Gospel Story Finder

Wong Yun Tai remembers the warm September evening in 1984 when her life changed. The Wong family live on the 21st floor of the Wu Yuet House, a government housing project in the Tuen Mun area of Hong Kong’s New Territories. That evening, 15-year-old Wong Yun Tai, who goes by the English name Belle, was eating dinner when a knock came at her door. Two strangers wearing white shirts, ties, and curious black name tags were at the door. They talked to her through the metal gate that remained locked even though the door was open.
Belle was busy eating, so she told her two visitors to come back in an hour. “I was interested in religion, and I really wanted to know what was true. I was just like Joseph Smith. I really wanted to know which church was God’s true church,” recalls Belle.
When the missionaries returned, she listened politely to their message. Afterward, they gave her a Book of Mormon to read, said a prayer, and then left. It was a simple meeting, but it had a powerful effect on Belle. “When I prayed, I had a very unique, good feeling in my heart,” she says.
A month later, Belle was baptized. Then the real work began. Belle, the second oldest child of Wong Hong Tsuen and Wong Leung Nan Ho, wanted her parents and brothers and sisters to experience the same gospel joy that had become such an important part of her life. She began sharing what she had learned.
Now, more than a decade later, she’s still sharing. Since those humble beginnings, seven of the eight Wong children have joined the Church, as have Mom and Dad. Belle served a mission in Hong Kong. So did two younger sisters, Angela and May.
The example Belle set for her family has made a big impression on her youngest sister, Wong Cho Ho—who goes by the English name of Rambo—and her younger brother, Wong Wah Kan (Simon), both of whom are now teenagers.
“Before I was a member, I’d always notice Belle,” says Simon, who was baptized in 1992. “She wasn’t lazy. Every Sunday she’d get up and go to church. When Belle was a missionary, she was a good example to my family and she helped us.”
Rambo, who adopted her unique English name several years ago, also credits her sister’s influence in her own conversion. “When I was younger, I began going to church with Belle each Sunday, even though I hadn’t been baptized,” she recalls, “but I wouldn’t take the sacrament.”
This is where the story takes an ironic twist.
“A lot of members of the ward would look at me and think I was a member,” she continues. “They would ask me to be a fellowshipper for the missionaries’ investigators, even though I was still an investigator myself. As I got older, my testimony began to develop, and I learned more about the Church.”
When Rambo was finally baptized in 1990, she joined Belle in teaching gospel principles to their other sisters, Mandy, May, Angela, and Agnes, as well as to Simon. She also continued “officially” fellowshipping other investigators at church each Sunday. “When I was a kid, I liked to play and have fun. But when I got older, I received a testimony—a true testimony —and I wanted to share it,” Rambo says.
One of the first people Rambo wanted to share the gospel with was her sister Agnes. She invited Agnes to church. “When I first went to church,” says Agnes, who is two years older than Rambo, “I was pretty bored. I liked to talk to the missionaries, but I didn’t like to talk about the Church. But Rambo would try to help me understand more about the gospel. Finally I decided to investigate the Church because Belle was so serious and made so many sacrifices for the Church, and I could see what the Church was beginning to mean to Rambo.”
Rambo also talked about the gospel with Simon and helped him with his decision to be baptized.
And so the sharing went: Two missionaries talked to Belle. Belle joined the Church and began fellowshipping Rambo. Rambo was baptized and began talking about the gospel with Agnes and Simon. Agnes and Simon were baptized, and they were followed by Mandy, the Wongs’ oldest daughter, and May, Angela, and their parents.
Simon likes to think back to the time when he began seriously investigating the gospel. He remembers praying for the first time. “I didn’t know how to pray or what I should say,” he remembers. “But I always felt good when I prayed.”
Before Simon joined the Church, Sundays were reserved for rest and relaxation. He would generally sleep in, then get up and play soccer with his friends. These days, his friends don’t even bother asking him to play games on the Sabbath. “I’ve already told them I don’t do that, and they understand why I don’t and what I do instead,” he says. Sundays for Simon generally consist of attending church meetings and reading the scriptures. “I love studying in the Book of Mormon—especially about Lehi and the faith he had. My own faith isn’t great, so it’s good for me to read about someone who was so strong.”
Belle loves to talk about the positive impact the gospel has had on her family, but she deflects any credit given to her. Instead, she says, “I don’t know how much help I’ve been to my family, but I do know Heavenly Father has helped my family a lot.”
Her family disagrees with Belle’s assessment of her role. Each night as they sit down to dinner, they look at one another and see living proof of Belle’s gospel-sharing legacy.

My heart stopped beating as I peered over the edge of the 90-foot cliff. I couldn’t believe I’d put myself in this position. My friends in the boat below were laughing at my hesitation to jump, which made me even more determined to go through with it.
We’d chosen Lake Powell in southern Utah as our graduation retreat, and we were glad temperatures soared into the 90s during that first week of June. It felt great to be healthy, tan, and 18.
As we climbed to the summit of that 90-foot cliff, we laughed at our friends back in the boat who passed up the chance of flying through that great expanse of air toward the water. They were all talk and no action, we joked as we reached the top. They were the same guys, after all, who had passed up almost any form of “entertainment” during our high school years.
My thoughts were suddenly interrupted when Bryce, the bold one, let out a scream and jumped off the cliff. It wasn’t a graceful takeoff, but it got the job done. I watched him flip like a fish as he fell through the sky, and I heard the distant splash when he hit the water. “You’ve got to try it!” he yelled as he pulled himself into the boat. It was a direct challenge.
I looked around and found my three buddies smiling at me. My stomach went sour. It was then I realized that jumping from a 90-foot cliff wasn’t such a hot idea. But how could I pull out now? They’d never let me live it down.
Just when I was about to jump, I was interrupted by Kelly, who barked out an obscenity and took off. We never saw him hit the water, but heard him crying as the others pulled him into the boat.’ His knees had slammed together upon impact, and he would be in a cast for the rest of the summer, following surgery on both knees.
The three of us who remained were now scared to death, but we wouldn’t admit it. I remember thinking about my acceptance to BYU, and about my plans to serve a mission after my freshman year. For the first time that day, I began to think of the consequences of making the jump. What if I became seriously injured? Was impressing my friends really that important?
“Fifty percent chance you make it and fifty percent chance you get hurt,” Bryce impatiently yelled at me from below. That was comforting.
I slowly walked back from the edge, then raced toward it, lifting my body off the ground as I soared into the warm sky. I looked immediately down and found the water racing toward me. I waved my arms to maintain balance.
My entry into the water was like an explosion, and I heard my back snap. As I sank through the water, I became aware that I couldn’t move my body. I felt as though my lungs would explode as I slowly floated to the surface, only to hear my friends laughing at the expression on my face.
Ted was the first to realize I was in pain, and he told the others to stop laughing as I was pulled into the boat. I mentioned something about the pain in my back as they laid me down next to the already-injured Kelly, and I was soon whimpering right along with him.
Kelly and I watched in bewilderment as the remaining two contemplated their own jumps. Despite unfavorable odds, each of them made the leap—successfully.
Since no doctors were within 100 miles of us, I decided to finish the trip with my friends. I lay in a tent for two days, shocked at my stupidity. I was only 18, yet I had risked my life for the sake of “entertainment.”
The doctor who examined my back said I had a compression-fracture which would cause arthritis throughout my life, but I still considered myself very lucky.
For nearly four years I had wandered carelessly through a world of smashed pumpkins and crazy dives. I hadn’t stopped to consider what effect my actions were having on other people, or on myself. I had been a thrill seeker who never had to face the consequences until that fateful day when I’d almost given my life just to impress my friends. It took a crash through Lake Powell’s waters to plunge me from my fantasy world into a world of reality and responsibility.

Tangible evidence of Maurice’s example to other Aaronic Priesthood holders in his ward came in the way of service for his Eagle Scout project he completed last year. Maurice organized a child identification day where he invited people in his community to bring their children to the ward on a Saturday so the children could be fingerprinted and videotaped. After police gave a presentation on ways to protect children, the parents in attendance took the fingerprint cards and the videotapes home. Now, if ID information is ever needed, it will be at the parents’ fingertips.
Maurice spent numerous hours coordinating this project that attracted close to 100 children. As a bonus, he also asked people who came to bring one or two cans of food that he could then donate to a food bank. He eventually filled three big boxes with canned goods.
“What I enjoyed about that project is that it was different,” Maurice says. “I really wanted to make a difference. I hope people never have to use their video or the fingerprint cards. I don’t want it ever to come to that point. But they are a good safety net.”

Several years ago, President Russell M. Nelson invited the young adults of the Church “to increase their testimony” and “learn all they can about Jesus Christ.” He asked them to spend some time each week “to study everything Jesus said and did as recorded in the standard works” using the scripture citations under the heading Jesus Christ in the Topical Guide or Guide to the Scriptures.

At that time, President Nelson had already “read and underlined every verse cited about Jesus Christ, as listed under the main heading and the 57 subtitles in the Topical Guide.” He studied over 2,200 scriptures! It took him six weeks to complete the task. When President Nelson’s wife Wendy asked him what impact studying all those scriptures had on him, he said, “I am a different man!”

We named our old minibus Peggy because of all the peg bags. Peggy wasn’t the most beautiful or the most functional minibus, but she got us over our Welsh mountain. There was always a spot near the top where she stalled, but all except the little ones would get out and push Peggy the rest of the way to the summit. We would then all scrambled back in and Peggy would sail down the other side.
One day, the inevitable happened. Peggy died on the mountain! It was a sad day for us when Peggy expired and was left to an unmarked grave at a car dealership. However Heavenly Father saw the plight of the Caerphilly pioneers and prompted Merthyr Tydfil Stake to start a Caerphilly Branch, renting rooms in Caerphilly, with Brother Kitt as branch president.
We were shortly joined by more members - all pioneers of faith and humour. We had so much between us – it was the golden thread that kept us going through difficult times and increased the love between us.
Our wards and branches have grown now and so have our families. From one seed can come a whole forest of oaks and every member is a seed. We are all pioneers in some way, in some wilderness, are we not? And Peggy had helped us over our not-so-rocky mountain.

When I was a young boy in Long Island, New York, a robin built her nest every year on the roof of our home. We used to watch as she had her little ones. She fed them and nurtured them. And when it was time for them to fly, she gently and lovingly would nudge them out of the nest. They would glide to the ground, their wings fluttering—unsure, afraid, and not knowing how to fly. Then the mother would go down to the ground and help them learn how to find their food and teach them how to fly. She wanted to help them to be on their own.

It brought me great sorrow each year when I would find a young bird that tried to “do it alone.” Often he would be found dead in the rock garden below among the lilies of the valley.

Illustrations by Kevin Keele
It was a windy day. Nine-year-old Batbayar was walking home from the bus stop after school. He hugged his coat tighter in the wind. Luckily, it wasn’t far to his grandparents’ house, where he lived in Mongolia.
“Hi!” Batbayar said as he came inside.
“Welcome home,” Grandma said. “I made some khuushuur for a snack.”
“Thank you!” Batbayar reached for one of the warm, spicy Mongolian meat pies.
“Wait! Don’t eat any until the missionaries get here,” Grandpa said. “They’ll be coming any minute.”
Batbayar loved it when the missionaries from Grandma and Grandpa’s church came to visit. He always learned a lot from them. But there was just one problem.
“Will they ask me to read from the Book of Mormon again?” Batbayar asked. “Reading is hard for me.”
“That’s why they’re bringing another book today,” Grandma said.
“What book?” Batbayar said.
“You’ll see,” Grandpa said.
Soon the missionaries arrived. They ate Grandma’s delicious meat pies together. Then Batbayar said, “Grandma says you brought me a book.”
“I think you’ll like this book,” Sister Heitz said. “It has lots of pictures.”
Batbayar looked at the cover. Book of Mormon Stories, it said. A picture on the cover showed people building a boat.
“I remember that story,” Batbayar said. “The man didn’t know how to build a boat. So he prayed. And God helped him.”
“That’s right,” Sister Enkhtuya said. “Will you try reading this book? Then you can pray and ask God if what it teaches is true.”
“I will,” Batbayar promised.
That night he read from the book with pictures. He read the story about the boat. Then he prayed. He fell asleep thinking about the man who built the boat and how God helped him.
From then on, each night Batbayar read a story. Then he prayed. And each night, he fell asleep thinking about what he read.
When the sister missionaries came again, they taught Batbayar more about Jesus Christ. Batbayar learned about prophets. He learned about God’s commandments. He kept going to church with Grandma and Grandpa. And he kept reading and praying.
One day Batbayar had something important to tell his grandparents. “When I read the stories in the book with pictures, my heart feels good,” he said. “When I pray, I feel they are true. I think I should be baptized.”
Today, Batbayar is a member of the Church. He has gotten better and better at reading. And he still reads the Book of Mormon every night!

As the tears wet her nightgown, she remembered once when she saw the Prophet cry. It had happened the year before, when Mary Ann’s family was returning from England. Many converts came with them on the boat, and they were anxious to see Joseph Smith.

“I’ll know him immediately,” one man said. Others agreed that they, too, would be able to pick him out, even in a multitude.

Mary Ann told the converts how noble and grand the Prophet looked on his horse at the head of the Nauvoo Legion. She told them how she had watched him preach to the people in the Kirtland Temple, and to the Indians in the grove at Nauvoo.

Mary Ann still remembered how the steamboat pushed through large, floating blocks of ice on the Mississippi River as it approached the city of Nauvoo. At the landing there was a large group of people waiting to welcome the company of travelers. Right away, Mary Ann noticed the Prophet. He came on the boat, into their cabin, and embraced Parley Pratt. Then he welcomed each family member in turn.

The Prophet was a very big man. Six foot, her father had said. Mary Ann’s head came just above his belt buckle, but he leaned over so he could look into her eyes and shake her hand. Then he sat down and took her little brother on his knees.

“Well, well, Brother Parley, you have returned, bringing your sheaves with you.” He hugged little Parley and Nathan, and the tears filled his clear blue eyes and streamed down his cheeks. Mary Ann had discovered that grown folk sometimes cry when they’re filled with joy, so she knew it was just his happiness spilling over.

Mary Ann recalled how Father had teased the Prophet when he saw the tears.

“Brother Smith, if you feel so bad about our coming home, I guess we’ll have to go back again.”

After that, everyone laughed, the Prophet most of all. Then he said, “Brother Parley, bring your folks up to my house.” Mary Ann remembered how as they walked up the hill with the Prophet, she had tried to match her step with his.

Maddie R., 13, in Virginia, has a “Dad’s box,” where she keeps her father’s letters and pictures. She e-mails him regularly so he doesn’t feel left out. “My dad used to ask me to go on bike rides with him, but I usually said no and didn’t think much about it. But now I would give almost anything to spend time with him,” she says. “I just want people to not take their parents for granted. You never know what will happen. Sometimes my dad is gone for a short time, sometimes he’s gone for a long time, and sometime,” she pauses for a moment, thinking, “it might just be for the rest of my life.”

Keaton and Pug were best friends. They did everything together. One summer they decided to build a tree fort in the forest behind Pug’s home. Each Saturday they worked on their fort, using old pieces of wood and a hammer and nails Pug’s dad gave them.
One Saturday as Keaton and Pug worked on their fort, Pug’s mom called to them. They jumped down and went to the house.
“What’s up, Mom?” Pug asked.
“You boys are going to have another friend to play with today,” Mom said, pointing toward the back door.
Just then Jason came out of the house. “Are you my new best friends?” he asked, clapping his hands.
“Mommmm!” Pug protested.
Keaton rolled his eyes. “Oh, great!” he said under his breath. Jason was their age, but he was, well, different.
“Mom,” Pug whispered, “Jason won’t want to work on the fort. He won’t want to do anything but run around.”
Pug’s mom sighed. “Jason will be with us until after lunch when his mom gets back from the doctor. So you need to find something you can all do together. Now run along and play.”
Keaton and Pug walked away, glancing back at Jason as he followed them. “Now what are we going to do? Our day is ruined,” Keaton grumbled.
“Hey, I know,” Pug whispered. “Let’s play hide-and-seek and have Jason be it. We can run into the forest and work on our tree fort, and he’ll never find us.”
“Great idea!” Keaton exclaimed.
When they explained the game to Jason and told him that he got to be it, he waved his hands with excitement. “Now close your eyes and count to 20,” Keaton said. Jason put his hands over his eyes and started counting, saying each number loudly and carefully.
Keaton and Pug crept away. When they were out of sight behind the house, they raced to the edge of the forest, hid behind trees, and looked back to see if Jason was following. But they could still hear him counting—“13 … 14 … 15.”
They ran toward their fort, laughing and dodging trees. But soon Keaton slowed and fell behind. When he looked back and saw Jason searching around the house, he came to a complete stop. “This isn’t what the song says.”
Pug came back through the trees. “What song?”
“You know, that song we sing in Primary. ‘If you don’t walk as most people do, some people walk away from you. But I won’t! I won’t!’*“
“Oh, yeah,” Pug said. “I remember that song. ‘Jesus walked away from none. He gave his love to everyone. So I will! I will!’”
Keaton and Pug both stared at the ground, ashamed. Finally, Keaton looked up. “Why don’t we go back and hide someplace where Jason can find us?”
“Good idea,” said Pug. They ran back to the house and hid behind the swing set in the backyard.
Just then Jason ran around the corner of the house and spotted them. “I found you! I found you!” he yelled, clapping his hands.
“You sure did!” Keaton agreed.
“Way to go, pal!” Pug said happily, giving Jason a high five.
Jason looked back and forth between the two of them, beaming. “Are you my new best friends?” he asked.
Keaton grinned. “We sure are.”
“Why don’t we play again, and I’ll be it,” Pug suggested. Jason jumped up and down and cheered.
Keaton smiled at Jason. “Let’s hide together,” he whispered. “I know a perfect hiding place.” As soon as Pug started counting, he took Jason’s hand, and they walked together toward the tree fort.

When the First Presidency announced that a new temple would be built in Tuxtla Gutiérrez, Mexico, Church members rejoiced. One young girl was so excited that she told the news to almost everyone she knew. “Temples are where dads and moms can be married for eternity!” she told them. “Temples are where families can be sealed together forever!” And each time she passes the temple now, she announces, “That’s where I’m going to be married someday.”
Seven-year-old Íngrid Fabiola Martínez Barredo knows something about temples. When she was five years old, she and her parents were sealed as an eternal family in the México City México Temple. The trip took eighteen hours each way on a bus crowded with members from their ward and stake. Like many members in Tuxtla Gutiérrez, she is thankful to have a temple just minutes away in her own city now.
Even though the long trip to the temple was uncomfortable, Íngrid and the other Primary children accompanying their parents to the temple did their best to make it pleasant. “They sang their favorite hymns and songs on the way, such as ‘Count Your Blessings’ and ‘I Am a Child of God,’”* her dad, Javier, said. Several members on the bus thanked the children for helping make the trip more enjoyable.
Traveling a long distance wasn’t the only sacrifice Íngrid and her family made to get to the temple. Although her dad gave his employer plenty of notice when requesting time off from work, he lost his job because he left on the temple trip. However, after returning home, he was able to get a better job.
While Íngrid was waiting to be sealed to her parents, she helped the temple nursery workers care for the younger children and babies. When it was time for her to leave, the workers said, “Oh, don’t take her! She helped us so much. She put the babies to sleep.”
A couple of years after they went to the temple, her mother, María Carmelita, gave birth to a baby boy. Later, a baby girl was born. “Luis Fernando and Mari Carmen are born in the covenant,” Íngrid says proudly. She explained to her relatives who are not members of the Church that because her family was sealed in the temple before her baby brother and sister were born, the babies are also members of their eternal family. Íngrid loves her brother and sister and helps her mother take care of them. “She often puts them to sleep by singing Primary songs to them,” her mom said.
Her dad said with a smile, “She tells us that when she grows up, she wants to be whatever she is thinking of at the time—a doctor, an artist, a teacher.”
“But mostly she wants to be a mother,” her mom added. “Besides helping me with the babies, she holds her dolls and hugs them and sings to them. She has told me, ‘When I’m big, I’m going to get married. And I’m going to study the gospel a lot so that I can teach my children everything they need to know.’”
She enjoys drawing pictures of animals, running races, playing ball, and riding her bicycle. She especially likes to dress up in costumes and perform folk dances.
Her bishop, Juan José Albores Gallegos, of the Las Lomas Ward, Tuxtla Gutiérrez México Stake, said that Íngrid participates with great energy in Primary and in ward activities. He especially appreciates the care she gives younger Primary children. “She loves them and gives them her time and attention. She plays and sings songs with them.”
Never at a loss for words, she has told her nonmember friends and relatives about the Church and has invited several of them to attend. Although none of them have joined the Church yet, she isn’t discouraged.
“Wherever we go,” her dad said, “she tells people about the Church.”
For example, when her family was invited to a picnic one Sunday, Íngrid said, “No, thank you. We are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and we can’t go on the picnic because it’s Sunday. We try to keep the Sabbath Day holy.” When someone offers her a drink that is not in keeping with Church standards, she says, “No, thank you—we believe that Jesus said that we shouldn’t drink that.”
“She has learned a lot in Primary and in our family home evenings,” her mother said. “She is often the one to remind us to say our prayers before going to bed. ‘Did you say your prayers, Papi, Mami?’ she will ask. And at mealtime, she will say, ‘Let’s bless the food before eating.’ She is teaching us all the time.”
“On fast Sunday, Íngrid is the first in our family to get up and bear her testimony in sacrament meeting, and she bears her testimony like an adult,” her dad said. “Sometimes she’ll ask me, ‘Are you going to bear your testimony today?’ I’ll usually tell her that I’m not sure, because it’s hard for me to speak in public. And she’ll tease me by saying, ‘If you don’t, I’ll call you from the pulpit to come up and do it.’ I’ll say, ‘Don’t you dare!’ She smiles happily if I do go up.”
Íngrid’s parents are thankful for her strength and example. “She makes sure we obey the commandments,” her dad said. “Maybe she understands the gospel better than I do!”

I grew up in a family in which my parents have been a glowing example to my two brothers, my sister, and me, and our family has received many blessings because of their efforts. For instance, we have grown together to become a close family, turning to each other in times of need or trials. And although some of my family members are less active, they still join in family home evening.
I spent some time living in Sydney, Australia, and was very homesick living so far from Ireland. Luckily, I lived near a Church meetinghouse where I attended family home evening with other young adults. This was a great blessing to me, and when I attended, I no longer felt homesick. It was great to mingle with fellow members in a relaxed setting and where the Spirit was present.
Linda Ryan, Ireland

One of the stalwarts of the Nassau Branch is Willamae Kemp who began attending the branch 18 years ago when Antoine and Leona Ferrier invited her to a meeting. “Leona told me,” recalls Sister Kemp, “that she just saw me in this Church. She said she thought I would fit in.”
Sister Kemp will never forget that first meeting. The teacher was talking about the Godhead, something Sister Kemp had wondered about. When it was explained that members of the Church believe that God the Father, his Son Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost are three separate and distinct beings who have unity of purpose, Willamae says: “The clouds seemed to part. From that day to this, I have been learning.”

At age eight, LeGrand contracted some type of hip bone disease. For nine months he wore a plaster cast on his leg from shoetop to hip and around his waist, during which time he used crutches and missed a year of school. Later that year, still in the cast, he was attacked by a vicious ram. The animal came at him time and again as he braced against the fence and tried to ward off its attack with his hands. It was the plaster cast around his waist that is thought to have saved LeGrand’s life.

Three serious operations followed in very short order. There were only a few who knew about them and they were sworn to secrecy. Her pattern of life in the hospital was always the same. With her careful planning, she would attend church on Sunday, the operation would be performed early Monday morning. By Tuesday, she was trying to get out of bed. By Wednesday she would be up moving around, trying to regain her physical strength. Thursday would find her helping the nurses assist others who were in the hospital. Friday she would spend trying to convince the doctor that she was ready to go home. By Saturday morning the doctor would give up in despair and discharge her. Sunday she would be back in church looking radiant. No one would ever suspect that she had just gone through major surgery. After the meeting I would rush down to take her home to get her some needed rest. And as I would come close to her I would hear her say to someone else in need, “Now don’t worry about a thing. I’ll have dinner ready for you and at your home on Thursday night.”

About 180 missionaries in the California Carlsbad Mission divided their time between proselyting and helping fire victims. For a month they shoveled ash and debris, hefted sandbags, and helped at evacuation centers.
One elder said, “My shoulders are sore, my back hurts, and my fingernails are dirty from dirt and ash, but my heart is full.”
The reputation of the missionaries’ hard work grew. An engineering official, assessing his needs for a sandbagging project, said with a smile, “We’ll need 195 men or 5 Mormon missionaries.”

Kiva: A Pueblo Indian ceremonial structure that is usually round and partly underground.
“When is your uncle Tanolo going to take you into the kiva?” Little Brown Bear asked. “I am four moons younger than you, yet I was taken into our kiva this day.”
Acuma pulled his rabbit robe closer around his shoulders and sat huddled by the fire, watching the smoke curl upward to add more blackness to the sooty ceiling of the big cave.
“I don’t know,” he said sadly. “I have done everything I am supposed to do.”
“A boy must prove he is now a man before he can enter a kiva,” Little Brown Bear continued. “Have you gone on a hunt?”
“Oh, yes. We stalked the deer through snow and drove him to the edge of our flat mountain. It was my arrow that brought meat to our fire.”
Little Brown Bear shook his head. “I cannot understand. Surely Tanolo is not so cruel that he would tease you.”
Acuma shrugged but did not answer. He had done everything that was required. He knew the legends, his arrow points were well made, he could make fiber from the yucca plant and weave it into heavy sandals, and he could shoot a straight arrow. All these things his cousin from the big cave village had done too, and this day he had been taken into the kiva.
This was an honor for which every Indian boy lived. Yet Acuma could not go. His father said he was well prepared, but Tanolo would not take him. An Indian boy could not be taken to the kiva by his father. At birth an uncle is chosen to be his teacher, and it is this uncle who must take him to the kiva, where he will go through the rituals to become a man.
Acuma glanced at his cousin, wishing Little Brown Bear could tell him what had happened down in the kiva in his own village. But, of course, it was a secret.
When Little Brown Bear left for his own cave village, Acuma jumped up and called his brown dog. He threw off the rabbit blanket. He would be running and his body would warm on this winter day.
“I will not shed tears like that foolish Popeta,” he exclaimed, and he dashed off to chase rabbits. Maybe he would kill one with his throwing stick and show his uncle how skilled he was. Acuma’s dog romped along beside him as they scrambled down the side of the canyon to the creek below.
Then he stopped in surprise. Popeta was filling a water jug to carry back up the steep canyon wall to the cave. She seemed small although she was his own age. Her father could not till his cornfield properly because of a lame leg, so the family did not have enough to eat. And because the father could not run fast, he could not kill enough rabbits to make new blankets. The one over Popeta’s shivering shoulders was badly worn.
“You wear no blanket,” Popeta said in surprise, her teeth chattering. “It is cold.”
Acuma squared his brown shoulders. “I am a man, and I do not feel the cold,” he boasted. “I shall run and catch a rabbit for our dinner.” He started off.
Popeta lifted the heavy water jug. As she did so, the blanket fell from her shoulders. Immediately the brown dog grabbed it in his teeth and raced off, dragging it through the thorny bushes.
“Come back, come back!” Popeta cried out. “It is my only blanket.” She spun angrily on Acuma. “Your horrible dog has stolen my blanket. Go get it.”
Then her shivering grew worse and she began to cry as she climbed the canyon wall with the water jug on her head.
Acuma tried to find the dog, but it had raced down the canyon, dragging the blanket. He could see torn scraps hanging on bushes.
“It is no good now anyhow,” he said as he raced along, feeling warm. Soon he threw his curved stick at a rabbit and proudly carried the dead animal home.
“We already have meat for stew, my son,” his mother said while she stirred something in a clay pot over the fire. “You are a great hunter, and my heart is proud. But why not give it to one who has none?”
Acuma strolled over to Popeta’s fire. “Here, you will have meat.”
She thanked him, then asked, “Did you find my blanket? Without it I will have nothing to warm me tonight.”
Acuma shrugged. “No, I could not find it.”
He forgot about Popeta as he ate his hearty stew that night and sat huddled by the fire, his own warm blanket over his shoulders.
During the night he awoke feeling cold and pulled the rabbit fur blanket up closer. Somewhere he could hear crying.
It is probably that foolish Popeta, he thought. She always cries.
The next day he could not see her by her fire. “She is not well,” his mother said. “She needs food and warm blankets. But I have none to spare.”
Too bad, Acuma thought carelessly and ran off. But every now and then he remembered her crying.
“It is the fault of my dog,” he grumbled to himself. And the more he thought about it, the less he enjoyed the games he played with his friends.
That night he could not sleep. Finally he got up and went to the small dark room behind the cave where Popeta slept.
“Here is my blanket,” he said. “Use it.”
“But it is not yours to give,” she said in surprise.
“I will lend it,” Acuma said, and he hurried back to his room. He was shivering. How cold it was! He found an old feather blanket that was so worn it could not cover him well. But if he curled up in a tight ball in the very corner of his room, the blanket kept out a little of the cold. Popeta had been right—he could not give away his blanket, since all things in the family belonged to the mother. Though he used it, the blanket was his mother’s property.
Then I must make Popeta one, he decided.
For many days his friends called him to play games, but he could not because he was hunting rabbits. He had no idea it took so many to make a blanket. He gave the meat either to his mother or to Popeta, and he sat late into the night cleaning and tanning the skins. He sighed wearily. There was so much work and no fun. At times he was tempted to quit, but remembering Popeta’s tears during that cold night kept him going.
And the few hours he slept, he was always cold. He longed for his own rabbit fur blanket again.
After he had collected enough skins, he had to make many, many arrow points—the very best he could. Then he hurried to his cousin’s village, to the Blanket Maker.
“I will give you these fine arrow points if you will make me a blanket,” he said. “But I must have it quickly. The nights get colder and snow is now on the ground.”
Soon the blanket was finished and Acuma took it to Popeta. “This is yours. It should keep you warm.”
Popeta handed him back his own. “You are kind and it is a beautiful blanket. You have brought us so much meat that I am well. My mother and father do not feel hunger either.”
“I shall see that you have meat in your pot,” Acuma said in embarrassment, then hurried to his own campfire.
That night his uncle came to him.
“When the morning sun rises, you will come with me. It is time for you to enter the kiva to learn the things that will make you a man.”
Acuma’s heart leaped With joy. “I am pleased, my uncle. But tell me, why have you chosen the time as now? For these many moons I have been ready—knowing the making of arrow points, yucca fiber, and the hunt.”
“But the one thing you did not know, my son, you have learned,” Tanolo replied. “A boy plays and gives no thought to others. A man gives up his playing when there is work to be done. Because your dog caused misery to another, you did what was your duty to do, and you did it without complaint. I have watched you and my heart is proud. You shall be known as Acuma, the one who has the heart of a man, though his body is still that of a boy.”

“We have some great progenitors on the Paramore side of my family,” Elder Paramore continued. “My grandmother left Denmark alone at the age of eight. Her mother put her on a boat with a tag around her neck addressed to a place in Utah. When she arrived in New York, some Mormon missionaries who had arranged to meet her there helped put her aboard the train that would take her to Ephraim, Utah. What an experience for an eight-year-old child! It makes me weep to think about it. I’m sure her mother thought that this was a wonderful chance for her daughter to be where the Church was strong.”

The case of a young man, the father of four children, whom we called upon to speak in a stake conference in eastern Utah, emphasizes the desirability of family traditions, special occasions, and warm family relationships.
On each anniversary of their marriage, this couple planned something special to do. Now they had looked forward as a family to observing their tenth anniversary. The father arranged his vacation to cover that period of time. But suddenly it became necessary for his wife to enter the hospital for surgery. He and the children felt sorry for her because she was in the hospital. At the same time she was sad, thinking that her husband and the children would be disappointed. But when she read the little note that came with a bouquet of flowers, she felt better, for it read: “Sweetheart, ten years with you have seemed like ten days, but ten days without you have seemed like ten years.” Signed, “Bill.”

Janet was new in my class. I knew right away that she wasn’t someone I wanted for a friend because whenever Mrs. Shell said anything to her, she put her finger in her mouth and said, “Duuuuuh,” then laughed as if it were really funny. A lot of other kids laughed too. Mrs. Shell didn’t.
On the playground, Janet was a bully. One day she was pushing a little kid around until a teacher stopped her. When she called the teacher a name, she was sent to see the principal. From then on, it seemed that Janet spent almost as much time in the principal’s office as she did in our classroom.
I stayed away from her because she was always getting into trouble. She didn’t like me, anyway. She couldn’t call me by my name, Esther—she called me Redhead-Wet-the-Bed. I thought she enjoyed being mean.
In January I went into the Merrie Miss class in Primary. There were seven girls in my class, but only six of us came. Janet was the seventh. When Sister Card asked us about Janet, we told her what kind of a girl Janet was. She hadn’t been to church since her family had moved into the neighborhood, so we hadn’t even known that she was a member.
Sister Card went to Janet’s house several times to invite her to Primary, but she didn’t come. Nobody in her family came to church. Sister Card suggested that we try something as a class to see if we could get Janet to come to Primary. We weren’t very eager to do it, because we were all a little bit afraid of her. She was different from us, and we didn’t understand her. But Sister Card said she would help us, so we finally agreed.
We had a hard time deciding what to do. “Maybe we need to try to understand why Janet acts and talks the way she does,” said Sister Card. “That might help us come up with a good idea.”
I knew why she acted and talked like she did. I said, “Her whole family acts and talks like that, even her mother and father. I’ve heard them when I walk past their house.”
“Yes, I suppose they do,” said Sister Card sadly. “Do you think there are any other reasons for her behavior?”
“Maybe she’s lonely,” said Christina.
“Maybe she is,” said Sister Card. “What do you think we could do to help her realize that we like her?”
“Let’s be pixies to her for a week!” said Mandi excitedly.
“That’s a good idea,” Sister Card said, smiling.
Well, we planned to deliver something to Janet every day for a week, beginning on Sunday. It was kind of scary going up to her porch after dark to ring the doorbell and hope we could run and hide fast enough to not get caught. Each night it got to be more and more of a challenge because everyone in her family began watching for us. We decided to reveal ourselves on Saturday and take her a necklace with a little gold heart and a note telling her that we loved her and wanted her to come and be part of our Primary class.
Ringing the doorbell and hiding had been fun, but meeting Janet face-to-face was going to be different. We were all nervous, even Sister Card, because we didn’t know what Janet would do or say. As we stood on the porch, getting ready to ring the doorbell, the door flew open and Joel, Janet’s eight-year-old brother, yelled, “I caught you!”
We must have all jumped a foot in the air. Then we started laughing. Finally Sister Card asked if Janet was home. Joel left us standing on the porch while he went to look for her.
Just when we began to think they had forgotten us, Janet appeared at the door. She looked a little uncertain when she saw all of us standing there.
“Hello, Janet,” Sister Card said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “I’m Sister Card, your Primary teacher. You remember me, don’t you? And I think you already know all of these girls from school.”
Janet barely nodded her head.
Sister Card then looked at us expectantly. We had decided earlier that we couldn’t let Sister Card do all the talking, or Janet might think it was only the teacher who wanted her to come to Primary. We looked at each other, and then Kelly said, “We wanted to do something special for you so that you would know that we like you.”
“Yeah,” I said, feeling a bit more courageous. “We hope you got all the things we’ve been bringing you.”
Before I could go on, Janet said, “Oh, so it was you guys who were bringing that stuff. I guess you’re trying to bribe me into going to Primary. That’s kind of what they tried to do where we lived before, too, but it didn’t work. I just don’t like to go to church.”
We were all stunned. No one said anything. Janet looked triumphant, like she had just scored a crucial point.
Then Sister Card spoke. “No, Janet, we’re not here to bribe you. We brought you those gifts to let you know that we like you, just as Kelly said. We brought one more today.” She handed Janet the necklace, beautifully wrapped in a small box, accompanied by a card with the note we had all signed.
“Thanks,” Janet said, as she took the gift, “but don’t expect to see me at church.”
And she went inside and closed the door.