Gospel Story Finder

When I was a boy, my family wasn’t very active in the Church. When my older brother, Ron, was turning 12, a man in the ward convinced him to become a deacon.
Ron started going to church. He didn’t want to go alone, so he convinced me to go with him. I was only about seven, but I’d sit on the bench behind the deacons and watch Ron pass the sacrament.
At first I didn’t like church too well. It was hard for me to sit still. But I kept going because Ron promised me a small bag of candy for every time I went with him. So I probably ate more candy than any boy around.
When Ron was about 17 and I was about 12, his teacher told him that he needed to gain a testimony of his own. He said to me, “I intend to find out for myself if the Church is true. I’m going to pay any price to know for myself.”
Over the next few weeks, I watched him. I’d find him on his knees praying. I’d see him reading the Book of Mormon. I was amazed at how diligent he was.
One morning a few weeks later, I found Ron lying on his bed with his knees tucked up on his chest. He had great pain in his lower right abdomen.
My mom called for an ambulance. As we stood there over my brother, Ron said to my dad through gritted teeth, “Please, I need a priesthood blessing.” I didn’t know if my dad knew how to give a priesthood blessing. I’d never seen him do it. But he laid his hands on my brother’s head and pronounced a blessing of healing. About the time my dad said, “Amen,” Ron jumped off the bed and said the pain was totally gone. He was absolutely thrilled that the Lord had answered his prayer through that blessing.
My parents still took my brother to the hospital to be checked. All the doctors could say was that Ron’s symptoms sounded like he had had a ruptured appendix, but now they could find no trace of a problem.
Later that day, Ron told me, “Gene, I now know that the gift of healing is real. When Dad put his hands on my head, I felt the Spirit of the Lord go through my whole body. I know the priesthood is real.”
Then he said, “I also now know for myself that the Church is true. Not because of the healing, but because of what has been happening to me in reading the Book of Mormon. I’ve got my testimony by reading and praying over every page. I know all that we’ve been taught in the Church is correct, and I am going on a mission.” I’d never heard Ron say that before. It was evident to me, even as a young boy, that he had really been impacted by something.
After Ron left me alone, I thought to myself, “If the Lord would tell my brother, then I’ll bet the Lord would tell me.” So I did what my brother did, reading and praying over every page of the Book of Mormon. Because I was still young, I didn’t understand a lot of the words, but it wasn’t long before I began to feel the Lord speak to me in my heart, telling me it was true. I read the whole book through and ended up with a strong testimony even at age 12. That really helped me through my youth and in preparation for a mission.
I have always been thankful for my good brother, who loved me enough to show me by example how to gain a testimony.
Ron became the first one in our family to serve a mission. And then I went, and my younger brother too. My sister served a number of stake missions. My entire family became active in good measure because of the impact of my brother. Children, I know that you too can have a great influence for good on your family. Praying every morning and night and reading the scriptures will help you develop your own testimony. That testimony will be a wonderful blessing to you and will strengthen others as you share your personal testimony with them.

Marlene Harris was ironing a skirt for the Halloween dance planned later that night when a knock thundered at the door. “Quick, get out, the building’s on fire!”
Her first reaction was, “Just a Halloween trick.” Then she smelled smoke. “Fire! Fire!” she yelled to her four roommates. The five began madly scrambling in seven directions as they scooped up various items to rescue from the flames before stumbling through the doorway and down the stairs.
Moments later Marlene, a bundle securely in her arms, was standing in the cold with 50 other college students. “At least I saved something,” she thought to herself as the firemen arrived. A chill wind caused her to shiver; she’d forgotten her coat.
Walter Steele, who lived in one of the basement apartments, stood next to her, apparently toasty warm in his overcoat, gloves, and winter hat. He was munching on pieces of a large bar.
“At least you’re prepared,” she commented, envying his coat.
“Yeah, it runs in the family. My great-grandfather used to hitch his mules each morning facing east, just in case he got the call for Jackson County. Have a bite?”
“What is it?”
“Survival ration bar, made for emergencies. Quite good, really. Here.” He broke off another chunk and handed it to her. Marlene shifted her bundle and took the piece. She mumbled her thanks as she nibbled the concoction.
“Made from oatmeal, powdered milk, sugar, honey, and flavored gelatin,” he commented. “Good emergency ration, about 1,000 calories, in one of these,” Walt added as he tried another bite. “Not really hungry, but this is the first time I’ve been in an emergency, and I’m going to make the most of it.”
“Not bad, I mean the bar.”
“Part of being prepared.”
“I guess you got that from your great-grandfather,” she answered, trying to break his smugness.
“Naw, I even flunked Scouting.”
Marlene smiled.
“It’s true, though. I’ve been prepared for emergencies for years. I have a couple of bundles of food and supplies on the closet floor. They’re good for three days. Then I have a two-week supply stashed under the bed. Now I’m working on my year’s supply. I’m ready for fire, flood, earthquake, famine, and just about anything else.”
“A flood here in these mountains?”
“Never know; it only takes one. Look at Idaho and Colorado. Anyway, I also rehearsed what I would do in case of different emergencies, and when the alarm came tonight, I was able to calmly evaluate my needs for this situation. I had enough time for my overclothes, this bar, and this knapsack of legal papers and genealogical research.”
Walt looked around at the crowd. “Nobody else here is prepared. Even the landlord failed to install product-of-combustion alarms in the complex. Fortunately I had a smoke detector with me, and I put it in my room. That’s how we learned of the fire.
“Look at that girl in the bathrobe, slippers, and wet hair. Then there is Art over there shaking in his shirt-sleeves, but he rescued his skis, boots, and poles.”
Marlene joined in the inventory. “My roommate there has all her books for the semester, Laura brought clothes from her closet, and Becky’s holding her record collection.”
“A real help in an emergency,” he commented dryly. “By the way, what’s in your arms?”
Marlene looked down and took stock for the first time. She blushed. “Ironing.”
He laughed, then apologized, unslung his knapsack and pulled off his coat. “Here, wear this until we can go back inside. I still don’t see any flames.”
“That’s fair enough,” she replied, mollified, “if you’ll wrap these around your bare feet.”
The fireman came out of the downstairs laundry room. The cause of alarm had been a pile of clothes left against the gas water heater. Marlene, Walt, and the others were able to return to their apartments and continue preparations for the evening’s activities. The emergency was over.

While we lived in South America, our eldest son reached the age to fill a mission. He was the first missionary to leave our little branch composed mainly of converts. The closing prayer at his farewell was offered by one of the new converts. He expressed this thought: “Heavenly Father, we have seen missionaries come. They have blessed our lives. Now we see that we must send missionaries. Help us to rear our sons to serve.”
That prayer of faith was answered. When that man’s son was nineteen, he was called to go to Italy. I received this note about him from the president of the branch where he labored.
“We have known Elder LaBuonora since he arrived six months ago. … In the short time he has been here he has baptized nine people.
“Because you knew him before, I share a little experience. We were visiting one of our sick members in the hospital. … In the ward of about twenty people, there was a three-year-old boy whose mother had abandoned him when he was born. He has had no one to love him. The child was playing in his crib and needed his nose wiped. So Elder LaBuonora wiped his nose with the tenderness of a real father, held him in his arms for a minute, kissed him, and put him gently back in bed. The expression on the child’s face was a mixture of surprise and security. We believe this young man is the greatest missionary we have seen. What a blessing he is to our mission and branch.”
It is a further evidence of faith to note that President LaBuonora, the father who prayed that they could rear their sons to serve, has since sent his second son into the mission field.

In another instance, some of the young men and women in one ward found themselves wavering in their testimonies and uncomfortable with Church activity. One day they decided, under the guidance of a very wise bishop, to involve themselves actively with several of the elderly members of the ward who were homebound. They divided into small groups, with each group determined to develop a family-like relationship with one of the homebound members. On a regular basis the young women and young men prepared meals that they and their elderly friends enjoyed together in the homes of the elderly members. Each Sunday the young men took the sacrament into the homes. On occasion, they arranged to hold special family home evenings together. These activities caused a remarkable change in the attitude of the young people toward themselves, toward the elderly, and toward the Church. They found a way to express the gospel of Christ through giving loving service.

“Cassie,” her father called, “will you please see if the morning newspaper is here yet?”
Cassie got slowly off the couch and dragged her feet to the front door. She stopped a moment, closed her eyes, and whispered, “Please, please let there be a story about a circus or a baseball game on the front page.”
She opened the door and glanced at the paper resting on the doormat. “War Escalates” shouted the big, black headline. She quickly rolled up the paper with the headline on the inside and ran to give it to Dad.
That morning was current events day at school. Jason brought the front-page story about the war. Miranda brought an article about a hurricane in the Caribbean. Cassie’s clipping was about a dog who could water ski. Her teacher reminded her that a story about a dog was not important news, but she didn’t care. The entire current events bulletin board was covered with stories about wars, disasters, and crime. She pinned her cute picture of the dog where she could easily see it.
Cassie was glad to get home after school. She did her homework and helped Mom with the dinner dishes. Dad invited her to come sit beside him in the family room and tell about her day while he watched the news. She had just started talking about the funny article she had taken for current events, when the news showed pictures of children who had been hurt when a bomb exploded.
Cassie ran to her room and closed the door. She threw herself on the bed and covered her head with pillows. Her throat was tight, and her stomach felt like it did on the roller coaster at the fair. Tears rolled down her cheeks and onto her comforter.
After a long time, Cassie heard a soft knock on the door, “May I come in, Cassie?” her mother asked quietly.
“I guess so.” Cassie’s voice was muffled by her pillows.
“Honey, what’s wrong? Did you have a bad day at school?”
“Not exactly,” Cassie mumbled through the pillows.
“Would you like to talk about whatever is bothering you? I can come back later if you want to be alone for now.” Mom sat down on the edge of the bed.
Cassie rolled over onto her back, and the pillows slid onto the floor. She lay staring at the ceiling for a moment, then finally said, “Mom, does Heavenly Father love everyone the same?”
“Yes, He does.”
“Then why are there wars where people get hurt and die? Why are so many people in the world unhappy? If Heavenly Father loves us, why doesn’t He stop the fighting?”
Mom thought for a moment. “Those are good questions. Let’s see if we can find some answers. Do you remember a few months ago in family home evening when we talked about our life before we came to earth? We learned about an important meeting at which Heavenly Father presented His plan for us.”
“I remember. Satan wanted to make everyone choose the right way so we would all return to Heavenly Father.”
“That’s right,” Mom replied. “Why wasn’t his idea a good one?”
“Because we would lose the right to choose for ourselves.”
“That’s right—Heavenly Father knew that it was better to let us choose to follow His commandments, even though He knew that some of us would choose to disobey and that many would not be able to return to live with Him.
“He also knew that some people would choose to hurt other people, even good people and children. He knew that Satan would work very hard to get us to hurt each other, because Satan doesn’t want us to live with Heavenly Father again. He wants us to be unhappy, like he is.”
Cassie rolled onto her side and looked at her mother. She had an important question to ask, but she was afraid to hear the answer. “What if a war starts here? I’m afraid someone in our family will be hurt or killed.”
Mom gathered Cassie into her arms and rocked her gently. “Oh, honey, I wish I could promise you that nothing bad will ever happen to any of us. There may never be a war here in our town, but as the world turns more and more to wickedness, there will be more dangers and more trials that we will have to deal with as best we can.”
Cassie began to cry again. “I just can’t stand it, Mom. Everywhere I look there is sadness and pain. I wish I had been born some other time.”
“There has always been suffering in the world, Cassie, but I think I know how you feel—sometimes it’s a little bit overwhelming. But did you know that Heavenly Father saved you to come to earth now? You were strong in the premortal existence, and you had just the qualities that Heavenly Father knew you would need to be able to handle temptations and hardship.”
“Really?” Cassie thought for a moment. “Then why am I so afraid?”
“Because the world is a scary place for an eleven-year-old. I have several ideas that I think will help you, though. First, when you say your prayers every day, ask for peace to come to your heart. The Holy Ghost is a comforter, and He can make you feel better. He can’t take away the wars and fighting, but He can make it easier for you to deal with such problems. Second, I think you should ask Dad for a father’s blessing.”
Cassie remembered how she had felt better after her father’s blessing just before school started. “That’s a good idea. I always feel good after Dad blesses me.”
“Me, too,” said Mom. “Another thing that I think will help is to try to look for good things. Heavenly Father wants us to be happy. Even though we live in a wicked time when many things are happening that cause us pain, we can still find joy. You can enjoy a beautiful sunset, or playing with your brother and sister. Let Dad and me do some of your worrying for you, at least until you’re older.”
“OK,” Cassie sighed happily. “It’s a deal.”
“I know one other thing that I hope will help you, but it’s a surprise.”
“When will I find out what it is?” Cassie loved surprises.
“Give me a few days,” Mom answered, smiling mysteriously.
All that week Cassie tried hard to do as her mother had suggested. She did feel better after her father’s beautiful blessing, and she tried hard to enjoy every day. A few days later, she walked into her room after school, and there on her wall, hung where she would see it first thing every morning, was a beautiful cross-stitch picture in a large golden hoop. There were birds and flowers and butterflies on it, and right in the middle was the scripture in John 14:27—“Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.”

by Vickie Toy
Early one hazy September morning a large group of teenagers showed up on Main Street in Shelley, Idaho, with brushes and paint cans, determined to paint the town red or whatever color the proprietors of the businesses selected.
In total, the group of youth from the Shelley Idaho Stake cleaned up and painted 11 stores. Even the local bar got a new coat of paint, as well as the police station. They also cleared away rubbish, pulled weeds, and planted hundreds of flowers.
With a population of 4,000, Shelley is largely an LDS community. The cleanup day was designed by caring Young Men and Young Women leaders to give the youth an opportunity to experience the joy of service.
“I thought it looked real neat when we cleaned up the town,” said Norina Cox, 12. “I was proud to say I helped.”
“I liked the feeling I got when we fixed up Shelley. It was worth the effort,” added Kristen Sargis.
The downtown street was deteriorating. Over the years, businesses had closed and storefronts stood vacant. Plans for the downtown cleanup started long before the activity took place. Church leaders met with the city council and the Chamber of Commerce to coordinate plans. Paint was donated, and equipment offered.
At the end of a hard day, the youth gathered to celebrate at a street dance held in a local parking lot.
“I’d been involved in Scout service projects before,” said Shane Thiemann, “but this was a giant one. It improved the way people feel about our town.”

Lily: My mother came to live with me about six years ago. After a while, she began behaving strangely. She made odd decisions like putting her clothes on backwards or inside out and not taking responsibility for her actions. After about two years and much frustration regarding her behavior, I went to the Lord in prayer and asked for the ability to understand her. I soon received the answer that she had dementia, and then a doctor officially confirmed this answer I received. Her experience has been a difficult road to navigate. But with the knowledge, experience, and patience Stephen has gained through caring for Kay, he and I have been able to work together to care for my mother effectively as her condition has worsened.

Some years ago, I found an article in a local newspaper so intriguing that I saved it. The front-page headline read, “Determined Dog Won’t Abandon Lost Sheep.” This article describes a small number of sheep belonging to an operation not far from my friend’s property that were somehow left behind in their summer range. Two or three months later, they became stranded and snowbound in the mountains. When the sheep were left behind, the sheepdog stayed with them, for it was his duty to look after and protect the sheep. He would not go off watch! There he remained—circling about the lost sheep for months in the cold and snowy weather, serving as a protection against coyotes, mountain lions, or any other predator that would harm the sheep. He stayed there until he was able to lead or herd the sheep back to the safety of the shepherd and the flock. The image captured on the front page of this article allows one to see character in the eyes and demeanor of this sheepdog.

I want to thank you for the Q&A in the March 1996 issue. It was about a girl who didn’t think she was pretty. All through grade school, my classmates and peers told me I was ugly, so I believed it. No one else told me anything different, except my parents. And I thought that was just their “job.” As I got older, people at church and some girls at school told me they thought I was pretty. Then I moved and had a fresh start. Now when a guy is interested in me, I wonder why. I have learned to not judge others by their looks because I know what it feels like. This article really boosted me and helped me feel important and better about myself.
Name WithheldOregon

My dear brothers and sisters, when I was 12 years old, my family lived in Göteborg, a coastal city in southern Sweden. By way of reference, it is the hometown of our dear associate Elder Per G. Malm,1 who passed away this summer. We miss him. We’re grateful for his nobility and his noble service and for the example of his absolutely adorable family. And we certainly pray God’s richest blessings to be theirs.
Fifty years ago, we attended church in a large remodeled home. One Sunday, my friend Steffan,2 the only other deacon in the branch, greeted me at church with some excitement. We went to the chapel’s adjacent overflow area, and he pulled from his pocket a large firecracker and some matches. In an act of youthful bravado, I took the firecracker and lit the long gray fuse. I intended to snuff out the fuse before it blew up. But when I burned my fingers trying to do so, I dropped the firecracker. Steffan and I watched in horror as the fuse continued to burn.
The firecracker exploded, and sulfurous fumes filled the overflow area and the chapel. We hurriedly gathered up the scattered remnants of the firecracker and opened the windows to try to get the smell out, naively hoping that no one would notice. Fortunately, no one was hurt and no damage was done.
As members came to the meeting, they did notice the overpowering smell. It was hard to miss. The smell distracted from the sacred nature of the meeting. Because there were so few Aaronic Priesthood holders—and in what can only be described as dissociative thinking—I passed the sacrament, yet I did not feel worthy to partake of it. When the sacrament tray was offered to me, I took neither the bread nor the water. I felt horrible. I was embarrassed, and I knew that what I had done had displeased God.
After church, the branch president, Frank Lindberg, a distinguished older man with silver-gray hair, asked me to come to his office. After I sat down, he looked at me kindly and said he had noticed that I had not partaken of the sacrament. He asked why. I suspect he knew why. I was sure everyone knew what I had done. After I told him, he asked how I felt. Through tears, I haltingly told him I was sorry and that I knew I had let God down.
President Lindberg opened a well-worn copy of the Doctrine and Covenants and asked me to read some underlined verses. I read the following out loud:
“Behold, he who has repented of his sins, the same is forgiven, and I, the Lord, remember them no more.
“By this ye may know if a man repenteth of his sins—behold, he will confess them and forsake them.”3
I will never forget President Lindberg’s compassionate smile when I looked up after I had finished reading. With some emotion, he told me that he felt it would be fine for me to resume partaking of the sacrament. As I left his office, I felt indescribable joy.
We can—and sometimes do—make different choices. Such choices may not seem intrinsically wrong, but they prevent us from becoming truly penitent and thus preclude our pursuit of real repentance. For instance, we may choose to blame others. As a 12-year-old in Göteborg, I could have blamed Steffan. He was the one who brought the big firecracker and the matches to the church in the first place. But blaming others, even if justified, allows us to excuse our behavior. By so doing, we shift responsibility for our actions to others. When the responsibility is shifted, we diminish both the need and our ability to act. We turn ourselves into hapless victims rather than agents capable of independent action.13
Another choice that impedes repentance is minimizing our mistakes. In the Göteborg firecracker incident, no one was hurt, no permanent damage occurred, and the meeting was held anyway. It would have been easy to say that there was no reason to repent. But minimizing our mistakes, even if no immediate consequences are apparent, removes the motivation to change. This thinking prevents us from seeing that our mistakes and sins have eternal consequences.
Additionally, we forgo real repentance when we choose to separate God from His commandments. After all, if the sacrament were not sacred, it would not matter that the smell of the firecracker was disruptive to that Göteborg sacrament meeting. We should be wary of discounting sinful behavior by undermining or dismissing God’s authorship of His commandments. Real repentance requires recognizing the Savior’s divinity and the truthfulness of His latter-day work.
I still remember the feelings that washed over me in the branch president’s office after the firecracker episode. I knew I had been forgiven. My feelings of guilt vanished, my gloomy mood lifted, and my heart felt light.

Growing up in the small town of Aurora, Utah, I learned the power of prayer. We lived on a cattle and dairy farm, and our animals were essential to our livelihood. We knew each of them by name, and whenever one of them got sick, my father always prayed for it. Once when a cow named Old Blue became bloated with air in her stomach, my father knelt right there in the field and offered a prayer for her. Old Blue recovered.

Because my mother and father each belonged to different churches, they decided when they married that their children would not be forced into one faith or another. Instead, they would be sent to the nearest church and allowed to make up their own minds about religion once they knew the choices available. I had attended four different churches by my early teen years, and had occasionally attended my relatives’ church when they were visiting.
However, one of my friend’s mother died when I was fourteen, and I began to wonder about our existence here on earth. My mind wandered back to the days I had spent at church, and I decided to use all the knowledge I had to search for the true church on the earth—should there really be one.
I went back to the church into which I had been christened. I enjoyed the worship, but each time I asked questions, I was told just to attend—we didn’t need those answers. To me, if there was a God, a loving Father, I would view him much like my own earthly father—someone who wanted me to grow and search out the truth. I could not believe that a God who wished to keep me in ignorance would be my Heavenly Father.
I went back to other churches I had attended, then studied Judaism and Islam, as well as Christian denominations I had never before explored. Although these religions included many fine teachings, I felt the complete truth was still missing.
My parents had always encouraged me to search for myself. Once I had begun my examination of a particular faith, they would not take me to church. They made me find my own way, feeling that only if I struggled for something would I then hold it dear.
One afternoon as our family drove out of town, we passed a chapel of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Jokingly, my father said, “You’ve not tried there yet.” I asked what kind of church it was, and he said it was the Mormon church. I remarked that the name on the front of the Church didn’t say that, and he responded, “Mormon is only their nickname; but don’t try them. They’re an odd lot.”
Since the church building was some four miles from my home, I decided to write and ask about their beliefs. The following week, a letter arrived for me from the branch president, inviting me to attend their meetings. I felt excited, yet nervous, as I read it—something I had never felt before while investigating a church. I decided it was time for me to ask my Heavenly Father about this.
I wasn’t quite sure what to say, since the Lord’s Prayer was the only one I had said before. However, as I finished a simple prayer asking the Lord to show me the way, I heard my mother call me. I went downstairs to find two men sitting in the front room. They had come to our door to see if our family would like to know more about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My mother had asked them if they had come in answer to my letter, but they said they had never heard of me.
I sat silently while the three spoke together, and for the first time in my life all that my mother said seemed confusing, yet these two men made everything so clear. That night I thanked the Lord for sending the truth to me.
The next Sunday I set off on my bicycle to find the LDS meetinghouse. I arrived, but, too nervous to go in alone, I waited for someone else and asked if I could walk in with them. Once I was inside the church, a warm feeling came over me. The missionaries soon spotted me.
As weeks went by, the missionaries taught me the gospel and challenged me to be baptized. I quickly accepted, but my parents had other ideas. I was only sixteen and they didn’t think I was really serious. But they told me that if I still wanted to join the Church when I was eighteen, they would give their permission.
The morning of my eighteenth birthday was beautiful. I opened my birthday gifts and left for college classes knowing that the best part of the day would be at 7:30 that evening, when I would be baptized.
My family met me for lunch. Shortly after eating, I became ill and began to have great pain. My mother suggested I go home, where she put me to bed. I couldn’t sleep. The pain was so great that I got out of bed and knelt in prayer. As I pleaded for the Lord to take away the pain so I could go through with my long-awaited baptism, a great darkness filled the room. Frightened, I cried for help to see me through this terror. When I opened my eyes, it was three hours later and my older sister stood beside me. She asked how I was and suggested I get ready for the baptism. I looked out of the window and saw the sun was shining brightly. I thanked my Father in Heaven for my answered prayer, and my family and I went to the church.
My baptism was one of the most beautiful experiences of my life. I renewed the promise I had made to my Father in Heaven two years earlier to serve him as a missionary. After my baptism, I started taking my younger sister to church. She was later baptized after I returned from my mission. Although my parents are still not members of the Church, I am grateful for the way they taught me and the desire they gave me to search for the truth.

I know how real the hooks of mortality can be. One Sunday, as a new convert, I was teaching a priesthood class when an unsettling conversation arose. I struggled to finish my lesson. I took offense and felt that I was the victim. Without saying a word, I headed for the exit with the idea that I would not return to church for a while.
At that very moment, a concerned priesthood holder stood in front of me. He lovingly invited me to focus on Christ and not on the situation we had experienced in class. As I looked back on the experience with him, he shared with me that he heard a voice tell him, “Go after him; he is important to me.”
My dear friends, we are all important to Him. President Nelson taught that “because of our covenant with God, He will never tire in His efforts to help us, and we will never exhaust His merciful patience with us.” Our divine nature and covenant relationship with God entitle us to receive divine help.

“Choo, choo. Here comes the train!” Luke drove the big black train across the floor and put it in the matching spot on the puzzle board.
“Vroom. This car goes fast!” James raced the police car to the puzzle board.
“Beep, beep. Watch out for the school bus!” Luke said.
James picked up an airplane and flew it toward the puzzle board. “Incoming!”
Uh-oh. Only one puzzle piece was left. What could Luke do?
Luke picked up the fire truck and held it out to James. “Let’s do the fire truck together,” he said. Luke and James made siren sounds as they finished the puzzle together.

I decided I wanted to help too. I asked my parents if we could have a garage sale and donate the money we earned to the village. My mom told me she didn’t know how to send the money straight to the village, but we could donate the money to the Church Humanitarian Aid Fund. She explained that the Humanitarian Aid Fund uses the money to help places like that village.
I went to my room and looked for toys I could sell in the garage sale. My mom and other family members helped find other things we could sell. I made a goal for how much money I wanted to donate.
We had our garage sale on a Saturday morning and were able to raise most of the money. We donated the things we didn’t sell to a thrift store. I also donated some of my money from chores to help reach the goal, and my parents told me they would help too.
Finally I was able to reach my goal and donate the money for people like the villagers who had lost their homes. It might take longer for me to save up for things I want after donating some of my money, but I’m glad I was able to help them. My mom said that doing this blessed our family because we were helping others.

Lizzie: My senior year of high school, I remember a teacher giving us some “advice.” She had married right out of high school, and it ended badly, so she basically told us that “there are a lot of fish in the sea.” She meant that there are a lot of things for us to try, a lot of candidates to try out. I remember being shocked that my teacher would say that. Since that time I have thought that, yes, there are a lot of people, but I don’t want a lot of people!

Layna Cahone ran lightly up the front steps of the house and into the living room. “Dad,” she called, “are you home?”
“In the kitchen.”
She went to the kitchen doorway. Her father stood by the stove, stirring something in a small pan. “I knew that you’d be too busy again to fix supper,” he said, “so I opened a can of soup.”
Layna felt a quick stab of guilt. She had thought having just herself and her father home would be rather enjoyable. Charles was in the service, and Mother had gone to help Anne with her first baby. Layna had promised that she’d see to it that her father had adequate meals and clean clothes, but she realized now that she’d been pretty lax.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get here earlier, Dad,” she told him, “but I was talking to Debbie and forgot the time. You want toast with your soup?”
“Never mind, dear, but it would be nice if you would—”
“Oh, good grief,” she cried, “just look how late it is! I’m supposed to be at a meeting—decorating committee for the dance. May I take the car?”
He inclined his head slightly toward the hook behind the door where the car keys hung. Hurrying out, Layna thought briefly that her father must have had an especially tiring day. The lines around his mouth appeared deeper than usual, and his skin looked gray.
For a moment Layna paused with her hand on the car door. She really should go back and at least fix him dessert; but then, remembering the confusion in the school auditorium—decorations half finished, no decision made on the music—she climbed into the car and drove away.
Darkness had fallen before she reached home again. All the windows were dark. Wondering where her father could have gone, Layna turned on the kitchen lights. His soup, uneaten, was on the kitchen table. A cold chill went through her.
“Dad?” She flipped on a lamp in the living room. Her father lay on the couch. His hands, clenched into fists, were on his chest and his eyes were closed. Layna ran to him and bent down, realizing at once that he was fighting desperately to breathe.
“Oh, Daddy,” she cried, “what is it? What’s the matter?”
His eyes opened. “Heart,” he gasped hoarsely. “Doctor—”
Layna rushed to the phone, grateful that emergency numbers were written down, because her fingers shook so badly she had trouble dialing the doctor’s home number. She breathed a silent prayer of thanksgiving when Dr. Shannon, answering, said, “An ambulance will be there in just a few minutes. I’ll meet you at the hospital.”
But even though she knew that little more than fifteen minutes had passed before she and her father were speeding toward the hospital, Layna hadn’t known a stretch of time could be so agonizingly long. She looked at her father, lying half conscious on a stretcher, telling herself over and over, “I wouldn’t know what to do if my father died.” What would life be like without the good, quiet man whose gentle strength had supported her every day of her life? She knew that a world without him would be not only empty but frightening.
At the hospital her father was wheeled down a long, busy corridor. After she could no longer see him, Layna stood, not knowing what to do, until a nurse came to ask if she could register for her father at the front desk.
In the office a woman asked, “Does your father carry insurance?” and Layna remembered the card he carried in his wallet.
“I’ll have the orderly get it and bring it to you,” the lady said.
The sight of the wallet, handed to her a few moments later by a young man in a white coat, made Layna intensely aware of the seriousness of her father’s condition. She took the wallet, feeling the soft leather, worn smooth, and after giving the woman the necessary information, she went to call her mother, who assured her that she’d be there by morning. Then she sat in the waiting room, holding the wallet tightly, as though she could gain comfort from something that was his.
Thinking of how many important things the wallet held, Layna remembered a picture that she knew her father had carried for a while—a snapshot of herself and Charles and Anne taken in the mountains one summer. Wondering whether the picture was still there, she opened the wallet. As she did so, a tightly folded piece of paper fell out.
Absently she unfolded it. As she read the brief paragraph, she knew with a stabbing sense of her own failure that a letter she had seen in a newspaper the week before, one that had touched her, had also been seen and saved by her father.
She read the clipping again: “I have lived nearly fifty-five years and have worked hard to care for my family. My children have all they need. Why can’t they see me as a person who loves them and needs their affection? I’d gladly give every cent I have if my son or one of my daughters would only take my hand and say, ‘I love you, Dad.’”
Layna folded the clipping carefully as tears streamed down her cheeks. Oh, Daddy, she thought, don’t die. I want a chance to say what I’ve been too thoughtless to say to you all these years.
Slowly the hours passed. Layna rested, eyes closed, remembering many little things about her father, such as the day when she was in her early years at school and had complained because he absentmindedly took steps that were too long, and then how, smiling, he had shortened his stride to fit hers. She thought about one of her birthdays; he had come home from work looking a little sheepish because the stuffed tiger he’d bought for her was too big to wrap.
She remembered big things, too, like the time she’d had her appendix out and had awakened to see her father sitting beside her bed. She had known immediately that she’d be all right. She thought of the nights when she’d gone on dates and he had told her, “I know we can trust you.”
Just then Dr. Shannon came into the room. Jumping up, Layna ran to him. He put his hand on her arm.
“Everything’s fine, Layna,” he assured her gently. “Your father’s resting.”
After drawing a shaky breath, Layna asked, “Can I see him?”
The doctor nodded. “Yes, but just for a minute.”
Slowly, feeling almost shy, Layna entered the room where her father lay on a high, narrow bed. How strange, she thought, to see him so quiet, this big man who was always busy and interested. His face was white, but the worry lines on his forehead seemed eased, his eyes composed.
Pulling a chair close to the bed, Layna sat down. She looked at her father and smiled, then covered his strong, work-worn hand with hers.
“Daddy,” she said softly, “I love you.”

This seminary year of home study in the Cambridge Ward in England was going to be different, I thought to myself. The weekly lessons on Tuesday nights were fun because of the close friendships the class had. The previous year my friend Helena and I tried to make the work easier on ourselves. I took the odd-numbered sections of the manual, and Helena took the evens. We each completed the work for those sections and then swapped answers. I have to confess: this was a step up from the year before when I had spent a day at her house copying all her work.
I resolved that this year was going to be different. I was going to take the initiative to learn all my scripture mastery scriptures (not just crumple and smooth out every page in my triple combination with a scripture mastery item to make it easier to turn to) and keep up to date with the home-study manual, if not get ahead. I imagined myself as the shining example to all my classmates. I went to the first class of the new term with my manual, pencil, and newly sharpened red scripture marker in hand and smugly told Helena that I would no longer be needing her help. I would, for a change, be doing the work myself. Or at least that was the plan.
A month later I knew I was already over my head and would need to slog it out for a whole weekend to catch up. A few weeks later I still hadn’t done as much as open the manual, and I tentatively asked Helena how she was doing in her home-study manual, in the hope we could come to an arrangement.
“Oh, when you said you were going to get ahead in the manual, I followed your example and I’m now a whole month-and-a-half ahead in the book. Thanks. You were right,” Helena said smugly, knowing I had reverted to my old ways. I was stuck and had lost my partner in crime.
I decided that I needed a daily reminder to read my scriptures and fill out my manual. It would be hard, and wading through at least three sections of the manual in a short amount of time did not sound appealing. I tried several techniques to remind me to do at least an hour of seminary work every day.
I tried reasoning that after my favorite TV show I would do an hour every evening, but favorite shows were followed by favorite shows, and even when the evening news came on, I was still not motivated. The prayer rock placed on my pillow or where I would tread on it to remind me soon ended up in the back garden after countless bruises on my forehead and stubbed toes. Willpower was not working, and I needed a way to be a bit more diligent in my seminary study.
I decided to pray to Heavenly Father to forgive me of my laziness and asked if He would help me to get down to work. I started putting up bright yellow sticky notes on my bunk bed and desk where I would see them and be reminded to read and study. For the most part they worked. I just had to back them up with constant prayer so that I wouldn’t become complacent.
A week before we had to have all our work turned in, I still had a few sections left to complete. I ended up at Helena’s home again, but this time we completed the remaining work together, reading through the scriptures and answering the questions. Even though I had left a lot of the work till late and had struggled to catch up, seminary turned out to be enjoyable and rewarding as I learned and retained more knowledge than any previous year of seminary. All thanks to Heavenly Father and a few well-placed sticky notes.

Six worlds were about to get ROCKED! Specifically, the individual worlds of my family and myself.
I’ve always had a strange obsession with glow sticks (let the raised eyebrows commence), and now I had a way to create my very own, insanely awesome, massive glow stick with a few basic ingredients from the store. This handy bit of knowledge came compliments of an Internet video I’d seen earlier that day.
“Prepare to be amazed!” I said as my family crowded into a dark bathroom for the science experiment. I combined the mystical-yet-everyday ingredients of hydrogen peroxide, baking soda, and a soft drink into a container. Then I turned out the lights and sat back to watch the show.
One problem. Combining those three ingredients doesn’t produce any sort of glow whatsoever. Zero, zilch, nada.
It was a hoax. I found out later that the people who made this video secretly added—wait for it—a glow stick to their bogus science gimmick. They set out to deceive people and got me good. My family and I all felt disappointment as we realized we’d been duped.

In July 2018, I received a temple recommend for the first time to do baptisms for the dead. After that, I thought that living well was good enough, and I did not feel the need to go back. Last year, in June 2023, I had some situations in my life that gave me the desire to return. Deep in my heart, I knew I should not postpone it any longer. I strongly felt the Spirit during general conference urging me to return to the temple, and I knew it was one of the things that God truly wanted me to do. I decided to put it on my to-do list for 2024 and made plans to travel to the Rio de Janeiro Brazil Temple.
After informing my husband of my intention to return to the temple and to receive my own endowment and fully committing to this decision, I encountered multiple obstacles. Through the months following, my financial situation weakened. Not only did I want to receive my endowment, but I also wanted to be sealed to my parents. This would require them to travel to the temple with me, which would require even more financial support. My finances continued to decline.
I also faced challenges at work that were beyond my control. I knew what was going on, but I made a conscious decision not to let it bother me. I kept praying for courage to continue and drew strength from the scriptures.
On the day of departure, my daughter’s airline booking was not confirmed. The travel agency had made a mistake, which added another problem. Just before we left for our temple trip, my children became sick. When they are sick, they want to be with me. As I was leaving, my children were crying, which was yet another difficulty, making it hard to leave. But with each obstacle, I believed that things would work out. How, I did not know, but God would help me.
My experience in the temple was truly miraculous. I had never felt Christ’s love so strongly before. I felt close to Heavenly Father and forgiven for my mistakes. I felt peace, strength, and wisdom to navigate my life and to make the right choices. I was blessed with more wisdom on how to be a better woman and mother, how to interact with people, how to deal with others’ imperfections, and how to be more patient.
I then had the opportunity to be sealed to my parents. Even though I missed my sisters at that moment, I had a very loving and miraculous experience. After leaving the temple, every problem I had placed in Heavenly Father’s hands was resolved.
I am very grateful that, despite every obstacle, I never gave up. Even though I felt weak and wondered why this happened, deep down, I knew I had to learn from these experiences and stay strong. I did stay strong and kept pushing through. I did it, and today, I have received my endowment and am sealed to my parents.