Gospel Story Finder

I’m going to do it!
Do what?
Run for student council.
Good for you!
What does the student council do?
They solve problems together and try to make the school a better place.
Hmmm, sounds like family council.
Sort of. But don’t try running for the position of Dad. At least not yet.
So, Mandy, what’s next?
I need a slogan!
How about, “Mandy is dandy, she’ll give you free candy.” I’d vote for that!
Just kidding.
Hmmm. Posters. Talking to lots of people.
It sounds a little scary. But I think I really want to do it!
I’ll help put up posters.
I’ll pass out candy!

During the COVID-19 pandemic, we were blessed to have hospice care for my husband, Claude, in our home. There, our children and I lovingly assisted in his care until he quietly slipped away to our heavenly home.
Earlier, Claude and I had prayed about whether to convert our screened-in patio into a hospice room, where we could fit everything he would need to feel comfortable. We received confirmation that we should proceed.
To remodel the patio, several workers needed access to our home. Fortunately, the patio had a back door, so the workers could go in and out without having to enter our home’s main living quarters. That was a great blessing during COVID-19 restrictions.
After Claude’s room was completed, nurses came daily. They were kind, loving, and knowledgeable about what we needed to do to keep Claude comfortable.
When I joined the Church, I was taught that every member of the Church is a missionary.1 Because I love sharing the gospel, I ordered three cases of the Book of Mormon, 24 books in each case. I vowed to give a book to every person who entered our home.
I marked important sections of each book with a business card I designed that featured a photo I took of the Salt Lake Temple. I also pasted my testimony onto the blank page at the front of each book. Then, before giving a book to a worker or a nurse, I explained to them what the Book of Mormon is.
I was pleasantly surprised by their reactions. Only one person refused to accept a book. Everyone else was interested in hearing about it. Some thanked me profusely, saying that they knew about the Book of Mormon and wanted one. Several people were so happy that they even hugged me.
I am convinced that this happened because every time I opened my mouth to speak about the Book of Mormon, the Holy Ghost was with me. I am confident that the workers and nurses could feel the Spirit. I gave away all 72 books, and I recently placed an order for 24 more.

Benton Worthen: “I grew up in Phoenix, Arizona. The particular suburb that I grew up in was not overly populated with members of the Church, though I had a pretty decent-sized Young Men group. But of those senior boys who I had grown up with, I was the only one who ended up going on a mission. At that period of my life, I was slipping, we could say, because it is easier to dim your light when other lights aren’t shining as bright—if that makes sense. And so within this certain period of my life, I felt very strongly that if I didn’t go on a mission soon, I was going to have some struggles. So through prayer, scripture study, and the basics that we are familiar with, my Heavenly Father and my Savior Jesus Christ pulled me through to where I am today, regardless of the decisions that people I love made around me.”

I can still remember one particular Young Women lesson, even though my teacher, Sister Cato, taught it years ago. It was about reaching out to others who may not seem to fit in with “our group.”
I was in high school then, captain of the marching band color guard, publicity chair for a club, active on the academic team and in drama, Laurel class president, and a member of the stake youth committee. I was the only member of the Church at my school, but people seemed to respect me for my beliefs.
The day after Sister Cato’s wonderful lesson, I noticed a guy at lunch I’d never really noticed before. He was sitting by himself, except for two other guys who were making fun of him. I remembered having seen him at band practice after school, but I didn’t even know his name. I asked my friends from the band if they knew anything about him.
“That’s Chris. He can’t march and won’t play his trombone loud enough for you to hear him three feet from you!” the trombone section leader replied.
“I think he just moved here from another school,” said another. “People say he’s really weird.”
“I heard he can’t drive to save his life. Once he hit someone’s trash can when he was driving home after school!” another of my friends said.
The bell rang, and we all scattered for class. I continued to think about Chris and how lonely he had seemed at lunch.
The next day, I decided to sit with Chris instead of with my usual group. Ignoring my friends’ stares, I introduced myself and sat down. I really enjoyed my lunch with Chris. He was funny and bright, though a little quiet that first day. The next day at lunch, I asked Chris to sit with my friends and me. My friends protested, but I insisted, and Chris had lunch with us the rest of the year.
I’m so thankful for that lesson in Young Women. Chris and I became the best of friends. When band practice ended each afternoon, we would often end up at one or the other’s house. I introduced him to my younger brothers, with whom he became fast friends, and he introduced me to his girlfriend. We went to the movies together. He helped me get my first job, and we even double-dated to the prom.
The next year, I completed the Personal Progress program in Young Women. My parents decided to have a little party to celebrate my receiving the Young Womanhood Recognition. I handed out invitations to all my friends and reminded them many times, hoping they would come. Chris came—my only friend who wasn’t a member of the Church to show up.
Graduation day came and went, but Chris and I still keep in touch. Who would have known that by following a Young Women lesson, I would end up with a great friendship?

Imagine a young man who is home alone and is getting hungry (it’s far-fetched, yes, but just try to imagine it). Now imagine that this young man decides to try to make a grilled cheese sandwich on his own for the first time.1 Imagine that this young man’s parents had never taught him how to make grilled cheese and that he had never observed them very closely when they made it.

Let’s say, though, that this young man gets all of the ingredients just right: bread, cheese, a little butter on the outside of the bread (and a little mayonnaise inside because he’s brilliant). Next, he gets out the pan and puts it on the stove. (We’re also imagining he doesn’t have a special griddle or other appliance for making this treat.)

Now imagine that a certain thought takes hold of his mind—a thought that so many people have been ignorant enough (or temporarily insane enough) to think: “If I turn the heat up high, it’ll be done faster.”

Imagine what happens next. (Or perhaps you don’t have to imagine.)

He’s going to get either perfectly crispy, golden-brown bread or perfectly gooey, melted cheese—but not both. Most likely, he’ll have bread that looks and feels (and probably tastes) like lava rock and half-melted cheese, which is about as appealing as half-told tales.

His problem, as you can see, was a combination of ignorance (which is excusable) and impatience (which, though understandable, is less excusable). If he were to repeat this mistake the next time, it would be even less excusable, since it couldn’t be blamed on ignorance but would result almost entirely from impatience.

To get it right, he would have to discover the miracle of medium heat.

The medium setting on a stove is perfect for grilled cheese and many other dishes because it allows food to be cooked through without being overdone on the outside. The only downside is that it requires more time and attention, which require patience.

The Laurels of the West Weber First Ward, Ogden Utah Weber North Stake, were pleased to discover that they all, including their leader, received their Young Womanhood awards at the same time.
During the year, the girls learned to make quilts and gave four quilts to the bishop to distribute to members of the ward. They organized an adopt-a-grandmother program where the girls chose an elderly lady to visit, care about, and bake goodies for. The girls have learned skills, shared talents and hobbies, and learned more about life.

Our precious son Ezequiel shared 14 years of his life with us in the gospel that unites us. He was always quick to obey. His love radiated through our home. His sisters and the Saints in the scriptures were his role models. He was full of life and activity. He never missed his seminary classes. He filled our home with happiness. He was reverent when he passed the sacrament. But our life together changed when Ezequiel was called home to our Heavenly Father. We miss him more than we can describe.
A rare infection took him from us. Despite the intense pain of his departure, we are certain that we will be with him again. We have the promise made in our temple sealing. The emptiness that his passing has left is filled by the knowledge that he was called by the Lord to serve a mission elsewhere. Ezequiel’s funeral service was so special that many people felt prompted to investigate the Church. I always hoped he would serve a mission, and now he is. Because of the plan of salvation, we know where Ezequiel is and whom he is with.

Rene, for example, lived in a nice apartment in Michigan, USA. But when she retired, her Social Security and pension weren’t enough to meet her expenses. Finances became such a worry that her children suggested she look into low-income housing.

She found a retirement residence and moved in. “I’m stress-free now because I have enough money to live on,” she says. “I like my new ward and neighbors, and this apartment is perfect for family parties.”

Once I gave a lesson in family home evening about missionary work. I challenged my family to invite someone to church. We decided to invite one of our friends who was our neighbor. My mom and I talked about what I could say before I called our friend. I was very nervous, but I invited him to sacrament meeting. I told him it was our Primary program and that I was giving a talk. He thanked me for inviting him but didn’t say if he would come. When I entered the chapel on Sunday I didn’t see our friend. I felt disappointed. After I was sitting on the stand, I suddenly saw him in the congregation. I was so happy and grateful that I got to be a missionary.

A story in point about valiance: Zion’s Camp. Let me read you a page from Church history:
Kirtland, February 14, 1835—This day a meeting was called of those who journeyed last season to Zion [that is, Zion’s Camp] for the purpose of laying the foundation of the redemption, together with as many other of the brethren and sisters as were disposed to attend.
President Joseph Smith, Jr., presiding, read the fifteenth chapter of John, and said: Let us endeavor to solemnize our minds that we may receive a blessing, by calling on the Lord. After an appropriate and affecting prayer, the brethren who went to Zion [in Zion’s Camp] were requested to take their seats together in a part of the house by themselves.
President Smith then stated that the meeting had been called, because God had commanded it; and it was made known to him by vision and by the Holy Spirit. He then gave a relation of some of the circumstances attending us while journeying to Zion—our trials, sufferings; and said God had not designed all this for nothing, but He had it in remembrance yet; and it was the will of God that those who went to Zion, with the determination to lay down their lives, if necessary, should be ordained to the ministry, and go forth to prune the vineyard for the last time, or the coming of the Lord, which was nigh. . . .
The President also said many things; such as the weak things, even the smallest and weakest among us, shall be powerful and mighty, and great things shall be accomplished by you from this hour; and you shall begin to feel the whisperings of the Spirit of God; and the work of God shall begin to break forth from this time; and you shall be endowed with power from on high. [Documentary History of the Church, 2:181–82]
Remember Zion’s Camp? Remember the history? Remember how the Saints went up to free the land in Jackson County from which they had been driven off by mobs? Do you remember how there was no redress from the government? Remember how they marched all the way up there and didn’t fight? Do you remember how some of them got rebellious against the Prophet Joseph and others? Remember how cholera struck the camp and some people were struck down, as it were, in a moment? And then after all this, they disbanded the camp and sent everybody home. Oh, what a great opportunity to say, “Joseph really missed it this time. What a waste of time! We certainly didn’t get anything accomplished. I wonder whether Joseph Smith knows what he is talking about.”
Elder Joseph Young, in his history of the organization of the seventies, says this about the meeting about which we just read:
The following sentiment was delivered by the Prophet Joseph Smith in an address to the Elders assembled in Kirtland soon after the Seventies were organized: “Brethren, some of you are angry with me, because you did not fight in Missouri; but let me tell you, God did not want you to fight. He could not organize His kingdom with twelve men to open the Gospel door to the nations of the earth, and with seventy men under their direction to follow in their tracks, unless He took them from a body of men who had offered their lives, and who had made as great a sacrifice as did Abraham. Now the Lord has got His Twelve and His Seventy, and there will be other quorums of Seventies called, who will make the sacrifice, and those who have not made their sacrifices and their offerings now, will make them hereafter.” [Documentary History of the Church, 2:182]
The interesting thing about Zion’s Camp is that nobody knew when they were going through it why they were going through it until the Lord told them later. Do you know that in everyone’s life comes a Zion’s Camp? Many times in the quiet and stillness of a personal relationship or while you are by yourself, and without realizing it, you are proving yourself to the Lord. Without realizing it, you are demonstrating whether you’re valiant in your testimony. May each one of us be able to meet our Zion’s Camp and understand that a Lord who knows all and understands what we are going through both in public and in private will bless us for the good that we accomplish and for the right decisions that we make. So much on the principle of being valiant.

Others John has taught have also found ways to personalize their instruments. Freida Maize from Shiprock, New Mexico, carved an “S” on her flute to stand for her home town. Ray Delgarito of Crown Point, New Mexico, fashioned part of his in the shape of a quail. And Jackie Smith of Dustin, Oklahoma, carved a thunderbird and other tribal symbols of the Creeks and Seminoles on her flute.
“The thunderbird symbolizes power, and to me music is a powerful way to influence people. In my tribe and every tribe it plays a vital part because it is involved in everything—religion, everyday singing, powwows, war dances. Everything is tied in with some form of music or other.”
She explained that her mother, who is not a member of the Church, heard her playing the LDS hymn “I Need Thee Every Hour” on the flute and asked her about its meaning. “I was able to show her that she can kneel before God and meet him any time, every hour.”

Each afternoon the boys played, jumping off haystacks and playing hide-and-seek. Each night they slept in a wagon box under the stars. Gordon noted that while the other stars appeared to move, the North Star held its position. “The polar star came to mean something to me,” he later reported. “I recognized it as a constant in the midst of change. It was something that could always be counted on.”2 He determined that he, too, would be trustworthy.

Jane was always forgetting things.
Sometimes she forgot to hang up her coat. Sometimes she forgot to put her toys away. Sometimes she forgot to brush her teeth and make her bed. And almost always when she checked out books at the library, she forgot to return them until they were overdue.
But what made Mother most unhappy was that Jane often forgot to bring her boots home from school. Or her cap. Or her mittens. Every winter morning Jane dressed warmly before leaving for school. But when Jane came home, very often her mittens were missing. Or her cap. Or her boots.
Mother would say, “Jane, did you forget again?”
And Jane would always answer, “Oh, Mother, I’m so busy thinking that I don’t have time to remember.”
One Friday afternoon Jane was very busy thinking. The sun was warm when she came out of school. She walked along, kicking a stone in front of her. She didn’t notice that she had forgotten her cap and her mittens and her boots. She was too busy thinking.
When Jane opened her eyes on Saturday morning, she saw something outside her window. She rushed over to look out at the small white flakes that were falling.
“Hurray!” Jane called. “It’s snowing!”
She put on her Saturday play clothes and ran out to the kitchen.
“Your breakfast is ready,” Mother said.
“I have to hurry,” Jane cried, “because I want to play in the snow!”
But when Jane started to get ready to go outside, her face wrinkled up in a frown.
“Where are my boots?” she called.
“I don’t know,” Mother answered. “Did you forget to bring them home from school?”
Jane nodded her head. “And I guess I forgot my cap and mittens, too,” she said slowly after she had looked all around her room. “But I remembered my coat,” she finished proudly.
“Jane,” Mother said patiently, “you can’t go outside to play in the snow wearing just your coat.”
“Please,” Jane pleaded, “I love the snow.”
“Well, maybe I can think of something,” Mother said. And she did.
She thought of boots belonging to Jane’s big brother Bud, to use for Jane’s feet. Of course, they were too big, and Jane could barely lift her feet to walk in them.
Then Mother thought of the scarf that belonged to Daddy, to use for Jane’s head. Of course, it was too long and had to be wound three times around Jane’s head. She could hardly see out.
And finally, Mother thought of her own gloves, to use for Jane’s hands. Of course, the fingers were too big and too long and just kept flapping even when Jane pulled the gloves on as far as she could.
But at last Jane was ready to go outside.
She decided to make a snowman. Over and over she rolled the snowballs. Next she piled them one on top of the other, and finally her snowman was finished. She put a broom in his hand and an old hat of Daddy’s on his head.
Just then Daddy drove up.
“Hi!” Jane called out.
Daddy pretended to be surprised.
“Who’s that talking?” he asked. “All I can see are two funny looking snowmen.”
“Oh, Daddy,” Jane said. “I’m not a snowman. I’m Jane.”
“So you are,” Daddy laughed. “But why are you dressed up like that? Are you trying to scare the snowman?”
Jane began to laugh. “Daddy, you know I’m not. It’s just that I was thinking so hard yesterday that I forgot to bring home my boots and cap and mittens.”
“Well,” Daddy smiled, “you had better come inside now to eat some lunch. We don’t want you to frighten someone who is driving by.”
After lunch Jane started to get ready to go back outside. But Bud needed his boots to go sliding with the boys. Daddy needed his scarf when he went to the hardware store. And Mother needed her gloves when she went outside to sweep the front porch.
So Jane had to sit all alone inside the house, just looking out at all of the beautiful white snow.
On Monday afternoon Jane came running home from school wearing her cap and her mittens and her boots.
“Why, Jane,” Mother said, “you remembered everything. Have you given up thinking?”
“No, Mother,” Jane answered. “I’m still thinking, but now I’ve decided to think about remembering things.”

A number of years ago, our son, who was four years old at the time, was involved in a serious road accident away from home. After a week or so in hospital, he was able to be transferred the 200 miles (320 kilometres) to our local hospital. When we arrived home, there was a note from a loving and caring ministering sister with details of who would collect our other four children from school, who would provide meals and who would do our laundry. During the subsequent five weeks our son remained in hospital, my wife gave birth to our youngest son. With a son in one end of the hospital, a wife and new baby in the other end, four children to care for, and a full-time job to fit in, we would not have coped without the significant help given to us by our fellow ward members. How grateful we were for their selfless ministering. We know that the common question “Can we do anything to help?” is always sincerely offered, but this wonderful, thoughtful sister went the extra mile, anticipated our needs and ministered accordingly.

I live in the city of San Salvador in El Salvador, and I love to prepare names for temple ordinances.
The Relief Society sisters in my branch asked if I could learn to index names using the FamilySearch program. I wanted to help. My mother also wanted me to help, so we began learning how to index together.
When I first started, it took me a whole day to index nine names. But now, after working hard and practicing, I can index 300 names in a day.
After finishing my homework, I spend time indexing names. For me, indexing is as fun as playing or watching TV. But I know that it has a greater purpose.
Heavenly Father blessed me with the opportunity to help prepare names for temple ordinances for more than 2,000 of my Salvadorian ancestors in the spirit world.

I was taught by great elders. When I heard the message of the Restoration, I had an even greater confirmation that I should be baptized. But I wanted to know for myself the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon. The elders marked Moroni 10:3–5 in my Book of Mormon and invited me to pray and ask God if it is true.

The next evening I remembered that I had not yet read the Book of Mormon. As I began to read, I felt a very strong spirit. I prayed, and before I was finished, I knew that the Book of Mormon is true. I am grateful to God for having answered my prayer. I was baptized in July 2006.

The snow fell lightly on Greta and her twin brother Hans as they each carried an armload of firewood to their split-log house.
Suddenly Greta turned to her brother and asked, “Then jolly Kris Kringle will not be allowed to bring gifts to our new home here in Plymouth Colony in Massachusetts on Christmas Eve as he did in Holland?”
“That’s right, my sister. Governor Bradford has decreed that Christmas celebrations are frivolous.”
Greta frowned. “But I can’t see the harm in getting a small doll and a few sweetmeats,” she said.
Hans’ mouth watered when he recalled the Dutch applecakes, oozing with raisins and sugar that their mother made for the Christmas holiday back in the old country.
Greta stopped walking for a moment and then her face brightened. “I know! Hans, let’s take the wood into the house and come back outside again. I have an idea.”
Hans grinned at his white-capped sister as he opened the door for her. No one was in the kitchen so they left the wood and hurried outdoors. The other chores could wait a bit. He had been wanting to tell Greta about his own idea.
Greta stood behind the outbuilding, clapping her mittens together for warmth. She seemed to be almost bursting with excitement. “Hans, let’s at least give Mother and Father some kind of gift. I’m sure the Christ Child would think we were very ungrateful to our parents if we didn’t.” She put up a hand of caution and added, “Oh, nothing frivolous, of course.”
“Come to the shed and see what I already have for Father,” Hans said, hardly containing his excitement. “You’ll have to think of something for Mother.”
It was finally Christmas Eve and to Hans and Greta the very air seemed to crackle with surprise. They smiled knowingly at each other. Greta had thought of a wonderful gift for Mother. Even if they were not visited by Kris Kringle, they would have fun giving gifts to their mother and father.
Mother had prepared a special meal of wild turkey, stuffing, cornbread, and stewed cranberries. The family sat down at the trestle table and Father gave a prayer of thanks.
Hans and Greta ate until they were as stuffed as the turkey had been, enjoying the faces Father made when he ate the sour cranberries.
“They are sour as any pickle,” he grimaced, “but the Indians claim they are good for strength, especially during winter.”
Mother was wearing her best white cap and collar and her good woolen dress. Her eyes looked merry and her hair shone from careful brushing. To Hans and Greta, she looked beautiful.
After supper, the family gathered in front of the great fireplace. With a smile, Mother handed a cornhusk doll to Greta. The doll was dressed in a knitted cape, dress, and white cap just like her own.
“Oh, thank you, Mother!” cried Greta. “I’ve been longing so for a doll.” She hugged it close, her eyes brimming.
“‘Tis time to surprise you, my son,” Father said, bringing in two long-necked gourds, one yellow and one orange. They had been scooped out and a small, round hole had been bored in each of them.
Hans looked at the strange gourds and ran his hands along their smooth, hard surfaces. “What are they for?” he asked.
“Our Indian friend, Squanto, gave them to me,” Father explained. “He calls them gourds and showed me how to hollow them out for birds to build nests in. Come spring, we’ll hang them from the big alder trees.” He touseled Hans’ fair hair. “You are interested in watching birds, and we all like to hear birdsongs. These may lure them to live close by.”
Hans was delighted. “It’s a fine gift, Father. Thank you!”
“Would not the town fathers be displeased if they knew of our presents?” Greta asked anxiously, hugging her doll close. She knew they had come to this new land so they might worship God freely, but seriously.
“Nay,” Father said and smiled. “I doubt that even the Christ Child would think us sinful if we gave our children a little special joy on His birthday.”
Greta clapped her hand over her mouth and her eyes widened. “Hans! We almost forgot—”
Hans hurried out of the room and soon returned with a small wooden bucket. He pushed it toward his father.
Mr. van Felt stared in astonishment. “Why, Hans. ‘Tis honey, to be sure! Where did you ever get it?”
Hans grinned broadly. “Running Deer and I were looking for eagle feathers when we found it. He helped me get it down.”
Greta stepped quietly behind her mother’s stool and slipped a string of bright red cranberries around her mother’s neck.
Mother reached up to touch the red “jewels.” “Why, child, how did you ever think of this?” she asked, getting up to fetch a shiny pewter plate in which to see herself. When she looked, her cheeks brightened and her eyes sparkled.
“Well, well,” Father said. “All this, and none of us had expected anything at all. Ah! Won’t the cranberry sauce taste much better now?” He looked at his wife. “And you, dear Prudence, are absolutely beautiful.” Going to the table, he asked, “Shall we all have a spoonful of honey for dessert?”
Greta, Hans, and their mother were pleased to see Father’s eagerness to have a taste of the sweet honey.
“Isn’t this a surprising Christmas!” Greta exclaimed. “I think I’m going to like America after all.” And she hugged her doll close and smiled at her family.

I am a Boy Scout. At one meeting, a boy in my patrol wanted to bet me a dollar that I would not make a hoop on my next shot. I know betting isn’t good, so I told him that I don’t bet. Lucky for me, he didn’t call me a chicken or anything. Also lucky for me that I didn’t bet. For one thing, I would have had a guilty conscience. I would also have felt embarrassed because I would be one dollar poorer than I am today!
Sadek Sabbah, age 11Chandler, Arizona

Michael Diaz looks past the long barrel of a heavy cannon and scans the choppy waters of Portobelo, Panama. If an attack on the stronghold and the gold it guarded were to come by sea, the attacking ships would have to survive heavy fire from more than a dozen cannons, and their sailors would have to get past soldiers manning two waterfront forts, including the one where Michael stands. Past battles were fierce and frightening.
Fortunately for Michael, no such battles have taken place in more than 250 years.
A lot has changed since then. But as he paces along the thick stone walls of the ruins, Michael, 15, isn’t thinking about cell phones, the Internet, or men walking on the moon. He and his friends from the Colón Panama Stake are talking about the changes they have seen in themselves thanks to the Duty to God program.
“I’ve learned a lot,” Michael says. The others nod in agreement. “I have more faith in myself. I don’t have to depend spiritually on others so much. I have the courage to talk to others about the Church.”
Built to be strong, the forts stood guard over Portobelo for more than 100 years, and their remains still stand today.
The strength of the Duty to God program, according to these young men, is found in setting and completing goals. Their goals are helping them build spiritual strongholds that will help them stand against whatever they will have to face in life.
“You live in a day of great challenges,” said the First Presidency. “You can strengthen yourself, building faith and testimony, living the gospel while you learn it and share it” (Aaronic Priesthood: Fulfilling Our Duty to God [2001], 4).
Aldo Cardenas of the Puerto Pilon Ward recalls a recent goal to organize a family home evening with his father’s help. “My dad gave me the theme of the priesthood and how important it is to our family. I learned a lot about the priesthood. It’s a great blessing to us and others through us.”
He’s grateful for the way the program works. “Having to follow through with the goals has helped me to be more responsible,” he says.
Narcisso Garay, 17, of the Barriada Kuna Ward decided to set a goal to read the Book of Mormon every day. “My parents suggested that I read the other scriptures too. Now I’ve almost finished the New Testament. At first I thought it was boring, but now I’ve seen what Jesus suffered for us, and I know that we can return to Him.”
Michael’s older brother Isaac says completing the goals he has set in the program has strengthened him spiritually. When Isaac was a teacher, he was the only active member in his quorum. Duty to God has not only helped him; it has also provided opportunities for him to get the three quorum members who didn’t attend regularly to come to some activities, and one of them has attended church.
“I tried to visit the others and invite them to come to church,” Isaac says. “That was my duty to God.”
Perched on top of a long-unused cannon, Michael can easily imagine defending the fort against the fierce attack of an enemy. But as he looks out to sea, he talks about strengthening himself against a different kind of attack—one without cannons and gunpowder.
“My friends at school sometimes make fun of me for belonging to the ‘church of Mormon,’” he says as the sun sets on Portobelo. But he’s not afraid to tell them, “I belong to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”

“It’s just not fair!” grumbled Jason at the close of family council. “Now I know I’ll never get a set of walkie-talkies for Christmas.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Jason,” Dad said with disappointment, “but the family has voted, and our decision stands. We will use most of our Christmas money to make gifts and buy supplies for a needy family. You’ll still get one present from Santa, and you’ll still exchange gifts with your sisters.”
Jason continued to sulk while Dad spoke again to the whole family. “Before we can make any definite plans,” he said, “we have to know more about the needy family. I’ll talk to Bishop Carson tomorrow to see if he can help us. As soon as we know the ages and interests of the children, you can decide what presents to make. Your mother and I will make gifts for the parents, OK?”
Everyone except Jason agreed happily. He sat quietly in his chair, thinking about last Christmas. When he closed his eyes, he could almost smell the sweet fragrance of the gumdrops and candy canes that had overflowed from his stocking hanging from the mantel. He could see the majestic, towering Christmas tree twinkling with brightly colored lights. Under it were piles of presents wrapped with red and green paper and golden bows begging to be undone. But this year …
One present! Jason thought. Last year I had at least ten neat presents. I got a race car set, and … no, I got that for my birthday. He tried and tried to remember the gifts that he had eagerly opened last Christmas, but he couldn’t think of even one.
Three days later Dad called another family council. Kristen, Meg, and Jamie skipped into the living room; Jason shuffled in slowly behind them.
“We have a family!” Dad announced. “Their name is Blakely. They haven’t been to church for several years, so I doubt that you’ve ever met them. There are four girls close to your own ages.”
“Girls, Dad?” Jason asked in annoyed surprise. “I have to make a present for a girl?”
“Yes, Jason. Her name is Jennifer. Bishop Carson says that she is very shy. She likes books and dolls and horses. If you need some ideas for a present, I’m sure Kristen will help you.”
Jason quietly slipped out of the room. He put on his coat and went out into the brisk, snowy December air. “Three weeks until Christmas,” Jason grumbled, “and I have to make a present for a girl. I’m always surrounded by girls! Besides, what can I make for somebody I don’t even know? I can’t write well enough to make a book, I don’t know how to make a doll, and I sure don’t have a horse to give her.”
Jason soon found himself in his favorite thinking spot among a cluster of tall pine trees. Looking up, he could see a bright spot in the clouds, and he wished that the sun would break through, just for a moment, to brighten his mood. He wanted to feel the same sparkle that his sisters had, but it just wasn’t there. Dad’s right. I do need some help, he thought. But not from Kristen.
Glancing around to make sure that no one was watching, Jason knelt down, thinking of another boy who knelt in a grove of trees to pray over 150 years before. After Jason asked fervently for both peace of mind and an idea for a present, he got up, brushed the snow off an old stump, then sat on it to think. He noticed a fallen pine branch at his feet. The rough bark scratched his hand as he picked it up. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his treasured pocketknife.
“Hey!” he exclaimed. “Santa gave me this pocketknife last Christmas.” Jason felt pleased that he had finally recalled one of his presents. How could he have forgotten such a great present that had helped him make bookends and figurines and neckerchief slides! He carefully opened the blade and whittled away the branch’s rough outer bark. Soon it was smooth and clear. As he handled the satiny piece of wood, an idea came to him. “A horse!” he exulted. “I can’t give Jennifer a real horse, but I can make her a wooden one! Thanks!” he shouted happily, looking up.
Jason ran all the way back to the house and upstairs to his room. There he found several photographs of horses in a book. After carefully choosing one, he cut an outline into the wood. It took almost two hours before he was satisfied with it. As he put the block of wood into his desk drawer, he heard a knock at his door.
Dad slipped into the room with a solemn look on his face. “Are you still upset, Jason? We haven’t seen you since family council.”
“No, I’m not upset anymore. I decided to go along with everyone else. And I even know what I’m going to make for Jennifer.”
Dad patted him on the shoulder. “Well, I came up here to help you work out your bad feelings, but it looks like you did it on your own.”
“Well, not exactly on my own. I had a little help.” Jason smiled, pointing upward.
Jason spent every spare moment for the next three weeks carving on the block of pine. Slowly the head and mane appeared, then the body and legs. The horse still looked somewhat chunky when Jason carved the tail. It’s not good enough yet, he thought. He started at the head again, whittling away the sharp edges. As the horse’s body became rounded and muscled, Jason was surprised at how much it really did look like a horse running in the wind. He carefully carved curvy lines in the mane and tail to make them look like they were flowing. Even the eyes looked real.
On Christmas Eve, the family gathered early to wrap the presents. Kristen had sewn a book jacket and embroidered her secret friend’s name on the front. Inside were copies of the standard works. Mom carefully folded the beautiful blue quilt that she had completed only the day before, while Dad gave a final inspection to the leather wallet that he had painstakingly crafted. Meg and Jamie had made Raggedy Ann dolls with a little help from Mom. As Jason placed the wooden horse on top of the bright paper, he felt a twinge of apprehension. Looking at the JENNIFER carved into the side of the horse’s base, he worried, I sure hope that she likes it.
The presents were carefully packed into a box. A canned ham, jars of Mom’s homemade strawberry jam, and other goodies were placed in a large wicker laundry basket, along with kitchen utensils, fluffy new towels, warm socks, and a board game. Six wide strands of ribbon held everything inside. After loading the station wagon, they all drove to the Blakelys’ street. Dad parked the car around the corner, and Jason helped him quietly carry the box to the Blakelys’ front door. The box was big, but it wasn’t very heavy. Jason had to strain, however, to lift his half of the laundry basket. His toe slipped on a crumbling corner of the porch, and he stumbled forward, almost dropping his end. As he stood up, he found himself facing the front window. A piece of cardboard had replaced a pane of glass. Peering over it, his eyes widened.
“Dad,” he whispered, “I don’t see a Christmas tree. Or presents. There aren’t even any stockings on the mantel. There’s only a sprig of holly tied to a light, and some paper chains taped on the walls!”
Jason scurried over to the big bush where Mom, Kristen, Meg, and Jamie were already hiding. As soon as he was there, Dad pounded on the door, then sprinted to the hiding place.
A few moments later a little girl opened the door. “Mom! Dad!” she shrieked. “Someone’s left Christmas on our porch!”
Soon the whole Blakely family was gathered on the porch. The girls started jumping up and down when their father read the words written on the box: “Merry Christmas! These presents were made especially for you by your secret friends.”
Jason held his breath as the Blakelys opened each package. The dolls were first and were met with hugs and kisses and taken immediately into the warmth of the house. When Sister Blakely saw the quilt, she hugged it just as gratefully, repeating over and over, “I can’t believe it.”
Where is Jennifer’s present? Jason thought anxiously as he watched Dad’s present being opened. I did put it in the box, didn’t I?
Brother Blakely exclaimed, “Look at the craftsmanship on this wallet, Honey—it’s hand-tooled. And there’s a ten-dollar bill inside!”
The oldest Blakely daughter looked overwhelmed as she slowly fingered her embroidered name. Opening the Book of Mormon, she pulled out a letter and went inside the house to read it.
“Kristen, what was that paper?” whispered Mom.
“I bore my testimony. I thought that that was the best present that I could give her, even if I had to sign it ‘Your Secret Friend.’”
Finally the last Blakely girl found her present and tore off the wrapping. She stared at it for a long moment. Jason felt a knot in his stomach. “She doesn’t like it,” he groaned.
Then, as Mom’s hand squeezed his arm in an effort to comfort him, Jennifer let out a delighted yelp and began to dance around the porch. She clutched the little horse close to her, and tears streamed down her face. “Mama,” she whooped, “this is the most beautiful horse I’ve ever seen! This is the best Christmas ever!”
Jason felt tears swell up in his own eyes as he watched Brother Blakely lift the laundry basket into the house and shut the door against the cold. The tune of “Silent Night” floated into the night air as the Blakelys gave thanks for their Christmas Eve surprise.
Jason felt his father’s arm about his shoulders as they walked to the station wagon. “Are you ready to go home and open your presents from your sisters, Son?”
Jason hadn’t even thought of his own Christmas presents for three weeks. He had forgotten all about the walkie-talkie set that he’d wanted. Somehow it didn’t seem important anymore. The wooden horse was the only gift to remember this Christmas—he would never forget the look of joy on Jennifer’s face.