Gospel Story Finder

For Spencer, dogsledding came about in an unexpected way. “I was born with a birth defect in my left leg that causes the veins in my leg to be atrophied, so not enough blood goes to that leg,” he explains. “There’s not a lot of growth and muscle mass, so my left leg is shorter and skinnier than the right.”
Growing up, he could walk and run, but some things were still difficult for him. “I grew up in a family and community of athletes. My two older brothers, Chase and Brandon, are both big football players, which led me to want to pursue football too.”
However, after playing football for two years in elementary school, Spencer soon realized the other kids were just too fast and it was too difficult for him to keep up. “I was sad. I struggled because I felt like I couldn’t have something to work toward.”
Then one day as he was reading The Call of the Wild by Jack London, an idea popped into his mind—what about dogsledding? “I was fascinated by the idea of dogsledding. I was with my mom after school one day when I piped up and said, ‘We should start dogsledding!’ My mom stopped dead in her tracks and retorted, ‘You’ve been talking to your dad!’ It turned out that my dad had been thinking about getting a dogsled team too! It was destiny.”
Spencer’s family held a meeting and agreed that dogsledding would be the perfect sport for Spencer. He says, “I figured it would be good for me because it doesn’t involve a lot of leg strength and speed, but it does require endurance, both physically and mentally.”
Pulling everything together for a team took a lot of work, though. “My dad and I researched the sport and talked to several mushers who helped us get started,” Spencer says. “We got our Alaskan Huskies a few at a time until we had enough for two teams—one for me and one for my dad.” They affectionately named their team of dogs the “Skinny Leg Sled Dogs,” after Spencer’s skinny leg.
Spencer’s dad supports him and races with his team of dogs.
Of course, the work didn’t stop there. Spencer and his family now take care of 51 dogs at their home in Montana, USA, not to mention their other pets (two falcons, two cats, and some canaries).
Spencer works hard to take care of his dogs.
“We spend an hour each day feeding the dogs, giving them water, and scooping up poop,” Spencer says. “In the winter, we make 70 pounds of meat stew each day to feed them enough calories. We also do our own veterinary work, like vaccines and stitches. We train them for two to three hours every day during fall and winter. And during the winter weekends, we’ll run about 100 miles. Then, of course, all of that culminates in the races, which are a lot of work.”
Obviously, dogsledding is challenging and time-consuming. But Spencer says it has blessed his life in many ways, especially when it comes to his family. “Everything involved in dogsledding has taught me and my family to work hard. It has united us. It takes all of us to care for our dogs and run long races. My mom and my brothers are like my pit crew. They handle all the dogs during my races. And my dad and I work together to run it all.”
More than that, Spencer has realized why it is important for families to work hard. He says, “If you don’t put in the effort and nurture your relationships with your family members, you won’t be a real family—you’ll just passively be a family. You’ll miss out on the blessings of being a family.”
Spencer with his brothers, Brandon (middle) and Chase (right).
Dogsledding also gives Spencer the motivation to move forward and achieve more. “I’ve learned to push myself mentally and physically through bitter cold, darkness, fear, and sleep deprivation to achieve my goals. It’s given me the skills to stay alert and strong.”
Similarly, he thinks it’s important to learn how to endure spiritually in the gospel. “When the going gets tough, you’ve got to be tough. In dogsledding, you can’t stop trying or the dogs will stop trying, and then you won’t do as well. It’s the same in the gospel. To endure well, you must always be diligent by reading the scriptures, praying, and turning to family and Church leaders.”
Spencer also notes that progression and enduring well require effort. “You can’t just passively believe in the gospel. You have to work at it. All the best things in life come from work. To get a testimony, you have to show your dedication by doing things like praying and studying the scriptures. You have to show dedication in your calling and your family.” Though it may sound tiring, Spencer says, “Everything goes more smoothly with work.”
In the end, Spencer keeps coming back to dogsledding because he’s being strengthened—physically, intellectually, and spiritually. “Dogsledding is the coolest sport in the world. It has given me the motivation to achieve my goals. I have learned to push myself and be mentally engaged in what I do.”
And the remarkable thing is, Spencer is where he is today because of a supposed weakness. Who would have guessed a skinny leg would lead to training dogs and racing them hundreds of miles through the snow? “If it weren’t for my skinny leg, I wouldn’t be a musher. I think it was the Lord helping me turn my weakness into a strength [see Ether 12:27]. Not only has dogsledding made my body stronger, but because of my birth defect, I have developed a strong work ethic. The Lord has turned my weakness into something amazing.”

Gilly Anglin-Jarrett, who is Northants Police Stop and Search Working Group Community cochair, said:
“I first met Arthur at the February 2020 Stop and Search Working Group chaired by Assistant Chief Constable James Andronov. Our group is looking to build better relationships and to support community members to be more unified and empowered. We are a cheerful, impartial critical friend to the police service.
“At that meeting, Arthur’s contribution quickly showed how much he understood the importance of community building and a positive partnership approach with the Northamptonshire police.
“Since then, because of the pandemic, the subsequent meetings were all dial-in. Even when Arthur wasn’t able to attend, he contacted me with the things he wanted to raise on the agenda, which showed a real level of commitment. Recently we were asked to be part of discussions about gang violence in Wellingborough. Arthur was able to let us know about successes he has had in various parts of Northampton through the wide range of community activities he is involved in, building relationships through helping out and doing good.
“Given Arthur has chaired the IAG, he speaks with authority and knowledge. It makes a difference that he is white, as it doesn’t feel like it’s just us Black people trying to address these Stop and Search issues.
“I believe in God, which guides me in my professional life and in the voluntary work I do, and I think Arthur operates in the same way.
“Arthur is doing what our Lord Jesus Christ told His disciples to do—to go out, do good, and improve people’s lives.
“I am so pleased to have Arthur involved in our working group.”
Reflecting on his work in the community, Arthur said, “This work isn’t always easy. You can deal with hostility at times and emotional people. If we don’t work together, it can create massive divides. I see this work in a multi-faith community like being a shepherd. You need to listen, see where you can find practical solutions to problems, and bring people together. We all take different paths in faith, but there is more that unites people of faith than divides us. It’s all about building a better future.”
Well done, Arthur, for your great work!

The File on Cindy
Cindy was a bright, hyperactive girl of fourteen who began, on occasion, to be quite emotional. It became increasingly hard for her to make and keep friends. She had a hard time getting along with others in school. She became unfriendly and hostile toward her parents. She started avoiding people and worried at great length about little day-to-day situations. She said she wanted to get out of the rat race. Her parents were fearful that she was experimenting with drugs.
The cases of Jerry and Cindy are true. They don’t know each other, but they do have something in common: Both of them are young Latter-day Saints who were having troubles. But today they are secure about themselves. Jerry has found new confidence in himself, which makes him feel good about his home life and school activities. He is planning on a mission. Cindy has developed a warm relationship with her family and even enjoys talking to her parents. In fact, she has helped some of her friends with their problems.
There is one other thing that Jerry and Cindy have in common. Both were helped tremendously in overcoming their problems by meeting with their bishops, who in turn through the stake president brought into the setting some professionals from the Church’s Social Services Department.

Brenna Pink, a Beehive from the Rockford Illinois Second Ward, Rockford Illinois Stake, is the latest participant in an activity that seems to be growing in popularity among LDS Young Women—completing all of the Young Women Personal Progress goals instead of just a selected few.
Why would anyone go so far out of her way?
“Completing Young Women goals makes you feel good,” she says. “I learned a lot about Heavenly Father and the scriptures.”
Brenna says that while some goals, like evaluating plays and dance concerts, were easy, the hard ones really helped her become a better person.
“For one of my goals in the category of Integrity, I didn’t listen to bad jokes or bad language. I tried to change the conversation to better topics and to keep myself out of bad situations.”

Yet, the most important decision I have ever made in my life was to marry my wife, Mary Jayne Broadbent, in the Manti Temple. Everything else pales in comparison to that most important act.

The years have come and gone—three sons and now nine grandchildren. It is impossible to count the blessings that have been mine for being guided by the Lord to seek her hand in marriage. She has been my faithful companion these forty-four plus years. We have traveled to many parts of the world on business and Church assignments; she has been my helpmeet in times of storm and sunshine.

My admonition to each of you is to seek out your eternal companion and work very hard to be sure your companionship is a fulfilling and rewarding experience for both of you every day.

Another characteristic that we must develop is that of personal authenticity. A number of years ago, at Universal International Studios, I watched the filming of television programs and movies. It was delightful, with one exception. Everything that I saw was false—the sheriff’s office, the jail, even the running rivers and sagebrush were made from plastic. As I was observing this artificiality, a beautiful young television star came up and asked, “How do you like what you see here?” “I love it,” I answered, “and I’m enjoying my self; but I’m sort of disappointed because everything is false.”

She looked up and said, “But that’s why we must be so real. The audience must focus on us.”

And then I thought, “Oh, how true that is with life!” Almost everything we see outside in the world, brothers and sisters, is false; it is misdirected. That is why we must be so real, why we must be so honest, why integrity must be tattooed upon the spirits of us all.

Liking the school was one thing, but getting accepted was another thing altogether.

“I had to audition in front of the teacher,” Kamila said. “It was really hectic, because I had to create two storyboards [outlines of her film ideas] to present. I wasn’t prepared on the first day like everyone else, so I had to go on the second day. On the way there we got a little lost, and I was late. My mom told me not to worry and to call my dad. I did, and he said a prayer with me over the phone. It was nice.”

Kamila calmed down and presented her storyboards. The result? She was accepted into the program, and she just started her third year there.

Sofía was almost eight years old. She was getting ready to be baptized. She was learning lots of important things. One thing she had learned about was prayer. She knew she could pray to Heavenly Father anytime. She knew she could pray anyplace.
One day Sofía and her mom decided to visit her dad at work. It would be a long trip. Her dad worked in another town. They would have to ride on a bus, then in a truck, and then in a taxi.
During the bus ride, Sofía fell asleep. She woke up when she heard a baby crying. A mom and dad with a baby had gotten on the bus. The baby was sick and crying loudly. The baby’s parents looked worried.
Sofía felt sorry for the baby. She felt sorry for the parents too. Then she had an idea. She whispered in Mama’s ear. “Could I say a prayer and ask Heavenly Father to bless the baby?”
“Of course,” Mama said with a smile.
Sofía bowed her head and said a silent prayer. She prayed hard. She asked Heavenly Father to bless the baby. She asked Him to help the baby feel better and stop crying.
Sofía knew that we do not always get what we pray for. She also knew that our prayers are not always answered right away. But in a short time the baby calmed down. Then the baby stopped crying. She seemed to feel better. Her parents did not look so worried.
Sofía felt warm and happy inside. She was happy for the baby—and for the baby’s parents. She knew Heavenly Father had heard her prayer.

About 18 years ago on Christmas Eve, I was a young mother very painfully aware of the wide gap between my household reality and what I thought the ideal Christmas looked like—the ideal Christmas as portrayed on television and in magazines, the Christmas of beautiful decor, exquisite meals, and happy, smiling children. I had tried hard to finish wrapping and cleaning, all the while attempting to achieve some order and peace in my home as I cared for my three little sons, one of whom was a very cranky baby. There was a heavy feeling weighing me down that night—I was overwhelmed.
It was starting to get dark. I had the baby in the highchair, trying to feed him and get him settled. Dinnertime was fast approaching, and there was no candlelit table, no warm feast, nothing ready on the stove. Just then my husband, who had been out doing some last-minute shopping, walked into the kitchen and placed on the counter a bag of pancake mix, some frozen orange juice, and a package of sausage. In his own way, he was telling me that he knew I was at the end of my rope and, if worse came to worst, he was prepared to make our Christmas Eve dinner.
And so that Christmas Eve, our family shared breakfast. I don’t remember how it tasted, but I remember how it felt to be loved and understood. From then on, breakfast has always been our Christmas Eve fare. Our children probably don’t understand its significance; nevertheless, breakfast is our tradition and it stands fast.
The small act of service my husband performed for me that Christmas Eve so long ago may seem insignificant, but it taught me that through small and thoughtful acts in the midst of the mundane, our lives can be changed. Through our own and others’ selfless service, the Spirit can work in our hearts and Christ can enter our lives, which is what this season is all about. Perhaps decor sets the stage, but love and service are at the very heart of Christmas.

When I lived in Virginia, I served in the Young Women. We had an exceptional group of youth. One of them, Lucy, had moved with her family to the United States from Kenya.
Lucy had, on this one occasion, gathered up the youth in the ward and enough parents and leaders to provide rides to attend the monthly tri-stake dance. At the dance, as I was watching the youth, a high councilor from the host stake stopped by to visit. As we were visiting, he pointed to a young man, sitting on the side of the dance floor with his head in his hands. That priesthood leader was the home teacher of the young man and he shared his story with me. After he left, I was determined to help the young man, so I moved toward the youth from my ward to bring the young man to their attention. Before I could get there, out from the group emerged Lucy, and walking halfway across the cultural hall, she came up to the young man, tapped him on the shoulder, and asked him to dance. He seemed startled for a bit, but got to his feet and went to dance. I watched that young man all night and never again was he sitting by himself on the sidelines.
But let me tell you the rest of the story. His home teacher told me that he had been in a serious accident and had been in a coma for several months. He had only recently recovered, but was still struggling, in the words of the home teacher, to "come out of his cave" socially. The home teacher knew that his parents had forced him to come to the dance to try to help him in his recovery. And what did lovely Lucy do? She looked, saw someone isolated and not participating, and reached out across the distance to include him. Could I have imagined I would be in such a place to see this precious gift?
I wrote an email message to Lucy to ask her permission to use this story and to get her picture. She replied to me this morning and said she didn't know about this story. Of course she didn't know the story about the young man; she just asked from her heart because she has a compassionate heart. Lucy graduated last week from Southern Virginia University.

If we do these things, when trouble comes we will be like a family I know who experienced unexpected financial reverses last year. The father became severely ill, and they were temporarily without employment income. As the fresh produce in the refrigerator was eaten, the family began to use the food they had stored. When the father recovered, he had to look for work in another community. While he was gone, there was a breakdown in the town water system. The family had gallons of water stored which were used for several days before the water line was repaired. Throughout this experience there was no panic, no sense of being overwhelmed. They were prepared for the emergency. Adequate advance provision had been made, including money saved. The basic household bills were paid, and the family was able to care for itself independently.

My mission president also had a great influence on me. I was so enthusiastic about serving my mission that all I wanted to do was teach and baptize people. But he had the wisdom to take me on assignments where I would learn about Church procedures and administration. Later, when I was called to serve in leadership positions, such as a young bishop, I was truly grateful to him for giving me those experiences.

In the fall of 2024, not long after being called to be an area organization adviser in the Europe Central Area, Laura Echarri Hermoso traveled more than 5,000 miles (8,047 km) from her home in Pamplona, Spain, to sing as a guest member of The Tabernacle Choir at Temple Square.
She had been in Salt Lake City, Utah, USA, for just three days when she tested positive for COVID-19 and quarantined herself. Her opportunity to sing in the choir for the upcoming general conference seemed out of reach.
In the loneliness and isolation of her hotel room, she knelt and prayed. She hoped for healing. She longed to be able to sing. She kept her faith.
Ultimately, she was chosen with 13 others worldwide to sing in general conference, and in September 2024, she boarded a plane for the United States. After arrival, she was diagnosed with COVID-19 and that’s when her quarantine began.
Solitary isolation far from home taught a profound lesson: The Savior would provide comfort in her loneliest moments (see John 14:26–27). “I thought I was not going to make it,” she said. “I was quite discouraged, but I had faith. At the same time, I wasn’t feeling well. Now one of my main objectives is to look for those who may feel alone and try to give them relief.”
After eight days of isolation, her health and voice recovered, and she practiced with the choir. She joined her voice with hundreds on the stand in the Conference Center and sang at the October 2024 general conference.
“God lives. He’s aware of us, of each one of us,” she said. “Music is healing, has healing power, and we need to fill our lives with music. It’s very important. I feel that is something that the Lord is trying to tell me: Fill your life with music.”

We are responsible to instill in our children and grandchildren the same spirit that drove the footsteps of the pioneers. A simple lesson of how this is done can be seen in the Muñoz family of Otavalo, Ecuador. In March 2013, I met with Brother Juan José Muñoz Otavalo, his wife, Laura, and one of their sons, Juan Amado, to learn about their time in the Church. I learned that Brother Muñoz was one of the earliest converts in Otavalo.
When he was a boy, Brother Muñoz was given a copy of the Book of Mormon in Spanish. He could not read it, but he felt a profound power and spirit when he held it. He hid it in his home, for he knew that his brothers would destroy it.
From time to time he would take the book from its hiding place, just to hold it and feel its power. Enduring significant adversity and opposition, he joined the Church and became one of the very first missionaries called from the village of Otavalo. Later he married a returned sister missionary, and together they raised a faithful, gospel-centered family. He served faithfully as a leader in the Church and helped translate the Book of Mormon and the temple ordinances into his native language of Quichua.
Juan Amado, a returned missionary, wept as we listened to Brother Muñoz recount his story of faith. When his father concluded, this good son said: “I have always appreciated the early pioneers who crossed the plains with their handcarts in North America. Their faith and devotion and dedication have inspired me and touched me deeply throughout my life. But until today, I did not realize that there are also pioneers here in Otavalo, and they are my parents! This fills me with joy.”
Photograph courtesy of Elder Marcus Nash

Elder Marcus Bell Nash remembers as an eight-year-old boy puzzling over something a nonmember friend had told him. This friend had said that he believed his own church was true. Elder Nash says, “I knew our Church was true. I had never thought that someone else could think his or her church was true. I walked home puzzling and pondering this question. If he thinks his church is true, and I think mine is true, who is right?”
As he sat on the front steps, his head in his hands, he asked himself, “How do I figure this out?” Elder Nash says, “A voice came into my mind, and it said, ‘Now you know that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God, don’t you?’ I answered the question inwardly, ‘Yes.’ Then the voice said, ‘Then you know the Church is true, don’t you?’ And I said, ‘Yes!’ All the doubt disappeared.”
That answer set the foundation of his testimony. Elder Nash developed a great love for the Prophet Joseph Smith and a powerful feeling for the Book of Mormon that built upon that foundation.

In the spring of 2001, the First Presidency invited me to dedicate a building on the beautiful campus of Southern Utah State University in Cedar City, Utah. At the time, I was puzzled as to why I would receive this assignment. I am not an educator by experience or training. I was not a graduate of that institution, nor had I any previous association with the University. Nevertheless, I went ahead with the assignment.

Sister Sorensen and I were having breakfast with Brother and Sister Bennion, who, some of you may remember, was president of this institution not so many years ago. The experience I am about to tell you was spoken of by Sister Marjorie Bennion here on this campus several years ago. I have collaborated with her and she has given me permission to make reference to some of the following incidents: While at breakfast at the Southern Utah State University, Sister Bennion said to me, “I understand you are the Executive Director of the Temple Department and there is consideration being given to rebuild the Nauvoo Temple.” Before I could answer, Sister Bennion continued, “I visit teach a less-active sister whose great grandfather was the architect of the Nauvoo Temple. His name was William Weeks. Would you be interested in talking to her? I think she could be helpful. She would very much appreciate making contact with an official from the Temple Department of the Church.

I was delighted and excited. I explained to Sister Bennion that the Church had a few limited drawings and plans from the original Nauvoo Temple. They came to the Church in a rather unusual way. Let me explain.

In 1948, Elder Vern C. Thackery and Elder Frank Gifford knocked on the door of Mr. and Mrs. Leslie Griffith in the…town of Boron, California located in the Mohave Desert. It turned out that the Griffiths were descendants of William Weeks. They were not members of the Church at the time.

Their great grandfather, Brother William Weeks, had a misunderstanding with Brigham Young regarding the design of the Salt Lake Temple. President Young insisted Brother Weeks yield to the inspiration of the President of the Church. Brother Weeks left President Young’s office – never to return again. He took the plans of the Nauvoo Temple with him.

So, going forward all those years, the missionaries tracted into the Griffiths in 1948, who happened to be descendants of Brother Weeks, and miracle of miracles, had possession of some of the original plans of the Nauvoo Temple. According to Elder Thackery, he was driving an old Ford with a rumble seat, which is a seat that can be hidden. They gave Elder Thackery the documents and he put them in the rumble seat, closed it and forgot them.

Sometime later, after the Elder was home in Heber City, Utah, he remembered the documents and delivered them to the Historical Department of the Church.

Now we turn to 2001 in Cedar City, Utah with President and Sister Bennion. Remember she said, “I am visiting teaching the great-granddaughter of William Weeks. I think she has some plans of the Nauvoo Temple. Would you please go and visit with her? Better still, why don’t I go and bring her here? You can have lunch with her.”

She promptly left to retrieve the good sister and the architectural drawing. She came right back with both of them. Sister Griffiths had in her hands the actual drawings of the Nauvoo Temple – drawings the Church did not have. We quickly made arrangements for her to go to Salt Lake City and present the last pieces of the puzzle, restoring all as it was at first.

Since the Church was driven from Nauvoo, think how many places those Nauvoo Temple drawings must have been. Think of how many old trunks and covered wagons they were in, as they crossed half a continent. Imagine them passing through the generations of the Weeks family. Finally, 100 years later, consider two missionaries knocking on a remote door in the middle of the Mohave Desert.

All along Heavenly Father knew where those plans were. They weren’t lost to Him. His vigilant eye was watching over them until the time came to restore them for His great purpose of rebuilding the Nauvoo Temple in our day.

Photographs from Getty Images
Wilma Rudolph: 2-time Olympian, 3 gold medals, polio survivor.
In 1960 Wilma Rudolph became a track and field legend. She was running for the United States in the Olympics, which were being televised for the first time. In spite of the intense pressure, Wilma ran so quickly she was proclaimed “the fastest woman in the world.” By the end of the Olympics, she had won not just one gold medal but three—the first American woman ever to do so.
Wilma’s incredible victory teaches us a powerful lesson about our true potential and identity. But her story is even more inspiring when you know how it began.
Wilma was born in Tennessee in 1940. She was the 20th of 22 children in her family. She was born prematurely and weighed under five pounds. In her early childhood she suffered from a slew of illnesses—pneumonia, scarlet fever, and then polio, which left her with limited use of her left leg. She required leg braces to stand. “My doctor told me I would never walk again. My mother told me I would,” Wilma said. “I believed my mother.”1
When she was nine years old, Wilma determined to prove the doctors wrong. She took off her leg braces and began to walk, one slow step at a time. She fell, she got up and tried again, and again, and again. With grit, determination, and faith, Wilma continued to practice. Eventually, she even started to run. She ran a lot. And, after years of work, she ran fast—very fast. Fast enough to run in the 1956 Olympics and win a bronze medal at age 16. Then, four years later, she ran again to win those amazing three gold medals.
Winners of the women’s 100-meter race at the 1960 Rome, Italy, Olympics. Wilma Rudolph (center) is awarded the gold medal.
Photograph from Getty Images

Every Christmas I learned to expect two kinds of gifts—those I wanted and those my parents wanted me to have.
I remember one Christmas in particular. I was an ordinary 15- or 16-year-old boy. I tried to act casual about my gifts, but inside I was crazy with anticipation. I was hoping for some new music, sports equipment, or maybe a movie. I pulled a small rectangular package from under the tree with my name on it. The size surprised me. I couldn’t think of anything I wanted that was that shape. Of course that didn’t stop me from happily ripping off the paper. Inside was a white box. The label glued to the top indicated a new set of scriptures. I didn’t think much of it. My parents often reused old boxes.
As I lifted the lid, I thought of the possibility that the label might be accurate. I hoped it wasn’t. I hoped against hope. I didn’t want new scriptures. I didn’t need them. I already had the set I received when I was baptized. Sure, they were getting old and the binding was falling apart, but for how much I used them, they worked just fine.
My heart sank. Inside the box was a beautiful compact set of maroon scriptures with my name embossed on the cover. I remember looking up to see my mom watching me. I’m sure she was nervous about my reaction. She said something like, “I know you didn’t ask for them and it isn’t the most exciting gift, but we thought you could use them.” I gave a polite smile, which I’m sure was completely transparent. I looked at the scriptures for a few minutes, trying to show appreciation, but eventually put them back in their box and gave my attention to my other gifts.
I tried not to think about all the things that I wanted more than new scriptures. I tried not to feel disappointed. I tried not to hypothesize about a way I could take them back without my parents knowing, but I didn’t try very hard.
I would love to report that later that Christmas day I opened those new scriptures and felt the great Spirit that comes through reading them. But I didn’t. In fact, I don’t believe I did anything with them other than put them in a corner of my room. I’d love to report that over the following weeks I gained a greater appreciation for my gift. I didn’t. About the only attention I gave them was during sacrament meeting, mindlessly separating the pages that were stuck together.
In all honesty, I don’t think I appreciated that gift for a long time. However, eventually I began to study them. I took them to church and to seminary. I began to read them on my own. They proved crucial to my decisions. At a time when I wondered if it wouldn’t be better to live what I thought was a more exciting lifestyle, like that of some of my school friends, I read Mosiah 2:41. I’m so grateful for that verse. I began to realize that only those who keep the commandments of God are truly happy.
Months later, my youth leaders challenged me to read the entire Book of Mormon before attending a summer camp. I agreed but procrastinated, and I soon fell behind. In a rush to catch up, I began to read for longer periods of time. I can still recall sitting on my porch reading for the better part of an hour. Before this, I was lucky to read for 10 minutes at a time. For the first time in my life, I lost myself in the scriptures. I realized that Alma the Younger was a real person. He wasn’t just a story my leaders taught me. He actually rebelled against his prophet father, and, through faith and the Atonement, was still able to change. I wondered what happened next. I had pieces of the story in my mind, but it hadn’t come together into a whole. I kept reading, watching him grow. For the first time I actually enjoyed what I read.
These experiences and many others began to build my small testimony. Yet, I still questioned. I questioned a lot. I decided to read the Book of Mormon daily and ask for confirmation that it was true. After many nights of reading and many prayers, I felt I received an answer from heaven. It was something I couldn’t create. There was no one else around to lead me to the feeling. I felt a warmth—almost like a light—in me. It somehow seemed to calm and excite me simultaneously. I felt that my Heavenly Father had heard my prayer. He sent a message through my thoughts that the Book of Mormon is true and the Church is His kingdom on earth. I also felt He wanted me to know that He had been answering my prayers continually throughout my life. I just hadn’t realized it. Where would my testimony be without the scriptures?
Later I read the same scriptures to calm my nerves on a plane to the mission field. I read them to inspire and motivate me through my college years. I read them to confirm if I should ask my wife to marry me. I read them for guidance in my career. I read them to find out how to be a better father. Every day I felt I learned and grew more. My testimony became stronger. I found the strength to trust in the Lord more and more.
The majority of my Christmas presents I received growing up were eventually packed in boxes, broken and discarded, or given to secondhand stores. But I still have those maroon scriptures with my name embossed on the cover. They are faded and worn. Some pages are torn, and the margins are filled with notes and quotes.
I cannot think of another Christmas gift that I have used more or one that has affected me more than what was in that little white box. Over time, it changed my life. It helped me come to my Savior Jesus Christ and learn to follow Him. It helped me gain a testimony of His gospel and motivated me to do my part in it. It has helped me become more like Him. What could be a more fitting Christmas gift? I thank my Heavenly Father that my parents gave me a gift I didn’t want.

All the Smith children grew up with a rich supply of love—and nearly as much work. School sometimes had to wait while chores around the family farm were done or the boys worked to help bring some money into the family. For a short time, when he was about thirteen years old, Hyrum was able to attend school in Hanover, New Hampshire. But classes there ended abruptly for him when an epidemic of typhus fever broke out, for Hyrum was needed at home to help care for his sick family.
Young Joseph had the fever, and the infection moved to his leg. Caring for her sick children had weakened Mother Smith until she, too, became ill. Since Hyrum was a trustworthy boy and had unusual tenderness and sympathy, he was allowed to care for his little brother. Much of each day and night for many days Hyrum sat holding his brother’s affected leg in his hands, pressing it between them, to help ease the pain. Hyrum’s loving care undoubtedly helped Joseph recover, and it strengthened the bond between them.

Senen had lived in the mountains all his life, but he’d never traveled as far up the valley as he’d come that day.
If I can reach the gap between the mountains where the valley begins, he thought, I’ll be so high that maybe I can see all of Andorra.
Senen knew that his country was so small that he might be able to see it all from just one vantage point. Andorra covers only 465 square kilometers and is one of the smallest countries in the world. Some maps and globes don’t even bother to show its location. However, to Senen it was big enough. And surely its pine-clad mountains were among the most beautiful on earth.
Early that morning Senen had noticed that clouds were gathering around the tallest mountain peaks. However, as he’d climbed from the valley floor, he’d become lost in his thoughts and hadn’t noticed that those clouds were coming together and that even the mountaintops were being covered by dark, angry-looking clouds.
When Senen finally neared the big gap between the mountains, what appeared above him was unlike anything he had ever seen. Like a huge white hand reaching from the sky, a cloud billowed through the gap and began descending into the valley toward him. Slowly the cloud dropped lower and lower. The closer it came to Senen, the thinner it became. Finally it broke into separate wisps and vanished.
With a mighty burst of energy another cloud emerged through the gap. Within a few minutes, this one had descended even lower into the valley than the first one. Nevertheless, it, too, simply disappeared into the wind before it reached Senen.
What would it be like inside one of those clouds? Senen wondered.
Then, with even more energy than the last cloud seemed to have, another darker, faster-moving cloud poured through the gap. As it descended into the valley, Senen watched in awe; he could see the cloud’s surface churning and rolling like fresh milk gushing from a pail. But this cloud was not milk white. It was an angry, dark color, and it didn’t show any signs of disappearing!
Soon Senen knew what it was like to be inside a cloud, for the cloud had enveloped him! He could feel its cold, tiny droplets blowing against his face. He discovered beads of water forming, like tiny light bulbs on the hairs of his arms.
The wind inside the cloud was so strong that Senen had to hold on to a boulder to steady himself. He couldn’t see more than a couple of meters around him. As soon as the cloud disappears the way the others have, he decided, I’ll go home.
However, minutes passed and the cloud became darker. Worse still, in the distance thunder began rumbling among the mountain peaks.
“I’d better start back home now,” Senen murmured. Then a new thought sent shivers down his spine: Which way is home?
Senen could see nothing but the dark mists around him. He thought he remembered the right way home, but a few steps in that direction carried him smack into the trunk of a big pine tree.
Senen was lost in a cloud!
It seemed like hours passed as Senen huddled beneath a rocky overhang. The cloud became darker, and the thunder came closer. The pines groaned in the wind like giants bending their backs, trying to hold up the whole sky.
Then Senen heard the sound of bells. He heard small bells that went tink-tink-tink, big bells that went bonk-clunk-clang, and medium bells with all kinds of in-between sounds.
At first the beautiful clangor seemed to come from a distance. Then the bell sounds came closer. They surrounded Senen, then began moving away.
I’m not sure what’s happening, Senen thought, but I’m going to follow those bells!
That night Senen sat beside the glowing fireplace in his home. As the winds whistled through the big pines outside, he told his story. “When I heard those bells, I followed them. Down and down I came until finally the cloud wasn’t so dark and I could see where I was. I found myself in our own pasture, surrounded by our own cows! I’m so glad that the cows passed me today and that they were wearing bells.” Senen stopped and looked thoughtful. He asked, “Father, why do you put bells around the necks of some of our cattle?”
“Calves can get lost very easily,” Father explained. “However, when they hear the bells, they can simply follow the sound to their mamas.”
Senen laughed to think that in just one day he had learned what it feels like both to be inside a cloud and to be a little calf being led home by bells.