Gospel Story Finder

Photograph by German Sittner
Gabriel J., 17, from Curitiba, Brazil, is a convert to the Church. The first time he went to church, he thought it was strange. But he soon got used to it, thanks in part to the friendly members in his ward, and he was eventually baptized.
When he talked with a returned missionary in his ward, Gabriel started thinking about serving a mission. “I got home and started kind of crying,” he says. “I didn’t know why. But I knelt and asked if I should serve a mission. At that very moment, I had a feeling of peace, and I received the answer that I really should serve a mission.”
Many of his goals are focused on preparing to serve a mission, both spiritually and physically. They include graduating from seminary, running, and developing better nutrition. He says he hopes his physical goal will prepare him to not get tired easily and to walk for longer amounts of time.
Gabriel notices the changes in himself since he joined the Church. “When I became a member of the Church, I was able, with the help of my leaders, to know what I wanted for my life, and that has changed a lot. Now I have a goal in my life, and I’m studying a lot too.”

In the summer of 2011, I had the privilege of meeting Josh Larson at the Philmont Scout Ranch in New Mexico, USA. A few months later, Josh was helping his father clean out a warehouse. Without warning, a chain transporting a 1,480 pound (670 kg) beam suddenly snapped, dropping the beam onto Josh, crushing him from his neck to his legs. Miraculously, Josh’s father was able to move the beam off his son’s body. He performed CPR until emergency personnel arrived to transport Josh, who was still not breathing, to the hospital.
Josh spent days in critical condition. Doctors worked fervently to repair his cracked skull, shattered sinuses, and other severe injuries. After numerous operations, Josh was eventually stabilized. He then began the long, slow road to recovery.
Today Josh still experiences many of the effects of his accident. He has a damaged eye, is partially deaf in one ear, and has a metal plate in his head. Yet he chooses to look at his ordeal as a blessing. He knows that he owes his life and his recovery to Heavenly Father and the support of those around him. Gratitude fills his heart.
Josh’s recovery has been long and slow. He still experiences many of the effects of his accident but considers the accident to be more of a blessing than a trial.
At a recent conference for youth, Josh talked about the prayers and fasting offered by family, friends, neighbors, and ward and stake leaders: “I am counting my blessings. Prayers have been answered. I think this has been more of a blessing than a trial. I love all you guys.”

“Abracadabra, toads in a pond,
Troubles now vanish by magical wand!”
Poof! Your previously disaster-zone-like bedroom is now instantly clean and tidy. Nice! Clearly, you scored a real treasure at the yard sale of the retired stage magician down the street. His old wand is going to make your life so much better.
Time to try it again!
Poof! This time, all the grades on your midterm report card transform into a solid line of A’s in sparkling golden ink.
Oh, yeah. You could get used to this.
There’s only one catch. All these magical alterations are changed in appearance only. Because, you know, your neighbor didn’t actually saw his assistant in half night after night. It’s smoke and mirrors. Illusion.
Your closet door bulges suspiciously for a moment before flinging open and spilling out everything that had moments earlier been on the floor. Drat. And those golden-inked A’s? They have no bearing whatsoever on your real grades.
Still want to keep waving that wand?

Several years ago I was riding on a train from Edinburgh, Scotland, to Glasgow with a noted British lawyer. We had engaged him to present our claim of discrimination by the city council of Glasgow. We were seeking a building permit, which had been repeatedly denied by the city council at the instigation of an opposing ministerial group as not needed inasmuch as there was an abundance of vacant or unused church buildings. We had been granted a hearing before the secretary of state for Scotland, a member of the prime minister’s cabinet.
As the early morning train sped toward Glasgow, I asked the distinguished counsel if he had any additional questions about our church. I was concerned about his limited understanding of our expansion, of why we were building modern church buildings and why we had hundreds of missionaries in Great Britain. He assured me that he was quite comfortable in representing us and presenting our case that to him appeared to have merit.
As we discussed other aspects of our growing presence in Great Britain, he said, “I hear, but it couldn’t be true, that you baptize for dead people.”
I said, “Yes, it is true—not only true that we do it today, but the eternal principle of vicarious service of baptism for the dead was taught during our Savior’s earthly ministry.”
I explained that all of God’s worthy children of all ages can become heirs of salvation in His kingdom. I briefly reminded the lawyer of Jesus teaching Nicodemus that “except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God.
“Nicodemus [said] unto him, How can a man be born [again] when he is old? can he enter the second time into his mother’s womb, and be born?
“Jesus answered, Verily, verily, I say unto thee, Except a man be born of water and of the Spirit, he cannot enter into the kingdom of God” (John 3:3–5).
I also made reference to the early Apostles’ teachings regarding Christ’s resurrection and the resurrection of all, including Paul’s great statement: “Else what shall they do which are baptized for the dead, if the dead rise not at all? why are they then baptized for the dead?” (1 Cor. 15:29).
The engaged lawyer seemed comfortable. He presented our case effectively. We won our building permit. The chapel now stands in Glasgow, Scotland.

One winter my Scout troop went on an overnight campout in an area with huge rock formations. The narrow crevasses between the rocks formed maze-like trails flanked by rock walls. We walked around the trails all day and discovered that we could slide on the steep ones by sitting down, tucking our feet up, and hoping the trail didn’t rip out the seats of our snowsuits.
After dinner, our leaders let us go out on a night hike alone. They must have thought that with 13 of us they’d be able to keep track of our whereabouts by the noise we made. We grabbed our flashlights and hit the trails with the longest slides. When those got old, we searched for other, more exciting slides. We were steadily heading away from camp without realizing it.
The real problem came when everyone slid down a trail that was too icy to climb back up. The oldest boys thought we could simply take a detour around the rocks. We followed the trail farther, but it didn’t turn back toward camp.
We weren’t worried about getting too cold since everyone had enough winter clothing, but we were all getting tired. Hour after hour we walked around the trails, hunting for a familiar landmark that would point the way back to camp. The swish-swish of snowsuit legs rubbing together was only broken by the sounds of each boy taking his turn tripping and stumbling.
Exhausted and desperate, we finally thought to pray. Kneeling in a circle, we bowed our heads.
“Our Heavenly Father, we have tried to find our way, but we are lost. Please help us to find our way back to camp. …”
“Walk toward the light.”
The voice was so faint I thought I had imagined it. I looked up and saw an illumination on the hillside. Now I knew it wasn’t my imagination. It was the voice of one of our leaders. They had watched the telltale signs of our flashlights and noise get farther and farther away. When it appeared that we had no intention of turning back, they came after us. They took turns calling to us, but we couldn’t hear them over the swish-swish of snowsuits. It turned out we were just over the hill from familiar territory.
From my experiences on overnight camping trips, I have learned to pitch a tent, start a fire, and take care of my physical well-being in the wild. But this time the lesson I learned was more important. None of us was in mortal danger. No one was injured or freezing to death, but that camping trip taught me the importance of prayer—not just prayer before a meal or before bedtime, but the importance of prayer for help with the challenges I face every day. And our answer on this camp came through wise leaders who could see the change of direction we needed to make.

I can honestly say that I’ve never really had a father. Although he is still alive, I have never had the opportunity to get to know him.
My memories of my father are limited to his coming home unexpectedly one night, after we had not seen him for some time, and my mother crying. All I really remember about my father is his absence.
My feelings towards my father gradually turned into complete confusion and dismay when his behavior caused my mother to become so ill that she had to go into a hospital. I was visiting her one day trying to comfort her, and my father came to see me. By that time, he was living with another woman. Somehow I found enough courage to ask him if he would consider coming back to live with his family. He simply laughed nervously and said, “No, it is too late.”
There is a tremendous emotional handicap that comes with the absence of a father. Although my mother constantly showed her love for me, I could not help feeling betrayed.
I could not live with such a feeling forever. The first change occurred when I joined the Church. As a member, I realized I had to find it in my heart to forgive my father. But I still felt confused. I understood that I could forgive him, but what exactly was I supposed to forgive him for? I never hated him or wished him any harm. But I was still angry. I felt sorry for him and upset at the choices he had made. My mother, although not a member of the Church, asked me to include him in my prayers and ask that the Lord might take care of him. I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.
As I learned more about the gospel, it seemed to make matters worse. When I learned the importance of the priesthood, the blessings that come when it is exercised properly in faith, it made me sad. Why didn’t I have a responsible priesthood holder in my family to go to in times of trouble?
But a chance was already in progress. As a member of the Church I began to see the world and the people in it from a different point of view. I turned aside from bad habits and tried to live the way the Lord wanted me to. I found great comfort in prayer. For I now finally realized I had someone in whom I could confide all my problems, my joys and little triumphs. It was a feeling that completely overwhelmed me, made me feel important. I knew He was listening.
I realized that I did indeed have a Father, that I literally was His son in the spirit. It filled my heart to know that there was someone willing to lend a helping hand to sustain and encourage me. I was given a great gift—the feeling of belonging. I was not alone. I knew the world to be literally filled with my brothers and sisters, all sharing a common Father. Sometimes I would look at people around me and think, I know something wonderful and I long to share it with you. We are related.
What the Lord gave me was strength, peace, and fulfillment. He made me see why a concept like forgiveness is truly all-encompassing and powerful. The Lord forgave me of my sins and transgressions at my baptism. And by sincere repentance I can still be forgiven. It was clear that I did not deserve this privilege if I did not find it in my heart to forgive my father. I learned that in spite of his habits and conduct, I should honor him and try to find a way to help him instead of silently condemning him.
It’s been a long, hard struggle for me, and I cannot say that I still do not long for the physical presence of my earthly father. But I know now that he needs help. And through prayer, work, and example, someday I may be able to help him truly realize that he, too, is a son of God.

A similar desire existed in the hearts of those moving to Puerto Francisco de Orellana. In early January 2009, Marco Villavicencio—now the branch president—and his wife, Claudia Ramirez, were considering a job opportunity that would require relocating to Puerto Francisco de Orellana from their home in Machala, on the other side of Ecuador.
“My first question,” says President Villavicencio, “was ‘Is the Church there?’ My wife and I talked it over with our family, and we prayed to know if we should move. As soon as the offer came, we learned that the Church was being established in Puerto Francisco de Orellana. We moved here in February 2009, and the branch was formed the following September.”

After serving a mission to Sweden, I moved to Provo to attend BYU. I worked part time at the MTC. One day I passed a young woman in the hall who looked familiar. I glanced at her nametag and saw that her name was Sister Gurr. I was surprised to see Lisa, the former cheerleader from my high school! I stopped her and told her who I was, and she was equally surprised. I then thanked her for living true to her standards and keeping her covenants at that party so long ago. She was truly a wonderful example and affected my life for good by staying true to who she was and what she believed.

White Bear jumped down from his horse and raised his hand in greeting. Running Wind eased down from his own mount and lifted a beautiful wooden bow to show his friend. White Bear took the bow and examined it carefully. He pulled an arrow from his quiver, placed it in the new bow, and pulled the string taut. Thud! The arrow smacked into the center of a tree, just where he had aimed it. He nodded his head. The deal was made. White Bear traded his favorite horse for the excellent bow, made from the wood of a unique tree.

Beneath a clear night sky, the procession makes its way through the ancient, torch-lit streets of the city. The people are all carrying lamps and going joyously to a wedding feast to be held in a tiny inn.
Well, not really.
The whole beautiful scene actually consists of cardboard cutouts, Styrofoam, stage lamps, and many talented actors. You can’t always believe what you see in the movies.
Though the setting might be fake, Emilee Susannie Barber is for real. Emilee is playing the part of a wise virgin in the parable of the ten virgins for a Church Education System video. The message of the parable is for real too, and like the wise virgins of the parable, Emilee is trying to ensure she has enough oil for her lamp.
When she was first cast in the role, Emilee thought it was ironic because, she says, “I’m kind of a procrastinator.” She says she puts off her schoolwork and has a hard time studying the scriptures sometimes. But playing the part of someone who is prepared to meet the Lord reminded Emilee to keep Christ as the focus of her life. Besides her role as a wise virgin, Emilee has acted in numerous plays and televisions shows, including the television series Touched by an Angel. No matter what part she plays, Emilee says she tries to always have the Spirit with her.
Though Emilee finds it hard to keep going sometimes, she says, “Every day is a continual process because each day is a new day to grow closer to God.” She is collecting oil for her lamp by going to church every week and praying continually for the Holy Ghost to be with her. She hopes she will be ready for the time when the bridegroom comes.
To be prepared to meet the Savior when He comes is what Emilee is striving for. “That’s just an overwhelming thought. Just that moment would be so overwhelming,” she says. Emilee hopes those who watch the video will understand what the parable is trying to tell them: We all need to prepare to meet Christ now. Before all her performances, Emilee prays that she will be able to do her best and that the other performers will also. She prays too that the audiences she performs for will feel the Spirit and learn from her performance.
Though she feels she is unprepared in some aspects of her life, such as keeping a positive attitude about her trials, Emilee is trying to align her actions with her testimony of the gospel. She couldn’t imagine anything more awful than realizing that she would be locked out of the presence of her Savior because of her lack of preparation. But she also could not imagine anything more wonderful than being ready for Christ’s Second Coming. Emilee says one scripture sums up her attitude toward who she wants to be:
And at that day, when I shall come in my glory, shall the parable be fulfilled which I spake concerning the ten virgins.
For they that are wise and have received the truth, and have taken the Holy Spirit for their guide, and have not been deceived—verily I say unto you, they shall not be hewn down and cast into the fire, but shall abide the day (D&C 45:56–57).
Emilee wants to take the Holy Spirit for her guide. She says the Holy Spirit “pulls her out of her seat” to bear her testimony sometimes. Her testimony—Emilee says that’s her extra oil. That’s what keeps her lamp burning even in the darkest night. Her testimony grows strongest when she remembers with gratitude her relationship with the Savior. When she thinks of her friends who don’t have the gospel and don’t know that Christ is their Savior, she is even more grateful that Christ is a part of her life. She acknowledges that without Christ she would be nothing.
Besides all she learned from playing the part of a wise virgin, Emilee had lots of fun acting in an ancient setting. “It’s just really neat, because I usually don’t have the opportunity to play a historical figure in the Church.” She also says it was a learning experience to play someone whom everyone has heard of. She also learned more about the kinds of people she enjoys working with. It was a new experience for Emilee to work with a crew of Latter-day Saints, and she enjoyed opening the day’s work with a prayer and feeling like she was with her family.
What was the main reason Emilee enjoyed her part so much? She says, “I think this story has one of the greatest messages that you could show or tell someone.” We all need to be like the wise virgins and be ready for when the Lord comes again, because we will forever regret being foolish and unprepared.

It was an incredible morning. The sun was an orange ball, crawling over the horizon behind a row of larch trees. As the warmth of the sun melted the ground fog that came off the river, girls from the Wilmette Illinois Stake gathered for the morning flag ceremony and a few minutes of vigorous calisthenics.

“How was your first night at camp?” It was a common enough question to ask a group of Chicago girls—girls used to the sound of big city traffic at all hours of the day and night. “We couldn’t sleep,” they answered. “The birds were too loud.”

Soon it was time for breakfast. But first everyone had to learn the assigned knot. “Where’s my rope? What knot are we supposed to learn?” This was a common conversation before every meal. On the first day of camp, each girl was given a length of rope and told she had to learn a new knot before every meal. All week long, girls simply wore their “meal tickets” around their necks and helped each other learn the knots that would gain them admittance to the mess hall.
The Wilmette Illinois Stake is a diverse stake with girls from downtown Chicago to girls living in rural areas near the Wisconsin border to girls from two Spanish-speaking wards. Yet they come together at camp to learn from and about each other.
Veronica Cousino, from Chicago Second Ward, is back for her second year at camp. She worked hard last year to pass her certifications. This year she was asked to come to camp as a counselor in one of the Inspirator tents. She loved learning how to cook outdoors. “The hardest part was speaking English all the time. It was a great experience for me. I loved it. That was the reason I wanted to come back this year. And,” Veronica added with surprise, “they wanted me to come as a counselor.”
The girls are allowed to choose one friend to stay with. Then they are assigned by skill levels to tents. Each tent has a leader.
Before coming to camp, the girls and leaders attended certification camps. They were able to go on their certification hikes right from the door of their stake center in downtown Chicago. The stake center is within a mile or so of a forest preserve. The preserve is a large section of wooded area set aside for recreation. The hike to and through the forest preserve was a good test of the girls’ endurance. Indeed, hiking is a good sport for the city dwellers because the forest preserves are set aside with trails for that purpose. They were also able to build fires and perfect some of their cooking skills. One stake member is certified to teach CPR (cardio-pulmonary resuscitation) classes, and most of the girls in the stake were able to pass that course as part of their first aid.
Since camp was located near a wide river suitable for canoeing, the girls worked on canoe safety in anticipation of making a canoe trip. A canoe was placed in the swimming pool, and each girl had the chance to learn to get into a canoe after falling out and how to empty a swamped canoe. Friends lined the sides of the pool excitedly waiting their turns and cheering as each one made it successfully back into the canoe.
The Wilmette Stake camp leaders added a new twist to the usual cooking assignments. Each cabin of girls had to cook a certain number of meals in their own area. Instead of simply being given the ingredients, the leaders had made a large chart with a list of foods and individual prices per serving: egg $.07, orange $.20, biscuit mix $.15, hamburger (1/4 lb.) $.40, etc. The girls were told they had to plan a menu for their cabin that cost $1.75 per girl. They placed their orders with their leaders, who took the opportunity to talk about nutrition, budget, and meal planning. The leaders were able to do this type of impromptu meal planning because they were close to a town and were able to go for supplies and be back before the evening or morning meal.
As in most girls’ camps, no radios or stereos were allowed. Evelyn Amundsen, with a smile that could light up a room, liked it that way. “I like to get away from the radio and listen to natural music.”
Since the Wilmette Stake takes in such a large area, many girls in the stake don’t get to see each other very often. Jennifer Wilding lives in the northernmost area of the stake. “Camp is a chance to make friends from the other wards,” said Jennifer, “and since my family goes camping a lot, I want to be certified.”
A positive, confidence-building experience for most, girls’ camp often provides an environment, away from the demands and distractions of town, where young women can be influenced by the loving concern of their leaders and of their Father in Heaven. As Lorraine Ward of Dallas said, “Everyone comes with her bag packed with problems and blessings. We help each other out.” Girls leave camp with a duffle bag full of dirty clothes but with something more valuable—a love for each other, a love for the beauties of nature, and a growing love of the gospel.

For Candice, the sheer joy of dancing, moving, stretching, acting, performing, is something that motivates her life. She likes to do things well. “I remember going to a birthday party for one of my friends. They had hula hoops at the party, and the others were really good at it. They could keep the hoop twirling and could do some tricks with it.” Candice tried the hoop and it kept slipping off her hips and clattering around her feet on the ground. Frustrated but determined, she marched home and asked her mother if they could buy a hula hoop. “I was going to learn how to do it. I kept practicing until I was good at it.”

At our house it is my job to empty the dishwasher. I also empty the garbage cans and put my laundry away. One day while my mom was doing the laundry I decided to surprise her and fold my sister’s clothes. It made my mom so happy. She said that I went the extra mile. I felt so good that I began to think of other ways I could go the extra mile. The next day I helped my mom by picking up some garbage that had blown into our yard. I also tried to go the extra mile with my other jobs. It makes my mom and dad happy when I am a good helper, and it makes me happy too.

A story from Elder Holland’s life.
When Elder Jeffrey R. Holland was in college, he and his wife, Patricia, were very busy. One day when they were walking to class, Jeffrey felt overwhelmed, like he had too many things to do. He felt worried about the future. He stopped walking and asked Patricia, “Should we give up?” He thought maybe they should just give up on college and go home.
But Patricia wasn’t ready to give up. She looked at Jeffrey and said, “We are not going back. The future holds everything for us.”
Jeffrey and Patricia chose to keep going. They worked hard and had faith.
Years later Jeffrey became the president of Brigham Young University, the same college where he and Patricia had spent so much time and worked so hard. Sometimes he thought about the day he had wanted to give up on college. When he remembered that day, he was always grateful for Patricia’s courage. He was glad that he and Patricia chose to have faith. They kept thinking about the future with faith and courage and never gave up.

Many unselfish children of God are involved in teaching efforts, also worldwide. A good example, known to us through our humanitarian efforts, is the activity of a man known as Mr. Gabriel, who has been a refugee from various conflicts on several occasions. He recently observed that hundreds of thousands of refugee children in East Africa needed help to keep their hopes alive and their minds active. He organized other teachers in the refugee population into what they called “tree schools,” where children were gathered for lessons under the shade of a tree. He did not wait for others to organize or direct but personally led efforts that have provided learning opportunities for thousands of primary school children during stressful years of displacement.

President Hinckley tells of a time he learned about having the courage to make his own decisions.
The year we enrolled in junior high school, the building could not accommodate all the students, and so our class was sent back to the elementary school. We were furious. We’d spent six years in that building, and we felt we deserved something better. The boys of the class all met after school. We decided we’d go on strike.
The next day we did not show up. But we had no place to go. We couldn’t stay home, because our mothers would ask questions. We didn’t think of going downtown to a show. We had no money for that. We didn’t think of going to the park. We were afraid we might be seen. We just wandered about and wasted the day.
The next morning, the principal, Mr. Stearns, was at the front door of the school to greet us. He told us that we could not come back to school until we brought a note from our parents. Striking, he said, was not the way to settle a problem. If we had a complaint, we could come to the principal’s office and discuss it.
I remember walking sheepishly into the house. My mother asked what was wrong. I told her. She wrote a note. It was very brief. It was the most stinging rebuke she ever gave me. It read:
“Dear Mr. Stearns,
“Please excuse Gordon’s absence yesterday. His action was simply an impulse to follow the crowd.”
I have never forgotten my mother’s note. I resolved then and there that I would never do anything on the basis of simply following the crowd. I determined then and there that I would make my own decisions on the basis of my standards and not be pushed in one direction or another by those around me. That decision has blessed my life many times.

by David Forbes
Taking advantage of one of the hottest summers on record, about 30 young men of the Dundee Scotland Stake set up camp in an isolated region of Angus County.
Camp leader Paul Roy organized a variety of activities for each day, but the highlight of the week-long camp was a 10-hour pony trek in one of the country’s most beautiful areas. They rode into the blazing sun and crossed three heather-covered glens before taking a refreshing dip in a cool mountain stream during their lunch break.
By the end of the day, regardless of any sore muscles, the boys jumped at the chance to play a game of American-style football.
“The amount of energy these boys have is amazing. I thought after a long day on the ponies they would be exhausted. But not these boys,” said Brother Roy, a member of the stake Young Men presidency.

Sammy liked to do many things. He participated in karate and school sports. He enjoyed reading and kept up with his favorite book series. He attended his Webelos meetings and worked hard to earn the badges. But one thing Sammy didn’t like was dogs—big, small, or anywhere in between. He wanted nothing to do with them. The sight of a dog terrified him, and he would move as quickly as he could in the opposite direction.
One morning, Sammy’s neighbor Megan went skipping down the road, heading for the school bus stop. Suddenly she stopped. There in front of her was the biggest dog she had ever seen. It was tan and even taller than she was. She froze in her tracks and began to scream. The dog started walking toward her.
At that moment, Sammy left his house and started down the street toward the bus stop. He heard Megan screaming and saw her and the dog. He started shaking, but he continued to walk closer. Then he bent down, put his hands on his knees, and called, “Come here, dog. Come.” The dog looked back and forth from Sammy to Megan, and then trotted over to Sammy. Sammy held onto the dog’s collar until the owner came to take the dog home. Sammy was awfully glad to see the dog go.
Sammy still doesn’t like dogs. But he was glad he had the courage to help a friend in need.

At one house, the vans were parked around the corner like they had been at previous houses. Then the assembly line of angelic hands started all over again. But somehow this experience was different. It was my assigned house, the family I had shopped for. That same good feeling went through me as the presents went through my hands. The gifts piled up on the front porch.
We decided to hide in the bushes and behind the surrounding snow mounds so that we could see the reactions of the family. I picked the nearest evergreen bush and knelt behind it. One boy rang the doorbell and hid behind the closest tree. The front door opened an inch, and then it closed. There were so many gifts that they couldn’t open the door.
A few seconds later two young children came running around the back of the house and, in surprise, they clasped their hands over their mouths. With a small push, the door opened a foot more. A little girl about age six came out of the house dressed in pink pajamas. In an excited voice she said, “Look, Mom, cereal! It’s cereal and milk, Mom!”
When I heard those innocent words, I wanted to reach out and hold her. I wanted that girl to have all that I had.
It was in that moment that I remembered back to when I was six. We had opened our front door one December night and were completely overwhelmed by the bags of gifts so generously placed on our doorstep. Our house was much warmer than usual that night because my father had been given firewood earlier that day. As a family of nine, we were barely making ends meet. That year especially, I could sense my parents’ uneasiness about Christmas day. I was limited to requesting only one toy. I had carefully chosen to ask for a “Peaches and Cream” Barbie doll, and I placed a torn-out newspaper picture of the doll up on the refrigerator. With my six-year-old heart and mind, I knew my one wish would come true.
Before heading off to bed, we knelt as a family on our old green carpet and gave a prayer of thanks for the few things that we did have. I remember going to bed feeling hungry. Each day food was practically the same—Cream of Wheat, oatmeal, or biscuits. I prayed that tomorrow—Christmas—would be different.
I snuggled in my blankets, and just as my eyes were about to close, I heard a muffled knock at the door. I followed the members of my family downstairs. As the door opened, an overwhelming feeling took over my little body. There were big black bags of gifts and food placed at our doorstep. I was so happy that I couldn’t believe my eyes. I said a whispered prayer of thanks, and I knew that my prayers that night had been heard. We carried the gifts inside and placed the bags of gifts under the tree.
Sleep did not come easily that night, but I managed a few hours before my sister Mary woke me. We eagerly ran downstairs, and to my eyes, it was as if the gifts had multiplied overnight. They were scattered around our tree. I again thought to myself about the one wish I had made. I picked up a gift that had “Meg” written on it, and I opened it carefully. I pulled out the most beautiful “Peaches and Cream” Barbie that I had ever seen. I hugged her, and I knew that I had not been forgotten. I learned several years later that my prayers were answered through the loving hands of those who generously helped out needy families.
Now as a teenager hiding behind a bush, watching that little six-year-old girl, I was so touched by the spirit of this family that my emotions overwhelmed me. The words of that sweet little girl were echoing in my mind.
I will always remember the peaceful, quiet night that I spent watching many families receive their miracle Christmas, just like the one my family received so many years before.

Before 1961, missionary conferences were sometimes held in West Berlin, and missionaries and members from the German Democratic Republic could occasionally bring back lesson manuals in their luggage. Although not officially approved by the government, these were not always officially denied at the border crossings. Local Saints then typed the lesson manual information, making many carbon copies, until there were enough copies for each of the branches. After 1961, even this contact with official Church literature became more and more restricted. Brother Joachim Albrecht in Bautzen told this story:
“We received a directive from President Burckhardt that all unauthorized religious materials, books, manuals, etc., were to be destroyed. I was heartbroken. I had, over the years, scraped together a small but nice library of Church materials, for which I had no official authorization. I sat in front of an open fireplace. No, I said to myself. I can’t do it. But in the end, I burned all of the books and manuals I had collected with such difficulty. Less than two weeks after that the secret police knocked on my door. They searched my house for unauthorized printed material. I had none. From that experience I learned a great lesson about inspired leaders and listening to their counsel.”