Gospel Story Finder

When I was working as a volunteer with the Headstart Program, there was a four-year-old boy who had a hard time adjusting to his new situation—being in a new school with other children, an unfamiliar teacher, and a 17-year-old teacher’s aide. I really didn’t understand what it was like to be without a lot of life’s luxuries. Each day this little boy would come to school crying. He would come and sit on my lap and tell me what was on his mind. He would tell me about his family, things he thought about, what he liked and didn’t like, what he worried about, and just anything he wanted to talk about. This would last for the first 15 minutes, and then he would go and play with the other children and do what the teacher had planned.
One day after one of these sessions, I ran across a quote that seemed to fit this situation: “Understand men and women as they are—not as you are.”
I knew this meant little children as well as adults. People want to be understood regardless of their age. When I read this statement, I wanted to understand this little boy. I just had to understand why he cried. Well, these sessions went on every morning for about three weeks. The more I understood him, the more I loved him. Then one bright Monday morning he smiled at me and said, “Teacher, I am big now!”
He then went and played with the other children. He still knew I was there when he wanted to talk. He knew I understood and would listen, and during the summer we had many experiences together. He knew the teacher, and he loved to learn new things. He knew the other children and knew that they were his friends.
On the last day of school he said to me, “Teacher, you’re my best friend!”
We haven’t seen each other since, but the lessons he taught me that summer won’t be forgotten for many years to come. We were friends because I had taken the time to listen and understand him as he was.

Some years ago, Elder ElRay L. Christiansen told about one of his distant Scandinavian relatives who joined the Church. He was quite well-to-do and sold his lands and stock in Denmark to come to Utah with his family. For a while he did well as far as the Church and its activities were concerned, and he prospered financially. However, he became so caught up in his possessions that he forgot about his purpose in coming to America. The bishop visited him and implored him to become active as he used to be. The years passed, and some of his brethren visited him and said: “Now, Lars, the Lord was good to you when you were in Denmark. He has been good to you since you have come here. … We think now, since you are growing a little older, that it would be well for you to spend some of your time in the interests of the Church. After all, you can’t take these things with you when you go.”

Jolted by this remark, the man replied, “Vell, den, I vill not go.” But he did! And so will all of us!

“Someone’s sure kicking up the dust, Papa. Do you think he’s rushing here to buy our apples?” David asked as he nudged his father’s arm.
David’s father raised his hand to his eyes, squinting into the sunlight. He watched the approaching horse and rider. “I guess word has got around that we have the best apples in the county,” he teased.
“John Chidester!” yelled the man on horseback. The rider waved to signal to John and his son to stop.
“Here, David. You take over,” Papa said as he handed the reins to his son. “I’ll get ready for our customer.” He climbed over the backboard and into the wagon.
As the approaching horse drew near, David exclaimed, “Papa, it’s the Prophet!”
The horse slowed to a trot as it neared the slow-moving wagon. “John, I need your help!”
“Brother Joseph! What can I get for you today? A dozen apples, maybe two?”
“I need the whole wagon!” the Prophet exclaimed. He pulled the reins on his horse and slid off the saddle. “A mob is coming around the bend!” he said as he motioned down the dirt road. “Hide me! Quick!”
“David! Rein the horses!” commanded his father. “Help me rearrange the apples!”
David stopped the horses. He jumped into the back of the wagon and helped his father quickly scoop away armfuls of apples. They made a space big enough to hide a man.
“Hide here,” Papa said. He extended his hand to the Prophet and pulled him into the wagon.
“Thank you, John,” Joseph said. He crawled into the empty space. David and his father covered Joseph Smith with apples.
“Papa, look!” David exclaimed, pointing down the road. “They’re coming!”
Papa climbed out of the wagon. “David, get back onto the wagon seat and turn the wagon around. Take the shortcut back to town. I’ll distract this mob.” Papa mounted Joseph’s horse and galloped off into the opposite direction.
David clicked his tongue at the horses and commanded, “Get home!” The horses trotted toward town. But they were not quick enough. The wagon was soon overtaken by the mob.
“Hey, boy, stop those horses!” shouted a man from behind. David turned to see one of the mob galloping up to the wagon. Other men were close behind. David could not see his father. He felt scared. He pulled the reins on the horses.
“Search the wagon!” commanded the man.
David quickly looked down at the wagon full of apples. To his horror, he noticed the Prophet’s feet poking out of the pile of apples. But it was too late. There was nothing he could do.
Three men got off their horses and ran to the wagon. David silently prayed, Please, Heavenly Father, protect the Prophet. Hide his feet from these men. The men rummaged through the wagon.
“Apples! That’s all that’s here! Just apples!” one of the men shouted to his leader. He turned to David. “Your old man was right, boy,” he sneered. “Bunch of apples. He and his horse didn’t have to be tied up to a tree after all.”
“Joe Smith must be heading to town on foot,” yelled the leader. “Let’s head him off!”
Remounting their horses, the mob galloped off toward Nauvoo.
David was relieved. Heavenly Father, he silently prayed, I thank thee for answering my prayer. David realized that the danger wasn’t over yet. He still had to get the Prophet to safety. And he had to get help for his father. He whipped the reins to start the horses. They again headed toward town.
The wagon came to a fork in the road. David remembered that his father had told him to take the shortcut. He steered the horses to the left.
Suddenly a flash of lightning struck just ahead of the wagon. The horses jumped in fright, and David was thrown backward. He dropped the reins. The horses began to run out of control.
Clinging to the backboard he struggled to reach the reins, pleading to Heavenly Father for help. Finally he managed to lower himself to the footboard and grab the reins. Bracing himself against the seat, he pulled on the reins.
As the horses slowed to a trot, he realized that they had reached Nauvoo. He drove the wagon to the Prophet’s home and delivered him to safety.
“David, that was some ride,” Joseph said as he climbed out of the wagon. He reached up and shook David’s hand. “Thank you. You saved my life.”
“With Heavenly Father’s help,” David answered. “I prayed for protection the whole way. Now I need to help my father.”
“No need to worry about your father, David,” Joseph said. “He seems to be all right.” The Prophet pointed down the road.
David turned to see his father approaching on horseback. “Papa!” David jumped from the wagon and ran to his father. “You’re safe! But how?”
“Some travelers saw me and rescued me,” he said as he dismounted the horse and gave David a hug. “I’m glad you’re safe! How did you get past the mob? Some of those men planned to hide on the shortcut road and take you by surprise.”
“We started down that road, Papa, but there was a lightning strike, and the horses went wild and wouldn’t take the shortcut road. They ran so fast that they nearly toppled the wagon!”
“I believe we were well protected”—Joseph approached them and placed his hand on David’s shoulder—“thanks to your prayers.”

We had a great season, even though we lost more games than we won. At the end of the season, the whole team was invited to a team member’s birthday party. They were going to have a barbecue and go swimming. It was going to be the last time I would see the kids on my baseball team, because we weren’t in the same grades and went to different schools. I was really excited about going until I realized that it was on a Sunday.
My parents didn’t think a birthday party was an appropriate activity for Sunday, but they told me I was old enough to make my own choice. I really, really wanted to go. The party was three weeks away. I prayed and I prayed about it. I decided to go to the party, even though I didn’t feel completely right about it.
A few days later I was reading the Book of Mormon and came across 2 Nephi 28:8, which says, “Eat, drink, and be merry; nevertheless, fear God—he will justify in committing a little sin.” [2 Ne. 28:8] I excitedly told Mom that I found my answer—it was OK for me to go to the party!
She told me to reread the verse and include the verses that came before and after it. After I read a few more verses, I realized that the scriptures were telling us that saying it is OK to commit a little sin is false and foolish doctrine. No amount of sin is OK. I knew then what I should do, but I still hadn’t made my decision.
I continued to pray about it for the next week. Finally I decided that I shouldn’t go. I felt really good about my decision. My mom called my friend’s mom and told her I wouldn’t be going to the party. On the day of the party, while on the way home from church, we dropped off a present to my friend and said hi to everyone and then went home.
I’m glad I did what I felt Jesus Christ would want me to do, and I’m glad I chose the right.

Brigham’s search for a true religion was a long one. He, like Joseph Smith, did not join his parents’ religion. He visited the meetings of different churches and settled on being a moral, hardworking, loving husband and father. It seems clear however that Brigham was not able to be satisfied with merely a moral, hardworking life. He must have yearned for spiritual and emotional fulfillment, and for some response to nagging questions about life’s meaning. Wherever he lived he joined groups of independent seekers of truth, as did many early converts to the restored church. Brigham’s brother, Phineas was the leader of such a group and was given one of the first copies of the Book of Mormon by the Prophet’s brother, Samuel Smith. Because Phineas felt responsible to his little religious society to expose any such things “invented to lead people astray,” he read it carefully. But he could not find the errors he expected, and when he appeared before the group the next sabbath, most likely with Brigham present, he “had not spoken ten minutes in defence of the book when the Spirit of God came upon me in a marvelous manner, and I spoke at great length on the importance of such a work, quoting from the Bible to support my position, and finally closing by telling the people that I believed the book.”

Phineas lent his copy of the Book of Mormon to his father, who thought it “the greatest work he had ever seen,” then to his sister Fanny, who declared it “a revelation.” Fanny passed it on to Brigham Young who was more reserved.

It seemed like any other ordinary Sunday morning. It seemed like most other deacons quorum meetings of previous weeks. But what was to happen during the next 15 minutes was extraordinary to me, a 12-year-old boy who was still reeling under the effects of what had happened the preceding Thursday.
Motivated by an enthusiastic mission leader who had spoken about the Book of Mormon in sacrament meeting, I had felt impressed to present a copy of the Book of Mormon to my best friend and school classmate. The decision had not been an easy one. What if my friend didn’t accept it? What if he did take it but rejected its message? And worst of all, what if he felt that the gift was a sign of religious fanaticism that would threaten our friendship?
Nephi’s fervent testimony regarding obedience had given me courage: “I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded” (1 Ne. 3:7). I had been taught that every member should be a missionary. So the next day I had presented the book during lunch break, complete with my testimony that the book was true, that it contained the account of Christ’s appearance to an ancient people right here in America, and that it would lead to an even greater understanding of the Bible. My friend had received the book with appreciation and with a promise to read it. It had been a normal exchange between two young friends who shared a mutual trust and understanding.
Two days later the book had been returned. “Have you read it already?” I had asked.
“No, and I am not going to read it.”
“Why not?” had come my anxious reply.
“Because my parents won’t allow it and, after what happened last night, I agree with them.”
“What happened last night?”
“If you will meet me after school,” he had said, “I’ll show you.”
After school he had led me straight to the public library, then to that section of the library marked “Religion,” the same place he had been taken the night before by his parents. Reaching up, he had brought down the largest volume of all—Religions of the World. Turning to the front pages, he had first shown me the list of authors. Each contributor had many letters after his name indicating his qualifications. There must have been at least a dozen prominent educators, theologians, and scholars listed. One couldn’t have helped but be impressed. Surely this was a well-documented and authoritative compilation of the world’s best-known religions, written by those who were qualified.
My friend had then turned to the section entitled “Mormonism.” After reading it for just a few seconds, I had been shocked beyond belief to find such ideas as “The Book of Mormon is a fraud,” “Joe Smith was misguided and given to hallucinations,” and “The entire story about the restoration and the Book of Mormon was made up of falsehoods, deceit, and counterfeit ideas.” I had been totally devastated by what I read.
Had my parents tried to shield me from something through the years? Had my bishop and Sunday School teachers failed to tell me the whole truth? I had stood there feeling that I had lost the very foundation of my life, for I loved the Church. I had felt strongly about the Aaronic Priesthood that had been conferred upon me just a few months before. The Church, which had become the very foundation of my life, now seemed to be crumbling in just a few minutes—after all, it had been the largest book on the shelf and the background of the authors seemed beyond reproach.
I hadn’t told any one about the deep hurt inside—not even my parents. I had to think about it for a few days. But I had let my Heavenly Father know about my concern and frustration, for He was the center of my boyhood faith. I had even thought back upon the Prophet Joseph Smith when his adversaries tried to demean his remarkable experience in the Sacred Grove. He had said: “I knew it, and I knew that God knew it, and I could not deny it, neither dared I do it; at least I knew that by so doing I would offend God, and come under condemnation” (JS—H 1:25).
On Sunday, three days following my disturbing hour at the public library, I sat in what seemed like an ordinary deacons quorum meeting. But what happened during the next 15 minutes was extraordinary to me.
Following the opening prayer, we were introduced to Brother Corbridge of the stake high council. Brother Corbridge told us that he and his family had just returned from a wonderful vacation trip that included a visit to the Hill Cumorah and the Sacred Grove near Palmyra, New York. Then he related in great detail his family’s experience while in the Sacred Grove. An unmistakable manifestation of the Spirit had come to them to confirm beyond question the truth of what had happened there on that early spring morning of 1820.
Then, in answer to my urgent but humble prayers, the inspiration of the Holy Ghost began to flood into my mind as Brother Corbridge spoke to us with emotion about his family’s experience. I marveled that a well-dressed, successful businessman would stand unashamed with tears in his eyes and share his innermost feelings to a group of young deacons. I know now that he had been sent by the Lord to say something that was meant especially for me, a 12-year-old Aaronic Priesthood boy who had been praying earnestly and who needed help urgently.
Brother Corbridge’s experience in the Sacred Grove became my experience. The gift of the Holy Ghost manifested itself to such a degree that even to this day, 60 years later, I can bear witness as though I had actually been there and observed firsthand that remarkable experience we call the First Vision and I can testify that the Book of Mormon is indeed the word of God.
Yes, Heavenly Father does hear the prayers of His young people, and He very often sends us our answers through His appointed priesthood leaders and other good people. May we listen well as they speak to us. May our thoughts and actions be such that we might invite the confirming Spirit of the Holy Ghost to enter our hearts and minds. I shall ever be grateful for the sustaining influence that came to me as a young man holding the Aaronic Priesthood.

Elder Hunter related an experience he had during the time he served as president of the Genealogical Society: “I went to see President McKay one day after a computer representative told me that his company had developed a cylinder that would hold a billion bits of information. I was excited! This was a break-through for genealogical record keeping. As I told President McKay about it, I said, ‘Isn’t that marvelous?’ He replied, ‘What’s marvelous about that? You haven’t had use for it before, have you?’ I replied, ‘No, we are just at that point now.’ And he said, ‘Well, that’s the reason the Lord has provided it now.’”

When my wife and I arrived in Minnesota as new mission leaders, we had close to 270 missionaries and were focused on the young elders and sisters as well as our many responsibilities.
Early in our mission, one particular transfer presented a challenge for which I was little prepared. We had close to 30 missionaries departing and close to 30 arriving. In addition to interviewing all of the departing and arriving missionaries, I assigned missionaries to new companions in new areas.
As I began the day of interviews, I received a call from one of our elders serving in a small Wisconsin branch in the easternmost part of the mission. With a faltering voice, he shared with me that his entire family had left the Church. “President, what do I do?” he asked.
My heart broke for this devastated young man. I knew my wife and I should get in the car to go spend time with this elder, but if I did, I would miss the final opportunity I had to interview some of the departing missionaries.
As I was trying to determine how to accomplish these two important responsibilities, in walked a brand-new senior missionary couple, Elder and Sister Beck. I was surprised to see them because we were not expecting them until the next day. I immediately recognized their arrival as an answer to my desperate prayers. They had a special spirit about them, and to make matters better, they were going to be serving in Wisconsin.
I am not certain I even gave them the opportunity to sit down. I informed them that, unfortunately, I did not have time to meet with them. I had an urgent assignment for them. I explained the circumstances of this elder and asked them to travel to Wisconsin and spend some time counseling with and comforting the elder.
They immediately got back into their car and made their way to Wisconsin. Later that day, I received a call from Elder and Sister Beck. They asked me if they could take the elder and his companion to the temple in St. Paul. I thought it was a great idea, but I informed them that on that particular day the temple did not have any daytime sessions. They asked if it would be all right for them to go anyway and spend some time on the temple grounds. I encouraged them to go.
To this day, I do not know how the temple president found out about this elder’s challenges, but when the Becks and the elders arrived at the temple, President Smith was there to greet them. He opened the temple and provided this elder with counsel and guidance in the holiest place on earth.
A couple of days later, when Sister Forbes and I traveled to Wisconsin, the elder’s spirits were high, and he was actively engaged in missionary work. I recognized that it was no small blessing that weeks before Elder and Sister Beck arrived in the mission, the Lord had impressed me to assign them to this area in Wisconsin proximate to the elder’s area. Over the next couple of months, they continued to support and help him deal with this challenge. Despite the situation at home, he continued to work hard, took steps to strengthen his testimony, and later became one of our great mission leaders.
We were always interested and concerned about the missionaries’ plans after their missions. We were even more concerned about this particular missionary because of the challenge he faced at home. I was comforted to learn that he had been admitted to Brigham Young University–Idaho. At a BYU–Idaho orientation meeting, he met his future wife. Later they were sealed in the temple.

Stacie’s1 dad was abusive. He told her she wouldn’t be good at anything when she grew up. He made her feel worthless.

When Stacie moved away for college, she was able to think more clearly. She started going to church again and felt God’s love for her and her family. Over time, she found increasing peace in the gospel and her relationship with the Savior.

Today, Stacie is a successful professional with a loving family of her own. Some days are still hard, but she feels a lot of happiness and forgiveness of others.

“I know that Jesus Christ can heal all our wounds,” Stacie says. If there’s one thing she would share with other survivors, it’s to stay hopeful.

“There is always hope in Christ,” she says, “even in the middle of trials that seem like they will never end.”

When my sister, Nancy, and I were teenagers, we regularly attended our local church. But we began to feel that something was missing, so we decided to investigate other churches.
That summer my sister and brother visited a booth at the Canadian National Exhibition where missionaries were showing a movie called Ancient America Speaks. After watching the movie, they signed up for a free copy of the Book of Mormon. I can still remember the excitement in my sister’s voice as she announced to my mother and me that Christ had visited the American continent.
The missionaries dropped off a Book of Mormon to my sister and asked her if she would like to learn more about the Church. That was how we both were taught the gospel.
More than a year after Nancy and I were baptized, she began dating a young man named Luke. He had a bubbly personality and seemed to radiate love and excitement. At the time Nancy met him, he was looking for direction in his life and was eager to take the missionary discussions when Nancy told him about the gospel. His sister, Leonarda, also was interested in being taught.
Although Luke and Leonarda agreed with most of what was presented, they had trouble accepting that Joseph Smith was a prophet. Once they gained a testimony of Joseph Smith then everything else (the Book of Mormon, the restoration of the gospel, and the gospel principles taught by the prophets) would fall into place.
They came to our home to be taught by the elders. Once again the discussion centered on Joseph Smith. One of the elders suggested that we should each take a turn asking Heavenly Father if Joseph Smith was a prophet and then listen silently for a minute for the answer.
I won’t forget the feeling of peace that came into that room and touched each of our hearts as the Spirit bore witness to each of us that Joseph Smith was a prophet of the Lord. For some of us a testimony was gained that night; for others the truth was reaffirmed. Luke accepted baptism and Leonarda was baptized a few years later with her parents’ approval.
Since that night the Spirit has borne witness to me many times of the truthfulness of other gospel principles. But this experience stands out in my mind because it was one of my first experiences with personal revelation from a Heavenly Father who loves me. I learned that night the truth of the counsel found in Matthew 7:7, “Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you.” [Matt. 7:7]

When my little sister, Lillian, was born, I had just been baptized. My father told me that if I stayed worthy to the covenants I had just made, he would let me baptize Lillian when she turned eight. He said that it is a great honor to baptize someone and challenged me to always live worthy of that great privilege. Throughout the next eight years I would often think about my father’s promise and challenge and was careful to always make good choices.
Lillian and I spent a lot of time together growing up—I even taught her how to ride a bike! In coming to know Lillian more, I’ve learned that she has a kind heart and a Christlike spirit. My mom always reminded us how important family relationships are, and she encouraged me to be kind, helpful, and compassionate to all my siblings. That counsel, along with my goal to qualify to baptize my sister, helped Lillian and me to develop a special and unique bond.
On the day of Lillian’s baptism, our dad took us into an empty classroom in the church building. He went over the baptism prayer with me and showed Lillian where to put her hands on my arm. We were both so excited! When Lillian came out of the water, neither of us could stop smiling. As she exited the font, she turned back and said, “Thank you, Kent, for baptizing me!”
My dad confirmed her, and we drove to the temple, which was nearby, and took pictures—a family tradition at baptisms to remind us that we are an eternal family. I’m so thankful for the gospel in my life. Baptizing Lillian was testimony-building and has helped me in my preparations to serve a full-time mission. Just as my dad kept his promise to me, Heavenly Father keeps His promises to us. Honoring covenants brings great blessings, and I look forward to making my temple covenants in the future.

Through rigorous effort to look to and for Jesus Christ in my every thought and deed, my eyes were enlightened and my understanding quickened to recognize that Jesus Christ was calling for me to “come unto” Him. From this early season of discipleship in my youth, I can recall an invitation extended to me by the missionaries to join them as they taught the gospel to a group of young girls about my age. One evening, as we were seated in the family home of one of these young women, their tender question of why I believe pricked my heart and allowed me to testify to them with deepened understanding of the Lord’s vision about the spiritual motivations of my discipleship and has refined my testimony going forward.

When the Church published a rendering of the temple to be built in Bengaluru, a friend messaged me, pointing out how closely it resembled a picture I had drawn in my missionary journal 20 years ago. I had forgotten all about this drawing, so I immediately looked for the journal and was awestruck to see that my friend was right. To me this was a very personal and special manifestation of God’s love for me. How utterly grateful I am to see this dream come true. My rendering in 1999, depicted my stick-figure future family going to the temple outside our home in India. Although I now live in Melbourne, Australia with my family, I can’t wait for us to one day visit this temple. But for now, I truly rejoice with by brothers and sisters in India and many Saints around the world, as we celebrate a sight that we have so longed to behold.

When Leonie’s husband joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in 1965, she had little interest in the faith. Years later, her view of her husband’s church began to soften, and Leonie accepted lessons from faithful sister missionaries in Rockhampton, Queensland.
In 1968, although she still didn’t have much of a testimony, she decided to be baptised on her husband’s birthday, as a gift to him. It was probably not a great reason to take up a new religion, but Leonie said that joining the Church was one of the best decisions she ever made.
When she passed away in 2012, Leonie had been a diligent member of the Church for over 40 years. Her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren share precious memories of Leonie as they continue to be blessed by her legacy of faith.

The same allegiance to tradition that makes missionary proselyting difficult also demands ingenuity in doing member-missionary work. About fourteen years ago, in Premia de Mar, a small suburb of Barcelona, Mari Carmen Clavet and Carol B. Rivero began holding home Relief Society. No branch existed in the town. The majority of the twenty-five women who attended were not members of the Church, but they still seemed to enjoy the prayerfully selected lessons prepared each week.

When four baptisms resulted from the Premia sisterhood, missionaries were sent to the small town and established the Premia de Mar Branch, although there were no priesthood holders at the time. For several years missionaries served as branch presidents, until a returned missionary, Javier Garriga—once a Primary student of Sister Rivero—moved to Premia de Mar. He now serves as branch president.

In another suburb, Hospitalet, Ramón and Gloria Arriaga regularly invite nonmember friends and family to their weekly family home evenings. “Sometimes we’ve had as many as ten to twelve visitors,” they say. “We make goals during the week of whom to help or invite, always trying to show love to someone lonely.” Their two children were called at the same time to serve missions in Madrid, Spain’s capital. “You might say we’ve been on a mission through our children,” their mother says. “We lived every minute of their service for the Lord and felt the blessings flow.”

A teenage girl sitting under the chairs. The rest of the story: When I was a teenager, one of the girls my age always sat under her chair in class. This young sister had grown up in many foster-care homes and only felt safe in an enclosed area. Since then, I have recognized that we cannot expect students to learn when they are in ?ght, ?ight, or freeze mode. Students must feel safe if they are to learn and, most importantly, feel the love of the Savior.

Elder Daniel Gifford was promised in his patriarchal blessing that he would serve closely with a General Authority while he was on his mission. He wondered how this would be when he received his mission call to Texas, where the mission president had only served two or three months. While he was in the Missionary Training Center listening to the final session of October general conference, he heard President Tanner announce that the next speaker would be Elder Vaughn J. Featherstone, a member of the First Quorum of the Seventy and newly called president of the Texas San Antonio Mission. When Elder Gifford was later called to be an assistant to the president, he shared his patriarchal blessing promise with us. Do you think he has any question about whose work this is?

Now, fast forward many years. We found ourselves a year ago with the same assignment, that of being chairman of the Missionary Executive Council. Christmas was approaching. Because of the pleasant experience we’d had at the MTC those many years ago, we decided to repeat the performance.
This time, there were about twice the number of missionaries. The setting was very different, for now a beautiful auditorium had been constructed for holding devotionals. There before us were more than 2,000 wonderful full-time missionaries anxious to hear the messages we would bring to them at Christmastime. Because the setting was different and required a more formal approach, we selected the message from Matthew and Luke of the birth of the Savior.
The book of Matthew tells the remarkable account of how he wanted to be certain that everyone understood the fact that the Savior came to earth through the lineage of David the King just as the Old Testament prophets had predicted. Matthew goes on to tell the wonderful story of the wise men coming from the East to pay homage to the Christ child. They brought gifts that would greatly relieve the burden of having to flee for their safety into Egypt, as Herod the King was troubled about the fact that this King of the Jews was being born.
Each of the stories was preceded by having the scripture read by our two youngest grandchildren, J.P., who was 8 years old, and Megan, who was 10 years old.
J.P. read the verses from the book of Matthew. As the story unfolds, you wonder where Matthew went for his source of material. It is obvious that this is the story of Joseph the father, of his concern for the safety of his family, and also for supplying the family with the needs that they would require as they were to make this long journey to a distant land. Our message was on the blessed role of fathers.
Megan read the beautiful account of the shepherds coming and finding the Savior’s birth taking place in a manger and the travail of Mary in bearing a child under such trying conditions. Again, it is very evident that Luke must have listened to the wondrous story told by the mother of the Savior. We elaborated on the contribution mothers have made in our lives, of nourishing, of loving, of confidence, and of giving peace and security, as only a mother can do.
Again, we decided to follow the practice of the previous experience and have dinner with the full-time missionaries. We scattered ourselves among the tables and had a glorious time listening to their stories of home and what they were going to accomplish. We felt of the spirit they had now as full-time missionaries ready to go out in the world to declare the great message of the Restoration to the peoples of the world.
Looking at the size of the cafeteria, we decided to shake hands with the missionaries as the dinner concluded. Little did we realize that they came in waves, only about a third of them could eat dinner at any one time. After shaking hands with the first wave, the second wave descended on us. We had to shake hands with them, and then the third wave descended on us. We spent most of the afternoon shaking hands and wishing the missionaries well as they went about their training in the Missionary Training Center.
It was interesting to see the reaction of our grandchildren. Megan, in naming her 12 favorite events a short time later, had the Christmas MTC experience listed second only to her last special birthday. To me that was a lesson taught by our grandchildren to their grandparents.

I don’t think I will ever forget that Christmas. I suspected it would be the last Christmas I would spend in my parents’ home. We all knew that soon after Christmas I would leave on my mission. Then would come marriage, and Christmases from then on would be spent with my own little family.
Oh, I knew there would be years when I would spend Christmas Day with my family, but never again would I be there for the “season”—the days of baking, the nights spent caroling, the hanging of the stockings, and the other activities that filled the weeks before Christmas. I was growing up. I was leaving home, and the thought scared me.
I had anticipated that last Christmas for months, and the week before Christmas was wonderful. I savored every minute of making gingerbread houses, acting out the Nativity, decorating our tree, and all the secrets and surprises that seemed to invade every corner of our warm house. Yet, despite the happy feelings, I kept remembering that this would be the last year things would be the same.
My family had many holiday traditions. One that we children looked forward to the most took place on Christmas Eve. Starting with the youngest, Papa would take each child downstairs to the living room. Then, holding him or her in the old rocking chair, Papa would sing us a special Christmas song. It was the same song every year, and we all knew it by heart. The song talked about angels and dancing toys on Christmas morning. Sitting there in Papa’s arms with the Christmas tree lights shining in the dark room, you couldn’t help but feel secure. Somehow you knew tomorrow would reveal all the joys that Christmas morning could bring. No matter how old or how big we grew. Papa always rocked us on Christmas Eve.
As I lay in my bed that night, I watched each of my older sisters and brothers in turn be taken down the stairs. I was the oldest child at home that year, since my sister had left on her mission. Below me in the living room, I heard the song over and over as each child was sung to. Then it was my turn. I followed Papa down the stairs into the living room. He sat in the big chair and opened his arms.
“Do you still want me to sit on your lap?” I asked.
“Of course,” he smiled. Gratefully, I climbed onto his lap and pulled my knees up to my chin, snuggling up next to him.
“This is my last night to be rocked,” I said.
“I know,” came his quiet reply.
As the first few strains of the familiar tune began, I thought back to all the years I had heard this song on Christmas Eve. Suddenly something in me wanted to stay. I was so warm and comfortable, and I had no idea what the future months and years would hold. I started to cry.
Don’t let this song end, I thought.
Papa began to sing.
Heaven bless you, little one, while you’re fast asleep.
You’ll awake to dancing toys,
Candy canes, Christmas joys.
And I pray your whole life through,
Angels will watch over you,
Loving you the way I do,
My little one, sleep well.
Every year before, the song had made me think of what the next morning would bring. But this last time, I knew Papa was singing about life and the years ahead—not toys that would break or wear out, but eternal joys I would find on my journey through life, joys I was not even aware of now. On this night I heard the emotion of his voice as he sang for angels to watch over me, not just for tonight but for all the nights that would follow when he wouldn’t be there.
I let my tears flow, as the last strains of music faded away. Papa and I watched the lights of the tree in the darkness, and we rocked and rocked, long after the song had ended.
I found comfort as I thought of my Heavenly Father that night, while my earthly father rocked me. Even though Papa couldn’t be there every day in the future to help me with each struggle, my Father in Heaven would be there. No matter what the years ahead would bring, I would have the support not only of an earthly father, but of my Heavenly Father as well. And he would guide my paths and bring me home for good.
That night I felt he, too, was singing, “Loving you the way I do, my little one, sleep well.”

Three weeks ago I was assigned to host an open house at the Orlando Florida Temple for leaders representing the clergy, press, government, education, and business. Before I escorted these prominent guests through the temple, I explained to them the position and basic doctrine of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I wanted them to know why the gospel of Jesus Christ was restored to the earth through the Prophet Joseph Smith, so they could understand the divine purpose and the eternal significance of the temple. My message this morning is to remind Church members of what we have and to invite nonmembers to understand the need for the restoration of the gospel.
During the Orlando temple tours, I explained to our guests who were not of our faith that I understood if they found this message a bit overwhelming. I taught my new friends in Orlando, as I teach here this morning, that either the gospel has been restored or it has not. Either the Savior’s original church and its doctrine were lost or they were not. Either Joseph Smith had that remarkable vision or he did not. The Book of Mormon is another testament of Jesus Christ or it is not. Either the fulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ was restored to earth through God’s chosen latter-day prophet or it was not.