Gospel Story Finder

When I opened my report card and saw the “Passed to sixth grade,” I smiled and waited impatiently to be dismissed. Soon everyone was rushing out the door, anxious to enjoy a glorious, carefree summer. When I got home, however, I found out that it was going to be a different kind of summer.
My little sister, Midge, was waiting on the back porch with her chin in her hands. When she saw me coming through the yard, she perked up and smiled. I bounded up the back porch steps and burst into the house. “I passed!” I shouted as I headed for the stairs.
Midge followed me to my room and collapsed across my bed as I pulled my dress over my head. I yanked on a pair of pants and was reaching for a T-shirt, when I heard my younger brother, Art, pounding up the stairs.
“I passed!” he called, zooming into his room. “What are we going to do first?” he shouted eagerly. “Have a circus or build a lean-to or what?”
I opened the door, tugged at my tennis shoe, and called, “Dig an underground!”
Instantly he appeared at the door of my room. “Huh?”
“Dig an underground!” I repeated and reached for a scrap of paper on my nightstand. I laid it on my bed, smoothing it flat, and pointed out the tunnels and rooms, explaining each passageway.
“Wow!” he gasped. “We can have secret meetings there and everything!”
“Right. And we’ll dig an entrance behind Joey and Darlene’s garage”—I pointed—“if they help us dig.”
“They’re coming over as soon as they change their clothes,” Art said with a nod.
“Good. Then we can get started.”
I folded the plans and shoved them into my pocket. With Art and Midge close behind, I rushed downstairs. In the kitchen Mom was waiting. “We’re going to dig an underground in the vacant lot,” I announced, heading for the back door.
“Art and Midge can go,” Mom said, “but I’d like to talk to you, Brea.”
I looked at her questioningly, then handed Art the plans. “You can start digging, I guess.”
They went out on the back porch and looked over their shoulders through the screen door. “Go on,” I told them. “You can start without me.”
Mom sat at the table and shook her head, smiling. “Brea, you’ll soon be eleven. Your older sister has gotten a summer job, so you can’t be spending this summer as you usually do, because I need you to take over some of the things she did.”
Beyond the garage, Joey and Darlene were probably joining Midge and Art, and I squirmed in my chair. “But, Mom …”
“Honey, you’re getting too old to be doing nothing but playing. It’s time you learned some practical things and helped around here a little more.”
I looked at the sunny blue sky and beckoning summer. “I do chores, Mom.”
“Yes, but with Sharlene working, I need you to help more, and I’d appreciate it if you’d start by scrubbing the bathroom floor. Now.”
Mom said it kindly, but firmly. It was a tone I never argue with.
As I sloshed soapy water back and forth over the tiled floor, I could hear the gang outside. I stopped and looked wistfully out the window at them. This isn’t the kind of summer I planned at all, I thought disgustedly. I’m their leader, and here I am, inside working!
The following day I had to help Mom clean out the hall cupboard. At noon Art and Midge came in, looking like happy orphans, and I asked how the underground was coming.
“We’re building a treehouse instead,” Art announced excitedly. “The ground’s too hard to dig.”
They raced upstairs to wash, and it slowly dawned on me: I was no longer their leader. None of them were moping around, wondering what to do, or bugging me for suggestions. They were doing fine without me. Suddenly I felt like I didn’t belong anywhere.
That afternoon I went to the orchard and picked cherries, just as I had every summer. This time, though, Mom said she’d teach me how to make piecrusts. I didn’t care much about learning to make piecrusts, but at dinner, as Dad eased his fork into a wedge of pie, I found myself waiting breathlessly. It seemed to take him forever to get that bite into his mouth. Then a broad smile crossed his face.
“The best pie I’ve ever tasted,” he said grandly.
Mom grinned and patted my hand. “Brea made it all by herself,” Mom announced proudly. “Everything from picking the cherries to taking it out of the oven.”
On Friday Mom sent me to get some things from the store. Walking home along Poplar Street, the fine spray of a hose shocked me out of my daydreaming. I looked up and saw Beverly Tinber hosing down her sidewalk.
“Did I get you wet?” she called. “Sorry.”
I brushed the drops of water from my arm and grinned. “Not very. Is this where you live?”
“Yeah,” she said with disgust in her voice. She turned off the water and came over to talk to me. “I hate doing chores!”
“Me, too,” I agreed. “What do you like to do?”
She pushed out her bottom lip and blew upward, trying to blow her hair out of her eyes. “I wish there were some woods around here. I’d like to go for a cool walk.”
I grinned. “There’s a woods at the end of our road. I’d be glad to take you, if you’d like.”
She smiled eagerly. “Really? How do I get there?”
“Just go to the school, then walk to Murdock’s Lane and turn onto Painter Avenue, then … Oh, that’s too complicated. I could just meet you at the school. How about Saturday? Could you go Saturday morning?” I asked anxiously.
“I think so. Give me your telephone number, and I’ll call you.”
I ripped a tiny scrap of paper from the grocery bag, scribbled my phone number on it, then handed it to her.
“I’ll give you mine, too,” she said as she reached for the pencil.
As I waved and started for home again, I knew I had a smile on my face. This was a different kind of summer, all right. But maybe different wasn’t going to be all bad!

Prophets have charge for the whole earth, not just for members of the Church. I can report from my own experience how personally and devotedly the First Presidency takes that charge. As needs grow, the First Presidency has charged us to increase our humanitarian outreach in a significant way. They are interested in the largest trends and the smallest details.

Recently, we brought to them one of the protective medical gowns that Beehive Clothing sewed for hospitals to use during the pandemic. As a medical doctor, President Russell M. Nelson was highly interested. He didn’t want to just see it. He wanted to try it on—check the cuffs and the length and the way it tied in the back. He told us later, with emotion in his voice, “When you meet with people on your assignments, thank them for their fasting, their offerings, and their ministering in the name of the Lord.”

For a long time I thought that enthusiasm for the gospel was for new converts and recently returned missionaries. The gospel was true but not alive to me. It took me several years to learn that making the gospel live involves second mile service—reaching out to others and losing myself.
For five years I was inactive in the Church. When I decided to become active again, I plunged wholeheartedly into living the gospel.
But as time passed, I became disillusioned. Some Church members I knew were not ideal models of Christian life. Others were slothful in their work. I began to feel that pure, Christlike living was an unrealistic goal.
After I went to college, I was still active in the Church, but my thoughts began to be centered on my career. Going to church seemed more and more like a ritual. The gospel was not the source of my deepest fulfillment.
One day the thought occurred to me: I was not living up to what I knew was true!
I began to put more effort into keeping the Sabbath Day holy. I tried to magnify my calling, read conference talks in the Church magazines, and attended ward choir practice. As a home teacher, I helped out my families where I could between visits. But even with all my efforts, I didn’t feel any more spiritual. I wondered if I ever would.
Then I did something else.
An announcement was made in priesthood meeting that a couple needed help moving their possessions from one house to another. I usually ignored such announcements, thinking that I didn’t know the people and that their close friends and relatives would be there to help them. I also had a very difficult school schedule that required a lot of studying. But this time I decided to help.
On the appointed day, I rode my bicycle over to their house. I felt awkward, not wanting them to think I was trying to show what a “good guy” I was. As I walked inside their house and saw all the stacks of boxes that needed to be carried out to the truck, I almost lost my enthusiasm. “I’ll stay for an hour,” I told myself. “That’s doing my duty.”
Still feeling silly about helping people who were practically strangers, I started carrying boxes out to the truck.
Then a small miracle happened. I began to enjoy the work. I “lost myself” in giving and stayed the whole afternoon—until the entire truck was packed.
I rode home feeling sweaty but wonderful.
At four o’clock the next morning, I awoke feeling very excited. Why? Because I had done something I didn’t have to do. And it felt good!
“I wish I could feel that way all the time,” I thought. I had once heard a General Authority say that he had “ups and downs” like everyone else—only he had learned to take advantage of his “ups.” I decided to take advantage of mine. I got up, knelt, and poured out my heart to my Heavenly Father. I felt a warmth come over me, and my tears flowed freely. At last I was tasting the fruits of my efforts to better live the gospel.
The world’s rewards seemed shallow in comparison with the peace and happiness I felt, knowing I was living in harmony with the Lord’s will. I had learned what the gospel is all about: loving and serving others. Nothing fills us with such lasting satisfaction as the living water of the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Abuse harms the soul of both the offender and the victim and is contrary to the teachings of the Savior. Modern prophets have stated that those “who abuse spouse or offspring … will one day stand accountable before God.”4 Abusers often ignore or exploit principles of the gospel. For example, I counseled a couple where the husband pursued emotional affairs and gambled away their savings, but instead of apologizing, he pressured his wife to forgive and insisted she had the “greater sin” if she didn’t forgive him. He dismissed her pain and claimed he was right with God or he wouldn’t be a temple worker. When his wife talked to Church leaders, he downplayed his betrayals and exaggerated her concerns, saying she was depressed. The husband was rejecting “principles of … respect, love, [and] compassion”5 and mistreating his wife. Her efforts to live gospel principles could not fix a problem he was creating.Each of us can give in to unhealthy behaviors. There are certain characteristics common to all types of abuse, and the more severe and frequent these are, the less healthy the relationship will be. Here are five of these typical abusive patterns that can help you recognize unhealthy behaviors in yourself and others.

“My son, peace be unto thy soul; thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment” (D&C 121:7).
This verse also helped me make a difficult decision. My friend and I had been inseparable for five years. We played sports together, went on trips together, and hung out every weekend. But she began hanging out with an older group of friends who I didn’t want to be around. In the end she made me choose between having her as a friend or sticking to my beliefs regarding the Word of Wisdom and the law of chastity. I was devastated. I never knew that standing up for what I believed could be so hard. But I chose to make new friends, always keeping in mind Heavenly Father’s promise to Joseph Smith that everything would work out all right.

I can’t wait to be a deacon. Ever since I was little, I’ve watched with envy as the older boys passed the sacrament. It’s an important job, and they always seem to know just where to go when they pass the sacrament. Now it’s my turn. My twelfth birthday is this week, and I’ve been learning about the priesthood in Blazer class. I’ve been dreaming about passing the sacrament myself. I wonder if I’ll get to pass it to the bishop?

My Blazer teacher had told us that we would be interviewed by the bishop before we could be ordained. This would be my second interview—he had already interviewed me when I was going to get baptized. But I’ve lived half my life again since then!

I like my bishop. I see him every Sunday, and he knows my name. Sometimes he says hi. But I still worried about that interview. Did I know enough to be a deacon? Would he ask me about things I keep secret? Could I share my secrets with him? If I did, would he keep them secret?

Friday after dinner the bishop’s secretary called and said the bishop wanted to see me after my Blazer class on Sunday. I said OK, but I was nervous. In my mind I went over everything I thought that he might ask me. I began to remember all the things that happened this year. Some of them I wished hadn’t happened.

Sunday after class I headed for the Bishop’s office. What a busy place! I thought. Everybody wants to see him. I think I’ll go home and come another day.

But he saw me. “Hello there, Bobby,” he called. “Come in and sit down, please. Excuse me just one moment.” He stepped out into the hall to talk to someone about something. I wondered what they were talking about. I looked around his office. He had a big chair and a desk, a picture of the Savior, and a picture of President Benson. I saw the scriptures on his desk. They sure were ragged. I wondered what it would be like to be a bishop.

The door opened, and the Bishop came back in and sat next to me. He shook my hand. “Thank you for coming to see me,” he said. “You’re almost twelve, the age at which we normally confer the Aaronic Priesthood and ordain boys as deacons. I’ve talked with your father, and he also felt that you and I should have this interview. Tell me what you know and how you feel about the priesthood.”

Oh no, I thought. What shall I tell him? He probably knows everything about the priesthood. I started by telling him some things from Blazer class and some things my mother had taught me. He didn’t interrupt, and once I got started, my nervousness went away.

When I finished, he said, “Very good. I can see that you’ve been paying attention and that you understand some important principles. There are some scriptures about the priesthood that I’d like to share with you. They’re some of my favorites.”

He turned first to section 20 of the Doctrine and Covenants [D&C 20]. We read from it and talked about the duties of a deacon. Then we read from section 84 [D&C 84] and talked about the covenant of the Aaronic priesthood. After that, he turned to what he said was his favorite scripture—section 121. We read from verse 34 [D&C 121:34] to the end of the section. He helped me understand what the promise in verse 38 [D&C 121:38] meant.

Then he looked me right in the eyes and asked if I was paying tithing. I thought about how hard it had been to start. I was sure happy that I could say I was a full tithe payer. I told him how good I felt when I paid my tithing.

Next he asked me if I ever smoked or drank alcoholic beverages or took drugs. I remembered the time my friends and I had tried a cigarette, and I didn’t want to say anything. I hadn’t even told my parents. I knew it was wrong when I’d done it, and I still felt bad about it. Something inside me said, “Speak up,” but I just couldn’t. My silence must have told the bishop I was wrestling with something, because he talked to me about keeping secrets. He called it “confidentiality.” He said that he would keep anything I told him a secret unless I gave him permission to share it with my parents. Then he waited.

It seemed like a long time while I figured out what words to use. I told him about smoking and how ashamed it made me feel. We talked about how it had happened and what I should do to repent. I didn’t tell him who I’d done it with, and he didn’t ask me to. He said that his knowing their names had nothing to do with my worthiness to receive the priesthood. We discussed the help my parents could give me, and I decided to tell them. A calm feeling came over me. I guess that’s what happens when you do something that you know is right.

When the bishop asked me if I was morally clean, I didn’t know what he meant, so I asked him. He explained about keeping my mind and body clean. We talked about how to do that. He explained that if I lived righteously, the power of the priesthood would always be with me.

He asked me to kneel with him and say a prayer, so I did. It was a short one. Then he prayed. He asked Heavenly Father to bless me, and that made me feel good. I knew that my bishop liked me.

I can hardly wait to tell Mom and Dad about my interview. They’ll be happy for me and will help me be a good, worthy bearer of the priesthood. Just think—next Sunday I’ll be presented in sacrament meeting by the bishop to be sustained to receive the Aaronic Priesthood and be ordained a deacon. Then after the block meetings, the ordinance will be performed. And the week after that I’ll pass the sacrament. I’m going to be reverent when I do and try to set a good example. Maybe some younger boys will be looking up to me.

When I was called to be a member of the high council, the stake president expressed his desire for more members to go to the temple on the days assigned for our stake. Transportation was a problem, so the first thing he did was arrange for a bus to pick up the members at all the ward buildings in the stake and also bring us back when the day was over.
There was another problem, however. Many mothers could not attend because they didn’t have anyone to watch their children. As we discussed the possibility of having some of the young women from the stake help care for the children, I realized that we could call a stake nursery leader. I proposed the idea to the stake president. He suggested that we call new converts to serve as assistants to the nursery leader so they could feel the spirit of the temple. When these ideas were put into action, we had great stake temple attendance.

Marcus V., a priest from Washington, USA, is a busy young man. He’s student body president and football team captain, and he participates in other sports, academic pursuits, and interests such as the drums and drama. But despite his busy schedule, he is an active member of his priests quorum, and he makes time to do his duty to God.
In March 2011, Marcus made a plan in his Fulfilling My Duty to God booklet that read simply, “Invite a friend to youth conference.” On the day before youth conference, though he’d thought about the plan often, he hadn’t invited anyone yet. At lunch, he casually asked if anyone wanted to come to youth conference. To his surprise, one friend did. This friend, Jesse, came to what turned out to be a great youth conference. “The testimony meeting was extremely powerful,” says Marcus, “and people Jesse knew from school were standing up and sharing their feelings about the gospel.” At the end of the conference, Jesse asked for a Book of Mormon.
Marcus gave him a copy, and Jesse started reading right away. “Jesse ran track with me,” says Marcus. “We’d go running together and talk about the Book of Mormon and what he’d read.”
When Marcus invited Jesse to church, he accepted. He started coming to church and Mutual and meeting with the missionaries.
One day Jesse was reading the Book of Mormon at school, and the boy next to him, his friend Kelly, asked him what he was reading. After a conversation about the Book of Mormon, Jesse invited Kelly to Mutual that night.
Before Mutual the missionaries talked with Kelly. They asked if he wanted to come sit in on a discussion with Jesse. The discussion “contradicted everything I’d ever been told about the Church,” Kelly says. “I had a bunch of misconceptions about the Church. It started to change my point of view.”
Kelly and Jesse both continued to meet with the missionaries, and Marcus was there as much as possible.
“It was a really happy time for me,” Marcus explains. “I felt that when I was at school I could always do the right thing because I was not only responsible for myself, but I was also responsible for these friends I was helping come to the gospel.” Kelly says Marcus supported him through it all. “He answered all my questions, and he was a really good friend. He encouraged me to keep going, but he didn’t push.”
Just a few weeks after his first missionary discussion, Kelly committed to baptism and asked Marcus to baptize him. Marcus relates the baptism to Doctrine and Covenants 18:15, which says, “If it so be that you should labor all your days in crying repentance unto this people, and bring, save it be one soul unto me, how great shall be your joy with him in the kingdom of my Father!”
“I felt that joy,” he says. “It was indescribable, so full of light and happiness.”
Kelly knows that the gospel has changed his life. “I make positive choices now,” he says. “I have good friends. I feel better knowing the truth and that God is real. I’m excited for the future now.”
Marcus invites young men to “make Duty to God a priority. It’s really a booklet to make young men into missionaries. Value it, ask your friends about it, talk about it, be thinking about it all the time.” Just as Marcus’s plan made a difference for Kelly and for Jesse, who continues to study the gospel, your plans in Duty to God can change lives. But it’s not just about making plans, it’s about carrying out your plans, living the gospel, and doing your duty to God.

One day when I was young, my father happened upon a little lost lamb in the desert. The lamb’s flock had moved on, and if we had left him, the coyotes might have found him. If he didn’t die because of the coyotes, he would have starved. So my father brought him home and gave him to me to care for.
I named the little lamb Nigh; I’m not sure why. I fed him with a bottle, and soon he grew strong and healthy. He and I became great friends, and I could just call him and he would come running. We liked to play on the grass together. Sometimes I would lie down with my head on his fleece and gaze up at the clouds floating by in the blue sky overhead.
One night there came a terrible storm. I usually locked up Nigh in the barn each night, but that night I forgot to do it until after I had gone to bed. As I lay there, I could hear the fierce wind howling and I could hear my little lamb bleating, frightened and fearful. But I just didn’t want to leave that warm, comfortable bed to take care of him.
The next morning I awoke to find that I was not the only one who had heard my lamb bleating. Some dogs had heard him and had killed him. My heart was broken. My father looked at me with disappointment written on his face. “Son,” he said, “couldn’t I trust you to take care of just one lamb?”
The lesson I learned that day was one I will never forget. I resolved that when a lamb needed to be cared for or when anyone needed my help, I would respond right away rather than wait for a more “convenient” time.

Our son Justin grew up with a difficult disease. Sometimes he was very weak. He couldn’t always do things like everyone else, even though he tried. He knew what it felt like to be different.
One day Justin and his friends got together to play a game. They had to hit a ball with their arms to keep it in the air. One of the girls who came to play had a broken arm.
It would have been easy to say, “OK, we’re all playing, and she’s just going to watch.”
But instead, Justin said, “I have a great idea. We’re all going to play with one arm.” Everybody played the game using just one arm, including the girl who was wearing a cast. No one was left out.
Justin is my hero. He always looked at other people and thought, How do they feel? Justin was sick for most of his life, but he was happy because he helped other people and followed Jesus Christ.

I had that demonstrated to me while welding in a shipyard one winter. One day one of the crew came up to me and with the most friendly smile started to call me all kinds of bad names. I quietly said to him, “Bent, you just don’t call me those names.” He was hurt. He said, “Dan, let me show you something. Come with me.” So I followed him across the deck of the aircraft carrier and over on the other side to a catwalk where another member of the crew was welding. He had raised his hood and was watching us approach when Bent started calling him every name he had called me. The other fellow just grinned and called him back the same names with a few innovations and improvements. Then Bent turned to me and said, “See, I didn’t mean any harm by it.” And he didn’t! He had managed to almost entirely divorce sound from sense in his speech.

For Claudia, serving in the gospel resulted in a subtle swelling of confidence in her heart. “I was baptized when I was eight years old,” Claudia says. “We always attended church. But as I grew older, I saw many bad marriages. I thought about them a lot, and I worried that I could never marry because it wouldn’t be successful. I was afraid to trust my life to someone, that it would be too hard. But when I returned from my mission, I didn’t think the same. Teaching the doctrine changes you.”
Claudia and Marco Villavicencio were friends before her mission. Not long after she returned, they attended the temple together with some friends. Something special occurred. “I felt as if the Lord was answering my prayers, that this was a man I could marry,” Claudia explains. “I have the greatest blessing to have a good husband.”

It has now been a little more than two years since I returned home. I still have lingering problems, and my stamina and energy have not been the same since before I served my mission. The doctors have never figured out what is wrong with me. It has not been easy for me to be a returned missionary who did not get to serve the full length of my mission. Nevertheless, I still love every one of my sweet converts. It has taken time for me to feel validated and know that my shortened missionary service had value just as 18- or 24-month missions have value to other missionaries.

The Lord has given me many opportunities to talk to others who have faced the trauma of returning home unexpectedly. I know Heavenly Father has led me to them to share my testimony and help them realize that returning home early because of health problems is not a flaw to be kept a secret but an experience to be discussed.

The first time I returned home, I experienced how it felt to neglect my faith, but the second time I returned, I experienced what it was like to stay true. I kept to the basics: studying the scriptures, attending institute, participating in church, and fulfilling my callings. I prayed many times to know why everything happened the way it did. I stopped blaming myself, and I stopped blaming Heavenly Father. As I look at my life since returning home and my visits with my Chinese brothers and sisters who live in my home city, I maintain the firm position that there has been an eternal purpose to it all.

I believe that if I continue living my life in dedication to the Lord, I will be forever blessed. In that way, I know I was healed through the Atonement of Jesus Christ, for although my body could not be 100 percent healed physically, my heart has never been more whole or ready to serve the cause of the Master.

Even though Rachael Eucker, 15, is a city girl, she and her friends and Young Women leaders from the Lindsay Ward, Val Vista Arizona Stake, had just planted an acre and a half of corn by hand. It was part of their Experiment upon the Word project for the Young Women. At the beginning of the year, Rachael and the Young Women in her ward agreed to take on a challenge. They would read the Book of Mormon and devote two Saturdays a month to a Gardening for Humanity garden. These gardens use empty lots in city areas to raise food for homeless shelters and food banks. Rachael committed to read the Book of Mormon. Then she went the extra mile and committed to help in the garden every single time her ward went.
The day after planting corn, Rachael was stiff and sore, but she knew that the good feelings she got from service would last longer than the pain. She was also able to compare her repeated days in the garden to the scriptures. “We had talked about the lasting effects of service and how you feel the effects of what you do for a long time after. That made sense to me. I was thinking that it was like when you read the scriptures and feel the Spirit. Eventually that feeling goes away, so the only way you can keep having that feeling is by going back and reading more and more.”
Then the corn didn’t grow. It had been bad seed. Again the girls were able to draw a conclusion when they heard that all their hard work was wasted. Lynn Allred, the Young Women president, told the girls, “Even though we did all we need to do—we watered it, nourished it—it didn’t grow because it was bad seed.” Now Alma 32:32 will always be vivid to them.
After spending a Saturday morning thinning carrots, Elizabeth Lassetter, 16, said, “I think the gardening we are doing is completely connected to what we are doing with the scriptures. Everything is related to how the Lord teaches through nature.”
The corn was replanted, and the melons were starting to form in another plot. The girls were busy helping to keep the weeds under control, watering daily, waiting for the day they could harvest. Again the lessons in the garden compare to the scriptures. Becky Payne, 15, said, “When we do the work, we can harvest. With the scriptures, you have to work hard to get results. You have to be consistent and put constant effort into it.”
The day for the harvest would come, and the girls would pick the fruits of their work and donate to those who are hungry. As for themselves, with their reading, the harvest is one of faith. They will “pluck the fruit, … which is sweet above all that is sweet, … and ye shall feast upon this fruit even until ye are filled, that ye hunger not” (Alma 32:42).

Kate smiled happily as she looked around the general store in Elizabeth, Colorado, for a birthday present. She couldn’t help thinking about how exciting tomorrow was going to be. It was her brother Edward’s birthday.
For several months Kate had worked to earn enough money to buy Edward a present. And today Kate and Papa had come to town in the wagon for supplies and so Kate could buy something to give her brother. She had decided on a tiny metal locomotive that shot out tiny sparks and sounded a little whistle as it chugged along the floor.
As Kate and Papa left the store they saw a wagon coming into town with a new family riding in it. A man was driving and a woman sat beside him. A girl was holding onto the sides of the wagon and tilting her head as if she were looking at something high in the sky.
The girl appeared to be about Kate’s age.
Papa nodded, and taking Kate’s hand, they walked over to the wagon.
He smiled and said, “I’m Stephen Simonson, and this is our Kate.”
The man put out his hand and said, “I’m John Miner and this is my wife Millie and my daughter Elizabeth.”
Mrs. Miner greeted them and then excused herself to go into the store.
“Well,” said Kate to the girl, “you’ve come to live in the right place, because this town is called Elizabeth too.”
The girl smiled, but she kept her head turned upward as though she were watching something there.
Looking up, Kate could see nothing but blue sky. She couldn’t think of anything more to say to the girl, so they were both quiet as Papa and Mr. Miner talked about land, cattle, and weather for awhile. Then the men walked together over to the land office.
Now I’ll have to say something, Kate worried, but Elizabeth doesn’t seem to want to talk. Finally she asked, “Have you come far?”
“From St. Louis,” answered the girl, continuing to look up at the sky.
Exasperated, Kate put her hands on her hips. “Elizabeth,” she said, “why won’t you look at me?”
“It wouldn’t do any good,” Elizabeth said.
“Why not?” Kate asked impatiently.
“I’m blind.”
“Oh,” Kate said. Now she really couldn’t think of anything to say. She could hear the horses pawing the ground, the sounds of people’s footsteps along the wooden sidewalks, and she could hear her own heart beating. Then she said softly, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” said Elizabeth. “I keep my face up when I’m outside because the sun feels so good. I love things that feel good. Even when it’s a rainy day I hold my face up so I can feel the rain on it. But I like the sun the best.”
Kate’s father came back to the wagon and said he was ready to leave. “Good-bye,” Elizabeth called, and Kate waved. Then she realized that Elizabeth couldn’t see her hand. “Good-bye,” she called back. On the way home, Kate told Papa about Elizabeth.
The next day at school Miss Baldwin said, “We have a new girl in our class. Her name is Elizabeth and she is blind.”
Everyone stopped talking and squirmed around to look at Elizabeth.
“Elizabeth is nine years old and she’s been blind since birth. She knows how to take care of herself, but she’s new here and doesn’t know where things are, so some of us will have to help her for awhile.” Miss Baldwin looked straight at Kate. “Kate, since you’re the same age and grade, I want you to help Elizabeth today. You can show her where everything is.”
Kate stood up and went to the front of the room. She took hold of Elizabeth’s hand and led the way to her seat. She gave her a slate and a piece of chalk and told her what the arithmetic lesson was.
Later she showed Elizabeth where the stairs, the hot stove, the windows, the coatrack and boot rack were, and she helped her back to her desk.
At last it was time to go home. Kate felt a little bit like a Siamese twin. She had never been more than a few inches away from Elizabeth the whole day. She hoped it wouldn’t be like this every day. She didn’t want to be tied to a girl who couldn’t run and play and have some fun. Kate was so relieved to be alone that when she was walking along the road toward home, she swung her arms, whirled around a few times with a great feeling of freedom, and then started to run. It was Edward’s birthday and she didn’t want to be late for his party.
Mama had made an apple cake, and when Edward opened his presents he was so pleased with the train engine that Kate forgot all about Elizabeth and her frustrating day. Edward’s best friend Zachary had come over to the party and Mama blindfolded him to play pin the tail on the donkey. Then she turned him round and round and he felt his way toward the donkey, but he pinned the tail on its ear. Edward pinned the tail to the donkey’s shoulder.
“Let me try,” Kate said. “I bet I can do better than that.”
She took the tail with the pin through it, and Papa wrapped his bandanna around her eyes. He twirled her around three times and then gave her a gentle push.
She put out her hand and started to move forward. Am I headed the right way or will I bump into something, she worried. She couldn’t see at all. Her whole world was dark and as a wave of fear swept over her, she thought of Elizabeth.
Kate stumbled forward until her hand hit something and everyone laughed. She quickly pulled the bandanna from her eyes and found she was in front of the wardrobe. She turned and looked at Mama’s pretty face, at Papa’s kind eyes, at her little brother Edward holding his new engine and at Zachary’s happy smile, and she loved them all.
And she was so glad that she could see them!
The next morning Kate waited anxiously for Elizabeth to come to school. And soon she saw her coming down the road, holding her father’s hand. After he said good-bye, Kate hurried over to Elizabeth and asked, “Does your father bring you to school every day and then come for you again when it’s over?”
“Yes,” answered Elizabeth, “but after a while I think I’ll be able to come alone.”
“Why don’t I stop by for you and we could walk together?” Kate asked eagerly.
“Well,” said Elizabeth, “I don’t want to be a bother. That wouldn’t be much fun for you.”
“Oh, you wouldn’t be a bother,” Kate said quickly. “And I’ve been thinking how much fun it would be to go places together. We can go down to the old swing. Then we’ll go to the creek. I know where there’s a rock that a grandfather frog lives under. I can catch him for you and you can hold him for a minute.”
“Oh,” Elizabeth said, smiling, “I’d like very much to go with you. It sounds like lots of fun. Are you sure that’s what you’d like?”
“I’m very sure,” Kate said, and she squeezed Elizabeth’s hand as they walked into the schoolhouse together.

There once was a prince in Thailand who wanted a rare white elephant to ride through the city so he could show everyone that he was as rich as other princes. However, though he sent men into the jungle to hunt, he was unable to obtain such a rare animal. At last he proclaimed that he would give a hundred pieces of gold to anyone who could find a white elephant for him.
In a village not far from the prince’s castle there lived a potmaker who, hoping to receive the reward, went to the prince.
“My neighbor is a famous washerman,” the potmaker told the prince. “He washes the whitest clothes in the world. Even the king sends clothes to him. If you give him a gray elephant, I am sure he can wash it white.”
The prince was excited when he heard this and he sent for the washerman at once.
“One hundred pieces of gold will be yours if you can wash my gray elephant so it is white,” the prince told the washerman.
“But your highness … ,” protested the washerman.
“Say nothing more,” replied the prince. “Go now and prepare. I will bring you the elephant tomorrow.”
The next day the prince brought a gray elephant to the village where the washerman and the potmaker lived.
“I will need a large pot in which to bathe the elephant,” said the washerman.
“Very well,” the prince agreed, “I will ask the potmaker to make one.”
So the potmaker was ordered to make a large pot. He was very frightened, because he had never made such a large pot before. He asked his relatives and friends to help him, and together they worked all day and all night until the pot was finished.
With the prince and all of the villagers watching, the washerman prepared to wash the elephant. He poured water into the pot and led the elephant up to it. But when the elephant put one leg into the pot, the pot broke into a thousand pieces!
The prince was angry. He ordered the potmaker to immediately make a stronger pot.
After many days of hard work, the second pot was ready. The elephant put one leg inside the pot. Nothing happened. Then the second leg went inside, and the pot broke into a hundred pieces!
The angry prince ordered a new pot to be made at once.
In a few days the third pot was ready. The elephant put one leg into it, and nothing happened. Another leg went in, and nothing happened. Finally the whole elephant was inside the pot, and still it did not break. Everyone cheered.
Then the washerman began to make a fire to heat the water in the pot.
“I must now have hot water to scrub the gray color off the elephant,” explained the washerman to the prince.
But the water remained as cold as ever.
“Your highness,” said the washerman, “the water does not get hot because the pot is too thick. I need another pot.”
This made the prince furious. Turning to the frightened potmaker, he cried, “If you do not have the right pot ready in three days, I will throw you into prison.”
Three days later when the prince returned, he was surprised to find the village deserted except for some old women and children who told him that the rest of the villagers had gone to bathe in a nearby river. Hurrying there in anger, the prince found the potmaker, the washerman, and the other villagers scrubbing their hair with all of their might.
“What on earth are you doing?” cried the prince.
“We are trying to wash our hair white,” answered the villagers.
“You must be fools! You cannot turn your hair white by washing!” replied the prince scornfully.
Then the washerman said, “If we cannot turn our hair white by washing, how do you expect me to turn your gray elephant white by washing?”
Then the prince realized that what he had asked the washerman to do was impossible. And sadly he took his gray elephant home.

My heart feels warm tonight. Broken, bruised, torn, certainly. But beautifully warm. I feel intense gratitude—gratitude so deep and encompassing that it seems a new hole has opened in my soul to make room, gratitude so filling and so personal that it won’t stop coursing down my cheeks in silent tears. My husband is breathing. I can hear it, deep and soft.
Just a couple of hours ago, I climbed into his hospital bed, ignoring the gentle kicks from our soon-to-arrive baby, and found a spot among all the wires hooked to his chest where I could rest my head. Listening to his heartbeat in my ear was an experience that will be burned into my memory forever.
His heart beats still. Not as well as it did before the heart attack. But it beats still.
But mostly I feel gratitude to the Lord for my husband’s life—his deep breathing, his heart pumping blood, his living body and soul. His life is my Christmas miracle.

In those days of struggle for the Church in England, the missionaries took part in organized sports and choral singing, trying to create a new Church image. Elder Ashton decided to give both a try. “I don’t know how well I did in the ‘Millennial Chorus’ audition,” he chuckles. “They didn’t ask me to be the chorus.” But he was more successful in basketball. In fact, he was captain of the missionary team, the “Saints,” which won a grand national championship in Britain and an all-Europe championship at Lille, France.

Some ways to strengthen families are illustrated by the following example. I had an assignment in the Boise, Idaho, area. After training on Saturday afternoon, I stayed in the home of my niece and her family. That evening before the children went to bed, we had a short family home evening and a scripture story. Their father told about the family of Lehi and how he taught his children that they must hold fast to the iron rod, which is the word of God.9 Holding fast to the iron rod would keep them safe and lead them to joy and happiness. If they should let go of the iron rod, there was danger of drowning in the river of dirty water.
To demonstrate this to the children, their mother became the “iron rod” that they must cling to, and their father played the role of the devil, trying to pull the children away from safety and happiness. The children loved the story and learned how important it is to hold fast to the iron rod.
After the scripture story it was time for family prayer. Their mother reminded the children to pray for the bishop, who was having serious eye problems. Three-year-old Brooklyn offered the prayer that evening. She thanked Heavenly Father for their blessings, and then she fervently asked Him to “bless the bishop because his eyes are broken.”
The next morning we got to sacrament meeting and got seated. Brooklyn and her five-year-old sister, Kennedy, looked up on the stand and saw the bishop standing there. The girls pointed to the bishop and excitedly said to their mother, “Look, there’s the bishop.” Then a knowing look passed between these two little girls that seemed to say “We prayed for the bishop, and now he is better.” They prayed in faith, knowing that Heavenly Father would hear their humble prayers.

Of course, Shawn’s living style and his quiet manners have made the occasional boisterous tough guy misjudge him. One bronc rider just couldn’t get used to a polite, soda-pop-drinking cowboy who went to church, shaved every day, and wore clean clothes. He insisted on calling Shawn feminine names. When asked politely, he wouldn’t apologize and insisted on settling the matter in an old-fashioned western fist fight. They stepped out behind the chutes and Shawn beat him soundly, gaining the cowboy’s respect and his friendship in the process. Later, when the cowboy learned that Shawn also happened to hold a Montana State Golden Gloves boxing championship and was a Montana Athlete of the Year, he felt better about his defeat.