Gospel Story Finder

In Athens, Greece, Ismena downsized by moving into the grandparent apartment in her home after her husband passed away. She gave the main house to her daughter, Helena, and her family. “It makes more sense for the growing family to have the larger place,” Ismena says. “I asked my sister Delphine to live with me, and we love caring for the grandchildren while Helena and her husband are at work. Many nights we have dinner and scripture study with everyone.”

When Fan Hsieh read about the restoration of the priesthood, he had to know more. “For the first time since I was released from the priesthood in my own church, I thought I might be able to hold the priesthood again,” he says.
After serving eighteen years as a Catholic priest, Hsieh had given up his ministry because he felt “a spiritual void.” Now, as he studied the restored gospel, he was about to discover the true priesthood of God.
Fan Hsieh was born 23 August 1922 in Tayeh, China, an isolated farming community. He did not begin formal education until he was ten years old. After four years in a private school, he enrolled in a Catholic school, began to learn about Jesus Christ, and was baptized a Catholic. “I saw the example of many good Catholic missionaries,” he says, “and I thought maybe China needed more of them to teach the people about Jesus Christ. I decided to become a priest.”
Hsieh’s road to that goal was long and arduous. He attended a Catholic seminary in Wuhan for four years. Then he studied at a Catholic university in the capital city of Beijing [Peking]. A year later, the communists took over the city, and Hsieh escaped to Shanghai, where he attended the Aurora Jesuit University. When the communist forces invaded Shanghai, he moved to the Catholic seminary in Hong Kong. Then, because of the political situation, the seminary was transferred to Macao. While there, Hsieh was ordained a priest in the Catholic church.
Following his ordination, he was assigned to Rome, Italy, where he studied Italian, Latin, and law for four years. Next he moved to Paris, France, where he studied French, Greek, Hebrew, English, Spanish, and German so that he could better understand the original texts and the various translations of the Bible. He wanted to learn all he could about the Savior.
Finally, in 1967, Hsieh’s original desire to teach his people about Jesus Christ became a reality. Cardinal Yu Ping, president of Fu Jen Catholic University in Taipei, invited him to become a member of the faculty as a professor of philosophy and French. In this assignment, Hsieh began to share his growing testimony of Jesus Christ.
“I spent eighteen years teaching and fulfilling my responsibilities as a priest,” says Hsieh. “I was very busy, but I wasn’t happy. I had had the opportunity to study in Europe; I had been a teacher, a student, a professor, a chaplain, a seminary director—my life was colorful—but there was a spiritual void.”
And there were rules and customs within the Catholic church with which Hsieh was uncomfortable, such as the ban on certain books—and he liked to read and study all he could. Another problem that bothered him as an ordained priest was the Lord’s statement: “It is not good that the man should be alone” (Gen. 2:18).
“This particular scripture became a vivid reality for me once when I was seriously sick and there was no one close to take care of me. I felt very alone. I realized the need for a companion to share my life. I decided then that being alone forever wasn’t right.”
This combination of feelings built up over time. Finally, in 1973, he asked to be released from his priestly vows. He resigned from Fu Jen University and was immediately hired by National Cheng Chi University in Taipei. There, one year later, Hsieh met, courted, and married one of his university assistants. He was about fifty years old at this time.
“But giving up the priesthood was difficult for me,” he says. “I had been a priest for so long. Now I had given up everything that I had lived for up to that point in time. I missed sharing my knowledge and understanding of the gospel, something I had been able to do as a priest. I thought about becoming a minister in another church that allowed priests to marry. But because of my belief in the Catholic church, I couldn’t make that change.”
Three years after his marriage, Hsieh was alone in his home when two young men knocked on his door. “They asked to talk to me, and I said I had no time and no interest in whatever they wanted to talk about.
“But as I thought about them, I became more curious. I wanted to know who they were and what they were doing in Taiwan, so I looked out from the balcony of my apartment and saw them going from door to door. I waited for a long time for them to come out of one of the apartments, and then I called to them to come back to mine.
“The first question I asked them was, ‘Are you missionaries?’ When they answered yes, I questioned them about their religion. Many of my questions were left unanswered, and I didn’t feel satisfied with our first conversation.
“That evening, as I discussed their visit with my wife, she reminded me of the Lord’s admonition to ‘beware of false prophets.’” (See Matt. 7:15.)
When the missionaries made a return visit, Hsieh was not going to let them in, but he didn’t want to be impolite. For the entire evening, Hsieh explained to the missionaries what true religion should be. He did not tell them that he had been a Catholic priest, but they felt encouraged by his knowledge of Christianity.
One of the missionaries, Donald B. Cenatiempo, wrote of the experience, “I felt as if we were the students and he was the teacher. We could tell he was a very intelligent and religious man.” The missionaries asked if they could return, and Hsieh said yes. The visits became a weekly ritual.
“I didn’t want to send them away,” Hsieh remembers. “I thought that if their church were true, it would have a prophet and continuing revelation. I asked them why their church didn’t have crosses or crucifixes, and they said, ‘Because Christ is risen; Christ lives. If one of your friends or parents dies,’ they said, ‘do you take out a photograph of them dead and show it to everyone?’ I was spiritually touched by the wisdom of their response.”
Hsieh started to read the Book of Mormon and the Doctrine and Covenants, which he especially liked because it is a record of the Lord speaking to man in these latter days. He asked for other books to read, and the missionaries gave him a copy of A Marvelous Work and a Wonder, by Elder LeGrand Richards.
“We told Brother Hsieh that it was possible for him to receive the priesthood and perform certain duties within that priesthood,” Elder Cenatiempo wrote. “Brother Hsieh understood as well as anybody could in his stage of spiritual progression what it would mean to hold the priesthood—the true priesthood of God.”
Hsieh explained to his wife what he had read, and she found it very interesting. Together, they began to study and pray for understanding. Eventually, Hsieh’s wife announced to the missionaries, “We have prayed and we feel it best to be baptized together.” They were baptized in December 1977.
In the years since that special event in their lives, they have developed strong testimonies that they enjoy sharing with others.
“We have always said that we would be willing to do whatever the Lord wants us to do,” says Brother Hsieh. “And we’ve always tried to use every opportunity and every talent he has given us to help build up the kingdom of God on the earth and to share the gospel message.”
Some unique opportunities have opened up to Brother Hsieh to do this. He has lectured seven times at the International Conference for Christian Professors. “They are interested in the Church because it is quite new and unique in modern Christianity,” he says. “The Lord has given me many opportunities to bear my testimony to these scholars.”
Currently, Brother Hsieh, a member of the Mu Cha Ward, serves as a high councilor in the Taipei Taiwan West Stake and has assisted in work on a second Chinese translation of the Book of Mormon.
“The gospel is the love of God,” he says. “It is important that all men and women hear this message. What we do, we do for the glory of God and the salvation of souls. Friendship is the method by which we share the gospel. The final goal for all is salvation and exaltation.”

On learning that we were his home teachers, one father who understood this relationship came to me with a planning and report form listing challenges given by previous home teachers. Six-year-old Michael had been given a dollar to start a mission fund and had been asked to find a hobby. Eight-year-old Dianne was to learn the names of her grandparents and fill out a family group sheet. Both children were encouraged to play the piano. Father and mother were challenged to develop some common interests in preparation for the future. “Just something to workust something to work on,” he wrote.
These we followed up on, and new goals were established. We showed filmstrips from the meetinghouse library on books of remembrance and temple marriage. Once we asked permission to bring a girl investigator to our next visit so she could feel the spirit of an ideal Latter-day Saint family—indirectly teaching both missionary responsibilities and the importance of good family relationships. Dianne and Michael were reading the Book of Mormon. Every time they saw us, at home or at the chapel, they would report on their progress. If there was time, we would ask about some story or the meaning of a verse, and we would always say, “That’s wonderful! We’re proud of you.”
Once when reading the New Testament, Dianne had not read very much and said she just hadn’t found the time. We replied that you never find time for worthwhile things, you have to make time by planning a definite schedule for each day. The father said, “We’ll all spend a period together each morning reading the scriptures.”

Tom Perry learned early to plan time to be with his family. When they moved to the eastern United States, they decided to buy a home closer to work rather than the “dream home” they’d found earlier because his traveling time to and from work would have been excessive. Later he turned down an attractive job offer because the firm couldn’t guarantee him his Saturdays off—the day of the week he devoted to his family.

My knees shook a little and my stomach fluttered as I stood with Mom in the office of my new school. I straightened my shirt and tried to see my reflection in the glass door. My family had just moved from another state, and now here I was on my first day of fourth grade. Would I make friends here? I wondered. Would they like me? Was anyone going to sit by me at lunch?
A lady walked out from behind the counter and gave me a big smile. “Hi, Christina, I’m Mrs. Collins. I’ll take you to your class.”
I nodded. Mom bent down and gave me a hug. “You’ll be fine,” she whispered in my ear. “I’ll see you after school, OK?”
I nodded again, afraid that if I said anything, I would start to cry. Mom left the office and walked down the front steps of the school. I felt like running after her, but Mrs. Collins put her hand on my shoulder and led me down a long hallway. I glanced into classrooms and saw a few kids looking out the door at us as we walked by. Would any of them be my friends? We finally came to my classroom, and Mrs. Collins introduced me to the teacher. Mrs. Murphy smiled. “We’re glad to have you in our class, Christina,” she said. “You can sit next to Melissa.”
She pointed out a girl and I made my way to the empty desk next to her. I slid into my seat and smiled a little at Melissa. “Hi,” I said softly.
She smiled a little too. “Hi.”
I took a deep breath and tried to slow down my racing heart. Some of the kids turned around to look at me. I heard whispering and a few giggles, and I felt my face turning red. Did they not like me already?
A little while later, the class visited the school library. I tried to stay close to Melissa, but she went with a different reading group. Most of the girls quickly sat down at the round tables with their friends and favorite books. There wasn’t anywhere for me to sit, so I pretended to look at different books as I walked up and down through the rows of shelves. When I came to the end of one row, I was right in front of a table of girls. I recognized one of them from my new Primary class. I swallowed hard and smiled. Maybe they could be my friends.
Suddenly, the girl closest to me leaned back in her chair, as if she were trying to get away from me. “Why is your skin dark?” she asked.
“Um. …” I didn’t know what to say.
“Why do you look different?” another girl asked.
“What are you?”
I tried to smile at their questions, but the girls weren’t smiling at me. They looked like they were smelling rotten food. Just then Mrs. Murphy walked in. “OK, class, it’s time to go back to the room.”
I didn’t look at anyone as we walked back to the classroom. For the rest of the day, I peeked at kids around me and tried to see why those girls thought I was different. None of my old friends thought I was different. No one at my old school had ever asked me what I was, and I didn’t know how to answer. I was me, that’s what I was.
I looked at my arm, and then at Melissa’s arm resting on her desk. My arm was a lot browner than hers. I scooted close to my desk and hid my arms underneath it.
“How was your day?” Mom asked when I got home from school.
“Mom, why is my skin dark?”
“Why do you ask?”
“A girl in my class asked me why. These girls wanted to know why I look … different.” I started to cry.
Mom pulled me into her arms and wiped the tears off my cheeks. “Oh, honey, everybody’s different. It’s not a bad thing.”
“Those girls aren’t different,” I said. “They all look the same. They all have blonde hair and blue eyes.”
“All of them?”
I thought about the girls in my class. “Well, no. But why is my skin darker than theirs? I didn’t think I was different. Those girls think there’s something wrong with me.”
“There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you,” Mom said, hugging me tight. “Do you remember the stories about my ancestors?” she asked.
I sniffed and shrugged.
“Grandma and Grandpa Ruiz are from Texas, but their parents’ families came from Mexico. They had beautiful skin like yours. When we put my ancestors and Dad’s ancestors together, you come from all over! Mexico, Scotland, Spain, England, and probably other places we haven’t found in our family history yet. You are the best combination you could be!”
“I don’t want to be different than kids here,” I said.
“Why not?”
“Because I want to have friends.”
Mom frowned. “Do you want to have friends who hurt your feelings like those girls did?”
I thought about it, and then shook my head. “I’ll try to find friends who like me for me.”
The next morning at school, Melissa looked up at me as I put my backpack next to my desk. I looked at her, afraid of what she might say. Was she going to ask me why I looked different?
“Hi, Christina,” she said. “Do you want to play with me and Sarah at recess?”
I grinned and nodded. Melissa’s blue eyes shined as she tucked her blonde hair behind her ears, but I noticed her wide smile the most.

As a young man I was offered an appointment to the United States Naval Academy. This was an honor and a real temptation. However, in my early life I had definitely decided that I would like to go on a mission, and I could now see that if I accepted the Naval Academy appointment I probably would not be able to serve as a missionary.
After prayerful consideration I declined the appointment, as I felt it was the will of the Lord that I go on a mission. Soon thereafter I received a call to serve in the Eastern States Mission.
I will be eternally grateful for the call I received, because it was in the mission field that I learned to love the gospel, learned the power of faith, and felt the happiness and peace that come when one is responsive to the whisperings of the Holy Spirit. The pattern I set in the mission field has been a guide to me throughout my life.
My mission president, Brigham H. Roberts, in his letter of release to me, promised me that I would “find new beginnings from time to time … even more missions.” As I left the mission field I prayed fervently and at length that this promise might be fulfilled. Twenty-four years later it was partially fulfilled when I was called to be the stake mission president of the East Mill Creek Stake. At that time Elder Gordon B. Hinckley was president of that stake, and also at that time President Harold B. Lee gave me a beautiful blessing as he set me apart.
Four years later it was further realized when I was called to preside over the Northwestern States Mission. And one of the choicest and most inspiring experiences of our lives was when Sister Richards and I spent approximately ten days with President and Sister Lee in touring our mission.

The unique qualities possessed by these men and women whom I have mentioned can be of invaluable assistance to us as we face the problems and the trials which lie ahead. May I illustrate by mentioning the experience of the Pollard family of Oakland, California.

A few years ago, as Elder Taavili Joseph Samuel Pollard was traveling to the mission office on the last day of his mission in Zimbabwe, the mission car he was driving somehow spun out of control and hit a tree. A passerby was able to rescue Elder Pollard’s companion, but Elder Pollard, who was unconscious, was trapped in the car, which burst into flames. Elder Pollard perished. His mother had passed away eight years earlier; hence, his father was rearing the family alone. A brother was serving in the West Indies Mission.

When the news of Elder Pollard’s death reached his father, this humble man—who had already lost his wife—called the son serving in the West Indies to let him know of his brother’s death. Over that long-distance telephone line, Brother Pollard and his son, no doubt grief stricken and heartsick, sang together “I Am a Child of God.” Before concluding the call, the father offered a prayer to Heavenly Father, thanking Him for His blessings and seeking His divine comfort.

Brother Pollard later commented that he knew his family would be all right, for they have strong testimonies of the gospel and of the plan of salvation.

Reach out. I am grateful for the organization of the Church because there are people in the ward or branch who are responsible to minister to each one of us. We are not alone. If you are in need, humbly reach out. Speak up and let others know a way that they can help. So many struggles are not public knowledge and not shared, so it might be hard for others to know how to help you if you don’t tell them. One example is that we had a few unexpected treatment appointments come up, and we had not yet arranged childcare. I asked a few friends to have my youngest daughter over for playdates to help ease the burden on Grandma, who was primarily caring for her. They were so kind and willing but would not have known I needed that help if I did not ask.

Here is an example of the kind of Christlike ministering that happens among members of the Lord’s Church. A student at Brigham Young University recently wrote:
“I was going through a really rough time. One day I was really struggling and on the verge of tears. I pleaded and prayed silently for strength to continue. In that exact moment, my roommate sent me a text expressing her love for me. She shared a scripture and bore a testimony. It brought me so much strength and comfort and hope in that moment of despair.”

Two days after David got home from his mission, he went to the fitness center his family had joined while he’d been away. An hour later, after working out and taking a shower, he stood with a towel wrapped around him, in front of a mirror. He began to blow-dry his hair. A guy his age approached the mirror, spread shaving cream on himself and began to shave his chest with a razor.

David had never seen anyone shave their chest before—he couldn’t help but stare.

The guy noticed David in the mirror. “How’s it going?” he asked. He turned around and stuck out his hand. “Brad Eppley here. Commodity trading.”

They shook hands. “I’m David Warner.”

“David, great to meet you. I notice you’ve got hair on your chest. The only reason I mention it is because most of the guys in the club shave their chests.”

“I didn’t have hair on my chest when I was 12. So why is a hairless chest such a big advantage now?”

Brad flexed and glanced at his reflection. “Shows muscle definition. And girls love it. With girls, appearance is everything. You know, like the kind of car you have. By the way, what do you drive?”

“A ’78 Pontiac.”

“That ugly green bomb that’s dripping oil all over the parking lot is yours? What do you do, wear a mask when you get into it so nobody will know who you are?”

“It’s not so bad. It gets me around.”

“Yeah, like that’s really the purpose of a car. You seem so out of it. When’s the last time you went out with a girl?”

“It’s been two years.”

Brad threw up his hands. “Well, there you have it! I’m not surprised.”

“The reason I haven’t dated for two years is because I’ve been on a mission for my church.”

“Are you a Mormon?”

“Yes, I am.”

“How much do they pay you to do that?”

“I paid my own way.”

“Why would you do a thing like that?”

“It was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“You want to know what I’ve accomplished in the last two years? Plenty, I’ll tell you. Right now I drive a BMW, I live in the best condo in town, I’ve got the best sound system they make, I go out with the best looking girls. And what have you got to show for your two years?”

“I’m grateful for the experiences I had.”

“What kind of experiences?”

“Having my prayers answered, knowing that Heavenly Father loved the people we were working with.”

“Well, that’s all fine and good, but tell me this, can you deposit experiences like that in a bank?”

“No, but I wouldn’t trade my mission for any amount of money.”

“Look, no offense intended, but maybe you’re not really right for this club. I mean, there’s plenty of other places to work out where you’d feel more comfortable. Like outside, for example, where all those biblical things are—you know, like animals and flowers, things like that. I mean it’s just a thought.”

“You may be right. Is everyone here like you?”

“No, not everybody. For me, though, this club is perfect. They’re open every day of the year, even Christmas. Okay, I admit it, I’m a little on the compulsive side. I come here every day. I have a routine—Monday, abs; Tuesdays, pects …”

“Abs?”

“Abdominal muscles. Pects is pectoral muscles. You don’t get around much, do you? By the way, do Mormons have monasteries? I mean, if they do, you’d be perfect. Well, anyway, I come here every day. If I miss one day I really feel it. Like the time my aunt died. They made me go to the funeral. Yeah, this is a great place. Cheyenne and I come every day. You might have noticed her. You can’t help noticing her. But don’t get any ideas. I’m the man of her dreams, the key to her heart and, really, if you think about it, the hope of her future.”

“Well, good for her. Excuse me.” David went into the locker room to get dressed.

Brad finished shaving his chest, wiped off the excess shaving cream with a towel, and then smeared a white cream on his chest. He came out to talk to David. “You want to know why I’m doing this now?” he asked.

David sighed. “Well, not really, but go ahead.”

“To rid myself of razor stubble. Let me tell you, it’s a big problem. You put on your shirt and it’s like having sandpaper on your chest. This cream is supposed to take care of that. It’s the first time I tried it. Wish me luck.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Just as David was about to leave, Brad suddenly yelled, “Aaaah!” He rushed into the locker room area. “I’m having some kind of allergic reaction! My whole chest is on fire. I’m going to take another shower to get this stuff off me. Look, can you go find Cheyenne and tell her what I’m going through. Tell her not to worry about me though. She’ll be in the snack bar drinking a large tomato juice. That’s all she ever drinks.”

It was easy for David to find Cheyenne. Brad was right—she was beautiful and she was drinking a large tomato juice.

“I have a message from the man of your dreams,” David said, trying to keep a straight face.

“I don’t dream much actually. Sometimes though, when I have a pepperoni pizza late at night, I have a recurring nightmare.”

“By any chance is your nightmare about a guy with an absolutely hairless chest?”

She laughed. “How did you know?”

“I met him. He told me to tell you he was having a reaction to the cream he put on his chest to get rid of razor stubble.”

“Poor baby,” she snickered. She pointed to a full glass of tomato juice on the other side of the table. “You want some tomato juice? I ordered one for Brad, but it looks like he’ll be a while.”

“You might not want to be seen with me.”

“Why’s that?”

“See that car out there? It’s mine.”

“You’ve been around Brad too much. Sit down and drink the tomato juice.”

He sat down and took a sip. “This is the first time I’ve been alone with a girl for two years.”

She looked worried. “What were you in for?”

“In for?”

“You don’t look like the armed robbery type. And with that car of yours it couldn’t have been auto theft.”

“I wasn’t in prison.”

“Sorry. What were you doing for two years?”

“I was a missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”

“The Mormons, right? That sounds like a nice thing to do. What was it like?”

He told her about his mission and then said, “I’m really grateful for the experiences I had.”

She looked up from her tomato juice. “You’re the first guy I’ve met who said he was grateful for anything. What are you grateful for? What did you get out of your mission?”

“I found out what’s really important in life?”

“Which is?”

“The people we meet every day are important.”

“Why?”

“Because every one of them is our brother or our sister.”

“That makes you my brother then, doesn’t it?”

“Yes.”

She gave him a teasing smile, but then looked into his eyes, recognized something very deep and serious, became uncomfortable, and looked away.

They talked for another 20 minutes, until Brad came in and sat down. “You still here?” he asked David.

“I asked him to stay,” Cheyenne said. “I’ve never met anyone like him before.”

“Is that right? Well, you should see his chest. It’s an absolute hairy mess I’ll tell you.”

“Why do you think I care about things like that? It doesn’t mean a thing to me.”

“Well thanks a lot, after I slave all day. What’s this guy got that I don’t have?”

“Gratitude. You have everything a guy could want, but I’ve never heard you say you were grateful for any of it.”

“Hey, look, everything I’ve got is like teetering on the edge of a huge cliff and any moment it can all be swept away. I have to keep fighting just to stay where I am. There’s no time for gratitude in my life.”

“Are you grateful that I came into your life?”

He paused. “It’s not like you don’t get anything from our relationship. I’ve introduced you to some very influential people.”

“Are you grateful for anything?” Cheyenne asked.

“I’d be grateful if you’d quit talking about this.”

There was an uneasy silence. “I’d better go,” David said.

“Let me walk you to your car,” she said.

“Don’t even go near that car,” Brad said. “What if somebody sees you?”

“I’ll take my chances.”

David and Cheyenne walked out to his car. “Beautiful sunset,” he said.

They stopped to look at the sunset. “You find something every day to be grateful for, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Even when things are going bad?”

“There’s always something to be grateful for.” He opened his car door. “I’d better go.”

“What if sometime I decide I want a little more gratitude in my life? What would I have to do?”

“You could start by coming to church with me.”

“That doesn’t sound too hard.”

“I could come by for you this Sunday.”

“Actually I think it’d be better if I drove myself. Brad gets kind of crazy with jealousy sometimes.”

“Yeah, sure. Church starts at nine. Do you know where it is?”

“I pass by it every day on my way to work.”

“I’ll wait for you at the door.”

Brad came running out. “We need to go now. Get in the car.”

“See you.” She turned and walked toward Brad’s BMW. “Brad, did you notice the sunset?”

“What about it?”

“It’s beautiful.”

“It’s not like I’ve never seen a sunset before. I mean, it happens every day.”

“I think today I will choose to be grateful for a sunset.”

“How can you talk about sunsets when my chest is still on fire?” They got in the car and drove off. David stayed a minute more to look at the sunset, and then he drove home.

A couple I know about married later in life; the wife had been married before, but it was the husband’s first marriage. After several months of marital bliss, a serious disagreement erupted that so hurt the husband emotionally that he could not function at his daily tasks.
As he reeled from the impact of this confrontation, he stopped to analyze the problem and realized that at least a part of the problem had been his. He went to his bride and stammered awkwardly several times, “I’m sorry, Honey.” The wife burst into tears, confessing that much of the problem was hers and asked forgiveness. As they held each other, she confessed that in her experience those words of apology had not been used before, and she now knew that any of their future problems could be solved. She felt secure because she knew they both could say, “I’m sorry;” “I forgive.”

Dad dumped some compost onto the soil.
“What are you doing, Dad?” Caleb asked.
“I’m getting the soil prepared for our garden.”
“Why do we need a garden?” Caleb asked. “Can’t we just buy food at the store?”
“Yes, but the prophets have counseled us to plant a garden, and I want to obey,” Dad said.
Dad and Caleb worked to prepare the soil. Finally, the garden was ready to plant.
On Saturday the whole family planted seeds in their garden. There were beans, corn, yellow squash, zucchini, cucumbers, and pumpkins.
Every morning, Caleb walked around the garden looking for weeds. Before picking each weed he asked Dad to make sure it wasn’t a seedling.
Then one day, Dad announced that the first plant had popped up. Caleb ran out to the garden. When he saw the tiny leaves peeking out of the ground, he couldn’t hide his disappointment.
“What’s the matter, Caleb?” Dad asked.
“I guess I just thought it would be bigger.”
“Don’t worry. It will grow,” Dad said.
Dad was right. Every day the plant grew a little bigger. Then more plants popped up. Soon the whole garden was filled with plants.
One morning Caleb noticed a plant growing right next to the yellow squash. It looked different than the squash plant.
“Hey, Dad, what’s this plant over here?”
Dad came over. “I don’t know. It doesn’t look like a squash. We’ll just have to wait and find out.”
Whenever Caleb was in the garden, he checked on the mystery plant. Before long, he noticed a green ball on the vine. Excitedly, he showed Dad.
“Looks like it might be some kind of melon,” Dad said. “That’s strange. We didn’t plant any melons.”
Each week the ball got bigger and bigger, and soon it started to turn a tan color.
“I think that’s a cantaloupe, Caleb,” Dad said one day. “It must have grown from some seeds that were in the compost.”
Caleb could hardly wait for the melon to grow. He loved cantaloupe.
Soon the garden was producing food for the family. Caleb enjoyed helping with the harvest. Mom bottled many of the fruits and vegetables, and they gave extras to neighbors.
“Caleb, would you go pick a yellow squash for dinner tonight?” Mom asked one evening.
“Sure, Mom!” Caleb ran to the garden. As he gently moved the cantaloupe so he could pick the biggest yellow squash, the cantaloupe fell off the vine. Caleb went to find Dad.
“Dad, I didn’t mean to, but the cantaloupe broke off the vine when I moved it,” Caleb said.
“That’s OK,” Dad said. “That probably means it’s ready to be picked.”
Caleb grinned. “Really? You mean it’s done?”
Dad laughed. “Let’s taste it and find out!”
Caleb brought the cantaloupe into the kitchen, and Dad cut off two slices.
“I guess this cantaloupe is one way Heavenly Father is blessing us for following the prophet,” Dad said.
Caleb looked at the colorful pile of produce on the counter that was waiting to be bottled. “Heavenly Father has blessed us a lot!” he said.
They both smiled as they took their first bite of cantaloupe. It was delicious!

In August of this year, the Aaronic Priesthood young men of our ward had the assignment to administer the sacrament to the residents of a local rest home. I went along with them in case they needed some assistance. Naturally, they didn’t. Everything was under control. But as a result of my attendance there, I had a great experience. After the meeting, the branch president came to me and asked: “Would you happen to be related to Billy E. Dunn?”
I said, “Yes, sir. He’s my father.”
He then said: “Your dad was one of my favorite missionary companions. We served on the mission board together. And I’ll never forget when President Murphy sent us out in the mission’s old Model A Ford to tour the island. …” And he went on reminiscing for some time, telling me of his missionary experiences with my father in Hawaii fifty years ago. By the way he spoke, the light in his eye, and the smile on his face, it was as though he lived those cherished experiences only yesterday.

• Drugs. During the years I served as a priesthood leader in Los Angeles, California, a number of parents had children who were caught up in the drug culture so prevalent in the 1960s. One father came to me for advice and comfort. Two of his sons had become addicted to hard-core drugs, resulting in nightmarish consequences to him and his wife.
During this couple’s years of child rearing and in spite of whatever normal parental mistakes they may have made along the way, they had constantly provided their children a loving example and had done their best to teach righteous gospel principles in the home. Yet two of their sons made tragic choices anyway. As the severity of the problems became known, the parents judged themselves harshly, and the father felt unworthy to continue in his priesthood responsibility. I persuaded him to continue serving in the Church and expressed confidence in the future for his children.
I shared with him then and would now like to share with all parents, especially those suffering pain and a sense of frustration as they watch their dreams for their children turn to ashes, some thoughts about relevant doctrines that provide needed hope and balm.

The next Sunday in our priesthood lesson, Brother Baron told the story of President Spencer W. Kimball’s father, Andrew Kimball, who was called on a mission to the Indian territory in 1884. The summer of that year, both Elder Kimball and his companion got malaria and lay sick in bed for many weeks. Malaria had caused many missionaries to return home early from their missions. Some even died, so the Church sent word to Andrew Kimball that he and his companion could return home, which his companion did. But Elder Kimball sent this message back to Salt Lake: “I have the priesthood with me. I will get well and prefer to stay.” And he did stay for two more years.
“You see,” Brother Baron said, “the priesthood is a great, great privilege. It’s your enlistment into the army of God. And when you are given an assignment, I think the Lord watches as much to see how hard you try as He does to see whether you succeed or fail.”

I was still sitting on the porch thinking when Katie and Shauna came running around the house. “Come and play catch with us,” they called.
We threw the ball back and forth to each other, and then Katie threw one that was too high for me. Running backward to catch it, I slipped and fell on my backside in a clump of Mom’s blue irises. Mom came out of the shed just then with a pair of clippers to cut a bouquet. I looked at the smashed flowers and was just starting to speak, when something inside of me seemed to say, “No, Janna Lynn, you’re not going to say Katie made you do it.”
“I’m sorry, Mom,” I said. “I ran backward and fell.”
“Yes, I know. I saw you,” she replied.
“And you’re not mad at me?”
“Of course not.”
The way she laughed, I almost felt good about sitting on her flowers.
“Just look at all those irises that you didn’t sit on,” she said. “A daughter who tells the truth is more important than a whole yard full of flowers!”
Goodness! That must have been the Holy Ghost prompting me to tell the truth, I thought. And He’s helping me to learn what a great feeling you have when you know you’ve done the right thing. I could hardly wait to tell Cindy.

The river is slow moving, so the girls had to paddle all the way. There’s no riding the current here. After a break for lunch and a few swampy portages, camp was in sight. The race was on to see who could be first on the beach. Those who had learned to paddle together had the advantage. Dawn Queen said, “Before we stopped for lunch, we were the last canoe, because we kept arguing with each other. But when we learned to work together, we passed everyone and finished first. It worked better when we encouraged each other.” A lesson about canoes and a lesson for life.

A true story from Peru.
Spencer held Papá’s hand as they walked through the grass. His older sisters walked ahead, gathering rocks and twigs.
“Papá, why do we use things from outside for the Nativity?” Spencer asked.
Papá picked up a piece of moss. “This is something families have done here for a long time. We gather things Heavenly Father has given us in nature to make a place for baby Jesus. It helps us remember that He was born in a humble place.”
Spencer looked at the moss in Papá’s hand. It wasn’t fancy, but it was soft.
When they got home, they gathered around the wooden table in the living room. Papá placed a small clay Mary and Joseph on the table. Now they would use what they found outside to make the stable and the manger. Then, on Christmas Eve they’d add the baby Jesus to the Nativity scene.
Spencer watched as his sisters worked. They added colorful flowers and wove branches into a little fence. They made it look so nice.
Spencer carefully placed some moss on one side of the stable and added a few rocks. But when he looked at what he had made, it didn’t seem as good as what his sisters made. His path looked crooked. His moss wasn’t smooth.
He sighed. “My part doesn’t look very nice,” he said quietly.
Mamá put an arm around him. “Why do you think that?”
“It doesn’t look as good as theirs.”
Papá moved to sit beside him. “Spencer, do you know why we make this Nativity?”
Spencer shook his head.
“To help us feel close to Jesus,” Papá said. “The Savior is the most special part of Christmas. He doesn’t need fancy gifts—just our love and our best efforts.”
Spencer nodded. He looked at his little pile of rocks and moss again. Maybe it wasn’t perfect, but he had done his best.
Over the next few days, they gathered by the table to light a candle and sing Christmas songs. Spencer liked how the manger for baby Jesus stayed empty. It reminded him that they were waiting for something special—just like the shepherds and Wise Men did.
Finally, Christmas Eve came. Mom handed Spencer the tiny clay baby Jesus, and he placed it carefully in the manger.
As Spencer looked at the Nativity, he didn’t worry about how perfect it looked. He thought about Jesus Christ.
Spencer smiled. This year, he had given something to Jesus by doing his best, even when it wasn’t perfect. And he wanted to keep giving—by being kind, loving others, and trying to be more like Him.

Lori Ransom, a 16-year-old Idaho girl, recently won first place nationally in the American Legion Auxiliary Americanism contest.
Lori’s essay placed first in the senior division in Pocatello, went on to win in the state, and was then entered in the national competition. She was flown to Seattle, Washington, on August 22, 1976, to attend the Legion’s national convention where she read her essay to 2,000 women representing every state. Her essay was geared to the question “Is Americanism in danger of extinction? How may I preserve my heritage?”
Winning essay contests is not a new experience for Lori. She was first in the local Americanism contest in both the fifth and seventh grades. Lori has also won two state awards in French competition.
Lori is secretary of her Laurel class, organist for the junior Primary, and is a third-year seminary student. She does a lot of artwork for her ward and for Highland High School (Pocatello, Idaho).

One of my Faith in God goals is to learn more about the sacrament. So I asked my bishop if I could make the bread for the sacrament. He said it sounded like a wonderful idea. I learned to make bread, and I made the sacrament bread each week for five weeks. As I made the bread, I felt Jesus’s love for me. I felt different about the sacrament. I was more reverent in sacrament meeting, and I realized that the bread is just bread before it is blessed. But after it is blessed by the priesthood, it becomes the sacrament.
I could feel the Spirit telling me that Jesus really died for me and that He loves me. I am glad that we can partake of the sacrament each week and remember Jesus and the promises we have made.Nikelle Susan L., age 10, Utah