Gospel Story Finder

Thousands of young people throughout the Church are actively participating in bishop’s youth committees. The film “Making a Better World” was recently produced under the direction of the First Presidency and the Council of the Twelve to illustrate how a bishop’s youth committee can work to assist people who need help. Here is a mini-version of some scenes from the film.
Nick is pretty well fed up with the establishment. Sometimes he feels like chucking the whole works and joining a commune like his cousin Ron. Nick has been active in the Church all his life, but, as he says to the bishop, “If the Church is where it’s at, then how come we’re not doing more?”
He leaves himself wide open. And the bishop invites him to be a leader on the bishop’s youth committee, which he describes as “a special tool to channel all those energies into making better lives, making a better world.”
Nick thinks it over.
NICK: “Quite a few kids at school are doing dope. Kurt’s one of them. And I can see why—his folks fight all the time; they’re really messed up.”
BISHOP: “There’s your challenge. If you want to do something for the world, why don’t you start with the Robins family? See what you and the bishop’s youth committee can do.”
Nick and the committee accept the challenge. They find Kurt has other problems too.
KURT: “I don’t think I’ve heard my mom and dad ever say they love me. Ever.”
NICK: “Have you ever said it to them?” He’s learning.
A successful cottage meeting in the Robins home brings a heartwarming response from a family who thought no one cared.
Nick’s reaction: “Up until now the Church has been like sort of a play I was watching—really nice, you know, but no big deal. But tonight I’m in the play. I’m part of it.”
This brief synopsis hardly explains why so many youth audiences are in tears at the end of the film. We suggest you see it for yourself.

I was just tying my shoe when I heard my mother’s bedroom door open. She had gone in there a couple of hours before, saying she just needed some time alone. My excitement subsided and a lump formed in my throat as I looked at her pale face. Her eyes were red from crying. I hated to see my mother hurting.
“Mom, are you all right?” I managed to get out.
“Yes,” She swallowed hard, holding back more tears. “Where are you going?”
“Well, I have that party tonight for our birthdays—but if you don’t want me to go …”
“No, go ahead.” She let the tears flow and turned away.
I sat there numb on my bed wondering if I should go or not. I really wanted to go with my friends, but I knew Mom needed me more. She had been divorced when I was only three, so she confided in me a lot.
“Mom, if you would rather I didn’t go …”
“It’s not that,” she said between sobs. “I’m sorry, but I just don’t have any money to give you.”
“I don’t need any. I saved some from my last baby-sitting job.”
Money was always such an issue at our house. There was never enough. Sometimes I would ask God why we were always so short on money when I faithfully paid my tithing.
“I have to work the graveyard shift again tonight, so I would appreciate it if you would be home before I leave.”
“I will be,” I assured her.
“I just don’t know how I’m going to do it. I don’t get a paycheck for a few more days, and we have no money at all. I don’t even have enough gas in my car to get to work tonight.”
“You can have this money of mine. I don’t need to go.”
She shook her head no and hugged me. “No, it’s for you and your friends’ birthdays.”
I felt sick inside. Here I was going off with my friends to enjoy pizza while my mother was home wondering how she was going to get to work. I tried to think of how I could help her, but I just didn’t know. Then the thought crossed my mind of my tithing money. It was just sitting in my dresser waiting for me to take it to church. I had never spent my tithing money, but this was for a good reason and surely the Lord would understand.
I walked back to my room and opened the drawer, but something wouldn’t let me take the money. All I could do was close the drawer and leave the room.
“Have fun, honey. Please don’t worry. I’ll figure something out. I don’t mean to burden you with these things.” Mom smiled the best she could and kissed me on the cheek.
I did have fun with my friends. We ate pizza, played the jukebox, and mostly giggled about everything. It’s amazing how much eight 13-year-old girls can eat!
Every once in a while I would find myself thinking about that tithing money. What would it hurt to not pay it just one time? Maybe that money was my blessing for always paying my tithing. Maybe it was still in my drawer for a reason. But no matter how I tried to justify taking the tithing money, I knew my conscience wasn’t going to let me.
Soon the night was over, and we were all giving our money for the bill. I got a dollar back in change. I felt in my pocket to see if I had any other money that I could give to Mom, but I didn’t. So I put the dollar in my pocket and decided I would give it to her. It wasn’t much. In fact, it wasn’t enough to buy gas, but it would help a little. At least I felt better knowing I had something to offer her when I got home.
I thought I would cry when we needed more money for a tip. I slowly reached into my pocket. I knew a dollar wasn’t much, but I was so happy I had it to give to Mom. My throat was so tight I couldn’t even swallow. I couldn’t tell anyone about giving the dollar to my mom. I was too embarrassed. I really wanted to lie and tell them I didn’t have any money.
As my hand touched the dollar bill I felt something else. The tears in my eyes left as fast as they had come. My heart began racing as I pulled my hand out and there was the one-dollar bill and a crisp new ten-dollar bill. My heart almost stopped beating. I didn’t know how that ten-dollar bill got there, but to this day I know where it came from!

Of course, Shawn’s basketball prowess has not gone unnoticed. He has attracted national attention since he was in the ninth grade. College recruiters roamed around Castle Dale trying to persuade Shawn to consider going to their colleges.
But Shawn had one big requirement, and if schools would not agree, then there was no more discussion. Shawn told them that as soon as he turned 19 he would be taking two years off to serve a mission. That point was nonnegotiable. All the colleges that talked with Shawn agreed. His family supported Shawn’s decision as he selected a school. Teresa confesses to being delighted when her son chose to go to Brigham Young University, just about a two-hour drive from home.

Can you see the relationship between priesthood keys and blessings? As you engage in this work, I think you will find that the Lord is in its details. An experience demonstrates this. I recently learned of a mother who regularly escorted her children to the temple to perform proxy baptisms. On this particular day, as this family completed their baptisms and were leaving the temple, a man entered the baptistry area with a large batch of his own family names. Realizing there was no one remaining in the baptistry to assist with these family names, a temple worker caught the departing family and asked the children if they would consider reentering and changing once again to assist with these baptisms. They willingly agreed and went back in. As the children were baptized, their mother, listening, began to recognize the names and soon, to the amazement of all, realized the man’s batch of family names were deceased ancestors of her family as well. A sweet, tender mercy for them.

I started sharing my testimony on social media when I was a teenager. But it was easier back then to stand up for my beliefs. At the time, most of my friends were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and shared similar values to mine. Social media was different too. People were less inclined to tear others down. If they didn’t agree with you, they would simply scroll away.
That all changed as I entered young adulthood. Suddenly people had issues with my beliefs, and many of my friends were choosing paths contrary to the teachings of the gospel. And when one of the Apostles was being torn down all over social media, I was shocked that I couldn’t see anyone defending him.
So I did.
Over the next week, I received threats and hateful messages from strangers and friends alike about my post. I cried every day. I wondered if I had done the right thing. I even felt a bit like I’d been abandoned by God. After all, I’d tried to stand up for His Apostle, and I’d received nothing but hate.
But I held on. I didn’t take down the post.
Slowly, the narrative changed. Yes, I was still on the receiving end of those hurtful messages, but to my surprise, others started to stand with me. I watched as members from around the world supportively shared my post. My gratitude for not being alone soon turned to humility as I realized that finally, the good messages outweighed the bad. God had not abandoned me. Instead, He’d sent more disciples to stand beside me.

My friend Rachel asked me if I would attend church with her. She was active in her own faith, and I was curious to see how her church was different from mine. I asked my parents for permission to go with her. They said that since her worship service time did not conflict with our meeting times, I could attend.
Many things about her church’s service were unfamiliar to me: the songs and the prayers were different; the way the preacher spoke was unfamiliar. When the offering plate was circulated, I wasn’t sure what to do.
Finally, the preacher asked anyone in the group who hadn’t publicly accepted Jesus Christ as his or her Savior to come forward. Rachel whispered, encouraging me to go. I was hesitant. In our ward the bishop had never asked anyone to come forward and publicly accept Christ. I didn’t know what to do. Perhaps I hadn’t done something that was important for my salvation. I left the meeting confused.
As I thought about this experience later, I came to realize that I had indeed publicly accepted Jesus Christ as my Savior. I had been baptized by one having priesthood authority from Jesus Christ. My baptism was a covenant with Heavenly Father that I would take upon myself the name of Jesus Christ and be His disciple. I promised that I would keep His commandments and try to be like Him. Present at my baptism were priesthood holders who acted as witnesses, as well as family and ward members.
Since my baptism and confirmation, I have had the opportunity every Sunday to partake of the sacrament and witness once again to my Heavenly Father that I will continue to take upon myself the name of Christ.

1841 Following Brigham Young’s instructions, Lorenzo Snow presented Queen Victoria and Prince Albert with richly bound copies of Book of Mormon.

Tears came to my eyes when I read of a mere boy in one of our eastern cities who noticed a vagrant asleep on a sidewalk and who then went to his own bedroom, retrieved his own pillow, and placed it beneath the head of that one whom he knew not. Perhaps there came from the precious past the welcome words: “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matt. 25:40).

NHS clinical supervisor and helicopter paramedic Samantha M. Wills was chosen as one of 2,022 British Batonbearers of the Queen’s Baton for the XXII Commonwealth Games in Birmingham during July and August 2022. Samantha is a member of the Sheffield 2nd Ward, Sheffield England Stake.
Kevin Hynes, trustee, Yorkshire Air Ambulance said, “You are always a torch bearer Sammy, every day. Congratulations on being chosen.”
Batonbearers are selected based on their meaningful contributions to their communities, their willingness to take on a challenge, and inspiring others to do their best. As a helicopter paramedic, Samantha has been involved in more than 3,500 incidents over the past twenty years, helping people facing emergencies.
Samantha has appeared on the TV programmes “Helicopter Heroes” and “Helicopter ER” and assisted with Yorkshire Air Ambulance charity events. She has given lectures at universities and other venues, including FSY conferences, encouraging youth to get involved in community service of all kinds.
She was awarded the Churchill Travelling Fellowship in 2006 to study air ambulance techniques around the world, and authored reports about management of mass medical emergency evacuations by air ambulances.
These contributions led her brother Michael Wills to nominate Samantha and resulted in her proudly bearing the Queen’s baton in Saltaire, a World Heritage Site, West Yorkshire.
Supported by family, friends, and colleagues, Samantha said, “It was a joy and a privilege to participate in this event. I count this happy day among my many special blessings.”

I share with you an account of one family which was able to find blessings in the midst of serious challenges. This is an account I read many years ago and have kept because of the message it conveys. It was written by Gordon Green and appeared in an American magazine over 50 years ago.
Gordon tells how he grew up on a farm in Canada, where he and his siblings had to hurry home from school while the other children played ball and went swimming. Their father, however, had the capacity to help them understand that their work amounted to something. This was especially true after harvesttime when the family celebrated Thanksgiving, for on that day their father gave them a great gift. He took an inventory of everything they had.
On Thanksgiving morning he would take them to the cellar with its barrels of apples, bins of beets, carrots packed in sand, and mountains of sacked potatoes as well as peas, corn, string beans, jellies, strawberries, and other preserves which filled their shelves. He had the children count everything carefully. Then they went out to the barn and figured how many tons of hay there were and how many bushels of grain in the granary. They counted the cows, pigs, chickens, turkeys, and geese. Their father said he wanted to see how they stood, but they knew he really wanted them to realize on that feast day how richly God had blessed them and had smiled upon all their hours of work. Finally, when they sat down to the feast their mother had prepared, the blessings were something they felt.
Gordon indicated, however, that the Thanksgiving he remembered most thankfully was the year they seemed to have nothing for which to be grateful.
The year started off well: they had leftover hay, lots of seed, four litters of pigs, and their father had a little money set aside so that someday he could afford to buy a hay loader—a wonderful machine most farmers just dreamed of owning. It was also the year that electricity came to their town—although not to them because they couldn’t afford it.
One night when Gordon’s mother was doing her big wash, his father stepped in and took his turn over the washboard and asked his wife to rest and do her knitting. He said, “You spend more time doing the wash than sleeping. Do you think we should break down and get electricity?” Although elated at the prospect, she shed a tear or two as she thought of the hay loader that wouldn’t be bought.
So the electrical line went up their lane that year. Although it was nothing fancy, they acquired a washing machine that worked all day by itself and brilliant lightbulbs that dangled from each ceiling. There were no more lamps to fill with oil, no more wicks to cut, no more sooty chimneys to wash. The lamps went quietly off to the attic.
The coming of electricity to their farm was almost the last good thing that happened to them that year. Just as their crops were starting to come through the ground, the rains started. When the water finally receded, there wasn’t a plant left anywhere. They planted again, but more rains beat the crops into the earth. Their potatoes rotted in the mud. They sold a couple of cows and all the pigs and other livestock they had intended to keep, getting very low prices for them because everybody else had to do the same thing. All they harvested that year was a patch of turnips which had somehow weathered the storms.
Then it was Thanksgiving again. Their mother said, “Maybe we’d better forget it this year. We haven’t even got a goose left.”
On Thanksgiving morning, however, Gordon’s father showed up with a jackrabbit and asked his wife to cook it. Grudgingly she started the job, indicating it would take a long time to cook that tough old thing. When it was finally on the table with some of the turnips that had survived, the children refused to eat. Gordon’s mother cried, and then his father did a strange thing. He went up to the attic, got an oil lamp, took it back to the table, and lighted it. He told the children to turn out the electric lights. When there was only the lamp again, they could hardly believe that it had been that dark before. They wondered how they had ever seen anything without the bright lights made possible by electricity.
The food was blessed, and everyone ate. When dinner was over, they all sat quietly. Wrote Gordon:
“In the humble dimness of the old lamp we were beginning to see clearly again. …
“It [was] a lovely meal. The jack rabbit tasted like turkey and the turnips were the mildest we could recall. …
“… [Our] home … , for all its want, was so rich [to] us.”13

Time moved on, and soon my family moved to New Hampshire. We were no longer part of a large ward or an overflowing stake, but now members of a tiny branch which spread over several small towns. We soon discovered that my sisters and I were the only LDS youth in our town. I really had to cling to what the Church taught. I found myself defending it many times, but in my heart the question still lingered.
Was this what I really believed? I still couldn’t come up with the answer, and the question wouldn’t leave. It just kept getting bigger and more urgent. I had to find out for myself, but I didn’t quite know how to go about it.
The years passed by, and finally graduation was around the corner. It would soon be time to take the next step—serving a mission. Going on a mission seemed to fill every conversation I had with my parents, but the truth was, I didn’t know if I should go. How could I teach people the gospel if I didn’t know for myself if it “I believe because I found out for myself.”
It was time to stop living off of “borrowed light.” I was determined to find out.
I didn’t know where to start, but I decided the Book of Mormon would be a good place. I started to study it, not just read it. I also decided to study it prayerfully. While I was doing this, I realized that I hadn’t been having personal prayers very regularly. I also realized that this was the first time I had honestly studied the scriptures. Maybe the reason I didn’t know if the Church was really true was that I had never prayerfully tried to find out.
I kept a list of questions I had about the Church in the cover of my Book of Mormon. At nights I made an effort to pray about a certain question, and quite often I would find the answer to that very question as I read. This happened too often to be just a coincidence. My prayers were actually being answered, and every time a prayer would be answered, it gave me a deeper incentive to continue in my investigation.
I finished the Book of Mormon and started on the New Testament. I had seen books like A Marvelous Work and a Wonder, and Jesus the Christ sitting on my parents’ bookshelves, and now I had an intense desire to learn what they had to say. I didn’t really read anything that I hadn’t heard before, but for the first time, I understood it. As I continued in my study and prayers, a strong testimony began to grow within me, and sometimes when I prayed, a warm feeling would overcome me entirely. I soon learned that the Holy Ghost was real.
I noticed one night that every question I had written on the list had been crossed out. Although it hadn’t happened all at once, my questions had been answered—every one of them.
Then I realized I knew that the Church was true. I knew it was true, not because my parents had told me it was true, not because the leaders of the Church had told me it was true, but because I had found out for myself.

Kelly wanted another piece. She knew that it was wrong. She knew that she had promised not to take any. But butter toffee was her favorite candy, and since it was too expensive for her allowance and too hard for her to make by herself, she just couldn’t think of another way to get any more.
She watched her sister, Sondra, back out of the driveway and head down the street. Sondra wouldn’t be back from her job until late.
Kelly shut out of her mind everything but the heavenly taste of butter toffee. Stealthily she opened her bedroom door, peered down the hall, then slipped quickly across the hall and into her sister’s room. Sondra had told Kelly that she was going to trust her to keep her promise to not take any more candy. But quickly, and as quietly as she could, Kelly opened Sondra’s drawer and lifted up the pile of sweaters. There it was, the pretty gold box with elegant, raised black letters: “Maxworth’s Famous Butter Toffee.” Kelly lifted the lid. The smell overwhelmed her, making her mouth water.
I’ll just take one piece, she told herself, choosing the biggest piece that she could find, then rearranging the others to hide the empty spot. Putting everything back as she had found it, Kelly tiptoed to her room and shut the door.
Sighing contentedly, Kelly settled onto her bed, her legs folded under her. She bit off a piece of the rich candy and savored it, her eyes closed. It tasted even better than she remembered. She ate it slowly to make it last as long as possible.
“Kelly, hurry down, dear. It’s time to go to the church,” Mother called from the bottom of the stairs.
“Oh no,” Kelly whispered. She had forgotten her baptismal interview. Luckily she was already wearing a blouse and skirt, so she wouldn’t have to change. She shoved the rest of the toffee into her mouth and chewed fast.
“Kelly, did you hear me?” her mother called again, starting up the stairs.
Swallowing hard, Kelly cleared her throat and yelled, “OK, Mom. I’m coming.” Without thinking, she licked off her fingers, then wiped them on her blouse. She jumped off the bed, slipped on her sandals, and grabbed her hairbrush.
“Oh no,” she moaned, looking at herself in the mirror. Chocolate ringed her mouth and had smeared her blouse. She pulled off the blouse, wadded it up, and stuffed it under her pillow. Then she washed her face, grabbed a clean blouse and put it on, and raced downstairs and outside, where Mom sat waiting in the station wagon.
Kelly slid in beside Mom and closed the door. Mom smiled and reached over to pat her shoulder.
“I’m proud of you, Kelly,” she said. “It’s a very special thing to be baptized.”
Kelly nodded and smiled back, but her face felt stiff and awkward.
Bishop Barton shook their hands warmly and invited Kelly into his office. “This is an important occasion, young lady,” he said, sitting down at his desk across from Kelly.
Kelly ran her tongue across her teeth before answering, “Yes, sir.”
Bishop Barton began asking her questions about faith and repentance and about what baptism and the gift of the Holy Ghost meant. Kelly had practiced the answers with Dad, so she answered every one correctly.
“Very good,” said Bishop Barton. “Now that you’re eight, Kelly, Heavenly Father is trusting you to be able to make and keep promises. Sometimes it will be hard. That is when we find out how much we really want to be righteous. The promises that you make when you are baptized are sacred. It is important that you take them seriously. Kelly, are you determined to keep those promises all your life?”
“Oh yes,” said Kelly. “How could anyone make a promise to Heavenly Father and not keep it?”
“Good,” said Bishop Barton, and he signed her baptismal recommend. “It is very important to prepare yourself for baptism by being as righteous as you can. If there is anything that you have done wrong, try to make it right before you are baptized so that you will be prepared to receive the Holy Ghost for your friend and guide.”
As they were leaving, Bishop Barton put his arm across her shoulders. “Remember, Kelly,” he said, looking right into her eyes, “being honest is a very important part of keeping your baptismal promises.” He smiled and squeezed her. “See you on Saturday—all in white!”
Mom chattered happily all the way home, but Kelly didn’t say much. She was already thinking about butter toffee and the fact that she hadn’t really been able to enjoy the piece that she’d eaten before. Telling her mother that she wanted to read by herself before bedtime, she took one more piece of Sondra’s candy. That piece was so good that she had two more. Then she remembered her blouse. She pulled it out and locked herself in the bathroom with it.
Now, how does Mom do this? she wondered. She put hot water into the sink, wet her blouse, and began rubbing the bar of soap across the stains. Then she scrubbed. A lot of lather bubbled up, covering the stains. She rinsed it off, but the chocolate was still there. For a long time Kelly scrubbed. Her arms ached and her fingers felt raw, but the chocolate still showed plainly.
“I give up!” she flung the sopping shirt into the sink. Water dripped down the cabinet, puddles of soapy water spotted the floor, and Kelly was soaked all down the front. What’ll I do? she wailed silently.
“Hide it,” said a little voice inside her. Kelly listened and did what the voice said: She put the wet shirt into a plastic bag and hid it in a garbage can.
As the days slipped by, Kelly ate more and more of the butter toffee. By Thursday night, only one small piece was left. “I’ll save it for tomorrow,” she thought, slipping the box back under Sondra’s sweaters.
“Kelly, what are you doing?”
Kelly whirled around and looked up into Sondra’s angry face. Without thinking, she ran toward the door.
But Sondra caught her arm and pulled her back. “I didn’t want to believe it about you,” said Sondra, “but I guess that it’s true. My little sister is a liar and a thief.”
Kelly’s face turned red. “No, I’m not!” she shouted. She wrenched her arm free, burst into sobs, and ran from the room. She slammed her bedroom door and, flinging herself onto her bed, cried, “I’m not! I’m not! I’m not!” But a little voice inside her asked, “Then why did you lie and steal?”
Kelly sat up, surprised. She wiped her hand across her eyes and blew her nose on a tissue. For a long time she sat thinking. Then she knelt to pray.
“I have to do it,” she said, getting up. “It’ll be hard, but I have to do it.” Kelly went to the phone in her parents’ bedroom, got out the ward directory, and dialed Bishop Barton’s number. “Hello, Bishop Barton. This is Kelly Fife. May I come and see you?”
They made an appointment for half an hour later. Kelly washed and dressed carefully, then walked to the bishop’s house. After the interview, Kelly was very sober. She shook Bishop Barton’s hand, looked hard into his eyes, and said, “I promise, and this time I really mean it!”
“Good,” he said, smiling at her. “I’m proud of your decision. It took a lot of courage to tell me what you did. I’ll tell your parents why we are postponing your baptism. They will agree that you are doing the right thing. I’m sure that you’ll be ready by next month.”
Kelly walked home slowly, thinking about what the bishop had taught her about repentance.
On Saturday no one mentioned baptism. Kelly worked for Sister Roberts all afternoon, weeding her flowers and planting little seedlings. Coming home, she was exhausted, but she had three dollars in her pocket.
On the way home from school the next Wednesday, Kelly ignored a little doll lying on the curb. “It isn’t mine,” she said, “even if it is lost.”
Kelly stayed out of Sondra’s room. Every morning she prayed for help to be honest, and every night she told Heavenly Father how she had done. On Saturday she worked for Sister Roberts again and came home with three more dollars.
The days passed quickly. Soon Kelly was seated once more in Bishop Barton’s office. “You have worked hard to repent, Kelly,” he said kindly. “I think that you are ready to be baptized this Saturday. And I think that your plan for making restitution to Sondra is admirable.”
On Saturday morning Kelly rode her bike to the shopping center near her home, made a purchase, had it gift-wrapped, and tucked it inside her backpack.
Dressed in white and with her hand in Dad’s that evening, Kelly felt peaceful and good. When her turn came, Dad took her hands, helped her into the water, and said the baptismal prayer: “Kelly Sue Fife, having been commissioned of Jesus Christ, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, amen.”
The water closed over Kelly. She felt light and free, and when she came up into the air, she was so filled with happiness that she hugged her dad right there in the font.
After she was dry and dressed again, Kelly slipped her package out of her backpack and went to find Sondra.
“Congratulations, Kelly! I—“
“Oh, Sondra,” Kelly blurted, “it feels so good to be baptized! I really am sorry that I lied to you and stole your candy. I won’t ever do it again. Thank you for helping me repent. Here!” Kelly thrust out her package.
Sondra was speechless for a moment, then said, “Here!” and took a package from behind her back.
Kelly’s eyes were wide as she and Sondra unwrapped identical gold boxes of Maxworth’s Famous Butter Toffee!
The sisters began to laugh as they threw their arms around each other.

John’s parents had been baptized before he was born, but he had heard their story many times. The elders first knocked on their door in the spring of 1883. Father was impressed with the missionaries’ knowledge of the Bible and the good feeling they brought with them on their visits. He spent months studying with them and finally decided to be baptized. Mother and the older children also joined the Church.

My wife and I had been married less than two years; we were caring for a newborn; and, like typical struggling student families, we were stretching our finances trying to make ends meet.
Graduation was still a few years away, and we were trying to make the best of the Christmas season. I had several part-time jobs, and my wife, Lisa, was working as a secretary. We didn’t have a lot of extras, but we were happy.
A few months before Christmas, I was still getting to know the families I was recently assigned to home teach. One family in particular stood out because of the adversity they had recently faced. Two of their children had died in an accident from which the father was still recuperating, and the mother suffered from a crippling illness that had left her physically impaired. Despite these challenges, this family had a great spirit about them, and they set an example by the way they followed the commandments.
During my home teaching visit in December, I saw that they did not have a Christmas tree. My heart sank for their children. Knowing of their physical, spiritual, and financial struggles, my wife and I decided to do something for them.
We had saved enough money to buy a Christmas tree, so we decided to go out on Christmas Eve, buy the biggest tree we could afford, gift wrap it, and anonymously leave it at this family’s home. Fortunately, no one was home as we dropped off the tree. As we drove home afterward, we anticipated the joy they would feel upon returning home and finding the tree waiting for them. This small sacrifice added a spirit of peace and joy to our holiday that I had not felt before.
When we arrived at our apartment, we had our own surprise waiting for us on the doorstep: a beautifully decorated Christmas tree! My wife wept as she beheld this anonymous gift of love given to us in our financial need.
We later found out that this gift was given to us by the same family to whom we had given our tree. Even in their dark hour, this family had sought to bless others. Our hearts were filled with the true spirit of Christmas that year. It was a Christmas we will never forget.

There is a silver-haired Argentine sister who knows the Shepherd. She has given a long life of service to the Lord, his Church, and her fellowman.
The first time Sister Herta Mellor attended a Latter-day Saint church service, she was brought by the missionaries. They felt that she was the most sophisticated, cultured, and best-educated investigator they had ever met. They held a few meetings in her lovely home, and when they invited her to accompany them to a Sunday church meeting, she readily agreed. The service was being held in an old building. The members attending were of somewhat humble circumstances compared with the new investigator.
The service did not go well by the standards of the two missionaries hoping to impress their guest. The branch leaders had just been recently called, and they were still learning their duties. There was some confusion at the pulpit. There was an interruption at the sacrament table at the most sacred moment. The sermons seemed to be less interesting than those desired by the eager missionaries. The reverence was threatened from time to time by children moving or crying. There was no organ to provide deep, religious sounds. The missionaries agonizingly thought of the negative impressions their elegant investigator must be receiving. They knew she normally worshiped in a very fashionable cathedral where everything would have been highly professional and the congregation would have been of the highest level of local society.
On the way home, one of the missionaries began to reflect his embarrassment. He explained: “Please excuse our present building. Some day we will build a lovely new chapel.” Then he added: “Please excuse our new leaders. We have a lay priesthood, so we take turns conducting, and the new leaders are still learning how to conduct services.” He was just about to give another excuse when Sister Mellor turned to him and said somewhat sternly: “Elder, don’t you apologize! It must have been like this at the time of Christ!”
With her spiritual eyes and her knowledge of the Shepherd, acquired through studying the holy scriptures, she saw through centuries of tradition. She saw past cathedrals and organs. She saw back through the corridors of time to the Shepherd meeting with his humble fishermen-Apostles, with some sinners, and even with leper outcasts. She saw the early Saints meeting in a small, rented, upstairs room. She saw children, with the Savior smiling at them lovingly. Because she knew the Shepherd, she could say with profound and deep insight, “It must have been like this at the time of Christ.”
She exemplifies to me the admonition which many have followed: “Fill your mind with thoughts of Christ, your heart with love of Christ, and your life with service to Christ.”

I saw that same happiness in the faces of people who helped for the Lord in Idaho years ago. The Teton Dam burst on Saturday, June 5, 1976. Eleven people were killed. Thousands had to leave their homes in a few hours. Some homes were washed away. And hundreds of dwellings could be made habitable only through effort and means far beyond that of the owners.
One couple returned to Rexburg from a vacation just after the flood. They didn’t go to see their own house. Instead, they found their bishop to ask where they could help. He directed them to a family in need.
After a few days they went to check on their home. It was gone, swept away in the flood. They simply walked back to the bishop and asked, “Now what would you like us to do?”

Inspiring is the missionary service rendered by Walter Krause, who lives in Prenzlau, Germany. Brother Krause, whose dedication to the Lord is legendary, is now 92 years of age. As a patriarch, he has given more than a thousand patriarchal blessings to members living throughout many parts of Europe.
Homeless following World War II, like so many others at that time, Brother Krause and his family lived in a refugee camp in Cottbus and began to attend church there. He was immediately called to lead the Cottbus branch. Four months later, in November of 1945, the country still in ruins, district president Richard Ranglack came to Brother Krause and asked him what he would think about going on a mission. Brother Krause’s answer reflects his commitment to the Church. Said he: “I don’t have to think about it at all. If the Lord needs me, I’ll go.”
He set out on December 1, 1945, with 20 German marks in his pocket and a piece of dry bread. One of the branch members had given him a winter coat left over from a son who had fallen in the war. Another member, who was a shoemaker, gave him a pair of shoes. With these and with two shirts, two handkerchiefs, and two pairs of stockings, he left on his mission.
Once, in the middle of winter, he walked from Prenzlau to Kammin, a little village in Mecklenburg, where 46 attended the meetings which were held. He arrived long after dark that night after a six-hour march over roads, paths, and finally across plowed fields. Just before he reached the village, he came to a large, white, flat area which made for easy walking, and he soon arrived at a member’s home to stay the night.
The next morning the game warden knocked on the door of the member’s house, asking, “Do you have a guest?”
“Yes,” came the reply.
The game warden continued, “Then come and take a look at his tracks.” The large, flat area on which Brother Krause had walked was actually a frozen lake, and some time earlier the warden had chopped a large hole in the middle of the lake for fishing. The wind had driven snow over the hole and covered it so that Brother Krause could not have seen his danger. His tracks went right next to the edge of the hole and straight to the house of the member, without his knowing anything about it. Weighed down by his backpack and his rubber boots, he would certainly have drowned had he gone one step further toward the hole he couldn’t see. He commented later that this event caused quite a stir in the village at the time.
Brother Krause’s entire life has been to pray and then to go.

Members of the Orthodox clergy invited Elder Ballard, Elder Tingey, Elder Neuenschwander, and Elder Huntsman and his son to visit their holy shrine, where Father Ktrij Devijian led a tour of the grounds and buildings, noting that some foundations are believed to date to A.D. 304.

When we realize just how precious children are, we will not find it difficult to follow the pattern of the Master in our association with them. Not long ago, a sweet scene took place at the Salt Lake Temple. Children, who had been ever so tenderly cared for by faithful workers in the temple nursery, were now leaving in the arms of their mothers and fathers. One child turned to the lovely women who had been so kind to the children and, with a wave of her arm, spoke the feelings of her heart as she exclaimed, “Goodnight, angels.”

I recall the day when all the banks closed and remember vividly walking up Main Street of this city and seeing crowds of people blocking the sidewalk and street in front of Zion’s Bank. Anthony W. Ivins, counselor to President Grant, was standing on the steps of the bank. He said to the people, “There’s money here in the bank if you want it. There is no need to cause a run on the bank. There’s money here for your deposits.” And the people started to drift away because Brother Ivins was a symbol of integrity and confidence.