Gospel Story Finder

A drilling rig bored deep into the African wilderness as a few villagers from the Makueni region in Kenya waited anxiously nearby. Like many of them, Alice Musili hoped life-sustaining water would spring from the hole. If so, she would no longer need to walk 30 kilometers to fetch water or resort to drinking from contaminated riverbeds.
When the drilling stopped, a pipe was dropped into the 75-meter-deep hole. Air was pumped in to clear out loose dirt, and water bubbled out of the hole like a fountain. Some villagers shouted for joy. Some danced. Some were overwhelmed and cried.
“They were so excited and grateful,” said Elder Tom Pocock, a humanitarian services missionary from Virginia, USA, serving in Kenya with his wife, Ellie. “Water means everything to them.”

Wind chimes filled the outdoors with music. Telephone wires whistled with each gust of wind. Leaves could not hold on to their branches but danced in the air before floating down to cover the backyard like a big, lumpy, calico quilt.
The wind was teasing everything. It lifted Allison’s hat off her head and pulled her ponytail out in front of her. It pushed at her one way, then shoved her another.
“Stop it!” Allison shouted at the wind. “You’re too rough!”
But the wind didn’t listen.
Allison bounced her ball, but the wind snatched it away. She tried to jump rope, but the wind tangled it under her feet.
“Wind,” shouted Allison, “you don’t play fair!”
Again and again the wind interfered. When Allison tried to roller-skate, the wind made her wobble. When she tried to pedal her bicycle, the wind wheeled her the wrong way.
Allison stopped and thought. “Wind,” she said, looking up into the sky, “I know something that we both can play.”
Allison went into her house and brought out her kite. As she let out some string, the wind pulled the kite little by little high into the sky. Up, up it went, higher than the houses. It kept going up, up until it seemed to be playing tag with the clouds and there was no more string left to unwind.
Allison tugged on the string. The wind pulled on the kite. Allison giggled. The wind whistled. All afternoon Allison and the wind played.
“Al—li—son,” called Grandmother from the porch.
“Wind, I have to go,” Allison said as she tugged harder on the end of the string.
The wind pulled back.
“I really have to go now.” This time she tugged with both hands.
The wind pulled back again, but more gently as it began to die down.
Little by little the kite floated down. Down, down, up, down, zigzagging below the clouds. Down, up, down below the houses. Down, carefully, below the trees. Whispering now, the wind set the kite at Allison’s feet, then brushed across her face like a feather.
“Oh, Allison,” called Grandmother once more. “Come over here and let me see those great big apples in your cheeks.”
Allison giggled. She knew that she didn’t have apples in her cheeks. She had just been kissed by the wind.

A pioneer speaking of his experience in the Martin Handcart Company shared:
“We suffered beyond anything you can imagine and many died of exposure and starvation, but did you ever hear a survivor of that company utter a word of criticism? Not one of that company ever apostatized or left the Church, because everyone of us came through with the absolute knowledge that God lives for we became acquainted with him in our extremities.”

“I have pulled my handcart when I was so weak and weary from illness and lack of food that I could hardly put one foot ahead of the other. I have looked ahead and seen a patch of sand or a hill slope and I have said, ‘I can go only that far and there I must give up, for I cannot pull the load through it.’” He continues: “I have gone on to that sand and when I reached it, the cart began pushing me. I have looked back many times to see who was pushing my cart, but my eyes saw no one. I knew then that the angels of God were there.”

“Was I sorry that I chose to come by handcart? No. Neither then nor any minute of my life since. The price we paid to become acquainted with God was a privilege to pay, and I am thankful that I was privileged to come in the Martin Handcart Company.”

It was kind of a ritual. Win or lose, after a football game we’d all pile into my old green car and head for our favorite pizza restaurant. The place was always crowded, especially after a victory. That night, everybody was there after we defeated our rival school team.
By the time the football team arrived, the room was crowded with people. I managed to find a seat in the corner and started looking for Dave, my older brother.
Dave always seemed to be in the center of the action. His easy-going personality made people want to be around him. In the short time we had lived in Colorado, he’d been elected student-body president of our high school.
I wasn’t as popular as Dave in high school, but he often let me tag along with him and his friends—especially when I grew to be bigger than he was. It made me proud to be called “Dave’s big little brother.” As the crowd grew at the restaurant, I finally spotted Dave at a table near the center of the room. Suddenly, somebody yelled, “Hey, everybody, it’s Dave’s eighteenth birthday. He’s a man now.”
“Yeah, now he’s legal,” someone else added. At the time, the law in Colorado stated that if you were eighteen, you could legally buy and drink beer. For the handful of Mormons in our school, turning eighteen was just another birthday. For most of our classmates, though, becoming “legal” was a big event.
Slowly, people began to crowd around Dave’s table, and soon everybody was joining in a rowdy chorus of “Happy Birthday to You.”
“Close your eyes, Dave,” somebody yelled out. A path was cleared as a huge glass of foamy, golden beer was brought forward and thrust into Dave’s hands. The whole place erupted into wild cheers. From off in the corner, I watched Dave and wondered what he would do. He had always been my example. He’d always been faithful. Of course, he’d never faced a situation like this before. I watched him look around the room at the crowd surrounding him. I don’t think he saw me watching him back in the corner.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Dave rose to his feet. He picked up the glass of beer and raised it slowly in the air. My heart was pounding with anticipation, and I imagined Dave’s was, too. Somebody yelled for quiet, and the place grew silent.
“I just want to thank everyone for thinking of me on my birthday,” Dave said, as he looked toward his raised glass. “But come on, you guys. You know me better than that. Thanks, anyway.” As Dave lowered the glass and sat down, a moan rumbled through the crowd. Somebody muttered something about Mormons not having any fun.
Later, I located Dave and we walked out into the crisp autumn air toward my car. “Dave, I was worried for a minute that you might crack under the pressure and do something stupid,” I said.
He just shrugged and said, “There wasn’t any big pressure because I didn’t have to make any decisions tonight. I’d already decided a long time ago that I was going to keep the Word of Wisdom. It’s a lot easier that way.”
I just smiled. As we drove home, I was as proud as ever to be Dave’s big little brother.

With the trusting nature of a child, four-year-old Kennedy from Lusaka, Zambia, ran into the open arms of Jesus! The moment was later captured on canvas by Latter-day Saint artist Liz Lemon Swindle in a heartwarming painting titled Worth of a Soul.
Since 2008 this painting has found a place in our hearts. We see the Savior draw this young, trusting child into Him. As we look into this young child’s eyes it may really be ourselves that we see. If we allow the Spirit in, it will testify that it is really each one of us that is cradled in His arms.
Kennedy was orphaned when both parents passed away just a couple of months apart from an undiagnosed disease. They left behind eight cherished children, the youngest just three weeks old. Kennedy’s life and the lives of his brothers and sisters were forever changed. The emptiness and loss robbed him of hope. That feeling would follow him for many years. His spirit craved acceptance, love, and belonging.
Kennedy and some of his siblings were cared for at the Mothers Without Borders Children’s Center in West Lusaka, Zambia. Two years after his parents’ passing, on a sunny day, a man portraying the Savior arrived with Sister Swindle and a photographer. They sought to photograph African children with the man so that a much-needed painting could be created.
Kennedy was now four years old. With the innocence of a child, and fully believing this man to be the Savior, he broke loose from the grip of his sister Bridget’s hand and ran toward him. He jumped into his outstretched arms. Throughout the day, Kennedy rarely left his side. Was the Spirit whispering to him that something here was familiar?
As a young orphan, Kennedy depended on others for survival. Prior to being brought to the children’s center, he and his siblings were scattered among relatives. As with most experiences in life, some of the times were good, some desperate. Throughout it all, and despite separation from each other, the siblings remain bonded together. His older brother Bwalya was ever present in his life and took on the role of father and protector even though he was only two years older than Kennedy.
Kennedy was introduced to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints when he was 9 and became a baptized member at the age of 11. Five siblings were also baptized.
As a young teenager, life became difficult for Kennedy when no funds were available for his continued housing, food, and much desired education. It was at this time that BJ Warnick, Sandra Peters, and Anthony Mulenga—who had all known Kennedy since he was four—were able to take him into their care. Through their Heart to Hands Foundation, he and Bwalya were immediately adopted into their flock.
While it was obvious that Kennedy needed the basics required for daily survival, what he really needed was hope and love, and they had plenty of that to offer. Kennedy said while he was “not officially adopted”, it was “even better”. He now had two moms. With his new family’s help, he was able to complete grade 12, obtain a driver’s license, and complete auto mechanic school. Again, he was wrapped in the arms of his Savior, but it was through the acts of others. Kennedy remarked, “I don’t know who I would have become without the continual love of my enlarged family and friends who have dedicated so much time to me.”
A year ago Kennedy decided to serve a mission and become those arms of the Savior for others. His “better than adopted family”, his brother Bwalya, and his determined Bishop Simbeya in the Libala Ward helped him prepare.
For many African missionaries, their first opportunity to attend the temple is when they come to the missionary training center in Ghana. It is also their first and often only opportunity to do ordinance work for their deceased parents, siblings, or grandparents until they return home and are able to have sufficient resources to travel to the nearest temple.
Elder and Sister Meredith serve as temple and family history missionaries in the Africa West Area and spend time at the MTC each Sunday helping interested missionaries prepare their ancestors’ names so they can do temple work for them in the short time they are there. Their most joyous efforts occur in opportunities to help missionaries who want to do work for their own parents. Such was the case with Kennedy Chitalu.
While he was at the Ghana MTC, before departing to the Kenya Nairobi Mission, he was able to attend the house of the Lord and take part in not just his father’s ordinance work but also the sealing of his parents and finally his sealing to them for time and all eternity. He was so excited he didn’t want forget even a moment of his experience and stayed in the temple to savor the spirit he felt as long as he was able.
Now, as Elder Chitalu, in the mission office he met Sister Stacie Sturt, mission leader for the Kenya Nairobi Mission. She captured a beautiful photo of Elder Chitalu standing in front of the painting of his much younger self, cradled in the arms of his Savior. Now he wears a name tag as a representative of Jesus Christ. It is his turn to wrap his arms around others and help bring them to Christ. He testifies: “I know and stand as a solemn witness that Jesus Christ is our Savior, and I know that His Atonement has healing power for all kinds of afflictions”.

A speaker was trying to demonstrate the evils of alcohol. On a table in front of him were two glasses full of clear liquid. He explained that one of the glasses was full of water and the other full of pure alcohol. He put a worm in the glass of water, and it swam happily. Then he put the same worm in the alcohol, and it died.
“What conclusion do you reach?” he asked.
A voice from the back of the room cried, “If you drink alcohol, you’ll never get worms.”
The conclusion to be drawn from this story, of course, is that you can hear or see—you can perceive—exactly what you want to perceive, according to your own prejudices.

After 15 months, I was reassigned to the American Embassy in Pretoria, South Africa. I was selected as the first black Marine security guard ever to serve in South Africa. In each place I was assigned, I was handpicked because of my standards. Interestingly, President Bill Clinton phoned to ask me to accept the South Africa assignment. Those were some of the reasons that I received many recognitions and awards.
It was in South Africa that I met the Cleverlys, who were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The mother of the family invited me to their home at various times. She always told me about young single adult activities, but I could never attend due to my job schedule. Then she invited me to attend church, and I accepted. But before Sunday came, I had three nights of night-shift duty. I went downstairs to the library of the embassy where there was a computer with a huge search capacity. I just typed in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. All this information came up, so I just read it for eight hours the first night, eight hours the second night, and eight hours the third night. What I looked at most of all was what Latter-day Saints believed and how they applied it in their lives. Did they live according to what they had established as laws or standards of the Church?
The week preceding my visit to church, I had a dream. I was sitting at a table, and there were two young men with white short-sleeved shirts and black tags. They were sitting on the sides of a table, and I was seated at the head. I woke up, but I didn’t think much about the dream.
The first time I walked into an LDS ward, I knew there was something different about this church. Also, it happened to be the first Sunday of the month, which meant that the members had an opportunity to stand and bear testimony. Now this is the true order of church, I thought.
I was introduced to two missionaries who began to teach me. One of the young men was one of those in my dream, the exact person. Sister Cleverly invited the missionaries and me to her home for dinner. She placed us at the table exactly as my dream had predicted.
Later, when we got to the principle about baptism for the dead, I thought it was so amazing that one could go to a sacred place and do these things for people who had passed away. I just thought that was incredible, and I thought about my two grandfathers and my grandmother who had passed away. That’s when I started to feel the Holy Ghost. The teachings sounded right to me.
We got to the next principle, which is about families, and I just always knew that was true. When I heard about eternal families, I told the missionaries, “I knew this existed.”
Then the missionaries taught me about the Word of Wisdom, and it was then that I had a discovery. I don’t want to call it a paradigm shift, but it felt like my soul unfolded, and I just shed this shell and a new person came out. I felt like I was three feet off the ground. I had always lived the Word of Wisdom, and I wanted to know why I was the way that I was. No one ever had the answer to that for me, but the Lord did through the missionaries and the discussions. I knew that everything they had taught me previously was true, and everything that they would teach me would be true. I never felt the Spirit so strongly reading scriptures before, and when I read Doctrine and Covenants 89:18–21, I knew it was true. I always knew that my body was important, and I knew that it was never to be defiled.
From this point forward, I began to experience mixed emotions about becoming a member of the Church. I was concerned about my father’s opinion and his reaction to my decision. The night of the sixth discussion was a very eventful night.
During the sixth discussion, I received the message that I had an incoming call from my father. The phone rang. I picked it up, and it was indeed my dad.
He said, “Your mother informed me that you’ve made a decision to join the Latter-day Saints.”
I said yes.
He said, “I’m here to prevent that from happening.”
And I said, “You know what, Dad? I love you, and you’ll always be my dad. You’ve done a great job with me. But I’m 22. I’m a man now, and these decisions are for my family and my future. I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me and that you will continue to do for me, but this is my decision. I’m going to do it, and I know that the Lord wants me to do this.”
My dad wasn’t too happy when he hung up the phone. Immediately I got on my knees in the kitchen and asked the Lord to help me see and understand that what I was going to do was correct. I was thousands of miles away from home. I was all alone, and nothing was going right. Only when I was with the missionaries did I feel good. At that moment the Spirit testified to me that it was the Lord’s will and that the Lord wanted me to be baptized. It was a very clear voice that just said, “You’re to do the Lord’s will. You are to follow His example.” Then I knew. I never looked back after that. I was baptized on October 12, 1995.
It was a year to the day of my baptism, October 12, 1996, that I entered the Washington D.C. Temple to be endowed in preparation for serving a full-time mission to the Spain Madrid Mission.
During the first year of my mission, my parents were not supportive about my missionary service. The Lord revealed to me while I was on my mission that my family was fine, and they would be taken care of. Then things changed all of a sudden. The last six to eight months of my mission my family was very supportive. They said they were receiving blessings, and they knew it was because of my serving a mission.
After I returned from my mission, I stayed with my family for three weeks before I had to leave to enter Brigham Young University. Before school started, my father visited me, meeting my friends and seeing Salt Lake City. When I took him to the airport, he embraced me and told me, “Out of all 46 years of my life, never ever have I felt more love or the Spirit of God in my home than when you were home the last few weeks. I know that we owe it to the service that you gave in Spain for two years.”

In addition to the scriptural accounts of the Lord's resurrection, let me share two other modern witnesses. Lorenzo Snow's granddaughter testified that the prophet spoke to her on one occasion in the Salt Lake Temple and said:

"It was right here that the Lord Jesus Christ appeared to me at the time of the death of President Woodruff. He instructed me to reorganize the First Presidency of the Church at once and not wait as had been done after the death of the previous presidents, and that I was to succeed President Woodruff...He stood right here, about three feet above the floor. It looked as though He stood on a plate of solid gold." She recalled: "Grandpa told me what a glorious personage the Savior is and described His hands, feet, countenance, and beautiful, white robes, all of which were of such a glory of whiteness and brightness that he could hardly gaze upon Him." Then Grandpa came another step nearer and put his right hand on my head and said: "Now, granddaughter, I want you to remember that this is the testimony of your grandfather, that he told you with his own lips that he actually saw the Savior here in the Temple and talked with Him face to face."

When I was a very young boy I had pneumonia, and both my lungs filled up with fluid. My father asked me if I wanted a priesthood blessing. I told him I did. I remember asking him to call my uncle to come. When they placed their hands on my head and through the holy Melchizedek Priesthood called down a blessing of heaven, I felt different. I felt something flow into me, and I knew that the priesthood was very real. The doctor had told my mother that I was in very serious condition, but the next morning I felt great. My mother took me back to the doctor, and he checked my lungs. They were completely empty of fluid.

Many times the most beautiful examples of obedience and service are given by ordinary people who live close to us. Sister Ana Rita de Jesus, an elderly widow, lived in Anápolis, Brazil. She could not read or write. The missionaries would go to her home every week to read the scriptures to her. She was loving and kind. Every Sunday she would ask the missionaries to help her fill out a tithing slip. Sometimes her tithing and offerings were not more than a few cents, but she knew the law and wanted to obey it. After paying her tithing, she would walk into the room where the sacrament meeting was held in the rented house used as a chapel and would place a flower on the pulpit. In doing so, she served her brothers and sisters, bringing beauty to the place where we worshiped the Lord. That sister, in a very simple way, taught us obedience and service through her faith. She knew that obeying the commandments is the best preparation to serve. President Monson advised us in the last April general conference to “obey the commandments” and “serve with love” (“In Harm’s Way,” Ensign, May 1998, 47). Sister Ana Rita did so throughout her life.

“Megan! Your shoes are on my side of the room!” Mia said with a huff.
“Well, your scriptures are on my side,” Megan said.
Mom poked her head into the room. “Girls, I don’t hear much cleaning going on in here. You can’t go to the park until your room is clean.”
“But this is all Megan’s mess!” Mia said. “It’s not fair that I have to clean it up.”
“It’s not all mine!” Megan said.
“Ugh.” Mia crossed her arms. “I wish I had my own room. Why do I have to share with Megan? Michael gets one all to himself!”
Mom sighed. “You know we don’t have another room. Michael’s older. That’s why he gets his own.”
“Well, at least make her keep her stuff off my side.” Mia drew an imaginary line with her finger down the middle of the room. “See? That’s your side, Megan. This is my side.”
“Hmm,” Mom said. “Maybe we could put up a curtain to divide the room. Would that help you two get along?”
Mia grinned. “Yeah!”
The next day, Mom sewed some fabric into a curtain. It was purple with a checkered pattern on it. She even sewed a ribbon with dangly beads across the bottom. Later Mia and Megan helped Dad hang the curtain up with a piece of wire. It stretched all the way across the room.
Mia clapped her hands in excitement. “Finally! It’s just like having my own room!”
She pulled out her crayons to color a picture. But after a few minutes, she got bored. She wondered what Megan was doing on the other side of the curtain. They usually colored together. It felt kind of lonely to do it by herself.
That night Mia knelt down to say her bedtime prayer. She thanked Heavenly Father for her home and for her family. That made her feel a little sad. She liked having her own space, but she missed playing with Megan.
Mia climbed into bed. But she couldn’t fall asleep. She turned over on her side. She could see Megan’s head through the little gap between the curtain and the wall.
“Megan?” she whispered. “Are you awake?”
“Yeah,” Megan whispered back.
“What if we made a little mailbox?” Mia asked. “To leave notes for each other.”
“Good idea,” Megan said. “Can we do it tomorrow?”
“Sure.” Mia closed her eyes with a smile. “Good night, Megan.”
“Good night, Mia.”
The next day, Mia found a little box. She put it between both of their sides of the room. Then she wrote a note and stuck it inside: Megan, do you want to play with my stuffed animals? Love, Mia.
Megan picked up the note and read it. “I’d love to!”
All week, Mia and Megan left notes for each other in their mailbox. And they played with each other every day. Sometimes they played on Mia’s side. Sometimes they played on Megan’s side. But they always had fun together.
“You know,” Mia told Megan one day, “I’m not sure we need this curtain after all.”
“Yeah,” Megan said. “It kind of gets in the way.”
Dad helped them take the curtain down.
“I’m glad you’ve learned to get along,” he said.
Mia smiled at Megan. “Me too.”

“My father was a big man, six feet four inches tall. He was probably as fine an athlete as any in the state. He could run, pole-vault, and throw the discus. He played on the team that won the first Church M-Men basketball championship. He was also on the all-state basketball team. He might have had a promising athletic career, but his dad died, and as the oldest of eleven children, he had to leave school to help raise his brothers and sisters. Dad was a great soul, very generous, and he worked in the Scouting program for forty years.
“My mother was only five feet two inches tall. A very capable individual, she had been a schoolteacher before I was born, and she was an elocutionist (one who excels in public speaking). Before I started school, she taught me all the things that are taught in the first, second, and third grades. When my two brothers and two sisters came along, she didn’t have as much time to spend teaching me, and then I was just ordinary in school.
“During the Depression, my grandfather came to live with us. He had crossed the plains eighteen times, bringing people to Utah from Missouri. He would get an assignment to do this just as you might be assigned to work on the welfare farm. I sat at his feet and listened to his stories about hauling rocks for the temple, crossing the plains, and hunting bears. He was a good hunter—he had to be to survive.
“This grandfather was a stake clerk, and he would go around the stake to audit the books. He would travel in a horse and buggy maybe forty miles to a town where a ward was, audit the books, stay overnight, then go twenty-five miles to another town. One time when he was in Oak City, he had a feeling that he should return home that night. He hitched up his horse and buggy and drove twenty-six miles to his home, getting there just as the sun was coming up. He hurried into the house and asked his wife what was wrong. She told him that their youngest daughter was near death. He blessed the little girl, and she was made well.
“My mother’s mother really made an impression on me. When I was nine, she had a stroke and could no longer speak. I remember her lying on a bed in my aunt’s home. The doctor thought that she should have a stimulant, so he had some coffee prepared to give to her. She had never drunk coffee, and I can still see the fire in her eyes as she let the doctor know that she wasn’t going to drink any then, either! He got the message, and she didn’t get the coffee.
“My other grandmother, my dad’s mother, was a visiting teacher to a family during a flu epidemic after World War I. The whole family was sick with the flu; three of them had already died. My grandmother went into their home and took care of them and even dressed the bodies of the dead members in preparation for their funeral. I have always been impressed with what a faithful visiting teacher she was.
“I myself came down with smallpox, a deadly disease in those days. I was isolated in the granary, which had a stove. Pillows were tied on my hands so that I couldn’t scratch the big pox that covered my body. The Lord blessed me so that today I don’t have any pockmarks. I also had diphtheria, another deadly disease, and the Lord spared my life then too.
“I loved school and had some wonderful teachers. One of them was ElRay L. Christiansen, who later became a General Authority. He would tell us about different pieces of music and make them live for us. I still have a great love for opera and classical music.”
Elder Reeve believes that children must be acquainted with Heavenly Father. If He is the center of their lives and they love Him and talk with Him, then He can take them through any trial or problem. It might not all be pleasant, but they can survive.
“God is real. He lives, and He loves you. He loves every child; He doesn’t have favorites. He is as close to you as you will let Him be by how you live, how you mind your parents, and how you keep His commandments.”

The bell rang. The first-grade students raced for the door.
“Quietly!” Mrs. Mills said.
Eric stayed at his desk.
“Aren’t you going out?” asked Mrs. Mills. Eric didn’t look up. “Recess is fun. Don’t you want to play?”
“Not really,” Eric whispered.
Eric didn’t like recess. Usually he just wandered around by himself. The other kids already had lots of friends. One boy called him names. He didn’t want Mrs. Mills to know.
“I’m sorry, but we have to go outside,” Mrs. Mills said. “I can’t leave you here by yourself.”
Eric felt like crying. He looked out the window again. He saw someone he knew. Eric smiled and waved.
“Who’s that?” Mrs. Mills said.
“That’s my brother, Pete,” said Eric. “He’s in fourth grade.”
Eric ran outside.
“Why aren’t you playing football?” Eric asked. The older boys always played out on the field.
“Because I’m going to the swings with you,” said Pete.
“Really?”
Pete led the way. They walked past kids hanging on the monkey bars and jumping rope. Eric loved being with his brother. Then they walked by the field where the boys were playing football.
“Hey, Pete,” one of the boys said. “Who’s the kid with the glasses?”
“He’s my brother, Eric. I’m showing him around today.”
“So you’re not playing with us?”
“No,” said Pete. “Today I’m with him.”
Eric smiled as they walked to the swings. A kindergarten girl was standing nearby.
“Want to swing?” Pete asked.
She walked over. “I just lost a tooth!” she said. She showed Eric.
“Cool,” said Eric.
Eric climbed on one swing. The girl climbed on another. Pete pulled back the first swing and gently let go. Then he pushed the other one. Eric felt the wind on his face. The girl was laughing. Pete made sure the swings didn’t go too high.
“You could play together again tomorrow,” Pete said.
“That would be fun,” the girl said.
Maybe, thought Eric, recess would be better from now on.

Niles stared blankly at the book in his hands, trying hard to concentrate on the words on the page. But Anna was throwing a paper airplane across the classroom, Tyler was making seal noises, and Chris was bragging about how many free throws he could make. Who could pay attention to a book when everyone else was doing all that stuff?
Niles dropped the book on his desk in frustration. His teacher, Mrs. Bradshaw, was gone for the day. She had left a reading assignment with the substitute teacher, but everyone in the class was doing whatever they wanted. Niles glanced up at the substitute, who was running after the paper plane.
“Hey, Niles,” Sarah called from the back of the class. “I bet you can’t do this!” She leaned forward and lifted her feet above her head in a perfect handstand. Niles knew she was challenging him—he had the handstand record in his class.
As he started to get up to show off his own handstand, his elbow bumped the book he was supposed to be reading. He sighed and changed his mind. “Next recess, it’s on!” he called to Sarah, who was still upside down. He opened his book again and stuffed his fingers into his ears. He could still hear some of the commotion going on around him, but now he could actually concentrate on his book.
The next day Niles’s teacher was back. “Pop quiz!” she announced as she passed the papers down the rows. “Ten questions on what you read yesterday.”
The whole class groaned. Niles started to feel worried. He had tried to read the assignment yesterday, but even though he had concentrated his hardest, he had only gotten through about half of it. He answered the questions the best he could, but he knew he failed the quiz.
When the final bell rang, Niles’s teacher asked him to stay behind while the other kids left the classroom.
“The substitute teacher left me a note, and it mentions you by name,” Mrs. Bradshaw said. “Would you like to know what it says?”
Niles swallowed and nodded, trying to remember if he had done anything wrong the day before.
“‘Of the entire class,’” she read, “‘Niles was the only one who actually tried to read the assignment. He was an example to his classmates.’”
Niles was stunned. He didn’t know the substitute had noticed him. He thought she was too busy with the other kids.
“Niles, I am going to give you full credit for the quiz,” Mrs. Bradshaw said. “Thank you for being an example yesterday.”
Niles’s jaw dropped. He didn’t know you could get good grades for being an example! As he ran home, he thought about what his teacher said. Not only was he the class handstand champion, but by being an example, he was a pop quiz champion too!

WHAPP! The head of a sunflower toppled to the ground. “All’s well now, my lady. The Duke of Mogar’s cruelty to others is at an end.”
Jason and his older sister Emily were playing knights and ladies, a pastime of great imagination they both enjoyed whenever the weather and chores allowed.
“Gruuuk! Gruuuk!” crowed Marcus, seeming to approve of the good knight’s brave deed. Then with a single jump and flutter of wings, the rooster alighted on Emily’s shoulder.
“What do you think, Marcus?” Emily asked as she smoothed the bird’s feathers. “Didn’t my knight slay the duke handily?”
Jason beamed under his sister’s praise, and tucked the nicked and battered boomerang he used for a sword into his belt.
“Let’s have our lunch now, Jason,” Emily suggested, and she stopped under the shade of a large sycamore tree to spread the contents of a bundle she had been carrying. There were wedges of cheese the color of the Montana summer sun, hefty slices of oatmeal bread, some molasses cookies, and two McIntosh apples. While they ate their lunch, Marcus scratched up some grubs and other delicacies he fancied. Then when he left off scratching, he strutted about in his imperial manner, convinced of his elegance.
Emily tossed Marcus a piece of bread that was quickly eaten. She remembered when the rooster was still a feisty Rhode Island Red chick. Even then there was something extraordinary about his appearance and behavior. He was larger by half than any of the others of the same hatch and more assertive. And there was a certain nobility in his bearing that reminded Emily of the character of Marcus in a book about Roman gladiators she had once read. So Marcus he became and the name suited him perfectly!
Marcus followed Emily around from the start, accepting tidbits whenever she offered any. Mama and Papa were amused at first by the bird’s attachment, but when his loyalty persisted it was obvious that he was Emily’s protector as much as any watchdog could have been and just as faithful. And whenever the children played knights and ladies, Marcus included himself in the adventure.
On the way back to the house to do their chores that afternoon, the children heard old Bully snorting before they saw Papa, guiding his team up over a rise. They were heading for the barn, and Jason wanted Emily to race with him, to see if they could beat Papa home. But Emily had started coughing again. “We’ll race him tomorrow,” he said good-naturedly.
After supper that night Emily went to bed early. The next morning she was burning up with fever. When Papa called the doctor, Jason knew his sister was very sick.
“It’s pneumonia,” Dr. Delaney announced with a furrowed brow after his examination. “As bad a case as I’ve ever seen.”
For several days afterward an unnatural quiet settled over the house as Mama and Papa took turns caring for Emily. They spoke in soft whispers. Doors were eased shut lest the noise disturb the little patient. Marcus, too, sensed the change. He missed his mistress and hovered about the back steps, pecking and scratching disinterestedly in the gravel.
Although Jason might have had trouble expressing his feelings for his sister, he loved Emily and missed her dearly. Then one morning after Jason had been outside rolling a barrel hoop with a stick, he came running into the kitchen. “Mama! Mama! Come quick!” he shouted. “Something’s the matter with Marcus. He’s stretched out under the steps—funny-like. And he’s not moving.”
Papa came, too, when he heard the alarm, only half shaved and with his suspenders dangling. As soon as he stooped down and pulled Emily’s pet out into the light he knew what had happened. “A weasel,” he said through tight lips. The marks under the ruffled neck feathers clearly showed where the rooster’s lifeblood had been drawn off.
“Ever since Emily’s been down,” Mama said, “Marcus has hardly left the back steps. I guess he relaxed his vigil last night and the weasel took him.”
“How will we tell Emily,” Jason agonized, “feeling poorly like she is? I’d just like to lay hold of that old varmint!”
“No you wouldn’t, son,” said Papa firmly. “They’re quick as lightning and about as vicious as an animal can be. It was just an unequal contest, that’s all.”
The three of them sat on the steps with their own thoughts for a while. Finally, Papa sighed and said, “I’ll get a shovel.” Jason went with him and then they went around to the shady side of the barn.
After the soft earth had been smoothed over, Jason asked, “Can we say some words, Papa?”
“All right, son.”
Upstairs, Mama hesitated a moment before going into the bedroom. “Emily,” she asked, “are you awake?”
“Come in, Mama,” a husky voice answered.
“How do you feel, dear?”
“Better, thanks, Mama.”
“Want me to plump up your pillows and raise the shade a little?” Emily nodded.
Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Mama wondered how to begin. She fussed with a thread on the coverlet a moment, then she started. “Emily, you remember last fall when your papa’s saddle horse Jake turned up missing?”
“Yes, Mama, and I remember how bad Papa felt when he found him dead and the mountain lion tracks all around where they had struggled. It was awful.”
“That’s right, honey, it was awful and we all felt bad, knowing how much your papa loved that old horse. But somehow we get over those hurts. Memories are softened in time, and we can more clearly see why things happen the way they do. Our hatred for the big cat gradually changed to an understanding that he was only acting out of instinct and that he must have been very hungry to attack an animal as large as a horse.
“Emily, I’m telling you this to help you bear some more hurt. And I’m sorry to have to tell you when you’ve been so sick, but there’s never a good time to hear some things.”
After Mama had explained about Marcus and the weasel, Emily sobbed out her unhappiness while Mama held her close.
When Jason came to see his sister later that afternoon, any mention of Marcus was avoided. He tried to cheer her up and talked of a new place he had found by the creek for their play. “It would make a perfect place for a castle moat!” he said excitedly. Emily managed a wan smile, but Jason knew where her thoughts were. When he couldn’t bear to feel Emily’s sadness anymore Jason fidgeted, then hugged his sister tightly and left the room.
After doing his and Emily’s chores, Jason wandered into the barn where he could hear Papa hammering on the anvil. He liked to watch the sparks scatter when Papa’s powerful arm brought his hammer down with a ringing blow to shape a horseshoe.
Nero, one of their Percheron draft (work) horses waited patiently while Papa fitted him with new shoes. A gust of wind fluttered the horse’s wispy leg feathers as it turned his head to watch Papa. Nero and his harness mate Bully together weighed well over four thousand pounds. Bully was seventeen hands tall, half a hand taller than Nero. But in the pulling contests at the fair they were both champions. There wasn’t a team in either Gallatin or Jefferson County that could outpull them. Maybe even in all of Montana, Jason speculated.
When Papa plunged the red-hot shoe he held with tongs, sizzling into the water tub, an idea came to Jason as he watched the last of the water bubbles burst. “Papa, when you’re through with old Nero, can I talk to you about something—something to make Emily happy again?”
“Sure, son, just give me a few minutes,” Papa replied.
Jason was always amazed at how expertly Papa maneuvered the big horses into position with the slightest urging. They seemed to know by his touch and the sound of his voice how fond he was of them. And they returned their master’s good feelings. It didn’t take Papa long to finish, and then Jason told him his plan.
For several days Mama was curious about all the hammering that came from Papa’s forge behind closed doors. But whenever she asked Jason or Papa about the racket, they always managed to skirt around a direct answer. When she took Emily’s lunch to the upstairs bedroom and her daughter asked, “What’s Papa making?” Mama answered, “I honestly don’t know, dear. And I don’t know how much longer I can school my curiosity.”
At the supper table that evening, Mama noticed Papa wink at Jason as he excused himself and said expansively, “Nobody ever made dumplings like that before, Mama.” Then he lifted her lightly and together they twirled twice around. “Now, Jason and I have to finish something,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “And never you mind what it is. You’ll know soon enough.”
Out in the twilight gloom of the barn, Papa said in a loud whisper, “Fetch a couple of feed sacks, Jason. We’ll put the parts in one and the tools in the other. I’ll get a length of rope and a lantern.”
When they had climbed up the ladder pole to the loft, they lugged their gear down to the door at the end of the barn where they could barely see the hay hoist silhouetted against the starry sky. Papa went up first. Next, he pulled up Jason and the sacks. Then the two forms hunkered down on top of the barn ridge and, by the soft lantern light, opened the sacks.
There was an air of expectancy in the kitchen the next morning. And in spite of the fact that Mama served Jason’s favorite meal—flapjacks and chokecherry jelly—he didn’t seem to be giving it his full attention. Papa wasn’t doing justice to his breakfast either. When Mama said she was going to take Emily’s tray up to her, they both offered their help, so they all trooped up the stairs together.
Emily was much improved, but she still felt sad and listless. Next to the family, she had loved the old rooster best of all.
Before Emily could get to her tray, Papa suggested they move her bed closer to the window, and Jason was already tugging at the blind. “Let’s let in more light,” he said. When the bed was shifted, Jason let the blind go with a FLAP, FLAP, FLAP.
Mama stopped talking in mid-sentence, and when she had caught her breath all she could say was, “Well, I declare!”
There high on the peak of the barn and facing into the first rays of the morning sun was a near-perfect likeness of Marcus, only it was fashioned out of scrap iron and brass. “It’s a weather vane, Emily,” Papa explained, “and pretty near indestructible unless a tornado snatches it away.”
“Do you like it, Em?” Jason asked excitedly. “See how he cocks his head just like Marcus always did.”
Emily thought at first she was going to cry, but then a smile made in heaven settled on her face and bathed them all with its warmth.
When she could find her voice again, Emily threw her arms around her father’s neck and cried, “Oh, Papa! Papa!” And then with wet cheeks she turned to Jason and said, “Thank you, my good knight. Well done! Now, whenever I look up outside I can see my faithful sky watcher riding on the wind.”

When Elder Brook P. Hales was eight or nine, he was in a fast and testimony meeting where his father was presiding as bishop. His father invited the congregation to bear testimonies, and nearly everyone present bore testimony. “It was perhaps the first time I felt the Spirit bearing witness to me of the truthfulness of the gospel,” Elder Hales recalls.
He has felt that witness many times since, particularly while serving as secretary to the First Presidency since 2008. When President Thomas S. Monson was sustained as prophet and President of the Church, and again when President Russell M. Nelson was sustained, he witnessed “the mantle of prophet fall on each of these men, and I knew without a doubt that they had been chosen and called to be the President of the Church for their particular time.”
Elder Hales was called as a General Authority Seventy on May 17, 2018, and sustained on October 6, 2018. He will continue as secretary to the First Presidency.

Just before dusk on September 12, a party of missionaries returning from the British Mission arrived in camp. They were led by Elder Franklin D. Richards (1821–99) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, my wife’s great-great-grandfather. When Elder Richards and the others saw the difficulties of the handcart company, they promised to hurry on to the Salt Lake Valley and send back help as soon as possible.
When the Franklin D. Richards party reached Salt Lake City, they immediately reported to President Young the precarious condition of the immigrants. The Saints in the valley had not expected more immigrants until the following year, and news of their plight spread like wildfire.
Two days later, October 6, 1856, general conference was held in the Old Tabernacle. From the pulpit, President Young made the call for men, food, and supplies in mule- or horse-drawn wagons to leave the following day to render assistance.2

Eventually, Cathy “adopted” a grandfather, a friend of her grandmother.
“My grandfather died when I was very young, so my grandmother started dating Waldo,” said Cathy. “They’d come out to my house to visit, and I enjoyed his friendship. When my grandmother died, he sort of got out of circulation and didn’t have any companionship. My grandmother had more or less taken care of him and fixed him supper each day. So Waldo and I kept in touch, and I decided to adopt him. I’d call and see how he was doing, stop by to see him, visit him on holidays, and take him treats. Now he’s in a rest home, and we keep in close touch.”

When Elder Neal A. Maxwell of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles was young, he wanted to be a basketball star. He was the best basketball player among his friends. In fact, he taught one of them how to play. But his friend grew very tall, and he did not. One of the hardest experiences of his young life was being cut from his school’s basketball team while his friend made it.
Because he did not succeed as a sports hero, Elder Maxwell turned to words. The personal tragedy of the moment turned out to be an eternal blessing for many Saints who have learned from his wisdom, spirituality, and insight.
Let his life be an example to you. Not all your prayers will be answered the way you’d like. But if you trust Heavenly Father, He will not betray that trust.

In the summer before my junior year I got news of an LDS 11th-grader moving into our area. I was ecstatic. She was an answer to prayer. It’s amazing how much we have in common and how well we get along. Together with another senior, we made up the three LDS girls at my high school. With three boys, that made six Latter-day Saints among 950 students. While the school year was stressful for all of us, we were always there to support each other. We stuck together through bad times and great times.
We went together one night to the Washington D.C. Temple Visitors’ Center. That night Katie, Paige, and I took a long walk around the temple. There was such a feeling of peace and love. There, the three of us made a pact with one another to work towards temple marriages and to settle for nothing less. We see the eternal perspective on choosing the right day-by-day. We are striving to gain the highest reward: eternal life. The Lord provided a way for three girls to choose the right, and I have never felt so good inside.