Gospel Story Finder

Illustrations by Valerio Fabbretti
I was serving as a missionary, and a family in our ward unexpectedly invited my companion and me over for dinner.
When Christmas Eve finally came, we walked a few miles to their home, stomped off our snow-powdered boots, and eagerly rapped on the front door. Silence. After knocking again and ringing the doorbell, an adult daughter finally came to the door.
“Can you wait out here for a second?” she said. “We forgot you guys were coming.”
The door shut, and we looked at each other, confused, as we shivered on the porch.
When the door swung open again, we were guided to a small, well-loved couch in the corner of the living room. All 15 family members (seven of them small children) were also packed into the room. The older children raised their eyebrows in surprise at our appearance. The younger children wildly wrestled on the carpet. Apparently, the father, who was the only active Church member, had not told his family members that we were coming.
The same daughter who opened the front door announced that they hadn’t had time to prepare dinner, so she was going to see what restaurants were open for pickup. The father did his best to hush the children and direct their attention toward us, but they were pretty rowdy.
At first, my companion could barely utter a few words before a child would squeal or the family dog would jump on our laps. In all the chaos, I prayed for a way to help this family feel the peace of the Savior.
“Let’s imagine something together,” I said suddenly. “Can everyone close their eyes?”
I didn’t quite know where I was going with this, but I had a copy of an article by Elder D. Todd Christofferson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles that my mom had sent me. The question took the children off guard and they squeezed their eyes shut.
I unfolded the talk and began to read.
“Think about that baby [Jesus] in the manger. … Do not be too concerned or overwhelmed with what is coming in His life or in yours. … Just think about that little baby. Take a quiet, peaceful moment to ponder the beginning of His life ... when all of heaven rejoiced with the message ‘Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men’ (Luke 2:14).”
At this point the children were all quiet and still; even the teenagers put their phones down. I read on.
“Just sit with the Lord and let Him warm you like a fire in winter. You don’t have to be perfect or the greatest person who ever graced the earth or the best of anything to be with Him.”1
I paused for a few moments to allow the Spirit to linger before telling the family to open their eyes. My companion and I bore our testimonies of the miracle of Christ’s birth and how we can always experience the peaceful feelings of Christmas as we cherish His life.
The atmosphere in the small living room was warm and light. I felt as though we had taken our own journey to Bethlehem to gather around the Christ child. One of the little girls sighed and said, “I love Jesus. Thank you for coming, Sisters.” Many of the other children nodded.
A few minutes later, the oldest daughter hobbled in the door, arms loaded with bags of fast food. We soon found ourselves munching on tacos, laughing, and sharing our favorite holiday memories.
Christmas has a way of bringing all kinds of people together. And just as Elder Christofferson taught, we don’t have to have the perfect family or the perfect holiday traditions to feel the Savior’s love; we just need to remember Him. On that Christmas Eve, I learned that sometimes a simple, heartfelt moment with Savior is all it takes to create a “silent night.”
The author lives in Utah, USA.

Another time I was kind when a new girl moved to my school from Africa. She didn’t have any friends, so I decided to be her friend.

For teenagers life can never be all hard work. The Utah Boys had fun on the trail too. One day they “caught a string of fish.” Another time they “had a family swim in the Platte.” One morning Zeb and one of the men “crossed the river and found plenty of chokecherries and currants. After satisfying our own appetites we filled our hats and pockets.” In recrossing the river “we got ducked several times, but we hung on to the fruit.” Back at camp they shared the berries and “finding breakfast ready, we ate heartily.”

One morning while serving in the Thailand Bangkok Mission, I woke up lacking the desire to teach the gospel in my new area. My companion and I were having difficulties keeping our spirits up through the intense heat and the disappointment of uninterested investigators. In Thailand, 90 percent of the time it’s at least 90 degrees outside with at least 90 percent humidity. But as bad as the heat was, we felt worse about not being able to find people to teach the discussions to.
I spent the entire morning pumping myself up to teach my Thai brothers and sisters. Through reading my scriptures, studying with my companion, and praying fervently, I was ready and excited to teach again. As I had been on other days of my mission, I was amazed at how quickly studying and praying helped me regain the desire to teach.
The excitement and renewed strength quickly vanished, though, as every appointment we had that morning fell through. We tried street contacting to make up for the lost appointments, but nobody was interested. After yet another Thai brother turned down our offer to teach him, I looked at my companion only to sense in him exactly what I felt. Our sweat-drenched white shirts and tired bodies showed the dejection we had experienced. Our injured spirits wanted to give up, and I even contemplated taking an early lunch. But the Spirit wouldn’t let me.
Not knowing exactly why, I hopped on my bike and started pedaling as fast as I could. My companion, who probably thought I had lost my sanity, struggled to keep up as I sped down a neighborhood street. I pedaled and pedaled, finally coming to a three-way intersection where a man passed us on his bicycle. I slowed down and began to follow him, approaching his side and asking him how he was and where he was going. My companion caught up just in time to hear the man accept an invitation to hear the first discussion.
The man let us in his air-conditioned room where we taught him the first discussion and challenged him to read the Book of Mormon and pray about our message. Within the week, Amnaad Uanphooklaang had felt the Spirit and committed to be baptized later that month. Elder Wengreen, my companion, baptized Amnaad at the small branch where we served. The branch now had a much-needed potential priesthood holder.
Shortly thereafter, Amnaad introduced us to his boss, Chaanchay Srisawad. We taught Chaanchay the six discussions, and a branch member baptized him the next month.
Several months and two areas later, my mission president allowed me to visit that branch to see Chaanchay baptize his wife. As I watched the baptismal service, I thought about the morning we met Amnaad. I thought about how close we were to giving up and taking an early lunch. I still thank my Heavenly Father for allowing the Spirit to press forward for me when I felt unable to do so myself. I had learned, once again, that God guides His work.

Recently a man seeking help with a moral problem was asked, “What are you going to do about the next temptation?” He answered, “How can I tell until I know what the temptation will be?” If this man can’t favorably make up his mind even while suffering his regrets, what chance will he have when his desires are again inflamed by his evil? Certainly we place a serious handicap upon ourselves when we neglect to definitely make up our minds about those important questions of morality, honesty, integrity, industry, and religion.

Earlier this year, I was provided with an exciting yet humbling opportunity to help my little sister, Oceane, progress on the covenant path by accepting the invitation to be baptized and fulfill one of the prescribed requirements to enter the celestial kingdom. She postponed her baptism one month, until I was ordained a priest, to give me the privilege to perform the ordinance, while our other sisters were also privileged to work under priesthood assignment and stand as witnesses. As we stood on opposite sides of the font and prepared to enter the water, I noticed her excitement, as it matched mine. And I felt united with her, seeing that she was making the right decision. This opportunity to exercise the priesthood required me to be more careful and less casual in my gospel living. In order to prepare, I went to the temple every day that week, supported by my mom, grandma, and sister, to perform baptisms for the dead.
This experience taught me a lot about the priesthood and how I could exercise it worthily. I know that all priesthood holders can feel the same things I felt if we follow Nephi’s example to “go and do” (see 1 Nephi 3:7). We cannot sit idly and expect the Lord to use us in His great work. We must not wait for those who need our aid to seek us out; it is our duty as priesthood holders to exemplify and stand as witnesses of God. If we are making decisions that inhibit us from our eternal progression, we must change now. Satan will try his hardest to keep us in a carnal state of seeking simple pleasures. But I know that if we put in the effort, find those who will support us, and repent each day, the resulting blessings will be incredible and our lives will be forever changed as we press forward on the covenant path.

There sits in this hall today a man who grew up with love for the Church. But when he became involved in his business career, obsessed with ambition he began in effect to deny the faith. The manner of his living became almost a repudiation of his loyalty. Then fortunately, before he had gone too far, he heard the whisperings of the still, small voice. There came a saving sense of remorse. He turned around, and today he stands as the president of a great stake of Zion, while also serving as a senior officer in one of the leading industrial corporations of the nation and of the world.

Each week, Betty logs on to the Church’s FamilySearch app to find a deceased relative for whom she can help provide temple blessings. She says, “It feels special to be taking a family name card to the temple, to think about that person and her life, and to pray and hope she will accept the gospel and the ordinances.”

Marvin the Moose lived in the forest. Every morning when Marvin awoke, he would run down to his favorite pond for a nice breakfast of green moss. Green moss was Marvin’s favorite food. This was a good way to begin the day, because all Marvin’s friends came to eat their breakfast with him.
Mother Beaver and all her little beavers would be finishing their breakfast of tender bark by the time Marvin came by. “Good morning, Marvin,” Mother Beaver would say. “Good morning, Mr. Moose,” all the little beavers would say.
Bennie Bear was usually picking berries on the hillside nearby. He would stand up on his hind legs and call, “Marvin, I saved some berries for you.”
Perry Pelican was a good friend. After flying high above the pond, he would tell Marvin where the best moss was growing.
Then there was his friend Oliver Otter. He was always playing tricks when Marvin was trying to eat his breakfast. Oliver would swim right up and splash water all over Marvin’s face. “Wake up,” Oliver would laugh.
One morning as Marvin hurried down to his favorite eating place, he was surprised to see that none of his friends were around. But he shrugged his big shoulders and put his nose into the water for some moss. “Oh, no!” he cried. “There’s no moss!” It was true—there was no moss in the pond for Marvin.
Soon Oliver Otter came scurrying through the marsh. Marvin asked him if he knew what had happened to the moss. “I can’t talk now, Marvin, I have to hurry over to Mother Beaver’s house,” answered Oliver, and away he ran.
Was that some moss hanging out of Oliver’s pocket? Marvin wondered.
Just then Perry Pelican flew over Marvin’s head. Marvin couldn’t believe his eyes. Perry Pelican’s pouch seemed stuffed with Marvin’s moss.
Before Marvin could call out to Perry, Bennie Bear bumped into Marvin. Marvin noticed that Bennie’s arms were loaded with fresh moss.
“Aha!” Marvin exclaimed. “What are you doing with my moss?” Bennie Bear was so surprised that he hugged the moss tighter and ran off as fast as he could go.
Marvin was confused. “I’m tired of everyone ignoring me and then running off with my moss,” he grumbled. “I’m going to follow Bennie Bear and see what’s going on.”
Soon Bennie Bear ran into Mother Beaver’s house and slammed the door behind him. As Marvin came near the house, he could smell fresh moss cakes baking. And Marvin just loved fresh moss cakes! He knocked on the door. When it opened, he saw all his forest friends sitting around the breakfast table. As Marvin stepped into the room, they began to sing, “Happy birthday to you.”
Marvin had completely forgotten that it was his birthday. But Mother Beaver and his other friends had remembered. They had gathered the fresh moss, and Mother Beaver had baked fresh moss cakes as a birthday surprise for their friend Marvin!

In early 1828, when Oliver Cowdery became Joseph Smith’s scribe, the two visited Father Knight, seeking provisions. Father Knight paid for and delivered some supplies including fish, grain, potatoes, and some lined paper for writing. Joseph and Oliver rejoiced at the food and paper, and “then they went to work, and had provisions enough to last till the translation was done.”

Years later, Joseph Smith praised Father Knight for these items: they “enabled us to continue the work when otherwise we must have relinquished it for a season.”5 Joseph Knight, Sr., helped the world receive the Book of Mormon sooner. If the Prophet had had to work full-time to support his family, the translation might have taken years to complete.

I was in what felt like the deepest hole I could possibly imagine. I was just having a horrible time, and I didn’t think that there was anyone I could turn to. I hadn’t been taught about our Heavenly Father yet.
There I was in the middle of class, and I saw this boy across the room. He was shining. It wasn’t anything new. Every time I looked at him he was shining. I couldn’t understand how he was so happy all the time. Finally, after five years of wondering, I got just an ounce of courage to try to get to know him. We talked at school, but I wanted to know more. He was different.
One day when we were watching a movie with some friends, I noticed he had his eyes covered. I asked if something was wrong. He said that he shouldn’t be exposed to what was on the screen. I was rather confused. We were in high school. Hadn’t he watched movies like that before?
Later I asked if we could hang out again, but instead he asked me if I wanted to come work with him on his family farm. I happily agreed. I started going to work with him as much as I could. When we worked, we really worked hard, and it felt good. But what I admired most about him is that while we worked he taught me of his beliefs, the gospel, and the Book of Mormon. Once we became a little better friends, he would read to me out of the scriptures. Then he would explain to me what it meant. Eventually he invited me to church. I was so excited.
Only a few months later I was in the bishop’s office asking to be baptized. I eagerly told my friend that I wanted him to baptize me. I know it meant a lot to him. He couldn’t confirm me because he was a priest, so his father did. I was baptized on December 14, 2008, at the same time as his little sister. It was such a wonderful experience.

While teaching at BYU in 1978, Brother Dennis Rasmussen applied and was selected to study at the Jewish Theological Seminary of America. In the opening session, as he gave his name and university, Rabbi Muffs boomed, “You’re the Mormon! … Do you pay your tithing?” “Yes,” he answered. “Do you pay it with a joyful heart?” “I believe,” the rabbi said, “that joy is the essence of religion. There is nothing more fundamental to religious living than joy. … I am working on a book about joy.” Brother Rasmussen responded, “There’s a passage in the Book of Mormon that you might like. It says, ‘Adam fell that men might be; and men are, that they might have joy.’” Rabbi Muffs was profoundly touched and exclaimed, “I’ve found the text I’ve searched for all my life … in the Book of Mormon.” Turning to Brother Rasmussen he said, “Say it again, but not so fast.” As he repeated the familiar words, the rabbi’s eyes glowed in appreciation of this great truth he understood but had not heard so succinctly expressed.

I was thinking about this recently as I sat through a meeting where the speaker seemed preoccupied with how hard it is to live the gospel. By the end of the meeting, I was depressed. He had made living the gospel seem like a sentence to life on the rock pile. It’s not living the gospel that’s hard. It’s life that’s hard. It’s picking up the pieces when covenants have been compromised or values violated that’s hard. The gospel is the Good News that provides us the tools to cope with the mistakes, the heartaches, the disappointments we can expect to experience here. Membership in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints has its privileges. Here are just a few: We are led by those holding the priesthood of God, the most powerful and holy force on earth. We are members of the Relief Society, the only organization for women founded by a prophet of God. And tonight we will be taught by a living prophet, President Gordon B. Hinckley, who is the Lord’s anointed in this day. I testify that he is a prophet in every dimension of that word and that he receives revelation to bless the lives of all who have ears to hear.

When the phone rang Sunday morning, Missy answered it.
“My father’s taking us to the water slide,” Karen said. “Can you come?” Missy looked down at her good dress and shiny black shoes and sighed. “I’ll ask,” she said, “but I know my parents won’t let me go on Sunday.” Missy loved the water slide more than any other place on earth.
As she feared, Dad said no.
“It isn’t fair,” Missy told him. “There are too many rules. I’m always so busy following rules that I never get to have any fun.”
When she came home from school the next day, Missy found a mysterious envelope on her bed. Inside was a note in her mother’s handwriting:
“Dear Missy,
There is a wonderful treasure to be found if you can follow the clues that lead to it. It comes from far away, from someone who loves you. You will find the next clue somewhere in your room. Happy treasure hunting!
Love, Mom.”
Missy glanced around. Everything looked the same as she had left it that morning. The second clue must be hidden. She felt a tingle of excitement as she began searching for it.
She started with her desk, wondering what in the world the treasure could be. Maybe it’s money, she thought as she rifled through drawers. Or a new bike, she hoped, looking under the blotter. But after a thorough check, she found nothing.
She looked in her dresser, on her bulletin board, and under her bed. When all those places turned out to be clue-free, she plopped herself onto her bed in frustration. She was about to ask for help when she felt something hard under her pillow.
She pulled out a small silver box. Inside was another note:
“Congratulations on finding the second clue. Keep it in this box along with the other clues. In a room that’s dark and deep, the next clue lies buried.”
“This one’s easy,” Missy said aloud. “The deepest, darkest room in the house is the basement, and it’s the only one with a dirt floor.”
As she went down the basement stairs, she saw Dad’s shovel against one wall. She could tell that the dirt beneath it had been recently disturbed. She dug down a few inches and hit an old tin can with a plastic lid. Inside was the third clue.
This game is starting to be a lot of fun, Missy thought as she pulled a note out of the can. This one said:
“You’ve found number three; you’re halfway to the treasure! Number four waits where flowers bloom.”
Missy put the third clue into her silver box and ran outside. The next clue must be in the garden, she told herself. And she was right. She found an old leather wallet lying between a rosebush and some tulips. The note inside read:
“Well done! You’ve found all but the last clue. Look where dinner is cooked.”
Missy hurried to the kitchen and went to the stove. She couldn’t see anything on the top, so she opened the oven door. There it was—a small brown box with the fifth clue inside. Missy read the note aloud.
“Congratulations! You have discovered the fifth and final clue. The treasure is above your room, moving to and fro.”
Hmmm. This one’s a little strange, Missy thought, adding the last clue to the silver box. But I know that the only room above mine is the attic! She took the attic stairs two steps at a time but was stopped at the door by a strange creaking sound. It frightened her a little, but she wasn’t about to quit, so close to the prize. She opened the door and stepped into the attic.
In the middle of the floor was Grandpa’s old rocking chair, moving back and forth. And on the seat was an envelope. Missy opened the envelope and gasped in surprise. Inside was an airplane ticket to Florida and a letter from Grandma. Missy quickly read the letter and began to jump up and down. Grandma had invited her to come for a visit.
Just then, her parents stepped out of the shadows at the back of the attic.
“Oh, Mom, Daddy!” she exclaimed happily. “Grandma wants me to visit her.”
“We know,” Dad said. “That’s wonderful, and we’re sure you’ll have a great time. But sit down now, and let’s have a talk.”
“Did you like our little game?” Mom asked.
“Oh yes, it was fun!”
“We’re glad you enjoyed it,” Dad said. “But we also hope it will help explain why we have rules to follow.”
Missy looked puzzled. “What are you talking about?”
“Look at your ticket, dear,” Mom said. “Is there a date?”
Missy examined the ticket. “It’s for this Friday.”
Dad took the ticket and hid it behind his back. “What if we’d just said, ‘There’s a treasure in the house. Find it and you can have it.’?”
“I’d have searched until I found it.”
“Of course,” Dad said. “But would you have found it by Friday?”
“Oh.” Missy’s face grew serious as she thought it over. “You and Mom would have helped me find it on time,” she finally said.
“Why?” Dad asked.
“Because you’re my parents, and you love me.”
“Right again,” Mom said. “That’s why we gave you the clues. But it was up to you to follow them.”
“Your Father in Heaven is your parent, too,” Dad said, “and He loves you very much. He has also sent you on a treasure hunt. The treasure is to become like Him and to live with Him again.”
“And He has also given you clues to follow,” Mom added. “They are clearer than our clues were, and they are much more important—but not always so easy to obey.”
Missy smiled. “I think I understand—Heavenly Father’s clues are the commandments, and if I want the treasure, I have to follow them.”
Missy thought about the treasure hunt as she sat next to Mom in the airplane on her way to Florida. She knew she wouldn’t have wanted to miss this treasure. She didn’t want to miss Heavenly Father’s treasure, either.

Her mother said thoughtfully, “When I was investigating the Church, my minister showed this passage to me. He thought it would convince me not to believe in the Book of Mormon.” She paused. “Did someone show this to you?”
...
Her mother leaned back thoughtfully, then said, “Many people interpret it that way. When the minister showed it to me, my first reaction was that Mormonism had to be wrong. I told the missionaries to forget about baptizing me.” She chuckled. “But they showed me something.”

President Russell M. Nelson, then a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, told the following story:
“On a recent flight, our pilot announced that we would encounter turbulence during our descent and that all passengers must fasten their seat belts securely. Sure enough, turbulence came. It was really rough. Across the aisle and a couple of rows behind me, a terrified woman panicked. With each frightening drop and jarring bump, she screamed loudly. Her husband tried to comfort her but to no avail. Her hysterical shouts persisted until we passed through that zone of turbulence to a safe landing. During her period of anxiety, I felt sorry for her. Because faith is the antidote for fear, I silently wished that I could have strengthened her faith. . . .
“When we speak of faith—the faith that can move mountains—we are not speaking of faith in general but of faith in the Lord Jesus Christ.”1

Born on November 9, 1818, and raised in St. Johnsbury, Vermont, Erastus was the son of Levi Snow, who “never made a profession of Christianity,” and of Lucina Snow, a devout Methodist. She raised Erastus, her dark-haired son with gray eyes, to believe in God at an early age:
“I being born and brought up amongst them (Methodists) … and being taught by my Mother and trained up somewhat in the statutes and admonition of the Lord, wherefore my mind was called up in my youth years, even at the age of nine years I experienced a joy & comfort which the world cannot give and I endeavored for a season to serve the Lord and be a devout example.”
He said that when he was nine, he “became a student of the Bible, beginning with the life and teachings of Christ.”

One of my classmates was scared about going to school. I came early every day to wait for him so he wouldn’t be alone. Helping others makes me feel happy because I’m following Jesus.
Fang Z., age 6, Hsinchu, Taiwan

During the past few months, I have been privileged to attend the rededication of a number of our temples. Perhaps, the Lord permits us to hold such rededication services so that we can sit in the temple and think and reflect and ponder on the things we ought to be doing. As a result of such experiences, I have resolved to continue to give of myself and my energies to this great and important work and encourage others to do likewise.
Recently, I have felt impressed to share some thoughts about the work for the dead because I feel the same urgency for it that I do about missionary work since they are basically one and the same. To my knowledge, there has never been another time in this dispensation when we have had four temples at various stages of planning and construction as we now have, together with the refurbishing and rededication of others. Thus, I said to my Brethren of the General Authorities, “This work is constantly on my mind, for it must be carried forward.”

“Of course, Maman (Mama)!” Louis said. “First I will take the socks you knitted to Monsieur Dubois, then I will meet my friends.” Louis looked at the clock. He still had plenty of time. The puppet show did not start for another hour.
“Here!” His mother handed Louis a small, brightly wrapped package. “And remember to wish Monsieur Dubois Joyeux Noël (Merry Christmas) and invite him again to have Christmas dinner with us.”
“He will not come, Maman. He will just smile and say that Christmas is a time for families as he does every year.”
“Too bad! Nothing is as sad as being old and alone at Christmastime. I do wish we could make him understand that our Christmas would be happier if we could share it with him.” Louis nodded politely, though he did not think that he would be any happier if Monsieur Dubois came for dinner. Christmas was perfect for Louis, just as it was.
“Hurry home as soon as the show is over, Louis. Grandpère (Grandfather) will be arriving soon.”
Louis smiled excitedly. “Do you think that Grandpère has finished my music box?”
“Perhaps,” his mother answered, “but do not ask him. He is always busy, and making a music box takes a long time.”
Louis was very proud of his grandfather, a fine craftsman who owned a shop in the city, where he repaired watches and clocks. In his spare time he had been making a music box for Louis, one that would play “La Marseillaise” (French national anthem).
Louis hurried to meet his friends. He decided to take the gift to Monsieur Dubois after the puppet show. He hastily stuffed the package into his pocket. His mother would not mind when he explained what he had done.
When the show was over, the children did not stop to visit with each other as they usually did. Christmas Eve was a special time, and they were all eager to get home. Outside, Louis talked for just a moment with the other boys. Then he remembered Monsieur Dubois and felt in his pocket. His eyes widened in distress. “The gift for Monsieur Dubois is gone!” he cried.
One after another Louis turned his pockets inside out. Followed by his friends, he ran back inside the hall where the puppet show had been. They searched the cloakroom, then the hall, looking up and down the aisles and beneath the seats. The package was not there.
“Maman will be angry and disappointed in me!” Louis said. “Even if I don’t tell her, I’m sure she will find out,” Louis said sadly.
When Louis got home, Grandpère had just arrived from the city, and Maman was smiling and hurrying about. Louis’s heart rose. He was lucky; he had only to remain silent. Maman was much too busy now to ask him about Monsieur Dubois.
His grandfather placed a hand on Louis’s shoulder. “Ah, how you have grown, mon petit (my little one)!” His dark eyes twinkled. “I have a surprise for you.”
“The music box!” Louis cried.
“Close your eyes,” Grandpère said.
Louis obeyed, smiling.
“Now!” Grandpère cried.
“La Marseillaise” tinkled and chimed from a small, beautifully carved music box, and—wonder of wonders—two tiny soldiers moved in a slow circle on top of the box.
Louis clapped his hands. “It’s wonderful, Grandpère! I have never had so fine a gift. No one in the world has so kind a grandpère as I.”
Grandpère’s eyes were bright. “And without you, my grandson, and your mother and father, I would be a lonely old man.”
Louis swallowed uncomfortably, for suddenly he saw the face of Monsieur Dubois, who had no one. All that evening, try as he might, he could not get the thought of the lonely old man out of his mind—not even when he placed his shoes before the fireplace so that Père Noël (Father Christmas) [Santa Claus] could put a gift or two in them. And when Louis awakened before daylight on Christmas morning, his first thoughts were of Monsieur Dubois. His heart was heavy. Even the music box on the table beside his bed did not help.
Suddenly Louis knew what he must do. He must take Monsieur Dubois a gift, a very fine gift, so that the old man would know that he was not forgotten at Christmas. He must go at once and be back before his parents and grandfather awakened.
As he dressed, Louis forced back a feeling of sadness. The music box was the only gift that he had that was fine enough for Monsieur Dubois.
It was still dark outside, and Louis had to ring several times before Monsieur Dubois opened the door.
“Joyeux Noël, Louis!” Monsieur Dubois greeted him. “Come in! Come in! You are early this morning.”
“Joyeux Noël, Monsieur.” Louis smiled. “I—I was supposed to bring your gift yesterday, but I have brought it for you today, instead.”
Louis wound the music box and placed it on the table. He stood back, listening to the tinkling music and watching the proud little soldiers. “Is it not beautiful!”
“Yes, Louis, very beautiful.” Monsieur Dubois’s eyes were thoughtful. “Now tell me, Louis, why did you bring me one of your gifts?”
Louis hung his head.
“Come, Louis. Tell me,” Monsieur Dubois insisted, smiling kindly.
Before he realized it, Louis told the whole story. “I—I’m sorry, Monsieur,” he finished. “I hoped that the music box was a fine enough gift to make up for my carelessness.”
“It is the finest gift that I have ever received, Louis,” Monsieur Dubois said softly. “But I want you to keep it for me. Each Christmas bring it here, and we will play it together.”
Louis’s face cleared. “You are not angry, Monsieur?”
“No, Louis. I am not angry.”
“And you will have Christmas dinner with us? Please, Monsieur!” Louis pleaded. “Our Christmas will be happier if we can share it with you,” Louis said, repeating his mother’s words. And, strangely, they were no longer just words. Now he understood them. Monsieur Dubois seemed to understand, too, for his face brightened like a Christmas candle.
“Wait for me, Louis,” he cried. “I will put on my finest suit.” Then Monsieur Dubois laughed. “Today, Louis, you and I have both learned something important. We have learned the real meaning of Christmas.”