Gospel Story Finder

A number of families in the Richards Bay Ward, Durban South Africa Stake, are enjoying the fruits—or vegetables—of a year-old garden-plot program that began with the help of the full-time missionaries and the Church Welfare Department.
Many of the Church members in the townships surrounding the Richards Bay meetinghouse struggle financially because of high unemployment rates or low wages.
Elder Jack Davidson, a senior missionary serving in the area in 2006, saw a great opportunity in an unused portion of the Church property surrounding the Esikhawini meetinghouse and the excellent gardening skills of a few of the members. Vegetables could be grown year-round, and surplus produce could be readily sold to members of the community.
The Church had purchased property on which three small temporary Church buildings (a chapel and two sets of small classrooms) were built to serve the members’ needs at the time. These buildings, lawns, flowers, and parking occupied only about one-third of the property. The rest, about 45 meters wide by 80 meters long, was in tall, rough grass and weeds. This property was to be used for more permanent buildings as warranted in the future. A security fence surrounds the property.
It took almost six months for Elder Davidson to accumulate the resources to buy the tools, irrigation supplies, and other equipment and to build a secure building to house tools and supplies. The funds came from LDS Humanitarian Services and generous donations from family and friends.
The secure storage building was essential not only for security but for effective use of the site by members. Only a few members in Esikhawini have cars. If they were to try to garden without this building, they would have to carry heavy tools to and from their homes. Anything left on the site could be stolen. Also, some of the new gardeners would not be able to afford tools. With the building in place, members can check the hand and power tools in and out. Part of the overall ward gardening plan is for members and missionaries to take items from this set of tools and equipment to other townships in the ward to help members set up gardens. All the tools and power equipment are portable in a pickup truck.
Beginning in March 2006, more than a dozen full-time missionaries in the Richards Bay Zone of the South Africa Durban Mission set to work to help create the family garden plots and secure building and composting facilities.
Richards Bay Ward bishop Ted Baldwin laid the blocks for the secure building, and others helped as needed with this and the cement work.
Elder Davidson and the rest of the elders focused primarily on clearing the land so the plots could be laid out, the cultivating could get underway in earnest, the irrigation system could be installed, and the gravel could be cleaned out. Youth often turned out to help and to learn to use the equipment. The plots were to be 6 meters by 10 meters with one-meter paths all around.
As each plot was finished and ready for planting, families from the Esikhawini township were ready to take over and plant winter vegetables. Some of the families had already raised seedlings at home in anticipation of the gardens.
The number of individual plots had finally reached the set goal of 30 in early June. Throughout the process, the community took notice of the activities. On most days a few people would stop and ask the members or missionaries questions. Several of these conversations led to missionary lessons.

This is a great story! Kirsten Leichty, who is a Mia Maid and attends the Bitburg American High School in Germany, had the assignment to give a persuasive speech in her honors English class.
What better topic to speak on than the Book of Mormon? With the help of her family and her ward missionaries, she got enough copies of the Book of Mormon to give one to each member of her class. She then spoke about it, bore testimony of it, and challenged the class to read at least ten pages of it.
She got an “A” on her assignment because she was so persuasive. Almost everyone read it. “The buzz she sent rippling through the school was immediate,” said LDS schoolmate Joe Roller. “Not only were the students eager to ask Kirsten questions, but the other 20 or so of us LDS students had the opportunity to add our testimonies to Kirsten’s.”
With all the seeds she planted, this great story might never end.

Central and South Americans comprise the largest portion of the stake’s young Latter-day Saints who were born outside of the U.S. In fact, there are two Spanish-speaking wards in the stake. “One of the most difficult things for us,” said Bertha Garcia, Young Women president of the Third Ward, “was to decide which countries we could represent at the festival. We finally decided on Guatemala, because that’s my native land. But we also did El Salvador and Mexico.”

Now, lest some of you think all of this giving up of things and this rearranging of your habits is more painful than it really is, I should repeat a statement by Lady Astor.
She had dreaded old age. When it finally came, she commented philosophically, “I always dreaded growing old, because then you can’t do all of the things you want to. But it isn’t so bad—you don’t want to!”

In August of the next year, 1837, the Prophet Joseph Smith, with Sidney Rigdon and Thomas B. Marsh, then President of the Twelve Apostles, visited Toronto. Riding in a carriage and holding evening meetings by candlelight, they visited the churches. Elder Taylor accompanied them. He said: “This was as great a treat to me as I ever enjoyed. I had daily opportunities of conversing with them, of listening to their instructions, and in participating in the rich stores of intelligence that flowed continually from the Prophet Joseph.”

One young man wrote this of his experience in exercising this power:
“At one time I attended a ward which had almost no Melchizedek Priesthood holders in it. But it was not in any way dulled in spirituality. On the contrary, many of its members witnessed the greatest display of priesthood power they had ever known.
“The power was centered in the priests. For the first time in their lives they were called upon to perform all the duties of the priests and administer to the needs of their fellow ward members. They were seriously called to home teach—not just to be a yawning appendage to an elder making a social call but to bless their brothers and sisters.
“Previous to this time I had been with four of these priests in a different situation. … They drove away every seminary teacher after two or three months. They spread havoc over the countryside on Scouting trips. But when they were needed—when they were trusted with a vital mission—they were among those who shone the most brilliantly in priesthood service.
“The secret was that the bishop called upon his Aaronic Priesthood to rise to the stature of men to whom angels might well appear; and they rose to that stature, administering relief to those who might be in want and strengthening those who needed strengthening. Not only were the other ward members built up but so were the members of the quorum themselves. A great unity spread throughout the ward and every member began to have a taste of what it is for a people to be of one mind and one heart. There was nothing inexplicable in all of this; it was just the proper exercise of the Aaronic Priesthood.”

I have been thinking of one of our emeritus General Authorities, even Elder Marion D. Hanks, who has excelled in teaching seminary, institute, and the Church generally. He has utilized many different teaching methods.

On one occasion, Elder Hanks toured a mission, interviewing each of the missionaries laboring in that particular area. I had been on an assignment in an adjoining area and was given a ride to the airport with Elder Hanks and the mission president.

Elder Hanks told the mission president what a privilege it had been to visit with and interview each of the missionaries. He said he had felt prompted to ask one sister missionary, “Please tell me about your mission and how you felt about being called as a sister missionary.”

She told him that her humble father, a farmer, had willingly sacrificed much for the Lord and His kingdom. He was already sustaining two sons on missions when he talked with her one day about her unexpressed desires to be a missionary and explained to her how the Lord had helped him to prepare to help her.

He had gone to the fields to talk with the Lord, to tell Him that he had no more material possessions to sell or sacrifice or to use as collateral for borrowing. He needed to know how he could help his daughter go on a mission. He felt the inspiration to plant onions. He thought he had misunderstood. Onions would not likely grow well in this climate; others were not growing onions; he had no experience growing onions.

After wrestling with the Lord for a time, he was again impressed to plant onions. So he borrowed money from the bank, purchased seeds, planted and nurtured, and prayed.

The elements were tempered; the onion crop prospered. He sold the crop; paid his debts to the bank, the government, and the Lord; and put the remainder in an account under his daughter’s name—enough to support her during her mission.

Elder Hanks then told the mission president, “I will not forget the story or the moment or the tears in her eyes or the sound of her voice or the feeling I had as she said, ‘Brother Hanks, I don’t have any trouble believing in a loving Heavenly Father who knows my needs and will help me according to His wisdom if I am humble enough.’”

Elder Hanks was teaching a most important lesson: each child in each classroom, each young man or young woman, each student in seminary or institute, each adult in Gospel Doctrine classes, each missionary—yes, every one of us—has a story waiting to be told. Listening is an essential element as we teach and as we learn.

On 2 April 1995, one day after he was sustained as President of the Church in a solemn assembly of members, he stood at the pulpit in the Tabernacle and briefly reviewed his service in the Church, expressing deep gratitude for those who have contributed to the Church’s growth and progress. Once again he reiterated his determination to do nothing less than his best:

“I stand as your servant and pledge to you and to the Lord my very best effort as I ask for your continuing faith and prayers and uplifted hands.

“I am fully aware that I am not a young man as I shoulder the responsibilities of this sacred office. But I think I can honestly say that I do not feel old. I cannot repudiate my birth certificate, but I can still experience a great, almost youthful exuberance in my enthusiasm for this precious work of the Almighty” (“This Is the Work of the Master,” Ensign, May 1995, 70).

He sounded a theme that soon would become familiar, a theme of shared responsibility for the progress of the kingdom of God on the earth:

“This church does not belong to its President. Its head is the Lord Jesus Christ, whose name each of us has taken upon ourselves. We are all in this great endeavor together. We are here to assist our Father. …

“All of us in this great cause are of one mind, of one belief, of one faith. …

“… What is really important is that this is the work of the Master. Our work is to go about doing good as did He” (Ensign, May 1995, 71).

Others share similar feelings. Stuart Nunn talks about getting his patriarchal blessing. “The Spirit was so great, it was incredible. I knew the Lord knew me and was telling me about myself. I knew that if I’ll stay worthy I belong in his kingdom.”

I was in another country not long ago holding a fireside for young adults. During the question-and-answer portion of the meeting, a young brother raised his hand and asked when the Church would provide more financial assistance for young adults to help them become self-reliant. I thought about this for a moment and then felt impressed to ask him if he had served a mission. He replied that he had. I asked him if he had learned to set goals while on his mission, to plan, to exercise faith, and to work diligently. He was good-natured about it and smiled as he replied that he had in fact learned those life skills. I then said to him, “You are an agent, not an object. You have the ability to act and to do whatever it is that you choose to do. You have been taught everything that you need to be successful in life. Now it is up to you to go forward in faith and to act, rather than to sit back and wait to be acted upon.” I hoped that he felt my love for him and that somehow this exchange helped him to reorient his vision for himself.

One day when I was three years old, my family had a lot of people from Church over for a picnic. I watched some of the other children play croquet. One of the boys told me to scoot back, but I didn’t scoot far enough. The boy swung with his heavy mallet and accidentally hit me on the side of the head. I screamed. My dad picked me up, took me inside, and set me on my mom’s lap. He called some of the men inside to give me a priesthood blessing. About fifteen minutes after the blessing, the dent in my head went away, leaving just a few bruises. I know that blessings really help, because if I hadn’t had that blessing, I really could have been hurt.
Sarah Cain, age 9Belle Fourche, South Dakota

“I look ugly,” I said, staring into the mirror in disbelief.
Gazing back at me was the same right eye as always. However, covering my left eye was the worst black eye I had ever seen.
“It’s not that bad. Really,” my friend Emily said unconvincingly.
I rolled my good eye at her and put the ice pack back on.
Only five minutes earlier my left eye had received an accidental but well-placed whack from my friend Janna’s elbow. Immediately my hands flew to my face, and I tried to stop myself from falling. Janna apologized. I could hear my friends surrounding me to find out if I was OK.
Though I was in pain, I didn’t realize what had actually happened until I moved my hands and heard every person in the room gasp.
“What?” I asked. No one answered.
I ran to the mirror. Within seconds of the contact, the skin around my eye had swelled to four times its normal size. Bright red blood filled the bruise.
“How am I going to face everyone?” I said, grabbing an ice pack from Janna’s hand. She bit her lip and apologized for about the hundredth time. I held the ice firmly to my eye, hoping the bruise would go away by the next morning.
Unfortunately, while some of the swelling did go down and the redness disappeared by the next morning, the puffy bruise had turned to a deep rose color. I looked ugly, and I felt even uglier.
I tried to cover my eye with makeup, but it just made the bruise look purplish. And nothing could help the swelling. I finally threw a hat on and wore it so I could just barely see from under it.
That day at school, I felt as though everyone were staring. I refused to look anyone in the eye. For days I couldn’t think about anything else, despite my friends’ attempts to cheer me up.
On Sunday I was grouchy because I couldn’t wear my hat to church. But everything changed during a lesson in Sunday School.
“Pray to see yourself as He sees you,” the teacher said, speaking about the Atonement and individual worth.
I touched my bruise, thinking to myself, “He sees me as a girl with an ugly black eye.” Then, as I stopped pitying myself, my perspective changed, and I wondered, “How does Heavenly Father see me?”
Tears filled my eyes as I reflected on the love He has not only for others but for me. “He sees me as His daughter, who is worth the life of His Son,” I realized.
I felt the Spirit testify of the great worth of my soul as a daughter of God. I remembered a scripture I had learned in seminary. I opened my scriptures and found it in 1 Samuel 16:7: “Look not on his countenance, or on the height of his stature; … for the Lord seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart.” What I looked like on the outside was not as important as who I was on the inside.
My mind-set changed again as I looked around the room and felt an immense amount of love for the people I saw around me. The warmth of Heavenly Father’s love filled me, and for a moment I think I saw my classmates, in a small way, as Heavenly Father sees them—as His children.
I felt peace and comfort the rest of the Sabbath day, now not caring what others were thinking. I loved them, and I looked them all in the eye—with both of my eyes.

On a visit to Primary in one ward, I saw a young girl helping another girl from another country who didn’t speak Spanish to feel loved and welcome. She invited her to sit next to her and smiled at her.

Until recently, football, school, and church had always been things that I dealt with separately and tried to balance. After the football season, we were having player meetings with my football coach. He talked to me about leadership and how I could be a better leader. He said something interesting I never expected.
He said, “So I know you’re planning on serving a mission. You’re religious, and you’re OK with talking about God. I want you to talk about God with the other players. That’s why I coach—to draw people closer to God. I want to see people’s lives change. I think you’re one of the best players on the team to do this. When you have a chance, why don’t you talk to someone about God? Some people may reject it, but it may change someone’s life. You never know.”
I had never really connected sports and school and religion. But this conversation connected them for me and got me excited and more ready to share the gospel with others. It allowed me to realize that you can be the same person in football and school and at early-morning seminary in someone’s home and still be successful. Now that I’ve connected them it has made things easier.
This has helped me prepare for a mission. I’m getting more used to talking to people about God, sharing the gospel, and bearing my testimony.
Joseph S., 17, Louisiana, USA

My grandmother Marta Cziesla was a wonderful example of doing “small and simple things” to bring great things to pass. We lovingly called her Oma Cziesla. Oma embraced the gospel in the small village of Selbongen in East Prussia together with my great-grandmother on May 30, 1926.
Marta Cziesla (right) on the day of her baptism.
She loved the Lord and His gospel and was determined to keep the covenants she had made. In 1930 she married my grandfather, who was not a member of the Church. At this point it became impossible for Oma to attend Church meetings because my grandfather’s farm was far away from the nearest congregation. But she focused on what she could do. Oma continued to pray, read the scriptures, and sing the songs of Zion.
Some people might have thought she was no longer active in her faith, but that was far from the truth. When my aunt and my father were born, with no priesthood in the home and no Church meetings or access to ordinances nearby, she again did what she could do and focused on teaching her children “to pray, and to walk uprightly before the Lord.” She read to them from the scriptures, sang with them the songs of Zion, and of course prayed with them—every day. A 100 percent home-centered Church experience.
In 1945 my grandfather was serving in the war far away from home. When enemies approached their farm, Oma took her two little children and left their beloved farm behind to seek refuge in a safer place. After a difficult and life-threatening journey, they finally found refuge in May of 1945 in northern Germany. They had nothing left except the clothes on their bodies. But Oma continued with what she was able to do: she prayed with her children—every day. She sang with them the songs of Zion she had memorized by heart—every day.
Life was extremely hard and for many years focused on simply making sure there was food on the table. But in 1955 my dad, then 17 years old, was going to trade school in the city of Rendsburg. He walked by a building and saw a small sign on the outside that read “Kirche Jesu Christi der Heiligen der Letzten Tage”—“The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” He thought, “That is interesting; this is Mother’s church.” So when he came home, he told Oma that he had found her church.
You can imagine how she must have felt after almost 25 years of no contact with the Church. She was determined to attend the next Sunday and convinced my father to accompany her. Rendsburg was more than 20 miles (32 km) away from the little village where they lived. But this would not keep Oma from attending church. The next Sunday, she got on her bicycle together with my father and rode to church.
When the sacrament meeting started, my dad sat down in the last row, hoping it would be over soon. This was Oma’s church and not his. What he saw was not very encouraging: only a few older women in attendance and two young missionaries who effectively ran everything in the meeting. But then they started to sing, and they sang the songs of Zion that my dad had heard since he was a little boy: “Come, Come, Ye Saints,” “O My Father,” “Praise to the Man.” Hearing this little flock sing the songs of Zion he’d known since childhood pierced his heart, and he knew immediately and without a doubt that the Church was true.
The first sacrament meeting my grandmother attended after 25 years was the meeting where my father received a personal confirmation of the truthfulness of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. He was baptized three weeks later, on September 25, 1955, together with my grandfather and my aunt.
It has been more than 70 years since that tiny sacrament meeting in Rendsburg. I often think about Oma, how she must have felt in those lonely nights, doing the small and simple things she was able to do, like praying, reading, and singing. As I stand here today in general conference and talk about my Oma, her determination to keep her covenants and trust in the Lord notwithstanding her struggles fills my heart with humility and gratitude—not only for her but for so many of our wonderful Saints throughout the world who focus on the simplicity in Christ in their challenging circumstances, perhaps seeing little change now but trusting that great things will come to pass some day in the future.

I had been trying hard, and yet I wanted to know: “Isn’t there something more I can do?” And Elder Tuttle told me there was and that I would need the Atonement of Jesus Christ working in my life to go where I wanted to go. Elder Tuttle said he had taken a trip to South America on assignment with Joseph Fielding Smith, then a member of the Council of the Twelve. That was in the days when you went to South America by ship. Elder Smith could have used the time to rest. And he could have let Elder Tuttle rest. But he didn’t. He organized daily scripture study, sitting on the deck in those wooden slat chairs most of you have only seen in old movies. They read their scriptures together, and they discussed them, and they marked them. And so what I have written on this page, in the margins, was written by Elder Tuttle in his Doctrine and Covenants on the ship’s deck as Elder Smith taught it to him. I can only imagine who passed it to Elder Smith. And now I’m passing it on to you.

Brad came into this life as innocent as any child, but it didn’t take long for us to realize that he was different. He couldn’t go to nursery without my husband or me with him because he was too aggressive. As he grew older and played with other children, he needed constant supervision. When we sought help, we were told that we just had to be more consistent with him. We did everything we could think of: we researched online, read parenting books, and asked doctors and family members. Finally, when Brad started school, he was diagnosed with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, or ADHD, as well as a host of other problems.
For the first time we felt we had hope. Now that we had a diagnosis, we could start a treatment plan. We were hopeful that Brad would respond well to a medication that had helped others. Unfortunately, Brad’s behavior on medication was worse than without it, so he had to stop. I felt the last bit of my hope drain away.
One day when Brad was six, I faced one of his many daily tantrums. I wanted to give up. I went to my room for a moment to myself, and tears rolled down my cheeks. I prayed for the strength to be able to face the approaching bedtime routine. How could I keep doing this, day after day? I felt like I was past what I could endure. Did Heavenly Father understand how hard it was? If He truly loved me, I reasoned, He would remove this burden from me and give my son a normal life. Those thoughts and feelings surrounded me as the trial I faced seemed to get worse instead of better.
I thought I understood trials. We were supposed to go through them like a pot being heated in a kiln. We’d go in and out of the fire, and then life would go back to normal until the next round of heating and tempering. But I had been facing this trial for years, and it was not going away. I felt the weight pressing down on me, and the feeling of helplessness brought me to my knees.
I then knew that the place I needed to go for comfort and understanding was the temple. By inspiration, I realized that we do not get to pick what trials we have in this life or how long they last. What we can control is the way we think and act when trials come.
I realized that the reason I was feeling sorry for myself was because I was allowing self-pity to fill my mind. The first thing I decided to do was stop any negative thoughts that crept in, such as “This is unfair,” “I can’t do this,” “Why can’t Brad be normal?” or the worst culprit, “I am such a bad mother.” I worked hard to stop the negative voice in my head, and I saw that my real voice became more patient and loving when I was dealing with all of my children.
I also encouraged positive thinking. I began to think, “You are doing great,” and I would give myself a compliment, such as “You kept your voice low and didn’t yell. Way to go!”

Grandpa rolled down the window of the car and called, “Take good care of Casper for us while we’re gone, Chadwick.”
“I will,” Chadwick promised.
He waved as Grandpa and Grandma drove away. He scratched Casper’s neck. “See you later, boy. I’ve got to go to school now.”
Chadwick shut the gate and hurried off to school. When he reached home that afternoon, Chadwick went next door to his grandparents’ house to feed Casper. After the dog finished eating they played “chase the stick” until they were both panting.
“Chadwick,” Mom called. “Suppertime.”
Chadwick ruffled Casper’s fur. “I’ll come back to say goodnight,” he promised.
He ran up the steps and into the kitchen. “Casper and I have been having a lot of fun together! He likes me.”
Mom smiled. “Hurry and wash for supper,” she said. “We’re waiting for you.”
After supper Chadwick watched his favorite TV program. When it ended, he jumped up quickly. “I better check on Casper,” he declared.
“You played with him a long time,” Mom said. “It’s almost bedtime.”
“I promised Casper I’d see him before I went to bed,” Chadwick insisted.
Mom sighed. “All right, but be back in ten minutes,” she said firmly.
Chadwick raced down the sidewalk and into Grandma’s yard. Casper wagged his tail happily.
Chadwick checked the water dish. Then they both flopped down beside the doghouse. They were too tired to play and it was awfully dark by now.
Chadwick put his arm around Casper’s neck and gazed into the darkness at his grandparents’ house. “I better go,” Chadwick told the dog. “I’ll be over with your breakfast in the morning.”
After carefully shutting the gate behind him, Chadwick glanced up at the house. He gasped! Then he bounded toward home, opened the back door, and ran through the kitchen.
“What in the world’s the matter?” Mom asked in alarm.
“Grandma has a ghost,” he choked.
Mom stared. “Did you hear someone?”
He shook his head. “It didn’t make any noise but it was watching me from the window.”
Dad came into the kitchen carrying the evening paper. “What’s this about a ghost?”
“I saw it, honest.” Chadwick gulped. His throat was so dry he could hardly talk.
Dad looked puzzled. “Couldn’t be a prowler. Casper would alarm the whole town if a stranger tried to go in there. But maybe I’d better check anyway.”
“It’s not a man, Dad, at least not a real one,” Chadwick insisted.
Dad just smiled and went out the door.
Soon he was back. “Nothing seems to be disturbed. The doors are all locked and the windows are closed,” he said.
“You think I only imagined it,” Chadwick muttered.
Dad patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. Grandma and Grandpa have never mentioned a ghost. Maybe it stays out of the way when they’re home. It could be a caretaker-type ghost when they go away.”
Chadwick knew Dad was teasing him. Chadwick smiled at Mom and Dad. He didn’t feel quite so scared now. Maybe he had let his imagination play tricks on him.
The next morning he felt foolish when Dad asked, “Want me to take Casper his breakfast?”
Chadwick shook his head. “Ghosts don’t come out in the daytime, do they?” he asked.
“Well, none that I’ve ever known,” Dad answered. “But then, I haven’t known many ghosts.”
Chadwick looked up at the window before he opened the gate, but he saw nothing there. He gave Casper fresh water and food. The dog was too busy eating when Chadwick left to even look up.
That afternoon whenever Chadwick went to see Casper, he looked at the window half expecting to see something there. But each time the window was empty.
Just before bedtime that night, he walked slowly toward the door. “I have to say goodnight to Casper,” he explained.
“I’m sure the dog is all right,” Mom said kindly. “You don’t have to go unless you really want to.”
Chadwick shook his head. “I promised to take good care of him. It’s my responsibility.”
“If you hurry you can probably catch up with Dad. He went to check the house just a minute ago.”
Chadwick ran down the sidewalk, but Dad was out of sight. He walked slowly around the house. When he reached the gate he peeked up at the window. There was something there! Just then Dad turned on the light in the kitchen. The ghost began to twitch and wiggle.
Chadwick screamed and ran toward the back door. “Dad, Dad,” he shouted.
Dad opened the door wide. “Chadwick! What’s wrong?”
“I saw it again, Dad. The ghost was going right toward you,” Chadwick cried frantically.
Dad sighed. “Let’s turn on every light in the house. Maybe we can find this ghost of yours.”
Chadwick trembled in fear. He followed closely behind his father. They went through the house, turning on the lights as they went.
Chadwick jingled the windchimes hanging from a curtain rod. “Funny place for Grandma to put her windchimes,” he said.
Dad glanced at them. “They could probably be broken on the porch if the wind started blowing very hard. I suppose she thought of them as she went out the door.”
They turned off the lights and went back outside. Dad locked the door. Chadwick checked Casper’s water dish. Then they turned toward home.
Chadwick glanced back over his shoulder. He clutched his father’s arm tightly. “There it is again!” he whispered. Then he began to laugh. “The windchimes! It’s nothing but those crazy windchimes with the streetlights shining on them.”
Dad chuckled. “And so another ghost is laid to rest.”
“You knew all the time that there wasn’t any ghost, didn’t you, Dad?” Chadwick asked.
Dad put his arm around Chadwick’s shoulders. “Well, let’s just say I had some mighty strong doubts. But everyone should meet a ghost at least once in his lifetime!”

In the Parkwood Ward Primary, Texas, USA, each child learned about an ancestor. Aliya P., age 5, learned that she has the same middle name as her great-grandmother and that they both loved playing with dolls and reading. As Aliya Mae told about Ruth Mae, she felt her great-grandmother’s love, and Aliya Mae loved her back.

Mitchell is a kindergartner. He is trying hard to be a good example to his classmates and his two younger brothers. During a track-and-field day, he found two dollars on the playground at school. He turned the money in to the office. Soon a second-grade girl told the principal that she had lost her two dollars. The principal told her that she didn’t have much hope to get her money back but to check at the office. When she did, she was told that a kindergartner had turned it in. The school praised Mitchell for his honesty, and so did his family.