Gospel Story Finder

Here is a spiritual memory from my first mission to France 48 years ago.
While tracting, my companion and I left a Book of Mormon with an elderly woman. When we returned to the woman’s apartment about a week later, she opened the door. Before any words were spoken, I felt a tangible spiritual power. The intense feelings continued as Madame Alice Audubert invited us in and told us she had read the Book of Mormon and knew that it was true. As we left her apartment that day, I prayed, “Heavenly Father, please help me to never forget what I have just felt.” I never have.
In a seemingly ordinary moment, at a door much like hundreds of other doors, I had felt the power of heaven. And I knew that God knew that I knew that a window of heaven had been opened.

Chita’s Christmas Tree
When Chita and Papa go to look for a Christmas tree, Mama packs them peanut butter sandwiches. But they get hot, sugary waffles from the waffle man and give the sandwiches to Henry, their horse (he loves them!). Chita finds the perfect tree, and Papa carves her name on the trunk. Will Santa Claus find it and bring it Christmas Eve? Chita worries about it as she helps Mama bake.

The following is a true story. For my eighth birthday I wanted to have a party. My parents agreed, and so a week before my birthday, I took the invitations to school.
On the school bus, I kept thinking about Alice.* I was hoping that she wouldn’t be there that day. Then my parents couldn’t blame me for not inviting her. You see, Alice’s clothes were old and worn, her hair was seldom combed, and she was very quiet. She always played by herself at recess, and as far as I could see, she had no friends. In other words, I didn’t see why I needed to invite her to my party.
When I got to school, much to my dismay, Alice was there. I handed out the invitations, and everyone was very excited.
The morning of my birthday party, my parents asked, “Will Alice be coming?” I was surprised! I didn’t think that they even knew Alice.
“I don’t know if she’s coming,” I answered. My father suggested that we take a ride over to her house to see. My father is a very kind man, but he is also very firm. If he suggests that we do something, we do it.
Alice’s mother answered the door, and my father told her why we were there. “She won’t be coming,” Alice’s mother said. “She doesn’t have a present for your daughter. You see, my husband lost his job and …”
My father gestured that he understood, then said, “We would still like Alice to come. It doesn’t matter if she has a present or not.”
No present? I thought. What kind of a birthday party is that? But, of course, I just stood there and smiled.
When we were in the car again, my father told me that after he took me home he was coming back to take Alice to the store to buy a present for her to give to me.
This isn’t turning out so bad after all! I thought.
I can’t remember what presents I got that day, but I do remember that Alice seemed to laugh a lot and was actually quite fun to be with. When it was time to take her home, I got in the front seat and she got in the backseat. I turned around to tell her something, and next to her was the prettiest doll I had ever seen. In my eight-year-old mind, I knew that my father had bought that doll for Alice. I felt like my heart grew two sizes that day.
My father is not a rocket scientist. He has never invented anything or found a cure for a disease. But that day he did something just as important—he showed charity to a little girl. And to another little girl, he showed what it means to be Christlike.

I remember fondly our entire family’s great joy when two of our children received their calls to serve as full-time missionaries. Excitement and anticipation filled our hearts as they each opened their special letter from the prophet of God. Our daughter Jenessa was called to the Michigan Detroit Mission, and our son, Christian, was called to the Russia Moscow South Mission. What humbling and thrilling experiences, all at the same time!

As Sister Rasband and I had the privilege of presiding over the New York New York North Mission several years ago, I marveled as the missionaries arrived in New York City.
As I interviewed them on their first day in the mission, I had a profound sense of gratitude for each missionary. I felt that their call to our mission was divinely designed for them and for me as their mission president.
After finishing our mission assignment, I was called by President Gordon B. Hinckley to serve as a Seventy in the Church. Part of my early training as a new General Authority included an opportunity to sit with members of the Twelve as they assigned missionaries to serve in one of the 300-plus missions of this great Church.
With the encouragement and permission of President Henry B. Eyring, I would like to relate to you an experience, very special to me, which I had with him several years ago when he was a member of the Quorum of the Twelve. Each Apostle holds the keys of the kingdom and exercises them at the direction and assignment of the President of the Church. Elder Eyring was assigning missionaries to their fields of labor, and as part of my training, I was invited to observe.
I joined Elder Eyring early one morning in a room where several large computer screens had been prepared for the session. There was also a staff member from the Missionary Department who had been assigned to assist us that day.
First, we knelt together in prayer. I remember Elder Eyring using very sincere words, asking the Lord to bless him to know “perfectly” where the missionaries should be assigned. The word “perfectly” said much about the faith that Elder Eyring exhibited that day.
As the process began, a picture of the missionary to be assigned would come up on one of the computer screens. As each picture appeared, to me it was as if the missionary were in the room with us. Elder Eyring would then greet the missionary with his kind and endearing voice: “Good morning, Elder Reier or Sister Yang. How are you today?”
He told me that in his own mind he liked to think of where the missionaries would conclude their mission. This would aid him to know where they were to be assigned. Elder Eyring would then study the comments from the bishops and stake presidents, medical notes, and other issues relating to each missionary.
He then referred to another screen which displayed areas and missions across the world. Finally, as he was prompted by the Spirit, he would assign the missionary to his or her field of labor.
From others of the Twelve, I have learned that this general method is typical each week as Apostles of the Lord assign scores of missionaries to serve throughout the world.
Having served as a missionary in my own country in the Eastern States Mission a number of years ago, I was deeply moved by this experience. Also, having served as a mission president, I was grateful for a further witness in my heart that the missionaries I had received in New York City were sent to me by revelation.
After assigning a few missionaries, Elder Eyring turned to me as he pondered one particular missionary and said, “So, Brother Rasband, where do you think this missionary should go?” I was startled! I quietly suggested to Elder Eyring that I did not know and that I did not know I could know! He looked at me directly and simply said, “Brother Rasband, pay closer attention and you too can know!” With that, I pulled my chair a little closer to Elder Eyring and the computer screen, and I did pay much closer attention!
A couple of other times as the process moved along, Elder Eyring would turn to me and say, “Well, Brother Rasband, where do you feel this missionary should go?” I would name a particular mission, and Elder Eyring would look at me thoughtfully and say, “No, that’s not it!” He would then continue to assign the missionaries where he had felt prompted.
As we were nearing the completion of that assignment meeting, a picture of a certain missionary appeared on the screen. I had the strongest prompting, the strongest of the morning, that the missionary we had before us was to be assigned to Japan. I did not know that Elder Eyring was going to ask me on this one, but amazingly he did. I rather tentatively and humbly said to him, “Japan?” Elder Eyring responded immediately, “Yes, let’s go there.” And up on the computer screen the missions of Japan appeared. I instantly knew that the missionary was to go to the Japan Sapporo Mission.
Elder Eyring did not ask me the exact name of the mission, but he did assign that missionary to the Japan Sapporo Mission.
Privately in my heart I was deeply touched and sincerely grateful to the Lord for allowing me to experience the prompting to know where that missionary should go.
At the end of the meeting Elder Eyring bore his witness to me of the love of the Savior, which He has for each missionary assigned to go out into the world and preach the restored gospel. He said that it is by the great love of the Savior that His servants know where these wonderful young men and women, senior missionaries, and senior couple missionaries are to serve. I had a further witness that morning that every missionary called in this Church, and assigned or reassigned to a particular mission, is called by revelation from the Lord God Almighty through one of these, His servants.

At times in my life, I’ve struggled with feeling alone. Sometimes I’ve felt like I wasn’t important or needed. I’ve felt that even my closest friends and family didn’t fully understand what I was going through.
But when I went to an FSY conference, I felt comfort and peace from the Holy Ghost. This helped me know who I truly was and that the gospel is true. I started to look towards Christ and trust in Him and His Atonement. I realized that He knew me and understood what I felt. My perspective has changed, and now I’m trying to help others come unto Him.
Jacob C., Utah, USA

Helping our children learn to see others as brothers and sisters can start with our family prayers. For years, our family prayers have included pleas for God to bless our family. By “family,” we mean (and specifically pray for) our direct family (parents and children), our extended family, our ward family, and our neighborhood family. We wanted our children to see those God has surrounded us with as part of our family.

We then get off our knees and try to serve those we pray for. We involve our children in loving relationships with their aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents. For example, our children helped us as we cared for my angel mother for the last few years of her life. We most certainly didn’t do it perfectly, but our efforts made a difference.

As a new full-time missionary I was anxious to see what Christmas would be like in Guayaquil, Ecuador, where I was serving.
I knew we would not be having a snowy white Christmas like those I was accustomed to. As other thoughts of turkey dinners, gifts, lights, and caroling flashed through my mind, I began to long for the Christmas traditions I was familiar with.
My companion and I felt a renewed urgency and greater responsibility to spread the restored gospel of Jesus Christ to make the Christmas season more meaningful.
One December day we stopped at the humble home of Señor Torres and were given a warm welcome. He told us he had been waiting and praying for the truth for eight years. For two months my companion and I had passed by his house daily without stopping. Señor Torres said, “I always wanted to stop you to ask about your church, but you were always walking so fast that I thought you were too busy for me.” Prayers had been answered. We began teaching Señor Torres and his family with great joy.
Christmas day drew nearer, and we could hardly wait to see the Torres family as we quietly approached their home for our fourth visit. Before we knocked on the door, we saw through the window a scene that touched our hearts.
Beauty emanated from the whole family, their loving eyes, rosy cheeks, and gentle faces glowing in the dimly lit room. Beneath a tree on a table in the corner stood miniature Nativity figures, telling the story of a small family in a stable. Two young girls leaned eagerly over their mother’s shoulder as she read from a book we had given her, Gospel Principles. The oldest child, eight-year-old Victor, was watching attentively as his father played “Silent Night” on a xylophone.
Victor saw us and ran to greet us. We joined in singing “Silent Night” in Spanish. Next they asked us to sing it in English, and then we all sang it together again in Spanish.
Sister Torres told us that before we had shared the gospel with her family she had not felt like celebrating Christmas. But now pictures of Christ, Christmas music, and the Nativity scene had been brought from their place in the cupboards, where they had been collecting dust for the past three years. The true Christmas spirit had been restored as we had presented the gospel message. As servants of the Lord, testifying in His name, we had helped to bring Jesus Christ back into the family’s Christmas.
On the third week of December, Christmas became complete for me as I watched Brother and Sister Torres and Victor, all dressed in white, enter the waters of baptism and become members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My companion turned to me and whispered, “Looks like it’s a white Christmas after all.” I couldn’t have asked for a more meaningful Christmas.

When I was pregnant with my youngest child, Margaret Blackburn served as our ward Relief Society president. We knew each other only from the little time we shared during meetings at church.
After I delivered my baby, women brought meals that first week, including Margaret, who was older and frail. I was grateful because I had no energy or desire to plan a meal, cook, or shop for ingredients—let alone all three.
After that first week, Margaret continued to bring meals. Whether they were home-cooked meals or leftovers from a ward activity, it didn’t matter to me. It was almost as if she knew that more than I needed someone to hold my baby or clean my home, I needed the blessing of not having to think about what was for dinner.
A short while later, Margaret was released from her calling because of failing health. I didn’t know it at the time, but she had been diagnosed with terminal cancer.
Once I learned of her diagnosis, I knew what I needed to do. I needed to serve her—not because I owed it to her or needed to repay her kindness. Rather, because of her service to me, I had grown to love her.
Margaret had taught me that through service, we truly become connected. When I thought of this incredible woman, my heart ached to think of her pushing a vacuum or sweeping her kitchen floor. So, each week I began visiting her and cleaning her home.
One day while driving home afterward, I became overwhelmed with gratitude that Heavenly Father had orchestrated these charitable opportunities. If Margaret had not served me so diligently, I probably would not have been comfortable making regular visits to her home. I came to cherish that time with her! God knew that by sending her to me in my time of need, the path would be paved for me to serve her in her time of need.
My eyes filled with tears as I realized how perfectly these inspirations and service opportunities had forever linked us.

You may ask, “How do we seek personal revelation?” Paul counseled the Saints to rely on the Spirit rather than the wisdom of the world. To obtain that Spirit, we begin with prayer. President Lorenzo Snow had studied the gospel for several years before joining the Church. But he did not receive a witness until two or three weeks after his baptism when he retired in secret prayer. “The Spirit of God descended upon me,” he said. “O, the joy and happiness I felt, [for] I then received a perfect knowledge that God lives, that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, and of the restoration of the holy Priesthood, and the fulness of the Gospel.”

I remember when I was “[baptized] by immersion for the remission of sins.” That was appealing. I assumed that all my past mistakes were now washed away, and if I never made any more mistakes in my life, I would be clean. This I resolved to do. Somehow it did not turn out that way. I found that I made mistakes, not intentionally, but I made them. I once foolishly thought maybe I was baptized too soon. I did not understand that the ordinance of the sacrament, administered by you of the Aaronic Priesthood, is in fact a renewing of the covenant of baptism and the reinstating of the blessings connected with it. I did not see, as the revelations tell us, that I could “retain a remission of [my] sins.”
If you have been guilty of sin or mischief, you must learn about the power of the Atonement, how it works. And with deeply sincere repentance, you can unleash that power. It can rinse out all the small things, and with deep soaking and scrubbing, it will wash away serious transgression. There is nothing from which you cannot be made clean.
With you always is the Holy Ghost, which was conferred upon you at the time of your baptism and confirmation.
I was a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood when World War II exploded upon the world. I was ordained an elder when we were all marched away to war.
I had dreams of following an older brother, Leon, who at that time was flying B-24 bombers in the Battle of Britain. I volunteered for air force pilot training.
I failed the written test by one point. Then the sergeant remembered that there were several two-point questions, and if I got half right on two of them, I could pass.
Part of the test was multiple choice. One question was “What is ethylene glycol used for?” If I had not worked in my dad’s service station, I would not have known that it is used for automobile antifreeze. And so I passed, barely.
I prayed about the physical. It turned out to be fairly routine.
You young men should not complain about schooling. Do not immerse yourself so much in the technical that you fail to learn things that are practical. Everything you can learn that is practical—in the house, in the kitchen cooking, in the yard—will be of benefit to you. Never complain about schooling. Study well, and attend always.
“The glory of God is intelligence, or, in other words, light and truth.”
“Whatever principle of intelligence we attain unto in this life, it will rise with us in the resurrection.”
We are to learn about “things that are above, and things that are beneath, things that are in the earth, and upon the earth, and in heaven.”
You can learn about fixing things and painting things and even sewing things and whatever else is practical. That is worth doing. If it is not of particular benefit to you, it will help you when you are serving other people.
I ended up in the Orient, flying the same kind of bombers that my brother flew in England. My mission, as it turned out, was in teaching the gospel in Japan as a serviceman.
Perhaps the hardest challenge of war is living with uncertainties, not knowing how it will end or if we can go ahead with our lives.
I was issued a small serviceman’s Book of Mormon that would fit into my pocket. I carried it everywhere; I read it; and it became part of me. Things that had been a question became certain to me.
The certainties of the gospel, the truth, once you understand it, will see you through these difficult times.
It was four years before we could return to our lives. But I had learned and had a sure testimony that God is our Father, that we are His children, and that the restored gospel of Jesus Christ is true.
Your generation is filled with uncertainties. A life of fun and games and expensive toys has come to an abrupt end. We move from a generation of ease and entertainment to a generation of hard work and responsibility. We do not know how long that will last.
The reality of life is now part of your priesthood responsibilities. It will not hurt you to want something and not have it. There is a maturing and disciplining that will be good for you. It will ensure that you can have a happy life and raise a happy family. These trials come with responsibility in the priesthood.
Some of you live in countries where most of what you eat and some of what you wear will depend on what can be produced by the family. It may be that what you can contribute will make the difference so that the rent is paid or the family is fed and housed. Learn to work and to support.
The very foundation of human life, of all society, is the family, established by the first commandment to Adam and Eve, our first parents: “Multiply, and replenish the earth.”
Thereafter came the commandment, “Honour thy father and thy mother: that thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee.”
Be a responsible member of your family. Take care of your possessions—your clothing, your property. Do not be wasteful. Learn to be content.
It may seem that the world is in commotion; and it is! It may seem that there are wars and rumors of wars; and there are! It may seem that the future will hold trials and difficulties for you; and it will! However, fear is the opposite of faith. Do not be afraid! I do not fear.
At noon today four young men, all grandsons, came to visit us. Three of them had young ladies on their arms—one to talk about his coming wedding, two of them to announce their engagements, and the stray to talk about his mission call to Japan. We talked to them about the fact that one day each of you will take a pure and precious daughter of our Heavenly Father to the temple to be sealed for time and for all eternity. These young grandsons must know what Alma taught: that the gospel plan is “the great plan of happiness” and that happiness is the end of our existence. Of this I bear testimony in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

“It’s fun making valentines for your friends for Valentine’s Day,” said Goose, cutting out a big red heart from a piece of red paper.
“Lots of fun,” said Gander, pasting a big red heart on a piece of lacy white paper.
Goose took a crayon and wrote, “From Guess Who” across the bottom of the valentine she had just finished making.
Gander took a crayon and wrote “From an admirer” across the bottom of the lacy valentine he had just finished making.
“There,” said Goose. “I’m done.”
“So am I,” said Gander.
“They do look nice, don’t they?” asked Goose.
“Very,” said Gander.
“Whom shall we give valentines to this year, Gander?” asked Goose.
“Why, to all our old friends, of course, Goose!” said Gander. “And to our new friend, Bear.”
“To our new friend, Bear?” said Goose. “But, Bear is still sleeping. He doesn’t wake up till spring!”
“I guess we’ll just have to wake him, then,” said Gander.
“But won’t Bear be a bit grumpy if we wake him?” asked Goose.
“Not when we give him his valentines,” said Gander smiling.
“I hope you’re right!” said Goose.
Delivering valentines to all their old friends was easy for Goose and Gander. The friends were all waiting for them when they rang their friends’ doorbells.
But delivering valentines to their new friend was not easy. Bear was not up and waiting for them.
He was sound asleep.
“Maybe we should just leave Bear’s valentines on his doorstep, Gander,” said Goose.
“But then he won’t get them till spring, Goose,” said Gander. “And Valentine’s Day is today, not in spring!”
Goose knew Gander was right. She rang Bear’s doorbell again. Brnnng! Brnnng! Brnnng!
This time Bear answered. “Is it spring already?” Bear asked, yawning.
“It isn’t spring yet, Bear,” said Gander.
“Then why did you wake me?” asked Bear, looking and sounding a bit grumpy.
“Because it’s Valentine’s Day!” said Goose.
“Valentine’s Day?” said Bear. “Gruuump! What’s Valentine’s Day?”
“Valentine’s Day is a special day when you give valentines to all your friends,” said Gander.
“Valentines?” said Bear. “Gruuump! What are valentines?”
“This is a valentine,” said Gander, quickly handing Bear the big red lacy valentine that he had been holding behind his back.
“And this is a valentine,” said Goose, quickly handing Bear the big red lacy valentine that she had been holding behind her back.
Bear took them and read them:
Having a friend like you is nice, Bear,
Especially on Valentine’s Day.
From an admirer
Having a friend like you, Bear,
makes Valentine’s Day happy for me.
From guess who
“No one has ever given me a valentine before. These are beautiful. Thank you, Goose and Gander,” said Bear.
That night as Goose and Gander were getting ready for bed, their doorbell rang.
It was Bear. “I wasn’t sleepy after you left, so I made these for you.” He handed Gander a big purple valentine, and Goose a big orange valentine. “I hope you like them.” Bear grinned worriedly. “Are the colors all right? Purple and orange were the only colors I had.”
“Purple is my favorite color,” said Gander.
“And orange is my favorite color,” said Goose.
Gander read his big purple valentine:
Sharing Valentine’s Day with you,
Gander, is more important to me than sleeping!
From an admirer
“Thank you, Bear,” said Gander.
Goose read her big orange valentine:
Having a friend like you, Goose, makes
Valentine’s Day worth waking up for!
From guess who
“Thank you, Bear,” said Goose.
“Next fall,” said Bear, “I’m setting my alarm clock for Valentine’s Day. It’s too special a day to sleep through.”
“We were just going to have some warm milk and bread and honey before going to bed, Bear,” said Goose. “Would you join us?”
“I’d love to,” said Bear. “I haven’t eaten anything since last fall!”
When all the milk and bread and honey had been eaten, Bear wiped his mouth politely and said, “I have my winter nap to finish. Thank you for the midwinter snack. It was delicious. And thank you for waking me up today.”
“You didn’t mind, then?” said Goose.
“Not at all,” said Bear. “It was Valentine’s Day, wasn’t it? But,” he added, yawning, “I wouldn’t want to be awakened again. Not by anybody! Not for anything! Not till spring!”
Bear yawned again. “Suddenly I’m very sleepy,” he said. “It must be all that warm milk. …” And even as Bear spoke, his head began to nod, his eyes began to close, and he fell sound asleep!
“Bear’s asleep in our kitchen!” exclaimed Goose. “What shall we do?”
“Wait here,” said Gander. “I’ll be right back.”
When Gander returned, he was carrying a big blanket.
“What are you going to do with that?” asked Goose.
“Cover Bear,” said Gander.
“And let him sleep right here—till spring?” asked Goose.
“Do you have a better idea?” asked Gander.
Goose didn’t, so she tucked in Bear’s blanket, turned off the lights, and tiptoed to bed.

As a young bishop, I learned of forgiveness when my stake president, Bruce M. Cook, shared the following story. He explained:
“During the late 1970s, some associates and I started a business. Although we did nothing illegal, some poor decisions, combined with the challenging economic times, resulted in our failure.
“Some investors filed a lawsuit to recover their losses. Their attorney happened to be a counselor in my family’s bishopric. It was very difficult to sustain the man who seemed to be seeking to destroy me. I developed some real animosity toward him and considered him my enemy. After five years of legal battles, we lost everything we owned, including our home.
“In 2002, my wife and I learned that the stake presidency in which I served as a counselor was being reorganized. As we traveled on a short vacation prior to the release, she asked me whom I would choose as my counselors if I were called as the new stake president. I did not want to speak about it, but she persisted. Eventually, one name came to my mind. She then mentioned the name of the attorney we considered to have been at the center of our difficulties 20 years earlier. As she spoke, the Spirit confirmed that he should be the other counselor. Could I forgive the man?
“When Elder David E. Sorensen extended to me the call to serve as stake president, he gave me an hour to select counselors. Through tears, I indicated that the Lord had already provided that revelation. As I spoke the name of the man I had considered my enemy, the anger, animosity, and hate I had harbored disappeared. In that moment, I learned of the peace that comes with forgiveness through the Atonement of Christ.”
In other words, my stake president did “frankly forgive” him, like Nephi of old. I knew President Cook and his counselor as two righteous priesthood leaders who loved one another. I determined to be like them.

Pepito turned and looked back at the rancho. His eyes were filled with tears. All his worldly belongings were inside the small burlap sack slung over his shoulder. How hard it was to leave the only home he had ever known and the horses he had loved and tended.
It was really his love of horses that had cost Pepito his job and home. To break a stallion’s spirit, Garcia, a cruel groom, had tied him in his stall and left him without food and water. When Pepito had smuggled food and water to the horse, he had been caught and fired without being allowed to explain what had happened.
An orphan, Pepito had no choice but to walk along the hot, dusty road toward the nearest town, a good day’s ride away. To find a stable master there who was in need of a good groom was his only hope.
Pepito trudged on, not stopping until midafternoon to take even a sip of water from his goatskin bag or to eat even one of the corn tortillas the kindly cook had given him. Wearily he sat in the shelter of a large boulder. His head began to nod.
Pepito awoke to the cool night air blowing across his face—and had he just dreamed that he’d heard slow, heavy steps? Suddenly he heard the low but unmistakable whinny of a horse! He scrambled atop the boulder and peered through the darkness. There! Something was moving through the brush not far away.
Pepito’s heart beat wildly. His one dream had always been to have a horse of his own. If he could catch this horse, he could ride it into town. And if it had no owner, he could claim it!
Pepito moved carefully through the brush. He had no rope and could only hope to take the animal by surprise. Closer he crept, and in the pale moonlight he finally saw it. Pepito gasped. She was the most beautiful mare he had ever seen! Her features were small and dainty, and she looked fleet of hoof. Her color was of the palest gold, and her mane and tail were as white as flax.
Pepito stood motionless and stared. The mare turned and regarded him with soft, liquid eyes. She showed no fear, and Pepito’s heart went out to her. Such a horse must surely belong to a princess, he thought. She must be lost in this wild country. He could see now that her coat was caked with mud and brambles. There were sunken places around her eyes. And she was heavy with foal.
Pepito knew that the mare needed food and water badly. She could not hope to give birth and survive alone in such rough country. He would have to help her! He quickly ran back and got his sack, poured water from his water bag into his sombrero, and, holding it before him, walked slowly toward the horse.
The mare sniffed the air. Her ears pricked, and without hesitation she came to Pepito and began drinking the water from his hat. When the water was gone, Pepito rolled up his few remaining tortillas and fed them to her one by one until they were gone. The mare’s eyes were filled with trust and gratitude. She nuzzled Pepito’s hand, and both of them knew that each had found a friend. Princesa, I will call you, Pepito decided. My Princesa.
Pepito knew that the mare’s time was very near. He worked quickly to clear a soft, sheltered place for her to rest. The mare seemed to understand his intent, for when he was done, she lay down at once.
Pepito kept watch nearby, afraid that some enemy would find her—a snake, or perhaps a scorpion. He drank the last of his water and ate a few nuts. Tomorrow he would have to find food and water for them both somewhere among the sagebrush and mesquite.
Pepito awakened with a start. The warm morning sun was in his face. He leapt to his feet! He had not meant to sleep. Had it all been a dream? But no, there lay Princesa; and nuzzling by her side was a tiny reddish colt! Pepito studied the foal. He was as finely built as his mother, built to run with the wind. Vientito, I will call you, he decided. Little Wind.
Pepito set off immediately to find water for the mare. If the colt was to survive, its mother must have strength to feed him. The boy scrambled down into a deep arroyo and began to dig with all his might. His face and clothing were soon caked with dirt and sweat, but finally his effort was rewarded. The sand grew moist, moister, till at last a small pool formed.
Pepito filled his sombrero again and again and carried it to the mare. Only when her thirst was slaked did he stop to rest and to drink. Then he went out once more to gather all the coarse grass he could find. It was not corn or oats, but it was the best that he could do. No matter where he looked, he could find no food for himself. He had only a handful of nuts left to sustain him until the mare and her foal were well enough to travel.
By afternoon Pepito was exhausted. He lay in the shade of the boulder, feeling weak and dizzy. The mare was stronger now, and she struggled to her feet and nickered encouragingly to her colt. The foal struggled and fell, struggled and fell, till finally his spindly legs supported him, and he wobbled to his mother and began to nurse. Pepito’s heart sang. Soon they would ride with the wind, the colt galloping after them!
Two days passed, and the bond between them grew, but the mare again weakened. Her ribs showed, and her coat was lusterless. Pepito soothed and groomed her the best that he could, but he began to despair. There was so little grass left, the water hole was beginning to dry, his nuts were gone, and vultures could be seen circling above them.
Pepito had no strength left; his skin was parched, and he could barely walk. He fell to the sand, dimly aware of a sound like distant thunder. Horses! He struggled to his feet and stumbled toward the road. He must get help! If there were horsemen, too, they would probably realize Princesa’s value and take her from him, but it was better than watching her die!
He reached the road and waved his sombrero wildly. As the riders slowed and came to a stop, Pepito collapsed in the dirt in front of them.
Pepito opened his eyes. He was lying in a bed, in a huge room with white walls! Standing at the foot of the bed was a handsome young man and the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Her hair was the color of the mare’s, her eyes as soft and brown, and her features as finely chiseled.
The girl smiled at him. “We found you; and we found my Estrellita (Little Star) and her foal. I can never thank you enough for saving her,” the girl said. “We saw how you had cared for them. They are well. Come and see!” She took his hand and helped him to the window.
Pepito gasped. Here was a rancho bigger than any he had seen. A small river ran through green pastures, and trees dotted the hills. Cattle and horses were everywhere, and a huge stable crowned the highest hill. There in a paddock near the house was Princesa, well groomed and contented; by her side was the frisky foal.
Happy-sad tears stung Pepito’s eyes. The mare was safe at home, which made him happy, but she had no further need of him, which made him sad. But what was the girl saying?
“… and she will still need great care and a good groom—one for whom she has affection.”
Pepito turned and stared at her, hope making his heart beat quickly.
“Devotion and courage such as you have shown are rare indeed,” she continued softly. “Will you stay and be my Estrellita’s groom and train her foal for me? It would please me greatly.”
Speechless, Pepito clasped her hands and nodded ecstatically. He could stay with his Princesa—no, Estrellita! He would train Vientito! And he had found a home!

John and his two-year-old brother lived with their mother in Trondheim, Norway. After Father’s death they had moved from Froya to a small apartment on Steensbakken (Steen’s Hill). The two little boys and their mother often looked out over the beautiful old city on the outermost island off the coast of Norway. They could also see how the harbor and the fjord zigzagged toward the ocean.
Running up and down the hill helped to wear out John’s shoes. One day his mother asked a neighbor to recommend someone to repair them. The neighbor, a ship’s captain, said he knew just the right person to suggest. In fact, the captain said, this shoemaker’s son would soon deliver some shoes to him, and then he could take back those of John’s that needed repairing.
A few days later the boy brought back John’s shoes neatly mended. A strange little pamphlet was inside each one.
Sometime later John’s mother wrapped another pair of shoes into a package, tucked it under her arm, and set out on the half-hour walk to the shoemaker’s shop. She was restless, had a strange look when she returned, and seemed to be unusually quiet and thoughtful.
When the shoemaker’s son delivered the second pair of shoes, new pamphlets were carefully tucked into each shoe. The next Sunday John’s mother arranged for someone to be with the boys while she went to a meeting at the shoemaker’s sturdy log house.
It was not until some years later that she told John what the shoemaker had said when she went to his shop with the second pair of shoes to be repaired and to ask him about the pamphlets he had put in the shoes. They were words she could never forget.
“You may be surprised,” he answered, “to hear me say that I can give you something of more value than soles for your child’s shoes. I can teach you, as you have never known it before, the love of God for His children on earth.”
The pamphlets were missionary tracts of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Because of them John, his mother, and his brother became members of the Church. Forty-two years later John A. Widtsoe, who was then president of the University of Utah, was called to be a member of the Council of the Twelve Apostles.
Just as he promised, the shoemaker in Trondheim, Norway, did give to John A. Widtsoe’s mother and her family something of far more value than soles for a worn pair of shoes!

As a teenager I attended family home evening reluctantly. I thought I had better things to do.
One Monday night, after a few difficult FHEs, my mother wiped off the kitchen table and placed a small cherry pie in front of each of us. I eagerly looked around for forks—but there were none! Mom explained that we were having a pie-eating contest, but we could not use utensils or our hands. The winner got bragging rights.
We ate as fast as we could. Soon we had cherry pie covering the table, all over our faces, and even in our hair. I don’t remember who won, but I do remember laughing uncontrollably and truly enjoying my family. I didn’t realize it fully that night, but now I appreciate how nice it was to have a safe and loving place to call home and to have people who watched out for me.
I am sure we had a song and a lesson that night, and that it took my mother a lot of time to prepare and clean up. But I am grateful for an activity that taught a message about the importance of families that I needed—then and ever since.
Heather Mockler Teuscher, California, USA

That coming winter I started to go to school so I could learn a little English. I had also gone with Mons Andersen’s boys to Sunday School. Eischa Pack was the teacher at that time. They were reading in turns out of the Bible; but when it came my turn to read, Brother Pack would read my verse, and there was not even a gap. I was glad although I could not understand what they said. Yet I got to enjoying Sunday School. Sister Karen Larsen Petersen took sick and died on February 7, 1873, and that ended my schooling at that time. But I learned enough so I got into the Third Reader.

Even though Pham was twelve years old, he was about to celebrate his very first Christmas.
Pham and his family had come to the United States during the great airlift of refugees from Vietnam. And although many wonderful things had happened to Pham’s family since their arrival, the most wonderful of all was when they had joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints!
Before then, Pham had heard about Christmas. He had not been too sure how the Christmas holidays would be celebrated, but he thought that they might be celebrated like Tet, the Vietnamese New Year. During Tet everyone decorated his home with flowers, ate delicious food, and lit fireworks. Then, when the missionaries came to teach his family about the Church, Pham learned that Christmas is the celebration of Jesus’ birth. He never tired of hearing his teacher at church read the Christmas story. He especially liked to hear about the Wise Men who had brought gifts to the baby Jesus. Pham had decided that, like the Wise Men, he would give Jesus a gift.
On the Saturday before Christmas, Pham held his little sister’s hand in his as they headed for the bus stop. He shoved his other hand deep into his coat pocket where his fingers found and clutched five one-dollar bills. He had worked very hard shoveling snow and running errands to earn the money, and now he was on his way to the department store to buy the special Christmas gift for Jesus.
Although the cold nipped at Pham’s nose and ears as he and Kim Li got off the bus and started down the sidewalk piled high on either side with snow, his heart was warm and he felt like singing. Soon the singing wouldn’t stay inside, and Pham’s voice rose clear and sweet in the cold air. He sang every Christmas carol that he knew, and people passing turned and smiled.
Soon Pham and Kim Li reached the department store. Its windows glittered with gold and silver tinsel and tiny star-lights that blinked off and on. The sight was so dazzling that Pham and Kim Li just stood in wonder for a moment.
Then, remembering his important mission, Pham led his sister into the store and started his search for the perfect gift for Jesus. Slowly he went up and down the long aisles, looking and looking. Ties and socks and books and shirts and jackets were fine for his father, but didn’t seem quite right for Jesus. Pham looked at diamonds and watches and golden rings, but somehow even they would not have been good enough, even if Pham had the money to buy them. Discouraged, he wondered how the Wise Men had been able to decide on their gifts of gold and frankincense and myrrh.
Pham felt a tug on his sleeve. Looking down, he saw that his little sister was very tired. Gently Pham picked her up and gave her a hug. He carried her to the snack bar in the store and had her sit at a table while he went to get some hot chocolate for her. It cost fifty cents, but Pham didn’t think that Jesus would mind if he spent a little of the money on Kim Li.
After Kim Li had finished her hot chocolate and had rested a while, Pham decided to go to another store. On the way they passed a crippled man begging on the sidewalk. Pham had seen many people who were hurt and crippled during the war, and his heart went out to the man. Before he quite realized what he was doing, Pham took a dollar from his pocket and gave it to the beggar.
When they arrived at the second department store, Pham again searched down every aisle, but he still couldn’t find anything that was just right. Then he saw a little boy who was lost and crying. Pham took the little boy to a security guard who could help find his mother. While they were waiting, Pham bought the boy a small toy and told him stories.
It was getting late, and Pham and Kim Li started home without finding a gift for Jesus. They stopped for a moment to watch a fat man with a white beard, who was dressed in a red suit. The jolly man was ringing a bell above a pot that people dropped money into. “What is it for?” Pham asked. When the man said that it was to buy food for the poor, Pham put two dollars into the pot. He knew all about not having enough food.
When Pham put his hand back into his coat pocket, he was shocked to discover that he had only one dollar left. What have I done? he wondered. It was too late to earn more money, and he couldn’t think of anything that he could buy for a dollar. Filled with disappointment, he thought of the Wise Men and their handsome gifts. He had so wanted to give Jesus a fine gift too! How could he ever do it now? By the time they reached home, great tears were sliding down Pham’s cheeks.
“What’s the matter?” his mother asked as she gently held his tear-streaked face. Pham told her about how he had wanted to give a gift to Jesus as the Wise Men had and about how he had spent nearly all his money and still didn’t have a gift.
“Oh, but you do!” his mother said, a tender smile lighting her face. “You have already given Him the only gift that He really wants—the love in your heart!”
“It is true that I have love, but how have I given Him that?” Pham asked, puzzled.
“Don’t you see?” his mother said gently. “You have given love today to Kim Li, to the crippled man, to the little boy, to the poor for food. Oh, Pham, you have given richly! Don’t you remember that Jesus said, ‘Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me’ (Matt. 25:10)? Pham, you have given Jesus the finest gift of all!”
Pham’s eyes began to shine with joy. He took the remaining dollar from his pocket. “I will give this to the bishop,” he said. “Maybe it will help a missionary teach others about Jesus and the gospel.”

“A group of men were talking with the Prophet Joseph Smith one day when news arrived that the house of a poor brother … was burned down. Everyone expressed sorrow for what had happened. The Prophet listened for a moment, then ‘put his hand in his pocket, took out five dollars and said, “I feel sorry for this brother to the amount of five dollars; how much do you all feel sorry?”’ … Last year millions of you responded to the sorrow of others with your means, tender hearts, and helping hands. Thank you for your wonderful measure of generosity.”Bishop H. David Burton, Presiding Bishop, “Tender Hearts and Helping Hands,” Liahona and Ensign, May 2006, 8.

Not long ago Sister Dunn and I attended a stake conference in Marilia, Brazil. Marilia is a beautiful city of 100,000 in the southeast interior of the country. The Sunday session had just concluded. The theme was the atonement of Christ and how he is the Savior of the whole world.

Some had traveled by bus for more than three hours to be at this meeting. As we were shaking hands, a young lady came up. She first stopped in front of the mission president and asked how to say “I love you” in English. She then stood in front of Sister Dunn and me and with a broad smile and great sincerity said “I love you.” It seemed a little thing, but it touched our hearts. It was the effort of a humble follower of Christ to express herself. The message could have been said in any language and been understood.

The spirit of love reaches across language barriers. There is a purity about it that lifts the soul and causes us all to realize that we are the children of the same God.

In 1962, having returned home from presiding over the Canadian Mission of the Church, I received a telephone call from Elder Marion G. Romney. He advised me that the First Presidency had named me as a member of the Adult Correlation Committee of the Church, which committee had the specific assignment to work on the preparation of a new concept—even home teaching. Thus began a most interesting and rewarding experience for me. Each phase of our work, when completed, was reviewed by the First Presidency and the Council of the Twelve. In the spring of 1963, our work was done and a number of us were called to serve on a new committee—the Priesthood Home Teaching Committee—and assigned to go among the stakes of the Church, teaching and encouraging its implementation.

President David O. McKay met with all of the General Authorities of the Church and with the representatives of the committee. He counseled those assembled: “Home teaching is one of our most urgent and most rewarding opportunities to nurture and inspire, to counsel and direct our Father’s children. … It is a divine service, a divine call. It is our duty as Home Teachers to carry the divine spirit into every home and heart.”