Gospel Story Finder

As a new convert to the Church, I experienced a spiritual rescue through the saving hands of a faithful member of the Church. I grew up in Matsumoto, Japan, close to where the Nagano Winter Olympics were held. My hometown looks very much like Salt Lake City, a valley surrounded by beautiful mountains. When I was 17 years old, I met two American missionaries, Elder Carter and Elder Hayashi. Though our ages were only two or three years apart, the elders had something wonderful that I had never felt before. They were diligent, cheerful, and filled with love and light. I was deeply impressed by their qualities, and I wanted to become like them. I listened to their message and decided to be baptized. My parents, who were Buddhist, strongly opposed my baptism. Through the help of the missionaries and the Lord, I received permission and miraculously was baptized.

The next year I entered the university in Yokohama. Living alone, far from my hometown and the people I knew, I became lonely and strayed from the Church. One day I received a postcard from a Church member back home. She wrote that she had heard I was not attending Church meetings. She quoted a scripture and invited me to return to church. I was overwhelmed by the words of the scripture. This helped me realize that maybe I had lost something important, and I pondered and struggled for many days. This also caused me to remember a promise the missionaries had made to me: “If you read the Book of Mormon and ask in fervent prayer if the promise found in Moroni is true, you will know the truth through the power of the Holy Ghost.”

I realized that I was not praying with all of my heart and decided to do so. One morning I woke up early, knelt in my small apartment, and prayed sincerely. To my surprise, the confirmation of the Holy Ghost came upon me as promised. My heart burned, my body shook, and I was filled with joy. Through the power of the Holy Ghost, I learned that God the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, live and that They truly appeared to Joseph Smith. I made a commitment in my heart to repent and faithfully follow Jesus Christ for the rest of my life.

This spiritual experience changed my life completely! I decided to serve a mission out of gratitude to the Lord and to the Church member who rescued me. Following my mission, I was sealed in the temple to a wonderful girl, and we have been blessed with four children. Not coincidentally, this is the same girl who saved me by sending a postcard to that lonely apartment in Yokohama many years ago. I remain ever grateful for the mercy of the Lord and the help of this Church member, who invited me to once again come unto Christ.

At 8:00 A.M. on my 18th birthday, my mother and stepfather asked me to leave their home, and I joined the Church one week later. I moved in with the Bulleigh family and used the $9,000 I had saved by working between the ages of 16 and 18 to support myself until I graduated from high school seven months later. I read the entire Book of Mormon after being baptized and learned of a prophet named Alma who had also persecuted the Church of God. He spent the rest of his life preaching the gospel to amend for his past transgressions. I decided also to serve a mission.

Here on my mission to the Philippines, I discovered that Christmas is celebrated from September to December. Instead of bringing the snow that I’m used to, December in the Philippines is constantly full of rainy, gray skies. It’s green everywhere you look—banana trees, coconut palms, other palm trees.
For our last appointment on Christmas Eve, we visited a family we had just started teaching. We rode our bikes through the thick jungle to the family’s bamboo-stick, tin-roofed house. When we arrived, I saw the nanay (mother) fishing in the river behind her house with a long bamboo stick and a bit of string. She told us she was trying to catch fish for their ulam (main dish) so they could eat that night. We had planned to go to a Christmas party with the other missionaries at 6:30 p.m., but we decided to spend some time catching tiny fish in the rain to help this woman feed her family instead.
That night, as my companion and I watched a video about Jesus Christ’s birth, I thought about how He came into the world with nothing and left with nothing. The family we served didn’t have much either. But I realized you don’t need much to be happy. Christmas is about more than decorations, food, or even service. It’s about God’s love (see 1 Nephi 11:13–23). It’s about charity, the pure love of Christ. It’s about loving everyone.
Although this Christmas was different for me, my experience has given me extra motivation to keep working and keep serving because the gospel of Jesus Christ can bring people so much happiness. The gospel teaches us how we can reach out in love and charity. I felt charity for that family.
The author is serving in the Philippines Antipolo Mission.

One year we didn’t have much money for Christmas, so I prayed for help to be able to buy a gift for my stepdad, Adrian (whom my sister and I call Weegee). My sister and I had only two dollars between us to spend on gifts.
When my mom said we were going to a nearby thrift store to shop for Christmas gifts, I ran to my room and prayed for help: “Please help us find a gift for two dollars.”
At the store Elaina and I looked through the books and found a triple combination that looked brand new. We were so excited when we found it. I held onto it tight as we ran through the aisles to my mom. Jumping up and down, we said together, “We found a gift for Weegee!” At the checkout my mom asked, “How much for this?” The lady replied, “Two dollars.” My prayer was answered.
At that time our stepfather was not a member. He didn’t like Mormons, he didn’t believe in “the Mormon book,” and he didn’t like members picking us up for Young Men and Young Women activities. He even chased away the elders. But the ward members and missionaries didn’t give up on him.
On Christmas day we saved his gift for last. Elaina and I said, “This is the greatest gift anyone could ever give you! It will make you happy.” Weegee guessed a couple of times, and we laughed at his answers. We told him, “It’s an awesome gift! It’s going to change your life. It changed ours.”
Our mom was worried that he would be mad about our gift to him, but Elaina and I knew it was the right thing to do.
When he opened it, he thanked us for the gift and said he would read it.
Because we love Weegee, we wanted him to learn about Jesus Christ and the gift of His Atonement. We wanted him to believe like we do, to pray and repent, and to have the gospel in his life.
He read and prayed about the Book of Mormon, and with the help of the elders and ward members, he was baptized and is now a member of the Church. We were so happy to be sealed in the temple, and we know we will always be together forever as a family.

Years ago, after graduating from Utah State University, I accepted a job in Colorado, USA. My wife, Janine, and I had only been married for a few years, and we moved our limited belongings to our new apartment to start the next chapter of our lives.
Both my family and Janine’s lived in Utah, and we wanted to spend our Christmas vacation with them. I diligently saved up vacation time at work so we could spend two weeks with them and other friends in Utah during the Christmas break. We planned to make the drive a few days before Christmas, leaving after I worked a half-day in the morning.
The night before we planned to leave, I took down all the Christmas decorations and got rid of the tree so I wouldn’t have to do it when we returned after the new year.
The next morning, Janine mentioned she hadn’t been feeling well that week. I told her she should probably see a doctor before we left for two weeks. Then I went into work for my half-day.
When I returned home at noon, our apartment was empty. This happened before cell phones, so I didn’t know where Janine was or how to contact her. I sat in the apartment worrying about lost travel time.
Janine called about an hour later. She was in the hospital, and a medical team was about to operate on her. I rushed to the hospital and briefly met with the doctor. He explained that Janine’s life was in danger and that they needed to operate immediately. As Janine and the staff went into the operating room, I went into the waiting room.
Although I’ve always been a strongly independent person, I remember the immense sense of isolation I felt as I sat for what seemed like forever in that waiting room. With the lack of cell phones and the speed in which the events progressed, neither Janine’s family nor mine knew what was going on. The crushing loneliness was almost unbearable as I worried for the life of my young wife.
Finally, the doctor came into the room and announced that the operation was a success. I replied, “Great! Because we’re going to Utah for Christmas.” The doctor was quick to correct me: “Son, you don’t understand. Janine will need to remain in town for two weeks for observation.” Those words hit me hard. “Two weeks?” With the doctor’s statement, I realized we were not going anywhere for Christmas.
Janine stayed in the hospital for a few more days. When we finally drove home after dark, I dreaded entering our apartment, which was now stripped of all holiday cheer.
As we slowly made our way across the parking lot to our apartment, I saw a dark shadow next to our door and wondered what it could be. When we got closer to the door, I realized it was a small Christmas tree. I knew immediately who had left it.
After going inside and helping Janine into bed, I brought our Christmas tree inside. It was clear to me that my buddy Mike had left it for us. Mike was one of the first friends I’d made when we moved to Colorado. He was a college student and a father of two children, so I knew finances were tight for him. The tree he’d brought was less than three feet tall and very thin. By all worldly standards, it might not have looked like much, especially compared with our original tree. But I knew it was the best he could afford, and I felt great appreciation for it. To me, it was a magnificent tree—much better than our original because of the sacrifice it represented from my friend. Nothing could have been a better gift. I spent the rest of the night decorating our new treasure, which turned out to be the most outstanding Christmas decoration that year.
Once we returned home, the ward Relief Society quickly sprang into action and took care of meals for the next few weeks. They also brought entertainment for Janine and me to enjoy while she rested. Many visits from ward members followed. Being new to the ward, we didn’t initially know many people, but we soon got to know many of them from their visits.
That Christmas remains one of my most cherished memories. Mike ended up becoming a lifelong friend from whom I’ve learned many lessons of service. When I think back on this experience, Matthew 25:37–40 comes to mind:
“Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink?
“When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? or naked, and clothed thee?
“Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee?
“And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.”

Some of the first forks were brought to Europe from Byzantium, a rich and powerful empire to the east. About a thousand years ago a Byzantine princess came to live in Venice, a city in Italy. She ate with a fork. The priests thought her way of eating was so fancy that it was sinful. They scolded her. They preached against her in church. Soon afterward, the princess caught a terrible disease and died. Many people believed that she was punished for using her fork.

Climbing trees is one of those childhood joys that often sticks with you even as you grow older. Of course, not many people take it to the same heights as Hunter S., a 17-year-old young man from Washington, USA.
Several years ago, Hunter’s father showed him a video on climbing Mount Everest. Instantly, Hunter knew he wanted to become a mountaineer. For training, he began running every day and scaling a massive pine tree in his backyard with climber’s equipment.
He started climbing smaller peaks with some peers, and then he moved on to higher ones with his dad and brother. Soon, climbing Mount Rainier became his goal. At over 14,000 feet (4,267 meters), this peak requires some serious training. While conditioning for the attempt, however, Hunter found an even bigger problem to tackle.
A local baby named Casen was born with a rare genetic disorder that has no known cure. Hunter knew Casen’s family needed all the help they could get to provide medical treatments. He decided to make his climb a fund-raising effort. “Climb for Casen” was born. “I felt the Spirit confirm that this is what I’m supposed to do,” says Hunter.
Not only did he successfully summit Mount Rainier after two long days of climbing with an accomplished team, but he raised $13,000 (well beyond his goal of $10,000) for Casen’s medical treatments. The public certainly rallied, donating to the fund-raiser.
Hunter compares mountaineering to living the gospel. “I couldn’t just climb Mount Rainier without doing any training,” Hunter says. “As with faith, I had to exercise, get the proper training, and do the right things. With the gospel, we can’t just say that we want a closer relationship with Christ. We need to actually keep the commandments.”
Photographs courtesy of Hunter S.

Bart and Chad sat with their mother in sacrament meeting as the bishop made an announcement. “Brothers and sisters, we are blessed to have several missionaries serving from our ward. We have been asked to keep a certain sum of money in the ward missionary fund, and right now we are below that amount.”
He held up a donation slip. “Fortunately, the blessing of supporting the missionary program isn’t just for full-time missionaries and their families. We can donate to the ward missionary fund to help support missionaries from our ward or to the general missionary fund to help missionaries all over the world.* What a great opportunity this is for each of us to personally support the missionary program.”
The bishop then asked ward members to contribute to the ward missionary fund if they felt they could.
Bart and Chad arrived home bursting with excitement. “Mom, we need to help the missionaries!”
Mom smiled at their enthusiasm. “When you earn money and pay your tithing, maybe you could also give a little extra money to the missionary fund.”
A look of concern crossed Bart’s face. “Mom, we have to give more than that!”
“And the bishop said they need money now,” Chad added.
“What do you suggest?” Mom asked.
Bart thought for a few moments, then went to his room and returned with a box of change he had been saving.
“This is all the money I have right now,” he explained, pouring it out onto the table.
Chad followed his brother’s example and soon returned with his own savings, which he added to the mound of coins.
Bart noticed an empty quart jar next to the sink, and an idea popped into his head. “Mom, could we please use that jar for our money?”
“Sure.”
“And would it be OK if we went through the house and added any loose coins we find?”
“I think that’s a great idea.”
Bart and Chad discovered that hunting for missionary coins was more fun than any treasure hunt. With each quarter, dime, nickel, and penny they dropped into the jar, their smiles widened and their determination grew.
Together they searched every cupboard, drawer, and closet. They peered under every rug, bed, and piece of furniture. When they were sure they had not missed a square inch of the house, they presented a nearly full jar to their mother. “Would you please call the bishop and make an appointment for us?” Bart asked.
Mom dialed the phone number and soon reported that the bishop would be happy to meet with them that afternoon.
As the bishop welcomed them into his office, Mom explained why they were there. Tears filled the bishop’s eyes as Chad and Bart proudly placed the jar of coins in his hands. Together they counted the money, filled out a donation slip, and poured the coins into a large envelope.
The bishop smiled warmly. “Thank you so very much for such a wonderful contribution to the missionary fund. If you don’t mind, I would like to keep this jar as a reminder of one of the most wonderful experiences I have ever had. This may look like an empty jar, but to me it will always be filled with love and the testimonies of two special young men.”
As they left the building, Bart turned to Mom. “I feel just as full as that quart jar.”
“So do I!” Chad exclaimed.
“That makes three of us,” Mom said, giving her boys a big hug.

Assembly Instructions: Cut scenery along solid black lines on pages 30 and 31. Glue scene to cardboard and trim.
Cut out objects on floor along solid black outline and then fold up on broken lines.
Glue figures and props to cardboard and cut out. On the back of each figure glue a Popsicle stick. Place a piece of masking tape on the back of the props so they can be positioned in the scene. If the scenery is set on the forward edge of a table, the figures can be moved around in front of it.
Characters: Mother, Ezra, Susan, Elizabeth, and Thomas
Setting: Kitchen of a pioneer cabin with table, chairs, coal stove, and a hearth.
Scene opens: Mother is churning butter. Susan is working on a rag rug. Ezra is sanding a stool he has made in preparation for the Primary fair. Elizabeth kneels on the floor watching Ezra and his stool.
NOTE: Instead of using puppets, this play could be given by boys and girls in a family home evening.
Elizabeth: (in a discouraged voice) What can a five-year-old make to show at the Primary fair?
Mother: Why, Elizabeth, you’re going to play in the rhythm band at the fair. And, I might say, you do a good job on the triangle.
Elizabeth: I know, but I want something to put on the display table with my name on it!
Ezra: You can help me paint this stool and we can put both our names on it.
Elizabeth: No! That wouldn’t be the same as making something all by myself.
Susan: Do you want me to show you how to make a rug?
Elizabeth: No, that’s what you’re doing; besides, there isn’t time for me to finish one.
Mother: (holding out jar of butter) Here, Elizabeth, please take this butter outside and put it in a cool safe place by the stream.
Ezra: On your way back, Elizabeth, would you do me a favor? Bring in the bucket of corn inside the barn for Mother. I forgot. That way I can keep sanding till I’m through.
Thomas: (calling from outside) Elizabeth, come quick! That pesky raccoon’s in the cornfield again! Help me catch him.
Elizabeth: All right! I’m coming! (Elizabeth runs out, carrying the butter. The other family members run to peer out the window.)
Susan: How can little Elizabeth help?
Ezra: Elizabeth is small and quick enough to run through the cornfield to head him off. (Mother, Susan, and Ezra go back to their work.)
Mother: Susan, will you help me clean out this big heavy kettle so I can make soup in it? (The kettle is on the floor by the hearth.)
Susan: I’ll be glad to, Mother. (Helps mother clean kettle.) This kettle will sure hold a lot of soup!
Mother: Yes, it has to. We’re going to have a soup kitchen at the fair, and I told the sisters I would make a big pot of our favorite vegetable soup.
(After a time Thomas and Elizabeth return. Elizabeth is carrying the bucket of corn. Mother and Susan have finished cleaning the kettle and are getting ready to peel the vegetables on the table.)
Elizabeth: Where do you want this corn, Mother?
Mother: Put it in the kettle on the hearth, dear. (Elizabeth puts corn in kettle.)
Thomas: That pesky raccoon got away. If I ever catch him, I’ll have his tail!
Ezra: Then you can have a raccoon hat (family laughs).
Susan: Maybe we could make the raccoon a family pet. The Cole family has a pet raccoon.
Thomas: No thank you! Then he would eat all our crops.
Mother: Elizabeth, did you find a good place by the stream for the butter?
Elizabeth: (looks alarmed) Oh, Mother, in my hurry to help Thomas catch the raccoon I left the butter outside on the porch. I’ll go get it right now. (She leaves.)
Mother: Thomas, if you’ll lift that large kettle from the hearth to the stove, Susan and I will soon have other vegetables ready to put in it.
Thomas: All right, Mother (lifts pan).
Elizabeth: (enters carrying the butter jar) I’m sorry, Mother. I left the butter in the sun and it’s almost all melted. Is it ruined?
Mother: (walks over and looks in butter jar) Oh, dear! No, it’s not ruined, Elizabeth, but it has to be used right away. What can we do with so much melted butter?
Ezra: We could make pancakes (looks in butter jar) but wow! We’d sure have to eat a lot of them!
Mother: (begins to sniff) Say, what can I smell? Oh dear, I forgot to put some water in the kettle for the corn.
Ezra: But what’s that noise? (everyone sniffs and listens.)
Thomas: It smells and sounds like corn popping. (Everyone looks at the stove.)
Ezra: Oh no! Elizabeth must have brought in my popcorn that I was saving for tithing.
Elizabeth: I’m sorry, Ezra.
Ezra: That’s all right. I wonder if the bishop will take popped corn for tithing (family laughs).
Mother: You’ll have to take some more from your supply for your tithing, Ezra.
Susan: Hey! All that popcorn solves the problem of what to do with all the melted butter.
Thomas: That’s right. We can pour it over the popcorn!
Mother: And that’s what Elizabeth can take to the Primary fair and put on the display table with a big sign that reads BUTTERED POPCORN MADE BY ELIZABETH, age 5.
Elizabeth: Yippee!

Thompson remembered from his boyhood in Norway speeding down mountains on skis. Why can’t mail be delivered this way, he reasoned.

In January of 1856, Thompson set out on his first mail run from Placerville, California, on the western slope of the Sierras, to Carson Valley on the east side, nearly one hundred miles away. To travel on top of the snow, he wore ten-foot-long, twenty-five-pound runners that he had whittled himself. Observers and Thompson both called them Norwegian snowshoes.

His first winter trip might have been Thompson’s last, because at one point he mistakenly trusted a snowbridge across a chasm. It had seemed firm and solidly frozen, but when he reached the center, it began to pull away from the cliff behind him. Fortunately, he managed to grab a tough pine root on the cliff ahead just as the bridge collapsed and fell into the rocky abyss below. He thanked God and vowed he would never make that mistake again.

As he went on, he had to judge correctly the safety of the icy crust of fifty-foot drifts. He kept his bearings by observing trees, wind direction, rock and mountain formations. When nighttime came, he stayed on course by observing the stars. He slept warmly at night by setting a stump afire, hollowing a cave in a snowdrift facing the fire, and lining the cave with pine boughs.

It took three days’ travel for the longer, steeper climbs of the eastward crossing and two days to return to California. When the citizens of Placerville, California, heard Thompson’s High Sierra whoops as he skimmed down the last slope carrying mail from Carson Valley, they cheered. “Snowshoe Thompson!” they shouted, and the name “Snowshoe” was born.

Daniel Martuscello from Colorado, USA, had just finalized his divorce and found it hard to feel at peace with his new circumstances. Not only was he no longer married but he was also a new father and unemployed. He didn’t understand why this had happened—especially since he had always sought to be righteous.
Feeling alone and lost, Daniel turned to the scriptures. “I remembered the comfort I had felt in the past from reading the scriptures, so I made it a focus each day,” he says. Making time for daily scripture study meant he limited entertainment such as television and the Internet. But it wasn’t a sacrifice, he says. “As I read, I received comfort and guidance. Other things became secondary in importance. I didn’t just read to read, but I was looking for answers. I read with a purpose.”
Daniel found comfort in the scriptures as he realized that everyone experiences adversity. “The prophets and others were righteous but still had trials,” he says. “Reading their experiences helped me understand that at some point in life, we all suffer, but in that suffering we can draw closer to Christ.”
Additionally, Daniel says that reading daily lightened his burden because it was a way to include the Savior in his daily life. “As God spoke to me through the verses I read, I trusted that things would get better and that with His help, something good would come from this experience.”

Jody had five older brothers and sisters. When Jody was little, being the youngest was fun because she got special attention. But now that Jody was getting bigger, being the youngest sometimes meant being overlooked.
For example, today when Jody came home from school she had lots of exciting things to tell her mother, but Mom was busy in the garage helping Jody’s brother Derek repair his bike. Later, before dinner, Jody’s oldest sister, Lisa, was in the kitchen with Mom. Lisa was helping fix dinner, chatting endlessly about boys. After dinner, Jody’s sister Amber needed help with her math homework. Then it was time for family prayer, and Jody was off to bed.
On days like these, Jody was grateful she had her secret journal friend. That night she wrote:
Dear Secret Journal Friend,
I wish I could spend more time with Mom. She is always busy with the family, but I wanted to tell her about school today. I got 100 percent on my spelling test, we did gymnastics in P.E., and in art, I made a beautiful flower out of tissue paper. I like my teacher a lot, but I love my mom.
Your friend,
Jody
Jody felt better when she had finished writing. She put the journal next to her bed, said her prayers, and went to sleep.
The next day, when Jody got home from school, her mother wasn’t there. Lisa told her that their sister, Ellen, who shared a room with Jody, had gotten sick and Mom had taken her to the doctor.
When Jody went into her bedroom to drop off her backpack she saw her journal on her pillow. She opened the journal and read the reply from her secret journal friend.
Dear Jody,
Your mom loves you very much too, and wants to spend more time with you. Why don’t you invite her out for ice cream on Friday night? You know how much she likes rainbow sherbet.
From,
Your Secret Journal Friend
Jody smiled. The ice cream was a good idea. It sounded like fun. But right now Jody was worried about her sister. She wanted to do something to make her feel better.
Jody took out her pencil and wrote:
Dear Secret Journal Friend,
I am sorry that Ellen is sick. I want to give her my tissue-paper flower, even though I made it for Mom. Do you think Mom would mind?
Your friend,
Jody
Then Jody remembered something else she was feeling bad about and wrote:
P.S. Today in art I got mad at my friend, Sara, because she spilled my paints. I even pulled her hair. Later I told her I was sorry. Will you still be my friend even when I do bad things?
The next day after school Jody found Ellen resting in their bedroom and gave her the brightly colored flower. Ellen’s eyes lit up and she grinned.
“Thanks, Jody,” Ellen said. “It’s really pretty. It makes me feel cheerful just looking at it.”
Jody smiled. Then she sat down on her bed and started reading her journal.
“What are you doing?” Ellen asked.
“I’m reading a message from my secret journal friend,” Jody told her.
“Your secret friend?” Ellen asked. “I think I saw your secret friend writing in your journal today. Do you want me to tell you who it is?”
“No thanks,” Jody responded. She took her journal out to the living room couch so she could be alone. She sat down and read:
Dear Jody,
I’m sure your mother won’t mind you giving away her flower. She will be very proud of you for being such a thoughtful sister.
From,
Your Secret Journal Friend
(who loves you always, NO MATTER WHAT)
Jody turned to a blank page, thought for a moment, then wrote:
Dear Secret Journal Friend,
Ellen liked the flower. I’m glad I gave it to her. Last night I prayed that she would feel better, and now she does!
I used to wonder how Heavenly Father can hear everyone’s prayers when there are so many people in the world, but now I think I know. Because Heavenly Father loves us no matter what, He will always find a way to answer our prayers.
Then Jody wrote in extra big letters:
I LOVE YOU, MOM!
Thanks for being my secret friend and my mother.
Love,
Jody
P.S. Don’t forget—tonight is ice-cream night!

Four-year-old Christopher sat by the window and watched the wet January snow pelt the glass. “Jingle bells, Jingle bells,” he whispered to himself as he stood up, stretched out his arms, and twirled. He opened and shut his eyes. Blink-blink, blink-blink.
“What are you doing, Christopher?” asked Mom.
“I’m not Christopher. I’m a Christmas tree.”
Mom smiled. “Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Christmas tree. Are you thirsty? I can put your feet in water if you’d like.”
Christopher giggled. “Oh, Mom!”
Mom laughed too and put her arms around him. “Why do you want to be a Christmas tree?”
“I want to have Christmas every day!” he explained.
“How about if we make Christmas cookies one more time? Would you like that?”
Christopher grinned and ran to the kitchen.
After supper, Christopher sat on his bed and ate a pink-frosted angel. He savored each sugary bite. Finally he licked the last crumb from his mouth and lay back on his pillow.
“‘Away in a manger, no crib for his bed, The little Lord Jesus lay down his sweet head.’” Christopher paused and listened to the stillness. His words sounded kind of empty. He wished it was Christmas Eve again so that he could sing it with his family around the tree.
He left his room and meandered to the kitchen. He got some paper and crayons from the cupboard and sat at the table. “Mom, will you draw a star for me?”
Mom put down her dish towel and drew a big yellow star at the top of the paper. “How is that?”
“Great! Thanks, Mom.”
Mom went back to her dishes, and Christopher covered the rest of the page with tiny golden dots. When it was finished, he smiled. It was just like the star that shined over Jesus when He was born.
He got some tape from the drawer and hung the picture above his bed. “‘Away in a manger,’” he sang. But it still didn’t feel like Christmas.
That night, when the house was dark and silent, Christopher thought long and hard about Christmas. He thought about Baby Jesus and Christmas trees. He thought about candy canes and Wise Men. He thought about presents. Presents! That was it! He could give someone a present. Christopher smiled and sank sleepily into his pillow. He could give someone a present.
The next morning, just before sunrise, Christopher jumped from his bed and ran to his parents’ room. “Mom?” he whispered.
Mom rolled over and opened one eye. “Hmm?”
“How can I earn some money?”
“What? Can’t we talk about it later?”
“Oh, Mom, please? I can’t go back to sleep until I know.”
“Know what?”
“How I can earn some money.”
“Why do you need money?”
“To buy a present.”
“For whom?”
“I don’t know yet, but it will be for someone special. Please, Mom?”
His mother thought for a moment, “I guess you could do extra chores around the house.”
“Thanks, Mom!”
“Now please go back to bed.”
Christopher ran to his room and climbed into bed, but he couldn’t go back to sleep. All he could do was think about his Christmas present.
Every day for a week, Christopher washed walls, made beds, vacuumed, and dusted furniture; and each day he added nickels, dimes, and quarters to his money jar.
Before church on Sunday, his mother helped him count his money and take out enough to pay his tithing. Then she counted it again for him. He had two whole dollars left. “Wow!” she said. “You sure earned a lot of money this week.”
Christopher grinned and slipped the money into his pocket.
“Have you decided whom you’re going to buy a present for?”
“Not yet,” said Christopher, “but I’ll think about it on the way to church.”
In Primary, Christopher’s teacher talked about her mission in Korea. She let the children taste some Korean cookies, and she even let Christopher hold a doll that a Korean child had given to her. Near the end of her lesson, she asked, “Do you know what I liked best about my mission?”
Christopher and his classmates shook their heads.
“Giving the Book of Mormon to people and seeing how it changed their lives.”
Christopher felt her words settle in his heart and grow. He knew about the Book of Mormon, and he loved it too. He wished he could share it with someone, just as his teacher had.
And then he knew what he would do! Excitement tingled through him. He could hardly wait to tell his mother.
“Does a Book of Mormon cost very much?” he asked her after Primary.
“No, why?”
“Do I have enough money to buy one?”
“Yes,” she said with a smile. “But why? You already have a Book of Mormon.”
“I want to give it to someone—it’s my present.” He stuffed his hand deep inside his pocket and pulled out the money. “Now what?”
His mother led him to the bishop’s office and filled out a donation slip for him. He put the money into the envelope and handed it to the bishop. “Make sure this goes to someone special, please,” he said.
The bishop smiled and nodded.
As they walked out of the office, Christopher whisper-sang the words to “Away in a Manger.” He thought about the star that led the Wise Men to Christ. He even thought about the Christmas lights that looked just like candles blinking on a hillside. But the thought he liked most of all was how he would feel next week, when he had another after-Christmas Christmas.

While living in Salt Lake City in 1978, my wife, Linda, and I attended a reunion of returned missionaries. At one point, one of the former missionaries enthusiastically reported that his family had been rising early each morning to read the scriptures.
I had heard about people like that. It was all I could do to read the scriptures myself on a regular basis, let alone get the entire family our of bed early each day to read a few verses.
However, Linda and I knew it was something we should do. We realized that such a habit, formed when our family was young, could provide a great foundation for our children.
A few mornings later and a few minutes earlier than usual, we gathered the family to begin reading the Book of Mormon.
We chose the Book of Mormon because of its wonderful stories and plain presentation of gospel principles. It was also the only one of the standard works for which we had a large-type edition for the children. Angela was six years old, Jamie was three, and Dallas was newly born. At first, Jamie and Dallas had poor attendance, but Angela zealously showed up each morning.
About ninety seconds into our first morning, a few things became obvious: We were not going to finish for a very long time. Second, too much reading at one time would make this project miserable for all of us. And third, the children’s joy would come as much from reading to Mom and Dad as from the messages they learned from the Book of Mormon.
Keeping these things in mind, we decided to read one column of one page each day. We would each take a verse, in order, and read it aloud. For Angela, whose reading skills were limited, it usually meant that Linda or I would say one or two words and she would repeat them.
Discussions were prompted by questions from the children or the need for emphasis from Mom and Dad. Many times a short introduction to what was ahead made the reading more exciting. When a great prophet died, we felt sad and talked about it. When we came to a favorite story or favorite prophet, we mentioned it.
From the first, we recognized that reaching the book’s final verse wasn’t the point; the fun was in getting there. We soon lost any feeling of desire to get the book read in a hurry. If it took five years, so what? If the children, or even Mom and Dad, seemed to tire or become distracted, we would not read as much. We could always pick up the next day where we had left off.
We ended each session on our knees in family prayer.
As the weeks became months and the months became years, a miracle unfolded. We saw our children learning to read. Better yet, we saw them becoming acquainted with the prophets, stories, and teachings of the Book of Mormon.
As our family grew older, our children slowly mastered the text. They needed less and less help pronouncing words and names, and they rarely missed a word like Lamanite, even though they sometimes needed help with more common words. That large-type edition was soon passed from Angela to Jamie, from Jamie to Dallas, and then to our latest child, Jill. As the older children received their own copies of the Book of Mormon, their satisfaction grew even greater.
Along the way there were many triumphs. Whenever a child was able to read a whole verse without assistance, the family rewarded the effort with a spontaneous cheer. When we read 3 Nephi, we all sensed a special spirit. The children felt the importance of the verses. We read some of the passages more than once, pausing for discussion. As we read of the Lord’s love for the children and how he blessed them, our children felt that the Book of Mormon was written just for them.
We also had our setbacks. Summer was a hard time for our reading program. While the children had their school holiday, they had no need to get up as early as I did, and we missed many days during these summer months. Still, we had no trouble starting again once school started.
The greatest challenge came in 1983, when we moved. We lived outside of a city, and I commuted an hour each way to work. This meant that I had to leave home every morning before the children woke up.
We solved the problem by switching our scripture reading to evenings, just before bedtime. Reading then required much more discipline. Busy schedules, homework, television, and even Church activities competed for our time. But after a few weeks the routine was established, and we continued on our way.
About half-way through the Book of Mormon, it became obvious that we need to “quicken our pace and lengthen our stride” if the children were to have the Book of Mormon read before they left home for college, marriage, or missions. We had long since progressed to reading both columns on a page. Now we started reading two pages a night. By October 1986 we set a goal. We would have the book finished by Christmas!
It was a special night when we read the last page. We planned it so that Jill, who was five, could read the last verse. We didn’t say much, but the prayer that night was one of special thanks for our eight-year journey through the Book of Mormon.
We thought of having a celebration, but in the end we realized that this was only the end of the Book of Mormon part of our effort; it was not the end of our daily scripture reading. So we celebrated by going to the store for ice cream. Our real reward was the quiet satisfaction we each felt. We had read the Book of Mormon, and we had done it together.
We are convinced that the Lord provided a special blessing for our children. They have all learned to be fine readers. The have also learned to love the Book of Mormon. Above all, we are bound together by the knowledge that we have obey the prophet, by the strength we gained from the counsel in the Book of Mormon, and by the love we developed during those minutes every day when each child was the focus of attention and nothing else really mattered.

Mary’s boy Joseph was born at a time when her husband was snatched away by the mob militia then terrorizing Far West. Hyrum and the Prophet Joseph were taken to Liberty, Missouri, where they were imprisoned. Under the compulsion of Governor Lilburn W. Boggs’s extermination order, she left Missouri with the stepchildren for whom she had taken responsibility, as well as her own son. Her sister Mercy placed Mary, who was seriously ill, on a bed in a wagon box with her infant boy cradled at her side.

In February 1839, when winter was still upon the land, they traveled east across the state and then across the Mississippi to Quincy, Illinois, bumping along in a springless wagon where every jolt brought pain.

When her husband and the Prophet escaped from Liberty Jail and came to Quincy, life again improved. The Saints moved to what became Nauvoo and established their beautiful city on the Mississippi. But their peace was short-lived. Her little boy was less than six years old when a knock came at night on her window and a man said, “Sister Smith, your husband has been killed!”
Joseph F. never forgot his mother’s weeping through the night.
Her world was shattered. She was on her own now with a large family to care for. In the summer of 1846, they bade their comfortable home good-bye and rode a flatboat across the Mississippi. Taking matters into her own hands, she was able to trade, borrow, and barter for ox teams and wagons.
While living in Winter Quarters, she and her brother went down the Missouri River to purchase provisions and clothing. They had two wagons, each having two yoke of oxen. Camping for the night, they discovered in the morning that their two best oxen were gone. Young Joseph and his uncle spent the entire morning looking for the lost animals. They found nothing. Disheartened, he returned to tell his mother. Their situation was desperate, terribly so. As he approached, he saw her on her knees praying fervently, speaking with the Lord about their problem. When she arose to her feet, there was a smile on her face. She told her son and her brother to get their breakfast and she would look around. Following a little stream of water, and disregarding the words of a man who was in the area, she went directly along the bank of the river.
Pausing, she called to her son and brother. She pointed to their oxen, which had been tied to a clump of willows growing in the bottom of a deep gulch. The thief, who had tried to misdirect her, lost his prize and they were saved.
Mary’s faith imprinted itself in her son’s boyish heart. He never forgot it. He never doubted her closeness to the Lord.
All of you are familiar with her experience when one of her oxen, exhausted and worn, lay down to die while they were en route to these valleys in the West. In a mixture of utter desperation and simple faith, she secured consecrated oil and asked her brother and an associate to administer to the ox. They did so. It rose to its feet with a renewal of strength and carried them for the remainder of their long journey.
Such was the faith, sweet and simple and beautiful, which graced this woman’s life. She walked in the light of the Lord. She lived by that light. It guided her in all of her actions. It became the lodestar of her life. She exemplified the tremendous faith of the women of this Church—the women of the Relief Society, who today on a thousand fronts carry on the dedicated work of this remarkable organization.

It was ten-year-old Joshua’s turn to teach the family home evening lesson. It was on faith. When he finished, he told his family, “If you have faith, you can do anything.”
His mother replied, “Well, almost anything.”
“No, Mom.” Joshua said. “You can do anything.”
Little did the Dennis family know that within days, their faith would be tested. On Friday, 22 September 1989, Joshua went with his dad and other leaders and members of a Boy Scout troop from Kearns, Utah, to explore an abandoned mine. After looking around inside the mine for some time, Joshua and some of the Scouts decided to turn back. They met Joshua’s dad and some other Scouts heading out of the mine, and Joshua gave his flashlight to his dad, who was leaving the tunnel with a visually handicapped boy.
Then Joshua decided to follow some older Scouts back into the mine tunnel, but they did not know that Joshua was behind them. They began to run. Joshua couldn’t keep up with them and was soon left behind in total darkness. He couldn’t even see his hand in from of his face.
He turned around and tried to feel his way back to the entrance, but he made a wrong turn and slid down a slope. He climbed back up but went too far and ended up in an ore stope—a cavity where ore has been mined out—about two meters wide and seven meters deep. The stope was almost impossible to see from the main tunnel below because of rocks.
“I tried to find my way out for a long time,” Joshua recalled. He yelled, but his cries were muffled and no one heard him. By this time, he was tired and cold and his feet were wet. “I knew I was lost, and I realized I had better just sit down and wait,” he said.
Joshua slept a lot. Sometimes he would stand up and stretch or just sit and think. For five days Joshua had no food or water and only his coat to keep him warm in the 10° C temperature.
But he wasn’t afraid. “I prayed a lot that Heavenly Father would help me,” he said, and his prayers were answered with a feeling of comfort and with faith that he would be found. “I felt that I was being watched over by Heavenly Father.”
While Joshua was praying, friends and family were also fasting and praying that he would be found in safety. His parents waited anxiously for reports on the search for their son.
Many volunteers helped search the surrounding foothills, which are full of abandoned mines and air shafts. At least seven times some of them passed within forty meters of Joshua.
The longer the search continued, the more certain many people became that Joshua was not in the mine but had wandered away from it. Search dogs, helicopters, and people on horseback and on foot searched the cliff-lined hills of nearby Dry Canyon. There was no trace of the boy.
Inside the mine, Joshua waited calmly for someone to find him. To help pass the time, he sang “I Am a Child of God” and other songs that he had learned in Primary.
As each day passed, the chance of finding Joshua alive grew less, but members of the rescue team were determined to not give up.
When the search party came out of the mine after another unsuccessful rescue attempt on the afternoon of the fifth day, a Church member, John Skinner, persuaded the men in charge to let him go in with the other searchers for a final attempt. “I just had a feeling that he was still in the mine and that he was still alive,” he explained.
John Skinner had explored the Hidden Treasure Mine 120 times and was very familiar with the dozens of passages that wind through the eight levels. He could picture in his mind at least three places where Joshua might be. One of those places was the ore stope.
As the other searchers made another sweep through the mine, he, Ray Guymon, and Gary Christensen separated from the group, and John Skinner led them to the sections of the mine where he thought the boy might be. When they finally came to the ore cavity, they heard a faint cry for help but were not sure what it was. They remained still until they heard it again. The excitement grew as they and Joshua yelled back and forth, trying to find each other in the darkness.
“My heart just started pumping and pounding,” recalled Gary Christensen, the first to reach Joshua. “I wrapped my arms around him, and he wrapped his arms around me.”
“I felt like we were led there by the Lord,” Ray Guymon said.
All three men said it was very difficult to describe the feelings they had when they found Joshua, whom they had never seen before.
“I felt like he was my own,” Gary Christensen said. “I was just really happy inside.”
“It was an overwhelming feeling when we found him,” John Skinner said.
As Joshua was brought out of the mine, there were tears of joy and relief on the faces of many. Joshua, although excited, remained calm—he had not doubted that he would be found.
Because there was no light inside the mine, Joshua had lost track of time. He was surprised when he found out that he had been lost for so long. Dehydrated from going so long without water, and suffering mild frostbite on his feet, he was flown to a hospital, where he rested and doctors examined him.
At first the doctors thought they would have to amputate his little toes. But all he lost was some skin from his feet. He had to be in a wheelchair for about a week. Physical therapy strengthened his leg and foot muscles, and before long he was walking, running, and even riding his skateboard again.
Joshua received more than a thousand letters, many from other school children who wanted to know more about him and his experience. While he was lost, the students at Fox Hills Elementary School, where he was in the fifth grade, tied yellow ribbons on the fences all around their school to show that they were thinking about him and hoping that he would be back soon. It really made Joshua feel good to know that so many people cared about him. He tells everyone, “Heavenly Father does answer your prayers. Have faith and don’t give up.”

My tutorial in the influence of faithful women continued in a small branch of the Church in Albuquerque, New Mexico. I watched the branch president’s wife, the district president’s wife, and the Relief Society president warm the heart of every newcomer and convert. The Sunday I left Albuquerque, after two years observing the influence of sisters there, the first stake was created. Now the Lord has placed a temple there.

Even before I found the Church, the Lord watched over me. As a lone parent of two young boys and studying full time for a law degree (having been allowed a mandatory grant at that time), I could not find a summer job in my second year. I had no idea how I was going to buy food or pay my bills. Our social worker informed me that the grant given in September the previous year was supposed to last until the following September. With two growing boys that was not possible. I was at my wit’s end.

In desperation, I took the boys to the social worker’s office and told her she could look after them till the next grant cheque came. I cannot begin to understand the effect doing so on the boys, but I felt wretched. She brought them back later the same day. The following week I returned from a revision day at college. It had gone well, and I was feeling more positive. As I turned into my road, I saw the boys waiting at the open door looking frightened. I ran to them and took them into our flat. My older son said the nanny had dropped them off, watched them open the front door and go in before driving to her evening job.

I asked, “So why are you looking so scared?” They each took a hand and led me into the bedroom. Every drawer and wardrobe had been emptied, and the contents laid all over the floor. I looked where I kept the gold jewellery I had received at my marriage and at the births of my boys: all gone, even my junk jewellery. I sat down heavily on the bed, trying to think. I phoned my mother and spoke with my stepdad. He asked whether I had contents insurance. I replied, “Yes.” He told me to ring them after reporting the theft to the police and getting a crime number.

Suffice it to say, while I could only reclaim one-third of my financial loss because the jewellery had not been individually insured, the £2,500 I received kept the children and me going until the next grant cheque arrived.

A spiritual highlight of Elder and Sister Kearon’s Cebu sojourn was when the couple climbed up a mountain to visit the Secuya family of Busay 2nd Ward, Cebu Stake. From their highland farm, the Secuyas traverse through rocky paths and streams just to reach public transportation that will take them to Church every Sunday.

“We were so happy to see Elder Kearon, he reminded us of Jesus Christ and His love,” said Mitzi Secuya, who with her family heartily welcomed the apostle and his wife. As the Kearons ministered to the family, son Ryle felt strengthened in his commitment to stay active: “We will continue to go to Church, for we know that the Lord loves us.”

“This is a beautiful memory we will have forever,” Elder Kearon imparted to the family at the conclusion of the visit. “You are beautiful, each of you,” Sister Kearon lovingly reassured the Secuya children, who had faced bullying for their situation.

Another season in Minnesota began a few months before Christmas, when the youth and leaders in the Bloomington Ward became aware of a group of people in need.

“They were facing severe financial problems,” says Megan Ogilvie. “Our Bishopric Youth Committee decided to see if there was something we could do to help. We contacted several different agencies, and they suggested what might be purchased or donated.”

Then the youth of the Bloomington Ward got busy.

“We had a bake sale, and we also got people to donate things—clothing, books, sports gear, toys, food. We filled five big boxes,” says Scott Ranning, 18. Some cash was also given, which was used to purchase additional clothing, books, and for some of the people, scriptures.

After everything was delivered, the ward held a fireside to talk about how wonderful it felt to give. From the people they had helped, the youth of the ward received a handmade cloth banner as a token of thanks and friendship, a banner that hangs in the bishop’s office to this day.