Gospel Story Finder

While preparing to teach a family home evening lesson, I wanted to give my children some perspective on the daily rigors and challenges of missionary work. As I opened my missionary journal to look for a suitable example, I found a summary of a not-so-uncommon day.
First, my companion and I went to see Maria, who was washing clothes. “Could you come back later this morning?” she asked.
We went to see another investigator, but he was sleeping. When we returned to Maria’s home at 11:30 a.m., she was still washing clothes.
Later, at 3:00 p.m., we had an appointment with another investigator. When we arrived, he was making grease.
“I’m really busy right now,” he told us. “Can you come back later?”
We returned to Maria’s home, but she was now washing dishes. Then we went to visit another investigator named Junior. He was busy cooking.
“How about tomorrow?” he asked us.
I wrote in my journal: “We try to plan really well, do our best to keep our appointments, and make plan B and plan C. We pray for inspiration. There’s got to be a more practical way to help people.”
As I reread those experiences through more mature eyes, I chuckled. The lesson I had intended to teach my children about developing resilience to face disappointment now seemed less important than the lesson I had just been taught.
My exasperated plea of 30 years before seemed funny to me now. The answer to my exasperation was right there in my plea. Thinking of my younger self, I mused, “Elder Jackson, what if you had tried to help people by helping them in their time of need?”
Today, if my companion and I found Maria facing a burden of laundry and dishes, we would say, “How can we help you?”
Today, if the man we had scheduled to visit was busy making grease, we would exclaim, “Can you teach us? We’d love to help you!”
Today, if we found Junior busy preparing food, we would say, “We’re at your service! What would you like us to do?”
As a young missionary, I tended to look at service as something to schedule rather than as something to offer when needed. Today I try to teach people about the love of Jesus Christ by showing them His love.

Houston Chinweoke Nmeribe and Raymond Idio Egbo have a lot in common. Although they did not meet and begin their friendship until they were serving missions, both converted to the Church in their homeland of Nigeria. Both were baptized in their youth, completed four years of seminary, and served full-time missions in the Nigeria Lagos Mission, where approximately 80 percent of the missionaries are native Nigerians. And while they both faced challenges and difficulties as they worked to serve the Lord full-time, both were blessed because they had prepared in advance and decided to choose the right.
Both Houston and Raymond credit attending seminary, which is held Tuesday through Friday evenings in Nigeria, with helping them make the right choices. “Seminary made me desire to go on a mission in the first place,” recalls Raymond.
“Seminary made it easy for me to understand the gospel principles and doctrines I would teach on my mission,” Houston says. “Seminary teaches principles in a way members can understand them. It convinced me of the truthfulness of the gospel and helped me to be able to teach others.”
Seminary also helped these young men learn to study and receive strength from the scriptures. “My strength is drawn from the Book of Mormon,” states Raymond. “The words of King Benjamin in Mosiah 2:41 gave me the zeal to continue even in the face of great opposition: ‘I would desire that ye should consider on the blessed and happy state of those that keep the commandments of God.’”
Houston’s strength comes from reading and pondering about the Savior. “As a missionary, I saw myself as one who was called not only to serve Christ but to follow His example,” he explains. “Whenever I had difficulties, I remembered that Jesus Christ suffered and overcame many difficulties. I draw my strength and resolve from Him, so that, like Him, I can also overcome.”
These two young men realized even before their missions the importance of obedience—especially obedience to mission rules. Houston explains, “I viewed obeying the rules as keeping God’s commandments. When I started my mission, I had a clear vision of what I wanted to accomplish. I would do everything in my power to succeed. I fasted and prayed often for strength to choose the right. I decided very early in my mission to work hard.”
Raymond continues, “I realized early on that ‘hard work is more important than intellect’ (James E. Faust, “What I Want My Son to Know before He Leaves on His Mission,” Ensign, May 1996, 40). I tried to develop spiritually by intensifying my study of the Book of Mormon. I resolved from the beginning to obey the mission rules and prepare myself by studying and working to the best of my ability.”
All of their preparation was put to use as soon as they arrived in the mission field. Their preparation did not, however, prevent them from suffering opposition. But it did give them strength to keep trying.
Houston reported to the Nigeria Lagos Mission in April 1994. His first proselyting area, Agege, covered an expansive territory. The closest branch was in Ogba, four kilometers away. Because of the distance between the two towns, it was difficult for investigators to attend the number of Church meetings required for baptism. Houston and his companion completed almost four months of persistent hard work without a single baptism. But after redoubling their efforts, they found and prepared a family of five for baptism.
“One Saturday afternoon, as my companion and I were waiting to board a vehicle to witness my first convert baptism,” Houston recalls, “the assistants to the mission president drove up and informed me that I was being transferred. A new companion replaced me immediately, and I proceeded to Benin. I initially felt quite unhappy that I didn’t see the baptism of my first converts, but I later realized that what mattered most was their conversion.”
It was Houston’s transfer to the Benin City stake that introduced him to Raymond. Raymond arrived in Benin a few days later directly from his missionary training in Lagos. Houston joined Raymond and his companion to proselyte on Raymond’s first day. When Raymond expressed his fear about teaching a discussion on his first day, he remembers Houston’s encouragement: “Elder, go ahead and do it. I had the same experience. If I did it, you can do it, too.”
Raymond recalls, “I was filled with strength and confidence. And when I finished the discussion, Houston tapped me on the knee and said, ‘Elder, you came out okay.’ This experience kindled a feeling of respect for him. And as our paths have crossed many times since our missions, that feeling has only increased.”
Four months later, Raymond was transferred to Lagos where he became a senior companion. “After three months in Lagos without a baptism, I felt inadequate as a leader,” he says. “We had to put forth extra effort. It came time to report to the mission president. He advised me to pray for our investigators.
“Seven of our 14 investigators decided to be baptized,” Raymond remembers. “Two weeks before the baptism, I received a note from the assistants to the president informing me to prepare for a transfer.” This time it was Raymond who was unable to be at the baptisms. “Within a month, all 14 were baptized. I felt bad that I missed those baptisms. However, I accepted the Lord’s will—some will plant, others will water, and yet others will harvest, but all are working for the Lord of the vineyard.”
Doing the Lord’s work also includes dealing with challenges. But as Raymond and Houston learned, the Lord does provide a way.
“When I became an assistant to the mission president, it was difficult initially,” recalls Houston. “I had to train missionaries, including some who had more education than I had. I felt inadequate until I prayed and received a testimony that ‘whom the Lord calls, the Lord qualifies’ (Thomas S. Monson quoting Harold B. Lee, “Who Honors God, God Honors,” Ensign, November 1995, 50). This knowledge helped me proceed.”
For Raymond, developing patience was difficult. “It was hard to see people who have been taught correct principles, who know their responsibilities but fail to do them,” he remembers. “I coped with this situation by reminding myself to make sure that the Lord can count on me to choose the right.”
For Houston Nmeribe and Raymond Egbo, the best mission moments were when they saw investigators come unto Christ through baptism and become members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. For both, the feeling that comes with these moments still lingers, even a few years after returning from their missions.
Their service in the kingdom, however, is far from over. They continue to be blessed for their choice to serve the Lord. Houston Chinweoke Nmeribe serves as elders quorum president in the Calabar Third Branch, Calabar Nigeria District. Raymond Idio Egbo serves as Calabar Second Branch mission leader and second counselor in the district mission presidency.

Jonathon Morales, 14, leans over the front seat of his older brother’s car and guides him through the streets of Mexico City, population 20 million. Israel Morales has just returned from a mission to New York City. He has forgotten some of Mexico City’s streets. The two brothers talk softly, trying to figure out the best way to their destination. There are questions and confusion, but no impatience or sharpness. There’s a peaceful feeling in the car.
Finally the two brothers find the right street, and a few minutes later arrive at their destination. Their influence on each other is warm and genuine. While Jonathon has been looking up to his older brother for many years, the reverse is also true. Israel is motivated to do what is right because his younger brother is doing what is right. And Israel knows that Jonathon is watching him.

When I was serving as mission president in Colombia, I left on a Thursday morning to fly to a city in our mission. I spent the day interviewing, and as I spoke with the missionaries, a number of concerns began to worry me.
After a zone conference with the missionaries, I conducted a district conference with Church leaders and members on Saturday and Sunday. There were challenges in this area: low Church attendance, poor preparation, and other concerns. The experiences that I had over these four days left me feeling low.
On the flight home, I used the time to read, ponder, and pray. I took my scriptures in hand and thumbed through the pages, reading here and there. Soon I came to some verses in Doctrine and Covenants section 3 that will never be the same to me: “The works, and the designs, and the purposes of God cannot be frustrated, neither can they come to naught” (v. 1).
I thought about these words. I realized that on my trip I had come to the wrong conclusion that the purposes, designs, and works of God were being “frustrated” in that city.
I continued on: “For God doth not walk in crooked paths” (v. 2). Some of the missionaries and members seemed to be walking in crooked paths.
In verse 5 I found a treasure—one of the most wonderful insights I have ever found in the scriptures: “Behold, you have been entrusted with these things.”
I paused to reflect upon the things entrusted to me: my wife and six children, 100 missionaries, 6,000 members, 13–14 million nonmembers, a mission, districts, branches, budgets, buildings, and so forth.
Then I came to the phrase “remember also the promises” (v. 5). What power, what insight, what comfort, what depth of feeling and meaning! Four words from scripture had never affected me as those four did that day.
I realized that for four days I had focused on nothing but problems. Not once had I stopped to remember the great promises given to me. I asked myself, “What promises?” The first ones that came to my mind were those in my patriarchal blessing. I had it with me on the plane, and I read it over. My, what promises! I then pondered on the special promises given to me when I was set apart as mission president. I thought about the promises of the temple and promises from the scriptures. My spirit soared! I was inspired!
As I look back on that flight home, I realize I was taught from on high. From that day until today, my life has been different, all because of four simple words: “remember also the promises.”

Miles of gray desert ended abruptly in a miragelike valley of green. A cluster of neat houses sparsely shaded by poplar and cedar trees flanked both sides of the road. Near the center of town stood a bank, a mini-supermarket, a hardware and general mercantile store, and a combination garage and service station.
A few strings of tinsel and pasteboard Santa Claus placards swung wearily in the hot breeze above the street. In the doubtful shade of a large cedar stood a small frame building with a weathered sign that read: U.S. POST OFFICE, DESERT CITY, ARIZONA, POPULATION 467. The cedar was decorated with colored bulbs and strands of red and green paper. Inside the post office a wreath of holly hung over a grilled window which boasted a faded sign: GENERAL DELIVERY … STAMPS.
Behind the window, Luke Jones sorted the mail without conscious thought or effort. After 30 years in Desert City there was little he didn’t know about every resident—with one exception, the stranger who had arrived in town two days before. Luke shrugged, murmuring under his breath, “Curiosity killed the cat.” His lips twitched into a wry grin. “Must be a mighty long trail of dead cats behind me.”
Luke heard a scuffle of feet and turned toward the door. Mrs. Abbie Smithers walked in, and just behind her stood the stranger. Luke’s eyes watched the stranger, but his words were to Mrs. Smithers. “Got a postcard for you, Abbie. From your sister in Colorado. She ain’t going to get here for Christmas after all.”
“For pity’s sake!” Mrs. Smithers said. “I’ve cleaned house until the whole place shines like a new pin.”
“Don’t fret,” Luke said calmly. “It’s only a delay. Her little girl came down with the chicken pox. Here—you better read it yourself.”
As Mrs. Smithers left the window, the stranger asked, “Anything for Bill Anders?”
Luke’s sharp eyes studied him. He knew without looking that there was nothing, yet he turned and slowly sorted through some letters, his gaze darting sideways at the young man. “Ain’t you the fellar whose car broke down here day before yesterday?”
“That’s right.”
“Too bad,” Luke said. He looked directly at the serious-faced young man. “I hear it’s costing you $70 to get it fixed.” His glance was shrewd. “Garageman was in a while ago. Said it’s been ready for you since yesterday.”
“That’s right. Have I got a letter?”
“Where you expecting this letter from?”
Anders’s face flushed. “Look, I just want to know—”
“If I know where it’s from,” Luke interrupted, “maybe I can tell you when it’ll be here.”
Anders looked down at the floor. “It’s coming from Los Angeles. I wrote airmail two days ago when my car broke down.”
“Ain’t here yet,” Luke drawled.
Anders’s face shadowed. He turned to leave.
“Should be in tomorrow,” Luke said. “Mail gets in at 11:00.”
Anders limped toward the door, and Luke noticed that he wore a heavy brace with a built-up shoe on one foot.
“Hey, Anders!”
The young man stopped and turned around.
“You clear broke?” An angry flush reddened Anders’s face. “None of your business!”
Slyly Luke said, “You got money coming in that letter, ain’t you?”
“What’s it to you?” He stopped, took a deep breath, and said more quietly, “Yes, 100 dollars. Anything else you’d like to know?”
Without expression, Luke said, “From your folks, hey?”
Anders hobbled back to the window; his face was white. “Look, my folks are dead. A friend of mine in L.A. is sending me the money. At least, I asked him to send it, and I’m sure he will.”
“Maybe,” Luke said dryly, “maybe not.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sometimes you find out you ain’t got a friend when you ask for money.”
Anders stared at him, then said, “Jim isn’t that way.”
Luke could sense an uncertainty behind the words. “Where you going from here if this Jim sends the money?”
Bill Anders’s mood changed suddenly. He looked at Luke and grinned. “Darned if you aren’t the most nosy, old … curious man I’ve ever seen.”
“I’ve been told that.”
Anders laughed. “All right, you might as well know. I’ve got a job waiting for me in Albuquerque that I’ve been trying to get since high school. A good job. A big chance for me.” His voice lowered. “I’ve got to get there in time to begin work the day after Christmas. I’ve got to!” He turned abruptly and limped out to the street.
Luke rubbed his chin and stared after him.
At 11:30 the next morning Luke finished sorting the mail to the barely audible Christmas carols coming from the battered radio on the shelf. He examined again the letter addressed to Bill Anders. The postmark was smudged beyond recognition; the name and the address were typed. Luke held the envelope up to the light. He could see the outline of currency inside. He fingered the envelope. It crinkled like crisp, new greenbacks crinkle. Yes, it contained the 100 dollars Bill Anders was waiting for.
Luke’s lips thinned a little. A hundred dollars could mean a lot to a person, even to a man in his position. It could mean that new fishing outfit he wanted for his next vacation. He smiled at the thought. A Christmas gift to himself …
He fondled the letter. What he would have given years ago for this money! It might have changed his whole life—marriage, children, grandchildren—but he had been unable to borrow the money. Friends—even relatives—had turned him down. He slammed the letter into the mail slot. Why should he worry about a crippled young man, a stranger he would never see again?
Luke heard dragging footsteps on the wood floor and turned around to see a subdued Bill Anders, a face lined with worry, yet eyes which still held a lurking hope.
Luke hesitated, and then he reached into the slot and pulled out the mail under the letter A. Deliberately he sorted through the letters; indecision still weighed upon him. He didn’t have to give this letter to the boy. But if he didn’t, could he ever live with himself? Could he look into a mirror without seeing the disappointment on the young man’s face?
He held the letter away from the others.
“Is that for me?” Anders’s voice was strained.
Luke held the letter up to the light. “Postmark’s smudged. Can’t tell where it’s from.”
“Is it for me?”
“Ain’t got a return address on it,” Luke drawled.
“It’s from Jim! It must be!”
Luke watched the boy’s face. It was transformed. His eyes were shining now, the lines of strain and worry vanished. Luke waited a moment longer, and then he tossed the letter through the iron grill.
Anders ripped open the envelope. Five crisp, 20-dollar bills fell out. There was no message. Carefully he picked up the money, handling each greenback almost with reverence. He glanced up at Luke. “Jim isn’t one to write,” he explained, “but when a guy needs help, he comes through.”
“Guess you got a real friend, hey?” Luke said softly.
As he reached the door, his shoulders straight, Anders looked back and smiled. “Merry Christmas!”
Luke watched him limp down the street toward the garage. He sighed heavily and turned again to the mail rack. From the A slot he withdrew a postcard. It was postmarked Los Angeles and addressed to Bill Anders. The few scribbled words on the back were still fresh in Luke’s memory. “Dear Bill: Sorry I can’t help. Things are tight for me too. Jim.”
Slowly Luke placed the card on the counter and stamped it “UNCLAIMED.”
His voice was fretful as he muttered, “Curiosity cost more than a cat this time.” But he was smiling as he turned back to his work.
From the battered radio came the soft strains of “Peace on Earth, Good Will to Men.”

I was 20 when I joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in 2021. I hadn’t exactly been living “righteously”—quite the opposite, actually. Before joining the Church, I smoked, drank, and partied a lot, which is common for young adults in Hungary.
Yet as lightly as I treated these things, I never felt right doing them. I felt especially uncomfortable when it came to sexual interactions. I had learned from the world that the purpose of sex was for pleasure and self-gratification. Most people around me agreed that it wasn’t a big deal. I didn’t judge my friends for having that perspective, but I realized that sexual intimacy wasn’t insignificant to me.
I was ashamed of being one of those “weird” people who wanted to wait until marriage. I thought I could date someone who shared my point of view.
However, the world’s pressures became louder, and I started to believe that my expectations were too high. So I lowered my standards.
When I was 18, I was dating someone and told myself that I was being dramatic and naïve—that sex was not as serious as I thought. I made myself get over my uncomfortable emotions and believed I would feel right about it eventually.
But that never happened.
I’ve been a Christian since I was 16, but I didn’t have the law of chastity to reassure me that my instinctive feelings were trying to tell me who I am—a child of God who deserves love and commitment and holiness. I felt this truth but wasn’t sure of what it was until I learned about the gospel.
It can be easy to give in to the world’s loud voices. But as God’s children, I believe we all have a spiritual instinct from the Holy Ghost to be true to our divine identity. We don’t have to lower our standards or be ashamed of our beliefs. With faith in the Savior Jesus Christ, we can be different as we keep His commandments.
I always felt that sexual intimacy is sacred and more significant than the world makes it out to be. It’s meant to help eternal companions deepen their love and strengthen their covenants to one another as they build a celestial relationship and family.
But even so, as I learned about the gospel, changing my lifestyle wasn’t easy. Just as President Russell M. Nelson taught, “It takes faith to live a chaste life when the world shouts that God’s law of chastity is now outmoded.”1
Despite the pressures around me, my faith in Christ strengthened me to keep the commandments.
I am beyond grateful for the gift of repentance and for the Savior’s support and Atonement. Even when we make mistakes, He can sanctify our souls from guilt and shame and empower us in ways we never thought possible.
Nowadays I smile at how I used to think I would never find a companion who would be willing to follow the law of chastity. Becoming a member of the Church showed me that many of us are striving for the same standards. Living worthily helps me have confidence in my divine identity and peace in my heart as I move forward on the covenant path.
I experienced a lot of pain by not living the law of chastity. But as I sought Christ, I came to know how deeply Heavenly Father loves us. I can testify that He doesn’t want to restrict us—He wants to save us from pain, heartbreak, and other consequences and prepare us for a loving, lasting, and selfless eternal relationship.
Because of His love and laws and the gift of the Savior, I now feel the joy, redemption, and hope They offer. After all, “God’s greatest blessings are reserved for those who obey His laws. … [His] laws are motivated entirely by His infinite love for us and His desire for us to become all we can become.”2
I know that by following the Lord’s commandments and keeping covenants, you will understand His truths and see so many fulfilled promises and blessings in your life.
I know I have.
The author lives in Hungary.

Far away from Salt Lake City, and some eighty miles from Shreveport, Louisiana, lives the Jack Methvin family. Mother, dad, and the boys are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Until just recently there was a lovely daughter who, by her presence, graced that home. Her name was Christal. She was but ten years old when death ended her earthly sojourn.
Christal liked to run and play on the spacious ranch where her family lives. She could ride horses skillfully and excelled in 4-H work, winning awards in the local and state fairs. Her future was bright, and life was wonderful. Then there was discovered on her leg an unusual lump. The specialists in New Orleans completed their diagnosis and rendered their verdict: carcinoma. The leg must be removed.
She recovered well from the surgery, lived as buoyantly as ever and never complained. Then the doctors discovered that the cancer had spread to her tiny lungs. The Methvin family did not despair, but rather planned a flight to Salt Lake City. Christal could receive a blessing from one of the General Authorities. The Methvins knew none of the Brethren personally, so opening before Christal a picture of all the General Authorities, a chance selection was made. By sheer coincidence, my name was selected.
Christal never made the flight to Salt Lake City. Her condition deteriorated. The end drew nigh. But her faith did not waver. To her parents, she said, “Isn’t stake conference approaching? Isn’t a General Authority assigned? And why not Brother Monson? If I can’t go to him, the Lord can send him to me.”
Meanwhile in Salt Lake City, with no knowledge of the events transpiring in Shreveport, a most unusual situation developed. For the weekend of the Shreveport Louisiana Stake Conference, I had been assigned to El Paso, Texas. President Ezra Taft Benson called me to his office and explained that one of the other Brethren had done some preparatory work regarding the stake division in El Paso. He asked if I would mind were another to be assigned to El Paso and I assigned elsewhere. Of course there was no problem—anywhere would be fine with me. Then President Benson said, “Brother Monson, I feel impressed to have you visit the Shreveport Louisiana Stake.” The assignment was accepted. The day came. I arrived in Shreveport.
That Saturday afternoon was filled with meetings—one with the stake presidency, one with priesthood leaders, one with the patriarch, then yet another with the general leadership of the stake. Rather apologetically, Stake President Charles F. Cagle asked if my schedule would permit me time to provide a blessing to a ten-year-old girl afflicted with cancer. Her name: Christal Methvin. I responded that, if possible, I would do so, and then inquired if she would be at the conference, or was she in a Shreveport hospital? Knowing the time was tightly scheduled, President Cage almost whispered that Christal was confined to her home—more than eighty miles from Shreveport!
I examined the schedule of meetings for that evening and the next morning—even my return flight. There simply was no available time. An alternative suggestion came to mind. Could we not remember the little one in our public prayers at conference? Surely the Lord would understand. On this basis, we proceeded with the scheduled meetings.
When the word was communicated to the Methvin family, there was understanding but a trace of disappointment as well. Hadn’t the Lord heard their prayers? Hadn’t he provided that Brother Monson would come to Shreveport? Again the family prayed, asking for a final favor—that their precious Christal would realize her desire.
At the very moment the Methvin family knelt in prayer, the clock in the stake center showed the time to be 7:45. The leadership meeting had been inspirational. I was sorting my notes, preparing to step to the pulpit, when I heard a voice speak to my spirit. The message was brief, the words familiar: “Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God.” (Mark 10:14.) My notes became a blur. My thoughts turned to a tiny girl in need of a blessing. The decision was made. The meeting schedule was altered. After all, people are more important than meetings. I turned to Bishop James Serra and asked that he leave the meeting and advise the Methvins.
The Methvin family had just arisen from their knees when the telephone rang and the message was relayed that early Sunday morning—the Lord’s day—in a spirit of fasting and prayer, we would journey to Christal’s bedside.
I shall ever remember and never forget that early-morning journey to a heaven the Methvin family calls home. I have been in hallowed places—even holy houses—but never have I felt more strongly the presence of the Lord than in the Methvin home. Christal looked so tiny lying peacefully on such a large bed. The room was bright and cheerful. The sunshine from the east window filled the bedroom with light as the Lord filled our hearts with love.
The family surrounded Christal’s bedside. I gazed down at a child who was too ill to rise—almost too weak to speak. Her illness had now rendered her sightless. So strong was the spirit that I fell to my knees, took her frail hand in mine, and said simply, “Christal, I am here.” She parted her lips and whispered, “Brother Monson, I just knew you would come.” I looked around the room. No one was standing. Each was on bended knee. A blessing was given. A faint smile crossed Christal’s face. Her whispered “thank you” provided an appropriate benediction. Quietly, each filed from the room.
Four days later, on Thursday, as Church members in Shreveport joined their faith with the Methvin family and Christal’s name was remembered in a special prayer to a kind and loving Heavenly Father, the pure spirit of Christal Methvin left its disease-ravaged body and entered the paradise of God.

The old clock ticked in the dusky light like a tired heartbeat, and the windows in the small living room were filled with the soft, crimson glow of a going-down sun. Eric listened to the ticking as the light in the windows turned from red to gray to black.
From where he lay with Sparky beneath the scraggly branches of the Christmas tree, he could see a falling star plummet past the square of glass. Down, down it came. It was as if God was sending the fiery light to light somebody’s Christmas tree—somebody who was too poor to have an ornamental star for the top of his tree.
“Could be Jess Crowley’s place,” Eric said quietly to the perky little pup whose eyes and lip jerked in sleep. “Or Carrie Ludlow’s. Or maybe even ours. If it was ours, Sparky,” he figured out loud, “someone gave the angels the wrong address, because it landed farther from here than good fortune.”
Good fortune had not been their lot, it seemed to Eric, for longer than his eight-year-old mind cared to remember. His mother had died three years before, and his father had barely escaped death in a car accident a year later. The accident had left him too disabled to work. If it weren’t for the kindnesses of ward members, Eric speculated to himself, and the saving assistance from the Church, I don’t know what would become of us. With that computer someone left on our doorstep last year, though, Dad’s been able to get some jobs working at home. “So don’t you worry about not having a place to hang your hat,” he spoke aloud to the little dog, “or whatever it is dogs carry around with them—besides fleas, of course.” He chuckled softly, stroking Sparky’s head.
Twisting and peering through the open living room door, Eric could barely make out the sleeping form of his father in the room at the end of the hall. A spray of moonlight hazed across his bed. The boy eyed the figure affectionately. Dad was strong in the faith and had taught him to be so too. Dad had also taught Eric that they had problems in their lives not because Heavenly Father was punishing or ignoring them but because He loved them, knew what was best for them, and wanted them to grow and be happy. In spite of their sadness.
Eric stretched out beneath his worn, frayed blanket. There was plenty of room under the tree, even though it was just two days before Christmas, for there were only two presents there. The one wrapped gift was a little bird for his father that Eric had fashioned out of wood at school. His father loved birds. He said a bird could get closer to heaven than most of the rest of us, “except when we pray. And except for your mother,” he added warmly, “who may at this very moment be walking and talking with the Savior himself!”
The other gift was from Dad to Eric: Sparky. Dad had given the pup to Eric early. “It’s too hard to wrap up a dog,” Dad had said, “and expect her to lie still under a Christmas tree until some boy unwraps her!”
Eric gently stroked the puppy’s fur that was every bit as soft and warm as Dad’s love. He could hardly wait for the day when the little dog was big enough to run full tilt next to his flying feet.
He reached up and touched a tiny glass ornament glowing in a speck of moonlight that had found its way through the window and down through the shadowy branches of the scraggly pine.
“It sure does have a regular shine when the moon works on it, doesn’t it?” The voice came from behind Eric. His father sat down beside him in the sooty light, a blanket draped about his shoulders.
“I was trying to be quiet so I wouldn’t wake you, Dad.”
“You didn’t, Son. The bedsprings did. I rolled over and heard a chorus of rusty voices!” He chuckled, then ran his fingers through the boy’s golden hair. “I saw you in here camped out under the tree with that little fur piece of yours, and I thought I’d tuck you in.”
Eric smiled. His attention momentarily returning to the glitter of the glass ornament in the moon’s glow, he turned it slowly and watched the flash of revolving light.
“Something else shines just as pretty as that,” his father remarked. “It’s love, when the Savior puts His shine to it—except that glow is much, much brighter. It’s so bright, in fact, that you almost have to close your eyes to see it!”
Eric’s quiet, probing look asked his father to tell him more.
“This tree may be little and spindly, but the stable in Bethlehem wasn’t much to look at either—yet it held the greatest gift of all, God’s gift to all mankind, even Jesus Christ. And what He gave to you, me, your mom, and everyone else that ever was, is, or will be, is something so precious and priceless . …”
Eric squeezed his father’s hand with quiet understanding.
“Well,” Dad continued with a smile through his tears, “if we were to try to hang His gifts to us on this tree, they would break every branch. And if we tried to stack them beneath it, we’d break our necks trying to look up. And up. All the way to heaven. Where your mom is waiting for you and me.”
“I guess we have more for Christmas than what every store in the world has in it put together,” Eric said, “and a lot more, huh, Dad?”
Dad lay down next to his son and hooked his arm as a pillow under Eric’s head. Together they gazed up into the dark branches of the little tree and shared memories that shined like hope and faith and the sweet surety that families can be forever, that things eternal never die—all because of one small Babe born long ago in the city of David, Bethlehem, and placed in a manger there.

I see in my mind another pioneer woman who helped the families in a Monclova, Mexico, branch make their homes learning centers. I met her on a Sunday in September 1975. Adelita happily showed me the things she had done in her own home to motivate her children to study, then told of things she was doing to help the other sisters in the branch teach their children better study habits. Adelita herself was illiterate, yet she placed great value on education. Humble and gracious, she desired only to serve.

In History of the Church, Elder B. H. Roberts quotes the following from the Newell K. Whitney family’s history:
“‘About the first of February, 1831, a sleigh containing four persons drove through the streets of Kirtland and drew up in front of the store of Gilbert and Whitney. One of the men, a young and stalwart personage alighted, and springing up the steps walked into the store and to where the junior partner was standing. “Newel K. Whitney! Thou art the man!” he exclaimed, extending his hand cordially, as if to an old and familiar acquaintance. “You have the advantage of me,” replied the merchant, as he mechanically took the proffered hand, “I could not call you by name as you have me.” “I am Joseph the Prophet,” said the stranger smiling. “You’ve prayed me here, now what do you want of me?”’ The Prophet, it is said, while in the East had seen the Whitneys in vision, praying for his coming to Kirtland. ‘Mother Whitney’ [Elizabeth Ann, wife of Newel] also tells how on a certain night prior … , while she and her husband were praying to the Lord to know how they might obtain the gift of the Holy Ghost, which of all things they desired, they saw a vision as of a cloud of glory resting upon their house, and heard a voice from heaven saying, ‘Prepare to receive the word of the Lord, for it is coming’” (History of the Church, 1:146).

As a young man, David O. McKay took a summer job delivering newspapers to a mining town. He made friends with the miners, and they were always glad to see him.
Miner: Here comes David with our newspapers!
David: Good afternoon, gentlemen.
The trip took five hours each way. This gave David plenty of time to read books, memorize quotations, and learn from the scriptures. He loved learning! Sometimes he stopped to pray about gaining a testimony.
David never stopped learning. When he was President of the Church, some of his sermons included quotes he had memorized long before while riding his horse.

Youth in the Granada Hills California Stake took a different approach on the Church Sesquicentennial theme “Faith in Every Footstep” for their youth conference this year. Instead of taking steps of their own, they helped mentally handicapped children run, jump, and walk to the finish line at the Los Angeles Special Olympics.
The youth worked for nine hours, beginning at 6:00 A.M., but their good attitudes never wavered. “It was the best youth conference we have ever had because we’ve been able to give service,” said one participant.

A whole week of vacation in Florida! Tom thought about all the things he wanted to do now that he was finally at Grandpa’s. He would lie on the beach, and he would go fishing. Maybe he would catch enough fish for dinner for the whole family! But something else excited Tom even more.
When he and Mom and Dad had driven in from the airport, they had passed a ballpark just a few blocks from Grandpa’s house. It was no ordinary Little League field like the one where Tom spent most of his free time back home. This was the spring training camp of his favorite baseball team. He had never been to one of their games before, because they were too far away, so he was hoping to see one of their exhibition games while he was at Grandpa’s. Grandpa had hardly gotten everyone settled in when Tom asked him if the team had started spring training yet.
“Just the pitchers and catchers are here so far,” Grandpa replied.
“That’s good enough for me,” Tom answered. “My favorite player is a pitcher, David Reaves. Do you think he would help me improve my pitch? I have a good straight ball, but not much else.”
“I doubt it,” Grandpa said. “He’ll be awfully busy getting in shape and practicing right now. But you can probably get his autograph—if you’re patient.”
Somewhat wistfully, Dad spoke up. “I sure wish I’d had the opportunity when I was a kid to meet my favorite baseball hero. Remember, Dad, the time we drove all the way to Boston to see Cal Herder pitch?”
“I’ll never forget it,” Grandpa answered. “You had a brand-new baseball, and you were hoping to get Herder’s autograph on it.”
Cal Herder. The name was familiar to Tom. “I remember hearing you talk about him, Dad. He was probably the best pitcher the team ever had, wasn’t he?”
“Sure was,” Dad replied, “but I never did get him to sign my baseball. There was a big crowd that day, and when the game was over, there was such a mob around him that I couldn’t get to him before we had to leave. I’d hoped to get one another day, but we never got there again.”
“Wasn’t he number eleven?” Grandpa asked. “As I recall, they retired his number when he stopped playing so that no other team member would ever wear it.”
“I think you’re right,” Dad agreed. “Well, Tom, maybe you’ll be luckier. David Reaves is number forty-three, isn’t he? By the way, I figured you’d want to go over to see the team, so I bought something for the occasion.” He handed Tom a small, cube-shaped box.
Tom quickly opened it. Inside it was a new baseball.
As he got dressed the next morning, Tom imagined David Reaves’s name autographed on the ball. Fishing and swimming could wait. The first thing he wanted to do was visit the training camp.
After breakfast Dad and Grandpa went out to work in the garden, and Tom ran down the street toward the ballpark. He was a little surprised that there weren’t many people at the training grounds, but then he realized that it was a school day for the kids who lived in the area. A few men Grandpa’s age stood along the fence talking to one another. Out on the field, catchers and pitchers were warming up. They weren’t wearing uniforms, so Tom couldn’t read their numbers. He recognized some of the players, though, but he didn’t see David Reaves.
He went over to the men along the fence, who were talking to a white-haired man in a coaching jacket. “Excuse me, but have any of you seen David Reaves?” Tom asked.
The men shook their heads, and the man in the coaching jacket replied, “He won’t be out here today, son. He broke his finger practicing yesterday, so he’ll be laid up for a while. But don’t worry. He’ll be in fine shape by the time the season opens.”
Tom couldn’t hide his disappointment. “Oh, no!” he moaned. “I sure hoped to see him.”
The man in the uniform smiled sympathetically, “I’m sorry. Say, I’d guess you’re a pretty good pitcher yourself, aren’t you?”
“Well,” said Tom, “I’ve pitched in Little League.”
“Why don’t you come over on this side of the fence and throw me a few balls? Maybe I can show you a pointer or two.”
Tom slipped through the gate, and the coach tossed him a ball. He made sure Tom was warmed up thoroughly, then asked him to throw his best pitch.
Tom pitched it fast and solid.
“Boy!” said one of the men leaning against the outside of the fence. “Maybe you’ll be scouting him for the team in a few years.”
Tom pitched a second ball and a third the same way.
“Not bad,” said the coach. “But let me show you how to get a little variety in your pitching so that the batter won’t know what you’re up to.” He showed Tom how to twist his wrist so that the ball would curve. “Now try it.” The ball went far outside, and the coach lunged for it. As the coach twisted around, Tom noticed the number on his jacket—number 11!
“Cal Herder was number 11 when he played for Boston!” Tom blurted out.
The coach looked surprised. “I’m Cal Herder,” he said. “I didn’t think a fellow your age would know about an old-timer like me.” He smiled.
“Oh, I sure do!” Tom replied. “You were my dad’s favorite player! But I thought you retired.”
“Nope,” said Mr. Herder. “Only from playing. Baseball’s my life, and I’ll coach just as long as they’ll let me.”
Tom threw a few more balls until he felt comfortable with the new pitch. Then Mr. Herder said, “I think I’d better go help some of the big guys.”
“Before you go, will you do me a favor?” Tom took the new baseball out of his pocket. “Will you autograph this for me, please?”
“Be glad to,” said the coach, and Tom watched with delight as the man wrote “Cal Herder” across the ball.
“Thanks a million for the help and the autograph!” Tom exclaimed.
“Glad to give you both,” Mr. Herder replied; then he trotted across the field.
Tom nearly flew back to his grandpa’s house. Dad and Grandpa were picking oranges off a tree in the front yard.
Dad looked at Tom and laughed. “From the grin on your face, I know what you have—a ball atographed by David Reaves.”
“Wrong, Dad. It’s something for you. Something you’ve been wanting for a long time.”

During the week, I studied the scriptures for seminary before I did my schoolwork. When I was too tired to do my homework or was having challenges at school, I opened my seminary manual, studied, and prayed. I found that when I did that, I could refresh my mind and focus better on my homework. I still apply this in my life. Today, whenever I have a hard time, I still read my scriptures or general conference talks to refresh my mind.
Many high school students in Korea spend most of their time going to school and studying late. We learned that when we took time out for seminary and Mutual activities, we felt refreshed and were blessed to do better with our schoolwork. The lessons I learned there also helped me in other situations while I was still in school.

Throughout my school years I never lacked for friends; in fact, I spent a lot of time with my friends. But the one who was always my confidante and whom I could always go to with any concern or discussion was my mother. I realize this may seem a bit unusual, but at the early age of two, I lost my father as a result of a construction accident. So my mother and I grew very close together, not only in a parent-child relationship but as best friends.

When I was 16 years old, my parents joined the Church. After they were baptized, they invited the missionaries to begin teaching me and my three brothers. Two of my brothers were soon baptized, and my younger brother was baptized as soon as he turned 8. I chose not to get baptized, however, because I still had a lot of unanswered questions about the Church.
As time went on, I continued to meet with the missionaries, and on one occasion, they asked me if I had any questions. When I said that I did, he replied, “Before I answer your questions, I want you to first answer one of mine. If you can answer it, then I will answer yours.”
I said, “That’s fair.” So he asked, “Can you tell me if the Book of Mormon is the word of God?” When I responded that I didn’t know, he said, “Then I can’t answer your questions yet. You have to find out for yourself if it’s true. I don’t know if you’re sincere in wanting to know or if you’re just curious. If you’re sincere, you’ll find out.”
I’d heard enough people tell me that the Book of Mormon is true, but I knew I had to find out for myself. Sadly, I wasn’t sure at the time whether God even heard our prayers, let alone answered them. That’s probably because the first time I prayed about the Book of Mormon, I prayed to know that it isn’t true. No wonder I never got an answer!
Clearly, I had not asked “with a sincere heart [and] with real intent,” as Moroni teaches (Moroni 10:4). That real intent meant that I couldn’t find out just because I was curious to know. I had to really want to know. And if I found out it is true, I asked myself, was I willing to be baptized? Was I willing to change my life? Was I willing to do the things the Lord wanted me to do?
Fortunately, that wise elder returned the following day and said, “Let’s talk about how you’re going to get your answer.” I said, “Good,” because I really didn’t know how to get an answer. He opened up the Book of Mormon to Alma 32, and we started in verse 27. We talked about how the seed would grow and about the things I would feel. I didn’t have that swelling in the breast that Alma describes. But Alma also said the seed, or the word, would begin to “enlarge my soul” and “enlighten my understanding” and become “delicious to me” (Alma 32:28). I understood those feelings.
From that day on, I began reading the Book of Mormon with a sincere heart. And I told myself, “If I find out it’s true, then yes, I’ll join the Church. I’ve got to; I’ve got to follow what I know is true.” As I continued to study the Book of Mormon, I knew that my mind was being enlightened with an understanding of the Atonement of the Savior that I had never had before. I felt good when I was reading, and what I read began to be delicious to me. It began to enlarge my soul with an understanding of the plan of salvation. I even began to have that swelling of the breast that Alma talks about. I knew it was true; and so, as promised, I was baptized.

My big brother and I were sealed to our parents in the Provo Utah Temple. We drove for a long time to get there. When we went into the temple, Grandma Lee, who serves at the temple, and another nice lady took my brother and me to a special room. We listened to stories, had cookies and punch, and watched a movie about temples. Then we dressed in white clothes—I even wore a little white tie. The nice lady took us to the room where our parents and other family members were. When we were sealed to each other there, I felt happy. I know that our family will be together forever if we keep the commandments.

Christina was such a girl. When her Primary teacher’s husband died, Christina showed great concern. As soon as she heard the sad news, she went to her teacher and told her not to worry, that she would check in on her every day to make sure that she was all right. And she did. She would often take fresh vegetables from the garden to cheer her up. She wanted her teacher to know she cared. Christina truly comforted one who needed comfort.

Recently Sister Gong and I saw covenant belonging at its tender best in a hospital room. A young father desperately needed a kidney transplant. His family had wept, fasted, and prayed for him to receive a kidney. When news came that a life-saving kidney had just become available, his wife quietly said, “I hope the other family is OK.” To belong by covenant is, in the words of the Apostle Paul, “that I may be comforted together with you by the mutual faith both of you and me.”13

While swimming in Provo River, the teenage Tom Monson saw a crowd of vacationers shouting frantically that a member of their group had fallen into the river and was likely to drown in the whirlpools toward which she was being swept. At just that moment, she thrashed her way into Tom’s view. He swam to her side, took her in tow, and made his way to the bank.
“They were very generous in their gratitude and credited me with saving her life,” Brother Monson would later report. “But I think I just happened to be in the right place at the right time in order to give help.”