Gospel Story Finder

I live on the island of Lifou, one of the islands of New Caledonia. I was baptized on a Saturday afternoon by my father. We had to travel to another tribal area called Luengóni for my baptism because my tribe lives on the high ground, and we don’t have any beaches. When I went down into the water, I was afraid, and my heart was heavy. Coming out of the water I felt very light and full of joy. My heart was pounding with joy, for I knew that my church is the true Church of Jesus Christ. I love singing the hymns of the Church and reading the Book of Mormon. I bear you my testimony in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.Wajo Elenne Xowi, age 8, Lifou Island, New Caledonia

The year my parents were baptized, there was no temple in Brazil. The closest temple to where we lived in São Paulo was the Mesa Arizona Temple, almost 6,000 miles (9,650 km) away! Travel was too expensive, so my parents waited for years for the dedication of the São Paulo Brazil Temple, the first temple built and dedicated in all of South America, before they could receive their temple ordinances and be sealed. By that time, I was serving a mission in Rio de Janeiro.
About two months before I concluded my mission, my mission president allowed my companion and me to travel overnight with stake members from Rio de Janeiro to the São Paulo Brazil Temple so I could be sealed to my parents and receive my own temple ordinances. My experience in the temple had a tremendous impact on the rest of my mission. I loved testifying of the temple and the importance of God’s plan for families. The temple also changed my vision of the future.

Six-year-old Taylor loved stickers—big ones with lots of colors, and little ones that you could barely see. Sometimes he put them on papers or notebooks. And sometimes he put them on himself. Once he put an orange sticker on his arm, and a blue one on his chin. Another day he put a dog sticker on the toe of each tennis shoe. Today Taylor had a new sticker. He put it on his shirt, right in the middle of his chest.
Megan, his older sister, noticed the new sticker. “Where did you get that one?”
“Off the new socks Mom bought me yesterday,” Taylor said. “Isn’t it great?”
Megan leaned close enough to read the sticker on her brother’s shirt and began to chuckle.
“What’s so funny?” Taylor asked defensively.
“It’s your sticker. It’s so—”
Taylor covered the sticker with his hand. “What’s the matter with it?”
Mom heard the discussion and came into the room. “What’s going on here?”
“Megan’s making fun of my sticker.”
“No, I wasn’t,” Megan responded. “I promise. It’s just so cute! Look at what it says, Mom.”
Mom lifted Taylor’s hand from the sticker and read aloud, “Stain-resistant sole.”
“What does it mean?” Taylor asked.
Mom answered with a smile, “It means that some kind of protection was put on the bottom of your socks so that they won’t get dirty as easily.”
“Don’t you get it, Mom? Taylor has a stain-resistant soul! S-o-u-l!” Megan chuckled again.
“I don’t want people laughing at me,” Taylor said, starting to rip the sticker off.
Mom reached out to him. “We’re not, Taylor. You see, soul can be spelled two ways. One way, s-o-l-e, means the bottom of your foot—that’s what the sock that this sticker was on protects. The other spelling, s-o-u-l, means you—your body and spirit together. So when Megan said that you have a stain-resistant soul, that’s good. It means that you are trying your best to do what is right and keep your soul—your body and spirit—clean.”
Taylor smiled at Megan and decided to leave the sticker on. “May I go outside to play now?”
“Sure, but come right home for dinner when I call you.”
Taylor ran out the back door and saw his brother’s skateboard. His brother didn’t like other people riding it without his permission, but he was away for the weekend. Great! Taylor thought. He put one foot on the skateboard, then thought of his sticker and took his foot off the board. He wanted to stay a stain-resistant soul.
He looked up and saw his best friend, Colby, running out of his garage. “Colby—wait up!”
“You’re just in time,” Colby said excitedly. “I’m going to light some firecrackers.”
Taylor stopped. “My mom says I’m not supposed to light matches unless a grown-up’s with me.”
“She won’t know. Come on—it’ll be fun!”
Taylor started to follow his friend. Then he thought of his sticker. Would lighting firecrackers keep my soul stain-resistant? No. Maybe there’s something else we can do. He said, “I don’t want to do that, Colby. Let’s play on the trampoline.”
Colby liked Taylor’s idea, so the two boys jumped on the trampoline until Taylor’s mom called him. Taylor hurried home.
“Wash your hands,” Mom reminded him as he rushed into the kitchen. He went into the bathroom and turned on the water. He saw Taffy, their cat. She hated water, and Taylor loved to tease her by splashing water at her. But just as he aimed his wet hands at her, he remembered his sticker. He couldn’t tease the cat and stay a stain-resistant soul, so he dried his hands, and ran to the kitchen.
His dad was just coming in from the other direction. “How’s my big boy?” Dad gave Taylor a hug. “Hey, what’s this on your shirt? Another sticker?”
“Oh, that’s a special sticker,” Mom said.
“He got it off his new socks,” Megan added.
“Stain-resistant sole?” Dad asked. “Why is that so special?”
“Don’t you get it, Dad?” Taylor blurted out. He thought about how he had resisted riding on his brother’s skateboard without permission, how he had resisted playing with fire at Colby’s house, and how he had even resisted teasing Taffy. “I’m a stain-resistant s-o-u-l!”

I really enjoy reading the Church Magazine. Recently I have been having problems. I knew I would have to tell my bishop in order to truly repent. I just couldn’t muster up the strength to confess my sins to him. Then I got the August issue of Tambuli. It discussed the problem I had in the Question and Answer section. (See “Confessing to the Bishop,” page 28.) After reading it I realized that I was not alone. That very day I went to my bishop and talked to him. It was hard, but your article gave me the strength. Thanks to the authors and the youth who shared their experiences. I know that you were truly inspired.
Name Withheld

When I was growing up in Lehi, Utah, USA, my family had a garden large enough that we rotated the corn and potatoes every year. One day my father told me to weed the corn while he weeded the potatoes. As I worked my way down a row of six-inch-high (15 cm) corn, I found a solitary potato plant growing larger and more beautiful than any of the potato plants on Dad’s side of the garden. I called to him and asked, “What should I do with this?”
Dad barely looked up. “Pull it.”
Believing he hadn’t realized I was pointing to a potato plant, I objected, “But Dad, it isn’t a weed. It’s a potato.” Again, without looking up, he said, “Not this year. This year it’s a weed. Pull it.” So I did.
Since then I have often pondered the wisdom of my father’s words. I have come to realize that obedience is not just making a right choice but making a right choice in the right season. When I consider all the things Heavenly Father would have me do in this life, doing them at the right time seems as critical as doing them at all. For instance, serving a mission, dating, getting married, having children, gaining an education, and beginning full-time employment are right choices. Yet when people do these good things in the wrong order, the consequences are often disastrous.
King Benjamin taught that we should “see that all … things are done in wisdom and order” (Mosiah 4:27). Elder Neal A. Maxwell (1926–2004) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught, “Faith also includes trust in God’s timing, for He has said, ‘All things must come to pass in their time’ (D&C 64:32).”1
I believe Satan deceives us by convincing us to do the right things in the wrong order: sexual intimacy before marriage, dating before age 16, becoming a parent and then getting married, and so forth. The greatest commandments of God, when compromised or polluted, become plants grown out of season—weeds. When I have been tempted to justify doing the right thing in the wrong season, I have been grateful for my father’s important lesson: “Not this year. This year it’s a weed. Pull it.”

They had left him! Derek stood in the driveway with his shiny black Sunday shoes in his hands. He had been digging the shoes out of the bottom of his closet when he heard the car’s engine starting. Bounding down the stairs, Derek only caught a glimpse of the family van as it turned the corner.
Derek was sure that his family hadn’t left him on purpose. Mom probably thought he was in the backseat of the van. A lonely, empty feeling filled Derek’s stomach. What was he supposed to do now?
Sitting down in the middle of the driveway, Derek pulled on his socks and shoes. If his family had forgotten him, he would just walk to church by himself. It was a warm day, and he was pretty sure he knew the way.
He started confidently down the street. He walked past the Garretts’ house, past the tree house in the willow where he played after kindergarten, and past the Petersons’ house. He was about to turn the corner when a sudden thought came to him: he needed to go back to the house.
Derek stopped mid-step. That was silly. Why should he go back? He stood silently on the deserted sidewalk, thinking about what to do next. He took another step down the street.
The thought came again, this time stronger. “Go back to the house!” He turned and ran as fast as his feet would carry him back to the house. He ran past the Petersons’, past the tree house, and past the Garretts’, his Sunday shoes pounding loudly on the sidewalk. He ran through the front door and slammed it shut behind him. Out of breath and filled with panic, he slumped down in the corner of the family room behind the couch and curled up tightly in a ball. He could hear his heart pounding loudly in his chest. He shut his eyes tightly and murmured a short prayer. “Please help my family to come find me soon!”
As soon as he had finished saying the words, he heard the front door open. “Derek?” someone called. Derek peeked over the couch. His older sister, Amanda, was standing in the doorway. “Oh, there you are!” she exclaimed when she saw the top of his head. Derek ran to her, threw his arms around her legs and started to cry. Amanda knelt down to give him a hug.
“Oh, Bud,” she said softly. “It’s OK. You know we wouldn’t ever really forget you.”
Derek nodded through his tears. “I started to walk to church, but then I heard something telling me to go back to the house. Then I said a prayer, and you came back.”
“Good job!” Amanda said. “You must have been following the promptings of the Holy Ghost!” Derek was surprised. Was that who the thoughts had come from?
Amanda continued, “I’m glad you came back because it helped me to find you quickly. What if you had walked a different way than I came home, or if you had gotten lost? You made the right choice.”
Derek smiled at his big sister. A warm feeling started in his heart and filled him up inside. “Thank you, Amanda,” he said. “I’m glad that I listened to the Spirit.”

But the members of the choir are not the only people who think of Mary Jack as their Mary. Her love for children flowed through the pages of The Children’s Friend for nearly sixty years too. When she was still a girl in her teens, she left her home in Oakley, Idaho, to go to Salt Lake to find work. Since her father was president of the Cassia Stake there and had centered his family’s life in the Church, it was natural that Mary would seek work in one of the offices at Church headquarters.
The Primary Association needed secretarial help, and Mary was hired. It soon became apparent to Sister Louie B. Felt, General Primary President, that her quiet and modest little secretary could do far more than type. And so in 1920 Mary was called to be general secretary and a member of the Primary General Board where she served for twenty years.
Of even more importance to boys and girls, Sister May Anderson, who was then editor of The Children’s Friend and a counselor in the General Primary Presidency, discovered that Mary could write in a way that touched the hearts of children. Because there was a need for someone just like her to help prepare stories, poems, and articles for The Children’s Friend, the after-midnight organ player became associated with that magazine. She was a managing editor of the magazine late in 1970 when the First Presidency decided to ask all the auxiliaries to discontinue their magazines and transfer the publishing responsibility to the First Presidency of the Church.
Mary, who for so many years had been the “heart” of The Children’s Friend, was persuaded to stay with the new Friend staff, retiring in 1971. During those fifty-eight years that she blessed the boys and girls of the Church with her contributions to their magazine, she wrote under nine different names, her favorite being Mary Rose. One of her poems found in a 1930 issue is entitled “Clouds,” and shows Mary’s playful and imaginative nature:
The clouds are like a flock of sheep
Upon a summer day;
I see the big white woolly ones,
And little lambs at play.
I wonder what they graze upon,
And just how far they roam;
I wonder where the shepherd is
And how he’ll get them home.
Gradually Sister Anderson turned more and more of The Children’s Friend work over to Mary. “Finally,” Mary said, “I was doing it all myself—every speck—the layout, the pasteup. All of it. I did it!” And while she was doing all the mechanics of preparing material for a magazine, she was also writing to the contributors, sending them copies of the Book of Mormon, and giving money from her own small salary when anyone said they needed help.
Over the years “Our Mary” worked with and for every General Primary president since Sister Felt, with the exception of Sister Naomi Shumway.
“They’ve all been wonderful,” Mary declares. “People have to be different, but they’re all wonderful.”

My father had a horse and buggy when I was a boy. Then one summer day in 1916, a wonderful thing happened. It was an unforgettable thing. When he came home that evening he arrived in a shining black, brand-new Model T Ford. It was a wonderful machine, but by today’s standards it was a crude and temperamental sort of thing. For instance, it did not have a self-starter. It had to be cranked. You learned something very quickly about cranking that car. You retarded the spark, or the crank would kick back and break your hand. When it rained, the coils would get wet, and then it would not start at all. From that car I learned a few simple things about making preparation to save trouble. A little canvas over the cowl would keep the coils dry. A little care in retarding the spark would make it possible to crank without breaking your hand.

But the most interesting thing was the lights. The car had no storage battery. The only electricity came from what was called a magneto. The output of the magneto was determined by the speed of the engine. If the engine was running fast, the lights were bright. If the engine slowed, the lights became a sickly yellow. I learned that if you wanted to see ahead as you were going down the road, you had to keep the engine running at a fast clip.

So, just as I’d discovered, it is with our lives. Industry, enthusiasm, and hard work lead to enlightened progress. You have to stay on your feet and keep moving if you are going to have light in your life. I still have the radiator cap of that old 1916 Model T. Here it is. It is a reminder of lessons I learned seventy-seven years ago.

Nineteen-year-old Emily Rowland takes a deep breath. The task ahead of her seems nearly impossible. A trickle of sweat slowly makes its way down her face to drip off her chin, and her face becomes flushed, but she won’t give up.
Emily knows she must persevere, not only for herself, but for others who will follow. Her heart pounds and her muscles beg her to stop, but she knows it will be worth it.
This is Relief Society Homemaking meeting.
Of course, it’s not always this much of an ordeal—but this particular Homemaking night finds Emily and some of the other women in her ward—the University Ward near the University of Nevada at Las Vegas—working to improve their health and fitness, and that means working up a sweat doing aerobics. Other times Homemaking might mean learning about how to manage finances (not a bad skill for a college freshman like Emily), or how to look for a job, or maybe even how to change a flat tire.
What, no recipes, no baby quilts?
“Sure, cooking and sewing are important too,” says Emily. “It always amazes me how well Relief Society can adjust to individual needs. It’s a lot of fun.”
Emily and two of her friends, Aubrey VanDrimmelen and Charlotte Ballard, say that leaving Young Women behind was hard, and maybe even a little frightening. But it’s also something they all agree it was time to do.
“I really loved Young Women,” says Charlotte. “And Relief Society is different from Young Women. For one thing, there are a lot of people who are older than you. But after you’ve gone a few times, you realize how nice everyone is, how much they want to be your friend.”
Emily points out that going from Young Women to Relief Society happens at a time when most girls are headed off to college, entering the work force, preparing for missions, or getting married.
“Those are big changes,” she says. “Relief Society is a big change, too, but it helps you cope with all the other new things in life.”
Part of making the change into Relief Society means learning new skills. Probably one of the most important things all three girls learned right away was how to be a good visiting teacher—something none of them had done before.
“The first time I went visiting teaching, I had no clue what I was doing,” says Aubrey. “It was sort of hard to think of things to say, but now I really like it. It’s great to get to know people and help them out.”
Unlike some student wards, the University Ward in Las Vegas has a mix of single and married people. A few couples even have children, so the younger women in the ward have to step out of their comfort zone to help the others.
Emily and her partner (who is also 19) go visiting teaching to the married, has-a-master’s-degree, has-a-baby Relief Society president (gulp). But, as with most other things, Emily takes it in stride and has even learned to enjoy it.
“Getting the call to be her visiting teacher was a little intimidating, I have to admit,” she says. “Since I didn’t know what it was like to be married or have a baby, I just had to ask her. Since I was forced to ask a lot of questions, I’ve come to know more about her. I really admire her, and I have learned so much from being her visiting teacher. And I hope maybe she’s learned a little something from me.”
“Last week, our lesson on Sunday was titled ‘Aging Is Part of God’s Plan,’” says Aubrey. “I looked at that and thought, How on earth is that going to apply to someone like me? I mean, no one in my ward is exactly getting old.”
Even though there is only one lesson in the Relief Society curriculum about aging, there are lots of lessons on family and social relationships. Does that mean that someone who is young and single can’t get anything from them?
“No way!” says Emily, who serves as a Spiritual Living teacher in her ward. “I work on my lesson all week, reading it so many times I practically know it by heart. Every lesson has something that is valuable, whether you’re 19, 29, or 79.”
Charlotte says that the age differences in Relief Society actually add to her experience.
“You can always learn things from people who are older than you,” she says. “You may not need to know those things right at the moment you learn them, but lots of them come in handy later on. There’s always a great spirit in Relief Society because people share their own experiences.”
Of course, one thing that doesn’t change whether you’re in Young Women or Relief Society is the chance to learn about the Savior and how to become more like him.
“I know with a surety that my Savior lives,” says Emily. “Sometimes you start to doubt things, but if you listen to the lessons in Relief Society you learn and grow so much because you’re doing the right thing. Relief Society helps you stay close to the gospel.”
And along with that closeness to the Savior and the gospel come a closeness and friendship with each other that the girls say is hard to duplicate anywhere else.
“There’s a lot of love in our Relief Society,” says Charlotte. “You can tell when you’re there that people are willing to help each other. There are opportunities to serve and teach everywhere.”
This year, young women all over the Church will be taking the plunge into Relief Society. With a little less than a year of Relief Society under their belts, Emily, Aubrey, and Charlotte know what that initial plunge feels like: exciting, scary, and possibly (for the newcomer) a little intimidating. They also know what it feels like to keep coming: rewarding, uplifting, and a smooth transition to a lot of fun, where age differences don’t matter much.
“Everyone in Relief Society wants you to know you are accepted and to make you feel good about being there. What could be better?” says Emily.
Aubrey agrees.
“It’s a little like reading the scriptures,” she says. “Every time you go, you learn something different. And the longer you do it, the more you learn.”
Friendship, love, skill training, and spiritual growth—it’s a good deal no matter what age you are and no matter what your needs are. And who knows? The first time you go, they might even serve a delicious, fancy dessert—with the recipe, of course. After all, this is Relief Society.
Feeling left out because there’s not a student or singles’ ward in your area? Well, whether you live hundreds of miles away from the nearest Church member your age, or just a few minutes from Church headquarters, your home ward is still a great place for you to be—including Relief Society!
Christy Pimper, another 19-year-old college student from Las Vegas, has chosen to attend her home ward. Here are some of her tips on finding a way to fit in:
Mentally prepare to make the move. “I really liked Young Women, but when I turned 18, I felt ready to leave. I was older than everyone and my needs were different. When it’s time to move on, don’t hesitate!”
Take the opportunity to develop your testimony. “The lessons in Relief Society are great. You learn things you never knew before, and you understand things you’ve known all your life much better than before.”
Make friends. “Even though everyone in my ward is older than me, I don’t feel left out. All the women go out of their way to make me feel welcome.”
Keep an open mind. “Relief Society is different from Young Women, but unless you give it a try, you’ll never really know for yourself what it’s like.”

I remember Father’s placing confidence in me. We used to work on the farm, as I said before, and he would call me in the evening or early morning to discuss his plans, his program for the day, and ask me what I thought about it. Should we do this or should we do that? I felt that I was a part of it. I know now that he had his plans pretty well formed, but he showed that confidence in me. And realizing that I was part of it, I worked my head off to accomplish it, and I loved my dad for it.

And then I remember him saying to me one day, “You know, my son, I would rather have you helping me than any hired man I have. I have full confidence in you, and you surely do a good day’s work.” Such an expression of confidence and appreciation makes one more determined to do well what he is expected to do.

When Mom looked up from peeling the potatoes for supper, she saw Lucas standing in the kitchen doorway with a furrowed brow and a book in his hand. “What are you reading that makes you look so serious?” Mom questioned, wiping her hands on a towel.
“This.” Lucas held up his book so that Mom could see the cover.
Mom sat in a kitchen chair and lifted Lucas onto her lap. “I thought that The Night Before Christmas was one of your happy books,” she said.
“It is, Mom, but why is Santa smoking a pipe?” Lucas asked. “Isn’t he a Latter-day Saint like us?”
Mom was quiet for a bit as they looked at the picture of Santa with his pipe making a circle of smoke around his head. “I guess,” she said slowly, “that maybe the missionaries haven’t been to the North Pole yet to teach him about the restored gospel and about why it’s so important not to smoke.”
“But, Mom, everybody knows Santa Claus. Why hasn’t someone told him?”
“I don’t know,” Mom answered, stroking Lucas’s hair gently. “I guess someone really should.” Then she gave Lucas a squeeze and asked, “Do you want to help me peel the potatoes?”
“No thanks, Mom,” he replied. “I need some ‘time out to think’ time.”
“OK, Champ, but don’t be late for supper,” she said as he slid off her lap and headed for his bedroom.
Lucas climbed onto his bed, lay on his stomach, and opened his book again to the page with Santa smoking. All that year they had been learning in Primary about being missionaries. Sister Franklin had said that even a Sunbeam could be a missionary. Santa must have held a lot of Sunbeams on his lap. Hadn’t even one of them told Santa about being a Mormon? Suddenly Lucas scrambled off the bed, ran over to his bookshelves, put away his storybook, and took his favorite book from the shelf. He had a happy smile on his face when he went into the living room. He had a plan.
That night after supper Lucas asked Mom and Dad to come to his bedroom for a meeting. Mom didn’t even wash the dishes first, because she could tell that this was an important meeting to Lucas. When his parents were seated on the bed, Lucas showed them a package wrapped in newspaper comics. “Billy Anderson said that Santa is going to be at the mall this Saturday. I want give this to him.”
“You want to give Santa a present?” Dad asked. “That’s wonderful. Do you mind if we ask what it is, Son?”
Lucas showed Dad the page in his storybook with Santa and the pipe. “You see, Dad, I don’t think that Santa is a member of the Church. Mom said that maybe no one has told him about Heavenly Father’s plan and about not smoking. So I want to give him the Book of Mormon that you gave me when we started to read it as a family. I thought that you and Mom could give me another one for Christmas. That way Santa will know about what’s important, and maybe he’ll stop smoking that pipe.”
Dad reached out and pulled Lucas onto his lap. Mom reached over and patted his hand. Her eyes were watery, and Dad’s were too. That surprised Lucas a little. “It’s all right to give my Book of Mormon to Santa, isn’t it, Dad?”
“Yes, Son. It’s more than all right—it’s terrific! I’m very proud of you, Lucas. I’m proud that you want to be a missionary and share the gospel with others.”
Mom said, “Lucas, why don’t you let me help you write your testimony in the front of the book. You can put your name and address inside so that Santa will know who cares so much about him. Then you can wrap it again in Christmas paper, and I bet I can even find a bow for you to put on top. Would you like that?”
“Yea! All right!” Lucas yelled, ripping off the wrapping as fast as he could.
Dad took a pen out of his shirt pocket and handed it to Mom.
“Dear Santa,” Lucas began, “I am worried about you because I saw in a picture that you smoke. Smoking is bad for you. Heavenly Father loves us and wants us to be good to our bodies. This book is all about Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. I read it with my family every day. It makes me happy. You are so nice to all the children that I want you to be happy too.”
“That sounds great, Son,” Dad said. “I’m glad to hear that reading the Book of Mormon as a family makes you happy.”
“I want to write my name,” Lucas told Mom. “You can write our phone number under it.”
Afterward Dad did the dishes while Mom helped Lucas cut, fold, and tape the Christmas wrapping paper. Lucas put a big gold bow on last, and the gift looked super. Then Mom put it on top of the refrigerator so that nothing would happen to it before Saturday.
On Saturday morning there was a long line of children waiting at the mall to sit on Santa’s lap. It was hard for Lucas to wait, but finally his turn came. He was so excited that he jumped onto Santa’s lap.
“Well,” Santa exclaimed, “aren’t you happy today! And what do you want Santa to bring you for Christmas?”
“Nothing,” Lucas said. “I just want to give you this.” He handed the gift to Santa, give him a hug, and ran back to his mom and dad. When he looked over his shoulder, Santa was just sitting there, looking a little surprised.
That night Lucas was brushing his teeth when the phone rang. Dad answered it and talked for a few minutes, then called Lucas. “The phone call’s for you, Lucas. It’s Santa Claus.”
“Wow! Really?” he shouted as he ran to the phone.
“Hello, Lucas. Remember me? You sat on my lap and gave me a present this morning.”
“Sure I remember. Did you read the Book of Mormon?”
“Well, I haven’t had time to read the whole thing,” the voice on the phone said with a chuckle. “I had to work all day. But I did read what you wrote in it and the first few pages. I was wondering if I could come over tonight and meet your mom and dad.”
“Great!” Lucas exclaimed. “I’ll ask them. Dad, Mom, Santa wants to know if he can come over to our house tonight. He can, can’t he?”
“Sure he can,” Dad answered. “Why don’t you let me talk to him for a few minutes after you finish so I can make sure that he knows how to find our house.”
“Dad, he’s Santa Claus. He knows where everyone lives.”
“You’re probably right, but I’d still like to talk to him. It’s not every day that Santa Claus calls on the phone.”
Lucas grinned. “It’s OK with my dad,” he said, “and anything OK with him is OK with Mom.” He handed Dad the phone and ran into the bathroom to finish brushing his teeth.
When Lucas went back to the living room, he asked, “Do you think he’ll come in his sleigh?”
“No,” Dad answered. “He’ll be driving a dark blue car. We need to talk about that for a few minutes, OK?”
Lucas said, “If you mean that he’s not really Santa, but just one of Santa’s helpers, I already know that. His beard didn’t fit him very good, and he was a lot skinnier than Santa is.”
“Then you won’t be surprised when this Santa comes to the door as a young college man?”
“No, I could tell by his voice that he wasn’t an old man. And the real Santa would have to be pretty old if he were flying around when your were little.”
“Well, then, you know, Lucas,” Dad said, “that the most important thing is that you tried to share the Book of Mormon with someone, whether or not he was the real Santa.”
“I know. Missionaries teach everyone they can.”
Just then a car pulled into the driveway. Lucas jumped up and ran out the door before the young man even had time to get out of his car.
“Come in, Santa Claus,” he shouted. “We’re going to tell you all about the Book of Mormon and Jesus Christ and everything!”
Valentine Day was on Saturday that year, and Lucas got dressed in his Sunday clothes. He took an extra long time washing his face and brushing his hair so that he’d look just right.
“Are you ready, Lucas?” Mom called from the living room. “John is here.”
John was the Santa Claus helper, and today he was going to be baptized. Lucas shook John’s hand, and then John reached down and picked him up. “How about a hug, too?” he asked.
“Sure,” Lucas said, squeezing with all his might. “You may be only Santa’s helper, John,” he whispered, “but you’re the best Santa in the world to me.”
“And you’re the best missionary in the world to me,” John whispered back.

A week or two later we met a man while street contacting who agreed to an appointment. We set a time, and he gave us his address in Bückeburg, a picturesque little town several miles from our assigned city of Minden but still in our area.
It was winter, and on the Sunday morning of our appointment, we mounted our bicycles and pedaled the entire distance, bucking a strong, cold headwind. Cold and panting, we pressed the doorbell on the man’s apartment building, and he buzzed the door open. We climbed the stairs to his apartment, and he let us in. Immediately we recognized a contentious spirit in the room—the same spirit we had felt a few weeks earlier in the home of the minister.
Our host did not invite us to sit down. Instead, he left the room for a moment. He returned carrying several editions of the Bible, dropped them on the table, and said in a very loud and defiant voice, “So you want to talk [religion], do you?” Then, pointing to the window, he bellowed, “Good, but first throw your Book of Mormon in the Weser [River]!”
A couple of weeks had passed since our experience with the minister, and I was now able to say a sentence or two in German. I attempted to do so. Once again, my senior companion simply bore a strong, quiet testimony of the Book of Mormon and politely thanked the man for his time. Then we excused ourselves and rode back to Minden, this time with the wind at our backs.

I love whole wheat pancakes. On my mission in Brazil, I bought a nice nonstick frying pan to cook them in. I also made sure that I had a plastic spatula so as not to scratch the pan.
About this same time, I received my first junior companion. One of the first things I did was show him my frying pan and plastic spatula, with specific instructions on how to use them. I didn’t mind him using them to fry an egg or something, but I didn’t want my pan ruined.
On our next preparation day, I heard my companion stirring something in the kitchen. I soon realized that he was frying an egg. I decided to peek in to see if he was following my instructions.
When I turned the corner, I just about had a heart attack. There he was, with the frying pan in one hand and a metal spoon in the other, trying to flip the egg. He was scraping and scratching, trying to get underneath the partially cooked egg, all the while destroying my frying pan.
Before I could yell, it hit me. It was an honest mistake. With help from above, I was able to calmly walk over to the drawer, pull out the spatula, and hand it to him, saying: “Here, use this. I think it will work better.” He thanked me and went on frying his egg.
Back in our room I realized that, as strange as it sounds, I had been “worshipping” that frying pan. For days, it had been more important to me than many other things, including my relationship with my new companion. It had been affecting the spirituality of our companionship. It had become my idol.
I’m so thankful that my Heavenly Father taught me an eternal truth through this small but powerful experience. I’ve come to better understand what the Lord meant when He said, “Thou shalt have no other gods before me” (Exodus 20:3)—including the nonstick kind.

Another typical example of President Hinckley’s caring for an individual occurred during the 2002 Winter Olympics, which were held in Salt Lake City, Utah. Nearly every day he met with presidents, ambassadors, and other dignitaries. One day, shortly before meeting with the president of Germany, he met with a 13-year-old young woman on her birthday. “[She] suffers from aplastic anemia, a very serious illness,” he recorded. “We had a delightful visit. … I told her that we would remember her in our prayers.”13

We sat huddled on the wet lawn in front of the Joseph Smith Monument in Sharon, Vermont—the birthplace of the Prophet. Draped in ponchos in a vain attempt to keep dry, we strained to hear our leader over the sound of the rain. Shortly, we would finish our final activity—a few moments alone in the woods, meditating and doing some self-evaluation.
The idea really excited me. Earlier, a speaker had related to us a story about President David O. McKay receiving his patriarchal blessing. Thirteen-year-old David was, at the time, a champion marble player. After the blessing, the patriarch told David that he had more important things to do than play marbles. I felt that now, too, was the time for me to “put away my marbles” and decide what to do with my life. A big part of that decision depended on knowing if the Church was true. I decided to ask our Heavenly Father.
The world seemed to fall silent as I entered the woods. With my poncho pulled around me to protect me from the rain, I found a secluded spot and sang some hymns to myself. Then I read the scriptures for a while. When I felt ready, I knelt to pray.
I was excited to pray, but I was also nervous. I had felt the Spirit before—in fast and testimony meetings and when I had received a testimony of the Book of Mormon—but I couldn’t honestly say that I knew the Church was true. What if I prayed and there was just nothing? What if, out here in the woods, kneeling and praying aloud got me nothing but wet?
But I decided that I had to try. So I knelt on the soggy leaves and bowed my head in prayer. I spoke in a whisper, fearful that someone might eavesdrop, and asked very simply to know if I really belonged to God’s true church. I finished my prayer and remained kneeling, awaiting an answer.
At first, I received an impression that I already knew the Church was true. But I figured that must have been my own thoughts, so I prayed again.
“You already know,” came the answer again, along with the warm and calm feeling of the Spirit enveloping me with peace and joy.
My heart quickened, and I couldn’t hold back the smile that covered my face. I realized that through seminary and my personal study, I had built my testimony step by step, precept upon precept, so slowly that I hadn’t even realized I had it.
I had a testimony of the Church, and I could now put aside the less important things in my life and get on with my spiritual growth. I felt so relieved, so content, and so grateful that I knew personally that the Church was true. Still kneeling, I bowed my head again and gave a prayer of thanks to Heavenly Father for his witness that, although I hadn’t recognized it before, I already knew.

I will conclude by discussing another important question members and leaders of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints are asked by others: “Why do you send missionaries to preach to other Christians?” Sometimes this is asked with curiosity and sometimes with resentment.

My most memorable experience with that question occurred some years ago in what we then called the Eastern Bloc. After many years of Communist hostility to religion, these countries were suddenly and miraculously given a measure of religious freedom. When that door opened, many Christian faiths sent missionaries. As part of our preparation to do so, the First Presidency sent members of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles to meet with government and church leaders in these countries. Our assignment was to introduce ourselves and to explain what our missionaries would be doing.

Elder Russell M. Nelson and I called on the leader of the Orthodox Church in one of these countries. Here was a man who had helped keep the light of Christianity burning through the dark decades of Communist repression. I noted in my journal that he was a warm and gracious man who impressed me as a servant of the Lord. I mention this so that you will not think there was any spirit of arrogance or contention in our conversation of nearly an hour. Our visit was pleasant and cordial, filled with the goodwill that should always characterize conversations between men and women who love the Lord and seek to serve Him, each according to his or her own understanding.

Our host told us about the activities of his church during the period of Communist repression. He described the various difficulties his church and its work were experiencing as they emerged from that period and sought to regain their former position in the life of the country and the hearts of the people. We introduced ourselves and our fundamental beliefs. We explained that we would soon be sending missionaries into his country and told him how they would perform their labors.

He asked, “Will your missionaries preach only to unbelievers, or will they also try to preach to believers?” We replied that our message was for everyone, believers as well as unbelievers. We gave two reasons for this answer—one a matter of principle and the other a matter of practicality. We told him that we preached to believers as well as unbelievers because our message, the restored gospel, makes an important addition to the knowledge, happiness, and peace of all mankind. As a matter of practicality, we preach to believers as well as unbelievers because we cannot tell the difference. I remember asking this distinguished leader, “When you stand before a congregation and look into the faces of the people, can you tell the difference between those who are real believers and those who are not?” He smiled wryly, and I sensed an admission that he had understood the point.

Through missionaries and members, the message of the restored gospel is going to all the world. To non-Christians, we witness of Christ and share the truths and ordinances of His restored gospel. To Christians we do the same. Even if a Christian has been “saved” in the familiar single sense discussed earlier, we teach that there remains more to be learned and more to be experienced. As President Hinckley recently said: “[We are] not argumentative. We do not debate. We, in effect, simply say to others, ‘Bring all the good that you have and let us see if we can add to it’” (“The BYU Experience,” BYU devotional address, 4 Nov. 1997).

The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints offers all of the children of God the opportunity to learn the fulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ as restored in these latter days. We offer everyone the privilege of receiving all of the ordinances of salvation and exaltation.

We invite all to hear this message, and we invite all who receive the confirming witness of the Spirit to heed it. These things are true, I testify in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

The S¶o Paulo Tabo¶o Stake chose the theme of “Changing the World” for their youth conference during Carnaval. As they cleaned the square of a local public building, they had opportunities to introduce several people who passed by to the Church. They also knelt in prayer before giving copies of the Book of Mormon to many of their neighbors, none of whom refused the gift.
“These were the most wonderful days of my life. I learned how to help and serve my fellowmen. I am very happy to be a member of the Church. I want to serve a mission and help the people of the world to be as happy as I am.”
Debora, Second Ward, Bosque

The month passed with lots of stories to write. One Sunday they visited Grandma, and Janie made sure that she wore her reporter’s hat and carried her notebook. Grandma always had great stories. “Tell me something about Dad when he was a boy,” Janie asked her privately after dinner.
“Oh, your dad!” Grandma’s laugh twinkled in her eyes. “I remember the time our bishop asked the congregation to raise their hands if they wanted a new parking lot. Every person there but one raised his hand to vote yes. Then, when the bishop asked if anyone was against the new lot, your dad raised his hand high and called out, ‘I am, bishop. If you put in a parking lot, we won’t have anyplace to play basketball!’ The rest of the congregation laughed for ten minutes!”

An example of stepping up to serve is found in the life of our prophet, President Ezra Taft Benson, and the family of which he is a member. President Benson has described to the General Authorities how his father was called to fill a mission. He left behind his wife, who was expecting another child, his seven children, his farm, and all that he had. Did he lose anything? President Benson tells how his mother would gather the family around the kitchen table and there, by the flickering light of an oil-fueled lamp, read the letters from her husband. Several times during the reading there would be a pause to wipe away the tears that flowed freely. The result? Each of the children later served a mission. Each stepped up to serve.

I knew the Joseph Smith story was true the first time I heard it. I was 15 then and living with my aunt’s family in Montélimar, France. Three of the children in the family were already members of the Church. The youngest daughter, my cousin, was not.
She and I went to the closest branch at Valence. There the missionaries told us the story of the young latter-day prophet, and it touched me profoundly. I had heard my cousin’s family discuss the restoration of the gospel at home before, but as I heard it in detail for the first time from these young men, it reached my soul.
They told me of the promise in Moroni 10:4–5 [Moro. 10:4–5] in the Book of Mormon and said that I could know the truthfulness of what was written there if I would ask God sincerely. They also said I could know if their message was true. That same evening, brimming over with a desire to know, I knelt and prayed. I was elated by the warm and wonderful feeling that flooded my soul. I knew this was a response from the Lord and that the gospel had indeed been restored by Jesus Christ, as the missionaries said.
My cousins had shown me a good example of love and concern for each other. I hadn’t been much interested in their church’s doctrine, but I had admired their ideals for family life. Now, however, I wanted to know more about the Church. I went with my cousins to a youth conference in Vaumarcus, Switzerland, and made many LDS friends there. During the testimony meeting, I stood and told them about my experience when I had prayed about Moroni’s promise.
My understanding grew rapidly, but soon my father intervened. He didn’t like the idea of me investigating a “new” church. My parents were separated, and no one knew where my mother was, but I felt obligated to honor my father’s wishes, at least until I was no longer a minor. My contact with the Saints as a group dropped off somewhat, but I knew in my heart that someday I would be baptized.
My oldest cousin went into the army, and then he left on a mission. During the two years he was gone, I kept thinking about the feelings I had felt. I always had a testimony of Joseph Smith, right from the start. His story seemed so logical, and the confirmation of the Spirit came so quickly that I couldn’t ignore it. When my cousin returned from his mission, I met him in Montélimar, and we rode together back to Antibes (near Nice), which is my hometown. All the way there we talked about the Church, and I accepted many new ideas.
The Lord also had something else in mind to help me. I was in agricultural school in Lyons at the time, and when I returned to my studies, I arranged to do some field study for three months in Aix-en-Provence. There, with my cousin, I heard all of the missionary discussions thoroughly, and the small testimony inside me became a big one. I was baptized on July 26, 1975, and I still feel as strongly today as I did then that Joseph Smith was and is a prophet of God.
I am thankful that I was able to see the gospel in action in my aunt’s home. Their example combined with the witness of the Spirit to let me know that the Lord has built a program for families that I want to follow.
Editor’s note: Since this story was written, José has served honorably in the France Paris Mission.