Best of Show (Happiness)
Galoshes (Faith)
Matthew’s Prayer (Fervent Prayer)
The Missing Coat (Refrain from Judging)
Finding the Sheep (He Knows His Sheep)
Jacob’s Testimony (Truth by Faith)
Nathan’s Monkey Mystery (Receiving Inspiration)
Being Smart (Gift of the Holy Ghost)
Sustaining Bishop Sheets (Bishops)
Friendship Bracelets (Friendships)
A Promise Kept (Be True)
Aaron and the Relief Society (Selfless Service)
Cannon’s Commitment (Keep the Sabbath Day Holy)
Only a Prayer Away (He Hears Our Prayers)
Spencer Kimball’s vow to read the Bible
Sharing Time Butterfly (He Lives)
Sharing Susie (Sharing)
New Dress, Old Rules (Dress and Appearance)
All Kinds of Heroes (Heroes)
Standing Up for Faith (Have Courage)
Luke’s Best Birthday (A Covenant)
A Miraculous Escape from Danger (Be More Believing)
The Most Important Part (Sacred Ordinance)
All Kinds of Cake (Our Influence)
It Is Enough (Families Can Be Sealed)
Ready to Go (Activity)
Manna for Mother (Hope in the Savior)
A Real Hero (Heroes)
A Missionary Now (All Are Missionaries)
A Voice of Warning (Retaining the Spirit)
Margaret McNeil’s Great Escape (The Lord Will Protect Us)
Miles and Miles of Smiles (Share Love)
What’s the Difference? (A Son or Daughter of God)
All Clean (Renew)
Put the Wheat in the Buggy and Go (Follow Promptings)
Rain Boots and Muddy Water (Peace of Conscience)
Jake’s Miracle (Fasting Is Powerful)
Invitation to a Baptism
(Be Missionaries)
Standing Up for Molly
(Speak Out for the Right)
Missing Michael (Our Responsibility)
The Running Prayer (Silent Prayers)
Rock Soup (With Gratitude)
Tithing Shoes (Blessings Will Flow)
Nine Lepers and a Thank-you Note (Attitude of Gratitude)
The Most Unusual, Quite Remarkable, One-of-a-Kind Christmas Stocking
(Serving Each Other)
A Christmas Visitor
(Christmas Is Peace)
The Last Present (Giving)
By Karlon A. Steele,
Friend, Jan 2007, 27
(Based on a true story)
“Please hurry, Mom, we’re going to be late!” Matthew said as he carried his science project to the car. As Mom opened the car door, Matthew very carefully placed the bright blue poster and experiments in the backseat.
On the ride to school Mom said, “Matthew, I’m very proud of you for the hard work you did.”
“Thanks, Mom, but do you think there’s a chance that maybe … just maybe … I could win first place?” Matthew asked.
Mom smiled. “I’m sure all the other students worked hard on their projects too and the judges would love to give each one a blue ribbon.”
“But, Mom, only one person can get the $15 prize in physical science, and I sure hope it’s me! I know just the skateboard I want to get,” Matthew said excitedly. “With the prize money and what I’ve saved, I’ll have enough to buy the skateboard.”
When they got to school, Mom helped Matthew inside with his project. Matthew quickly saw that there was more competition than he had anticipated—the gym was full of projects for earth science, animal science, plant science, and physical science.
As Matthew and his mom walked down the long aisles between tables, they found a project that caught Matthew’s attention. “This is Aaron’s,” he said. The project was on leukemia, a disease Aaron was battling. “Aaron wears a baseball cap every day, and sometimes he sits out during P.E. instead of playing with us,” Matthew said. He could tell Aaron had worked really hard to get so much information and pictures for his project.
A voice came booming over the loudspeaker instructing students to report to class.
“Wish me luck!” Matthew said to his mom as he turned and waved good-bye.
The judges were to make their decisions after school, and then there would be a program later that night to present the prizes in each category. The day seemed long, but the time finally came.
As Matthew and his mom approached the school that evening, one of his friends called out, “Hey, Matt! I think you won!”
Matthew beamed. “Mom, do you think that’s true?” He pulled his mom faster and faster toward the gym. When they walked in, people stood all around his project. Matthew ran up to the table. There, hanging on the corner of the poster board, was the biggest blue ribbon he had ever seen.
“Matthew, you did it!” Mom exclaimed.
Matthew was so excited he didn’t know what to say. His friends patted him on the back and congratulated him. Then he remembered Aaron. He ran to see if Aaron had won in his category, and pinned to his project was another big blue ribbon!
As the program began, an announcer said, “In one week, there will be a benefit dinner for Aaron to help him raise money for medical expenses. Everyone is welcome. Any donations will be appreciated.”
Then one of the judges started naming winners. “From the physical science category, the winner of the $15 prize is Matthew!”
The judge held the check up high as Matthew made his way to the front and accepted it. He couldn’t wait to show it to his mom.
“Do you know what I want to do with this money?” he whispered to her.
“Yes,” Mom said. “I’ll take you shopping tomorrow to get that skateboard.”
“No, Mom,” Matthew said. “I want to give this money to Aaron.”
Surprised, Mom looked down at Matthew. “I think that’s a wonderful idea.”
Matthew was so excited that he barely heard the announcement of the last award. “The Best of Show goes to Matthew,” the judge called. Matthew jumped from his seat again and ran to get the beautiful plaque.
The next week, Matthew went to the benefit dinner with his mom and placed his prize money in the fishbowl of donations. On the way home, Mom said, “Matthew, that was a very kind, unselfish thing you did.”
Matthew smiled. “It felt better to give it away than it did to win it.”
That night he looked up at his bulletin board as he lay in bed. Hanging next to his favorite baseball card was his big blue ribbon and plaque for Best of Show. He knew that each time he saw them, he would remember how it felt to make a small difference. He would think of his friend Aaron and hope that a cure for leukemia would be found.
By Avonell Rappleye
Friend, Jan 2007, 4–6
(Based on a true story)
Trust in the Lord with all thine heart … and he shall direct thy paths (Proverbs 3:5–6).
It was a dreary January day in 1928. As I looked out of the schoolroom window at the gathering clouds, I wanted only to be home sitting on my mother’s lap. It had been a very hard day. My family had recently moved from a small farming community in Utah to a mining town in Nevada. My first day in second grade in this new and very different school had been anything but pleasant.
My mother had brought my older sister, Marjorie, and me to school early in the morning. The principal took me to my classroom and introduced me to the teacher. I heard the other students whispering about “the new girl,” and I felt my face turning red. I wanted to find my mother and go back home. The children were not very friendly and I didn’t feel welcome. The only bright spot had been the teacher, Miss Quigley, who was very friendly. She tried to make me feel a part of the class.
As I looked out the window and saw huge snowflakes filling the air, I longed for the bell to ring so I could find Marjorie and go home.
The minutes dragged by. Finally, Miss Quigley announced that it was time to put away our pencils, books, and papers and line up to go home. How I welcomed those words! I quickly put on my coat and found a place in the noisy line.
My mother had reminded me several times to wait for Marjorie, who was in fourth grade. She would help me find my way home. So I stood by the radiator in the school entrance and waited.
She didn’t come and I began to worry about where she was. The snow was now swirling down. I was anxious to go home and talk to my mother about my miserable day, but still Marjorie didn’t show up.
Miss Quigley appeared and asked, “Avonell, why haven’t you gone home?”
I explained that I was waiting for my sister who was in the fourth grade.
“She won’t be out of school for another hour,” she explained. “You had better run along home before the storm gets worse. Can you find your way home alone?”
I was too proud to admit that I really wasn’t sure. So I nodded my head and said, “Yes.”
I left the warmth of the school and ventured out into the cold, snowy world. By now there was a blizzard going on and it was hard to see where I was going. I walked in the direction of my home but when I arrived at the first row of houses I realized that in this mining town all the houses looked alike. I felt a gnawing in my stomach and wished I had stayed and waited a little longer for Marjorie. But I pushed on through the snow hoping I could remember where my house was. I walked up one row and then another. I couldn’t even remember the number on my house. I began to get colder and more worried.
What should I do? It wouldn’t do much good to stop at a house and ask because we had just moved in a week ago and we didn’t know the neighbors yet. Besides that, I was too shy to even consider that choice. I thought of going back to the school and waiting for Marjorie, but I wasn’t even sure where the school was in this blizzard. Tears rolled down my cheeks, mixing with the snow that was blowing in my face. I was cold, scared, tired, and lost.
Then I thought of my mother telling me about prayer and reminding me that when I needed help I should ask Heavenly Father. This made me feel better. I bowed my head and asked Heavenly Father to please help me find my way home. As I finished my prayer I noticed my new shoes were all wet, and I realized that I hadn’t put on my galoshes that morning. I had left them sitting on the top step of our porch.
Then a beautiful thought came into my head. All I had to do was walk up and down the rows of houses until I saw my galoshes. Then I would be home. A flood of happiness filled my whole body and I hurried through the gusts of snow looking for my galoshes. They were not on the first row nor the second. But on the steps of the second house in the third row I saw a most welcome sight—my galoshes! I was finally home! I opened the door and ran into my mother’s loving arms.
The Opposite of Fear
By Patricia R. Jones
Friend, Jan 2007, 18–19
(Based on a true story)
Do not fear, for I the Lord am with you, and will stand by you (D&C 68:6).
Tricia stared with wide, watery eyes at her bedroom closet. The door was broken and wouldn’t shut all the way. In the dark the clothes looked like huddled monsters waiting to jump from their hangers and rush at her. To make things worse, she could hear loud breathing that seemed to come from the closet.
She knew that there were bad people who sometimes hurt children. One of them could be hiding in the closet! She also remembered the story a boy in her kindergarten class had told about a nightmare. He had been chased by a snake with a very long tail. The snake caught him and tied him up with its tail!
Tricia’s sisters, MaryAnn and Rebecca, were sleeping in the bedroom too, but she didn’t call out to them. Whatever was hiding in the closet might attack. She heard the TV fall silent. That meant her parents had finished watching the news and were going to bed. But she couldn’t run to them—she couldn’t even move.
Tricia was so scared that she wanted to cry, but she didn’t dare make a sound. All she could do was stare at the dark, creepy closet, hoping that whatever lurked there wouldn’t get her.
As Tricia stared, a thought came quietly into her mind: “Why don’t you pray?” Immediately she felt a little better. Her mom had told her that she could pray anytime, anywhere. She didn’t even have to close her eyes! Tricia prayed silently. As soon as she said, “In the name of Jesus Christ,” a calm feeling came over her. She knew that Heavenly Father had heard her prayer.
With every breath she became calmer. The scary breathing wasn’t as loud anymore either. In fact, as her own breathing grew quieter and quieter, so did the breathing from the closet. Tricia held her breath. The breathing stopped entirely. Finally she understood—she had been afraid of her own breathing!
She felt a little foolish, but mostly she felt grateful. As soon as she had thought about Jesus, her scary thoughts had stopped being scary, and she could see how silly they really were. She remembered her father telling her that the opposite of fear was faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. “No wonder Satan likes people to be scared,” she thought. “They’re not thinking about Jesus when they’re afraid.”
Tricia snuggled into her covers and prayed again. This time she thanked her Heavenly Father for hearing her prayer and helping her overcome her fears. When she finished praying, she silently sang “Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam.” Now she wasn’t afraid to close her eyes and let the music and words warm her. Before long, she was fast asleep.
By Nichole Giles
Friend, Jan 2007
(Based on a true story)
Whatsoever ye shall ask in faith, being united in prayer … ye shall receive (D&C 29:6).
Matthew awoke in the cold and knew something was wrong. Outside the car window, the night sky was black. Not a single star was visible through the stormy clouds. A layer of crisp, white snow blanketed the frozen ground.
Matthew pulled his blanket tighter around him and tried to move over, but there wasn’t enough room. “I hope we get to Grandma’s house soon,” he thought, as he nudged his little sister so she would scoot over. The car jerked forward.
“What was that?” he asked.
From the driver’s seat Mom answered, “I don’t know. The car is acting funny.” The car jerked again, choking, coughing, and lurching down the highway. Then they started to slow down. Way down.
“Why are we stopping?” Nikki asked.
“Maybe we’re out of gas,” Ryan said.
“No,” Mom said. “We still have half a tank left. Don’t stop, car. Don’t stop,” she urged. “Keep going. Come on.”
The car lurched forward, chugging and sputtering.
Matthew’s siblings started waking up, and Chandi started to cry. Matthew thought she must be cold since the heater wasn’t running anymore. He brought her under his blanket and put his arm around her.
Mom was still chanting, “Come on, car. Come on. You can do it. Let’s go.” She was rocking in her seat, as if the movement could push the car forward. “Come on, keep going.”
Matthew and his brothers and sisters started rocking too. They chanted along with Mom, “Come on, car, come on. You can do it!”
The car inched along the highway, a silver snail in the pitch-black night, until it gave one last mighty lurch and stopped. Mom sighed and laid her head on the steering wheel.
Matthew could feel the cold from outside sneaking into the car. Chandi was crying again. He pulled her closer, wishing Dad were here with them. He was afraid.
Then, Matthew remembered something the bishop told him last month at his baptism. He said that Heavenly Father would help him with anything, if he asked in faith.
“Mommy,” Matthew said.
“What, honey?”
“I think we should say a prayer,” he said.
Mom turned around in her seat and looked at him. “Yes,” she said. “I think so too. Will you say the prayer, Matthew?”
On the side of the deserted highway, in the dark, silent night, Matthew’s family folded their arms and bowed their heads while he prayed. “Heavenly Father, we are thankful that our family can be here together. We are thankful for our safety. Please help us to be able to go again. Please bless our car to start, so we can get to Grandma’s house. And please bless us so we won’t be too cold. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Mom sniffled. “Thank you, Matthew.” She turned back to the wheel. “OK, here we go. Come on, car!” She turned the key. The car gave a groan. Mom pumped the gas pedal. “Come on! Come on!” She turned it again. Two groans. Again, Mom turned the key, but this time, she held it. The car gave a cough, a groan, a cough, then started.
Everyone cheered.
“I knew it!” Matthew said. “The car is going because we had faith.”
It was a long time before the car, still puttering and coughing, pulled into a service station.
“Oh no,” Mom said. “It’s closed.”
Matthew pointed to a figure standing near the door with a handful of keys. “There’s a man inside,” he said.
As Mom went inside to ask the man for help, Matthew said a silent prayer. “Heavenly Father, please help our car get fixed so we can get to Grandma’s house. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Matthew and his siblings watched the man with the keys shake his head while he talked to Mom from under the hood of the car. “It’s a miracle you made it here,” the man said. “Your fuel pump was completely clogged. I don’t know how you got this car started again after it died.”
A little while later, Matthew asked, “Mommy, what’s a fuel pump?”
“It’s the thing that gets the gas to the engine so the car can go,” Mom answered.
“Our car wasn’t getting any gas?” Ryan asked.
Mom shook her head as she turned the key. The engine hummed to life.
“How were we moving then?” Nikki asked.
“Heavenly Father helped us!” Matthew explained.
Mom turned around. Tears glistened in her eyes as she said, “Matthew, thank you for reminding me that we needed to ask Heavenly Father for help.”
Then she asked Matthew to pray one more time. This time, Matthew thanked Heavenly Father for bringing his family safely to the service station.
By Tricia K. Jones
Friend, Jan 2007, 12–14
(Based on a true story)
Let every man be … slow to speak, slow to wrath (James 1:19).
“The bus is coming! Get your coat on!” Jacob’s mother called. Opening the closet, Jacob looked for his red, black, and blue coat. He had been given the coat for Christmas, and his mother had written his name on the inside of one of the sleeves with a marker.
“Hurry, Jake!” Mom called again.
“I can’t find my coat!” Jacob cried. “Where is it?”
Mom hurried to the closet. “Just put this jacket on,” she told him. “We’ll find your coat tomorrow. There’s no time now.”
Jacob wished the jacket would somehow magically turn into his coat as he slid his arms into the sleeves. He looked down at the blue jacket with disappointment. It wasn’t nearly as awesome as his Christmas coat.
“Don’t worry,” Mom said, as she smiled with encouragement. “We’ll find it later.”
Jacob tried to smile back, but he couldn’t. His heart felt tight and heavy. He hated to lose things that he really liked.
The next day, Jacob woke up earlier and went through the coat closet. He lifted the vacuum out, picked up the coats and jackets that had fallen on the floor, and checked every hanger, but couldn’t find the missing Christmas coat.
He frowned as he reached for the blue jacket again. Where could his coat be? He had looked everywhere. It was as if it had been swallowed by an invisible snow monster.
As Jacob walked to the bus with his head hanging, a thought occurred to him: What if it wasn’t lost? What if it was stolen? Had he left it at school and forgotten? He thought hard and decided that the possibility of his coat being stolen was very likely.
During the next few days, Jacob stopped looking for his coat and instead started looking for who the thief might be. Everyone became a suspect, and it wasn’t long before he found someone to blame. When Mom picked him up from school, he noticed a boy his age walking to the bus with his Christmas coat on!
“There’s my coat!” he cried, pointing an accusing finger at the boy heading for the bus. “Let’s go get it!” Jacob reached for the door.
“Wait a minute,” Mom said. “Maybe it’s just a coat that looks like yours.”
Jacob shook his head. “I’ve never seen anyone wear a coat like mine until today. There’s no way it could be anyone else’s coat but mine.” He turned around and looked at the boy who was boarding the bus. “He’s the same size as me. I’ll take it and turn the sleeve inside out, and my name will be there. You’ll see.”
Mom shook her head. “I don’t know, Jake. I would hate to find out that it really isn’t yours. We better go home and check really thoroughly one more time.”
As the van pulled away, Jacob’s heart sank. He had looked everywhere thoroughly. He knew his Christmas coat wasn’t at home. His coat was on that boy!
When they arrived home, Mom went with him to the coat closet. Together, they systematically began removing everything inside—the vacuum, the coats on the floor, and boxes. At the back of the closet was a box that Jacob hadn’t seen since Christmas. It was filled with Christmas decorations and still smelled like cinnamon sticks and pinecones.
After Mom lifted the box out, she asked, “Jake, would you crawl in there and see if you can see anything else?”
Jacob crawled into the closet on his hands and knees. “My coat!” he cried. “I found my coat!” It had been well hidden by the box. As he emerged from the closet, he turned the sleeve inside out, just to be sure. His name was clearly printed on the inside. Jacob held it up for Mom to see.
She nodded her head. “I am so glad that you didn’t accuse that boy. Can you imagine how awful you would have felt, and how awful you would have made the other boy feel?”
Jacob’s smiling face changed to a quiet, thoughtful one. He hadn’t worried about what might happen if he accused someone falsely. His only worry had been finding the coat or the person who took it. As he looked at his mom, relief spread through his body. He was glad she had insisted that they check the closet one more time.
“I’m glad you found your coat, and I think you found something else too,” she replied.
“You found that it’s best to be sure you’re right before accusing someone of doing wrong.”
By Kelly Corless
Friend, Feb 2007, 34–36
(Based on a true story)
The Comforter, which is the Holy Ghost … shall teach you all things(John 14:26).
Olivia smiled as she uprooted a reluctant weed. The sun was warm, and it felt good to be weeding the vegetable garden with her family. It felt even better to be finished with school for the day. As they worked, Olivia’s older brother, Jake, started talking about President Hinckley’s six “B’s” that he was studying in seminary.
“Six bees? Like bumblebees?” Olivia asked, pointing to a fuzzy bee busily gathering pollen from a bright purple flower.
“No,” Jake said. “They’re things that we should try to be. They are be grateful, be clean, be true, be humble, be prayerful, and be smart.”
Be smart! Olivia’s eyes opened wide with dismay, and her heart seemed to drop into her tennis shoes. “President Hinckley says we should be smart?” At her baptism recently she had promised to keep the commandments, and that surely included following the prophet. But if there was one thing she could never be, it was smart.
Olivia dreaded school. Mr. Blaine, her third-grade teacher, was nice, but he made the class do multiplication tables, which tangled up in Olivia’s brain like barbed wire. She felt dumb when she got bad scores on her tests and worksheets. She tried hard, but her best just didn’t seem to be good enough. The rest of the evening Olivia worried that her grades were a terrible disappointment to Heavenly Father.
The next day at school, she felt even worse about “be smart” when she missed five words on her spelling test and couldn’t find Madagascar on the globe. She was relieved when recess came.
As Olivia ran across the grass with her friends, she noticed a group of fifth graders looking at something. Forgetting her problems for a moment, she went over to investigate.
“What are you looking at?” she asked a tall girl.
“Oh, we found a needle, like the ones doctors give you shots with.” One of the older boys bent to pick up the needle. A sick feeling came over Olivia, and she knew somehow that this was not a thing they should be playing with. “Wait!” she yelled. “Don’t touch it!”
The boy stopped short, staring at Olivia with raised eyebrows.
“Well, it’s, uh, way bad to t-touch stuff like th-that,” she stammered, feeling stupid for telling an older boy what to do.
But then a recent family home evening lesson came back clearly to her mind. “If we listen to the promptings of the Holy Ghost, He will help us know when something is wrong,” Mom had said.
Olivia looked the boy in the eye. “We should probably tell a teacher to come get it instead.”
One of the other third-graders ran quickly across the grass and brought back Mr. Blaine. “Olivia told us not to touch it,” the older boy said as Mr. Blaine bent over the sharp needle.
“Smart thinking, Olivia!” Mr. Blaine exclaimed.
Smart thinking? A warm glow replaced the sick feeling that had filled Olivia moments before.
Wow! She had remembered her mom’s counsel about listening to the Holy Ghost, and she had followed His promptings. That was something a smart person would do!
Running across the playground, Olivia felt much better about trying to be smart.
By Patricia R. Jones
Friend, Feb 2007, 4–6
(Based on a true story)
The sun was just going down behind the mountains when Annie and her two brothers set out for the sheep pasture. Since the sheep hadn’t been in for water that day, Dad was worried that something had happened and they were lost. Annie and her brothers were often asked to follow the fence along the pasture and check for any holes that would allow the sheep to escape. This time was the same as any other time, except that night would soon be upon them.
“I wonder if the sheep went through the same hole in the fence as last time,” Annie said.
“I doubt it,” Karl told her. “Dad fixed it really good. I know because I helped him.”
“Then did they make another hole?” Lewis asked.
“Probably,” Karl said. “Maybe they were chased through the fence by that pack of stray dogs that has been running loose.”
The threesome said nothing more as they hurried around the fence. Annie was sure that her two brothers were thinking the same thing she was: It would be dark soon, and if the sheep hadn’t gone through the familiar hole, it could take a long time to find where they had gone. Stray dogs could have chased them far away by now.
At the old hole in the fence, their fears were realized. It was patched well, and there were no tracks showing that the sheep had escaped that way.
“We won’t have time to find them tonight,” Lewis said. “We better go tell Daddy.”
“If we go back without having any idea where they are, it could take Dad a long time to find them. We better finish walking by the fence and see if we can find where they escaped,” Karl said.
As Annie walked near the fence behind her brother, a Primary lesson she once had came to her mind. It was about Jesus and His sheep. Her teacher said that Jesus would look for even one of His lost sheep. Maybe He would help them with theirs.
“Hey!” Annie exclaimed. Her two brothers jumped at her sudden outburst. “Why don’t we pray and ask Heavenly Father to help us find our lost sheep like Jesus finds His lost sheep?”
“Why would He want to find our sheep?” Karl asked.
“He looks for lost sheep all the time,” Annie told him. “He can help us find our sheep.”
“He looks for sheep?” Lewis asked with a confused look on his face.
Annie nodded. “My Primary teacher told me that He does. And if we pray, He will help us find our lost sheep.”
The two boys agreed, and the children made a tiny circle and bowed their heads in prayer. As soon as the prayer ended, the children heard the sound of a bleating sheep.
“It worked!” Annie cried happily. “Heavenly Father answered our prayer!” The children rushed toward the sound, barely finding their way in the growing darkness. Karl began calling for them, and soon the sheep crossed through a hole in the fence and hurried back to the water trough.
“How did you find the sheep?” Dad asked the children when they arrived home. Annie explained how she remembered her Primary lesson on Jesus being the Good Shepherd and that Heavenly Father helped them find their sheep, just like Jesus looks for His sheep.
“And do you know who His sheep are?” Dad asked.
Annie shrugged her shoulders.
Dad chuckled, but his eyes filled with tears. “All of Heavenly Father’s children are Jesus’s sheep,” he explained. “If there are any that are lost or hurt, He does all He can to bring them back to the flock where it’s safe.”
“You mean Jesus’s sheep aren’t really sheep?” Annie asked in surprise.
Dad nodded and a tear slid down his cheek. He sat in a chair and lifted Annie onto his lap. “Jesus used this parable about sheep to teach us about caring for others. You had great faith that Heavenly Father would help you find your sheep. And now you might know a little bit about how Jesus feels when one of His sheep is lost.”
Annie sat on Dad’s lap thinking about what she had just learned. After a while, she said, “Daddy, I want to help Jesus find His sheep too.”
“I know you do, sweetie,” Dad said. “We all want to.”
“How can I?” she asked.
Smiling, Dad explained, “Pretty much the same way you found our sheep today. You have to look for them and lead them to water.” At her questioning look, he continued, “Jesus is the Good Shepherd, but He is also called the Living Water because He feeds us spiritually. By sharing your testimony with your friends, and living as a good example, you can lead them to the Savior.”
Annie clapped her hands. “I get it now. That’s what my Primary teacher meant when she talked about the sheep following Jesus to green pastures and pure water.”
“Yes,” Dad agreed. “The scriptures say, “ ‘He shall feed his flock like a shepherd.’ ” *
By Leslie Neilson,
Friend, Feb 2007, 46–48
(Based on a true story)
Ye shall diligently keep the commandments of the Lord your God(Deuteronomy 6:17).
“This is the last time,” Jacob thought. “Then I’ll go to sleep.” He pulled the blankets over his body—from the top of his head to the very tips of his toes. Jacob held his breath and counted—“one, two, three”—then poked his head out like a turtle. He had been practicing for a whole week, getting ready for his big day.
“Jacob, are you still awake?” Mom whispered.
Jacob grinned. “Yes, I was just practicing again.”
Mom bent over his bed and tucked the blankets around him. “Good night,” she said with a smile.
The next morning at breakfast Jacob rested his chin in his hands.
“What’s wrong?” Dad asked.
“Well, I’m just not sure if I’m ready to be baptized,” Jacob said. “What if I make a mistake?”
“Jacob, everyone makes mistakes. What’s important is that we keep trying to do our best. Do you have a testimony of the Savior?”
“Yes, but I’m afraid I’ll forget everything. I want everything to be perfect for my special day.”
“I’m happy that you’re taking this seriously, Jacob. Getting baptized is an important step.”
Jacob sighed. “I want to be good, but how can I be good all the time? How can I be like Jesus? He was perfect.”
“Remember the still, small voice of the Holy Ghost?” Dad asked. “It can speak to our hearts and help us in a very direct way.”
Jacob nodded. “It gives you a warm feeling inside, like when Mom covers me with my blankets.”
Dad smiled. “That’s right. Did you know that when you are baptized you can have the influence of the Holy Ghost with you all the time?”
Jacob sat up straight. “Really?”
“Yes,” Dad said. “But remember, it’s important that you try and do what is right, and the Holy Ghost can help you.”
“I can do that!” Jacob said. He jumped up from the table and wrapped his arms around Dad’s neck. “Thanks, Dad.”
That day at school Jacob tried to do his best. He helped his teacher erase the chalkboard, but he accidentally knocked a whole box of chalk onto the floor. He ate lunch with a boy who always sat alone, but Jacob accidentally tripped and slopped his spaghetti onto the boy’s lap. He even said hi to Max, a boy who wasn’t very nice to him. There was no doubt about it—doing his best was hard work!
After school Jacob dragged himself into the house and dropped his backpack on the floor. “Hi, Mom,” he said with a groan.
“Hi! How was school today?”
Jacob hung his head. “Well, I tried my best, but I guess my best isn’t good enough,” he said sadly. He explained about the dropped chalk and the spaghetti spill. “I want to be the best I can before I’m baptized, but it’s hard sometimes!”
Mom wrapped her arms around Jacob and gave him a squeeze. “Jacob, accidentally spilling or dropping something isn’t a sin. You do need to be careful, but what’s important is that you’re trying to do what’s right. Heavenly Father loves you and is happy when His children try their best to live righteously.”
Before going to bed that night, Jacob knelt down to pray. “Heavenly Father, I’m worried,” he said. “I want to get baptized, but I’m afraid I’m not good enough. Please help me to know when the time is right.”
Jacob felt his body tingle. He felt warm inside. Suddenly, he wasn’t so worried anymore. He felt calm and peaceful.
The next day at school Jacob heard a voice bellow, “Hey, Jacob!”
Jacob knew that voice. He tried to hide, but it was no use; he had already been spotted. Suddenly he was standing face to face with Max.
Max stared at Jacob and crossed his arms. “What do you want from me? No one ever says hi to me. Did someone dare you?”
Jacob shrugged. “I was just trying to be nice. I’m getting baptized.”
“Baptized?” Max asked.
Jacob shuffled his feet nervously. He wasn’t sure how to explain baptism. He said a silent prayer in his mind. “Baptism is when we make special promises to Heavenly Father. We promise to try and keep the commandments. Heavenly Father loves us and wants us to be good.”
“How do you know?” Max asked.
“I know because He sent His Son, Jesus Christ, to die for our sins.”
Max shot out a bunch of questions. “Can anyone be baptized? Where is Jesus now? When—”
Jacob laughed. “Slow down. I can’t answer all your questions, but I know some missionaries who can.” Jacob took a deep breath. A thought whispered in his heart and he asked, “Max, would you like to come to my baptism?”
Two weeks later the day of Jacob’s baptism arrived. He changed into white clothing at the church and neatly combed his hair. Dad dressed in white too. Jacob’s family, friends, and Max sat waiting. Jacob stepped down into the warm water. He looked at his new friend Max and smiled.
He held Dad’s hand, closed his eyes, and listened to the baptismal prayer. Once again he held his breath, but this time it was for real. The water rushed over his body, and then he rose up from the water. He took his first breath and smiled. He knew that Heavenly Father was happy with him for trying his best.
by Hilary M. Hendricks
Friend, Feb 2007, 8–9
(From an interview with Elder Richard G. Hinckley)
There’s a right way to live and be happy; it is choosing the right ev’ry day (Children’s Songbook, 160).
When I was a boy, my father (Gordon B. Hinckley) often would use an interesting phrase when he was offering the family prayer. He would say, “Heavenly Father, please bless us that we may live without regret.” I did not understand what that phrase meant for many years. Then, when I was about ten, I had an experience that helped me understand it better.
On warm summer nights, my friends and I enjoyed sleeping out under the stars. Our favorite camping spot was “the hollow,” a steep, wooded gully near our homes. There were no houses or businesses in the hollow, so we boys felt like real adventurers. Over the years we constructed several huts there—tree forts and ground forts—from scrap wood we collected.
One night after dark, one of my friends suggested we explore the new homes under construction on the other side of the hollow. We scrambled up the bank, raced across an alfalfa field, and began tiptoeing through skeletons of just-framed houses. It was exciting to wander through other people’s homes, imagining the families who would soon move in. We were about to learn an important lesson, a lesson that, in part at least, would teach me about regret.
In the corner of one house we found a pile of wood—perfect for building our huts. The wood had been used in pouring cement for the home’s foundation. We convinced ourselves the workers would throw it away. My friends and I grabbed the wood and dragged it to the hollow, talking all the way about what sort of hut we would build with it. We hid the wood among some trees and soon fell asleep.
The next morning we heard a loud groan. One of my friends was standing at the top of the hollow looking over the alfalfa field.
“We’ve left a trail!” he shouted. “We’re going to get caught!”
Hurrying to his side, I saw a wide path of trampled alfalfa, leading to the edge of the hollow above our hideout. If the builders wanted to know who had taken their wood, they need only follow our tracks.
My friends and I decided to go straight home and not return to the hollow for several days. For hours I hid in my parents’ closet. Every police siren in the distance was surely coming for me!
“Why are you staying in here?” my mother asked.
“Oh, I’m just a bit tired,” I fibbed. “It’s quieter in the closet.”
By the end of the week we figured no one had discovered that the scrap lumber was missing. We met at the hollow and went to work on our new hut. But I think we all felt embarrassed about what we had done.
That Saturday my father went to his office to catch up on some work. As he often did on a Saturday, he invited me to come along. He was then an employee of the Church and worked in the Church Administration Building. The office of President David O. McKay was down the hall. I had been introduced to President McKay and had spoken with him on several occasions. A tall man with wavy, white hair, he looked just like I imagined a prophet should. He spoke kindly, and I always hoped to see him when I visited Dad’s office.
But that Saturday was different. We were leaving the building when President McKay stopped us in the hallway. I couldn’t look at him. As I reached up to shake his hand, I felt as if his eyes were reading the words “wood thief” on the top of my head. How I regretted taking that wood! Even though we knew that wood was going to be scrapped, we also knew we should have asked before taking it.
My father’s prayers finally made sense! I knew that when my time came to stand before the Lord, I wanted to feel worthy.
The Lord promises that when our actions toward others are full of love and our thoughts are virtuous (good and clean), we will feel “confidence … in the presence of God” (see D&C 121:41–45). As you grow, you will have many opportunities to meet with your Church leaders—before your baptism, as you advance in the priesthood and Young Women organizations, as you prepare to serve a mission or enter the temple. By making good choices, keeping your thoughts pure, and repenting when you do wrong, you can feel confident when you meet with these leaders and, someday, when you stand before the Lord, you can do so “without regret.”
By Carolyn LeDuc
Friend, Feb 2007, 20–22
(Based on a true story)
Mysteries … shall be unfolded unto them, by the power of the Holy Ghost (1 Nephi 10:19).
“Ship 3527 to mission control. We’re entering launch codes. Stand by.” Nathan’s four-inch-tall stuffed monkey couldn’t really talk, and he wasn’t really the copilot in a brigade of intergalactic star fighters, but as Nathan sat on a swing outside his elementary school on a warm Saturday afternoon with the monkey perched in his lap, he couldn’t help letting his imagination get carried away. He pictured his miniature copilot typing in a flurry of complicated formulas, preparing their ship to launch.
Nathan gripped the swing ropes and shuffled backward, careful not to let the monkey slip from his lap. He was now in ready position.
“5, 4, 3, 2, 1 … we have ignition!” With an explosive whoosh, Nathan shot forward into motion.
Pumping furiously, he propelled himself higher and higher, faster and faster, as he imagined the two of them soaring past the moon, past Mars, out of the solar system, out of the galaxy.
“Nathan! Come over here!” The voice of one of Nathan’s neighborhood pals brought him back to reality. “Look at this sand village I built! Do you want to help? We could make it huge!”
Nathan leaped from the swing and tossed his monkey onto a nearby bench so it wouldn’t get dirty. “OK,” he said. “I’ll start on the roads.”
The boys were just finishing the town when Nathan’s mom called out from a nearby bench, “Nathan, it’s time to go home.”
Nathan stood up, brushed the sand from his clothes, and headed toward Mom. They walked across the grass, down the street, around the corner, and into their front yard. Suddenly,
Nathan gasped. “Oh no! My copilot!”
After a quick explanation to Mom, Nathan ran around the corner back to the school playground. Drawing close to the familiar bench, he was puzzled to find it bare. He checked under it, around it, and behind it, but there was no stuffed animal. Desperately, he scanned the area for any sign of his favorite toy, but all he could see were swings, slides, an abandoned city of sand, and a couple of kids playing catch with their dog. The monkey was gone.
Nathan carefully retraced his steps around the playground but couldn’t find the monkey anywhere. Losing hope, Nathan was about to give up the search when he remembered something his mom had told him about prayer: “If you ask the Lord for something that’s right, you’ll receive it.” He knelt on the ground and pleaded, “Heavenly Father, could you please help me find my monkey?” When the prayer was finished, he stood and thought for a moment. “I’ll just look one more time,” he decided.
He looked up and saw the children who had been playing with their dog walking by. He was about to walk right past them when a thought came to his mind: maybe they could help.
“Did either of you see a little stuffed monkey?” he asked them.
The kids looked at each other and laughed. “Yeah,” one of them said sheepishly. “We didn’t think it belonged to anyone, so we tossed it around and let our dog try to catch it.”
“I threw it too hard,” the other boy said, “and it landed on the roof of the school. I’m really sorry.”
Nathan couldn’t help grinning in relief. “It’s OK,” he said. “I’ll get it down. Thanks!”
Later, with the help of his parents, Nathan was able to get his monkey down from the roof. He realized how blessed he had been to meet those kids before they left, and how fortunate it was that he had thought to ask them about his toy. Without their help, the monkey would never have been found. He was grateful that his prayer had been answered.
Nathan tucked the monkey firmly into his pocket and radioed mission control. “This is ship 3527. Copilot recovered. We’re ready for launch once more.”
And with a nod from his parents, Nathan shot down the road toward home, happy to be back in the pilot’s seat with his favorite stuffed friend.
Promises to Elizabeth, Part 3: Elizabeth Alone
By Sheila Kindred,
Friend, Jan 2007, 38–40
(Based on the life of Elizabeth Beardall Mower)
The eternal purposes of the Lord shall roll on, until all his promises shall be fulfilled (Mormon 8:22).
Gravely ill with a fever, young Elizabeth Beardall receives a blessing from Latter-day Saint missionaries in which they make four promises. The first two—that she will be healed and join the Church—have been fulfilled. The accomplishment of the third—that she will travel to Utah—begins in 1863 when her family sails for America from England. But America is a large country, and the end of the voyage is only the beginning of the journey. When the family finally reaches the Missouri River, they still have far to go.
“Stay here with the baggage,” Father said. “I’ll get the family and return shortly.” Elizabeth nodded and tried to look brave as she watched him hurry off the boat. She turned to look across the muddy waters of the Missouri River. It was wide, but nothing compared to the Atlantic Ocean her family had crossed on the sailing ship Cynosure. She decided that if she could survive the eight-week crossing from England, she could certainly endure a one-day trip down a river.
“Are you going to the Salt Lake Valley?” a woman asked her.
“Yes,” Elizabeth replied. “I can’t wait to get there to fulfill my third promise.”
“Third promise?”
“Yes. When I was very sick, the elders promised me I would get well, join the Church, go to Utah, and be a mother in Israel.”
The woman smiled. “That’s wonderful. Perhaps we’ll be in the same wagon train. I’m Sister Rowley.”
Elizabeth shook her hand. “I’m Elizabeth Beardall, and here comes my family.” Elizabeth pointed to where her parents and brother and sister were hurrying up the road toward the boat.
“Oh dear,” Sister Rowley said as the sailors bustled around the deck. “I hope they make it in time!”
Elizabeth’s family was still a block away when the boat pulled away from the dock. “No!” Elizabeth cried. “Wait!”
Sister Rowley put her arm around Elizabeth. “There is another boat tomorrow. Your family will come then. Don’t worry. I’ll tell the Church leaders that I will take care of you in the meantime.”
When they got off the boat in Florence, Nebraska, Elizabeth waited outside a business office while the Rowley family went inside. When Sister Rowley came out she was smiling. “It’s all settled, my dear,” she said. “You can come with us.”
Elizabeth frowned. “With you? But I need to wait for my family.”
Sister Rowley looked around at the noisy crowds and shook her head. “I can’t leave you here alone. Your parents will be told where to find you. And by leaving now,” she added with a twinkle in her eye, “you’ll hasten the fulfillment of your third promise.”
Elizabeth felt tears prick her eyes. She knew that the trip would be hard, but she had never imagined she might be making it by herself. And what if she never saw her family again? Was any promise worth that?
Sister Rowley seemed to read her thoughts. “It will all be worth it in the end,” she said. “Our sacrifices may seem great, but God has promised us a much greater reward.”
As the wagon train rolled westward, Elizabeth kept busy washing clothes, gathering buffalo chips for fuel, and fetching water. But at night when the company gathered around the blazing campfire to sing and dance, Elizabeth missed her family terribly. She found comfort in the evening star that shone in the western sky. It seemed to whisper, “God is over all. He knows your secret sorrow and will not forsake you.” Elizabeth knew that she was not really alone.
After two weeks of travel, the company stopped for repairs. Elizabeth asked Sister Rowley what she could do to help. “Go out and play, dear,” Sister Rowley told her. “You have been too solemn. You need more laughter and fewer tears.”
Elizabeth nodded and went to join some children who were playing marbles and rolling hoops. The other children were kind, but the games did not cheer Elizabeth. Suddenly a boy called out, “Who is that stranger coming into camp?”
Elizabeth saw a man in the distance, hurrying toward them. She looked more closely, hardly daring to believe her eyes. It was her father! She ran to him, and he clasped her in his arms. Both were crying for joy. “We were only a day behind,” Father said, “but I despaired of ever catching up.”
“I knew we’d be together again someday,” Elizabeth sobbed. Now, with the Lord’s help, they could continue their journey to Utah and to the fulfillment of the third promise.
Author’s Note: There were many more challenges for Elizabeth on the trek west. Elizabeth’s mother gave birth to a baby boy on the trail, and Elizabeth had to nurse her mother, tend the younger children, and do her mother’s chores as well as her own. Once Elizabeth was out washing when a sandstorm hit. She became lost and wandered for three days before she was found. Finally in October 1863, her family arrived in the Salt Lake Valley with little food or clothing. Later, Elizabeth married and became a mother in Israel as foretold. All the Lord’s promises to her were fulfilled.
By Jennifer Rose
Mar 2007, 4–6
(Based on a true story)
A friend loveth at all times (Proverbs 17:17).
I met Megan when my family moved into our new house. She lived down the street, and we were both in Sister Crawford’s Primary class. We became friends and played together a lot. I watched Megan closely, trying to remember how she told a joke or how she fixed her hair or how she talked to other kids so easily. I thought Megan was perfect. I was shy. I wanted to be like Megan.
One day I called Megan to see if she wanted to play. She didn’t say anything at first.
“Caitlin is already over here,” she finally said.
Caitlin was in our Primary class too. I waited for Megan to invite me over, but she didn’t. Her end of the line was quiet.
“Oh. OK,” I stammered. Megan hung up without saying anything else.
That Sunday in Primary, Sister Crawford asked us, “What does it mean to be a good friend?”
I smiled at Megan, but she didn’t see me. She turned the other way and whispered to Caitlin. Suddenly Caitlin laughed out loud.
“Please quiet down, girls,” Sister Crawford said. They stopped whispering, but their shoulders trembled with giggles. Sister Crawford turned to me.
“Angie, what do you think makes a good friend?”
“Well, someone who is nice and likes to play with you and—”
Megan and Caitlin giggled louder. My face got hot, and I looked at the floor. Were they laughing at me?
Sister Crawford frowned at them, then smiled at me. “That’s right, Angie,” she said. She looked around at the class. “How can you be a good friend?”
Adam raised his hand. “We can help people,” he said.
Sister Crawford nodded. “A good friend wants to help and serve others. Jesus Christ taught that when He lived on the earth. He also taught us that we should be kind to everyone.”
I looked at Megan and smiled at her. She didn’t smile back. I felt an empty spot in my chest. Didn’t Megan like me anymore?
At the end of the lesson, Sister Crawford held up a small basket. “I have something for you,” she said. She reached into the basket and showed us colorful strings that had been tied in small circles. “These are friendship bracelets. You wear it on your wrist, and whenever you look at it you can remember to be a good friend.”
Maybe friendship bracelets would help! Maybe Megan and I could get matching bracelets. As the basket went around the class, I leaned toward Megan. “What color are you going to get?” I asked her.
Megan shrugged. “Maybe a yellow one.”
“Me too,” I said.
Caitlin chose a blue bracelet. Then she passed the basket to Megan. Megan fingered a few bracelets, then pulled out a blue one too. I stared at her. Blue? She quickly handed me the basket. I stared into it, not knowing what to do. There were only yellow bracelets left. I slowly pulled one out.
Megan and Caitlin giggled and held out their arms side by side, admiring their matching blue bracelets. I felt a lump rise in my throat. Tears stung my eyes. I clenched my teeth together to keep from crying. I was not going to cry in front of them.
I threw myself into Mom’s arms as soon as we got home from church. “What’s wrong, honey?” Mom asked as I started to cry. Through my tears I told her what had happened. She sat next to me on my bed and held me close. “I’m sorry, Angie,” she said.
“Doesn’t Megan want to be my friend anymore?” I asked.
Mom stroked my hair. “Sometimes we don’t know why people do certain things,” she said. “I’m sorry that happened.”
“Sister Crawford said today that we should try to be kind to everyone, like Jesus was. But I don’t want to be kind to Megan.”
“I understand,” Mom said. “But I also agree with Sister Crawford. It might be hard, but we should try to be kind even if someone hurts our feelings. Jesus taught us to forgive others.”
“How can I do that?” I asked. I thought of the way Megan and Caitlin had laughed, and I felt that empty feeling again.
Mom pointed to a figurine of a girl kneeling in prayer that I kept on my nightstand. “Whenever someone hurts my feelings, I ask Heavenly Father to help me forgive that person. I ask Him to soften my heart and the other person’s heart.”
“Does it work?” I asked.
Mom smiled and kissed the top of my head. “I always feel better when I’ve talked to Heavenly Father,” she said.
When I said my prayers that night I thanked Heavenly Father for the friendship I had with Megan. Then I asked Him to help me forgive her. I scrunched up my eyes and thought hard. “Please help Megan and me be friends again,” I said.
I prayed for those things for the next few days. On Saturday I was swinging on our swing set when Megan came up our walk. I stopped swinging. We looked at each other but didn’t say anything. Finally Megan reached out and put something in my hand.
“This is for you,” she said. I opened my hand and saw a blue friendship bracelet.
“Do you want to play?” Megan asked. “Caitlin is coming over to my house. We’re going to pretend we’re princesses, and Noodle is going to be the queen.”
Noodle was Megan’s gray-striped cat. I giggled, picturing Noodle wearing a crown. I felt the empty spot inside shrinking. “Yes, I’d like to come over,” I said. “Thanks.”
I smiled at her, and this time Megan smiled back.
By Sheila Kindred
Friend, Feb 2007, 10–12
(Based on a true story)
A man must be called of God, by prophecy, and by the laying on of hands by those who are in authority (Articles of Faith 1:5).
“All those who can sustain Brother Rulon T. Sheets as our new bishop, please show it by raising your right hand.”
My hand shot into the air. I was excited to have Brother Sheets as our new bishop. His daughter, Peggy, was a friend of mine. Even though she was a few years older, she often invited me to activities at her house. Brother Sheets would pop in and out of these activities, showing us a certain dance step with Peggy or taking his turn at a guessing game. Sometimes he would make popcorn and sit down and talk with us for a while.
I was happy to sustain Brother Sheets as our new bishop. But as I held my hand up in church and looked around at the chapel full of upraised hands, I wondered what kind of support my small, 11-year-old hands could offer to such a great man.
One of the first things I did was use my hands to make cookies for our new bishop. My mother told me that bishops spend a lot of time at the church and sometimes miss meals at home, so we whipped up a batch of our best oatmeal cookies. I stirred the batter until it was just right. Then, when the cookies were ready, I carried them carefully to his house. He was thrilled, but I wanted to help more.
A few weeks later, I was at an activity at Peggy’s house. She put me in charge of the music. I used my hands to turn the dial on the radio, listening for a station with appropriate music. Then I turned down the sound so it wasn’t too loud. This was the bishop’s house, and I wanted to help make it a peaceful place.
When school started, the bishop’s family invited a foster girl named Carla to live with them. The first time I met her I extended my hand and welcomed her. I knew it would help the bishop if Carla was able to make some new friends.
As the months passed, the bishop became ill and had to use a cane to help him walk. My mother said he was sick and he needed our prayers and support more than ever.
When my 12th birthday approached, I had an interview with Bishop Sheets. My mom and I walked to the church and arrived just as the bishop got out of his car. He gave me a cheery wave and shuffled over to the sidewalk. I noticed that, even though it was Saturday, he had dressed in a suit and tie just for my interview. I felt honored.
When the bishop got to the curb, he paused and looked worried. I realized that he was too weak to step up. I ran over to him.
“Take my hand,” I said. “I can help you.”
Gratefully, he grasped my hand and pulled himself up. Then I ran ahead of him and pulled open the heavy church doors.
“I should be doing that for you,” he said softly. “Thank you.”
In his office he eased himself into his chair with a sigh. He then asked me to offer a prayer. I folded my arms reverently, and even though I didn’t mention the bishop in my prayer, in my heart I asked Heavenly Father to bless and strengthen him.
When the prayer was over, the bishop looked more like his old self again. He sat up straight in his chair, and there was a light in his eyes. At the end of the interview he gave me a firm handshake, which I happily returned.
As my mom and I walked home from my interview, I thought about how much I loved Bishop Sheets, and I knew he was called of God. I was grateful that, even though my hands were small, I could still find ways to support and sustain my beloved bishop.
By Jane McBride Choate
Friend, Mar 2007, 44–45
(Based on a true story)
Thou shalt do that which is right and good in the sight of the Lord(Deuteronomy 6:18).
Janelle could hardly wait until Trisha’s birthday party on Friday night. Trisha was turning 11. The invitation promised games, refreshments, and a video. It was the last party of the school year before Janelle’s friends went their separate ways for the summer.
Janelle was the first to arrive at the party. Once all the girls had arrived, Trisha led them to the family room. Crepe-paper streamers decorated it.
After they had birthday cake and Trisha opened her presents, she pulled out the video. “Look what movie I have. My big brother rented it.”
Janelle recognized the video as an R-rated movie. In family home evening, her parents had talked about the right and wrong kind of movies. She knew if she stayed to watch it, she would be going against the standards they’d tried to teach her and against the teachings of the prophet. President Hinckley had spoken out against seeing bad movies. Then she thought of the promises she’d made at the time of her baptism.
“I’m sorry,” she quietly said to Trisha, “but I can’t watch this. I think I’d better call my mom. She’ll come to get me.”
The disappointment in Trisha’s eyes nearly caused Janelle to change her mind. Then she remembered her parents’ counsel that if she ever felt uneasy or worried in a situation, she should call them and they would come for her. She found Trisha’s mom in the kitchen.
“Mrs. Powers, can I call my mom?” Janelle asked.
Mrs. Powers looked up from where she was putting plates in the dishwasher. “Is anything wrong?”
Janelle didn’t want to get Trisha in trouble, but she knew she couldn’t stay at the party. She explained about the movie. Trisha’s mom looked troubled.
After she showed Janelle where the phone was, she hurried downstairs. Janelle called and told her mother what was going on.
“I’ll be there in 10 minutes,” her mother said.
Just then, Trisha and the other girls trooped upstairs. “We aren’t going to watch the movie,” Trisha told Janelle. “Please don’t leave.”
The rest of the girls nodded in agreement.
“I thought it’d be cool to watch that movie, but I knew it wasn’t right,” Trisha added, her face reddening. “We thought we’d play some games.”
Janelle grinned. “Let me call my mom back before she leaves and tell her I’ll be staying after all.”
“Thanks, Janelle,” one of the other girls said. “If it hadn’t been for you, the whole party would have been ruined.”
Standing up for what she believed hadn’t been easy, but Janelle was glad that she had.
Trisha threw her arms around Janelle’s neck. “Thanks for staying. The party wouldn’t have been the same without you.”
Janelle hugged her friend back.
By Lisa Passey Boynton
Friend, Mar 2007, 40–42
(Based on a true story)
Let thine hand help me (Psalm 119:173).
“Hey, Aaron,” Ty called from the other end of the church gym. “Come shoot some hoops with us!”
Aaron shifted the box of paper cups and napkins in his arms and shook his head. “I can’t,” he called back. “I’m helping my mom set up for Relief Society.”
Aaron heard Ty and some of his other friends laugh as they dribbled and passed the basketball. All of the boys were in his Primary class except Todd, a new boy who didn’t go to church. Aaron heard Todd ask, “What’s Relief Society?”
“It’s a meeting for moms and old ladies … and Aaron!” Ty laughed again.
Aaron ducked into the kitchen and dropped the box on the counter. He knew that Relief Society wasn’t just for moms and old ladies, and it wasn’t just a meeting either. When his mother was in the hospital, Relief Society sisters brought delicious meals to his family. They also served his family a luncheon after his grandfather’s funeral. Mom had explained that the Relief Society also helps the bishop care for the sick and poor in the ward. Aaron enjoyed helping Mom with Relief Society activities because he always had a good feeling afterward, and he often got to sample the leftover treats.
But he didn’t have a good feeling right now. He didn’t like being laughed at. “Mom, can I go play with Ty and the other guys?” he asked.
“I’m counting on you, Aaron,” Mom said. “I really need you to put chairs around the tables.”
Grumbling to himself, Aaron shuffled over to the rack of chairs against the wall. He lifted one off the top, and the one below it clattered to the hardwood floor. Some of the boys laughed, but Todd said, “Why don’t we go help him?”
Ty shot the basketball and missed. “No way,” he said, chasing down the ball. “We only have the gym for five more minutes. I’m not going to waste my time on Relief Society.”
Aaron unfolded more chairs and arranged them around the tables. Brother Brown arrived to help, and soon the two of them had completed the job. But Aaron knew that he wasn’t finished. Mom handed him a stack of tablecloths and paper napkins. He turned away from the boys at the other end of the gym and concentrated on getting the tablecloths straight. Brother Brown and several Relief Society sisters worked around him, setting the tables and making everything look nice. Aaron took a pitcher of water and started to fill the paper cups at each place, when suddenly a basketball crashed into the table, spilling water everywhere.
Ty ran over to retrieve the ball just as Aaron’s mother came out of the kitchen. “It’s time for you to go so we can have our meeting,” she told Ty.
Ty picked up the ball and dribbled it at his side. “Ah, come on, Sister Dean, we won’t bother you. We’ll just play at that end while you have your meeting over here.”
“Sorry, Ty,” she said. “It’s our turn now. You boys will have to leave.” She turned and walked back into the kitchen.
Aaron mopped up the spilled water with a wad of napkins. Ty was still standing there looking stubborn, bouncing the ball up and down. Aaron didn’t want to argue with his friend, but he didn’t want to let Mom down either. He offered a quick and silent prayer.
“Listen, Ty,” he said with a smile. “Why don’t you guys help me finish, and then we can go outside and play basketball before it gets too dark. The Relief Society is having brownies and ice cream afterward, and my mom might give us some if we help out.”
Ty looked around and the other boys waited to see what he would do. Aaron took the pitcher of water and pointed at the empty cups. “If we all take a table, we’ll get done fast.”
Later, Aaron’s mom brought brownies and ice cream outside for the boys. “I want to thank you guys for helping out tonight,” she said. “It sure made my job a lot easier.”
Todd took a spoonful of ice cream and grinned. “This is your job?” he asked. “Where do I sign up?”
By Allison Lee Burton
Friend, Mar 2007, 10–12
(Based on a true story)
Cannon stared glumly out his bedroom window.
Rain! He could hardly believe it. Today was Saturday, the day his baseball team, the Angels, was supposed to compete in the final championship game.
They had worked very hard to qualify for the championship. In addition to practicing with his team, Cannon had practiced pitching with his dad for an hour each evening after school and for two hours on Saturday. He had pitched several no-hit innings this season, becoming the team’s star pitcher.
Cannon looked at his shelf. Every player in the league received a small silver trophy at the end of the season for being part of a team, and three already lined his shelf. “I should be placing my new gold championship trophy on that shelf today,” Cannon thought, frowning.
He was disappointed that the game he had been looking forward to all season had to be put off, but it got worse. Cannon’s coach had called and said that the final game was rescheduled for the following Sunday.
“I’m sorry, Coach,” Cannon said in almost a whisper. “I can’t play in a game on Sunday.”
“You have to,” his coach replied. “Sunday is the only day we could get the field and the umpires. I’m sure you can get out of whatever you have scheduled next Sunday. You have eight days! Besides,” he continued, “you have worked so hard for that gold trophy, and you deserve it. You are our best pitcher, and if we want a shot at beating the Astros we need you on the mound. Your teammates have also worked hard to get to this point. I know you won’t want to let them down.”
“I am sorry, Coach,” Cannon repeated. “Sunday is a special day to me. I don’t play baseball on Sundays.”
“I know you’re a Mormon and that you don’t usually play on Sundays,” the coach said, “but a championship isn’t just any game. Tony goes to your church too. His family has made an exception for him to play. I’m sure that if you talk it over with your parents, they’ll understand how hard you have worked this season and how much our team needs you.”
The conversation played over and over in Cannon’s mind. Why did it have to rain today of all days? It was so unfair!
Cannon heard a light tap on his door, and Dad and Mom came in. “We are so proud of you for remembering the importance of the Sabbath,” Dad said, patting Cannon’s arm. “Your coach just called me. He explained that your game is set for Sunday, and that you told him you would not be playing in it. He also told me that Tony will play. This is a very hard situation, isn’t it?”
Tears filled Cannon’s eyes, but he tried to hold them in.
“We know how hard you have practiced this season,” Mom added. “Your coach may be right when he says your team won’t win this game without you.
Do you want to pray about whether you should play on Sunday just this once?”
“I don’t need to pray about this, Mom,” Cannon said. “I already know that Heavenly Father wants me to keep the Sabbath day holy.”
Mom and Dad gave Cannon a hug, but he didn’t feel much better.
The week leading to the final game passed very slowly. Cannon’s teammates, including Tony, tried to convince him to change his mind. They didn’t seem to understand that winning the championship was something he wanted as much as they did. He could only hope that his team would win without him.
On Sunday when Cannon got home from church, there was a message on the answering machine from his coach. The Angels had lost the game by four runs. There would be no gold trophies for their team. “If Tony hadn’t been here,” his coach said, “we would have lost by at least six runs. I guess it comes down to who is willing to make a commitment and who isn’t.”
Cannon thought about his coach’s message. The coach was right—winning did come down to who was willing to make a commitment. For the first time in days, Cannon felt happy.
He smiled as words from his favorite Primary song came to his mind: “I’ll stand for truth. I’ll stand for right. The Lord can depend on me.” * As much as Cannon would have liked adding a gold trophy to his shelf, he knew he had won something much more important. He had made a commitment to keep the Sabbath day holy, and he had stayed true to that commitment.
By Sheila Kindred
Friend, Mar 2007, 28–29
(Based on a true story)
And be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted (Ephesians 4:32).
“I forgot my sash!”
Erin looked across the dressing room to where a dark-haired girl named Dinah was frantically searching through her bag of dance costumes.
“I think I forgot to put it in,” Dinah moaned.
“Too bad,” Erin thought, pulling out her own carefully folded blue-satin sash—her favorite part of the costume. Mom had said that it brought out the blue of Erin’s eyes.
“What am I going to do?” Dinah was on the verge of tears. “There’s no time to go home and get it.”
Erin didn’t know Dinah very well. They lived in different towns and went to different wards and schools. But Erin could imagine how embarrassing it would feel to be the only dancer in the recital missing part of the costume. It would be hard to remember the dance steps if you thought everyone in the audience was staring at you and wondering why your costume was different.
Then Erin had an idea. She knew what she could do to help Dinah, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to do it. Erin silently prayed for strength to do the right thing. Then, with a sigh, she put the lovely blue sash back in her bag. “This is a group dance, not a solo,” she told herself.
Erin quickly explained her idea to the other dancers. She was relieved when they all agreed happily.
As the music began and they took the stage, their dance teacher, Mrs. Davis, gave them a quizzical look from the audience. The girls simply smiled at her and moved to the music. They performed the routine flawlessly.
Afterward, Mrs. Davis came backstage. “What happened to your costumes, girls?” she asked. “Weren’t you all supposed to be wearing blue sashes?”
“Well,” Dinah said, looking gratefully at Erin, “we decided we’d do better if we didn’t wear our sashes tonight.”
“I’m not sure why it made such a difference, but you were right,” Mrs. Davis said. “That was the best performance you’ve ever given. You girls were really together tonight, just like real dancers.”
“Just like real friends,” Dinah said.
The girls grinned, throwing their arms around each other’s shoulders in a group bow. Erin’s smile was the brightest of all. She had discovered that sometimes when you give something up, you find something better.
By Hilary M. Hendricks
Friend, Mar 2007, 8–9
(From an interview with Elder Gary J. Coleman)
Go forth and declare his Gospel unto the children of men (Moses 8:19).
I grew up faithfully participating with my family in the Catholic Church. We attended church and church activities regularly, and we prayed as a family each evening at home. Throughout my boyhood, friends from church helped me make good choices.
When I was nine years old, I became an altar boy. Altar boys in the Catholic Church help the priest during the Sunday worship service, called Mass. My brothers and many of my friends served with me—a great honor for us. We lit candles at the altar, carefully unfolded the priest’s robes, and placed the scriptures next to the altar. During the service we helped pass the bread for Communion, similar to the sacrament.
To become altar boys, we memorized words of the Mass in Latin. We also participated in weekly religion classes. Each summer my friends and brothers and sisters and I attended Bible school about 20 miles (32 km) from our home. My parents were busy on our wheat farm during the summer. They could have used our help during those weeks, but they felt it was important that we have this opportunity to learn about God and be with good friends. The faith of the priests and nuns who were our teachers impressed me. I decided then that I would do what God wanted me to do.
In my junior high and high school years, many of my classmates chose to do things that I had been taught were not right, like drinking alcohol and smoking. I kept busy working on the farm, playing sports, acting in school plays, and participating in activities at my church. I felt blessed to have good friends who were also trying to choose the right.
When I was a college student and I began to learn about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, good friends again made a difference for me. I remember well my first visit to an LDS ward, which met in a tiny community hall. The moment I stepped out of the car, my college friends swarmed around me. “It’s great to see you!” they said. “So glad you could make it!” I had never shaken hands with so many people in my life. “Wonderful to have you here,” said people I’d never met. “Come back again.” I’m still touched by that ward’s love for me, a stranger.
Everything going on about me that day felt strange. The worship service I had experienced as an altar boy was very structured and extremely quiet. The Latter-day Saint worship service was so different—so much fellowshipping before the meeting, so many new ideas to think about and new things to experience. As I sat in that hall, I had many questions and doubts. But the warmth and friendship of Church members helped me to feel comfortable. Then, as I studied the gospel, the witness of the Holy Ghost helped me want to be baptized.
I am grateful for the restored truths available only in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. And I am grateful for the friends who helped me to find those truths.
As children who belong to the Church of Jesus Christ, you are blessed to know so much about our Heavenly Father and His Son. Your faith will grow as you attend church, pray, and study the scriptures on your own and with your family.
As you make good choices for your own life, please reach out to others who are not members of the Church or who may not attend church regularly. Welcome them to Primary. Smile. Sit next to someone who is new. Ask about others’ interests, and always speak kindly. The love you share will help those around you make good choices and come to know the Savior Jesus Christ and the teachings of His restored gospel.
By J. Harvey Hapi
Friend, Mar 2007, 36–37
(Based on a true story)
Thou shalt make thy prayer unto him, and he shall hear thee (Job 22:27).
Hyrum peered over the bookrack and checked to see that his mother was still in the next aisle.
When he saw her standing there, he continued to look at the books on display. The crowded Brisbane airport in Queensland, Australia, buzzed all around him like a beehive next to a flowering gum tree.
Suddenly, he heard announced over the intercom, “Passengers for flight QF555 to Sydney, please proceed to Gate 12.”
Hyrum ran into the next aisle, but his mom wasn’t there. He searched the bookstore, but she was gone! Hyrum began to panic and his heart started to beat faster.
He made his way to the crowded corridor, looking up and down for his mom. She was still nowhere in sight.
“Maybe she’s waiting at the gate,” Hyrum thought. He ran as fast as he could, scanning the passengers’ faces as he weaved through them. When he reached Gate 12, he looked over the rows of seats, but his mom wasn’t there either. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his reflection in the big glass window. Lost and alone, Hyrum began to cry.
As he sobbed, Hyrum suddenly felt a warm impression come over him. He imagined his mother kneeling beside him. He saw the gentleness of her smile and felt the softness of her hand. He remembered what she had told him earlier that morning: “Remember, Hyrum, if we get separated for any reason, I am only a prayer away.”
Hyrum immediately stopped crying. He closed his eyes. “Heavenly Father,” he prayed silently, “please help me find my mom.”
As he opened his eyes he heard someone say, “Excuse me, young man, are you OK?”
Hyrum looked around and saw a flight attendant looking at him.
“Are you OK?” she asked again.
“I’ve lost my mom,” he replied.
“Don’t worry,” she told him. “We’ll find her.”
An announcement was made over the intercom, and soon Hyrum saw his mom hurrying toward them. He thought she might be angry, but she just hugged him tightly. Then they boarded the plane, and soon they were flying high above the clouds.
As he gazed out the window, Hyrum thought about what had happened. He knew that the Holy Ghost helped him remember what his mom had told him. He could still feel the warmth in his heart as he prayed to Heavenly Father, and he was grateful to know that help was only a prayer away.
Spencer Kimball's vow to read the Bible
By Edward L. Kimball and Andrew E. Kimball Jr.,
Friend, Mar 2007, 30–31
When he got home, he found the family Bible, went up to the unfinished attic where he slept, lit a lamp, and opened to the first chapter of Genesis.
“In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth …”
He read every night, even when he was confused by what he read.
Spencer: I don’t really understand this part, but I’m sure it will be worth it to keep reading. At least I’ll have some idea of what’s in the Bible when I’m finished.
A year later he closed the book, having read the whole thing. He had learned not only more about the Bible but also that he could set a goal and achieve it.
By Marli Walker
Friend, Mar. 2007, 32
(Based on a true story)
Three-year-old Natalee shifted in her car seat trying to get a better look out of the window. “There it is!” she exclaimed, excitedly pointing her finger. “There’s the temple!”
Her mother smiled as she saw the beautiful Manti Utah Temple come into view.
“Mommy, is the temple Jesus’s house?” Natalee asked.
“Yes, it is, sweetheart,” Mom replied. “Every temple is the house of the Lord.”
“Will I see Jesus when I go to the temple?” Natalee asked.
“Some people have seen Him in temples. I don’t know if you will, but we can feel His Spirit there.”
“Does He talk in the temple?” Natalee asked.
“Jesus does talk. We learn His words through our prophets, the scriptures, and the Spirit.”
“I take my scriptures to church on Sunday,” Natalee said proudly.
“Yes, you do. The scriptures tell us about Jesus’s gospel and how He wants us to live so we can live with Him again.”
“Will I live with Jesus someday, Mommy?”
“Yes, but you have a lot of things to do first. When you turn eight years old, you will be baptized and confirmed. Then you will be a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and receive the gift of the Holy Ghost. Someday you will be married in the temple. You also need to be good, kind, and keep the commandments so you can live with Jesus again. We can be with all of our family too. You, Daddy, me, your brothers and sisters, your grandmas and grandpas, and even your cousins can be with us. If we live worthily, we can all live with Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father someday.”
“Is the church building Jesus’s house too?” Natalee asked a few minutes later.
“Yes,” Mom replied. “When we go to church, we learn about Jesus and His commandments.”
“My nursery teacher tells stories about Jesus. Is Jesus nice, Mommy?”
“He is very nice, and He loves you very much.”
“I love Jesus’s houses,” Natalee said.
“I love them too,” Mom said. “And I’m thankful for temple blessings.”
Natalee smiled a great big smile. Then she opened her arms as wide as she could and said, “I want to give Jesus a great big hug because I love Him too.”
By Richard M. Romney
Talk to anyone in the Winchester Ward about 11-year-old Jason Alford, and they’ll tell you he’s helpful. He shows up early to prepare for activities and he stays after to clean up. They may also tell you that he loves to read scriptures, enjoys music and art, and has a happy, positive attitude. But more than anything, they’ll tell you that he’s kind—kind to his brother and his mother.
Jason’s 13-year-old brother, Alex, has autism. That means he has a difficult time dealing with changes and interacting with others. “He’s smart, but he thinks slowly,” Jason explains. “He’s gentle and softhearted. He usually gives smiles and hugs.” But he can also get upset, so Jason has learned how to calm him down, and when to get help from an adult. He has also helped Alex learn to say “sorry” or “excuse me,” because sometimes he will eat too fast and burp, or bump into people without meaning to.
“Being a friend with my brother has taught me to be patient, because sometimes you have to have a lot of patience with him,” Jason says. “But I also know he is watching out for me. If he thinks I’m in trouble, he’ll say, ‘Are you OK?’ and he’ll check on me. If you want to know the truth, he has taught me how to be kind.”
Jason goes most places Alex goes, often explaining to people what autism is and how they can include Alex in activities. “Even though he has autism, he still has feelings,” Jason says. “I hope people will understand that.” The brothers like to play hide-and-seek, color with crayons, play checkers, read books, and especially go swimming together. “We play tag in the water,” Jason says.
“Except instead of tagging him, I splash him. Then he has to come and splash me.”
“My mother has taught me faith, obedience, and how to live my life,” Jason says. “She works hard, but she always has time to care about me. So I try to do everything I can to help her.” That includes keeping his room clean, making dinner sometimes, doing homework without being asked, and of course keeping an eye on his brother.
“Jason has been very helpful to me,” says his mother. “There are times when he asks, ‘Why is my brother autistic?’ And there are times when he says, ‘Mom, you’re giving more attention to him than to me. ’ I explain to him that I love them both the same. It’s like, ‘You are my blue color and Alex is my red color.’ But my love for blue and red is the same.”
That love shows as they hold family home evening, pray, and read the scriptures together. Jason is particularly fond of stories about Nephi in the Book of Mormon: “He just kept doing what Heavenly Father asked him to do. I wonder if I would have the same courage.” There is no question in Jason’s mind about serving a full-time mission someday. He wants to give others the same opportunity missionaries gave to his mother when she was a teenager in Italy.
With all that is going on at home, you’d think Jason might feel overloaded at times. But he does find time to work on Scouting, create artwork, look through his telescope, and practice music. “My goal is to become the best musician in the world,” he says.
He is also eager to help at Church and looks forward to becoming a deacon. “Getting ready for the Aaronic Priesthood is important to me,” he says. “I expect the leaders and the boys my age to count on me. If I’m asked to do something, I’m going to complete the task.”
And you can be sure he will do it with kindness.
By Kimberly Webb
Friend, Apr 2007, 18–2
(Based on a true story)
Kasey was a good student. She knew this because her kindergarten teacher had moved her from the red reading group to the blue one, the top reading group in the class.
But now Kasey would be starting first grade. What if the work was too hard?
What if she wasn’t one of the best students in her class anymore? If there were reading groups in the first grade, Kasey wanted to stay in the top group.
On the first day of school, Miss Nelson handed out a spelling worksheet. “When you’re finished, put your paper in the basket on the counter,” she instructed.
Kasey worked hard. When she stood to hand in her assignment, she beamed. The basket was empty. She was the first student finished! Maybe first grade wouldn’t be so hard after all.
Kasey soon discovered that Miss Nelson’s class did spelling assignments every morning. And for several weeks, Kasey was the first to finish. “I must be the best speller in class,” she told herself.
One day, she noticed her friend Shantelle march over to the counter and plunk her worksheet in the basket.
Kasey’s jaw dropped. She wasn’t even half finished with hers! She filled in the rest of the answers quickly and sauntered over to the basket, sliding her assignment under Shantelle’s. Maybe Miss Nelson wouldn’t notice who had finished first.
On Monday it rained. Thunder crashed outside as raindrops drummed on the window. “After we do our spelling, we’ll have morning recess inside,” Miss Nelson announced. “When you finish your assignment, you may go pick out a puzzle or a game from that shelf.
Please copy our spelling list for the week.” Miss Nelson pointed to the board. “Then write each word four times.”
Kasey’s wrist ached as she scribbled down the words. Her pencil tip snapped, but she kept writing with the dull end. Her heart thudded. She wrote faster.
Finally she blew out a little puff of air as she triumphantly placed her paper in the empty basket.
Kasey scurried to the shelf and chose a puzzle of a kitten snoozing in a flowerbed.
Kasey had just found all the corner pieces when she felt someone standing next to her. “Can I help?” Shantelle asked.
Kasey gulped. “Sure.”
Shantelle pulled up a chair and started sorting out the pieces with straight edges. She and Shantelle had spent recess together lots of times, but for some reason today Kasey felt nervous. She had been so busy trying to beat Shantelle lately that she hadn’t taken the time to be very nice to her.
“I saw your spelling assignment,” Shantelle said. “It was kind of messy.”
Shantelle seemed surprised—it wasn’t like her friend to be so sloppy.
Kasey’s cheeks burned. She stared down at the puzzle pieces, finishing the puzzle in silence. All day, Kasey worried about what Shantelle had said.
At the end of class, Miss Nelson returned the spelling lists. “Use these to study for the quiz on Friday,” she said. She raised her eyebrows as she handed Kasey her paper. “Please write more neatly next time,” she said.
She had circled all the words that were difficult to read. Suddenly Kasey didn’t feel so smart.
Before the bell rang, Kasey pulled out a new sheet of paper and began copying the words from the board again, this time writing as neatly as she could. That way she would know the right way to spell them when she studied the list later. The best student would try to spell the words correctly, she decided, not just copy them quickly.
The next day Kasey didn’t watch the basket while she worked. She looked straight down at her spelling worksheet and thought hard about the questions. She wrote the answers neatly in the blanks. When she finally turned in the assignment, she decided to be honest. She placed it on top of a small stack of papers already waiting there. Miss Nelson smiled at her. Kasey smiled back. She knew in her heart that now she was becoming the best student she could be.
by Callie Buys
Friend, Apr 2007, 8–9
(From an interview with Elder Carlos H. Amado)
Forsake not the law of thy mother (Proverbs 1:8).
My mother is a very special woman. I am the oldest of eight sons, and I also have seven sisters. With such a large family, my mother had great responsibilities.
The best thing my mother did for us was to be baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She gave us the opportunity to learn about the gospel.
This opportunity changed our lives.
I remember the day we received the missionaries. I was about 10 or 11 years old. The missionaries shared a message about the First Vision. As soon as my mother listened, she was converted. She believed Joseph Smith saw the Father and the Son.
We began to attend church. I didn't want to accept the gospel at first, but the missionaries persuaded me to see what it was all about. As soon as I did, I loved it. I am so grateful for my mother. She received a testimony during that first visit of the missionaries. From her baptism until today, she never missed a Church meeting.
My mother was a tremendous support to us. She always cleaned our white shirts on Saturdays so they would be ready to wear on Sundays. We would polish our shoes and the shoes of our youngest brothers and sisters. We lived in a poor neighborhood in Guatemala, and our neighbors would laugh at us on Sundays as we wore our white shirts and ties to church.
My mother always gave us courage to do the right. Because of her influence, we were very active in the Church. I remember that at one time, my father served as the Sunday School president, my older sister served as the Primary president, my mother served as the Relief Society president, and four of my brothers passed, prepared, and blessed the sacrament.
Because of our financial needs, my father expected me to help earn money for the family. I wanted to serve a mission, but when I turned 19 years old, he asked that I wait one year to serve my mission so I could continue working to help my family.
When I turned 20 years old, he asked that I wait another year to serve.
Just before I turned 21 years old, he wanted to request that I wait one more year. But my mother told him, “Let him go serve, and it will bless us.”
This really happened. Before my mission, only a younger brother and I had worked to help support the family.
As soon as I went on my mission, two more of my brothers and my two oldest sisters started working, so my family did better financially.
Every blessing and call that I have received in the Church have led me to admire my mother more. In every part of my life, I remember her excellent influence and example. My mother had only a basic education, but her knowledge of the truths of the gospel and her practical knowledge and understanding of life were superior.
My childhood was happy because I always had my mother at home taking care of me. She had a great sense of humor, and she would always find ways to have fun. She took hours and hours to share with us stories about her childhood and about my grandma and aunts and uncles and her relationship with them.
I believe in the commandment to honor our parents. Everything I do, even today, is because of the influence of my mother.
By Hilary M. Hendricks
Friend, Apr 2007, 36–39
(Based on a true story)
Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above (James 1:17).
“No. Mine!” Eli said loudly and pushed his little fist into my shoulder, hard.
“Susie is my bear,” I shouted back.
“Grandma gave her to me for my birthday!” I turned away from Eli so he could not grab the bear from me.
Then I yelled for Mom.
“Susie, mine! No Hannah!” Eli told Mom with a frown.
“Hannah, I know Susie is your bear,” Mom said. “But Eli doesn’t understand.
Could you at least let him hold her today, since it’s his birthday?”
That didn’t sound fair to me. When Susie was new, Eli was just a baby. I let him carry her around and sleep with her in his bed. Pretty soon Eli thought that Susie was his own special bear. He wouldn’t share her with me anymore—not ever.
“Mom, Eli is two years old now,” I said.
“He should know how to take turns.”
“We’re going to have to think about this,” Mom said. Then she put Susie up high in the closet so we wouldn’t keep fighting.
That afternoon, when Eli was taking his nap, Mom and I had a good idea.
“This means that when you want to play with Susie, you will have to ask Eli,” Mom reminded me.
“I know,” I said. Mom gave me a hug.
Then we went down to the basement and found some tissue paper and a bag. Mom let me decorate the bag with markers. “This is going to be so fun for Eli,” I said.
When Eli woke up, we brought him into the living room. “Hannah has a special surprise for you, Eli,” Mom said.
I handed him the bag and he pulled out the tissue paper. At the bottom of the bag he found Susie.
“Susie. Hannah. Me!” Eli said. He smiled and laughed and did his happy dance. He hugged Susie again and again.
“Susie is your bear now,” I told him. “Happy birthday.”
That night Mom and I watched Eli fall asleep with Susie in his arms. Mom squeezed my hand and I felt warm inside. But I wondered how long it would be until Eli would let me play with Susie again.
A few days later we were reading scriptures in Mom and Dad’s bedroom.
Mom and I sat on the bed, and Eli stood next to us, holding Susie. We read about being witnesses for Jesus Christ. “To be a witness means that we tell people about Jesus,” Mom explained. “How do we help Eli know about Jesus?”
“We love him,” I said.
“That’s a very good way,” Mom said.
Suddenly, something warm and fuzzy landed in my lap. It was Susie Bear.
“Hannah. Susie,” Eli said, pointing at me.
“Is it my turn to play with Susie?” I asked him.
Eli nodded.
“That’s so nice, Eli,” Mom told him.
“Hannah, I think Eli loves you a lot.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “And I love him a lot too.”
By Jane McBride Choate
Friend, Apr 2007, 32–33
(Based on a true story)
In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world (John 16:33).
Andy’s little sister, Trisha, had been born with many health problems. She needed extra help to do even the smallest thing. Trisha was 18 months old, but she couldn’t walk or sit up or even roll over. She couldn’t feed herself and had to eat through a tube.
Andy’s daddy, grandpa, and uncles had given Trisha many blessings, and Andy wanted to do something to help her too. He set a goal to help her do the things she couldn’t do for herself.
Every day Andy looked for ways to help Trisha. When he saw her trying to roll over, he gently helped her roll from her tummy to her back. When she struggled to sit up, Andy supported her.
One evening after Andy had helped Trisha sit up, Mommy and Daddy sat down to talk with him.
“We know you love Trisha very much and want to help her,” Mommy said.
“But it’s important to let her become as independent as possible. That means we need to let her do the things she can by herself.”
“But Trisha can’t sit up by herself,” Andy said.
“She can’t sit all the way up,” Mommy said. “But she can pull herself up partway. We need to let her do that.”
Andy knew how hard Trisha struggled to pull herself up. He didn’t want her to have to work so hard. “Why can’t I help her?” he asked.
“When she tries to do things by herself, it helps her to grow stronger,” Mommy said. “I know it’s hard to watch her try so hard to do something.
I want to help her too, and then I remember that Heavenly Father is always there to help and bless her.”
“Will Trisha be sick forever?” Andy asked.
“She’ll always have some problems,” Daddy said. “But we know that one day she’ll be resurrected with a healthy, whole body, and that she’ll be with our family forever.”
Andy knew that his parents had been sealed in the temple, and that he and Trisha were sealed to them.
Andy thought about what he could do for his little sister. He knew that Heavenly Father loved him and Trisha and that He listened to prayers. “I can pray for Trisha,” Andy said.
“That’s the best gift of all,” Mommy said, and gave him a big hug.
By Melvin Leavitt
Friend, Apr 2007, 28–30
From her backyard, Clara Christensen, 11, enjoys a view pretty enough for a calendar page. Her home sits on the brink of a hill overlooking Lake of the Woods, a vast sheet of clear water that reaches south into the United States and west into Manitoba. In summertime the sun glitters on the water. In winter the lake shines with snow-covered ice.
The lake and surrounding woods are a dreamland for an active, outdoor-loving person like Clara. She swims, rows, fishes, hikes, and camps in the summer. In the winter she enjoys skating, snowmobiling, cross-country and downhill skiing, and sliding down steep hills on carpet blocks. Winter temperatures dip as low as –40˚C at night, and snow lies between four and seven feet (1–2 m) deep. And yet fall and winter are Clara’s favorite seasons.
This rugged outdoor girl has many indoor interests as well. She enjoys reading, knitting, and playing the recorder and piano. She has set a goal of learning to play all the hymns and Primary songs.
Clara has a soft heart and delights in nurturing both people and animals. She often babysits her cousins, and when real children aren’t available, she mothers her collection of dolls. Cats are another great love. Lilo, Hero, and Hope adore her and often sleep on her bed.
Noah’s ark is her favorite scripture story because of all the animals. When Clara grows up she wants to work with either babies or cats.
Whatever she does, she will do it well because she sticks to a task until it is done right. This quality has pulled her through some tough challenges. Clara was diagnosed with childhood apraxia of speech. This means that although she knew what she wanted to say, the signals became scrambled somehow between her brain and her mouth so she couldn’t speak clearly. Clara has spent countless hours learning how to move her jaw, lips, and tongue to make sounds properly and blend those sounds into words. This has been very hard work, but with her parents’ help, she has practiced relentlessly and continues to do so.
She now speaks well, though some words still require a great effort.
Last year the children in Clara’s grade-four class were assigned to give four-to-five-minute speeches.
Clara chose to give a speech on the Holocaust, which she presented as if she were a girl in a concentration camp.
When she first rehearsed her speech, it took eight minutes and 40 seconds to give because many of the words were hard to say. She practiced it over and over. The speech slowly grew shorter as she learned to say the words fluently.
She finally presented the speech in four minutes and 40 seconds, and her classmates chose her to represent them in front of the whole school.
When she did, the entire student body broke into wild applause. Many of them had known Clara since grade one, and her progress seemed miraculous. “The principal was crying,” Clara’s mom recalls. “Clara’s grade-two teacher was crying. Her grade-four teacher was cheering. It was such a victory—one of the greatest moments of my life!”
What did Clara learn from the experience? “Keep trying,” she counsels children everywhere. “Never give up.”
Of course, prayer was also a vital part of Clara’s triumph. She has great faith in Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.
Primary, home evenings, scripture study, and her parents’ teachings have helped. Her older sisters have made a difference too, both through their good examples and their reading materials. As soon as Carly, 18, and Josie, 15, turned 12 in their turn, they began putting New Era Posters on their mirrors. Clara has also memorized seminary scripture mastery scriptures and learned President Hinckley’s six B’s with her sisters.
Her father is the branch president, and her mother is the Young Women president, so Clara stays involved in branch activities. The Kenora Branch is small during fall, winter, and spring.
In fact, Clara is usually the only member of her Primary class, which is taught by her grandmother, the Primary president. But in the summertime, when thousands of tourists pour in to enjoy Lake of the Woods, the branch fills up with visitors each Sunday. Clara basks in all the wonderful new friendships. The family stays close to the Church all year long by attending stake activities in Winnipeg, Manitoba, some two and a half hours to the west. Coming home at night, they often see the northern lights dancing in the sky.
Clara also stays close to her extended family. On Christmas Eve cousins and uncles and aunts all sleep over at Grandma’s house. They eat, sing, hang stockings, set up a nativity scene, hear the Christmas story, and kneel together in prayer. Christmas morning brings hot chocolate, hot cross buns, and gifts. On Christmas night the families meet again at Clara’s house for dinner. On Boxing Day (the day after Christmas) there is a progressive dinner with different dishes at the home of each family.
Clara has grown up inspired by the beauty of nature, the warmth of family love, and the light of the gospel of Jesus Christ. All these influences are reflected clearly in her face and her spirit. Even on the coldest day of winter she warms the lives of those who know her best. As her mom says,
“Thank goodness we have Clara.”
Sharing Time Butterfly
By Amy Kirby
Friend, Apr 2007, 4–6
(Based on a true story)
Christ … should be the first that should rise from the dead, and should shew light unto the people (Acts 26:23).
“Look!” Mom whispered excitedly as she pointed to the crown flower. At first I could only see the flower and wide leaves. Then I saw them—not just one, but two caterpillars with black, white, and yellow stripes.
I jumped up and down and shouted, “We found some! We found some! Dad, come quick!” Mom and I had been searching for this kind of caterpillar for months.
On the mainland they are called monarch caterpillars, but here in Hawaii we call them pulelehua caterpillars. I had read all about them in books from the library, but I’d never seen a real one.
Mom carefully broke off the branch, and I picked some extra leaves for food. I helped Dad punch some holes in the lid of a big plastic jar. Then Mom and I gently put the caterpillars in their new home.
I watched the caterpillars until it was bedtime. I wanted to sleep by them, but Mom said it would be best to leave them outside. After I said my prayers, Dad tucked me into bed. Then I asked him, “Are you sure those caterpillars are going to turn into butterflies?” He told me that they would after they wrapped themselves in chrysalises.
The next morning I woke up early and ran to check on my caterpillars. They were still there, munching on the leaves. During the next week I gave them more leaves and watched them eat and eat. They got fatter and fatter.
Then one morning I noticed that they were hanging upside down. When I came home for lunch, my caterpillars were gone!
“Mom! Somebody stole my caterpillars!” I yelled. Mom laughed as she took the lid off the jar and showed me the bright green chrysalises hanging where the caterpillars had been.
“Now will they turn into butterflies?” I asked.
“They will when the time is right,” Mom said.
Over the next week we watched the chrysalises slowly change. A tiny gold stripe appeared near the top, and the green got darker and darker until it was almost black. Then one day after I had almost forgotten about them, one of the butterflies hatched and flew away. Mom said I should be happy. But I was frustrated because I had missed seeing it hatch. When Dad reminded me that I still had one more, I felt better.
This time I was going to make sure I didn’t miss it. Everywhere I went the chrysalis came with me. We even took the jar with us on our vacation, but still no butterfly.
When Sunday came, I wanted to take the jar to church. Mom said she could use the chrysalis to help with sharing time.
During sharing time Mom taught us that all things testify of Jesus Christ.
Then she held up my jar and showed the children the two chrysalises. We talked about how a caterpillar changes into a butterfly and leaves behind an empty chrysalis. Mom told us that the new life of a butterfly can remind us of the Resurrection of Jesus Christ. Then she sang, “ ‘How could the Father tell the world of sacrifice, of death? He sent his Son to die for us and rise with living breath.’ ” * Mom smiled and said, “Maybe if we all sing this song and think about the words, we can sing the butterfly right out of its chrysalis!”
We all sat up straight in our seats and sang our very best. When the song ended, everyone was very quiet.
Suddenly one of the children said, “Look!”
We all looked at the jar on the table, and there was a butterfly unfolding its wings. My mom’s mouth opened wide, but she didn’t make a sound. Sister Makuakane whispered, “It’s a miracle!” All the children were excited to see the butterfly opening and closing its big orange and black wings. No one could stop smiling.
After church we set the butterfly free. We watched as it danced away in the wind. I have seen a lot of butterflies since then, but none of them were as beautiful as our sharing time butterfly.
By Linda G. Paulsen
Friend, May 2007, 10–12
(Based on a true story)
By the power of the Holy Ghost ye may know the truth of all things(Moroni 10:5).
I looked down at my lap. No matter how I tugged at my skirt, it didn’t cover my knees. It just wasn’t fair! I almost never got a store-bought dress. It was a summery green fabric, and when I wore it my eyes looked more green than their normal gray-blue. It fit perfectly too. And it was modern, without being weird.
Beverly had a new outfit that made my eyes blink. It was an orange and purple skirt and top with matching tights in a big, wild, diamond pattern. Beverly always wore the latest styles. When I’d worn my new green dress the week before, she had complimented me for the first time.
It was hard to be me. It was bad enough to wear glasses as thick as a sugar bowl, to be as skinny as a pencil, and have a huge mouth full of oversized teeth. Beverly had long blonde hair, long eyelashes, and no glasses, either. Next to Beverly, I felt ugly and awkward. One way to make up the difference was with fashionable clothes.
Finding that green dress was amazing. Buying it had been a miracle. Mom had taken down the hem, and it was perfect. Now, one laundry day later, my chance to be noticed was over.
My mother came into the room. “What’s the matter?” she asked. I guess my tear-misted glasses gave me away.
“Look at this dress!” I wailed. “It shrank in the wash!”
Mom understood how much that dress meant to me. “Oh, Linda,” she said softly. “I promise I followed the washing directions on the tag.” But she could see as I did that it had shrunk just enough to be too short.
We talked it over, but there wasn’t a happy solution. The hem had already been lengthened as far as it could go. Mom and Dad were immovable on their rule: girls in our family covered their knees. Mom cried with me as we took the dress to the thrift store box in the garage.
I moped for several days. It seemed so unfair that my parents could ruin my life by something as silly as a rule about knees. I had never been a rebel. I knew my parents loved me, so I had trusted them to be sensible. Until now.
I was troubled. I realized that this was a major decision: I could continue to follow my parents’ rules or I could choose not to. There were ways to rebel. I saw girls at school sometimes roll up their skirts at the waist to make them shorter. It was up to me.
One day in church, our class talked about Joseph Smith’s First Vision. As the teacher read about Joseph’s decision to ask God which church to join, I realized that I was in a similar situation. I needed to know for myself if my parents’ dress standards were right or if they were too strict. Like Joseph, I decided I could simply ask Heavenly Father.
I thought about it for several days. I remembered the process I had gone through when I’d prayed about being baptized. The answer had come because I had been ready to receive it. I decided to fast and pray. Because this was an important decision, I knew it would probably take more than one day’s effort to learn the answer. I talked to my parents about my plan.
“I’ll fast with you,” Mom offered.
Dad gave me a clue. “Linda,” he said, “if you want a testimony of a certain principle, practice living it.”
I tried to do everything I could so that I would be able to hear that still, small voice. Meanwhile, I practiced keeping the standard that my parents required.
Heavenly Father answered my prayers through my feelings and in my mind. One day, as I was getting ready for church, I realized that I knew what Heavenly Father wanted me to do. Through the prompting of the Holy Ghost, I knew that Heavenly Father expects me to dress modestly. Just like Joseph Smith, I knew that I had received an answer and that I could not deny it. The knowledge was like a warm, peaceful understanding that filled me from head to toe. I wondered how I could have ever felt sorry for myself for living a righteous standard. I felt that Heavenly Father was pleased with me. Nothing else mattered as much as that.
“I’m lucky to be me,” I thought. I didn’t need to be like Beverly or anybody else. What a relief!
I had friends, but I was never really popular. I learned how to be happy without being popular. That’s how I know it can be done. Never again was I an invisible nobody. Heavenly Father helped me become beautiful in my own way.
Learning God’s Law
By Patricia R. Jones
Friend, Apr 2007, 10–11
(Based on a true story)
Bring ye all the tithes into the storehouse, that there may be meat in mine house (Malachi 3:10).
“This will be the 10th load of hay,” David’s father called to him. “Drive over to the higher ground.” Young David O. McKay looked across the field to where his father was pointing. The first nine loads they had gathered were full of lesser-quality hay. David knew his father meant for this 10th load of the best hay to go to the bishops’ storehouse as their tithing. But he didn’t understand why they couldn’t give the Lord the same hay they were collecting.
David called back to his father, “No, let us take the hay as it comes.”
David’s father didn’t answer. David was about to repeat himself when he saw his father turn and begin walking straight toward him. Suddenly, the breeze in the hay field was gone, and the sun became feverishly hot. David wiped the sweat from his forehead and the back of his neck. He knew his father was not crossing the field to give him a pat on the back for his snippy answer. He was coming all this way to be sure that David understood something.
“No, David.” His father spoke sternly, yet the calm in his voice made David pay extra close attention. “This is the 10th load, and the best is none too good for God.” David’s father looked closely at his son’s face to make sure he had been listening. Then he turned and walked away.
David swallowed the lump in his throat and then guided his team to the higher ground. As he loaded the cut hay onto the wagon, he began to think of what his father was trying to teach him. While he knew that tithing is a law, just as much as obedience and sacrifice are, David wanted to put their own needs first. But God had said to take the firstlings of the flocks—the very best—and give them to Him (see Deuteronomy 12:6).
“My father gives the best to God, and we get the next best,” David thought. “Perhaps this is how we make the Lord the center of our thoughts and our lives.”
There were times when David had watched his mother pay money for tithing. Instead of spending what she needed and then hoping there was some left for tithing, she immediately sent the tithing money to the bishop and then made do with what was left. The first and the best was always given to God.
David turned the hay wagon down the dusty road toward the bishops’ storehouse. He drove into the yard and unloaded the hay. It was a sacrifice for his father to give his best hay to the Lord, but David knew his father would have it no other way. He wanted to give his best for the Lord, just as Heavenly Father gave His perfect Son for the world.
As David turned his team back toward home, a good feeling came over him. He was glad his father had taught him the law of tithing. It was a lesson he would remember all his life.
An Old Sock and a New Friend
By Lana Krumwiede
Friend, Apr 2007, 44–46
(Based on a true story)
Become acquainted with … languages, tongues, and people (D&C 90:15).
Lexi ran outside with the rest of Mrs. Crandall’s third-grade class for recess. What should she play today? Sometimes she jumped rope with Tara and Isabella. Sometimes she played foursquare with David and Kristina and Callie. But Lexi wanted to do something different today. Maybe she should join the soccer game.
Then Lexi noticed something very different.
A new girl sat near the edge of the playground. She had brown skin and long, shiny hair that reminded Lexi of her piano teacher’s glossy black piano. Lexi thought the new girl looked like a princess from another country.
Why wasn’t anyone playing with the new girl? Lexi decided to ask a teacher.
“Her name is Nasimah,” the teacher said. “She’s from Pakistan. She doesn’t speak English, but I’m sure she’d like to play with you.”
“I don’t know,” Lexi said. She wondered how she could play with the new girl if they couldn’t talk to each other. How would she say, “What do you want to play?” or, “It’s your turn,” or even, “Hello”?
Lexi decided to jump rope with Isabella after all. But she watched Nasimah whenever she could.
At home, Lexi couldn’t stop thinking of Nasimah and how lonely she must be. There had to be a way to talk to her. Maybe Mom could think of something.
Lexi found her mother in the laundry room. She was sewing patches on Lexi’s brother’s Scout shirt. “Do you know any words from Pakistan?” Lexi asked.
“No,” Mom said. “Why?”
Lexi explained about Nasimah.
“If you want to play with her, I think you should,” Mom said, “even if you can’t understand her words.”
“I don’t know,” Lexi said. She hung her head and played with the spools of thread in Mom’s sewing box. A ball of black yarn reminded Lexi of Nasimah’s shiny hair.
An idea was coming together in Lexi’s brain. “Mom,” she said, “do you have an old sock I can use?”
“An old sock? I suppose so.”
“And can I use some of this yarn?” Lexi dug through the box and found the button jar. “And a couple of buttons?”
“Sure,” Mom said.
With a little help from Mom, Lexi made the perfect sock puppet. Its hair was black, just like Nasimah’s hair. Its button eyes were blue, just like Lexi’s eyes. Mom helped Lexi make a red dress for the puppet.
The next day, Lexi thought recess would never come. Concentrating on her spelling test was hard. She kept thinking of the sock puppet in her backpack. Finally recess came and Lexi raced outside with the puppet.
Where was Nasimah? Lexi looked all over the playground. At last, Nasimah came out with her class and stood by the wall.
Lexi took a deep breath. Would the puppet work? It had seemed like such a wonderful idea yesterday.
“I have to try,” Lexi thought.
She walked slowly over to Nasimah. Lexi held up the puppet and slipped it over her hand. Moving her hand, she made the puppet talk.
“Hi!” the puppet said in Lexi’s voice. “Do you want to play with me?”
Lexi took the puppet off her hand. She gave it to Nasimah and helped her put it on her hand.
Nasimah moved the sock puppet. It began to speak strange words that danced in Lexi’s ears. They took turns with the puppet for the rest of recess. When Lexi held the puppet, it spoke English. When Nasimah held the puppet, it spoke her language. Lexi thought she was starting to understand a couple of words.
When the bell rang, Lexi handed the puppet to her new friend. “You keep it,” Lexi said. “It’s a present.”
Nasimah seemed to understand. She kept the puppet and smiled.
“Smiles are the same in all languages,” Lexi thought. And she smiled back.
By Jane McBride Choate
Friend, May 2007, 18–20
(Based on a true story
Gabe spent a lot of time with his friend Jeff. They were in the same fourth-grade class at school and in the same Primary class at church. Both played on the same little league team.
After baseball practice one afternoon, Jeff invited Gabe to his house to play. Gabe noticed a special feeling in his friend’s room. He looked around to see what made it different from his own. On his walls, Jeff had put up pictures of the Denver Colorado Temple, Jesus with a group of children, and Nephi building a boat.
When Gabe got home, he looked around his own room and saw the posters of hockey, baseball, and football players that covered the walls. Books about sports figures filled many of the shelves in his bookcase. Gabe had always thought of sports stars as heroes. He wanted to be like them when he grew up. Now he thought of the heroes Jeff had chosen.
On Monday, Gabe’s family gathered in the living room for family home evening. Dad gave the lesson. “Tonight we’re going to talk about heroes,” he said. “We can find heroes in all kinds of places. What different kinds of heroes are there?”
“Movie stars,” Gabe’s sister said.
“Dinosaurs,” his little brother added, and everyone smiled.
“Heroes of the Book of Mormon,” Gabe said.
“That’s an interesting answer, Gabe,” his father said. “Why don’t you tell us about a Book of Mormon hero?”
Gabe told the story of his favorite Book of Mormon hero, Captain Moroni. “Amalickiah had turned the people against the righteous Nephites. Moroni tore his coat, wrote on it, and called it the title of liberty. Moroni taught the Nephites about defending their freedom and protecting their families.”
After family home evening, Gabe told his parents, “There’s a special feeling in Jeff’s room. I want that feeling too.” He paused. “Could I get some new pictures for my room?”
“I think that’s a great idea,” Mom said.
Gabe and his parents looked through a catalog of church pictures. He chose a picture of Jesus and one of Captain Moroni. Then he picked out a picture of Joseph Smith in the Sacred Grove.
Gabe left a few of his sports posters on one wall, and put up his new pictures on the other. Gabe smiled as he looked around his room and felt the peace that his new heroes brought.
By VaLynn Grant Woolley
Friend, May 2007, 38–40
(Based on a true story)
Be not thou therefore ashamed of the testimony of our Lord (2 Timothy 1:8).
Creak, creak. Bang, bang, bang!
John looked up from his plate as he heard footsteps and then a loud pounding at the door. It was early evening on a steamy summer Sunday, and five-year-old John was finishing supper with his parents, two brothers, and three sisters. He wondered who could be visiting his family.
Father got up and opened the door. “Let us in, Zachariah!”
John groaned inside as he turned to see his father’s cousins. Dan and Marv were loud and swore a lot, and they didn’t like Mormons. Ever since John’s family had been baptized six years ago, their relatives had harassed them about being Mormons. Lately it had been getting worse.
Dan pushed past Father and stepped into the room. “We’re here to say that you have to stop associating with those missionaries and leave that church of yours,” he said. “Your relatives are tired of being called ‘Mormon-lovers.’ ”
“I’ve told you we’re not leaving our church,” Father firmly replied. “We joined because we know it is the true Church of Jesus Christ.”
John’s parents had been baptized before he was born, but he had heard their story many times. The elders first knocked on their door in the spring of 1883. Father was impressed with the missionaries’ knowledge of the Bible and the good feeling they brought with them on their visits. He spent months studying with them and finally decided to be baptized. Mother and the older children also joined the Church.
Cousin Marv’s face darkened in anger when he heard Father’s answer. Marv leaned toward Father and spoke in a threatening tone. “If you won’t leave that church of yours, you’d better leave Tennessee. If you don’t, we’ll take care of you just like they took care of Gibbs and Berry.”
John shuddered. He was named after the missionary who baptized his parents, Elder John Gibbs. Five years ago, Elder Gibbs and Elder Berry had been martyred by a mob.
Father straightened his back and stood tall. “I will not leave my church or stop supporting the missionaries,” he replied in a steady voice. “I would rather die a martyr than renounce my faith in Jesus Christ and His Church.”
John’s eyes widened, for Father’s face seemed to shine as he spoke. John felt a warm and peaceful feeling replace his fear.
“Leave our home now,” Father told his cousins. “I will take my family to Zion. You won’t be bothered with our presence here much longer.” His cousins glared at him, then tromped out the door and slammed it behind them.
Mother stood up and walked over to Father. She put her arms around his waist and looked up into his eyes. “We’ll have to leave sooner than we thought,” she said.
John’s family was trying to save money to move to Zion, but they barely had enough to survive. He wondered how they would get enough for the eight of them to make the journey from Tennessee to Utah.
As if reading John’s mind, Father spoke to the family. “We don’t have enough money saved to travel all the way to Zion, but we will start our journey next week. We’ll have to work along the way to earn money for the rest of the trip.” He paused, then quietly added, “The missionaries taught us that no sacrifice is too great for the Lord. Now it’s time for us to follow their example.”
As John finished his supper, he thought of the journey ahead. How long would it take? What would Zion be like? John didn’t know what lay ahead, but he would stand tall in faith, just like his father.
By Dawn Nelson
Friend, Jun 2007, 4–6
(Based on a true story)
Baptism cometh by faith unto the fulfilling the commandments (Moroni 8:25).
On his birthday, Luke had fun opening presents and eating cake and ice cream, but he could hardly wait for the best present of all—he was getting baptized today! Thinking about going under the water made Luke a little scared since he didn’t know how to swim, but he knew he could trust Dad. He and Dad had practiced how to stand, and he knew that Jesus would help him be brave. He felt ready.
Finally it was time to go. Luke and Dad left for the church building first. When they pulled into the parking lot, Luke hoped that he could be the very first child to be baptized. He and Dad changed into their white clothes and then sat in the first pew in the chapel to wait.
Dad looked down at Luke and smiled. “You are glowing with happiness, Luke,” he said.
Luke grinned back. He sat quietly as the chapel started to fill up with people. He watched as other children in white clothes came in with their families. Luke still hoped he could be first, but he knew there were a lot of other children waiting to be baptized. A thrill went through him as he remembered again that soon it would be his turn to go down in the water.
A man came over and told them that Luke was third on the list. Luke was a little disappointed until Dad put his arm around him and gave him a little squeeze. Luke leaned against Dad. “Today I’m getting baptized!” he thought.
Soft music started to play, and it gave Luke a peaceful feeling. He saw Mom and his brothers come in, and he waved at them. They smiled and waved back, and then found an empty pew to sit in.
Luke could hardly bear waiting any longer! Just when he thought he couldn’t wait anymore, a man got up and started the meeting. There was a hymn, a prayer, and some talks. As he listened, Luke thought about baptism. He thought about how neat it was going to be to have the Holy Ghost with him all the time. A boy got up to bear his testimony, and then a family sang the song “When I Am Baptized.” Luke imagined a rainbow and how clean and fresh it feels outside just after a rain shower. He thought about how baptism makes a person clean.
A man announced that it was time for the first child getting baptized to go to the font. Then the man called the next child’s name. Luke’s heart started thumping loudly. His name was third on the list. Luke listened for his name. He grabbed Dad’s hand and scooted to the edge of the pew. Luke was about to stand up when the man read someone else’s name. Luke swung around and looked at Dad with wide eyes.
“Don’t worry,” Dad said. “He must have accidentally skipped you. I’m sure we’ll be next.”
But the next one wasn’t Luke’s name either. Again Dad whispered that they would be next. Luke’s stomach felt like someone had dropped a big rock into it. Would he ever get a turn? Another child was called, and Luke squirmed in his seat. More names were read. He noticed Dad was wiggling around a little now too. They watched as other children and their families left for the baptismal room. Luke wasn’t feeling special and excited anymore. He was tired and a little sad. Had they forgotten about him?
When the man started to close the meeting, Luke sat up straight and Dad stood up. The man saw them and his mouth dropped open. “Oh no,” he apologized. “I don’t know how I missed you!”
It was finally Luke’s turn to be baptized, but he wasn’t feeling excited anymore. They had forgotten about him! It must not be important to them that he was ready to be baptized. He walked slowly as he and Dad made their way to the font. Luke blinked a few times and tried to pretend that his eyes weren’t getting a little wet.
Dad stepped into the water. Luke could hear it slosh as Dad made his way to the center of the font. Luke tried to swallow the lump in his throat as he hesitated at the top of the steps. Then he noticed Dad’s face. He was looking up at Luke with a huge smile full of love. His hand was stretched out toward Luke. All at once Luke’s sadness melted away as he took Dad’s hand and stepped all the way down into the warm water.
Luke looked up and saw his friends and cousins kneeling near the edge of the font. They were all grinning at him. He could see his Primary teacher, his bishop, some of his aunts and uncles, and Grandma and Grandpa smiling at him. Mom even had happy tears in her eyes. Luke knew then that everyone there understood how important his baptism was. They were all here because they loved him and they wanted to watch and celebrate with him. Luke found himself smiling too.
Luke closed his eyes as Dad said the baptismal prayer. Then he bent his knees as Dad dipped him under the water. As Luke came up he felt so happy and clean! None of the things that had gone wrong mattered anymore. He wiped the water out of his eyes and saw everyone still smiling at him. He knew that Heavenly Father and Jesus hadn’t forgotten about him on his special day, and that They never would. It was his best birthday ever.
A Miraculous Escape from Danger
By Myra Hawke Dyck
Friend, Jun 2007, 10–13
(Based on a true story)
It is by faith that miracles are wrought (Moroni 7:37).
It was a sunny spring afternoon, a week after my eighth birthday—a perfect day for a bike ride. My sister Marla, our friend Lisa, and I headed out on a backcountry road that was part of my family’s cattle ranch in British Columbia, Canada. The mountaintops glowed as the sun reflected off their snowcapped peaks. Excitement filled my chest as I pedaled.
I had been riding a two-wheeler for only about a week, so I was still a little shaky. The first part of the road was smooth dirt, flattened by regular tractor and hay-wagon trips. As the road wound past the thick green alfalfa fields, we began to pedal faster. I felt strong and free, coasting through the fresh mountain breeze.
Then we came to a division in the road. We could keep going straight along the edge of the field, or we could turn and take the road that went along the creek at the base of the mountain. We decided to take the more adventurous route.
Marla and I had been on this road several times before with our family, but this was my first time riding a bike here. I was a little nervous as my bike jiggled across a cattle guard, a ditch covered with evenly spaced bars to keep cows from crossing. I pedaled hard to stay with Marla and Lisa. The sunlight pierced through the majestic pine trees, creating a cheerful, bright pattern on the bumpy path.
As the road became rockier, I became more nervous. I was having a hard time keeping my balance. I wondered if the rocks would puncture my tires.
“I think maybe we should go back,” I said.
“Why?” Marla asked. “Are you scared?”
I would never admit to my older sister that I was afraid. “No. I just don’t want to get a flat tire.”
“Well, you can go back if you want, but we are going to keep going,” she said.
“Bye,” I called as I turned my bike around.
“We’ll see you at home,” Marla said. “We probably won’t go too much farther.”
I started toward home, all alone. The patterns on the road did not seem so cheerful now. I was suddenly aware of the strange sounds coming from the dark forest. But knowing that the comfort of home was near, I pedaled on. I was almost to the cattle guard when I sensed someone behind me. “Marla and Lisa must have decided to come home too,” I realized with relief. “Now I won’t have to ride home alone.” Swinging my leg over my bike, I stopped and turned around to see where they were. Marla and Lisa were nowhere in sight, but walking straight toward me was a black bear!
I froze. My bike clanked to the ground. All the advice I had ever heard about bears rushed through my mind. Don’t run or it will chase you. You can never outrun a bear. I started to walk slowly backwards.
Make noise to scare the bear away. Yell and bang two rocks together. I scanned the ground near my feet—no rocks, just dirt. I clapped my hands as hard as I could. But I could not yell. My throat felt tight. The bear kept walking toward me.
Pray. Throughout my life I had been taught to pray. My Sunday School teacher had even asked us what we should do if we saw a bear, and she had emphasized prayer. I had been taught to pray with my head bowed and eyes closed, but that was impossible now. I kept my eyes on the bear and silently prayed: “Heavenly Father, please help me! Please save me from this bear! Please help me know what to do.”
Praying and clapping, I walked slowly backward toward the cattle guard. Maybe if a cow couldn’t cross it, a bear would have trouble too. Maybe it would trip, giving me a chance to run home! I stepped carefully across the widely spaced beams.
The bear snorted and drooled. I watched as it followed me easily across the cattle guard. It rose onto its hind legs. I stood horrified as the grunting bear came toward me with outstretched paws. It towered over me, and I could see its sharp, wet teeth. Suddenly, the bear swiped for my head! I screamed as its large, curled claws got tangled in my hair and jerked me to the ground. I jumped back up. The bear, on all fours again, bit my inner thigh and pulled me down. It started dragging me across the road.
By then, Marla and Lisa had found me. Marla tried to distract the bear, but nothing worked. In seconds, the bear had dragged me across the dirt road to the base of the mountain. It surely would have pulled me into the thick bushes, but suddenly my pants ripped. They tore into two pieces, from front to back, even through the elastic waistband. Miraculously, its teeth had not punctured my skin. I leaped up. “Run!” a voice said to my mind.
I ran toward Marla and Lisa, leaving the bear with my pant leg in its mouth. Pantless and wearing only one shoe, I ran as fast as an Olympic track star. I overtook Marla and Lisa, who were also running. We lunged into the bushes and raced toward the creek. The thorny brambles scratched my legs, but I didn’t slow down.
Without pausing or looking back, I crossed a barbed-wire fence and sloshed into the creek. I lost my other shoe when it got wedged under a log. Almost home, I plunged through the water and ran across the wet cow corral. I squeezed through a fence and sprinted up the porch steps and through the front door.
My parents bombarded me with questions when they saw me without shoes or pants and covered with scratches.
“What happened?” Mom cried.
“Where are your pants?” Dad asked. “How did you get all those scratches?”
Still afraid, I couldn’t catch my breath. Stuttering, gasping, and crying, I finally managed, “I … ah … buh … buh … bear!”
Marla and Lisa ran onto the porch, and Marla told Mom and Dad what she had seen. Trying to calm me, Mom helped me into a warm bath.
Later that evening, clean and safe, we discussed the terrifying event. My palms were blue with bruises from clapping so hard, and my legs were covered in scratches from the bushes, but I had no marks from the bear. Its claws had brushed my head, and its teeth had gripped my leg, but my skin had not been broken. If the bear’s claws had been any closer to my head or if its teeth had bitten into my thigh, I could have been seriously hurt and would not have been able to run away.
I know Heavenly Father heard my prayers that day, and I know I heard the voice of the Holy Ghost telling me to run. Heavenly Father blessed me with a miracle.
By Dawnell Griffin
Friend, Jun 2007, 20–22
(Based on a true story)
Love and help each other, be honest, kind, and true (Children’s Songbook, 59).
William’s heart beat a little faster. He knew it was wrong to tease the old blind shoemaker, but at the same time, it was exciting being out after dark with his friends. Even the fear of getting caught was not enough to make him turn back. William watched as the kerosene lamps were turned low inside the houses that lined the main street of their small town. The lights flickered and went out, but in one house a lamp continued to burn.
Wilhelm Dithmer sat on his front porch playing his clarinet.
William reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of pebbles. His bare feet padded quietly through the dirt along the side of the road, and he and his friends approached the house that was Wilhelm Dithmer’s home and shoe shop.
William let his small stones fly and watched as the man jumped at the sound of the rocks raining above his head onto the tin roof.
“Stop! Come back!” Wilhelm stood and waved his fist into the air.
The boys laughed and darted away. “See you tomorrow,” William called to his friends as he headed for home.
In the light of early morning, William lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. The thrill seeking of the night before was haunting in daylight. What was it his father had said about the shoemaker—something about him going blind because he had the measles when he was a boy? And had he really been an orphan in Denmark?
The day seemed longer to William than usual. What was this uncomfortable feeling? Still, after school he agreed to meet with his friends again that night.
As he crept up the street watching for the lights to dim, William heard the sounds of Wilhelm’s clarinet. The melody was high and mournful. William stopped a moment to listen. Every night, Wilhelm closed up the shoe shop and then sat on his porch to play his music. It had become almost a ritual, but tonight the notes ended abruptly. William listened, but the only noise was the croaking of the bullfrogs.
William drew back his arm to throw the stones in his hand, but suddenly someone grabbed his arm.
“Help!” William cried, but the other boys ran away. “Let me go!” William struggled to loose himself from Wilhelm’s grasp.
“I only want to show you something,” Wilhelm said.
William stopped squirming, curious why the man did not scold him or call out for the authorities. “What?” William asked.
“I want to play a song for you on my clarinet,” Wilhelm said. “But first, promise me that you will not run away.”
William didn’t know what to say. “I guess,” he said at last.
“No,” Wilhelm said. “Promise.”
“All right,” William said. “I promise.”
Wilhelm relaxed his hold. He led William to his front porch and sat down in his chair. William watched as Wilhelm took a deep breath and began to play his clarinet. The melody lifted soft and sweet into the night air.
William sat still and listened. What must it have been like to grow up alone in Copenhagen? How hard would it be to lose both a father and a mother? He couldn’t imagine leaving his home and traveling across the ocean by himself to a strange land where no one understood the language he spoke. All the heartache of Wilhelm’s life seemed to be played out in the notes that came from the clarinet.
Wilhelm finished. He placed the clarinet across his knees and waited for William to respond, but the boy was silent.
“What is your name?” Wilhelm asked.
William hesitated. He wanted to reach out and touch the clarinet, but if he told the man his name, he would surely get into trouble. Still, there were not many musical instruments in the town.
“My name is William,” he said. “Almost like yours.”
“Well then, William,” Wilhelm said with his strong Danish accent. “Would you like me to teach you how to play my clarinet?”
“You would teach me how to play?” William asked.
“I will teach you to play my clarinet. If you practice very hard and learn to play well, I may even help you buy one of these for yourself. Maybe we could start a band.”
“A real band?” William asked. “Like the ones that play at dances?” This wasn’t at all what he had expected.
Wilhelm nodded. “But you must stop raining pebbles on my roof. And you must come every day after school to practice.”
William did learn to play, and so did his friends. They played for high school dances. They played when the town put on their Christmas plays. They played in the outdoor pavilion on warm summer nights. Long after their school days ended, the band stayed together.
For years, Wilhelm gave free music lessons in the evening after working all day in his shop. When Wilhelm died, many of his students played music at his funeral. William, now a grown man, was one of them.
By Michelle Lehnardt
Friend, Jun 2007, 40–41
(Based on a true story)
Thou shalt go to the house of prayer and offer up thy sacraments upon my holy day (D&C 59:9).
“Hurry up, kids!” Dad called. “I found a sacrament meeting that starts in an hour.”
We had driven all the way to California for a week of going to the beach, sleeping late, eating lots of ice cream, and visiting amusement parks. But today was Sunday, and Dad had been on the phone looking for a ward for us to attend.
“It’s hard to get ready for church on vacation,” I thought. My dress was wrinkled, and my brother Mike had left his Sunday shoes at home. My little sister Ruthie kept turning on the TV and opening every drawer and closet in our small hotel room. Finally we were ready.
The drive to church was longer than we expected, and by the time we arrived, the deacons had just finished passing the sacrament. We quietly slipped into a back row and listened to the rest of the meeting. Even though we didn’t know any of the people there, it felt just like home. We sang “We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet,” and one of the speakers told a story I had heard in Primary the week before.
After the meeting, Dad disappeared for a minute. When he came back, he said, “I just talked to the bishop. Another sacrament meeting starts in 15 minutes. You can stay cozy right here.”
“What? Why? We just went to sacrament meeting!” Mike protested.
“Yes, but we missed the sacrament,” Dad explained.
“But we heard all the talks and songs. Dad, we’re on vacation,” I whined.
Dad thought for a minute. “Michelle, you remember your baptism, don’t you?”
“Yes.” I had been baptized a few months before.
“Well, you remember that Mom and the bishop gave talks, Mike played the piano, and Sister Tueller led the opening and closing songs?”
“Yes.”
“What was the most important part of your baptism? What were we all there for?” Dad asked.
“My baptism, of course!”
“Right. And taking the sacrament is the reason we come to sacrament meeting.”
I thought about how silly it would be to attend your baptism and leave before getting baptized. I realized that the sacrament must be even more important than I thought.
“Taking the sacrament is the most important thing we’ll do all week,” Dad said.
“More important than going to the beach?” Ruthie asked.
Dad smiled and pulled Ruthie onto his lap. “Even more important than going to the beach.”
We all chuckled. After all, we were on vacation.
By Jane McBride Choate
Friend, Jun 2007, 42–44
(Based on a true story)
Show forth good examples (Alma 17:11).
Lucius and his mother settled into a new home in a small town. Lucius’s dad had died the year before, and his mother had to work long hours to support the two of them.
Lucius didn’t know anyone at church. Some of the children at school looked at him strangely. He noticed that everyone at church and school was white. He looked at his own dark skin and, for the first time in his life, saw a color difference.
When his mother arrived at school one afternoon to walk Lucius home, some children threw rocks at them. One rock hit his mother in the head, and the gash started bleeding. Lucius ran inside the school and grabbed a paper towel. He darted back outside and pressed it to his mother’s head.
All the while, Lucius prayed as he had learned at home and at church. Tears crowded his eyes as he thought of how his mother had put him behind her, protecting him from the rocks with her own body.
“I’m fine,” she said, holding the paper towel against her head.
Lucius knew his mother would never complain. He put an arm around her waist while they walked home.
“I don’t want to stay here,” he said when they arrived. “You said that people here were nice, but they’re not.”
“We can be angry, or we can go on being friendly,” his mother said. “Remember that there are lots of good people in the world and right here in our town.”
That evening, Lucius saw people walking up the sidewalk to his house. They carried cakes and pies.
The first woman handed him a white cake. “Please take this and enjoy it,” she said.
Before Lucius could thank her, the next person in line gave his mother a chocolate cake. “We want you to know that what happened to you is not who we are.”
“Looks like we’re going to have a party,” his mother said. She smiled widely and cut into the chocolate cake. She continued serving pieces of cake and pie until every one had been fed. “I can’t think of a better way to celebrate our new home and new friends.”
Lucius never forgot his mother’s example. He graduated from high school and went to college. He wrote books about people getting along and looking beyond the color of their skin.
Years later, Lucius returned to the town where he had gone to school. A classmate who worked at his old school asked him to speak to the students.
Lucius told the story of the rock-throwing incident and his mother’s reaction to it. “You have the power to make a difference by deciding to love your neighbor,” he told the students. “Just as my mother did and just as Jesus taught.”
By Jane McBride Choate
Friend, Jul 2007, 4–5
(Based on a true story)
Fam’lies can be together forever through Heav’nly Father’s plan(Children’s Songbook, 188).
Carlitos wiped the tears from his eyes. His mamá had been sick for many months. At last Papá had convinced her to go to the city, many kilometers from their small village in Chile, and see a doctor. After many tests, the doctor said that Carlitos’s mamá had cancer.
Mamá refused to feel sorry for herself. “I still have much to do,” she said.
One day, two young norteamericanos (North Americans) appeared at the door of their small home. “We are from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” one said in halting Spanish.
Mamá listened intently and occasionally asked questions. She accepted the young men’s message immediately. “It is the truth,” she said.
Despite the disease that caused her much pain, Mamá was determined to be baptized and confirmed.
On Saturday morning the family traveled to the small meetinghouse where Elder Metzer baptized her. She shivered as she stepped from the baptismal font.
“Mamá, you are cold,” Carlitos said and wrapped his arms around her waist. “You must go home and get warm.”
Mamá shook her head. “It is not enough. I will stay until I am confirmed. How can I be cold when the gospel warms me?” She was confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Mamá was not content with just that. She was determined that Papá and Carlitos learn of the restored gospel as she had. “If you will pray, you will know the truth of which the missionaries speak,” she told them.
The elders taught them the gospel of Jesus Christ. Papá would have to give up his cigarettes. Carlitos listened to the elders’ teachings and felt peace wrap around his heart. He began to understand the warmth that Mamá had described.
Within a month Papá had stopped smoking. Shortly afterward both Papá and Carlitos were baptized and confirmed. A few weeks later Papá received the Aaronic Priesthood. Carlitos would have to wait three more years before he could receive the priesthood.
Mamá was very weak, but she always managed to go to church and visit those in the village who were sick.
“We are members of God’s Church, but it is not enough,” Mamá told Papá and Carlitos one night.
“What must we do now?” Carlitos asked. He loved learning about the gospel and wanted to live it in every way.
“We must be sealed in the temple,” Mamá said.
The temple in Santiago was the closest one to their home. But they did not have enough money to travel there. Any extra money Papá earned went to buy medicine for Mamá.
So Mamá started a temple jar. She placed it by the door. The coins she collected grew until the family had enough money to make the trip. In the temple their family was sealed for time and all eternity.
Mamá glowed with happiness. “It is enough,” she said.
By Meghan Decker
Friend, Jul 2007, 8–11
(Based on a true story)
If ye are prepared ye shall not fear (D&C 38:30).
“Come on downstairs, everyone!” Mom called. “It’s time for family home evening!”
Sarah reluctantly closed her book and joined her sister and brother as they went into the family room. Family home evening was fun, but she didn’t think it was as exciting as the adventure story she was reading.
After Dad welcomed everyone, Audrey led the family in a song and Tyler gave the opening prayer. Sarah waited for Dad to announce who was giving the lesson. Instead, he said, “We’re going to practice what we would do in an emergency. You have two minutes to get ready and be in the car. Get whatever you would need if you were going to be gone for three days. Go!”
Dad, Mom, Audrey, Tyler, and Sarah jumped up. Sarah dashed to her room, and then stood in the middle of it looking around. What would she need? Clothes! She pulled clothes out of her drawer and put them in a small bag. There wasn’t room for much more, but she stuffed her pajama pants in too, and then remembered her glasses case and the elastic bands for her braces. Would she need a blanket? Or a pillow? She grabbed both.
Two minutes isn’t very long, and Sarah didn’t feel ready when Dad said, “Get in the car, everybody! Bring whatever you have and let’s go!”
Sarah, Audrey, and Tyler ran out to the car, threw in their stuff, and piled into the seats.
Audrey called back into the house, “Mom, I forgot my tennis shoes—will you grab them on your way out?”
Tyler spilled sunflower seeds into his seat-belt buckle, and Dad had to help him dig them out so the seat belt could fasten. “Why did you bring an open bag of sunflower seeds?” Dad asked.
“That’s my food,” Tyler said.
The family van pulled out of the driveway a moment later. “How did we do?” Dad asked. “We got out in good time, but are we prepared for three days away from home?”
“Mom, you got me two different shoes,” Audrey complained. “I can’t wear these.”
“Sorry,” Mom said. “I was trying to pull all the coats out of the closet, and I couldn’t see the shoes very well. At least there’s a right and a left shoe, even if they don’t match.”
“I got some clothes and a blanket, but I forgot my contact lens case and a brush,” Audrey said. “I did remember my toothbrush, though.”
“Oops,” Tyler said. “I guess I’ll have to borrow yours. But I got clothes and a Book of Mormon—except it’s in French. I picked up the wrong one off the bookshelf.”
“I brought my coat too, because I didn’t know where we were going,” Sarah said. “I saw a flashlight in my room, so I brought that, but I didn’t get anything to eat.”
“We have food in the 72-hour (3-day) kits I put in the car,” Dad said. “Do you remember we put those together last year? And there are tents in the duffle bag. Those are always by the back door.”
“Dad, I know we have things ready, but I don’t know where everything is kept,” Audrey said. “Maybe you should show us where to find stuff in case you aren’t at home and the rest of us have to leave.”
“That’s a very good idea, Audrey,” Mom replied. “I’m not sure that I could find everything in a hurry myself. I knew I wanted to get important papers and my scriptures, but I wasn’t very organized. I grabbed bread and peanut butter and apples, but I didn’t have time to fill the cooler with water, so I just pulled jugs of apple cider and milk out of the fridge.”
“Ugh, warm milk?” Tyler asked.
“We’d have to drink it up fast,” Mom said. “Maybe we ought to put some sealed water containers in the garage, in case we need to leave quickly. I’d never thought of that before.”
“Why don’t we go get an ice-cream cone and talk about what we learned tonight?” Dad said.
“I know one thing I want to do,” Sarah said. “It took me a while to decide what to get. Even though I knew it wasn’t for real, I was still scared, and I had a hard time thinking of what I needed. I want to plan what I would gather up ahead of time.”
“I would definitely want a brush,” Audrey said.
“And I would want something more than sunflower seeds,” Tyler said.
Dad nodded. “Let’s all make a list this week of the things we would need if we had to leave suddenly and be gone for three days. Next Monday night we can go over our lists and decide how to get organized so we are prepared to grab items and go. We will probably never need to do that—but if we do, we’ll be ready.”
While she was eating her ice-cream cone, Sarah decided she had been wrong about something. She didn’t miss her exciting book at all tonight; family home evening could definitely be an adventure!
By Kimberly Webb
Friend, Jul 2007, 32–34
(Based on the life history of Louisa Mellor Clark)
He gave them bread from heaven to eat (John 6:31).
“There is enough food for only one more day,” the captain said. “Would you like to eat it all or divide it into smaller portions to last three days?”
The company agreed to divide the food. Louisa’s stomach growled as she and her family accepted their tiny portions. As a member of the Martin Handcart Company, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had enough to eat.
That night, the company gathered around the fire to sing. “And should we die before our journey’s through, happy day! All is well!” *
Louisa’s sister Elizabeth wiped away a tear.
“Are you worried about Mother?” Louisa whispered.
Elizabeth tried to smile. “A little. But remember Mother’s blessing?”
Louisa nodded. “Yes. It comforts me too.”
Mother had been sick before leaving England, and Father had helped carry her onto the ship. Mother had been given a blessing that promised she would live to see her children reach Zion. Though she improved during the sea voyage, pulling a handcart through the early winter snow and surviving on such little food had weakened her again. Every day she grew worse.
Staring into the dying fire, Louisa tried not to think about the snowy graves that had been dug for so many of her friends along the trail. Instead she thought about Mother’s blessing and the warm feeling of assurance she had felt. Mother, Father, and all six of her siblings—even the two-year-old twins—would make it to Zion safely. Louisa was sure of it!
The next morning, as they plodded through the snow, Louisa’s mother began to stumble.
“Go on without me,” she called to Louisa’s father. “I can’t go any further!”
“You have to keep trying,” Elizabeth pleaded.
It was no use—Mother’s strength was gone. She kissed each family member good-bye. Then she hobbled over to a boulder, sat down, and cried.
“The company can’t wait for us,” Louisa’s father said, his eyes filled with sadness.
Louisa tried to keep her voice steady. “Elizabeth, will you help Father take care of the others?”
Elizabeth’s eyes grew wide. “Louisa—”
“We can’t all stay here, and we can’t leave Mother alone to die,” Louisa insisted. “I’ll stay here. Don’t worry.” She tried to sound brave. “Heavenly Father will help us.”
As the weary company struggled past, tugging their sagging handcarts, Louisa sat next to Mother and watched them disappear over the ridge. Soon Louisa and her mother were alone, listening to the howling wind. Louisa’s skin prickled at the thought of howling wolves.
“I’ll be right back, Mother,” Louisa said. She walked down the trail a short distance and knelt in the snow. “Please, Heavenly Father, wilt Thou protect us from the devouring wolves? Wilt Thou grant Mother the strength to continue so we can reach camp tonight?”
Louisa remained on her knees, waiting. She thought of camp, its welcoming bonfire and loving family members huddled around it. She thought of Zion, still hundreds of miles away.
Even though the chilling wind blew, she felt a warm spot growing in her heart. Yes. Heavenly Father would answer her prayer.
Louisa hopped onto her sore feet and started back up the trail, but something lay in her path. She blinked in surprise. She squinted and crouched down for a better look.
There, in the middle of the road, was a perfectly made pie.
“Oh my goodness,” Louisa cried. “Manna from heaven!” Laughing, she snatched it up. It looked and smelled delicious, like the pies Mother used to make back home in England.
“Mother, I’ve found something!” Louisa called.
“What is it?”
Louisa’s eyes glittered above her rosy cheeks as she placed the pie in Mother’s hands.
She gasped. “Louisa, where did you get this?”
“I prayed for you, and Heavenly Father sent me a pie. I found it on the road.”
Tearfully, Louisa’s mother thanked Heavenly Father for the miraculous gift. She ate the pie and rested awhile.
“I’m feeling much better,” Mother finally said, pulling herself onto her feet. “The Lord doesn’t want us to give up, and I won’t—not ever again.”
Louisa grinned. “Let’s catch up with the others. We can still make it to camp tonight.”
After darkness fell, they met Louisa’s father coming back to look for them. He rejoiced that Mother had regained her strength.
For the rest of the journey, whenever Louisa’s mother felt like quitting, she remembered the gift of the pie and offered a prayer of thanks instead.
Louisa and her family prayed with gratitude all the way to the Salt Lake Valley, where they arrived together safely on November 30, 1856. Mother’s blessing was fulfilled, just as Louisa had always known it would be.
By Marianne Sorensen Lemon
Friend, Jul 2007, 46–47
(Based on a true story)
Take … the prophets … for an example (James 5:10).
Early Monday morning, five-year-old Ji-Woong jumped out of bed and changed into his Meteor Guy outfit. As he flew into the kitchen, he chanted, “Faster than light, stronger than steel, it’s … Meteor Guy!”
“Good morning, Ji-Woong. You’re up early,” Umma (Mother) said.
“Of course. I have to save the world!” Ji-Woong zoomed around the table.
Before lunch, Ji-Woong changed into his Ninja Lizard costume and pretended to climb the kitchen cabinets.
“What are you doing now?” Umma asked. She dished up sticky rice, kimchee, and pot stickers.
“I have to rescue someone on the 20th floor. I’m Ninja Lizard!” Ji-Woong shouted. He concentrated on his important mission.
By late afternoon, Ji-Woong was dressed as the Korean Eagle. “Come on, Little Eagle,” he called to his trusted sidekick. “The city is in danger!” He charged outside with his golden cape billowing behind him.
After dinner, Ji-Woong and his family gathered in the living room for family home evening. Ji-Woong was still wearing his Korean Eagle costume.
“Tonight, we’re going to talk about a hero,” Appa (Father) said.
“Oh, wow!” Ji-Woong exclaimed. “Which one? Ninja Lizard? Meteor Guy? The Korean Eagle?”
“Those are characters in comic books and cartoons,” Appa said.
“Yeah, and they’re terrific!” Ji-Woong said. “They can climb and fly, and they save people all the time.”
“Actually, honey, they are just make-believe. Right?” Umma asked.
Ji-Woong nodded. “Yes, they are just made up, but I wish they were real. I want to be like them.”
“The hero I’m going to tell you about is a real person,” Appa said. “He helped save his family from starving in the wilderness, and he made a boat to help them sail across an ocean.”
“Oh, I know who it is,” Ji-Woong said. “It’s Nephi! I didn’t know he was a hero.”
“He certainly is, and you can be like him.”
“But I want to be a superhero and have lots of power.”
“Did you know that Nephi had tremendous power?” Appa asked.
“He did?” Ji-Woong was amazed.
“Of course. He prayed and was led by the Spirit through the streets of Jerusalem to obtain the brass plates.1 He prayed and received power from the Lord to shock his brothers.”2 Appa held up a picture of Nephi shocking his brothers. “Later, he prayed and a terrible storm ceased.”
“How did Nephi get his power?” Ji-Woong asked.
“The Lord gave him power because Nephi was a righteous man who prayed in faith,” Appa explained. “You too can pray and then follow the promptings of the Holy Ghost. Heavenly Father will help you know when people need help.”
“And then I can rescue them!” Ji-Woong said happily.
The next day, Ji-Woong woke up early and rushed outside. He found some sticks in the yard and brought them into the kitchen.
“What are the sticks for?” Umma asked.
“I’m going to make a bow and arrow so I can be like Nephi,” Ji-Woong said. “After all, he’s a real hero.”
By Marilynne Linford
Friend, Aug 2007, 6–7
(Based on a true story)
I want to be a missionary now. … I want to share the gospel while I’m young (Children’s Songbook, 168).
Six-year-old John sat intently listening in Primary as two missionaries talked to the children about missionary work. They explained that Jesus Christ wants every member of the Church to tell people about His true Church.
The missionaries told the children that they were not too young to be missionaries. They could give a copy of the Book of Mormon to relatives or friends who didn’t belong to the Church. And they could also invite them to church or ask them if they would like to have the missionaries teach them about the gospel.
The missionaries asked the children to think of someone they would like to tell about the true Church. Then they challenged the children to talk to that person about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints that week.
John knew exactly whom he wanted to tell about the Church. He loved Grandma Linford very much and wanted her to know about Jesus Christ’s true Church. Grandma did go to church, but not to the church that John and his family went to. He thought carefully about how to ask Grandma to come to church with him.
A few days later, John and his family drove to Grandma’s house. Grandma greeted John and his two sisters, Rachel and Rebecca, with hugs. Soon everyone was busy talking and helping get dinner ready. John couldn’t wait until after dinner to ask his question; it was too important. He whispered to Grandma: “Could I talk to you alone for a minute? I have a very important question to ask you.”
Wiping her hands and looking deep into John’s eyes, she said: “Of course. Let’s go into the living room.”
As Grandma sat down, John’s heart started pounding. Would Grandma listen to his question? Would she come to church with him? He was trying to do what the missionaries had suggested. He had to be brave enough to tell others about Jesus Christ.
“Grandma, will you come to my church sometime?” John asked.
“Well, Sundays are pretty busy days for Grandpa and me, but we’d be happy to go to your church with you,” Grandma said.
“That’s great,” John said. “We belong to the true Church and I want you and Grandpa to belong to the true Church too. We have a prophet and the Book of Mormon and CTR rings.”
Suddenly, John thought he had said too much because Grandma got tears in her eyes. Then she hugged John, kissed him on the cheek, and thanked him for telling her about his Church and inviting her to come. Before Grandma could get another word out, John asked her if she would read the Book of Mormon and listen to the missionaries.
“You are the best missionary ever,” Grandma said. “I love you so much!” Then she hugged him again. Grandma asked John what ward he went to. John said the Third Ward. Grandma said that she and Grandpa went to the 11th Ward. Grandma asked John what church he belonged to. He said, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” Grandma said that she and Grandpa belonged to that same church too. John looked confused. Grandma explained that there are thousands of wards all around the world and each one is part of Jesus’s true Church. Not all of Jesus’s followers could fit in one building, but they could all learn His true teachings in a ward where they live. She told John that after dinner they could drive to see the sign in front of her ward building that said “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” It looked just like the sign at John’s ward building.
John hugged Grandma and said, “Oh, Grandma, I’m so thankful that we are both members of Jesus’s true Church!”
By Terry Reed
Friend, Aug 2007, 18–20
(Based on a true story)
Touch no unclean thing (Isaiah 52:11).
Beads of sweat trickled down Tad’s face as he dragged the lawn mower’s grass catcher through the gate into the alley. All Tad could think of was a drink of cold water on this hot Saturday. As he opened the metal garbage can to dump the grass clippings, he saw a magazine lying at the bottom.
Tad reached down to pick it up, and as he pulled it out, his arm brushed against the hot metal edge of the can. Ouch! He straightened up and looked at the magazine in his hand. On the cover was a smiling woman who was immodestly dressed.
Tad remembered Dad warning him about magazines with this kind of picture. Someone must have dropped the magazine in the trash can as he or she walked through the alley.
“Tad, would you like something to drink?” Mom called from the back porch.
Tad’s heart suddenly sped up. He knew he should leave the magazine in the trash, but he wasn’t ready to let it go.
“I’ll be right there, Mom,” Tad yelled back. He quickly rolled up the magazine and stuffed one end into the top of his jeans and pulled his shirt over it. He dumped the grass clippings and walked back through the gate. Mom handed him a glass of lemonade.
“Thanks, Mom,” he said.
“Thank you for mowing the lawn,” Mom replied. “You need to come inside now. Your face looks flushed from the heat.” She turned and walked back to the house.
Tad knew that his face was probably red from the fear of being caught. As he was putting his empty glass in the kitchen, Dad suddenly walked in. Tad jumped.
“Hey, Tad! Got the yard done?” Dad asked.
“Yep.”
“I could use your help fixing the car right now,” Dad said. “How about it?”
“Sure,” Tad said. “I’ll be right there.”
“Thanks,” Dad said and walked out the door.
“Whew! That was close,” Tad thought. He hurried to his bedroom and shut the door behind him. He pulled out the magazine. His hands trembled as he looked for a place to hide it. Tad shared the bedroom with his younger brother Alex, and he didn’t want him to find the magazine. Tad pulled a chair over to the closet. Climbing up and looking at the highest shelf, he spied an empty cardboard tube that used to hold his telescope. He slid the magazine into the tube, then pushed it toward the back of the shelf. A feeling started gnawing at him that if he needed to be sneaky he was doing something he shouldn’t. Tad pushed the feeling away and went outside to help Dad.
The rest of the day was so busy that Tad had to ignore the magazine. He was frustrated, and he felt confused too. On Sunday, as he got ready for church, he grew more and more uncomfortable. He had a dark feeling that he couldn’t shake.
“Why did I keep it?” he thought. “Why didn’t I just leave it where it was?”
In Primary, Tad’s class talked about choosing the right and, for the boys, preparing for the priesthood. Tad was deep in thought on the way home. He decided that on Monday after school he would burn the magazine. He felt better already.
When Tad got home from school on Monday, he hurried to his room. “The sooner I get this done, the better!” he thought. But as he turned the corner he almost tripped over a stack of books on the floor. A strong, fresh smell of paint caught his attention.
Tad peeked into his room and saw Mom sitting on his bed. Painting supplies were scattered across a big cloth on the floor. When Mom looked at Tad, he knew she had found the filthy magazine.
Tad’s heart started pumping faster. “What are you doing to my room?” he asked.
“I wanted to start painting it, and I had a strong feeling that I should start in the closet first,” Mom said. She motioned for Tad to sit by her. She put her arm around him and didn’t say anything for a few seconds. “The Holy Ghost wanted me to find what you had hidden in your closet.”
Tad hung his head. He was afraid of what his mother must think of him. Tears welled up in his eyes.
“Where did you get it?” Mom asked sternly.
“It was in the garbage can in the alley,” he said. “Saturday afternoon.”
“Did you look at it?”
“No, Mom, I didn’t. On Sunday, well, it just didn’t feel right. I decided to burn it after school today.”
“Oh, Tad, I’m so glad to hear that!” Mom pulled him to her in a close hug. “I’ve been so worried about you all day. Heavenly Father was worried about you too. He didn’t want you to look at that pornography because it would have put bad images in your mind.”
“I’m sorry, Mom,” Tad said. He felt so ashamed.
“I can see you are, Tad. I’ve been thinking all day about the wonderful gift of the Holy Ghost and the voice of warning He can be.”
Tad was glad his mother had listened. He resolved that next time he would listen too.
That night as Tad knelt by his bed, the smell of paint still hung in the air. He saw how good his closet looked without the scuff marks, smudges, and fingerprints. Even though the filthy magazine was in his closet for only a weekend, those two days had felt like the longest, yuckiest days of his life. As Tad began his prayer, he knew the first thing he would thank Heavenly Father for was his mom.
Margaret McNeil’s Great Escape
By Britney Rule
Friend, Aug 2007, 34–36
(Based on a true story)
Pray without ceasing (1 Thessalonians 5:17).
As I walked along the trail, prairie grass rippled in the breeze like gentle ocean waves. My cow turned aside to eat some grass that was dry and brown from the heat. “Get back here!” I called. “We can find you better grass than that.”
Although the wind was cool and pleasant, I was hot from carrying my four-year-old brother, James. He had the measles, and Mother, who was not feeling well, had tied him onto my back with her shawl. I could feel hard knots of muscle forming in the sore spots on my back, but I had no choice but to keep moving. The wagon train would pass us by if we stopped.
Our family cow started to wander off again, and I ran after her. Making sure she got enough to eat was an endless process. But we needed the milk, and I was determined to make it to Zion safe and sound even if I had to herd a cow and carry my little brother the whole way.
That night in camp I milked the cow and laid James down to sleep. I doubted that he would, but I was determined to get as much rest as I could before his sickly cries woke me. Unfortunately, I was nudged before I even had a chance to drift off to sleep. Father, still wearing his dusty trail clothes, was standing there with a concerned look on his face.
“Margaret, did you tie the cow to the wagon?” he asked.
Our cow was nowhere to be seen, and I soon found myself back on the prairie. We started out looking near camp, but there was no trace of her. I left the search group and walked over a small hill near the river. The air was full of the chirping of crickets and the rustle of wind in the grass. I was barefooted, but the evening was warm and the prairie dirt was hard and dry, so I didn’t mind.
Suddenly the ground turned soft beneath my feet—and moved! I froze, working up the courage to look down. When I did, I wished I hadn’t. I was standing in a bed of snakes! They slithered all about my feet, their scales glinting in the rising moon. I grew weak at the knees and almost fainted into the writhing mass, but I forced myself to stiffen. What should I do?
I decided to say a prayer. It was short, but definitely sincere. Immediately after saying “amen,” I jumped sideways. Heavenly Father must have blessed my leap, because I landed just clear of the snakes. I ran off a ways and collapsed.
I had barely caught my breath when I heard my father. “Margaret!” he called. I ran to the sound of his voice and threw my arms around him. “Are you all right?” he asked.
I smiled up at him, but I didn’t let go. “I’m fine now,” I said. I told him my story as he took me back to the wagons. I was so grateful to be safe that when I saw our cow I gave her a kiss on her disobedient nose.
We arrived safely in Utah on October 4, 1859, thanks to Heavenly Father’s watchful care. And, as always, the cow was by my side.
By Ruth Kathryn Day
Friend, Aug 2007, 42–43
(Based on a true story)
Jaymee was bored. There was nothing to do … nothing fun, anyway. She looked at her coloring book and crayons.
“I’m tired of coloring,” she thought.
Jaymee looked at her dolls with their colorful dresses, shoes, and purses.
“I’m tired of playing with my dolls,” she thought.
She looked at the books and magazines on her shelf.
“I’m tired of reading,” she thought.
Jaymee walked into the family room and looked at the television.
“I’m tired of movies and TV shows,” she thought.
Jaymee wandered around the house and found her mother in the kitchen washing dishes.
“Mom, I’m bored,” she said. “What can I do?”
“I can’t think of anything for you to do right now, Jaymee,” Mom said, squeezing a sponge into the hot, soapy water.
Jaymee found her brother Matthew in his bedroom. Toys, books, and clothes were scattered on the floor.
“Do you want to play, Matthew?” she asked.
“I have to clean my room right now,” he said. He picked up a truck and dropped it in the toy box.
Jaymee went outside. Mrs. Johnson was weeding her garden. She wiped her brow with a small towel, bent down, and pulled another weed. Jaymee didn’t even ask Mrs. Johnson if she wanted to play.
No, there was nothing to do. Nothing at all.
Jaymee sat down on the front porch. She started to think about what her Primary teacher had taught them. Jesus Christ had helped people, and He talked about how important it was to be a good neighbor. Jaymee smiled. She wanted to be like Jesus. She got up and hurried back into the house.
“Mom, can I help you?” she asked.
“Yes, Jaymee.” Mom handed Jaymee a dishcloth. “It would be a big help if you dried the dishes.”
When the dishes were done, Jaymee went to Matthew’s room.
“Matthew, can I help you clean your room?” she asked.
He looked surprised and said, “Yes.”
She picked up clothes, blocks, trucks, and books. At last they were done.
“Thanks, Jaymee,” Matthew said.
Jaymee went outside and saw Mrs. Johnson still weeding the garden. Jaymee went back into the house, poured a glass of cold lemonade, and took it to Mrs. Johnson.
“What a thoughtful thing to do,” Mrs. Johnson said. “Weeding makes me so hot and thirsty.” She finished the lemonade. “You are such a wonderful neighbor, Jaymee,” she said.
Jaymee smiled, and then they finished weeding the garden together.
By Jane McBride Choate
Friend, Aug 2007, 46–48
(Based on a true story)
Cameron watched from his home as the flames grew closer. An out-of-control forest fire had been burning for six days. Cameron and his dad used hoses to wet down the sides of their house. Smoke clogged the air, its thick haze stinging their eyes.
The next morning, they listened to the news on the radio. Cameron’s parents exchanged worried looks.
“We have to evacuate,” Dad said to Cameron and Mom. “Take what you can.”
They went through the house, gathering up family pictures, scriptures, and genealogy records. Cameron looked out the window and saw a line of trucks and cars coming toward their house. “Mom, I think I see the bishop’s truck,” he said.
His mother came to stand beside him. “You’re right.”
“How did they know we needed help?” he asked.
“They’re our friends,” she said, her eyes shiny with tears. “They must have been listening to the radio too.”
The bishop and others helped Cameron’s family carry out the boxes they had packed.
Their family stayed with friends that night. In the morning when it was safe, they returned to their home and gathered up more of their belongings. With the help of their friends from the Church, Cameron’s family stored their furniture in different homes and garages all over town.
Within the next few days, the temperature dropped and the wind died down. Cameron’s home remained untouched by the fire.
“I think the worst is over,” his dad said.
With the danger of the fire past, Cameron and his parents returned to their home. It was smoky inside, and a thick layer of soot covered everything. Cameron’s mother knelt down and motioned for him and Dad to do the same. “The first thing we need to do is offer a prayer of thanks,” she said.
Mom said the prayer, and all three remained on their knees for a few minutes afterward. Cameron quietly wondered why Heavenly Father hadn’t stopped the fire before it nearly ruined their house.
Mom rolled up her sleeves. “We’ve got work to do.”
Once more, their friends returned, this time with mops and buckets, soap and rags. They scrubbed walls, mopped floors, wiped down counters, and washed linens. Men carried in the furniture and arranged it in the rooms. Cameron worked alongside his dad and the other men, all the while watching and listening.
The workers took a break only once, when Cameron’s mother and some of her friends served lunch picnic-style on the floor.
“We don’t know how to thank you,” his dad said to their friends at the end of the day.
The bishop smiled. “You’ve already done it.”
“That’s right,” one of the other men added. “You would have been there if we needed you.”
For the first time in a week, Cameron and his parents sat down to dinner in their own home. After the blessing on the food, Cameron couldn’t keep his question to himself anymore. “Why didn’t Heavenly Father stop the fire before it got so close to our home and made everything so dirty?”
“Heavenly Father did stop the fire,” Mom said. “He also sent friends to help us. That’s how He works—through His servants.”
Cameron thought about how hard everyone had worked to help his family. He smiled. Though many years passed, he never forgot the example of service and friendship his Church family had shown him.
By Ray Goldrup
Friend, Sep 2007, 4–6
(Based on a true story)
Let all your things be done with charity (1 Corinthians 16:14).
Marcus watched the crackling campfire as he listened to his father’s lesson.
“We should all follow Jesus Christ’s example so we can be happy,” Dad said to the family. They were sitting on logs around the fire. “It’s very important for each of us to show charity toward others,” he said.
“What’s charity, Dad?” Marcus asked.
Dad added more wood to the campfire. “Charity is the pure love of Christ,” he explained. “We cannot be saved in the kingdom of God without it.”
Marcus looked confused. Dad looked around at their family and asked, “Can each of you think of an example of charity, to help Marcus better understand what it is?”
Mom turned a marshmallow over the fire on a stick. “When Mrs. Clanton fell and hurt her hip, I helped do chores around her house,” she said.
Tanner told how last week he helped the deacons quorum collect food and clothing for some of the city’s poor and homeless.
Ashley had befriended a neighborhood girl whom other girls ignored.
“Dad helped fix Mr. Johnson’s roof because Mr. Johnson is in a wheelchair,” Mom said.
“Does taking care of Jo-Jo count?” Marcus asked. Jo-Jo was his hamster. “I feed him and change his water and give him a new sock for his bed.” Marcus bit into a toasty marshmallow.
“Any act of kindness or service we do for someone—including Jo-Jo—is charity,” Dad said.
“I want to do stuff for somebody bigger than Jo-Jo, like you and Mom and Tanner and Ashley do,” Marcus said. “But I’m too little, I guess.”
“You don’t have to be big to help someone, do you, Marcus?” Dad asked. “Or to have your prayers answered?”
Marcus smiled. “No.”
“Why don’t you ask Heavenly Father to help you find someone you can help, and when the time is right, you’ll know it.”
“How will I know it?” Marcus asked.
Ashley reached over and wiped a smear of marshmallow from the side of Marcus’s mouth. “You’ll feel it about as deep down inside you as that marshmallow you just ate,” she said.
Later that night, Marcus lay curled up in his sleeping bag. He listened to the tree branches rub against the outside of the tent. “Heavenly Father, please help me find someone I can help,” he prayed. “I’m just a little kid, but Dad said you don’t have to be big to be kind or helpful to others. I help Jo-Jo and my family by being kind and doing my chores, but I want to do something for somebody else. Jesus helped lots of people, and I want to be like Him.”
One Saturday afternoon two weeks later, Marcus worked alongside his mother in their flower garden. He noticed their next-door neighbor sitting alone in her front-porch swing. She looked sad. “Mom, what’s the matter with Mrs. Walton?” Marcus asked.
Mom straightened up from bending over the flowers and looked at their neighbor. “Mr. Walton died almost a year ago, and she misses him very much. Some days are hard for her, and it looks like this is one of those days.”
Marcus stood up and looked at Mrs. Walton across the low hedge that separated the two yards. He felt a feeling deep inside him. It got bigger and warmer just like the campfire did when his father added more wood to it. “Can I pick one of our big yellow flowers and give it to Mrs. Walton?” Marcus asked.
Mom smiled and nodded.
A few moments later Marcus stood in front of Mrs. Walton. She looked surprised. Marcus held out the flower to her. “This is for you,” he said.
She took the flower and then looked at Marcus. He climbed into the swing and sat beside her. He didn’t say anything. He just smiled. Mrs. Walton patted Marcus’s hand, and the two of them sat there together and listened to two red birds singing in her maple tree. Then Mrs. Walton looked at Marcus again. He was still smiling.
“You’ve got miles and miles of smiles,” she said. “Did you know that?” Marcus kept smiling. “Your smiles came at a time when I most needed them. Thank you.”
That night Marcus put clean bark shavings in his hamster’s cage before going to bed. “Jo-Jo, today I worked with Mom in the flower garden, and I helped Mrs. Walton be happy. It made me feel happy too. I don’t have to be big to help others. I can be like Jesus right now.”
By Helen Hughes
Friend, Sep 2007, 10–11
(Based on a true story)
Bless them that curse you (Luke 6:28).
I will never forget the day my mother taught me how to love a mean lady.
She was my neighbor, and I was afraid of her. She had long white hair that stuck out everywhere, and she was missing some teeth. Her name was Maggie.
We lived in a yard of seven little cottages. (In England, a yard is a tiny street.) Because there was only one way out of the yard, we had to pass Maggie’s cottage every day on the way to school. If she saw us, she would come to her door and shake her fists and shout. We couldn’t understand a word she said, but she seemed angry and scary. Everyone ran past Maggie’s house or tried to avoid it.
Everyone, that is, except my mother. She seemed to be the bravest person in the world because she wasn’t afraid of Maggie one bit. She even went into her cottage! If Maggie was sick, Mum took her dinner. If Maggie was lonely, Mum went and talked with her. Mum said that sometimes she even understood what Maggie was saying.
One day I was walking home from school when I saw Mum in the yard with Maggie. Maggie’s clothes were hanging on our washing line. As usual, Maggie was pointing and shouting. Then she stomped off.
“What’s wrong?” I asked Mother. “What was she saying?”
“Oh, I’ve done her washing for her, and she says it isn’t clean,” Mum said.
I gasped. Mother’s washing was always very clean. “How could she say that? She’s so ungrateful! You should never help her again!”
Mum turned to look at me, and I could tell that she was thinking carefully about what to say. Finally, she said something that I will always remember.
“Love, I don’t do things for her so that she’ll be grateful. I do them because she needs me to do them.”
Mum went on to explain that Maggie hadn’t enjoyed the same good things in life that we had. Sad things had happened to her that made it hard for her to think and act properly. She needed people to show her love and care, and not pay attention to how different she was.
I realized that Maggie was a very important person. She was one of the “least” that Jesus spoke about when He said, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these … ye have done it unto me.” *Not only did Maggie need us to help her with everyday work, Heavenly Father also needed us to show her that she was loved. When we unselfishly served Maggie, we served Heavenly Father too. My mother understood this, and I’m glad she took the time to teach me.
By Jennifer Rose
Friend, Sep 2007, 16–18
(Based on a true story)
Ev’ry star is diff’rent, and so is ev’ry child (Children’s Songbook,142–43).
My knees shook a little and my stomach fluttered as I stood with Mom in the office of my new school. I straightened my shirt and tried to see my reflection in the glass door. My family had just moved from another state, and now here I was on my first day of fourth grade. Would I make friends here? I wondered. Would they like me? Was anyone going to sit by me at lunch?
A lady walked out from behind the counter and gave me a big smile. “Hi, Christina, I’m Mrs. Collins. I’ll take you to your class.”
I nodded. Mom bent down and gave me a hug. “You’ll be fine,” she whispered in my ear. “I’ll see you after school, OK?”
I nodded again, afraid that if I said anything, I would start to cry. Mom left the office and walked down the front steps of the school. I felt like running after her, but Mrs. Collins put her hand on my shoulder and led me down a long hallway. I glanced into classrooms and saw a few kids looking out the door at us as we walked by. Would any of them be my friends? We finally came to my classroom, and Mrs. Collins introduced me to the teacher. Mrs. Murphy smiled. “We’re glad to have you in our class, Christina,” she said. “You can sit next to Melissa.”
She pointed out a girl and I made my way to the empty desk next to her. I slid into my seat and smiled a little at Melissa. “Hi,” I said softly.
She smiled a little too. “Hi.”
I took a deep breath and tried to slow down my racing heart. Some of the kids turned around to look at me. I heard whispering and a few giggles, and I felt my face turning red. Did they not like me already?
A little while later, the class visited the school library. I tried to stay close to Melissa, but she went with a different reading group. Most of the girls quickly sat down at the round tables with their friends and favorite books. There wasn’t anywhere for me to sit, so I pretended to look at different books as I walked up and down through the rows of shelves. When I came to the end of one row, I was right in front of a table of girls. I recognized one of them from my new Primary class. I swallowed hard and smiled. Maybe they could be my friends.
Suddenly, the girl closest to me leaned back in her chair, as if she were trying to get away from me. “Why is your skin dark?” she asked.
“Um. …” I didn’t know what to say.
“Why do you look different?” another girl asked.
“What are you?”
I tried to smile at their questions, but the girls weren’t smiling at me. They looked like they were smelling rotten food. Just then Mrs. Murphy walked in. “OK, class, it’s time to go back to the room.”
I didn’t look at anyone as we walked back to the classroom. For the rest of the day, I peeked at kids around me and tried to see why those girls thought I was different. None of my old friends thought I was different. No one at my old school had ever asked me what I was, and I didn’t know how to answer. I was me, that’s what I was.
I looked at my arm, and then at Melissa’s arm resting on her desk. My arm was a lot browner than hers. I scooted close to my desk and hid my arms underneath it.
“How was your day?” Mom asked when I got home from school.
“Mom, why is my skin dark?”
“Why do you ask?”
“A girl in my class asked me why. These girls wanted to know why I look … different.” I started to cry.
Mom pulled me into her arms and wiped the tears off my cheeks. “Oh, honey, everybody’s different. It’s not a bad thing.”
“Those girls aren’t different,” I said. “They all look the same. They all have blonde hair and blue eyes.”
“All of them?”
I thought about the girls in my class. “Well, no. But why is my skin darker than theirs? I didn’t think I was different. Those girls think there’s something wrong with me.”
“There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you,” Mom said, hugging me tight. “Do you remember the stories about my ancestors?” she asked.
I sniffed and shrugged.
“Grandma and Grandpa Ruiz are from Texas, but their parents’ families came from Mexico. They had beautiful skin like yours. When we put my ancestors and Dad’s ancestors together, you come from all over! Mexico, Scotland, Spain, England, and probably other places we haven’t found in our family history yet. You are the best combination you could be!”
“I don’t want to be different than kids here,” I said.
“Why not?”
“Because I want to have friends.”
Mom frowned. “Do you want to have friends who hurt your feelings like those girls did?”
I thought about it, and then shook my head. “I’ll try to find friends who like me for me.”
The next morning at school, Melissa looked up at me as I put my backpack next to my desk. I looked at her, afraid of what she might say. Was she going to ask me why I looked different?
“Hi, Christina,” she said. “Do you want to play with me and Sarah at recess?”
I grinned and nodded. Melissa’s blue eyes shined as she tucked her blonde hair behind her ears, but I noticed her wide smile the most.
By Darlene YoungDarlene Young
Friend, Sep 2007, 20–22
(Based on a true story)
With hands now pledged to do thy work, we take the sacrament(Hymns, no. 169).
James carefully straightened his tie as he rode to the stake center. Today was his little sister Angie’s baptism, and he knew he needed to look as nice as he could. He looked over at Angie. She was sitting very quietly, looking out the window. He wondered if she was scared or excited.
James remembered his own baptism day. He had been so excited to finally step into the font. He remembered how warm the water felt, and especially how warm he felt inside. He was happy for Angie.
But he was also a little bit jealous.
Wouldn’t it be nice if people could be baptized more than once? What if he could ask his father to let him put on some white clothes too, go down into the water, and be washed clean?
James thought about the promises he had made when he was baptized. He knew that he hadn’t been as good as he had planned to be. Sometimes he was mean to Angie. He had told a few lies. Last week he even took his friend’s Frisbee without asking and hadn’t returned it yet.
James began to feel sad. If only he could get baptized again so that he could start over! He would do better this time; he knew it.
At the stake center, James sat next to his mother and watched his father help Angie into the water. She looked happy. James remembered that feeling. Maybe if he told his father about the things he had done wrong, he could get baptized again. But he didn’t dare ask.
After Angie’s baptism, the whole family had dinner together. Angie was beaming. Grandma and Grandpa were there too, looking proud of Angie. James thought about how sad they would feel if they knew the things he had done since his own baptism. He didn’t feel very hungry.
“What’s wrong, James?” Dad asked, putting his hand on James’s shoulder. His face was full of love. Would he understand and let James get baptized again? Or would he be disappointed in his son?
James leaned over so no one else could hear him. “Dad, can I get baptized again?”
Dad looked closely at James. “Well, that’s not exactly how things work, James. Is something bothering you?”
“Well, it’s just that sometimes I want a chance to start over again.”
“Ah, I see. Are you remembering your own baptism day?”
“Yes.”
“I understand that. Sometimes I wish I could get baptized again. But you see, James, I don’t have to.”
“Why? Because you haven’t done anything wrong?” James asked.
Dad smiled. “Like you, I wanted to keep all the commandments when I was baptized. But I have done many things wrong since then. Just yesterday I lost my patience when you didn’t do your chores right away, remember?”
“Yes.”
“I really wanted to erase my mistake as if it had never happened.”
“So you wanted to get baptized again?” James asked.
“Well, I did want to be clean again,” Dad said. “But I knew that there was another way to get clean again besides getting baptized. I could repent.”
“Is that all?” James asked. “I mean, is repenting the same as getting baptized again?”
“Yes, but there is another part too. Being baptized when you’re eight is something that you do to show obedience and make a covenant to keep the commandments. After that, when you sin, you need to repent and show you really mean to do better.”
James smiled. “You mean by taking the sacrament?”
Dad nodded. “When you take the sacrament you are showing Jesus that you have repented of the things you did wrong that week. And then, as you eat the bread and drink the water, you become clean, and you are ready to start over.”
James remembered the words of the sacrament prayer. Each week he promised to take Jesus Christ’s name upon him—just like when he was baptized. “So I am clean if I repent and then take the sacrament?” he asked.
“That’s exactly right,” Dad said.
“Wow.” James was quiet for a minute. Tomorrow was Sunday. He could take the sacrament then! But he had some work to do first. He wondered if Mom would let him take the Frisbee over to his friend Mark’s house after they got home.
“Dad?”
“Yes, Son?”
“I’m sorry for not doing my chores yesterday. Will you forgive me?”
Dad smiled and hugged James. “Of course I will.”
Put the Wheat in the Buggy and Go
By Kimberly Watrin
Friend, Sep 2007, 34–35
(Based on a true story)
“Mother, what are we going to have for dinner tonight?” Eliza quietly asked. She was hungry, and she knew that her mother had given her and her brothers and sisters the last of the potatoes for lunch.
Her mother didn’t answer. Eliza’s hope fell as she watched her mother scurry around the small kitchen looking for a little flour or wheat to feed her family. As Eliza’s stomach rumbled, there was a knock at the door. When Eliza’s mother opened the door, there stood a pretty lady carrying two small children.
“Sister Peterson, please come in. What brings you by?” Eliza’s mother asked.
Eliza had seen Sister Peterson at church. She knew her husband owned a large farm and that their family always wore nice clothes.
Sister Peterson set her two children on the floor. “I was scrubbing my floors and tending to my children when a quiet thought came into my mind: ‘Put the wheat in the buggy and go.’ I ignored the thought and continued tending to my children,” she explained.
“A few minutes later I heard the voice again: ‘Put the wheat in the buggy and go.’ This time the thought was a little louder. I told myself that this was a silly thought. Where would I go with the wheat? I ignored the voice again and went back to my work.
“A third time I heard, ‘Put the wheat in the buggy and go.’ This time the voice was so loud that I looked around the room to see if my husband had come in from working in the fields. But no one was in the room except my two small girls who can’t speak yet. I decided that I should listen, that maybe the Holy Ghost was giving me a prompting.
“I bundled up my two small children, filled the buggy with bags of wheat, and hitched the horses to the buggy. I didn’t know where to go. I held the reigns loose and let the horses lead me. They brought me straight to your house. Could you and your family use this wheat?” Sister Peterson asked.
Eliza’s mother wept as she looked around their small house filled with young children. She replied: “My children were hungry and I didn’t know what I was going to feed them for dinner. We have no food in our house. Thank you for listening to the Holy Ghost.”
That night Eliza went to bed with a full stomach. She thanked Heavenly Father in her prayers for sending Sister Peterson to their house with food.
By Kersten Campbell
Friend, Sep 2007, 46–47
(Based on a true story)
Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain (Exodus 20:7).
“Hurry!” seven-year-old Ryan called to his friend Ben as they burst through the door of Ryan’s house. He and Ben walked home from school together every day, and Ben stayed at Ryan’s house until his mother got home from work.
“Hi, Mom,” Ryan said, grabbing a slice of banana bread off of the counter.
Ryan’s mother smiled and handed Ben a slice of his own. She gave Ryan a hug as both boys dropped their backpacks and sped into the computer room. The boys were allowed 20 minutes of computer time when they came home from school, and they couldn’t wait to play their favorite game.
“It’s my turn first,” Ryan said. He flopped into the tall red chair and slid “Monster Trucks” into the computer. It was Ryan’s favorite game, and they played it every day.
“Yeeee-ha!” Ben shouted as he watched Ryan’s blue computer truck jump over three cars. Ryan gunned the truck up the side of a tall mountain.
Ben jumped up and down and yelled whenever Ryan’s truck did any death-defying stunt. But as Ben got more excited, he began yelling words that made Ryan frown. Ryan cringed as Ben took the Lord’s name in vain.
The day before, Ryan had spoken to his mother about Ben’s language.
“Ben and his family aren’t members of the Church,” his mother had explained, “so he doesn’t understand that it’s bad to say those words.”
Still, hearing Ben swear took all the fun out of the game. Then Ryan had an idea. What if he taught Ben that it was wrong to take the Lord’s name in vain?
The next time Ben swore, Ryan stopped playing and turned to face his friend. “It’s not nice to say those words,” he said.
Ben looked surprised.
Ryan moved out of the chair so Ben could take a turn on the computer. He said, “It’s called taking the Lord’s name in vain. It’s like insulting Him, and it hurts me to hear you do it.”
Ben shrugged. “Sorry. I didn’t know. I’ll stop saying them.” Then he grabbed the computer controls and clicked on his red truck.
Ben used good language for the rest of the afternoon, and Ryan’s smile grew bigger and bigger. He and Ben were best friends, and he was sure that Ben would try hard not to take the Lord’s name in vain again. Now this wouldn’t stand in the way of either their fun or their friendship.
By Darlene Young
Friend, Oct 2007, 8–10
(Based on a true story)
Godly sorrow worketh repentance to salvation (2 Corinthians 7:10).
Josie loved her new rain boots. They were bright pink, and when she walked they said squinch, squinch. She especially liked to jump into puddles because they made a big splash all over the sidewalk.
Josie’s sister Lucy didn’t like Josie’s boots quite so much. “Stop splashing me, Josie!” she said as they walked home from school. Lucy was two years older, and she had forgotten how much fun it was to splash.
Josie wanted Lucy to have fun too. “You try it, Lucy,” she said. “See how big I can splash?” And Josie stomped extra hard into the nearest puddle. The water splashed all over them. Josie was glad she had her raincoat on.
“Josie!” Lucy yelled. Lucy was not wearing a raincoat. She was very wet. And very angry. “Look what you did! This is my new jacket! Why do you always act like such a baby!”
Lucy was no fun. Why was she always so grumpy? It served her right that she got all wet. She was silly to wear her new jacket today when she should have worn her raincoat. Suddenly, Josie was angry at Lucy.
Josie ran ahead to the next big puddle and waited by it until her sister caught up to her. Then she jumped into the puddle as hard as she could.
“Josie!” This time Lucy was really, really wet.
Josie ran the rest of the way home and went right to her bedroom. A few minutes later, Mom knocked on the door and came in.
“Josie?” she said. “Lucy says you splashed muddy water all over her new clothes on purpose. Do you want to tell me about it?”
There was a hard, cold lump in Josie’s tummy. She didn’t want to tell Mom what had happened. “I didn’t do it on purpose,” Josie said, but she didn’t look at Mom. The lump in her tummy was getting bigger.
“Are you sure?” Mom asked. “Because I don’t think Lucy would lie about this.”
“Well, she must be lying,” Josie said. But her voice was a little shaky.
Mom was quiet for a few minutes. Then she said, “Well, even if it was an accident, you should apologize. Lucy’s new jacket is very dirty now, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to get it clean. She’s sad about that.”
Josie kept her head down, picking at the little knots on her quilt. “OK, Mom,” she said.
Mom left Josie alone in her room.
Josie wandered around her room feeling yucky inside. Her new boots were in a corner, still wet. She tried to look at a book but she couldn’t keep her eyes on the pictures. She got out her paper dolls, but they weren’t any fun.
The yucky feeling inside was getting worse.
Finally, Josie sat down on her bed and cried. She knew she had told a lie. She knew she shouldn’t have splashed Lucy. She had been naughty and she felt terrible about it. But how could she fix things now?
Just then, Mom knocked on the door again. “Josie?”
“Come in,” Josie said.
“Josie, I can see you are very sad.”
“Oh, Mom,” Josie sobbed. “I did splash Lucy on purpose. I did it because I was mad. But I shouldn’t have. And I shouldn’t have lied. I’m sorry, Mom.”
Mom held Josie tight and patted her back. “You must feel pretty terrible right now,” she said.
Josie nodded. She felt muddy inside, like Lucy’s jacket.
“I know a way to make that awful feeling go away. And you do too. In fact, you’ve already started by telling me what happened. Now what should you do?”
“But, Mom, I don’t want to talk to Lucy.”
“You don’t want that yucky feeling to be with you forever, do you?”
“Maybe she’ll forget about it,” Josie said.
“She might, but I don’t think you will,” Mom said. “If you don’t repent of the things you do wrong, they stay inside you, and they change you into a different kind of person than you want to be. But if you take care of them as soon as you can, they don’t stay with you. They disappear so that you can be your real self.”
Josie thought about it. She didn’t want to become a mean person. Even though she had been mean to her sister, she could erase that and be her better self. That sounded pretty good, but it didn’t sound easy.
“But it’s hard,” she said.
“You’re right,” Mom agreed. “Admitting you did something wrong and asking for forgiveness is one of the hardest things you’ll ever do. But I know you can do it, Josie. It’s worth it.” Then Mom went out.
Josie looked at her poster of My Gospel Standards. It said: “I will choose the right. I know I can repent when I make a mistake.” She knew she had to talk to Lucy. She knelt to ask Heavenly Father for both forgiveness and courage.
Lucy was in the kitchen eating popcorn.
“Lucy?”
“Yes.” Lucy didn’t even look at Josie. This was going to be even harder than Josie had thought.
“Lucy, I’m sorry I splashed your new jacket.”
Lucy didn’t say anything. She just looked down.
Josie took a deep breath. “I’m going to help Mom clean it. And I’m sorry that I told Mom I didn’t do it on purpose. I told her a lie. Will you forgive me?”
Lucy sat still for a few seconds. Then she took a deep breath and looked at Josie. “Yes, I’ll forgive you.”
All at once the yucky, heavy feeling in Josie’s tummy went away. She felt as clean as her new rain boots had been. She felt hungry too. “Can I have some popcorn?” she asked.
“Sure, Sis,” Lucy said. She smiled as she handed Josie the bowl.
By Susan Denney
Friend, Oct 2007, 16–17
(Based on a true story)
They did fast much and pray much (Alma 45:1).
Jake’s coaches and teammates crowded around his hospital bed. “Thanks!” he said as he opened their presents—books about his favorite sport, baseball.
“Get well, OK?” one of his teammates said.
“We need our shortstop back!”
“Yeah, we need you!”
Jake smiled as they waved good-bye. He liked the baseball books but he didn’t really feel like reading them. He didn’t feel like watching TV. He didn’t feel like doing anything. Sick with pneumonia, his throat and chest ached every time he coughed. He was so weak he had tubes attached to his arms delivering medication to his bloodstream, and whenever he stood up to go to the bathroom, his head hurt and he got dizzy.
Jake didn’t get better the next day or the next. The sicker he got, the stranger his surroundings seemed. The people in the room looked fuzzy. He wasn’t sure who they were. He didn’t know if it was night or day.
“He’s not acting like himself,” he heard his mother say.
He wondered what that meant, but he didn’t really care. All he knew was how weak and uncomfortable he felt and how much he wanted the pain to go away.
Finally, Jake fell asleep. He didn’t know how long he slept, but it seemed like days had passed when he finally cracked open his eyes. He was starting to feel better. Two days later, he was well enough to go home.
“What happened to me in the hospital?” Jake asked his mom during the car ride home. “I don’t remember much after the baseball team came to visit me.”
“You were too sick to know what was going on,” Mom said. “You were delirious.”
“Delirious? What does that mean?”
“Your fever was so high you couldn’t think straight,” Mom explained. “I knew you must be really sick when you yelled at the nurse.”
Jake was shocked. “I yelled at a nurse?”
“Yes,” Mom said. “You didn’t want to take the medicine she was giving you. I told her it wasn’t like you to be so impolite. That night you started mumbling and saying strange things in your sleep. I called for the doctor to come quickly, even though it was the middle of the night.”
“What did he say?” Jake asked.
“He discovered that you had meningitis in addition to the pneumonia. I was so frightened when he said that there wasn’t anything more they could do.”
Jake felt like he had swallowed a rock. He had been really sick! “Then how did I get better?” he asked.
Mom smiled. “I believe it’s because Dad gave you a blessing, and the ward members fasted for you. The bishop asked everyone to fast and pray for you last Sunday.”
“Everybody in the ward didn’t eat or drink for a whole day because of me?” Jake said.
“That’s right. They also prayed. The people who fasted used their faith and asked Heavenly Father to help you get well. Even Maddie fasted for you.”
Maddie was Jake’s friend from down the street.
“But she’s not much older than me,” Jake said.
“It was her first fast. She really wanted you to get well.”
Jake stared quietly down at his hands. “I can’t believe everyone in the ward would do that for me.”
“They were happy to do it, Jake.”
Jake smiled. “So fasting really works,” he murmured.
After a week of rest, Jake returned to school and the baseball team welcomed their shortstop back. Jake never forgot the people who had fasted and prayed to make him well. He knew he had been part of a fasting miracle.
By Marianne Sorensen Lemon
Friend, Oct 2007, 32–34
(Based on a true story)
To be baptized as Jesus was … Is just the thing I want to do (Children’s Songbook, 104).
“That was excellent! You are certainly ready for the recital, Gideon,” said Mrs. Allen, Gideon’s violin teacher.
Gideon smiled. He enjoyed playing his violin. After he put away his instrument, he looked through Mrs. Allen’s collection of stickers.
“I think I’ll take this shiny one,” he said, holding up a “Happy Birthday” sticker for Mrs. Allen to see.
“That’s right! It’s almost your birthday, isn’t it?” Mrs. Allen asked.
“Yes, and not just any birthday. This one is extra special,” Gideon said. He stuck his new sticker on the cover of his music book. “I’m going to be eight years old, and you know what that means?”
“No, I don’t know what it means.” Mrs. Allen looked confused.
“It means that I can be baptized,” Gideon said.
“Oh, you weren’t baptized as a baby?” Mrs. Allen asked.
“No. In our church we are baptized when we turn eight. That’s when we know right and wrong and can choose between them,” Gideon explained.
“I guess that makes sense,” Mrs. Allen said. “I never thought of it that way.”
“I have an idea!” Gideon said. “Why don’t you come to my baptism and then you can see what I mean?”
Mrs. Allen was interested, so Gideon told her when and where he would be baptized.
On the day of his baptism, Gideon and Dad dressed in white pants and shirts. Gideon smiled as his mom took pictures. Then he saw Mrs. Allen and went to greet her. “I’m glad you could come,” he said.
“I’m happy to be here,” she said. She shook hands with Mom and Dad. They sat together while Brother Roberts conducted the meeting.
As Gideon sang and listened to the talk on baptism, he paid close attention to the words. He hoped Mrs. Allen would understand why he was being baptized at age eight.
Then it was time to be baptized. He went down into the font with Dad, listened carefully to the words of the baptismal prayer, and bent his knees to go under the water. When he came up, he wiped water from his eyes and smiled at Mom and Mrs. Allen.
He and Dad changed their clothes and slipped quietly into the row beside Mom and Mrs. Allen. They were watching “The Touch of the Master’s Hand” from the Family Home Evening video. It was about a violin that gets damaged, but then is repaired by the man who made it. Gideon noticed Mrs. Allen wiping her eyes as she listened to the poem and watched the master play the old violin.
After the video someone spoke on the gift of the Holy Ghost. Then Dad confirmed Gideon.
“Did you like my baptism?” Gideon asked Mrs. Allen following the closing prayer.
“It was wonderful!” Mrs. Allen said. “Now I understand why your church waits until age eight to baptize children.” She smiled. “I liked the video too, but it was awful watching that beautiful violin get damaged!”
“I know,” Gideon said. “But I’m glad it was fixed in the end. It’s kind of like repentance. I’m clean now, but when I make mistakes I can be fixed, just like that violin.”
Mrs. Allen laughed. “What a good way to think of it. I’ll remember that every time I play my violin.”
By Julie C. Donaldson
Friend, Oct 2007, 38–40
(Based on a true story)
“I’ve got it!” Lindsay yelled as she ran backward. The red rubber ball fell with a whump into her outstretched arms, and her friends cheered. Lindsay loved playing kickball at school. She loved running to kick the ball, rounding the bases, and trying to get home before someone got her out. She also liked catching the ball to get the other team out.
Lindsay looked to see who was next to kick the ball. Molly stood in front of home base, shuffling her feet and looking down at the ground. Long, tangled brown hair hid her face. Her clothes were dirty and didn’t fit, and her shoes had holes in them. Lindsay and Molly were in the same Primary class at church, but they weren’t really friends. Actually, nobody seemed to be friends with Molly. Most of the kids made fun of her, and sometimes Lindsay made fun of her too when Molly wasn’t around.
As Molly waited to kick the ball, some kids started whispering and giggling. The pitcher rolled the ball toward home base. Molly kicked and missed. Some of Lindsay’s teammates cheered while Molly’s team groaned. The pitcher rolled the ball again. Molly ran and kicked as hard as she could—and missed again! This time, Carrie, one of the school bullies, laughed loudly. “She can’t even kick a ball!” she yelled. Lots of other kids joined in the laughter. Carrie and a couple of her friends started yelling mean things about Molly’s hair and clothes and the way she ran.
Molly looked sadder and sadder as more children made fun of her. She seemed to scrunch up inside of herself and wouldn’t look up from the ground. Watching Molly, Lindsay felt sick to her stomach and wanted to make the bullies stop. But what could she do? She thought about the family home evening lesson her mom had given the night before. They had talked about how Heavenly Father loves all of His children and wants them to love each other. She thought about the song they sang: “I’m Trying to Be like Jesus.” Mustering her courage, she called out, “Leave her alone!”
It was suddenly quiet as everyone turned to look at Lindsay. Carrie and her friends stopped laughing, and one of them yelled, “What did you say?”
“I said leave her alone,” Lindsay repeated. “She’s doing her best.” Lindsay held her breath while she waited to see what the girls would do. Carrie and her friends whispered to each other for a minute. Then they started yelling mean things about Lindsay! They made fun of her clothes, her hair, and the way she played kickball. Lindsay started shaking and felt tears drip down her cheeks. Then the bell rang for school to end.
Lindsay ran all the way home and cried as she told her mom what had happened. “Mom, I was trying to be like Jesus and think about Molly like He does. I thought I was choosing the right, but I got made fun of! It’s not fair!”
Her mom stroked her hair. “You did choose the right, honey, and it isn’t fair. But choosing the right doesn’t mean that nothing bad will ever happen to you. Just think about Jesus.”
Lindsay remembered that Jesus had always chosen the right, but people made fun of Him, spit on Him, and even crucified Him. “Then why should I try to be like Him if bad things are going to happen to me?” she asked, wiping away a tear.
Mom hugged her close. “Bad things might happen to you, but I promise you that wonderful things will happen when you follow the Savior,” she explained. “How did you feel when you stood up for Molly?”
“I was scared, but at the same time I felt good inside. I knew I was doing the right thing.” Lindsay started to feel a little better. “You know what, Mom? When those kids were saying all those mean things about me, I thought, ‘This must be how Molly feels a lot of the time.’ And it’s terrible! I’m never going to say mean things about her again.”
Just then the doorbell rang. When Lindsay answered it, she saw Molly standing on the porch, shuffling her feet and looking nervous. “I wanted to thank you for standing up for me during kickball,” she said.
Lindsay’s heart filled with happiness. Suddenly the bullies didn’t seem to matter that much. “You’re welcome,” Lindsay said. “Do you want to stay and play?”
Molly smiled, and Lindsay didn’t notice her clothes or shoes or hair at all. When she looked at her, she only saw a friend.
By Sheila Kindred
Friend, Oct 2007, 44–45
(Based on a true story)
He who loveth God love his brother also (1 John 4:21).
“There’s the steeple!” Natalie called out. She loved going to church. Sunday was her favorite day of the week, except for one thing—she was sad that her brother, Michael, chose not to go to church with the rest of the family.
As Natalie sat quietly during sacrament meeting, she thought about Michael. When he used to come to church, Natalie liked to sit next to him while she looked at her picture books about Jesus. After sacrament meeting, Michael would take her hand and walk her to Primary. “See you later, Sis,” he would always say. But Michael hadn’t been to church in a long time.
Natalie wished she could tie him up with her jump rope and pull him to church in her little red wagon, but she knew he wouldn’t like that. What else could she do?
In Primary, Sister Chang greeted her class cheerfully. “I am so glad you are all here today,” she said. “It makes me happy to see your smiling faces. But who is missing?”
Natalie looked around the room. She raised her hand. “Jed,” she called out. “Jed isn’t here today.”
“You are right,” Sister Chang said. “Jed wasn’t here last week either.”
“Maybe he’s sick,” Lisa suggested.
“Maybe he’s on a trip,” Boyd said.
“Maybe he just didn’t want to come,” Natalie said quietly.
“We need to let him know we love him and miss him when he’s gone,” Sister Chang said.
“How can we do that?” Natalie asked.
“We’ll tell him,” Sister Chang said. “Little things can often make a big difference. I made a card for you to sign, and you can each draw a special picture for Jed.”
Natalie decided to draw a picture of a mountain and trees because she knew that Jed liked the outdoors. And then Natalie asked her teacher if she could draw another picture to take home.
When Natalie got home from church, she found Michael in his room listening to music. “Hi, Sis,” he greeted her. “What’s up?”
Natalie handed him a folded piece of paper. “I made you a card.”
“For me?” Michael smiled. “Why? It’s not my birthday or anything.”
“Sister Chang helped me write the inside. It says, ‘I miss you when you don’t come to church with us. I love you.’ And I signed my name.”
“Thanks,” Michael said softly. “It’s a nice card. You did a good job.”
“You’re welcome.” Natalie gave her brother a hug and hurried off to help Mom fix dinner. She felt happy inside. She loved her brother so much, and now he knew it too.
The following Sunday, Natalie was so excited when Michael decided to go to church. She held his hand as they entered the chapel. She sat quietly next to him during the service. Natalie saw Jed sitting two rows up and gave him a little wave.
Natalie loved going to church, especially when all her friends and family were there. She decided that from now on, if she missed someone, she would say so, because sometimes little things can make a big difference.
By Marianne Monson
Friend, Oct 2007, 46–47
(Based on a true story)
Pray unto the Father with all the energy of heart (Moroni 7:48).
“Mom, will you make me a hard-boiled egg to take to the park?” Nathan asked.
“Sure,” Mom said. “Pull out the pan, please.”
Nathan took a pan out of the cupboard and carefully filled it with water. Mom helped him carry it to the stove, gently placed an egg in the water, and turned on the flame. Nathan loved hard-boiled eggs. Mom set the timer and then hurried to gather the other things they needed for the park.
“Please put your shoes on,” Mom told Nathan and Aria.
Nathan helped his little sister tie her laces. “We’re going to the park!” he told her. He held her hand and led her to the car. Mom helped them get their seat belts on, and they were on their way.
At the park, Aria liked following the ducks. Nathan threw sticks into the stream on one side of the bridge and watched the water carry them out the other side.
“Can I have my egg now?” Nathan asked.
Mom’s face froze with fear. “Oh no!” she said. “Your egg!” She jumped up from the bench and picked up Aria. “Nathan, I need you to run really fast. We left the egg on the stove and it could start a fire! We need to get home right away.”
Mom started running back toward the car. Nathan ran as fast as he could. As he ran, he thought about something he learned in Primary: “I can pray anywhere. I can pray anytime.”
“Well, I guess I can pray even when I’m running,” Nathan thought. He kept running, and inside his head he thought, “Dear Heavenly Father, please bless our house to be safe. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
As soon as Nathan finished his prayer, he felt a warm feeling in his heart. He knew that it was the Holy Ghost letting him know everything would be all right.
“Mom!” Nathan said.
“What?” Mom slowed down a little.
“I just said a prayer in my heart and I felt a really warm feeling. I think our house is going to be OK.”
Mom stopped running and smiled. “Nathan, I am so glad you told me about your prayer. I feel much better now because the Holy Ghost always tells the truth.” Mom took Nathan’s hand and they walked to the car.
When they got home, the pan still had bubbling water in it. “It is a running-prayer miracle,” Mom said.
Nathan smiled. His heart felt warm and full. He knew that Heavenly Father had answered his prayer. “Mom, can I have my egg now? I think it’s probably done.”
Mom and Nathan laughed.
By Michele H. Mirabile
Friend, Nov 2007, 4–6
(Based on a true story)
Let the peace of God rule in your hearts, … and be ye thankful (Colossians 3:15).
Eliza was hungry. Her stomach churned and rumbled so loudly she was certain everyone at the table could hear it. But no one paid any attention. They were all too busy pushing the small portion of greens around on their plates, and waiting for their mother to sit down so they could say the blessing.
It had been a long winter, and the growing season in their small farming town had been too short, leaving little money for food and supplies. Now the Forsyth family was going hungry. For the past three weeks, all they’d had to eat was pigweed. Eliza didn’t want to complain, but pigweed was yucky and she didn’t want to eat it anymore.
“Do we have to eat this again?” she asked, poking at the stringy greens with her fork.
“Count your blessings, Eliza,” Father said in a quiet voice. “Be thankful that you have something warm to fill your stomach. It’s more than a lot of people have right now.”
Eliza hoped she hadn’t made her father feel bad. He worked so hard to take care of their family. It wasn’t his fault that they were having hard times.
“Soup’s on,” Mother said, carrying a large pot to the table. “Move your elbows and pass your bowls.”
Eliza’s stomach grumbled in anticipation. Her mother made the best soup in town, and she couldn’t wait to sink her teeth into a sweet carrot or meaty potato.
But as she watched her mother fill the bowls with hot, steaming liquid, Eliza’s heart sank. There were no carrots in sight. No potatoes. No beans. No meat of any kind. Just rocks. There were rocks in her soup!
At the sight of the stones in the bottom of her bowl, her eyes filled with tears and she groaned. “I’m hungry, Mother. Don’t we have anything else to eat?”
“Yuck,” said Eliza’s sister Agnes as she plucked a large brown chunk from her bowl. “What’s this?”
“That’s part of Uncle George’s saddle,” Mother said, looking around the table at the faces of her unbelieving family. “He doesn’t need it anymore, so I cut it up and boiled it to give the soup some flavor. Just set it aside. It’s not for eating.”
“What are the rocks for?” asked Neal, scrunching up his face as he pushed the rocks around with his spoon.
Mother smiled. “Those are just for fun. Now please fold your arms. Eliza, will you bless the food?”
Eliza didn’t want to. She wasn’t grateful for weeds and rocks and boiled saddles.
“Don’t forget to thank Heavenly Father for keeping us safe, and for giving us so many blessings,” Mother said.
Eliza looked into her bowl of rock soup, then around her at the bowed heads of her family. Despite the long, cold winter they had endured, all of them were safe and healthy. They had a house to live in, clothes to wear, and plenty of firewood to keep them warm. And in spite of their suffering, they were kind to their neighbors and each other. Mother was right. They really did have much to be thankful for.
“Thank Thee, Heavenly Father, for the food our mother has prepared,” Eliza prayed.
She thanked Him for the pigweed that grew plentifully on the farm.
She thanked Him for the rocks that covered the west pasture, because without them, they wouldn’t be having rock soup.
And she thanked Him for her family and the love they shared.
When Eliza finished her prayer, she had a warm feeling and knew that Heavenly Father loved her.
When dinner was over, the aching emptiness of her stomach was filled with the best soup Eliza had eaten in a long time.
By Patricia and DeWayne Warnock
Friend, Nov 2007, 10–12
(Based on a true story)
He gave him tithes of all (Genesis 14:20).
“I can’t go to church on Sunday!”
Jene looked up in surprise when she heard those words coming from her older brother, Rolf. On Rolf’s feet were shoes that were too worn out to wear anymore. His toes stuck out from under torn leather. Ragged ends of broken shoelaces dangled uselessly. These were the only shoes Rolf had.
“I can’t walk around in these anymore,” he said. “And I can’t go to church or to town without shoes.” He flopped down on the floor and rested his chin in his hands.
Mother walked over to the kitchen cupboard and pulled out a jar. The children knew what was in that jar—tithing money.
Holding out a few dollar bills, Mother said: “This is all the money I have. It’s enough to pay tithing on what your father was paid the last time he found work.” They all stared at it for a minute, and then she added, “It would be enough to buy shoes, but I can’t do both.”
She put the money back in the jar and sat down at the kitchen table. “I need to think about this for a while,” she said.
For a long time the children played quietly, trying not to disturb their mother while she sat at the table. Finally, she stood up and walked toward the door. “I don’t know what Rolf will do for shoes,” she said quietly. “But I’ll feel better if our tithing is paid. I’ll go take the money down to the bishop’s house right now,” she said.
Jene ran out the door behind her. “Can I go too?” she asked.
“Yes, come along if you want,” Mother said.
Jene and her mother silently walked the six blocks to the bishop’s house. As they reached the door, her mother took the money out of her pocket and looked at it one more time. Jene saw the worried look on her mother’s face.
“Come in, come in,” Bishop Johnson said, smiling at them. He shook Jene’s hand and thanked her mother when she handed him the money. Then he said, “I know it’s not easy sometimes to pay tithing, but the Lord blesses us when we do.”
On their way home, Jene and her mother saw their neighbor Mrs. Colgrove coming out her front door. She waved for them to come over to her front gate. As they got closer, Mrs. Colgrove held out a pair of leather shoes to Jene’s mother.
“I’ve been meaning to bring these over to you,” she said. “I thought maybe one of your children could use them.”
Mother looked at the shoes with amazement. Jene clapped her hands happily as she realized they looked very close to the size Rolf needed.
Finally Mother was able to speak. “Thank you … thank you so much,” she said, rubbing the soft leather.
Jene took off running toward home. Bursting through the kitchen door she shouted: “Rolf, Rolf! You have new shoes!”
Rolf jumped up, looking puzzled. Jene pointed outside to their mother who was walking into the yard holding the shoes. Soon Mother was explaining to Rolf where the shoes had come from.
Rolf quickly put them on and marched around the room to show how well they fit. Picking up the old pair of raggedy shoes from the floor, he said, “Now we can dump these in the garbage where they belong!”
“Oh no,” Mother said, taking the shoes out of his hands. “These are very special shoes,” she said. “They need to be kept in a special place.”
Jene and Rolf followed her to her bedroom and watched as she opened a big wooden chest.
“Why would you want to put those old shoes in there?” Jene asked.
With a tear in her eye, Mother answered: “These shoes need to be kept forever. Whenever we look at them we’ll remember that the Lord blesses us when we pay our tithing.”
Jene and Rolf grew up and had children and homes of their own. When their mother died, Jene was given the wooden trunk full of special things. The shoes are still in there and are taken out from time to time so that children and grandchildren can hear the story about the lesson learned long ago from a pair of old, worn-out shoes.
By Rebecca Wilkinson
Friend, Nov 2007, 28–30
(Based on a true story)
All thy children shall be taught of the Lord; and great shall be the peace of thy children (Isaiah 54:13).
Jayson slumped in his seat. “This is so boring,” he thought. “I’m too old for Primary.” He looked around at the other children. Some were smiling or nodding. They actually looked interested in what Sister Simmons was saying. “How could anyone enjoy this?” he thought glumly.
For several months Jayson had dreaded Primary. He didn’t mind class so much; his teacher involved everyone with fun lessons. But singing and sharing time just weren’t interesting anymore. The lessons were for younger children, and the songs he used to love now seemed childish.
Jayson had talked with Mom about the problem. She told him that Primary was for everyone and that if he tried hard to listen, there would always be something just for him. Mom was almost never wrong, but this must be an exception.
He glanced at the clock—still 20 minutes to go. He started looking for ways to make the time speed up. He folded up his class handout. Pretty soon he started swinging his feet back and forth. Just as he was about to see how long he could hold his breath, Jayson heard something amazing. “I made a big mistake,” Sister Simmons said.
“Well, this is new,” Jayson thought. “Teachers don’t talk about their mistakes.”
“When I was 12 years old I had some friends who used bad language,” Sister Simmons said, “and I noticed that whenever I got mad a swear word would pop into my head. I wasn’t worried, because I knew that I wouldn’t actually say the words. But one day I got mad during recess and took the Lord’s name in vain. I felt so sad! I couldn’t believe that I had crossed the line between words in my head and words in my mouth.”
Jayson sat up straight, the clock forgotten. Sister Simmons told how she had talked with her parents that night and asked her father for a priesthood blessing. The bad words didn’t go away immediately, but as she crowded them out with good thoughts, they came less often. After a while, they went away completely.
Jayson couldn’t believe it! He had been having exactly the same problem. Lots of his friends at school swore, and cuss words always seemed to be floating around in his head. Just the other day he had called a boy a bad name for kicking a ball over the school fence. He felt terrible afterward! But he didn’t have the courage to ask his parents for help. He was afraid they would forbid him from hanging out with his friends.
Sitting there in Primary, he suddenly stopped being afraid. Sister Simmons had faced the problem, and so could he. Her parents had understood, and so would his. Maybe he could even get a blessing from his dad, just like Sister Simmons had. A happy feeling came over him, and he felt better than he had in weeks.
The next thing he knew, the closing prayer was being said, and all the other children were leaving the Primary room. Jayson sat thinking a few moments, then slowly got to his feet. He noticed that Sister Simmons was giving him a worried look. “Are you OK?” she asked.
Jayson grinned. “I’m great actually, and my mom was right as usual. Primary really does have something for everybody—if you just keep listening.”
By Debbra B. Nance
Friend, Nov 2007, 34–35
(Based on a true story)
Be thou humble; and the Lord thy God shall lead thee by the hand, and give thee answer to thy prayers (D&C 112:10).
Suzy gripped my arm and dragged me into an empty classroom.
“Debbie, I think I’m going to die.”
“Now look, Suzy,” I said, loosening her fingers from my arm, “I don’t think you can die from giving a talk.”
“But my heart is pounding and I feel sick,” she said. “Maybe I’m going to have a heart attack.”
“Calm down and tell me what I can do to help,” I suggested. Suzy is my best friend. She and I and the other 12-year-olds who were advancing to Young Women had been asked to give talks at a program. It was starting in only a few minutes.
“Maybe you could help me run away,” Suzy said hopefully.
“Suzy, you’re the bishop’s daughter. Everyone expects you to be there. I think they would notice if you were gone.”
“There must be something I can do,” Suzy said as she paced between the door and wall.
“What exactly is the problem?” I asked.
“I didn’t prepare my talk the way I usually do and I don’t have any notes.” She stopped and turned to face me. “My dad said I’m old enough to give a talk from my heart. Now I’m terrified and I won’t remember anything.”
“Can’t you talk to him again?” I asked.
“It’s too late. He said whatever I said would be fine. But I’m afraid I’m going to make a fool of myself. I think the only solution is to run away.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. I knew there must be a better solution to Suzy’s problem. Suddenly a thought came to me. “Come on,” I said, pulling Suzy with me. We went down the hall away from the Primary room toward the chapel. “Let’s go in here and say a prayer,” I said softly. “Then things will be all right.” I opened the heavy door and we peeked inside. The room was empty and a little light shone from somewhere up front.
Suzy and I tiptoed into the chapel and dropped to our knees. I told her I would pray. I asked Heavenly Father to bless Suzy to be able to give her talk, and to bless her with the Spirit so she would be calm and know that He loved her. I don’t remember what else I said. What I do remember is the warm feeling that surrounded me as we knelt in the chapel. I knew without a doubt that Heavenly Father loved Suzy and would help her, and I knew that Heavenly Father loved me too.
After a few moments we got up from our knees and headed to the Primary room to give our talks. Suzy did fine without notes. I will never forget the feeling of complete love that surrounded me as we knelt in the darkened chapel to ask Heavenly Father for help.
Nine Lepers and a Thank-you Note
By Jane McBride Choate
Friend, Nov 2007, 46–47
(Based on a true story)
During Primary sharing time, Sister Keddington held up a picture of Jesus with the ten lepers.
Shaun knew the story. It was one of his mother’s favorites, and she told it often in family home evening.
“Who can tell us this story?” Sister Keddington asked.
Shaun raised his hand. “Jesus healed ten men who had leprosy. But only one remembered to thank Jesus for curing him. The other nine walked away without saying anything.”
“How do you think that made Jesus feel?” Sister Keddington asked.
“Sad,” Shaun said.
Sister Keddington nodded. “I think Jesus felt very sad when the other nine men walked away without thanking Him.”
Shaun thought about last Sunday when his mother had asked him to write a thank-you note to his grandparents for the birthday gift they had sent him. Shaun had been too busy playing with his new game to take time to write them.
Then he thought about Jesus’s disappointment with the men who didn’t show their gratitude to Him. Was that how his grandparents felt because he hadn’t bothered to thank them for their gift?
His grandparents lived almost 2,000 miles away. Shaun didn’t get to see them very often, but he knew that they loved him, just as he loved them. His grandma wrote him every week, and his grandpa always had a new joke to tell Shaun when they phoned each Sunday night.
After Shaun’s family got home from church, he didn’t stop in the kitchen for a snack as he usually did. He hurried to his room and pulled out a notebook of lined paper.
Shaun spent a long time writing the note to his grandparents, making his letters in neat cursive. He thanked them for the gift and told them how much he loved them.
When he finished, he read the letter again. Satisfied with it, he ran downstairs and found his mother. “Mom, do you have an envelope and stamp I can use? I wrote the thank-you note to Grandma and Grandpa.”
His mother smiled. “I know they’ll be glad to get it.”
With her help, Shaun addressed the envelope and slipped the letter inside.
“There’s someone else who deserves our gratitude as well,” his mother said.
Shaun knew she meant Heavenly Father. Before Shaun went to sleep that night, he knelt by his bed and thanked Heavenly Father for the many blessings He gave Shaun and his family every day.
The Most Unusual, Quite Remarkable, One-of-a-Kind Christmas Stocking
By Geraldine T. Fielding
Friend, Dec 2007, 4–7
(Based on a true story)
Rachel peeked around the wheel of the covered wagon and whispered, “Psst, Mary Ann!”
When her friend did not respond, she spoke louder: “Mary Ann, come here!”
Mary Ann was sitting on an old quilt tending her baby brother. She looked up. “I can’t come there,” she said. “My mama told me not to move off this quilt until she was through cooking the biscuits.”
Rachel made her way to the quilt, which was spread on the ground under a shady tree. They were traveling west with their families in a wagon train. They had left Missouri with everything they owned loaded into the wagons. Rachel was ready to cry as she sat down on the quilt.
“I’ve looked and looked,” Rachel groaned. “It’s gone!”
“What’s gone?” Mary Ann asked.
“I’ve lost my knitting!” Rachel said. Rachel was a very good knitter. She kept a ball of yarn in her apron pocket and knitted as she walked behind the wagon. “I had a stocking almost half done. Mary Ann, what will I do?”
“Now, calm down,” Mary Ann said in her best motherly voice. “Stop and think. Where did you have it last? Did you look in your little wooden trunk? Sometimes you put it in there.”
“I looked everywhere,” Rachel said. “My last ball of yarn and my metal knitting needles are gone. My papa traded a whole pound of nails for those knitting needles in St. Louis. He’ll never forgive me for losing them.”
“I’m sure he will understand,” Mary Ann said. “But I’ll help you look in your wagon tonight after supper.”
The girls searched the family’s wagon together, but they didn’t find Rachel’s knitting.
“How can I tell Mama and Papa?” Rachel asked.
“Tell us what?” a voice asked.
The girls whirled around. There was Rachel’s father, standing next to the wagon checking the level of the water barrel.
“Oh, Papa,” Rachel sobbed. “I am so careless, and I have done such an awful thing. I’ve lost my metal knitting needles, my yarn, and a half-finished sock.”
Rachel’s father put his arms around her. “That is sad, but it’s not the end of the world.”
The following Saturday when the wagon train stopped for the night, it was announced that they would camp there until Tuesday to give the horses and oxen a chance to rest, and to let the men make repairs to the wagons and harnesses.
Rachel tried to keep busy. She helped her mother cook. She washed clothes in the nearby stream. She helped Mary Ann with her little brother. Rachel sighed. “If I had my knitting, I could have had that stocking almost finished,” she told her friend.
“Never mind,” Mary Ann said. “When we get to the Salt Lake Valley, you can get some new needles and yarn.”
“I hope so,” Rachel said sadly.
“Rachel, please come here,” her father called. “I have a surprise for you.” He was standing near the campfire with his hands behind his back. He brought out one hand. “I whittled a new pair of knitting needles for you,” he said. “They are not as sturdy as the metal ones, but I think they will do. They are made of alder wood, and they are quite straight and smooth.”
Rachel squealed with delight. “Oh, Papa, they are beautiful!”
Then he brought out his other hand from behind his back. He was holding a ball of red yarn.
“Yarn! Where in the world did you get it?” Rachel asked.
“Sister Davis donated it. She said it was just taking up space in her sewing basket.” Her father smiled. “And here is a bit of green yarn that Sister Harper found, and a small ball of yellow from Sister Rogers.” He hugged his daughter. “Everyone felt so bad about you losing your knitting that they all found what scraps of yarn they could so that you could continue knitting the rest of the trip.”
“This is wonderful,” Rachel said. “I must tell everyone how much I appreciate it.” Rachel started off, but she turned around quickly and went back to her father. “Thank you so much for the knitting needles, Papa. I will take very good care of them.” Rachel ran off to show all the ladies of the wagon train the wonderful gift she had received.
As they walked along with the wagons, Rachel knitted and knitted. At night, Rachel held her needles and yarn safely in her pocket. “I’m not taking any chances with this knitting,” she told Mary Ann. “It is too special.”
The day finally came when they looked down into the Salt Lake Valley. They were relieved to have arrived before winter. The nights were getting colder and they knew that snow would not be long in coming.
“Did you finish the sock?” Brother Carter asked Rachel as he led his horses down the steep mountain trail.
“I did,” Rachel said. She pulled out her knitting to show him her finished work.
“Well, now, that is a most unusual stocking,” he said.
“I know.” Rachel laughed. “Papa called it ‘quite remarkable.’ ”
The knitted stocking had wide and narrow stripes in many different colors. Rachel looked at it thoughtfully. “It’s one of a kind,” she said. “There will never be another like this. I am going to hang it on the mantle at Christmastime when we get a house built. It will be my most unusual, quite remarkable, one-of-a-kind Christmas stocking!”
Rachel enjoyed hanging up her special Christmas stocking for many years. It was a colorful and happy reminder of her trip across the plains, and the generosity and kindness of her fellow travelers.
By Gwen S. Jones
Friend, Dec 2007, 16–18
(Based on a true story)
I am filled with comfort, I am exceeding joyful (2 Corinthians 7:4).
“Please, Mom, can we invite Sister Fuhriman just one more time?” Greg pleaded. His younger brothers’ anxious faces poked out from behind Greg like pegs on a coat rack.
“It will be Christmas Eve, and she shouldn’t be alone,” Layne said. Scott and Jim nodded.
“You know how many times we have tried to invite Sister Fuhriman to our house,” Mom said. “She rarely goes out. But you may invite her for Christmas Eve if you like.”
The boys cheered and bounded outside.
Soon the door burst open again. “It’s a miracle, Mom!” Greg called. “She said she’d love to come. Isn’t that great?”
The next day snow started falling. Greg knew that Sister Fuhriman avoided going outside in bad weather, even to the mailbox. “Do you think she will still come tomorrow?” Greg asked. Mom wasn’t sure.
On Christmas Eve, Aunt Carolyn and her three children arrived just as Layne finished cleaning up the kitchen after dinner. “Can we go get Sister Fuhriman now?” Layne asked.
“All right,” Dad said. “Remember to help her as she walks across the road. It’s slick outside.”
“We will, Dad,” Scott said.
“And if she decides not to come after all, don’t make her feel bad about not coming,” Dad said.
“We won’t, Dad,” Greg said. The boys stepped outside into the snow-covered landscape. The snow had stopped falling, and there was still a little daylight to show them the way.
Eight-year-old Adam was helping Bekah and Jill get into their costumes for the family Christmas pageant when the boys stepped through the door—helping Sister Fuhriman inside! She smiled cheerily, her cheeks bright from the cold. The family tried not to seem so surprised that their guest of honor had really come.
Dad made Sister Fuhriman feel welcome and helped her choose a seat next to Mom. Greg slipped out of his coat and sat at the piano. After an opening prayer, he began to play Christmas hymns softly. Scott read from the Bible as the younger children acted out the story of the first Christmas. Wearing a bathrobe, three-year-old Bekah reverently played the part of Mary while Dan pretended to be Joseph. Jill played the part of an angel with a gold garland pinned in her hair. Cousins played shepherds and Wise Men, all come to worship the infant King.
Soon the strains of “Silent Night” faded, and the reverence of the sacred story gave way to hugs, smiles, and compliments all around. To finish off the night, they enjoyed Mom’s warm cinnamon rolls. All too soon, the evening was over.
The boys again put on their coats, hats, and mittens to escort Sister Fuhriman across the road. The glow of the porch light pushed away the darkness, making their walk across the snow-packed country road pleasant in spite of the cold.
“Good night, Sister Fuhriman,” Greg called as he and his brothers turned back toward their house.
“Merry Christmas,” Sister Fuhriman called. “And thank you.”
Greg glanced over his shoulder just before he stepped back into his house. Sister Fuhriman was still on her porch, watching. She waved.
Some months went by, and the family moved to a different town. The following December, Greg came into the house carrying an envelope. “We got a letter from Sister Fuhriman,” he called. He tore it open and read:
“I will miss your family this Christmas. I don’t believe I ever told you how much I enjoyed Christmas Eve in your home. I must tell you now what I did not tell you then.
“Some years before you moved into the house across the road from me, I had a dream. I could see your house, all lit up and glowing. When I awoke from that dream, I had the most wonderful, happy, peaceful feeling—something I had not experienced very often since my husband’s death.
“Months went by, and I forgot all about my dream. Then came your invitation for Christmas Eve. I had such a wonderful time sharing in your family celebration.
“After the boys walked me back home, I stood on my porch to make sure they returned home safely. Just then I noticed your house all aglow. It was the same picture I had seen in my dream years ago, and I had the very same feeling of peace. I just wanted you to know how I appreciated you.”
As Greg read Sister Fuhriman’s words, he remembered the warmth he had felt that night. He was grateful his family had shared their celebration with Sister Fuhriman, bringing her Christmas comfort and joy.
By Charmayne Gubler Warnock
Friend, Dec 2007, 20–22
(Based on a true story)
God loveth a cheerful giver (2 Corinthians 9:7).
Thud! Kristi plopped down on the ice. For a moment, she sat looking at the skates she’d found in the attic. They were wrinkled, black, and three inches longer than her feet. Someday she would be a figure skater and sail across the rink in a glittering blue skirt. But right now all she had were old skates, a coat that was too small, and a patch of ice in the horse pasture.
“Hey, ballerina! Where did you get those ugly skates?”
Kristi looked up and saw her 17-year-old brother, Jake, sitting on the fence. She wondered how long he’d been watching her. “Go away!” she yelled.
“You should’ve seen your face, like you were a famous skater or something. Then—crash!” Jake laughed.
Kristi scrambled to her feet, slipping on the ice. “Just you wait. Someday I’ll be famous.”
Jake backed away from the fence, still grinning. “OK, OK. I believe you. But you’ll need better skates.”
That evening, Kristi told her mother that she wanted ice skates for Christmas.
Mother leaned over and hugged her. “We’ll have a wonderful Christmas this year just because it’s Christmas.” She looked serious. “But try not to get your hopes up about skates. What money we have has to buy things we need.”
Still, Kristi hoped.
Three days before Christmas, she noticed a box under the tree without a name tag. It was shaped like a big shoe box. She knew it had to be skates! Kneeling under the tree, she picked it up and shook it.
Just then, Jake walked in. He smelled like hamburgers because he worked at a fast-food place after school. Quickly, Kristi set the box down.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she said, trying to look innocent.
He had a funny look on his face. “You probably think …” he started to say.
“Think what?” Kristi asked.
“Nothing,” he said.
On Christmas morning, Kristi sat by the tree while her father passed around the gifts. She got a new coat, socks, and a mystery book.
Kristi waited, watching the box with no name tag. Finally, her mother leaned over, picked it up, and handed it to Kristi’s father. “Merry Christmas, Dear.” She kissed him on the cheek. “You’ve needed these for a long time.”
It was a pair of work boots.
Kristi bent her head over her new book, seeing just a blur of words. She wasn’t going to cry and ruin everyone’s Christmas.
The next day, Kristi went sledding with her friends. She wore her new coat and had so much fun she almost forgot that she had wanted skates. Later that afternoon she sat curled up in a chair reading her book when Jake came in the door. He was still wearing his work uniform and he smelled like french fries.
“I’m going to the store,” he said. “Do you want to go with me?”
Surprised, Kristi closed her book. “OK.”
Soon they were driving downtown in his old car. It stalled at a stoplight and people behind them honked while Jake restarted it. The car sputtered down the road to a sports equipment store.
“You have to come in and try them on,” Jake said.
“Try what on?”
“Skates,” he said. “I thought I’d get you some, since—”
“Skates?” Kristi cried. “Skates? Really?”
“Yeah,” he said, scratching his ear.
They went inside and the salesman pulled out a box. Nestled in blue tissue paper were the skates, their silver blades shining. Kristi sniffed their newness and tried them on, balancing carefully on the blades.
When they got home, it was almost dark. But there was a full moon. “There’s enough moonlight to go skating if you want,” Jake said. He picked up the old black skates. “Maybe I’ll skate too.”
Together they walked out to the pasture. With trembling fingers, Kristi laced up her skates and stepped onto the ice. They were firm around her ankles. She glided across the ice and did a smooth turn, amazed at how much easier it was.
Jake put on the old skates and joined her. They skated a long time, sometimes falling down and laughing. Over by the fence, the horses watched.
“The horses probably think we’re crazy,” Jake said.
Kristi looked at the horses, then stopped to watch her tall brother as he wobbled across the ice. It was then she noticed his pants were too short, and his coat sleeves were frayed at the cuffs.
Kristi watched as Jake took long, awkward strides around the ice. “He could have gotten himself some clothes,” she thought, “or maybe fixed his car.” But he bought her skates. A warm feeling started in her chest and grew until she felt so warm she could almost take off her coat. Suddenly, Kristi wanted to do something kind for someone else. She wanted to be as kind to everyone as Jake was to her.
Kristi looked toward the fence where the horses were quiet and watching. “Do you want to know what the horses really think?” she asked Jake. “They think you’re the best brother ever.”
By Melanie Marks
Friend, Dec 2007, 34–35
(Based on a true story)
All saints who remember to keep and do these sayings … shall receive health in their navel and marrow to their bones (D&C 89:18).
It was cold! Nicole and her friends hurried into the busy café to warm up for a few minutes. As they stood inside, Nicole glanced at the menu.
“I’m going to get some hot chocolate,” she said.
“Me too,” Beth said.
Audrey looked at her watch, and Heather said, “We don’t have much time. Remember, my mom is picking us up at two o’clock.”
Nicole looked at the long line. It would sure be nice to have a cup of hot chocolate to keep her warm while they finished their Christmas shopping. “Beth and I will meet you in the clothing store next door,” she told Heather. “We won’t take long.”
Heather and Audrey left, and Beth and Nicole got in line.
“Look, they have French vanilla,” Beth said, pointing at the menu.
Nicole’s eyes brightened. “Yum! I love French vanilla hot chocolate.” But then she frowned, a little uncertain. “It doesn’t say French vanilla hot chocolate,” she said. “It just says French vanilla.” She bit her lip. “Isn’t there a French vanilla coffee too?”
Beth shrugged. When it was Nicole’s turn to order, she asked the employee about it, just in case.
“It’s hot chocolate,” the lady behind the counter assured her.
“Great!” Nicole said. “I’ll have a large French vanilla.”
Beth ordered one too, and they left the café. When they met up with Heather and Audrey, Nicole sniffed her steaming cup. She gasped. “I think this is French vanilla coffee!”
Beth took a sip. “I think so too. But oh well. It’s nice and hot. I’m getting all warmed up.”
“But it’s coffee!”
“So?”
Nicole told her friend, “I belong to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I’m not supposed to drink coffee.”
“You can drink coffee this one time,” Heather said impatiently. “You don’t have to be perfect every second of the day. We won’t tell anyone. Just come on. We need to hurry.”
Nicole could see that the line in the café was now even longer, and they didn’t have much time left to shop. But she knew what she needed to do. “I’m going to exchange this for hot chocolate,” she said firmly. “You guys go ahead. I’ll meet you at the toy store.”
She started to walk away alone, but Audrey caught up to her. “I’ll wait with you,” she said. Audrey was a Latter-day Saint too.
As the girls stood in line, Audrey said, “I’m glad you didn’t drink the coffee.”
Nicole smiled. “Me too.”
When Nicole explained to the lady behind the counter that the drink was actually coffee, the lady apologized and exchanged it for hot chocolate. Then Nicole and Audrey hurried through the cold to catch up with their friends. Nicole felt warm inside, but not just from the hot chocolate. She knew she had chosen the right. Despite what her friends had said about no one ever knowing, Heavenly Father knew. And she felt He would be proud of her.
