Gospel Story Finder

Soon after our daughter’s birth, my husband’s job prevented him from attending church most Sundays. With a new baby, five young sons, and my husband no longer available to help me, I was having a difficult time getting to church.
Many Sundays we arrived late, and sometimes we didn’t get there until sacrament meeting was over and Primary and Sunday School had begun. I spent most of my time walking the halls with my fussy and tired baby.
After several weeks, I was exhausted. We were going to church more out of habit than for anything else. I began to ask myself, Why even bother? It seemed that the only results I was getting were stiff muscles and a headache.
I began to pray for guidance. I asked my Father in Heaven why I should go to church when it was so difficult. I knew attending church was right, but I needed to know why it was important for me personally. When I didn’t receive an answer right away, I continued to ask.
When Easter Sunday came, I again spent the time during church walking the halls of our meetinghouse with my baby and whispering a prayer in my heart: Why should I bother to come? Why is it important for me to continue this struggle?
During Primary class time, I walked past the classrooms and looked inside. Every Primary class was having a lesson about the Savior’s death and Resurrection. I was amazed at the reverence and awe I saw in the children’s faces. Every one of them, mine included, was caught up in the story of our Savior’s greatest gift to us.
Suddenly it was clear why I needed to continue in my struggle to bring my children to church. Maybe I wasn’t getting as much as I wanted from my attendance, but my children were benefiting from their attendance more than I had imagined.
Occasionally we still have a difficult time getting to church. But when we do, I stop and remember the expressions I saw on my children’s faces that Easter morning. I know church is where we belong, and I often thank the Lord for showing me why.

Let me give you an example at the opposite end of the spectrum. It involves a boyhood hero of mine, Ted Williams, one of the greatest baseball players of all time. A. Thomas Young, president and chief operating officer of Martin Marietta Corporation, who observed that “ethics will continue to be the issue of the 90s,” reports Williams’ experience as follows:
More than 30 years ago, Ted Williams was closing out his career with the Boston Red Sox. He was suffering from a pinched nerve in his neck that season.
“The thing was so bad,” he later explained, “that I could hardly turn my head to look at the pitcher. “
For the first time in his career he batted under .300, hitting just .254 with 10 home runs. He was the highest salaried player in sports, making $125,000. The next year, the Red Sox sent him the same contract.
When he got the contract, Williams sent it back with a note saying that he would not sign it until they gave him the full pay cut allowed.
“I was always treated fairly by the Red Sox when it came to contracts,” Williams said. “Now they were offering me a contract I didn’t deserve. And I only wanted what I deserved.”
Williams cut his own salary by 25 percent, raised his batting average by 62 points and closed out a brilliant career by hitting a home run in his final at bat.

In the last several months we have had the privilege of helping a lovely young mother come into the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. She was looking for truth. She was looking for direction and she was looking for inner peace. In the mission field we know that the good people of the world are looking for the truth. That description of our new friend fit. Until she began a daily habit of reading the words of the Lord she felt confused, even frightened.
Before her baptism she found the church distribution center, which was at some distance from her home, and purchased her own leather bound scriptures. My husband and I will never forget the confidence and the light she brought into our home as she proudly carried her own inscribed burgundy scriptures. She told us each time she read, she felt a sense of calm, a sense of peace. She and the prepared sister missionaries rejoiced together as the restored gospel of Jesus Christ was taught by the Spirit of truth, the Holy Ghost.
“Wherefore, he that preacheth and he that receiveth, understand one another, and both are edified and rejoice together.”
The change in Christina was her reception of the light of truth through the Holy Ghost. We could see it grow each time we were together.
“That which is of God is light and he that receiveth light, and continueth in God, receiveth more light brighter until the perfect day.”[12]
“And all thy children [and Christina was certainly one of them] shall be taught of the Lord; and great shall be the peace of thy children.”[13]

Let’s consider an example of the four questions in action:
Imagine your daughter is Elizabeth, a delightful girl who usually loves life and loves to learn, but lately she complains tearfully that she hates school. She has had several stomachaches and trouble sleeping. She has always been impulsive and a little spacey, but now she drags her feet or simply forgets chores or homework without repeated reminders. Even if she starts her homework, soon she is doodling on it instead of completing it. Her teacher says Elizabeth is clearly smart but often doesn’t turn in her work, requires lots of reminders to stay on task, and blurts things out that make the other kids laugh at her.
In response to questions 1 and 2, then, we see that Elizabeth struggles to pay attention and stay on task both at home and at school and that these behaviors aren’t getting better. She is irritable and teary and has physical symptoms of excessive stress. Question 3 helps us see that Elizabeth isn’t functioning very well at school, at home, or with friends. Fortunately, question 4, about suicide, isn’t an issue in this case.
So, is Elizabeth dealing with anxiety? depression? diabetes? bullying? an attention deficit? (See accompanying sidebar “Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder.”) Something else? If your love, teaching, and patience are not helping her function much better, medical and mental health professionals can help you clarify the problem and access resources to help her.
Think back to the example of Elizabeth. What does this parent say to convey the three C’s?
“Hey, cutie, thank you for helping your little brother with his puzzle just now. You are so kind and patient with him! I love seeing you laughing together.” [In a calm and friendly way, point out what she does right, not just what she does wrong.]
“If you’re done, can I talk with you about something for a minute? I’ll be short!” [Give her a chance to prepare for the conversation so she’ll be calm knowing it won’t last too long.]
“Honey, I’ve been thinking about how much you don’t seem to like school lately. Am I getting that right? So, what’s been extra hard this week?” [Whatever she says, respond with curiosity and compassion—you’re getting a feel for her world, not trying to change it.]
“I can also tell it can be hard to stay focused when it’s time for homework or piano practice. Have you noticed that too? What is it like for you to have to do homework or practice?” [More curiosity about her feelings and showing her you’re on her side.]
“Thank you so much for talking with me. I sure love you!” [Remember how you feel about this precious child of God.]
If you’ve decided to get professional help, you might also add:
“There is someone called a counselor at your school who helps kids and parents figure out a plan to help them be happier. I talked with her today, and she’s nice! She wants to talk with you tomorrow in her office at school and get to know you. She’ll ask you some questions and have you play some problem-solving games. And then she’ll help us figure out a plan to help you be happier at school. How does that sound to you? What questions do you have?” [You’re a team and in this together.]

With the high school baseball season in full swing, pitchers in the Eufala, Alabama, area have been doing some shaking in their spikes. They’ve got to face James “Jimbo” Carroll of Lakeside High School, who last season as a sophomore set a national high school record by belting four consecutive home runs in one game. The hapless coach of the opposing team used four different pitchers trying to stop him, but every pitch they ladled out seemed to be his favorite dish. He collected his last four-bagger of the game when the opposing pitcher was attempting a deliberate walk and inadvertently threw the ball a little too close to the plate. He proved he was a solid team player rather than just an occasional fireworks display by batting .417 for the season.
A versatile athlete, Jimbo also plays third base and pitches. As a pitcher he had six wins and three losses. He is also a standout in both football and basketball.
Jimbo is a priest in the Eufala Branch, where branch members held a party in his honor after he set the record. A modest young man of few words, Jimbo says of the Church, “I know it’s true, and I try to live it.”

I would like to start by sharing an experience from the life of President Joseph F. Smith, sixth President of the Church: Joseph F. Smith was raised in a single-parent home. His father, Hyrum, was martyred at Carthage Jail with the Prophet Joseph Smith. Little Joseph F. was only six years old at the time.

Years later, at the age of 19, Joseph F. Smith was returning home from a mission with a group of other missionaries. His wagon-train journey took him through a dangerous area where enemies of the Church had vowed to kill the Mormons.

I quote now from a biography of President Smith:
“One day after the little company of wagons had . . . made their camp, a company of drunken men rode into the camp on horseback, cursing and swearing and threatening to kill any ‘Mormons’ that came within their path. . . . Some of the brethren when they heard them coming had cautiously gone into the brush down the creek, out of sight. . . . Joseph F. was a little distance from the camp gathering wood for the fire when these men rode up. When he saw them, he said, his first thought was to do what the other brethren had done, and seek shelter in the trees and in flight. Then the thought came to him, ‘Why should I run from these fellows?’ With that thought in mind he boldly marched up with his arms full of wood to the campfire. As he was about to deposit his wood, one of the ruffians, still with his pistols in his hands and pointing at the youthful Elder, and cursing as only a drunken rascal can, declaring that it was his duty to exterminate every ‘Mormon’ he should meet, demanded in a loud, angry voice, ‘Are you a “Mormon”?’

“Without a moment of hesitation and looking the ruffian in the eye, Joseph F. Smith boldly answered, ‘Yes, siree; dyed in the wool; true blue, through and through.’

“The answer was given boldly and without any sign of fear, which completely disarmed the belligerent man, and in his bewilderment, he grasped the missionary by the hand and said: ‘Well, you are the —— —— pleasantest man I ever met! Shake, young fellow, I am glad to see a man that stands up for his convictions.’

“Joseph F. [Smith] said in later years that he fully expected to receive the charge from this man’s pistols, but he could take no other course even though it seemed that his death was to be the result.”

A warm spiritual feeling mixed with the customary Scottish rain brought the first annual Scots-Irish Youth Convention to a close last summer. Two hundred youth and leaders from Northern Ireland and southwestern Scotland gathered together in the heart of Glasgow, Scotland, for a weekend of sports activities, talent-sharing, workshops, and testimony building. All participants were members of the Scotland Glasgow Mission, which unites the two lands that are otherwise separated by 65 miles of sea.
After registration on Friday afternoon, the youth participated in a three-hour talent show that helped them to get acquainted as well as entertain each other. Saturday morning was filled with workshops that discussed such topics as the environment, career selection, and “How Others See Us.” Also included was a “keep-fit” class conducted by Brother Eric Bower, convention chairman and professional soccer player.
Soccer, volleyball, and table tennis were in the afternoon’s schedule, followed by a gala banquet. A fully-kilted, tartan-dressed Scottish piper (complete with bagpipes) entered the banquet hall just prior to the beginning of the meal and entertained the diners. The young people topped off the day’s events with a disco.
Sunday morning dawned brightly and began with a priesthood session and Young Women meeting. Elder James A. Cullimore of the First Quorum of the Seventy presided at a testimony meeting that followed.
One of the most significant events of the convention occurred after the participants returned to their homes. One of the young men attending the conference (a non-Mormon) spoke so enthusiastically about the weekend that his parents agreed to let him and his brother take part in the seminary and youth programs of the Church. As a result, the whole family has begun taking the missionary discussions.
Altogether the conference was considered a great success and plans are being made for the second convention to be held in August. It will take place in Northern Ireland.
by Dan Anderson

First, an experience that I had as a youth which helped to teach me an important lesson. It occurred when I was quite young—to be more specific, a boy of 10 or 11. I was herding our flock of sheep in the mountains of northern Utah to the east of East Garland. My grandfather had entrusted me with the sheep as we were moving them up the mountain to the summer range. I had just watered them in a small mountain stream and bedded them down for a short rest before going on.
While they were settled, I went about to explore the terrain and check the route ahead. I was a couple of hundred yards up the canyon when I heard a sound that chilled me to the bone. Once you have heard a rattlesnake, a very poisonous reptile, you’ll never forget the sound.
Cautiously I moved toward that sound. To my surprise I observed not one but three rattlers just a few yards away. They were on a rocky knoll that had been warmed by the spring sun. While the sight of three rattlers in a bunch intrigued me, because you seldom see more than one at a time, it also concerned me since the sheep would need to pass this way.
Before long the sheep roused and started moving up the canyon. As they came closer, the snakes seemed to sense the intruders and slithered down the incline toward the creek.
Fearing the danger, I immediately turned my sheep up the hill away from the direction the snakes were moving. I was successful for a time, but then a couple of sheep broke away from the flock. As they did so, the entire flock seemed determined to follow those two errant old ewes, and there was no stopping them. You may have heard the characterization “They all followed like a bunch of sheep.” Well, that’s what happened here. To make matters worse, they were moving directly toward the location of the rattlers.
I had hoped that the natural instinct of the sheep would keep them at a safe distance. But some of the flock were pushed directly into the path of the snakes. And there was no escape for the unfortunate ones that sustained the strikes of those disturbed reptiles.
It was a sad young shepherd who had to report to his grandfather a short time later the loss of two of his prized ewes. The experience of that day provided a very forceful illustration to me of what can happen when the sheep ignore their shepherd.
I was there as the shepherd. I perceived the danger and was trying my best to protect my sheep. But as a few started to go in the wrong direction, others were determined to follow. Though only two of the flock were lost, it was a loss that need not have been.

While I was president of the mission in Atlanta, Georgia, I went to the study of Dr. Peter Marshall. He was the pastor of the Presbyterian Church there and we spent an hour or two together. When he died he was the chaplain of the United States Senate. You may have read his book, A Man Called Peter, or may have seen the movie depicting his life. Many of the things he stood for he learned from us down in Atlanta. He used to send over to the mission office to get the MIA books and other Church material for his young people because he felt we were stealing them all away from him.

As I sat in his study with him, I asked him what was the attitude of his church with respect to the principle of eternal marriage, and the eternal duration of the marriage covenant. He said, “Well, Mr. Richards, we are not allowed to teach that in our church, but in my mind I have some stubborn objections.” He went on, “When you take the kitten away from the cat, in a few days the cat has forgotten all about the kitten; when you take a calf away from the cow, in a few days the cow has forgotten all about the calf; but when you take the child away from its mother’s bosom, though she live to be a hundred years old, she never forgets the child of her bosom.” He added, “I find it difficult to believe that God created love like that to perish in the grave.” Thank God we know that he didn’t create love like that to perish in the grave. Love is eternal.

I have found that procrastination is real habit forming and gets easier the more we do it. I decided I hated the feeling of not getting things done. I went to my school teachers and asked them for upcoming assignments that I could start on, enabling me to complete them on time. I found that I could accomplish anything I put my mind to as long as I allowed enough time.
Elder Nathan Hicks, 20Texas Dallas Mission

During a cold November in 1838, thousands of Missouri militia surrounded the Saints at Far West, Missouri. The governor of the State of Missouri had declared that, the Mormons "must be exterminated or driven from the state."[2] Frenzied by hatred, they drove hundreds of men, women, and children from their homes.

Heber C. Kimball was an eye-witness to this persecution. "They expected to see us cast down and sorrowful," he writes, "but I testify as an eye-witness that the brethren rejoiced and praised the Lord and kicked up their heels, and thanked God, taking joyfully the despoiling of their goods."[3]

One Missourian took pity on the suffering of the Saints and wrote a letter to the state legislature. It, "makes humanity shudder," he wrote, "and the cold chills run over any man, not entirely destitute of the feelings of humanity. These demons are now constantly strolling up and down Caldwell County . . . in any way and every way plundering the poor [Mormons] of all the means of subsistence . . . leaving them in a starving and naked condition."[4]

The prophet, along with several other key brethren in the Church were charged with various crimes. Many were killed or died as a result of the hardships they were made to bear. More had been robbed of their property and forced to flee into the cold of winter for their lives.

General John B. Clark, the man to whom the governor had entrusted to rid the state of the Mormons, had been told that it should be completely left to his discretion whether he killed all of them or not. In his own words, General Clark told the Saints at Far West, "You need not expect any mercy, but extermination, for I am determined the Governor's order shall be executed. As for your leaders," he continued, "do not once think--do not imagine for a moment--do not let it enter your mind that they will be delivered, or that you will see their faces again, for their fate is fixed--their die is cast--their doom is sealed."[5]

The Saints had no choice but to leave their homes and flee. They took their poor and their sick with them resolving to, "never desert [those] who are worthy, till they shall be out of the reach of the exterminating order ...."[6]

They eventually found refuge one hundred and fifty miles to the east of Far West. The good people of Quincy, Illinois gave aid to them and condemned the barbaric treatment they had been subjected to. "The governor of Missouri," they resolved in a meeting of the Democratic Association of Quincy, "[had] brought a lasting disgrace upon the state over which he presides."[7]

Meanwhile, with the aid of his captors, the Prophet Joseph Smith escaped Liberty Jail and, in the Spring of 1839, arrived in western Illinois. There, at a bend in the Mississippi river, the Prophet looked over a section of land that had been offered to him as a place for the Saints to call home. Because of the dampness and the mosquitoes that infested the area, few wanted to live there. Many became sick with malaria. Some had died.

But mosquitoes weren't the only challenge for those who lived there. One early visitor to the city wrote, "Oh, the mud! It seems bottomless. The soil is a black, sticky loam, and when your foot is once in, it is almost impossible to get it out."[8]

It was a place no one else would covet. The prophet himself said that the city, "was so unhealthful, very few could live there; but believing that it might become a healthful place by the blessing of heaven to the Saints, and no more eligible place presenting itself, I considered it wisdom to make an attempt to build up a city."[9]

The Prophet could see through the swamp, sickness, and obscurity. He could see what the industry of the Saints and the blessings of heaven could make of this place. The swamp could be drained and the city could become a healthy place. This could become a place of beauty and a place of refuge.

Not long after designating the area as the gathering place, Joseph renamed the city calling it Nauvoo. It was a Hebrew word that brought with it the meaning of, "a beautiful situation," and "the idea of rest."[10]

And the Saints arrived, many of them penniless, sick, and poor but armed with an unshaken and mighty faith in the Lord. Through their untiring efforts, they drained the swamp and began to build. Eventually, a city began to rise. And it was beautiful.

And it was a place of rest for the weary Saints of God who had sacrificed so much for their convictions.

And it was a place blessed of the Father and saturated with manifestations of the Holy Spirit.

Soon, a university was formed and literature, languages, math, and sciences were taught. The state of Illinois granted Nauvoo it's own city charter and granted permission for it to create it's own militia, later known as the Nauvoo Legion.

Wards and stakes were organized, and the first Saints of the Restoration began to rear up a city that gave witness to their faith, commitment, and industry.

In a special epistle to the Saints abroad, The First Presidency wrote that they, "soon expect to see the thousands of Israel flocking to this region in obedience to the heavenly command."[11] And the Saints did come. By the twos and by the twenties. And in a very little time, this swampy village that had only recently consisted of a couple of dozen homes was transformed into a bustling city of 11,000 rivaling Chicago itself.

The Holy Ghost will also guide you as you make decisions regarding your future. Another young woman I know was dating a tall, handsome young man—the star of the school basketball team and senior class president. While discussing their future plans, she explained that she had made a decision a long time ago to marry a returned missionary in the temple. A mission was not part of his plans, and nothing more was said. The following Christmas, he gave her a small gift. As she opened it, she realized that it was a letter from a prophet of God calling her friend to serve a mission. Her righteous influence helped him make that important decision.

I had been serving with the U.S. Army in Vietnam for two years. Vietnam has two seasons, hot and dry and hot and wet. This morning was hot and wet, just as each previous day had been for the past several weeks. I was sitting in a shallow ditch, too tired to care about the mud oozing into my army boots or the stench of the blood stained water around my feet. Sweat was pouring down my brow, soaking my shirt. The oppressive heat made breathing laborious.
I had spent the past three weeks on patrol operations. Now, with those of my colleagues still alive, I was waiting by a loading zone for helicopters to take us back to base camp.
I thought of the past few days—of my friends who had died, of the pain of those who hadn’t, and of how tired I was of everything. We had had weeks of constant patrol, chasing enemy troops by day and praying at night that they wouldn’t come looking for us. But they always did.
I instinctively crouched deeper into the ditch as a bullet whined overhead. An enemy sniper had started shooting, so this was no time to be careless. Our guards were scanning the jungle, but they had not yet spotted the source of the rifle fire.
The roar of helicopters filled the air and three of them landed some ten meters behind me. Their machine guns opened up to keep the enemy occupied. Fresh troops, our replacements, scrambled off the helicopters and into the ditch as our wounded were loaded aboard. The entire exchange lasted only seconds, and then the helicopters were gone. The next flight would be for us. “Just a little longer,” I thought to myself as I tried to control the urge to stand up and stretch my cramped legs.
In the silence broken only by muffled conversation and occasional gunfire, I became aware of someone whistling a familiar tune. What was that song? It seemed to calm my fears and shut out the war. I listened intently and looked around to see a soldier sitting about a meter away. I couldn’t make out his name tag; he was another private from the company that had just arrived. He continued to whistle—and then I recognized the tune, “We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet.”
I quickly crawled over to him and asked if he was a Latter-day Saint and if he held the priesthood. He said yes, and my heart skipped a beat; I had not been in touch with another Church member since I had attended the Saigon Branch several months before. I asked if he was worthy to bless the sacrament, and he told me that he was.
It was the Sabbath; I knew that only because of the day and date feature on my watch. I had an army ration biscuit and a canteen of water, so I asked if he would help me with the sacrament. He nodded and we crawled out of the ditch—out of sight of the other soldiers—into the tall grass and bamboo.
I pulled from my pocket my serviceman’s copy of Principles of the Gospel that my bishop had given me when I had received my draft notice. I offered my helmet, upturned, for our table, and the soldier produced a clean white handkerchief for the sacrament cloth. Kneeling with my new companion in the mud, I unwrapped the biscuit and broke and blessed it. While I prayed, he watched the jungle with his rifle ready. We served each other. Then he laid down his weapon, took the canteen cup of water, and blessed it while I guarded him.
Never in my life has the bread of the sacrament tasted so sweet and the water so pure as it did that day, nor has my soul been so strengthened by the ordinance. We clasped hands, then quickly crawled back to the protection of the ditch. Immediately, the noise of the helicopters again filled the air, and I was up and running for the loading zone with my colleagues. I turned and looked back, my fear had left me. My brother-in-the-gospel smiled and waved. I climbed aboard the helicopter, and we were gone.
I never asked that soldier’s name, nor he mine, but in those brief moments we forged a bond to last throughout eternity. Another member of the Church had rescued my soul from the horror and despair of war. Partaking of the sacrament in the jungle had brought me closer to the Lord than I had ever been before.
Through a gospel ordinance, we had found peace.

In 1873 Jonathon’s wife, Kitty, got leprosy. Leprosy is a contagious disease that people feared getting, and at that time there was no cure for it; if you got it, you were forced to live in a leper colony. The sailors who took the lepers there were so afraid of this dreadful disease that they pushed the patients into the sea, forcing them to swim to shore.
When his wife had to go to the leper colony, Jonathon went with her. This valiant and giant man of God worked in the colony and fought to obtain government assistance for the lepers to have a more comfortable place to live. He became a leper himself and died two years before his wife did. Why did he risk his life and do all this? Because he loved her so much! He knew that life is eternal and love is eternal, even through times of sickness and suffering.

Another true story: Ashley had been at college and away from home for a month. As she sat in her dorm room, feeling lonely, her roommate brought in the mail and tossed Ashley a package. In it was a hand-written note and Ashley’s favorite candy bar. The note, from Ashley’s younger sister, said, “I hope you will enjoy your present. This is a short letter, but I miss you. Love, Maria.” (See Ashley Eggers, “Love, Anonymous,” New Era, Feb. 2001, 26.)
That gift helped Ashley realize that even though she was far from home, her family loved and remembered her. It made Ashley’s day because her sister wasn’t embarrassed to express her love.

Professionally, I am a family solicitor but, about 12 years ago, a miscarriage set me back. I wanted to give up work, change my life, and do something completely different. However, I felt there was something more important that I was supposed to do with my life, and I needed to stay put. It was not especially what I wanted, but I waited and waited with anticipation. Eight years went by. I wondered whether a change was ever going to happen, or whether I had just imagined it would happen.
When I started my search for my important work, I came across these words by Orson F. Whitney (1855-1931), which profoundly affected me:
“God is using more than one people for the accomplishment of his great and marvellous work. The Latter-day Saints cannot do it all. It is too vast, too arduous, for any one people. Our part in it is the greatest. We have the gospel and the priesthood, with a mission to gather Israel, build the New Jerusalem, and prepare the way for the advent of the King of kings. And this duty has been laid upon us because we belong to the house of Israel. It is the God of Israel who is coming to reign, and we are the right people to prepare the way before him. …
“We have no quarrel with the Gentiles. They are our partners in a certain sense. The name Gentile is not with us a term of reproach. … It simply means, with us, one who does not belong to the Church. We need the Gentiles, and they need us, but they don’t know it, and we do. They are wiser than we are in material things—the things of Earth and Time. But when it comes to spiritual things—the things of Heaven and Eternity, we can teach them. We need their wealth and worldly wisdom, their wonderful skill in managing and manipulating temporalities. And they need the Gospel and the Priesthood. They need us, for we hold in our hands the Key to their eternal salvation.
“Again, I say, the Lord’s Work has need of auxiliaries outside as well as inside, to help it along. Because of their worldly influence—which would depart if they connected themselves with the Church—many are kept where they are, where the Lord has placed them, and can best use them for the good of all.”1
Towards the end of those eight years, I was surprised to receive a telephone call asking me to meet with the stake president. As I fretted and pondered, I suddenly knew that this was it. I was about to start my important work. I knew I was going to be called into public affairs. To be honest, this terrified me, but also exhilarated me. I was finally going to get started. I knew I was going to love the expected interfaith work, and I did!

—Michelle Beach, 19, worked for 10 weeks in a floral design shop in Darmstadt, West Germany, not far from where her father is stationed with the army.
“They really wanted me to learn, so they gave me a lot of opportunities,” she said. “I worked on displays, color selection, care and handling of flowers, just about everything they do in the shop, except that I don’t speak much German, so I didn’t have much interaction with the customers.”
She studied firsthand the similarities and differences between German and American business practices, and between European and American floral designs.
“I learned that running a shop is not an easy thing to do. But it’s an opportunity to use your talents and work hard. And,” she said, “I found out that it’s really what I’m interested in.”

As an undergraduate, I was assigned to read Walt Whitman’s poem “Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking.” As I read the somewhat lengthy poem (those of you who have read Whitman know he can get a bit verbose), I realized that while I only understood about a third of the poem, I was enthralled with the language, the unique arrangement of words. And in my excitement, I felt in a way that I had never felt before that my Savior was reading alongside me, rejoicing in the words that I was rejoicing in.

I believe that both God and His Son are poets, but in this instance, it was less a matter of them loving poetry and more a matter that we were loving the experience together. In this relationship building moment, I learned that God and Christ cared about my fascination with words. Since then, on more than a few occasions, I have felt their pleasure as I read and write.

When I was 12, the missionaries began to teach my siblings and me. At first my father didn’t participate. He would just sit in a back room behind a curtain and listen. But then he read a Church pamphlet that described how a man and a woman married with the right authority could live together forever. This got his attention because even though his wife had passed away, he could be with her again. Once he learned this, he decided to be baptized. And we were all baptized as a family.
The newfound perspective that the gospel provided helped me realize it was possible to achieve better things in life if I applied myself and was obedient. I made the personal decision that I would do whatever it took to remain on the Lord’s path.

I thought back on another little child, under different circumstances, who had the Christmas spirit. As a very young elder, I went to the old Primary Children’s Hospital on North Temple Street to provide blessings for the sick children. As we entered the door, we noted the Christmas tree with its bright and friendly lights. We saw carefully wrapped packages beneath its outstretched limbs. Then we went through the corridors where lay tiny boys and girls—some with a cast upon an arm, some with a cast upon a leg, others with ailments that perhaps could not be cured so ­readily—each one with a smile upon his face.
I walked toward the bedside of one little boy, and he said, “What is your name?”
I told him.
He said, “Will you give me a blessing?”
The blessing was provided, and as we turned to leave his bedside, he said, “Thank you.”
We walked a few steps, and then I heard his little call: “Brother Monson.”
I turned.
He said, “Merry Christmas to you.” And a great smile flashed across his countenance.
That boy had the Christmas spirit, as did the little girl in downtown Salt Lake City.