Gospel Story Finder

Christmas Secrets by Ann Schweninger This easy-to-read book has three short chapters. In the first, the children build a snowman that looks just like—oops, it’s a secret! In chapter 2, they write to tell Santa what they want for Christmas. Chapter 3 tells about making lots of cookies, including three special ones—for guess whom?

Blue Feather’s Vision: The Dawn of Colonial America Blue Feather is an old chief, the revered Keeper of the Wampum. But his wisdom is rejected by the young braves of his village—even by his own children.James E. Knight9–12 years

About a month ago I was sent by the First Presidency to hold a series of Church conferences in South America. Frankly, I didn’t know quite what to expect of that land. I had thought of South America as a rather primitive jungle area. I expected the people to be a little backward, perhaps in need of education and training in the ways of modern civilization. When I saw those countries and their people, I couldn’t have been more astonished.
I saw great cities there with ultra-modern, high-rise buildings and modern conveniences on every side. Traffic was as heavy as in our great cities in North America. They were building apartment houses, offices, subways, roads, and factories with feverish haste to try to meet the needs of an expanding economy.
Frankly, I fell in love with the people of South America. When I first went there I knew no one, but I was received with such warmth and hospitality that when I left a few weeks later I found myself with many new and choice friends, giving them a brotherly abrazo or hug of affection as we parted.

Now, just one final thought. I sat in a class in Sunday School in my own ward one day, and the teacher was the son of a patriarch. He said he used to take down the blessings of his father, and he noticed that his father gave what he called “iffy” blessings. He would give a blessing, but it was predicated on “if you will not do this” or “if you will cease doing that.” And he said, “I watched these men to whom my father gave the ‘iffy’ blessings, and I saw that many of them did not heed the warning that my father as a patriarch had given, and the blessings were never received because they did not comply.”
You know, this started me thinking. I went back into the Doctrine and Covenants and began to read the “iffy” revelations that have been given to the various brethren in the Church. If you want to have an exercise in something that will startle you, read some of the warnings that were given through the Prophet Joseph Smith to Thomas B. Marsh, Martin Harris, some of the Whitmer brothers, William E. McLellin—warnings which, had they heeded, some would not have fallen by the wayside. But because they did not heed, and they didn’t clear up their lives, they fell by the wayside, and some had to be dropped from membership in the Church.

The Riddle Streak Peter was two years older than Amy, so he always beat her at Ping-Pong, checkers, spelling, and everything. He even knew the answers to all the riddles she learned. It wasn’t fair! Then she finally came up with something that he was happy to learn from her. What do you suppose it was?Susan Beth Pfeffer6–9 years

My Personal Progress value project for Knowledge is collecting each of the “Line upon Line” articles in the New Era and putting them into a binder in order of books of scripture. Reading these articles helps me to better understand the scriptures. I especially like the ones that pertain to scripture mastery, and I would love to see you print them more often.
Morgan S., California, USA

As summer was beginning, my family was getting ready for a short vacation to one of Utah’s beautiful canyons. For some reason, my 15-year-old brother and I got into a big argument. It began as a simple disagreement that led to name-calling, then almost punching each other. Both of us were thinking of the most insulting things we could say. It was an emotional competition in which the winner was the one who didn’t start crying. I was the winner, with my brother fleeing to his room in tears.
The looks I received from my parents and siblings after the argument had ended were intense. As I stood there enjoying my “victory,” my mother interrupted my celebration by telling me of her grave disappointment. She told me how sad it made her to see us argue. My father responded by telling us he didn’t know if there would be a vacation now.
Their words rekindled my anger. Now I was not only fuming at my brother, I was also angry with my parents for their inability to understand my feelings. I was looking for someone to say I had done the right thing and that my brother had deserved what he had received. But no one would. No one, it seemed, was on my side.
While I was getting the disappointed looks from my parents, my nine-year-old brother was sitting on the corner of the couch with his face hidden in a pillow. Suddenly, I heard the sound of him sobbing. I looked at him and asked what was wrong. He raised his head from the pillow, his eyes red and tears rolling down his cheeks. He looked directly into my eyes and said, with a voice shaking from his sobs, “What would Jesus do?”
I was stunned into silence. I watched my younger brother continue to cry, and I began to feel the implications of his words. Here I was, this supposedly mature young man, being taught a lesson by someone half my age. I felt ashamed. I immediately knew what to do. I went to the brother I had been arguing with and tried to apologize. Not surprisingly, he was not in the mood to listen. I left his room and went to mine. I fell on my bed and began to cry out of shame for what I had done. Our younger brother’s words kept ringing in my head: “What would Jesus do?”
I realized how un-Christlike I had been. As I lay on my bed, my recent antagonist walked into my room, ready to accept my apology. With our eyes red and puffy, we gave each other a hug. We continued to talk for a while, and I told him what our little brother had said. Just as it had touched me, it also touched him.
We walked up the stairs together to find the rest of our family waiting for us. We had obviously made peace with each other, so my parents did not say much about the incident. Instead, we again began to prepare for our vacation.
I now realize the importance of that short question my brother asked, and I will always be indebted to him and to whoever taught him that simple question: “What would Jesus do?”

When I was about your age, my father became seriously ill. We thought it was just the flu, but as the days progressed, he became more and more ill. It was during that time that I really learned what it means to “pray always” (2 Ne. 32:9). I had a constant prayer in my heart, and I would seek solitary places where I would pour out my soul in prayer to my Heavenly Father to heal my father. After a few weeks of illness, my father passed away. I was shocked and frightened. What would our family do without our father whom we loved so dearly? How could we go on? I felt that Heavenly Father had not heard nor answered my fervent prayers. My faith was challenged. I went to Heavenly Father and asked the question—“Heavenly Father, are you really there?”

Over a period of many months, I prayed for help and guidance. I prayed for my family, and I prayed to understand why my father had not been healed. For a time, it seemed to me that the heavens were silent, but as a family we continued to pray for comfort and guidance. I continued to pray also. Then one day, many months later, as I was sitting in a sacrament meeting, my answer came in the form of a scripture. The speaker said: “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths” (Prov. 3:5–6). A feeling came over me, and I felt I was the only person in the chapel. That was my answer. Heavenly Father had heard my prayers!

That experience happened many years ago, but I still remember it vividly, and I testify that He has directed my paths. I know that when we believe and trust in Him, “all things [will] work together for [our] good.”

Brigham Young received a vision of Joseph Smith in which Joseph showed him a mountain and an ensign upon its peak. Joseph said, “Build under the point where the colors fall and you will prosper and have peace.” The identification of this mountain peak, as the Saints entered Salt Lake Valley in July 1847, confirmed to President Young that the pioneers had found their destination, their Zion, in the tops of the mountains.
We know this conical, dome-shaped mountain today as Ensign Peak. It rises above the valley floor just north of where we now sit.

What I noticed immediately as we entered the ice cave was how cold it was. And the farther we went into the cave, the darker and spookier it got. Surprisingly, despite the darkness and gloom of the cave, the time I spent there during a girls’ camp hike gave me a chance to think about the direction my life was taking. And I decided there were some things I wanted to change.
We soon reached an area where we had to climb over boulders to reach our destination. I thought about how those boulders are like my own personal obstacles. I found myself asking whether I climbed confidently and carefully over my problems, or if I struggle, as I was now doing, to get to the other side.
Lagging behind, I looked up and saw the lights of the girls in front of me, moving forward almost as if the rocks weren’t there. It seemed their faith was so strong that I felt a new burst of strength that carried me on.
When we reached the end of the cave, one of the leaders had us turn our flashlights off. When all was dark, it struck me that this cave might be like the place where Satan lives—cold and dark. I decided right then and there that I would set new goals to return to my Father in Heaven and live with my family for all eternity.
The lights came back on, and we all headed out. Toward the beginning of the cave, there was a hand-painted sign that read, “Remember This Place.” That, I decided, I would always do, for it had helped me want to do what’s right.

It’s taken me a while to write to the New Era about my Christmas. I had decided to make this Christmas as Christ-filled as I could. I received my New Era that had the advent calendar. What more could I ask for? The people at the New Era had done the work for me. I read each day. I sang the songs on my way to school. I gave copies of the Book of Mormon as gifts to nonmember friends. As I wrote out my cards, I tried to focus on the true meaning and say something about filling your Christmas with Christ. I thank the New Era for bringing Christ into my Christmas when I was not feeling the Christmas spirit.
Dana KingreyMabelvale, Arkansas

Thirty-eight years ago this month, Dean and I, then newlyweds, traveled to New Mexico to visit my parents. While there, my father took us on a day trip into the mountains in the northern part of the state. In the afternoon, we encountered a car stranded on the roadside with a flat tire. The driver told my father that his spare was also flat and he needed a ride to the nearest town to get the tire fixed. My father, seeing the man’s family inside the car, said to him, “You’ll never be able to get to town and back before dark. But listen, you have the same size wheel as mine. Take my spare, and the next time you come to Albuquerque, bring it back to me.”
The stranger, shocked by the offer, said, “But you don’t even know me.”
Daddy’s response, typical for him, was, “You’re an honest man, aren’t you? You’ll bring the tire back.”
A few weeks later I asked my dad about the spare tire. He told me that it had been returned.

Lisa, you should take seminary,” Ashley mentioned casually. Before us were folders displaying lists of class choices for the next school year, when we were starting high school.
I looked vacantly at my friend, finally managing a smile. I hated to tell her, but seminary was the furthest thing from my mind. I was then a less-active member of the Church, as I had been for most of my life. Over the years, I had grown vaguely aware of the gospel but hadn’t received a strong testimony of its truthfulness.
As I went home after school that day, the prospect of seminary began to intrigue me. Ashley, as well as my other friends, all seemed very excited to become a part of it. I had a desire to do what my friends were doing, even if I didn’t understand what they were doing or why they were doing it. After discussing my plan with my parents and getting their permission, I decided to take seminary my first year of high school.
I didn’t know what a profound impact that simple act would have on my life. My first year of seminary changed my life as I began to see myself and others as children of God, loved and cherished. I began going to church on Sundays, despite my family’s inactivity.
I have now finished high school, but I will always be grateful for seminary. During that hour each day, I had my prayers answered and my testimony strengthened. Seminary helped me prepare for a temple marriage and encouraged me to strive to be a better person.
I know that God cares for each of us. I know that seminary is a blessing that helped me build on a firm foundation in Jesus Christ. I would encourage you to enroll in seminary. It will change your life too.

I started preparing to be a professional ball player at the age of three, and I never took my mind off it. And that was one of my problems. I didn’t think that public school or church had anything to do with becoming a ball player, and because of my poor vision in terms of values, I had to learn a very hard lesson. Everything I did from age three until I was 18 and signed that first professional ball contract was oriented toward the ball field. I ate, slept, and drank baseball. That’s all I could think of, but it was necessary in terms of my preparation. My only problem was I got overbalanced in it. I collected more Wheaties box tops than you can ever imagine, because I thought there was some correlation between eating Wheaties and being a better ball player.
For 12 years of public education I never took a book home to study. I’m not proud of it. I’m sorry, and I’ve tried to repent, and I’m spending the rest of my life paying the price of the void that I created by that silly observation of a few years ago, thinking as I used to in algebra and English, “Of what value is this to me if I become a great pitcher? I can throw a curve ball just as well without algebra and English as I can with it.” I used to go home and say, “Yep, I’m all prepared for life. I can throw as hard as anybody and run just as fast and hit just as far. So don’t bother me.” I’ve lived to see the fallacy of that one.
When it came time to go to church on Sunday, I took it as a personal affront to me, because how could church help me be a better ball player?
That’s the way my mind worked. I’m not saying that becoming a great ball player or lawyer or doctor isn’t important. It is; it’s necessary for temporal salvation, but it isn’t the most important thing that we’re sent to earth to do. It’s the eternal things that really count, and it’s a sharp, intelligent person who can catch this vision early and do something about it.
At the age of three I had not calculated that World War II would be on the scene. I hadn’t put that in my program. I didn’t know about it, and little did I know that Uncle Sam would tap me on the shoulder when my 18th birthday came and say, “Come on, buddy, follow me. That’s what you’re going to do for the next three years.”
Three months before I had signed my first ball contract. Do you know what that means? Here I planned for 15 years to be what I wanted to be. I had eight major league scouts tracking me down; I was finally graduated from high school and arrived at age 18 when I was permitted by my parents to sign that contract and to put my name on the dotted line with what was then a pretty good bonus. You know what kind of thrill that is for a teenager? I wish I had the ability to tell you. And then I reported to that first team, and I stepped into that dugout with a new number. You know what a thrill that is? Then to get a letter two or three months later that says, “Forget that, brother, and follow me. We have other plans for you.” That’s what I hadn’t counted on. That was the uncertain part of my life that I had never planned for; there are those things in the lives of us all.

Benjamin Ballam is the special spina bifida child of Michael and Laurie Ballam. He has been such a blessing to them and many others. Also spiritually precocious, Benjamin is a constant source of love and reassurance. Having had 17 surgeries, resilient Benjamin knows all about hospitals and doctors. Once, when an overwhelmed attendant became vocally upset—not at Benjamin, but over stressful circumstances—little three-year-old Benjamin exemplified the words of another Benjamin about our need to be childlike and “full of love” (Mosiah 3:19). Little Benjamin reached out, tenderly patted the irritated attendant, and said, “I love you anyway.” A similar episode occurred recently in an Israeli hospital, where little Benjamin, going through a necessary but very painful procedure, used the same loving words to reassure a physician. No wonder, brothers and sisters, in certain moments we feel children are our spiritual superiors.

Late one afternoon we were approaching the mouth of a river at the end of Starvation Lake. As we pulled ashore, the canoe bumped a boulder. We noticed a huge mound of fur nearby. I thought it was a dead animal until it moved and Bob said, “It’s a grizzly. And it isn’t dead, it’s asleep.” We were less than 100 feet from it at that point. Suddenly, it stood up. I thought it would run away, as most bears do. But it was irritated. The hair on its neck raised up, it started swaying its head back and forth, its jaws started moving—you could hear the teeth clacking—and its ears were laid back. I grabbed the camera and Bob grabbed the gun, but we soon decided it wasn’t smart to stay close, and we backed into deeper water. Somehow we had to get by that grizzly.
We pulled into a small draw about 200 feet away and checked on the bear. It had lain back down. So we took the food packs up and came back for the canoe. When we checked on the bear again, it was gone. It couldn’t go the opposite direction from us because of cliffs. It couldn’t go to the right, because of the lake. So we knew it was either going parallel uphill or coming straight for us. It knew where we were, but we didn’t know where it was. Bears will sometimes move up your trail and intercept you, and we were both scared. We knew it might come boiling over the hill any minute. Bob said, “Dad, can we pray, please?” After a prayer and with great caution, we started up the draw, me with the canoe over my head and Bob with the gun.
We broke the ridge about 100 feet from our packs, and it was waiting there for us. If it tasted the food in the packs, we would have to kill it to keep it from destroying the entire supply, and we didn’t want to do that. As a last desperate effort, and with prayer in my heart, I raised the canoe and shouted at the top of my lungs.
The bear swung its huge head around and saw a pair of legs, a body, and a 17-foot aluminum head growling at it. It was startled so badly it took off at a dead run. It took us about four hours to shake the hollow feeling we had after that close encounter, but we both knew the prayer had helped us through.

While going from a chapel to an airport in Central America, their vehicle was involved in an accident. Sister Nelson and I were traveling behind them and saw it occur. A truck loaded on top with unsecured metal rods approached them at an intersection. To avoid a collision, its driver suddenly stopped the truck, launching those iron rods like javelins to pierce the Hinckleys’ car. Windows were smashed; fenders and doors were dented. The accident could have been very serious. While shattered glass was being removed from their clothing and skin, President Hinckley said, “Thank the Lord for His blessing; now let’s continue on in another car.”

Somehow that observation rings true, especially when we realize that this is the 12-year-old boy who, when making his first visit to the Seagull Monument on famed Temple Square, spent time wondering how a person could get those nickels and dimes, which had been thrown there by the slightly more contemplative, out of the reflecting pool. Actually, Tommy Monson was very touched by that visit to Temple Square, returning to his ward to give the first talk he ever delivered—on that wonderful pioneer story of the seagulls and the crickets.

Four years ago Jimmie discovered a new heritage. Through entertaining, he met a member of the Church. They became friends, and she invited him to go to church with her. He enjoyed the meetings and soon he began talking with the missionaries.
“I found out all about the Church. I was more active than some members,” he says. Finally after two years Jimmie decided he was going to get baptized.
“I had the object one week to pray about it. I did pray, and sincerely. I think that was the big difference. I prayed sincerely because I did want to know if the Church was true. An answer came. I mean it was really strong—very, very strong.
“Before, I was expecting an answer straight away when I was praying. This time I waited. I didn’t have to wait very long. Once I had the feeling, I knew there was no way I could deny it. Just no way at all.

While on a flight to Peru a few years ago, I was seated next to a self-proclaimed atheist. He asked me why I believe in God. In the delightful conversation that ensued, I told him that I believed in God because Joseph Smith saw Him—and then I added that my knowledge of God also came from personal, real spiritual experience. I shared my belief that “all things denote there is a God” and asked him how he believed the earth—this oasis of life in the vacuum of space—came into existence. He replied that, in his words, “the accident” could have happened over eons of time. When I explained how highly improbable it would be for an “accident” to produce such beauty and order, he was quiet for a time and then good-naturedly said, “You got me.” I asked if he would read the Book of Mormon. He said he would, so I sent him a copy.