Gospel Story Finder

Because of the attacks on the United States on September 11, 2001, my grandma was stranded in Colorado. She was visiting my Uncle Bryan, and she could not get a flight home because they were all cancelled. She needed to get home so that she could take some medicine that would cost a lot of money to get in Colorado.
I asked my mom if I could fast for my grandma, even though it wasn’t fast Sunday. Mom thought that that was a good idea. My mom and dad and little sister all fasted and prayed with me, and my grandma was able to make it home safely and get back on her medicine that she needed to take.
I know that Heavenly Father answers prayers, and I know that He loves us and wants to help us.

Sometimes the pathway to conversion can be long and hard. My brother-in-law was less active in the Church for 50 years. Not until he was in his 60s did he begin to accept the Savior’s invitation to come back. Many helped him along the way. One home teacher sent him a postcard every month for 22 years. But he had to decide he wanted to come back. He had to exercise his agency. He had to take that first step—and then another and another. Now he and his wife have been sealed together, and he is serving in a bishopric.
Recently we showed him the videos that have been developed to help leaders and teachers implement the new learning resources. After watching the videos, my brother-in-law leaned back in his chair and said, somewhat emotionally, “Maybe if I had had that when I was young, I wouldn’t have fallen away.”

Mandy opened her eyes. It was morning, and there was something outside, scratching at her window. “Whoooo,” it called. She quickly got out of bed and put on her clothes. It sounded to Mandy like a very large owl. “Whoooo,” it said again.
She tiptoed from her room and then ran to the kitchen. “Did you hear that?” she asked her mother. “I think there’s a large owl outside scratching and blowing at my bedroom window.”
Mandy’s mother laughed. “That’s the wind,” she said, “and not an owl at all. It’s just air that moves very fast and makes the bushes rustle and scratch at your window.”
“Can I go out and see it?” Mandy asked.
“You can look for it, but I don’t think you’ll find it,” Mother said with a smile. Then she gave Mandy her sweater and a piece of hot buttered toast. “Now you won’t be cold or hungry while you hunt for the wind,” she told her.
Opening the door, Mandy stepped out into the backyard. There was a dry, sweet smell in the air. She licked her lips. They felt dry too. A gust of wind brushed across her cheek and was gone. Then another, much harder than the first. “Whoooo!” it said.
Mandy blinked her eyes and looked around. Large golden and orange leaves were falling from the maple tree. They touched the ground and danced together, round and round, like whirlpools of colored paper. The wind is finger painting, Mandy thought. It’s drawing leaf pictures with little fingers of air.
Cleeter, Mandy’s dog, barked loudly and pounced onto a pile of crisp brown leaves, crushing them into thousands of coppery pieces. But Tom, the cat, just put his nose in the air and sniffed. Then he curled his tail around himself and sat very still. Mandy reached down and put her hand on Tom’s soft fur.
POP! The fur crackled under Mandy’s fingers. Tom’s back curved up into a fluffy arch, and the fur crackled again.
Mandy heard something rustle. It was a piece of newspaper standing on edge. It balanced a second, then danced across the lawn like a kite trying to fly.
Suddenly a great gust of wind rushed around the house. This time it said, “Wheeee!” Mandy’s hair blew into her eyes so she couldn’t see. She put her hands out to push the wind away, but it kept right on coming. The leaves fell faster all around her. Yellow and gold and scarlet and orange leaves whirled and whirled.
“I’m in a leaf storm,” Mandy said. “If I don’t do something quick, this wind might blow me away.” She reached out and grabbed the rough, dusty trunk of the maple tree. Then she put both arms around the tree as far as they would reach. The wind blew and blew.
“Wheeee!” it sang, pulling at Mandy’s sweater until it puffed out and made her feel like a balloon.
“Help!” called Mandy, but no one heard her except Cleeter, who was playing in the leaves, and Tom, who stretched and yawned. Then he walked slowly toward the house.
If Tom can do that, thought Mandy, so can I. So she released her hands from the tree, pulled her sweater tightly around her, and walked right into the face of the wind to the back door. It pushed her hair straight back and almost took her breath away. But it made her feel clean and fresh all over.
“Well,” said Mother, when she and Tom were sitting at the kitchen table, “did you find the wind?”
Mandy nodded her head. “You can’t see it,” she explained, “but you can feel it and you can hear it and you can smell the things that fly with it. You can’t reach out and touch it, but it can touch you. It touched me so hard, I thought I’d be blown away. But I like windy days!”

Lizzie used to think a lot of Primary songs were boring. She liked the ones about Jesus, but she felt too old for the playful ones. She’d usually slouch and mumble the words.
But not anymore. Now Lizzie sang all the songs as joyfully as she could. She sat up straight. She sang loudly. She had fun.
Because now, Abby was sitting next to her.
Earlier in the year, Lizzie and the other kids in her class had each been matched up with a new Sunbeam. It was their job to help their Sunbeam buddy feel more comfortable in Primary.
Abby was Lizzie’s Sunbeam buddy. They sat together in Primary. They sang together. Whenever they saw each other at church, they always waved or hugged.
Lizzie loved seeing Abby every Sunday. And she knew that Abby loved seeing her. Abby watched her a lot. When Lizzie sang loudly, so did Abby. When Lizzie folded her arms and sat reverently, so did Abby. It made Lizzie want to always be a good example.
Lizzie wanted Abby to love Primary. She wanted Abby to have fun and feel loved. They could learn about the gospel together!
Abby and Lizzie sat side by side, just like every Sunday. But today they were sitting on the stand in the chapel with the rest of their Primary. It was the Primary program.
Abby swung her legs and grinned up at Lizzie.
“It’s almost your turn,” Lizzie whispered. Each of the Primary children had a speaking part in their program. The older children, like Lizzie, read longer parts. The younger ones, like Abby, recited shorter ones. Lizzie had helped Abby learn her part.
“Just remember, be loud and clear for everyone to hear,” Lizzie said.
“You’re coming with me, right?” Abby said. She looked nervous.
“Of course!” Lizzie said. “I will be right next to you. You are going to do great.”
They stood and sang a song with the rest of the children. Lizzie remembered how she used to not like being in the Primary program. But with Abby, it was so much fun!
Next it was Abby’s turn to speak. Together, the two girls walked to the microphone. Lizzie helped Abby step onto a little stool. Abby froze. She looked scared.
Lizzie put her arm around Abby. She gave her shoulder a little squeeze and whispered, “In my prayers …”
Abby took a deep breath. “In my prayers, I tell Heavenly Father what I’m thankful for.” Her voice was confident and clear.
Abby smiled big, took Lizzie’s hand, and hopped off the stool. They sat down as other children stepped up to the microphone.
“You did so well, Abby!” Lizzie said.
“Was I loud and clear enough?” Abby asked.
“It was perfect!” Lizzie said. “I’ll bet they could hear you all the way in the back row!”
Abby wiggled happily and leaned against Lizzie. They listened as other children recited what they were grateful for.
“Hey, Lizzie?” Abby said. She pulled Lizzie down to whisper in her ear.
“I’m grateful for you!”
Lizzie smiled. “I’m grateful for you too!”

After being in college for about four years, I remember not being able to pass one of my classes. It was a requirement for my major and there was no way around it. It was a discouraging time. At that point, I was working full-time, going to school, and raising a young family. I was already into my career as a computer programmer, and obtaining a degree didn’t seem as necessary as it did when I first began college. It was hard to envision getting beyond that trial. I shared with my wife that I felt hopeless and wanted to quit school. I’m so happy for her love and encouragement. She reminded me of my vision of receiving a college education. We spoke of the sacrifice my parents made to give us a better future. With hope renewed and refocused vision, I ultimately made the decision to continue. By the way, it didn’t take me the traditional four years; it took eight years to finish a bachelor’s degree. Quite a long time to finish, I admit, but I did finish.

A year ago Kennedy decided to serve a mission and become those arms of the Savior for others. His “better than adopted family”, his brother Bwalya, and his determined Bishop Simbeya in the Libala Ward helped him prepare.
For many African missionaries, their first opportunity to attend the temple is when they come to the missionary training center in Ghana. It is also their first and often only opportunity to do ordinance work for their deceased parents, siblings, or grandparents until they return home and are able to have sufficient resources to travel to the nearest temple.
Elder and Sister Meredith serve as temple and family history missionaries in the Africa West Area and spend time at the MTC each Sunday helping interested missionaries prepare their ancestors’ names so they can do temple work for them in the short time they are there. Their most joyous efforts occur in opportunities to help missionaries who want to do work for their own parents. Such was the case with Kennedy Chitalu.
While he was at the Ghana MTC, before departing to the Kenya Nairobi Mission, he was able to attend the house of the Lord and take part in not just his father’s ordinance work but also the sealing of his parents and finally his sealing to them for time and all eternity. He was so excited he didn’t want forget even a moment of his experience and stayed in the temple to savor the spirit he felt as long as he was able.

The prophet Brigham Young desired that his daughters reflect their true identity. Visualize this setting with me for a moment. It is 1869, and the prophet Brigham Young became concerned about his daughters and their somewhat worldly interests and actions. He was worried about the general trend toward materialism, commercialism, and sophistication among the younger Church members, and his daughters seemed to reflect that trend. He assembled his children in the Lion House parlor for family prayer. He looked into the faces of his lovely daughters and said,
All Israel are looking to my family and watching the example set by my . . . children. For this reason I desire to organize my own family first into a society for the promotion of habits of order, thrift, industry, and charity; and, above all things, I desire them to retrench from their extravagance in dress. . . .
. . . I want you to . . . retrench . . . in your speech, wherein you have been guilty of silly . . . speeches and light-mindedness of thought. Retrench in everything that is bad and worthless, and improve in everything that is good and beautiful. [Susa Young Gates, History of the Young Ladies’ Mutual Improvement Association of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (Salt Lake City: Deseret News, 1911), 8–10]

In 2019, one of my closest friends invited me to join a discussion with the missionaries when they were teaching his little sister. I turned down the offer many times because they were learning outdoors—I didn’t want to have others see I was learning with the missionaries. My friend then said, “Today we will go inside,” to which I agreed.

During our first meeting, we discussed the first principle in the first lesson. Everything they were saying I agreed with, such as “God is your loving Heavenly Father, He knows you personally,” and other things like that. The problem came when the missionaries said, “God has a body of flesh and bone that is perfect.” My friend’s little sister agreed, but I did not. They tried to help me, but I refused to change my view. Before the lesson ended, they invited me to read, pray, and come to Church. I accepted their invitation.

They then gave me an example that, “if I were selling TVs and there is one customer that wants to come and buy a certain TV but doesn’t have money at the moment, the customer might ask if I can keep the TV till tomorrow when she would come and then be able to buy. She would always repeat the same statement every day for months without purchasing the TV. And then another customer comes with money. Will you sell the TV to the second customer?” I replied, “No, I will keep the TV for the first customer.” Later, I changed my mind and said, “I will sell it to the second customer.” The missionaries then told me that it’s just the same with them. If I do not keep the commitments, they will stop coming to me and focus on other people who are keeping commitments.

When I heard these words, my desire to learn the restored gospel was triggered. “Why do they want me to learn this gospel so much?” I asked myself. After the first meeting, my friend asked me, “Why were you making this lesson hard to understand?” He continued, “Just give them time and listen to them.”

My friend’s little sister heeded the missionaries during the lesson. I then recognized that I was not humble enough. From that day I humbled myself to the missionaries because of my good friend and his little sister.

I tried to keep the commitments. The days I still remember vividly are, first, a day I was asked to study 3 Nephi 11:1–17. In our next appointment they asked what I learned from the chapter, I then recited most of the verses I had read. Second, one day I was invited to attend a baptismal service. On the morning of the baptismal service, I was busy playing video games with my friends and when I realized that I was short on time I ran to the chapel that was about a mile away. “We thought you were not coming,” the missionaries said when they saw me. I never missed the sacrament because of the example the sister missionaries gave to me. It was a good time to learn the restored gospel with the sister missionaries.

Twenty-three-year-old Tom Monson, relatively new bishop of the Sixth-Seventh Ward in the Temple View Stake, Salt Lake City, was unusually restless as the stake priesthood leadership meeting progressed. He had the distinct impression that he should leave the meeting immediately and drive to the Veterans’ Hospital high up on the avenues of the city. Before leaving home that night he had received a telephone call informing him that an older member of his ward was ill and had been admitted to the hospital for care. Could the bishop, the caller wondered, find a moment to go by the hospital sometime and give a blessing? The busy young leader explained that he was just on his way to a stake meeting but that he certainly would be pleased to go by the hospital as soon as the meeting was concluded.
Now the prompting was stronger than ever: “Leave the meeting and proceed to the hospital at once.” But the stake president himself was speaking at the pulpit! It would be most discourteous to stand in the middle of the presiding officer’s message, make one’s way over an entire row of brethren, and then exit the building altogether. Painfully he waited out the final moments of the stake president’s message, then ran for the door even before the closing prayer had been said.
Running the full length of the corridor on the fourth floor of the hospital, the young bishop saw some extra activity outside the designated room. A nurse stopped him and said, “Are you Bishop Monson?”
“Yes,” was the anxious reply.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “The patient was calling your name just before he died.”
Fighting back the tears, Thomas S. Monson turned and walked back into the night. He vowed then and there that he would never again fail to act upon a prompting from the Lord. He would acknowledge the impressions of the Spirit when they came, and he would follow wherever they led him, ever to be “on the Lord’s errand.”

Sister Tazuko Yamashita: I am a convert to the Church. When I was a college student, I began to seek truth in my life. I was asking questions like, “Is there a God? Why am I here? Where did I come from? Where am I going after I die?” So, I met with the missionaries and I joined the Church.

Soon after I was baptized, the Holy Ghost spoke to me one night as I was studying the gospel. His message for me echoed in the deepest part of my soul: “Go on a mission, go on a mission, go on a mission,” repeated again and again. My heart was beating with excitement, my eyes were filled with tears, and I felt complete peace. So, I decided to go on my mission and began saving money. After two years of saving, I realized something on my birthday: “Oh, I am not young; I am old.” I was 24 years old.

I started to wonder if I should go on my mission or get married. I was worried that I might miss the chance to get married. I was pondering about that from the bottom of my heart. One day, the Holy Spirit spoke strongly and clearly to me again. “Don’t worry about your future. Peace be unto your soul.” My whole body was filled with the Spirit of peace and love. I cried. I committed again to go on my mission.

Soon, I was called as a missionary. I served in the Tokyo North Mission.

I’ve spent some time working in Naples, Italy, sequestered in dusty archives, pouring through old manuscripts and books as part of my research as a historical musicologist. The old Italian music I study is strange to the city now and seldom heard. When the libraries close, early and often, I’m back on the streets, sometimes in sections of Naples that are very poor, with beggars everywhere.

In the summer of 1987 a young boy there asked me for money in a subway station, and I ineptly shook my head and glanced away. At first I blamed my poor Neapolitan dialect for not understanding him (except for his open hand), but when others also looked puzzled, I realized that he too was foreign. I watched him go as he walked the length of the station.

It was always the same. He took a few slow steps, bent his right arm at the elbow, and rested it on his bony hip, his left hand behind his back reaching through to grab his upper-right arm. His right hand was cupped near to his body and almost closed, weakly drifting back and forth. He shifted all his thin weight to his left leg, turned his other foot to its outside edge, and bent his back in a slow arch. He never looked those he confronted in the face; his gaze went past you, about chin height. He repeated the same incomprehensible words over and over, and after each rejection he scuffed his feet, shuffled a bit sideways, and moved on, first to this group, and then that—a businessman, a mother, some imitation punk rockers, a factory worker, a man in uniform. He went to each person in the crowded station, a captive audience for his pitiful performance, and no one gave him anything. A few laughed. The teenagers mocked him. Most just ignored him.

As I watched the scene unfold, I thought, “He’s about the same age as my own 11-year-old son, about the same height, same hair color, same complexion, same awkward, uncomfortable posture that all 11-year-old boys have.” Then suddenly, as I stood in that crowded Neapolitan mélange of humanity, I saw my son in his face as he stumbled into the press around me, and I panicked and wanted desperately to go after him. But my train arrived, and I got on, maneuvering next to the window to search for him. I saw him standing there, alone in the deserted station, and then he was gone.

The face of that young boy in a subway station will be one of those images that will never leave me. Like the face of my young brother, years ago, as I led him into a hospital room to say goodbye to our father, or the face of my firstborn child, the face of that young beggar was the face of need. I’ve thought a good deal about beggars since then. The young boy had no money, and I had no will to help him. Which of us was the beggar? “For behold, are we not all beggars?” was the question posed by King Benjamin (Mosiah 4:19).

When Hurricane Irma hit the Caribbean in September 2017, it caused widespread destruction to several islands. A Church member from the United States who wanted to help reached out to my husband, who was then serving as a stake president in Puerto Rico.
“I have a large boat that I’m going to bring to Puerto Rico so I can take food and supplies to the island of Tortuga,” he said. “I need your help gathering supplies.”
In response, we began gathering donations of food, clothing, and other items from Church members and others in Puerto Rico. We sent two boatloads to Tortuga and were preparing to send a third boatload of supplies, which we had gathered at the stake center for distribution. That’s when we learned that another storm, Hurricane Maria, was headed straight for Puerto Rico.
When Hurricane Maria made landfall, it devastated our island, killing thousands of people. For several days afterward, we couldn’t leave our neighborhood because of fallen trees, debris, and other destruction. At the stake center, however, we had a supply of food, water, clothes, and personal items—everything we needed for a natural disaster. We had gathered those things to help others, but they ended up blessing us instead.
The hurricane caused blackouts and knocked out the internet and cell phone service. While Puerto Rican authorities worked to respond, we had supplies that provided immediate help to many people.
When my husband could finally leave our home, he felt impressed to visit certain members of our stake. He found two sisters whose homes had been destroyed and who had lost everything.
“We can help you,” he said. “We have what you need. The stake center is full of supplies.”
As Church members and members of other faiths contacted my husband for help, we began receiving monetary gift cards from Church members in the United States that we distributed to the needy. The Church also mobilized humanitarian resources such as food, water, and other supplies to our island. For months, these donations enabled us to help countless Puerto Ricans.
As we worked to help our neighbors after Hurricane Irma, the Lord prepared a way for us to help ourselves after Hurricane Maria. As the Savior taught, “Give, and it shall be given unto you” (Luke 6:38).

A few years ago I was momentarily between primary callings having just finished my time as primary chorister. I must add that I am not a singer, but I do love the songs. I got a phone call asking me to substitute teach in a primary class. I agreed and volunteered my daughter, Morgan, to teach with me.
The lesson was about the ten lepers. I love this story in the New Testament. The opportunity to talk about gratitude both for others and for the Lord excited me. Jesus's life was so short—only 33 years—and his ministry was even shorter—just three years. Luke recorded and preserved a few precious stories and teachings. I believe that this event with the ten lepers is included in Luke's record not just because gratitude is nice, but because developing a spirit of gratitude is vital to our salvation. Christ's teachings are focused on what we must do to truly become whole.
President Dieter F. Uchtdorf said, "How blessed we are if we recognize God's handiwork in the marvelous tapestry of life. Gratitude to our Father in Heaven broadens our perception and clears our vision. It inspires humility and fosters empathy toward our fellowmen and all of God's creation. Gratitude is a catalyst to all Christlike attributes! A thankful heart is the parent of all virtues!"[1] I knew all of the children in this Primary class from singing time. And although they were an older class they would always gleefully ask to sing action songs like "Once There Was a Snowman"[2] or "Do As I'm Doing."[3] My daughter and I settled on an active plan to teach the lesson where we would first convey the idea of leprosy. I have changed the children's names to protect the innocent and the wiggly.
After the opening prayer we talked with the children about what it is like to be sick. Sarah said, "My mom sits by me and reads me stories." Sam said, "When I was in the hospital my dad gave me a blessing and I felt better."
"We are going to pretend to be in the time when Jesus lived on earth," I told them. "I would like you to think about what it would be like to be sick with a disease called leprosy. Would anyone like to volunteer to help me?" Every hand shot into the air. Nathan stepped forward when I called his name.
"Nathan, I am so sorry you have leprosy," I said. "It has affected the whole left side of your face. You need bandages."
Morgan wrapped half of Nathan's head in clean toilet paper blocking his vision and covering one ear while the rest of the class giggled. Nathan turned and grinned at them then tried to return to his chair. I stopped him and said, "Oh Nathan, you can't sit by the other kids anymore. They are still clean. Lepers are dirty and will make everyone sick." I moved him to the corner and had him sit on the floor.
One by one the children had parts of their bodies bandaged and sat in the corner of the primary room on the floor. Sam asked, "Can I get a drink?"
"No," I answered, "lepers can't use the drinking fountain. That is for healthy people. You are unclean."
Rachel raised her bandaged hand and asked, "Who took care of the lepers?"
"No one took care of them but the other lepers," I explained. "The lepers were taken from their families. Their moms and dads didn't sit by their beds to help them. All of their friends abandoned them. People would run away if they saw a leper coming towards them." Morgan continued, "Lepers had to ring a bell if they were coming close to people and call out 'Leper! Outcast! Unclean!' to warn everyone they were near."
"How would you feel if you were a leper?" I asked. The children were quiet and thoughtful for a few minutes then responded:
"I would miss my mom and my dad.""I would feel sad.""Couldn't they ever go back to their families?""No," I answered, "not unless they were cured.""Were very many cured?" Joseph asked.
"No, not then. Today there is medicine that helps when people are sick, but the lepers in Jesus's time didn't have any hope," I responded. The tissue bandages slipped down around necks, wrists, and legs. Some of the children leaned against one another. A few pulled their knees to their chests and put their heads down.
"I would want my mom," Rachel said."I would too," Morgan answered softly. "Now, imagine that you have heard some exciting news," I told them. "There is a man who heals people. He healed someone who was blind. He healed someone who couldn't walk. This man is coming near where you live with the other lepers. Maybe he can heal you. What do you think this man's name is?"
"Jesus!" cried the children."I would go to him and ask him to help me," said Nathan.
I explained that is just what the lepers in Jesus's time did. Their whole world was filled with hope again. Maybe they would get to be with their families again. They went to Jesus and begged him to heal them. And Jesus did heal them. Morgan and I removed all the tissue bandages and the children returned to their seats.
"How do you think the lepers that were healed felt now?" I asked. The children cheered and even danced around a little.
"I would run to find my dad!" Sam said."Oh thank you, thank you, thank you!" Sarah said.
"I'm so glad you remembered to say thank you," I said. "Do you know only one leper said thank you to Jesus?"Sarah looked surprised, "But he had given them their whole life back."
We finished the lesson by reading the scriptures in Luke, talking about gratitude, and making thank you cards. Morgan and I got hugs and lots of "thank yous" as they left.
I came home from church tired but proud that the lesson had gone so well with the children. I felt like I had set a good example of teaching primary for my daughter. I settled down for my well-deserved Sunday nap.
My dream began with the primary lesson I had just taught. But as the children left the classroom instead of pride at a well-taught lesson I felt an aching sadness. In my dream I could feel the Savior's rebuke that I had missed the most important part of the lesson of the lepers. I could see myself diseased, bruised, and hurting but I looked normal on the outside. No one that looked at me could see the wounds that I carried. I could see that the others around me had unnoticeable secret wounds as well. I yearned to be healed and to be clean. I wanted to be with my family but knew I could not find them. I was utterly hopeless.
I startled awake with cold regret washing over me. I would not teach these children again next week. The primary class was not mine, I was just a substitute. I would not get to tell them that the story of the ten lepers was not just about gratitude and thank you notes, it was about the Atonement; that each of us walks around in life with wounds, and sores, and missing parts. For some of us the wounds are visible, but for most of us the wounds are not on our physical bodies. Our spirits are wounded and bruised, sometimes from our own actions and choices. Sometimes our bruises come from the actions and choices of others. Like the lepers there is no hope for us, there is no medicine or procedure to cure us, even with all the fabulous modern methods that we have now, there is no hope for us to be with our families again except through the Atonement of Jesus Christ.

As soon as she got up, Katya ran to the window to survey the sky. “Papa! Papa!” she called. “The day is clear and lovely.”
As Katya dressed, she hummed in anticipation. There would be no lessons this morning, and, best of all, she’d have her papa to herself for the whole day.
Katya’s father, an ornithologist, was one of the best-known scientists in the Soviet Union, and the two of them were taking a boat on the Volga River to count waterfowl. It was a great treat for Katya. She had looked forward to it for weeks.
Since just before her fifth birthday, Katya had lived with her parents in the wild-life preserve. She knew that she was fortunate to live in such a beautiful region. Lately, however, for some reason she didn’t really understand, she felt as if something were missing.
As her father led the way to the boat dock, Katya told him about her latest letter from her pen pal, Larissa. She remembered the letter exactly: “Dear Katya, I am taking time from my studies to write you a description of First Day. The newspapers, radio, and television made a great fuss about the start of the new school year. And as you can imagine, Masha and I helped each other get our clothing ready for the big day. On First Day morning, all school children, along with parents and younger brothers and sisters, walked to school. The school doors weren’t opened until the important people of the town had given their speeches about the wonders and joys of education. Everyone cheered, and finally we gave our teachers flowers to celebrate the new year. I wondered how you passed First Day in the preserve. Please write all the details. Both Masha and I will read your letter eagerly!”
Papa listened to Katya’s account of the letter. Then he asked, “Would you like to leave the preserve and live in town where you could go to school with other children?”
“No,” answered Katya. “I’m just very interested in Larissa’s and Masha’s adventures.”
But Katya was troubled. When she answered Larissa’s letter, what could she say that would interest a girl who led such an exciting life? How could she expect anyone who’d never even seen this place to understand how much she loved her quiet, uneventful life here?
The truth was that Katya never wanted to leave this place. She intended to do just what her father did here—the very same work. But still, she was troubled. She felt like the country mouse in the story that she’d read to her brothers, and the life of a country mouse was not very exciting.
Katya loaded the lunch basket, a blanket, her binoculars, and Papa’s bag into the shallow metal motorboat. Because the boat was neither deep nor heavy, it could skim quickly across the water. It was also easy to row. The noise of a motor could frighten the birds away, so Papa would use the oars when they approached the flocks.
With the motor roaring, Katya and her father sped along the surface of the cold lake. After a while, they entered a region where beautiful lotuses bloomed.
They’re as big as dinner plates! Katya thought. I wonder if Larissa has ever seen such flowers.
Papa shut off the motor. “Time to start rowing, I’m afraid.”
Katya took her binoculars from the case and started to watch the sky for ospreys.
Soon Papa slowed his rowing. They were at the entrance to the part of the lake where he thought he might sight swans swimming, and he didn’t want to startle them.
Just then Katya caught sight of an osprey! As she watched through her binoculars, the bird sighted a fish from high in the air, dove immediately after it, and surfaced with the fish in its beak. I wonder if Larissa has ever seen anything like that, Katya thought. It would be wonderful if everyone on earth could visit the preserve and observe the wonders here. And it would be even better if Papa could teach them all about everything here.
Katya stood up in the boat and attempted to focus her binoculars on a second osprey. Without warning, the boat rocked under her feet. A second later, Katya was underwater. The water was cold and deep. When she felt herself rising at last, she reached for the surface and the side of the boat. Then she felt a firm hand on her arm, and her father hauled her into the boat. He wrapped her in the blanket and held her tight. “I thought you were interested in the study of birds, but instead, I find that what you really want to learn about is fish!” he teased.
Later, while busily counting birds with her father, Katya wondered if Larissa’s going to school with her family on First Day could be any happier than what she and Papa were doing. And as the boat took them home at sunset, Katya was no longer troubled about being a country mouse. She and Larissa inhabited different worlds, but through their letters, they could share each other’s lives. The experiences that she had might not be as exciting as those of her city friend, but they were just as interesting.

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.

The childlike faith of a follower of the divine Christ is a choice spiritual gift. It can be enjoyed by young and old. In the early days of the Church, a young boy by the name of Will Cluff, 10 years of age, living in Nauvoo, had a remarkable, pure faith. He had an experience to which many of us can relate.
His family was poor and had only one cow, which they depended on for food. In the spring of 1842 the cow strayed off. One evening in August his father came home very weary and discouraged. He and Will’s brothers had spent much of the summer looking for the cow. Will said, “Father, if you will let me take Charley (an old horse) I will go and find the cow.” His father reluctantly said he could.
Early next morning Will rode to the Big Mound, three miles east and in the prairie country. Here he had often herded cows with other boys from Nauvoo. He got off the horse and, holding it by the bridle, knelt down and fervently prayed the Lord to direct him which way to go to find the cow. He climbed back on the horse and rode south, a course he was impressed to take even though there were numerous bunches of cattle in every direction.
After traveling a few miles in the open prairie and passing hundreds of cattle, Will came to a fence. He dismounted and let down the stake, led his horse in, put up the fence, then rode three miles across the field. He again found himself in the open prairie with numerous bunches of stock in every direction. When he had gone about a quarter of a mile from the field, he rode right on to the cow, feeding alone some distance from any other animals.
Will started to drive the cow in the direction of the city. He arrived late in the evening, full of joy and thankful to his Father in Heaven.

Stewardship—A Sacred Trust
When I was a small boy, I would visit my grandparents at their ranch during the summer. There was no electrical power, running water, or plumbing in the house. There was, however, a spring of water next to their small ranch house. The spring created a little pond of clear, pure water, where several times a day I would help my grandmother carry water to the house for drinking, cooking, bathing, and washing clothes. My grandparents loved this life-giving spring and took special precautions to protect it.
Many years later my grandfather was in his early 90s and did not live on the property; he was unable to maintain or oversee it. I drove him to see the ranch which he loved. His high expectations at seeing the ranch turned to disappointment when he realized the fences that protected the spring had fallen into disrepair and cows had damaged the spring and the precious, pure springwater had been significantly polluted. … He felt somehow he had not protected that life-sustaining spring which had meant so much to him.
Just as the pure spring was polluted when not protected, we live in a time when virtue and chastity are not safeguarded. The eternal significance of personal morality is not respected. A loving Father in Heaven has provided us with the means to bring His spirit children into this world to fulfill the full measure of their creation. He has instructed us that the wellsprings of life are to be kept pure, just as the beautiful spring on the ranch required protection in order to sustain life. This is one of the reasons why virtue and chastity are so important in our Father in Heaven’s plan.
Because of my grandfather’s reaction to the polluted spring, improvements and protections were undertaken which returned the spring to its original beauty and purity. …
… We are aware that there are those who have already engaged in conduct inconsistent with this sacred standard of morality. Please understand that through the Savior’s Atonement, all can repent and return, like the spring of water, to a clean and pure state.

Jon gazed out the car window, trying to see his new house through the falling snow.
“We’re here,” Dad said, stopping in front of a white house.
Inside, Jon looked around glumly. “I can’t believe we had to move a week before Christmas. Tonight we should be having friends over for our Christmas cookie party!”
“We’ll have a family party this year,” Mom said. “You and Amy help Dad get the living room in holiday shape—I marked the box of Christmas decorations to be put there. I’ll start in the kitchen.”
The movers had put the right things in each room, so in no time the living room furniture was in place. Even the drapes were hung.
Soon four red stockings hung on the fireplace, and the nativity scene was on the mantel, just as it had been every Christmas that Jon could remember.
Mom, stirring a bowl of cookie dough, came from the kitchen to watch him and Amy fasten big red and green bows where the holly chain was caught into loops on the staircase banister. Dad was straightening the tree in its stand.
“It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas!” Mom sang. She watched as Dad strung tiny red and green lights on the tree, then flipped the switch on. The lights twinkled like red and green fireflies. He stretched to put the star on top.
“It’s tilting left,” Amy said.
“It’s tilting right,” Jon said.
“Make up your minds,” Dad chuckled.
“It’s perfect!” Mom declared.
Jon gazed around the room, “You’d never know that behind every closed door are mountains of unopened boxes.”
“We’ll start on those tomorrow,” Mom said, “but tonight we’ll have our party.” She went back to the kitchen.
Jon anxiously waited for the gingerbread men cookies to be baked. They’d put them into plastic bags, tie the bags with red and green ribbons, and hang them on the tree. It had always been one of his favorite parts of Christmas. … It wouldn’t be the same this year, though, without friends.
Amy went to help Mom, while Dad and Jon hung a big Christmas wreath on the door.
Soon the smell of hot gingerbread cookies set Jon’s mouth to watering. Dad’s nose started to quiver, so they followed the smell to the kitchen.
Dad plopped down on a stool. “Mmmm! Let’s bag the cookies.”
Mom smiled and disappeared into the pantry.
“Oh, no!” she cried. She came back to the kitchen looking stricken. “No plastic bags!”
A Christmas tree without gingerbread men in plastic bags to catch the colors of blinking lights? It was unthinkable!
“We can get some from the store,” Jon said.
Dad shook his head. “The stores here close early.”
Mom looked at Jon. “You’ll just have to go next door and ask if we can borrow some!”
“Ah, Mom, I can’t do that. I’ve never even met the people.”
“It’s a good way to make friends.” Mom handed Jon his coat and shooed him out the door.
The snow had stopped, and night was settling in. Jon wondered where the time had gone.
He went next door and knocked. “Hi, I’m Jon, the new boy in the white house,” he said to the girl who came to the door. “We need to borrow some small plastic bags.”
“Hi, my name’s Teresa,” she said. “Plastic sandwich bags? We don’t have any. Maybe Reggie has some.” She turned to her mother who had come up to welcome Jon. “May I take Jon to Reggie’s house?”
“Si (yes).” Teresa’s mom asked Jon, “Is it OK if Rosita and Manuel go with you?”
“Sure,” Jon said. “May they come home with me afterward for a cookie party?” He smiled at Teresa’s brother and sister as all three, at their mother’s nod, scrambled to get their wraps on.
At Reggie’s house, a pretty African-American woman answered the door. She smiled as Teresa explained what they wanted.
“Reggie,” she called, “please bring the new box of sandwich bags from the cupboard.”
Reggie grinned shyly at Jon. “Hi. Did you just move into the white house?”
“Yes. And we need the bags to put gingerbread cookies in. Do you want to come help?”
“You bet! OK, Mom?”
“Of course. Have a good time. It’s nice to meet you, Jon.”
This is more like it! Jon thought. It feels a lot more like Christmas now.
On the way back to his house, the children met a freckle-faced, red-haired boy. His name was Jim, and he was Reggie’s friend, so Jon invited him to come along. “I think our phone’s working, so you can call home and make sure it’s OK.”
Jon had just opened his front door, when someone called to Teresa.
“It’s Reiko, my friend from Japan,” Teresa said. “May she come too? Her family just moved here. They don’t know about Christmas, so the missionaries are teaching her family about Jesus Christ.”
“Missionaries?” Jon asked. “Mormon missionaries?”
“Sure,” said Teresa. “We’re all Mormons, except Reiko.”
Wow! All right! Jon exulted to himself. Mormons are the same, no matter where you live! Christmas is going to be Christmas after all! Aloud, he said, “You bet she can come—the more the merrier.” Teresa motioned for Reiko to join them, then introduced her to Jon and explained about the party.
Mom and Dad looked startled when seven kids paraded into the house.
Before Jon could close the door, another young face peered in.
“Aleki!” cried Jim. “He’s visiting from Samoa. Is it all right if he comes too?”
“Hurray—friends for our Christmas cookie party!” Amy whooped.
Soon everyone had been introduced, and Mom happily began to stir up more cookie dough. “Jim and Reiko, you’d better call now to let your parents know where you are. Aleki too.”
Laughing and chattering, the kids washed their hands, then started stuffing cookies into plastic bags.
Dad laughed. “Watch it—you’re eating more than you’re bagging!” He played a tape of Christmas carols, and everybody sang along. Soon all the bags were filled.
“Why don’t you kids hang the cookies on the tree,” Dad said. “Mom and I will sit on the couch and supervise.”
“Look at all those young arms,” Mom observed quietly to Dad. “See how they work together. Dark brown, lighter brown, golden brown, creamy ivory, and white. Red and green aren’t the true Christmas colors. The true colors of Christmas are the beautiful colors of the children all over the world.”

This widespread respect for Brother Vidal became apparent to missionaries laboring in Cajamarca, Peru, in late 1970. Hoping to overcome the opposition and religious superstition that greeted them, the missionaries arranged to use a municipal building to present a week-long exposition featuring displays and explanations of the Book of Mormon and its ties to ancient inhabitants of America.

The day before the much-publicized exposition was to open, city officials told the missionaries that a local religious leader had instructed them not to allow them to proceed. Frustrated and discouraged, the missionaries chanced to meet the head of the local bank, with whom they had earlier visited about the Church. Learning of their predicament, he telephoned Brother Vidal in Lima.

“Señor Vidal, I know you are a Mormon,” he said. “I have great respect for you. Some of your missionaries are in a difficult situation. I am willing to risk my influence in this community to help them if you tell me that theirs is a good cause.”

Brother Vidal urged the bank executive to help the missionaries. As a result, the exposition was a success.

In family home evenings or in Sunday School, we would practice lines that would help us stand up to peer pressure. I couldn’t wait to use these lines. For example, I imagined hanging out with my friends. Someone would pull out some alcohol and pass it around. The beer can would be handed to me, and all eyes would be looking in my direction. The pressure would mount. I would stand up and say, “No! I am a Mormon, and I don’t drink!” All the kids would be in awe. No amount of their persuasion would convince me. Soon the party would disperse, and someone special in the crowd would tell me I had impressed him so much with my firm stance that he wanted to learn more about my church. Angels would sing praises, and I would be filled with light.