Gospel Story Finder

Bert and I grew up expecting to serve missions, and when we got old enough, we did. My mission made all the difference in the world to me. I gained a deeper understanding of the gospel, I developed discipline, and I learned to serve others. It has been the basis for a happy, successful life.
Three months after we returned from our missions, a man killed my twin brother. My father and another brother were badly wounded in the same attack. We knew who the person was who did it, but he was never arrested. I learned what it was like to feel hate and want revenge. I even had dreams of hurting the man who had done this terrible thing. But the Lord had made it clear what he expected of me:
“Ye ought to forgive one another; for he that forgiveth not his brother his trespasses standeth condemned before the Lord; for there remaineth in him the greater sin.
“I, the Lord, will forgive whom I will forgive, but of you it is required to forgive all men.” (D&C 64:9–10.)
With time and prayer, I did forgive that man. We all did.

Eight-year-old Maggie stretched forward to better talk to her parents in the front seat of the car. A frown tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Mom, do I have to go to Aunt Alice’s house?”
Maggie’s parents had been planning this temple trip for weeks. They had arranged for Maggie to stay with her great-aunt, who lived in the same town as the temple. Aunt Alice was quite old and lived alone.
Mom turned in her seat to ask, “Don’t you want to go to Aunt Alice’s house? She’s very kind and will take good care of you.”
“I know. It’s just that, well, what if there’s nothing to do? Sitting around all day could get really boring. Maybe I should have stayed home and spent the night at Anna’s house.” Anna was Maggie’s best friend.
Mother looked deeply into Maggie’s worried eyes. “It’s true, we could have left you at Anna’s house, but Dad and I wanted this to be a special trip for the whole family. We have been preparing Grandma and Grandpa McCallister’s records for a long time so that we could do their temple work. You never knew Grandma, but you’re like her in many ways. We thought this trip would be a good chance for you to feel close to her.”
Grandma McCallister had passed away when Maggie was only a baby, and Grandpa had died just last summer. Maggie knew that Mom was anxious to have their temple work done so that they could be a part of her family forever. Maggie slumped back in her seat. She knew that this day was important. She just wasn’t sure about spending it with Aunt Alice.
When they stopped in front of a small brick home several hours later, butterflies fluttered around in Maggie’s stomach.
“Grab your bag, sweetie—this is it,” Mom said.
Maggie picked up her backpack and slowly climbed out of the car. Her legs were stiff from the long trip, and she dragged them reluctantly up the front walk.
“Come on, honey. Dad and I have to get going.” Mom stopped at the front door and put her arms around Maggie’s drooping shoulders. “Don’t worry. Everything is going to be just fine. You might even enjoy yourself.” Mom smiled.
It was comforting to see the familiar twinkle in Mom’s eyes. Maggie perked up and smiled back.
Just then the front door opened, and the familiar aroma of chocolate chip cookies met Maggie’s nose.
“Well, look who’s here!” Aunt Alice exclaimed. “Maggie Magpie! I haven’t seen you since you were a baby!”
Maggie raised an eyebrow. “Maggie Magpie?”
“Oh, that’s what we used to call your grandma when she was a girl. Her name is Margaret, too, you know.”
Maggie barely heard her mother’s good-bye as she stepped into the house with Aunt Alice.
“Come and have some cookies while we get reacquainted, Maggie Magpie.”
Maggie looked around as she walked through the front room toward the kitchen. She stopped in her tracks when her eyes came to rest on a tall display cabinet full of fancy porcelain dolls. “Wow! Do you collect dolls?”
“Sure do. Do you like dolls?”
“I do! I have a collection, too. Well, it’s not as big or fancy as yours, but I really like dolls.”
“You know, your Grandma McCallister liked dolls, too. In fact, I may have something of hers that you can take home with you.”
Maggie followed Aunt Alice into the kitchen, wondering what she might have for her. Aunt Alice poured Maggie a glass of milk and set out some cookies. “Help yourself, honey. I’ll be right back.” She climbed a creaky flight of narrow wooden stairs to the attic. A few minutes later, she returned with an old shoe box.
“Just before your grandma died, she gave me this box. She asked me to keep it for you until you were old enough to take care of what’s inside.” A smile filled Aunt Alice’s face. “I think you’re old enough now. Want to see?”
Maggie nodded eagerly.
Aunt Alice took off several rubber bands, then carefully lifted the cardboard lid. Very gently she peeled back layers of faded tissue paper. Maggie leaned forward to see what lay inside. Beneath the folds of paper lay the most beautiful doll Maggie had ever seen. The eyes blinked open in the pale porcelain face as Aunt Alice lifted the doll out of the box. “Do you want to hold it?”
Maggie could barely breathe as she carefully took the doll into her arms and rocked it tenderly.
“Your grandma called her Bessie, or sometimes Miss Bess. She has the same beautiful dark red hair that you have and that your grandmother had.”
As Maggie gently smoothed the pale blue dress and white lace pinafore and patted the shining curly hair, she imagined another little redheaded girl holding this very doll a long time ago. She felt a new love for Grandma and began to believe that maybe she knew her a little bit after all.
An unexpected tear slid down Maggie’s cheek as she looked into Aunt Alice’s beaming face. “Thank you, Aunt Alice. I’ll take good care of her, I promise.”
“I know you will, Maggie Magpie,” Aunt Alice said. “You’re a lot like your grandma, you know.”
Maggie smiled lovingly at Grandma’s doll. She was glad that she was a lot like Grandma. And she was grateful that her parents were at the temple doing Grandma and Grandpa’s temple work. She wanted them all to be a family forever.

It was difficult, and it took me nearly two years. As I read in 3 Nephi about the Savior’s visit to the Nephites after His Resurrection, where He blesses their children and angels descend from heaven and encircle them, it was as though I stood among the Nephites and saw with my own eyes that miraculous event. The Holy Ghost bore witness of that great moment.

I could not read any more, as my eyes blurred with tears. When I regained my composure, I continued reading. A few more weeks passed, and I finished the book, knelt, and prayed to know if it was true. But I got no answer.

Days passed with me kneeling regularly and pleading to know if the book was true, if the Church was true, but still I got no answer. Despairing, weeks after I’d finished reading, I knelt one more time and asked, “Heavenly Father, is the Book of Mormon true?” The answer that came was not what I expected: “I have already told you. You know it is.”

I had gained my testimony weeks before, when I read about Christ blessing the children. I knew that this Church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, is the kingdom of God on earth, restored by a prophet and led by a prophet, as in days of old.

The mayor of Bastia knew very well that the missionaries standing in front of him were foreigners. Why, he wondered, would young men come from other countries and offer to help his people on the island of Corsica?
After a pause, he accepted their offer and challenged them to show up early the next morning to paint his small hotel.
True to their promise, the young men arrived at 7:00 a.m., eager and ready to refinish the mayor’s hotel on this picturesque island off the coast of France in the Mediterranean Sea.
When the mayor arrived at the hotel later that day to find the missionaries still working in the coastal sun, “he was astonished to see us there,” said Jake Lowry, one of the missionaries serving at the time.
Amazed at their willingness to bend their backs to help people they didn’t know, the mayor softened his resistance and “asked us to sit down and tell him what we needed,” Brother Lowry said.
The missionaries shared the gospel and told how their purpose was to bless the people on the isle of Corsica. They recounted their difficulties in finding an apartment because of residents who were weary of outsiders. A few months earlier, all missionaries had been removed from the island for safety reasons. But these elders had now reopened it for missionary work.
The mayor listened to the elders. “By the next morning,” Brother Lowry said, “he had secured a well-situated apartment for us and written a kind note.”
That evening, after settling into their new accommodations, “two well-dressed representatives from the mayor’s office stopped by to greet us and assure us that we were welcome and safe in the city,” Brother Lowry said.
In short order, the mayor and his wife began attending Sunday meetings with the branch, where they loved singing the hymns. Soon the mayor’s wife was baptized.
From these simple beginnings in the early 1990s, the Church took root on this island renowned as the birthplace of Napoleon Bonaparte. Missionary work soon flourished. After three months, more than 40 people were attending Sunday services in a wonderful meeting place arranged by the mayor.

“A puppy?” I asked, excited. “Sister North wants to give us a puppy?”
“That’s what she said,” Mom assured me. “But we have to check with Dad when he gets home from work before we say we’ll take him.”
How can Dad say anything but yes? I wondered. We were finally living in a house. All the other times we’d asked him for a puppy, he had said, “Not while we’re in an apartment. A dog needs a yard to run in.” Now we had a yard, and we had the chance for a puppy. He just had to say yes.
When Dad came home that night, my three brothers and I jumped all over him, shouting, “Can we have it? Can we have the puppy from Sister North?”
“Whoa,” Dad said. “A puppy is a lot of responsibility. Who’s going to feed and water it?”
“We will,” we promised.
“I guess it’s about time we had a puppy.”
“Hurray!” we yelled.
That night Mom took a box to Sister North’s house. When she brought it home, squeaking noises were coming from it. Mom reached in and gently took out a brown and black puppy and placed him in my arms. He licked my hand and wagged his tail.
We tried calling him all kinds of names to see which one fit the best. “Why do we call him a dog?” I asked Mom.
“Because that’s what Heavenly Father told us to call him,” Malcolm answered.
“Not quite,” Mom said. “The Bible tells us that Heavenly Father had Adam name the animals. Let’s read it.”
I got the Bible off the shelf in the living room. Mom turned to Genesis 2:19 [Gen. 2:19] and read, “‘And out of the ground the Lord God formed every beast of the field, and every fowl of the air; and brought them unto Adam to see what he would call them: and whatsoever Adam called every living creature, that was the name thereof.’”
“Wow!” I said. “How did Adam think of all those names?”
“Yeah,” Gabriel said, “we’re having a hard time thinking of a name for just one animal.”
“Maybe the name book will help,” Mom suggested. She got the book she uses when we name new babies. After reading for a few minutes, she pointed to one and said, “Here’s one that fits him—Caleb.”
“What does it mean?” we asked.
“It means ‘as fearless as a dog,’” Mom said.
And that’s how Caleb got his name. About six weeks later, Caleb acted real tired all day. He hung his head. He didn’t wag his tail. While we were eating dinner, he got off his blanket in the kitchen and walked on shaking legs over to the table. Then he started to throw up. Dad put him back on his blanket, cleaned the floor, then called the vet. After he talked on the phone for a while, he wrapped Caleb up in a large towel and took him to the dog hospital.
Dad came home alone. “Caleb’s very sick,” he told us. “I had to leave him there so the vet can find out what’s wrong with him.”
“Is someone petting him there?” I asked.
“No,” Dad said, “they have him in a cage.”
I hated to think about our Christmas puppy in a cage with no one to hold him and talk softly to him when he cried. “Mom,” I asked, “does Heavenly Father love puppies?”
“I’m sure that he does, honey,” she said. “He must love everything that He created.”
“Then it’s OK if I pray for Caleb, isn’t it?”
“Remember when we talked about Adam naming the animals?” Mom asked.
I nodded.
“Well even before Heavenly Father created Adam, He planned that it would be man’s job to care for the animals. Let’s read it from the Bible.” I got it from the shelf, and she read Genesis 1:26 [Gen. 1:26]: “‘And God said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness: and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth.’”
“What’s dominion?”
“That’s a way of saying Heavenly Father gave Adam the job of seeing that all the animals were protected and taken care of. Heavenly Father wants us to have dominion over our animals too. I think it would make Him very happy to know that you love Caleb enough to pray for him.”
That night I asked Heavenly Father to help Caleb get well so that he could come home to the people who love him.
The next morning the vet said that we could visit Caleb in the afternoon. When we got there, a lady in a white coat took us into a little room, then brought Caleb in. He wagged his tail but didn’t even try to get up. They had shaved a patch of hair off one of his front legs. Dad said that that was so that they could put a special kind of needle called an IV into his veins and put fluid into them because he wouldn’t eat or drink anything. We held him and talked to him for about ten minutes. Then the lady came back and said that it was time for Caleb to go get his medicine. As soon as she picked him up, he started to whine. I could tell that he wanted to stay with us and not go back to that cage.
The next night Dad brought Caleb home. We were to shoot water into his mouth with a syringe and feed him little bits of food so that he wouldn’t need an IV anymore. But we could do even more—we could love him and pray for him.
That night Dad slept on the kitchen floor in a sleeping bag with Caleb next to him. The next morning we folded a blanket and placed it in the sunshine in the living room. Caleb spent hours sleeping in the sun. Every time the sun moved, we moved the blanket. When he woke up and cried, someone picked him up and loved him. Every morning and every night we prayed for him.
One morning when we woke up, Caleb was gone from his blanket. We found him in the kitchen, wandering around under the table. He was getting well enough to go exploring. Before long he was his old self again.
Now Caleb is a full-grown dog. He loves to play soccer. He can flip the ball up in the air with his nose. He jumps as high as my bike to get it when Dad kicks it to him. I think that we’re doing a pretty good job of having dominion over Caleb. And I think that Adam would have liked our dog.

Many of us are descendants of hardy pioneers, and we feel grateful and inspired by their faith-promoting examples of sacrifice. My great-grandmother, Margaret McNeil Ballard, recorded in her journal a pioneer experience of sacrifice that occurred when she was between nine and eleven years of age. [She had come from Scotland by boat with her family.] She wrote:
“After landing we planned to go west to Utah. … The company we were assigned to had gone on ahead and as my mother was anxious for me to go with them she strapped my little brother James on my back with a shawl. He was only four years old and … quite sick with the measles; but I took him since my mother had all she could do to care for the other children. I hurried and caught up with the company, traveling with them all day. That night a kind lady helped me take my brother off my back. I sat up and held him on my lap with the shawl wrapped around him, alone, all night. He was a little better in the morning. The people in the camp were very good to us and gave us a little fried bacon and some bread for breakfast.
“We traveled this way for about a week, before my brother and I were united with our family again.”

If you routinely traveled through Weber Canyon in northern Utah between the hours of 8:00 A.M. and 10:00 A.M., you probably saw him. He rode an old rickety bicycle with a box of aluminum cans on each side of the back tires. At age sixty-five, he had ridden this same bike from his home in Tennessee to Utah. Then, for reasons known only to him, he had made a canyon cave his home.*
Everyone in Morgan County knew of him. They had either seen him riding his bike through the canyon or had noticed the bike parked at a local convenience store early in the morning. He had become a part of the community. People would visit him from time to time in his cave, but he told them very little about himself. He was a sad sort of man.
Many people were afraid of him, including four-year-old Amy Creager. She had seen the man on many occasions and wondered about him. One day, about six weeks before Christmas, as she, her baby sister, Sydney, and her mother left the convenience store, Amy saw him. As they waited to turn onto the road, she said, “Mama, tell me about that man. Where does he live? And why does he have all those cans on his bike?”
Amy’s mother told her that the man lived in a cave in the canyon and that each morning he went around to dumpsters in the town to sort out the cans, load them onto his bike, and take them through the canyon into Ogden to turn them in for money.
As her mother told her what she knew about the man, a worried look came over Amy’s face. Her mother told her of the different names people used to refer to him, such as “the can man” and “the hermit.” But from that day forward, Amy and her mother began to call him simply “the man on the bike.”
With her voice trembling, Amy said, “It’s too cold to sleep outside. Why does he want to live in a cave?”
Trying to explain it simply, her mother said, “He probably doesn’t have enough money to live anywhere else.”
Amy and her family had just built a home the year before, so the solution seemed simple: “Why can’t Daddy build him a new home?”
“Well, we don’t have enough money, and Daddy doesn’t really know how.”
“The men who built our home can do it!”
“Well, it’s not that simple, Amy.” Mother tried to explain why that could not happen.
With tears welling up in her eyes, Amy sat silent for a few seconds, then said, “He can come and live with us! I am afraid of him, but he can have my room! I just won’t look at him.”
Tears came into her mother’s eyes as well. She could tell that Amy was determined to help the man somehow.
They finally reached Grandmother’s house, where Amy and Sydney would stay while their mother went to help their father at his shop. Reaching the shop, Amy’s mother told her husband about the events of the morning. The story touched him.
“We need to figure out a way for her to help him,” Amy’s father said. He thought for a while. “Since we can’t build him a home, let’s get him a new bike! I know a guy who owns a bike shop. I’ll call him, and he can tell us which would be the best bicycle for the man’s needs.”
Amy’s parents were both so excited about the idea that they stopped working and made the call. Her father told the bicycle shop owner the story. They decided that the man needed a sturdy mountain bike. After working out a few other details, they felt that Amy needed to decide the rest.
When Amy’s mother went to pick up her and her sister, she told Amy about their idea.
Amy’s face lit up. “Let’s get him a horn so that he can honk back at the cars! And let’s make sure the bike has two big baskets on the back for his cans! And, Mama, it has to be purple! Purple is everyone’s favorite color!”
As the days went by and Christmas drew nearer, Amy’s excitement about the bike grew. She could hardly wait to go and pick it out. She did many chores around the house to earn money to help pay for it. Whenever she saw the man riding his old bike in the canyon, she’d say, “He is going to love his Christmas present! How many more days, Mom?”
One night her mother went to Relief Society Homemaking meeting. Each sister was invited to tell of her most memorable Christmas. When it was time for Amy’s mother to tell of hers, tears filled her eyes. She said that she thought this Christmas was going to be one of her most memorable. She told them of Amy’s love for a stranger of whom she was afraid. She told the sisters of their plans to purchase the bike, and they were touched. After the meeting, many of the sisters asked Amy’s mother if they could be part of this Christmas memory. One sister wanted to make the man a quilt and a pillow. Another thought it would be nice for him to have some new, warm shirts. And the offers for contributions kept coming.
The next morning, Amy’s mother had a phone call from a sister in the ward who worked at a local business. The company employed many in the community. She had mentioned Amy’s desire to help the “can man” to some of the employees. They had all seen him because their place of work was his first stop every morning. He’d pick up the cans that they had gathered in a garbage bag for him. She wanted to know, on behalf of the employees she had spoken to, if it would be all right with Amy if they took up a donation to help with the cost of the bike. It was.
As the days went by, the word began to spread. More things were donated, including food and more clothing. It was exciting to watch the community rally together to help a four-year-old girl serve a sixty-five-year-old man.
About two weeks before Christmas, the “man on the bike” was invited to have dinner with a family who lived in the area. He told them it was time for him to move on. He was beginning to feel that he was an embarrassment to the people there. The family tried to tell him differently, but he had made up his mind. Amy heard of his plans and worried that she wouldn’t get the bike to him on time.
The day to buy the bike finally arrived. When she and her father reached the store and walked in, Amy looked around. Her eyes fixed on one bike.
“This is it, Dad! I want this one!”
“It is a mountain bike,” the store owner said.
It wasn’t purple, but it was the brightest blue you could imagine, with even brighter splashes of pink paint all over it! Amy loved it, and that was all that mattered. With the money that had been donated and what Amy had earned, she was able to pay for the bike and buy the largest baskets and the very best horn.
That night as Amy was tying a bow onto the bike, she said to her father once again, “Daddy, I really don’t want the man on the bike to see me.”
Her parents talked it over and asked the sheriff for his help in delivering the collected items and the bike to the “‘man on the bike.’ We understand he goes into the convenience store every morning. Do you think you could try to catch up with him there tomorrow?” Amy’s father asked.
The sheriff agreed, so Amy and her parents took everything over to his house and loaded it into his truck.
“I’m proud of you, Amy,” the sheriff said. “This is a very kind thing you are doing for a stranger.”
The next morning, the sheriff drove to the convenience store, and the man was there. The sheriff went in, walked right up to the man, and said, “You need to come with me.” The “man on the bike” thought that he was in trouble. They walked together out the door. Then the sheriff began to unload his truck, and the man stood there in silence, looking very bewildered.
“This is all for you!” the sheriff told him.
When the sheriff lifted the bike out, the man just stared at it. Then the tears began to fall. “Whose idea was this?”
“A four-year-old girl who is worried about you,” the sheriff said, his own eyes filling with tears. He explained to the man how it had all come about and how the whole community had wanted to help Amy help him.
The man was overwhelmed by this act of love. He said, “I don’t deserve all of this! You need to give these things to someone who really needs them!”
“I think you are plenty deserving. I’ll help you take them over to your cave.”
“Will you tell her thank you for me?”
The sheriff quietly nodded.
The man ended up staying in the area until May of the following year. Every time the people of Morgan County saw “the man on the bike,” they were reminded of the Christlike love of a child.

Five Beehive girls had a surprise introduction into the Young Women program in the Twin Falls 11th Ward, Kimberly Idaho Stake.

The girls of the ward were worried that five of their friends were only partially active, so they planned a surprise breakfast.

But instead of inviting their friends, they decided (with the permission of the girls’ parents) to “kidnap” them. Each of the five girls was pulled out of bed and taken to their leader’s house for a big breakfast of bacon, eggs, and pancakes. While waiting for breakfast to cook, the girls played games. They vowed that this was one morning they would remember.

A few years ago as our youngest daughter was preparing to leave for her mission, she asked if I had ever tried to contact the young missionary who had taught me.
“I have thought about him over these many years,” I replied, “but I don’t know how to contact him.”
Within 10 minutes she came back and said, “Here’s his phone number.”
When I got ahold of him, we had a long conversation. He asked for my email address so he could “bring me up-to-date on his life.” In his email the next day, he told me he hadn’t been a member of the Church for more than 40 years and hoped I wasn’t disappointed.
“How could I be disappointed?” I immediately emailed him back. “You changed my life!”
We exchanged more emails and agreed to meet. Soon I drove to his home, where he invited me in and introduced me to his wife. As we talked about our past, I asked him if he had a Book of Mormon. He went upstairs and returned with a copy. I took the book, looked him in the eye, handed the book back to him, and said: “I know this book is true! If you read Moroni 10:4 and pray about it, you can also gain a testimony of its truthfulness.”
Over the next several months, he read, prayed, and repented. Soon his 18-year-old son rebaptized him, and I had the blessing of confirming him.
I know that my daughter was inspired to ask her question, and I know that Heavenly Father prepared the two of us for a 45-year reunion. I have learned the power of the Book of Mormon. I have also learned to never give up on someone who has wandered from the Church.

Sissy was crying again. She didn’t want to cry, but the warm, wet tears kept sliding down her cheeks. Ever since Pa had died last winter, she found herself crying almost every time she was alone.
Today she had run home from the little pioneer church and climbed into the hayloft. It was the Sunday before Easter, and her Primary lesson had been about the Resurrection. Sister Nelson had reminded the class that when people we love die, we can be comforted knowing that they will live again and that we can be with them at some future time. Sissy knew that Sister Nelson was speaking especially to her and was trying to be kind, but her teacher just didn’t understand! What good is it to think about resurrection when I need Pa right now? she thought.
Sissy had been very close to her father. Pa had always said that she was special. He called her his “own little angel right from heaven.” The tears rolled down her cheeks, and she cried, “Oh, Pa, why did you have to die? How can I ever be happy again?”
Her thoughts were interrupted by her brother Joe’s husky voice calling her from the barn door. “Sissy! Sissy, are you in here?”
“I’m coming, Joe,” Sissy said slowly as she dried her tears and began to climb down.
Joe stood at the bottom of the ladder; he lifted her off the rungs, swung her around, and gently set her down. “What’s the matter, Sis?” he asked as he bent his tall frame over and looked into her reddened eyes. “Has it been raining in the hayloft again?”
Sissy gave him a little smile and held his hand as they left the barn. She loved Joe. He was kind and gentle, like Pa, and Sissy knew he understood her sorrow and loneliness. She wondered if he still missed Pa too. She hadn’t thought about that before. Joe always seemed so strong and sure of everything.
“Joe,” Sissy said, stopping suddenly, “what do you do when you feel sad and lonely without Pa around?”
Joe walked slowly over to the cottonwood tree and sat down. Sissy sat down beside him. He was quiet for a moment and seemed to be studying the daffodils that Pa and Sissy had planted last spring. Then he looked up into Sissy’s eyes and spoke softly. “Missing Pa is natural and will probably last all our lives, Sissy. But when I’m sad, I try to get busy doing something that I know would make Pa happy. You see, I know that someday I’m going to see Pa again, and I want to be the kind of man he always wanted me to grow up to be. Somehow that seems to take my mind off my sad thoughts and put it on the happy thoughts of how proud I can make Pa when I see him again.”
Sissy thought about Joe’s words as he got up and headed toward the woodpile. She knew that Pa would be sad to think that the only thing she did when she thought of him was cry. Maybe if she tried Joe’s plan, it would work for her too. She wrinkled her forehead as she tried to think of something to do that would make Pa happy and proud of her.
In a minute Sissy was on her feet, running to catch up with Joe. “Joe,” she asked, filling her arms with kindling, “do you think we could take some daffodils over to Sister Harding this afternoon? I noticed she wasn’t at church today, so maybe she would like a little visit. We could take over some of those good molasses cookies too!”
Joe gave her a quick smile and a gentle squeeze and nodded his head. “That’s the best idea I’ve heard in a long time,” he said.
Later, as Sissy gathered the flowers, she found herself thinking about Pa and smiling for the first time in a long while. She could almost see Pa smiling too!

During my first Christmas as a bishop, a single mother with three small children lived in our ward. This young woman had a strong testimony of the gospel and lived it to the best of her ability. She cleaned homes and did sewing to try to earn enough money, but often she could not.
Raising three young boys by herself was a real challenge. These active, energetic youngsters always seemed to be in some sort of trouble. I remember removing them from more than one tussle with their classmates.
Several good people helped this struggling family. I’ll never forget the brother who came into my office one Sunday just a couple of weeks before Christmas, asking to speak with me privately. He was concerned about the young mother and her family and wanted to do something for them. Would I accept his contribution and use it in the best way I could to help them? As we spoke, I hardly noticed his small son, who remained in the office with us.
The man explained that he did not know what the woman and her family needed. He just wanted to help and felt that I would be inspired to know what to do. He then entrusted to me quite a remarkable sum of money—not remarkable in amount, but remarkable relative to his modest income, of which I was well aware, I knew that this gift meant a sacrifice of his own family’s Christmas, at least in the temporal sense. Seeing the resolve shining in his eyes, I protested only gently. Then I cleared my tightening throat, thanked him for his unselfish gift, and promised to do my best to make Christmas a little brighter for the young mother and her sons.
I also agreed to honor his request that his name be kept secret.
The story might well end here and still be memorable. But the event that has kept this experience in my mind had yet to occur. It wasn’t the way I was able to help the family with the contribution—although that turned out to be most gratifying—but rather what took place in my office one week following that brother’s visit.
It was just a few days before Christmas, and I was between tithing-settlement interviews when I heard a soft knock on the office door. I opened it to see, standing quite alone, the six-year-old boy who had sat quietly in my office while his dad and I had talked the Sunday before.
He asked politely if he could talk to me for just a minute. After we walked into the office—which I think is always a bit of a frightening experience for youngsters—I invited him to sit down. He fidgeted with something in his pocket and, after some struggle, pulled out three small coins and laid them on my desk. He apologized that the coins were all the money he had, and that they were a little old and dirty, since he had had them quite a while. The money, he explained, was for me to use to help his three friends, like his dad was helping their mother. As my heart swelled and my eyes became moist, he added that he felt I would know best how to divide his treasure among his friends and that he was sorry that one of the coins was of less value than the other two, so they could not be divided evenly between the three boys.
What lessons originated in that moment! A father’s unselfish example, the trust of a small boy in his bishop, and the humble, Christlike act of a child obviously without guile. Only a few weeks before I had pulled this boy from a quarrel with the boys who would soon be receiving his forgiving love and charity.
I hugged him, partly to cover my now obvious tears and mostly to tell him how much I appreciated him and how much I knew his Father in Heaven loved him. I then walked him to the door, shook his hand, and assured him that I would do the best I could to help his friends this Christmas with his generous gift. As I turned to go back into my office, he whispered after me, “And remember, Bishop, don’t ever tell anyone it was me.”
Well, I never have told anyone until now, my young friend. I hope relating our special story in this way is alright so that others might feel a bit of the quiet Christmas spirit of love and charity that we felt that day.

by Kathryn S. Packer
When you see a handicapped person on the street, what do you do?
Do you look away to avoid embarrassing them?
Do you smile and say hello?
These were some of the questions presented to the youth of the Silver Spring Maryland Stake, and a whole youth conference was devoted to answering them.
The theme of the conference was “Reach Out and Help Someone,” and it focused on sensitivity and awareness of others’ needs. It was divided into two parts.
To start things out, the youth organized a party at the stake center for 31 residents of three nearby nursing homes. The youth planned carnival games, displayed and shared their hobbies, put on a talent show, and had a sing-along complete with kazoos. A roving photographer was on hand with an instant camera, providing immediate mementos for the guests.
Next on the youth conference agenda were handicapped awareness workshops. By imagining they had some of the handicaps themselves, the youth found out what it’s like to move around the stake center in a wheelchair, and how difficult it is to count money, pour milk, and eat, without the use of their eyes.
And there were workshops based on working with people who have less obvious handicaps, such as low self-esteem, depression, or suicidal tendencies.
The final awareness activity of the conference was a bit of a shock to most of the youth. As they were seated for a beautiful, all-you-can-eat brunch, blindfolds and ropes were distributed. The teens were divided into partners to help each other: one was blindfolded, the other had his “good” arm tied to his side. They were then invited to go to the buffet and help themselves.
Cary Shelton of the College Park Ward summed up, “This youth conference showed me not only that each of us has handicaps, but that we each have strengths too.”

I think I was most grateful when I left California to attend BYU. First of all, I was glad that I had earned the grades necessary to enter college. And although I told my roommates I wasn’t interested in getting married because I was going to be a famous journalist, I really was. And I didn’t want to marry a slouch either. I wanted a man who had lived a righteous life and kept himself clean. I did find Mr. Right, and it was sublime not to have any serious transgressions to hide or confess before we knelt at the altar of the temple.

Once I had my family history computer disk in my hands, I realized that the most important part of the work was still missing. I needed to go to the temple and provide my family beyond the veil with the ordinances that would enable them to be saved and join my family’s generations for eternity.
I was able to go to the temple when I went on my mission to Cochabamba, Bolivia. I began preaching the gospel in October 2000. A few months later my companion and I visited the temple with the youth from the ward where we were serving. I took my disk and was able to provide 599 names for ordinance work.
While I served as witness, my companion baptized the young people on behalf of my ancestors. What great joy I felt. The Spirit was with me, testifying of the truthfulness of what we were doing. I could feel my ancestors’ happiness and gratitude.
But there were other ordinances that still needed to be done. Because there were so many names, I turned them over to the temple. But I kept the names of my great-grandparents and their children, and later that month my companion and I, with the help of other missionaries, performed the work for them.
I am grateful to my Heavenly Father because, although I was far from my country and perhaps thought that I would baptize only the living, I was also able to participate in the work of redeeming the dead.

Pursuing a Pathway degree is sometimes a long, patient process. Daddy Kampoy David shares his experience: “I have a young family and a full-time job. I serve as the first counsellor in the Bandalungwa Ward, DRC, and I teach in the EnglishConnect program. My time for study is very limited. I started my degree in 2020 and hope to finish in 2024. I get up at 5:00 am for study, care for my family, work all day, and study a couple of hours before returning home at night. Before exams, I take a few days of vacation for study. I know this degree will help me grow as a person and provide a more secure life for my family. I know this is worth it!”

“Well, Cory, based on what we’ve talked about, I would be pleased to recommend you for full-time service as a missionary,” my bishop said, nearing the end of the interview.
“So, I guess I’m pretty well on my way to the mission field after this,” I said. I was already picturing myself in an exotic land, saving lost souls. But the bishop interrupted my daydreams.
“Actually, there’s one more very important thing I wanted to talk about before we end this evening,” he said. “Far too often potential missionaries are so involved in checking off items on their ‘to do’ list that they don’t keep their temple ordinances in the right perspective.” I felt like the bishop was describing me as he went on, “For some missionaries, receiving their endowment is sandwiched between checking the dimensions of their luggage and hitting next weekend’s two-pant suit sale.” My bishop’s words made me realize that I needed to consider the temple with the importance it deserved.
During the rest of the interview he explained the sacred nature of the endowment. By going through the temple, he told me, I would be making sacred covenants with my Heavenly Father that go far beyond the mission and are essential to my exaltation. “Not only that,” he continued, “your temple experience will fill you with the desire to serve. You will want those you teach to receive the same blessings of the temple that you have received. The strength you’ll receive from your temple covenants will benefit you as a missionary, but they also have eternal significance.”
The bishop’s words weighed on me as I walked slowly home. I began to feel nervous. I had looked forward my whole life to the time when I would enter the temple, but now I was especially eager to be ready.
A few weeks later I received my mission call. With excitement I read the words “Brazil Porto Alegre North Mission.” I could hardly wait to be among the Brazilian people, sharing the message of the restored gospel. I shared the news of my call with my extended family, ward members, and friends. I also noticed how many people were just as eager to know when I would go through the temple. Many had words of advice to offer me on how I should prepare myself mentally and spiritually before entering the house of the Lord.
During the next few months I made sure to attend temple preparation classes. I read my scriptures and prayed for a continuing reassurance of my decision to receive my endowment. The Spirit comforted me again and again. I also read the pamphlet Preparing to Enter the Holy Temple, written to assist those preparing to attend the temple for the first time. I was so grateful for the statements about the reverence and peace that prevail in the temple. During this time of preparation I gained a much stronger testimony of the sacred nature of the Lord’s house and the work that is performed inside.
I will always remember the sight of the temple the day I arrived to receive my endowment. I was filled with deep respect and reverence. I was humbled by the thought that I would go inside and make sacred covenants with my Father in Heaven.
I had arrived dressed in my Sunday best, knowing that my outward appearance reflected my inward respect for the house of the Lord.
“Welcome to the temple,” I was greeted as I showed my recommend and walked inside. Everything about the temple was beautiful. It felt like a piece of heaven on earth, and the friendly temple workers seemed like angels.
I remained in awe at the Spirit I felt. While I didn’t immediately understand everything that was taking place, I did realize the importance of the covenants I was making. It was clear to me why my bishop had spoken of the temple the way he had. The endowment I was receiving would extend not only far beyond the two years of my mission but even into the eternities. More meaningful to me than any of the advice I had received from various people was a scripture I had read as part of my preparation, “And that all people who shall enter upon the threshold of the Lord’s house may feel thy power, and feel constrained to acknowledge that thou hast sanctified it, and that it is thy house, a place of thy holiness” (D&C 109:13). I knew that the temple was the Lord’s house, sanctified and holy. I went expecting to feel God’s love, and I did.
Throughout my mission I frequently reflected on my first temple experience. I was also thankful for having attended the temple each week at the MTC. The blessings of the temple fortified me and gave me strength through difficult times. I was filled with the desire to serve and bring others to a knowledge of God’s plan. I wanted everyone I taught to have the same opportunity to make covenants with Heavenly Father and receive a greater understanding of His infinite love.
I am grateful for having realized that the temple will be a part of me forever and not something to simply check off before leaving on my mission. Since returning home from my mission, I have made temple attendance a priority in my life. The temple is a place of clarity and renewal for me. It is a place of holiness where I can feel God’s love for me and for all His children.

The first thing that Nathan Wakefield saw after he had climbed into the dimly lit attic of his family’s sod-roof cabin was his father’s old Civil War uniform hanging from a rafter. Nathan felt that he had nothing better to do than to explore the attic. Besides, on this rainy day his best friend, Eddy Fairfax, had taken a steamboat ride up Cedar River with his parents to visit his uncle in Springdale.
Nathan ran his finger along the dusty length of the army carbine that stood in the shadowy corner of the attic, and he thought about “the big sadness,” which is what his father called the Civil War. Then he saw something else—a coat draped across an old chest. It was made of hides and furs, and it looked and felt wonderfully strange. Nathan pushed his hand through its musty softness.
“That was your Grandpa John’s coat,” came his father’s voice from behind him. Nathan turned around with a start and faced his father, who stood on the attic ladder, a smile on his face. “Your great-grandfather made it for him when he was just about your age. It kept him warm on a lot of cold winter nights.” Sensing Nathan’s fascination with the coat, he added, “How would you like to have it, Nathan?”
Nathan’s eyes grew round. “You really mean it, Papa?” he asked happily.
“Coats are for wearing,” Papa returned. “And since you’re the only one in this family who can fit into it …”
So excited was Nathan over the gift of Grandpa John’s unusual coat, that he asked his mother the following morning if he could wear it to school.
She smiled and commented that it did look rather striking on him. And since the weather was still about as cold and wet as Cedar River, she guessed that it would be all right.
Cylus Murphy, a boy who lived nearby and who normally walked to school with Nathan, caught cold that day. Nathan didn’t. Maybe the coat’s magic, Nathan thought on his way home that afternoon. Then he decided that he simply hadn’t caught cold because the big coat had kept him warm and dry.
And the next day when Nathan discovered a gold coin on his way to school, he was sure that the coat had nothing to do with it. However, when Mr. Styker sprang a test on the class after Nathan had slipped into the coat because the classroom stove had been banked for the day—and he had received the highest score—he began to wonder if the unique garment really did produce “good luck” for its wearer.
After a few other good things happened while he was wearing the coat, the eleven-year-old boy was certain that the coat brought good luck.
Nathan’s parents didn’t seem to question their son’s unusually strong attachment to Grandpa John’s coat until they discovered that Nathan believed that his small good fortunes had come because he’d been wearing it.
“I think that you should talk to Nathan about it,” his mother suggested to Papa one day. “That coat is starting to take its toll on his faith in himself—and maybe on his faith in general.”
“I’ll talk to him,” Papa assured her. “But,” he added with gentle wisdom, “sometimes the lessons learned best are the ones we learn through our own experiences.”
The following Saturday morning Nathan’s mother asked him to go to Big Wood Lake and gather reeds for her so that she could make a few baskets to sell at Mr. Rowland’s store in Hasting’s Grove.
“Don’t cut them on the west side of the lake,” his father cautioned. “They are more plentiful there, but there have been reports of wild boars spotted in that area, and they can get as nasty as a hungry bear up a played-out honey tree! You’ll be perfectly safe, however, if you stay on the east side of the lake.”
Frost seemed to hang on the morning like Nathan’s mother’s clothes on a line, so he snuggled into Grandpa John’s big, warm coat and started off toward the lake. He decided that it would be easier to gather reeds on the west side of Big Wood Lake, even though he had been told not to. They really were more numerous there, and he would have time left over to do what he wanted to. Maybe he could talk Papa into coming back to the lake to fish with him. Besides, Nathan told himself, the coat would protect him.
Not more than an hour had passed before Nathan had cut all the reeds that his mother would need. As he started to bind them together with a strip of leather, he heard sounds of thrashing and snorting in the deadwood up the shoreline behind him. He whirled around and spied three large boars erupting from the brush, their foul, twisted tusks ripping and gouging in fits of frenzy at the misted air. Piercing Nathan’s dread was the thought, The coat will protect me.
But as the boars tore down the bank toward him, he jumped up and started to run. Stumbling over a rotted log, he fell into the mud on the lakeshore. Getting up, he started to run again, but the big coat kept snagging on protruding limbs and jerking him back, and the accumulated lake mud on it was slowing him considerably.
Nathan was barely able to grab onto a low-hanging tree limb and swing his legs up around it before one of the pigs snagged the bottom of the coat. Yanking on it, the boar shook its ugly head in a squealing rage, slashing its tusks through Nathan’s shirttail. The added weight of the boar was now starting to drag the boy down—down to where the other two pigs rooted about, waiting for him to fall!
Suddenly the pig that had hold of Nathan’s clothes squealed sharply, released its hold, and fell lifeless into the mud. At the same time, the remaining two pigs dashed madly up the bank and disappeared into the brushwood. Nathan blinked mud from his eyes and looked over his shoulder to where Papa stood along the shoreline, holding his still-smoking carbine.
Nathan dropped to the ground and started running toward his father. Just short of reaching his father’s strong arms, his legs gave out. Papa dropped his rifle and sank to his knees in the mud beside his son, pulling Nathan onto his lap. For a long moment they sat in silence, each holding on to the other. Nathan was thinking that his father would scold him for disobeying, but all Papa did was run his hand through the boy’s mud-clotted hair and tell him softly that he loved him.
“This coat almost got me killed,” Nathan finally said, his voice trembling with fear and shame. “It would have, too, Papa, if you hadn’t come along when you did.” Then he added, “Why did you come?”
“Something inside told me that maybe you could use a little help.”
Nathan’s eyes tried to meet his father’s, but they couldn’t—not yet. “How could I have been so stupid as to ever think that a silly old coat could do anything more than keep me warm.”
Papa smiled. “Anything seems possible when you’re young, I guess.”
Nathan lifted the muddy bottom of the coat and let it drop. “I imagine the closest thing to there being any real magic in the world is a body’s thinking that there is.”
Papa patted the youth’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say that,” he said, pointing off across the lake to the misted mountains lit with gold. “I’d say it took Heavenly Father a fair share of ‘magic’ to put that together. Of course, what looks to us to be magic or miraculous is to Him a matter of perfect knowledge and the execution of natural law. We don’t understand it, so to us, it’s a wonder.” Papa helped Nathan up, adding, “Life, itself, is a kind of magic, a kind of miracle, wouldn’t you say?”
Nathan thought for a moment, then nodded excitedly. “You mean like a tiny seed growing into a big old oak tree?”
“And a lot more,” Papa said. “Like the power of the priesthood. An answer to prayer. What your mother does in the kitchen every day along about suppertime. Even failure.”
“Failure?” Nathan questioned.
Papa smiled. “It allows a person to start over again, giving him a second chance to do something better than he had done it before.”
Nathan thought about the second chance he was fortunate to have: The next time Papa instructs me not to do something, I’ll obey better than I ever have before!
Picking up his carbine, Papa rested his arm over the boy’s shoulder, and the two started toward home.
“There’s one more miracle that I almost forgot about,” Papa proclaimed as they tromped along, a jestful gleam in his eye.
“What’s that?” Nathan queried.
“Your mother’s homemade lye soap. I’ve seen it take a week’s worth of summer off you in less than a groan. But,” he added with a chuckle, “judging from all that mud on you today, it’s a miracle that will be sorely tried!”

A recent convert from Canberra, Australia, says the following: “I was born into a religious family where religion was taken seriously. I had a strict Christian upbringing. However, I drifted away from the church at about twenty years of age when I left home to attend teachers college.
“From that time on I felt an emptiness of purpose in some way, and each year or so would find me searching out and studying a new spiritual creed. I studied yoga and practiced meditation, read about Hinduism, Buddhism, Zen Buddhism, and most of the Protestant religions and Judaism. Somehow none of these held out anything I was seeking. Then I stopped searching, and when the elders came calling, I had mixed feelings about letting them in. I did not want yet another fruitless search, but I thought it only reasonable to hear the message and then decide. For a few lessons I was not convinced that there was anything different in the lessons from what I had already heard elsewhere. Then slowly, through the patience of the elders, I began to get the feeling that all they were saying was really true. They urged me to pray frequently, which I did; but still I was not sure. They explained how the Holy Ghost could come into one’s heart, and one could perhaps feel a warm glow inside. This was rather hard for me to imagine, but I believed them.
“One night the elders challenged me to take baptism the very next Saturday. I was surprised and felt I wasn’t ready, but I did agree to be baptized a week later, giving myself more time for questions and prayer. Then Elder Hurd asked Elder Nelson if he would bear his testimony to me. He did it so fervently that about halfway through I felt a warm spot in my heart which seemed to be coming from Elder Nelson; and as he spoke, it increased in size and intensity like a small cloud inside of me.
“When he had finished, both elders assured me that they had felt the presence of the Holy Ghost, but I didn’t tell them of my experience until a few days later. I felt too overcome to speak of it. Before they left they asked me to read Third Nephi, chapters 11 to 26, in the Book of Mormon before going to bed that night. As soon as they went out the door, I read avidly, and as I did, the warm glow returned to me and I needed no more convincing.”

Sarah heard her mom call her. “Coming, Mom,” she called back. She set her doll on her bed and ran down the hall toward the kitchen. She took the shortest route through the family room—up onto the corner table, across the sofa, over the big stuffed chair, and around the breakfast bar. “Here I am,” she announced.
Mom smiled. “That was very fast,” she said, “but next time I would appreciate it if you walked around the furniture.”
Sarah giggled. “But then I wouldn’t be as fast.”
“That’s true, but now look who’s trying to do what you did.”
Sarah turned around and saw her little brother, Adam. He was standing on the corner table, ready to make the jump from the table to the sofa. Mom hurried over and lifted him off the table.
“Adam learns a lot from watching you,” said Mom. “You need to set a good example for him to follow.” She set Adam down on the floor. “The reason I called you was to tell you that I’m going to go outside to work in the garden,” Mom continued. “Do you want to come out with me?”
“Sure,” said Sarah. She looked down at her bare feet. “But I need to get my shoes on.” She turned to run back to her bedroom. Adam followed. This time she hurried around the furniture, and so did Adam.
“You’re right, Mom,” she said as she returned with her shoes in her hand, and Adam right behind her. “He does follow my example.”
Sarah sat down to put on her shoes.
“Sissy, outside,” said Adam, walking to the door.
“He knows you’re going outside because he sees you putting on your shoes,” Mom said. She followed Adam to the door. “We’re all going to go outside,” she told him with a smile.
Adam pulled on the doorknob but couldn’t turn it. He looked at Mom. “Open?”
Shoes on, Sarah ran to the door. “I’ll open it,” she said. She turned the doorknob and gave a mighty tug. Adam cheered when he saw the sunlight streaming in through the open door.
“Come on, Adam,” Sarah said, “let’s ride our trikes.”
Adam ran past Sarah to the swing set. “Swing, Mommy?” he said hopefully.
Sarah hopped onto her tricycle. “No, Adam, we’re going to ride our trikes,” she insisted.
“Swing, Mommy?” Adam repeated.
Mom lifted Adam into the swing. “I think Adam wants to swing right now,” she said to Sarah.
“He can’t,” Sarah said sadly. “He’s supposed to follow my example.”
Mom gave Adam a push. “Having him follow your example, and making him do what you tell him to do aren’t the same thing,” she said.
“They aren’t?” asked Sarah in a disappointed tone.
“No.” Mom explained, “Adam is just a little boy, but he is starting to make some of his own decisions. Sometimes he will do what you want him to do, and sometimes he won’t.”
“I wish he would always do what I want him to do,” said Sarah.
“But that’s not the way life works,” Mom pointed out. “We all have our agency, which means that we are free to make our own decisions. There are good examples that we can follow, and there are bad examples that we can follow.”
Sarah thought for a moment. “I know it’s all right for Adam to follow my example, but is it all right if I follow Adam’s example?”
Mom nodded. “It would be fine for you to follow Adam’s example as long as he’s not doing something wrong,” she said.
“I’m going to follow his example right now,” Sarah said, climbing off of her tricycle, “because I want to swing, too.”

It was almost Christmas, but Diego wasn’t feeling very excited. This was the first Christmas since his parents got divorced. And nothing felt the same. He and his brother, Samuel, wouldn’t even get to see Mom this Christmas.
“Everything’s different,” Diego said to Dad.
“I know.” Dad’s eyes were sad. “Sometimes things change before they get better.” He was quiet for a bit, then smiled. “Christmas will be different this year, but that doesn’t mean we won’t have some good times. We’ll still be celebrating the birth of the Savior.”
Diego nodded. It would be hard not seeing Mom, but maybe Christmas could still be good, just like Dad said. Diego wanted to help make this Christmas a happy one.
He went to his room to think. Sometimes for Christmas they did a family service project. What could they do this year?
Diego looked around his room. He saw a toy car he didn’t play with anymore. He picked it up and spun the wheels. It was still really good. Maybe he and Dad and Samuel could give some toys to kids who didn’t have any! He found a few other toys and put them in a bag with the car.
When Diego finished, he took the bag to Samuel’s room. “Can I help you clean your room?” he asked. “It’s a surprise for Dad.”
Samuel looked up from the picture he was drawing. “Sure.”
The boys worked together to clean Samuel’s room. Diego told him about the plan. They found a few toys that Samuel didn’t play with anymore and added them to the bag.
When they were done, they carried the bag downstairs. “Dad,” Diego said, “we found some toys we don’t play with anymore. Can we give them to kids who don’t have any toys?”
Dad looked surprised and happy. “That’s a great idea! Let’s take them to the homeless shelter this afternoon.”
Visiting the shelter was fun. Diego and Samuel got to play with some of the kids while Dad talked to the grown-ups.
On the way home, Dad asked what else they could do to make this Christmas special.
“Last Christmas we made treats for our neighbors,” Diego said.
“We could do that,” said Dad. “Let’s go buy stuff to make cookies.”
Samuel thought cookies were a great idea.
The boys helped Dad shop for the ingredients at the store. At home they made the dough and cut out star and tree shapes. Diego and Samuel frosted the cookies yellow and green. Then they took little bags of cookies to their neighbors.
At the end of the day, Diego was tired but happy. He and Samuel and Dad had done things together as a family and had helped others. Dad was right. Christmas was different, but it was still good.