Gospel Story Finder

Recently my friend Richard came home from work to find a very small girl sitting on the curb in front of his house, crying. He asked if he could help. Through her sobs she explained that she was lost. He told her that this was his house and his wife was inside. He told her he knew she shouldn’t go with strangers, but if she felt comfortable going inside, he and his wife would try to find her home. They went into his house, and his wife, Linda, began to console the little girl. “I’m sure you must be very frightened,” she said.
“I was frightened,” the girl responded, “until I saw the picture of Jesus hanging on your wall. Then I knew I would be safe.”

Sister Heaston shared an experience from when she served at a Young Women camp. She said:
“One of our … devotional speakers … taught us about ‘becoming.’ One of her statements … was, ‘Be someone who reaches out to know and serve others—throw away the mirrors and look through the window.’
“To demonstrate this, she called up one of the young women and asked that young woman to stand facing her. [She] then pulled out a mirror and put it between the young woman and herself so that she, [the speaker], was looking into the mirror while she tried to talk with the young woman. Not surprisingly, it didn’t even begin to be an effective or heartfelt conversation. This was a powerful object lesson that illustrated how difficult it is to communicate with and serve others if we are too worried about ourselves and see only ourselves and our needs. [She] then put away the mirror, pulled out a window frame, and put it between her face and the young woman’s face. … We were able to see that the young woman had become [her] focal point and that true service requires that we focus on the needs and emotions of others. Ofttimes we are so worried about ourselves and our own busy lives—as we look in mirrors while trying to look for opportunities to serve—that we do not see clearly through the windows of service.”

A joint sports experience they remember is the football game when each of them made a touchdown. During another game, they all recovered the same fumble. Doug got to it first, then Dan drove in on top of him, followed by Dave.
“I guess sometimes we have an advantage,” says Dan. “We can usually figure out what each other would do in a situation.”
However it is that they do it, their coaches like it. El Modena’s football coach, Bob Lester, has only one complaint—“I wish they were quintuplets!”

That trust has blessed my life and the lives of my family. Years ago I heard President Ezra Taft Benson speak in a conference like this. He counseled us to do all we could to get out of debt and stay out. He mentioned mortgages on houses. He said that it might not be possible, but it would be best if we could pay off all our mortgage debt.9
I turned to my wife after the meeting and asked, “Do you think there is any way we could do that?” At first we couldn’t. And then by evening I thought of a property we had acquired in another state. For years we had tried to sell it without success.
But because we trusted God and a few words from the midst of His servant’s message, we placed a phone call Monday morning to the man in San Francisco who had our property listed to sell. I had called him a few weeks before, and he had said then, “We haven’t had anyone show interest in your property for years.”
But on the Monday after conference, I heard an answer that to this day strengthens my trust in God and His servants.
The man on the phone said, “I am surprised by your call. A man came in today inquiring whether he could buy your property.” In amazement I asked, “How much did he offer to pay?” It was a few dollars more than the amount of our mortgage.
A person might say that was only a coincidence. But our mortgage was paid off. And our family still listens for any word in a prophet’s message that might be sent to tell what we should do to find the security and peace God wants for us.

Illustration by G. Bjorn Thorkelson
Picture 3,000 missionaries gathered in a large room. Two thousand nine hundred ninety-nine of them are talking excitedly and looking toward the same spot in the room. Some are on their tiptoes. Some are jumping to snatch quick glances over those on tiptoes. Some are standing on folding chairs. One missionary is sitting on a folding chair, elbows on his knees, hands clasped, head bowed.
That might not be exactly what happened, but that’s how I remember it. That was how I felt. I was that one missionary.
As you picture the scene, you might think I was lonely or sad. Actually, I was experiencing one of the happiest moments of my life—a moment that I have been glad to relive many times since then.
I was at the missionary training center in Provo, Utah, preparing to serve as a full-time missionary in the Ecuador Quito Mission. President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008), who was then First Counselor in the First Presidency, came to speak to all the missionaries in the MTC.
It was after the meeting that the hubbub began. I noticed that people weren’t filing to the doors, so I asked another elder what was going on.
“President Hinckley’s grandson is here at the MTC,” he said, “and President Hinckley just left the stand to give him a hug!”
With that explanation, the elder stepped onto his chair to get a better view, exclaiming, “Wow! Wouldn’t it be great to have President Hinckley as a grandpa?”
I loved and respected President Hinckley, and I had been inspired by his message that day. But in that moment I was struck by a thought that led me to sit on my chair rather than stand on it. In the middle of all that cheerful enthusiasm, I sat still and thought, “I’m sure it would be great to have President Hinckley as a grandpa. But I wouldn’t trade my Grandpa Felt or my Grandpa West for him.” I lifted my head and felt the warm embrace of gratitude as I reflected on my heritage, my family.
Then another thought came, more powerful than the first: “Besides, I am a son of God.” I knew that I, a grandson of a dentist and a factory supervisor, had just as much worth as a grandson of a prophet. Why? The two of us had the same Father in Heaven.
The other 2,999 missionaries eventually walked toward the doors of that large room. I joined them, more prepared to serve the Lord than I had been a few minutes earlier.

On a cold November day, a question from an American missionary asking for directions to the local postal office caught Takashi Wada off guard.
The 15-year-old had been warned by his father to avoid Mormons, who had been visiting with people on the streets of Nagano, Japan, just three minutes from their home. But Takashi was impressed with the American elder’s Japanese.
A few days later, another missionary stopped Takashi. He had not been in Japan long. In broken Japanese, he tried to share the story of Joseph Smith.
Takashi did not understand everything, “but I felt that I should listen,” he recalled.
The missionaries taught him the steps to prayer and the lessons. He attended Church meetings and was touched by the testimonies of local members. Feeling constrained by the expectations of his Buddhist family, Takashi kept telling the missionaries, “I can’t join the Church, but I would like to learn more.”
Two years later, before Takashi left to study in the United States at age 17, his parents consented, and he joined the Church.

Meet Emmanuel Amore from the Bo Sierra Leone East Stake—a young man whose journey of transformation began with a simple invitation to church. In 2018 a friend welcomed him to a Sunday meeting, and Emmanuel’s heart was touched. Not long after, he chose to be baptized—a decision that placed the first stone in what would become a deeply personal path of spiritual and personal growth.
Since then, Emmanuel has made the Gathering Place his second home. Whether it’s playing on the sports teams, learning new skills, or diving into institute classes, he shows up with purpose. “I want to succeed both spiritually and temporally,” he says—and he’s putting in the work to make that happen.
A turning point came when Emmanuel noticed his brother learning masonry. Seeing the demand for skilled labor in his community, Emmanuel realized this could be his opportunity to make a difference. He began training, determined to develop a craft that could support his future. Today, he’s applying his growing masonry skills to find work and build something lasting—not just with bricks but with faith.
Emmanuel is still just getting started. His ultimate goal? To grow in personal righteousness and stay anchored in Christ as he builds a meaningful life, one stone—and one choice—at a time.

As we got to know each other, our conversations sometimes evolved into debates, with Karen defending religion while I argued for science. Our discussions served mostly to frustrate her.
But Karen had a friend named Nese. Nese never said more than “Hi” to me in the halls at school, but she had listened closely to my conversations with Karen.
Nese never told me directly that she was a Latter-day Saint. She strolled up to my table in the library one day during study hall. “May I sit down?” she asked. At some point during the conversation, she said she was a member of the house of Israel. I assumed she meant she was Jewish.
We had classes all at the same hour, and during the remaining months of our senior year, Nese and I sorted through the many religious questions flooding my mind. She told me later she “just wanted to share her opinion with someone who wouldn’t laugh at her.” I would tell my ideas on a subject like life after death, and then she would explain her beliefs. Her confidence amazed me. It wasn’t until later that I found out she was a Latter-day Saint.
By then our talks were so enjoyable I began spending lunch hours with Nese and her Mormon friends. They were refreshing to be around. No smoking, no swearing, no improper jokes. Best of all, they never seemed to ridicule anybody—they respected each other’s feelings. It was different being with them, and I enjoyed it.
Towards the end of the school year, Karen invited me to a Gold and Green Ball, I had no idea what that was. I had never been to a dance in a church, and I had to dress in a suit! I was amazed to see a gymnasium in a church building.
But what went on in the gym surprised me even more. Adults and teenagers were talking, laughing, and even dancing together. My friends had always thought it was childish to like your parents. All over the nation there was an uproar about communication breakdown between parents and their children. But these people all seemed to be friends, regardless of age.
I asked Karen about it. She said it was because of the Church. As she took me on a tour of the building, I pondered what she had said. By the time I went home that night, I felt these people were unique, they were choice in some way I didn’t fully understand. They had a lot to be proud of.
After graduation my summer job took me away from my new-found group of friends. I was employed at a gas station, where I was unhappy because of my co-workers’ lack of concern. I was depressed, unhappy, and alone.
One afternoon in July, Nese and a friend drove up to the station. Just seeing them boosted my morale. They were planning to sing in the Oakland Temple Pageant and invited me to attend.
I’ll always remember that special evening. It was the first time I heard the story of Joseph Smith and learned the history of the Latter-day Saints I had grown to admire. At the end of the pageant, the audience rose and sang “The Spirit of God Like a Fire Is Burning.” (Hymns No. 213) How I wanted to know the words of the song so I could join the chorus! I felt completely full of respect and love.
The crowd left slowly. Standing in the parking lot, I looked up at the temple. A voice in the back of my mind told me that some day I would enter that building.
When fall came, Nese left to attend Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah. I returned to Berkeley, California. Loneliness encompassed me again. Nese’s letters arrived regularly, two or three times weekly. I asked her why she was Mormon. The next letter bulged the envelope. It was a detailed explanation of her struggle to remain active and maintain a firm testimony while living with her inactive family.
I decided I had to go to church. That was a difficult decision because no one pushed me to attend. I had been allowed to come to the conclusion by myself.
I nearly changed my mind when I opened the door. I entered the chapel by myself, spotted an empty seat on the back row, and quickly sat down. Was I going to be all alone here, too? I wondered inside.
Then suddenly Karen, who had appeared from nowhere, was shaking my hand. “Good morning, David,” she said, grinning. I wasn’t alone anymore. She introduced me to people, showed me which class to go to, and sat beside me the entire time.
I was impressed to find a class I could bring my questions to and get answers. Furthermore, the teacher, Sister Booras, took time afterwards to thank me for coming. “You added a great deal to our class,” she said. I had never felt so at home before.
But I still didn’t have that spiritual testimony of the Church; I could believe in many of its teachings, but I didn’t know it was true. I kept attending the meetings anyway.
One month later, Nese urged me to come to Brigham Young University. I jumped at the chance and rushed to Provo for a whirlwind visit. She described her school as if it were part of her. As we walked around campus, all we talked about was religion. My mind was overflowing with questions again, as it had been in the high school library. I still didn’t see how everything fit together.
The thing that held me back was the principle of eternal progression. “It just can’t be right.” I said, “How can man, who was created by God, ever hope to be a god?”
We were standing in front of the Joseph Smith Building. Nese paused for a moment.
“Dave,” she said, “before we were ever created physically, we were created spiritually as God’s sons and daughters. A part of us, our spirit, comes directly from him as our Father.”
I finally understood! It all fell into place. My grin spread to a smile and erupted as a laugh. I couldn’t stop grinning. My mind jumped from doctrine to doctrine. “Yes, yes, it all fits!” I wanted to dance or sing or run.
There, on the steps of the Joseph Smith Building, the Spirit bore witness to me of the gospel plan. I knew in my heart I would join the Church.
I still had to read the Book of Mormon, learn to pray, and take the missionary discussions. But my life was changed from that moment on. I had found truth, purpose, and a life to fulfill. Five weeks later I was baptized.
Eighteen months later, my impression that I would one day enter the Oakland Temple came true, as I received my endowments one week before leaving on a mission. When I returned, Nese and I decided to continue the eternal journey we had begun with conversations at a table in a library. We were married in the Provo Temple.
Every time I look at my wife, I thank the Lord that there was a girl in my high school with enough faith to “just want to share her beliefs with someone who wouldn’t laugh at her.” She touched my heart and changed my life.

“Is Franklin cents a type of money?” Rose asked as Grandma handed her a stack of napkins.
Grandma chuckled. “No, frankincense is a very expensive perfume.”
Rose picked up the basket of forks and followed Grandma to the family room. “Then why did the Wise Men give it to baby Jesus?” Rose asked.
“Because it was a very precious gift,” Grandma said.
Rose helped Grandma set the table for the Christmas party. “So, Grandma, what gift would you give Jesus?”
“I don’t know,” Grandma said with a smile. “But I do know we have a house full of hungry people.” Grandma hurried off to finish getting dinner ready.
At Grandma’s Christmas party every year, Rose had fun playing with her cousins and listening to everyone tell stories. Rose ate dinner next to her cousin Beth and her new baby. Beth told Rose how Grandma used to help with the new babies in the hospital’s nursery.
Later, Rose heard Aunt Julie ask her cousin Tim what quilt Grandma had given him when he got married. They told Rose how Grandma spent hours making beautiful quilts for her grandchildren’s wedding presents.
While Rose watched her dad play dominoes, she listened to stories about when Grandma was Relief Society president in her ward. Grandma often took dinner to people who were sick.
Rose sat next to Grandpa while she ate her apple pie. He told her that he and Grandma had gone to the temple every Tuesday for 25 years. They had done temple work for so many people that Grandpa had lost count of them all.
Rose jumped up from the table and ran to find Grandma. Rose patted her hand and said, “I know what gift you give to Jesus.”
“Oh? What is that?” Grandma asked.
Rose threw her arms around Grandma’s neck. “You give the gift of love!”

1. That morning for breakfast, each family member had only a half-piece of bread. Six-year-old Elizabeth noticed Mother’s worried expression.
2. Mother gave Father the last piece of bread, spread with lard, for his lunch. “I’m sorry, Joseph,” she said, “that I can’t give you more. But food is scarce, and people haven’t enough for themselves, let alone for the temple workers.”
Father smiled and said, “I know that whatever you fix is done with love, and I appreciate you.”
3. Although Elizabeth was hungry, she didn’t want Father to have to stop his carpentry work on the Manti Temple to earn money for food. She knew how important temples were to the Lord’s work.
4. Elizabeth rocked Baby Sina while Mother mended clothes with neat, fast stitches. When the baby fussed, Elizabeth bounced her gently and sang “Come, Come, Ye Saints” to her.
5. There was only enough flour for one more batch of bread, so Elizabeth and Mother knelt down together to ask Heavenly Father for help.
6. That night, after having only one small piece of bread each for supper, they went to bed early before the hunger pangs started again. Elizabeth thought that her stomach was resting on her backbone, but pioneer girls were too brave to complain.
7. Sunbeams were already resting on her quilt when Elizabeth awoke the next morning. Just as she finished dressing, Aunt Matilda came.
8. “Last night,” Aunt Matilda said, “I dreamed that you were hungry and desperate for something to eat. So I got up early to bring you some fresh eggs and milk, flour, and dried apples and berries from my farm.”
9. “Thank you, Heavenly Father,” Elizabeth whispered, as her grateful father hugged his sister.

One day on the school bus, Rachel Chase and Lauren Smith, both in the Acworth Ward seminary, were talking about what a good seminary lesson they had that day. Curtis Clinch repeated something his pastor had told him about the Latter-day Saints being one of the fastest growing religions.
Rachel agreed and said, “It kind of makes you think, doesn’t it, Curtis?”
He answered, “Yeah, it kind of does.”
Rachel asked, “Do you want to come to seminary with us?” Instead of Curtis answering, Heidi Hetzer, another friend who had been listening to their conversation, surprised them by saying, “Oh, I do.” Rachel arranged to pick up both Curtis and Heidi, and they have been going ever since—especially after their baptisms a couple of months later.

Heidi said, “I’ve known Rachel and her brother, Stephen, since they moved to Georgia. I’ve seen how close their family is. And I’ve known other members. They all seem happier than the rest of us. I’ve been interested in the Church for a while, but I didn’t have the opportunity to learn more. So when Rachel was talking to Curtis and invited him to seminary, I just said I wanted to come. After that first day in seminary, I went to school with a newfound happiness. Since then, it’s been lasting.”

In fact, on her baptism day, Rachel’s dad noticed her happy attitude. And her friends asked if she was wearing different makeup or something because she had a glow about her.

Heidi said, “Rachel invited me over to talk to the missionaries, and I went to a fireside that same night. I dove right into the Church.”

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.

Growing up, I thought I knew what serving a mission would be like. My older siblings had served missions, I had seen movies about missionaries, and I was ready to get to work. But as my mission got closer, my plan quickly fell apart.
Because of the COVID-19 pandemic, I was reassigned from my original call in the Philippines to my home country of Australia. When I arrived in the mission field, my experience was different than what I had expected. I desperately wanted to go home.
After I talked with my mission president, he gave me the option to finish my mission early and return home—exactly what I wanted. But when I was presented with that choice, I felt an overwhelming feeling from the Spirit that I should stay in the mission field.
I had a choice to make: act on revelation or act on my own desires.
Because of past experiences following promptings, I trusted that even though it wasn’t what I wanted to hear, this prompting to stay on my mission would ultimately be for my good.
I ended up serving a full two years and completing my mission. I wish I could say that the remainder of my time was super easy, but it wasn’t. However, the things I learned, the daily habits that connected me with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, and the deeper testimony I gained from serving have kept me grounded in the gospel.
Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles addressed this sort of situation when he said: “Very rarely does one prompting bring an answer. There’s almost always a sequence, ‘line upon line, precept upon precept’ (2 Nephi 28:30).” Even though my mission was tough, I was able to press forward with hope that God had a plan for me and that my struggles wouldn’t be in vain, because of the revelation I had received.

During the Second World War we used to call the men and women in uniform to talk in our stake conferences. In Oakland we called on one of the women. She said, “I work over in San Francisco in the government hospital. One day they brought in a girl for medical treatment. She was a Mormon girl. When they sent her tray up, one of the nurses said, ‘Should we send milk or should we send coffee?’ I spoke up and said, ‘Send milk; she won’t touch coffee.’ ‘Why won’t she touch the coffee?’ asked the other nurse. ‘Because she is a Mormon.’ ‘Ah, don’t kid yourself,’ the girl said. So the tray went up with the coffee on it.”
That first girl was on the spot—not only for herself, but for the Church. She said she almost held her breath until that tray came back for fear that the Mormon girl would let her down. In a few minutes the tray came back. The coffee had not been touched. With it was a note: “Please send me a glass of milk.” That is what it is to be able to live up to your standards. The eyes of the world are upon us.

So, Kayli started attending church as well as midweek activities. At first, it didn’t really do much for her. “I attended, but I didn’t believe anything,” Kayli says. “I wasn’t really paying attention.”
However, she began to notice something unusual. “Every time I went to church or youth activities, I’d be happy.”
After a couple years of noticing this, Kayli was ready to meet a very special friend.
“I met my friend Maddie when we moved to another part of Texas the summer before 10th grade,” Kayli says. “She introduced herself and became such a great example to me.”
Kayli says that Maddie always seems upbeat and joyful, even when times get tough. As their friendship grew, Kayli looked forward to attending Church meetings and activities more.
“Maddie is such a good friend,” Kayli says.
Another big influence in Kayli’s life was seminary. Unlike when she first attended church, this time Kayli truly started paying close attention to what was being taught. “The reason why I started paying attention in seminary is that the people around me were really good at answering questions and participating. I wanted to be a part of that.”
The stars were aligning, as they say. Between studying the Book of Mormon in seminary, seeing the gospel bring happiness to her older sister, brother-in-law, and others in the ward, and making some key friendships, Kayli was ready to say yes when Maddie asked if she’d like to take the missionary lessons at her house.
From there, things moved quickly. Kayli and her younger sister—who was asked independently and by a different friend to take the lessons at that friend’s house—decided to be baptized on the same day.
“In Alaska, my happiness came from hanging out with my friends and trying to be popular,” Kayli says. “Now my happiness comes from the gospel. I’ve learned so much from the members here. I’ve learned that happiness and light come through Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father.”

Oriol Atus, first counselor in the North District presidency, has given up two job offers and a promotion because of his refusal to participate. “To be successful in many places, you must practice voodoo. Several times, my employers or prospective employers have asked me to choose between the Church and voodoo. Of course, I always left the job or gave up the promotion. I work for less money now, but it’s worth it.”

Cristina looked longingly at the red dress in the window. Four hundred cruzeiros! It might as well have been all the money in Brazil. Her father had to work a week to earn that much. Her mother earned even less, sewing in a shop in downtown Rio de Janeiro.
Her friend Angela was going to dance in the Carnaval (festival like Mardi Gras) parade this year, and Cristina wanted to be with her.
“Can’t you save up the money?” Angela asked hopefully as the two girls walked toward the beach. “Carnaval is still two months away.”
“Save what? I don’t get any pocket money. Anyway, Papa is far away, working in Curitiba, so I can’t ask him.”
“Maybe something will happen.”
“Maybe,” murmured Cristina. But she couldn’t imagine what could happen.
“Oh, look! There’s an old vulture.” Angela ran laughing down the beach to chase the big black bird. Soon she came running back. “Let’s go borrow Juca’s vulture kite.”
“I can’t, Angela. I’m sorry. I have to do my chores.”
At home, Cristina swept the one room, cleaned the ashes out of the stove, fetched water from the faucet in the street, then set rice and beans to cook over a new fire.
When Mama came home, she looked so tired that Cristina could not bring herself to speak of the costume. She thought about Carnaval a lot, though. It always began on a Saturday and ended on Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent. How she loved the costumes in the giant parade! And how she liked to dance to the fast samba drum music. There were always women in satin ball gowns of scarlet and glossy blue and dancers wearing splendid gold pantaloons or glittering silver skirts. Some wore wonderful hats topped with ostrich plumes. The thick, creamy plumes dipped and swayed with the dancers.
An idea popped into Cristina’s head: There might be a way I could get a costume!
After school the next day she rushed to the shop where her mother worked, and found Senhor Luis, the owner.
“Senhor Luis,” Cristina said, “could I work for you after school? I would work very hard.”
Senhor Luis thought a bit. “Well,” he said, “you could run errands and help keep the shop tidy. But I can only afford to pay you forty cruzeiros a week.”
In her head Cristina multiplied: forty cruzeiros times eight weeks are three hundred twenty cruzeiros. Perhaps Mama can lend me the rest.
“Thank you, Senhor Luis. I will do it.”
Week after week Cristina ran errands, swept the shop, folded shirts. She carefully put away her money. There was no time anymore to play with Angela, who would say, “Let’s watch television in the store window” or “Let’s pick green coconuts in Carlo’s backyard.”
One day Cristina stopped again to look at the red dress in the window. It was gone! Cristina rushed inside the store. Quickly she pushed aside the dresses on the racks; then she saw it. Will the shopkeeper sell it before I have all the money? she wondered. She had two hundred cruzeiros already. There were just three weeks left, and she still had to ask Mama to lend her eighty cruzeiros.
As Cristina helped at the shop, she noticed how her mother’s feet constantly rocked back and forth on the sewing machine treadle. All of Senhor Luis’s machines were operated that way, because he couldn’t afford to have electricity.
One day Clara, who worked beside Cristina’s mother, cried out, “My legs! Oh, my legs!” and she began to frantically rub them.
Cristina’s mother dropped her work and bent quickly to massage Clara’s legs. “Cristina,” she called, “help me.”
Cristina ran over and rubbed Clara’s legs, too, as hard as she could.
“Thank you,” Clara said a few minutes later. “I am better now.”
But Cristina was upset. She remembered the many times her mother rubbed her own legs when she got home from work. “Mama,” she whispered, “let’s invite Dona Clara to supper tonight.”
“What a good idea!” Her mother smiled, then suddenly looked worried. “But what will we have to eat?”
“I will think of something, Mama.”
At the butcher shop Cristina stood clutching her money in her pocket. “One pound of sausage, please,” she said, counting out sixty cruzeiros. Passing mounds of ripe yellow papayas and heaps of fragrant, purple mangoes at the grocer’s, she selected three beautiful, large oranges. Another ten cruzeiros gone! She bought some bananas and manioc meal too. All together she spent one hundred cruzeiros of her savings.
When her mother came home with Clara, there were marvelous smells coming from the stove. “What are you cooking, Cristina?”
“Sausage with beans, Mama. I bought it with some of my money. I got some fruit, too—see the lovely bananas and oranges?”
Mama smiled and hugged her. “Your father would be proud of you.”
“Come and sit, Mama and Dona Clara.” Cristina dished out the tasty beans, divided up the sausage, then added rice to each plate. The manioc meal went on top of the gravy. They had the fruit for dessert. Cristina saw how much her mother and Clara were enjoying their special supper, but she herself could hardly eat.
“It was delicious!” Clara said with a sigh when she had finished eating. “I feel much better now. Thank you, Cristina. You are a good girl.”
Clara lingered to chat with Mama, and Cristina heard their soft voices in front of the house as she washed the dishes. Soon afterward she went to bed and, despite her sadness, fell asleep quickly.
“Now you’ll never get your costume!” Angela cried the next day when she learned what Cristina had done.
“I felt sorry for Dona Clara, Angela. And my mother works so hard too.”
Her mother was waiting for her when Cristina went to work that afternoon. “Look!” she told Cristina excitedly.
Cristina saw a glowing, shimmering dress hanging on a rack. “A costume!” she whispered, not daring to speak louder for fear it would vanish.
Clara and Senhor Luis laughed. Clara said, “This morning I asked Senhor Luis for some remnants, and he gave me this beautiful material instead. Your mother and I made it into this costume for you.”
Senhor Luis beamed. “You have worked hard, child,” he said. “You deserve it.”
Cristina held the dress against herself. Its silky green material glinted and moved with her body, the rich skirt of many layers swirling about her knees. Soon, Cristina knew, it would be flashing among the other dancers’ costumes.

The lights were turned low, and the soft strains of Christmas carols filled the room as Grandma Joy fashioned fancy bows for the packages she had just wrapped with gaily colored paper. She smiled just thinking about her children and grandchildren, who would be visiting her tomorrow on Christmas Day. She was looking forward to the sparkling eyes and clapping hands of her grandchildren as they opened their gifts.
Grandma Joy had made each grandchild a pair of soft flannel pajamas with colorful trains, toy soldiers, rag dolls, or kittens on them. Each child would have his own favorite color, and, as a special treat, she had crocheted matching slippers with big, bouncy pom-poms on them.
Finished now with the bows, Grandma Joy relaxed in her recliner rocking chair to enjoy the music and to let her mind wander back over the day to see if she had forgotten anything. The sugar cookies were baked and decorated. The fruitcakes, taken from the oven only an hour ago, were sending their spicy aroma throughout the house as they cooled on racks on the kitchen counter. The family’s traditional salad mold was in the refrigerator, and the homemade fudge and divinity were heaped in fancy dishes about the living room.
The dining room table was covered with her best tablecloth, and in the center rested a bowl of shining red apples, ripe yellow bananas, thick-skinned navel oranges, and clusters of purple and red grapes. And on top of the television was Grandma Joy’s special gift for Tanya.
Tanya was the oldest grandchild. She had a keen, active mind overflowing with questions that Grandma Joy had run out of instant answers to—questions like:
“Grandma Joy, why wasn’t Jesus born in a beautiful home instead of a stable? I’ve been in a barn with cattle, and it’s not a very pleasant place for a human baby to be born.
“Once when I was building a birdhouse, the hammer slipped and hit my finger. It hurt really bad, and my fingernail turned black, and I finally lost it. So how could Jesus let the people crucify Him? How could He stand it when the soldiers drove nails through His hands and feet?
“How could Jesus go forty days and nights without food, when I get so hungry that I eat after school and then can hardly wait until Dad gets home for dinner?
“How could Jesus love all the little children and hold them in His arms? When Jimmy gets dirty and his hands are sticky, I don’t want him near me!
“Why did Jesus just wander around—why didn’t He work at a job like Dad does? I see on TV that when people don’t work, the police sometimes chase them out of parks, and charity groups have to feed them. …”
Tanya must have a good Primary teacher, Grandma Joy mused, one who gets children to think for themselves. Since Tanya left here last Sunday, I’ve needed every minute to prepare the Answer Tree for her.
The little Christmas tree had tiny packages hanging from its green branches. Grandma Joy had spent hours that week studying and reading the Bible and other good books, writing down the answers to Tanya’s questions, and wrapping the little pieces of paper as ornaments for the two-foot tree.
After a lovely Christmas dinner the next day, and after all the other gifts had been exchanged, Grandma Joy and Tanya sat together in the big chair near the little tree. The younger children were napping, and the other adults were visiting quietly together. It was a perfect time for Tanya to open the ornament-packages on the Answer Tree. She picked a blue ball-shaped one first and read:
“‘Jesus loved little children because He knew that they are innocent and trusting and eager to learn. He compared the kingdom of God to a child. Sticky hands or straggly hair or dirty knees aren’t as important as a pure heart. Jesus sees our souls.’
“Oh, Grandma Joy,” Tanya exclaimed, “these are answers to my questions! Thank you!”
Choosing a red package made up to look like a Wise Man, Tanya read the message inside:
“‘Only because He sacrificed Himself for us—and rose again—can we be resurrected after we die. He suffered for our sins so that we can live with Him again if we live righteously here on earth. Jesus let the soldiers nail Him to the cross and endured the pain because He loved us and wants us to be with Him always.’”
Unwrapping a white ornament that looked like an open Bible, Tanya read:
“‘Not much is said directly about why Heavenly Father didn’t arrange for Jesus to be born in a better place than a stable, but maybe one reason was that His humble birth helped to show that He came to save everyone. The Jews were expecting the Savior to be more like a warrior-king who would conquer their enemies, so His birth in a stable might have been a way to indicate His true ministry right from the start of His mortal life. Another reason that He was born in a stable may have been to show that it is one of God’s commandments to obey the laws of the land. Mary and Joseph were doing that when they went to Bethlehem to pay their taxes.’”
Inside a tiny gift box with an orange bow was this message:
“‘Jesus wandered from place to place because He needed to teach as many people as He could before He died. There were no radios or televisions or even loudspeakers for Him to use, so He had to travel from place to place to heal people and to teach them. Until He went to Gethsemane and Calvary, that was His job.’”
Tanya opened a green bell package next and read:
“‘Like Jesus, Moses fasted for forty days. Both of them were with Heavenly Father during that time and were sustained by Him as they received His counsel. Heavenly Father helped them so that they could help us.’”
Finally Tanya took the gold star from the top of the tree. Carefully she opened it, then read this verse from “O Little Town of Bethlehem”:
“‘How silently, how silently,
The wondrous gift is given!
So God imparts to human hearts
The blessings of his heaven.
No ear may hear his coming;
But in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive him, still
The dear Christ enters in.’
“Oh, Grandma Joy, I’m so glad that I can come to you with my questions,” Tanya said as she snuggled in the big chair with her grandmother once again. “Your Christmas Answer Tree explained things so that I can understand them.”
“Thank you, dear,” Grandma Joy told her. “That’s the best praise anyone can get.”

by Bill Blair
Last summer I was able to participate with approximately 80 other handicapped persons in one of the most exciting experiences of my life—a Muscular Dystrophy Association summer camp. Because I have no use of my feet or legs and very little use of my hands and arms, I felt a great deal of apprehension about being away from my family for a whole week. But my fears were quickly calmed. Even before we boarded the buses to leave, each of us was introduced to the young man or woman who would be our 24-hour-a-day attendant for the coming week. Then, our wheelchairs and crutches were stowed in the luggage compartment, and we headed north to Arizona’s beautiful red rock canyon country near Sedona.
The site of our camp was the Verde Valley School, a private institution for both boys and girls. In that beautiful setting we had the use of the whole school—its dormitories, an excellently run cafeteria, the gymnasium-auditorium, and even the facilities of a nearby private pool. In addition, we were able to participate in football, basketball, and softball with the assistance of our attendants. We even had our own Olympics with a special awards program. There were daily sessions in swimming and arts and crafts and horseback riding for those who could participate. Every evening we had different kinds of entertainment, including a masquerade party, a disco night, and a talent show.
Practically no camper is too handicapped for this camp. One participant was supposed to be permanently confined to a hospital bed but was taken to camp and wheeled around to see and enjoy all the activities.
But to me the greatest part of the whole program was the association with the attendants. Their dedication and unselfishness helped make the camp experience successful for all of us. Attendant Kathy Hansen, one of five LDS attendants, felt that “it was a very beautiful and moving experience to see the attendants and their campers sharing this time and experience together. If any attendants needed assistance, there were always willing hands ready to help.” Kathy is a member of the Phoenix 38th Ward, Phoenix Arizona West Stake, and I am a member of the Glendale Fifth Ward, Glendale Arizona Stake.

My wife, Chris, and I have been best friends and sweethearts for more than 18 years. We have supported each other through the ups and downs of married life, celebrated and grieved together, and, with our seven children, worked to build a strong, Christ-centered home.
So I was excited by an invitation to speak at a priesthood leadership meeting in which I would address the topic of serving my wife. With confidence, I outlined the main doctrinal points I knew were important, filled in supporting gospel illustrations, and crafted what I believed was a strong, gospel-oriented talk. I concentrated on the eternal aspects of marriage and family, summarizing the words of the prophets on the role of women and emphasizing the responsibility men have to assist them.
I stayed after work one night to put the finishing touches on my talk and headed home with eager anticipation. Chris has always been my “congregation of one” as I have outlined talks and ideas to her before presenting them in public. I can always count on her support and encouragement, and I was sure she would like this talk.
“Chris, do you have a minute?” I asked as I came through the door.
“Hi, honey. I’ll be right there. I just need to check on dinner first,” she replied from the back of the house.
As I walked into the living room and picked up the mail, I could hear her giving instructions to the children: Shannon was to help with dinner, Casey was to set the table, and Caitlin, our two-year-old, was to put her clothes on.
“Okay, what’s up?” Chris asked after a quick kiss and hug.
“Well, I’m giving a talk in a few days at a priesthood leadership meeting. I want to read it to you so you can tell me what you think, and—”
“Just a minute, honey.” Turning toward the kitchen, she called out to the children: “Shannon, the meat smells like it’s burning. Casey, is the table set yet? Brianne, would you please check on Caitlin?”
She turned back to me. “Sorry. The kids are driving me crazy today. I’ve had to constantly remind them of the simplest things. What were you saying?”
I smiled and started over. “I’ve been asked to give this talk at—”
Just then Brianne walked in and said she couldn’t find any clothes for Caitlin. Chris directed her to the laundry room and asked her to start another load of clothes. Before I could say another word, Caitlin came running into the room with several copies of music Chris had ordered for a choral festival.
“Oh, no!” Chris said as she hurried off to rescue a large box filled with about one hundred copies of the music. “I spent all morning and most of the afternoon marking each of these for breathing and pronunciation. All I need is for Caitlin to scribble all over them.”
“Anyway, about my talk,” I continued after she returned. “The subject is serving your spouse. I thought I would have you tell me how a priesthood holder can best serve his wife so that I can see how close I came in my draft.”
“I’d like to hear your thoughts first,” she said over a rising din coming from the kitchen.
“Well, it’s a rough draft, and I was hoping that you would use your perspective to help me fill in the weak spots,” I said. “So tell me, what does a wife need the most?”
After brief reflection, Chris said, “A wife needs someone who’s willing to help her do the things that she does for everyone else in the family. She needs an uncomplaining, good-natured helper who can keep focused on cleaning, cooking, shopping, child rearing, and organization—someone willing to do these things even if deserved recognition and praise do not always come. Do you have that in your talk?”
“Oh-oh,” I said, lowering my gaze.
Warming to the subject, she continued, “This helper should also be able to anticipate the needs of family members, be willing to put personal projects on hold when the children need attention, and be able to quickly find family possessions.”
“I don’t have that in my talk either,” I told her. But my talk did have plenty of good elements. “What about priesthood? Isn’t it important to a wife that her husband hold the priesthood?”
She smiled. I had missed the mark only a little after all. Or so I thought.
“Yes, it means a great deal to me. But what’s important is using the priesthood, not just holding it. A priesthood holder should look for ways to use his priesthood to bless his wife. When a wife has to ask for help and service, she wonders if her husband is really aware of her needs. When a husband is sensitive to his wife’s needs, emotions, and daily trials, she feels valued and appreciated.”
“Thank you,” I said, leaning over and kissing her. “What else can a husband do to serve his wife?”
“Just two more things,” Chris said. “First, he should listen to her. She shouldn’t have to compete with the television or the newspaper or other distractions. He should listen with his heart to what his eternal companion has to tell him. If we’re going to spend eternity with each other, we ought to know each other’s thoughts, opinions, worries, frustrations, and hopes.”
I quietly put down the mail I still held in my hands.
“And second, he should simply love her. He should love her when she is impatient and frustrated after a busy day, or when she burns his dinner, or when she has trouble loving herself, or when she is four and a half months pregnant and doubts her ability to meet the needs of another child.”
That night I rewrote my talk, emphasizing that service means much more than helping my wife only when she asks for my assistance. Chris reminded me that true marriage, just as President Spencer W. Kimball said, is based on a happiness that “comes from giving, serving, sharing, sacrificing, and selflessness” (Marriage and Divorce, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Company, 1976, page 12).