Gospel Story Finder

Several months ago I attended a conference in a stake that had compiled an impressive statistical record. By all observable standards, this was a stake composed of devoted, faithful Latter-day Saints. As I met with the stake president in our first interview, I was not surprised that he was anxious to review with me the excellent statistical record that his people were making. The reports had been arranged on his desk to facilitate this review. Before looking at them, I asked the president, “Tell me, how do you feel about your people? Generally speaking, in their spiritual qualities, are they standing on higher ground this year than they were a year ago?” I wanted to assess the president’s personal discernment regarding the spiritual strength of his members. He immediately seized this opportunity to direct my attention to the reports. Sensing that he had misunderstood the intent of my question, I explained, “I will be pleased to review the reports with you, but before we do, would you tell me how you feel about your people?”

My insistence on his making this kind of assessment apart from the information in the reports was both frustrating and perplexing to the president. I was sensitive to his frustration, and without further discussion we went through the statistical information. It indicated considerable progress in many areas that are amenable to a quantitative evaluation. I believe the reports were significant indicators of the spiritual quality of the people. However, I had failed to draw from the president the kind of discerning evaluation I had solicited. At the same time, I sensed that he was a little perplexed and somewhat pensive at the conclusion of our interview. His pensiveness continued throughout the meetings of the afternoon and evening and caused me some concern.

On the following day, as the president delivered his address in the general session of the conference, he surprised me by telling the members about his experience with me the previous day. He acknowledged his frustration over my apparent reluctance to go into an immediate review of his correlated reports, and this frustration had remained with him into the night. As he was pondering these things, there came into his mind an experience he had had during the week prior to the conference.

He had visited a member of the stake who was in a hospital recuperating from surgery. During this visit a nurse had entered the room, making her regular calls on the patients. She had gone to some charts that were hanging at the foot of the patient’s bed, carefully perused the notations, and then added some of her own. She had then stepped to the side of the patient, felt her pulse, placed a hand on her forehead, asked some questions, and received some responses. The president said, “It occurred to me that the nurse was attempting to assess some of the patient’s vital signs—some that were not reflected in the notations on the charts.”

The president said that it was then in his reflections that the purpose of my questioning the day before had registered with him. “I realized,” he said, “that Elder Larsen was asking me to assess your spiritual vital signs in ways that the reports may not have revealed.”

He then continued, “Today I am going to talk with you about those spiritual vital signs—those that go beyond the information on the charts.” He proceeded to give one of the finest talks I have heard a stake president give. Interestingly, he made no reference in his remarks to the statistical reports.

After Parley P. Pratt was ordained an Apostle, Oliver Cowdery, one of those appointed to help select the Apostles, gave a specific charge to Parley, saying that he would “have the same difficulties to encounter in fulfilling this ministry, that the ancient Apostles had.” He said that Parley would face “strong dungeons and gloomy prisons,” but such circumstances should not daunt him, because the trials would enable him “to receive the glory” the Lord had in store for him.7
Parley’s life followed that pattern. He at times faced crushing poverty. He experienced ridicule as he preached the gospel. He was imprisoned in 1838 and 1839 on charges stemming from difficulties that Church members faced in Missouri. Yet Parley also experienced the blessings Oliver had promised. Not long after his release from prison, he wrote, “We are well, and greatly prospered in the Lord, after all our tribulation.”8

The next morning at breakfast, Uncle Hank wiped his plate clean with a piece of toast and said, “You two boys come down to the barn when you’ve finished eating, and I’ll show you how to saddle old Bill. He’s not much of a looker, but he’ll take you where you want to go. He’s the best horse I’ve ever had.”
Bill was an old, shaggy-looking, blue-gray gelding with black-stocking feet. He looked about as exciting to ride as a rail fence, but when we walked up, he clopped over to us. Kipp held out his hand and stroked Bill’s soft muzzle.
Uncle Hank saddled Bill, carefully explaining what he was doing. Then he stripped off the saddle and blanket and made us do it while he watched. He had us each saddle Bill three times to make sure that we knew what we were doing. Then he pushed his hat back and said, “I’d like you boys to do me a favor. See the fence that runs east toward that far hill and then cuts back toward that clump of trees and brush?”
Kipp and I looked where he was pointing.
“I’d like you to ride along that fence and see if there are any breaks. Sometimes kids bring their four-wheelers and dirt bikes out this way. Occasionally they push through the fence. Sometimes they even cut the wires. If I don’t get the fence mended, I have cows all over the place. Do you two think you can handle that?”
“Sure, we can handle it,” I answered for both of us.
It was strange how Kipp and I forgot about Christmas once we got on old Bill. We felt pleased that Uncle Hank had enough confidence in us to send us out on this kind of assignment.
Most of the fence was in good shape. We made note of a few places where the wires sagged or the fence posts had been pushed over at an angle. Just before noon we were heading back toward the ranch house, having made a complete, eight-mile loop around the ranch.
The house was still more than a half-mile away when Kipp called out, “Look at that!” He pointed to a section of the fence where all five strands of wire had been cut. There were four-wheeler tire marks crisscrossing the ground. We were so intent on the hole in the fence that we didn’t pay attention to where old Bill was stepping until he flinched and started dancing strangely.
“Whoa, Bill,” Kipp called out, tugging on the reins. “What’s the matter?”
Bill whinnied. His head came up and I could feel his body grow tense as he stepped stiffly. Looking down, I discovered the danger. “Kipp,” I called out, panic in my voice, “Bill’s stepped into a bunch of barbed wire.”
Whoever had cut through the fence had tossed the cut strands into the grass. Bill had walked into them, and they tangled around his legs. The more he moved, the more the sharp barbs bit into his flesh; and the more Bill felt the prick of the barbs, the more panicked he became.
“Jacob, I can’t hold him. What if he starts to buck?”
I closed my eyes and prayed with all my might. Even before I opened my eyes, someone spoke in a calm, gentle voice. “Easy, boy. Stop your dancing, old feller.”
I felt Bill relax and saw a short, dark, wrinkled man with white hair streaked with black. He took Bill’s bridle and stroked his neck. He spoke softly in what I guessed was Spanish. While he stroked Bill with one hand, he reached into a leather pouch on his belt, pulled out some wire cutters, and began to snip at the wire tangled about the horse’s legs. Soon the old man led Bill, Kipp, and me from danger.
“Where’d you come from, Mister?” I rasped as Kipp and I slid off our mount.
He didn’t answer my question. “You are riding Hank’s best horse. How come you are riding old Bill?”
“Hank’s our uncle,” Kipp explained.
The old man nodded, gathered up the loose wire, and disappeared into the mesquite.
“Let’s follow him,” Kipp suggested after we’d seen for ourselves that there was no more wire around to cause trouble. Cautiously we led Bill through the mesquite toward a little grove of trees. We found a little board hut hunkered down under two big trees. It wasn’t much bigger than our bedroom back home. There was a small garden to one side. We knocked on the door and heard someone shuffle around inside; then the door squeaked open. There stood the short, wrinkled man, staring at us.
“We just wanted to thank you for helping us with old Bill,” I got out.
“Yeah, thanks,” Kipp joined in.
“Bill’s a good horse,” the man responded. “I saw you riding and knew the wires were down. I was afraid you’d walk into them before I could fix the fence.” He gestured toward the inside of his house. “It is time to eat. You eat too.”
It wasn’t an invitation. It was an order. Kipp and I tied Bill to a post and went inside. The old man had a stack of corn tortillas and a pot of refried beans on a rough wooden table. I’d never eaten tortillas and beans before, but they were good. He also had a special salsa that he’d made from his own garden.
At first we just ate, no one saying much of anything. Then the old man started to talk. He had a crinkly little grin and smiling eyes under his bushy gray brows. His name was Carlos Sanchez, and he’d worked since he was a boy on Uncle Hank’s ranch. Uncle Hank’s dad had owned the place back then.
Carlos didn’t have any family, and Uncle Hank had given him this place. Although he couldn’t work much anymore, occasionally he’d wander over to the ranch and do odd jobs.
It was the middle of the afternoon before Kipp and I returned to the ranch house. Aunt Clara had been worrying about us, but as soon as we told her about finding Carlos, she smiled. “He is a good man.”

My husband and I raised our children in the gospel. We had family scripture study every morning, family prayer, and weekly family home evening. We attended church, ate dinner together, and went on family vacations. Our children regularly attended the temple to perform baptisms for the dead, they graduated from seminary, and two of them served missions.
And then as adults, they started exploring paths and ideas that were different from the things we had taught them. One by one, our children stopped participating in the Church until only one of our five children still chose to attend. We shed many tears over our children and wondered if we had failed as parents or if there was something we could have done differently.
For a long time, we pled with the Lord to change their hearts, and finally the Lord answered our prayers. But not in the way we expected.
Instead of simply changing our children’s hearts, He showed us that we needed to start by changing our own hearts. While parents play an important role in teaching their children, He reminded us that Jesus Christ is their Savior and Judge.
In my determination to save my children, I had spent many hours praying, reading my scriptures, and going to the temple, thinking that if I did all of the right things, I would qualify for God’s intervention—as if somehow my actions would lead God to override their agency and force them to believe as I do.
My husband and I wanted so badly to save them, but our version of saving looked more like lecturing, nagging, or showing disapproval of their choices, which ultimately led to contention. We realized that in our desperation to bring our children back, we were actually driving them away. The more they felt our judgment and disappointment, the more they avoided us.
My prayers changed to a plea for my own heart to be changed. I realized that my reasons for wanting my children to change came from the wrong place. I prayed for more love. I also prayed to overcome my feelings of shame and embarrassment that my family didn’t look anything like the perfect families my friends displayed on social media with photos from their children’s temple marriages or grandchildren’s baptisms.
As I turned to the Savior for healing, my heart began to soften toward my children. I realized that to love them as He loves them meant making some changes. To Him, love wasn’t a method—it was the motivation that drove everything He did. He said He didn’t do “anything save it be for the benefit of the world; for he loveth the world” (2 Nephi 26:24).
Trusting in the Savior’s ability to do His work (see 2 Nephi 27:20) allowed me to focus on loving my children and turning the saving over to the Lord. It didn’t mean giving up on trying to help them, but when loving them became the driving force behind my interactions with them, it changed how I interacted.
I started to see them in a different light. I began focusing on their strengths and their talents and began to see what loving, generous, intelligent, and good people they were.
My husband and I listened more and talked less. We asked questions about their lives and their interests. Instead of judgment, we showed curiosity. We replaced criticism and disappointment with expressions of love, and our children could feel that it was genuine.
Our home became a place where they could feel love and acceptance. They stopped hiding things from us and started being honest and open about what was going on in their lives. We grew closer.
Our family is still a work in progress, but our children enjoy coming to our home and spending time with us now. They feel safe in our presence, and through our love I hope they can feel God’s love for them. I don’t know if in this lifetime they will return to the things they were taught as children, but I know that they are in the Savior’s hands.

A sister in Sandy, Utah, tells of a time her son, his wife, and their two-year-old daughter stayed in her home. “Every evening before their little girl’s bedtime,” she recalls, “all three would disappear into their bedroom. One evening during their absence, they received a phone call. I went to their room and quietly opened the door. There on the bed were the three of them, each with a Book of Mormon. Mom and Dad would take turns reading and then talking to their two-year-old about what they had just read. The warm, sweet spirit that filled the room is difficult to put into words. By their example as parents, they were teaching their little daughter to feast on the words of Christ. I quietly closed the door and thanked my Heavenly Father for allowing me to have a peek at a bit of heaven on earth.”

Glen Hoelscher, from St. Lawrence, Texas, recently returned from a mission to Tacoma, Washington. Glen, shown here with his mom, Doris, and his dad, David, grew up on a farm, and he and his father devised an unusual way of financing Glen’s work for the Lord. They used some of their farm land to grow watermelons specifically for the purpose of paying for Glen’s mission, figuring they’d have to sell eight melons for each day that Glen served.
Their efforts proved “fruitful,” and Glen was blessed with a bumper crop—one of the best he and his dad have ever had.

“When I joined the Church, I didn’t have confidence to talk to people,” Shinnah says. “When I was given a calling to serve as a Young Women class president, I was so surprised. I had never been a leader before. I had to practice how to talk in front of other people and how to share my testimony. Then one day my bishop called me to his office. He told me that I am so loved and that Heavenly Father will strengthen me in everything I do.”

I began seeking for ways that I could teach “The Living Christ” to our children. I recognized that they were young (our oldest was 11) and that this precious document was rather lengthy. But I had a desire, and after I prayed and thought about it often, the Spirit showed me how I could teach my family.
I had long collected pictures cut out of old Church magazines. I went to the box where I kept them and started pulling out pictures that seemed to match the different phrases in “The Living Christ.” For instance, for “He was the Great Jehovah of the Old Testament,” I found a picture of Christ, as Jehovah, talking with Moses. For the next phrase, “Under the direction of His Father,” I found a picture of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ standing together. Within a short time, I had gathered many pictures and paired them with their associated text from “The Living Christ.”
December seemed the perfect time for our family to start focusing on “The Living Christ.” Our children were excited and really got into our endeavor. We posted the pictures we were working on in our kitchen. I noticed that during the day, the kids would say the phrases as they passed by the pictures. When everyone had memorized the set of pictures on the wall, we put them away and started working on a new set.
With each picture, we discussed the gospel and life of Jesus Christ. Our family home evening lessons were filled with stories and lessons about the Savior. My husband taught some of the concepts in “The Living Christ,” bringing new insights.
Family prayers became more meaningful because the children gave more thought to Him in whose name they were praying. The Spirit filled our home. We felt like Nephi when he wrote, “We talk of Christ, we rejoice in Christ, we preach of Christ” (2 Nephi 25:26). Our home became a place of greater peace.

I am writing to thank you for the New Era, which I have found to be spiritually uplifting, and to share with you my little miracle. At a point in my life when I had become totally inactive and thought that life was no longer worth living, I started to receive the New Era. I don’t know who paid for the subscription, but I will be eternally grateful because it helped to bring about the turning point in my life. I am now back on the right road, and I know that life is worth living. I have a lot of steps to climb and a lot of praying and learning to do, but I know that my Heavenly Father is beside me all the way.
Terri WhittingPerth, Australia

One word of caution: It’s also a mistake to leave the university prematurely. Don’t drop out today and go get a job. It’s almost always wise to complete the degree on which you are working. Several years ago we had two MBA students who received job offers that would require them to leave the program one semester before completion. Several faculty members pleaded with the students to stay through to the end, but they had been told that this was the chance of a lifetime, and so they left. Three years later, the company sold off the division in which they worked and they had to find employment elsewhere.

One Sunday evening after church, my mom was making popcorn on the stove. The phone rang, so she went to answer it, leaving the stove unattended. My sister and I were in a room next to the kitchen.
Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw my four-year-old brother, Spencer, walk around the corner into the kitchen. As I glanced in that direction, I heard an explosion. I saw the kitchen walls turn bright orange. My sister, Mallory, ran into the kitchen and saw that the popcorn had caught on fire. I ran in, thinking my brother was in there. He wasn’t, so I didn’t think any more about it then.
My mother grabbed the flaming pan and threw it into the sink. Luckily, she stopped herself before turning on the water, knowing that water would spread a grease fire. I grabbed the fire extinguisher and put out the flames before the curtains could catch fire.
After the shock of the fire wore off, I discovered that Spencer had been downstairs the entire time and hadn’t been in the kitchen. My sister also thought she had seen Spencer at the same time I did. I believe we were being prompted to look in that direction to protect ourselves.
During that week, I had been reading a book about a flash fire, which got me thinking of how I would react to a fire. Just days before the incident, I had checked our fire extinguisher. I thought I was being paranoid, but the prompting kept coming back for me to make sure it was working. I was prepared to grab it and operate it properly when I was faced with the fire. I am so thankful my Heavenly Father is always there for me and that I listened to the Holy Ghost.

It must be my destiny to be a loner. I was walking to an assembly with Melinda and Denise, who are on the basketball team too. We passed a girl just standing there, looking lost. She also looked like a total nerd. Besides her clothes being all wrong, her hair was like my grandma’s. She was obviously new, and my heart ached for her. I knew just how she felt.
I said, “Are you going to the assembly?” When she nodded, I said, “It’s this way.” Melinda and Denise looked at me like, “You know her?”
She began following us, and Melinda muttered, “Get rid of her.”
But I couldn’t. She needed a friend. She followed us up the bleachers and sat down next to me. Melinda and Denise gave me a disgusted look and moved over to the next section.
Good-bye, Melinda and Denise.

In a speech Elder James A. Cullimore gave at BYU, he related an experience once told by religious writer Harleigh M. Rosenberger:
Several years ago a man was being interviewed on the radio. He had started to walk across the United States on foot, from California to New York. He had reached a point halfway across. Reporters asked him about his experience. Finally the question came: “Sir, what would you say has been your most difficult experience so far?”
The traveler thought long. Through his mind went the toilsome climb over mountain passes; hot dry stretches of desert. Sun. Wind. Then he said quietly, “I guess my greatest problem was that the sand kept getting into my shoes.”
So that was it. The sand in his shoes. Not some great crisis that he had faced. Not some danger that had almost taken his life. But sand; sand that wore blisters on the soles of his feet. Sand that ground its way into the pores of his skin and irritated constantly, that made every step an agony. Sand in his shoes. . . .
. . . Now there was one hint that the hiker suggested when the sand got into his shoes. He had to stop and dump the sand from them.13

As I have thought of this October general conference and of the inspired talks we have heard and will hear, my mind has gone back to the events of this same first Sunday of October 135 years ago when a similar meeting was convened here on Temple Square.
We did not have this great Tabernacle at that time. Our people then met in the Old Tabernacle, which stood just to the south of us. It was Sunday, October 5, 1856. On Saturday, the day before, a small group of missionaries returning from England arrived in the valley. They had been able to make relatively good time because their teams were strong and their wagons light. Franklin D. Richards was their leader. They immediately sought out President Brigham Young. They told him that hundreds of men, women, and children were scattered along the trail that led from the Missouri River to the Salt Lake Valley. Most of them were pulling handcarts, two companies of these, with two smaller companies following behind with ox teams and wagons. The first group was probably at this time in the area of Scotts Bluff, more than four hundred miles from their destination, with the others behind them. It was October, and they would be trapped in the snows of winter and perish unless help was sent.
Brigham Young had known nothing of this. There was, of course, at that time no rapid means of communication—no radio, no telegraph, no fast mail. He was then fifty-five years of age. The next morning, the Sabbath, he stood before the people in the Tabernacle and said:
“I will now give this people the subject and the text for the Elders who may speak. … It is this. On the 5th day of October, 1856, many of our brethren and sisters are on the plains with handcarts, and probably many are now seven hundred miles from this place, and they must be brought here, we must send assistance to them. The text will be, ‘to get them here.’ …
“That is my religion; that is the dictation of the Holy Ghost that I possess. It is to save the people. …
“I shall call upon the Bishops this day. I shall not wait until tomorrow, nor until the next day, for 60 good mule teams and 12 or 15 wagons. I do not want to send oxen. I want good horses and mules. They are in this Territory, and we must have them. Also 12 tons of flour and 40 good teamsters, besides those that drive the teams. …
“I will tell you all that your faith, religion, and profession of religion, will never save one soul of you in the Celestial Kingdom of our God, unless you carry out just such principles as I am now teaching you. Go and bring in those people now on the plains” (quoted in LeRoy R. Hafen and Ann W. Hafen, Handcarts to Zion [Glendale, Calif.: Arthur H. Clark Co., 1960], pp. 120–21).
The next morning anvils were ringing in the blacksmith shops as horses were shod and wagons were repaired and loaded.
The following morning, Tuesday, October 7th, “sixteen good four-mule teams and twenty-seven hardy young men headed eastward with the first installment of provisions. The gathering of more to follow, was pushed vigorously” (Hafen, Handcarts to Zion, p. 124).
“By the end of October, two hundred and fifty teams were on the road to give relief” (Hafen, Handcarts to Zion, p. 125).
There have been many eloquent sermons preached from the pulpits on Temple Square, but none more eloquent than those spoken in that October conference of 135 years ago.

When I turned 18 and had graduated high school, I had an experience that strengthened my testimony of the Lord guiding me with His hand. I had also just graduated from seminary and was a little excited that I didn’t have to wake up early in the morning anymore. My bishop called me to his office and extended a calling for me to be an early-morning seminary teacher. I remember telling the bishop that I was too young for such a calling, I would be teaching my church friends that were almost my age. I felt inadequate, but I accepted the calling to serve. That meant I would have to wake up at 4:30 in the morning, prepare my lesson, and pick up some youth for seminary because they lived far from the chapel.

During that same time, one of the airlines in Brazil was hiring, and I wanted to apply so I could have the benefits to travel the world. Again, I was 18 and I had never stepped foot on an airplane before. One of the requirements for the job was to speak fluent English, and my English was not that great; it was really bad. I had never taken any classes besides the basic English classes in high school. There was no Duolingo or EnglishConnect at that time, but someone gave me some cassette tapes for a course to learn English.

As I prepared for the job interview and English tests required for the job, I would listen to those tapes all day long on my headphones and even in my sleep. I was determined I could learn something in my sleep. I remember praying to Heavenly Father to help me to learn the language so I could pass the written and listening tests and the face-to-face interview in English.

I decided I wasn’t going to apply to be a flight attendant because of the difficult work schedule, but instead I applied for an eight-to-five job at the airline’s ticket office so I could continue teaching seminary and attending college to continue my studies. Somehow, by some amazing miracle, I passed the test after studying for only a couple of weeks, and I was able to answer all the questions and hold a conversation in English during my face-to-face interview.

I got the job at the airline and started working there immediately after high school. This job would later have a great impact on my life. I worked full time at the airline during the day and attended industrial design classes at night. But after one semester, I realized that waking at 4:30 a.m. to teach seminary and getting home after midnight by city bus after my university classes wasn’t sustainable. Financially, this arrangement was also very hard because what I made working full-time was barely enough to pay for my college tuition. I was burned out, and I had to make a decision.

I had to either stop teaching seminary or quit school. Again, I offered a sincere prayer and asked Heavenly Father for His help and guidance. Going to college was one of my dreams, but I had a strong impression that I had to quit school so I could continue teaching seminary and working full-time.

I have experienced these compensating blessings throughout my life, but especially while working for the airline. It gave me the opportunity to travel to many countries. Some of my favorite places to visit were Asia and the Pacific. These travels, that I normally did on my own, allowed me to meet amazing people. They also allowed me to learn about so many cultures and traditions, especially in the Polynesian Islands, and I developed a tremendous love for these places. One of the very first trips I took was coming to Hawaii. I was so impressed by the incredible people I met here, and I remember driving through the North Shore and seeing the beautiful Laie Hawaii Temple. I was so fascinated and remember thinking that one day I would like to get married in this temple. I went to the temple distribution center to buy some temple clothes, and the worker there was a very nice lady. She found out it was my first time in Hawaii, and she told me I must go visit the BYU–Hawaii campus and the Polynesian Cultural Center. I knew about BYU in Provo, but I had no idea there was such a thing as BYU–Hawaii, and I had never heard about the Polynesian Culture Center. She told me her son worked at PCC, and he would get me discounted employee tickets to go. I met the incredible students working at the PCC and saw the bright light they had in their eyes and smiles. I knew for sure that this was a special place.

Then I came to BYU–Hawaii and I felt something different. I felt such a special spirit on this campus. I had a strong impression that I needed to come back to attend school here.

I knew that my parents couldn’t help me financially to go to school at BYU–Hawaii, but I went back home and worked at the airlines for five years, saving up as much as I could with the hope I could come back someday and attend school here. I also continued to teaching seminary classes for those five years, and I have to say that I never felt as close to Heavenly Father and to my Savior as I felt during those years that I prayed and studied the scriptures in depth to teach my friends at seminary.

After five years of saving money to come to school at BYU–Hawaii, I quit my job at the airlines and used my last standby ticket to come to school here. I also brought my younger sister with me to school, and we worked together as tour guides at the PCC until she left for her mission.

On my way here, I went to Utah to prepare and to take the TOEFL English proficiency test, which was one of the things I was missing for my college application. It was there that I met my eternal companion, and he followed me here. After two years of dating, we were married in the Laie Hawaii temple. After I graduated, he started his studies and also graduated from BYU–Hawaii. Now my two older kids are also students at BYU–Hawaii. One is on his mission in Brazil at the moment, but he will be back this Fall.

When I look back, brothers and sisters, I recognize these miracles, I see the Lord's Hands in my life. I know He was blessing me by getting that job that would literally bring me here and would help finance my education, helping me to learn English, and preparing me spiritually by teaching seminary and strengthening my testimony of the gospel and of my dear Savior Jesus Christ.

During the next year, however, the Lord was able to teach me how to keep the spirit of Christmas. We served among a humble group of people living in nearly abandoned milling towns scattered along small rivers. And we loved serving among these people immensely.
We decided to share our Christmas with an investigator, Alice, and her family. Alice supported her three teenage boys, a daughter, and a granddaughter all with her income working at a fast food place. Needless to say, her budget was tight. So instead of focusing on ourselves at Christmas, we decided to serve someone else.
My companion at the time, Elder Werner, felt there were basically two things that would bring joy into the world: the gospel and good food. When we showed up on Christmas morning to cook a simple breakfast, we were hailed like Old Saint Nick himself. Her extended family was there, and everyone was laughing, joking around, and wanting to help us cook. Since our families were allowed to call on Christmas, Alice and my mom were able to talk on the phone together. Watching her speak with my family was far more of a gift than the three meals I participated in the year before. It connected someone I was serving to my family and helped my family share my mission with me. The morning was filled with a feeling of familiarity that was almost tangible. I knew I was where I was supposed to be.
During that morning, I came to appreciate the true spirit of Christmas. And it has everything to do with the example of our Savior and the teachings of the gospel. The excitement wasn’t about us as missionaries; it wasn’t even about our gesture of making breakfast. That morning was about sons and daughters of God simply sharing with one another. I wasn’t given a feast of food, but my soul was full of joy.

Remember Abinadi and Alma? Abinadi infuriated wicked King Noah with his courageous testimony of the Lord Jesus Christ. Eventually this great missionary offered the ultimate sacrifice for his witness and faith but not before his pure testimony touched one believing heart. Alma, one of King Noah's priests, "repented of his sins", [accepted Jesus as the Christ,] and went about privately among the people, and began to teach the words of Abinadi" (Mosiah 18:1). Many were converted to the gospel of Jesus Christ as a direct result of Abinadi's powerfully borne testimony of the Savior, believed by one soul Alma. This also serves to illustrate that we do this without regard to numbers for every souls is precious to the Lord.

Elizabeth: That’s an exciting concept to me because of an experience I had last year. I was attending a college where I was the only Mormon. My roommate knew me both before and after I became active in the Church and had even investigated the Church once herself. During this time I was trying very hard to live the way I was supposed to, and so I stayed home a lot of times when my friends were out at parties, R-rated movies, etc. My roommate never said very much to me about the Church or the way I had changed my life, but when I left that school and came to BYU, I received a letter from her. She told me how much she had appreciated the example I had set and that she hadn’t realized the friend I had been to her because of it. But the best part of all is that she also decided to reinvestigate the Church.

On the 22nd of February 2024 Chloe and Mandy Pritchard, twins, were set apart as full-time service missionaries by President Haji, Stake President of the Preston England Stake.
After a series of visits to the Preston England Temple, Sister Jessica Pritchard felt very strongly that she should serve a mission. Sister Chloe Pritchard had spent a lot of time helping and serving with the sister missionaries and felt a great desire to serve. When Sister Mandy Pritchard discovered the opportunity to serve a service mission she also desired to apply. Their mother went on to say, “I knew that they wanted to serve a mission, but I never expected them all to serve at the same time.”

Winnie flung her fifth-grade math book across the buckling boards of the front porch and hunkered down, peering into the deep recesses of the crawl space beneath the weathered frame house.
“Here, Barney. Come here, boy,” she called.
From the dusty darkness a black and tan hound lazily emerged. Winnie sat down on the bottom step as Barney stretched out at her feet. She stroked his long silky ears.
“Barney, do you know what happened to me in school today? Miss Benson asked the class which South American country is long and skinny and famous for its farm products, and Arthur Mosely yelled out, ‘Winnie Wainwright,’ and the class burst out laughing. Barney, I could have crawled right under my desk and died! Well, Arthur Mosely won’t get the best of me anymore! I’m going to see that he gets what he deserves!”
Later, when Winnie’s dad came in from the barn, she had steaming potato soup ready for supper.
“Hey, Punkin, how’s my girl?” asked Mr. Wainwright.
“Oh, I’m OK, I guess,” she muttered.
Dad hugged the tall thin girl and said, “Let me wash up for supper, and we’ll talk about it.”
Ever since Mother had died of cancer two years ago, Dad had tried to be a special friend as well as a father to Winnie.
They sat at the table and bowed their heads as Dad said a prayer and blessed the food: “Dear Heavenly Father, we give Thee thanks for our home, this food, and Thy love. Help us to live in such a way that we’ll bring honor to Thy name. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
When they raised their heads, Dad asked, “Now, Punkin, what’s troubling you?”
“I’m tired of Arthur Mosely making fun of me, that’s what. And I’m fixing to teach him a thing or two!”
“Now, hold on, Winnie,” Dad admonished. “You know it’s not right to be revengeful. Arthur will get what’s coming to him one of these days, and you won’t have to lift a finger.”
“Well, I already have a plan, Dad. The day after tomorrow Miss Benson is having her annual geography contest. The person with the best score will win a globe that revolves on a stand. Oh, Dad, wouldn’t it be nice to have a globe of my own?”
“Yes, Winnie, that would be nice,” replied Dad. “How stiff is the competition?”
“Well,” said Winnie, “that’s where Arthur comes in. He’s the best geography student because his dad is in the service. Arthur’s lived in Germany and Japan, and he knows a lot about geography. But I’m going to beat him!” she declared.
“Well, just do your best, dear, and do it for the right reasons,” cautioned Dad.
At school the next day Winnie took advantage of every available minute to study. When she got home, she looked at the map of the world in her geography book. It looked like a big jigsaw puzzle.
“If all those pieces were jumbled up in a box, I couldn’t put them together in a million years,” Winnie grumbled. Then she thought of Arthur. “Well, I’ll do it—one way or another!”
Winnie grabbed her geography workbook, tore out the world map, taped it to a sheet of notebook paper, and placed it in her book bag. She’d beat Arthur even if she had to cheat!
As Winnie read her Bible that night, she came to Luke 18:14: “For every one that exalteth himself shall be abased; and he that humbleth himself shall be exalted.”
With her Bible still open, Winnie closed her eyes and prayed, “Dear Heavenly Father, does abased mean that Arthur Mosely is going to be brought down a notch or two, and does exalted mean that I’m going to finally get a little honor? Well, Heavenly Father, I’m going to help You do just that! In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.” Winnie shut the Bible, turned out the light, and went to sleep.
In class the next day Miss Benson finally said, “All right, students, clear your desks and get ready for the geography test.”
Winnie’s heart pounded, and her hands were moist.
The first question was to list the states on the eastern seaboard of the United States. That was easy. Number two asked for the countries that bordered Vietnam. Winnie thought and thought, but she just couldn’t picture Vietnam in her mind. I’ll have to use my map, Winnie thought. She stared at the test. As she reached for her notebook paper with the map on the back, she remembered the words of Dad’s prayer, “Help us to … bring honor to Thy name.”
Winnie stared blankly at the test for a minute. Then she lifted her head, straightened her shoulders, and breathed a sigh of relief. She left number two blank and proceeded to answer all the questions she could without the use of the map. Her hands became dry and steady, and her breathing slowed to normal.
When Winnie went to bed that evening, she said her nightly prayers. “Thank you, Heavenly Father, for helping me not to cheat on the test. If I had cheated, we’d both have been disappointed in me, and Dad would have been disappointed too. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
The next day Winnie watched Miss Benson award the prizes to the winners. Even when Arthur Mosely was presented with the globe, Winnie knew that in the things that really mattered she was a winner.