Gospel Story Finder

During her campaign for student-body president, Sue introduced a theme, “Seek for the highest that is in you.” As high school students will do, some started making fun of the theme. But Sue persevered, using the theme for all the activities throughout the year, and the silliness died down. The principal of Mt. Si, Scott Menard, said, “There are always those who will take something positive and try to undermine it. Sue was able to overcome that just by her good-naturedness and by not taking herself too seriously or getting defensive when people would put the theme down. She kept it through every assembly. She didn’t allow the focus to wander, and it became the accepted motto for the students that year.”

I was born and raised in Marin County, California—at that time the fifth-wealthiest county in the nation. Living just north of San Francisco, I grew up literally surrounded by great mists, since on most days a heavy, dark fog rolled in off the Pacific Ocean.

My parents raised me in the Episcopal Church. I was baptized by Father Ewald, my dad’s adoptive father. My godmother was my mom’s best friend, a wonderful Jewish woman named Ann, and my godfather was my Uncle Gene, who became an Episcopal priest. From age nine to twelve I served as an altar boy.

However, I stopped attending church at age twelve and spent my youth playing sports. I cared nothing for books or schooling, only for baseball, basketball, tennis—and girls. I lived the superficial and worldly life typical of teens in that time and place.

My dad was a police officer and my mom an office manager, so we had only moderate means. But I spent my youth surrounded by spacious designer homes, expensive cars, exclusive tennis clubs, and well-dressed wealthy people living the so-called good life of parties, vacations, and the partaking of substances that brought ephemeral pleasures. I aspired to have all this. My goals were to play professional tennis and teach at a fancy tennis club. In other words, I wanted to live in the great and spacious building.

Meanwhile, one of my mother’s coworkers, Mrs. LoDonna Leininger, shared a copy of the Book of Mormon with Mom. Mom did not read the book but put it on the top shelf of her bookcase in the living room.

One day, at the end of November 1977, when I was nearly nineteen and was a freshman at the local junior college, I was at home relaxing and watching TV. Then I had what was—for me—a most unusual thought: since I was now a college student, I should perhaps try to become an “educated person” and actually read a book not assigned by a teacher. I went over to Mom’s bookcase. My eyes were drawn to a blue paperback book in the left-hand corner of the top shelf. I had a strong feeling that I should read that book.

So I reached up and took the Book of Mormon down and began to read. From the first verse I experienced a strange, powerful, and wonderful feeling, kind of like shivers up and down my spine. I thought a window must be open, so I checked the windows for a draft. After about twenty minutes of reading, I had to leave for work.

When I got home that night, I had that same strong feeling to read the Book of Mormon. So I brought it up to my room, sat at my desk, and read. I read through the night until about six in the morning, repeatedly experiencing this strange, strong feeling. The next day I read for a few more hours.

That evening when I came home from work, I was very tired and looking forward to sleep. But again I had the strong feeling that I should read the Book of Mormon. So I sat at my desk and again read through the night. I had many questions: Could these things really be true? Could God really exist? I came to 3 Nephi 11 and was deeply impressed with all that Jesus said and did.

At about 5 a.m. I was out of energy, sore all over, and nodding off to sleep. At about twenty pages from the end of the book, I decided that I would get some sleep and finish the book later. Then I had an overwhelming feeling and a very clear thought to finish the book now.

At the same time, I felt renewed energy, and the soreness disappeared. So I stayed in the chair and continued reading. I came to some verses that Mrs. Leininger had marked. She had underlined the verses in red pen, highlighted them with a yellow highlighter, and written in the margin in all caps, “Very important verses. Read these carefully!”

So I carefully read these marked verses—yes, they were Moroni 10:3–5—that included the invitation “And when ye shall receive these things, I would exhort you that ye would ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, if these things are not true.”6 I had never prayed from my heart before, although as a kid in church I had knelt and recited written prayers from the Episcopal Book of Common Prayer. So I knelt at the side of my bed and, with faith in the Jesus Christ I had read about in the Book of Mormon, I asked God to forgive my sins and asked if the Book of Mormon was true.

It is not possible for me to adequately express what then happened, but I will try. I felt the same type of wonderful spiritual feelings I had felt since I first began reading the Book of Mormon but at an incredibly intensified level of power and depth. It was as if a river of pure water rushed through me, washing away all my sins. It was also like a ­raging fire purged away my old self. I felt completely clean and like an entirely new person.

Not only was there great power, but the depth of love I felt surpasses my ability to express it. I felt that although I did not know God, God knew me perfectly. And although God knew me ­perfectly—with all my sinfulness, pride, vanity, and selfishness—He still loved me perfectly. Likewise, the sure knowledge that the Book of Mormon was the word of God was seared into my soul.

I was changed in a profound way. I no longer wanted to be what I was and do what I was doing. I wanted only to do what God wanted me to do. I wanted only to love and serve others and tell them about Jesus Christ and the Book of Mormon. In my mind’s eye I saw glimpses of myself teaching various people and groups about Jesus Christ and the Book of Mormon. I somehow knew that this would be my future.

I climbed into bed but felt more wide awake and filled with enthusiasm than I ever had in my life. As I lay in my bed thinking about what had just happened, I heard Mom downstairs getting ready for work. I went down and told her I had read the Book of Mormon that her coworker Mrs. Leininger had given her. I asked if she would ask Mrs. Leininger to call me and answer some questions that I had about the book.

Mrs. Leininger called that evening, and we spoke for about three hours. She invited me to come to a “special church meeting” the next day, and I accepted.

When I hear someone say they can’t serve because they don’t feel well, I remember a stake I once visited in Mexico. The stake president spoke about a lesson he learned from his wife. He said that a week before the conference, he had scheduled some home teaching visits but came home from work and didn’t feel well. He told his wife that he guessed he wouldn’t go home teaching because he was sick. Her reply to him was, “Go sick!” And he went.

I was born in Cambodia, where most people are Buddhists. After the Khmer Rouge regime killed so many people, many of the survivors didn’t understand why, if there was a God, He would let this happen to our people. At 14 years old, I wondered the same thing.
After the regime ended, several religions began taking hold in Cambodia. I was confused because the churches taught so many different things. My family remained Buddhists, but I wanted answers to the questions of my soul: where did we come from, why are we here, and where are we going after this life?
One day as I returned from school, my aunt told me that two young men wearing white shirts and ties had come to her home talking about Jesus Christ. She was surprised because they spoke good Cambodian. I wanted to learn about Christ. I wanted to know who created us. I wondered, “Who is God? Is it Buddha, Jesus Christ, or some other god?”
My aunt and I accepted the missionaries. During the first discussion, we felt the Spirit telling us that what they said was true. They gave us a Book of Mormon and promised that if we read it, pondered it, and asked God with a sincere heart, having faith in Him, He would manifest the truth unto us. It made a lot of sense to me. I accepted the gospel, along with my aunt and her children. About a month later, we were all baptized and confirmed.

Challenges abounded in the mission, but so did treasured moments of spiritual refreshment and affirmation. For example, I was deeply moved as I attended church meetings in Vyborg on the first Sunday of my mission. Since 1963 I had visited Russia fairly frequently. In my heart I had felt that the restored gospel would be shared with this deserving people whom I had come to love dearly, but in my mind I could not imagine how our Church could ever be established with that country’s government and ruling party so opposed to religion.

On that day early in July 1990, I walked into a small music school and was greeted by two legendary missionaries and by nearly two dozen recently baptized members of the Church.

Before my sacrament meeting talk, six little girls, from about three to nine years of age, sang in Russian “I Am a Child of God.” The singing was angelic, as were, especially, their radiant, broadly smiling faces. As I watched and listened in awe, my heart filled with “hosannahs” for the blessing of this long-awaited day.

In a recent ward conference, our stake president advised us to choose one area of doctrine that we wanted to gain a testimony of and to fast and pray about it. I chose to pray for a testimony of Joseph Smith as a true prophet of God.
I kept praying and waiting for an answer, but nothing came. I grew impatient. I was sincere in my desire, so why wouldn’t an answer come?
After several weeks, my seminary teacher approached me with an assignment. All the institute and seminary classes in our area were to give monthly lessons on Joseph Smith. My seminary teacher asked me to be the one to give a different lesson each month on “A Day in the Life of Joseph Smith.”
I didn’t really want this extra responsibility, but I accepted the assignment. As I began to read the material on the Prophet Joseph Smith, I realized that this assignment was the answer to my prayers. This opportunity helped me to really learn who the Prophet was and what he had done for the Church.
Also, the personal testimonies I read from people who had known Joseph Smith strengthened my own testimony of his divine calling. Because of this experience, I am so thankful for the Prophet Joseph Smith, and I am gaining a stronger testimony every day.

In late 1979, Agbortabot Ako Moses of Mamfe was first introduced to the Church by a friend. Intrigued by what he heard, Ako wrote to the International Mission asking for additional information and to request the establishment of the Church in Cameroon.
“The letter was received by them,” Ako wrote later, “and a favorable response sent to me.” Included in the letter were the addresses of the mission presidents in Ghana and Nigeria and a promise that he would soon receive a copy of the Book of Mormon. When the book did not arrive, Ako wrote again, asking if another copy might be sent. “I think it has got lost on transit,” he wrote. “I have been expecting this noble book with much anxiety.” Shortly after, a copy arrived. “I am studying it very carefully and prayerfully,” he wrote. “I enjoy reading it much.”
Over the next 12 years, Ako wrote frequent letters to an ever-increasing circle of Church contacts outside Cameroon. Occasionally, he made long journeys to meet Church leaders on the border of Nigeria and Cameroon.
Finally, in September 1991, Paul D. and Arlene Payne, senior missionaries in the Nigeria Lagos Mission, arrived in Yaoundé. On September 28, Ako received a phone call from the Paynes inviting him to attend a meeting there, nearly 800 kilometers (500 miles) away. “There, we had the first meeting and were appointed to posts of responsibility in the Church,” he recalled. Although he still had not been baptized, Ako gladly accepted the assignments and, to assist the missionaries in establishing themselves in Cameroon, frequently made the nearly 12-hour journey between Mamfe and Yaoundé, changing vehicles 16 times each way. On May 8, 1992, Ako was among the first local converts to be baptized.

I breathed a sigh of relief as we walked down the street to our last appointment. I was tired, and my feet were swollen and sore. It had been a particularly long day of proselyting in the sweltering heat of Bangkok, Thailand. Two days earlier, my bike had been stolen. I was trying not to be frustrated, but two days of walking had taken its toll. I took comfort in the fact that we were heading to an appointment with a newly baptized member—Kee. What a joy it had been to witness her conversion and growth in the gospel over the past two months.
The neighborhood where Kee lived was, without a doubt, the saddest place I had ever seen. The houses were makeshift shacks constructed of wood, tin siding, and cardboard built on stilts above four feet of sewer water and floating trash. Children with no shoes ran around on wooden planks suspended above the sewer. Men lay passed out in a drunken sleep while teenage boys sold drugs on the street corners. I had cried the first few times I had come to this neighborhood, being overcome by the sorrow, poverty, and awful stench. But out of this neighborhood had come two of our favorite investigators, the kind of people missionaries dream of finding.
Kee greeted us as we entered the gate leading to the group of houses we often visited. She immediately asked, “Sister, where is your bike?” We told her how my bike—a beautiful red bike with all the newest parts and gears—had been stolen. She and the neighbors listening nearby became greatly concerned over our loss and current situation. They asked, “How are you supposed to do your work? How are you going to visit all the people you need to visit?” These, of course, were our concerns also, but we told them not to worry.
After visiting with Kee, we headed home. That night we prayed, asking Heavenly Father for help, that things would work out, and that we would be able to do all we needed to do.
The next day we found ourselves heading back to Kee’s neighborhood. As we approached the gate, we noticed all the neighbors sitting out front whispering to each other. Their secret could not be held in any longer as they revealed that one of them had found an old bicycle. They had all pitched in to get it fixed up. Their smiles stretched ear to ear as they proudly presented their gift—a purple bike, scratched and dented, rusty with age. On the crossbar was a big fluorescent sticker which read “Super Bike.” The tires and gears had been lovingly washed and polished. Kee quickly wiped away the remaining smudge marks with the bottom of her shirt. Tears welled in my eyes and spilled down my cheeks as I beheld this little purple bike, given out of sacrifice and love.
I realized that these people, who had but few worldly possessions, had taught the sister missionaries a lesson about love, the pure love exemplified by our Savior. In the eyes of the world, my Super Bike was a sad-looking, beat-up, rusty bicycle. But in my eyes and, I believe, in the eyes of our Father in Heaven, it was the most beautiful bike in the world, a priceless gift from the heart.

I learned from this experience that when God speaks through the Holy Ghost, He speaks plainly and simply. As President Nelson taught, “Messages from our Heavenly Father are strikingly different. He communicates simply, quietly, and with such stunning plainness that we cannot misunderstand Him.[9]” Such a plain and simple message came to me in another quiet moment when the Lord once again wanted to guide our family to a different place in His vineyard. While living in what we called our dream home in Provo, Utah, and serving as the bishop of our ward, the whisperings of the Spirit came to me early one morning while I was exercising and listening to the scriptures. In this setting, the Spirit whispered to my mind, simply and plainly, “Apply for the State Superintendent position.” Once again, that whisper came in the form of words being placed in my mind and accompanied by a feeling of enlightenment and even clarity in my heart. I was dumbfounded. I was living my dream as a high school principal and member of the Board of Trustees for Utah Valley University. I was also teaching graduate-level courses in Educational Leadership at the University of Utah. I had no intentions to apply for such a position. So, I thought I would confirm this revelation by talking to my sweet wife. If she thought this was a good idea, I would do it. So that evening, while we were preparing dinner, I casually asked her, “What would you think if I applied for the State Superintendent position?” I was surprised when without hesitation, my wife said, “You should do it.” Once again, I was dumbfounded. I had already moved my family a lot as a result of my career in educational leadership, and I thought we were finally settled. When I brought this up, she simply said, “You always talk about how you would fix the system if you were in charge, so why not apply? Shoot for the moon, you have nothing to lose.” So with that counsel, I pursued this position.

It may surprise you that I did not get the position, even though I felt prompted to apply. Through a very rigorous process, I became one of two finalists for this position, but ultimately, I was not selected. I believed that everything I learned from the rigors of the many interviews and meetings I participated in was the reason for the prompting I had to apply for this position. That journey was a growing experience for me and had that been the end of the journey, I would have profited much from this prompting from God. Little did I know that the Lord was preparing me to apply for the position that I now hold as the Head of School for the Kamehameha Schools Kap?lama. That opportunity came as a surprise to me, as I was not intending to apply for this position either. You see, earlier in this same year, a family member and a friend separately told me about the opening at Kamehameha. I replied to them both that I was not interested because I was enjoying a lot of success in my current career in the state of Utah, and I had no plans of leaving. However, a few months later, after I had just concluded this rigorous process of interviewing for the Utah State Superintendent Position, the search firm representing the Kamehameha Schools contacted me. They strongly encouraged me to apply for this position and expressed great interest in seeing my application. I told them, “Look, I just applied for the Superintendent Position for the state of Utah. I have all of these application materials on hand. If you’ll accept them as a part of my application, then I’ll submit my name. If not, I’m not interested in going through all of these hoops again after just completing this other search.” To my surprise, but not to the Lord, they said yes, and the rest is history.

Your challenge may be as ordinary as one I had not long ago. I had bought a new high-speed modem for my computer, but when I hooked everything up according to the directions, it did not work. I went through the troubleshooting instructions, reconnected everything, and called the help desk of the manufacturer, but still it didn’t work. The equipment was even tested at the store where I bought it, and they couldn’t find anything wrong. So I took it back home. But this time I remembered to pray. That was the only thing I did that was different. This time the equipment worked, and it still works.

Our ward’s young women recently visited our local Family History Center. Our goal is to learn to gather family names to take to the temple. We went with our family group sheets and pedigree charts in tow. The staff was so helpful and answered all our questions. The young women learned to use the PAF program and look for ancestors on the FamilySearch site. They are all very excited about connecting with their ancestors and learning more about their families. While still at the Family History Center, the girls were planning the next time they would get together to help each other do research.
Stacie V., Utah

Valian Fowler, a priest from the Rio Grande Ward, sums up his experiences from the encampment in these words: “I honestly can’t think of a campout when I felt the Spirit stronger. My father is a nonmember, and he came on the encampment with us. It was a great bonding time for us. He was in charge of the service project and spent most of his days at the encampment painting fences and cutting down trees and putting them in the gullies to help prevent erosion. We did many challenging and fun activities, but I can’t think of a time when all of us were smiling bigger and felt the Spirit stronger than when we were doing the service project. It was very challenging. We were all covered in sweat and rain, but I knew that we were doing the right thing. I could feel it in my heart. I finally know what they meant when they said ‘there is no greater happiness than when you’re serving others.’ I loved it.”

I had planned my entire life to serve a full-time mission. But when I went to college at Brigham Young University (Utah, USA), I started to get nervous. How could I know whether I was really supposed to serve a mission? I spent the year before my 21st birthday begging Heavenly Father to tell me if I should serve. Then one of my religion professors said something that changed my life: “The Lord can’t drive a parked car.” I decided to act.
I turned in my papers, received my call, bought missionary clothing, and drove home from Utah to North Carolina—all while preparing for my mission with earnest prayer, study, and fasting.
After I went home to North Carolina, a young man I had met at school flew out to visit me, and we talked seriously about our relationship.
My prayers became earnest and pleading again, but I continued to feel that the Lord trusted me to make my own decision. I felt the weight of responsibility but also the sweet assurance that as long as I chose in faith, the Lord would support my decision.
Ten days before I was to leave, my friend proposed. I postponed my mission to give myself time to think. When I decided to get engaged, the Spirit confirmed to my fiancé and me that it was right.
Although I didn’t serve a full-time mission, preparing for one changed my life. Drawing close to the Lord helped me become the person He needed me to be for my mission as a wife and mother.
Cassie Randall

William eased onto the floor and carefully laid his gun at his side. “Good-night, Brother Joseph.”
“Sleep well,” the Prophet replied.
William doubted he’d be able to sleep at all. Even when he did rest here on the Smiths’ floor, he often slept fitfully, awakening in starts to watch and listen.
Lying on his back, he stared at the dark ceiling and strained to hear anything suspicious outside—footsteps approaching, horse hooves plodding closer, muffled voices. But the only sounds were chirping crickets and water lapping against the nearby riverbank. William only wished life in Nauvoo could be as peaceful as it seemed tonight.
Lately persecution against the Saints, especially Joseph Smith, had become so great that William now slept in the Nauvoo House as the Prophet’s bodyguard. He lay with his feet braced against the bedroom door, which swung inward. That way an intruder would have to awaken William before being able to reach Joseph.
Eventually William’s eyes drooped closed and he fell into an uneasy sleep, but not for long.
“William, are you awake?” Joseph whispered.
William’s eyes flew open to see the Prophet crouched next to him. He reached for his weapon, but Joseph placed a calming hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you go home and get some rest in your own bed tonight?”
William blinked in disbelief. “Will you be safe?”
Joseph smiled. “I should think so. The Lord has revealed to me that little children have been praying for my welfare, and He will honor their faith by protecting me. Your guard service will not be needed tonight.”
As William walked down the quiet Nauvoo streets toward home, he glanced up at the stars and grinned. He was grateful to know that he was not the only one helping to protect the Prophet.

“How are we going to make it to church today?” Ellie’s little sister, Peppa, asked. “There’s so much rain!”
“Don’t worry,” Ellie said. “We’re brave!”
Ellie helped Peppa button her coat. Then she pulled on her own rain boots.
Ellie and Peppa walked outside with Mami and Papi. It was raining harder than ever. The wind turned their umbrella inside out. Ellie didn’t feel quite so brave anymore.
“What should we do?” Ellie asked. It was too stormy to walk to the bus.
“We’ll take a taxi instead,” Papi said.
“Good idea,” Mami said. “Let’s go!”
They walked down the flooded street. No taxis or cars drove past them. Even the panadería (bakery) was closed.
Finally they saw the area where taxis parked to pick people up. But the first taxi space was empty.
“Oh no!” Peppa said.
“Está bien. It’s OK,” said Ellie. “There could be one. We just can’t see it yet.”
They walked closer. The next parking space was empty too.
“Now what?” asked Peppa.
“I know,” said Ellie. “Let’s pray.”
The girls whispered a prayer. “Nuestro Padre Celestial, please help us find just one taxi so that we can make it to church today. We’re trying to choose the right, and this rain is making it hard. En el nombre de Jesucristo, amén.” Ellie was still learning Spanish, so she mixed English and Spanish together.
They walked a little more. The next parking spot was empty too.
“Maybe we should turn around and go home,” Papi shouted over the wind.
“Our feet are soaked!” said Mami.
“Let’s just go a little bit farther,” said Ellie. “We just need one taxi.”
Now they could see the last parking spot.
There, with its green light on, was a taxi!
Ellie and Peppa hopped in the taxi. Mami helped them smooth down their hair. “We’re sorry to get your seats wet,” Papi told the driver.
They arrived at the chapel and greeted their friends with besos and abrazos (kisses and hugs).
“I can’t believe we found a taxi,” Mami said. “¡Que suerte!”
“It wasn’t luck,” Ellie said. “Peppa and I prayed that Heavenly Father would help us get to church. And He listened!”

President Thomas S. Monson shared this example of President Smith’s love: “On a cold winter morning, the street cleaning crew [in Salt Lake City] was removing large chunks of ice from the street gutters. The regular crew was assisted by temporary laborers who desperately needed the work. One such wore only a lightweight sweater and was suffering from the cold. A slender man with a well-groomed beard stopped by the crew and asked the worker, ‘You need more than that sweater on a morning like this. Where is your coat?’ The man replied that he had no coat to wear. The visitor then removed his own overcoat, handed it to the man and said, ‘This coat is yours. It is heavy wool and will keep you warm. I just work across the street.’ The street was South Temple. The good Samaritan who walked into the Church Administration Building to his daily work and without his coat was President George Albert Smith of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. His selfless act of generosity revealed his tender heart. Surely he was his brother’s keeper.”21

“It started with a feeling that the Liahona could do more to reach the increasingly diverse membership of the Church,” said Val Johnson, managing editor of the Liahona. “We knew we could do a better job of meeting the needs of the worldwide Church.”

“We know readers love the current Liahona,” said Jenifer Greenwood, assistant managing editor of the Liahona. “We’re hoping to take what is good and add to it.”

While teaching his son about the original Liahona, Alma stated that “the Lord prepared it” (Alma 37:38). Members of the team that helped build the new magazine wanted to be able to say the same thing.
“Coming up with the innovations and new design has been a revelatory process,” said Sister Greenwood. “We have seen the Lord’s hand in it all along the way.”

The project began in July 2008 after Elder Jay E. Jensen, then Executive Director of the Curriculum Department and editor of Church magazines, approved the creation of a team to create a prototype for a new Liahona that would better meet the needs of its diverse readership.
Six months of brainstorming, writing, designing, and testing produced a proposal that was approved by the First Presidency and the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles in January 2009.
“It was an intense experience,” said Adam Olson, an assistant managing editor at the Liahona, “because at the same time we had to carry on with the work required to produce the magazines each month. There was no way we could do both without looking to the Lord for help.”
With the Liahona normally planned one year in advance, the newly approved changes were implemented immediately in order to unveil the changes with the January 2010 issue.
“We can testify of those moments when we had a ‘stupor of thought’ (D&C 9:9) and then those flashes of insight that definitely didn’t come from us,” Brother Johnson said. “The Lord really helped us.”

After school I’d go to my dad’s bakery, stand on a can next to him, and learn about running a bakery. When I’d leave to go play with my friends, one of my Primary teachers would step out from where she worked as a dishwasher, take hold of my hand, and say, “Are you being a good boy?” It didn’t matter what I had on my mind, whether it was good or not. I would say, “Yes.” If I had been planning mischief, my plans would change. I knew that she loved me.

Here is one instance from an official account.1 During fighting in Somalia in October of 1993, two United States Army Rangers in a helicopter during the firefight learned that two other helicopters near them had fallen to the earth. The two rangers, in their relative safety aloft, learned by radio that no ground forces were available to rescue one of the downed aircrews. Growing numbers of the enemy were closing in on the crash site.

The two men watching from above volunteered to go down to the ground (the words they used on the radio were to “be inserted”) to protect their critically wounded comrades. Their request was denied because the situation was so dangerous. They asked a second time. Permission was again denied. Only after their third request were they put down on the ground.

Armed only with their personal weapons, they fought their way to the crashed helicopter and the injured fliers. They moved through intense small arms fire as enemies converged on the crash site. They pulled the wounded from the wreckage. They put themselves in a perimeter around the wounded, placing themselves in the most dangerous positions. They protected their comrades until their ammunition was depleted and they were fatally wounded. Their bravery and their sacrifice saved the life of a pilot who would have been lost.

They were each awarded posthumously the Medal of Honor, their nation’s highest recognition for bravery in the face of an armed enemy. The citation reads that what they did was “above and beyond the call of duty.”

But I wonder if they saw it that way as they moved to the downed airmen. Out of loyalty they felt a duty to stand by their fellow soldiers, whatever the cost. The courage to act and their selfless service came from feeling that they were responsible for the lives, the happiness, and the safety of comrades.

The closer Christmas got, the heavier my heart became. In November, neither my husband nor I had regular work. I paid for rent, electricity, and the telephone out of my decreased earnings, and my husband paid the car payment from his diminished wages. The remaining money was barely enough to get us by. December brought more work and a return to normal, but we wouldn’t be paid until January. Under these circumstances, even a holiday dinner was out of the question.
“Everything will be all right,” I told myself. That summer my husband had picked a lot of raspberries, and we had made jam. We would have pancakes and jam and would make our own gifts. But when our three daughters (ages 6, 8, and 14) began happily decorating with garlands they had made, all the while talking about what their parents might give them for Christmas, I was sick at heart.
One evening my visiting teachers came by for an unexpected visit. I have no brothers and sisters of my own, so the Relief Society sisters in my branch—particularly my visiting teachers—have truly become my sisters. That night they shared an interesting lesson, then began to visit about the upcoming holiday. I assured them that everything was fine but said that it would be a rather “poor” Christmas for us. They assured me that they would be praying for our family.
One day when my husband came to pick me up from work, he said that everyone at home was impatiently awaiting my arrival. A sister from our branch had dropped off some boxes. When we opened them, they contained all the delicacies of the season: fruit, cookies, candy, other groceries, decorations, and lovingly wrapped gifts. My eyes filled with tears of gratitude. And that wasn’t the end. The family of one of my visiting teachers surprised us on Christmas morning with a box of gifts.
In the end our “poor” Christmas was a particularly joyful one. Our home was filled with not only the spirit of Christmas but also the warmth and love of my visiting teachers and other members of our branch. I came to understand that the Lord truly does meet our needs most often through other people—particularly those He has assigned and inspired to watch over and care for us.