Gospel Story Finder

“Father, where are you going?” George asked.
“To the duke’s court,” he was told.
“May I come too?”
“No,” his father said sternly.
George knew that his father had to be obeyed. But there were musicians at court, and George longed to hear them play. Father said that music was foolish child’s play, not work for men. George must become a lawyer and forget about music. His father didn’t know that George spent hours practicing in secret on a clavier (the “grandfather” of the modern piano).
But George needed to hear other musicians play, so he decided to go to the court at Weissenfels anyway. It couldn’t be very far from his home in Halle, (Saxony, Germany).
He watched as his father climbed into the carriage; then, as the horse pulled it down the street, George ran behind the carriage. By the time they reached the edge of town, George’s breath was coming in great gulps, and the carriage started to go faster. The distance between George and the carriage became greater, no matter how hard he ran.
Suddenly the carriage stopped. The driver climbed down, ran to the boy, picked him up, and carried him to the carriage.
“What are you trying to do?” his father scolded him. “A seven-year-old boy cannot run as far as Weissenfels. I told you that you could not come. Why did you disobey me? You may sit with the driver, but you’ll be punished when we get home.”
When they entered the castle, George heard music. He followed the sounds to a large room where a man was playing the organ. The boy listened happily until the last note died away. “May I play?” he asked.
“Only for a minute.”
George sat on the organ bench and began to play. He was thrilled at the beautiful tones that filled the room. Not until he had played the last note did the man speak to him. “Who are you?” the man asked.
“George Frideric Handel,” he answered.
“You play well. How old are you, and who is your teacher?”
“I’m seven, but I don’t have a teacher. My father doesn’t want me to be a musician.”
Just then George’s father entered the room. “I’m sorry, Your Grace,” he said to the man, who happened to be the duke, “if my son has disturbed you.”
“You are the boy’s father?” the duke asked. “He tells me that he has no music teacher. Don’t you realize that he is very talented? Get him a music teacher at once, and bring him to play for me again.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” George’s father said meekly.
When they returned home, George was sent to bed in disgrace. But the very next day Father arranged for the organist of the largest church in Halle to teach George, and he was allowed to prepare for a life in music. But George also respected his father’s desire for him to be a lawyer, and completed law school.

On a Friday when our workbook pages were due, a friend of mine asked for the answers on one section. At first I said sure. But after thinking about it, I didn’t want to get a “lunch bench,” one of the consequences at my school. When I told my friend it wasn’t the right thing to do, I felt a strong feeling inside. Later that day my teacher announced that if anyone copied answers they would get a lunch bench, and so would the person who let them copy. I felt so relieved. I realized the strong feeling was the Holy Ghost. I know the Holy Ghost helps us choose right from wrong.

A simple prayer
Let me begin my story with an answer to simple prayer. In December 1959, I was released as a labor missionary in Tonga and went home to my island of Pangai to be with my family. My parents were on a mission at the time at the big island. While there, I heard the news that the Church called 25 building missionaries to go to Hawaii to build the Polynesian Cultural Center. Oh how I wanted to be one of them. But I was not. There were only two of them called from my island.
Immediately after I heard the news, I went to my room and knelt in prayer, very simply, I said, “Heavenly Father, please send me to Hawaii as a missionary if thou seest that I can be of help.” With all my heart I asked, and I said Amen. During this week President Mendenhall, the chairman of the Church building committee, traveled to New Zealand to call Maori building missionaries to the project in Hawaii. In that meeting, he called 12 Maori men to go to Hawaii. In his talk he announced, “I have called 30 Tongan missionaries to go to Hawaii.” At the end of the meeting my former supervisor from the mission, who was there with him, walked up to President Mendenhall and said, “In your talk you said you called 30 missionaries in Tonga, but you called only 25.” President Mendenhall told him, “when you go back to Tonga, tell the mission president to call 5 more.” And I was one of those 5.
I can tell you that right from that moment, what seemed impossible became possible through God. He answered my simple prayer and through His will I was able to help and play a very big part in that mission in Hawaii. I served three years and nine months.

My name is Peteru Mamoe (Elder Birita), and I want to share a story that taught me how Heavenly Father answers prayers—not just for us but through us.
One day our pantry was nearly empty. We had rice but nothing else. I knelt in prayer and asked Heavenly Father to provide for our needs. Specifically, I asked for fish—a simple yet nourishing addition to our meal. I trusted that He would provide, but I had no idea how He would do it.
Later that day, as I sat outside our home, a man walked by carrying a sack full of fish. My wife was washing dishes near the fence when, suddenly, the sack burst open and fish spilled onto the ground. The man was clearly distressed, but my wife quickly offered him a new sack. Grateful for her kindness, he entrusted her with the fish while he went to find his brothers to help.
When the man returned, he gave my wife two large fish as a gesture of gratitude. We were overjoyed! Not only did we have fish for our meal, but we had enough to share. I felt prompted to take some of the fish to a friend who was unemployed and struggling to provide for his family. When I arrived at his home, I discovered that his wife and child were in the hospital, and he had been praying for a way to feed them.
My friend’s eyes filled with tears as he accepted the fish. He told me that his wife had already prepared breadfruit for their meal, but now they could add fish to it. Later, I learned that his wife had shared some of the fish with a widow and her two sick children at the hospital. This widow had also been praying for food, and God had answered her prayer through the kindness of others.
As I reflected on this chain of events, I was overwhelmed by the love of Heavenly Father. He had not only answered my prayer for fish but had also used me to answer the prayers of my friend and the widow. It was a powerful reminder that God often works through us to bless others. In the words of the Savior, “For unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required” (Luke 12:48).
This experience taught me that God’s love is not limited to our individual needs. He sees the bigger picture and uses us as instruments in His hands to bless His children. Since that day, I have made it a habit to pray not only for my own needs but for the needs of those around me. I have seen how God can take a simple prayer—like my request for fish—and turn it into a miracle that touches multiple lives.
I testify that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ are aware of our struggles and our needs. They hear our prayers, and They answer them in ways that strengthen our faith and bless others. May we always be willing to act on the promptings we receive, knowing that we can be instruments in God’s hands to share His love and provision with those around us.
Elder and Sister Birita are currently serving a senior mission in the Nabeina Branch, Nabeina North Tarawa, Kiribati.

The bomb went off as suddenly and with as much impact as the one dropped on Hiroshima. I always thought they were happy; it was nearly their 18th wedding anniversary. You never think something like this can happen to you; it’s always the other guy. But this was real, and it was happening to me. My parents wanted a divorce.
Dad moved out. Then I realized what my family meant to me.
I was praying pretty regularly, and I felt I was receiving help. But one place I didn’t get any help was from my church; the members didn’t seem to care. People would say how sad it was, but they really wouldn’t listen. I felt there must be some way to hold a family together forever.
I didn’t know where to start looking, but I could always talk to Jill, a friend of mine. She said she was LDS, and she told me something about her church. We talked about things like temple marriage and the eternal family unit. I went to a family home evening at Jill’s house. Not every family sets aside one night specifically for each other. Her family members were in tune with each other; they weren’t just a bunch of people living together. Jill said she didn’t have all the answers, but she knew someone who could help me.
I became acquainted with the missionaries. Once a week I’d meet with them for a discussion. Some really hit home and helped with my problems. After reading the Book of Mormon I felt something inside hinting that maybe it was true. I attended sacrament and other Church meetings. I began to feel that maybe this church did have Jesus Christ at its head.
Then the big question came up. Did I want to become a member of the Church? I believed the Lord had chosen Joseph Smith to restore the truth, and I felt it was the Lord’s church, but I also realized I would have to live up to his standards. I thought and prayed until the answer came: My family-to-be would be an eternal family.

On Saturdays and holidays, Junior loves traveling with them to nature reserves and other South African wonderlands, swimming with them in the backyard pool, singing with them, and working with them. He loves sharing family home evenings, family prayer, and family scripture study with them. He loves welcoming the home teachers to teach them. He especially loves sitting with them in sacrament meeting—and that’s where a problem arises. As a member of the stake presidency, Brother Mkhabele often visits other wards. In his own ward, he’s invited to sit on the stand. From Junior’s point of view, this leaves a big, dad-shaped hole right in the middle of the family, and it makes him sad. Junior understands that his dad is doing the Lord’s work, but it still hurts. For Junior, it’s a real sacrifice, and he makes it with real faith.
Faith comes naturally to Junior. Reading doesn’t. And yet, he reads the scriptures faithfully. The two most memorable people he has met there are Nephi and Jonah. “If God tells Nephi to do something, he does it. He’s not afraid of what people will do or think. And when Jonah got on a ship to run away from God, a big fish swallowed him. From that I learned not to be selfish or run away.” Following her big brother’s example, Thembisile loves the scriptures, too. Though she can’t read yet, she insists on having her own copy for scripture study.
Junior has been blessed with a bright mind, but it isn’t like a lamp that shines steadily in one place. It’s more like lightning that flashes brilliantly here and there all across the sky. With such a lively brain, Junior sometimes finds it hard to focus on one thing for long. One thing he does focus on, though, is the gospel.
Junior was recently baptized. “Father baptized me and gave me the gift of the Holy Ghost. I felt fresh and clean.”
Brother Mkhabele was also deeply moved by the event. “It was the most edifying [inspiring] experience of my life. When I confirmed him, the Spirit was so great that I did not lack for words to bless him. I felt that the blessing he received was really inspired. And since then I’ve seen a change in him. He is beginning to concentrate better. He thinks more carefully before doing things. He feels a greater need to help people.”
Not long after his baptism, Junior was visiting another ward’s fast and testimony meeting with his father. He felt impressed to bear his testimony for the first time in public. “I wanted to see if I could bear my testimony in front of everyone. I couldn’t. Then Dad stood up and helped me, and I could.” Junior’s testimony is simple and strong. “I know that God lives. I know that Joseph Smith was a true prophet.”
Junior also has great faith in prayer. “When I pray, Heavenly Father gives me what I ask for unless it would not be right for me. If He doesn’t give me the things I want, it means they wouldn’t be right for me.” Honest as usual, he adds, “I usually pray at night, but sometimes I forget and just go to sleep. In the morning when I remember that I didn’t pray, I feel sad.”
Junior and Thembisile both love going to Primary. When they come home, Junior eagerly tells everyone what he learned. Thembisile loves singing Primary songs. They both love family home evening. Every Monday night Thembisile reminds her parents about family home evening. Ever hopeful, she sometimes reminds them on Tuesday, Wednesday, or Thursday, as well.
Thembisile and Junior have fun together. They play with blocks, swing on the swing set, and splash in the backyard pool. Sometimes they fight, but they always make up, often by building something together with Thembisile’s beloved blocks.
When Brother and Sister Mkhabele visited Junior’s school for a progress report, his teacher said, “Junior is so ambitious! He tells me that he wants to go on a mission.” Brother Mkhabele laughs. “She didn’t know that Junior belongs to a church in which most young men his age are planning on missions.”
Junior is already preparing for his. He has asked his mother to teach him how to cook and do his laundry and talked with his father about finances. Junior sees only one problem with missionary service. “I want my own room.” Why go on a mission and risk having a roommate? “Because I don’t want to be selfish to people who don’t know about the gospel. It will make them happy, and I want all the world to be happy.”
After school each day, Junior polishes his shoes and does his homework. After the evening meal, he takes all the dishes to the kitchen and sometimes helps to wash them. He does these chores by assignment, but he does many others by choice. His mother reports that he sometimes says, “Mom, you’re tired. You relax, and I’ll do everything for you.” He especially loves working on projects with his dad. He can do many things for himself—cooking breakfast, for example. He sometimes has an assistant, because whenever Thembisile sees anyone working (or playing), she joins in and helps.
When he grows up, Junior wants to be a policeman, a lawyer, and a college instructor, like his father; and a school teacher and dietitian, like his mother; and a good parent and a true Latter-day Saint. He’s on the right path.

As I was interviewing the young people in our ward as their bishop, I asked each of them: “Are you dating anyone who is not a member of our church?”
“I’m not exactly dating him, but we know each other very well. We’re good friends.”
“Do you know him well enough to invite him to our student ward party?” I asked.
Susan brought Bill to our party, and our ward missionaries did the rest. Bill is now in the bishopric in Houston after having served a mission for the Church. And Bill and Susan’s experience has been duplicated all over the Church.

That night at dinner—
There’s this new kid at school who’s always teasing people and trying to get their attention. Nobody likes him.
Does he have any friends?
No. He bugs people too much.
Remember when you were new at school and felt lonely at first? Maybe he’s trying to make friends but just doesn’t know how.
I know! Maybe we can include him in our games at recess. I’ll ask Franco to help too.
He knows what it’s like to be left out.
I’ll bet that meatball’s feeling left out too.
Not for long! Come here, little guy.

I guess I should start out by saying that I’m just a regular, ordinary, ten year old who lives on a very ordinary street—North Maple. I’ve been going to Primary since I was little, and, of course, I’ve been planning on going on a mission as long as I can remember. But practicing being a missionary is something I haven’t done much—that is, until about a month ago. And that’s where my being a regular, ordinary boy is so amazing. I mean, if I can do it, anybody can!
You probably should know that I’m the only member of the Church in my whole school, except for my little sister. A lot of people know we’re Latter-day Saints. It isn’t hard to figure out, since my family doesn’t go to the local sport club’s Sunday soccer games, we have family home evening every Monday night, and we read the Book of Mormon every day. Sometimes my friends tease me about all the things Latter-day Saints can’t do. One time Nick even wanted to know if Church members could drink milk—and he was serious!
Anyway, when my best friend’s family moved, I resigned myself to living out my days never having any members my own age in my school class. There were two other people in my Primary class, but they didn’t go to my school.
About a month ago, the Millers moved into our neighborhood. Right away Mom took over some of her homemade enchiladas, and Dad helped Mr. Miller carry in their furniture. I was pretty excited to find out that they had an eleven-year-old son who likes baseball cards.
Jeff invited me up to his room a few days later. There were still boxes and stuff all over the place. I was busy admiring his coin collection, when I noticed that he had a picture of Jesus Christ on his nightstand. Whoa! My thoughts started spinning. The whole rest of the room was pretty much a mess, but this picture looked like something he had unpacked right away. I knew he wasn’t a Mormon—I’d already found that out—so I asked him about the picture.
Jeff wasn’t embarrassed or anything. He said that his whole family had prayed a lot before they moved to decide whether his dad should take a job in Chicago or come here. They had felt very good about their decision. He said they didn’t know why they were supposed to move here, but they knew that Jesus Christ loved them and they were sure that He would bless them to know why someday.
Well, I started getting pretty tingly all over, and then I did a very scary thing for a regular, ordinary, ten year old. I told him that my whole family loved Jesus Christ, too, and that we prayed every day. I said I knew that someday his family would know why they had moved to this neighborhood.
Well, since then, Jeff and I have become good friends. He came with me to Primary Activity Day two weeks ago and asked a lot of questions about the Church. Some of the answers were easy, and others I had to find out from Mom and Dad. Even Mr. and Mrs. Miller are starting to ask about the Church. We’re having them over to our house next Friday to hear a missionary discussion with the elders. Who knows? Maybe I will live to see another member family live on North Maple Street.

Hi, I’m Mikey. I’m six years old, and I have a dog named Truffles. Miles had a dog too, but his dog died.
Miles is angry with me. Dad and Mom say that maybe it’s because Miles’s dog died and I still have one, and maybe that doesn’t seem fair to him. I try to be friendly to Miles, but he calls me names and makes faces at me. Once he even threw a rock at me when I took Truffles for a walk.
A few weeks ago, Truffles had two puppies. My parents said we could keep one of the puppies, but they didn’t know what to do with the other one. They asked me to think about it.
I thought a lot about it. I even prayed about it. And then I started thinking about Miles. I knew that Heavenly Father knows all about Miles and the hard time he’s going through. I thought maybe I could do something to help.
I told Dad and Mom that I wanted to give the other puppy to Miles. They smiled, and Dad asked me why I wanted to be so kind to someone who treated me badly.
“You and Mom tell me that we should love everybody, not just people who are nice to us,” I said. “I want to do what Jesus would do.”
When I took the puppy over to Miles, his parents said he could keep it. Miles looked very surprised and happy, so that made me happy too.
Miles doesn’t call me names anymore. Now he just calls me Mikey. All of my friends call me Mikey, and Miles is one of my friends.

The “bus sisters” who come all the way from Utah to be in pageant are almost a legend. This year, six buses started out from Salt Lake City. Only three hours later one bus broke down, which meant a crowding of the girls all the way to Palmyra. It warmed my heart to learn of the pioneer stoicism and fortitude these girls displayed. “Rest stops would take two hours,” said bright-eyed Nancy Cox from the Lynwood (Oregon) Ward. “It was really crowded on the bus until someone finally bought some little kids’ chairs to sit on in the aisles.” What did they do to relieve the monotony and keep discouragement at a minimum? “We sang a lot and prayed. I feel very close to all the girls on my bus,” said Nancy. No doubt “Come, Come, Ye Saints,” with its trek-to-Salt Lake origin, was a favorite.

For over 40 years, my great-grandfather, J. Hatten Carpenter, served as the recorder for the Manti Utah Temple. Each day he would walk from his home in Manti to the temple to fulfil his duties and responsibilities there. As the temple recorder, he was aware of sacred spiritual experiences that occurred in the temple.
One such experience he shared involved a patriarch watching vicarious baptisms being performed in the temple one day.
He recounts that the patriarch saw “the spirits of those for whom they were officiating in the font by proxy. There the spirits stood awaiting their turn, and, as the Recorder called out the name of a person to be baptized for, the patriarch noticed a pleasant smile come over the face of the spirit whose name had been called, and he would leave the group of fellow spirits and pass over to the side of the Recorder. There he would watch his own baptism performed by proxy, and then with a joyful countenance would pass away [to] make room for the next favored personage who was to enjoy the same privilege”1.
As time went on, the patriarch noticed that some of the spirits looked very sad. He realised that the people in the temple were finished with baptisms for the day. The unhappy spirits were those whose baptisms would not be performed that day.
My great-grandfather said, “‘I often think of this event … for I so often sit at the font, and call off the names for the ordinances to be performed which means so much to the dead.’”2

Christlike love was shown not long ago in a Houston, Texas, branch. When one woman’s husband died, she could not stop crying. No one was able to calm her. Then a friend came to brush her hair, willingly offering her love. As a result of this simple act of caring, the bereaved sister’s uncontrollable sobbing eased, and she was comforted. She became composed and was able to visit with the sisters who came to help clean her house and bring her food. She found peace in her friend’s loving touch—and then, in the calm that followed, she found gratitude for the loving service of the other sisters.

As I got older, I kept learning about the gospel. I began to understand Heavenly Father’s beautiful plan. I got baptized when I was 16 years old. At Christmastime, I often said to myself, “I don’t want one more Christmas present! I just want to be sealed to my parents in the temple.” I waited many years for that dream to come true. When my parents were over 80 years old, we were finally sealed as a family! I felt great joy that day. Each day, I still feel so happy that they were sealed together and that I was sealed to them.

Jasmine Paris, a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints for 23 years, lives on the windward side of the island of St. Vincent in the Grenadines, commonly known as the countryside. The area is known for its farming industry, where most of her neighbors lost their entire crops. Because of its location, Jasmine’s home was spared, but at the beginning of the hurricane, the electricity pole above her house caught fire, and the electricity went out, resulting in food spoilage. However, the most significant impact of losing electricity during the storm was the loss of communication with her family.
Sister Paris has a daughter who lived on another island of the Grenadines that was the most severely impacted by the hurricane. For three days, she had no idea if her daughter was alive or not. She panicked, cried, mourned and prayed. She said, “I would never want to relive that moment!”
When Jasmine was finally able to communicate with her daughter, she realized there was good reason to worry about her. As the hurricane approached the island, the daughter and others gathered in a building to be sheltered from the fierce winds and rain. As the building started to flood, they ran to another shelter. As they settled, the storm shattered the windows, cutting the individuals with the flying glass. As they continued to find refuge elsewhere, they found another room only to have the roof fly off. The only building left was a generator room, 4 ft x 4 ft in size, where 19 individuals, along with the generators and machines, packed themselves on top of one another for about five hours as they waited for the storm to pass. They were all wet from the rain and cut from the shattered windows, and everyone thought they would not make it out alive.
As Jasmine reflects on this experience, she shares, “As I think of how I felt about my daughter, I think about my Savior, Jesus Christ, and how much He loves us. If not for my Savior, I don’t know how I would have coped.”
As the storm raged outside, Jasmin prayed. She felt a deep peace in her heart, knowing that no matter what happened, she wasn’t alone. “I am thankful to Heavenly Father … for sparing our lives. Don’t lose hope! It will take some time for some to heal. It will take some time for others to feel at home again. It will never be the same for those who lost loved ones. But don’t give up! Put your trust in Heavenly Father. He will carry you through!”

Here is one letter that points out many of the problems with starting to think seriously about one person too soon:
“When I was 14, I decided that pairing up with one ‘special’ boyfriend wasn’t ‘dating,’ so it was okay. It began as a way to be more popular, but soon I was lying to my parents so I could spend time alone with him. Over the ten months we were together, my testimony was slowly weakened, and eventually I had problems with the law of chastity. Since then I’ve talked with my bishop and repented, but it was a long, difficult, and painful process. I hurt myself, my parents, and the Lord. It opened the door to many other temptations bit by bit and made the important things in life seem foolish, and the wrong things appear right. My parents and bishop showed me nothing but love as they tried to help me return to the Lord’s favor. How much I wish I’d had the strength when I was 14 to stand alone and be different!”

Another lesson he’s taken to heart is how to dress. No, Ark didn’t need fashion advice from his parents in order to fit in better at school. In fact, he was doing a little too well in that department. “I used to dress in all the cool clothes,” Ark said. “I was trying to impress girls.”
His parents helped him see, though, that there were also some unintended consequences to dressing that way. “The clothes we wear can influence how other people think about you,” Ark explains. As he paid closer attention, Ark realized he didn’t like some of the ways people seemed to think of him when he dressed like he did before.
Now he chooses more conservative, modest—or, as he likes to call them, “nerdy”—clothes. He likes his new look and feels better spiritually about how he dresses. (Besides, Ark, nerds are cool! Indisputable fact.)

“What special things, Kate?” Papa winked at Mama. “I thought I was to get flour and sugar and salt. Nothing special about that.”
“You know, Papa,” Molly burst out. “Get a bolt of the prettiest calico you can find! Mama’s going to make me a new dress, and shirts for John, and curtains for our new glass windows!” She stopped, and everyone was quiet as Papa gave thanks for the food.
“Papa,” John asked, taking a bite out of his corn bread, “do you remember the other two special things?”
“Let’s see,” Papa replied. “I’m to get some smooth boards to cover this dirt floor.” His eyes sparkled. “We’re going to be the first family out here to have a real wood floor!”
“And then, Frank, if there’s enough money left over, get that last special thing,” Mama said excitedly. “Bring home some oilcloth to cover the walls with and some pretty wallpaper to go over the oilcloth. Then we’ll have a real house, like the one we had back east.”
They all looked at the hardpacked dirt walls. Papa had tried to make them look nice by painting them with whitewash, but most of it had come off. “I think if we put oilcloth up first, the wallpaper will last longer,” said Mama.
The little sod house seemed even warmer as Papa laughed. “I’ll do the best shopping I can,” he promised, and his smile wrapped around Molly like a hug. “Now, Molly,” he said as they finished their squash and ham, “get out your favorite book. It’s your turn to read tonight.”
Early the next morning as the sky turned pink along the eastern edge of the prairie, Papa hitched the horses to the wagon. “I’ll be back in three days,” he called as he drove off.
Molly watched until Papa was out of sight and only the tall prairie grass waved back at her.
Molly and John carried water to the chickens. They collected buffalo chips to burn in the stove and helped Mama milk the cow. They gathered the eggs and shelled the corn. They studied their lessons—and they counted three days.
By dinnertime on the third day Papa wasn’t home. Molly squished her nose flat against the wavy glass window. “I still can’t see him, Mama,” she said.
“Don’t fret, Molly. Papa’s been to town many times since we’ve been here.” Mama’s voice was calm and quiet. “Don’t you remember he said it would take three full days? Now let’s put the lantern in the window so he can see the light shining out over the prairie.”
They had just finished their mush-and-milk supper when John shouted, “Listen! I hear the wagon!”
In a few minutes Papa was in the house. He gave Mama a big hug and picked up Molly and John. “Just wait until you see the special things I’ve brought!” he said, whirling them around the room.
Papa and Mama and Molly and John carried in the food supplies for winter. Then Papa brought in a big package. “Here’s your calico, Molly—the prettiest in the country, I’ll wager.” The calico was a soft blue, with little red and yellow designs scattered all over it.
“Oh, Papa,” Molly cried, “I’ve never seen such pretty calico!”
“Frank, it’s lovely,” said Mama. “Did it take you a long time to find it?”
“No,” said Papa, laughing. “I just matched Molly’s blue eyes.”
“And was there enough money to get the second special thing?” John asked.
“Wait and see,” said Papa. He came back with one wide, smooth board and laid it on the dirt floor. “There you are, Kate, the finest floor on the prairie!”
“But, Papa, that’s not big enough!” cried John.
Papa chuckled. “Don’t worry, John. The rest of the floor is in the wagon.”
“And the third special thing, Papa?” Molly jumped up and down on the board. “Did you get the oilcloth and the prettiest wallpaper in the country too?”
“I got the oilcloth and the best wallpaper you ever saw,” said Papa. He went to the wagon again and came back with two heavy brown packages.
Papa unwrapped a roll of oilcloth first. Then he opened a squarish package and held up a large dictionary. “Here’s the wallpaper. And it’s a brand-new 1870 edition, too,” he announced.
“Frank, I don’t understand. Where is the wallpaper?” Mama sounded puzzled.
“Just watch, Kate.” Papa’s eyes twinkled as he carefully fastened a piece of oilcloth over one of the hard-packed sod walls. Then he opened the dictionary and carefully cut out some of the pages with his knife. He took one of the pages and nailed it up, right through the oilcloth and into the sturdy wall behind it. He nailed up another, and another. Soon the wall was covered with pages. The white paper made the sod house look large and bright, and the words looked like tiny stripes across the wall.
“How beautiful!” cried Molly.
Mama looked at the wall without a word. Then she turned to Papa. “Frank, who else would ever have thought of papering the walls with a dictionary!” Mama’s eyes were bright as she hugged Papa. “You really did bring us something special!”
“And, Kate,” said Papa, “when we’ve learned all these words, we’ll just add more pages and keep on reading.”
Molly gave a happy sigh. “Papa,” she said, “now we have the prettiest calico, and the finest floor, and the smartest walls in the whole world!”

I am now a great-grandmother, but I shall never forget a Christmas I experienced as a young child.
I was one of 14 children in my family, and we lived in a farming town. We were very poor as far as worldly goods are concerned, though I didn’t know it then. A family in our town was even poorer than we were. The mother had died, and the father was working away from home, leaving the older children to care for the younger ones.
After we had opened our Christmas gifts, my father spoke to us about this motherless family and how they might not receive gifts. He suggested that each of us choose one of our new gifts to be placed in a box, along with food and other goodies, for this family.
I had three presents—a doll, a necklace, and an article of clothing. What a hard decision it was for me! I needed the clothing, and I wanted the doll badly, but the necklace was so pretty and sparkly. After a time, I reluctantly dropped the necklace into the box.
It was dark on Christmas night when Dad buttoned our coats and placed all of us in our horse-drawn sleigh. We left the box on this family’s doorstep, with no indication of the giver.
The next Sunday, I saw the necklace around the neck of a girl my age. She excitedly told me that Santa had left a box of gifts for them on Christmas night. Of course, my parents had sworn us to secrecy. Dad had told us that being anonymous was the best part of giving. But I can’t say it felt that good to see what had been my necklace on someone else’s neck.
Though it wasn’t an easy lesson then, I now realize the great impact this experience has had on my life. As a child I thought my father was asking me to give up a gift, but later I understood that he was actually giving me one of the most precious gifts I have ever received. How much he must have loved me, to teach me that loving someone is far more important than having something! My father’s example of love has helped me understand the love of Heavenly Father, who presented us the greatest gift of all when He gave His Only Begotten Son.

When I was a teenager, I got really sick. My parents didn’t have enough money to send me to the hospital, so we went from church to church looking for someone to help, but no one could. After a while we gave up, and I was left suffering both physically and emotionally.
I remember asking, “What is the purpose of life? Why am I here? Are miracles even real?”
When I had a little bit of strength during this sickness, I would read religious books from different denominations, trying to find answers and peace. One day I silently prayed to God, telling Him the desire I had to join a church—but I didn’t know which one!
A year later I recovered physically but still had many questions. One day I saw my brother talking to two young men wearing white shirts. They invited me and the rest of my siblings to join their conversation.
This was the first time I heard about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and the Book of Mormon.
That same week, we were invited to attend a church service, and soon I was invited to be baptized. I accepted without hesitation. I’ve been a member ever since and eventually had the privilege of serving a full-time mission.