Gospel Story Finder

Bryan stared at his cereal and twirled his spoon around. “I can’t eat, Mom. My stomach hurts.”
“Bryan,” said Mom. “I know that it’s hard to move and go to a new school, but you’ll do just as well here as you did before.”
“But, Mom,” said Bryan, “all my friends are in my old school. I won’t know anyone here.”
“You’ll make new friends,” Mom reassured him.
“But the school year’s half over,” Bryan complained. “The kids know each other and have chosen their friends. They won’t have room for me to fit in.”
Mom put her arm around Bryan’s shoulders. “Remember last week in family home evening when we talked about how we can find answers to many of our problems by reading the scriptures?”
“I remember,” Bryan answered. “But I don’t remember any scriptures about kids having to make new friends in a new school.”
Mom smiled. “Maybe not,” she agreed, “but I can think of a scripture that will help here.”
“What scripture?”
“It’s about the Savior. John wrote, ‘We love him, because he first loved us.’ * In other words, Jesus didn’t wait for people to be friendly to Him. He just loved them and was a friend first. It’s like the song in the Children’s Songbook, ‘Kindness Begins with Me.’ If you take the first step, I promise you that you’ll soon have lots of friends.”
“I’ll try, Mom,” Bryan told her. “But it’s not easy when you’re new.”
“I know,” Mom answered, “but by lunchtime you should feel better. I packed your favorite lunch.”
“Thanks, Mom,” said Bryan. “I’ll see you later,” he added as he kissed her good-bye.
Mrs. Bishop, the teacher, was expecting him. As soon as the bell rang, she said, “Class, we have a new boy this morning. This is Bryan Wright. Bryan, we’re glad to have you with us.”
Although the children smiled, as the morning went on, Bryan could tell that they had already settled into groups. Then, after recess, he found a note stuck in his desk! Bryan was surprised. Who would write a note to him? Bryan unfolded it and read:
DEAR BRYAN,
I WANT TO BE YOUR FRIEND. BUT FIRST YOU HAVE TO FIGURE OUT WHO I AM. I’LL GIVE YOU A CLUE EACH DAY TO HELP YOU. HERE IS YOUR FIRST CLUE: I AM A BOY.
YOUR MYSTERY FRIEND
The children were working on an assignment, and no one was looking at Bryan. As Mrs. Bishop called on children that afternoon, Bryan listened carefully, trying to learn each child’s name. On the way home, he caught up with a group of boys, and as he walked with them, he wondered, Could it be Jason? Larry? Maybe it’s Tony? Or Jeff?
The next morning, Bryan gobbled down his breakfast.
“Slow down, Bryan,” Mom laughed. “Yesterday you couldn’t eat a bite, and now I’m afraid you’ll swallow the spoon!”
But Bryan couldn’t wait to get to school. As soon as he arrived, he checked his desk. Sure enough, there was a folded piece of paper. He opened it and read:
DEAR BRYAN,
ARE YOU READY FOR YOUR NEXT CLUE? HERE IT IS: I HAVE BLOND HAIR AND BLUE EYES. GOOD LUCK!
YOUR MYSTERY FRIEND
Bryan looked around the room carefully. About half the boys had blond hair. During the day, Bryan tried to talk to as many of them as he could so that he could see what color eyes they had. He learned more names and discovered that there were many friendly children in the class. But he still did not know who his mystery friend was.
The next day was Friday. Bryan was anxious to solve the mystery so that he would not have to wonder about it the whole weekend. But Friday’s clue was more mysterious than ever:
DEAR BRYAN,
YOUR CLUE FOR TODAY IS: I LOVE TO PLAY BASEBALL. IF YOU CAN’T SOLVE THE MYSTERY TODAY, DON’T WORRY. HERE’S AN EXTRA CLUE FOR YOU TO THINK ABOUT OVER THE WEEKEND: SHOELACES.
YOUR MYSTERY FRIEND
Shoelaces? Bryan was confused. Not only did he still have a mystery—nearly every boy in his class loved baseball—but now he had to figure out what shoelaces had to do with it. Again he talked to as many children as he could, including the girls, hoping that someone would give the Mystery Friend away. But in spite of getting to know many children better, Bryan still did not solve the shoelace mystery.
The weekend seemed long. Mom and Dad were really happy that Bryan was excited to go back to school, and they did their best to keep him busy. Finally Monday came, and Bryan found another note stuck in his desk:
DEAR BRYAN,
THIS IS THE LAST DAY OF THE MYSTERY. REMEMBER THE FINAL CLUE: SHOELACES. SEE YOU SOON!
YOUR MYSTERY FRIEND
Bryan thought about shoelaces so much that when Mrs. Bishop asked him what five times nine was, Bryan answered, “Shoelaces.”
During art, when everyone was supposed to draw some type of transportation, Bryan drew a train riding along shoelace tracks. When lunchtime came, he walked down the line of waiting children, looking at their feet. He saw white shoelaces, black shoelaces, and blue-and-white-striped shoelaces. He saw brown shoelaces, pink shoelaces, and even purple polka-dot shoelaces.
And then he saw them—yellow shoelaces covered with black question marks! Question marks are for things you don’t know, he thought. And things you don’t know are mysteries, so these are the mystery shoelaces! He looked up to see a smiling face with blue eyes and curly blond hair. “So you’re my Mystery Friend, Jim,” he said.
“Yep. You figured me out. Now we can be friends!”
“I think we already are,” Bryan told him. “And you did me a real favor too.”
“What favor?” asked Jim.
“I was so busy trying to figure out who you were that I forgot to be shy and I got to know everybody in the class. My mom was right. By being a friend first, now I have a whole classroom full of friends—and one very best one, besides!”

Another artist, Robert Frost, uses a similar experience to make the same point in his poem “Dust of Snow”:
The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree
Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.
(The Poetry of Robert Frost, ed. Edward Connery Lathem [Holt, Rinehart and Winston: New York, 1967], p. 221.)
On a day he already “rued” (cursed) and written off as a total loss, an incident happened that should, by all rights, have been the proverbial “last straw”: as the poet was going across his backyard, perhaps, he felt a crusty shower of snow sprinkle down his neck from a tree overhead, and he looked up, ready to shake his fist and let loose with a string of angry epithets, when he saw the startling beauty of the intensely black crow rippling its wings against the whiteness of the sky above, and he knew that, no matter what else went wrong that day, he had just shared a very precious and wonderful moment.

My parents had nine children—eight sons and a daughter. The only girl died as a small child in World War II during the battle of Okinawa. Following the war, my father established a successful automotive repair shop in Nago, located in the northern part of the main island of Okinawa. In 1954, when my youngest brother was 2 and my oldest brother was 17, our father died, and my mother became a widow at the age of 40. Mother could not accept Father’s death. Sometimes, in her sorrow, she wanted to follow after him, but she had eight boys she could not leave behind.

Up until that time, my mother, Haru, had relied upon our father to be the breadwinner; but having lost him, she was now forced to work. She tried to forget her sorrow by working and then coming home and caring for her children. She struggled to raise her eight rowdy boys alone. When I was old enough to understand, I realized I never knew when my mother got up or when she went to sleep.

Minnie Petersen, in Kamas Valley, was just a small child when she was asked to weed a neighbor’s flower bed. Not receiving proper instruction, she simply went out and pulled up all the plants that didn’t have blossoms on them. One day her father sent her over to Brother Olsen, the blacksmith, to borrow a monkey wrench. To help her remember the name of the tool, her father told her to think of a little animal. When she asked for the wrench, she asked for a “mouse wrench.” From that time forward, she was Mouse Wrench Minnie. When she was a little older, she and other young people were instructed to clear some land for cultivation. They chopped down willows and sagebrush, picked up rocks and hauled them off, and in the evening had a big bonfire of all the brush. All the young people in the village were there. They roasted potatoes to eat with salt and hung over the fire pieces of fresh meat. They played games and exchanged ghost stories. When they went out to gather wild strawberries, currants, and gooseberries that grew along the streams, they combined it with swimming in the creeks. In most groups there was nearly always one person who played the concertina, harmonica, or violin, and so they often had accompaniment for group singing and dancing.

When my wife and I were married in the Tokyo Japan Temple 10 years ago, we set a goal to attend the temple at least once a month together. But soon after, I was called to serve as a temple worker every Friday by the Tokyo Temple presidency.

I was thrilled to be able to serve, but life was also a bit busy at the time. I was in my senior year of university, and it was difficult balancing school with my part-time job at a law firm, our monthly temple trips as a couple, and now an extra temple shift every Friday.

In the midst of this extremely hectic period, we prayerfully discussed the matter as husband and wife, and we decided that we would always make the temple a priority in our lives. We knew it would be hard at times, but we wanted to keep our relationship strong and invite blessings and peace into our home.

It was through these sacrifices to serve in the temple that I truly realized how much of a positive difference the temple makes in my life. The temple helps us grow spiritually in unique ways, and the blessings we invite into our homes when we make time to go are unmatched.

As we have made sacrifices to attend the temple on a regular basis, the Lord has continued to bless my family and me with these miracles.

My family and I appreciate the Liahona (Spanish) because it contains articles for every member of our family. Every day it helps our knowledge and testimonies of the gospel grow.
I say every day because we set a goal to read an article a day. After welcoming my husband home from work, our family gathers in prayer and thanks Heavenly Father for the opportunity to be together again after the various activities of the day. We then ask him to help us better understand the article we have chosen for that day. It is very gratifying to see the effort and enthusiasm that our children bring to this activity.
Susana Mendoza,Ramona Ward, Hemet California Stake

They all follow in the footsteps of Ted Parsons. He was the first cadet reappointed and readmitted to the academy after resigning to serve a full-time LDS mission. That was in 1978. Hundreds have now followed his example. Little did he dream what a pioneer he was and what a legacy he left, just as Jake Oldham and others are leaving a legacy now.

Lisa soaked in the coolness of the dewy morning air as she walked down the winding lane. She knew she should be exhausted. Yesterday she and her mother had left their home in Utah. They had flown to Chicago, then on to Manchester, England. The trip had taken 16 hours. Aunt Enid met them in Manchester and drove them the three hours to the old farm house at Bwlchycibau, Wales.
As they had neared the small village, her aunt had slowed the car down and said, “That’s the churchyard where your grandparents are buried, Lisa,” pointing to the left. Looking out the window, Lisa saw a church spire above a grey stone wall. As they rounded the corner she noticed a small wooden gate.
She hadn’t had time to think any more. There had been cases to unload, cousins to meet, a farm house to explore, and finally the bliss of lying in bed for much overdue sleep.
It wasn’t quite dawn when she awoke. She knew that she should still be asleep, but her body was on Utah time and no amount of mental persuasion could entice sleep back once it had fled. She heard voices and peeked out of the small dormer window to see her uncle and oldest cousin Wynn heading off towards a building that she assumed was where the cows were milked.
She lay back on her pillow. A picture of the churchyard flashed into her mind. All at once, she knew that more than anything, she wanted to be alone for her first visit to Bwlchycibau churchyard.
Lisa stopped at the small wooden gate in the wall that she had noticed the night before. She realized as she reached for the latch that she was nervous. She had held back her feelings for many years, and now in a strange churchyard, half a world away from home, she was going to confront them.
She walked slowly down the well-worn path. On either side of her were gravestones, some lichen covered, others leaning slightly. Some stones were well cared for with small flower arrangements at their bases; others were totally neglected. She could imagine other girls, perhaps her own ancestors, walking down this same footpath.
She began meandering between the stones, looking for a familiar name: Williams, Roberts, Davies, Jones. It took awhile, but suddenly she read: “Mabel Jones, beloved wife of Arthur Jones 1917–1994.” Beside the purple slate stone was another: “Arthur Jones, beloved husband of Mabel Jones 1911–1968.” There was a copper bowl of yellow roses at the base of each grave. Her Aunt Enid had been here.
Lisa turned, sat down on an old tree stump nearby, then faced her grandmother’s grave. She said aloud, “Oh, Granny, I wish I had known you. Why did it have to be this way?”
She looked down and whispered, “I wish you had known that I am a good person and that Mum is happy. I don’t understand why you were so bitter. How could you hate me without even knowing me?”
Once she started, she couldn’t seem to stop talking. “When you have a testimony of the gospel like Mum does, you just can’t deny it. Her decision to join the Church was not made carelessly. She fasted and prayed about it many times because she knew it would be hard on you so soon after losing Grandpa. Even though she went away, Mum never stopped loving you or feeling bad for hurting you, Granny.”
Lisa paused. Her eyes filled with tears. “Why couldn’t you have just once acknowledged me? I know that Mum wrote and told you when I was born. We never heard anything. Weren’t you even curious about me? It was hard hearing all my friends talk about their grandmas. You were just an empty ache inside. I didn’t even know you, but I missed you so much.”
Lisa looked at the new gravestone and asked, “Did you get my letter last year? I wrote and told you that I was going to come and see you. I came, Granny. I came, but you didn’t wait.”
With that, Lisa’s whispered words ceased, and she let the tears run down her cheeks without wiping them away. She didn’t hear the quiet approach of a short, aging man in black until his dark robes brushed against her leg. She gasped, startled.
“Can I help you, child?” His soft Welsh accent was like music. Lisa stood, feeling a little foolish.
“You were sitting here for so long that I became anxious about you,” the man said. “Early morning in the churchyard can be quite chilly you know.”
Lisa managed a watery smile. “Oh, I’m fine. Really I am. But thank you for your concern. Are you the rector here?”
The clergyman peered at her perceptively, noting her deep blue eyes, still filled with tears. “That’s right, dear. I’m Reverend Lloyd. Been here at Bwlchycibau for well on 35 years now. Yes, indeed, I’ve seen a lot of people come and go in my time.
“You take this lady here now,” he continued in a comfortable tone, and gestured towards Lisa’s grandmother’s grave. “She was a very special lady. She lived her life quietly giving service to others. Yes, indeed, Mabel Jones is sorely missed by us all.” He sighed, a little sadly.
“What did she do?” Lisa asked, trying to hide her feverish desire to know more.
“Well,” said Reverend Lloyd, “it may be easier for me just to show you. Come with me.” He turned and led the way slowly to the church.
The cool, dark interior of the church was a shock after the bright light of morning outside. Lisa gazed around with interest. The wooden pews were polished to a shine. The stone floor and walls were cold, and every footfall echoed. At the front of the aisle was the altar, draped in a white lace cloth. All around the chapel were tall narrow stained-glass windows. Beams of multicolored light danced on the floor as the sunlight hit the beautiful glass.
“Oh, it’s beautiful,” exclaimed Lisa, instinctively lowering her voice to a whisper.
“I’m glad you think so, child,” Reverend Lloyd smiled briefly. Then he led Lisa to a pew halfway down the aisle.
“This is the Jones’s pew,” he said. “Mabel’s daughter Enid and her family still use this bench. A few years ago Mabel decided that her knees were getting too old to kneel on the stone floor, so she made herself a small cushion to kneel on.” He handed Lisa a rectangular pillow that was tucked under the pew. “It’s needlepoint, I believe.”
Lisa touched the delicate work. “It’s lovely,” she said quietly. She felt overwhelmed to be holding something her grandmother had made.
“Yes, that’s exactly what everyone in the congregation thought too. So during the next few winters, Mabel made one or two for every family at church. Each one is a little different, but all most beautiful.” Reverend Lloyd bent down and lifted another pillow from beneath the next bench and handed it to Lisa.
Lisa looked at the two works of art in her hands and wondered that aging hands could create such masterpieces. Reluctantly, she handed them back to the rector. He then guided Lisa towards a small door at the back of the chapel.
“When Reverend Price, my predecessor, first came here as a young rector, there was no village school for the children. A few of the wealthier families sent their children into Oswestry on the train to attend school, but most of the children went without formal instruction. Mabel married Arthur Jones about that time. She moved into Bwlch Farm and was soon involved in the community. It concerned her no end that all the young children here were illiterate. She approached Reverend Price to see if they could do something about it. This was what they came up with.”
Reverend Lloyd opened the thick wooden door into a small room containing one large wooden desk, a large old oak chair, and half a dozen small chairs and tables. On the wall were faded maps, pictures of wild animals, and the alphabet.
“For ten years this was the Bwlchycibau schoolroom. Mabel would come and teach the children of the village three mornings a week. She received no pay for it. She just did it because she saw a need. There are many farmers around here now who wouldn’t be reading if it weren’t for Mabel Jones.
“When the county finally built a school in the village and sent us a certified teacher, Mabel still stopped by once a week to read to the children. I think it was the highlight of the week for them all.”
Lisa let her eyes wander around the room as the rector spoke. She tried to imagine her grandmother reading to the young farm children. Suddenly, she realized that Reverend Lloyd had moved onto another subject.
“It’s strange, isn’t it?” he was saying.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” Lisa asked apologetically.
“Well, it’s like I was saying,” said the rector, “Mabel Jones did so much Christian service that nobody ever thought she’d done anything she really regretted. But there was something. I only found out about it a few days before her death.”
Reverend Lloyd took Lisa by the arm and led her out of the schoolroom, closing the door behind him. They walked outside, and he motioned for her to sit beside him on the bench beneath the church porch.
“Mabel became ill a few days before her death. I went to see her. She was very weak but wanted to talk to me. She told me about her daughter, not Enid who lives at the farm now, but Mary, an older daughter who went away to America as a young girl. She married an American out there, and they had a daughter.”
The rector didn’t pause in his story as Lisa looked up in surprise and recognition. “Mabel had never seen that granddaughter. I believe when Mary left, there were some bad feelings. Anyway, over the years, Mabel had come to regret the things she’d said to Mary and wanted more than anything to see her again and meet Mary’s husband and daughter. But she didn’t know how to approach her. Then last year, she received a letter from her granddaughter saying that she and her mother were going to come and see Mabel the next year. Mabel was so pleased. She wanted to apologize face to face. She talked of all the things that she wanted to show her granddaughter. Most of all, she wanted that young lady to know that she loved her.
“I think Mabel knew she was going to leave us when I sat with her that day. She drew me close and made me look into those deep blue eyes of hers. Then she said, ‘Reverend, you promise me that if I’m not here when that young girl comes, you’ll find her and tell her what a fool her Gran was not to tell her that she loved her long ago. You tell her that I kept her baby picture that Mary sent right next to my bed where I could see it every morning and every evening. You tell her to grow up to be as fine a woman as her mother is. But most of all, you ask her to forgive me.’”
Her grandmother loved her! In some ways, it made her death harder to bear, but where there had once been emptiness and heartache, Lisa felt a warm glow of gratitude as she began to cry.
Reverend Lloyd covered Lisa’s hand in his. “Now, now child. It’s all right.”
“But, rector,” Lisa said, practically whispering. “I’m Mabel Jones’s granddaughter.”
The rector looked into her face. “You don’t have to tell me that, dear. Mabel Jones’s blue eyes are looking right back at me.” Then with a smile tugging at his lips, he added, “And you don’t talk like a Bwlchycibau native either.”
Lisa smiled at the kindly old man and said, “Thank you,” as they both stood and walked down the path through the churchyard.

Tavita started learning patience when he was a young boy. He needed a direction in his life, and when he was 13 a good friend got him into weight lifting. By the age of 14 Tavita could bench press 315 pounds and squat 500 pounds.
“People thought that I was 20 when I was only 14 because of the way I acted and the way I looked. I had the body of an adult. Even so, I still loved to play and watch cartoons.”
In the following years Tavita continued to grow in both strength and size. He entered and won weight lifting competitions around the country. At the age of 15 Tavita traveled to Little Rock, Arkansas, where he was recognized as the strongest 14–17-year-old in the United States, bench pressing 402 pounds and squatting 650 pounds. For five years he won national titles. By 18 he could bench press 525 pounds and squat 908 pounds.
In high school Tavita excelled at weight lifting and football. In his first season on the football field he made all-state and all-American. His list of awards goes on and on. “I excelled in football and weight lifting because they are the two sports I love the most,” he says.

Recently I interviewed an exceptionally stalwart priesthood holder for a temple recommend. I asked him if he sustained his bishop, his stake president, and the president of the Church. Of course his reply to each question was sincere, humble, and strongly affirmative. Then I asked him if he sustained his wife in her calling. He paused to think about it for a minute before answering that he did.
Then he added, “President, this has been very hard for me. In the past I was the one who held important, executive positions in the Church, but now our roles are reversed. My wife is an auxiliary president; the phone calls are all for her, she goes to the leadership meetings, she is in the forefront of action. I’m the one now who stays home to take care of the children often while she’s doing Church work. I’m doing my best to support her, but this is a new experience.”
We counseled together about the eternal importance of husbands and wives working together as a team, sustaining and supporting each other in all aspects of their lives, and then concluded the interview.

Boy:Over a hundred and eight years ago, some parents in Farmington, Utah, were worried about their children.

Girl:They wondered how they could help the children understand the gospel so that they would live happier lives.

Bishop:I am Bishop Hess. Many children in the ward were allowed to be out late at night, and some were rowdy. I called a meeting of the mothers in the ward. We talked about the importance of guiding the minds of young children.

Aurelia:I am Aurelia Rogers. “I had reflected seriously upon the necessity of more strict discipline for our little boys. … What will our girls do for good husbands, if this state of things continues? … I had children of my own, and was just as anxious as a mother could be to have them brought up properly. But what was to be done? It needed the united effort of the parents.”

Boy:One day Eliza R. Snow, the General President of the Relief Society, had been to a conference in Farmington. The train back to Salt Lake was not due for some time, so Sister Snow decided to visit her friend Aurelia.

Eliza:I am Eliza R. Snow. Although I had no children of my own, I had a great interest in them. I was a poet and a teacher and had written songs and stories for little children. I was pleased with Sister Rogers’s idea when she asked:

Aurelia:“Could there not be an organization for little boys wherein they could be taught everything good, and how to behave?”

Eliza:I agreed to discuss the matter with the First Presidency, who later gave approval. A letter was written to Bishop Hess, asking for his permission to organize the children in his ward.

Bishop:After I received the letter from Sister Snow, I talked with Sister Rogers and asked if she would be willing to preside over an organization of the children. She said:

Aurelia:“I felt willing, but very incompetent. From that time my mind was busy thinking how it was to be managed. … As singing was necessary, it needed the voices of little girls as well as boys to make it sound as well as it should.”

Eliza:I agreed with Aurelia. “‘We must have the girls as well as the boys—they must be trained together.’” I suggested that the organization be called “Primary.”

Bishop:On August 11, 1878, I set apart Sister Rogers and her two counselors, Louisa Haight and Helen Miller. I suggested that they visit every home in the ward during the next two weeks, which they did. They took the names and ages of two hundred twenty-four children and invited them to the first meeting.

Girl:The first Primary meeting was held on Sunday, August 25, 1878, in the rock chapel in Farmington.

Aurelia:“Imagine our feelings as we stood before an audience of children who had come there to receive instructions from us. We were very weak indeed, but felt to lean upon the Lord.”

Boy:The meeting began with prayer; then the children were given instructions and taught to sing.

Girl:The children were asked to “see how much they could do for [their fathers and mothers] without grumbling.”

Boy:Children were also asked to not quarrel with brothers and sisters.

Girl:Little boys were instructed to not go into orchards and melon patches that weren’t their own, and little girls were told to not hang on to wagons, a practice not only wrong but dangerous.

Boy:Other Primaries were organized throughout the territory before the first Primary was even one month old. Sister Snow continued to speak to mothers about the spiritual training of their children. She felt that women with the very best talents—women who loved children and were appealing to them—should preside over the Primary.

Then there’s 25-year-old David,* who feels it’s important to point out that boys are victims too. “I had problems with it,” he said. “My baby-sitter—when I was little. I didn’t know what she was doing. Several years later when I found out, I was sick inside. I just felt awful.”

I recall one lovely young high school senior who said that she had been fortunate to date good LDS boys who held the same standards that she has. She explained, “Part of the reason for this is because of the girls I have for friends. It is often said you are known by the company you keep. The girls I associate with share the same standards that I have, and so the same type of boys ask us for dates.”

While the formal classroom may be intimidating at times, some of the most effective teaching takes place other than in the chapel or the classroom. Well do I remember that some years ago, members holding the Aaronic Priesthood would eagerly look forward to an annual outing commemorating the restoration of the Aaronic Priesthood. By the busload the young men of our stake journeyed 90 miles (145 km) north to the Clarkston Cemetery, where we viewed the grave of Martin Harris, one of the Three Witnesses of the Book of Mormon. While surrounding the beautiful granite shaft which marks the grave, a high councilor would present background concerning the life of Martin Harris, read from the Book of Mormon his testimony, and then bear his own witness to the truth. The young men listened with rapt attention, touched the granite marker, and pondered the words they had heard and the feelings they had felt.

At a park in Logan, lunch was enjoyed. The group of young men would then lie down on the lawn at the Logan Temple and gaze upward at its lofty spires. Often beautiful white clouds would hurry past the spires, moved along by a gentle breeze. The purpose of temples was taught. Covenants and promises became much more than words. The desire to be worthy to enter those temple doors entered those youthful hearts. Heaven was very close. Learning what we should learn was assured.

The door slammed behind Matthew as he ran in the house. He dropped his kindergarten papers on the kitchen table.
“I’m home,” he said to his mother, who was spreading peanut butter on bread. “I’m ready to work on my family home evening lesson.”
Mother laughed. “Just a minute, son,” she said. “You need to eat lunch first.”
“But tonight is family home evening, and I don’t have my lesson ready.”
“I’ll help you after lunch,” Mother said. “Now, run and wash your hands.”
In a minute Matthew was back. His hands were still wet. Mother was feeding baby Karin something orange and mushy. “What is Karin having for lunch?” he asked. “It looks awful.”
“It’s squash,” Mother said. “And she likes it. But don’t worry—I made a peanut butter sandwich and apple slices for you.”
Matthew hurried to eat his lunch, but when he finished, Mother was still trying to put squash into Karin’s mouth. It kept dribbling back out. “You’ll have to go and play while I feed Karin,” she said. “It takes longer for babies to eat than five-year-old boys.”
“I don’t want to play,” said Matthew. “I want to plan my family home evening lesson. It needs to be really special because it’s my first one. Kathryn said it wouldn’t be a very good lesson. She said I’m too little.”
“You are littler than your sister Kathryn,” Mother said, “but you’re bigger than Karin. You can do lots of things that she can’t do. Why don’t you think about what you’d like to teach our family tonight, and I’ll help you when I’m finished.”
Matthew went to his room. He sat on his bed and thought. He thought about some of the family home evening lessons his dad had given.
I like listening to the scriptures when Dad reads them, Matthew thought, but I don’t know how to find the right ones for him to read.
Matthew thought about teaching his family something he had learned in Primary. He remembered his teacher had told the class that President Benson had said that we should read the Book of Mormon. Matthew went over to his toy shelves. On the top shelf was his tape recorder, his Book of Mormon reader, and the cassette tapes to go along with it. He opened the reader to his favorite story and turned on the tape.
As he listened to the story, Matthew had an idea. He listened to the story three times. Then he went to his toy box. He counted out a pile of small blocks and put them into a bucket. After that, he went to the kitchen to get a flashlight. Mother was washing the lunch dishes. Karin was crawling around on the floor.
“I’m going to do the lesson all by myself,” Matthew told his mother. “I have it all planned.”
“Don’t you need any help?” Mother asked.
“Just a little help,” said Matthew. “I need that big brown blanket down from the cupboard. I’m going to build something in the living room.”
Mother went to the cupboard and took down the blanket. “What are you going to build?” she asked as she gave it to him.
“You’ll find out at family home evening,” he said mysteriously.
Matthew put four chairs in the living room. He spread the blanket over the tops of the chairs. Then he crawled inside under the blanket.
It’s pretty dark in here, he said to himself. I think it’s just right.
That night everyone was very curious to hear Matthew’s lesson.
“What’s this big tent for?” Kathryn asked. “I’ve never seen a family home evening lesson like this.”
“You’ll find out after we sing the opening song and have the prayer,” said Matthew. “Mom, can we sing ‘Book of Mormon Stories’ for the opening song? It will help my lesson.”
The family sang all eight verses of “Book of Mormon Stories.” Then Dad gave the opening prayer. After the family business, Dad turned the time over to Matthew.
“Tonight we are going to act out a story from the Book of Mormon,” said Matthew. “It’s the story of the Brother of Jared and the Jaredites.
“They were traveling to the promised land. They came to a big ocean. The Lord told the Brother of Jared to build eight boats. We’re going to pretend that this blanket on the chairs is one of the boats.”
“That’s what the tent is for,” said Kathryn. “It’s a boat!”
“The Brother of Jared obeyed God. He built the eight boats,” Matthew continued. “Kathryn, will you get inside the boat, and tell me what you see?”
Kathryn crawled inside the boat. Baby Karin did too. “It’s dark in here,” Kathryn said.
“Yes, the boats were too dark for the Jaredites to travel in,” said Matthew.
“I remember the story,” said Kathryn, poking her head out of the boat. “The Brother of Jared had to find a way to get light in the boats.”
“That’s right,” said Matthew. “Dad, will you hide behind the curtain? I want you to show what Jesus did. I’m going to pretend that I’m the Brother of Jared.”
When Dad was behind the curtain, Matthew took the flashlight from his bucket. He handed the flashlight to Mom. “Shine the light on the blocks after Dad touches them,” he whispered to her.
Matthew picked up the bucket of blocks. He climbed up on top of the couch. “This is the mountain that I’m climbing,” said the pretend Brother of Jared. “I’m taking these sixteen white stones up to the top of the mountain.”
Matthew knelt on the couch. He spread out the blocks. Then he pretended to pray: “Lord, we need something to make light in our ships. Please touch these stones with Thy finger and make them shine.”
Matthew’s dad put his finger out of the curtain and touched the blocks. Matthew’s mom shined the flashlight on them. Matthew fell down. He pretended to be afraid.
“Get up, why are you afraid?” said Dad, still playing the part of Jesus.
“I saw the finger of the Lord,” said Matthew.
“You have so much faith that I’m going to show all of myself to you,” said Dad. Then he walked out from behind the curtain.
“The Brother of Jared saw Jesus because he had so much faith,” said Matthew. “We should try to have faith like the Brother of Jared. In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.”
“That was fun,” said Kathryn. “Can we do the story again, and this time I’ll be the Brother of Jared?”
“Sure we can,” said Dad.
“That was a wonderful lesson, Matthew,” said Mom. “We should act out more of the scripture stories. It will really help us remember them.”
“I already have my next lesson figured out,” said Matthew. “Our piano bench would make a great wall for Samuel the Lamanite!”

Illustrations by Shauna Mooney Kawasaki
Matt, please come to the board and solve problem three.
Heavenly Father, please help me get this right.
Sorry, Matt. That’s wrong.
That night
I don’t understand, Dad. I said a prayer, but Heavenly Father didn’t help me with that math problem at all.
That’s too bad. Had you studied the chapter? Had you practiced the sample problems?
Um, well, no. But I prayed.
Isn’t asking Heavenly Father to give you the answer when you haven’t studied kind of like asking Him to do the work for you?
I never thought of it that way.
Dad, I really do need help with math. Do you think Heavenly Father would help me if I pray about it?
Of course He would, and so will I. And next time there’s a quiz, you can ask Him to help you remember what you’ve studied.

Thank you so much for the article “Internet Café” (Mar. 2005). It answered a lot of questions I had about the Internet. I don’t use the Internet very often, and when I do, I feel vulnerable because of my lack of knowledge about the Internet and its many dangers. This article will help me understand and be more prepared when I use it.Aaron Hastings, McKinney Third Ward, McKinney Texas Stake

And each says attending the temple has made a big difference. “I feel a special power when I come to the temple of the Lord,” says Sho. He says he can resist temptations better when he goes to the temple regularly.
For the past few years, Sho and Hikaru have tried to go to the temple every Thursday to perform baptisms for the dead. Keiko and Junko, and Yuriya and her brothers try to attend every Friday.
“Coming to the temple strengthens me,” Keiko says.

Just before this meeting started, Brother Stapley, with a twinkle in his eye, asked me to answer for a story he heard I had told to the All-Americans at BYU last night; and in keeping with my inward response to Brother Petersen’s great sermon on honesty today, I must tell the truth.
The story, Brother Stapley, was mythical. It was reportedly the statement of a man who golfed with you and Brother Tanner and who, when he came back, said, “Have you ever played golf and been the only one rained on?” I can testify to you that Brother Stapley gets rained on, and was snowed on two days ago, as I observed. As we went from the place where he had snow deposited on him from a tree limb, just as we came out from a meeting into that beautiful storm, I drove up streets that were littered with limbs of magnificent trees. I was fearful of what I would find when I got home, and my apprehensions were justified. Some of our lovely trees were broken. In our backyard a fence we had built to protect the neighbors while our children grew up was flattened. And I would like to tell you something serious and truthful. I haven’t worried a minute about that. I have been thinking about tonight and what we are here discussing.

About 15 miles north of Elko, Nevada, is a stretch of highway dotted with signs warning motorists not to pick up hitchhikers because of a prison facility nearby. To four college students traveling from Provo, Utah, to San Francisco, these signs were a bit unsettling. My roommates and I were certainly glad to cruise by them on our way to California’s Bay Area for Thanksgiving weekend. We didn’t think twice about the signs until four days later on our way back to Provo. It was then that our car suddenly stopped precisely 10 yards north of one of those ominous blue signs.
Our first instincts were to flag down another car and ask for a ride back to Elko. But images of escaped convicts kept us locked inside the car. It was four in the afternoon, it was snowing, and it would definitely be dark and very cold within the hour. We needed help fast but were too afraid to even get out of the car. We offered a short prayer, and 30 minutes later a man driving a snowplow stopped and radioed the police for us. A young officer piled us into his car, called a tow truck, and dropped us off at a motel in Elko.
We soon got over our fears and realized how blessed we were to get off the highway unharmed and be in a safe, warm motel room. Our only problem now was getting back to Provo. Each of us dialed home collect, expecting that our parents would wire money for bus tickets or a rental car. We were surprised when each set of parents immediately offered to drive to Elko and get us.
Even for the closest set of parents, this meant a three-hour drive to Elko and a four-hour drive back to Provo. It meant disrupting work schedules and finding baby-sitters for the other children. Eventually we decided that it would be best for Jenni’s mom and grandpa to drive down to get us. Relieved, we went to bed and expected to see Jenni’s mom by noon the next day.
Things didn’t go quite as planned. Overnight the snow storm had worsened, and the roads were terrible. Despite leaving Salt Lake City at 10:00 A.M., Jenni’s mom didn’t get to us until four that afternoon. The roads back were equally icy, and a typically four-hour drive took six hours. Still, Jenni’s mom and grandpa never uttered a word of complaint during the entire drive home. They were only happy to help and grateful that we would be home soon.
Unfortunately, our earthly parents are not always at the other end of the line when we call. Many parents cannot or will not answer their children’s cries. As I rode home from Elko in the safe confines of a warm van, I realized just how much my parents love me. Even more, I knew that my Heavenly Father would always help me. He does so without complaint, for He is happy just to know that I am on my way home and will soon be safe in His arms.