Friend - 2002

“When Daddy answers questions like those, the bishop knows whether or not he is a commandment-keeper. If he is a commandment-keeper, he’ll get a special piece of paper, called a temple recommend. Only Church members with temple recommends can go inside the temple.”

“Oh.”

The bishop’s door opened, and Stewart’s daddy stepped out. He shook the bishop’s hand and smiled. “Your turn,” he said, looking at Mommy.

“I’ll be right back, Stew.”

Stewart sat quietly in his seat, thinking.

“So tonight’s the night for chocolate chip cookies, right Stew?” Daddy asked.

Stewart looked up. “Yes.”

“Are you going to help me bake them?”

“Yep.”

There was silence.

“Dad, are you a commandment-keeper?”

“I try to keep the commandments, Son. Sometimes I make mistakes, but I repent and try harder. It’s hard to be a commandment-keeper, but I do my best.”

“Did you get a temple rec– … rec– What’s that word?”

“Temple recommend. Here. Do you want to see it?” Daddy handed Stewart a small piece of paper.

Stewart looked at it carefully. “What does it say?”

“Well, I still have to talk to the stake president. But right now, it has the bishop’s name, and my name. And at the bottom, it says that I’m worthy to enter the temple.”

“Because you’re a commandment-keeper?”

“Right.”

Before long, Stewart’s mom opened the bishop’s door.

“Come on,” said Daddy. “Let’s go home and get those cookies ready to bake and eat!”

Riding home in the car, Stewart was quiet. Mom looked into the rearview mirror and saw that he looked sad. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

At a stoplight, Daddy turned to the backseat. “Stew, what’s the matter? Aren’t you excited about making our treats?”

“I wanted to tell the bishop I keep the commandments. I wanted my own special paper.”

Mommy and Daddy looked at each other.

“You wanted a temple recommend?” Daddy asked.

“Aren’t I good at keeping the commandments?”

“You’re very good at keeping the commandments. But you have to be twelve to go inside a temple. When you’re twelve, you’re old enough to get your own recommend and do baptisms for the dead,” Dad explained.

“So I don’t get a paper like yours till I’m twelve?”

“No.”

Stew looked out the window. Daddy and Mommy quietly looked ahead. Then Daddy had an idea. “Hey! You can still have a piece of paper that says you keep the commandments! After we get the cookies started, you come into my office!”

Stew gave his dad a cautious smile. “OK.”

Once at home, the family set to work on the cookies right away. When the first batch went into the oven, Stewart went to his dad’s office.

“Have a seat, Son. I’ll sit here, across from you.”

Stew climbed into a chair and got comfortable.

“Now let’s start with a prayer.” Daddy folded his arms and Stew followed. Daddy asked Heavenly Father that His Spirit would be with them as they talked. He told the Lord that he loved his little boy. Stew felt happy inside.

When the prayer was finished, the questions began. Daddy looked Stewart in the eyes. “First, do you believe in Jesus Christ?”

“Yes I do.”

“I do, too, Stew. He’s my very best friend. Now, do you believe that the scriptures are true, and do you read them every day?”

“Well, Mommy reads them to me, but yesterday we both forgot.”

“Do you read them most days?”

“Yes.”

“That’s great. Reading the scriptures is one of the best ways to learn about Jesus Christ. Do you say your prayers?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Wonderful. How do you feel when you pray?”

“I feel glad because Heavenly Father can hear me and answer me.”

“Yes, He likes it when we pray to Him. The more we pray, the more He can help us. And you and I need lots of help, don’t we?”

“Yes.”

“Do you believe that Gordon B. Hinckley is a true prophet?”

“I know he is a prophet.”

“How do you know?”

“Because that’s what you told me.”

“Heavenly Father will tell you, too, if you ask Him. I’ve asked Heavenly Father, and He’s told me,” Daddy said. “Now, do you tell the truth?”

Stew frowned. “Well, I lied about that mess in the kitchen. But you already knew that.”

“I remember. You blamed a friend for the mess, and it was really you who did it.”

Stewart’s shoulders drooped. “So I guess I’m not a commandment-keeper?”

“Well, did you repent of telling that lie?”

“I told you and Nathan I was sorry.”

“Did you really feel sorry? Sorry enough to want to tell the truth from now on?”

“Yes.”

“If we repent when we make mistakes, Heavenly Father forgives us and forgets about the mistake. We’re still commandment-keepers, as long as we keep trying and keep repenting.”

Stewart sat tall again. He felt thankful for repentance.

Daddy asked more questions about the commandments: “Are you good to your parents?” “Do you keep Sunday special for remembering Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ?” “Do you pay tithing?” “Do you stay away from dangerous foods and drinks?”

Soon Stewart had answered every question. Daddy held out his hand. “Congratulations! You are a commandment-keeper.”

Shaking hands with his dad, Stewart beamed.

Daddy wrote some words on a small note card and handed it to Stew. “This piece of paper says that you’re a commandment-keeper. Right now, you’re not old enough to go into the temple, but you are worthy enough. That’s terrific!”

Stewart smiled, put the note card in his pocket, and said, “When I’m twelve, I’m going straight to the temple.”

“Great!”

“But right now”—Stewart grinned—“I’m only five, and I’m going straight to the kitchen. I can smell those yummy cookies and I’m starving.”

“Me too! Let’s go.”

(top of page)

Dancing in the Snow

By Robin B. Lambert
Friend, Jan 2002, 10
(This true incident is shared with us by Layna Haymond (8) of Santaquin, Utah. She is the great-great-great-great-great-granddaughter of Amy Loader, the mother in this story.)

Behold, the Lord thy God hath set the land before thee: go up and possess it … ; fear not, neither be discouraged (Deut. 1:21).

The cold winter winds had blown drifts of snow into our tent that morning. We didn’t find out until later how lucky we were—the snow had piled up on the tops of several other tents that same night, causing their roofs to collapse on the people sleeping inside. But at the time, all Tamar and Maria, two of my sisters, and I knew was that we were terribly cold and hungry.

We were camped next to the Sweetwater River with our mother and other family members, on our way to the Salt Lake Valley. It had been snowing for four days straight, and until the blizzard let up, we were stuck. And what was worse, we were quickly running out of food. Everyone in our handcart company shared their supplies equally, which meant that everyone got equally small portions. We were only allowed a handful of flour each. The night before, Mama had taken a strip of rawhide off the frame of the cart and boiled it into a sort of broth. To my brother and sisters and me, it tasted wonderful, but it did little to fill our empty stomachs. And now here we were the next morning, lying buried under a layer of quilts and a layer of snow, knowing that there would be no more food today than there was yesterday. All that stood before us was another day of cold misery.

I shut my eyes and wished that I could go back to sleep. In my dreams, at least, I was comfortable and warm. I could pretend that I was back in our lovely England, in our beautiful little cottage. I remembered the day the missionaries had spoken at our town chapel, and how Mama’s and Papa’s eyes had begun to burn with a light I had never seen before.

That was why we were here. Ever since their baptisms a few years ago, Mama and Papa had dreamed of joining the Saints in America. We had skimped and saved and finally were able to afford the price of passage on a boat to the United States.

Not being able to afford a horse or wagon, we signed on with a handcart company led by Mr. Edward Martin. Papa passed away early in the journey, and Mama’s health was very delicate. We often had to let her rest in the handcart while we three older girls pulled and pushed. She was so determined to reach Salt Lake that there was never any thought of turning back. But now, after trudging across half the American continent, it didn’t look as if we were going to get much farther. I shuddered and tried pulling the quilt closer around me. I had never felt as weak or as miserable as I did that morning.

“Patience, are you awake?” Mama’s sleepy voice came from the other side of the tent.

I groaned.

“Come, Patience, get up and help me make a fire.” I could hear the rustlings as she climbed from beneath the quilt.

The thought of leaving the small warmth provided by the quilt and my slumbering sisters made me shiver even more. “Oh, Mama,” I said, “I can’t get up. It’s too cold. And I’m so hungry! I don’t think I have the strength.”

“Tamar? How about you, lass?”

Tamar barely stirred beside me as she mumbled, “I don’t feel well, Mama, not at all. I can’t possibly get out of bed.”

Mama came over and knelt next to our huddled bodies. She put a gloved hand on Maria’s shoulder and shook her gently, saying, “Come, Maria, you get up.”

Maria groaned. “I can’t, Mama.”

Mama stood up and put her hands on her hips. “Girls, this will not do!” She pursed her lips in thought for a moment, then her face brightened. “I believe I will have to dance for you. Will that make you feel better?”

And before we could react, Mama stood on her toes and began dancing a jig, a bright lively dance from home with lots of kicking and bouncing. She also began singing an old ballad we used to sing in our village on holidays. Mama jumped and spun around, her voice cheerful and bright in the muffled stillness of the winter morning. Tamar, Maria, and I all poked our noses out from beneath the quilt to watch her, too surprised to laugh.

Then all of a sudden, Mama’s foot slipped on the snow that had drifted in through the tent door. She let out a little yelp as her feet flew out beneath her and she landed on the cold ground with a thump.

“Mama!”

In seconds, all three of us girls were at her side. We were sure that she had twisted her ankle or broken her leg or worse. But as soon as we helped her sit up, we saw that she was shaking not with pain but with silent laughter.

“Mama!” I exclaimed. “What on earth did you think you were doing, dancing like that on the snow! You could have been hurt!”

Mama chuckled again as she held us all close. “Oh, girls, I knew I had to get you out of bed somehow! I couldn’t stand the thought that my girls were getting discouraged and were going to give up. I knew that that simply would not do. So I thought that I could make you all jump up if I danced for you—especially if I fell down!”

I looked at my sisters. They looked at me. I knew at that point that no matter how hard our journey got, Mama would never let us fail. We would make it to the Salt Lake Valley if she had to drag us all along behind her.

“That was a clever little trick, Mama,” Tamar said.

“Yes,” I said as I grabbed Maria’s hand, “and now that we’re out of bed, let’s get that fire going before we all freeze to death!”

(top of page)

“I’m a Christian!”

By Christina Hoskin
Friend, Jan 2002, 26
(Based on a true story)

I would that ye should take upon you the name of Christ (Mosiah 5:8).

“What is a Christian?” Lisa asked Mom. They were in the car, driving to piano lessons. “What religion is that?”

“A Christian is someone who believes in and follows the teachings of Jesus Christ.” Mom glanced at her. “What’s this about?”

Lisa sighed. “Some kids asked me if I was Christian, and I told them that I was Mormon.”

“Mormon is a name some people call our Church members because we believe in the Book of Mormon as well as in the Bible.” Mom smiled at her. “Do you know the full name of our church?”

“Yes—it’s The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”

“Right! It has Jesus’ name in it because it’s His Church, and we worship Him and obey His commandments. So we are definitely Christians.” Mom patted Lisa’s knee. “But I can think of two quick answers you can use to tell someone about our church.”

“What are they?”

“I know that you’ve already learned most of the Articles of Faith,” Mom said. “Tell me the first one.”

“OK. ‘We believe in God, the Eternal Father, and in His Son, Jesus Christ, and in the Holy Ghost.’ ” [A of F 1:1]

Mom smiled. “Excellent! Did you listen to what you said? You just told the whole world what Latter-day Saints believe.”

“Yes! I did!” Lisa sat up straight, “We believe in Heavenly Father, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost.”

“Good. The second way to tell people about our church is even easier. This one is a song.”

“A song?”

“Can you think of a Primary song about the Savior and the Church?”

“ ‘Jesus wants me for a sunbeam,’ ” Lisa sang, her voice cracking on the high note.

They both laughed.

“Well, that’s a good song,” Mom said. “But I was thinking of ‘The Church of Jesus Christ.’ ”*

“Oh!”

“Let’s sing it together. Listen closely to the words and see if you can hear what we believe. Ready?”

“I belong to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
I know who I am.
I know God’s plan.
I’ll follow him in faith.
I believe in the Savior, Jesus Christ.
I’ll honor his name.
I’ll do what is right;
I’ll follow his light.
His truth I will proclaim.”

Lisa was smiling when they finished singing. “That is easy!”

“If anyone asks you what church you belong to, tell them, ‘I belong to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.’ ”

“And I’m a Christian!”

“And you’re always going to be one of Jesus’ sunbeams, too!”

(top of page)

Lacy’s Talent

By Kay Timpson
Friend, Jan 2002, 43
( A true story)

For all have not every gift given unto them; for there are many gifts, and to every man is given a gift by the Spirit of God (D&C 46:11).

The lights dimmed, and a hush fell over the audience. All eyes watched as Elise seemed to float across the stage in a soft, blue dress that swirled around her like a mist. She danced as if no one was watching.

Lacy sat quietly as musicians played, quartets sang, and families performed comedy acts and wonderful musical numbers. The more she saw, the worse she felt. If only she had a talent! The ward talent show was the best activity of the year, and Lacy was never able to be a part of it.

All the way home, Lacy was quiet. Finally Mom said, “That was one of the best talent shows yet.”

“Your friend Elise sure can dance, Lacy,” her brother Ryan added. “She seems to float.”

I wish he was talking about me, Lacy thought.

“I hate going to the talent show, Mom,” Lacy tearfully admitted later that night. “I’d rather stay home than go and see all the things that others can do. I can’t do anything. Our family can’t do anything, either. The Billings family sings together. The Myerses have their own family band. All my friends either sing, dance, or play an instrument. I feel like a loser.” Lacy sobbed into her pillow.

“Lacy,” Mom quietly reminded, “we all have talents. They may not be performed on a stage, but they are wonderful. You must find yours and then use them. That’s why Heavenly Father gave them to you. Why don’t you think about the things that you do well, and we’ll talk later.” Mom quietly slipped from the room to care for their newest foster child, three-year-old Brittany.

Sometime during the night, Brittany slipped into Lacy’s bed. “Bwitney scared,” she said. “Bwitney scared at night.” Lacy gently pulled the covers up over her trembling little body and patted her back.

During Primary on Sunday, Brittany wanted Lacy to stay with her, so Lacy sat in the Sunbeam class with her. “Children, we have a new Sunbeam to welcome to Primary. Lacy, would you like to introduce your new sister to us?”

Brittany squeezed Lacy’s hand as they walked to the front. “This is Brittany, my new sister.” As the children sang “Hello! Hello! Hello! Hello! We welcome you today,” Brittany hid her face in Lacy’s dress.

“Why is your new sister so shy?” Lacy’s friend Alan asked after Primary. “She acts like she’s afraid of the world!” “

She is afraid. How would you feel if you had to move to a new home where you didn’t know anyone, not even your new family? She’s just a little girl. She’s still getting used to us.”

Alan poked Lacy in the arm as he ran down the hall. “You’re going to have the biggest family in the world if you guys get any more kids.”

Later, Lacy was helping Brittany get ready for bed. “Wead to Bwitney, please, Lacy.”

Lacy laughed and hugged Brittany. “Sure! Go get a book. I’ll read you one story.”

Brittany came running back with a book of Bible stories. Pointing to the picture of Noah, she said, “This one, Lacy.”

“You really like that story, don’t you? This time, why don’t we be the animals? The bed can be the ark. We’ll climb onto the ark and look for our stalls.”

Brittany hung her head down low and made her arms into an elephant’s trunk. Lumbering onto the ark, she bellowed, “I hungwy! I firsty! I sleepy.”

“Caw! Caw! I need my nest. I need some seed,” Lacy crowed as she flapped her arms and “flew” around the ark.

When the girls finished the story, it was bedtime for Brittany. “Tuck me in, please, Lacy.”

Stepping into the room, Mom said, “Prayers first, Brittany.”

“Lacy help me,” Brittany told her.

“Is that OK, Mom?” Lacy asked quietly.

Mom nodded with a smile.

Brittany knelt by her bed. It amazed Lacy how easily all her sisters and brothers learned to pray. With a little prompting, Brittany began. “Dear Hebenly Father, please bless Lacy. She loves me. Amen.”

Tears stung Lacy’s eyes. A million thoughts flashed through her mind. She knew a little about each of the children who had joined her family before they came. All of them had suffered more than Lacy could imagine. Each had brought her or his own special spirit into her family, and Lacy loved them all. She enjoyed helping to care for them. She read to them and played games with them. She helped them to dress and did their hair. Most of all, she tried to help them to be happy, to feel safe, and to know that Heavenly Father loved them.

Lacy hugged Brittany as she tucked her in. “I really do love you, Brittany. You’re a wonderful sister.”

“Mom,” Lacy said later. “I think I know what one of my talents is.”

“You have many talents, Lacy. Which one do you mean?”

“Well, it’s really an easy thing. You can’t watch it or listen to it, and you’d never be able to do it in a talent show. I’m not even sure it’s a talent. But I know I’m good at it—our whole family is good at it—and it helps people.”

“Lacy, not all talents are meant to entertain people. Some are meant to bless them. Which talent are you talking about?”

“I love all the kids who come to live with us. I love them so much that I want to help make their lives better. If they get to stay forever, then I get to keep helping. If they have to leave, I pray that what they have learned and felt here stays with them forever. Is that a talent, Mom?”

“Lacy, it’s only one of your talents, but it’s surely one of the best of them.”

(top of page)

(February)

Timmy’s Temple Trip

By Angela Murdock
Friend, Feb 2002, 4
( A true story)

What therefore God hath joined together, let not man put asunder [tear apart] (Mark 10:9).

Timmy had seen the Logan Utah Temple many times when he went shopping in Logan with Mom. He always looked for the temple during the drive. He especially liked seeing it lit up at night. It towered over everything else in the city, as if it was keeping watch over everyone.

Today as they traveled to Logan, it wasn’t for shopping, and he looked forward to seeing the temple even more. He was going there with his family to be sealed together forever. He couldn’t wait until they arrived!

He hummed “I Love to See the Temple,” one of his favorite songs. Today it meant even more to him. Last Monday, the family had had a special family home evening to talk about what was going to happen when they went to the temple and what it would mean for their family. He knew that after today, his family could be together forever.

He was glad about that. He couldn’t imagine not having his mom and dad and sisters with him always. Even though he didn’t always get along well with his sisters—they sometimes got into his room and into his things—he still wanted to have them forever. All week they seemed especially cute, and he couldn’t help being nice to them.

They were six-year-old twins, and sometimes he felt kind of left out. No matter what, they always had each other, so sometimes he felt a little lonely. After his family had started going to church, though, he realized that he was never really alone. Heavenly Father was always with him, no matter what. He could pray to Him at any time, and He would be there to help him.

Timmy’s mom and dad had been raised in the Church, but it wasn’t until they moved back to Mom’s hometown that they started going to church every week. The missionaries had come and given them the discussions about Joseph Smith and how he had prayed in the Sacred Grove. They said that Heavenly Father had told Joseph that none of the churches were true. He had received the priesthood and restored the true church of Jesus Christ. Timmy liked to listen to these stories about Joseph Smith.

One night, the missionaries brought a video about the Savior visiting the Nephites in America. Timmy really enjoyed it. He thought about what it would be like to sit at Jesus’ knee with angels all around and to hear Jesus speak just to him. His family started to have family prayer every night, and he could tell that the spirit in their home had changed. He knew that the Holy Ghost was with them.

Now as they drove to the temple, he could feel in his heart that Heavenly Father was pleased with them. “Mom, how much longer before we get there?” he asked. He was getting impatient even though they had left the house only ten minutes ago.

“It won’t take us very long. Just watch out the window for the temple,” Mom said.

“I bet I see the temple first,” Sarah piped up.

“I bet I do!” Suzy exclaimed.

They all watched for it eagerly as they came into Logan. Suddenly all three cried out, “There it is!”

Timmy’s heart beat a little faster. Mom and Dad had come to the temple yesterday morning to receive their own endowments. Today they would all be sealed together as a family.

Dad pulled up in front of the temple to let them out while he went to park the car. Timmy’s grandparents were already there. He could see them standing inside the doorway. He wanted to run inside and give them a big hug, but this place seemed too quiet and too special to run. He walked reverently, but he couldn’t help jumping into Grandpa’s open arms.

When Dad came, a woman said that she would take Timmy, Sarah, and Suzy into another room, where they would wait till it was time to be sealed to their parents. Timmy wasn’t sure he wanted to leave Mom, but she said that it would be all right and that they would be together soon. Timmy took his sisters’ hands and followed the woman into a room like the nursery at Primary.

The temple workers had two white dresses for Sarah and Suzy to wear and a white jumpsuit (clothing in which the shirt and pants are attached) for Timmy. Mom and Dad had told him that in the temple they would wear all white, just like when Timmy was baptized.

Finally it was time to change their clothes and go upstairs to one of the sealing rooms. Sister Smith took them in an elevator to the third floor. They stood outside a door until it was opened, and then Timmy and his sisters went into the sealing room.

Their grandparents, some aunts and uncles, and Mom and Dad were in the room. Timmy thought that Mom looked beautiful all dressed in white. She and Dad, also dressed in white, looked really happy, even though she had a tear in her eye.

Timmy felt a warmth like he had never felt before. He felt like he wanted to cry, too. Mom looked at him and smiled. It took only a few minutes, and they were sealed forever.

As they stood up, Timmy’s grandmothers both came and put their arms around him and his sisters. One of them said, “Look in the mirror. See—your family now goes on forever.”

Timmy hadn’t noticed the mirrors, or even what the room looked like when he first came in, but now he could see that there were mirrors lining the walls in front of him and behind him. They went from floor to ceiling and reflected everyone in the room. A big chandelier seemed to cast a spotlight over Timmy, his sisters, and his mom and dad, who were all standing in the middle of the room with their arms around each other. Timmy couldn’t help but cry now. He felt a little silly, but Mom bent down, took him in her arms, and said, “Timmy, now you will be my big boy forever!” and Timmy could see that she was crying, too. Everyone came and gave them hugs and congratulated them.

Later, when Timmy and his sisters changed out of the white “temple clothes,” Sister White gave them each a certificate with their names and a picture of the temple on it for their books of remembrance. The certificate said that on September 11, 1998, they were sealed to their family for time and all eternity.

(top of page)

When Grandma Got Sick

By Marvin D. Cummings
Friend, Feb 2002, 10
( A true story)

I call to remembrance the … faith that is in thee, which dwelt first in thy grandmother Lois (2 Tim. 1:5).

When I was seven years old, my grandma became very frail. Mom and Dad worried that Grandma couldn’t cook for herself. They worried that she would fall down the steps of her porch and not be able to get up. Dad said, “When people get old, sometimes their bones break easily.” Grandma was very old. That was why Mom and Dad worried about her.

One night they talked about Grandma. They talked way past my bedtime and thought that I was asleep. I couldn’t sleep because I was worried about Grandma, too. I didn’t want her to get hurt. I wanted to play old maid (a matching game played with special cards) with her as we always did.

She was the best old maid player ever. She nearly always won—except when she let me win. I knew she let me win, because she’d always say, “Everyone needs to be a winner.” One time I think I really beat her in a game of old maid. When she got the “old maid,” she squealed and laughed so hard, and she called me a “little stinker.” I laughed because it made her laugh more. I loved to hear her laugh.

“We’re moving to Grandma’s house,” Dad told me the next morning.

“Grandma’s house?” I asked.

“That’s right. We’re moving in two weeks.”

“Hurray—we’re going to Grandma’s house!” I shouted. I ran into the bedroom where my two younger brothers were still sleeping. I pulled their covers off and yelled at the top of my lungs. “We’re going to move to Grandma’s house!”

They woke up and rubbed their eyes. “Huh?” was all they said.

I hurried off to tell my baby sister. She gooed and made funny gurgling sounds. Then she squealed really loud and threw her pink piggy rattle out of the crib so that I would fetch it for her. I picked up the rattle and put it in her hand. She said “Gram-ma.” No one believed that she said it, but I know what I heard.

Grandma’s house was big enough for her and my whole family to live in. We pulled into her driveway and unloaded all our stuff. I went running into the kitchen, where she nearly always was cooking something good to eat. She wasn’t there. I ran into the living room that had Grandpa’s picture hanging above the fireplace. She wasn’t there, either. I ran out of the living room and right into Daddy’s legs.

“Hold on, sweetheart,” he said. “Where are you going so fast?”

“I’m looking for Grandma. I can’t find her.”

“Come with me, sweetheart. I’ll show you where she is.”

Dad took me to Grandma’s bedroom. She was asleep in her big shiny brass bed. I started to talk to her. “Grand—”

“Shhhh,” Daddy whispered. “Grandma needs her rest.”

“Will she be able to play old maid with me, Daddy?” I asked in my softest voice.

“I think she would like that, sweetheart. I think she would like that a whole lot.”

And that’s what we did, Grandma and I. She couldn’t get out of bed much, so I brought the old maid cards to her. I’d climb up the post of her big brass bed. Then I’d smooth out the quilt that she said was made from pieces of Grandpa’s old wool plaid shirts. Then we played old maid until we both fell asleep.

On the very last game I was ever to play with Grandma, she squealed really loud and laughed because she got the “old maid.” She called me a “little stinker.” Then she gave me a big hug and said, “You’re the winner, my little darling. You’re the winner.”

(top of page)

Faint White Line

By Ian Mackay
Friend, Feb 2002, 36
(A true story)

Whosoever shall call on the name of the Lord shall be delivered (Joel 2:32).

We were already late, so when Dad called for a prayer in the car before starting our trip, I grumbled silently. We were on our way to an Aaronic Priesthood snow outing—a rarity in southern California, and not to be delayed. Dad offered the prayer himself and prayed earnestly for our safety. Before the day was over, I would be grateful for that prayer.

It was after six o’clock and dark when we finally started, but the weather was fine. It remained clear until we got to Running Springs, where clouds settled over the mountains, engulfing us in fog. The road had been cleared of snow, but the light-gray asphalt was covered with frost, making it almost impossible to distinguish the narrow highway from the snow-blanketed shoulders.

For a few miles, Dad was able to see the white center line, and we felt safe. But as we drove along in the cold air, the car’s heater and our breath began to cloud up the windows. We kept wiping the windshield to clear it, but it just wasn’t enough. Dad had to roll down his window, stick his head out, and try to see the white line.

The fog grew thicker as we climbed the mountain, and the air got even colder. There was a limit to how long Dad could keep his head out the window without freezing. We couldn’t pull off the road for fear of running off the edge of the cliff. We couldn’t stop. We couldn’t turn around. There was no choice but to go forward.

“OK, boys,” Dad said. “You’re going to have to take turns being my eyes. I’ll keep trying to see the road through the windshield, but that’s almost impossible. One of you in the back roll down the window behind me and keep me on that white line!”

By now we were grateful for Dad’s prayer. In fact, we were all praying silently ourselves. We were petrified. One of us stuck his head out the window and began calling out directions. He kept at it until his eyes felt as though they would freeze. Then we traded off.

For ten miles, we watched that white line and gave directions: “Turn a little to the right,” “Stay straight,” “A little to the left.” The line was faint and really hard to see, but we managed to keep it in sight. Of course, Dad drove very slowly, and those ten miles seemed like an eternity. As we neared Big Bear, the road improved, and Dad was able to follow it without our help. We arrived at the cabin, tired, safe, and very grateful.

The next morning we had a great time in the snow—sledding, having snowball fights, and generally getting wet and very cold. None of us was dressed for snow. We were in jeans, shoes, and thin jackets—people living in the warm flatlands of southern California aren’t prepared for snow. After lunch, we were ready to start home.

The sun had come out, and the roads were clear. As we left the Big Bear area, we all began talking about the faint white line we had followed those ten endless miles the night before. We wondered why the line hadn’t been painted much more heavily. As we came to the scary section of road, we discovered to our utter astonishment that for long stretches there was no white line at all! At first we thought that this was not the right place—that it must be farther down the mountain. As we drove on, however, we began to realize that it was the right place.

The night before, every one of us, my father included, had seen a white line. We knew we had. It was what had kept us on the road. It took a while for us to understand what had happened. Then we were overwhelmed. The Lord had provided the white line that had guided us up the mountain.

I don’t think I ever again murmured about a prayer being said before we left on an outing—even if we were late.

(top of page)

Jeans and the Six Bs

By Jane McBride Choate
Friend, Feb 2002, 46
(Based on a true story)

Till I die I will not remove mine integrity from me (Job 27:5).

Alaina could hardly wait to try on the jeans she had bought at a garage sale. The fringed denim pants were exactly what the other girls in her sixth grade class were wearing.

Until she started middle school, she hadn’t minded wearing the second-hand clothes she and her mom found at garage sales. Then she started noticing that the other girls were dressing differently.

Her friends talked constantly about clothes—what was cool, what wasn’t. The jeans, Alaina decided, were definitely cool.

In her room, she pulled on the jeans, happy to find that they fit perfectly. Hearing a crinkling sound, she slipped her hand into a pocket and pulled out a crumpled five-dollar bill.

She stared at it, hardly able to believe her eyes. Five dollars! That would pay for her school field trip to the planetarium next week.

The five-dollar bill was more than just money. It was a way to help her family. Ever since her dad had started his own consulting business last year, money had been tight in her family. They had been eating out of their food storage. A half-smile crossed her face. Alaina and her brothers frequently joked about all the ways her mom had found to serve cracked wheat.

The smile vanished as she recalled President Hinckley’s talk about the Six Bs. Be grateful. Be smart. Be clean. Be true. Be humble. Be prayerful.

Her family had talked about them in family home evening, and one of her friends had given a talk on them in Primary. If she kept the money, she wouldn’t be true—not to herself or to her beliefs. She would not be clean, either. Just the thought of keeping something that didn’t belong to her made her feel itchy. She knew she wouldn’t enjoy wearing the jeans if she kept the money.

Alaina thought of the other Bs. Stealing—and that’s what keeping the money would be—wasn’t being grateful, smart, humble, or prayerful. It went against everything she believed.

She found Mom in the kitchen, putting away the few groceries they’d bought. Mom turned and smiled. “Hey, those look great on you.”

When Alaina didn’t return the smile, Mom gestured to the chairs around the kitchen table. “What’s wrong?” she asked, sitting down. “Don’t you like the jeans?”

Alaina unfolded the five dollar bill and placed it on the table. “I found this in one of the pockets.”

Mom nodded slowly. “What are you going to do with it?”

“Would you take me back to that garage sale? I want to give the money to the girl who sold me the jeans.”

Her mom leaned across the table to give Alaina a quick hug. “I sure will.”

At the garage sale, Alaina handed the money to the girl and explained how she’d found it in the jeans. The girl gave Alaina a puzzled look, then thanked her.

Alaina wore the pants the following Monday. Her friends complimented her on them, and she smiled. Looking good was nice. Feeling good was even better.

(top of page)

Mission Impossible?

By Lori Mortensen
Friend, Mar 2002, 11
(Based on a true story)

A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another (John 13:34).

I stared at my crooked tie in the mirror. “Do I have to go to Primary, Dad?”

“I thought you liked Primary, Brandon.” Dad poked his head into my bedroom.

“I used to, but not anymore.” I sighed. “Not since Justin moved away. Now there isn’t anybody in my class except Tyson, Kenny, and Derek. Nobody wants to sit next to Tyson because he’s a troublemaker. And ever since Kenny and Derek started going to the same school, they don’t even bother talking to me. I don’t have any friends in Primary now.” I swallowed at the growing lump in my throat.

I waited for Dad to tell me that he understood how awful it could be to not have any friends in Primary, but he just straightened my tie and said, “So what are you going to do about it?”

“Me? What can I do? I can’t make Justin move back—his dad got a new job about a million miles away.”

“But isn’t there some way you could make friends with the other boys?”

Hadn’t Dad been listening? “I could never be friends with them,” I said, my voice wavering. “They don’t like me, and I don’t like them.”

“One of the reasons we go to church is to become more like Jesus Christ,” he said. “What do you think He would want you to do?”

I rolled my eyes. Dad was always saying stuff like that. But I glanced at the picture of Jesus above my bed. His kind, brown eyes seemed to look right at me. I knew that Jesus would love everyone. But then He’s never had Tyson, Kenny, and Derek in His Primary class, either, I thought stubbornly. “I don’t know, Dad. What would Jesus do?”

Dad opened my Bible to John 13:34 and asked me to read it out loud.

“ ‘A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another.’ ”

I was getting even more discouraged now. “How am I supposed to do that when I don’t even like them?”

“The same way the Savior showed His love and the way we show love in our own family,” Dad said. “By doing things for each other—love and service go together. Remember the stories I’ve told you about when I served a mission in Texas?”

“Sure, Dad.” I gave him a big smile. “You’ve always said how much you loved it.”

“That’s right.” Dad’s smile was just as big. “And there’s a reason why it’s called ‘serving’ a mission. I spent two years serving hundreds of people I didn’t even know. But the more I served, the more my love for the people in my mission grew. You could do the same thing in your class.”

“You mean do things for the boys in my class? Why would I want to do anything for them? Tyson tripped me last week, and the other two act as though I’m not even there.”

“But if you did,” Dad said, staring me straight in the eye, “their feelings would change—and so would yours. You could think of it as your mission to your own Valiant class if you want to.”

I gulped. I wanted to be a regular, full-time missionary when I was older, but “go on a mission” to my Primary class? “I don’t know, Dad,” I muttered. “It sounds more like a ‘mission impossible.’ ”

“Maybe.” He smiled again. “But would you think about it?”

I thought about it all the way to church. I finally figured that if I didn’t do something, I’d be miserable forever—or at least until another boy my age moved in. And in a small town like mine, who knew when that would be? But what exactly can a Primary missionary do? I wondered.

I got my first idea when I opened the big glass doors of the church and saw Elder Richards and Elder Martinez smiling and shaking hands with people in the foyer. If I was going to be a Primary missionary, I knew I’d have to try that, even though just the thought of it made my stomach leap as if I’d swallowed a dozen tree frogs.

I walked to the Primary room as slowly as I could, half hoping my entire class would be out of town. When I opened the door, Kenny and Derek were already huddled together at the end of the row, whispering and giggling. Tyson was tipping back in his chair, blocking the row with his feet.

Normally I would have plopped onto a chair by the wall and ignored everybody. But this time I couldn’t—not if I was going to be a missionary.

I took a deep breath and forced my legs to march to my row. “Er, … hi, Tyson,” I mumbled. Our eyes locked for a second, my mouth forming an awkward smile. “Can I sit down?”

He looked startled—like he’d never seen me before. Then, after a moment, he dropped his feet and chair to the floor. “Yeah, go ahead.”

I stepped around his feet, just in case he was thinking of tripping me again, and sat on a chair in the middle of the row. Then I turned toward the other two and waved. “Hi, Derek. Hi, Kenny.” You would have thought from their reaction that I’d just announced their name over the microphone or something.

But after a quick “Oh, hi” back, they were again hunched over a piece of paper Kenny had fished out of his pocket.

So much for being a missionary! I thought glumly. I couldn’t think of anything else to do until Sister Reynolds called for volunteers to read some scriptures she’d written on the board. I shot my head into the air. Missionaries definitely read scriptures.

But just when I thought Sister Reynolds was going to pick me, she called on Tyson instead. He hadn’t even raised his hand.

“What?” he said, fumbling for the books under his chair.

Sister Reynolds frowned slightly. “Would anyone else like to read Alma 17:25?”

Then, just as I was going to shoot my hand into the air again, I got another idea. I pushed my own Book of Mormon onto Tyson’s lap and pointed to the verse. “It’s right there,” I whispered.

“It’s OK—I’ll read it,” he said, taking the book. He read about Ammon, a Book of Mormon missionary who served the Lord by becoming King Lamoni’s servant and watching his flocks.

When he finished, he slipped my Book of Mormon back on my lap. “Thanks,” he said. “I’m not very good at finding scriptures.”

“No problem.” I just shrugged. But inside, I was feeling as good as if I’d read the scripture myself. Suddenly Tyson didn’t seem like such a troublemaker. Was this what Dad had been talking about?

Later, in class, I sat by Tyson and Kenny. It was so fun listening to Brother Duncan’s lesson that I forgot I was even on my mission until he asked for volunteers to play a drawing guessing game. Kenny and I jumped to the edge of our seats, waving our hands. Then I remembered. “Go ahead, Kenny. You can go first.”

“Hey, thanks,” he said.

I found out that he could draw pictures better than anybody in the whole class. “Where’d you learn to draw like that?” I asked after the closing prayer.

“Oh, nowhere,” he said, his eyes shining. “I draw all the time—see?” He pulled out the piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded a picture he’d drawn of a really cool scooter with heavy duty shock absorbers.

“Wow!” I said. “It’s the same kind of scooter that I’ve been saving for.”

“I’m going to get one for my birthday,” Derek chimed in. “Except it’s still three months away.”

Kenny stuffed the picture back into his pocket and headed for the door. “Well, I better go, Brandon. See you next week.”

“Yeah, see you next week,” I said. Then I rushed down the hallway to find Dad. Making friends in my Valiant 10 class was not only possible—it was fun. Primary was going to be better than ever.

(top of page)

Different

By Kimberly Hofhiens
Friend, Mar 2002, 28
(Based on a true incident)

As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord (Josh. 24:15).

“Look!” Danielle lounged against the bed, holding a pencil “cigarette” between her fingers.

“You look like a girl in the magazines,” Sidney said. “Will you smoke when you grow up?”

Danielle frowned. “I don’t know.” They all knew that her mom smoked.

“People die from smoking. Aren’t you worried about your mom?” Jessica asked.

Danielle tossed the pencil down. “Remember the policewoman who came to school and talked about drugs? Well, I went home after school that day and asked Mom to quit.”

“Wow!” Jessica exclaimed. “What did she say?”

“She said that she’d tried to quit when I was a baby, but it was too hard.”

“That sounds like my parents,” Sidney said. “When I told them that drinking alcohol was bad, my dad said, ‘It is a tradition in our family to drink wine, and I’m not about to break tradition!’ ”

“It’s strange,” Danielle said. “They teach us in school not to do something, but everyone still does it—even our parents and teachers.” She glanced at Jessica. “Everyone but your family.”

Jessica’s face grew hot. She didn’t know what to say. She was relieved when Sidney’s mom called to her. “Jessica, your mom is here!”

Jessica ran for the door. “Bye, Danielle. Bye, Sidney. I had a lot of fun.”

As Jessica joined her mom, she thought, It’s too bad Danielle’s mom smokes. If Mom smoked, I’d worry about it all the time.

Mom saw her frown. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” Jessica jumped into the car. “I’m just glad you’re so healthy.”

Mom started the car and pulled into traffic. “I’ll feel healthier after this baby is born.”

“A few weeks, right?”

“Right. That’s why Grandpa is watching you kids tonight. Dad and I are going on a date before life gets too busy.”

“Yahoo! Another late night!”

Mom laughed. “But not too late. Tomorrow is Sunday.”

Later, when Kaylie and Meghan were in bed, Jessica and Grandpa played games and talked.

“You’ve been painting your nails, Popcorn.”

Jessica smiled at her nickname. “Sidney and Danielle painted my nails.”

“I remember them—two little pixies.”

“That was a long time ago, Grandpa. We’re growing up now. I’m graduating from Primary in a few months.”

“A young woman! Not my granddaughter!” Grandpa harrumphed. “Pretty soon you’ll think you know everything—just like your mother at your age. Why, she was the one who persuaded me to become an active Latter-day Saint.”

“Grandpa!” Jessica gasped. “I thought you were an active member of the Church all your life.”

Grandpa shook his head. “I joined the Church when your mother was a young girl. Before I joined it, I smoked and drank. Later, I went back to my old bad habits. It was hard to quit again.” Grandpa shrugged. “I finally just gave up trying.”

Jessica stared at him. “And Mom got you to quit?”

“She came home one day singing about eternal families. She wanted to know which temple we were sealed in. When I told her that I couldn’t go to the temple, she cried.”

“But you were married in the temple, Grandpa! Mom told me.”

“Yes, but only after preparing myself. I had to work at it.”

“Did you ever feel like smoking again?” Jessica asked, remembering Danielle’s mother.

“All the time. But whenever I did, your mother knew. I can see a lot of her in you.”

Grandpa poured them each a glass of apple juice, and they went out to the back porch swing. Something was troubling Jessica, but how could she explain it to Grandpa? Finally she said, “Grandpa, our family is different.”

Grandpa grinned. “Downright peculiar.”

“Grandpa!” Jessica was relieved that he wasn’t angry, but she still needed help. She remembered how embarrassed she had felt when Sidney said that Jessica’s family did everything right. Why was she embarrassed about being good?

Grandpa took a sip of his juice. “So you don’t like being different.”

Jessica shrugged. “Danielle’s mother smokes, and Sidney’s parents drink wine, but our family never does anything like that. Some of the kids at school watch movies that Dad and Mom won’t even see. I just feel like I’m kind of strange.”

Grandpa smiled. “You are strange, Popcorn.”

“Grandpa, I’m not joking. It’s hard to be different. I’m afraid I’ll lose my friends.”

Grandpa got up and went inside. He came back with his well-worn scriptures and thumbed through the pages. “ ‘But ye are a chosen generation,’ ” he read aloud, “ ‘a royal priesthood, an holy nation, a peculiar people; that ye should shew forth the praises of him who hath called you out of darkness into his marvellous light.’ ”* He looked up. “Do you know what that means?”

“That we’re supposed to be different?”

“Yes, and we are different. You accepted the name of Christ at baptism, Jessica, and you promised to follow Him. Now you are getting old enough to see more clearly what that means and the wonderful difference it makes.”

Jessica thought it over. “My friends see the difference, too, Grandpa.”

“If they are true friends, they’ll stand by you. Some of them may even stand with you.”

Jessica thought, Maybe Grandpa’s right. Mom stood for what was right, and Grandpa quit smoking. What if I stand by Danielle?

She smiled up at Grandpa. “I’m glad Mom helped you quit smoking. Otherwise we might not be a forever family.”

“I’m glad, too, Popcorn. I’m glad, too.”

(top of page)

We’ll Find Room

By Trudy Fuhriman
Friend, Mar. 2002, 36
(Based on a true story)

I love sister; she loves me (Children’s Songbook, page 198).

I may be small, but Mommy says that I’m a big help. I help her every day.

Sometimes I help her with the dishes. She gives them to me, and I put them in the cupboard. One day while we were doing the dishes, Mommy said, “Samuel, a new baby is coming to live in our house. You will have a new sister or brother.”

I looked at the cupboard. It was full of dishes. I said, “We can’t have a new baby. There’s no room for baby dishes.”

Mommy laughed. “We’ll find room,” she said.

Sometimes I help Mommy clean our three bedrooms. One is for her and Daddy. One is for Peter and Daniel. One is for Dawn and me. One day while we were cleaning the bedrooms, I said, “We can’t have a new baby. There’s no room for a baby bed.”

Mommy ruffled my hair. “We’ll find room,” she said.

Sometimes I help Mommy set the table. I set placemats and cups. Mommy sets the rest. We have six placemats and six chairs. One day while we were setting the table, I said, “We can’t have a new baby. There’s no room for a baby chair.”

Mommy gave me a hug. “We’ll find room,” she said.

On Sunday we go to church. I put on my pants and shoes. Daddy ties my shoes and buttons my shirt. We all get into the car and drive to church. Mommy and Daddy and I sit in the front seat. Dawn and Peter and Daniel sit in the backseat. One Sunday while we were driving to church, I said, “We can’t have another baby. There’s no room for a baby seat.”

Mommy put her arm around me. “We’ll find room,” she said.

At church I sit on Daddy’s lap. I try to be quiet. I fold my arms at prayer time and during the sacrament. Then I watch the people.

One Sunday while I was sitting on Daddy’s lap at church, I looked around the chapel. It was full of people. I whispered, “We can’t have a new baby. There’s no room in the chapel.”

Daddy smiled and whispered back, “Don’t worry, Samuel. We’ll find room.”

Yesterday the new baby came. She’s a girl. She’s tiny and not very pretty, and she cries. Mommy put her on my lap. She grabbed my finger and held on tight. I’m her big brother. Mommy looked at me and said, “Samuel, this is Eleanor. She has come to live in our family.”

“I know,” I said. “We’ll find room.”

(top of page)

(April)

Holy Place: A Story About the Laie Hawaii Temple

By Shauna Gibby
Friend, Apr 2002, 5
( A true story)

Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord? or who shall stand in his holy place? He that hath clean hands, and a pure heart (Ps. 24:3–4).

In 1919, Abigail Kailimai was four years old. She lived with her mother and father and all her older brothers and sisters in the town of Hilo on the big island of Hawaii. From her house, she could see the beautiful ocean where seals, turtles, whales, and many colorful fish swam.

Towering over her town was the large mountain called Mauna Kea. Thick rain forests and green pastures grew between her house and the mountain. Abigail could sometimes see puffs of smoke in the sky from volcanoes on the other side of the mountain.

Her father often told her wonderful stories. Her favorite story was about the temple then being built almost two hundred miles away on the island of Oahu. Father told her how, long ago, Joseph F. Smith had come to Hawaii as a missionary. The year Abigail was born, he had returned as President of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and had dedicated a sugarcane field where the Church would build a temple. Father told her the ground there was now holy because the prophet had blessed it.

Father told Abigail how much the Hawaiian people loved President Smith. They called him Iosepa, the Hawaiian name for Joseph. Father’s eyes sparkled when he told Abigail what a wonderful place the temple would be. He promised to take her and her family to the temple when it was built so that they could be sealed together forever.

On Sundays, Abigail’s family went to church. Some people walked to church, and some rode horses. Father had an automobile. The whole family climbed inside it and rode to church. She loved learning about Jesus there. Her teacher often talked about the holy temple that was being built.

One day, Abigail’s mother told her the temple was almost finished! Their family needed to get ready to make the long journey there. Mother sewed new white dresses for Abigail and her sisters. They had been saving their money for a long time so that they could sail to Oahu.

Father told them that they needed to get ready to go to the holy temple in other ways, too. They needed to try to act as Jesus would, so that they would be worthy to go inside His house. Mother wrote down the names of her grandparents and great-grandparents and other relatives who had died so that they could be sealed to the family, too.

Finally the day came for them to leave. Abigail wore her prettiest dress and carried a small bag with her new white dress in it. Their friends came to give them flower leis to wear around their necks and to wish them a good journey. Abigail and her family climbed into the boat and were soon far out on the ocean.

Father showed Abigail how smoke and steam came out of the boat’s smokestack. The steam made the boat go. Abigail liked to watch the boat slice through the waves and to see the dolphins swimming alongside. After a very long day, they finally arrived in Oahu.

Abigail and her family went to the town of Laie, where the new temple had been built. One of the families living there invited them to stay in their home. Abigail shared a room where all the girls slept. In the morning, the children went outside and played in the sand dunes near the beach.

The next day, November 27, 1919, President Heber J. Grant came to dedicate the temple. Abigail could feel that the temple was a wonderful, holy place. After the dedication, the Saints held a luau, or big feast, to celebrate. They ate pork, chicken, fish, bananas, rice, and coconuts. They sang beautiful songs.

One week after the temple was dedicated, Abigail and her family went inside it to be sealed together. She wore her new white dress. Father told her that now their family could be together even after they went to heaven. Abigail felt so happy!

Fifteen years later, Abigail fell in love with David, a fine young man. They wanted theirs to be a “forever family,” too, so they went to the temple in Laie to be married. She loved being there; it was a holy place. She dreamed that one day she would be a temple worker and help other people who came to the temple.

Sixty-five years later, another temple was dedicated in Hawaii. This one was on Abigail’s island, in a town called Kona. President Gordon B. Hinckley came to dedicate it. Abigail was there, leading the choir. After the dedication, she went to the temple each week to help those who came to that beautiful, holy place.

(top of page)

Hats Off to Herb

By Alison L. Randall
Friend, Apr 2002, 10
( A true story, based on the written history of Hester N. Harris, the author’s grandmother)

Fear thou not; for I am with thee … ; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee (Isa. 41:10).

On a bright Sunday morning in 1910, I hurried through the streets of Bristol, England, with my family. “Dad,” I asked, with a tug on his coattails, “will there be many people?”

“More than usual, Hetty,” Dad answered. “We don’t often have an Apostle come to our district conference.”

“But remember,” my big brother, Herb, said, “this is a church meeting, not a social gathering.” He tried to look stern, but I could tell that he was teasing.

“There will be plenty of time for both,” Dad said. “After all, it’s hard enough to make friends nowadays.”

He’d said that last bit quietly, almost to himself. I knew life hadn’t been easy for Dad since he’d been baptized. His coworkers teased him about giving up his pipe. And the daily papers often wrote mean things about the Church. But Dad stayed strong. Sometimes I wondered how I would do if I were faced with persecution. I looked up at Herb and wondered what he would do.

We soon reached Wolseley Hall. It wasn’t really a proper church building, but that day it looked like one. Members in their best Sunday clothes milled outside the doors, shaking hands and greeting old friends. Then everyone gathered in the hall.

When we were seated, some men filed into the seats in the front. I recognized the district president, President Little. He was followed by a man in a long-tailed black coat and a tall silk hat.

I tapped my dad’s arm. “Is that Elder Clawson?” I whispered. Dad nodded.

I knew that Elder Rudger Clawson was an Apostle. I looked closely at him, but except for the way he was dressed, he looked the same as the men sitting next to him. But later, when he spoke, I knew that there was something special about him. The feeling in my heart reminded me of our first visit with the missionaries. When they had taught us about Joseph Smith, a warm feeling had filled the room. I felt that same warmth as I listened to Elder Clawson speak.

We had three meetings that day, with a break in between each for a bite to eat. I thought I’d be tired of meetings, but I was a little sad when Elder Clawson stood up to give the last talk. I’d felt so good inside all day, I almost wished the day would never end.

I tried hard to listen to Elder Clawson’s speech so that I could go home and write it in my journal. But as he was speaking, I heard shouts outside the hall. Suddenly a big splotch of mud hit the window above my head. More mud and rocks struck other windows around the hall, and the shouting grew louder.

“What’s happening?” Herb whispered to Dad.

“It sounds like a mob,” Dad answered grimly.

Elder Clawson finished his talk as if nothing were happening, then announced that he would give the closing prayer.

“We ask thee, Father, to watch over and protect us,” he prayed, and as he did, the fear left my heart.

After Elder Clawson finished his prayer, he told us to stay in the hall until it was safe to leave.

“What are we waiting for?” I whispered to Dad, after we’d been sitting for half an hour, listening to the shouting outside.

“I don’t know,” my dad answered, “but the Lord will provide.”

A few minutes later, a knock sounded boldly on the door. President Little opened the door a crack and peered out. There stood a friend of his, a police officer. He had his uniform on, and he had brought along another police officer.

“Follow me,” the officer said. “I have a tram car waiting in the street.”

The two officers turned and swung their clubs to make a path for us through the mob.

“Stay close,” Dad whispered as we stepped out the door. I took a deep breath and threw my shoulders back, surprised to find that I wasn’t a bit scared.

Elder Clawson followed behind us. As he walked through the door, shouts rang out.

“There he is!” “The Mormon Apostle!” “Get him!”

The crowd surged in around us, and Herb left my side. “Herb,” I called. I turned to see him pluck the hat from Elder Clawson’s head, cram it on his own and dash off.

“There he goes!” someone shouted, pointing at the top hat bobbing through the crowd. “After him!”

I stood, stunned, watching the crowd break up and chase my brother. Then I felt Dad tugging my hand. “Come, Hetty. He’ll be fine. Elder Clawson asked Heavenly Father to protect us.”

“And He will,” said a voice behind us. It was Elder Clawson. He watched his hat for a moment as it disappeared into the dimming light. “You have a brave son,” he said, turning to shake my dad’s hand. “May I come over early tomorrow and thank him?”

Early the next morning, President Little and Elder Clawson came to our house. Herb, shy for once, placed the hat into Elder Clawson’s hand without a word.

“How did you get away?” President Little asked Herb.

“I hid in the bushes for a while, till they tired of looking.”

“Well done, son,” Elder Clawson said. “What made you think of putting my hat on?”

Herb looked bewildered for a second. “I don’t know.”

Elder Clawson smiled. “I do. You were prompted by the Holy Spirit.” He shook Herb’s hand.

I smiled proudly at my brother. He had done the right thing. I knew in my heart that I had, too. When we stepped into that mob, I hadn’t bowed my head and tried to hide. I’d held it high to show that I was glad to belong to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I promised myself then that I would always hold my head high and never be ashamed of the gospel of Jesus Christ.

(top of page)

A Prophet’s Example

By Jane McBride Choate
Friend, Apr 2002, 28
( Based on a true story)
President Gordon B. Hinckley is the living prophet of God on earth. I am grateful for him and for his example. (Elder Jerald L. Taylor of the Seventy, Ensign, May 1997, page 34.)

Nina watched as Sister Kelly struggled to pick up the toys her baby had scattered during sacrament meeting.

Sister Kelly was going to have a new baby soon, and Nina figured it must be hard for her to move around. She wondered how Sister Kelly managed to take care of Emily, especially since Brother Kelly had to travel a lot for his job.

The Kellys had moved into a house down the street from Nina a few months ago. Sister Kelly waved to her each afternoon as she walked home from middle school. Sometimes she stopped and played with two-year-old Emily for a few minutes.

Nina stooped now and began to gather up the toys and put them into the diaper bag.

“Thank you, Nina,” Sister Kelly said, standing with a sigh. “It’s getting harder and harder to bend over.” She smiled as she patted her rounded stomach, but her smile looked tired rather than happy.

How does Sister Kelly take care of Emily? Nina wondered. But what can I do? I’m only eleven years old. I have school all day and homework after that.

Nina thought about it all during Primary. When a girl in her Valiant class told a story about President Spencer W. Kimball,* Nina listened intently.

When the prophet had been waiting in an airport, he noticed a young, pregnant mother struggling to urge her child along in the line. She nudged the toddler along with her foot but didn’t pick her up. Other passengers whispered and pointed at her, but no one offered to help. President Kimball picked up the crying child and comforted her. The woman told him that because of orders from her doctor, she could not lift her child.

Only President Kimball had recognized that the young mother needed help. Only he had offered that help. Never once did he judge her, as the other passengers had.

A wave of pure knowledge swept through Nina, and she knew exactly what to do and how to do it. She spent a lot of time talking on the phone with her friends and watching TV at night. If she gave up those things, she’d have plenty of time to help Sister Kelly for a few hours each day. She could do her homework after the supper dishes were done.

She found her mother after church and explained her plan.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea.” Mom gave Nina a quick hug. “I’ll fix a casserole and send it over. If I double the recipe, they can freeze half of it and have it another night, as well.”

Nina found Sister Kelly after church. Her eyes looked tired, and faint lines creased the corners of her mouth.

“Sister Kelly, may I come over and play with Emily after school for a couple of hours? Oh, and Mom wants to bring a casserole.”

A single tear tracked down Sister Kelly’s cheek. Then another.

Nina didn’t know what to do. Then she remembered that when Mom was expecting her little brother, Jared, she had cried really easily. Nina reached out to touch Sister Kelly’s shoulder. “Is something wrong?”

“No. Something is right!” Sister Kelly dug in her purse for a tissue, then wiped away her tears. She hugged Nina. “I’m crying because I’ve been praying for someone just like you.” The tears fell faster. “You’re an answer to my prayers.”

Nina felt tears well up in her own eyes. “Does Emily like to play with puzzles? My little brother has some wooden ones that he’s outgrown. Maybe I could bring them with me.”

“Emily loves to do puzzles.” Sister Kelly found another tissue and handed it to Nina. “Would you like to come to the nursery with me and tell her the news?”

“I sure would!”

Nina could hardly wait until the next afternoon.

(top of page)

Exploring: First Latter-day Temple

By Kimberly Webb
Friend, Apr 2002, 36

And inasmuch as my people build a house unto me … , I will come into it, and all the pure in heart that shall come into it shall see God (D&C 97:15–16).

Today there are more than a hundred [and twenty five] temples all over the world. But when Joseph Smith was commanded to build a temple in Kirtland, Ohio, he had never even seen one! The Kirtland Temple was the first temple built in the latter days.

Since Joseph Smith did not yet know what a temple ought to look like or exactly how it was to be used, Heavenly Father revealed to him a plan for the temple. He and his counselors saw a vision of the completed building. In the vision, Joseph Smith, Sidney Rigdon, and Frederick G. Williams saw the pattern of the temple both inside and out.

When an architect suggested that the seats in the building be rearranged, the Prophet Joseph would not allow it. He had seen them in the vision. According to his mother, Lucy Mack Smith, when the Saints wanted the temple to be built as a frame or log house, he said, “ ‘Shall we, brethren, build a house for our God, of logs? No, I have a better plan than that. I have a plan of the house of the Lord, given by himself.’ ”* The temple walls, two feet thick and over sixty feet tall, were to be built of stone.

Constructing the temple seemed nearly impossible. The Saints were so poor that they could barely afford to care for their own families. The magnificent temple cost about $40,000–$60,000 to build, a great sum of money in the 1830s! There were very few experienced builders among them, and none of them had ever built something as enormous as a temple. Also, enemies outside of the Church vowed that they would stop construction on the temple. But the Saints knew that they had been commanded by God to build it and that He would help them: “Verily I say unto you, it is my will that you should build a house. If you keep my commandments you shall have power to build it.” (D&C 95:11.)

The Saints set to work. Men spent one day each week in the stone quarry or on the temple site, and some of them guarded the unfinished temple at night to protect it from mobs. Women spun cloth to make clothing for the workers, and they made carpets and curtains for the temple. Glass and fine china were crushed and mixed with the plaster so that when the sun struck the temple’s outside walls, they glittered. Everyone labored and sacrificed for two and a half years until the temple was finished.

When the temple was dedicated on March 27, 1836, the Lord rewarded the Saints for their obedience. Spiritual blessings were poured out upon them—-people spoke in tongues, heavenly choirs sang, some people had visions, and others saw angels. A pillar of light rested on the temple, and angels were seen on the roof.

One week later, on April 3, Jesus Christ appeared in the temple to Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery. The Savior accepted the Kirtland Temple as His house. Moses, Elias, and Elijah also appeared to restore priesthood keys.

Although the Saints suffered many trials to build the Kirtland Temple, the eternal blessings given to them were well worth all of their sacrifices. Through their faith, diligence, and obedience, they led the way for Church members throughout the world to receive temple blessings today.

(top of page)

(May)

Winner!

By Terry Reed
Friend, May 2002, 4
(Based on a true story)

Stand by your conscience, your honor, your faith (Children’s Songbook, page 158).

“Ready … set …”

I heard Mom’s voice prompting the Cub Scouts as I peeked in from the doorway of the cultural hall. The ten boys in her Bear den were matched into pairs, standing back to back with their elbows linked. I could sense energy and tension pent up in their nine-year-old bodies.

Dad spied me in the doorway. “Hi, Temberly!” He started walking toward me, and I blushed because everyone was looking in my direction to see who was interrupting their fun. Even though the boys were two years younger than me, I still felt embarrassed. Dad wrapped his arm around my shoulder and gave me a quick sideways hug.

“Go!” Mom shouted, and the boys began pushing and straining against each other. I figured out right away what they were trying to do. Each boy was pushing against his opponent, trying to force him to cross a masking-tape line about ten feet away. Whoever crossed the line, lost. Little did I know, I’d have my own serious wrestling match that very afternoon.

Dad walked back closer to the group. “That’s it, keep pushing, don’t give up!” he yelled several times, coaching the red-faced Bears. I noticed that Sister Brandt wasn’t there. She was the assistant den leader, but she’d had a baby last week. I assumed Mom must have asked Dad to help her out. He was smiling widely, obviously enjoying helping with the boys.

Eventually there were five winners and five losers. My brother, Warren, was one of the losers. He was unhappy, but Dad mixed up the pairs of boys and told them all to try again. This time some of the losers became winners, including Warren.

I could tell that Dad was trying hard to make sure that everyone had a fun time. He wasn’t a member of the Church—yet—but I loved him, anyway. He had watched Mom, Warren and me get baptized last year after being taught by the missionaries.

Because it had been a long day of testing at school, I didn’t want to hang around. Mom was busy explaining the next game, so I turned to Dad and asked, “May I walk home?”

He seemed concerned. “Now?”

“I want to get started on my homework. And I’m really hungry, too.”

“I don’t like the idea of you being at the house by yourself,” Dad fussed, hoping I’d change my mind.

“I promise I’ll lock the door behind me.”

“Well, all right. We should be done here in about twenty minutes. But ring the foyer phone once for us so that we know you got into the house OK. Do you know the number?”

“It’s on the ward phone list. Thanks!” I said excitedly, feeling suddenly a little older and more confident in taking responsibility for myself. I turned and walked through the silent foyer and out the double doors. Our house was less than a block away, and I jogged all the way there.

At home, I followed up on my promises to lock the door and ring the phone at the meetinghouse. I was really thirsty at the moment, and something cold and wet sounded good. I went to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator.

That’s when I saw them. The lighting inside seemed to draw my attention to the six cans of beer, right beside the milk jug. At that moment, I was faced with a fierce temptation, an inner wrestling match: my gospel standards versus sinful desires. I just stood there and stared at the appealing-looking cans. I wondered what beer tasted like. My dry mouth needed quenching. It would be easy to open one, try a sip, then throw it away when I was done. Who kept count of how many cans were in the fridge, anyway? No one would ever know.

Who was I kidding? I knew who would know what I’d done. Me. More importantly, Heavenly Father and the Savior would know. That’s too many of us, I decided. I slammed the refrigerator door shut and repeated the words from My Gospel Standards we had been memorizing in Primary, “I will not partake of things that are harmful to me.” Trembling, I went to my room and lay on the bed.

Temptation, my powerful opponent, had tried to push me to step over a line my spirit knew I shouldn’t cross. I sat up and opened the blinds in the window above my bed and let the late afternoon sunshine fill the room. Deep inside, I felt as bright and glowing as the sun’s rays coming through the windowpanes. I was the winner!

After dinner, Mom loaded the dishwasher and Dad and Warren watched baseball on TV. I had gone back to my bedroom to finish my math homework. I decided it was time to ask Dad to help me.

“Dad?” I leaned my head out of the doorway.

“Am I in demand?” He tilted his head to the side to hear my answer.

“I need a greater brain than mine,” I replied, trying to sound exasperated. I watched him stand up, stare at the screen a few more seconds as a batter struck out, then walk down the hall toward me. My smile waned as I saw him carrying a beer can in his hand. He set it down on my desk. I could smell the beer, and I wished he had left it in the other room. We worked together until the fifteen math problems were solved.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“You’re very welcome, Tembers.” I liked his nickname for me. “Is there anything else you need my intelligence for, before I finish watching the ballgame?”

The moment had presented itself, just as I’d hoped. “Dad, why do you drink beer?”

“Where did that question come from?” He looked surprised and embarrassed.

I took a deep breath and confessed, “This afternoon when I was home by myself, I was tempted to drink some and it scared me.”

He eyed me seriously, “But … you didn’t?”

“No.” I looked straight into his eyes and saw relief on his face.

“I’m proud of you, Temberly,” Dad said sincerely. “You made a wise choice today. I knew that as you and Warren grew older, this would be an issue we’d need to discuss. I didn’t realize it would come up so soon.”

“Oh, Dad, I don’t like having that stuff in our house. I know you don’t drink a lot—just when you’re watching ballgames. But when will Warren be tempted to try it? …”

“Tembers, you can be pointedly honest sometimes.” Dad ran his hand through his dark hair. “I suppose, deep down inside, I already knew you felt this way. I’d appreciate your love and patience with me as I try to find the willpower to quit.”

I wiped the tears off my cheeks with the back of my hand and rubbed it dry on my jeans. I felt the Holy Ghost strengthen me, and I found the courage to say, “Today, I heard you tell the Cub Scouts to ‘keep pushing and not give up.’ Can I keep pushing you about this?”

“Yes, Coach,” he said, squeezing my hand before he left the room. I was startled when he suddenly leaned his head back in the doorway and said, “Don’t ever give up.” He winked.

I smiled to myself. Dad hadn’t exactly promised to stop, but somehow I knew he was a lot closer to it. And that hope made me feel like a winner … again.

(top of page)

Service with a Song

By Taressa Weaver Earl
Friend, May 2002, 16
(Based on a true story)

When ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God (Mosiah 2:17).

“Is it music-class day?” three-year-old Dallin asked, running into the kitchen for breakfast.

“It sure is!” Mommy said. She stooped to put Baby Breeana in her high chair as Dallin poured a bowl of cereal, all by himself. “The ladies will be happy to see you.”

“Today I want to sing ‘I’m Trying to Be like Jesus’ for them, Mommy. I think they will like that.”

Later, in the backseat of the car, to practice, Dallin sang for Baby Breeana. “ ‘I’m trying to be like Jesus.’ ” He paused. “Mommy, the ladies are like grandmas, aren’t they? I bet they miss their families.”

“I think you’re right, Dallin. That’s why they enjoy your visits every week. Look.” Mommy pointed out the window as she pulled into a parking space and turned off the car. “There’s Jaren and his mommy.”

“I see them. Hurry, Mommy! The ladies are waiting!”

As soon as they entered the building, Dallin and Jaren found the ladies. “Hi,” Dallin called, running up to a lady with gray hair and a purple sweatshirt.

“Why, hello, young man,” the lady said. “You are growing up so fast!”

Dallin reached out his hand, and the lady held it for a long time. Her hand was as soft as Baby Breeana’s, and she had bright pink fingernails. “I’m going to sing my favorite song for you today,” Dallin told her.

The lady slowly stood up. Holding on to her walker, she started toward the music room. Dallin walked next to her, even though he wished she would hurry. He knew the ladies needed to walk slowly.

When they reached the music room, Dallin waved to all the ladies already there. He ran to sit in the circle with Mommy. Many of his friends from nursery class were sitting in the circle, too. They sang a welcome song, and the ladies laughed and smiled. Then it was time for instruments—Dallin’s favorite time. He carefully chose a drum from the box.

“Hey, Dallin,” his friend Sydney said as she reached into the box. “Don’t forget to take instruments to the ladies.”

“OK.” Dallin grabbed a jar full of beans and skipped with it to the lady in the purple sweatshirt. The beans made crackling noises as he bounced up and down. “Here you go,” he told her. “You just have to shake it like this.”

The lady slowly reached for the instrument. “Thank you.”

Back in the circle, Dallin pounded on his drum to the music. The ladies smiled and nodded their heads with the beat. Dallin watched the mommy who was leading the song. Soon she would bring out the small singing platform, and it would be his turn to sing for the ladies all by himself.

“Hurrah! Good job everyone!” the mommy said. She carried the wood platform to the middle of the room and pointed a finger at Jaren. “Jaren, would you like to go first?”

Dallin wished he could be first, but he sat down and listened politely while Jaren sang. Everybody clapped.

“Now, Dallin, how about you?” the mommy asked. “Do you have a song to sing for us next?”

Dallin grinned and jumped to his feet. Climbing onto the platform, he turned so he could see all of the ladies. “I’m going to sing ‘I’m Trying to Be like Jesus,’ ” he announced. As he sang, he kept turning to look at each person. The lady in the purple sweatshirt waved to him, and the other ladies leaned forward and smiled.

I’m helping them be happy, Dallin thought as he finished the song and everybody clapped. That’s a good way to be like Jesus.

(top of page)

Baptism Sign

By Charlotte G. Lindstrom
Friend, May 2002, 28
(Based on a true story)

The Lord thy God, he it is that doth go with thee; he will not fail thee, nor forsake thee (Deut. 31:6).

From her seat on the front row, Cora watched as her friend Beth took Elder Miller’s hand. He helped her slowly down the few steps into the warm water of the baptismal font.

Beth’s blond hair was carefully woven into a long braid down her back. She was not wearing her hearing aids. Cora was not wearing hers, either. She didn’t like the way they buzzed and vibrated in her ears, sometimes letting out a loud screech that made her jump.

Now Beth was standing in the font. She looked at Cora and held up her hand, her pointer finger, little finger and thumb extended. It means “I love you” in sign language. Then Elder Miller placed Beth’s left hand on his arm and grasped her right wrist in his hand. He smiled at her, nodding. It was just like when they had practiced. Beth smiled back. Then she turned and smiled brightly at Cora. Cora returned a nervous smile.

Beth’s mom was kneeling in front of the font. Elder Miller bowed his head and closed his eyes, but Beth and Cora kept their eyes open. The only way they could “hear” the prayer was to watch as someone signed the words to them. Beth’s mom signed for her, and Elder Smith, Elder Miller’s companion, signed for Cora.

Cora could hardly keep her eyes on Elder Smith. She knew what he was saying—she had learned the prayer when they had practiced. It had been fun practicing on dry land. But now Cora studied the water doubtfully. It looked cold and deep.

Was Beth really going to do it? Was she really going under the water? Cora shivered. She could feel a nervous fluttering in her stomach.

She looked at the others in the room. Most of them had their eyes closed. Some watched Elder Smith. Suddenly the prayer ended, and people opened their eyes. Cora quickly turned her attention to the font. She watched Elder Miller put his right hand behind Beth’s back. Beth held her nose. Then he began to lower her into the water. It swirled around and enveloped her. He quickly pulled her back up. Beth’s eyes were closed, and she was still holding her nose.

On her feet again, she pushed her hair back with both hands and wiped the water from her eyes. Blinking, she looked up at Cora, beaming with joy. Elder Miller escorted her to the steps, where her mom was now waiting to wrap a towel around her.

Beth was baptized! As Cora watched her friend’s beaming face, tears came to her eyes. She, too, wanted to be baptized. She looked down at the white jumpsuit the missionaries had loaned her. She and Beth had dressed together, jumping up and down with excitement.

Elder Smith touched Cora’s shoulder to get her attention. “Your turn,” he signed. Cora looked again at the water, and a hard knot replaced the butterflies in her stomach. She shook her head. Tears filled her eyes and trickled down her cheeks.

She couldn’t do it! She had always been afraid of the water. Once, as a little girl, she had fallen headfirst into a shallow pool. The water had seemed determined to swallow her up. It seemed like forever before someone had pulled her out. She had coughed and spit up water, and her throat had burned. She hadn’t been in standing water since.

Elder Smith waved his hand to try to get her attention again, but she jumped to her feet and ran out of the room. She ran down the hall and into the bathroom, where she sat on the cold floor and sobbed.

A hand touched her head, and she looked up. Beth was standing there in her baptismal jumpsuit, still dripping wet. Beth slid down the wall and sat beside Cora. She put her arm around her friend’s shoulder.

In a moment Cora stopped crying. Beth moved around so that she was facing Cora and began to sign. “You’re afraid of the water, aren’t you?”

Cora nodded with her hand. That means “yes” in sign language.

“I was afraid, too, a little bit. But it was wonderful! Elder Miller didn’t let go of me, and it happened fast. You can do it! Elder Smith will not let go of you.”

“I’m too afraid,” Cora signed back.

“Do you want to be baptized? Do you want to follow Jesus?”

Again Cora’s hand nodded.

“Jesus will not let go of you. He knows you’re afraid. He wants you to follow Him. He will not let go of you.”

Cora looked at her friend. She did want to follow Jesus. Would He help her? She knew the answer. Of course He would!

“OK.” Cora wiped her eyes and stood up.

They saw Beth’s mother standing by the door. Her eyes shone with tears. She took both girls back to the door that led to the baptismal font. Elder Smith came through another door and stood across the font from them. He looked at Cora and signed, “Are you ready?”

She nodded nervously and watched Elder Smith enter the water and walk slowly toward her. He held out his hand. She took it and stepped down into the font. The water was warm and gentle as it swirled with her steps. They stopped in the middle of the font, and Elder Smith positioned her hands on his arm. He nodded encouragingly to her and then bowed his head and raised his right arm. Beth’s mom knelt at the font again and signed to Cora the words of the prayer.

When Cora saw the word, “amen,” a picture on the wall in the back of the room caught her eye. It was the picture of Jesus being baptized by John the Baptist. She felt a warm feeling inside. He would not let go of her.

Elder Smith opened his eyes and smiled at her. He lifted her arm, and she held her nose firmly, closing her eyes. She held her breath just as they had practiced. She felt the water surround her as Elder Smith lowered her below the surface. In the next instant, she felt herself lifted, and the water released her. She blinked her eyes and gasped. She was baptized! She wiped the water from her face and pushed back her hair.

Opening her eyes, she saw smiles on the faces of her ward family. She turned back to the steps and saw Beth’s mother holding a towel for her. Beth was standing next to her mother, eager for Cora to join them. When Cora reached the top of the steps, she threw her arms around her friend, rejoicing that she had followed the example of the Savior and knowing that He was pleased with them both.

(top of page)

(June)

To Touch an Angel

By Laura Best
Friend, Jun 2002, 4
(A true story)

And help us by the power of thy Spirit, that we may mingle our voices with those bright, shining [angels] around thy throne, … singing Hosanna to God and the Lamb! (D&C 109:79).

“Hosanna, Hosanna, Hosanna to God and the Lamb. Amen, Amen, and Amen.” Louisa was shouting as loudly as she could, but she couldn’t hear herself above the roar of forty thousand other Saints calling out the praises. Most of the Saints were excitedly waving white handkerchiefs; some were dabbing at tears rolling down their cheeks.

Just like Louisa, many of these people had waited their whole lives for this day. The building of the Salt Lake Temple was almost complete!

Families, dressed in their finest clothes, gathered to enjoy the moment. American flags draped the podium, where Joseph F. Smith had given a beautiful prayer. The Saints had watched carefully as President Wilford Woodruff pushed a button at the podium to swing the capstone onto the tallest spire. The capstone was the very last stone to go on the temple.

When the capstone was in place, the outside of the temple was finally finished. The crowd broke into beautiful song. Louisa was so thrilled and full of the Spirit that she had goose bumps.

She was proud of her papa and grandfather, who had spent many long, hard days hauling granite from the mountains to build this temple. She had never seen a more beautiful building.

“Get your handkerchiefs and wraps. It’s time to go,” Mama announced.

“Oh, Papa, please let me stay and watch what they do next,” Louisa pleaded.

“I will stay with you for a while longer, Louisa,” he said.

Most of the Saints left when Mama left, to get ready for their long trips back to their homes in Wyoming, Idaho, and southern Utah.

Louisa was glad that Papa let her stay. Even though she was only eight, she felt older and important. She was proud to have just been baptized into the Church that now had such a beautiful temple.

A few people stayed to fold flags and take down the podium. But Louisa was more interested in watching the workmen go back up onto the temple to place a huge statue of the angel Moroni. It took them a long time to get the large statue to the highest spire. “Do you think the angel Moroni could fall off the temple, Papa?”

“No, honey. The Lord has protected this temple for thirty-nine years. He will protect the angel, too.”

After the workmen finished placing the statue, Papa gathered his coat to leave for home. But Louisa saw a few people making their way to the corner of the temple. She tugged at Papa’s hand. “Oh, Papa, can we follow them?”

Silently Papa took Louisa’s hand and led her up to the temple. They followed the small group through the side door of the temple and up a corner staircase. At the top of the stairs, they went through a door onto the roof of the temple. Papa helped Louisa onto a wooden platform surrounding the spires. The platform was the scaffolding that the workmen had used when they built the spires. Louisa and Papa steadied themselves against it so that they wouldn’t fall.

Louisa couldn’t believe she was standing above the temple! The sun had just gone down, but it was still light enough to see the whole valley. Louisa could see for miles. She could see the road her family would take tomorrow back to their home in northern Utah. She could see the Tabernacle that was so close to the temple. She could see the mountains where the granite had come from to build the temple. She could see people below, and they looked very tiny.

Louisa grabbed Papa’s arm and hugged it, she was so happy. They inched along the scaffolding until they reached the tallest spire. On top of it was a ball. The top half of this ball was the capstone they had seen President Woodruff place earlier in the day. Standing on top of the ball was the statue of Moroni.

“Papa, I know that this is the Lord’s House, but do you think He would care if I touched the angel Moroni?”

“I think it would be all right.”

“I want to get married here when I’m older, and I want to be able to look up at the angel and remember this day.”

Papa smiled at her, then knelt for Louisa to put her foot into his hands. He lifted her off the scaffolding floor toward the Moroni statue. Louisa reached over the capstone and up as far as she could. She was so excited that she was shaking. She ran her hand across Moroni’s foot. The statue felt warm and smooth.

“Oh, Papa, the temple is wonderful! I’m going to come back after it is dedicated and I am old enough to go inside.”

“That will be another special day, Louisa. Let’s go home now and tell Mama what an exciting time we had here.”

Louisa was true to her promise. Ten years and four days later, on April 10, 1902, she returned to the Salt Lake Temple to marry George Campbell Miller. The ceremony was performed by President Joseph F. Smith. As she left the temple, she looked up at Moroni and remembered that earlier wonderful day with Papa.

(top of page)

Cowboy Baseball

By Alma J. Yates
Friend, Jun 2002, 16
(This story is based on a true event from the history of Snowflake, Arizona. However, although the names of the Aztec Land and Cattle Company and the Hashknife Cowboys are real, the author used made-up names for the individual people in the story.)

Cast thy bread upon the waters: for thou shalt find it after many days (Eccl. 11:1).

“Are your chores done, Jesse?” Ma called as I grabbed the old baseball and darted for the open front door. The fellows were waiting for me down at the churchyard.

“Mostly done,” I answered. “I’ll feed the chickens and pigs when I get back,” I promised.

I looked at the tattered leather ball with the frayed red string. Ma had tried to repair it a half dozen times. Last time, she had muttered, “I’m just repairing the repairs now.” But in 1892, it was the best baseball we had in Snowflake, Arizona.

I’d been playing baseball ever since Uncle Rupert had given me the ball when I turned five. He had played with that same ball on the Deseret Territory championship team years before.

“We’re burning up our afternoon,” Hal Kartchner grumbled to me when I finally arrived at the churchyard. The meetinghouse was right in the middle of town. We boys had fixed up a nice baseball diamond close by, but we were plagued by prairie dog holes dotting the field. We had to be careful to not step in one and drop to our knee in a prairie dog’s front room.

I looked over at Winston Hatch, who owned our only bat. It was scarred and had nicks everywhere except where we gripped it, which was smooth and polished from all the sweaty hands clutching it. I was the youngest one there, but I could play as well as anybody because I practiced every chance I got.

I was about to throw the first pitch, when Willie Flake yelled, “Hey, fellows, look who’s coming.”

Riding slowly down the street were six cowboys from the Aztec Land and Cattle Company. Hardly anybody made us as nervous as they did—the Hashknife Cowboys. The Aztec Cattle Company claimed thousands and thousands of acres around Snowflake and ran more than fifty thousand cattle on that land. They didn’t have much use for us “Mormons.” The Hashknife Cowboys seemed as happy to argue and fight as to tip their hats and say hello.

“That’s Red Martin on the black horse,” Heber Ballard whispered. “I hear he’s really mean and ornery.”

“Just keep playing,” I cautioned. “They won’t bother us.”

Heber missed my first two pitches, then sent that old ball flying out to center field over Mel Rogers’s head. As the ball rolled to the far end of the churchyard, Red Martin galloped across the street. Holding onto his saddle horn, he scooped up our ball, and charged across the field toward me.

I stood frozen to the ground, my eyes bulging, my heart pounding. A few feet before his horse trampled over me, Red pulled back on his reins. The horse slid to a stop in a cloud of dust. Red laughed raucously, holding my ball over my head. “That’s how you play ball, Mormon boy.”

“Could I have my ball, sir?” I rasped, trying hard to hide my fear.

Just then, his five buddies charged across the street whooping and hollering, and suddenly I wished I was home feeding the chickens and pigs.

Those six cowboys crowded their horses around the pitcher’s mound and grinned down at me. “Do you fellows want to play a little baseball?” Red asked his buddies, still clutching my old ball. “I used to play baseball back in Texas.”

“That was probably before the Rangers ran you out of the territory,” a big burly cowboy howled.

“Hush up your face, Chappy,” Red growled.

“I never saw much sense to baseball,” Chappy grumbled. “It’s too much of a city boy’s game—whacking a little ball around with a stick.”

Red frowned, tossed me the ball and jabbed a finger at him. “Get off your horse, Chappy. This here city boy is going to pitch you the ball.”

“I sure ain’t afraid of no dog-eared ball that some little Mormon weasel will throw my way,” Chappy snapped, glaring down at me.

“I bet us city boys can take you cowboys any time,” I challenged. “We’ll even spot you five points.”

The cowboys looked at Red. He twisted his thumb in his beard, thinking. “I never knew a Mormon who could beat a Hashknife Cowboy at anything. We’ll chew them up and spit them out before the supper bell rings. We bat first.”

My buddies looked a little scared. “Why’d you have to invite them to play?” Mel Rogers grumbled.

The cowboys tied their horses to a juniper tree, but every single one of them kept his guns, chaps, and spurs on. They stomped over to home plate.

“Give me that there stick,” Chappy ordered. He spit once in each hand and gripped the bat. “Let her fly, city boy.”

Red and the other cowboys hooted and hollered. Had Chappy not called me a city boy, I’d have thrown him a nice slow pitch. Instead, I burned that tattered baseball across home plate. Chappy swung with all his might—and missed that ball a mile. In fact, he swung so hard that he twirled around and fell in the dust in a heap.

“Don’t let an itty-bitty bat buck you,” Red cackled while the other cowboys beat their hats against their legs, laughing loudly. Chappy sprang to his feet and glared at me. I burned another one so fast that the ball had already passed him when he swung. I barely lobbed the third one. He swung before the ball was halfway to home plate.

“Give me that there bat,” Red stormed, stomping over to home plate.

Red hit my first pitch. The ball sailed clear over Mel’s head, and Red charged for first base. But he was so wobbly in his high-heeled boots that he wasn’t very fast. And halfway there, his spurs got caught in his chaps and he fell flat on his face. Mel snatched the ball and threw it to first before Red could untangle himself.

A wiry little fellow named Flaco was the next batter. He got two strikes, then connected on the third pitch. He would have had a double had he not been packing his guns, chaps, and spurs. To make matters worse, he stepped into a prairie dog hole and took a tumble worse than Red’s.

The game was never close. We Mormon boys took our turn at bat and hardly missed a pitch. Those cowboys chased all over the field, stepping in prairie dog holes and getting their spurs tangled in the grass, their chaps, or each other. In frustration, some of them started to cuss.

“Nobody’s allowed to cuss when we play,” Willie Flake called out, feeling suddenly brave. “If you cuss, we have to go home.”

Chappy started to protest, but Red growled, “Hush up, Chappy. They have us down by fifteen runs. I ain’t losin’ to any Church-going city boys.”

We ended up beating the Hashknife Cowboys by a good twenty points. The score might have been closer if they hadn’t been determined to play with every bit of their gear.

Two days later, we boys were down at the church playing ball again. Red, Chappy, and their buddies rode up. “We came for a rematch,” Red declared, tying off his horse to a juniper tree. Frowning, he unbuckled his gun belt, hung it in the tree, and pulled off his chaps. “You others do the same,” he ordered.

Grumpily Chappy stripped off his gun belt and chaps. “I ain’t playing without my spurs, though,” he growled. “I’d feel undressed without ’em.”

This time we beat them by only eight runs. They still had a hard time racing around the bases in their boots and spurs, but they were getting better at dodging prairie dog holes. We had to remind them about cussing, because they kept slipping.

“You won’t ever beat us as long as you cuss,” Heber taunted Red with a grin.

The following Saturday afternoon, they were back. “Today we’re going to beat you!” Red declared. Turning to his buddies, he roared, “The first one of you boneheads that lets slip a cuss word is going to walk back to camp in your stocking feet!”

That day the game was a terrible fight. After six innings, the score was 10 to 9, our favor. The cowboys had two outs. Flaco was on second, and Chappy was up to bat. Although sometimes the cowboys had to almost bite off the end of their tongues, they had managed to play the whole game without a single cuss word. I wound up and burned my battered ball over home plate. Chappy reared back and smacked it with all his might, and it exploded in a dozen different directions. Uncle Rupert’s championship baseball was history.

Muttering bitterly the cowboys rode out of town. “I guess that’s the end of baseball with the Hashknife Cowboys,” Mel complained. “I was getting so I kind of liked them. I think they liked us, too.”

Three days later, I trotted out of the barn and almost bumped into three horses. Red, Chappy, and Flaco were frowning down at me. “So you’re hiding out here, slopping the hogs,” Chappy snarled. “You Mormons flat cheated us last time.”

“Cheated?” I protested. “We don’t have to cheat to beat you!”

“You didn’t finish the game,” Flaco snapped. “It’s the same thing.”

“You busted our ball to powder and string.”

Red reached inside his shirt and pulled out a brand-new white leather baseball with bright red lacing. “You have one now,” he growled. “Chappy rode all the way to Holbrook to buy it.” Then all three of those cowboys busted out in big grins as Red tossed me the ball.

Staring down at the smooth ball, I could smell the new leather. “M-Mine?” I stammered.

“It is if you and your city buddies can beat us. But we pick up right where we left off. The rest of our boys are at the churchyard warming up.”

The cowboys beat us that afternoon, but Red still let me keep the baseball—on condition that whenever the Hashknife Cowboys came to town, we’d let them play.

(top of page)

Exploring: The Nauvoo Temple

By Kimberly Webb
Friend, Jun 2002, 26

Let this house [temple] be built unto my name, that I may reveal mine ordinances therein unto my people (D&C 124:40).

Imagine losing your house, your possessions, your money, and maybe even your loved ones. Then after traveling into another state by foot or wagon, the Prophet Joseph Smith asks you to help drain a swamp, build another city, and construct a temple there.

That is exactly what the Saints faced when they settled in Nauvoo, Illinois. They had lost almost all of their property in Missouri. They had endured illness, persecution, and poverty. After sacrificing to build a temple in Kirtland, and after failing to build a temple in Missouri, the Saints mustered strength to build another temple in Nauvoo.

Men tithed their time by working on the temple one day in ten. Some were willing to work longer for food—-or for no pay at all. Mercy Fielding Thompson and Mary Fielding Smith encouraged the sisters to pledge one penny a week to buy glass and nails for the temple, and the women organized to provide clothes for the workmen.

Before the temple was completed, the Prophet Joseph Smith and his brother Hyrum were martyred at Carthage Jail. Mobs attacked and burned homes in Nauvoo, and the Saints knew that they would have to leave their homes once again. Nevertheless, they did not stop working on the temple. They were determined to finish it and receive the temple ordinances before leaving Nauvoo.

Portions of the temple were dedicated as they were completed. The lowest level, containing the baptismal font, had been dedicated in 1841 so that baptisms could be performed while construction continued. The attic was dedicated on November 30, 1845, and the first endowments were performed on December 10. Saints worked in the temple night and day! In the months before they left Nauvoo, 5,615 Saints received their endowments.

The completed temple was not dedicated until May 1, 1846, after most of the Saints had already left Nauvoo. Elder Erastus Snow said, “The Spirit, Power, and Wisdom of God reigned continually in the Temple and all felt satisfied that during the two months we occupied it in the endowments of the Saints, we were amply paid for all our labors in building it.”*

When all the Saints were gone, mobs took over the temple and ruined its holiness by drinking and gambling in it and by vandalizing it in other ways. Two years later, the temple caught fire, and everything burned but the stone walls. Those walls were hit by a tornado in 1850.

For years, the site where the temple once stood served as a memorial to the faith of those early Saints. During the April 1999 general conference, President Gordon B. Hinckley announced that the Nauvoo Temple would be rebuilt! He said that the new temple, designed like the original one, will stand as an even greater memorial “to those who built the first such structure there on the banks of the Mississippi.”†

The new Nauvoo Illinois Temple will be dedicated on June 27, 2002, the 158th anniversary of the martyrdom of Joseph and Hyrum Smith.

(top of page)

Giving Up Ginger

By Mary Datwyler
Friend, Jun 2002, 38
(Based on a true story)

The righteous giveth and spareth not (Prov. 21:26).

“Evacuate your homes now!” bellowed the loudspeaker on a truck. “The fire is coming! The fire is coming!”

The forest fire raged down the mountain toward the town. Fierce winds fanned the enormous flames. Short of water and help, the firefighters couldn’t hold it back any longer. Families were going to lose their homes and belongings. There was nothing anyone could do.

Seven-year-old Catherine sat in her family’s living room, watching the news reports. It was hard to believe that the fire was only an hour away. She stared as flames licked through the treetops. She didn’t want to watch, but she couldn’t look away. She felt sad and sick.

Catherine went to her room and thought about the fire. Looking around, she wondered what it would be like to leave everything behind. She had lots of prized possessions. The most precious was Ginger, her favorite doll. She looked at her other dolls, her trophies, her toys, even her clothes and shoes. Losing everything was hard to even think about.

When Dad got home, Catherine and her parents ate dinner. They discussed the new evacuations. Tears welled up in Catherine’s eyes, and she began to cry.

“What’s the matter?” Mom asked.

“Why can’t they stop the fire?” Catherine asked. “Where will people live if their houses burn down?”

“Everyone will move into temporary shelters,” Mom answered. “They will get food, clothes, and a warm place to sleep until this is all sorted out.”

“What about their things? Who’s going to help them save their things?”

“The fire is too hot and moving too fast for anyone to think much about saving things,” Dad said. “It’s more important to make sure the people are safe. Most things can be replaced.”

Too upset to finish her supper, Catherine asked to be excused and went to her room and knelt by her bed. “Girls just like me are going to lose everything,” she prayed. “Somebody has to help them. I want to help them, but what can I do?”

When she awoke the next morning, Catherine knew exactly what to do. She filled a large shopping bag with clothes, books, and games. Last of all, she put in Ginger. “Mom, I want to donate these things,” she said. “Can you help me?”

Mom looked through the bag. “You’re giving away some of your nicest treasures,” she said. “Are you sure you want to give away Ginger?”

Catherine tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “This is what I need to do,” she said. “I know that this will help someone feel better. Will you help me?”

Mom hugged her. “Of course. The Relief Society is collecting donations. I was going to take some blankets and canned goods over this afternoon, but I think we should go right now, instead.”

The missionaries had set up a large open trailer in the ward parking lot. Waiting in line with other people who were making donations, Catherine began to feel that giving away Ginger was just too hard. She thought longingly about keeping her favorite doll. The line inched forward, giving her time to think some more. When it was her turn, she handed her bag to the Relief Society sisters, Ginger and all. Silently saying good-bye, she watched as her bag was carried to the trailer. It was so hard to give up her things! She turned and walked quietly back to the car.

That afternoon, Mom collected blankets and canned goods. When she and Catherine arrived at the meetinghouse, the trailer was full of useful things.

Back home, a television report announced that four hundred homes had been destroyed. But there was good news, too. The fire was nearly under control, and no one had been hurt.

Catherine watched the reports every night. She was worried about the four hundred families without homes. She thought about her shopping bag of treasures and wondered if it had really mattered among the thousands of other donations. And she really missed Ginger.

Suddenly Catherine sat up and looked more closely at the television screen. Something looked familiar. A little girl in a shelter was clutching a doll that looked a lot like—no, it really was—Ginger!

Catherine jumped up and squealed with delight. Her prayer had been answered. Her donation really had made a difference.

(top of page)

Temples— a Sign of the True Church

Friend, Jun 2002, 44

I command you, all ye my saints, to build a house unto me (D&C 124:31).

The Lord always commands His people to build temples.

For many years, the Israelites could not build a temple because they were traveling through the wilderness. They carried with them a tent called the tabernacle, which served as a temple. After they had reached the promised land, King David wanted to build a permanent temple. God told him, “Thou shalt not build an house unto my name” (1 Chr. 22:8). People cannot build temples for the Lord without receiving His approval. The Lord revealed that David’s son Solomon had been chosen to build the temple, instead.

Solomon’s temple took eight years to complete. It was similar to the tabernacle, but it was twice as large. The walls were made of stone and were covered on the inside with carved wood and gold. Only the best materials were used to construct the temple. When it was finished, Solomon knelt at the altar in the court of the temple and offered a dedicatory prayer. (See 2 Chr. 3–6.)

Eventually King Solomon and his people became wicked. Temple treasures were taken, and unbelievers used the temple to worship false gods. The Spirit left Solomon’s temple. It was no longer the Lord’s house.

The scriptures promise that in our day, the Church will never fall away from the truth. Individual members may stray from the gospel, but Church prophets will always teach what is right. For this reason, we can trust that today’s temples will remain holy. By always remembering Heavenly Father and obeying His commandments, we may become holy. Elder Marion G. Romney, then of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and later a member of the First Presidency, said: “The building of temples today is … distinctively an activity of the Church of Jesus Christ. Temples can be conceived by no people other than members of the Church who possess an understanding of the gospel of Jesus Christ. The great eternal principles of [pre-earth life], eternal marriage, resurrection, exaltation, the nature of God and our relationship to him—all these and the other great principles of the gospel focus upon temple work. From the temples they are reflected back into the hearts of understanding Latter-day Saints.”*

(top of page)

(July)

Laying the Cornerstone

By Sheila Kindred
Friend, Jul 2002, 4
(Two true stories)

Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints (Ps. 116:15).

“Look at those clouds,” Mom said as she looked out the car window. “I hope that it doesn’t rain.”

“Look at those hills,” Dad said cheerfully. “They mean we are almost to the Missouri River.”

I sighed. We had been riding in the car for over two hours on our way to Omaha, Nebraska, from our home in the center of Iowa. My brother and I were crowded between packs of clothing and the food we were taking for our two-day stay. We were going to the cornerstone-laying and dedication of the Winter Quarters Temple. I could hardly wait to get my first glimpse of our new temple and to see our prophet, President Gordon B. Hinckley.

I thought about my ancestor, Sarah Anne Nixon, who was just about my age when she crossed Iowa on her way to Winter Quarters 155 years ago. What was it like for her?

September 23, 1846—on the western bank of the Mississippi River--
Tremendous thundershower today. The rain came down in torrents, drenching everything. We have only a tent to shelter us. We left Nauvoo in haste a few days ago. Our carefully packed belongings were scattered by the mobs looking for firearms. We have little left. It was not hard to leave the deserted city, but it breaks my heart to see our beloved temple just across the river—so near, yet unreachable. Papa is still grieving. As Brother Joseph’s bodyguard, he feels he should have somehow prevented the martyrdom. If he would just make music again on his fife, I am sure my heart would not be so heavy.

“May I eat some of the crackers and cheese?” my brother asked. “I’m starving.”

“We’re almost there,” Dad assured him. “We’ll have a big lunch soon.”

We had been in the Chicago Illinois Temple district, and it took all day to drive there. I am glad we don’t have as far to go now. We had been praying for a new temple closer to us, and the Lord heard our prayers.

October 9, 1846—Sugar Creek--
A miracle in camp today. We have been living on parched and boiled corn, and drinking muddy river water. Many are ill and all are hungry, but today, flocks of quail suddenly flew into camp, falling on wagons and tables. My brothers were able to catch many in their hands! We had a feast. God has not forgotten us. Our rescuers taught us a new song written by Brother Clayton. The song reflects well how I feel today: “All is well!”

Mom started humming a hymn in the front seat of the car. I recognized the tune. It was “Now Let Us Rejoice.”

“Is that one of the hymns you memorized?” I asked her. She was singing in the choir at the cornerstone-laying ceremony. I knew she had to rely on her memory because the choir would not be using books.

“Yes. Memorizing the hymns wasn’t easy, but it has become a real blessing to me. It made me think more about the meaning of the words. I realized that these songs are about the promises given in the temple. So I am singing about my fondest hopes and dreams.”

I could see tears in the corner of her eye, and I felt my own heart grow warm. When I turned to look out the window, I saw a sign that said “Mormon Bridge.” We were nearly there.

November 15, 1846—Mama died today--
We buried her beside the trail on the plains of Iowa. We were unable to stop in Mt. Pisgah because they had no room, so our rescue company pressed on toward Winter Quarters. Now I must be mother to Thomas, Harriet, Margaret, and baby Rose. My oldest brother, John, says that we must not lose faith. Papa and Mama were sealed together in the Nauvoo Temple. This thought alone seems to comfort Papa. It comforts me as well.

While waiting for the ceremony, we visited the pioneer cemetery on the temple grounds. We read the names of hundreds of people who died here so long ago. But it is not really a sad place—it is a reverent place, like inside a church. We spoke softly about these pioneers and about what they endured for their beliefs. Because of them, we, their descendants, are now able to build temples and worship God freely. I am grateful.

December 1846—Winter Quarters--
We have settled as best we can into a log hut. It is a rude dwelling, but we are better off than most. This is not our final home, but for now we are grateful for time to gather again as Saints. I wish Mama was here, but I feel she is watching over us. When the spring comes, I will finish the journey that my mother began, for her dream has now become my own.

The rain stopped while the choir sang, and we were able to put down our umbrellas. During the ceremony, I looked up at the windows in the temple. In the stained glass are pictures of rivers, trees, pioneers, and Native Americans. Looking at these windows is almost like looking at a beautiful vision of the past.

I saw the prophet today. He cried when he talked about the pioneers and the sacrifices they made in Nauvoo, in Iowa, and here in Winter Quarters. He said that he felt that they were here in spirit, watching us this day. Then he invited all the children to come up and put some cement onto the cornerstone after he was done. But I was content to watch. My heart was full.

I am glad I was here today. I feel happy inside. I believe that whatever happens to me in my life, I can be strong and faithful like the pioneers, just as long as I remember this place and this day.

(top of page)

Eugene’s Quiet Place

By Ray Goldrup
Friend, Jul 2002, 10
(Based on a true story)

[Jesus] went out, and departed into a solitary place, and there prayed (Mark 1:35).

Sometimes Eugene’s world got awful noisy. There was the rattle of Clancey Sawyer’s milk wagon and Hector Moore’s ice truck over the rutty dirt road in front of his house. The clatter of Mr. Gunnerson’s old Model T. His Aunt Althea’s loud laughter and nonstop talking whenever she came to visit. (Eugene loved Aunt Althea, but she could outtalk any salesperson he’d ever heard!) And all the other noises the world had to offer in 1932.

His four brothers and two sisters could cause a lot of racket, too, especially when they all wanted to listen to different radio shows at the same time. Or when their friends came over to play and they fought over the stereoscope. If that wasn’t enough, sometimes Widow Willowby’s hound dog howled and barked all night. All that noise was enough to drive any kid up a tree.

And that’s just where Eugene’s favorite quiet place was—in a tree. Not just any tree, but the big old fig tree in the field, a little way behind Eugene’s house. His father and older brother, Vern, had built him a tree house in its strong, leafy branches. And just last week, his father slept with him in the tree house.

They played the imagination game before sleep overtook them, his father telling him that the fireflies that danced in the night reminded him of children’s prayers on their way to heaven. Eugene said that the moon and stars were holes in a big black curtain in God’s window. On the other side, God was staying up late with a big lamp on, sitting in a rocking chair and making a list of all his children who had problems. And that the creaking they heard was not the fig tree limbs in the stiff night breeze but the creaking of His rocker.

Just as Nephi and other prophets of old at times had gone high into the mountains to be alone in order to pray, Eugene liked to climb up into his quiet place in the big fig tree. Sometimes it was to think out his thoughts, sometimes to read his scriptures, sometimes to just relax, and sometimes to pray about things. …

Like the time Grandpa got real sick and had to go to the hospital. Everyone fasted and prayed for him, including Eugene. He climbed up into his quiet place and prayed for a whole hour.

Two weeks later, Eugene’s father lay in the tree house and cried. Eugene heard him because he was there, too. Everyone was happy because although the doctor had said that Grandpa was going to die, he got better. Eugene climbed up into the tree and lay close to his father. Neither of them spoke. At least not out loud. They were busy thanking Heavenly Father in their hearts, warm tears trickling down their faces.

After a while, Eugene asked his father why he had come to the tree instead of staying at the house with everyone else. “Everyone needs a quiet place where they can go to be alone sometimes. Even grown-ups. I don’t have one,” he said. “I was hoping you wouldn’t mind if I came up here for a few minutes.”

Eugene was happy that his father thought having a quiet place was important.

“Besides,” his father added with a wink, “with Aunt Althea at the house to greet your grandpa coming home from the hospital, it’s a bit noisy there. I needed a moment alone to thank the Lord for your granddad’s recovery.”

A few moments later, Eugene walked back to the house with his father. The back screen door whined as they joined the others. Eugene paused to look back over his shoulder at the old tree. It was like an old friend—warm, inviting, peaceful. And always there when he needed it. He smiled, went inside, gave Aunt Althea a big hug, then hurried over to Grandpa’s bed.

(top of page)

Exploring: A Star Out of Stone

By Diane L. Mangum
Friend, Jul 2002, 18

They brought great stones, costly stones, and hewed stones, to lay the foundation of the house (1 Kgs. 5:17).

Have you ever taken scissors and tried to cut a star, or maybe a perfect circle out of paper? Can you imagine being asked to use a hammer and chisel to cut a star onto a 1,000-pound (450-k) stone, or to make a ball 3′ (.9m) in diameter out of hard granite?

That was exactly the job of Peter Howell and many other stonecutters who worked on the Salt Lake Temple. The outside of the temple is made entirely of granite, and each piece had to be cut and shaped with hand tools.

It took 40 years to build this temple to the Lord, and it required the skills of hundreds of workers. It was built to last, with walls 6′ (1.8 m) thick. But the pioneers also wanted it to be beautiful. That is one reason why it has tall spires and carefully carved designs in the stone walls.

Carving a large granite stone took a great deal of strength and skill. A stonecutter’s tools included a granite ax to flake off layers to help make the stone more smooth or square. They also included a chipping hammer and several kinds of chisels, with flat or sharp points on the end, to carve into the rock. The cutter pounded on one end of the steel chisel with a heavy sledgehammer so that the sharp point on the other end would chip out a piece of stone.

It took a heavy blow with an 8-pound (3.6-k) hammer on the chisel to make even a dent in the granite. To cut careful corners and points on stars took a strong arm that could keep pounding, as well as great skill with the chisel. A stonecutter also used trueing blocks to make sure that the stone had the exactly-square sides it needed to fit snugly into the walls of the temple, and that it matched the marks made on it by the pattern maker.

Pounding on stone dulls chisels and axes quickly. It took 6 to 8 blacksmiths working on the temple grounds beside the stonecutters to keep all the tools sharp and ready for work. All of the crews worked summer and winter.

The workers on the temples weren’t all older men. Many teenage boys were apprentices, or helpers, to the stonecutters, blacksmiths, and masons who put the stones in place on the temple walls. In those days, it was common for a boy of about 14 to get a full-time job with a skilled worker who could teach him a trade like stonecutting.

Stone for the temple came from Little Cottonwood Canyon, more than 20 miles (32 km) away. Crews at the canyon rock quarry worked 6 days a week to cut large blocks of granite from the hillside. A row of holes was drilled into the rock, then wooden wedges were pounded into the holes to split huge blocks away from the mountain.

The blocks sometimes were as big as their log cabins and weighed many tons. The stone had to be cut into smaller pieces of 2 to 10 tons (1.9 to 8.5 k) before being carried by wagon down to the temple area. In later years, a railroad line was built from the rock quarry to the temple grounds.

Once on the temple grounds, the stones were examined by supervisors for quality and size, then marked by the pattern makers. Each was given a number identifying exactly where in the temple it would be put and what size and shape it should be. Then the stonecutters went to work. They cut stone walls, stone steps, lovely curved-topped windows, and beautiful spires.

There are 145 stones carved with a star. A star stone sits above each of the tall windows, and some stars decorate the spires. There are 7 small stars carved onto the west side of the temple, arranged to look like the Big Dipper constellation. Around the lower level of the temple are 50 stones with a round Earth carved on the side of them.

One of the very last tasks of the temple stonecutters was to make the balls that decorate the tops of the 6 tallest spires. One of those balls would be the base for the Angel Moroni statue. For Peter Howell, who had worked 23 years on the temple, it was a great honor to be asked to cut some of those balls, to use the skills he had spent most of his life learning. For Brother Howell, and for most of the workmen, this wasn’t just a job. They were building the house of the Lord.

(top of page)

Sacrifice

By Jane McBride Choate
Friend, Jul 2002, 20
(Based on a true story)

The law of the Lord is perfect, converting the soul (Ps. 19:7).

Ella watched as her grandfather threw another box onto the lawn. Her grandmother stood by the door, tears streaming down her cheeks. She said nothing, though. Ella knew her grandmother would never speak against her grandfather. Tradition did not allow it.

Grandfather had made it clear—if Ella and her mother joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, they would no longer be welcome in his home.

Ella hurriedly gathered her belongings from the wet grass. The breeze, heavy with humidity, did little to cool the growing heat that blanketed the small island of Saipan, part of the Northern Mariana Islands in the central Pacific Ocean.

She picked up a picture frame, her heart breaking a bit as she looked at the broken glass that held a photograph of her parents on their wedding day.

Without her grandparents, she and Mama were all alone in the world. Ella’s father had died before she was born.

The missionaries had changed everything.

Grandfather hadn’t wanted to let the missionaries inside when they had first come to the small frame house. Only Mama’s quiet insistence had won out in the face of his opposition. Pointedly, he’d remained in the kitchen whenever the missionaries visited.

The two young men spoke the language with broken accents. Even so, Ella knew that she was hearing the truth. She felt it in her heart, even when her mind was not sure. Together, she and her mother read the Book of Mormon and felt the Spirit.

Until the missionaries had invited them to start attending the Church, Ella and her mother had gone to her grandparents’ church—the same one their parents had attended, and their parents before them.

Being baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints meant more than leaving their former church. It meant cutting themselves off from family and friends.

She wanted to blame the missionaries and tell them that because of their preaching, she and her mother no longer had a family or home. Even as the thought formed, she knew that the young elders weren’t to blame. They had only spoken the truth and challenged Ella and her mother to accept it.

Where will we live? Ella wondered. Her mother’s job as a store clerk barely paid enough to support them, even while they lived with her grandparents. Apartments were not easy to find in Saipan.

Then she remembered the stories the missionaries had told about the early Saints and the sacrifices they’d made for their beliefs. Some had lost homes and families as Ella and her mother had. Others had even given their lives for the gospel.

Despite everything, Ella knew that she and her mother were doing the right thing. Already the gospel had brought blessings into their lives. Mama had stopped smoking. For years Ella had begged her to stop. She knew how Mama had struggled to give up the habit she’d had since she was sixteen years old.

While Ella was still remembering these things, the missionaries arrived and calmly began gathering up the boxes and piling them into a borrowed truck.

“Don’t worry about a place to live,” one elder said as he lifted Mama’s shabby suitcase into the truck. “The Knudsens have an extra room and said that you can stay with them as long as you need to.”

Brother Knudsen taught Sunday School, and his wife was the Relief Society president. One of their daughters was in Ella’s Primary class.

Ella watched as her mother’s eyes filled with tears. “It is too much.”

“They’re already planning on it,” the other elder said gently. “Is this all?” He gestured to the boxes in the truck.

Mama nodded.

After the short trip to the Knudsens’ house, the elders carried the boxes and suitcase inside.

Brother and Sister Knudsen greeted them with big smiles. “We will enjoy the company,” Sister Knudsen said when Ella’s mother thanked them for their hospitality.

Ella had to share the room with Mama, but she didn’t mind.

“We’ll give you a chance to get settled,” Brother Knudsen said. “We hope you’ll join us for dinner tonight.”

“Why don’t Grandma and Grandpa love us anymore?” Ella asked her mother once they were alone in their new home.

Mother gave Ella a tired smile. “Your grandparents haven’t stopped loving us. But they don’t understand that we have found a new way of life.”

Ella knew that her mother was talking about the gospel. “Will we ever see them again?”

This time the smile reached Mama’s eyes. “Of course we will. Your grandma feels really bad about what happened. I think your grandpa does, too. He’s just too hurt to admit it. And too stubborn.

“Someday they’ll accept us and maybe the gospel. Until then, we have to keep loving them and let them know that being members of the Church hasn’t changed what we feel for them.”

Ella hoped so. She missed her grandparents already.

“What do you want to do first in our new home?” Mama asked.

Ella reached for her mother’s hand. “Let’s say a prayer. We have much to be thankful for.”

(top of page)

Nathan’s Prayer

By Rachel C. Murdock
Friend, July 2002, 30
(Based on a true story)

My God will give me, if I ask not amiss (2 Ne. 4:35).

“I’m ready!” six-year-old Nathan called to his nine-year-old brother, Matthew. Mom had just called them to do their dinner chores, so this would be the last shot on goal.

Matthew was bigger and faster than Nathan and a really good soccer player. But Nathan was getting to be a pretty good goalie. Only one ball had been kicked past him today, and that one barely brushed off his fingertips and rolled just inside the tree. Even Matthew said he was playing well.

Most days, Matthew scored a lot of points on him, so Nathan was happy that he was doing so well today. He knew why, too. Before leaving the house, he had prayed that he would play well. Just before Matthew fired the next shot, Nathan closed his eyes and said another quick prayer. “Heavenly Father, please let me stop this shot. Don’t let Matthew score. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”

Matthew dribbled to the right and faked a kick. When Nathan went to his knees to block the shot, Matthew quickly turned, dribbled around Nathan, and kicked. Nathan tried to reach over, but it was too late. Matthew had scored.

“Yes! Yes! Yahoooo!” Matthew yelled.

Nathan stomped his foot and ran toward the house, crying.

Mom heard Nathan slam the front door and run downstairs to his room. Soon Matthew came strolling in. “What happened to Nathan?” Mom asked.

“I don’t know. I just kicked a goal, and he started crying.”

Mom started Matthew on his dinner chores, then went to find Nathan. He was in the corner of his room, wrapped in his sleeping bag in the little space between the wall and the bunk beds. It was a cozy place, a good place for hiding and being alone.

“What’s wrong, Nathan?”

“I asked Heavenly Father to help me, but Matthew scored anyway,” Nathan sobbed.

Mom stroked his hair. “It must be very upsetting to try so hard and still have Matthew score on you.” She tried to give Nathan a hug, but he wouldn’t let her. She squeezed his arm and let him be alone.

After a few minutes, Nathan came upstairs and started doing his dinner chores. This time he let Mom give him a hug.

“Nathan, do you think Heavenly Father wants us to be unhappy?” she asked.

“I guess not.”

“We don’t always know what will make us happy,” Mom said. “Sometimes what we want isn’t the best thing for us. Do you think Heavenly Father knows that?”

“He knows everything.”

Mom took Nathan onto her lap. “Heavenly Father has told us that He won’t always make things easy for us. There will be hard times. He lets us face them to help us learn and become better people. But He always answers our prayers. Whatever happens, we can be sure that He cares about us.”

“Maybe He was teaching me not to get faked out.”

“Maybe so, Nathan. I don’t know for sure. But I do know that it is a wonderful thing for you to talk to Heavenly Father about everything in your life. I hope you keep doing it. He will help things work out for the best—it just may not be right when you want it or what you think is best.”

Nathan and Matthew played soccer in the yard many times after that day. Matthew often scored, but Nathan often stopped his shots, too. In fact, he stopped them more and more often.

A couple of years later, Nathan tried out for a special soccer team and was accepted. The coach called the team together. “Do any of you play goalie?”

Nathan raised his hand. The coach had Nathan stand in front of the net while other players tried to kick goals. Nathan stopped shot after shot.

The coach was grinning. “I think we have our goalie!”

Nathan beamed as the other players congratulated him. Heavenly Father had heard his prayers.

(top of page)

Whoa, Blaze!

By Ken Baker
Friend, Jul 2002, 38
(A true story)

But when they in their trouble did turn unto the Lord God of Israel, and sought him, he was found of them (2 Chr. 15:4).

During many summer vacations as a child, my family drove the long distance from our home in northern California to visit relatives in Utah. As a true city boy looking for adventure, I especially enjoyed our trips to my grandmother’s farm in southern Utah.

On the farm, my brothers, sisters, cousins, and I climbed to the tops of towering haystacks and then jumped off, flying down to a soft cushion of hay below. Next, we took turns on our uncle’s old tractors, grabbing the steering wheel and pretending we were racing across the field. After that, we balanced like tightrope walkers and made our way across the top of the rickety old fence rails that kept the cows corralled. The best fun, though, was riding old Blaze.

Blaze was a gentle, old, brown horse that loved kids to ride on her. When I was younger, I rode double with one of my older brothers or sisters. However, the summer I was about nine years old, I announced to everyone that I was old enough to ride Blaze all by myself. My parents agreed, so with a boost onto her back and some last-minute instructions from my uncle, I was riding Blaze all on my own like a real cowboy.

As I slowly guided Blaze into a partly fenced-in field, my family could see that I was handling Blaze as well as any professional cowboy. They left me to my fun and went inside Grandma’s old farmhouse. Holding the reins loosely in my hands as I sat atop the gentle horse, I felt like I was king of the world.

However, only a few minutes had passed when Blaze suddenly broke into a mad gallop. I pulled gently on the reins to slow her down, but she kept up her fast pace. I pulled harder on the reins and yelled, “Whoa!” But Blaze seemed to just go faster and faster. I kept tugging at the reins but didn’t dare pull too hard for fear that she would rear on her hind legs and buck me off.

I pulled again and again on the reins, but Blaze just kept on galloping out of control. My cries for her to stop turned into screams of panic as she raced from the safety of the field and away from the farmhouse while I bounced and jerked wildly in the saddle.

At a terrifying speed, she headed straight for an old tractor, swerving just in time to miss it. Racing like lightning, she headed next toward a wooden, railed fence. I thought for sure that we’d crash right into it, but Blaze swerved away again just in time.

No matter what I tried, I couldn’t control her at all. Eventually she galloped off the farm property onto the rarely used country road. With tears streaming from my eyes, I realized my situation had just grown considerably worse. I couldn’t stop her on my own, and it might be hours before anyone who could help me might venture this way. I could end up lost, miles away from my grandma’s farmhouse, before Blaze ever came to a stop or threw me off her back.

At that moment, I realized that there was only one thing left for me to do. I prayed with all my heart. I prayed in my mind, and I prayed out loud. I knew that Heavenly Father would hear my prayers and that He could help me.

It wasn’t long after my prayers that an old truck came barreling down the road. The man driving it saw right away that I needed help. Driving alongside the galloping horse and me, the man yelled from his truck window, “Pull on the reins!”

I pulled, but Blaze kept running. The man yelled for me to pull harder. Even though I was still afraid that Blaze might rear back, I pulled back even harder on the reins than I had tried before. Blaze kept on racing.

“Pull harder!” yelled the man.

I was afraid to pull any harder, but I realized that the man knew more about horses than I did. So, gathering all my strength, I pulled as hard as I could on the reins. Blaze didn’t stop at first, but with the man’s continual urging, the horse finally slowed to a complete stop.

The man in the truck pulled off to the side of the road and hopped out. My whole body shook as he helped me down off the horse. When I told him that Blaze was usually a mild-mannered horse, he explained that even the gentlest horse might break into a run if its rider holds the reins too loosely.

After thanking the man for his help and assuring him that I was OK, I started the long way back to the farmhouse, leading Blaze by the reins. As I walked, I realized that some people might say that the man coming by when he did was just a coincidence. But I knew differently. It was a direct answer to my prayers. Heavenly Father knew ahead of time that I would need help when I did. He inspired a man who knew a lot more about horses than I did to drive his truck down a lonely county road. I know with all my heart, that Heavenly Father answered the prayers of a terrified young boy who couldn’t stop a galloping horse on his own.

(top of page)

(August)

Grandma’s Doll

By Mary Kimball Mackey
Friend, Aug 2002, 4
(Based on a true story)

Through the gospel of Jesus Christ the family can be sealed together … for time and all eternity (Bible Dictionary—Family).

Eight-year-old Maggie stretched forward to better talk to her parents in the front seat of the car. A frown tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Mom, do I have to go to Aunt Alice’s house?”

Maggie’s parents had been planning this temple trip for weeks. They had arranged for Maggie to stay with her great-aunt, who lived in the same town as the temple. Aunt Alice was quite old and lived alone.

Mom turned in her seat to ask, “Don’t you want to go to Aunt Alice’s house? She’s very kind and will take good care of you.”

“I know. It’s just that, well, what if there’s nothing to do? Sitting around all day could get really boring. Maybe I should have stayed home and spent the night at Anna’s house.” Anna was Maggie’s best friend.

Mother looked deeply into Maggie’s worried eyes. “It’s true, we could have left you at Anna’s house, but Dad and I wanted this to be a special trip for the whole family. We have been preparing Grandma and Grandpa McCallister’s records for a long time so that we could do their temple work. You never knew Grandma, but you’re like her in many ways. We thought this trip would be a good chance for you to feel close to her.”

Grandma McCallister had passed away when Maggie was only a baby, and Grandpa had died just last summer. Maggie knew that Mom was anxious to have their temple work done so that they could be a part of her family forever. Maggie slumped back in her seat. She knew that this day was important. She just wasn’t sure about spending it with Aunt Alice.

When they stopped in front of a small brick home several hours later, butterflies fluttered around in Maggie’s stomach.

“Grab your bag, sweetie—this is it,” Mom said.

Maggie picked up her backpack and slowly climbed out of the car. Her legs were stiff from the long trip, and she dragged them reluctantly up the front walk.

“Come on, honey. Dad and I have to get going.” Mom stopped at the front door and put her arms around Maggie’s drooping shoulders. “Don’t worry. Everything is going to be just fine. You might even enjoy yourself.” Mom smiled.

It was comforting to see the familiar twinkle in Mom’s eyes. Maggie perked up and smiled back.

Just then the front door opened, and the familiar aroma of chocolate chip cookies met Maggie’s nose.

“Well, look who’s here!” Aunt Alice exclaimed. “Maggie Magpie! I haven’t seen you since you were a baby!”

Maggie raised an eyebrow. “Maggie Magpie?”

“Oh, that’s what we used to call your grandma when she was a girl. Her name is Margaret, too, you know.”

Maggie barely heard her mother’s good-bye as she stepped into the house with Aunt Alice.

“Come and have some cookies while we get reacquainted, Maggie Magpie.”

Maggie looked around as she walked through the front room toward the kitchen. She stopped in her tracks when her eyes came to rest on a tall display cabinet full of fancy porcelain dolls. “Wow! Do you collect dolls?”

“Sure do. Do you like dolls?”

“I do! I have a collection, too. Well, it’s not as big or fancy as yours, but I really like dolls.”

“You know, your Grandma McCallister liked dolls, too. In fact, I may have something of hers that you can take home with you.”

Maggie followed Aunt Alice into the kitchen, wondering what she might have for her. Aunt Alice poured Maggie a glass of milk and set out some cookies. “Help yourself, honey. I’ll be right back.” She climbed a creaky flight of narrow wooden stairs to the attic. A few minutes later, she returned with an old shoe box.

“Just before your grandma died, she gave me this box. She asked me to keep it for you until you were old enough to take care of what’s inside.” A smile filled Aunt Alice’s face. “I think you’re old enough now. Want to see?”

Maggie nodded eagerly.

Aunt Alice took off several rubber bands, then carefully lifted the cardboard lid. Very gently she peeled back layers of faded tissue paper. Maggie leaned forward to see what lay inside. Beneath the folds of paper lay the most beautiful doll Maggie had ever seen. The eyes blinked open in the pale porcelain face as Aunt Alice lifted the doll out of the box. “Do you want to hold it?”

Maggie could barely breathe as she carefully took the doll into her arms and rocked it tenderly.

“Your grandma called her Bessie, or sometimes Miss Bess. She has the same beautiful dark red hair that you have and that your grandmother had.”

As Maggie gently smoothed the pale blue dress and white lace pinafore and patted the shining curly hair, she imagined another little redheaded girl holding this very doll a long time ago. She felt a new love for Grandma and began to believe that maybe she knew her a little bit after all.

An unexpected tear slid down Maggie’s cheek as she looked into Aunt Alice’s beaming face. “Thank you, Aunt Alice. I’ll take good care of her, I promise.”

“I know you will, Maggie Magpie,” Aunt Alice said. “You’re a lot like your grandma, you know.”

Maggie smiled lovingly at Grandma’s doll. She was glad that she was a lot like Grandma. And she was grateful that her parents were at the temple doing Grandma and Grandpa’s temple work. She wanted them all to be a family forever.

(top of page)

Fully-Charged Flashlight

By Sheila Kindred
Friend, Aug 2002, 14
(A true story)

And the Spirit giveth light to every man that cometh into the world (D&C 84:46).

Mark stood up at the podium in the Primary room and opened his scriptures. Rain was pounding the roof, and he knew he’d have to talk loudly to be heard over its noise. He cleared his throat and read:

“ ‘And the Spirit giveth light to every man that cometh into the world; and the Spirit enlighteneth every man through the world, that hearkeneth to the voice of the Spirit.

“ ‘And every one that hearkeneth to the voice of the Spirit cometh unto God, even the Father.’ ”

When he finished the scripture, Mark looked up at his mom, who was sitting in the back of the room. She winked at him. They both had a special feeling ever since yesterday’s experience.

Yesterday had been one of those hot and humid summer afternoons so common in Iowa. A storm was brewing when Mark and his mother drove to the local department store.

“Looks like we should have brought our umbrellas,” Mom observed when they got out of the car. “I hope we don’t get wet later.”

Mark looked at the gathering dark clouds and thought he heard thunder in the distance. They hurried into the store.

“This won’t take long,” Mom said as she headed past displays to the middle of the large building. As she stood waiting to pick up some photographs, Mark noticed the store manager moving quickly from department to department giving a brief message to each salesclerk.

The manager spoke softly, but Mark could hear him clearly when he got to the jewelry department nearby. “Find your flashlight and make sure it has fully-charged batteries.” The jewelry clerk nodded, and the manager moved on to the next department, delivering the same message: “Find your flashlight and make sure it has fully-charged batteries.” The clerk in this department shook his head after the manager left and muttered to himself, “I don’t have time for that nonsense.”

Mark looked at his mom, who had also overheard the message. “It’s OK,” she assured him. “Just stick close to me.”

Mark moved closer and took her hand. Just then there was a loud crack of thunder directly overhead and all the lights went out, plunging the store into darkness. Mark heard a brief startled shriek from a few shoppers, followed by some children crying for their parents. Mark was glad he had stayed close by his mother.

Mom squeezed his hand and whispered, “Stand still and wait.”

When Mark’s eyes got used to the dark, he could see daylight coming in from the windows of the storefront, but the light seemed faint and far away. Sounds of panic died away quickly as, throughout the store, small lights came on and started to move.

One light moved toward Mark, and a voice spoke from above it in the dark. “Follow me, please.” It was a store clerk, holding a flashlight. Together Mark and his mother joined a group of shoppers who were already behind the clerk, and they slowly made their way down the dark aisles. The group grew larger the farther they went, being joined by other shoppers and clerks, including the clerk who thought that taking time to find his flashlight was “nonsense.”

Mark felt relieved when they got to the front of the store and could see sunlight coming in the front windows and doors. They no longer needed the clerks with the flashlights, so the clerks left them and turned back into the darkness to find other shoppers and lead them to the light.

As Mark walked to the car with his mom, he jumped over puddles of water that reflected the clearing sky overhead. The storm had come and gone quickly, and now the day was full of sunshine. Evidence of the storm was still all around them, however, and on the way home, Mark saw fallen tree limbs and broken traffic lights.

When they pulled into their driveway, Mom asked him, “Did you know you have a light inside you a lot like those flashlights in the store?”

“I do?”

“Yes. It is the light of Christ. We are born with the ability to tell right from wrong because we have the light of Christ. Sometimes we call it our conscience. Then later, when we are baptized and receive the gift of the Holy Ghost, we have an even brighter light.”

Mark thought about this for a moment. “Do I have to keep my batteries fully charged?”

Mom chuckled. “Yes, indeed. And the scriptures tell you how.”

When they got in the house, Mom showed Mark the scripture in Doctrine and Covenants 84:46 [D&C 84:46].

“ ‘Hearkeneth to the voice of the Spirit.’ What does that mean?” Mark asked.

“For now, listen to your conscience, and after you are baptized, listen to the still, small voice of the Spirit,” Mom explained. “Do what it tells you to do, and your light will always be fully charged.”

“And ready for any storm!”

“Exactly.”

The rain had stopped pounding the roof of the church, and the sun was starting to filter through the curtains into the Primary room. Mark swallowed hard.

“I know that this scripture is true,” Mark said with a catch in his voice. “And I’m grateful that God has given each of us a light inside us that can lead us safely out of the darkness of any storm.”

(top of page)

Sharing the Harvest

By Arthur Barrett
Friend, Aug 2002, 32
(Based on a true story)

Thou shalt open thine hand wide unto thy brother (Deut. 15:11).

June pushed as Grandpa pulled the old red wagon up and down the long rows of vegetables. Grandpa stooped to inspect a knee-high, leafy green plant. “June, here are some nice big green peppers. Do you think that they are ready to pick?”

June stooped down to look. “Yup.” She carefully picked one and held it up to Grandpa for final approval.

“Yup,” Grandpa agreed. “Just right.”

June smiled and picked two more. She carefully placed them next to the corn in the wagon. The wagon was almost full, but there were still cucumbers, green beans, and squash to harvest.

She beamed as she looked at the beautiful fresh vegetables in the wagon. There were big red tomatoes, ears of yellow corn, orange carrots, leafy green lettuce, red radishes, and now, big green peppers.

Grandpa and June had planted the big garden in the spring. First they got the soil ready. Next, June helped Grandpa plant seeds in little holes. Then they carefully covered them with dirt.

After the seeds were covered, she helped Grandpa sprinkle the rich, dark soil with water. Up and down the long rows they went, digging and planting and watering.

They had also put in some small plants. “If we plant these instead of seeds, we’ll get vegetables sooner,” Grandpa explained. “I just can’t wait to pop a ripe tomato into my mouth!” Grandpa loved tomatoes.

Together June and Grandpa watered their garden almost every day. Grandpa put on his big black irrigating boots, and June tugged on her little blue rubber puddle hoppers. It was fun walking up and down the long rows, getting their boots muddy while they made sure that each plant got enough to drink.

Grandpa and June spent a lot of time weeding the long rows of vegetables, too. “Weeds drink up all the water,” Grandpa explained. “Now what is this I see?”

June squatted next to Grandpa to have a look. “Does it look like the plants around it?” Grandpa asked.

June compared the green plant to those near it. “Nope.”

“Weed or vegetable?”

“Weed,” June stated firmly and pulled it out with a hard jerk.

“Yup,” Grandpa said with a big smile, “you sure are a good gardener.”

June looked up at Grandpa. “Wow, Grandpa, we sure have lots of vegetables!”

“Yup, with lots more to come!” He unloaded the last acorn squash from the wagon onto the back porch. He sat down and wiped his forehead with his little red handkerchief. “Well, June, do you think we can eat all these vegetables ourselves?”

“Nope. We couldn’t eat that many in a hundred years.”

“You’re right,” Grandpa replied with a chuckle. “Well then, what do you think we should do with them all? I hate to waste any of our hard work.”

June thought a moment. She was proud of the vegetables and didn’t want to waste any, either. “I know! Let’s share them!”

“Now, that’s what I call a good idea! But who do you think would want some?”

June didn’t have to think very hard. “Sister Rencher doesn’t have a garden since she can’t bend down to pull weeds anymore. I bet she would like some.”

“Yup,” said Grandpa thoughtfully. “Who else?” June’s mind was working fast. “Sister Rice works all day. She doesn’t have time to plant and care for a garden.” “Good thinking, June. And the Sorenson’s next door don’t have room in their yard for a garden. I bet they would like some.” “May we give some vegetables to my Primary teacher, Sister Johnson?” June asked. “I know she would like them.” “Yup,” Grandpa said. “Now, how many people is that?”

June counted on her fingers. “Sister Rencher is one. Sister Rice is two. The Sorensons are three, and Sister Johnson makes four.”

Grandpa scratched his gray head. “How can we get all these vegetables to all those people?”

“I know! I know!” She jumped up and went into the house. Soon she was back, carrying four big brown grocery sacks. “We can put vegetables in a different sack for each person!”

“That’s a great idea,” Grandpa said. Together June and Grandpa thoughtfully chose vegetables for each person and carefully put them into the sacks.

“How can we get the sacks of vegetables to the people?” Grandpa asked.

“Can we take them in our wagon?”

“Yup. I think that will work.” Grandpa said. “You always have such good ideas! Now, who should we visit first?”

“The Sorensons. They’re the closest.”

Later, June held Grandpa’s hand as they pulled the empty wagon home. They had delivered all their vegetables. June’s small hand felt warm and secure inside Grandpa’s big one. She felt good inside.

“Grandpa, it’s sure fun to plant a garden. It’s even more fun to weed and water it. But do you know what’s the most fun of all?”

“What?”

“Sharing the vegetables.”

“Yup,” said Grandpa with a big smile.

(top of page)

Finding Grandpa Oskar

By Kathy Sowa Birdsall
Friend, Aug 2002, 46
(A true story)

And he shall plant in the hearts of the children the promises made to the fathers, and the hearts of the children shall turn to their fathers (D&C 2:2).

Nathan stretched, yawned, and opened his eyes. He hadn’t even gotten out of bed yet. Why was he so happy? Then he remembered. Mom had told him that they were going to do something really special as soon as his older brother and sister had left for school. Nathan got dressed as fast as he could so that he wouldn’t miss a minute.

He ran out to the kitchen. Mom smiled at him. “You’re all ready to go! Great!”

“Where are we going?” Nathan was so excited that he could hardly stand it. “Ice skating? Shopping? To the zoo?”

“We’re going someplace much more important,” Mom said. “We’re going to the family history center.”

“Family history center?” Nathan flopped down into a chair. “You said you were going to take me someplace special today. You go to the family history center every week. What’s so special about it?”

“It’s time for you to find out!”

Thirty minutes later, Mom unlocked a door at the stake center, and they walked in. Nathan had never seen anything like this before. The room was just like many he’d seen in their ward building, but this one was filled with machines, cabinets, and bookcases.

“This is our stake family history center,” Mom said as she started turning on computers. “I do a little of our own family history on Wednesdays, but mostly I help other people do theirs. People depend on me to have the center open so that they can find their ancestors. Then they can get the temple work done for them.”

“You mean this is what happens before Tim and Sherry do baptisms for the dead at the temple?”

“That’s right, Nate. Before anyone can be baptized for a person, someone has to find out who that person is.”

“How do they do that?”

“If you have a little patience, it’s not hard,” Mom said. “Would you like to find someone who needs to be baptized?”

“I guess so.”

“I was hoping that you’d say that,” Mom said. “I’m on the trail of finding your great-great-grandpa Oskar Pederson. He came to America from Sweden.” Mom took out a microfilm and threaded it in the reader. After a few turns of the handle, a chart appeared with old-fashioned writing on it.

“Do I have to read this?” Nathan frowned.

“You don’t have to read all the words. See this number here? That’s the birth year. Grandpa Pederson was born in 1885. Now, just look down this column until you see 1885. Whenever you do, look over here and see if the name is Oskar.”

Nathan nodded. “I think I can do that. Can I try to find him all by myself?”

“OK, Nate. Good luck.”

Nathan started slowly turning the microfilm wheel, looking at one page after another. Some other people came and started working on the computers. Mom went from one to the other and helped them. Every so often she came back to Nathan. “How are you doing? Are you tired yet?”

“No, I’m still looking.”

About an hour later, Nathan shouted, “Mom, I found him!”

Mom hurried over and looked at the bright page on the reader. “You’re right,” she said softly. “There he is. And look, Nathan, you not only found him, you found his mom and dad. They’re your great-great-great-grandparents!”

“Wow!” Nathan touched the names on the reader with his finger. “Does this mean that you and Dad and Tim and Sherry can be baptized for these people?”

“That’s right, Nate,” Mom said. “You’ve just pushed our family tree back another generation. These people were lost until you found them! I’m sure that they’re really happy right now.”

“This is neat, Mom! Can I come with you the next time I don’t have school?”

“Nathan!” Mom pretended to be shocked. “You mean this is better than skating?”

“Much better than skating,” Nathan said. And he meant it.

(top of page)

(September)

And a Little Child Shall Lead Them

By LaVere Johns
Friend, Sep 2002, 4
(A true story)

Therefore, thrust in your sickle with all your soul (D&C 31:5).

When Grandma and Grandpa Johns left to serve a mission to the Bern Switzerland Temple, their family members resolved to follow their example. In their own way, they would be missionaries, too.

Kyle was in the fourth grade and took the challenge very seriously. When he asked his mother what he could do to be a missionary, she answered, “You have to find someone, be a good friend to him, and then wait and see what happens.”

When the new school year began, Kyle looked around at the members of his class. Pedro, a boy from Mexico, looked like he needed a special friend. Soon Kyle and Pedro were talking and playing together. Kyle invited Pedro to his home to play, and he often went to Pedro’s home.

Because Sunday was a special day for Kyle and his family, he and his brothers did not play in their neighborhood or have friends over to their home on that day. Instead, their family went to church and enjoyed family activities together afterward.

Pedro didn’t understand. His family didn’t have rules like Kyle’s family, and he could do whatever he wanted to on Sunday. Kyle’s mother suggested that he invite Pedro to Primary. Maybe then he would understand why Kyle’s family chose to do what they did on Sunday. Kyle told Pedro, “Come with me to Primary, and we can be together on Sunday mornings. You can ride with us, and we’ll take you home afterward.”

Pedro was interested. He asked Kyle to come with him to ask his father for permission.

When Kyle asked Pedro’s father, he answered, “If Pedro wants to go, then it is all right with me.”

The next Sunday found Kyle and Pedro together in Primary. The teacher was very kind and welcoming. When the class was ending, he gave an assignment to the class from the scriptures for the following Sunday. Kyle had his own copies of the scriptures and took them to Primary each Sunday. He was eager to do the assignment the teacher made. So was Pedro, but he didn’t have any scriptures of his own. He went to his father and asked if he could have a set. Even though Pedro and his family were not members of the Church, his father saw how much it meant to him to have his own set of scriptures. He decided that they were all good books and bought them for Pedro.

The boys continued to attend Primary together. One Sunday, the teacher gave the boys a list of scriptures to study and asked them to have their parents explain the meanings to them. He made new scripture assignments each week for several weeks.

As they studied, Pedro and Kyle became more and more interested in the gospel. They had a lesson on baptism and learned that the Lord requires it of everyone. They also learned how it is administered and by whom. As they helped Pedro with his reading assignments in preparation for his Primary class each week, Pedro’s family found this information new and interesting.

One day, Pedro asked Kyle, “Do you think my dad would let me be baptized?”

They decided that they would go ask Pedro’s father together. Imagine how surprised Pedro’s father was when they walked up to him and Kyle asked, “Can Pedro be baptized into my church?”

Pedro’s father said, “I’ll have to think about it before I give you an answer. I know a member of your church. I’d like to talk with him before I give my answer.” Pedro’s father talked with his friend, who happened to be serving in Kyle’s ward as the mission leader. Soon an appointment was made for the missionaries to begin teaching Pedro’s family the gospel. The family studied and worked with the missionaries to gain testimonies. Pedro and his brother were ready to be baptized first. As their father and mother watched them enter the waters of baptism, the Spirit whispered to them that what was taking place was true and correct. They decided to prepare themselves for baptism.

As Kyle rode home with his family after the baptism of his friend, he told his mother, “Tomorrow Pedro and I will look around our class and find another person who needs a friend. Then we will invite him to Primary!”

Kyle was very happy to write to his grandma and grandpa in Switzerland and tell them of his experience as a missionary. He ended his letter by saying, “Everyone can be a missionary. You just have to be a good friend and then wait and see what happens!”

(top of page)

Abba’s Gifts

By Holly Furgason
Friend, Sep 2002, 21
(Based on a true story)

Give alms [gifts] of such things as ye have (Luke 11:41).

Abba loved Primary, and today it was more fun than usual. The lesson was on giving. During the lesson, they sang her favorite song, “ ‘Give,’ Said the Little Stream.” On the way home from church, the words of the song kept going through her mind, “ ‘Give away, oh! give away.’ ”

The next day, she went to the library to see her friends at story time. As she got ready, she kept singing the song to herself, “Give, then, as Jesus gives; There is something all can give.”

That’s it! Abba thought. There is something I can give. She dressed quickly and ran out to her mother. “May I use your big blue tote bag today, Mom?”

“Of course you may,” Mom told her. “What are you going to carry in such a large bag?”

“I’m going to wrap up presents to give to people today! I want today to be different.”

Abba and her mother left the house with the tote bag full of the little presents. They were Abba’s own toys, and she was going to share them with others who needed them.

The bus came, and Abba found a seat near the front. A small girl sitting nearby was crying while her mother was trying to quiet a fussy baby.

Abba reached into her bag and handed the girl a present.

Abba’s mother told the girl in her best Spanish, “It’s a gift for you. Open it!”

The little girl looked at her mother, then quickly opened the gift when her mother nodded yes. Soon she was sitting quietly, playing with a small doll.

The people on the bus were all smiling.

Abba and her mother got off the bus long enough to do some banking. When they walked into the bank, one of the customers seemed very angry. He raised his voice to the teller, then stormed away.

Abba saw the sad look on the teller’s face and tugged at her mother’s sweater. “May I give a grown-up a gift?”

“Sure—but first let me ask if she would like one.”

Abba walked up to the counter as her mother told the teller about the gift. Abba handed it to her and watched as a smile broke out on the teller’s face when she opened it and saw a pretty yellow airplane! The teller held it up for the other people in the bank to see.

As Abba and her mother walked out the door, they could hear the other people laughing and talking happily about the gift.

Abba told her mother jokes as the bus sped past the skyscrapers into downtown.

Her friend Jessica met her at the library with some sad news. Jessica was going to move soon. This was the last time that she would see Abba.

When the story hour was over, Abba gave Jessica one of her presents to help Jessica remember her. The storybook cheered Jessica up, and all of Jessica’s library friends hugged her good-bye.

The last stop for the day was at Abba’s big sister’s dance school. Abba loved to go there and play with the older children while she waited for her sister to finish her class. Today, however, instead of being greeted by playing children, she saw one of the teenagers standing by the door crying.

“What’s wrong, Olivia?” Abba asked.

Olivia said that one of the boys had called her a name and made fun of her.

Abba was afraid to offer a toy to a teenager, but she thought about it for a minute and decided that it might help. She was right!

After opening the gift, Olivia dried her tears, picked Abba up and spun her around and around in a big hug. Then Olivia ran inside to show everyone her gift.

All the other teenagers laughed happily as they played with the sparkly bouncy ball. Soon Olivia had forgotten about the mean boy.

That night before she said her prayers, Abba cuddled with her mother. She asked why everyone had seemed so happy, when she had given a gift to only one person at each place.

Her mother explained that everyone was happy because she had given a gift more important than the little toys. She had given the gift of love, and everyone had felt it!

(top of page)

Out of the Fog

By Kim T. Griswell
Friend, Sep 2002, 32
(A true story)

Stand by your conscience, your honor, your faith (Children’s Songbook, page 158).

Why was it that whenever Bobby asked his dad to let him have a bit of fun on the weekend, it always had to turn into an argument about Church standards? All he wanted to do was go on a fishing trip with his friend Jason. But Dad wouldn’t let him go unless Jason’s folks could bring him back in time for church on Sunday.

“Just tell him that you believe in keeping the Sabbath Day holy,” his dad suggested with a smile.

“Dad! I can’t tell Jason that!” Bobby declared. “He’ll think I’m a loser!”

Dad folded the newspaper he was reading and sat quietly for a moment considering his next words. “Son, you have to stand for something, or you’ll fall for anything.”

Bobby didn’t like it when his father talked in clichés. They were just sayings that were passed from person to person until they lost all meaning. Anyway, he didn’t understand what the big deal was. He was just going to spend the weekend with Jason and his family. He’d only miss church that one Sunday. I’ll just call Dad Sunday morning and tell him I can’t make it home in time for church, he decided.

“OK, Dad,” Bobby said. “Whatever you say.”

“Good decision, Son.” Dad thumped Bobby on the arm as he left the room.

Bobby felt a bit like a worm dangling on a hook, but he pushed the uncomfortable feeling to the back of his mind as he hurried to stuff a few things in his backpack. A whole weekend fishing! Yes! he thought.

The phone call to his dad Sunday morning brought that wriggling-worm feeling back again, but the sun was shining and the fish were biting. He shook the sound of his father’s disappointment out of his head and ran outside to join Jason.

Blue Lake shimmered like a saucer filled with diamonds. Bobby hoisted his end of the canoe off his shoulder and helped Jason maneuver it into the water. They soon were stroking toward the middle of the lake. A hawk soared overhead, then dove toward the lake. Its claws struck the water, thrusting beneath the surface. Its great wings beat soundlessly as it struggled to rise with a silver fish in its grasp.

“Wow! I wish I could fish like that!” Jason exclaimed.

The boys reeled in a couple of bite-size brookies, but they unhooked them and carefully placed them back in the water. “You guys need to grow up a bit before you can come home with us!” Bobby said.

Soon one of them reeled in a rainbow trout that would span a frying pan. Concentrating on their fishing, they didn’t notice the white wisps gathering near the shore until the first frigid fingers of fog darted down the necks of their jackets. By the time they’d secured their fishing poles and picked up their paddles, Bobby noticed that Jason was only a shadow at the other end of the canoe.

“Which way?” Bobby asked, dipping his paddle into the water.

“I don’t know. I can’t see the land.” Jason’s voice was muffled, as if he was fading away in the fog that engulfed them.

“Well, let’s just paddle straight. We’ll have to hit the shore sometime,” Bobby said.

They paddled and paddled, but caught no sign of land.

“I think we’re going in circles.” Jason’s voice sounded small.

The fog thickened around them like a quilt, swallowing them in its thick cottony folds. There were snags in the lake, hidden roots of trees that could grab a canoe and hold it fast. There were rocks, too—the jagged kind that could bite a hole right out of a boat. Though he could see none of these dangers, Bobby felt them lurking nearby, waiting for them to paddle the wrong way. Sooner or later, they would hit something. Sooner or later, they’d feel cold water rush into the bottom of the boat, feel the suck and drag of the lake pulling them down. …

Bobby’s teeth started to chatter, and he thrust a hand against his chin to stop the noise. He could not let his fears take over. He grasped his paddle tighter. What would Dad do in this situation? When he thought of his dad, the uncomfortable feeling he’d had earlier came back. Dad wouldn’t be out in the middle of the lake on Sunday morning. He’d be in church, keeping the Sabbath holy.

“Bobby? What are we going to do?” Jason’s voice sounded high and jiggly.

Bobby’s head felt as fuzzy as the mist, but after a minute a bit of light broke through. If his dad had been in this situation, he’d stand up for what he believed in. He would pray. Taking a deep breath, Bobby said, “I think we need to pray.”

Jason grunted. Bobby wasn’t sure if he was agreeing or just waiting until later to call him a loser. Right now, that didn’t seem to matter.

“Heavenly Father, I guess I’m not exactly where I should be right now,” Bobby whispered, “and I’m sorry about that. But we really need your help. Please help us find the way back to the shore. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”

Bobby opened his eyes, hoping for a miracle, but the fog did not lift. Instead, a voice that sounded a lot like Dad’s said two words, “Stand up.”

Yeah, I get it, Bobby thought. Stand up for what you believe in, and I will, I promise. But what about right now?

“Stand up,” the voice was more insistent.

Stand up? In a canoe? That was the last thing he wanted to do. Standing up in a canoe would probably get him a good dunking in the cold lake. But he couldn’t shake the certainty in that voice.

“Uh, Jason?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to stand up for a second.”

“Are you nuts?” Jason must have started forward in his seat, because the canoe rocked. “Do you want us to end up at the bottom of the lake?”

“No, but I think the answer to my prayer is to stand up.”

“That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard. Do you really believe in that prayer stuff?”

Bobby took a deep breath. “Yes,” he said. “I really do.”

He stood slowly, keeping his feet spread evenly on either side of the canoe bottom. As he rose, his head broke through the fog. He blinked, shading his eyes. He couldn’t believe it. The fog came only to his chest. Above the fog, the day still shone bright and clear. Off to his left, he could see the spot where they’d launched the canoe.

For the first time, Bobby really understood what his father had been trying to tell him. When you stand up for what you believe in, you come out into the light and everything becomes really clear. He sat back down. “Pull right,” he said. “We’re going home.”

(top of page)

Anna and the Blue Belt

By Katherine Tweddell
Friend, Sep 2002, 46
(A true story)

Thou shalt not steal (Ex. 20:15).

“Mom,” Anna said, “could we please stop at the next rest area? I need to get out and stretch.”

“Sure,” Mom replied. “There’s one coming up in just a few miles. I guess you haven’t had much chance to stretch since I picked you up after kindergarten.”

As soon as Mom stopped the car, Anna jumped out. There were no other cars, so she ran back and forth along the sidewalk for a few minutes. Then she went into the rest room. The first thing she saw was a shiny blue belt lying on the counter. She picked it up and looked at it. It was almost new. She rubbed it against her cheek. It felt good.

Blue is my favorite color, she thought. This even matches my pants. She tried it on. It fit just right.

When her mother came into the rest room, Anna held up the belt. “Look what I found.”

“That’s really pretty,” Mom said.

“Would it be OK if I kept it? There’s no one here for it to belong to.”

Mom thought a minute. “I think it’s your choice, Anna.”

Anna left the belt in the rest room and went out and sat on the lawn. She thought about what a great belt it was. Then she remembered a story Dad had told them in family home evening about finding a pocketknife when he was a boy. He had left it where he found it because it wasn’t his.

But I bet he didn’t want the knife nearly as much as I want this belt, Anna thought. Anyway, who would it hurt? The owner is long gone.

She thought how impressed the girls at school would be when she wore it. Maybe even her teacher would tell her what a pretty belt it was. Then she remembered the story her Primary teacher had told last week about a little boy who had returned a ball he’d found and how good he had felt about his decision.

Anna went back into the rest room. She picked up the belt and tried it on again. She remembered that she had a skirt it would go with perfectly. She even had shoes that were the same color of blue. She started to leave the rest room wearing the belt, then stopped and looked at herself in the mirror. The belt looked awesome with her pants. But did she like the girl who was wearing it? She took it off and rubbed the buckle with her thumb. She put it back on the counter and left, looking back at the belt one last time.

As she walked out the door, another car pulled into the parking lot. A girl about Anna’s age jumped out and raced into the rest room. A moment later, the girl ran back out, waving the belt in the air. “Mom, Mom, it was still there!”

Anna smiled.

(top of page)

(October)

Micah’s Miracle

By Christine Mehrin
Friend, Oct 2002, 4
(A true story)

Call unto me, and I will answer thee (Jer. 33:3).

Micah’s very first word was “Why?” From that day on, he asked questions. He asked about clouds, rainbows, rivers, and trees. He asked about books, trains, kings, and skyscrapers.

He liked to think about new things. His mom and dad couldn’t keep up with all the answers he needed. They even bought encyclopedias so that they could look up answers they weren’t sure about. And then one day, when Micah was seven, he asked a very important question: “Mom, how do I know for sure that Heavenly Father is real?”

Mom put down the jar of baby food she’d just taken from the fridge and turned to smile at him. “I’m glad you’re thinking about that, Micah. It’s only a few months until you’ll be old enough to be baptized, and it’s important to know about the promises you’ll be making. Knowing about Heavenly Father is the first step.”

“Oh, I know about Him, Mom. I’ve had lots of Primary lessons, and we’ve read about Him in the scriptures. But how do I find out if it’s really true?”

Mom sat down at the kitchen table and looked Micah right in the eye. “If you want a testimony of your own, you’ll have to do some hard work. You’ve seen lots of people stand up on fast Sunday and bear their testimonies. They tell what they believe.”

“Oh, yeah, like how Sister Thomas always talks about how she loves the temple, and Brother Matsom always cries when he gets to the part about Jesus.”

“Right. And have you noticed how you feel when people are bearing their testimonies?”

“Sometimes I feel warm and happy inside.”

“That’s the Holy Ghost telling you that you are hearing something true. If you want to find your own testimony, you’ll have to pray and ask for help, you’ll have to remember to study your scriptures, and you’ll have to try very hard to keep the commandments so that Heavenly Father will know that you are serious about wanting an answer.”

“I can do that.”

For the next two weeks, Micah’s mom and dad were amazed at how hard Micah worked. He played happily with his brother, Sam, and didn’t get angry. He watched his baby sister while Mom talked with her visiting teachers. He even picked up his toys the first time he was asked. When Dad sat down in the evening before bed to read the Book of Mormon with him, Micah tried very hard to listen and even sounded out a lot of the words himself. But one night Micah didn’t seem happy.

“Is something bothering you, Son?”

“Dad, I’ve been trying for two weeks now. I’ve been really, really good. I’ve read. I’ve prayed. And I’ve been nice! But I still don’t know if Heavenly Father is real or not.”

Dad nodded. “I can understand why you’re frustrated. Sometimes Heavenly Father makes us wait a little while for our answers so that when they do come, they mean more to us.”

“Why would He make me wait? I want to know if He’s real. If I don’t get an answer, then He must not be real.”

Dad put his arm around Micah. “Why don’t we see if there’s an answer in the scriptures?” He opened the Book of Mormon to Ether 12:6 and read, “ ‘faith is things which are hoped for and not seen; wherefore, dispute not because ye see not, for ye receive no witness until after the trial of your faith.’ ”

“What’s a trial?” Micah asked. “Mom got a squishy little packet of shampoo in the mail last week that said ‘trial’ on it, but I don’t see how washing my hair is going to help.”

“Well,” Dad said, “That little packet is so a person like your mom can try out a new shampoo and see if she likes it before she buys a big bottle. Mom gives the shampoo a trial so that she can see if it does what she wants it to. When Heavenly Father gives us a trial, it’s kind of like that. He wants to see if we do what He wants us to, even if it’s hard.”

“So Heavenly Father is waiting to see if I’m going to give up or not?”

“A testimony is one of the most important things He can give you. If you were going to give someone a very special present, wouldn’t you want to make sure that person really wanted it and would take care of it?”

“Yes, I guess so.”

“There are all kinds of miracles, Micah. Some of them are big and flashy, like Moses parting the Red Sea, but most of them are quiet, and the quietest of all is when the Holy Ghost talks to us about Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. Be patient, Son, and listen carefully.”

That night, long after everyone had gone to bed, Micah had a nightmare. It was terrible, and Micah woke up afraid to move. He was too scared to go into Mom and Dad’s room, too scared even to cry out for them to come to him. As he huddled under his blanket, he wondered what he could do to feel better. Last Sunday, his Primary teacher had told his class that when you are very afraid, you should pray for comfort.

“Dear Heavenly Father,” he whispered, “I really need help. I’ve tried very hard to find out if You’re there, and I know I’m supposed to be patient, but I can’t wait any longer. I’m scared.”

As soon as Micah finished his prayer, he heard a noise in the hall. Suddenly the bathroom light switched on, and Dad peeked around the edge of Micah’s bedroom door.

“Are you all right?” Dad said softly. “All of a sudden I woke up, and I’m sure I heard a voice say, ‘Micah needs you.’ What happened?”

“I had a really bad dream, Dad.”

“Oh? Why the big smile then?”

“When I was scared, Heavenly Father heard my prayer and woke you up. He has to be real because He helped me when I asked. You know, it doesn’t matter if it’s not a big, flashy miracle as long as it’s just what you need.”

Dad sat on the edge of Micah’s bed and hugged him tightly. “That’s right, Micah,” he said. “That’s right.”

(top of page)

Different Walls, Same Foundation

By Sheila Kindred
Friend, Oct 2002, 10
(A true story)

Worship God, in whatsoever place ye may be in (Alma 34:38).

“This will be the last time we meet here until next spring,” Betsy’s father said as they entered the meetinghouse. “For the next six months, until our building is finished, we’ll meet across town.”

Betsy knew all this. Work had already started on getting the meetinghouse in better condition. The grassy area out back where Betsy’s Achievement Days class used to go for activities had become a parking lot. Trailers and big trucks were parked there now.

The whole ward had been getting ready for this change. On Saturday, Betsy and other Primary children helped pack up everything in the Primary closets. Her father was moving desks and chairs from the family history center into storage units in the parking lot, and her mother was packing books and videos from the meetinghouse library.

Everyone else seemed to be happy as they worked, but Betsy felt sad. The building looked so empty! She missed looking at the picture on the wall in the Primary room of Jesus and the children, and she missed the hallway bulletin board with its photographs of the full-time missionaries. She even missed the cheery flower arrangement that was always on the table in the lobby.

Now the building no longer looked like the church Betsy remembered. It was plain and bare. Starting the next day, the ward members would not be allowed in the building until the work was done. After today everything will be different, Betsy thought.

“Will I still have Achievement Days?” she asked on the way home from church. She didn’t think she could stand going for six months without that. “And what about Primary activity days? Where will we have them?”

“These things have all been figured out,” her mother assured her. “Don’t worry. You won’t have to give up anything important. Things won’t be that different. You’ll see.”

Betsy wasn’t sure about that. Things looked very different when she walked into the rented building the next week. For one thing, the “chapel” was huge. It even had a balcony. And there was no organ and no choir seats. But still, there was her bishop sitting up on the stand, smiling at her. She felt good when she saw him.

She felt even better when he announced that it was time to bless and pass the sacrament. She had been afraid that they wouldn’t be able to have the sacrament there. The priests had to sit behind a folding table, and the deacons had to go single file up some stairs to get the trays, but it didn’t matter. The prayer had been exactly the same. She knew that the same priesthood was here, just as it had been in the other building, even though the walls were different.

After sacrament meeting, Betsy followed her friend Chelsea down two flights of stairs, through a long narrow hallway, and down three more stairs to get to the temporary Primary classroom. There was no carpet in the room, and sounds echoed. Sister Roberts, her teacher, asked them to be as quiet as possible as they sat in their chairs.

Through the thin walls, Betsy could hear the younger Primary children singing one of her favorite songs, “The Wise Man and the Foolish Man.” The music made Betsy feel more comfortable in the tiny room. Primary hadn’t changed, either, even if the walls were different. They still sang the same songs.

Betsy looked around the room. There was a picture of the prophet and the Apostles on the chalkboard, and a picture of Jesus Christ. It reminded Betsy of the picture that had hung in the Primary room of their meetinghouse.

When the music stopped, Sister Roberts asked someone to give the opening prayer. Then she said, “Open your New Testament to Ephesians 2:19–20 [Eph. 2:19–20]. Here Paul describes how the gospel is like a building.”

Betsy listened carefully. She wanted to hear if anything was said about their building.

But Sister Roberts didn’t mention walls. “Do you know what we call the thing that holds the whole building up?”

Brian raised his hand high. “I know,” he said with a smile. “My dad’s a builder. It’s called the foundation.” “

That’s right,” Sister Roberts said. “And what does this scripture say the foundation is?”

“Apostles and prophets,” Chelsea said.

Betsy looked at the picture of the Apostles and prophet on the chalkboard.

“And do you know what a cornerstone is, Brian?”

Brian shook his head.

“A cornerstone is a stone that connects the foundation with the rest of the building. They are the most important stones in the building. Who does the scripture say is the chief cornerstone?”

“It’s Jesus!” Betsy burst out, excited. She had just realized something important. “Sister Roberts, now I know why this building feels almost like our meetinghouse. Even though these walls are different, it doesn’t matter as long as the Church still has the same foundation and the same cornerstone.”

Sister Roberts smiled at Betsy. “You’re absolutely right!”

(top of page)

The Time Will Come

By Shauna Gibby
Friend, Oct 2002, 30
(A true story)

He that believeth and is baptized shall be saved (Mark 16:16).

In 1978, Isaac was eight years old. He lived in a small village in Cross River State, Nigeria. His house was made of bamboo poles packed with mud and had a roof made of palm leaves. Isaac loved his village and all the people who lived there.

The village was surrounded by a lush, green forest. There were palm trees, banana trees, ferns, and bamboo. To get to the next village, Isaac walked down the dirt road through the forest or rode his cousin’s old bike.

His family had a small farm on which they grew their own food. They ate soup and gari, a dish that looks like oatmeal and is made of boiled roots. One of Isaac’s chores was to walk down to the river and get water for his mother.

On Sundays, Isaac and his family went to church. Their meetinghouse was also made of bamboo and mud, and it had a neat, white sign: THE CHURCH OF JESUS CHRIST OF LATTER-DAY SAINTS. There was a big brass bell in front.

At church, Brother Ekong taught them about Jesus Christ. He read to them from the few books they had received from Salt Lake City. They sang hymns. Isaac’s favorite hymn was “Come, Come, Ye Saints.”

Isaac and many other people in his village had strong testimonies that the Church is true. They were waiting for missionaries to help them learn more about the restored gospel. Brother Ekong did not have the priesthood. He could not baptize them. More than anything, Isaac wanted to be baptized and become a member of the Church. His father told him, “The time will come when we can be baptized.”

When Isaac and his sisters went into the forest to cut sticks for firewood, he prayed for missionaries to come. While he sat on the bank of the river and watched the colorful fish swim back and forth, he sang hymns. He often pretended that the Mormon Tabernacle Choir was singing with him.

One day his father told the family that they were going to have a special meeting on Saturday. Before the meeting, they would fast for twenty-four hours. The meeting was to pray for missionaries to come.

On Saturday, Isaac and his family put on their best clothes. Isaac’s stomach growled with hunger, but he didn’t notice because he was so excited.

Soon the bell rang and the people of the village gathered at the small meetinghouse. It was very crowded. Brother Ekong led them in a hymn and then prayed that the Lord would send missionaries. Many other people took turns praying. Isaac’s mother had tears on her cheeks. They sang again; then it was time to go home.

As the people were leaving, they heard a motor. A car pulled up in front of the building and stopped. Two men and two women got out. Isaac had never seen anyone with skin so pale. Brother Ekong talked excitedly to them. Then he went to the bell and rang it loudly. Everyone quickly returned to the meetinghouse.

Brother Ekong welcomed the four strangers and sat them at the front of the building, facing the people. He told them that the village had been waiting for this glad day for many years. One of the men, Elder Rendell Mabey, stood and told them he was a missionary sent to them by the prophet, President Spencer W. Kimball.

Elder Mabey bore his testimony of the restored gospel. Then Elder Cannon bore his testimony, and their wives also bore theirs. The day was very hot, but no one wanted to leave. The people asked many questions. Elder Mabey promised to return and teach them more. He said that their time had come and that they soon could be baptized.

On the last day of December, 1978, Isaac’s family and many others gathered on the riverbank. They found a spot in the river that had a deep pool. When it was Isaac’s turn, he waded into the gentle river. Elder Mabey took him by the wrist, said the baptismal prayer, and lowered him into the water. The sunlight sparkled on the surface as Isaac waded back to shore. His heart felt warm and sparkly, too.

Twenty-one years later, Isaac stood in the pool of water with his eight-year-old son, Raymond. Isaac now held the priesthood and could baptize his son. His heart was filled with joy as he remembered the beautiful day he had been baptized in that same river. He was very grateful that his time had finally come.

(top of page)

A Living Prophet

By Terri Ann Petersen
Friend, Oct 2002, 48
(A true story)

I have even sent unto you all my servants the prophets (Jer. 7:25).

When I was eleven years old, my father was called to the bishopric of our ward in Idaho. Back then, the Church was small enough that members of bishoprics were invited to general conference at the Tabernacle in Salt Lake City, Utah. My parents decided that my father should go to general conference. They invited my younger brother and me to go with them.

My brother and I enjoyed the trip. We stayed at a hotel, ate at restaurants, and visited Temple Square. My father told me that if I went to the back door of the Tabernacle after conference on Sunday morning, I could see our prophet, President David O. McKay.

Sunday morning was a cool fall day. I went to the Tabernacle with my parents. I found my way to the place my father had told me to go, and as the minutes passed, I noticed other people gathering there. After conference was over, I kept on waiting and watching, hoping to see President McKay.

Suddenly he came out of the door. He smiled and waved to us. The small crowd of people began singing “We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet.” As we stood singing the hymn, a strong, warm feeling filled my being. I knew that the Spirit was telling me that David O. McKay was God’s prophet on the earth at that time.

That was not the only time I went to the back door of the Tabernacle to see the prophet. Each time, as we sang “We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet,” that strong, warm feeling returned to me.

I am grateful that when I was a child, Heavenly Father blessed me with a testimony of the living prophets. It has helped me to have confidence in what the living prophets teach. I have been able to feel Heavenly Father’s love for me as I have learned to have faith in the living prophets.

(top of page)

(November)

A Real Family for Patty Lou

By Lisa Passey Boynton
Friend, Nov 2002, 4
(A true story)

Whatsoever thou shalt bind on earth shall be bound in heaven (Matt. 16:19).

I was seven years old when my foster sister, Patty Lou, came to live with us. My younger brother and sister and I were anxious for this new baby. Mom and Dad said that she needed a new family. We knew about foster children—they were newborn babies our neighbors brought home until a good family adopted them. We were excited to be a foster family, too.

But the baby our parents brought home was not what we expected. For one thing, this baby was nine months old, a lot bigger than a newborn. She had brown hair and big, dark eyes, but she never smiled. And even though she was old enough to sit up and crawl, she couldn’t do either one—she could only lie there and stare at us.

We three kids stared at her, too. Patty had a large red birthmark on her face that covered half of her cheek, nose, and lip. I had a birthmark on my leg, a light brown one, but Patty’s was different and it was hard not to stare at it.

Mom explained, “Even though Patty is still a baby, she has had a rough start already. We don’t know why, but her family neglected her and left her alone in her crib for many hours every day. They didn’t play with her or hold her or love her. As long as she lives with us, we are going to take care of her and show her lots and lots of love. I think that’s what she needs, don’t you?”

Overnight, our lives changed. The old crib that was gathering dust in the garage was put up in my brother’s bedroom, and suddenly there were bottles and diapers and baby toys all over the house.

At first, Patty just watched us with her pretty dark eyes, but it wasn’t long before she smiled for the first time. She started to coo and kick her legs, and soon she could sit up, propped up by piles of pillows and one of us sitting close enough to catch her if she toppled over.

I loved to entertain her in sacrament meeting with little toys and games. Other times, my brother and sister and I made funny faces to make her laugh. We were quickly learning to love our little foster baby.

I soon noticed how people stared at Patty in stores or restaurants. I didn’t like it, especially when someone was mean to her. I had learned in Primary that we should love everybody, no matter what they looked like on the outside. I had angry feelings inside, but my Primary teacher told us a story about Jesus and some people who had a disease called leprosy. Even though other people were mean to the lepers and called them names, Jesus loved them and blessed them. I knew that He loved Patty, too, and I tried to be kinder to everyone.

One day, I saw my parents looking at the newspaper and talking about Patty. They showed me that there was a picture of Patty in the paper, along with a little story that told about Patty’s need to be adopted. I read, “Patty is looking for a real family who will love her and take care of her.”

I noticed that Dad was very quiet and Mom had tears in her eyes. Patty had lived with us for almost a year, and it was hard to think of her going to live with anyone else.

Not long after that day, Mom dressed Patty in her prettiest outfit and put a ribbon in her brown hair. She told us, “There is a young couple who want to come and see Patty and take her on an outing to the zoo. They might want to adopt her, so I want everyone on their best behavior.”

I felt hot tears sting my eyes, and I ran to the bedroom I shared with my sister. I didn’t want to see the people who might take Patty away. I couldn’t pretend that I was happy that she might be adopted. I cried long and hard. By the time I came out of my room, Patty was on her way to the zoo.

Our family seemed to walk on tiptoe in the days that followed. We knew the adoption agency would call to let us know what this young couple had decided, and we jumped every time the phone rang. Finally one night the call came. The look of relief on my father’s face was clear—Patty was staying.

I bundled Patty up and put her in the stroller. While she waved her hands at all the neighbors, I pushed her happily around the block. I didn’t even mind when a group of kids pointed their fingers at her birthmark and started to laugh. I stopped the stroller and gave her a big hug. I was so happy, I thought I would burst!

Patty was our one and only foster baby. We put in our own application to adopt her, and she soon became an official part of our family. We changed her name to Patricia Lin and waited for the day we could go to the temple as a family to be sealed to her forever.

I remember waiting in the children’s room that wonderful day in the St. George Utah Temple, all four of us dressed in sparkling white. A temple worker came to take us to the sealing room at the top of a long staircase. As we entered the beautiful room and saw our parents and grandparents gathered around the sacred altar, little Patty called out, “Hi, Grandpa!” I remember how the Spirit flooded our hearts and made us all cry tears of joy. Patty was now part of our eternal family, just as if she had been born to our parents. We were a “real” family at last!

(top of page)

Pumpkin Pie Surprise

By Heather Klassen
Friend, Nov 2002, 10
(A true story)

And let the peace of God rule in your hearts … ; and be ye thankful (Col. 3:15).

“How many pies are we baking?” Jared asked. He pulled a chair up to the counter to help his mother make the pies.

“A lot—one for Grandpa, one for your baby-sitter, one for Mr. Gomez next door, and pies for lots of other people. It’s my way of thanking them for all they do to help us.”

“And we’re going to deliver them tomorrow, on Thanksgiving?”

“First thing in the morning.”

Jared helped his mother roll out crusts, mix and pour fillings, and pinch the crust edges. Soon the kitchen smelled like pumpkin pies.

“There’s someone else I want to make a thank-you pie for,” Jared said.

“Who?”

“It’s a surprise. Can we make an extra pie?”

“Sure.”

Jared rolled out the crust for another pie while his mother mixed the filling.

In the morning, Jared and his mother carried the pies to the car. She drove very carefully to each house.

“Thank you for everything you do,” Mother said to each person as they delivered the pies.

Finally, there was only one pie left.

“Where do we take your pie, Jared?” Mother asked.

“To the fire station.”

Mother looked surprised, but she turned onto the street that led to the fire station.

“I want to thank the firefighters for being there to help us,” he explained. “They work even on holidays, when most people get to be home with their families.”

“That’s a great idea, Jared.”

He carried the pie into the fire station. The firefighters looked up from polishing their trucks.

“What’s this?” the nearest firefighter asked.

“It’s for you.” Jared handed the pie to the firefighter. “I want to thank all of you for being here on a holiday, ready to help everybody.”

“No one’s ever done this for us before,” the firefighter said. “Thank you. We’ll really enjoy it.”

“I think they liked the pie,” Jared told his mother as they returned to their car.

“Yes, but I think that they liked your idea of thanking them best of all.” Mother hugged him. “And so did I.”

“Let’s go home and bake another pie for us,” Jared suggested. “I think that’s another great idea!”

(top of page)

Through the Hole-in-the-Rock

By Beverly Ahlstrom
Friend, Nov 2002, 20
(A true story based on accounts by David E. Miller and by Raymond Smith Jones, the grandson of the parents in the story)

For God hath not given us the spirit of fear (2 Tim. 1:7).

Ada was cold. Sleepily she snuggled closer to Roy and wished that the wind wouldn’t whip through the canvas of the wagon.

“Where’s Papa?” her little brother mumbled.

“Mama said he’d come for us soon,” Ada answered, sliding her arms around his middle.

“Are we going to go down the hole, too,” Roy wanted to know, “like all the other wagons?”

Ada thought of the hole in the rock that Papa and the other men on the mission had worked on for six weeks. Papa said that going down the cliff to the river was the only way to the San Juan mission, and since Heavenly Father and the prophet wanted them to go, they would do it, even if it meant sliding 1,800 feet (550 m) down a steep road. “Papa said so,” she said.

“Ada? Roy?”

“Papa!” Ada ran and threw her arms around her papa’s neck. “Are we going down the hole?”

“Yes, we are, and by ourselves, too,” Papa said, letting them go and stepping back. Ada could hear him muttering as he moved around the wagon, hitching up the horses. “There I was helping them across the river and not one of them came back to help bring my wagon down!”

“I can help!” Roy called out from his bed.

“Just hang on,” Mama told him. She scrambled into the wagon with the baby.

Ada listened to the horses’ feet, sharp on the bare rock where the snow had blown clear or had been worn away by the other wagons.

“Easy, boy, easy.” The wagon lurched to a stop.

Ada heard the chains rattle. Papa was chaining the back wheels so that they could not roll. That would help keep the wagon from going too fast. Even so, a funny, scary tickle started in her belly. The road down the cliff was as steep as the roof of a house. Skinny, too. Part of it was only a place where holes had been drilled into the rock, wooden stakes pounded in, and brush and dirt piled on top. If it didn’t work, the wagon might slip off and tumble to the river that was only a silver thread at the bottom of the gorge.

None of the other 82 wagons had fallen, but each had been held back by as many as 10 men. Ada had seen them straining with all their might, grunting and panting white steam into the cold air.

“Come on, Ada,” Mama called. She gathered a pile of quilts and lifted the three children from the wagon bed. “I am going to help Papa get the wagon down.”

“All by yourself?”

Mama nodded.

Ada shivered. Out in the wind, the cold was worse. This was the rockiest, driest, coldest place Ada had ever seen. Since October, when they had left Cedar City, she had been dirty and thirsty. Now it was almost the end of January. She wondered if they would ever get to Montezuma, the new town.

Papa was looking down the hole-in-the-rock. He kept shaking his head. Ada couldn’t hear what he and Mama were talking about, but Mama had on her “stubborn look,” which meant that Mama would do whatever she decided was best.

Ada hugged her shawl tighter around her. Pretty soon Mama came back to where the children waited and spread the quilts right on the snow.

“Sit here, Roy,” she said. Roy sat, and Mama put the baby in his arms. Even if he was only three years old, Roy was good at holding Baby George. “Hold little brother till Papa comes for you. Now, Ada, sit by your brothers and say a little prayer.”

Ada wanted to be brave, but she felt like crying and hanging onto Mama’s skirts. But she was five, a big girl, and so she sat and let Mama tuck the quilt over her legs.

“Don’t move, dears,” Mama told them. “Don’t even stand up. As soon as we get the wagon down, Papa will come back for you!”

The scary tickle in Ada’s belly got worse. She tilted her head back and stared up at Papa, his face red from the cold and his blue eyes crinkled at the corners. “Will you come back, Papa?”

He nodded and turned his head aside. But she saw that he was crying. Papa crying! But he said that he’d come back, so Ada knew he would.

“Then I’m not afraid!” she said. “We’ll stay here with God till you and Mama get the wagon down.” Ada bowed her head. “Father in heaven, bless me and Roy and Baby George until our father comes back.”

When Ada looked up again, Papa was on the wagon seat. Mama stood behind the wagon with Old Ned, the spare horse, who was tied to the back of the wagon to help slow it down. She wrapped Ned’s reins round and round her hands.

“Giddap!” Papa clucked. The horses lunged forward, and the wagon lurched through the hole. Mama ran behind, dragging on the reins so hard that she was leaning backward. Then the wagon, Old Ned, and Mama dropped out of sight.

Faintly Ada heard rattling. Then it was so quiet that her ears buzzed, and when she swallowed, it sounded loud.

“Ada?” Roy whispered. “Where’d they go?”

“Down to the river, I guess.”

“Oh.”

A gust of wind swirled the powdery snow and whipped it across the children, stinging their faces. Roy stuck out his bottom lip and snuffed.

Ada thought hard. Mama had told them to stay still, but if Roy started crying, then Baby George might, too, and Ada didn’t know what to do. Yes, she did!

“It will be all right,” she said to Roy. “Papa said he would be back. And we said a prayer, didn’t we? Heavenly Father and Jesus know that we are in the snow, and They will keep us safe.”

They waited a long time. Ada wiggled her toes to keep them warm. Roy rubbed his red nose on his shoulder and sniffed. They waited some more.

Finally Ada couldn’t wait anymore. She didn’t stand up, but she tilted her head back and called, “Papa! Papa!”

From far away she heard Papa yelling, “Coming, Ada!”

“He’s coming! Listen!” She told Roy.

He nodded happily. “Papa!”

“Ada!” Papa’s voice was louder now. And then she saw his hat through the hole-in-the-rock, and then his face, and then all of him striding through the snow to where they waited.

“God stayed with us,” Ada told him when he knelt on one knee next to them.

Roy piped up. “The baby’s gone to sleep, and my arm feels like it’s ‘most broke.”

Papa smiled a little, then scooped up Baby George in one arm and Roy in his other.

“Come on, Ada,” he said. “Hang on to my pockets while we walk down.”

Ada stood and hooked her hands in Papa’s back pockets. She had to take long steps to keep up, but it was fun bouncing along behind him. “Where’s Mama?”

“Down with the wagon. Old Ned fell, and so did Mama. The wagon dragged them part of the way down, but I think they will both be all right.” He stopped to adjust the boys in his arms. Ada peered around him at the slanted, rocky path. She shivered and closed her eyes.

The first part, they sat down and slid. Then they walked as close to the wall of the canyon as they could. It made Ada dizzy to look down, so she concentrated on Papa’s back. Where the road was filled in, the ground felt spongy. Papa said that the horses didn’t like walking on it, either. The very end of the road was sandy. Ada’s feet slid and sank in. At last the ground evened out.

“We made it,” Papa told her. “My wife and children are the bravest pioneers in the Church.”

Letting go of Papa’s pockets, she turned and looked back up to the hole-in-the-rock at the edge of the sky. How had they gotten down safely? Ada knew. “God helped us.”

(top of page)

Rescued on Sunday

By Alisa McBride
Friend, Nov 2002, 34
(Based on a true story)

When ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God (Mosiah 2:17).

Josh McCauley watched as rainwater splashed into the pots and pans his parents had set around the living and dining rooms.

“Overflow in here!” Mom called. She looked tired. At eight months pregnant, she moved slowly, her face pinched with worry and strain.

Dad appeared with an empty pot and carried away the full one. Returning, he led his wife to a chair, gently pushed her down, and began to rub her shoulders. “You can’t keep this up,” he said. “Josh, get your mom a drink.”

Josh ran out and came back with a glass of water.

Mom accepted it with a tired smile. “Thanks.”

Josh and Sam, his older brother, helped out, emptying the smaller pans. But they couldn’t keep up with the rain that poured in.

Early yesterday morning, Dad had hired a man to help replace a portion of the roof. The man had persuaded them to take off the old shingles, promising that he and Dad could replace them within a day.

Josh knew that his parents weren’t sure about repairing the roof then, but the storm season was approaching. They had bought the old house, knowing that it was a “fixer-upper,” because they couldn’t afford anything else.

When the rain started, Mom and Dad tried to make a joke about it, but the drizzle grew into a downpour. Wind ripped the plastic tarp Dad had nailed to the rafters, leaving large gaps where the water poured through. The man took off, leaving Dad to finish on his own.

“What about church?” Sam asked in a small voice.

Josh exchanged looks with his brother. When Sam had been sick with chicken pox last year, Mom and Dad had taken turns attending meetings, but the family had never completely missed going to church.

“Everybody get ready,”

Dad said. Josh set down a pot. “What about the roof?”

“It’ll still be there when we get back. I hope.” Dad smiled, but the smile did not reach his eyes.

Mom didn’t even try to smile. She pushed herself up from the chair and started for the bedroom.

Josh knew that both his parents were worried. Money had been tight since Dad had decided to return to school to get a degree in engineering. If they didn’t get the new roof on soon, the carpet and floors would be ruined. They had moved the furniture to one side and covered it with plastic tablecloths.

Josh and Sam quickly dressed in their Sunday clothes, without any teasing of each other. Then they helped the two younger children get ready.

Josh barely listened during his Primary lesson. His thoughts were back at the house.

The family all changed clothes immediately after returning from church. They were emptying the overflowing pots and pans when men from their new ward started arriving in work clothes and boots.

Brother Jensen took a heavy pot from Josh’s mom. “I’ll take that,” he said gently. He turned to Josh’s dad. “Brother McCauley, we’d appreciate it if you and your wife would let us help.”

“We brought reinforcements,” Brother Howard added, gesturing to the other men.

Josh recognized the two men as their home teachers. Though the family had been in the house only three months, their home teachers had visited each month.

Mom looked at Dad. Tears glistened in her eyes. Dad held out his hand. “We’d be glad for your help. Thank you.”

Josh gave up trying to count all the men who came, some bearing tools, others ladders and supplies. There was much laughter and jokes about Noah’s flood as the rain continued to pour down.

Relief Society sisters began arriving with food. “We figured you wouldn’t feel much like cooking, Sister McCauley,” one of the ladies said as she placed a pan of rolls on the table. Others set down plates and bowls of food. They stayed to empty pots of water and mop the floor.

Later that night, when the roof was finished, Josh asked his dad, “Why did the men come to work on Sunday?” He knew that Church members didn’t normally work on Sunday. Sundays belong to the Lord.

His dad took a while to answer. “The Lord knows the intent of people’s hearts,” he said at last. “He knew that we needed help today, and he sent it in the form of our friends.”

(top of page)

Melanie’s Prayer

By Marcie Howes
Friend, Nov 2002, 42
(Based on a true story)

He heareth the prayer of the righteous (Prov. 15:29).

Four-year-old Melanie stared at the white wall next to her hospital bed, trying to hold back the tears. Two big ones squeezed out onto her cheeks, anyway. She was trying hard to be brave, but hearing Susan laughing with her grandmother from the bed on the other side of the curtain was just too much. Melanie knew that no one would be coming to visit her today.

Yesterday Mommy had talked with her about the special temple session that she and Daddy had been asked to attend. “If I drive with Daddy to the temple tomorrow, I won’t be able to come and see you. The temple is just too far away. If you want, I’ll come to visit you by myself, and Daddy can drive to the temple with Brother and Sister Howard.”

Melanie knew how much Mommy loved to go to the temple. She and Daddy went to the temple every month, and Mommy always came home so calm and happy.

Besides, this was the third time Melanie had been in the hospital for surgery on her arm. She wasn’t afraid of the doctors and nurses as she had been at first. Most of the nurses had become her friends when Melanie was here before. She knew where the playroom was, and the daily routine was familiar. Best of all, soon she would be going home and would not need to have any more operations on her arm!

“I’ll be OK,” Melanie had told Mommy. “You can go to the temple with Daddy tomorrow.”

But that had been yesterday. Now it was after breakfast and past the time when Mommy and Daddy usually came to see her. Of course, Daddy always had to go to work, but Mommy usually stayed all day.

Melanie had watched her favorite show on the television this morning, but now it was over, and, oh, she was lonesome! A little sob slipped out of her mouth as two more tears slid down her cheeks.

Then Melanie remembered. She wasn’t really alone. She could pray to Heavenly Father!

The first time Melanie had been in the hospital, she had been very frightened. Mommy had stayed with her the whole first night, but the second night, Melanie had awakened and Mommy hadn’t been there. Melanie felt so little and so afraid! She had cried and cried and cried, until finally she had fallen back to sleep.

Later, Mommy had said, “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up. You were sleeping so peacefully that I decided to go and get a sandwich before I went to sleep. Why didn’t you say a prayer when you woke up frightened?”

“I couldn’t pray. I’m not supposed to get out of this big bed by myself. How can I pray when I can’t kneel by the bed?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Mommy explained, “didn’t you know that you can pray anywhere? Of course, it’s good to kneel by your bed. But when you can’t, Heavenly Father understands. He hears your prayers very well while you’re lying here in bed. He wants you to pray. In fact, in the Book of Mormon, we are told to always have a prayer in our hearts for ourselves and for others.”

As she remembered Mommy’s words, the lump in Melanie’s throat seemed to melt away. She bowed her head and closed her eyes.

“Heavenly Father,” she prayed, “I thank Thee for Mommy and Daddy. I thank Thee for Jesus and for the temple. Please help me to not be sad. Please bless Mommy and Daddy today. Help them to have a good day at the temple. Please help me to feel happy. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”

Melanie kept her eyes closed for a few minutes while a warm, peaceful feeling spread from the top of her head clear down to her toes. It was as if Mommy was there, giving her a hug.

Susan’s laughter rang out again. Melanie was glad that Susan’s grandmother was visiting her today. Susan was usually alone all day until her mommy came after work.

Melanie glanced over at her nightstand and saw the new coloring book and crayons that her grandmother had sent her. Soon she was so busy coloring that she didn’t notice the volunteer, Mrs. O’Driscoll, until she spoke. “Would you like a cold treat today, dear?”

“Oh yes, please. Do you have a red one? Red is my favorite.”

As she licked the sweet, cool treat, Melanie knew that Heavenly Father had answered her prayer.

(top of page)

Appearances

By Sheila Kindred
Friend, Nov 2002, 46
(Based on a true story)

Abstain from all appearance of evil (1 Thes. 5:22).

It was a warm fall day in 1961. Bobby and his friend Jeff were walking home from a Cub Scout den meeting. Bobby was feeling good. It had been a fun meeting. They had talked about the Cub Scout Promise. Their leader let them draw pictures on a chalkboard to show what the Cub Scout Promise meant to them. Bobby had drawn a picture of a smiling Scout taking out the trash. That was how he could “help other people.”

“What did you draw?” Bobby asked Jeff. “I forgot.”

“I drew a Cub Scout going to church,” Jeff said. “He was doing his ‘duty to God.’ ”

“Oh, yeah.” Bobby looked down and noticed chalk dust on the sleeve of his uniform. He brushed it off. He was proud of his uniform. When he wore it, he felt like someone important. He tried to take good care of it.

Jeff thrust his hand into his pocket. “Hey, what is this?” He pulled out a long stick of chalk. It was the chalk he had used to draw on the blackboard at Scouts. “Oops. Guess I’ll have to return this next week.”

Bobby reached for the chalk. “Give it to me for a second.” He put the chalk between his index and middle fingers and brought it up to his lips. Then he looked away and pretended to blow smoke. “Who do I look like?” he asked, repeating the action.

Jeff laughed. “The cowboy guy on that billboard ad.”

“Yeah, look at me. I’m cool.” Bobby strutted around, puffing on his chalk stick. Just then a car drove by and honked. The car was full of teenagers who waved at him and cheered.

“Who are they?” Jeff asked. “Do you know them?”

“No,” Bobby said. “And I don’t want to. They are the tough kids at the high school.” Bobby handed the chalk back to Jeff. “Here. You keep this.”

They walked home in silence.

When Bobby walked through the front door of his house, his mother was waiting for him, arms folded. “Sit down, Son,” she said. “We need to talk.” They sat on the couch. “I just got a phone call from Sister Jensen. She was on her way home from the store and saw you and Jeff standing on the corner. She said you were smoking cigarettes.”

Bobby moaned. “It was chalk, Mom. We were just pretending. Honest.”

“Where is the chalk now?”

“Jeff has it. We accidentally brought it home from the den meeting. You can ask him.”

“I will. But first I want to know why you would pretend to be smoking.”

Bobby squirmed. “Well I thought it would make me feel cool. Like that guy on TV.”

“Did it?”

“Just for a minute. Then I felt really stupid.”

“I didn’t think you really had been smoking,” Mom said, putting her arm around Bobby. “But can you see how even looking like you’re doing wrong can get you into trouble? The Apostle Paul taught that we should avoid the very appearance of evil.”

“That’s only half of it, Mom. While I was pretending to smoke, some obnoxious teenagers drove by and cheered. I felt dirty and ashamed. Why did they do that? I’m not like them. I never want to be like them.”

“But they thought you were. Which is another reason to avoid the appearance of evil. Evil attracts evil. If people making bad choices think you are doing bad things, too, they’ll encourage you to keep doing worse things. You want good friends who will encourage you to do your best.”

“D.Y.B.” Bobby smiled. “Do your best.” That was the Cub Scout Motto and something Bobby’s mother said to him every morning when he walked out the door. “But what do I do now, Mom? Do I need to repent? I didn’t really do anything wrong. I just pretended.”

“I think you still need to undo any wrong impressions you gave. Why don’t you call Sister Jensen and apologize for acting the way you did?”

Bobby sighed. “OK.”

“And from now on, try to be so good that there will be no doubt in the minds of those teenagers what you really stand for and whom you follow. And return the chalk, of course.”

“Of course.”

“And tell Jeff what you learned from all this. By the way, what did you learn?”

“Well, my Primary teacher once told us you can’t do bad and feel good.”

“That’s true. In the Book of Mormon, Alma taught, ‘Wickedness never was happiness.’ ”

“But I’ve learned that there’s even more to it than that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve learned that you can’t even pretend to do bad and still feel good.”

(top of page)

(December)

Love, Rachel

By Marsha B. Nielson
Friend, Dec 2002, 4
(Based on a true story)

Impart of your substance to the poor (Mosiah 4:26).

“May I open it?” Rachel could hardly contain her excitement as she watched Mom turn the white envelope over in her hand. Rachel was often allowed to help open the mail.

Mom smiled and handed her the letter. “I’m afraid it will never make it in time at this late date. I wonder how it ever came to be in our mailbox?” Rachel wasn’t sure what her mother meant.

Taking the envelope, she slit it open carefully so as not to disturb the New Hampshire return address. Mom took the letter and read it silently. Rachel could see tears in her mother’s eyes.

“Is it sad, Mom?” Rachel felt her own eyes start to sting.

Mom gave the letter back to her. “Why don’t you read it aloud?”

Rachel was just learning to read cursive. Slowly she began.

“ ‘Dear Santa,’ ”—Rachel paused—“Mom, is this what you meant when you said it wouldn’t make it?”

“Yes, Rachel. It’s already December 22. I want you to know that as I held the letter, my first thought was to return it to the post office, but the Holy Ghost whispered to me that I should open it.”

Rachel continued to read: “ ‘I am a single mother on welfare. I have one child, a boy, four years old. I can’t afford to buy him Christmas presents. Will you please help me? He is in need of clothes and shoes. His shoe size is 9 1/2, and in clothing, he is a 4 or 5. He also needs a winter coat, gloves, boots, and socks. Sincerely, Salina Reabald P. S. A toy or two would be nice. Thank you.’ ”

Rachel set the letter down and threw her arms around her mother. They were both silent for a moment.

“We have to help them,” Rachel said finally.

“I know,” Mom agreed. “I noticed a return address—534 Pilgrim Street, Salem, New Hampshire. That’s a long way from southern Utah. How did it ever get here?” Mom stopped. “Rachel! Look at this. The letter is addressed to Santa, in care of The North Pole 84745. That’s our zip code!”

Rachel stared at the envelope. “Did you notice that she didn’t ask for anything for herself?”

Mom put an arm around her. “How would you like to play Santa this year?”

“Oh yes! Do you think we have enough time? There are only three days until Christmas.”

“I have an idea.” Mom walked over to the phone and punched in a number. “Hello. This is Sister Marjorie Banks. Would you please connect me with the Missionary Department?” Rachel waited quietly. “I was wondering if you could give me the name and telephone number of the New Hampshire Mission president. It’s important that I get in touch with him right away. Thank you. I’ll hold.”

Mom picked up the letter from the table and wrote quickly on the back as the information was given to her.

“Well, young lady,” Mom exclaimed as she hung up the telephone a second time, “we have our work cut out for us! President Hafen of the New Hampshire Manchester Mission will help us locate Salina and her son. If we can get a package together and send it by overnight mail to the mission home, he will see that it is delivered.”

They canceled all their plans for the day. Rachel even gave up the afternoon she had planned with her best friend.

Together Mom and Rachel bought some nice clothes and shoes for the little boy. Mom got a gift certificate from a nationwide clothing store for the mother. Rachel’s little brother, Alma, gave up one of his favorite toys for the package. Tucked inside two bright-red, fur-trimmed stockings were several pieces of Mom’s wonderful Christmas candy. After a trip to the local bookstore and toy outlet, the package was almost complete.

“Rachel,” Mom said as she wrote the address of the mission home on the package, “do you think you could write your testimony on this stationery? I’ll glue it to the inside cover of the scripture reader we bought for the little boy.”

Rachel took the stationery and wrote in her best cursive:

Dear Friend, I know you don’t know me. I am a little older than you. I am going to be eight in just one month. This is a special age for me, for I will be baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. You probably don’t know much about my church, but I love it! I want you to know that I love Jesus and Heavenly Father. They are always there to look out for me. I know that They love you, too, and will keep you safe. Merry Christmas! Love, Rachel

Rachel watched as her mother tucked her own testimony into a Book of Mormon for Salina.

“Mom,” she said quietly. “Do you think they will understand how much we love the gospel?”

“There’s really no way of knowing,” Mom said, giving Rachel a big hug. “Perhaps if they feel the love of someone who sincerely cares, they will accept the truth when it is presented to them. Now, what do you say we get this in the mail?”

Two days after Christmas, the mission president in New Hampshire called.

“Sister Banks? This is President Hafen. I wanted to let you know. …”

President Hafen said that the package had been delivered by two fine young missionaries on Christmas Eve. When the young mother saw what was in the box, she was overcome with gratitude. Tears of joy streamed down her face. The box was the only Christmas gift she would have, but at least now she had something to share with her small son. President Hafen went on to say that it was a very touching moment for the elders. They asked if they could call on her after the holidays, and she gladly said yes. The mission president added that the woman was very grateful and wanted to express her thanks for the nicest thing that had ever happened to her.

“And let me thank you, too,” President Hafen told her, “for making this one of the most memorable Christmases we have ever had.”

Mom hung up the phone and wiped her eyes.

“Do you think she will join the Church?” Rachel asked.

“I don’t know,” Mom replied. “But I do feel that the Lord had a hand in that letter coming to our mailbox.”

Rachel beamed. “This is the best Christmas I’ve ever had!”

“Me, too,” Mom said, gathering her daughter into her arms. “Me, too.”

(top of page)

The Surprise

By Jean Powis
Friend, Dec 2002, 13
(Based on a true story)

Comfort those that stand in need of comfort (Mosiah 18:9).

Jason was sad. It had snowed, and all the children were outside playing in the snow. All except Jason.

“You can’t go outside today because you have the flu,” Mom said. “I’ll open the drapes in the living room window, and you can watch the other kids.”

“But that’s not the same as being outside,” Jason whined. “I’ve been waiting for months for it to snow so I could make a huge snowman. If I bundle up good, may I please go out for just a little while?”

Mom hugged Jason. “No, honey. I’m sorry.”

Jason ran into his room. “I’ll never get to make a snowman,” he sobbed.

His big sister, Heather, came in and sat on the bed. “Jason, Mom wants you to take a nap now, but I promise that when you wake up, you’ll be happy.”

Jason was tired and slept for more than an hour. When he woke up, Heather came in smiling. “Ready to have some fun?” she asked. “I have a game called ‘Surprise Hunt.’ ”

Jason felt grumpy. “I don’t want to play a game. I want a snowman.”

“This game will make you happy,” Heather said. “You’ll have six clues that will lead you to a surprise. Come on, Jason, give it a try.”

Jason felt even more curious than grumpy. “OK,” he said. Heather handed him a piece of paper with the first clue.

CLUE #1
I’m in a room with a fireplace, and I turn dark into light. “The fireplace is in the living room, so the next clue must be there,” Jason said. He went into the living room and looked around. “ ‘Turn dark into light,’ ” he said. “The lamps!” He checked all the lamps, and under Dad’s reading lamp, he found the second clue.

CLUE #2
People live on my planet and can spin me to take a pretend trip. “We live on the Earth,” Jason said. “But what can I spin to take a pretend trip?” He thought a moment. “My world globe!” he shrieked. He ran to his room and found the next clue taped to his globe.

CLUE #3
I taste good and am good for your teeth.

Jason thought deeply. “Hmmmm. What could it be?” He smiled. “I bet it’s the toothpaste.” He went into the bathroom and looked at the toothpaste, but no clue was there. “What else could it be, Heather?” Jason asked. “Think, Jason. You’re doing fine so far.” “Oh, I get it!” Jason exclaimed. “It’s the food!” He went to the kitchen and opened the pantry door but found no clue. Then he looked in the refrigerator. On the top shelf, taped to a bottle of milk, was the clue.

CLUE #4
I have 12 months, 52 weeks, and 365 days. “Mom’s calendar,” Jason laughed. He went into the hall and looked behind Mom’s calendar. There he found the next clue.

CLUE #5
When you’re thirsty, you want me. Jason smiled. “Back to the kitchen.” “Keep up the good work,” Mom said. “You’re doing great.” Jason looked in all the cups and glasses in the cupboard and in the water and juice bottles in the refrigerator. No clues. Then he spotted a small cup on the counter. Inside was the clue.

CLUE #6
—YOUR LAST CLUE Sometimes I’m open; Sometimes I’m shut. My wood is The same color as a nut. I’m always ready To do as you wish. You and dad go through me When you go to fish.

“This is a tough one,” Jason said.

“Keep trying, Jason,” Dad encouraged.

“Let’s see. My closet door does as I wish. It’s sometimes open and sometimes shut, and it’s tan like a nut. But Dad and I don’t go through it. It can’t be a window or a cabinet door. What is it?” Jason frowned. He was about to give up when he turned and saw the back door. “That’s it!” he yelled.

Jason ran to the door, opened it, and looked out. In the backyard was his surprise—a giant snowman holding a sign:
Get better soon, Jason. We love you. From Mom, Dad, and Heather

(top of page)

Song for a Prophet

By Lori Mortensen
Friend, Dec 2002, 36
(Based on a true story)

Come to Zion with songs and … obtain joy and gladness (Isa. 35:10).

Ten-year-old Olivia curled upon her side and tried to go back to sleep, even though she knew that it would be impossible. After all, it was Christmas, 1843. Well, just barely, Olivia thought as she counted the twelve chimes that echoed softly from her mother’s clock.

Last Christmas, she’d lived far away in Leek, England. Then Grandpa Rushton had listened to the missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. “These men speak the truth,” he’d said. Three months later, Olivia and her entire family were baptized along with Grandpa and Grandma.

Leaving England to join the Saints in America had been a very hard decision. Would Grandpa be able to sell his silk business? What would Papa do? Would Baby James get sick and die like Mama’s other baby? And what about Grandma Lettice? Olivia would have been terrified to leave her home if she were blind like Grandma.

After a lot of prayer and asking the Lord, Papa knew that they needed to follow the counsel of the Prophet Joseph Smith and join the Saints in Zion.

And now it was Christmas, even though Christmas in Nauvoo was very different from Christmas in England. There, everyone enjoyed crackling Yule logs, the singing of carols, and the exchanging of presents. In Nauvoo, many people didn’t celebrate the day at all. Mama said that it was because of their religious customs before they joined the Church. But that didn’t seem like a very good reason to Olivia. If only we could have Christmas like we did in England! she thought with a sigh.

Just then, she heard muffled voices by the front door. Olivia slid out of bed and tiptoed across the cold floor. “Mama?”

Her mother and father were bundled up!

“Where are you going, Mama?”

“What are you doing up, Olivia?” Mama whispered. “You should be in bed.”

“I couldn’t sleep—and then I heard you.”

“Well, go back to bed,” Mama said. “Grandma Lettice asked us to go singing with her.”

“Singing? Now? May I come, too?”

“It’s cold outside,” Papa said.

“I don’t mind,” Olivia replied. “Please?”

Mama and Papa exchanged glances. “Well, all right,” Papa said. “But you’ll have to dress quickly. We don’t want to be late.”

Olivia changed into her warmest clothes, then followed her parents into the chilly darkness. The cold stung her face like an angry slap, and her breath turned into puffy clouds. “Where are we going?” she asked. “Are we going to sing a song I know?”

“You’ll see,” Mama said.

Just as she was wondering how much farther she’d have to walk, she saw her aunts and uncles, Grandma Lettice, and several neighbors gathered together outside the Mansion House at the corner of Main and Water Streets.

The Prophet’s house! Olivia caught her breath. Are we going to sing to the Prophet? she wondered.

“All right, everyone,” Grandma Lettice whispered. “Just as we rehearsed it.”

For a split second, Olivia wondered if it had been a mistake to come—she hadn’t rehearsed anything. But in only two notes, Olivia realized that she did know the song. It was one of the songs in Sister Smith’s new hymnal. She took a deep breath and sang with the rest of the carolers.

“Mortals, awake! with angels join,
And chant the solemn lay;
Love, joy and gratitude combine
To hail th’ auspicious day.”

Soon lights flickered to life, and windows of the Mansion House opened. The Prophet Joseph Smith, his family, and all of his boarders looked out.

“Who’s singing?” someone asked.

“How lovely,” whispered another.

“Are there angels outside?”

Although Olivia wasn’t an angel, she certainly felt like one as a wave of warmth spread from the top of her head to the very tips of her toes. How happy the Prophet looks, she thought.

When they’d finished, Olivia was certain that she saw tears in the Prophet’s eyes as he thanked them for their beautiful serenade and blessed them in the name of the Lord.

“Merry Christmas,” Olivia called as the singers left. She decided that she didn’t want to be back in England, after all. She belonged here with her family, the restored Church, and the Lord’s prophet. She couldn’t think of a better Christmas gift.

(top of page)