Gospel Story Finder

Jamie stood outside looking around. No one was playing. She could hear the tap, tap, tapping of Uncle Ed’s hammer. Maybe I’ll go over and see what he’s doing, she thought.
Uncle Ed and Aunt Ruth lived across the street. They weren’t really her aunt and uncle, just very special people who loved the neighborhood kids. They didn’t have any children of their own, so all the kids called them Uncle Ed and Aunt Ruth.
Jamie knocked on Uncle Ed’s workshop door.
“Come in,” he hollered. “Hi, Jamie. Have you come over to help me?”
“What are you making?” she asked.
“Oh, I made a birdhouse. I’m just about ready to paint it, and I sure could use a helper.”
“I’d love to help,” said Jamie. They painted the birdhouse red and green.
“We did a good job,” said Uncle Ed. “Now we need a reward. Let’s go in and see if Aunt Ruth has some spare cookies.”
Uncle Ed and Aunt Ruth’s house was a wonderful place. Jamie’s favorite thing in it was the curio cabinet in the living room. Sitting on the shelves were dolls that Aunt Ruth had collected since she was a little girl. They were all beautiful and different. On the top shelf was her most prized possession, a doll dressed in a white sailor suit. He had a china head, and his face was hand painted. With a friendly smile, he seemed to watch you wherever you were in the room. His name was Buddy, and Aunt Ruth’s own aunt had given him to her when she was eight years old. He was the beginning of her collection. All the dolls were special to her, but the most special was Buddy.
“Come in and have a cookie. I just took them out of the oven,” Aunt Ruth said.
“Jamie and I finished the birdhouse. Where do you want us to hang it?” Uncle Ed asked.
“Well, let me see. How about the elm tree?”
“Sounds good to me. Jamie and I will hang it up as soon as the paint has had time to dry. OK, Jamie?”
“Yes,” Jamie answered, crunching her cookie. “Sounds good to me too. Guess what? My birthday is on Thursday, and I’m getting baptized in my church on Saturday. Will you come to the baptism? My grandparents can’t come, and I’d love you to be there. Please?”
“We’d love to, Jamie,” Uncle Ed said. “We don’t go to church much. We really don’t belong to any church. Do you think it will be all right?”
“Of course,” Jamie responded. “It’s my special day. Mom said I could invite anyone I wanted, and I want you.”
Aunt Ruth smiled. “We’re honored, and we’ll be there. I’ll talk to your mother.”
Later, Jamie and Uncle Ed hung the birdhouse high in the elm tree.
The morning of Jamie’s birthday the sun shone brightly. Jamie hurried and dressed and ran downstairs. Everyone was waiting for her. Mom and Dad, her brothers—Mike and Tommy—and her sister, Christine.
“Happy birthday!” they yelled.
When she opened her presents, there were some clothes, a necklace from Christine, and a game from the boys. Grandma and Grandpa Ellis had sent her a set of scriptures with her name on the front in gold. Inside, Grandma had written a note:
Dear Jamie,
We are sorry that we can’t be with you on your special birthday. We are very proud of you and know that you will be a wonderful member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Remember, the scriptures will be one of your most prized possessions. Read them often.
We love you,
Grandma and Grandpa
Jamie smiled when she read the note. That afternoon after school, Jamie put away her presents and thought about Saturday. It was going to be even more exciting than today. Her aunt and uncle and cousins would be there. Bishop Davis and her Primary teacher, Sister Naylor, would be there, too, with her CTR A class. And, of course, Uncle Ed and Aunt Ruth were coming.
Jamie went downstairs where Christine was setting the table for her birthday dinner. The doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it!” Mike hollered.
It was Uncle Ed and Aunt Ruth. “We won’t stay long. We know it’s your dinnertime. We have a present for Jamie.” Aunt Ruth handed Jamie a large white box tied with a big pink bow.
“Ruthie’s been more excited about this than Jamie will be, I think,” Uncle Ed said.
Jamie untied the ribbon and carefully lifted off the lid.
“Hurry up!” Tommy squealed.
“I’m hurrying as fast as I can!” Jamie carefully took out several pieces of tissue paper. Nestled in the middle of the layers of tissue paper was Buddy, Aunt Ruth’s prized doll. “Oh, Aunt Ruth,” cried Jamie, “thank you, thank you!”
“You’re welcome, Jamie. I got Buddy when I was eight years old, and since there are no little girls in my family, I want you to have him. He’s my most prized possession—next to Uncle Ed,” Aunt Ruth said with a chuckle.
“Aunt Ruth, I promise I’ll take good care of him. Oh, this is the best birthday ever!”
Uncle Ed and Aunt Ruth were invited to stay for dinner and for birthday cake, which made Jamie very happy. When they went home, she went upstairs to get ready for bed. She put Buddy on the shelf above her dresser, right next to her scriptures. My two prized possessions, she thought. As she lay in bed, the moonlight shone brightly through the window. She could see Buddy smiling at her. Then she noticed the light on her scriptures. The best idea popped into her head! She fell asleep wondering why she hadn’t thought of it before.
The next morning Jamie was up and dressed early. She ran downstairs with something in her hand. “I have to see Uncle Ed and Aunt Ruth,” she told Mom. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
Aunt Ruth was surprised to see Jamie so early in the morning.
“Aunt Ruth, last night you gave me one of your most prized possessions,” Jamie said. “This is one of mine.” Jamie handed Aunt Ruth the copy of the Book of Mormon she had received from Primary. “Please read it and then talk to my mom and dad about it. They can tell you how you can keep another one of your prized possessions—Uncle Ed—forever.” Jamie hurried down the walk, calling back, “See you at my baptism.”
Saturday afternoon Jamie and her parents waited anxiously at the church until they saw Uncle Ed and Aunt Ruth come through the door.
“Hello, Jamie,” they said, giving her a hug. “We read your book all day yesterday and most of the night, and we’d like to talk to you and your folks about it soon.”
“We’d be very happy to talk to you about it,” Jamie’s dad said as he welcomed them.
“Your little Jamie’s quite a missionary,” said Uncle Ed.
After the baptism, Dad confirmed Jamie a member of the Church and gave her the gift of the Holy Ghost. A warm feeling came over her, and she knew that she had just received the most prized possession of all.

Very often President Lee shared the following experience he had while serving as president of the Pioneer Stake in Salt Lake City. He felt there was a lesson in it for all. He titled it “Tune in the Lord.” I love his soft-spoken yet powerful counseling in this instance. This experience was first shared by President Lee about forty years ago in an address to the Brigham Young University student body.

We had a very grievous case that had to come before the high council and the stake presidency which resulted in the excommunication of a man who had harmed a lovely young girl. After nearly an all-night session which resulted in that action, I went to my office rather weary the next morning to be confronted by a brother of this man whom we had had on trial the night before. This man said, “I want to tell you that my brother wasn’t guilty of what you charged him with.”

“How do you know he wasn’t guilty?” I asked.

“Because I prayed, and the Lord told me he was innocent,” the man answered.

I asked him to come into the office and we sat down, and I asked, “Would you mind if I ask you a few personal questions?” He said, “Certainly not.”

“How old are you?”

“Forty-seven. “

“What priesthood do you hold?” He said he thought he was a teacher. “Do you keep the Word of Wisdom?” and he said, “Well, no.” He used tobacco, which was obvious.

“Do you pay your tithing?”

He said, “No”—and he didn’t intend to as long as that blankety-blank-blank man was bishop of [his ward.]

I said, “Do you attend your priesthood meetings?”

He replied, “No, sir,” and he didn’t intend to as long as that man was bishop.

“You don’t attend your sacrament meetings either?”

“No, sir.”

“Do you have your family prayers?” and he said no.

“Do you study the scriptures?” He said well, his eyes were bad and he couldn’t read very much.

I then said to him: “In my home I have a beautiful instrument called a radio. When everything is in good working order we can dial to a certain station and pick up a speaker or the voice of a singer all the way across the continent. . . . But, after we had used it for a long time, the little delicate instruments or electrical devices on the inside called radio tubes began to wear out. . . . The radio may sit there looking quite like it did before, but because of what has happened on the inside, we can hear nothing.”

“Now,” I said, “you and I have within our souls something like what might be said to be a counterpart of those radio tubes. We might have what we call a “go-to-sacrament-meeting” tube, “keep-the-Word-of-Wisdom” tube, “pay-your-tithing” tube, “have-your-family-prayers” tube, “read-the-Scriptures” tube, and, as one of the most important that might be said to be the master tube of our whole soul, we might call the “keep-yourselves-morally-clean” tube. If one of these becomes worn out by disuse or inactivity—if we fail to keep the commandments of God—it has the same effect upon our spiritual selves that a worn-out tube has in a radio.”

“Now then,” I said, “fifteen of the best-living men in the Pioneer Stake prayed last night. They heard the evidence and every man was united in saying that your brother was guilty. Now, you, who do none of these things, you say you prayed, and you got an opposite answer. How would you explain that?”

Then this man gave an answer that I think was a classic. He said, “Well, President Lee, I think I must have gotten my answer from the wrong source.” And, you know, that’s just as great a truth as we can have. We get our answers from the source of the power we list to obey. If we’re following the ways of the Devil, we’ll get answers from the Devil. If we’re keeping the commandments of God, we’ll get our answers from God.

“Ssshhh!” warns one of the girls. “They’ll hear you.” She buttons the jacket of her hot-pink polyester jump suit, straightens the popcorn ball in her hair, and edges towards the house. But it’s no use. The group bursts into loud laughter again.
So much for a “secret” mission.
By this time the people in the house wonder what all the women are doing gathered on their porch. After all, it isn’t every day that 14 girls and their Young Women leaders come to visit, especially not dressed like this.
The girls are wearing neon polyester outfits. They’ve arranged tinfoil, popcorn balls and tacky fake flowers in their hair. To top it off, several girls are wearing curling irons as necklaces.
When a young woman opens the door to see what all the commotion is about, the group bursts into an enthusiastic, out-of-tune song. They sway to the music and slap their knees.
By the time the song is over the girl being visited is laughing hysterically. So is her family. The group gives the girl a plate of cookies, smothers her with hugs, and leaves as loudly as they came—another mission accomplished.
The Secret Agents of Love, or SAL Squad, started three years ago to accomplish an important mission: to unite the Bluffdale (Utah) Second Ward Young Women.
Not that all of the girls were inactive. They were just … bored. And they weren’t showing up for activities. One night, after another activity fizzled, some of the girls started talking to their leaders about what they could do.
“We were feeling pretty discouraged. Then someone mentioned this story about a girl who ran around doing things to make other people happy. All of a sudden, our attitudes changed. We realized that we could do the same thing,” said Marci Nielson, 18.
The first project was to deliver cookies. Cars honked. People yelled. Trucks pulled over at the sight of several girls wearing cone heads and army boots and riding on two-seated bicycles.
“We didn’t miss anyone. If they were at work, we went right up to the drive-up window of the restaurant, or to the produce section of the supermarket. I think it really made everyone feel good,” said Kristin Sherwood, 18.
“Sometimes it’s hard to believe that this is a service project. It helps to cheer up someone’s day in a really fun way,” said Katie Drury, 18.
All of the girls admit they’re having fun. But they also say that somewhere between the cookies, songs, and costumes, something is changing lives—especially theirs.
Kristin admits that before this Young Women activity started, she didn’t take the time to get to know the younger girls. “I would have missed out on some great friendships.”
The SAL Squad operates with two secret weapons—(1) everyone, girls and Young Women leaders alike, joins in, and (2) love. They say they don’t leave home without it.
“I’ll always remember the fun we’ve had,” says Janalyn Anderson, 18. “But my favorite memory will be of someone opening the door and looking at us like, ‘I’m important to you? You dressed up and did all this for me?’ It has changed lives. And all it took was love.”

“Dad, I don’t want to go,” Spencer said.
“You promised Grandpa you would help him today,” Dad said.
“I don’t want to go to the dump,” Spencer said. “Why doesn’t Grandpa put his garbage can on the curb like everyone else?”
“You promised you would go, so you need to go,” Dad said.
“This is silly,” Spencer thought. Why did he have to waste a day of his vacation at the dump?
A few minutes later, Grandpa drove up in his pickup truck. Two garbage cans were loaded in the back. Spencer climbed into the passenger’s seat.
“We have just a few stops to make before we go to the dump,” Grandpa said.
“This is going to take forever,” Spencer thought as he stared out the window.
Grandpa pulled into his neighbors’ driveway. The couple who lived there had been his grandparents’ neighbors for almost 50 years. Arlo and Wanda were always nice to Spencer when he came to visit. The front door opened and Wanda walked out.
“I wish you wouldn’t trouble yourself with this,” she said to Grandpa as he hauled her garbage can into the truck.
“No trouble at all,” Grandpa said.
“You have the kindest grandpa in the world,” Wanda said to Spencer.
“Give Arlo my best,” Grandpa said.
“I will. Thank you,” Wanda said. A tear fell down her cheek.
“What’s wrong with Arlo?” Spencer asked as they drove away.
“He’s really sick. Wanda has to do everything for him now. It’s a lot of hard work, but she doesn’t complain.”
A few minutes later they pulled into another driveway. A small woman was struggling to keep a garbage can from tipping over as she tried to move it from the garage.
“Minnie!” Grandpa jumped out of the truck. “What are you doing?”
“I’m just trying to help,” she said.
Minnie was another one of Grandpa’s neighbors. Grandpa took the garbage can from her.
“I think you’ve grown a foot since last summer, Spencer,” Minnie said, smiling at Spencer. “I’m sorry I haven’t brought over any waffles, but these old hands don’t do much cooking anymore.”
Minnie was an excellent cook and used to bring over a batch of waffles when Spencer and his family came to visit Grandma and Grandpa.
“That’s OK, Minnie,” Spencer said.
“I don’t know what I would do without your grandpa and grandma, Spencer,” Minnie said. “This world needs more people like them.”
Grandpa loaded Minnie’s can into the back of the truck, and soon they were driving down a long, dusty road outside of town. “This is our last stop,” Grandpa said.
“Who lives here?” Spencer asked.
“A new family that moved in a few months ago. They are having a hard time. I told them I would haul their trash for them so they wouldn’t have to pay for garbage service. At first they told me I didn’t need to.”
“Then why do it?” Spencer asked.
Grandpa smiled at Spencer. “Because I can,” he said.
Spencer stared out the window, thinking about what Grandpa had just said. He realized that Grandpa didn’t help people because he had to do it. He helped people because that’s the kind of person he was.
Grandpa parked the truck, but before he could get out, Spencer said, “You stay in the truck, Grandpa. I’ll get these cans for you.”
Grandpa smiled and let Spencer do the work. Spencer hauled the garbage cans to the road and then climbed back into the truck.
“Now we can go to the dump,” Grandpa said.
As they drove away, Spencer thought about all the people Grandpa helped.
“I guess helping people isn’t silly after all,” Spencer said.
Grandpa smiled. “No,” he said. “It’s one of the most important things we can do.”

When I first started repenting daily, I wasn’t sure what the point of it was. I would repent of my sins, but often, the next day I would make the same mistake again. I wondered, “Why should I repent if I can’t change my bad habits immediately?”
I went to Heavenly Father and told Him my concerns and asked why He wants us to repent every day. I felt the Spirit communicate to my mind that each time I repent, the Savior gives me a chance to start over. President Nelson also said: “Repenting is the key to progress. Pure faith keeps us moving forward on the covenant path.”
Repenting is not about getting things perfect; it’s about continuous reliance on Christ to change our natures over time! I realized that even if I make the same mistakes, when I sincerely repent of my sins and try to change, He will help me progress little by little.

I was afraid a lot.
I was afraid my dad would kill himself while driving drunk. I was afraid he’d kill someone else when he was driving drunk.
Late at night I would lie in my bed with all the lights out. I would wait and wait to hear his car pull in. I’d pray over and over, “Please help him get home safely. Please don’t let him hit anyone.”
In the morning I’d look at how the car was parked in the driveway. Sometimes it would be barely an inch from the house. Sometimes it would be over into the neighbor’s flowers.
I was afraid he’d embarrass me. He did. He’d wake up from sleeping off a drunk and not really be sober. He’d stumble out of the bedroom. He’d stink of beer. He’d say dumb things. I hated it.
My real friends still liked me. Still, it was embarrassing.
I was afraid my parents would get a divorce. Many times they would have fights when my dad drank. He had a black leather suitcase in his closet. He’d get it out and start packing his clothes. If it were daytime I’d run out of the house. One day I took my dad’s white pocketknife with me. I wanted to have something of his if he left.
Sometimes I was afraid my parents would not get a divorce. I was afraid they would keep living together and I would never have a home that was nice. I thought my mother and I could go live with my grandparents. It sounded so safe.
Fear
Your friend may worry that her dad will get into an accident while driving drunk.
She may be afraid her parents will divorce. Or she may be equally afraid this painful way of living will go on forever.
She fears that her dad may embarrass her with inappropriate behavior.
She’s afraid no one will like her because of her father’s actions.
Of these fears only the last one is within your control. Make very sure your friend knows that you love and respect her. Your friendship can help reduce the corrosive effects of all the other fears.
Fear
Your life is full of fears—fear of a drunken accident, fear of divorce, fear of humiliation—the list seems endless.
I wish I could give you an easy formula for banishing fear, but I can’t. For one thing, many of your fears are well grounded.
I can only give you two bits of advice. First, when you are afraid, pray. Our Father in Heaven knows your fears and can help you master them.
Second, let some trusted adult counselor help you distinguish between real dangers and imaginary ones. With so many real things to fear, there is no room for phantoms.

Dusty “has a tremendous ear for music,” according to David Hatch, one of Dusty’s piano teachers. “One day he came over to practice a piece—a very difficult work—called Bach’s Invention no. 6, which requires both hands to do a lot of moving. I taught Dusty how to make his hands move correctly and expected him to go home and practice it for a week as my other students do. But Dusty immediately played the movement back to me, as if he’d always known how to play it.”

“Dusty practices as much as two hours a day,” said his mother. “That requires a lot of dedication and self-discipline that most six-year-olds don’t have.”

Dusty enjoys other activities besides playing the piano. He likes to play with his neighborhood friends, help his mom cook, and spend time with his grandmother.

Once when Dusty and his grandmother were watching television together, an opera came on. “I asked Dusty if he’d like to watch cartoons or some other program,” his grandmother said. “But he said he’d rather see how the opera turned out.”

Dusty’s four brothers and sisters have also developed interests in music, which include playing the violin, cello, harpsichord, and flute. And Dusty’s mom and dad believe that his interest in cultural events has helped the whole family enjoy a wider variety of entertainment. “He has helped us become more interested in things like opera and ballet,” his mother said. “It’s a great learning experience for all of us.”

As for Dusty’s future, his mother said that he may continue his music lessons until he is eighteen, and then go on to become a professional. Dusty, however, said that he’d rather be a chef at a Japanese restaurant “where the waiters chop up the food in front of your table!”

Doing what comes naturally brought top honors to Tracey Keogh, 17, and Brenda Richmond, 18, of Dublin, Ireland. Their school year was spent working to improve themselves and the community, and they received the country’s prestigious President’s Award.
Requirements for the award said they had to spend a certain number of hours each week working on community projects, a personal skill, and a special project. Tracey visited an elderly lady, recycled, and learned to use a personal computer. Brenda volunteered at a hospital, acted in a school play, and ran a small company.
Their projects went hand-in-hand with the Young Women Personal Progress program. Brenda said she couldn’t have done all she did that year without the Church in her life. “The Church, its principles, and its leaders have taught me a lot,” she said.

I was baptized when I was ten years old, but in my early teenage years, I became inactive in the Church. I had many problems and I didn’t think there were any solutions. But, because my mother was the Church magazine representative, we always had many copies of the Church magazine at home, and I never stopped reading the Liahona (Spanish).
Articles like President Spencer W. Kimball’s “Absolute Truth” and Elder Boyd K. Packer’s “Candle of the Lord” helped me decide to return to the Church and change my life to be more like Christ.
I am now serving a mission in my homeland of Mexico and my friend is preparing for a mission. None of this would have happened if I had not continued to read the Liahona while I was not active in the Church. I am grateful to my Heavenly Father for the Church’s publications.

As an Aaronic Priesthood young man, I can remember the excitement I felt as a newly ordained deacon. I looked forward to being able to fulfill my priesthood assignments. As a young Primary boy, I watched the deacons in my ward very closely in anticipation of the day I would be 12 years old, receive the priesthood, and be able to pass the sacrament. That day finally arrived, and soon after being ordained by my father, who was the bishop of the ward, I felt ready, but nervous, to begin my duties as a new deacon.
I now belonged to a quorum of the Aaronic Priesthood. The members of my quorum became very best friends. That friendship and quorum brotherhood continued to grow through my youth as we learned and served together in our priesthood duties. We were all good friends and experienced a fun and enjoyable time being together in our quorum activities.
One Sunday following one of those warm and long sacrament meetings, the first counselor in our bishopric called me aside to talk to me. This unscheduled priesthood interview became a blessing in my life as I have pondered the question he asked during our brief but significant visit. Brother Bateman looked me in the eye and asked, “Dean, do you know who you are?” There was complete silence, and then he gave me a quick and powerful reminder, “You are the son of Reid Burgess.”
The meaning and significance of that question has burned in my heart for a long time, and I often reflected on it throughout my teenage years. This good brother’s question—“Do you know who you are?”—has given me inspired direction throughout my life and a commitment to bring respect and honor to my family and to the priesthood.

As bishop of our ward, I encouraged parents to give their children opportunities to teach in family home evening. My wife and I decided to do as I had said.
Our son taught first, and we enjoyed his lesson on prayer. The next Monday was our daughter’s turn. She had been baptized only a few months before. Her topic was God’s creation. She asked a series of questions, which we answered in turn. She then bore her testimony and concluded.
My son exclaimed, “You’ve not taught us yet; you were only asking questions.” But I told my family that I had been moved when my wife, answering one of the questions, said that she is grateful to God for creating family units and giving her a wonderful family with a loving husband. I told them that my heart was full of gratitude when my youngest daughter answered the question “Who created the world?” by exclaiming, “Jesus.” I found many other answers overwhelming in their insightfulness.
So even though my daughter did not “teach” as my son expected, her lesson—and others my children have taught—are my favorite family home evenings.
Richard Ikpegbu, Nigeria

My mother, who passed away in 1992, was outstanding in her ability to reflect on and accept the goodness in other religions. Although she, like my father, had been raised a Catholic, my mother had more ecumenical leanings than my father, as her father had been a Lutheran. But she accepted the good she found in the Catholic Church and faithfully practiced Catholicism. Her father had converted from Lutheranism to Catholicism in order to marry my grandmother. He stopped attending the Lutheran Church, but he maintained his deep faith, believed in the Bible, and longed for his own religion. Because of my grandfather’s goodness and the strength of his desire to worship according to the dictates of his own conscience, my mother and grandmother softened on their stance that Catholicism is the only true religion and accepted the good in his former religion as well.

After I converted to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I told my mother about the restored gospel. She could see where it could be true, but she wanted to be loyal to my father, since he believed Catholicism to be the only true church. Later, after doing my mother’s temple work, I strongly felt her presence with me. I am convinced that her understanding and acceptance of the restored gospel has grown on the other side of the veil. I believe that my mother’s openness—and my respect for her beliefs—eventually led her to the fulness of the gospel.

We have seen the manifestation of the Savior’s power in a widow who lost her husband while they were on the Lord’s errand in Bolivia. We have seen it in a young woman in Argentina who fell under a train and lost her leg, just because someone wanted to steal her cell phone. And in her single father, who now must pick up the pieces and strengthen his daughter after such an unexplainable act of cruelty. We have seen it in the families that lost their homes and every possession during fires in Chile just two days before Christmas in 2022. We have seen it in those who suffer after a traumatic divorce and in those who are innocent victims of abuse.

This is the kind of faith we saw when we visited the families after the fires in Chile. Their houses had been burned to the ground; they had lost everything. Yet as we were walking in what used to be their homes and they were telling us about their experiences, we felt that we were standing on holy ground. One sister said to my wife, “When I saw that nearby houses were burning, I had the impression that our house was going to be burned, that we were going to lose everything. Instead of desperation, I experienced a sense of indescribable peace. Somehow, I felt everything was going to be OK.” Trusting God and keeping our covenants with Him bring power to our weakness and comfort to our grief.

Bang! Crash! The broomstick hit the garbage can lid such a blow that Steven fell to the ground. “You’re not supposed to hit so hard. I’m not a real dragon, you know.”
“Sorry, Steve,” Mike said. “I know you’re not, but I wish you were. I mean—I just wish there were still dragons around someplace.”
“Me too,” said Steven. “I’d slay them all and rescue people.”
“And when we got back to town they’d have a big parade for us,” suggested Mike.
“And root beer floats,” Steven added.
“But it’s no use,” Mike complained. “There’s nobody to rescue anymore. No dragons. No maidens in distress. Nothing exciting to do.”
“Steven! Are you out there?”
“Yes, Mom.”
“I need something at the store. Will you go for me please?”
“OK, Mom, in a minute.”
“That gives me an idea!” Mike said, jumping up from the grass. “There’re still people to rescue. Your mom needs to be rescued right now.”
“That’s not rescuing! I go to the store all the time.”
“Yes, but this is different. Now we’ll go looking for chances to help people just like knights did in the olden days!”
“OK,” said Steve, catching his friend’s enthusiasm. “And if it’s a lady, we can give her a red rose from one of our bushes. Knights love to do stuff like that.”
“Thanks, boys,” said Steven’s mother when they returned from the store. “I really needed these things in a hurry. You saved my day.”
“Well,” said Steven, “that’s our job.”
“Here you are, madam. This red rose is for you to remember us by,” Mike added. “Now we have more knight work to do.”
“Night work?” asked Steven’s mother incredulously, as she put the rose in some water. “But it’s only two o’clock in the afternoon! However, I’m grateful for your help whatever time you’re going by.”
“It was our pleasure, madam, and all in a day’s work,” Mike said, bowing extravagantly.
The boys were pleased as they ran outside. “Now what?” they said, laughing because it sounded like one voice. Looking around for something else to do, they noticed that Mrs. Thompson’s yard was covered with leaves. A half hour later there was not a single fallen leaf to be seen, and a red rose was tucked into Mrs. Thompson’s mailbox. “She’ll never know it was us, “Mike said, grinning with pleasure.
Just then the two knights saw something that alarmed them. Little Jimmy Black had wandered into the street, chasing a big beach ball. And a car was coming around the corner only a block away. “Mike! Quick!” shouted Steven. “You get the ball. But be careful!” The two boys ran at top speed down the sidewalk. Looking carefully, they walked quickly into the street.
Mike grabbed the ball, and Steven picked up Jimmy.
Just as the boys returned to the curb, the car whizzed past and Mrs. Black ran out of her house. “Boys,” she cried, “I can’t thank you enough! I saw Jimmy in the street, but by the time I got here, you already had him out of the path of that car. I’m so grateful to you.”
“That’s all right. You don’t have to thank us. We like doing this kind of work.” The two boys smiled.
Just then Mike’s mother called from his house, “Mike! Steven! Could you come here a minute?”
As the two boys climbed the porch steps, they saw a tray and began to smile. “I thought you might like a treat,” said Mike’s mother.
“Root beer floats!” said Steven. “My favorite!”
“Mine too!” Mike agreed. “Being a real, live knight is lots more fun than fighting pretend dragons.”
When Mike’s mother came out to pick up the tray and glasses, the boys were already gone. But their empty glasses were neatly placed on the table, and beside them lay a beautiful red rose.

I have seen that happen once in a care center when a deacon leaned forward to pass the tray to a white-haired lady. She looked at the bread as if it were precious. I have never forgotten her smile as she partook and then reached up to pat the deacon’s head, saying quite loudly, “Oh, thank you!”

That deacon was simply performing his priesthood duty. Yet the Lord then multiplied the deacon’s act. It was evident that the sister remembered the Savior as she expressed sincere gratitude for a deacon’s service. She was reassured as he served the sacrament to her that she would have the Spirit to be with her. She was not alone that day in the care center. Neither was the deacon alone in his modest service.

How well I can recall a sweet, young patient whom I first saw years ago for a premarital examination. She had been born with one arm missing. Noticing that she had identified herself as a stenographer on her medical history record, I asked, “You’re a secretary?”
“Are you surprised?” she chuckled in return. “I can type with one hand as fast as many girls can with two. As early as I could comprehend, my mother told me that I have been given a deformity so that it might strengthen me, and that I was to learn to do things as well with one hand as everyone else did with two. I have never found my limitation to be a real handicap.” I have watched this young patient. She has since had a heart operation and a child of her own for whom she cares with tender love. A beautiful response to affliction, and God is pleased, I am sure.

One day as I read my patriarchal blessing, I was impressed by a passage that described how I could help perform a marvelous work for my departed ancestors and others who were living. I thought, “How can this happen if I don’t know where to start?” Later I read in Doctrine and Covenants 82:8, 10:
“I give unto you a new commandment, that you may understand my will concerning you; …
“I, the Lord, am bound when ye do what I say; but when ye do not what I say, ye have no promise.”
I felt the Lord encouraging me, and I prayed for a path forward to find my family history records.
A few months later while in Shanghai, China, I met Shirley Wu, who was visiting from Taiwan. We soon became good friends. When she found out I was looking for my family’s genealogy, she encouraged me not to give up. She suggested that as a starting place, I should go to the local household records department in Taiwan to request old addresses. “Maybe something will come up,” she said.
I flew to Taiwan, hoping to find the record of my great-grandfather’s home, but unfortunately, it no longer existed. I also didn’t know his birthplace or the name of my ancestor who first came to Taiwan. Despite this setback, Shirley told me not to worry. “Just have faith,” she said. “God will help us, and your ancestors on the other side of the veil will help too.” A few days later, I returned to Shanghai, hoping and praying for a miracle.
One Sunday afternoon, Shirley sent me a picture of some genealogy records. She asked me if any of the names looked familiar.
I was astonished. The names of my ancestors were on the page! When I asked how she found them, she told me the following miraculous story:
I had been thinking about your genealogy for several weeks, and I felt that I should go to the address of your great-grandfather’s home to check the area.
After two hours on the high-speed train, I bussed to the city of Chi Kan, a place I had never been before. I fell asleep, and at the final stop the driver woke me up. I got off, looked around, and saw I was in a fishing village. I asked a young shop owner across the street for directions. He called a taxi for me and directed the driver to a place where an old man lived. When I arrived and asked that man where I could find the town’s genealogy record, he told me to walk a few blocks to a temple by the seashore.
At the temple, I saw a group of men having tea and chatting. They said that they were just starting an annual meeting of the Liu Shi family genealogy to prepare for a big conference in October. I explained that I was there to find family names for my friend.
“Usually no one is at this temple,” they said. “The door is locked except for the two to three hours when we hold the annual meeting. You are very lucky to meet us here.”
When I told the men I was looking for the name Liu Bei, they told me they had been collecting the Liu family genealogy for years and didn’t recall that name. One of the men kindly offered his genealogy records for me to take a look. They continued their meeting while I searched the records. After about 10–15 minutes, I shouted, “I found it!”
Shocked, they stopped talking and grabbed the book. I showed them the name, and they told me that it came from the family line of Mr. Liu Qiu Shan, who was attending their meeting that day. I purchased a copy of the genealogy book, which contained records going back 26 generations and 2,460 years of ancestors’ names on extended family lines.
Mr. Liu Qiu Shan later gave me a ride to the train station. He told me if I had come an hour earlier or the next day, I wouldn’t have found anyone or anything there. He said, “This place is always locked. It must be the ancestors’ blessing. It is truly a miracle.”
Shirley is my angel. She is full of Christ’s love and is always eager to help do God’s work. She is a great example of ministering to others. Her willingness to serve has brought great blessings and a miracle to hundreds of souls. I testify there are angels among us, but we need to have the desire to do the Lord’s errand in order to receive their help. President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) said: “Believe in yourself. Believe in your capacity to do great and good things. Believe that no mountain is so high that you cannot climb it. Believe that no storm is so great that you cannot weather it.”1 When we seek the Lord’s guidance, we will see His hand and the angels in our lives, and we will be able to accomplish what He has asked us to do.

Christopher’s next birthday was an important one because he would be eight years old and could be baptized. He smiled whenever he thought of the pirate party his mother had planned and his favorite foods she would cook.
Early one morning Mother called him to the phone. It was Grandmother Jo. “Would you like to come to my house on your way home from school today?” she asked. “I have a very important treasure to share with you.”
The only treasure Christopher could think of concerned pirates and an X marking the spot for treasure on a treasure map. He eagerly agreed to go.
The school day went by slowly for Christopher, but finally the last bell rang. He ran all the way to Grandma Jo’s, and he was out of breath when she opened the door and gave him a big hug. “Christopher,” she asked, “would you like some hot, freshly baked whole wheat bread?”
Christopher nodded his head as the smell of it grabbed him by the nose and pulled him into the kitchen. He sat down at the kitchen table and watched the butter melt as his grandmother spread it on a slice of hot bread. Then she added homemade raspberry jam, and his stomach gave a little growl, begging for a bite. Grandmother Jo handed him the bread and poured him a glass of milk. Oh, how he loved that taste!
When he had finished eating, Christopher followed Grandmother Jo to the living room, where a curious-looking box sat on a low table by the sofa.
“Now that you’re going to be eight, I want to share a special treasure chest with you,” she said. Carefully she opened the lid, and Christopher saw a glint of metal. His heart beat faster as he imagined pirate gold and jewels!
Grandmother Jo reached in and pulled out a small velvet box. She opened it to reveal a medal. “This is the Purple Heart medal awarded to your Grandfather Thomas, who fought in World War II,” she explained. “He was wounded on D-Day.”
Christopher proudly held the medal in his hands. Grandfather must have been very brave, he thought. Grandmother Jo took a picture from the chest and showed it to Christopher. It was Grandfather Thomas. He looked handsome and brave dressed in his soldier uniform.
Now Grandmother Jo took another photograph out of the treasure chest. “This is my wedding picture,” she explained. She pointed to the handkerchief she was holding in the picture and pulled one from the chest. “And this is the same handkerchief that I had that day when we went to the temple to be married. My mother and grandmother used it for their weddings too. The lace was crocheted by my grandmother.”
Even though it looked old, Christopher knew it must be a priceless possession to Grandmother Jo.
Next, Christopher’s grandmother showed him a gold ring set with a ruby. “Your grandfather first wore this ring when he was on his mission,” she explained. “And then your father wore it during his mission too. Would you like to wear it on your mission?”
Christopher’s eyes widened. “I sure would,” he replied. “Can I try it on my finger now?” The ring was too big, but Grandmother Jo assured him that he would grow into it.
This is a real treasure, he decided, and not just because it’s made of gold with a ruby stone. He imagined himself wearing a white shirt and a dark suit. And there on my finger will be the ring!
Something momentarily caught the light when Grandmother Jo showed Christopher a miniature Eagle Scout pin that she had received from Christopher’s dad when he became on Eagle Scout. “Oh, I was proud of him as he stood so straight and tall to accept the award. Then he gave me the pin and kissed me.”
How happy Grandmother Jo looks, Christopher thought. When pirates found their treasures, they were very happy, but not in the same way that Grandmother Jo is right now.
Grandmother Jo explained that this chest held wonderful memory treasures. “And because they are so dear to me, I want to share them with you,” she told Christopher. “These are my people, and I belong to them. And so do you!”
Her face beamed and she chuckled as she showed Christopher a picture of a big white horse harnessed to a cart. In the driver’s seat sat a girl dressed in old-fashioned clothes. “This is your Great-Great-Grandmother Alice, who won every race she entered with this horse and cart! The roughest, toughest boys were always challenging Grandmother Alice to a race, but she was the winner every time!” Grandmother Jo said. “She practiced hard, loved her horse, and treated it with kindness. She was so careful about its feeding, watering, and brushing that it would do anything for her.”
Christopher smiled as he imagined riding along with his Great-Great-Grandmother Alice as she won a race.
Grandmother Jo looked at Christopher and wondered if he could see that these treasures were worth more than any silver or gold. She hoped that he saw that they were symbols of bravery, kindness, and devotion.
Next from the chest came a beautiful watch. The case was of shining gold, and it swung back and forth from a gold chain in his grandmother’s hand. “My Great-Grandfather Charles was a pioneer policeman and bodyguard to Brigham Young,” Grandmother Jo told Christopher. “He always wore this watch in his vest pocket.”
Christopher looked at a photograph of his great-great-great-grandfather. He has a handsome beard, he decided. I like his eyes … so kind and loving. Christopher held the watch and pushed a little lever. The face cover popped open so he could see the hands. How many times did my great-great-great-grandfather open this watch? he wondered.
The clock on the mantel chimed, and both Grandmother Jo and Christopher were surprised that the time had passed so quickly.
Christopher’s eyes were shining as he remembered his different ancestors. They are all my people! he thought with pride.
Grandmother Jo had more treasures in her box, but it was time for Christopher to go home. “Would you like to come again and find out more about my memory chest?” she asked.
They made a date for the next week. He told his grandmother that he would like to visit with her every week—and not just for hot bread and jam.
Christopher enjoyed hearing stories of the family members Grandmother Jo had told him. He felt that they were almost like old friends.
Grandmother always said that friends were a treasure! What fun it will be, he thought, to find out more about my family! Maybe I can make my own treasure box. If I start now, it might fill a whole room someday!

One summer many, many years ago, my mother decided it would be a great project for her children to refinish the dining room chairs. The chairs were painted a dark cherry color, and my mother had discovered that underneath that paint was good, hard maple wood.
I will never forget that experience. We began by applying a nasty solvent called toluene to all the painted surfaces, and then we scraped the paint off.
Once the paint was removed, we had to sand the wood with several grades of sandpaper in order to remove the very last bits of paint and to prepare the wood for a new finish.
When the sanding was finally done, we applied a finish to highlight the grain and enhance the wood's natural color. In the final step we sealed the new hardwood finish with two coats of varnish. Those chairs were transformed!

The air was painfully cold and damp. The pungent odor of smoke from coal fires stung our nostrils as we breathed. The fog and the darkness of the evening made it difficult to see. It was a typical winter night in England.
I was a new missionary of two months. My companion and I were hurriedly riding our bicycles to a nearby town to meet the lady missionaries. On the telephone the sisters’ voices seemed anxious and concerned. A member in their area needed help.
Arriving as quickly as we could after the phone call, we accompanied the sisters to the member’s home. We knocked at the door and a woman answered, inviting us into a very small room with a fireplace at one end. In the dim light I could see the woman’s face. She had puffy cheeks and sad, tired, reddened eyes. Her eyelashes were wet and matted. More tears streaked her face as she pointed to a small crib near the fireplace. Sobbing, the mother said, “My baby is sick. She can’t breathe and the doctor says she will die.” Bronchitis and pneumonia kill many babies during the harsh British winters.
The mother asked us to administer to the tiny, three-week-old baby. Tenderly she lifted the baby from its crib and held it gently and protectively in her arms. Tears fell from her eyes onto the clean linen in which the baby was wrapped. There was hardly enough room on the tiny head for my two comparatively large hands. As I placed my hands on her soft little head, I could feel the delicate tufts of hair.
It was the first time in my life that I had administered to a sick person. Somehow I managed to say the correct words. “Sonja Holbert, in the name of Jesus Christ and by the power of the Holy Melchizedek Priesthood …” At that moment I could feel a surge of power within me. It was something unique and unusual. I knew without a doubt that I was acting as an instrument in the hands of Almighty God himself to heal that little baby girl.
This experience merged into others as the time went by until the memory of it was dimmed. Almost two years later near the end of my mission, I was assigned to work in the town where the mother and the little girl lived. As we tracted down a street, one of our investigators told us that a member of our church lived around the corner. We found the house and knocked at the door. English row houses look much the same, and I was not immediately aware that this was the same house I had visited nearly two years before. The woman invited us in. As we entered the same small room, a pair of bright, blue eyes stared up at me. I sat down in a chair, and a beautiful little girl climbed up on my lap. As I patted the blond hair on her head, a flood of memories returned to me—the dreary night, the tearful mother, the infant gasping for every breath, and the unmistakable power of the priesthood. “Thank you, Heavenly Father,” I murmured silently, “for the privilege of using that power to help this little girl.”
I was strengthened by this experience. I knew then the reality of what it meant to say, “I know that the priesthood has been restored in this day, and I bear testimony that God lives and loves us. I know great blessings can come through righteous use of his priesthood.”