Gospel Story Finder

When fast Sunday came again, Mark was prepared. His family sat close to the front of the chapel so that he could be first to the podium when it was time for bearing testimonies. During the meeting, he offered a prayer in his heart that he would know what to say.
When it was time, he stood and walked up to the microphone. At first, he was nervous at seeing all the people looking back at him, but most of them were smiling, and he knew that they were his friends.
“I have a testimony of the law of tithing,” he began, “and of the Word of Wisdom. I know we have a living prophet today, and I know Heavenly Father answers our prayers.” Mark ended his testimony and sat down. His mom patted him on the knee.
He still felt a bit shaky, but mostly he had a really good feeling, like he was glowing from head to toe. He was glad that he had a testimony and that he could bear it every single day.

The opportunities for showing love for God through the home, neighborhood, mission field, community, and family are never-ending. Some of us are inclined to terminate our love processes in the family when a member disappoints, rebels, or becomes lost. Sometimes when family members least deserve love, they need it most. Love is not appropriately expressed in threats, accusations, expressions of disappointment, or retaliation. Real love takes time, patience, help, and continuing performances. I’m thinking of a prospective elder, for more than thirty-five years completely inactive, now feeding me as my home teacher. “What brought you back, John?” I asked.
“My wife just wouldn’t give up on me and my home teaching companion seated here with me tonight just kept ‘nudging’ me in the right way.” John is happy and anxiously engaged in the work today because two people in particular know what love is all about.

Photograph by Richard M. Romney
“Join in the jubilee,” the hymn says. “Mingle in song” (“Thanks for the Sabbath School,” Hymns, no. 278). Every Sunday for more than three years, a group of youth in Utah have done just that. Not out of assignment or obligation, but out of love for sacred music and a desire to serve, they show up each Sunday at a local care center to sing hymns.
Like many others, Kaden G., 17, started singing at the care center when a friend invited him to join in. “At first I thought, ‘I’ll do it because it’s service,’” he says. “But I found it builds your testimony to sing the hymns. Hymns invite the Spirit. They have a huge influence on people.”
“I love seeing people smile when we sing for them,” says Allie G., 17. “I love seeing how much they appreciate it when we come, and I love the good feeling we have when youth get together to do something good.”
One of the residents, Nadine Taylor, has responded to the kindness of the teenagers by making pillowcases. “They’re personalized for each of us,” Allie says. “Nadine pulled me aside and asked me what my interests are.” Because Allie loves music, including composing songs, her pillowcase features musical notes. “It’s so detailed and stitched so perfectly,” she says. “It’s awesome to receive a personal ‘thank you.’”
“Mine has a soccer player on it,” Kaden says. “It has my jersey number and color from when I used to play.” Nadine obtained that information from some of the other teens. “I was really surprised,” Kaden says. “It means a lot.”
“I’m grateful that these young people are so dependable,” Sister Taylor says. “They come every Sunday, and their singing makes us feel loved.”

Before my mission, I had things I, too, needed to clear up with the bishop. I was afraid to talk to him at church because I thought it would look obvious that I had done something wrong. So I called him at work and said I would be playing basketball at Mutual. I asked him if he could casually ask to speak with me for a minute or two. I remember now (two years later) the feelings I had experienced. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but I walked out of my bishop’s office feeling much better.

Name withheld

In your growing up there are many calls for courage, as you have heard so eloquently tonight from President Romney.
“
“You’re young, with your life before you,” said the chaplain on a sinking ship. “Here, take this,” he said. And with these words the chaplain shoved his life preserver into the hands of an enlisted man, and a few moments later, went down with the ship.
“The date was February 3, 1943. The tragedy was the torpedoing of the American troop ship Dorchester. The chaplain was one of four, all of whom said in effect the same thing, gave up their life preservers, and sacrificed their lives: one was a Catholic; two were Protestants; one was Jewish.
“Their heroism was a dramatic example of chaplains’ action in an emergency and it has become known everywhere. But chaplains’ day-to-day service for the men in the armed forces is less well understood, and it is important to all of us.” (Source unknown)

Rainbow stepped from the shelter of the wigwam just as the soft summer rain stopped. Turning her face to the sun and closing her dark eyes, she took a deep breath. Everything smelled fresh and new after a rain.
“I see Rainbow enjoys the scent of the earth after its bath too.” Rainbow didn’t have to look to see who had spoken to her, for she knew well the voice of her great-grandfather.
“Oh, Great-Grandfather, isn’t it lovely!” she exulted. Her delight in it was even greater now that she was sharing it with the person she loved most.
Great-Grandfather nodded. He patted the ground, inviting Rainbow to sit with him. “That which you are named after is especially beautiful this day,” he said, looking above the tall trees to the colored arch stretching across the sky.
Rainbow loved the many colors of the rainbow, but every time she saw one, she was reminded of her own plainness. She felt her spirits sinking, and the world no longer seemed as lovely as it had a short time ago.
Sensing Rainbow’s mood changing, Great-Grandfather asked, “Why do you grow sad?” When she didn’t answer, they both sat in silence. He would let her decide when the time was right for talking.
This was Rainbow’s thirteenth summer, and her sorrow grew deeper with each one. The daughter of a Sioux chief, she was proud of her heritage, yet …
“Great-Grandfather, Running Antelope is able to run with the swiftness of an antelope, isn’t he?”
Great-Grandfather gave Rainbow his complete attention, “Yes, he is as quick and surefooted as an antelope.”
“My other brother, Red Fox, is skillful and cunning.”
“As the red fox is, so is he.”
While they talked, Rainbow had been watching the multicolored rainbow grow pale and fade away. I wish that I, too, could fade away, she thought. “Great-Grandfather, on the day of my birth, you chose my name. Is that not true?”
“That is true.”
Picking at the fringe on her dress, Rainbow whispered sadly, “But the rainbow is beautiful.”
“Yes, it is beautiful—as are you.”
She was surprised at his answer. No one had ever told her that she was beautiful, and she knew why. She was not beautiful; not even pretty.
“Great-Grandfather, I love you for saying so, but I am plain, and I know it.”
The old man rose on wavering legs. He paused, letting his limbs gain strength. “Stay here; I will return.”
Lost in her misery, Rainbow hardly noticed his absence. It haunted her that she couldn’t live up to her name as her brothers lived up to theirs.
She was shaken out of her thoughts when something was pressed into her hand. Looking up, she found Great-Grandfather had returned. He squatted beside her and said, “As a child, you received joy from this. Do you remember?”
She nodded, gazing at the smooth object she held. The solid glass bar had three sides, each end exactly like the other. It was transparent, but by holding it just right, she could see the seven colors of the rainbow reflected on a boulder or on the side of the wigwam.
“I have had this many years,” Great-Grandfather told her. “When you were a baby and I first held you, I knew you to be as this glass.”
Rainbow looked at him in wonder. “How can that be?”
“The glass, though attractive, is plain. Its beauty is hidden, yet is always there. To me, you are beautiful. I see the colors of the rainbow within you. They radiate your inner beauty with every smile and every tear for others.”
Rainbow threw her arms around him. “I love you, Great-Grandfather!”
“And I love you, beautiful Rainbow.”

When a commercial came on the radio that started saying the Lord’s name in vain, my mom turned the station as quickly as she could. It bothered us a lot that they would use the Lord’s name in that way. We wrote a letter to the advertiser telling them we were offended about how they used the Lord’s name. They wrote back and apologized. Within a few days, the commercial was changed.
Gavin Z., age 7, California

I am Brother Bassa N’Da Germain Eby, from Cote d’Ivoire, Anonkoua Stake, Avocatier Ward. I served in the Liberia Monrovia Mission, and returned home in March of this year. Before going on my mission, I graduated from the university in accounting and finance. I had worked in a company for eight months. Life after my mission was like a puzzle as I did not know what to do.
I met with my bishop and explained my circumstances to him. He counseled me to meet with the WSRS manager. My encounter with him was a new dawn in my life. He introduced me to the WSRS tools. Following that, I participated in an orientation for returned missionaries. That was an eye-opener, because I was able to set goals and to identify resources that I could use to achieve them. I also attended an accelerated job search training. I regularly received one-on-one coaching from the WSRS manager. He helped me to develop a very good resume.
My job search effort yielded results when a company I contacted, Perfect Communication, gave me an offer as a trainee. I devoted myself to the training so much that after a month I was given a full-time appointment. Just about the same time, I got a better offer from another company including opportunities for career growth. I chose the latter. I have been working with Olam International, a rubber factory, since July.
It is indeed a blessing to secure a job in these difficult times when companies are downsizing because of the COVID-19 pandemic. I am grateful to the Lord for His providence. I owe the WSRS manager loads of gratitude for his support. I am still learning from life’s experiences and I know I have embarked on the journey to become self-reliant. I encourage every returned missionary to participate in the WSRS group meetings. They will open the door of opportunity to them.
I know that God lives. He loves us. We are His children. He cares for our growth, so He always prepares the way for us to obtain every needful thing to be happy.

Tammy walked slowly down the sidewalk. She pushed her hands deep into her pockets and looked up and down the street. There was not a sign of anyone to play with. Her foot kicked a stone, and it skittered and rolled along the walk. “Sarah has gone to visit her grandmother, Jennifer has a dental appointment, and Tim went somewhere with his dad,” she grumbled.
Tammy kicked the stone again, then ran after it as it rolled. There was a heavy chalk arrow on the sidewalk pointing straight ahead. She followed the direction and then saw other chalk arrows pointing the way to go. One reminded her of a snake. It pointed to a chalk circle around a hole in the sidewalk. Inside was a pretty blue marble. Tammy smiled. She picked the marble up and put it in her pocket.
Then she saw more arrows in a wiggly line and followed them. One pointed to a fire hydrant, on top of which was balanced a bright yellow marble. She looked at it closely, rolling it back and forth between her thumb and first finger. This will make a good shooter, she thought, and put it in her pocket.
Tammy looked around and found another arrow leading to a paper cup. She looked down into the paper cup and saw a cool green marble to put into her pocket. Ahead were more arrows and more marbles—a milky white one and a “cleary.” May be the next one will be a steelie or a cat’s eye or an aggie, she thought. The next marble was nested in the corner of the sidewalk where it turned and led to a house. “A sparkly red one!” she shouted, picking it up.
Tammy heard a laugh and looked up. A freckle-faced boy just her size was standing by a tree. He held a bag of marbles in one hand and a piece of chalk in the other. “Hi,” he greeted her. “I’m lonesome and would like a game of marbles.”
“I’m lonesome too,” said Tammy. “Let’s play!”

“Can’t we go any faster?” I asked anxiously as we rode along the graveled highway in our newly purchased secondhand pickup.
Mama smiled. “Why the big hurry?” she teased as if she didn’t know.
“I can hardly wait to buy the shoes,” I answered. I was so excited, for it had been nearly a year since I was 11 1/4 and had been taken to the store to buy new shoes. I had thought lately that they would never wear out, and I knew they wouldn’t be replaced until they did. But at last Mama had spoken the long-awaited words.
“I think it’s time to buy you another pair of shoes,” she said. “There is certainly no more wear in those.”
The town with the big country store was four long miles away, and it seemed like forever before we finally arrived.
As soon as we were parked, I jumped out of the pickup and ran into the building. I hurried past the canned goods, down through the hardwares, and wasn’t quite to the shoe department when suddenly I saw them. There on a middle shelf that was tilted up a little was a pair of bright red shoes sitting on a silver stand. I stopped short and caught my breath in awe at the beauty of their color and the daintiness of their sandal-type straps. Printed on a cardboard in the background were the words, “Newest 1940 Fashion in Footwear.” For a long time I stood and looked.
Mama came up behind me, and I led her directly to the shelf.
“May I have these?” I asked hopefully. Mama studied the shoes for a long moment.
“They aren’t very practical,” she said finally, “and you know they will have to last a long time. I think we should buy something more sturdy.”
“I’ll be ever so careful with them,” I coaxed. “Please.”
The clerk came up and measured my foot.
“The red shoes are a half size too small,” she said, “and it is the only pair we have left. However,” she added when she saw the disappointed look on my face, “sometimes sandal-type slippers run a little larger than the average shoe. Would you like to try them on and see?”
Mama reasoned with me, telling me my feet needed room to grow even if the shoes did fit now.
“But maybe there is a little extra room,” I said. “May I at least try them on and see?” I put my whole being into the pleading expression of my eyes.
“Well,” Mama puckered her forehead into a sort of deep-thought furrow for a moment before she answered, “all right.” I had the feeling that she sensed how important this was to me.
The shoes, with a built-in toe and heel, felt tight, but nevertheless I succeeded without too much effort in getting them both on, and I stood and looked down in admiration.
“May I have them?” I asked, feeling, without doubt, that I could stretch the tiny straps in a short period of time to fit comfortably.
The shoes didn’t look too small, but Mama seemed certain that there wasn’t enough room for my feet to grow.
“They will be getting more of this style in next summer,” she said. “Perhaps it would be better to wait and buy a pair then.”
My hopes declined. I was sure there would never be another pair of shoes as beautiful as these, but I said nothing. Mama focused her forehead into another deep-thought wrinkle as she walked over and picked up a pair of brown oxfords in the size I needed.
“Why don’t you try these on,” she said, “then you can make the decision yourself.”
I was elated. Even though I had made decisions before, I had never made one as important as this. I felt that Mama considered me sort of an adult, and I knew that she understood about 12-year-olds and growing up.
As I slipped one of the brown shoes on and tied the lace, it felt good in comparison to the red one on my other foot. I pondered silently as I tried to decide fairly, considering the good and bad points of each pair of shoes. The oxfords would last longer, and they were more comfortable, but they were so brown and plain, sort of ordinary looking really, and besides, they were the kind I had always worn. The red shoes were beautiful, and I wanted something different. If I was careful, they could last a long time. Admittedly, they did squeeze, but I could suffer for a day or two if need be, for I was very sure that I could stretch them in that length of time. Yes, I would take the red ones.
Mama didn’t say anything as she paid the clerk. After all, she had told me the decision was mine.
I strutted toward the door and was so preoccupied with how much older the shoes made me look that I knocked over a small display of cooking utensils and bumped into the candy counter on my way out. I was so happy over my purchase that I didn’t ask Mama what she had in the other package she was carrying when she got in the pickup.
The next two days I wore the pretty shoes in misery. Then a blister appeared on each of my big toes, and the misery turned to agony. Furthermore, I was becoming discouraged, for the tiny straps weren’t stretching at all as I had felt so sure they would.
If Mama saw me wrap small white strips of cloth around my toes to protect the blisters, she made no mention of it. I went outdoors as often as I could and slipped the shoes off. The cool air felt good on my hot feet, and each time I stayed out as long as I dared.
Slowly, out of desperation and pain, I became more brave, and the shoes lay forgotten on the floor of my closet as I went barefoot both inside the house and out. Mama, I am very sure, was aware of my bare feet, but as she didn’t question me, I hoped she supposed that I was trying to be careful of the shoes and make them last as long as the brown ones would have.
With Sunday came the sudden realization that I couldn’t possibly go barefoot to church. I put off the dreaded task of wearing the shoes until the last minute, and it wasn’t until everyone was ready to go that I carefully started the insertion of my foot into one of the slippers. As it entered the enclosure at the end of the shoe, my big toe rebelled hotly, and I pulled it quickly out. Several times I tried to put on the shoe, but each time my foot resented the tight squeeze and throbbed the resentment painfully.
Finally, I could stand it no longer. With tears close to my eyes and the red shoes held firmly in my hands, I went to Mama. My lip quivered, but I was determined not to cry. After all, I was 13 years old, in ten months, that is. I stood for a minute trying to gain my composure and to think of something sort of, well, mature to say.
“They pinch and they hurt,” I blurted out honestly.
Her answer came as such a surprise that all I could do was stand with my mouth open saying nothing.
“We do not always make the right decisions,” Mama said as she went to a drawer and took out a package containing the brown shoes. As she handed them to me she added softly, “And sometimes it takes a pinch of hurt to help us be more wise the next time we have something important to decide.”

“Call me anonymous,” I scrawled on the inside of my notebook cover. It was geography, my most depressing class, not only because I’m not exactly a scholar in geography, but also because I was sitting behind two somebodies in our school, Beverly Allred and Jenny Banks.
Beverly, who had been voted “Miss Dental Hygiene” just two days after she’d had her braces removed, was beautiful and self-confident. I suspected she would have won the honor even if her dad hadn’t been a dentist. Jenny, a cheerleader, was animated and vivacious. The two were good friends who giggled and spoke secrets and excluded me. Even when they looked toward the back of the room or out the rear door into the hall, they never looked at me. They always looked around me as if I were merely a fixture in the room.
What makes a person anonymous? I didn’t know. I just knew with a gnawing ache that nobody at Jackson knew or cared that I was around except maybe Lucy Price and Jim Wilcox, the only other Mormons. But they were older than I and not in any of my classes.
I knew even before I asked her what my married sister Janet would say, but I asked her anyway.
“Why am I so anonymous at school? Nobody even noticed when I was out with the flu.”
“You’re only anonymous because you think you are,” Janet answered. “Honestly, Martha, you walk around with such a scowl on your face that people are afraid of you.”
“When you’re a dud, why smile,” I said.
“You are not a dud!” she said getting exasperated. “How many times do I have to tell you that? Just smile, for goodness sake!”
Other members of my family had been hinting the same thing for the last year. Mom had put a quote on the bulletin board in the kitchen for my benefit. It read: “A smile is a light in the window that says the heart is at home.” Jeff, my brother, didn’t hint, he just called me “the Sphinx.”
“Well, maybe you’re right,” I said. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to just try it.”
“Hallelujah!” Janet said. “Will you try it tomorrow?”
“Okay, maybe I will.” It surely couldn’t hurt me to try, I thought. Besides, I knew I had a nice smile. My teeth were straight, and Dad had told me once I could easily be in a toothpaste advertisement.
I meant to try the experiment the next day, but it began with one of those rushed mornings when everything goes wrong. I had spent over two hours on the algebra assignment that I left on my desk. That meant I had to hurry and recopy it between classes. Luckily, I still had the rough draft in my notebook. I was so busy that I didn’t even remember I had teeth until I overheard Jenny and Beverly talking about that very subject.
“I have to get braces next week,” Jenny complained. “I wish I’d gotten them when you did so that I’d be finished with them now. Your teeth really look fantastic.”
“Thanks, I think they turned out pretty good,” Beverly said, obviously pleased. Then she turned slightly.
“Know who else has pretty teeth?”
Suddenly, I was listening intently. The blood rushed to my face. Me, I thought. I do! They were going to acknowledge my existence at last.
“Alice,” Beverly said.
“Alice?” We all turned to look at Alice who sat two rows from us.
“We’re just talking about how pretty your teeth are,” Jenny said when Alice gave them an inquiring look.
“Oh, thanks,” she said happily. I looked at Alice’s teeth as she smiled. They were pretty, but no prettier than mine. I should have been happy for her, but instead I was miserable for myself. Why hadn’t they complimented me instead of Alice?
“Did you have to wear braces?” Jenny asked.
“No, I was just lucky,” Alice answered.
I was lucky too, I wanted to say. Especially considering the fact that I sucked my thumb until I was eight. But, of course, I didn’t say it. It would have been a dumb thing to say—a “notice me” scream. Nor did I say, my dad thinks I could easily be in a toothpaste advertisement because my teeth are so straight. There are some things you just don’t say. But, what I did was just as bad. When Beverly turned and happened to glance at me, I was grinning widely, a silly, empty, hopeful grin, so that the girls would see that yes, indeed, my teeth were pretty too. Beverly gave me a “you’re odd” look, shrugged her shoulders at Jenny, who giggled slightly, and the two girls turned to face the front of the room.
Again the blood rushed to my face when I realized how obviously I was shouting “notice me” with that toothy grin. What a fool I am, I thought. What a ridiculous fool, sitting here grinning, hoping that someone will notice that my teeth are nice. They noticed all right. They noticed that I was trying too hard. Well, so much for the smiling experiment. I’m never going to smile again!
For the next few months I scowled. Of course, that wasn’t unusual for me, and nobody noticed much of a change. I retired more deeply into my shell, and things got worse instead of better. By the time spring came, I was more lonely and miserable than I had ever been in my life. I had faded into the scenery. I was not a person, I was part of the hall, part of the woodwork, a nobody with no place at Jackson … until that day.
It was one of those surprising days when suddenly it’s spring. Just the day before it had snowed, and now the sun was shining so brightly into the windows that even I felt the rush of warmth into the normally cold, unfeeling halls. I had gone to the office and was walking down the front hall when it happened.
“Hi!” Nancy Patrick in my home economics class said it first.
“Hi,” I answered. Then a boy in geography said it. And then Margaret, a girl in my gym class smiled broadly at me. “Hi,” I responded. I couldn’t figure it out. Why was everyone so friendly? Was it a special day at school?
“Hi,” said a boy I didn’t even know.
“Hi,” I said in almost a whisper. Then I cleared my throat. “Hi,” I said more loudly. It must be “Hi day” or something like that, I thought. Funny, I hadn’t heard anything about a special day. When two more people smiled at me, I studied the situation, and then I studied myself. Suddenly, I knew. The sun was so bright at the far end of the hall that it had created a glare that was causing me to squint and pull my mouth into a grimace. No, I wasn’t smiling. I only looked as if I was smiling. People thought I was friendly. Was that really all it took? No, that couldn’t be all. It couldn’t be that easy. Or could it? I carefully changed my grimace into a smile, a real smile.
“Hi,” said Jackie Rollins. She’d never spoken to me before.
“Hi,” I said with mounting enthusiasm. Then I saw them. Beverly and Jenny had just turned the corner. My smile faded and I felt the enthusiasm slipping out of me. I stopped it before it got away completely. No, just for once, I would not let them defeat me. Just for once, I would let them know I existed and smile at them. But, what if they didn’t smile back? What if they ignored me? Well, that would be their problem. As they approached, I mustered up all my courage.
“Hi!” I said, smiling broadly. The boldness of that hi surprised me as well as the girls. It wasn’t a nobody hi. It was a somebody hi.
“Hi,” Beverly said uncertainly.
“Hi,” Jenny said with more vigor. “See you in geog!” After they had passed me, I was still smiling, inside and out. I did it! I thought. It works! I’m a somebody, a real person! An important person!
I walked into my science class with the broad, brave smile still on my face. Bill, the tall redhead who sat next to me and who had only spoken to me twice all year (once to borrow a pencil), wrinkled his freckled nose and grinned at me. “Hey! You have teeth.”
“What’s wrong with a person smiling?” I asked defensively.
“Nothing. Believe me, nothing. It’s just that I thought maybe Mormons weren’t allowed to smile or something.” I stared at him. Had he really said what I thought he had just said?
“Hey, turn off the icy stare. I’m just kidding.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, coming to my senses. “But how did you know?”
“Know what?”
“That I’m a Mormon.”
“When you’re different, word just gets around. Everybody knows.”
Still in shock, I opened my notebook and saw the words “Call me anonymous.” I scratched them out. Underneath I drew a window, and inside I drew a smile, a big, toothy smile. Then I wrote “Call me friendly!”

Doyle pushed the runny eggs across his plate with a fork. They were so different from the eggs his mother cooked.
“Better eat up,” his aunt called from the bedroom. “It’s a long time until lunch.”
Doyle eyed his breakfast again and decided he could wait. Pulling on his worn coat, he plopped a hat on his head and slipped out the back door.
The snow squeaked beneath his feet as he walked up the path to his uncle’s store and service station. Doyle shivered. He couldn’t remember the air ever being this cold back home in Kansas. How he wished he were there now.
Christmas bells jingled as Doyle opened the service station door. “Morning, Uncle Claude,” he said quietly.
“Morning back to you,” his uncle replied cheerily. “Probably won’t be many customers today. Too cold for anyone to be out and about.” Behind his uncle’s desk hung the last page of a 1935 calendar.
Doyle grabbed a broom and started sweeping the floor. He thought about the huge dust storms that had swept across his family’s farm in Kansas, and he remembered his mother’s constant sweeping. Mom and Dad had sent him to live with his aunt and uncle so there would be enough food for his brothers and sisters.
“How about making a deal?” Uncle Claude said.
“What kind of deal?” Doyle asked.
“If you sweep the entire station, I’ll pay you a small sack of candy.”
“OK,” Doyle agreed. His uncle had recently received an order of Christmas candy—boxes filled with colorful hard candy, chocolates, and peanut clusters.
After the sweeping was done, Doyle slid open the glass door of the candy case and inhaled the rich, chocolaty smell. He filled a small sack with candy and popped a raspberry-filled piece into his mouth.
Out the front window, two cars laden with people and belongings slowed to a stop in front of the station. One car had a mattress strapped on top. Doyle watched as a small hand made circular motions on the car window until a peephole in the frost framed a boy’s face.
The drivers climbed out and walked toward the store. Then Christmas bells jingled and Uncle Claude stood up from his desk. “Hello, folks. What can we do for you?”
One of the men rubbed his forehead and stared down at his rough hands. “Sir, we’re on our way from Oklahoma to Oregon,” he said.
They were Dust Bowlers too! Doyle and his uncle had watched many cars drive past the station last summer and fall, abandoning the dry prairie lands.
“If you could spare some gas, we’d be much obliged,” the man continued.
“It’s awfully late in the season to be moving west with a family,” Uncle Claude said. “Wyoming winters are plenty mean.”
Sliding closer to his uncle, Doyle gripped his uncle’s arm and gave him a pleading look.
Uncle Claude paused. “Well, it’s nearly Christmas,” he said. Then he took two big paper bags from under the counter and began handing Doyle groceries from around the store. Together they filled the sacks with cans of pork and beans, loaves of sliced bread, and a generous slab of bologna cut at the meat counter.
Then his uncle said, “If you men will pull your cars up to the hose, we’ll pump you a little gas.”
Clearing his throat several times, one of the men coughed, then choked out, “This is the best Christmas I ever had.”
While the men shook hands, Doyle reached into his pocket, pulled out the sack of candy, and ran out the door toward the boy inside the car.
As the two cars pulled away, Doyle and his uncle watched from the frozen driveway. Somehow, the icy temperatures didn’t seem quite so icy.

Joel wheeled his new red bicycle expertly into the driveway, lowered its kickstand with his heel, and bounded into the kitchen. “Is Willie hungry yet, Mom?” he asked. “Do you think it’s time to feed him again?”
His mother, who was scraping carrots, nodded. “Yes, he’s been calling for his supper,” she answered.
Joel reached gently for the small box on top of the water heater in the laundry room. It was faintly warm to the touch, just about the right temperature for a baby bird. He lifted the top off the box. Willie, still quite featherless, crouched in one corner of his paper-napkin nest. But when the lid was lifted, the young bird craned his thin neck and was suddenly all mouth.
“You look like you’re hungry enough to eat a whole sack full of worms!” Joel said with a smile. Willie was important to Joel, because the boy lived with his parents at Crest View, a new apartment complex where the tenants were not permitted to keep a dog or a cat for a pet. But there was no restriction about keeping birds, and when Joel had rescued Willie from the front lawn several days ago, his first thought was, Now I have a pet!
“You know, Mom,” Joel confided as he spread newspapers on the kitchen floor, “I think I love Willie just about more than anything in the world.”
“More than your new bike?” Mom asked in amazement.
Joel frowned. “Well … that’s different. Everybody’s got a bike. But nobody else in Crest View has a baby sparrow that he rescued all by himself!” Willie had tumbled from his mother’s nest high on the corner light pole, and Joel had carried him home to the apartment in his hands.
From a cardboard carton, Joel took some grubs and worms and put them on the newspapers. Then, with a pair of tweezers, he carefully dropped these morsels into Willie’s gaping mouth. “I think Willie’s forgotten he’s an orphan, Mom. And when he gets bigger, we can buy a birdcage for him and I can keep him forever.”
“Forever is an awfully long time, Joel,” his mother replied quietly.
Joel glanced at her, puzzled by her thoughtful tone. “Do you mean I can’t keep Willie?” Joel asked.
“Willie is a wild creature, son,” Mom explained. “In a little while, he’ll want to be out-of-doors, to be free.”
But Joel lowered his eyes and set his jaw. No, he vowed silently, Willie is my pet, and I’m going to keep him forever!
As the summer days passed, Willie quickly acquired tail feathers and some soft gray down on his naked breast. It soon became obvious that his cardboard home was too cramped for him to live in much longer.
“We’ve just got to buy Willie a cage Mom,” Joel declared at last.
The supper dishes clinked in the sink, and his mother turned toward her son with a little smile. “I think Willie really wants to be free, Joel,” she reminded him softly.
“But, Mom, Willie doesn’t even know how to fly!” Joel protested. “Something might happen to him, something terrible!” The thought of it made Joel’s eyes sting.
He looked fondly at Willie. But something had changed, he had to admit. Willie’s eyes seemed dull. His feathers were droopy. He refused to chirp anymore. His appetite had waned. “Are you sure it would be all right if we let him go?” Joel asked at last.
It would really be easier if Mom would just order me to turn Willieloose, Joel thought. Then I wouldn’t have to decide what to do myself.
But Mom only smiled again and looked out the kitchen window at Joel’s bicycle. “Do you remember how you learned to ride your bike?” she asked.
Joel pondered a moment. What a silly question! “Well … I just tried!” he exclaimed indignantly. How well he could remember the first time he rode alone down Butler’s Hill—the wind tore at his hair, pressed the breath back in his throat. The thrill of that day rushed back to him. It was just like having wings, he realized. It was just like flying!
Without another word, Joel lifted the sparrow’s box down from its familiar place on the water heater and carried it out in front of the apartment. With tender fingers he lifted Willie from his napkin nest. The young bird hopped curiously across Joel’s open palm.
Joel held Willie a few inches above the grass. The bird tottered, spread his wings in vain, and plopped awkwardly onto the lawn. “You have to try,” Joel encouraged him. “You have to try, Willie.”
The next time, Willie spread his wings and landed gracefully several feet away. Then Joel picked Willie up again, lifted him high, and gave him a gentle boost into the evening air. The little bird sailed away, over the vacant lot across the street and out to the golden haze of wild clover at the edge of the road. “Good-bye, Willie,” Joel called softly. “Good-bye!”
Joel closed up the empty nest and returned to the kitchen where Mom was waiting. From the open window they could both hear Willie’s chirp grow fainter and fainter in the distance. Joel smiled to himself as he remembered that first ride down Butler’s Hill.
Suddenly he felt happy.
“Now Willie has wings, too,” he murmured.

While still serving in the Seattle mission, I received a phone call from my oldest son, Sunbeam, who is a pianist. He said he would have the privilege of performing at Carnegie Hall in New York because he won an international competition. We were so happy and very thrilled for him. However, that evening, while praying with gratitude, my wife recognized that we could not join him for his performance and said to Heavenly Father something like this: “Heavenly Father, I am grateful for the blessing Thou hast given to Sunbeam. By the way, I am sorry that I cannot go there. I could have gone if Thou had given this blessing either before or after this mission. I am not complaining, but I have a little feeling of sorry.”
As soon as she finished this prayer, she heard a clear voice: “Because you cannot go, your son has been given this privilege. Would you rather trade?”
My wife was surprised. She knew children would be blessed through their parents’ faithful work in the Lord’s kingdom, but it was the first time she understood her role with such clarity. She replied to Him right away: “No, no, it is OK for me not to go. Let him have that honor.”

When Wilford Woodruff was the president of the Church, he said that it was the will of the Lord that no amount of time be allowed to pass between the death of the president of the Church and the time that the First Presidency was reorganized. Therefore, on December 30, 1973, just four days after President Lee’s death, President Kimball, the president of the Twelve, called the members of the Twelve together in the upper room of the temple for the purpose of discussing the reorganization of the First Presidency and to take whatever action was decided upon. Those who had been counselors to the President—that is, President Romney and myself—took their respective places in the Quorum of the Twelve.
President Kimball, upon expressing his great sorrow at the passing of President Lee and his feeling of inadequacy, called upon the members of the Twelve in order of seniority to express themselves individually as to how they felt about reorganizing the presidency of the Church.
As each member of the Twelve spoke, he expressed himself as feeling that now was the time to reorganize the First Presidency and that President Spencer W. Kimball was the one whom the Lord wanted to preside at this time. The sweet Spirit of the Lord was present in rich abundance and there was complete unity and harmony in the minds and spoken words of the Brethren. The only purpose and desire was to do the will of the Lord, and there was no question in anyone’s mind but what the will of the Lord had been expressed.
Elder Ezra Taft Benson then made the formal motion that the First Presidency of the Church be reorganized and that Spencer W. Kimball be sustained, ordained, and set apart as the president, prophet, seer, revelator, and as trustee-in-trust of the Church. This motion was seconded and unanimously approved.
In all humility, President Kimball stepped forward and made his speech of acceptance, praying that the Spirit and blessings of the Lord would attend him that he might be made able to carry out the will of the Lord. He said he had always prayed for President Lee’s health and strength and vigor and for the blessings of the Lord to attend him as he carried on as the president of the Church. He emphasized the fact that he had prayed sincerely with his lovely wife, Camilla, that this position would never come to him and that he felt sure that President Lee would certainly outlive him.
On this occasion I thought of the Savior in the Garden of Gethsemane as he prayed: “… O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me: nevertheless not as I will, but as thou wilt.” (Matt. 26:39.) And he so accepted.
He then chose and nominated as his first counselor N. Eldon Tanner and as his second counselor Marion G. Romney, each of whom expressed himself in all humility and pledged himself to support and sustain President Kimball as the president of the Church and to fill his office to the best of his ability, and prayed for the blessings of the Lord to attend him.
Following this, President Benson was sustained as president of the Council of the Twelve. President Kimball then took his seat in the middle of the room, and as all those present placed their hands upon his head, we felt the Spirit of the Lord was truly with us, and this sweet Spirit filled our hearts. Then, with President Benson being mouth, in a beautiful prayer and blessing, Spencer Woolley Kimball was ordained and set apart as prophet, seer, and revelator and president of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

It’s hard to believe it was only 120 years ago when Wilbur and Orville Wright first lifted off and flew over the sands of Kitty Hawk, North Carolina. Four short flights on that December day changed the world and opened the door to one of the greatest inventions in the world’s history.
Flying was risky in those early days. The brothers knew this. And so did their father, Milton. In fact, he was so terrified of losing both of his sons in a flying accident that they promised him they would never fly together.
And they never did—with one exception. Seven years after that historic day at Kitty Hawk, Milton Wright finally gave his consent and watched as Wilbur and Orville flew together for the first time. After landing, Orville convinced his father to take his first and only flight and to see for himself what it was like.
As the plane lifted from the ground, the 82-year-old Milton got so caught up in the exhilaration of flight that all fear left him. Orville rejoiced as his father shouted with delight, “Higher, Orville, higher!”
This was a man after my own heart!

Illustration by Brian C. Hailes
The first time the missionaries stopped by my house, only my brother Charles was there. As they discussed the Restoration, my brother felt the Spirit and accepted a copy of the Book of Mormon. Before Charles began reading the book, I saw it and asked him what it was and where he got it. Charles explained everything to me, including how he felt meeting with the missionaries.
I thought it all sounded ridiculous and ordered Charles to return the book. I persuaded my family to support me, and they agreed that the Book of Mormon was unacceptable in our house.
The next time the missionaries came by, Charles was gone. I returned the book and told them to leave. They told me that I would need the book someday. This caused me to drive them away in a rude manner.
Not too long after this, a childhood friend whom I had always admired invited me to a Church activity. I refused. He and another friend kept inviting me to church, and when they offered to pick me up, I eventually agreed. Imagine my surprise when I entered the Church building and saw the same missionaries that I had driven away! I had no idea it was the same Church!
The bishop of the ward befriended me that day, and I started to attend church more often. With a lot of love and support, I eventually started to read the scriptures. Thanks to friends, loving leaders, and the scriptures, I was eventually baptized. Since then, both my brother and I have served missions in our native Africa. Even though we may face the same rejection I dealt to those missionaries that day, I know that if we are faithful and persistent, Heavenly Father will bless our efforts and we will be able to share the gospel.

Sierra Leone was a sad place during my teenage years, but it was my home. For much of my life, my small West African country was torn by a civil war. The war affected everything. My family and I were constantly on the run, trying to escape the rebel soldiers. It was terrifying every time the rebels came through a city. Someone would see their torches approaching in the night, warn the others, and we would all run for the bush, grabbing whatever we could along the way.
About seven years after the war began, the rebels came to our city. My whole family was running to escape, but my parents, who were just a few steps behind me, were shot and killed. I was so sad to lose them, but I had to keep moving.
My brother, sister, and I moved to a safer place, and for a short while we were all right, but the rebels eventually hit that town, too. This time we didn’t have time to run away. My brother was taken and later killed. My sister and I were lined up outside with all the other women. The rebel soldiers were chopping limbs off of all the women in the line. We were all so frightened. Everyone was crying and praying—even people who had never believed in God before. I was not a member of the Church at the time, but I believed in God and prayed that His will would be done and hoped that He would find a way to save me.
My dear sister, who was several places ahead of me in line, had both of her legs cut off. But as the rebels reached the woman in front of me, our army came rushing in and the rebels ran away. I know that I was not better than the people who were in front of me or behind me, but I thanked God that I had been spared and prayed that I might understand His plan for me.
I moved to another village to live with a friend. As I was telling my story to my friend and some of her neighbors, one neighbor said, “Mariama, we don’t have anything to offer you except an invitation to church tomorrow. That’s where we find safety. That’s where we find hope.” I loved God already and needed comfort in my life, so I decided to go.
My first Sunday in that LDS branch is a day I will never forget. I learned of hope. You could just see that there was hope in those people, and I was drawn to them. I was given the Book of Mormon and started reading right away. I remember hearing in church about how families could be together again after death and then reading in Alma 11 where Alma teaches about how our bodies will be made perfect again in the Resurrection. I felt the Spirit so strong as I thought of my family. I knew that the Church was true and that we could be together forever—each of us well and whole.
There were no missionaries in Sierra Leone at that time, so I took the lessons from my branch president and was baptized soon after. We were blessed in our town, because the Church sent food and humanitarian kits for the members of the Church and others. The food kept us all alive. Everyone was so grateful even to receive a small bag of rice or beans. I received a blanket and a hygiene kit that included a toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo, soap, a comb, and a washcloth.
Not long after, the rebels hit again. They burned down the house I was living in, and as I was running to escape the flames, I took time to save only two things—my scriptures and my hygiene kit. We had to live on the run for a while after that, and I used my hygiene kit to help those around me. I would squeeze out one pinch of toothpaste for each person, or we would go to the river and carefully pass my bar of soap from person to person. The kit was so precious to us. The blanket, too, was invaluable. It sheltered us for many days until I used it to wrap an old woman who had died and had nothing to be buried in.
Eventually, I went back to my town and my branch. It was then that I decided I wanted to serve a mission. This was a difficult decision for me, because I had nothing and would be leaving behind people I loved. As I was trying to decide, I read D&C 84:81 and 88, which say, “Therefore, take ye no thought for the morrow, for what ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink, or wherewithal ye shall be clothed … for I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up.” I knew the Lord would care for me, so I turned in my mission papers and was called to the Utah Salt Lake City Temple Square Mission.
I arrived in Utah with practically nothing, but I insisted on bringing my hygiene kit, because it meant so much to me. One day, my companion and I were taking a tour of the Humanitarian Center in Salt Lake, and I recognized a blanket that had the Relief Society logo embroidered on it, just like the one I’d had in Sierra Leone. I looked around and saw hygiene kits like mine and familiar bags of beans and rice, and I began cry.
“This is where they came from!” I thought to myself. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I remembered what these things sitting in stacks in the Humanitarian Center in Salt Lake meant to my friends and to me in Sierra Leone. I was so grateful to the Lord for preserving me, for bringing the gospel into my life, and for allowing me to serve a mission. I knew that His angels truly had been round about me, to bear me up.

A group of men were talking with the Prophet Joseph Smith one day when news arrived that the house of a poor brother who lived some distance from town was burned down. Everyone expressed sorrow for what had happened. The Prophet listened for a moment, then “put his hand in his pocket, took out five dollars and said, ‘I feel sorry for this brother to the amount of five dollars; how much do you all feel sorry?’” The immediacy of the Prophet’s response is significant. Last year millions of you responded to the sorrow of others with your means, tender hearts, and helping hands. Thank you for your wonderful measure of generosity.

“I was born and grew up in the community of Tooele, Utah, where my father ran a newspaper. As a youth, I worked at the newspaper office and also helped take care of the family cows. My brother, Joel, and I had the responsibility of not only taking care of our cows but, during the summer, also gathering our neighbor’s cows and taking them to the fields on the edge of town to graze on the grass. This is how I made my first money. Later, my brother and I worked on a twenty-acre farm that the family owned on the edge of town. We were teenagers, and my father wanted to keep us busy.
“One day a neighbor came to Father carrying a list of things we were doing wrong on the farm. After the neighbor finished reading the list aloud, Father sat back in his chair, looked at him, and said, ‘Well, Jim, you don’t understand. I’m raising boys, not cows.’”