Gospel Story Finder

Agnes wrote of one incident that took place shortly before they got to the Salt Lake Valley: “Just before we crossed the mountains, relief wagons reached us, and it certainly was a relief. The infirm and aged were allowed to ride, all able-bodied continuing to walk. When the wagons started out, a number of us children decided to see how long we could keep up with the wagons, in hopes of being asked to ride. At least that is what my great hope was. One by one they all fell out, until I was the last one remaining, so determined was I that I should get a ride.
“After what seemed the longest run I ever made before or since, the driver, who was William Henry ‘Heber’ Kimball, called to me, ‘Say, sissy, would you like a ride?’ I answered in my very best manner, ‘Yes sir.’ At this he reached over, taking my hand, clucking to his horses to make me run, with legs that seemed to me could run no farther. On we went, to what to me seemed miles. What went through my head at that time was that he was the meanest man that ever lived or that I had ever heard of, and other things that would not be a credit nor would it look well coming from one so young. Just at what seemed the breaking point, he stopped. Taking a blanket, he wrapped me up and lay me in the bottom of the wagon, warm and comfortable. Here I had time to change my mind, as I surely did, knowing full well by doing this he saved me from freezing when taken into the wagon.”

I want to tell you about my little brother, Hans. When he was born, he didn’t seem to like being here on earth. He would wake up in the night, and when he saw that he was still here, he would start crying. He would only stop when Mom fed him. After he got older, he seemed to feel better about being here.
We slept in the same room, and at bedtime we always played games. He would never just go to sleep. After Mom kissed us goodnight and shut the door, Hans would jump up, hold onto the rail of his crib, and begin to bounce. He would wave and yell at me until we both were laughing hard. I really liked sharing a bedroom with him, even if he was a baby.
Some people think that babies are a bother, but Hans wasn’t. He was good. He would watch us, then try to do everything we did. He used to go around the house picking up little pieces of rubbish that no one else saw. Then he would run to the wastebasket and throw them in. He always tried to help everybody. He was smart about it too. One day he decided to help Mom. He climbed up onto the stove when he was alone in the kitchen. Later we found him sitting beside the burners stirring a pot full of cold water. When we came in, he clapped his hands and said, “Oh, see!”
Hans was very adventurous. He wasn’t afraid of anything. His best trick was to climb up our big bookcase. He could get nearly to the ceiling. Mom always lifted him down, but I thought that he was better than a mountain climber.
Once I did something terrible to him without meaning to. He was coming up the stairs, steadying himself with his hand on the wall. When he got to the door at the top, his hand poked through where the door hinge is. I didn’t see him, and I slammed the door on his finger. He screamed and screamed. Mom and Dad rushed him to the hospital because the end of his finger was badly cut and he needed stitches. I felt awful. But when he came back home, he gave me a hug, so I knew that he still loved me. He was really brave and hardly ever cried about his finger, and he wasn’t even two years old! I felt awfully proud of him.
When the weather was nice, we used to go for walks together down the street. He really liked to play in the vacant field, running on his little legs along the paths. He liked the flowers and bugs and birds too.
I guess that we had the most fun one day when Mom went visiting teaching. She left Daddy to take care of us. He was busy in his study, so we looked for something fun to do until Mom got home. Hans opened a cupboard and took out a big can of flour. He took off the lid and showed it to me. It looked like something fun to play with, so we took it into the living room, where he poured it all onto the carpet. Then we rubbed it in big circles. If felt soft and nice. Hans rubbed a white circle around one of his eyes. He looked so funny! Mom came home right after that, and she couldn’t get mad when she saw how funny he looked. She just got her camera and took a picture of us.
Now I’m really glad that she took the picture. It helps me to look at it. It helps me to tell you about Hans too. You see, he got really sick last month—Mom said it was meningitis. Even though the doctor and the bishop came to help, he died, and I don’t ever want to forget him.
We all cried when Hans died. Mom and Dad hugged each other and cried. They hugged me too. Our neighbors and friends came over, and they cried. I’m glad that our friends were there. Mom and Dad had to be gone sometimes, getting things ready to bury Hans. It helped to talk to my friends. It helped to just sit on the porch with them beside me.
Mom decided to make a little white suit for Hans to wear for his funeral. She got the pants made, but when she had trouble with the jacket, one of her friends took it and finished sewing it. She and Dad went to the mortuary to put the suit on Hans.
After Mom and Dad came back, we all dressed in our Sunday clothes. My grandmas and grandpas were there too. We went together to the mortuary to see Hans. The stake president, who is also the mortician, was there, and he put his arm around me. That helped me feel better.
I never saw anyone dead before. I knew that Hans would be different, that he wouldn’t be able to talk to me. I wondered how I would feel when I saw him.
Mom held my hand, and we went into a beautiful room with lots of flowers. There was quiet music playing. The room was just for our family so that we could be alone with Hans.
Hans was lying in a casket. It looked like a little white bed. His eyes were closed. He looked different, but he looked nice.
Hans’s funeral was in the morning. All my cousins and aunts and uncles came. Our friends and neighbors were there, too, and we sang “I Know My Father Lives.” Mom and Dad played a song for Hans on the piano and then talked a lot about Jesus.
Hans is buried near a little pine tree. I like that tree. Dad says that we can watch it grow. It will remind us that Hans is really alive, too, only with Jesus.
I know that Hans will always be my brother because Mom and Dad were married in the temple. I didn’t know how important that was until Hans died. Now I do.
Sometimes we go to the cemetery to put flowers on Hans’s grave. I told Mom that it’s kind of like the park where we had our family reunion. She hugged me tightly and told me that when Resurrection Day comes, the good people who have been buried will meet with everybody that they love, and it will be the biggest family reunion that you ever saw. I can hardly wait to hug Hans when he is resurrected. I miss him a lot, but I know that he is happy because he lives with Heavenly Father and Jesus.
When I die, I won’t be afraid, because I will see Jesus, and I will be with Hans again. I am going to try to be as good as Hans was so that we can live together some day.
When I take the sacrament, I think about how Jesus was resurrected so that we can be too. I love Jesus for doing that. Even though Hans is dead, because of Jesus I can feel happy.

It was not any easier when the Saints moved west and began to settle in these valleys. As a young man of Primary and Aaronic Priesthood age, I attended church in the grand old St. George Tabernacle, construction for which had begun in 1863. During very lengthy sermons I would amuse myself by gazing about the building, admiring the marvelous pioneer craftsmanship that had built that striking facility. Did you know, by the way, that there are 184 clusters of grapes carved into the ceiling cornice of that building? (Some of those sermons were really long!) But most of all I enjoyed counting the window panes—2,244 of them—because I grew up on the story of Peter Neilson, one of those little-noted and now-forgotten Saints of whom we have been speaking.
In the course of constructing that tabernacle, the local brethren ordered the glass for the windows from New York and had it shipped around the cape to California. But a bill of $800 was due and payable before the panes could be picked up and delivered to St. George. Brother David H. Cannon, later to preside over the St. George Temple being built at the same time, was charged with the responsibility of raising the needed funds. After painstaking effort, the entire community, giving virtually everything they had to these two monumental building projects, had been able to come up with only $200 cash. On sheer faith Brother Cannon committed a team of freighters to prepare to leave for California to get the glass. He continued to pray that the enormous balance of $600 would somehow be forthcoming before their departure.
Living in nearby Washington, Utah, was Peter Neilson, a Danish immigrant who had been saving for years to add on to his modest two-room adobe home. On the eve of the freighters’ departure for California, Peter spent a sleepless night in that tiny little house. He thought of his conversion in far-off Denmark and his subsequent gathering with the Saints in America. After coming west he had settled and struggled to make a living in Sanpete. And then, just as some prosperity seemed imminent there, he answered the call to uproot and go to the Cotton Mission, bolstering the pathetic and sagging efforts of the alkali-soiled, malaria-plagued, flood-bedeviled settlers of Dixie. As he lay in bed that night contemplating his years in the Church, he weighed the sacrifices asked of him against the wonderful blessings he had received. Somewhere in those private hours he made a decision.
Some say it was a dream, others say an impression, still others simply a call to duty. However the direction came, Peter Neilson arose before dawn on the morning the teams were to leave for California. With only a candle and the light of the gospel to aid him, Peter brought out of a secret hiding place $600 in gold coins—half eagles, eagles, and double eagles. His wife, Karen, aroused by the predawn bustling, asked why he was up so early. He said only that he had to walk quickly the seven miles to St. George to give $600 to Brother David H. Cannon.
As the first light of morning fell on the beautiful red cliffs of southern Utah, a knock came at Brother Cannon’s door. There stood Peter Neilson, holding a red bandanna which sagged under the weight it carried. “Good morning, David,” said Peter. “I hope I am not too late. You will know what to do with this money.”
With that he turned on his heel and retraced his steps back to Washington, back to a faithful and unquestioning wife, and back to a small two-room adobe house that remained just two rooms for the rest of his life.

The rodeo chute burst open and a raging, bucking bronco leaped high into the air. A cowboy sat on the horse in perfect form, the rhythm of each move matched to the twisting and turning of the wild animal.
But then the crowd rose to its feet and gasped as the massive animal came crashing down on its side, all of its weight crushing the left foot of its rider.
Zane Davis picked himself up and hobbled over to the chute. When he got his boot off, the foot began to swell. The crushed bones eliminated his chances to continue in the competition, but that didn’t keep Zane down.
Less than a month later he was back in the saddle, working his way to the title as top college rodeo rider in the United States.
Now Zane is serving a mission in Brazil and teaching the gospel to people in Portuguese. And he says, “I wouldn’t trade this mission experience for anything—even a national professional rodeo championship.”
It was in June of 1990 that Zane Davis secured the award as the national collegiate all-around cowboy of the year in the College National Finals Rodeo in Bozeman, Montana. Although only a freshman at the College of Southern Idaho, Zane didn’t get to the number-one spot by simply riding a few wild horses and winning a few competitions. Zane’s training started before he could walk, when his father, Shawn Davis (a three-time National Finals Rodeo saddle bronc world champion), took him along to rodeos across North America.
At the age of three, Zane insisted that he be allowed to ride in the rodeo against the eight- to twelve-year-old cowboys. But since he was too young to compete, he was only allowed to demonstrate his riding skill. Undaunted, he put on his hat, boots, rope, and spurs and climbed aboard a rather angry calf. Zane says that the next thing he knew he was on the ground. Apparently, he had ridden the calf almost to the time limit before falling off.
He entered his next rodeo when he was only five, and this time a pony bucked him off. But he still walked away with third-place honors. Hundreds of rodeos later, Zane had earned an impressive array of saddles, belt buckles, trophies, and cash prizes. The success came as a result of hard work.
Each day at his parents’ ranch in Idaho, Zane exercised by doing eighty sit-ups, twenty pull-ups, and four hundred push-ups. In addition, his riding included roping ten to twenty calves and practicing once a week for each riding event. Also, before each rodeo, Zane asked his father for a father’s blessing. Zane says, “I feel that these blessings kept me from getting injured on many occasions; and when I was injured, I recovered remarkably fast.”
Zane adds that obeying the Word of Wisdom has been a great blessing in his life. “Other cowboys who drink and take drugs may be good for a very short time, but they never last long,” he says.
Another reason Zane has done so well is that he has learned to face challenges. At one rodeo, he had to ride a bull that had thrown off all the college-age riders who had tried to ride it. But Zane, only thirteen years old, got on the bull and rode him in three out of five attempts. “I don’t remember ever being really frightened at a rodeo,” said Zane. “A little fear is always good for you, but too much fear is not good. If you have a little fear, you plan better. If you have too much fear, you may get out of control.”
One of the hardest decisions Zane ever had to face was whether or not to go on a mission. Colleges all over the United States were recruiting him. Although he had always planned on a mission, the final decision was really hard. “But I decided I had to go on a mission to try to pay the Lord back for some of the many blessings I have received,” he said.
Zane wrote home from his mission and said, “I’ve learned many things. I’ve changed a lot. I thought riding three times at each rodeo all summer long was tough, but it wasn’t anything as tough as serving a mission; nevertheless, it has been good for me.”
In his life, Zane has ridden a thousand wild horses and roped a thousand calves. Rodeo became easy to him. But perhaps the best thing about the sport was the chance to be with his father—who was always there, watching him, helping him stay safe.
Zane’s mission in Brazil was not easy. He underwent the shock of learning a new language and living in a different culture. But Zane improved daily. And on his mission he learned firsthand that his Father in Heaven is always there, watching him, helping him stay safe.

Ailsa Marshall was in her second year at the famous Birmingham Conservatoire in England, and nothing seemed to be going right. She couldn’t sleep or eat properly, and her memory consistently failed during complex piano pieces.
She considered giving up, but her tutor persuaded her to enter the second-year piano competition—the David Brook Prize—an annual event sponsored by the former student’s parents after he was killed in a car crash.
“I didn’t expect to get through the preliminaries,” Ailsa explains. But the judges recognised a special quality to Ailsa’s music, and she was given a place in the finals.
The finals were to take place in the famous Adrian Boult Hall in Birmingham, but finding a time to practise in the hall was difficult. Ailsa’s teacher was finally able to find a vacant space, but it was on a Sunday.
“I’d rather not practise on that day,” Ailsa told her.
“Is it because of your church?”
“Yes.”
“Couldn’t you compromise just this once?” she persisted.
“I’d really rather not, thank you.” Ailsa was equally persistent.
To Ailsa’s relief, a Saturday slot became available just in time. “I didn’t feel I could ask for the Lord’s help and not keep his Sabbath holy,” she says.
As the big day approached Ailsa became increasingly nervous, and her eating problems returned. The family was very worried. Because of urgent commitments, Ailsa’s dad could not get down to Birmingham, so they did the next best thing.
“I drove down from Cleveland to stay with family friends and asked the head of their house, Brother David Cook, to give her a blessing,” Sister Marshall recalls.
David’s wife Jean remembers, “It was a most unusual blessing. Every bit of Ailsa that needed to perform well was mentioned—her fingers, her foot, her mind and intellect, and her nerves.”
“It left me with a feeling of complete composure,” adds Ailsa. The feeling stayed with her throughout the performance.
“Ailsa’s music was breathtaking,” comments Jean. “Her rendition of Rachmaninoff’s Prelude was incredible.”
When the results were summed up, Ailsa was awarded joint first prize. But perhaps even more special to Ailsa was the compliment David Brook’s father gave her. “I’m thrilled you chose those particular pieces of music. They were my son’s favourites, and you played them as he would have done.”

When Sister Gurney and Sister Chambers started their day, they never could have imagined the series of tender mercies Heavenly Father had in store. As missionaries for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, these young women have dedicated their time and talents to share the gospel of Jesus Christ in Japan for a year and a half.
On that day in March 2023, they were caught in a pouring rainstorm, without phone service, transportation, or umbrellas. Soaking wet, they hurried to a home, where they had hoped to find a Japanese member of the Fuchu Ward. Although the resident there was not the Church member they were looking for, they were directed to try a nearby apartment, where some “foreigners” were living.
Hurrying through the storm, they knocked on the apartment door of Theresa Akuye Amui, from Sierra Leone. She was neither a member of the Church nor Japanese, but the missionaries were dripping wet, and so she invited them in. Theresa was in Japan to work on her master’s degree in conflict studies, specializing in migration. She planned to work for the United Nations. Her husband, Peter, was still in Sierra Leone.
Entering the apartment, the two missionaries met Theresa’s friend, Andrea Treasure Sam, who is also from Sierra Leone.
Just moments before the missionaries knocked on the door, Andrea, who was waiting out the storm in Theresa’s home, was sharing a concern about finding a family-friendly Christian church to attend with her children when they arrived from Sierra Leone. She knew that even if she found a church, it would be a Japanese speaking congregation, and they had just started trying to learn the language. She didn’t know what to do.
After getting to know Theresa and Andrea a little, Sister Gurney told them she felt that there was a reason they were there, and asked if she could share a message from The Book of Mormon. Although they had been told bad stories about the book in their country, and were warned to avoid it, Theresa and Andrea agreed. Sister Gurney shared one of her favorite scriptures, Ether 12:27, along with others. The friends were surprised; it wasn’t what they had been told about at all, and it testified of Jesus Christ!
The missionaries gave their English copy of the book to Theresa and offered to get one for Andrea. She explained that her husband had previously received lessons from missionaries while he was studying in Japan.
Just two months after that rainy day in March, on May 14 Theresa entered the waters of baptism. When asked how her life has changed since joining the Church, she explained, “My view of life has changed. I have found peace. I used to have so many questions. Having the Book of Mormon has opened my perspective; it has helped me to understand the Bible more fully.”
One day, when Sister Gurney and Sister Sasaki came to teach a lesson to Andrea, they told her that Theresa was going to be baptized and asked her if she would also want to get baptized. Andrea told the sisters that she would pray about it. She had experienced the influence of the Holy Spirit in the past and said that if she had that same feeling when she prayed about joining the Church, then she would be baptized. If not, then the answer was “No.”
She later shared her experience, “When I prayed about baptism, I had this eagerness; I became so anxious to do it. I discussed it with my husband because he was waiting for me to be ready, so we could get baptized together. I said, ‘Let’s continue to pray.’ So, we did, and I kept having the eagerness.”
Andrea’s husband, Wusu, was going to be leaving in two months, so when they attended Theresa’s baptism, they told the missionaries that they wanted to be baptized right away. The whole family spent the next three weeks learning about the gospel, and on June 4, Wusu, Andrea, and Patricia, their oldest daughter, were all baptized, and then confirmed members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Andrea said, “Ever since I joined the Church, I found another family. When I came to Japan, I didn’t have anyone.” She shared a recent story about when she was sick. The sisters in the ward brought homemade soup for their family and a surprise package that cheered her up. The Church has already blessed their lives in many ways in a short time.
Theresa also has had a special experience. Soon after she was baptized, Theresa began preparing to go to the Tokyo Temple to perform vicarious baptisms for her deceased ancestors, who did not have the opportunity to receive the fulness of Christ’s gospel in this life. Through the efforts of those around the world doing indexing of public records, and with help from ward members and the missionaries, Theresa was able to find long lost information about her father, who died when she was young. This was such a blessing, as many family records were destroyed by bombings during wars in Sierra Leone. The database was updated just before her baptism. She was then able to prepare his name, her grandmother’s, and others to receive baptism and other temple ordinances.

I have a friend who learned this truth in a very personal way. His son was raised in the gospel, but he seemed to be wandering spiritually. He frequently declined opportunities to exercise the priesthood. His parents were disappointed when he declared that he had decided not to serve a mission. My friend prayed earnestly for his son, hoping that he would have a change of heart. Those hopes were dashed when his son announced that he was engaged to be married. The father pleaded with his son to get his patriarchal blessing. The son finally agreed but insisted on visiting the patriarch alone.

When he returned after the blessing, he was very emotional. He took his girlfriend outside, where he could talk to her privately. The father peeked out the window to see the young couple wiping away each other’s tears.

Later the son shared with his father what had happened. With great emotion he explained that during the blessing, he had a glimpse of who he was in the premortal world. He saw how valiant and influential he was in persuading others to follow Christ. Knowing who he really was, how could he not serve a mission?

In California, USA, Lori Larson had her March Ensign with her at the beauty salon and was enthralled with it. She kept thinking of how the articles would be great to share with someone of another faith and how they would clear up misconceptions about the Church. Then her beautician asked about the magazine she was reading. By the time the appointment and the conversation were over, the beautician was asking for the missionaries to visit her.

It was difficult, and it took me nearly two years. As I read in 3 Nephi about the Savior’s visit to the Nephites after His Resurrection, where He blesses their children and angels descend from heaven and encircle them, it was as though I stood among the Nephites and saw with my own eyes that miraculous event. The Holy Ghost bore witness of that great moment.

I could not read any more, as my eyes blurred with tears. When I regained my composure, I continued reading. A few more weeks passed, and I finished the book, knelt, and prayed to know if it was true. But I got no answer.

Days passed with me kneeling regularly and pleading to know if the book was true, if the Church was true, but still I got no answer. Despairing, weeks after I’d finished reading, I knelt one more time and asked, “Heavenly Father, is the Book of Mormon true?” The answer that came was not what I expected: “I have already told you. You know it is.”

I had gained my testimony weeks before, when I read about Christ blessing the children. I knew that this Church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, is the kingdom of God on earth, restored by a prophet and led by a prophet, as in days of old.

During my military service, my crew was sent to Seattle, Washington, where we boarded a ship headed into the Pacific by night. I remember lying on my bunk among the many men and reading my Book of Mormon. Many passages held special meaning for me.
In 1 Nephi 15:11, I read the promise: “If ye will not harden your hearts, and ask me in faith, believing that ye shall receive, with diligence in keeping my commandments, surely these things shall be made known unto you.”
When I reached the final promise in Moroni 10:4–5, I blocked it in solid red:
“And when ye shall receive these things, I would exhort you that ye would ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, if these things are not true; and if ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth of it unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost.
“And by the power of the Holy Ghost ye may know the truth of all things.”
On a crowded ship taking a horde of men into battle, I explained to the Lord that I wanted to know whether the Book of Mormon was or was not true. “I must know for sure that it is,” I fervently prayed, “for if it is not true, then I’m not sure that it is important whether or not I come back, because things in the world seem to be all undone anyway.” And so I continued to plead for an answer—an answer which, in time and in the Lord’s way, came to me.

Life was already challenging for many Venezuelans before the COVID-19 pandemic hit in 2020, but then even just basic survival became tough. For 11-year-old Sebastian and his family, strength from Jesus Christ was needed to stay upbeat and happy during sad times. “I feel bad when we can’t buy essential products like food, clothing, and medicine,” Sebastian says. “But I have faith the Lord will continue to bless us. I feel blessed that I was able to receive my patriarchal blessing. It tells me of things I was promised before I came to earth.”

Focusing on Jesus Christ as part of last year’s youth theme (“I can do all things through Christ” [Philippians 4:13]) proved to be a big help. “Because of the difficulties facing my country, the youth theme from last year reminded me that Christ will help me overcome and do all things through Him,” Sebastian says.

It’s been a long journey, but Sebastian and his family have seen blessings and hope along the way. “The Lord lightens my burdens,” he says. “When I get sad, I pray, study the scriptures, and read my patriarchal blessing. Thanks to Him, our family stationery business that we started three years ago has had more success this year. I would like to tell other young people that they should always be ready to rely upon Jesus Christ. When I do that, I am able to overcome my challenges.”

One day, 14-year-old Mosiah Cooper of Tokoroa, New Zealand, was a busy teachers quorum president. The next day, due to a diving accident, he was completely paralyzed—barely able to blink, and breathing only with the help of a machine. It was doubtful that he would live, but with the fasting and prayers of his fellow Scouts, ward, and family, Mosiah survived.
Not only has he survived, but thrived. He can get around on his own in an electric wheelchair. He studies, learns, and designs on a computer he operates by blowing into a special instrument attached to his head. Seminary is held in his house so he can easily attend.
Mosiah will always be grateful to those who have done so much to help him. Members of the community have cooperated to provide him and his family with special equipment for his special needs. He feels that his faith in God, and the faith of others, saved him and made his life as full as it is today.

At the beginning of my cross country season, my team went to an invitational. An invitational is a very big race where hundreds of runners meet to race. As I prepared myself for my race, I noticed that the younger girls, mainly the freshmen and first-years, were watching me intently and asking all sorts of questions. They asked about why I always wore a headband in my hair. At the next meet they all had headbands! Then they noticed that I had an energy bar I would eat before my race. Believe it or not, at the next meet they all had energy bars, and they were the exact same flavor! At first it caught me off-guard because I wasn’t used to being the experienced one, and not too long ago I was doing the watching, trying to learn from the older kids who seemed to have so much knowledge and wisdom. This was a really interesting experience for me, and it was really quite cool. I felt like a celebrity.

When I was 14, my school was across from a Latter-day Saint chapel. I watched men in white shirts going in and out of that big building. I wondered what they were doing inside.
One day my friends and I wanted to play soccer, but there was no more room on our school grounds. Someone said, “Let’s play at the church. They have a nice place outside to play.” That was my first contact with the Church—outside the building.
Two years later one of my brother’s friends invited my sister to go to the LDS Church, and I went along with her. I was excited to finally find out what they were doing inside that church.
When we got there, we saw some members playing a simple game. They looked so happy, and that got my attention. “Why are they so happy?” I wondered.
I found out when I took the missionary discussions and was baptized. Happiness comes from inside. My conversion changed my life, the life of my children, and generations ahead and behind.
Whatever you do outside the teachings of the Church will not bring you happiness. Maybe it will bring you a laugh or a small moment of excitement, but real happiness is within the gospel.
Even if your friends sometimes make fun of you, they will admire you for standing by your principles.
Your parents love you. Whatever they ask you to do is not because they are being hard on you; it is because they want to protect you.
Always be grateful for your parents and for the gospel and the happiness it brings into your life.

Emily tried hard all summer. She didn’t dig up any more carrot seeds, even when the green tops popped up along the row. But she did weed the garden while she waited. And she swam and ran and played. She even learned to wait for other things—for ice cubes to freeze in the freezer, for her turn to ride on the back of a camel at the zoo, and for lots of other things. She even learned to wait to talk to Mom or Dad when they were busy.
While Emily waited, the plants grew in the garden. When it was time, she helped to pick pea pods and yellow beans, and tall green onions. At last it was time for the carrots.
Dad showed her how to loosen the dirt around the carrots and then how to hold the green tops and pull out the carrots one by one. Emily filled her basket with long, fat carrots. Then she ran to the house to show Mom. “Look how big they grew!”
“Yes, they did,” Mom said, “and so did you!”
“Did I get taller?” Emily asked.
“You grew taller and wiser.”
“Wiser?” Emily asked.
“Waiting made you wiser.”
“Waiting made me want to eat carrots,” Emily said, “so I’m going to eat one right now!”
“Wait until I wash one,” Mom said.
But Emily didn’t wait. She took a big carrot and washed it herself. “Now I will eat the best carrot I have ever eaten,” she said. And she did.

Anne had lived in Japan only about a year. Today she was excited about going to her first Tanabata (Star Festival) party at the home of Masanari.
It was a rainy afternoon and Anne held up her umbrella as she walked along through the puddles on the narrow lane. The tiny trinket shop was selling gilded paper comets and streamers for Tanabata. Down the passageways between houses were bamboo branches decorated for the Star Festival.
Masanari’s mother slid open the door of their house when Anne arrived.
“Irasshaimase, Anne-chan (Welcome, little Anne),” she said.
Anne sat down on a step in the entryway and pulled off her boots before entering the house.
Then she put on some tiny, pink slippers and hurried down the hall. Her friends from school were all there. Keiko, Jiro, and Masanari sat on the woven tatami (straw) mat floor in the middle of a rainbow of colored papers making origami (paper folding) decorations for Tanabata. Some of the other mothers, who had been invited, were busy making decorations too.
“Come, we’ll show you how, Anne-chan,” said Jiro’s mother as she finished folding a tiny red crab. First, she showed them how to make two familiar animals. (See last page of this story.)
1. Take a square of paper and fold the corners together.
2. Fold one corner down.
3. Fold the other corner down.
4. Fold the bottom and the top back.
5. Draw a few pencil lines for the face.
1. Take a square of paper and fold the corners together.
2. Fold tips down.
3. Fold one corner up.
4. Fold the other corner up.
5. Turn the paper over and draw a face.
The children folded red dogs and purple cats and blue dogs and orange cats. They drew happy faces on some and fierce faces on others.
“Have you sometimes heard insects singing in the trees?” asked Jiro’s mother. “Those are cicadas. We can make origami cicadas too.”
1. Take a square piece of paper and fold the corners together.
2. Fold up the top flap first.
3. Then fold up the bottom flap.
4. Now it looks like this.
5. Turn it over and fold back the two sides.
“Watch me fold an elephant,” said Jiro.
1. Fold two corners of a square of paper so that they meet in the center to form a kite shape.
2. Fold the kite shape in half down the center.
3. Fold the longest tip forward.
4. Then fold it back to the left.
5. Open out the inside corner of the top flap and spread it back.
6. Fold the top half down behind the figure.
7. Open out the tip of the elephant’s trunk and tuck it down inside itself.
8. Cut out the legs and tail and draw on tusks and eyes.
“Look at my lantern,” said Keiko.
1. Fold two sides of an oblong piece of paper in until they meet at the center.
2. Fold each corner forward to the center.
3. Fold the tips back.
4. Fold each corner forward again and then turn the paper over.
5. Gently push the top tip up and the bottom tip down and open them out.
“The most famous of all is the sacred crane,” said Jiro’s mother as she took a square of metallic gold paper. “The crane is a beautiful white bird with red-tipped head and black-edged wings. It comes every summer to our islands. To the Japanese it means long life and happiness.”
Her skillful fingers moved so quickly that Anne could not see how she made the tiny, complicated folds. A delicate creature with graceful spreading wings was soon completed.
She set the lovely bird on the palm of her hand and held it out to Anne. “This is the orizuru or folded crane,” she said. Keiko, too, worked very fast and knew how to make many folds. Soon she had a great pile of origami figures spilling over her lap.
“Here, Anne-chan, take some of mine,” she said.
Origami cranes and turtles and canoes and frogs and lanterns covered the floor. Masanari’s mother entered with bamboo branches and helped the children tie their bright origami creations to the boughs.
“They are truly beautiful!” she exclaimed. “Isn’t it fun to have Tanabata to celebrate every year?” Then, Masanari’s mother told them a legend of the stars.
“Up in the sky there are two sad stars who love each other very much, but they are separated by the heavenly river, the Milky Way. Only on this one night of all the year can they cross the Milky Way and meet.
“However, if it rains, then the Milky Way will be flooded, and the poor, lonely stars will not be able to meet after all,” she said as she bowed her head sadly.
Anne listened quietly to the story. She remembered the puddles in the lane and her wet umbrella drying in the entryway.
“I think it’s raining,” she said somberly.
“But we can hope it will stop, can’t we?” said Jiro’s mother as she ushered everyone in to dinner.
They sat on cushions on the tatami-covered floor around a low-legged lacquer table. For the mothers there were hashi (chopsticks) to eat with. For the children there were hashi and spoons.
They were served bowls filled with haddock and rice, fish soup, tofu (soy bean curd), sashimi (raw tuna), and little pickled salads. Gelatin from the sea and crushed pineapple and handsful of rice candy were served for dessert.
It was dark now, and as the children ran out of the house, Masanari shouted, “It’s stopped raining! It’s stopped raining!”
“Now the stars can meet after all!” cried Keiko.
There were green and blue and white sparklers for everyone. With the mothers’ help, the children lit the sparklers and swung them in the darkness, making circles and spirals while they laughed and talked.
When the sparklers were gone they picked up their Tanabata branches. Holding them above their heads, they waved them slowly against the night sky as they sang a farewell song.
“The party is over. Our Star Festival is ended,” said Masanari’s mother.
Masanari could not let the evening end just yet. “Let’s walk with everyone on their way home, Mama-san,” he begged.
When they reached Anne’s apartment, everyone bowed and said, “Oyasuminasai” (Good night. Please rest).
Note: Although origami figures are ideally folded of special origami paper that is colored on one side and plain on the other, they can also be made of any lightweight paper. Follow the illustrations carefully; the dotted lines show where the folds should be made.

One of my esteemed colleagues told me of his efforts to aid a young college student who was feeling sorry for himself, who was lacking motivation and had no sense of responsibility. My friend made an attractive proposal to this young man. In a conversation that went something like this, he said, “Son, I’m going to take over full responsibility of your affairs from now on and relieve you of your worries. I’ll pay your tuition at college, buy your clothes, furnish you an automobile and a credit card for gasoline. When you get ready to marry, don’t worry about it; I’ll look for a wife for you, and I will supply you with a house that is furnished. I’ll support you and your family thereafter without any effort on your part. What do you think of my offer?”
After a moment of sobered thinking the young man replied, “Well, if you did that, what would there be for me to live for?”
Then my friend replied, “That is what I’m trying to make you see, my boy. That is the purpose of life—there is no joy without struggle and the exercise of one’s own natural abilities.”

One family, the Leotas, arrived in Hawaii on New Year’s Day 1923. Seven-year-old Vailine Leota remembered, “Our first [view] of the temple … was the most beautiful sight.”3 Just two weeks later, Vailine’s parents, Aivao and Matala, received their endowments and were sealed as a couple, and their children were sealed to them. The Leotas served faithfully in the house of the Lord for 50 years and were buried “near the temple they loved so much.”4 Today, hundreds of their faithful descendants live throughout Hawaii.

My husband tells of an experience he had in medical school.
It is very difficult to get into medical school, and as you might guess, freshmen students are committed to work very hard. My husband said he still remembers going to his first examination at the University of Utah Medical School. The honor system was in place. As the professor passed out the examination and left the room, some classmates started to pull out little cheat papers from their pockets and from under their books. “My heart began to pound as I realized how difficult it is to compete with cheaters,” my husband says.
Then a tall, thin student stood up in the back of the room and said, “I left my home and put my wife and three little children in an upstairs apartment to go to medical school. I’ll turn in the first one of you who cheats and YOU BETTER BELIEVE IT!” They believed it. Those cheat papers disappeared as fast as they had appeared. That young man set a standard of hard work and cooperation instead of dishonesty. He cared more about character than popularity.
When I heard the name of J. Ballard Washburn to be sustained as a member of the Quorum of Seventy, I remembered he was that medical student. Whether or not J. B. had been called to be a general authority, I realized his name would have been known for good wherever he was. He had developed character!

“Ah, summertime!” Jim said to himself, stretching his lanky arms high above his head as he yawned his best thank-goodness-school’s-out-now-I-can-take-it-easy-I-love-summer-but-I’m-getting-bored-already yawn. He had been on vacation for two days. Most of his friends had left town with their families on vacations or already had summer jobs, and Jim wanted to work, too. But he was worried. He was 17, and that can be a tough age to find employment.
Across town, Tom was knocking on doors, again. He’d been at it not just since 8 A.M., but since March. “How is a 15-year-old supposed to get a job?” he asked himself. “Everyone I talk to tells me they have to give the work to the older kids. What am I supposed to do?”
Tom and Jim walked down the same sidewalk, saw the same “help wanted” sign, walked into the same office, and waited for the same man. When he came, he gave them both the same answer—the position had been filled an hour ago by a college student home for the summer.
The two frustrated job hunters sat next to each other on the curb outside.
“There’s got to be a way to get around this,” Tom exclaimed. “Too bad we can’t go into business for ourselves.”
“That’s it!” Jim jumped up. “We’ll dig up our own jobs. There’s got to be something other people don’t want to do, if we think about it hard enough … something like emptying garbage cans.”
“Oh, come on!” Tom said.
“No, really. Look, if we both worked together, we could get all the neighbors around your house, and all the neighbors around my house. We’d carry their trash cans out for them the night before the garbage man comes. Then we could come around the next day and wash all the cans out. If we kept everything clean and if we were really dependable, people would hire us to do it.”
“Maybe you’re right. My cousin used to make sack lunches for her dad. He rode to work in a car pool, and the other men liked his lunches—she always put a little extra treat inside or wrote him a note. Pretty soon she was making lunches for everyone in the car pool, and they each paid her. Maybe we could do something like that,” Tom said. He was starting to catch Jim’s excitement, but Jim issued a friendly word of caution.
“We might have to get a license if we start a restaurant business,” he grinned.
“Even for a lemonade stand?” Tom shot back. They both laughed.