Gospel Story Finder

I have great faith in Jesus Christ and in His commandments and, above all, in prayer. One Sunday my paternal grandfather and I went to visit my great-grandmother. I decided to take my small puppy. On our way home my puppy was hit by a boy on a bicycle. It scared him, and he ran after the boy. My grandfather and I chased after him, but we couldn’t find him. We had to go home without him. We were all very sad. My great-grandmother called and told me to find a private place and to pray for my puppy.
Early the next morning we heard a dog barking—my puppy was home! I know that Heavenly Father heard my prayer.
Stephanie P., age 8, Honduras

Enzio Busche’s original commitment to go to the ends of the earth in pursuit of truth met its test in 1977, while President Spencer W. Kimball was touring Poland and East Germany. Then a regional representative to the Quorum of the Twelve, Brother Busche served as translator for President Kimball at a meeting in Berlin, then met afterwards with Church leaders for refreshments in the Relief Society room. D. Arthur Haycock, the president’s personal secretary, asked Brother Busche to take an empty chair next to President Kimball. Because an educated German would never seek the company of a dignitary unless invited by that dignitary, Brother Busche ignored the suggestion. When Brother Busche declined a second time, Brother Haycock asked him more pointedly if he would please be so kind as to take the vacant seat. After exchanging greetings, President Kimball invited Brother Busche to join him in another room, where he extended the call to serve as a member of the First Quorum of the Seventy.

My boyhood home in California was located relatively close to large orchards of apricots, cherries, peaches, pears, and other delicious fruits. We also lived near fields of cucumbers, tomatoes, and a variety of vegetables.
As a boy I always looked forward to canning season. I did not like scrubbing the canning jars or working in our hot kitchen. But I did like working with my mom and dad. And I loved eating my work! I am sure I ate more fruit than ever made it into any of our canning jars.
My memories of time spent in the kitchen with Mom and Dad are stirred every time I see a bottle of home-canned cherries or peaches. The basic lessons I learned about temporal self-reliance and provident living while picking and canning produce have blessed me throughout my life. Interestingly, simple and ordinary experiences often provide the most important learning opportunities we ever have.
A pickle is a cucumber that has been transformed according to a specific recipe and series of steps. The first steps in the process of changing a cucumber into a pickle are preparing and cleaning. I remember many hours spent on the back porch of my home removing stems from and scrubbing dirt off of the cucumbers we had picked. My mom was very particular about the preparing and cleaning of the cucumbers. She had high standards of cleanliness and always inspected my work to make sure this important task was properly completed.
The next steps in this process of change are immersing and saturating the cucumbers in salt brine for an extended period of time. To prepare the brine, my mom always used a recipe she learned from her mother—a recipe with special ingredients and precise procedures. Cucumbers can only become pickles if they are totally and completely immersed in the brine for the prescribed time period. The curing process gradually alters the composition of the cucumber and produces the transparent appearance and distinctive taste of a pickle. An occasional sprinkle of or dip in the brine cannot produce the necessary transformation. Rather, steady, sustained, and complete immersion is required for the desired change to occur.
The final step in the process requires the sealing of the cured pickles in jars that have been sterilized and purified. The pickles are packed in canning jars, covered with boiling hot brine, and processed in a boiling-water-bath canner. All impurities must be removed from both the pickles and the bottles so the finished product can be protected and preserved. As this procedure is properly followed, the pickles can be stored and enjoyed for a long period of time.

“For a long time,” says Jhon Tobar, 17, of Quito, “I let myself be carried along by my friends, and I didn’t have a good relationship with my parents. But I have learned that if you lose the trust of your parents and brothers and sisters, it’s like being alone. I just had an interview with my bishop this morning—my bishop is my dad. I can say now that I have no better friend than my own father. I love him a lot. He is my best example.”

“All right, I’ll listen to your message,” I told the young missionaries when they asked if they could visit me in my home in Mexico City. “But just to share ideas. I already know what I believe, and I don’t want to be a member of your church.” I had met them when the Flores family invited me to their family home evening. I never imagined that the evening would end with my allowing them to come to my house. Oh, well, it’s only an hour, I told myself. Then I can forget about them.
The following week, at exactly the appointed hour, I heard their knock. At least they’re punctual, I thought, and opened the door to see two fresh faces, eager to begin.
At first I was defensive, expecting them to attack my beliefs. But instead they talked about our Father in Heaven, who has a body like me; about his Son, who had died for me and then was resurrected; and about the Holy Ghost, who can communicate with me. It was all very logical.
Then they went on to say that Jesus Christ had visited the American continent; his visit was recorded in a book—the Book of Mormon.
If they think they’re going to sell me their little book, I thought, they are mistaken. To my surprise, they said that someone had already purchased the book for me and that the only price was to read it. For that reason I accepted it, although I felt that only the Bible contained God’s word.
When the elders came a second time, they asked me if I would be baptized. “I’m already baptized,” I replied. “I was baptized when I was a baby, and it was good for life.” The missionaries stated that baptism had to be done by immersion and that it was for the remission of sins at the age of eight, when a child was old enough to be responsible for his actions. In my heart I knew that I had been sinless when I was baptized. And I hadn’t been submerged. I decided to take a closer look at their beliefs.
I began to visit their church, although I would leave the meetings early to attend my own services. I found that everyone there smiled and greeted me as if they had known me for a long time. They just want to convert me, I told myself. The atmosphere is nice, and the classes are interesting, but that is all.
Although I didn’t touch the Book of Mormon, I continued with the discussions. I learned about a young man named Joseph Smith who, in the year 1820, saw God the Father and his Son Jesus Christ. At that moment, a new era had begun—lost truth had again illuminated the world. Could this possibly be true? There was only one way to find out, the missionaries said, and that was to pray. They taught me how to pray in a very simple way. They said God would answer me if I would only ask him this question, with sincere faith. My heart softened for a moment, but then I was afraid. What if he did answer? What if it were true?
The next time they came, they explained that before we were born, we had all lived with our Heavenly Father in a spirit world (could it really exist? I wondered) and that we came to this earth to get bodies and to learn to choose between good and evil. If we chose the good, we began to become like God. Isn’t this blasphemy? I asked myself. How can I become like God, who is perfect? The missionaries also explained that I should take care of my body. They asked me if I would keep the Word of Wisdom and the law of chastity. I surprised myself when I agreed to live by these standards, even though I did not believe in their church.
This is too much, I thought, when during the fifth discussion they told me about tithing, about fasting, and about the offering I should give for the poor. Why should I help others when I am the one who needs help? But the missionaries explained that Latter-day Saints consider it a privilege to pay their tithing and fast offering. “The Lord gives you ten apples and asks for only one back,” they explained. “How generous he is!”
Well, I said to myself, if he’s going to give me ten apples and then want one back, let him just give me nine in the first place! But I had always had financial problems. Was it because I was unfair with the Lord?
At the last discussion, the missionaries reviewed everything they had taught and explained the mission of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Again they spoke of baptism, and again I told myself that they would not succeed in baptizing me. I began to argue vigorously with them. The evening ended with my assuring them that they were wrong about everything. They listened sadly, then tried to respond with readings from the scriptures. But I refused to listen and asked them to leave.
At last I was free of the missionaries. Certainly, they were pleasing enough as people, but I wanted no more to do with them as representatives of their church. So why did I feel such an emptiness inside?
One Sunday afternoon, about six weeks later, the missionaries came again. This time, one of the elders suggested that I would have a difficult time reading the Book of Mormon in a week. I felt a challenge in his words. Did he think I wasn’t capable of reading his little book? I will read it in even less time! I also accepted their suggestion that the three of us fast together the following Tuesday while I came to a decision about the book.
That night when I began to read the Book of Mormon, I found that despite my former reluctance, I could not put it down. I read steadily, with no desire to sleep, until three o’clock in the morning. Although I had to work the next day, I found myself reading the book at each free moment. And as soon as I came home in the afternoon, I went back to it like steel drawn to a magnet.
That very evening, I visited the Flores family, who had introduced me to the missionaries. I told them that I was considering baptism. Brother Flores questioned me, wanting to know if I were serious. I answered that I was. Then the Flores family said that they wanted to fast with me and the missionaries the next day. That night I read until the early hours a second time.
On Tuesday morning, each of us, in our own homes, began to fast. I was in good spirits all day and was not hungry or thirsty. In the afternoon, I read a scripture that shook me: “For after this day of life, which is given us to prepare for eternity, … then cometh the night of darkness wherein there can be no labor performed” (Alma 34:33). I knelt and asked my Father in Heaven if the church I was investigating was true and if I should join it. As I listened, I knew deep within my soul that this really was the church of Jesus Christ. I should wait no longer. That night when I ended my fast, I told the missionaries of my decision to be baptized. Happiness filled their faces.
Day and night I continued my reading of the Book of Mormon until, six and a half days after I started, I finished it. I had done it! I had met the missionaries’ challenge. I knew that I would never again refer to the Book of Mormon as the “little book.” It was now a great book, another testament of Jesus Christ. And although Satan tried to put obstacles in my path, on 19 February 1990 I was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
After all was said and done, it was true! God loved us so much that he designed a plan of salvation for us and gave his Only Begotten Son as a sacrifice so that we could return to his presence. Joseph Smith saw the Father and the Son and was chosen by God to restore the truth. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints holds the authority of God to perform those ordinances and offer those covenants that help us obtain a celestial home, if we are faithful and true to those covenants.
Each night I thank God for the opportunity I had to meet the Flores family and the missionaries. They all served as instruments in the hand of the Lord so that I could receive and accept his precious gospel.

Life is not always easy for the three boys. Sometimes bad things do happen, and the boys have learned to depend on Heavenly Father to help them.
One morning a few years ago, Sister Lopez was taking her children and four of their cousins to school. On the way, they were in a very serious accident. The children weren’t hurt, but Sister Lopez broke her neck.
The doctors in Guatemala City did what they could for her, but eight months later she became very ill. The doctors said that she needed neck surgery and that afterward she would be in a wheelchair the rest of her life. The family prayed, and Sister Lopez decided to call some of the young men in the United States who had lived in their home as missionaries. One of them was studying to become an orthopedic surgeon! He said, “Come to Provo, and let us do the surgery here.” One of his teachers agreed to perform the surgery, and a family offered to care for Sister Lopez until she was well enough to return to Guatemala.
On the day of the surgery, it was hard for the rest of the family to not know how the surgery was going. They all prayed a lot on that day. Benjamin in particular prayed that his mother would feel good again and would still be able to walk. When they called her that night, she said that the operation had gone well and that she still had the use of her legs!
“I was recovering in Utah for three months,” Sister Lopez said. “Everyone helped me a lot, but it was hard to be so far away from my family.”
Isaac remembers well the one time the family got to see her before she came home. “We drove for five days to get to Provo to see Mommy. It was a very long drive, but it was worth it!” Sister Lopez recovered and returned home. The family is grateful to Heavenly Father for taking care of her and making it so she could walk.

Following the renovation of the Mesa Arizona Temple some years ago, clergy of other religions were invited to tour it on the first day of the open house period. Hundreds responded. In speaking to them, I said we would be pleased to answer any queries they might have. Among these was one from a Protestant minister.
Said he: “I’ve been all through this building, this temple which carries on its face the name of Jesus Christ, but nowhere have I seen any representation of the cross, the symbol of Christianity. I have noted your buildings elsewhere and likewise find an absence of the cross. Why is this when you say you believe in Jesus Christ?”
I responded: “I do not wish to give offense to any of my Christian colleagues who use the cross on the steeples of their cathedrals and at the altars of their chapels, who wear it on their vestments, and imprint it on their books and other literature. But for us, the cross is the symbol of the dying Christ, while our message is a declaration of the Living Christ.”
He then asked: “If you do not use the cross, what is the symbol of your religion?”
I replied that the lives of our people must become the most meaningful expression of our faith and, in fact, therefore, the symbol of our worship.
I hope he did not feel that I was smug or self-righteous in my response. Our position at first glance may seem a contradiction of our profession that Jesus Christ is the key figure of our faith. The official name of the Church is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. We worship Him as Lord and Savior. The Bible is our scripture. We believe that the prophets of the Old Testament who foretold the coming of the Messiah spoke under divine inspiration. We glory in the accounts of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John setting forth the events of the birth, ministry, death, and Resurrection of the Son of God, the Only Begotten of the Father in the flesh. Like Paul of old, we are “not ashamed of the gospel of [Jesus] Christ: for it is the power of God unto salvation” (Rom. 1:16). And like Peter, we affirm that Jesus Christ is the only name “given among men, whereby we must be saved” (Acts 4:12).

Always remembering the Savior helps me have courage in the face of difficult trials. Halfway through my senior year of high school, my family moved back to the United States, but I stayed in Australia by myself to finish the school year. After I visited them during a school holiday, I was flying back to Australia, and I felt incredibly lonely. However, I suddenly realized that I wasn’t alone; I never was and I never will be because the Savior’s Spirit will always be with me as I strive to follow Him. That was the greatest comfort I could have received in that moment.
Shannon S., 19, Sydney, Australia

For as long as Marie could remember, the big vacant lot next door to her house had been an ugly sight. So she was very surprised when she arrived home from school one day and saw how it had changed: All the tall weeds and broken bottles and torn newspapers were gone. The ground had been plowed too. That’s the cleanest dirt I’ve ever seen, she thought.
A man wearing baggy overalls was putting a sign up in the middle of the lot. In large letters it read:
BIRCH STREET COMMUNITY GARDEN
RESERVE YOUR PLOT NOW!
“Excuse me,” Marie said to the man. “What’s a community garden?”
“Anyone in the community—the neighborhood—may use part of this lot to grow his own garden,” the man replied. “Would you like to sign up for a plot?”
Marie had never seen a garden in her neighborhood before—only buildings and sidewalks and streets.
“A garden would be great,” she said. “I’ll ask my brothers and sisters if they’ll help me. Thanks.”
When the family sat down to supper that evening, Marie told them about the new community garden next door. “We can have fresh vegetables all summer,” she said. “It’ll be a very big garden. I’ll need help taking care of it, but we’ll have lots of fun.”
“Sorry, Sis,” said Joe, the oldest. “I need to find a summer job. I’ll be too busy to help.”
“Me, too,” said Rose. “I have a paper route. Besides, vegetables are all right, but I like flowers better.”
Marie was a little disappointed, but she still had four other children to ask.
But Flo said, “I have to take care of my rabbits. I won’t have time to garden.”
“Count me out,” Peter told her. “I hate vegetables. Yuck!”
The twins were Marie’s last hope, but before she could ask them, Mike said, “We don’t like vegetables, either.”
“We definitely hate vegetables,” Ike agreed.
After supper Marie went outside and stared at the vacant lot. It was all ready for planting, but no one would help her with the work.
A few minutes later Papa came out and stood beside her. “Marie, I’ll help you with the garden after supper every night,” he said.
“No, Papa,” Marie replied. “Thanks, but you work hard all day. I’ll just plant a small garden and take care of it myself.”
“Well, I’ll help when I can,” Papa said. “We’ll go together Saturday to reserve a little garden plot.”
Then Papa took Marie’s hand in his, and they walked back to the apartment.
At supper the next evening Marie turned to Joe. “It’s hard to find a job, isn’t it?”
“It sure is!” he answered. “I’ve been looking for weeks and still haven’t found one.”
“Nearly everyone likes corn on the cob and watermelon,” Marie pointed out. “I’ll bet that you could grow some in the garden and sell them to make money—after all, you’d have the freshest vegetables in town. You could grow enough for the family too.”
Joe’s eyes lit up. “That’s a great idea, Sis. I’ll give it a try.”
Then Marie looked across the table at Rose. “Your paper route won’t keep you busy all day,” she said. “Since you like flowers, you could grow sunflowers and scarlet runner beans. The beans have beautiful blossoms, and we can eat the beans and the sunflower seeds.”
Rose grinned. “Sure. That way I can grow flowers and food.”
Now Marie turned to Flo. “You could grow carrots and lettuce and radishes, couldn’t you? Then you wouldn’t have to spend your whole allowance on rabbit food, your pet bunnies would be happy, and there would be plenty for us too.”
“The bunnies will love it!” Flo exclaimed. “When do we start?”
Pete had figured out what Marie was up to. “Don’t look at me,” he said stubbornly. “I still hate vegetables, and nothing you say is going to change my mind.”
“You don’t hate all vegetables,” Marie answered. “You like popcorn. That’s a vegetable. And you’re crazy about pickles. They’re made from cucumbers, you know.”
“I never thought of it that way.” Pete laughed. “OK. It looks like I’m in charge of the popcorn and pickle patch.”
“What can we grow?” asked Mike. “We don’t want to be left out.”
“We hate vegetables, but we want to grow something,” said Ike.
Marie smiled. “Well, you boys like chili better than just about anything else, so you can plant a chili patch.”
“A chili patch? How do you grow chili?” asked Mike.
“Just think about what’s in chili,” Marie said. “There are beans and tomatoes and peppers, right?”
“Yes!” cried Ike. “We’ll plant our very own chili patch!”
Then Mama, who had been listening the whole time, spoke up. “Marie, is there enough room for a patch of the other vegetables that we like? I’d like to plant some spinach, broccoli, cauliflower, and peas. We all like these, especially when they’re raw.”
“Of course, Mama! You can plant anything that you want,” Marie answered.
“What am I going to help you grow?” Papa asked Marie.
“We’ll plant an enormous dessert patch!” she said. “It will be full of sweet things like strawberries and cantaloupes to thank everyone for helping with the garden.”

I affirm to you, my young brethren and sisters, that that principle of revelation is a constantly operative principle, and I close with one other experience.
I was organizing a stake in Samoa. There appeared before us in the interviews these wonderful Samoan brethren. One of them, a branch president, stood there—white shirt and tie, lava-lava tied around his waist, barefooted. I told him we were organizing a stake and seeking a stake president and asking his suggestions on men. He said, “Yes, I know. I’ve prayed about this.” And he said, “I’ve come to know, by the voice of the Spirit, that Bishop Iona will be our new stake president.”
He was right. But I wasn’t anxious to have him make the announcement and so pressed him for another name.
He said, “No, just one name.” And I said, “Suppose he were not available or not eligible? Won’t you suggest another name?” He stood there for a few minutes, and then, looking at me, he said, “Elder Packer, are you asking me to go against the witness of the Spirit?” This wonderful man was possessed of that Spirit, as all of us can be, each of us answering the calls that come.

After college my sister Grace and I worked for a company with several other Latter-day Saints. Our employers were not members of the Church. When my sister became engaged, our employer planned a surprise bridal shower for her. I hoped she would respect our standards, but instead she ordered liquor, a male dancer, and a scandalous video.
Before the bridal shower, I felt the whispering of the Holy Ghost within me encouraging me to remind my boss of our standards. I grasped my Young Women medallion and thought of all the effort and sacrifices I had made when I was in Young Women to complete my personal progress. I prayed that I would be guided to stand a little taller at this time. I texted my employer my concerns, thinking that she might become offended. Nevertheless, my greatest desire was to please Heavenly Father.
When the party began, my boss didn’t talk to me or even smile at me. However, she did cancel the dancer and the video.
In the days following the party, my boss didn’t talk and laugh with me like she had before the party. However, I felt comfortable because I knew God was pleased with what I had done. About a week later, my relationship with my boss went back to normal. I know God softened her heart and helped her realize that I lived what I believed.
Lemy Labitag, Cagayan Valley, Philippines

Growing up with muscular dystrophy, I had serious doubts about whether having a family would ever happen for me. Would I find someone who could see past my disability? And if I did, what kind of father would I be? I hoped for life as a husband and father; I just didn’t know if I would get it.
And then it happened: marriage, followed two years later by the wonderful news that we were having a baby. A year and a half later, more great news came: a second child was on the way.
And just like that, I was married with two kids—daughters, no less, which was crazy because even when I dared dream of having a family, for some reason I always pictured sons—yet further proof that I had no clue of what lay ahead of me.
But I “trust[ed] in the Lord with all [my] heart” (Proverbs 3:5). Put differently, I rolled with it.
I rolled with it when my sweetheart, Casey, went into labor and said, “It’s time,” and I about passed out. I rolled with it when the nurse held our brand-new baby girl in front of me and said, “She’s yours now,” and I gave Isabelle a kiss on the forehead. I rolled with it and shaved my facial hair when my scratchy kisses made her cry. And I even rolled with it when, while I was holding her on my lap, her dirty diaper gave out—fatherhood can be messy.
Being able to roll with it—to adapt—has been a key to any successes I’ve had as a dad and in life. I’ve gone from crawling to walking to running to getting weaker to slowing down to losing the ability to walk and using a wheelchair. At each phase, to make it work I’ve had to adapt to my circumstances and play to the abilities Heavenly Father has given me. It’s an important part of fatherhood.
Turns out, without even knowing it, I’ve been training to be a great dad my whole life!
We Are All in the Process
“You see, we’re all on a journey. … We are all in the process of becoming who we will one day be. Fathers and [children] can play a critical role in helping each other become the best that they can be.”
President M. Russell Ballard, Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, “Fathers and Sons: A Remarkable Relationship,” Liahona, Nov. 2009, 47.
Why do I know so much about lambs, dolphins, mermaids, dolls, book characters, cross-country running, and musicals? Because those are the things my youngest daughter, Sammy, has been interested in over the past 14 years! Find out what your kids are into and get into it too.
President M. Russell Ballard, Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, said, “Find your own best way to connect,” creating a one-on-one relationship with each child as part of our fatherly stewardship. 1
I’ve never tossed my girls in the air. I’ve never pushed them on a swing, jumped into a pool with them, or spotted them in the gym.
But they’ve screamed for joy on the back of my wheelchair as I did wheelies through our neighborhood, climbed me like a ladder to reach goodies on the top shelf, and enjoyed incredible front-row parking with me their entire lives.
We all have different abilities. Figure out what you can do with your kids and then do it!
Being a dad has been and continues to be the joy of my life.
My girls have an amazing understanding of my physical limitations. We’ve never really had to detail what Daddy can or cannot physically do. They’ve always just seemed to know. Even when they were toddlers, I would ask them to grab something for me, and they’d place it right in my hand. When Casey would ask for something, they’d toss it to her or hold it near her so she’d have to reach out for it.
Being a dad has been and continues to be the joy of my life.
When I’m being the best version of myself, I love my girls the way God loves them—personally and completely. But I’m not perfect. When I’m not centered in God’s love, patience wanes, tempers flare, and feelings get hurt. Like I said before, I’m a work in progress.
Dads come from all walks of life and have different strengths and weaknesses. But thanks to the love, grace, and mercies of an all-loving Heavenly Father and our Savior, Jesus Christ, we can all be empowered to be exactly who and what our children need us to be.
I know our Heavenly Father will endow each of us with the strength needed to be the best dad we can be. When we seek His help and direction, blessings will follow and, come what may, we’ll have the ability to roll with it.

Whenever Robert Norton got on a bike, he was a whole new person.
“Robert would go outside at eight in the morning and ride his bike in our driveway until ten at night. He got so good at it that he was the fastest Special Olympics cyclist in Connecticut,” says his younger brother Lee. “Before he got involved in Special Olympics, Robert was a loner. But when he came to Special Olympics, he opened up. He made friends, and kids at school started talking to him, though they hadn’t before.”
For nearly 30 years, the Special Olympics has been helping athletes with disabilities compete with one another on local, national, and international levels. Robert, who was mentally disabled, competed in many Special Olympics before he died in 1992. “I miss my brother, and I never put him out of my mind,” explains Lee. “The Special Olympics really fulfilled Robert’s life and was a great thing for him.”

“Our first location there was in a log stable belonging to a widow White. Some blocks east of what was known as the Temple block. This hovel was made of a small class of crooked poles, between which I often crept instead of raising the quilt hung over the doorway. This part … at that time was thickly covered with blackberry bushes mixed with oak and hazel brush. Our family were all sick with chills and fever (familiarly known as the shakes) except my mother.
“From this Mormon home … Brother George A. [Smith] started as an Apostle on his mission to England, he having to be lifted into the wagon, as he was too weak to walk. This was in September, 1839. Before leaving he placed in my hand his last quarter of a dollar with a request to get mother some tea. The next day the Prophet Joseph and his brother Hyrum visited us and administered to us all, father being delirious from the effects of the fever. Their words comforted us greatly, as they said in the name of the Lord you all shall be well again. Upon leaving the hovel Joseph placed his slippers upon my mother’s feet and sprang upon his horse from the doorway and rode home barefoot. The next day Joseph removed father to his own house and nursed him until he recovered.”3
“A few days after her [Oliver’s mother’s] death, which was the third in Nauvoo [then called Commerce], Brother Joseph seeing that we still grew worse, told William that we would all die if we stayed there, and that he must take the team and bring us down to his own house. So he took us all into his own family, but me, he sent to Hiram Clarks, about twenty rods distant, yes forty rods. Here I spent an awful summer, the most dreadful I ever experienced, or ever expect to, in that way. My ague was attended with the Cortivical Rheumatics the most painful of all afflictions wherewith I was ever afflicted. Every other day I had the ague, and the days between, the rheumatics raged. Thus I passed days and almost weeks. …”4

A little old lady at a rest home turned to the old man next to her and said, “I can guess your age.”
“You can’t,” he replied.
“Yes, I can,” she said. “You go take a bath, shave, brush your hair, put on a nice clean shirt and a tie, and shine your shoes, and I’ll tell you.”
The old man was gone for about an hour. When he returned he was neat, clean, hair brushed, shoes polished, and in his suit. She said, “Now you go stand up against the wall.” He did.
He said, “Now, how old am I?” She said, “You’re 89.”
He responded, “That’s right, but how did you know?”
She said, “You told me yesterday.”

One cold Saturday morning when I was 12, Dad told me to start the tractor so we could take hay to some hungry horses. It was so cold that the tractor turned over only a couple of times before the battery died. When I informed my father, he told me to saddle up Blue and tie our sleigh to the saddle so we could pull a couple bales of hay to the horses to tide them over until we could get the tractor started.
Blue, our thoroughbred studhorse, was in the prime of his life. He was a beautiful, powerful animal. I remember how he pranced around that morning looking for a good ride.
We put two 90-pound (41-kg) bales of hay on the sleigh, Dad mounted Blue, and we were off. I walked behind the sleigh to balance it. We soon arrived at the lane that led us to the winter pasture.
Things went well until we had gone about a third of the way down the lane. The snow had drifted deep, and I could see that it was piling up in front of the sleigh. As the cinch tightened around Blue’s chest, it cut off his ability to breathe. Suddenly he reacted.
Blue whirled around two or three times, trying to relieve the pressure on his chest. Dad quickly tried to dismount but was lashed to the side of the horse in the process. To make matters worse, Blue lost his footing on the ice under the snow, causing him to pitch over on his side, pinning my father beneath him.
As Dad was losing consciousness, he yelled at me to run and get help at Uncle Carl’s place. That meant I would have to crawl through two fences and run across a big pasture before reaching help.
As I turned to go, I heard a voice tell me, “Don’t go. Cut the rope!”
I quickly obeyed, pulling my Boy Scout knife out of my pocket. I cut at the lariat rope for a few moments when, suddenly, Blue lurched to his feet and took off. The rope snapped, and my father rolled out of its coils rather than possibly being dragged to his death. I ran to his side.
Dad came to, got up, and assured me he was all right. We then went to find Blue, cleared the snow from in front of the sleigh, retied the rope, and again headed for the horse pasture. We fed the horses and returned home.
I normally obeyed my father without question, and I was ready to run 10 minutes to my uncle’s place for help. But his help would have come too late. That day, however, the voice of the Spirit came just in time.

I was having a blast at activity day. Sister MacDonald, our leader, was teaching us how to make our own soap at her house. We mixed lye and water and added scented oils. Then we poured the mixture into molds and added dye. I used my favorite colors—blue and yellow.
I added sparkles, and Nikki leaned over to me. “Josie was talking about you yesterday,” she whispered. Then she told me something mean Josie had said about my body. “I wouldn’t ever say something like that, though,” she added.
I could feel my face get hot. “Um, thanks,” I said. But I didn’t really feel grateful. I felt sick.
I went into the bathroom, locked the door, and sat on the floor. I picked at the braided rug and tried not to cry.
This wasn’t the first time one of my friends said something mean about me. And it usually happened like that: someone in our group of friends telling me something mean someone else had said. I wished they wouldn’t tell me. It hurt my feelings, and it made me embarrassed about the way I looked.
I wished Nikki hadn’t said anything. The whole afternoon had gone from fun to terrible.
I decided to say a prayer. “Heavenly Father,” I whispered. “Please help me to not cry, please help me to feel better, and please help me to know what to do about my friends.”
When I got home, I curled up on the couch with a book, but I couldn’t focus. Nikki’s words bounced around in my head with other mean things my friends had said about me. My mom walked in and saw my face.
“Something wrong?” she asked. She sat and looped her arm around me. I leaned my head on her shoulder and told her what Nikki had said. “I wish I looked different. Then maybe people would want to be my friend.” I swallowed, trying not to cry.
“There are a lot of reasons people want to be friends with someone,” Mom said. “But I think people stay friends with someone when that person treats them well.”
“I know, I know,” I said. “It doesn’t matter what I look like, just if I’m nice.”
Mom turned so she was facing me. “It’s hard when people say unkind things about the way we look. But your body is beautiful because you are a child of God. And you deserve to be treated with respect.”
I bit my lip. “I guess that’s true.”
“Do you think Nikki and Josie are being kind to you?” Mom asked.
I looked down. “Not really.”
Mom hugged me. “Is there anyone else that you could be friends with?”
I thought about that. There was Meera, who played violin in the orchestra with me. And there was Sarah, a girl in my math class. I hadn’t ever hung out with them outside of school. But Meera and I liked to play duets together, and Sarah always helped me with word problems. They were always nice to me, and I had fun with them. They never made fun of the way I looked.
“Yeah, I think so,” I said. “Could I maybe invite them over sometime?”
Mom smiled. “I think that’s a great idea,” she said.
“And Mom?” I said. “Can we could get some dye? It would be fun to make soap with them.” I could still keep being kind to Nikki and Josie. But maybe I needed to make some better friends too.

When Raimundo Carvalho was 18, his father died. His father had earned a living washing clothes for other families. Now that meager income was gone.
“I was the oldest child, the only son, with four younger sisters. So, I needed to help my mother provide for the family,” he remembers. “We faced a lot of challenges and we were really poor.”
Raimundo learned to make shoes. Soon, however, it became apparent that he couldn’t keep up on his studies and work enough to provide the help his mother needed. “Taking care of the family came first,” he says. “I was able to finish my classes that year and that was it.”
In his heart, he knew he would come back to school again. But when and how?
He continued to work, and the family survived.
“Then I met and married this beautiful woman,” he says, smiling at his wife, Eréroythe. “And we built a family of our own. Today we have three children and three grandchildren.”
Eró, as his wife is known, encouraged Raimundo to go back to school. “But because of my responsibilities as a husband and a father,” Raimundo says, “I knew I couldn’t pursue the education I wanted at that time. I didn’t abandon my dream—I just put it on pause. It became something I would do in the future.”
What he could do, he found, was to encourage his wife and children in their education.
“The scriptures teach us that the glory of God is intelligence,1” he says. “They also say we should bring up our children in light and truth2 and that we should seek learning by study and faith.3 These principles became standards for our family.”
Today, Raimundo is 62. And that dream he put on pause? It’s finally coming true. He recently graduated from high school. What’s more, he’s preparing to enter college. “I have to take a challenging test to get in,” he says. “But I want people, old and young, to see that they can set a goal and achieve it.”
Raimundo’s wife and children are also pursuing education.
“When I started college a few years ago,” says Eró, who is 57, “no one in the family had done any type of superior education. But I believed that when this wall was broken, education would fill our home. It would make things better going forward. I am a cook by profession, and I cook because I love to cook. But I thought I could learn more, and my daughter Dielle wanted to learn more too.”
They joined a Church self-reliance group, and the facilitator suggested that they apply for Perpetual Education Fund loans. “The loans were approved,” Eró says. “So, we enrolled at the university to study gastronomy. We did the same major, and we were daughter and mother in school together at the same time. We would work all day cooking food, then go to college at night.” Some days Eró started work at 5:00 a.m., worked all day, then had classes starting at 8:00 in the evening.
She admits to falling asleep sometimes. “Sure, it’s tough,” she says. “But you just trust that the Lord will help you, and you keep on going.”
Raimundo and Eró Carvalho on the day she received her degree in gastronomy.
Photographs courtesy of the Carvalho family
Now both mother and daughter have graduated. Eró no longer works at a restaurant. She is self-employed and works from home. “We’re both still cooking, but we’re more qualified and have more opportunities to advance. We’re earning enough to pay back our loans, and Dielle is working on a master’s degree in event management!”
Dielle is now working on a master’s degree.
Eró also explains, “Our son Odirlei, although incarcerated, is completing an online degree in accounting and has been accepted in a competitive federal university agronomy program. He is awaiting a judge’s decision that may allow him to attend classes in person. We encourage him to use his time to study, to become qualified, so that when he gets out permanently, he will be able to have a better life. He has learned that education gives you the opportunity to create a new reality, and he knows that God knows what he can become.”
Eró declares, “Education has made a great difference for our family. It’s not only knowledge; it’s an anchor in our lives.” And Raimundo notes that his mother, who was illiterate most of her life, as an elderly woman learned to read and write.
“Study and faith became standards for our family,” Raimundo says.
Raimundo and Eró also know about another type of education—spiritual knowledge.
“About 30 years ago,” Raimundo says, “we weren’t active in the Church. But our bishop asked Eró and me for an interview. He invited us to take a class about eternal marriage, and because of that class, we came back to the Church and together we studied and learned and built our testimonies. A year later, we were sealed to our family in the São Paulo Brazil Temple.”
Now they have given decades of service in their ward and stake, “and we’re still studying the gospel, still learning more truth,” Raimundo says.
“Even if we’re older,” Eró says, “we need to keep learning. We especially need to keep gaining spiritual knowledge. It’s all part of an eternal plan.”
Raimundo says he loves this quote from Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles:
“As a people, we rightfully place high priority on secular learning and vocational development. We want and we must excel in scholarship and craftsmanship. I commend you for striving diligently to gain an education and become an expert in your field. I invite you to also become experts in the doctrines of the gospel.”4
And Raimundo also loves this scripture:
“Whatever principle of intelligence we attain unto in this life, it will rise with us in the resurrection.
“And if a person gains more knowledge and intelligence in this life through his diligence and obedience than another, he will have so much the advantage in the world to come.”5
“That scripture motivates me,” he says. “It brings me happiness to know that there is more to come. I wake up early in the morning and I study the scriptures. Then I go to work satisfied because I was able to learn something early in the morning.”
Not long ago, Raimundo and Eró were called to advise their region’s young single adults.
“It’s wonderful!” Eró says. “We receive their positive energy, and we give them back wisdom. It is like a perfect connection. Age doesn’t separate us. The desire to improve brings us together. We have found that they can teach us skills we haven’t learned yet. And in exchange, we can give them life experience and help them understand how education can further their ability to be self-reliant. We’re here to support each other and learn from each other.”
“What a marvelous opportunity we have now,” Raimundo says, “to help young people see how education can help them to become self-reliant. But I hope we can also help them to understand that the glory of God is intelligence. I think we all have a desire to learn. I believe we will always keep learning.”

Youth from the Pittsburgh Stake and Wintersville, Ohio District became TV stars, thanks to their service project/youth conference. They cleaned up a cemetery that contained pre-Revolutionary graves, and the local media found the project so unique it was covered by television and newspapers.
Cemetery trustee Earl Nicodemus found the event unique as well. “I expected something like a Cub Scout troop,” he said, “and you could have knocked me over with a feather when they told me there would be as many as 200 kids here.”
The youth spent an entire day weeding, painting, fixing head stones, and copying family history information from the graves. The next two days were spent feeding the information they’d collected into the Church records.
“I think it’s really neat,” said Sarah Lee Altman, 17, of Pittsburgh. “It makes you excited to do genealogy because you want to learn about all these people and what they did.”

I got a kite for my birthday. It was fun to see it go up in the sky. Then the wind blew it into a tall tree. My daddy couldn’t get it down, so we prayed that Heavenly Father would help me get my kite back. Every day I went to look at my kite, but it was still in the tree. Several weeks later a big bucket truck came down our street. My mommy saw the truck and asked the men if they could get my kite down. They were happy to. I knew Heavenly Father would answer my prayer. I just had to be patient.