Gospel Story Finder

As a young man of 27, Wilford Woodruff was ordained a priest on November 5, 1834. Eight days later he began a two-year mission in the southern states. One night he and his companion found lodging with a family who provided them with a bare floor for a bed, which he described as “pretty hard after walking sixty miles without anything to eat.”
The next day they walked 12 miles through the rain until they came to the house of a man who happened to be a member of the Missouri mob. Brother Woodruff said: “The family were about to sit down to breakfast as we came in. In those days it was the custom of the Missourians to ask you to eat even though they were hostile to you; so he asked us to take breakfast, and we were very glad of the invitation. He knew we were Mormons; and as soon as we began to eat, he began to swear about the Mormons. He had a large platter of bacon and eggs, and plenty of bread on the table, and his swearing did not hinder our eating, for the harder he swore the harder we ate, until we got our stomachs full; then we arose from the table, took our hats, and thanked him for our breakfast. The last we heard of him he was still swearing. I trust the Lord will reward him for our breakfast.”

President Thomas S. Monson, today First Counselor in the First Presidency, visited the communist-controlled German Democratic Republic (GDR) for the first time in 1968. Meeting with a group of Latter-day Saints in the city of Görlitz, President Monson grieved as he realized these members could not fully enjoy many of the blessings of the gospel: they had no patriarch, no wards or stakes—only branches, and they could not attend the temple. “I stood at the pulpit,” he said, “and with tear-filled eyes and a voice choked with emotion, I made a promise to the people: ‘If you will remain true and faithful to the commandments of God, every blessing any member of the Church enjoys in any other country will be yours’” (“Thanks Be to God,” Ensign, May 1989, 51).
Seven years later, President Monson returned to the GDR, and on 27 April 1975, he offered a prayer rededicating the land for the advancement of the gospel. This plea was among his appeals for divine help in establishing peace and opening missionary work: “Heavenly Father, wilt Thou open up the way that the faithful may be accorded the privilege of going to Thy holy temple” (Thomas S. Monson, Faith Rewarded [1996], 36).
The fulfillment of these blessings could not be imagined at the time they were given. Manfred Heller, first counselor in the Dresden Ward bishopric, explains that before 1985 very few had the possibility of receiving temple blessings. Permission had to be obtained from government authorities to travel out of the country. In exceptional cases, people who were retired sometimes received permission and traveled to Switzerland for their endowment.
After years of exploring every possibility, the answer came. President Monson said: “Through the fasting and the prayers of many members, and in a most natural manner, government leaders proposed: Rather than having your people go to Switzerland to visit a temple, why don’t you build a temple here in the German Democratic Republic? The proposal was accepted, a choice parcel of property obtained in Freiberg, and ground broken for a beautiful temple of God” (Ensign, May 1989, 51).
Four years before the Berlin Wall fell, the Freiberg Germany Temple was dedicated on 29 June 1985. During the two-week public open house that preceded the dedication, approximately 90,000 people toured the temple; thousands stood as long as five hours in the rain to see the new temple. And now thousands of faithful Latter-day Saints have received their temple blessings in this holy house.
“I remember when President Monson came and dedicated the land,” says Winfried Batzke, president of the Berlin Germany Stake. “And I have seen how, piece by piece, his promises have been fulfilled.”

Many people qualify as heroes in my life, but one great example to me was a little cocker spaniel dog named Pepper.
I remember the day that my Aunt Madge gave Pepper to my brother, Max, and me. Pepper was a tiny black puppy, and we were thrilled to have him. He had a long, heavy tail, and long ears that nearly touched the ground.
One day Pepper was seriously injured by an automobile. His shoulder was crushed, and afterward he always walked with just one of his front legs. He was a funny-looking little dog. My friends all made fun of Pepper, but my brother and I loved him. He was our loyal friend.
I was born with some birth defects that required several major surgeries on my left leg during my childhood. I couldn’t run and play like the other children. When I was twelve, I was in an accident that left my leg so badly broken that I had to use crutches or a wheelchair for the next six months.
One day as I was hobbling with my crutches to the local grocery store, I was attacked by a large dog. He bit me on the legs and arms and knocked me to the ground. I remember screaming for help but thinking that no one could hear me. Suddenly a little black figure came flying into the fight and began to defend me. It was a savage battle between a crippled little cocker spaniel and a ferocious, much larger dog. Pepper gave me enough time to get one of my crutches and join the battle. Together we were able to chase the dog away.
Pepper and I were both hurt, Pepper much worse than I. He suffered from his injuries for many days, but he did finally heal.
Pepper—my gentle, little, crippled friend. He was quite willing to give his life for me. I learned a great deal about friendship from the example of this little black dog. He didn’t require a single thing in return for his love and loyalty. He was pleased just to be patted on the head and treated with kindness. Maybe in some way I can return Pepper’s gift by remembering him and following his example of friendship. Because of Pepper, I have tried to be a loyal and devoted friend myself.

In Tokyo, Japan, Natsuko Soejima doubted she could teach well. “When I was called to be a youth Sunday School teacher,” she says, “I told the bishop I would be scared. But he said the call was from God, so I accepted.”
As a group, the class intimidated her because of the individual challenges they presented. Two of the youth had hearing disabilities. Some class members who had moved to Japan from other countries spoke only English. She also feared the age difference between her and her class members.
Then, in a teacher council meeting, Sister Soejima found an answer. “We talked about loving each class member, learning their names, praying for them one by one, and teaching—guided by the Spirit—according to their needs,” she explains, “so that’s what I began to do.” She also did something else she’d learned in the council: “I used language that conveyed my love.”
The result? “My heart changed. I began to feel affection for my students. I cared about those who were missing and prayed for them too. As soon as one lesson ended, I started preparing for the next, to have time to think about teaching opportunities. I was overflowing with joy.”

There was a very popular book series I started reading. At first I liked it, but then it started getting scary and yucky. I felt uncomfortable. I did not feel the Holy Ghost. As I started the second book, it was the same and getting worse.
I talked with my mom about Article of Faith 13. These books weren’t like the article of faith, and I want to live like it says. Finally I stopped reading the books. I felt a lot better right away. I want to feel like that all the time, and I know I can if I use Article of Faith 13 as my guide.
Brooke B., age 10, Utah, USA

A few days ago, I had the pleasurable assignment of visiting some of our Lamanite friends in Supai, at the base of the Grand Canyon, in Arizona. While on the canyon trails, I had the opportunity of visiting with some hippie-type young people who had traveled to that secluded area in their search for escape. Drugs and a basic desire to get away from everyone and everything, according to their own admissions, prodded them on to this area and yet other areas when this one becomes routine. “No one cares about us, and frankly, we don’t care about the establishment” is the message they left with me; however, I assure you these were not the exact words they used. As I told one young man, and I share this same thought with our other young friends who are at present involved in the drug habit, “As surely as you can walk out of this Grand Canyon in three to four hours with all of your worldly possessions strapped to your back, you can walk out on this drug habit. There are a lot of us who care about you and would like to help you back up the trail to the main highway.”

To our young friends and bewildered parents caught in the vicious grip of drug abuse and its heartaches, we declare to you that there is a way back. You can make it. There is hope.

When Joseph Smith was a young man, Josiah Stoal offered him a job.
We’ll be working in Pennsylvania. I’ll pay you, and we’ll stay with Isaac Hale’s family.
Isaac had a daughter named Emma. She and Joseph enjoyed each other’s company.
Soon they fell in love.
When the work was done, Josiah and Joseph returned home.
I can’t stop thinking about Emma.
What do you plan to do?
After discussing the matter with his parents, Joseph returned to Pennsylvania and proposed.
After Joseph and Emma married, they moved in with Joseph’s family.
Welcome to our home, Emma!
Thank you, Mother Smith. I’m so happy to be here.

The third area of improvement was finding faith that I could allow our four children, who are now grown, to live their lives without my feeling responsible to make them live a certain way. Some of them were less active in the Church, but I still wanted to influence them for good without infringing on their agency. On one particular visit to the temple, I put their names on the prayer roll and prayed long and sincerely in their behalf. I received a profoundly peaceful assurance that all would be well with them.
When meditating on the experience later, I realized that Heavenly Father loved them even more than I did because He understood them better. He wants to bless them and have them return to Him, and He will provide them with learning opportunities. Now when I begin to worry, I remember that experience and do what I can, knowing the Lord will do the rest.

Several years ago, I approached one of my daughters and said, “My dear, it’s time for an interview.” Her response was less than enthusiastic, and I determined within my own mind that I was boring her terribly. So instead of subjecting her to a formal conversation, I invited her into the car and drove to the Dairy Queen where we both enjoyed a root beer float. All the way to and from the store, I asked questions, and she freely responded. She didn’t even realize that she was being interviewed—or at least that is what I thought. A few weeks later, I announced once again that I wanted to interview her. This time she promptly asked, “Wet or dry?”
I wonder if our conduct of good practices—even the conducting of interviews with our children—is sometimes done in a dry and deadening manner. Is it possible that in our drive to perform or fulfill a Church expectancy we collide with purpose? Can we not become so obsessed with form that we forget family? If so, perhaps we should ask ourselves whether within we are “full of dead men’s bones.” (Matt. 23:27.)
When I think of dry performances, my mind turns to the ancients who altered the lesser law. They multiplied rituals, ceremonies, and symbols to the extent that the law itself was worshiped more than the Lord. In fact, the law was so abused that it pointed people away from, not forward to, the Messiah.
The acceptable performance, I feel, is made “wet” and given zest by the living waters which issue from Christ. It is a performance founded upon inspired teachings such as:
“[You] must have no other object in view … but to glorify God, and must not be influenced by any other motive than that of building his kingdom.” (JS—H 1:46.)
“He that is greatest among you shall be your servant.” (Matt. 23:11.)
“For the letter killeth, but the spirit giveth life.” (2 Cor. 3:6.)
“When thou doest alms, let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth.” (Matt. 6:3.)
Living performances are void of roteness and stiffness and self-centered tendencies. They are made by Saints who speak and act according to the feelings of their hearts and the Spirit of the Lord which is in them. (See 2 Ne. 4:12.)
Alma’s interview with Helaman is a classic “wet” and refreshing performance. It is a short, three-question, forty-five-second exchange between father and son. According to the record, Alma was approaching the end of his ministry. He knew that he must select someone to assume prophetic and record-keeping responsibilities. Helaman was his choice. Therefore, Alma came to his son and asked: “Believest thou the words which I spake unto thee concerning those records which have been kept?”
Without hesitation, Helaman answered: “Yea, I believe.” He might have said, “Yes, I believe in the scriptures; and yes, I believe all that you have taught me.”
Alma’s second question was simply: “Believest thou in Jesus Christ, who shall come?” Again, without delay, Helaman stated: “Yea, I believe all the words which thou hast spoken.” (See Alma 45:2–5.)
What a tribute to the father! He had talked of Christ, rejoiced in Christ, preached of Christ, and taught his son to know the source to which he might look for a remission of his sins. (See 2 Ne. 25:26.)
Up to this point in the interview, the father’s questions were sampling the son’s basic beliefs. Now it was essential that those beliefs be tested and determined as being more than idle lip service. Alma’s capstone inquiry was, “Will ye keep my commandments?”
I am not certain what went through Helaman’s mind as he prepared to give his final response. He knew the necessity of honoring his parents and respecting priesthood authority. His previous actions had verified this fact. I like to think that Helaman’s reply was promoted by a heartfelt desire to be obedient rather than by a fear of authority. Deep love of God and father were reflected in his words: “Yea, I will keep thy commandments with all my heart.”
It is a marvelous thing when a father is able to make his commandments square perfectly with God’s expectations. Apparently, this condition was achieved by Alma, for Helaman was ready and willing to obey with all his heart.
This short, informative, and inspiring interview must have pleased Alma greatly. Not only had he communicated heart-to-heart and soul-to-soul with his son, but the son had openly declared his faith and pledged his devotion. To culminate the exchange, Alma, under the inspiration of the Spirit, prophesied and extended this blessing: “Blessed art thou; and the Lord shall prosper thee in this land.” (See Alma 45:6–8.)
I wonder if our interviews with our children are as inspirational and building as the one between Alma and Helaman. I find it significant that the father came to the son; the son was not summoned to stand inspection or to give a report. I find it refreshing that the conversation was direct and without any verbal sparring; it was not labored or rehearsed. I find it exemplary that commitment was drawn without prying, wringing, or pressuring. And I find it most beautiful that the father concluded with a tender blessing.
Is this not a performance, or a pattern of communicating, that we should follow? And I refer to the principles involved, not necessarily to the form.
On one occasion when I arrived home late from an assignment, my wife expressed concern about one of our sons. She was worried that his mind was not riveted upon serving a mission, and she said as much to me. Her concerns certainly captured my attention, and I asked where the son was. She told me that he was in his room preparing to retire. Immediately I went to the room and sat on the edge of his bed. When I asked if I could speak with him a moment, he said, “Certainly.”
The hour was late. He was tired, and so was I. I, therefore, could see that nothing would be gained by a long conversation. And following the direct Alma-and-Helaman approach, the conversation went something like this:
“Son, are you still planning on serving a mission?”
“Yes,” he answered. “I’ve always planned on serving, and I haven’t changed.”
“Son, do you know what qualifies a young man to serve a mission? Do you know what worthiness means?”
“Yes, Dad,” he said. “I understand the requirements and standards of worthiness that must be met.”
I said, “Thank you. I have one last question: Are you clean and worthy to serve? Could you accept a call if one were issued you today?”
There was a moment of reflective silence; then he declared: “It isn’t easy. Temptation is real and found everywhere. However, since you’ve asked, I am clean and I am worthy to serve.”
This was a wonderful, beautiful, spontaneous, and sanctifying experience.
I thanked my son, kissed him, assured him of my love, and bid him good night. I returned to my bedroom and told my wife that all was well and that she could go to sleep.
I do see great wisdom in the practices and performances which we encourage parents to follow in the Church. There is virtue in sponsoring family home evenings; in conducting family prayers, as Elder Perry has mentioned; in giving father’s blessings; and in holding parent-child interviews. All of these are important and have their place. However, the participation in such performances and the reporting of such activity must not become the end. They are means of involving, means of teaching, and means of blessing people. All should be engaged in for the purpose of saving and exalting souls.
I thank God for my wife and my children; they make life so very meaningful. I thank God for the restored Church and living prophets who have provided me inspired programs for the benefit of those around me. And I’m grateful for the gospel which comes from the fountain of living waters—even Jesus Christ. But I pray humbly that I will be blessed not to confuse means and ends or become confused with performances at the expense of the spirit underlying all commandments. May our interviews, our prayers, our communications with our children be sanctifying and free of dryness and “dead men’s bones,” I pray, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

The skills that I learned during my journey have helped me to build a health nongovernmental organization and work in mental health awareness in the DRC. My recent experience, when I was applying for a new job as a public health specialist at the Center for Disease Control in DRC, the human resources team was surprised that I have an American degree and I live in Congo, and it was easy for them to verify this from my diploma.
The hiring process was interesting and each step I went through, I learned to be ready due to the PathwayConnect program, preparing my CV and cover letter, enjoying the interview, and showing people my unique qualifications. I am grateful to my Heavenly Father for the opportunity He gave me to join the team of the Center for Disease Control in DRC to prevent, detect and control disease in my country.

Would you like a blessing? I hope that when I am no longer able, someone will say to my wife and children, “Would you like a blessing?” I have had several beautiful blessings since I became ill. But blessings can comfort other family members, too. When the young man in our ward was killed in the accident, I visited his mother and gave her a blessing. Then I looked at his father. “I believe that no one has given you a blessing,” I said to him. “Would you like one?” “Yes,” he replied. No one had asked him before if he wanted a blessing.

In 1847 covered wagons carrying pioneers began rolling into the Salt Lake Valley. But thousands more people who wanted to come to the valley couldn’t afford wagons or animals to pull them.
Then President Brigham Young had an idea.
The Saints can travel by handcart! They are much less expensive than wagons, and people could pull the carts themselves!
In 1856, five groups of pioneers left Iowa pulling handcarts. Three companies arrived safely in the Salt Lake Valley. But two of the handcart companies left too late in the year and had trouble on the trail.
One of the groups that had trouble was the Martin handcart company.
We’re almost out of food, and we weren’t prepared for this freezing weather!
People are dying!
President Young heard about the struggling pioneers, so he sent a rescue team to find them.
The rescuers found the pioneers and helped them move to a nearby cove for shelter. To get there, they had to cross the icy Sweetwater River. The rescuers carried many of the pioneers across. That night a blizzard hit. The pioneers’ tents were blown down, and more people died.
Hold on! We’re almost to the cove!
After five days the handcart pioneers left Martin’s Cove. Eventually they met more rescue wagons. On November 30 they finally made it to the Salt Lake Valley.
Hurrah! We’ve reached Zion at last!

Poor Dusty! He always seemed to be in trouble. He had been in town only a few months, but already just about everyone in Redwood was mad at him.
Mrs. Gillis was angry because he had gotten into her garden and trampled all over her vegetables, looking for the carrots. At the feed and grain store, Dusty had chewed a hole in a large sack on the loading dock and had eaten half the oats in it before Mr. Brock chased him away. You could hear Mr. Brock’s yelling a couple blocks away. Dusty didn’t care, though. He trotted away, looking carefree and innocent.
Dusty was a long-eared, sand-colored donkey with big, gentle, brown eyes. To look at him you wouldn’t think such a little donkey could cause so many problems.
Dusty used to belong to Mr. Fisk, an old hermit who lived up in the mountains. When Mr. Fisk died, Dusty was left to fend for himself. He spent a lot of time alone, grazing in the meadows near town or roaming the hills. No one in town knew anything about him, though, until one day Dusty came strolling down Main Street as if he had lived in town all his life.
After that, several times a week, he came to town and usually ended up in trouble. Most people said he was a good-for-nothing pest and didn’t belong in Redwood. They had even threatened to send him to a glue factory.
But Dusty was always welcome in the schoolyard. We kids loved having him around. My brother, Bay, fed him the carrots Mom put in our lunches, so Dusty was our friend for life. Only Mrs. Hayes, our teacher, didn’t want Dusty hanging around school. She was afraid he’d hurt us, so she’d chase him away. But he would always return an hour or so later.
“I feel sorry for Dusty,” I told Bay one fall day. “He seems lonely. And what will he do this winter when it gets cold?”
“He’s smart enough to take care of himself,” Bay said. “Besides, he may not have to worry about winter. If the folks in town catch him, they’ll get rid of him.”
“But he’s a good donkey. All he wants is some love and attention. Why don’t people give him a chance?” I asked.
Bay didn’t have an answer. Then, two days before Thanksgiving, a surprise snowstorm hit. By three o’clock five inches of snow had already fallen, and Mrs. Hayes told us to hurry home.
My best friend, Robin Quinn; six-year-old Pete Newly; and Bay and I all lived outside of town. We walked back and forth to school together every day. We knew a few shortcuts, and that afternoon, because of the storm, Bay thought that we should take the shortcut through Otter Creek Meadow.
As we followed the trail through the woods behind the school, I could feel the wind come right through my coat. None of us had boots on, and Bay didn’t even have his gloves. At the edge of the woods was Otter Creek Meadow, but we couldn’t see it at all. In fact, we couldn’t see more than two feet in front of us.
“Maybe we should go back to school,” I said.
“No,” Bay replied. “It’s closer to go home now. Everyone hold hands, and no matter what, don’t let go.”
We waded across the field with no idea where the path was—or even if we were going in the right direction. When we finally reached the creek, we were at the edge of a steep, snowy bank. We usually crossed over a bridge, but in the blizzard we didn’t know if we were to the left or right of it.
Pete suddenly slipped and tumbled down the bank toward the creek. Bay scrambled after him and grabbed him before he fell into the water. Together they struggled back up the bank, where Pete just sat and cried. I knew how he felt; I was scared too. I kept praying that we would get home safely.
Bay shoved his red hands inside his coat pockets. “Come on,” he said kindly. “We have to keep moving, or we’ll freeze.”
We didn’t go far, though, before Bay stopped again, saying he’d heard something. He called out, and Dusty appeared! I knew Dusty was the answer to my prayers. He came right to us, and Bay buried his hands in the thick hair of Dusty’s mane.
Bay boosted Pete up onto the donkey’s back. Then he tied one end of Robin’s long scarf around Dusty’s neck and the other around his own right hand, and we started off again, with Dusty leading the way.
Dusty had spent a lot of time in this meadow, so he knew it well. He also knew the way to our barn, having eaten from our haystacks a time or two.
Trudging along, head bent into the wind, he found the bridge and led us across it. As the snow piled up, even Dusty had to struggle to get through the deeper drifts. We picked our way through a grove of trees and came out in the field near our barn.
Dusty continued to plow our way for us almost to the back door of our house.
Mom and Dad hurried us inside. We changed into dry clothes and sat by a roaring fire. It felt good to be safe and warm again, and we owed it all to Dusty.
Dad took our long-eared friend to the barn, gave him some fresh hay, and two big carrots as a special treat.
That Thanksgiving we were especially thankful that Dusty had been around to help us. Even the folks in town treated him better and spoke kindly of him.
Dusty stayed with us for a while, but he was happier when he could come and go as he pleased. He still spent his time wandering from place to place, but now he was welcome wherever he went. And he still got into trouble now and then, but now nobody seemed to mind too much. He was, after all, the hero of Redwood.

After high school Gary was offered scholarships in all three sports. He was probably best in basketball, but baseball was his first love, and he intended to make it his career. So friends and teachers were surprised when Gary went off to Diablo Junior College to play football. He did it partly out of friendship. A former high school coach had called three days before DJC’s first game and said, “Hey, Gary, how about coming over to play for Diablo? All three of my quarterbacks are injured, and I’ve got nobody to start.”
Gary had gone, but he had time for only three practices before the game. “We had some good breaks,” he recalls, “and we ‘creamed’ the other team.”
In spite of this brilliant beginning, Gary was repeatedly ambushed by injuries and was able to play in less than half the games during his two years at Diablo.

Over the years the Thomas brothers of the Hyderabad Fourth Branch have done a lot to set good examples for each other. As teenagers, they became members of the Church at the same time. They worked together to encourage their mother until she also joined the Church. Both brothers served in the India Bangalore Mission. Both helped comfort their mother when their father passed away. And both recently married.
Now Rejjie and his wife, Metilda, have been sealed in the temple, and Rennie and his wife, Keerthi, following their good example, soon will be.
“From the time I joined the Church, it has been a process of changing and improving, learning the plan of salvation and following it,” Rejjie says. “But the actual goal is to go back and live with Heavenly Father, our loving Father, who wants us to come back to Him so much that He gave us a Savior, His Son, Jesus Christ, to save us from sin and everlasting death. I’m grateful that the gospel of Jesus Christ changed me and my family, and going to the temple is the culmination of all of that.”
Rejjie explains that one of the challenges he and Metilda faced in getting their parents’ approval for marriage was that they are from different regions and speak different dialects. “But in the temple there are no differences,” he says, “and that was a great reminder for us.” He feels the future of India belongs to the young. “We are the ones who are going to make a difference,” he says, looking at Metilda. “That’s the kind of vision we both have. We need to conduct family home evenings, have family scripture study and family prayer, and stay focused on the temple. That is our future.”
Metilda agrees: “When I ask him how he can be so understanding and loving, he says it is because the gospel makes him better. On his mission he saw the example of the mission president treating his wife with respect and love. And in the temple we see that same pattern. As we show that same pattern in our lives and someday to our children, that influence will strengthen the Church in India.”

What are you making?” Cassie asked her older brother as he opened the oven door.
“Some cookies for the baseball game. I figure, since we just moved here, it wouldn’t hurt to go the extra mile to get to know the kids,” Chris explained.
“I’m going to make something too!”
“What are you going to make?”
Cassie thought a bit before a smile spread across her face. “It’s a secret, but I’ll give you a hint—it starts with F.”
Chris grinned. “So what ingredients do you need for your secret recipe?”
“Ingredients?”
“The things you use to make your recipe,” Chris explained. “Ingredients are very important. Use the wrong ones, and your recipe won’t turn out. Good luck.” He grabbed his mitt and the plate of cookies, then ran out the door.
Cassie got the plastic bucket out from under the sink. “Since I’m making an F recipe, I’ll need things that start with F,” she reasoned. She carried the bucket outside, where her mother was weeding.
“Flowers!” Cassie exclaimed, “Can I have some?”
“You may have all the dandelions you want,” her mother replied, gazing at their lawn in exasperation. “Pick away.”
It wasn’t long before the bottom of Cassie’s bucket was covered with yellow flowers. “I’m making an important recipe,” she told her mother. “Can I go down the street?”
“Yes, but don’t leave the block. You aren’t used to this neighborhood yet, and I don’t want you to get lost. I’ll keep an eye on you from the yard.”
Cassie carried her bucket out the gate. She still needed more ingredients for her recipe.
“Who are you, and what are you doing?” someone asked.
Cassie looked up to see a girl about her age looking at her.
“I’m Cassie, and I’m making a recipe. I need ingredients that start with the letter F.”
“My name is Rachel. I live next door. How about a flamingo? We have a plastic one in our front yard.”
“Great!” Cassie exclaimed. Soon a plastic flamingo was sticking out of her pail. She walked down the street with Rachel, the pink head bobbing with their steps.
“What are you doing?” said a voice. They turned to see a boy on a bicycle.
“This is Cassie,” Rachel told him. “She’s making a letter-F recipe. We have flowers and a flamingo for ingredients. Can you think of anything else, Steven?”
“Frogs! Come with me to the pond. There are lots of frogs there.”
He walked along with them, pushing his bike, to the pond near the corner.
While they were catching frogs and putting them into the bucket, three more kids came up. Rachel introduced them as Benjamin, Eric, and Kathryn. They seemed happy to meet Cassie and were eager to help with the recipe.
“Flowers, frogs, and a flamingo,” Eric said. “How about adding french fries? I have a couple in my pocket.” He tossed them into the bucket.
“What else?” Cassie asked.
“Ferns? Kathryn shouted, plucking some that grew near the pond. “But I think we’ll have to forget about the frogs. They’ve all jumped out.”
“Ferns, flamingo, flowers, french fries—can you think of anything else?” Cassie asked.
“I have a toy fire engine,” Benjamin said. “Let’s go to my house and get it.”
They followed him home, looking like a small parade. The fire engine went into the bucket, nearly filling it.
“Now come to my house,” Cassie said. “We can finish the recipe there.”
Her mother met them at the gate. “Cassie, what are you doing, and who are these children with you?”
“We’re making a recipe,” Cassie explained. “We need a few more ingredients, but we don’t know what.”
Her mother smiled. “Well, how about a snack? There are some bananas in the kitchen.”
“Fruit? Kathryn declared. “That’s perfect!”
All the children followed Carrie into the kitchen. Soon they came back outside with a bunch of bananas nestled among the other things in the bucket. Then they sat on the porch and ate the bananas.
Cassie’s mother looked in the bucket, then at her daughter. “That’s a rather strange recipe,” she remarked. “I’ve never seen such unusual ingredients. What are you making?”
Cassie looked at her mother and smiled. “Friends,” she said.

Students in the early-morning seminary classes in Irvine California used the Old Testament to inspire a service project. When they read the account of Elisha helping Naaman be cured of leprosy, they decided to find out about the disease. They were surprised to discover that between 11 and 15 million people still suffer from leprosy today. They also found out that the World Health Organization has approved a drug that has a 99 percent cure rate for leprosy. The drug treatments cost $150 per person.
The students knew what they wanted to do. They organized a read-a-thon, where sponsors promised to pay them for each book they read in the Old Testament. Their goal was to raise $150 to pay for one child’s treatment. But enthusiasm grew, and at the end of their project they had raised $1,100, enough to provide treatment for seven children.

One father in a spiritually precarious situation focused on the joy of finally being clean and right with the Lord—the joy of being freed from guilt and shame—and the joy of having peace of mind. That focus gave him the courage to confess to his wife and bishop about his problem with pornography and his subsequent infidelity. He is now doing everything his bishop counsels him to do, striving with all his heart to regain the trust of his dear wife.

Also let us remember that through any illness or difficult challenge, there is still much in life to be hopeful about and grateful for. We are infinitely more than our limitations or our afflictions! Stephanie Clark Nielson and her family have been our friends for more than 30 years. On August 16, 2008, Stephanie and her husband, Christian, were in a plane crash and subsequent fire that scarred her so horrifically that only her painted toenails were recognizable when family members came to indentify the victims. There was almost no chance Stephanie could live. After three months in a sleep-induced coma, she awoke to see herself. With that, the psyche-scarring and horrendous depression came. Having four children under the age of seven, Stephanie did not want them to see her ever again. She felt it would be better not to live. “I thought it would be easier,” Stephanie once told me in my office, “if they just forgot about me and I quietly slipped out of their life.”

But to her eternal credit, and with the prayers of her husband, family, friends, four beautiful children, and a fifth born to the Nielsons just 18 months ago, Stephanie fought her way back from the abyss of self-destruction to be one of the most popular “mommy bloggers” in the nation, openly declaring to the four million who follow her blog that her “divine purpose” in life is to be a mom and to cherish every day she has been given on this beautiful earth.

It’s six in the morning at the Redondo Beach chapel. The cultural hall is filled with chairs. Slowly, seminary students begin filing in. Only today it’s not a normal seminary morning. Something is different. Sure, you can smell the French toast cooking in the kitchen. Breakfast is in about 30 minutes. What’s out of the ordinary, though, is that not all of the teenagers in the room are Latter-day Saints. Some have never even been in an LDS church building before.
On this Monday, it’s the monthly version of Bring a Friend to Seminary, an idea hatched by Linda O’Brien, the seminary teacher who challenged her students to invite nonmember friends to seminary once a month. This morning, Aarika and many other students are enthusiastic participants.
Today, four of Aarika’s friends have come for the lesson—and the food. “Once you get them to come, they have a great time. They have so much fun, and then they tell another person. But I do kind of mumble the six-in-the-morning part,” Aarika says, laughing. “They’re not sure what to expect, but they’ve told me their days have been so great because it started out with a prayer and talking about the scriptures.”
When Aarika was attending her first year of seminary, she was unsure about the program. “I thought, Who am I going to ask? But now I’m really comfortable, and it’s a lot easier now.”
Sharing the gospel is so much a part of Aarika’s life that she can’t remember a day when she didn’t talk about the Church with someone.
As seminary ends, Aarika and her four friends leave. They’re all smiling.