Gospel Story Finder

Every year, we gathered at my grandparents’ home to hold our family Christmas pageant. The movies of the first event make it pretty clear that I thought it was a great time. But 15 years later, Christmas traditions like ours were starting to look a little stale. At least that’s what I was thinking as I helped my little brother, David, himself a big man of five, into his Wise Man costume.
“I wish I could be a shepherd like you and Daddy, Stevie.”
“Maybe next year, Dave,” I told him, giving him a poke in his tummy, anticipating his laugh.
“Yeah, but this year I wanted to be with you, Stevie, ‘cause next year you might not be here anymore. You’ll be gone on your mission by then.”
“Come on, Davie. Us brothers always stick together. Besides, who ever said I was going anywhere?” The thought of giving up my life for two years didn’t thrill me.
I gathered up my shepherd’s robes, leaving Dave to sit anxiously in his maple rocker beside the fireplace, fingering the gold braid sewn loosely to his bathrobe, wondering about stars and kings and the manger and Grandma and Grandpa’s treats, I was sure. I called up the stairs to tell my mother I was going out to start the car. It was cold. I’d left my gloves upstairs.
I hoped the new little grandson in our family would like his role as the baby Jesus this year. He was the first one who didn’t have to draw his part from the earthenware pot. We used the same ceramic jug year after year for one of the Wise Men’s gifts, and also to pick our parts from. We did the choosing every Thanksgiving. They were just little folded pieces of paper—Mary, Joseph, Gabriel, Jesus. But some years, my last thought before sleep was of my part and who I would be.
There were some pretty strange pageants. The year that Mom was pregnant, she pulled out the slip of paper that said she had to be a Wise Man. My father drew out Mary. He said it ended up being the most moving Christmas pageant for him, even though most of us kids thought it was pretty funny. He said he had begun to understand what it meant to be Mary that year. And even at 14, I got pretty choked up when my pregnant mother appeared to give her gift to the baby Jesus. David was born that January.
It was only about five years ago that we tightened up on the rules and required girls to play girls, and boys to be boys. That was because my older brother’s girlfriend hadn’t felt ready to play Joseph in front of us all the year they were engaged. This year Michelle was the narrator, and my older brother, Greg, was Joseph.
The car windows were covered with frost. I started the engine, then hunted for the scraper.
“You forgot these.” My father’s voice startled me. “It’s a cold one tonight.” He gave me my gloves.
I wasn’t sure where Dad had been when I left the house, and now he seemed to appear from nowhere. He carried robes just like mine, for the jug had decreed us both to be shepherds tonight. With a look toward the house, Dad continued, “Everybody’s ready. Why don’t you drive up front and pick them up?” Turning away, he said over his shoulder, “I’ll meet you down at the mailboxes. Nobody’s had time to check the mail all day, and you know how your mother is about mail.”
I thought to tell him we could just as easily pick up the mail from the car but said nothing. He walked down the road, his shepherd’s robes dragging in the snow a little his steps uneven, his head tilted skyward. Looking at the stars, I guessed. He stopped turned to me and called, “Get going, son. Don’t want to be late.”
I pulled the van up to the front steps, and David came bounding out of the house. Jennifer and my mother followed more sedately. Jenny was to be one of the heavenly hosts this time, but she was having trouble looking very heavenly right now.
“What’s the matter, angel?” I asked, as she plopped into the seat.
“I just hope we don’t run into anyone we know. Do you have a full tank of gas, Steve? I’d hate to pull up at the station and have Jeff see me in this.”
“Yeah, I have to admit, that halo doesn’t look very natural on you. As a matter of fact,” I added, with teasing glee, “the gas tank’s on empty.”
“Steven!” she squealed.
“Don’t worry, angel,” I said in my best Humphrey Bogart. “Just kidding, just kidding.”
Mom was almost to the bottom of the steps, then went back up again to lock the front door. Loaded down with a bag full of gifts, she looked more like Santa Claus than Gabriel. Mom struggled to get the gift bag into the van, then climbed in the back.
“On Donner! On Blitzen!” she called out in a deep voice. David giggled.
“On Rudolph!” Jennifer added.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence!”
We stopped at the mailboxes to pick up my Dad. He folded his height into the car.
“Any mail?” my mother asked.
“Mail! Everybody and his brother must have sent us a card today!” Dad’s hands were loaded with green and red and white envelopes. I turned to smile at Mom. She had complained that she hadn’t received many cards this year.
“Is there one from Boston?”
“How do I know, my dear?” Dad passed the mass of greetings over the front seat to my mother. “I haven’t examined them yet. The day when we get an envelope from Salt Lake City sending Steve on his mission, now that will be a day to investigate the mail.” I shifted the car into gear resisting the urge to return Dad’s inquiring glance.
“I don’t want Stevie to go away,” David whined. “Why does he have to go away, anyway? I’m never, ever going anywhere!”
“David!”
I eased the car onto the main road that would take us through the familiar streets to the highway. Our Connecticut backroads looked good this year. Delicate strands of lights draped many of the bare trees. At other homes, the lights were arranged precisely, evenly layering their way to the top of the tall pines. Candles flickered in windows.
“There is a card from Boston! Please turn the light on, Steven.” My mother read silently. “She’s still alive, that little lady. Lost her sight in one eye now, but still alive and faithful as ever. Isn’t that nice?”
In the rearview mirror, I watched as Mom reached out and hugged David impulsively. I knew who she spoke of, the little landlady she and my father had lived with, and who had joined the Church while they lived in her house in Cambridge.
“Those are happy, happy memories, aren’t they, John?”
“The very best,” my father replied. “Maybe you’ll have memories like those in a few years, Steven.” I said nothing for the rest of the trip.
We arrived at my grandparents’ house right on schedule. That was important, for my grandpa was somewhat fanatical about time. Greg and his wife had arrived early, as usual, their car parked close to the house. The woods were silent.
“Hello Pop-pop! Hello Nanny! I’m here!” David called, trudging up the front steps in his moonboots and Wise Man costume. The door opened, and Grandpa stooped to hug the king. My mother struggled up the steps with her bag.
“Good grief, daughter! What have you got there?” Grandpa said. “We were supposed to go light on the gifts this year.”
“I tried. I really did.” But books are heavy, I thought to myself as I swung the van door shut. Books were my mother’s traditional Christmas gift.
We settled into the living room, enjoying my grandma’s impressive collection of goodies and the warm cider. I listened as I ate. Greg was having problems in his law firm and Michelle was worried about being a new mother. She left the room to nurse her crying baby.
My grandpa looked much older to me tonight sitting before the fire. I hadn’t been up to see them in months, too busy with commuting to school and doing my work. Grandpa asked me about school and about my plans. I told him my plans were kind of tentative right now, but that I loved my pre-architectural program. I knew he was waiting for me to say something about a mission, and it hurt me to know I was disappointing him. He opened his mouth to say more, but seemed to change his mind. He stood to poke the fire. Michelle came back with the baby.
“Well,” Grandpa began, “are we ready to get on with the pageant? We can talk more later. This is our 15th one, isn’t that right, Mother?”
We stood and bundled up once again, slipping our costumes on over our coats, walking out to the accustomed Nativity spot on the front lawn. The moon was a thin sliver in the sky, the stars without number.
Grandpa had gone to extra work this year, I noticed, as I walked by the familiar manger. He had improved the temporary stable in honor of his first great-grandson, putting in real walls to block any wind. Michelle laid her son gently in the cradle, assuring grandma that he wouldn’t get hungry. Grandma, dressed in Mary’s robes, opened her arms to Michelle and gave her a hug.
“Thank you, my dear. Thank you.” Grandma took her place near the crib, and Greg joined her as Joseph. Michelle had sewn some new robes for him, and he looked quite apostolic in his cotton beard. But he always looked that way.
I took my place a little further down the hillside where the lawn curved gently. Grandpa had thoughtfully provided wood for a fire for us shepherds. My father arrived with matches. The ready warmth was reassuring.
Michelle began her narration of Luke 2, and I repeated the words with her in my mind as she spoke. They were an unavoidable part of my memory after 15 years of seasonal repetition.
Funny, I thought, as our little fire popped and hissed, that taxes started the whole business. And the swaddling clothes. What did that word mean, anyway?
Michelle began the verse about the shepherds, and I got ready for our cue. “And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flocks by night. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid” (Luke 2:8).
I cowered in the frozen grass, playing the part of the frightened shepherd to the hilt. It was more fun that way, to ham up the telling for David’s sake. But an uninvited feeling overtook me. It set my heart to pounding and it made me feel quite weak, for I realized that my cowering was real, and I knew it like never before. I was afraid of the glory of the Lord.
Michelle’s voice continued as my heart thumped quickly. “And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord” (Luke 2:10–11).
I didn’t hear the part about the babe in the manger, and I barely could make out the form of my mother, standing over me with wide-spread arms, for tears brimmed my eyes, then ran in hot tracks down my cheeks. I rubbed them off, their wetness beading up on my gloves. My mother’s words penetrated the hot glow in my mind.
“Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men” (Luke 2:14).
Michelle’s even voice continued to reach out from across the lawn. “And it came to pass, as the angels were gone away from them into heaven, the shepherds said one to another …” (Luke 2:15).
Now it was my father’s turn to speak. He extended his hand to help lift me from the snow, but I turned my head away from his outstretched hand, not wanting to let him see the tears on my face. But there was a catch in his voice, too, as he said, “Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known unto us” (Luke 2:15).
We walked to the manger together. It was a short distance, to be sure, but something had signaled the start of another, much longer journey for me. Side by side we walked, my father companion and I. And we made haste, and found Mary and Joseph, and the babe, lying in the manger.
How could I stand it, I thought as I looked. The much beloved faces of my grandma and brother, the newborn babe so still in his bed.
I knew then what I would do. There was nothing left to do but go and make known abroad concerning this child and his church. My father and I returned to our fireside, and I knew that he knew what had happened in me.
Michelle read the words about the Wise Men, and David slipped in the snow and tore some gold braid from his gown. But Grandpa, fellow Wise Man, reached to help him, and he said David’s face shone as he gave his gift to Jesus. But I missed all that. In the dim glow of our fire, all I could feel was the strength of my father as he held me, the warming joy of our tears spilled together. I would miss him for the next two years.

The New Era has given my family many uplifting moments. Thank you for choosing quality stories, poems, and songs. A special thanks for printing the song “Walk Tall, You’re a Daughter of God” in the April 1979 New Era. I would like to express a special thanks to Jamie Glenn and Raya Jones, who wrote the words and music. Their song affected one young woman deeply, and through her love for the Savior and this song, many lives have been touched.
My daughter, Shannon Clark, died one year ago today at the age of 16 from a rare type of bone cancer. But in her short time on earth she taught me how to live and how to die. I am so proud of her and shout for joy because she is eternally ours.
After the New Era printed “Walk Tall, You’re a Daughter of God,” our stake gathered together a special group of young women and taught them the song. My daughter and I heard them sing it at a stake Mutual event. This song touched Shannon deeply. She heard it again at girls’ camp that year. At the close of that camp an event took place which I shall remember as long as forever. We closed camp testimony meeting singing this wonderful song. As we sang “Walk Tall, You’re a Daughter of God,” Shannon and I embraced each other, crying and singing all at once. Thank you for that memory! I had less than a year left of holding my daughter. At the last she was in too much pain to be touched, and finally she was paralyzed so she couldn’t hug me anymore either.
We have a small organ at home, and as soon as Shannon could she had the New Era opened on the music rack trying to play “Walk Tall.” It was contagious. I had to have a go at it too. We never got good at it, but we enjoyed singing along as we struggled with the notes.
When the time came to plan my daughter’s funeral, I knew one song that had to be on the program. You guessed it. “Walk Tall, You’re a Daughter of God” was sung beautifully by the stake Young Women’s choir. Shannon’s funeral was held in her high school gymnasium to accommodate the large crowd. We attend a small LDS branch, so only a small percentage of those attending were members.
The special part of this story is how “our” song touched the lives of all those who attended that day.
Many nonmembers asked for copies, and I provided them. The Lake Chelan Christian Church Choir sang it at a special meeting with hundreds of people attending. A nonmember friend who attended later told me that many of her faith had been touched by the song. The keynote speaker at that meeting changed his topic to include references to the song.
Last June I couldn’t bring myself to attend girls’ camp, but the reports I have received are beautiful. Shannon’s group of fourth-year girls performed “Walk Tall, You’re a Daughter of God” at the first night fireside and dedicated it to my daughter. Every night thereafter they used “our song” as the closing song at the campfire meeting. The new Beehives did not know Shannon, but they could feel the Spirit as the tears flowed and the notes were sung.
I am lonely some days because not only did I give back to Heavenly Father my only daughter but also one of the best friends a woman could have. When I feel down I remember my favorite song and the words, “He’s closer than you know—reach up, He’ll take your hand.”
I hope this letter isn’t sad, because I’m not sad. I have two nice-looking sons and a loving husband. Life is good to me. And most important to me—I have an eternal family, if I but live worthy.
Thank you, Jamie and Raya, for using your God-given talents. If Shannon has any say in heavenly matters she has joined one of the heavenly youth choirs and they are singing “Walk Tall, You’re a Daughter of God.” I know your song will live eternally and will give strength to many more. You touched one 16-year-old, and that was just the tip of the iceberg. God bless you.
Roberta Clark
Manson, Washington

With a new gold-engraved and personally inscribed copy of the Book of Mormon in hand, the members of the Oakton-Vienna-Wakefield wards seminary class of the Oakton Virginia Stake presented 20 hardbound books to Washington Temple president Wendell G. Eames. The books were given to the temple to replace the soft-bound copies that had become noticeably “well-used” over the past five years.
The presentation was part of the seminary’s “Zion Temple Project.” That same evening, after meeting with President Eames, the class did baptisms for the dead, had dinner in the temple cafeteria, and then went to the visitors’ center for a special presentation and refreshments. “This was one of the most exciting activities we’ve ever had!” said class pianist Karen Dodson.
The goal of the class throughout the year was to establish a Zion seminary class, and then expand to include their homes, other Church classes, and their schools. Other Zion activities have included projects to improve the appearance of the stake center, living without contention for 24 hours, and reading the Old Testament. In reflecting on the Zion attitude, their teacher Charles Dahlquist said, “I’ve never seen a group of youth more committed to living the gospel and becoming a Zion people. They represent a grand generation of excellence, determination, and spiritual strength.”

One night at Mutual the missionaries gave us copies of the Book of Mormon to share. We had the option of giving it to a person we had in mind or giving it back to the missionaries to distribute. I had it set in my mind that I was going to give it to a friend in my math class. It was going to be great. As I went to school the next day excited about the start of my missionary work, I saw one of my friends, Brandon. He was going to class as well, but we stopped and spoke. Right then I had the strongest feeling that I had to give him the Book of Mormon. I thought about it as I kept going to class and came to the conclusion that the feeling was too strong to ignore and that I needed to place the book with him.
The next day I asked him to meet me after school so that I could give him something really important. He agreed, and we went on. When the time came for me to go downstairs to give it to him, I thought that I couldn’t do it. It kept going through my mind that he would think I was strange. What if he said no? I finally heard a still small voice tell me that if I didn’t do this, then I wouldn’t have the experience I need for the future. So, I went down and I spoke with him. I told him that the book was another testament of Jesus Christ, and that it has many important truths in it. I also told him that when I read it, it fills me with a comfort that I know I will be OK in the end. He took it, and I was relieved. Later that week he came to church with my family and met the missionaries.
I am extremely grateful for the Book of Mormon. I know that it is the true word of God. I also know that I was given the best opportunity to share the gospel because I listened and felt the Spirit.

One day while I was ironing, one-year-old Claire began to cry in her crib. It was naptime, and I knew that if I could quickly give her a pacifier, she would fall back to sleep. Three-year-old Lucy was playing in the room where I was ironing. I debated for a moment and then decided to keep the iron on, knowing I’d be out of the room for only a few moments. “Lucy, do you see that iron on my tall table?” I asked. “It’s VERY hot. I need to give Claire her pacifier. Please don’t touch the iron while I’m gone, or it will hurt you.”
I was sure Lucy understood, so I quickly slipped out of the room. I returned a moment later, and I heard a whimper from behind a chair.
“Lucy?” I asked. “Where are you?”
She didn’t reply.
“Are you OK? Why are you hiding?”
I walked over behind the chair and sat on the floor. Her face was buried in her hands. After a few refusals to tell me what happened, she finally said, “Mommy, I touched your iron.”
At first I was confused that she hadn’t heeded my warning. Then I felt heartbroken that she would hide from me after making a small mistake, afraid she had lost my love and confidence. I knew she was powerless to take the pain away, and only I could help her burned finger feel better. I comforted Lucy, and as I rushed her to the bathroom sink to ease the pain, the Spirit whispered to my heart: “This is how Heavenly Father feels when His children fail to heed His warnings and won’t allow Him to ease their pain when they need it most.” In that moment I felt such joy at this knowledge and a confidence in the Lord’s willingness to teach me.

Our recent Gong family reunion included a fun talent show, complete with a dad jokes contest.
But this contest was unusual. On one team was Grandpa (me) and two of the grandchildren, ages 12 and 11. On the other team was an artificial intelligence (AI) program prompted by a cousin to tell dad jokes in the style of Gerrit W. Gong. Grandpa Gerrit Gong versus AI Gerrit Gong.
The grandchildren and I went first.
What do you call a dinosaur who crashes his car? Tyrannosaurus Wrecks.
AI Gerrit Gong was instructed—think like Gerrit W. Gong. Talk like him.
AI Gerrit Gong—“Here is a dad joke as if spoken by Gerrit W. Gong, embracing his warm, thoughtful, and uplifting style: Why did the humble tree make people smile? Because it was rooted in love and reached out with branches of kindness. Like that tree, we too can find strength in our roots and joy in extending kindness to others.”
Well, what do you think? That’s why they’re called dad jokes.

The rodeo chute burst open and a raging, bucking bronco leaped high into the air. A cowboy sat on the horse in perfect form, the rhythm of each move matched to the twisting and turning of the wild animal.
But then the crowd rose to its feet and gasped as the massive animal came crashing down on its side, all of its weight crushing the left foot of its rider.
Zane Davis picked himself up and hobbled over to the chute. When he got his boot off, the foot began to swell. The crushed bones eliminated his chances to continue in the competition, but that didn’t keep Zane down.
Less than a month later he was back in the saddle, working his way to the title as top college rodeo rider in the United States.
Now Zane is serving a mission in Brazil and teaching the gospel to people in Portuguese. And he says, “I wouldn’t trade this mission experience for anything—even a national professional rodeo championship.”
It was in June of 1990 that Zane Davis secured the award as the national collegiate all-around cowboy of the year in the College National Finals Rodeo in Bozeman, Montana. Although only a freshman at the College of Southern Idaho, Zane didn’t get to the number-one spot by simply riding a few wild horses and winning a few competitions. Zane’s training started before he could walk, when his father, Shawn Davis (a three-time National Finals Rodeo saddle bronc world champion), took him along to rodeos across North America.
At the age of three, Zane insisted that he be allowed to ride in the rodeo against the eight- to twelve-year-old cowboys. But since he was too young to compete, he was only allowed to demonstrate his riding skill. Undaunted, he put on his hat, boots, rope, and spurs and climbed aboard a rather angry calf. Zane says that the next thing he knew he was on the ground. Apparently, he had ridden the calf almost to the time limit before falling off.
He entered his next rodeo when he was only five, and this time a pony bucked him off. But he still walked away with third-place honors. Hundreds of rodeos later, Zane had earned an impressive array of saddles, belt buckles, trophies, and cash prizes. The success came as a result of hard work.
Each day at his parents’ ranch in Idaho, Zane exercised by doing eighty sit-ups, twenty pull-ups, and four hundred push-ups. In addition, his riding included roping ten to twenty calves and practicing once a week for each riding event. Also, before each rodeo, Zane asked his father for a father’s blessing. Zane says, “I feel that these blessings kept me from getting injured on many occasions; and when I was injured, I recovered remarkably fast.”
Zane adds that obeying the Word of Wisdom has been a great blessing in his life. “Other cowboys who drink and take drugs may be good for a very short time, but they never last long,” he says.
Another reason Zane has done so well is that he has learned to face challenges. At one rodeo, he had to ride a bull that had thrown off all the college-age riders who had tried to ride it. But Zane, only thirteen years old, got on the bull and rode him in three out of five attempts. “I don’t remember ever being really frightened at a rodeo,” said Zane. “A little fear is always good for you, but too much fear is not good. If you have a little fear, you plan better. If you have too much fear, you may get out of control.”
One of the hardest decisions Zane ever had to face was whether or not to go on a mission. Colleges all over the United States were recruiting him. Although he had always planned on a mission, the final decision was really hard. “But I decided I had to go on a mission to try to pay the Lord back for some of the many blessings I have received,” he said.
Zane wrote home from his mission and said, “I’ve learned many things. I’ve changed a lot. I thought riding three times at each rodeo all summer long was tough, but it wasn’t anything as tough as serving a mission; nevertheless, it has been good for me.”
In his life, Zane has ridden a thousand wild horses and roped a thousand calves. Rodeo became easy to him. But perhaps the best thing about the sport was the chance to be with his father—who was always there, watching him, helping him stay safe.
Zane’s mission in Brazil was not easy. He underwent the shock of learning a new language and living in a different culture. But Zane improved daily. And on his mission he learned firsthand that his Father in Heaven is always there, watching him, helping him stay safe.

It was still early on Sunday morning as Dad called the family together.
“Where’s Mom?” six-year-old Katie asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
“That’s what I need to talk to all of you about,” Dad answered. “I took Mom to the airport this morning. Grandpa called late last night to tell us that Grandma is very sick. Mom has gone to help them.”
“Is Grandma going to die?” Melanie asked, her eyes filling with tears.
“I don’t know, sweetheart.” Dad put his arm around her. “Grandpa doesn’t know exactly what’s wrong. Mom will call us after she arrives and has a chance to talk to the doctor. Meanwhile, there is something we can do to help.”
“We can pray for Grandma,” Katie said, kneeling and folding her arms.
“Exactly right, honey,” Dad said. “And we can fast for Grandma today, too. Let’s begin our fast with a prayer. Would you offer it for us, Katie?”
The little family knelt together, and Katie prayed, “Heavenly Father, please bless Grandma. Bless Grandpa, too, so he won’t worry too much. And help Mama so she can come home soon. We are fasting for them today.”
Everyone felt peaceful as Katie finished the prayer and they prepared to go to church.
At home after church, Dad pulled two big photo albums from the shelf and told the children about some of the pictures. They talked all afternoon about their many happy memories of Grandma. Then, when it was time to end their fast and have supper, they knelt to give thanks for the day and to once again ask for a special blessing for Grandma.
Mom telephoned just as the children were getting ready for bed. “Grandma is going to be just fine,” she said. “I’ll stay to help Grandpa for a few days while Grandma rests. I’ll be home by Friday.”
After everyone had told Mom about their day and their fast for Grandma, they gathered again for family prayer. “Before we pray,” Dad said, “tell me what you learned today about fasting and prayer.”
“Heavenly Father answered our prayers,” Rachel responded.
“That’s true,” Dad said. “We know that He always answers our prayers. Sometimes the answer is yes, as it was today.”
“Sometimes it’s no, “ Melanie put in, “like when I prayed for my team to win the tournament and we lost.”
“That’s right, Melanie,” Dad said. “Sometimes the answer is ‘no.’ And sometimes the answer is ‘not yet—just wait and be patient.’ But Heavenly Father always answers our prayers in the way that is best for us. Did you learn anything else?”
Katie said, “Fasting helped me feel close to Heavenly Father.”
Natalie added, “Fasting today wasn’t as hard as it usually is. I didn’t even feel hungry! Is that because we were fasting for Grandma, not just going without food?”
Dad nodded. “Fasting helps us learn to control our bodies and it helps us develop faith. When we are baptized, we make a sacred promise to Heavenly Father that we will bear one another’s burdens and comfort those who need comfort. We have surely kept that covenant today as we fasted and prayed for Grandma.”
That night, family prayer was a prayer of gratitude—for Grandma feeling better, that Mom was coming home soon, and for keeping their baptismal covenant through fasting and prayer.

But in the days that followed, both of us felt unsettled—not about marrying each other but about the ring. Let me explain.
In the weeks leading up to our engagement, Shelley and I had spent significant time talking about how we wanted to raise our family and what we wanted our marriage to be like. One of the things at the center of that discussion was our determination to always follow the prophet.
Two months before we were engaged, we listened to lots of talks at the October 1976 general conference reinforcing the principles of self-reliance. This was a topic that President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985) and others had been consistently teaching for several years. Both Shelley and I had grown up knowing the importance of growing a garden, having a supply of food, and being generally prepared. But in that general conference, the theme of preparation seemed especially prevalent. Some speakers made reference to the Teton Dam flood that had occurred in June. Among them was Barbara B. Smith (1922–2010), the Relief Society general president, who emphasized the importance of self-reliance—specifically, acquiring a year’s supply of food, as was counseled at the time.1 President Kimball, in the closing session of the conference, reminded Latter-day Saints of the scripture in Luke 6:46, where the Savior says, “Why call ye me, Lord, Lord, and do not the things which I say?” President Kimball then exhorted the Saints to let the messages of conference follow them into their “homes and … future lives.”2
After our engagement, as Shelley and I contemplated the beginning of our marriage and family life, these messages were ringing in our ears. Unbeknownst to each other, both of us were thinking about how to start home storage for our family. To obey the counsel of that time, we needed to start acquiring a year’s supply of food. But how were we supposed to do it? We were students—and would be for years to come—and didn’t have a lot of money. The Holy Ghost gave both of us, separately, the same answer: we needed to sell the engagement ring.
But how was I supposed to ask Shelley to do that? I had just given her the ring. What would she think about my asking her to sell it so we could buy some oats and flour and rice? Meanwhile, she was worrying too. What would I think, she wondered, if she were to approach me about selling the ring I had picked out for her? Would it hurt my feelings?
But the prompting each of us had felt was too strong to ignore, and the more each of us thought about it, the more glaring that diamond ring became. When Shelley raised the subject a few days after Christmas, I was relieved that she had arrived at the same conclusion I had. In many ways, it was a tremendous confirmation to both of us about the choice of whom we were going to marry. To know that our priorities and values were in sync with the other’s and with the prophet of God was tremendously reassuring. I was so grateful for her willingness to make such a sacrifice to follow the prophet.
Please don’t misunderstand me and please don’t sell your rings! Buying or wearing an engagement ring isn’t wrong. In fact, our married children all have lovely and appropriate rings. There are many ways we can follow the prophets and apostles and apply their counsel to our personal lives. But because the Spirit had directed us to follow the prophet by selling our engagement ring, in our case the choice was between keeping the ring and following the prophet. This helped us establish two patterns in our home from the very beginning: following the prophet and following the personal, spiritual promptings we received.

Hi, I’m Matej! (It’s pronounced ma-tay.)
Burma is a country in Southeast Asia. It’s also called Myanmar!
Our Primary learned about some kids in our city whose families are refugees from a country called Burma. Being a refugee means they had to leave their homes very quickly because of problems in their country. Many of these kids couldn’t bring any of their things when they left. We wanted to help!
The Plan
We made a plan to help our new friends from Burma. First we would collect things these kids needed, like warm clothes. Then we would invite them to come to an activity where we could play together and give them what we had collected.
Working Together
Kids in our Primary donated extra coats and scarves. Our families got a jar to help us save chore money. Every time we brought our scriptures to Primary, we put a nickel in our Primary jar. School and neighborhood kids got involved too.
Collecting Supplies
My family used our chore money to buy hairbrushes, socks, and 40 shampoos! I liked shopping to get the supplies. It made me really excited. We also collected warm coats, gloves, and hats.
The Day of Our Activity
When our Primary and the Burmese branch Primary had an activity together, we played games and learned about how Jesus Christ is like a shepherd. We made yummy treats and talked about His resurrection. We made new friends, and we’re excited to play together again!
Finally!
My favorite part of the activity was giving everything to our new friends. They loved their coats so much they didn’t want to take them off! I was so happy to see how happy they were. Helping others is how I can show Heavenly Father that I love His children and I love Him.

Photographs by Clayton Chan
Ark loves spicy food. This is a fairly new discovery for him. Back in the Philippines, where he grew up, things tasted a lot less fiery.
But then his father got a job in Malaysia.
At that point, Ark met friends at church who came from all sorts of backgrounds, including a few from India.
“They eat really spicy food!” Ark C., age 14, says about his new friends. “This food is much spicier than I used to eat back home.”
Funny thing, though—Ark never knew what he was missing. Now he enjoys exploring a whole new culinary world.
Of course that’s not the only way Ark’s Church friends have changed his life for the better. “I was happy to move to Malaysia, but sad at the same time. It was all new friends, and it’s hard to talk to new friends.”
But the youth in his new branch helped him make that transition. As a bonus, he now knows a lot more about many different areas. “I’ve learned about different cultures,” he said. “The food is different, and so are the clothes. Their clothes are colorful, and it’s very interesting how they make them!”
There was one group of friends, however, that kept him going more than any other during and after the move: his family.
Ark loves spending time with his family, especially when they play card games. The game Uno is his particular favorite. The reason? “I always win,” he says with a laugh.
He also loves playing Monopoly with his parents and his younger brother, Leif. (His younger sister isn’t quite old enough to join yet.) There’s more going on in the games, however, than chucking dice and spending pretend money. “My parents teach me business strategies and money principles in the games. It’s really helpful advice for the future.”
His dad is a software developer, and his mom used to run her own business in the Philippines. They have a lot of skills to pass down. For his part, Ark is eager to learn everything he can from them. He’s got big plans for his career.
His favorite school subjects are biotech and engineering. Ark wants to become a biotechnician. With his sights set high, he takes every chance he can to learn something new.
Learning from his parents, though, wasn’t always Ark’s preferred source for education. Like his love of spicy food, this discovery of a valued resource came a bit later in his life.
“I used to be very stubborn,” Ark admits. “I didn’t really care about learning from my parents.”
He’d try to go it alone or to learn from his friends and schoolteachers only. Then he read something in the Book of Mormon that made a big difference in how he viewed things.
In Alma chapters 36 and 37, Alma gives advice to his son Helaman. Alma teaches Helaman about everything, from Alma’s own remarkable conversion story (which included three days of being unconscious after an angel told him he wasn’t exactly making the best life choices [see Alma 36:6–10]) to the dangers of secret combinations.
In the middle of it all, a single verse jumped off the page to Ark: “O, remember, my son, and learn wisdom in thy youth; yea, learn in thy youth to keep the commandments of God” (Alma 37:35).
Something clicked in Ark’s mind at those words. “My parents can teach me wisdom too,” he says. All at once he realized he had a wealth of information right in front of him. “Now I care a lot about their wisdom. They love me and can help me prepare for my future.”
They love me and can help me prepare for my future.
And their wisdom goes a lot further than business tips shared during board games.
One valuable lesson Ark’s parents have taught him is to not allow bad influences around him to trip him up. “Here at my school, a lot of kids want me to try coffee, tea, cigarettes, and so forth.”
This is a regular conversation topic at home. “I’ve had a lot of conversations with my parents about this. They repeat themselves a lot,” he jokes.
Still, all that repetition has paid off. Each time he’s asked to do something against his beliefs, Ark draws strength from what his parents have taught him.
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.)
Ark loves where he lives, he loves his family, and he loves learning from his parents.
He also loves learning the gospel.
“I believe that Jesus Christ lives,” Ark says. “I believe our living prophet is President Russell M. Nelson and that through Joseph Smith, Jesus Christ restored His Church. I believe the gospel can help us through our lives and through any obstacles or trials we experience.”
No matter what incredible things Ark is going to learn in the future, he’s already learned some of the most important of all. Near the top of that list is this: spending time with family adds a lot of spice to life!

On one extremely cold Saturday night during the winter of 1983–84, Sister Monson and I drove several miles to the mountain valley of Midway, Utah, where we have a home. The temperature that night was minus 24 degrees Fahrenheit (–31°C), and we wanted to make certain all was well at our home there. We checked and found that it was fine, so we left to return to Salt Lake City. We barely made it [a] few miles … before our car stopped. … We were completely stranded. …
Reluctantly we began walking toward the nearest town, the cars whizzing past us. Finally one car stopped, and a young man offered to help. … This kind young man drove us back to our Midway home. I attempted to reimburse him … , but he … indicated that he was a Boy Scout and wanted to do a good turn. I identified myself to him, and he expressed his appreciation for the privilege to be of help. Assuming that he was about missionary age, I asked him if he had plans to serve a mission. He indicated he was not certain just what he wanted to do.
On the following Monday morning, I wrote a letter to this young man and thanked him for his kindness. In the letter I encouraged him to serve a full-time mission. …
About a week later the young man’s mother telephoned and advised that her son was an outstanding young man but that because of certain influences in his life, his long-held desire to serve a mission had diminished. She indicated she and his father had fasted and prayed that his heart would be changed. … [She] wanted me to know that she looked upon the events of that cold evening as an answer to their prayers in his behalf. I said, “I agree with you.”
After several months and more communication with this young man, Sister Monson and I were overjoyed to attend his missionary farewell prior to his departure for the Canada Vancouver Mission.
Was it chance that our paths crossed on that cold December night? I do not for one moment believe so. Rather, I believe our meeting was an answer to a mother’s and father’s heartfelt prayers for the son they cherished.

Earlier I mentioned Sister Andersen and her Beehive Girl’s Handbook. She is the wife of Elder Neil L. Andersen of the Presidency of the Seventy [now a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles], a mother, and a grandmother. I love the thought that even though she has moved so many times, she has always known where to find her Beehive Girl’s Handbook and achievement bandlo. Sister Andersen has stood by her husband and taught the gospel all over the world. She has also exemplified womanhood and goodness as a faithful member of the Church.
As an 11-year-old girl, Sister Andersen couldn’t wait to enter the Young Women program. When her birthday finally arrived, she was given the Beehive Girl’s Handbook. Sister Andersen explains:
“In the beginning of the book it said, ‘As a Beehive girl, and for the rest of your life, set your goals high’ (Beehive Girl’s Handbook, 12). I could tell this was going to be a great adventure for me. I took my book home and immediately read it from cover to cover to see what goals I should complete during the next two years.
“I discovered that there were 80 possible goals to choose from. In my excitement, I determined that if I worked hard, I could complete all of the goals in my book—well, all except one: to go to the temple … and be baptized for the dead (Beehive Girl’s Handbook, 140). I [could not] be baptized for the dead because there [was] no temple in Florida.”
Sister Andersen decided to tell her father about her situation. Her letter continues:
“My father hesitated only a moment. We had no family in the West and no other reason to travel to Utah. He thoughtfully said to me, ‘Kathy, if you [will] complete all of the other goals in your Beehive book, we will take you the 2,500 miles [4,000 km] to the temple in Salt Lake City so that you can do baptisms for the dead and complete your final goal.’
“I worked on the goals in my Beehive book for two years and completed 79 goals. My father worked during those two years to save enough money to make the journey to the temple. My father kept his promise to me.
“Air travel at that time was too expensive for our family, and so we traveled 5,000 miles [8,000 km] by car to Salt Lake City and back so that I could complete my last Beehive goal. What joy I felt as I entered the Salt Lake Temple and in proxy was baptized by my father. It was an experience I will never forget.
“I will forever be appreciative for my mother and father’s willingness to make the temple an important part of my life. … They wisely understood that as I worked on my Young Women goals, my faith would be strengthened. My parents’ faith and sacrifice in making the long journey to Salt Lake City significantly impacted me and the generations that have followed” (“I Can Complete All of the Goals—Except One,” unpublished manuscript).
As a young girl, Sister Andersen strove to do the small and simple things that would help her become an exemplary woman— “an example of the believers”— and that is what she has become. Each of you has the same opportunity. The small and simple things you choose to do today will be magnified into great and glorious blessings tomorrow. Living each day as “an example of the believers” will help you to be happy and more confident. It will strengthen your testimony, help you to keep your baptismal covenants, and prepare you to receive the blessings of the temple so that eventually you can return to your Heavenly Father.

Recently Sister Nelson and I were in Denmark during the commemoration of the 150th anniversary of the Church in Scandinavia. Between meetings, we took a few hours to search for villages where two of my father’s grandparents were born. They were among the early converts to the Church in Denmark. Father’s paternal grandmother’s family lived in the western part of the country. His paternal grandfather’s family lived in northern Denmark. Thanks to a good driver and a superb map, we found each town on our list and obtained treasured information. During the entire journey, my hands were riveted to that valuable map so essential to achieve our goals.

In our journey in Denmark, we met an unexpected detour that led us astray. In order to get back on course, we stopped the car. We studied the map with great care. Then we made the necessary course correction.

Eighteen-year-old Shaun Larsen isn’t exactly small. He stands six feet, four inches tall and weighs more than 250 pounds. He spent most of last summer lifting weights and running to get in shape for football. It seems incredible that anybody would refer to Shaun as a “mini” anything.

But in the Oregon Portland Mission office one morning, that’s the way Shaun was describing himself.

“I’m a minimissionary,” he said. “But I give it everything I’ve got.”

He smiled as he explained. “My dad’s the mission president,” Shaun said. “He’s been asking the teenagers in the mission to help the missionaries. One of the most successful programs has been assigning the young men who are 16 or older to accompany the full-time missionaries for a short period of time—a few days, a week, or a month. So when I finished high school and came up here to live with my parents, I got invited to serve a minimission too.”

When Shaun wasn’t working with the elders full-time, he spent an evening with them now and then on “splits” (where a missionary companionship divides with members) or shared his testimony when the elders were teaching. “For a whole summer, I was learning that there are ways for each of us to share the gospel. It really opened my eyes,” Shaun said.

Shaun doesn’t live in Portland anymore. He’s attending Ricks College in Rexburg, Idaho, and just received a call to serve in the Ecuador Guayaquil Mission. “Working with the missionaries in Portland was good preparation for me,” Shaun said. “I know some of the challenges I’ll probably face, and I’ve seen some of the rewards. How can you not get excited about seeing somebody baptized?”

Zulma sat on one of the church benches and smoothed the skirt of her school uniform. Colored light shone through the stained-glass windows, and a cross stood at the front of the chapel. Zulma went to a church school, so she went to worship services twice a day with the other students. Zulma liked her church. She loved Jesus and loved to learn about Him.
She sat quietly as the priest began to talk. But today something felt different. Suddenly a new thought came into her mind and heart: There is more truth out there.
Zulma scrunched her eyebrows. More truth? What did that mean?
The thought came again. There is more truth.
Zulma closed her eyes and focused on what she was feeling. She had learned lots of good things at church. But now she wondered if something was missing. Maybe there was more that God wanted her to know. But how could she find it?
Later she talked to her older brother, Alberto, about her thoughts.
“You think there’s more truth out there?” Alberto asked.
Zulma nodded. “I want to learn about other churches,” she said.
“OK,” Alberto replied. “I’ll go with you!”
For several years, Zulma and Alberto visited different churches. After one church service, Alberto said, “That church taught good things.”
Zulma agreed, but they still felt like something was missing, so they kept searching.
One day Alberto raced up the steps to their house. “I found the church we’re looking for!” Alberto said. He gave Zulma a big hug.
Zulma’s eyes got wide. “Where? How?”
“My friend met some missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” Alberto said. “I listened to them, and I believe what they taught!”
Zulma and Alberto were so happy that they danced all around the house. But then Zulma got some bad news. Mamá didn’t want her to meet with the missionaries. “You’re only 12,” Mamá said. “You’re too young.”
Since Alberto was older, he was allowed to keep meeting with the missionaries. A few weeks later, he was baptized.
Zulma kept asking Mamá again and again if she could learn from the missionaries. Finally, Mamá said yes.
When the missionaries taught Zulma, she felt warm in her heart. One of the missionaries had a hard time speaking Spanish, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was how good Zulma felt. When she learned about Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon, she knew she had found the truth she was looking for!
Zulma wanted to be baptized. But what would Mamá say? Zulma was so happy when Mamá said yes! On the day of her baptism, Zulma dressed all in white. She knew God loved her. She knew He knew her. And she knew that He had helped her find His restored Church!

For years, I have wanted to create a large poppy display and in November of last year, I voiced this to our Relief Society president, Yvonne Kerr, who expressed a similar desire. Because we were coming to the close of a horrible year of lockdowns, we felt that setting this up as a project for 2021 would be an ideal time to do it as it would give us something to focus on while we were restricted to our homes and by giving us a common purpose, we would not feel so isolated. Little did we know at that point that we were heading into further lockdowns and this project became a lifeline for many women. The culmination of this work was to be a display at the chapel where we would hold a special commemorative meeting, to which we would invite community leaders as well as our members and friends.
Yvonne asked me to pull a small committee together to make this happen and I knew exactly who to ask.
Yvonne Kerr, president of the Relief Society, said: “We really felt that there was a need for people who weren’t able to get together to be able to do something in unity. “It was a good way for the women of the Church to stay in contact with one another and to be able to serve and help other people.” She added: “As COVID started to progress, we really wanted to run with the idea, to be able to acknowledge that there were other people who had sacrificed a lot more than we got to sacrifice. We were very privileged to be able to acknowledge them by creating the poppies.”
Yvonne Kerr told the Advertiser: “It was very well attended. We were surprised by how many people came. It was really wonderful—a lovely event and a great tribute to those who served in our military services and a great way to thank them for what they’ve done for us.”

I want a cookie,” Emily said as Mom took cookies from the oven.
“Wait until they cool,” said Mom.
But Emily didn’t wait. She ate a hot cookie and burned her tongue.
“I want to play with it now,” she said while Dad glued a wheel back on her toy truck.
“Wait until the glue dries,” Dad said.
But Emily didn’t wait. She raced the truck across the rug, and the wheel came off again.
“I want to open my presents,” she said as Mom put bows on brightly wrapped boxes.
“Wait until your birthday tomorrow,” Mom said.
But Emily didn’t wait. As soon as Mom left the room, she opened her presents. Then she had no boxes to open on her birthday.
“Why didn’t you wait?” Dad asked.
“I hate to wait,” Emily said. “But now I wish I had.”
The next day, Dad took her to a garden shop. He picked out onion sets and seeds for peas and beans. “You may choose some seeds, too,” he told Emily.
“I love carrots,” she said, so Dad got a package of carrot seeds.
Emily helped Dad plant the onions, peas, and beans in the garden. Then she planted a row of carrots by herself. “We can have my carrots for dinner tomorrow,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” Dad said, “but you will have to wait a long time for your seeds to grow into carrots.”
Emily didn’t wait. Every day, she dug up a few seeds to see if they had grown into carrots. “My seeds aren’t growing,” she told Dad.
“How do you know,” asked Dad.
“I looked at them,” said Emily.
“If you dig up your seeds, they won’t ever grow. You’ll have to learn to wait.”
“I hate to wait,” Emily said. “But I love carrots, so I’ll try.”
Emily tried hard all summer. She didn’t dig up any more carrot seeds, even when the green tops popped up along the row. But she did weed the garden while she waited. And she swam and ran and played. She even learned to wait for other things—for homemade Popsicles to freeze in the freezer, for her turn to ride on the back of a camel at the zoo, and for lots of other things. She even learned to wait to talk to Mom or Dad when they were on the telephone.
While Emily waited, the plants grew in the garden. When it was time, she helped to pick pea pods, and yellow beans, and tall green onions. At last it was time for the carrots.
Dad showed her how to loosen the dirt around the carrots and then how to hold the green tops and pull out the carrots one by one. Emily filled her basket with long, fat carrots. Then she ran to the house to show Mom. “Look how big they grew!”
“Yes they did,” Mom said, “and so did you!”
“Did I get taller?” Emily asked.
“You grew taller and wiser.”
“Wiser?” Emily asked.
“Waiting made you wiser.”
“Waiting made me want to eat carrots,” Emily said, “so I’m going to eat one right now!”
“Wait until I wash one,” Mom said.
But Emily didn’t wait. She took a big carrot and washed it herself. “Now I will eat the best carrot I have ever eaten,” she said. And she did.

“Whew!” Jenny fell back onto the chair and looked at the boxes around her. Moving to a new house was a lot of work! But it was kind of exciting too.
She could see her new neighborhood through the window, including a steeple that poked up from above the houses nearby. Jenny’s family didn’t go to church very often, but now there was a church building right down the street.
Maybe now we’ll go to church more, Jenny thought.
When Sunday came around, Jenny and her family went to their new ward for the first time. In Primary, Jenny saw a girl she had met in school that week.
“Hi, Karen,” Jenny said, feeling a little shy.
“Jenny!” said Karen. “I didn’t know you were in my ward.”
“We moved into a house down the street,” Jenny said.
Karen asked Jenny to sit by her. Jenny was glad to have a friend at church.
The next Sunday, Jenny woke up and put on her favorite dress. She combed her hair and ate breakfast as fast as she could. She was excited to go to her new ward again. But then she saw that the rest of her family were still in their pajamas.
“Aren’t we going to church?” she asked Dad.
“No, not today,” Dad said. “We got a bit of a late start. We’ll try to go next week.”
Jenny was used to missing church, but this time felt worse than usual. She wouldn’t get to go to Primary or see Karen.
At school on Monday, Karen and Jenny were talking about their weekends. “I missed you at church yesterday,” Karen said. “Were you sick?”
Jenny’s cheeks turned red. “No,” she said. “I wanted to go, but my family didn’t.”
“Oh. Well, if you ever want to come to church and your family isn’t coming, you can sit by my family.”
Jenny smiled. “Thanks.”
The next Sunday, Jenny’s family went to church. But the Sunday after that they didn’t want to go. Jenny thought about what Karen had said and decided to give it a try.
So after her parents said it was OK, Jenny walked to the chapel. Her heart was beating fast as she looked inside. Then she saw Karen waving to her.
“I’m glad you came!” Karen whispered, scooting over to make room on the bench.
It feels good to be here, Jenny thought.
From then on, Jenny started going to church every week, even when her family didn’t. Pretty soon going to church was the best part of her week!
And Jenny started feeling different during the week too. She felt happier, and she was nicer to her brother and sisters. It was easier to stop watching videos or to change the channel when something bad came on.
One Sunday morning when Jenny came out of her room, the rest of her family were dressed in church clothes.
“We thought we’d come with you today,” Dad said.
Jenny liked being a good example. Her family didn’t go to church every Sunday after that, but they did start going more and more often. And that made church even better.

I had been living for a few months in Kinshasa, the capital of the Democratic Republic of Congo, when the branch Relief Society president asked if she could come visiting teaching. I realize now that she waited so long to visit so I could have time to learn a little French. At that time our family was the only North American family in the branch. Some of the women spoke French, but the majority spoke Lingala, a tribal language. Although I tried not to feel alienated, I felt very different from the sisters in my branch.
The Relief Society president was a widow with two sons. She was always smiling a beautiful, big smile. When she arrived to visit me, she came accompanied by the Spirit of the Lord.
After greeting me, she asked me to get my English Bible. She spoke very slowly so I would understand her message. We read in her French Bible, and then in my English one, Ephesians 2:19: “Now therefore ye are no more strangers and foreigners, but fellowcitizens with the saints, and of the household of God.”
I smiled as I read the verse she had chosen. My Relief Society president understood the struggles I was experiencing.
As she prepared to leave, this sweet sister presented me with a gift of 10 eggs. I knew it was a sacrifice for her. I felt guilty accepting the eggs and tried to decline the gift. But her eyes told me they were given in love.
I accepted the eggs, and we basked in the love that she had brought. It filled the house and made everything seem brighter. After a prayer with her, I watched her leave the yard, her petite and gracious form wrapped in African cloth. I no longer felt a stranger, but at home with the Saints of God.