Gospel Story Finder

We gave a piano recital for the residents in a convalescent hospital. Some of the songs we played were Primary songs. Afterward, we shook each audience member’s hand. We enjoyed performing and meeting the residents. Several people were smiling during the recital. We are already planning what songs to play next time!
Cannon and Alec W., ages 11 and 8, California

Gemma and her friend Harper sat under the tree in front of Gemma’s house. The tree was full of pink blossoms. It was a lovely day.
“Guess what?” Harper said. “My cousin is graduating from elementary school.”
Gemma picked at the grass. She wished she were graduating too.
“That’s cool, I guess,” she said.
“We are going to have a big family party to celebrate,” said Harper. “My cousin gets to go to middle school next year. He is so lucky!”
“My brother already went to middle school,” said Gemma.
“Did you know in middle school you get your own locker?” Harper asked.
“Yes, I know!” Gemma said. “I just told you—my brother already went to middle school.” Why does Harper keep bragging? Gemma thought. She’s not giving me a chance to say anything!
“And gym! They get to go to gym every day,” Harper said. “My cousin said—”
“Harper, I don’t care what your cousin said,” Gemma said. “I already know all about middle school.”
Harper stared down at the blossoms that had fallen from the tree. Gemma’s face felt hot. She didn’t know what to do or say.
At last Gemma stood up. She brushed the dirt off her pants and ran into her house.
Why did she get so mad? Harper didn’t do anything wrong. Gemma sat on the edge of her bed and took a deep breath. She wished she hadn’t said that to Harper. It hadn’t been kind at all.
She looked at her desk and saw a peach-colored binder with shiny hearts. It was the baptism book her mom had made. Inside were pictures from her life and notes from family and friends. She grabbed the binder and flipped through the pages.
She noticed one note. It read, “I want you to know that Heavenly Father is proud of your choice to be baptized. When you make mistakes and repent, He will forgive you. Repentance is a good thing!”
Gemma took a deep breath. The way she treated Harper was not a good choice. But she knew what to do now.
She ran outside and sat down by Harper. Harper looked down.
“I’m sorry for what I said. I shouldn’t have been so rude,” Gemma said.
Harper looked up. “That’s OK. I know you didn’t mean it. Thanks for saying sorry.” She gave Gemma a blossom that had fallen from the tree.
That night, Gemma told Mom what had happened. “Harper forgave me,” Gemma said. “But I still need to repent to Heavenly Father. Will you help me?”
“Of course,” Mom said. She gave Gemma a big hug. “Do you want to pray about it right now?”
Gemma and Mom knelt down.
“Dear Heavenly Father,” Gemma prayed, “I’m sorry I was so mean to Harper. I want to repent and do better.”
Gemma felt good inside as she prayed. She was glad she could fix things with Harper. And with Heavenly Father. Repentance was a good thing!
This story took place in the USA.
How do you feel when you repent?

After meeting the missionaries, my family investigated the Church for three years. It was very important to my parents that we be baptized as a family. They knew that if we joined the Church, it would often be difficult for us to choose the right. But they believed that if we all decided to follow Jesus Christ, we could help each other when the times grew difficult.
When we joined the Church, my parents committed our family to sacrifice and service. I did not really know what sacrifice was, but I knew that my parents would give all they had to the Church. I saw that helping other people made my mom and dad happy. My parents were always serving, so I followed them around and tried to help, too. I was often too young to do much, but my parents’ example of service inspired in me a lifelong desire to serve.

As a bishop of Sewa Road Ward, my prayer is to serve God with a real intent.
I joined the Church in 2004 and had the blessing of serving a full-time mission. This has helped me to clearly know my path in the work of salvation to serve my fellow servants in the Lord’s vineyard. I truly know that this is the kingdom of God the Eternal Father and that we ought to render service at all times in whatever capacity, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen. —Abraham Momoh Morigboi, Sewa Road Ward, Bo-Sierra Leone West Stake

Join us each month to see how the Payson Utah Temple was built!
After the place to build a temple is chosen, there’s a groundbreaking ceremony. A General Authority says a special prayer to bless the site and dedicate it, or set it aside, for the temple. Then the General Authority invites others to join him as they use gold- or silver-painted shovels to “break the ground.”
At the groundbreaking, Elder Dallin H. Oaks invited all of the new deacons to come up and break the soil.

I prepared myself for the October 2022 general conference by reading about the Atonement of Jesus Christ in the Book of Mormon and in the Old Testament.
During conference, President Russell M. Nelson spoke to us and testified about the importance of the temple.1 In the temple, eternal blessings are promised, and a beautiful spirit is felt when you go there.
There isn’t a temple in Nicaragua yet, but one has been announced. I hope I can listen to President Nelson’s words and go to the temple when it is finished.
As I watched conference, I felt the Spirit testifying that I was in the right place. I felt like my heart was filled with the love of God.
Carlos M., Nicaragua

A nearby explosion jolted me awake, and alarms started to blare. For a moment, I couldn’t figure out what was happening. The glowing white numbers of my alarm clock told me it was 06:00. I looked around the darkened room, wondering what was going on. Nothing seemed out of place.
But then a second and third blast began a barrage of incoming rocket-propelled grenades and bursts of gunfire outside. I was not sure from where the barrage was coming, but I knew we were under attack.
Feeling my adrenaline kick in, I rolled off my bed and began grabbing my gear. As I pulled on my tactical vest and helmet, I could hear the continued wail of alarms and the engines of the Quick Response Force vehicles rev as they rushed through the camp to meet the attack.
With my M9 pistol strapped to my side, I grabbed my rifle and headed into the hallway to await orders.
I was about nine months into my longest deployment to Afghanistan with the United States Air Force. My responsibilities working with the senior Afghan Air Force finance officer and officials from the Afghan Ministry of Finance often put me in harm’s way, and I had felt the Lord’s protecting hand. But this attack was a first for me. When our colonel asked for volunteers to follow him outside, I joined six others taking position around the building in case attackers overran the gate.
The colonel ordered me to take my post on the side of our base that faced the attack. Gunfire continued as people darted left and right, seeking shelter. Marines posted on the top of a nearby building ducked for cover as rocket after rocket flew into the camp to the north of my position. They rocked the ground and buildings when they exploded. Some hit a hangar. Many left craters.
I lay on the ground with my M4 assault rifle pointed toward my sector of fire. Deafening gunfire surrounded me, though it was directed toward the camp to the north of me. I had trained for such a scenario but had never faced a real threat. I was terrified, and I wasn’t even in the thick of the fight!
My stomach knotted. Sweat coated my skin. I braced myself, expecting at any moment that a rocket would explode where I lay. Thoughts of my family popped into my mind.
“Heavenly Father,” I prayed, “please protect us so we can all get home to our families.”
As I finished my prayer, a memory played in my mind that momentarily replaced the sights and sounds of battle. The memory was of seven-year-old Gabriel, one of the boys in the Primary class I taught back in the United States. Just a few weeks earlier, his father had emailed me a video of Gabriel praying at his bedside—praying for me and for my safety in Afghanistan.
I remembered teaching my Primary class about prayer. At the time, I had wondered if any of them understood the miraculous power of prayer. But when I saw that video, I was astounded by the faith of that little boy—something I witnessed with many of the children I taught.
Now the memory of that simple prayer inspired my faith in that terrifying moment. I felt God tell me that little Gabriel was praying for me. I knew He had heard Gabriel’s prayer, my prayer, and the prayers of countless others on my behalf. I felt peace replace worry. I felt in my heart that my fellow servicemen and I would be all right.
When the firefight finally ended six hours later, we assessed our casualties. To our surprise, nobody in our camp had been injured by the 47 rocket-propelled grenades and thousands of rounds fired into our camp.
I knew I wasn’t the first to pray on the battlefield. I also knew that not every battlefield prayer had been answered in the same way. But I was grateful for the assurance that God hears and answers our prayers, even those of a little child.

This is the best hiding spot!
What’s that?
I don’t know. Let’s open it!
Wow!
It’s like a hidden treasure!
Free candy!
But I think it belongs to someone.
We should return it.
Yeah. I bet it’s from the snack stand.
We found this under the bleachers. Is it yours?
Yes! A few days ago, someone broke in and stole all our candy.
Thanks for being honest and bringing it back!
Do you think this is how superheroes feel?
I don’t know. But I want to feel like this all the time.
Yeah. It’s even better than candy.

For several years after my family was baptized, the missionaries had lunch in our home every day. I learned to love the missionaries, and I wanted to be like them.

The Beggar’s Bible Thirteen-year-old Arnold wanted to go to school in a time when the son of a serf (which he was) was not allowed to be educated. This story of his struggles is also about the struggles of John Wycliffe, who wanted the Bible to get to the common people so that the corrupt priests would lose their hold over them.Louise A. Vernon9–14 years

Every year, we gathered at my grandparents’ home to hold our family Christmas pageant. The movies of the first event make it pretty clear that I thought it was a great time. But 15 years later, Christmas traditions like ours were starting to look a little stale. At least that’s what I was thinking as I helped my little brother, David, himself a big man of five, into his Wise Man costume.
“I wish I could be a shepherd like you and Daddy, Stevie.”
“Maybe next year, Dave,” I told him, giving him a poke in his tummy, anticipating his laugh.
“Yeah, but this year I wanted to be with you, Stevie, ‘cause next year you might not be here anymore. You’ll be gone on your mission by then.”
“Come on, Davie. Us brothers always stick together. Besides, who ever said I was going anywhere?” The thought of giving up my life for two years didn’t thrill me.
I gathered up my shepherd’s robes, leaving Dave to sit anxiously in his maple rocker beside the fireplace, fingering the gold braid sewn loosely to his bathrobe, wondering about stars and kings and the manger and Grandma and Grandpa’s treats, I was sure. I called up the stairs to tell my mother I was going out to start the car. It was cold. I’d left my gloves upstairs.
I hoped the new little grandson in our family would like his role as the baby Jesus this year. He was the first one who didn’t have to draw his part from the earthenware pot. We used the same ceramic jug year after year for one of the Wise Men’s gifts, and also to pick our parts from. We did the choosing every Thanksgiving. They were just little folded pieces of paper—Mary, Joseph, Gabriel, Jesus. But some years, my last thought before sleep was of my part and who I would be.
There were some pretty strange pageants. The year that Mom was pregnant, she pulled out the slip of paper that said she had to be a Wise Man. My father drew out Mary. He said it ended up being the most moving Christmas pageant for him, even though most of us kids thought it was pretty funny. He said he had begun to understand what it meant to be Mary that year. And even at 14, I got pretty choked up when my pregnant mother appeared to give her gift to the baby Jesus. David was born that January.
It was only about five years ago that we tightened up on the rules and required girls to play girls, and boys to be boys. That was because my older brother’s girlfriend hadn’t felt ready to play Joseph in front of us all the year they were engaged. This year Michelle was the narrator, and my older brother, Greg, was Joseph.
The car windows were covered with frost. I started the engine, then hunted for the scraper.
“You forgot these.” My father’s voice startled me. “It’s a cold one tonight.” He gave me my gloves.
I wasn’t sure where Dad had been when I left the house, and now he seemed to appear from nowhere. He carried robes just like mine, for the jug had decreed us both to be shepherds tonight. With a look toward the house, Dad continued, “Everybody’s ready. Why don’t you drive up front and pick them up?” Turning away, he said over his shoulder, “I’ll meet you down at the mailboxes. Nobody’s had time to check the mail all day, and you know how your mother is about mail.”
I thought to tell him we could just as easily pick up the mail from the car but said nothing. He walked down the road, his shepherd’s robes dragging in the snow a little his steps uneven, his head tilted skyward. Looking at the stars, I guessed. He stopped turned to me and called, “Get going, son. Don’t want to be late.”
I pulled the van up to the front steps, and David came bounding out of the house. Jennifer and my mother followed more sedately. Jenny was to be one of the heavenly hosts this time, but she was having trouble looking very heavenly right now.
“What’s the matter, angel?” I asked, as she plopped into the seat.
“I just hope we don’t run into anyone we know. Do you have a full tank of gas, Steve? I’d hate to pull up at the station and have Jeff see me in this.”
“Yeah, I have to admit, that halo doesn’t look very natural on you. As a matter of fact,” I added, with teasing glee, “the gas tank’s on empty.”
“Steven!” she squealed.
“Don’t worry, angel,” I said in my best Humphrey Bogart. “Just kidding, just kidding.”
Mom was almost to the bottom of the steps, then went back up again to lock the front door. Loaded down with a bag full of gifts, she looked more like Santa Claus than Gabriel. Mom struggled to get the gift bag into the van, then climbed in the back.
“On Donner! On Blitzen!” she called out in a deep voice. David giggled.
“On Rudolph!” Jennifer added.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence!”
We stopped at the mailboxes to pick up my Dad. He folded his height into the car.
“Any mail?” my mother asked.
“Mail! Everybody and his brother must have sent us a card today!” Dad’s hands were loaded with green and red and white envelopes. I turned to smile at Mom. She had complained that she hadn’t received many cards this year.
“Is there one from Boston?”
“How do I know, my dear?” Dad passed the mass of greetings over the front seat to my mother. “I haven’t examined them yet. The day when we get an envelope from Salt Lake City sending Steve on his mission, now that will be a day to investigate the mail.” I shifted the car into gear resisting the urge to return Dad’s inquiring glance.
“I don’t want Stevie to go away,” David whined. “Why does he have to go away, anyway? I’m never, ever going anywhere!”
“David!”
I eased the car onto the main road that would take us through the familiar streets to the highway. Our Connecticut backroads looked good this year. Delicate strands of lights draped many of the bare trees. At other homes, the lights were arranged precisely, evenly layering their way to the top of the tall pines. Candles flickered in windows.
“There is a card from Boston! Please turn the light on, Steven.” My mother read silently. “She’s still alive, that little lady. Lost her sight in one eye now, but still alive and faithful as ever. Isn’t that nice?”
In the rearview mirror, I watched as Mom reached out and hugged David impulsively. I knew who she spoke of, the little landlady she and my father had lived with, and who had joined the Church while they lived in her house in Cambridge.
“Those are happy, happy memories, aren’t they, John?”
“The very best,” my father replied. “Maybe you’ll have memories like those in a few years, Steven.” I said nothing for the rest of the trip.
We arrived at my grandparents’ house right on schedule. That was important, for my grandpa was somewhat fanatical about time. Greg and his wife had arrived early, as usual, their car parked close to the house. The woods were silent.
“Hello Pop-pop! Hello Nanny! I’m here!” David called, trudging up the front steps in his moonboots and Wise Man costume. The door opened, and Grandpa stooped to hug the king. My mother struggled up the steps with her bag.
“Good grief, daughter! What have you got there?” Grandpa said. “We were supposed to go light on the gifts this year.”
“I tried. I really did.” But books are heavy, I thought to myself as I swung the van door shut. Books were my mother’s traditional Christmas gift.
We settled into the living room, enjoying my grandma’s impressive collection of goodies and the warm cider. I listened as I ate. Greg was having problems in his law firm and Michelle was worried about being a new mother. She left the room to nurse her crying baby.
My grandpa looked much older to me tonight sitting before the fire. I hadn’t been up to see them in months, too busy with commuting to school and doing my work. Grandpa asked me about school and about my plans. I told him my plans were kind of tentative right now, but that I loved my pre-architectural program. I knew he was waiting for me to say something about a mission, and it hurt me to know I was disappointing him. He opened his mouth to say more, but seemed to change his mind. He stood to poke the fire. Michelle came back with the baby.
“Well,” Grandpa began, “are we ready to get on with the pageant? We can talk more later. This is our 15th one, isn’t that right, Mother?”
We stood and bundled up once again, slipping our costumes on over our coats, walking out to the accustomed Nativity spot on the front lawn. The moon was a thin sliver in the sky, the stars without number.
Grandpa had gone to extra work this year, I noticed, as I walked by the familiar manger. He had improved the temporary stable in honor of his first great-grandson, putting in real walls to block any wind. Michelle laid her son gently in the cradle, assuring grandma that he wouldn’t get hungry. Grandma, dressed in Mary’s robes, opened her arms to Michelle and gave her a hug.
“Thank you, my dear. Thank you.” Grandma took her place near the crib, and Greg joined her as Joseph. Michelle had sewn some new robes for him, and he looked quite apostolic in his cotton beard. But he always looked that way.
I took my place a little further down the hillside where the lawn curved gently. Grandpa had thoughtfully provided wood for a fire for us shepherds. My father arrived with matches. The ready warmth was reassuring.
Michelle began her narration of Luke 2, and I repeated the words with her in my mind as she spoke. They were an unavoidable part of my memory after 15 years of seasonal repetition.
Funny, I thought, as our little fire popped and hissed, that taxes started the whole business. And the swaddling clothes. What did that word mean, anyway?
Michelle began the verse about the shepherds, and I got ready for our cue. “And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flocks by night. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid” (Luke 2:8).
I cowered in the frozen grass, playing the part of the frightened shepherd to the hilt. It was more fun that way, to ham up the telling for David’s sake. But an uninvited feeling overtook me. It set my heart to pounding and it made me feel quite weak, for I realized that my cowering was real, and I knew it like never before. I was afraid of the glory of the Lord.
Michelle’s voice continued as my heart thumped quickly. “And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord” (Luke 2:10–11).
I didn’t hear the part about the babe in the manger, and I barely could make out the form of my mother, standing over me with wide-spread arms, for tears brimmed my eyes, then ran in hot tracks down my cheeks. I rubbed them off, their wetness beading up on my gloves. My mother’s words penetrated the hot glow in my mind.
“Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men” (Luke 2:14).
Michelle’s even voice continued to reach out from across the lawn. “And it came to pass, as the angels were gone away from them into heaven, the shepherds said one to another …” (Luke 2:15).
Now it was my father’s turn to speak. He extended his hand to help lift me from the snow, but I turned my head away from his outstretched hand, not wanting to let him see the tears on my face. But there was a catch in his voice, too, as he said, “Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known unto us” (Luke 2:15).
We walked to the manger together. It was a short distance, to be sure, but something had signaled the start of another, much longer journey for me. Side by side we walked, my father companion and I. And we made haste, and found Mary and Joseph, and the babe, lying in the manger.
How could I stand it, I thought as I looked. The much beloved faces of my grandma and brother, the newborn babe so still in his bed.
I knew then what I would do. There was nothing left to do but go and make known abroad concerning this child and his church. My father and I returned to our fireside, and I knew that he knew what had happened in me.
Michelle read the words about the Wise Men, and David slipped in the snow and tore some gold braid from his gown. But Grandpa, fellow Wise Man, reached to help him, and he said David’s face shone as he gave his gift to Jesus. But I missed all that. In the dim glow of our fire, all I could feel was the strength of my father as he held me, the warming joy of our tears spilled together. I would miss him for the next two years.

My heart ached as I was told of a ward Relief Society president who called the daughter of an aging member of her Relief Society and said, “Your mother has given long years of service in our ward. But she is old now, and if you want her to attend the meetings and the socials, you must assume the responsibility to bring her. We will not do it.”

One of Julie’s greatest challenges was with a young man she attended honors classes and ran cross-country and track with. “All through my three years of high school if I said anything religious he’d verbally assault me and cut me to shreds. It was ugly,” Julie says. “He’d get so angry and yell, ‘How can you possibly believe in a God? There is no way. You are wasting your effort and your life.’” Julie would respond, trembling with conviction, “I know God is there and loves me. Loving God brings me so much joy; there is no better way to be happy.” Sometimes he said crude and obscene things in front of their classmates. And often he laughed at her and goaded other students into doing the same. “But my testimony grew in a new way—from adversity,” exclaims Julie. “I did care about him. If he’d only open his heart to the Spirit, he’d know the truth,” she says.
At the end of Julie’s senior year, that young man wrote in her yearbook: “I know I’m really rotten to you. The truth is I respect you. Great things are in store for you.”
Julie felt he was begging to be challenged, wanting someone to prove there really was a God. His criticism forced others to analyze their feelings about God and turn to Julie with their questions.

A dear family friend passed away a few years ago. He and his wife enjoyed hiking together in the mountains. One fall afternoon, they hiked several miles up a steep mountainside to a beautiful waterfall. While descending the trail, several hikers making the climb upward asked the question, “Is it worth it?” Our friends’ reply was always in the affirmative. Later, they observed that the effort was worth it only if you enjoyed the fresh air, alpine beauty, exercise, and loving companionship.

Brother Dadson began spending more time with his family, including getting them up at 5 A.M. for prayer and scripture study. The effect on the family was impressive.
“People would tell me what a remarkable change for good they had noticed in my children,” he recalls. His brother and sister also noticed and soon joined the Church. Kwamena Dadson is now president of the Cape Coast Branch, and his sister Elizabeth Kwaw is a Relief Society president.

And they try to show by their actions that they are followers of Jesus Christ. For example, they often help their neighbor, an elderly man who lives alone. They help carry his groceries into his house because they worry that he might fall. And they help feed his dog. In return, he lets them eat cherries from his tree.

Andy’s bare feet kicked at his reflection in the water. He bit his tongue to keep himself from talking, but it didn’t stop his thoughts. Why can’t I go? I’m twelve now. I could help!
Slowly Andy put his moccasins on and sauntered up the footpath to the house. Disgustedly he kicked into the dirt. The flying pebbles sent the chickens squawking in every direction.
“Andy,” his mother asked, “are you still pouting about your father’s decision?”
“I’m not pouting.” Andy stuffed his hands deep in his overall pockets and leaned against the porch post. “I’m just wishing I could go on the hunt.”
“Maybe next time,” Mother said.
“That’s what you said last time.”
“I know, but the bobcat hunt is not just a game. You’ve heard of the damage that old cat’s done. If the cat wasn’t killing the sheep, the men wouldn’t go either. It’s dangerous! Now come on in, your father’s already washing for lunch.”
“Andy,” Father said as they finished eating, “I’m sorry you can’t go on the hunt. I hope you understand.”
Andy sat back down in his chair. His eyes were glued to his empty plate. “Is Billy going?” he asked.
“No. Mr. Longrun and I decided together that you are both too young. Maybe next time, Son.”
Andy went back out to the porch and sat on the step. At least Billy isn’t going either, Andy thought. But still I wish I could go. I’ve listened to all the men talking at the trading post and I know almost everything there is to know about that cat.
His thoughts were interrupted as a wagon pulled up in front of their house. Billy Longrun jumped out of the wagon and started toward him. He didn’t smile and Andy knew why. Without a word Billy sat down on the steps.
After a long silence Billy finally spoke. “My mother said you could come stay with me while my father is gone.”
Andy began to smile. He remembered what fun it was to stay in a Navajo hogan. If he couldn’t go hunting, this was the next best thing.
“I’m sure Mother will let me go,” he said.
“Let’s ask her now. I don’t want to watch them leave,” Billy said as he pushed his black hair out of his eyes.
Andy’s mother said that he could stay with Billy, and in a few minutes he had a small blanket roll of his belongings collected.
“I’m ready!” he shouted as he ran out the door. “I’ll race you to the black rock.”
Both boys ran as fast as they could to the rock then slowed to a walk, laughing between deep pants as they tried to catch their breath.
“I have an idea,” Andy said when he had his breath back. “While the men are on the hunt, let’s go trapping.”
“That’s a great idea,” Billy said. “Then when they get back we’ll have some pelts to show them.” His black eyes began to shine.
“That way staying home won’t be quite so bad,” Andy said.
Mrs. Longrun was sitting just outside the hogan weaving. Her long black hair was tied back with a piece of bright cloth and her arms and fingers were covered with beautiful turquoise and silver jewelry.
Billy sat down beside her. “Can we go trapping?” he asked.
“If you don’t go for long,” she answered.
“We’ll be back before the sun sets,” Billy promised.
Inside, the hogan was very warm. The fire in the coal stove was still smoldering. There was not a lot of furniture, but Andy recognized the bedrolls stacked against the wall. While he put his bedroll by the others, Billy gathered up the traps.
“Now be careful,” Mrs. Longrun called after them. “Don’t forget the time.”
Andy and Billy tramped through the bushes and grass into the hills, then they followed a large stream into the forest. It did not take long to find several good places to set the traps. Just as the boys started back, Andy suddenly grabbed Billy’s arm and said, “Hey, wait!”
“What is it?” Billy asked.
“What’s that between those two trees way over there?” Billy looked in the direction where Andy was pointing.
“I can’t tell.”
“Let’s go see. We have time,” his friend suggested.
Billy looked at the sun and then nodded in agreement. Quickly the boys made their way over to the trees.
As they came closer Billy grabbed Andy’s arm. “Stop! It’s a shindee hogan.”
Andy had heard his father talk about the Navajo customs, and he knew that when one of them died a new door was cut in the north wall of the hogan for everyone to leave and then the hogan was destroyed. But if for some reason the hogan was not destroyed, it was considered haunted. The haunted hogan was called a shindee and under no circumstances would any Indian go near it.
Slowly the boys found their way back to the stream and started for home. Billy’s mother had supper ready. “Tell your mother about the shindee hogan,” Andy whispered as he took a bite of fry bread. Mrs. Longrun stopped short.
“It was near the river in the forest,” said Billy. “I’ve never seen it before.”
“Was it near the high ledge?” Mrs. Longrun asked.
“Yes, and it was almost hidden by the trees,” Andy told her.
Mrs. Longrun began to smile. “It is not a shindee. It was Littlewolf’s hogan, but it was built in a very bad place. Instead of building on the warm mesa he built in the forest where the sun could give it no warmth. He had to move.”
Very early the next morning Andy and Billy were up and off to check their traps.
The first trap had been sprung, but nothing was in it. However, a skunk odor was so strong that it was almost impossible for the boys to get near enough to reset the trap.
“Wow, that animal left a strong message!” Andy said as they wiped their stinging eyes.
“Let’s get out of here!” Billy motioned for Andy to follow.
They hadn’t gone far when they heard a strange, weak bleating sound.
“Oh no!” Billy pointed to the left. “One of the lambs is caught in our trap.”
The lamb’s front leg was not seriously cut, however, and carefully Andy opened the trap while Billy tried to comfort the frightened animal.
“She’s just scared. She’ll be fine,” Andy said as he patted the lamb’s head.
“We’re not far from that abandoned hogan. Let’s take her there until we finish checking the traps,” Billy suggested.
The boys were almost to the hogan when they heard a noise. Carefully they crept behind a dirt bank so they could see what was causing it. Two bobcat cubs were playfully rolling in front of the hogan.
Quickly the boys ducked down! “The big cat must be near,” Andy whispered. “The man at the trading post said she’d never go far from her cubs.”
They looked again just as the mother cat appeared with her ears pricked, as if she sensed intruders. Then the lamb began to bleat. The hungry old cat tensed and held very still. Billy grabbed for the lamb’s mouth, but it was too late. The cat had heard.
“What will we do now?” Billy asked softly.
“Put the lamb down!” Andy cautioned.
“But we can’t let the cat get her,” Billy protested.
“We won’t,” said Andy. “We’ll just use her for a decoy. Hold the lamb down in that crevice where it will be hard for the cat to see her and I’ll circle around behind the hogan.”
Andy took the downwind side and quickly, but very quietly, circled behind the hogan to where the cubs were still playing. The big cat continued to search for the lamb.
Carefully Andy crawled up behind the cubs and then, when the old cat was out of view, he grabbed one of the cubs by the tail. The cub started squalling.
Andy leaped behind a rock just as the mother cat ran to see what was wrong. She pushed the cubs into the hogan and then came out again, her head erect and alert for intruders.
Andy’s heart was beating so hard that he was afraid the cat could hear it. But she soon disappeared into the hogan. Andy moved cautiously toward the opening of the hogan, slammed the door shut, and put all his weight against it.
“Hurry, Billy, and bring the biggest rocks you can carry,” Andy shouted.
The angry cat growled and pawed furiously at the other side of the door. Andy’s heart was racing faster than ever while he waited for Billy to bring rocks to barricade it. Afterward both boys quickly carried heavy rocks to make the barricade secure. Then they ran home, stopping only to pick up the lamb.
Breathlessly they told Mrs. Longrun what had happened. She listened quietly and then said, “The men were just here. They’ve been hunting the cat all night, but they could not find it. I’ll see if I can catch them and tell them where it is.” And she hurried from the hogan.
In a few minutes Billy’s mother returned. “I told them where to go,” she reported. “You boys did a very dangerous thing. You could have been slashed to ribbons.”
“But I know all about that cat,” Andy insisted. “And we’ve helped everyone by catching it! I’m just glad I listened to the men talking about her at the trading post.”
“Bobcats are smart,” Mrs. Longrun explained. “There is only one thing that really saved you from being attacked. The cat must have thought the intruder was a skunk because that is what you both smell like!”
“Is that why she didn’t come after us?” Andy asked.
“Yes,” Mrs. Longrun answered. “And it’s lucky for you or you might have been in real trouble.”
“I’d be in trouble if I went home smelling like this,” Andy said. Then turning to Billy he added, “I’m glad for that stinky old skunk, but we better wash up good, so my mother will let me in the house tonight or I’ll have to start living in that shindee myself.”

Elder Alan and Sister Sheri Erickson, serving in the Liberia Monrovia Mission, enjoyed an inspiring “Light the World” event with the members of the Buchanan 2nd Branch.
For several weeks the sweet Relief Society president, Sister Nagbe, felt inspired to invite the sisters to participate in what she called an “outreach”. Instead of having an end-of-year social for Relief Society, she thought a better use of energy and time would be to invite others throughout the community to come and see.
Elder and Sister Erickson provided 100 “He Is Risen” pass-along cards to be handed out by the Relief Society sisters as invitations to people in the community.
On Dec. 9, one week after the branch moved into its beautiful new meetinghouse, eight sisters excitedly arrived at the church.
Aren’t these sisters beautiful standing outside the front of the new meetinghouse! Relief Society president, Sister Nagbe is in front in the yellow shirt. The sister in orange, Sarah, was baptized the previous Saturday. The sister in rust and white, Sophie, was the most eager and enthused. She is waiting to get married so she can get baptized.
They divided up the pass-along cards and wrote the location and time for Sunday services on the back of each. Then they headed out in groups of two or three to invite people. Some also carried copies of The Book of Mormon.
They had decided upon a target community, but on their way there, they couldn’t wait to start sharing the cards. Soon the idea formed to record the names and contact numbers of those they met.
A usual greeting went something like this:
“Good morning! We are from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. We want to invite you to service on Sunday at our new building on God Bless You Hill, next to the auto parts. You are most welcome.”
Almost every person greeted was happy to give their name and number, resulting in a list of 77 names and about 70 numbers (some people did not have a contact number.)
Every card was passed out and a few copies of The Book of Mormon as well, all before 1 p.m. Several of the sisters decided to call those they had met to remind, encourage, and invite them again to come and see.
It was amazing! A true wonder and marvel! All the sisters who came felt so enthusiastic about sharing the gospel. They said:
“We want to do this the last Friday of every month! Soon we’ll be many branches, even a stake!”
With that kind of vision and enthusiasm we don’t doubt but that it will come true.

Some have difficulty differentiating between a goal and a plan until they learn that a goal is a destination or an end, while a plan is the route by which you get there. For example, we can have a goal to drive to a certain unfamiliar location, and as some of you dear sisters know, we men often think we know how to get there—often resulting in our saying, “I know it must be just around the next corner.” My wife must be smiling. The goal was clear, but there wasn’t a good plan in place to reach the destination.

Our family was recently baptized, and we love our new church. One night for home evening, our mum suggested we make a family tree using our old passport photos. It was a fun night!
Joshua, Matilda, and Graeme K., ages 9, 11, and 7, Tonga