Friend - 2006

Kenny leaned against Sly’s shoulder, feeling the warmth of the animal in the cold winter air. “You’re a regular stove, Sly,” he said. The black horse flicked his ears and kept eating. Kenny threaded his fingers through the horse’s silky black mane and looked across the corral at the huge mounds of snow heaped along the fences. His father said it was the most snow they’d had in 14 years.

Picking up the pitchfork, Kenny went to feed the rest of the animals. For the past three days, he’d had to do all the chores by himself. His dad was sick with a high fever, and it was hard for him to breathe.

“Hey, Kenny.”

He looked up to see his neighbor standing at the gate, bundled up so just his eyes showed. He’d been sick too.

“When’s your father going into Ely next? My wife is real sick and we could use some medicine.”

Kenny’s father was a teamster as well as a farmer. Every few days he drove his wagon and team of horses from Lund, Nevada, to Ely, taking milk, grain, and other produce raised by the farmers in Lund. He brought back the mail, medicine, and other needed items.

“I’ll tell him you were asking,” Kenny said. Then he trudged back to the house through the snow.

His mother stood at the stove, fixing breakfast. “Your father wants to talk to you,” she said.

Kenny took off his hat and gloves and walked into the other room. In the dim light he could see his father’s face against the pillow.

“Did it snow again last night?” Father asked.

“Some. But the sky’s clear this morning.”

Kenny hesitated, not wanting to tell him that the neighbor was asking about medicine from Ely. Father was too sick to go anywhere, and it would just worry him.

But he seemed to already know. He pushed himself up on one elbow and looked at Kenny. “What do you think about riding Sly into Ely? People need medicine, and the mail needs to go through.”

Excitement stirred in Kenny’s stomach. Ride to Ely? By himself?

“Sly is our best horse,” Father said. “He hasn’t been to Ely much, but you know the way.”

Kenny nodded. He had ridden to Ely in the wagon with his father lots of times. “I’ll do it,” he said. Fear was only a tiny fist curled deep in his heart. He hardly paid attention to it.

When Kenny awoke the next morning, it was still dark outside. His mother had hot mush, eggs, venison, and thick slices of buttered bread ready for him. In a cloth bag was more food for him to eat on the way.

“You spend the night in Ely with Aunt Sarah and Uncle Rod.” She laid a small stack of papers tied with string on the table. “Here are the names of medicines that you will need to pick up.”

Kenny tucked the papers in the saddlebag along with the mail. His little sisters watched with solemn eyes.

“When will you be back?” Thelma asked.

“Tomorrow night,” Kenny replied.

“Stay on the road,” his father warned. “Don’t take any shortcuts. The snow will be drifted bad in places.” Then his family knelt for morning prayer, and his father asked for a special blessing on Kenny and Sly.

The air was icy when they set out. It was still dark, but a rim of light showed along the eastern horizon.

Someone had already broken a trail through the flats, so the first part went smoothly. But when they reached the hills, the trail ended. Kenny looked at the untracked snow that lay glittering before them. If he squinted, he could see a slight indention where the road wound through the hills.

“Here we go,” Kenny said and nudged Sly in the ribs. The horse stepped forward, the soft snow giving way under his hooves. In some places, it was so deep it came up to the horse’s belly. Sly would paw at it, breaking a trail and moving forward.

When the sun was somewhere near the top of the sky, Kenny pulled Sly to a stop to eat lunch. His mother had packed sandwiches and apples. Kenny gave the apples to Sly, who munched them happily, the juice dribbling off his floppy lips. Then they set out again.

As they climbed higher in the hills, the indention in the snow that showed the road grew fainter and fainter until it disappeared. Snow was drifted in huge mounds, creating hills where there had been no hills and smooth places where there had been ravines. Kenny reined Sly to a halt and looked around. It was as if he had turned a corner and found himself lost in a completely foreign world. The tiny fist of fear in his heart suddenly grew large.

“Heavenly Father,” he whispered, “I don’t know which way to go. Please help me.” He took a deep breath and urged the horse on.

Suddenly Sly sank up to his neck in snow. Kenny panicked, his head pounding. “Please, Heavenly Father, please help us.” Desperate, he looked around at the flat whiteness imprisoning them. He gripped the reins, fighting an impulse to jump off the horse and run. Common sense told him he wouldn’t be able to run. He’d be completely buried.

Then suddenly he could feel Sly’s muscles moving underneath him. Sly was slowly, patiently pawing at the snow, digging his way out. Kenny reached down and began moving the snow burying his own legs.

It seemed like hours before he and his horse had cleared a space around them. Sly stood for a moment, panting, then lunged heavily to the right, stumbled, and caught himself. Finally they were standing on the road.

Kenny looked around him. They could turn around and go back home. He could tell his father he couldn’t go any farther. He’d understand. But Sly started walking again, carefully placing each hoof. Again Kenny prayed. “What shall I do? Shall I keep going or turn around? I think I’m lost.”

A quiet voice said, “Look up at the mountains.”

Kenny looked up past the hills to the mountains that surrounded their valley. The mountains hadn’t changed. They were right where they’d always been—familiar, sturdy. Suddenly Kenny knew where he was. It was as if he could see the road the way it looked in summer. There were the mountains, there were the hills, and there was the road. He could imagine how it wound up the hill.

“I think we’re supposed to keep going,” he said to his horse, but Sly was already going.

The sun was beginning to set when, at last, Kenny saw what he’d been looking for—a clear indention in the snow that was the road. And farther on, he saw something even better. Someone with a sled had driven down the road, packing the snow and making a clear trail all the way to Ely.

It was well past dark when Kenny knocked on Aunt Sarah’s door.

“Kenny! What are you doing here? You look frozen solid.”

“I’m OK,” Kenny said, his knees trembling. “But I need to take care of my horse.”

Later, over a bowl of warm stew, he told his aunt and uncle about his ride to Ely, and how his father and others were sick and needed medicine.

“You get some rest tonight,” his uncle said. “We’ll get the medicine first thing in the morning. Going back will be easier because you’ve already broken a trail.” He looked at Kenny hard. “Grown men have gotten lost or stranded in that deep snow.”

Kenny laid his spoon beside his bowl and looked at his uncle. “I had help,” he said. He thought about the quiet voice and the mountains and how Sly seemed to know just what to do. Heavenly Father was watching out for them.

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A New Heart

By Claudia G. Remington
Friend, Jan 2006, 12–14
(Based on a true story)

For with the heart man believeth unto righteousness (Rom. 10:10).

Anna Lisa sat dejectedly in her Aunt Lois and Uncle Owen’s house and worried about her father. He was in a hospital far away getting a new heart so he could be healthy. Her mother was with him, and her aunt and uncle were taking care of her.

Aunt Lois was sewing, Uncle Owen was watching a football game, and Anna Lisa had nothing to do. It was Sunday, but her aunt and uncle didn’t go to church. No one offered to take Anna Lisa, so she stayed home too. Anna Lisa sighed.

“Why don’t you go downstairs and snoop around? There are some old toys and books down there,” Aunt Lois said. She must have read her mind—or heard her sigh.

Anna Lisa made her way down the rickety stairs to the basement, which smelled cool and damp and musty and was full of all kinds of things. There was an old washing machine, several trunks, various pieces of furniture, and lots of boxes. At first she didn’t see the toys or books, but then she noticed a box with BOOKS written on the side. She opened it carefully and found a treasure—dozens of children’s books. Anna Lisa read all afternoon until Aunt Lois called her for supper.

As Anna Lisa put the books back in the box, she saw another book that caught her attention. It read Book of Mormon on the cover, but it didn’t look like the one her mom and dad owned. This one was a gold color with black letters, and its pages were uneven on the sides and crinkly. She decided to take it upstairs.

“You must have found something interesting down there,” Aunt Lois said as she dished up a bowl of tomato soup in the kitchen.

“I found a box of books.”

“Your mother has told me how much you like to read. I’m glad you found something good.”

That night in bed, Anna Lisa looked at the Book of Mormon. There were no chapters or verses—just paragraphs like other books. Anna Lisa tried to read some of it, but it was hard for her, and she finally put it aside.

The next evening, Anna Lisa showed the book to Uncle Owen as he sat reading the newspaper. “Have you read it?” she asked him.

“No, I never did. When your mom and dad joined the Church they gave us a Book of Mormon. But we were busy with our trucking business, and I wasn’t interested. This one must have been in our basement for years. Maybe missionaries brought it to my grandparents.”

“It’s hard for me to read,” Anna Lisa said. “My dad reads to me sometimes from the Book of Mormon. Could you read some of it to me?”

Uncle Owen looked at his newspaper, and Anna Lisa knew that he’d rather read that, but he looked at her with a kind face as if he knew she was missing her dad. He smiled and opened the book.

“What part should I read?”

Anna Lisa snuggled up next to her uncle. “Well, I’ve heard the first part a lot, about Nephi and his brothers and crossing the sea. Why don’t you just open it up in the middle—it will be a surprise.”

Uncle Owen smiled at her and opened to the middle. He began to read.

“ ‘Behold, he changed their hearts; yea, he awakened them out of a deep sleep, and they awoke unto God. Behold, they were in the midst of darkness; nevertheless, their souls were illuminated by the light of the everlasting word’ ” (

Alma 5:7).

Anna Lisa sat up straight. “That’s what’s happening to my dad—a change of heart. And he said that they will put him in a deep sleep while it happens.”

Uncle Owen laughed gently. “I think this is talking about a different kind of change of heart, like deciding to believe in God.”

Anna Lisa leaned against Uncle Owen as he read more. She began to feel very sleepy, but as she dozed off a little, she could still hear Uncle Owen reading. Then he was silent, but when she looked up, she saw that he was reading to himself. And when Aunt Lois came and got her and led her up to bed, he was still reading. The next morning, when Anna Lisa went down to breakfast, he was still reading from the book.

“Did you read all night, Uncle Owen?” she asked.

“Well, no,” he said, “but I read very late, and when I woke up I started reading again.” He laid the book carefully on the table and came to breakfast, but after breakfast, he read some more. Anna Lisa was glad he liked the book so much.

That night her mother called and told her that her father was doing just fine, but he needed to stay in the hospital a little while longer. Anna Lisa sighed one of her big sighs. She wanted very much to see her parents again.

Every night that week, before Anna Lisa went to bed, Uncle Owen read to her from the Book of Mormon, and Aunt Lois sat and listened too. On Saturday night, Anna Lisa said, “Could we go to church tomorrow? I want to be in my Primary class.”

“But you won’t know anybody. It won’t be your own class with your friends,” Aunt Lois said.

“I know, but it will feel the same; people will be nice.”

Uncle Owen and Aunt Lois looked at each other. Then Uncle Owen ruffled Anna Lisa’s hair. “OK. We’ll take you.”

As Anna Lisa drifted off to sleep that night, she felt very happy. She knew there was more than one way to have a new heart. Maybe her uncle as well as her dad would receive one.

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McKay and the Whale

By Holly K. Simmons
Friend, Jan 2006, 16–19
(Based on a true story)

“I am sorry” is not always easy to say (Children’s Songbook, 98).

McKay felt terrible! He had been playing with his bubblegum and gotten it all over his hands. Then, to make matters worse, he had wiped the bubblegum off his hands and onto his bedroom wall. He knew his mother and father would be coming to tuck him into bed any minute, and he was afraid. He didn’t want to get into trouble, so he piled a toy box and some toys on top of each other until they hid the bubblegum mess.

When Mother walked into his bedroom, she said, “McKay, why are your toys stacked up like that?”

He shrugged his shoulders, hoping she wouldn’t figure it out.

Father came in and sat next to McKay on the bed. “Well, shall we read scriptures?” he asked.

“Yes,” McKay said. He loved reading with his parents every night.

Father began to read the story of Jonah and the whale.

* McKay closed his eyes and listened. He could understand why Jonah didn’t want to go to the city of Nineveh and teach his enemies about the gospel. That would be a scary and hard thing to do.

McKay’s father read about Jonah running away so that he wouldn’t have to obey God. But God knew where Jonah was no matter where he went. Heavenly Father had to send a whale to swallow Jonah in order to teach him a lesson.

McKay frowned. He thought about Jonah trying to run away and hide from God. McKay remembered the bubblegum mess on the wall. Even though his mother and father couldn’t see it, Heavenly Father could. “Mom, Dad,” McKay said, “I’m hiding something.” He went to the wall and uncovered the mess.

“Yikes!” Mother said. “I’ll get a washcloth and some cleaner.”

Father shook his head. “Why did you try to hide that?” he asked.

“Because I was afraid, and I didn’t want to get into trouble. I’m sorry.”

Mother handed him the washcloth. “Here,” she said. “I’ll spray the cleaner. You scrub.”

After he finished cleaning the wall, McKay knelt with his parents and said a prayer. Then, he climbed into bed. “I’m glad you learned a lesson tonight,” Father said.

McKay smiled and said, “And I didn’t even have to be swallowed by a whale!”

His parents laughed and kissed McKay good night. McKay didn’t feel terrible anymore. In fact, he fell asleep feeling great.

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Abel and Camila León Sifuentes of Trujillo, Peru

By Marvin K. Gardner
Friend, Jan 2006, 28–30

Dancing and singing. Playing the flute. Swimming and running races. Playing soccer and basketball. These are some of the activities that Camila León Sifuentes and her brother, Abel, of Los Laureles Ward, Trujillo Peru Laureles Stake, enjoy.

Other activities also keep them busy: Doing chores around the house. Helping care for their younger sisters—María Fé and María Pía (four-year-old twins) and the new baby, Valeria. And taking care of 12 colorful parakeets that live in cages in the courtyard. As Camila feeds the parakeets, she explains, “Mama says every day is their birthday, because they are always happy and singing.”

Something else also keeps Camila and Abel busy: Being prepared. Eight-year-old Camila was recently baptized and confirmed, and 11-year-old Abel is looking forward to receiving the Aaronic Priesthood soon. Both say it is important to prepare carefully for these steps in life.

“I wanted to be baptized,” says Camila, “because I wanted to feel closer to Heavenly Father and be strong in the Church.”

“And I want to receive the Aaronic Priesthood,” Abel says. “It will be a gift of great worth from the Lord. Before the Savior died, He gave the sacrament to His Apostles. When I’m a deacon, I’ll be able to serve the sacrament to people in my ward. It will be marvelous to have the priesthood.”

Abel struggles with a learning disability. But his parents, Hugo and Mary Ann, say that he is a hard worker, has a tender heart, and is making great progress. They are finding many ways to help Abel, Camila, and their other children prepare for life. “We’re trying to teach them how to make wise decisions,” says their dad.

Family home evening and one-on-one talks with parents have helped the most. “In family home evening we sing songs, read scriptures, pray, and have activities and refreshments,” says Camila. “All of us, even the twins, take turns conducting the meeting, giving lessons, and directing the music.”

Abel remembers a recent family home evening taught by his dad—who is also his stake president. “He gave us a lesson about the priesthood. He explained that the oath and covenant of the priesthood is a promise between God and man and that through the priesthood we can serve God and other people. I want to prepare well to receive it.”

Family prayer and scripture study are also important preparation. Each morning when the parents wake up the children, they all gather on the parents’ bed. There they sing a hymn, kneel and pray, and take turns reading scriptures aloud before having breakfast and getting ready for school. They talk about the principles in the scriptures.

“It’s really a challenge to get everybody up so early,” says their mom. “But since we’ve been studying the scriptures every morning, the children are understanding them better. When we didn’t do it, we felt we were sending our children out to school unprotected. But now they are going out into the world more prepared. We hope that during the day they might think of something we read about.”

Camila and Abel are also preparing by attending Primary, fasting, paying tithing, and taking notes during general conference broadcasts. They carry their scriptures to church with them. As a family they have traveled the eight hours to the Lima Peru Temple. The children visit the grounds while their parents are in the temple.

Talking with the bishop has helped too. “When I met with the bishop,” says Camila, “he said I should ask Heavenly Father if I should be baptized. So I prayed and asked God, and He told me yes. I felt the answer in my soul.”

Abel had an interview with the bishop to talk about receiving the Aaronic Priesthood. “I’m grateful for my bishop and other leaders who guide me,” he says. Abel and his family recently attended a Priesthood Preview. All the boys turning 12 during the year were invited to attend the program with their parents and families. They heard talks and testimonies by leaders, teachers, and one of the boys. Abel and some of his friends stood up in front and sang “A Young Man Prepared” (Children’s Songbook, 166–67), a song about the priesthood. Parents gave letters to their sons encouraging them in their preparation. “I felt the Spirit there,” says Abel.

Camila and Abel feel that all of the preparation has been worth it. “When my father baptized me,” says Camila, “I felt joy. When he gave me the gift of the Holy Ghost, I felt as if I were in a temple. The Holy Ghost helps me feel at peace and come closer to God. He helps me know right from wrong.”

The Holy Ghost recently helped Camila make an important decision about her standards. “I wanted to dance in a presentation,” she says, “but the costumes all the girls were wearing were short skirts. I talked with my mother, and she said to pray about it and choose the right. I thought a lot about it and talked with my dance teacher. She said I could wear a longer skirt, and my grandmother made me one. As I danced I felt happy, and I felt the Holy Ghost with me. I was the only girl wearing a longer skirt, but nobody made fun of me. Some of my friends said they were learning from me.”

Abel and Camila are discovering that preparing for baptism and confirmation and for the priesthood is helping them prepare for other important events in life. They are looking forward to going on missions, being married in the temple, becoming parents, and serving in the Church.

“I want to make good decisions because I love Heavenly Father,” says Abel.

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Through the Window

By Ronda Gibb Hinrichsen
Friend, Jan 2006, 32–34
(Based on an incident from the life history of William Palmer)

God shall supply all your need (Philip. 4:19).

Jimmy stared out the icy window, trying to see through the dim evening light. “Please let someone come soon,” he whispered.

“Your sister’s shivering, Jimmy.” Mama’s voice sounded weaker than before. “Will you help her?”

He loosened the blanket from his bare feet. “Here. You can use mine for a while,” he said, tucking it around his sister’s shoulders. He returned to the window and again pressed his face against the glass. Suddenly, he saw a tall man standing at the end of the alley.

“Jimmy! Wait! Where are you going?” Mama called.

Her only answer was the door closing behind him.

Elder Palmer shoved his hand in his overcoat pocket. One silver dollar. That was all he had, but just touching it gave him hope that he would soon find a warm room for the night.

“Please, mister.”

Elder Palmer turned to see a small boy hopping from one foot to the other, trying to keep his bare feet out of the snow.

“Could you give me ten cents to buy some bread for my sick mother and my little sister?”

“Yes! Of course, dear boy,” he said, handing him his silver dollar.

“Oh, thank you, sir. I’ll bring you back your change.”

“No, you keep it. You need it more than I do. What is your name? Where do you live?”

“Jimmy Rose, and I live there.” He pointed to a door a short distance down the alley, then darted toward it.

“Excuse me, sir.”

Dr. Gray whirled around. He hadn’t heard the man enter his office. “Yes?”

“I saw your fire through the window. May I warm myself for a few minutes?”

“By all means. Come in.”

The man put down his traveling bag and sat next to the fire.

“Have you just arrived in town?” Dr. Gray asked.

“Yes. I’m from Utah. I’m a missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”

“You are a Mormon?” the doctor asked. “Where are you staying? I’d like to talk to you about your religion.”

“I’m traveling as Christ’s Apostles did, without purse or scrip, having faith that the Lord will provide.”

Dr. Gray studied his guest. “If you have that much faith in the Lord,” he said, “then I will be His helper tonight. Please come to my home and have supper with my wife and me.

The next morning someone knocked on Jimmy’s front door. He opened it.

“Hello, young man.”

Jimmy grabbed Elder Palmer’s arm. “Mama,” he said, dragging him to her bedside, “this is the good man who gave me the dollar.”

Mrs. Rose carefully lifted her head. “Thank you so much. I don’t know what we would have done without you. My husband died some time back, and I’ve been too sick to work. Our food and coal ran out yesterday.”

“But we have more now,” Jimmy said, pointing to a bucket of coal. “I bought it last night.”

“It looks like you’ve done a fine job of taking care of your family,” Elder Palmer said.

Jimmy stood a little taller. “I’m trying to, sir.”

Elder Palmer turned back to Jimmy’s mother. “There is something more I can do for you. I am an elder in the true Church of Jesus Christ. That means that I have the authority to act in God’s name and give you a blessing of health, if you desire it and have the faith to be healed.”

Mrs. Rose thought for a long moment. Finally, she said, “Yes, I’d like a blessing.”

A while later there was another knock on the door. The new visitor held up his medical bag and said, “Elder Palmer told me about your mother, and I’ve come to help.”

“I am already well, doctor,” Mrs. Rose said.

Jimmy started to close the door, but the doctor stopped him. “My wife ordered groceries and coal for your family, and they have just arrived. Will you help the deliveryman, Jimmy?”

“Yes, sir!” Jimmy ran outside. When he returned, the doctor was putting away his stethoscope.

“You have been quite sick,” he said to Mrs. Rose, “but you now seem all right. If you’re careful, you should be able to do your usual work.”

“It’s time for me to continue with mine too,” Elder Palmer said.

“I’d like to hear more about your church,” Mrs. Rose said. “Will you please come back and visit us?”

Jimmy grabbed his hand. “Yes, will you?”

“My wife asked that you return to our home too,” Dr. Gray added.

Elder Palmer smiled, “I’d be honored.”

Jimmy led the missionary to the door, but as he put his hand on the latch, he paused. How could he thank this man who had brought so much goodness to his family?

“What is it, Jimmy?” Elder Palmer asked.

Jimmy swallowed hard. “I—I’m glad I saw you through the window!” he said.

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Being Brave

By Charmayne Gubler Warnock
Friend, Jan 2006, 38–40
(Based on a true story)

Be strong and of good courage, and do it (1 Chr. 28:20).

The day I got sick and threw up at school was my worst day. It was also my best day. That’s the day Rosella became my best friend. I was feeling sick and stupid, and she just walked over, got some paper towels, and started helping me clean up the floor. When I told her she didn’t have to do that, she said, “Oh, I’m going to be a doctor when I grow up, and this doesn’t bother me at all.” When school was over, she walked home with me.

It seemed that Rosella wasn’t ever afraid of things. Once she rescued a nonpoisonous snake from some boys who were being mean to it. She carried the snake all the way home so it could live in some bushes in her backyard. I kept watching the snake and its beady, black eyes and wondering if it was going to reach around and bite her. But Rosella didn’t seem worried at all.

One day Rosella and I were sitting next to each other during music class. We were practicing songs for the spring program when the intercom crackled and the principal’s voice asked the music teacher to please come to the office. The teacher told everyone to behave. He said he would be back in a minute, but he was gone a long time.

Some of the boys in the class began throwing wads of paper at the trash can on the other side of the room. Soon the floor was littered with paper.

One of the boys who was throwing paper looked at a boy named Alan and said, “Alan, look at that mess you made. You’d better go pick up those papers.”

Alan hadn’t thrown any paper at all, but he didn’t argue. He just nodded, got up from his chair, and began picking up the paper. It took him a long time because he picked up one wad at a time. Alan had crooked glasses, and his hair stood up in tufts all over his head. Something happened when he was born, and he didn’t get enough oxygen. Because of that he had a hard time learning. Sometimes he tripped or made mistakes. But he wanted to be friends with everyone, and he smiled a lot.

After Alan had picked up all the paper, he walked back to his chair. The other boys were all grinning. When Alan turned to sit down, one of them reached over and yanked the chair out from under him. Alan sat down on the floor. Hard. You could see it hurt him because tears came to his eyes. But when the boys all started laughing, Alan tried to laugh too.

The next thing I knew, Rosella was standing up. She marched across the room and stood in front of those boys, glaring at them. Then she reached out her hand and helped Alan get into his chair. The whole class was silent. She asked Alan if he was hurt, and he shook his head. Then she put her hands on her hips. “Being mean to people is a really chicken way of trying to be funny,” she told the boys.

They just looked at her. She didn’t sound mean or angry, but everyone knew she meant it.

Then Rosella turned around and walked back to her chair. The class was dead quiet. I wondered what the boys would do. They usually didn’t like being told what to do, especially by a girl. I kept hoping the teacher would come back before anything else happened. Then one of the boys looked over at Alan. “Sorry we yanked your chair,” he said.

Alan folded his hands together and smiled big. “It’s OK. I have friends.” He looked over at Rosella.

Just then the teacher walked in. No one said anything about the paper, and class continued as usual. When Rosella picked up her music, I could see that her hands were shaking, but she had a quiet look on her face.

Our class began practicing. I could hear the piano playing and the class singing, but I was thinking about Rosella. I was thinking about how she stood up for Alan even though she was probably scared. I looked at Rosella singing the song and then over at Alan. Then I understood—being brave doesn’t mean you’re not scared. Being brave means doing the right thing even if you are scared.

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The Blessing

By Jane McBride Choate
Friend, Jan 2006, 44–46
(Based on a true story)

Mine is a home where ev’ry hour is blessed by the strength of priesthood pow’r (Children’s Songbook, 190).

Catrina hurried home from school. The missionaries were coming today. She had promised her mamá that she would sweep the floor. Mamá was gone working as a housekeeper and would not be home until later that night.

Señor and Señora Klatzpan and their two-year-old son, Helmut, shared the house with Catrina’s family. Sharing houses was common in Colombia where many families could not afford homes of their own.

Señor Klatzpan and his little family had moved to Colombia from Germany a year ago. He spoke Spanish with difficulty. His wife spoke little of the language and communicated mostly with her hands. Helmut was learning Spanish as well as German.

Catrina occasionally tended Helmut. She liked his sweet baby smell.

Catrina’s papá worked long hours as did her mamá. Her abuela (grandma) spent many hours with Catrina and her brother, Ramón, telling them stories of their ancestors and the traditions of their family.

Catrina and her mamá kept the house as clean as possible, but it was difficult with so many people living in the four small rooms.

She remembered the day the missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints had knocked at their door.

The young men, in their white shirts and ties, spoke of Jesus Christ and the restored gospel. The words sounded strange. Though they spoke fluently, their accent made it difficult for Catrina to understand what they said.

She listened carefully to the Joseph Smith story, not wanting to miss a word. When Elder Todd bore his testimony of Joseph Smith and the living prophet, President Gordon B. Hinckley, she knew she had heard the truth.

Señor and Señora Klatzpan accepted the gospel and were baptized members of the Church shortly after the elders challenged them to be baptized.

Catrina noticed a change in the Klatzpans. They seemed more content, though they still had little money. When she asked them about it, Señor Klatzpan said that the gospel had changed their lives.

“It brings us much joy,” Señor Klatzpan said. “My Gerta and I have never been happier. When you and your family are baptized, you will know the same blessings.”

Catrina didn’t know if her papá would ever allow their family to be baptized. His parents and their parents before them had belonged to another religion. Tradition was an important part of their family.

Today the elders spoke more about families. When they explained a father’s blessing, Señor Klatzpan leaned forward eagerly. “My Helmut. I want him to have this blessing. Will you do it?”

Elder Todd shook his head. “We could give him a priesthood blessing, but only you can give him a father’s blessing. You have received the Melchizedek Priesthood and have the authority to do so.”

Señor Klatzpan looked helplessly from one elder to the other. “I do not know how to do such a thing.”

“Listen to the Spirit,” Elder Todd said in his quiet way. “It will guide you and your words.”

Señor Klatzpan put his hand on his chest. “Is it that which makes my heart beat so rapidly?”

Elder Stevenson nodded. “The Spirit often touches our hearts in just that way.”

A smile of pure joy spread over Señor Klatzpan’s face. “I am ready.” Solemnly he placed his hands on Helmut’s head. Words poured forth as he blessed his child.

Catrina felt tears prick her eyes. She, too, felt the Spirit.

When the elders left, she turned to her papá. “Papá, I want to be baptized. With you and Mamá and Ramón. I want you to give me a blessing like Señor Klatzpan gave Helmut.”

“We have heard the truth,” he said slowly. “It would be wrong not to be baptized.”

“What about Abuela?” Catrina asked.

“She will understand,” he said. “Tradition is important. But truth is precious.”

Catrina brushed the tears from her eyes and hugged her papá.

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Counting Stars

By Kay Timpson
Friend, Feb 2006, 4–6
(Based on a true story)

These days should be remembered (Esth. 9:28).

“He doesn’t remember me,” Jeremy sobbed, burying his face in a pillow. “How could Grandpa forget me?”

Mom sat down beside him. “Remember the doctor told us that because of Grandpa’s illness his memories will come and go. Later, he may not remember much at all.”

Jeremy sniffed. “I just didn’t think he’d forget me.”

“He hasn’t forgotten you in his heart,” Mom said. “This life is a short time. Our family will be together for eternity, and then Grandpa will remember everything.”

Jeremy went to his room and tried to read a book, but he couldn’t concentrate. All he could think about was how to help Grandpa. Suddenly, a picture on his desk caught his eye—a picture of him and Grandpa on a fishing trip. “That was the most exciting thing we ever did together,” he thought. Then it hit him. “Pictures,” he murmured. “Of course!”

Grabbing the picture, he raced downstairs, skidded around the corner, and headed to Grandpa’s room. He knocked quietly just in case Grandpa was sleeping.

“Yes?” Grandpa called out.

“It’s me, Jeremy. May I come in?”

“Sure.”

With the photo in his hand, Jeremy stepped through the door. “Remember this, Grandpa?”

Grandpa adjusted his glasses. “You bet I do! That’s my favorite fishing spot. I’ve been going there since I was a boy.”

Jeremy fought back the tears. Grandpa remembered the fishing spot, but not him.

“You took me fishing there,” Jeremy said. “We fished all day. I got my nose sunburned and you fell in the stream trying to net my fish! Then we made a fire and cooked the fish for dinner. Remember, Grandpa?”

“Well, I can’t recall,” Grandpa admitted. “Let’s have another look. Hmm, is that my old truck? I bought that when my son was about your age. The boy in this picture looks a lot like my son.”

“The boy in the picture is me, Jeremy—your grandson. Your son is my dad, and we look a lot alike.”

“Oh, now I remember,” Grandpa said, looking hard at Jeremy. “We went there for your birthday, didn’t we? We had a great time, as I recall. Say,” Grandpa said slowly, “didn’t we lie on the ground at night and count stars?”

“Yes!” Jeremy squealed. “We counted as far as I could. You said that no matter how old I got, I’d never be able to number all the stars that Jesus scattered in the heavens. You said stars were to help boys like me learn how to count.”

“Maybe so. That was a great fishing trip. We should do it again sometime.” Grandpa’s head began nodding and Jeremy knew he needed a nap, so he patted him on the hand and quietly slipped through the door.

“Mom!” Jeremy yelled as he burst into the kitchen. “He remembered!”

“Who?” Mom questioned.

“Grandpa. He remembered me and the fishing trip we took. He actually remembered counting stars! I even forgot that. And now I know how to help him remember lots of things.”

Running back to his room, he pulled a shoebox from the closet and dumped the contents on his bed. All afternoon Jeremy worked. He cut. He pasted. He wrote. Finally he was finished. He took his project to Grandpa’s room.

“I made a book for us, Grandpa. I want us to remember all the great things our family has done together, so I got all my photos and I put them in this notebook. It’s like our own family picture book!”

“Family picture book?” Grandpa asked, opening to the first page. “Well, well!” he murmured. “This is my son, James, and his wife. James is my oldest son, you know.” Squinting his eyes and holding the book close, Grandpa murmured, “The writing under the picture says ‘James, Carolyn, and Jeremy.’ ”

“I know, Grandpa. They are my parents. See the baby James is holding? That’s me, Jeremy. This picture was taken the day I was born. And look at this one, Grandpa,” Jeremy said, turning the page. “That’s you holding me. I was eating the cake Mom made for my first birthday.”

“My, my,” Grandpa said. “It’s all over both of us!”

“See this one, Grandpa? That’s all of us at the lake one summer. We camped for a whole week.”

Page after page of pictures told the story of the family’s life together. Grandpa remembered some, and Jeremy described the others. When Jeremy got up to leave, Grandpa took his arm.

“Come back soon, Jeremy. I’d love to see that book again.”

Jeremy looked down at Grandpa and saw tears in his eyes. “I’ll be back later, Grandpa. I’ll show you some more. I love you and I’m so glad you’re my grandpa.” He bent down and gave Grandpa a hug.

“I love you too, Jeremy. You’re the best grandson in the whole family!” he said with the old twinkle in his eyes.

“Grandpa! I’m the only grandson in the whole family!”

“Yup. And you’re the only one I ever counted stars with!”

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Valentine from the Heart

By Patricia R. Jones
Friend, Feb 2006, 10–12
(Based on a true story)

Feed my sheep (John 21:17).

Desiree carefully glued her picture in the book. Using her best first-grade handwriting, she wrote, “I love you, Teacher. Happy Valentine’s Day. Love, Desiree.” She smiled at how even the letters looked.

“I’ve finished, Mom,” Desiree called. “Do you want to see it?”

Desiree’s mother lifted baby Micah from his high chair and came to the table where Desiree was working.

“How do you like it?” Desiree asked. Her smile showed the gap where her two front teeth would soon grow in.

Mom ran her fingers over the words as she silently read them. She looked at Desiree. “Well, you’ve done a nice job, but …” She looked at the book Desiree had glued her picture in—the Book of Mormon.

Desiree became worried that she might have done something wrong. “Mom, you told me that my teacher isn’t a member of our church. The prophet said we’re supposed to tell people about the Church and give them the Book of Mormon, right?”

Mom sighed. “That’s right.”

“I’ve tried to show her how happy we are,” Desiree continued. “Now I want to give her a Book of Mormon. I love her. I want her to join our church.”

“I guess I’m just afraid that your teacher won’t like it,” Mom said. “I know you love your teacher and I think you’re very brave to do this for her.”

Desiree smiled. “Is it OK, then?”

“Yes. Let’s remember in our prayers to ask the Lord to bless her with a desire to learn more about the gospel,” Mom said.

“She’ll like it,” Desiree assured Mom.

On Valentine’s Day, Desiree took the Book of Mormon to school for her teacher. The teacher got valentine gifts all day long. She got chocolate hearts, flowers, pens, and cards. Desiree began to worry. Maybe she shouldn’t give the Book of Mormon to her teacher. Maybe Mom was right. Maybe her teacher wouldn’t like it.

When the bell rang for the children to get ready to go home, Desiree took the Book of Mormon out of her backpack. She walked to her teacher’s desk and gently placed the book in front of her.

“Here’s my valentine for you,” she said softly.

Her teacher put down her pencil and asked, “Well, what can this be?” She picked up the book and read, “The Book of Mormon.” She looked at Desiree with questioning eyes. “You want to give this to me for a valentine?”

Desiree opened the book to her picture and note.

The teacher read the note and smiled. “Thank you, Desiree. I love you too.”

“What did your teacher say about your valentine?” Mom asked when Desiree came home.

“She said thank you, and she loves me,” Desiree told her. “She wasn’t mad at all.”

Mom nodded. “Well, I guess we’ll know for sure when I go to see her next week.”

“Are you still afraid, Mom?” Desiree asked. “It’s OK.”

Mom smiled. “You have strong faith.”

The next week, Desiree, her mother, and baby Micah went to school for parent-teacher conferences. When they got there, Desiree waited on the playground where her mother could see her, and played with some of the other children. Desiree wondered what her teacher and mother would talk about.

After what seemed like a long time, Mom and baby Micah came outside and Desiree ran to meet them. “What did my teacher tell you about me?” she asked.

“Your teacher sure thinks a lot of you,” Mom said. “She told me your valentine was one of the best she’s ever received.”

“Really?” Desiree beamed. “That’s because I gave it with my heart.”

Mother looked intently at Desiree. “That’s almost exactly what your teacher said.”

Desiree smiled. “Maybe she will read it and want to be baptized.”

“You know, Desiree,” Mom said, “she might not join our church right away. But maybe someday she’ll be ready to turn the pages past your picture and start reading.”

“I hope so,” Desiree said.

“Whatever happens, I know the Lord will bless you for obeying the prophet and sharing the gospel.”

“I’ve already been blessed,” Desiree replied. “I’m not afraid to tell people the Church is true.”

Mom squeezed Desiree’s hand and smiled. “I hope you never will be.”

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Nets Full of Fish

By Caleb Warnock
Friend, Feb 2006, 18–21
(Based on a story from the author’s family history)

That which thou hast prayed to me … I have heard (2 Kgs. 19:20).

Eleven-year-old Ted was excited. Today he and Benjamin, his 14-year-old brother, were going to take their dad’s fishing boat out on the ocean all by themselves.

Father worked as a fisherman, catching cod, haddock, halibut, and Dover sole. Every morning he took the family’s small wooden boat and rowed into the ocean near their home on the coast of England. When he returned, Mother would take the fish to Chester Market and sell them.

But today was different. Ted’s parents needed to take the family’s horse and wagon into town to get supplies, and Ted had volunteered to do the fishing while their parents were gone.

“Remember, stay close to the shore,” Mother said as Ted and Benjamin began to row the little boat out into the ocean. “Always stay close enough that you can see our house. We should be home about the same time you get finished.”

“And be careful with the nets,” Father added. “Don’t lose them.”

Ted knew how important the nets were. Without the nets, his family wouldn’t be able to catch any fish. And then they wouldn’t have any money to buy food and clothes. All the money the family had came from selling the fresh fish in the market.

After Benjamin rowed the boat a little way from the shore, Ted helped his brother put glass floats on the nets and throw them overboard. After waiting for a while, Ted and Benjamin used all their strength to pull the nets back into the boat. They removed the fish one by one until finally they had gathered and stacked all the cod, halibut, and other fish.

“Could you start pulling up the anchor rope?” Benjamin asked Ted. “Then we’ll go back to shore.”

Ted pulled up on the rope until he could see the anchor in the water below him. As he lifted the heavy anchor, his wet hands slipped. The anchor skidded off the side of the boat and back into the water, dragging all three tangled nets overboard. The weight of the anchor overcame the floats, and the nets began to sink.

Ted stuck out his hand to grab the nets, but Benjamin pushed his hand away. “Don’t! You’ll be pulled overboard by the weight of the anchor!”

Ted watched the three nets and the anchor disappear beneath the dark ocean water. There was nothing he could do to stop them.

When the anchor reached the end of the rope, Ted and Benjamin began pulling the rope back into the boat. But when the anchor finally came back to the surface, the nets were gone.

“Maybe they floated up somewhere else,” Benjamin said hopefully. But Ted couldn’t see the nets anywhere. He said a silent prayer that Heavenly Father would help them find the nets.

They rowed around looking. But no matter how far they rowed, they couldn’t find the nets. After a little while they saw their parents waiting for them on the shore. Ted knew Mother and Father would be worried because they had been out with the boat longer than usual.

When they got to shore, Ted saw the worried look on Mother’s face and began to cry.

“What’s wrong?” Mother asked.

“We lost all the nets,” Benjamin said. His voice was quiet. He told his parents what had happened.

While Benjamin and Ted loaded the fish onto a cart for Mother to take to market, Dad took the boat out to look for the nets. But a storm was coming and the sky was turning black. As the ocean became choppy, Father returned. He had not been able to find the nets.

That night Ted heard Mother and Father talking.

“We don’t have enough money to buy even one new net,” Mother said.

During family prayer, Father prayed for a special blessing: “Please help us find our lost nets.”

The next morning the whole family searched along the beach.

Then when the tide went out, Ted and Benjamin went with Father in the rowboat. They spent the whole morning looking for the nets, but they didn’t find anything. Ted could tell that Father was starting to lose hope.

Just then, Ted thought he saw something glimmering in the water near the horizon. It could be another spot of sea foam or floating seaweed.

Or it might be the nets.

“Let’s row over there,” Ted said, pointing to the glimmer. “It looks like there is something floating.”

“I see something too,” Benjamin said.

As the boat got closer, Ted saw green seaweed leaves. His heart sank. But then, mixed in with the shiny leaves, he saw a glass float.

“It’s one of the floats!” he cried out. “I think the nets are there too!”

As Father pulled the boat alongside the float, Benjamin and Ted pulled the heavy, wet nets into the boat. All three nets were there. And they were full of cod, haddock, halibut, and Dover sole!

They had so many fish that some were spilling over the sides and back into the ocean. There was not enough room for all the fish.

“If we hurry, we can still get these fish to Chester Market,” Father said. But before they rowed the boat to shore, they stopped to say a prayer. They thanked Heavenly Father for helping them find all three of the nets and enough fish to fill the boat.

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The Happy Book

By Laura Lundy
Friend, Feb 2006, 32–35
(Based on a true story)

Have I cheered up the sad and made someone feel glad? (Hymns, no. 223).

“Don’t ask me how the science fair went!” Michelle declared, walking into the house after school.

“What happened?” Morgan asked.

“Didn’t you just hear me say don’t ask?” Michelle snapped. She walked right past her little sister and up the stairs. Bang! Her bedroom door slammed shut.

Morgan asked Mom why Michelle was mad. Mom explained that Michelle was hoping her project on hermit crabs would win at the science fair, and that it must not have happened.

“So why won’t she talk to me?” Morgan asked.

“Maybe she will later, honey. For now, we should leave her alone,” Mom said.

“But I want to play with her, like I always do when she comes home from school.”

“I don’t think she wants to play games right now. Maybe you could color or play dolls while I start making dinner,” Mom said.

Morgan went to her bedroom and took out some paper and crayons. She started to draw a picture with flowers. She colored it for a few minutes and then stopped. She quickly jumped up and ran to Mom.

“How long till dinner?” Morgan asked.

“About 45 minutes.”

“Is that enough time to make a happy book for Michelle? I want it to be done by dinner,” Morgan said.

Seeing Mom nod her head yes, Morgan ran back to her room and closed the door.

“Michelle! Morgan! Dinnertime!” Mom called a little while later.

Morgan hurried out of her room and ran to Michelle’s spot at the dinner table. She placed some papers facedown on Michelle’s plate. Then she sat in her own chair.

When Michelle came to the table, she pointed to the papers and grumpily asked, “What’s this?”

“It’s a happy book,” Morgan said softly.

“Oh.” Michelle picked up the papers and turned them over. She studied the first one.

“That’s a picture of a trophy. ‘Cause I liked your hermit crabs the best,” Morgan said. “The next one is a picture of a sad face.”

“Why?” Michelle asked.

“Because I got sad that you were mad and didn’t want to talk to me or play games with me.”

Michelle flipped to the next picture. “I know this one is a heart, right?”

“Yes,” Morgan said. “A heart means I love you.”

Michelle looked at the last picture, then at her sister.

“It’s my favorite. It’s me and you playing a game together.” Morgan looked at her older sister. “Did my book make you happy?”

“Yes, very happy,” said Michelle. “I’m sorry for being angry when I came home from school. I wasn’t mad at you. My project didn’t win anything, and I thought it would, so I was upset.”

“That’s OK. I still love you,” Morgan said.

“I love you too, Morgan,” Michelle said with a smile. “After dinner do you want to play a game?”

“All right!” Morgan cheered.

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My Friend Linda

By Heidi Renouf Brisco
Friend, Feb 2006, 36–38
(Based on a true story)

By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another (John 13:35).

People rarely walked up the big hill to get to my house. The ice-cream man wouldn’t waste his gas going up such a steep hill, the paperboy refused to ride his bike to deliver papers there, and even my dog would never run away because he would have to run back up the hill to get home! But at least once a week, Linda huffed and puffed up the big hill on her way up, up, up to my house.

Linda was an older, heavyset woman with short black-and-white hair like salt and pepper. Some people in our neighborhood said she was disabled, but my mother told me that Linda was special. Inside, she was still a little girl. Whenever Linda came to visit, she would greet us with a great big hug and a kiss on the cheek. We could not help smiling when she was around.

One day Linda came jaunting up the hill and bolted into the house. She never knocked or rang the doorbell; she just came in and said, “Linda is here!” Today she was so excited that she grabbed my brother Roy and danced him around the room, yelling, “I’m invited to the Snowflake Ball! Linda is invited to the Snowflake Ball!”

The Snowflake Ball was a fancy dance party for the people who went to Linda’s school. She was so excited to get dressed up that she could not talk about anything else. “I want to wear a big, red, fluffy dress, sparkles in my hair, and red, sparkly shoes,” she said. “I want to wear roses in my hair too. Do you like red, Katie?”

“I like red, but I like pink best,” I answered truthfully.

“I like red the best. I have always wanted to wear a beautiful red dress and be a fancy lady.”

Mother offered to sew Linda’s dream dress. We bought some red shoes at the discount store and glued glitter on them so they sparkled. Every time Linda tried on her dress and shoes, she cried when she had to take them off again. She liked looking as beautiful on the outside as she was on the inside.

Finally the day of the Snowflake Ball arrived. It was a school day for me, but I felt excited for Linda’s big party. At lunch I sat down outside with my friends. From a distance I heard someone yelling my name. “Katie! Katie! My best friend, Katie! Look at me! Katie, I’m so pretty! Katie, look at my pretty, fluffy, puffy, sparkly, happy dress. Katie, look at your friend Linda! I am a fancy lady. Linda is right here. Look, Katie!”

I saw Linda waving from across the street, all dressed up. I would have waved back, but I noticed my friends’ faces. They looked surprised.

“You know that weird lady?” Natalie asked. “She walks all over our neighborhood. My mother says she’s crazy.”

I stammered for an answer.

Then Kelly added, “I see her all over our neighborhood too. Look at her ugly dress! She looks so funny!” They all started to laugh.

Natalie smirked and again asked, “So you know that crazy lady? Is she your best friend or something? How does she know your name?”

Across the street Linda was still waving to me, but she had stopped yelling. I could tell she was sad that I had not answered. I sat quietly for a moment. “Um, I think she knows my name because she walks by our house and hears my mom calling me,” I lied. “Of course I don’t know her.”

Kelly, Natalie, and the other girls seemed relieved and continued joking about her. I felt terrible. I could not bring myself to look across the street at Linda. I couldn’t eat the rest of my lunch; I couldn’t even talk. I knew I had done something wrong.

When I was baptized the year before, I had promised to try to be like Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost was now telling me that I had broken my promise. Jesus loved Linda and would never treat her this way, and He loved me and would never want me to act this way.

As the girls began to clear away their lunches, I jumped up. “Stop! I am friends with that lady,” I blurted out. “Her name is Linda, and she is a friend of my family. Please don’t be mean to her. She is special, and we love her.” Some of the girls suppressed smiles, but others said they had special friends like Linda too.

Linda sat on the street curb looking sadly down at her sparkly shoes. Now it was my turn to shout and wave my arms. “Linda, Linda, my best friend, Linda. Look at me! Linda, you look so pretty! You are a very fancy lady! Linda, look at your pretty, puffy, sparkly, happy dress! Linda, look at your friend Katie. Katie is right here, Linda!”

Linda lifted her head. She smiled and waved. The more I waved and shouted, the more she waved back and smiled. Soon she and I were jumping up and down, waving, blowing kisses to each other, and smiling. We had attracted the attention of all the students outside, and they heard me say that Linda was my friend.

Linda had a wonderful time at the Snowflake Ball. She really did look like a fancy lady. Mother and I volunteered to serve punch at the dance so we could watch Linda have a good time.

After the ball Mother, Linda, and I walked up that great big hill to my house. I apologized to Linda for being slow to wave to her. She didn’t even seem to remember, and I thought how lucky I was to have such a forgiving friend. We had a lovely walk home together, my best friends and I. Somehow, with them on each side of me, that great big hill up, up, up to my house didn’t seem so hard after all.

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Lost in a Cave

By Carolyn Argyle
Friend, Feb 2006, 42–43
(Based on a true story)

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

Armed with flashlights, my brother and sister and I jumped out of the minivan and followed Dad down the trail leading to Lava River Cave. “Have fun,” Mom called. She and my baby brother had enough snacks and books to last two hours, the time it took us to hike the cave last time.

This time we felt more prepared. Dad wore a helmet so he wouldn’t scrape his head on the roof of the cave, and all of us had jackets and good hiking shoes. Flashlights shining, we entered the cold, dark cave. We crawled on hands and knees through the narrow opening until it widened and we could stand and walk.

As we plodded forward, we passed other spelunkers (cave explorers). The deeper into the cave we went, the more we saw people giving up and heading for the surface, maybe too scared of the dark to continue. But I liked the mysterious cave, as long as we had flashlights.

After a while, my brother Paul whimpered, “My flashlight isn’t working.” It dimmed and went out. A few minutes later, Crystal’s flashlight weakened too.

“Follow me closely,” Dad instructed.

“Oh no,” I mumbled. Now my flashlight was going dim! We had been in the cave for two hours. We were supposed to be finished by now.

“Bad news,” Dad said nervously. “I think we’ve been walking in a circle.” On our last visit to the cave, Dad had brought a map, but not this time. We had thought we knew the way.

We made another circle through the cave, but we didn’t see any other people who could help us. I was scared Dad’s flashlight would go out too, and we’d be left alone in the dark.

Paul began to cry.

Then it dawned on me. “We should say a prayer!”

Dad smiled. “That’s the right thing to do. I’ll say it.”

As he prayed that we could find our way out of the cave safely, I felt a calm, peaceful feeling. Soon we heard voices and saw spelunkers coming toward us with flashlights and headlamps. “Need help?” they called.

Not only did they know the way out, but they also gave my sister another flashlight and my brother a piggyback ride to the surface. When I saw sunlight again, I was so tired and relieved I collapsed on the ground.

Mom stood nearby with a camera. “What happened?” she called. “I was starting to get worried!”

As we told her our story, Dad realized something: “Our cave adventure was a little like our life here on earth,” he said.

“What do you mean?” Crystal asked.

“Well, we needed a flashlight to find our way, just like we need the Holy Ghost,” he explained. “Also, we should try to be more prepared. Today, we should have made sure we had new batteries in our flashlights, and we should have used a map to guide us.”

“Like we need the scriptures,” I said.

“That’s right. And when we prayed for help, what happened?”

“People helped us,” Paul piped up.

Dad nodded. “We need other people, like prophets and teachers, to help us find our way.”

I smiled. Grateful to be headed home, I knew I’d be grateful to return to my heavenly home someday.

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An A in Integrity

By Sara V. Olds
Friend, Feb 2006, 46–47
(Based on a true story)

The just man walketh in his integrity (Prov. 20:7).

Daniel burrowed deeper into his jacket and wished he were somewhere else—anywhere else. He hated parent-teacher conferences. For some children they were a quick pat on the back, but for Daniel they were a time of dread. They were where Mom learned all about his shortcomings as a student. They were where he heard the sadness in her voice and saw the disappointment in her eyes.

“Now about English.” Mr. Harding’s long finger tapped a fat C- on the grade sheet, then ran slowly down a row of numbers. “These are the scores that added up to Daniel’s grade.”

Daniel cringed and stared at the dark grain of the tabletop.

Mom studied the numbers. “Well,” she said with a sigh, “at least you don’t have any zeros this time.”

Mr. Harding pointed out several low quiz scores. “The problem here is that Daniel didn’t read the assignment. On every quiz I ask the students if they’ve read the story. If they haven’t, I take away half their points even if they get all the answers right.” He glanced at Daniel. “Reading the assignment is just as important as knowing the answers.”

The talk went on, but Daniel stopped listening. Would the conference never end?

At last they were on their way home. Mom didn’t say anything for a long time. Daniel knew that she was disappointed, perhaps even angry. When they stopped at a light, Mom turned to him. “I’m proud of you,” she said.

Daniel stared at her, too astonished to speak. Had he heard right?

“I’m not saying I’m proud of your grade,” she explained. “We both know you should have read those stories.”

He looked away and nodded.

“But you showed me something that’s more important than a grade.”

“I did?” He felt completely confused.

The light turned green, and they drove on. “You could easily have marked that you read the stories,” Mom continued. “Your grade would have been higher, and no one would have known for sure whether you answered truthfully.”

Daniel shifted in his seat to get a better look at Mom. She was smiling, and for once there was no disappointment in her eyes. “You told the truth knowing that it would hurt your score and that I might be really angry about your grade. Sweetie, that’s called integrity.”

Integrity. Daniel had heard the word, but wasn’t sure he knew what it meant. Even so, he felt a warm spot growing inside as they drove on home.

When they pulled into their driveway, Mom turned off the engine and took Daniel’s hands in hers. “Integrity is doing the right thing at the right time even when it’s hard,” she said. “You got a C- in English today, and that has to change. But you earned an A in integrity. I hope that never changes.”

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My Very Own Prophet

By Sheila Kindred
Friend, Mar 2006, 4–5
(Based on a true story)

We believe in … prophets (A of F 1:6).

“We are going to sing in church next week,” Sister Hardy, the Primary chorister, announced. There were murmurs of excitement and surprise among the Primary children.

I raised my hand. “Why are we singing next Sunday?” I asked. “It’s not Mother’s Day or Father’s Day. Easter was a long time ago, and it’s not Christmas yet. It’s only November.”

Sister Hardy smiled. “I know it’s not a special occasion, Eliza, but I feel we should do this.” She turned back to the group. “We’ll be singing one of your favorite songs: ‘Latter-day Prophets.’ ”

*

That was one of our favorite songs. Enthusiastically we practiced the song, holding up pictures of each prophet as we sang his name:

Joseph Smith; then Brigham Young;

John Taylor came third, we know,

Then Wilford Woodruff, Lorenzo Snow;

Joseph F. Smith, remember the F,

Heber J. Grant and George Albert Smith;

David O. McKay was followed by

Joseph Fielding Smith,

A mighty man was Harold B. Lee,

And now we’ve named past prophets, you see.

Our prophet today is loved by all;

He’s Spencer W. Kimball.

So many prophets! I counted the pictures. Ten, eleven, twelve in all! I knew that Heber J. Grant called my grandpa on his mission to New Zealand. I knew my mother met David O. McKay when she was a little girl.

I knew that Joseph Fielding Smith called my dad on his mission to Hong Kong, but it was President Kimball that I knew best.

President Kimball had been the prophet my whole life. I loved to hear his gravelly but kind voice when he spoke in conference, and I tried to do what he taught. My family had a big garden because President Kimball told us we should plant one. I was trying to keep a journal and memorize scriptures because that’s what President Kimball had done since he was a little boy. Because President Kimball received the revelation on priesthood, my good friend, Abdul, could be sealed to his family in the temple. I really did love President Kimball. He was my very own prophet, and I was glad my Primary could sing about him in church.

But during that week, something terrible happened. On Wednesday my mom came into my room with tears in her eyes. “I have some sad news, Eliza. President Kimball died last night.”

Suddenly there were tears in my own eyes. I felt lost. My very own prophet gone? Who would lead us now?

Mother knelt by my bed. “Let’s pray and thank Heavenly Father that we were guided by such a wonderful prophet for so long. And let’s ask Him to bless and comfort sweet Sister Kimball.”

We prayed, then we hugged each other and cried a little. It made me feel better.

“I’ll miss him,” Mom said.

“Me too,” I said. Then I remembered something. “Mom, we’re singing ‘Latter-day Prophets’ in church this Sunday. Do you think we’ll still do it? Or do you think Sister Hardy will pick another song for us to sing?”

Mother shook her head. “I think Sister Hardy was inspired to pick this song. It will be a special tribute to President Kimball. I’m sure you’ll sing it very well.”

My mother was right. We did sing it on Sunday, just as it had been written. And even though President Kimball was no longer “our prophet today,” he was still “loved by all.”

As I sang I felt comforted. I knew that Heavenly Father would never leave us without a prophet to guide us and show us the way. Just as eleven prophets had come before President Kimball, many others would follow after him. Each prophet would be called of God, and each prophet would be loved by all—just like my very own prophet, Spencer W. Kimball.

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His Burden Was Made Light

By Sandra Dawn Brimhall
Friend, Mar 2006, 10–11
(Based on a true story)

The Lord did strengthen them that they could bear up their burdens with ease (Mosiah 24:15).

When Horst Scharffs was 14 years old, his mother gave him money for a railroad ticket and sent him into the country to try to buy food. The Scharffs lived in Hamburg, Germany, during World War I, and food was scarce and had to be rationed. Townspeople often tried to purchase food from farmers who sometimes had a little extra.

After a two-hour train ride, Horst arrived at a village where he began walking door-to-door. Though he visited more than 40 houses, no one would sell him anything.

Horst was determined not to return home empty-handed, so he decided to walk 2.8 miles (4.5 km) to the next village. After walking about 45 minutes and stopping at all of the houses along the way, he met a farmer who sold him 100 pounds (45 kg) of potatoes. Horst couldn’t believe his luck! The most he had hoped for was a pound of butter or a few pounds of bacon.

The farmer lifted the sack of potatoes across Horst’s shoulders, and Horst started back the way he had come. It wasn’t long before he realized the difficulty of his task. The potatoes, which weighed at least as much as he did, were almost too great a burden for an undernourished boy. If he dropped the load onto the roadside to rest, he might not be able to lift it back onto his shoulders.

As Horst wrestled with this problem, he suddenly thought of his mother, who had taught him from the scriptures about the power of prayer. He remembered a story in the Book of Mormon about the people of Alma in the land of Helam. These Nephites, who were in bondage to the Lamanites, asked the Lord to help them bear their burdens. The Lord answered their prayers by making their burdens seem light. It occurred to Horst that the Lord might also lighten the weight of his burden.

Horst began to pray. Instantly, he felt as if the load had been taken off his shoulders. He was able to walk with ease all the way to the train station without resting.

At the station, another miracle occurred. Village police had the authority to take away any food they found on passengers. Many people tried to hide their food, but there was no way Horst could hide 100 pounds of potatoes. To his surprise, nothing was said when he boarded the train, and he was allowed to take the potatoes home to his mother.

Those potatoes not only fed Horst’s family during a difficult time, but they also fed his spirit—he developed an unshakable testimony that the Lord hears and answers prayers.

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Isaac Gomez of Provo, Utah

By Melvin Leavitt
Friend, Mar 2006, 14–16

Isaac Gomez is seven years old, but he plays chess like someone much older. He can do this because he has learned to look ahead. It has been calculated that the 32 chess pieces on the board’s 64 squares can create a novemtrigintillion different combinations through moves and exchanges—that’s the number 1 with 120 zeros after it! Isaac must continually peer as far as he can into that maze of possibilities in order to choose the right move. He has become a rather “far-sighted” boy.

When Isaac was five years old, his grandfather, who was visiting from Mexico, gave him a chess set and taught him the rules of the game. Isaac caught on so quickly that he was soon competing in tournaments. At first he wasn’t taken seriously. “We went to tournaments, and they thought he was too small,” his mother, Astrid, remembers. “No one wanted to play with him.” Now tournament organizers from several states know him and welcome him.

Isaac is competitive and doesn’t like to lose, but when he prays before each tournament, he does not pray to win. He simply asks for help to do his best. So far, his best has been very good. He has earned a shelf of trophies and defeated much older opponents.

Chess is a demanding game, and Isaac studies it intensely. But it isn’t his only interest. He likes soccer and plays on a team. He also enjoys movies, swimming, basketball, ice skating, bike riding, trips to nearby canyons and mountains, motorcycle rides with his dad, and playing with friends. Sometimes in the summer the family goes to a park near the Provo Utah Temple and slides down a grassy hill on blocks of ice. Isaac has a healthy appetite too, especially for his mother’s picada, a traditional Mexican food from the Vera Cruz region where she grew up. It is a homemade tortilla with cheese and salsa on top.

Isaac also enjoys school. He is a good student and has earned honors for doing well in his classes. Like many chess players, he likes math, but he likes physical education and recess just as much. At home, he does his share of chores, including washing dishes, taking out the garbage, and cleaning the room he and his brothers share. And, of course, he’s always ready for a game of chess.

Although Isaac plays to win on the chessboard, he is kind and caring elsewhere. “He’s a nice guy,” his father, Jorge, says. “He’s good to his younger brothers, Arath and Brandon. He helps with anything they need. He also teaches chess to anyone in our ward who wants to learn.”

As Isaac approaches his eighth birthday, he is preparing for baptism even more seriously than he prepares for tournaments. Brother and Sister Gomez don’t want Isaac to be baptized just because his friends are—they want to be sure he understands the commitment he is going to make. Isaac is reading the Book of Mormon and praying to know the truth. He has a good feeling about the gospel.

He has a great desire to live it too, and sets a good example. “We were at a checkout stand in a grocery store,” his mother recalls. “I opened a bag of potato chips for the children, but Isaac said, ‘You shouldn’t open it yet. First you pay, and then you eat.’ He wouldn’t take any. After the clerk passed the bag through the checkout stand, he took a chip. So I learned a lesson that day.”

Isaac’s influence for good doesn’t end with his family. His chess skills and study habits have been featured in TV reports and newspaper articles. His mother says, “Parents have come to us to say that their children read an article or saw a TV report about Isaac and were motivated to study harder.” Some have taken up chess themselves. “Chess helps them to understand mathematics and read better,” Sister Gomez explains. “It also keeps them busy and helps them stay out of trouble.”

Brother and Sister Gomez expect great things from all their children. “There’s nothing they can’t do or be if they choose,” Brother Gomez insists. “We see them as great people who will do much good and serve their fellow men. We are always thinking of them. We try to attend their activities and we put them first in our lives.”

With such caring parents, Isaac is off to a fine start. He has already learned that a good person, like a good chess player, must always try to look ahead and choose the right. As Isaac keeps the commandments and prepares for baptism, he is learning to see farther and deeper into a bright future.

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Fortune Cookies

By Claudia G. Remington
Friend, Mar 2006, 28–31
(Based on a true story)

Devise not evil against thy neighbour (Prov. 3:29).

The March day felt almost like summer as Raybell walked down the quiet country road. Her parents had gone to dinner the night before and had brought her two fortune cookies that she carried in a paper bag. She wanted to give one to her best friend, Linda.

Raybell looked out over the fields that were just beginning to turn green and thought how very quiet and empty her little farming town was. The sun felt warm on her head and shoulders, and a meadowlark broke the lonely silence with its call from the telephone lines.

Raybell hurried up the long walkway to Linda’s house and knocked on the door. She waited and then knocked again. The house was silent. Maybe Linda’s family had gone into town. Raybell sat on the steps and waited for about ten minutes, though it seemed longer. Finally she got up and wandered across the road to the church, a white building with pine trees in front. She sat down on the church steps where she had a view of Linda’s house. She could also see Judy’s house across the field, and she began to think about what had happened after Primary one day last month.

Snow had fallen all day, covering everything. Raybell and Linda had come out of their Primary class into the front foyer where everybody’s coats and boots were. “Look at Judy’s raggedy old brown boots,” Linda had said. “Judy is so mean. She’s always saying something rude, even to the teacher. And I know she stole my new pen that I got for my birthday.”

“How do you know?” Raybell asked.

“I saw her with it. I’m pretty sure it was mine.”

“I wonder if she stole my candy bar out of my desk too,” Raybell said.

“You know what we could do?” Linda whispered. “We could put snow in her boots.”

Before Raybell could say anything, Linda grabbed them and started out the door. Raybell went after her, and together they filled the toes of Judy’s boots with snow and put them back in place before Judy came out of her class.

When Judy came into the foyer, Raybell and Linda stood nearby and watched her. Judy pulled on one boot and quickly pulled her foot out again. Linda giggled a little, but Judy didn’t seem to hear. She looked into her boot and frowned. The look in Judy’s eyes made Raybell feel a little sick inside. Judy picked up her boots and went outside. As she passed Raybell and Linda, she looked defiantly into their faces. She emptied her boots, pulled each one on, and trudged across the snowy field to her house. Raybell and Linda stood on the church steps watching her and then went home without saying much.

Now Raybell sat on the steps in the warm sunshine and remembered the feelings of that day. Judy hadn’t spoken to her in the last month, but she had never been very friendly. Raybell looked across the field at Judy’s run-down house, surrounded by old, broken-down cars.

Judy always seemed to be angry, but Raybell remembered one day last summer when she wasn’t. Raybell’s yellow kitten had disappeared. She had searched everywhere around their farm and finally had walked down the road calling it. Raybell was afraid a coyote had come down from the hills and eaten it. Tears were falling as she walked along the road. Suddenly she looked up, and through the blur of her tears, she saw Judy running across the field toward her with the yellow kitten in her arms. She held the kitten out to her. “Is this yours?”

Raybell gathered the soft kitten into her arms. It purred and rubbed its nose against her cheek. “Yes. Where did you find it?”

“When I cut through the field I heard a loud meow, and there it was, between the rows of wheat. I thought maybe it was yours.”

“Thanks for bringing her to me.” Raybell smiled, and Judy smiled back.

Raybell looked again at Judy’s old house. She looked at the paper sack sitting on the steps with the two fortune cookies in it. She picked it up and climbed through the fence into the damp, plowed field.

As Raybell approached the house, she saw Judy sitting on her rickety front steps wearing an old army shirt and baggy pants. She watched Raybell with a hostile expression, and Raybell wished she hadn’t come. She tried to smile.

“My mom and dad went out to eat last night—”

“So?” Judy said.

“Well, they brought these fortune cookies, and I thought we could open them and read our fortunes.” Judy’s expression was puzzled but not angry. “Judy, I’m really sorry about putting snow in your boots.” She stood there not knowing what else to say.

“What do I care if my boots are wet? It doesn’t bother me,” Judy said.

“Well, I’m sorry anyway. I’d hate it if my boots were all wet inside. I guess I’m not as tough as you.”

Judy shrugged her shoulders. “So are you going to give me one of those fortune cookies or not?”

“Oh, sure.” Raybell sat down on the steps and handed a cookie to Judy. They broke the cookies in half and read the slips of paper. “What does yours say?” Raybell asked.

Judy sat up very straight. “It says I will be rich and famous one day. How about yours?”

“ ‘You are a good leader and should consider politics or business,’ ” Raybell read. They both laughed.

Judy took a bite of her cookie. “I prefer chocolate cookies, but they’re not bad.”

“Me too,” Raybell said. They both laughed again. Raybell munched her cookie and thought that the spring sunshine felt even warmer here on Judy’s steps.

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Go Back to the House

By Britney Schetselaar
Friend, Mar 2006, 32–33
(Based on a true story)

They that are wise … have taken the Holy Spirit for their guide (D&C 45:57).

They had left him! Derek stood in the driveway with his shiny black Sunday shoes in his hands. He had been digging the shoes out of the bottom of his closet when he heard the car’s engine starting. Bounding down the stairs, Derek only caught a glimpse of the family van as it turned the corner.

Derek was sure that his family hadn’t left him on purpose. Mom probably thought he was in the backseat of the van. A lonely, empty feeling filled Derek’s stomach. What was he supposed to do now?

Sitting down in the middle of the driveway, Derek pulled on his socks and shoes. If his family had forgotten him, he would just walk to church by himself. It was a warm day, and he was pretty sure he knew the way.

He started confidently down the street. He walked past the Garretts’ house, past the tree house in the willow where he played after kindergarten, and past the Petersons’ house. He was about to turn the corner when a sudden thought came to him: he needed to go back to the house.

Derek stopped mid-step. That was silly. Why should he go back? He stood silently on the deserted sidewalk, thinking about what to do next. He took another step down the street.

The thought came again, this time stronger. “Go back to the house!” He turned and ran as fast as his feet would carry him back to the house. He ran past the Petersons’, past the tree house, and past the Garretts’, his Sunday shoes pounding loudly on the sidewalk. He ran through the front door and slammed it shut behind him. Out of breath and filled with panic, he slumped down in the corner of the family room behind the couch and curled up tightly in a ball. He could hear his heart pounding loudly in his chest. He shut his eyes tightly and murmured a short prayer. “Please help my family to come find me soon!”

As soon as he had finished saying the words, he heard the front door open. “Derek?” someone called. Derek peeked over the couch. His older sister, Amanda, was standing in the doorway. “Oh, there you are!” she exclaimed when she saw the top of his head. Derek ran to her, threw his arms around her legs and started to cry. Amanda knelt down to give him a hug.

“Oh, Bud,” she said softly. “It’s OK. You know we wouldn’t ever really forget you.”

Derek nodded through his tears. “I started to walk to church, but then I heard something telling me to go back to the house. Then I said a prayer, and you came back.”

“Good job!” Amanda said. “You must have been following the promptings of the Holy Ghost!” Derek was surprised. Was that who the thoughts had come from?

Amanda continued, “I’m glad you came back because it helped me to find you quickly. What if you had walked a different way than I came home, or if you had gotten lost? You made the right choice.”

Derek smiled at his big sister. A warm feeling started in his heart and filled him up inside. “Thank you, Amanda,” he said. “I’m glad that I listened to the Spirit.”

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Abuela’s Answer

By Jane McBride Choate
Friend, Mar 2006, 38–39
(Based on a true story)

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

Tired but happy after her soccer game, Gracie walked to the bleachers where her family sat. Her whole family, including her abuela (grandmother), had come to watch the game.

“You played with honor,” Gracie’s papá said as he put his arm around her shoulders.

Gracie grinned. “Gracias, Papá.”

The family piled into the car. When Papá suggested that they stop for lunch to celebrate the team’s victory, Gracie and her younger brother and sister cheered.

The restaurant was crowded, with only two empty booths available. Four players from the other team walked in after Gracie’s family and took the booth behind theirs. They began talking loudly, insulting the players on Gracie’s team.

Gracie looked at her parents and saw dismay on their faces. They were as uncomfortable as she was with the vulgar language they were hearing. She wondered what they would do.

Papá started to stand when Gracie’s abuela leaned over the back of the booth and started talking to the young people.

She didn’t say anything about their language but asked questions about their hobbies. One of the girls shyly said that she liked to knit.

“Come over to our table,” Abuela invited. “I’ll show you what I’m working on.”

The four players trooped over to join Gracie’s family at their booth. Everyone slid closer together to make room for them.

Abuela opened the knitting bag she always carried and pulled out a stocking hat. “I can make one of these in 30 minutes.”

“Could you show me how to do that sometime?” the girl asked.

“It would be my pleasure,” Abuela said.

“You’re pretty cool,” one of the boys said.

Abuela smiled. “For an old lady.”

“For anyone.” He hesitated, then looked around to Gracie’s family with an embarrassed expression. “I guess you’d like it if we didn’t talk like we did.”

Abuela patted the boy’s hand and smiled. “You are right.”

“Thanks for talking to us like we’re real people,” the girl said. “Most people ignore us.”

“You are real people. Even more important, you are each a child of God,” Abuela said. “Always remember that.”

Gracie watched a look of wonder come over the girl’s face.

The boys and girls returned to their booth and finished their meal. They left shortly after that.

Papá gave Abuela a hug. “Mamá, you are amazing. All I could think of was their bad language. I didn’t remember that they were also children of God.”

Later that night, Gracie asked Papá, “How did Abuela know what to say to those kids?”

“Your abuela treats everyone the same,” Papá said. “She knows that we’re all God’s children.”

Gracie hasn’t forgotten that lesson—nor her abuela’s example.

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More Blessed

By Rachel C. Murdock
Friend, Mar 2006, 44–45
(Based on a true story)

It is more blessed to give than to receive (Acts 20:35).

“Mom! Mom! They’re selling ice cream after school this week!” Wade jumped into the car with excitement in his voice. “Could I take a dollar from my bank and buy one tomorrow? Please?”

Mom laughed as Wade bounced on the backseat of the minivan. “You decide how to use the money in your spending bank,” she said. “If you want to use it for ice cream, you go right ahead.”

“All right!” Wade cried. As soon as they arrived home, he ran to his room, removed a dollar from his spending bank, and carefully zipped it into his backpack pocket.

After school the next day, Wade went to the front hall where the student council helpers sat at a table. Pictures of each kind of ice-cream bar were taped to the table. What to choose? It was hard to decide between the chocolate bar, the orange bar, the nutty cone, the red rocket, and the vanilla ice cream covered with bits of candy bar. He finally chose the nutty cone and opened it up.

On his way out to the car, he went to the music room to pick up his instrument so he could practice at home. His music teacher, Mr. Nolan, was straightening chairs and music stands.

“Wade, how nice of you to get me ice cream!” he joked, reaching toward the cone. “Just what I could use after a long day.”

Wade laughed. “I bought this one for me,” he said.

Mr. Nolan made a silly sad face. “Oh, too bad,” he sighed. Then he laughed. “Enjoy your ice cream!”

Wade waved good-bye to him and skipped out to the car. “I got ice cream, Mom!”

He told her about Mr. Nolan and his silly face. “Maybe he really would like some ice cream,” Wade thought. “Mom,” he said, “could I use another dollar to buy Mr. Nolan ice cream tomorrow?”

“It’s your money, Wade,” said Mom with a smile.

As soon as he got home, Wade ran to his room again. He pulled another dollar from his bank and again put it into his backpack pocket. “What kind of face will Mr. Nolan make when I hand him the ice cream?” Wade wondered. He could hardly wait to see.

As soon as class ended the next day, Wade quickly gathered his books and walked down the hall to the ice-cream table. Today he didn’t stop to think about which flavor to buy. Mr. Nolan had seemed to think the nutty cone looked good. “I’ll take one cone,” Wade said.

He didn’t open it this time but zipped down the hall toward the music room. Sure enough, Mr. Nolan was there straightening chairs again. “Oh, you brought me more ice cream!” he said.

This time Wade walked right up to Mr. Nolan. “Yep, I did!” he announced and handed Mr. Nolan the cone.

Mr. Nolan didn’t make a silly face at all. Instead, he looked very surprised.

“Is this really for me?” he asked.

“Yep,” Wade said.

“How much do I owe you?” Mr. Nolan asked.

“Oh, nothing,” Wade said. “I got it for you.”

“Why, thank you very much,” Mr. Nolan said with a smile.

Wade felt wonderful from the tips of his sneakers to the top of his head. He couldn’t contain the grin on his face.

“You’re welcome,” he called as he grabbed his instrument and trotted out to the car where his mother was waiting. He was still smiling as he opened the door.

“How did it go?” Mom asked.

“Great!” Wade said. Then he thought for a second. “You know what, Mom? I think getting ice cream for Mr. Nolan was even better than getting it for myself!”

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Ten-Dollar Hug

By Holly K. Simmons
Friend, Mar 2006, 46–47
(Based on a true story)

God loveth a cheerful giver (2 Cor. 9:7).

“Erin, would you mind tucking the blanket down around my socks? My toes are cold.”

Erin tucked the colorful afghan around Grandma’s feet. Just then, Dylan and Jason came racing through the living room and almost knocked over a lamp. Mom went after them, calling, “No running in the house! You two head outside if you want to play tag.”

Grandma chuckled and winked at Erin. “Your brothers are getting restless, aren’t they? I guess my house is a little boring.”

Erin sat on the edge of the couch next to Grandma. “We love visiting you, even if you don’t have toys. The boys like finding pill bugs in the garden, and I love reading your old books.”

“But you can only do those things for so long. Hmmm. I have an idea.” Grandma called Mom from the kitchen. “Lucy, will you go into my bedroom and get my purse?”

Mom came back with Grandma’s purse and asked, “Do you need us to go to the store for you?”

“Actually, Lucy, I need you to get three ten-dollar bills from my purse and take the kids shopping. Let them each pick out something fun. How does that sound, Erin?”

Erin grinned. “Sounds great,” she said.

“That’s awfully generous of you, Mother,” Mom said, patting Grandma’s hand.

At the store, Dylan and Jason pulled Mom toward the toy aisle.

“I want a dinosaur,” Jason said.

“I want a robot,” Dylan said.

Erin wasn’t sure what she wanted. Maybe a new book?

Dylan and Jason hugged their toys and marched toward the checkout stands.

“Erin,” Mom said, “you’d better choose something. The boys are ready to go.”

Erin looked around. She thought about getting a box of stationery and writing letters to all of her friends back home. But then she saw another stack of boxes, and she knew exactly what she wanted to buy with her ten dollars.

Back at Grandma’s, Erin carried the bag into the house.

“Let’s see what you all got,” Grandma said.

Jason showed Grandma his stegosaurus. Dylan held up a robot that could turn into a car.

“And what did you get, Erin?” Grandma asked.

Erin reached into the bag and pulled out a box. She removed the lid and held up a pair of cozy slippers. “I got these for you,” Erin said. “To keep your toes warm.”

As soon as Grandma’s arms wrapped around her, Erin felt warm inside and out. She knew she had made a good choice. Grandma’s hugs and happy tears were worth every penny.

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Message in the Storm

By Sheila Kindred
Friend, Apr 2006, 4–6
(Based on a true story)

For God, who commanded the light to shine out of darkness, hath shined in our hearts (2 Cor. 4:6).

“It’s starting to cloud up,” Mom said. “We got back to the car just in time.”

Meg looked back at the canyon road growing smaller in the distance. From the freeway the beautiful red-rock cliffs were completely hidden by the mountains. People could drive by and not even know they were there. But Meg knew they were there. They had taken a detour up that way so her dad and her uncle could go for a walk in the peaceful valley.

“They need some alone time,” Mom had explained.

Meg understood. They had just come from Grandpa Ted’s funeral service. Meg loved her grandpa and missed him, and she knew her dad and her uncle missed him even more.

Their time in the pleasant canyon was short. Now they were driving on the freeway again, with Uncle Evan in his van a few miles ahead. Clouds blocked the sun and Meg’s heart grew heavy as she thought about Grandpa.

Meg remembered someone at the funeral saying that Grandpa had gone ahead to a beautiful spirit world and was waiting for them there. But that place seemed too far away, especially since Grandma Iris needed Grandpa here to take care of her. Grandma was sick and frail. How was Grandma going to make it on her own?

Meg blinked back her tears just as raindrops poured down the car window. “The sky is crying too,” Meg thought.

“What is that?” Mom sounded worried.

“A very concentrated storm,” Dad answered, slowing the car slightly.

Meg looked up and saw a thick wall of dark clouds that completely hid the road ahead.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Mom said. “I wonder what it’s like inside.”

“We’ll soon find out,” Dad said.

As soon as the car entered the cloud, it got so dark that Dad turned on the car headlights. The rain turned to hail that angrily pelted the car and danced on the road. It was much colder now.

Suddenly, the cell phone rang. Mom answered it, and Meg could hear Uncle Evan’s voice on the other end.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“We just entered the storm,” Mom said.

“Slow down,” Uncle Evan warned. “It’s snowing where I am, and the road is very slippery. If you don’t slow down you might slide off the road.”

Dad immediately slowed the car just as snowflakes filled the air. They drove past several cars that had slid off the road, but Dad managed to keep the car moving safely. After several more minutes the phone rang again.

“We’re out,” Uncle Evan said, relief in his voice. “The end of the storm is just ahead. Keep going and you’ll make it.”

Sure enough, it wasn’t long before the snow stopped, the clouds thinned, and darkness turned into light.

“Amazing!” Mom said as she and Meg turned to look at the solid black clouds behind them.

“Look at that,” Dad said, pointing to the right. “Let me pull over so you can see.”

Dad drove onto a side road and stopped. Meg and her parents got out of the car and looked up into the sky. Overhead they saw not one, not two, but three rainbows.

“A triple rainbow!” Meg gasped. “It’s beautiful.”

“Wow,” Mom breathed. “This must be our reward for making it through the storm.”

“Yes,” Dad said, smiling. “It’s proof that at the end of life, with all its difficulties, there really is a heaven.”

“As long as we do the things that keep us safely on the right road,” Mom added.

“But, Mom, if Uncle Evan hadn’t called to warn us, we might not have been safe,” Meg pointed out. “We might still be back there, stuck in the storm.”

“That’s very true,” Dad agreed. “So you see, it pays to listen to an older brother who has traveled the road ahead. Especially when he warns you of danger. No matter how dark the storm, he’ll help you get through it.”

Meg smiled. Her heart felt as light as the sunshine now filling the sky. She realized Grandma was not alone. Grandma had the Savior, Jesus Christ, to guide her. And when Grandma left the storms of life behind, she would see Grandpa waiting for her in a place even more beautiful than triple rainbows.

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A Firm Decision

by Melvin Leavitt
From an interview with Elder E. Israel Pérez
Friend, Apr 2006, 8–9

Choose ye this day, to serve the Lord God who made you (Moses 6:33).

My parents and my three older brothers were baptized in Quetzaltenango, Guatemala, when I was just six years old. I am grateful that they had the wisdom and courage to accept the truth. My parents and marvelous Primary teachers taught me the eternal principles of the gospel. I came to love our Father in Heaven and His Son, Jesus Christ, and to know that Heavenly Father always blesses us if we are obedient.

The first time I was assigned to give a short talk, I was worried because I couldn’t pronounce the letter R correctly. I wondered, “How can I do this?” My mother told me, “God will bless you, and all will turn out well.” That’s exactly what happened, and I never again had any problem with the letter R.

At the age of eight I was baptized in borrowed white trousers. They were too long, but my mother tucked the legs up and fastened them with a few stitches. This worked fine until they got wet. As I stepped out of the water the weight of the wet cloth broke the stitches. I tripped over my borrowed pants and fell to my knees. The thought immediately came to me that this was a reminder to always kneel and pray for the help of our Heavenly Father in everything.

When I became a deacon I had a feeling that I should make some important decisions about my life. I decided that I would never drink liquor, that I would never smoke a cigarette, and that I would be obedient.

Once when I was 16 years old, I was in a restaurant with some friends from church. A man who knew one of us came in. He said, “I want to invite all of you to drink some liquor right here and now.”

I remember standing up and saying, “None of us drink liquor. And if you want to drink, go find somewhere else to do it.”

This man was in his early 20s and much larger than I was—a very strong man—and he became mad. He brought a glass of liquor to me and said, “I’m going to make you drink this!”

I said, “Don’t try it. There could be unfortunate consequences.” He tried to grab me and force me to drink the liquor. The next thing I knew, the man was lying on the floor. I really didn’t have the strength to defend myself against that man, but Heavenly Father provided what I lacked.

Much later, when I was a husband, father, and businessman, I was invited to attend a lunch with the president of the Republic of Guatemala. I found myself in a room with many other guests. When the president entered, waiters poured liquor so that everyone could join in a toast. But I covered my glass with my hand. The president said, “Mr. Pérez, won’t you join me in a toast?”

I replied, “Mr. President, if you’re asking me if I will wish you success in your government, I will. But if you’re asking me if I will drink liquor, I will not. I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. If that is a problem, I can leave right now.”

He said, “No, no.” They drank their liquor, and we sat down. A little later the president said, “Tell me something of your church,” and I did.

It doesn’t matter where we are or whom we are with, we can always stand by our principles. If we make a firm decision once and for all, when temptations arise we don’t have to think, “What am I going to do?” or “What am I not going to do?” The decision is already made.

We are never alone. Even though His creation is so immense, our Father in Heaven knows that you live and that I live. He knows our hearts. He knows our thoughts. He has given us His perfect plan of happiness because He loves us. He is always searching for ways to bless us.

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Paolo’s Birthday

By Jane McBride Choate
Friend, Apr 2006, 20–23
(Based on a true story)

Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also (Matt. 6:21).

Paolo trudged home from school.

Saturday was his tenth birthday. Back home in Mexico, his family had celebrated birthdays with a big party, inviting many of their friends and relatives. His mother would prepare a large meal of wonderful foods, and his father would give special presents.

Ever since his family had moved to a small town in Colorado last fall, money had been scarce.

It was not the big party he would miss or even the presents. It was the way of life—the traditions and customs—that tugged at the empty place in his heart. His family still practiced some of the old ways, but it was not the same.

He stopped at the bakery where his father worked. Though his father had been a professor at the university in Mexico City, he had not been able to find a teaching job in the United States. He’d taken a job as a doughnut and bread maker at the local bakery.

“No work is to be ashamed of if it is honest and helps people,” his father had said when Paolo asked him about it. He’d pointed to the loaves of freshly baked bread. A rich, yeasty smell filled the small shop. “I bake good bread. It helps the people who buy it, and Mr. Patterson, who owns the store. Someday, I might be able to teach in the United States, but until then, I am content.”

Paolo had nodded, but he wasn’t convinced.

He thought about that as he stepped into the small bakery. He inhaled deeply, savoring the aroma of cinnamon and sugar.

His father smiled. “Paolo, I am glad you came.”

Paolo climbed on top of a tall stool and watched as his father wiped down the counters and polished the glass display cases until they gleamed.

“There.” His father hung up the towel. “Would you like to try my new creation?”

Paolo bit into the savory pastry his father handed him. “It is good.”

Paolo and his father walked home together. Someday, maybe, there’d be enough money to buy a car. For now they walked or took the bus.

Paolo waited until they were almost home when he said, “We do not live like we did in our country.”

“You will have a birthday party this year,” his father said, guessing Paolo’s thoughts.

“It won’t be the same,” Paolo muttered.

“Because we do not live in a big house?”

Paolo started to deny it and then hung his head. “I wish we had never left Mexico. That was our home.”

His father stopped and gestured to their modest one-story house. “This is our home now. It is a good place.”

Paolo looked at the rented house where his family lived. It was small and run-down. He had not invited any of his friends to visit because he was ashamed of it. In Mexico, their home had been much nicer, a place he could be proud of.

He hadn’t told his parents of his feelings. He knew they would be hurt.

“Paolo, you have not invited anyone to your birthday party,” his mother said as he set his books on the kitchen table.

He pretended to be very busy in making himself a snack, avoiding meeting his father’s gaze.

“What is it, Paolo?” his mother asked. “You do not laugh or smile as you once did. Are you so unhappy here?”

The worry in his mother’s voice caused him to flush with guilt. “I am happy. I just haven’t made friends yet.”

That was not true and his conscience nagged him. David, a boy at school, had invited Paolo to his home several times. David lived in a fine house. Paolo could not invite his friend to the shabby house where his family now lived.

His mother’s eyes were shadowed with pain. “You are ashamed of your papá and me. Of where we live.”

“No, Mamá. I could never be ashamed of you.”

“But you are embarrassed by our home, aren’t you?”

He wanted to deny it. A look at Mamá’s face convinced him she would not believe him. “I will invite someone,” he said.

The pain in her eyes eased. “Good. I will prepare a special meal.”

“Ten is an important age,” his father said, his dark eyes serious. “Two years ago you were baptized. In two more years, you will receive the priesthood and be ordained a deacon.”

The words of the blessing his father had given him at the time of his baptism sounded clearly in Paolo’s mind: “I bless you with the knowledge to choose your friends wisely. Remember that the friends you make can influence your choices. Be an example to them and let your light shine.”

At the time Paolo had thought the blessing was to warn him of those who might try to tempt him to forget his principles. Last year a boy in his class had dared Paolo to steal something from a store. Paolo had walked away and avoided the boy after that.

For the rest of the afternoon and evening, Paolo worked hard to help around the house. He polished the furniture, swept the kitchen floor, and washed the dinner dishes while his sisters dried.

“Thank you, Paolo,” his mother said, looking up from where she was rolling out pastry. “We will have a good party on Saturday. You will see.”

The following day at school Paolo asked David, “Would you like to come to my birthday party on Saturday?”

A smile creased David’s face. “Sure.” He punched his friend lightly on the arm. “I was wondering when you were going to ask me over to your house.”

When David arrived on Saturday afternoon, Paolo tried to see his home through the eyes of his friend. Richly woven rugs brightened the floor. Pillows, embroidered by his mother, covered the furniture. The house smelled of frijoles and spices and simmering meat. The old house no longer appeared so shabby as laughter and the aroma of good food filled it.

He introduced David to his parents and little sisters and was pleased when David joined in the fun of knocking down the piñata.

Once again Paolo recalled the blessing at the time of his baptism. Now he realized that, in addition to the warning, the blessing also encouraged him to make and appreciate good friends like David.

“Your family’s great,” David said between bites of frijoles.

“Yeah,” Paolo agreed. “You’re right.” The things he had worried over no longer seemed important. He had what really mattered.

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Sammy’s Sabbath Dilemma

By Stacie A. Heaps
Friend, Apr 2006, 34
(Based on a true story)

Remember the sabbath day, to keep it holy (Ex. 20:8).

“You be good and mind your aunt and uncle,” Dad said.

Sammy gave his dad a big hug and then gave his mom an even bigger one. “I will,” he promised, waving good-bye as his parents left for a weekend out of town. Sammy was happy to be spending Saturday and Sunday at his cousin Joey’s house. There were so many fun things to do. There were board games and video games. There was a swing set, a trampoline, and a barn with a loft. Playing in the loft was Sammy’s favorite thing.

Sammy had a great time. He and Joey played catch in the morning. After lunch they bounced high on the trampoline and soared even higher on the swing set. Later in the afternoon they played hide-and-seek in the barn. For dinner they had sloppy joes, Sammy’s favorite. After dinner, Joey and Sammy watched one of their favorite movies and then fell asleep in the family room.

The next morning, Sammy enjoyed going to Primary with Joey. Brother Clark, the CTR 5 teacher, was kind. Sammy liked hearing the stories in the lesson.

After church the boys changed their clothes. “What should we do now?” Sammy asked.

Joey thought for a minute. “What if we play at the park? Or we could watch a movie or take turns riding my bike. Or we could play video games. What would you like to do?”

Sammy wondered what to say. None of those activities seemed like the best ones for Sunday. Sammy’s parents had taught him that the Sabbath was a special day that should be different from other days. But his parents weren’t here, and he didn’t want to offend Joey. Maybe it would be OK. Joey’s mom and dad must think so.

Sammy decided to tell Joey that all the ideas sounded fun. He started to form the words, but he just couldn’t say them. He knew it wasn’t right. “What if we color the pictures we got in Primary today?” he asked instead. “Then maybe we could draw pictures and send them to Uncle Nick on his mission in Chile.”

“Yeah, I guess that sounds pretty fun,” Joey agreed. “Let’s go get my crayons, and we can color at the kitchen table.”

Sammy gave a silent sigh of relief. He knew that Mom and Dad would be pleased, and he was glad that Joey wasn’t upset. But most important, he knew that Heavenly Father was happy with his choice. That was what really counted.

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Candy Apples

By Pam Moody
Friend, Apr 2006, 38–39
(Based on a true story)

Teach them to love one another, and to serve one another (Mosiah 4:15).

Dewdrops hung on the tips of the long grass blades. Pam smiled as she made her way across the damp lawn. She loved early mornings in the country.

Stillness hung in the air. It was spring magic. She breathed in the sweet scent of lilacs. Everything was perfect.

One long, lonely howl filled the air.

“I’m coming, Lady,” Pam called, filling a bucket with water. She stepped inside the dog run and was immediately greeted by a wet tongue and happy barks. Trying to avoid Lady’s kisses, she filled the water bowl.

Suddenly, Lady ran to the gate of the dog run and barked.

Pam turned to see her best friend, Chuck, walking across the lawn.

“Hey,” he said. “You’re up early.” He reached over the fence to pet Lady. “My family’s going to an amusement park for the day, and Mom said we each could invite a friend. Do you want to go?”

Pam’s face lit up, but her smile soon faded. “I can’t. I promised Mom I’d watch my little brothers while she and Dad paint Grandma’s house.”

“Can’t someone else watch your brothers?”

She set the bucket down. “No.”

Chuck rubbed his chin. “Maybe your mom and dad could take them over to your grandma’s. Or maybe your grandma could watch them here.”

“It’s supposed to be a surprise for Grandma’s birthday,” Pam explained. “Dad took the day off from work so they could finish painting while Grandma’s staying with my sick aunt.”

“Oh.” Chuck’s smile disappeared. “I know it’s been a few years since you went to the amusement park. I thought it was a good idea.”

A sad smile crossed Pam’s face as she thought about the deep-red candy apples she loved, but wouldn’t be eating today. “It was a good idea. Thanks for inviting me.”

As Chuck said good-bye, Pam felt sad. No one had ever invited her to an amusement park before.

It was hard keeping her brothers happy all day long. They played with the dog. They rode bikes. They drew on the sidewalk with chalk. When her brothers grew tired, she put a blanket on the grass and read them the story of Noah’s ark.

Mom came home in time to put the boys to bed. Pam had never been happier to see her mom. Her brothers were a lot of work.

Glad for some quiet, Pam pulled a lawn chair off the porch and dragged it out onto the grass so she could sit under the stars. Fireflies swirled like sparks over the grass, flower beds, and trees.

“Hey there,” Chuck called from across the street.

“Hey, yourself,” Pam called back. “Did you get sunburned?”

Chuck laughed. “Yes, I did. It was awful. The lines were long, my favorite ride broke down, and the hot dog I ate was burnt. You didn’t miss much.”

“You’re just trying to make me feel better.”

“Maybe.” Chuck stepped into the dim light from the porch. “I thought you might be hungry.” Chuck pulled two deep-red candy apples from behind his back.

Pam’s eyes lit up. “Oh my! Those look great.”

Chuck grinned. “I’ll share, if you tell me why your family is so important.”

Pam knew what Chuck wanted to talk about. He wanted to hear more about the gospel and her belief in an eternal family.

He handed her one of the mouth-watering apples and then sat in the grass to listen while he munched on his own apple.

Somehow she had to help him understand that an eternal family was even more important to her than good friends and candy apples.

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No Ordinary Home Teacher

By Tess Hilmo
Friend, Apr 2006, 42–44
(Based on a true story)

Visit the fatherless and the widows in their affliction (James 1:27).

“Saturday’s activity will be a daddy-daughter cooking class,” Sister Marshall announced.

A wave of excited murmurs rolled through our Primary group. I suppose every girl was imagining bubbling desserts, fun games, and two whole hours with her dad. Every girl but me, that is. I didn’t have a dad—not even a shared-visitation dad like the ones some girls at school talked about. Instead of excitement, an anxious knot twisted in my stomach. I felt my face flush hot with emotion, and I clenched my teeth, fighting to force back tears.

Sister Marshall must have noticed my reaction. Once the meeting was over, she gently placed her hand on my shoulder. “Feel free to bring your mom, Tess.” She meant well, but those simple words were enough to set my tears free. I dropped my head so she wouldn’t notice and turned away.

“It’s OK,” I told myself. “You don’t have to go to that silly activity anyway.” But I knew it was a lie. I would have given anything to be part of a family that didn’t need special instructions from Sister Marshall—a family like the others that I saw dotting the rows of the chapel every Sunday. But my dad had left my mom, sister, and me when I was just a baby. We hadn’t heard from him in years, and I knew there was no way he was going to magically reappear just in time for Saturday’s activity.

“Get over it!” I ordered myself for at least the hundredth time since our baptism three years before. Our family was so much stronger now that we had a testimony of Heavenly Father’s plan, and I was grateful for all the gospel had given us. Still, it hadn’t been easy stepping into a group of friends who had been together since they were little—sharing baptisms, Primary activities, ward socials. I was the new girl, and although the others really tried to make me feel included, I still felt that I was different. I sometimes felt like a puzzle with one center piece missing.

“How was class?” Mom asked cheerfully as we drove home. She was a different person since our baptism—happier and more confident.

“Great,” I fibbed. Probably better not to worry her about the cooking class. After all, there was nothing she could do about it.

The week passed quickly. Schoolwork, chores, and friends kept me busy and allowed me to forget about Saturday’s activity. That is, until the phone rang Friday night.

“It’s for you,” my sister said, holding out the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Tess. This is Brother Erickson.” Brother Erickson was our home teacher. He owned an ice-cream shop in town and sometimes brought containers of mint chip or cherry chocolate to our house. He often made me laugh with his twinkling eyes and quick smile. But I couldn’t imagine why he would be calling me.

His voice was cheerful and strong. “I was wondering if you’d let me join you at the cooking class tomorrow.”

I held my breath and peeked into the kitchen where my mom was washing the dinner dishes. I smiled at the mounds of bubbles clinging to her arms. “She couldn’t have told him,” I thought. “She didn’t even know.” I wondered if Sister Marshall had called him.

“I read about it in the bulletin last Sunday,” he continued. “It sounds like fun.”

“Oh yeah, the bulletin.”

“So? Think you can handle toting an old man like me around your party?”

“You don’t have to—” I started.

“I want to!” Then he was silent for a moment. “Please.”

“Well, OK.” To be honest, I wasn’t entirely sure it would be OK. I mean, I didn’t know him that well. But my new excitement for going to the activity outweighed any doubt.

Saturday came, and when Mom dropped me off at the church, Brother Erickson was waiting for me in a bright red apron. His smile eased my worries as we joined the other fathers and daughters. We had a blast learning how to make cherry cobbler and homemade whipping cream in our crowded meetinghouse kitchen. He never once made me feel like he was doing me a favor or just fulfilling his calling.

When Mom came to pick me up, Brother Erickson gave me a big high five. “Thanks for letting me come. I had a great time!” I knew that he really meant it.

Years passed, and Brother Erickson remained our home teacher. In addition to his visits, he invited my family over for many game nights at his house. He joined me at more father-daughter activities and gave me my first real job at his ice-cream store when I turned 16.

After college when I was getting married in the Los Angeles California Temple, I asked Brother Erickson to serve as a witness. When I walked into the sealing room, I saw him sitting in the chair typically reserved for the father of the bride. He smiled his silly smile at me, and I knew that he was exactly where he should be. After all, he was no ordinary home teacher. He had become my very close friend.

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Secret Journal Friend

By Sheila Kindred
Friend, May 2006, 14–16
(Based on a true story)

For a book of remembrance we have written among us (Moses 6:46).

Jody had five older brothers and sisters. When Jody was little, being the youngest was fun because she got special attention. But now that Jody was getting bigger, being the youngest sometimes meant being overlooked.

For example, today when Jody came home from school she had lots of exciting things to tell her mother, but Mom was busy in the garage helping Jody’s brother Derek repair his bike. Later, before dinner, Jody’s oldest sister, Lisa, was in the kitchen with Mom. Lisa was helping fix dinner, chatting endlessly about boys. After dinner, Jody’s sister Amber needed help with her math homework. Then it was time for family prayer, and Jody was off to bed.

On days like these, Jody was grateful she had her secret journal friend. That night she wrote:

Dear Secret Journal Friend,

I wish I could spend more time with Mom. She is always busy with the family, but I wanted to tell her about school today. I got 100 percent on my spelling test, we did gymnastics in P.E., and in art, I made a beautiful flower out of tissue paper. I like my teacher a lot, but I love my mom.

Your friend,

Jody

Jody felt better when she had finished writing. She put the journal next to her bed, said her prayers, and went to sleep.

The next day, when Jody got home from school, her mother wasn’t there. Lisa told her that their sister, Ellen, who shared a room with Jody, had gotten sick and Mom had taken her to the doctor.

When Jody went into her bedroom to drop off her backpack she saw her journal on her pillow. She opened the journal and read the reply from her secret journal friend.

Dear Jody,

Your mom loves you very much too, and wants to spend more time with you. Why don’t you invite her out for ice cream on Friday night? You know how much she likes rainbow sherbet.

From,

Your Secret Journal Friend

Jody smiled. The ice cream was a good idea. It sounded like fun. But right now Jody was worried about her sister. She wanted to do something to make her feel better.

Jody took out her pencil and wrote:

Dear Secret Journal Friend,

I am sorry that Ellen is sick. I want to give her my tissue-paper flower, even though I made it for Mom. Do you think Mom would mind?

Your friend,

Jody

Then Jody remembered something else she was feeling bad about and wrote:

P.S. Today in art I got mad at my friend, Sara, because she spilled my paints. I even pulled her hair. Later I told her I was sorry. Will you still be my friend even when I do bad things?

The next day after school Jody found Ellen resting in their bedroom and gave her the brightly colored flower. Ellen’s eyes lit up and she grinned.

“Thanks, Jody,” Ellen said. “It’s really pretty. It makes me feel cheerful just looking at it.”

Jody smiled. Then she sat down on her bed and started reading her journal.

“What are you doing?” Ellen asked.

“I’m reading a message from my secret journal friend,” Jody told her.

“Your secret friend?” Ellen asked. “I think I saw your secret friend writing in your journal today. Do you want me to tell you who it is?”

“No thanks,” Jody responded. She took her journal out to the living room couch so she could be alone. She sat down and read:

Dear Jody,

I’m sure your mother won’t mind you giving away her flower. She will be very proud of you for being such a thoughtful sister.

From,

Your Secret Journal Friend

(who loves you always, NO MATTER WHAT)

Jody turned to a blank page, thought for a moment, then wrote:

Dear Secret Journal Friend,

Ellen liked the flower. I’m glad I gave it to her. Last night I prayed that she would feel better, and now she does!

I used to wonder how Heavenly Father can hear everyone’s prayers when there are so many people in the world, but now I think I know. Because Heavenly Father loves us no matter what, He will always find a way to answer our prayers.

Then Jody wrote in extra big letters:

I LOVE YOU, MOM!

Thanks for being my secret friend and my mother.

Love,

Jody

P.S. Don’t forget—tonight is ice-cream night!

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A Forever Family—Julischka Schlatter of Möhlin, Switzerland

By Kimberly Webb
Friend, May 2006, 18–20

Julischka Schlatter, 8, lives about an hour away from Bern, Switzerland’s capital. She could tell you about the city’s quaint medieval streets, its old cathedrals, and the Glockenspiel, a clock tower built in 1530. But instead, she will probably tell you about the beautiful white building on a hill nearby. Here President David O. McKay dedicated the first European temple 50 years ago, and Julischka is glad he did! At age 6 she entered the Bern Switzerland Temple with her mother, Chantal, and stepfather, Philipp, to be sealed together as a family.

“I remember the beautiful room and bright chandelier,” she says. She remembers wearing white and seeing her parents waiting for her in the sealing room. She especially remembers listening to the temple sealer’s words.

“That day was very special,” Julischka’s mom says. “I didn’t receive just a husband for time and eternity, but my daughter too.”

The Schlatter family became even more grateful for the temple when Julischka’s baby sister passed away. A talented artist, Julischka drew a picture of her family and included her little sister in the drawing because she knows they can be together again someday. The picture hangs in the Schlatters’ kitchen for everyone to see, showing Julischka’s testimony of eternal families.

Julischka doesn’t just show her testimony—she talks about it. If friends don’t know which church she belongs to, they soon find out! “She isn’t afraid to talk about the gospel,” her dad says. “One day she came home sad because she’d had a discussion with a boy at school. He didn’t believe in Jesus.” Julischka bore her testimony to him and encouraged him to believe in Jesus Christ as the Son of God.

Another time, a religion teacher at school taught that Jesus didn’t really suffer pain or sadness because He was too perfect to struggle. Julischka raised her hand and said, “I believe that He knows everything we go through. And furthermore, He visited the people in America.” She told her class a little about the Book of Mormon.

When she was baptized, she invited a neighbor friend who is not a member of the Church to attend. Just before the baptism, she looked up and saw her friend grinning at her from ear to ear. What else does she remember about her baptism? “The water wasn’t cold, like Dad said it would be!” Heavenly Father’s love made her feel warm.

One reason it’s easy for Julischka to share her testimony is because “she is very strong and independent,” her mom says. “She’ll try anything because she believes she can do it.”

Maybe that’s because she knows she receives Heavenly Father’s help. When asked if she’s gotten answers to prayer, she nods excitedly. “Yes, because I’ve always wanted to play the flute and now I’m learning the pan flute, and I’ve always wanted a cat.” The Schlatters’ new pet is a white cat named Filou.

Even if she couldn’t play an instrument or own a pet, Julischka says she would have a testimony because her testimony comes from the scriptures. She loves reading about the miracles Jesus performed, and her favorite scripture story is Jonah and the whale. She wishes her next sibling could be named Jonah—even though it’s expected to be a girl!

Julischka will be able to share some of her favorite activities with her new sibling: walking in the woods, swimming, playing at the park, and singing her favorite song, “Angels We Have Heard on High.” At Julischka’s request, the Schlatters often sing it for family home evening. “The neighbors must think we celebrate Christmas all year long,” Julischka’s mom laughs.

Perhaps the song reminds Julischka of the “angels” in her own family, including a sister who has gone back to heaven and another sibling waiting to be born.

Julischka knows that if her family lives worthy of temple blessings, it doesn’t matter whether family members are in heaven or on earth. They are still family—and can be for eternity.

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Protecting the Prophet

Friend, May 2006, 32–33
(Based on the life history of William Somerville)

The prayers of the faithful shall be heard (2 Ne. 26:15).

William eased onto the floor and carefully laid his gun at his side. “Good-night, Brother Joseph.”

“Sleep well,” the Prophet replied.

William doubted he’d be able to sleep at all. Even when he did rest here on the Smiths’ floor, he often slept fitfully, awakening in starts to watch and listen.

Lying on his back, he stared at the dark ceiling and strained to hear anything suspicious outside—footsteps approaching, horse hooves plodding closer, muffled voices. But the only sounds were chirping crickets and water lapping against the nearby riverbank. William only wished life in Nauvoo could be as peaceful as it seemed tonight.

Lately persecution against the Saints, especially Joseph Smith, had become so great that William now slept in the Nauvoo House as the Prophet’s bodyguard. He lay with his feet braced against the bedroom door, which swung inward. That way an intruder would have to awaken William before being able to reach Joseph.

Eventually William’s eyes drooped closed and he fell into an uneasy sleep, but not for long.

“William, are you awake?” Joseph whispered.

William’s eyes flew open to see the Prophet crouched next to him. He reached for his weapon, but Joseph placed a calming hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you go home and get some rest in your own bed tonight?”

William blinked in disbelief. “Will you be safe?”

Joseph smiled. “I should think so. The Lord has revealed to me that little children have been praying for my welfare, and He will honor their faith by protecting me. Your guard service will not be needed tonight.”

As William walked down the quiet Nauvoo streets toward home, he glanced up at the stars and grinned. He was grateful to know that he was not the only one helping to protect the Prophet.

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The Right Path

By Ray Goldrup
Friend, May 2006, 36–39
(Based on a true story)

Walk in the strait path which leads to life (2 Ne. 33:9).

Eric couldn’t stop grinning as he walked off the soccer field, the field where his team had just won the league championship. Eric was hot and tired but he knew he had played his best.

As he picked up his bike, he thought of his dad’s familiar words: “Not much of what is important in life comes easily,” his father said. “Our effort puts a shine in things—such a shine sometimes that they glow for years and years in our hearts.”

“This game will definitely glow for years!” Eric thought.

“Hey, Eric!” a voice called from behind him. He turned around and grinned at his teammate, Clay. “Where are you going?” Clay asked. “The victory party is at the coach’s house.”

“I can’t go,” Eric said. “I promised Davy I’d come over right after the game. I was going to spend the rest of the day and evening with him.”

Clay looked upset. “How much fun can you have with someone who’s sick all the time, and can’t even leave the house? We just won the championship, Eric. Isn’t that worth something?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Coach said a reporter is coming to the party. He’s going to take our pictures and interview us. We’re going to be in the newspaper!”

Eric’s eyes widened. “Really?” Clay’s excitement was contagious. “I guess I could just see Davy later tonight,” he said.

“You can’t,” Clay said. “Don’t forget the coach said if we won the game he would take us on an overnight campout to Big Bear Falls. Well, the campout is tonight. You don’t want to miss out on that, do you?”

“No way!” Eric said.

“Davy’s just a sick kid with nowhere to go and nothing to do, except ruin somebody else’s fun,” Clay said, spinning a soccer ball on his finger. “Come on, Eric. It’s time to celebrate!”

Eric eyed the spinning soccer ball. The more he looked at it the more his mind began to spin, and he got caught up in the moment. “OK, let’s go!” he said. He jumped on his bike and headed across the field toward the rest of his team.

During the reporter’s interview, Eric looked at the clock in the coach’s living room. It was three o’clock. He had promised Davy he would be to his house by one. He knew Davy would be disappointed. He always looked forward to Eric’s visits with excitement. But because of school, homework, soccer practice, and family and church activities, it was hard for Eric to spend a lot of time with Davy. But today Eric was going to spend the whole afternoon and evening, and Davy had been marking off the days on the calendar for weeks.

The reporter asked each boy how it felt to be part of a winning team. When Eric’s turn came, he didn’t answer. He was thinking of the time he and his father were hiking in the Big Bear Mountains. They had come to a three-way fork in the trail and had to decide which path to follow. “Like most things in life, Eric,” his dad said, “it comes down to choices. It’s getting late, so …”

Eric studied the three paths. One was overgrown and hard to see in the evening shadows. It looked jungly and mysterious. The second was straight, narrow, and clearly defined, but uninteresting. The third trail was wide and curving with room to wander.

“What will it be?” Eric’s dad asked.

“The wide one, I guess,” he said. “There are lots of turns so it will be more exciting, not knowing what’s ahead.”

They started down the path, but 20 minutes later it ended at the edge of a cliff. Below them in the distance they could make out the small lake where their family had set up camp. Shadows crept across the woodlands below and the sun had sunk behind the mountains.

“Now which path, Eric?” his dad asked.

“How about the jungly one?” Eric suggested. “It looked cool.”

They made their way back to the original path, then started down the dark, overgrown trail.

After a few minutes, though, the path was lost in the tangles of underbrush. “What do you think we should do now?” Eric’s dad asked. “It’s getting dark and we’re no closer to camp than we were two hours ago.”

Eric pulled a thorn from his shirt and rubbed a scratch on his arm. “I guess we better get back to the path we were on in the first place.”

His dad nodded, and the two started back. They finally set their feet back on the original path and faced the trails at the triple fork. It was dark now, but the stars lit up the final path. “What do you say we take that third trail, Eric?”

Eric glanced around uneasily at the darkening woods and took hold of his father’s hand. “Yes,” he said. “I can see the path clearly because it’s straight, and it’s narrow so we won’t wander off it.”

As they made their way through the night, Eric’s dad spoke up. “The Savior said that we should always take the straight and narrow path for the very reasons you pointed out. We can clearly see our way and won’t stray from the path unless we choose to. This path is like the iron rod in Lehi’s dream, isn’t it? Straight and true. And look,” he said, pointing toward the stars. “They light the path, like the prophets we have to guide us back to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.”

They paused on a small knoll above the lake, and looking down they could see a glowing light in the darkness where Eric’s mother had started dinner over the campfire. “Kind of looks like the tree of life in Lehi’s dream, don’t you think?” his dad asked. “A welcome sight to any weary, faithful traveler on the road of life. And just like the food your mom is preparing, the Lord has filled His living tree of life with sustenance to nourish our spirits and lift us up in our darkest hours.”

Eric squeezed his father’s hand, and his eyes filled with warm tears.

“What are you crying for, Eric?” Clay laughed. Eric looked around and suddenly realized he was still in the coach’s living room surrounded by his teammates.

The reporter quickly wrote on his notepad and said, “It’s his way of saying what it feels like to be part of a winning team.”

“What it is,” Eric said, “is my knowing that I want to be a part of another winning team, as well.”

The boys looked confused. “Another winning team?” one of them blurted. “What team is that?”

Eric whispered something to the coach, waved good-bye, and left the room.

“What did he say, Coach?” Clay asked.

Their coach smiled. “He told me the name of the other team he wanted to be a part of—the Lord’s team. And he said to be a part of it, he needed to be somewhere else. Any of you boys know where that is?”

“Davy’s place, I think,” Clay said slowly.

The coach’s smile deepened.

Two weeks later, Davy passed away quietly in his sleep.

A few weeks after that, Eric and his father were hiking in the Big Bear Mountains. When they reached that familiar triple fork in the trail, Eric paused and studied the straight, narrow path. He took his dad’s hand and they stood quietly for a few moments.

“Which path do you want to take, Eric?” his dad asked.

“The straight and narrow one, Dad,” he said.

“You’re sure?” his father asked, smiling.

“It’s one thing I am sure about,” Eric smiled back. “It is the right way.”

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My Companion

By S. Mellissa Ochsenhirt
Friend, May 2006, 42–44
(Based on a true story)

The Holy Ghost … shall teach you all things, and bring all things to your remembrance (John 14:26).

I skipped up the sidewalk to the church wearing the new white dress Grandma bought me for my special day. The afternoon was warm, and the air was fresh. Flowers were beginning to bloom. Spring was finally here. I held Mom’s hand as we walked through the door. “This is a great day,” I said.

“It sure is, Megan.” Mom squeezed my hand and gave me one of those winks she saves for when she’s really happy. I was about to be baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and I felt wonderful.

I thought of a recent family home evening lesson on baptism. Dad opened his scriptures to the Doctrine and Covenants and read, “And this is my gospel—repentance and baptism by water, and then cometh the baptism of fire and the Holy Ghost, even the Comforter, which showeth all things, and teacheth the peaceable things of the kingdom” (

D&C 39:6).

“The Holy Ghost speaks to us in a still, small voice,” Dad explained. “And if we obey Heavenly Father’s commandments and listen to that voice, we will be happy.”

Inside the church, I changed into a white jumpsuit, and Mom put my hair in a braid so it wouldn’t float to the top of the water. Then we took our seats for the baptismal service. Everyone sat quietly while Sister Larsen played hymns and Primary songs on the piano. Even my baby sister sat still. After the opening prayer, my big brother Preston and Grandpa Larsen sang my favorite Primary song, “I Am a Child of God.”

* As I sang I knew that Heavenly Father loves me. I was grateful that He blessed me with a family that loves me.

When it was Grandpa Ochsenhirt’s turn to give his talk, he spoke directly to me. “The Holy Ghost will help you learn what is right and wrong so that you can make the right choices,” he said. “He will also give you the strength to choose the right. And if you try to keep Heavenly Father’s commandments, the Holy Ghost will be with you as a constant companion.”

That made me think about school. Schoolwork is hard for me, and I get frustrated because I have to try harder than other students. Some of my classmates tease me when I don’t do well on tests, and I want to say mean things back. And since I don’t like being teased, sometimes I’m tempted to look at my friend’s paper and get the right answers. Could the Holy Ghost help me handle school better?

When it was time for me to be baptized, I walked down the stairs to meet my dad in the baptismal font. My heart felt large and warm. I glanced at Mom and saw that her eyes were filled with tears. Dad smiled at me, hugged me, and helped me stand the way he had shown me. Then he said the simple prayer and lowered me under the water. Afterward, Mom met me at the top of the stairs with a towel. She wrapped it around me and squeezed me tight.

“I have a great feeling inside, Mom,” I said.

She hugged me again. “That’s the Holy Ghost telling you that you’re doing the right thing.”

After I changed out of my wet clothes, the men in the family who hold the Melchizedek Priesthood laid their hands on my head. They confirmed me a member of the Church and gave me the gift of the Holy Ghost. I seemed to be surrounded by a peaceful glow.

For many weeks I felt clean and happy. I loved talking about my baptism and how my heart seemed to be growing. My family and Primary teacher reminded me often that the Holy Ghost would help me know what was right and wrong.

A few days ago I had to take a test in school, and I was really nervous. I kept thinking how easy it would be to copy from the girl sitting next to me. I knew that cheating was wrong, but I was desperate to get a good score. Then I remembered that the Holy Ghost would help me. I said a prayer in my heart asking for strength to make the right choice.

The rest of the day, I felt as happy as I had at my baptism. After school, I ran to our car and gave Mom a hug. “I got 100 percent on my test!” I exclaimed.

“That’s great!” Mom said.

“And I didn’t even cheat.”

Mom frowned. “You wanted to cheat?”

“Well, I thought about it,” I admitted. “But I had a feeling inside that it was wrong. So I prayed for help and just tried my best.”

Mom smiled. “I’m glad you listened to that feeling.”

I’m glad too. Really glad. I always want to be worthy of my companion—the Holy Ghost.

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What Jesus Sees

By Alison Palmer
Friend, Jun 2006, 4–6
(Based on a true story)

Jesus walked away from none. He gave his love to ev’ryone (Children’s Songbook, 140–41).

Amanda was quiet on the way home from church. When Mom asked her if something was wrong, Amanda started crying and tried to say, “I don’t want to go to church anymore!” Her words came out all wrong, but Mother understood.

Amanda couldn’t hear very well, so the sounds she made when she talked weren’t always correct. Most of the time it didn’t bother her.

But today had been different; her feelings had been hurt. Even now, she could feel the embarrassment making her cheeks red and her ears ring. There was no way around it—she couldn’t go back to church again.

At home, Amanda told Mom what had happened. She had been asked to say the closing prayer in sharing time. She had gotten nervous. She’d spoken too fast and said “Zesus” instead of “Jesus.” As soon as she said it, Amanda knew it had come out wrong; but worse, everyone else seemed to notice too. Many of the children laughed. Some even teased her afterward and called her a baby. They said they’d never heard of “Zesus” before.

“It’s not fair!” Amanda shouted. “They were mean, and I don’t want to go back.”

“It’s tough being different, isn’t it?” Mom asked as she held Amanda close.

“I’m not just different. They said I’m stupid!”

“Let me ask you something, Amanda: Do you love Jesus?”

Amanda nodded yes.

“Do you believe that our church is His true Church?”

Again, Amanda nodded.

“Do you think Jesus loves you and is happy when you go to His Church?”

Now Amanda wasn’t so sure. “How can it make Jesus happy for me to be laughed at when I go to church?” she asked.

“Jesus doesn’t want you to be unhappy at church, but when you go you learn more about how much He loves you,” Mom said. “You learn how He sees you. Then, you can learn how He sees others.”

Amanda thought about what her mother had said. After she prayed that night, she remembered part of a verse from 1 Samuel that her dad had taught her: “The Lord seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart.”

*

Amanda knew that Jesus didn’t care about things that seemed different to other people. He walked and talked with people whom others teased and didn’t like. Sometimes even His Apostles didn’t understand, but Jesus taught how to love everyone. He was even nice to people who weren’t nice to Him.

“Is Mom right?” Amanda wondered. “Can I learn to see others the way Jesus sees them?”

All week Amanda practiced remembering how special she was to Jesus and Heavenly Father. She looked for people around her who seemed to have a problem. Instead of thinking about the problem, she tried to think of Jesus and what He would see in that person.

Sometimes it was easy. Other times Amanda couldn’t see much, but when she really tried, she got a warm feeling inside that told her Jesus loved each person. Every time she got that warm feeling she remembered she was loved too.

On Sunday, Amanda went to church with her family. When she saw the children who teased her, she still felt a little angry and hurt. She wasn’t sure if she could find anything that caused them problems, but she wanted to try. As Amanda watched, one boy accidentally tripped and dropped his books. Amanda wanted to join in the laughter of the other children, but suddenly the warm feeling came again. She knew that Jesus loved him and she could too. Amanda handed the boy his scriptures and smiled at him. It was a wonderful feeling.

After church Amanda was quiet again. This time when Mom asked what was wrong, Amanda said, “I was just thinking how good it feels to try to see what Jesus sees.”

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My Brother Gary

by Melvin Leavitt
Friend, Jun 2006, 8–9

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

My older brother Gary is a cowboy at heart. Even as a child, he enjoyed rodeos and western movies and always had a horse, which he could saddle and bridle and ride. We lived on a dairy farm near Huntsville, Utah, and Gary did chores alongside the rest of us. Each morning he got up early and fed the cows while I did the milking. He helped with the backbreaking work of haying, and the sweaty, itchy work of threshing. We had a little tractor he learned to drive, and he used it to take hay to the cows. He loved animals and just naturally understood their needs. We worked hard and ate well and slept soundly.

We had a lot of fun together too. We raced horses and played cowboys. We went swimming in the nearby river and reservoir. Sometimes we rode our horses up into the canyon and camped out. Gary loved his family and the delicious food our mother cooked. He especially enjoyed going to church. After he grew up, he always took his lesson manual, though he couldn’t read very well. He finds great joy in the simple things of life—animals, nature, close relatives, and close friends.

My brother Gary is a special person. When he was born, his brain was damaged by a lack of oxygen, and his mind never grew above the level of a six- or seven-year-old. For over 60 years I watched my parents take care of Gary—helping him brush his teeth, comb his hair, and tie his tie on Sunday. They took him to rodeos and western movies and performed countless acts of love and kindness.

Unfortunately, people aren’t always so nice to those who are different. I’m sorry to say that some children were unkind to Gary. They shut him out of their games, called him ugly names, and teased him unmercifully. One time when he was eating an ice-cream cone, another child guided him over to a dog and let it lick the ice cream. Everyone laughed when Gary went back to licking the cone himself.

Gary was a childlike person who turned the other cheek and was quick to forgive. He loved and accepted everybody. I think that aside from my parents, this special brother did more during my childhood to shape my outlook on life than anyone else. I grew up knowing that we should love those who are different and help them reach their potential. Because of Gary, I feel no prejudice toward anyone. I learned that I must not judge people, that I should assume that they are doing the best they know how, and that if they are going to do any better it will be because we understand and help them. I can’t even judge those who tormented him. They just didn’t understand.

We are all God’s children, but we are all very different. We come with different talents and abilities. Heavenly Father expects us to make allowances for each other and to be kind. In Primary we sing, “If you don’t walk as most people do, some people walk away from you, but I won’t!”

*

If you meet someone who is obviously different, please treat him or her as you’d like to be treated yourself. It hurts to be excluded just because your skin isn’t a certain color or you don’t play ball well, or you don’t wear the right kind of clothes or comb your hair a certain way—or whatever. Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ love everyone, so let’s do the same and be nice to each other. That’s what I learned from my brother Gary.

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Skout the Naughty Dog

By Heidi Renouf Brisco
Friend, Jun 2006, 10–12
(Based on a true story)

He may be trusted because of the integrity of his heart (D&C 124:20).

Ever since he was little, Jack had wanted a dog. Mom and Dad surprised him with a little tan puppy with big brown eyes and white paws. Jack named his new dog Skout, and soon they became great friends.

Jack worked very hard to take care of Skout and teach him how to be a good dog, but Skout was only a puppy and often made mistakes. One time he chewed up Grandpa’s umbrella, and another time he ate the pepperoni pizza and drank the pink soda at a family party.

Skout lived in the backyard behind a locked fence. Soon he learned how to dig a hole under the gate and crawl out onto the street. Every night Jack tried to patch up the spot where Skout escaped, and every night Skout found a new way to get out of the backyard.

One day Jack’s mother received a phone call. “Hello, Mrs. Reynolds, this is Mr. Hoolihan, your neighbor. I’m calling because your dog has been getting into my yard every night. He has ruined my new flowers and destroyed my garden! If that dog comes in my yard again, I’m calling the dogcatcher to take that naughty dog to the pound.”

“I am so sorry, Mr. Hoolihan,” Jack’s mother said. “We’ll make sure that this does not happen again.”

“It better not, or you can say good-bye to that naughty dog!” Mr. Hoolihan yelled.

The whole family felt terrible. After dinner, Jack and his father gathered some large rocks and bricks and stacked them near the gate to make sure Skout could not dig a hole under it or push it open. Everyone was so worried about Skout that they hardly slept.

The next morning before school, Jack ran into the backyard to check on his dog. He was almost scared to look, but there was Skout happily wagging his tail behind the gate. Jack sighed with relief. “Hi, boy!”

But just as Jack was filling Skout’s food bowl, he noticed something—a large chewed-up shoe. Jack had seen this shoe somewhere before, but it was too big to be Dad’s. Then Jack remembered—every night after working in his garden, Mr. Hoolihan left his muddy shoes on his front porch. If this was Mr. Hoolihan’s shoe, Skout must have been out again last night.

Jack ran to the front yard and looked across to Mr. Hoolihan’s front porch. Sure enough, one shoe was missing. Only Jack knew where the matching shoe was.

Jack was worried. If he told the truth, Mr. Hoolihan would be angry and Skout would be sent away. Jack quickly hid the shoe behind a bush and went inside.

“I knew those rocks would work!” Dad said.

“I am so glad that Skout was a good dog last night,” Mom said.

Jack dragged his heavy feet upstairs into his room. He sat on his bed and thought about what to do. Jack knew that telling lies was bad, but this seemed different. Maybe Mr. Hoolihan would think that somebody else stole the shoe. Maybe no one would ask Jack about it, and then he wouldn’t exactly be lying.

He looked around his room for an idea of what to do. He saw his scriptures on his bookshelf, and he saw a photograph of his family on the dresser. He saw his Sunday clothes hanging in his closet, and he saw a picture of the Savior hanging on the wall. The song “I Am a Child of God”

* came into his head and he began to hum the tune. Jack’s frown melted away. He knew what he had to do—he had to be honest.

Jack explained the truth to his parents, grabbed the shoe from behind the bush, and walked over to Mr. Hoolihan’s house. Jack nervously rang the doorbell. Mr. Hoolihan answered the door in his pajamas with an angry look on his face.

“Mr. Hoolihan, I am very sorry, but my dog, Skout, was out again last night. He chewed up your shoe and brought it into our yard.” Jack held up the mangled shoe. “I will work to pay for some new shoes for you.”

Mr. Hoolihan grabbed the shoe, mumbled something about calling the dogcatcher, and slammed the door. Jack walked home with a few tears in his eyes. He went to the backyard and gave Skout a hug.

After Jack went inside, the doorbell rang. Mr. Hoolihan stood on the porch, dressed and with a little bit of a smile on his face. “Jack, I’m glad that you came and told me the truth. I owe you an apology for reacting so rudely. You can wash my car every Saturday for one month to pay me back for the shoes. And to pay you back for my bad manners, I would like to help you fix your fence so Skout will be safe in your backyard.” Jack could hardly speak; all he could do was smile.

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The Butter Dish

By Patricia R. Jones
Friend, Jun 2006, 16–17
(Based on a true story)

Of all that thou shalt give me I will surely give the tenth unto thee (Gen. 28:22).

“Here comes the rest of the family,” Athena called to her mother. “They’re just in time for your birthday dinner!”

“Please put a vase of flowers on the table and set out the butter dish,” Mother said. When Athena set the beautiful etched-glass dish on the kitchen table, the sun’s rays shone through it, splashing rainbows across the walls. Mother ran a finger gently over the delicate glass design. Closing her eyes, she relived again the story she had heard so many times.

Twelve-year-old Louisa Bishop gently rocked her baby sister, Emma, in the old, hand-carved rocker. Their mother lay in bed, her face almost as pale as the white pillows. A deadly illness called diphtheria had struck the children of the family, killing three of Louisa’s five siblings. Exhausted from overwork and grief, Louisa’s mother also became sick. Just when it seemed that happiness would never shine on their world again, little Emma had been born. Louisa, now recovered, lovingly cared for her baby sister so their mother could rest and get well. Emma adored her big sister in return.

As the years passed, Emma and Louisa became closer and closer friends. By the time Emma was 11 years old, Louisa had married, and her husband had left to serve a mission in England. Emma was delighted to go to Louisa’s cabin each day to help out.

One day Emma paused in her sweeping and watched quietly as Louisa emptied the butter out of her sparkling glass butter dish and into a jar. “I hope she isn’t doing what I’m afraid she’s doing,” Emma thought.

Louisa stepped to the washbasin and poured in some clean water from the pitcher. Then she carefully washed the butter dish and laid it on a dish towel to dry. Turning to Emma, she handed her the jar of butter. “Now, Emma dear, I need you to take this to the bishop and pay my tithing.”

Emma folded her arms and shook her head. “I won’t do it!” she exclaimed. “You need that butter more than the bishop does.”

Louisa’s mouth drew into a stern line, but her eyes twinkled with amusement. “Emma,” she softly scolded, “tithing is a law that must be kept. If I am willing to do a big thing like letting my husband serve a mission so far away, then surely I can do a small thing like giving up some butter.”

Emma wasn’t convinced. “But it’s a big thing when you have so little.”

“Don’t worry,” Louisa told her with a smile. “I have faith that the Lord will provide.”

Emma looked closely and saw that her sister’s eyes were glistening with tears. Louisa truly believed what she was saying! Emma took the jar of butter and walked out the door without another word, though she still had doubts.

When she returned to Louisa’s cabin, Emma stopped in the doorway and stared, her mouth wide open. The butter dish was back on the table, and inside was a pound of butter! Emma’s eyes asked the question her lips could not—where had the butter come from?

Louisa smiled. “I told you the Lord would provide,” she said. She took a clean dish from the cupboard and placed the butter in it. Then she stepped again to the washbasin and filled the bowl with clean water. She washed out the beautiful glass butter dish and lid. But instead of setting them on a dish towel to drip dry, she dried them and handed both to Emma.

“I want you to have these,” she said. “And whenever you look at them, I want you to remember that the Lord will always take care of us if we keep His commandments. Remember that, Emma. Tithing comes first.” Emma’s eyes misted with tears as she accepted the butter dish.

All her life Emma remembered the lesson she had learned. Each year as her family gathered on her birthday, she told the story again. After Emma’s death, the butter dish was passed down through the family. And everyone who saw the dish heard the story of how Emma learned to always pay her tithing.

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The North Star

By Wendy Ellison
Friend, Jun 2006, 31
(Based on a true story)

He that followeth after righteousness … findeth life, righteousness, and honour (Prov. 21:21).

“School’s out! School’s out!” the bell in the old brick tower seemed to sing. Its familiar chime wasn’t just announcing the end of an ordinary day—summer had arrived at last and it was time to put away pencils and close schoolbooks.

Gordon waved good-bye to his classmates and friends. For him, the end of school signaled the beginning of a summer spent miles away from the city on the farm where he could run barefoot in cool grass and wiggle his toes in a calm stream.

The family cottage, with its splendid mountain backdrop, was nestled in a stretch of land rolling with fruit trees and gardens. Cows grazed, horses raced, chickens roamed. The air was clean and fresh. The land held plenty of room to explore and plenty of opportunity to grow.

Bedtime was early because the call to chores came early in the morning when the dew still clung to tender grass and leaves. Farm work was hard work and everyone in the family was expected to do his or her part.

Weeding and watering the garden, gathering eggs, picking fruit, and attending to the chickens and horses went by quickly when everyone helped out. Father saved one chore especially for Gordon and his younger brother, Sherm.

The family cows would be the boys’ responsibility alone, and their father taught them how to care for the cows. Learning to tend to Polly and Beth wasn’t easy, but the reward was sweet, warm milk that the brothers enjoyed.

The milking companions were close in age, and even closer at heart. The two were inseparable in the city and nothing changed that on the farm. When they finished their chores, the warm summer days stretched before them, full of adventure. Drenched in summer sunlight, the brothers and best of friends rode in wagons, played on haystacks, and played tag.

Following their afternoons of adventure, when night had draped its darkness over every corner of the farm, the boys climbed into the old wooden wagon. Lying on their backs, they looked into the shimmering heavens.

Gordon and Sherm gazed earnestly at the millions of stars that filled the clear night sky. They pointed out and identified constellations they had read about in the encyclopedia. Then Gordon traced the outline of the Big Dipper, connecting the dots with his finger. And just off the cup he found the object of his search.

“There it is,” he said. Anchored in place, the North Star was always where it was supposed to be. Gordon knew that if a sailor charted his course by it, he could find his way safely home. “I want to be as steady as that star,” he thought.

There were many summer days on the farm and many nights sleeping under a blanket of stars. As Gordon grew older, he never forgot the lesson of the North Star.

Today, so many years after that young boy first gazed upward to find his favorite star, millions of people look to him. And true to the wish of his youth, his life reflects the message of the star that held its place in the heavens. As the prophet of God, President Gordon B. Hinckley can always be found helping to guide others safely home, steadfast and anchored as firmly as the North Star.

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Water in the Desert

By Sheila Kindred
Friend, Jul 2006, 4–6
(Based on a true story)

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

“I’m thirsty, Father!”

Theodore Farley looked down from the wagon seat at his five-year-old son, Lesley. “We all are,” he said kindly. “We’re trying to find you some water.”

“I’m sure there will be some at the next spring,” 14-year-old Lydia added reassuringly.

“But that’s what you said at the last three,” 11-year-old Carl pointed out. “And they were all dried up. We’ve been searching for hours.”

Mother and Father exchanged a worried glance. “I haven’t traveled this road in August before,” Father said. “I’ve never seen it so dry.”

Adleen looked up at the blazing sun. It was 1895, and her family was moving from Snowflake, Arizona, to Provo, Utah. Before they left home, Father had filled all their barrels with water for both people and horses. He planned to refill them at springs along the way, but now the barrels were empty, and everyone was suffering. Adleen shook her head. How would they ever find water in this barren, sandy desert?

“Theodore!” Mother clutched baby Louie to her and cried out as the horses stumbled and stopped.

Father jumped down and gently urged them forward. They refused to move. “We’ll rest here,” he said with a sigh. He unhitched the horses, which huddled in the shade of a scrubby tree. Father and 15-year-old Dick set off to find the spring that lay some distance off the road.

Mother gathered her children beneath the wagon. “Let’s stay in the shade,” she said. “And trust in the Lord.”

“They’re back!” someone yelled. Adleen reluctantly shook off her dream of eating ripe, juicy watermelons and looked up. She saw Father and Dick, sweat-stained and covered with dust.

Father sat down by them, removing his hat and wiping his brow. “The spring is dried up,” he said, “and no earthly help is anywhere near.”

“Then we must rely on divine aid,” Mother said firmly, rising to her knees. Father joined her, motioning for the children to do the same. Adleen shut her eyes tight and tried hard to have faith.

“We have done all we can,” Father prayed. “If it be Thy will that we should live, please send us water.”

After the prayer, as the family sat and waited calmly, their fear changed to peace.

“What will happen now?” asked Lesley.

Mother smiled. “I don’t know. Wait and see.”

“Look!” Adleen was on her feet, pointing at the horizon and dancing with excitement.

“What is it?” Father shaded his eyes and squinted into the sun.

“There in the sky,” Mother said. “A little cloud.”

They watched as the cloud grew larger and got closer. Soon it overshadowed them, and rain poured down.

“Quick!” Father called. “The wagon cover.” Father, Dick, Carl, and Lydia snatched up the corners of the cloth and caught the rain, which they tipped into the barrels, filling them to overflowing. Adleen laughed and twirled in the rain, her mouth open to the sky.

By the time the rain stopped, both animals and people had quenched their thirst. Father and Dick strapped the full water barrels to the wagon and hitched up the horses. They all continued on their journey.

They hadn’t gone far before desert dust was clinging to their wet clothing.

“Father, look!” Lydia said in awe. “It didn’t rain a drop out here.”

“No, it didn’t,” Father answered reverently. “It rained only where our wagon stood. We have been part of a miracle.”

None of them ever forgot the day Heavenly Father sent water in the desert.

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The Bread Man

By Pamela Saunders
Friend, Jul 2006, 12–14
(Based on a true story)

A good name is rather to be chosen than great riches (Prov. 22:1).

Five-year-old Dee woke to whispers and gentle nudging from Grandpa Leonard, who was dressed in his blue Sunbeam Bakery uniform. Dee sat straight up in bed, rubbed his eyes, and looked around. The clock on the nightstand next to him read 3:00 a.m.

An inviting aroma of bacon and toast came from the kitchen. “Grandma is finishing breakfast for us,” Grandpa whispered. “Hurry and dress, but don’t wake your brother. Duke can come to work with me tomorrow. Today it’s your turn.”

Excitement swelled as Dee quickly dressed. He looked across the room at Duke, his twin brother, who was sound asleep and snoring. All year long Dee and Duke looked forward to the day school would end and they could visit Grandma and Grandpa in the country. They fed the chickens, worked in the garden, and went fishing. But Dee’s favorite activity was riding in the big bread truck, helping Grandpa deliver bread to the small country grocery stores serving the Iowa townships nearby.

Dee made his way to the kitchen, his stomach growling. After prayer, he gobbled his breakfast in record time and ran out the door to the car with Grandpa. Grandma stood on the porch in her robe and waved good-bye.

When they arrived at Sunbeam Bakery, Dee was surprised to see Grandpa’s bread truck already loaded with freshly baked bread and delicious pastries. He savored the aroma. A man emerged from the idling truck’s cab and waved. “Everything’s ready for you this morning.”

Grandpa smiled. “Thank you, Charlie. I’ll just get my inventory sheet and double-check our load. Then we’ll be on our way.”

Grandpa quickly and carefully checked off each item and made a few notes on the inventory list. He lifted Dee onto the passenger seat and handed him a day-old Danish. “Here you go, Dee—dessert to top off Grandma’s fine breakfast.” Grandpa was allowed to buy the day-old breads and pastries at a reduced price after he had returned them to the bakery. Sometimes Grandpa’s boss treated them, but they never took anything unless it was offered first.

Soon they were on the road. Dee watched the sun peer over the rolling hills of corn and grain carpeting the Iowa landscape. The ride with Grandpa was fun. They sang songs together that Dee had learned in church, and Grandpa taught him to whistle a new tune. He told Dee stories about life on the farm as they passed cow pastures, sheds that held pigs, and chicken coops.

Before Dee knew it, they had arrived at the tiny town of Fairview, and Grandpa pulled the truck to the back door of the local grocery store. Grandpa hopped out of the truck and helped Dee out. Dee was happy with his small hand in Grandpa’s great big one as they approached the store. With his free hand, Grandpa reached for the ring of keys that he kept attached to his belt loop and unlocked the back door.

Grandpa spoke slowly. “These keys are a sacred trust. Do you understand what that means?” Dee wasn’t sure. He slowly shook his head.

As they walked through the door, Dee saw the many items the grocer had for sale. There were aisles and aisles of food, an aisle for cleaning supplies, and even a special aisle filled with toys and sporting goods, like fishing gear. “How nice it would be to own this store,” Dee thought, “to have all these things and never just wish for them.”

Grandpa interrupted Dee’s thoughts. “The owner of this store has given me his key to the back door because he knows that I will never harm my good name by stealing,” Grandpa said. “My father was known for his honest dealings in this town, and I am blessed to carry his name.”

Nothing more was said. Dee helped Grandpa remove the bread that would go back to the bakery to be sold as day-old goods. He helped him stack the fresh bread that was still warm. He thought about what Grandpa had said and smiled. He was happy to be a member of Grandpa’s family. He made a promise to himself that he too would someday be known for his good name.

Dee watched with pride as Grandpa reached again for the ring of keys and securely locked the door. They got into the truck again and headed for the Eddyville store, whistling as loud as they could.

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A Friendly Experiment

By Rebecca Cornish Talley
Friend, Jul 2006, 28–30
(Based on a true story)

A special gift is kindness. Such happiness it brings (Children’s Songbook, 145).

“What are you doing, Mommy?” Madolyn asked as she sat down in the kitchen.

Mom rummaged through a box and placed a pile of books on the table. “I’m going through all of these books so we can put them on the new bookshelves.”

Madolyn grabbed a book with a bright orange cover. “I remember this story,” she said. She thumbed through the pages of the picture book.

“I need to organize all of these magazines too,” Mom said as she set some magazines next to the books.

“Wow, look at all of these!” Madolyn picked up a pile of some Friend magazines. She held up one with a picture of Jesus and some children on the cover. “Can I read this one?” she asked.

Mom looked at the magazine. “This is from before you were even born.”

“Can I have it?” Madolyn asked.

“Sure!”

A few days later while Mom was making dinner, Madolyn said, “Mommy, I read a great story in this Friend.”

* She held up the old magazine. “It’s about an experiment.”

“What kind of experiment?”

Madolyn opened the magazine and pointed to a picture. “This boy decided to try hard to be nice and not get angry easily. I think Logan, Savannah, and I should try something like that.” She tapped her finger on her forehead. “We’ll try hard to be like Jesus this week. We’ll try not to argue when we play together, and we’ll try to be better examples for each other. We won’t tell the older kids or Dad and see if they can guess what we’re doing.” Madolyn’s smile stretched across her face.

Mom gave Madolyn a squeeze, and said, “That’s a great idea!”

The next night at family scripture study, Clayton, the oldest brother, said, “Savannah, I noticed you’re being extra reverent tonight.” Savannah just smiled and looked over at Madolyn.

One evening after family prayer, Angela, the oldest sister, said, “You all listened to the prayer really well tonight.” Logan, Savannah, and Madolyn all grinned.

Saturday at dinner, Dad said to the younger children, “I’m glad that you all shared your toys today, and played together nicely.” The three children giggled.

When family home evening came, their sister, Rachel, asked, “What’s going on with the little ones?”

“What do you mean?” Mom asked.

“They’ve all been extra reverent and nice for the last few days,” Rachel said.

“I’ve noticed that too,” Dad said.

Madolyn covered her mouth but her big smile peeked out from behind her hand.

“Why don’t you tell the rest of the family, Madolyn,” Mom said.

“We decided to try to be like Jesus for a week, like a boy in a story I read in an old Friend magazine,” Madolyn said.

“We tried to not fight too much,” Logan said.

“And tried to be reverent during prayer and scripture study,” Savannah said.

“I think our experiment turned out very well!” declared Madolyn with a great big smile. And everyone agreed.

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Milk Money

By Caleb Warnock
Friend, Jul 2006, 38–40
(Based on a true story)

Ask, and it shall be given you (Matt. 7:7).

Ten-year-old Vernon walked beside his father along the dusty road. He was helping herd the family’s new milk cow to the corral behind their house. Vernon’s father had been saving money to buy a cow because canned milk was too expensive and the family needed milk.

“What are we going to call her?” his father asked.

Vernon thought for a moment. “I think we should call her Daisy,” he said.

Vernon soon learned that Daisy had to be milked twice a day—every morning and every night. Before long Daisy was producing more milk than the family could drink.

One day Vernon’s mother came home from a Relief Society activity and said that one of the women in the ward had a sick baby. The doctor had said that if the baby had fresh cow’s milk to drink, he might get better.

“Since we have extra milk, would you please take a quart to Sister Goodman’s house every morning before school?” asked Vernon’s mother.

Vernon said he would. Sister Goodman did not live by the school so Vernon knew that he would have to get up early every morning to deliver the milk.

Each morning before school Vernon stopped at Sister Goodman’s house to deliver the jar of fresh milk. One day, just as he was saying good-bye to Sister Goodman, a neighbor asked Vernon to wait.

“Sister Goodman says you deliver the finest fresh milk around,” the neighbor said. “Will you please ask your parents if we could have some delivered to our house too? We would pay for the milk, of course.”

That night, Vernon told his parents about what Sister Goodman’s neighbor had asked. The next morning, Vernon delivered two quarts of milk, one to Sister Goodman and one to her neighbor. Before long, more neighbors wanted milk.

Soon almost everyone in town was asking if Vernon and his brothers could deliver fresh milk and butter to their homes. So many people wanted deliveries that Vernon’s father started using the horses and wagon to take Vernon and his brothers around before school. They bought a second cow, and then a third.

Vernon and his brothers got up at 4 a.m. each morning in order to get all the milking and delivering done before school started. And every two weeks, Vernon and his brothers went around town after school to collect the money for the milk. Because so many people wanted milk, Vernon’s father quit his job on the railroad. Now all of the money the family had came from the milk business.

One day after school, Vernon rode his horse from house to house collecting the milk money for the past two weeks. At each house he put the money into a leather pouch that he hung on the saddle.

When he got close to home, he realized the leather pouch was gone. He looked on the ground around his horse to see where it had fallen, but he couldn’t find it.

Vernon got on his horse again and rode back up the road. He rode all the way back to town searching for the leather pouch, but he couldn’t see it anywhere. As the sun began to set, he rode his horse up and down the dirt road two more times. Still he couldn’t find the money.

As it got dark, Vernon knew his parents would expect him home soon. He also knew that the milk money was all his family had to buy food for the next two weeks. He felt sick to his stomach as he thought about going home without the money. He just couldn’t go home until he found it.

Vernon thought he might get into trouble for losing the money. For a moment he thought about hiding so he wouldn’t get into trouble. But he knew that would only cause his parents to worry. Then he remembered that you should pray to Heavenly Father when you need help. Vernon got off his horse and knelt down at the side of the road. As he prayed, he explained that he had lost the money and couldn’t find it. He asked Heavenly Father to help him find the leather pouch before it got too dark to see.

When he finished praying, Vernon felt that if he would walk instead of ride the horse, he would find the money. But the sun was going down and Vernon knew this was his last chance to look before it got dark. If he rode his horse he could go faster, he thought to himself. But once again, he felt he should walk.

Leading his horse by the reins, Vernon began walking back toward town. As he walked, Vernon looked everywhere—behind weeds and rocks and in old, dried-up mud puddles.

Then, about halfway to town, Vernon kicked a large tumbleweed. There on the road where the tumbleweed had been sitting was the leather pouch. A few of the coins were spilled on the ground. As Vernon gathered the coins, he could see that all of the money was still there.

Vernon knew that if he had ridden his horse down the road again, he would have missed the leather pouch and it would have been too dark to look again. He knelt by the side of the road and thanked Heavenly Father for helping him find the leather pouch.

When Vernon got home, he told his mom and dad about how he had lost and found the money. He told them that he had prayed and had felt that he should walk instead of ride his horse. That night, Vernon and his family knelt together in prayer and thanked Heavenly Father for helping Vernon find the milk money.

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My Sister, My Example

By Shanna Butler
Friend, Jul 2006, 44–45
(Based on a true story)

Keep all your pledges one with another (D&C 136:20).

When I was about eight years old, I lived in Jamaica. Jamaica can be very hot. I was so excited one day when my aunt invited me to go with her and my cousin to the house of a friend who had a swimming pool. A cool pool on a sunny day sounded great.

My mother said I could go but that I couldn’t swim since she didn’t know who would be there to watch us. I told her I would just put my feet in the pool to get cool.

When I got to the house, my cousin immediately jumped in the pool. Some of our other friends came over and started to swim too. Everyone kept begging me to come in the pool, and finally I gave in. It was so hot outside, and I thought my mom wouldn’t know because my aunt said she wouldn’t tell her.

I knew my aunt was wrong to keep secrets from my mother, but I played with my friends for a while in the pool anyway. I was so scared the whole time about what would happen if my mother knew I had disobeyed her. When we got home, my hair was a little wet, even though I had tried to keep it out of the water. My mom asked me if I had gone swimming, and I lied. I told her no. I felt really bad about it for a really long time, but I didn’t want to get in trouble.

A few years later, when my sister, Briélan, was seven, she was invited to go to the beach with some friends and their parents. My mom told her the same thing she had told me: go and have fun, but don’t go swimming. When my sister got to the beach, her friends’ parents told her she could go ahead and swim. They wouldn’t tell her mother, so it would be OK.

Even though my sister thought my mom would never know, she told her friends’ parents that she would not go swimming because her mother had asked her not to, and she wanted to be obedient. The grown-ups tried to convince her it was OK, but she still said no because she knew she should do what was right, and they were trying to get her to do something wrong.

My sister’s day at the beach was just as hot as mine at the pool, and she wanted to swim just as badly as I did. But my little sister became my big example when she chose to honor our parents by obeying them.

When my mom told me this story about my sister, I told her how I had lied to her. She was thankful that I finally told her the truth. She was very proud of my little sister, who had chosen to obey her, and so was I.

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The Fishermen

By Wendy Ellison
Friend, Aug 2006, 4–6
(Based on a true story)

Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men (Matthew 4:19).

“I love fishing!” Jenny said as she helped her grandpa load their gear into the aluminum rowboat. “I’m glad that you’re my fishing buddy,” Grandpa replied with a wink. “It’s good to have someone in the family who enjoys catching fish as much as I do.”

Jenny and Grandpa pushed their little boat into the shallow water. Jenny climbed in and sat down in front. Grandpa took the seat in the back and shoved off with an oar. He handed the other oar to Jenny.

Rowing was easy for Jenny and Grandpa. They had been on many fishing trips together and stroked smoothly without even thinking. It didn’t take long to reach their favorite fishing hole. They pulled in their oars, and Grandpa dropped the anchor over the side. The splash threw cool lake water on Jenny. She giggled as she dried her face with her hands. The boat rocked gently on the rippled water.

“Let’s get the fishing poles ready, Jen,” Grandpa said. “You get the bait box.”

Jenny squirmed. The one thing she didn’t like about fishing was baiting the hook with a worm. “Grandpa, will you help me, pleeease?” Jenny pleaded.

“I’ll help you just this once,” Grandpa answered. “But if you’re going to be a real fisherman you have to learn to bait your own hook.”

Jenny grinned. Grandpa said the same thing every time he put a worm on the hook for her. He helped Jenny cast her line way out into the sparkling lake. He baited his hook and cast over the opposite side. The line made a giant arch before the sinkers plopped into the water.

While they waited for a catch, Grandpa and Jenny talked softly so they wouldn’t scare the fish. After a long while without even a tug on her line, Jenny announced, “The fish don’t seem to be biting today!”

Grandpa nodded. “It reminds me of a New Testament story,” he said.

* “Peter was a fisherman too. He and his brother Andrew had a successful fishing business. They were partners with James and John, who were also brothers. They had been fishing all night, but their nets came up empty—not even one fish.”

“I hope that doesn’t happen to us,” Jenny sighed.

Grandpa continued: “The following morning Peter, Andrew, James, and John were on the shore of Galilee cleaning and repairing their nets. Jesus Christ was teaching a crowd of people who had followed Him there. Jesus stepped into Peter’s boat and asked him to push out from the shore. Jesus continued to teach the people from the boat. After His sermon was finished, He told Peter to launch out into the deep and cast his net that it might be filled.”

“What did Peter do, Grandpa? He must have been tired of trying to catch fish.”

“He told Jesus that they had been fishing all night with no success. But he and Andrew obeyed and lowered the net into the water. When they pulled it up, it was filled with fish! In fact, it was so full that Peter had to ask James and John for help so that the boat wouldn’t sink. The fish filled their boat too.”

“Wow!” Jenny exclaimed. “That was a miracle!”

“It was indeed,” Grandpa agreed. “But that’s not all. After the fishermen got back to shore, Jesus asked them to do something that took a lot more faith than dropping their net. He called each of them to leave all that they had and follow Him. Jesus said that He would make them fishers of men. They left everything and followed Him.”

“It would be hard to leave everything, Grandpa. I don’t know if I could do that.”

Grandpa nodded thoughtfully.

“What exactly does it mean to be a fisher of men?” Jenny asked.

“I believe it means to follow the Savior, to set an example, and to share our testimony and His gospel with others. I think those are things these fishermen can do.” Grandpa pointed to himself and then to Jenny.

Jenny smiled. “Thanks, Grandpa. I like that story.”

“It’s a good one,” Grandpa replied. “There are always great lessons for us in the scriptures.”

Jenny sat quietly. She knew that there was nothing to do now but be patient. She was quiet as she waited for a tug on her line.

“What are you thinking about, Jen?” Grandpa asked, interrupting the silence.

“I was just thinking that it’s OK if we don’t catch any fish today. After all, there’s more than one way to be a fisherman.”

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Baskets and Boxes

By Caleb Warnock
Friend, Aug 2006, 14–15
(Based on an experience from the author’s family history)

As thou hast inquired thou hast received instruction of my Spirit (D&C 6:14).

March 1839

Lyma, Illinois

Five-year-old Mary turned the flour sack upside down. She was helping her mother make bread. They needed one last cup of flour, but the sack was empty.

“We’ll just have to make as many loaves as we can,” Mother said.

Mary knew why their family was out of flour. Since the night the mob had made them leave their home in Adam-ondi-Ahman, life had been hard. They had been forced to leave behind everything they owned. Mary’s father and brothers had returned to Adam-ondi-Ahman with other Saints to get their chairs, rugs, and food, but when they tried to cross the river in their wagons, the mob started shooting at them. Mary’s father and brothers had barely made it back to camp safely.

Since that night, Father had been coughing. For the last couple of months, it seemed as if he could hardly breathe. He was too sick to get out of bed. And because he was too sick to work, Mary’s family had no money to buy food.

Using a borrowed horse, Mary and her mother and her eight brothers and sisters had worked from sunrise to sunset clearing trees from their new land to farm. They used the trees to build a new house. They had finished planting the corn the day before, but it would not be ready to eat for months.

That night the family knelt in prayer and thanked Heavenly Father for their new land and house. They thanked Him for their safety from the mob. Then Father prayed that they might find a way to earn enough money to buy food.

The next morning, Father asked everyone to gather around his bed. “Last night I stayed up late praying,” he said. “I asked Heavenly Father to help me find a way for us to earn enough money for food, even though I am sick. When I fell asleep, I had a dream.”

He explained that in his dream, he had seen the family gathering bark and logs in the forest. When they came home, they used the bark to make baskets. They used the wood from the logs to make boxes. “Everyone in our family was working together,” Father said. “When we finished, we loaded the baskets and boxes into the wagon and took them into town to sell.” He got tears in his eyes. “This dream is Heavenly Father’s answer to our prayers,” he said.

That very morning, Mary and her family went into the forest near their home and found the trees Father had seen. When the bark was soaked in water overnight, it was perfect for weaving baskets.

Mary’s mother taught her how to make pretty round baskets with handles while Mary’s brothers split some of the logs into planks to make boxes. Within a few days, they had enough baskets and boxes to fill their wagon and take into town.

When they arrived at the general store, the shopkeeper looked over the baskets and boxes. “They are very well made,” he said. “I’ll take all of them.”

In return for the items, he gave them sacks of flour and potatoes, and even a bolt of cloth.

“I’d take some more baskets and boxes in two weeks, if you can make them,” he said.

Mother smiled. “We will bring another wagonful.”

That evening, the family knelt in prayer. Father wept as he thanked Heavenly Father for helping the family get enough food to last until the autumn harvest.

And the next morning, Mary helped her mother make bread again.

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Jared’s Journal

By Lilia M. Crouch
Friend, Aug 2006, 20–22
(Based on a true story)

I make a record of my proceedings in my days (1 Nephi 1:1).

Aaron burst through the front door after school and ran straight upstairs to his bedroom. He began searching for something while his little brother Jared curiously watched.

“Where are you? Where are you?” Aaron mumbled to himself.

“What are you looking for?” Jared asked.

“I’m looking for …” Then Aaron spied the very thing he needed up on the corner shelf in his closet, next to his scriptures. “Here it is!” Aaron exclaimed as he reached up and plucked his journal from its hiding place.

Aaron’s mind was buzzing with thoughts from his day. He wanted to begin writing as soon as possible so he wouldn’t forget about all the things he had heard and seen. He sat at the desk and carefully opened his journal to a blank page. He began to write.

Jared watched his big brother, wondering why he was so determined to write in that book. “What are you doing?” he asked. Aaron continued to concentrate on his journal. He wrote down the date, time, where he was, and how he was feeling. Jared became impatient and asked again, “What are you writing in that book?”

Aaron stopped writing and turned to Jared. “I’m almost finished,” he said. “Then I promise I’ll tell you what I’m doing, OK?” Jared nodded and sat patiently on his bed.

After writing some more, Aaron finally closed the book. Then he grabbed his scriptures and carried them with his journal to where Jared was sitting.

Aaron held up the Book of Mormon. “This book is kind of like a journal,” Aaron explained to his little brother. “It’s written by prophets and tells what they did and taught.”

Aaron told Jared about some of the stories he remembered reading and learning about in Primary: the Lord teaching Nephi to build a ship, the brave Lamanite Samuel standing on the wall to preach, Jesus Christ coming to the Americas and teaching the little children.

“Mormon and his son Moroni finally finished writing their people’s history on gold plates. Then Moroni hid the plates as God had commanded,” Aaron said. “The Book of Mormon was left for us to read today. Someday, someone in our family will read my journal too.” He smiled. “My journal is not scripture, but it will tell about all the important things that happened in my life and about the people I love, like you, Jared. It will be my testimony of the love Heavenly Father has for me.”

Jared thought about what Aaron had told him, then sprang off the bed and ran out of the room. He soon returned with a piece of paper and some crayons. He began coloring. Now Aaron was curious. “What are you doing?”

“I’m almost done,” Jared said. This time Aaron waited patiently. Jared put down his crayons and lifted up the paper for Aaron to see. He had drawn a picture of himself and his big brother. And he had drawn a journal and a Book of Mormon in Aaron’s hands. “I’m writing my journal now!” Jared said. “This is where I put down the time, the date, and where I was.” Then Jared pointed to the cartoonlike picture he had drawn of his big brother. “And this is where I put the person I love.”

At that moment Jared remembered he had forgotten something. He reached for a bright yellow crayon and drew a big smiley face on the top of his paper. “And this is how I am feeling inside!”

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Then Sings My Soul

By Britney Schetselaar
Friend, Aug 2006, 30–32
(Based on a true story)

I will impart unto you of my Spirit, … which shall fill your soul with joy (D&C 11:13).

Andrea could see the large granite pillar from the van window before she and her Primary class pulled into the parking lot. Sister Birchall had told them that the monument was 38 1/2 feet tall, one foot for every year of Joseph Smith’s life.

Andrea’s friend Becky squirmed excitedly on the seat next to her. “We’ll really get to be where Joseph Smith was born!” Becky said.

Andrea had been looking forward to this Primary activity since Sister Birchall had announced their class was visiting Sharon, Vermont, just a short drive away. Andrea had prayed that she would feel the Holy Ghost here. She wanted to have a spiritual experience like the people who bore their testimonies at church. The scriptures say that if you ask in faith, Heavenly Father will bless you. Andrea believed that was true.

A light rain was falling when the class pulled into the parking lot. A senior sister missionary was waiting for them.

“Hello!” she called. “I’m sorry that we don’t have the music playing through the trees for you right now. We usually do, but we turned it off because of the rain. Maybe you can hear it before you leave.”

Andrea liked the missionary, whose black name tag read Sister Grant. She reminded Andrea of her grandma. Sister Grant and Elder Grant told the class stories about Joseph Smith and showed them where he was born. After the tour, the missionaries let them look around the museum.

“Andrea, come see this!” Becky called. She was pointing at a painting of Lucy Mack Smith.

Elder Grant walked up behind the girls. “She was a great woman. Even before Joseph had the First Vision, she and her family were close to the Holy Ghost. They often liked to go out into the woods to think and pray.”

Andrea remembered her goal to feel the Spirit today. When people at church said they felt the Holy Ghost they usually cried. Andrea hadn’t felt like crying even a little today.

Sister Birchall walked in and told them they would be leaving in half an hour. “The rain has stopped, so you can go look at the monument now.”

Andrea looked over at Becky, who was talking to another girl from their class. This was Andrea’s chance.

She left as quickly as she could and walked toward the woods behind the monument. To the left, Andrea saw a small clearing. “Perfect,” she thought.

She walked into the middle of the weeds and knelt down, placing her coat under her knees so they would not get wet. “Maybe I’m in the same place that Lucy went to think and pray,” she thought.

Andrea closed her eyes and again prayed for the Holy Ghost to be with her. She didn’t feel anything. Andrea was confused. Why wasn’t she crying? Disappointed, she got up and walked out of the clearing. There was a small dirt road behind the monument. Andrea decided she had enough time to walk down it a little way. As she walked through the tall trees, Andrea noticed that there was a peaceful feeling in these woods—quiet and calm like a chapel. The air smelled fresh and clean from the rain, and everything was a bright, clear green. She also noticed that the sun had come out from behind the clouds and was reflecting off the wet leaves and pine needles in bright glints of light. She added a happy skip to her walk.

A little bubble of happiness was growing inside Andrea, and became so big that she thought she would burst with joy. She wanted to start singing and laughing at the same time.

She didn’t go too far into the woods before she turned around. As she walked back, she began to hear the sound of an orchestra and choir singing through the trees—probably the music Sister Grant had mentioned. It sounded like the song of angels, pure and sweet. Andrea stopped to listen to the words. “When thru the woods and forest glades I wander,” the choir sang. “Then sings my soul, my Savior God, to thee, How great thou art!”

* The words described exactly how Andrea felt—like her soul was singing. She felt happy! Except for one thing. She still hadn’t felt the Spirit.

Becky spied Andrea as soon as Andrea got back to the monument. “Come see the sunspot!” she said excitedly. Andrea didn’t know what Becky was talking about, but she let Becky pull her up the hill.

From the top of the granite pillar shone a dazzling light. Andrea put her hands up to shield her eyes.

“Isn’t it amazing?” Becky said. “Sister Grant says that it’s the sun shining off the top of the polished rock.”

“It’s beautiful,” Andrea said. She stood in awe for several minutes. She felt a little sad. “This would have been the perfect trip if only I had felt the Holy Ghost,” she thought.

Suddenly, like the light reflecting off the pillar, a thought shone into her soul. She had felt the Spirit! The Holy Ghost didn’t just make people cry. It also made them feel peaceful and happy, like she had felt in the forest! Andrea again felt the same bubble of joy growing inside. She then understood that Heavenly Father had answered her prayers.

As they drove away, Andrea kept her eyes on the granite monument until it disappeared behind the tops of the trees. She knew that the Lord had blessed her and given her the witness she desired.

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Jump in the Stream!

By Steven M. Lund
Friend, Aug 2006, 40–41
(Based on a true story)>

The Lord preserveth the faithful (Psalm 31:23).

“Ethan,” Dad called, “stay here on the path next to me.”

Five-year-old Ethan frowned. He loved hiking with Dad, but he didn’t want to stay on the boring old trail. There was much more to see alongside the stream.

“Come here,” Dad called again. “You might stumble and fall in those tall weeds.”

Obediently, Ethan bounded toward Dad. But as he walked, his eyes kept wandering off the trail. It wasn’t long before he saw a fallen tree and scampered toward it. Climbing on top of it he cried, “Look at me, Dad!”

Dad shook his head. “Didn’t I tell you to stay on the trail?” Ethan groaned and shuffled back toward Dad.

As they hiked, they soon came to a section of the stream lined by large boulders. Each rock looked as if it had been carefully stacked in place to hold back the soil. Ethan pointed. “Look, Dad!”

Dad nodded. “Interesting rock formation, isn’t it? I guess it wouldn’t hurt to have a look.”

Grinning, Ethan bolted toward the stream and leaped onto a boulder. Dad followed. Ethan hopped from boulder to boulder, as if playing hopscotch, until he was standing on the highest one. He watched the stream swirl and cascade over rocks below, enjoying the sight—until he heard a terrible sound.

Hiss, rattle, rattle, rattle.

There, wedged between two rocks near Ethan’s feet, was a rattlesnake.

“Daddy!” Ethan cried.

Dad was on the other side of the rattlesnake and couldn’t reach Ethan to help him. “Don’t move!” he yelled.

Ethan trembled. The only way back to the trail was to hop down the rocks the way he had come, and he was afraid that the snake could move much faster than he could. What if he startled the snake and it struck him? The snake glared at him, flicking its tongue.

“Jump in the stream,” a voice spoke to his mind. Still watching the snake, he thought about the cold, muddy water and the jagged rocks below. “Jump in the stream!” the voice said again. So Ethan took a flying leap off the boulder and landed with a splash. Dad jumped in right after him, scooped him up, and helped him to shore. Ethan hugged Dad tight, his heart pounding.

“I wanted to tell you to jump, but I didn’t dare because I thought you might get hurt,” Dad said. “I’m so glad you’re safe.”

“The Holy Ghost told me to jump,” Ethan said. “At first I didn’t listen, but then He told me again.”

“Obeying those promptings saved your life, son.” Dad looked at Ethan thoughtfully. “If I had listened to the Holy Ghost in the first place, we wouldn’t have been in danger.”

“What do you mean, Dad?”

“As we walked away from the trail, I saw something move in the grass,” Dad said. “I thought it was a mouse or a chipmunk. Suddenly, I remembered a story I read in the newspaper a few days ago about a man who recently died from a rattlesnake bite. The thought didn’t make sense to me, so I ignored it. If I had been listening, I would have recognized that the Spirit was trying to warn me.”

Ethan hugged Dad tighter, shivering to think what could have happened. “We should have stayed on the trail,” he murmured. “It’s safer.”

Dad nodded. “That’s true in life too. Even when we can’t see danger, Heavenly Father knows where the devil is lying in wait to corner us. The only safe way is to stay on the marked path.”

Ethan silently vowed to always obey. As he followed his parents, the prophets, and the Holy Ghost, he’d be safe from the worst serpent of all.

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The Perfect Treasure

By Jennifer Rose
Friend, Aug 2006, 44–47
(Based on a true story)

Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also (Matthew 6:21).

Josh wiggled his fingers and toes in the warm sand. The salty breeze blew in his face and Josh licked his lips.

“I can taste the ocean!” he announced. He dug his plastic shovel into the sand. “Brooke, will you help me make a sandcastle?” Brooke didn’t look up. She quickly turned the page of her book, eagerly seeking the next words in the story.

Dad pushed the beach umbrella into the sand while Mom spread out their towels. She looked at Brooke and laughed gently. “Brooke, do you want to stop reading and look at the beautiful view? This is a perfect start to our vacation!”

Brooke slowly closed her book. She tried to focus on the bright blue sky and the palm trees waving in the breeze, but in her mind she was still in the dark pine forest with Princess Rosalie and Sir Nathanael. It was her favorite kind of story—knights on majestic horses, a beautiful princess, a priceless treasure guarded by terrible monsters. She tried to picture what the treasure would be: gold coins, sparkling jewelry, riches for the grandest kings and queens.

Brooke gazed at the glittering ocean. It stretched as far as she could see. “There could be buried treasure out there,” she said. “I’ve read about ships that got caught in storms and sank with all their treasure.”

Dad winked at her. “Maybe we’ll find some while we’re here. We can have a treasure hunt.”

“No thanks, Dad,” Brooke said. “I’m going to read some more.” She stretched out on her beach towel and opened her book again. Would Princess Rosalie find the secret door in time? Would Sir Nathanael find a way to defeat the monsters?

A while later, Josh came running up to Brooke carrying his plastic beach pail. “Look! Dad and I found treasure!” He reached into the pail and pulled out a delicate sand dollar. It was followed by a collection of smooth stones and shells.

She picked up a piece of a shell. “This isn’t treasure.”

“Why not?” Josh demanded.

“These are just rocks and shells. They’re not worth anything.”

Dad sat down on the sand. “A treasure doesn’t have to be worth a lot of money, Brooke,” he said. “It isn’t always a pile of gold coins like you’re always reading about.” He grinned and tugged playfully on her hair. “A treasure is something that means a lot to you. It’s something that you want to take care of and remember.” He picked a shiny pink shell out of Josh’s pail and handed it to Brooke. She looked at it doubtfully. “Just think about it,” Dad said.

The next morning Dad said they were going to visit Grandma Connors. As Brooke put her book in her bag Mom touched her shoulder. “You can take your book, but please don’t read it while we’re at Grandma’s.”

Brooke frowned. “But there’s nothing else to do at her house. It’s boring there,” she said. “Besides, I’m getting to the really good part! Sir Nathanael is about to fight the monsters!”

“Grandma Connors is lonely and she misses us a lot,” Mom said. “She’s looking forward to visiting with all of us.” She smiled. Brooke didn’t smile back.

When they pulled up to Grandma Connors’s house, she was waiting for them in her front yard. “Hello, dears!” she called and waved to them. She led them inside, talking and laughing. She cut everyone a piece of cake, and they all went outside to sit on the back porch. Josh sat next to Grandma and she kept patting his hand.

Grandma, Mom, and Dad began talking about uncles and friends and cousins whom Brooke didn’t know. She swung her legs restlessly in her chair. “Will Princess Rosalie find the treasure?” she wondered. Her fingers itched to feel the familiar weight of the book, but she didn’t want to disobey Mom.

Brooke went inside, hoping she could find something to do. She found a bookcase filled with large, brown books. She pulled one out. The cover was plain. There weren’t any pictures of princesses or gold or jewels on it. Brooke half-heartedly opened the cover. Inside she found pages of photographs, some of them faded or turning yellow with age. She studied the faces but didn’t see anyone she knew. But then she saw a little girl with a braid who looked like her. She carried the album to the back porch.

“Well, look what you found,” Grandma said, her eyes twinkling.

Brooke pointed to the picture. “Who’s this, Grandma? She looks like me.”

Grandma smiled. “That’s your mother when she was about your age,” she said. She turned a few pages and pointed to another picture. “That’s your grandfather and me at our first dance together.”

Brooke settled next to Grandma and pointed to a black-and-white photograph. “Who are those kids?” she asked.

“That’s me!” Grandma said. “Me and my brothers, Jacob and Steven. And that was our dog, Smarty.”

“Smarty?” Brooke laughed.

Grandma turned to more pictures and told stories about family members Brooke never knew. But seeing their faces as Grandma spoke helped their stories come alive.

Before Brooke knew it, it was time to leave. “Before you go, I want to show you one more,” Grandma said. She turned to a photograph in the very back of the album. It was black and white, and worn from being handled a lot. A young couple stood together. The woman had long, dark ringlets that rested on a high-collared, lacy white dress. The man wore a suit.

“That’s you and Grandpa when you were married,” Brooke said.

“Yes,” Grandma said. Her voice was softer. “Looking at this picture and seeing his smiling face helps me remember all the wonderful times we had together. I’ve treasured this picture since the day it was taken, and it means so much more to me now that your grandpa is gone.”

Brooke studied the picture for a moment. “When we get home, I’m going to send you a picture of my smiling face so you can be happy,” she said.

Grandma hugged Brooke tightly.

A few weeks later, Dad brought home some pictures they took on their vacation. Mom, Brooke, and Josh crowded around him to see.

“There we are at the beach!” Josh said.

“There’s that beautiful garden I saw,” Mom said.

“There’s me and Grandma!” Brooke said, pointing to the photo of their young and old faces close together.

Dad propped up the picture on the mantle. Then he smiled and winked at Brooke. “Do you think we found a treasure?”

“I just need one more piece of gold,” Brooke said. She ran to her room and quickly returned. Next to the photo she placed a shiny pink shell. “Now our treasure is perfect,” she said.

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The Enos Experiment

By Lorena Moody
Friend, Sep 2006, 4–5
(Based on a true story)

I will tell you of the wrestle which I had before God, before I received a remission of my sins (Enos 1:2).

“Class, please open your Book of Mormon to

Enos 1:4. Let’s read what happens next.” Sister Domico had just explained to our Primary class that Enos had set out one day to hunt in the forest. While he walked, he began to think about the teachings of his father, Jacob. Jacob’s words about eternal life touched Enos’s heart deeply.

After we turned to the book of Enos, Sister Domico asked Peter to read verse four. “And my soul hungered; and I kneeled down before my Maker, and I cried unto him in mighty prayer and supplication for mine own soul; and all the day long did I cry unto him; yea, and when the night came I did still raise my voice high that it reached the heavens.”

I had heard the story of Enos before, but this Sabbath day it “sunk deep into my heart,”

* perhaps in the same way Jacob’s words had sunk into Enos’s heart. What would it be like to pray all day and into the night?

Prayer had been part of my life for as long as I could remember. My parents had taught me to pray when I was very small, and I prayed every morning and every night. But my prayers only lasted two or three minutes, and I often found myself repeating the same words. What would happen if I followed Enos’s example and poured out my soul

** to Heavenly Father?

I shared a room with my sister Karen, and that Sunday evening I really wanted to be alone. So I waited until everyone was upstairs getting ready for bed and then quietly crept back down to the living room. I knelt by the side of our blue sofa, bowed my head, and quietly began talking with Heavenly Father.

I tried to imagine Him there in the room with me as I shared my thoughts and feelings. I thanked Him for the gospel and for His Son, Jesus Christ. I expressed my gratitude for a loving family and a comfortable, safe home. I asked Father in Heaven to help me be kinder to my brothers and sisters. I asked for forgiveness for my mistakes. I asked Him to help me choose the right every day. I stayed on my knees until I had shared everything that was in my heart.

I don’t know how much time passed. But as I said “amen” I felt a calm warmth fill my soul and I knew that Heavenly Father had listened to me. He was telling me through the Holy Ghost that He loved me dearly. I stayed on my knees, enjoying the warm feeling of the Spirit, and thanked Heavenly Father for the story of Enos.

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Sent Home from School

By Jenny Rebecca Rytting
Friend, Sep 2006, 8–10
(Based on a story from the author’s family history)

Blessed are ye, when men shall … separate you from their company, and shall reproach you … for the Son of man’s sake (Luke 6:22).

When Karl woke up, he jumped right out of bed. Usually he liked to stay curled up in the covers until his mother called him for breakfast, but today was special: today he started school. Karl could hardly wait to learn to read and write. And his friend Joey would be starting school too.

Karl put on a clean shirt and trousers and slicked his hair with water from the well. Then he took the milk pail his mother had packed his lunch in. He walked carefully along the dirt road so he wouldn’t scuff his shoes. When he reached the one-room wooden schoolhouse, he slid into a seat beside Joey.

The schoolmaster was a stern-looking man with bushy eyebrows. He called the classes up one by one to recite their lessons. Karl studied his primer so he wouldn’t make any mistakes. Soon he could read, “B-a, ba, b-e, be, b-i, bi, b-o, bo, b-u, bu.”

At lunchtime he and Joey ate beside the brook that ran by the schoolhouse and played with the other boys until the schoolmaster rang the bell to call them inside. When all the boys and girls were seated, the schoolmaster called out two names: “Karl Rytting and Joseph Hoagland, please come forward.”

Karl felt his insides churn. He hadn’t had time to study his afternoon lessons. What if he made a mistake? But when he and Joey reached the front of the room, the schoolmaster asked only one question. “I have been told that you boys are Mormons,” he said. “Is that true?”

Karl’s mouth was dry and his knees shook, but he looked right at the schoolmaster and said, “Yes, it is true.” Joey did the same.

“Then you must go home. We do not allow Mormons in our school.”

Karl fought back the tears as he picked up his coat and milk pail. As he and Joey walked back along the dusty road, he began to cry.

Soon Joey turned into the path that led toward his house, and Karl continued on toward his. When he walked in the door, his mother asked, “Karl, what’s wrong? Why are you home from school so soon? Are you sick?”

“No, Mother,” Karl answered. “The schoolmaster said Joey and I can’t go to school because we are Mormons.” He felt his tears welling up again.

“Oh, Karl, I am so sorry,” his mother said as she held him close. “We knew when we were baptized that some people would not understand. But the true gospel of Jesus Christ is worth anything we have to give up.”

“I know,” Karl said, crying into his mother’s skirt.

Then a voice came from the corner of the room. It was Grandfather Jansson, who had first brought the missionaries to their home two years ago. “You can still learn to read if you want to,” he said.

“How can I learn to read if I can’t go to school?” Karl asked.

Grandfather Jansson smiled. “I will teach you,” he said. “We will read the Bible together. Would you like that?”

“Yes, very much.”

Grandfather opened the Bible and beckoned for Karl to stand by his chair. His finger pointed at the words as he said them: “In the beginning was the Word” (

John 1:1).

“In the beginning was the Word,” Karl repeated, looking at the letters. It was a good beginning, after all.

Their Missions to Sweden

Karl Frederick Rytting moved to Utah with his family in 1880. Thirteen years later he returned to Sweden as a missionary and met his old friend Joey, who was then Elder Hoagland.

Karl’s early studies with his grandfather served him well on his mission. On one occasion he was arrested and taken before an archbishop and 12 bishops of the state church. They questioned him until one of the bishops said it was useless to try to catch him, for it was “obvious that he had the Bible memorized.”

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Rainbows in Great-Grandma’s Bedroom

By Ray Goldrup
Friend, Sep 2006, 16–18
(Based on a true story)

Some have compassion, making a difference (Jude 1:22).

Great-Grandma came to live with Grandpa and Grandma Marshal about two years ago. My family lives just up the street, and we like that because we can visit them a lot.

Grandma Marshal is Great-Grandma’s caregiver. She helps take care of her mother’s needs, and is a very good and loving daughter.

Great-Grandma is old. She told me one day, “I’m so old I feel guilty every time I draw a breath!”

Great-Grandma makes me laugh. And she’s always smiling, even when she’s sad. “Life’s too short to waste it by wearing a long face, even at my age. Happiness is a choice, Makinzee,” she explained one day. We were sitting on the porch swing together watching a little autumn breeze carry leaves and birds across the sky. “The only one that can make you unhappy is yourself.” Great-Grandma tapped the tip of my nose. “Besides, there’s so much to be happy about!”

“Like what, Great-Grandma?” I asked.

Her smile got as bright as the sunlight shining through the elm tree’s yellow leaves. “Even at 93, I’m a child of God,” she said. “And just look about you, child. There are birds that sing their hearts out. There’s the sun that can light a whole world, and there are flowers that bloom.”

She patted my knee. “I have a family who loves me, and I have hands to help others.” She held up a pair of fleece mittens she was sewing for a needy children’s program.

Then she looked up at the sky. “My, my, everywhere I look there’s more. A loving Heavenly Father watching over us, and, oh!” She pointed to a huge, misty rainbow a ways off. “Rainbows are not only promises of better times, but reminders that when we have trials we can still be happy.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Don’t rainbows come after it rains? Don’t wildflowers grow when it rains?” Great-Grandma asked.

I nodded.

“If rain can make the flowers grow, Makinzee, then why not the rest of us too?” Great-Grandma smiled.

The next summer Great-Grandma got really sick. She had to stay in bed a lot of the time. One day I looked quietly into her room, and she was lying in bed staring at an empty wall, watching the shadows get bigger. I guess she was happy because she said life was too short to be sad, but, well, today she looked sad.

I decided it was my turn to make her smile. Grandpa Marshal had planned for a long time to take my brother, Ethan, and me to the circus. I really wanted to go, and today was the last day before it left town. But instead I asked Grandpa if he would mind taking just Ethan. I had a strong feeling that I should stay and do something for Great-Grandma.

Grandpa didn’t say anything. His chin started shaking like the leaves do when the wind blows, and he hugged me for a long time.

When I told Grandma Marshal why I was staying, her eyes filled up with tears, and one ran down onto her smile before she could push it away. She always said if a warm tear touches your lips it makes sweet words grow, and I guess she’s right because she whispered, “Bless you.”

Grandma keeps lots of paper, crayons, watercolors, and other fun stuff for her grandchildren in what she calls the “kids’ corner.” After Grandpa and Ethan left, I set to work.

Three hours later I hung pictures of rainbows all over the empty wall in Great-Grandma’s room. She cried. It was only the third time I ever saw her cry. The first time was when she bore her testimony at church. The second was when a little bird died in her hands—she said it’s a sad thing when someone or something passes away and nobody sheds a tear. And the third time was when she saw all those rainbows. But those tears—like the ones when she bore her testimony—were happy tears. She laughed. “So many rainbows,” she said, “and all in my room!”

Two days later, Great-Grandma died. I cried, but they were warm tears, the kind that make sweet words grow. I wrote some of them down on a piece of paper and put them in Great-Grandma’s casket. I said, “I love you, Great-Grandma. Thank you for your smiles. I will try to be like you by being my own best self. Mom and Dad said that if I can learn to be happy like you, even when I’m sad, and to think of others like you always did, that I will be in pretty good shape when it’s my turn for someone to paint rainbows in my room. I’ll see you later, Great-Grandma, so I won’t say good-bye. Love, Makinzee.”

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Giving Our Best

By Colleen M. Pate
Friend, Sep 2006, 28–29
(Based on a true story)

Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, and fed thee? (Matthew 25:37).

Kerry, Nate, and Elizabeth came running in after school. “Mom, guess what!” Elizabeth yelled. “What?” Mom asked.

“Our teachers said we can help hungry children with these bags,” Kerry said excitedly. All three children waved their brown plastic bags with FOOD BANK printed on them.

Mom stopped washing dishes and sat down at the kitchen table. “OK, tell me how a plastic bag can help hungry children.”

“There’s a place called a food bank,” Nate said.

“It’s where families without any money can get food,” Kerry explained.

“Yes!” piped up little Elizabeth. “Then they will always have supper.”

“Can we get some things from our pantry?” Kerry asked. “We have tons of food there.”

“Of course,” Mom said. “Fill your bags while I finish washing the dishes.”

With a happy shout, the three children ran to the pantry. Nate grabbed a big can of peaches.

“Not those,” Kerry said. “Peaches are my favorite. Take that can of sour cabbage stuff that no one likes.”

“Except Mom,” Nate corrected. “But she won’t mind.”

Elizabeth started putting a box of macaroni and cheese in her bag, but Nate stopped her. “Hey, that’s my favorite lunch. Take this old can of spinach instead. Then we won’t have to eat it.”

The children kept pulling cans and boxes from the pantry until their bags were too full to lift. They dragged the food into the living room where Mom was reading.

Mom smiled proudly at them. But when she looked into the bags, a small frown creased her forehead. “What’s this, Elizabeth? An old can of spinach?”

Elizabeth nodded. “Nate said to take it instead of macaroni and cheese because that’s his favorite.”

“And peaches are Kerry’s favorite, so we picked the sour cabbage stuff that you like,” Nate added.

“I’m glad to donate some of my favorites,” Mom said. “But I’m not sure that sauerkraut or spinach would be a hungry child’s first choice. And since Jesus loves us all the same I wonder what He would want you to put in your bags. What if Jesus were going to that food bank for supper tomorrow? Would you feed Him only things that are yucky to you? Or would you share your favorite foods with Him?”

Kerry, Nate, and Elizabeth looked down at their bags. Then they looked at each other. Finally they looked up at Mom.

“We’d better go back to the pantry,” Kerry said.

Nate nodded. “We need to change some things.”

The children dragged their bags back to the pantry and dumped the cans onto the floor.

“Peaches first!” Kerry said.

Nate grinned. “Then macaroni and cheese!”

“And some of my favorite pudding for dessert!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “Jesus is going to like what we are giving to others for supper!”

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Marty and Chipper Go to School

By Margaret Shauers
Friend, Sep 2006, 30–33
(Based on a true story)

Be of good courage, and [the Lord] shall strengthen your heart (Psalm 31:24).

Marty was excited. Marty was scared. Today was his first day of real school. Not preschool at the little school down the street.

“This school is miles away,” Marty told his stuffed bear, Chipper, as he pulled on his socks.

“Hundreds—maybe thousands—of kids go to real school,” Marty told Chipper as he zipped his new jeans.

“Maybe I won’t find one friend at the real school,” he said as he buttoned his shirt. “I wish you could go to school with me. Then I’d have at least one friend.”

Slowly, Marty picked up his new backpack. It felt light in his hands.

“I only have crayons and pencils and my new drawing tablet in the backpack,” Marty thought. He smiled. “Yes! You’ll fit right inside too,” he said, and tucked Chipper inside before pulling the pack over one shoulder.

The school looked even bigger when Mother helped Marty find his classroom. It looked like there were hundreds—maybe millions—of kids inside. He didn’t know one of them! But at least he had Chipper with him.

Marty watched the children in his classroom hanging their backpacks on the hooks against the wall. One girl put her backpack on a table, unzipped her bag, and pulled out her crayons and pencils and drawing paper before hanging it up.

“Oh no!” Marty thought. He’d have to unzip his backpack right in front of everyone. Suddenly, having Chipper along didn’t seem like such a good idea. All the children would call him a baby!

Marty stood at the back of the room. He put his backpack on the table and wished he could unzip it just a little bit so no one could see Chipper. But the drawing tablet was large. It would never come out.

A boy just his size stood beside him. He stood with his hand on the zipper of his backpack too. He wasn’t pulling it either.

“Please hang up your backpacks and bring your tablets, pencils, and crayons to your seats, boys,” the teacher said. “We will all draw pictures about our story today.”

Marty moved the zipper on his backpack down just a bit. The boy beside him did the very same thing. Marty pulled his zipper down a tiny bit more. Just enough for one of Chipper’s fuzzy brown arms to pop right out!

Marty’s face grew hot. He looked at his feet.

“Boys!” the teacher called. Marty looked back at his backpack.

The boy beside him did the very same thing. Marty looked at the other boy’s backpack. There was a fuzzy brown arm sticking out of his backpack too!

Marty looked at the boy. “I’m Marty,” he said.

“I’m Hank,” the boy said.

Marty unzipped his backpack and took out his tablet, pencils, and crayons. Then he hung up his bag. Hank did the same. Somehow, Marty didn’t think either of them would need to bring their stuffed bear friends to school again.

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Jordan’s Job List

By Vicki H. Budge
Friend, Sep 2006, 36–38
(Based on a true story)

Teach them to never be weary of good works (Alma 37:34).
Jordan looked at the calendar for the tenth time that day. There was a big X on today’s date and all the previous days of the month. But there wasn’t room for an X on the calendar the next day because it was already filled in—it had a picture of his brother, Jared.

“Mom, I can’t believe Jared will be home tomorrow,” Jordan said.

“I know,” Mom said. “Two years seemed like a long time when he left on his mission, but the weeks went by so quickly.”

“Do you think he will remember me?” Jordan asked.

“Of course he will,” Mom said. “You’ve changed a lot though. You’ve grown so tall.”

“Can I run down to Steven’s and remind him that Jared will be home tomorrow?” Jordan asked.

“You’ve already reminded Steven’s family and every other family in our neighborhood,” Mom said. “Besides, I have a job list for you today.” She pulled out the breadboard and put a piece of paper with a list of jobs on it.

Mom always wrote job lists and placed them on the breadboard. That’s the way it had been for as long as Jordan could remember. Everyone in the family got lists with three or four jobs on it. Dad got them. Kerri and Cassi, Jordan’s two sisters, got them. Jared used to get them. And Mom placed her own lists there too.

Jordan wrinkled his face into the grumpiest look he had. “I don’t want to do jobs,” he said. “I’m too excited to do jobs.”

“I know,” Mom said. “I want to run and jump and tell the whole world that Jared’s coming home tomorrow. We love him and missed him while he was gone, and I want our home to be warm and welcoming, and clean and neat so that Jared will feel comfortable when he gets home.”

Jordan frowned again. Then he remembered the scripture his family had read in family home evening about honoring your mother and father. He wondered if it meant to honor your brother too.

Jordan picked up his job list. He did the easy jobs first. He fed Bear, their black-and-white border collie. He swept the front porch and the steps. He took the garbage out and vacuumed the living room, dining room, and hall. His list was a little longer than usual but he worked quickly and kept crossing off jobs. The more he worked the better he felt. Soon his grumpiest look was replaced with a big smile.

He saved the hardest job for last—cleaning his room. That was always a huge job.

“I’ll help you,” Mom said as she walked into Jordan’s bedroom. He stood in the middle of it wondering where to begin.

They put his games on the shelves and took his dirty clothes to the laundry room. They cleared off the dresser and put his clean clothes into the drawers.

“I wonder if Jared will want his skateboard back,” Jordan thought as he started to push it under his bed. He stopped and thought about it. Then he pushed it into Jared’s room just in case.

“Whew!” Jordan said when they finally finished vacuuming and dusting. “That was a lot of work. I sure hope Jared feels welcome when he gets here.”

When Jordan got up the next morning he had a great idea.

“Hey, Mom,” he called as he ran into the kitchen waving a piece of paper. “I know how we can make Jared feel glad to be back home. And he will know how much we love him and missed him too!”

Jordan’s parents were cooking breakfast and his sisters were helping, but they all stopped to listen and look at Jordan’s paper. It read:

Welcome Home, Jared/Jared’s Job List

Feed Bear.

Vacuum the living room, dining room, and hall.

Unload the dishwasher.

Take out the garbage.

Sweep the porch and steps.

Mow the lawn.

Hose off the driveway.

Wash the windows and screens.

Clean the garage.

Clean your room.

Jordan pulled out the breadboard and slapped the job list on it. “Jared will really feel at home with this,” he said.

Everyone laughed.

“Isn’t it kind of long?” Dad asked.

“Well, we really love him and we really missed him,” Jordan said. “And besides, think of all the jobs he missed out on for the last two years.”

Everyone laughed harder.

Before they left for the airport, Dad added some more jobs to the list. Kerri and Cassi added more. Mom added a few too. The more jobs they added, the more everyone laughed. Soon they had 43 jobs on Jared’s list. As they drove to the airport Jordan knew his brother would feel loved and right at home even though he had been gone a long time.

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Do As I’m Doing

By Kate Niemann
Friend, Sep 2006, 46–48
(Based on a true story)

He that followeth me shall not walk in darkness (John 8:12).
“Vroom, vroom, vroom!” Brandon pushed his red toy convertible across the kitchen floor, driving it around the table and under the chairs in a zigzag pattern.

“Vroom, vroom, vroom!” Daniel echoed, driving his blue sedan in the same pattern.

Brandon parked his car under his chair. “Mom, what are we having for breakfast?”

Daniel parked his car right next to Brandon’s. “Yeah, Mom, what are we having for breakfast?”

“How about pancakes?” Mom asked.

“Yea, pancakes!” Brandon cheered.

“Yea, pancakes!” Daniel cheered just as loud.

“Will you make me a car pancake?” Brandon asked.

“Yes, I will,” Mom said.

“Will you make me a car pancake too?” Daniel asked, climbing up on his chair.

Brandon frowned. “Why does Daniel always have to copy me?” he asked. “Everything I do, he has to do, and everything I say, he says.”

Mom smiled as she stirred pancake batter. “Little brothers like to follow big brothers because they think their big brothers are really special. When Daniel copies you, he feels special too.”

“But it bugs me, Mom.”

“I can understand that,” Mom said. “But remember that Daniel’s not trying to be annoying. He thinks you’re great, and he wants to be just like you. That’s why it’s important that you set a good example for him.”

Brandon shook his head. “Daniel is lucky that he doesn’t have a little brother to copy him all the time.”

Mom poured batter onto the hot griddle. A wonderful smell soon filled the room. “Brandon,” she said, “you aren’t the only big brother who has a younger brother imitating him. Don’t you like to build model jets just like the ones Jeffrey builds, and drive your train on the track he put together?”

“Yeah, but Jeffrey doesn’t care if I copy him,” Brandon said. “And besides, I don’t say the same thing every time.”

“Jeffrey doesn’t care if I copy him either,” Daniel added.

Mom laughed but then grew serious. “I can think of a person whom we honor when we try to follow His example. Do you know who I mean?”

“Who?” Brandon and Daniel asked together.

“Jesus Christ. Did you know that He is the Firstborn of Heavenly Father’s spirit children? He is our Savior and sets the example for us.”

“Oh yeah,” Brandon said. “You told us that before.”

“He wants us to follow Him. One of the reasons He came to earth was to show us the things we should do and how we should act. Can you think of some ways you can follow Jesus?” Mom asked.

“We can get baptized,” Daniel said.

“And love little children,” Brandon added.

“Good answers,” Mom said. “And how about little brothers? Do you think Jesus loves little brothers?”

“Yes,” they both answered.

“What kind of things do you think Jesus would do to show His love for little brothers?”

“Help them clean up,” Daniel said.

“Help them build things,” Brandon said.

Mom turned the pancakes over. “You’re both right,” she said. “When you help your brother, you’re treating him the way Jesus would treat him.”

“So I can follow Jesus by letting Daniel follow me?” Brandon asked.

“That’s right,” Mom said. “Whenever you treat someone with kindness you are following the Savior.”

“OK, Daniel,” Brandon said. “Should we both have syrup on our pancakes?”

“Yes!” Daniel exclaimed. “I like being like my brother!”

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Clean Again

By Anne Bentley Waddoups
Friend, Oct 2006, 4–6
(Based on a true story)

Your garments have been cleansed and made white through the blood of Christ (Alma 5:27).
The water felt warm and smooth as I stepped into the font. Dad walked down the steps across from me, grinning. I looked around at all the people bunched up in front of the baptismal font: people who loved me and had come just for me! Dad said the baptismal prayer and lowered me into the water. I’ll never forget how I felt coming up out of the water—happy and clean. As I climbed out of the font, Mom was ready with a big towel and wrapped it around me in a warm hug.

I dried off and got dressed in the new white eyelet dress we had picked out for this day. Then I went back into the room where my family and friends were waiting. My dad, both grandpas, and my uncle put their hands on my head and confirmed me a member of the Church.

Afterward, everyone came up and hugged me or shook my hand. My home teacher said, “Right now you’re clean! You don’t have any sins!”

I hadn’t thought about that before. I realized that right then I was practically perfect. I decided to stay that way as long as I could.

Everyone went outside and sat on the big rolling lawn, talking, eating refreshments, and enjoying the view of the Potomac River.

After a while my cousins and friends and I got up to run around a little. “Be careful,” Mom called. “Remember you have on your new dress.”

We played hide-and-seek and chased each other around the trees. I loved how my dress billowed out when I spun around.

Then the worst thing happened. I slipped and fell into a mud puddle left by the morning’s rain. I heard a lot of gasps and a few giggles as I got up. My white dress was muddy! And worse, I had already done something wrong by ignoring Mom’s instructions. I ran inside to the bathroom, my tears starting before I got there. The dress had to come clean. I’d scrub until it did. I pulled my dress up into the sink, running the water over the mud. The dirt faded but the stain stayed there on the front of my new white dress.

I went out to the other side of the church and sat on the curb near the parking lot, watching the air above the blacktop waving from the heat. I heard the door open and close behind me. Mom sat down and put her arm around me.

“So you fell in the mud.”

I nodded.

“I’m sure we can wash it, and it’ll come out,” she said.

I shook my head. “I already tried that in the bathroom, and it didn’t work. I’m sorry. I don’t think it will ever come out. Will I ever be able to wear it again?” As I spoke, my tears started again.

I thought Mom was going to scold me for ruining a new dress, but she said, “I think you’ll remember this day even more now.”

That was true. Who could forget ruining her own baptism!

“You know, in your life, you’re going to make some mistakes,” Mom said. “We all do. And no matter how hard you try on your own, you won’t be able to completely erase them from your life. Do you know who can?”

“Jesus Christ?”

Mom nodded. “Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ want to forgive us. If we repent and ask humbly, Jesus can make us clean again—as clean as you were when you stepped out of the baptismal font. Christ’s Atonement is Heavenly Father’s greatest gift to us. And do you know what we can do every week to help us become clean?”

I nodded slowly. “Take the sacrament.”

“That’s right. When we partake of the sacrament we renew the covenants we made when we were baptized.” Mom leaned her hand on my knee and stood up. “I think a little bleach will make the dress white again. This isn’t our first mud stain, and I’m sure it won’t be our last.”

I sighed. It wouldn’t be my last mistake either. But I did understand a little bit more about what it meant to be baptized and confirmed. It wasn’t just taking away all my old mistakes. It would allow me to stay clean—not by being perfect all the time, but by repenting and trying harder.

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Edward and the Prophet

By John Allen
Friend, Oct 2006, 10–12
(Based on experiences of the author’s great-grandfather Edward Stevenson)

I give unto you my servant Joseph to be a presiding elder over all my church, to be a translator, a revelator, a seer, and prophet (D&C 124:125).
Young Edward eagerly climbed up the apple tree. The higher he went the more the branches swayed. But Edward wasn’t concerned about the swaying branches. He didn’t notice the blue jays or the nervous twittering of the sparrows. His thoughts were centered on apples—the sweetest, juiciest apples that could be found only near the very top of the tree. And only the best apples would do for their special guest—the Prophet Joseph Smith.

The Prophet Joseph! Edward could hardly believe that right now the Prophet was sitting in their house, talking with his mother, and complimenting her on the wonderful meal she had just served.

Ever since he had heard the news that the Prophet Joseph was coming to Pontiac, Michigan, Edward had been excited. And when he later learned that the Prophet was going to have a meal in their home, his excitement was almost unbearable.

Earlier that morning Edward had helped his mother take out the rug and beat it. He cleaned out the fireplace, polished his mother’s prized mirror, and dusted the bookcase. When the work was done, he began strutting about and looking very pleased with himself.

“Edward Stevenson,” his mother said. “I know you’re excited, but you shouldn’t give in to pride.”

“But, Mother, it isn’t every day that we get a visit from the Prophet.”

“True enough. Still, you must think of the Prophet’s visit as more of a blessing than an honor.”

“All right, Mother. I’ll try.”

Edward kept looking at the clock and wishing time would go by faster. Finally, the Prophet appeared at the door. Edward, who was small for his thirteen years, looked up in awe at their six-foot-tall guest. A local church leader who was with the Prophet introduced him to the “Widow Stevenson” and Edward. Joseph bent down, offered Edward a robust handshake and said, “Hello there, Bub.”

Edward had never been called anything but his given name, so the casual nickname startled him. But when he thought about who had given it to him, he cherished it.

As they enjoyed a meal of roast duck, pork, potatoes, and beans, the Prophet held everyone—especially Edward—spellbound as he told stories about the Church and the Book of Mormon. Then Edward excused himself, dashed outside, and hurried up the apple tree with a tin pail in hand. When the branches became so thin they could barely support his weight, Edward plucked large golden apples until the pail was full. Then he climbed down and ran back into the house.

“These are for you, President Smith,” Edward said, presenting the pail to the Prophet.

“Thanks, Bub. I’ll take a couple, then we’ll pass them around for everyone.”

Soon the house was filled with the happy crunching sound of apples. “Bub, this is one of the finest apples I’ve ever had the pleasure of eating,” the Prophet said.

Later, Edward wrote in his journal, “Oh! how my heart swelled with delightful emotions of heavenly love, as I selected and presented to him [the Prophet] some of our choice apples in exchange for the golden nuggets of celestial truth.”

Five years later, Edward was still quite small, and often mistaken for a younger child. Although his body had not grown very much, his faith had grown enormously. Edward was not afraid to risk his life for the Church. And since this was a time of intense persecution, he often volunteered for dangerous assignments. One October night, he stood guard near the encampment at Far West, Missouri. His job was to watch for enemies and not allow them to enter the camp.

It was a beautiful, clear night full of stars. As dawn approached, the moon set and the sky became darker. Mist began to form. Then in the distance he heard horses slowly approaching. As the horses came closer, he heard faint, muffled voices. “Enemies trying to sneak into camp,” Edward thought. He reached for his rifle, cocked it, and held it steadily in the direction of the sound. It was so misty and dark that Edward knew the approaching strangers were not aware of him. When they were just a few feet away, Edward called out, “Who comes there?”

“Friends,” was the reply.

“Halt and give the secret password.”

“God and liberty.”

That was correct, and Edward let the strangers advance. As the first rays of sunlight appeared, Edward recognized the first rider. He was a church leader named Lyman Wight. He rode right up to Edward, the horse’s breath forming a cloud in the chilly air over Edward’s head. Brother Wight looked down from his horse at the short lad. He showed Edward that he was carrying both a gun and a sword. “So just what would you have done if I had been a real enemy?” he asked the youthful-looking guard.

Without flinching, Edward said that he would have defended his post.

A friendly chuckle came from behind Brother Wight. “That’s right, Bub!”

Bub! To Edward’s shock and embarrassment, the Prophet Joseph Smith was the second rider! Edward couldn’t believe that he had actually drawn a rifle upon the Prophet of God. But the Prophet’s steady gaze spoke of love, friendship, and appreciation. To Edward’s great relief he knew there were no hard feelings.

Edward later wrote about the incident in his journal and concluded that “the prophet always had a good word for all and was universally loved by the true in heart.”

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A Perfect Match

By Kay Timpson
Friend, Oct 2006, 20–22
(Based on a true story)

God gave me a family … that I might live here happily, because he loves me (Children’s Songbook, 234).
“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Larissa yelled to her classmate Eric. She jumped off her bike and raced for the door. Bursting inside, she threw her arms around Mom and blurted, “Eric says I’m not really yours. He says that all of you are white and I’m black, and that we aren’t a real family because we don’t match.” She shoved her arm next to Mom’s to compare. “See!”

Mom hugged Larissa tight. “Maybe Eric doesn’t understand what makes a real family.”

Just then Dad walked in. “What’s wrong? Did you hurt your arm?”

Larissa sobbed. “No! I don’t match you guys, so Eric says we aren’t a real family.”

“Hmm.” Dad held his arm next to Larissa’s. “I guess Eric doesn’t know what makes a real family.”

“That’s what Mom said.” Larissa jerked her arm away. “But maybe he does know. He looks like his family. He says families are supposed to match.”

Allie squeezed through the door, trying to keep the wind and dry leaves outside. “What’s supposed to match?” she asked.

“We are,” Larissa said. “Eric says so, and he should know because his whole family matches.”

“Well, he doesn’t know what makes a real family then,” Allie said.

The door flew open and the wind blew leaves and the twins in together. “Why is Larissa crying?” they asked.

Larissa wailed. “See! Jeremy and Zack match. They look alike, they dress alike, and they even say the same thing at the same time. I don’t match any of you!”

“What?” Jeremy and Zack asked.

“It seems that Eric thinks Larissa doesn’t belong with us because she doesn’t look like any of us,” Dad said.

“Well,” Zack began, “Eric must not know what makes a—”

“It’s true,” Allie interrupted. “We don’t look alike, but there are lots more important qualities for a family to share. We love each other and we help each other. Each of us is special to the other. Isn’t that more important than looking alike?”

“That gives me an idea,” Mom said. “Come to the computer.”

Opening the family history album, Mom pointed to a name on a pedigree chart. “My grandmother, Eleanor Edmonds,” she said. “Let’s see what we can find.” She quickly entered the name “Eleanor Edmonds,” the word “Ohio,” and the year “1882” into the computer.

“Larissa,” Mom said, “please click on ‘search.’ ”

The computer clicked and whirred and finally, after a few seconds, a box appeared on the screen that read, “NO MATCH FOUND.”

“That’s not right!” Allie said. “Eleanor is your grandmother. How can the computer say there’s no match?”

“What would the computer use to match families together?” Mom asked.

“Names!” the twins said.

“Dates and places,” Dad added.

“Then why did it say no match found?” Allie asked.

“The computer has to have all the right information to match her to us. I entered Ohio as Eleanor’s birthplace. Actually, she was born in Nebraska. Because the computer had the wrong information, it couldn’t make a match. But no matter what the computer says, I have all the information I need to know that Eleanor is my grandmother.”

“Oh, I get it,” Larissa said slowly. “Eric doesn’t think I belong in this family because he doesn’t have the right information.”

“That’s right,” Mom said. “He does not know that Heavenly Father wanted you to be with us and made sure we could adopt you and be sealed as a family in the temple.”

“We match because of more important things than our hair and our eyes and our skin,” Dad said. “We are a family because we followed God’s plan for us.” He held up the family history album and pointed to a photo. “This is Eleanor Edmonds, Mom’s grandmother.”

“Wow!” the twins said.

“She doesn’t look anything like you, Mom,” Larissa said. “Your hair is straight, your skin is dark, and your eyes are brown. Her hair is curly, her skin is fair, and her eyes are light.”

“That’s right, honey. When I was growing up she lived next door. I learned that she and I are a lot alike in ways that are far more important than looking alike.”

“Poor Eric,” Larissa said. “He doesn’t know that looking alike doesn’t even matter.”

“And the best part is that we can be a family forever, no matter what we look like,” Dad said.

“Cool!” the twins shouted.

Larissa smiled. “We’re a perfect match!”

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Ben Obeys

By Elizabeth Hervey Osborn
Friend, Oct 2006, 30–32
(Based on a true story)

Children, obey your parents in all things (Colossians 3:20).
“Hi, Mom,” Ben called as he rolled his bike into the garage. “Hi, Ben,” Mom answered. Closing the recycling bin, she turned to look at him, and her smile faded. “Where’s your helmet?” she asked.

Ben slid his bike into its place. “I don’t need it anymore.”

Mom’s eyebrows went up. “Ben, what is our family rule about helmets?”

Ben took a deep breath and slowly repeated: “If you’re riding your bike, you wear a helmet.”

Mom looked steadily at Ben until he squirmed. “But, Mom!” he protested.

“Please go inside. We’ll talk about it in a minute.”

Ben went in and sat down at the table. Pretty soon Mom and Dad joined him. “So, Ben, tell me about your helmet,” Dad began.

“Dad, I don’t need it anymore. I’m a great bike rider now.”

“You are a good bike rider,” Dad said. “But helmets aren’t just for beginners. I’ve been riding a bicycle for many years. Do I wear a helmet?”

“Yes, you do,” Ben admitted. “But the kids at school think only babies wear helmets.”

“Oh,” Mom said. “So it isn’t cool to wear one?”

“No, it’s not!” Ben exclaimed.

“Ben, do you know why we have the helmet rule?” Dad asked.

“To make me look stupid?” Ben answered with a wry smile.

Dad chuckled. “No. For exactly the opposite reason. It’s to help keep that brain of yours safe.”

“As a matter of fact,” Mom added, “every rule, whether it’s a family rule or one of Heavenly Father’s commandments, is given to help us be safe and happy.”

“But having kids make fun of me for keeping the rule doesn’t make me happy,” Ben complained.

Dad thought for a moment. “Sometimes we have to be obedient even when other people make fun of us for it. I know that in the long run you’ll be happier because you obey.”

Mom looked Ben in the eyes. “Ben, this wasn’t the first time you went riding without your helmet, was it?”

Ben’s shoulders drooped. “No,” he admitted.

“Thank you for being honest,” Dad said. “Your Mom and I both feel that it is very important that you obey our family rules. You’ve broken this one. What do you think a good consequence would be?”

Ben was quiet for several long moments. “Maybe a time-out from my bike?” he said at last.

Dad nodded. “That sounds fair. I think maybe it should be long enough to help you remember the rule. How about until the end of summer?”

Ben groaned.

“OK,” Mom said. “When school starts, you get your bike back.”

As the sunny days of August went by, Ben often looked wistfully at his bike hanging on the garage wall. “Next time I’ll obey the rule,” he told himself. He remembered what Mom had said about obedience helping people be happy. “Well,” he thought, “It’s true that I’ll be happy when I can ride my bike again, even if someone makes fun of me.”

When school began, Mom helped Ben lift the bike down. First he checked the tires and oiled the chain. Then he picked up his helmet, adjusted the fit, and snapped it onto his head. It felt great to be riding again!

One bright sunny afternoon in December, Ben was riding home from school. When he came to an intersection he stopped and looked carefully both ways. But a young lady who had just learned to drive turned right without looking or stopping. The bumper of her car struck Ben’s bike and sent him flying headfirst into the sidewalk.

A neighbor who saw the accident called Mom. As she ran down the street, she heard a siren and saw the ambulance. “Ben!” she shouted.

“I’m here, Mom.”

Two paramedics were checking Ben. “Your son is going to be just fine,” one of them said. “He was wearing this, and it saved his life.” He handed her Ben’s helmet. There was a big dent in it.

Mom gave Ben a long hug. “I’m glad you were wearing your helmet today,” she whispered.

“Me too,” he said. “Obeying the rules really does help keep me safe and happy.”

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Family Home Evening with a Friend

By Patricia R. Jones
Friend, Oct 2006, 42–44
(Based on a true story)

Shew mercy and compassions every man to his brother (Zechariah 7:9).
Tricia was bored. It seemed like her father and mother had been visiting with Sister Clark forever. Tricia looked around at her brothers and sisters, and they looked just as bored as she felt. She wondered again why they needed to have family home evening with Sister Clark.

“Don’t you think Sister Clark gets tired of us going to her house?” Tricia asked her parents after they left Sister Clark’s home.

“Not at all,” her mother replied.

“I feel that our visits are the highlight of her whole week,” her father added. “She has been lonely since Brother Clark died last year.”

“But don’t you think she would like to have her privacy?” Tricia asked.

“Why don’t you try something,” her mother suggested. “Try imagining everything you can think of that Sister Clark does in a day. List them all on a piece of paper and we’ll see how much time that takes.”

“OK,” Tricia agreed. As soon as they got home, Tricia ran into the kitchen and got a piece of paper and a pen. She sat at the table and thought carefully. She decided to list everything Sister Clark might do in a day. First, she would wake up and get dressed. Next, she would fix breakfast, eat, and brush her teeth. Tricia smiled. She already had five things listed on her paper. She would show her parents how busy Sister Clark really was. After that, Sister Clark would read the newspaper or write letters to her children.

“Oh, no she wouldn’t,” Tricia thought suddenly. “She only had one daughter who died in an accident when she was 13. Sister Clark wouldn’t write letters to her children or grandchildren because she doesn’t have any.”

Tricia tried to swallow a lump that had formed in her throat, but it stuck uncomfortably. She tried to think of what family Sister Clark had to whom she could write a letter.

“Mrs. Benton!” Tricia cried happily. She remembered Sister Clark’s sister, Mrs. Benton, who had visited her last summer. But as Tricia began to write Mrs. Benton’s name on her paper, she remembered that Sister Clark and her sister didn’t get along very well. Sister Clark probably wouldn’t write a letter to her only sister either.

Tricia drew in the corner of her paper as she tried to think of what else Sister Clark would do to occupy her day. When she couldn’t think of anything, she drew some more. Finally, Tricia decided that Sister Clark would probably watch a morning news program and wash the dishes. Then there was that afghan she was working on. She liked to make caramels and give them to people in the ward. Of course, she might do some cleaning, but her house was always so spotless.

“No wonder she always seems so happy to see us,” Tricia said out loud. “We really are the highlight of her whole week.”

“You’re absolutely right,” her father said. Tricia looked up and realized that her father had been standing behind her for a while. “Is it really so bad to visit Sister Clark every week?” he asked quietly.

The lump returned to Tricia’s throat, and she could not answer. She shook her head and looked down at her paper. It had more doodles on it than items in her list. She wadded up the paper and threw it away. Her father held out his arms to her and she rushed into his waiting hug.

“It’s not bad visiting Sister Clark, Daddy,” she whispered. “Actually, I’m really glad that we share our family home evenings with a friend.”

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Promises to Elizabeth, Part 1: The Blessing

By Sheila Kindred
Friend, Nov 2006, 4–6
(Based on the life of Elizabeth Beardall Mower)

He that hath faith in me to be healed, and is not appointed unto death, shall be healed (D&C 42:48).
“Hold onto my basket,” Mother told Elizabeth as they left the bakery. “And take Charlotte’s hand.” Mother stopped suddenly. She had forgotten for a moment that Charlotte had died. “Hold on tight,” she said, her voice quavering. “I don’t want to lose you too.” Mother shifted baby Ellen on her hip and set off down the sidewalk.

Elizabeth followed, dutifully holding the basket’s handle. Usually she would have helped herself to a piece of warm bread, but today she wasn’t hungry.

On a street corner a man was holding up a book and talking loudly. “What’s he saying?” Elizabeth asked. “He has a strange way of speaking.”

“He’s not from England. I think he’s from America. He says that the elders of his church have authority to bless the sick and that those who are not appointed unto death will be healed.” Mother sighed. “If only we had known.”

Elizabeth wasn’t sure what all this meant. All she knew was that she was cold and tired and wanted to go home.

Later that night, Elizabeth’s father looked at her across the dinner table. “You haven’t said a word,” he said. “Are you feeling sad about Charlotte?”

Mother studied her daughter a moment and then jumped up in alarm. “Oh please, no!” she exclaimed, putting her hand on Elizabeth’s sweaty forehead. “It’s not sadness,” she told her husband. “It’s a fever. Run for the doctor. Quick!”

By the time the doctor arrived, Elizabeth was unconscious. He examined her and then turned sadly to her parents. “It’s scarlet fever,” he said.

“Can’t you do anything?” Mother pleaded. “We lost our daughter Charlotte to the fever already.”

The doctor pulled a small bottle of medicine from his bag. “Give her a dose if she awakens. But I won’t lie to you—she is already near death and will not regain consciousness. I’ll come back tomorrow.”

After the doctor left, Father pounded his fist on the table. “Why would a loving God take our children? I can’t believe they have already lived out their appointed times.”

Mother grabbed his arm. “Francis, go for the Mormon elders at once and ask them to come pray for our little girl.” Father hesitated, but Mother insisted. “I believe their words, Francis. If they bless her she will get well.”

Father found the elders and brought them home. One of them anointed Elizabeth’s head with oil. Both laid their hands on her head and the other one solemnly pronounced a blessing, promising Elizabeth that she would get well. He also promised that she would become a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, that she would go to Utah, and that she would live to become a mother in Israel. The fever immediately left Elizabeth’s body, and she fell into a peaceful sleep.

The next morning the doctor came with a death certificate. “Sorry to intrude,” he apologized, “but I need to fill this out on Elizabeth.”

“Please come in and join us,” Mother said happily. “We were just having bread and butter for breakfast. At Elizabeth’s request.”

The doctor could scarcely believe his eyes. There was Elizabeth, sitting up and eating. “That medicine worked wonders!” he declared. “This is a miracle!”

Father handed him the unopened medicine bottle. “A miracle, yes,” he said. “But not from the medicine. The Mormon elders blessed her.”

“Well,” the doctor said, “I don’t know anything about the Mormons, but I know that she was certainly dying last night. Good day to you all.”

When the doctor was gone, Elizabeth set down her bread. “What is a mother in Israel?” she asked.

Mother looked at her in surprise. “Did you hear the blessing?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth replied. “I couldn’t open my eyes or speak, but as soon as I felt hands on my head, I could hear every word.”

“Those were promises from God,” Father said.

“Promises to me?” Elizabeth asked, wide-eyed. “Will they really happen?”

“Yes,” Father said, looking at Mother. “I believe they really will.”

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A Game of Catch

By Paul Horwinski
Friend, Nov 2006, 10–12
(Based on a true story)

Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you (Matthew 5:44).
Paul was looking for a book when someone pushed him into the shelf. The shelf wobbled, and several of the books almost fell. He turned around. Danny stood a few feet away, pretending to look for a book. He had his softball glove under his arm.

“Why did you do that?” Paul asked angrily.

Danny shrugged and started to walk away.

Paul caught him by the arm. “Why did you push me?”

“Don’t touch me,” Danny said, grabbing Paul’s arm.

Paul tried to pull his arm away, but Danny wouldn’t let go. They pushed and pulled until they both crashed into the shelf and fell, while books rained down on top of them.

“Paul, Danny, stop that right now,” the teacher said. “Stop fighting and pick up those books!”

“He started it,” Paul said as he stood up.

“Did not,” Danny said, still on the floor. He kicked at Paul’s leg from behind a desk where the teacher could not see.

“I don’t care how it started,” the teacher replied. “I want it stopped. Clean up that mess and go back to your desks. If I see you boys fighting again, I’ll send you both to the principal’s office.”

They picked up the books without looking at each other.

Paul sat at his desk with the book he’d picked out open in front of him, but he was too angry to read it. He looked over at Danny, who sat at his desk, picking at the stitching in his glove. Why was Danny out to get him all the time? Couldn’t the teacher see what was happening? Why did he have to get in trouble for something Danny did?

Paul felt miserable. He closed his eyes and whispered a prayer. “Heavenly Father, please bless me that Danny will get in trouble for bothering me, so he’ll leave me alone.”

He opened his eyes. He still felt miserable. Then he remembered the words to one of the songs he’d sung in Primary—“ ‘Jesus said love ev’ryone.’ ”
*

Paul frowned. He didn’t want to hate Danny. But he didn’t want to love him either.

Recess came and his classmates started a softball game in the field. Paul stayed on a bench at the other end of the schoolyard. He had his softball glove in his backpack, but he didn’t want to play. Not if Danny was playing.

He looked down the field and noticed Danny wasn’t playing either. He sat at the edge of the field with his softball glove beside him.

Paul remembered the Primary song again—“ ‘Jesus said love ev’ryone.’ ”

His stomach twisted itself into a knot. He couldn’t go and talk to Danny. They’d get in another fight, and he’d be sent to the office. But as he thought of the words, “ ‘Jesus said love ev’ryone; treat them kindly too,’ ” he knew what he had to do.

Paul got up. He pulled his softball glove out of his backpack. He picked up one of the extra softballs and went over to Danny.

“Hi,” he said.

“What do you want?” Danny asked.

Paul held up the ball. “Do you want to play catch?”

Danny looked up at him for a moment. Then he picked up his glove. “OK.”

They started to toss the ball back and forth. Paul couldn’t throw very well, and said “sorry” every time he threw too short or too far to one side.

Danny didn’t complain. He just retrieved the ball and threw it back to him. He threw the ball better than Paul and didn’t miss as often, but after a while he started saying “sorry” as well whenever he threw it too far.

Paul didn’t feel miserable anymore. He started to relax and enjoy himself. He smiled. He knew that Heavenly Father had answered his prayer, just not the way he had thought he wanted.

When the bell rang and they had to stop, Paul noticed that Danny was smiling too. Paul hummed the Primary song to himself on his way back to class— “ ‘Jesus said love ev’ryone; treat them kindly too. When your heart is filled with love, others will love you.’ ”

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Thanksgiving Surprise

By Jane McBride Choate
Friend, Nov 2006, 28–29
(Based on a true story)

Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself (D&C 59:6).
Cassie watched as Mom unloaded the one bag of groceries from the car. Thanksgiving was in two days, and they had just returned from shopping.

Cassie thought of their Thanksgivings in the past. There had been turkey, two different kinds of stuffing, rolls, pies, and lots more. Cassie didn’t mind that they wouldn’t have the same feast this year, but she wished that her parents smiled more.

Mom’s eyes were filled with worry when she thought no one was looking. Things hadn’t been easy for Cassie’s family ever since Dad had started his own engineering company. He had been spending long hours at the small office he and his partner rented.

Cassie’s parents had spent a family home evening explaining to the children that they would all have to do without some things until their dad’s business picked up.

Six-year-old Cassie had struggled to understand what that meant. Her older brother Steve had looked concerned, then nodded and said, “Sure thing.”

“We have enough money to support your brother on his mission, but there won’t be much left for extras,” Dad had added.

Cassie’s brother Rob was serving a mission in California. She knew her parents had set aside money years ago to pay for his mission.

The day before Thanksgiving, Steve carried a large box inside and set it on the kitchen table. “Mom, look what I found on the porch.”

Mom laughed and cried as she pulled things out of the box—a turkey, pumpkin and apple pies, cans of cranberry sauce, two loaves of homemade bread, and a sack of nuts.

“There’s no name,” Steve said, after searching through the box once more.

That made Mom cry some more. “Whoever sent this wanted to remain anonymous,” she said.

“What’s a—nonymous?” Cassie asked.

Mom wiped the tears trickling down her cheeks with the back of her hand. “That means the person who left all this wonderful food didn’t want us to know who did it.”

“Like when we did things for that family last Christmas?” Cassie asked. “We left a box on the porch, rang the doorbell, and then ran away.”

“Just like that,” Mom agreed.

“I liked doing that,” Cassie said, remembering the warm feeling she’d had in leaving the gifts for the family.

“Me too,” Steve said.

Cassie looked at the box of food. “Does this mean we’re poor?” She remembered scripture stories from Primary about feeding the poor.

Mom gathered Steve and Cassie close and hugged them. “It means we’re rich in friends. That’s the best kind of rich there is.”

Cassie thought about what Mom had said. She decided this Thanksgiving might be the best one of all.

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Exploring: Heroes in the Snow— The Martin Handcart Company

By Britney Schetselaar
Friend, Nov 2006, 30–31
Have you ever been really cold? Maybe your fingers felt numb or your nose and ears stung. What about hungry? Have you ever not eaten for so long that your stomach hurt and made funny noises? Have you ever been so tired that your legs could hardly move?

Peter McBride was a six-year-old boy who was probably hungrier, colder, and more exhausted than you have ever been. But he couldn’t go inside to warm up or buy food at the store. He could only go inside his tent, which collapsed on him one night and froze to his hair. He could only eat whatever he could find, like boiled ox hide and tree bark. Peter was a member of the Edward Martin Handcart Company.

Members of this company had come from faraway England. Problems delayed their journey to the Salt Lake Valley, and by October they were running out of food. All Peter and his baby sister were given to eat was a little flour each day. Early winter storms came, making pulling a handcart very difficult. Many were dying from cold and exhaustion.

When they came to the North Platte River, Peter said his father “worked hard all day pushing and pulling handcarts through the icy waters of that dangerous river,” helping people reach the other side. Peter’s father had a beautiful singing voice, and before he went to bed that night, he sang about how he longed to be in Zion. “The wind was blowing very cold,” Peter described. “The snow drifted in and covered our tent.”
1 The next morning, Peter’s father was dead. Peter cried as he watched his father’s body being buried beneath the snow.

Peter’s older sister Jenetta was left in charge because their mother was sick. Jenetta often walked to the river to get water for cooking, even though her shoes had worn out. Her bare feet left bloody footprints in the snow wherever she went. Realizing they could go no further, the company camped near the Sweetwater River and hoped that help would arrive before it was too late.

A group of missionaries returning home to the Salt Lake Valley passed the struggling pioneers and told Brigham Young about them. Immediately, he called for 20 rescue wagons to be sent. At last, Peter and the pioneers joyfully caught sight of the wagons approaching. Peter said that “men, women, and children knelt down and thanked the Almighty God for [their] delivery from certain death.”

2

The rescue teams could not carry enough food and supplies to relieve all the suffering, but they helped give the pioneers courage to continue. Together, they crossed the Sweetwater River and found shelter amid the rocks now known as Martin’s Cove. There, most of the company left their handcarts behind. The weakest pioneers rode in the wagons, and others walked until more wagons came, giving enough room for everyone to ride the rest of the way. On November 30, 1856, Peter and the handcart pioneers arrived safely in the Salt Lake Valley—where they remained faithful Church members for the rest of their lives.

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Helping Eli Be Brave

By Hilary M. Hendricks
Friend, Nov 2006, 34–37
(Based on a true story)
Be not afraid … : for the Lord thy God is with thee (Deuteronomy 20:1).

Hannah sobbed. Mom gently combed Hannah’s hair and added a pretty bow. Hannah sobbed louder.

“You must be very worried about your shot at the doctor’s today,” Mom said, lifting Hannah onto her lap. “Would you like us to say a prayer?”

Hannah nodded. Mom held Hannah and prayed that Heavenly Father would help Hannah be brave. Hannah wiped her eyes. Then Mom set Hannah down and picked up baby Eli.

“The shot will only hurt for a minute,” Mom promised as she dressed the baby. “Do you know why you need to have shots?”

“So I won’t get really sick,” Hannah replied.

“That’s right,” Mom said. “The shot will help you stay healthy. You’re lucky you only need one shot. Eli will have three shots today.”

Hannah’s eyes filled with tears again. “Oh, poor Eli!” she declared. She bent down and gave her brother a hug. “I will help him be brave.”

On the way to the doctor’s office, Hannah and Mom sang “I Am a Child of God.”
* While they waited for the nurse, Hannah hummed quietly to Eli. Mom showed Hannah some toys to play with and books to read, but Hannah didn’t feel like playing or reading. She patted Eli’s head and held Mom’s hand.

“Hello, young lady,” the nurse greeted Hannah. “Shall we do your shot first or your brother’s?”

Hannah felt shy, but she whispered, “I will go first so Eli will see that it only hurts for a little minute.”

“What a kind big sister!” the nurse said. She showed Hannah the syringe with the vaccine. “After we squirt this medicine into your leg, we’ll put on this bandage.”

Hannah looked at the purple dinosaur bandage. She squeezed Mom’s hand when she felt a pinch from the shot.

“All done. You held very still,” the nurse said. She gave Hannah a big round sticker to put on her shirt.

“It’s OK to cry if it hurts,” Mom said.

Hannah patted the sore spot on her leg. “I will wait to cry,” she said, “so Eli will not be so scared.”

Eli cried after his three shots. When he was calm, Hannah didn’t feel like crying anymore.

Hannah smiled and said proudly, “Heavenly Father helped me be brave, and I helped Eli.”

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Pie Dough to Play Dough

By Cindy Bechtold
Friend, Nov 2006, 38–40
(Based on a true story)

God gave me a family … because he loves me (Children’s Songbook, 234).
Celie turned the butter knife over and leveled the top of a cup of flour. “I can make it flat with one try,” she told her grandmother.

“I think you’re going to be a baker when you grow up,” Grandma said, pitting the cherries. She pinched another plump cherry, and juice splattered all over her glasses. “Uh-oh. I’m going to need windshield wipers for my glasses if the juice keeps hitting me instead of the bowl.”

Celie laughed. “I can measure the flour, but I’m glad you did the seed part. That’s too messy.”

Grandma finished the cherries and walked over to check on the pie dough Celie was making. “It looks like there might be too much salt,” she said. “What did you use to measure it?”

Celie leaned over the bowl and stared at the mixture inside. A big tear slid down her nose. “I think I goofed. I put one cup of salt into the bowl instead of one teaspoon.”

Grandma wiped away Celie’s tear. “I know how to solve this problem. I have a great play-dough recipe that calls for lots of salt.”

Grandma pretended to have a magic wand and waved it over the bowl. “Poof, you’re now play dough—not pie dough.”

Celie giggled.

Grandma set aside the play dough. “I’ll help you start over with the pie dough. After we measure the dry ingredients, I will teach you how to cut in the shortening.”

“Cut it?” Celie asked. “With scissors?”

Grandma laughed. “No, I use a pastry cutter.”

“How are we going to get all those crumbs flat?”

“The rolling pin makes the dough smooth and round,” Grandma answered.

“You mean like when I roll clay into a long, round snake?”

Grandma chuckled. “No snakes in our pie.”

“You know what I like about cooking?” Celie asked, wiping the flour off her hands.

“Licking the bowl?”

“That’s second best,” Celie said. “Most of all I like doing things with you.”

Grandma squeezed Celie’s shoulder. “When I was a little girl my grandma taught me how to make tarts. They’re like miniature pies. While my grandma was busy peeling apples, I stuffed the tiny tart tins full of dough. I filled them so high there wasn’t room for the apple filling.”

“Did she get mad?” Celie asked.

“No, she showed me how to fix the tarts and rolled the leftovers into a ball. I got to play with it. She even let me sneak a taste of the dough.”

Grandma pinched off a piece from the edge of the cherry pie and popped it into her mouth.

“Grandma, you’re still sneaking it,” Celie said, shaking her finger.

Grandma laughed and gave her a hug.

Celie was quiet.

“What are you thinking?” Grandma asked.

“Your grandma taught you to make pies. And now you’re the grandma and you’re teaching me.”

“That’s right,” Grandma answered.

“Heavenly Father has a good plan,” Celie said. “He puts us in families. When I’m a grandma, I can teach my granddaughter to make a pie. If she puts in too much salt, I’ll turn it into play dough too.”

Grandma smiled. “We all make mistakes, Celie. Sometimes we have to do things over. Sometimes we just learn and go on. Mistakes help us grow.” Grandma sprinkled sugar over the pies and slid them into the oven. “Let’s go finish that play dough.”

Celie held Grandma’s hand and skipped to the counter.

“I’m kind of glad you put in too much salt,” Grandma said. “I think I’ll roll out a long play-dough snake.”

Celie laughed. “And I’m going to make some windshield wipers for your glasses.”

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Room for Three

By Stacie A. Heaps
Friend, Dec 2006, 4–5
(Based on a true story)

Be kindly affectioned one to another with brotherly love (Romans 12:10).
Brent ran downstairs, his little sister, Lindsey, following close behind. “Mom!” Brent cried. “Lindsey won’t leave us alone!”

Brent’s best friend, Clint, had come over to play. The boys were playing with Brent’s fire truck and putting out the fires in the skyscrapers they had built out of blocks. “Lindsey always wants to do what we’re doing,” Brent said. “Why can’t she go away?”

“Brent, please be nice to your sister. She just wants to spend time with you,” Mom said.

“But, Mom, she always wants to tag along. Can’t she do something else for a while?”

“How about if we color together, Lindsey?” Mom asked. Lindsey nodded.

“Thanks, Mom,” Brent said as he started back up the stairs.

“Don’t forget, Brent,” Mom called after him. “You and Clint have practice for the Christmas program in less than an hour.”

“OK, Mom,” Brent replied.

“Mommy, why doesn’t Brent like me?” Lindsey asked, tears forming in her eyes.

“He does like you,” Mom said. “But sometimes he just wants to be with his friends. Brent loves you very much, even if he doesn’t always show it.”

A little while later, Mom took Brent and Clint to the church to practice for the Christmas program. Brent was excited. He was going to play Joseph this year. Before, he’d always been a sheep or a shepherd or a Wise Man. That was neat, but this year would be the best ever.

“OK, we’re going to practice the scene at the inns,” Brother Mitchell said. “Joseph and Mary, take your places. Innkeepers, it’s time.”

The Primary children hurried to their places onstage as Joseph and Mary approached the first inn.

“Please, do you have a room that we could stay in for the night?” Brent asked. “My wife is going to have a baby very soon, and she needs a place to rest.”

“I’m sorry. There’s no room,” the innkeeper said.

“Come on, Mary. Let’s try another place,” Brent said. They walked to the next innkeeper. “Hello, sir. We’ve come a long way, and my wife is going to have a baby very soon. Do you have a place where we can stay?”

“No, we’re all full. There’s no room.”

Brent went to the next innkeeper and knocked on the door, then the next, and then the next. The answer was always the same.

“There’s no room.”

“No room.”

“No room.”

“I’m so sorry, Mary,” Brent said. “Let’s try this one last place.” He turned and knocked on the door. “Sir, please, we’re very far from home, we have no place to go, and my wife is going to have a baby very soon. We’ve tried every inn in town. Do you have anywhere that we could stay?”

“I’m sorry. We’re all full.”

Joseph and Mary turned away slowly, looking sad. “I’m sorry, Mary,” Brent began. “I don’t know what—”

“Wait! Wait just a moment,” the innkeeper called after them. “Maybe I have a place after all. Come with me.” The innkeeper led them to the stable with cows, sheep, and other animals. “It’s not much, but you can stay here if you like.”

“This is wonderful,” Brent said gratefully. “Thank you very, very much.”

A few days later, Clint was at Brent’s house again. They were playing in a big box, pretending it was a fort that protected them from invaders. But Lindsey kept bothering them, asking if she could come inside too.

“Lindsey, why don’t you go do something else? Can’t you see that there’s no room for—” Brent stopped mid-sentence. He thought of the words that he’d heard just a few days before: “No room, no room, no room.” He thought of Joseph and Mary and the baby Jesus, who meant so much to all of them. Then he looked at his little sister.

“I’m sorry, Lindsey. Of course there’s room for you. There’s always room for three.”

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Promises to Elizabeth, Part 2: Elizabeth’s Decision

By Sheila Kindred
Friend, Dec 2006, 10–12
(Based on the life of Elizabeth Beardall Mower)

And every one that hath forsaken houses, or brethren, or sisters, or father, or mother, or wife, or children, or lands, for my name’s sake, shall … inherit everlasting life (Matthew 19:29).
Elizabeth Beardall’s sister Charlotte has recently died of scarlet fever. When Elizabeth falls ill, her parents summon Latter-day Saint missionaries who have been preaching in their town in England. The elders give Elizabeth a blessing in which they make four promises. The first is that Elizabeth will recover, which she immediately does. The second is that she will accept the gospel and be baptized.

Christmas was coming, and Elizabeth could hardly wait. Her excitement wasn’t for the gifts that Father Christmas would bring, nor for her eighth birthday on the day after Christmas. She was excited because on the day after her birthday she would be baptized into God’s true Church.

Grandmother Beardall smiled as the family sat down to dinner. “Look at Elizabeth,” she said. “She’s glowing like a crystal! Is it Christmas or birthday wishes that dance in your head, my dear?”

“Neither,” Elizabeth answered without thinking. She remembered too late that Grandmother wasn’t supposed to know about the baptism.

“Neither?” Grandmother sounded puzzled. “How can it be neither? Tell us, child. What excites you so?”

Elizabeth studied the pattern on her china plate and didn’t answer.

Grandmother frowned and turned to look at Father. “Someone told me they saw you associating with those wicked Mormons, Francis. I assured them it was not true. Can you give me the same assurance?”

Elizabeth thought of Elder Chase and Elder Canon and all the other good people in the Church. “They are not wicked, Grandmother!” she blurted out.

Grandmother turned pale. “So it is true,” she said softly.

“Mother, we have found God’s true Church,” Elizabeth’s father said gently. “We are being baptized at the end of the month.”

Grandmother sat stiff and straight. “The children too?”

“Ellen and Frank are too young,” Mother replied. “But Elizabeth is old enough to decide for herself, and as you have seen, she can hardly wait.”

Grandmother took out her handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. “You have broken my heart, Francis, and brought disgrace on your family. I would rather have followed you to your grave than see you join that despised church. If you join with those people, you are no longer my son, but I would not lose my beloved granddaughter.” She turned to Elizabeth. “If you really have a choice in this matter, I beg you not to be baptized but come and live with me. I promise that you will never want for anything as long as you live.”

Elizabeth didn’t know what to say. She loved her grandmother very much, but she also wanted to be baptized. Later, as Mother tucked her into bed, Elizabeth asked, “Why doesn’t Grandmother want us to join God’s true Church?”

“She doesn’t believe that it is the true church,” Mother said, “and she has the right to choose.”

“But what should I do? If I do what Grandma wants will Heavenly Father understand? Will He know that I still believe the Church is true?”

“He knows your heart, Elizabeth, but sometimes faith is more than just believing. It is trusting God and doing the right thing even when it’s hard. But you also have the right to choose. It’s your decision if or when you are baptized.”

In the busy days that followed, Elizabeth put aside the decision as she worked on Christmas presents for her family. But as she pushed cloves into a pomander ball for Grandmother, Elizabeth knew she could give a gift that would make Grandmother much happier. She could agree to live with her.

On Christmas Eve Elizabeth’s family was enjoying their plum pudding when the doctor came to call. “I have just come from tending Mrs. Beardall,” he told Father. “She is not serious, but asks that you come see her.”

Father reached for his coat. “I’ll take Elizabeth,” he said. “That will cheer her.”

Grandmother was in bed propped on her pillows. “How are you?” Father asked, taking her hand.

“My old body is wearing out,” Grandmother said. “I am in great need of a strong youth to assist me.” She looked at Elizabeth. “Well, dear? What is your decision? Will you come help me in my time of need?”

Elizabeth hesitated. Seeing her grandmother in bed reminded her of the night three years earlier when she herself lay dying.

“I love you, Grandmother,” Elizabeth said, “and I will do what I can to help you. But God has given me special promises and one of them was that I would join the true Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He cannot keep His promises unless I do my part. So I have decided to be baptized with my parents.”

As soon as Elizabeth spoke these words, joy filled her heart. She knew she had made the right decision.

Coming up in next month’s Friend, read about the third promise from Elizabeth’s blessing in “Part 3: Elizabeth Alone.”

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A Year without Gifts

By Sara V. Olds
Friend, Dec 2006, 20–22
(Based on a true story)

Follow after charity, and desire spiritual gifts (1 Corinthians 14:1).
“ ‘He that findeth his life shall lose it: and he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it.’ ”
* Dad finished reading the scripture and set the Bible on his lap. “What do you think this verse means?” he asked.

Peter, the oldest child in the family, raised his hand. “Does it mean giving service to others?”

Mom nodded. “That’s one way we can give ourselves to the Lord. For our new year’s resolution, we’ve decided to focus on giving service to others and to our family.”

“We have decided to spend one family home evening each month serving someone else,” Dad said.

“We are also going to stop buying gifts for the whole year,” Mom continued.

Robbin and Peter sat up straight.

“No gifts!” Peter cried.

“No presents?” Robbin asked.

Julia was quiet, too little to understand.

Mom shook her head.

“Wait a minute!” Robbin exclaimed. “No presents? None at all?”

“I didn’t say no presents,” Mom said. “We’re not buying any presents. This year, we’re going to make presents for each other.”

Peter and Robbin looked at each other doubtfully. It didn’t sound like much fun.

Valentine’s Day came quickly, and for family home evening they baked and decorated cookies, something they hadn’t done in a long time. They took some to an elderly neighbor and left the plate on the porch anonymously. As the family shared their homemade valentines, it seemed like this was the best Valentine’s Day they’d ever had.

For Easter, Peter made a treasure hunt for Robbin using an old Easter basket and plastic eggs stored from last year. Inside the basket was his favorite puzzle, which he knew Robbin enjoyed.

Robbin drew pictures for Mother’s Day, and Peter washed the car inside and out for Father’s Day.

Mom started a Sunday tradition of baking gingerbread, always two batches. The family ate one and delivered the other to someone in the ward.

As Christmas drew near, the family worked secretly as they made presents for each other. On Christmas morning, the children awoke to find a large pile of presents in front of the tree, along with their own handmade gifts.

“There aren’t any names on these ones,” Robbin said, patting a large box.

“Who are they for?” Peter asked.

Julia scrambled around the packages, pulling at the bows and paper.

Mom smiled. “Let’s open them and find out.”

Peter tore open a heavy package. “Bars of soap? How many bars of soap do I need?”

Robbin unwrapped another box. “Toothpaste?” She giggled. “Mom, there must be 20 boxes of toothpaste in here. Oh, and toothbrushes.”

Julia opened two packages with lots of combs. Peter opened a slim box of zipping plastic bags. He started to laugh. “Mom, why do I need plastic bags for Christmas?”

“Towels!” Robbin exclaimed, lifting a bundle of colorful towels out of a box.

Peter smiled at Mom and Dad. “All right. What’s going on?”

“With all of these things we can make hygiene kits,” Dad said. “The Church sends them to people who are in an emergency situation and have nothing.”

“Like an earthquake?” Robbin guessed.

Mom nodded. “Exactly. Let’s make these hygiene kits, and hopefully we’ll feel more grateful for our wonderful blessings this Christmas season.”

They quickly formed an assembly line. Each person was assigned an item to place in the bags—two bars of soap, four toothbrushes, one toothpaste tube, two combs, and two towels.

“You know,” Robbin said as she carefully placed two more combs into a bag, “this is fun. It makes me feel good to think we’re helping someone else.”

Everyone agreed, and they felt the joy that comes from serving others.

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Christmas Smiles

By Britney Schetselaar
Friend, Dec 2006, 30–33
(Based on a true story)

When ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God (Mosiah 2:17).
“Time to go shopping for Christmas presents!” Mom called. Four-year-old Kirsten hopped to the car. Kirsten liked getting presents. She wanted a new doll with curly hair.

As they drove to the store, Mommy turned around in her seat. “Tonight we are buying presents for another family. They won’t have any if we don’t help,” she said.

“What?” asked Kirsten. “And no presents for us?”

“We are going to share our presents. You will still get some, but not as many. Remember, we talked about this in family home evening?”

Kirsten frowned.

“We don’t know the family,” Mom said. “But you can help Dad and me find presents.”

“Hooray!” Deanna said.

Kirsten frowned harder. Her bottom lip stuck out and the corners of her mouth pushed down as far as they would reach.

At the store, Kirsten helped Britney. They walked up and down the aisles until they saw the games. Kirsten picked one in a gray box for the boy.

“Good choice,” Britney said.

Kirsten’s frown started to shrink—but only a little.

Next, Juleen wanted to buy some good-smelling soap for the mom. Kirsten helped Juleen pick a happy peach scent.

“Mmmm,” Juleen said as she took a sniff, “my favorite!”

The corners of Kirsten’s mouth got a little higher. She almost smiled.

When they were done buying presents, Kirsten and her family went home and wrapped them. Kirsten wrapped a scarf for the girl and tied it with a fluffy bow.

“That looks beautiful!” Mom said.

Kirsten couldn’t help it—an itty-bitty smile kept sneaking onto her face.

Mommy put all the presents in a big box. They sang Christmas carols all the way to the family’s house. Kirsten’s smile got a little bigger.

Dad started to take the box out of the car. “Can I come?” asked Kirsten.

“Of course,” Dad said.

Dad carried the box to the door and Kirsten rang the doorbell. A teenage girl with sad eyes answered.

“Merry Christmas!” said Dad and Kirsten. They put the box in the girl’s hands. The girl smiled, and then Dad and Kirsten ran away before she could ask them questions or find out what was in the box.

Kirsten skipped around the corner to where Mommy and her family were waiting in the car. Kirsten could see her brother and sisters’ smiles through the car windows. “Did you have fun?” Mommy asked.

Kirsten didn’t even have to answer. Mom could tell just by looking at Kirsten’s face—she had the biggest smile of them all.

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Feed My Sheep

By Myrna M. Hoyt
Friend, Dec 2006, 34–36
(Based on a true story)

Feed the flock of God which is among you (1 Peter 5:2).
After Nathan’s family moved into their new home, Gard was the first person he met. The house had previously belonged to Gard’s relatives, and he continued to pasture his sheep in the field next door.

Gard was an elderly man with thinning gray hair, and the many years of hard work in the heat and cold had taken a toll on his body. His fingers were bent and crippled with arthritis, his eyes were nearly blind, and his face and hands were weatherworn. Gard had never married and lived alone in a tiny, run-down home that was actually more of a shack. He had never learned to drive a car, so he walked around town pulling a cart behind him.

Nathan’s family didn’t know if they had adopted Gard or if he adopted them, but Nathan and his younger siblings Angie and Eric enjoyed helping him take care of his sheep, fix fences, or weed his garden. As they worked together he shared interesting experiences from his boyhood, as well as stories about the pioneers who had settled their community.

One warm, sunny afternoon, Nathan and Angie decided to go into the field and chase Gard’s sheep. At the time they thought it was great fun, but they soon changed their minds after Dad had a serious talk with them. Nathan and Angie felt very sorry about being unkind to Gard’s sheep. They humbly went to Gard and apologized. He was kind and understanding, and thanked them for their honesty and courage to make it right with him. From that day on, Nathan and Angie became assistant shepherds and did all that they could to help Gard take care of his sheep.

As the Christmas season drew near, Nathan anxiously shared some news with his family at dinner one evening.

“Gard told me today that he has not had a Christmas tree since he was a boy.”

With that announcement, the family soon outlined a plan of action—Gard would have a Christmas tree!

On Saturday, Nathan’s family drove to the nearby forest for their traditional Christmas-tree hunt. In the past their goal had been to search until they found a perfect blue spruce for their home, but this year everyone felt more excitement than ever before at finding the right tree for Gard. A perfect little spruce caught Nathan’s eye, and everyone approved. They took the tree home to prepare for Gard’s Christmas surprise.

On Monday for family home evening, Mom helped Nathan, Angie, and Eric make ornaments out of felt, glitter, ribbon, buttons, and beads. Then they decorated the tree and loaded it into the back of their truck.

Nathan had never felt such excitement as they huddled together around the tree before knocking on Gard’s door. As soon as they heard the click of the latch, everyone started singing, “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.”

Gard’s eyes lit up with excitement, followed by a few tears of joy as he invited them in. He danced from one foot to the other as he helped Nathan and Dad place the tree in front of his window that faced the street. Gard was so excited about his Christmas tree that he left it standing and decorated until March! Nathan and his family felt a warm peace in their hearts as they observed the soft glow of Gard’s tree lights each evening throughout the winter.

While helping Gard plant some seeds in the spring, Nathan curiously asked Gard why he didn’t attend church. Gard replied that he hadn’t been to church for many years, partly because he didn’t feel that he was needed there.

The next morning in scripture study, Nathan’s family read
John 21 in the New Testament. In

verses 16 and 17 Jesus instructs His disciples, “Feed my sheep.”

That caught Nathan’s attention, and Dad explained. “Jesus was often referred to as the Good Shepherd. His followers were people who believed in Him, and were sometimes called His sheep. Before He left them, He made sure that each one of His sheep, or followers, was loved and cared for.”

Dad continued as Nathan listened with interest. “Jesus knows and loves each one of us. As members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we must also help watch over His sheep by loving and caring for one another.”

Nathan thought for a few moments. Then he said, “Gard is one of Jesus’s sheep, and He would probably like us to help Gard come to church. Is that what Jesus meant about feeding His sheep?”

Dad nodded. “I think that is exactly what Jesus would like us to do.”

“But where do we start?” Nathan asked.

Dad explained that the first step was as simple as just being a friend. “I think that we have already become good friends with Gard,” he said. “Now let’s include him in our prayers and ask Heavenly Father to help us know what we can do next.”

A few months later, Dad was called to serve as the high priest group leader in the ward. In his prayers, he asked Heavenly Father who should serve with him. He felt impressed that he should ask Gard to serve as his secretary.

Nathan’s family was thrilled when they learned that Gard had accepted the call and would be riding to church with them on Sunday.

As Gard continued to attend church, Nathan decided that the feeling he had inside was even more exciting than delivering a surprise Christmas tree!

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