Friend - 2005

“Is Dad coming home tonight?” Benjamin asked. Dad worked as a sailor off the coast near their home in Denmark.

“No,” Mom said, “he will be home in four days.”

Dad had promised Benjamin that they could play football when he returned. Benjamin missed Dad.

“Before I go to bed tonight, I’ll pray that he will come home safely,” Benjamin thought.

Benjamin’s dad stood on the ship in the freezing rain, hurrying to finish his work before the evening meal. Feeling tired and cold, he thought of his family back at home.

Suddenly, an enormous wave rocked the ship. Supplies clattered to the floor as sailors shouted in confusion. The captain peered out into the darkness and couldn’t see Benjamin’s dad on the deck anymore.

“Man overboard!” he shouted.

Later that evening Benjamin watched Mom pile the dinner dishes in the sink. As she scrubbed she looked out the window into the garden. Trees swayed in the fierce wind. Benjamin saw the worried look on his mother’s face and felt worried, too. Would Dad be all right out in this storm?

Benjamin’s dad could hear the ship’s alarm ringing, but the sound grew quieter as the strong waves pushed him farther away from the ship. Sailors tossed life preservers into the water, hoping to save him, but they could not see him in the stormy darkness.

He tried to stay calm and keep his head above water. He found the flashlight clipped to his life jacket and pointed it toward the ship so the sailors could see where he was—but the light didn’t work.

On board the ship, the captain radioed for help. Soon a helicopter hovered over the ocean, shining a spotlight down onto the huge waves.

“We can’t find him,” the helicopter pilot radioed to the captain. The captain fought back tears, fearing the worst for his friend. “But we’ll try again,” the pilot decided. He was afraid the helicopter would run out of fuel, but he knew he was the lost sailor’s last hope.

Benjamin’s dad was getting colder and colder. His teeth rattled as he clutched the broken flashlight in his numb fingers.

Back home it was Benjamin’s bedtime. Mom listened as, kneeling by his bed, he prayed, “Dear Heavenly Father, please protect Dad and bring him home safely to Mom and me.”

Benjamin’s dad saw a helicopter flying low. He tried to wave his arm, but he was so tired and cold he could hardly move it.

Then a voice in his mind said, “Turn on the light.”

“But it doesn’t work,” he thought.

“Turn on the light,” the voice said again.

“Why should I?” he mumbled as his stiff fingers fumbled with the switch. “Either the lightbulb is burned out or the batteries are dead.”

The helicopter came closer and closer. When it was almost directly overhead, Benjamin’s dad pointed the flashlight toward the sky and flipped the switch.

Just then the pilot saw a flicker of light in the water below. “We’ve found him!” he cried into the radio. The sailors aboard the ship cheered. Within minutes Benjamin’s dad was hoisted up into the warmth and safety of the helicopter. Wrapped in a blanket, he listened to the engine vibrate, imagining it singing, “Home to Benjamin, home to Benjamin!”

After the helicopter landed and an ambulance took Benjamin’s dad to the hospital, the helicopter pilot walked back to where Benjamin’s dad had been resting. There on the floor lay the flashlight. Curious, he picked it up and opened it. Two very old, rusty batteries fell out.

“These batteries can’t work,” he thought. “But if I didn’t see this light out on the ocean, what did I see?”

“God must have watched over this sailor,” he said out loud to his copilot, who was standing beside him. They both nodded in silence.

Benjamin’s mom suddenly felt happy. The worried feeling went away.

Opening Benjamin’s door a crack, she peeked into his room and saw that he was sleeping soundly. Benjamin lay dreaming about the football game Dad had promised him. A warm feeling had assured him that Heavenly Father would answer his prayer and that Dad would be home soon.

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Who Needs a Coat?

By Lana Krumwiede
Friend, Jan 2005, 10
(Based on an experience from the author’s childhood)

I will tell you in your mind and in your heart, by the Holy Ghost (D&C 8:2).

No eight-year-old hated wearing a coat more than I did. Sure, a coat might come in handy on an Arctic expedition. But most of the time, I thought going coatless made a lot of sense. Who wanted to worry about finding a place to hang a coat and then get in trouble for leaving it behind?

I definitely didn’t expect to need my coat that New Year’s Eve. My family would be driving to my grandparents’ house and spending the night. I’d suffocate if I had to wear my big itchy coat for two hours, wedged in the backseat of the station wagon between my two brothers. Once we got to Grandma’s, we would play board games until midnight and watch the parade on TV the next day. Then we’d sit down to eat Grandma’s pork roast, homemade applesauce, and butter cookies. I would be indoors the whole time—no need for a coat.

As we piled into the station wagon, Mom went down her checklist. Maybe she wouldn’t notice that I didn’t have my coat. Yes, we remembered our toothbrushes. Yes, we packed our pajamas.

“Where’s your coat, Lana?” She noticed!

“I won’t need it. I won’t be outside at all.”

“Go get your coat. And hurry, please. It’s already getting dark.”

I dashed inside and yanked open the closet door. My warm winter coat and my jacket hung side by side. The jacket! Light, silky, and comfortable, it was the perfect solution. As I reached for the jacket, I had a feeling that I should wear the big coat instead.

I ignored the feeling. Surely I wouldn’t need that stuffy old thing. The jacket would do just fine.

Again something nudged me toward the heavy coat. Shrugging it off again, I snatched the thin jacket and ran to the car.

They were waiting for me with the engine running. Mom frowned when she glanced at my jacket, but Dad put the car in reverse and backed out of the garage.

Halfway into the trip, a thick layer of fog rolled in. The headlights turned the fog a milky white that was difficult to see through. My parents were tense and quiet. The mood spread to the backseat, keeping my brothers and me quiet, too.

Without warning, a pair of headlights appeared suddenly in front of us. In a shattering explosion of glass and metal, we crashed head-on into a pickup truck that had strayed into our lane. The noise was deafening, and the silence immediately afterward was just as loud.

“Is everybody OK?” My father’s strained voice was the first to break the stillness.

A shaky response came from my older brother. “I think so.”

“All of you need to get out and stand in that field. I’ll help Mom.”

My brothers and I scrambled out of the backseat and stood on frozen mud next to the road. With Dad’s arm around her, Mom limped over to us. A painful bump on the head had shaken her, but she seemed OK.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Dad asked us.

With wide eyes, we each nodded.

Dad looked each of us over before hurrying back to check on the man in the pickup truck.

My thin jacket was no match for the icy December air. Even huddled up against Mom, my shivers wouldn’t stop. I thought of my warm winter coat hanging in the closet back home.

An ambulance came, then a police car. Voices squawked from the radio as the rotating lights dyed the fog red, then blue, red, blue. Dad came back and led us to the police car. We had shivered for over an hour in the bitter cold.

A police officer drove us to the hospital. The ambulance had already taken the other man. Dad got stitches in his hand, and the doctors examined Mom’s head injury. She was OK. My brothers and I had a few bruises, but we knew it could have been much worse.

My grandparents picked us up at the hospital and took us to their house. When Grandma tucked me into bed and kissed me good-night, my body seemed to melt into the softness of the sheets. For the first time that night, I felt warm and safe.

I was exhausted, but I couldn’t sleep. My thoughts drifted back to the moment when I had decided to bring my jacket. It dawned on me that the Holy Ghost had been telling me to wear my warm coat.

A few months earlier my grandpa had confirmed me a member of the Church, and I had received the gift of the Holy Ghost. I remembered the power in his hands when he placed them on my head. I had been so excited, so eager to hear what the Holy Ghost would say to me. Now I had ignored Him. My throat tightened as I fought back tears.

A new feeling came and took the tears away. I felt the love of my Heavenly Father. I knew He would help me through the difficult times in my life. He couldn’t take away every bad thing, but He would help me if I let Him.

I moved the curtains above the bed aside just enough to see outside. The fog was as thick as ever. No stars tonight. I imagined the stars, the moon, the planets, the entire universe. The God of all creation had wanted to give me a warm coat tonight.

A tear slipped down my cheek. This time it was a tear of gratitude. I rolled out of bed and onto my knees. I needed to tell Heavenly Father that I was ready to listen and obey the still, small voice.

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Graham Crackers, Grapes, and Goals

By Terina Atkinson Darcey
Friend, Jan 2005, 20
(Based on an experience from the author’s family)

Continue in patience until ye are perfected (D&C 67:13).

The ringing went on and on, and Jamie finally opened his eyes. He rolled over and shut off the noisy alarm. He wanted to stay in bed, but he knew that if he didn’t get up, his mother would come get him. He needed to clean his room this morning. He swung his legs out of bed and jumped on the floor.

“Ouch!” He had banged one of his big toes on a red racing car that was on the floor. He looked around at the clothes on the floor, his train and blocks by the door, and the books on the floor of his closet.

“It just isn’t fair,” Jamie thought. “My room is always messy.” He felt frustrated. “Why can’t I keep my room clean?”

He knew that his big sister, Jill, would ask him the same question. Jill was nine, and it seemed like her room was always clean, her clothes were never on the floor, and her toys were always neatly put away on her shelves and in her toy box. Jamie couldn’t figure out how she did it.

Last week in family home evening, Mom and Dad had talked to the family about goal-setting and asked each person to set some goals for the new year. Jamie decided that his goal would be to keep his room clean. Well, it was the first week of the new year, and already he was failing. He tried and tried to keep his room clean, but it got messed up every time he played in it.

After breakfast, Jamie went back to his bedroom to clean. He decided to drive the toy train around the room to help pick up some toys. He added some blocks and toy cars to the train’s load, then he stopped by the toy box and dumped them all off. Then he stacked up a few books to make a bridge for the train to cross. Before he knew it, he was busy creating new bridges and pathways for the train. By the time Mom called him for lunch, he still hadn’t finished cleaning his room. In fact, it looked worse than it had before! There were even more toys out, and his pajamas had joined the other clothes on the floor.

Jamie walked slowly into the kitchen, dragging his feet and sighing. Mom looked at him. “Jamie, is something bothering you?”

“Mom, I can’t keep my New Year’s goal,” Jamie admitted. “I can’t keep my room clean. I guess I am just too little.”

“Do you mean that your toys are too heavy for you to put away, or that your dresser drawers are too hard to open?” Mom asked.

“No,” Jamie answered, “I’m just too young to keep my room clean. I don’t know how Jill keeps hers clean. She must not play in it very much.”

“I don’t think that’s it.” Mom thought for a minute. “Jamie, I think you need to learn a little bit about how goals work.” She got out a box of graham crackers and a bunch of grapes, then sat down at the table next to him.

“Jamie, what things need to be done to have a clean room?”

He thought for a minute. “Well, my toys need to be put away, and my books should be on the bookshelf. My bed should be made, and my clothes should be in the closet.”

As Jamie named each item, his mom placed a graham cracker on the table. The crackers formed a line.

“And when all of these things are done, your room is clean. Right?”

“Right.” Jamie answered. Mom placed a grape at the top of the line of graham crackers. The graham crackers looked like a pathway leading to the grape.

“OK, Jamie, pretend that the grape is your goal—keeping your room clean—and the graham crackers are things you have to do to reach your goal.” She took one of the crackers away. “What happens if one of these things isn’t done?”

“The crackers don’t reach the grape anymore.” Jamie thought for a minute more. “And I can’t reach my goal.”

“That’s right. See, all it takes to reach a big goal is doing a bunch of little tasks all together. But it’s hard to accomplish your goal if you don’t know what little steps you have to take.” Mom picked up all of the graham crackers and handed them to Jamie. Then she helped him decide what he needed to do to keep his room clean.

“I can make my bed as soon as I get up in the morning,” Jamie said. He put down one cracker. “I can put my books away after I read them.” He put down another cracker. “I can put my toys away after I finish playing with them.” He added another cracker to the line. “And I can put my clothes away after I take them off.” The graham crackers now reached the grape.

“If I do each of these things, one at a time, soon I will reach my goal!” Jamie said excitedly. He grabbed the grape and tossed it into his mouth.

After lunch, Mom and Jamie made pictures of the things he had to do to keep his room clean. They hung the pictures on the back of his bedroom door to remind him. Then Mom helped Jamie clean his room.

The next day, the pictures helped Jamie remember to make his bed before breakfast and to put away his pajamas instead of leaving them on the floor. Jamie smiled. It was nice to have a clean room, but it was even better to know that he could keep it clean all by himself.

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Grandma’s Life Mission

By Jane McBride Choate
Friend, Jan 2005, 36
(Based on an experience from the author’s family)

Death hath passed upon all men, to fulfil the merciful plan of the great Creator (2 Ne. 9:6).

Three days ago, Michelle’s grandma had died. Her parents explained to her that Grandma was in heaven now.

Michelle had never been to a funeral. She tried to sit quietly and listen to the speakers. Uncle Robert spoke first. He said that Grandma had finished her life mission. Michelle wondered what that meant.

After Grandma’s funeral, Grandpa invited everyone back to his home. Michelle liked going there. She especially liked the drawer in the hallway that held toys for the grandchildren. She had often played with the brightly colored blocks and puzzles. Her little brother, Joshua, who was 18 months old, preferred the trucks.

Sometimes Grandma had let Michelle play with the baskets she collected. Today Grandpa invited everyone to choose a basket as a memory of Grandma. Michelle picked a tiny one with a handle. She showed it to Mama, who held up a quilted basket of her own. She said it would remind her of how Grandma loved to quilt.

Tears gathered in Mama’s eyes, and Michelle wrapped her arms around Mama’s neck. “It’s all right. Grandma’s in heaven now,” she whispered.

Mama pulled her close and hugged her. “I know, sweetheart. I know.”

“I still feel sad,” Michelle said.

Mama stroked her hair. “We can’t help feeling sad, but we should be happy, too. After all, Grandma is with Heavenly Father and with family and friends who love her. We know that we’ll see her again someday. And because of Jesus Christ we’ll all be resurrected and live forever. I’m sure Grandma wants us to be happy about those things.”

Michelle felt better, but something about the funeral still puzzled her. “What did Uncle Robert mean when he said Grandma finished her life mission?” she asked. “Is that like when Cousin Steve finished his Church mission and came home?”

Mama took a long time answering. “In a way it is,” she said at last. “We are sent to earth to do certain things. Some of those things are different for each of us, but many are the same, like receiving a body. We should also learn about Jesus Christ, accept the gospel, be baptized, keep the commandments, repent of our sins, receive temple endowments, and start an eternal family.”

“Like when you and Dad got married?” Michelle liked to hear the story of how her parents had met in college.

Mama nodded. “Grandma and Grandpa were married in the temple, too.”

“What else did Grandma do on her mission?” Michelle asked.

“She served others. Remember how she was always knitting bandages and baby booties? Those were for Church Humanitarian Services to send to people all over the world. Grandma did a lot of things for others.”

“Like baby-sit me and Joshua sometimes.”

Mama wiped away a tear. “Your grandma has completed the mortal part of her life mission, but she’s not finished serving. She’s probably busy doing something to help someone else right now.”

Michelle smiled. “I’m going to help Joshua put the toys away and tell him that Grandma’s busy in heaven just like she was here.”

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Ben’s Busy Day

By Michelle Lehnardt
Friend, Jan 2005, 41
(Based on experiences of the author’s family)

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

Ben was angry. It was Saturday morning, and he had just come home from a violin rehearsal. He had a list of chores to do, a violin performance that afternoon, and now something more—his dad had just told him that it was his family’s turn to clean the church.

“I’m not going to have any time to play!” he declared as he threw his jacket on the floor.

Dad sat down with Ben at the kitchen table and said quietly, “I know this is a busy day. But it might be easier if you remember who your time really belongs to.”

Ben calmed down. He knew he was a child of God and that everything—even time—was a gift from Heavenly Father. He nodded slowly.

Dad smiled. “Go get a Book of Mormon, Ben. I want to show you something.”

Dad opened the scriptures to Mosiah 2. “You remember King Benjamin, don’t you?” Ben grinned. He liked to hear stories about the ancient prophet whose name he shared.

“King Benjamin wanted to teach his people how to be happy. He built a tower so people could hear him better, and the people gathered from all around. It was a lot like general conference. He stood on the tower and reminded the people that their homes, families, bodies, and even the air around them were gifts from a loving Heavenly Father.

“He also told his people that he had worked very hard his whole life serving them. He said, ‘And behold, I tell you these things that ye may learn wisdom; that ye may learn that when ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God.’ ”*

“You see, Ben,” Dad concluded, “when you are helping other people, you are helping Heavenly Father. If Jesus appeared to you this morning and asked you to serve Him all day, you would probably be pretty excited about it. If you think about it, Jesus has already asked us to serve Him every day.”

Ben was almost convinced, but he had a question. “I can see how working helps others, but how does playing my violin serve anyone?”

Dad smiled wisely. “Why don’t you wait and see?”

As Ben started doing his chores, he realized that the work needed to be done, so he might as well be cheerful in doing it. He soon noticed how happy it made his mom when he worked without complaining.

Later, when Ben went to the church to help clean, he had fun racing his brother as they vacuumed the cultural hall. He thought about how a spotless church shows respect to Heavenly Father. And cleaning didn’t seem to take as long as he thought it would.

The violin performance was at a home for older people. At first Ben felt nervous. Most of the people were in wheelchairs, and many of them looked like they were asleep. But as Ben began to play his violin, he noticed a white-haired lady in the front row. She was tapping her foot to the music. Ben tried to play his very best just for her. He played a fast fiddling song, and everyone began to clap their hands and stomp their feet. Soon everyone was laughing and smiling.

The last song was “I Am a Child of God.”** Ben played better than he ever had before. As the final notes sang out, a sweet and peaceful feeling settled over the room.

Ben understood now. Beautiful music brings people closer to Heavenly Father, and he was serving others by inviting the Spirit. As he sat down, Dad squeezed his shoulder. “When you play your violin, I can feel Heavenly Father’s love for me. You have a great gift and you need to keep sharing it.” Ben felt warm inside.

As they walked out of the rest home, Ben waved good-bye to his new friends.

“How do you feel now?” Dad asked.

“I feel so good, Dad. I thought today would be nothing but work. But when I thought about serving Heavenly Father instead of myself, everything seemed easier.”

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Matinee

By Erin Hill Littlefield
Friend, Jan 2005, 47
(Based on an experience from the author’s family)

Do that which is honest (2 Cor. 13:7).

Elisa’s mom pulled the car up to the curb near the movie theater, and Elisa jumped out onto the sidewalk. There were already dozens of people in line. Luckily, she saw her friend Tracy waving from near the front.

“Have fun!” Mom handed Elisa some change. “Call me if Tracy’s mom isn’t here to pick you up.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Elisa said, shutting the car door.

It was Elisa’s 12th birthday, and she and Tracy were going to a movie that they had been waiting to see for months. Elisa saw the movie posters displayed outside the building and started to feel excited. She patted the ticket money in her pocket.

“I’m glad I got here early,” Tracy said. “The line is already getting long, and the movie doesn’t start for another 20 minutes.”

Finally they reached the ticket window. The list of ticket prices was displayed above the cashier’s head.

“One child’s ticket, please,” Tracy said, telling him the name of the movie they wanted to see. She handed him her money and he slid a ticket under the glass.

Elisa stepped up next. “I’m getting a ticket for the same show.”

He slid a child’s ticket toward her and she put her money under the glass. Then she realized she shouldn’t have done that. The sign above his head said “Children 3–11 $3.75. Adults 12 and older $5.00.”

She was supposed to pay the full price, but the man had already pushed forward her change and was helping the next person in line. “Oh, well,” she thought. “It’s no big deal, right? I just barely turned 12.” Elisa pocketed the change and walked into the theater behind Tracy.

“This is perfect,” Tracy said as they found some seats in the middle. Elisa nodded, but she was thinking about what had just happened at the ticket booth.

“So, happy birthday!” Tracy said, smiling. “I’m so glad we can celebrate together. Are you still going to have a birthday party next weekend?”

“What?” Elisa was picturing the sign above the cashier’s head.

“The birthday party—are you having it?” Tracy repeated. “I can’t wait until I turn 12. I’ll be able to go to girls’ camp with you in July.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Elisa said. “We’ll share a tent together.”

“I’m going to miss activity days,” Tracy said, “but turning 12 will be so cool. Do you already feel more grown-up?”

Elisa felt less grown-up at that moment. She wasn’t sure what to do. “I guess so,” she said. The uneasy feeling wouldn’t go away.

“You’ll have to tell me about our Young Women’s class so I can be prepared,” Tracy said. “I don’t want to feel silly at my first activity.”

The theater lights dimmed and music started to play. Elisa wanted to go back to the ticket booth, but she thought the cashier would think she was being foolish. “It’s only a matter of 24 hours, right?” she reasoned to herself.

The movie previews started, and Elisa and Tracy sat back to enjoy the movie. It was great—just what they had hoped it would be—but Elisa couldn’t forget what had happened at the ticket booth. She hadn’t been honest.

When the movie was over, they waited in the aisle for a few minutes while everyone filed out. Elisa stared at the red carpeted wall, barely listening to Tracy rave about the movie. Elisa knew what she had to do. As soon as they stepped outside the theater, she turned toward the ticket window.

“Um, I need to take care of something at the ticket booth.”

“Ticket booth? Are you going again?” Tracy laughed. “It was good, but—”

“No, I just have to fix a mistake.” Elisa stepped toward the ticket booth.

“Wait, Elisa,” Tracy called. “My mom’s here. We need to go.”

“I’ll hurry,” Elisa called back to her. She walked quickly to the front of the line and approached the window.

“What movie?” the cashier asked.

Elisa slid her ticket stub under the glass. “Well, I just saw this movie. I bought the ticket before it started.”

“Do you want to see it again?” He looked puzzled.

“No, I paid the wrong price,” Elisa said nervously. “See, I paid for a child’s ticket, but really I’m 12 and I should have paid the full price. Today’s my birthday.”

“So?”

“Well, I should have told you I was 12, because the price is different.”

“Look, I don’t care,” he said, laughing at her. “Just forget about it.”

“Well, I didn’t tell the truth and I should have,” she said again. It didn’t feel funny to her.

“What’s the problem?” the manager asked, stepping into the ticket booth. Elisa explained to her what had happened.

“I want to pay the extra money,” Elisa said again.

“Some kids try to sneak in without buying a ticket at all.” The manager shook her head, smiling. “You can keep the change. Consider it a birthday present for being honest.”

“Really?” Suddenly Elisa did feel grown-up. She walked toward Tracy with a big smile on her face.

“Did they fix their mistake?” Tracy asked.

“No, it was my mistake,” Elisa said, “so I fixed it myself.”

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(February)

Frankie, Child of God

By Kay Timpson Friend, Feb 2005, 5
(Based on experiences of the author’s family)

All of you are children of the most High (Ps. 82:6).

Shifting and squirming in his chair, Frankie whispered to Clarissa, “These chairs are hard. I’m bored.”

Sister Peterson, the Primary teacher, asked, “What did you say, Frankie?”

“Oh, nothing,” Frankie answered. He continued squirming.

Sister Peterson smiled. “It’s almost time to go home.”

“Home,” Frankie thought. He had been in so many homes he had to stop to remember which one he was in now.

After the closing prayer, Frankie sprang from his chair and raced into the hallway. As he skidded around the corner, he ran right into Mr. Adams—or “Dad,” as he was trying to remember to call him.

“Hi, Frankie, I was looking for you. Let’s go home.”

There was that word again—home. Frankie climbed onto the back seat of the van. Most of the foster families he had lived with drove vans. If he sat in the back, everyone usually forgot he was there. Then no one asked him questions. Questions made him nervous because he didn’t always know the answers. Then he felt—well, slow. The kids in the other places he had lived had made fun of him and called him names. Even the adults usually got annoyed when he didn’t understand everything right away. So Frankie chose the back row. It was safer that way. The problem was, it wasn’t working with this family.

“How was Primary, Frankie?” Mrs. Adams asked.

Frankie thought hard. He wanted to be honest. “Well,” he said slowly, “I tried to listen, but it was really hard.” He felt his whole body tense up. He was afraid that Mrs. Adams was going to be upset with him for not understanding. What she said surprised him. “What did the teachers say? Maybe we can help you understand.” She sounded very gentle, like she really wanted to help.

She listened patiently as Frankie tried to tell her what he heard in Primary. “Well, it was about God being my father, or something like that,” Frankie mumbled. The idea sounded strange to him. He thought for sure it would sound silly to Mrs. Adams. (“Mom,” he silently reminded himself.) He figured the other kids would tease him for giving the wrong answer, but they didn’t.

“That’s what Sister Robbins said in sharing time,” Taylor said. “She talked about how we’re all children of God, and about how He loves us—just like you do, Dad—and how that should help us to be good and to choose the right. Then we sang ‘I Am a Child of God.’ ”

Ashley waved her hands in the air and said, “That’s my favorite song!”

Frankie listened closely. They had heard the same thing he did, but they seemed to understand it. And he could tell by their faces that they believed it. Mom must have seen the confusion in his eyes because she said, “Frankie, we’ll talk more later about what it means to be a child of God.”

After dinner, the kids all plopped down on the big rug in front of the couch. Reaching for his scriptures, Dad said, “Let’s talk about what it means to be a child of God. Here is a scripture that might help. It’s in 1 Nephi 17:36 [1 Ne. 17:36], and it says, ‘Behold, the Lord hath created the earth that it should be inhabited; and he hath created his children that they should possess it.’ ” Dad paused. “What do you think that means?”

Ashley’s hand flew up. “It means that Heavenly Father is the Father of our spirits. He made this beautiful earth for us and sent us here to grow.” She nodded her head, as if agreeing with herself.

“That’s right,” Mom said. “Heavenly Father loves us and wants us to come back to Him, because we belong to Him.”

“Even me?” Frankie asked timidly. “Do I belong to Him?”

“Absolutely, Frankie. He loves you and wants you to come back,” Dad said. “He wants you to come back so much that He will help you in any way He can. One way He has already helped you was by sending you to us, so we can teach you about Him. If you will pray and ask Him, He will bless you and help you.”

Later that night as Frankie snuggled under the covers, he thought, “I have a Father in Heaven.” In all the foster homes he had been in, no one had ever told him about Heavenly Father. It felt good to know that there was someone in heaven he belonged to, someone he could always talk to. He had never felt like he belonged anywhere—until now. In his heart Frankie knew that Mr. and Mrs. Adams—Mom and Dad—loved him.

“Maybe that is why I am in this home,” he thought. “Maybe God wanted me here.” For the first time Frankie slid to his knees and started to pray. It felt funny at first, but he felt like it was the right thing to do. “If He is my Father, I bet He would like to hear from me. I bet He’s missed me,” he thought as he bowed his head.

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Because My Teacher Loves Me

By Patricia Reece Roper
Friend, Feb 2005, 14
(Based on an experience from the author’s family)

By love serve one another (Gal. 5:13).

Desiree listened to her Primary teacher, Sister Ruiz, in wonder. She couldn’t believe what Sister Ruiz was saying. It seemed too good to be true. Desiree looked at the other children in her class. They didn’t seem to be as amazed as she was. Finally Desiree raised her hand. “Do you really mean it, Sister Ruiz? Would you really do anything for us?” she asked.

“Yes, Desiree.” The kind look in her teacher’s eyes, even more than her words, showed Desiree that she really meant it. But Desiree continued to wonder if it was really true. Maybe someday she would find out.

It wasn’t even a week later that Desiree was able to test her Primary teacher’s promise. One day when she came home from school, Desiree found a note taped to the front door and grabbed it. When she entered the house, no one answered her calls. The house was empty. A strange, spooky stillness surrounded her, making the hair on her neck prickle.

“Where are you, Mommy?” Desiree whispered as tears trickled down her face. She dropped her backpack on the couch and sat down next to it. Remembering the note in her hand, Desiree opened it. She recognized her mother’s handwriting, but the letters were joined together by slants. Her mother had forgotten that she couldn’t read cursive writing.

“I’ll do anything I can for you, because I love you.” The memory of her Primary teacher’s words came to Desiree’s mind. Maybe she couldn’t read cursive, but she could read typing and she could read numbers. She could find Sister Ruiz’s phone number and call her to ask for help.

When Sister Ruiz heard Desiree’s dilemma, she told her that she would be right over. To Desiree it seemed like a long time before she arrived, but even though Sister Ruiz lived in another town, she made the trip in just 10 minutes.

Desiree flung open the front door and ran down the sidewalk when she saw Sister Ruiz get out of her car. Through her tears, she handed her Primary teacher the note left by her mother.

Sister Ruiz read the note and smiled. “This says that your mommy is at your grandma’s house working on a quilt.”

Desiree suddenly remembered that her mother had told her to go to Grandma’s house, just down the street, after school. She had left the note to remind Desiree but had forgotten to print it in letters Desiree could read.

“Do you want me to walk you to your grandma’s?” Sister Ruiz asked.

Desiree shook her head. She looked up at Sister Ruiz. “You drove all this way just to read a note. Thank you.”

Sister Ruiz smiled, and Desiree noticed that her eyes were glistening with tears. “This wasn’t much, Desiree. I’ll do anything I can for you.”

“It was a lot to me,” Desiree said.

Sister Ruiz hugged Desiree. “I’m glad you think so.”

Desiree carefully looked both ways before crossing the street and walking down to Grandma’s house. Sister Ruiz watched to make sure she arrived safely. Then she drove away.

“Where have you been?” Desiree’s mother asked when she walked in. “I was starting to get worried.”

“I just learned that my Primary teacher will come all the way to my house to read me a note.”

“Why didn’t you read it yourself?” Desiree’s mom asked.

“Because I can’t read cursive.”

Desiree’s mother’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “I didn’t even think about it, Desiree. I’m sorry you had to call your teacher to help you.”

“That’s OK.” Desiree grinned. “My teacher said she was glad to do it, because she loves me.”

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Words of Warning

By Mary Datwyler
Friend, Feb 2005, 20
(Based on an experience of the author’s family)

If there is anything virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy, we seek after these things (A of F 1:13).

“Great song!” Zach exclaimed, tossing his book-filled backpack onto his friend Adam’s bedroom floor. A radio blared away in the corner.

“I’m glad you like it,” Adam said. “I just bought the whole CD with my birthday money.”

Zach grinned. “Cool! Let’s see it.”

Adam tossed the unopened CD to Zach, whose grin disappeared when he saw the cover. “How did you even buy this? It’s got one of those warning labels on it for bad language and other stuff.”

Adam shrugged. “I guess I was lucky. The guy at the store must not have noticed.”

“Well, you noticed. You should take it back.” A still, small voice deep inside Zach was warning him of danger.

“But I like this group,” Adam protested. “The label’s probably about just a few words in one song. And besides, if anything is really awful, we can skip over it.”

Putting aside his uneasiness, Zach thought it over. “I guess we could,” he admitted at last. “I don’t remember any bad language in the song we just heard on the radio.”

“Neither do I,” Adam said, unwrapping the CD and opening the case. Inside was another warning label.

This time the warning voice was too loud for Zach to ignore. “I don’t think this is a good idea,” he said.

“Lighten up!” Adam snapped. “A few swear words won’t kill you. Just tune them out and listen to the music.”

Zach had a strong feeling that he should leave, but he didn’t want to hurt his friend’s feelings. He sat on the floor as Adam put the CD in the player. “The first song is one we haven’t heard,” Adam announced over the pounding beat.

Zach cringed, afraid that he was going to hear something awful. He remembered his dad’s warning: “If you hear bad words all the time, you’ll get used to them. Then it’s easy for them to slip into your own conversation.”

The first song ended without any bad words, though. Maybe Adam was right. “Here’s the one you like from the radio,” Adam said.

Zach gasped as a stream of dark, dirty words came pouring from the CD player. The tune was the one he had heard on the radio, but the lyrics were much worse. He tried to focus on the music and not listen to the words, but he couldn’t.

“Turn it off,” he said.

Adam kept listening.

“Turn it off!” Zach insisted. “Please!”

“Cover your ears,” Adam replied, turning up the volume.

Zach couldn’t stand it. He scooped up his backpack and rushed out of the room. Hurrying down the hall, he heard Adam singing along to the music.

Zach ran home, his heavy backpack banging his shoulders all the way. By the time he arrived, he felt weak and sick. Dropping his backpack, he went straight to his room, closed the door, and knelt by his bed. “Heavenly Father?” he began quietly. “I need Thy help. I feel awful. I listened to music that was full of words I can’t get out of my head—bad words. Adam said we could pretend they weren’t there, but it didn’t work. I knew better. My parents warned me, and so did the Holy Ghost. I’ve learned my lesson, and I’m sorry. Please help me, Heavenly Father. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”

Zach waited, straining to hear an answer. Nothing came right away, but he didn’t give up. He could feel the sunlight streaming through the window, warming his skin as he kept listening. When he finally got up, he felt he had an answer.

The next day at school he walked up to Adam. “I can’t listen to CDs with you anymore if you’re going to play that kind of music,” he said.

Adam looked sheepish. “Don’t worry. My brother heard that song and told my parents. They took the CD away.”

“Are you mad at your brother?”

Adam shook his head slowly. “I shouldn’t have bought it in the first place. It’s really not even music with all that bad language. It’s just junk. I’m glad it’s gone.”

Zach nodded. “I couldn’t get the words out of my mind.”

“I’m sorry,” Adam said. “Neither could I. I have some good CDs, though, without bad words. We could listen to those in about a week.”

“Sounds great,” Zach said. “But why a week?”

“Because by then I won’t be grounded anymore.”

Zach smiled. “Good music is worth waiting for.”

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You Must Choose for Yourself

By Susan B. Mitchell
Friend, Feb 2005, 32
(A true story taken from historical sources)

He that hath eternal life is rich (D&C 6:7).

Priscilla’s grandparents lived in a beautiful home in Liverpool, England. Though Priscilla was the fourth of nine children and had many cousins, Grandfather and Grandmother Mitchell made her feel like their favorite person in the entire world. She loved to be in their home, and they were always buying gifts for her.

Then, one day, everything changed. Missionaries from America taught her family the gospel, and her parents were baptized. Priscilla and her brothers and sisters planned to be baptized, too. When Grandfather found out, he was angry.

Priscilla had never known Grandfather to be angry before. It frightened her. He shouted unforgettable, sickening words to Priscilla’s father: “Hezekiah, take your family and leave. Don’t ever come back!”

At home, the stunned family gathered around the fireplace. Father had never looked so sad. Mother hadn’t stopped crying since they had left their grandparents’ home.

Priscilla was confused and heartbroken. “Why don’t Grandmother and Grandfather love us anymore?” she cried.

Father tried to explain. “Grandfather is opposed to our new church. He wants no part of it, and he wants no part of us if we continue with it.” Father stood tall. “But I know that Jesus Christ lives. This is His true Church. He will help us find the way, as long as we do everything we can to be like Him.”

Priscilla’s family tried to be happy, but everything seemed to get worse. Father lost his job as a minister in their former church, so money was scarce even though he taught school. Mother mended clothes instead of replacing them. Priscilla tried not to complain, but life seemed to get harder every day. She longed to visit her grandparents. If she could only talk to them …

A knock sounded at the door. Priscilla’s heart leaped with hope, but it wasn’t her grandparents. Uncle George and Aunt Hannah stood on the porch with gifts and a basket of food. Priscilla was happy to see them, but all too soon she was sent outside so they could talk to her parents. It sounded serious.

“Priscilla,” Aunt Hannah finally called. “How would you like to come live with us?” They had no children and wanted to adopt her, Uncle George explained. There would be plenty of room for her in their mansion, and she could receive better schooling.

“It will leave more of the basics for your brothers and sisters, too,” Aunt Hannah added. Priscilla knew that it was a struggle for her parents to feed and clothe all nine of their children. If she went, it would make things easier for her family.

Father gazed sadly at the floor. Mother sobbed into her handkerchief. The offer was kind, but accepting it would not be easy. Priscilla packed her bags and bid her family farewell.

“This will be your bedroom,” Aunt Hannah said. Priscilla had always shared a room with her four sisters. Now she had a room of her own and a maid to clean it.

Aunt Hannah took her shopping to buy pretty dresses. In no time, the closet was full of them. Her aunt and uncle planned parties so Priscilla could meet new friends. Priscilla had many advantages, but she missed being with her family and listening to Father teach as they sat around the fireplace.

On the morning of her 10th birthday, Priscilla was making dancing dolls out of hollyhock blooms in the garden. She was excited for the party to be held that afternoon, but she wished her sisters could come.

Suddenly, she spotted a tall, thin man coming up the road with a walking stick. Priscilla ran to meet him.

“Happy birthday, Princess Priscilla,” Father said. He swept her into his arms and swung her around.

“Oh, Father, you remembered!” she exclaimed.

Together they walked inside. Father pulled a letter from his pocket. “Priscilla, Uncle George and Aunt Hannah have requested to officially adopt you.” Priscilla knew what that meant—she would inherit great wealth and a respected name. She would never need to worry about money again.

“I have more news,” Father said. “Soon your mother, brothers, sisters, and I are going to America.”

“Will you ever come back?” Priscilla asked.

Father shook his head. “George and Hannah love you. They will take care of you and give you more wealth and opportunities than I can ever offer. On the other hand, life in America with the new church will be difficult and require many sacrifices.” Father looked into his daughter’s eyes. “You must choose for yourself, Priscilla.”

Priscilla didn’t hesitate. She ran to Aunt Hannah and hugged and kissed her. “I love you, Aunt Hannah, and I will always remember you,” she said. “But I know that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is true. I must go to America with my family and be baptized.”

And that is exactly what she did.

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The Ugliest, Most Wonderful Car

By Sara V. Olds
Friend, Feb 2005, 39
(Based on experiences of the author’s family)

Let every man be diligent in all things (D&C 75:29).

Peter stared at the Pinewood Derby kit he’d received at his Cub Scout meeting. It contained a block of wood, four nails, and four wheels, from which he was to make a car to race.

Peter wasn’t too excited about the derby. Last year, he and his dad worked hard to shape, sand, and paint his car. But even though they’d tried to make a good car, it hadn’t won a single race.

He remembered his dad telling him, “Peter, you did your best, and that’s what’s important. No one wins all the time.” That had made him feel a bit better.

This year Peter faced a more difficult problem. His dad was out of town on a business trip and wouldn’t be home until after the derby. How was he going to get a car ready all by himself?

That evening, Peter’s mom said that they could work on the car together. She gathered all the tools she could find: a hacksaw, a pocketknife, a screwdriver, a hammer, and a piece of sandpaper.

First, she tried to whittle away pieces of the block with the pocketknife. “I had no idea this wood was so hard!” she said through clenched teeth as she fought to chip a piece away. With a sigh, she put down the knife. “This isn’t going to work.”

Next they tried the wobbly hacksaw. Taking turns, they managed to saw a small piece off. However, once they started shaping the wood into Peter’s design—a triangle to make it have less wind resistance—the blade snapped in half partway through.

“I suppose our last chance is to use the hammer and screwdriver to chisel away some of the wood in the direction of the cut we started,” Mom said.

Peter and his mom struggled for almost an hour. Bit by bit, pieces of the wood broke away. Then, amazingly, the car he’d hoped for began to appear. Except it was covered by strange gouges made by the screwdriver blade. And there was a blob sticking out in front. Mom suggested it might be part of the engine sticking out, like on fancy race cars they’d seen on television.

Then disaster struck. Suddenly there was a loud CRACK! A chunk of wood snapped away from the rest. Gone was the triangular shape they’d worked for. Now a deep gash appeared on the car, making it look lopsided.

“Oh, Peter!” Mom exclaimed. “Look what I’ve done!” Peter could tell by her voice that she was close to tears.

He studied the sad little shape resting on the counter and smiled. “That’s OK, Mom. You did your best. I can paint this part,” he touched the mistake, “and it will look good. I bet it’ll even make it more aerodynamic.”

Over the next two days, Peter carefully sanded his funny-looking car, trying to smooth out the gouges left by the screwdriver, but they were too deep. So he painted it. And he painted it again. Instead of trying to hide the problems, he accented them to make the whole car look more interesting.

The time came to go to the church for the derby. When he got there, all the other boys had fancy cars. Some had racing wings, and others glistened like plastic models instead of painted wood blocks.

Peter’s friends came running to see his car. He held it out proudly. “My mom helped me with this car,” he said before anyone could say anything about its odd shape. “And we did our very best!”

Soon the races started. When Peter’s name was called, he handed the Cubmaster his car.

The Cubmaster took one look at it, then held it up for all to see. “Look at this unusual car. You can tell that a lot of hard work went into making it.”

Peter glanced over at his mom and smiled. The Cubmaster was right.

As the night went on, Peter won two races, but then lost the third and was out of the running for a trophy.

After it was over, the leaders passed out the awards. Each boy got a certificate and a badge for participating. Then the Cubmaster said, “Now I’d like to present a special trophy for the most unique car in the competition. It showed great effort and creativity in its design.”

Peter looked over at the cars, wondering who would receive the trophy with the golden car on it. It looked just like the first-place trophy.

“Congratulations to Peter Olds,” the Cubmaster announced.

Peter was stunned. “Me?” he asked.

His friend nudged him. “Go on,” he urged, “go get your trophy.”

Peter walked up to the stage and accepted the trophy. He looked at everyone who was clapping and cheering for him. His mom smiled up at him.

He felt warm all over. Suddenly he realized that it was great that he had received a trophy, but the real prize was his funny little car. He didn’t need a trophy to know its value. It was special because his mom had done her very best to help him, showing him how much she loved him. He couldn’t ask for more.

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Looking on the Heart

By Lisa Ray Turner
Friend, Feb 2005, 45
(Based on an experience of the author’s friends)

Man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart (1 Sam. 16:7).

Marcy hated her eye patch. She’d had to wear it every day for two weeks while her eye healed from surgery, and it made her feel like a scary, one-eyed pirate.

It wasn’t so bad wearing the patch at the hospital or at home because nobody but Marcy’s family saw it. But today was different. Marcy had to face other people for the first time since her surgery. “Mom, please don’t make me go to Primary,” she begged. “The kids will make fun of me.”

“No, they won’t,” Mom said as she braided Marcy’s hair.

“They will,” Marcy insisted. “Nine-year-olds don’t think eye patches are neat, Mom.”

“Sweetie, you might be surprised. I bet they’ll be interested in your surgery. You may be the star of the class.”

Marcy shot her mom a look of disbelief. “Cammy will make fun of me. She always wears the prettiest clothes—she wouldn’t be caught dead in an eye patch. And Dean will probably call me names.” Mom listened while she twisted shiny lavender ribbons around Marcy’s smooth braid.

“Your teacher won’t make fun of you,” Mom said, tying the ribbons into Marcy’s hair.

“Mom,” Marcy sighed, “teachers aren’t allowed to tease.”

“You’re beautiful,” Mom said. “Don’t worry about the patch.”

Marcy frowned. “I don’t look beautiful.”

“Marcy,” Mom said, “to me you look beautiful, and to Heavenly Father you do, too. It says in the scriptures that Heavenly Father doesn’t look on outward appearances, but on the heart. He doesn’t care about fashionable clothes or stylish hair. Or, for that matter, crutches or wheelchairs—or eye patches.”

Marcy sighed again. “Tell that to Cammy and Dean.”

Soon it was time for church, and Marcy’s family drove away in their red van. They slipped into the chapel and sat on the last row. Marcy kept her head down, hoping nobody would notice her.

After sacrament meeting, Marcy trudged down the hall toward her classroom, keeping her head toward the wall to hide the patch. As she got closer to her classroom, tears began welling up in her eyes. Her face flushed hot, and her heart felt like it would pound out of her chest.

She stood outside the classroom door, hoping everyone would notice her lovely hair and pale purple ribbons instead of the ugly black patch. She took a deep breath, but couldn’t go in. The sound of squeaky chairs and gentle laughter inside the room sounded so normal. She didn’t feel like she fit in with those happy sounds.

She glanced around and noticed the hallways were strangely empty. It seemed everybody but her was already in class. She gripped the doorknob. It felt cold on her clammy hands. Turning the knob, she vowed not to cry, no matter how badly the children teased her. She slid through the door and into the nearest seat, keeping her uncovered eye focused on her feet.

Then she heard it. A giggle. She thought it was Dean, but she couldn’t be sure. Then there was another snicker, and another. Then her teacher’s deep voice. “Welcome back, Marcy.”

Marcy looked up at him, knowing he wouldn’t tease her. She gasped when she saw his face. He was wearing an eye patch! A black eye patch, exactly like Marcy’s.

Marcy giggled. Then she looked at the other children in the class. They were all wearing eye patches! Even Cammy. She had painted a yellow tulip on hers, to match the yellow tulips on her blouse. Dean had scrawled his initials on his patch in bright blue puff paint. The rest of the class wore variously decorated patches, with gold stars, smiling suns, or plain black. “Basic black,” her teacher said. “It goes with everything.”

Marcy laughed again to see the variety of eye patches. And suddenly, she didn’t dislike her eye patch quite so much. For the first time all day, she knew that Heavenly Father really did look on her heart. And she knew He could see that hers was full of gratitude and happiness.

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(March)

The Do-Gooders Club

By Lori Mortensen
Friend, Mar 2005, 5
(Based on an experience from the author’s family)

Give, then, as Jesus gives; there is something all can give (Children’s Songbook, 236).

“Do you think we’ll ever finish?” I asked Lacey as we stared at my messy bedroom. “Mom says it looks like a tornado hit it.”

“My room’s been worse,” Lacey replied with a giggle.

I was glad Lacey was willing to help me. Not every friend would help clean up a room that looked like a disaster zone. But luckily Lacey thought that cleaning bedrooms was fun—as long as it wasn’t her own.

I grabbed a CD and stuck it in my pink CD player. Usually I played popular music while I did my chores, but this time I put in a CD of Primary music that my Primary teacher had given me.

In an instant, my bedroom was filled with a chorus of children singing songs like “I Am a Child of God,” “I Lived in Heaven,” and “The Church of Jesus Christ.”

As we placed stuffed animals in the closet, hung up my clothes, and listened to the music, a sweet, spiritual feeling filled the room. Lacey wasn’t a member of the Church, but I could tell that she felt it, too. I’d never felt the Holy Ghost this strongly before.

“What does your church believe in?” she asked.

It would have been impossible to tell her everything that I’d ever learned at home and in Primary, so I just explained that we believed in Jesus Christ, the Bible, and the Book of Mormon. Then I recited the first and second articles of faith that I’d memorized for my Faith in God Award.

“I go to church, too,” Lacey said. “See?” She showed me her necklace, which had a gold cross on it.

I lifted the necklace up from my shirt. “We both have gold necklaces,” I said. “except mine says ‘CTR.’ That stands for ‘Choose the Right.’ ”

We smiled at each other. Suddenly I felt that we both needed to do something more important than just clean a room. We had to do something special.

“Come on,” I said. “Let’s finish up quick so we can do something really good!”

“Maybe we could start a do-gooders club or something,” said Lacey excitedly.

“I know!” I said. “Let’s make a bunch of sugar cookies and give them to our neighbors.”

We raced downstairs and told my mom about our idea. “Can we do it?” we asked.

“Sure,” she said.

Mom helped us find a recipe and get out all the ingredients. Then Lacey and I mixed, rolled, and baked until we had six heaping plates of cookies. We decorated them with squiggly lines of green frosting.

“They smell wonderful!” Mom said.

And they tasted good, too! Lacey and I snatched a couple of cookies, then delivered the rest to the neighbors who lived on our street. It was fun to see the surprised looks on their faces when we handed them their own big plate of warm cookies.

Lacey and I practically skipped all the way back to my house.

“Well, I’ve got to go,” she said. “It’s getting late.”

“OK, I’ll see you later!” I replied.

It had been a great afternoon. Maybe Lacey could visit my church one day and sing the songs with me in Primary. But in the meantime, I was glad to know that we could have fun together doing nice things for people and that we could both feel close to Heavenly Father.

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Desert Secret

By Richard Neeley
Friend, Mar 2005, 15
(Based on a true story taken from historical sources)

I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink
(Matt. 25:35).

The blazing sun scorched the covered wagon as it slowly rolled forward across the barren desert. In the distance, missionaries riding in a wagon and on horseback saw an old Native American man lying against a sandstone rock, with nothing to shade him. Only a few scattered cactus plants stood nearby.

“Water,” cried the abandoned man as the missionaries approached him. Jacob reached for his canteen and loosened the cap.

“Jacob,” said one of the missionaries, “as is custom among his people, he has been left here alone to die. He has lived a long and noble life, and—”

“And he still has much to live for,” Jacob sternly interrupted.

“We may not have enough water for ourselves,” the missionary added.

“I can’t watch a dying man beg for water,” Jacob insisted. “I’ll give him a drink from my canteen.” He leaped off his horse and knelt beside the old man.

The other men shook their heads and began to move on. After the man had sipped from the canteen, Jacob climbed back onto his horse.

“Don’t leave me here alone to die!” the man cried.

Jacob pulled the reins and called to the others, “Stop!”

“How can you even think of taking on this extra burden?” another man cautioned. “As it is, our water cannot last until we reach the next water hole.”

The Native American man sat there, listening.

“I promise you that he will drink from my own canteen and ride my horse,” Jacob answered. “After he rides a while, the water will make a new man of him. I will enjoy a short walk. If we have faith, the Lord will provide for our needs.”

The old man didn’t want to take the saddle, but Jacob said, “The ride will do you good.” The man smiled weakly as the caravan moved on in the hot desert.

Jacob knew it was the right decision to share his water, even though his companions were also right about needing water for their own survival. Their supply was running dangerously low.

Jacob walked next to the man mounted on his horse in silence for hours and watched the sun sink lower in the sky. The evening temperature was still very hot. When they stopped for a drink and to let the horses rest, Jacob poured water from his canteen into a tin cup and gave it to the man. He nodded gratefully.

“Sorry for what I said earlier.” One of Jacob’s companions patted him on the back. “I believe you’re right. The Lord will provide for our needs if we first look after the needs of our brothers.”

By the next afternoon, the canteens and the water barrel in the wagon were empty. The horses could go no farther. Jacob glanced at the man, but still not a word was spoken.

The Native American man walked aside a few yards to a mound of rock and sand, climbed on top, and looked in all directions. “I know where water is—it’s a tribal secret,” he said.

The rest of the party slowly followed the man to a small plateau. Even the tired, thirsty horses seemed to know that their last chance to survive was just a short distance away. Looking under a bush, the man lifted a flat rock and said, “Look. Damp ground.” He dug down a few feet, and within a few minutes, water gurgled up from the dirt.

The little company was saved! They continued on their journey and the old man returned to his people—all thanks to Jacob Hamblin, who shared his water and his faith.

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Rescue

By Tom Roulstone
Friend, Mar 2005, 32
(Based on a personal experience)

We know that it is by grace that we are saved, after all we can do (2 Ne. 25:23).

“Want to come sliding after school?” “Sure,” I said. I was seven years old and the newest boy at Garnet Hill School in Glasgow, Scotland. I wasn’t sure what sliding meant, but I was eager to make friends.

Soon we stood by an iron fence. Beyond it, a steep concrete slope fell away between high walls to the base of a building. The slope had been polished like glass by countless children’s leather-soled shoes, making it smooth and slippery—perfect for sliding.

I was a little afraid as I followed my new friends over the fence. I knew that we were trespassing. But I quickly forgot my fear as I hunkered down and pushed off on my first thrilling, wind-whistling, world-blurring slide. Getting back up the slippery slope was a lot harder. I had to push away from the building, run as fast as I could, and grab the iron fence when I reached the top to keep from sliding backward.

Sliding and climbing, I lost all track of time until the rain started falling. We took shelter against the building at the foot of the slope, waiting for the rain to stop. Soon it started getting dark. “I’ve got to go home,” I said. “Mum and Dad will be worried.”

But I made it only halfway up the slope before sliding back down. The rain had made the concrete slipperier than ever. After several desperate tries, we all gave up. We were trapped! The night grew darker as rain continued to drizzle. We didn’t dare call for help, because we were afraid we’d get in trouble for being there. Huddled at the bottom of the slide, cold and fearful, we began to cry.

After what seemed like a long time, a beam of light shone down on us and we heard the gruff voice of the local bobby, or police officer: “Get on up here!”

“We can’t! It’s too slippery!” a quavering voice answered.

Climbing over the fence, the bobby took hold of the iron fence with one hand and leaned down as far as he could. One at a time we scrambled halfway up the slope and grabbed his outstretched hand. After pulling us all to safety, he gave us a friendly scolding and sent us hurrying home to our parents.

When I later joined the Church, my childhood rescue helped me understand the Savior’s role in the plan of salvation. We cannot return to our Father in Heaven on our own. Our sins lie between us and Heavenly Father like a steep slope that we cannot climb. But a loving Savior extends His hand to rescue us from sin, just as the bobby reached down to save us from the slick concrete. But the bobby reached down only so far. We had to do our part by climbing up as far as we possibly could. Likewise, we must repent of our sins and do our very best to keep the commandments. The Savior does the rest.

The relief I felt in going home to my parents was only a small taste of the joy we can feel in being rescued by the Savior and returning to our Heavenly Father.

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The Lipstick Lie

By Kimberly Webb
Friend, Mar 2005, 39
(Based on a personal experience)

[God] hath granted unto us that we might repent (Alma 24:10).

Natalie liked to watch her mom put on makeup. “Can I wear lipstick, too?” she asked one morning.

Mom smiled. “Not yet. Makeup isn’t for children.”

Natalie tried not to frown, but Mom looked so pretty. Natalie wanted to see how she would look wearing lipstick, too. “I won’t make a mess,” she promised. “I won’t even touch it! You can put it on for me.” She puckered her lips and stared at her mother’s reflection in the mirror. “Please?”

“No, Natalie. You’re too young.”

Natalie stormed out of the bathroom and flopped onto her bed. She had been old enough to make a very important decision last month—the decision to be baptized. If she was old enough to do something that important, why was she still too young to do so many other things? She sighed. It didn’t seem fair.

On Sunday, Grandma and Grandpa came over for dinner. After the meal, while the family sat around the table talking, Natalie excused herself to go to the bathroom. Something on the bathroom counter caught her eye: Mom’s makeup bag.

“Mom won’t know if I try on her lipstick,” Natalie thought, “as long as I wipe it off afterward.” She peered down the hall and saw the adults still talking and laughing. Now was her chance! She closed the door and poked through the bag until she found Mom’s red lipstick. Smearing it on her lips, she gave the mirror a glamorous smile. “See, I do look pretty with it on,” she thought.

When the doorknob rattled, she realized she hadn’t locked the door. It opened a crack. Quickly, she slammed it shut again.

“Hey,” Dad called. “What’s going on in there?”

“Nothing,” Natalie called back. “I need to use the bathroom, but I forgot to lock the door.”

“Sorry,” Dad said. She heard his footsteps disappear back down the hall. Breathing a sigh of relief, she wiped the lipstick off.

At first Natalie didn’t think much about the incident. She had tried on Mom’s makeup. It was only for a few seconds. She hadn’t made a mess or ruined anything. No one had seen her.

But a few weeks later, during the sacrament, Natalie remembered slamming the door on Dad. “What’s going on in there?” he had called. “Nothing,” she had said. Not only had she disobeyed her mom, she had lied to her dad, too.

“Why am I thinking about this?” she asked herself crossly, trying to shrug away the uncomfortable feeling. “It’s no big deal.” As the sacrament tray came down her row, she silently said a quick prayer asking for forgiveness and tried to think about something else.

All week, she couldn’t shake the bad feeling. It only got worse. Every time she forgot about her little white lie, something reminded her again. When her third-grade teacher smiled, Natalie noticed her shiny red lipstick. When a classmate came in late, slamming the door behind him, Natalie remembered slamming the door on Dad. “This is silly,” she chided herself. “Forget about it!” But she couldn’t.

By the end of the week, Natalie was so worried she felt almost sick. “All this guilt over lipstick?” she thought. Why was her conscience hounding her over something so small?

“Heavenly Father,” she prayed that night, “please help me to feel better without having to tell Mom what I did. It’s not that important, and I don’t want her to know. But I’m really, really sorry. Please forgive me. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”

She sat at her bedside waiting for the Holy Ghost to tell her that everything was OK, but she felt only sadness.

The next morning, Natalie knew she had to confess. She sat on the edge of her bed and took a deep breath. Even though she was determined, she was also scared. Slowly, she stood and padded barefoot down the hall to the bathroom, where her mom was getting ready for the day.

“Mom, your lipstick is pretty,” she murmured.

Mom smiled. “Thank you, sweetie.”

Natalie gulped. “I tried it on a few weeks ago.”

Mom raised her eyebrows. “After I told you not to?”

“When Grandma and Grandpa came for dinner, I came in here and tried it on. Dad almost caught me, but I told him I was using the bathroom. I’m sorry.”

Mom didn’t say anything.

“Are you mad?” Natalie whimpered.

Mom squeezed Natalie’s shoulder. “I’m disappointed because you know better. But I’m happy that you told me the truth.”

At once, Natalie’s prayer to feel OK again was answered. The worried feeling went away. The knot in her stomach relaxed. Even though Mom was sure to punish her, Natalie felt like smiling. Nothing could be worse than the guilt she had carried. She never wanted to feel like that again.

Even though she wasn’t old enough to wear makeup, she was old enough for more important things—like honoring the gift of the Holy Ghost and following its promptings.

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The Key

By Hazel Lamoreaux
Friend, Mar 2005, 47
(Based on an experience from the author’s family)

And this is life eternal, that they might know thee the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom thou hast sent
(John 17:3).

“Mom!” I called, dumping the mail onto the kitchen counter. “The new issue of the Friend is here.”

“Good,” Mom answered from the bedroom where she was dusting. “Maybe you’ll find something to help you with your Primary talk. What’s the subject?”

“Every member a missionary.” I plopped down on the couch to leaf through the magazine. Right away I found an article about Jesus being the key that opens the door to eternal life. All we have to do is open the door and step from darkness into light. It sounded great.

The doorbell chimed. I dropped the magazine and ran to the front door. “There’s nobody here, Mom!” I shouted.

“It’s probably the bug lady. She parks way down the street. Open the garage door for her.”

The woman who sprays our yard calls herself Lady Bug, but we just call her the bug lady. She is an exterminator who comes to our neighborhood once a month to spray people’s yards with insecticide, which helps get rid of bugs. She always rings the doorbell to let us know she’s here. Then we open the garage if we want her to spray in there.

I went down the hall, opened the door leading to the garage, and pushed the control switch for the door. The heavy garage door groaned up. I went back to the living room, flopped down on the couch again, and found my place in the magazine.

Suddenly I remembered that someone had stolen Dad’s toolbox when I left the garage door open a couple of months ago. He was not happy about it. What if it wasn’t the bug lady who rang the bell? I peered out the window and could not see her at all. I couldn’t see her truck, either.

I decided I’d better close the garage door. I sure didn’t want to be responsible if Dad’s new toolbox disappeared. I trotted back down the hall to the door that opened into the garage. My mind on my talk, I cracked the door open just enough to snake my arm in and push the control switch again.

As the big garage door grumbled back down, I went to the kitchen and got a glass of juice from the fridge. I carried it to the couch and settled down with the Friend once more.

I slurped down a big swallow of juice and found my place. Yes! This was just what my talk needed. Trusting Jesus to bring us from darkness into light went right along with missionary work.

About a half hour later, my reading was suddenly interrupted. Kerblam! I jumped, and juice sloshed down my shirt. What was that? An explosion? Bam! Bang! Bam! I knocked over a chair as I leaped for the front door.

“What’s going on?” Mom shouted, rushing up behind me, her dust cloth waving. “What’s the pounding?”

“I don’t know. It sounds like a wrecking ball smashing into the house.”

One step ahead of Mom, I darted to the back door and flung it open. Nobody! Nothing!

The racket started again. Mom dropped the dust cloth. “It sounds like it’s coming from the garage.”

“It couldn’t be. I closed the garage door.” I sped down the hall anyway and flung open the door to the garage.

I was staring into wild blue eyes. The bug lady! She held a big spray canister over her head, ready to smash the garage door again. “Thank goodness!” she gasped, slumping backward. “The door to the inside of your house was locked. I tried calling for help, but no one heard me. I thought I’d be stuck in this dark garage all day.”

I felt bad about scaring her. “I’m sorry,” I said, “but you weren’t really stuck. See?” I pushed the control switch, and the garage door rumbled up. Light flooded the dark garage, showing dents all over the door where the bug lady had banged it.

Her voice was shaky. “A switch is no help if you don’t know it’s there.” She spun around, rushed out of the garage, and made a beeline for her truck parked way down the street. She got in, gunned the engine, and roared off.

Mom shook her head. “Poor woman. It must have been scary being locked in a dark garage.”

“I think I’ll put her in my Primary talk,” I said.

Mom whirled around and looked at me as if I was crazy. “You’ll what?”

“The bug lady couldn’t use the control switch because she didn’t know it was there,” I explained. “The Friend article says that Jesus is the key that opens the door to eternal life. But you can’t use a key that you don’t know about, so we need to be missionaries and teach people about Jesus Christ.”

Mom smiled. “You told the bug lady about the switch,” she said. “If the poor woman ever comes back, we need to tell her about the key.”

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(April)

Sealed with a Hug

By Janice Barrett Graham
Friend, Apr 2005, 4
(Based on an experience from the author’s family)

I have a fam’ly here on earth. They are so good to me. I want to share my life with them through all eternity (Children’s Songbook, 188).

Megan’s older brother Jake looked handsome in his military fatigues. But Megan wished he didn’t have them on today. He stood by his packed suitcases in the hallway, ready to leave for active duty, as the whole family gathered around wishing him good-bye. After a big bear hug for Megan, Jake was gone.

On Monday night, everyone gathered in the living room for family home evening. Megan sat on the center cushion of the couch next to the empty spot where Jake always sat. A letter from Jake had let the family know he arrived at his military base safe and sound, but Megan missed him—especially tonight. Family home evening was a special time for compliments, songs, stories, lessons, and testimonies. Jake had often whispered the answers to questions in Megan’s ear so she could get them right, his strong arm around her shoulders.

When Megan’s older sister Liz began playing the piano for the opening song, Megan missed Jake even more. “Families can be together forever through Heavenly Father’s plan,” Megan sang. “But Jake isn’t here together with our family,” Megan thought. She sang the next line. “I always want to be with my own family, and the Lord has shown me how I can.”* “How can we be together with Jake?” she wondered. “He is thousands of miles away.”

Megan heard her father’s voice asking her to say the opening prayer. Her heart skipped a beat. She hopped to her feet and folded her arms. She would ask Heavenly Father to show them how their family could be together when Jake was so far away. “Dear Father in Heaven, we’re so thankful to be here in family home evening. But Jake isn’t here. He can’t sing with us and learn with us. He is going to be especially lonely on Monday nights. Help us to know how we can be a close family even though he is far away. And please watch over him so he’ll be safe.”

Megan sat down. She saw her purple school notebook on the floor by the couch and grinned. She had an idea. She picked up her notebook, opened it, and began writing furiously.

Dad opened the family council part of the evening by announcing, as always, “Greeps, Gripes, and Grumps.” No one could remember how this silly name came to be. Greeps were calendar items and compliments. Gripes and Grumps were comments and complaints to be addressed. Megan usually had lots to say. But this time she was busy writing.

Dad soon began giving the lesson, which was from an article in the Ensign about humility.

“Megan, can you tell us what becoming like a little child means to you?” Megan, who was busy writing, didn’t hear him.

“Is that homework, Megan?” Dad asked. “We’re having our lesson.”

Megan stopped writing. “I know how we can be a family!” she said excitedly. The whole family stared at her. “With Jake gone, I mean. I know how we can still have family home evening together!”

“How?” everyone asked.

Megan turned her notebook around for them to see. It said,

Megan’s family gathered around, patting her on the back.

“What a great idea!” Liz said. “But you could leave out the part about the mistakes!”

“He’ll love it!” declared Mom.

“Why didn’t I think of that?” Josh asked.

“Jake won’t be here,” Megan said. “But every week in the mail he’ll get our family home evening in an envelope, sealed with a hug!”

“I think Heavenly Father answered your prayer,” Dad said.

Megan was already writing again, her pen bobbing across the paper and her face beaming bright.

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Sunrise Surprise

By Sheila Kindred
Friend, Apr 2005, 10
(Based on an experience from the author’s family)

Arise early, that your bodies and your minds may be invigorated (D&C 88:124)

“Wake up, everyone!” Dad called from the hallway. “We’ve overslept!” Mom pulled her robe around her and shuffled into the kitchen to make breakfast. As she opened the curtains, she frowned. “That’s funny,” she said. “The sun is coming up later than usual this morning. But what a beautiful sunrise!” She called everyone into the kitchen to see the bright orange ball coming up through the pink clouds. In spite of their hurry, everyone paused in wonder.

“Gorgeous,” Dad said.

“Wow!” Karen said.

).

“Awesome,” Julie said.

“Can we have pancakes?” Aaron said.

Mother pulled her attention back from the window to look at Aaron. “I’m not sure we have time for pancakes, but I’ll see what I can do.” She put the frying pan on the stove to heat and started mixing up the batter.

“I wonder why Nicky hasn’t called yet,” Karen wondered aloud. “She usually calls by now to see if I can walk to school with her.”

Dad straightened his tie. “I don’t know, honey, but I’m wondering where the bus is. It’s never been this late before.”

“Those pancakes sure smell good,” Aaron said. “I’ll set the table.”

Mother smiled. “That would be great. But shouldn’t you get dressed first?”

Julie hurried into the kitchen carrying her backpack. “I can’t be late. I have a test today.”

“Then you need a good breakfast,” Aaron pointed out as he put the plates on the table. “And maybe a song or two. And a story.”

Julie stared at him. “What are you talking about? We don’t have time to do all those things.”

“We do today,” Aaron said mysteriously. And he began to hum as he put the forks beside the plates.

Mom and Dad exchanged a puzzled look. “Do you know something we don’t know?” Dad asked Aaron.

Aaron smiled. “Somebody needs to change the calendar,” he said.

“So?” Karen flipped up the next month’s page on the wall calendar. April it said in big letters.

Mom laughed. “It’s April Fools’ Day!”*

“What have you done?” Karen asked.

“I set everyone’s clock ahead an hour.” Aaron beamed. “Now we all have time for a nice big breakfast, a song or two, and a story. Isn’t that a great trick?”

“You mean I could have slept for another hour?” Julie asked. She looked at Aaron, who wasn’t smiling anymore. Now he looked worried.

“You could have. But you would have missed that awesome sunrise,” Mom said.

“And this delicious breakfast,” Karen added.

Julie put down her backpack. “All right, Aaron, you win. I’ll pick out a song to play on the piano.” She patted him on the head before going to the living room.

“And I’ll get my flute.” Karen hurried to her bedroom.

“And I’ll pick out a story,” Dad said, opening his scriptures.

“Mom,” Aaron said softly. “I know you sometimes don’t like it when people play April Fools’ tricks. Are you mad at me?”

“Of course not.” Mom gave Aaron a hug. “What I don’t like is when tricks make other people feel bad. Your trick is great because it’s making us feel good by giving us time to be together. And that’s a wonderful way to start any morning, especially April Fools’ Day!”

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The Rose Garden

By Pat Wayne
Friend, Apr 2005, 16
(Based on an experience from the author’s life)

The divine plan of happiness enables family relationships to be perpetuated beyond the grave (“The Family: A Proclamation to the World,”
Ensign, Nov. 1995, 102).

“Mike,” Dad called. “Time for school.” Walking slowly down the stairs, Mike found Dad waiting for him at the bottom.

“Do I have to go?” Mike asked. “Can’t I wait until tomorrow?”

Dad shook his head. “There have been too many tomorrows. I understand how you feel, but you need to get caught up.”

“Mrs. Peters sent home some of my work,” Mike said.

Dad sighed and handed Mike a sweater. “Today I go back to work—and you go back to school.”

Mike felt tears welling up. Surely he wasn’t going to cry again! “It’s so hard without Mom.”

Dad knelt and hugged Mike. “I know.” Mike could see the pain in Dad’s eyes.

As Mike walked out the door, he looked at Mom’s beautiful rose garden. But it wasn’t beautiful anymore. Weeds were popping up everywhere. He sighed. Would anything ever be the same again?

School was the same—noisy children running and talking. Mike dragged himself into his third-grade classroom.

Sam, his best friend, waved. Mike tried to smile, but his smile wouldn’t work. He kept taking deep breaths and trying not to cry.

Mrs. Peters began class. Mike heard her talking, but his gaze wandered outside. It was sunny. “How can the world look bright when Mom has died?” he wondered. A tear slid down his nose.

“Look, Mike’s crying!” shouted Bill, who sat across the aisle.

Without thinking, Mike got up and ran out the door and down the hall. He would never go back to school again! He pushed open the big school doors and ran the five blocks home. It was cold without a sweater.

He went to his room to get a jacket, then sat on his swing in the backyard. He swung back and forth, staring at the ground.

He thought of going to Grandma’s house, but she was sad now, too. She used to laugh a lot and go bowling and bake cookies. He wondered if she had gone back to work, too.

Mike made the swing go higher. Maybe, he thought, he would fall off and die. Then he could go to heaven and see Mom.

He heard words like the wind in the trees—“Then Dad and Grandma wouldn’t have you. Would you want Dad to leave?”

He stopped the swing, his feet skidding in the dirt. Who had said that? Was it Mom, speaking to him from heaven? He looked around, but there was only the sound of leaves rustling in the wind.

Mike looked at the patch of blue sky through the trees. “I miss my mom! Please, Heavenly Father, help me!” His tears started again.

Suddenly he had the urge to go to Mom’s rose garden. He stood looking at the poor rosebushes, without water and with lots of weeds. Mom sure wouldn’t like that! He knelt and began pulling and yanking at the weeds. Then he grabbed the garden hose and watered the bushes he had weeded. Soon it would be spring, and the roses would bloom bright red and yellow and pink. He wondered if Mom would see them from heaven. Somehow he felt closer to her as he worked in her garden.

Dad’s car came roaring up the driveway. He jumped out, ran to Mike, and hugged him. “They called me from school.”

“I’ll go back tomorrow,” Mike promised. “Dad, look at the rosebushes.”

“Mom would be proud,” Dad said. “I’ll change clothes, and we can work on it together.”

As Mike weeded alongside Dad, he thought of the roses that would bloom. He could almost smell their fragrance. After they bloomed, he decided, he would pick some of them for Grandma.

Mike looked up to see Sam and Bill. The two boys looked at the weeds.

“Can we help?” Sam asked.

Mike nodded. Slowly, a smile crept onto his face.

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Joseph’s Baptism

By Ronda Gibb Hinrichsen
Friend, Apr 2005, 21
(Based on an experience of Joseph H. Orullian that took place in Aleppo, Syria, in 1909)

And their children shall be baptized for the remission of their sins when eight years old (D&C 68:27).

The morning sun cast gentle shadows across the courtyard as Joseph pumped water from the well into his bucket. “I’ll take my buckets up to the reservoir first,” he said. “Then I’ll return for yours.”

“I want to empty my own bucket,” five-year-old Beatrice protested.

Joseph shook his head. “It’s too heavy for you to carry up the steps. You’ll spill it.”

“No, I won’t,” she answered, standing as tall as she could.

“All right. But please be careful. If we spill, it will take us longer to fill the reservoir deep enough for my baptism today.”

“I know. I’ll be careful.”

The two started toward one of the houses. There were several other Armenian families living in the courtyard, their homes joined together by thick stone walls. Near one of the walls, stone steps led up to a flat rooftop and a reservoir that fed the courtyard’s fountain. Joseph started up the steps.

“Joseph! Listen! Do you hear the bells?”

“It’s the goats,” Joseph said. “I thought it was about time for the milkman to arrive.”

“Go tell Mother,” Beatrice said. “I’m sure she’ll send you for the milk. She always does.”

Joseph tried not to think about how much he liked fresh goat’s milk. “You go this time,” he said.

“But you love to go.”

“I know, but I can get the milk another day. Today I want to be baptized.”

Beatrice nodded. “I’ll hurry,” she said.

When she was gone, Joseph climbed the rest of the way to the reservoir and emptied his buckets. The water barely covered the bottom of the basin.

“I’ll never finish in time,” he grumbled. But then he remembered something that made him wish he had not complained. His grandfather had been killed by wicked men because he would not deny his belief in Jesus Christ. Joseph was proud of his grandfather, and he knew that filling the reservoir was a very small sacrifice compared to what his grandfather had done. “It will be hard to fill the reservoir,” he told himself. “But like Grandfather, I also believe in Jesus Christ. And I want to be baptized and confirmed a member of the Church. I can do this.”

With renewed determination, Joseph retrieved Beatrice’s bucket, emptied it, then hauled all three buckets back to the well.

Soon after he finished refilling the third bucket, Beatrice returned. “Mother says we can have milk at lunch,” she said.

Joseph almost replied, “I wish I could have some now,” but instead he wiped the sweat from his forehead and started back to the reservoir. Beatrice followed. Back and forth they went until the midday sun shone bright above their heads and their legs felt as heavy as stone pillars.

“Let’s stop for lunch,” Joseph said.

Joseph and Beatrice set down their buckets and headed back to their one-room home. Mother met them at the door. “You two must be hungry,” she said with a tired smile.

“Yes, Mother,” said Beatrice, “but we’re halfway finished.”

“Almost halfway,” Joseph muttered.

“It sounds like you’ve been working hard,” Mother said. She led them to a shady spot near the cooking quarters.

“My arms hurt,” Beatrice complained. “And my hands are sore.”

Joseph looked at his hands. He wasn’t surprised to see blisters forming on the palms. “Beatrice said we could have some milk,” he said.

Mother laughed. “I knew cheese and watermelon wouldn’t satisfy you today,” she said, handing him a full cup.

“I’ve been imagining this moment all morning.” Joseph lifted the cup to his lips and took a long drink.

After lunch, Joseph and Beatrice returned to the well. Again and again they filled their buckets, climbed the steps, poured the water into the reservoir, and trudged back to the well.

Finally, just before the sun began to set behind the western hills, Mother called, “Joseph? Is the reservoir filled?”

“Yes, Mother, we’ve just finished!”

“I knew you could do it,” Mother replied.

Beatrice turned over her bucket and sat on it. “I wish I was old enough to be baptized,” she said.

“I can hardly believe it’s my turn,” Joseph answered. He walked to the edge of the reservoir and dipped his hand into the water. Tiny waves rippled outward. “I’m about to be baptized and confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” he thought.

“Joseph?” It was Mother again. “Elder Booth will be here soon. Hurry down so you can get ready.”

“Coming,” he said.

Joseph walked to the steps, then turned and looked at his sister. “Thanks for helping me. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“You’re welcome,” Beatrice said. “And you can help me when I turn eight!”

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I’ll Walk with You

By Michele Hunter Wininger
Friend, Apr 2005, 32
(Based on an experience from the author’s family)

And be ye kind one to another (Eph. 4:32).

Keaton and Pug were best friends. They did everything together. One summer they decided to build a tree fort in the forest behind Pug’s home. Each Saturday they worked on their fort, using old pieces of wood and a hammer and nails Pug’s dad gave them.

One Saturday as Keaton and Pug worked on their fort, Pug’s mom called to them. They jumped down and went to the house.

“What’s up, Mom?” Pug asked.

“You boys are going to have another friend to play with today,” Mom said, pointing toward the back door.

Just then Jason came out of the house. “Are you my new best friends?” he asked, clapping his hands.

“Mommmm!” Pug protested.

Keaton rolled his eyes. “Oh, great!” he said under his breath. Jason was their age, but he was, well, different.

“Mom,” Pug whispered, “Jason won’t want to work on the fort. He won’t want to do anything but run around.”

Pug’s mom sighed. “Jason will be with us until after lunch when his mom gets back from the doctor. So you need to find something you can all do together. Now run along and play.”

Keaton and Pug walked away, glancing back at Jason as he followed them. “Now what are we going to do? Our day is ruined,” Keaton grumbled.

“Hey, I know,” Pug whispered. “Let’s play hide-and-seek and have Jason be it. We can run into the forest and work on our tree fort, and he’ll never find us.”

“Great idea!” Keaton exclaimed.

When they explained the game to Jason and told him that he got to be it, he waved his hands with excitement. “Now close your eyes and count to 20,” Keaton said. Jason put his hands over his eyes and started counting, saying each number loudly and carefully.

Keaton and Pug crept away. When they were out of sight behind the house, they raced to the edge of the forest, hid behind trees, and looked back to see if Jason was following. But they could still hear him counting—“13 … 14 … 15.”

They ran toward their fort, laughing and dodging trees. But soon Keaton slowed and fell behind. When he looked back and saw Jason searching around the house, he came to a complete stop. “This isn’t what the song says.”

Pug came back through the trees. “What song?”

“You know, that song we sing in Primary. ‘If you don’t walk as most people do, some people walk away from you. But I won’t! I won’t!’*“

“Oh, yeah,” Pug said. “I remember that song. ‘Jesus walked away from none. He gave his love to everyone. So I will! I will!’ ”

Keaton and Pug both stared at the ground, ashamed. Finally, Keaton looked up. “Why don’t we go back and hide someplace where Jason can find us?”

“Good idea,” said Pug. They ran back to the house and hid behind the swing set in the backyard.

Just then Jason ran around the corner of the house and spotted them. “I found you! I found you!” he yelled, clapping his hands.

“You sure did!” Keaton agreed.

“Way to go, pal!” Pug said happily, giving Jason a high five.

Jason looked back and forth between the two of them, beaming. “Are you my new best friends?” he asked.

Keaton grinned. “We sure are.”

“Why don’t we play again, and I’ll be it,” Pug suggested. Jason jumped up and down and cheered.

Keaton smiled at Jason. “Let’s hide together,” he whispered. “I know a perfect hiding place.” As soon as Pug started counting, he took Jason’s hand, and they walked together toward the tree fort.

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The Worth of Eddie Porter

By Ray Goldrup
Friend, Apr 2005, 34
(Based on an experience from the author’s family)

Remember the worth of souls is great in the sight of God (D&C 18:10).

I wanted to save more tadpoles, so Dad and I went to the creek near General Vallejo’s old historic adobe place. There wasn’t much water left in the creek, just puddles with tadpoles in them. When the water dried up, they would die—unless we rescued them. Dad and I caught hundreds of those tadpoles in our jars and took them to the lake. Dad said that God wouldn’t waste time creating anything He didn’t love. The least we could do was respect His creations and help whenever, wherever, and whatever we could—tadpoles included!

One day while we were taking tadpoles out of the creek, Dad looked troubled. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I’m worried about Eddie Porter,” Dad replied. Dad was Brother Porter’s home teacher, and he and his companion could never get Brother Porter to let them into his home. “He doesn’t come to church,” Dad said. “He’s getting old, lives alone, and has a lot of problems. He seems depressed most of the time, and I think he believes that God has given up on him.”

Dad scooped out three tadpoles and dumped them into a pail of water. “He never says much when Brother Phillips and I talk to him at the door. Just nods and says he has things to do. But last month when we stopped by, he had moved. Where, I don’t know.” Dad looked up the creek bed as if he hoped he might spot Brother Porter coming out of the heat rising from the rocks like a thin, wavy wall. “I doubt he moved out of town, because he has lived here all his life,” Dad continued. “I’ve got to find him, Matt.”

“Why, Dad?” I was confused. “If Brother Porter wants to be alone, why worry about it?”

“He’s my responsibility, son,” Dad explained. “And I feel that he’s in real need. Brother Phillips is out of town for a couple of months, so I’ll try to find Brother Porter on my own.” Dad smiled at me. “Unless, of course, you’d like to help.”

“But what about these tadpoles, Dad? If we don’t get them moved, they’ll die. They want to be helped. Brother Porter doesn’t.”

“They have enough water to last a few more weeks. But I don’t know if Eddie Porter has the same amount of willpower,” Dad said. “Besides,” he added in a voice that made me look straight at him, “like you and me, Brother Porter is a child of God. The scriptures teach us that the Savior spent His entire life loving, lifting, and healing others. These little critters are important, but what is more important than all these tadpoles?”

“Brother Porter?” I guessed.

For the next two weeks, Dad and I were like detectives. We searched for clues, asked questions, and talked to people. But most of all we prayed that Heavenly Father would lead us to the right house.

Then one evening Dad and I walked up to a little old place, kind of jammed between two warehouses near the canal. Dad knocked on the rusty screen door, and we waited.

We were about to leave when the door opened. The old man standing behind the screen seemed like a ghost—kind of there and not there at the same time. He had whiskers and wore rumpled, worn-out clothes.

“Brother Porter,” Dad said.

The old man’s eyes looked sad and surprised, maybe even angry. “How did you find me?” he asked.

Dad smiled. “It wasn’t easy, Eddie. It’s taken us two weeks.”

Brother Porter looked at me. I guess I was nervous because my voice was shaky. “Hi, Brother Porter.”

Brother Porter looked back up at Dad. “Why?” he said. “Why did you want to find me? I’ve never—”

“Because you’re important, Brother Porter,” I said. “You’re a child of God. He loves you. And so do we. Yep, we do.” I said it again because he looked so surprised. It was quiet for a little bit, so I said, “Dad and I were saving tadpoles from the creek that’s drying up, but Dad wanted to start looking for you instead. You’re more important than all the tadpoles that ever hatched. Mom thinks so, too.” I held out a lunch bag. “She made some cookies for you.”

Brother Porter turned away from us. I thought he was still mad at us for bothering him, but when he turned back, he was crying. He pushed open the door. “Won’t you come in?” Dad didn’t say anything. He was crying, too.

We went inside, and Dad squeezed my hand. Suddenly I knew how important Eddie Porter—and everyone else—was. Jesus wouldn’t have spent His whole life helping others if it weren’t so.

The tadpoles could wait. They would be all right. Dad and I needed to make sure that Brother Porter would be all right first.

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My Family Can Be Together Forever

By Teryl Hunter
Friend Apr 2005
(Based on an experience of the author’s family)

The family is central to the Creator’s plan for the eternal destiny of His children(“The Family: A Proclamation to the World,” Ensign, Nov. 1995, 102).

When the sunshine tickled my nose, I woke up. I pulled my quilt a little higher and started to roll over. Then I remembered! It was March 17—the day my family had been waiting for had finally arrived. I jumped out of bed and skipped down the hall, humming, “I Love to See the Temple”* to myself.

After breakfast Mom helped me into my favorite blue dress. Then I helped her dress my baby brother, Curtis, in his Sunday clothes. Today was not Sunday, but it felt just as special. Six months ago my parents had adopted my little brother. He was so cute. His cheeks were really chubby, and when he smiled at me without any teeth, he made me laugh.

Because my parents had been sealed in the temple, I knew that I was born in the covenant. That meant I was sealed to them. But because my brother was adopted, he wasn’t born in the covenant. Today we were going to the Logan Utah Temple to have him sealed to us so our whole family could be together forever someday if we live righteously.

When we arrived at the temple, Mom carried Curtis, and I held her hand. Dad carried three small suitcases. The grass was starting to turn green, and a few birds were singing in the bare branches of the trees. Right in front of the temple were some pretty yellow and purple flowers.

We walked through the front doors, and I felt a warm hug without anyone touching me. A man looked at the recommends my parents showed him. A nice lady led us down a hall to the nursery. My parents gave my brother and me a hug, and Dad handed my little red suitcase to the lady. Then my parents went to another part of the temple. The nice lady let me color a picture, and she rolled a ball to Curtis. He laughed. He loves balls.

After a while, the lady helped me change into my new white dress. Then we changed Curtis’s diaper and put his new white clothes on him. The lady said, “The temple is Heavenly Father’s house, and we should be reverent when we walk through the halls.”

“I don’t know if Curtis knows what reverent means,” I said.

She smiled and said, “Heavenly Father loves little children very much, and He’ll understand if Curtis is a little bit noisy.”

As we walked down the halls, I noticed the white carpet. I also saw some pictures of Jesus on the walls. It was easy to be reverent in such a quiet place. We came to a door that was closed. Another lady softly opened the door, and I looked inside. I saw my grandpas and grandmas and my uncles and aunts. They were all smiling at me. Then I saw my mom. She was dressed in white. She looked like an angel. She held out her arms and gave me a hug. Then she reached for Curtis and held him tight, too.

A man dressed in a white suit, called the sealer, greeted us. He talked about the blessings and promises we could receive through temple ordinances if we live worthily. The sealer then told us what to do. He blessed us by the power of the priesthood, and Curtis was sealed to our family. I looked up at my dad. There were tears on his cheeks. He took Curtis in his arms and held him tightly. Mom had tears in her eyes, too. She squeezed my hand, and I felt her love.

When we stood up, the sealer knelt down so he was just my height and asked me, “Do you know what forever or eternity looks like?”

I shook my head and said, “No.”

Then he told my family to stand together and look into a mirror. There was another mirror behind us, too. I looked, and I saw my mom holding Curtis and my dad holding me. I was surprised because I could see us again and again and again and we never seemed to stop. Then the sealer whispered to me, “That is what forever looks like.”

Now, whenever I remember that special day, I think about what forever is like. I imagine my family going on and on, always being together and smiling. I like to think about forever. It gives me a warm feeling inside.

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Kirsten’s Assignment

By Ana Nelson Shaw
Friend, Apr 2005, 46
(Based on an experience from the author’s life)

For all have not every gift given unto them. … To some is given one, and to some is given another, that all may be profited thereby (D&C 46:11–12).

“Welcome to our class!” Sister Garcia beamed just like the spring sun shining through the classroom window. “I’m so excited to be teaching you older girls. You’re old enough to be good readers, and we can really get into the scriptures!”

Kirsten’s heart sank. She could read, but she knew she wasn’t a good reader. She took twice as long as her best friend, Ayisha, to get through a page when they were reading a magazine together. When she read aloud, words sputtered out of her mouth. That was always uncomfortable. After all, she was 10 years old. And reading the scriptures was especially hard. The words were so strange, and the sentences seemed to go on forever.

Ayisha put her hand on Kirsten’s shoulder. Kirsten looked over at her. Ayisha had written in her tiny notebook, “You’ll be OK!” Kirsten wondered how.

Kirsten took her turn reading that Sunday, but it seemed to take forever to get through the verse, and she just wanted to cry. The next week, before Sister Garcia even started the lesson, Ayisha raised her hand.

“I was wondering if Kirsten and I could cooperate on scripture reading today. Give us one scripture to work on together. I’ll read it, and Kirsten can draw a picture. She’s a great artist!”

Kirsten knew Ayisha was being kind, but she also felt like a big spotlight was shining on her, hot and uncomfortable. “I might as well have a sign hanging around my neck that says BAD READER,” Kirsten thought.

Sister Garcia seemed surprised. She looked at the girls and then smiled a little. “It sounds like fun,” she said. “And I think it would work well with our lesson today about Alma and Amulek. Are you willing to do that, Kirsten?” Kirsten nodded. “How about you other girls? Katie and Lauren, why don’t you be a team, too? And Elizabeth and Michelle?” She gave each team a scripture, and they began to work.

Kirsten couldn’t believe Ayisha’s nerve or her teacher’s sudden change of plans. But Sister Garcia’s smile, and the way she brought everyone into the idea, seemed to make it better. Kirsten drew a picture of Alma meeting Amulek. She realized she liked this story—two great missionaries and how they became friends.

The next Saturday, Sister Garcia showed up at Kirsten’s front door. “I just thought I’d drop by and see if you could take a special assignment for our class tomorrow,” she explained.

“What is it?” Kirsten asked. “Please, not reading,” she prayed silently.

“Could you present this scripture to the class?” Sister Garcia handed Kirsten a slip of paper.

“What do you mean, present it?” Kirsten asked.

“Well, you should read it out loud, but I thought I’d give it to you now so you can practice,” Sister Garcia said. “Then tell what it means to you. If you want to draw a picture, that would be great, too. I didn’t realize you had such a talent for art.”

“Am I the only one doing this?” Kirsten asked.

“Well, for this week, yes. But in coming weeks, all the girls will be taking turns.” Sister Garcia smiled in a way that seemed to make things OK. “I thought I’d have you go first. To tell you the truth, I’m eager to see more of your artwork.”

“OK,” Kirsten agreed. “I’ll do it.”

Kirsten read the verse out loud over and over. Then she spent all afternoon drawing a picture of Alma and Amulek healing Zeezrom, making sure everything was just right.

Finally, Kirsten made her way downstairs to where Dad was cooking spaghetti. “Can I practice my scripture for you, Dad?” she asked. Dad nodded, so Kirsten read, “Alma 15:8: ‘And Alma said: If thou believ … est in the re … demption of Christ thou canst be healed.’ ”

Dad stopped stirring the spaghetti sauce and turned around. “That was wonderful, Kirsten. Pretty smooth! I can tell you’ve been practicing. And your picture looks great! But you’re still missing one thing.”

“What? Did I forget something in the picture?” Kirsten examined her work.

“No, that’s not it. You should say how you feel about what you’ve read,” Dad explained. “The most important thing isn’t how you read or even how you draw, although both of those are great. What your class really needs to hear is how you feel about what you’ve read and drawn.”

Kirsten thought about this. “I guess I’m happy that Zeezrom got better and that he wasn’t being mean to Alma and Amulek anymore.”

“That’s good. Maybe you’ll want to say a prayer about it,” Dad suggested. “Think about what this scripture means for your testimony. That’s what you need to do. Bear your testimony.”

“ ‘If thou believest in the redemption of Christ thou canst be healed,’ ” Kirsten read in class, smoothly and confidently. “I have a testimony that this is true. I have been healed by the priesthood, too, when my dad has given me blessings. And when I prayed about this scripture I could feel the Holy Ghost.” She glanced at Sister Garcia, who nodded encouragingly. “I drew this picture to show Alma and Amulek healing Zeezrom. I’m so happy that Zeezrom changed from being an enemy of the gospel to becoming a great missionary, just like Alma and Amulek.”

Kirsten sat down. Ayisha flashed her notebook at her. “Awesome job, Kirsten!” the note said, with a big happy face. Kirsten couldn’t help but smile.

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Heaven’s Power

By Kimberly Webb
Friend, May 2005, 5
(Based on an experience from the author’s life)

The rights of the priesthood are inseparably connected with the powers of heaven (D&C 121:36).

“This really happened here?” Sharon murmured. The bronze statue showed Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery kneeling before John the Baptist to receive the Aaronic Priesthood.

“We don’t know exactly where the event happened,” Dad said, “but we know that Joseph and Oliver were praying somewhere near the river when John the Baptist appeared. The Melchizedek Priesthood was restored later by Peter, James, and John.”

Sharon listened to the Susquehanna River gurgling behind the trees and felt warm sunlight shining on her face. A peaceful, happy feeling swelled inside her. She felt that way a lot lately.

She and her family were traveling with a group visiting some Church history sites. She had felt the Spirit in the Sacred Grove, at the Hill Cumorah, and now here in what was once called Harmony, Pennsylvania.

“I believe what happened here,” she thought, “but I have a hard time imagining it.” The word priesthood reminded her of her brother passing the sacrament or Dad giving her a blessing, not angels appearing.

As she climbed back into the car, she took one last glance toward the peaceful river and tried to picture the glorious event that had occurred. But it seemed like too much for her mind to grasp.

A week later, the tour group stayed at a campground with a fun playground. Sharon enjoyed running around after a long day in the car, and she hardly noticed when fireflies started coming out.

“It’s getting dark. We should probably go in soon,” her friend Emily said. “Come push me on the swing one more time.”

Sharon agreed. As Emily gained momentum, Sharon pushed harder. “Faster!” Emily giggled.

Suddenly, Emily’s little sister Darcy darted through the darkness—right into Emily’s path. Emily’s feet rammed into Darcy, and she crumpled to the ground.

Emily leaped from the swing and fell beside her motionless sister. “Darcy! Darcy! Are you OK?”

Darcy didn’t respond. She looked like a limp potato sack lying on the ground.

Sharon’s heart pumped wildly as she tried not to panic. “Stay here!” she told Emily. “I’ll go get help.”

Sharon found Emily’s dad, and they ran back to the swings. Sharon breathed with relief as Darcy opened her eyes and whimpered. Then Darcy clutched her arm and screamed in pain.

“Emily, please go tell Uncle Steve that we need to give Darcy a blessing,” Emily’s dad said. He scooped Darcy into his arms and hurried toward their campsite.

Emily grabbed Sharon’s arm. “Come with me!”

Sharon swallowed the lump in her throat as they explained to Emily’s uncle what had happened. It scared her to see adults acting so worried. The three hurried back to Emily’s campsite, Sharon silently praying that Darcy would be OK.

When they stepped inside the dimly lit trailer, Sharon saw Darcy lying calmly on the bed. A familiar, peaceful feeling came over her as Emily’s dad whispered in Darcy’s ear, “Uncle Steve and I are going to give you a blessing.”

Sharon folded her arms and closed her eyes while the men placed their hands on Darcy’s head. As she listened to the reverent words, a warm feeling grew stronger and stronger until she was tempted to open her eyes and peek. It felt as though warm sunlight were filling the room.

She remembered standing on the banks of the Susquehanna River the week before, sunlight shining through the trees. She remembered the bronze statue of John the Baptist, Joseph, and Oliver, and suddenly she understood what had happened there. Though she couldn’t see angels, she felt heaven’s power streaming into the room.

Her heart burst with joy as tears trickled down her cheeks. The priesthood wasn’t just something her brother used in church to pass the sacrament. It wasn’t just something that helped her dad say comforting words whenever he gave her a blessing. It was Heavenly Father’s glorious power to lead, bless, serve, and perform miracles—all restored through a humble latter-day prophet.

The sacred places Sharon had visited flashed through her mind, including Carthage Jail, where the Prophet Joseph had been martyred. She cried harder as she realized that Joseph Smith had sacrificed everything so that heaven’s power could be on earth today.

Emily’s dad said, “Amen,” and Sharon opened her eyes. She smiled to see she wasn’t the only one wiping away tears. Everyone else had felt the power, too.

The next day as Sharon and her family ate breakfast at the picnic table, Emily walked over to their campsite.

“Good morning, Emily,” Sharon’s mom greeted her.

“How’s Darcy?” Sharon’s dad asked. Sharon had told her parents all about what had happened.

Emily’s eyes danced. “My parents took her to the hospital to make sure she was OK, and do you know what the doctor said?”

Sharon shook her head.

“He looked at her arm and said that it was broken, but the X-rays proved him wrong. He said he’d never seen bruising like that without a broken bone, and he couldn’t understand why hers wasn’t broken.” Emily smiled knowingly.

Sharon grinned back, grateful that she understood why. It all went back to a miraculous event that had happened on the banks of the Susquehanna River—the day the priesthood was restored.

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The Wiggle-Waggles

By Marli Walker
Friend, May 2005, 10
(Based on an experience of the author’s family)

Ye shall keep my sabbaths, and reverence my sanctuary (Lev. 19:30).

It happened every Sunday in church. No matter how hard Jeremy tried, he always got the wiggle-waggles. He tried very hard to sit still during Primary. He kept his arms folded as long as he could and sang all the Primary songs. Jeremy listened to the lesson in his class and tried to answer questions. But sometimes, even when he tried his very hardest to sit still, they still came—those bothersome wiggle-waggles!

It usually happened toward the end of Primary and carried on through sacrament meeting. Jeremy would start to fidget, then he’d play with his tie. He’d rattle his papers from Primary, then twist around in his seat. He tried talking to his best friend, Thomas, but Thomas would put a finger to his lips to tell Jeremy to be quiet. Thomas never seemed to get the wiggle-waggles.

Sometimes Jeremy would untie his shoes. When the wiggle-waggles were really bad, he would slip off his shoes and kick his stocking feet back and forth.

“Sit still, Jeremy,” his Primary teacher whispered to him.

“Shhh, Jeremy, I want to listen to Sister Bernard,” Thomas said quietly when Jeremy tried to tell him about his new toy dump truck.

“Put your feet down,” his mother cautioned in sacrament meeting.

“Leave your shoes on, son,” his dad told him.

Jeremy tried to sit reverently and quietly. He really did! But he still had those wiggle-waggles every Sunday.

One night at family home evening, Jeremy’s mother brought up the wiggle-waggle problem.

“I try to sit still, Mom. I really do!” Jeremy exclaimed.

“It seems to me that we need to figure out a way to stop those wiggle-waggles from bothering Jeremy,” Dad said thoughtfully. “Let’s all think about it, and maybe we’ll come up with a solution.”

On Sunday morning, just before the family left for church, Jeremy’s mother gave him a piece of paper and a pencil. Then she said, “Jeremy, I want you to write down a sentence about your lesson in Primary, and a sentence about the talks that you hear in sacrament meeting. Do you think you could do that?”

Jeremy nodded enthusiastically.

“We’ll talk about what you wrote on your paper for family home evening,” his mother added.

All through Primary, Jeremy sat very still. He listened carefully to the talks and scripture and wrote down the scripture reference. Jeremy sang with his best voice during singing time, and even wrote down a verse to one of the Primary songs. Then he wrote a sentence about sharing time. Jeremy didn’t talk to Thomas once. During the walk to their class, Thomas commented on how reverent Jeremy was. During his Primary class, Jeremy quietly wrote down a sentence about the lesson. Before he knew it, Primary was over.

“I didn’t get the wiggle-waggles once!” Jeremy proudly reported to his parents as they sat down for sacrament meeting.

During the next hour, Jeremy tried very hard to sit quietly. But after a while, he started to feel the wiggle-waggles creeping up on him. He glanced down at his paper and read the words of the Primary song he had written down: “It shouldn’t be hard to sit very still and think about Jesus, his cross on the hill, and all that he suffered and did for me; it shouldn’t be hard to sit quietly.”*

Jeremy thought about the song. That was the secret! He should think about Jesus. Jeremy knew that Jesus would want him to sit quietly and listen.

Jeremy listened as Elder Vasquez, one of the missionaries serving in his ward, related an experience about a 10-year-old girl who had recently been baptized. He listened when Elder Brown, the other missionary, told the congregation that he was from England and had been on his mission for only three months. As Jeremy listened to the missionaries, he decided that he would like to be a missionary, too.

Jeremy was surprised when the closing hymn was announced. He looked down at his paper and noticed that he hadn’t written anything about the missionaries. He had been too busy listening to them! And the wiggle-waggles hadn’t bothered him once!

As they were leaving the church after sacrament meeting, Jeremy’s parents told him how happy they were that he’d been so reverent. Jeremy told them how the Primary song had taught him to think about Jesus and what He wanted him to do.

Just then, Sister Harper came up to Jeremy’s parents and said, “Jeremy is so quiet! I wish my Kerry would learn how to be quiet and reverent like Jeremy. She gets so wiggly!”

Jeremy’s mother winked at him.

“It looks like the wiggle-waggles found someone else to bother,” she said.

“Yes.” Jeremy smiled and held up his piece of paper. “And I know just what she can do to fix it!”

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Finding the Key

By Karen McClusky Beals
Friend, May 2005, 18
(Based on an experience from the author’s family)

Therefore, he that lacketh wisdom, let him ask of me, and I will give him liberally and upbraid him not (D&C 42:68).

Andre plopped onto his bed and groaned, “Do I have to read it?” He usually liked reading, but this book was different.

“Next year you will be 12. It’s important to Dad and me that you read the Book of Mormon before you receive the priesthood,” Mom said as she sat next to him.

“I know it’s important. But the Book of Mormon is so hard to understand,” Andre complained.

“What could you do to understand the Book of Mormon better?”

“Wait until I’m older, I guess,” Andre joked.

Mom smiled. “Do you remember what we talked about in family home evening this week?”

“We can pray to Heavenly Father whenever we need Him,” Andre recited. “But how does that help me now? I’m not in trouble.”

“I want you to read something with me,” Mom said as she picked up the scriptures.

“ ‘If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God … and it shall be given him,’ ”* Andre read.

“If you truly want the key to understanding the scriptures, pray for help. Heavenly Father will listen to and answer your prayers.”

After Mom left the room, Andre read the scripture a couple more times. “I guess it’s worth a try,” he thought. “I really want to understand the Book of Mormon, and I haven’t been able to do it on my own.”

He knelt down and prayed. He could feel the warmth of the Holy Ghost and knew Heavenly Father was happy he was asking for help.

Andre picked up the Book of Mormon and began to read. Starting out was easy. Andre had read the beginning of 1 Nephi so many times it seemed as if he had almost memorized the chapters about Nephi’s family leaving Jerusalem and the trials they faced.

But as Andre read further, he began to get confused and frustrated. He set down the Book of Mormon and frowned. “I’ll never be able to do this. There is too much to learn.”

Then Andre remembered how Nephi had never given up. Nephi had faith that Heavenly Father would help him. Andre had faith, too. “Heavenly Father can’t help me if I’m not doing my part,” he realized.

Andre began to read the Book of Mormon every day and found ways to help himself understand better. He would read the headings at the beginning of each chapter. They helped him know what the chapter was going to be about. And he discovered that by focusing on only a few verses at a time, and making sure that he understood all the words, it became easier for him to learn. Some-times he needed to read a chapter many times before he was able to understand it all, but he began to understand and even enjoy what he was reading.

“The Book of Mormon is exciting!” Andre told his dad one day. “Did you know that in 1 Nephi 13 [1 Ne. 13], Nephi had a vision of the people coming to America and of Joseph Smith restoring the gospel?”

“Amazing,” Dad answered, smiling.

After a few weeks, Andre wasn’t frustrated anymore when he read. The Book of Mormon was still confusing to him sometimes, but he knew that if he was patient and kept trying, Heavenly Father would continue to help him understand.

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Billy’s Miracle

By Michele H. Mirabile
Friend, May 2005, 24–26
(Based on an experience of the author’s great-great-grandmother)

Heal her now, O God, I beseech thee (Num. 12:13).

The ground began to tremble, and a shout went up from the members of the wagon train. “The buffalo are coming!”

Eight-year-old Emily held tightly to her mother’s hand as her father jumped to the ground, skillfully guiding their team of oxen into a circle formation with the other wagons. As 40 wagons and three carriages jammed together, Emily looked around for her older sister, Wilhelmina—“Billy” for short. Billy was traveling in the covered wagon ahead of theirs, riding on the spring seat with the driver.

Suddenly, a great herd of buffalo thundered over the hill behind them. Emily cried out and hid her face in her mother’s skirts as the fearsome beasts stampeded over the prairie and around the huddled wagon train.

When the dust cleared, Emily heard the wagonmaster calling for help and saw him carrying someone in his arms.

“Billy!” Emily cried. She ran toward her motionless sister and reached for her hand.

Mother spread a quilt on the ground, and the wagonmaster gently lowered Billy onto it. “She’s been badly injured,” he said. “It looks like she was thrown from the wagon.”

Emily stared in horror at the black stripe from a wagon wheel crossing Billy’s left shoulder to her right hip. The right side of her face was terribly cut and bruised, where either an ox or a buffalo had stomped on her.

Emily was so frightened that she started to cry. Mother put her arms around Emily as they knelt by Billy’s side.

Because Emily and Billy’s father was not a member of the Church, other priesthood holders, including their brothers and uncles, gave Billy a blessing. When they were finished, Billy stirred. Mother put her hand over Billy’s face and said, “Don’t open your eyes, dear.”

“Will she be all right?” Emily whispered.

Mother squeezed her hand while blinking back tears. “If it is Heavenly Father’s will.”

Suddenly, Emily remembered being taught by the missionaries back home in Delaware. They had said that if she had faith and believed in Heavenly Father, He would hear and answer her prayers.

Running toward a large rock, Emily dropped to her knees and prayed harder than she ever had before. “Please, Heavenly Father,” she said, “make Billy better.” A warm, peaceful feeling filled her heart, and she knew Heavenly Father was listening.

By the time Emily rejoined Billy, the company was setting up camp. Since Billy was unable to travel, the whole company would remain near Buffalo Creek for a time. “We will trust in the Lord that the weather and our supplies will hold out until Billy gets better,” Mother said.

As the wagon train waited for the smallest sign of improvement in Billy’s condition, they fasted and prayed, and the elders continued to pray for her and bless her.

Emily did what she could to help. She gave Billy water when she was thirsty. She read scriptures to Billy and told her stories. She gathered dried buffalo chips to be used as fuel for fire. Sometimes she helped the doctor gather herbs and roots from the prairie, preparing poultices [medicine] to help treat Billy. And every day, Emily prayed and prayed.

Three weeks later, Emily’s prayers were answered. Billy was well enough to travel! The company continued its westward journey.

“Oh, Billy,” Emily said as she sat in the back of the wagon with her sister. “I’m so glad Heavenly Father heard my prayers.”

Billy smiled. “I know that faith and prayers made me whole. What would I have done without you?”

Gingerly touching Billy’s brow, Emily said, “Your cuts are healing. Pretty soon you won’t be able to see them at all.” Emily snuggled close to her sister. “You’re a miracle, Billy.”

“So are you, Emily,” Billy said as she kissed her little sister on the cheek. “So are you.”

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The Big Run

By Ray Goldrup
Friend, Jun 2005, 5
(Based on a true story)

Without faith you can do nothing (D&C 8:10).

Each summer, seven-year-old Dennis helped Grandpa farm his fields, located three miles outside their hometown. Dennis loved everything about Grandpa and his farm. He marveled at the morning sun boiling up over dark hills, the liquid gold of sunset clouds, and the skill in Grandpa’s strong hands as he worked the land that meant so much to him.

Most of all, he marveled at Grandpa’s faith. Dennis could see it in his pale blue eyes that burned in his sunbaked face like fire whenever he spoke of Heavenly Father.

“Give us strength of body and spirit, dear Father, to do today that which we must,” Grandpa prayed one morning as Dennis and Grandma sat at the breakfast table with bowed heads. “Let us be of service, and let our faith be strong.” After breakfast Dennis and Grandpa climbed onto Grandpa’s tractor and set off down the lonely road to the farm.

After working a few hours, Grandpa stopped the tractor and gazed across the hilly landscape of his half-furrowed fields. “Well, son,” he said. “What do you think?”

Dennis wiped the sweat and dust from his face with the back of his hand. “I think I’m tired. There’s too much field, Grandpa. It seems to go on forever, and I’m afraid we’ll never get it done. Besides, it’s hot, and I think there’s enough dirt on me to plant a garden.”

Grandpa laughed and ruffled Dennis’s dusty hair. “You may be right, sprout. But to have a good harvest I’ve got to plow a good portion of earth. Half jobs yield half results, and half a crop just won’t do. Besides,” he added with a wink, “to put off work at my age could be fatal.” Grandpa chuckled and passed a canteen of cold lemonade to Dennis.

Dennis grinned and swallowed a few big gulps.

“You know,” Grandpa said as he squinted into the gold-brown haze of the late morning light, “President Joseph F. Smith once said, ‘We cannot give up; we must not lie down.’ He was talking about the courage of faith. He said, ‘Men who possess that divine quality go on.’ ”*

Dennis scrunched up his face until he looked like a dirt clod with eyes. “What’s ‘courage of faith,’ Grandpa?”

Grandpa mopped his forehead with a worn bandanna. “To go on. In our case, it means finishing these furrows no matter how hot and dirty the job, no matter how big the field. Especially when that old sun up there and the ache in my back tell me to quit right now.” He patted Dennis’s leg, raising a cloud of dust. “But your help takes the quit right out of it.”

Dennis smiled.

Later, when the canteen was empty, Grandpa decided that it was time to refresh their water supply. He turned the tractor and began to drive it up the hill toward the nearby spring.

But he misjudged the steepness of the hill. Suddenly the front of the machine began to lift off the ground, tipping them backward. “Jump!” he yelled to Dennis as the tractor arched back.

Dennis leaped to safety. Grandpa tried to follow him, but it was too late. The tractor pitched over backward, pinning Grandpa beneath it. He screamed, his face twisted with pain. He turned his head toward Dennis, who stood frozen with horror. “You’ll have to go for help,” Grandpa gasped. “And be quick, son. Be quick!”

For a moment Dennis stood there, his heart drumming. Grandpa’s life depended on him! He took a deep breath and plunged down the hill. All he had were his short legs and the knowledge that help was three long, hot, dusty miles away.

He hit the bottom of the hill at a dead run. His throat and lungs burned as he started down the road that seemed to stretch out forever. His heart and head pounded. Dark thoughts beat at him in rhythm with the hammering of his feet on the hard-baked earth. “I’m only seven. I’m not a runner. I’m already tired. I can’t do it. I’m only seven. …”

Spilling into his thoughts like a flood of light came the words of a prophet: “We cannot give up; we must not lie down.” Then Grandpa’s prayer from that morning echoed through his mind: “Give us strength of body and spirit, dear Father, to do today that which we must.”

Hot tears filled Dennis’s eyes as he ran. “Help me, Heavenly Father,” he prayed aloud in ragged, winded gasps. “Help me to do what I must.”

A little while later, Dennis burst into his house, staggering with exhaustion. “Dad!” he croaked. “Grandpa needs help!” Within moments, help was on its way.

He had done it. He didn’t know how, but Heavenly Father had made it possible. And so had the courage of faith.

Grandpa was rushed to the hospital. His leg was badly mangled. He had to stay in the hospital for several weeks and was in bed for a year after that. But in time he healed completely. The doctor told the family that if it hadn’t been for Dennis’s big run, things probably would have turned out differently. And Dennis knew that if it hadn’t been for what Grandpa had said, he couldn’t have done it. The hug Grandpa gave Dennis when he was well enough made Dennis very glad that he had.

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Snapshots of Heaven

By Sheila Kindred
Friend, Jun 2005, 11
(Based on an experience of the author)

The spirits of those who are righteous are received into a state of happiness, which is called paradise (Alma 40:12).

“Where is David?” I had asked this question many times before, so I already knew the answer.

“In heaven.” My mother smiled sadly. She added, “If we live righteously, someday we can be with him again.”

David was my oldest brother. He had died before I was born. Even though I’d never known him in life, I had seen him in photos and home movies. I felt close to him.

I had another older brother, Jeff. He was barely a year older than I was, but while I was timid and shy, Jeff was fearless. In our backyard was the tallest tree in the neighborhood. I liked to look up its trunk into its vast reaches, where it seemed to touch the clouds. I imagined myself at its top, but I couldn’t even reach its lowest branches. This didn’t stop Jeff. He stood up on our little red wagon and scrambled up the trunk like a monkey, disappearing into the thick foliage. From the leafy shadows his voice beckoned to me. “Come on. Come see what it’s like up here.”

I shook my head. It looked too dark and dim up there, like the inside of a cave or a long tunnel. I was afraid to follow him.

I wondered if David would have climbed the tall tree as fearlessly as Jeff. Would he have raced Jeff to the top? I would never know, because while Jeff was climbing the tree’s topmost branches, David was in heaven.

“Where is heaven?” I asked my mother later that day. “Is it far away? What does it look like?”

“Prophets tell us that those who have died are not far from us, so heaven is very near,” my mother explained. “Joseph Smith said that it is so beautiful we would do anything to get there. Jesus described it as having many mansions and assures us that He has gone ahead to prepare a place for us. It must be a wonderful place—even more wonderful because Jesus is there, waiting for us.”

“And so is David,” I said.

“Yes, he is.” My mother patted my cheek, and I saw tears of hope in her eyes.

I accepted my mother’s answers even though it was hard for me to imagine such a place. Heaven must be like the beautiful earth I knew, but much more glorious and beautiful. But if it was so close, why couldn’t I see it?

Jeff got a camera for his ninth birthday. It was an inexpensive kind, but he loved that camera and took pictures of everything. His favorite subject was nature: birds, our family dog, vacation scenes. One day he put two snapshots into my hands. “Look,” he said, with unconcealed excitement.

“What is it?” I turned the snapshots up and down, trying to see something recognizable.

“It’s the view from the top of the tree,” he said, his face lit with enthusiasm. “Since you couldn’t climb up, I took some pictures for you.” He pointed to each snapshot. “This one is looking towards the mountains. See the church steeple sticking up through the trees?”

“Wow!” I breathed. Now I could see clearly what I was looking at: treetops, rooftops, and an endless sky. It was a whole new world, a totally different perspective, something I had never seen or even imagined.

He pointed to the second snapshot. “This one is looking the other direction. On clear days you can see all the way to the ocean.”

I was awestruck and grateful. It was one of the greatest gifts I had ever received. My older brother had gone to places I could not go and brought back to me a glimpse of their beauty. It was truly amazing.

And he had given me another gift as well. That experience helped me to understand how there could be a heaven—a place of glory just beyond my reach. I might not be able to see it, but it was there. I felt certain of this. And I felt equally certain that someday I would stand hand in hand with my brothers, gazing upon the wonders of heaven, in glorious living color. And Jesus would say, “Come. See the place that I have prepared for you.”

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No Answer

By Michelle Van Tassell Nielsen
Friend, Jun 2005, 20
(Based on an experience of the author’s son)

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

“Drat!” Ben slapped the water in disgust as he watched his scuba man settle at the bottom of his uncle’s swimming pool—again. His two plastic turtles floated just fine, but the plastic scuba diver kept slipping from his hand and sinking like a stone. Ben couldn’t dive to get it, so he had to keep asking his brother for help.

Ben knew that Heavenly Father helped people who had faith. When he had the scuba diver in his hand again, he closed his eyes and said a silent prayer: “Please don’t let my scuba man sink.” As soon as he had said amen, he opened his eyes and dropped the little plastic man into the water. It sank right back to the bottom. “Why didn’t Heavenly Father answer my prayer?” he wondered.

A few days later, Ben came home and found his mom cooking squishy broccoli casserole with slimy sauce. Ben hated broccoli. “Please, Heavenly Father,” he prayed. “Let me have ice cream for dinner instead of squishy broccoli.” But Mom still served broccoli and slimy sauce for dinner. “Why didn’t Heavenly Father answer my prayer?” Ben wondered again, poking a hunk of broccoli with his fork.

One afternoon, Ben’s mom said he had to clean up his room in the next 15 minutes if he wanted to play video games. Ben’s room was a big mess, with toys, clothes, and books all over the floor. Ben wanted to play video games, but he didn’t want to clean his room. “Please let my room be cleaned by magic,” he prayed. Fifteen minutes later when Mom came back to check, the room was still messy. Ben was not allowed to play video games. “Why didn’t Heavenly Father answer my prayer?” he wondered for the third time.

One night Ben awoke in the middle of the night with a terrible earache. His ear hurt so much that he had to go to the hospital. On the way, he prayed, “Heavenly Father, my ear hurts worse than anything has ever hurt me before. I really need help. Please help the doctors find a way to make my ear feel better.” Ben remembered that Heavenly Father hadn’t always given him what he asked for, but he tried to have faith and believe that the pain would go away.

At the hospital, the doctor gave Ben some medicine. It tasted yucky, but Ben swallowed it, and on the way home his ear started feeling better. He knew that Heavenly Father had answered his prayer.

As Mom tucked him back into bed, Ben told her about the scuba diver, the broccoli, and the messy room. “Why does Heavenly Father answer some prayers and not others?” he asked.

“Heavenly Father always answers our prayers,” she said. “But sometimes the answer is no if we ask for things that would be bad for us. He wants us to learn here on earth. What did you learn at the swimming pool?”

Ben thought for a minute. “I learned that some things float and some don’t,” he said. “And that I have a nice brother who will help me.”

Mom nodded. “Then there’s the casserole. I’m sorry you think that broccoli is squishy, but it’s good for you. Why do you suppose Heavenly Father let you eat it?”

Ben sighed. “Because he wants me to be healthy and strong.”

“And finally the messy room,” Mom said. “Why didn’t Heavenly Father clean it for you?”

“I guess because it’s my job, and I need to learn to do it.” Ben sat quietly for a minute, thinking. “But when I asked Heavenly Father to help the doctors to make my ear feel better, the answer was yes,” he said.

Mom nodded. “Yes, it was. But did your ear stop hurting the instant you asked?”

Ben frowned. “No. Why not?”

“Heavenly Father wants us to do all we can to help solve our problems. What did we do?”

“We went to the doctor, and I took the medicine he gave me, even though it tasted yucky.”

Mom smiled. “Heavenly Father helped the doctor to give you good medicine, and He helped your ear to feel better.”

Ben rubbed his ear. “Sometimes the answer is yes, and sometimes it’s no.”

“And sometimes it’s ‘not yet,’ ” Mom added.

Ben hopped out of bed. “I’m going to thank Heavenly Father for helping the doctors to make my ear feel better,” he said. “And from now on, I’m going to try to ask for things that are good for me. Heavenly Father knows how to answer best.”

Mom gave him a hug. “I think that broccoli is making you smarter already!”

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The House in the Hurricane

By Melody Warnick
Friend, Jun 2005, 28
(Based on experiences from the author’s life)

Call on the name of … God for protection
(3 Ne. 4:30).

The wind was howling and shaking the palm trees by the time Grandma’s car reached Ana Luisa’s house. “Grab your things, girls, and go inside,” Grandma said. “I’m going to find some rocks to put behind the car’s tires.”

“Why?” Rebecca asked.

“So maybe the car won’t blow away,” Grandma said.

Rebecca and Sarah looked at each other, their eyes wide.

The girls didn’t remember the last hurricane that had come to Puerto Rico eight years ago, when Sarah was two and Rebecca just one. But they knew that the Arecibo River had flooded their neighborhood and that a lot of houses had been destroyed. Now Hurricane Georges was on the way, and newscasters warned that this hurricane might be even worse.

“So, girls, are you ready for Hurricane Georges?” asked Ana Luisa as they stepped through the front door.

“Brother Soto came to our house this morning and nailed boards on all the windows. Grandma says we need to pray that everything will turn out all right,” Sarah said.

“That’s right,” Ana Luisa said. “Heavenly Father will watch over us.”

Ana Luisa was a friend from their new church. Even though the girls were worried, Ana Luisa’s comforting words and the familiar smell of rice and beans inside her cozy house made them feel better.

The sister missionaries, who had taught Grandma and the girls the gospel just three months ago, were spending the night at Ana Luisa’s, too. “It’s going to be fun,” Sister Lewis, one of the missionaries, told them, “like a party, except with really bad weather.”

For a while it was like a party. They ate dinner, then munched on cookies and listened to the radio. Every once in a while they heard a crash outside. Rebecca and Sarah wondered if Grandma’s car had blown away after all, but it was too dark to see.

Later, the lights flickered and went out. As Rebecca made a funny face in the beam of her flashlight, Grandma said, “Now is probably a good time for bed.”

After they put on their pajamas, Grandma called Sarah and Rebecca back to the living room. “We’re going to say a prayer together,” Grandma said. Sister Lewis asked Heavenly Father to keep them all safe during the hurricane and to protect Rebecca and Sarah’s house. Hearing Sister Lewis pray helped the girls feel calmer.

The next morning, when Sarah cranked open the metal window slats, Ana Luisa’s street looked like it belonged on a different planet. Grandma’s car was still there, but some trees had fallen down, and sheets of metal from people’s roofs were on Ana Luisa’s lawn. Pigeons waddled helplessly down the sidewalk, too heavy with rainwater to fly. “If Ana Luisa’s street looks like this,” Sarah asked Rebecca nervously, “what do you think ours looks like?”

Early that morning Grandma had driven over to check on their house. She finally came back around lunchtime. “The neighborhood is flooded,” she said. “I couldn’t even get near our street.”

Rebecca wanted to cry. Sarah asked, “What do we do now, Grandma?”

“If it’s OK with Ana Luisa, we’ll stay here for a few more days. Maybe by then the water will go down, and we can go home.”

Everyone from church wanted to help Grandma, Rebecca, and Sarah. Ana Luisa cooked dinner for them, and the sister missionaries brought clothes that Sister Lewis’s family had sent. Bishop Espinosa even came to give Grandma a blessing when she was feeling sick. But it was hard not to be in their own house and harder still not to know if their house was even there anymore.

After eight days the streets in their neighborhood were finally clear. Buckled into the backseat of Grandma’s car, Sarah and Rebecca felt a twist of excitement and fear in their stomachs. As they rode, they saw houses with walls that had been blown down. Broken tables, waterlogged mattresses, and mud-crusted refrigerators lay abandoned on the side of the road.

“What if our house is gone?” Rebecca asked.

“Then Heavenly Father will help us find a new one,” Grandma replied.

The streets in their neighborhood were still oozing with thick black mud, so they had to drive very slowly. Finally, Grandma turned the corner onto their street.

“I see it!” Rebecca shouted. “Our house is still there!”

“There’s a hole in the roof,” Sarah pointed out.

Inside, everything smelled musty. The girls leaned their mattresses against the wall to air them out and helped Grandma wipe up the water that had come in through the hole in the roof. “Can we stay here tonight, Grandma?” Rebecca asked.

“I don’t think so. We’ll have to wait a few more nights until we can get the roof fixed.”

Rebecca sighed and sank onto the damp couch. “I wish we could stay.”

“I’m just glad our house is still here,” Sarah said.

“Heavenly Father listened to our prayers,” Grandma said. Then, looking through the doorway, she pointed toward the street. “I think He’s still listening.”

Outside, a large truck with a crane was pulling up. Bishop Espinosa and Brother Soto hopped down, along with some other men from their ward.

“Do you need any help?” the bishop called. “Maybe some people to fix your roof?”

Sarah and Rebecca grabbed hands and squealed. “Does this mean we can stay, Grandma? Can we sleep here tonight?”

Grandma smiled and nodded. “Welcome home, girls.”

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Stop!

By Ana Nelson Shaw
Friend, Jun 2005, 47
(Based on an experience of the author’s father and brothers)

Children, obey your parents in the Lord (Eph. 6:1).

Mike and his younger brothers, Eric and Tom, liked to go hiking with their dad. Dad always said he knew the mountains like the back of his own hand. He had grown up walking the same paths with his own dad, who was a sheepherder. Dad was a teacher, but he still enjoyed getting out in the fresh air and sunshine of the mountains.

“When we come around this bend, you’ll see a little waterfall,” Dad might tell the boys. Or, “Be really quiet here, and you’ll be able to hear the wind whistle up in the cliffs.” He always seemed to know just what to watch or listen for. When Mike and his brothers did what Dad told them, they always found something new to love about the mountains.

But sometimes they just wanted to run, and Dad let them do it when it was safe. One summer day they were excited to reach the top of the trail—a high meadow filled with fresh green grass and flowers of just about every color. And so they took off running through the trees at top speed, even though they were tired from their morning’s hike. They wanted to burst onto that meadow like jackrabbits.

“Stop when you get to the meadow,” Dad called after them. “I’ll meet you there.” They ran ahead, each trying to get in front of the others. When they burst from the trees, neck and neck, butterflies flew up to avoid the running brothers.

The boys stopped a moment while their eyes got used to the light. Then they took off again, forgetting Dad’s instruction. They ran in circles through the deep grass, jumping and dodging, whooping and hollering and tagging each other. “You’re it, Tommy!”

“No, you’re it, Mike!”

Then Eric had an idea. “Let’s race all the way across the meadow!” Tom hesitated. They couldn’t see the far side of the clearing because a grassy hill obscured their view. But Mike wasn’t worried. “I think this is the same meadow we came to last summer,” he assured his brothers.

They gathered back at the trees. “Ready!” Eric shouted. “Set! GO!” The wind felt fresh and cool on Mike’s cheeks and in his hair, and the faster he ran, the more wind he got. Soon he was leading the race. He felt like he could run forever.

“STOP!” a voice bellowed like thunder behind them. All three boys stopped immediately. They turned and saw Dad running toward them from the edge of the meadow. “Come back here beside me,” Dad called, more gently this time. The boys obeyed. “Now, everybody hold hands,” he said. Eric and Tom held Dad’s hands, and Mike held Tom’s little hand. They walked together across the meadow. As they topped the little hill, Dad suddenly stopped.

Just a few paces ahead of them, a sheer cliff dropped down at least 20 or 30 feet. If they had been running, there was no way they could have seen it in time to stop.

“Whoa!” Eric gulped. “That’s pretty scary.”

“Yeah.” Tom shook his head. “Thanks, Dad.”

They turned away from the cliff. Eric and Tom ran back across the meadow, but Mike slipped his hand into Dad’s. “We could have died,” Mike said softly.

“Well, maybe. I’m sure glad you stopped running, even though I didn’t have time to explain. Sometimes we have to obey first and ask questions later!”

“Especially when someone else knows what’s coming, and you don’t,” Mike said.

Dad smiled. “You might find the same thing to be true at other times in your life. Maybe your mom or I, or a teacher, or perhaps the Holy Ghost will give you some instructions. You might not know why right away. But if you trust the person the instructions came from, obey anyway. Later you’ll understand why.”

Mike nodded. He couldn’t always know where cliffs were hidden, but he could always listen to those who knew more than he did.

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The Giraffe Lesson

By Julie Gubler
Friend, Jul 2005, 5
(Based on an experience from the author’s life)

By this ye may know if a man repenteth of his sins—behold, he will confess them and forsake them (D&C 58:43).

“Quick! His back is turned!” Paisley said, looking at the sales clerk. Ann swiftly reached up and grabbed the small stuffed giraffe from the shelf. The giraffe would look so cool with the rest of her animals. She almost had a complete set.

“Got it,” Ann whispered as she stuffed the soft object into her jacket pocket. “Let’s go.”

The two girls strolled past the clerk, out of the toy store, and into the mall to meet Paisley’s mother. Ann had a funny feeling in her stomach. She couldn’t help looking over her shoulder to see if anyone was watching. She kept one hand in her pocket, curled around the animal.

“You know,” Paisley said, holding up a small stuffed kangaroo, “we wouldn’t have to steal these if they didn’t cost so much money!”

When Ann got home, she ran upstairs to her room. She was excited to put the giraffe with her other animals. She took the miniature animals lovingly off the shelf—the horse was the first one she had bought, then the camel. She had been able to buy the dog, elephant, lion, and bear with money she earned from her summer job of weeding the garden.

Her mother opened the bedroom door. “Ann, the bishop called. He would like to interview you next week for your baptism.”

Ann’s face went white. She knew that after she was baptized, she would be accountable for her actions and would have to repent of her sins. Would Heavenly Father forgive her for stealing the giraffe?

Mom noticed the nervous look on Ann’s face. “Oh, honey, don’t be scared. Your dad and I will be there with you. The bishop just needs to make sure that you want to be baptized.”

“I know, Mom,” Ann replied. She was glad that Mom didn’t know about the giraffe.

“Can you play today?” Paisley asked Ann as the two girls walked to school the next morning.

“I … uh … I don’t know,” Ann said. “I tried playing with my animals last night, but it wasn’t any fun. Do you think it might be because I stole the giraffe?”

“Maybe.” Paisley looked down at the sidewalk. “I couldn’t play with my kangaroo, either. We shouldn’t have taken those animals yesterday.”

Ann was quiet all morning. She tried to concentrate on the math lesson, but it was hard because she was trying to block out the awful way she felt inside. She was relieved when the recess bell rang.

“I don’t feel like swinging today,” Ann said to Paisley as she walked out the door, bundling her coat around her.

“Could your mom take us back to the mall after school?” Paisley asked. “Then we could return the animals. I don’t want to play with my kangaroo anymore. I would feel better if I took it back.”

“Me, too. I’ll ask my mom when I get home,” Ann said.

That afternoon, Ann took a deep breath as she opened the door of her house. Tears filled her eyes as she thought how disappointed her mom and dad would be. She walked into the kitchen.

“Hi, honey. How was your day?” Mom said.

“OK.” Ann looked down at her feet. “Mom, I have to tell you something. When I went to the mall with Paisley, we took some stuffed animals from the toy store without paying for them.” Mom listened as Ann told her how sorry she was.

“I’m very disappointed in you, Ann. You know that stealing is wrong. What do you think you should do now?”

“Paisley and I want to take the animals back. Could you drive us to the toy store?”

“Of course.” Mom hugged her. “I’m glad you’ve decided to do the right thing.”

Mom and Ann picked up Paisley at her house and drove to the mall. Then Mom walked with them to the toy store.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come in with you?” Mom asked.

“No, Mom,” Ann answered firmly. “We need to do this by ourselves.”

The girls walked quickly into the store and up to the counter. Placing the animals on the counter, they explained to the clerk that they had taken the stuffed animals without paying for them, and that they were very sorry.

The clerk glared at them. “I’ll have to report this to the owner,” he said. “I’m not sure what he’ll do.” The girls gave the clerk their names and telephone numbers and left the store.

“I’ll never steal another thing as long as I live,” Ann declared as she and Paisley rode home in the car.

“Me neither,” Paisley said. “And even if the owner is mad and won’t forgive us, at least Heavenly Father will.”

The following week Ann had her interview with the bishop. She explained to him what she had done and how she had tried to make it right—and how she had promised Heavenly Father that she would never steal anything again. She and the bishop talked about repentance, and how Ann had completed the steps.

The bishop said, “When you steal something, you can never fully enjoy it because you got it dishonestly. I’m glad you learned from your mistake, Ann. You are truly ready to be baptized now.”

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The Skipper’s Son

By Lisa Fernelius
Friend, Jul 2005, 10
(Based on experiences of the author’s grandfather)

Behold, we have forsaken all, and followed thee (Matt. 19:27).

Feike jumped from the edge of the canal onto the deck of the boat where his family lived. His wooden shoes clunked loudly as he raced toward the white cabin at the back of the boat.

“Today is the day,” the 12-year-old boy thought excitedly. “Today Father will give the missionaries his answer.”

Latter-day Saint missionaries had begun preaching in the Netherlands a few years earlier, in the 1860s. Feike had seen them and brought them home, hoping they would teach him English. He soon learned, however, that the elders had greater things to teach him and his family.

At the door of the small cabin, Feike removed his wooden shoes, turning them upside down to keep out water. His classroom at school was larger than the small cabin that was his home, but Feike loved the tiny kitchen with its wood-burning stove. His parents and younger brothers and sisters slept on wall beds that folded up behind the cupboard doors at the back of the kitchen. Feike, the oldest, slept in the storage compartment at the front of the boat.

He slipped into the living room and sat down quietly. Elder Swensen was speaking, carefully reviewing the teachings he and Elder Lofgren had shared on so many winter nights in this very room. Feike had felt the warmth of the Spirit each time and wanted to be baptized right away. He thought his mother did, too, because she spoke often of going to the temple. But Father would not commit to something unless he knew he could do it, and so he wouldn’t be baptized until he was sure he could keep his baptismal promises. Today was the day Father would tell the missionaries his decision. Feike had been praying so sincerely for weeks that he was certain his father’s answer would be yes.

“Brother Wolthuis,” Elder Lofgren said to Father, “I feel you know the gospel is true.”

Father, looking at the floor, nodded his head.

“Are you willing to be baptized?” Elder Lofgren asked. “Can you make the necessary sacrifices?”

The room was silent. Even Feike’s younger brothers and sisters didn’t wiggle. Everyone stared at Father. Slowly he raised his weatherworn face.

“Yes, I know The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is true. I will be baptized.”

Feike beamed. Heavenly Father had heard his prayers. Mother was smiling through the tears streaming down her cheeks.

“We will be ready to sail to America within the month,” Father promised.

“Sail to America?” Feike blurted out.

“Yes, Feike,” Father said. “Church leaders have asked all the Saints to come to Salt Lake City.” He paused. “Uncle Geert has agreed to buy our boat.”

“But the boat was to become mine one day! I was to become the skipper!” Feike desperately reminded his father.

“I know. I have not forgotten my promise,” Father said. “Uncle Geert has agreed to keep you on as his hired man if you choose not to go to America. Then when you are old enough, he will sell the boat to you.”

Anger washed over Feike’s whole body, erasing all the joy he’d felt about his father’s baptism.

“I thought this Church was true,” Feike exploded, “but to choose between the Church and your country, your relatives, and your boat—it is too much to ask!”

Feike stormed to his small room in the bow of the boat. Out of habit he banged on the side of the boat with a small hammer to signal he’d made it without falling overboard. Tonight he pounded again and again.

A long time passed as Feike lay on his mattress. He thought of the mules pulling the boat through the canals of the Dutch provinces. He thought of the small grocery boats that pulled up alongside their boat so Mother could do her shopping. But mostly Feike thought of the wind filling the tall sails of their boat as they crossed the open waters of the sea. One day he would sail on open waters as the skipper … if he said good-bye to his family when they went to America.

Just then he heard a knock at his door.

“Come in,” Feike mumbled.

His father sat on the end of the bed. “I’m sorry, Feike. I thought you understood that if we were baptized we would go to America.”

“I knew others were going, but I didn’t think you would ever leave the boat. I thought you loved being a skipper.”

Father’s eyes filled with tears. “I do—more than you’ll ever know.”

“What will you do in America?”

“I don’t know. Sailing has been my life. But the Lord has called His people to Salt Lake City, and your mother and I have decided to go.”

“But to give up my dream of being skipper—to leave the boat?”

“It is a difficult decision that only you can make,” his father agreed. “A couple of nights ago as I struggled with the same questions, I found a scripture that helped me. When Jesus called James and John, they were fishermen. But the Bible says that ‘they immediately left the ship … and followed him’ (Matt. 4:22).”

The skipper and his son sat in silence for a long time. Feike looked into his father’s clear blue eyes. He sensed his father’s faith and courage, and he knew what he needed to do. Finally he spoke.

“Can we take the boat out once more before we sail to America together?”

The skipper pulled his son into a hug.

“Yes, I’d like that very much.”

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Logan’s Baptism

By Jane McBride Choate
Friend, Jul 2005, 28
(Based on an experience of a family in the author’s ward)

The gate by which ye should enter is repentance and baptism (2 Ne. 31:17).

Logan had turned eight years old last week. Today was a special day—he was going to be baptized. He and his father dressed in white clothes and took their seats near the baptismal font.

Logan’s brother-in-law, Ryan, was asked to give a talk at the baptism. After the opening song and prayer, Ryan read the fourth article of faith: “ ‘We believe that the first principles and ordinances of the Gospel are: first, Faith in the Lord Jesus Christ; second, Repentance; third, Baptism by immersion for the remission of sins; fourth, Laying on of hands for the gift of the Holy Ghost.’ ” [A of F 1:4]

Then Ryan placed a blue paper square on the floor at one side of the room and a white paper square at the other side. “Logan, come stand on this blue square,” he said. “Can you get from the blue square to the white square without stepping on the carpet?”

Logan looked across the room and shook his head. “It’s too far.”

Ryan nodded. “It’s too far for you to get there by yourself. And do you think you can return to Heavenly Father without help?”

Logan shook his head again.

Ryan placed six more squares on the floor, each square a different color. “Heavenly Father has given us steps to bring us back to Him. Do you know what they are?”

Logan thought of the article of faith Ryan had just read. “The first one is faith.” Ryan nodded as Logan stepped onto the red square. “And the second one is repentance.” Logan moved to the yellow square.

Ryan pointed to the green square. “This one represents one of the steps you’re taking today.”

Smiling, Logan stepped onto the green square.

“Baptism,” he said. He was much closer to the white square now, but there were still three more in between.

“The orange square represents receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost,” Ryan said, “another step you’ll take today.”

Logan stepped onto the orange square.

“What do you think the last two squares represent?” Ryan asked.

Logan thought for a moment. The fourth article of faith included only the first four principles and ordinances of the gospel. He had learned in Primary that baptism was the first of many covenants he would make. “Does the next square stand for the temple?” he asked.

“Right!” Ryan beamed. “After your baptism and confirmation, you’ll prepare to receive the priesthood and temple ordinances. What do you think the last square stands for?”

Logan couldn’t remember any more steps. Then it dawned on him—it was the simple truth taught by prophets and scriptures. “Stay righteous,” he said.

“Exactly,” Ryan said. “After making all of these covenants, we must stay faithful.”

Logan sat down and Ryan finished his talk. Then Logan and his father entered the baptismal font. With the authority of the priesthood, Logan’s father baptized him. After they had changed into dry clothes, Logan was confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

“Remember the Spirit you feel right now,” Ryan said afterward as he hugged Logan. “Try to keep it with you for the rest of your life.”

Logan knew he would never forget this special day—a day he had taken two important steps toward his heavenly home.

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Higher Ground

By Ronda Gibb Hinrichsen
Friend, Jul 2005, 35
(Based on a personal experience of the author)

When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee (Isa. 43:2).

One calm summer day in Rexburg, Idaho, ten-year-old Ronda was cleaning her room.

“Everyone come to the living room! Now!” Dad’s voice was urgent.

Ronda ran. So did her younger sisters and brother, Ranae, Raelin, and Kory.

“The Teton Dam has burst!”* Dad said. “Everyone grab your shoes and socks and hurry to the car!”

The four children raced to their bedrooms. Mom picked up baby Kevin.

Minutes later, they climbed into the car.

“Where are we going?” Ronda asked.

“To the hill,” Dad answered.

“We’ll be safe there,” Mom added.

When they arrived at the hill, Dad parked the car across the street from the Ricks College (Brigham Young University—Idaho) campus. Ronda opened the door. “When will the water get here?”

“I don’t know,” Mom said. “We’ll have to watch and wait.” She climbed out of the car. “But let’s say a prayer first, OK?”

Ronda moved next to her mother. Everyone folded their arms and closed their eyes. They asked Heavenly Father to protect their home and family.

After the prayer, Ronda looked out across the valley. She watched and waited and watched and waited until a tall wave of brown-gray debris-filled water surged into town. Ronda stared at it.

“Ohhhhh!” Mom groaned, fighting back tears.

The wave knocked over trees and turned logs from the lumberyard into battering rams.

Dad’s shoulders slumped. “I had no idea it would be this bad,” he said.

The water plunged through houses, carrying some away. It lifted empty cars and heaved them into buildings. Smash! Splash! Silence.

Finally, Mom looked at Dad. “What should we do?”

“Let’s go to the campus. Maybe someone there will know.”

Waiting for Dad to find out what to do was difficult for Ronda and her brothers and sisters. They were tired and hungry, and they didn’t know when or where they might get food again.

But eventually Dad returned. “Some people were handing out sandwiches,” he said. “Does anyone want one?”

“I do,” Kory said. He held out his hand.

Mom took one, too. She broke a bit of bread off for Kevin. “Have you found out what we should do?”

“The Church is here to help. They own the college, and they will let us live in the empty dorms and eat in the cafeteria while we rebuild.”

“Rebuild? Have we lost everything then?”

Dad looked at the ground. “I don’t know yet,” he said.

The next day, Dad went into town to check on their home. Ronda and the rest of her family were waiting for him when he returned. “Our house is still standing,” he told them, “but we have a lot of work ahead of us. Everything inside is gone or destroyed.”

“Everything? Our beds? Toys?” Ronda pictured their living room. “What about the piano?”

“Yes.”

Mom started to cry. “And the food storage?”

“The basement is filled with water,” Dad said. “I won’t know until we get it pumped out.”

“Can we see our house?” Ranae asked.

“Not now. There are sharp objects and broken glass everywhere.”

“You children will have to stay here on campus with me,” Mom added.

Ronda knelt next to Kevin. “For how long?”

“Until I can make our house safe again,” Dad answered.

Safe again. Ronda rubbed at a smudge on the front of her shirt—the shirt she’d put on yesterday morning. Would she ever really feel safe again?

Just as Dad had said, the following days were filled with work. Dad pumped water out of their basement, shoveled mud from every room, and hauled out truckloads of rubble. Mom, Ronda, and her brothers and sisters stood in long distribution lines, searched through piles of charitable donations, and tried to clean smelly, slimy mud from the few belongings Dad was able to salvage. They were all very, very tired.

When the second Sunday after the disaster came, Ronda was glad. That day the work stopped, and her family attended a special conference in the college gymnasium. The prophet, President Spencer W. Kimball, had come to speak to them.

Ronda shifted anxiously in her seat. There were so many people—thousands of them! Were they all flood victims?

Suddenly, a hush fell over the congregation. Ronda looked toward the stage. President Kimball had entered the room.

The prophet’s words stuck in her mind. First, he reminded them of how blessed they were that the flood had happened in daytime. Then, President Kimball said they must be strong through the long and difficult days ahead. They must be like the pioneers.

Like the pioneers. Ronda pictured the pioneers in her mind. They had trudged through mounds of mud. They had lived in wagons for several months. They had relied on each other for everything.

Ronda sat up taller as a feeling of peace and strength filled her heart. The prophet was right! They could be like the pioneers! And like those who had settled the Salt Lake Valley so long ago, she knew they could make their own valley safe and right again.

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Maggie’s Peaches

By Ana Nelson Shaw
Friend, Jul 2005, 42
(Based on experiences of the author’s ancestors)

The prayers of the faithful shall be heard (2 Ne. 26:15).

A hot, dry wind blew through Maggie’s open window, bringing in dust and the smell of sagebrush. Summer weekends were lonely—Maggie’s father was seeing to business outside Rush Valley, and her older brothers were away rounding up the cattle and hauling ore for the mines nearby. Only Mother and Aunt Laura were there to keep her company in the big adobe house. And since it was the Sabbath, Maggie couldn’t play outside with her colt or her new kittens or run around the yard looking for tiny wildflowers.

Even worse, Mother was sick. She had hardly eaten for days, and worry hung over the house. Maggie wanted more than anything to see Mother well and happy. “Maybe I’ll go see if she’s well enough to eat today,” Maggie thought. She tiptoed across the hall to Mother’s room and peeked inside.

“Mother, you’re awake!” Maggie said, relieved, as she approached Mother’s big bed. “What would you like to eat?”

“Well, dear,” Mother answered, “I don’t have much choice. I’ll have to settle for what we have on hand.”

The nearest store was 10 miles away. With the boys away and Mother sick, no one had gone for groceries in weeks, and there was nothing in the cellar but canned tomatoes. Maggie hesitated to remind her mother of this—she knew Mother found the idea of eating more tomatoes even less appetizing than she did herself.

“Don’t worry, Maggie. I know there’s nothing but tomatoes.” Mother smiled. “If I could have what I really want most, it would be some good, cold peaches fresh from the cellar. But I guess I’ll just imagine the tomatoes are peaches instead!” She laughed, which made Maggie feel better.

Maggie started heading for the cellar, but stopped to kneel and say a quick prayer before going downstairs.

“Heavenly Father,” she said. “I can’t stand to see Mother so sick and sad. I want to bring her peaches for dinner. Please help me find some. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”

When Maggie stood up, her heart felt lighter. She knew Heavenly Father had heard her prayer. She walked into the cool, dark cellar and lit a candle so she could see. Two identical cases of tomatoes were stacked one on top of the other. The top case was open. Maggie walked around the cellar with her candle, peering in the corners, but there were no peaches to be seen. Other than the tomatoes, the cellar was completely empty.

Maggie lifted up the heavy box of tomatoes and set it on the floor. She took a hammer from the table beside her and pried one board loose from the second case of tomatoes. Out came one can, which Maggie set down on the table. Then she lifted another can out from the bottom layer. That was the one! The picture label was of bright red tomatoes, but Maggie knew there was something else inside.

She ran as fast as she could back up to her mother’s room. “Mother!” she cried, “I’ve got your peaches!”

“Looks very much like tomatoes to me, Maggie,” Aunt Laura said.

“I don’t care what the label says,” Maggie insisted. “These are peaches.”

“Bless your heart,” Mother said kindly. “We’ll imagine they are peaches and eat them anyway.”

Maggie rushed to get the can opener from the kitchen, and ran back to the bedroom at top speed. As her mother jabbed the opener into the can, golden peach juice oozed out. Maggie dipped her finger in and tasted the sweet juice.

“Oh, Mother, the Lord heard my prayer!” Maggie exclaimed. “They are peaches!”

A few minutes later, Mother sat holding a big dish of beautiful orange peaches on a tray. Tears filled her eyes. “Oh, my Maggie,” she whispered, “how did you do it?” Maggie told her about her prayer and how she knew exactly where to look.

“Well,” Aunt Laura said, “They just made a mistake when they labeled the cans. Isn’t that a strange coincidence?”

Mother looked at Aunt Laura. “All my life I’ve never found peaches in tomato cans, and yet there they were for Maggie when she prayed. I know the Lord answered her prayers and guided her hand to that one can, so don’t try to tell me it was just a coincidence.”

She kissed Maggie on the cheek. “Go along now, dear. I think I’ll get some good rest today.”

Maggie walked back to her room and knelt beside the bed to thank Heavenly Father for His guidance. She knew that answers to prayer were real, and she would never forget it.

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A Song Amid a Storm

By Rebecca Todd Archibald
Friend, Jul 2005, 46
(Based on an incident that occurred in 1863)

Mary Wilkenson awoke to the sound of rain pattering against the tent. It had rained on and off for days, and she longed for sunlight to break through the gray cloud cover. Perhaps today the company would finally be assembled.

Mary and her eight brothers and sisters had traveled with their parents across the sea from Bradford, England. At times it had seemed that the angry black sea would engulf the ship, but they had made it to the eastern shore of America and then continued on to Winter Quarters.

Mary couldn’t wait to get going again. The thought of living among the Saints in Salt Lake filled her with excitement. But waiting for Captain Henry Miller’s company to be made up was taking its toll on Mary’s family. Their makeshift tent did little to protect them from the cold.

Mother had taken ill a few days ago. She lay wrapped up in the few blankets that neighbors could spare. Mary stood up and folded up the little blanket that made her bed, threw her shawl over her head, and went outside to find what little food she could for breakfast. Her arms and legs dragged in exhaustion.

A cold wind whipped through the camp, forcing Mary to cling tightly to her shawl. Just then, thunder exploded in the sky. Wincing at the sound, she looked up to see large black clouds directly overhead. And then the rain started pouring. The wind blew the rain so hard that it felt like pebbles hitting her bare hands and face. She ran back to the tent, taking refuge inside.

“What’s happening, Mary?” four-year-old Eliza asked. The thunder sounded again, exploding like a cannon, and the tent shook in the fierce wind. Eliza started to cry. Mary picked Eliza up, trying to comfort her while giving instructions to the other children to secure the tent. Muddy water began to seep in under the edges.

“Hurry, we must take care of Mother,” Mary said. “Grab those two boxes. We’ll raise up her bed so she doesn’t get wet.” Moving quickly, the children lifted up Mother and her bed just as water started pouring into the tent. It was as if the tent were suddenly in the middle of a river. The wind howled, and they could hear other tents falling to the ground. Father frantically ran into the tent and sighed with relief when he saw Mother’s bed already raised above the ground. His clothing was soaked.

“Mary, boys, our tent is about to blow away!” he shouted. By now the cold water came up above the children’s knees. The tent rattled furiously. Father grabbed hold of one of the tent poles, and Mary and her brothers followed his example. “Hold fast, hold it with all of your might!” Father yelled. The younger children huddled together, crying. In her weakened condition, Mother began silently crying. She was unable to help any of her children and had to lie there as the cold water rose around her. The water, now two feet deep, began carrying their belongings out of the tent. The children cried harder.

“Mary! Mary! Sing a hymn, Mary,” Father called. Mary squinted, trying to keep the stinging rain out of her eyes, and swallowed. Then in a shaky voice she began singing, “All Hail the Power of Jesus’ Name.” The soft melody seemed to overpower the howling wind. At first Mary’s voice was faint, but as she sang she found strength. She sang louder and louder until her clear, sweet voice filled the small dwelling. By the time Mary finished, all had stopped crying. She began another song, this time joined by Father and one of her brothers. The music brought a warm spirit of peace into the wind-blown tent.

“That’s right, my girl, sing on and all will be well,” Brother Halifant called from outside. “Keep singing.” And Mary did. Hymn after hymn provided comfort. Soon even Eliza sang along enthusiastically, the music making her forget her fear. At last the walls of the tent quit shaking and the wind retreated. Mary exhaled in relief. She let go of the pole, her fingers aching from holding it so tightly. After tending to Mother, she tried to dump the water from the few belongings the current of rainwater had left behind.

“Everyone, come! We’re gathering for prayer,” a loud voice called through the camp. Mary took Eliza’s hand and walked with the family to where the Saints were gathering. Every other tent except the Wilkensons’ and one other had been blown down. The water had carried away trunks and boxes and lodged them in the brown mud. Mary tried to walk so that her legs would not touch her icy wet clothing, and little Eliza shivered in her wet nightgown.

They all bowed their heads in prayer, pleading for strength and comfort. Then Brother McAlister spoke. “Brothers and sisters, the storm is over. We made it through, and the Lord has heard our prayers.” Brother McAlister surveyed the crowd. Everyone was wet, and many had mud smeared across their clothing and faces. “I promise that the Lord will protect everyone from taking cold. No one will get sick because of the storm.”

Mary wiped the tears from her eyes with her numb hands. She knew the Lord would protect her and her family—she had felt His love as she sang.

As the days passed, no one caught a cold. Those who were already sick, including Mother, did not get any worse. Within a few days, the Wilkensons were packing up to start moving across the plains. As Mary helped load the wagon, she softly hummed the song that had brought peace to their tent a few days before, finding strength for the journey ahead.

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Stop the Boat!

By Callie Buys
Friend, Aug 2005, 4
(Based on an experience from the author’s family)

The Holy Ghost … will show unto you all things what ye should do (2 Ne. 32:5).

Derek snapped on his life preserver and pulled out his sunglasses as the boat sped up. He liked to feel the wind whip through his hair as the boat made ripples in the calm lake. The afternoon looked perfect for a fishing trip. The sun shone brightly, and the smooth water reflected the trees standing along the shore.

Dad had invited Brother Taylor and his two children, Hannah and Jake, to come along, too. Dad had asked 11-year-old Derek to help look after the children since they were only six and four. All afternoon, Brother Taylor helped Hannah and Jake hold tiny fishing poles while Derek and Dad baited their hooks. Derek had fun, even though he didn’t catch any fish himself.

When the sun rolled behind a cloud, Dad looked up at the sky and pressed his lips together in thought. “We don’t have much sunlight left,” he said.

“Good,” Brother Taylor replied. “The fishing’s better when it starts to get dark.”

“The fishing’s better, but driving the boat isn’t,” Dad said. “The lake can be dangerous in the dark. We should stay for only a few more minutes.”

The lake looked peaceful and still as the sky grew darker. Soon, the fish began to bite. After Jake and Brother Taylor had each caught a fish, Dad started the engine.

“Time to go,” he said.

Derek found a huge red towel and wrapped it around Hannah and Jake like a blanket. The air felt crisp now that the sun had melted into the mountaintops.

Dad slowly steered the boat back to the shore as the darkness grew. The boat had two little lights at the front, but they weren’t very bright. “I wonder if Dad can see anything at all,” Derek thought. He didn’t like being out on the lake in the dark. The lapping of the water against the boat sounded creepy, and the air felt cold now. He wished they would go faster.

Suddenly, Dad pulled back on the throttle and the boat drifted to a stop.

“Why are we stopping?” Derek asked.

Dad didn’t respond. He pulled a flashlight out of the glove box and shined it in front of the boat. Directly ahead of them, Derek saw a rock sticking up out of the water. Dad slowly turned the boat and drove around it.

Derek held his breath. They had almost crashed into that rock!

When they reached the dock, Dad patted Derek’s knee.

“That was close,” Derek whispered.

Dad nodded. “I saw that rock this afternoon, but I didn’t think much about it,” he said. “In the light, I could have seen it from far away, but I couldn’t see it at all in the dark. All of a sudden, something inside told me to stop the boat. I didn’t see the rock until after we had stopped. If I had waited until I saw it, it would have been too late.”

Derek’s eyes widened.

“Thankfully, the Holy Ghost could see what I could not.” Dad smiled. “He was looking out for us, and I am glad I listened to Him.”

Derek felt glad, too. A warm feeling rushed through him. He felt safe and calm knowing that Dad had listened to the promptings of the Holy Ghost. Derek knew that if he, too, listened for the still, small voice, he would know what to do—even when he couldn’t see the way.

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Reunion Twins

By Lisa Passey Boynton
Friend, Aug 2005, 10
(Based on an experience from the author’s family)

And he shall turn the heart of the fathers to the children, and the heart of the children to their fathers (Mal. 4:6).

Anna sat quietly in the backseat of the van next to her older sister, Sara. It was taking a long time to get to the family reunion. Anna watched the canyon trees fly by, and every now and then she spotted a silvery mountain stream snaking its way down the hill. The sky was as blue as Anna’s eyes, and the clouds looked like white puffs of popcorn.

“Are we almost there?” she said, knowing it hadn’t been long since the last time she had asked.

Mom shook her head and pointed out the window. “We have to go over this mountain, and then you’ll see the lake. About another hour, I’d guess.”

Anna sighed. It was hard to sit still and wait when they’d been planning for months to come to the reunion. All her favorite cousins would be there, and so would dozens of others whom she didn’t know at all. Mom said there were relatives coming from New York, California, and even Hawaii! Suddenly Anna’s three-hour drive didn’t seem so long.

“There’s the lake!” Sara shouted. Anna strained her neck to look. Beautiful Bear Lake stretched out before them like a bright blue carpet. From the mountaintop, sailboats and motorboats looked like tiny toys on the surface.

“When your great-great-grandparents got married in the Logan Temple,” Dad said, “they came down this same road in a wagon. Great-Great-Grandpa looked out at Bear Lake and said, ‘Let’s take a swim before we go home.’ And even though it was early June and the water was freezing cold, they waded in at the north beach and had a nice brisk swim!”

Anna loved that story, even though Dad told it every time they came over this hill. Mom said one of the aunts was bringing 95-year-old Great-Great-Grandma to the reunion and that this might be the last time they were all together.

Finally the houses and farms started looking familiar, and Anna didn’t have to ask if they were almost there. Just past Great-Great-Grandma’s white frame farmhouse, Dad turned onto a dirt road and drove to the community center. It had once been an old church with hardwood floors and wooden benches, but now it was just a place for large groups to gather.

Anna spied Aunt Laura’s car and wriggled out of her seatbelt to go find her cousins. People were spilling out of the doors on all sides of the old church, and there were games set up on the lawn outside. Mom and Dad were already hugging people and talking excitedly. Even Sara had spotted one of her pen-pal cousins and was running to meet her.

It wasn’t long before Mom and Dad were calling Anna and Sara to “come meet someone.” Anna tried her best to smile and be polite. One after another, she shook hands with and hugged cousins, uncles, and aunts until their faces and names were a blur. Over and over again, she heard, “Why, Anna, you look just like Great-Great-Grandma! You two could be twins!”

What? Anna couldn’t believe it. Even Mom and Dad were nodding their heads in agreement. She glanced over at a shady spot under a cottonwood tree where an old, feeble, white-haired lady sat in a lawn chair—it was Great-Great-Grandma! Twins? No way!

Someone came out on the steps of the old building and began loudly ringing a handbell. “Calling all the family of Heber and Lizzie Nelson! Time for lunch! Come on in!”

Long tables and folding chairs were set up inside, along with rows and rows of food. Anna slid onto a chair beside Sara. “Sara,” she whispered, “why does everyone say I look like Great-Great-Grandma?”

Sara shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably because you look like Mom, and Mom looks like her mom, and she looks like her mom. …”

It was true. Anna did have big blue eyes and reddish-brown hair, just like Mom. But they certainly weren’t twins!

Great-Great-Grandma was walking slowly to her seat at the head of one of the tables. Mom was helping her, and Anna stared again at the old, wrinkled face and snow-white hair. “I do not look like her,” she whispered as she folded her arms for the prayer and blessing on the food.

The man who prayed thanked Heavenly Father for the wonderful legacy of Heber and Lizzie Nelson, and the blessing of having dear, sweet, Great-Great-Grandma with them at the reunion. He gave thanks for her testimony, her gentle nature, her willingness to be an example to everyone she met, and for her beautiful spirit. By the end of the prayer, most of the adults were crying. It was clear that Great-Great-Grandma was well loved in this big family.

As Anna munched her chicken and potato salad, she again heard someone say, “Did you see little Anna? She’s the mirror-image of Great-Great-Grandma!”

Mom saw Anna frown. She stood up and held out her hand. “Come here, Anna. I want to show you something special.”

Anna slowly put down her fork and followed Mom over to a large display table by the wall. On it were an old saddle and branding iron that had belonged to Great-Great-Grandpa, the lunch bell that had come across the ocean with the first Nelsons, heirloom quilts, and lots and lots of family pictures. Mom pointed to one picture in a pretty silver frame. The photo had originally been black and white, but it had been colored by a professional photographer. Anna looked at it with wide eyes. “Why is my picture here, Mom?”

Mom smiled and hugged Anna. “That’s not you, honey. That’s Great-Great-Grandma. She’s seven years old in that picture, just like you.”

Anna’s mouth dropped open. There were Anna’s blue eyes, Anna’s reddish-brown curls, even Anna’s dimples. The little girl was even missing a front tooth, just like Anna!

“Wow!” Anna exclaimed. “She really does look like me!”

Mom laughed, leaned down, and whispered, “I hope you grow up to be like her inside, too.”

Anna turned around and saw Great-Great-Grandma. She hurried past aunts, uncles, and cousins until she was standing in front of the little white-haired lady. Great-Great-Grandma smiled, and Anna saw the dimples so much like her own. “I’m glad I came to the reunion, Anna,” the lady said in a soft, gentle voice, “just so I could see you.”

“Me, too, Great-Great-Grandma,” Anna said, hugging her tightly. “Me, too.”

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Run!

By Kathleen R. Danielson
Friend, Aug 2005, 33
(Based on a personal experience of the author)

The Spirit speaketh the truth and lieth not (Jacob 4:13).

Anna Kate scuffed the toes of her sneakers into the dirt and watched a cloud of dust puff up around her ankles. Her wonderful week with Grandpa and Grandma was almost over. It had been great fun, especially the part here at Aunt Pru’s cabin. Just yesterday Grandpa had taken Anna Kate to his favorite fishing spot on the Provo River, and she had caught her very first fish!

But this morning had been a disaster. First, she had slept late, and Grandpa had gone fishing without her. Then Grandma and Aunt Pru just wanted to visit in the kitchen about dull, grown-up things. Anna Kate ended up sitting on the front porch by herself, feeling bored and lonely. Worse yet, tomorrow Mommy and Daddy were coming to take her home.

Suddenly she jumped to her feet. “I’m not going to spend my last day sitting around!” she thought. “I’ll find Grandpa by myself. I know the way.” She skipped across the front yard and walked down the lane to the canyon road, looking carefully both ways before crossing. Soon she came to a small bridge over the river and hurried across to the railroad tracks that ran between Heber City and Provo, Utah. This was the secret to finding Grandpa. Cross the river and turn left, then follow the railroad tracks to a huge rock. On the other side of the rock was the fishing spot.

Anna Kate walked a long time. Where was the rock? It hadn’t seemed so far with Grandpa, and somehow the railroad tracks seemed even lonelier than the front porch. Looking for a happier thought, she remembered her baptism day. How proud she had been when her parents told her she was old enough to make wise decisions and could spend a week away from home. Plodding along, she began to wonder if running off without asking Grandma had been a wise decision.

To cheer herself up, she started singing her favorite Primary songs. She was halfway through the first verse of “Give, Said the Little Stream” when she heard a noise in a bush by the side of the tracks. It sounded a bit like a loud cricket, and Anna Kate stopped singing to listen. She decided to look for the cricket, but before she could take a single step, a voice in her head said, “RUN!” She didn’t know who was talking to her, but she didn’t have to be told twice. She ran.

She was out of breath when she finally found Grandpa fishing by the river. He looked up in surprise. “Does Grandma know you’re here?”

Anna Kate shook her head. “I’m sorry. I should have asked her.”

Grandpa smiled kindly and started putting away his fishing tackle. “Let’s hustle back to the cabin before she has a chance to worry.”

They hadn’t walked far when they saw Anna Kate’s older cousin William standing by the tracks. “There you are,” he said. “Grandma sent me to find you, and it’s a good thing.” He pointed to a bush a ways off. When Anna Kate and Grandpa got closer, they saw a huge rattlesnake with a diamond pattern down its back hiding there. “I didn’t dare let it out of my sight with you out here alone,” William said.

After that, Anna Kate always told someone where she was going. It was a long time, though, before she told anyone about the loud cricket or the voice that had saved her life. She would realize later that it had been the Holy Ghost. She already knew that it was a voice to be obeyed.

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Blackberry Summer

By Ray Goldrup
Friend, Aug 2005, 37
(Based on an experience from the author’s life)

Comfort all that mourn (Isa. 61:2).

It was a hot summer day as Tyler made his way toward the big fields a short distance from his house. As he tromped up the dirt road, he looked at the tall yellow weeds on either side and pretended for a moment he was a Nephite warrior, hidden by the high weeds as he crept up on the enemy.

Earlier that morning, his father had talked about heroes in the scriptures who performed great deeds to help others. He had said that everyone could perform noble and honorable acts of service. They didn’t have to be big or brave acts to be important, he had explained. “In Heavenly Father’s eyes, any act of selfless service is of much worth.”

“I want to do noble things, too, Dark,” he confided to the big black German shepherd that walked along beside him, dragging a small dog sled (travois). Tyler’s father had helped him make it. It consisted of two poles tied together at one end, which were placed over the dog’s back and secured. The opposite ends of the frame trailed along the ground behind the dog. The load to be hauled—in this case, a box filled with empty jars—was fastened between the poles.

When Tyler had walked deep into the field, he stopped, removed the sled, and lifted one of the jars from the box. He walked toward a jumble of brush on the ground, pulled it away, and stared down with surprise. Where was the old ladder he had hidden there? The ladder helped him climb out across the blackberry bushes and reach the berries that were otherwise impossible to reach.

“Who could have taken it, Dark?” he asked. “Who could have—?”

Suddenly he spied the ladder, laid out across a large bush. A closer look revealed that whoever had used the ladder had picked almost all the berries.

“Madden!” Tyler breathed angrily. “He knows I’m saving up to buy those cowboy chaps.” Tyler could already envision wearing the leather pant legs over his jeans—then he’d look like a real cowboy.

He sat down beside his dog. “Madden did it just to get even, boy, just because I told Mr. Ruggles I saw him swipe that ice cream bar from the store. I couldn’t lie to Mr. Ruggles when he asked me.”

He gazed at the sparse bushes. His family didn’t have a lot of money since Dad had gotten laid off from his job. If Tyler couldn’t make enough money from selling blackberries, he wouldn’t be able to buy the chaps. “There’s only one pair left, Dark,” Tyler murmured.

For a good part of the day, Tyler worked feverishly to fill the jars, not even stopping for lunch. As he reworked the already picked-over bushes, it took him a long time to fill each jar.

A while later, he looked up and noticed Madden pulling a wagon behind his bike. It was filled with cans of blackberries. He was selling them to Tyler’s regular customers! Tyler hurried even faster, dropping one of the jars and losing all the berries from it inside a huge bush. He wiped sweat from his hands onto his pant legs and fumed at Madden.

Dark lifted his head from his cool place in the shade as Tyler placed the final filled jar in the wooden box. He quickly attached the sled to the big dog. “Mrs. Gregory will buy all these jars of berries,” he realized excitedly. “Madden doesn’t know about her because she hasn’t lived here very long.” Mrs. Gregory loved blackberries and always paid Tyler 50 cents a jar. “I’ve got eight jars, Dark. If I add that to what I already have, I’ll be able to buy the chaps!”

As Tyler walked down the rutted dirt lane, his excitement grew. He turned a corner and stopped. Someone was helping Mrs. Gregory sit on her porch swing, and she looked very sad. There were four other cars parked in front of the weathered two-story house and almost a dozen people mingling about. If it was a family reunion, it must be a sad one, he thought. “Maybe we had better come back tomorrow, Dark,” he said.

“Something’s wrong down at Mrs. Gregory’s place, Mom,” Tyler said when he got home. “There’s a bunch of people there, and—” His mother’s serious face made him pause.

“One of Mrs. Gregory’s sons died. They’re having a memorial service at her house, then they’re going to the cemetery.”

“I was going to sell Mrs. Gregory my blackberries today so I could buy those chaps. But …” His voice trailed off. Then an idea came to him. It was something his father had said about doing honorable acts of service for others. At first he tried to ignore the thought, because he so wanted to buy the leather cowboy chaps.

His mother eyed him. “A penny for your thoughts?” she said.

“I couldn’t charge you for that, Mom,” he said, “any more than I can charge Mrs. Gregory for the blackberries.” Tyler stepped to the window and gazed out. “Don’t people usually come back to the house to eat after a funeral?”

“Often that’s the case,” his mother answered. “Why?”

“Well,” Tyler said, “there were a lot of people at Mrs. Gregory’s place. I know she isn’t going to feel like fixing a bunch of food. She’ll probably have help, but I’d like to help her, too.” He turned and faced his mother. “Mrs. Gregory likes blackberries even more than I do. I want to make blackberry pies for her and all those people.”

His mother’s eyes welled up with tears. “I know how badly you want those cowboy chaps. You’re willing to sacrifice them?”

“I want to be like the heroes in the scriptures, Mom, and help somebody.”

Tyler’s mother hugged him.

“If I squeezed a blackberry as tight as you’re squeezing me, Mom,” Tyler grunted, “it would be squished to bits.”

Tyler’s mother laughed. “Would you like a little help making those pies?”

“I was hoping you’d ask,” Tyler said.

Three hours later, Tyler stood before Mrs. Gregory’s door.

“Hello, Tyler,” she greeted, her voice warm but weary.

Tyler pointed to three freshly-baked blackberry pies in the wooden box on the dog sled. “I picked some berries, and Mom and I made some pies.”

Tears gathered in the old woman’s eyes. “How kind of you, Tyler. Just a moment, let me get my purse.”

“Oh, no,” Tyler blurted quickly. “They’re free, Mrs. Gregory. I just want to help.”

Mrs. Gregory bent over and hugged Tyler. He could feel her tears on his cheek. She didn’t say anything, just patted him on the back.

As Tyler walked down the dirt lane from the little two-story house nestled in the big trees and the evening shadows, he felt a feeling he had never felt before. It was warm, different from the warmth of the summer night.

When he finally had saved enough money to buy the cowboy chaps, they were gone—but the good feeling from having done a kind deed stayed.

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The Walking Bible

By Ronda Gibb Hinrichsen
Friend, Aug 2005, 44
(Based on an experience of William Palmer, one of the author’s ancestors)

The Holy Ghost … shall teach you all things, and bring all things to your remembrance (John 14:26).

Elder Palmer stepped out of his hotel room and into the dimly lit hallway.

“Out of the way, young man.”

Elder Palmer turned toward the voice. “Pardon me.”

The man barely glanced at him from under the brim of his top hat as he bristled by.

Elder Palmer wanted to say, “I’m a missionary of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and I have an important message for you.” But he didn’t. Instead, he shoved his hands in his overcoat pockets and trudged on toward the stairway. That man wouldn’t have believed his words anyway. Why should he? Why would anyone believe a teacher who had never even read the scriptures?

At the top of the stairs, Elder Palmer pulled a small reading primer from one pocket and his Bible from the other. “Just as soon as I learn how to read,” he whispered, “nothing is going to stop me from preaching the gospel.”

“It’s a disgrace for the Mormon Church to send an ignorant man to try to convert the good people of Michigan!”

Elder Palmer froze. He recognized the voice that boomed from the parlor below. It was the preacher he’d visited with last night.

“I know he’s rough-looking,” said a female voice, “but that doesn’t mean he’s ignorant.”

“I’ll prove to you I’m right. When he comes down this morning, I’ll ask him some questions about the Bible.”

Elder Palmer backed away from the stairs. The preacher was right. He was ignorant. Somehow, he had to get away! He raced down the opposite hall, looking for another stairway, but there wasn’t one. He was trapped.

With nowhere else to turn, he rushed back to his room and closed the door. If only he’d been able to go to school when he was a boy! He had spent most of his childhood blind. And even though he had eventually—miraculously—received his sight, he had only received enough to get around, not enough to read. It wasn’t until he was a grown man that he had been blessed with enough sight to read, but by then it was too late to go to school.

“I need help, Heavenly Father,” he whispered.

Suddenly he remembered a cold winter evening not long after he’d received his sight. He and his father had been trapped in a mountain snowstorm. They could not see the road. Their oxen were frightened and did not know the way home.

“Son,” his father had said, “we have done all we can to find our way. Now we must ask the Lord for help.”

They then knelt in the snow and prayed. Afterward, they steered the oxen in the direction they thought was right, and the animals, without hesitation, led them home.

This memory reminded him of the power of prayer. He dropped to his knees. “Heavenly Father, Thou hast called me to do Thy work. I have done all that I can, but I need Thy help.” When he finished, he went directly to the parlor.

The preacher waved to Elder Palmer. “Ah, Mr. Palmer, come in. These people—” the preacher motioned to several men and women—“have been discussing the Bible with me. Would you, as a minister, be so kind as to explain this passage?” He then read from his Bible.

Elder Palmer listened closely to the verses. When he was a boy, his mother had helped him memorize many scriptures, but he didn’t recognize these.

“Well?”

Elder Palmer looked hard at the preacher, and as he did so, the familiar voice of the Holy Ghost filled his mind. “It is interesting that you should ask me this,” he said, “as I have a scripture I would like you to explain to me.”

The preacher laughed. “Go ahead.”

“ ‘And I saw another angel fly in the midst of heaven, having the everlasting gospel to preach unto them that dwell on the earth, and to every nation, and kindred, and tongue, and people.’ ”

“Oh, Mr. Palmer, that is not in our Bible. It must be in your Mormon Bible.”

“You will find it in Revelation 14:6 [Rev. 14:6].”

The preacher flipped to the book of Revelation. His face turned bright red. “Well, well. I have never seen that before. I will have to look it up in my Bible commentary.”

“That is the position I am in with your passage. Perhaps when we meet again we can explain to each other.”

The preacher nodded curtly, then turned back to the women who were seated on the circular sofa. One of them stood. “Mr. Palmer?”

“Yes?”

“You seem to have a good understanding of the scriptures. Can you please explain this verse to me?”

“I have a question, too.” It was the man he had bumped into earlier.

Elder Palmer smiled. He still felt a bit nervous, but he now realized that in many ways he was prepared to serve the Lord, and much of that preparation had come when he was a boy.

“I’d be happy to help each of you,” he said, “but I have one request. As you read from your Bible, please read slowly, and I will follow along in mine. That way, the Lord will help us both to understand.”

Author’s Note: Elder Palmer eventually learned to read. He also continued to memorize scriptural passages, just as he had when he was a boy. He loved the scriptures, especially the Bible, and in time, his wide use and knowledge of it caused others to call him “The Walking Bible.”

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Ethan the Brave

By Sheila Kindred
Friend, Sep 2005, 5
(Based on experiences of the author’s friend)

Keep the commandments! In this there is safety; in this there is peace (Children’s Songbook, 146).

Ethan was very brave. He valiantly defended his home and family against any bad guys that threatened it. But sometimes Ethan got tired. It seemed like every day there were new bad guys to fight. Yesterday there had been a ferocious dinosaur, the day before there were growling pirates, and today he faced man-eating sharks. Ethan could imagine the sharks swimming across the carpet in his bedroom.

“Come on, Kate, grab my hand,” Ethan called out to his little sister. “I will save you.”

Kate giggled and put her small hand into his.

“Sharks have long, sharp teeth,” Ethan said as he led her in a zigzag path across the room. “And they can bite. Look out!” He pulled Kate away from the bed, where he pretended a very large shark was hiding.

When they reached the bedroom door, Ethan peeked out and saw his mother sitting at the kitchen table folding laundry. She was listening to Primary music and softly singing along.

“Run to Mom, Kate,” Ethan urged. “She’ll protect you.”

Laughing, Kate ran to their mother, who scooped her up in a hug.

Later that day Ethan discovered some army men lurking behind the family room couch.

“Bang!” Ethan said, pointing his finger. “Bang! I got you.”

Mother frowned. “No shooting people, Ethan,” she said.

“But Mom,” Ethan protested, “he was a bad guy. I’m only shooting bad army men, not the good ones.”

“I don’t want any killing in our house,” Mom said.

Ethan was puzzled. How could he protect his family without killing all the bad guys?

After dinner, Ethan’s family had scripture study. Ethan liked to read the scriptures. Right now they were reading the Book of Mormon, and there were lots of bad guys and lots of good guys in it. There were good kings, good soldiers, and good missionaries.

They had finished the part in the Book of Mormon where Nephi’s family had crossed the ocean in their ship. The ship went through a big storm before arriving safely in the promised land. Now they were reading the part where Lehi was talking to his family about how the Lord had watched over them on their journey.

Ethan was listening very carefully as his dad read. He knew that soon Dad would stop reading and ask, “What is happening now? What does it mean?”

Ethan’s dad read, “ ‘And if it so be that they shall keep his commandments they shall be blessed upon the face of this land, and there shall be none to molest them, nor to take away the land of their inheritance; and they shall dwell safely forever’ ” (2 Ne. 1:9).

“Does that mean,” Ethan blurted out, not waiting for Dad to ask, “that if we keep the commandments we will be safe, too?”

“Yes.” Dad smiled. “It certainly does.”

“How?” Ethan asked. He wondered how keeping Heavenly Father’s commandments would keep away ferocious dinosaurs, growling pirates, and other bad guys.

“Well,” Dad said, “I think you were too young to remember, but when we first moved into this house, we had a special prayer and dedicated our home to Heavenly Father. We prayed that it would be a safe place where the Spirit can dwell. So now we try to do all the things the prophets tell us to keep a good spirit in our home.”

“Like having family home evening,” Mom said.

“And watching only good things on TV and on the computer,” Dad said.

“And reading good books and listening to good music,” Mom added.

“And being kind to each other,” Dad said. “All these things keep our home safe from evil.”

“Scripture study, too?” Ethan asked.

Mom nodded. “Especially scripture study.”

Ethan felt relieved. He was happy to know he wasn’t the only one working hard to keep his home safe.

The next week, Ethan was still very brave. He had to scare off a T. rex hiding behind the trees in the backyard. He pulled the plug on a giant octopus in the bathtub. He even discovered a monster troll hiding in the coat closet and had to tell it, in a very loud voice, to “leave now, and never come back.”

But now Ethan knew he wasn’t working alone. He knew that whenever Mom listened to his prayers, or Dad gave a priesthood blessing, or Kate shared her toys with him, they were all bravely working together to keep their home a safe and loving place to live.

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The Windows of Heaven

By Marianne Dahl Johnson
Friend, Sep 2005, 10
(Based on a true story from the author’s family history)

I will … open … the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it
(Mal. 3:10).

Marcella frowned as she tried to wiggle her toes in her shoes. The shoes were too small and they hurt, but she knew she shouldn’t complain. At six years old, she knew there was no money for new ones.

The past year had been hard for the Nelson family. In May, Marcella’s tiny baby sister had died of pneumonia. And just six weeks later, her father, Eric, had been killed in an accident at work. How she missed her gentle father.

Now Marcella’s mother was struggling to support her two young daughters with her sewing. Even though she was a skilled seamstress, there wasn’t enough money. The kitchen cupboards in their small home were practically bare. No, bigger shoes just weren’t an option right now.

“Time for breakfast,” Mother called. Marcella struggled not to limp in the tight shoes as she walked to the table.

“Oh, honey.” Her mother knelt at her side. “Those shoes are too small for you, aren’t they?” Marcella could hear the worry in her mother’s voice.

“A little.” Marcella tried to sound unconcerned. “It’s all right.”

“You’re trying to be brave,” Mother said gently. “But I can see they hurt. I will try to get you some new ones soon.”

“I want new shoes too!” piped up little Arvella.

Their mother picked Arvella up in a big hug. “You know your shoes are just fine,” she said. Arvella’s shoes were hand-me-downs from Marcella. They were worn, but at least they fit properly.

Arvella stuck her bottom lip out. “I want new shoes, too,” she repeated obstinately. Marcella and her mother smiled at each other. Arvella didn’t understand their difficult position, and somehow her innocence made them feel better. They talked and laughed as they ate breakfast and cleaned up.

Suddenly Mother became serious again. “Girls,” she said slowly, “we need to go to town today. I have $2.50.”

Marcella couldn’t believe it! That was a lot of money in Utah in 1905. “That’s great!” she exclaimed. She imagined the food they could buy to stock their empty shelves. Maybe she could even get new shoes!

Marcella’s smile faded when she saw the tears in her mother’s eyes. “We owe $2.50 for tithing,” she said softly. Then she gathered her girls around her. “I know we are almost out of food. I know that you need new shoes so badly, Marcella. But if we want the Lord to bless us, we must keep His commandments.”

Then she pulled out her worn Bible and turned to Malachi. She read to the girls the Lord’s promise that if they paid tithing, the windows of heaven would open to them.

“What does it mean that the windows of heaven will open?” Arvella asked.

“It means that Heavenly Father will bless us,” Mother said. “It says that we will receive such a great blessing that there won’t be room enough to receive it. I know that we need the Lord’s blessing now more than ever. I believe His promise.”

“I believe it, too,” Marcella said.

“Me too,” Arvella chimed in.

“Oh, you are good girls.” Mother pulled them close. “Let’s pray together, and then I am going to take this money straight to the bishop.”

The girls and Mother knelt. Mother asked Heavenly Father for a way to get more food for her little family and shoes for Marcella. After the prayer, they all wiped tears from their eyes. Then, with a smile, Mother said, “Let’s go pay our tithing, girls!”

They walked the short distance to the bishop’s house and gave him the tithing. Although her feet hurt, Marcella enjoyed the walk and the good feeling in her heart. She knew Heavenly Father would bless them.

As they approached their home, they saw Uncle Silas and Aunt Maud pulling up. Both girls ran to Uncle Silas, and he swung them high into the air.

“Hello, Sarah,” Aunt Maud said, giving Mother a quick hug. “We just came to see how you and the girls are doing.”

“Well,” Arvella said seriously, “Marcella’s shoes are too small, but we paid our tithing and it will be fine.”

“Arvella!” Her mother gave her a stern look. “We’re fine, Maud. How is your family?”

They all went into the house and chatted pleasantly. Marcella quickly took off her tight shoes and put them away. She noticed her aunt and uncle looking around the house carefully. Aunt Maud even opened a cupboard as she visited. Too soon, their visitors had to leave.

Later that afternoon, Marcella was surprised to hear a cart outside. It stopped at their home, and a delivery boy came to the door. “A delivery for Sarah Nelson,” he said.

“That’s my mother,” Marcella said.

“But I didn’t order anything,” Mother objected.

Suddenly Uncle Silas appeared in the doorway next to the boy. “It’s for you, Sarah,” he said gently. “You can put everything here on the table,” he directed the delivery boy.

The boy brought in bags of food. The girls danced around the table in delight. They hugged Uncle Silas, who quickly excused himself to go home. There was so much food! Sugar, beans, flour and cornmeal, cured meats and dried fruit—the cupboards would be full! Last of all, the delivery boy brought a small package wrapped in brown paper to the table.

After the delivery boy left, the girls approached the small package. What could be inside? First Marcella and then Arvella shook it. Then Marcella carefully pulled back the paper. Into her lap fell not one, but two pairs of shoes! Marcella picked up the largest pair and put them on. They fit perfectly, and she happily wiggled her toes in complete comfort.

Then she saw Arvella’s face. Her sister had picked up the second pair of shoes and was staring at them in delight. She looked at her mother in wonder. “I thought you said I didn’t need shoes, Mama,” she said questioningly.

“Your old shoes would do,” her mother said through her tears. “But when Heavenly Father opens the windows of heaven, you never know what might pour down.”

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Heavenly Father Hears Me

By Karine L. Maynard
Friend, Sep 2005, 19
(Based on an experience from the author’s family)

Counsel with the Lord in all thy doings, and he will direct thee for good (Alma 37:37).

Four-year-old Micalah had just finished scripture study with her family. They had been reading from Alma in the Book of Mormon about the Zoramites. Micalah had asked a lot of questions about how the wicked Zoramites each said the very same prayer, never really thinking about Heavenly Father or what they might want to say to Him.

After scriptures and family prayer, Micalah knelt by her mom at the side of her bed to say her own prayer to Heavenly Father. “Heavenly Father, please bless our family to be well, and please bless us to do good things. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.” It was the exact same prayer she said every night.

Mom didn’t get up right away. “Micalah,” she asked, “do you think that Heavenly Father listens to you when you pray?”

Micalah nodded her head earnestly.

“Do you think Heavenly Father wants to hear what you have in your heart? Or do you think He wants to hear you say the same prayer to Him every night without thinking about what you really want to tell Him?”

A small smile came over Micalah’s face, and her eyebrows went up. “You mean, like the Zoramites?”

Mom smiled back. “Only a little bit like them.”

Micalah thought hard, wrinkling her forehead. “I don’t want to pray like the Zoramites,” she said. “But how can I know what to say every time I pray?”

Mom put her arm around Micalah. “Well, before I start my prayer to Heavenly Father, I kneel down and I just think for a few minutes. I think about the things I did that day. I think about the things I’m thankful for. And I think about the problems I have that I need help with. Then I start my prayer.”

Micalah liked that idea. “I want to try again!” she announced.

Micalah and her mom knelt quietly beside each other for a few moments. Micalah thought about their trip to the park earlier that day to play and to feed the ducks. She thought of her grandma and her cousins who were visiting from out of town. She thought of celebrating Jesus’s Resurrection during Easter. She thought of many things, and then she began to pray. “Heavenly Father, thank Thee that we had fun at the park, and thank Thee for making such a beautiful earth. Thank Thee that Grandma Jolene and Julian and Lonnie are visiting. Thank Thee that Jesus died for us. Thank Thee that we were safe today, and please bless us always to be safe. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”

When she finished her prayer, Micalah felt warm and peaceful inside. Micalah knew what that feeling was—the Holy Ghost!

She kissed her mom good-night and snuggled down under her cozy blankets. She was smiling as she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep. She knew that Heavenly Father had heard her prayer and that He was happy she had spoken to Him from her heart.

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Seth’s Family Scripture Study

By Ana Nelson Shaw
Friend, Sep 2005, 33
(Based on experiences from the author’s family)

For I did liken all scriptures unto us, that it might be for our profit and learning
(1 Ne. 19:23).

Seth was confused when Mom and Dad announced that they were going to read the Book of Mormon as a family. He was only four, and his brother Caleb was two. They were too little to read. So how could they read as a family?

After Seth and Caleb climbed into bed that night in early autumn, Mom and Dad sat by the bedroom door with their scriptures open.

“This is just how my mom read the Book of Mormon to me when I was little,” Mom said. “There are no pictures for you to look at in this book. But you can imagine the pictures in your minds.”

Seth’s parents took turns reading. Sometimes they stopped to explain things. They read from the Book of Mormon every night. Some nights, Seth fell asleep before they finished reading. Caleb almost always did.

“That’s OK,” Dad said. “Just listen as long as you can, and enjoy the peaceful feeling.”

Seth did feel peaceful listening to the Book of Mormon, most nights. Other times, he didn’t feel like listening. Sometimes he interrupted with stories about preschool, or ideas he had for Halloween or Christmas or his birthday in February.

“Seth,” Dad said, “you can ask questions, but they have to be about the Book of Mormon.”

Seth wanted to talk. He didn’t want Mom and Dad to do all the talking. So he started to listen and tried to think of questions to ask. He started to imagine the pictures in his mind—Nephi building a boat, Lehi blessing his sons. Soon, he realized there really were things he wanted to know.

“Who is Satan?” he asked one night.

Mom and Dad closed their scriptures and explained how Satan was a son of Heavenly Father who would not obey. He was so angry at Heavenly Father he couldn’t live with Him anymore. Then he was so mad that he wanted everybody else to feel miserable like him.

“Satan wants us to make bad choices so that we’ll feel bad inside,” Dad explained. “Sometimes he will try to tempt you to do bad things. But you can tell him no. You can choose the right.” Seth felt strong, knowing that he could tell Satan no and follow Jesus instead.

A few months later, on a rainy winter night, Seth listened to the story of the Lamanites being taught by the great missionary, Ammon. The Lamanites buried their weapons and promised Heavenly Father that they wouldn’t fight anymore. Seth thought about how he sometimes argued with Caleb, who was already asleep in his bed. Suddenly, he had an idea.

“Dad,” he asked, “how can I make a promise to Heavenly Father?”

Dad stopped reading and looked up at Seth. “You can pray to Him and tell Him you want to do better,” he replied. “You can make a promise to Him anytime. And when you are eight, you’ll make a really big promise. That’s when you’ll be baptized, and promise to try to do what’s right for the rest of your life.”

“But I can still promise now?”

“Sure you can.”

One night, after Seth’s fifth birthday, Dad started reading the story of 2,000 young men, the stripling warriors, who decided to fight to defend their parents, the people of Ammon. As Mom began to read, her voice got quiet. When Seth looked over at her, she was crying.

“Why are you crying, Mom?” he asked.

“I started reading about these boys and how good they are, and how Heavenly Father took care of them. And I looked at you listening to the Book of Mormon, and I thought about how much you want to be good and make promises to Heavenly Father.”

“And you got sad?”

“No, I got happy! I think you are like the boys in this story. You are determined to do what is right! You will have hard battles in your life. Remember how Satan wants you to feel bad?” she asked. Seth did remember. “But you will fight against him, and Heavenly Father will take care of you, just like He took care of the boys in this story.”

They read about Jesus visiting the Nephites. Seth was very quiet as Dad read about Christ taking each little child in His arms and blessing him or her. Seth had a picture in his room of Jesus surrounded by little children. He could imagine himself right there, hugging Jesus and feeling His hands on his head blessing him, just like Dad blessed him when he was sick with the flu.

Seth was so quiet that Mom thought he was asleep. “Seth, are you awake?” she whispered.

“Yes. Keep reading,” Seth replied.

Near the end of the summer, Seth’s family had a special family home evening to read the last chapter of the Book of Mormon.

“I first read the Book of Mormon when I was getting ready to go on a mission,” Dad said. “The Holy Ghost told me it was true. But you boys are learning about the Book of Mormon while you are young. You can learn that it is true right now.”

Mom said that since they had been reading as a family, she felt happier in their home. “I’ve noticed Seth and Caleb are more obedient. And I don’t feel like yelling or scolding. I think the Book of Mormon has helped our family.”

Seth remembered the stories he had heard and the pictures he had imagined. He remembered the peace he felt as he went to sleep every night listening to Mom and Dad read. He remembered being able to imagine himself with Jesus. “I feel good about the Book of Mormon,” he said.

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The Lord’s Wind

By Elder John H. Groberg
Friend, Sep 2005, 41
(Adapted from “The Lord’s Wind,” Ensign, Nov. 1993, 26–28.)

Men should … do many things of their own free will, and bring to pass much righteousness (D&C 58:27).

As a young missionary, I was assigned to a group of seventeen small islands in the South Pacific. One day a member told us that if we would be at a certain harbor on a particular island when the sun set the next day, a family would meet us there and listen to the discussions.

What joy that news brought! It was like finding a piece of gold. I quickly found four other members who were experienced sailors who agreed to take me to this island the next day.

We made good progress for a few hours, but as the sun climbed higher and the boat got farther from land, the wind began to play out and soon quit altogether, leaving us bobbing aimlessly on a smooth ocean.

Time passed. The sun got higher, the sea calmer. Nothing moved. We soon realized that unless something changed, we would not arrive by sundown. I suggested that we pray and plead with the Lord to send some wind. I offered a prayer. When I finished, things seemed calmer than ever. We continued drifting.

I thought, “There is a family at the harbor that wants to hear the gospel. We are here in the middle of the ocean and want to teach them. The Lord controls the elements [weather]. All that stands between us and the family is a little wind. Why won’t He send it? It’s a righteous desire.”

As I was so wondering, I noticed [a] faithful older brother move to the rear of the boat. He unlashed the tiny lifeboat and carefully lowered it over the side.

He looked at me and softly said, “Get in. I am going to row you to shore, and we need to leave now to make it by sundown.”

I was dumbfounded [speechless]. It was miles to shore. The sun was hot, and this man was old.

The old man did not look up, rest, or talk, but hour after hour he rowed and rowed and rowed.

Just as the sun dipped into the ocean, the skiff [boat] touched the shore of the harbor. A family was waiting. The old man spoke for the first time in hours and said, “Go. Teach them the truth. I’ll wait here.”

I told the family, “When we exercise faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, we can do things we could not otherwise do. When our hearts are determined to do right, the Lord gives us the power to do so.”

The family believed and eventually was baptized.

How often do we not do more because we pray for wind and none comes? We pray for good things and they don’t seem to happen, so we sit and wait and do no more. We should always pray for help, but we should always listen for inspiration and impressions [promptings] to proceed in ways different from those we may have thought of. On the boat, five men prayed, but only one heard and acted. God does hear our prayers. God knows more than we do. We should never stop moving because we think our way is barred [blocked] or the only door we can go through is closed.

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No Matter What

By Heidi Lewis
Friend, Sep 2005, 42
(Based on an experience from the author’s family)

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

“Today is the worst day of my life!” Becky cried as she ran straight to her room. A few minutes later, Mom came in. “What happened at school today, Becky? What’s wrong?”

“Oh, Mom, it’s just horrible,” Becky said. “You know how hard I’ve been working on my community service project for school?”

“Yes. The children at the shelter will really appreciate the extra help with their homework and the used books you’ve been collecting,” Mom said.

Becky nodded. “Well, a little while ago I told Elisabeth about my project. She was having a hard time thinking of one, so I thought it would help her get her own idea. But today, when she presented her project, it was my project idea! I’m supposed to present mine tomorrow, and everyone will think I copied her!”

“I’m sorry, Becky. I bet you really feel bad.” Mom hugged Becky tightly.

“I feel worse than bad, Mom. I feel so mad. I thought she was my friend! How could she do this?”

“That is a hard question. What do you think?”

Becky frowned. “Sometimes it seems like it’s more important to get a good grade or have people think you are cool than to be honest. I don’t think Elisabeth even feels bad at all. Maybe I should copy someone else’s project, too. Or maybe I should embarrass Elisabeth in front of the whole school!”

“You wouldn’t really want to do that, would you, Becky?” Mom asked.

Becky buried her head under her pillow and moaned. “No.”

“Why?” Mom asked.

“In Primary we learned about the six Bs that President Hinckley taught. One of them was to be true. Sister MacArthur said that meant that we should have integrity—that we should do what’s right, no matter what,” Becky said.

“That’s right,” Mom said. “Integrity means you are incorruptible—that no one can make you do the wrong thing.”

“Nobody’s incorruptible, Mom!” Becky exclaimed.

“I don’t know about that, Becky. The scriptures teach us about some people who were. One of them was Job. Even though he lost his riches, his health, and even his family, he said, ’Till I die I will not remove mine integrity from me.’* His example showed that no matter what happens, you still have control over the way you respond.”

“Are there any other examples?” Becky asked.

“Well, yes. Helaman’s stripling warriors are known for their courage and strength, but did you know that the scriptures also say they were true at all times?**“

Becky sighed. “I want to be like that. But I still don’t know what to do about my project!”

“The answer may not be an easy one,” Mom said, “but if you ask, Heavenly Father will help you.”

That night and the next morning, Becky stayed a little longer on her knees in prayer. Even though she wasn’t sure what she was going to do, she had a calm, peaceful feeling inside.

When she arrived at school, she saw Elisabeth standing alone by the drinking fountain. Becky took a deep breath and walked toward her.

“Hi,” Elisabeth said uneasily.

“Hi. Can I talk to you about the service project?”

Elisabeth’s face turned red and her jaw tightened. At first she looked like she might run away, but after a minute she looked up at Becky. “Um, Becky, I’m sorry for copying your idea. My grandma is a school librarian, and she sent me a whole box of books that her school didn’t need anymore. I thought about how great the books would be for the kids at the shelter. I guess I just got carried away, and before I knew it, I turned it into my project.”

Becky had to admit that Elisabeth had brought in more books than she could ever have collected on her own.

“But now I don’t have a project,” Becky said. Just then, the bell rang.

“Maybe you still do,” Elisabeth said as she grabbed Becky’s arm and pulled her towards class.

Elisabeth started to cry a little when she told Mrs. Taramoto that she had copied Becky’s project. Becky thought it took a lot of courage to admit what she had done. Elisabeth said she had an idea how to help Becky with her presentation, so Mrs. Taramoto let them have a little extra time before lunch to make a plan.

Usually standing before a lot of people made Becky nervous, but this time she wasn’t very anxious at all. After she explained that she and Elisabeth were going to work together on their service project to create an entire library for the shelter and a homework tutoring center, several children came up to her and asked if they could sign up to be homework helpers or donate some books to the shelter library, too.

The following Sunday in Primary, Sister MacArthur asked the class to think of songs that could represent each one of President Hinckley’s six Bs. Becky and Elisabeth raised their hands at the same time. “Army of Helaman,” they both said. As she sang, Becky thought of the stripling warriors and how they worked together. She also thought of how they were true at all times. She smiled and sang a little louder. It felt good to know she could also be true, no matter what.

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A Letter to Grandma

By Ray Goldrup
Friend, Oct 2005, 4
(Based on experiences from the author’s family)

Remember the sabbath day, to keep it holy (Ex. 20:8).

When Aaron and his family got home from church, the seven-year-old boy asked his mom if he could go down the street and see his friend Toby’s new remote-controlled race car. Mom knelt to his level, looked deep into his eyes, and smiled affectionately. “Whose day is this, honey?”

“Well,” Aaron replied after giving her question some study, “I guess it’s the Lord’s day.”

“That’s right,” Mom answered. “What do you think the Savior would do today if He were here?”

Aaron wrinkled up his face as if trying to squeeze out the right answer. It worked. “He’d help people? Maybe visit someone who was sick … or lonely … or sad?”

Mom’s smile widened, but Aaron sighed unhappily. “I don’t know anybody like that, Mom.”

“I bet Heavenly Father does, honey. Why don’t you ask Him?”

Aaron spoke softly to himself, but his mother heard the words as he drifted toward the living room. “I’m just a little kid, anyway. How can I help anybody?”

When Aaron stepped into the living room he spied their dog, Nick, lying on the floor asleep. Aaron knelt beside the big dog, resting his head on Nick’s slowly rising and falling side. He closed his eyes and prayed, asking Heavenly Father to help him figure out who he could serve. When he opened his eyes, he found himself staring up at a picture of his Grandma McKillop hanging on the wall in a little patch of window light. Her husband, Grandpa Eugene, had died just a few months before, and Aaron’s father had told him that she was very lonely. “I wish we could go visit her today, Nick,” Aaron informed the sleeping dog. “But she lives far away from here, clear over in California.”

His eyes brightened. “I know,” he said, “maybe I could write her a letter.” And with Mom’s help, he did.

Dear Grandma,

Do the raccoons still bang on your sliding-glass door with their fists if you don’t put food out for them by five o’clock? I caught a big bug last week, Grandma. I let him go, and watched him walk down into the turnips. He walked kind of like a wind-up toy. I miss you, Grandma. I love you. And I even like your broccoli. Heavenly Father loves you too. Be happy, Grandma, and good luck with the raccoons. God will bless you for loving His creatures. As Dad says, “We’re all in this together.”

Love, Aaron

One afternoon about two weeks later, when Aaron returned home from school, his mother announced that he had received a letter from Grandma McKillop. Aaron beamed with surprise. “Grandma wrote me a letter?”

His mother laughed. “Unless there’s another Aaron at this address!”

“Can we read it together, Mom?” Aaron asked excitedly, setting his lunchbox on the kitchen table. “Just in case there are any words bigger than I am?”

Mom smiled and nodded, and they sat down together at the table. Aaron opened the letter and began reading, carefully sounding out the words.

My dear, precious grandson Aaron,

Your letter came unexpectedly on a day that was especially difficult for me. You see, I miss your grandpa so. Your heartfelt words lifted my spirits and gave me cause for joy. They were like a warm spray of sunlight on a dark, bleak afternoon. Your letter made my day. You’ll never know what a big difference it made. And yes, I am surviving the raccoons. We are the best of friends, you know. And they also like my broccoli!

All my love, Grandma McKillop

Aaron’s eyes lifted to his mother’s, shining with wonder and delight. “She said my letter made her day!”

Mom’s eyes shone back, and her chin quivered with emotion. “You see,” she said, her voice as shaky as her chin, “a child can help others and do good on the Sabbath day.”

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Christiana’s Treasure

By Diane K. Cahoon
Friend, Oct 2005, 10
(Based on experiences of the author’s ancestors)

Lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven (Matt. 6:20).

Christiana smiled as she counted the last of the coins. She carefully placed them in the small wooden box and closed the lid. “It is getting so heavy!” she thought as she slid the box into its hiding place under her bed. “Surely I am the richest girl in all of Denmark!” she exclaimed aloud.

Christiana Pedersen had been tending her father’s sheep for as long as she could remember, watching over them and keeping them safe from harm. She loved the green hills near her home in Oudrup in northern Denmark. She enjoyed spending her days in the open air with the gentle sheep.

Each time her father took the sheep to market or sheared their wool, he gave Christiana part of the money earned. Christiana always put her money into a special box, never spending any of it. Her father would put her on his knee and tease, “Whatever will you do with all that money? You are getting so much!”

“I will save it all,” Christiana would reply. “I don’t know why, but someday I will need it!” Her father would chuckle and shake his head. His daughter was so unlike all the other children her age who spent their coins as soon as they got them. He was proud of Christiana. What a good girl she was!

Christiana was about 20 years old when some men wearing dark suits and coats came to her little village. She heard them on the street corners, talking to passersby about the mysterious book they held in their hands. One day when Christiana and her mother were shopping in the village, they stopped to listen to the men. Christiana learned that they were missionaries from faraway America. They had come to share the restored gospel of Jesus Christ with the people of Denmark. The book was the Book of Mormon, the story of an ancient people who lived in the Americas. Part of the book recounted a visit of Jesus Christ to those people after His Resurrection.

Christiana’s family attended a church in her village, and she already knew about Jesus Christ from her study of the Bible. She had a warm feeling as she listened to the missionaries speak about the Savior. Her mother bought one of the books from the men and accepted a few tracts [pamphlets] that explained the beliefs taught by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Christiana’s father was angry when he heard that his wife and daughter had listened to the missionaries. He forbade them from joining “that American church.”

Her mother had a little wooden chest next to the bake oven where she placed the precious missionary tracts and the Book of Mormon. Christiana continued to read and study them. She was drawn to the sacred words and felt a growing testimony of their truthfulness, but she honored her father and did not meet with the missionaries nor join the Church.

At the age of 21, Christiana decided that she must follow the promptings of the Spirit and be baptized. Her father was furious! “I warn you, Christiana,” he shouted, “if you try to cross the ocean with those Mormons, you will surely be lost at sea. I will not help you with this foolishness.”

Christiana was not frightened by her father’s words; she had a strong testimony that the truth had been restored to the earth. Although she had to leave her home and family to join the Saints in Zion, she was baptized on October 25, 1856.

As Christiana counted the coins in her little treasure box, she knew why she had felt so strongly about saving all the money she had earned tending her father’s sheep. She had just enough to take her to join the Saints who were traveling west to the Great Salt Lake Valley. She was so grateful to her Heavenly Father. He had helped her to know that this money must be saved to help her obtain a treasure greater than all the money in the world—a testimony of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ and a place with His Saints.

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Helping Grandma

By Alison M. Palmer
Friend, Oct 2005, 18
(Based on experiences from the author’s family)

When we’re helping, we’re happy, … and we like to help grandma, for we all love her so (Children’s Songbook, 198).

Julie could see her grandmother sitting in bed. Mom and Dad said that Grandma had to live with them. She was sick and needed their help to get better. But Julie didn’t like seeing Grandma sick.

She remembered that her grandmother used to be a happy person. Every time Julie would visit, Grandma would make a treat. They would take long walks, dance and sing, and play together. Now, Julie’s house smelled funny and Grandma didn’t walk or sing. She hardly ate. She was sad. It scared Julie. She didn’t know what to do. Mom and Dad helped Grandma a lot, but Julie just watched. Sometimes she even felt sad because nobody seemed to have time for her anymore.

Julie had been talking to Heavenly Father every day in her prayers. She told Him how scared and sad she felt. She asked Him to bless Grandma. She asked Him to bless her too. Julie wanted to help Grandma, but she didn’t know how.

One day while she and Mother were shopping, Julie saw something. It was high on the shelf, but she had a feeling that she should take a closer look. She asked her mother if she could see the toy dish set. When it was handed to her, Julie felt a warm peace.

The dishes were beautiful. They were shiny and pink. Julie was excited to share them with Grandma. Pink was Grandma’s favorite color!

It took Julie two weeks to earn the money to buy the dish set. On the day she brought it home, she started her plan.

First, she went to her room to make an invitation for Grandma. She drew flowers and birds and hearts all over the paper. Then she asked Mother to write the words “You’re Invited” on the outside. Inside Mother wrote, “To a party in your room at one o’clock today.”

Julie took the note to her grandmother. It felt good to see Grandma smile when she read it.

At one o’clock Julie carried a tray into Grandma’s room. She set it over her lap. Then she climbed onto the bed and sat beside Grandma. Julie poured Grandma some juice. She offered Grandma toast and jam, apple slices, cubes of cheese, and cookies. Together, they had a party.

Grandma talked and smiled. She ate the food Julie served her on little pink plates and sipped juice from a shiny pink cup. When it was over, Grandma thanked her. She patted Julie’s hand and said, “Let’s have a party again soon!” Julie hugged her and promised that they would.

The feeling of happiness and peace stayed with Julie all afternoon. She had made Grandma happy. And Julie felt happy too. Heavenly Father had listened to her prayers and helped her find just the right thing to do.

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What Is the Truth?

By Vicki H. Budge
Friend, Oct 2005, 28
(Based on an experience of the author’s son)

Be thou an example of the believers
(1 Tim. 4:12).

“Hey, do you see what I see?” Jonathan whispered to his three buddies. “I sure do,” Brian answered. “Looks like trouble to me. Let’s get out of here!”

Jonathan and his friends were at a band competition at a school across the city. Their band had already performed, and now Jonathan and his friends were walking through the school because they were tired of sitting around. They had walked down a hall between the school’s gymnasium and empty classrooms. They had turned a corner and found themselves in the gym entrance. At the far end of the huge room, a bunch of boys appeared to be writing or spraying something on the walls.

Jonathan and his friends turned abruptly and headed back around the corner, but not before they were noticed.

“Hey, you! Come back here!” someone yelled.

Jonathan and Brian took off running with Todd and Jackson in hot pursuit.

“Let’s get them!” someone yelled, and the sound of running feet drumming across the gym floor spurred the friends on faster still.

As he ran, Jonathan noticed a boys’ bathroom door.

“Quick! Let’s hide in here!” he yelled, sliding to a stop and pushing open the door.

All four boys crowded in, pushed the door shut, and stood silently in a small entry room. The only noise for a few moments was their heavy breathing.

Suddenly there was a commotion outside, and someone tried to push the door open. Jonathan and Brian pushed it shut again.

“Hey! They’re in here!” someone yelled.

There was a burst of energy from those outside trying to shove the door open. There was an equal burst inside trying to keep it shut. Jonathan and Brian slumped down on the floor, leaning their shoulders against the wall and pushing against the door with their feet. Todd pushed a trash can against the door, and braced himself between the can and the wall. Jackson braced his feet against the wall and pushed against the door with his back.

The commotion outside the bathroom got louder. The door would burst open an inch or two each time someone’s body slammed into it. Someone else was banging on the door with a hard object. Jonathan could not believe what was happening. He had looked forward to the excitement of this day for weeks, but he hadn’t wanted this kind of excitement.

As quickly as the whole thing had started, it ended. The yelling stopped. There was no more shoving or pounding on the door. Something must have frightened the attackers away. Jonathan and his friends waited a long time before they dared crack open the door to take a look around. No one was in sight. They slowly emerged from the restroom and found that the door was scratched and gouged.

“Let’s get out of here!” Todd said, looking around nervously.

The boys took off for the school cafeteria where the bands were performing. As they took a shortcut through the gym, a couple of older girls walked by them and said hi.

Jonathan and his friends sat at the back of the cafeteria and tried to make sense out of what had happened. They listened to another band play and debated what to do. Jonathan and Brian thought they should find their band teacher and tell him everything. Todd and Jackson insisted they shouldn’t tell anyone, because they might get accused of the damage. They didn’t have to argue for long. Mr. Jolstead, their bandleader, was striding toward them with a serious look on his face.

“Boys, I want to talk to you. Follow me outside.”

Before Mr. Jolstead had a chance to say another word, Brian jumped in and told him the whole story exactly as it had happened. Mr. Jolstead shook his head and frowned. “That’s not the story I’m hearing from the principal of this school. A couple of girls saw you boys come out of the gymnasium right after all the damage was done. They pointed you out to the principal. No one else was seen around there, and the principal is blaming you. He wants restitution for the damages, and I want to know—what is the truth?”

All four boys started to talk at once.

“Stop right there!” Mr. Jolstead put his hands up to indicate silence. He took a deep breath and looked at each boy slowly, eye to eye.

After what seemed like a long time, he turned to Jonathan. Mr. Jolstead was not a member of the Church, but his son was a member of Jonathan’s Scout troop. “Jonathan,” he said. “I know you are a Boy Scout and a Mormon. I want you to tell me the truth. What happened in there?”

A lot of questions flashed through Jonathan’s mind before he answered. Why didn’t Mr. Jolstead say that Brian’s family were important business people in the community and he wanted Brian to tell him the truth? Why didn’t he say that Todd’s parents were well-known teachers at their school and he wanted Todd to tell him the truth? Why didn’t he say that Jackson was an honor student and he wanted Jackson to tell him the truth? Why did he single out Jonathan? “Does he really trust me just because I’m a Boy Scout and a member of the Church?” he wondered.

Jonathan looked straight into Mr. Jolstead’s eyes. “It happened just like Brian told you,” he said. “And that is the truth.”

Mr. Jolstead finally smiled. “All right. I believe you,” he replied. “Let’s go talk to the principal.”

Jonathan’s band didn’t win that day, but, in a way, Jonathan did. He realized how much people respect members of the Church. He realized how closely people watch what members say and do. He knew one thing for sure—he would follow the Savior’s teachings more carefully than ever.

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Hero

By Kimberly Webb
Friend, Oct 2005, 41
(Based on a personal experience)

The Spirit speaketh the truth and lieth not. Wherefore, it speaketh of things as they really are (Jacob 4:13).

“Come over after school,” Caroline said. “I have the new CD by Alisha.” (Singer’s name has been changed.)

I gasped. “OK!” Even though Grandma was taking me shopping for my birthday on Saturday, I couldn’t wait that long. I was desperate to hear the new CD right away.

Alisha was my hero. Caroline and I pretended to be her, holding hairbrushes like microphones and singing along with her music. Sometimes Mom asked us to keep it down, but she didn’t mind our noise that much because Alisha’s lyrics were so good. Alisha was religious—I had read it in a magazine.

After school I hurried to my room and finished my homework. Alisha’s smile beamed down at me from the poster tacked above my desk.

When I finally bounded across the street to Caroline’s house, she handed me the CD cover and bubbled, “Isn’t she so pretty?”

I nodded, but my stomach felt funny. Alisha wasn’t smiling this time; her expression was more like a sneer. And I had never seen a photo of her dressed like that.

“Don’t you think her outfit is a little immodest?” I asked.

Caroline frowned. “Yeah, but maybe her church doesn’t care about stuff like that. She probably doesn’t know any better. Now listen—this is my favorite song.” She pushed the play button as I skimmed the lyrics printed in the CD jacket. I felt relieved that there weren’t any swear words.

“See? This CD is fine,” I told myself. But a dull feeling followed me home that night.

On Saturday morning I watched cartoons, waiting for Grandma to pick me up for our shopping trip. During a commercial, an announcer said that Alisha’s new music video would be shown at the end of the program!

Mom came into the family room just as the music started. “What are you watching?” She smiled and sat down.

“It’s the new Alisha video.” I tried to sound casual.

Mom’s smile disappeared as she watched Alisha dance across the screen. She looked at me and raised her eyebrows.

I squirmed. “Just because she’s wearing that outfit doesn’t mean the song is bad.”

“Are you sure?”

I wished the video would hurry and end, but it kept going. Finally I switched the TV off. Mom was silent, watching me.

“I read the lyrics,” I mumbled. “There weren’t any swear words.”

She pointed at the darkened TV screen. “But Alisha is still sending a message. You don’t have to say bad words to drive away the Spirit.”

A feeling inside told me that Mom was right. Maybe I didn’t understand what Alisha was suggesting, but the Holy Ghost knew—and His influence had left.

I trudged to my room and looked at my poster of grinning Alisha. I didn’t grin back. Why had my hero changed?

A car honked in the driveway, so I swallowed the lump rising in my throat and ran outside.

“Hi, birthday girl,” Grandma greeted me as I climbed into her van. “Where to?”

All week my decision had been made, but now I wasn’t sure. “Let me think for a second.”

Caroline’s words about Alisha popped into my head: “She probably doesn’t know any better.” It had sounded like a good excuse, but now I knew why it wasn’t—because I knew better!

The dark feeling melted away as I realized something important. I was a daughter of God, and I didn’t need another hero. Why should I admire someone who didn’t even know who she was? “I should be Alisha’shero,” I thought with a giggle. Grandma gave me a questioning look.

“Can we go to a clothes store?” I asked. “I’ve almost outgrown my favorite blue church dress.”

“Good idea. You look really pretty in blue.”

I smiled. I looked pretty with the Spirit glowing inside too—prettier than a famous pop star could ever be.

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Soccer Dad

By Nettie Hunsaker Francis
Friend, Oct 2005, 47
(Based on an experience from the author’s family)

For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power (2 Tim. 1:7).

“Hi, Tommy,” Mom said as Tommy walked in the door and dropped his backpack on the floor.

“Hi, Mom. Guess what?” Tommy opened his backpack and took out a piece of paper. “Soccer sign-ups are this week!” Excitedly, he handed Mom the paper and watched as she read it.

“It says the city leagues are forming, and any interested boys should meet at the park this Saturday.” Mom looked up at Tommy. “What do you think? Do you want to play soccer this season?”

“I really want to,” Tommy said, “but my other friends have been playing for a couple of years, and I might not be a very good player. What if I make a mistake and our team loses a game?”

“Winning isn’t everything,” Mom said. “Having the courage to try, even if you’re scared, is more important. I think you should try.”

Later that evening as the family was sitting around the dinner table, Tommy told Dad about the soccer sign-ups.

“Are you going to play this year?” Dad asked.

“Mom says I should have the courage to try,” Tommy said.

“That’s right!” Dad said. “Having courage is more important than winning. Remember in family home evening when we talked about Nephi building a boat? He had the courage to try something new. Without Nephi’s courage, his family would never have made it to the promised land.”

Tommy sat silently for a few moments. “Dad, will you go with me on Saturday to the soccer meeting?”

“Sure.” Dad smiled. “I’ll give you an extra boost of courage.”

The rest of the week went by quickly, and soon it was Saturday morning. Tommy and his dad sat on the bleachers at the park with the rest of the boys who wanted to play soccer. Some of them had brought their parents along too.

After dividing everyone into teams according to where they lived, the man in charge spoke to each group and asked them to choose a coach. Tommy and his dad looked around at the other parents in their group. They were all shaking their heads.

“I’m too busy,” one dad said.

“I work on the weekends,” said another parent.

Soon the man in charge stood in front of Tommy’s group.

“We still need a coach here,” he said. He waited a moment, but nobody raised a hand. “Without a coach, you can’t form a team,” the man repeated. Everyone was silent.

Tommy pulled on his dad’s sleeve. “You could coach our team!” he whispered.

“No, not me,” Dad said. “I’ve never played soccer. I don’t know anything about the game.”

“But without a coach, we can’t play!” Tommy insisted. “C’mon, Dad, you’d do a great job.”

“I don’t know,” Dad said. “I can barely even recognize a soccer ball!” They sat in silence a few more moments. Still, no one offered to coach the team.

Tommy leaned over to whisper to his dad again. “Remember, having courage is more important than winning.”

His dad’s brow furrowed as he thought for a moment. Then he slowly raised his hand. “I’ll coach the team,” he said quietly.

“Hooray!” The other boys cheered as they jumped up. “We can play soccer!”

Tommy grabbed his dad’s hand. “I’ll be with you at every practice and every game, Dad,” he said. “And I’ll give you an extra boost of courage!”

Even though the team had a great time that season, they never won a game—and only scored one goal. The details of their soccer games are now forgotten, but the lesson Tommy and his dad learned about having the courage to try will last a lifetime.

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Getting to Know Nicole

By Docena Maria Holm
Friend, Nov 2005, 5
(Based on a true story)

[Remember] without ceasing your work of faith, and labour of love, and patience of hope (1 Thes. 1:3).

Ashlie played in the backyard sprinklers with her new neighbor, Nicole. They screamed with delight, splashing each other in the cool water.

Ashlie stamped her wet footprint onto the porch. “I’m glad you moved in yesterday,” she said.

“Me too.” Nicole stamped her footprint next to Ashlie’s.

“Look, the same size!” Ashlie said.

Ashlie wanted to give Nicole something great, something for a new friend. She went inside to ask Mom about her idea.

“Can I give Nicole my Book of Mormon?”

“Don’t you think you should get to know her first?” Mom asked.

“But Mom, I do know her,” Ashlie said.

When it was time for Nicole to go home, Ashlie handed her a blue Book of Mormon. “I want you to have this. It’s a book about our church.”

“Thanks,” Nicole said.

But later that week, Nicole rang Ashlie’s doorbell and thrust the Book of Mormon at her. “My mom says I can’t have this. She says Mormons go to too much church.”

With tears puddling in her eyes, Ashlie showed Mom the Book of Mormon. “Maybe Nicole doesn’t want to be my friend anymore.”

“I’m sorry, Ashlie.” Mom hugged her tight. “Sometimes becoming friends takes time. In the Book of Mormon, a missionary named Ammon wanted to teach the people of Lamoni about Jesus Christ. But he decided to get to know them first by serving them.”

Ashlie wiped her eyes. She remembered how Ammon had helped guard the king’s sheep and prepare his horses and chariots.

“Because Ammon served King Lamoni and showed him love, he was able to share the gospel with the king and his people,” Mom said.

Ashlie smiled. “Maybe I can still be Nicole’s friend.”

“And we can pray as a family to be missionaries to Nicole’s family,” Mom added.

Over the next few months, Ashlie prayed for Nicole and got to know her better. They played at school and on the weekends, and they exchanged treats on holidays.

One Saturday after Christmas, Nicole and Ashlie were playing when Mom stuck her head into Ashlie’s room. “Nicole, your mom is here. It’s time for you to go home.” Mom motioned for Ashlie to come into the hall. “You could invite Nicole to church with us tomorrow,” she suggested.

“What if she doesn’t want to come?” Ashlie asked. “What if her mom says no?”

Mom squeezed Ashlie’s arm. “You don’t know until you ask. If she says yes, I’ll ask her mom.”

Ashlie went back into her room and started cleaning up.

“Maybe you could play at my house tomorrow,” Nicole said.

“I don’t play with friends on Sunday because we go to church and do family things,” Ashlie said. “But you could come to church with us.”

“OK!”

Ashlie walked Nicole to the door and tugged on Mom’s hand. “Nicole said yes,” she whispered.

Mom smiled and asked Nicole’s mom if Nicole and her older brother Devin could come to church.

“Well, are you sure that’s not a problem?” Nicole’s mom asked.

“We would be happy to take them,” Mom said.

Nicole’s mom smiled. “All right. What time?”

Just before it was time to leave for church the next day, Devin and Nicole came over dressed in Sunday clothes. After Primary, Nicole linked arms with Ashlie and said, “I liked the singing and lesson time the best.”

A few weeks later, Nicole came to church again. A Primary activity was announced.

“Do you want to come?” Ashlie asked.

“Yes,” Nicole said, “but I’ll have to ask my mom.”

All week Ashlie waited, but Nicole didn’t say anything about it. On Saturday morning, Mom handed Ashlie her jacket. “Go get in the van. We’re going to be late.”

“But what about Nicole?” Ashlie said. “Can I go see if she can come?”

“Sure, but hurry,” Mom said.

Nicole answered the door in her pajamas.

“Do you want to come to our Primary activity?” Ashlie asked.

“Yes. Just a minute!” Nicole shut the door, and when it finally opened again she and Devin both came out dressed and smiling.

Soon Devin started attending church with a friend he had met at the Primary activity. Nicole kept coming with Ashlie.

“Do all of you have your scriptures?” Mom asked one Sunday morning before they headed to church. Everyone said yes except for Nicole. “Would you like a Book of Mormon?” Mom asked.

Nicole nodded yes.

Ashlie was worried that Nicole would give it back, like last time.

That evening, there was a knock at the door. Devin and Nicole stood on the porch, Nicole holding her copy of the Book of Mormon.

Ashlie’s stomach flopped.

But then Devin smiled and said, “Can I have a book too? My mom says it’s OK.”

After Nicole and Devin left, Mom said, “Ashlie, you’ve been a great missionary!”

Ashlie smiled. “That’s because I got to know them first.”

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Thankful for the Prophet

By Meghan Decker
Friend, Nov 2005, 17
(Based on a true story)

Keep the commandments! In this there is safety; in this there is peace (Children’s Songbook, 146–147).

Lindy burst through the front door. “Mom, I’m home! No more school for the rest of the week, and tomorrow is Thanksgiving!”

Mom smiled and gave her a big hug. That’s when Lindy noticed Dad and her older sisters sitting in the family room.

“Hi, Dad,” Lindy said. “Are you home early because of the holiday?”

“No, sweetheart. Come here and give me a hug, and then I’ll tell you all my news.” Dad smiled calmly. “I lost my job today. I know that’s a little scary, but I’ve already started to work on finding a new one. It may take a while, so we have to be patient and trust in the Lord.”

Lindy’s oldest sister Rebekah started to cry. “Will we have to move?” she asked through her tears.

“I’m going to try to find a new job here first,” Dad said.

“But even if we do end up having to move, remember the last time we moved?” Mom said. “We found great friends and activities here that we didn’t have before. The most important thing is that we go where the Lord wants us to go.”

“That’s right,” Dad said. “We’ll pray for the Lord to guide us, and we can talk about our choices as a family. I think right now the best thing we can do is have a family prayer.”

During the prayer Lindy felt a little better, but she was still scared. She thought a lot about her school, friends, neighborhood, and home.

The next day family and friends came over for Thanksgiving dinner. Most of the adults told Dad they would talk to people at work and see if there were jobs available. Lindy felt good to know there were so many people who cared about them and wanted to help, but she was still worried.

After their guests left, Lindy asked Dad if she could talk to him for a minute. “Are we going to have to leave our house since we don’t have any more money to pay for it?”

“Oh, Lindy,” Dad said, “you don’t have to worry about that. We have money put aside so we can pay for our house until I get a new job.”

A few days later, Lindy went into the room where Mom was ironing clothes. “Mom, you know how we’ve been eating leftovers every night? Well, I was just wondering if that was because … well, because Dad’s not working now.”

“You mean you wonder if we can’t go to the store to buy new food?”

Lindy nodded, looking at the ground.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Mom said, “we have money for food. We just have lots of leftovers from Thanksgiving dinner. Don’t worry—we will have money for food until Dad gets a new job.”

That night both Mom and Dad came to tuck Lindy into bed. “Lindy, how are you feeling now? Are you still worried?” Mom asked.

“I don’t know. My stomach feels sort of sick. It just feels strange.”

“Lindy, we don’t want you to worry about anything,” Dad said. “Do you remember our food storage in the basement?”

Lindy nodded.

“We have that because we obeyed the prophet when he told us to be prepared. And he didn’t just tell us to prepare by storing food—he told us to get a good education, put money into savings, and prepare spiritually to feel the Lord’s direction in our lives. We have tried hard to do all those things, so we’re prepared for a time like this.”

Lindy looked up at her dad. “Did the prophet really say all those things?”

Mom nodded. “When the prophet warned us to put our houses in order, Dad and I decided to follow his counsel. We don’t spend all the money Dad gets paid. We save some of the money every month for an emergency like this. We haven’t borrowed money to buy things we can’t afford.”

“So here’s our emergency, and we’re ready because we obeyed the prophet,” Dad said. He smiled. “Now we need to listen to the Spirit and trust in the Lord to keep guiding us.”

For the first time, Lindy started to relax. Her stomach didn’t feel strange anymore. She remembered the family home evening they’d had a few weeks before Thanksgiving, when they had talked about things they were grateful for. Even though a sad thing had happened since then, she was even more grateful!

“Dad and Mom, I didn’t really think about how the prophet helps us until now,” she said. “I’m glad you listened to him. I’m not going to worry anymore.”

Dad tucked Lindy’s blankets around her, and Mom sang to her while she snuggled into her bed. She fell asleep hoping it would snow so she and her sisters could build a snowman.

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A Wonderful Secret

By Linda G. Paulsen
Friend, Nov 2005, 41
(Based on a true story)

The song of the righteous is a prayer unto me (D&C 25:12).

On Linda’s fifth birthday, her daddy brought home a swing set and put it up in the backyard. She could hardly wait for him to bolt all the parts together and hang the seats from the top pole. Swinging was Linda’s favorite playground activity, and now she could swing as often as she wanted. That was important because Linda’s mom was really sick and could not take her to the park or schoolyard much anymore. Linda had no brothers or sisters yet, and there were no neighbor children her age, so she often had to play by herself.

Mom had always been Linda’s best friend. They took walks, read stories, and visited the library together. They drew pictures and sewed clothes for Linda’s dolls. Linda helped Mom do the household chores and weed the garden. She went with her to quilting parties and the grocery store. But not lately. Now Mom spent almost all day in bed. Sometimes Linda sat quietly on her stool beside Mom’s bed while Mom told her stories. Mostly though, Linda found things to do on her own. She felt lonely and a little scared.

Dad usually fixed dinner after he got home from work. One day as Linda helped set the table, he said, “You know that your mom is really sick, Linda.”

“Yes,” she said, wondering what was coming next. Dad looked so tired and worried.

“Well,” he said, taking a deep breath, “your mom has to have an operation.” Dad went on to explain that while Mom was in the hospital, Linda would stay with Sister Beckstram during the day, and Dad would bring her home at night. Mom would be in the hospital for several days.

“Will she be all better then?” Linda asked.

Dad took another big breath. “I don’t know,” he said. “We all hope so. I will give Mom a priesthood blessing before she goes to the hospital. We can both pray for her too. I don’t know yet what Heavenly Father plans for your mom. We have to trust Him to know what’s best.”

Linda felt scared. She realized that Mom might die. It was a hard thing to think about.

That evening Linda went out to her swing set. Maybe swinging would help her feel better. Back and forth she went, pumping her legs until she was swinging as high as she could go. It didn’t help. She was still scared.

A few days later, Mom went to the hospital. She hugged Linda before she got into the car. “It will be all right,” Mom said, kissing Linda’s cheek. “We need to have faith.”

It was a very long day. By the time Dad picked Linda up that night, it seemed as if a week had passed. While Dad fixed dinner, Linda went out to her swing set. She sat, rocking a little, but didn’t really feel like swinging. As she sat there, a clear, strong thought came into her mind—“Sing Primary songs while you swing.”

Linda pushed off and started to swing. As she pumped, she sang “I Am a Child of God.” The big, heavy feeling she had carried around all day seemed to melt away. She sang “I Have a Garden” and “Teach Me to Walk in the Light.” Then she sang “I Am a Child of God” again—all the verses. It was amazing! Linda felt GOOD! The scared feeling was gone. It was as if she could feel Heavenly Father singing with her. There was comfort and peace. Linda knew that her mom would be all right. She knew it. She sang and sang and sang.

Mom had to have many more operations, and Linda often felt scared. With each operation she was afraid that this time Mom would die. But whenever she was worried, Linda remembered the secret she had learned on her swing set. She tried it again and again, and it worked every time. She soon discovered that she really didn’t have to swing; just singing the songs of the gospel gave her peace. As she got older, she learned more songs. She could sing for a long time without repeating herself. She just kept singing until the scared feeling went away.

Years later, Linda discovered a wonderful scripture in the Doctrine and Covenants: “For my soul delighteth in the song of the heart; yea, the song of the righteous is a prayer unto me, and it shall be answered with a blessing upon their heads” (D&C 25:12).

“That’s exactly what happened to me,” Linda thought. “My songs were prayers, and Heavenly Father always answered them while I was still singing.” Still later, she realized that it had been the Holy Ghost who first whispered the idea of singing to her as she sat on her swing so sad and scared. What a wonderful secret He shared with her—a secret Linda has never forgotten.

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Andrew’s Missionary

By Robin Haynes Bloomfield
Friend, Nov 2005, 46
(Based on a true story)

Send forth the elders of my church unto the nations which are afar off (D&C 133:8).

Ben smiled down at the newborn baby in the hospital bassinet. Although he had sisters, he had been waiting nearly 12 years for a brother, and it was worth the wait. He picked Andrew up and cuddled him. “He’s so cute,” Ben whispered.

As Andrew grew, Ben always made time for his younger brother. After school they’d wrestle or play ball. Ben played on the school basketball team, and Andrew was his biggest fan. Ben coached Andrew’s basketball team. They called each other “Bro.” “Bro, come watch me ride my bike,” Andrew would call from the garage door.

“Be there in a second, Bro,” Ben would answer.

One of their favorite games started when Andrew was two years old. Ben would say, “I love you,” and Andrew would reply, “I love you more!” Back and forth they went, each trying to outdo the other. “I love you to the sky.” “I love you a zillion.” “I love you infinity.” Finally it was settled that “I love you the most over forever” was the absolute most you could love anyone. Whoever said that first was the winner.

Years passed, and one day a big white envelope arrived. It was Ben’s mission call! In three months he would be leaving. The family studied maps, went shopping for clothes, and bought luggage. Ben got shots and filled out papers. He had his picture taken for his passport and for the plaque on the bishop’s wall. Andrew became sadder and sadder. A couple of times he cried.

One Wednesday night Andrew went with Mom to drop his sisters off at the church for Mutual. His sister Katie said, “I can’t believe Ben will be on his mission in just three weeks!”

Andrew and Mom returned home with tears rolling down their faces. Mom sat down on the couch and put Andrew on her lap. They both cried and cried.

“I’m going to miss him so much,” Andrew sobbed. “He’s my best friend and my only brother. Besides, no one else knows how to pitch to me just right.”

Mom and Andrew talked about what a wonderful son and brother Ben was and how much they would miss him. They decided to kneel and pray for comfort. During the prayer Heavenly Father’s Spirit gave them peace. They realized that Ben would be an even better son and brother from serving the Lord. Andrew thought about how much he loved Heavenly Father. Although it was a hard thing, he wanted his brother to be a missionary and help families in Argentina.

For the next three weeks Andrew tried to be happy. Ben went to the temple and spoke in church. Suitcases were packed. The night before Ben was to leave, the stake president came over and set him apart as a full-time missionary. The stake president asked Andrew to bear his testimony. Andrew told everyone that he knew the Church was true and he wanted his brother to serve a mission. Then they ate hot cinnamon twists. Andrew called that last day “the day he wanted to never end.”

Early the next morning they all drove to the airport and flew to Salt Lake City, Utah. Then they rented a car and drove to the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah. Just a few miles from the center, Andrew’s tears started to drip, but he wiped them away and kept smiling. They unloaded Ben’s luggage in front of the training center and went into a big meeting room where there were hymns and prayers and brief talks. Andrew tried to be brave, but he could not keep the tears away. He sat on Ben’s lap until the mission president said it was time for the new missionaries to walk out one door and the families to walk out another. The “bros” hugged and cried and hugged some more. With tears and big smiles, they each walked out the right door.

Andrew wanted to be brave, but he cried all the way to the car. He called it a happy/sad day. He was happy because it was a good thing for Ben to do and sad because he would miss him so much. Mom and Dad reminded Andrew that because he had faith in Jesus Christ, his heart would soon feel better. Daddy quoted the words Jesus used to comfort His Twelve Apostles before leaving them. “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid” (John 14:27).

As they drove away, Andrew called out from the backseat, “Bye, Bro, love you!” There was silence for a minute. Then, in a deeper, faraway voice, Andrew answered himself with a playful grin. “Bye, Andrew, love you the most over forever!”

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Kenny’s Christmas

By Steve Connolly
Friend, Dec 2005, 5
(Based on a true story)

He that hath two coats, let him impart to him that hath none (Luke 3:11).

One day as Christmastime approached, my parents announced that we were going to a drive-in movie. For a seven-year-old, this was very good news, but I thought I could make it even better.

“Can Kenny come too?” I asked. Kenny was my age and lived next door.

Dad smiled. “Of course, if it’s OK with his parents.”

I grew up in a small house in a small town. Mom and Dad often talked about struggling to get by on a teacher’s salary, but we must have been wealthy compared to Kenny’s family. When I invited him that afternoon, he was overjoyed. I could tell that he seldom got to see a movie.

That night we drove up in front of Kenny’s house in our station wagon. When Dad honked the horn, Kenny came running out carrying a brown lunch bag spotted with grease stains.

“What’s in the bag?” I asked.

Kenny smiled shyly. “Some snacks for the movie.”

“What kind of snacks?”

“Oh, just some fried calf liver that my mom cooked up.”

“Wow!” I said. “I’ll trade you some popcorn for some of your liver.” I knew that Kenny couldn’t afford to buy popcorn, but I wasn’t just being nice. Liver was my favorite food.

December soon brought lights and carols and secret shopping. The whole world felt alive and full of wonder. Finally, after an endless wait, the best moment of the year arrived—Christmas morning!

We awoke early, as usual, and had all the presents opened before 6:00 a.m. I got several brand-new racing cars and a new track to go with them. I also got a “supercharger” that would shoot the cars down the track at an astonishing speed. “This is the best Christmas ever!” I exclaimed.

I couldn’t wait to tell Kenny about my presents. I rushed over to his house and pounded on the door. When he opened it, I blurted out, “What did you get from Santa Claus?”

“Santa brought me this new pair of pants and this shirt for school.”

“Neat,” I said. “What cool toys did you get?”

“I didn’t get any toys this year.” He was still smiling.

I stood there speechless for seconds that felt like minutes. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to feel. I don’t remember what I did or said next, but I know I didn’t mention my gifts.

When I got home, I must have looked sad. “What’s wrong?” Mom asked.

“Kenny didn’t get a single toy for Christmas.” I felt like I was sharing a tragedy.

Mom thought for a few moments, then asked a question that changed my life: “What if you were to take a couple of your new racing cars and wrap them up for Kenny?”

An hour earlier, her idea would have sounded crazy. Now it was a lifeline in a storm, and I grabbed it. I carefully chose two of my best cars and wrapped them. I wrote on a small card, “Merry Christmas, Kenny! From Steve.”

When Kenny unwrapped the gifts, his eyes lit up, and my heart grew bigger than my chest. We played with our racing cars all Christmas afternoon.

“How do you feel?” Mom asked that evening.

“Good,” I replied. “Great” would have been more like it.

I often think back on all the special Christmases I enjoyed growing up. I treasure every one of them and appreciate every gift I received—my first shiny new bike, the magnificent pump-action BB gun, and all the rest. But no Christmas gift could ever come close to the one Mom gave me by suggesting that I give away a couple of toy cars. Every time I think of that experience, all is calm, all is bright.

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Joseph Smith:
Loving Friend of Children

By Patricia R. Jones
Friend, Dec 2005, 11
(Based on historical sources from the life of Margarette McIntire Burgess)

Children are an heritage of the Lord (Ps. 127:3).

“Poor little Margarette has a very bad sore throat,” Margarette’s mother told a visitor. Hearing her mother talking about her, Margarette hurried to the bedroom door to see the Prophet Joseph Smith standing there.

He called Margarette to him and examined her throat. Concluding that it was very bad, he took her on his lap and gave her a blessing.

Immediately, Margarette felt healed. She was very grateful that the Prophet would give her such a blessing—after all, she was only a child. Why should he worry about her? She wondered about it for several days.

“Why did the Prophet bother with me?” she finally asked Mother. “I’m just a little girl. I’m nobody special.”

Mother set aside the bread dough she was kneading and wiped her hands on her apron. “My sweet child, the Prophet Joseph is a loving friend of all children. He believes as the Lord said in the gospel of Matthew: ‘Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.’*“

“What does that mean?” Margarette asked.

“It means that when we serve others, it is the same as serving the Lord,” Mother explained. “I won’t be surprised if you find that the Prophet helps you again,” she added with a wink.

A few days later, Margarette and her older brother, Wallace, set out for school. It had been raining, and the ground was slippery and muddy, especially along the street by the Prophet Joseph’s Red Brick Store. As the two children hurried along their way, they got stuck in the mud. Although they tried to get out by wrapping their arms beneath their legs to lift their feet, it was no use.

“Oh, what shall we do?” cried Margarette. She remembered seeing wagons stuck in the mud, and sometimes they were left until the ground became drier. Margarette feared that she and her brother would have to stay where they were until the ground dried up and they could walk out on their own.

Wallace let out a loud wail. Seeing her brother’s fear, Margarette joined him with cries of her own. But looking up, she saw the loving friend of children, the Prophet Joseph, walking toward them. He lifted them out of the mud, wiped off their dirty shoes, and used his clean handkerchief to wipe the tears from their faces. He smiled and spoke with such cheery words that they were soon happily on their way to school.

“He is every child’s best friend,” Margarette told Wallace. He smiled in agreement.

But it saddened Margarette that the Prophet and his wife, Emma, had lost so many children of their own. Their young child had died shortly after Margarette’s mother had given birth to twin baby girls not long ago. The Prophet and his wife were so kind to children, Margarette was sure they missed their own sweet baby.

One day, Margarette heard the Prophet talking to her mother in the kitchen. He asked if she would let him borrow one of the twin girls to help comfort Emma.

“You may take one home with you, as long as you bring her back each night,” Margarette’s mother said. She handed him little Mary. Margarette watched as he gently wrapped a quilt around the baby and, cooing to her, opened the door and left.

True to his word, the Prophet returned little Mary every night, except for one. Margarette’s mother was nervous when he didn’t come at his usual time. She decided to go check on the babe, and hurried away to the Prophet’s home, the Mansion House. Soon afterward, Mother and the Prophet returned with little Mary. Margarette heard him explaining again that Mary had been cranky. He had been trying to calm her down before he returned her.

The next morning, the Prophet arrived as usual. Margarette’s mother handed him Sarah instead of Mary, thinking he would not know which baby he was holding. Sarah and Mary were identical—even some family members couldn’t tell them apart. After gently cuddling the child, the Prophet looked down at her face and then slowly shook his head. “This is not my little Mary,” he said.

Margarette’s mother nodded and took Sarah back to the cradle.

After the Prophet left with Mary, Margarette said, “He must really study Mary’s face in order to tell the difference between her and little Sarah.” As Margarette left the kitchen, she noticed her mother blotting her eyes with the hem of her apron.

Soon afterwards, the Prophet stopped taking Mary to his home, but he often came to visit her. Sadly, a short time later, Mary was called to return home to her Heavenly Father. Just after Mary died, Margarette was sitting at the kitchen table when the Prophet arrived. Little Mary’s body lay quiet and still in her cradle. The Prophet rushed to pick her cold form up in his arms. He cried as if he had lost one of his own little children. Again and again he whispered, “Mary, oh my dear little Mary!”

Margarette went to where her mother stood sobbing and softly said, “See how much he loved her, Mother—just as he loves all children. It is right that he is often called ‘the loving friend of children.’ ”

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The Overall Girl

By Laniel Backus
Friend, Dec 2005, 42
(Based on a true story)

Man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart (1 Sam. 16:7).

She wore overalls to school. This was unheard of in 1936 when I was eight years old. And that wasn’t her only crime.

“Look at what ‘Overalls’ brought for lunch,” one of my friends whispered. I watched the girl pull out two slices of bread—no meat, no cheese, no peanut butter, no sandwich spread. Strange.

No one sat by her or talked to her, so I didn’t either.

That changed one cold, blustery, winter day when the snow was four feet deep with twelve-foot drifts. Because I lived in a small mining town 10 miles away from school, I usually left class early to catch the bus that the high school students also rode. But on this day my teacher made an announcement: “None of you will leave this room until you have handed in your projects and cleaned up after yourselves.” I watched the clock, hurrying as fast as I could. As soon as I finished, I grabbed my coat and raced after the bus. But it was no use. Groaning, I watched it drive off without me. My family had no telephone, and I could think of nothing to do but start walking.

I wrapped my hand-me-down brown coat tightly around me, lowered my head, and set off up the icy road. I had no hat, no gloves, and no boots. Then, as now, a few drivers thought it great sport to splash people, so I was soon soaked.

At the time there was an epidemic of scarlet fever, and nearly every house along the road had a quarantine sign on it, meaning that no one could enter or leave. Families without the disease did not welcome strangers for fear of catching it, so I had no chance of going inside to get warm. One very nice lady came out and gave me a warm hat, though, and said she was sorry that I couldn’t come in.

Five miles into my trek, I was so stiff and cold that I was beginning to doubt I could make it. Just then, two young ladies came running out from a farmhouse. “Would you like to come in?”

I nodded, and they helped me through the door. Inside, they hung my wet clothes by the fire to dry and wrapped me in a warm blanket. They asked me where I lived and then disappeared. Their mother spoke to me gently to calm my fears as she prepared supper. Before long, who should come through the door but the last person on earth I expected—the overall girl!

“I was in the barn doing chores and I saw you walking,” she said. “I told my sisters that you go to my school and that you don’t have scarlet fever.”

“Thanks.” I couldn’t believe how relieved I felt to see someone I knew. We talked until suppertime, and then her mother invited us into the kitchen. I especially liked the large slices of fresh homemade bread and homemade butter. Mmmmmmmm, good!

I learned later that her sistiners had gone out and stood in the cold, waiting and watching for someone to come looking for me. When my parents drove slowly past, they were waved down and brought inside. Was I ever glad to see them!

I learned a lot about the overall girl that day and decided that she was better than all the snobs at school put together (including me). From then on I made it a point to sit with my new friend at lunch. Sometimes she would even trade her delicious bread-and-butter sandwiches with me.

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