Angelo’s Decision
(Keeping the Sabbath day)
A Blessing of Strength
Do You Want to go to Primary with Me?
Even Great-Grandmas Can Be Baptized
I Know Where the Book of Mormon Came From!
By Kimberly Reid
Friend, Mar 2008, 4–6
(Based on a true story)
I know that he shall rise again in the resurrection at the last day (John 11:24).
I didn’t have any brothers or sisters, but soon I would have two! Mom was going to have twins. Dad packed up the things in our extra bedroom and hauled them to the basement.
Then he put together two cribs, one on each side of the room. Grandma and Mom made two quilts, one blue and one yellow. Sometimes I practiced setting the table for five instead of three.
Everything was ready—all we had to do was wait. Mom told me that when the leaves started changing and the air got cooler, I’d know that my brothers would be born soon.
But one summer morning, I found my mom sitting next to the bathtub. She was holding her stomach and crying.
“What’s the matter?” I asked. I was scared.
“It’s not time for the babies to be born yet, but they’re coming,” she said.
Dad took Mom to the hospital while Grandma stayed with me. Usually Grandma would take me somewhere fun, like the zoo or the state capitol building. But not today.
Finally, the call from the hospital came. Grandma told me that I had two new brothers, Aaron and Carl.
“Tomorrow I’ll take you to see them,” she said.
I couldn’t wait! “Do they have red hair, like me?” I asked.
“I’m not sure,” Grandma said. She told me that they wouldn’t look like other babies I had seen because they were born three months early. Their skin was very delicate, and they were less than half the size of most newborn babies.
“Will we see Mom at the hospital?” I asked.
“No. Mommy is resting at a different hospital,” Grandma said. “The twins are so weak that as soon as they were born, they rode in a helicopter to another hospital.” She said that Dad and Grandpa had given them a priesthood blessing so that they could be strong.
Before bed, I prayed for my brothers. Then I dreamed. Would Mom let me help tuck them into bed at night? When they were older, would they play with me in the backyard?
Part of me was worried. Would I be left out because there were two of them and only one of me?
The next morning, Grandma looked sad.
“Can we go to the hospital now?” I begged.
“Yes, honey, we can go see Carl,” Grandma said, “but Aaron died last night. His little lungs weren’t strong enough to keep breathing.”
I couldn’t believe it. My brother had died?
“I’m sorry I didn’t take you to see him yesterday,” Grandma said.
I frowned. I thought Dad gave Carl and Aaron blessings so they could be strong. I had learned in Primary that not all prayers are answered the way we want, but I wondered why not.
Whenever I was sick and Dad gave me blessings, I felt better. I wanted my brothers to get better too.
I sadly peered out the window as Grandma drove to the hospital. When we got there, Dad met us. A nurse helped me tie a mask over my mouth and nose. She washed my hands and fingernails with a scrub brush, then let us in to meet Carl.
“There’s your new brother,” Dad said. Carl was covered by a clear box. He was teeny and red. Tubes were in his mouth and needles were in his arms.
“What are they doing to him?” I croaked. “Why is he in there?”
“So he can stay warm,” Dad said. “The tubes are to help him breathe, and the needles give him food.” Then Dad opened a little circle-shaped door on the side of the box.
“Go ahead. Touch him.”
I was afraid to. Carl barely seemed alive, and I didn’t want to hurt him.
“It’s OK,” Dad whispered, so I reached through the little door and brushed Carl’s hand with my finger. His little hand curled around my finger. I giggled. He squeezed so tight!
“He won’t let go!” I laughed. Dad smiled. Carl’s hand barely reached around my finger, but I couldn’t pull it away. His grip was too strong.
“Dad’s priesthood blessing worked,” I thought. Carl didn’t look very strong, but he was. Many weeks later, Carl came home to live with us.
It was sad to watch Dad take apart the second crib and move it out of Carl’s room. Sometimes I felt sad that I would never set five places at the table. But Mom and Dad told me to remember that Aaron was still a part of our family, even if he couldn’t be with us now. Someday we would all be resurrected, and we could be an eternal family.
Until then, Mom said we could make Aaron a part of our lives if we remembered him. She made a page in our Book of Remembrance for him and saved a piece of paper with his tiny ink footprints on it. She also saved a piece of his hair. It’s red, just like mine.
By Ethna R. Reid
Friend, Jan 2008, 34–35
(Based on a true story)
Amy was the fastest runner in her third-grade class. She loved to run, especially as she skimmed across the furrows in her father’s plowed fields and chased the seagulls flying above her. No one—boy or girl—ever beat her in races at school. She could jump high and far too. She practiced jumping over ditch banks, even when they were wider than she was tall. If Sara or Grant asked to see her jump over a tree stump or a hedge, she would take a long run and fly over it.
Every night, Amy snuggled up next to Mom on her bed while Mom brushed Amy’s hair and curled it into long ringlets. Amy’s baptism was coming up, but Mom was too sick to be with her on that special day. Amy listened closely as Mom and Dad told her what to expect. They told her stories of their own baptisms. Dad had been baptized in a large stream, and Mom had been baptized in the font in the Salt Lake Tabernacle.
“I’m excited to be baptized,” Amy said, “but I’m curious about the Holy Ghost.”
“You’ve already been helped by the Holy Ghost,” Dad said. “Remember when you wanted to be a better reader? You prayed for help, and help came. Your testimony came from the power of the Holy Ghost, and so did your faith to be healed when the bishop and I gave you a blessing when you were sick.”
Mom explained that one of the gifts of the Holy Ghost that Amy could receive was being able to see things to come * —things that would help her make wise choices.
Only five weeks after Amy’s baptism and confirmation, she and Sara and Grant climbed on top of Grant’s garage to look out over the stream and surrounding fields. Wild yellow roses grew on the banks of the stream, and the fields were sparkling green.
“Hey, Amy,” Sara said. “I dare you to jump from here onto the shed.” She pointed to the roof of the nearby shed.
Amy hesitated. She knew it wasn’t good to take dares, but she also knew that she was a good jumper. “OK,” she finally said. But as she stood up—ready to jump—she imagined herself falling to the ground between the garage and shed. She thought she saw herself lying on the ground.
Seeing the danger in her mind, Amy said: “I can’t. It’s too far.” Sara and Grant didn’t say anything as Amy sat down. She was glad they didn’t tease her. They seemed to know that she had made the right decision.
That evening, Amy told Mom and Dad what had happened at Grant’s house. “I knew that it was a gift from the Holy Ghost. He showed me that I would fall if I tried to jump. I could see myself lying on the ground, really hurt.”
Mom held Amy close. Dad told her how thankful he was that she had listened to the Holy Ghost. And both Mom and Dad told her never to climb on Grant’s garage again!
“I won’t,” Amy promised.
Amy never forgot the gift she was given that day by the Holy Ghost and the change it made in her life.
By Kim Hofhiens
Friend, Feb 2008, 36–38
(Based on a true story)
Observe the sabbath day, and keep it holy (Mosiah 18:23).
Angelo kicked Lonnie in the chest and earned the point he needed to win.
“Match!” Mr. Haight, the coach, pointed to Angelo. Lonnie and Angelo sat down on the gym floor to watch two other green belts spar.
“Lucky kick.” Lonnie smiled at Angelo.
“I had to even things up.” Angelo grinned. “You beat me in the races at school today.” Lonnie was Angelo’s best friend, and they did everything together.
On the other side of the gym, the red belts were working on the demonstration they would give for the black belt ceremony.
“Soon we’ll be blue belts,” Lonnie said, but he was watching the red belts across the room.
“Yeah. We have the hours, the moves, and the test down for the blue belt,” Angelo said, “but I can’t wait till we’re red belts.”
“Oh, that’ll be easy,” Lonnie laughed. “We only have to earn the blue belt and purple belt first!”
Mr. Haight raised his hands in the air. “OK, enough sparring for tonight.” He waved everyone toward him and held up a piece of paper. “The tournament is two weeks away. This paper gives all the information you will need to have a successful tournament. Make sure your parents read it and sign it. Bring it back here next week.”
Angelo grabbed the paper and headed for the door. The tournament was the last thing he had to complete before becoming a blue belt! As he rode his bike home, he only wished his grandma could see him compete. Abuela Ana was serving a mission in faraway Romania.
Mom was stirring a big pot of chicken mole when Angelo sailed in and handed her the paper. “This is important. It’s about the tournament.”
“How was karate?” Mom smiled and took the paper.
“It was great! I lost one sparring match and won two.”
“Wow!”
“Yep. Now all Lonnie and I have to do is the tournament and we’ll get our blue belts.” Angelo opened the refrigerator.
“Did you know the tournament is on a Sunday, Angelo?” Mom said.
Angelo closed the fridge. “Sunday?” He frowned. His baptism wasn’t too long ago, and he had determined to keep the Sabbath holy.
“I know how much this means to you, Angelo, but Sunday … ?” Mom trailed off.
“I know, I know.” Angelo stomped off to his bedroom. Why did the tournament have to be on a Sunday? None of the other tournaments were. And if he didn’t go, Lonnie would be a blue belt and he would still be green.
Dad peeked into the bedroom. “Hey, Angelo. I heard about the tournament. Have you called Mr. Haight?”
Angelo brightened. “No. I’ll call right away.” He ran for the phone. Surely Mr. Haight would see his problem—maybe he’d even give him the belt without the tournament.
A few minutes later, Angelo shuffled back to his room.
“What did he say?” Dad asked.
“He said to get the belt, I have to meet all the requirements. I even told him Sunday was a holy day, but he just said the gym was booked on Saturday.”
Dad ruffled Angelo’s hair. “There will be other tournaments.”
Angelo looked up at Dad. “I know. But it might be months away. Lonnie will be a blue belt way before me. I might as well quit!”
“It’s your decision, Angelo.” Dad left, and Angelo lay down on his bed. He knew Mom and Dad didn’t want him to go to the Sunday tournament, but maybe he would go just this one time.
Angelo looked at the Dallas Texas Temple picture on his wall. Abuela Ana had given it to him on his birthday last September. Tucked into the corner of the picture was a photograph of his tiny abuela with a huge Romanian castle in the background. Angelo wouldn’t see her again until his next birthday.
He reached for the photograph and read the words she had written on the back.
“The work is hard here. We give lots of discussions, but no baptisms yet.
Last week we went to the orphanages and arranged for children to have needed medical care. They were so grateful. I knew that whatever sacrifice I had made to come here was nothing. I’m following the Savior, so everything will be all right! Te amo, Angelo. I love you.”
Angelo turned the picture over and looked into his abuela’s smiling face. He knew he would not be going to the Sunday tournament. He smiled. “I am following my Savior too, Abuela Ana.”
By Hilary M. Hendricks
Friend, Mar 2008, 42–44
(Based on a true story)
And this shall be our covenant—that we will walk in all the ordinances of the Lord (D&C 136:4).
“After the talk, our first baptism today will be Alison’s,” the bishop’s counselor announced, smiling at me and my dad.
“Oh, we’d be happy to go last,” Dad joked.
Uncle Calvin gave Dad’s shoulder a friendly punch. “You’ll do great,” he whispered.
Just a few months before, my dad had been ordained an elder in the Melchizedek Priesthood. This would be his first time performing a baptism. I felt proud of him and happy as we sat together in our white clothes.
Soon my dad and I stepped into the baptismal font. He gave me a wink. I held his arm and plugged my nose while he said the short prayer and lowered me into the water. He did a great job! As I stood up, I felt the warm water streaming off my face. The warmth of the Spirit whispered to me that I’d made the right choice.
Not many months later, Mom and Dad had some exciting news. Our family was going to be sealed in the temple! My sister Shaelyn and I clapped and jumped up and down, we were so happy.
I soon learned that because I was now eight years old and had been baptized, I would need to have an interview with my bishop before I could go to the temple. I liked Bishop Jex a lot, but I thought that an interview for a temple recommend would be very important, and that made me nervous. What if I answered some of the questions wrong?
Mom came with me to the church for my interview. Bishop Jex shook my hand. “So you want to go to the temple, young lady?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Not many people have the opportunity to be interviewed for a temple recommend so soon after they are baptized,” he told me. Then he took a binder from his desk and flipped it open. Inside, he pointed to a white piece of paper with some lines on it and lots of places to write information.
“This is a limited-use recommend,” he explained. “Your name goes here, and my signature goes here. You’ll give this to the temple workers, and they will know you are worthy to be in the temple.”
Bishop Jex asked me about the things I do to keep the covenants of baptism—going to church, treating my sisters kindly, repenting when I make a mistake. “Keeping our baptism promises is what we do to be worthy to make temple promises,” he said. “It sounds to me like you are working hard to do everything you promised God you would do.” After we talked for a few more minutes, he wrote my name on the paper and handed it to me. I had my temple recommend!
After my interview with Bishop Jex, I met with the stake president because he needed to interview me and sign my recommend too. Then I was ready to go to the temple! On the day of the sealing, we drove to the Mount Timpanogos Utah Temple. My sisters and I were introduced to the temple workers who would take care of us and help us get ready. The workers took us to a room where my baby sister, Breanna, colored pictures and played with blocks, and Shaelyn and I watched a movie about what being sealed would be like. I felt warm and peaceful in the temple.
We changed from our church clothes into white dresses, and then the temple workers took us to the sealing room. When we walked in, there were our grandparents, lots of aunts and uncles, and of course our mom and dad. Everyone who looked at us started to cry—even my big, tough dad.
“You three look just like angels,” Mom said.
“Do you girls know what we’re doing here today?” the temple sealer asked.
“We’re being sealed to our parents,” Shaelyn said.
“And what does that mean?” he asked.
“We can be together as a family forever,” I said.
“Right,” he said. “Together forever, if what?”
“If we keep the commandments,” I said.
“Exactly. You do as you promised at your baptism—to follow Christ. And your parents keep the promises they made today in the temple to follow Christ. You should work hard each day to love and help each other. Someday, you girls will come here again and make the same promises they have made. Heavenly Father promises that when you all return to live with Him, you can be together as a family.”
After the sealer said the words of the ordinance, everyone gave us hugs. “We’re so proud of you,” my grandparents told me. “We love you so much!”
The warmth of the Spirit that I felt when I was baptized whispered to me again. I knew our family had made a good choice. I felt so happy that we could promise to follow Jesus Christ. I know He will help us live so that we can be together for eternity.
By Jean Leedale Hobson
Friend, Jan 2008, 46–47
(Based on a true story)
When their fathers said the pond was frozen solid enough to skate on, the boys began clearing the snow to make a skating rink. On Saturday, they’d be able to play hockey.
By the time Jeremy arrived after his paper route, he expected to see the boys racing up the ice, maneuvering the puck, aiming at the net. But they were just standing around.
“Sorry I’m late,” Jeremy said, skating up to them.
“There’s a problem,” Bill said, “and your brother is part of it! I told those squirts to beat it, but they’re still here!’
Jeremy looked at his little brother, Ryan, and his friends. They were standing on the ice, looking scared. “What’s the problem?” Jeremy asked.
“They think they’re going to skate on the part we cleaned off!” Bill declared angrily.
Jeremy knew that getting mad wouldn’t solve anything. He tried to keep his voice calm as he said, “The pond’s big enough for all of us. We’re only practicing. We don’t have a a real arena. They can stay out of our way.”
“No way!” Bill snapped. “We cleaned it off, we use it!” He yelled at the younger boys again, ordering them to leave.
Jeremy could see a confrontation coming. He had seen Bill in action in the schoolyard too often. Most of the time even the older boys backed off, but pushing smaller boys around was too much.
The younger children shuffled around uncomfortably, not knowing what to do.
“Skate up and down the edge, boys, and stay away from us, OK?” Jeremy suggested.
“No, they won’t!” Bill took a menacing step toward them, but Jeremy hurried between.
He tried to speak quietly. “I came here to skate, not fight. But if my brother and his friends have to go, then I’m going too.”
He whirled away to the bank, and his friends followed. “Way to go, Jeremy. Let Bill skate by himself,” they all agreed.
Ryan looked upset. “No, we’ll go. We’re just playing. You guys are practicing.”
“That’s not the point,” Jeremy said. “Bill can’t always push people around. Let’s leave him to cool off by himself.”
As they left, Jeremy had an idea. “Say, why don’t we clean off that corner of the pond? The younger boys can have a small rink of their own.” The others agreed and raced home for brooms and shovels. Soon the snow was cleared off the ice.
“How about a hockey school?” Jeremy asked. “We’ll teach you to shoot.”
“That would be great, but we don’t have sticks and pads,” Ryan said.
“That’s OK,” an older boy said. “There are some old sticks in our basement. We could shorten them.”
“My dad says they used to wrap magazines around their legs with rubber bands to make pads,” another said.
“Right! Let’s go, guys!”
After lunch they met at the pond. They fitted the young boys with makeshift pads, hand-me-down gloves, and cut-off sticks. Everybody laughed at the getups.
The younger boys soon learned how to change direction quickly on their skates and use their sticks to keep possession of the puck. Every once in a while, Jeremy glanced back at Bill skating aimlessly on the ice, watching the fun. Then, as Jeremy watched the boys skate, he heard a voice from behind.
“I was a jerk this morning.” Bill stood there, looking embarrassed. “I mean—I’m trying to say I’m sorry, guys. OK with you if I help too?”
The group gave each other questioning looks, then one by one they nodded their approval.
“You have to mean you’re sorry,” Jeremy said. “End of bullying. Period.”
“You’ve got it!” Bill declared. He skated back across the ice, then returned carrying a load of assorted hockey equipment. “I dug around in our attic while you guys were away, and found this stuff. You’re welcome to it.”
Pulling on proper pads and gloves, the small boys lost their fear of Bill and followed his coaching tips until the sun began to sink and the air grew chilly. But the unexpected friendship between the different age groups was warm enough to melt the ice under their skates.
As they parted, Jeremy called out, “Look out, National Hockey League—here’s your future competition!”
“I wish winter would last forever!” Ryan remarked as they said good-bye, and a chorus of voices chimed in, “Right on!”
Jun-Jun’s Faith
By Julie C. Donaldson
Friend, Mar 2008, 34–36
(Based on a true story)
Is any sick among you? let him call for the elders of the church (James 5:14).
“I couldn’t get the money,” Jun-Jun told his father, out of breath from running.
Father, holding Jun-Jun’s crying baby brother, looked worried. Suddenly, Jun-Jun was scared. The baby had been crying for two days with a terrible sickness in his tiny body. Mother had also been sick for many days, hardly able to breathe as she lay on the bamboo floor of their small hut in the Philippines. Jun-Jun had gone to a friend’s house to try to borrow money for medicine. But their friends had no money either. The boy felt helpless. He was only 10 years old—what could he do?
Just then, he heard someone at the door. “Tao po!” a voice called. “Someone is here!”
Father opened the door. “Magandang gabi!” the sister missionaries said. “Good evening!”
The sisters’ smiles quickly vanished when they saw the worried look on Father’s face and heard the baby crying. “What’s wrong?” Sister Clawson asked as she stepped inside their home.
Father explained that he hadn’t been able to go to work because he was taking care of everyone, and now they had no money for medicine.
Jun-Jun was relieved to see the sister missionaries. They had been visiting his family for many months, teaching them about Jesus. He and Father had been reading the Book of Mormon together, and he always felt happy when they did. Maybe the sisters could help!
“Can you give us money for medicine?” Jun-Jun asked the sisters.
“We can’t give you money,” Sister Clawson said, “but there is something even greater than money or medicine. Do you remember what we taught you about the priesthood?”
Jun-Jun nodded his head. He remembered. The priesthood was power from God.
“Men who hold the priesthood can give blessings to heal those who are sick,” Sister Clawson explained to Jun-Jun’s father. “Do you want us to ask priesthood holders to come and give your wife and baby a blessing?”
Father nodded. “Oo,” he said. “Yes.” Tears welled up in his tired eyes.
Sister Elizan looked at Jun-Jun and asked, “Do you have faith that your mother and baby brother can be healed by the power of the priesthood?”
Jun-Jun felt a warm, peaceful feeling in his heart—the same feeling he had when he read the Book of Mormon. But he wasn’t sure if that was faith. “I think so,” he said.
“Good,” Sister Elizan said. The sister missionaries left and returned later with two men dressed in white shirts and ties.
Jun-Jun’s baby brother was still crying and gasping for breath. The men took the baby in their arms. One of them poured a little oil onto the baby’s head and said a short prayer. Then the other one spoke in the name of Jesus Christ by the power of the priesthood. It sounded like a special prayer. He was talking to Heavenly Father and asking Him to bless the baby. During the blessing, the baby stopped crying for the first time in two days. After the blessing, he coughed up white phlegm.
“That’s why he couldn’t breathe!” Father exclaimed. He held his baby close, listening with relief to his normal breathing.
Jun-Jun saw a new look come into Father’s face. He looked strong again. Now Jun-Jun knew what it meant to have faith. He could see it on Father’s face. He could feel it in his own heart. He knew that Heavenly Father knew their family, and that He had blessed them through the priesthood. Jun-Jun felt so happy he started to cry.
“Now I know what faith is,” Jun-Jun said with a smile. “I have faith.”
Lightning Strikes
By Dora D. Flack
(Based on a true story)
Friend, Feb 2008, 10–12
Black clouds piled up in the west as I fastened my seat belt and Mom started the car. My mood was as dark as those clouds. Why did Mom always tell people I would play a musical number on the piano whenever anyone asked me? I was only 12, but I was often asked to play for church programs and in other wards. Bishop Bowen had asked me to play a musical number in his ward’s sacrament meeting this evening. We used to live in his ward.
“Why do I have to play?” I asked Mom. “I like to practice at home, but I don’t like to play in public. Some of my friends will be there and they’ll make fun of me. They all know I play the piano and they tease me about it.”
“You have a special gift for music, Kent,” Mom said. “You need to share your talent.”
I dug my hands deeper into my pockets and didn’t say anything else.
When we got to the church, Mom parked the car. The wind was blowing hard as we hurried into the building.
Sitting in the chapel, I flattened my hands over my shaky knees to quiet them.
Mom patted my shoulder and smiled at me. I pulled away and swallowed hard.
After the sacrament, Bishop Bowen announced the rest of the meeting. He said who would be the first speaker, and then he said, “We’re so happy to have Kent back with us this evening. He will play a musical number for us.”
A lady sitting behind us leaned forward and patted my shoulder and smiled. “Why do my friends tease me so much, but the adults always like to hear me play?” I wondered.
I heard the wind howling outside. My throat was dry. Too bad I couldn’t get a drink of water. My fingers were stiff so I rubbed them.
The first speaker finished his talk. Ready or not, it was my turn. My stomach churned as I stared at the keys. I felt like striking them with all my strength. Too bad I wasn’t playing my favorite song, “The Storm.” A storm raged inside me as well as outside.
A minute passed as I sat there trying to compose myself, but it felt like an eternity. Finally, I raised my hands and let them fall gently on the keys. The soft chords dropped from my fingertips and quieted the storm inside me. I pictured a bright moon in the sky making a stream of light on ripples across a lake. My fingers rippled over the keys like the moonlight over the water. I felt like I was playing at home. I loved every minute of it.
When I finished, I slipped into the pew beside Mom. She put her arm around my shoulders, and I heard rain spattering against the windows. A sudden flash of lightning jarred the quiet congregation.
The second speaker stood up to give his talk, but I could only hear the rumbling thunder and the pounding rain outside. A sudden blinding flash seemed to almost come right into the building, followed by a loud crash. All the lights went out in the chapel! The speaker continued his talk even though it was hard to hear him without the microphone. Babies cried. Kids wiggled. Everybody was whispering.
When the speaker finished, Bishop Bowen stood up and spoke loudly. “Our meeting is finished except for the closing prayer. But we surely can’t go out into this storm. Kent, will you please play your musical number again?”
I was shocked. How could I quiet all that confusion and fear? I felt my way to the piano bench in the darkness and found middle C. Then I knew I would be all right. I had never felt such peace as the memorized notes blended into each other. The nervous confusion in the chapel stopped and everyone seemed to be concentrating on the music.
The congregation was silent as the last tones died away. The storm outside had calmed down. Someone offered the closing prayer, and then everyone began to leave, finding their way carefully in the dark. Some of my friends were waiting for me in the foyer.
“Hey, Kent, how did you do that? Your music took away the scare,” one said.
“I wish I could play like that,” said another.
No one made fun of me. What a relief! A woman touched my elbow and said, “Tonight you used music for a great purpose. You gave us calmness over panic. I’ve never felt more uplifted and I couldn’t hold back the tears. Please don’t ever stop playing.”
The Love Drawer
By Marnie Spencer
Friend, Feb 2008, 28–29
(Based on a true story)
“Elisabeth!” Mom called from her room. “Someone rang the doorbell a little while ago. Can you see if there’s anything on the porch?”
A few moments later Elisabeth carried a plate of cookies into Mom’s room, where she was in bed with a lingering illness.
“Someone brought us cookies!” Elisabeth said.
“Who are they from?” Mom asked.
“I don’t know, but here’s a note.”
Mom took the note. “ ‘Hope you’re having a great day,’ ” she read. “ ‘From someone who cares.’ ” She smiled at Elisabeth. “It’s really nice of someone to surprise us with cookies.”
“Can I have one?” Elisabeth asked.
“Yes, you can. And will you please put the note in my love drawer?”
Elisabeth took the note. “What’s your love drawer?” she asked.
“It’s the little drawer in that table by my bed. Open it and I’ll show you.”
Elisabeth opened the drawer and found a pile of letters, notes, and cards.
“I’ve been saving all the good wishes people have given me since I’ve been sick,” Mom explained, pulling a few papers from the drawer. “Grandma sent this letter. And this is the card the Garcias gave me when they brought us dinner. Here is the note I discovered in the kitchen when I came home from the doctor and found the whole house cleaned. And the Primary children made this card for me.”
Mom handed the cards, notes, and letters back to Elisabeth. “All these remind me how nice people have been to us. Each one is from someone who is trying to be like Jesus. When I feel sad I can look at them and remember that lots of people care about me. And that helps me remember that Heavenly Father and Jesus care about me too.”
Elisabeth put everything back in the drawer and closed it carefully.
“Now will you take these cookies into the kitchen?” Mom said. “The other kids will want to have one when they get home from school.”
Elisabeth carried the plate of cookies into the kitchen, and then sat down at the table with her crayons. After a while she went back into Mom’s room. “Mom, I brought you something.” She held out the picture she had made.
“Elisabeth, this is beautiful! I love the rainbow and the smiling people. You worked very hard on this.”
“You can put it in the love drawer,” Elisabeth said. “It will help you remember that I love you and that I want to be like Jesus.”
Mom smiled and hugged Elisabeth. “You make me very happy,” she said. “I will put this in the love drawer—later. Right now I want to keep it out where I can see it!”
My Family History Miracle
By Matthew Mangum
Friend, Feb 2008, 42–43
(Based on a true story)
Now this prophecy Adam spake, as he was moved upon by the Holy Ghost, and a genealogy was kept of the children of God (Moses 6:8).
My dad had been doing a lot of family history work. I loved hearing about my ancestors who were pioneers, ancestors who fought in the American Revolutionary War, and ancestors who had been kings and knights in Europe.
“How would you like to come to the Family History Library with me on Saturday?” Dad asked one day.
“Sure!” I couldn’t wait to see for myself the royal names on our pedigree chart.
We arrived in Salt Lake City and enjoyed the summer morning sunshine as we walked to the library. I became more and more excited the closer we got.
There inside that big building were the names and stories of my own family—pioneers, soldiers, knights, and all.
Once inside, Dad pulled up a couple of chairs in front of a computer. We sat down, and he began navigating through databases to show me where our family tied into a royal line.
“Hmmm.” His forehead furrowed. “I can’t seem to find it today,” he finally said.
I was very disappointed. We spent the rest of the morning looking through books that held stories of my pioneer ancestors. I enjoyed that too, but I still wanted to learn about my other ancestors.
“Don’t worry,” Dad said. “We’ll come back next weekend.”
The week flew by, and soon Dad and I were sitting in front of a computer in the Family History Library again. This time, Dad said, “Aha! Found it.”
He scrolled through names of kings and queens from all over Europe recorded there in my family history! There were so many names and dates that it would take many days to get them all into our family history software. “We’ll have to come back a lot to get all the information we need,” I said.
A woman working on the computer next to us glanced over and saw what we were doing. “I’m related to that line too,” she said. “I’ve been working here every day to get information about those ancestors.” Within minutes, she copied all of her information onto a disc and handed it to Dad.
As we walked back to the car, I thought hard. “Heavenly Father must really want us to find our ancestors, don’t you think, Dad?”
He smiled. “I think you’re right. If we had found the ancestors we were looking for last week, we may not have met our new friend here today. And had we not met her, we would not have been able to find so many of our ancestors so quickly.”
I knew that Heavenly Father had helped us discover almost 1,000 years’ worth of family history in one morning. He loves our ancestors as much as He loves us. We needed to help them just as He had helped us—by finding their names, learning about their lives, and making sure their temple work was done.
Someday I will meet them, and we can be an eternal family.
Like Nephi
By Sheralee B. Hardy
Friend, Feb 2008, 4–6
(Based on a true story)
Counsel with the Lord in all thy doings, and he will direct thee for good (Alma 37:37).
I stared out my bedroom window and saw a creepy spiderweb outside. Well, that was one thing I wouldn’t miss about this house: the spiders. Maybe our new house wouldn’t have spiders. Maybe I wouldn’t miss this run-down place after all.
“Yeah, right,” I grumbled to myself, lying down and pulling the covers over my head. Not miss this house, this neighborhood, my school class, my best friend? I’d face a whole house full of spiders before I’d willingly move.
“Tanya?” called Aunt Carrie from outside my bedroom door. She was tending my brothers and me.
I poked my head out of the covers. “What?”
“Can I come in and say good night?” she asked.
“I guess so,” I mumbled. If it had been anybody else, I might have said no.
But Aunt Carrie was my favorite aunt. She let me try on her eye shadow, she gave us hot chocolate before bed, and she read me stories from the journal she wrote when she was 11, like me.
She came in the room and sat at the foot of my bed. “You’ve sure been quiet tonight, Tanya. Are you worried about the move?”
I groaned. “All my friends live here. Who am I going to walk to school with? Who will I sit by at lunch? I was going to start Young Women here and go to camp next summer—and now I won’t know anybody. I’ll have to start all over again.”
My voice trailed off as big tears filled my eyes. Aunt Carrie gave me a tissue.
“It can’t be easy, leaving everyone you love and starting over someplace where you don’t know anybody,” she said.
I shook my head. It wasn’t easy at all.
Aunt Carrie continued. “You know, Tanya, when I think about moving, I think about Nephi.”
“Why Nephi?” I asked.
“Well, he probably wasn’t much older than you when his dad announced that his family was moving.”
I’d always pictured Nephi as an adult. “When was Nephi my age?” I asked.
Aunt Carrie picked up my Book of Mormon from my bedside table. She opened to 1 Nephi and started to explain. “You remember the story about Lehi, don’t you?”
I nodded. I knew how Lehi’s family obeyed the Lord and left their home.
Aunt Carrie read from the open book on her lap. “This is 1 Nephi 2:4: ‘And it came to pass that [Lehi] departed into the wilderness. And he left his house, and the land of his inheritance, and his gold, and his silver, and his precious things, and took nothing with him, save it were his family, and provisions, and tents, and departed into the wilderness.’ ”
“Did you say Nephi was my age?” I interrupted.
Aunt Carrie smiled. “I don’t know what his age was exactly, but he tells us in verse 16 that he was ‘exceedingly young.’ Even if he was older than you, I don’t think it was easy for him to leave his home. I bet he didn’t know a soul in the wilderness. There probably wasn’t a soul to know!’
I grinned. At least when we moved we would have neighbors. “So what did Nephi do?” I asked. “He never complained. Laman and Lemuel said, ‘Why do we have to leave Jerusalem? Why do we have to leave our riches and our house and our friends?’ But Nephi never complained. Why not?”
Aunt Carrie’s eyes twinkled, as though she had been hoping I would ask. “I don’t know all the answers, but Nephi gives us a clue in verse 16: ‘I did cry unto the Lord; and behold he did visit me, and did soften my heart that I did believe all the words which had been spoken by my father; wherefore, I did not rebel against him like unto my brothers.’ ”
She looked at me, searching my eyes to see if I understood.
“So, he prayed,” I said.
“Yes.” Aunt Carrie’s voice grew softer, and she squeezed my hand. “Tanya,” she said, “you have a choice. You can complain about your move, like Laman and Lemuel, or you can take your difficulties to Heavenly Father in prayer. If you ask Him to, He will strengthen you as He strengthened Nephi.”
I looked at Aunt Carrie and felt warm all over. I sat up and gave her a big hug.
“Thanks, Aunt Carrie,” I whispered.
“I love you, Tanya. Good night.”
After she turned off my light and closed the door behind her, I slipped from my bed to kneel on the floor. Maybe with Heavenly Father’s help I could make it through this move after all.
Lightning Strikes
By Dora D. Flack
Friend, Feb 2008, 10–12
(Based on a true story)
In the night his song shall be with me (Psalm 42:8).
Black clouds piled up in the west as I fastened my seat belt and Mom started the car. My mood was as dark as those clouds. Why did Mom always tell people I would play a musical number on the piano whenever anyone asked me? I was only 12, but I was often asked to play for church programs and in other wards. Bishop Bowen had asked me to play a musical number in his ward’s sacrament meeting this evening. We used to live in his ward.
“Why do I have to play?” I asked Mom. “I like to practice at home, but I don’t like to play in public. Some of my friends will be there and they’ll make fun of me. They all know I play the piano and they tease me about it.”
“You have a special gift for music, Kent,” Mom said. “You need to share your talent.”
I dug my hands deeper into my pockets and didn’t say anything else.
When we got to the church, Mom parked the car. The wind was blowing hard as we hurried into the building.
Sitting in the chapel, I flattened my hands over my shaky knees to quiet them. Mom patted my shoulder and smiled at me. I pulled away and swallowed hard.
After the sacrament, Bishop Bowen announced the rest of the meeting. He said who would be the first speaker, and then he said, “We’re so happy to have Kent back with us this evening. He will play a musical number for us.”
A lady sitting behind us leaned forward and patted my shoulder and smiled. “Why do my friends tease me so much, but the adults always like to hear me play?” I wondered.
I heard the wind howling outside. My throat was dry. Too bad I couldn’t get a drink of water. My fingers were stiff so I rubbed them.
The first speaker finished his talk. Ready or not, it was my turn. My stomach churned as I stared at the keys. I felt like striking them with all my strength. Too bad I wasn’t playing my favorite song, “The Storm.” A storm raged inside me as well as outside.
A minute passed as I sat there trying to compose myself, but it felt like an eternity. Finally, I raised my hands and let them fall gently on the keys. The soft chords dropped from my fingertips and quieted the storm inside me. I pictured a bright moon in the sky making a stream of light on ripples across a lake. My fingers rippled over the keys like the moonlight over the water. I felt like I was playing at home. I loved every minute of it.
When I finished, I slipped into the pew beside Mom. She put her arm around my shoulders, and I heard rain spattering against the windows. A sudden flash of lightning jarred the quiet congregation.
The second speaker stood up to give his talk, but I could only hear the rumbling thunder and the pounding rain outside. A sudden blinding flash seemed to almost come right into the building, followed by a loud crash. All the lights went out in the chapel! The speaker continued his talk even though it was hard to hear him without the microphone. Babies cried. Kids wiggled. Everybody was whispering.
When the speaker finished, Bishop Bowen stood up and spoke loudly. “Our meeting is finished except for the closing prayer. But we surely can’t go out into this storm. Kent, will you please play your musical number again?”
I was shocked. How could I quiet all that confusion and fear? I felt my way to the piano bench in the darkness and found middle C. Then I knew I would be all right. I had never felt such peace as the memorized notes blended into each other. The nervous confusion in the chapel stopped and everyone seemed to be concentrating on the music.
The congregation was silent as the last tones died away. The storm outside had calmed down. Someone offered the closing prayer, and then everyone began to leave, finding their way carefully in the dark. Some of my friends were waiting for me in the foyer.
“Hey, Kent, how did you do that? Your music took away the scare,” one said.
“I wish I could play like that,” said another.
No one made fun of me. What a relief! A woman touched my elbow and said, “Tonight you used music for a great purpose. You gave us calmness over panic. I’ve never felt more uplifted and I couldn’t hold back the tears. Please don’t ever stop playing.”
Mac the Prayer Cat
By Sheila Kindred
Friend, Jan 2008, 12–14
(Based on a true story)
“Time for family prayer,” Dad called.
I quickly finished brushing my teeth. As I hurried down the hallway, I almost fell over a ball of orange fuMr that dashed between my legs.
“Mac!” I yelled, startled. “Why do you always do that?”
But Macaroni, our big tabby cat, ignored my protests and hurried on to my parents’ bedroom.
Mom laughed. “Mac beat you again.”
“Mac the prayer cat,” murmured my little sister as she scratched behind his ears. “He never misses family prayer.”
“Why do you think he likes family prayer so much?” Dad asked.
“Because he knows he’ll get his ears scratched?” I suggested.
“I think he can feel the love in the room,” Mom replied seriously.
My brother giggled. “Sometimes Mac rubs his head on my bare feet when I’m kneeling, and it tickles.”
“Should we keep him out of the room when we pray?” Dad said. “Is he too distracting?”
“No!” we all said together.
“This is family prayer and he’s a part of our family,” I pointed out. “He’s welcome to come, even if he does almost trip me every night.”
We later learned that Mac was a prayer cat in more ways than one. I discovered this one afternoon when I couldn’t find my list of spelling words. I needed it to study for a big test the next day, but it wasn’t in my backpack or with my schoolbooks. I was frantic. I came out from looking under my bed and saw Mac watching me.
“What do you want?” I said irritably. “It’s not time for family prayer. Go away, you silly cat.”
Mac just sat staring at me. As I looked at him, I remembered that I hadn’t prayed.
“Well, maybe you’re right,” I admitted. “This is probably the perfect time for a prayer.”
I knelt by my bed and asked Heavenly Father to help me find my spelling list. When I finished, I felt Mac brushing his head against my arm. I sat down and scratched behind his ears. Then I remembered! On the way home from school I had taken my list out to practice the spelling words with my friend. Quickly I felt in my coat pocket and found the list.
“Thanks, Mac,” I said. “Thanks for reminding me that any time is a good time for prayer.” Then I knelt again and thanked Heavenly Father for helping me.
A few weeks later, Mac suddenly went missing. He didn’t come back the next day, or the next. We were terribly worried, but we knew just what to do. Dad and my brother put up posters and talked to the neighbors. Mom notified the animal shelter. And all of us prayed.
After three days, Mac came home. He was thin and dirty, but safe. We were all grateful.
That night, when family prayer was called, I was happy to stand aside and let Mac precede me down the hall to the bedroom.
“Mac the prayer cat,” my sister said, scratching his head. “At night he reminds us to have family prayer.”
“And during the day he reminds us to pray anytime we need help,” I added.
“Even when he’s gone he reminds us to pray for him to come back,” my brother said.
“And now that he’s back,” Mom said, “he reminds us that prayers are heard and answered.”
“Can you tell how glad we are to have you in our family, Mac?” Dad asked.
In answer, Mac curled up in the middle of our family circle and purred.
Something for Sara
By Jane McBride Choate
Friend, Feb 2008, 44–45
(Based on a true story)
We through … comfort of the scriptures might have hope (Romans 15:4).
Carly pretended to study her long division, but her mind was on Sara. What do you do for a friend whose mother had died?
Carly and Sara had been best friends since they were in preschool. They’d learned to ride bikes together, taken tap-dance lessons together, and done almost everything together. Carly felt as welcome in Sara’s house as she felt in her own.
But two months ago, Sara’s mother had died. Carly knew her friend was still hurting because Sara had a funny kind of look on her face all the time—the kind that made Carly want to cry.
She wanted to buy Sara a special gift, but she didn’t have very much money.
Maybe she could do some extra chores and earn some money that way.
Carly hurried home after school, eager to ask her mother.
“I know you want to help,” Mother said after Carly explained her plan. “But the kind of hurt Sara has won’t go away by buying her a present.”
“I know,” Carly said. “I just wanted to remind her that I love her.”
Carly thought more about that. How could she best show Sara that she cared? She recalled the blessing her father had given her when he confirmed her a member of the Church: “I bless you with the power of understanding. Use it to bless the lives of others.”
Understanding. Carly understood some things that Sara should know.
The next day, Carly wrote her testimony on the inside cover of a copy of the Book of Mormon. She tucked it inside her backpack.
As usual, Carly and Sara sat next to each other in the cafeteria at lunch. “I have something for you,” Carly said. She handed Sara the Book of Mormon.
Sara gave Carly a strange look. “What’s this?”
“It’s one of the scriptures we have in our church. We use it along with the Bible.”
Sara opened the book to the page where Carly had written her testimony.
She read it, then looked up at her friend. “You never talked about your church before.”
Embarrassed, Carly nodded. “I know.”
“Why are you giving this to me now?” Sara asked. “Because of Mom dying?”
Carly nodded again. “Reading the Book of Mormon makes me feel good inside. I want you to have that feeling too.”
“What kind of feeling?”
Carly hesitated. She had never tried to explain the feelings she had when she read the scriptures. “The kind that makes you feel good right here.” She placed a hand over her heart.
The bell rang, signaling the end of the lunch period.
The next day, Sara asked Carly more questions about the Book of Mormon.
A soft happiness enfolded Carly. She knew she had given Sara the right gift.
The Big Jar
By Clare Mishica
Friend, Mar 2008, 20–22
(Based on a true story)
Let your speech be alway with grace (Colossians 4:6).
“Nettie,” I hollered, picking up a pair of socks that were draped over my fishbowl like a lampshade.
“Oops,” giggled Nettie as she charged into our bedroom. She knocked over the stack of books on my nightstand as she tried to stop.
“That’ll be ten cents,” I ordered as I dropped the socks in her hand. Every time Nettie left her stuff on my side of our bedroom, I made her put ten cents in the big jar on my shelf. Mom told me I could do that if I thought it would help. Nettie was really sloppy, and I was the lucky one who had to share a room with her.
Nettie dropped a dime in the jar and jammed her socks into her jumbled-up drawer. She turned to run out, and I pointed to the books she’d scattered all over the floor.
“Good thing I don’t have to pay ten cents apiece for these,” she joked. “I’d owe you my allowance for two years.”
“Funny,” I said. “You wouldn’t have to pay anything if you kept your messes on your own side of the room.”
“I know,” Nettie sighed, trying to stack up my books. She knocked them over again with her elbow before she’d finished.
“Slow down a little,” I grumbled, grabbing my Birds of North America book before she ripped the pictures.
“Taylor is waiting for me to play baseball,” Nettie said. “I’m going to show her how to hit a home run.”
“Oh, just go,” I finally told her.
“Thanks,” she said. She dropped the books on my bed and raced off. Of course, the books bounced back onto the floor. Somehow everything Nettie touched seemed to end up on the floor.
That week, Nettie’s luck didn’t improve. She tossed her soccer uniform and shin pads on my bed, and that added up to sixty cents including the socks.
Then she flooded Mom’s pot of violets when she watered them, and the water made puddles on the shelf and streaks down the wall. Next, she broke a plate when she tried to help dry the dishes, knocked her bike over and bent the pedal, and lost one orange tennis shoe.
“If you slowed down you wouldn’t be such a disaster,” I told Nettie. “And you would be able to find your stuff if you were neater.”
Nettie didn’t say anything. She knew I was right.
For one moment, Nettie’s luck changed—Taylor’s family invited her to go camping with them that Friday. But her luck didn’t last long. Friday morning, Nettie came down with the flu.
I went in our room to talk to her. She gave me the same look she’d made the day her pet worm Wiggles died.
“I’m sorry you can’t go camping,” I told her. I was sorry for me too. I had been looking forward to a break from sharing a room.
“That’s OK,” she said. “It’s probably good that I can’t go. I would have wrecked everything!”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
She sniffled, and not from the flu. “What if I knocked down the tent or broke the lantern or fell in the lake? I do everything wrong. I’m a big disaster. You said so yourself.”
I didn’t know what to do or say as the tears slipped down Nettie’s cheeks. I felt horrible. My heart thumped in my chest. What had I done? I’d never thought about how everything I said made Nettie feel bad about herself. I always told her how she messed up, but I never told her what she did right.
“Nettie, you are a good friend,” I said. “I’m sure Taylor wishes you were there right now. You try to help her. In fact, you try to help everyone.”
“Really?” Nettie asked, wiping her nose.
I nodded. “Yep. You’re always helping Mom with the chores. She appreciates that.”
“She does?”
“Of course,” I told her. “You’re the nicest helper I know, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.”
“Thanks,” Nettie said. She was smiling and looking a little better.
When Nettie dozed off to sleep, I quietly took the big jar off my shelf and took it to Mom. I had an idea.
Later that day, Dad took me to the store. I returned with a brightly wrapped box just for Nettie.
“A present?” she asked. “Because I’m sick?”
I shook my head. “No. Because I love you.” I showed her the empty jar. “I never should have made you pay me. The present rightly belongs to you.”
Nettie squealed and hugged me so hard I almost dropped the jar. “You’re the greatest sister,” she said.
“You’re pretty great yourself,” I said.
I looked at the empty jar in my hands and thought about it. Then I opened my closet and put the jar on the top shelf. I didn’t want it anymore. Instead of filling the jar with dimes, I planned on filling Nettie up with good feelings about herself. I knew I could do it because Nettie had shown me how much power my words had. From now on, I would be much more careful about how I used them. I wasn’t the greatest sister yet, but maybe I could be a good one if I tried.
The Red Marble
By Ray Goldrup
Friend, Jan 2008, 4–6
(Based on a true story)
The morning sun was boiling up over the low, dry hills as Elliot trudged up the narrow dirt road. Dangling from his belt was a drawstring bag of marbles and a leather bag holding a thermos.
He left the road and slid down the side of a 10-foot-deep creek bed that was, for the most part, dry. He had promised himself and a hundred or so tadpoles trapped in two puddles that he would move them to deeper water.
He looked at the watch he had received on his 10th birthday the week before. It was barely nine o’clock, and he had until noon before he had to be home. Elliot set about herding the tadpoles into the lid of his thermos and then poured the squiggly contents into the small jug. He transported them up the creek to a deeper pool protected from the sun. He emptied the pollywogs and went back for another batch.
When he finished, he headed back to the road and saw a red-haired boy standing next to an overturned bike stuck in a tangle of brushwood. The boy pulled at the bicycle, whimpering. His pant leg was torn, his right knee was bleeding, and his face was smeared with dirt and tears.
Elliot approached the boy. “I’m Elliot.”
“I’m Rusty,” the boy said with a frown.
“What happened?” Elliot asked.
Rusty explained that he had been out riding his bike when three boys on bicycles forced him off the road. “They teased me and made fun of my red hair and freckles.”
Elliot was shocked. “Why would they want to do that?”
Rusty shrugged and sighed. His eyes welled up and he looked away, embarrassed. “Seems like kids are always doing that kind of stuff to me. I’m so used to it I don’t wonder why anymore. Maybe this time it’s because I’m a new kid. Or … just because. One time at another school, I was in the lunch line. A kid said, ‘Who do you think you are?’ and got in front of me. Maybe some kids get picked on because they are nobodies and that’s just the way it is.”
“No!” Elliot said. “You are somebody. You’re a child of God, and that makes you very important.” Rusty looked confused, so Elliot told him about the Savior, the plan of salvation, and the importance of each soul. Elliot talked easily about the things he knew were true.
“How do you know all that stuff?” Rusty asked.
“I learned it in church and from my parents,” Elliot said. Rusty looked thoughtful.
Elliot opened up his bag and held out a big shooter-sized marble. “Here, I want to give you this.”
Rusty held it up to the light. It was dark red and clear. “It’s almost the same color as my hair!” Rusty said. “I … I can’t take this. It’s yours, and—”
“Not anymore.” Elliot smiled. “I just gave it to you. Besides, I have another just like it.”
Rusty eyed Elliot with confusion. “Why do you want me to have it?”
Elliot’s smile got bigger. “So you’ll always remember that red is a special color. To me, red is the color of love. My dad gives my mom red roses. And red can remind you that Jesus bled in the Garden of Gethsemane for us.”
A smile slowly pushed its way across Rusty’s dirt- and tear-stained face. Elliot helped untangle Rusty’s bike from the brushwood, then walked home with him. Rusty lived in a neighborhood close to Elliot’s, and they decided to play together soon.
After saying good-bye to his new friend, Elliot glanced at his watch. He was 45 minutes late getting home! He hadn’t realized the time had gone so quickly.
Entering his house, Elliot saw his mother talking on the phone. There were tears in her eyes. He felt bad; he must have worried her by being so late. He started to apologize, but she put a quieting finger to her lips, finished her conversation, and hung up the phone.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I stopped to help some tadpoles, and then a boy named Rusty—”
His mother sat him down and knelt to his level. “That was Rusty’s mother.”
“Was she upset?” Elliot blurted. “I talked to Rusty about the Church and the plan of salvation and stuff. I’m sorry, Mom. I guess I shouldn’t have.”
Elliot’s mother shook her head no. “You didn’t do anything wrong, honey. You didn’t say or do anything the Savior wouldn’t have done. Rusty’s mother told me how you helped her son. She said she has never heard him talk so happily. You made a big difference in his life—like you do in ours.”
By Kristen Chandler
Friend, Jan 2008, 20–22
(Based on a true story)
“Urgggg … this can’t be happening!” Ryan said to himself in the mirror. He looked at the floppy ends of his tie. He had half an hour to figure this out.
How hard could it be?
Mom knocked on the bathroom door. “Ryan?” she said softly.
“Come in,” he moaned.
Mom smiled at him as she opened the door. “How’s it coming?”
“Not so good,” he said. “I wish I could get it to look like Dad’s.”
A small frown passed quickly over Mom’s face and disappeared. Ryan wished he hadn’t said anything about Dad, but he couldn’t help it.
Mom flipped the ends of the tie around. “Do you think we could figure it out from the Scouting handbook?” She went to find it.
It seemed ridiculous to Ryan that he had lived to be 12 without learning how to tie a tie. Dad used to tie it for him. But now Mom and Dad were divorced, and Dad lived across town.
Mom reappeared with the book opened to a page. “Can I try?” she asked.
“Sure,” Ryan said, trying to be nice. Mom was smart, but she wasn’t exactly known for her knot-tying expertise.
Mom tied something that looked like an origami project and then undid the silky fabric and started over. After another failed attempt, she sighed heavily.
Suddenly, Ryan’s older sister Katie rushed into the bathroom. “Ryan! What’s wrong with your tie?” she asked, as if his tie were a mutant life-form.
“Nothing!” Mom said, pushing the fabric into shape. “Everything.”
“I’m going to be late,” Ryan said, trying not to sound upset. But he was upset. This was his first day to pass the sacrament since he had been ordained a deacon, and his tie looked awful.
“Well, you can’t pass the sacrament looking like that,” Katie said.
Mom gently pushed Katie out of the bathroom and then came back in. “I have an idea,” she said.
Ryan looked at her doubtfully.
“What if you run over to the church early and ask the bishop to do it?”
The bishop? How embarrassing! Ryan thought he would rather stay home than walk into the chapel with his tie in his hand and walk up to the bishop in front of everybody.
“I bet he helps Peter do his tie all the time,” Mom said.
Peter was the bishop’s son. “I doubt it,” Ryan said. He frowned into the mirror and pulled at the tie.
When Ryan got to the doors of the chapel, he felt a red-hot humiliation fill his face. What would the other boys think if they saw him ask the bishop? Why couldn’t his mom do it for him? He thought about turning around. Then something quiet but strong told him to go into the chapel and it would be OK.
He took a deep breath and walked through the doors. He was early, so the chapel was nearly empty except for the organist and a few people sitting at the front. And there was Bishop Anderson with his head down, quietly reading his scriptures. Just then the bishop looked up at Ryan. He put his scriptures down and walked down the aisle. He held out his hand.
“Welcome, Ryan. Are you excited to pass the sacrament today?” he asked.
“Well, I have a little problem,” Ryan said.
“Don’t worry. Everyone’s nervous the first time. I stepped on a lady’s foot when I was your age. It all turned out all right.”
“No,” Ryan said, holding out his tie.
“Oh. Come with me,” the bishop said.
The two of them stepped into the foyer. The bishop showed Ryan how to loop the fabric, and before Ryan had time to think about it, he had a normal-looking tie. Bishop Anderson didn’t make fun of him or act like he should know how to do this already. He didn’t act like he felt sorry for Ryan either.
“I appreciate your asking me to help you with that,” Bishop Anderson said as they walked back into the chapel.
Ryan nodded. He was still embarrassed but not nearly as much now that his tie was on.
The bishop put his hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “This ward is like a big family, and I always feel better when the people in my family are taken care of.”
Then he walked up to the front of the chapel.
As Ryan passed the sacrament, he saw familiar, smiling faces. He thought about what the bishop had said. This ward was like a big family, and it was a family he liked being a part of.
Stuffed Animal Primary
By Sarah Cutler
Friend, Apr 2008, 44–45
(Based on a true story)
I want to be rev’rent, to show my love for thee (Children’s Songbook,28).
“Mom, cough, cough, can I please go?” Haley asked.
“Listen to you. You’re even coughing now while you’re pretending to be well. I’m sorry, Haley, but you and I will have to stay home from church today,” Mom said.
Haley climbed back in bed with her toy stuffed animals. Her family hadn’t always gone to church. But when they moved to their new home, her parents decided it was time to go back to church. Now Haley, her little brother Nick, and their parents attended church every Sunday.
Haley loved going to church. She liked singing time. She liked the prayers. She liked the talks the other children gave. She liked the sacrament. She liked her class. Every week, all through church, she felt happy, and she knew going to church was right.
So she was excited when Mom and Dad announced a few weeks ago at dinner that they would be going to the temple soon to be sealed as a family. They had talked about keeping the commandments and being worthy to go to the temple. After that, when Haley went to church, she thought about how it was helping her family be eternal and she liked it even better.
But now she was sick and would miss church. Haley lay on her bed and looked around her room. If she had to stay home, she wanted to at least do something reverent.
Watch TV? That didn’t feel right.
Build with blocks? Probably not.
Color? Maybe.
Listen to songs? If they were Church songs.
Read books? Maybe her illustrated scriptures.
Haley’s eyes had gone all the way around her room. Then she looked at her bed. She was surrounded by stuffed animals: Clara the bear, Madeleine the toucan, Bill the alligator, Summer Daylight the moose, and Jane the purple fuzz ball.
And then Haley had an idea. She put her pillow on her bed like a bench and set each of her stuffed animals on it. Then she announced: “Thank you for coming to Primary, everyone. Today we are going to sing ‘I Am a Child of God.’ ”
Haley held Clara’s arm and helped her lead the music. Then Bill gave a talk about prayer, Madeleine read a story from Haley’s illustrated scriptures, and Summer Daylight had everyone color a picture for sharing time. Jane the purple fuzz ball didn’t have a mouth, but she listened carefully the whole time.
When her stuffed animal Primary was over, Haley put each of the animals back to sleep on her bed and she lay down too.
Next week she could go to real church and Primary, but she was glad that today she had tried to be reverent even though she couldn’t go.
Bullies and Brothers
By Heather Kirby
(Based on a true story)
“Kids, I’m leaving now,” Mom called from downstairs. “David is in charge.”
“Bye, Mom,” I yelled. I was trying to finish my math homework so I could watch my favorite TV show. We weren’t allowed to watch TV until our homework was done. I solved the last problem, then snapped the book shut. “Finished!”
I strolled into the family room, settled into the couch, and clicked on the TV.
Suddenly, my older brother David barreled into the room. He grabbed the remote control and pushed me off the couch.
“Ow!” I cried as I hit the floor with a thud. “Hey, I was here first!”
“Yeah, but Mom left me in charge. And I say we’re going to watch my favorite show.”
“Fine,” I said. “I have a new book I want to read, anyway.” I walked back to my room. Pulling the book off a shelf, I sat in my special reading chair.
“Heather, go get me something to eat,” David called.
“I’m busy,” I called back, turning a page.
“So am I. This is the best part of the show. Go get me something to eat.”
“Why should I?” I asked. “You can do it yourself.”
“If you don’t I’ll take your book and hide it.”
I sighed. If I got him a snack, maybe he’d stop bothering me. “David is such a bully,” I thought as I grabbed some chips. “Why can’t I have a nice older brother?”
At dinner, I noticed the red plate by my seat at the table, which meant I had done something special. “Why do I have the red plate?” I asked.
“Your teacher called me today,” Mom said. “Your reading and writing skills are very good, and your teacher wants to challenge you more. So, during your class’s English section, you will go to the fourth-grade class.”
I couldn’t believe it! They were moving me up two whole grades!
“That’s my girl. So smart,” Dad said.
David didn’t say anything. He was quiet during dinner. Was he mad at me?
The next day, I was nervous as I made my way to the fourth-grade class. My teacher had given me directions and a note, then sent me off. As I made my way to the upper elementary classrooms, I felt like I was entering enemy territory. Our playgrounds didn’t even mix—first through third grade were on one side, and fourth through sixth on the other. I was sure that at any moment someone was going to shout: “Stop! You don’t belong here!”
But the fourth-grade teacher, Mrs. Randall, helped me feel better with her smiling face. She introduced me to the class and pointed me to an empty desk.
I listened carefully to the lesson, and tried not to stand out. When Mrs. Randall dismissed me, I hurried back to the safety of the second grade.
After school, I waited for the bus with the other kids.
“Hey. Hey, you!” someone yelled. I turned around and saw two girls coming toward me. I recognized them from Mrs. Randall’s class.
“Hi, little second grader,” the taller girl said. “My name is Janna, and this is Kylie. So how’d you like class today?” she asked sweetly.
“Oh, it was … fine,” I stammered.
Janna made a face. “You must think you’re so smart being in our class. Smarter than us, even.”
I looked down at my feet. “I don’t think that.”
“Good! Because you’re not smart. You’re a freak!”
“Yeah.” Kylie laughed. “And a geek.”
Janna stepped closer. “I don’t like you,” she said, “and I don’t like you in our class.”
“What’s the problem?”
I turned to find my brother David standing beside me.
Janna stepped back. “This little nerd thinks she’s smarter than me.”
“She’s not a nerd. She’s my sister.” David put his hand on my shoulder. “And she hasn’t done anything to you. If you keep being mean to her, I’m going to hear about it.”
Janna looked at my brother. He was taller and wider than she was. “What grade are you in?” she asked.
“Oh,” she said. She and Kylie took a few more steps back. “Well, OK. We’ll leave her alone.”
David turned me around and guided me to the bus. Then he went to join his friends.
I got on the bus and sat down, feeling a little dazed. I couldn’t believe it. David had stood up for me! I knew then that even though we didn’t always get along, David was my brother and he loved me. I suddenly felt very grateful for him.
At dinner that night, David seemed surprised when he noticed the red plate at his seat. “What’s this for?” he asked.
“I put it there,” I said. “It’s for being a great older brother.”
David laughed as I told our parents what had happened. I made David sound like a superhero.
“We’re proud of you for helping your sister,” Dad said.
David smiled. “It’s good to be a hero,” he said.
I grinned at him. “It’s even better to have one as an older brother.”
A Necklace for Mama
By Hazel Lamoreaux
Friend, Apr 2008, 18–21
(Based on a true story)
For it is by faith that miracles are wrought (Moroni 7:37).
In the still darkness a bugle sounded, signaling for the pioneers to wake up. Will groped around the floor of the covered wagon for his shirt.
“Time to get up,” he said to his little brother, Tommy. “The sooner the wagon train starts, the sooner we get to Zion.”
Tommy sat up. “And the sooner we can find Mama a new necklace.”
Mama’s necklace had been a special gift from her mother before their family left for the Salt Lake Valley. But by the time they reached Omaha, Mama had smallpox, and it had been necessary to pull out of the wagon train for a time. While very ill, Mama had whispered: “Have faith. Good things can come from bad. You must sell the necklace to buy medicine and necessities to continue our journey.” So they sold Mama’s special necklace.
Now they had joined the wagon train again. Papa entered the wagon with a lantern. In the dim light, Mama’s face was pale, still scabbed with smallpox.
“Mama, stay in the wagon and rest,” Papa said. “We’ll make the bread.”
“The wagon jolts a body so,” Mama said. “It rests me to feel solid ground under my feet.”
Papa hesitated. “You are still weak. But a little while outside may do you good.”
The family knelt for morning prayer. Papa thanked Heavenly Father for their blessings, prayed for Mama’s continued recovery, then asked for wisdom in dealing with the Indians sighted yesterday by wagon scouts.
After the prayer, Papa jumped from the wagon and helped Mama down. Will scrambled out with Tommy. The boys started a cooking fire while Mama whipped up a batch of pan bread. It was almost daylight when everyone settled around the fire to eat.
Will bit into a biscuit and licked his lips so as not to waste a speck of good bread. “Butter and jam like we had in Nauvoo would be good.”
“We must be thankful for bread,” Mama said. “Only by careful rationing will we have enough to eat before we reach the Salt Lake Valley.”
After breakfast, Papa hitched the horses to the wagon. Mama made herself a bed in the wagon. Will and Tommy took care of the dishes. Then the bugle signaled that it was time to move out.
Heavy clouds of dust hovered over the wagon train as it crawled across the baked prairie land. Sweat streaked Will’s face as he and Tommy plodded barefoot alongside the wagon. Their shoes had to be saved for the coming cold weather.
Papa called, “You boys had best walk outside the dust. But remember we’re in Indian country, so keep a sharp eye out. And mind that you don’t get into cactus.”
Will and Tommy scuttled through the dust cloud, careful to avoid the prickly pear cactus. Outside the dirty air, Will stared at mounds of gravel. “Anthills!” he said.
Tommy picked up a shiny red object. “What’s this?”
“A bead. Indians who camped here must have spilled them. The ants think they are just gravel for building.”
“They’d make a pretty necklace,” Tommy said. “Have you noticed that Mama doesn’t smile much anymore? I think she’s sad about her necklace.”
Will nodded. “She used to smile all the time. Let’s make her another necklace.” He pulled a coarse thread from his ragged shirt and handed it to Tommy. “I’ll grab the beads. You string them on this thread.”
Ants swarmed over Will’s bare feet as he snatched up a handful of gravel from a mound. Jumping away, he sifted the gravel through his fingers to find beads. He handed them to Tommy.
With his tongue, Tommy moistened the thread. Twisting it to a point, he poked it through the beads.
Will waded back into the ants. He hopped up and down, wiggling his toes against painful bites as he grabbed more beads.
Finally, the thread, filled with bright beads, flashed in the sun. Will tied the ends of the string together. “We’d better run to catch up to the wagon train,” he said, and shoved the string into his pocket.
“The wagons aren’t moving,” Tommy said when the train came into view.
Peering ahead, Will forgot to watch for prickly pear. A hundred tiny barbs pierced his already aching feet. As he staggered out of the cactus bed, he heard a great commotion.
Indians! On ponies, they circled the wagons, shouting and waving guns. Will forgot the throbbing in his feet and raced for their wagon.
Unnoticed in the confusion and noise, the boys clambered into the wagon. They crouched with Mama, watching the Indians. “The wagon master said that it isn’t a war party,” she told them. “They want food. If we give it to them, they’ll leave.”
“We can’t give our food away!” Will protested. “You said we’d have to ration our food to make it last to the Salt Lake Valley.”
Reaching for Will, Mama’s hand brushed his swollen feet. “You’ve stepped in cactus!” she said. “Those spines must come out. I’ll fetch water to wash your feet.”
Clutching a pan, she stood at the front of the wagon, ready to jump down. She had to dip water from the barrel strapped to the wagon’s side.
Looking up, the Indian chief saw Mama’s scabbed face and pointed toward her. Mama jumped from the wagon. Other Indians, seeing her smallpox scabs, turned their ponies. Whooping and shouting, they galloped across the prairie and disappeared over a rise.
Mama returned with the pan of water. When she bent to wash his feet, Will slipped the necklace over her head. “Tommy and I made this for you. So you’d be happy,” he said.
Mama smiled. “It makes me very happy. I’ve always believed good things could come from bad. This beautiful necklace will always remind me of the day smallpox saved a wagon train.”
Her Mother’s Song
By Sheila Kindred
Friend, Apr 2008, 10–11
(Based on a true story)
Praise the Lord with singing (D&C 136:28).
Susan woke with a start. What was that noise? She listened carefully. The wind howled through the eucalyptus trees and knocked seedpods onto the roof above her bedroom. The noise of their falling sounded like heavy rain, and it had awakened her.
Susan sighed. Her family had just moved into this house, and she wasn’t used to all the new sounds. It didn’t help that Susan now slept alone. In their old house she had shared a bedroom with her older sister.
She pulled her blankets up under her chin as another shower of pods hit the roof. She was scared, lonely, and, she realized, missing her dad. Susan’s dad was an officer in the military. He was away on training. Although he wasn’t in danger, Susan suddenly grew frightened. What if someday her dad was sent to war and got killed? She didn’t want to grow up without her father. She needed him.
Tears pricked her eyes, and Susan knew she needed help to calm her growing fears. Her sister wasn’t nearby, but she knew that Jesus and Heavenly Father were always close.
Gathering her courage, Susan slipped out from under her blankets and knelt by the side of her bed. She prayed to Heavenly Father to help her, to take away her fear.
And then Susan heard something. It was softer than the clatter on the roof. It was her mother’s voice, and she was singing. As her mother walked through the house, finishing up her chores and getting ready for bed, she sang.
Susan’s mother had a beautiful voice and sang often, but this was the most wonderful song Susan had ever heard her sing. Though Susan didn’t recognize the tune, the words were about Jesus. The song filled her with peace.
Susan thanked Heavenly Father, then climbed back into bed, and listened to her mother’s song. Tears came to her eyes again, this time tears of gratitude and relief. She felt that all was well. She knew she had a loving family. She knew that Heavenly Father cared about her. She believed that no matter what happened, there would always be a reason to hope. Susan knew that whenever fears threatened to overcome her, she could find peace by remembering the night her mother’s song was stronger than fear.
Ricky Makes a Choice
By Angie Fenimore
Friend, Apr 2008, 4–6
(Based on a true story)
“My mom says that I can’t be friends with Mormons because they believe in Joseph Smith,” Cody said as they spilled out of their classroom onto the playground for recess.
Ricky’s face burned with confusion. Cody had been Ricky’s very best friend since Ricky had moved in at the beginning of the year. They had played soccer every recess, sat together every lunch, and promised they’d always be best friends. Ricky had even asked Cody to come to his baptism.
“My mom thinks Mormons are bad and I’m not supposed to play with you anymore. I’m sorry,” Cody said as he nervously looked at the ground. Ricky pushed his hands into his pockets and forced the tears back as he watched his best friend run across the blacktop out to the soccer field.
Since as far back as Ricky could remember, he had imagined his own baptism with pure excitement. But now, with the special day less than a week away, he couldn’t stop thinking about what Cody had said.
At dinner Sunday evening, Ricky sat quietly picking at his plate.
“Hey, Ricky, what’s up?” Mom asked. “You’ve been moping around all weekend.”
“Why do we have to get baptized?” Ricky asked.
“You know all the reasons, Ricky: to become members of Christ’s Church, to receive the gift of the Holy Ghost, to follow Jesus’s example,” Mom said. “But most important, we get baptized because we want to, not because we have to. What’s bothering you, honey?”
“If I get baptized, Cody won’t be my friend anymore,” Ricky finally said.
“It’s a very important decision and it needs to be yours,” Mom said. “I have an idea. Get your pajamas on and brush your teeth and then meet me on the top of the bunk bed.” It was Ricky’s favorite quiet place where he often went to escape his busy little brothers.
As Ricky clambered up the ladder, he thought Mom looked awfully silly with her head bent to the side to keep from bumping the ceiling. She was holding a worn copy of Book of Mormon Stories.
“Ricky, before we begin, will you say a prayer and ask the Spirit to be here?” Mom asked.
Ricky folded his arms. “Dear Heavenly Father, please let Thy Spirit be here while we read. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.” A still quiet fell upon the room. Tears filled Mom’s eyes as she opened the book to the first page and began.
“ ‘One day Joseph read James 1:5 in the Bible,’ ” Mom read. “ ‘If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God.’ ” Ricky had heard this story a thousand times, but this time, it all felt very different to him. Mom continued. “ ‘When Joseph told some people what he had seen and heard, they laughed at him.’ ” *
Ricky listened carefully as Mom read about how Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ came to Joseph Smith in a pillar of light. She read about how the angel Moroni had told Joseph about the gold plates, and how Joseph translated them. The words became the Book of Mormon.
“How can you know if Joseph Smith really saw Heavenly Father and Jesus?” Mom asked.
Ricky thought about how he had prayed about important things and answers had come. He knew he needed to pray for an answer. On the cozy little bunk bed, Ricky and his mom scooted up on their knees and folded their arms.
“Dear Heavenly Father,” Ricky began, “I need to know if Joseph Smith really saw a vision, and if the Book of Mormon is really true because I’m supposed to get baptized this week.” A quiet peace filled Ricky’s heart as he spoke the words. “In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.” Then his heart seemed to fill with joy. As Ricky put his arms around Mom’s neck and she squeezed him back, he knew that Mom felt it too. Ricky had never felt so happy and so sure about anything before.
“Sometimes we have to make hard choices so we can do the right thing, just like Joseph Smith,” Ricky thought as he climbed down from the bunk bed.
When his little brothers scampered into the room, Ricky pressed his fingers to his lips. “Shh,” he whispered. “I don’t want this feeling to go away.” Wonderful peace warmed the whole house as Ricky continued to remind his family through the rest of the evening: “Shh, I don’t want this feeling to go away.”
Clean-up Claire
By Marianne Dahl Johnson
Friend, May 2008, 42–44
(Based on a true story)
All things work together for good to them that love God (Romans 8:28).
Claire stomped her foot and glared at her closed bedroom door. Then she collapsed on her bed in tears. It was so unfair! Claire had two younger sisters and one younger brother. All she ever did was clean up after them! At least that’s what she had told Dad five minutes ago.
Claire had been reading a book, her favorite thing to do. Danielle was at the kitchen table making an art project. Liberty was playing with her blocks and dolls, and Hyrum was playing with his farm set.
“Guess what?” Mom said as she walked into the room. “Dad checked out a fun video at the library. Please clean up quickly so there will be time to eat dinner and watch the video before bedtime,” Mom said. “Claire, please help Hyrum clean up his farm set.”
As Claire set her book down, she heard her sisters complaining. Danielle said she wasn’t done with her art project and Liberty said she was too little to clean up her toys. Claire smiled. Liberty always said she was too little when she was asked to do something.
“I have to clean up Hyrum’s toys and I’m not complaining,” Claire thought. She scooped little farm animals into the toy barn and then put the barn on the shelf in Hyrum’s room. Then she went back to the couch and opened her book.
Dad came into the room. “Claire, could you please help Liberty clean up the blocks and dolls?” he asked. “Mom and I will be busy making dinner.”
“But I didn’t play with them, Dad,” Claire said. “Mom said we needed to clean up what we were playing with. I already cleaned up Hyrum’s mess.”
“Claire, we need to work together or we won’t have time to finish the video before bedtime,” Dad said. “Please go help Liberty.”
Claire was upset. She saw all of the blocks scattered throughout the family room. They had been made into little houses for Liberty’s dolls and stuffed animals. What a mess! She stomped her foot. “All I ever do is clean up after little kids!” she said.
“Let’s go to your room,” Dad said. He walked with Claire to her room. When they got there he said, “I know you’ve already cleaned. But we are a family and we work together. We all want to watch the video, so we all need to help. Danielle is cleaning up her art project, and Mom and I are making dinner. Liberty made a big mess but she’s only three. She needs help. Can you please be more willing to help?”
Now Claire lay on her bed crying. She felt awful inside. Did her parents think she was a maid? Maybe they should call her “Clean-up Claire.” Claire felt like a dark cloud was hanging over her head. She felt angry and alone. She took a deep breath. “I’ve got to stop feeling like this,” she thought. “What can I do to feel better?”
She knew what would make her feel better. She wiped the tears out of her eyes and knelt by the side of her bed. “Heavenly Father,” she prayed, “I’m sorry for the way I’ve acted. I’m sorry that I didn’t obey and that I complained to my parents. Please help me to feel better. Please help me feel the Spirit.”
As she said those words, the dark feelings left her. She felt warm and peaceful. She stayed on her knees and enjoyed the good feelings in her heart. Then she stood up. “This won’t be so bad,” she thought. She opened her door and quickly found the bucket that the blocks went in. She scooped them up as quickly as she could. “Liberty,” she called, “come and help me put these dolls and stuffed animals away.”
“I can’t help,” Liberty said as she walked into the room. “I’m too little.”
Claire smiled at her. “No, you’re not,” Claire said kindly. “Come on, I’ll help you.” Together the girls picked up the family room. Then Claire went into the kitchen where Mom and Dad were setting the table.
“I’m sorry I complained,” Claire said.
Mom and Dad smiled at her. “Thank you, Claire,” Dad said.
As the family gathered around the table, Mom said, “I never realized how much effect one person can have on the feeling we have in our home. A little while ago, it didn’t seem like the Spirit was here. But now, I know that it is. Thank you for doing your work happily, Claire.”
Claire smiled. She knew she had helped her whole family.
Andy’s Choice
By Darlene Young
Friend, May 2008, 28–31
(Based on a true story)
Andy straightened his neckerchief and grabbed his Webelos manual.
“Hurry, Andy! You’re going to be late,” his mother called from downstairs. He rushed down and out the front door.
“Bye, Mom!” he yelled as he hopped on his bike. In his last ward, his mom had driven him to the church every week for Scouts. It seemed so cool that now he could ride his bike just around the block to Sister Snow’s house for den meeting.
Sister Snow’s son, B.J., answered the door. Andy liked B.J., but B.J. always seemed to be looking over Andy’s shoulder, like he was hoping someone else would show up. B.J. led Andy to the family room where David, Tanner, Bryce, and Jemison were busy painting a poster. David looked up and smiled when Andy said hi.
All during the meeting Andy tried to be friendly to everyone, but especially to B.J. He wanted to have some friends in his new ward before school started. It would be easier to go to a new school if he already had friends.
When den meeting was over, Sister Snow said that the boys could stay and play together a little longer if they wanted to.
“Great!” B.J. said. “Let’s play a video game. You have to see this new one I got.”
Andy looked to see what game B.J. was putting on. With a sinking feeling, he realized it was not one his parents would let him play.
“What’s wrong?” David asked. All the boys turned to look at Andy.
“I was just wondering what other games you have,” Andy said to B.J.
“Why? Don’t you like this one?”
“It’s just—it’s just that …” Andy stammered, trying to make his voice work. “It’s just that my parents won’t let me play that game.”
B.J. laughed. “Oh. Well, that’s OK. We won’t tell them.”
Andy felt the other boys watching him. He said in a small voice, “I think maybe I’ll go home.”
Nobody said anything for a second. Then David said, “Hey, guys, let’s pick another game.”
“You could always stay and just watch, you know,” B.J. said.
Watching wasn’t the same as playing, was it? But, no, that didn’t feel right to Andy either. He felt all tight inside and wanted to cry. “No, I think I’d better not.”
“Better not what?” Sister Snow asked as she passed through the room. “What’s wrong, Andy?”
“Andy thinks his parents won’t let him play this game,” B.J. said.
“Wow, Andy. That’s really responsible of you to obey your parents even when they aren’t around.” Sister Snow smiled. Then she left. Andy had hoped she would make B.J. change the game. Now what would he do?
Finally B.J. said, “All right. Let’s just pick another one.” He put in a different game. Even though Andy was allowed to play it, he still felt lonely.
When he got home, Andy ran straight to his room. A few minutes later his father knocked on the door. “Andy? Can I come in?”
Andy rolled over and looked at the wall. “I guess,” he answered softly.
Andy’s dad came in and sat on the edge of the bed. “Sister Snow called,” he said. “She told me you followed our family rules and didn’t play the game the other boys chose.”
Andy shrugged. Then he looked up into his father’s face. He was smiling. “Andy, I am so proud of you.”
Hearing the love in his father’s voice made tears come into Andy’s eyes. “I thought about calling you or Mom. I thought maybe if I asked on the phone, you might let me play it.”
“So why didn’t you call us?”
“Because I knew what you would say. Then the other boys said I should just play it, because you would never know.”
“But you didn’t do that,” Dad said.
“No, but I almost did. The game looked really cool, and I felt like a baby not playing it. I can’t wait until I’m a teenager and can play those games.”
“Wait a minute,” Dad said. “Are you sure you’ll be playing them when you are a teenager?”
“But the rating was—”
“I know. But some things are still not good for us even when we are older. Your mother and I are both old enough to see any kind of movie, but we don’t because the Holy Ghost has told us that some movies aren’t good for us. We have rules for you now, but as you get older you’ll have to make rules for yourself—rules that will help you keep the Holy Ghost with you.”
“But it’s so hard to be left out,” Andy said.
“Let me tell you something that has helped me,” Dad said. “I have a best friend who helps me choose the right: Mom. We can always do good things together. Do you have any friends who might feel the same as you about video games?”
Andy thought about that. “Well, I think David might have been glad when they switched to another game.”
“It sounds like David is the kind of boy you might want to spend some more time with.”
“Yeah, maybe so. Dad, can I invite David over tomorrow?”
“OK,” Dad said. “I love you, buddy.” Dad rubbed Andy’s hair and left the room.
Andy sat on his bed for a few more minutes and thought about David. It would be nice to have a friend who didn’t want Andy to do what felt wrong.
Andy looked at the bare walls around his room and the moving boxes on the floor. He would call David right now. David was probably the right person to help Andy hang his posters up tomorrow.
The Best Bargain
By Sheila Kindred
Friend, May 2008, 10–12
(Based on a true story)
I’ll form good habits in my youth, to keep my word, to tell the truth(Children’s Songbook, 149).
Andrea had been saving money from her paper route and her allowance for a long time. She wanted to get a CD player for her mom for Mother’s Day. She knew her mom would love listening to music in the kitchen while she worked. Finally, after paying tithing, Andrea had saved $20. With this money she hoped to find a great deal on a good secondhand CD player.
Andrea knew Mom wouldn’t mind if it was secondhand, because Mom was always happy to find “great deals” and “the best bargains” at the store. Mom would be proud to know that Andrea was trying to get the most for her money too.
The Saturday before Mother’s Day, Andrea was excited to find a CD player at her friend Robin’s neighborhood yard sale.
“How much?” Andrea asked.
“Fifteen dollars,” Robin said.
Fifteen dollars! That meant Andrea would have five dollars left over for a fancy gift box and a card.
“I’ll take it,” she said. “But can you keep it here for me? I’ll need to sneak it home later, after my mom leaves for her hair appointment.”
“No problem,” Robin said. “I’ll put a ‘sold’ sign on it, and you can pay me when you pick it up.”
Andrea walked home smiling and humming to herself. What a good bargain shopper she was! Mom would be so proud.
Then Andrea saw another yard sale. Maybe she could find a great deal here on wrapping paper or ribbon. As she looked at the sale tables, another CD player caught her eye. This one was almost the same as the one sold by Robin—except the sign on this one read “$5.”
Five dollars! That was a better bargain than the first one. Andrea couldn’t believe her good luck. By spending only five dollars she’d have enough money left over to buy not only a fancy gift box and card but also the choir CD her mom liked so much. Mom would be twice as proud of her for finding this great deal.
Quickly Andrea bought the CD player and carried it home. By now Mom was gone, so Andrea hid it in her closet. She happily called Robin to tell her she didn’t need her CD player anymore. Robin didn’t say much.
Soon after Andrea hung up, the phone rang. It was Robin calling back.
“What you did isn’t fair,” Robin said. “Lots of people wanted my CD player but I told them it was sold to you. Now our yard sale is over and I can’t sell it. You broke your promise to me, and that’s not nice.”
After Robin hung up, Andrea sat in stunned silence. At first she felt mad. “How dare Robin talk to me like that?” she thought. “It’s my hard-earned money and I can do whatever I want with it.” Besides, getting the best deal was the most important thing, wasn’t it?
Then Andrea started feeling bad. Robin was right, she realized. Andrea had broken her agreement. While Andrea had gotten a better deal, Robin got no deal at all.
Andrea said a prayer for courage, took a deep breath, and dialed Robin’s phone number.
“You’re right,” she blurted out as soon as she heard Robin’s voice. “I’m sorry. I’ll pay you the money I promised, but you can keep the CD player. Maybe at another yard sale you can sell it to someone else. Is that OK?”
Now it was Robin’s turn to be stunned. Finally she responded: “That’s OK. You don’t have to pay me. I just remembered someone else who wanted it. I’ll give her a call. Thanks, though. I really appreciate it. See you at school, Andrea.”
When Andrea hung up, she gave a prayer of thanks that she was able to do the right thing. She knew it was the right thing because now she felt good inside. She was glad she had gotten a great deal on the CD player, but she was even happier that she had strengthened a friendship and learned to have integrity. That was the best bargain of all—one that would make her mother truly proud.
Beautiful Music
By John P. Buentello
Friend, May 2008, 4–6
(Based on a true story)
He that loveth his brother abideth in the light, and there is none occasion of stumbling in him (1 John 2:10).
Taylor took a deep breath and raised her arms above her head. She took a step and lowered her hands to the ground. The flip she made wasn’t perfect, but she put her left leg forward and twisted her body for the next move in her gymnastics routine. That’s when the pounding began to fill the air.The sound of Billy’s drumming threw her off balance. Taylor’s legs slipped out from under her, and she sprawled on the grass in the backyard. Frowning, she looked up at the window to her younger brother’s room. The drumming came through loud and clear.
“Billy, stop making all that noise!” Taylor yelled. “I can’t get the rhythm right for my routine.”
The drumming stopped. Billy stuck his head out the window. “You call that a routine?” He began to tap on the windowsill with his drumsticks.
Taylor sighed and got up off the grass. “You know I’m planning to try out for the gymnastics team next week!”
Billy finished tapping out his tune. “I have to practice too.”
“That noise isn’t as important as my routine,” Taylor told him. “They only have tryouts once a year.”
“Then you’d better get back to practicing,” Billy said. He disappeared back into his room, and the drumming began again.
Taylor sighed and raised her arms. She tried a few more moves, but then gave up when the drumming became louder.
Later that day, Taylor passed by Billy’s room. He wasn’t there, but his drums stood in the middle of the room. The drumsticks he used to make all that noise were on top of the biggest drum.
Taylor walked into the room and picked up Billy’s drumsticks. What if she hid them, just until after the gymnastics tryouts? Would that really be so bad? She had asked Billy to stop, but he hadn’t. It was his fault she had to hide the drumsticks.
When Billy noticed his drumsticks were missing, he asked everyone in the family if they had seen them. When he asked Taylor she shook her head and went back to her routine. She could concentrate now, and her practice went better than before. But she still didn’t think she was good enough to make the team.
When she saw Billy the next day he looked sadder than ever. He kept searching for his drumsticks. Taylor felt so sorry for him she almost told him where she had hidden the drumsticks. Then she thought of all the noise he would make to get back at her for taking the sticks. She went outside to practice her routine.
The day before tryouts came. Taylor’s routine still seemed wrong; she couldn’t get the rhythm right. Billy’s sadness was bothering her too. Taylor knew she had done something wrong. She went and got the drumsticks and gave them to Billy.
“Thanks, Taylor!” Billy said, giving her a big hug. “Where in the world did you find them?”
Taylor sighed. “I didn’t find them. I hid them from you. I wanted it quiet so I could practice my routine.”
“You hid them? I’m going to tell Mom!” Billy cried. But then he noticed how sad Taylor was. “Why did you give them back?” he asked.
“You looked so sad,” Taylor said. “And taking them was wrong. I should have tried to get used to your drumming. Anyway, I can’t get my routine right. I can’t get into the rhythm of the moves. I might as well forget about trying out for the team.”
Billy sat down on the grass. “Why don’t you show me what your routine is like?”
Taylor wondered why he wanted to see it, but she nodded and raised her arms. She did a handstand, but immediately felt off balance. As she turned her body for her next move, she heard Billy tapping on the edge of the driveway. He tapped out a rhythm that seemed to mirror the moves she made.
Taylor felt her movements grow smoother. The tapping sound helped her get the rhythm of her routine right. She went through all her moves, did a final flip, and stood up straight with a smile on her face.
“You did it!” Billy said, giving a final series of taps with the drumsticks. “You looked great, Taylor.”
She gave Billy a hug. “I think I’ll do OK at the tryouts, as long as you promise to be there.”
What’s a Pioneer?
By Kerryn Hugo
Friend, Jun 2008, 38–40
(Based on a true story)
Come forth to Zion, or to her stakes (D&C 109:39).
Amelia had heard a lot about pioneers over the last few weeks. Her family talked about them. Her Primary teacher talked about them. And in sacrament meeting today, a speaker had talked about them.
“What’s a pioneer?” Amelia wondered. She thought about pictures she had seen of pioneers. They all seemed to wear old-fashioned clothes, and from the way their houses and wagons looked, Amelia thought they must have lived in the “olden days.” Maybe Poppy could tell her what a pioneer was. He was the oldest person Amelia knew!
“What’s a pioneer, Poppy?” Amelia asked.
“That depends on what kind of pioneer you mean,” her grandfather replied. “A pioneer is someone who does something new to prepare a way for other people. Someone who discovers how to make a plane that flies is a pioneer; so is someone who discovers new medicine to make sick people better. Or a pioneer could be someone in a family who goes to live in a new country.”
“Do we have pioneers in our family?” Amelia asked Daddy later as they cooked dinner.
“We sure do,” Daddy said. “Our pioneers came to Australia from different countries. A lot of them came from England, and some came from Germany. Some of Mummy’s pioneers came from Scotland.”
“Did they come to Australia in the olden days?” Amelia asked.
“Many did, Sweetie,” Daddy said as he chopped the carrots. “They came here a long time ago in big ships. But Granddad Swann flew here in a plane from England only a few years before I was born.”
Amelia wondered if the pioneers had just come to live in Australia. Maybe they went to other countries too. Mummy might know.
“Pioneers left their own countries and went to live in many other lands, not just Australia,” Mummy said. “Did you know that a lot of people who joined our Church in the olden days left their own countries to live in America?”
The next Sunday in Primary, Sister Killalea showed the class some pictures of early Church pioneers. “These pioneers wanted very much to obey Heavenly Father,” Sister Killalea said. “But they were teased and tormented by angry people who didn’t understand about obeying Heavenly Father. A lot of these early Church pioneers left their homes and walked a long, long way to a place where they could live in peace. When you go home, see if you can find out some things that happened to these pioneers to tell the class about next week.”
That evening, Amelia and Nanny were having a chat on the phone. “Nanny, you know the early Church pioneers who walked and walked?” Amelia said. “What happened to them on their trip?”
“Things were very difficult for them,” Nanny replied. “Most of them got hungry or cold or sick. Some even died. And many babies were born in wagons or under trees because there were no hospitals.”
“I’m glad I’m not a pioneer,” Amelia said. “Aren’t you, Nanny?”
Nanny thought for a moment. “I know I wasn’t born in the olden days, and I wasn’t born in another country. Nor did I go on a long walk like some other pioneers. But I’m still a pioneer.”
Amelia was amazed. “A pioneer? Why are you a pioneer?”
“Because when the missionaries taught me the gospel, I decided to join the Church, just like the early Church pioneers did,” Nanny explained. “Some of my family and friends were angry that I chose to obey Heavenly Father. Like other pioneers, I had to leave my home and go somewhere else to live.”
“Were you sad?” Amelia asked.
“Yes, I felt very sad,” Nanny said. “But I’m glad I was a pioneer, because Poppy and our children—including your mum—are all members of Jesus Christ’s true Church. And I’m also happy, Amelia, because you too are learning about Heavenly Father and Jesus and the right way to live.”
When Mummy tucked Amelia into bed that night, Amelia smiled. “Nanny’s a pioneer!”
“Yes,” Mummy said, “and you can be a pioneer too when you try hard to choose the right and help share the gospel with your friends.”
As Amelia drifted off to sleep, she felt happy to know all the things she had found out about pioneers. Some were old and some were young. Some lived in other countries and some lived right here in Australia. Some lived a long time ago and some live today. And Amelia could be a pioneer too!
A Friend in Need
By Vicki H. Budge
Friend, Jun 2008, 20–22
(Based on a true story)
I’ll walk with you. I’ll talk with you. That’s how I’ll show my love for you (Children’s Songbook, 140–41).
When I woke up the first morning of summer vacation and remembered where I had to go, I felt nervous. I was going to visit a man named John.
My Primary teacher, Sister Chichenoff, had asked each person in our class to “adopt a grandparent at a nearby nursing home. She told us if we learned to love one another like Jesus taught, we would find real joy. At first I thought her idea was good.
Sister Chichenoff had made it sound like a privilege. “Hey, Nick,” she said. “I assigned you to a special person. This man could really use a friend.”
“You can count on me,” I said. “I’ll be his friend.”
“He doesn’t mix with other people much and he only has one leg. He could use someone who cares about him and will push him around in his wheelchair.”
“I’ll do it,” I said.
Sister Chichenoff reached out and took hold of my arm. “This man doesn’t like people,” she said. “He doesn’t like to talk to anyone, and he doesn’t like to go in his wheelchair. In fact, they tell me he is quite a grouch.”
“Why give him to me?” I asked.
“Because John needs someone to talk to,” Sister Chichenoff s
aid. “He is a lonely man, and I told the administrator you were the person John needs.”
I was afraid to meet someone who didn’t want me to be there. I wondered if he’d yell at me. By dinnertime, I was so afraid to meet him that I went in my room and prayed. I knew Heavenly Father wasn’t afraid of John.
Sister Chichenoff met us that evening with her husband. Brother Chichenoff was funny, so I asked him to stick with me. He was also big, and I planned to hide behind him if John yelled at me.
When we walked into John’s room, he did not yell. He didn’t say anything. He sat in his bed and ignored us.
My friends and I liked monster riddles so I decided to try one.
“What do sea monsters eat?” I asked.
John glared.
“Fish and ships.”
Brother Chichenoff broke out laughing but
John kept glaring. I changed the subject. “Um—how about a ride through the nursing home?”
To my surprise, John nodded yes. The evening didn’t turn out as bad as I thought it would.
The next week I didn’t want to go back, but I wasn’t afraid. When we got to the nursing home, John was already in his wheelchair.
“Been waiting for you,” he said.
“How about a ride?” I asked.
“Sure. Let’s go.”
Brother Chichenoff and I still did most of the talking, but John grumbled a few words. When it was time to go home, he motioned for me to come closer.
“What happened to the apples on the monster’s apple tree?” he asked.
“Well, I … um, I don’t know.”
“They all grue-some. You know—g-r-e-w-some.” John chuckled at his joke. Brother Chichenoff and I laughed.
After that, I looked forward to Thursdays. John’s face lit up like a lightbulb when I walked in. And each week he had a riddle for me.
John told us stories of fishing and hunting years ago. He told us how he cut his leg on an old camper door and it got infected, and that’s why he had only one leg.
Several months later, John told me a secret. “Hey, Nick. Guess what’s two weeks from tonight? My birthday. I’ll be 88.”
“Wow! Let’s do something special” I said. “What would you like to do?”
“I’d like to go somewhere and have a big chicken dinner.”
“OK,” I said. “It will be my birthday present to you.”
My parents agreed to drive us to the restaurant, and then take us back to the nursing home after dinner.
The next week when I visited John, he was walking with crutches all by himself. All he talked about was going out next week for his birthday dinner. He was so excited. I was too.
A few days later, the phone rang early in the morning. It was Sister Chichenoff calling to say that John had died during the night.
On John’s birthday, I sat in the nursing home with the Chichenoffs, my parents, and some of the kids from my Primary class. It wasn’t evening and it wasn’t time to visit our adopted grandparents. It was the middle of the afternoon and we were attending John’s funeral. We were the only people there besides a few who worked at the nursing home.
As I sat there and listened to the story of John’s life, it was hard not to cry. The nursing-home workers said his life had changed and gotten better after the children from the “Mormon Church” started coming to visit. I knew my life had changed because of those visits.
I wish John and I had gone out for that chicken dinner, but I’m glad we had the chance to become friends. I discovered the real joy my Primary teacher talked about when people love one another.
Do You Want to Go to Primary with Me?
By Reneé Harding
Friend, Jul 2008, 4–6
(Based on a true story)
By small and simple things are great things brought to pass (Alma 37:6).
Everyone in the third grade would agree, including me, that Christy was queen of the monkey bars and swings. No one could climb as fast or swing as high as Christy could. And she was equally as good at playing games. But the most important thing to me about Christy was that she and I were good friends. One day at school during recess, Christy asked, “Do you want to go to Primary with me?”
I’d never heard of Primary before. “What’s that?” I asked.
Christy explained, “Primary is something special at my church, just for children. If you go, you’ll sing songs, make new friends, learn new things, and you can meet my Primary teacher, who is really, really nice.”
“As nice as Mrs. Palmer?” I asked, certain that no teacher could be as nice as our third-grade teacher.
Christy laughed. “Yes, she’s as nice as Mrs. Palmer.”
After school I ran all the way home to ask my mom if I could go to Primary. But Mom wasn’t as thrilled about the idea as I was. “I need a little bit more information,” she said. “What’s the name of Christy’s church?”
Well, that was a tough question to start out with because, as I told Mom, “I can’t remember the name. It’s a long name I’ve never heard before.” I could tell by Mom’s worried expression that was the wrong thing to say.
“Hold on. I’m going to call Christy right now!” I ran to the phone and dialed Christy’s number before Mom could say another word.
The phone rang twice before Christy picked it up. “Hello?”
“Christy!” I exclaimed. “What’s the name of your church again?” I listened carefully and then said, “Mom, the name of Christy’s church is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” When the frown on Mom’s face didn’t disappear, I knew I needed help. I said into the phone, “Christy, do you think your mom could talk to my mom about Primary?”
I think Christy heard the desperation in my voice because she got her mom on the phone in five seconds flat. Our moms were soon talking and laughing like old friends. Then my mom told Christy’s mom that, yes, I could go to Primary!
When I went to Primary for the first time, it was everything Christy said it would be and more. Christy was right—our Primary teacher was really, really nice. Every bit as nice as Mrs. Palmer. She even gave me my very own booklet about faith in God.
I went home that day and showed Mom my booklet and told her all about Primary. I even sang the “Hello Song” (Children’s Songbook, 260) to her and my two brothers, which all the kids had sung to me. As Mom studied the picture of Jesus Christ on the front of my booklet and read some of the pages inside, she got a quiet, thoughtful look on her face. Then she said I could go with Christy to Primary every week if I wanted to.
I definitely wanted to, but I actually went only a few more times after that because school let out and our family went on a summer vacation. We loaded up our car and drove from California all the way to my grandmother’s farm in Illinois.
On the second day of our trip, as we drove into Utah, we saw billboards on the highway with the name of Christy’s church on them. They invited people to see something called the visitors’ center in Salt Lake City. Mom said she’d like to stop there so she could find out more about the Church.
When we walked through the door of the visitors’ center, we were greeted by a friendly man wearing a name tag. As he showed us around, Mom had a lot of questions, and the man seemed excited to answer every one of them. When the tour was over, Mom wrote her name and address in the guest book and then checked a box with the word “YES” next to it, saying she’d like to receive more information about the Church.
When we got home from our vacation, two young men who called themselves elders came to our apartment. They told us they were missionaries who got a message all the way from the visitors’ center in Salt Lake City that Mom would like more information about the Church. They said they would love to teach our family about Heavenly Father’s plan and the gospel of Jesus Christ. That’s when the missionaries started teaching our family.
The first time we went to church together, I told my family to be sure to fold their arms when we walked into the chapel. I’d learned at Primary that this was a way to show reverence. We all tried that day to keep our arms folded, but so many people came up to us to shake our hands and welcome us to church that our arms didn’t stay folded for very long.
At the end of our lessons with the missionaries, they asked Mom if she would like to be baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She said she needed to pray about it. The next morning at 6:00 a.m., Mom called the missionaries and said she had prayed all night about being baptized and the answer was yes! My brothers and I also told them we wanted to be baptized.
I still remember stepping into the water in the baptismal font. I was wearing white and feeling so happy inside that I wanted to laugh and shout at the same time. I looked up and saw Mom crying happy tears. Then I looked at Christy, who was just about as excited as I was because it really all started with her when she asked, “Do you want to go to Primary with me?”
Father’s Day Detective
By Sheila Kindred
(Based on a true story)
Father’s Day was coming and I didn’t have a clue what to give my dad. What could he need that he didn’t already have? I decided I had to become a detective to find out.
When Dad came home from work, I was ready. I had a small notebook and pencil to write down clues. I listened carefully and watched closely everything that happened.
First, my dad walked in the door and said, “I’m home.” My mom said, “Welcome home, dear,” and gave him a kiss. Then Dad put his briefcase down by the bookcase. He took some coins and keys from his pockets, and put them on a shelf. Then he took off his coat and tie and hung them in his closet. He rolled up his sleeves and washed up for dinner.
After dinner, Dad cleared the table and washed the dishes. Then he read the newspaper and listened to music. After family prayer I went to bed, still clueless about what my dad needed.
The next morning I decided to try again. I got out my notebook and watched. It wasn’t long before I finally had the clue I’d been looking for.
First, Dad came into the kitchen tying his tie. He said, “Good morning, everyone,” and took a sip of orange juice. “I’ve got to hurry today,” he said. He was putting the coins back in his pocket when he stopped and looked around.
“Have you seen my keys?” he asked me.
I jumped up and found them on the floor near the bookcase.
“Thanks, sweetheart,” he said, kissing my cheek. “Lucky for me you have such sharp eyes.”
He waved good-bye, and I returned his wave with a big grin. I was happy because now I knew exactly what to make my dad for Father’s Day.
I asked my mom for a clean, empty tin can with the top removed. She made sure there were no sharp edges. I covered the outside of the can with gold paper. From some old magazines I cut out pictures of things that had to do with money and keys—a piggy bank, a treasure chest, a door lock, and a sports car. I glued the pictures onto the gold paper. My mom then sprayed the can with a clear sealant. While I waited for the can to dry so I could wrap it, I made a card for my dad with a drawing of a detective on it.
On Father’s Day, when Dad opened my gift, he looked confused. “This is a very pretty tin can,” he said.
“It’s for your extra coins,” I pointed out. “And so you don’t lose your keys anymore.”
Dad’s eyes lit up and he smiled broadly. Right then and there he got up and put the can on the bookshelf. “Perfect,” he said as he dropped his coins and keys in with a clatter. “How did you know this was exactly what I needed?”
I just smiled.
My dad used that tin can every day after that. Whenever I heard the familiar clatter of coins and keys, I felt happy inside. That sound meant my dad was home. And I felt a surge of love for him, knowing that I had been able to give him something he really needed. All I had to do was open my eyes and look for the clues.
Not Just for a Day
By Wendy Ellison
Friend, Jun 2008, 4–5
(Based on a true story)
That thereby they might gather themselves together, to go up to the temple (Mosiah 1:18).
Saturday started just like any other day. The sun rose over the mountains next to Kolin’s home, and the light trickled in through his bedroom window. On another day he might have tried to hide under his covers and stay in bed. But Kolin yawned and stretched and crawled out of bed because something special was going to happen, and he needed to get ready.
Usually Saturday was a day to play with friends or help in the yard or stop in to visit Grandma and Grandpa after errands. He often wore comfortable clothes that were good for getting dirty. Instead, he dressed in his Sunday best that Mom had cleaned and pressed for him. He buttoned his white shirt and carefully tucked it in. He put on his socks and shoes and slipped his tie around his neck—Dad would help him tie it. When Mom called, “It’s time to go,” he was ready.
With everyone buckled safely in the van, Dad drove down the street and around the curve in the road. Kolin smiled when they got to the temple. He saw its smooth surface glistening in the sunlight and the colorful stained-glass windows that stretched toward the spire and the angel Moroni.
Kolin had seen the temple many times. He had been inside a temple before too: once when he was sealed to his parents when he was six months old and again after his parents adopted his younger brother, Kaden. Kolin was too young to remember either of those times, but as he grew he learned that what had happened there was important. And Kolin understood that after this special Saturday visit, his adopted baby sister, Shayla, would be part of the family forever, just like her big brothers.
On any other day Kolin liked laughing and talking. But when he entered the big temple doors with his family, he tried to leave all his wiggles and giggles outside. He knew it was a sacred place.
Friendly temple workers took Kolin, Kaden, and Shayla to a room especially for children, where they dressed in white and stayed until it was time to go to the sealing room where Mom and Dad were waiting. In the sealing room, Kolin saw his grandpa and grandma, aunts and uncles, family friends, and some members of his ward. It was a happy day, even though some people wiped away tears.
The temple sealer greeted the boys with a firm handshake and a smile. He said they looked nice in their white clothing. He encouraged them to always make good choices so they could prepare for missions and come back to the temple. And then he reminded them of the importance of what was about to happen. After that he began the sealing ordinance.
When the sealing was over, Kolin and his family stood and looked into the mirrors across the room. He saw himself with his dad, mom, brother, and baby sister. The reflection didn’t end, just like his eternal family. Kolin knew that because of the temple, his family could be together not just for that day, but forever.
Mr. Lukin’s Turkeys
By Annie Valentine Tintle
Friend, Jul 2008, 42–44
(Based on a true story)
Honesty should start with me in all I say, in all I do (Children’s Songbook, 149).
Rex watched the dust cloud around his bare feet as he walked up the path from the river in the summer sunshine. As he came within view of the farmhouse, he saw his mother tending the vegetable garden out back. She was a hard worker; her pantry was filled with canned beans, beets, tomatoes, and sweet fruit for the winter. She sewed and baked and took care of her family, but when she had a moment to spare, she spent it on her little flower garden in the front yard.
It wasn’t much to look at. With the list of chores she tackled each day, it was difficult to find time to weed and water her flower patch. Each year when the seed catalog came with the mail, she spent a week’s worth of evenings sitting by the fire, carefully turning through the pages to find just the right seeds for the coming year.
Suddenly, something flapping in the front yard caught Rex’s attention. His mother jumped up from the vegetable patch and ran toward her flowers. “Scat! Get out of here, you old turkeys!” There, in her flower garden, a flock of turkeys made a mess of her summer efforts. All the stems had been snapped, the flowers ruined.
Rex ran to help his mother, shooing the flock back to Mr. Lukin’s farm. Like many of the local farmers, Mr. Lukin had recently traded in his hens for a pack of turkeys. But the turkeys’ wings were stronger than hens’ wings, and they had escaped.
“Get on home!” Rex’s mother yelled, her face red. The turkeys waddled single file, demolishing every plant in their path. “Rex, chase those turkeys back where they belong.” She looked sadly at the trampled flowers.
Rex quickly herded the turkeys back down the road, yelling and flapping his arms to spur them on. As the turkeys entered Mr. Lukin’s yard, Rex decided to make one last attempt to make them stay. Looking down, he grabbed a rock lying on the ground. He yelled and threw the rock with all his might, intending to give them a good scare.
Thunk. Rex watched with horror as the largest of Mr. Lukin’s turkeys toppled over. Oh no. Thoughts of old Mr. Lukin raced through Rex’s mind. The man had never been kind to Rex or his brothers. Walking over to the turkey, Rex gave the bird a nudge with his foot, hoping for some sign of life. Nothing—the bird was dead.
What was he going to do? Mr. Lukin would be furious. Looking around, he realized no one had seen him throw the rock. No one would ever know what had happened. Maybe Mr. Lukin would think the bird had died of old age or eaten something bad. Maybe Mr. Lukin wouldn’t even notice the bird was gone. Without another thought, Rex grabbed the turkey and hid it in the bushes. He wouldn’t say a word. No one would ever know. He turned and ran home as fast as he could, fueled by uncertainty and guilt.
His mother praised him for his quick work with the turkeys, unaware of the turmoil in Rex’s belly. How could he tell her what he had done? What would she think of him? As the sickness welled inside him, tears filled his eyes.
“What’s wrong?” his mother asked.
He ran to her arms, sobbing as he unloaded the whole story, complete with his fears of Mr. Lukin’s anger. Finally, as his sobs quieted, she pulled back to look at him. “Rex, take the bird to Mr. Lukin. If you tell him what happened—”
“Oh no! I couldn’t do that!” Rex panicked as he imagined Mr. Lukin’s angry response.
“Rex, believe me,” his mother said. “You will never have peace if you don’t face him and confess. Mr. Lukin deserves to hear the truth.”
“Mr. Lukin will be so mad! He’s mean and he’ll yell at me.” Rex’s eyes filled with fresh tears as he looked at his mother’s tender face. Then he thought of Heavenly Father. Rex realized Heavenly Father expected him to tell the truth.
Finally, looking down, Rex asked quietly, “Will you go with me?”
The walk to Mr. Lukin’s house was torture. Leaving his mother in the yard, Rex stepped to the front porch with the dead turkey. He cautiously knocked, praying Mr. Lukin wouldn’t answer. The door opened.
“Hi, Mr. Lukin.” Rex handed him the bird. “He dug in Mama’s flower beds and I had to chase him out. I threw a rock and he fell. I … I guess I killed him. I’m sorry! Oh, please don’t be mad, Mr. Lukin!” Rex looked at the ground, too frightened to watch the reaction.
There was a moment’s pause, and then Mr. Lukin spoke. “That’s all right, that’s all right. We’ll eat him for dinner today.” A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.
Rex couldn’t believe what he had heard. As he walked home with his mother, he felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He realized that doing the right thing was truly easier in the end. Facing his consequences had been far less painful than living with the guilt.
Benjamin’s Name
By Annette Bay Pimentel
Friend, Jul 2008, 14–16
(Based on a true story)
Therefore, I would that ye should be steadfast and immovable, always abounding in good works (Mosiah 5:15).
Benjamin lay back on his bed and put his feet up on the wall. He always did that when he had to think. Today’s problem was the essay Miss Hardgrave had assigned in language arts. He was supposed to write about why his parents had named him Benjamin and share it with the class.
He knew, of course. There was the picture hanging right above his feet: King Benjamin on top of the tower with everyone in tents looking up at him. Benjamin nudged the frame with his toe, and the picture tilted to one side. Usually he liked knowing he was named for a righteous king in the Book of Mormon. But nobody in his school class was going to know who King Benjamin was. Or what the Book of Mormon was, for that matter. One more thing to have to explain.
Lately it seemed like he was always explaining things: why he didn’t play in soccer games on Sunday, why he wouldn’t watch some of the most popular movies, why he hadn’t joined the same Cub Scout den everyone at school belonged to. He kicked the wall, and his door rattled.
Dad opened the door a crack and peeked in. “Aren’t you asleep yet?” he asked.
“Still doing homework.”
Dad came in and sat on the edge of the bed. “Anything I can help you with?”
“What do you know about Benjamin Franklin?”
“Hmm. United States patriot, flew a kite in a thunderstorm, and he was bald.” Dad rubbed his own bald head and smiled. “How’s that? Are you writing a report on him?”
“Well, not exactly,” Benjamin admitted. He looked down and twisted one of the quilt’s yarn ties around his finger. “I have to write about my name.” Benjamin wasn’t looking at Dad, but he felt his steady gaze.
Dad cleared his throat. “I admire Benjamin Franklin, but that’s not who we named you for.” He leaned over and straightened the picture of King Benjamin until the tower was standing straight again. “We named you after King Benjamin because we hoped you’d be like him—bold and fearless and righteous.”
“But, Dad,” Benjamin protested, “I can’t just stand up in front of my class and say I’m named after a Book of Mormon prophet.”
Dad looked surprised. “Why not?”
“This is for school. You’re not supposed to talk about religion in school. It’s illegal.”
Dad smiled. “Maybe it would be illegal for your teacher to preach to you in class, but we’re talking about answering the question she asked. There’s nothing illegal about that.”
“I bet nobody else even goes to church,” Benjamin said.
“You’d be surprised, I think. Besides, remember what King Benjamin said?” Dad pointed to the words printed below the painting. “Mosiah 5:15. ‘Be steadfast and immovable.’ That means you shouldn’t let other people decide who you are. Even at school.”
Dad stood up and kissed Benjamin on the forehead. “You’d better go to sleep soon. It’s late.”
Benjamin went to his desk and pulled out a sheet of paper. Above his bed, King Benjamin looked calm and confident. His arm was raised in a grand gesture, and the people were peering out of their tents, all their eyes fastened on him. Benjamin thought about what a hard time his teacher had getting everyone to pay attention sometimes. “I bet even King Benjamin would’ve been nervous in front of my class,” he muttered.
The paper on the desk seemed to stare up at him, still blank. Benjamin could hear his clock ticking. Finally, too tired to think anymore, he started to write. “My name is Benjamin. You’ve all heard of Benjamin Franklin. …” He didn’t have to actually say he was named for Benjamin Franklin. He’d let them draw their own conclusions.
The next morning, Benjamin yawned as he waited with Yusuf and Max for the bell to ring.
“That language arts assignment,” Max complained. “It’s so embarrassing.”
“Why?” Yusuf asked.
“My mom got my name from a TV show!” Max leaned against the wall of the school and groaned. “She thought this character named Maximilian was really handsome. She watched the show every day, and when I was born that was the first name that popped into her head.”
“Are you going to tell everyone your name is from a TV show?” Benjamin asked. Explaining you were named for a TV star would be much harder than explaining you were named for someone in the scriptures.
“No.” Max pulled his essay out of the front pocket of his backpack and smoothed out the wrinkles. “I wrote that my mom had heard the name somewhere and liked it. Where did you guys get your names?”
Benjamin leaned over and fidgeted with the zipper on his backpack. He felt uncomfortable. He couldn’t tell his two best friends that he was named for Benjamin Franklin.
Yusuf said, “My name comes from the Koran.”
“What’s the Koran?” Max wanted to know.
“It’s my book of scripture. Like your Bible. There’s a person named Yusuf in it. My parents were going to name me for my grandfather, but he told them to name me Yusuf instead.”
“You’re lucky,” Max said as the bell rang.
Right after taking roll, Miss Hardgrave called on Patricia to read her essay. Her parents had found her name in a name book and liked it because it meant “noble.” Then Maria said that her name was Spanish for Mary, the mother of Jesus, and that her mother had the same name. Yong’s name meant “courageous,” and Jasmine’s parents had liked the way her name sounded.
Now it was Benjamin’s turn. He carried his essay to the front of the room. He was always nervous when he had to speak in front of the class, but today his hands seemed extra sweaty. He leaned against the chalkboard tray and read the first line of his essay to the class: “My name is Benjamin. You’ve all heard of Benjamin Franklin. …” He looked at the rest of what he had written and then looked up at the class. Max was looking at him. Yusuf smiled and nodded. Benjamin wondered if King Benjamin’s hands had gotten sweaty up there on that tower.
He took a deep breath and folded up his paper. “But I’m not really named for Benjamin Franklin. I’m named for a king in the Book of Mormon, one of my books of scripture.” He imagined his friends peering out of tents at him, and he talked a little louder. “Let me tell you about him.”
Finishing the Temple
By Rachelle Pace Castor
Friend, Jul 2008, 28–30
(Based on a true story)
“And please, Heavenly Father, bless me to know what our family can do to help build the temple,” Mama prayed. Phoebe looked at Mama’s face and saw tears rolling down her cheeks, dripping onto her faded blouse. “Into bed with you now,” Mama instructed.
As she pulled the covers up Phoebe asked, “Why are you crying, Mama? Is it because Papa’s on another mission?”
“I do miss Papa. It will be a glorious day when we’re all together again,” Mama said. She tucked the quilts around Phoebe, tight against the bitter night. “But we have so much to be grateful for—our house here in Nauvoo, and six healthy, beautiful children. The Lord is watching over us, Phoebe.”
“But why are you crying, Mama?”
Mama sighed. “I just want so much to help finish the temple.” Mama stood up. “Good night, sweet Phoebe,” she said, and snuffed out the candle.
Phoebe found it hard to sleep. Her arms ached from scrubbing, wringing, and hanging laundry. Her thumb throbbed from pricking it again and again while mending. Even her back was tired from carrying wood.
All of Nauvoo was busy as the Saints worked to finish the temple. While the men did the heaviest labor of hauling and hammering, carving and cutting, the women and children helped by spinning, weaving, knitting, and embroidering the finest additions for the inside of the temple. They also kept the workers fed. A warm feeling filled Phoebe’s heart as she remembered dishing the soup from the big pot at the temple grounds.
“Over here, little sister,” a worker had called to her.
As she offered the soup to the stonecutter she noticed how he held the steaming cup in both hands, soaking the warmth deep into his freezing fingers. The workers only took a moment to relax, then back they went to the next task. “Thank you, little sister,” the man had called.
And with that memory, Phoebe was sound asleep.
As the sun lightened the sky, Phoebe awakened and began to prepare for church. Sunday was the day she missed Papa most. But there were many things she loved about the Sabbath. She loved how everyone looked their best for church, and she loved how even the babies quieted when the Prophet Joseph Smith stood to speak.
This morning the Prophet thanked the Saints for their hard work on the temple and hoped they would double their efforts. Tears formed in Mama’s eyes again, and Phoebe imagined she could hear her mother praying, “How I wish we had more to give.” But they had given everything. How could Mama’s prayer be answered?
Driving home in the wagon, Mama suddenly yanked back on the reins, jerking the wagon to a stop while straining to see something near the roadside. Phoebe peered over the side of the wagon and saw two brown, furry heaps.
“Why, there’s the answer to our prayer,” Mama said. She pulled her sewing scissors from her bag and asked the older children to help her.
“Buffalo,” said little Sarah, pointing a chubby finger.
Two dead buffalo lay in the underbrush and Phoebe wondered where they possibly had come from.
“Help me, children,” Mama directed. The older children pulled at the long mane hair and Mama cut and snipped until they had a large bundle of brown, coarse hair. It took a long time, but their work had just begun. The next day, they washed the hair squeaky clean with strong lye soap. Next, Phoebe brushed and brushed the hair with the carding comb till it was straight and tangle free. Mama spun the hair on a spindle, making yards of dark brown yarn.
All the while Phoebe held back the question until she couldn’t wait another minute. “What, why … how could we ever use such ugly, coarse yarn for something as beautiful as the temple?”
“You’ll see,” Mama replied.
At last the yarn was ready. As Mama began to knit, Phoebe watched in fascination as it slowly took shape. Suddenly, the image of the stonecutter’s cold, red hands came clearly to Phoebe’s memory.
“Mittens!” Phoebe exclaimed. “Mittens for the stonecutters. Now they won’t have to wait for a bowl of soup to warm their hands.”
By the time Mama finished she had knit eight pairs of brown mittens. “They’re beautiful,” Phoebe sighed as she touched each pair. She felt as if her heart was wrapped up in a warm mitten. Mama’s prayers had been answered and their buffalo mittens would help build the temple.
Next Time I’ll Listen!
By Sunny McClellan Morton
Friend, Aug 2008, 4–5
(Based on a true story)
Put your trust in that Spirit which leadeth to do good (D&C 11:12).
“Almost finished,” Manuel whispered. He glanced down at the box under his arm. Nearly all the candy was sold. Now his box held an envelope filled with money.
As the sun beat down on Manuel’s head, he thought of home and his mother and grandmother waiting there. He smiled to think of how happy they were lately. Manuel felt the same happiness, and he knew why—they were all going to be baptized next Sunday.
“Get out of the way!” someone suddenly yelled from behind Manuel. Four boys on bikes raced by as Manuel jumped into the gutter.
Manuel had seen those boys earlier, riding on the opposite sidewalk. A thought had crossed his mind: stay away from those boys. But as they pedaled away, Manuel had relaxed and forgotten about them. Now the feeling returned even stronger. Still, he wanted to finish selling the candy, so he kept going.
Manuel had just sold the last of the candy when the boys returned. One of them grabbed his shoulder as he rode by. The box slipped from under Manuel’s arm, and another boy whizzed past and grabbed it. “No!” Manuel cried. He watched sadly as they carried off his box of hard-earned money.
That evening, Manuel heard a knock at his bedroom door. “Manuel! Please come out!” His mother sounded worried.
“I told you, Mamá, I don’t feel well.”
“But the missionaries are here to see us.”
Manuel got to his feet, took a deep breath, and squared his shoulders.
“Hola, Manuel,” Sister Santos said as Manuel joined his family in the living room.
Usually Manuel listened carefully to the missionaries. But tonight he was thinking about the boys and the box of money. He wished he had run away the first time he had seen them. But how was he supposed to know what to do? Would he ever feel safe walking down the street again? He frowned and started listening to the lesson.
“The Holy Ghost is a messenger from Heavenly Father,” Sister Santos said. “He can guide and inspire our thoughts. He can help us make good choices and warn us of danger.”
Manuel looked up. “What do you mean?”
“Well, have you ever had a strong thought come into your head?” Sister Santos asked. “Maybe it was a prompting to do something. Maybe it just seemed like a great idea.”
Manuel’s eyes widened as he remembered the strong feelings he’d had earlier about getting away from the boys on bikes. “I think it happened today,” he said slowly.
The missionaries looked at him with interest. So did Manuel’s mother and grandmother. He told them about the boys and the stolen box.
“Oh, Manuel, I’m so sorry,” his mother whispered. “That’s why you’ve been so upset this evening. Later I want you to tell me more about those boys. Maybe we can get your money back.”
“I’m sorry too,” Sister Santos said. “But I think you are right. That was probably the Holy Ghost you felt inside.” She paused. “You will receive the gift of the Holy Ghost after your baptism when you are confirmed. That means you will be able to have and feel those messages a lot more often. As you stay worthy, the Holy Ghost can be your constant companion. How do you feel about that?”
A relieved smile crossed Manuel’s face. “Much better!” he said. “I was starting to think I would always be afraid to walk outside. But if the Holy Ghost will warn me again, like He did today, I’ll be fine.” He grinned at his mother. “Because the next time the Holy Ghost speaks to me, I’m going to listen!”
Stay, Annie
By Linda G. Paulsen
Friend, Aug 2008, 28–30
(Based on a true story)
Children, obey your parents in all things: for this is well pleasing unto the Lord (Colossians 3:20).
Jacob latched the gate on the new fence. “Stay, Annie,” he said. “You get this whole big yard. Have fun!”
Jacob had only been in the house long enough to take three bites out of his sandwich when he heard Annie scratching at the door and barking to get into the house. “How did she get out?” he wondered.
He grabbed Annie by her collar and led her back through the open gate. Maybe he hadn’t latched it right before. He pulled the gate shut and carefully pulled the latch into place. “Stay, Annie,” he said again.
“Woof,” Annie said, watching him. Jacob turned to go back into the house, but he looked over his shoulder just in time to see Annie pushing the latch up with her nose and marching through the gate.
“Annie!” Jacob was partly impressed and partly annoyed. “You have to stay in the back.” He took Annie back through the gate. Maybe the dog didn’t remember all the things Jacob’s family had done to make her happy out here. “See, here is your doghouse,” he said. “And here are some of your favorite toys.” Annie picked up her bone and lay down to chew it. “Your water dish and everything you need are right here. I’ll come play with you after I finish my lunch.” But he hadn’t even gotten to the kitchen before he heard Annie barking at the door again.
That night at dinner, Jacob told the story to his family. “So after I put a big bolt through the hole to keep the latch from lifting, I thought for sure that Annie would stay. But she figured out how to pull the bolt out with her teeth. Then she opened the latch and out she came.”
“That dog is too smart for her own good,” Dad remarked.
“So what did you do?” Jacob’s brother Tim asked.
“I put a nut on the bolt,” Jacob said smugly. “Now she can’t pull it out. She’s smart but not as smart as I am.”
The doorbell rang. Jacob jumped up to answer it. He was expecting his friend Ryan to come over, but it wasn’t Ryan at the door. It was a man in uniform with Annie.
“Is this your dog?” the animal-control officer asked. Annie wriggled past Jacob into the house.
Jacob nodded.
Jacob’s mom came up behind him. “Uh-oh,” she said. “We thought Annie was locked in the backyard.”
“She was at large,” the officer said.
“At large?” Jacob asked, puzzled.
“That means loose and uncontrolled,” the officer explained. “We’ve talked to your parents about this before. Your dog has to be secured. That’s the law.”
Jacob remembered that his parents had built the fence because Annie had been in trouble before. She had dashed out of the house when the door had opened and run off down the street.
“She doesn’t mean to be bad,” Jacob said.
“No, but she depends on us who know the rules,” the officer said. “She’s not safe when she’s loose, and neither are the children in the neighborhood. You’ll have to pay the fine.” He handed a ticket to Mom. She wasn’t smiling.
“We’ll figure out how she got out and fix it,” Mom said.
As the officer was leaving, Ryan rode up on his bike. “What’s up?” he asked. “Who got arrested?”
“Ha, ha,” Jacob said. “Actually, Annie did.”
The boys went around to the backyard. Mom and Dad were already there. Dad pointed to an Annie-sized hole under the fence. A pile of dirt on the other side told the story.
Everybody pitched in. Dad and Tim buried big rocks in the most obvious digging spots. Then Jacob and Ryan took logs from the woodpile and laid them along the bottom of the fence where Annie might try to dig. By the time they were finished, it was getting dark.
For two days Annie stayed in the backyard. Jacob was sure the problem was solved. But on Friday, their neighbor Mr. Kopiak called to say that Annie had climbed the woodpile and leaped into his yard over the fence. “She’s OK,” he said, “but I’m surprised she didn’t break a leg.”
“You need to trust me on this,” Jacob said to Annie as he walked her home. “You just don’t realize what’s out there. You could get hurt! You have to stay, Annie.”
That afternoon, Ryan called to invite Jacob to go swimming. “We can bike over to Pizza Village on the way back,” Ryan said.
It was a fun idea, but Jacob knew it would be hard to get permission. The pool was out of his biking territory. Still, Ryan had never invited him to go for pizza before. Jacob felt it was important to their friendship that he say yes. Surely Mom would understand.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Son,” Mom said when he asked her.
“It’s not that far!” Jacob said. He felt angry and frustrated. “Ryan rides his bike all over the place and he’s OK. What could happen?” Jacob was trying not to lose his cool, but he heard his voice getting louder with every syllable. “These rules are stupid!”
Mom looked him right in the eye. “Jacob, you’ll have to trust me. You don’t know what’s out there.”
Jacob felt tingles across the back of his neck. That was the same thing he had said to Annie that very day!
Jacob went to his room to think. He thought about what the animal-control officer had said. He remembered what his dad had said about Annie being so smart. He thought about how much he loved Annie and all the work the family had done to make her safe. He thought about rules, and how much his parents loved him and wanted him to be safe. He thought about the Holy Ghost helping Mom know what to say—the same words he’d told Annie.
After a while, Jacob called Ryan. “I can’t go,” he said. “But if you come over, we can make brownies. Mom says she’ll order pizza to be delivered.”
Ryan happily agreed.
Even Great-Grandmas Can Be Baptized
By Rebecca Greer Adams
Friend, Aug 2008, 6–7
(Based on a true story)
And none were received unto baptism save they took upon them the name of Christ (Moroni 6:3).
“Becky, could you please ask your brothers to come to the family room?” Mom said. “Dad and I have something to tell everyone.”
I went and got Chip and Keith, and we gathered in the family room.
“I received some great news today,” Dad said. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope. “Grandpa Greer sent us a letter saying that Great-Grandma Meikle is going to be baptized.”
“Who is Great-Grandma Meikle?” Chip asked.
“She is Grandma Greer’s mother,” Dad said. “Do you remember when we visited Grandma and Grandpa last year? We also visited Great-Grandma Meikle in the nursing home where she lives.”
“But Great-Grandma must be 100 years old!” Keith said. “She can hardly walk. How can she be baptized? When I was baptized, I was eight years old. Grandmas can’t be baptized.”
“Great-Grandma’s birthday is next week,” Mom said. “She will be 88 years old. She wants to be baptized on her birthday. To be baptized, a person needs to be eight or older. Remember when Brother Garcia was baptized? He wasn’t eight years old.”
Brother Garcia’s daughter Maria was in my class at school. We ate lunch together. She told me the missionaries had been visiting her dad. She loved to have the missionaries in her home. “Did Great-Grandma Meikle have the missionaries visit her?” I asked.
“Yes,” Dad replied. “They visited her every week and answered her questions. Grandpa Greer has also been helping her learn the gospel. And Great-Grandma attends church meetings in the nursing home. She has made many friends in the Church.”
“Who is going to baptize her?” Keith asked. “Dad baptized me. Great-Grandma doesn’t have a dad.”
“The missionaries could do it,” Mom said, “but Great-Grandma has asked Grandpa Greer to do it.”
“Can we go?” Chip pleaded.
“I’m afraid not,” Dad said. “It’s too far away.”
“Can I write a letter?” I asked.
“What a great idea!” Mom said, smiling. “Let’s all write her letters telling her how happy we are for her.”
“I’ll tell her about my baptism so she won’t be nervous,” Keith said on his way to get a pencil and paper.
After everyone finished their letters, we put them in a big envelope and addressed it to Great-Grandma Meikle in the nursing home. Maybe she would write back and tell us all about her special day. It was great news knowing that even great-grandmas can be baptized.
Oh No, Activity Day!
By Lori Mortensen
Friend, Aug 2008, 10–12
(Based on a true story)
To have a friend, you must be a friend, too (Children’s Songbook,262).
Eight-year-old Katie didn’t remember until her bus pulled up to a rumbling stop in front of her house. Whitney and Jessie were already knocking at her door. The other girls were probably inside. “Oh no,” Katie thought with a sigh. “It’s Tuesday, and that means Primary activity day.”
“Race you to the door,” her brother said as he scrambled down the bus’s narrow black steps.
“Go ahead,” she called after him. “I want to be last today.” Katie hated activity days. “Well, not exactly hate,” she thought as she trudged across the grass. Her mom was the activity-day leader, and they had done a lot of fun things like making bread, learning to polka, and putting together their own journals.
But Katie just felt uncomfortable at activity days. When everyone came, there were eight girls all laughing and talking. She’d try to join in, but whenever she said something, somebody would say, “Oh,” and then go right back to what they were doing as if she hadn’t said anything.
Today wasn’t any different. When Katie tried to show everyone her new guinea pig, Squeakers, a few of the girls giggled at his soft fur, but as soon as the doorbell rang they raced to the door and forgot all about her.
When her mother told the girls to gather around the kitchen table to make invitations for their daddy-daughter dance, they scrambled around so they could sit next to their friends. Nobody tried to sit next to Katie.
And when the girls were playing tag on the lawn waiting for their moms to pick them up, Katie was sure that nobody noticed that she wasn’t there. They were too busy having fun without her.
“I don’t want to go to activity days anymore,” Katie said that night as her mother tucked her in bed.
Mother looked surprised. “Why not? I thought you liked activity days.”
“I would if it wasn’t for them,” Katie said.
“Them?” Mom asked.
Katie nodded. “Alyssa, Whitney, Jessie—all of them. They’re all a bunch of brats.” Katie knew that she wasn’t being very nice, but that’s how she felt. Mother sat down on the edge of the bed. “What have they done?”
“Nothing—that’s just it,” Katie said, trying to swallow the lump that had swelled up in her throat. “Nobody likes me.” The words sounded as awful as she felt.
Mother wrapped her arms around Katie and gave her a big hug.
“It’s hard to make friends with a big group. In fact, I’d say it’s impossible.”
Katie gulped. Impossible? Mom was supposed to make her feel better, not worse. “Then I’m definitely not going anymore,” she said.
“Impossible with a group,” Mother said. “But you could make friends with an individual. That’s one of the things I love about the gospel. Heavenly Father knows and loves each one of us individually—not just as a big group. Can you think of one girl you’d like to get to know better?”
Katie thought for a moment. There was Alyssa, Jessie, Whitney, Natalie, Hayley …
Katie stopped. Hayley. She hadn’t really thought of Hayley before. Hayley always came to activity days. She just wasn’t as loud as the other girls. “What about Hayley?” Katie asked.
“Why don’t you give her a call and invite her to play tomorrow?”
The next day Hayley arrived just as they’d planned. Katie showed Hayley her guinea pig and let her hold him in her lap. Hayley laughed at the funny whistling noises he made and the way he nibbled at her clothes. Katie found out that Hayley had a lot of pets—a rabbit, two dogs, and four cats!
They spent the rest of the afternoon jumping on the trampoline and making up stories with Katie’s dolls. Katie never knew that Hayley was such a good storyteller. They both had fun creating the latest doll fashions out of scraps of fabric they got from Katie’s mother.
Two hours seemed more like two minutes. Before they knew it, Hayley’s mom was picking her up.
On the next activity day, Katie raced her brother to their door and joined the girls who had already arrived. Katie and Hayley exchanged grins and began talking about all the things they’d done.
“OK, girls,” Katie’s mother announced. “Time to gather around the table.”
“Let’s sit over there, Hayley,” Katie said, pointing at the chairs on the other side of the table. Everyone was laughing and talking. It was fun to have a friend at activity day. Maybe Hayley and Natalie could come over next week.
Escaping from the Hole
By Julia Oldroyd
Friend, Aug 2008, 44–46
(Based on a true story)
“Time to go, Jacob!” Mom called.
Four-year-old Jacob hopped off his bed and ran downstairs. “What are we going to buy? Can we get treats? Can I help you?”
It was Jacob’s turn to go shopping with Mom, and he was full of questions.
“We are going to buy groceries, and if you are a really big helper, we just might have time to make cookies for family home evening when we get home.”
Jacob smiled as Mom helped him into his seat in the car and buckled the seat belt. This was going to be great!
Mom pushed the grocery cart up and down the aisles while Jacob held the shopping list. He helped organize the groceries and got to choose if they got red apples or yellow apples, and red potatoes or white potatoes.
When they were finished getting the items on the list, Jacob helped push the heavy cart up to the checkout line. He watched as Mom put the groceries on the conveyor belt.
Suddenly, Jacob noticed that the shelves he was standing by were full of candy and gum. Mom didn’t buy those things very often. Jacob saw a package of Blueberry Blast bubble gum and knew it tasted reallygood. He put the package in his pocket.
As they were driving home, Mom said, “You’re very quiet, Jacob. Are you tired?”
“No.”
“OK. Will you help me unload the groceries when we get home?”
“Sure.”
When they got home, they carried the bags of groceries inside and put them on the kitchen counter. Mom looked at Jacob carefully. “Where did you get that big piece of gum?” she asked.
Jacob shrugged his shoulders and looked at the floor. Mom knelt down and asked him again.
“Where did you get that gum, Jacob?”
Jacob took the package of gum out of his pocket.
“Did you take that gum from the store?”
Jacob felt like crying. He nodded his head slowly. Mom looked sad.
“Jacob, when we do something that is wrong—like taking gum from the store without paying for it—it’s like digging a deep hole and standing in the bottom of it. We need to do important things to get out of the hole.”
“What do we do first?” Jacob asked.
“We need to know that we have done something wrong and feel sorry about it. I think you already know that taking the gum is wrong. Are you sorry?”
“Yes. I know it was wrong. I feel sad now,” Jacob said.
“Then we need to fix the problem the best we can. Since you already opened the package of gum and ate some of it, we can’t give it back to the store. What do you think we should do?”
“I have some money. I could go back to the store and pay for the gum.”
“That’s a great idea. I’ll take you.”
Jacob ran upstairs and got his money jar. Mom helped him count out enough to pay for the gum.
When they got to the store, Mom held Jacob’s hand and took him to the manager’s desk. She told the manager that Jacob had something to tell her.
Jacob felt nervous. He pulled the package of gum out of his pocket and put
it on the counter.
“Did you take that gum without paying for it?” the manager asked.
Jacob nodded.
“Would you like to pay for it now?”
“Yes.”
Jacob put his money on the counter. The manager printed a receipt. She put the gum in a bag, gave the receipt to Jacob, and smiled at him. “Thank you for being honest and coming back to pay for the gum,” she said.
Jacob felt much better as he and Mom walked back to the car.
“You are doing a good job climbing out of the hole, Jacob,” Mom said. “But there’s something else you need to do.”
“What?”
“You need to tell Heavenly Father that you are sorry, and promise Him that you will try to keep the commandments from now on.”
When Mom and Jacob got home, they went into a quiet room and knelt down together. Mom helped Jacob say a prayer. He told Heavenly Father that he was sorry and wouldn’t take anything from the store without paying for it ever again.
When the prayer was finished, Jacob was surprised that he didn’t feel bad anymore. Not bad at all! In fact, he felt clean and happy again—just like he had climbed out of a hole, and had a bath too!
The Winner
By Sheila Kindred
Friend, Sep 2008, 14–16
(Based on a true story)
Let every man esteem his brother as himself (D&C 38:24).
On the way home from school, Ben ran to catch up with his older brother, Rick. Rick didn’t seem to be in a good mood, but Ben had something important to ask him that just couldn’t wait.
“Hey, Rick,” Ben panted, “are you going to enter the school spirit contest this year?”
“I have no choice,” Rick said without slowing down. “Everyone has to enter.”
Ben was surprised. “But you probably can’t win it again.” Ben swallowed hard and then spoke quickly. “Maybe you’d like to help somebody else win.”
“Like who?” Rick asked.
“Like me.” Ben smiled weakly.
“You? Bashful Benny?”
“After I win, nobody will call me Bashful Benny anymore. They’ll know I’m somebody special, a real winner, like—well, like you.”
Rick’s expression softened. “Think so, huh? I’m sorry I can’t help you. It’s against the rules.”
“I didn’t mean for you to do anything. I just need to borrow your camera for a few days. Please?” Ben pleaded.
“You can use my camera for one week if I can cut up all your old magazines for my poster,” Rick said.
“Deal!” Ben sprinted home before Rick could change his mind.
Ben worked hard on his project. For the contest, students had to get involved in school activities and make posters to promote school spirit. Ben decided to take photographs of different school activities and mount them on poster board. He had just finished writing carefully under the last picture when Rick came into his room and looked over his shoulder.
“You spelled a word wrong,” Rick said.
“I did not! Mom checked all my spelling. You’re just jealous of my poster.”
“I’m not jealous,” Rick said. “I won last year. You’re the one who should be worried.”
“What do you mean?” Ben asked.
“What are you going to do when you have to get up in front of all those people and accept your award?” Rick asked.
Ben thought about that. “I won’t have to give a speech, will I?”
“You never know.” Rick shrugged and turned to leave.
“Rick,” Ben said, “were you ever scared to win?”
“Of course not,” Rick said quickly. “Well, maybe a little.” He sat down on Ben’s bed. “Do you know what helped me last year?”
“What?” Ben scrambled up next to him.
“My friend, Pete—remember him?”
Ben nodded. “The one who moved away?”
“Yeah. Pete started clapping and yelling so loud when they announced my name that it made me laugh. And I forgot my fear.” Rick smiled, remembering it. “Tell you what, Ben. When you win the contest I’ll clap really loud, and maybe even whistle.”
Finally the day came when the whole school assembled to find out who would win the school spirit contest. The room was so crowded that Ben had to look for a long time before he saw his brother. Rick grinned and gave him a thumbs-up sign. Ben tried to smile back, but he was too nervous.
The room fell silent as the principal stood up to speak. “I am so proud of each of you for the hard work you’ve put into your projects this year.” Her words echoed throughout the gymnasium. “Normally we would not award the prize to the same person two years in a row,” she explained, “but we have an exceptionally talented student at our school.” Ben’s mouth dropped open as the principal announced that Rick had won. Again. At first Ben wasn’t sure he’d heard right. Then he thought it must be a mistake. The principal had probably confused him with his brother.
Ben looked up hopefully at the principal, but she wasn’t looking at him. She was looking across the room to where a group of boys was shoving Rick forward. But Rick wouldn’t move. He shook his head, looking disappointed and a little frightened.
When Ben saw this, he realized his brother really loved him. Rick had wanted Ben to win. Ben could also see that Rick was scared. He couldn’t face the crowd alone. Ben wished that Rick’s friend, Pete, was still there to help him.
Then Ben had a rather frightening idea. He wasn’t sure he could do it, but he knew he had to try, for Rick’s sake. Ben closed his eyes. Then, finding his courage, he leaped to his feet and started to clap.
“Way to go, Rick!” he yelled as loud as he could.
Some of Ben’s classmates tugged on his shirt and whispered, “What are you doing? Sit down.”
“That’s my brother!” Ben whispered back. Many students stood up and clapped with him. Others patted Ben on the back and said, “You’re pretty brave, Ben!” Soon the whole room was filled with applause and cheering.
Slowly Rick walked to the podium to accept the award. He looked at Ben and smiled gratefully. Even though Ben had lost the contest, he felt happy. He knew he was a winner. Nobody could call him Bashful Benny anymore.
Mikey’s Gift
By Dennis A. Barlow
Friend, Sep 2008, 34–35
(Based on a true story)
Brother Bradshaw was old. At least that’s what the other kids said. But he didn’t seem old to Mikey. He remembered that for many years Brother Bradshaw had gone over to the church early each Sunday to sweep away the leaves from the walkways so that people wouldn’t slip. Now, since Brother Bradshaw had been in a wheelchair, Mikey had gone to his home each Sunday morning to push him to church. They became friends as they spent time together.
One morning, Mikey’s mom told him that Brother Bradshaw had passed away. Tears came to his eyes. “How could he?” he thought. “We were just talking last Sunday!”
The next few days were difficult for Mikey. He knew Brother Bradshaw was 91 years old, but he had never thought about him dying. He missed him so much. But as he saw Brother Bradshaw’s family arriving from out of town for the funeral, he knew that they missed him too. He knew how much Brother Bradshaw had loved his family, and he wanted to let them know that Brother Bradshaw was special to him too.
Mikey sat down and wrote them a note. He told them about how much he enjoyed knowing Brother Bradshaw and that he was his best friend. Then he delivered it to the Bradshaw house. But Mikey still felt like he should do something more. He thought and thought. What could he do that would be special for Brother Bradshaw?
Finally it came to him. Just before the funeral he went over to the Bradshaw home again and delivered another note. This one read:
“I swept off the church sidewalks this morning. It’s the last thing I can do for Brother Bradshaw, my good friend, here on earth. I can’t wait to see him again when I go to heaven. I am so thankful to Brother Bradshaw for sweeping off the sidewalks for me every Sunday. It was hard for me, and I know it was hard for him, and I never said thank you to him. My mom said he knows I am thankful, but that’s the first thing I am going to tell him when I see him in heaven.
Love,
Mikey”
As Brother Bradshaw’s daughter-in-law read the note her eyes began to glisten. “Oh, Mikey!” was all she could say, and she gave him a big hug. Mikey knew that Brother Bradshaw would like his gift.
Girlfriends and Gossip
By Heather Kirby
Friend, Sep 2008, 40–42
(Based on a true story)
Let us oft speak kind words to each other (Hymns, no. 232).
“Hurry, Heather, or you’ll miss the bus.” Mom handed me a granola bar. “I guess that’s breakfast.”
“My bus driver won’t let us eat on the bus, but he eats all the time,” I grumbled. “And he doesn’t need to—he’s a big guy!”
Mom frowned. “Heather …”
“Oh.” I blinked. “That wasn’t very nice, was it?”
Mom shook her head. “Sometimes you say unkind things without thinking. You need to be careful.”
On the bus, I looked for my best friend, Amber, at her stop, but only her little sister Rachel got on.
“Where’s Amber?” I asked.
“She’s sick,” Rachel said, lisping. “Can I sit here?”
“I guess,” I said, sliding over. Rachel was always hanging around Amber and me. She was all right, but Amber was my best friend, not her. Rachel was a little different, with her thick glasses and funny way of talking.
At recess, I played dodgeball with my friends, but I missed Amber. Then I noticed the new girl, Megan. She stood at the edge of the playground. I walked up to her. “Do you want to play dodgeball with us?”
After school, when Megan and I got on the same bus, we sat together. I told her about the other kids.
“That’s Carlos. He’s the smartest kid in our grade—but I beat him in reading! Over there are Caitlin and Jessica. They live on my street.
And that’s Matt. He plays soccer.”
“Who’s that with the glasses?” Megan asked.
“That’s Rachel. She’s my best friend’s little sister.” I paused. “She has a speech impediment.”
“What?”
“She talks funny. But she’s going to a class to help her.”
“Nice glasses.” Megan snickered. “I’ve never seen them so thick.”
I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. Sure, Rachel sometimes annoyed me when Amber and I were playing, but she was a nice girl. And now Megan was making fun of her.
I changed the subject. We talked about other things, and soon I forgot about Rachel and the sinking feeling I’d had.
The next day, I was happy to see Amber back at school.
“I know how to make dodgeball even better,” she said at recess. “When you get out, you have to sing a silly song and do a dance.” She demonstrated for us.
“I can see that weirdness runs in your family,” Megan said, laughing as she turned to me. She seemed to expect me to laugh too.
“What are you talking about?” Amber asked. “You don’t even know my family.”
Megan smiled, but it wasn’t a nice smile. “Heather said your sister is retarded!”
My mouth fell open.
“Heather is my best friend,” Amber cried. “She wouldn’t say that!”
“Well, she did. Ask her!” Megan smirked.
Everyone looked at me. “I didn’t say that,” I whispered, “but I did say that she talked funny.”
Amber’s face fell. I glanced down, not wanting to see her hurt expression. “I shouldn’t have, though,” I added quickly. “It doesn’t matter. Rachel’s great!”
“My sister’s not retarded,” Amber said to Megan. “But even if she were, it wouldn’t be nice to make fun of her.”
Megan folded her arms. “Fine. Let’s just play.”
As everyone lined up, I turned to Amber. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s OK,” she said. But her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.
After school, Mom asked, “Why so glum, Heather?”
“I think I did something wrong. I was telling a new girl about people, and I said Rachel talked funny. Amber found out, and it made her sad. I don’t know why I said it, Mom. But it wasn’t like I was lying!”
“Oh, Heather.” Mom sat across from me. “Yes, Rachel has a speech impediment. But that doesn’t have to be the first thing you say about her.”
“It’s not even an important thing about Rachel,” I agreed.
“Do you know what gossip is?” Mom asked.
“Not exactly.”
“It’s when you talk about people when they’re not around,” she explained. “It doesn’t matter if the things you say are true or not. They don’t need to be said.”
I thought about that as I went to my room to do homework. When I got there, a hymn popped into my head. I ran and grabbed a hymnbook, opening it to “Let Us Oft Speak Kind Words” (Hymns, no. 232).
I’d always liked the song because in the first verse it has the word heather—like my name. But I realized I should have paid more attention to the part about speaking kind words to—and about—each other. Rachel was a good person, and my friend, and it didn’t matter if she had a speech impediment. I decided that when I talked about a person, I would focus on her good qualities.
Later, at Amber’s house, after we had decided to dress up as movie stars, I noticed Rachel peeking around the door.
“Let’s not forget Rachel,” I said, opening the door and throwing my arm around her. “It’s always more fun with you!”
Rachel beamed at me, and when Amber smiled it lit up her whole face.
President Grant’s Example
By Heidi Rose
Friend, Sep 2008, 46–47
(Based on a true story)
Learn to do well (Isaiah 1:17).
“Class, please pass your papers to the front.” Heidi reached behind her to pick up Molly’s paper. She loved to look at Molly’s beautiful writing before she passed it forward. Her letters seemed to flow together perfectly. Heidi looked at her own paper and was embarrassed for anyone to see the poor handwriting. She slid her paper under Molly’s and passed it forward.
“Mom, will you write my homework for me?” Heidi asked as she walked in the door. Her mother had beautiful handwriting too. Maybe if her mother wrote her homework, she wouldn’t feel so embarrassed.
“Why do you want me to write your homework? Are your arms broken?” her mom teased.
Heidi told her mother about Molly’s beautiful writing. “I wish I had practiced my handwriting more last year.” Heidi sat down at the table and plopped her face in her hands.
“You know, Heidi,” her mom said, “if you work hard enough at it, your handwriting can be as good as anyone’s. You just have to put your mind to it.”
Heidi wasn’t so sure. She pictured Molly’s writing and thought there was no way hers would ever look like Molly’s.
“Do you remember the prophet Heber J. Grant?” Mom asked.
Heidi looked up. “Yes. We learned about him in Primary.”
“He had bad handwriting when he was young. He really wanted to improve, so he practiced and practiced until his handwriting was so good that he received an award for his penmanship.”
Heidi was amazed! She looked up to the prophets, but she had never realized they had problems just like hers when they were young. She decided that if Heber J. Grant could work to improve his handwriting, so could she.
The next day at school Heidi worked hard on her handwriting. It was difficult at first. She had to stay late to finish writing her assignments, but the story of President Heber J. Grant motivated her to continue.
It was weeks before Heidi began to notice any improvement. It still took her a long time to do her assignments, but her writing was getting better.
One day Molly noticed. “Heidi, you have really nice handwriting,” she said.
“Thanks.” Heidi blushed. She couldn’t help but let a smile creep across her face.
That night Heidi left a note on the refrigerator for her mother. It was in beautiful handwriting.
Dear Mom, Thank you for telling me the story of Heber J. Grant. I probably won’t win any awards, but I finally feel like I have nice handwriting. Following the prophet wasn’t as hard as I thought! Love, Heidi
Pirates!
By Kersten Campbell
Friend, Sep 2008, 4–6
(Based on a story from the author’s family history)
Pray always, and I will pour out my Spirit upon you, and great shall be your blessing (D&C 19:38).
Ellen sniffed the moist sea air as she leaned over the bow of the great sailing vessel. The Hudson had sailed away from the coast of England just weeks before. Ellen had cried that day as she waved farewell to some of her friends and family in the cheering crowd. But they were tears of joy. Finally, after years of working and praying, her family’s prayers had been answered. They were going to the land of their dreams—America, the land of Zion!
Ellen enjoyed the sea. During the few times she was able to slip away from taking care of her younger brothers and sisters, Ellen liked to lean over the bow of the ship and let her hair blow wild while she searched for dolphins and other sea creatures.
Ellen’s heart sank as she heard a voice behind her. “Ellen! You must come. It’s time for breakfast prayers.”
“Coming,” Ellen grumbled. Stepping back from the ship’s railing, she tried her best to straighten her hair. “More prayers,” Ellen thought as she hurried toward the hatch that led to the lower part of the ship where her family and all of the Saints ate and slept. Prayers in the morning, prayers at night, prayers by herself, prayers over meals, prayers with the Saints, and prayers with her family. Ellen bit her lip.
She didn’t want to be ungrateful for the miracle of sailing to America. But was there such a thing as too many prayers?
As Ellen approached her family, who were already kneeling, she wondered if her mother could tell what she was thinking. Ellen knelt down and looked at her mother’s tired face. Life on the ship had not been easy for her mother. She, and many of the other passengers, had experienced terrible seasickness during the recent storm that had rocked the ship for days.
Guiltily, Ellen bowed her head when the leader of their company asked her father to bless the food. She thought of her mother as he asked for a special blessing upon those who were sick. Then he thanked the Lord for the food and asked Him to protect the Saints that day.
After breakfast, Ellen was assigned to care for her younger sisters on the deck. She took them to a place that was out of the way so they could watch the sailors rushing around shouting orders at each other. Ellen noticed the captain near the bow of the ship. He was searching the horizon with his looking glass. She wondered what it would be like to be the captain of a great ship. Suddenly, the captain’s face grew pale, and he began to pace back and forth, stopping every few steps to look through his telescope.
“What could have upset the captain so much?” Ellen wondered. “Let’s go look at the ocean,” she whispered to her sisters, taking their hands in hers. At the bow of the ship, Ellen shaded her eyes and scanned the ocean. At first, all she could see was a small black dot on the horizon. But soon she saw what had made the captain’s face grow so pale.
A large ship was sailing straight toward them at a fast clip. “Pirates!” whispered a man beside her. She could hear the fear in his voice. Panic ensued as parents began calling to each other to find family members and to take the children below. Ellen stood frozen, watching the men scramble around in search of anything that could be used as a weapon.
“Get those children away from the bow,” yelled a crew member.
Ellen shook herself out of her frozen state and led her sisters down the hatch, but as soon as the children were with her mother, she rushed back up to the deck. She was worried about her father. He’d never fought anyone in his life, let alone pirates. She wondered what she could do to help.
The passengers on the Hudson grew silent as the pirate ship sailed closer. Ellen stood next to her father and gasped as the ship came so close she could see the color of the pirates’ hair! She looked up at her father and saw his lips moving in a silent prayer. Feeling frightened, she began her own silent prayer, asking Heavenly Father to forgive her for her bad attitude that morning.
The two ships sailed side by side for what seemed like an hour. The pirates and the passengers on the Hudson gazed at each other in silence.
“What are they doing?” Ellen whispered to her father.
“They’re probably wondering if our ship is worth robbing,” her father whispered.
They waited in silence until suddenly there was a shout from the pirate ship. Ellen could feel her father’s body tense. Then, to Ellen’s surprise, the pirate ship slowly turned around and began sailing away from the Hudson.
Ellen let out the breath she had been holding. Silently, she offered up a prayer of thanks, remembering her father’s prayer for safety that morning.
“The Lord was surely watching over us this day,” her father said, laying a hand on Ellen’s shoulder and watching the pirate ship sail away.
“He surely was,” Ellen thought, and then she smiled, realizing she now knew that there was no such thing as too many prayers.
Help and Be Happy
By Jeannie Lancaster
Friend, Oct 2008, 4–5
(Based on a true story)
Thou shalt devote all thy service in Zion (D&C 24:7).
Jonathon grumbled as he climbed into the car next to his brother, Mike. He wanted to stay home and play the new game he had been given for his birthday last week. But his mother insisted they all go to the meetinghouse and help with the ward’s cleanup day.
“Why do we have to go?” Jonathon had asked his mother as he helped her load their vacuum into the car.
“It will be fun,” she said, smiling. “Besides, all of us use the meetinghouse. It’s only right that we help clean it from time to time.”
Jonathon stared out the window and watched the houses and trees pass by as they drove to the church. As his mother pulled the car into the church’s parking lot, Jonathon was surprised to see Brother Lawson park his car next to theirs.
“What is Brother Lawson doing here?” Jonathon wondered.
Brother Lawson had been very sick lately with a type of cancer called leukemia. He had been in the hospital for a long time. Jonathon remembered his parents encouraging Mike and him to pray for Brother Lawson during their personal and family prayers. Brother Lawson hadn’t been home from the hospital for very long.
Jonathon had always liked Brother Lawson. He was older than Jonathon’s grandfathers, but he went out of his way to talk to Jonathon and ask him about school and his sports team. One time he even came to one of Jonathon’s games.
As Jonathon climbed out of the car, Brother Lawson waved and said, “Hi, Jonathon.” Brother Lawson walked around to the back of his car and took a vacuum out of the trunk. Walking slowly, he pushed the vacuum into the church.
“Jonathon,” his mother called, “can you give me a hand with this?” She was struggling to pull their vacuum from the back of the car.
“Sure, Mom,” Jonathon said. He helped her pull the vacuum out and quickly pushed it across the parking lot.
All that evening Jonathon and Mike worked beside Brother Lawson. Several times Jonathon became tired and stopped to rest, but he noticed that Brother Lawson continued to work. And he was smiling! “It’s nice to be able to help, isn’t it?” Brother Lawson asked.
Jonathon felt something change inside him. “If Brother Lawson can be happy while he’s helping, so can I,” he thought. He started working even harder.
“Thank you for coming with me,” his mother said later as they were heading home.
“You’re welcome,” Jonathon said. “I’m sorry I complained about coming. I didn’t know you could learn so much from vacuuming.”
Teaching Mrs. Greene
By Marissa Widdison
Friend, Oct 2008, 14–16
(Based on a true story)
God has spoken to the earth, His pow’r is here again (Children’s Songbook, 89).
Cindy walked along six blocks of palm-tree-lined streets to get to Madison Elementary School. There were lots of good things about being in the fourth grade, she thought as she walked. The upper-grade classrooms were all on the second floor of the white stucco building, which meant she would get to walk up the stairs with the older students. Fourth-graders also got to start taking music lessons, and Cindy had already signed up to play the violin.
As Cindy slipped into her desk, she thought about another new adventure—this was the year students could participate in a special religion class. Every Wednesday, those who had parent permission slips would get to leave their regular classroom and learn about different religious beliefs.
“Attention, class! We’re going to divide for religion class now,” Mrs. Greene said. “If you are Catholic, go with Mrs. Leigh. If you are Protestant, please go with Mrs. Jossen. Otherwise, please stay here with me.”
Cindy tucked her blonde hair behind her ears and watched her classmates push back their chairs and gather their notebooks. One by one they walked out until just a few children were left in the classroom.
Mrs. Greene turned to the small remaining group and asked them to introduce themselves and talk about their religious beliefs. One of Cindy’s classmates was Jewish. Another was Buddhist. Then it was Cindy’s turn.
“I belong to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” Cindy said. She tried to make her voice sound brave, but she didn’t like talking in front of other people. Mrs. Greene scrunched her eyebrows together for a moment.
“Well, Cindy, then you should have gone with the Protestants,” she said.
Cindy’s heart began to beat fast as everyone in the room turned to look at her. She paused for a moment, thinking back to the lessons she had learned in Primary. As she remembered stories about Joseph Smith and the Restoration, she knew what she had to say.
“No, Mrs. Greene. Latter-day Saints aren’t Protestant. And we’re not Catholic either. We believe that the gospel has been restored to the earth by a prophet named Joseph Smith. It’s the same religion that was on the earth when Jesus was here with His disciples. We believe that the gospel is on the earth once again, Mrs. Greene.”
Mrs. Greene looked at Cindy skeptically before continuing on with the lesson.
“She doesn’t think I know what I’m talking about,” Cindy thought.
As Cindy walked home later that day, she thought about what had happened. She didn’t bother to stop at the candy store, and she didn’t pause to pick the flowers that she sometimes used for doll bouquets. She was too busy thinking about Joseph Smith and what she had learned in Primary.
“Joseph Smith received the priesthood and the scriptures and the keys that allowed him to establish the Church on the earth again,” Cindy thought. “That’s what the sixth article of faith talks about.”
When Cindy sat down in class the next day, she was a little nervous to see Mrs. Greene again. But to her surprise, Mrs. Greene had a big smile on her face.
“Cindy, I want you to know that I spoke to the history teacher about Mormonism,” Mrs. Greene said in front of the entire class. “And she told me that you were absolutely right, that your religion was restored. I am sorry I doubted you, Cindy. Thank you for speaking up. You really seem to know what your church stands for!”
The rest of the day seemed especially bright for Cindy. She smiled as she jumped rope. She smiled as she bounced a ball and picked up jacks.
“I can’t wait to tell Mom what I taught the teacher!” Cindy said to herself as she started to skip home.
Saved from the Storm
By Linda Glauser
Friend, Oct 2008, 30–31
(Based on a true story)
It was a muggy summer morning. Josh and his friend Calvin stood on the tennis court, waiting for their neighbor to come outside and give them their weekly tennis lesson. Five, then ten minutes went by. “Maybe our lesson is canceled,” Josh finally said.
The sun went behind a cloud. The air grew chilly.
“Yeah,” Calvin said. “Let’s go home. It looks like it’s going to rain.” He looked up at the billowing black cloud gathering above them. Suddenly a fierce wind kicked up. Without warning, hail and rain started pelting down.
“Quick!” Josh called above the shrieking wind. He pointed to a large pine tree. The boys ran across the lawn, the wind pulling so hard that Josh feared he’d be carried away. He and Calvin scrambled under the tree branches, listening to the storm roar around them. Josh knew that Brother and Sister Snow’s house was nearby, but he couldn’t see it through the heavy downpour.
“Let’s pray,” Calvin said. The boys knelt in the dirt and prayed that the rain would let up long enough for them to see the Snows’ house and run there for safety. As soon as they said “amen,” the rain slowed. “I see the house!” Josh cried.
Calvin dashed across the slippery, hail-covered grass to the Snows’ porch as the rain picked up again. Josh followed, but stopped next to the detached garage because it was closer than the house. He stood beside it for a moment, wondering what to do.Follow Calvin, a voice spoke to his mind. He ran toward the porch, where Calvin stood waiting. As he ran, he felt a rumble and heard a terrible CRASH!
Josh turned around and froze. Two huge pine trees had blown over onto the garage, demolishing it. Wooden beams, broken glass, and twisted metal littered the ground. A tree trunk lay where Josh had been standing.
“Come on,” Calvin called. Josh ran to the porch as Calvin rang the doorbell. No one answered. Calvin turned the doorknob and opened the door.
“Phew,” Josh said. “Now we can call our parents to come get us.” As he waited inside the Snows’ house and watched the rain pour down outside, he silently thanked Heavenly Father for protecting him from the storm.
Later that night, Josh’s mom asked, “Did you and Calvin lock the Snows’ door behind you when you left?”
Josh shook his head.
Mom’s eyes twinkled. “I just spoke with the Snows. When you and Calvin went into their house, you set off the security alarm. The house was locked.”
Josh’s mouth dropped open. “But we just opened the door and walked in!”
“When the security agent arrived, the front door was still locked. He has no idea how you boys got into the house.”
Josh thought quietly for a moment. “I know how we got in. Heavenly Father helped us.”
Josh was grateful to know that the Lord would open doors for him and help keep him safe.
Conference Reverence Tent
By Linda OlsenLinda Olsen
Friend, Oct 2008, 36–38
(Based on a true story)
Hearken unto me, and open your ears that ye may hear, and your hearts that ye may understand (Mosiah 2:9).
“We left off last night at the beginning of Mosiah, remember?” Dad said.
During family scripture study, everyone usually had a turn to read. Nine-year-old Elise read from the Book of Mormon very well. Braydon was six and needed just a little help. Josh sat on Dad’s lap, and Dad whispered a few words for Josh to repeat.
It was Mom’s turn first tonight. After Mom read, Elise began reading with Mosiah 2:6:
“‘And they pitched their tents round about the temple, every man having his tent with the door thereof towards the temple, that thereby they might remain in their tents and hear the words which King Benjamin should speak unto them.’”
Elise stopped reading. She didn’t turn the page even though everyone else did. Dad looked at her as if to say, “Go on, honey.” A big smile came over Elise’s face.
“Dad, was King Benjamin kind of like a prophet?” she asked.
“Yes. We read the other night that he was a holy man who reigned over his people in righteousness.”
“Mom and Dad, do you think since tomorrow is general conference, we could pretend to be King Benjamin’s people and make a tent to listen to the prophets on TV?” Before her parents could answer, Elise was excitedly dancing around the room.
“Yeah!” Braydon said, brightening.
Josh crawled off Dad’s lap to skip with Elise.
Mom and Dad looked at each other. “Do you mean a tent made of tables and blankets and chairs?” Mom asked.
“Yes, a really big tent,” Elise said. “But there has to be a door to watch conference on TV.”
“Hmm,” Mom said. “We need to be listening to conference, not playing and making noise.”
Elise sat down.
“We could pretend it was hard to hear and we’d have to be really quiet to listen,” Braydon said.
“Just like the people trying to hear King Benjamin from the tower,” Elise added. “We promise we’ll be quiet and listen.”
“We could even call it a ‘reverence tent,’” Braydon said.
“Our conference reverence tent!” Elise beamed.
“That’s starting to sound like a fun idea,” Dad said.
“Hurray!” Josh cheered.
“Let’s get some things ready tonight,” Mom said.
After scripture study, Dad, Elise, Braydon, and Josh got busy setting up the “reverence tent.” They started with the long table that was used for big family dinners. They added the card table, some chairs, and lots of blankets, and connected it all to the couch. There was plenty of room inside for snacks and supplies for taking notes.
Most importantly, there was a big wide-open door facing the TV so the children could hear and watch general conference.
Elise, Braydon, and Josh helped color a sign that read “Reverence Tent.” “It’s to remind us to be quiet and listen, Dad,” Braydon said as they pinned it onto the blankets.
“Let’s bring in our scriptures,” Elise suggested.
“Great idea,” Braydon said.
They crawled in to look around. “Mom,” Braydon
called, “come and see!”
“Wow!” Mom said as she came into the room. Mom had been busy gathering last year’s conference Ensigns, notebooks, scissors, glue sticks, pens, and crayons. She took out the General Authority charts from the old Ensigns and said that during conference Elise and Braydon could cut out and glue onto their notes the picture of the person who was speaking.
“I’ll help Braydon take notes,” Elise volunteered.
“And I’ll help Josh color a picture of the prophet,” Braydon said, smiling at Josh.
“I’m really excited about the talks,” Elise said.
“And the music,” Braydon added.
“General conference will bring a wonderful spirit into our home,” Mom said.
“This is going to be a great conference,” Dad agreed. “I know the Spirit will speak to each of us as we listen.”
By Ana Nelson Shaw
Friend, Oct 2008, 42–44
(Based on a true story)
Bring ye all the tithes into the storehouse (Malachi 3:10).
Even though Father was deaf, he understood his daughter Alice. She pronounced her words carefully and looked right at him so he could read her lips easily. So Father kept her with him whenever he could. When he was doing business, she helped him understand what other people said. When he was working on the farm, Alice was good company.
Alice and Father tended grapevines and peach orchards, harvested honey from beehives, and cut ice from the pond. Alice gathered eggs from their chickens. Whatever they cut or gathered or harvested, Father and Alice took one-tenth to the tithing office.
They didn’t pay their tithing with money, most of the time. If they harvested thirty bushels of peaches, three bushels went to the Church. If ten jars of honey came from the beehives, one jar went for tithing. It was the same with grapes and eggs and whatever else they had. Even chickens and cows sometimes went along to the tithing office in the farm wagon!
One Monday morning early in the summer, Alice and Father were mending a fence where the farm bordered the roadside. Alice heard the thudding sound of horses’ hooves on the dirt road and the rumbling of a farm wagon. She looked up and saw Brother Johnson driving with children in the back. Father looked up too.
“Good morning, Brother Ashdown!” Brother Johnson called. “My peas are ready for harvest. I’m paying the children twenty-five cents a bushel to pick them. Does Alice want to come?”
Father looked down at Alice.
“He wants me to pick peas for a quarter a bushel,” Alice repeated. “May I go?”
Father nodded. Alice climbed into Brother Johnson’s wagon. Father waved and smiled as she rode away.
Alice worked hard all day long and picked two full bushels of peas. Before she left at the end of the day, Brother Johnson dropped two shiny quarters into her hand. Fifty cents could easily buy enough candy to last a month, or ribbons in every color of the rainbow for Alice’s hair, or maybe even a toy! She ran all the way home and bounded into the kitchen where the family was just sitting down around the table for supper.
“Look!” she said. “Fifty cents of my very own!”
“Those are good earnings for a day, Alice, for a girl your size,” Mother said. “Now please wash up before you sit down and eat.” Alice obeyed, then settled in for a plate of stew, new potatoes, and sweet green peas from the family’s garden.
“I’m pleased you’re a hard worker, Alice,” Father said from across the table. “Do you want to pay your tithing on that money?”
Alice nodded yes.
“You’ll owe five cents tithing then. Should I give you change?”
Alice looked at the two coins next to her plate. Five cents less and she wouldn’t have two quarters anymore—only one quarter and two dimes. Five cents suddenly seemed like a lot of money.
“Maybe you’ll make some more money in a day or two,” Father said. “I believe Doctor Stringham has a field of peas that needs picking.”
“Think about it overnight, Alice,” Mother suggested. “You need to decide if you want to pay tithing.”
Lying in bed that night, Alice tossed and turned. She wanted to do the right thing. But it seemed so hard to let go of five whole cents. She thought about her last trip to the tithing office with Father. On their way home, Alice and Father had met a man Father knew, Mr. Singer, who wasn’t a member of the Church.
“Alice, ask your father for me where he’s been today,” Mr. Singer instructed. Alice did.
“We’ve been down to the tithing office,” Father said.
“Well, William,” Mr. Singer said, “you’re surely devoted to that Church. I’m always amazed to see you going by my place on your way to meeting every Sunday. Especially when you can’t even hear what’s being said.”
Alice gulped and repeated Mr. Singer’s words slowly to Father. She worried that his feelings would be hurt, but she knew it was important to let him know exactly what was being said.
Father straightened his back and looked hard at Mr. Singer. “Well, I do sometimes understand what’s said, but even if I don’t, I get the spirit of the meeting by being there. And I teach my children that we’re a Latter-day Saint family that goes to our meetings every Sunday. Same with taking Alice down to the tithing office. You have to teach children by example.”
Mr. Singer nodded. “You’re a good man, William Ashdown,” he said. “You take care now!”
As Alice lay in bed and remembered what Father had told Mr. Singer, she thought about all the other times she’d gone to the tithing office with Father. She always felt warm inside when she heard him say, “That’s a full tithe.” She knew it was one way he showed how much he believed in the gospel.
She remembered Mother telling her that if they paid tithing, the Lord would open the windows of heaven and send down more blessings than they had room to receive. She thought about how the grapes and peaches and eggs all went to help people who needed food. And she knew her own five cents would help someone too.
Alice crept out of bed quietly and made her way downstairs where Father and Mother were sitting.
“Father, I want to pay my tithing. Will you figure the change for me?” Alice asked.
“I certainly will, Alice,” Father said.
Alice traded Father one quarter for two dimes and a nickel. She put the nickel in the pocket of her pinafore that she would wear on Sunday so she could give it to the bishop. But before then, she picked peas for Doctor Stringham. Alice earned forty-five more cents to keep—and another nickel for her tithing!
By Hazel Lamoreaux
Nov 2008, 4–6
(Based on a true story)
They were men of truth … , for they had been taught to keep the commandments of God (Alma 53:21).
The door burst open. Cold winter air rushed into the hall with Billy. Mike, his older brother, crowded in behind, followed by Mom and Dad.
“Grandma! We’re here for dinner!” Billy shouted. He hurried into the kitchen, smelling spicy pumpkin pie, roasted turkey, and sage dressing.
Grandma smiled. “It’ll take a while to get dinner on the table, boys,” she said. “You’ll find crayons and paper on the hall table. How about a picture?”
At the table, Mike began coloring, but Billy peered into the living room. It was full of porcelain figurines, an old sugar bowl, and other treasures. Grandma called them heirlooms. Each had its own pioneer story.
Billy’s gaze fastened on a small mirror on a shelf. Billy loved the mirror most because its story was his favorite.
It had come across the plains with Great-Great-Great-Great Grandma in a covered wagon. She was a little girl then—Billy’s age now. At the end of long days, she cried because her feet hurt from walking and her face hurt from sunburn. Sometimes she saw Indians and was frightened.
The girl’s mother would hand her the little mirror. “Look at yourself in the mirror,” she would say gently. “Heavenly Father will take care of His child.” And the little girl would be comforted, say her prayers, and go to sleep.
Billy turned away from the living room and was reaching for a red crayon when the big oval mirror at the end of the hall caught his eye. He forgot about the crayon, walked to the mirror, and stretched as tall as he could.
“What are you doing?” Mike asked.
“Trying to see a child of God.”
“Too short, huh?” Mike said. Under the mirror, a low shelf held Grandma’s prized Boston fern. “I’ll give you a boost up to the shelf.”
With Mike’s arms around him, Billy kicked his feet in search of the shelf. He found the shelf, but knocked the fern to the floor. Black dirt spilled all over the carpet. The fern was smashed and broken, its bare roots sticking into the air.
Suddenly the shelf gave way. Billy bumped heads with Mike as he fell, then landed facedown in the dirt.
“What will we do?” Billy whispered, pushing himself up.
“Sometimes the cat gets on the shelf,” Mike said. “Maybe Grandma will think the cat did it.”
“But it wouldn’t be the truth,” Billy said. “We did it, so we should tell.”
“OK, but let’s wait until after dinner.”
“Wash up and come to dinner, boys,” Mom called.
When the two boys sat down at the table, Grandpa said the blessing. Everybody started to eat, but the food tasted like rubber in Billy’s mouth.
“Is something wrong?” Dad asked.
“I don’t like peas very much,” Billy mumbled.
Dad frowned. “How did you get the bump on your forehead?”
“Excuse me,” Billy mumbled, and fled to the bathroom.
Mom and Dad followed him. “Are you sick?” Mom asked.
Billy shook his head. “I stood on Grandma’s shelf. It broke. When I fell, Mike and I bumped heads. I just wanted to see a child of God in the big mirror.” Billy’s chest heaved. “Grandma’s fern is ruined. I feel awful—not at all like a child of God.”
“I helped him get on the shelf,” Mike said in a soft voice from behind Mom and Dad. “We didn’t know it would break. I don’t feel like a child of God either.”
“We thought maybe you’d think the cat did it,” Billy said. “We decided to tell the truth after dinner.”
“Well, now,” Grandma said, joining them. “No matter what you do, you are always a child of God. But I’m glad that you chose to tell the truth.”
Grandpa looked at the bent brackets that had held the shelf to the wall. “I reckon this can be fixed,” he said. “Grandma’s fern can be repotted. It looks pretty bedraggled, but it’ll likely grow out again.”
Grandma put the broken fern into the pot. “Even if it doesn’t grow, I can get a new plant,” she said. “But I could never replace these two children of God.”
“Look,” Dad said, holding Billy up to the mirror. “See the child who was tempted to blame the cat, but didn’t? How about giving him a smile?”
Billy managed a weak smile.
Back at the table, Billy noticed that everything—even the peas—now tasted delicious.
After dinner, Billy held the little mirror as Grandma told the story of how it had comforted the girl who was his long-ago grandma.
When the story was finished, all of them took a turn telling something each was thankful for. Billy looked into the little mirror and said, “I’m thankful to be a child of God.”
By Sally Gillen
Nov 2008, 10–12
(Based on a true story)
They helped every one his neighbour (Isaiah 41:6).
“This is the greatest!” Shilo exclaimed as she laced up her ice skates. The girls and boys she had invited to her birthday party glided across the ice. The clank of skate blades on the ice could be heard throughout the indoor rink.
“Be careful in there,” her mom said. “Have fun!”
“OK!” Shilo tottered toward the rink to join her friends. “Hey, Kari! Let’s go skate over there.” Shilo pointed to some of their friends, and they skated over to join the group. They all laughed and joked and raced around the rink. They were having a great time!
After a while, Shilo asked Kari, “Have you seen Brian? I haven’t seen him.”
“Me neither.”
“Wait, I see him over there sitting at that table.”
Shilo and Kari left the ice and joined Brian at the table. His brown eyes looked as if he had lost a puppy.
“What’s wrong, Brian?” they asked.
“Oh, nothing. They won’t give me any skates. They ran out of my size. And the guy won’t give me my money back.” He shrugged his shoulders and sighed.
Shilo’s mom overheard. “Come with me, Brian,” she said. “We’ll see if we can do something about that.” She smiled at him, trying to cheer him up.
The two girls went back to the skating rink. Time went by, but Shilo still didn’t see Brian out in the rink. She went back to see what was taking so long. When she got off the ice she saw her mother still talking to the man at the counter. Brian had resumed his position with his head on the table.
“Why aren’t you skating?” Shilo asked.
“They still don’t have my size, I guess.”
“What size do you wear?”
“Six.” Brian didn’t lift his head from the table.
“So do I! How about if you use my skates for a while? I need to rest my ankles. They’re beginning to hurt a little.”
Brian perked up. “Really?”
“Yeah. I can’t wear these things too long because I have weak ankles.” Shilo grinned as his face lit up.
“OK, but if you want them back just come and tell me and we can trade.”
“OK!”
Shilo took off her skates and gave them to Brian. He put them on and was quickly out on the ice. As Shilo watched Brian skate, she felt good inside. She knew she had done the right thing.
By Paris Anderson
Nov 2008, 18–20
(Based on a true story)
Thou shalt pray vocally as well as in thy heart (D&C 19:28).
Brian felt very proud. He had built a birdhouse with a feeder tray that was just right for sparrows. Brian poured birdseed on the tray before he hung the birdhouse up in a tree where he could see it from the kitchen window. Then he waited.
About a week later a mother and father bird moved into the house. They carried small twigs and pieces of grass and string into the house to build a nest. Then the mother bird laid some eggs. Brian watched them every day. He always checked to make sure there was birdseed in the feeder.
One day Brian heard chirping. The baby birds had hatched! All day long the mother and father birds flew out of the house, then came back with a worm or a bug. They landed on the perch in front of the door and poked their heads in. When they pulled their heads out, their beaks were empty, and they flew away again.
A few days after the baby birds hatched, Brian saw some bees near the birdhouse. After the mother and father birds left to find food, the bees flew into the birdhouse. The bees buzzed and buzzed, and the baby birds chirped like they were scared. The mother and father birds came back, but they could only sit on a tree branch and watch.
Brian was scared. The bees buzzed like they were getting angry, and the babies were chirping frantically. He didn’t know what to do. “Those bees are going to sting the babies and kill them!” he cried.
He ran into the house to tell his mom. After she saw the bees, she called a teacher at the university. Brian sat in the kitchen, listening to his mom on the phone and watching the birdhouse out the window.
“Are you sure?” Brian’s mother said into the phone. “Well, all right, then. Thank you.” She hung up the phone and said, “He said there’s nothing we can do.”
Brian started to cry. He reached up and hugged his mom. Then he said a prayer in his heart. He asked Heavenly Father to help his mom save those little birds.
In about a minute, Brian’s mom ran over to the fridge. She quickly pulled a great big white onion out of a drawer and chopped it in half. Juices started oozing out of the onion and tears started rolling out of her eyes.
“Here,” she said, handing half to Brian. “Go put this on the bird feeder. Maybe it will scare the bees away.”
Brian took the onion and ran out the door. His eyes had started to water and his nose had started to run by the time he got the onion on the feeder. The bees suddenly swarmed out of the birdhouse and were gone. Brian was relieved, but the mother and father birds still wouldn’t come feed their babies. They stayed on their branch, staring at Brian. One had a worm in its beak; the other had a bug. Brian took the onion off the feeder and threw it away. Then the birds came back to the nest and fed the babies.
Brian smiled and silently thanked Heavenly Father for answering his prayer.
By Charlotte Goodman McEwan
Friend, Dec 2008, 4–6
(Based on a true story)
God loveth a cheerful giver (2 Corinthians 9:7).
I love everything about Christmas: the lights, carols, time with family—everything we do to celebrate the birth of Jesus. Oh, and I especially love getting presents. I start making my Christmas wish list in September.
One year my list was about as long as my arm. And I kept thinking of things to add to it. I was excited to show it to my dad. “Well, David, I see what you want to get for Christmas,” he said as he looked it over. “But what are you going to give?”
“I’m making gifts for you and Mom at school. On Friday Mom is taking me shopping for Shannon’s and Jon’s gifts. So I’ve got it all planned out.”
“Hmmm,” was all Dad said. For some reason he didn’t like my answer. I didn’t like the sound of “hmmm.”
The next family home evening, my parents discussed the idea of giving and getting and the true meaning of Christmas. I could see my wish list getting shorter by the minute. They asked us if we had any ideas to help us remember to be more giving. Shannon waved her hand excitedly. My older brother, Jon, and I groaned. With Shannon, ideas usually involved doing things for other people, like weeding our neighbors’ gardens.
“Let’s choose some people who are lonely or in need and anonymously leave presents on their doorsteps,” Shannon said with excitement.
“Not a bad idea,” Jon said. “It would be top secret.”
“This might actually be fun,” I thought.
We all agreed that it would be a great plan. We chose two families. One was the Swenson family in our ward. Since Brother Swenson had gone back to school, they never seemed to have enough money. They had lots of kids too, who would love getting Christmas surprises. The other family was Mr. and Mrs. Perez, an older couple who lived down the street. They always seemed a little lonely.
We all went shopping for the gifts. We agreed to buy them using some of the money we would have used for our own presents. That was fine with me. I was having way too much fun choosing toys for the younger Swenson boys. Somehow my stuff wasn’t that important anymore.
We decided to give one gift a night to each family starting 12 days before Christmas. When the first night came, I dressed in black from head to toe, and Jon drove me over to the Swensons’ house. I quietly put the first gift on the porch, rang the doorbell, and ran away as fast as I could. I jumped behind a fence just as one of the kids opened the door. I could hear their surprised voices as they discovered the present. I felt like I would explode with excitement and joy. My life as a Secret Giver had begun.
Things only got better—and harder. We had to go at different times every night and sometimes even in the morning because the Swenson kids started looking out the window to try to catch us. And every time I crept up to the Perez’s doorstep, I imagined Mrs. Perez waiting there, ready to fling the door open, give me a hug, and tell me how wonderful I was. I definitely had to avoid that. Keeping a secret was half the fun.
Well, that year was only the beginning. The Christmas after that, we chose a family whose daughter had been in the hospital 11 times that year and another family whose mom had cancer. Wow—I didn’t realize that some people had it so tough.
Now that Christmas is here again, we’ve decided to help three families. The hardest part is choosing them. There seem to be so many people who could use a little Christmas cheer.
As for my own list? Each year it has gotten a little shorter. I’m so busy making my Secret Giver plans that I don’t have much time to think about myself. There are gifts to choose and strategies to plan.
One thing is certain—it’s great doing things for others. Nothing beats the feeling I get when I see the surprise and excitement on the faces of the people we help. Giving has become one of my favorite things about Christmas.
By Rebecca Cornish
Friend, Dec 2008, 14–15
(Based on a true story)
Let us love one another: for love is of God; and every one that loveth is born of God, and knoweth God (1 John 4:7).
Ashlie watched Mrs. Barnewald lean on her cane and walk slowly over to a padded rocking chair.
Mrs. Barnewald sat down. “I’m glad you came to visit me today, Ashlie,” she said. “You and your family are good neighbors.”
“I like to come to your house.” Ashlie looked at a photo that sat on the table next to the rocking chair.
“That’s my family in front of our home in Germany. I was born in that house,” Mrs. Barnewald said.
“Is your family still in Germany?”
“Oh, no. I’m the only one left. My husband, Hans, and I came to America many, many years ago. You know, we were never blessed with any children, and when he passed away a few years ago, he left me all alone.” Mrs. Barnewald sounded sad.
Ashlie placed her hand on Mrs. Barnewald’s wrinkled hand. “Are you lonely?” she asked.
“Sometimes, especially during the Christmas season.” Mrs. Barnewald took the photo in her hand and looked at it for a minute. “We used to have such fun at this time of year. When I was a little girl in Germany, we had many traditions. We sang songs and baked special treats.” Mrs. Barnewald smiled. “Hans and I kept some of those traditions, but now I’m too old for them.” She turned to Ashlie. “I’m glad to have a friend like you. I feel like you are my family.”
Ashlie grinned. She glanced over at the clock that hung on the wall. It was time for dinner. She got up and gave Mrs. Barnewald a hug. “I better go home.”
“Thank you so much for visiting me today.”
“See you soon.”
Ashlie kicked at the ground on her walk home. She opened the front door and heard her mom in the kitchen, so she walked in and sat at the table. Resting her head on her hands, she let out a big breath.
“How was your visit?” Mom asked.
Ashlie shrugged her shoulders. “Mrs. Barnewald is so lonely. I want to do something special for her this Christmas.”
“That’s a wonderful idea,” Mom said.
Ashlie went to her room and lay on the bed, trying to think of something wonderful to do. She thought and thought and thought. Christmas was only a few days away. Ashlie thought about what Mrs. Barnewald had said about traditions. She rolled over on her stomach and saw the handout from Primary she’d set on her desk. She had an idea.
Ashlie called her Primary teacher, Sister Jensen, because she often told the class about her mission to Germany. After she talked to Sister Jensen, Ashlie knew just what to do for Mrs. Barnewald.
On Christmas Eve, Ashlie and her family went to Mrs. Barnewald’s house for a visit. They took her some turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, and freshly baked cookies.
Ashlie turned down the lights in the living room and handed candles to each of her parents and to her sister. Softly, in German, they started singing “Silent Night” while Ashlie lit the candles.
Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht, Alles schläft, einsam wacht Nur das traute, hochheilige Paar; Holder Knabe im lokkigen Haar, Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh, Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh!
Ashlie couldn’t sing the last few words because of the lump in her throat.
When they were finished, Mrs. Barnewald had tears on her cheeks and Ashlie’s chest felt warm and tingly. She couldn’t take Mrs. Barnewald back to Germany, but she could bring a little bit of Germany to Mrs. Barnewald for Christmas.
I Know Where the Book of Mormon Came From!
By Lana Krumwiede
Friend, Dec 2008, 20–22
(Based on a true story)
Let your light so shine before this people, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father who is in heaven (3 Nephi 12:16).
Preston loved maps. He had a placemat with a world map that he studied every morning at breakfast. He drew pretend maps of islands with pirate treasure and real maps of his neighborhood. Even the pattern on his bedspread had maps on it.
So when Preston’s Primary teacher, Brother Greene, started drawing a map on the board during Primary class, Preston paid close attention.
“Today we’re going to talk about where the Book of Mormon came from,” Brother Greene said. “Everyone open your Bible and find the maps.”
“I didn’t know the Bible had maps,” Michael said.
“I know where the maps are,” Preston said.
Brother Greene smiled. “Let’s find the map that has Jerusalem on it.” Brother Greene pointed to a dot on the map he’d drawn on the board. “Here’s Jerusalem. Everybody put your finger on Jerusalem on your map.”
Preston listened while Brother Greene explained how a prophet named Lehi had to leave Jerusalem with his family. As he told the story, Brother Greene drew lines on the board that showed how Lehi’s family traveled all the way to America.
Preston studied the map Brother Greene had drawn. He was fascinated. He’d heard the story of Lehi’s family many times, but no one had ever told him the story with a map before.
On the way home, Preston told his parents all about Brother Greene’s Primary lesson. “And did you know that Lehi lived 600 years before Jesus was born?”
“You’re absolutely right,” Dad said. “You were really listening today.”
“When I get home, I’m going to draw a map just like Brother Greene’s,” Preston said.
Preston worked on his map most of the afternoon. He used his best colored pencils. When it was finished, he showed it to Dad.
“This is a fine map,” Dad said.
“Can we use it for family home evening tomorrow?” Preston asked.
“Hmm,” Dad said. “I’ve invited a friend from work over for dinner, and I asked him to stay for family home evening.”
“Aw, Dad,” Preston said. “I like it when it’s just our family. Just you and Mom and me.” Preston was often shy around people he didn’t know.
Dad put his arm around Preston’s shoulder. “I know, but this is important. We want to let other people see how we live the gospel. Mom has a special lesson planned, so maybe we’ll save the map for another time.”
Preston agreed.
Dinner on Monday night was not much fun. Dad’s friend, Mr. Shay, was nice, but the grown-ups did most of the talking. Finally it was time to go into the family room to have family home evening. Dad spent a couple of minutes explaining to Mr. Shay what family home evening was all about.
“Before we start our lesson,” Dad said, “are there any questions you’d like to ask?”
“I have one very big question about your church,” Mr. Shay said. “I want to know about the Book of Mormon. Where did it come from? What is it about?”
“I know!” Preston said. “I know where the Book of Mormon came from!” Preston ran to his room and came right back with his map. He showed it to Mr. Shay. Preston put his finger on Jerusalem and told the story of Lehi’s family just like Brother Greene had told it in Primary.
Mr. Shay looked at the map. He looked at Preston. Then he looked at Preston’s dad. “Is that right?” Mr. Shay asked.
Dad smiled and nodded. “I couldn’t have explained it any better myself.”
Mr. Shay looked at the map again. “Did you draw this map yourself?” he asked Preston.
Preston could only nod. He could hardly believe he had told that long story to Mr. Shay. Now that it was finished, Preston felt shy again. The funny thing was, when he was telling the story, he hadn’t felt a bit shy.
“How old are you?” Mr. Shay asked.
“I’ll be seven next month,” Preston answered.
Mr. Shay leaned back in his chair and smiled. “I used to wonder how all those young men can be missionaries for your church when they are only 19 years old. But now I think I understand. If Preston already knows this much about the Book of Mormon, he will be an excellent missionary.”
Preston felt happy and warm inside. He wondered if that’s how missionaries feel when they teach the gospel.
“I think Preston has given us an excellent lesson tonight,” Mom said. “All we need now is a song and a prayer.” “Don’t forget dessert!” Preston said.
By Rachelle P. Castor
Friend, Dec 2008, 32–34
(Based on a true story)
Look up the following scriptures: 1 Corinthians 11:1; Philippians 4:5; 1 Nephi 8:24.
Ever since Jenna was a tiny girl, her family could see that she spoke a language all her own. Whenever she described something that happened, she couldn’t help moving her body with each sentence, making the words seem bigger and brighter as they took on an energy unique to Jenna. Her movements were graceful and dramatic. No one was surprised when she started dance classes with her best friend Lisa and came home talking as if she had found heaven.
“I love to dance, Mom. I love it more than chocolate ice cream and more than the best birthday surprise!” Jenna declared.
“I knew you were a dancer at heart,” Mom said as Jenna spun around and threw her arms around her mother’s waist, swaying as they hugged and laughed.
Jenna and Lisa worked hard in dance class. They never missed a session, and they stayed after class as long as possible to work on new moves and perfect their technique, watching themselves in the mirrors that covered the walls of the studio. Their teacher was very impressed.
“I don’t do this very often, girls,” she said to them after class one day. “But I think you two could perform one of the advanced-class dance numbers we’ll be doing for the Christmas Showcase.”
Jenna and Lisa thanked their teacher and smiled with delight. When they were outside in the parking lot, they began cheering, hugging, and jumping up and down.
“We did it, Lisa! I can’t believe this! We did it, we did it!” Jenna shouted.
Lisa’s mom rolled down the car window. “What’s up, you two?” “Mom, you aren’t going to believe this! Our teacher just said we get to perform one of the advanced dances for the Christmas Showcase!” Lisa was beaming as she and Jenna leaped into the car.
“Well, I’m not a bit surprised. I know you two will be wonderful,” Lisa’s mom said. “You’ve been working so hard.”
And they kept working hard. Jenna and Lisa found every possible opportunity to practice and perfect each leap and every twist of the head down to the exact timing until even the top dance students in their class were impressed.
“How are you feeling about the dance performance?” Jenna’s mom asked one day as they got in the car after class.
“Fabulous,” Lisa said, grinning.
“Couldn’t be better,” chimed in Jenna. But after they dropped Lisa off at her house Jenna grew quiet.
“What’s the matter?” Mom asked. “I don’t know, Mom.
I don’t want to seem like a goody-goody, but …”
“What is it, honey?” Mom encouraged.
“Well, we got the costumes today that we’ll be wearing for the advanced dance number, and they’re not very modest. Then when we rehearsed the dance in the costumes, I realized that the moves, the music, and now the costumes are not something I would want you and Dad or my little brothers and sister to see. I sure couldn’t perform the dance if someone like the prophet were there watching.”
As the words came out, Jenna’s eyes filled with tears. She had always been taught to listen to the feelings in her heart, and this choice would not be an easy one. “What will Lisa think of me? What can I say to our dance teacher?” she wondered.
“I’m so glad you want to do what is right,” Mom said. “Heavenly Father will help you know how.”
That night before bed, Jenna prayed that Heavenly Father would give her the courage to stand up for what she knew was right. She also prayed that she would know the right words to use.
During school lunch the next day she asked Lisa if they could talk. They went to a quiet place and sat on a bench.
“Lisa, I don’t know how to say this, but … ” Jenna’s voice was shaky and she was looking down at her fingers. “I don’t feel good about performing in the advanced dance number. It’s just too, well, too … ”
She heard a sniff from Lisa and looked up. Lisa’s eyes were red. “I’ve been thinking about how to tell you the same thing,” Lisa said. They hugged and cried a little more, then marched to their classroom with their arms around each other’s shoulders. It was good to have a friend who understood.
It wasn’t easy for Jenna and Lisa to talk to their dance teacher, especially when she said, “We’re dancing the most up-to-date dances from the top dance companies in the nation. If you want to be dancers, this is the kind of thing you have to be willing to do.”
It was even harder when their teacher announced to the class that there would be a change in the advanced dance number. There were sneers from some of the other dancers. But Lisa was right by Jenna’s side. And more importantly, they both felt Heavenly Father’s love and knew they were doing the right thing.
“Never lower your dress standards for any occasion. Doing so sends the message that you are using your body to get attention and approval and that modesty is important only when it is convenient.”
By Christena C. Nelson
Friend, Dec 2008, 38–39
An Old Testament prophet named Isaiah foretold many things about the Savior’s life and Second Coming.
1. Isaiah wrote that a Son would be given to us and be called Immanuel, which means “God is with us.”
2. This child would eat curds and honey. Curds and honey were foods of the poor. God’s Son would be born as a helpless baby to a poor family.
3. Isaiah said God’s Son would be despised, afflicted, and oppressed by many people. Yet He would not speak against those who would hurt and kill Him. He would suffer for our sins and sorrows.
4. At Jesus Christ’s Second Coming, all mankind will live in peace. Isaiah taught that even the animals will live in harmony: wolves, leopards, lions, and bears will no longer hunt lambs, goats, and calves.
5. The Second Coming will bring glorious days when people live long, healthy lives. We can look forward to that great day as a time of learning and peace.
6. Because Isaiah’s prophecies about Jesus Christ’s life are true, we can know that his prophecies about the Second Coming will be fulfilled as well.
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