Gospel Story Finder

Our six children were young and completely dependent when my husband invited me to accompany him on a business trip. I had never before been far away from my nest of little ones. At first I was delighted, but as my departure drew near I became obsessed with fear. If something happened to me, what would become of them? I worked myself into such a frenzy that the night before I was to leave I spent the night composing a letter of instruction to one I prayed would care for them in case I didn’t return. I listed all the things I felt were essential to their welfare, and then added a PS: “Please put your arms around them often.”
If not my arms, then her arms—for a mother’s arms encircle a child with tender restraint, security, love. They protect against fear, harm, and evil.
As a mother I have made mistakes. Regardless of culture or country, we all make mistakes in our mothering. But through repentance and the atonement of Jesus Christ, and by continually communicating his love, miracles can happen, wrongs can be righted. Never give up. Never let your arms hang down.

The ten members of the Toowoomba seminary invited their teacher and their parents to participate with them in baptisms for the dead. Since the Sydney Australia Temple is 1,100 kilometers (682 miles) away from Toowoomba, it is a rare opportunity for the youth to do temple work. After a 12-hour bus ride, despite sore muscles and weariness, the youth were eager to begin. Four days and four baptismal sessions later, the class had completed 981 baptisms for the dead.
Johanne Mutzelburg, the seminary class president, said, “This experience of being together as a class for four days brought us all closer together as a group.”
Johanne loves seminary. “I think it’s great to have friends in the gospel,” she says.

Illustration by Bradley H. Clark
“Hey, guys! Come back!” a frantic voice called out.
I turned to notice two boys about five and seven years old running through the store parking lot with tears streaming down their faces. The salesman looked concerned as he called to them.
As I turned back toward my car, the Spirit whispered, “You can be of help here.” The whisper was quiet yet so clear that a moment later I was running through the parking lot toward the boys.
I found the older one standing by a brown minivan. I approached and knelt beside him.
“Hi. My name is Christina. Are you OK?”
At my words, he cried harder and hid his face in his arm. The salesman and the other boy joined us.
“I think they only speak French,” the salesman told me. “We just found them running through the store, lost.”
I repeated my introduction to the children in French. French was my first language, but I hadn’t spoken it since I was adopted into an English-speaking family as a small child. Normally, my French is poor. At that moment though, it was neither clumsy nor stilted. The words were clear in my mind and my voice as I comforted the boys.
Between sobs, the older boy explained in a quick torrent of words that he and his brother could not find their parents anywhere in the store and had run outside looking for them. As I listened, I became vaguely aware of how amazing it was that I was not only conversing freely in French but also readily understanding and consoling two frightened children.
“They’ve lost their parents and want to wait for them here at their car,” I told the salesman. The little boy told me the names of his parents, which I gave to the salesman so he could page them. A few minutes later the boy spotted his father coming out of the store and ran to meet him.
As I followed the boy to his father, I found that I could no longer manage even a good-bye in French. I tried in vain to say anything the boys could understand, but I could say nothing more than a few random words. Finally, I resorted to English, saying to the boy, “Bye. It was nice to meet you.”
As I left the boys with their parents, I was full of gratitude. Heavenly Father had worked through me to comfort two of His little ones. I was humbled that the Lord could magnify my limited abilities to fulfill His purposes. I was grateful to witness what can happen as we offer ourselves to Him when called upon, even in the most unlikely of settings.

For the past 20 months, our family has been blessed with the privilege of having a very special baby.
Little Paxton, our grandson, was born with a very rare chromosomal deletion, a genetic disorder that distinguishes him, literally, as one in hundreds of millions. For our daughter and her husband, an uncharted, life-changing journey began when Paxton was born. This experience has become a crucible for learning special lessons tied to the eternities.
Dear Elder Russell M. Nelson, who just spoke to us, taught:
“For reasons usually unknown, some people are born with physical limitations. Specific parts of the body may be abnormal. Regulatory systems may be out of balance. And all of our bodies are subject to disease and death. Nevertheless, the gift of a physical body is priceless. …
“A perfect body is not required to achieve a divine destiny. In fact, some of the sweetest spirits are housed in frail frames. …
“Eventually the time will come when each ‘spirit and … body shall be reunited again in … perfect form; both limb and joint shall be restored to its proper frame’ (Alma 11:43). Then, thanks to the Atonement of Jesus Christ, we can become perfected in Him.”1
To all of you who have challenges, concerns, disappointments, or heartaches with a dear one, know this: with infinite love and everlasting compassion, God our Heavenly Father loves your afflicted one, and He loves you!
Some might ask when faced with such suffering, how could Almighty God let this happen? And then that seemingly inevitable question, why did this happen to me? Why must we experience disease and events that disable or call precious family members home early or extend their years in pain? Why the heartaches?
At these moments we can turn to the great plan of happiness authored by our Heavenly Father. That plan, when presented in the pre-earth life, prompted us all to shout for joy.2 Put simply, this life is training for eternal exaltation, and that process means tests and trials. It has always been so, and no one is spared.
Trusting in God’s will is central to our mortality. With faith in Him, we draw upon the power of Christ’s Atonement at those times when questions abound and answers are few.
After His Resurrection, when visiting the Americas, our Savior, Jesus Christ, reached out to all with this invitation:
“Have ye any that are sick among you? Bring them hither. Have ye any that are lame, or blind, or halt, or maimed, or leprous, or that are withered, or that are deaf, or that are afflicted in any manner? Bring them hither and I will heal them, for I have compassion upon you; my bowels are filled with mercy. …
“And it came to pass that when he had thus spoken, all the multitude, with one accord, did go forth with their sick and their afflicted, and their lame, and with their blind, and with their dumb, and with all them that were afflicted in any manner; and he did heal them every one as they were brought forth unto him.”3
Great strength can be found in the words “all the multitude … did go forth”—all, brothers and sisters. We all face challenges. And then the phrase: “that were afflicted in any manner.” All of us can identify, can’t we?
Shortly after precious Paxton was born, we knew Heavenly Father would bless us and teach us special lessons. As his father and I put our fingers on his tiny head in the first of many priesthood blessings, the words came into my mind from the ninth chapter of John: “that the works of God should be made manifest in him.”4
God’s works are definitely being made manifest through Paxton.
We are learning patience, faith, and gratitude through the balm of service, endless hours of intense emotions, tears of empathy, and the prayers and expressions of love for dear ones in need, especially Paxton and his parents.
President James E. Faust, my boyhood stake president, said: “I have a great appreciation for those loving parents who stoically bear and overcome their anguish and heartbreak for a child who was born with or who has developed a serious mental or physical infirmity. This anguish often continues every day, without relief, during the lifetime of the parent or the child. Not infrequently, parents are required to give superhuman nurturing care that never ceases, day or night. Many a mother’s arms and heart have ached years on end, giving comfort and relieving the suffering of her special child.”5
As described in Mosiah, we have witnessed the Savior’s pure love given to Paxton’s family, which love is available to all: “And now it came to pass that the burdens which were laid upon Alma and his brethren were made light; yea, the Lord did strengthen them that they could bear up their burdens with ease, and they did submit cheerfully and with patience to all the will of the Lord.”6
One night early in Paxton’s life, we were in the neonatal intensive care unit of the wonderful Primary Children’s Medical Center in Salt Lake City, Utah, marveling at the dedicated, undivided attention given by the doctors, nurses, and caregivers. I asked my daughter how we would ever pay for this and ventured a guess at what the cost would be. A doctor standing nearby suggested that I was “way low” and that little Paxton’s care would cost substantially more than I had estimated. We learned that much of the expense for care given in this hospital is covered by the generous gifts of time and monetary contributions of others. His words humbled me as I thought of the worth of this tiny little soul to those who were so carefully watching over him.
I was reminded of a familiar missionary scripture that took on new meaning: “Remember the worth of souls is great in the sight of God.”7
I wept as I pondered the limitless love our Heavenly Father and His Beloved Son, Jesus Christ, have for each one of us, while learning in a powerful way what the worth of a soul is, both physically and spiritually, to God.
Paxton’s family has learned they are surrounded by countless heavenly and earthly ministering angels. Some have quietly slipped in when needed and silently slipped out. Others have been at the door with food, doing the laundry, picking up the siblings, calling with encouragement, and especially praying for Paxton. Thus another special lesson learned: If you come upon a person who is drowning, would you ask if they need help—or would it be better to just jump in and save them from the deepening waters? The offer, while well meaning and often given, “Let me know if I can help” is really no help at all.
We continue to learn the important value of being aware of and interested in the lives of those around us, learning not only the importance of giving help but also the overwhelming joy that comes from helping others.
Dear President Thomas S. Monson, who is such a magnificent example of lifting the downtrodden, said: “God bless all who endeavor to be their brother’s keeper, who give to ameliorate suffering, who strive with all that is good within them to make a better world. Have you noticed that such individuals have a brighter smile? Their footsteps are more certain. They have an aura about them of contentment and satisfaction … for one cannot participate in helping others without experiencing a rich blessing himself.”8
Though we will face trials, adversities, disabilities, heartaches, and all manner of afflictions, our caring, loving Savior will always be there for us. He has promised:
“I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you. …
“My peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.”9
How grateful we are to our Father in Heaven for our champion Paxton. Through him the Lord has manifest His works and continues to teach us these valuable, sacred, and special lessons.
I would like to close with the words from a beloved hymn:
We are all enlisted till the conflict is o’er;
Happy are we! Happy are we!
Soldiers in the army, there’s a bright crown in store;
We shall win and wear it by and by.10
Brothers and sisters, it is my hope and prayer that we will continue to bear nobly our burdens and to reach out to those among us who are suffering and in need of being lifted and encouraged. May we each thank God for His blessings and renew our commitment to our Father in Heaven of humble service to His children. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

John’s soggy shoes slid in the rutted ice alongside the handcart. A toe snagged on a half-buried rock, and he pitched forward into the snow.
Mama helped him up. “My feet hurt bad, Mama. Could I ride a little way in the handcart?”
“Papa’s too sick to pull extra weight, John. See the willows ahead? We’ll camp there tonight by the river.”
John peered through the falling snow. The willows were so far away! He counted steps: “One … two … three … ,” trying to forget the pain in his half-frozen feet. An ache started in his hands. It worsened until he could no longer concentrate.
His gaze fixed on Mama’s skirt, blowing stiffly in the rising wind. “Your skirt’s frozen, Mama.”
“Only the edges where it drags through the snow,” Mama said, hugging him. Then her light, sweet voice sang out, “Come, come, ye Saints, no toil nor labor fear …”
Instantly, every voice in the handcart company took up the words. It was a camp rule that when one began singing that special hymn, all must join in.
As Papa’s thin frame pulled against the weight of the handcart, his lips moved soundlessly to the words. A fit of coughing doubled him over. He staggered and fell.
John leaped to Papa’s side and cradled his head in his lap. Men dropped their own handcarts and hurried to help. Papa whispered, “I just need a moment to catch my breath.” Heavy coughing shook him.
The men lifted Papa into the handcart. Tears trembled on Mama’s eyelashes as she tucked a warm buffalo robe around him.
Papa had said that the robes they had bought in Fort Laramie were a mixed blessing. Those who chose to keep warm with them might die of hauling the extra weight. John was glad now that they had discarded other things in order to keep them.
As the men went back to their own handcarts, Mama said, “It’s up to us now, John.” She took Papa’s place in front of the handcart. John stood beside her. His body strained. The handcart bumped slowly forward.
John’s feet, clumsy with cold, trudged inch by weary inch toward the willows. After a while, he felt neither hands nor feet, numbed as they were by wind-whipped snow and sleet.
Finally they reached the willows. “Get what rest you can,” the captain told the company. “Tomorrow we cross the river.”
Cross the river? John could see no ferry. The river was dark with slush ice. He shuddered.
Papa crawled from the handcart and steadied himself against the wheel, coughing weakly.
“I can make camp, Papal” cried John. Papa reached into the handcart for the tent. “Some are working who are sicker than I am,” he said.
Digging in the snow, John found a few sticks of firewood. Soon a pot of mush bubbled over a fire.
Mama scraped the mush into three bowls. “It’s such a little bit,” John sighed, gulping the steaming gruel.
“I know,” said Mama. “The company captain said we must cut the rations in half again.”
Papa spooned a bit of mush into his mouth. “Nobody dreamed that winter would come so early,” he murmured. “Nor be so savage.”
That night John huddled with Mama and Papa under the buffalo robes. Slowly, feeling returned to his hands and feet. Exhausted, he slept.
The next morning John awakened to a camp half buried in snow. In the fierce wind, he helped Mama and Papa pack the handcart. With other Saints, they struggled through the still-falling snow to the riverbank.
“Oh, Papa!” John stared at the rushing slush-thickened water.
“If I stumble, grab the handcart,” was all Papa said. Grimly he pulled the cart into the icy water.
John splashed in behind him. He gasped as the freezing water crept to his chest. Mama hiked up her long skirts and waded after him.
Chunks of jagged ice floated by. One slammed into Papa. He staggered and fell. Trying to reach him, John stepped on a sharp rock and slipped. In an instant, the freezing water closed over him.
Hands grabbed him and steadied him in the fast-moving current. He looked for Papa. There he was! Men were helping him across the river. He saw Mama pulling their handcart onto the far bank.
By the time John reached the handcart, the bitter wind had frozen his clothes to his body. Mama tore them off and helped him into dry things. She replaced her ice-crusted skirt with another one.
Reeling with cold, Papa found dry clothing. Mama shielded him from the storm with a buffalo robe while he changed.
Nobody in the group had strength enough to pitch a tent, but Mama spread their buffalo robes in the scant shelter of the handcart. They burrowed under them, hugging each other for warmth.
John heard snorting and stamping. Horses? That creaking—was it wagons? He poked his head from the covers.
“Papa! Mama!” he called. “It’s covered wagons pulling into camp!” Papa coughed, unable to answer. Mama’s blue lips moved, but no sound came. John scrambled from the covers to get help.
“Brigham Young sent us with provisions as soon as he heard about your company,” a rescuer told John.
“Your mama and papa are suffering from fatigue and exposure,” another said. “We’ll get them into a wagon right away.”
Soon fires blazed in the camp. John stood warming himself, breathing in the smell of sizzling buffalo meat and pan bread.
Given a plate of hot food, John could eat only a mouthful. He was so tired!
The rescuers lifted him into the wagon with Mama and Papa. Bundled under heavy quilts, he listened to Papa’s racking cough and labored breathing.
“Are you all right, Papa?”
Papa couldn’t speak for coughing. The wagon began to move through swirling snow toward Salt Lake. Weak voices of the handcart company joined joyfully with the strong voices of the rescuers. “But if our lives are spared again To see the Saints their rest obtain, Oh, how we’ll make this chorus swell—All is well! All is well!”

Day by day the scenery and travel grew increasingly tiresome. Near Chimney Rock (in what is now Wyoming) some of the cattle became diseased and died, forcing the company to make shorter drives each day. William began to think he would never get to Utah and rejoin Elizabeth.
Finally one October Saturday, William’s company descended the hills above Salt Lake City, awed by a beautiful sunset across the Great Salt Lake and by the splendid square-blocked city stretched out below them. As they approached the city, an occupant of a nearby cabin called and waved to William. It was Sister Wardell, the woman with whom Elizabeth had traveled to Utah! William hurried to her, but his anticipation was instantly crushed. She informed him that Elizabeth no longer loved him and planned to marry a local polygamist!
“This was like a bolt of thunder to me,” he recalled. Heartsick, the young man continued with the company to the valley floor, then returned that night to the Wardells. The woman tried to persuade William to marry her daughter, but he was not interested. “I formed a resolution that I was going to have the ‘love of my youth’”, he said.
Friends from Maldon lived in Centerville so early the next week William hiked 19 kilometers to locate them. He arrived at night, and “to my great joy the girl of my heart was found lying asleep on an old home-made lounge and looking free although almost in rags. She awoke, and her joy was unbounded.” Elizabeth then explained that the Wardell woman had tried to marry her to her own son. That failing, the mother sent the girl away and kept all the clothes and bedding until Elizabeth’s 40-dollar fare was paid in full. The woman then had made up the story about Elizabeth’s loss of affection for William, hoping the navy veteran would marry into the Wardell family.
William returned to Salt Lake City and drove his freight team to Springville where he received his three months’ wages. Then he walked back to Salt Lake, paid off the 40-dollar debt, obtained his and Elizabeth’s belongings, and then got a ride back to Centerville. Two weeks later the engaged couple were married.

It was mentioned that we should listen to our wives. They have qualities that we don’t have. In many cases womanly intuition should be listened to. When we were preparing to come down, my wife said, “Now, were we supposed to get anything in to the paper?”

I said, “No, they said they have all the information they need.”

She said, “I’ll bet they get it wrong.”

Sure enough, when we opened up the Church News, they had shorted us two children. For your information, we have a little Jennie Marie and a Viki Ann who came after Thomas, who was mentioned in the paper. I told Jean that I would set the record straight.

But I can’t say in words my appreciation for my wife and my children. Maybe just this: that I love her—I always have, and I always will and our children also.

My testimony didn’t come to me by way of a great revelation or by some overpowering, indescribable feeling. I always thought I would have to experience one of those things to know the Church was true.
I was struggling with my testimony between my eighth- and ninth-grade years. My parents had always taught me the right things, and I had been riding on their testimonies. At this time, doubts started to accumulate in my mind, and questions I couldn’t answer found their way to the surface.
Hanging around friends who didn’t obey the commandments made it harder for me to find the truth. As I struggled through the year, I lost the sense of who I was and what was important. I was aggravated all the time. I only wanted to be around my friends. My life was plagued with wrong decisions and their consequences. I was praying and reading my scriptures, but I didn’t seem to be getting an answer when I asked if the Church was true.
I don’t know exactly what happened to me, but I finally realized my lifestyle was not good. An awful sense of guilt rushed through me as I realized how many people were affected by my actions. However, I couldn’t seem to get away from my friends. When I hit high school, things didn’t get much better.
Taking seminary was one of the best things I could have done. It helped me see what I was doing, and that I was getting nowhere in life. I still desperately wanted to find out if the Church was really true.
Later in the year, I became best friends with a girl in my ward. My friend played a major part in helping me find myself. Over the summer we went to Especially for Youth and girls’ camp. I began really seeking the truth instead of expecting it to be handed to me on a silver platter. I was able to share my testimony with friends at EFY. Ordinarily I wasn’t the strong one. I didn’t even know I had it in me. It was then I knew I had known all along the truthfulness of the Church.
Friends can either make or break you, and I found that out. I merely had to find myself and start living the principles Heavenly Father had laid out for me to follow.
So it wasn’t some big, shocking conviction, it was merely a look inside myself and a calm assurance that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the only true church. My life is so much better because I made the decision to follow the Lord.
In recent years, my testimony has only strengthened. I have come to rely on the Lord for everything. There are still trials ahead, but I know I can face them if I have faith and trust in the Lord.

Years later I made a new friend while in an airport in Lagos, Nigeria. We became acquainted as he checked my passport. I asked him about his religious beliefs, and he expressed strong faith in God. I shared the joy and vibrancy of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ and asked if he would like to learn more from the missionaries. He said yes, was taught, and was baptized. A year or two later, as I walked through the airport in Liberia, I heard a voice call out my name. I turned, and that same young man approached with a big smile. We joyfully embraced, and he let me know that he was active in the Church and working with the missionaries to teach his girlfriend.
Now, I do not know whether my atheist friend ever read the Book of Mormon or joined the Church. My second friend did. For both of them, my responsibility—my opportunity—was the same: hold up the gospel light—to love, share, and invite each of them in a normal, natural way.

I wanted to read the Bible from the time I was about 11 years old. But in the home where I was raised, the Bible was considered so sacred it was kept in a closet under lock and key. When I was 13 and my brother was 12, we went to live in the beautiful country of Canada. Between the ages of 16 and 20, I attended two Christian churches. They used the Bible to teach correct principles, but as I was investigating, I learned something about the members—that they didn’t get along with each other very well. I stopped going to these churches for three years.
When I was 23, I met a young man at a discotheque. A few months later I married him, and shortly afterwards we had our first baby. Everything was going well in our home. He worked hard, always came home from work early, and helped me with the housework. I was very happy and peaceful in my home, and I completely forgot about God.
But without any warning, one day my husband started going out to discotheques with his friends. These friends also wanted to go to bars. So in just a few months my husband had become a drunk and a carouser. Eventually I resigned from my job and left him. Soon after our separation I learned that I was expecting my second child. I felt so sad and distressed I couldn’t find peace. I would go to sleep crying and wake up crying. But thanks to a woman who was a great friend to me, I started attending a Christian church again.
This time I took the things of God more seriously. I even set a goal to investigate more churches. Before I would go to church, I would kneel down and ask Heavenly Father to give me more wisdom so that I would be able to choose good and reject evil.
I began to visit other churches in addition to the Christian church I attended, but I often felt confused by their different doctrines. The more confused I got, the more I prayed. It seemed that every time I visited a church, I felt something was missing, but I didn’t realize what it was. That’s why I set a goal to keep investigating other churches and not rest until I found the truth.
One day I was visiting my brother and sister-in-law, and it got dark before I left. I had quite a distance to walk to reach the bus stop. This was March 1992, and it was very cold with a strong wind. My baby was squirming as I carried him. I walked backwards many times so the wind would hit me and not my baby.
I became sad as I thought about how I was freezing, walking with my baby, while my ex-husband had our car. I started thinking about how cruel life had been to me and felt a great weight in my heart. I started to cry like a child. I looked around and saw I was alone, so I cried to God out loud, “Heavenly Father, help me find the light.”
Finally I arrived at the bus stop, and when the bus came I sat in the front seat as I always did. When I looked to my left, I saw two young men in white shirts and ties. One of them came up to me and said to me in Spanish that was quite limited, “You too speak Spanish?”
“Yes, of course,” I replied.
“You desire to receive the gospel of Jesus Christ?” he asked.
These words were wonderful to me. The gospel of Jesus Christ. I had investigated several churches, and in none of them had I heard this beautiful turn of phrase. I had always heard the word, the gospel, or the good news. So I very happily gave them my address and phone number.
I started taking the discussions from the missionaries, and in June 1992 I was baptized and confirmed. I will never forget that very special day. Before entering the waters of baptism I could feel a great weight, as if I were walking with feet of lead. But when I came out of the water, I felt like I was flying in the air. And when the missionaries placed their hands on my head and gave me the gift of the Holy Ghost, a warm feeling entered my body, and I was filled with a peace I had never felt before. The tears began to roll down my cheeks. To my surprise I realized I was crying not from pain or sadness but for the great joy and peace in my heart.
Some months after my baptism I was called to serve in the nursery and then as a Primary teacher. A year later I received my endowment. I also met a great man at church. In September 1994 we were sealed in the Toronto Canada Temple. Three years later we were blessed with a beautiful son.
I continue to serve in Church callings, and I share my testimony of the gospel with all my loved ones. I know that the gospel of Jesus Christ comes from the heavens in all its glory and that through this gospel we can be transformed if we are obedient to the Lord’s commandments.

Ward families are a refuge. I know a young family that lived in south Los Angeles during the violent summer of 1992. They could feel the heat from the fires as they sat terrified in their little apartment. They telephoned their parents in Salt Lake. Their families offered encouragement and their prayers. They could do no more at such a distance. It was a ward member who made arrangements for the Parkins to get themselves and their baby out safely. They stayed with members until they could go back to their apartment. They were safe.

Of course, Shawn’s basketball prowess has not gone unnoticed. He has attracted national attention since he was in the ninth grade. His family’s ability to look for the positive really helped while college recruiters visited around Castle Dale trying to persuade Shawn to consider goint to their colleges. Shawn’s dad, Reiner, says, “We were told the recruiting process could become unpleasant. We sat down as a family and said, let’s not let it get that way. Let’s do this from a positive angle. Let’s enjoy it. It was an incredible experience, and the family enjoyed every minute of it.”

About a month after I joined the Church, I met my wife, Magareth, and one year later we got married. While we were dating, I told her that because I knew Joseph Smith was a prophet, I desired to build our family upon the words and teachings of the prophets. For example, President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985) was the prophet at that time, and he counseled Church members to stay out of debt. In close to 29 years of marriage, my wife and I have never paid one penny of interest. Never.

One evening my children and I were driving down a hill near our home. I noticed a boy about 12 years old wearing a backpack and walking up the hill. It was a strange time for him to be coming home from school, but I didn’t think too much of it.
Then I had a strong impression that I should turn around and help the boy. But I was worried it would frighten him if a strange car pulled up next to him at night, so I continued driving.
As I got to the bottom of the hill, the impression came again: “You need to go help that boy.”
I turned the car around and drove back to the boy. I rolled down the window and said, “Do you need help? I had a prompting that I should come back and help you.”
The boy looked at us with tears streaming down his face. He said, “Would you? I’ve been praying that someone would help me.”
He had stayed after school for an activity and had missed the last bus. He had walked several miles already. It was getting dark, and he was frightened. Because of the boy’s prayer and the Spirit’s prompting, we were able to help him find his way home.
We can all pray when we need help. I received a spiritual feeling that helped the boy return home. You too can receive promptings through the Spirit that will help guide you safely home to Heavenly Father.

That principle is illustrated by the story of a little girl. She was upset with her brother, who built a trap to catch sparrows.
Unable to get help, she said to herself, “Well, I’ll pray about it.”
After her prayer, the little girl told her mother, “I know he is not going to catch any sparrows in his trap because I prayed about it. I’m positive he won’t catch any sparrows!”
Her mother said, “How can you be so sure?”
She said, “After I prayed about it, I went out and kicked that old trap all to pieces!”

As December approached, I was busy preparing for the rush of the Christmas season. For four years, Christmas festivities had been held in our home, but this year I felt overwhelmed. When I discussed with my husband everything we needed to do—buy presents, prepare food, and do many other things—we decided to cancel the Christmas party and do something different this Christmas. We wanted to do something that we could give as a gift for the Savior.
Throughout December, we held family home evenings about the life of Jesus Christ, went to the temple, and planned family service projects. My husband was a bishop at the time, and we decided that on Christmas Day we would sing for all the widows in the ward. As a family, we began to practice several hymns we would sing. My children loved to sing “Away in a Manger” (Hymns, no. 206).
On Christmas Eve, we made cards with special Christmas messages and prepared treats to take on our visits. I was pleased to see our family so united and happy to serve others with such love. I could feel the spirit of Christmas.
On Christmas Day, our children were eager to make the visits. With each home we visited, we felt happier, and it seemed that the hymns became better each time we sang. When we arrived at the last house, it looked like no one was home. We waited a few minutes, and the children began to get restless. Eventually an elderly widow came out to meet us with her Sunday clothes on and her hair nicely combed. When she saw us, her eyes filled with tears. I became emotional as well and could hardly sing.
As we returned home, our five-year-old daughter told us she didn’t want to go home but wanted to keep singing. Before I could respond, my nine-year-old said, “We’ll just do it again next year!”
For our family, this was an unforgettable Christmas because we lifted others and showed our love for Jesus Christ. As I reflected on the events of the day, I felt the love of the Lord and remembered His words, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matthew 25:40).

“The name Poelman is a Dutch name,” Elder Poelman explained. “My paternal grandfather was born in Holland, and as a young man in his teens, he left Holland and went to South Africa. There he married my grandmother, a Scottish girl. She was working at the time as a governess for an English family living in South Africa. My grandparents had one child born in South Africa, then they went back to the British Isles. Another child was born in England, and they moved to Glasgow, Scotland, where my father was born. It was to their home in Scotland that the missionaries came tracting, and my grandmother answered the door. They were on the third floor of an apartment house with only cold running water in the working-class section, and a man named A. Z. Richards was one of the missionaries. He stayed close to our family until he died, and I have always been very fond of him.
“Subsequently, I was called to serve as a missionary in Holland, as did all three of my younger brothers. My father also served a mission in Holland. That missionary experience was a valuable one for me, because I had an opportunity to meet some of my grandfather’s brothers and sisters, and I was able to learn the language.”
I asked Elder Poelman what message he wanted to share with the children of the world, and he replied, “Your Father in heaven knows who you are and loves you unconditionally. Even when you do things that are bad, He loves you. It makes Him sad, of course, but it doesn’t mean that He stops loving you. I would encourage you to pray to our Heavenly Father often, knowing that no matter what you’ve done or how you feel about yourself, Heavenly Father will listen to you.
“Sometimes we may think that the Lord loves us only if we keep His commandments and that if we disobey His commandments, He loves us less. That isn’t true! This is something Satan would like us to believe because then we feel estranged from our Father in heaven. Remember, He loves you all the time wherever you are and whatever you are doing.”

I learned a great lesson the night before my father was released as a bishop. It was the first time I had really ever seen my father shed tears. He called the family together to announce that his term of service as a bishop was over. Then, with tears streaming down his face, he told us how he would miss the calling, even though it had been a burden at times and had occupied a great deal of time. He taught us a real-life lesson of the true joy of Church service. It was not until then that I fully appreciated the blessings we had had in our home as a family, by having the mantle of a bishop rest on the shoulders of our father.

There is no evidence that anyone in that small gathering at Hiram, Ohio, on the 1st day of November, 1831, beard any voice, saw any light, felt within his soul the impact of the same ideas as were dictated by the Prophet to his clerk as revelation. It is not surprising then that some still doubted that the various writings presented to them and the message then delivered were revelations from the Almighty. Some of the revelations bore so patently the form of expression of the Prophet that William E. McLellin challenged the Prophet openly, charging that Joseph had written some of the so-called revelations entirely out of his own mind.

McLellin’s challenge, together with the feeling that others might be similarly skeptical, caused the Prophet to turn again to the Lord for aid. Whether he prayed vocally or otherwise does not appear in the record, but the result was another revelation:
“And now I, the Lord, give unto you a testimony of the truth of these commandments which are lying before you.
“Your eyes have been upon my servant Joseph Smith, Jun., and his language you have known, and his imperfections you have known; and you have sought in your hearts knowledge that you might express beyond his language; this you also know.
“Now, seek ye out of the Book of Commandments, even the least that is among them, and appoint him that is the most wise among you;
“Or, if there be any among you that shall make one like unto it, then ye are justified in saying that ye do not know that they are true;
“But if ye cannot make one like unto it, ye are under condemnation if ye do not bear record that they are true.
“For ye know that there is no unrighteousness in them, and that which is righteous cometh down from above, from the Father of lights.” (D&C 67:4–9.)
The above challenge calls for a unique test of revelation applicable to any age. It is a challenge to all thinking men—it is simplicity itself. It reflects the so oft-repeated introduction to God’s word, “Let us reason together, that ye may understand.” (D&C 50:10.)

McLellin, perhaps under the urging of others, accepted the challenge. He retired from the conference and, in the solitude of his room, attempted to write that which might sound like a revelation from the Lord. On November 2 he appeared again in the conference and with tears in his eyes begged the forgiveness of the Prophet, of his brethren, and of the Lord. He could not write a revelation. Try as he might, he could not write that which would sound as if it were a revelation from the Lord. Everyone who puts the matter to the test must come to the same conclusion. The uninspired man can only write those thoughts presently in his mind; and when he has put them in writing, he finds that they are but a rehash of ideas long known to mankind. The writings may have literary or educational value—but if nothing new is revealed, they are not revelation. On the other hand, if writings enrich the world with ideas and information not previously known, then by the same test, they are revelation, and, the newly found truth should be accepted and followed.

The experience and testimony of McLellin had a profound effect upon the little gathering at Hiram. One after another arose and bore testimony concerning God’s dealings with the Prophet Joseph. Following these testimonies, the conference authorized the publication of the revelations as the Book of Commandments, and appointed Oliver Cowdery to go to Independence, Missouri, to supervise the publication.

Because they’re confident in their standards and beliefs, these youth have opportunities to share the gospel with their friends. Skyler recalls, “Last year in my English class, we had free reading time, and I just happened to have two copies of the Book of Mormon in my backpack. Two of my friends asked me if I had a book they could read, so I gave them both a copy.

“I didn’t expect them to read it,” he says, “but they actually did, and they came to me with some pretty good questions. I’ve talked to them some more, and one of them wants to come to church to see what it’s like. The other one says every now and then he reads the book and that someday he might want to come to church, too.”