Gospel Story Finder

Boy Scouts from the Elk Grove First and Third wards of the Sacramento California South Stake organized an ice cave freeze-out, an event they hope to hold annually. The winter camp was held at the 7,000-foot level on Echo Summit between Sacramento and South Lake Tahoe.
The group backpacked two miles on snowshoes to the main campsite. There they were taught basic snow survival techniques and how to build several kinds of snow shelters by experienced leaders. These shelters served as sleeping places for the Scouts during the nights when temperatures dropped to 15°F.
The Scouts were surprised to find very little spare time for fun or horseplay as nearly every available minute was spent in preparing and serving food, building snow shelters, learning survival techniques, or just staying warm by the fire. The Scouts found that the Boy Scout motto, “Be Prepared,” is more than just a motto. They found that extensive planning and preparation were essential for a comfortable snow camping experience.

—A pot-holdered-hand pulled a door down, an oven light went on, and a wonderful, sweet smell filled the room. Another concoction was complete to add to the menu of a tea the young women of the Ashington Branch, Sunderland England Stake, were preparing for senior citizens in their community.
Not only did the young women share food, but they also shared a program of songs, thoughts, and prayers. “We wanted to show them how much they are appreciated for all their hard work,” says Rachel Woodward.

In high school, Desireé decided she would always make the gospel her top priority. She once had to choose between going to the temple with the young men and young women in her ward or competing in a regional design competition.

“It was really hard because I wanted to enter the competition,” she says. “But since the temple is almost nine hours away, I don’t get to go often. I didn’t want to miss out on that opportunity.”

After a lot of praying, Desireé came up with a solution. She rode with the young men and young women to the temple on Friday, performed baptisms for the dead, and was on a plane headed for home by 7:30 a.m. Saturday.

She returned home just in time to enter the competition, where she won the “Young Designer of the Year” award for northern New Zealand. Doing well in this competition qualified her for a national design competition, where she placed in the top three.

There is a boy in my class who acts mean. He kicks classmates, and he stole a toy from my backpack. When my birthday came, I decided to invite everyone in my class, except for that boy. But as soon as I had that thought, I knew that it is not what Jesus would have done. I invited the boy to my party, and he was excited when I handed him an invitation. It felt good to be nice to someone, even if he is not always nice to me. I think this is what Jesus would want me to do.

After the collapse of my father’s catering business, my family faced a serious financial situation. I remember my mother coming home with tears in her eyes, not wanting to tell us what was wrong even after I asked her what the problem was. Soon we had to move into a small one-room apartment because that was what we could afford.
Before then, the Christmas season had always been a time of intense cooking, new clothes, parties, visits to interesting places, and gifts to be shared and received. My mum had a knack for being, as we called her, “Mother Christmas.” She loved to give, and each Christmas she would enthusiastically and lovingly share with those around her. As we got older, thinking of others more than we thought of ourselves became a trait that we also tried to develop.
But that year we did not know what to do. Mum became concerned because it would be our first Christmas outside of our own home. She worried because there was nothing she could think of to share with others. However, we encouraged her because we knew that we could, in our own small way, do something to spread the spirit of Christmas.
Still, we were barely getting by, and we were also struggling to keep the peace in our new surroundings. Our landlady was not a Christian, and she was upset with us because we would wake up early to have family prayer and sing hymns. Our singing would awaken her because our room adjoined her room. Often she complained, so we tried to sing softly and not disturb her. When she saw that we weren’t going to stop having our morning family prayers, her complaints gradually ceased.
Then a thought occurred to my dad. He felt that we should sing Christmas carols to our landlady as our Christmas gift to her. Everyone was thrilled with the idea—except for me. I strongly objected, reminding my family of the complaints she had made over our family prayers. I suggested that we sing for someone who would appreciate it and not for her.
But my dad insisted, explaining that it would be an avenue for us to show her that we were her friends despite belonging to different religions. I had no choice but to join my family in choosing and practicing carols to sing for her.
On Christmas Eve we stood at her door and knocked. She did not open the door, and I was about to get angry and remind my dad of our wasted effort. But as I looked around, I saw that all the members of my family were smiling—they were happy about what we were doing. I felt a desire within me to experience that same feeling.
Eventually the landlady opened her door, and for a moment she did not know what to do. My dad quietly told her that we would love to sing for her and that, if it was all right, we would love to come inside her apartment. She stepped aside, and we went in. We sang all the Christmas songs we could remember—both the ones we had rehearsed and ones we had not. Soon there was a wonderful feeling in the room. Although we knew that she might not understand the meaning of the words, she smiled as we sang. She also told us that she had been feeling lonely and seeing us together made her long for her own family. Before leaving, we wished her a merry Christmas and a happy New Year. She thanked us, and we went back to our room.
As I was trying to fall asleep that night, I pondered on what had happened. It occurred to me that a real Christmas gift is not necessarily store bought or even homemade; it is actually the attitude and the desire we have to do what we can to make our fellow human beings happy. I realized that the greatest gift we can give at Christmastime doesn’t require a lot of money; instead, it is a gift of love.
That night I knew that my family had felt the spirit of Christmas by offering a small service to a lonely neighbor.

When temple visits for my branch were announced, I attended. Even though I could not yet enter the temple, I often walked the temple grounds. I prayed to Heavenly Father expressing my deepest desires to one day enter the temple. Some of these visits were only 10 minutes, but they had a profound impact on my spirit.
On one particularly cold and rainy evening, I arrived at the temple late. Although the grounds were closed, temple security allowed me a few moments on the grounds. I had with me a copy of the temple’s dedicatory prayer. I was impressed to read it.
I was filled with emotions as I read the following words: “Wilt Thou whisper peace to Thy people by the power of Thy Spirit when they come here with burdened hearts to seek direction in their perplexities. Wilt Thou comfort and sustain them when they come in times of sorrow. Wilt Thou give them courage, direction, and faith, when they gather, as to a refuge, from the turmoil of the world. Wilt Thou reassure them of Thy reality and divinity, and of the reality and divinity of Thy resurrected Son.”1
I knew then that my visits to the temple grounds meant something to the Lord, even though I was not inside the temple.

When I was a child, from 1976 to 1980, I was very struck by the advertisements presented on television in Puerto Rico for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. No one in my house was a member of the Church. I noticed that all the announcements were positive and always highlighted the importance of family. I really liked the ads because in each of them there was a message for me and my family.
It wasn’t until about 25 years later that a friend invited my wife and me to visit his church. My friend was an exemplary person, and I gave him my word that I would attend. When I got there, I read a sign at the entrance that read, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” I immediately told my wife, “This is the Church of positive messages and family.” We asked ourselves, what awaits us inside the Church? Heavenly Father had a plan for us. Everything was cordial and we were treated as if we were part of the Church family. The missionaries taught us, we had a confirmation that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the true Church in the world, and we were baptized.

“Hey, Sofía! Wanna go to the Valentine’s Day dance with me?”
Sofía felt her cheeks turn red. She didn’t know what to say. Kyle Thornton was one of the cutest and nicest boys in the seventh grade, and here he was asking Sofía to the dance! Sofía knew she shouldn’t date until she was 16, but part of her really wanted to go. It would be so much fun! And besides, the dance was at school, so meeting Kyle there wouldn’t exactly be a real date. …
But Sofía didn’t feel super comfortable with the idea.
“Um … can I tell you tomorrow?” she asked.
“Sure, no problem.” Kyle smiled and walked to class.
After school, Sofía’s best friend, Ashley, ran up to her. “I heard Kyle asked you to the dance!” she said. “That’s so great!”
Sofía shrugged.
“You’re going, aren’t you?” Ashley asked.
“Well, my family is going to make cookies and take them to a care center that day,” Sofía said. “I’m probably going to go with them.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Ashley said. “You can do something with your family any day. This is important, especially since Kyle asked you!”
Sofía knew lots of girls liked Kyle. What would they think if she said no? But how could she tell Ashley she couldn’t date yet?
“I gotta go,” Sofía said. “Mom needs me home right away to watch the twins.”
“OK,” said Ashley. “Let me know what you decide.”
When Sofía got home, Mom gave her a quick hug before hurrying out the door to go visiting teaching. Sofía and her eight-year-old twin brothers, Mateo and Leo, spent the time building block towers and cities.
As she played with her brothers, Sofía thought about the dance. All of her friends were going. She thought about Kyle and smiled. It would be fun being at a dance with him. But she knew what the prophets had said—kids shouldn’t date before turning 16. She wanted to be obedient. As fun as the dance might be, Sofía knew what she had to do.
At school the next day, Sofía saw Kyle in the hallway. She took a deep breath and walked up to him. She had practiced what to say all morning.
“Thank you for asking me to go to the dance with you,” she said. “But I can’t go.”
“Why not?” Kyle asked, his smile fading.
“I’m not going to date until I’m 16,” Sofía said. “But we can still be friends.”
Kyle’s shoulders slumped. “OK. I guess I understand.”
They said goodbye, and Sofía walked to class. She hated seeing Kyle so sad. But she also felt OK about her decision.
On Friday after school, instead of picking out an outfit and doing her hair for the dance, Sofía frosted heart-shaped cookies with Mom and Dad and her brothers. Instead of going to the school gym, Sofía went to a care center to pass out the cookies.
In the main room at the center, Sofía noticed a piano in the corner. She knew several Primary songs by heart, so she asked her family to sing along while she played. People sitting nearby clapped at the end of each song. When she and her family finished singing “A Child’s Prayer,” Sofía saw that several people had tears in their eyes.
“Thank you!” one lady said. “That was even better than the cookies! Will you come back?”
Sofía smiled. “Of course!” Maybe she could even invite her friends and Kyle next time.

Girls in the Walnut Creek California East Stake shared a faith-promoting experience when they were asked to participate in the search for a three-year-old boy lost not far from their stake girls’ camp.
The girls divided into teams and searched until dark, but the boy was not found. Searchers did fin his footprints, however, and the girls fasted and prayed throughout the night that the boy would be found. They felt their prayers were answered when the night remained warm and clear and searchers found the boy the next morning.
Afterward, 150 girls and leaders tied and signed a quilt for the boy and reflected on the test of faith they had endured. All agreed that they had learned a lot about relying on an already full reservoir of faith rather than trying to develop faith in a time of crisis. They won’t forget that girls’ camp or that lesson very soon.

“What’s this?” I said to myself as I walked into my bedroom and saw a vase and flower on the dresser. It was a bud vase of green glass, with a yellow ribbon tied around it. It held a red velvet rose, made with obvious care and skill.
I knew my 15-year-old daughter, Ellen, had made flowers like this before, usually for friends or to give away as presents. But why would she be giving one to me? Though we rarely quarrel, she and I had quarreled earlier in the day, and the storm clouds between us had not yet evaporated.
And what was this—a note addressed to me? I opened it and read:
“Dear mom, this may seem like a small thing to give, and it may only be a copy of the real thing, but it still has the beauty of a real rose. This rose isn’t real, though, and that’s on purpose. Because real roses die. But this one will always be alive. And so will the love I have for my mother. Even though it sometimes seems that I don’t love you, I do love you.
“Just like when there’s dust on the rose and you blow it away and everything seems new, the same is true when we’re upset. Blow the dust away and our love shines clean and new. I love you, mom. I always will.”
Tears dropped down my cheeks. I felt ashamed for not having been the first to apologize, but Ellen had apologized first. She had more than cleared the problems between us. She had given me a gift of love.
We still disagree occasionally, but now we both know how superficial that dust on our relationship is, and we have learned to quickly blow it off. After we have, then, with warmth and tender appreciation, I walk into the bedroom and blow the dust off my velvet rose, too.

During this time, I found great comfort in the talk “Grateful in Any Circumstances” from Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. His teachings spoke peace to my broken heart, including these words:
“Some are facing the end of a cherished relationship, such as the death of a loved one or estrangement from a family member. Others feel they are facing the end of hope—the hope of being married or bearing children or overcoming an illness. Others may be facing the end of their faith, as confusing and conflicting voices in the world tempt them to question, even abandon, what they once knew to be true.
“Sooner or later, I believe that all of us experience times when the very fabric of our world tears at the seams, leaving us feeling alone, frustrated, and adrift.
“It can happen to anyone. No one is immune.
“Everyone’s situation is different, and the details of each life are unique. Nevertheless, I have learned that there is something that would take away the bitterness that may come into our lives. There is one thing we can do to make life sweeter, more joyful, even glorious.
“We can be grateful!”2
Based on Elder Uchtdorf’s talk, I started keeping a gratitude journal. In the wake of our twins’ deaths, I’d started experiencing uncontrollable anxiety and despair; the simple act of writing down the good things that had happened each day gave me the courage to let go of the bitterness and blame that had consumed me. I learned to be grateful for every day that I am alive and for the experiences that God gives me. I am a much happier person, despite our losses; I’ve learned to be “thankful in [my] circumstances—whatever they may be.”3

Years ago an acquaintance of mine was captive for over twenty years to a serious alcohol problem, which bound him every day. He would leave work, buy his alcohol, drive into the countryside, and drink until he could barely find his way home. He truly was under the captive spirit of the devil and lived in hell. A faithful home teacher loved this brother, saw him often, taught him to pray for help, and prayed for him often. One day while he was driving his pickup truck into the countryside to begin his daily alcohol ritual, he felt a powerful influence to stop his truck, walk out into a field, fall to his knees, and plead for help from his Father in Heaven. Later, he tearfully testified that as he arose from his knees, the desire to drink alcohol had completely left him. He had been delivered from a twenty-year prison. God heard his prayer, felt the desire of his heart, and opened the prison doors that bound him.

Shortly after I began my mandatory service in the Brazilian army, I was selected as corporal over a dozen men. Unfortunately, my 12 young soldiers seemed to have the lowest standards in the barracks. I came to discover that they were or had been involved in drugs, theft, sexual immorality, and other serious sins.
Rather than allow myself to be influenced by their low standards, I took advantage of every opportunity I had to share the gospel with them. For example, during breaks or when we were cleaning rifles together, I talked to them about the gospel. I thought they would make fun of my standards and ridicule me, but they listened and came to treat me with respect. However, despite my efforts to teach them gospel doctrines, they didn’t change their attitudes or behavior.
Our time in the army finally ended, and on our last day as soldiers, the men invited me to celebrate with them at a small ranch. “Corporal, you have to come to our party,” one of them said to me. “You aren’t going to insult us by not showing up, are you?”
I was about to accept the invitation so as not to insult them. But the thought came to me that their party standards would be contrary to my Latter-day Saint standards. I remembered what I had been taught in seminary about not going to places where the Holy Ghost would not go. Despite their resentment, I told the group that I wouldn’t be attending. I said good-bye and headed home.
Months passed before I again saw one of the soldiers from that group. What he told me made me grateful that I had skipped their farewell celebration, which featured lots of alcohol. While under the influence, the men had begun throwing alcohol on each other. Then, as a joke, one of them threw a match on his buddy, who was so badly burned that he died a few days later. As a result, all of the participants at that party faced criminal charges related to his death.
Had I attended the party—even without drinking—I would have been in the same predicament. That incident would have followed me and could have hindered my future. I mourned for the young man who had died, but I was grateful that I had followed the promptings of the Spirit and the counsel of Church leaders.

In 1981, my father, two close friends, and I went on an adventure in Alaska. We were to land on a remote lake and climb to some beautiful high country. In order to reduce the load we would have to personally carry, we wrapped our supplies in boxes, covered them with foam, attached large colored streamers, and threw them out the window of our bush plane at our intended destination.
After arriving, we searched and searched, but to our dismay, we could not find any of the boxes. Eventually we found one. It contained a small gas stove, a tarp, some candy, and a couple packages of Hamburger Helper—but no hamburger. We had no way to communicate with the outside world, and our scheduled pickup was a week later.
I learned two valuable lessons from this experience: One, do not throw your food out the window. Two, sometimes we have to face hard things.
Years before, during our misadventure in Alaska, I had quickly learned that blaming our circumstances on others—the pilot launching the food out in fading light—was not a solution. However, as we experienced physical exhaustion, lack of food, sickness, and sleeping on the ground during a major storm with only a tarp to cover us, I learned that “with God nothing shall be impossible.”8

In a high school in Utah, a young mentally handicapped student we will call Frank wanted so much to be accepted by the popular crowd. He would follow them around, always on the outside looking in, hoping to be included but never achieving it.
One day in the cafeteria, some of the more popular boys and girls encouraged Frank to get up on the table and dance. Thinking he would please them, he did it. In his awkward way, he twisted and twirled. The group yelled, clapped their hands, and laughed. They were laughing at him, and Frank thought they were laughing with him.
A few tables away, Dave was eating lunch with a friend and watching it all. He courageously leaped up, faced that crowd of tormentors, and through clenched teeth said, “I’ve had as much of this as I can stand!” He helped Frank down and said, “Frank, you come and have lunch with us.”
At a 20-year high school reunion, one of the graduates had a surprising conversation with one of her classmates that went something like this:
“I came to this reunion after all these years hoping you would be here so I could thank you. My high school experience was hard for me. You may not have known it, but you were the only friend I had in high school. I wondered if maybe the seminary teacher had assigned you to be nice to me. Did he?”
“No, he didn’t assign me.”
“Well, you didn’t know it, but every day I looked for you because I knew that you would talk to me. You made me feel better about myself. Now I am married and have a large family. During these past years I have thought many times of what you meant to me, and I wanted to tell you that.”

As a young 12-year-old Scout, I received a gift of a much-desired addition to my Scouting equipment. It was a hatchet with a heavy leather cover! On the next overnight hike, we arrived in camp after dark, wet and cold from the heavy snow on the trail. All I could think about was building a big roaring fire. I immediately went to work chopping a fallen tree with my new hatchet. As I chopped, I was frustrated because it didn’t seem to be cutting very well. In my frustration, I worked harder. Disappointed, I returned to camp with only a few pieces of wood. By the light of someone else’s fire, I discovered the problem. I hadn’t taken the cover off the hatchet. I can report, however, the cover was chopped to shreds. The lesson: I became distracted with other things.

Janelle could hardly wait until Trisha’s birthday party on Friday night. Trisha was turning 11. The invitation promised games, refreshments, and a video. It was the last party of the school year before Janelle’s friends went their separate ways for the summer.
Janelle was the first to arrive at the party. Once all the girls had arrived, Trisha led them to the family room. Crepe-paper streamers decorated it.
After they had birthday cake and Trisha opened her presents, she pulled out the video. “Look what movie I have. My big brother rented it.”
Janelle recognized the video as an R-rated movie. In family home evening, her parents had talked about the right and wrong kind of movies. She knew if she stayed to watch it, she would be going against the standards they’d tried to teach her and against the teachings of the prophet. President Hinckley had spoken out against seeing bad movies. Then she thought of the promises she’d made at the time of her baptism.
“I’m sorry,” she quietly said to Trisha, “but I can’t watch this. I think I’d better call my mom. She’ll come to get me.”
The disappointment in Trisha’s eyes nearly caused Janelle to change her mind. Then she remembered her parents’ counsel that if she ever felt uneasy or worried in a situation, she should call them and they would come for her. She found Trisha’s mom in the kitchen.
“Mrs. Powers, can I call my mom?” Janelle asked.
Mrs. Powers looked up from where she was putting plates in the dishwasher. “Is anything wrong?”
Janelle didn’t want to get Trisha in trouble, but she knew she couldn’t stay at the party. She explained about the movie. Trisha’s mom looked troubled. After she showed Janelle where the phone was, she hurried downstairs. Janelle called and told her mother what was going on.
“I’ll be there in 10 minutes,” her mother said.
Just then, Trisha and the other girls trooped upstairs. “We aren’t going to watch the movie,” Trisha told Janelle. “Please don’t leave.”
The rest of the girls nodded in agreement.
“I thought it’d be cool to watch that movie, but I knew it wasn’t right,” Trisha added, her face reddening. “We thought we’d play some games.”
Janelle grinned. “Let me call my mom back before she leaves and tell her I’ll be staying after all.”
“Thanks, Janelle,” one of the other girls said. “If it hadn’t been for you, the whole party would have been ruined.”
Standing up for what she believed hadn’t been easy, but Janelle was glad that she had.
Trisha threw her arms around Janelle’s neck. “Thanks for staying. The party wouldn’t have been the same without you.”
Janelle hugged her friend back.

This story took place in Brazil.
“Now we’ll have a talk by Sister Almeida,” the bishop said.
Gabriel took out a piece of paper and some pencils. He liked to draw while he listened to the talks. So did his sister, Alice.
This time Alice drew a lion. Gabriel drew a dinosaur. He gave it a long neck and a tail.
Then Gabriel looked up. A little boy was walking toward them.
“Oh no!” he whispered to Alice. “Here comes Christian.”
Christian was four years old. He couldn’t talk, and he didn’t sit still. He walked around the chapel during meetings. Sometimes he scribbled on Gabriel’s drawings.
Gabriel hid his pencils behind his back. He didn’t want Christian to get them.
Christian reached for the pencils.
“No! These are mine!” Gabriel whispered, pointing to Christian’s family. “Go sit down.”
But Christian didn’t seem to understand. He kept grabbing for Gabriel’s pencils.
When the meeting was over, Gabriel walked with Mom and Alice to Primary.
“Why can Christian walk around the chapel but I need to be quiet?” Gabriel asked Mom.
“Christian has a different way of thinking,” Mom said. “Walking around helps him feel calm and comfortable.”
“But he always bothers us,” Gabriel said.
Alice frowned. “He just wants to draw.”
“But he doesn’t know how!”
“Maybe we can help him,” Alice said.
The next Sunday, Gabriel sat next to Alice during sacrament meeting. After the bread and water were passed, he pulled out his pencils and paper to draw. Then he saw Christian walking toward them.
Gabriel started to hide his pencils, but he paused. Christian had a big smile on his face. Gabriel remembered what Alice had said. Maybe he could help Christian draw this time!
Gabriel smiled back at Christian. He scooted over so Christian could sit between him and Alice. Gabriel gave Christian a pencil and paper. Alice helped Christian hold the pencil. Together they drew a stick figure.
Christian laughed and clapped his hands. He looked excited. Gabriel was excited too. This time Gabriel helped Christian hold the pencil. Together they drew a dog. Gabriel grinned. Drawing with Christian was fun.
When the meeting was over, Christian had a whole stack of drawings. He hugged the drawings tight and pointed to his family’s bench. Gabriel and Alice led Christian back to his family. Christian showed the drawings to his mom with a big smile.
Gabriel was glad he could draw with Christian. And he was glad he had a sister who was a good example.
Who can you help at church?
Illustrations by Josh Talbot

She met Frank Bennallack in school. He shared Leonie’s love of ballroom dancing and became her debutante partner when she was 18. Before long, the two were planning a future together.
Their married life got off to a great start. Leonie and Frank saved up to buy land and build a house, which they completed soon after their honeymoon. The newlyweds enjoyed taking long walks together, playing cards with friends and going to balls, and when they eventually welcomed five beautiful children into their family, Leonie cherished being a mother. “Throughout our childhood and our lives, we always felt loved,” says Lisa.
After some time, the family’s fortunes changed. They lost their home and had to move several times as Frank sought reliable work. Times were hard, but Leonie never complained. “Mum always demonstrated incredible patience,” said Lisa. She was an excellent cook who would brighten her children’s days with great food and fun activities. “I knew we weren’t all that well off, but thanks to Mum, I had no idea how poor we really were.”
It was around this time that Leonie joined the Church. Her growing faith and love of the gospel sustained her through even greater difficulties.
Only a few years after her baptism, she found herself a single parent with four children still at home and a mother-in-law in her care. For the first time since her wedding almost 30 years earlier, Leonie needed to find work.
All the while, Leonie’s testimony of Heavenly Father and the Saviour increased. She was a dedicated disciple of Jesus Christ and His restored gospel; and had faith in priesthood power and the wonderful blessings it brought to her and to her family.
In 1976, Leonie moved her family to Adelaide to be near her oldest (married) daughter, where Lisa said, “we were supported by a wonderful ward, a loving bishop and great home teachers.” Leonie accepted a calling there as the Relief Society president, which initially intimidated her. But “she exercised her faith and did a wonderful job,” recalled Lisa. Leonie’s testimony of the gospel was continually strengthened as she served many other callings in the ward before she was called as a temple worker at the Adelaide Australia Temple. Through the faith she had, Leonie was able to remember all she needed to remember for that sacred role. “She loved her years of working at the temple,” says Lisa, and her mum especially enjoyed when family members attended while she was serving.
Some of Leonie’s greatest successes were at home with her family. She set a wonderful example of daily prayer and scripture reading, and she kept a journal since 1981. Leonie delighted in witnessing her children and grandchildren serve missions, get sealed to their spouses in the temple, have their own children, and participate in the work of the Lord through various leadership callings. This reflected her favourite scripture, found in 3 John 1:4 “I have no greater joy than to hear that my children walk in truth.”
In her 50s she moved in with her daughter’s family, and Leonie faithfully continued to serve and to love. As one grandson remembers, “There was never a Christmas, an Easter or a birthday when all of the grandchildren [didn’t] received something from Nana. She never forgot . . . we all knew through her kindness and actions that she loved each and every one of us.”
In a final act of motherly devotion, just before she died, Leonie wrote special, personal letters to each of her five children and their families. The discovery of these letters after Leonie passed away was a wonderful and profound surprise that touched their hearts at a very tender time.
She was known by many names throughout her life: Leonie, Mum, Nana, Sister Bennallack . . . but perhaps her greatest triumph as a mother is that “her children [continue to] arise up and call her blessed.” (Proverbs 31:28)

The clouds hung low and white over the small town of Liberty Bell that twenty-sixth day of December 1908. Sarah Moseley made her way from her family’s house at the end of the street toward the boardwalk, where her new dress would get a brief respite from mud-spraying wagon wheels.
Sarah’s family had been laboring under the stressful effects of no income in recent months, but her mother had managed to rummage up sufficient materials from an old attic chest to fashion a beautiful patchwork dress for Sarah. It was the only gift she had received for Christmas the day before, and she was fitly grateful for and proud of it.
As she continued along the street, she turned the collar of her frayed wrap up around her neck to ward off the biting chill of wind and lightly driven snow. Suddenly someone wearing a tattered sheepskin coat stepped out in front of her. He had a tangle of red hair, and a crooked scowl on his face. Toby Wilder! Last week he had asked Sarah for some answers to a test in Miss Cornaby’s class, and Sarah had refused. Now he looked ready for revenge. “I would have passed that test if you had given me those answers,” he growled.
“There’s a right and a wrong to everything, Toby Wilder,” Sarah said, swallowing hard, “and cheating is wrong.”
Toby glared at her, then pushed her back toward the edge of the boardwalk. “There’s a right and a wrong to everything, Toby Wilder,” he mimicked. “You think you know all there is to know about what is and what isn’t, don’t you little Miss High-and-Mighty.”
He glanced up and down the street through the haze of falling snow. No one was in sight. Shoving her roughly off the boardwalk, he laughed derisively and swaggered away as she pulled herself up from the street mire. Her eyes filled with tears as she wiped at the icy ooze on her new Christmas dress and headed for the store.
The bell above the door jangled as Sarah stepped into John Walton’s Mercantile Store. The man behind the counter looked at her with concern.
“What happened, Sarah?” he asked.
“Toby Wilder,” she sighed.
Mr. Walton nodded. “That’s not the first time he’s done something like that. Warm yourself by the stove there.” When Sarah hesitated, he added kindly, “Go on, child. There’s no sense in all that warmth going to waste, now, is there?”
“I guess not,” Sarah responded. “It’s just that you’ve given us so much these past few months, all our food and such, that I just don’t feel right about taking the only spot in front of your stove.”
“Sarah Moseley,” Mr. Walton declared, “since when did I keep anybody away from my potbellied stove?”
Sarah smiled in gratitude and stepped in front of the stove. Mr. Walton came out from behind the counter and pulled up a chair in front of Sarah. He sat down and spoke privately. “After that boxcar explosion at the depot last September, it’s a wonder your father is still alive. It’ll be a little while yet before he’s up and about.” He pushed a wisp of damp hair from Sarah’s eye. “Your father is a good man,” Mr. Walton continued. “He’ll pay me back when he’s able. Now give me that shopping list I know you have.” Sarah obliged him. “Besides,” he added as he stood with a little grunt, “it’s Christmas time, isn’t it?”
Sarah’s face wrinkled with curiosity. “What do you mean, Mr. Walton?”
“Christ gave His life for you and me, Sarah, not to mention for those that crucified Him. It seems the least I can do is give a can of beans and”—he checked Sarah’s list—“a box of baking soda and the like to people I love. Of course, that’s easy. The trick is giving to, or doing something for, someone you don’t like. Now there’s the real test. The problem is that I like everybody.” He laughed. “Well, almost everybody.”
Sarah watched Mr. Walton climb the ladder behind the counter. A ray of winter sun made his face radiant. “Why is it so important to be nice to people who are mean to you?” she asked.
Mr. Walton reached for a box of baking soda on a high shelf, then looked down at the girl below him. “Maybe because the Savior was. Maybe because it’s part of forgiving. It’s the same thing, wouldn’t you say?” He climbed down the ladder and began placing the few gathered items in a sack on the counter. He pushed the groceries across the counter to Sarah. “I have an idea that charity is what Christmas is all about. And forgiveness. What do you think, Sarah?”
“I guess you’re right, Mr. Walton,” Sarah answered, thoughtful.
It wasn’t until Sarah was outside again that she noticed something extra in her sack. A large candy stick. She puzzled over it a moment, then smiled at Mr. Walton’s kindness.
No sooner had Sarah started down the boardwalk in the direction of home than she spied Toby Wilder just ahead, leaning against a pole. His back was to her, and he was looking toward the sun as if he were aching for a little warmth on an otherwise bleak, unfriendly day.
Bracing herself, Sarah stepped up to him. “Toby?”
Toby whirled around. When he saw who it was, he growled, “What’s the matter, Sarah. Didn’t you get wet enough the first time?”
Sarah handed him the candy stick. “Merry Christmas,” she said.
Toby didn’t answer. He just stood there gaping.
Sarah glanced back in the direction of the mercantile store, where she could see Mr. Walton looking out the window, waving. She waved back, then turned and continued down the boardwalk toward home.