Gospel Story Finder

At school I have a friend who nobody else wants to be friends with. Other kids began to say mean things to her that made her feel ugly. I told my teacher and invited my friend to play with me. It made my friend happy!
Ludmila V., age 8

9:28 A.M.
Elder Darren Majeran and Elder Josh Graham say a prayer, grab their bike helmets, and head out the door. No car for them. They need to get to Bonnie Brae Street for an appointment with an investigator, but they have a little time before that so they go on two callbacks to people they’d met last week. They pedal down the driveway and onto the street.

9:55 A.M.
There is no answer at either home, so back on the bikes they go. Their investigator on Bonnie Brae likes what he has heard about the Church, but he is having a problem understanding the concept of the priesthood and authority. They’re prepared to try to answer his questions.

10:07 A.M.
The investigator seems happy to see the missionaries. He has read two of the pamphlets the elders left with him on their last visit, and he’s prepared to discuss them. He seems very earnest in his desire to learn. He’s just not sure he can accept what they are teaching.

11:20 A.M.
“I thought it went okay,” Elder Majeran says after the meeting. “It’s just going to take some time.”
Next stop: the corner of Harvard Street and Ramona Avenue. The missionaries lock their bikes to a stop sign and begin going door to door. Elder Majeran and Elder Graham go to 19 houses, but very few people are home, and nobody invites them in.

12:15 P.M.
The missionaries break for lunch and talk about what just happened and what’s ahead. Elder Graham has been a missionary for about seven months, and he’s settled into a daily routine. “I guess the work has been the way I expected it to be. I haven’t done quite as much teaching as I thought we would,” he says. “But when you do, and you see people make changes in their lives and know you’ve been a part of that, it’s great.”
He continues: “If we tracted for a whole day and did nothing else, we’d probably get in maybe two or three doors.”
“We do a lot of talking through screens,” Elder Majeran adds. “But we usually have pretty good success once we get in.”
Today won’t be one of those days, however.

1:22 P.M.
It’s more of the same in the afternoon, although there is something to look forward to tonight. A family committed to receive baptism is scheduled for a sixth discussion, and another family in the ward has invited the missionaries to dinner.

7:03 P.M.
With dinner concluded (“The chicken was really good. Sister Wilson is a great cook,” Elder Graham says), the missionaries end up teaching a discussion to a person referred to them by a member. That is followed by the discussion to the family scheduled to be baptized.

9:35 P.M.
Another day is complete. Elder Majeran is tired but happy. “Not bad. We got a lot done today,” he says. As they change from their proselyting clothes and get ready for bed, they make phone calls to the zone leaders and the ward mission leader.

Following his mother’s death, Gordon B. Hinckley was called to serve a mission. He accepted but didn’t know how his family could pay for it. Soon after, his family discovered a small savings account his mother, Ada Bitner Hinckley, had left behind. The money from that account helped to pay for Gordon’s mission!

What you are feeling is normal. It’s a part of the grieving process. My father died three years ago when I was 15. I still get angry and saddened because of the times he has not been and will not be here on earth to see me grow and do wonderful and important things.
The thing that has become the most important to me is the gospel. It helps to ease the heartaches of death. I’ve also found praying to Heavenly Father a real strength. He can become a good friend and listener. He can be there 24 hours a day.
It always helps (I’ve found) to talk to a listening friend about your parent. The more you talk about your mother and remember her, the easier it will become to get through the grieving process. I am so grateful for those good friends I was able to talk to.
If you keep all your feelings bottled up inside (and I know it’s hard to let them out), you will take longer and may never get through your grief and anger.
If you remember that Heavenly Father really does love you, you will be able to make it through the challenges you face right now. I also found that the closer I drew to the Church, the more peace I found, just as you will.
Laura Wright, 18Dallas, Texas

For her entire life, my wife, Melinda, has tried with all her heart to be a faithful disciple of Jesus Christ. Yet, beginning in her youth, she felt unworthy of Heavenly Father’s love and blessings because she misunderstood His nature. Fortunately, Melinda continued to keep the commandments in spite of the sadness she felt. A few years ago, she had a series of experiences that helped her better understand God’s nature, including His love for His children and His gratitude for our even-imperfect efforts to do His work.
She explains how this has influenced her: “I now feel sure that the Father’s plan works, that He is personally invested in our success, and that He provides us with the lessons and experiences we need to return to His presence. I see myself and others more as God sees us. I am able to parent, teach, and serve with more love and less fear. I feel peace and confidence rather than anxiety and insecurity. Instead of feeling judged, I feel supported. My faith is more certain. I feel my Father’s love more often and more deeply.”

Recently I stood with the missionaries of the Montevideo Uruguay West Mission as they quoted aloud the fourth section of the Doctrine and Covenants: “O ye that embark in the service of God, see that ye serve him with all your heart, might, mind and strength, that ye may stand blameless before God at the last day” (D&C 4:2). I felt the Spirit of their callings as they stood steadfast in their stewardships of bringing souls to Christ. Latter-day Saints are commanded to “lift up your hearts and rejoice, and gird up your loins, and take upon you my whole armor, that ye may be able to withstand the evil day, having done all, that ye may be able to stand” (D&C 27:15). King Benjamin taught that his people were to stand steadfast “in the faith of that which [was] to come” (Mosiah 4:11). They had “cried aloud with one voice, saying: O have mercy, and apply the atoning blood of Christ that we may receive forgiveness of our sins, and our hearts may be purified; for we believe in Jesus Christ, the Son of God, … who shall come down among the children of men” (Mosiah 4:2).

On this date in 1830, Joseph Smith organized the Church under the direction of the Lord. It was done in the Whitmer family home near Fayette, New York. …
Although I don’t know what the Prophet Joseph said or how he looked when he stood before that little group, I know what those people with faith in Jesus Christ felt. They felt the Holy Ghost, and they felt that they were in a holy place. They surely felt that they were united as one. …

Ray Dunham, who was not LDS when he arrived at the academy, found himself looking for Latter-day Saints. “I’m from Oklahoma City, and in high school I had some LDS friends. I figured if I could find other Mormons they’d be a good influence on me.”
He met Keyan Riley from Salem, Utah, verified that he was LDS, and “I thought to myself, I found one of you!” They became roommates, Ray eventually joined the Church, and both he and Keyan resigned, served missions, reapplied, and were permitted to return to the academy.
Ray, who had come to the academy with a twin brother, “had to reassure my parents that the academy wants returned missionaries because they’re good people. Once my parents realized I wasn’t giving up, just serving a mission with the hope of getting back in, they felt more at ease.”

And she has friends she knows from doing a pantomime show at the local town hall, where her mother helped make costumes for everyone in the cast.
When her mother learned that some of the cast members had questions about the Church, she invited them to visit the Portadown Ward meetinghouse. While they were there, many of them and their mothers noticed pictures of the Saviour and learned how deeply Latter-day Saints love the Lord. “Some of them didn’t know that Mormons are Christians,” Clare’s mother explains. “Now they understand that we are.”

Brian Taylor, a BYU guard who served in the Spain Seville Mission, will never forget or regret his decision to serve a mission. “I had the great opportunity to go out and open up a new island in the Canaries. I felt like the Apostle Paul. We’d walk down the street and people would ask, ‘What are you young guys doing in white shirts and ties? Why aren’t you down at the beach in your swimsuits?’ And they’d be impressed, and they’d listen to us, sometimes 150 people at once. We’d show movies like The First Vision and Families Are Forever on the sides of buildings, and the whole pueblo would come out to watch. We would then bear our testimonies, and the people would weep.”
Brian smiled and shook his head as he remembered, “There is just no comparison between that and playing basketball. You win a game for your team, you feel great, but the feeling only lasts that long.” Brian snapped his fingers. “But just as I talk about being on that island and bearing my testimony to that many people, it makes me feel like cheering again. You just feel good about it, and it never leaves you. It’s that eternal kind of feeling.”

Growing up, I’ve loved immersing myself in athletics. I even played as part of the mayor’s team in our local basketball games. Recently I’ve also been more engaged with music. The Church has not only strengthened me spiritually, but it has also further developed my interest in these things. Now, as I continue to play sports and share my talent of singing along with other friends, I am more strengthened to use my talents and skills to invite others to come unto Christ.

Thanks for printing the great article by Peggy Wiseman on the Playmill Theater. The article and pictures brought back wonderful memories of visiting the Playmill last summer and many summers before. We have a cabin in nearby Idaho, and I try to make it at least once a summer. Last summer my friend and I were so impressed by this group that we stayed an extra day just to see another show. The kids who work there are so excited about their “jobs” that you just can’t help but join in their excitement! My advice to anyone who’s going to be anywhere around West Yellowstone is don’t miss the Playmill!
Becky RoundsOgden, Utah

At 29, Ransom Stevens was president of the Samoa Mission when stricken with typhoid fever, which was complicated by a heart problem. He died on April 23, 1894.

His widow, Sister Annie D. Stevens, started for home by steamer on May 23. She reached Ogden on Sunday, June 10, where she was met by President Joseph F. Smith and Elder Franklin D. Richards. On June 11, she had an interview with the First Presidency in Salt Lake City and then went on to her home in Fairview, Sanpete County, arriving at 6:00 P.M.

The history states, “The greetings by her friends were necessarily brief for Sister Stevens was ill and had to retire to bed early, and at 11 P.M., five hours after her arrival home, she gave birth to a nice boy.” She had gone through the whole ordeal in the advanced stages of pregnancy.

On our way driving home from a swim meet, it was dark and snowing. My mom was worried and asked us to pray. I remembered how Jesus taught us to pray when we need help. So I bowed my head and closed my eyes to pray to get home safely. After I prayed and opened my eyes, I felt a warm feeling in my heart. Then I heard a still, small voice whisper, “Everything will be all right.”
Peichi C., age 10, Massachusetts, USA

It was a cold December day in 1988 in San Luis Obispo, California. Stricken with a rare disorder, I struggled with rigid muscles in my abdomen and legs. The cold aggravated my symptoms, making walking difficult and painful.
After our children left for school, I hobbled out to the mailbox to send some letters. In the box I found a damp, crumpled envelope. I glanced at the address.
To my surprise, scrawled across the front was “To Santa, From Sarah.” Sarah, our nine-year-old daughter, was a sensitive and loving child who cared deeply for those around her.
The thought occurred to me that this might be my chance to discover what she really wanted for Christmas. I opened her envelope and read: “Dear Santa, I am nine years old and all I want is this. My mother has been very sick and has not been able to walk, and I am hoping you can get her better for Christmas. That’s all I want. Love, Sarah.”
Icy raindrops blended with the tears on my cheeks. I thought my heart would break, for there was nothing I could do to give Sarah what she wanted for Christmas, and I regretted that her belief in a generous Santa would have to be shattered on Christmas morning.
As I prayed about what to do, I realized I had never prayed to be made well. I had let hopelessness seep into my soul, and despair had replaced my faith.
After a great deal of prayer, I composed a letter from Santa to be delivered to Sarah on Christmas morning. I explained that Heavenly Father has reasons for why things happen as they do and that if she would just believe in Him and keep on praying and doing what she could, things would work out for the best.
Sarah learned that Christmas in 1988 that Santa could not make her mother well but that Heavenly Father could one day, if it was His will. Our daughter quietly transferred her belief in Santa to faith in a loving Heavenly Father.
During the following years, Sarah never ceased praying that I would be made well. After more than six years, a breakthrough in medical technology placed me soundly back on my feet and eliminated my need for either a cane or a wheelchair. Sarah knelt in prayer to express her deep gratitude to Heavenly Father.
Years ago as I opened Sarah’s letter to Santa, I thought I was going to deepen her belief in a fun Christmas tradition. Instead, her selfless request taught me to have childlike faith in a kind Heavenly Father, and that lesson turned out to be my most precious gift of all.

Clay Brimhall eased the Bronco into traffic and began weaving his way toward the interstate. He couldn’t resist a kind of sad, ironic smile, thinking that two weeks before he had been driving a BMW from Washington, D.C., to an elegant house in the Maryland suburbs. Now he was driving a Ford from Salt Lake City to a condo in Provo. Divorce changes things.
Was it a mistake, he wondered, coming back here to try to rebuild his life? Once Utah had been home, but that was years ago. Was this fair to Carrie, his only child? She had come willingly, foregoing her plans to attend college at Georgetown in D.C., but still he worried that it might not be the right thing for her. Carrie’s decision to come with Clay seemed neither to surprise nor disappoint her mother. “You were always the one who cared the most,” she had said, matter-of-factly. “It’s natural that she would want to go with you.”
Carrie was in the kitchen preparing dinner when Clay came in from work.
“Hi, Babe. How did you get along at the mall?” her father called from the hallway.
“Fine.”
Clay tossed his briefcase onto a chair, entered the kitchen, and gave his daughter a hug.
“Did you leave any clothes on the racks?”
“Not in my size,” she replied happily.
“Ah, good. I wouldn’t want to be accused of not spoiling my daughter.”
“I met a boy,” Carrie said.
“You did? Tell me about him.”
“Well, he works in the mall and goes to college. He’s studying communications and he’s funny.”
“Does this person have a name?”
“Jeff. He took me to lunch. And we’re going out Saturday night. With my father’s permission, of course.”
“He sounds like a fast worker.”
Carrie smiled. Then her face clouded a bit. “There’s one problem,” she said. “He’s a Mormon.”
Her father laughed. “So are you, Babe!”
“No, I’m not, Daddy. Not like he is. I’ve hardly been to church since I was little. I think he goes all the time. He was even a missionary in South America.” Carrie noticed a sadness in her father’s eyes; then she remembered. “You were a missionary, too, weren’t you Daddy? I’d forgotten.”
Clay nodded his head. “Yes, I was a missionary once,” he said slowly. “Long ago.” He turned to leave the room. “I’m going upstairs to change now.” At the doorway he stopped and caught his daughter’s eye. “Don’t burn the Jello,” he said.
As he walked deliberately up the stairs, Clay’s mind was suddenly flooded with memories of his time in the mission field. Memories of a young man full of faith and zeal. What had happened to that person? he wondered. Had he come back to Provo to look for him?
“I’ll get it,” Carrie called to her father, who was working in the garage. She opened the front door to Jeff, who was holding a bouquet of dandelions tied with a red ribbon.
“For me?” she said in mock delight.
He bowed. “A dandelion by any other name …”
“Would be a weed just the same,” Carrie concluded.
Jeff laughed. “That’s good. That’s very good.”
She smiled. “Come in while I get a vase for the flowers.”
“Be careful,” Jeff warned. “These are the long-stemmed variety. Very delicate.”
“Of course,” Carrie nodded, sticking the yellow weeds in a glass of water.
“In fact, they’re not indigenous to this area.”
“They’re not?”
“No. I had to go to a pasture on the edge of town where the moisture content and other stuff in the soil make the conditions ideal for long-stemmed dandelions.”
Carrie gave Jeff a skeptical look. “Did your parents have any normal children?”
Just then, Clay entered from the attached garage. “Hello.”
“Daddy, this is Jeff. Jeff James,” Carrie said. “Isn’t that weird? He has two first names.”
Clay smiled and extended his hand. “Please excuse my daughter’s rude behavior. Her mother and I failed in our attempts to teach her good manners.”
“She was probably a slow learner,” Jeff said.
Carrie gave him an indignant look and a little punch on the shoulder. “You two talk while I finish getting beautiful,” she said, heading up the stairs.
At the top of the landing, Carrie stopped and called down to Jeff, “Show my father the lovely flowers you brought me!”
Jeff looked a little embarrassed as he turned and followed Clay into the living room, but Clay was smiling as they sat down. It had been a long time since he’d seen his daughter so animated, so happy.
“Carrie tells me you’re a returned missionary,” he began.
“Yes, sir. I was in Argentina,” Jeff reported.
“I served a mission in the north central states,” Clay said.
“Oh? Where’s that?”
“That included Minnesota, the eastern Dakotas and Manitoba, Canada.”
“Big area,” Jeff observed.
“The Church was much smaller and the missions a lot bigger in those days.”
“It’s exciting to see the way the Church is growing,” Jeff said.
“Yes,” Clay said slowly. “Yes, I guess it is.”
“Did you read about the new stake in Nigeria?” Jeff inquired.
“No, I didn’t.”
“The work’s going great there. My folks are in Nigeria now on a mission.”
“Your father’s retired, then?” Clay asked.
“Uh huh. Well, he’s not really my father. I call them my folks because they sort of raised me.”
“I see,” Clay said. But of course he didn’t see at all. What did “sort of raised me” mean? Looking at Jeff, he suddenly found himself lost in thought. There was something familiar about him. He looked so … wholesome—so good. Wasn’t there a scripture about that? Clay searched his memory for a moment, but it wouldn’t come to him.
Jeff was a regular at the Brimhall residence for the next few weeks, and Carrie was soon attending church with him. There followed other changes in Carrie’s life. She began reading the Book of Mormon, and Clay noted her praying in her room before bed. Also, there was a subtle, almost imperceptible difference in the way she looked. It was nothing Clay could put his finger on, but it was real nonetheless. Clay felt both pleased and threatened by these spiritual stirrings in his daughter. Carrie was all that he had now. Was he going to lose her too? That possibility frightened him, and the feeling manifested itself in resentment toward Jeff. Clay tried to mask that resentment because he knew it was misplaced. One day, though, it spilled over when Carrie innocently repeated to her father something that Jeff had said.
“Well, isn’t your young man all wise and knowing,” Clay remarked sarcastically.
“What is that supposed to mean?” she asked, looking both stunned and hurt.
“It means that when you’ve been around as long as I have, everything isn’t either black or white.”
“Who said that it was?” Carrie challenged.
“Jeff is 22 years old,” Clay went on, “and except for his mission, I suspect he’s spent his whole life here in this valley surrounded by Primary teachers, quorum advisers, and bishops. What does he know about the world?”
Carrie sat quietly for a moment, biting her lip. When she began to speak, she did so slowly, to keep her emotions in check.
“Jeff was born in Texas,” she said evenly. “His mother was an alcoholic, and he never knew his father. He lived dozens of places and had a lot of ugly experiences before he was taken in by a Mormon couple when he was 13. I think he’s seen a little of the world. I also think you’re jealous, Daddy. I think you’re jealous that Jeff found something special to guide his life. Something that you once had.”
Clay had no reply as Carrie rose and left the room.
The following Sunday afternoon Carrie returned home from church to find her father in the living room paging through an unfamiliar green book. Clay glanced up. “Jeff’s not staying for dinner?”
“No. We’re going to a fireside tonight though. What are you reading?” Carrie wanted to know.
“My journal.”
“What journal?”
“My missionary journal. I found it the other day when I was unpacking some things.”
Carrie peered over her father’s shoulder. He was looking intently at a photograph he’d found in the journal. A family of five, flanked by two missionaries, jumped out at him, and the memory of that day and the events that led to it brought the sting of tears to his eyes. Suddenly he remembered the scripture that had escaped him the night he met Jeff. It was from Alma in the Book of Mormon: “Have ye spiritually been born of God? Have ye received his image in your countenances?” (Alma 5:14). It was there, on the faces of those people in the picture—the image of God in their countenances.
Clay handed Carrie the photograph. “Recognize anyone?”
Carrie looked closely at the old photo. “How old were you when this was taken, Daddy?”
“Twenty,” he said. Then he asked, “Does that picture of me remind you of anyone?”
“Jeff,” she said without hesitation. Carrie walked from behind the chair and sat down on the couch, opposite her father. “Daddy?” He looked at her. “Do you still believe in the Church?”
Clay turned away and stared out the window. “Yes, Babe,” he said softly, “I do.”

I’m a Lamanite on the Indian student placement program. I enjoy reading the New Era. We get a copy monthly and we sometimes use our family home evenings to read it together. The messages of the prophet are so inspiring. Taking time to read this wonderful magazine has brought my family closer together, and our family home evenings are more inspiring now that we have some lessons based on messages given by the leaders of the Church. Thank you so much for making our family home evening lessons even more inspiring and meaningful.
Barbara ContarresKearns, Utah

On March 1, 1977, Elder Bruce R. McConkie of the Council of the Twelve stood before an area conference in Santiago, Chile’s capitol city, and said: “I foresee the day when the seven stakes in Chile will be seven times seventy. I foresee the day when the 250 active Chilean missionaries will be increased by the thousands. I foresee the day when The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints will be the most powerful influence in this nation … The Lord will pour out blessings abundantly upon this nation because of the righteousness of the people who live here.”

“ARE WEN EHT: One of the greatest features of all time! In just one feature you get inspirational messages, comic episodes, true-life adventures, and much more. Come see for yourself. Plays as many times each night as you would like. 40¢ admission, or $4 for 12 months. Rated Y for youth.”
If that information doesn’t sound quite like what should go on a theater marquee, it’s because it’s not. It’s a bulletin board poster in a seminary classroom in Provo, Utah. ARE WEN EHT is, of course, THE NEW ERA spelled backwards, and it’s part of a program by student leaders of the Utah Valley Seminary District to encourage New Era readership. Their goal is to inspire every seminary student to read every issue of the New Era, and they work hard to make it happen.
A student is called each year to coordinate the program for the whole district. A student is called in each of the 16 seminaries in the district as coordinator of the program in that seminary, and a representative is called in each class. In each seminary one devotional each month is set aside to promote the New Era through skits, talks, games, contests, and whatever else youthful ingenuity can devise. New Era bowls are held regularly, and some classes have quizzes, with prizes for the winners.
The bulletin boards and walls abound in New-Era-plugging posters that are changed regularly to feature the latest articles. Other things are more constant. When you sharpen your pencil, you’re almost sure to see a little sign that advises you to “Be Sharp: Read the New Era.” Under the light switch you’ll read, “See the Light: Read the New Era.” If you play the piano, you’ll notice a little poster that suggests, “Stay in Tune: Read the New Era.” And on the face of the clock? You guessed it: “Isn’t It Time You Read the New Era?”
The coordinators and representatives know how to use the personal touch too. One of them called up all the students in her class and said, “I’ll be calling your home between 4:00 and 5:00 this afternoon, and if you’re reading the New Era when I call, I’ll have a prize for you.” The prizes turned out to cost only a few cents each, but by then the students had discovered that the magazine itself was prize enough. Another student passed out some bubblegum with notes that said, “Stick to the New Era.” Still another taped a Dragnet takeoff in which someone stole her New Era, and she used the articles as clues to track him down when he made the mistake of reading what he had stolen. Not a day passes without every student being reminded in one way or another to read the New Era.
The New Era representatives cooperate with ward magazine representatives to make sure that students are subscribing, but they feel that any student who can be talked into reading the New Era a few times will automatically want a copy of his own, so they aim their efforts at just getting people to read.
Everybody likes friends, and the New Era is glad to have some in Utah Valley.

Mackenzie felt miserable. Her best friend, Bekah, had moved all the way to Texas with her family. Mackenzie tried to have fun without Bekah, but it just wasn’t the same. Playing by herself just wasn’t fun. Mackenzie missed having someone to giggle with and play superheroes and princesses together. She missed Bekah.
Without Bekah, Mackenzie had no one to show her drawings to or sit with in Primary. She liked the other kids in her class, but none of them were her best friend.
One night Mackenzie lay in her bed, hugging her favorite stuffed animal, Bunny. She counted all the days Bekah had been gone. “I’m lonely,” she told Bunny. “What am I going to do?” Tears filled her eyes.
Bunny didn’t have any answers for her. But Mackenzie knew someone who did.
She knelt down beside her bed. Then she folded her arms and bowed her head. “Heavenly Father,” she prayed, “please help me find a new best friend so I won’t be lonely. Please help me be brave enough to talk to people.”
A few weeks later, Mackenzie’s parents invited someone over for dinner. His name was Brother Bryce. He was new in the ward. During dinner, Brother Bryce turned to Mackenzie and said, “My family is still in Colorado while I look for a house here, but I have a daughter about your age. Would you like to talk to her on the phone?”
Mackenzie’s heart started pounding. What am I going to say? What if she thinks I’m boring? Then Mackenzie remembered her prayer. Heavenly Father can help me be brave.
“Sure,” Mackenzie said in a small voice.
Brother Bryce pulled out his phone and called his family. Then he handed the phone to Mackenzie. She bit her lip nervously.
“You can sit on the couch while you talk,” Dad suggested with a smile.
Mackenzie nodded and headed to the living room. She sat on the couch and hugged a pillow tightly. She took a deep breath and raised the phone to her ear.
“Hello?” Mackenzie asked.
A quiet voice answered, “Hi.”
Mackenzie took another deep breath. “My name’s Mackenzie. What’s yours?”
“Hannah,” the girl said after a short pause. “Do you like books?”
Mackenzie smiled. “I love books. Do you like superheroes?”
“Superheroes are my favorite!” Hannah’s voice sounded excited. “What about princesses?”
“Definitely!” Mackenzie said with a grin.
Before they knew it, Mackenzie and Hannah were talking about all kinds of things. They could have talked forever, but Brother Bryce had to leave. And his phone battery was about to die!
“I can’t wait for you to get here!” Mackenzie said.
“Me too!” Hannah said. “You’re really cool!”
That night, Mackenzie knelt beside her bed with a huge smile. “Thank you, Heavenly Father,” she prayed, “for helping me find a brand-new friend.”
Mackenzie and Hannah have been best friends for 15 years. They grew up and went to college together. They’re still best friends today!