Gospel Story Finder

When I walked in the door one evening, Jessie, my six-year-old daughter, was sitting on a stool in our kitchen. Her countenance worried me. I asked her what had happened.
“Daddy, is it true that I’m a child of the devil?” she asked with deep concern.
Her question hit me like a bucket of cold water. Jessie said her friend’s three-month-old sister had already been baptized. Jessie was surprised and asked her friend why her little sister had been baptized at such a young age. Her friend replied that all babies had to be baptized.
“You haven’t been baptized?” her friend then asked. When Jessie said no, her friend insisted that she was a child of the devil.
“Daddy, baptize me!” Jessie implored. “I don’t want to be a child of the devil!”
I realized that this challenge needed to be resolved immediately. I explained the importance of baptism and how children need no baptism until they are eight years old (see Moroni 8:11–23). Because she was only six years old, I told Jessie she would have to wait a little longer before her baptism. I assured her that she was a child of God and that He loved her. Her question led us to Moroni 10:4–5, where Moroni tells us how we can determine “the truth of all things.”
After reading these verses, I asked if she wanted to pray to Heavenly Father and ask Him if the things we had talked about were true. She said yes.
We knelt together, and Jessie bowed her head and prayed, “Heavenly Father, I want to know if the things my daddy has told me are true. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
I realized I had led my daughter to say one of the most important prayers of her life. I began pleading in my heart as I had never done before, asking Heavenly Father to answer her prayer.
After a few minutes, she said, “I didn’t hear anything.” I took her in my arms and said, “Heavenly Father gave us the Comforter, who answers us with …” I put my hand on my heart. She interrupted me and said, “With a warm feeling in my chest! I feel it, Daddy!”
I hugged her tightly and thanked Heavenly Father for answering her prayer. I also felt a burning in my bosom. I told Jessie that what she had felt was an answer to her prayer and that now she knew she was a daughter of God and that she should be baptized when she was eight. She told me she would wait.
Many years have passed since that experience, but it still reminds me that Heavenly Father keeps His promises.

I remember the example of another sister missionary just returning back to our community. I asked her, "Besides seeing an investigator baptized, what was your favorite activity in the mission field?" Sister Tofa looked at me and said, "I believe I liked ‘the search’ the most, knocking on doors. We would get yelled at a lot and doors would slam in our faces. Some people thought I was crazy and would ask ‘how can you keep going when you are so violently rejected so often.’ I simply answered them saying, ‘I keep going because I know that despite multiple rejections, some day, somewhere, I am going to knock on a door and someone will open it and say to me, "Oh, please come in, we have been waiting for you.’"

Joseph Smith continued to visit the Knights in Colesville, to preach in their homes, and to share the Book of Mormon with them as it was translated. One day after a gospel discussion in Colesville with Joseph Smith, Newel Knight retired to the woods to pray. Newel found himself overtaken by an evil spirit that seemed to almost take control of his body. Distorted and distraught, Newel returned to his home and sent for Joseph. The Prophet came immediately and cast out the evil spirit, using the power of the priesthood. As a holy spirit filled Newel, he was literally lifted from the floor in a great spiritual experience. Many family members and neighbors witnessed this event that Joseph Smith referred to as the first miracle in the Church.

When Enoch LaVell Manwaring served as a building missionary in Tonga in 1957, he took some of the building missionaries to the island of ‘Uiha to build a chapel. A small, elderly lady named Vaikato insisted upon helping with the construction, although she was believed to be more than one hundred years old. The missionaries tried to persuade her not to carry heavy bricks and lift buckets, but she refused to quit helping them.
As the work progressed on the building, some of the Tongan building missionaries approached Brother Manwaring and asked if he had talked to Vaikato about the construction plans. He told them no, and was surprised when they told him that Vaikato already knew what the chapel would look like:
The men told me that she was telling all of the workers just where the classrooms would be, where the pulpit would stand, and just how the chapel would look when it was finished. It was amazing what she knew.
I learned through an interpreter that twenty years before the building program began in the South Pacific, she had received a blessing from Elder George Albert Smith, who was visiting the Tongan islands. In the blessing, he told her that if she would be faithful, she would live to see a beautiful chapel erected on her island—and she envisioned it perfectly while he spoke.

President Thomas S. Monson tells of a Sunday School teacher from his youth, Lucy Gertsch. One Sunday, partway through a lesson about selfless service, Sister Gertsch invited her students to give their class party fund to the family of one of their classmates whose mother had passed away. President Monson said that in giving that invitation to action, Sister Gertsch had “closed the manual and opened our eyes and our ears and our hearts to the glory of God” (“Examples of Great Teachers” [worldwide leadership training meeting, Feb. 10, 2007], Liahona, June 2007, 76; Ensign, June 2007, 108). Sister Gertsch had clearly used the manual to prepare her lesson, but when inspiration came, she closed the manual and invited her students to live the gospel principle she was teaching.

In October of 2018, President Nelson traveled to South America, where he met with the president of Peru. Then, just as he had done in Colombia, he gathered with a small group of young men and young women before addressing almost 6,000 in a member devotional broadcast throughout the country. [32]

When he asked for questions one brave young woman spoke up: “What do I do if I am the only member in my family?” she said.

Her question was filled with doubt — about her status in the Lord’s kingdom and her ability to move forward without the same level of religious support many youth her age enjoy.

But President Nelson did not hesitate. He looked her in the eyes and said, “You and I are just alike.”

At first, I didn’t understand what President Nelson meant by that response. He is a world-renowned heart surgeon in his 90s who had just met with the president of Peru. She was a young girl, wondering if she was seen by the Lord.

President Nelson spoke of his own youth, where he was the only active member of the Church in his family. He asked the young woman to let God prevail in her life. “Your family and your friends will see the light of the gospel reflected in you,” he said. [33]

Lisa stood in the doorway of Grandpa’s bedroom. She wanted to talk to him, but he was sound asleep. There was so much to say and so little time. Grandpa couldn’t even get out of bed now.
“I’ll be thankful if I get to see another crocus,” he had said. Those words brought back vividly all the hurt and pain she had felt when Keekee, her pet hamster, died.
Lisa hurried out of the house and went directly to the far end of the garden where Keekee was buried. Since it was mid-January, the plants were bare. Not a leaf or bud anywhere. She and Grandpa had put Keekee to rest between the red rose bushes. She swallowed hard, remembering it all.
“I won’t ever see Keekee again,” she had cried.
“Death isn’t forever, Lisa,” Grandpa comforted.
After Grandpa talked to her, some of the pain seemed to ease.
“By loving Keekee,” he said, “he will always live in your heart. All else can fade away but love is forever.”
They stood beside the grave. “What would you like to say on the marker?” Grandpa had asked.
Lisa hesitated. “Name and dates, I guess.”
“Don’t be ashamed to say what’s in your heart,” encouraged Grandpa.
Lisa looked into Grandpa’s warm brown eyes, then down at the ground. “I love you, Keekee …” she whispered.
Grandpa smiled. “Each time you read those words, Lisa, your memory of Keekee will come alive. Dying is a fact of life. One day we all must go away for a while.”
“Will that happen to you, too, Grandpa?”
“Yes, Lisa, but you must remember that separation is not a final thing and that someday we’ll all be together again.”
Now it is Grandpa’s turn to go, Lisa thought sadly. All the pain of parting came back again. Once more she looked over the garden. Every year she and Grandpa had planted bulbs along both sides of the walkway but now Grandpa was too ill. She remembered how one by one she had handed Grandpa the crocus bulbs and watched him place them into freshly dug holes. Then he covered them gently, almost with a prayer.
Lisa went back to Grandpa’s room. He seemed to still be asleep but then he opened his eyes. “Is that you, Lisa?” he asked.
“Yes, Grandpa, is there anything I can do for you? Anything you want?”
“Just sit and talk to me,” he said, taking her hand.
“The garden misses you, Grandpa. We don’t want you to go.”
“It will only be for a little while. In Heavenly Father’s time it will only be like a winter away. Plants sleep during the winter and wake up in the spring. So it is with people. We are parted for a while and come together again in a world where there is no more separation.”
Grandpa’s hand became limp and he fell asleep.
Lisa went out into the garden again.
“Grandpa loves you,” she spoke to the lilac tree and the rosebushes as though they could understand. “If you could give him a flower, it would make him so happy.” But only the silence and the cold wind answered her. Every day after that, Lisa carefully examined each plant, but there wasn’t even a sign of a swollen node.
Mother had asked Lisa to help in preparing the house for company who would want to visit with Grandpa. “Friends and relatives will come to see Grandpa often,” she said, “and you must keep the porch and steps clean.”
Many people did come to see Grandpa, and each day he seemed to sleep a little longer. Sometimes he didn’t know Lisa was there beside him. One day as she was sweeping the porch, the pain of losing Grandpa seemed to grow so big within Lisa that she thought it would burst. She began to cry. The broom slipped from her hand and fell beside the steps. As she stooped to pick it up, something caught her eye. It was half-hidden under the porch and behind the steps. She got on her knees and could hardly believe what she saw. In a sheltered place, well-protected from the wind and cold, was a purple crocus poking up from the dark earth. Although it was still winter, a flower had been born.
Lisa rushed to Grandpa’s bedroom where he lay sleeping. “Please wake up, Grandpa, and see what I found!” she cried. But Grandpa didn’t stir. Lisa waited and waited. She was about to leave the room when Grandpa opened his eyes.
“Look, Grandpa. Look what I have for you!” Lisa said softly.
“A crocus,” he whispered. “How wonderful!” He took the flower and held it to his face. “Where did you find it, Lisa? We took up all the bulbs last fall.”
“I guess we missed this one. It was in the corner by the steps.”
Grandpa smiled. “Lisa, did I ever tell you the story about the tree that began to sprout leaves in the winter? At the time, people called it a miracle. It brought new hope to many who needed it. Later it was discovered that a steam pipe near the tree had a leak and the warmth made the tree think it was spring—time to wake up and time to show its leaves. People talked about it for months afterward. Many felt it was a message from God, telling them that they should never despair.”
Lisa sat quietly thinking about the miracle tree. She looked down at Grandpa, who had fallen asleep again, the crocus still in his hand. Lisa stood beside the bed for a long time. Slowly some of the pain she felt began to ease. Grandpa’s going away didn’t hurt quite as much now. She knew that one day they would be together again.
“I love you, Grandpa,” she whispered, recalling his words, All else can fade away but love is forever.

Our missionaries serving throughout the world are beautiful examples of those who are truly ambitious for Christ. A few years ago, Sister Yamashita and I served in the Japan Nagoya Mission. Our missionaries were so ambitious for Christ. One of those missionaries was a young man named Elder Cowan.

Elder Cowan did not have a right leg because of a bicycle accident as a youth. A few weeks after he entered the mission, I received a phone call from his companion. Elder Cowan’s prosthetic leg had broken while he was riding his bike. We took him to a good repair facility, and there in a private room, I saw his leg for the first time. I realized how much pain he had been suffering. His prosthetic leg was repaired, and he returned to his area.

However, as the weeks went by, the prosthesis continued to break again and again. The area medical adviser recommended that Elder Cowan return home for a possible mission reassignment. I resisted this advice because Elder Cowan was a great missionary and he had a strong desire to remain in Japan. Gradually, though, Elder Cowan began to approach his physical limit. In spite of this, he did not murmur or complain.

Again, I was advised that Elder Cowan be allowed to serve in a place that did not require him to ride a bike. I pondered this situation. I thought about Elder Cowan and his future, and I prayed about the matter. I felt impressed that, yes, Elder Cowan should return home and await reassignment. I phoned him and expressed my love and concern and told him of my decision. He did not say anything in reply. I could only hear him weeping on the other end of the phone. I said, “Elder Cowan, you don’t have to answer me right now. I will call you tomorrow. Please consider my recommendation with sincere prayer.”

When I called him the next morning, he humbly said he would follow my counsel.

During my final interview with him, I asked him this question: “Elder Cowan, did you request on your missionary application to be sent to a mission where you would not have to ride a bike?”
He said, “Yes, President, I did.”
I responded, “Elder Cowan, you were called to the Japan Nagoya Mission, where you would have to ride a bike. Did you tell this to your stake president?”
I was surprised by his answer. He said, “No, I didn’t. I determined that if that is where the Lord called me, I would go to the gym and train my body to be able to ride a bike.”
At the conclusion of our interview, he asked me this question with tears in his eyes: “President Yamashita, why did I come to Japan? Why am I here?”
I answered him without hesitation: “Elder Cowan, I know one reason you came here. You came here for my benefit. I have come to understand what a great young man I have been serving with. I am blessed to know you.”

I am happy to report that Elder Cowan returned to his loving home and was reassigned to serve in a mission where he could use a car for his travel. I am proud not only of Elder Cowan but also of all the missionaries throughout the world who serve willingly without murmuring or complaining. Thank you, elders and sisters, for your faith, your focus, and your strong ambition for Christ.

Satan will also attempt to cause our spiritual downfall through tempting us to misapply our spiritual gifts. The revelations tell us that “there are many gifts, and to every man is given a gift by the Spirit of God” and that “all these gifts come from God, for the benefit of the children of God” (D&C 46:11, 26). Most of us have seen persons whom the adversary has led astray through a corruption of their spiritual gifts. My mother shared one such example, something she observed while attending Brigham Young University many years ago.

A man who lived in a community in Utah had a mighty gift of healing. People sought him out for blessings, many coming from outside his ward and stake. In time, he almost made a profession of giving blessings. As part of his travels to various communities, he visited the apartments of BYU students, asking if they wanted blessings. This man had lost sight of the revealed direction on spiritual gifts: “always remembering for what they are given” (D&C 46:8). A spiritual gift is given to benefit the children of God, not to magnify the prominence or to gratify the ego of the person who receives it. The professional healer who forgot that lesson gradually lost the companionship of the Spirit and was eventually excommunicated from the Church.

The youth of the Tampa Florida Stake had a great idea. They decided that every youth in the stake should have a subscription to the New Era. So they went to stake members asking for contributions to pay for the subscriptions. In return for the contributions, they pledged to finish landscaping the front of the recently completed stake center. The response from stake members was excellent, and the young men and women soon raised enough money to meet their goal. The orders were sent in, and soon every home in the stake in which a youth resided was receiving a copy of the magazine.
One day shortly before a stake conference, the young men and women of the stake showed up at the stake center and went to work landscaping. They put in turf and shrubs and soon had the place looking great. One young nonmember bicycling past thought it looked like so much fun that he stopped and joined in. As a little extra incentive, there were barbecued hot dogs for all the laborers. Because of the industry of the stake youth and the generosity of the stake membership, the stake center looks a lot better, and every youth was exposed to a potentially life-changing influence.
One of the youth to receive the magazine was Heather Duke, 14, of the Tampa Third Ward. “I like it,” she says. “I haven’t found a story yet I don’t like. It’s helped me a lot, and I’d like to keep taking it. I read it every time it comes out. I just sit down before I go to bed and read the whole thing, and my sister reads it with me.
“Before I got my gift subscription, all I knew about the New Era was that it was a Church magazine. I didn’t know it had so many interesting stories in it. I’m getting two other youth magazines, and I read the New Era more than I do those.”
Those who worked on the project received as much pleasure as those who benefited from it. Lisa Mirsky, 16, reported, “I really enjoy doing service projects. So I just started calling around the ward, and I soon had about ten sponsors. Nobody turned me down. The ward was really supportive of us. One of the first people I called said, ‘Put me down for three subscriptions.’ They were really glad to do it.” Lisa found she did not really need a slick sales pitch. “I just went out and said, ‘As a youth service project, we’re hoping you’ll contribute seven dollars for the New Era to go to the home of a youth who doesn’t have it,’ and they said, ‘Sure.’”
As always, the reward of service was happiness. “I was really happy to take part in the project. I knew it was what I was supposed to be doing, and I felt a great satisfaction in doing it. It was something that could make a real difference in people’s lives. I love the New Era myself. Whenever I get it I sit down and read it right away. First I read the Mormonisms, then the Message, and then I go on from there and read the whole thing—every month. I know that it’s helped me. I’m the only member of the Church in my family, so it’s especially welcome.” Giving the New Era has a special meaning for Lisa. “The first year I got the New Era, my best friend gave it to me as a birthday present, and I just renewed my subscription in July.” So a kind favor is passed on. “I loved the project,” she added. “I’d like to do it again.” The landscaping on the chapel also brought great satisfaction and some sincere appreciation. “The Sunday after we had done the service project, everybody said, ‘Oh, it looks so great outside!’ They loved it.”
Debbie Carter, 14, of the Tampa Third Ward, tells the same story. “It was fun. It was no trouble getting people to contribute. I telephoned people, and then I went out and picked up the money they had promised.” How many turned her down? “Nobody. I even called some inactive members, and they thought it was a great idea.”
D. Briane Adams, the stake Young Men president, helped the youth organize and carry out the project. He was thrilled with the response, both on the part of the youth and the membership of the stake. “It may be that this thing will sow seeds that won’t be evident for years. I’ve found that some of the kids come from pretty tough situations, but when given half a chance, they’ll respond in quiet, positive ways. If you were to go out and visit them and ask them to come to church, they think they’ve got an image to uphold, and they would say ‘no way!’ But if they sit down in an idle moment and pick up the New Era because there’s nothing else lying there and read about good positive experiences, they may say, ‘that’s not so bad.’ That was our whole idea. Even if we touch one kid out of the whole stake through this program, it’s well worth the effort. And you never know who’s going to come in the home. It might not be just the kid. The parents may pick it up, or some friends may look at the pictures. I think there will be benefits from this that we won’t ever know about.”
In the meantime, there are some benefits he does know about—increased enthusiasm on the part of the youth of the stake and sincere gratitude from the active youth who had not been able to receive the magazine because of financial or other reasons.
And of course the stake center’s looking better than ever. The results have been exciting. But of course that’s what happens when some great young men and women get a great idea and make it happen.
If you would like to organize a similar project in your stake, your stake executive secretary can help you order the gift subscriptions. You might wish to provide each youth in the project with a pledge sheet something like this one used in the Tampa Florida Stake.
HELP US PUT THE NEW ERA IN THE HOME OF EVERY YOUTH IN THE STAKE.
____________________________________Name of youth obtaining pledge
As a service project, on January 14, the youth of the Tampa Stake will begin landscaping the area between the stake center and Fletcher Road. Your donation (pledge) of $8.00 will provide a one-year subscription to the New Era for a youth who does not now have this excellent publication. We have been counseled by our leaders to take steps to place this publication in the homes of all youth from the ages of 12 to 18 who would not normally receive it. We will also accept pledges for subscriptions to go to new converts as they are baptized in the stake, at $8.00 per subscription. In return for your pledge, we guarantee at least four long hard hours or completion of this phase of landscaping work—whichever comes first.
MAKE YOUR PLEDGE BELOW:
NAME No. of subscriptions TOTAL$

I stood watching my ten-year-old cousin do her gymnastics. It was embarrassing to see all that she could do, because at age 12, I wasn’t any good at gymnastics, no matter how hard I tried. Finally, I got tired of watching and went into the house. “Why can’t I do the things she can?” I thought. “I really have to work hard, but all she has to do is see something and then she can do it. Why can’t I?”
The next day in my physical education class at school we were required to perform some gymnastics for a grade. Again my thoughts turned to my cousin, and I wondered why I couldn’t do even the simplest movements.
Sunday came around, and as I was looking through my scriptures waiting for church to start, my attention was drawn to two verses in the Doctrine and Covenants:
“For all have not every gift given unto them; for there are many gifts, and to every man is given a gift by the Spirit of God.
“To some is given one, and to some is given another, that all may be profited thereby” (D&C 46:11–12).
I realized then that each of us has different talents and capabilities and that we should develop those we have so we can lift and help one another. After reading those scriptures, I no longer felt bad that I can’t do gymnastics. I was happy for my cousin because she can!

I heard from a mother of five small children in South Carolina. She had injured her back and was totally bedfast. She wrote to me of the “little mercy squads” in her ward who had cared for her night and day: “They fed me, conquered my mending pile, cleared the tears from my eyes, and administered therapy in the night. All the time they assured me it was no bother; they just wanted to learn more charity and just needed someone to practice on.”

When I was about six or seven years old, our family went to Kanab, Utah, to visit my aunt, who was married to a forest ranger. My uncle was in charge of the Kaibab Forest, one of the largest national forests in the United States. We arrived there late at night and went right to bed at their home.
The next morning I was awakened by my cousins, who were younger than I. They said, “There’re some deer out there. Come and look.” I jumped out of bed and got dressed and ran to the back door. Sure enough, within twenty yards of the house was a doe with her two little fawns. After we watched for a few minutes, I wanted to get closer and try to touch them.
My three cousins and I started walking toward them, but just as we got close to them, they moved away. They kept doing that, and we kept following them. All of a sudden, the mother deer decided that she’d had enough and bounded away, her little ones behind her.
My cousins and I turned around to go back to the house and realized that we were lost. In our minds it seemed easy to just turn around and go back, but we had gone much farther than we thought we had.
I had never been in a forest before. My cousins kept saying, “Let’s go this way.” “No, let’s go this way.” So we just wandered around, and pretty soon we started hearing sounds that we imagined were bears and cougars.
We called and whistled for our families to answer, but we didn’t hear a thing. We wandered around in the tall trees for maybe an hour and a half. Then the thought came to me that we should pray to Heavenly Father. We knelt in a circle, and I said a simple prayer. As we got up, I had the distinct impression that we should walk in a certain direction, which we did. We walked that way for another thirty minutes or so. The little ones were tired, and I had to carry the smallest one on my back.
When we heard a motor in the distance, we knew enough to walk toward the sound. All of a sudden, we broke into a clearing. We could see a road, and the motor we’d heard was in a road grader. We were really tired and upset, but we knew that we had to get over to the road grader before it went by the clearing, so we ran as fast as we could. When we got close enough, we waved, and the road-grader operator saw us and stopped. He put us in the cab and took us down to the forest rangers’ headquarters. By that time, my parents and aunt and uncle had all the forest rangers out looking for us, so they were glad to see us. That experience was a testimony to me that Heavenly Father does hear and answer our prayers.

As one example, Sophia remembers a time when she was approaching a jump at high speed. She felt a distinct impression that she needed to get herself into better positioning. “In motocross, we have to be squeezing the bike with our knees. We need to keep the balls of our feet on the pegs and crouch low with our head just above the handlebars.”

Cruising in an upright position, on the other hand, is a recipe for disaster.

After she received the prompting, she didn’t hesitate. She adjusted her body position. Immediately afterward, she had a serious problem with the landing on the jump. It should’ve been a crash for sure. However, because she’d listened to inspiration and improved her positioning, she was able to absorb the shock. “Instead of crashing, I bounced with the bike.”

It was unlike any other commencement or baccalaureate exercise I had ever attended or in which I had ever participated. There were 44 graduates, all male. They did not have traditional academic robes or caps or gowns. Each man wore a light blue denim shirt and dark blue denim trousers.
The ceremony was not held in a field house or a stadium or even a lovely auditorium. It was held in a modest interdenominational chapel at the Utah State Prison. The graduating class had successfully completed a year’s course of Bible study, which was sponsored by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints but open to all who cared to participate.
The opening prayer was given by a young man who looked more like a mere boy. He was frightened to death, but he gave a prayer from his heart. He was in prison for 10 years to life on an armed robbery charge. The closing prayer was given by a man who was 45 or 50 years old and who looked as if he could have been somebody’s uncle. He was in for a life term on second-degree murder.
A young man who had been released from prison had come back to get his certificate and to encourage his colleagues. He said, “Guys, the perspective in prison is really bad. It really looks better on the outside. Try to remember that.” Then he turned to the outsiders, to the friends and families who had come, and said, “You people are a light in a dark place. If it were not for love like yours, we would not be able to get from where we are to where we need to be.”
When the service was over, the inmate who conducted said, with some emotion in his voice and a little mist in his eyes, “This is the most auspicious occasion of our year. It’s better than Christmas. It’s better than Thanksgiving. It’s even better than Mother’s Day. It’s better because we’re enlightened, and that’s as close as we come to being free.”
Then the gates clanged shut behind my wife and me. That night we went home, and I confess I couldn’t sleep. That experience haunted me. In the early hours of that morning, I had feelings and thoughts and a response to imprisonment and freedom (and their relationship to enlightenment and love) that I never had before.

Eva stood on her toes. She reached for the box in the cupboard.
“Got it!” she said.
She opened the box. Inside were small Nativity figures made of red clay. She took them out and placed the baby Jesus gently in the manger.
Then it was time to decorate the Christmas tree. Eva helped Mamá and her little brother, Nefi, hang strings of lights and manzanillas. Eva loved the sweet smell of the tiny yellow fruits. When Papá came home, he helped Eva and Nefi put the star on top of the tree.
Eva was glad some of their Christmas tradition were the same this year. Everything else felt so different.
A few weeks ago, a hurricane hit their city in Guatemala. The heavy rain and winds destroyed many houses. Some people were still living in shelters. And many people were sick because of the COVID-19 virus.
Usually on Christmas Eve, Eva’s aunts, uncles, and cousins came over for a big party. Eva and Nefi got to stay up late. They made ponche (punch) with their aunts and played with their cousins. At midnight, everyone went out into the streets, lit firecrackers, and gave hugs to friends and neighbors.
But this year, their family members couldn’t come to visit. And there would be no Christmas Eve hugs in the streets.
Eva felt sad about all the fun she would miss. “Christmas won’t be the same this year,” she said.
Papá nodded. “It is different. But Mamá and I have an idea that might cheer you up.”
“Christmas is about giving,” Mamá said. “Would you like to help us buy food for the families who lost their homes in the hurricane?”
“OK!” Eva said. Nefi nodded.
Eva and Nefi went with Mamá to the store. Eva helped put the food in grocery bags. Then she had an idea!
“Mamá,” she said, “can you help Nefi and me bake cookies for the kids in the shelter? We can deliver them when we bring the groceries!”
Mamá agreed. Eva, Nefi, and Mamá spent several days baking cookies together. Eva and Nefi put the cookies into little plastic bags and tied them with ribbons. Then they put on their masks and walked with Mamá and Papá to the shelter where the families were staying.
“There are lots of kids here,” Nefi said. “Will we have enough cookies?”
“I hope so. Let’s say a prayer,” said Eva. They closed their eyes. Eva quietly prayed, “Heavenly Father, please help us so that everyone here can feel Thy love.”
The children in the shelter stood in a long line. Eva and Nefi gave each child a package of cookies. There were enough for everyone!
As they walked home, Eva didn’t feel sad anymore. She had a big smile on her face. She hadn’t been able to give hugs to her friends on Christmas Eve. But each package of cookies was like a hug from her heart.
This story took place in Guatemala.
Eva and Nefi speak a language called Q?eqchi?. They’re excited that a new temple is being built in Cobán, near their home!
Turn to page 38 for a cookie recipe from Guatemala!

Guilt forced me onto the jayvee basketball team. The fact that I was an embarrassingly tall ninth grader factored little into my decision. The coach, who said my height made me a shoo-in, and my mother, who repeated something I’d heard in Sunday School about developing my talents, combined to make me feel I had no choice.
Actually, I could think of a lot of good reasons to become a star athlete. I wasn’t the fame and glory that made me hesitate; it was something much more basic—my legs.
Playing basketball would mean exposing my skinny, white legs with their bulbous knees to the entire world. My knobby knees, my skinny thighs, my fleshless calves would lose their protective veil of pants. The shiny white skin, long hidden from the sun, would be burnt by hundreds of eyes, including the eyes of the prettiest girl in the tenth grade—Debbie McCulley.
I had spent many hours trying to convince myself my legs did not look that bad. After all, a tall, skinny kid would look funny with short, fat legs. I repeated the arguments over and over, but tryouts came and I still hoped I wouldn’t make the team.
But, because I was the second tallest kid at the tryouts, making the team was surprisingly easy. And, best of all, we were allowed to wear sweatpants, so all that stuck out beneath the ankles of my sweats were my feet.
The sweats kept everyone from laughing at my legs. The sweats and the fact that they were busy laughing at my clumsiness. I spent most of the time discovering how slippery and hard a wood floor could be.
But as the opening game approached, my basketball skills were improving. I bounced the ball on the floor instead of my feet; I made lay-ups instead of fall-downs; and I rarely missed the backboard when I shot the ball. Still, there was no real danger I would be a starter. I wasn’t that good. However, I might get subbed into a game, if it wasn’t too close or if several people got injured. So exposing my legs was still a threat.
The day of our first game came too quickly. As the hours before the game passed, my tension mounted. In the locker room I noticed my legs looked whiter than usual, and I blindfolded them with the team sweatpants before going out to the court for warm-up drills.
I had hoped to sprain an ankle during warm-ups, just a minor sprain that would heal in time for the stake dance on Saturday night. My legs, as a whole, liked the idea, but the ankles wanted no part of it. After all, they had socks to hide behind. Besides, getting injured while warming up is not without its own level of embarrassment.
But the drills went well and even provided a level of encouragement. I managed to avoid missing any lay-ups and, since I only took close shots, I was able to at least hit the backboard. I also had the presence of mind to formulate a plan for avoiding substitution into the game, my strategy of “inconspicuous bench warming.” I would do nothing extreme. I would root louder than my quietest teammate and quieter than the loudest. I would be neater than the sloppiest and sloppier than the neatest. I even applied this strategy to the bench itself, deciding not to sit right next to the coach and not at the far end either. With some judicious maneuvering after a silent pregame prayer (during which I asked for the obvious), I managed to plant myself near the middle of the bench, but not exactly in the middle.
We lost the game, but I felt satisfied—the coach did not even talk to me.
Then the first home game approached. The coach told us the other team looked even weaker than us, and if the starters could run up a quick lead, everyone might get into the game. I managed a weak smile and tried to appear anxious to play, but not too anxious, as I felt my heart sink to my knobby knees.
The next morning started early. I couldn’t concentrate in seminary or school. I spent the day looking at each of my classmates, picturing them laughing at the sight of my outlandish legs. Soon I would be in a gymnasium full of people—including Debbie McCulley—and they all would fall from the bleachers laughing at me.
Eventually it was time for the game, and luck seemed to be with me as the score stayed close during the first half. With no big lead, the coach would want to keep the starters in, so I started to feel much better and resumed a moderate amount of cheering. With less than a minute to go in the first half, my position on the bench looked mighty secure.
Then, as if in slow motion, our center, Josh Pasquali, went down grabbing his ankle—maybe I was too smug and this was my punishment. The coach helped Josh off the court. Suddenly I was the tallest player on our team.
“Get that warm-up suit off, Kendall,” the coach barked. “You’re in for Pasquali.”
My mind raced to think of a way out of this nightmare.
“Kendall, hurry it up!”
I clenched my teeth, closed my eyes, and took off my sweatpants. I listened carefully for the peals of insane laughter I knew would follow, but all I heard were some scattered cheers and applause. I opened my eyes, laid down my pants, and checked into the game. Could the stands be filled with blind people or could they just be here to watch a basketball game and not my knees?
I made my basketball debut lining up to rebound a foul shot. My teammate missed, but I got the rebound and quickly put my first two points on the scoreboard. Some more cheering came from the stands.
The final minute of the first half went by much quicker than I had expected. Soon I was back in the safety of the locker room, pulling on my sweatpants. On the training table sat our injured center, with the nurse looking at his ankle. She poked and twisted the injured joint for a moment. I felt sorry for Josh as I watched his grimacing face. As I gazed at him, his big feet caught my eye.
“I may have knobby knees,” I thought to myself, “but at least I don’t have to walk around with swim fins for feet.”
I pretended to listen to the coach’s pep talk, but my mind flashed to Debbie McCulley cheering for my basket. True, I did not actually see her do this, but it was her job as a cheerleader to cheer. And besides, I was almost certain I could hear her voice yelling just a little bit louder for me than she did for the other players. Maybe if I could get a few more points, she might not laugh at me if I asked her to dance at the stake dance.
By the time the second half was ready to start I was almost anxious to strip off my sweats and play ball. I had taken my warm-up seriously, even practicing to rebound the shots my teammates missed. I saw sports herodom within my grasp. Then I saw Josh Pasquali come back out on the floor, take a few shots, test his ankle, and check in for the second half.
For the rest of the game, I sat next to the coach and tried to deafen him with my enthusiasm. With a close score the entire game, I did not get back in to play. After the final buzzer sounded I started for the locker room. Looking over my shoulder, I saw Debbie and two other cheerleaders behind me.
“Nice shot, Matt,” Debbie said as she slid past. She had noticed me, and I didn’t even do much that was noticeable.
“Thanks,” I blurted out. “Um. I can dance, too.”
“Great,” she said, heading through the door. “Save me a dance this Saturday.”
“Okay,” I said, and bounded joyously up the stairs to our locker room.
I sat down next to Josh in the locker room, thinking about the dance. I took off my sneakers and tossed them on the floor. They landed beside Josh’s pair. My joy of anticipation for the dance turned instantly to dread as I noticed my sneakers lying beside Josh’s. Good grief! They were the same size! How could I ever go to a dance with such big feet?

This story happened in Malaysia.
Janeelyn swiped her thumb across the phone screen. Videos flashed by. She paused to watch one, then scrolled again. Then she stopped at another video. It had a lot of bad language, but it was funny, so she kept watching. And then kept scrolling.
“Janeelyn! Want to come draw?” Her younger sister Jojo waved a piece of paper.
Janeelyn glanced up. “Not right now.”
“OK.” Jojo frowned and set the paper down.
Scroll. Scroll. Scroll. Videos of cute animals. Videos of famous people. Videos of kids dancing. And a few videos Janeelyn knew weren’t good to watch. OK, maybe more than a few. Janeelyn started to feel like she should stop watching them.
But people also post a lot of good things, she thought. She’d even learned new ways to draw from a few videos.
“Janeelyn,” Mom called.
“Hmm?” Janeelyn didn’t even look up this time.
“We’re having seafood fried rice tonight,” Mom said. “Will you help me make it?”
Janeelyn loved seafood fried rice. But she didn’t want to get up right now.
“Can I just set the table?” she asked. “I can help with dishes after too.”
“That’s fine,” Mom said. “But you need to set it right when I ask you. And then it’s time to give the phone back. Deal?”
“Deal,” Janeelyn said.
Janeelyn kept watching videos. Again, she felt that she shouldn’t be looking at them. But she really wanted to see the next video. And the next. And the next. Scroll. Scroll. It was hard to stop!
At last Janeelyn put the phone down. Well, maybe she could just finish one last video . . . .
No, Janeelyn told herself firmly. The Holy Ghost had prompted her, and she wanted to listen. Her hand still hovered near the phone. It was so tempting! Janeelyn squeezed her eyes shut.
Dear Heavenly Father, she prayed silently. I’m trying hard to listen to the Holy Ghost, but I need help. I want to stop watching these videos, but I’m not sure how. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.
Just then, Mom called her to set the table. Janeelyn hopped up and smiled. That was one way to help get her off the phone.
Janeelyn set the plates on the table. “Mom, I saw some bad things on the phone,” she blurted out.
Mom looked up from her cooking. “What kinds of things?”
“Just like, bad words and bad videos.” Janeelyn shrugged. “But it’s not all bad.”
“What did you do when you saw the bad things?” Mom asked.
Janeelyn was quiet for a moment. She set a cup at each place.
“I kept watching,” she said. “I don’t know why. But the Holy Ghost told me to stop, so I said a prayer for help.”
Mom set a steaming platter of seafood fried rice on the table. “Sometimes it’s really hard to stop doing things even when we know they are bad,” she said. “And when that happens, the best thing we can do is pray.”
Janeelyn grinned. “So I did the right thing.”
“You sure did.” Mom handed Janeelyn spoons to put on the table. “And the internet isn’t all bad. It can help us connect with friends and share ideas. But it can be hard to stay away from all the bad things too. From now on, if you’re going to watch videos, let’s only watch them together. That way Dad and I can help if you see something bad.”
Janeelyn nodded. Next time she’d watch videos with Mom and Dad. But until then, there were lots of fun things she could do without the phone.
“Will you tell everyone it’s time for dinner?” Mom asked.
“Yup! And after dinner, I’m going to draw with Jojo!”
Illustrations by Mitch Miller

A few weeks later, Mom sent me a newspaper clipping about Todd. “Local Man Saves Child on Woolly Caterpillar Fun Ride” was the headline. Now what had he done?

According to the article, a child had fallen from the last seat of the ride and gotten his hand stuck in the rail. Todd heard him screaming and ran to the ride. He stopped it and stood under the dangling boy, hoisting him up. He held him until the paramedics could free the boy’s injured hand. Todd had stood with his head poking through the rails, a dangerous spot if the ride should somehow start again. There was a picture of the boy’s mother kissing Todd’s cheek and a smiling Todd with his hands on the shoulders of a beaming boy who held up a bandaged hand. The article said the mayor had plans to honor Todd as “The Hardworking Hero of Fun King.” Hardworking hero? This certainly wasn’t the Todd I knew.

This year I sometimes have had to get up at 5:45 a.m. so I could ride with my mom while she drove my sister and some others to early-morning seminary. Once we get to the church my mom and I wait in the parking lot until seminary is over, then drive the kids to school. Some days I go to school right after my mom’s car-pool duty, so I have to be super organized the night before, with my clothes all laid out and my homework all done.
Even though I’ve had to give up an hour of sleep, I’m glad I can help my sister get to seminary and also help my parents by not complaining about it. My sacrifice hasn’t been totally hard because my mom and I have played games, worked on cross-stitch, and watched the sun rise as we waited.