Gospel Story Finder

Last year the Williamsport Pennsylvania Stake Laurels hiked through the little village of Nauvoo—but not in Illinois. They hiked through Nauvoo, Pennsylvania, and learned about its history. The Williamsport stake covers a large area encompassing 11 counties, and some of the girls are the only members in their entire high school. So learning about once-thriving congregations of early Latter-day Saints within their present-day stake boundaries is inspiring to them.
The young women stopped to talk to an elderly man at the edge of the road on the outskirts of Nauvoo. Earl, age 70, a lifelong resident confirmed that his Nauvoo community was a Mormon settlement during the 1840s and named after the Mormon city in Illinois. “Our borough was named Nauvoo by a prominent Mormon leader,” he said. When asked what he thought the word Nauvoo meant, he was unsure and thought it might be a Native American word. Earl seemed pleased to learn that Nauvoo is Hebrew and means beautiful, a place of rest and beauty.

I’m no longer a practicing Mormon, but I can tell you in my heart I know the gospel is true. My mom still sends me your magazine. I read it secretly, loving and cherishing each article. I read your April 1992 Q&A and I had to write. I was 13 years old and I heard the same thing, “If you don’t try a cigarette or a little bit of this drink you will never know what it’s like. Besides if you don’t like it, just don’t do it again.” It doesn’t work that way! I’ve been a smoker now for seven years. One cigarette or one drink may not seem like a very big deal, but one thing usually leads to another. I’m 20 years old, married, raising a five-year-old stepson and a three-year-old daughter. Six years ago I never thought this is where it would lead to. Please let your readers know it’s just not worth it.
Name WithheldSalt Lake City, Utah

Several years ago I taught a beautiful dance education student named Michelle. Michelle had a difficult home life. Her parents had divorced, her father had not maintained contact, and she and her mother had a tenuous relationship. Sometimes Michelle confided in me, expressing deep yearning to feel her parents’ love. As if these challenges were not enough, Michelle was diagnosed with a relentless form of cancer, and the crucible of illness took command of her body. The cancer treatments robbed Michelle of her beautiful, white-blond hair, and, in spite of aggressive treatments, she grew steadily weaker.

But even as her physical body weakened, a transformation of another kind was taking place: Michelle’s very countenance began to change. Although she had previously been reserved and shy, Michelle began to radiate joy and goodness. It was not uncommon to see her somewhere within the halls of the Richards Building, her shiny bald head tied with a big pink bow and her smile the size of Texas! Rather than succumbing to self-pity and fear, Michelle chose to fill her days with joy and laughter, surrounded by those she loved most.

Not long before her death, she told me that, to her amazement and joy, the circumstances of her illness had initiated a healing process for her fractured family. Michelle had placed her trust in the hands of God and was rewarded with the ability to live out her remaining days with a heightened sense of happiness and love. Though she did not find physical healing, Michelle found the spiritual healing and profound joy that come only through Jesus Christ’s healing Atonement.

To illustrate these three actions, I’d like to share a mission experience.

I served in the Belgium Antwerp Mission, an area where, at that time, convert baptisms rarely happened. Spiritual experiences seemed few and far between. For me, my mission was difficult and grueling and hard. The only family whose baptism I had a small part in, quit coming to church after about eight months. I was discouraged and wondered what in the world I was doing there.

In the early days of the Restoration, Oliver Cowdery, who had previously received a spiritual witness of the truthfulness of the Restoration, asked the Lord for additional confirmation. As a response to Oliver’s request, the Prophet Joseph received the revelation now recorded in section 6 of the Doctrine and Covenants.

Beginning in verse 22, the Lord said:

Verily, verily, I say unto you, if you desire a further witness, cast your mind upon the night that you cried unto me in your heart, that you might know concerning the truth of these things.
Did I not speak peace to your mind concerning the matter? What greater witness can you have than from God? [6]

The Lord essentially told Oliver he didn’t need to have continuous spiritual experiences. The Lord’s direction to Oliver was to remember what he had already felt and seen.

Although a few weeks later, as one of the Three Witnesses, Oliver would receive a visit from the angel Moroni, the Lord did not say, “Hey, something big is coming.” Instead, He reminded Oliver of what he already knew.

As a struggling young missionary, wondering why I was even there when no one wanted to hear about the gospel, I read the story of Oliver Cowdery and his desire for a new witness, sign, or miracle. I tried to remember why I decided to go on a mission in the first place. I recalled the time when the Spirit testified to me of the truthfulness of the restored Church. Why did I believe? Was I wishing for or expecting a new miracle? I had to think back on that feeling and consider my own testimony. Where did it come from?

And then, even though I wasn’t feeling like I was accomplishing anything, I knew I had a duty and responsibility that came with receiving a testimony. I knew the gospel was real. I knew the Church was true.

The fact was, I was a missionary. And my dad had taught me that whatever I’m going to be, I want to be a good one.

So, I kept going. I really tried. And it was still difficult and grueling and hard. But I did it.

Six months into my mission, I was assigned to serve in Turnhout, Belgium, with Elder Matt Stephenson. Matt was a short, spunky elder from Boise, Idaho. He was smart and fun and one of the hardest-working elders I have ever known.

Elder Stephenson and I served together for three months with a success rate just about the same as always. We taught a lot of first discussions and never did have any serious investigators. However, we enjoyed working together and became great friends.

A few months after I returned from my mission, Laurene and I were married. (Yes, she and I were one of “those couples.”) We made sure to schedule our wedding the week after Elder Stephenson got home so he could be my best man.

By a happy set of events, Matt and I ended up buying houses right next door to each other in Boise, Idaho. We enjoyed living close to him and his wife, Maureen, for several years. They continue as some of our very best friends.

Five years ago, Matt and I returned to Belgium, this time with our wives. We had a lot of fun traveling together and reminiscing about our days as missionaries.

Our friendship has endured for over 40 years. I would never have met Matt if I had not accepted the duty and responsibility to complete my missionary service.

The greatest blessing that occurred for my family while I was serving as a missionary l learned about from a letter my younger brother sent to me. He told me all of the latest happenings in his 11-year-old life, then ended his letter with, “P.S. Dad got baptized last night.”

What?

Although no one I taught in Belgium has stayed active in the Church, knowing my own father embraced the gospel while I was serving as a missionary has been the best baptism I could have ever wished for. I dealt with the challenges of my mission by following the principles I previously mentioned:
Remember the experience that helped me gain my testimony.
I recalled how I felt when the Spirit testified to me. I received an assurance of the truthfulness of the gospel then; I still know it now.
Understand distance provides perspective.
As I look back, I recognize blessings directly related to my missionary service that might not have been obvious at the time.
Accept the duty and responsibility that comes with receiving a testimony.
I had an obligation and accountability that comes from having a sure testimony. Even though it wasn’t easy, I kept trying. I did my best at what I was doing—trying to “be a good one.”

I was once with Elder LeGrand Richards. He had called me to be a counselor in a stake presidency. I was very young and he was old. I was at his side all day helping him with the details of a reorganization. It was late, and I was afraid that he had overtaxed his physical limitations. I knew that I was spent. I said to him, “Elder Richards, you have worked hard all day. You must be exhausted. How do you do it?”
A huge smile crept over his face, and he responded, “Work, my boy? This isn’t work. This is play, and I am enjoying every minute of it!” I learned a great lesson that day about the difference between work and play, and I think I have finally come to understand what Elder Richards was trying to teach me about seeing the vision.

Asking God for our daily bread, rather than our weekly, monthly, or yearly bread, is also a way to focus us on the smaller, more manageable bits of a problem. To deal with something very big, we may need to work at it in small, daily bites. Sometimes all we can handle is one day (or even just part of one day) at a time. Let me give you a nonscriptural example.

In the 1950s my mother survived radical cancer surgery, but difficult as that was, the surgery was followed by dozens of painful radiation treatments in what would now be considered rather primitive medical conditions. She recalls that her mother taught her something during that time that has helped her ever since: “I was so sick and weak, and I said to her one day, ‘Oh, Mother, I can’t stand having 16 more of those treatments.’ She said, ‘Can you go today?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Well, honey, that’s all you have to do today.’ It has helped me many times when I remember to take one day or one thing at a time.”

About 11 years ago, soon after our marriage, my husband for some reasons best known to him, refused to attend sacrament meetings.
This development was a big cause for worry to me. I begged him to reconsider that position but to no avail. Weeks, months and then years passed, as a wife and a mother, it was my dream to raise my children in that Latter-day Saint home settings.
What could I do to help my husband? Then the story of Mosiah and Alma, and their children came to mind. Alma faced a similar situation when his son was persecuting the Church of the Lord. He prayed with faith and an angel appeared unto his son and a change occurred. Immediately, I entered my room and prayed to my Father in Heaven with faith knowing that He will answer me, and He did.
My husband came home from work one day and said I should prepare his white shirt for church on Sunday. Apparently, he had received a call from a brother and a sister he had baptized while on mission. They called to thank him for introducing them to the Church. In the process, they asked my husband how was church, and he could not lie. So, he began attending church service.

One great source of help the Lord has provided me is my wife and helpmate, Andrea. She is a special daughter of Heavenly Father, whom I am lucky to have as my eternal companion. I met Andrea in Logan at a church dance that I was not planning to attend. However, a returned-­missionary roommate of mine persisted in asking me to go, so I relented and there met my future wife.

I can still remember the special feeling I had when we first embraced. It was the same warm, tender feeling I felt when I prayed asking if the Book of Mormon was true; the Spirit testified to me that Andrea was the woman I was to marry. She has brought blessings into my life for which I am eternally grateful. I share this in the hope that it may be of help to those of you searching for your eternal companion. I know how difficult that search can be. If you heed the call of the Lord, He will lead you through the difficult burdens you will encounter and on to the path leading to ­happiness, joy, and peace.

In a recent message of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir’s Music and the Spoken Word, a story was told about an elderly man and woman who had been married for many decades. Because the wife was slowly losing her sight, she could no longer take care of herself the way she had done for so many years. Without being asked, the husband began to paint her fingernails for her.
“He knew that she could see her fingernails when she held them close to her eyes, at just the right angle, and they made her smile. He liked to see her happy, so he kept painting her nails for more than five years before she passed away.”14

“The Apostle Paul taught, ‘Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen’ (Hebrews 11:1). When we believe without any evidence, we open ourselves to endless possibilities. To me, faith is evidence of the strength of our conversion, and that knowledge increases my ability to think celestial.
“In June 2023, I fell and seriously broke my elbow while my husband was away on an ecclesiastical duty in Uganda. I had lots of help from my family and friends. But when I realized how much help I needed to do simple things, I almost drifted into self-pity. My daughter reminded me that God is mindful of us and that I needed to trust in the Lord.
“Trusting God during that difficult time gave me hope, allowing me to believe that He wouldn’t give me more than I could handle. Knowing that His Spirit is always with me kept me hopeful and peaceful during challenging times. Now, after more than seven months, the injury is hardly noticeable.”

Photograph from Getty Images
After faithfully serving a mission in Mozambique, I returned home and, like many other returned missionaries, quickly turned to my studies and work.
I lived in Brazil in a city that borders Paraguay and found employment importing products for a large supermarket on the Paraguayan side. The blessing of having learned English on my mission helped me gain this position. During this time, I was married and blessed with a daughter.
When a financial crisis in Brazil culminated in the decline of Brazil’s currency, my work was directly affected. It caused a decline in the sales of the products I regularly imported. By the end of February the following year, I was left with practically nothing to do. Losing my job was almost certain, as had been the case with other colleagues. I became worried about supporting my wife and little daughter. I even started looking for another job.
I spoke with my wife about the situation. She suggested that we fast. While we fasted, peace enveloped our hearts and we felt that all would be well, although I could not imagine how.
The following day at work, my manager called me in. I thought that the dreaded moment had come—I was about to lose my job. But to my surprise, my manager told me that he had an idea. Because I had ability with English, he proposed that I translate legal documents that normally were handed over to lawyers to arrange for translation. He told me if I succeeded in performing the translation, I would be given that task and it would result in a savings for the department. I immediately began translating the documents. When I presented my manager the successful translations, he was thrilled! I was thrilled too because I was able to remain employed.
When I went to receive my check, which could have been my last, I was surprised to see that my salary had increased. My heart was touched, and I was grateful to our Heavenly Father. Through this experience I know that fasting opens the windows of heaven.

Having his family join the Church when he was six, Alexandr Masenkov looked forward to the day he would receive the priesthood. Now, as a priest, he is finding that each office in the Aaronic Priesthood prepared him for the next.
“I was ordained to the office of priest when I turned 16. I realized the weight of my responsibility to bless the sacrament because of how important this ordinance is for every Church member. I prepared for it all week. As I blessed the sacrament the first time, the Spirit touched my heart. Once, my father and I were assigned to take the sacrament to a man who was blind and paralyzed. It was the first time I had blessed the sacrament outside of the meetinghouse. I felt I had a responsibility to be a servant and a witness of Jesus Christ and to do what He would do if He were there.”Alexandr Masenkov, Nevsky Branch, St. Petersburg Russia District

After an operation, a young man was wheeling Spencer W. Kimball back to his hospital room. The strong medicine used during the operation had left the prophet barely conscious.
The young man got angry at something. He swore, using the Lord’s name.
Spencer W. Kimball struggled to speak. “Please … don’t say that. I love Him … more than anything in this world. Please.”
At first, the young man was silent. Then he apologized.
“I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.”

Many years ago my brother, LeRoy E. Matthews, and his family lived in a town where a state operated hospital was located.
One day Roy was invited to the hospital superintendent’s office for a brief interview. The superintendent explained that after a great deal of consideration, he had decided to ask Roy to serve as chaplain to the hospital for the coming year. He further explained that for many years it had been the hospital’s policy to appoint a different minister each year from among the churches in that area on a kind of rotation basis. Up to that time, these appointments had gone to clergymen of other churches, even though the town was approximately 50 percent Latter-day Saint.
Roy told the superintendent that he felt honored and would be very happy to accept this appointment.
A few days later, however, Roy was called back to the superintendent’s office, where he learned that the ministers of the area had objected to his appointment. They pointed out that they had nothing against Roy Matthews personally, but were very much opposed to his appointment as chaplain because he was “not even an ordained minister of the gospel.”
The superintendent then asked Roy if he had any document that might substantiate his position as a minister of the gospel. Roy said he would go home and be back in less than an hour with the necessary information.
Shortly afterward, Roy returned to the office and handed the superintendent a card on which was typed his priesthood line of authority, a list showing how ordination to the priesthood had descended to him through earlier brethren who had each been ordained in turn. The superintendent read it carefully and then said, “Do you mean, Roy, that your authority traces back to our Lord?”
“Yes, Doctor, that is correct,” he replied.
The superintendent expressed joy and amazement and asked if he could keep the card for a few days. Of course Roy consented.
Later in the week Roy was called back to the office, where the superintendent explained that he had met with the ministers, had read Roy’s priesthood line of authority to them, and asked if they had anything that could compare with this. Their only reply was that they had each been schooled and ordained in ministerial colleges.
Roy was granted the appointment without further protest or opposition.

Kathy listened as Mr. Sodeberg explained how people migrated in the United States. She was excited about her new history class. Flipping through the pages of her new history book, Kathy stopped at a picture of Brigham Young. She had never realized Brigham Young’s significance in United States history before.
Mr. Sodeberg finished his lecture. “There will be homework every day,” he said. “Your first assignment is due tomorrow.”
At home Kathy sighed as she looked at all the questions Mr. Sodeberg had assigned.
“Tough day at school?” Mom asked.
“Homework every day,” Kathy said. She remembered the picture in her history book. “Mom, Brigham Young is in my textbook. What makes him so important in U.S. history?”
“He directed the migration of thousands of Latter-day Saints to the Salt Lake Valley. Then he organized them into settlements,” Mom said. “That took a lot of planning. It was a significant part of the country’s westward migration.”
The next day Mr. Sodeberg announced, “Next week we will perform a readers’ theater. Each of you will dramatize a character of the westward migration. Your parents and other students will be invited to attend the performance.”
Mr. Sodeberg began assigning characters and handing out scripts. When he asked who wanted the part of Brigham Young, Kathy quickly raised her hand.
“Tonight’s homework is to begin memorizing your part,” Mr. Sodeberg said. “You must recite it perfectly. Your grade depends on it.”
Kathy read over her part as she and her friend Laura left class. A terrible feeling came over her. “This is all wrong,” she said to Laura. “It makes Brigham Young sound dishonest.”
“You just see things differently because of your church,” Laura said.
“I can’t say these things,” Kathy said.
“You have to recite them perfectly,” Laura reminded her.
Tears rolled down Kathy’s cheeks as she ran home and burst through the front door.
“More homework?” Mom asked.
“Worse,” Kathy said, handing her the script. “Read this.”
Mom read the script and shook her head. “This writer didn’t know a lot about Brigham Young.”
“What should I do?” Kathy asked.
“First let’s find a Brigham Young costume,” Mom said.
Kathy tried on Grandpa’s long black coat and rolled up the sleeves on her brother’s white shirt. Mr. Grandi next door showed Kathy how to walk with his extra wooden cane.
Mom found a tall black hat in a closet and put it on Kathy’s head. “You’d make Brigham Young proud,” Mom said. “Now you need a new script.”
Kathy looked for information about Brigham Young in Church history books and on the Church website. Soon the script was rewritten.
“The true story of Brigham Young,” Kathy said.
On the day of the performance, Kathy’s class gathered in the auditorium. Parents and other students waited in their seats. Mr. Sodeberg introduced the program; then he stood offstage as the students recited their parts.
Alex recited his script perfectly, but Randall mixed up his words. Mr. Sodeberg made him begin again. Kathy squeezed her cane. When it was her turn, Kathy recited the true story of Brigham Young.
“Did you change your script?” Laura asked after the performance.
“Yes. I told the truth,” Kathy said.
“Here comes Mr. Sodeberg,” Laura said.
“Well done, ladies,” Mr. Sodeberg said. “Kathy,” he continued, “you were the best Brigham Young I have ever seen.”

Even though I’ve grown up in the Church, I’ve still had to learn to love Jesus Christ and understand who He is to me. When I was in my 20s, I decided to make sure I had a strong gospel foundation—and then build on it.
I wanted to know for certain if Jesus Christ knows me personally—if His Atonement really does apply to me.
Around the time I was struggling through some of these things, I saw an opening to act as an extra on a popular TV show about the life of Jesus Christ. I applied immediately. This was an opportunity I couldn’t miss.
“OK, everyone, we’re going to do it again,” called out the man in charge of the extras.
A groan went up among the masses of people surrounding me. Creating this show turned out to be a lot more complicated than I’d expected. We’d been there for almost eight hours, shooting the same scene repeatedly, and the directors weren’t happy with the shots. All of us extras were more than happy to be there and see the actor portraying Jesus bring our Savior to life. But still, eight hours was a long time to sit and perform the same scene.
While we waited to start another take, I looked out over the crowd, wondering how many religions and nationalities were represented across this wide multitude of people. It was an incredible sight, knowing so many of these people had traveled far to be here today.
And all because they loved Jesus Christ.
“Action!” someone shouted, and we started again.
Only a few minutes later, the cry of “Cut!” went up again, followed by another announcement that we were resetting back to starting positions. The crowd murmured their discontent, but we prepared for another take.
It was frustrating to have to get in and out of character so many times, and I was nervous that we would be running through this scene until nightfall.
That’s when an older man stood up and shouted, “We’re all followers of Jesus Christ. We all believe in Jesus Christ. We’re trying to do this by ourselves, and it’s not working. We need to pray. We need to ask God for help, because just trying to do this by ourselves is clearly not working.”
He began to pray out loud.
Suddenly, all five hundred of the extras were praying, each in our own language and in our own way. Even the cast and crew stopped and joined us.
So I decided to pray too.
As I knelt to pray, I thought about my own struggles and my own need to know that the Savior knows me and really can help me throughout my life. I prayed to Heavenly Father for a miracle not only on set but also in my life. I prayed to notice and feel the Lord’s hand.
When I finished, I lifted my head and looked around. Everything I’d been worrying about seemed to become still, and I felt a profound peace. As I watched all these Christians in their different roles, I felt like I was taken back to Jerusalem, like I was there to hear the teachings of the Messiah.
I felt the Spirit speak to my heart that the Savior knew me personally, the same as He knew every person around me.
I felt what Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles reminded us of when He said: “I believe the Savior Jesus Christ would want you to see, feel, and know that He is your strength. That with His help, there are no limits to what you can accomplish. That your potential is limitless. He would want you to see yourself the way He sees you.”
Realizing this changed my faith for the better.
When the cast finished their prayer, we began to shoot the scene again, and the moment “Cut!” was called, we all knew this final shot was the take they needed.
Production moved on, but nobody forgot that sweet experience of kneeling together. We had all chosen to be there because we all loved Jesus Christ, and our faith had produced a miracle!
That day, I went home feeling in my heart that my prayers had been answered. I knew that Heavenly Father had blessed me with a knowledge that He and Jesus Christ love me, see my efforts, and are supporting me. I could feel the Savior’s power driving me forward and lifting me up.

A few months ago I was repairing a broken water line. In the process, my clothes got wet and muddy and my arms were covered in grease. When I discovered that I needed a small part to repair the line, rather than taking the time to clean myself up, I jumped in the car and drove to Home Depot. As I was carefully examining the array of parts to make sure that I purchased the right size with the right thread spacing, a man I did not know walked down the aisle and passed behind me. As he walked a few feet beyond me, I heard him say, “That doesn’t look like the Presiding Bishop to me.” I was embarrassed beyond words because I had failed to live up to the standard expected. This time I asked myself critically, “David, my boy, are you ever going to learn?”

I feel we can never compare the levels of people’s burdens. Each has his or her own set of problems, and it’s up to each person to learn the lessons from them. In the past year, my family has lost my mother and brother-in-law to cancer. Both were kind, good, righteous people who were strong in the Church. For the longest time I would not try to learn from this. Instead I could only ask God why. Then, with the help of a blessing from my bishop, I was able to learn the lesson I needed to learn. I was able to gain a greater love towards my brother and sisters. I finally realized how much my family means to me. I know that if we pray for help, our trials will become blessings and make our spirits even stronger.
Jenifer Jakoubek, 17Chehalis, Washington

One Sunday a couple of years ago, I came to church pushing an especially sad Caroline, thinking that we might just stay for the sacrament. As I walked the foyer and Caroline remained sad, I began to wonder if we would even make it until the sacrament. All my efforts to comfort her seemed fruitless, and Caroline’s crying was certainly disturbing others.
But then the sacrament hymn began and Caroline calmed briefly when I started to sing. She quickly got fussy again, so I put my face close to hers and I sang to her. She quieted and listened. The sacrament hymn that day was “Reverently and Meekly Now,” which was written in the first-person voice, as if the Savior were singing. Admittedly, I was focused on Caroline and not on the song—until we came to the fourth verse, when I found myself singing these words to my daughter:
I have loved thee as thy friend, With a love that cannot end.18
I looked into Caroline’s big blue eyes and felt deeply the tender, personal truth of those words for my daughter. Jesus Christ, the Redeemer of the world, loves Caroline “with a love that cannot end.” Even there in the foyer, in her less-than-ideal state, Caroline is loved. When she is sad or hurting, when her parents are clueless and incapable of comforting her, there is One who is her Everlasting Friend, who knows how she feels and how to succor her.

I have seen many Christmas trees. Usually they have been topped with a lighted star or a lovely angel. But the most beautiful tree I have ever seen had a big red bow on top.
I wasn’t sure how to celebrate Christmas that year. My mother had been a widow for several years, and since I was single, we had continued many of our family traditions and had celebrated most of the holidays together. When my mother died just before Christmas, however, the old traditions suddenly seemed too painful without her.
The bishopric came to visit. They expressed concern about my being alone for Christmas. Looking around, the bishop asked why there was no Christmas tree or other decorations. I explained that I didn’t want to decorate a tree alone and so had decided not to have one. Christmas was so much of a family celebration that ignoring it seemed like the best way to make it through the holidays.
After they left, I went about my work. The bishop did not let the matter alone, though: He phoned the ward Primary president. I had just been called to be the Merrie Miss B teacher but would not start serving until the first of the year.
One afternoon, Michelle, one of the girls who would be in my class, called and asked if she could drop by the next evening about 7:30. I was surprised but looked forward to her company.
The doorbell rang at exactly 7:30, but it was not just Michelle who stood on my porch. It was all of the girls in my new Primary class—with a Christmas tree, lights, and decorations!
They pushed the large tree through the door and started setting it up in my living room. Their enthusiasm was contagious, and I was soon moving furniture to find just the right spot for the tree. I asked what I should do to help and was told to sit on the couch and just watch and enjoy. My next two hours were filled with the holiday laughter and love that only eleven-year-olds can create and share.
The girls told me their names and what part each had played in the project. Cindy showed me the hot-glue burns she had suffered while attaching ribbons to the backs of gingerbread cookies. Amanda couldn’t come that evening, so she had gone with her mother to buy the tree earlier in the day. Bethany was the tallest, so she was in charge of the lights. Lindsay joined in the decorating with a large box of candy canes. Rachel put a stocking filled with candy and a gift under the tree. Michelle told me that they had tried to find or make a star for the top of the tree but couldn’t, so they had brought a large red bow.
That bow topped one of the largest and most beautiful Christmas gifts I have ever received. Even before that tree was finished and lighted, my heart was full of the spirit of Christmas and of love for each girl in my future Primary class. That feeling was renewed each time I turned on the tree lights.
I have some new Christmas traditions now. I plan to have a tree every year, and it will always have candy canes, gingerbread men—and a big red bow on the top.