Gospel Story Finder

Joseph and Lucy hospitably shared what they had. In the pre-Church years, they welcomed an orphan boy into their home as well as two elderly folk. A newlywed couple lived with them for several months in Kirtland. In Kirtland, Missouri, and Nauvoo, they often gave every bed in the house to guests, while Joseph and Lucy shared a single blanket on the floor. They fed new arrivals and missionaries, hosted Church councils and meetings, made their home a haven where patriarchal blessings could be given in a spiritual environment, offered personal counsel and doctrinal discussions, and held a family devotional with hymns and prayers every evening.

Now another. A young man in Mexico City was approved to receive a loan of approximately $1,000 to make it possible for him to attend school to become a diesel mechanic. He has said: “My promise is to give my best in order to feel satisfied with my efforts. I know this program is valuable and important. Because of this, I am trying to take maximum advantage of this for the future. I will be able to serve and help the poor and help counsel my family members. I thank my Father in Heaven for this beautiful and inspired program.”

An anonymous Church member wrote about the continuous heartache her brother caused her parents. He got involved in drugs. He resisted all efforts at control and discipline. He was deceitful and defiant. Unlike the prodigal, this errant son did not come home of his own accord. Instead he got caught by the police and was forced to face the consequences of his actions. For two years his parents supported Bill’s treatment program, which brought about his eventual recovery from drugs. In summary, Bill’s sister observed: “I think my parents are extraordinary. They never wavered in their love for Bill, though they disagreed with and even hated what he was doing to himself and to their family life. But they were committed enough to their family to support Bill in any way necessary to get him through the tough times and onto more solid ground. They practiced the deeper, more sensitive, and extensive gospel of Christ by loving one who had gone astray.”20

Julie could see her grandmother sitting in bed. Mom and Dad said that Grandma had to live with them. She was sick and needed their help to get better. But Julie didn’t like seeing Grandma sick.
She remembered that her grandmother used to be a happy person. Every time Julie would visit, Grandma would make a treat. They would take long walks, dance and sing, and play together. Now, Julie’s house smelled funny and Grandma didn’t walk or sing. She hardly ate. She was sad. It scared Julie. She didn’t know what to do. Mom and Dad helped Grandma a lot, but Julie just watched. Sometimes she even felt sad because nobody seemed to have time for her anymore.
Julie had been talking to Heavenly Father every day in her prayers. She told Him how scared and sad she felt. She asked Him to bless Grandma. She asked Him to bless her too. Julie wanted to help Grandma, but she didn’t know how.
One day while she and Mother were shopping, Julie saw something. It was high on the shelf, but she had a feeling that she should take a closer look. She asked her mother if she could see the toy dish set. When it was handed to her, Julie felt a warm peace.
The dishes were beautiful. They were shiny and pink. Julie was excited to share them with Grandma. Pink was Grandma’s favorite color!
It took Julie two weeks to earn the money to buy the dish set. On the day she brought it home, she started her plan.
First, she went to her room to make an invitation for Grandma. She drew flowers and birds and hearts all over the paper. Then she asked Mother to write the words “You’re Invited” on the outside. Inside Mother wrote, “To a party in your room at one o’clock today.”
Julie took the note to her grandmother. It felt good to see Grandma smile when she read it.
At one o’clock Julie carried a tray into Grandma’s room. She set it over her lap. Then she climbed onto the bed and sat beside Grandma. Julie poured Grandma some juice. She offered Grandma toast and jam, apple slices, cubes of cheese, and cookies. Together, they had a party.
Grandma talked and smiled. She ate the food Julie served her on little pink plates and sipped juice from a shiny pink cup. When it was over, Grandma thanked her. She patted Julie’s hand and said, “Let’s have a party again soon!” Julie hugged her and promised that they would.
The feeling of happiness and peace stayed with Julie all afternoon. She had made Grandma happy. And Julie felt happy too. Heavenly Father had listened to her prayers and helped her find just the right thing to do.

President Smith then explained:
“This custom of holding fast meetings on Thursday was continued in Nauvoo and also after the coming of the members of the Church to the Rocky Mountains. I can remember the time when certain business houses closed their doors each fast day and placed on the doors, ‘Closed for fast meeting.’ …
“The change from the first Thursday to the first Sunday of the month came about in this manner. Hyrum M. Smith, who later became a member of the Council of the Twelve, was a missionary in Newcastle, England, in the year 1896. On the Thursday of the fast meeting, members of the Church in that land had to get excused from their employment with a loss of pay. Some of them were workers in the coal mines. When these came from the pits, they had to go home, bathe, and change their clothes. This was a loss both of time and compensation. Hyrum wrote to his father, President Joseph F. Smith, and asked why, under such circumstances, the fast day had to be a Thursday and not a Sunday. President Smith took the letter to the meeting of the First Presidency and the apostles and presented it there. The following is an excerpt from the minutes of the meeting held November 5, 1896:
“‘President Joseph F. Smith introduced the subject of fast meetings, suggesting that a change of the time from the first Thursday to the first Sunday in each month would probably be beneficial. This was endorsed by President George Q. Cannon, and after other brethren had spoken on the subject, it was decided that the Tabernacle services would be dispensed with on the first Sunday of each month, and that the saints in this city as well as in the country wards, should have the privilege of meeting in their meeting houses at 2 o’clock p.m. to observe fast day.’” (Improvement Era, Dec. 1956, p. 895.)

Peter G., age 9, from Ohio, USA, had trouble reading. He needed to pass an important reading test to go on to the next grade in school. So he set a goal to read with his mom and sisters every day for 20 minutes. “I asked Heavenly Father to help me,” Peter says. Later, when he had to take the test, he passed!

Anne had lived in Japan only about a year. Today she was excited about going to her first Tanabata (Star Festival) party at the home of Masanari.
It was a rainy afternoon and Anne held up her umbrella as she splashed along through the puddles on the narrow lane.
The tiny trinket shop was selling gilt paper comets and streamers for Tanabata. Down the passageways between houses were trailing bamboo branches decorated for the Star Festival.
Masanari’s mother slid open the door of their house when Anne arrived.
“Irasshaimase, Anne-chan (Welcome, little Anne),” she said.
Anne sat down on a stone step in the entryway and tugged off her boots and shoes before entering the house.
Then she put on some tiny, pink slippers and flip-flopped down the hall. Her friends from school were all there. Keiko, Jiro, and Masanari sat on the woven tatami (straw) mat floor in the middle of a rainbow of colored papers making origami (paper folding) decorations for Tanabata. Some of the other mothers who had been invited, were busy making decorations too.
“Come, we’ll show you how, Anne-chan,” said Jiro’s mother as she finished folding a tiny red crab. First, she showed them how to make two familiar animals. (See page 31.)
1. Take a square of paper and fold the corners together.
2. Fold one corner down.
3. Fold the other corner down.
4. Fold the bottom and the top back.
5. Draw a few pencil lines for the face.
1. Take a square piece of paper and fold the corners together.
2. Fold tips down.
3. Fold one corner up.
4. Fold the other corner up.
5. Turn the paper over and draw a face.
The children folded red dogs and purple cats and blue dogs and orange cats. They drew happy faces on some and fierce faces on others.
“Have you sometimes heard insects screeching in the trees?” asked Jiro’s mother. “Those are cicadas. We can make origami cicadas too.”
1. Take a square piece of paper and fold the corners together.
2. Fold up the top flap first.
3. Then fold up the bottom flap.
4. Now it looks like this.
5. Turn it over and fold back the two sides.
6. Your completed cicada should look like this.
“Watch me fold an elephant,” said Jiro.
1. Fold two corners of a square of paper so that they meet in the center to form a kite shape.
2. Fold the kite shape in half down the center.
3. Fold the longest tip forward.
4. Then fold it back to the left.
5. Open out the inside corner of the top flap and spread it back.
6. Fold the top half down behind the figure.
7. Open out the tip of the elephant’s trunk and tuck it down inside itself.
8. Cut out the legs and tail and draw on tusks and eyes.
“Look at my lantern,” said Keiko.
1. Fold two sides of an oblong piece of paper in until they meet at the center.
2. Fold each corner forward to the center.
3. Fold the tips back.
4. Fold each corner forward again and then turn the paper over.
5. Gently push the top tip up and the bottom tip down and open them out.
6. This is what the lantern should look like.
“The most famous of all is the sacred crane,” said Jiro’s mother as she took a square of metallic gold paper. “The crane is a beautiful white bird with red-tipped head and black-edged wings. It comes every summer to our islands. To the Japanese it means long life and happiness.”
Her deft fingers worked faster than Anne could follow, making tiny, complicated folds. A delicate creature with graceful spreading wings was soon completed.
She set the lovely bird on the palm of her hand and held it out to Anne. “This is the orizuru or folded crane,” she said.
Keiko, too, worked very fast and knew many folds. Soon she had a great pile of origami figures spilling over her lap.
“Here, Anne-chan, take some of mine,” she said.
Origami cranes and turtles and canoes and frogs and lanterns covered the floor. Masanari’s mother entered with bamboo branches and helped the children tie their bright origami creations to the boughs.
“They are truly beautiful!” she exclaimed. “Isn’t it fun to have Tanabata to celebrate every year?” Then, Masanari’s mother told them a legend of the stars.
“Up in the sky there are two sad stars who love each other very much, but they are separated by the heavenly river, the Milky Way. Only on this one night of all the year can they cross the Milky Way and meet.
“However, if it rains, then the Milky Way will be flooded, and the poor, lonely stars will not be able to meet after all,” she said as she cocked her head sadly.
Anne listened quietly to the story. She remembered the puddles in the lane and her wet umbrella drying in the entryway.
“I think it’s raining, Tanakasan, “she said somberly.
“But we can hope it will stop, can’t we?” said Jiro’s mother as she ushered everyone in to dinner.
They sat on cushions on the tatami-covered floor around a low-legged lacquer table. For the mothers there were hashi (chopsticks) to eat with. For the children there were hashi and big tablespoons.
They were served bowls filled with haddock and rice, fish soup, tofu (soy bean curd), sashimi (raw tuna), and little pickled salads. Gelatin from the sea and crushed pineapple and handsful of rice candy were served for dessert.
It was dark now, and as the children poured out of the house, Masanari shouted, “It’s stopped raining! It’s stopped raining!”
“Now the stars can meet after all!” cried Keiko.
There were green and blue and white sparklers for everyone. With the mothers’ help, the children lit the sparklers and swung them in the darkness, making circles, figure eights, spirals, and zigzags while they laughed and chattered.
When the sparklers were gone they took up their Tanabata branches. Holding them aloft, they waved them slowly against the night sky as they sang a farewell song.
“The party is over. Our Star Festival is ended,” said Tanakasan.
Masanari could not let the evening end just yet. “Let’s walk everyone home, Mama-san,” he begged.
When they reached Anne’s apartment, everyone bowed and said, “O yasumi nasai (Good night. Please rest).”
Note: Although origami figures are ideally folded of special origami paper that is colored on one side and plain on the other, they can also be made of any lightweight paper. Follow illustrations carefully, noting dotted lines.

Recently Sister Oswald and I decided to teach our five-year-old twin granddaughters how to jump the rope. Jumping the rope is a children’s game in which participants jump over a rope as it passes under their feet and then over their heads. After receiving some simple instructions, both girls tried but failed on several attempts.
Just as we were ready to give up, two older neighbor children walked by, and we enlisted their help. Both of the neighbor girls were experienced rope jumpers and were able to show our granddaughters how to jump the rope. As they jumped the rope, I noticed that the neighbor girls sang a song that helped them jump to the rhythm of the swinging rope.
Once our granddaughters understood the principles of rope jumping and were shown how to jump the rope, the rest of the lesson was easy. With a little practice, both of the twins were well on their way to mastering the fundamentals of rope jumping.
During the rope-jumping lesson, another granddaughter, only three years old, was sitting quietly on the lawn observing. When someone asked her if she wanted to try to jump the rope, she nodded, came forward, and stood next to the rope. As we turned the rope, to our great surprise she jumped just as she had seen her sisters do. She jumped once, then twice, and then again and again, repeating aloud the same song the older children had sung.
All three granddaughters had observed that there was an art to jumping the rope. It was a simple thing that all of them could do after learning a few basic principles and being shown how. So it is with gospel teaching. When we learn a few fundamental principles about teaching and are shown how to teach, all of us can do it.

Second, I believe we have not prepared ourselves to be good messengers. The general membership of the Church seems to be in the same position I found myself in as a full-time missionary many years ago. At that time we were given little training to fulfill our responsibilities. As I arrived in the mission field, I was assigned a companion who was also new in the field. He was anxious to be about the work that he had been assigned and called to perform. He encouraged me almost immediately to go door-to-door tracting with him. I will never forget our first door approach. As we started toward the house, I turned to him and asked, “What do I do?” His reply astonished me. He said, “I don’t know. I have never tried this before.” How different is the training of our full-time missionaries we have serving today! We need to be more on a par with them if we are to fulfill our responsibilities as member missionaries.

“Bright Light of Our Soaring Dreams” (Aug. 1993) is truly one of the most meaningful articles I’ve ever read. It was very personal to me because I am a serious violin student. Unfortunately, the first time I read that article the words didn’t register in my mind. Since then, I’ve been reflecting on my own thoughts about creativity and about the arts. Recently I saw “Bright Light of Our Soaring Dreams” again and I re-read it. This time I felt the ideas in my heart. It was as if I were reading it for the first time. Many of my own thoughts were reflected in the article. I wholeheartedly support Dennis Smith’s views about the arts and what they mean to all people—not just artists. I hope as I continue to re-read this article in the future, I will receive more out of it each time. I thank the New Era for publishing it, and I especially thank the author for writing this wonderful and inspiring article.
Stacey J. LeeArlington, Texas

Raúl Díaz Hernández of El Coyolar Branch, Leon Nicaragua District, grew up in the Church and has been preparing to serve a mission since his childhood. He has worked with the missionaries and begun to study Preach My Gospel. It is a privilege to share his testimony with anyone, he says, but he has a more personal reason for helping the missionaries teach his brother-in-law. He would like his sister to be able to enjoy the blessings of the temple with her family.

“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.”

I was 10 years old when my family embraced the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. I was baptized the same day with my dad and mum. One of the new aspects of the culture of the gospel that we enjoyed was attending Church meetings on Sunday, renewing our covenants, and keeping this sacred day holy in our home. My family used to live very far from where Church meetings were held. I remember that as a family we prepared for the Sabbath day. My parents reminded us during family home evening what to do to prepare for the Sabbath day. We prayed, studied the scriptures and prepared our clothes during the week. On Sunday, we woke up early in the morning having only one thing in mind, which was getting ready to arrive on time at the gathering place at least 30 minutes before the meeting started.
My dad used to say that if you are in a rush and get to sacrament meeting all sweaty, you will have a hard time focusing on what matters the most during the sacrament meeting, which is the Savior Jesus Christ.
I will never forget these lessons from my parent’s example and their devotion to the Lord. Sister Mutombo and I strive to teach the same principles to our children even though it is not always easy.

My mom passed away when I was 12. That’s when I started to have questions about what happens to families after this life. The priest at the church I attended told me that when we die, we will not have families. He said I will see my mother again, but I will not recognize her as my mom, and she will not recognize me as her daughter.
That was not the answer I had hoped for. I continued attending church with my family, but my questions persisted. I also wondered, “Where are the prophets? Where are the Apostles?”

Najo could not believe his eyes as he looked out his bedroom window.
Snow was everywhere. It covered the bushes and trees. In fact, it covered the whole front yard.
Najo rubbed his eyes after looking at the bright white snow. He had never seen snow before, because it was always warm and sunny in the Indian village where he used to live.
Najo turned away from the window. Quickly he washed and dressed himself and ran downstairs. His mother was in the kitchen.
“Mama!” Najo cried. “Have you seen the snow?”
“Yes, little one,” Najo’s mother laughed. “I have seen it. The boys across the street have seen it too. Look out the front window.”
Najo ran to the front window and looked out. Across the street were four boys playing in the snow.
“The snow is wet,” Najo’s mother said, “and it packs together. The boys are building a man of snow. They will have a big snowman when they finish. Maybe you could help them.”
Najo shook his head. He plopped down in a chair and watched the boys. They were laughing and tossing snow at each other. Sometimes they fell down and rolled around in the fluffy whiteness.
Najo wished his family had never come to live in the city. He missed his old house, but most of all he missed his old friends.
“You will make new friends,” his father had told him encouragingly.
“How?” Najo asked.
“There are many ways. You will find one.”
But Najo had not found a way. In the two weeks he had been in their new house, Najo had made no friends at all.
Najo heard the boys laugh and he looked out the window to see one of the boys put a red cap on the snowman’s head.
Suddenly Najo jumped up. He could make a friend—a snowman friend.
Najo ran to the closet and put on his warm coat and mittens. He pulled on his boots and took his sombrero off a hook.
The breeze outside made Najo’s cheeks tingle. He jumped into the soft, cold snow and scooped it up with his hands. He threw a handful into the air and laughed when it landed on his upturned face.
Najo played in the snow for a long time before he stopped to make his snowman friend. First he rolled a fair-size ball of snow. But when he packed it more tightly to roll it bigger, it fell apart.
Najo stood up and looked over at the boys across the street. It seems easy for them to roll the snow, he thought.
Najo started again. This time he packed the snow even tighter and after a few minutes he had one small ball. Then he shook the snow off his mittens. But inside the mittens his hands were wet from the melted snow and his arms and legs felt tired.
Slowly Najo began rolling a second ball of snow. Again the snow just seemed to crumble. It’s not so easy to build a snowman, he decided.
Finally, the second ball was finished. Najo lifted it up and set it on top of the first ball. It tipped slightly where the snow had broken off.
The last ball of snow was the smallest and Najo was glad. His hands were cold and stiff and his feet were becoming cold and wet.
Carefully Najo set the third ball of snow on top of the other two. What a funny sight you are! he thought, looking across the street at the fine, big snowman the boys had made.
Najo looked at his snowman again and saw large holes where the snow had fallen out. It was small and not very well shaped.
He slipped off his sombrero, walked forward, and put it on the snowman where it completely covered its head.
“Your snowman can’t see!” called a voice from behind.
“The hat is too big,” another voice said laughingly, “or your snowman’s head is too small!”
Najo turned around. The four boys had just come into his yard. “I-I’ve never made a man of snow before,” Najo said softly.
“It’s easier when someone helps you,” the tallest boy said. “But if this is your first snowman, it isn’t too bad. Where’d you get the fancy hat?”
Najo looked at the sombrero. “I made it in the village where I used to live,” he answered.
The boys walked around the snowman, packing more snow on it, while Najo brushed the snow from his coat.
“I wish I had a hat like that,” the tallest boy said. “I’ve never seen one like it.”
“I have another one in the house,” Najo added. “This is my old sombrero. Would you like to see my new one?”
All the boys nodded.
“Did you make the new one too?” one of the boys asked.
“Yes,” Najo replied. “I can show you how to make one if you want me to.”
“That would be great!” the tall boy exclaimed. “Let’s finish rebuilding your snowman, then you can show us your new hat. Okay?”
Najo smiled. “Okay,” he agreed.
After the boys helped Najo complete the snowman, the Indian boy ran into the house, passing his mother in the hallway.
“Why are you in such a hurry, little one?” she asked. “It’s time you stayed in and—”
Najo started up the steps. “Please, Mama. I have to find my new sombrero. Some friends of mine outside—”
For a moment he stopped. “Friends” he had called the boys. Yes, they are my friends, he thought. New friends.
Najo smiled down at his mother. “Some friends of mine are waiting outside,” he called over his shoulder as he ran to get his new sombrero.

I remember as a deacon watching the priests as they would officiate at the sacrament table. One priest had a lovely voice and would read the sacrament prayers with clear diction—as though he were competing in a speech contest. The older members of the ward would compliment him on his “golden voice.” I think he became a bit proud. Another priest in the ward had a hearing impediment which caused his speech to be unnatural in its sound. We deacons would twitter at times when Jack would bless the emblems. How we dared do so is beyond me: Jack had hands like a bear and could have crushed any of us. On one occasion Barry with the beautiful voice and Jack with the awkward delivery were assigned together at the sacrament table. The hymn was sung; the two priests broke the bread. Barry knelt to pray, and we closed our eyes. But nothing happened. Soon we deacons opened our eyes to see what was causing the delay. I shall ever remember Barry frantically searching the table for the little white card on which were printed the sacrament prayers. It was nowhere to be found. What to do? Barry’s face turned pink, then crimson, as the congregation began to look in his direction. Then Jack, with that bear-like hand, reached up and gently tugged Barry back to the bench. He, himself, then knelt on the little stool and began to pray: “Oh God, the Eternal Father, we ask thee in the name of thy Son, Jesus Christ, to bless and sanctify this bread to the souls of all those who partake of it. …” He continued the prayer, and the bread was then passed. Jack also blessed the water, and it was passed. What respect we deacons gained that day for Jack who, though handicapped in speech, had memorized the sacred prayers. Barry, too, had a new appreciation for Jack. A lasting bond of friendship had been established.

I felt very proud as I read “Into the Wild Blue Yonder” in the June 1982 issue of the New Era. I believe I know what those cadets are going through. I’ve been in the air force for over 18 months. I also have a desire to fulfill a mission after my enlistment is over. Thank you for helping me to find and realize my own goals and desires in life.
Kent T. EgelundCheyenne, Wyoming

My wife, Blanca, and I have three children and six grandchildren. We love our children and all children. One of the greatest expressions of love for children that I have seen occurred when I was serving as a stake president in Chile. President Spencer W. Kimball visited Chile for an area conference. Members of the Church from four countries met together in a stadium that held about fifteen thousand people. We asked President Kimball what he would like to do after the conference. His eyes full of tears, he said, “I would like to see the children.” One of the priesthood leaders announced over the microphone that President Kimball would like to shake the hands or bless each of the children in the stadium. The people were astounded—there was a great silence. President Kimball greeted about two thousand children one by one, crying as he shook their hands or kissed them or put his hands on their heads and blessed them. The children were very reverent and looked at him and cried too. He said he’d never felt this kind of spirit in his life. It was a tremendous moment in the lives of all the Church members there. We felt closer to our children, too, because of this experience with President Kimball.

Keri had a little trick she did on the school bus going home each day. After they’d driven past the beautiful new houses in the suburb of Richmond Heights, then through the pretty, tree-lined streets with small, tidy houses bordering the downtown area, she closed her eyes tight. She knew that in two more wide, swinging turns, they would reach her own inner-city neighborhood. And one fine day, if she concentrated really hard, she would open her eyes and surprise the row of small, old, tired-looking houses and deserted apartment buildings into being pretty and new-looking again, and she would feel proud and happy to live where she did.
Before, she had had a different bus trick—a bus dream, really. She used to pretend that her family would move to one of those houses with the real yards, or maybe even to Richmond Heights! She picked which house she wanted, a different one each day. It was only a matter of time, she pretended, till Mama or Daddy got a decent raise at the shirt factory where they both worked.
But that was before the layoffs. Now she knew they wouldn’t be moving—not a chance.
“We’re lucky to have a roof over our heads,” Mama had whispered to her one night, stroking her hair as she tucked her into bed. “We’re lucky to be together, to be safe and warm.”
Keri didn’t always feel lucky, though, especially when she watched other kids get off the bus in Richmond Heights and run across their neat, green yards to their beautiful houses.
It must be easy to feel happy in a house like that, she thought. It must be nice to not worry about things. Some of those kids griped about having to do jobs around the house. Keri would have worked gladly all weekend if she had a house like that to work in. Those kids didn’t appreciate what they had!
“Do you ever … you know … kind of feel embarrassed about our house?” she asked her brother one night, surprising herself because she’d never spoken to anyone about this before. “I mean, it’s neat and clean, but it’s not at all fancy, like the other places where the school bus stops.”
Simon shrugged his skinny shoulders and smiled a lopsided smile that made his freckles crinkle. “A great house has a basketball hoop and a big dog sitting outside, and our house has both those things. Our house is great.”
Sometimes Keri wished she could go back three years and be Simon’s age again. She hadn’t worried about houses then, either. Back then she hadn’t noticed the differences.
But once you noticed, you couldn’t un-notice. The noticing only got worse and worse, and all you could do was use bus tricks, whether they worked or not. They were a way of hoping, she guessed. Lately, though, she’d started wondering if hoping was wrong.
“Somebody’s birthday is coming up,” Mama had said at dinner one night, smiling in Keri’s direction. “Now, I wonder who is going to be twelve years old—old enough, I think, for a special party. What do you say, James? Do you know any girl like that?”
“Only one,” Daddy said, grinning. “How about it, Keri? Your mother and I thought you might like a party this year.”
Keri froze, a forkful of beans halfway to her mouth. It was about the awfullest thing she could imagine—a bunch of her classmates coming here! It had been ages since she’d invited anybody over. All her friends had houses ranging from “nice enough” to “wonderful.”
“No!” she blurted, dropping her fork to her plate with a clatter. “No, it would be horrible!” Pushing back her chair so quickly that it fell to the floor, she ran to her room and threw herself onto the bed.
As Keri had expected, Mama knocked softly on the door a few minutes later, then opened it a crack. Keri could see Daddy in the shadows behind Mama’s shoulder.
“May we come in?” Mama asked softly, and Keri nodded. Her throat was too throbby to answer out loud.
Mama sat on the edge of the bed, and Daddy lowered himself carefully into the rocking chair. They just sat quietly, apparently hoping that Keri would explain her outburst. When she didn’t, Mama took her hand gently and said something surprising. “Honey, a flower isn’t judged by where it grows. A beautiful flower is beautiful anyplace.”
Keri didn’t know exactly what that meant, and she didn’t answer. A few minutes later, her parents got up, kissed her on the cheek, and left her room.
The next afternoon, Keri decided to give up her bus trick. Stuff like that was for little kids. Still, out of habit, she shut her eyes as the bus turned into her neighborhood, leaving the pretty houses with their tree-lined streets behind. Two wide turns later, she felt the bus slowing for her stop, and she opened her eyes.
To her surprise, the biggest, most gorgeous, bright red geranium was perched on the sagging top porch step of her house. It was too beautiful for description, one of those things that take your breath away and make you glad to be alive just looking at them.
“What a flower!” exclaimed the bus driver.
That was odd—Keri could never remember him being impressed by anything before, not even the biggest houses in Richmond Heights.
“It’s her birthday soon!” Simon piped up. “Mama must have bought it for Keri’s birthday!”
“No, I think it’s for all of us,” Keri said.
As she ran off the bus and across her tiny yard, Mama and Daddy stepped out of the house, onto the porch. They held out their arms, welcoming her home.
Keri finally understood what Mama had tried to tell her, and she knew that things would be all right now. That dazzling flower stood for the four of them, blooming beautifully right where they were.

On a cool Sunday evening in the summer of 1946, Ezra Taft Benson and two traveling companions drove along the eerily quiet streets of Ze?w?gi, Poland. Rough roads and heavy rains had vexed the travelers all day, but the foul weather had finally cleared up as the men neared their destination.
Ze?w?gi had once been part of Germany and had been known as Selbongen. National boundaries had shifted after the war, however, and much of central and eastern Europe had come under the influence of the Soviet Union. In 1929, the thriving Selbongen Branch had built the first Latter-day Saint meetinghouse in Germany. But after six years of war, the Saints in the village were barely surviving.1
As the jeep neared the old meetinghouse in Ze?w?gi, most of the people in the streets scattered and hid. Elder Benson and his companions stopped the vehicle in front of the building and climbed out. They introduced themselves to a woman nearby and asked if they had found the Latter-day Saint chapel. The woman’s eyes filled with tears of relief. “The brethren are here!” she cried in German.
Immediately people came out from behind closed doors, crying and laughing with joy. The Ze?w?gi Saints had been out of contact with general Church leaders for three years, and that morning many of them had been fasting and praying for a visit from a missionary or Church leader. Within a few hours, about a hundred Saints gathered to hear the apostle speak.
As Elder Benson spoke to the Saints, two armed Polish soldiers entered the chapel. The congregation stiffened with fear, but the apostle motioned for the soldiers to take a seat near the front of the room. In his talk, he emphasized the importance of liberty and freedom. The soldiers listened attentively, remained in their seats for the closing song, and departed without incident. Afterward, Elder Benson met with the branch president and left food and money for the Saints, assuring them more aid was on the way.3