tried to move.
The two girls went over by their grandmother. “We need everyone out of the yard,” Terry explained.
Grandma smiled. “That’s easy.” She went to the porch and rang the dinner bell. “Breakfast everyone!”
The yard cleared miraculously. Only Becky and Terry and the chickens were left.
Becky and Terry went into the barn, took bowls from a shelf and filled them with chicken feed. By the time they stepped outside again, the chickens were clucking contentedly and beginning to forage in the yard.
Becky and Terry snuck around to the chicken farthest from the coop and began laying a trial of chicken feed. Soon the chicken began to follow. As the girls walked through the yard, leaving trails of cracked corn and grain, more and more chickens followed them. Terry felt like the Pied Piper. Even the chickens in the trees were intrigued enough to investigate. Soon all the birds were following the girls.
The chickens were so intent on their breakfast that they didn’t even notice when they entered the chicken coop. Both girls dumped their bowls at the very back of the coop, and soon it was a riot of noise as all the chickens fought for their fair share.
Using the clucking and squawking as cover, Terry and Becky quickly tiptoed to the door. After gently dropping the wooden bar into place, the girls leaned against the outside of the coop and sighed with relief.
Becky looked at Terry and started to giggle. Terry giggled too. Soon both girls were leaning against the door, barely able to stand because of their laughter.
“That wasn’t eggs-actly what I was eggs-pecting to happen,” Becky choked out at last.
“Well, now we know that if we chicken out, we have to chicken in again,” Terry said with as straight a face as she could manage.
“Maybe it’s just as well that we only see each other once a year,” Becky said with a final giggle.

In August 2005, when President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) issued a challenge to Church members to read the Book of Mormon before the end of the year, I promised myself I would read the entire book. I was familiar with stories in the Book of Mormon but had never read it all the way through. Now I meant to keep my promise.
I had been taught to apply the scriptures to my life and make them my very own. So as I read, I wrote in the margins of the page what I thought the main idea of the passage was. I also underlined repeated words and phrases to show emphasis.
I placed my name next to names in the scriptures to help me remember that the word of God spoken to others can also be the word spoken to me. For example, in 2 Nephi 2:28 I wrote my name: “And now, [Hillary], I would that ye should look to the great Mediator, and hearken unto his great commandments.” The more I made the Book of Mormon my own, the more excited I became about reading it every day.
As I read daily, my prayers became heartfelt and personal. I was also able to focus on my classes and follow promptings of the Spirit to befriend others. On the last night of the year, I finished the Book of Mormon.
I then understood the importance of reading the whole Book of Mormon, along with other scriptures, and want to do so many more times in my life.

When a commercial came on the radio that started saying the Lord’s name in vain, my mom turned the station as quickly as she could. It bothered us a lot that they would use the Lord’s name in that way. We wrote a letter to the advertiser telling them we were offended about how they used the Lord’s name. They wrote back and apologized. Within a few days, the commercial was changed.
Gavin Z., age 7, California