Gospel Story Finder

Rosie had two pairs of shoes. She had a shiny black pair with a pretty bow for church and parties. And she had a fuzzy, brown, tie-up pair for school and play.
Rosie loved her church shoes. They made her feet pretty and light. But her school shoes were dull and scuffed and dirty. Even when she cleaned them, they looked dirty. She felt like she was wearing bowling balls.
Rosie wanted to wear her church shoes every day, as some of her friends at school did. Did her mother let her?
No, she did not.
“Church shoes are for church and parties,” Mother said. “School shoes are for every day.”
It isn’t fair! Rosie thought.
One morning while getting ready for school, Rosie noticed her church shoes sitting at the back of her closet. An idea flashed into her mind—her first “good idea.” She would take her church shoes to school in her backpack and put them on at school! Would Mother miss them from the closet?
No, she will not! Rosie decided.
So Rosie put her school shoes on and slipped her church shoes into her backpack. She went downstairs to breakfast and then walked to school. Just inside the school yard, off came her school shoes and on went the church shoes. How they shined! How light and pretty her feet felt in them! What a good idea! she decided.
But when Rosie had changed her shoes again at the end of the day and walked home, Mother met her at the door with a frown on her face and her arms folded.
“Give me your church shoes, young lady. I’ll keep them on my closet shelf until next Sunday.” Did she like Rosie’s first “good idea?”
No, she did not!
Rosie’s second “good idea” came as she was stomping home from school in the rain the next week. It had started raining during the day, so she didn’t have her boots on. Now a huge, muddy puddle was in her path. If she walked through it, her school shoes would be spoiled. Did she walk around the puddle?
No, she did not!
She walked right through the deepest part of the puddle and squished the rest of the way home.
When Mother saw the muddy shoes, she was most unhappy. Rosie had to wipe the mud off her shoes and brush them with a stiff brush when they were dry. Her school shoes looked worse than ever. Would Mother let her wear her church shoes to school now?
No, she would not.
Then Rosie had her third “good idea.” She was playing hide-and-seek with her friends on Friday afternoon. As she lay on her back in her hiding place under the bed in the spare room, she saw the springs holding up the mattress, and the wires holding up the springs. What a great hiding place for shoes! she thought. Rosie took off her shoes and pushed them way up into the springs next to the mattress.
On Saturday morning the whole family had to look for Rosie’s shoes before they could go grocery shopping. Did anyone think to look under the mattress in the spare room?
No, they did not.
So Rosie wore her church shoes to the store. But she had to take them off as soon as she was home.
On Sunday, she wore them to church, but still she had to take them off as soon as she got home. Once again the whole family searched the house for Rosie’s shoes. Nobody found them.
On Monday morning, Mother had no choice but to let Rosie wear her church shoes to school. Rosie tried not to look happy, but it was pretty hard to do. Now she would be just like the other girls! She skipped happily to school.
It was seven blocks to school. By the time Rosie got to the school yard, her left heel was starting to hurt. By the time she got to the classroom door, it was hurting pretty badly. Her right heel was starting to hurt too. At recess, both heels were hurting a lot, so she sat on a swing the whole time. Did she get off to let any of her classmates take a turn?
No, she did not.
Walking home after school was even worse. Rosie tried walking different ways to see if her feet would stop hurting. She walked backward. She walked on the sides of her feet. She tried pushing her toes way into those church shoes, but that only made her toes hurt too. She sat down and rested every block and had lots of time to think about what she had done. She was very late getting home. Mother was worried.
As soon as Rosie got home, she sat down on a kitchen chair and took off her shoes. She started to cry even before she saw the big blisters on her heels. And that was not all. Now her church shoes were all scuffed up from skipping to school and walking funny on the way home. They didn’t look beautiful anymore.
Rosie watched as Mother washed and bandaged her heels. Mother wasn’t angry, but she had a strange, sad look on her face, as if she wanted to say, “I told you this would happen.” Did she say it?
No, she did not.
After dinner Rosie crept up to the spare room and knelt beside the bed. She told Heavenly Father she was sorry, then pulled her school shoes out from the springs of the bed. She put them back in her closet. Did she wear them to school the next day?
No, she did not.
Because of the blisters, now even her school shoes hurt her feet. She had to wear her slippers and get a ride to school. And stay inside at recess. Rosie had learned her lesson. She told her parents how sorry she was for not obeying them and for all the wrong things she had done. She promised to take care of her shoes—both pairs—to listen to her parents and do what they said, and to do extra chores for three whole weeks.
And as soon as her feet healed, did she wear her school shoes for school and play, and save her church shoes for church and parties?
Yes, she did.

When I was about eight years old, I learned a very valuable lesson. It was early spring in the small Utah town where I lived, and some of my eight-year-old friends and I wanted to camp outside one night. My father said, “It’s still very cold at night. You’ll be miserable, and you’ll probably get sick.”
I explained that we thought everything would be fine. My parents let me make my own choice, and my friends and I decided to go ahead with the campout. As it got late the temperature dropped and it became very cold. Instead of having a great time, we were awake and miserable most of the night and, true to my father’s prediction, a day or two later I got sick.
As I was sick at home and missing fun activities, I remembered the advice my father had given me. Every bad consequence he mentioned had happened. I remember thinking, “Wow, my dad is really smart.” I came to realize, even at that young age, that my father had more experience and wisdom than me and if I were more careful in seeking and following his counsel it would make my life happier.

Brigham Young, like many other early Mormons, traveled hundreds of miles to meet the man whose revelations had already profoundly changed his life. With his closest friend and fellow craftsman, Heber C. Kimball, he went from Mendon, New York, to Kirtland, Ohio, and found the Prophet felling trees and chopping wood behind his father’s home, where he was living: “Here my joy was full at the privilege of shaking the hand of the Prophet of God, and received the sure testimony, by the Spirit of prophecy, that he was all that any man could believe him to be, as a true prophet.”3 From that first handclasp Brigham began to be bound, heart, mind, and spirit to Joseph, whom he came to accept without reservation not only as the spokesman for God in his generation but as his own most powerful, personal model among men. In a letter to a non-Mormon friend he had known in Port Byron in the 1820s, he wrote, nearly ten years after Joseph Smith was killed:
“In 1833 I moved to Ohio where I became acquainted with Joseph Jr. and remained familiarly acquainted with him in private councils and in his public work and acts until the day of his death, and I can truly say that I invariably found him to be all that any people could require a true prophet to be, and that a better man could not be. …”4

Matthew put his head down and walked faster. He tried not to see the white stucco house ahead. He knew he should stop. Mother would probably ask him, “Did you see Grandma today?” He sighed. He used to stop almost every day on his way home from school.
Then Grandpa died.
Matthew hadn’t known what to say to Grandma since Grandpa died. She was sad now. Sometimes when she talked about Grandpa, she cried.
Other people seemed to know what to say to Grandma. They put their arms around her and told her not to cry. But Matthew never knew what to say or do. He just stood there feeling uncomfortable.
Matthew walked up the sidewalk and knocked on the door. Grandma opened it. Her eyes were red. Matthew’s heart sank. He wished he had walked on past her house.
“Come in, dear.”
Matthew went in. He saw a box on the floor in the hall. Inside was a small rosebush, its roots wrapped with burlap and packing.
Every year Grandpa ordered a new rosebush for his garden. He must have ordered this one before he died.
“Take it home with you, Matthew. I can’t bear to look at it,” sniffed Grandma.
“No,” said Matthew. He gulped, surprised at himself, then plunged on. “Grandpa would have wanted you to plant it. He loved the garden, especially the rosebushes.” Matthew had spent many hours helping Grandpa in the garden.
Grandma was silent. Matthew thought she was angry with him. He wished he hadn’t said anything.
“You’re right, Matthew. Grandpa would have wanted that rosebush planted in the garden. I’ve never planted a rosebush before, though.”
“I’ll help you, Grandma,” Matthew offered. “I helped Grandpa lots of times.”
Grandma changed into old clothes while Matthew went to the garage to get a shovel.
Soon the two of them had a big hole dug in one corner of the garden. It was hard work. By the time the rosebush was in place, they were panting. The afternoon sun was almost behind the hills.
Grandma stood for a moment and looked at the rosebush. Her cheeks were red, and her eyes sparkled. “Is it all right, Matthew?”
“Yes, Grandma. It’s fine. It’s where Grandpa would have wanted it.”
Matthew put the shovel away. When he went inside, Grandma was in the kitchen. “I’d better go home, Grandma. Mom will be worried.”
“It’s all right. I called her. She knows where you are. Matthew, I want to show you something.” Grandma reached into a kitchen drawer and pulled out a box of seed packets. “These came in the mail last week. I was going to throw them away. I was just thinking … maybe I’ll try to plant them after all. Would you help me? I’ve never been much of a gardener.”
“I sure will, Grandma,” said Matthew. “I’ll stop by tomorrow after school.”
Matthew went out the door and down the sidewalk whistling a happy tune.

I was so excited to tell Mom and Dad about Primary that I had a hard time sitting still in sacrament meeting. My mind kept wandering back to the story about the sons of Helaman in the Book of Mormon. Now I knew what I wanted to be for our neighborhood costume party this year—one of the two thousand stripling warriors! I just hoped that Mom could make my costume. I kept imagining how cool I would look with a big gold shield and arm bands like the young men in the picture.
On the way home, I told Mom and Dad about my idea. My sister started to laugh, but I didn’t care. At school recess the next day, when I told my friend Jacob about my costume, we got into an argument because he wanted to be one of the sons of Helaman too. Then we decided that it’d be great if we dressed alike.
After school, the guys I play baseball with heard us talking about it and wanted to be stripling warriors, too—and lots of them weren’t even members of the Church! I knew my dad would be happy to hear that I’d been talking about the Book of Mormon with my friends, but I was a little nervous about telling my mom that I had volunteered her to make all the costumes! Fortunately, when they heard about it, the other moms volunteered to help make the costumes.
That night in family home evening, we talked about the two thousand sons of Helaman. At first I thought it was just a coincidence, but during the lesson, I realized that Mom and Dad wanted me to see that there was more to the story than handsome young men with shields and weapons and fighting. I guess I missed the important part in Primary because I was thinking about my costume. I was impressed that night not only by their courage in defending their country and religion and families but also because they had listened to their mothers and were obedient to the things that were taught to them.
As I lay in bed that night, I realized that I could be like one of Helaman’s sons by being obedient to my parents and keeping the commandments. One of the things Mom and Dad had always taught me was to be kind and to serve others. I knew that it was just as important for me to serve those around me as it was for the sons of Helaman to fight for their freedom. And I had an idea.
The next day at school I told Jacob what I wanted to do. He looked at me a little weird at first, but then decided it was a pretty good idea. At recess we all got together and made our plan.
It was fun for all of us to wear our costumes to the neighborhood party. But the best part was after school the next day. We put on our costumes again, but this time our weapons were rakes and brooms and garbage bags. We raked leaves and swept driveways and porches in our neighborhood. We were an army of second graders, “fighting” with love and service. The neighbors watched us out their windows with smiles on their faces. I don’t think I’ve ever had such a good time.

When I was almost 18, I flew to a small town called Soldotna, Alaska, to work for the summer. This was my first experience living away from home. My parents had arranged for me to work for and live with their good friends the Wrights, who owned the local grocery store. I hoped to earn enough money for college. I also hoped to return home with an answer to a question that repeatedly entered my mind: Is there really a God?
I needed to obtain an answer for myself. So I resolved to pray every night and ask God if He was real. Somehow I felt that if God existed, He would answer my prayer. If I never received an answer, then I would know He didn’t exist. Simple, I thought.
At the Wrights’ home, I shared a bedroom with their daughter Lisa. She was home from Brigham Young University for the summer and worked at the grocery store with me. I admired Lisa from the start. She was beautiful, intelligent, confident, and enthusiastic about life. That summer we spent nearly every hour of every day together.
I loved listening to Lisa tell me about college life. Her life sounded fun and very independent. Lisa had her life organized and balanced, with the right priorities firmly in place.
My admiration for Lisa grew as I observed her reading the scriptures daily and praying each morning and night. I wanted to ask Lisa how she had obtained her faith in God but felt ashamed of my lack of faith. I remember lying in bed, wondering what Lisa talked to God about in her prayers.
Every night I knelt by my bed and said a quick prayer, asking God if He was there. Yet I didn’t feel anything special or spiritual. I did not hear a voice. I felt the same after my prayers as I did before them. This nightly routine went on for two months. Discouraged, I found my doubts in God increasing.
One night, when I was feeling deeply homesick, tears welled in my eyes. I desperately wanted to be near my family, friends, and familiar surroundings. Aching to talk to someone who knew and loved me, I knelt in prayer. “God, I really need You right now,” I began. For the next several minutes, I released my true feelings to my Father in Heaven. I told Him everything. I talked with Him as though I believed He was there.
A warmth wrapped around me. I began to feel as though Heavenly Father had come down and taken me in His arms. I was no longer alone. Love and peace embraced me. I knew there was a God.
I wondered why receiving an answer to my prayer took more than two months. Jeremiah 29:13 gave me the answer: “And ye shall seek me, and find me, when ye shall search for me with all your heart.”
I finally received an answer to my prayer after I dug deep into my heart. I placed faith in God’s existence. I searched high into the heavens with my words and tears.
My life has changed because of that one night. I served a mission and married in the temple. My faith in God’s existence continues to increase.
I often think back to that summer in Alaska. Without Lisa’s example, I might not have persevered through those months of praying. I might have quit and never discovered the love of my Heavenly Father. I will forever be grateful to Lisa and her example. She helped me come to know God and feel His love for me.

Jeanne serves as a Young Women adviser. Several months ago she learned about an upcoming activity for the youth in the ward: hiking to a place called Malan’s Peak. She was excited because she had recently set a goal to make that climb.
When she arrived at the trailhead, her good friend Ashley approached her. Linking arms with Jeanne, she offered to hike with her, saying, “I’ll go with you.” Ashley, who was 16 years old at the time, had some physical challenges that made it difficult for her to climb very fast. So she and Jeanne walked slowly, noticing Heavenly Father’s creations: the rocks on the mountain peak above them and the flowers all around them. Jeanne later said, “It really didn’t take me long to forget about my goal of hiking to the peak, for it soon became an adventure of another kind—an adventure to point out the beauties along the path, many of which I would have missed had I just hiked to reach the goal of Malan’s Peak.”
As Jeanne and Ashley continued hiking, far behind the rest of the group, they were joined by Emma, another young woman in the ward, who had decided to wait and walk with them. Emma added to their enjoyment. She taught them a song and provided extra support and encouragement. Jeanne recalled: “We sat and rested, we sang, we talked, and we laughed. I was able to get to know Ashley and Emma in a way I wouldn’t have been able to do otherwise. It wasn’t about the mountain that night—it was about much, much more. It was about helping each other along the path, one step at a time.”
As Jeanne, Ashley, and Emma hiked and sang and rested and laughed together, they probably weren’t thinking, “Hey, we are keeping our covenants right now.” But they were keeping their covenants. They were serving each other with love, compassion, and commitment. They were strengthening each other’s faith as they encouraged and ministered to one another.

I am in seventh grade. Where I live, there aren’t a lot of members of the Church, and some of the people cuss and wear immodest clothing. As the environment around me started to become worse, I realized that if I didn’t strengthen my testimony and my relationship with God, then the worldly things would swallow me up. I noticed that I needed to become closer to God and that I needed to do it now.
I decided that I would choose to be around people who would respect my standards and that I would work harder in school and on my talents. On top of that, I helped prepare family home evening lessons so our family could be closer, and we started reading the scriptures together every night. I also decided to read my scriptures every day and keep a journal about what I’m reading. I pray every morning and night and when I need help. Every Sunday I listen in church so that I can learn as much as possible and do my best to absorb the teachings of prophets and apostles that are shared there.
My life is much happier now, and I can feel the Spirit every day. I don’t know why I was so driven to become closer to Heavenly Father, but it may be because of the feeling I got from doing good things or the blessings that were promised. I’m so glad I took the extra leap to become closer to my Heavenly Father. I know He loves me so much and blesses me so greatly.
Daniel N., Virginia, USA

In Romania I met Raluca, a 17-year-old young woman who had recently joined the Church. Her baptism was a happy event because, among other things, her whole family attended. Her mother and sister felt the Spirit there and wanted to have the missionary discussions too. This concerned the father, for he felt he was losing all of his family to this unfamiliar church. So he did not allow it, and for a time there was a feeling of discord in their family. However, Raluca remembered that she had made a baptismal covenant to take upon her the name of Jesus Christ. She tried to hold up His light by doing in her home the things He would do. She was a peacemaker. She was an example. She was a teacher. She was a healer.

Eventually her father’s heart softened, and he allowed the others to learn more about the Church. Then they too were baptized. And finally, much to everyone’s joy, the father of the family also joined the Church. At his baptism he spoke and said that for a time their family had been as two hearts beating at a different rhythm in the same household. But now they were of one faith and one baptism, with their hearts knit together in unity and love. He gave thanks to the missionaries and members who had helped them. Then he paid a special tribute to his daughter Raluca for being so Christlike in their home during that difficult period, for being the peacemaker, the healer, the teacher, the example, and the light that eventually brought their entire family to the Church of Jesus Christ.

Gemma and her friend Harper sat under the tree in front of Gemma’s house. The tree was full of pink blossoms. It was a lovely day.
“Guess what?” Harper said. “My cousin is graduating from elementary school.”
Gemma picked at the grass. She wished she were graduating too.
“That’s cool, I guess,” she said.
“We are going to have a big family party to celebrate,” said Harper. “My cousin gets to go to middle school next year. He is so lucky!”
“My brother already went to middle school,” said Gemma.
“Did you know in middle school you get your own locker?” Harper asked.
“Yes, I know!” Gemma said. “I just told you—my brother already went to middle school.” Why does Harper keep bragging? Gemma thought. She’s not giving me a chance to say anything!
“And gym! They get to go to gym every day,” Harper said. “My cousin said—”
“Harper, I don’t care what your cousin said,” Gemma said. “I already know all about middle school.”
Harper stared down at the blossoms that had fallen from the tree. Gemma’s face felt hot. She didn’t know what to do or say.
At last Gemma stood up. She brushed the dirt off her pants and ran into her house.
Why did she get so mad? Harper didn’t do anything wrong. Gemma sat on the edge of her bed and took a deep breath. She wished she hadn’t said that to Harper. It hadn’t been kind at all.
She looked at her desk and saw a peach-colored binder with shiny hearts. It was the baptism book her mom had made. Inside were pictures from her life and notes from family and friends. She grabbed the binder and flipped through the pages.
She noticed one note. It read, “I want you to know that Heavenly Father is proud of your choice to be baptized. When you make mistakes and repent, He will forgive you. Repentance is a good thing!”
Gemma took a deep breath. The way she treated Harper was not a good choice. But she knew what to do now.
She ran outside and sat down by Harper. Harper looked down.
“I’m sorry for what I said. I shouldn’t have been so rude,” Gemma said.
Harper looked up. “That’s OK. I know you didn’t mean it. Thanks for saying sorry.” She gave Gemma a blossom that had fallen from the tree.
That night, Gemma told Mom what had happened. “Harper forgave me,” Gemma said. “But I still need to repent to Heavenly Father. Will you help me?”
“Of course,” Mom said. She gave Gemma a big hug. “Do you want to pray about it right now?”
Gemma and Mom knelt down.
“Dear Heavenly Father,” Gemma prayed, “I’m sorry I was so mean to Harper. I want to repent and do better.”
Gemma felt good inside as she prayed. She was glad she could fix things with Harper. And with Heavenly Father. Repentance was a good thing!
This story took place in the USA.
How do you feel when you repent?

When young John was about two, his family moved from storm-lashed Froya, the outermost island off the coast of Norway, to Namos on the mainland. Their new home was about 80 miles (128 km) north of Trondheim, the ancient capital of Norway. Here John’s father could expand his opportunities as a schoolmaster. A second son, Aasbjorn (later Osborne) Johannes Peder Widtsoe, was born in Namos. But within weeks of this birth, disaster struck—the boys’ father died suddenly, the result of a knotted intestine.
Anna and her two boys moved to Trondheim to be near her in-laws. However, she maintained her independence by living in a rented apartment, where she eked out a living as a seamstress. Anna was anxious that John should follow in his father’s footsteps, and one of her husband’s schoolfellows offered to tutor the bright seven-year-old, launching the lad on his astounding career as a scholar/teacher.

Last year, I played in a volleyball tournament. Like most of my teammates, I was nervous. When I began to play, our team had already lost the first two games. We were discouraged. Then people watching the game said some unkind words, and we felt even worse. We lost.

When my mother asked me how it went, I started to cry. I was so disappointed. I went to my room, where it was nice and quiet, and said a prayer. After I prayed, I felt calmer and more peaceful in my heart. I knew the Holy Ghost had comforted me and that He would always help me. With another tournament coming this year, I know He will be with me as I play.

When Elder Marcos Antony Aidukaitis’s oldest son was eight, he drew a picture of his family for a school assignment. At the time, Elder Aidukaitis was putting in long hours as general manager of a company in São Paulo, Brazil. “I was working a lot and was traveling to many places around the world,” he recalls.
Elder Aidukaitis was noticeably absent from his son’s illustration. “Where is your father?” the teacher asked the boy. “Oh, he’s working,” he replied.
For Elder Aidukaitis, the experience was a wake-up call. “I changed jobs and fixed what had to be fixed,” he says, renewing his efforts to put family first.

Latter-day Saints in Memphis, Tennessee, are working with the NAACP to help mothers and babies and reduce infant mortality rates.

In Tennessee, USA, some Latter-day Saints have joined with brothers and sisters of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) to help mothers and their babies thrive in an area that has one of the United States’ highest infant mortality rates. This effort is helping carry out the vision President Russell M. Nelson outlined in 2021 of the two organizations coming together in community service.8

In November 2022, four members of the Dudley family from the Memphis Tennessee Stake gathered with several dozen people at the NAACP Memphis Branch to pass out fliers about a program of classes designed to help new and expectant mothers better care for their children.

“We had the opportunity to knock on the door of a woman that is pregnant right now,” said Marc Allan Dudley, who distributed fliers with his wife, Sonya, and two of their daughters. “Her eyes kind of lit up, and she was thankful for the program. … People are happy that somebody notices that there’s an issue and that there’s somebody doing something about it.”

“This partnership is God ordained and God inspired,” added NAACP Memphis Branch president Van Turner. “I’m just so happy that it’s happening at such a critical time in our city. We’re dealing with public safety, we’re dealing with homelessness, we’re dealing with poverty. [It’s critical to address] the origin of humanity, when these young people are in the womb, and try to make sure they get the proper care while in the womb [and then] come out and survive and be healthy. Once that happens, they have a great start in life.”9

Like many people, I have struggled for much of my life to recognize my self-worth. I have fought weight problems for many years, which have contributed to my negative feelings. Even though I have lost weight and lead a healthy lifestyle now, occasionally I still find myself fighting off those negative thoughts and feelings.
One morning I felt particularly low and was wondering how to make the situation better. I began to pray and ask for Heavenly Father’s help to overcome these feelings of inadequacy. As I prayed, the following scripture came to my mind: “If ye have no hope ye must needs be in despair; and despair cometh because of iniquity” (Moroni 10:22).
Iniquity seemed to be such a serious word, so much so that at first I discounted the thought because I could think of nothing that I had done seriously wrong. However, the thought persisted, so I prayed, as instructed also by Moroni, for Heavenly Father to show me my weakness that I might be made strong (see Ether 12:27).
I found myself remembering three incidents during the previous two days when I had not shown patience with my children. I had put my own moods and needs in front of theirs and had not been sensitive to their feelings. I felt bad and resolved to do better. I apologized to my children and prayed for forgiveness. As soon as I prayed, my feelings of inadequacy were lifted and I was able to feel the peace that had eluded me.
As though a light switch turned on in my mind, I finally understood a simple concept that somehow I had missed all these years. When I have unresolved sin in my life, even if it is small, I give Satan power to influence me. He knows my weaknesses, and he knows what words will “stir me up” and “lead me to destruction” (see D&C 10:22). When it comes right down to it, I don’t hate myself, but Satan does hate me and will use every tactic available to turn me away from the light.
However, when I repent, I rely on the power of Jesus Christ. Because He knows perfectly how to succor me in my weakness (see Alma 7:11–12), His power lifts me up and makes me strong in ways that I can’t be on my own.
Likewise, I will do my best to repent and obey the commandments so the “power of Christ may rest upon me” and I can be filled with peace and love.

“Going to a new school is hard. I hope I can make some friends.”
“Hey, wanna hang out with us?”
“Sure!”
“Wow, I’m glad I won’t be alone today.”
For the first few days, things were going great until …
“Did you see her hair?”
“Look at his shoes; they’re so ugly!”
“Hey! Watch where you’re going!”
“This doesn’t feel right.”
“I don’t think I should hang out with those guys anymore, but if I leave, who will I hang out with?”
“I think I need to stop hanging out with them. I hope I’ll make new friends. But if not, I still want to do what’s right.”
It’s difficult for a while, but he’s still hopeful that he will make new friends.
“Hey, how’s it going? My name’s Antonio. What’s yours?”

“By hearing a story,” answered his father. “Listen. Many years ago, in the direction from which the sun awakens each day, there lived a people here in Africa called the Mazumbas.”
Bhutto stopped rocking on his heels and sat down. He did not want to miss a word of his father’s story.
“The Mazumbas were greater hunters than others because the tips of their arrows were sharper and finer than any man could make.”
“How did they make the arrow tips?” asked Bhutto.
“They did not make them,” said Bhutto’s father. “They found them in a secret cave. And because the Mazumbas had such sharp arrow tips, no animal could stand against them.”
“Not even lions?” Bhutto asked.
“Not even lions,” said his father.
“Not even elephants?” Bhutto tried again.
“Not even elephants,” answered his father. “Not even the Great Beasts of the plains.”
Bhutto looked puzzled. “What are the Great Beasts of the plains?”
“The Great Beasts were the hardest of all the animals to slay. They had the eyes of an eagle, the ears of a giraffe, and the swiftness of a gazelle. But even so, the Great Beasts could not hide from the Mazumbas.
“One day, one of the Mazumbas was hunting when he came across the tracks of a Great Beast. For many hours he followed the tracks through grasslands, over hills, and down ravines until they led to the entrance of the secret cave.”
“Where the Mazumbas found their arrow tips,” Bhutto remembered.
“That’s right,” said his father.
“And was the Great Beast inside?”
“Yes, he was. And when the hunter saw the Great Beast, he put an arrow to his bow.”
“Did he kill the Beast?” Bhutto asked excitedly.
“Not right away,” answered his father, “because the Great Beast began to speak.”
Bhutto frowned. “Animals cannot speak.”
“That is true,” Bhutto’s father answered. “But the Great Beasts were not like other animals.”
“What did the Great Beast say?”
“He said, ‘Please do not kill me, great hunter of the Mazumbas. Your people have killed all the Great Beasts except me.’
“But the hunter just laughed and said, ‘If you did not want to be caught, you should not have come into our secret cave.’ And with that, the hunter let the arrow fly.”
Bhutto watched his father string the bow he was making. “Is that the end of your story?” he sadly asked.
“Not quite, Bhutto,” said his father. “When the Beast fell to the earth, a stone rolled from his mouth—a sharp stone, sharper than any a man could make.”
“Then, it was the Great Beasts that made the arrow tips!” Bhutto cried.
“Yes. The Great Beasts went to the secret cave to chew on stones and sharpen their teeth. The arrow tips were what they left behind.”
“But the hunter—he killed the last Beast!”
“Yes, and because of that, the Mazumbas soon used up the last of the very sharp arrow tips. No longer were they the great hunters they had once been.”

Brenna was crying. She sat in a barber’s chair, hair pulled back, her ponytail just moments away from being cut off. The hairdresser holding the scissors was crying. Those watching the scene were also in tears.
Snip! Brenna’s long hair, which had taken years to grow out, was gone. Her ponytail would now become a gift, a donation to an organization called Locks of Love. It would be combined with other donated hair and made into wigs for children who had lost their hair because of cancer treatment or who suffer from alopecia, a permanent hair-loss condition.

He shared his experiences with the Saints, taught Tahitian classes, and prepared to return to Polynesia. In 1850 he set out with a new companion, James S. Brown, and the promise that his own family and other missionary families would soon follow. They did follow, and despite growing problems with the French government in the islands, the missionaries and their families served until 1852, when they were forced to return to America.

The pale yellow light from the lantern Christian Monson carried threw dark, dancing shadows against the gray stone walls of the Fredrikstad (Norway) Prison. Christian hesitated at the heavy oak door that led from the prison office to the cells below. His heart was racing. He knew that if his plan to release the two prisoners was discovered, he would also be made a prisoner here.
Christian felt the cold smoothness of the jailer’s keys, and he felt the weight of irrevocable decision. He drew a long, deep breath, inserted the key in the lock, and turned it; there was the clicking sound of metal. With his free hand he pulled the door open. The air from the cells was dank and fetid—the stench of unwashed men and stale cellar air.
Quietly Christian walked down the stone steps to the long rows of cells that the warden of the prison had placed in his care as a night guard. At the bottom of the steps he stopped and hung the lantern on the hook that protruded from the wall. The light fell bright on his face. It revealed a tall, 14-year-old Norwegian boy with bright, sky-blue eyes and straight, tawny-colored hair. His face was smooth and fair and normally full of laughter and mischief, but in the flickering lantern light it was firm and serious.
Christian walked across the floor to the cell on the far left, inserted the key into the lock, and opened the door.
“Elders!” His voice was soft.
Light fell on two villainous-looking men who were standing near the door and waiting. Both wore shaggy beards and long hair, dark with grease and dirt. Their faces were sallow and pocked with small red sores. Their clothes were filthy and tattered, rotting in the damp air.
In the year he had worked in the prison Christian had seen many men who looked like these two—filthy, rotting men with cold, empty eyes that followed him with hate. But these two were different. Their clothes, their hair, and their skin looked the same as any of the men who had spent several months in the prison. It was in the eyes where Christian had noticed a difference; the eyes of these two were warm and alive and strong.
Elder Hanson smiled and grasped Christian’s shoulder with a powerful hand.
“Father in heaven is pleased with your courage, Christian,” he said.
“We had better hurry,” the other man, Elder Nelson, said, stepping out of his cell. “But let’s pray first.”
Minutes later Christian and the two Mormon elders walked out of the prison. Elder Hanson, a tall barrel-chested man, stopped, stretched out his arms, and in a long, slow breath drank in the cold, clean-tasting night air.
They spoke in whispers as they walked. Then they began walking down the narrow streets toward a rocky point in the fjord.
“Brother Monson, what will your parents do?” Elder Nelson asked.
“I don’t know, Elder Nelson. I don’t know,” he said slowly. “I tried to tell my mother, but she wouldn’t listen. And my father—he’s a proud man, proud of Norway, proud of the Lutheran Church, proud of his own beliefs. My mother might understand, but I’m afraid my father will not even try.”
Christian stopped and faced Elder Nelson, his breath making a white plume in the darkness.
“There’s pain in this truth of yours, Elder Nelson.” He turned and began walking again.
Elder Nelson nodded and pulled his coat tighter against the cold. He well understood the problem. He and Elder Hanson had been put into prison because of that same intolerance.
Christian broke the silence again.
“Many years ago, I was very young at the time, my grandfather told me that there are steps in life that can change my future and the future of entire generations. He told me I should take those steps, carefully, in the direction I believe to be right, no matter how difficult they appear to be. I know this is right.”
They reached the shoreline and walked along it until they came to a small cove. The shoreline was rocky and smelled of the ocean and seaweed.
The three of them walked out into the water. The water felt warm compared to the night air. There was the sound of waves washing gently against the rocks on the shore, soft and rhythmic.
Christian thought back over the past two months, about the long hours he had searched and compared the catechism of his church with the Bible and the teachings of the two elders.
He remembered the warmth deep inside when he found the answers for which he had searched and prayed. With the memory a peaceful feeling washed over his mind, over the pain he felt in the weight of decision.
In the moonlight Elder Hanson raised his arm to the square. In his mind’s eyes Christian could see John the Baptist and Christ in the Jordan River and he could hear Paul speaking on being buried and raised again with Christ. He heard Elder Hanson’s voice and the baptismal prayer. He felt the power of the prayer and a sudden rush of water.
Before the first reds and golds of morning streaked the horizon, the two elders were back in their cell and Christian was at the desk, in the front office of the prison, waiting for the day guard to relieve him. In the quiet stillness of morning he wondered where this step he had taken would lead him, and he wondered how he would tell his parents.