Gospel Story Finder

“But, Mom, I don’t want to go to church today!” Trevor complained. “I want to stay home and play outside. We get a vacation from school in the summer, so why can’t we take a vacation from church now too?”
Trevor’s mother smiled as she asked, “What do you think would happen if Heavenly Father took a summer vacation from watching over us and helping us? Besides, you have all the rest of the week to play outside.”
The next day Trevor did play outside. He played long and hard. Late in the afternoon, while he was racing his bike with his friends, he turned his head to see how far ahead of them he was. In that instant his bike hit a rock, and the next thing Trevor knew, he was in a hospital bed with a big cast on his left leg and a huge bandage on his head.
As Trevor lay there, his leg was held up by a chain and pulley. He couldn’t turn; he could only lie on his back. The doctors told him that he would have to lie that way for at least four weeks! His whole summer was ruined!
To just lie still in the big hospital bed was the hardest work that Trevor had ever done. His mom, dad, and sisters came to visit him every day. They brought books to read and tapes and games that he could play while lying down. This helped, but each day still seemed like forever.
When Sunday came, Trevor knew that his family would go to church and wouldn’t come to see him till late afternoon. Trevor colored in his new coloring book, then read some of his books. Nothing feels right. This is Sunday, and I would be in church if I were home. That would feel right, he told himself.
Trevor thought about his Primary class. They’re probably in Sharing Time right now, singing some of my favorite songs. Maybe they’ll play that Bible story gamethat Sister Hinton taught us last week. Trevor wondered what Sister Norman’s lesson would be about today. Last week it had been about “Forgiveness.” He really did like the lessons. Even though it was hard to sit still sometimes, Sister Norman could always tell when everyone needed to wiggle a little. She would have them play the wiggle game until they got all their wiggles out. The more Trevor thought about church, the more he wished that he could be there.
The next week wasn’t any easier for Trevor. He kept thinking about not being able to go to church on Sunday. After lying still for days and days, sitting for three hours didn’t seem quite so impossible anymore.
When Sunday came again, the morning seemed to get longer and longer. Trevor looked at the clock on the wall. Sharing Time is just getting over, and everyone will be going to their classes. I bet the lesson’s a good one, Trevor thought sadly.
About ten minutes later Sister Norman appeared in the doorway! “Hello, Trevor. May we come in?” she asked.
“Wow! Yes! Yes!” Trevor shouted happily.
Sister Norman was followed by the other four children in Trevor’s Primary class. Each child carried cards and letters that all the children in Primary had made for Trevor during Sharing Time.
After a few minutes of visiting, Sister Norman said, “Trevor, we all missed you so much that we decided that Primary wasn’t Primary without you, and we decided to bring Primary to you today.”
The children all sat down around the bed while Sister Norman gave her lesson on kindness to others.
All too soon the lesson was over, and it was time for Trevor’s class to go. Before she left, Sister Norman said, “Trevor, if it’s all right with you, till you’re well, we’d like to visit you each week and give you the Primary lesson, just like we have at the ward.”
“Oh,” Trevor said, “that would be just great! Thank you.”
After his class had left, Trevor thought, I’m glad that Primary doesn’t stop during the summer. And I’m especially glad that Heavenly Father doesn’t take a summer vacation!

I think often of another boy. We met him at a seminary graduation in a remote city in Argentina. He was well clothed and well nourished.
The students came down the aisle up to the stand. There were three rather high steps. He could not make the first step because his legs were too short. He was a dwarf.
It was then we noticed marching behind him two stalwart young men who stepped forward, one on either side, and lifted him gracefully to the podium. When the service was over, they lifted him down again and then marched out with him. They were his friends and watched over him. This boy could not reach the first step without being lifted up by his friends.

Karli sat at her desk with a fluttery feeling in her stomach. She looked around her new classroom. It looked like many third-grade classrooms, with books on the shelves, a plant in the corner, and bright posters on the walls. It also had rows of desks filled with children. Karli didn’t know any of them.
Karli and her family had moved a few weeks earlier. Now, on her first day at her new school, Karli missed her old house, her old school, and her old friends.
A tear fell onto Karli’s math paper as she looked down at her shirt. Before Karli moved away, she and her best friend had picked matching T-shirts, painted hearts on them, and signed their names in pink and purple sparkle paints. Karli had decided to wear her shirt to school for good luck. Now she wished she hadn’t. It reminded her of all her friends going to school without her.
Karli hurried home after school and went straight to the room she shared with her sister. Moving boxes still cluttered its corners. They reminded her of a new school she didn’t like and a new house that didn’t feel like home.
Soon Karli’s mom came in and sat on the bed. “How was school today?” she asked.
Karli looked down at the floor. “Fine,” she whispered. Then tears started to well up in her eyes.
Mom wrapped her arms around Karli. “Tell me about it,” she said.
“I didn’t know anyone,” Karli sniffed. “I don’t have any friends here.”
“First days in a new school are hard, aren’t they?” Mom said. “But you know what? You do have friends here.”
“What friends do I have?” Karli asked. “I don’t know anyone.”
Mom smiled. “You have your sisters,” she said. “Dad and I were sealed in the temple as an eternal family, so you will always have your sisters, no matter where you go. Your sisters can be your best friends forever.”
Karli thought about that. She loved playing with her older sister, Andrea, and her younger sister, Laura. But Andrea was in fourth grade, and Laura still went to kindergarten, so Karli couldn’t see them during the day. She explained that to Mom.
“Mom, in our old neighborhood I had my sisters and my other friends too,” she said. “I liked that better.”
“Well, here you and your sisters will become better friends than before. You can help each other through this,” Mom said.
After dinner, Karli went to her room to do her homework. She didn’t know how to work a few of her math problems, so she asked Andrea for help. Andrea knew exactly how to solve them. Then together they unpacked another moving box before bedtime.
The next day in class, Karli answered all her math problems correctly. At recess, she sat on a swing by herself. She watched a group of girls talking and giggling as they played on the monkey bars. Then she saw a familiar person walking toward her. It was Andrea! Karli hopped off the swing and ran over to her sister.
“We have the same recess,” Andrea said. “So we can play together.”
As the weeks passed, Karli, Andrea, and Laura made friends with some girls in their neighborhood. Soon they made new friends in their classes too. By the end of the school year, Karli and Andrea played together at recess with a group of new friends.
But Karli still remembered what Mom had told her. No matter how many friends she made at school, or how many special shirts hung in her closet, her sisters would always be her best friends.

Richard M. Romney, Utah, USA
When those planning our ward Christmas social asked me to visit a certain less-active member and invite him to participate in the program, I have to admit I was nervous. I had met Darren only once before, when he had participated in an earlier ward activity. He had worn a motorcycle headband across his forehead. His long white hair was tied in a ponytail, he had a full white beard, and his arms were covered with tattoos.
Now, accompanied by a committee member, I was standing on Darren’s doorstep, wondering what he might say. He asked us to step inside, and we told him why we were there. He said, “Oh, I’d love to do that!”
He did an amazing job, helping to make the activity meaningful for so many. A short time later, my ministering companion and I were asked to visit Darren regularly. He always seems glad to see us, and we’ve had some delightful conversations. I’m grateful the inspiration to invite him to participate in the program of a ward activity led to a cherished relationship.

The Lord’s hand is apparent in many other callings. As leaders are needed, they are prepared, and then they are called. José Acedo was living in Lima, Perú, as a young adult. “I wanted to get married and felt the time was right,” he says. “I took time off work to go to the temple and then went out to the countryside to ponder.” Days passed, and toward the end of his vacation, he felt directed to La Paz. He made the long trip and arrived in time to attend a district conference on a Sunday. As he sat in the chapel, his attention was drawn to a certain young woman sitting in the choir. After the meeting, he met Rosaura Sainz, and the two began talking. By the end of three hours, they had begun to consider a serious relationship. Four months later, in October, they became engaged. At Christmas, they were married. “We are so grateful to the Lord for bringing us together,” José says.

When the Acedos moved to La Paz, José was called as bishop of the Norte Ward, La Paz Bolivia Constitución Stake. As bishop, he faces the ongoing challenge of helping ward members learn what it means to sustain others in callings and to give of themselves in service. “Love is the key that opens hearts,” he says. He began visiting families to help them catch the vision of Church service. “When I visit a family, I love them and teach them to love others. I pray with them. I ask for greater harmony to bless their homes. As love increases in the homes, it also increases in our ward.”

With love as a foundation, Bishop Acedo extends callings to ward members. “We work with people. We talk of accepting callings and learning to fill the callings. And we talk about what it means to support others in leadership positions,” he explains. With that basis, ward members grow and develop leadership skills.

The story is told that on one occasion, a traveler asked a farmer who was seated in the doorway of his humble cabin, “How’s the cotton crop going to be this year?”
The farmer replied, “There won’t be any. I didn’t bother to plant it because I was afraid of the boll weevil.”
Upon hearing this, the traveler asked further, “Well, are you going to harvest a big corn crop?”
“It’s the same,” came the response. “I was afraid we wouldn’t get enough rain for the kernels to mature.”
The traveler pursued, “At least you will have a good potato harvest!”
“Nope. Not any; I didn’t dare plant them because I was afraid of insects.”
With frustration, and somewhat impatiently, the traveler then asked, “Well, what is it that you have planted?”
“Nothing, my good man,” came the answer. “I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

At age 30, Eric James of New Mexico, USA, was diagnosed with a kidney disease. As a young father, he was devastated and wondered if he would be able to provide for his family.

He read in the Book of Mormon that Nephi wondered the same thing when he broke his bow made of fine steel. But after making a bow out of wood, Nephi was again able to feed his family. (See 1 Nephi 16:18–23, 30–32.)

“Nephi’s story filled my soul like a brilliant light,” Eric said. “The health I had enjoyed up until that point was like Nephi’s steel bow. When my health failed, it was like my bow had broken. But I realized that the Lord had blessed me with a wooden bow in the form of a kidney transplant. The transplant would give me the strength to care for my family. This gave me hope. Almost 10 years later, I continue to provide for my family and serve the Lord the best I can.”

My mom was driving the school bus one morning. When we drove up to one of the bus stops, a little boy named Adam was standing there crying. He didn’t want to get on the bus. His dad tried everything he could think of to help him be less afraid, and Adam finally got on. But he sat down and kept right on crying. I asked my mom if I could change seats, and she said yes. I sat by Adam and sang happy songs to him. He stopped crying. I felt very happy.

I learned a valuable lesson once long ago from a sweet lady, Sister Lucy Grant Cannon, who became violently ill while visiting her daughter in Arizona. We elders were promptly called, and we administered to her. The next day she was asked if she wished to be administered to again and her reply was, “No, I have been anointed and administered to. The ordinance has been performed. It is up to me now to claim my blessing through my faith.”

On Friday, Jimmy came home from school tired. He dumped his books on the floor and tossed his jacket onto the couch. But it seemed to him that the picture of Jesus was looking directly at his books on the floor. Jimmy knew that the picture couldn’t really see anything, but he remembered how he had felt before they recognized Brother Park. If Jesus were to come into his home, he wouldn’t want his books to be on the floor. So Jimmy put them away and hung his jacket in the closet. As he munched on an apple and relaxed, he was glad that his house looked neat and clean. He knew that his mom would be glad too.

For example, students from Copper Hills High School, a school located in a Salt Lake suburb, organized a Christmas talent show for South Valley Care Center. After performing, they decorated the care center for the elderly with handmade ornaments and handed out candy canes. Tiffany Tolbert helped coordinate Copper Hills High School’s SOS projects. She says SOS has helped her make new friends and learn to lead. Most of all, it has given her a chance to help people. “I really enjoy doing service because I want to make a difference,” she says.

In contrast to the southern Idaho summers I had grown accustomed to during my growing-up years in the United States, the summer spent at Awaji Island, Japan, was almost unbearable with its humidity. Being a young missionary endeavoring to conquer the Japanese language and understand the Japanese culture, I found to my chagrin that I tired easily during my first months under the summer sun of Japan.
Awaji Island is a small island, lying a short distance from the Kobe and Osaka ports. Sumoto, the largest town on the tiny island, is full of typically Japanese odors, sounds, and sights. This culture, unlike that found in neighboring Osaka and Kobe, has received only minimal influence from the far-distant countries lying to the west. Even though the island is just within sight of Osaka, one of the more metropolitan areas of Japan, it is virtually isolated except for the daily speedboat and ferry which connect the sleepy island and its neighbors.
The early-morning light found me seated by my desk, carefully balancing my chair on its back legs with the Doctrine and Covenants propped on my lap. I commenced reading the 105th section [D&C 105]. My eyes skimmed over the first two verses but stopped in the third verse. I reread: “But behold, they have not learned to be obedient to the things which I required at their hands, but are full of all manner of evil, and do not impart of their substance, as becometh saints.” Wondering what exactly was meant by “as becometh saints,” my attention wandered from my book. Suddenly, my weight shifted backwards, causing me to lunge forward just in time to save myself from falling backwards. Falling backwards on the tatami mat that covered the floor in the Japanese apartment would probably not have been too painful, but as a proud, young missionary, I was happy not to disturb my senior companion by falling on top of him and his bedroll which lay behind me. Outside, a cheery cricket greeted the morning rays, while the insects in a neighboring rice paddy orchestrated a lively production of a summer serenade.
After my companion and I ate breakfast, I began studying the priesthood discussion which I was to teach later that week. I slowly began to vocalize the sentences. It was always amazing how much harder it was to vocalize the Japanese language compared to the rapidity I prided myself in when I merely ran the phrases through my head. The humidity seemed to intensify as I strained to remember the words necessary to explain the restoration of the Aaronic Priesthood. As I carefully tried to recall the perplexing sentence structure, I heard the door slide open from the outside of the large Japanese house that we used as a church house. With no cheerful greeting coming from the intruder, I realized that Brother Shinooki, the new deaf member, had come to pay one of his frequent visits. Brother Shinooki was a small, thin man, who rode his antiquated bicycle on his daily rounds. His house was a small, humble shanty at the end of a precariously steep path which carefully crept up a small, rugged hill outside of Sumoto. His life of solitary living must have enhanced his eagerness to make friends, which was not quelled by his deafness. Brother Shinooki had met the missionaries previous to my arrival in Awaji and had become attached to the friendly, Christian foreigners. With the help of a member from Osaka who knew sign language, Brother Shinooki was taught the restored gospel and received the blessings of baptism. Even though my ability to communicate with the deaf was lacking, I did enjoy my attempts to communicate with my deaf friend. By charade-like hand motions and simple pictures, we were able to acquaint ourselves to an amazing degree. Still, since he was unable to vocally communicate and considering Brother Shinooki’s simple mind, I often wondered about the depth of the testimony and understanding of the gospel principles which lay behind his big, warm smile.
It was an extremely hot day. Realizing that study possibilities were diminished by Brother Shinooki’s jubilant presence, my companion and I decided to walk with him to the neighboring store for an ice cream bar in order to fellowship the deaf member and also to give ourselves an extra boost before braving the humid island in search of souls prepared for our cherished message. The three of us each bought a bar and took cover in the shade of an old wooden building with its heat-singed front offering small protection to its three unusual guests. The ice-cream bars did not even taste exceptionally delicious, but they were inexpensive, and this made them irresistible. If one were lucky, after eating the ice cream substitute from his stick, he would find the Japanese symbols “atari” impressed on the stick and this could allow the proud owner to exchange the naked stick for another ice cream bar at no extra cost. The chance of finding one of these coveted sticks became more and more enticing as the temperature rose higher and higher. As if following an instinctive ritual, I ate the frozen substance around the stick leaving a thin white ice cream covering over the area of the potential “atari.” The last important bite always informed me whether or not the next ice cream bar would be free or come out of my money supply. As I gave the last, important bite, my tongue slid over the smooth stick. My eyes only reconfirmed that the stick was indeed smooth, without any Japanese symbols engraved in the wood. My companion, I noticed, shared the same fate, having no magic word on his bare stick. To our amused dismay, Brother Shinooki was luckier than either of us. The “atari” characters proudly adorned his ice cream stick. As my companion and I covetously eyed the stick held by Brother Shinooki, we glanced at each other as if to share our condolences.
Our deaf friend was happy to find his uncovered treasure. Brother Shinooki’s face glowed, and he smiled at my companion and me. Without a second thought, Brother Shinooki decisively took the stick, jumped into the narrow street, and handed the cherished stick to a young boy who was lazily passing on his bicycle. As if our deaf friend’s smile was contagious, the small boy’s face burst into instant delight as he grabbed the stick and headed to the store to claim his frozen treat. Brother Shinooki returned to his two humbled missionary friends. Though not realized by our friend, he had become the teacher of the moment, teaching true unselfishness. Sharply, I realized that Brother Shinooki understood what was meant by imparting one’s substance “as becometh saints.” We realized that although a person may be unable to vocally bear his testimony, he is not impaired in his ability to live it. Quietly, the communication barrier melted, and the three of us shared a moment of total communication—a moment which cannot be described by words, but can only be understood through the heart.

I plead that we will not procrastinate and that we will heed our Lord’s commandment to live the law of the tithe. I know of two missionaries who visited a very poor family. The family’s home was made of pressboard and sticks, with a dirt floor and no electricity or beds. Each evening the father, a farm laborer, spent his entire day’s wages on groceries for dinner. Departing from their humble home, the senior companion thought to himself, “The law of tithing will surely be a stumbling block to this family. Perhaps we shouldn’t bring it up for a while.” A few moments later, the junior companion, who had grown up in similar circumstances in his own country, voiced his own thoughts aloud: “I know the principle of tithing isn’t taught for four more discussions, but can we please teach it the next time we visit? They need to know about tithing now because they need the help and the blessing of the Lord so much.”
This missionary understood that “there is a law, irrevocably decreed in heaven before the foundations of this world, upon which all blessings are predicated—And when we obtain any blessing from God, it is by obedience to that law upon which it is predicated.” The Lord wants to bless this family and anxiously awaits their obedience so He can.

For the first time in 27 years, members of the Lakepa-Toi Branch travelled 2,484 kilometres away from their island home to worship together at the Hamilton New Zealand Temple in January 2023.
Individuals and families saved, raised funds, offered many prayers and fasted to make the trip possible.
They also participated in family history research, gathering information for 120 deceased loved ones.
In the temple, the Niue members acted in the place of their loved ones to receive baptism and other sacred temple ordinances.
Timothy Wilson, president of the Lakepa-Toi Branch, said, “It was great to see so many of our branch members . . . doing sacred work for those who have passed on.”
He added, “We felt so close to our Saviour Jesus Christ in the temple. It was spiritually uplifting for me, for the members of the branch who have been away from the temple for so long, and for our youth who were experiencing the temple for the first time.”

When I was 17, I made an agreement with my friend José Luis to teach him how to swim. So one morning we dedicated time to practice. When our lesson was over and I was leaving the pool, I heard my friend shouting for help. He was drowning in the deep end of the pool.
I threw myself into the water and swam toward him while praying for help. As I grabbed his hand to pull him to the surface, my desperate friend climbed onto my back and put me in a choke hold. Now we were both drowning. Trying my best to reach the surface, I prayed with all my might for a miracle from God. Then, slowly but steadily, the power of God was manifest as I felt a hand propelling me toward the shallow end of the pool, bringing us to safety.
This experience confirmed a profound lesson President Russell M. Nelson once taught: “When you reach up for the Lord’s power in your life with the same intensity that a drowning person has when grasping and gasping for air, power from Jesus Christ will be yours.”
Remember my story at the pool? In that moment of despair, the miracle came in the way I had expected, but God does not guarantee that it will always be according to our will. Our faith must be centered in Christ and our hope in His blessings, as He chooses to send them. “Expect miracles,” but “let God prevail in our lives.”

Sister Vida Osei of Ghana wanted to learn to read and write English. She had tried community programs a number of times but had become discouraged and quit within weeks. Then one Sunday while attending meetings at the Second Branch, she learned that the Asamankese District was sponsoring an English literacy program. She decided to take a chance and enroll.
She soon found that this program was different. She would be able to attend with friends from church. Scriptures are used as study materials, so she would learn English and the gospel at the same time.
Two months after starting the class, Vida gave her first prayer in a class—ever. Three months after starting, she gave her first-ever talk in sacrament meeting, partially in Twi, a local African language, and partially in English. Four months after beginning, she began writing in a tattered notebook the orders, costs, and prices for her work as a self-employed seamstress. She made fewer mistakes with customers, got lower prices from vendors, and made more money than she had before in any previous month.
“I was too shy to attend a literacy class with just anyone,” she said. “But when the literacy class was held at the meetinghouse with members I knew, it gave me the courage to try again. And now I can read the scriptures and improve my business by reading and writing English.”

From the moment I walked into the preschool room, I was in love. I saw how much I could give to the children there, and I knew they needed me. I had never worked with severely handicapped children before, so this was a new experience. A feeling of love that I hadn’t felt before began to grow within me.
I was told that any one of the children in that room could die at any time, but that didn’t upset me. My experiences with death had been few, and I had never felt the sting it could bring.
One day as I walked into that room, before going to my assigned room, I noticed a new face. I find it hard to explain what he looked like. His face seemed to light the entire room. Never had I seen such clear blue eyes, and I wondered what went on behind them. I asked Trudy who the new boy was, and she told me that his name was Christian and that he was three. I felt so drawn to him that every moment I could spare I was next to him.
After school one day Trudy asked me if I could possibly take Christian home in my car. He lived only a short distance away, and after receiving instructions to his home, I carefully bundled him up and carried him to my car. I was so afraid I might hurt him that I kept checking on him to make sure he was all right. He never did make much noise; even his cries were so faint that they would have been muffled by the blanket.
Upon reaching his house, I set him carefully on the couch. His father thanked me, and as I turned to leave I said, “If you ever need a baby-sitter I live only a short distance away, and I’d enjoy sitting for you.” I scribbled my name and number on a scrap of paper and left.
That was the first of many times when I took Christian home in my car. Each time I felt very lucky to have the responsibility of getting him safely there.
I didn’t hear from his parents about baby-sitting, but I saw him almost every day anyway. The year passed quickly, and soon school was dismissed for summer break. I thought about Christian, though, and looked forward to September when I could see him again.
One night, shortly after school was back in session for the children, I received a phone call. The woman identified herself as “Cindy Marx,” but I didn’t recognize the name. She said she needed a baby-sitter desperately, and since they had my number her husband said she should at least try to reach me. Suddenly I remembered Christian, and in less than 20 minutes I was sitting in their small apartment with Christian and his baby brother, Lance.
I fixed them dinner and fed both of them. It took about 45 minutes to feed Christian. I sat him in his little yellow chair and fed him slowly. I had to mix the eggs with applesauce to disguise their presence. Cindy had told me that Christian would eat anything mixed with applesauce.
Bedtime rolled around and suddenly I was in the middle of bathing the boys. I couldn’t bear to leave Christian alone on the front couch, so I put him back in his little yellow chair and sat him by the tub. Lance rolled around for a while and then I gave him his bottle and put him to bed. As I undressed Christian I noticed how skinny he was and how his ribs protruded. Somehow it didn’t seem fair that I had to slap him on the back so often to clear his lungs. Soon I got him dressed, and we were sitting on the front couch while I combed out his hair; it was so soft, and he didn’t cry—not even once.
After that I tended regularly for the Marxes, and I always enjoyed it. There was something in the way Lance treated Christian. Even though he was only seven months old, he seemed to treat Christian with dignity. Sometimes he would just look at his face, as I often did. Was it possible that Lance knew Christian was different?
One night Cindy called on short notice and asked if I could come to baby-sit for a couple of hours. When I got there she led me into the bedroom, where I saw baby bottles, diapers, tissues, and medicines of all kinds. She turned to me and said, “Christian has been sick. He hasn’t been to school this week.” I had been so busy with my own work that I hadn’t noticed Christian’s absence. I looked at him, lying quietly on the bed. Even my thoughts were gentle when I was near him. I could see that he looked weaker than usual, and I noticed a rocking chair had been moved into this room. After I put Lance to bed, I gathered Christian up in my arms and sat in the rocking chair. It was rather awkward at first, because his legs were so long, but soon we were comfortable and I started to rock him. I don’t know how long we sat there rocking, but soon I heard sounds of Cindy and Brad returning from their evening out. They thanked me, and I went home.
The next day was Saturday, and Cindy called me to come again right away. When I arrived, I saw many of their close relatives—aunts, uncles, and grandparents. They left, and I began to play with Lance. As I did so, Christian started to smile. I don’t know why, he just smiled, and I smiled back and talked to him. I reached over and slipped my finger into his little fist, and then realized how cold he was. I felt just awful that I had let him get cold after he’d been so sick all week, so I found a blanket and wrapped him up, until only his little face was showing. Lance played happily and quietly on the floor until their parents arrived.
I sensed a feeling among them when they saw me with Christian all bundled up on my lap, and Lance playing happily there on the floor. They had accepted me, and somehow that was important.
The next week I was so busy I hardly had any time to stick my head in the classroom to see Christian. Once, as I walked by, I saw him, sitting by the door in his little yellow chair. I remembered how gray he looked. His little head lay limply against one side of the chair, and his eyes just watched in an unwavering gaze. All that day I wanted to go in and hold him, but my responsibilities didn’t permit it.
The next day a friend and I were leaving the library when she turned and said, “One of the kids at the center died today. He just stopped breathing in his mother’s arms. I don’t know what I’d do if one of the kids in our classroom died.”
I felt sad that one of the children had died, but I didn’t ask who it was. She continued, “I don’t know any of the children in the preschool room, but I still think it’s hard knowing that one of them won’t be coming back tomorrow.”
The preschool room! I paused. “Who was it?”
“Christian,” she said. “I think his name was Christian.”
Christian! Not my Christian! “Are you sure?”
She was sure. But I couldn’t believe it. All I could see was the picture of Christian in my mind, sitting in his little yellow chair, looking so very gray. I could almost touch that picture. I wanted to.
Angry, frustrated thoughts pounded in my head. “Oh Christian, why did you have to die, and why couldn’t I see that you’d be leaving us soon?” But I couldn’t find the tears; they just weren’t there. I was angry with Christian for dying. I don’t know why, but I was. And I knew I couldn’t go back into the preschool room. I just couldn’t! Suddenly I knew that all those children were going to die, and I couldn’t face the thought of all that empty loneliness.
The day after the funeral I walked into the office and found my supervisor gazing at the picture of Christian that had appeared on the funeral program. I sat down and told her how I felt. I said it wasn’t fair that I should give all that love and then lose it. She then turned to me with tears in her eyes and told me something I will never forget.
“Tracine, you can’t stop loving people simply because you are afraid of being hurt. All of us here take that gamble when we love these children with everything we have. We can learn through our love for Christian, and the memory of him will always be a very special part of us.”
I think that was when I felt my heart break and all the bitterness leave.
Christian, can you run now? What would you say if you could talk to me?
Yes, I have the memory of him while he lived, and I know he now lives. I know I loved him, and I’m not afraid to love anymore. Loving is for now, and you can never really lose that love. It can’t be taken away. It just becomes more precious than before.

When he was twenty-one he married Maria Theresa, a beautifully slim, black-haired young lady from a wealthy Creole family. The happy young couple immediately left Madrid to establish a home in the beautiful Aragua Valley where Simón had spent his early childhood. Their happiness lasted for only a few months, however. Maria became ill with fever and died after five days of agonizing delirium. “I shall never marry again,” Simón declared, and left San Mateo to go to France in an effort to forget his beautiful Maria. There he was courted and entertained, spent much money foolishly, and became known as “Prince Bolívar” to his admiring friends.

I will begin with a true story. The characters are real. He was well-proportioned and, like King David, “ruddy, and withal of a beautiful countenance, and goodly to look to” (1 Sam. 16:12).

With him at his side was a lovely girl, slight of frame and beautiful of face and form. It was obvious that they loved one another, for as they sat together across the desk from me, he reached quietly for her hand and there were meaningful glances.

The melodious voice was hesitant and a bit choked with emotion as he introduced his girl friend, and there was pleading in their eyes. “We are in difficulty, Brother Kimball,” he said. “We have broken the law of chastity. We prayed and fasted and agonized and finally came to the conclusion that we must try to make adjustments.

“That junior prom date was a turning point. It started out a very special one. But as I see it now, it turned out to be a tragic one, the beginning of our troubles. When I saw her coming downstairs that night, I thought no girl was ever so beautiful and so sweet. We danced through the evening; and then when we sat in the car, long and silently afterward, my thoughts became unruly as we became more and more intimate.

“Neither of us dreamed what was happening to us,” he continued, “but all the elements were there to break down resistance. We did not notice time—the hours passed. The simple kisses we had often exchanged gradually developed into petting. We stopped at that. But there were other nights—the bars were down. We loved each other so much that we convinced ourselves that it was not so wrong merely to pet since we sort of belonged to one another anyway. Where we ended one night became the starting point for the next night, and we continued on and on, until finally it happened—almost as though we could not control ourselves—we had intercourse. We had even talked about it and agreed that whatever else we did we would not go that far. And then when it was late—so late—so everlastingly late—we woke up to the meaning of what we had done.”

“Can we be forgiven, Brother Kimball?” the young couple asked.

“Yes,” I replied, “the Lord and his church can and will forgive, but not easily. The way of the transgressor is hard. It always has been and it always will be. The Lord said: ‘I tell thee, thou shalt not depart thence, till thou hast paid the very last mite’” (Luke 12:59).

But I went on to tell them that in his goodness he provided for us a way to forgiveness. One may do as he pleases, but he cannot evade responsibility. He may break laws, but he cannot avoid penalties. One gets by with nothing. God is just. Paul said, “Be not deceived; God is not mocked; for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap” (Gal. 6:7).

EPILOGUE: I’m now living in Japan with my parents. My dad is headmaster of an international school here in Kobe. (Now I really have to pay attention.) Here we are able to attend a Japanese ward, and it’s not a lack of Mormons that presents the challenge, it’s the language the numerous Mormons speak. I speak English; they speak Japanese. Oh well, the missionaries will translate until I learn it. But I’ve come to realize that the Lord’s Spirit comes through in any language or in any size congregation if you seek it. His love knows no boundary.