Gospel Story Finder

It was a hot day in early summer when the big black Labrador retriever appeared. They saw him trotting along the riverbank. Brad stopped eating his lunch. He glanced quickly at Kevin and Tom and Jill sitting in the shade of the maple tree near him. They were all staring at the dog too. Even baby Kristy was watching him.
“Come on, boy,” Brad coaxed softly. This time he was sure Heavenly Father had answered their prayers. The dog started down the path toward them. He came slowly, a few steps at a time, then hesitated before venturing closer. Brad glanced toward the house. He could hear the clink of jars from the kitchen. Mother was still busy making jam. The dog had gained another ten feet when Brad looked back at him. He wagged his long tail uncertainly.
“Here, boy,” Jill whispered. She raised her arm with a sandwich in her hand.
“Don’t throw it!” Brad warned quietly. “You’ll scare him.” Jill dropped her arm.
The dog trembled as he came closer, his eyes bright and eager and friendly. Brad got to his feet and held out his half-eaten sandwich. The dog sat down and swept the path with his wagging tail. Brad moved closer to the dog and dropped the sandwich in front of him. The dog wolfed it down and looked for more. Quickly three more half-eaten sandwiches landed in front of him. He gulped them down and licked his chops.
Little Kristy toddled over and stuck her sandwich under his nose. Brad held his breath. The dog was hungry—he could bite Kristy’s hand as well as the sandwich! But before Brad could move, the dog reached out and daintily took a corner of the bread between his teeth. He waited until Kristy let go, then swallowed the sandwich whole.
Kristy clapped her hands and laughed. Then she threw her arms around the dog’s neck. They all surrounded the dog and petted his dull, rough coat. Brad squatted beside Kristy and stroked the dog’s head and ears. The dog stood quietly for a few moments, then trotted off into the tall grass and brought back a stick. He dropped it at Brad’s feet and wagged his tail expectantly.
“He wants to play!” Brad said as he tossed the stick down the path. The dog raced after it and brought it back.
“It’s my turn!” Jill shouted. She snatched up the stick and threw it without taking aim. The stick landed in the river.
“Now we have to find another one,” Kevin said disgustedly.
But the dog was already leaping from the bank into the swiftly flowing water. His jaws closed over the stick, and he swam back against the current. He climbed up the bank and shook himself off. Then he trotted over to Jill and dropped the stick at her feet.
“Did you see that?” Jill cried.
The screen door slammed, and the children looked up to see their mother coming toward them. She stopped a safe distance away with her hands on her hips. “So that’s what all the noise is about. Where did that dog come from?” she asked.
Brad shrugged. “We don’t know. He just came to us.”
“He was hungry,” Tom added.
“And I suppose you fed him your sandwiches,” Mother said with a sigh. They all hung their heads and nodded. “Well now that he’s full, chase him away.”
“Can’t we keep him?” Kevin pleaded. “He isn’t wearing a license, and we’ve been praying to Heavenly Father for a dog for a long time.”
“He’s gentle too,” Jill added. “Please, Mom.”
“We’ll keep him outside,” Brad offered eagerly, “so he won’t track up the house.”
Mother shook her head. “I’ve been praying to Heavenly Father, too—but for help, not a dog.” She clapped her hands and shouted, “Shoo!” The dog streaked away along the riverbank and disappeared around the bend. Mother’s face softened. “You know we can’t afford to feed an animal with the new baby coming and your father out of work. Now hurry and pick that flat of strawberries for Mrs. Linden. She’ll be here soon. Jill, you help the boys while I take Kristy in for her nap and get started on the sewing for Mrs. Fredricks.” She picked up the baby and went back into the house.
The four youngsters picked up their berry carriers and started for the strawberry patch.
“I hope Dad gets that job today,” Tom said. “Then we can have a dog.”
Jill sighed. “No, we can’t. Mom is afraid of dogs,” she confided. “Grandma once told me that Mom was bitten by a dog when she was a little girl. She’s been afraid of dogs ever since.”
“Now we’ll never get a dog,” Kevin wailed.
“I guess we’d better get the strawberries picked,” Brad said.
Their carriers were half full when they heard Mother shout. They left the berries in the field and ran for the house.
“What’s the matter?” Brad called when they saw Mother hurrying down the path to the river.
“It’s Kristy,” Mother sobbed. “I was on the phone when I looked out the window and saw her heading straight toward the river. By the time I got outside, she had disappeared.”
They all ran to the riverbank.
“I don’t see her anywhere,” Brad said. He searched the swiftly moving water, hoping to catch sight of Kristy’s blue overalls.
“Maybe she’s already been carried around the bend,” Tom suggested.
“I’ll go look,” Brad said. He turned to run, then stopped and listened. “Did you hear something?” he asked.
From the bushes on the riverbank came a muffled, angry sob. The big black dog backed slowly out of the bushes, tugging a dry, struggling Kristy by the back of her overalls. When she was free of the branches, he let go of the little girl and nudged her toward her mother.
“No! Water!” Kristy cried and started off again before Mother could catch her. But the dog blocked her path.
Mother laughed and picked her up. “Heavenly Father works in mysterious ways,” she said. “I prayed for help, and you all prayed for a dog. We all got what we wanted when He sent us this ‘angel.’” She reached out and patted the dog.
“Angel?” they all asked, staring at her in disbelief.
Mother smiled. “Yes, because he must be a guardian angel,” she explained. “I’m not afraid of him, and Kristy certainly needs one. She might have drowned in the river!”
Kevin and Brad and Tom and Jill watched Mother walk back to the house with the dog padding along beside her. Then they turned back to look at each other.
“We’ve got a dog!” Brad whooped.
They skipped and laughed all the way back to the strawberry patch.

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.

Lucy took the box of valentines out of the sack. Tomorrow was Valentine Day, and she still hadn’t decided whether to give a card to Carla, the girl next door.
Lucy sighed. Nothing had been the same since Carla had moved in at the first of the year. Lucy and her mother had taken homemade cookies over to Carla and her family, but Carla hadn’t even said hello.
“She’s just shy,” Carla’s mother had explained.
Lucy quickly decided that Carla wasn’t shy—she was just a bad-tempered girl who loved to make life miserable for everybody around her. The first week after Carla had moved in, she had thrown rocks at Lucy’s dog, Jumper, and now he was afraid to go outside.
At school Carla bullied the smaller children on the playground. She was in the principal’s office at least twice a week. Lucy and her friends were embarrassed to be around her because she was loud and rough.
And now Lucy’s mother had said that she should give Carla a valentine.
“But, Mom,” Lucy argued, “valentines are supposed to be for people you like. And I don’t like Carla Bentley!”
“Carla has a lot of problems, Lucy. Maybe if she had some friends, she wouldn’t be the way she is,” Mother explained. “Sometimes people need attention so badly that they’ll do anything to get it, even things that they shouldn’t.”
Lucy sat on the floor of her room, her valentines spread out before her. She was putting two candy hearts in each one. As she wrote each name on an envelope, she checked it off her list. In class they had passed out a list with all the students’ names on it so that no one would be missed. Lucy popped a candy heart into her mouth. Only seven more, and she still hadn’t decided about Carla.
Finally Lucy checked the last name off the list. She stacked the cards carefully and put them into a bag. Then she realized that all her valentines were used up! “Mom!” she called, running into the kitchen. “Guess what! I can’t give Carla a valentine.”
“Why not?” Mother asked.
“Because I don’t have any more. Remember, we bought a box of thirty cards? Well, that was just enough for my class, so now they’re all gone.”
“Oh, that doesn’t matter,” her mother said. “If you decide to give a valentine to Carla, we have lots of things you can make a card with.”
“Make a card?”
“Sure. Lots of people make cards instead of buying them. It’s fun to do,” Mother said, going over to her desk and pulling out a drawer. “See, we have pink and red construction paper, and I remember some white doilies in with the napkins.”
Lucy shifted uncomfortably. “I’m not sure that I want to, though.”
“Well, I’ll just leave the things here in case you need them. I’ll be back in a while. I have to pick up your brother at soccer practice.”
Lucy thought, If I give Carla a valentine, maybe she won’t be so mean. I could make a really cute one with some of the stickers I have.
Lucy went to her bedroom to get her sticker collection. Some stickers were funny, others were pretty, and some smelled like root beer or peanut butter or strawberry when she rubbed them. She picked out three: a heart in different shades of pink, a furry kitten, and a cluster of sweet-smelling strawberries.
Hurrying down to the kitchen table, Lucy folded a sheet of white paper in half, drew half a heart along the fold, and cut it out. When she unfolded it, she had a pattern to trace around on the construction paper.
Lucy folded a sheet of pale pink construction paper in half, then cut out two red hearts and placed them and the strawberry sticker on the front of the card. She put the kitten and heart stickers on the inside. Then she signed her name at the bottom.
Holding the card up, Lucy thought, It’s pretty, but it’s not really a valentine if there aren’t any words except my name. But I can’t write a fancy poem to a girl I don’t even like. Finally, after trying out a number of ideas on scratch paper, Lucy wrote in red ink:
“Roses are red,
Violets are blue.
I’d rather be friends
Than fight with you.”
The sun was shining on Valentine Day morning. Lucy got up early and dressed quickly so that she could run over to Carla’s without being seen. As she hurried around Carla’s front porch, the Bentley house was quiet. Lucy propped the card up against the front door, rang the doorbell, and ran. She hid behind the bushes separating the yards and watched for someone to answer the door.
Mr. Bentley opened it and looked first to the left and then to the right. Lucy could see him smile when he finally looked down and saw the card. He picked it up and closed the door.
Lucy let her breath out. That’s that, she thought. She hurried home to eat so that she could meet Kim, her best friend, before school.
The morning passed quickly. After Lucy’s class exchanged their valentines, the room mothers came in and they had a party. For treats they had red punch and cupcakes with white frosting and red gumdrop hearts on them.
Lucy didn’t see Carla until lunchtime. Carla was walking toward Lucy and Kim with a funny look on her face.
“I don’t believe it,” Kim whispered. “Why is she coming over?”
“I gave her a valentine,” Lucy whispered back.
Kim looked at her quickly. “You did? Maybe she’s going to beat you up.”
“I don’t think so,” Lucy said, smiling shyly at Carla.
“Hi,” Carla said.
“Hi,” said Lucy and Kim together.
Carla looked down at her tennis shoes. “I—I want to thank you for the valentine, Lucy.” She held out a card to Lucy.
“You’re welcome,” Lucy said, taking the card. “Thank you.“
“I didn’t have time to make one.” Carla stood awkwardly.
“Oh, that’s OK. Would you like to eat lunch with us?” She heard Kim’s sharp gasp but ignored her.
Carla’s face lit up. “OK!” Then Carla looked at Kim and added, “If you don’t mind.”
Kim looked from Carla to Lucy then back again. “Of course not. Come on, let’s get over to the tree before somebody else does.”
As the girls sat on the bench beneath the old cottonwood tree, four boys walked past.
“Hey! Happy Valentine Day!” Carla yelled happily at them.

The rest of Dad’s family had been converted to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints after Dad was grown and had left home. Uncle Bob was the youngest member of Dad’s family, and he had a special testimony of the Church.

One day Uncle Bob stacked an armload of wood and turned to my mother. The spirit was strong in his heart as he began to explain the things he had been learning in church and through study of the scriptures and personal prayer. He told her many things about the gospel of Jesus Christ and about Joseph Smith praying to know which church was true and discovering that not one of the churches in his day had the fullness of the gospel. Uncle Bob told her how Joseph Smith had been privileged to see God the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, and to know for himself that They had bodies of flesh and bone, just as he had. Uncle Bob’s eyes never wavered from my mother’s face as he bore his strong testimony.

Mother didn’t believe a boy so young as Uncle Bob could know these things. She became angry at the words she was hearing and told Uncle Bob, “You may come back to my house anytime, but never mention these things here again.”

Uncle Bob loved my parents and wanted to come as often as he could. He agreed. “Aunt Ruth, I will never mention these things again in your home, I promise. I also promise you that someday you will ask me to baptize you.”

Now, this was many years ago, when young people did not speak their minds. They were expected to show respect to those who were older than they. It took a lot of courage for Uncle Bob to speak to my mother this way.

We spent many happy times with Uncle Bob. He stayed with us occasionally while our parents went to Wyoming to visit my mother’s family. He never broke his promise to my mother by again speaking of the great truths of the gospel or bearing his testimony, not even when both of our parents were away.

One year Dad was farming the Phillipi place in Mackay, Idaho. Uncle Bob came to stay for two weeks. My other sister, Jeannie, made spice cake every day. We whipped a half-gallon canful of pure cream for the topping. The smells seemed to curl around the corners of the room and out to the fields where Jack and Uncle Bob worked. It made your mouth water, it was such a tangy odor. But not even then, with a stove full of wood and a stomach full of sweet spice cake did Uncle Bob break his vow to my mother.

The years kept going by, one by one. Uncle Bob grew up, married, and had six sons and one daughter. He always stayed close to the Church. He knew that it was true. He held many callings over the years. Wherever he was needed, he served, becoming in later years a stake patriarch and a temple worker in the Portland Temple.

In 1971 Uncle Bob was fifty years old. My mother was sixty-four that year, and she was living in Powell, Wyoming. She telephoned Uncle Bob.

It’s curious—after all those years, she still remembered! Mother said, “Will you come, Bob. Will you come and baptize me?” On April 15, 1971, forty years after my uncle had made his promise to her, he baptized my mother a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Estonia was dedicated by Elder Russell M. Nelson in the spring of 1990. On June 29, the Estonian government officially recognized the Church.
The laws of the land required that an Estonian church member who did not hold a position in the Estonian branch presidency be designated as president of the Church in Estonia. That person must sign the petition for the Church to become recognized.
President Mecham asked Jaanus, “Would you consent to be the Church spokesman to testify before the Minister of Religion and sign the petition as president?”
Jaanus was puzzled. “There are many people who could do that.”
“We would like you, Jaanus, to be the authorized person to sign the document because you have demonstrated such leadership.”
Jaanus testified before the Minister of Religion that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was a legitimate church working in the country to help people and that the programs were not contrary to any laws of government.
Then Jaanus picked up the pen, remembering that he had been at the first meeting of the Church in Estonia, had attended the first official sacrament meeting, and was one of the first youth to be baptized. Twenty others signed their names below his signature.

Jeannethe Campos de Espinoza, former president of the Relief Society in the Managua stake, admires the creativity of one visiting teacher who helped activate a woman she visited. The visiting teacher asked the sister to prepare a message from the Book of Mormon to share with her visiting teachers; this helped the woman discover what she was missing spiritually. The same approach has been used to activate others as well. Sometimes Relief Society leaders also ask to hold small group meetings in the homes of less-active members to remind them of gospel blessings.

The Waxahachie Ward had another great idea. They took pictures of each age group. Then one of them with access to a computer scanned in the pictures and produced their own personalized covers for their For the Strength of Youth booklets. Now when they see their own pictures on the cover, it reminds them that the advice inside is meant for them.

Judy’s appreciation for the New Era came full circle when she was called as ward magazine representative in Coventry. She’s had many opportunities to bear strong testimony of the powerful words lying within her favourite magazine. She’s worked hard encouraging youth to partake and share similar gifts with others.

Her efforts were further supported recently. “We were really blessed when a generous missionary couple stayed in our ward,” Judy continues. “Knowing our enthusiasm for Church writings, they donated enough money to ensure all our members receive copies for the next year.”

When Mom and Dad said we’d be living in a one-room cabin in Nauvoo this summer, I wasn’t excited about being so close with my family. But we’d be performing in the City of Joseph pageant, which sounded fun, so I thought I’d give it a try.
On opening night, as I looked at the performers in their 1840s costumes, I felt a oneness with my Nauvoo ancestors. How real they seem to me now. Lots of people have told us how the pageant has touched them, too.
Tonight our family won an award from the director for working so well together. I guess it’s not so bad to be close as a family!

His musical skill helped him years later as a missionary.
Elder Kimball: Is that a Kimball piano? That’s my name too.Would you like to hear a hymn played on a Kimball by a Kimball?
Man: All right. Come in.

Victoria, British Columbia—
Sometimes before you share the gospel, you have to share your dreams.
That’s how it started for Gillian Hitchmough, a Laurel in the Victoria Third Ward, Victoria British Columbia Stake, and Reta Stevenson, her friend from school. Because they had classes together, they had plenty of time to talk about what was on their minds.
“At first, we didn’t really talk about religion, we just talked about what was going on in our lives,” says Gillian. “But then there was a boy at our school who was another religion, and I remember him really harping on me about being a Mormon. It was hard for me, and I told Reta how bad it made me feel.”
Reta says she could tell from those conversations how strongly Gillian felt about her religion. Pretty soon she was asking questions, and Gillian extended the invitation for Reta to come to youth conference. Reta readily accepted.
“At youth conference I learned a lot of stuff that I could really use in my life. I felt the Spirit so strongly at the testimony meeting. It was like nothing I’d ever felt before. I knew there was something really real there.”
Enter another LDS friend, Matt Hall—whose mom happens to be the seminary teacher—and Gillian got just the backup support she was looking for.
“My family and I had Reta over for family home evening one night and showed her a [Church] video. The missionaries were here, but so was Gillian, so it was just kind of business as usual. One of the missionaries bore his testimony. It was really great,” says Matt.
Pretty soon Reta was attending seminary, week-night activities, and church on Sunday. Reta knew the Church was true, but she was having a hard time overcoming a few things, especially the idea of being the only member in her family. She knew that if she joined the Church her family couldn’t come in the temple with her when she got married. And since she was so young in the gospel herself, it was sometimes hard for her to explain her new beliefs to her mom.
“My decision to be baptized came when the questions I had were answered. This big feeling of relief came over me, and I knew I was doing the right thing. It was a big step, but it was a good big step,” says Reta.
And so, on a beautiful summer day, Matt baptized Reta. She says she’s never been happier.
Matt and Gillian were happy too. They now know firsthand the joy that comes from extending the gospel message to their friends and seeing them accept. And both of them are eager to receive mission calls when they’re old enough.
“My life has really changed since I joined the Church. It’s made me a better person, and it’s filled some empty spots in my life. It gives me hope for the future,” says Reta.

A few summers ago our family visited Catalina Island just off the coast near Los Angeles. While there we visited the excellent aviary, which has the most interesting collection of birds I have ever seen. But even though the birds were fascinating, the most important part of the visit for me was the acquaintance I made with a man whom I shall never forget. He told me something that still lingers vividly in my memory, even though this must have been ten years ago.

He worked at the aviary. I first noticed him as he was feeding the birds in the cages. He seemed to know each bird individually, calling them by name and chatting with them as though they were children gathered around him. It was easily apparent that he loved every bird in the place, and the birds seemed to feel the same way about him. After he had finished his feeding chores, I felt compelled to talk to him for a moment.

“It was interesting to watch you feed the birds,” I said. “It’s easy to see that you enjoy your work here.”

“Yes sir, I enjoy it here more than I can tell you. In fact, I can’t think of a single person I would trade places with—none of the movie stars, none of the bankers or lawyers, none of the merchants, none of the presidents, premiers, or kings. I like it right here, and I like what I’m doing.” We chatted a few minutes longer. Then he said, “You know, mister, there is one important thing I’ve discovered in life—at least as far as I personally am concerned. It’s this: If you like what you do, and if you’re doing something that is really worthwhile, and if you do the best job you can do, then, brother, you’ve got it made!”

Fifty years ago, I knew a young man—even a priest—who held the authority of the Aaronic Priesthood. As the bishop, I was his quorum president. Robert stuttered and stammered, void of control. He was self-conscious, shy, fearful of himself and all others, and this impediment was devastating to him. Never did he fulfill an assignment; never would he look another in the eye; always he would gaze downward. Then one day, through a set of unusual circumstances, he accepted an assignment to perform the priestly responsibility to baptize another.

I sat next to Robert in the baptistry of the Salt Lake Tabernacle. He was dressed in immaculate white, prepared for the ordinance he was to perform. I leaned over and asked him how he felt. He gazed at the floor and stuttered almost uncontrollably that he felt terrible, terrible.

We both prayed fervently that he would be made equal to his task. Suddenly the clerk said, “Nancy Ann McArthur will now be baptized by Robert Williams, a priest.”

Robert left my side, stepped into the font, took little Nancy by the hand, and helped her into that water which cleanses human lives and provides a spiritual rebirth. He spoke the words, “Nancy Ann McArthur, having been commissioned of Jesus Christ, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.” Not once did he stutter! Not once did he falter! A modern miracle had been witnessed. Robert then performed the baptismal ordinance for two or three other children in the same fashion.

In the dressing room, as I congratulated Robert, I expected to hear this same uninterrupted flow of speech. I was wrong. He gazed downward and stammered his reply of gratitude.

To each of you brethren this evening, I testify that when Robert acted in the authority of the Aaronic Priesthood, he spoke with power, with conviction, and with heavenly help.

When I was young, I didn’t get to spend a lot of time with my dad; he went to college all day and worked most of the night. It was really wearing him out, but he had himself, my mother, and four children to support.
I used to play with the wooden toys my dad made for us. When he had time, he made such things as blocks, wooden animals, and puzzles. But my favorite was the little knife he carved for me from a small piece of wood. It wasn’t using the knife to fight an imaginary foe that intrigued me so much—it was the fact that my dad had made it himself, just for me and no one else.
I was so proud of my dad. I thought there was nothing better than someone who could turn an ordinary piece of wood into something as magnificent as my little knife. I would just sit and hold it in my hands, looking at it and thinking about the time he spent making it for me.
Years later, when my dad was out of school and had a good daytime job, I was able to spend a little more time with him, but the value of that knife never lessened.
One day I walked outside. What I saw sent a flood of memories into my mind. My dad was sitting on the steps of our house, a pocketknife in his right hand, and in his left a piece of wood slowly taking the shape of a little knife. I could see little slivers of wood fly as he whittled and whistled a happy song. He turned to me and smiled.
Before I knew it, I was sitting right next to my dad, a pocketknife in my right hand and a piece of wood in my left. Twice as many little shavings of wood flew as my dad taught me how to carve a little knife by myself. Mine didn’t look nearly as good as his, but it was okay. My dad was sitting next to me, and that was all that mattered.
Every once in a while, I looked up at him, all smiles, to compare my knife with his, as he kept carving the wood and whistling his songs. Once he caught me looking at him and gave me a big smile and winked at me. That made me feel good because he would wink at me when he was really happy. I winked back.

Sophie helped Mama clean their home. The missionaries were visiting today. They were welcome visitors in Sophie’s home in Colombia. Mama prepared a special meal: tamales, rice, and corn with peppers.
The missionaries had taught Sophie’s family about Jesus Christ and His Church. Just two weeks ago Elder Kraig and his new companion, Elder Jessen, had baptized Sophie, her parents, and her two older brothers. Already, Sophie felt the difference in their family. There was more laughing, singing, and praying.
During the meal Sophie listened to her parents and brothers discuss the scriptures with the missionaries. After the dishes were cleared away, Elder Kraig said, “I will be going home next week.”
Sophie hadn’t realized he would be leaving so soon. Tears crowded the corners of her eyes. Sophie glanced at her brothers. They were near tears too.
Elder Kraig sniffled a couple of times. “I have something for you,” he said to Papa. He pulled a package from his backpack. “These are for you and your sons.”
Papa opened the box and pulled out six white Sunday shirts. For a long moment he was silent. “We cannot accept so fine a gift,” he said at last.
Sophie heard the regret in Papa’s voice. Their family did not have white shirts for Papa and the boys, and Sophie knew Papa wanted to show respect by dressing in white shirts when they went to church.
“I will not need so many shirts when I go home,” Elder Kraig said. “You will be doing me a favor by keeping them.”
“But I have nothing for you,” Papa said. He pointed to the Book of Mormon. “You have already given us the most precious gift. You brought us the gospel of Jesus Christ.”
The next day Sophie decided to make something for Elder Kraig. After talking with Mama, she decided to make a small woven blanket called a serape. She borrowed her mother’s loom, chose the colors of yarn, and worked on it each day after school and chores. When her fingers fumbled, she carefully undid the strands and started over.
At last the serape was finished. She hoped Elder Kraig would like the soft browns and cream colors she had woven together. She wrapped the serape in brown paper.
On the day of Elder Kraig’s last visit to their home, Sophie presented her gift.
“Thank you, Sophie,” Elder Kraig said. Tears shone in his eyes. “I will never forget you or your family.”
“And we will never forget you,” Sophie said.

Nathan jumped out of bed and ran to the window. The sun was streaming from a bright blue sky.
“All right!” he said. It had been raining for days, and Nathan couldn’t wait to ride his bike. He pulled on his clothes and ran to the bathroom. His little sister, Aria, was already there brushing her hair, wearing a dress.
“Oh no!” Nathan groaned. “It’s Sunday!”
“You better hurry,” Aria said. “We’re going to be late for church.”
Nathan went back to his bedroom and looked out the window. His friend Isaac was outside riding his bike, and David was zooming around on his skateboard. It looked like they were having fun.
Normally Nathan liked going to church. He liked learning scripture stories and singing Primary songs. But today he wanted to play outside.
Nathan knocked on Mom’s door. “Mom,” he said, “I don’t want to go to church today.”
“Why not?” Mom asked.
“Because it’s been raining all week and now my friends are playing outside. Can’t I miss church just one time so I can play? I’ll go next week.”
Mom smiled at Nathan. “I know you want to play, but do you know why we go to church every week?”
Nathan didn’t feel like hearing a lesson. “Because it’s a commandment,” he said in a bored voice.
“That’s true,” Mom said. “But the commandments aren’t just rules that are made up to be hard. They’re actually things Heavenly Father wants us to do because they make us happy.”
“But right now riding my bike would make me happy.”
“Riding your bike may give you a fun feeling, but feeling the Spirit when you do something right feels even better.”
Nathan scrunched up his face. He thought about times he had helped Mom or was nice to Aria. Those things had made him feel good. And riding his bike would be fun, but he wouldn’t feel very good about missing church.
“Besides, when you go to church, you always get a blessing,” Mom said.
“What kind of blessing?”
“Well, sometimes it’s something you can hold, like a scripture bookmark. But most of the time it’s something you can’t hold, like learning a new song or feeling the Spirit.”
“I guess,” Nathan said. “Maybe today I’ll see if I really do get a blessing at church.”
Nathan got ready, and soon they were at church. Nathan took the sacrament and listened to the talks. Now that he was here, he felt like he’d made the right choice. Was that his blessing?
Nathan was surprised when they announced the closing song. It was “Praise to the Man”—his favorite. He smiled. Maybe that was his blessing.
In Primary he raised his hand and got to help with a game. Could that be his blessing?
After church Nathan found his family. As they walked to the car, Sister Silva gave them some leftover cookies from her class.
“Thank you!” Mom said. “These cookies look delicious. Nathan, see what you would have missed if you’d stayed home? Was I right about the blessing?”
“Kind of,” Nathan said. “But you said there would be one blessing. I counted a bunch!” He climbed into the car. “I’m glad I came.”
“I’m glad too,” Mom said. “Here, have a cookie.”
Nathan bit into a cookie. “What a yummy blessing!”

Twenty-one young people from the Atlanta Inner City District recently did genealogy work and baptisms for their own ancestors. It was a first for all of them. Included were youth from the Brookhaven (Vietnamese), Eastlake and Adams Park (African American), and Chamblee (Hispanic) branches.

by Mark Reed
After much study and two days practice on a small river, our teachers quorum was ready for the big event of our summer—a canoe trip down the Waitara River! Our plans were to cover about 35 miles with at least 50 rapids of varying length and turbulence during the two-day trip.
When the day came for departure, the four of us met at our adviser’s home with life jackets, crash helmets, sneakers, and small waterproof packs that contained our food, utensils, and tents. We launched about 10:00 A.M. and spent the next two hours in hard, solid paddling. After a lunch break, however, we began meeting the rapids. At first this was a little scary, but we soon found that we could maneuver the canoes quite easily in and out among the big rocks, away from huge fallen trees and into the best channels of the fast-flowing, mud-colored river. The beautiful and ever-changing landscape added to the thrill of the trip. One minute we were dwarfed in a magnificent canyon with huge towering and overhanging cliffs and waterfalls and in the next instant we had shot out into the serenity of rolling, bush-clad country.
Around 5:00 P.M. it began to rain, so we decided to stop for the evening and make camp. We soon had a roaring fire going that dried our wet clothing and provided heat to cook a scrumptious meal. By then the day’s paddling had taken its toll, so after group prayer, we dragged ourselves off to our sleeping bags.
The next day’s journey was exciting, colorful, and unforgettable—but ended too soon. As we progressed down the widening, winding course of the river and saw farmland ahead, we knew that the tough job of guiding these little crafts along the river with its pleasures, dangers, thrills, and excitement would soon be over. And it was. But our shared memories, strengthened friendships, and increased testimonies had made the trip something we would always remember. (We are members of the New Plymouth Branch, New Plymouth District in the New Zealand Wellington Mission.)

Ann M. Dibb
A young woman completes all 80 goals in her Beehive Girl’s Handbook, including a trip to the temple (114).

There was something more than their love of writing that made the sisters want to publish their work. It was a fear of having to go out in the world to make a living. It had been hard enough on them to leave home for some schooling, but it was unbearable to stay away after that.
Each served as a governess to wealthy families for a short time, but they could not stand the cold indifference shown them. They longed for the warmth and love of their own home and family. At different times each one of them gave a quick notice to either school or employer and returned to the family.