Gospel Story Finder

Illustration by Valerio Fabbretti
Ellie bit her thumbnail nervously. Miss Fitz was going down the rows of desks and asking each student a question, one by one.
“Who is your hero?” Miss Fitz asked Jeremy.
Jeremy didn’t waste a moment answering. “My dad!” he said proudly.
Miss Fitz smiled. “And yours, Sarah?”
Her answer came just as quickly. “Abraham Lincoln.”
Ellie felt her heart thumping as Miss Fitz continued down the row of students. They had been talking about heroes all day, and now everyone was supposed to say who their hero was—in front of the whole class!
Amber and Justin said their moms were their heroes. Walter said his was his grandfather. A few other students said theirs was a king or a president.
Only a few students were left before Miss Fitz would reach Ellie. She had to think of a hero—and fast.
Ellie looked down at her shoes, embarrassed. Coming up with a hero wasn’t the real problem. She already knew who her hero was. It was Jesus Christ. He had healed the sick, raised the dead, and paid the price for everyone’s sins. He was the greatest hero who ever lived! She was just too afraid to say it.
Ellie bit her thumbnail again at the thought of telling the whole class that Jesus Christ was her hero. What if Jeremy laughed at her? What if Sarah and Amber whispered about her at recess?
Of course she knew Jesus Christ was her hero. But that didn’t mean everyone else had to know too.
Miss Fitz stopped right in front of Ellie’s desk and smiled. “And who is your hero, Ellie?”
Ellie glanced from the row of students beside her up to Miss Fitz. “Abraham Lincoln,” she whispered.
Miss Fitz beamed. “Good!” she said as she walked to the next student in the row.
As soon as she was gone, Ellie’s shoulders dropped in relief. Thank goodness that was over. The last thing she needed was for everyone in class to know that her hero was—
“Jesus Christ,” a voice said.
Ellie’s eyes widened as she slowly looked over. There—only a little farther down the row—sat a small boy with rumpled hair. He was skinny and shy, and he always sat at the back of the classroom. Ellie didn’t even know his name. She couldn’t remember him ever saying a single word—until now.
A few students turned to stare at the boy, but he didn’t notice them. He just looked up at Miss Fitz and spoke again. “My hero is Jesus Christ.”
Miss Fitz smiled brightly and continued down the row. But Ellie looked at the boy in amazement. She had been afraid to tell everyone about her hero, but he hadn’t. He didn’t even go to her church! But he knew how important it was to stand as an example of Jesus Christ, even when it was hard.
Ellie smiled at the boy. She wouldn’t be afraid to say who her hero was anymore. After all, she had two of them now.

One morning at work the factory bosses told all employees that in addition to our hourly wage, we would begin receiving piecework incentive pay. The more we produced, the more we would earn. This happened four months before I left on my mission, so now I could make more money to help pay for it.
Production went up significantly, and so did our pay. I worked on a three-man rubber-curing press, and every time I saw a mold come out of the incubator and trip the automatic counter, I imagined my bank account balance increasing.
The new pay incentive, however, created an incentive to cheat. A co-worker would often sneak beside the automatic counter, give its trip lever a few extra yanks, and return to his workstation. I grinned when I saw this happen, shook my head, and continued my work. I felt that as long as I wasn’t messing with the counter myself, then my integrity was still intact.
But before long I realized that because I got paid the same amount as the other men on my team, then it didn’t really matter who pulled on the counter. I was just as guilty of stealing from the company as the others were. Was I going to fund my mission with stolen money?
I agonized over what to do. The extra money in our paychecks wasn’t much. A lot of people would say it wasn’t worth troubling over, but I was troubled. I knew I had to confront my co-workers.
“Are you kidding me?” asked Bob (names have been changed), the senior team member. “Everybody cheats. Even the management. They expect it.”
He saw no need to change. What else could I do? Even without inflating our production numbers, our press was the most productive on our shift. I often heard workers on other presses say they wished they worked on our team.
“I could trade places with Jack at the other press,” I suggested to Bob.
“I think you’re being stupid,” he told me, “but I can work with Jack.”
After Jack and I switched teams, Bob often reminded me how much more money he was making than I was. Lyrics from “How Firm a Foundation” came to mind: “Fear not, I am with thee; oh, be not dismayed.” Those words helped me shrug off Bob’s taunts.
Not long afterward, Bob approached me. He said Jack was not working out, and my team wanted me back. I was surprised. I told Bob that I would return but there couldn’t be any cheating. He agreed. My old team welcomed me back warmly, and the cheating stopped.
I expected to be tested before going on my mission, but I had no idea that my honesty and courage would be tried. I am grateful that when I needed strength to do what was right, the Lord upheld me with His “righteous, omnipotent hand.”1

Lilia, the mother, was baptized in the United States while she was visiting on a grant from the U.S. government, making her the first Moldovan baptized. That was in May 1997.
Then just six months later in November, her daughter, Lilia, became the first person baptized actually in Moldova. Since she was the first of several to be baptized that day, she treasures the honor of being allowed to be the first to join the Church in her country. Today both Lilias have been members for more than six years.
At first the only Church members in Moldova were three Latter-day Saint Americans: John Nielson and Paul and Betty Morris. They met in the Morrises’ home for sacrament meeting. Two elders from the România Bucharest Mission were sent to Moldova, and then the sheep began to recognize the voice of the Shepherd. Lilia and her mother began attending meetings after Lilia’s mother returned from the United States.
The younger Lilia tells the story of her conversion: “I started attending Church meetings six months before my baptism. I had my mother’s example this entire time. She introduced me to the Church by giving me a hymnbook. I came to love the first hymn I looked at, ‘Love One Another.’ I knew then that God wanted me to feel special and loved.”
In the six years since Lilia’s baptism, the branch has grown to 180 members, with many of the members being youth or young adults. Five young people from Moldova have already served as full-time missionaries and returned. Four more are serving missions now.
These young people love to talk about how the Church has changed their lives. “It makes me want to shout for joy,” says Alin Constantinescu, “when I realize that I belong to the only true Church. A deep feeling of thankfulness pierces my soul every time I think of the love the Lord has for us and the trust He has put in us as pioneers here in Moldova.” Alin is now serving a mission in Manchester, England.
“It shows in our countenances that we are a happy people,” says Mariana Turcanu, “and it is because of the gospel. It has changed my whole existence here in Moldova.”
The small country of Moldova looks like a slice of melon squished between Romania and Ukraine. The nation has about four and a half million people; they speak Russian and Moldovan, a language closely related to Romanian. The people who live in the capital city of Chisinau live in concrete high-rise apartment buildings. But in the country and villages, people still live in small self-constructed homes without running water, and many travel by wooden horse-drawn wagons or on foot. The countryside has fertile black soil that produces beautiful fruits and vegetables. The hills, though not high enough to be known as mountains, are covered with meadows of trees and grass with patches of bright yellow sunflowers.
The largest branch of the Church in Moldova is in Chisinau. President Ion Virlan is the first Moldovan to serve as branch president. His teenage daughter, Natalia, was among the first five to be baptized in November 1997. And a few months later the rest of her family joined the Church. There is also a smaller branch in the town of Orhei.
A lot of the youth activities organized by the Church have been firsts as well. The branch in Chisinau has had its first seminary and institute classes. The youth have held their first Super Saturday. And best of all, the branch has its first brand-new meetinghouse. The building was dedicated in December 2002 and is a monument to the pioneering efforts in Moldova.
It may sound a little strange to call such young members of the Church pioneers, but these youth understand they are leading the way for many more from their country. Juliana Musteata says, “Being a modern pioneer in Moldova brings joy and happiness into my heart and soul. I believe that if we work hard, we can influence the growth of the Church. I know that the Lord has blessed each one of us with the opportunity to set an example for others and share the gospel.”
“Yes, we are pioneers!” says Gheorghe Zugravu. “It is amazing to be the pioneers of our Lord Jesus Christ. We feel closer to our Savior as we share the gospel here in this country. We are the first, but after us will come many others who will love Jesus Christ as we do. We believe this with the whole power of our hearts.”
Part of their love for the Savior is shown in the ways the young people have chosen to serve. Just like others around the world, the young women in the Chisinau Branch have organized service projects. They made one project a yearly event. For the past several summers, they have helped care for children at orphanages in the city.
“We young women try our best to make these children’s lives more pleasant,” says Natalia Gligor. “We try with all our hearts to offer them love and comfort, to play with them, and to make them understand that there is somebody who loves them. We have a special program that can develop certain abilities. We try to inspire them to be attentive and curious. They lack many things, both material and spiritual. The spiritual things that are lacking are more painful, and the wounds are much deeper.”
Irina Vizitiv also helps with the orphaned children. She says, “Families are the biggest blessings of our Heavenly Father. I think through this service project, we have brought some light into the children’s lives. And I know this is very important to my Heavenly Father.” Irina, like many of the youth, is the only member of the Church in her family. She hopes her family will someday accept the restored gospel.
Coming to know their Savior is one of the best experiences these young people have. Katerina Bejan was the first seminary teacher in the branch and is currently serving a mission in England. She says, “I know that Jesus Christ is always with us and that He is the cornerstone of this Church.”
“I love to hear people say, ‘Jesus Christ lives!’” says Mariana Turcanu. “It feels so wonderful to know it for myself. And as sure as He lives, I know that my Redeemer loves me.”
Slava Schiopul knows many Moldovans are waiting to hear about the gospel. He says, “We must concentrate our lives in obedience to the commandments of Heavenly Father, yet there are only a few of us here in this country to help each other. However, by this obedience, we grow closer and closer to our Savior Jesus Christ, and He helps us to live in the light.”
Vasile Botan, now serving a mission in Paris, France, sees the Church coming to his country as one step in fulfillment of prophecy: “I know that before the Second Coming of Jesus Christ here on earth, His restored gospel has to be known by every nation, kindred, tongue, and people. I am very happy that this message has arrived for the people of Moldova. In this tiny country, we know God remembers us too.”
Like most pioneers, members of the Church here are struggling economically. The Republic of Moldova is a young country with few jobs or opportunities available. But Moldovans’ acceptance of the gospel of Jesus Christ and their determination to live righteously are their hope for the future.

Few things in life affect us more poignantly than the loss of a loved one. The lives of Bishop Richard Rodriguez and his wife, Ruth, have been punctuated by such a loss. Yet with eyes to see and ears to hear and through the sacred ordinances of the temple, they have faced this challenge with faith, which has led them closer to the Savior, to happiness, and to peace.
Richard and Ruth met while working at a cement production company in Azogues, a small town in the Andes Mountains not far from Cuenca, Ecuador. Richard was a convert to the Church, having joined with his mother and brother a few years before. At the time, Ruth was not a member.
“When I met Ruth, I couldn’t leave her,” he says, smiling.
They were married in 1996. Just a few months later, Ruth’s father passed away.
“His death was the cause of a severe depression in my life,” Ruth explains. “You never get over losing a loved one. You always feel the loss.”
In 2001, Richard’s mother died. Again, the loss brought much sorrow. But over the years, Richard had matured in his knowledge and testimony of the gospel, and that provided a comforting perspective.
“Because of the gospel,” he says, “I understood a little bit about how my mom was doing. I shared Alma 40:11 with Ruth and explained what happens to the spirit when it leaves the body. This was a great comfort to us both.”
Nevertheless, Ruth was still not interested in the Church, though she was friendly to Church members and the missionaries. “I just didn’t feel the need to change my religion,” she says.
Richard decided not to press the issue. “Every time we talked about the Church, the conversation ended badly,” he says. “And when I pressured her, it went badly. So I stopped. I didn’t want to do that to her.”
In the fall of 2001, the missionaries invited Ruth to a baptismal service. Her decision to accept the invitation changed everything.
At the service the sister who was being baptized shared her testimony. “She spoke about the miracles that had happened in her life since she had come to know the Church—miracles of health, well-being, and strength,” Ruth recalls. “This sister basically lived alone yet had this testimony.”
Ruth wondered how a woman who had faced such difficult trials could have that kind of faith. That question and acting on the invitation to attend the baptismal service touched Ruth’s heart and prepared her to receive a witness from the Spirit.
“That’s when I made the decision to be baptized. Later, when Richard and I were alone, I said, ‘Richard, what do you think about me getting baptized in December?’ And there you have it. I was already familiar with the Church and the gospel. But I still needed to hear the discussions from the missionaries.”
“God prepares the hearts of people,” Richard adds. “We can do some things on our own. I did many things, but it wasn’t until Ruth was prepared that this happened.”
Ruth agrees: “I had many challenges to overcome when we got married. When I finally overcame those challenges, that’s when I realized I didn’t need to wait for another miracle in my life. That’s when I was ready to be baptized.”
Ruth’s baptism in December 2001 marked a shift in their family focus. With that shift came spiritual strength and blessings that have guided them to this day.
“We were sealed in the temple on June 28, 2003,” Richard says. “Because of that, many blessings have come into our lives. Our first two children were sealed to us, and our next two children were born in the covenant. Our children are a blessing.”
Richard explains that serving faithfully in the Church has brought harmony into their home: “My wife and I are yoked together equally. We have faced challenges and trials, but we have been able to get through them united. We believe in the same things. Being sealed in the temple, we know that if we endure faithfully, the Lord will help us.”
When Ruth was baptized, only 25 members lived in what was then the Azogues Branch. Now a ward, it often has 75 or more members at sacrament meeting.
“You strengthen individuals when you strengthen families,” Ruth says. “As members keep the commandments and listen to all that the leaders teach us, we strengthen our families and the ward. It is like each family is a part of the cement that holds the ward together so that it can grow.”
As bishop, Richard has promoted efforts to strengthen families through making and keeping temple covenants and frequent temple worship. One manifestation of this emphasis is ward temple trips to the Guayaquil Ecuador Temple, about five hours away.
“We attend as a ward as often as we can,” Ruth says. “Our goal is to have every family sealed in the temple.”
“Attending the temple to be sealed has helped families grow spiritually,” Richard adds. “In recent years a number of families have been sealed. And now they prepare their own family names and perform ordinances for their ancestors. Those who do have developed a greater commitment to the gospel of Jesus Christ and found greater happiness. The temple has changed the vision of the members.”
Through sacred, personal experiences, the Rodriguez family has gained a powerful, personalized testimony of temple covenants and of performing vicarious work for ancestors.
“We have performed the work for my uncles and aunts, siblings of my father,” Ruth says. “We have felt that we should do the work for our family ourselves. I know the vicarious work we do is true. I feel great peace in the work we have been able to do for our ancestors. This has been a most special work.”
Richard testifies, “I love doing temple work for those who are waiting. This is the work of our whole lives. This is what we want to do.”
Attending the temple has changed their family. “When we were sealed in the temple, things changed radically,” Ruth says. “Our spiritual strength has grown.”
Richard agrees: “For our family, it has meant greater family unity, knowing that the family bond, which ultimately is the beginning and end of everything, gives us the strength to move forward. In life there are always challenges. But with the focus that the temple gives us, we can face the future in a different way. Being able to share these blessings—and especially to help other families do the same—brings great joy to our lives. I feel greater commitment in our home.”
Richard feels that the family’s decision to prepare to go to the temple, receive ordinances, be sealed, and then return to perform vicarious work for their ancestors has been one of their greatest blessings. “When we exercise faith and accept the restored gospel of Jesus Christ and especially when we go to the temple to receive sealing and saving ordinances through the priesthood, lives are changed,” he says. “One who receives the covenants of the temple is no longer the same.”

It happens almost every Sunday evening. Nine-year-old Xinia (ZEE-nyah) Muñoz gets out a pencil and several sheets of lined paper and starts writing letters.
She sits at the kitchen table, absorbed with her writing. Sometimes she’ll look up to ask someone how to spell a word, but during most of her letter-writing time, she is “in her own world”—or in the world of the person who is lucky enough to get her letter.
To whom is she writing? “The missionaries,” she answers with a smile. The letter she is working on in the picture here is for Elder Ed McCoy, a close friend of the family, who is serving a mission in California. He is the only member of his family who belongs to the Church, and Xinia makes sure that he gets at least one letter every week—hers!
“He used to come here for Sunday dinner,” she says. After he left for his mission, Sunday evening just didn’t seem complete without a visit with Elder McCoy—even if only through a letter.
Before long, Xinia started writing letters to the other missionaries from Belize City too. Now she writes a letter nearly every Sunday evening to all six of them. Sometimes she writes to missionaries who served in Belize and have returned to their homes. Every Monday morning, her mother mails a stack of her letters to places such as Honduras, England, Canada, and the United States.

My parents have had a lot of financial problems, and that led to a lot of family problems. My brothers and I didn’t realize how much they were struggling until our father told us. We set a family goal to all help pay off our debts and found jobs during the summer to help out. My father even let us pay the bills one month so we could see where the money went.

When we realized how much our parents were sacrificing for us, we gained a lot of respect for them; and when they saw that we were willing to help, they gained respect for us. Now we are all happier.

Last winter my daughter had a white-knuckle experience driving in a severe snowstorm. She reminded me of a similar situation I had with my two sons many years ago. My youngest son, Joe, was three years old, and my son Larry was six. We were traveling by car from San Francisco to Utah in June. The weather had been very good.
As we started our ascent to the Donner Pass summit in the Sierra Nevada Mountains, suddenly and without warning an enormous snowstorm hit us. None of the drivers was prepared. A semitruck in front of us had jackknifed and was spread across two lanes. Other trucks and cars had slid off the freeway. One lane was open, and many vehicles, including ours, were desperately trying to gain traction to avoid the other vehicles. All traffic then came to a halt.
We were not prepared for this blizzard in June. We had no warm clothing, and our fuel was relatively low. I huddled with the two boys in an effort to keep us warm. After many hours, safety vehicles, snowplows, and tow trucks began to clear up the massive logjam of vehicles.
Eventually, a tow truck hauled us to a service station on the other side of the pass. I called my wife, knowing she would be worried because she had expected a call the prior evening. She asked if she could speak to the two boys. When it was the three-year-old’s turn, with a quivering voice, he said, “Hope ya know, we had a hard time!”
I could tell, as our three-year-old talked to his mother and told her of the hard time, he gained comfort and then reassurance. Our prayers are that way when we go to our Father in Heaven. We know He cares for us in our time of need.

Dad caught me as I was going out the door. “What’s behind your back, Son?”
“School stuff.”
“Like what?”
“Uh, marbles.”
“Since when are marbles considered school stuff?” Dad asked, holding his hand out toward me.
Reluctantly I handed him a worn leather pouch tightly packed with marbles. The drawstring was tied into a large bow that threatened to unravel at any second from the pressure of the marbles crammed inside. Bulging from the top of the bag was my favorite shooter, a green speckled moonglow with a chip out of one side.
“Why carry so many?” Dad asked. “If you plan on winning, you’d better leave a little room for the take. Right?”
I shrugged and stared at the floor. I knew Dad wanted me to agree with him, but he didn’t understand. I needed all my marbles so I’d look as impressive as possible on my first day at the new school—a city school. At the Pine Bluff country school the kid with the most marbles had always been a big shot. After hundreds of marble games I had become that kid. By the time our family moved to the city, nobody would even play me. Now if these city kids saw how many marbles I was carrying, they would realize I was somebody special.
Dad began to chew his lower lip as he stared down at me. Whenever he was going to tell me something “for your own good,” he would chew his lip. “I’ll make you a deal,” he said. “Mom’s been wanting some marbles to put in her aquarium. Give her a few of yours, and you can take the rest to school.”
Even after I gave him twelve of my scroungiest, beat-up marbles, my leather pouch still swelled magnificently. As I was leaving, Dad told me things might be different in the city, but I figured school was school, and playing marbles was playing marbles. What could be different about that?
A couple of blocks from home I saw a kid carrying a brown shoe box. I heard the unmistakable clackity-clack of marbles jostling against each other. Walking up behind him, I faked a loud cough and started to rummage through my marble bag.
The kid stopped walking. He turned, and I saw a round face covered with splotches of freckles. His glasses had lenses thick enough to stop bullets. His red hair was oiled and combed into a tall bump above his forehead. Eyeing my bag of marbles, he set his shoe box down. “Play you a game,” he said.
I pulled out my green moonglow. “Where do we play?” I asked.
“Right here,” he said, pointing to the ground beneath our feet.
“How can we play here? It’s all grass and cement.”
“Where do you want to play, man, up a tree?”
I couldn’t believe how dumb this guy was. “We have to play someplace where there’s dirt, or we can’t draw the circle.”
“Circle?”
“Yeah, circle. Can’t play marbles without a circle.”
The kid gave me a strange look, then suddenly he laughed.
“What’s so funny?” I asked him.
“Nobody plays marbles in a circle anymore,” he replied with a smirk, “except sissies. Maybe we’d better forget the whole thing.”
“Everybody uses a circle in Pine Bluff,” I told him.
“Pine Bluff!” He laughed. “No wonder you don’t know anything. Pine Bluff School is a school for turkeys.”
“No, it’s not!” I yelled.
“Then how come they play marbles in a circle?”
My face was burning as the kid reached down to pick up the shoe box. “Show me how they play marbles here,” I said, grabbing his arm.
“Nah,” he said. “I don’t have time.”
“You’re scared to play me.”
“Sure I am,” he said in mock fright. “Scared to death.”
“Then show me.”
“It would take too long, and there are too many rules.”
“Forget the rules,” I pleaded. “Just show me what I have to do to win.”
The kid squinted at his watch. “All right! I have time for one game before school. Let’s play sixty-six, with anything goes.”
“How do we start?” I asked, rubbing the green moonglow between my palms for good luck.
“First, count out thirty-three marbles,” he said.
“Thirty-three!”
“Yeah, that’s why it’s called sixty-six, because both of us put thirty-three marbles on the line. ’Course if you’re afraid, we could always play dolls or hopscotch.”
“I’m not afraid of you or your dumb game,” I said, grabbing a handful of marbles from my pouch. “Just keep explaining.”
“It’s easy—one of us throws out his shooter, and the other guy tries to hit it. First one to make a hit gets all the marbles.”
It sounded simple enough. I counted out thirty-three marbles. The redheaded kid shaped his marbles into a V. “What’s that for?” I asked.
“Victory,” he said with a cocky grin. Quickly I formed a B with mine. “What’s that for?” he asked.
“Baloney!”
The formalities were over. I agreed to go first and rolled my green moonglow down the sidewalk about thirty feet, feeling confident I was out of range. Then the kid walked right over to my marble without tossing his own! “Eye drops,” he said nonchalantly.
“What in the world is ‘eye drops’?” I demanded.
“I’ll show you,” he said.
I watched as he planted himself directly over my moonglow, one foot on either side. With great deliberation, he lifted his shooter until it rested against his left nostril just below his eye. Slowly he spread his thumb and index finger, allowing the marble to land squarely on top of mine.
“That isn’t fair!” I yelled. “I didn’t know anything about eye drops.”
The redheaded kid walked over to my B and began dismantling it. “You’re the one who wasn’t worried about learning the rules,” he reminded me.
I was determined to get the best of this guy. “Play me again,” I challenged.
“Count out thirty-three more marbles,” he said.
I insisted he go first. As soon as his marble quit rolling, I called out, “Eye drops,” and positioned myself the same way the freckle-faced kid had done previously.
But just as I prepared to drop my shooter, he yelled, “Covers!”
“Now what?”
“A simple defensive maneuver,” he explained, cupping his hands over his marble until it was completely hidden.
“That’s cheating!” I protested.
The redheaded kid squinted up at me. “It’s legal,” he said.
“Oh, yeah? Well, maybe I’m starting to figure out this crazy game.” I gave my marble a casual flip into the front yard of a brown stucco house. “You chase me awhile,” I said.
Immediately he called, “Eye drops.”
I countered with “Covers.”
He hit me with “Substitutes.”
“Substitutes?”
“That’s what I said!”
Somehow I knew I was in trouble as I watched the kid walk back to his shoe box and drop his marble inside. Then he pulled out the biggest steel shooter I ever saw in my life! It was the size of a small apple. “This is my ‘cover breaker,’” he said. “Never saw a marble stay covered when this baby cuts loose.”
He had to be bluffing. He wouldn’t cripple a guy for a few crummy marbles. I kept my moonglow covered.
The redheaded kid raised the big steelie high above his head. “Move ’em or lose ’em,” he threatened.
Bent over at his feet, I felt like a human sacrifice about to be offered up to a freckle-faced marble king.
“I’m counting to three,” the kid said. “One.” I saw him grit his teeth. “Two.” I was beginning to take him seriously. “Three!” he yelled, going up on his tiptoes to gain every available ounce of power.
Deciding I would rather lose thirty-three marbles than my fingers, I rolled sideways in sheer panic. Facedown in the grass, I waited for the sound of the big steelie smashing my moonglow to green dust. Instead, I heard laughter. The redheaded kid no longer held the big steelie over his head.
“Guess I fooled you,” he said, taking the now-familiar eye-drops position.
Realizing my mistake, I crawled frantically toward my exposed shooter, but the big steelie fell, and I was poorer by another thirty-three marbles. My moonglow was smashed!
As the redheaded kid plodded down the sidewalk toward school, his shoe box was considerably heavier, and my leather pouch looked like a collapsed lung.
Dad was sitting on the porch steps when I got home after school. He stared at my depleted marble bag. “How’d it go today, Son?” he asked.
“OK.” I wanted to tell him everything, but I was too ashamed.
“Glad to hear it.”
I was relieved that he didn’t press the issue any further, and yet I was disappointed too. He had to know something was wrong.
Until I was ready for bed, nothing more was said. Then I heard Dad coming up the stairs. He walked into my room and sat down on the bed. He was chewing his lower lip. “Learn anything today, Son?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“Like what?” Dad asked.
There was a lump in my throat that wouldn’t swallow away. “I learned I had better listen to you sometimes,” I told him.
For a second I saw a strange look come over his face. He blinked a couple of times, then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a dozen wet marbles. “Might as well take these back,” he said. “Your mother says they make the fishbowl look junky. Maybe when you get that bag filled up again, you can give her some better ones.”

May I share a letter from a grateful recipient of their loving service. He writes:
“The young women [of my ward] very literally saved my life. I was a young bishop, just 29, the father of four beautiful little girls, including a small baby, when Heavenly Father called my wife home to Him. As I met with each of our little girls and asked them what impact this change would mean to them, the concerns of six-year-old Emily, the oldest of the four, were many, including, ‘Who is going to comb and curl my hair for church and put ribbons and clips in it?’ That was a good question to me as well. Who? I was consumed with the idea that life would be as ‘normal’ as possible for all of us—which meant that I would have to learn a whole new way of life. I was their father, and I was going to be the only parent. I realized that I was not equipped with the motherly skills that I needed. I called upon the young women of the ward to train me to be able to satisfy at least the needs of hair care. They came to my home, numerous times, to begin my training. They even showed me how to care for my six-month-old Natalie as far as washing her hair without so much trauma. By the time I ‘graduated,’ I could whip up a mean (but simple) hairdo. Much more than the skill, those young women gave me confidence as a father of daughters—that I could love them, care for them, be there for them, no matter how the rest of my life continued.” Thank you, Brother Michael Marston, for your tender letter.

My dad was in the army, so we moved a lot when I was young. One of the hardest things about moving was leaving my friends behind. I had trouble making new friends because I was shy. Thankfully, people were always friendly at school and Primary. At church it didn’t matter how we were different. We were just all friends.
One way I overcame my shyness was by helping at church. It started with Primary. I shared a scripture in sharing time. I read out loud in class. Little by little, I felt more confident. This helped me to stand up for my beliefs.

In my youth, I experienced the joy of coming closer to the Savior—and of His coming closer to me—through simple acts of obedience to the commandments. When I was young, the sacrament was offered during an evening meeting. I can still remember one specific night, more than 75 years ago, when it was dark and cold outside. I remember a feeling of light and warmth as I realized that I had kept the commandment to gather with the Saints to partake of the sacrament, covenanting with our Heavenly Father to always remember His Son and keep His commandments.
At the end of the meeting that night, we sang the hymn “Abide with Me; ’Tis Eventide,” with the memorable words “O Savior, stay this night with me.”
These words brought an overwhelming sense of the Spirit to me, even as a young boy. I felt the Savior’s love and closeness that evening through the comfort of the Holy Ghost.

The snake lay coiled on the footbridge, its dark skin gleaming in the early morning sun like slick and shiny oil. Silken flashes of green and brown shimmered along its coiled length as it reflected the sunlight. The snake was beautiful.
Tim spied it immediately. “Look, Mama, a snake! A great big snake on the footbridge!” he exclaimed as he, Jan, and their mother walked toward the school bus.
“Oh, it’s so beautiful!” cried Jan, entranced.
“Yes, it certainly is a handsome snake,” agreed Mother. “If we’re lucky, it might come closer to our house and be our friend. A snake like that one could keep our yard clear of mice and rats.”
The next morning when the children walked through the woods on their way to the school bus, they saw the snake coiled in the same spot on the footbridge.
“That snake needs a name,” said Tim.
“I wonder what a good name for a snake would be,” Jan said.
“Well, I think it’s a girl snake,” Tim declared. “And because she’s so beautiful, how about calling her Beauty?”
And so Beauty she became.
The children looked forward to their morning walk to the school bus. There was always the chance that they would see Beauty again.
Beauty often raised her head now when the children came near her. She watched them carefully, her skin gleaming in the sun. One day Beauty opened her dainty mouth, and a tiny red tongue flicked back and forth. Tim and Jan were delighted with their new friend.
“She knows us! She knows us!” Tim shouted the first day Beauty raised her head and flicked her tongue at them. “Oh, Beauty, I wish you’d come and live in our yard.”
One day Tim left a dead mouse by the bridge that Tickles, their cat, had brought home. That evening when they returned from school, the snake and the dead mouse were gone.
The long spring passed into summer. School closed and the children no longer caught the school bus or passed over the footbridge every day. They were busy with garden chores. Days went by when they didn’t see Beauty.
Then one day Tim came running into the house, his eyes wild and filed with tears. “It’s Beauty, Mama. Something’s the matter with Beauty!”
“Calm down, Son, and take it easy,” Mother said. “Now tell me what’s wrong.”
“Beauty’s hurt. She’s coming apart, and everything’s leaking out of her. I found her in the bushes near the footbridge. Do something, Mama,” Tim pleaded. “Please help her. She might die.”
Jan had come into the room and was listening, her eyes wide with alarm. “We’re her friends, Tim. We’ll all help her, won’t we, Mama?”
Mother was silent for a moment. “I’ve never nursed a snake before,” she said hesitantly. “I’m sure it’s a gopher snake, but I don’t know what I can do for it.”
Looking at her children sympathetically, Mrs. Stacey made up her mind. “Let me get a basket,” she said, “and we’ll go take a look at Beauty and see what can be done.”
They hurried to the footbridge and peered into the bushes where Tim had seen Beauty. The snake had crawled even farther into the underbrush. Mother put down the basket, and Tim and Jan carefully lifted Beauty and laid her in it. Her shiny skin had been ripped open in several places, and it was turning dull.
“It looks as though someone has thrown rocks at her or poked her with a sharp stick,” said Mother.
All the way home Mother was thinking about what she could do. Back in the kitchen she said, “Tim, run to the bathroom and bring me that roll of adhesive tape. Jan, get me the scissors and some warm water and rags.” Then she cleared the table and covered it with newspapers.
Jan and Tim carefully transferred Beauty from the basket to the table. Her eyes were beginning to glaze over, her skin was torn and jagged and oozing blood, and she didn’t try to slither away when they lifted her.
Mother washed off the dried blood and the leaves and twigs that had stuck to Beauty’s open wounds, then patted her dry. Next, Mother cut strips of adhesive tape and wrapped them firmly around and around Beauty’s body, binding the raw edges of the cuts together. At last Mother was done.
“She looks like a zebra with black and white stripes!” Tim exclaimed. “Beauty, you’re a zebra snake! Mama, do you think she’ll live?” he asked.
“We’ve done all we can for her,” Mother said. “The rest is up to nature. Put the basket out in the sun behind the shed, and leave Beauty a bowl of water.”
The next morning the children ran to look behind the shed. Beauty was gone. The children mourned. Mrs. Stacey said, “She’s probably crawled off into the woods to hide until she’s healed.”
Summer passed into fall, and the children started school again. All through the fall and into the damp cold winter they trudged through the woods and across the footbridge, but they never saw any sign of Beauty in her favorite spot.
Then one day it was spring again. Tim ran outdoors looking for his baseball. There, coiled on a rock in the sun, lay a large snake. Tim ran to look at it. It seemed to be striped. What kind of snake is this? he wondered. Suddenly he let out a war whoop. “It’s Beauty!”
Jan and Mother ran outside. “Look, Jan!” shouted Tim. “She must have shed her old skin, and there are the markings from the adhesive tape on her new skin!”
Beauty certainly was odd-looking with her dark skin raggedly ringed with lighter places, but she was alive and well, and she had come back to live near her friends.

I am convinced that rain is a blessing—and especially so after a recent missionary experience.
One afternoon while working in our area, my companion, Elder Ntege, and I suddenly found ourselves in a heavy rainstorm. While standing under our umbrella, discussing how quickly the storm might pass, we felt several times the Spirit whisper instructions for us to continue walking—and with a strong prompting that there were people waiting for us along the way. After a short distance we saw a young mother protecting herself against the rain in an unfinished house. We approached her. Upon seeing us enter, she was amazed to see two young men dressed in white shirts and ties walking in such a heavy rain. We presented a short message—one that we usually share about the Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ—and we bore our testimonies strongly. She said to us, “I am happy to meet you in this rain. Your testimony is strong, and I want to learn more together with my family.” The next day we went to her house and met with her large family of eight people who are now being taught the gospel and who continue to progress in their knowledge of Jesus Christ.
“Then shall we know, if we follow on to know the Lord: his going forth is prepared as the morning; and he shall come unto us as the rain” (Hosea 6:3).

Finding and following Jesus Christ sometimes takes us through difficult waters. Tamton’s journey to Christ has been like that. “I was serving as a deacon in the Protestant church when the missionaries first came to Abaiang from Tarawa,” he says. “Their coming was strongly opposed, and they had difficulty getting land on which to build a bata [traditional grass house]. I felt sorry for them and invited them to stay with me. They taught me the gospel, and I felt what they were teaching was true. So I was baptized.”
That was in 1984. Tamton and Taake were among the first on Abaiang to join the Church. Amid suspicion and persecution, they immediately began helping the missionaries find others to teach.
Tamton and Taake feel they have been richly blessed by the Lord. Several years ago, Tamton wanted to build a large fish trap to support his family. But to build one, he needed to take thousands of rocks out into the ocean. The task seemed impossible. He had only a small canoe and just his sons to help.
“I prayed hard about the problem,” he says. “The next day I saw a float [a tangle of debris] beached on my land. In the float were some large pieces of styrofoam. With them, I built a raft, and with the raft, my sons and I built our fish trap. In fact, we built two.” The traps have been valuable family assets. When the traps catch more fish than the family can use, they sell the extra.
As their faith in Jesus Christ sustains Tamton and his family in times of need, it also comforts them in times of sorrow. Several years ago one of their sons died while fishing for octopus. He was only 22, but he suffered a heart attack alone out in the ocean.
Tamton’s eyes get moist as he speaks of his son. “The news broke our hearts,” he says. But then his eyes brighten. “We want him sealed to us.” When Tune was their district president, he taught Tamton and Taake about the priesthood and its power to seal families together forever in the temple. They are eager to go.
But with few resources, they have yet to see a temple let alone visit one. Still, Tamton and Taake are trying to find a way. Tune says that if they die before they go to the temple, he will make sure their work is done for them. He encourages them to fill out the necessary family records. Perhaps their children will be able to do the temple work they cannot.
With the meal and the singing and the stories over, Tune and Moretekai take their leave of Tamton and Taake. They have others on the island to visit.
The Saints in Kiribati have great respect for the priesthood, and wherever Tune goes on Abaiang, he is received with gladness. It soon becomes apparent it wasn’t whim that brought him to Abaiang. He was drawn to the island by prayer—reeled in like one of his tuna. He thought he was just visiting, perhaps finding an excuse to go fishing. But the real reason he came was to give Aritaake Moutu a priesthood blessing.
“Ever since I joined the Church, I’ve depended on priesthood blessings,” Sister Moutu says. “I had a problem with one of my legs before I joined the Church. Now whenever it gives me trouble, I ask for a blessing, and I’m always healed. This morning I was praying for someone to come and give me a blessing because my husband is not on the island to give me one.” She smiles at Tune. “That’s why you came.”
“It’s always like that,” Tune says. “She lives on this isolated island in the middle of nowhere. She and her family have their challenges. There are few jobs; most people live off what they can grow and get from the sea. There are no doctors or nurses on Abaiang. The Saints here depend a lot on the Lord. And the Lord takes care of them.”
“Yes, we have our challenges,” Sister Moutu says, “even after joining the Church. But we don’t notice them as much now.”
When the missionaries first contacted her family, Aritaake would run away—or chase the missionaries away. “Our minister told us there would be false prophets, and we thought that was them,” she remembers. “But one time an elder by the name of Jones came to visit us. When I turned him away, he stood outside the house and prayed for us. While he was praying, I felt something in my heart change. I asked the missionaries to forgive me and teach my family.
“One thing the elders did changed me completely. They asked me to pray. When I said my prayer, I became a different person. I started liking the Church, and it was no problem believing the Church’s teachings.”
What impressed her most in all the missionaries taught? “The Spirit they brought. And the teachings about the family—how we can be happy as a family and remain together forever.”
It is time to return to Tarawa. Tune knows he needs to get back before the tide pulls too much water out of Tarawa’s lagoon, leaving parts of it too shallow for his outboard motor. But before he and Moretekai leave, Tune gives Aritaake the priesthood blessing she prayed for.

May 5. Tonight we had a family home evening lesson about Jesus’ love for others. Dad read Matthew 25:40 [Matt. 25:40], where Jesus said, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” Then he read in Matthew 22:35–39 [Matt. 22:35–39] about the two greatest commandments and talked especially about loving others like ourselves. Dad said that the Savior spent His whole life helping others. That He even died for others. For everyone. Then Dad bore his testimony about Jesus. At least he tried to—halfway through he started to cry. I guess his tears are the most powerful part of his testimony. That’s how it seems to me, anyway.

“While presiding over the Ukraine Kyiv Mission, I once asked one of my most faithful sisters why she was always so hard on herself, why she was always beating herself up over the smallest things. Her answer was a classic example of someone listening to the wrong voice as she replied, ‘So no one can beat me to it.’
“Brothers and sisters, my counsel to this sister missionary is my counsel to you: acknowledge and face your weaknesses, but don’t be immobilized by them, because some of them will be your companions until you depart this earth life. No matter what your current status, the very moment you voluntarily choose honest, joyful, daily repentance by striving to simply do and be your very best, the Savior’s Atonement envelops and follows you, as it were, wherever you go. Living in this manner, you can truly ‘always retain a remission of your sins’ (Mosiah 4:12) every hour of every day, every second of every minute, and thus be fully clean and acceptable before God all the time.”

Easing the pain of losing a child is difficult, if not impossible. But after hearing Sister Read tell her story during a youth conference meeting, and hearing another talk given by Kevin Capener, a young father who lost an infant son, the youth in the North Ogden Utah Ben Lomond Stake were eager to do anything they could to help. So, as a youth conference activity, they decided to “blanket” a local hospital with service.
The nearly 400 young people attending the conference spent an afternoon making more than 500 infant quilts to be given to parents whose newborn babies have died. After the parents have held their baby in the blanket for the last time, the blanket can be kept as a reminder to the parents.
“I hope that this blanket will be used, held, and cherished,” says Mark Miller, a priest. “I want [the parents] to know that there is someone out there who cares about them.”
In just a few short hours, the youth had a stack of quilts ready and waiting to be presented to a representative from Ogden’s McKay Dee Hospital.
It may seem a little thing, making tiny quilts for parents to use after the loss of a child. But sometimes the things people do aren’t measured by the size of their service, but rather, by the size of their hearts.

In addition to questions about his goals and strengths, I asked Elder Handsome about his social life.
“Tell me about your girlfriends.”
He virtually leaped out of his chair.
“Girlfriend, not friends. There is a one and only. She’s the greatest. I can’t live without her.”
“What will it do to your mission when she marries someone else?”
“If I hear of her even dating anybody else, I am gone, I am history, I am out of here. I’ll go straight home.”
For months Elder Handsome struggled to become involved in his mission. He was continually figuring out clever things to write to his “one and only.” He spent much of his time thinking about her instead of the work.
When the “Dear John” came, Elder Handsome struggled even more. But he did not go home. He eventually became an outstanding missionary and a dedicated district and zone leader. He learned to love his mission, his area, the prospective members, and the local members.

A true story from Ghana.
Anane grinned as he walked through the street. The smell of frying fish and the busy chatter of people filled the market. He was on his way to Uncle’s house. Mum had given Anane some money to give to Uncle.
He looked around at all the stands selling produce, foods, and other items. Then something caught his eye.
There was a food stand that had two of his very favorite treats, toffee and biscuits. He looked at the money Mum gave him. One hundred cedis is a lot, he thought. His favorite treats were only 10 cedis. Uncle probably wouldn’t even notice if some was missing.
Anane bought the treats. He popped a toffee into his mouth and kept walking to Uncle’s house.
Uncle was standing outside his house as Anane walked up.
“If it isn’t little Anane! Come on over,” said Uncle. “What can I do for you?”
“I brought you some money from Mum.” Anane handed him the money, then put his hands back in his pockets. Would Uncle notice that some of the money was missing? He watched as Uncle counted it.
“Thank you for bringing this over,” Uncle said.
Anane was glad Uncle didn’t notice the missing money. He said goodbye and started the long walk home. On the way, he finished eating his toffee and biscuits.
“How was the walk to Uncle’s?” Mum asked when Anane got home.
He shrugged. “It was good.”
“Thank you for taking that money to him for me,” said Mum.
Anane looked down at the floor. He started to feel guilty. What if his parents found out he had spent some of the money? He didn’t want to lose their trust.
The next morning, Mum asked Anane to buy some things at a nearby shop. “Come straight home after you are done at the shop, OK?”
“OK.” Anane walked through the market, but he didn’t stop to buy anything. He scrunched his eyebrows and thought, This time I’m going to do exactly what Mum asked.
As soon as he was done, he went right home. He gave Mum all the leftover money.
That Sunday, Anane went to his Primary class. “Good morning!” his teacher said. “Today we are talking about obedience. It is important for us to listen to our parents and make good choices.”
Anane thought about the money he spent on the toffee and biscuits. He felt his stomach drop. He knew he had made a wrong choice.
After church, Anane wanted to talk to his parents. His heart was racing.
“Mum, Dad? You know the money you gave me to take to Uncle?” Anane asked. “Well, I bought some treats with some of it.” He looked down at the floor. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you for being honest,” Dad said. “I’m proud of you.”
Anane smiled. He was so happy that he told the truth. And he felt good inside after telling his parents. He was already making a better choice.

Carrie felt the same tingly, happy feeling that came every year at Christmastime, but she also felt a little empty. Grandma and Grandpa were thousands of miles away on a mission in Paraguay. There were presents under the tree from them, but Mom had purchased them and printed “From Grandma and Grandpa” on the tags. It wasn’t the same. Carrie was happy that Grandma and Grandpa were serving Heavenly Father, but that didn’t take away the empty feeling.
Several weeks later, while Carrie was helping Mom pack away the last of the Christmas decorations, the mailman brought a letter. It was addressed to Carrie, and it was from Paraguay! In a second she had it open, and she and Mom snuggled on the sofa to read it:
Dear Little Carrie,
I thought about you a lot on Christmas Day. I imagined you and your mom and dad around the Christmas tree, opening presents and later eating turkey and pumpkin pie. Our Christmas in Paraguay was very different, and I thought you might like to hear about it.
We had decided to visit the Ugarte family for Christmas. They live 80 kilometers (50 miles) through the jungle, in a little village called Itakyry. There is a small chapel there, where we could spend the night. In the Ugarte family are a grandmother, a mother and father, and eleven children. Their house has only two rooms and two beds, so we couldn’t stay with them. We packed some small gifts in the back of the car and left early in the morning of the day before Christmas. Two young elders went with us.
In Itakyry, Sister Ugarte was very sad. It was the day before Christmas, and she had no presents to give her children. It took all their money and time just to provide the essential things that such a large family needed. Nothing was left for gifts or even a special treat for Christmas dinner.
All that morning she worked. She washed clothes in the stream and spread them on the bushes to dry. She tended the garden and cooked black beans and rice for their midday meal. After they ate, she rocked the baby and mended clothes. As she worked, she prayed, “Heavenly Father, please send our good friends, the missionaries, here for Christmas. I know it is a long way for them to come, but it would make this day special. Please, Heavenly Father.”
We didn’t know that she wanted us to come. The Spirit just told us that it would be good if we did. A bridge was washed away, so we had to walk the last few miles through the jungle. My goodness, how happy the Ugarte family was when they saw us coming through the trees!
That night we had a very special family home evening in the little wood chapel. The beautiful story of the birth of Christ was told, and testimonies were shared. Then for a long time we sat, watching the silent tropical stars and singing the sacred hymns of Christmas.
The Ugarte children didn’t understand when Grandpa tried to act like Santa Claus the next morning. They did enjoy the simple gifts we passed out, though. There was a small doll for each little girl, sweet-smelling soap for the older girls, and windup toys for the boys. Grandpa had to show the boys how to wind them up, because they had never seen toys like that before.
We missed our own dear grandchildren, but this Christmas in Paraguay was a very special one for us. The best gifts that we can give or receive at Christmastime are love and service.
I’m looking forward to hearing about your Christmas, Carrie. I hope that it was also filled with that special Christmas feeling and that you didn’t miss us too much.
Love,
Grandma and Grandpa
Carrie felt again the happy, tingly Christmas feeling—and all the emptiness was gone.