Gospel Story Finder

For many years, I carried a quiet but persistent desire in my heart—to find more names to add to my family tree. As a Church leader, I often encouraged others to engage in family history and temple work, but in my own journey, I kept hitting barriers. I spoke to older relatives, made calls, asked questions, but it felt like every path led to a dead end. Some family members had passed on, others could not remember, and some simply were not willing to talk. It was discouraging, and at times I wondered if my family’s history would remain forever hidden.
Still, I kept praying.
One day, I received an unexpected phone call from my brother who lives in the United States. He told me he would be travelling to attend a village reunion—a gathering of people from our ancestral hometown, now living abroad. At the reunion he said, “You won’t believe who I found.” It was a distant relative we had been searching for over the years, someone who had moved away and lost contact with the rest of the family.
But that was not all. This family member had preserved something I never imagined—a detailed family organogram (family organization chart) with dozens of names and family connections, some going back generations. When my brother sent me the files and shared voice notes explaining the stories behind each name, I was overwhelmed. It felt like heaven had opened a door that had been shut for so long.
As I reviewed the names and saw the faces in old photos, I felt the spirit of Elijah very strongly. These were not just names—they were my ancestors, real people, children of God who had been waiting for their temple ordinances. I felt their presence, and I knew they were aware that the time had finally come. The Lord had remembered them.
I shared this miracle during a FamilySearch training recently. I told the participants, “We may feel like we are working in darkness sometimes, but when we move forward in faith, the Lord brings light. He prepares the way. He hears our prayers—even the quiet ones.”
Through this experience, I have come to know with even greater certainty that God knows every family. He is not limited by distance or time. If we persist, if we pray, and if we act, He will guide us to the people we need—and to those who need us.

One morning when I was serving as a young missionary in Beaumont, Texas, my companion became ill and needed to rest. Following the counsel of our mission president for such situations, I pulled a chair up by the open window in our fourth-story apartment and began to read in the Book of Mormon.
Soon I became immersed in the scriptures, and after a time I came to Alma chapter 29, verses 1 and 2:
“O that I were an angel, and could have the wish of mine heart, that I might go forth and speak with the trump of God, with a voice to shake the earth, and cry repentance unto every people!
“Yea, I would declare unto every soul, as with the voice of thunder, repentance and the plan of redemption, that they should repent and come unto our God, that there might not be more sorrow upon all the face of the earth.”
As I pondered on Alma’s words, they became deeply personal. My companion and I had knocked on hundreds of doors in Beaumont, offering to share our message, but with limited success. In my mind’s eye, I began to imagine what it might be like if I were an angel and could cry repentance with a voice to shake the earth. I looked out the window at the people coming and going on the street below. I imagined what it would be like if I were standing there shining like an angel, with my hands raised, speaking with a voice of thunder. I envisioned the buildings shaking and people falling to the earth. Under the circumstances I imagined, they might have a sudden desire to listen to what I had to say!
But then I read the next verse: “But behold, I am a man, and do sin in my wish; for I ought to be content with the things which the Lord hath allotted unto me” (v. 3).
I was humbled to realize the Lord loves all His children and has a plan for His work. My job was to do my part.
I was also humbled to realize something else. In that moment, I knew that what I was reading was not fiction—it was real. Quietly and peacefully while I was reading, I had been filled with light and with the realization that this Alma was an actual person, that he had lived, and that he too had deeply desired to share the gospel message with others.
If you had asked me in that moment, “Do you know this is true?” I would have replied, “Absolutely!” At that point, it became clear to me that I was receiving a spiritual witness of the truth of the Book of Mormon.
As I have reflected on that experience—and many such witnesses since—I have come to better understand how vitally important it is to receive by the Spirit. We often focus, appropriately, on the importance of teaching by the Spirit. But we need to remember that the Lord has placed equal, if not greater, importance on receiving by the Spirit. (See D&C 50:17–22.)
As I have read back over my journal entry to understand and learn more from the experience I had as a missionary, I have realized that although I had read in the Book of Mormon before, what happened in Beaumont that morning was different because I was different. As inexperienced as I was, at least on that occasion I was sincerely trying to seek and to feel, and my intent was to act in faith on what I learned. I know now that such witnesses are available to each of us on a regular basis if we will receive them.

Ric ran his hands across the gold letters on the front of his new book. His friends crowded closer.
“That’s so cool!” Jake said. “I’ve never seen a red Book of Mormon before.”
“It looks like it would fit in your shirt pocket,” Jarom added.
“It does,” Ric said, slipping it into his pocket and then taking it back out again. Just then the Primary president welcomed everyone to sharing time, so the boys stopped talking. But Ric couldn’t help glancing down at his book from time to time.
When Primary was over, Ric stopped by the nursery to pick up his little sister. Dad was already there.
“Have you seen Mom?” Dad asked.
“No, but I hope she’s ready to go,” Ric said. “I’m hungry!”
Ric’s stomach was growling by the time they found Mom, but he smiled when he saw Brother and Sister Bird standing by her. Well, Brother Bird was standing. Sister Bird was sitting in her wheelchair, as always. Mom said Sister Bird had a disease called multiple sclerosis, or MS, which made it hard for her to use her muscles. Sometimes she was in pain, but she always had a smile for everyone. Brother and Sister Bird were some of Ric’s favorite people in the ward.
“Why, hello there, young man,” Brother Bird said, shaking Ric’s hand. “How was Primary today?”
“It was awesome. I got to show everyone this.” Ric held up his small red book.
“What’s that?” asked Sister Bird.
“It’s my new Book of Mormon. My grandparents sent it to me,” Ric said as he handed it to her.
“I’ve never seen one of these,” said Sister Bird, turning the pocket-sized red book over in her hands. “It’s so small and light. I love to read the Book of Mormon, but my hands get so tired holding my scriptures that I have to stop after a few minutes. But I could hold this a long time.” She handed it back.
Ric looked at his cool book. Then he looked at Sister Bird.
“Here, Sister Bird. I want you to have this.” Ric put the Book of Mormon back in her hands.
“Are you sure?” asked Brother Bird.
“I’m sure,” he said.
“Oh, Ric, thank you.” Sister Bird’s eyes filled with tears. “Reading the scriptures helps me get through days when I’m in pain. Your little book will really help me.” She reached out and gave him a big hug.
As they walked to the car, Mom said, “You’re awfully quiet. Are you sad you gave your book away?”
“Not really. It was cool, but I have another Book of Mormon at home. Besides, I think that what’s inside the book is more important than what’s on the outside.”
Mom lovingly squeezed his shoulder.
“I just hope Grandma and Grandpa won’t be sad that I gave my Book of Mormon away.”
“Trust me, Ric, they won’t.”
Ric had a feeling his mom was right.

“Oh no, not again,” I thought, as I saw the familiar face walking toward me in the hallway of my college dorm. “What this time?”
Angela [names have been changed] had accosted me in the hallway before, and each time I talked to her she left my stomach tied up in knots. I had been investigating The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for a month, and Angela had taken it upon herself to prove that I was making a big mistake.
Angela invited me to her dorm room for a talk, and I accepted warily, knowing from past experience that she would not leave me alone until I’d heard what she had to say.
“How are you feeling about the Mormons at this point?” she asked me, as I sat on her bed, folding my arms defensively.
“Fine. Actually I think what they believe is quite beautiful. I haven’t decided if I believe it yet …”
“Beautiful?” Angela choked on the word, her face turning red. “I’m sorry, but I can’t let you go on. Not after what I’ve found out about the Mormon religion.”
She handed me a pamphlet filled with lies and twisted truths about the Church. “Read this,” she confided, “and you’ll never want to talk to those missionaries again.”
I read it and the other things well-meaning people gave me to try to show me “the truth” about the Church. I always ended up feeling confused and sick to my stomach. How could I ever know what was right? The missionaries seemed so peaceful about what they believed. Yet Angela was convinced they were wrong. How could I find my own testimony of what was true? And why did there seem to be silence from the heavens when I prayed about my questions?
I believed the missionaries instead of the clever words of those who opposed the Church. Then I acted upon that belief. I was baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. When I rose up out of the waters of baptism, a warm feeling of peace enveloped me. I knew the Holy Ghost was telling me that what I was doing was good. I had found the truth. Even though I faced much opposition from my parents and friends, I was able to stand strong because of the testimony I had received from obeying the commandments of God.

Our family recently acquired a personal computer, and I enthusiastically set about learning to use it. Having artistic interests, one thing that I found fascinating was a paint program. The first day I had great fun using circles and lines of varying sizes to create simple pictures. The magic of computers was mine!
A couple of days later, as I was exploring the various functions of this same program, I discovered a wealth of type styles and sizes that I could call up and reproduce on the screen. Then I found some preset designs and borders. Now I could make signs and posters. I had arrived!
Eventually, I found in the manual some detailed pictures that could be created with my program. I tried but found it impossible to reproduce them because of the clumsiness of drawing with the mouse attachment. I decided that I must lack some basic coordination gene and resolved to stick to what I already could do.
Then I learned about a command that would magnify an area of any picture so that it could be added to or taken from one small dot at a time. With this knowledge I finally, painstakingly created a picture that was the equal of any example in the manual.
I am still learning new ways to use my computer. But, more importantly, my experience with it has convinced me of the need to continue daily in learning new ways to make the gospel a living, directing force in my life.

A pair of lady missionaries spent an entire week striving to open the doors of people’s hearts in a small town. They met rejection and ridicule at almost every door. After a particularly difficult day, they returned to their apartment dejected and tired. They were not sure they could continue in the face of such opposition. After much discussion and prayer, they retired for the night, determined that on the morrow they would return once more to their area to continue their labors. The next morning they pleaded again with the Lord for strength to face the challenges of the day. That day nearly every family they called on welcomed their message. The Lord blessed their continued efforts and faith and opened the doors of homes and hearts to the message of restoration.

“After that tournament . . . I took a couple of weeks and kind of basked in the excitement of it all—I wore my gold medal . . . and enjoyed the recognition,” Chambers says. “But then I knew it was time to move on with my life.”
That meant accepting his call to serve as a missionary for the Church. With his newly found fame, one might think it was difficult to walk away from volleyball, but Chambers had already made that decision as a 12-year-old. He wanted to serve the Lord by inviting others to come unto Christ. Going on a mission was the right thing to do.
““Sure, it was hard to stop playing volleyball . . . but I had prayed about this decision, and I felt confident that the plan Heavenly Father had for me was to serve a mission right after high school.”
He says deciding early in his life made it much easier to manage all of the other things that could have acted as roadblocks to missionary service. “You want to make sure that you pray about that decision, too, because you may have ideas about what you want to do with your life, but your plan and the one Heavenly Father has for you may be different.”
““As I look back now, I can see how the Lord answered my prayers, and helped me find that perfect time to serve,” Elder Chambers says. “By doing things the Lord’s way, I was able to receive an offer to play at a college that would allow me to serve a mission and live my volleyball dream afterwards.”

Tyler was playing tag with his cousins when he heard his grandma calling.
“Everyone come inside!” she said. “It’s time for dinner!”
Tyler’s whole family was together for a family reunion. Even Uncle Robert and his family had come from far away!
As everyone gathered together, Tyler noticed Grandma holding a basket. He wondered what it was for.
“I’m going to pass this basket around,” Grandma said. “It’s for your phones.”
Tyler heard several of his cousins groan.
“Our family doesn’t get together very often,” Grandma said. “This way we can listen to each other better. We can all get our phones back after dinner.”
Uncle Hyrum made a funny face. “Welcome to the No-Phone Zone!” he said as he put his phone in the basket and passed it on.
Tyler looked at his phone. He liked playing games on it, and he was waiting for a text from his best friend, Ethan. With a sigh, he put his phone in the basket and handed it to his cousin. Then he heard a ping. Was that a text for him? He barely stopped himself from reaching for the basket again.
“Thank you,” Grandma said. “Now let’s say a prayer and eat.”
After the prayer, Grandpa brought in a plate piled high with hamburgers and hot dogs from the grill. They looked delicious! Tyler helped his little brother put a burger on a bun, then grabbed a burger and two hot dogs for himself.
Grandma laughed when she saw his plate. “You eat just like your dad did when he was your age.”
Tyler smiled back. “I’m a growing boy, Grandma.”
Aunt Tracy laughed too. “That’s exactly what your dad used to say!”
After dinner, Tyler’s grandparents, aunts, uncles, and older cousins all told stories. Usually Tyler didn’t stick around to hear the grown-ups talk. But this time he didn’t want to leave the table. He’d never heard these stories before!
Tyler especially liked the stories about Dad.
“Did Dad ever get in trouble?” he asked.
“Oh yes!” Grandpa said. “He was always making crazy inventions—like toasters that also opened the blinds … or at least tried to!”
“What do you mean? All of my inventions worked perfectly!” Dad said.
Everyone laughed.
Grandma looked at Tyler. “We’re proud of your father, and we’re proud of you too!”
Tyler felt a little embarrassed, but mostly he had a happy feeling inside. Suddenly Tyler realized that he hadn’t even thought about his phone for an hour. He had been having so much fun!
When Dad said it was time to leave, Tyler gave Grandma a big hug. “Thanks, Grandma. This was the best dinner ever!”

One Sunday, my granddaughter Diana, who is four years old, was sitting next to her father at church. Diana sat reverently, enjoying the comfort of her father’s arm holding her close to him. However, when the bishop stood up and announced the sacrament hymn, Diana gently lifted her father’s arm from off her shoulder and placed it in his lap. Then she sat up straight and folded her arms. She looked over at her father and encouraged him to do the same.
Diana’s message to her father was perfectly clear. She was telling him to turn his complete and total attention to the Savior. This is the message a reverent attitude always conveys, and when reverent attitudes abound, reverent behavior will always flourish. I pray that, like Diana, we may all strive to develop reverent attitudes so that we may serve God reverently and with godly fear (see Heb. 12:28).

Recently, a colleague I worked with years ago contacted me online. We have not seen each other in years. Retired now, he was less interested in discussing professional accomplishments and more interested in discussing our personal lives. Since reconnecting, we’ve kept up an online dialogue about friends, family, and life stages. He’s interested in religion now in a way that never seemed to be the case when we worked together.
“Life changes,” he wrote to me. “There are some things you have that seem deeply satisfying and that profoundly affect me. I may never join your church, but I appreciate your perspective.”

I was born in Salt Lake City but raised in Whittier, California, a suburb about 30 miles east of Los Angeles. I was raised in a home where, during my early years, we were less active. When I turned 11, we moved to a new home and began to attend church more frequently. We were sealed in the temple when I was 13. Now my brothers and I are all active members of the Church. We have all served missions. My brothers and I were married in the temple, but these are not things you would have predicted based on our early years.

Upon seeing the canvas-topped wagons inching toward the wide curve of our fishing creek, Peter sucked in his breath. “Mormons!” He grabbed my arm and pulled me through a mud puddle, and into the tall grass.
“Look what you did!” I wailed, wiping at the mud on my new birthday shoes.
Peter only slapped the willow stick that was meant to become my birthday whistle against his leg. “If they camp, we’ll need to warn Pa. He’ll get men from town to help drive them on their way!”
I looked at my brother’s grim face. “Are Mormons bad?”
“Maybe not. But nobody I know wants them around.”
I parted the grass and eased my face through, hoping I could get a glimpse of a Mormon. At the same time, my heart thumped for fear that I might. I saw their wagons circling under the cottonwoods, and I drew back. “I think they are camping, Peter!”
Peter slapped the willow stick against his leg again. “They’ll see us if we try to sneak for home.”
I crept farther into the grass and hunched down. What would happen if they saw us, I dared not ask. My heart was pounding. I knew it was important to be very, very still.
But soon my feet began to burn inside my new shoes. One cramped-up foot began to feel the stab of a thousand little needles. I squirmed and tried to carefully change positions. But I tipped over, shaking the clump of grass we were hiding in. Peter glared at me as I tried to right myself. And as I did, I saw the willows just beyond us wiggle!
A little girl, about my size, stepped through them. Her blue eyes opened wide with surprise when she saw us. Then she smiled. “Hello. Were you planning to fish here too?”
I thought Peter would answer her, but he didn’t, so I said, “We came to cut a willow stick. Peter is making a whistle for my birthday. We—we thought you were Mormons.”
She stepped closer to us, pulling her skirt through the willows behind her. Lifting her chin, she said, “We are.”
I was going to warn her about the mud puddle, but I was somehow speechless. She stepped into the mud with bare feet—bare feet already covered with dust.
She looked hopefully at Peter. “Would you make a whistle for my little brother, Billy? He’s awful sick. A whistle might cheer him some.”
Now Peter puffed himself up. “Not for a Mormon boy, I wouldn’t! And you have no right to stop here, you know!”
The little girl bit her lip. “We must stop somewhere to rest. I only wanted to find a willow to use for a fishing pole. I—I hoped to catch a fish for Billy’s supper.”
Peter growled, “The fish in this creek don’t belong to Mormons, either.”
I wanted to take away her hurt look. “They belong to God,” I piped up, ignoring Peter’s glare.
“Of course,” she agreed. “That’s why we stopped here. We pray to know where to stop, to know where we might find food.”
I thought of all the good things Mama had cooked for my birthday dinner, so much that we hadn’t eaten half of it: chicken dumplings, bread pudding swimming in fresh cow’s cream, and lots of other good things. Now just the thoughts of it choked me some.
“It’s high time we tell Pa, Amy,” Peter told me. “He’ll see that these Mormons move on!”
Peter broke out of the willows and began running across the fields toward home. I hung back, biting my lip and hurting inside for the Mormon girl. She turned away and started toward the wagons.
“Wait!” I called out, making a sudden decision.
She hesitated, and I sat down and tugged at one of my new shoes. “These are my birthday shoes,” I hollered to her. “They hurt me. I’m going to throw them in the creek!” I held the shoe high as if to throw it.
She came running back. “Oh, please don’t throw your shoes in the creek!”
She reached for the shoe, and I saw the plea in her eyes. Grinning, I handed her the matching one. I think she could tell, then, that I wanted to be her friend.
“Don’t worry about how my brother talked,” I told her. “Papa is a kind man. He’ll let you fish in our creek. I’m sure he will.” I turned and ran across the field in my bare feet. I hardly felt the dry stubble of the field, my steps seemed so light.
As I stood in the kitchen, trying to catch my breath, I studied the faces of my parents. Peter had already told them about the Mormons. “God told them to stop here because they’re hungry,” I burst out. “And there’s a little boy who’s very sick.”
Mama and Papa looked thoughtful. I touched Papa’s hand. “Couldn’t we help them? Do we need to drive Mormons away?”
Peter noticed my shoeless feet. “Look! I bet Amy gave her new shoes to that Mormon girl!”
I looked at Mama. “They hurt me,” I said.
Mama drew me close. “And they hurt you even more when another little girl had none, is that it?”
Oh, how I loved Mama at that moment. And I loved Papa extra special when he said, “I wonder how we’d feel right now, if we sat down to all those leftovers from Amy’s birthday dinner.”
I would choke, I knew I would. Papa knew I would too.
Peter frowned. “You mean you aren’t going to get the men in town to help drive them away?”
“No, I’m going to have you get a slab of side meat out of the smokehouse. And maybe a sack of that meal we still have in the pantry.”
Good, kind Papa!
“And chicken dumplings for little Billy?” I asked.
I heard the thwack of the willow stick against Peter’s leg. He still had the whistle stick in his hand. I looked at Mama and Papa and said, “Peter is making a whistle especially for a Mormon—for little Billy—aren’t you, Peter?”
Peter saw my grin, and the darkness in his face began to fade. “Well, I guess maybe I am.” Then he was grinning right along with the rest of us.

1. Cory and his family entering the meetinghouse where Cory will be confirmed a member of the Church.
2. Inside, Cory sits with his family and friends.
3. After the babies are blessed the confirmations will take place.
4. When Cory’s name is called he and his father go to the front of the congregation where Cory sits down in a chair. Cory’s father and friends stand in a circle around him.
5. They place their hands upon Cory’s head while his father, who holds the Melchizedek Priesthood, calls Cory by name, confirms him a member of the Church, gives him the gift of the Holy Ghost, and a blessing.
6. After the prayer has been given, the men in the circle shake Cory’s hand and congratulate him.

That gift continued in the hospital after his wife died. We gathered up my mother’s things to take home. Dad stopped to thank every nurse and doctor we met on the way out to the car. I remember I felt, with some irritation, that we should leave to be alone with our grief.

I realize now that he saw things only the Holy Ghost could have shown him. He saw those people as angels sent by God to watch over his sweetheart. They may have seen themselves as health care professionals, but Dad was thanking them for their service on behalf of the Savior.

Some people think that babies are a bother, but Hans wasn’t. He was good. He would watch us, then try to do everything we did. He used to go around the house picking up little pieces of rubbish that no one else saw. Then he would run to the wastebasket and throw them in. He always tried to help everybody. He was smart about it too. One day he decided to help Mom. He climbed up onto the stove when he was alone in the kitchen. Later we found him sitting beside the burners stirring a pot full of cold water. When we came in, he clapped his hands and said, “Oh, see!”

More than once I have repeated an experience I had in getting my portrait painted.
In the temple on the fourth floor is the room of the Council of the Twelve Apostles with large chairs in a semicircle. Here important meetings of that body are held. Around its walls are portraits of the Brethren. When I came to this service, I looked upon them with admiration and affection, for these were truly great men with whom I was associated.
Sometime later authorization was given by the First Presidency of the Church for my portrait to be added to the others.
Lee Greene Richards was selected as the artist, and we began immediately. I sat on a chair on an elevated platform in his studio and tried very hard to look handsome, like some of the other brethren. With paints, brushes, and palette ready, the artist scrutinized my features and daubed on the canvas alternately. I returned many times to the studio. After weeks the portrait was exhibited to the First Presidency and later to my wife and daughter.
It did not pass, and I was to submit to a redoing.
The angle was changed, the hours—many of them—were spent, and finally the portrait was near completion. This particular day was a busy one like most others. I suppose I was daydreaming, and quite detached from this world. Apparently he had difficulty translating my faraway gaze onto the canvas. I saw the artist lay down his palette and paints, fold his arms, and look straight at me, and I was shocked out of my dreaming by the abrupt question: “Brother Kimball, have you ever been to heaven?”
My answer seemed to be a shock of equal magnitude to him as I said without hesitation: “Why, yes, Brother Richards, certainly. I had a glimpse of heaven just before coming to your studio.” I saw him assume a relaxed position and look intently at me, with wonder in his eyes. I continued:
“Do you believe in heaven, Brother Artist?” I asked. “Yes, that is it. Heaven is a place, but also a condition; it is home and family. It is understanding and kindness. It is interdependence and selfless activity. It is quiet, sane living; personal sacrifice, genuine hospitality, wholesome concern for others. It is living the commandments of God without ostentation or hypocrisy. It is selflessness. It is all about us. We need only to be able to recognize it as we find it and enjoy it. Yes, my dear brother, I’ve had many glimpses of heaven.”
I straightened up in my chair and posed again. The artist picked up his palette and brushes and paints, did some touching up of the portrait, and sighed contentedly as he said, “It is completed.”
In due time it was placed with those of others of the Brethren in the Council of the Twelve room on the fourth floor of the Salt Lake Temple, where it hangs to this day.

When Ben got up that morning, he was very happy. Not only was it Friday, it was his birthday. His mother had told him that three of his very best friends could come home with him after school and spend the night.
Even school that day was fun for Ben. The whole class sang “Happy Birthday” to him, Mrs. Whitaker let him give each of his classmates one of the chocolate cupcakes that his mother had baked, and everybody had fun. Ben felt very special.
On their way home from school, Ben and his friends stopped at Mr. Jeffrey’s store. Ben wanted to show the other boys a watch that he wanted.
“Is that what you’re getting for your birthday?” Frank asked.
“No,” Ben said. “My mom thinks it will mean more to me if I save up and buy it with my own money.”
After the boys had admired the watch, Frank said, “You guys wait for me outside, OK? I’ll be out in a minute.”
“OK,” Ben agreed, placing the watch back on the jewelry counter.
Frank was very quiet when he came out of the store. “Are you all right?” Ben asked.
“Sure,” answered Frank. “I was just thinking about something.”
That evening Ben’s mother had his favorite kind of pizza for dinner. Afterward they had birthday cake, then played games until it was time for Ben to open his presents.
Ben smiled when he opened the new shoes and pants his mom and dad had bought him. He knew that that was what they would give him, because he had tried them on when his mother took him shopping. His little brother, Sam, gave him a plastic snake that crawled up and down a long green stick. Eric gave him a jigsaw puzzle, and Paul gave him a model of the latest space shuttle.
When Ben finished opening the presents everyone else had given him, Frank reached into his pocket and handed Ben a small brown box. “I’m sorry I didn’t wrap it. I just didn’t have time.”
Ben knew what was in the box as soon as he saw it. He had seen it almost every day after school for a whole month. He was so surprised that all he could say was, “It’s the watch from Mr. Jeffrey’s store!”
When the boys finally settled into their sleeping bags for the night, Ben whispered to Frank, “I really like the watch, but that was a lot of money to spend on a birthday present. …”
“You don’t need money if you’re smart,” Frank quietly replied. “Old Mr. Jeffrey will never even know it’s gone.”
Ben thought about what Frank had told him. It doesn’t seem right to keep something that was stolen from Mr. Jeffrey, Ben finally told himself, but I didn’t take the watch, and if I tell, Frank will be in trouble. Maybe if I try especially hard to do what’s right, it will make up for what Frank did that was wrong.
Ben was extra good that weekend. He helped his mother with the dishes without complaining. He took the garbage out without being asked. He played with Sam while Mom fixed dinner. He even cleaned up his room, something he really hated to do. But it didn’t work. He still felt bad about the watch. In Church on Sunday when he tried to think about Jesus during the sacrament, he felt even worse than ever.
On Monday everybody at school admired Ben’s watch. Even Tommy Evans wanted to see it, and there weren’t many things that Tommy liked. The only person who didn’t say something nice about the watch was Frank. “What’s wrong?” Ben asked him at recess.
“Nothing,” Frank said quietly.
“Do you feel bad about taking the watch?” Ben asked softly.
Ben could see that his friend was trying hard not to cry. Neither boy said anything for a minute; then Frank blurted, “I just wanted to get you a nice birthday present, but I know that what I did was wrong.”
“I don’t feel right about wearing it, either, so let’s take it back to Mr. Jeffrey after school,” Ben suggested.
Frank smiled at his friend. “I’d feel a lot better if we did. I’ll make it up to you somehow.”
When the boys walked into Mr. Jeffrey’s store, he was as happy to see them as he had ever been. Ben just handed the brown box across the counter without saying a word.
At first Mr. Jeffrey just looked surprised; then he looked hurt. “How could you do this?” he asked, looking at Ben. “I thought you were my friend, and I trusted you.”
“I’m the one who took the watch, Mr. Jeffrey,” Frank told him. “I’m really sorry. I just wanted to give Ben a nice birthday present, and I didn’t think you’d miss it.”
“And I feel bad because I kept the watch after I found out that it was stolen,” Ben said.
“You know,” Mr. Jeffrey said angrily, “that when something is stolen from the store, I lose the money that I paid for it. So I have to charge a little more for everything else in the store to make up for the loss.”
“I never thought of it that way,” said Frank.
“I’m glad that we brought the watch back,” Ben added. “We really are sorry.”
Mr. Jeffrey’s face softened. “Yes, you did bring it back, and that was a brave thing for you to do. I’m proud of both of you, and I think that you have learned something.”
Ben had a lot to think about as he and Frank walked home together. He still liked the watch in Mr. Jeffrey’s store, and he’d work hard until he saved enough money to buy it. Looking at Frank, Ben was glad that he had a friend who would help him do what was right. And Ben was grateful for a friend like Mr. Jeffrey, who had forgiven him when he had done wrong.

Derek, 11, recalled: “Once when our Primary was preparing for the Children’s Sacrament Meeting Presentation, the Primary president talked to us for a few minutes. She told us that we were children of god. She explained how Primary teaches us that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ love us and how we can learn to love them. She talked about how Primary helps us to know and live the gospel. As she was speaking, a sensation came over me—a really warm, good feeling—and I knew that what she was saying is true.”

“How did family home evening get here so fast?” grumbled Jonathan to himself. He kicked at an imaginary pebble on the front step and sighed in frustration.
Last week Jonathan’s father had announced that for their next home evening they would have a family art exhibit. When he had explained that Jonathan, his brother, Tom, and his sister, Janie, were each to create a picture or some other kind of art to share, everyone had cheered at the idea. Even Mom and Dad would prepare something to be shown. “If you’d like,” Mother had added, “you can display more than one thing.”
Jonathan’s enthusiasm had quickly faded, though. More than one thing! he thought now in exasperation. I’ll be lucky to think of anything. I’ll bet when Dad made his announcement, everyone thought up a good idea right away of what they would make.
Each day Jonathan became more concerned because he hadn’t come up with an idea for his picture.
“Be creative! Use your imagination!” his mother had said. But her encouragement hadn’t helped at all.
“I don’t think I have an imagination,” Jonathan had told her. He’d hoped that his Primary class would give him an idea, but even it hadn’t helped.
Now Monday had arrived, and everyone was ready but him. All last week he’d watched Janie going in and out of her room, her hands full of paper, scissors, glue, lace, and felt-tip markers. Jonathan didn’t doubt that whatever she was making would be close to a masterpiece.
He already knew what Tom would display. For as long as Jonathan could remember, his older brother had been drawing fantastic race cars. Their bedroom walls were loaded with his art specialty. “I wish it were as easy for me to think of something to draw as it is for you,” Jonathan muttered under his breath so that Tom couldn’t hear it.
Jonathan was still thinking about his problem when his friend Marie ran across the yard toward him. “Want to play baseball?” she asked.
“Not today,” Jonathan answered. “I’m kind of busy.”
“You don’t look busy,” Marie said.
“Well, I’m busy thinking,” Jonathan answered her. “I have to come up with an idea for family home evening tonight.”
“What kind of an idea?” questioned Marie.
“An idea for my display in our family art exhibit.”
“I’ll help you think of something,” Marie said as they settled down on the front lawn. “Why don’t you draw a picture of your family?”
“I can’t draw very well,” Jonathan admitted. “Anyway, I’m trying to think of something better.”
“Don’t you have some pictures from school that you could use?”
“Sure, I’ve made lots of things at school, but everyone’s seen all that stuff.”
Suddenly Marie sat up straight and said excitedly, “Why don’t you make a chalk picture? We did those in school last year. They’re really fun, and easy too.”
Jonathan thought about it, then said, “That’s a good idea, but I don’t have any chalk.”
Marie lay back on the grass to think some more. “Maybe if we think about something else, an idea will just pop into our heads,” she said.
Both children were quiet for a moment. Then Marie pointed. “See that cloud? It looks like an elephant’s head.”
Jonathan stared up at the fat clouds dotting the sky. His face brightened as he spotted the one Marie was pointing at. “Hey, you’re right! And that one over there looks like a pony with its tail missing.”
Jonathan and Marie had a lot of fun watching the clouds change from animals to ice cream sundaes to bull-dozers to fancy ball gowns.
Suddenly Jonathan jumped to his feet and raced for his front door, shouting back, “Thanks a lot, Marie. You’ve been a big help.”
That evening when Dad called everyone together for family home evening, Jonathan ran to his room and gently picked up the blue construction paper he’d been working on since he left Marie. On it he had glued puffy cotton balls to form huge elephant ears, a roundish head, and a long trunk. Jonathan smiled as he carefully made his way back downstairs and into the living room to share his cloud picture with his waiting family. Placing his creation beside the others, he grinned and said just loud enough for Mother to hear, “Maybe I do have an imagination after all!”

When I was a young boy, during the aftermath of World War II, Germany was broken and in ruins. Many people were hungry, sick, and dying. I remember well the humanitarian shipments of food and clothing that came from the Church in Salt Lake City. To this day, I can still remember the smell of the clothing, and I can still taste the sweetness of the canned peaches.
There were some who joined the Church because of the goods they received at that time. Some members looked down on these new converts. They even called them an offensive name: Büchsen Mormonen, or “Canned-Food Mormons.” They resented these new members because they believed that once their temporal needs had been met, they would fall away.
While some did leave, many stayed—they came to church, tasted the sweetness of the gospel, and felt the tender embrace of caring brothers and sisters. They discovered “home.” And now, three and four generations later, many families trace their Church membership back to these converts.