Gospel Story Finder

Countless are the acts of service provided by the vast army of Relief Society visiting teachers. A few years ago I heard of two of them who aided a grieving widow, Angela, the granddaughter of a cousin of mine. Angela’s husband and a friend of his had gone snowmobiling and had become victims of suffocation through a snowslide. Each of them left a pregnant wife—in Angela’s case, their first child, and in the other case, a wife not only expecting a child but also the mother of a toddler. In the funeral held for Angela’s husband, the bishop reported that upon hearing of the tragic accident, he had gone immediately to Angela’s home. Almost as soon as he arrived, the doorbell sounded. The door was opened, and there stood Angela’s two visiting teachers. The bishop said he watched as they so sincerely expressed to Angela their love and compassion. The three women cried together, and it was apparent that these two fine visiting teachers cared deeply about Angela. As perhaps only women can, they gently indicated—without being asked—exactly what help they would be providing. That they would be close by as long as Angela needed them was obvious. The bishop expressed his deep gratitude in knowing they would be a real source of comfort to her in the days ahead.

So do the Willeys lug their violins, violas, and basses from door to door playing inspirational music for people? Not exactly. If you’ve ever seen a Church music broadcast or attended one on Temple Square, you’ve probably seen how Anthony, Elizabeth, and Kristina share the gospel through music. They are some of the youngest members of the Orchestra at Temple Square.
Being so young compared to the other members of the orchestra doesn’t bother these teens a bit. They actually love it. Elizabeth says, “Even though there are only a few members under 20 in the orchestra, I feel like I fit in. I think it’s great because there isn’t any goofing off. Everyone had to work so hard to get here.”
How did they get to be in such a prestigious orchestra at such a young age? “Lots and lots of practice,” Anthony says.
To be in the Orchestra at Temple Square you have to be one of the top musicians in the Church, able to play whatever difficult piece might be put in front of you. And it’s a huge time commitment.
Kristina says, “Being a part of the Orchestra at Temple Square is my favorite thing I’ve ever done, but it’s been a sacrifice. It’s hard to find time for homework and friends because we have to practice every day and rehearse several times a week.”
But Anthony, Elizabeth, and Kristina all say the hard work is worth it.
“It’s neat to be able to see the audience’s reaction when we perform,” Elizabeth says. “The Spirit is always there. It makes me feel like all my hard work has paid off.”
The teens’ mom and dad go to their concerts and sit up in the balcony where they can see all their children. Their mother, Denise, says, “When the music gets going, the Spirit sweeps over me and over the whole audience.”
The beautiful music the orchestra plays on Temple Square helps many people feel the Spirit. After the concerts are over, members of the audience can learn more about the Church from the full-time and Church service missionaries standing at the doors.
Anthony loves the missionary opportunities that being a member of the Orchestra at Temple Square has given him. “Being a member of the orchestra has made me want to be a better person,” he says, “and it has prepared me to be a better full-time missionary.”

Being still is tricky for me. I always have a never-ending to-do list. While I do get a lot done, I am often stressed and overwhelmed by everything I’ve committed myself to. When I was looking for ways to become more receptive to personal revelation, I realized that I was living my life like Martha instead of Mary.1 I wasn’t giving myself time to just be still. After reading conference talks that counsel us to create a place and time to regularly listen to the Spirit, I knew I needed to do that.2 I now do my morning scripture study at a desk (instead of in bed), and I use my paper scriptures so I won’t be distracted by my phone.

Soon I’ll be celebrating the first anniversary of my baptism, thanks to the efforts of my neighbor Diane Novak who is ten.
Diane invited me to Primary at the Caribou Branch of the Church in the Houlton-Maine District of the Canada-Halifax Mission. Later I met with the missionaries and was baptized by Diane’s father in the swimming pool at Loring Air Force Base. Now I go to Mutual and take my nonmember brother and one of his friends with me.

In August 1978 I received an assignment to attend a stake conference in Seoul, South Korea. After priesthood leadership meeting, I was in the hallway when a sister about 60 years old whispered in my ear in Japanese, “I don’t like Japanese people.”
I was shocked and surprised. I turned around and responded in Japanese, “I’m sorry you feel that way.” I wondered what she had experienced in her life that caused her to feel that way. What damage had my people done to her people?
In my talk during the evening session of stake conference, I spoke of the Savior’s Atonement and His great sacrifice. I shared with stake members the story of Nephi and how the Spirit of the Lord took him to a high mountain. There he saw the tree of life, which his father, Lehi, had seen, and there he saw the baby Jesus (see 1 Nephi 11:1–20). Then an angel asked him if he knew the meaning of the tree his father had seen in vision.
Nephi answered, “Yea, it is the love of God, which sheddeth itself abroad in the hearts of the children of men; wherefore, it is the most desirable above all things.” The angel added, “Yea, and the most joyous to the soul” (1 Nephi 11:22–23).
The love of God can help us overcome all prejudice and misunderstanding. We are truly God’s children, and we can take His love into our souls if we will.
Savior, may I learn to love thee,
Walk the path that thou hast shown,
Pause to help and lift another,
Finding strength beyond my own. 1
Without planning to, I began to share my connection with the Korean people. I told the congregation that I had grown up with nine Korean cousins. They came to our home, and my siblings and I often went to their homes. I ate Korean food and learned Korean songs. My aunt married a wonderful Korean man. They raised their children in Japan, in the same town where I grew up.
In the middle of my talk, I asked someone to play the piano as I sang a Korean folk song with President Ho Nam Rhee, the first stake president in South Korea. Then I asked President Rhee to help me sing the Korean national anthem, though I hadn’t sung it since my boyhood. It had been a long time since I had learned it from my Korean uncle, but the words came back to me. I then asked the congregation to sing it with me. They all stood and sang their beautiful national anthem. Many tears were shed, and it was hard for me to sing. A wonderful and sweet spirit prevailed.
I told the members of the stake that just as I loved my Korean cousins, I also loved them—because we are all God’s children, because we are all brothers and sisters in the gospel, and because of the love of God (see 1 Nephi 11:22, 25). We all felt that eternal love, and almost everyone in the congregation wept. I told them, “I love you as my brothers and sisters in the gospel.”
After the evening session had ended, stake members made a long line to greet me. The last person in line was the 60-year-old Korean sister, who came to me with tears in her eyes and apologized. The Spirit of the Lord was strong. The Savior’s healing wings carried all of us, and the spirit of peace spoke to the congregation. I felt as one with them.

Ace was just pulling the crawdad trap up toward the bridge when the children heard it. “Kittens, I think,” said Cindie. “Maybe in the tall grass there near the water.”
“No, it sounds like baby birds,” said her sister Vikki. “Over on the other side of the creek by those blackberry bushes.”
The two girls and their younger brother quickly clambered down through the brush toward the pitiful cries. “Over here!” shouted Cindie. “I’ve found a gunnysack!”
Anxiously, the young people fumbled with the twine and opened the sack. Inside were four very cold, very hungry newborn creatures, their eyes still closed.
“Kittens?” asked Vikki, holding one baby close.
“They look like tiny pigs,” observed Cindie, peering closely at another.
“Let’s get back up to the bridge,” said Ace. “Dad will know.”
“They’re puppies,” said dad. “Really young and really ugly. It looks like someone driving over the bridge threw out the pups to drown them in the creek. But they missed the water. These pups can’t be more than a few hours old.”
“Poor babies. We’ll just have to take care of them,” said Vikki, 11-year-old protector of all things living. “We’ll take them to grandma’s house and feed them right now.”
“Yeah, dad, we can check the crawdad trap later. We need to take care of the pups now.” It was unusual for six-year-old Ace (legally known as Adrian) to consider anything more important than trapping—and releasing—crawdads while vacationing at grandma’s house in Oregon.
“We’d better hurry. This one looks pretty weak,” observed Cindie, age 14 and the most practical of the three.
“Whoa, kids. Let’s think for a minute,” chimed in dad. “We’re on vacation 800 miles from home. We surely can’t take these pups home with us, and I doubt if anyone else would want four mongrel dogs. It might be better if …”
“If what, dad? Maybe other people can throw innocent little puppies in a creek to drown, but you’ve always said that we should protect living things.” The determination in Cindie’s voice was evident.
“Besides, dad. I think Heavenly Father intended that we be here this morning so that we could rescue these poor little things. We’ll figure out what to do with them later. Right now we’ve got to hurry and get them some milk.”
Minutes later mom and grandma were examining the foundlings—and asking the same practical questions adults usually ask when young people bring home newborn pups. Meanwhile, Cindie put some milk in a saucer and tried to feed one of the crying pups.
“I’m afraid that won’t work,” said grandma. “They’re so tiny that they’ll have to be fed from a bottle. Who would have a bottle with a nipple that small?”
“Maybe a doll’s bottle?” suggested Vikki. “But where can we get a doll’s bottle?”
“And that’s not all,” said mother. “For the first few days, they probably won’t be able to digest regular milk. I’m sure they’ll need milk from a mother dog.”
“But we’ve got to do something,” said Ace. “We can’t just let them starve.”
“Is there a pet store in Oregon City?” asked dad. “Perhaps they could help us.”
“I’m sure there is,” replied grandma. “But is it wise to spend the time and expense to rescue four mongrel dogs that no one will want? They can’t stay here, and you surely can’t take them back home with you. They’d never survive the trip.”
“It might have been kinder in the long run if you had left them at the creek,” mother quietly observed.
By now Cindie had located the telephone number of the pet shop and had started dialing. “We’ll find a way, grandma. Heavenly Father will help us. But first we’ve got to find a way to feed these poor crying babies.”
And a way was found. Two very expensive cans of dog milk and two doll bottles were purchased. Each pup was fed, almost constantly, and wrapped in a warm cloth. Eventually they received their names: Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John.
The days which followed were taken up with feeding and loving the puppies. The girls learned that newborn puppies cry mightily if not fed periodically—all day and all night. On short trips to visit uncles and aunts, the pups were brought along so that they could be fed—and so that they could melt the hearts of potential owners.
But to no avail. Aunt Janine already had a dog. Aunt Karen surmised that one more dog at her house would result in one less husband. Uncle Dennis had two dogs, and grandma had cats. No luck. Neighbors and friends were approached. No luck. Pet store owners were implored. No market for ugly orphan pups.
Each day in their prayers the family members asked Heavenly Father to help them find homes for Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. But as they prepared to leave for southern Oregon to visit grandpa, four little puppies still had no homes. A family council was called to consider the options. The family knelt in prayer, and each of the children asked Heavenly Father to help them find homes for the pups.
Finally a decision was made: The pups would go to southern Oregon—but no further. If grandpa couldn’t take them, and if no other homes could be found when the family reached Ashland, the pups would have to go to the pound.
The trip to grandpa’s farm was a happy one. The young people took turns feeding the now fat, happy pups, and they took endless delight in the puppies’ antics. Both Mark and Luke started opening their eyes. And the children discovered that Mark ate the most, that John cried the loudest, and that Matthew was a girl!
But the four pups were still homeless—and the family was getting closer and closer to grandpa’s farm. Three worried young people entrusted all to a kind Heavenly Father and offered many silent prayers from the back seat (plus a few were offered from dad and mom in the front seat).
One prayer was answered; grandpa took one pup! At least John would be spared, grow up on a farm, and be loved.
All too soon the time at grandpa’s was gone, and the prayers for Matthew, Mark, and Luke were still unanswered. Only one last faint hope remained: Brother “Cwik.”
The family stopped to have dinner and attend sacrament meeting with family friends, the Cwiklinskis. Cindie, Vikki, and Ace were heart-broken to discover that the Cwiklinskis already had a dog and a cat and a goat. There just was no way the family could take in three pups.
On the way to sacrament meeting, the pups were fed once more so they could stay in the car in the shade and not cry while their rescuers were in church. Before going in, Cindie, Vikki, and Ace each offered a silent prayer to remind Heavenly Father that after church they would drive to Ashland—the last stop for Matthew, Mark, and Luke.
Cindie spent most of sacrament meeting with her eyes closed, praying for a miracle. Vikki cried softly into a handkerchief. Ace chewed his lower lip. Too soon the meeting was over; the family was in the foyer and moving toward the door.
Then a miracle began to unfold. “Cindie,” whispered Brother Cwik, “run out to the car and bring me those pups. Bring everything—the milk, the bottles, the blankets—everything. And hurry!”
Cindie was back in a flash, and Brother Cwik showed the pups to the Young Women of the ward. Matthew, Mark, and Luke were passed from hand to hand and lovingly fussed over as Brother Cwik recounted how the babies had been miraculously rescued.
If a potential dog owner wavered in her decision to adopt, Brother Cwik mentioned the canned milk, the feeding bottles, and the blankets. Luke went first—to a young girl with soft brown eyes. With his arms around Cindie and Vikki, Brother Cwik mentioned how earnestly the girls had prayed that someone would adopt the orphans. An older girl with long, blonde hair finally persuaded her parents to permit her to take Mark.
Only Matthew, the little female puppy, remained. People were drifting away now; super-salesman Cwik was losing his audience. It appeared as though no one would take an ugly orphan female pup. Suddenly, running down the hall with Ace came a nine-year-old boy, his eyes shining.
“Have you got any puppies left?” he shouted. “Dad says it’s all right. Are there any left?”
Indeed, there was one. A nine-year-old boy got his birthday present a week early, and three young people learned some important lessons about faith and works and the value of all living things. All the way home the family thanked Heavenly Father for hearing and answering prayers.

The Brethren gathered in that meeting listened with anticipation, for a number of vacancies among the General Authorities were to be filled at the approaching conference. The First Presidency called a new member of the Quorum of the Twelve, Elder Boyd K. Packer, and then Joseph heard, to his amazement, his own name. The Lord had called him to serve as an Assistant to the Quorum of the Twelve. He looked up with surprise and wondered if he had heard correctly. All the Brethren were looking at him—the men whom he had felt it an honor to serve—and realized that he was now to be numbered with them. “Nothing was further from my mind,” he said later.

“Three weeks until summer break, Ryan!” my friend Logan said after recess. “I can’t wait to swim and hike!”
“Me too!” I said. I walked into the classroom smiling, but then I saw the chairs set in circles. That meant reading groups.
“Everyone get in your groups!” Mr. Carson said. “Blue group, Mrs. Bush is waiting for you in room 205.”
I trudged to my desk and grabbed my book. Most of my classmates had been able to read this book years ago. Everyone knew the blue group was for kids who couldn’t read well. I’d been part of it since kindergarten. That was when I found out I had a learning disability. Mom says it means my brain just understands things differently.
It’s not fair, I thought as I walked to room 205. I held the book to my chest so no one could see it was for little kids. I hated being different. I worked twice as hard as any of my friends. But I was still one of the worst readers in the whole grade!
After an hour of reading, Mrs. Bush said we were done. “Good work,” she told us. “I know reading is hard, and it would be easy to give up. But keep working at it! You can improve. And don’t forget your summer reading packet.”
I took the packet and walked back to my classroom. Every summer I got a reading packet with stories to read out loud, questions to answer, and other things to help me with my reading. None of my friends had homework over the summer. But I really wanted to be able to read, so the extra work was worth it.
At least I’ll still have some time to play this summer, I thought.
But when Mom picked me up from school, she had some news. “I just learned about a new computer program that can help you read better,” she said as I got into the car. “It will help your brain make better connections.”
“That sounds cool,” I said.
“You’ll need to work on it for a few hours every day.”
More homework over the summer? Part of me wanted to just quit trying. But an even bigger part of me knew I really wanted to read better. And that would take a lot of work. I took a deep breath. “OK, I’ll do it.”
It was a long, hard summer. I spent most of my time working on my reading exercises or the computer program. And I prayed every day for Heavenly Father’s help.
When school started again, I tried my hardest to follow along with the class reading. I was still pretty slow, but I could do it!
Soon my teacher asked to talk to me at lunch. That made me nervous. What would she say?
“Ryan, I’ve seen you reading along with the class this week. I know how hard you worked this summer,” Ms. Andersen said. “I’m going to put you in a higher reading group.”
“Really?” I said.
She nodded. “You’ll have to work a little harder than some of the other kids and promise to read every single day, but I think you can do this. Are you up for the challenge?”
Ryan finished high school and went to college. He had to work hard at reading. But it was worth it!
“Yes!” I said. I walked out to lunch feeling happy and strong. My hard work during the summer had helped me! And Heavenly Father had answered my prayers. I knew I could keep working hard. And I knew Heavenly Father would keep helping me.

That’s what I was able to do with a friend, someone whom I considered to be the most beautiful, confident, and intelligent young woman I knew. We’d been friends for years, but it wasn’t until high school that I discovered she had an eating disorder. One day during a psychology class, we had an entire lesson on eating disorders—why and how people become consumed by them. During this lesson my friend was unusually quiet and looked uncomfortable. That’s when I first began to suspect her “internal dispute,” as we later referred to it.
After that class, I began to notice that my friend’s normal behaviors were not so normal—things like her lack of appetite, her comments about how she looked fat, or the constant facade of perfection she was trying to keep up. I became really scared for her and decided to fast and pray for her—I didn’t know what else to do.
Eventually, the Spirit told me I needed to talk to her with great love. I did the best I could and fasted and prayed that I would know what to say to her. When I finally talked with her about my suspicion of an eating disorder, we both cried as she admitted to having one. She told me she knew she was struggling and didn’t know how to help herself—or if she even wanted to change. I was so surprised that she didn’t deny having an eating disorder. The Spirit was definitely with us during that conversation. With the assistance of parents and counselors, we found help for her. And through those efforts, she’s now healthy again.
Helping her rediscover her worth was one of the best things I’ve ever had the opportunity to do. I knew she has great worth. She is an extremely special person—she just forgot how much worth she has. I wanted her to see herself the way Christ sees her, and along the way she showed me that I needed to do the same for myself.

If it’s Saturday, you’ll find Elvira Guagliarello busily working in the kitchen of her home in Puerto Madryn, located on the shores of Argentina’s Nuevo Gulf in the southern province of Chubut.
She measures out flour and water and then reaches for other ingredients. She says little as she works, her actions speaking louder than her words. After all, she’s on the Lord’s errand.
“I feel good because I know I am doing something good,” says Sister Guagliarello as she mixes the ingredients. She thinks of the Savior as she works, happy with the thought that the product of her service will help other members of the Church remember Him.
Sister Guagliarello, age 82, enjoys serving as a visiting teacher, helps direct the music in her ward, and makes bread for use in the ordinance of the sacrament—a calling she has magnified for nearly 10 years. She prepares a loaf of bread for herself earlier in the week, but on Saturdays she sets aside time to make bread “especially for the Church,” she says. “I say to myself, ‘I have to make bread, and I have to go to church.’ I don’t want to fail.”
“Sister Guagliarello is always happy to serve in every way she can,” says her bishop, Jesús Santos Gumiel. “Ward members know they can count on her. Despite her age, she is faithful in preparing the bread every Saturday and in coming to church every Sunday. She’s a good example.”

During Primary sharing time, Sister Keddington held up a picture of Jesus with the ten lepers.
Shaun knew the story. It was one of his mother’s favorites, and she told it often in family home evening.
“Who can tell us this story?” Sister Keddington asked.
Shaun raised his hand. “Jesus healed ten men who had leprosy. But only one remembered to thank Jesus for curing him. The other nine walked away without saying anything.”
“How do you think that made Jesus feel?” Sister Keddington asked.
“Sad,” Shaun said.
Sister Keddington nodded. “I think Jesus felt very sad when the other nine men walked away without thanking Him.”
Shaun thought about last Sunday when his mother had asked him to write a thank-you note to his grandparents for the birthday gift they had sent him. Shaun had been too busy playing with his new game to take time to write them.
Then he thought about Jesus’s disappointment with the men who didn’t show their gratitude to Him. Was that how his grandparents felt because he hadn’t bothered to thank them for their gift?
His grandparents lived almost 2,000 miles away. Shaun didn’t get to see them very often, but he knew that they loved him, just as he loved them. His grandma wrote him every week, and his grandpa always had a new joke to tell Shaun when they phoned each Sunday night.
After Shaun’s family got home from church, he didn’t stop in the kitchen for a snack as he usually did. He hurried to his room and pulled out a notebook of lined paper.
Shaun spent a long time writing the note to his grandparents, making his letters in neat cursive. He thanked them for the gift and told them how much he loved them.
When he finished, he read the letter again. Satisfied with it, he ran downstairs and found his mother. “Mom, do you have an envelope and stamp I can use? I wrote the thank-you note to Grandma and Grandpa.”
His mother smiled. “I know they’ll be glad to get it.”
With her help, Shaun addressed the envelope and slipped the letter inside.
“There’s someone else who deserves our gratitude as well,” his mother said.
Shaun knew she meant Heavenly Father. Before Shaun went to sleep that night, he knelt by his bed and thanked Heavenly Father for the many blessings He gave Shaun and his family every day.

“Meeting President Kimball—that made all the hard work more than worth it,” said 19-year-old Marianne Schmidt of the Ogden 65th Ward, South Ogden Utah Stake.
Marianne, who’s been blind since birth, met President Kimball after presenting the Young Women Presidency with the Personal Progress book that she translated into Braille. The project took Marianne over two years to complete, but she had help from a dedicated Young Women adviser, friends in her Young Women class, and friends from school.
“I thought it would be great for the young women who are blind to have a Personal Progress book where they could read their goals over and over,” said Marianne. “If the goals are written on paper, it’s easy to forget them when you’re blind.”
The initial translation took Marianne one year, and proofreading and making corrections took another year.
“It was discouraging at times because it was hard to juggle schedules to get people to read to me so I could translate. My hands would get tired from Brailling, and it’s funny, my eyes would too. I knew that it would be a difficult project, though. For this particular book, one page of print is about four pages of Braille.
“But I have always been determined to accomplish my goals. I’m majoring in elementary education at college, and some people think that I won’t be able to teach kindergarten. But I’ll prove to them that I can. Nobody knows what I can do except me, and I don’t think of myself as handicapped. The only thing that limits me is when people are afraid of me. When they’re not, I can do anything,” said Marianne.

My Aunt Robin was collecting blankets for babies born at a birthing center in northern Argentina. The center is for very poor mothers and babies. The clinic did not have money to buy blankets for the newborn babies, so the nurses had to wrap them in heavy plastic to keep them warm. When I heard about this, I wanted to help. So for my eighth-birthday party, I asked the children I invited to bring a baby blanket instead of a gift. I invited 15 children and received more than 50 blankets. I feel good knowing that 50 babies will have blankets to keep them warm.

A small branch with big ideas can accomplish a lot—and do a lot of good at the same time, too. That’s what the members of the Toukley Branch, Sydney Australia Newcastle Stake, discovered when they pooled their talents to put on a family fun musical that helped strengthen testimonies and introduce nonmembers to the Church.
Twenty parents and 21 youths worked together for five months of rehearsals to perfect the show. The parents helped with make-up, costumes, ticket sales, promotion, and orchestra, and the young people performed on stage.
“It made me feel good to have mum in the production,” said Shelly Benson, one of the performers. “I felt that I could lean on her for encouragement.”
The purposes behind the show were to help the building fund (the branch has land but not a chapel), to commemorate the Sesquicentennial, to serve as a missionary tool, and to create a fun experience for adults and the youth of the branch.
Sister Gayle Shearim wrote the play, weaving in concepts from the plan of salvation. Because the Toukley Branch is small, she invited members from neighboring wards to participate, too. Since the stake boundaries are 150 miles north to south, and 40 miles across, some participants had quite a commute.
But the results made all the hard work worth it, they said. Not only did the show bring the performers closer, two baptisms were reported as a direct result of the play, two inactive members were reactivated, and over 2,000 people were exposed to the gospel in Sydney, Newcastle, Gosford, and Toukley, Australia—big results for a little branch.

My family and I were not members of the Church. One day while I was in medical school, I checked out a book from the library called A Marvelous Work and a Wonder. It was written by an Apostle named Elder LeGrand Richards. The book was all about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I read the book over and over. I studied and prayed about it. The book prepared me to join the Church a few months later.

The Christmas I remember best happened when I was 12 years old. It all started one evening about a month before Christmas. The room had fallen totally silent. We all stood staring at Father, our jaws dropped in shock.
Just moments before, my three brothers and I had been wrestling with our two big dogs. My mother had watched, smiling, from the nearby kitchen table. But now, even her hands had gone perfectly still, stopping in midair as she sewed buttons back on a blue Scout uniform.
“What do you mean ‘No presents this year’?” my 16-year-old brother Mick asked slowly.
“Just what I said,” Father answered calmly. He sat down across the table from Mother. “Christmas has become all about ‘things.’ We worry too much about what we’re getting, how many presents are under the tree. Your mother and I have always taught you children the real reason we celebrate Christmas.”
“It’s Jesus’ birthday!” I piped up.
Father nodded. “That’s right, Nellie. But even though we all know the story of baby Jesus and can recite Luke chapter 2 by heart, I just feel that our home doesn’t have the right spirit in it during the holiday season. I think that if we forget about buying presents and really concentrate on the true meaning of Christmas, we’ll be more in tune with Jesus Christ and His gospel.”
“But, Dad,” I said, “we’ve always talked about how giving each other presents at Christmas is symbolic of Heavenly Father giving Jesus Christ to the world. Isn’t that true?”
Father considered this. “You’re right, Nellie. OK, let’s do this. No gift given in this family may be store-bought. Whatever you give each other must come from you,” he put his hand on his chest, “from inside you. You figure it out.” He got up and left the room.
“This is going to be the worst Christmas ever,” I thought.
“Is he serious?” Tyler asked Mother.
“He sure sounded like it.” She had already resumed her uniform mending.
“No presents …” Mick seemed in a daze.
Neil, my eight-year-old brother, looked like he was going to cry.
“So, what are we supposed to give each other?” I asked.
“Well, you all have about a month to ‘figure it out,’ as your father said,” Mother replied. She stood up with the finished shirt and left the room, humming a Christmas song.
Over the next four weeks, our house slowly filled with the Christmas spirit. We were all very secretive about what we were planning for everyone else, and we were excited about what we were giving. I never even thought about what I was getting.
Christmas morning dawned, chilly and white outside. For the first time since they had become teenagers, Mick and Tyler were the first ones up.
“Come on! Come on—get up!” They ran from room to room, waking up the rest of us.
Mother laughed. “I can’t believe you two. This alone has made my Christmas!”
Right after family prayers, the gift-giving started. What a wonderful, spirit-filled morning! We exchanged original poetry and songs. Neil had made “I’ll-do-you-a-favor” coupons for everyone. Mother had made copies of black-and-white photos of both sets of grandparents and framed them by hand for each of us.
All the gifts were truly given with love. But the one I remember the most was the one my father gave to me.
He handed me a plastic bag. Inside, I could see a slightly browned paper folded in thirds. All eyes were on me as I took the paper out and unfolded it. I gasped. It was the letter Father’s mother had written to him when he was 14 years old and she was dying of cancer. Her name was Nell, and I’m named after her. I had heard about this letter but had never seen it. I knew how precious it was to my father. And now he was giving it to me.
I started to read. The faith and spiritual strength of my grandmother radiated from her words. I read the six-page letter over and over again. The love she expressed for my father made me cry. The part that touched me the most was when she talked about leaving her family to join the Church:
I shared the letter with my brothers so that they could know Grandma, too. We’ve all grown up now, served missions, and been married in the temple. Every now and then, I pull out my father’s letter and read it again. Ever since my father gave it to me that Christmas long ago, it has been a source of strength for me. And I know, without a doubt, that my grandmother kept her promise to my father and has always been “right there beside” us.

He liked to grow unusual things in his garden, and one spring day I remember asking him what he was planting. He replied, “Goober peas.” When I told him I had never heard of goober peas, he gave me some and told me to go home and plant them in our garden. I did, and I watched them carefully as they grew. When I expressed my concern that I couldn’t see any fruit on the vine, he told me to be patient. The day came when it was time to harvest the goober peas. Elmer showed me how to dig around the plants, and was I surprised and delighted to find that under the ground were mounds of peanuts just waiting to be roasted—Elmer’s goober peas.

In the faraway islands of the Pacific, hundreds who were near-blind now see because a missionary said to his physician brother-in-law, “Leave your wealthy clientele and the comforts of your palatial home and come to these special children of God who need your skills and need them now.” The ophthalmologist responded without a backward glance. He has commented quietly that this visit was the best service he ever rendered and the peace which came to his heart the greatest blessing of his life.

I can still remember my mother speaking softly to me one Saturday afternoon when, as a little boy, I asked her for permission to do something I thought was perfectly reasonable and which she knew was dangerous. I still am amazed at the power she was granted, I believe from the Lord, to turn me around with so few words. As I remember them, they were: “Oh, I suppose you could do that. But the choice is yours.” The only warning was in the emphasis she put on the words could and choice. Yet that was enough for me.

Her power to warn with so few words sprang from three things I knew about her. First, I knew she loved me. Second, I knew she had faced similar situations and had been blessed by making the right choice. And third, she had conveyed to me her sure testimony that the choice I had to make was so important that the Lord would tell me what to do if I asked Him. Love, example, and testimony: those were keys that day, and they have been whenever I have been blessed to hear and then heed the warning of a servant of the Lord.

I received a letter a few days ago from a young man, 19 years old, by the name of Kevin Campbell from Juniper, Idaho. And I’m not going to try to tell you where that is, but you could imagine. And Brother Kevin wrote to me and said: “It has come to my knowledge that you are becoming quite old in your years, and I wanted to write you before you passed on to the other side. How is life in your old age? I have often wondered about it, so I pose the question to you, ‘How is life?’ so that I’ll know what to expect when I get old like you are.”
I would say to Kevin Campbell, bless his heart, life is wonderful. And the only way I can describe it is that I have been blessed all of my life, and I have been blessed with challenges and opportunities and questions and problems that are part of life. But life is wonderful if we live the simple principles that we have been taught and if we live the way that we know we should live. One of those wonderful blessings we have in our old age is the blessing of having more time with our children and their children and their children, to have that opportunity to assemble and to be with them.
Just the other night we had the opportunity to attend a baptismal service in the ward meetinghouse where Rachel, a great-granddaughter, was baptized. A few nights before that, Richard, a great-grandson, had been baptized. I had the opportunity to look at them and talk to them and squeeze them and see that sparkle in their eye and of the light of the gospel that seemed to fill their heart and soul. They were so excited about the idea of being baptized to become official members of the Church. Their families had taught them true gospel principles. I remember when I said, “Richard,” as we shook hands, “give me a real missionary handshake.” And with that little eight-year-old hand he almost squeezed my fingers off. As he did it, I said, “Richard, you’ll be a great missionary, just as little Rachel will be a great member of the Church in her right.”
On that same occasion we had an opportunity to stand in the circle and to have young Peter Jr. receive the Aaronic Priesthood and to hear his father give him the blessings of the priesthood. And those of us who were older had the chance to stand in the circle and to sense the meaning of the occasion and to feel of it and to know that all present were part of our family. I would want our family to know, as it continues to grow and expand, about their fathers. I use that term in the plural as Helaman used it—the great Book of Mormon prophet Helaman—as he taught his sons about their fathers, including Nephi and Lehi, and of their following the word of God and keeping the commandments and how they left Jerusalem and went out into the wilderness, as revealed in the Book of Mormon. Helaman taught his children that their fathers had done many works and that those works were good.
So I would hope that our own children, as the generations go on, would know of their heritage, know who they are and know that they had fathers who believed, fathers who were challenged, fathers who had investigated and who had been out in the world declaring the truth—not just quoting scriptures—but feeling in their hearts and souls that what we do is true.
We’ve had an opportunity to reacquire our old house up in Oakley, Idaho, and to restore it so that our children will know of their ancestry and know that their fathers and their works were good also. I’m able to hold on to a gold watch that my father was given by the Oakley First Ward when he was the bishop, given to him in 1905, the year before I was born. We have a part, a little of the heritage, a reminder that our parents’ works were good and that they helped in the rolling forth of this wonderful work.
In the first section of the Doctrine and Covenants, the Lord declared that this is “my preface unto the book of my commandments” (D&C 1:6). The Brethren who met there at Hiram, Ohio, 18 months after the Church was organized, were to compile those revelations and to print them and have available to the people the commandments that the Prophet Joseph had received. As part of that first section, the Lord explained how He had given Joseph Smith the power, inspiration, and direction from heaven to translate the Book of Mormon and to bring the Church “forth out of obscurity and out of darkness” (D&C 1:29–30).
Just reflect in your minds today on what is happening with President Hinckley as he travels the world and goes out meeting with people. When we talk about bringing the Church out of obscurity and out of darkness, just think what he is doing out in the world with the press, the media, with people of all types. Think of how they have an opportunity to see God’s prophet and to hear him testify and to explain what has taken place. Many influential newspapers and magazines and other publications have had many favorable stories about the Church.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful if the world today would have some real understanding of just the simple Ten Commandments, which the Lord cut with His own finger into tablets? Moses came down from Mount Sinai to show the children of Israel, who were riotous, so that they wouldn’t say they didn’t understand what was said. When Moses brought down the tablets, the people would be able to read the Lord’s own statements: “Thou shalt have no other gods before me” (Ex. 20:3) and “Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image” (Ex. 20:4)—something else to worship—but they should love the Lord, love God. The Lord said that we should not take the name of God in vain, that we should honor the Sabbath day and keep it holy, that “thou shalt not kill,” and that “thou shalt not commit adultery” (Ex. 20:7–8, 13–14). Imagine what that would do in the world today and in the United States and with the political spin doctors. And “thou shalt not steal” or “bear false witness” or covet your neighbor’s oxen and farms, his wife, or anything that he has (Ex. 20:15–17).
The gospel of our Lord and Savior has been restored to the earth. God lives. He is our Father. I know. Jesus is the Christ. I have heard His voice because I have felt of that Spirit as He explains to us, “My voice is Spirit; my Spirit is truth” (D&C 88:66). I know that is true. Joseph Smith was the restorer and the one who was found and trained and was obedient and valiant in every way as the instrument of the Restoration. And today we have a living prophet upon the earth who represents us in such a glorious way throughout the world.
Brothers and sisters, live the commandments. Do what is right. Take advantage of this great opportunity in your life to live it well, to be good, to have good works, and to influence other people for good. The gospel is true. I hope that every day of my life I might be able to do some good and to encourage somebody to live a better life and to understand what has been restored to the earth, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.