Gospel Story Finder

Photograph posed by model
When I crossed the finish line of the Mayor’s Marathon in Anchorage, Alaska, I felt extremely grateful to be a finisher because I had been fighting the battle of living with a chronic illness. After receiving my finisher’s medal, I hurried to call my mother. She was thousands of miles away serving a mission with my father in Samoa. With heartfelt emotion and tender tears, my first celebratory words to her were “I’m free! I’m free!”
Four years before then, I had been diagnosed with post-viral fatigue syndrome, often associated with symptoms of chronic fatigue syndrome. After many blood tests, MRIs, and CAT scans, I was referred to an infectious disease specialist. At last, after months of wondering what was wrong with me, the virus was found. The doctor found the cytomegalovirus (CMV) in one of my blood tests. I asked him about a treatment plan and how long my symptoms might last. His answer was not what I wanted to hear. He told me that I would need to rest often and not overdo it. He told me that the symptoms could last for several months or even years.
How could I rest? I was a full-time elementary physical education teacher and Young Women leader. My husband and I had been married for 16 years and had not yet been blessed to have children of our own, so I tried to fill this void by teaching other children and serving the young women. After offering many prayers, I knew it was time for me to resign from my teaching position. I did not have the strength or the energy to teach or do much of anything. I often experienced daily headaches, joint pain, dizziness, anxiety, loss of concentration, unrefreshed sleep, and extreme fatigue.
What was I going to do? I knew I had two choices: give up or hold on. I chose to hold on because I knew that with my faith anchored in Jesus Christ, I could endure the struggle.
The struggle continued for four years. Getting dressed every morning became exhausting. Just doing one load of laundry wore me out. I could not drive myself to appointments due to dizziness and exhaustion. Asking others for help was challenging for me; but if the Spirit prompted me to do so, I would try to obey. I was amazed at the love that was offered to me. I had always been a giver. I had found joy in service. Now I had to allow others to serve me and hold on to hope for healing.
In priesthood blessings that I received, I heard that I needed to be patient for healing to happen. I had read in the scriptures that if I would “bear with patience [my] afflictions,” the Lord would give me success (see Alma 26:27). I read a general conference talk from President Russell M. Nelson about the Lord’s ways and timing. He testified: “I know that an all-wise Heavenly Father’s perspective is much broader than is ours. While we know of our mortal problems and pain, He knows of our immortal progress and potential. If we pray to know His will and submit ourselves to it with patience and courage, heavenly healing can take place in His own way and time.”1 I knew I must hold on.
When I would attempt to walk half a block in my neighborhood, I often experienced shortness of breath, light-headedness, and joint pain. I had been a runner previous to contracting the virus, and now I could only walk slowly. Many times I would fall on my knees to pray that I could get up and feel up. The fatigue got worse every time I tried to get up and do too much. One day I got up and my back went out. I fell to the floor in tears and pain. I cried out to Heavenly Father, “I can’t take it anymore!” He knew I was down and helped me up once again. I would often tell myself, “Just hold on.” There was not much else I could do. By choosing to hold on to hope in Christ and continually calling upon the Lord, I was able to press on.
I decided I needed to focus on what I could do rather than what I couldn’t do during this physical affliction. I began by compiling a gratitude list. At the top of my list, I wrote that I was grateful for being alive and knowing who I am. By knowing that I am a daughter of God and that my Savior loves me, I was able to “press forward with a steadfastness in Christ, having a perfect brightness of hope” (2 Nephi 31:20).
I became determined to fill myself with a perfect brightness of hope, love, and gratitude by studying the life of Jesus Christ through reading the scriptures, receiving priesthood blessings, and serving others in small and grateful ways.
I was often filled with fear during this affliction. This fear would cause panic attacks and make me feel weary and unsure of my ability to ever recover and be whole. One day I received a card in the mail from my Relief Society president that included a scripture that became my peaceful prescription for overcoming the fear that was holding me back: “Perfect love casteth out all fear” (Moroni 8:16). Our Master Healer, Jesus Christ, would cast out my darkness, doubt, and despair and fill me with His light, love, and lift. My fear faded and my faith ignited.
After four years of chronic fatigue, I ran my first marathon in 2011 and have run 12 more since.
Photograph courtesy of the author
After four years, I knew I had been patient in affliction, and I felt physically able and prepared to move on. I wouldn’t be moving on alone. My husband and my children (the oldest of which was born two years into my illness) were my most enthusiastic cheerleaders.
So I began training for the marathon one step at a time. My husband decided to train with me and promised to run the race with me. During one of my training runs, I came upon a street sign that validated my healing. The street name at the top of a hill was Success. At that moment, I knew the Lord had kept His promise to me. I had been taught what I should do to endure this affliction: “Bear with patience thine afflictions, and I will give unto you success” (Alma 26:27).
The Lord gave me more success than I expected. He renewed my strength and healed my broken heart. I could run again, and after 16 years of not being able to have children, I was blessed to give birth to a son and a daughter (within 21 months of each other). I’m so grateful I held on to God’s guidance I had received in the scriptures.
I pressed forward through the illness with faith in Christ and with my husband and children as my cheerleaders. Now our children are old enough to run with us.
Photograph courtesy of the author
I know the words of Christ tell us all things that we should do (see 2 Nephi 32:3). I know that being patient helps the process of healing to happen. As Paul wrote, “Let us run with patience the race that is set before us” (Hebrews 12:1). Running the race of life requires us to overcome obstacles put on our path. By holding on to hope in Christ, pressing forward with a steadfastness in Christ, and moving on with His perfect love surrounding us, we will, in the Lord’s timing, be made free! (see John 8:36).
The author lives in Alaska.

On another occasion I met with a less-active woman. I recall entering her home for the first time along with the missionaries and knowing that she had a testimony; she just needed a little bit of “kindling” to help it burn brighter. As we sat in her living room and listened to her, the Spirit was strong and prompted us to bear testimony of the Atonement of Jesus Christ.
In the following months she came to church sporadically. But I was continually led by the Spirit and bore my testimony to her. Today she is active and serving in the branch.

When Ole Ravn-Petersen was 16, he obtained his father’s permission to be baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The baptism took place in a neoclassical-style building in a quiet residential area of Copenhagen, a meetinghouse that had been dedicated in 1931 by Elder John A. Widtsoe (1872–1952) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.
Later, after serving a mission, young Ole would come back to this same building to baptize his father. For him and for many other Danish members, fond memories of the building became only sweeter when it was renovated and dedicated as the Copenhagen Denmark Temple in May 2004.
Ole Ravn-Petersen now serves as bishop of the Århus Ward, Århus Denmark Stake, on the Jutland Peninsula, three hours away from Copenhagen by train. He visited his nation’s capital city recently and found himself thinking that the pace of life there was a bit hectic. And then he thought of the temple: “We have a place here in Copenhagen where we can get closer to our Heavenly Father.”

Laura Jensen of Jerome, Idaho, is proving to be one of the girls to watch at the Idaho A2 State Track championships. As a sophomore, Laura took first place in the South-Central Idaho Cross-Country Conference, in the Cross-State championship, and in the district cross-country championship.
Laura reached one of the goals she set for herself when she won the 3.1 mile state championship race. She crossed the finish line 55 seconds ahead of her nearest competitor.
Laura is an honor student. She attends early-morning seminary and is first counselor in her Laurel class in the Jerome Idaho Third Ward.

Another young woman, Katie, was at camp. She felt angry and abandoned because of overwhelming family problems. Her testimony teetered, in serious jeopardy. But a concerned leader, in an effort to live up to his holy calling, wrote Katie a note saying, “I love you. I believe in you. You have a testimony, because I have heard you bear it in these ways.” Then he listed those ways. The note arrived at the right time; Katie was strengthened to live her covenants because someone else strived to live his.

Two students of this University came to see me awhile ago. Six months earlier they had been married. They had declared their love one for another. They had pledged their loyalty one to another for time and eternity. Now, the young man came first. He was disillusioned. He was bitter. He was heartbroken. His wife, he said, did this and did that—simple little things of small consequence, such as leaving the dishes undone when she left for school in the morning. And then came his wife, a beautiful girl of great talent. She spoke of her husband’s faults. He was stingy. He did not pick up his clothes. He was careless. Each had his or her faults. Every one of those faults was easily correctable. The problem lay in the fact that there was a stronger inclination to emphasize the faults than there was to talk of the virtues. With a little discipline, each could have changed. With a little desire, each could have spoken with a different tone. But neither was willing. They had permitted a negative attitude to destroy the sweetest, richest association of life. They had thrown away with careless and sour words the hopes and dreams of eternity. With criticism and shouting, they had violated the sacred promises that might have taken them on to exaltation.

President Kasue immediately obtained a copy of the registration document and took it to the assistant chief of Chyulu Village to assure the rights of the Church to operate legally. The Saints could now meet without fear, and their membership soon increased to about 40. They needed a place to meet, but a mission had not yet been established and no meetinghouse was provided. The members built a small bower on President Kasue’s land.
In July 1991 the Kenya Nairobi Mission was organized with Larry Brown as president. Soon he and Sister Brown made a visit to Chyulu. “Although the trip was grueling, it was worth it!” says President Brown. “I remember that the sacrament meeting was held in the bower, but it was raining and the ground inside was wet. Before the priesthood holders knelt down to bless the sacrament, they threw an old sack on the mud. The next time we went, I happened to look in the sacrament trays, and there were only two small pieces of crackers. … They broke those crackers up. There were 63 people there, and I didn’t think those crackers would ever go around, but they did. It was like feeding the 5,000.”7

We gradually picked up the pace as our bikes passed under the arched gateway which admitted us into the heart of the old city. I was always impressed when I saw the massive city wall that was built over 800 years ago to protect the inhabitants of the beautiful city of Luebeck in Northern Germany.
I didn’t have much time to think about the wall though, because I had my hands full just keeping the bike from bucking me off as we clattered over the narrow cobblestone street. The generator attached to my front wheel whined as I raced my companion to our small second floor apartment on Kleine Burg Strasse.
Elder Peterson usually got home first—not because he was the senior companion, but because he had a new three-speed bicycle, and I had what we called a no-speed bike.
We were both almost flying as we turned the last corner and headed toward our place. Elder Peterson braked hard, jumped off his bike, and was halfway up the steps with a look of satisfaction on his face by the time I had pedaled the final distance.
We parked our bikes inside the front entryway, locked the door, and hurried up the narrow stairs to the place we had both called home for about three months. We didn’t talk much as we whipped off our jackets and ties and headed for the small refrigerator that supplied us with our nightly dose of yogurt, not the yogurt we had disliked in the States, but creamy plain yogurt that we ate with canned strawberries, Haferflocken (oats), and raisins.
After a blessing on the food, we savored our homemade snack and discussed the events of the day.
“I think Frau Malchow is going to make it,” Elder Peterson said between mouthfuls of yogurt.
“Yeah, if her husband would start reading the Book of Mormon like he promised, maybe they’d both get baptized.”
“Tomorrow let’s finish the last two streets in the neighborhood over by Sister Sasse and then start looking for a new area.”
“Sounds good to me. I’m not used to doing five or six hours of tracting a day without being able to get in and teach a single discussion,” I responded after a big yawn and a stretch.
We rinsed out our large cups, changed, and knelt for personal prayer. I made a mental note to review one of the discussions the next morning so when we did get in I would be prepared to tell the fine family (I always had goals to teach families) about the plan of salvation.
We quietly crawled into our beds and were soon asleep. About 11:00 P.M. Elder Peterson was awakened by the phone.
“Elder Klomp, wake up, it’s for you. It’s President Schwendimann.”
I tried to shake the sleep from my head before I took the phone. The mention of the mission president’s name did help to bring me back from the world of dreams.
“Elder Klomp,” the president said, “I don’t know exactly how to say this to you, but today I received a call from your sister and she told me that your father had just passed away. She wants you to call her and your mother at your brother’s home in southern Nevada tomorrow at 1:00 P.M. your time.
“You have our deepest sympathies, and if there is anything Sister Schwendimann and I can do for you, don’t hesitate to contact us.”
I mumbled a reply and hung up the phone. I was dazed. I stumbled over a shoe in the dark as I made my way to the tiny kitchen that was perched in the space where the roof angled down from over my head to the floor. I gazed out the window at the stars shining brightly.
Had I really heard what I thought I just heard? I asked myself. The cold tears streaming down my face led me to believe that I was awake and hadn’t imagined those words about my dad. I hadn’t been dreaming. I never had nightmares like that anymore anyway. But then it must be true!
Not my dad. My dad was always so healthy and strong! He was healthy before that stroke that temporarily paralyzed him. He was healthy the whole time I was growing up, even though he was a lot older than most of my friends’ fathers. Hadn’t he given me a big hug and tried to hold back the tears at the airport when I was getting ready to fly to Germany? Hadn’t he been proud of me, the last of his three sons to serve a mission for our Father in Heaven? Hadn’t he told me stories about his mission and taught me that I should prepare myself to be the best missionary I could possibly be? How could he be gone? Not my dad.
I need you Dad—I’m your little boy—help me know what to do, Dad, I thought to myself as I gazed out that little window at the wonders of the night. Dad, you were the one who first showed me Orion and the Pleiades, remember? Look over there—I’ve spotted the Big Dipper and the North Star too.
Please Heavenly Father, give me some kind of sign so I’ll know that my dad is with you and he’s okay. I love my dad. Please, help me!
While I waited for the outward sign that never came, my mind and heart were full of poignant memories. I remembered how proud Dad and I had both been on the day when we met with our priesthood leaders in the stake president’s office. I remembered the strength I felt in the hands as they joined in a circle around me as my father ordained me an elder after the order of Melchizedek.
“Well, Elder Rick,” they said to me afterward as they enthusiastically shook my hand, “we know that you are going to be a terrific missionary.”
As I shook my father’s hand and looked into his misty eyes, I knew that he was also sure that I would be successful.
That memory faded and was replaced with the “D” discussion I had preprogrammed myself to study. The details of the plan of salvation ran through my mind as the tears slowly dried on my cheeks.
I reviewed the premortal existence and the council of heaven and realized for the first time that my father must have been there. I knew my dad had been born to receive a body, like everybody else, and had obeyed the Lord’s commandments to the best of his ability like we all must. He was always the most selfless man I had ever known, and even though he wasn’t the most verbal individual, we always knew by the things he did that he loved Mom and us more than he could say.
Nobody enjoyed being home with his family more than my dad. About the only thing Dad would let take him away from his family was the gospel he loved so much. Few people had served in as many different capacities in the Church as my dad. I knew that he had successfully honored his first and second estates, and could surely expect a promising future with our Heavenly Father.
I tried to imagine my dad’s reunion with his earthly parents and little sister who had died over 50 years ago. It wasn’t hard to picture Uncle Lew and Uncle Vic also waiting with open arms to welcome Dad to his next field of labor, almost like a transfer in the mission field.
These thoughts brought a smile to my heart as I continued to gaze out that tiny kitchen window. I knew I didn’t have to worry about what was in store for my dad.
What about Mom, though? They had been married nearly 40 years. What would she do without him?
My stomach tightened nervously until I remembered that this was the week of the Klomp family reunion in Panaca, Nevada. All four of my older brothers and sisters and their families would be there with Mom to help her through this difficult time. She would be comforted by her children as she so often had comforted each of us. It seemed terribly fair somehow. I realized also that Mom was not a weak, ignorant, or faithless woman. She had helped me gain a better understanding of and love for the gospel of Jesus Christ and would certainly take strength from that same fountain of truth.
I don’t know how long I stood at that window, but I do remember being stiff as my eyelids began to droop again with fatigue. I stretched, still staring out the window, hoping to see something, anything which would show me that everything was all right. It wasn’t until later that I realized that my “sign” had come in the form of the Spirit speaking peace to my heart, calming my fears, and warming me with the love of a faraway family and a God who was very near.
When I finally pulled myself away from the window, I wondered whether or not I should return home, leaving my mission only half served. I remembered scriptures about putting your hand to the plow and then turning away or loving father and mother more than the Savior. I felt confident that Dad would have wanted me to stay and finish the work I had been given to do, but decided that if Mom needed me, I would go home to help her.
I kept the whole thing pretty much to myself the next day and was determined not to let it affect the work. Actually it still didn’t seem real. It seemed like a hazy dream. But I still made plans to make the phone call to my family.
After a busy morning and a quick lunch, we pedaled to the post office so I could make the call. I waited anxiously in the long-distance line. When my turn finally came, I gave the man behind the desk the right phone number, and he directed me to the appropriate plexiglass phone booth in the center of the building.
“Hello, Nancy, can you hear me?” I said when the connection was made.
“Yes, Rick. I’m so glad you were able to call. We’re all here taking good care of Mama and we want you to know that everything is fine. She wants you to do what you think is right.”
After speaking to Mom and some of the rest of the family and hearing that Dad had seemed really fulfilled and happy to have almost all his family around before he died, I knew that I wasn’t really needed at home. I was needed in Germany to do the work a prophet of God had assigned me to do. The still, small voice comforted me, and I was able to complete the second half of my mission in a way that honored my beliefs, my family, and most of all, my dad. He had endured, faithful to the end, and taught me to do the same. Did he ever quit or give up before he finished an assignment? Not my dad!

Not long after I had completed the Book of Mormon for the second time, my husband left our family. The seemingly impossible tasks of my new job became extremely stressful, and my son’s chronic health condition left me feeling like I was drowning.
But then I remembered reading in the Book of Mormon about how Amulon had placed great burdens upon Alma and his people. When the people prayed for help, the Lord told them He was mindful of their situation and would deliver them. Until then, He said, “I will also ease the burdens which are put upon your shoulders, that even you cannot feel them upon your backs” (Mosiah 24:14).
I had studied that chapter in Mosiah many times before, and I had taught it many times to others in gospel classes. I believed the truth of those verses. Because I had become familiar with the teachings in the Book of Mormon, I knew that personal truth appears when I liken the scriptures to my personal circumstances.
So I began reading that chapter every day for strength and to remind myself that the Lord cared about me too. I still had to experience trials, but He did lighten my burdens.
Those verses in the Book of Mormon carried me through a time of great personal adversity, providing me with peace and a comforting knowledge that the Lord is mindful of all His children.

Recently a stake president shared with me a tender story. Both the Relief Society and the priesthood had been working with a family in their stake but had failed to make progress with the parents. Primary leaders found the answer. Permission was given by the parents for their young daughter to attend Primary. Their one condition was that she had to want to go badly enough to get there on her own. Rides to church could not be provided. Because she had to go through a rough part of town, the ward council saw to it that someone would drive along beside her as she rode an old bicycle to church.

Through summer heat, through rain and even snow, she persisted in going to church. At Christmastime, a family in the ward gave this faithful little girl a new 10-speed bicycle. This so touched the parents that they too began attending church. This young girl was baptized. What made the baptism even more special was that it was performed by the newest priest in the ward, her recently activated father.

I had the special honor and privilege of being the last person called as a General Authority by President David O. McKay before his death. As I visited with him in his apartment, I found him to be advanced in years and a very weak man in physical strength: his body was frail, his voice was soft, and words did not come easily. I sat quietly, waiting for President McKay to advise me as to the purpose of the appointment. Finally, in a still voice of perfect mildness, he said, “I want you to help me.” That was my invitation, that was my call to be a General Authority. That was one of my unforgettable quiet experiences with President David O. McKay.

After leaving his apartment, I felt that I had a better understanding about the Savior’s calling of his associates. Whether it be on the shores of Galilee or in the market place or paths of life, I’m certain that his invitation could have been nothing more that “I want you to help me in proclaiming the gospel and being special witnesses for me.” This experience more than twenty years ago brought to me a closeness to President McKay, a man I had loved, admired, and respected over the years.

I will always be grateful to him because he quietly called me, expected me, and wanted me to perform special service with him. I left my occupation and former business activities and responsibilities to help him as a prophet. I tremble today in remembering the called me with a whisper that pierced my soul.

I noted that we also bear our testimonies by our lives. In World War II I was stationed at an army camp in Pennsylvania. We lived in a little ward in which our stake patriarch also lived. His name was William G. Stoops. Brother Stoops worked at a machine shop in the little town of Waynesboro, Pennsylvania. Everyone called him “Pappy.” He was a kindly, gentle, wonderful, exemplary member of the Church. All who met him honored and admired him. One time a nonmember with whom he worked said something like this: “I don’t know much about the Mormon church. I have never met with the missionaries, and I have never studied the doctrine. I have never been to one of their services, but I know Pappy Stoops; and if the Church produces men like Pappy Stoops, it has to have much good in it.” We never know the power of our own example for either good or bad.

So one day in November of 2000, we had just come back from our mission, and a friend of mine, who had been the visitor center director in Palmyra, and I were running Senator Hatch’s reelection for the senate and we were just finishing. I thought, This is it, I’m through, I am going to be with the grand kids and play golf, enjoy life. Retail business 43 years, six days a week, early and late. I got a call from Don Staheli, secretary to President Hinckley and he said, “Brother Mac, President Hinckley would like to see you.” I said, “Okay, when?”
“Could you come over now?” We had an office over in the Key Bank building, just kind of kitty-corner across the street and down, and I said, “Okay.”
“Well, why don’t you come over now.”
“Okay.” Well, he wasn’t asking Sister Christensen to come. Our two youngest boys had run the store in the ZCMI Center. Since we came back from our mission, our boys (we have fours sons and a son-in-law that run our business) and they said, “Dad, if you’ll just stay out of the stores, we’ll send you and mom money.” So I wasn’t involved in the stores, but I thought President may want to tell me how good these two young men were. They maybe had pressed his suit or done something nice for President Hinckley. So I go over and go in the outer office, and Brother Staheli takes me right in to see the president, and I had known the president for a long time, and he said, “Mac, sit down.” So I sit down. And he said, “Mac, we are calling you to be president of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.” Sometimes you know there might be a calling coming - I had no idea. Especially president of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. I said, “President, I’m a monotone!” And he kind of looked at me, in only the way he can, and said, “Mac, we’re not calling you to sing.” I said, “President, who do I report to?”
“You report to me.” President Hinckley had been and is the advisor to the Mormon Tabernacle Choir and the Orchestra at Temple Square for over thirty years. Thirty years. And then he told me what a magnificent calling this was, how fortunate I was, what great people I had to work with. The choir has two music directors, they have two managers, they have a senior secretary and a part time secretary, they have three organists and two part time organists, and forty volunteers, 360 members of the choir and about 140 orchestra members. He told me the things that he wanted to see happen and the things to watch for, things that you would never think that he would even say. And who do I report to? I report to the president. If there is something that we need to get an approval, you go over and you see him, you call up and make an appointment and you’re there.

This story happened in the USA.
Bjorn looked around at all the big cardboard boxes in his new home. His family had just moved from Argentina to the United States.
It was scary to move so far away. Everything was unfamiliar. But he knew that if he was with his family, everything would be OK.
As Bjorn helped his family unpack, Mami picked up a big box and smiled. “This one has our Christmas ornaments in it!” she said.
Bjorn smiled. He loved Christmas and was excited to celebrate it with his family. He was still nervous about living in a new place, but knowing that it was almost Christmas cheered him up.
A few days later, Bjorn’s family sat down together for a home evening lesson about Christmas. Papi explained that it is a season for giving gifts.
“Yay! Presents!” Bjorn said.
“Yes, getting presents is fun,” Mami said. “But it’s even more important to give gifts to the Savior.”
“How do we give presents to Jesus?” asked Bjorn.
“When we serve others like Jesus did, it makes Him happy,” said Mami.
The next morning Bjorn heard a knock at the front door. He jumped out of bed and ran to see who it was. But when Papi and Mami opened the door, nobody was there. Instead, Mami picked up a small, shiny gift from the doorstep.
“Where did it come from?” Bjorn asked.
“I’m not sure,” Mami said. “Maybe an angel!”
Bjorn’s eyes got wide. “Like an angel from heaven?”
Papi smiled. “No. Sometimes we call people angels when they do kind things for us. It’s like they are Heavenly Father’s helpers here on earth.”
Bjorn jumped in the air. “I want to be an angel too! I want to do kind things for others. That will be my Christmas gift to Jesus.”
“Great idea!” Papi said. “Jesus will love your gift.”
For the rest of the week, Bjorn woke up every morning to find a new gift on the doorstep. He felt so loved when the angels left gifts for his family. He wanted to show his family that he loved them too.
So Bjorn got to work. He secretly prepared gifts for his parents and siblings. He shined Papi’s shoes while he was at work and drew a heart for Mami. Then he wrapped one of his favorite toy cars for his brother. He got bubble gum for his sister.
Carefully, Bjorn wrote the names on each present and placed them under the Christmas tree. He couldn’t wait to see their happy faces! He felt warm inside just thinking about it.
On Christmas Day, Bjorn gave each family member their gift. He was so excited he could hardly sit still.
When Papi saw his shiny shoes, he said, “Wow, thank you, Bjorn! These look wonderful.”
Bjorn’s brother and sister opened their presents, then jumped up to give Bjorn hugs. “Thanks!” they said.
Mami smiled when she unwrapped the picture Bjorn had drawn for her. “You’ve helped make this Christmas so special, Bjorn. Thank you for being our little angel,” she said.
Bjorn felt happy inside. He knew that showing love to his family was the perfect present to give Jesus!

“When I was a little boy,” President Hinckley said, “we traveled by horse and buggy. We had a sorrel horse, Prince, who was a feisty animal. He had to be treated just right or he would get a little balky and mean. He was rather high-spirited but a fine-looking animal.

“Then one historic day in our family, my father came driving up to our home in a new 1916 Model T Ford. What an exciting day that was! That Ford took the place of Prince and the buggy, yet all the time that I was growing up, we had a saddle horse or two.”

The trouble with some of us is we get caught in monkey traps. In Africa, the natives have a unique, effective way to capture monkeys. They lop the top off a coconut, remove the meat, and leave a hole in the top of the coconut large enough for the monkey to put his paw in. Then they anchor the coconut to the ground with some peanuts in it. When the natives leave, the monkeys, smelling those delicious peanuts, approach the coconuts, see the peanuts in them, put their paws in to grasp the nuts, and attempt to remove the nuts—but find that the hole is too small for their doubled-up fists. The natives return with gunny sacks and pick up the monkeys—clawing, biting, screaming—but they won’t drop the peanuts to save their lives.

I swept pretzels, cereal, popcorn, and chips into a pile.
“Nope. I didn’t eat any of these things,” I said as I brushed them into a dustpan.
My husband, sitting at the table, said quietly, “It’s the mother’s sacrifice.”
I straightened up. “What?” I asked.
He spoke louder and clearer between bites of breakfast: “It’s what mothers do. They spend their lives cleaning up messes that they had no hand in making—just like the Savior did.”
This observation was profound to me. I should have been pleased to consider that sweeping crumbs was more Christlike than I had thought. But instead, I felt a wave of guilt. I felt uncomfortable with the comparison. How many times had I mentioned to my spouse or simply to myself all the things I had done for my children, hoping for recognition and gratitude? It didn’t seem wrong to desire that my children be more grateful, but in that moment of clarity, I saw that my desire was more about me receiving praise or compensation than it was about them learning gratitude. But the Savior never required praise. He never asked for it or wanted it.
I then realized my motives were rarely pure enough for the comparison my husband had made. The Savior never keeps a list to compare what He’s done to what I’ve done. I would lose every time.
With the broom still in my hand, I awoke to a new concept of mothering—mothering as He would. Not for praise, recognition, a hug, or even a thank-you. I would sweep up crumbs with love because that is what He would do.
Everything He did was in obedience to His Father. It was never about Him. The Lord always mends the broken and cleans up our messes infinitely with perfect love, for His Father and for us. I will now strive to teach and serve my children with the purest love I can. Only then do I feel like I am truly participating in Christlike mothering.

The invitation to attend came about through a communication, the letterhead bearing the imprint of the royal crown and the heading “Honor Semper—SOVEREIGN ORDER OF CYPRUS.” With the approval of the author I quote the letter:
(Received September 1, 1971)
My dear Mr. Benson:
Given the task [by the king] of inviting world religious leaders to the 2500th anniversary of Cyrus the Great, in Iran—I should like to have a Mormon leader included.
Having been with you in Innsbruck, Austria, and of course knowing your distinction, I write to ask if you would be with us or, if not, could you help us to get proper Mormon representation.
The time is short, as the dates are Oct. 10 to 17. Transportation and hospitality is paid. This is the greatest celebration in the history of Iran—royalty, heads of State, diplomats will be present.
Kindly give thought to the above and let me know soon. Thank you for your courtesy and with continued high regards,
Baron Frary von Blomberg
President
World Fellowship of Religions
The Innsbruck, Austria, meeting referred to in the Baron’s letter occurred in this manner. In 1964, just before the opening of the Winter Olympics, we were touring the Austrian Mission of the Church. On the tour were President Peter Locher, his wife, and Sister Benson. And on that tour we were to dedicate a lovely chapel, just finished, in Innsbruck. Some six hundred people crowded the building designed to serve a growing branch of two hundred. Invited and present were the mayor of Innsbruck, the national senator of the area, and, with the mayor, Baron von Blomberg. The new chapel was located on a new street, unpaved except in front of our property. In his most fitting talk the mayor explained that while they “didn’t quite have enough time to get the entire street paved, we were able to complete the street and sidewalk paving in front of your property in time for this dedication.”
It was a lovely, spirited service of gratitude and rejoicing for the restored gospel. As the baron said, when he confirmed the letter of invitation by long-distance telephone, “I remember well the spirit of that occasion and how deeply I was impressed by the messages given.” Yes, my brothers and sisters, the Spirit is very real. You cannot fool the Spirit. Some people try, only to learn of their own folly.
And so that is the genesis of the invitation. The office of the First Presidency, after seeing the letter of invitation and knowing that I would be in Europe at the time—and with all expenses paid—advised me to attend this unusual celebration.

I arrived home from babysitting expecting to leave again within a few minutes. Some of my friends from school were in a band, and their concert was that night. Walking through the door, I saw my family seated on the couch, watching a movie and sharing a bowl of popcorn. Looking back, I realize it was a beautiful scene, but in that moment the only thought my mind recognized was of the concert that had already begun.
Anxious to leave, I reminded my parents, the only car-key bearing members of our family, of the time. They were not, however, to be moved. Dad said it was too late at night. Mom told me she still had to hem my brother’s pants before church the next day. They smiled and invited me to join the movie. I stared in disbelief.
I went to my room. I wanted to stand there and scream. I wanted to cry, write negative things in my journal, and listen to loud music. But then I realized that maybe not being able to go to the concert wasn’t that big of a deal. Maybe being downstairs with my family and their popcorn was where I needed to be.
A scripture came to my mind, the scripture mastery verse from Joshua that talks about choosing whom we will serve (see Joshua 24:15). In that moment I realized the Lord has given us agency for a reason—that it’s not just about making good choices. Sometimes decisions are made for us, and when that happens, the choice we have is how we will handle them.
I knew how I would handle mine. I knew whom I would serve.
I turned off my music and ran downstairs, lacing my hand through my mom’s welcoming one.

As a young BYU student I learned a little something about staying on course when heading home. One Christmas Eve my brother and I left to drive home to Kansas. But early in our journey we learned that a huge snowstorm was heading our way, so we pulled out a map, identified a detour that would skirt the edge of the storm, and headed into parts unknown. Our creative navigating proved dangerous. Our new route was unfamiliar, and we still ran right into the blizzard. To make matters worse, late that night as we were creeping along in blinding snow on an obscure highway, our old Ford quit. We were stranded. And we had absolutely no idea where we were.

Eventually we caught a ride to the nearest town, where we found that we were still hours from home and marooned in Last Chance, Colorado. At that point there was only one thing to do. We called home for help. In the middle of the night our father left to come and rescue us. By the next afternoon we were all safely home.

I’ll never forget Christmas Eve in Last Chance, where we were immobilized by a problem largely of our own making and one we were unequipped to solve. That day our father did for us what we could not do for ourselves. Now, each one of us is on the path towards our eternal home. And for various reasons we all need rescue—rescue from loneliness and heartache, from despair and disillusionment, from the consequences of innocent mistakes and blatant sin.