Gospel Story Finder

All the young women in my ward were happily splashing in the swimming pool when a man from New York came over to the pool and asked us what we were all doing there.
As soon as he heard the word church, he let us know that he did not believe in any churches. His dad was a preacher and was the “meanest man alive.” That New Yorker was the angriest person I had ever met. I got out of the water and went off to be by myself. I knelt down and said a little prayer that I would be able to say something to Mr. New York that would be meaningful to him and would help him overcome his anger.
When I came back, it was obvious nothing had changed. Mr. New York was still talking in angry tones about how there couldn’t possibly be a God. “If there was, He wouldn’t have let my wife and daughter die,” he said. The words came to me without my even thinking: “You can be sealed to your wife and daughter in the temple,” I said.
Mr. New York stopped and asked me to repeat what I had just said. After I did, there was silence. His countenance softened and his voice became calm. He asked about the temple and how he could be sealed to his family. I was able to tell him everything I had learned about temples. I don’t know what happened to him, but my little prayer was answered in a big way!
Twila H., Arizona, USA

How would you like to switch places with your mother for a day? That’s what the young women from Manurewa and Pukekohe in New Zealand did for a role-reversal debate.
In the role reversal, the mothers argued that girls 12 years and older should be able to do as they pleased. The young women argued that there should be reasonable limits.
There were also mother-daughter duets, followed by presentations on motherhood from both the young women and their mothers.
Heather Maloney, the mayor of Franklin, New Zealand, was one of the judges for the debate. She praised the mothers and daughters for their courage in public speaking and thanked the girls for their high standards and values and for the respect they showed in honoring their mothers.

My brother Joseph had a stroke when he was a baby. He is really special. At school, he follows me, and I watch so that no one pushes him down. Then I walk him down the stairs to his classroom. The kids in his classroom help him out, too. He can’t read yet. He can count to about seven or eight. He doesn’t really know the alphabet. He needs help opening some things, so I open them. I help him a lot because I love him.

As prepared as we may be, there will still be challenging times in every marriage and every home when you simply will not know how to proceed. At those times, you need to be able to live by the Spirit. If we are worthy and prepared, those are the moments when the Holy Ghost "will show unto [us] all things what [we] should do." In the past twenty years, I have benefited from the Spirit's guidance over and over again. When my worry over a child is so great that all I can do is fall to my knees and beg for the Lord's help, more often than not I receive an answer before I even finish asking the question. On one of these occasions, the answer I clearly received was that we needed to give our son a dog! This was not the answer I wanted. I am not really a dog person, but it was a wise answer, and it made a meaningful difference at a critical time.

When I read in the Book of Mormon about how Nephi always supported his visionary father, I concluded that most youth in the Church were probably like Nephi. But when my family decided that we needed to move to the desert, I felt more like Laman and Lemuel. I didn’t want to leave my home.
Like Nephi and his brothers, I was “born of goodly parents” (1 Nephi 1:1). Both joined the Church when they were teenagers, and my mother waited for my father while he served a mission. They were active, hardworking members of the Church.
When I was in high school, the economy slowed down in our region of Concepción, Chile. Jobs dried up, and my father began having trouble finding work. Finally, he began looking for a job out of town.
His job search took him north to the city of Calama, in Chile’s mining region. He is a construction engineer, and he found a good job there. But he was alone and far away. We saw him only when he could afford the 32-hour bus ride home.
After a few years of seeing my father only two or three times a year, my mother felt that it was time to make a change. My parents concluded that the rest of our family needed to move north.
My younger brother had no problem moving. And my older sister, who was in college, set a good example for me.
“I’ll sacrifice my studies,” she said. “We need to be with our father.”
Everyone supported the decision to move except for me. I wanted to be with my father too, but I resisted making changes and personal sacrifices. I had my friends, I knew my surroundings, I enjoyed my lifestyle, and I wanted to go to college in Concepción. I did everything I could do to convince my mother that we shouldn’t go.
Finally, she said, “Son, your father is alone. He wants us with him. I wish you understood, but you’re too focused on yourself.” Then she reassured me, “We will have opportunities there.”
In my heart, I knew she was right—even though my head wasn’t convinced. I didn’t have a strong testimony at the time, but I decided to pray about whether I should go with my family. A clear answer came to me: “You need to leave this place.” I was sad, but I told my parents I would go.
Concepción is a green place with lots of trees. It receives 50 inches (127 cm) of rain per year. Antofagasta, the city near Calama we were moving to, receives only 0.1 inch (0.25 cm) per year.
The most shocking thing for me about the move was the actual trip. As we made our way north by bus, watching the transition from green to brown was agonizing. I wondered, “Where are the trees? Where are the cows in the countryside?” All I saw was dirt, rocks, and hills.
Obviously, northern Chile is a desert, so what else could I expect? I was reminded of how Laman and Lemuel felt when Lehi’s family left the land of their inheritance and headed into the wilderness.
I had a lot of fears when we arrived in Antofagasta. What would happen if I didn’t make any friends? What would happen if I couldn’t get used to the area? What would happen if my hopes for the future didn’t come true?
In the end, I shouldn’t have worried. My mother was right about the opportunities awaiting us—especially the spiritual opportunities.
Before our move, the gospel wasn’t a priority for me. The Lord was in the background. But in Antofagasta, people came into my life who helped me see the beauty of the gospel. I received help from special priesthood leaders. I made friends who remain a treasure to me. My spiritual life changed completely.
I’m grateful I listened to my mother. I’m grateful the Lord answered my prayer. I’m grateful I had the courage to move north with my family.
Here in the desert is where I made the changes that helped me become who I am today. Here is where I committed to embrace the gospel, serve a mission, marry in the temple, and dedicate my life to the Lord. Here is where I determined that I no longer wanted to be like Laman and Lemuel.
For my family and me, the wilderness turned out to be our promised land.
The author lives in Antofagasta, Chile.

A 6th generation member of the Church, I am very grateful to have been born into a family with a rich heritage of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Our greatest example of prayer, scripture study, faith and obedience was our grandmother, Emma Makaopiopio Kalama, who prayed in fluent Hawaiian, morning and night or whenever needed which was numerous. Grandma was widowed at 38 years of age, left with a family of five children. A single mom, raised in the Church, she knew that her greatest strength and resource was a loving Heavenly Father to whom she prayed fervently for guidance and direction. Grandma trusted and believed in Him, and the Lord answered her prayers. It was from Grandma Emma that I learned I must pray always, a principle which has and continues to make an eternal impact on my life.

By following her parents’ counsel, Makena, who is the oldest in the family, is also setting an example for her younger sister and brothers to follow. For instance, she has taken to heart what she has learned about personal prayer.

“I like to pray,” she says. “That’s a good thing. I like to be able to pray wherever I am, in any situation.” Prayer even works in school, she says. Once she was intimidated by a history teacher who would ask questions and assign homework if you gave the wrong answer. “I prayed she wouldn’t call on me or that I would know the answer,” says Makena. She wasn’t called on, but more importantly, she says, “I felt peace.”

We have witnessed two watershed events: September 11, 2001, the World Trade Center terrorist attack brought Christians and Muslims into confrontation. The December 27, 2004, tsunami opened opportunity for Christians and Muslims to cooperate. The first was a wake-up call; the other pushed us out of bed.

The December 2004 tsunami, which devastated the Indian Ocean region, struck Indonesia particularly hard. Two days after the tsunami, I called Brother Alwi on his cell phone. He said, “I am standing at Banda Aceh, next to President Yudhoyono. You cannot believe what we see.” I told him we would help.

They first asked for 20,000 body bags. We located them in China and had them air-freighted to Jakarta. Not long after that, they asked for 30,000 more.

Shortly thereafter, Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve, Dr. Gerrit Gong of Brigham Young University, and I traveled to Jakarta and then on to Banda Aceh which is on the north end of the island of Sumatra, vulnerable to the open ocean. We witnessed scenes words cannot describe. Over 200,000 were dead, families broken and dislocated, homes washed away. We saw one cemetery where 40,000 bodies had been buried.

The First Presidency called a special fast for funds to aid the victims of the tsunami. The money flowed in—several million dollars.

Part of our purpose in traveling to Indonesia was to review the significant Church humanitarian relief to those hardest hit. The assistance began flowing immediately, and it continues today.

“I had some difficulty in school because of sickness. As an incentive for me to try really hard in school, my dad, who was the bishop, told me that on my twelfth birthday he would take me to Salt Lake City, Utah, to attend a conference. Going to Salt Lake City seemed like going to the end of the world! I remember going to that conference and sitting up in the balcony on the north side and seeing the General Authorities and realizing that they were real people. When I look back on that and then think of going to conference now and sitting in one of those red seats, I know that I never had thought of myself in my present position. I think if we could have some idea of what the Lord has in mind for us, we would probably have a lot more confidence in ourselves as we grow up. No matter how humble your circumstances, how far away you live, or what the size of your town is, believe that the Lord has something special for you to do.”

When John Taylor was a young boy in England, he felt a strong impression that he would go to America and preach the gospel. Several years later, his family moved to Canada. He joined the Church there, and a year later he met the Prophet Joseph. John not only preached the gospel in America, but he returned to England as a missionary. He also served missions in France and in Germany, and he became well-known for his ability to defend the Church and the gospel of Jesus Christ.

I should like to tell you of an experience I had when I was called to go to New Zealand to reorganize a stake. I had never met anybody living in New Zealand, other than the president of the stake at that time. I asked for a list of the bishops and high council in that New Zealand stake, and as I read over the list I saw one name that just seemed to stand out. The name was Campbell. Each time I read the list I noticed it. Bishop Vandenberg was with me, and we interviewed all these people, after having prayed that we might be guided.
After all the interviews I said to Brother Vandenberg, “Let us call upon the Lord for direction.” We did, and as we stood up I asked, “If you had the responsibility, whom would you choose as president of this stake?”
He said, “Bill Campbell.” I had never mentioned his name to Bishop Vandenberg. This was another evidence that the Lord does direct these appointments.

As a serviceman stationed in one of the more remote areas of Vietnam, I want to thank you for the confidence, knowledge, and small touch of home your magazine brings to me and the members here in Phu Bai. Before arriving here, I was scared of the possibility of spending a year here away from family and Church, and I could imagine all types of long days ahead as a result. However, the anxiety was needless. Within a day I saw the chaplain and he referred me to other Latter-day Saints. On Sunday when we met, it was like coming home after a long trip. In the truest sense, members of the Church are one family, and I am always pleasantly surprised at the warm response given to all who seek them out. It is like an oasis in the desert. The gospel is truly a beautiful companion and guide; and here, away from all that is familiar to me, I’ve come to recognize that God is over all and that as long as we are faithful and do his will, we have a constant strength. Since I’ve come to know this, it has been much easier to forget myself and the time and to concentrate on what God would like to use me for here. Thank you for your magazine. We are all more fully aware of our responsibilities, our callings, and our obligations, especially in a place like this, because of it. Our branch is growing. We baptized two new converts last week. A group of us flew to the China Sea for the baptism, ferried by an all-Mormon helicopter crew.
SP4 Jerry D. WilliamsVietnam

A temple president recalls one situation when this challenge was handled particularly well. The bride’s parents were able to attend the ceremony, but the groom’s parents could not. During the engagement, the bride’s parents made special efforts to fellowship the groom’s parents. At the ceremony and on the temple grounds afterwards, the parents of the bride were careful to keep the guest list to a minimum, so the groom’s parents would not feel overpowered. It turned out to be a beautiful experience for all the parents, and for the bride and groom as well.

My mom first got baptized into the Church with our younger brother. My elder brother and I were in another church. Our father was a reverend in a different church. My father’s background was Muslim. Our grandfather was an Imam. My father grew up as a Christian because he was not brought up by his parents. Our mother, too, was a Christian. She wanted us to be baptized with her and our younger brother. She was trying her level best to convert us, but I told her “Mom, you be ready to be joining that church, but we are not ready to come along with you.”
One day, her inspired bishop called her for an interview and asked her if she was ready to go to the temple. She gladly accepted and told him yes; she was ready. The day came when she went to the temple. While she was there, she asked Heavenly Father to help her in the conversion of her family. That was the biggest and most important thing to her, and she asked for it with a sincere heart.
When she returned back home, something happened. She started talking to us about the Church and helped us to understand one or two things at a time. She helped us clear up misunderstandings. Slowly, a change came into our hearts. We gradually started learning about the Church. One day she invited me to sacrament meeting. I accepted and went with her.
That first day I attended was the best day of my life. The things I saw that they did, the way it was organized, the love and affection, the welcome of the bishop, the love that members showed to me, it all made me stay. The missionaries started teaching me. They only taught me for two weeks because I was very eager, very very eager to join the Church because of the things I saw. I was taught and baptized. After I was baptized, I kept going to Church and partaking of the sacrament and made sure to do that every week to renew my covenants with my Heavenly Father. I remain active and true to my covenants.
As told to Sister Stacy Wursten on 23 February 2023 at the Accra Ghana MTC.

This story took place in the USA.
“Let’s start our family council with a prayer,” Trina’s dad said.
Trina knelt beside her brothers and sisters while her brother Taylor said the prayer. Then they all sat back down.
“Mom and I want to talk about Adam,” Dad said. Trina’s brother Adam was a missionary. He left three months ago, and Trina missed him a lot.
“He’s coming home from his mission this week,” said Mom.
Trina gasped. Is he OK? she thought.
“What? How come?” asked Taylor.
“He’s been struggling with anxiety and depression,” Mom said. “That means he has a lot of worry and sadness that won’t go away. He’s going to get some help from doctors here, just like he would if he had broken his leg or gotten sick.”
Trina didn’t know what to say. She had friends whose siblings had come home early from their missions to get help from a doctor. Would Adam be OK?
“We want to do all we can to help Adam. Will you please pray to know how you can serve your brother?” asked Dad.
Trina and her siblings nodded.
“You can ask us any questions and tell us how you’re feeling anytime. We sure love you,” said Mom. Trina ran to hug her, and the rest of the family joined for a group hug.
Over the next few days, Trina thought about Adam. She prayed about what she could do for him. She thought of times when she felt worried or sad and how much her family had helped her. But anxiety and depression seemed like pretty big things.
“What can I do to help Adam?” Trina asked Mom.
“We can’t change what Adam is feeling,” Mom said. “But we can support him and show him we care.”
“We can love him!” said Trina.
Mom smiled and hugged her. “That’s the best thing we can do.”
Trina knew there were lots of ways to say “I love you,” even without saying it out loud. When her family did nice things for her or gave her a hug, she knew they loved her. Trina could do that for Adam!
Trina decided she could start showing love for Adam now. She used chalk to write a message for him on the sidewalk. She hid nice notes around the house. She helped her siblings make a sign. It said, “Welcome home, Elder Dawson! We love you!”
The next day Trina’s family went to the airport. Trina helped her siblings hold the sign they had made. When Adam walked through the gate, Trina and her family ran to hug him.
“I love you, Adam!” Trina said.
When they got home, Trina took Adam’s hand and led him to the sidewalk to see what she had written.
“‘We are so proud of you, Elder Dawson,’” read Adam. He looked up at their parents and siblings. “Thanks, everyone.” He squeezed Trina’s hand.
Adam left to put his suitcase in his room. When he came back, he was smiling. “Does anyone know who’s doing all the nice things around our house? I just found a secret note on my pillow.” He winked at Trina.
Trina grinned. She couldn’t wait to think of more ways to say “I love you”!

In my family’s pioneer history there are many accounts of noble souls who demonstrated the traits of true discipleship. My children’s great-grandfather was a valiant disciple of Jesus Christ. His family were wealthy landowners in Denmark. As the favored son, he was to inherit the land of his father. He fell in love with a beautiful young woman who was not of the same social standing as his family. He was encouraged not to pursue the relationship. He was not inclined to follow his family’s counsel, and on one of his visits to see her he discovered that all of her family had joined the Church. He refused to listen to the doctrine her family had embraced and forcefully told her that she had to choose between him and the Church. She boldly declared that she would not give up her religion.
With that forceful pronouncement, he decided he should listen to the teachings that were so important to her. Soon after, he was touched by the Spirit and he, too, became converted to the gospel. But when he informed his parents of his decision to join the Church and marry this young woman, they were angry with him and forced him to decide between his family and their wealth and the Church. He walked away from the comforts he had known all of his life, joined the Church, and married her.
Immediately, they started to prepare to leave Denmark and journey to Zion. Now without the support of his family, he had to work hard at any employment he could find to save for the journey to the new land. After a year of hard labor, he had saved enough for their passage. As soon as they were prepared to leave, their branch president came to them and said there was a family with greater need than he and his wife. He was asked to give up what he had saved so the needy family could go to Zion.
Discipleship requires sacrifice. They gave up their savings to the needy family, and then they began another year of hard labor to save to finance their journey. Eventually they arrived in Zion, but not before they had made many more sacrifices, showing true discipleship.

My wife, Martha, and I were called from our home in Canada to serve in the Denmark Copenhagen Mission. After two weeks full of excitement and learning at the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah, and a long flight from Salt Lake City, we arrived in Copenhagen on June 22, 1999. President and Sister Rasmussen, our mission president and his wife, met us at the airport and took care of us for the next two days. We were then given a car and asked to live in Aabenraa and help in the Sønderborg Branch with missionary and membership work.
The first Sunday at sacrament meeting we greeted members and introduced ourselves. Shaking hands with a middle-aged gentleman, I said, “I am Ejnar Iversen.” He replied, “I am Bent Bisgaard.” We looked at each other and could hardly believe our eyes. It was the same Bent Bisgaard who 32 years earlier had joined the Church while living with us in Canada. He said he lived in Fredericia and had been assigned to speak in our branch that day. What a wonderful reunion it was—much more than a coincidence. We felt that our Father in Heaven had sent him to welcome us.
Martha and I are very happy to have known Bent and Svend all these years. And had we not served as a missionary couple, we never would have had this wonderful reunion.

One Sunday at church I realized that my time with the Young Women program was almost over and I would soon be with the young single adults. I was sad because I knew that things would never be the same. After Sunday School, I tried to cheer up, but I just couldn’t do it. I tried to tell myself that Heavenly Father did not want me to feel sadness but rather joy (see 2 Nephi 2:25).
I was just about to cry on my friend’s shoulder in the hallway when the ward clerk came up to me and said, “Sister Danelys, here’s the mail!” He handed me a white envelope with only my name on it. I was curious to know what it was, so I asked the clerk who had sent it. As he walked away, he told me it was from the patriarch and that it was a copy of my patriarchal blessing. I did cry, but my tears were tears of joy because I knew God had seen my sadness and had provided a way for me to find joy in my sadness. My patriarchal blessing had finally arrived in writing, at the precise moment when I needed it most.
When I got home and read it, I cried again and prayed and thanked God for it and for helping me to remember how fortunate I am to be His daughter and to have the light of the everlasting gospel in my life.

Early in our married life my young family and I were laboring through graduate school at a university in New England. [My wife] Pat was the Relief Society president in our ward, and I was serving in our stake presidency. I was going to school full-time and teaching half-time. We had two small children then, with little money and lots of pressures. In fact, our life was about like yours.

One evening I came home from long hours at school, feeling the proverbial weight of the world on my shoulders. Everything seemed to be especially demanding and discouraging and dark. I wondered if the dawn would ever come. Then, as I walked into our small student apartment, there was an unusual silence in the room.

“What’s the trouble?” I asked.

“Matthew has something he wants to tell you,” Pat said.

“Matt, what do you have to tell me?” He was quietly playing with his toys in the corner of the room, trying very hard not to hear me. “Matt,” I said a little louder, “do you have something to tell me?”

He stopped playing, but for a moment didn’t look up. Then these two enormous, tear-filled brown eyes turned toward me, and with the pain only a five-year-old can know, he said, “I didn’t mind Mommy tonight, and I spoke back to her.” With that he burst into tears, and his entire little body shook with grief. A childish indiscretion had been noted, a painful confession had been offered, the growth of a five-year-old was continuing, and loving reconciliation could have been wonderfully underway.

Everything might have been just terrific—except for me. I am ashamed beyond expression to tell you how I then acted. I lost my temper. It wasn’t that I lost it with Matt—it was with a hundred and one other things on my mind; but he didn’t know that, and I wasn’t disciplined enough to admit it. He got the whole load of bricks.

I told him how disappointed I was and how much more I thought I could have expected from him. … Then I did what I had never done before in his life—I told him that he was to go straight to bed and that I would not be in to say his prayers with him or to tell him a bedtime story. Muffling his sobs, he obediently went to his bedside, where he knelt—alone—to say his prayers. Then he stained his little pillow with tears his father should have been wiping away.

If you think the silence upon my arrival was heavy, you should have felt it now. Pat did not say a word. She didn’t have to. I felt terrible!

Later, as we knelt by our own bed, my feeble prayer asking for blessings upon my family fell back on my ears with a horrible, hollow ring. I wanted to get up off my knees right then and go to Matt and ask his forgiveness, but he was long since peacefully asleep.

My relief was not so soon coming; but finally I fell asleep and began to dream, which I seldom do. I dreamed Matt and I were packing two cars for a move. For some reason his mother and baby sister were not present. As we finished I turned to him and said, “OK, Matt, you drive one car and I’ll drive the other.”

This five-year-old very obediently crawled up on the seat and tried to grasp the massive steering wheel. I walked over to the other car and started the motor. As I began to pull away, I looked to see how my son was doing. He was trying—oh, how he was trying. He tried to reach the pedals, but he couldn’t. He was also turning knobs and pushing buttons, trying to start the motor. He could scarcely be seen over the dashboard, but there staring out at me again were those same immense, tear-filled, beautiful brown eyes. As I pulled away, he cried out, “Daddy, don’t leave me. I don’t know how to do it. I am too little.” And I drove away.

A short time later in my dream, I realized in one stark, horrifying moment what I had done. I slammed my car to a stop, threw open the door, and started to run as fast as I could. I left car, keys, belongings, and all—and I ran. The pavement was so hot it burned my feet, and tears blinded my straining effort to see this child somewhere on the horizon. I kept running, praying, pleading to be forgiven and to find my boy safe and secure.

As I rounded a curve nearly ready to drop from physical and emotional exhaustion, I saw the unfamiliar car I had left Matt to drive. It was pulled carefully off to the side of the road, and he was laughing and playing nearby. An older man was with him, playing and responding to his games. Matt saw me and cried out something like, “Hi, Dad. Come over. We’re having fun.” Obviously he had already forgiven and forgotten my terrible transgression against him.

But I dreaded the older man’s gaze, which followed my every move. I tried to say “Thank you,” but his eyes were filled with sorrow and disappointment. I muttered an awkward apology, and the stranger said simply, “You should not have left him alone to do this difficult thing. It would not have been asked of you.”

With that, the dream ended, and I shot upright in bed. My pillow was now soaked with perspiration and tears. I threw off the covers and ran to the little metal camp cot that was my son’s bed. There on my knees and through my tears, I cradled him in my arms and spoke to him while he slept. I told him that every dad makes mistakes but that they don’t mean to. I told him it wasn’t his fault I had had a bad day. I told him that when boys are 5 or 15, dads sometimes forget and think they are 50. I told him that I wanted him to be a small boy for a long, long time, because all too soon he would grow up and be a man and wouldn’t be playing on the floor with his toys when I came home. I told him that I loved him and his mother and his sister more than anything in the world and that whatever challenges we had in life, we would face them together. I told him that never again would I withhold my affection or my forgiveness from him, and never, I prayed, would he withhold them from me. I told him I was honored to be his father and that I would try with all my heart to be worthy of such a great responsibility.

by Elder Greg NelsonRussia St. Petersburg Mission
It was Christmas Eve around the world, but just another frosty December night in St. Petersburg, Russia. This country celebrated no such holiday.
Our zone had just presented a Christmas program in the huge Kazanski Cathedral, where we sang Christmas songs and read from the book of Luke. It seemed as if our words and notes drifted up to the lofty ceiling and were swallowed by the darkness. But the sparse audience, mostly members and investigators, had partaken of the Spirit.
Our missionary work hadn’t been going well. People didn’t want to listen to two humble young men give them a message of redeeming love. Perhaps because of my discouragement, the Christmas celebration planned for later that evening didn’t hold much appeal for me.
My boots kicked up some new fallen snow and I shoved my bare hands deeper into my pockets. My gloves had been misplaced at a hotel a few days earlier. In this country, you don’t just walk into a store and buy gloves. You need to search.
Suddenly, Elder Redd sat down on a bench in the small park in front of the cathedral. I thought, Oh, now what? I just want to go home where it’s warmer.
Home was not the right thing to think about. It brought a flood of memories I really didn’t want to ponder right then. This was my first Christmas away, and I was feeling down. Where were all the decorations and the hustle and bustle of the holiday season? What about stockings, Christmas trees, and nativity scenes?
We hadn’t been able to get through to the international operator, so it looked as if I couldn’t make my phone call home either.
Tears welled in my eyes. I turned around so my back was to the wind. As I faced the cathedral, everything began to grow quiet. I looked at the majestic structure in front of me, bathed in pale, green light. The stars above were pin dots on a black shade, radiating calmness and peace.
“Silent night, holy night; all is calm, all is bright. …” The phrases softly entered my mind and drifted in whispers from my lips. “Sleep in heavenly peace, sleep in heavenly peace.” Elder Redd heard me and joined in a little bit louder. There was a feeling of reverence.
As we sang the second and third verses, a warm realization came to me. The joy, happiness, and peace at Christmas come from within. The material things and outward symbols of celebration bring sweet feelings, but only for a short moment.
Instantly, the thought of sharing Christmas with the other elders became appealing. It would be a gathering of friendship and love. We missionaries all needed to strengthen each other.
Christmas is what you make of it. It doesn’t matter if you’re with family and friends or halfway around the world. The real gifts at Christmastime are the fruits of the Spirit. Paul said, “The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith” (Gal. 5:22). Could one ask for anything more during the celebration of Christ’s birth?