Gospel Story Finder

The bishop of a twelve-year-old confined to a wheel chair came to the boy’s home with a measuring tape. Since the young man was not able to walk or carry anything, this sensitive priesthood leader measured his wheelchair and made a wooden shelf that could hold a sacrament tray. Now ward members witness a beautiful example of charity in action each week as other priesthood holders take turns pushing his wheelchair so he can pass the sacred emblems to the congregation.

I remember well the day I first visited the temple. I was a young missionary and I went to the London England Temple to receive my endowments just before entering the mission field.
Thinking back, I felt that I was in a holy place and it felt so right to put on white temple clothing in place of my normal clothes. In so doing, I felt the symbolism of leaving the world behind outside and experiencing heaven on earth. This added to the feeling of holiness.

Mara buttoned her skirt and looked in the mirror. It felt funny to wear church clothes on a Saturday, but this was a special Saturday. It was general conference!
“Are you excited for the women’s session?” Mak (Mom) asked. She brushed Mara’s hair with quick, gentle strokes. “I want you to try to listen as much as you can.”
“Yes! I hope they tell pioneer stories!” Mara liked those best.
“Maybe they will,” Mak said. “Did you know your dad is a pioneer?”
Mara was confused. Her dad had never ridden in a covered wagon, like the early pioneers in the Church.
“How is he a pioneer?” she asked.
Mak nodded toward the window, toward the river. “He was fishing there when he met the missionaries. He was the first one in his family to get baptized,” Mak said. “That makes him a pioneer! Now let’s go find your grandmother.”
Yiay (Grandma) was waiting for them in the front room. Mara’s family and her grandparents all lived together. Yiay helped take care of Mara after school while her parents worked. Now Yiay stood by the moped, the big motorized scooter that carried them around the city.
“The Church has only been in Cambodia for 25 years,” Mak told Mara as she opened the door and pushed the moped onto the street. “So we’re all pioneers. Even you!”
How am I a pioneer? Mara wondered as she got on the moped. Mak drove the moped, with Yiay in back and Mara in the middle. Mara held on tight as they zoomed down the crowded street.
As they passed a café, the smell of tea wafted over them. Almost everyone here drank tea. But Mara didn’t. She followed the Word of Wisdom. Mara grinned. That’s one way she was a pioneer!
As the moped turned a corner, Mara saw a wat, a Buddhist temple. The red pointed roof rose above the other buildings. Monks with shaved heads and orange robes sat studying in the courtyard.
Mara knew that most people in Cambodia were Buddhist. They didn’t believe in Jesus Christ. But Mara did. That’s another way I’m a pioneer, thought Mara. And today she would get to listen to the prophet!
As the moped turned into the church parking lot, Mara saw lots of women arriving. Some had walked or ridden mopeds. Others arrived in tuk tuks, small carriages pulled by a motorbike. Many of the women wore dresses or plain skirts, like Mara did. And some wore sampots, beautiful long skirts made of colorful patterned fabrics.
Mara, Mak, and Yiay sat down in the chapel with the other women. Conference had actually happened a whole week ago in Salt Lake City, Utah, USA. Now the people in Cambodia would be able to watch the broadcast in Khmer. Mara spoke both English and Khmer at home, and she also learned French in school. Many Cambodians just spoke Khmer.
The first speaker didn’t tell any stories about pioneers. But then the second speaker told a story about walking up a steep dirt path on her way home from school. It was called the “boys’ trail,” and sometimes she would take off her shoes and walk barefoot. She wanted to do hard things so she could be like a pioneer! Mara smiled as she thought about all the ways she was a pioneer.
The last speaker was the prophet. He stood tall. Mara listened extra closely. “I invite you to read the Book of Mormon between now and the end of the year,” he said. “The heavens will open for you. The Lord will bless you.”
Mara knew it wouldn’t be easy to read the whole Book of Mormon. She looked at the women around her. All of them had chosen to follow Jesus Christ. All of them had come to listen to the prophet. She would follow the prophet, just like they did. She would be a pioneer!

At an Aaronic Priesthood encampment testimony meeting, the boys formed a long line waiting for a turn at the microphone. As they bore their testimonies, a nonmember boy, sitting by the Scoutmaster, kept saying, out loud: “How can they say that?” “They don’t know it’s true!”
About an hour later, caught up by the spirit of the meeting and the sincerity of the boys, the nonmember friend found himself in line, waiting to bear his testimony. When his turn came, he declared: “I’ve got to join this Church! I know the gospel is true!”

On registration day several of the young people complained about having the boys and girls on separate campuses, but as the conferences progressed, they all seemed to really enjoy their own activities more without the pressures they usually feel when someone from the opposite sex is around. Bryan Krieger, from Silver Springs, Maryland, felt this separation gave the conference a perfect balance of social, spiritual, and physical activities.
“There is no way we could have accomplished as much all meeting together,” added Randy Tearlink from Charlottesville, North Carolina.
When they did see each other for the first time dressed in their best at the dinner-dance, they appreciated the company even more. Franky Ipsen from Fayetteville, West Virginia, said it was even fun following the advice of the speakers. “The dance really made it worth coming. There were plenty of girls to dance with, and we tried our best to do what we were told in the general sessions, ‘Warm people’s lonely hearts.’”

Oh, sisters, we love you. While visiting Mexico recently, I had a glimpse of the sisterhood we are all feeling tonight. Imagine this scene: We had just finished Primary on Sunday morning, and the children, teachers, and I were spilling out into the crowded hallway. Just then the door to the Young Women class opened, and I saw the young women and their leaders. We all reached out for a hug. With the children holding onto my skirt and the women close around me, I wanted to express the feelings I felt at that very moment.
I do not speak Spanish, so only English words came into my mind. I looked into all of their faces and said, “We are daughters of our Heavenly Father, who loves us, and we love Him.” Everyone immediately joined in, in Spanish. There we were in a crowded hallway, reciting together the Young Women theme as we said, “We will stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places.”

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.

What’s wrong?
I heard Miguel and Julia talking about me.
They said I was annoying. And they don’t want to be my friend anymore.
I’m really sorry.
You know, they’re just missing out! I always have fun with you.
Seriously! You even make chores fun somehow. You have the best jokes! And the best ideas. And you’re nice to everyone.
OK, OK. You don’t have to say all that.
Hey, I’m just telling the truth.
Thanks, Paolo. You always know what to say. I feel a lot better.
Illustrations by Katie McDee

Sharon bent her head over her spelling words and tried to ignore the excited chatter all over the classroom. Field day! That’s all anybody talks about anymore, she thought angrily. And what fun is field day for me when my legs don’t work?
How she hated the wheelchair that prevented her from doing all the things she wanted to do. She had to stop thinking about it though because when she did, she would also think about the accident. Then she would get all shaky remembering the car rolling over and over and the feeling afterward when her legs wouldn’t move anymore.
What can I do on field day? she wondered. Just sit on the sidelines while all the rest run and jump and win ribbons! Last year Karen, her twin, had been her field day partner, and they had won two blue ribbons. And Sharon had even placed second in the sack race. But this year … well, she would pretend to be sick that day. That would certainly be a lot easier than sitting on the sidelines and pretending she didn’t care.
"You can’t be sick!" Karen pleaded that morning. "It’s field day and you have to go!"
"I can’t," Sharon whispered. "I feel just awful."
Mom came and felt her forehead. "No fever," she said.
Sharon felt that Mom knew she was telling a lie, and then she really did feel awful. She had never told Mom a lie before, but she just couldn’t sit on the sidelines and watch everyone else having a great time.
"But I ache all over, Mom. I don’t think I’d better go to school today."
Sharon lay there feeling guilty. She could hear Mom in the kitchen telling Karen she wouldn’t be able to go see her in the competition after all, and she could hear Karen’s disappointment when she said, "That’s OK, Mom."
Sharon hated to disappoint Karen. Her sister had been just great since the accident. She had carried her piggyback many times so Sharon could go out and join the other kids in their games. No, I can’t let her down, she decided. She loves field day as much as I always did. And it wouldn’t be fair to make Mom stay home either.
The classroom was a frenzy of activity when they arrived. And before she knew it, Sharon was out on the field with the rest of the school, where Miss Sims was calling out the events—"Sixty-meter dash!"
Sharon’s whole class was in that one except for her, and she felt embarrassed to just sit there while all the rest were on the field waiting for the starting whistle. She looked around for Mom and spotted her across the field, sitting with several other parents. They all looked excited and proud as they pointed out their children. Somehow that made Sharon feel worse than ever.
"Go!"
The runners were off and Sharon heard herself yelling along with everybody else. "Go, Karen! Go!"
The next event was the three-legged race, and Sharon couldn’t hide her tears when she saw her sister team up with another girl. But everyone was too busy cheering and shouting to notice her crying.
Sharon didn’t yell much after that. She watched with scant interest the sack race, walk race, wheelbarrow race, and the slowpoke race. But then suddenly Karen was beside her, her face red from the heat and the excitement.
"Come on, Sharon. We’re next!"
Miss Sims picked Sharon up out of the wheelchair and the next thing she knew she was on her sister’s back, hanging on for dear life as they sped onto the field. "Karen, you’ll drop me!" she cried.
"No I won’t, “Karen called over her shoulder. "I carry you piggyback at home, don’t I? Now just hold on, silly. We’re partners for the piggyback race, and we’re going to win the blue ribbon!"
The whistle blew. "Go!"
The racers ran across the field and Sharon held on for all she was worth. "Go, Karen!" she shouted. "We’re ahead! Run! Run!"
Sharon could see Mom jumping up and down on the edge of the field and could hear her cheering for them. But as they neared the finish line, Laura Kendle and Elaine Coughty edged past them to finish first. As they crossed the line second, Karen eased Sharon into her chair, panting. "Whew! Well, we came in second anyway."
"You came in second," muttered Sharon. "You ran. I only rode!" Her twin looked at her understandingly and didn’t say anything as they accepted their red ribbons.
Sharon knew she hadn’t done anything herself. Karen had earned the ribbons for them, but she had participated in field day, and she could not help but be just a little bit proud of their ribbons.
"OK! Softball throw."
"Come on, Sharon," Miss Sims called. "You’re in this event."
One of the boys pushed her chair out onto the field, and Sharon’s heart began to beat a little faster. She had been pitching to Ricky, the little boy next door, who was trying out for Little League, so she knew she was pretty good with a softball. Her heart was pounding like a trip-hammer. When her turn came, Sharon held the ball for a moment and then threw it with all the strength she could muster.
"Wow!" the children all murmured appreciatively and watched as Miss Sims checked the distance. Then, consulting the figures on her clipboard, she announced, "First place! Sharon Sullivan. Second place …"
But Sharon didn’t hear who won second or third place, because Karen was giving her a bear hug, and all the other boys and girls were crowding around to congratulate her. She had won a blue ribbon and she had done it herself.
"But I really didn’t think I would be in field day at all this year," she told Miss Sims as she accepted her ribbon.
"Why, Sharon Sullivan! You know everyone participates in field day. ‘All students must participate in field day.’ That’s what it says in the rules. Right?" Then she smiled. "Congratulations!"
Sharon smiled back. And although she couldn’t explain how or why she thought so, she knew that something important had happened to her. Somehow she didn’t feel like "just a girl in a wheelchair" anymore. Wonderingly, she said half aloud, "I’m still Sharon Sullivan."
"Well, of course," said one of the boys. "That’s who you’ve been all along! But now you’re also the winner of a blue ribbon!"

In early 2011, New Mexico—usually a mild desert state—felt record low temperatures. The freezing caused pipes all over the state to burst, including some in the stake center where the Scouts of Troop 211 meet. Within hours volunteers, including many of these Scouts, were at the building to help clean up.
But serving together is nothing new for the boys of the troop. Just days after helping clear out the building, parents and Scouts gathered to hold a court of honor for the 10 boys from the ward who would be receiving Eagle awards. These young men had performed a host of service projects in their community, including organizing a blood drive; cleaning up a baseball field; working on the landscaping, classrooms, and libraries of local schools; and assisting with research for eye diseases in Peru. In recognition of the boys’ collective service, the city’s mayor attended their court of honor and pronounced February 9, 2011, as “Troop 211 Eagle Scouts Day.”

As a child, I was influenced by a lot of people, especially by my parents and my uncles and aunts, friends, teachers, stake president, and the prophet. But if I were to pick just one person who influenced me, it would be President Spencer W. Kimball. Living in El Paso, Texas, we belonged to the Mt. Graham Stake, which was centered in Arizona. President Kimball was our stake president at that time. His wife, Camilla, was first cousin to my father, so we were related.
Whenever President Kimball came to El Paso on stake business, he stayed at our house. At that time my father was on the high council. One of the things I remember about President Kimball was how businesslike he was and how fast he worked. He typically, like my dad and many of that generation, had bread and milk for supper.
He was a marvelous man. He took a special interest in me—at least that’s the feeling I had. Later I learned that everybody felt like that. He was the first Church leader to invite me to go on a mission. He wrote to me, telling me about his mission, and that influenced me.
When I received my mission call, I traveled to Salt Lake City to enter the mission home. At that time, missionaries were set apart by General Authorities. I was set apart by Elder Spencer W. Kimball, who was then an Apostle.
He also performed the marriage and sealing of my wife and me. On several occasions when we lived in Salt Lake City and there was illness in our family, he responded to a call for a special blessing. And when we lived in the state of Washington, he took time out to visit with us there.
I remember visiting with him after he had been called as President of the Church. What a humble man he was. Here he had been called to be the prophet, yet he and his wife took the time to have a family home evening with our family and all the children.

Recently in the small village of Ubon, Thailand, a member family by the name of Tan was beset with what seemed to be insurmountable problems. The father had lost his job, they had no money, the children were sick and malnourished. They were being forced to remove their humble home from the government land upon which it was built, and they had no place to go.
At this point a fine priesthood leader, who had been using welfare services missionaries as a resource, stepped in and averted what could otherwise have been a tragic situation. Under his guidance and with the assistance of all the branch members, a piece of land was obtained, and the Tan family home was dismantled, transported, and rebuilt. Brother Tan began farming the land and started a family produce business which is now flourishing. Some hard work, dedication, and love from local leaders and members, aided by the suggestions of welfare services missionaries, caused a miracle for one family and a great learning and growing experience for a whole branch.

Camping at a castle is just business as usual for the girls in the Adana Turkey Branch. All three girls live in Turkey because their fathers are stationed at the Air Force Base there. Because of their unique circumstances the regular girls’ camp program was modified to fit their needs.
The camp lasted only 24 hours (the girls spend their school vacations in the States with family and friends, so camp was held on a weekend), and the tents were pitched on rocks near an old castle in the Taurus mountains. Lots of other things were just like any other girls’ camp; they cooked tinfoil dinners over a fire, sang silly songs, and even made a craft.
“We’ve never had camp just for us,” says 17-year-old Hanim Christensen. “I wish I could have gone before. I really like it.”
The girls also certified and participated in a hike in scorching 90-degree temperatures, exploring the castle and mountain trails.
The girls had so much fun, they’re thinking of stretching camp out for two days next year.

“Why don’t we choose service as our goal?” suggested Kim, her blue eyes sparkling.
“We could do things for older people, little children, our parents, and each other!” added Jeri excitedly.
The rest of the second-year Beehives of the Bountiful 42nd Ward, Bountiful East Stake, chimed in with their ideas and comments about the different kinds of projects we could do. When a talent show was suggested, each of the girls committed herself to performing at least one number. Rehearsals were set for the following week, and the first performance was scheduled for three weeks later at a nursing home for the elderly. When the big night came, the girls were as nervous as if they were performing on Broadway! Their numbers went very well, however, and afterwards they visited with their new friends. The project was truly one of love, and thus it became known as our “Love Program.”
During the coming year we presented the “Love Program” several times—once to a 12-year-old bedridden girl—and in February we had a very special Valentine party for our grandmothers. The girls sent invitations, made special cards, prepared a buffet dinner, decorated the room with streamers and hearts and made candy hearts of dipped chocolate as favors.
Each time the program was given, the girls seemed to enjoy it more. “Before our program, I didn’t know I could write poems,” shared Jeri. “But when I saw others enjoying the poems I had written, it gave me confidence to write more. I even wrote one for my dad.”
“At first I didn’t want to play my guitar,” admitted Marti. “But when everyone else got so excited, I got excited, too. I’m glad I was kind of pushed into doing it.”
Our last performance of the “Love Program” was for the girls’ parents. The Mutual year was ending and we wanted them to know of some of the good accomplished. In addition to this, however, the girls also performed acts of service in other ways throughout the year. At Christmas, our Mutual provided gifts for a family and our class was assigned a two-year-old boy. For several weeks the girls baked cookies, brownies, cakes, and candies to raise money for our “Christmas boy.” When the girls weren’t doing this, they were making surprises for a “secret sister” in our class. What seemed to matter most to them was that they were doing something for someone else.
At the year’s end, Lynnette summed up the feelings of all the girls when she said, “I liked our year of service and I know that I am a better person for helping. I like knowing I can make people a little bit happier.”

In September 1845, the John Williams, a ship carrying two missionaries from the London Missionary Society, visited Tubuai to speak with Elder Pratt. While Elder Pratt carried on a lively debate with one of the missionaries, the other sought out those who had accepted Elder Pratt’s message. He “upbraided them for being baptized,” Elder Pratt reported. The missionary attempted to prove with scripture that they had been deceived, but Telii stood up to him and “maintained the point from scripture so well,” Elder Pratt said, “that he could not confute [disprove] her from it.”10

President Wilford Woodruff recounted the difficulties of early missionary work:
“In my early missions, when preaching in the Southern States—Arkansas, Tennessee, and Kentucky—I have waded swamps and rivers and have walked seventy miles or more without eating. In those days we counted it a blessing to go into a place where there was a Latter-day Saint. I went once 150 miles to see one; and when I got there he had apostatized, and tried to kill me. Then, after travelling seventy-two miles without food, I sat down to eat my meal with a Missouri mobocrat, and he damning and cursing me all the time. … In those days we might travel hundreds and hundreds of miles and you could not find a Latter-day Saint.”

“What can I get Mom for Mother’s Day?” I asked the same question again and again, but still no answer came. Because it was the last year I would be living at home, I wanted to give Mom something extra special. When she unwrapped this gift, it had to say, “Thank you for taking care of me and loving me for the last 20 years.”
“Well, if there is such a gift, I should be able to find it here,” I said out loud as I pulled the car into the shopping mall parking lot. Each little store seemed inviting, but I felt drawn into the pet shop. The fluffy dogs and cuddly hamsters had always been irresistible to me. As I walked around the fish tanks, there it lay—a green, scaly lizard! My thoughts hurled back through time, and for a moment I was a child again.
“Can I help you?” asked the clerk in the stationery store.
“No, just looking,” I mumbled. I lifted a piece of fine embossed stationery from a box. It felt smooth and cold in my hand.
“Should I wrap that up for you?” the sales clerk asked.
“No,” I said shaking my head.
“It’s not quite what I’m looking for.”
As Mom received each gift, her bright face and sweet words of gratitude made me feel absolutely confident that I had picked out the perfect present.
“The mall is now closing,” announced the voice over the loud speaker. Slowly, I walked out to the car. My hands were empty. The evening was gone, and still I had not purchased a gift for my mother.
“What is wrong with me? Why doesn’t anything seem right? What is it that Mom really wants?” I asked myself. Then suddenly I had the answers, and I knew the gift I would give to my mother this last year that I would be living at home. It didn’t have to be written down, nor did it have to be wrapped up. It wouldn’t take as much effort to get as the lizard nor cost as much money as the gold watch. But still it was the perfect gift.
This year I would give to my mother my sacred promise to always love the Lord and keep all his commandments and serve him by staying active in his Church, all the days of my life. Peace and happiness filled my soul as I pictured my mother’s joyful expression when she received this gift. In my heart I knew she would say, “It’s just what I have always wanted.”

“Mom, can I ride my bike over to Jason’s house?” Zach called as he ran into his bedroom.
“Sure,” Mom said. “Just be careful.”
“OK!” Zach skidded to a stop next to his bed and grabbed his tennis shoes. When he glanced up, he saw the picture of Jesus he kept next to his baseball trophy. His grandparents had given him the picture at his baptism last month. Zach could hardly believe he was finally baptized. He thought back to that important day.
He remembered sitting in the chapel next to his dad. Both of them were dressed in white. His Primary teacher, Sister Jones, gave a talk about the Holy Ghost. She told Zach if he listened to the still, small voice he would be blessed.
Sister Jones held up a whistle. “Sometimes the Holy Ghost will warn you of danger, almost like a whistle in your mind.” Then she held up a helmet. “Following the Holy Ghost is like wearing a helmet in a dangerous world. His still, small voice will prompt you so you will be protected spiritually and physically.”
Zach had thought about the talk a lot since then. He was grateful to have the gift of the Holy Ghost. As he finished tying his shoes, he stood up and noticed his bike helmet in his closet.
“Wear your helmet,” a small voice inside him seemed to say.
Zach stood still. Is that the Holy Ghost? he wondered. OK, he thought. I’ll wear my helmet. He put it on and ran out of the room. “Bye, Mom!” he called as he ran outside.
The afternoon hurried by as Zach and Jason played pirates in Jason’s tree house. Finally Zach noticed it was getting late.
“I’d better go,” he told Jason. He picked up his bike and snapped his helmet into place again. “See you later.”
Zach pedaled carefully along the side of the street. When he came to the corner, he looked both ways, then started across the road. Just as he reached the other side, a huge blue truck raced around the corner. Suddenly it hit the back tire of Zach’s bike, knocking him to the ground.
Zach caught his breath, then carefully sat up. The road was empty, except for his twisted bike lying nearby.
Zach stood up. He was shaking, but he didn’t seem to be hurt. Then he remembered—his helmet! He reached up and felt it still fastened firmly on his head. It had protected him!
Zach picked up his bike and walked the rest of the way home. When he reached the front door, he ran inside.
“Mom, Mom!” he said, hugging her tightly, his voice shaking a little. “A truck hit my bike!”
“What?! Are you all right?” she asked.
Zach nodded. “I was wearing my helmet. I felt a still, small voice tell me to put it on before I left.”
Mom sighed with relief.
“Sister Jones was right,” Zach continued. “The Holy Ghost is real! I followed His prompting and He protected me—just like my helmet.”

One weekend I slept over at Grandma Roberts’s house with my sisters. We spent Saturday doing many fun things. We baked brownies, and went to the zoo, the pioneer museum, garage sales, the bookstore, and the bread store. We were very busy.
When I am with my grandma I always have fun. Grandma Roberts teaches me things. I’ve worked in the kitchen with her making rolls and bottling fruit and strawberry jam. She teaches me about sewing. We made a purse together. She thinks reading is important, and at her house there is a bookcase filled with children’s books. When one of her grandchildren reads one of these books, he or she gets an Olympic pin.
I know that family is important to Grandma because she tells us about her parents and their parents. She has us write down their names. Sometimes we play games or have quizzes to help us remember the names.
She bought us each a doll with old-fashioned clothes and pretty hair in long ringlets. We had to give each doll the name of one of our ancestors. I named mine Carrie Myrtle Thompson Olson, who is my great-great-grandmother. My sister’s doll is Effie May Wagstaff, another great-great-grandmother. We keep these dolls at Grandma’s. When we play with them, she talks about those people and other relatives in the family.
I know that family is important to my grandma because she teaches us about them. I know that families can be together forever, so one day I will be with the people my grandma has taught me about.
I love my grandma and I am thankful for all she teaches me.Lauren Elizabeth N., age 10, Utah

She has seen this in her family. When she was 10, she was asked to give a testimony of baptism in the Primary sacrament meeting presentation. The only thing is, she hadn’t been baptized yet. Her mother had not given her permission. So Laysa wasn’t sure what she would say in her testimony, but she went ahead. Then a miracle happened. “My mother was in church that day,” says Laysa. “I didn’t expect her to be there. That day, I got her permission to be baptized.”