Gospel Story Finder

There was once a man named John who, although still relatively young, had experienced much suffering and sorrow. Homeless and addicted to alcohol and other drugs, John was terribly sick and weary of life. The more he descended into illness and despair, the more he knew that if he didn’t make changes—and quickly—there was a very real possibility he would die miserable, useless, and alone.

Perhaps because he had attended Primary a few times when he was a boy, John ended up in a nearby meetinghouse where he asked to see the bishop.

“I have ruined my life,” John said between tortured sobs that emerged from the depths of his harrowed soul. He spoke of the mistakes he had made and the path of self-destruction and misery he had trod.

As the bishop listened to John’s sad story, he could tell that the man truly wanted to repent and change his life. But he could also sense that John had little confidence that he could change.

The bishop thought for a moment about what he could say. Finally, he looked up and said, “John, I have made three choices in my life that have been of value to me. They may be of assistance to you as well.”

“Please, tell me,” John pleaded. “I’ll do anything. I just want to start over. I want to go back.”

The bishop smiled and told him, “The first thing you should understand is that you can’t go back and begin where you once were. But all is not lost. You can begin where you are. Choose to begin your repentance now.”

When John heard the bishop’s words, he promised he would do what the bishop had said. Because of his addictions, John knew he needed to repent and improve his health. So he checked himself into a facility where he underwent the prolonged process of recovery. He began eating nutritious food. He began to walk and do other exercises.

Weeks passed. John was able to free himself from his addictions. He could see that his health was improving and he was getting stronger. But still he was not satisfied. There were so many things about his life that needed improvement that he felt overwhelmed and discouraged.

So, once again, he scheduled a meeting with his bishop.

That is when he learned the second choice: “John,” the bishop said to him, “you’ll most likely have a rough time if you think you can make yourself perfect all at once. What you must learn is to choose your priorities. You have to put first things first.”

John began to understand that he couldn’t change everything that was wrong with his life in an instant, but he could choose his priorities. He could focus on the things that mattered most, and with time his life would begin to improve.

With help from the elders quorum president, John found a modest place to live. He knew that he needed to find a way to support himself, and as his health and attitude improved, he found part-time work.

Each night before John went to bed, he made a list of the most important things he needed to accomplish the next day.

Eventually, John was earning a steady income. He moved into a more comfortable place and bought a car. Yet, although he was feeling much better about his life, he still felt that something was missing.

Consequently, John returned a third time to meet with his bishop.

“The reason you still feel empty,” the bishop said, “is because you have not made the third choice.”

John asked what it was.

“It’s not enough to make choices and decisions and to work on them each day,” the bishop said. “Many have spent their lives in productive labor and have accomplished much. But they still feel empty. At the end of their days they lament that their lives had little meaning.”

That was exactly what John had been feeling.

The bishop continued, “It is not enough to do things. We must do the right things—the things our Heavenly Father would want us to do.”

“How do I know what the right things are?” John asked.

The bishop smiled and pulled from his desk a set of scriptures. The leather cover was scuffed and wrinkled. The gilded edges on the paper were nearly worn away. “Through the scriptures and the words of latter-day prophets,” the bishop replied. “These are the ‘right things.’ Some believe that the commandments of our Heavenly Father are restrictive and hard. To the contrary, they’re a handbook to happiness. Every aspect of the gospel of Jesus Christ—the principles, the doctrines, and the commandments—is a part of our Heavenly Father’s plan to help us obtain peace and happiness.”

The bishop turned to the Book of Mormon and read the words of King Benjamin: “Consider … the blessed and happy state of those that keep the commandments of God. For behold, they are blessed in all things, both temporal and spiritual; and if they hold out faithful to the end they are received into heaven, that thereby they may dwell with God in a state of never-ending happiness.”

As the bishop spoke, John thought about his own life. The things he had acquired hadn’t brought him happiness. Perhaps what the bishop was saying was true. Maybe happiness did come from living in harmony with the commandments of our Heavenly Father.

“Remember the words of the Savior,” the bishop said, as though he knew what John was thinking. “‘For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?’”

That very night, John made a commitment to open the word of God and to learn for himself the commandments and doctrines of his Heavenly Father. No longer did he resist the words of the Lord, but rather he embraced and cherished them. As he did, the emptiness in his soul began to shrink, and in its place he gradually discovered joy and peace that surpassed his understanding.

The things the bishop had told John had indeed transformed his life. Where once he was broken, sorrowful, and close to death, now he felt alive, vibrant, and filled with joy.

As a brother with pornography concerns waits outside his stake president’s office, the stake president prays to know how to help. A clear impression comes: “Open the door and let the brother in.” With faith and trust God will help, the priesthood leader opens the door and embraces the brother. Each feels transforming love and trust for God and each other. Fortified, the brother can begin to repent and change.

Members who follow President Hunter’s counsel sometimes find temple doors open to them in surprising ways. One such member was Kuteka Kamulete of Zaire. Although he lived thousands of kilometers from the nearest temple, President Hunter’s words touched his heart. He met with his branch president and received a recommend. Later, through an opportunity at work to travel to North Korea, in unexpected and unusual ways he was able to arrange a stopover in Switzerland and attend the Swiss Temple.
He later wrote: “How humble and grateful I felt! … I received my endowment that day, and it has been the greatest gift in my life” (“From Zaire to the Lord’s House,” Liahona, August 1997, 9).

Let me tell you a story that I heard recently in Mexico. In Torreón I was driven about in the fine automobile that belonged to the man of whom I speak. His name is David Castañeda.

Thirty years ago he, his wife, Tomasa, and their children lived on a dry little run-down ranch near Torreón. They owned 30 chickens, 2 pigs, and 1 thin horse. The chickens provided a few eggs to sustain them and the means whereby to earn an occasional peso. They walked in poverty. Then the missionaries called on them. Sister Castañeda said, “The elders took the blinders from our eyes and brought light into our lives. We knew nothing of Jesus Christ. We knew nothing of God until they came.”

She had two years of schooling, her husband none. The elders taught them, and they were eventually baptized. They moved into the little town of Bermejillo. They were fortuitously led into the junk business, buying wrecked automobiles. This led to association with insurance companies and others. They gradually built a prosperous business in which the father and his five sons worked. With simple faith they paid their tithing. They put their trust in the Lord. They lived the gospel. They served wherever called to do so. Four of their sons and three of their daughters filled missions. The youngest son is presently serving in Oaxaca. They have now built a very substantial business and have been prospered therein. They have been taunted by their critics. Their answer is a testimony of the power of the Lord in their lives.

Some 200 of their family and friends have joined the Church due to their influence. Over 30 sons and daughters of family and friends have served missions. They donated the land on which a chapel now stands.

The children, now grown to maturity, and the parents take turns going to Mexico City each month, there to work in the temple. They stand as a living testimony of the great power of this work of the Lord to lift and change people. They are typical of thousands upon thousands throughout the world who experience the miracle of Mormonism as a testimony of the divinity of the work comes into their lives.

And now, several months later, they were following the White Rim Trail in Canyonlands National Park in southern Utah, where the Colorado River and the wind have carved a canyon full of sandstone miracles.
They set up camp Friday afternoon at Dead Horse Point and began exploring on foot and bike. They walked the observation trail that winds around the edge of the canyon, overlooking a sheer drop of 300 million years. They saw an unbelievable panorama of sandstone filigreed with peaks, spires, ridges, and wrinkles. The whole broad chasm was a huge river of colored shadows, with the great brown and green Colorado winding through at the bottom.
The enthusiasm of the quorum had long since overtaken the rest of the ward, and there were more adults than priests on the trip. It was a great opportunity for a father to explain some of the wonders of nature to his son.
“Do you know why they call that the Green River, son?” asked one father, leaning over the edge of the observation wall and looking at the river far below.
“That’s the Colorado, Dad,” his son answered.
After awhile the group started drifting back, lured by the aroma of steaks sizzling on the campfire grill. The four-man cooking crew went about its work with the efficiency of old pros, using one fork and several convenient sticks for their tools.
“What do you mean, hot?” a young Navajo asked, reaching for a foil-wrapped, baked potato while his cooking partner licked burnt fingers.
The steaks cooked quickly, and what steaks! They eclipsed the paper plates and hung over the edges. Tender, juicy, and savory, they soon disappeared. Everyone said, “I can’t eat all that,” and then did.
Approaching the table one young man asked, “Do we have to use manners?” But no one stopped licking his fingers long enough to answer.
Later there was time for some fun and games, including an impromptu Olympics that featured long jumping from a sandstone boulder to the soft sand below. In the middle of it all, a huge moon came up and became an audience of one. The Indian youth pointed at it and said softly in Navajo, “Ooljee!” And everyone echoed still more softly, “Ooljee.”
An asthmatic bugle dribbled taps from somewhere in the darkness, announcing bedtime. Before climbing into their sleeping bags, the whole party got together for prayer. The priests quorum group leader called on one of the adults to pray, but before he could begin, a young man slipped to his side and whispered, “Pray for R.G.; he’s not feeling well.” It was done.
Stars seem to be made to lie awake under, but wind in pine boughs is the sleepiest of sounds, and soon most were unaware of the crackling red fire by which a few hungry young men were still roasting marshmallows.
At 4:30 the cooks were up, frying ham and scrambling eggs, long before the sun even hit the mountaintops. Before long an uproar followed as hibernating cyclists were turned out, and a frowsy-headed crew was soon attacking breakfast.
About halfway through the ham the bugler woke up. A sleepy reveille crawled from his tent and lay dying on the ground.
“What’d we bring you for?” someone asked.
Someone began singing a lively version of “Onward Christian Soldiers,” but trailed off under a barrage of glares.
Before sunup, breakfast was finished, and the cycles were gassed up and lined up in their assigned order, two abreast. On the handlebars of each cycle hung a helmet. Everything was ready.
The group formed a huge circle, and Kent Keller, the group leader, spoke with a suppressed smile.
“I guess you’re all wondering why I called you here …”
Safety rules were reviewed, last minute instructions issued, and the group knelt in prayer. Then it was to the cycles and away.
Along the rim of the chasm they went—sometimes over a thin layer of sandstone undercut with thin air—to a spot where the road gave up all inhibitions and dropped down the face of the all-but-sheer stone wall in a series of razor-sharp switchbacks hanging nonchalantly onto the edge of nothing. It was the first of many such roads. The priests zigzagged down as slick as slalom racers. The adults zigzagged down too, but some of them looked more sick than slick.
But the view made up for the nervous stomachs. The group stopped about halfway down just to look for a while.
“What do you think, Dad?”
A strong arm tightened around the young man’s shoulder. “I think it’s great, son.”
And then it was ride, ride, ride, through and over awesome desert valleys, passes, and peaks, on a road that sometimes degenerated into a trail and sometimes into an exercise in imagination. The riders often found themselves standing up more than they were sitting in order to absorb the jolts. But every bump and hill was an invitation to jump, and some young men were airborne so much they should have been licensed pilots.
They paused at the edge of the last plateau above the Colorado to make some minor repairs and adjustments on their bikes. All had been trained in bike maintenance and had received instructions in riding safety.
“Who’s got the chain lube?”
“Can I use your spoke wrench?”
Then over country steep, bumpy, and rugged, dotted with huge sandstone monoliths balanced on thin stone columns and fringed far away with pale mountains and colored mesas. Once the group went down a wash to the shore of the river, a road rough enough to test the most expert cyclist. They cut willows by the river for the wiener roast later on. Several million climbs, dips, and jumps later, they ate lunch on the wide stone ledge overlooking Monument Valley.
They built a wiener-roasting fire with the wood they had brought with them. One of the adults whittled kindling from the end of one of the huge, squat stove lengths.
“That’s not necessary, Brother Rasmussen,” one of the priests said kindly. “We’ve already got enough sticks, and you’ll never get that thing sharp enough anyway.”
Soon there was a roaring fire, just right for cremating wieners, and everyone did.
More roads, more bumps, more ruts, more breathtaking climbs and heart-stopping descents, more ravines to go around, more hours, and the group found itself down to the level of the Colorado again. By now the faces of the riders were a grimy, mottled brown. The young men were beginning to feel the wear and tear of the long ride, and some of the older men were past feeling it; and it wasn’t over yet. Ahead lay the ascent from the river back up to the top of the canyon.
It was done down dirt roads and up dizzy climbs, and finally down the home stretch through a pouring rain, and back into camp wet, muddy, tired, and happy, with 105 miles of hard biking under their belts. Had the rain come ten minutes earlier it could have made the climb out of the canyon very difficult, perhaps impossible. As it was, the four-wheeled vehicles had to grunt hard to make it.
In camp the bikes were loaded back into their trailers and the long haul back to Orem began. And in every car, jeep, and pickup, accompanied by the hypnotic squeak of windshield wipers, they all talked about the same thing. “Where shall we go next time?”

My father, Kurt, was a young boy in Poland during World War II. Often he felt hungry, cold, and frightened. Then something wonderful happened. His 10-year-old friend Otto Dreger invited him to go to Sunday School with members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. In Sunday School, Kurt and Otto learned they were children of God. They sang songs. They learned to pray. Kurt loved the way he felt when he went to church: peaceful and happy. He asked his parents and his sister to go with him. Before long my father and his family were baptized. The gospel of Jesus Christ helped them feel brave through difficult times.

“I’ve never had it easy,” says Dahvana Daneisha Shanika Providence from Saint Vincent.
After attending different schools due to constant changes in her earlier education and having health issues during her secondary education, she felt the need to achieve her dreams.
Having obtained second place on her first pageant, she decided to pursue her dreams in the textile world.
Being persistent in that dream has gotten Dahvana a scholarship in New York to study fashion after winning Miss Venus Model Caribbean 2018.

When my mission ended, I was apprehensive about my return home. I did not know where I would live. My parents had divorced when I was young, and I had lived alone and done several odd jobs to provide for myself. Fortunately, my last mission companion and his parents offered me a place to live. This helped me a lot because his family was very strong in the gospel. They provided me with a roof over my head and this helped me avoid many of the problems experienced by some returned missionaries.

Sabrina watched as Mom walked to the door with their neighbors. “Thank you for this book,” the father said. He was holding a Book of Mormon.
“Mom, why do you talk about the Church to everyone?” Sabrina asked later while they washed dishes together.
“It’s because my testimony of the Church is like a treasure,” Mom said. “It makes me happy. And I want to share it with others so they can be happy too!”
Sabrina pictured Mom’s shiny necklace in her jewelry box. “What do you mean it’s like a treasure?”
“Well, a testimony is very valuable,” Mom said. “It’s a gift from Heavenly Father that helps us know what’s true.”
“How did you get it?” Sabrina wanted to know.
Mom handed Sabrina a sparkling clean dish to dry. “I got it a little at a time. When I pray or read the scriptures, I feel peaceful and warm inside. It’s like I’m adding to my testimony treasure.”
Sabrina nodded slowly. Could she get a testimony treasure?
On Sunday, Sabrina’s Primary teacher told a story about Jesus Christ. Sabrina listened closely. Sister Lopez said Jesus invited all the little children to come to Him. He blessed and taught them. When Sabrina thought about Jesus, she started to feel warm in her heart.
Sabrina hurried to find Mom after Primary. “Mom, guess what?” She told Mom about the warm feeling.
“That’s beautiful,” Mom said. “That feeling is when the Holy Ghost touches our hearts and lets us know the gospel is true.”
Sabrina smiled up at Mom. “That’s what happened! It made me happy inside.” The Holy Ghost had been so quiet that Sabrina knew she wouldn’t have noticed Him if she hadn’t been reverent.
Mom hugged her tight. “Now you’re getting your own testimony treasure.” Sabrina hugged Mom back. She wanted to share her treasure with everyone—just like Mom did! But how could she do that?
That night Sabrina found a pass-along card with a picture of Jesus on the front. She tucked it in her backpack.
The next day when it was time for recess, Sabrina remembered the card. She pulled it out and went to find her friend Carla. “Here, Carla, this is for you,” Sabrina said.
Carla held the card close. “Thank you! I love pictures of Jesus.”
Sabrina showed Carla the website on the back. “You can learn more about Jesus’s Church here.”
“What church is that?” Carla asked.
“The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” Sabrina said. “Going to church and learning about Jesus makes me happy.”
Carla put the card in her pocket. “I’ll show this card to my mom.”
A few weeks later, Carla ran up to Sabrina before class. “I have something to tell you!” she said. She had a big smile on her face.
Sabrina was excited. What could it be? Carla smiled. “My family went to your church! And it was like you said—I felt happy there.”
“I knew you would feel the Holy Ghost!” Sabrina said.
“And I think we’re going to get baptized soon!”
Sabrina jumped up and hugged Carla. Now they could share their testimony treasures together!

It was soon to be Christmas. My twin brother and I had reached the age when we knew the “truth” about Christmas. Our family’s humble circumstances had always provided little help for Santa Claus. Max and I had decided between us that we would ease Mother’s concern about it and so confided in her our knowledge. She merely replied, “Well, is that so?”
Christmas Eve came. The family decorated the tree, made candy and popcorn balls, and placed our homemade presents beneath the tree. Dad sent us boys downstairs to bed, indicating that we were to stay there until he called us in the morning. Still laughing and giggling from the fun and excitement, Max and I followed our older brother, Lynn, down the stairs. With some effort on our part and some added encouragement from our father, we finally quieted down. Sleep came at last. It seemed I hadn’t been asleep long when Max awakened me with the news that it was 7:15 A.M.—time to hurry up to the living room. Our excitement and noisy efforts hurrying up the stairs awakened our father. As we reached the kitchen door we heard his somewhat irritated voice saying it was only 25 minutes before 3:00 A.M. (we had read the clock backwards) and we were to get right back into bed and wait as we had been told earlier!
We turned back toward the stairs. It was then that we saw it! Even in the very dim light it was beautiful! We sat down in the dark of the stairwell and described to each other a most unexpected surprise—a Hiawatha Streamer bicycle! The fact that there was just one, that there were 20 inches of snow outside and no place to ride, or that we couldn’t read which of the children it was for somehow didn’t matter.
It seemed that we sat there on the stairs for hours, counting each tick of the clock and anxiously awaiting the call of our father. Finally we heard Dad’s heavy footsteps as he walked from the bedroom toward the stairs. He hardly needed to beckon us to come.
There it was—“TO THE TWINS FROM SANTA”—the most beautiful bicycle we had ever seen. It was cream-colored, decorated with a bright red stripe and shiny chrome fenders, and completely outfitted with headlight, tool compartment, fender rack, reflector, and spring seat. We could hardly believe it was ours! Soon my brothers and I were clearing a pathway in the snow (shoveling the driveway had never seemed so easy) and were riding the sleek new Streamer. Cold hands and toes were ignored. What a wonderful time we had!
In my excitement and almost total preoccupation with our wonderful Christmas gift, I had failed to notice that there were few other gifts beneath the tree for other members of the family. Christmas stockings contained an orange in the toe, a few nuts, and some hard candy. Hand-wrapped pieces of honey candy and homemade fudge completed Santa’s treat.
That evening as we went to bed, Max and I talked about the day’s event—the bicycle. We planned how we would use the bike. We would get a paper route. We would have transportation to work during the summer, and we would be able to ride to school during the winter. It could be put to so many uses! Then our wonderment returned. Where had the bicycle come from? We knew Mom and Dad couldn’t afford to buy it. We were also aware of the wartime shortages. Who had made this prized gift possible?
It wasn’t until several years later that we learned the beautiful, heartwarming truth. The sacrifice and concern of a loving mother, brother, and sister had made possible that unforgettable Christmas. Our brother had worked extra hours at a creamery after school. Our sister had done housework for a neighbor. Our mother had saved money from her early morning work at the cannery during the harvest months. Each of them had worked extra hours and had sacrificed his time, his earnings, and his own Christmas gifts to provide a special Christmas for the young twins.
The happiness of that Christmas was surpassed only by the discovery of their secret and their love and sacrifice for us. Here was the true spirit of Christmas—an older brother and sister lending unselfish support to parents, desiring to give anonymously that which they’d never had themselves, seeking no credit or praise for their act, expecting no reciprocation. This example of the love of children for parents and brothers I shall always cherish and value as a priceless gift.
The bike is gone, long ago worn out by two robust boys. Its shininess faded through constant use and enjoyment. The years, however, have only increased the glow of true Christlike love between family members. This act of love, and others like it, created ties that have brought our family members to the aid and support of one another many times and under every circumstance.

Susan seemed afflicted with a similar ailment. But hers came when she looked in the mirror.
“Oh my gosh, I look so awful. Other girls have bad hair days—I have bad hair seasons. Why can’t I be thin, tall, blonde, and from Sweden? Is that asking too much?”

And here’s Susan, back in front of the mirror, but with a new attitude:
“Wow, that ribbon Mom gave me really does look good with my hair! It matches my dress, too. Maybe Jennifer would like one. It would look really good with the T-shirt she wore to Young Women last week. Whoah! Look at the time! I’d better hurry. I promised I’d make my famous Swedish meatballs for Mutual tonight!”

Welcome to the butterfly garden. Please move slowly, pay attention, and do not touch the butterflies.
Later …
How was the butterfly garden?
It was quiet and peaceful. I was kind of stressed at school today, but being in the garden made me feel better.
That’s how I feel when I go to the temple. I leave all my worries behind. I feel God’s love there.
I can’t wait until I’m old enough to go inside the temple. Can we visit the temple grounds together?
Of course!
This story took place in the USA.

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.”

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

Some years ago while on a family vacation, we acquired a rather unusual pet—a water snake from the beaches of Puget Sound. My children named him Sneaky, short for Sneaky Snake.
Early one morning while the family was out walking, Sneaky somehow got out of his cardboard box. When the room attendant entered to tidy the room, Sneaky headed for the open door. The attendant slammed the door in absolute terror, and since Sneaky got caught in it, we might say he came all apart.
It was the end of Sneaky, the beginning of a nervous breakdown for the attendant, and a time of weeping on the part of our children. Now, there is a lesson here. The attendant had erroneously perceived Sneaky as something less than the friend he was.

Allie looked around Grandfather Snow’s office in the Salt Lake Temple. “It’s late! We’re the only ones here.”
“Sorry, my dear,” her grandpa said with a smile. “I’ve been telling you too many stories.”
“Please don’t apologize. I’ve always loved your stories.” Allie hugged her grandfather, Lorenzo Snow, the fifth President of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
“I’ll walk you to the front entrance and let you out,” he said. “The night watchmen haven’t arrived yet, and the doors are all locked.” They walked out of his office into the hall.
Allie had married Noah Pond in a nearby room in the temple just three years ago. Now Noah was away in Sweden serving a mission. Allie missed him. But she knew he was serving the Lord, just as she and her family had done in Hawaii.
“Wait a moment, Allie,” Grandpa said. “I want to tell you something. Do you remember when President Wilford Woodruff died?”
Allie remembered well. It had only been a year ago, and Grandpa Snow had been worried about the responsibility of being the next President of the Church. He had prayed that President Woodruff would not die. When President Woodruff passed away, Grandpa had come to the Salt Lake Temple as soon as he heard the news.
To succeed means to be the next in line to fill a position. Ever since the deaths of the Prophet Joseph Smith and Brigham Young, the Lord has chosen the man who has been an Apostle for the longest time to become the next President of the Church.
“It was right here that the Lord Jesus Christ appeared to me. He told me to go right ahead and reorganize the First Presidency at once and not wait as had been done after the death of the previous presidents, and that I was to succeed President Woodruff,” Grandpa said.
Grandpa held out his hand. “He stood right here, about three feet above the floor. It looked as though He stood on a plate of solid gold.”
Allie stood very still as she felt the Spirit confirm the truth of these words. The Savior had appeared in this very spot in the temple and told her grandpa about his calling as President of the Church! Grandpa continued to describe the Savior’s hands, feet, face, and beautiful white robes. He said they were so white and bright that he could hardly look at the Savior.
Then Grandpa put his hand on her head. “Now, Granddaughter, I want you to remember that this is the testimony of your grandfather, that he told you with his own lips that he actually saw the Savior, here in the temple, and talked with Him face to face.”
Allie hugged Grandpa at the door and quietly made her way home. Her heart felt warm, and she knew that Jesus Christ really had appeared to Grandpa. The Savior lived, and He was the head of His Church. This was truly a night to remember.

Inspiration. To Michelangelo it was a block of marble. To Michael A. McBride of Rialto, California, it’s a dented fender.
While attending Eisenhower High School, Mike worked at a body and fender shop. When the county industrial arts contest was held, he entered the auto mechanics competition. He won first place.
From there he went to Fresno, California, for the statewide contest. He walked away with first place, winning an all-expense paid trip to Washington, D.C., for the national competition.
In the nation’s capital Mike took fourth place. During the competition he had to finish a written examination on auto repairs, estimate the cost of repairing a damaged car, repair and paint a dent—and do it all against the clock.
Mike is active in Church sports and is planning to enter the mission field soon.

After his father, Hyrum, and his Uncle Joseph were killed at Carthage Jail, Joseph F. Smith had to help his mother bring their family to the Salt Lake Valley.
Joseph’s mother, Mary Fielding Smith: Joseph, you are only eight years old, but I must depend on you. You must be a man when you are hardly a boy.
Joseph F.: I’ll help as much as I can, Mother.
Along the journey, young Joseph chopped wood, picked berries, carried water, and took care of the family’s animals.
But his main responsibility was driving the oxen.
He felt especially sad when his ox teams were thirsty and tired.
Joseph F.: I’m sorry, Thom. I know it’s too hot for you.
The journey was hard, and life didn’t become easier once they reached the Salt Lake Valley.
Joseph’s mother: It looks like we’ll have to spend the winter in our covered wagon, children. But God will protect us.
Joseph admired the faith and courage of his mother.
Even though the family had barely enough to live on, Mary Fielding Smith insisted they pay a full tithe.
Joseph’s mother: Choose the nicest potatoes to bring to the tithing office, Joseph. The Lord’s share must be the best pick of the crop.
Joseph must have remembered his mother’s faith when he received his call to preach the gospel in Hawaii. He was only fifteen years old, had no money to take with him, and didn’t even know the language.
He served faithfully in Hawaii and on several other Church assignments before becoming the sixth President of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Many people learned the gospel because of the faith and hard work of President Joseph F. Smith.
If you’d like to learn more about President Smith, do the “President Joseph F. Smith Crossword” on page 26.

The Lord Knew Where to Send Him
Prophets, seers, and revelators assign missionaries under the direction and influence of the Holy Ghost. Inspired mission presidents direct transfers every six weeks and quickly learn that the Lord knows exactly where He wants each missionary to serve.
A few years ago, Elder Javier Misiego, from Madrid, Spain, was serving a full-time mission in Arizona. At that time, his mission call to the United States appeared somewhat unusual, as most young men from Spain were being called to serve in their own country.
At the conclusion of a stake fireside, where he and his companion had been invited to participate, Elder Misiego was approached by a less-active member of the Church who had been brought by a friend. It was the first time this man had been inside a chapel in years. Elder Misiego was asked if he might know a José Misiego in Madrid. When Elder Misiego responded that his father’s name was José Misiego, the man excitedly asked a few more questions to confirm that this was the José Misiego. When it was determined that they were speaking about the same man, this less-active member began to weep. “Your father was the only person I baptized during my entire mission,” he explained and described how his mission had been, in his mind, a failure. He attributed his years of inactivity to some feelings of inadequacy and concern, believing that he had somehow let the Lord down.
Elder Misiego then described what this supposed failure of a missionary meant to his family. He told him that his father, baptized as a young single adult, had married in the temple, that Elder Misiego was the fourth of six children, that all three boys and a sister had served full-time missions, that all were active in the Church, and that all who were married had been sealed in the temple.
The less-active returned missionary began to sob. Through his efforts, he now learned, scores of lives had been blessed, and the Lord had sent an elder from Madrid, Spain, all the way to a fireside in Arizona to let him know that he had not been a failure. The Lord knows where He wants each missionary to serve. …
Elder W. Christopher Waddell of the Seventy

Early in my administration as Relief Society General President, a Relief Society group from one of the BYU student wards came to my office and presented me with a long scroll on which were listed the names of those who had completed the New Testament adult scripture reading course for that year. That Relief Society unit had determined that they would not only commit themselves to completing the Church reading assignment, they would live it and make it part of their lives. They wept as they told me that one girl who wanted very much to participate was blind, and so each member of their Relief Society unit took a turn reading the scriptures to her so that she could participate in the project.

Another girl became ill, and so they all helped her keep up with her class assignments so that she could do her scripture reading as well.

There is great value of combining the efforts of Relief Society members to go beyond theory into life-enriching experiences.