Gospel Story Finder

Then something wonderful happened. Don Rubén Orlando Vallejos, the father of Matías and Elías, was finally baptized. Brother Vallejos is a butcher by profession, and his work schedule made it difficult for him to attend church. But watching his sons progress and serve others had inspired him. There was a great celebration on his baptism day, with asado (grilled beef) to top it off! Even more impressive, however, were the spiritual feelings of those who attended.
Matías and Elías asked their friend Esteban what he thought about the baptism. “I answered that I had felt something special and I liked it very much,” Esteban recalls. They asked if he would like to listen to the discussions. “I said that I would. ‘In fact,’ I said, ‘I’d like to be baptized.’” A few weeks later, having been taught the gospel, Esteban was baptized. And soon he was ordained a deacon.

Wilford Kimball was our bishop when I was an older teenager. He had two daughters who were my age, Ardyth and Virginia. Every, I mean every, Sunday evening we would go to Bishop Kimball’s house. Always they would be there. Always we would have refreshments. Never once did any of us feel unwelcome. It wasn’t just for a few months but literally for a few years. I don’t know how they ever afforded it, let alone put up with ten to fifteen teenage youths for two to three hours every Sunday night.
From the little group who attended those get-togethers there have been five or six bishops, several high councilors, two stake presidents, several counselors in stake presidencies, a General Authority, and wives of all these priesthood brethren. Bishop Kimball himself was later called as a stake president and then as a mission president, and there are some who were there who followed him and also became mission presidents. What a privilege to walk with Wilford Kimball and his wife in high places, their home.

Ludovic picked up some folding chairs and carried them across the street. It was Sunday, and church would be starting soon. The house where they had church in Togo didn’t have enough seats. So Ludovic always brought chairs from his grandfather’s house.
“Why would you leave a nice church to go to a small shack?” someone called after him. “Your church doesn’t even have benches!” someone else said, laughing.
Ludovic pretended not to hear. I just have to keep doing what’s right, he thought.
Ludovic first learned about the Church when he was 10. Now he was 12. He and his family had been baptized recently. He held the priesthood and helped pass the sacrament. He even saved some of his lunch money to buy bread for the sacrament each week. Ludovic was happy to serve Heavenly Father.
When it was time for church to start, the small room was full. Some people sat in the chairs Ludovic had brought. Other people stood.
The meeting started with a song. “Israel, Israel, God is calling,” Ludovic sang. He loved to sing at church.
After church, Ludovic hummed as he put the chairs away. He hummed as he walked home. Then he had an idea! He got out his toy piano keyboard. Maybe he could figure out how to play “Israel, Israel, God Is Calling”!
Ludovic hummed the notes and played different keys until he got it right. Soon he taught himself to play the whole song.
Then he remembered that his family had some recordings of Church hymns. He listened to them and learned to play other songs too. Ludovic practiced and practiced.
“Why don’t you play in church while we sing?” Ludovic’s dad asked one day.
Ludovic’s stomach did a flop. “I’m too shy,” he said. “What if I mess up?”
“Then you will keep going,” Dad said. “You are a better pianist than you think.”
The next Sunday, Ludovic didn’t carry just chairs. He carried his toy keyboard to church too. When it was time for the opening song, he nervously put his fingers on the keys. Then he started to play. Everyone sang along. And it sounded so good!
Ludovic played in church each Sunday after that. Sometimes he messed up. But he didn’t quit. When the song was too hard to play, they sang without the piano, and Ludovic led the music.
Ludovic smiled. It didn’t matter to him that they had church at someone’s house. It didn’t even matter that people made fun of him. What mattered was that Ludovic was using his talents to serve God.
A missionary taught Ludovic to read music so he could play the piano better.
Ludovic is grown up now. He and his wife, Benedict, both love music.
Ludovic owns a real piano at home and plays the organ at church.

Not long ago, Franco said he would like to come to church with Matt sometime.
Do you want to come to church with me on Sunday?
Sure. But I need to check with my dad.
He’ll say yes, won’t he?
I hope so.
Lunch is almost ready. Want to join us, Matt?
Smells good! Let me call and ask my mom.
Speaking of asking …
Matt invited me to go to church with him next Sunday. Can I go?
Hmm. I don’t know. Let me think about it.
Mom says OK.
Good! We’re having posole, my favorite.
You might find it a little spicy at first, Matt.
To be continued …

It is not difficult to apply these principles in a family setting, especially to our children. Parenting is good training to become good Christians; occasionally children think of their parents in that context. Years ago, Jack Smith told of a poignant story of two young boys at Christmastime.
“I didn’t question Timmy, age nine, or his seven-year-old brother, Billy, about the brown wrapping paper they passed back and forth between them as we visited each store.
“Every year at Christmastime, our Service Club takes the children from poor families in our town on a personally conducted shopping tour. I was assigned Timmy and Billy, whose father was out of work. After giving them the allotted [U.S.] $4.00 each, we began our trip. At different stores I made suggestions, but always their answer was a solemn shake of the head, no. Finally, I asked, ‘Where would you suggest we look?’
“‘Could we go to a shoe store, Sir?’ answered Timmy. ‘We’d like a pair of shoes for our Daddy so he can go to work.’
“In the shoe store the clerk asked what the boys wanted. Out came the brown paper. ‘We want a pair of work shoes to fit this foot,’ they said. Billy explained that it was a pattern of their Daddy’s foot. They had drawn it while he was asleep in a chair.
“The clerk held the paper against a measuring stick, then walked away. Soon, he came with an open box. ‘Will these do?’ he asked. Timmy and Billy handled the shoes with great eagerness. ‘How much do they cost?’ asked Billy. Then Timmy saw the price on the box. ‘They’re $16.95,’ he said in dismay. ‘We only have $8.00.’
“I looked at the clerk and he cleared his throat. ‘That’s the regular price,’ he said, ‘but they’re on sale; $3.98, today only.’ Then, with shoes happily in hand the boys bought gifts for their mother and two little sisters. Not once did they think of themselves.
“The day after Christmas the boys’ father stopped me on the street. The new shoes were on his feet, gratitude was in his eyes. ‘I just thank Jesus for people who care,’ he said. ‘And I thank Jesus for your two sons,’ I replied. ‘They really taught me more about Christmas in one evening than I had learned in a lifetime.’”1

Steve Hammond, 14, of King Salmon, Alaska, is an Eagle Scout, but he didn’t have a troop to help him reach his goal. Steve was following in the footsteps of his 16-year-old brother, David. Both boys earned their Eagle badges as Lone Scouts.
Their father became a registered Scoutmaster so he could supervise their work. He wanted his sons to do their work the right way. He says, “I was probably tougher on them than another Scoutmaster would have been.”
Steve had a wonderful time earning his fishing merit badge. He hooked a 36-pound king salmon.
Steve and David made something of a competition out of earning merit badges. They received their awards together in a special court of honor. As an Eagle project, Steve and David took on the restoration of a nearby Russian Orthodox church cemetery.
Steve and David are in the King Salmon Branch, Alaska Anchorage Mission.

One son bought a small home in a distant state. He showed me bricks on a corner of the foundation that were eroding away. He asked what should he do.
I did not know, but I asked, “Is there an older couple that lives close to you?”
“Yes,” he said, “across the street and down a few houses is a retired couple.”
“Why don’t you ask him to come over and look at that. He knows your climate.”
That was done, and he got the advice of an older man who had seen problems like that and many others. That is what adopted grandpas can do.

Erik Fagergren sloshes along one of the dirt-turned-to-mud roads that crisscross the San Rafael Valley between his home in Patagonia, Arizona, and the United States/Mexico border. The rain has filled the usually dry washes that cross the road into ponds and filled streams and gullies into raging rivers. The four-wheel-drive Suburban plows through one of the small ponds, the exhaust pipe belching bubbles, and the tires churning muddy water.
Erik points through the rain-streaked windshield at the Patagonia Mountains that jut out of the desert. It was in those mountains that Erik led his dad, bishop, and three other Scouts on a 50-mile hike for his Backpacking merit badge.
Impaling the storm clouds to the east are the Huachuca Mountains. On a lake in these mountains, Erik earned his Rowing and Canoeing merit badges.
The road Erik is bumping along passes old film sets where the musical Oklahoma and many western movies were filmed. It is also the road Erik pedaled for 50 miles to finish his Cycling merit badge. Some of the other cycling trips he took for this merit badge took him on the highway that leads north out of Patagonia to Sanoita.
Traveling south on the highway out of Patagonia is Nogales, Arizona, where Erik attended church and Scout meetings. Being active in the Church and Scouting for so many years, and living 30 minutes from the church, means putting in a lot of miles—especially when there are six brothers and sisters in the family. The vehicle that has taken them to most of their meetings and activities has traveled more than 500,000 miles—the equivalent of about 20 times around the earth or just a little farther than to the moon and back.
But the Fagergren family’s dedication to Scouting has done more than rack up miles on the family car. Erik says the standards of Scouting reinforce the standards he has learned in church.
Erik’s decision to follow his family’s legacy in Scouting earned him the title of Outstanding Eagle Scout of the Year, a national award given by the Sons of the American Revolution. The award came with a check for $5,000—money Erik says will help pay for his mission. But his passion for Scouting has earned him something more valuable than mission money; it has helped him learn values that make good missionaries.
Erik’s love of Scouting and his goal to earn his Eagle Award came in part from his dad and two older brothers who were also Eagle Scouts. Their examples helped Erik get involved in Scouting earlier than most people. Before he turned 12, his dad was the Scoutmaster and his brothers were active in Scouting. Although he wasn’t officially a Scout, Erik went camping with his dad and the troops and anxiously anticipated the day he would wear a uniform.
“I couldn’t wait until I turned 12 so I could actually start earning my merit badges and ranks,” Erik says. When he turned 12, he began walking in the footsteps of his dad and older brothers toward his Eagle Award. Along with the merit badges and rank advancements, Erik learned important values.
The Scout slogan is “Do a good turn daily,” and service is a value that Erik has tried to internalize. During high school, Erik donated time at a farm for injured animals. The owners of the farm were getting old, and their health kept them from working as much as they wanted. So every day after school, Erik would spend time feeding the animals and doing other chores on the farm.
Erik has served in many leadership roles in Church and school. He has served in quorum leadership as a deacon, teacher, and priest. As the only priesthood-holding student in his school, he set an example by living up to Church standards.
When it was time for Erik’s Eagle project, he found plenty of people willing to help. “I always went out helping the other guys with their projects, and they helped me in return,” he says.
The cemetery in Patagonia sits on a hill and overlooks the town. Although it is still used, the cemetery doesn’t receive continual maintenance, and many of the headstones were buried, and weeds and trash had covered others. For his Eagle project, Erik, with the help of his family, ward members, and friends from the community, cleaned the cemetery.
But when he earned his Eagle Award, Erik didn’t stop Scouting. “When I got my Eagle, I had about 60 merit badges, about half of the possible badges. My Scoutmaster would always joke around, ‘So when are you going to finish them all?’” Although it was just a joke, Erik started to wonder if it really could be done. “I started out just wishing. Then I was talking to my dad and he said, ‘Maybe you should try,’ so I just started working on it.”
Three weeks before his 18th birthday, Erik earned his Bugling merit badge. That brought the total number to 119, all that were available.
“Through doing the merit badges, it helped me choose what I want to go into as a career. There is such a variety of merit badges. By doing each one and researching each field, I learned about what I would do in each job,” Erik says. Inspired by the Engineering and Computers merit badges, Erik now studies mechanical engineering as a freshman at the University of Arizona.
As well as directing him in his career choice, Scouting helped Erik decide what kind of person he wants to be. He says Scouting teaches values, such as those in the Scout Law. “I haven’t forgotten it,” Erik says. “A Scout is trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean, reverent,” he quotes it without hesitation.
Everybody who knows Erik comments on his high standards, and they often use words from the Scout Law to describe him. Erik believes these standards have helped him fulfill his priesthood responsibilities and prepare for a mission. “Keeping the standards of the Church and Scouting, I was prepared to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood,” Erik says. “When you learn values, they help no matter what situation you are in.”
When Erik turns 19, he plans to serve a mission, something he has looked forward to for a long time. Although he still has to wait a year, Erik says since he has been ordained an elder, he already has many of the responsibilities of a missionary; he just isn’t set apart to do it full-time. “Being an elder means you are in the service of your fellow beings,” Erik says. “I’m responsible to let people know the truth of the gospel.”
Until Erik is called as a full-time missionary, the skills he learned in Scouting will keep him busy exploring caves, rafting rivers, and biking trails in the Sonora Desert. Once he goes on a mission the climbing ropes, backpack, bike, and raft will have to be put away. But the values he learned will stay with him and help him share the gospel as someone who is striving to live it.

Young Latter-day Saints from Sweden, Denmark, Finland, and Norway traveled all day by boat, train, and bus to the small city of Skien, Norway, for a five-day, multi-nation LDS youth conference, the biannual “Festinord.” Flags of the various countries waving above the Skienshallen (a sports hall and convention center) identified conference headquarters, and as weary travelers deboarded buses that had brought them the final 30 miles from Oslo, they soon forgot their fatigue.

Old friends greeted each other, new friends got acquainted, and all of them realized that their Church membership fostered an instant kinship. Imagine 750 young Latter-day Saints in the same town! Small wonder that Festinord is a special word to LDS youth of Scandinavia.

Participants attended workshops and sports events, a mammoth missionary project, morning devotionals, evening dances and entertainment, a community-improvement service project, and tours to a porcelain factory, an industrial complex, a famous playwright’s home, and scenic points along a nearby river.

One of the spiritual highlights occurred on Thursday night. Thirty people stood in line at the end of a testimony meeting longing to share their feelings but conscious that time had run out. One of the leaders stood and asked all those still waiting if they would come forward in a spontaneous choir to sing the closing hymn.

By Saturday it was time for return trips. It was a sobering moment for many who would return to places where they were the only LDS youth in a city of thousands. Yet somehow, each person knew he had been in a place where he belonged—among his fellow Saints—and that he would carry a part of it with him to his home. Perhaps in two years he would be able to bring new friends and members with him to witness the strength of Zion’s youth in Scandinavia.

The most exciting moment in Peter’s life came, not on the horizontal bar or the pommel horse, but when he was able to share the gospel with a friend from the UCLA women’s gymnastic team, Donna Harris.
They met as freshmen at team activities. “After we’d known each other about a year I talked to her about the Church,” Peter said. “She started coming to the UCLA student ward, and the warmth and family feeling impressed her.” She took the missionary discussions, gained a testimony of the truth, and “last November, two days before I left for the world championships, I baptized her. That was my biggest thrill. It made me think how often we take the Church for granted until we see how it can help someone and totally improve their life.”

During the 150th anniversary of the pioneers’ arrival in the Salt Lake Valley, Brother Myron Richins was serving as a stake president in Henefer, Utah. The celebration included a reenactment of the pioneers’ passage through his town.
President Richins was heavily involved with the plans for the celebration, and he attended many meetings with General Authorities and others to discuss the events. He was fully engaged.
Just before the actual celebration, President Richins’s stake was reorganized, and he was released as president. On a subsequent Sunday, he was attending his ward priesthood meeting when the leaders asked for volunteers to help with the celebration. President Richins, along with others, raised his hand and was given instructions to dress in work clothes and to bring his truck and a shovel.
Finally, the morning of the big event came, and President Richins reported to volunteer duty.
Only a few weeks before, he had been an influential contributor to the planning and supervision of this major event. On that day, however, his job was to follow the horses in the parade and clean up after them.
President Richins did so gladly and joyfully.
He understood that one kind of service is not above another.
He knew and put into practice the words of the Savior: “He that is greatest among you shall be your servant.”9

“Okay, class, we have just about five minutes left for journal writing,” says Mr. Haupt, our sophomore English teacher. “And since Christmas is next week, I want you to write about the one thing you want more than anything else. I’m not terribly concerned about structure at the moment. I do, however, want details. Lots and lots of concrete details. As I’ve said before, well-chosen details make the difference between lifeless writing and writing that …” Mr. Haupt startles us all by taking in a sudden rush of air through his nostrils, “… that breathes.”
Writing that breathes. Only an English teacher, even if he is good-looking in a ’70s kind of way, could say something so truly undecipherable.
I can hear the rustle of paper all around me as kids fish for their class journals. “I hate it when he makes us write in these dumb things,” grumbles the girl behind me.
Usually I feel the same. Only today I know exactly what I’m going to write about. In fact, I can practically feel the words surging through my pen, getting ready to
“Wanted: a guy for Christmas. Should be very tall and slim like Jed Campbell. Should have green eyes like Jed Campbell and also light brown hair with streaks of sun like Jed Campbell. Should look really great in a pair of stone-washed jeans like Jed Campbell. Should adore pizza and Hires root beer like Jed Campbell. Should walk and talk like Jed Campbell. Should, in fact, be Jed Campbell.”
As you may have guessed by now, I have a major crush on Jed Campbell, who happens to sit on the back row of English class. My three older sisters (one’s married, one’s on a mission, one’s away at college) always tease me about my crushes, saying that I fall in and out of love more often than some people (namely me) clean up their bedrooms. But it’s different this time. This is it. The real thing. I’ve felt this way since November.
Here’s the best part. I think maybe he likes me too. Sometimes he waits for me after class, and he always smiles at me in the hall. Yesterday at lunch he and his friend even sat down by me and my friends. I think that’s a good sign.
The bell rings. I slam my journal shut and stuff it in my backpack, then get up to leave.
“Cynthia?”
Did you just hear that loud pounding noise? Well, it’s my heart.
“Oh, hi, Jed.”
He falls into step next to me as we walk out of the classroom and into the hall.
“Hey,” he says, “I was wondering if you wanted to do something tonight. Maybe we could go to a movie.” Jed smiles, and I can’t help but notice what white teeth he has. That would be another good detail to add to my paragraph.
“A movie would be great,” I say.
“So I’ll pick you up around 6:00. Okay?”
“That would also be great.”
“Great.”
We both laugh before splitting up and going to our separate classes. I practically float through the door. Sometimes life is just so fine, don’t you know.
When I get home from school, I can hardly wait to tell Mom my big news about Jed. She’s tending my five-year-old nephew, Travis, on the couch next to our Christmas tree, reading The Cat in the Hat. Travis is the son of my big sister Emily and her husband, Gary.
“Cynthia! Thank goodness you’re home!” Mom looks pretty frazzled. I’m dying to tell her about tonight, but I can tell she’s really stressed, so I do the mature thing and ask her what’s going on in her life first.
“What isn’t ‘going on in my life?’” Mom replies, standing up and brushing back a strand of hair. “Your father is still out of town. I’m supposed to be at a meeting as we speak, both Gary and Emily have to work late tonight, and Travis’s baby-sitter canceled on them at the last minute. I’ve been staying with him until you could get home.” She looks at me, expectantly.
“Oh, no. Not tonight. I definitely have plans.”
“Cynthia, honey, please. This is an emergency.”
I have to admit she does look like someone getting ready to appear on an episode of Rescue 911.
“But, Mom …”
“But, Cynthia …”
I fold my arms across my chest and tap my foot. “Okay, fine.” I really hope she can tell how happy I am not.
Mom puts an arm around my shoulder. “You’re the best, Cynthia. You have no idea how much this helps.”
Then she turns to Travis, who is still sitting on the couch pretending to read. He’s doing his Cat in the Hat voice right now: “Give me all your hats, you guys, or I’m gonna bite your legs off.”
“Travis, Cynthia will take care of you for the next little while. Okay?”
He looks up for a second and flashes me a smile. Then Mom unloads the rest of the bad news. “Gary gets off at 9:00, and Emily doesn’t finish closing out until 10:00. I’m not sure when I’ll be home, but I have a feeling it will be late.”
Of course. Naturally. I didn’t have something else I really wanted to do tonight. Sometimes life is just so not fine.
Mom flies out the door, pulling her coat on as she goes, and I go to the telephone to call Jed. I’m both relieved and disappointed when I get the answering machine.
“Jed, it’s me, Cynthia. Hey, things are kind of desperate here. It turns out I have to baby-sit my nephew, Travis, so I can’t go out tonight. I’m really sorry.” I pause, “So anyway, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
There. I’ve just ruined my one and only chance for true happiness in this life and possibly in the next.
“Hey, Cynthia,” says Travis, joining me. “Wanna play G.I. Joes with me?”
I sigh. “Sure, Travis. Go get your guys.”
Before I know it, he’s got everything set up in the middle of the living room floor. He gets to be the good guys. I get to be the bad guys.
“Heh, heh, heh,” I say, using my best bad guy voice, “Let’s go wipe out the Joes.”
Travis gives me a withering look. “That’s not how they talk, Cynthia.”
Don’t you just love it when a five-year-old starts giving you instructions? He tells me what I have to say and where I get to move my guys. In other words, I’m just the furniture mover.
Travis and I play G.I. Joes for about half an hour, which I think is pretty nice of me. Enough, however, is definitely enough.
“Hey, Travis, I’m getting tired. Why don’t you watch cartoons for a little while?” Actually, I want some time to think about not going out with Jed tonight. I’m in the mood to suffer.
Travis grumbles, but in the end he trudges into the family room by himself where he flips on the television. Naturally he leaves his stuff all over the floor for me to pick up, which I do. Then I collapse in a chair by the living room window and watch the snow fall. It’s five o’clock. Just another hour from now I might have been going to a movie.
“Cynthia?”
It’s Travis already.
“Will you play Old Maid with me?” he asks.
What I want to say is, Thanks to you, Travis, I am an old maid. But instead I give him a weak smile and say, “Maybe later.”
It’s not that I don’t think Travis is a real cute kid. He’s got a killer grin and these huge brown eyes that usually knock my socks off. I don’t even mind baby-sitting him most of the time. But tonight, I have to be honest, Travis is getting on my nerves in a big way.
“Go get your coloring book and color for a little while,” I tell him.
“Will you color with me, Cynthia?”
“Not right now.”
“Please. Pl-e-e-e-e-a-a-a-s-e.”
“No!” I snap. “I want to be alone right now, Travis. Okay?”
He doesn’t say a thing, just looks at me for a long time, then turns around and walks back to the family room.
So what do you think? Don’t you agree that I’m entitled to have a little time to myself, especially after my big sacrifice and everything?
Then why do I feel like such an incredible jerk?
I try to shake off the feeling by watching the snow some more. It’s really coming down hard, and the flakes are so huge they almost look like those old-fashioned doilies you see draped on the backs of overstuffed chairs. When I was a kid, I absolutely loved storms like this. I’d bundle up and run outside and try to catch snowflakes on the tip of my tongue. Maybe you did the same thing too.
Something pricks at me. My conscience maybe? Sometimes I really hate my conscience. I heave a sigh and walk into the family room where Travis is busy pretending to be a ninja.
“Hey there, Travis.”
He totally ignores me and gives the air a deadly kick.
“Do you want to go outside and play in the snow with me?” I ask.
Travis drops the ninja routine and turns with a full-court smile. “YES!”
So the two of us stuff ourselves like sausages into winter clothes and run outside where we make angels and throw snow into each other’s face. Pretty soon the neighbor’s big black Newfoundland dog, Rudy, joins us, his tail swishing behind him like a flag. I know from past experience that this dog definitely has a special talent.
“Hey, watch this, Travis.” I lightly pack a snowball and throw it in Rudy’s general direction. He bellows out a bark and lunges, catching up the snowball in his mouth.
Travis laughs, then throws Rudy another snowball. Sure enough, Rudy snags that one too, just like he’s playing shortstop for the Yankees.
We keep this up until our arms are tired.
“No more, Rudy,” I say. Rudy, who looks pretty disappointed for a dog, lumbers back to his front porch and resumes residence.
Travis drops backwards in the snow and makes another angel, but this time, instead of getting up, he just stares at the night sky, full of stars. “I wonder if that star is still up there somewhere.”
“Which star?”
“You know, Cynthia. The one over the barn where Baby Jesus was born.”
“The Star of Bethlehem,” I say, smiling. “I don’t know where it is now.”
“I know what!” Travis springs to his feet. “Let’s go find it!”
I start laughing until I realize I’ve made Travis feel stupid. I used to hate it when grown-ups did that to me, even though I realize now they didn’t mean to.
“Okay,” I say. “Let’s go look for it.”
So Travis and I start walking around the block, looking for the Star of Bethlehem. When he’s not throwing his head back to search the sky, Travis is running ahead, singing Christmas carols at the top of his lungs. He doesn’t know most of the words, but that’s okay. He’d rather make up his own. All I know is that I suddenly love the sound of his high-pitched voice ringing across the evening snow.
And then the most amazing thing happens.
Travis stands beneath a street lamp and looks up to the sky again, but this time his whole face is shining, filled with light. The forgotten words of an old Primary “Jesus once was a little child, a little child like me.”
I almost stop breathing, and it’s suddenly as though the winter air around me is warm and full of the smell of the sea and the sound of gulls laughing and that the boy in front of me is another little boy from long ago, standing on the shore, his hair and face blazing with sun.
The moment passes, and it’s just me and Travis again, looking for stars. We finish our trip around the block, Travis still blasting through a billion songs and kicking snow with his feet, me bringing up the rear more slowly.
“Who’s that on the porch, Cynthia?” Travis wants to know as we round the corner. I squint to see through the night.
You’re really not going to believe this. It’s Jed.
“Hey, you guys,” he says, walking toward us with that loping step I just love. In fact, he looks so adorable right now I could just faint dead in the snow. “I wanted to know if you want to go to 7-Eleven and buy some hot chocolate with me.”
Travis whoops, and I smile. Sometimes life is just so fine.
Later when I’m in bed, I’m still thinking about how fine life can be but also about how it can take you so totally by surprise. Let me give you an example of what I mean, since Mr. Haupt, our English teacher, always says that specific examples make your writing stronger.
I got the guy I wanted for Christmas all right, and he’s even more wonderful than I imagined he would be. It just turns out there was something I wanted even more, only I didn’t even know it.
What I really wanted was to feel the presence of the Savior in my life, and thanks to a five-year-old kid, I did.
So, Travis, even though I know you’re home asleep right now, surrounded by the zoo of stuffed animals you take to bed with you every night even though it drives your mother crazy because there’s no room left for you, I have something I want to say.
I love you, Travis. Merry Christmas.

So the who is really no problem, but what about the how? Basically all you have to do is fill out one of the subscription blanks in this magazine and send it in along with your money. But that still leaves you three possibilities: you can tell the recipient you are sending the subscription before you send it; you can just send in the subscription with your name as donor and a gift card will be sent to the recipient; or you can send the subscription anonymously. The seminary leaders suggested that the students check with their friends in advance to assure that no subscriptions would be wasted on someone who didn’t want one, but in practice everybody did it his own way. Kelly Manning, who was mentioned above, asked that his name be listed as donor but said nothing to the girls in advance. He felt that the element of surprise made the gift even more exciting. Shanna Grayson, on the other hand, sent an anonymous subscription to her nonmember cousins. A week later when visiting them, she saw the New Era on their coffee table and asked if they were reading it. They said they were and that they really enjoyed it.

A letter was given to me, written by a young man whose twin brother had been killed while on an activity in Big Cottonwood Canyon east of Salt Lake City. His quorum leader grieved over the loss of one of his boys whom he had been called to serve, to teach, to inspire, and to motivate. He received comfort, as an adviser, in the help our Heavenly Father provided him in the answers to his prayers. He was asked to speak at the funeral of the deceased boy. It was a difficult assignment, but he fulfilled it. Then he received a letter from the surviving twin. The letter is the finest letter he has ever received in mortality. With his permission, I’ll share it:
“Dear Brother Cannegieter:
“I’d like to thank you for the talk you gave at Brian’s funeral. You told about all those wonderful times we had with Brian that I had almost forgotten. Brian and I both thought you were the best adviser and the best teacher we ever had, because you really cared about us and gave us your time. You taught us very important lessons and provided us advice from your own experience in life.
“We are going to miss Brian very much, and we will never forget the example of living life to its fullest and of courage and of dedication that he gave to us.
“I love you, Brother Cannegieter, and I hope I can be as smart and understanding and caring as you are. I hope I will really listen and get to know people like you do.
“I’d like to thank you for everything you have done for us.”
This is the comfort that comes to the heart of a person who loves his neighbor as himself. The same comfort will come to the heart of the person who loves God.

When I was 17, I went to live with my aunt and uncle in Sekondi, Ghana, who were sponsoring my education. When I arrived at their home, I immediately noticed unusual things about their family. They had morning and evening prayers together and held family meetings on Monday evenings that seemed to make each family member feel loved and appreciated. Even though I was an active member of another faith, I became interested in finding out about their beliefs.
When I asked Uncle Sarfo about the Church, he explained many of the Church’s teachings. Some I believed, and others I did not understand.
My uncle then asked the missionaries to teach me the discussions, and I received all six of the lessons. But when the missionaries invited me to be baptized, I refused because I did not have a testimony of the Book of Mormon. I found it difficult to read and understand.
To please Aunt Evelyn and Uncle Sarfo, I had already been attending sacrament meeting. Now they encouraged me to enroll in the early-morning seminary course that was to begin in two weeks. Getting out of bed at 4:30 A.M. was no small matter for me, but the seminary teacher, Solomon Agbo, visited me, encouraged me to attend, and seemed already to care about me. I decided to go to seminary, and once I made that decision, I resolved not to be absent even for a single day. The course of study was the Book of Mormon, and I wanted to see if I might gain a testimony of the book.
As I began studying the Book of Mormon for seminary, I experienced the feelings Elder Parley P. Pratt (1807–57) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles described when he first found the Book of Mormon. “I opened it with eagerness, and read its title page,” he wrote. “I then read the testimony of several witnesses in relation to the manner of its being found and translated. After this I commenced its contents by course. I read all day; eating was a burden, I had no desire for food; sleep was a burden when the night came, for I preferred reading to sleep” (Autobiography of Parley P. Pratt [1985], 18).
As I read, the Spirit of the Lord bore witness that the Book of Mormon is truly another testament of Jesus Christ. Through seminary the Book of Mormon became much easier to read. Whenever it was hard to follow, my teacher helped me understand. I received a testimony that the Book of Mormon is “the most correct of any book on earth, … and a man [will] get nearer to God by abiding by its precepts, than by any other book” (Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith, selected by Joseph Fielding Smith [1976], 194).
I was baptized on 5 March 1995. By the time I was 21 I was a seminary teacher myself, helping others know of the divinity and truthfulness of the book that changed my life.

A more recent miracle occurred at the Wells Stake Welfare Tannery some years ago where hides of animals were tanned into leather. On regular workdays, the hides were removed from the vats and fresh lime placed in the vats, after which the hides were returned to the lime solution. If the hides were not turned on holidays, they would spoil. But the change was never made on Sunday, and there were no spoiled hides on Monday. Explained J. Lowell Fox, the supervisor of the tannery at the time:
“This brought a strange fact to our minds: holidays are determined by man, and on these days just as on every week day, the hides need to have special care every twelve hours. Sunday is the day set aside by the Lord as a day of rest, and He makes it possible for us to rest from our labors as He has commanded. The hides at the tannery never spoil on Sundays. This is a modern-day miracle, a miracle that happens every weekend!” (Handbook for Guide Patrol Leaders [Salt Lake City: The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, 1964], p. 37).

“My attitude toward the law of tithing was set in place by the example and words of my mother, illustrated in a conversation I remember from my youth.

“During World War II, my widowed mother supported her three young children on a schoolteacher’s salary that was meager. When I became conscious that we went without some desirable things because we didn’t have enough money, I asked my mother why she paid so much of her salary as tithing. I have never forgotten her explanation: ‘Dallin, there might be some people who can get along without paying tithing, but we can’t. The Lord has chosen to take your father and leave me to raise you children. I cannot do that without the blessings of the Lord, and I obtain those blessings by paying an honest tithing. When I pay my tithing, I have the Lord’s promise that he will bless us, and we must have those blessings if we are to get along.’”2

Several respondents felt society’s emphasis on personal appearance could lead to a form of idolatry. While a clean and healthy body is important, some people go to extraordinary lengths to emulate the beautiful men and women who smile from advertisements in magazines, in newspapers, and on television. Our society too often equates personal happiness with its definition of personal beauty. Trying unsuccessfully to emulate these unrealistic images, many people are constantly discontented. One of my students shared the following story:
“I had just moved away from my high school, where I was involved in everything. At my new school, I felt I was nobody. I knew no one, and no one knew me. I desperately wanted to be included.
“As I observed the popular crowd, I noticed that the girls who received attention were skinny and beautiful. Furthermore, slender girls graced the covers of magazines, billboards, and television screens. I looked at my body and realized it was not like theirs. I decided that the only way to gain back the popularity I had lost when I moved was to be skinny. So I began to diet.
“I was trying to lose only a few kilograms, but then I read a magazine article discussing qualities the men in the article looked for in women. The best-looking guy said, ‘A girl can never be too skinny.’ I concluded that in order for the guy I was interested in to pursue me, I had to be skinnier. I was still not associating with the popular crowd and did not know many people. Obviously, I was not thin enough.
“I continued to diet and exercise but still did not achieve the acceptance I wanted. Finally, after five months of starvation and depression, I was hospitalized, weighing only 40 kilograms.
“I was deceived. Being skinny does not bring happiness. Now I realize that happiness accompanies spiritual growth and comes from within. When one’s only focus is worldly popularity, it is difficult to progress spiritually. I have found that true happiness is obtained only through striving to please the Lord.”

Some years ago, I found an article in a local newspaper so intriguing that I saved it. The front-page headline read, “Determined Dog Won’t Abandon Lost Sheep.” This article describes a small number of sheep belonging to an operation not far from my friend’s property that were somehow left behind in their summer range. Two or three months later, they became stranded and snowbound in the mountains. When the sheep were left behind, the sheepdog stayed with them, for it was his duty to look after and protect the sheep. He would not go off watch! There he remained—circling about the lost sheep for months in the cold and snowy weather, serving as a protection against coyotes, mountain lions, or any other predator that would harm the sheep. He stayed there until he was able to lead or herd the sheep back to the safety of the shepherd and the flock. The image captured on the front page of this article allows one to see character in the eyes and demeanor of this sheepdog.

The year we were baptized a friend bought a building lot for his family and ours by loaning us part of the money. We began to dream of having our own house. Eventually the Spirit prompted us, and we started calculating the cost of labor and materials. We felt that we would somehow manage to build a house where we could raise our children in the gospel, do missionary work, and receive visits from members.
After some time I got better acquainted with Brother Joel, a recently baptized member of our ward. His faith was amazing. Once when we were doing a service project, Brother Joel said to me, “José Luis, we can build your house.” I was on the verge of tears, but I contained myself until I told my wife. It was the answer to our prayers.
A few days later the friend who had purchased the land for his family and ours told me I could have the entire plot and pay for it later. Still I did not have the kind of job that would allow me to buy building materials, but I knew the Lord would provide a way. Several weeks later I was invited to work for a large company. Thus, our goal to begin building a house soon became a reality.
What a labor of love was Brother Joel’s. He did more than build a house for my family. He was ready to help us in any way. We worked only on Saturdays. It took 10 months, and it did not interfere with our Church work. Other Church members also helped us. My father came to help several times, which allowed him to get to know members of the Church better. He especially got to know Brother Joel, who had become our home teacher.
One Saturday my father praised Brother Joel for the way he worked.
I said, “Dad, do you know how much I have paid for his services?”
He said, “No.”
“I haven’t paid him a cent,” I said. “He has done this service because he loves my family. He is a good man.”
I realized my father was choked up, and he didn’t say anything. I felt he was probably remembering how he had treated the bishop and the missionaries and was embarrassed. He saw that the members of the Church had always treated us well.
On the day we finished the house, 16 men, most of them members of the Church, were there. My relatives and friends who were not members certainly learned a lot that day.