Gospel Story Finder

Ellen was a young girl who really gained an understanding of repentance. While at the store, she took an item without paying for it. But when she got home, she felt miserable. She confided in her mother: “I’m so sorry I took it; will you take it back for me?”
Her mother said, “I can’t repent for you, Ellen. You must repent yourself. You will have to take it back and say you are sorry.”
It was hard, but she did it. “This is my first repentance,” Ellen said. “I’m glad I know how to make things right.”

Amy* was my best friend growing up. That all changed in junior high school. One day near the beginning of my eighth-grade year, I saw Amy standing with a few of her acquaintances. I went up and chatted with them. We were having fun talking and being silly when one of the other girls started to talk about getting drunk.
To my horror, Amy chimed in about how excited she was to join them that night. I wish I could say that I stood up then and there and said that I didn’t believe they should be drinking. Instead, I stood quietly in shock, unsure of what to do.
The bell rang, and Amy and I went to class. On our way I asked her if she was serious about getting drunk. She said that she was and seemed excited. I could tell it didn’t bother her the way it bothered me.
Again I stayed quiet. I was afraid that she would be mad at me if I told her how I felt. As the day went on, I felt worse and worse. I knew I had to do something, but I wasn’t sure how I should go about it. I didn’t want to sound self-righteous or condescending. Plus, there was the overwhelming fact that I was scared.
Although I had made friends with a few other students at the beginning of junior high, I had lost touch with them. I didn’t want to lose the only friend I had.
I finally decided to pray about it. As I did, I felt a peaceful feeling that it would be all right. I also knew what I needed to do. After school got out, I talked to Amy. I told her how much I cared about her and that I didn’t think that she should be drinking. She listened to me, but when I was done, she said goodbye. I couldn’t tell if she was mad or not.
I’d love to say that we hugged and that she told me she was glad that I told her how I felt. However, that’s not what happened.
Amy got drunk that evening and many other evenings after that. She stopped being friends with me.
The first day of ninth grade was terrifying. I was lonelier than I had ever been. It was at that time that some girls I had once been friends with signaled me over to their table. They were all LDS or had high standards.
Even though it took me a while to muster up the courage to talk to Amy, I’m glad that I did. I know that the friends I made that year influenced my life for the better and helped me stay on the path that I knew was right.

LaRae is Gene’s wife and the mother of two teenage children. She usually gets very tired before the day is over but on her perfect day she felt very invigorated. She was able to accomplish many of the things she wanted to do. “But,” she added, “by trying to keep a day perfect, I realized some of the habits I had gotten into. For instance, I would suddenly get mad at Gene for some silly, insignificant reason. It was just a habit with me. Now I’m working on correcting it.”

By staying close to the Lord, I reestablished confidence in myself and could feel the influence of the Holy Ghost in my life. This influence soon led me to consider serving a mission. I know some people thought my desire foolish, but when I spoke with the branch president, he gave me the courage I needed. To prepare myself, I decided to read the Book of Mormon in its entirety—something I had not yet accomplished in my 12 years as a member.
However, my poor memory posed a real challenge. After starting with 1 Nephi at least 10 times and not being able to remember a thing I had read, I knew I needed a different approach. I prayed to find a solution, and soon a method entered my mind: I would write a summary of each chapter as I read it.
I bought a notebook and read the first chapter of 1 Nephi. Since I had only a vague idea of what I had just read, I read the chapter again. Only then was I able to summarize in my notebook the main ideas in that chapter.
Prayerfully, I moved on. After completing 1 Nephi, I found I no longer had to read each chapter twice; once was enough to write a good summary. I read the entire Book of Mormon this way. When I finished, I was left with a strong spiritual witness that the book is true, and I could also testify that the Lord strengthens us if we turn to Him.

What a choice Heidi Heistø had to make! Should she become a doctor or a professional musician? Both paths were open to her. Both were wonderful ways to serve her country and her fellowmen. Both were traditions in her family. Both seemed attainable. She has the talent in both areas.
So Heidi didn’t choose. She decided to pursue both. She had completed her high school years with a fine academic standing and was accepted into three medical schools and auditioned and was accepted into music conservatory. Soon she was spending every minute either at school or studying or practicing. After two quarters of this killer pace, she was tired and confused. She felt she was not giving either school her best. When she asked friends and relatives what she should do, the answers were of little help. Some said, “Oh, if you have the possibility of going to medical school, you must do that.” Others said, “Oh, you are so talented in music. Of course, you must do that.” Heidi was very confused.
Heidi had been taught by her mother, Karin, and her grandmother how to search out the guides in her life. She had learned in church that she had an eternal friend who will always listen. She turned to Heavenly Father in prayer. She also asked for and received a blessing from her home teacher. The blessing said that she had her agency and that she should pray about her decision. As she prayed, her answer became more clear. She should devote herself to music. Her fears about not being skilled enough lessened.
She turned to her patriarchal blessing, which encourages her to develop her musical talent. She had started with the violin at age seven even though she had been begging to start much earlier. Then her instructor suggested she change to the viola because the warm, somber tones of that instrument complimented her technique and temperament. And Heidi found she preferred the beautiful tone. Now she has chosen her course and is devoting her schooling to music.

Having overcome her shyness, upon returning from her mission, Salamatu decided to give Zainu a chance and agreed to date him. It did not take her long to realize that Zainu “really wants me in his life. He wants us to make a family. He wants us to be together forever, not only here but in the life to come. He is the man for me!”
When Zainu told Salamatu he wanted to get married, she said, “If you really mean it, you need to go to my people.”
Like many young people, the Deens faced some big obstacles when thinking about marriage. Zainu explained, “One thing that makes us in Africa find it difficult to get married is that young people think about the cost of living. No job, nothing that can bring in income. Some of us, some of the young people in the church, have the mentality, ‘How can I get married? How can I feed my family? Where can I get money? Where can I start?’”
Zainu said, “In Africa setting of marriage, people think that before getting married you have to acquire everything. That is the mentality. I must get money first. I must get a house. I must get a car. So those are some of the . . . [barriers] to getting married.”
By the time Salamatu returned from her mission, neither one of them had a job even though Zainu had been looking and volunteering the entire time she was on her mission. They both had taught the principles of marriage and family on their missions. They knew what was right. The obstacles seemed very large.
That is when Zainu took the action he knew from two years of practice on his mission. He told Salamatu, “I want us to pray that I can have a job, any kind of job. Then I think we can proceed.”
He said, “All of a sudden, God heard our cry, and I got a job, a security job!”
The way to marriage seemed to open, but there was still a lot of preparation. As soon as Zainu got a job, Salamatu said, “When they pay you, we must take a small amount of the money, $300,000 Sierra Leones, and we will save it. In fact, you will not save it in your own account. You will open a small account for me so that you won’t have access to take from that money.”
Zainu thought, “$300,000? What can $300,000 Sierra Leones do for marriage? It’s too small.” He continued, “Well, as time goes on, $300,000; $600,000; $900,000; $1,200,000. It is true! It is working! Now we can get married.”
Zainu said that Salamatu was his motivation. When he felt, “We don’t have much,” she told me again, “We do it little by little.”
When Zainu was paid, they worked their plan. They took out a set amount to put into Salamatu’s account. Then they would buy one thing necessary for their future or for their wedding. “We go buy material,” Zainu said. “We buy two yards. We do not have money to buy six yards at once. We go buy two, and we keep it. This is how we do it. Little. Little. Little. Little.”
Just as they both encountered opposition when deciding to serve their missions, so too, the Deens had people questioning their decision to marry, suggesting they should spend their money on things, or they should wait until they had a better job. But Zainu said, “I am obeying commandments. ‘If you love me, keep my commandments’ (John 14:15), and marriage is a commandment. Marriage is ordained of God.”
Salamatu quickly added, “I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded, for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them” (1 Nephi 3:7).
She tells her young women that she wants them to go and serve the Lord and then get married. “The gospel blesses families so when you go out there and serve the Lord, the Lord will not only bless you, but even the families you leave behind, they will also receive the blessings.
“I also want to tell those who are struggling to marry that they should not struggle. They should not think about the worldly things that say ‘I have to do this; I have to get everything before I get married. Like me and my husband, we do not have plenty, but we have enough because the Lord is for us. The Lord always provides for us. The Lord always loves us. That is why we are so happy. We are so blessed. We have a handsome son. That is one of the blessings we have.”
Zainu added, “If we serve Him wholeheartedly, then there are blessings, which me and my wife, as a family are experiencing. People are coming now to us, wanting to know our way of living. These are the blessings. The Lord knows our hearts.”
“I want to testify that serving a mission is a good opportunity to serve the Lord with all our heart, might, mind and strength. Even when we return home, the things that we learn on a mission, we should not let them go away. If we apply them in our lives, we will receive a blessing, especially in our marriage. I always know that the Lord loves us. That is why He wants us to have a partner, not only here but even when we return to Him that we will always be happy. We should not be afraid of being married because the Lord, He stands for us wherever we are. If we are having any constraints, He will stand for us,” said Salamatu.
“I testify that marriage is ordained of God. As me and my wife have endeavored to follow the principles and the commandments of the Church, we are receiving the blessings,” finished Zainu.

The story is told of a 14-year-old boy who had come to Nauvoo in search of his brother who lived near there. The young boy had arrived in winter with no money and no friends. When he inquired about his brother, the boy was taken to a large house that looked like a hotel. There he met a man who said, “Come in, son, we’ll take care of you.”
The boy accepted and was brought into the house, where he was fed, warmed, and was given a bed to sleep in.
The next day it was bitter cold, but in spite of that, the boy prepared himself to walk the eight miles to where his brother was staying.
When the man of the house saw this, he told the young boy to stay for a while. He said there would be a team coming soon and that he could ride back with them.
When the boy protested, saying that he had no money, the man told him not to worry about that—that they would take care of him.
Later the boy learned that the man of the house was none other than Joseph Smith, the Mormon prophet. This boy remembered this act of charity for the rest of his life.

One day last year, my friend invited me to his house to have a Teddy Bear Tea Party with him and his sisters. I thought they would have pretend tea at this party. Instead, they offered me real tea with honey. I remembered an article in the Friend about President David O. McKay.* Once when he was visiting the queen of the Netherlands, she offered him tea. He politely refused it. I knew that if tea isn’t good for a prophet, then it isn’t good for me. I told my friend, “No thank you. Tea isn’t good for you.” They didn’t know about the Word of Wisdom, and they told me that tea was good for me. But I said, “No thank you,” again. So my friends gave me some water to drink, and we had a good time together.
When I made this choice, I had a good feeling inside. My mom and dad said I was setting a good example for my friends who aren’t members of the Church. I know that Jesus Christ wants me to take care of my body, and I am trying to do that.

My senior year in high school came, and my life and the lives of my friends and family were again changing. I had less than a year left in our blue house. Chuck talked about joining the military after graduation, while Ricky hoped to play professional baseball.
Paula had married the year before, to a guy who reminded me of the tall missionary from Massachusetts a decade earlier. In November, she and her husband came from school to our home for Thanksgiving. Paula handed my mother a jar of peanut butter with pink and blue ribbons tied around it. Mother looked sharply at her, and Paula nodded. Then Mom burst into tears. It seemed that my mother had craved peanut butter when she was expecting me. Paula’s present was her way of announcing that a new arrival would be born to the family in the spring.

In the garage, Tyler searched for a thin wood scrap. Finding one just the right size, he went in the house to paint it. With a pointed brush he printed the letters. He made two holes in the wood with a hammer and nail, and put a piece of twine through them so that he could wear the name tag around his neck. When he took his shirt off, this name tag would stay put and wouldn’t get ruined. Tyler showed it to Mom and Dad. “Clever,” they told him.
Tyler wanted to show it to his best friend, Jason. He went outside and looked to see if Jason was in his yard next door. From the other direction, a boy on a tricycle whizzed by, laughing. His dog ran along beside him, barking in fun. It was little Jimmy from down the block.
Jimmy’s mother ran after him, calling frantically, “Stop! You’ve gone too far!” But Jimmy didn’t hear her, so Tyler raced to catch up with him. Grabbing the tricycle, Tyler gently pulled it to a stop and turned it around. He led Jimmy and his dog back to his mother.
“Thank you for stopping him,” she said. “He might have ridden into the street and been hurt. You’re a good neighbor!”
Tyler waved good-bye and headed back to find Jason. He reached for his name tag and stopped suddenly. It was gone! It must have fallen off while I was running, he realized. Searching, he finally found it, but the twine was broken and the name tag lay in pieces. It had been run over by the tricycle. Tyler walked home and laid the pieces on the table. “Jimmy ran over my name tag,” he told his mother, angrily. Then, with a big sigh, he said, “But I guess he didn’t mean to.”

“I hate Santa Claus!” I exclaimed, glaring at the jolly old elf painted on a mall window.
Mom looked at me with raised eyebrows. “You certainly have the Christmas spirit,” she said.
I hurried with her to the car, trying to find the words to explain how I felt. “It’s just that I’m sick of Santa and Rudolph and Frosty and all that,” I said, as I put my shopping bags in the trunk. “I mean, aren’t we supposed to be celebrating the birth of the Savior?”
“I agree. Christmas is getting too commercialized,” Mom said.
We drove past the town hall. A poster told people to bring their Sub for Santa goods in. “And that’s another thing,” I blurted. “I hate the way people feel a tug of guilt on their heart strings at Christmas time and donate all their old stuff to charity. Why can’t people be generous all year long? As if they’re fooling anyone.”
Mom smiled. “Christmas is a good time to start.”
But I didn’t care what she had to say. Before long I was mad at everyone, and by the time we pulled into our driveway I had made up my mind that I wasn’t going to act any different just because it was Christmas. I wasn’t going to be hypocritical like the rest of the world. And as for the Savior’s birth, I’d just celebrate that in April.
After dinner we cleared the table and sat down to do homework. “Hey, help me with this algebra problem,” my brother Tom said.
“I’ve got homework to do,” I snapped.
“C’mon, it’s Christmas,” he pleaded. Boy, was that the wrong thing to say. I told him I didn’t care if it was Christmas. “Ask someone who has time,” I said.
“How about someone who needs blessings because she’s acting like the Grinch.”
“All right!” Mom’s stern voice cut in. “That’s enough you guys. I’ll help you Tom. Your sister’s carrying a grudge against Christmas this year.”
“I think her shoes are too tight, or her head’s not screwed on just right, or maybe her heart is two sizes too small,” Tom said as my mom dragged him to the other side of the table.
It was hard to concentrate on my homework because the ugliness inside me was growing. I couldn’t understand why I was feeling worse instead of better. After all, I wasn’t being a Christmas hypocrite, pretending to be jolly when people the world over were starving and suffering.
Just then the doorbell rang. Mom looked at me then quietly walked to the door. Her surprised gasp brought the rest of the family to her side, including me.
There stood our home teachers dressed as shepherds. They waited until everyone had gathered around, probably waiting for some of the shock to dissolve too. “We’re on our way to Bethlehem, and we thought we’d stop by and tell you what’s happened. You see, we were watching over our flocks when suddenly an angel appeared to us. At first we were terribly afraid, but the angel said, ‘Fear not, for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord’” (Luke 2:10–11).
There was something about the simplicity and sincerity of their message that got to me. My lip started quivering and I quickly bit it to keep it under control. I didn’t hear any more. I was too busy remembering how awful I’d been, all because I didn’t want to be a hypocrite. Tom was right. I had been the worst kind of Grinch, griping about how horrible everyone is, when I wasn’t willing to change myself for the better. At least the people I complained about were generous and kind part of the year. I certainly wasn’t.
“We’re going to see this miracle which has come to pass,” one of the shepherds said. With that they disappeared into the night, leaving us stunned into silence, meditating on their wonderful message.
Then it hit me. They were going to share this marvelous event with others, to help them feel the true spirit of Christmas.
I wiped my eyes and cleared my throat. “I’ve got some Christmas messages of my own to deliver,” I said. “I’ll start with you.” Turning to Mom I gave her the biggest hug I could manage. “I’m sorry for all I put you through. I know I can be a real pain sometimes.”
Mom smiled. “I guess part of being a mother is learning to take a lot of frustration.”
I looked at Tom who was grinning triumphantly.
“Probably the hardest thing I have to do is apologize to you, Tom,” I began. “But if I didn’t, you wouldn’t believe me when I tell you that my heart has really grown tonight.” He shrugged his shoulders and brushed past me. I noticed the reddening of his ears, a sure sign he was embarrassed.
I followed him to the kitchen table and sat down. “Tom,” I asked, “can I help you with your algebra?”
Tom looked up at me, and a slow smile spread across his face. “Sure,” he said. “And maybe you can help me wrap some presents too.”
I smiled back. “I’d like that.”
And for the first time that Christmas, I meant it.

A convert was ministered to by personal example. As a young man, he said he spent his days lounging at the beach. One day, he said, “I saw an attractive girl in a modest swimsuit.” Amazed, he went to ask why such an attractive girl would wear such a modest swimsuit. She was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and asked with a smile, “Would you like to come to church Sunday?” He said yes.

I was in the kitchen helping Mom make tuna sandwiches for 14 billion of Todd’s friends who had just happened to come over on a Saturday. We couldn’t help but overhear their conversation in the living room.
“How will we all get home after the game?” asked one of his friends. They were seniors in high school and didn’t have anything better to do than worry about getting home from the game.
“Maybe I could take you,” Todd said. “That’d be great,” said another friend.
“Wait a minute,” Todd said.
“We’d have to share the costs.”
“Costs?”
“The only car big enough is the LTD. That’s ten cents a mile. I figure that with the eight of you that’s got to be around 50 miles. Plus a pro rata share of my monthly insurance bill and the cost of gasoline, which at 69¢ a gallon and 11 miles to the gallon comes to $3.13, plus the mileage and share—that’s $9.13. And there are eight of us so it’s $1.14 each, with a penny left over. I’ll treat you to the penny.”
They were astounded. They were appalled. “A dollar each just to get home from the game?”
“A dollar and fourteen cents. And don’t forget the free penny.”
“I think my parents can take me.” Pretty soon all of them decided their parents could take them home.
“Too bad,” Todd said. “It probably costs your parents more than a buck to make a special trip there and back. You guys just don’t know how much it costs to keep cars running these days.”
I spread tuna on the last sandwich as Mother ran water in the bowl. “Do you hear what I hear?” I asked.
“I think my son Todd is beginning to get some sense about money,” she answered.
I didn’t say anything. I thought it sounded like my brother Todd wasn’t pulling a full train.

A Mia Maid in the Philippines expressed the same thought like this:
“I used to ask myself, ‘Am I one of the chosen daughters of our Heavenly Father?’ and ‘Did God create all people?’ These questions prompted me to read the scriptures with the hope of receiving immediate answers. But the answers took long in coming. I became involved in the Young Women organization, and through the promptings of the Holy Ghost, I developed a strong faith that I am indeed a daughter of God, who created all of us.”

Nothing is more inspiring than to see youth praise God by honoring him on his holy day. Let me recount the story of one of them to you. Eric Liddell had been raised in China by missionary parents. When he returned to Scotland for his education, he discovered while playing rugby that he was fast on his feet. Those who watched him run called it sheer artistry. He was a wild runner, technically imperfect, but with exultant, liquid speed.
As Liddell continued to run, he began to receive honors. Friends pushed him to train for the Olympics, but his devoutly religious sister, Jennie, thought it would turn his attention from God. She knew he couldn’t be half-hearted about anything and she said, “Be honest with me. How much time will you have left for God?”
But Liddell’s father advised him differently. “Run in His name … and let the world stand back in wonder.”
And wonder it did. Liddell became known as the “Flying Scotsman,” making the 1924 British Olympic team with ease. On the way to Paris for the games, however, a reporter tossed him a question that startled Liddell. “What about Sunday? Do you think you can beat the Yanks?”
Liddell had not known that the heat for the 100-meter race he was scheduled to run in was on Sunday. The news made him a quiet passenger, and his sister’s words echoed in his mind: “Your mind’s not with us anymore, Eric.” It was heartbreakingly clear to him what he had to do. He could not run in the race, even if it meant undoing all the years of training, even if it meant disappointing his teammates.
They took the news badly, and Lord Birkenhead, who was leading the group, took it worse. “Won’t run?” he bellowed and turned red. He simply couldn’t understand.
Liddell responded, “I’m not sure that I understand. … I’ve run, driven myself, and run and run again for three whole years just to be on this ship. I gave up rugby, my work has suffered, I’ve even deeply hurt someone I hold very dear. Because, I told myself, if I won, I would win for God—it was his will. And now I find myself sitting here destroying it all, with a couple of words. But I have to. To run would be against God’s law.”
The pressure on Liddell didn’t end there. In Paris, he was called into a special meeting with Lord Birkenhead and the Prince of Wales himself. Had he no allegiance to king and country? “There are times,” said the Prince, “when we are asked to make sacrifices in the name of that loyalty. Without them, our allegiance is worthless. As I see it, for you this is such a time.”
Liddell was uncomfortable, but unmoved, and the tense situation was only resolved when a teammate entered the room and offered to give up his spot on a 400-meter race on Thursday so that Liddell could still run.
That Sunday at church, Liddell read from Isaiah 40:31. [Isa. 40:31] It was not an easy day for him, for he longed to be running for the gold, but he told the congregation what he told himself: “But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.”
Later that week at the 400-meter race, he had his chance to take the Lord at his word. As the runners lined up at their marks, rumors circulated among the crowd that Liddell would never win this race. He was a sprinter, fast in the short haul, but could he take this quarter-mile distance? But as he stood at the line, Liddell received a boost that the crowd didn’t know. One of the top runners on the American team handed him a folded piece of paper that read, “In the Old Book, it says, ‘He that honors me, I will honor.’”
Liddell won that race that day. He got his gold. In doing so, those who watched believed he had passed the supreme test. He had found the courage to throw his head back, push his heart until it almost burst, and cross the finish line ahead of all contenders. But that was not really the supreme test. The supreme test he had passed on the boat on the way to France, in the meeting with the Prince of Wales, and again that Sunday while he watched the race he might have run. The supreme test in any life is whether one can stick to his highest ideals when glory or expedience pressures us away from them. (Excerpted from W. J. Weatherby, Chariots of Fire, Dell/Quicksilver, pp. 50–165.)

1 That’s a great jack-o’-lantern, Wendy! Want me to help you put in the candle?
Thanks, David.
2 David, when you said you wanted to join the Mormons, I gave my permission reluctantly. I thought that you were making a big mistake.
I know.
3 Well, I was wrong. You’ve become an even better son and brother.
Thanks, Dad. I’m just trying to be the kind of person you taught me to be.
4 I think maybe we were afraid you’d become a fanatic and write us all off as sinners.
How could I ever do that? You’re the greatest!
5 Well, it’s pretty easy for people to focus on their differences.
It says right in the Articles of Faith that we should respect all religions. Joseph Smith knew what it was like when people didn’t.
6 So, what do you think?
Outstanding! What do you think?
Likewise!

But as the excitement grew, the group’s harmony was invaded by discord. Newspapers and television spoke against the Church. Missionaries were physically abused. Rocks were thrown through the windows of the mission home and the mission office. One night the whole front of the mission office was painted with obscenities.
As the anti-Church sentiment grew, the manager of the Moscow Hotel began to worry about the possible consequences of allowing the Church to hold a Christmas program in her hotel. Less than 36 hours before the program was to begin, she notified the mission office that the members would not be able to use their reserved room after all.
Some of the members were devastated by the news, believing that the Christmas program would have to be canceled. President Warner was more trusting.
“Heavenly Father knows where we are and how much we need to have this program,” he said. “Let’s leave it in the Lord’s hands.”
The Lord heard their prayers. When the assistants to the mission president, Elder Trent Murray and Elder Hannon Ford, returned to the Moscow Hotel to get the mission’s money back, the manager explained why she was reluctant to allow them to use the reserved room on the main floor and led them to a room on the second floor.
“If you can promise that your people will come in the back door instead of the front door, go up the back stairs, and not use the lobby, you can use this other room,” she said, opening the door to a much larger ballroom. It was two and a half times larger than their reserved room, and it had a wonderful grand piano. It even had a Christmas tree and other holiday decorations.
On a cold Saturday afternoon in Sofia, missionaries met the members and investigators arriving for the program and directed them to the back door, where they entered the hotel inconspicuously. More than 400 guests crowded into the ballroom. Even the dour faces of the spotlight technicians, who were unhappy to be working on a holiday, could not spoil their festive spirit.
The 150 choir members sang beautifully, and the audience joined in for a sing-along. By the time a young couple placed their baby in the manger for the final scene, the room was filled with joy and music. Even the spotlight technicians were singing and clapping along with the others.
The Spirit was so strong that no one wanted to leave. But like every performance, the Christmas program had to conclude. The same child’s a capella solo that had opened the program—her “Silent Night”—ended it. As the audience and the participants returned home, echoes of their experience—their “Joy to the World”—reverberated in their hearts and warmed the chill in the Bulgarian air.

Weeks had passed since my adult daughter had moved to a new city, and each Sunday that she missed church brought me the same concerns. Would she ever return to church? I tried everything I could think of to get her there: encouragement, logic, pleading, acting as her personal alarm clock, prayer, fasting, even calling her bishop. Since we lived 2,000 miles (3,220 km) apart, it was difficult for me to attend with her, but I even tried that!
I continually imagined that if I could just tweak the situation a little, my daughter would reestablish her spiritual trajectory. I felt I just needed the right person—her visiting teacher, her bishop, a friend or family member—to be placed in her path to say or do just the thing that would steer her back. But nothing was working. My head spun with worry, and my heart filled with guilt and anguish that I had failed her as a parent.
My daughter has not yet returned to church. But our goals are clear; we are both working to stay close. We talk frequently, and I know her LDS upbringing has helped her to become kind, disciplined, and thoughtful. While I would never have chosen for her to take the path she is currently traveling, I am grateful for the lessons we are learning along the way. And I have found peace as I embrace our unique positions in our journeys back home.

A package of sponges plopped onto the floor as Janis dug deeper into the closet. Then an old boot tumbled out. “Aha!” she said, grabbing at something, “here’s the broom!” But when she brought it out into the light, Janis saw that it was only half a broom. The straw part was missing. “Mom! Where’s the rest of the broom? I can’t be a witch without a broom!”
“You mean that old broom? I let your brother have it.”
Janis frowned. Why does he want it? she wondered.
“What am I going to do?” she moaned, walking into the kitchen. She sank into a chair and cupped her chin in her hands.
“Mom!” came a shout. “Where’s the black crepe pap—”
Janis whirled as her twin brother skidded to a stop in mid-sentence.
“Oh, I didn’t know you were here,” he said.
“But I know that you need black crepe paper,” she declared smugly. She’d used most of the black paper for her cape and hat. The remaining pieces were tucked under her bed.
“I don’t need it. Forget it!” Jack said irritably, and he turned and left the room.
“All this secrecy!” Mom said as she rinsed some dishes.
“There’s a prize for the best costume,” Janis explained. “And I don’t want anyone to know what I’m doing. But I still need a whole broom. Don’t we have another one?”
“That is the other one. I can’t let you take the good one, Janis, because I need it when I clean. How about a mop?”
“Mom! Witches never ride mops!”
“It was just a suggestion,” Mom said.
Janis went back to the closet and took the sorrowful-looking broom into her room. She was placing it in the corner when she heard footsteps. “Jack! No fair sneaking around.”
“I’m looking for something, not sneaking.”
“For black crepe paper?” she teased.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
It was true, she would like to know. But if she found out about Jack’s costume, it would only be fair that he knew about hers. And he won’t, she decided, not until Halloween.
During the next few days Janis worked on her costume. She made long string hair by gluing strands of Mom’s knitting yarn onto her witch’s hat. And she painted pieces of cutout cardboard silver and used them as buckles for her black shoes.
Trying on her costume, she thought, I look just like a witch—except for the broomstick! She glanced sadly at her strawless broom.
“I wish I could think of something to use for a broom,” she said, showing her costume to her mother.
“I like your costume, dear,” Mom said. “You managed all the other parts of the outfit. Maybe you can still figure out a way to get a proper broom.”
Janis’s dark eyes stared at the artificial flower centerpiece her mother was arranging. It looks real if I don’t look very close. It even has fake weeds that remind me of—“Mom! That’s it. Your flowers!” she shouted.
“Flowers?” Mom asked. “A bouquet for a witch?”
“No, for my broomstick.”
With Mom’s help Janis tied some skinny yellow weeds onto the bottom of the broom handle with a piece of twine. Not bad, she thought when they were through, but I still wonder what Jack used the straw from the broom for.
The night of the Halloween party she found out. She was dressed and waiting for Jack to come out of his room when he walked down the hallway. He had on patched overalls and Mom’s funny fishing cap. A bird was perched on his scarecrow shoulder.
“A navy blue crow?” Janis asked, pointing to the strange-looking bird.
“You used all the black crepe paper, Witch Janis,” Jack said, tapping Janis’s tall hat.
Her gaze fell to the cuffs of his flannel shirt. Bits of yellow straw! “So that’s what happened to the broom!” she declared.
“What’s that stuff on the bottom of your broom?” he asked.
Janis told him about the dried flowers.
“I could’ve used them,” Jack said. “Then you would’ve had a regular broom.”
“And I hid the leftover crepe paper under my bed. There was enough to make a black crow,” Janis admitted.
“But you wanted your costumes to be big secrets,” Mom reminded them.
“Next year let’s tell each other about our costumes. Then we can help each other,” suggested Jack.
Janis looked at her brother and smiled. Even though the Halloween secrets had been fun, she was sure it would be more fun to plan their costumes together. “I think that’s a great idea,” she agreed.

But then my mind took me back to my first day of work nearly 40 years earlier. My father owned a bakery and baked bread that was distributed to many small markets in our city in southern Brazil. When I was a young child, I kept insisting that my father take me to work with him. One day he finally said yes!
My mother sewed a little white apron and a baker’s hat for me, and my dad and I went to the bakery. Together, we mixed and prepared dough, manually shaped the dough into loaves, and placed the loaves into the brick oven. When the bread finished baking, we used a long wooden paddle to carefully retrieve the bread. We waited for a few seconds, then we shared a loaf of the still-warm bread. It tasted wonderful!
Upon reflection, I decided that receiving an award at Cambridge was my second-best day of work. The best and happiest day at work was in a much more humble setting: a little bakery with no audience or standing ovation. It was just me and my dad. That day, he taught me to love and value work and helped me feel the joy of making something from scratch with my own hands. I learned that hard work is satisfying to both the body and the soul.
I can still hear the applause and the words of encouragement coming from that audience at the University of Cambridge, but more dear to me is the memory of my day at the bakery with my father and the smell of those loaves of bread as they came out of the oven.