Gospel Story Finder

One year as I was driving myself and my niece Shelly, who was then seven years old, back from a trip to Vernon, British Columbia, I had an experience that has helped me as I try to improve my ability to prune wisely and to load or unload my wagon, as the case may be.

During the trip when we were not playing the tape “Winnie the Pooh” for the hundredth time, Shelly would be asleep in the backseat of the car, and I had many hours and many miles to weigh, compare, and wonder. I had gone to Canada to take care of my sister’s family of nine children while she was in the hospital with her tenth baby. After a week of doing laundry, matching socks, tending to paper routes, meals, lessons, car pooling, bedtime stories, lunch money, settling disputes over time spent in the bathroom, finding shoes, and planning for family home evening, I felt overwhelmed to say the least. At the appointed time my sister returned with a babe in arms. I stood in awe and reverence as I watched her step back into that routine with the ease and harmony of a conductor leading a well-trained orchestra with each player coming in on cue. It was a miracle to me.

As I thought of her life and mine, I began measuring what I was not doing in comparison to what she was doing. We do that, you know. I began wondering and feeling discouraged, despondent, even depressed.

At that moment, somewhere between the Canadian border and Spokane, my father’s voice came into my mind. He had passed away two years before, but his voice was as clear as though he were sitting by my side. “My dear,” he said, “don’t worry about the little things. The big things you agreed to before you came.” And for the rest of the journey, between moments of listening to “Winnie the Pooh,” I asked myself over and over again, “What are the big things in life? What is essential? What is the purpose of life?” I share this experience with you, my brothers and sisters, because I believe there are times when these same questions weigh heavily on your mind.

The years have passed since that experience, and Shelly has traded Winnie the Pooh for the more important things. She has just recently received her mission call to New Zealand. She is now willing to leave important things behind, including ballroom dancing, which for Shelly borders on being essential, to go forth and teach the real essentials, the gospel of Jesus Christ.

When President Oaks gave this talk in 2007, I immediately identified with his message, as I had had an epiphany on this topic about nine years earlier around midnight in my laundry room. I had recently had our sixth child and was feeling very inadequate, with a messy house, a career placed on the back burner, and so much left to do. As I was sorting socks and feeling overwhelmed with my lengthy, undone to-do list, I thought to myself that I could stay up all night and I still wouldn’t finish my to-do list. And then the thought burst into my mind: maybe there was nothing wrong with me; maybe there was something wrong with my list. I stopped sorting socks and went to bed praying that God would help me decide what I should accomplish each day “for good.”

Well, that was the last day I sorted my kids’ socks. I determined that their sorting their own socks was a great life skill and that it was just fine to wear two different socks. I changed my to-do list to an accomplishment list to focus on my priorities. I also started creating a new list: my selected neglect list. This list contains good stuff, not the prioritized best stuff; it contains items that I have consciously chosen to neglect for now. In choosing my priorities, I have pondered on President Oaks’s advice to base our priorities on gospel principles and strengthening our families, not on socks.

Mona (names have been changed) didn’t think she would ever find an eternal partner after two failed marriages. Then she moved to a retirement center and met Bob. They became friends, and she introduced him to the gospel. About the time they became engaged, Bob was diagnosed with cancer. He asked Mona if she still wanted to marry him.
“Of course,” she said. “I’m marrying you for eternity, not just for this life.”
The couple married, and Bob was baptized. They were both in wheelchairs as they were sealed in the temple. Mona said there was a celestial light about Bob that day. He lived another six months, rejoicing in each day with his sweetheart. Now Mona can’t wait until they are together again.

One such time came before a gathering of hundreds in a hotel ballroom in Vietnam in November of 2019.

President Nelson met with a group of young single adults, who were given the opportunity to ask the Prophet a few questions. With the questions complete and the meeting coming to a close, President Nelson paused and said he would take one more question. The room stilled as the young woman he selected next spoke about her experience with emotional and sexual abuse. “How can we know we are not to blame and worthy to follow God and that He will accept us when we do?” she questioned.

President Nelson spoke about the mortal experience. “We come to this earth for two purposes — to get a body and to be tested,” he said. “Everyone will have bad things happen to them. … What we become is how we handle the very hard things in life. The main thing is to develop faith in God, faith in Jesus Christ and know you will be talking to Them one day. …. With faith you can overcome. The Lord will say, ‘Well done.’”

After the gathering, President Nelson and his wife, Sister Wendy W. Nelson, walked straight to the young woman. President Nelson offered private counsel. Sister Nelson, a mental health counselor by profession, embraced her. “You were beautiful before the abuse,” she whispered. “You are beautiful after the abuse. It wasn’t your fault.” [12]

A sweet spirit filled the room. The young woman wept. I knew at that moment that I had witnessed a miracle — a healing of an ailment no less isolating or debilitating than leprosy was for those in the Savior’s day.

“There are a lot of temptations, and you have to be strong,” says Tyrah Mohandessi, 16, of Athens. “But if you spend your time doing good things, you don’t have time for bad things.”
She practices what she preaches. For example, she is deeply involved with the Limestone County Youth Leadership organization.
“It’s based on helping people,” she explains. “We work with a lot of leaders in the community to try to solve problems, and we do service projects, like cleanups and visits to hospitals.”
She also spends two or three evenings each week with a mentally and physically challenged friend whose single mother has to work nights and can’t afford to hire help. And she’s on a soccer team and plays bass in a jazz band.

I had the pleasure to experience the dedication of the Copenhagen Denmark Temple back in 2004. Prior to the dedication, I— together with many members—was involved in the all the practical things in connection with the open house for thousands of visitors. All the preparation and the uplifting experiences going through with visitors during the open house, made the dedication a special event, which had an effect on the members, and motivated them to come often to the temple to serve and to feel the Spirit.

Across from me sits a young woman with a soft, slightly husky voice that could be the envy of any movie star. She is tan, blonde, very tall.
“Any problem being 5 foot, 14 inches, and female?” I ask.
Her eyes crinkle with quiet mischief. “Oh not at all,” she deadpans. “You just get used to sewing ruffles—a lot of ruffles—on your pant hems.”
Meet Dylann Duncan, just another LDS girl from Salt Lake City who likes romantic comedies and long talks with good friends. Who craves hamburgers and roasted marshmallows. Who hates jogging. Who could watch replays of Mary Lou Retton’s perfect vault a million times. Dylann Duncan, just another LDS girl, who also happens to be one of the most honored high school basketball players in the state of Utah.
Quite honestly, Dylann’s sports dossier reads like a page out of a Guinness Book of World Records. Examples? While attending Skyline High School, Dylann was—
Named to the 4A All-State Basketball team.
Selected MVP for her region.
Recognized as the first female to earn a career 1000 points at Skyline.
Made a member of the Utah all-state academic team.
Voted prep of the week by the Deseret News.
Chosen as a member of the prestigious Carnation and Converse All-American teams.
She also managed to letter in three sports (track, softball, and volleyball) besides basketball. By the time Dylann graduated last spring she had received over 55 letters from colleges and universities (including Stanford) expressing an interest in her. And that’s just for starters.
With stats like that, Dylann could create resentment. After all, who honestly likes someone with talent and brains and looks? Yet people like Dylann. In fact, they like her a lot—maybe because she’s always more impressed with others than she is with herself. Dylann’s mom, DeEtte, says that her daughter is baffled by the attention she has received—she doesn’t think she’s all that special. Mrs. Duncan notes that “Dylann has an uncanny ability to put people at ease and to show her love for them.”
What’s the secret to this very nice person’s tremendous success on court?
Let’s face it—being born with natural athletic ability helps. The person who trips over his own shoelaces even when he isn’t wearing any probably won’t accomplish what Dylann has, no matter how willing he is to sacrifice his body for his sport. And, as coach Joan Burdett of Skyline High School notes, Dylann has plenty of athletic ability. She comes by it naturally: Dylann’s siblings—Doak, Dixon, Deon, and Dana—are a lively, fit bunch, and dad Douglas played varsity basketball in college. It was he who helped Dylann learn some of her own inside moves under the basketball standard in front of their house.
Still, designer genes aren’t enough. Any coach can tell you that plenty of naturally gifted athletes warm the bench while others take their place. The successful athlete has something extra.
Like enthusiasm for one thing. Douglas Duncan talks about his daughter’s general “zest for life” and, as everyone who watches her play knows, Dylann crackles with excitement. Her enthusiasm, however, is not restricted to the formal boundaries of a high school basketball game: Dylann shows the same kind of enthusiasm, the same kind of intensity, at a practice. Coach Burdett says that Dylann is “willing to work and work and work at something until she gets it. I don’t think she would accept anything less of herself. She wouldn’t accept anything less than excellence.” This enthusiasm for excellence, coupled with Dylann’s ability to listen to instruction, are two big reasons for her success. Burdett, in fact, calls Dylann “coachable”—probably the highest compliment a coach can pay an athlete.
Talent, enthusiasm, coachability—all these things go a long way toward the creation of a successful young athlete. Still, these things might not have mattered had Dylann not had one more important quality.
Take just a moment now and think about the choices below:
You really want to take some art and graphics classes, but you wonder if you have the time to take them and play basketball and do well in your core classes, too. What do you do?
A friend you haven’t seen for a while wants you to go to a new movie you’re dying to see. You haven’t put your day’s mileage in yet (remember, you ought to jog but you tend to put it off), and you know you’ll never do it if you go with your friend. What do you tell her?
You would love to have one best goofing-around friend—the kind of friend you tell everything, call anytime. To develop that type of relationship, however, you’ll have to slack off on some of your responsibilities at school.
Easy choices to make? They weren’t always easy for Dylann. “It’s a real effort to not be distracted, to stay motivated,” she notes. Of her senior year she says, “I found myself without one really close friend.” And although Dylann is an exceptional student (she has been honored nearly as much for her academic achievements as for her athletic ability), she admits that her “grades did suffer a little bit. I could have had A’s in things I got B’s in.” All this led Dylann to write about certain regrets in her Sterling Scholar Portfolio last spring: “Sometimes, although I’ve tried to fill my life with exciting and interesting activities, I feel a touch of regret that I haven’t had enough time to pursue everything that I would like to experience. I have not had time to study as much as I would like nor have I practiced the guitar and the piano to my satisfaction.”
To get some things, you often have to give up other things. Many of us have a hard time accepting this truism emotionally: we want it all and refuse to choose what matters most. Thus our energy and talents dissipate into a thin cloud of indecision. Not so for Dylann. She knows how to choose, and she isn’t afraid to do it.
This is not to suggest that Dylann doesn’t have a lot of fun on her way to being the best. Although she couldn’t do everything she wanted to in high school, she still made time to take advanced placement classes, to sing, to participate in student government, to order out at a local drive-in.
At present, Dylann is a freshman at Brigham Young University on a full-ride scholarship, majoring in electrical engineering. She is also a member of the Y’s top-ranked women’s volleyball team.
Volleyball? I do a quick double take. Now why would a high school basketball superstar like Dylann Duncan decide to switch sports?
“My height isn’t outstanding for basketball anymore,” she points out, smiling. Besides, she was ready for a new challenge and Dylann liked Coach Elaine Michaelis and her program. “Anyway,” Dylann laughs, “volleyball is a lot more fun.” Typical Dylann.
In her Sterling Scholar Portfolio Dylann spoke of regrets. But she also spoke optimistically of the future: “In the vast life ahead of me,” she said, “I will change my regrets to actions.” It seems that Dylann is well on her way to doing just that.

Many years ago, my parents decided to recarpet the house. The night before the new carpet arrived, my mom asked my brothers to remove furniture and rip out bedroom carpets so the new carpet could be installed. My then seven-year-old sister, Emily, was already asleep. So, while she slept, they quietly removed all the furniture from her room, except the bed, and then tore out the carpet. Well, like older brothers sometimes do, they decided to pull a prank. They removed the rest of her belongings from the closet and off the walls, leaving the room bare. Then they wrote a note and tacked it to the wall: “Dear Emily, we moved. We’ll write in a few days and tell you where we are. Love, your family.”

The next morning when Emily did not come for breakfast, my brothers went to find her—there she was, sad and alone behind a closed door. Emily reflected on this experience later: “I was crushed. But what would have happened if I had just opened the door? What would I have heard? What would I have smelled? I would have known I was not alone. I would have known I really was loved. The thought never even crossed my mind to do something about my situation. I just gave up and stayed in my closet crying. And yet if I had simply opened the door.”

My sister made an assumption based on what she saw, but it wasn’t a reflection of the way things actually were. Isn’t it interesting that we, like Emily, can become so weighed down in sadness or hurt or discouragement or worry or loneliness or anger or frustration that it doesn’t even occur to us to simply do something, to open the door, to act with faith in Jesus Christ?

I’ve had a testimony of the Book of Mormon since the first time I read it when I was younger. But truthfully, my scripture “study” in the months preceding the October 2018 general conference felt more like casual skimming. So when President Nelson challenged the women of the Church to read the Book of Mormon by the end of the year, it felt like just the invitation I needed.
His invitation came with some powerful promises too. He said, “As you prayerfully study, I promise that the heavens will open for you” (“Sisters’ Participation in the Gathering of Israel,” Liahona, Nov. 2018, 69).
As I listened, I felt excited to recommit to the book I’ve grown to love so much, and I couldn’t wait for the heavens to open for me.
And they did. In so many ways. After completing this Book of Mormon challenge, I’ve spent time pondering on the experience I had and am still having. I’m amazed by what I learned, how I felt, and who I am becoming by studying its inspired pages.
As I read the Book of Mormon at a quicker pace than I am used to, the narrative really came alive. I felt such a connection to those whose testimonies and experiences make up this book.
From Nephi’s brother Sam, I learned that quiet righteousness is noble. From Alma I learned to never surrender my faith. From his son, that it is never too late to approach Christ and experience the cleansing power of His infinite Atonement (see Mosiah 27; Alma 36). King Lamoni’s father inspired me to make more sacrifices for God (see Alma 22:15, 18). Pahoran taught me to be calm and Christlike when I feel misunderstood (see Alma 61). From the brother of Jared I learned that while action on our part is essential, it is not enough; we need Christ’s help and enabling power (see Ether 2–3). From Moroni I learned that though we may feel alone, we never truly are (see Mormon 8:3, 5).
I learned to inquire of the Lord often, to pray fiercely and with faith. I learned the importance of keeping records and bearing testimony and the proper way to repent. I learned that God is mindful, that Christ is merciful, and that They are one in purpose.
I learned that “[feasting] upon the words of Christ” (2 Nephi 32:3) provides the direction I need for my life.
I learned, yet again, that Joseph Smith did not—and could not—write this book.
Was it a coincidence that I read Nephi’s psalm (2 Nephi 4) on a day I felt bogged down by my inadequacies and weaknesses? Of course not. Was it a happy accident that I encountered King Limhi’s declaration, “O how marvelous are the works of the Lord, and how long doth he suffer with his people” (Mosiah 8:20) when I felt alone in my trials? No! With God, there are no coincidences, only perfectly orchestrated tender mercies, and I was the recipient of many as I read. I truly felt my Heavenly Father’s love for me and an incomparable sense of peace as I immersed myself in the Book of Mormon.
It was the Savior’s healing power that I felt most throughout my reading of the Book of Mormon. Verse after verse testifies of His grace, mercy, compassion, and infinite love. As I read about Jesus Christ, I felt overwhelmed with gratitude for His sacrifice. One of the greatest miracles I experienced while reading was the feeling of complete forgiveness for a series of poor choices made years ago. I felt as though the Savior was speaking directly to me as I read. In my heart I felt the words, It’s time to move on. Christ literally provided the healing I needed.
Though I did not see the resurrected Christ as the Nephites did (see 3 Nephi 11), I felt His presence in my life as I read about Him in the Book of Mormon. He truly understands each one of us and our unique trials, and He has the power to save, comfort, and heal us.
As I daily immerse myself in the Book of Mormon, I am more patient, compassionate, grateful, and optimistic. I tend to be less selfish and less concerned with worldly things.
Because of the Book of Mormon and the Spirit it brings into my life, I am a better mother, wife, daughter, and friend. I am a more committed disciple of Jesus Christ.
How can one book have all the answers? How can one book accomplish so much?
Only a book designed by God has that kind of power. And I know it really is of God.
Just as President Nelson promised, the heavens really did open for me, in more ways than I could have ever imagined. So I will continue to read and study the Book of Mormon. I will continue to search its pages and find Christ there because this book really is all about Him.

I am only 11 years old, but for the past few years I’ve received a lot of opposition for my decision not to watch PG-13 movies. Several friends, and even some of their moms, have tried to convince me that a particular movie would be OK for me to watch because they had seen it and thought it was good. Once I chose not to attend a birthday party because they were going to see a PG-13 movie. At another party, out of 20 girls ages nine to twelve, only one other girl and I didn’t want to watch a PG-13 movie.
In My Gospel Standards it says, “I will only read and watch things that are pleasing to Heavenly Father.” There are reasons why a movie is rated PG-13. So even though I’ve been laughed at and made fun of, I feel good knowing that I am choosing to do what I feel Jesus would want me to do.

Like many of you, I have shared the gospel with some who are soon baptized or activated, and others—such as my nonmember friend Tim and his less-active wife, Charlene—take much more time.

For over 25 years I engaged Tim in gospel conversations and took Tim and Charlene to temple open houses. Others joined the rescue; however, Tim declined each invitation made to meet with the missionaries.

One weekend I was assigned to preside at a stake conference. I had asked the stake president to fast and pray about whom we should visit. I was shocked when he handed me the name of my friend Tim. When Tim’s bishop, the stake president, and I knocked on the door, Tim opened it, looked at me, looked at the bishop, and then said, “Bishop, I thought you told me you were going to bring somebody special!”

Then Tim laughed and said, “Come on in, Merv.” A miracle occurred that day. Tim has now been baptized, and he and Charlene have been sealed in the temple. We must never give up.

Wilford Woodruff was with Joseph before and after his death. He traveled thousands of miles with him and often acted as scribe for him—it was Brother Woodruff who wrote the revelation given through Joseph Smith concerning the Civil War. (See D&C 87.) In the Millennial Star he recounts the delightful and revealing first meeting with the Prophet Joseph:
“Before I saw Joseph I said I did not care how old he was, or how young he was; I did not care how he looked—whether his hair was long or short; the man that advanced that revelation was a Prophet of God. I knew it for myself. I first met Joseph in the streets of Kirtland. He had on an old hat, and a pistol in his hand. Said he, ‘Brother Woodruff, I’ve been out shooting at a mark, and I wanted to see if I could hit anything;’ and says he, ‘Have you any objection to it?’ ‘Not at all,’ says I; ‘there is no law against a man shooting at a mark, that I know of.’ He invited me to his house. He had a wolf skin, which he wanted me to help him to tan; he wanted it to sit on while driving his wagon team. Now, many might have said, ‘You are a pretty Prophet; shooting a pistol and tanning a wolf skin.’ Well, we tanned it, and used it while making a journey of a thousand miles. This was my first acquaintance with the Prophet Joseph. And from that day until the present, with all of the apostacies that we have had, and with all the difficulties and afflictions we have been called to pass through, I never saw a moment when I had any doubt with regard to this work. I have had no trial about this. While the people were apostatizing on the right hand and on the left, and while Apostles were urging me to turn against the Prophet Joseph, it was no temptation to me to doubt this work or to doubt that Joseph Smith was a Prophet of God.” (Millennial Star, vol. 53, pp. 627–28.)

I’m away at school, living quite a distance from home, and it gets very lonely. Recently, while the mail was being passed out, I was feeling especially alone and in need of comfort from my family. I said a small prayer, asking God to please let me receive a letter from home.
When the last letter was passed out, I was disappointed. But the mail carrier still had a magazine folded in her hands. It was my New Era. Father in Heaven had heard my prayer and sent me the greatest letter from home!
Nephi OlivaWhittier, California

One day my friends and I got together to celebrate. At my friend’s house, we were talking, drinking, and smoking. But one of my friends, Patrick, didn’t join in. I then realized that Patrick never tried any of the stuff the rest of us did; I remembered that he was a Mormon.

As it got late, everybody separated except Patrick and me. We left together in a jeepney. Still wondering why Patrick didn’t join in, I thought back to a day four years before, when we were 16. I remembered we were walking in the street near our school when I told him I wanted to be a priest someday.

Now, as we rode in the jeepney after the party, I asked Patrick where he was going. “I’m meeting some friends. They’re elders—missionaries.” I remembered having seen them around. I asked Patrick if he would take me to the elders so I could ask them some questions about their church.

We met up with the missionaries at a store near their subdivision, and they greeted us by shaking our hands. It was very formal. But after they introduced themselves to me, I realized they seemed like any other guys. They wanted to set up an appointment to answer my questions.

“OK, I’ll just get your number so if I’m available, I will text you,” I replied. I wasn’t really planning to text them.

When I got home, I got the book Patrick had given me four years before—something about it made me curious. The next morning I texted the missionaries to teach me. They started with the Restoration of the gospel. It sounded so different, and I told myself, “Why do people want to restore things when they know that older generations are different than our generation now?”

After two discussions I decided not to pursue them anymore. When asked why, I replied, “I’m just not interested anymore.” One week passed. I sat staring at the Book of Mormon, pondering the message I had been taught. I started to read what the missionaries told me to in 3 Nephi 11. I read that Jesus went to another nation to show that He was the Savior and Messiah. In 3 Nephi 15, I recognized one passage that I had read before in the Bible, in John 10:16. It was something the missionaries hadn’t even taught me yet.

Tears fell down my face, and I found myself weeping in my room. I realized the love Jesus Christ has for us. He loves us so much that He gave His own life to save us from our sins. I didn’t hesitate to pray, asking to know if the Book of Mormon I was holding is true. Praying in my room, all alone, I suddenly felt that somebody was there listening to me.

My heart was softened by the impressions I had received. I stood up and said, “This is the true Church. I know that this is the Church that Jesus Christ restored.”

The day before my baptism, I repeated the process of praying. Again what I had heard and felt sunk into my heart, and I knew the Holy Ghost had revealed the truth to me. I knew the truth that Jesus is the Christ. I felt in my heart and mind that I desired to be baptized, believing that through the Atonement of Jesus Christ I could be cleansed.

Jesus Christ atoned for our sins, and this is the very reason I was converted. I know that He was the only one who has the power and the authority to rebuild His Church in our dispensation. Now as a missionary serving in the Philippines Cagayan de Oro Mission, I am doing the best I can to help people feel the great happiness I have now.

During the pandemic, Newport Gwent ward offered a ray of light to their community by supporting three local charities and hundreds of people’s lives.
Bishop James Hayes offered support to the ‘Helping Caring Team’ (HCT) a local charity who collect food donations from various local shops and restaurants and then deliver packages to the homeless and vulnerable of Newport. Soon HCT were asking if they would be able to utilise the church building for collection and packing of the food packages.
The ward also supports Sesame Counselling Services: a charity who specialise in providing discounted counselling services. Sesame Counselling was unable to use their regular meeting place so a member asked the Bishop if they could help, Bishop Hayes arranged a visit to the chapel to showcase their space. The head of the board of trustees was heard to say, “Isn’t there a restful atmosphere here,” “It’s peaceful here” and “There’s a nice atmosphere here, a feeling of safety.”
The final group it supports is the Gwent Family History Society. The group were looking for somewhere to meet, someone suggested asking the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Gwent Family History use the computers and run a zoom link from the building which is recorded and shared on their social media pages. There have been many blessings that have come to both the Newport Gwent Ward and to the charities. Bishop Hayes remarked, “In some ways it is missionary work like you have never known it.” The groups even promote the Word of Wisdom notes Bishop Hayes because “the groups have asked us what they are able to provide on the premises for their clients and we explain the Word of Wisdom to them and why we believe it is important, they then accept our belief and subconsciously they explain it to their patrons, allowing more people to become aware of our beliefs without us having to proselyte to them.” Elder Hyrum Little stated, “Watching the joyous faces of those who are selflessly giving of their time and talents, gives me a greater sense of joy through my own service and it increases my desires to magnify my own mission efforts.” Elder Samuel Jaccod commented, “Whenever service is done to anyone who is in need, the service is not just a blessing to their lives but blesses those who are helping them too. Finding true happiness in your life will come as you strive to increase the joy in the lives of those around you.” Both Elder Little and Elder Jaccod have been able to witness the blessings that have been brought to those who use the chapel, but also to the members and missionaries of the Newport Ward through the selfless, compassionate and loving service of those who have come to use the chapel.

I can’t tell if it feels like Christmas or not, Gwen pondered as she crunched her way home from school through the snow-blanketed city park. It seems so different from other years.
Her younger brother Peter walked silently at her side. The playground equipment was covered with snow. It was still and quiet away from the city sounds. The two children slowed their steps; it was a good place for thinking.
Peter stopped walking and said softly, “It feels different this year, doesn’t it? It isn’t an unhappy feeling or anything, just different.“
“Yes,” Gwen agreed. “I’ve been thinking the same thing. You know, it makes me feel kind of important that we’re doing something worthwhile.”
They were remembering the unusual family meeting their father had organized the day after Thanksgiving. At the beginning of the meeting they all sang “Oh Come, All Ye Faithful.” After the opening prayer Dad said, “Children, I want you to tell me what it means to be faithful and what it means to adore Christ, the Lord.”
Peter said he thought that faithful meant to do the right things.
“Yes, Peter,” Dad agreed. “That’s part of it. When we’re faithful, it means we can be trusted to keep our promises and to do our duty.”
“And when you adore Jesus, you love Him,” offered Gwen.
“That’s right, Gwen. It also means that we honor Him.” Then Dad added, “This Christmas I want our family to be among the faithful ones who really come to adore our Savior.”
From behind his chair, Dad pulled out a sheet of white poster board with the outline of a large green Christmas tree drawn on it. There were no lights or ornaments or icicles, just the tree.
“Our prophet,” Dad explained, “has told us to store a year’s supply of food and necessities. Your mother and I feel that it would be wise to spend up to 50 percent of the money we ordinarily spend for Christmas on our year’s supply.”
“What’s percent, Dad?” asked six-year-old Ted.
“I know what percent means,” Gwen said eagerly. “May I tell him?” Dad nodded.
“It means that out of every dollar we have saved for Christmas presents that we would spend up to 50 cents on things for our year’s supply.”
Father smiled his agreement and then in a firm voice challenged, “Can we do that? Can we be faithful ones, by following the wise counsel of our prophet?”
Then he explained about the plain Christmas tree that would be in the place where a gaily decorated one had been on previous Christmases. “The more we are faithful and store food and needed items for our year’s supply, the more decorations we can add to our tree.
“For every five pounds of powdered milk we store, we can draw a light on our tree. We’ll add an ornament for every three pounds of salt. Each loop in a garland will represent any nonfood item we add to our storage.”
“If I buy a box of salt, may I wrap it up?” Ted asked eagerly.
“You can if you want,” laughed Dad.
After the meeting Peter planned to take 25 cents out of each dollar he had saved for Christmas for the year’s supply, but as he thought about it, he decided to give more than that.
Now, as the children started walking again, they continued to mull over in their minds their different Christmas. Nearing the northwest corner of the park where they had to cross a busy city street before the last two blocks home, they heard above the traffic sounds the wailing of a fire engine siren.
Suddenly, Gwen stood still. She gripped Peter’s hand, and he looked up at her questioningly. Down the street an unnatural brightness made a pulsating glow in the sky, and flickering, hideous shadows jerked up and down the outside walls of the apartment buildings.
“Look, Gwen, fire!” Peter cried. “We can’t go down our street!”
On the street, roadblocks had been erected and policemen standing by cars with flashing red and blue lights redirected traffic. Behind the barricades were firetrucks and men with hoses spraying silver streams of water up through the smoke toward the flames.
Despite the panic that made her heart hammer, Gwen made herself move forward, praying silently that she and Peter would find their father and mother and Ted and that they would all be safe.
Suddenly Gwen and Peter heard a voice calling their names. They pushed their way through the crowd that was beginning to gather at the edge of the park, to see where the voice was coming from.
Mom and Ted were across the street calling their names, looking first down the street at the fire, and then over at the park.
“Mom!” the children shouted together. “We’re over here!”
Mom spotted them and waved with relief.
“Wait there!” she called.
Once across the street Mom wrapped her arms around them tightly.
“When we couldn’t find you,” she said, “we became worried. Fire broke out on the third floor of the building facing ours. Dad is helping to evacuate the buildings in the area. We can’t go home until the fire is out and the danger is past.”
Their own apartment was not damaged, but the next four days until Christmas Eve were not days filled with the usual Christmas shopping, package wrapping, and cookie baking. They were busy days of sharing their home and food with friends and strangers.
On Christmas Eve the family all dressed in winter coats, caps, and scarves. Everyone had an armload of Christmas gifts, food storage items, and personal Christmas gifts. These were all being given away to someone else in need.
“Before we leave,” Dad said in a husky voice, “I want everyone to look at our Christmas tree.”
The tree had a few lights, two short paper chains, but there were lots of ornaments. “The tree doesn’t look very grand, does it?” Peter asked.
“To me,” his mother answered, “it’s beautiful.”
“This is the best tree we have ever had. It deserves a real star decoration,” Dad said as he held up a star made of sparkling silver and gold. “Ted, you may put it on.”
The family was hushed, and tears glistened in Mom’s eyes as Ted crowned their Christmas tree with a star. Then, with the wondrous spirit of their different Christmas, they left on their Christmas rounds of caroling and giving gifts.
In the back seat of the car Gwen whispered to Peter, “Remember the song? The thing that’s different about this Christmas is that it really is joyful.”
“If you ask me,” Peter said quietly, “it’s triumphant too.”

The old missionary joke about an elder’s having to lose either his girl or his hair as one of the “costs” of his mission may have some basis in the warm and humorous story told by another of the great and valiant servants in the early Church, Heber C. Kimball. Brother Kimball was bald, even when he was young. People used to tease him about his baldness, and once he explained how he lost his hair. It seems that shortly after he joined the Church, while still a very young man, he was called on a mission to Nova Scotia. He traveled the entire 1500 miles from his home in New York on foot, with his valise on his back.
“Soon after I started, I found that I was rather unlearned, though I knew that before, but I knew it better after I started. I began to study the Scriptures … and I had so little knowledge that exercise of study began to swell my head and open my pores insomuch that the hairs dropped out; and if you will let your minds expand as mine did you will have no hair on your heads.”5

Illustration by Carolyn Vibbert
When I was six or seven years old, I knew I wanted to be an oceanographer. I focused on my goal, worked hard, and got into a good college. I took several courses in zoology and loved it. But as I got further into my studies, I became fascinated with the human body, particularly on the cellular level. I decided to become a pathologist.
I soon met my future husband, and we decided to get married. Having a family was always part of my plan, but while I knew I could be a great doctor and a great mother, I felt that I couldn’t be great at both at the same time. Because family is essential to the Lord’s plan of salvation, I decided to become a mother first. I figured that once my kids got into school, I could go back to school myself.
When my youngest child entered kindergarten, I began the application process for a PhD program in nutritional studies at the University of Texas in Austin. Just before submitting my application, I found out I was unexpectedly pregnant with my seventh child. I was in my 40s, and by the time this child entered school, I would be nearly 50.
“A little late to start a new career that takes extensive schooling,” I thought.
All at once I saw my life’s career dreams crumble around me. As I began to despair, a scripture came to my mind and my heart: “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends” (John 15:13). I had always considered this scripture to mean one person dying for another, but now it means so much more.
I realized that the greatest love I could show was to lay down the life I had planned for myself and give my time and energy to raising my children. I felt that for me, this was what the Lord would have me do. Yes, I could have helped a lot of people as a doctor, but I also know that the greatest eternal impact I can have is in the lives of my own children.

We were traveling with family and friends in the south of Oman. We decided to relax on the beach along the coast of the Indian Ocean. Soon after our arrival, our 16-year-old daughter, Nellie, asked if she could swim out to what she thought was a sandbar. Noticing the choppy water, I told her that I would go first, thinking there might be dangerous currents.
After swimming a short while, I called to my wife, asking if I was close to the sandbar. Her response was, “You have gone way past it.” Unbeknownst to me I was trapped in a riptide and was being pulled rapidly out to sea.
I was unsure what to do. The only thing I could think of was to turn around and swim back toward shore. That was exactly the wrong thing to do. I felt helpless. Forces beyond my control were pulling me farther out to sea. What made matters worse was that my wife, trusting my decision, had followed me.
Brothers and sisters, I thought there was a high likelihood I would not survive and that I, because of my decision, would also cause my wife’s death. After great effort and what I believe was divine intervention, our feet somehow touched the sandy bottom and we were able to walk safely back to our friends and daughter.
From time to time I have an image that haunts me. What if that September day, while relaxing on the beach of the Indian Ocean, I had said to my daughter Nellie, “Yes, go ahead. Swim out to the sandbar.” Or if she too had followed my example and had been unable to swim back? What if I had to live life knowing that my example resulted in her being pulled by a riptide out to sea, never to return?

Like you, I have felt what King Benjamin meant when he said that we could become like a little child before God. I have prayed, as you have, to know what to do when choices that I faced would have eternal consequences. Over many years I have seen a recurring pattern in the times when the answers to such a prayer have come most clearly.
Once, for instance, I prayed through the night to know what I was to choose to do in the morning. I knew that no other choice could have had a greater effect on the lives of others and on my own. I knew what choice looked most comfortable to me. I knew what outcome I wanted. But I could not see the future. I could not see which choice would lead to which outcome. So the risk of being wrong seemed too great to me.
I prayed, but for hours there seemed to be no answer. Just before dawn, a feeling came over me. More than at any time since I had been a child, I felt like one. My heart and my mind seemed to grow very quiet. There was a peace in that inner stillness.
Somewhat to my surprise, I found myself praying, “Heavenly Father, it doesn’t matter what I want. I don’t care anymore what I want. I only want that Thy will be done. That is all that I want. Please tell me what to do.”
In that moment I felt as quiet inside as I had ever felt. And the message came, and I was sure who it was from. It was clear what I was to do. I received no promise of the outcome. There was only the assurance that I was a child who had been told what path led to whatever He wanted for me.
I learned from that experience and countless repetitions that the description of the Holy Ghost as a still, small voice is real. It is poetic, but it is not poetry. Only when my heart has been still and quiet, in submission like a little child, has the Spirit been clearly audible to my heart and mind.