Gospel Story Finder

Every December, the youth of the Holladay 24th Ward, Holladay Utah North Stake, put on an amazing Christmas party. They decorate with beautiful lights, have a delicious dinner, make Christmas goodies, and receive hundreds of gifts.
Sound fun? It is, because none of it is for the teens themselves. They give it all away.
For nine years, the youth have put on a Christmas party at their ward building for elementary school students—about 50 children each year—from local low-income areas. The event includes a variety of themed rooms designed to make the children’s Christmas unforgettable.
In the Bethlehem room, children learn about the birth of the Savior as they dress up and act out the Nativity while reading the story from Luke.
In the Santa Claus room, they get their picture taken while receiving their own fleece blankets made by the youth. The children also choose a box full of home-baked treats to give to their families. Their teenage “buddy” for the evening also reads them their favorite Christmas story.
And then there’s a stop at the North Pole Diner for a scrumptious Christmas dinner.
As wonderful as each of these rooms is, they’re not what make this party so extraordinary. The big event happens in the cultural hall. When the children enter this area, their eyes get really big, and exclamations of “Wow!” fill the air. Some of the little ones even jump up and down with anticipation. For there before them is a “store,” just like the big stores downtown, full of hundreds of donated gifts.
But, like the youth of the ward who choose to give their Christmas party away each year, the children aren’t excited to pick these gifts for themselves. They are overjoyed because this is the first time for most of them to be able to get Christmas gifts for their family. “The best part of Christmas is giving, and this gives the kids the chance to experience the joy of giving themselves,” says Tiffany Thompson, 15.
At the end of the evening, adult volunteers from the ward drive the children home with bags full of gifts, treats, and a ham and other food items their parents can use to make a wonderful Christmas dinner. “It touches your heart to see kids who otherwise would not have anything to give to their families be able to give them so much,” says Valen Campbell, 17, who co-chaired this year’s party.

Kendra:
I was so mentally, physically, and spiritually exhausted. I actually moved to Florida for a few months. One day I just cried out to God, “I’m tired of the arguing. Please help me figure out if this Church is right.”
As I prayed, peace came to me. Once I came back to North Carolina, I didn’t have all the negative energy I had before. I used to leave the room when the missionaries came, but after this experience, I started interacting with them and cooking dinner for them. But I still wasn’t ready to go to church with Kevin.
I started searching for another church that my children would be interested in, but no matter how good a church was, my daughter, Aryanna, would say, “I want to go to church with Daddy!” We eventually agreed to go one Sunday to Kevin’s church, and the next Sunday we’d find another church.
Later on, a friend I made in the ward texted me and asked if I wanted to sing in the choir for a stake conference. Why does she want me to sing? I thought. I’m not a member. I kept battling it, but finally I said, “Sure, I’ll do it.”
It wasn’t like singing in other churches where there’s a band, it’s loud, and it feels like you’re at a concert. We sang “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing.” The words of the hymn and the sweet sound of the music really touched me.
Kevin:
A few months later, we were sitting in fast and testimony meeting, and Kendra said to me, “I think you should go up and share your testimony about prayer because of what it did for Dad.”
Kendra’s stepdad had just had a massive heart attack. We called on the ward to pray for him and our family during that time. Thankfully, he pulled through.
“I think you should do it,” I said. She got up and bore her testimony. It was so amazing. After this, things just started to unfold for her.
Kendra:
At the beginning of 2018, I kept hearing the name “President Monson.” At this time, I didn’t know this was the prophet. One night the missionaries came over and asked how I was doing.
“I’m doing fine,” I said, “but a person’s name keeps coming to my head, and I don’t know who it is.”
“What’s the name?” They asked.
“President Monson.”
“Kendra, that’s not just any name,” they said. “That’s the name of the prophet who just passed away. You should look at some talks he gave and see what the Lord wants you to learn from him.” I looked at some of his messages, and they were really touching and helped me. From there, it just seemed that the gospel kept coming back to me.
When we would go out to eat before, I would usually order a sweet tea, but Kevin would say, “You don’t need a sweet tea; get something else.”
One day I went to a fast food restaurant for my lunch break and ordered a sweet tea. A few minutes later, an employee said, “At the very moment you ordered a sweet tea, the machine broke.”
She said it would take about an hour to fix the machine. I only had 30 minutes for lunch. I just ordered a soda instead. At that point I laughed and said, “All right, I get it now!”
I wanted to join the Church, but I also didn’t want to make my mom mad. My mom played a big role in my decisions while I was growing up. She was a minister, so I constantly listened to her instead of going to church and learning for myself.
I was a little hesitant when we set a date for my baptism. The missionaries came over, and we talked about it.
Finally, I asked my daughter, Aryanna, “Do you want to be baptized?”
She said, “Mom, I’m ready whenever you are.”
She told me that when she went to church, all the girls ran and greeted her. They took her to Primary classes and were always friendly. They wanted her to be part of things. She became really good friends with one of the girls. That’s what she enjoyed about it.
At Aryanna’s baptism, she cried tears of joy. When I saw her, I thought, I’m where I need to be.
Kevin:
I know Heavenly Father brought the gospel to our family because He loves and cares about us so much.

My third example is more modern. In Tongan Saints: Legacy of Faith, Brigham Young University—Hawaii president Eric B. Shumway shares something he experienced as a young missionary in Tonga. He was invited to the evening meal of a faithful Tongan family who were living in extreme poverty. Brother Shumway writes:

“Now the Kinikini family had no plantation and no animals on Tongatapu, except for a small flock of ducks that eventually dwindled to one little duckling. When I sat down on the floor in the family circle that night, four young children watched their mother put pieces of boiled breadfruit before each one of us. Then, before me, she put a freshly boiled duckling. The sight and the aroma of this delicacy made a visible impression on the children who were sitting quietly with their hands clasped in their lap. It was clear that the duckling was for me.

“‘I’ll not eat this by myself,’ I said to [Brother] Tevita Muli. ‘We will all share.’

“Before I could start dividing it, Tevita Muli quickly interrupted, ‘No, you will eat it by yourself. It is yours!’

“‘But your children?’ I protested.

“‘They do not want to touch it,’ he continued. ‘You honor them by eating it yourself. Some day they will be proud to tell their children they went without kiki (meat), so that a servant of the Lord might eat and be filled’” ([1991], 10).

Last week I boarded a plane to attend a stake conference in the East. My spirit was sagging and my mood less than desirable. I took my assigned seat, opened my briefcase, and began to work on some materials which were quite pressing. The seat adjacent to mine was vacant, and I found myself hoping that it would not be taken. I wanted to travel undisturbed by conversation and other distractions.
Just before the boarding gate was closed, a very hairy and unkempt young man rushed through the door and took the only remaining seat—the one next to mine. I must admit that this annoyed me. He appeared worldly, smelled worldly, and seemed eager for conversation.
I ignored him and continued with my writing. A short distance into the air, my unwelcomed traveling companion turned to me and said, “I feel that I offend you, and I want to make an explanation.” He continued, “I’m from Canada, and I’ve been attending a mechanics seminar in Utah. The seminar concluded with a workshop, and I’ve been deep in grease and grime all day. And as you can see and smell, I didn’t have time to shower or change clothes before catching the plane. I hope you will forgive me.”
Oh, how ashamed I was! Ashamed that I had been so selfish; ashamed that I had prejudged.
I repented of my feelings and apologized for my thoughts. Then, after a brief introduction, a beautiful gospel conversation ensued. Before we landed in Chicago, we were reading the scriptures together and conversing like old friends. We parted with a warm handshake and the promise that he would receive our missionaries.

One ward tackles slow roasting a turkey. It is done to juicy perfection after being hung from a tripod between columns of hot coals held erect by chicken wire, the whole contraption being wrapped with aluminum foil to keep the heat in. It is an all-day project, with girls taking turns monitoring the fire. And after being assigned to watch and replenish the coals as they cool, no one will ever take a conventional oven for granted again.

McKay felt terrible! He had been playing with his bubblegum and gotten it all over his hands. Then, to make matters worse, he had wiped the bubblegum off his hands and onto his bedroom wall. He knew his mother and father would be coming to tuck him into bed any minute, and he was afraid. He didn’t want to get into trouble, so he piled a toy box and some toys on top of each other until they hid the bubblegum mess.
When Mother walked into his bedroom, she said, “McKay, why are your toys stacked up like that?”
He shrugged his shoulders, hoping she wouldn’t figure it out.
Father came in and sat next to McKay on the bed. “Well, shall we read scriptures?” he asked.
“Yes,” McKay said. He loved reading with his parents every night.
Father began to read the story of Jonah and the whale.* McKay closed his eyes and listened. He could understand why Jonah didn’t want to go to the city of Nineveh and teach his enemies about the gospel. That would be a scary and hard thing to do.
McKay’s father read about Jonah running away so that he wouldn’t have to obey God. But God knew where Jonah was no matter where he went. Heavenly Father had to send a whale to swallow Jonah in order to teach him a lesson.
McKay frowned. He thought about Jonah trying to run away and hide from God. McKay remembered the bubblegum mess on the wall. Even though his mother and father couldn’t see it, Heavenly Father could. “Mom, Dad,” McKay said, “I’m hiding something.” He went to the wall and uncovered the mess.
“Yikes!” Mother said. “I’ll get a washcloth and some cleaner.”
Father shook his head. “Why did you try to hide that?” he asked.
“Because I was afraid, and I didn’t want to get into trouble. I’m sorry.”
Mother handed him the washcloth. “Here,” she said. “I’ll spray the cleaner. You scrub.”
After he finished cleaning the wall, McKay knelt with his parents and said a prayer. Then, he climbed into bed. “I’m glad you learned a lesson tonight,” Father said.
McKay smiled and said, “And I didn’t even have to be swallowed by a whale!”
His parents laughed and kissed McKay good night. McKay didn’t feel terrible anymore. In fact, he fell asleep feeling great.

When I was young, my family immigrated from Tonga to the United States. My father was a boxer when we lived in Tonga, and he started training me to box after we arrived in the States. His master plan was that I would be the heavyweight champion of the world someday. He taught me not to be scared. You can’t be scared in the boxing ring if you want to succeed. My father may not have been active in the Church at that time, but he taught me so much about facing difficulty and having courage in the face of fear.
Learning to box uniquely prepared me for my profession. I went to Brigham Young University on a football scholarship. And even performing what most people regard as probably the scariest thing to do on a football field—catching a punt—I always did it calmly. I was never really afraid. In fact, I loved the challenge of football.
My father anticipated that I would have a professional career in sports—it turned out to be in football, not boxing. But I think my training helped me both to have faith and to look forward with faith and hope in uncertainty.
Vai’s father celebrates his son’s touchdown on the field.
Photograph by Mark Philbrick / BYU © BYU Photo

Since I was baptized, over 11 million people have been baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in a similar manner and by the same authority. They have been baptized in frozen lakes, the ocean, or ponds, some of which were dug for that purpose. One such pond has great historic significance. In 1840 Wilford Woodruff, then one of the Twelve Apostles, was serving a mission in England and felt impressed to go to a rural district near Ledbury. There he met John Benbow, who had a large farm and a small pond. John introduced him to a congregation of United Brethren who were eager to hear the gospel message. He later recorded in his journal that with no other help at hand on March 7, 1840, “I spent most of the … day in clearing out a pool of water and preparing it for baptizing, as I saw that many would receive that ordinance. I afterwards baptized six hundred persons in that pool of water.”

On his birthday, Luke had fun opening presents and eating cake and ice cream, but he could hardly wait for the best present of all—he was getting baptized today! Thinking about going under the water made Luke a little scared since he didn’t know how to swim, but he knew he could trust Dad. He and Dad had practiced how to stand, and he knew that Jesus would help him be brave. He felt ready.
Finally it was time to go. Luke and Dad left for the church building first. When they pulled into the parking lot, Luke hoped that he could be the very first child to be baptized. He and Dad changed into their white clothes and then sat in the first pew in the chapel to wait.
Dad looked down at Luke and smiled. “You are glowing with happiness, Luke,” he said.
Luke grinned back. He sat quietly as the chapel started to fill up with people. He watched as other children in white clothes came in with their families. Luke still hoped he could be first, but he knew there were a lot of other children waiting to be baptized. A thrill went through him as he remembered again that soon it would be his turn to go down in the water.
A man came over and told them that Luke was third on the list. Luke was a little disappointed until Dad put his arm around him and gave him a little squeeze. Luke leaned against Dad. “Today I’m getting baptized!” he thought.
Soft music started to play, and it gave Luke a peaceful feeling. He saw Mom and his brothers come in, and he waved at them. They smiled and waved back, and then found an empty pew to sit in.
Luke could hardly bear waiting any longer! Just when he thought he couldn’t wait anymore, a man got up and started the meeting. There was a hymn, a prayer, and some talks. As he listened, Luke thought about baptism. He thought about how neat it was going to be to have the Holy Ghost with him all the time. A boy got up to bear his testimony, and then a family sang the song “When I Am Baptized.”* Luke imagined a rainbow and how clean and fresh it feels outside just after a rain shower. He thought about how baptism makes a person clean.
A man announced that it was time for the first child getting baptized to go to the font. Then the man called the next child’s name. Luke’s heart started thumping loudly. His name was third on the list. Luke listened for his name. He grabbed Dad’s hand and scooted to the edge of the pew. Luke was about to stand up when the man read someone else’s name. Luke swung around and looked at Dad with wide eyes.
“Don’t worry,” Dad said. “He must have accidentally skipped you. I’m sure we’ll be next.”
But the next one wasn’t Luke’s name either. Again Dad whispered that they would be next. Luke’s stomach felt like someone had dropped a big rock into it. Would he ever get a turn? Another child was called, and Luke squirmed in his seat. More names were read. He noticed Dad was wiggling around a little now too. They watched as other children and their families left for the baptismal room. Luke wasn’t feeling special and excited anymore. He was tired and a little sad. Had they forgotten about him?
When the man started to close the meeting, Luke sat up straight and Dad stood up. The man saw them and his mouth dropped open. “Oh no,” he apologized. “I don’t know how I missed you!”
It was finally Luke’s turn to be baptized, but he wasn’t feeling excited anymore. They had forgotten about him! It must not be important to them that he was ready to be baptized. He walked slowly as he and Dad made their way to the font. Luke blinked a few times and tried to pretend that his eyes weren’t getting a little wet.
Dad stepped into the water. Luke could hear it slosh as Dad made his way to the center of the font. Luke tried to swallow the lump in his throat as he hesitated at the top of the steps. Then he noticed Dad’s face. He was looking up at Luke with a huge smile full of love. His hand was stretched out toward Luke. All at once Luke’s sadness melted away as he took Dad’s hand and stepped all the way down into the warm water.
Luke looked up and saw his friends and cousins kneeling near the edge of the font. They were all grinning at him. He could see his Primary teacher, his bishop, some of his aunts and uncles, and Grandma and Grandpa smiling at him. Mom even had happy tears in her eyes. Luke knew then that everyone there understood how important his baptism was. They were all here because they loved him and they wanted to watch and celebrate with him. Luke found himself smiling too.
Luke closed his eyes as Dad said the baptismal prayer. Then he bent his knees as Dad dipped him under the water. As Luke came up he felt so happy and clean! None of the things that had gone wrong mattered anymore. He wiped the water out of his eyes and saw everyone still smiling at him. He knew that Heavenly Father and Jesus hadn’t forgotten about him on his special day, and that They never would. It was his best birthday ever.

When I was a high councilor, I had what became a very cherished experience with private prayer. In our first meeting with our newly sustained stake president, he was stern and demanding—quite a contrast with the loving and gentle manner of his predecessor. Several of us struggled with our negative reactions to his style. During that meeting, he assigned me to speak in an upcoming priesthood session of a ward conference. As he did so, an idea for a theme flashed through my mind, and I jotted myself a note. But later, when I prepared the talk, I forgot the note and the prompting.
As I gave the talk, a depressing feeling of failure troubled me. Afterward, when I was alone, I knelt down and asked the Lord why I had failed after trying so hard. An impression came to me that I had given the wrong talk. Then I remembered the earlier impression and realized that I hadn’t followed it. I told the Lord I was sorry and, feeling downcast, went off to the sacrament meeting session of ward conference.
During the opening hymn, I felt an urge to pray again. I asked the Lord to give me another chance and told him that I would give the right talk this time. I was mystified about why I was so bold, because I knew the agenda for the conference was full and that there was no chance for me to speak. But during the intermediate hymn, I noticed the stake president lean over and whisper something to the bishop. After the hymn, the bishop announced, “The stake president would like to have Brother Bachman briefly bear his testimony.”
With considerable emotion, I explained what had just transpired and testified of the inspiration of our new stake president. The eyes of several of the other high councilors sitting in the congregation glistened with tears, as did mine. Then I related my little talk as I had promised the Lord I would and sat down, almost in shock at the events of the past two hours.
During the closing hymn, I was still basking in the spirit of it all. Suddenly, a phrase of the hymn swept out of the air above the congregation and pierced my consciousness: “God hears my secret prayer” (Hymns, 1985, number 144). My tears again flowed freely.
That was the beginning of one of the most wonderful priesthood relationships I have ever experienced in the Church. For four years, I enjoyed sitting at the feet of this great man and learning about inspiration, leadership, and Church government.

My brothers, sister, and I were taught to believe in God, and we said prayers at dinnertime. But that was the extent of our religious education. My mother was raised in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, but my father was not. I guess over the years they found it easier to avoid discussing religion than to quarrel over it.
I am the youngest in the family. My brothers and sister are much older and very protective. I believed everything would always be easy.
In my early years at school, my grades were pretty good. But as the years went by, my grades began to drop. My parents often discussed “what to do about Dane.”
They tried to get me to do my assignments, but nothing worked. Teachers, counselors, school administrators, and my parents threatened punishments, but my grades got worse each year. By the time I was in seventh grade, everything was falling apart.
That was also the year our family fell apart. Two weeks after Christmas my parents separated, and later they divorced. My two oldest brothers and my sister had graduated and moved away. That left my brother Lee and me at home with our mother, and Lee was a senior in high school. To make matters worse, we had big financial problems. My mother believed we had hit rock bottom. But that’s when things began to look up.
One day my mom and I had a serious talk. We talked about her upbringing in the Church, and she said she knew she could turn to God for help. She also said she believed if I went to church, it might turn me around in school. I had attended church a few times with a Latter-day Saint friend and had also attended Bible classes at other churches, but my family had not been to church since before I was born. Since my mom was suffering because of the divorce and the loss of income, I didn’t want to add to her problems. I decided to listen to the missionary lessons.
My mother invited Lee to sit in on the lessons too, but he was caught up in his school activities. He sat in on the first discussion, but then he always seemed to have something else to do when the elders visited. My mom and I began attending church together, and things started to feel right. I was baptized that spring. I started studying harder at school, too. And that also helped me feel good inside.
Before joining the Church, I had experimented with cigarettes and alcohol and hung around with kids who made me feel comfortable—kids who were doing poorly in school and who were often with me in the detention class. But when the bishop interviewed me and I made the commitment to get baptized, I promised to obey the Word of Wisdom. I found I liked holding the priesthood, passing the sacrament, and getting praise for doing good things instead of always being in trouble. These positive feelings started to influence my life outside of church. And as I shared my testimony with my friends, I started to see who my true friends really were.
Now, a couple of years after my baptism, I have served as deacons quorum president and as teachers quorum president. I’m on the school’s academic team and have high enough grades to be allowed to play sports. I’ve tried to remain friends with the guys I used to hang around with, but I don’t go out with them much anymore. We’re still on good terms, but we have different interests now. I’m involved in Mutual and have been concentrating on my schoolwork.

Working against the Prophet in all of these attempts was John C. Bennett, Nauvoo’s first mayor, university chancellor, and major general of the Nauvoo Legion. In May 1842, Joseph Smith learned that Bennett had planned to have the Prophet killed during a parade ground maneuver of the Nauvoo Legion. Bodyguards foiled the plot, and ten days later Bennett resigned as mayor. During the following month Bennett confessed to immoral conduct and was excommunicated. He left Nauvoo and began publishing an exposé. He accused Mormon leaders of threatening his life, of swindling local residents in real estate sales, and of immorality and political intrigue. These scandalous accounts brought much unfavorable reaction. Church leaders published an extensive review of the affair and sent special missionaries into neighboring settlements to correct the misinformation.

The young men working on the nature trail learned important design principles as they tried to clear away some of the undergrowth and trees so a person walking on the trail could see other foliage. At first when the nature trail crew looked at the solid wall of green before them, they came back to Brother Kamauoha and told him they did not know what to cut and what to leave.
“I told them this was their responsibility and I wasn’t doing their thinking for them. Then I asked them, ‘When you are in your fale (Samoan house) and the pola (woven blinds) are down, what do you do when you want to see out?’ And they said, ‘We move the pola aside so we can see.’
“After learning this principle, they cut away some of the trees and undergrowth and created beautiful natural windows where students could come and study the plant life or just walk and think.”

In early Utah pioneer times, my great-grandfather Thomas Rasband and his family were some of the first settlers to enter the Heber Valley in the beautiful Wasatch Mountains of Utah.
In 1859, Thomas helped construct the Heber fort, built for their protection. It was a simple structure of cottonwood logs positioned one next to the other, forming the perimeter of the fort. Log cabins were built inside the fortress using that common wall. The structure provided both security and safety for those pioneer families as they put down roots and worshipped the Lord.
Fort Heber (like Fort Clatsop pictured here) was a place of refuge for early pioneers.
Your testimony of Jesus Christ is your personal fortress, the security for your soul. When my great-grandfather and his fellow pioneers built the Heber fort, they put up one log at a time until the fort was “fitly framed together” and they were protected. So it is with testimony. One by one we gain a witness from the Holy Spirit as He speaks to our own spirit, teaching “truth in the inward parts.” When we live the gospel of Jesus Christ, when we draw upon the Savior’s Atonement and press forward with faith, not fear, we are fortified against the wiles of the adversary. Our testimonies connect us to the heavens, and we are blessed with “the truth of all things.” And, like pioneers protected by a fortress, we are safely encircled in the arms of the Savior’s love.

I conclude with an example from my own life. I once had a treasured friend who seemed to experience more of life’s troubles and frustrations than he could bear. Finally he lay in the hospital terminally ill. I knew not that he was there.
Sister Monson and I had gone to that same hospital to visit another person who was very ill. As we exited the hospital and proceeded to where our car was parked, I felt the distinct impression to return and make inquiry concerning whether my friend Hyrum might still be a patient there. A check with the clerk at the desk confirmed that Hyrum was indeed a patient there after many weeks.
We proceeded to his room, knocked on the door, and opened it. We were not prepared for the sight that awaited us. Balloon bouquets were everywhere. Prominently displayed on the wall was a poster with the words "Happy Birthday, Daddy" written on it. Hyrum was sitting up in his hospital bed, his family members by his side. When he saw us, he said, “Brother Monson, how in the world did you know that today is my birthday?” I smiled, but I left the question unanswered.
Those in the room who held the Melchizedek Priesthood surrounded this, their father and grandfather and my friend, and a priesthood blessing was given.
After tears were shed, smiles of gratitude exchanged, and tender hugs received and given, I leaned over to Hyrum and spoke softly to him: “Remember the words of the Lord, for they will sustain you. He promised you, ‘I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you’ (John 14:18).”

I well remember a striking scene that gave me a dramatic perspective of agency and accountability. I was in a village hotel in Taiwan, several floors up, looking out the window at great numbers of the beautiful children of Taiwan on their way to school. From my vantage point I could see the school some distance away. The children knew the school was there, though they couldn’t see it yet, and, of course, they were unaware of my presence. They were charming in the official school uniform—short navy skirt or pant; clean, white starched shirt; and, on this rainy day, a canary-yellow slicker. Now, some of the children carelessly dragged their slickers behind them; a few let them fly open; others wore them tightly buttoned, like the whole armor of God.
The path they were taking through the rice paddy was well trampled, but there were big mud puddles, exciting places to hide between tall rushes, temptations behind a small shop across the way.
The children came around the corner of the hotel—wave after wave of these little people of Heavenly Father’s family—and according to their agency, they dawdled along, were detoured by the slightest distraction, or else pressed toward the mark—the school way up ahead. It was up to them now; parents weren’t around.
I was fascinated watching the children deal with their environment. Some deliberately plowed right through the deep mud puddles time and again and came forth filthy. Others automatically marched around the puddle, almost oblivious to it. Many absolutely couldn’t resist the temptation to gingerly touch a toe in the mire. One little girl, afterwards, stooped over and tried to wipe the mud from her shoe, then from her hand; then she brushed the spot on her clothes where she had wiped her hand. Mud is tough to erase.
Interesting, isn’t it? Life from a window. Agency and accountability. They made their choices, and so do we.

Clara groaned. “There’s nothing to do!”
There were lots of things she wanted to do. But she couldn’t. She wanted to go swimming. But the pool was closed. She wanted to play with her toys. But they were packed away. She wanted to play with her friends. But her family had just moved. Now they lived in an apartment where they didn’t know their neighbors.
“Why don’t you color a picture?” Mom asked.
“That’s boring,” Clara said.
But her little brother, Ben, jumped up. “OK!” he said. He ran over to the table and found some crayons. He drew a tree and a yellow sun.
“I want to give this to our neighbor,” he said.
Clara frowned. “But we don’t know our neighbors.”
“Then let’s go meet them!” Mom said.
Ben and Mom walked out the front door. They knocked on the door across the hall. Clara watched from the doorway.
A woman answered. Ben handed her the picture. The woman smiled. “Thank you,” she said.
Clara watched Ben walk back to the table with a big smile. Maybe coloring isn’t so bad, she thought.
Clara sat by Ben. They both colored a picture. Clara drew a rocket ship and lots of stars.
They gave their pictures to two more neighbors. Then they colored more. They gave out pictures for the rest of the afternoon. Some people looked sad when they answered the door. But when they saw the picture, they smiled. Clara and Ben even met a few kids who lived in the apartment building.
When they were done, Clara grabbed Mom’s hand. “That was really fun.”
Mom smiled. “When we do a nice thing for someone, it makes them happy. It makes us happy too. And best of all, it makes Heavenly Father happy.”
“Maybe tomorrow we can ask the other kids to color with us,” Clara said.
“That sounds like a great idea.”
Clara smiled. Coloring and sharing pictures had been fun. Her boring day had turned into a happy one!
This story took place in the USA.

Last fall Sister Rasband and I were on our way to Goshen, Utah, for a worldwide Face to Face event being broadcast to over 600,000 people in 16 different languages. The program was to focus on the events of the Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ, with questions submitted by young adults from around the world. Sister Rasband and I had personally reviewed the questions; they gave us the opportunity to testify of Joseph Smith as a prophet of God, the power of revelation in our lives, the ongoing Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ, and the truths and commandments that we treasure. Many listening today were part of that miraculous event.
Initially the broadcast was to originate in the Sacred Grove in upstate New York, where, as Joseph Smith testified: “I saw two Personages, whose brightness and glory defy all description, standing above me in the air. One of them spake unto me, calling me by name and said, pointing to the other—This is My Beloved Son. Hear Him!” That, brothers and sisters, was a miracle.
The worldwide pandemic forced us to relocate the broadcast to Goshen, Utah, where The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints has re-created, for filming, a section of old Jerusalem. Sister Rasband and I were within a few miles of Goshen that Sunday evening when we saw thick smoke coming from the direction of our destination. Wildfires were blazing in the area, and we worried the broadcast might be at risk. Sure enough, at 20 minutes to 6:00, our broadcast time, the power in the entire complex went out. No power! No broadcast. There was one generator that some thought we might be able to power up, but there was no assurance it could sustain the sophisticated equipment at hand.
All of us on the program, including narrators, musicians, and technicians—even 20 young adults from our own extended family—were fully invested in what was to take place. I stepped away from their tears and confusion and pleaded with the Lord for a miracle. “Heavenly Father,” I prayed, “I have rarely asked for a miracle, but I am asking for one now. This meeting must happen for all our young adults around the world. We need the power to go on if it be Thy will.”
Seven minutes after 6:00, as quickly as the power had gone out, it came back on. Everything started working, from the music and microphones to the videos and all the transmission equipment. We were off and running. We had experienced a miracle.
As Sister Rasband and I were in the car returning home later that evening, President and Sister Nelson texted us with this message: “Ron, we want you to know that as soon as we heard the power was out, we prayed for a miracle.”
In latter-day scripture it is written, “For I, the Lord, have put forth my hand to exert the powers of heaven; ye cannot see it now, yet a little while and ye shall see it, and know that I am, and that I will come and reign with my people.”
That is exactly what happened. The Lord had put forth His hand, and the power came on.

The light flickered, blinked, flickered once more, and then the room went dark. Marta blinked and rubbed her eyes, but there was no seeing through the blackness.
“Now what?” Lisa asked in a shaky voice.
Outside, the wind sang and whistled as it rattled the windows of the old house the family had recently bought. It was the family’s goal to restore the old place to its original splendor, but so far not much had been done with it.
“Methinks ’tis winter,” Marta said, trying to make her words sound Old English and funny. But no one laughed. “Where has your sense of humor gone?” Marta asked.
“It went with Daddy,” replied seven-year-old Peter, his voice choked with fear.
“I wish Mom and Dad had fixed those old windows,” Lisa said nervously. “That rattling is scary.”
“I wish Mom and Dad were home,” Peter whimpered.
For a moment no one moved or spoke. The wind heaved and buffeted the house, died mischievously to a tickle on the window-panes, then rushed again with horrendous screams as though it was demanding to be let inside.
For as long as Marta could remember, there had been terrible windstorms in the valley—at least two or three times a year. Once, in their old home down the street, a winter wind had exploded through a window, shattering glass on the carpet and making its icy way into every corner of the house. Most of the time the wind wasn’t so violent, and Marta, though she didn’t exactly know why, had come to enjoy the storms. Maybe it was the eerie darkness that resulted when the electric circuits were shorted out. Or maybe it was because she remembered enjoying the stormy-night fires her father started in the fireplace and the way the family huddled around the blaze, wrapped in blankets and holding cups of hot chocolate. Her father always seemed to make an adventure out of storms.
Tonight, however, her parents had gone across town on an errand. A little while ago they’d called to say that they would have to wait until the snowplows cleared a path for them to get home.
The wind gasped, beat viciously against the house, then moaned pitifully.
Marta chuckled to herself, but Lisa shuddered and Peter began to cry. Marta never remembered her older sister being frightened of storms before.
“Isn’t anyone going to get some candles?” Marta asked.
“I—I will,” Lisa stammered, but she didn’t move.
“That’s all right; I’ll get them,” Marta said. She started feeling her way through the darkness. It was like playing blindman’s buff. First she felt the piano bench, then the banister, the hall wallpaper, and the buffet; then she groped her way through the doorway into the kitchen. Finally she found the right cupboard. It seemed strange not to be able to see even her hands in front of her. Opening the cupboard door, Marta’s fingers groped through its contents—paper napkins in a noisy cellophane package, rattly boxes of cold cereal, two long, smooth candles and their holders.
“Now for the matches,” Marta muttered, reaching farther back into the cupboard. “I know they’re in here.” Way back in the corner she felt the raspy side of the matchbox. Marta quickly shut the cupboard door, struck a match, and lit the candles. Slowly she walked back to the living room.
“Marta, Marta, is that you?” Peter called out.
“Of course, Peter,” Marta said cheerfully.
“This house is all ghosty,” Peter whispered.
“It’s all right, Peter.”
Marta heard Lisa trying to comfort their brother, but the words were not convincing. It seemed strange to be enjoying something that frightened her brother and sister. What can I do when even my big sister is scared? she asked herself. Quickly Marta placed the candles on the mantle.
“There, Peter. See, it isn’t so bad,” Lisa said.
As if to prove her wrong, the wind knocked viciously against the house. The candles flickered, then burned brightly again. Marta looked at Lisa’s face. Usually it was a happy, princesslike face, but now it only mirrored fear.
“Shall I start a fire?” Marta asked.
“No!” Lisa answered abruptly. “This wind is worse than most. It could blow down through the chimney and start the house on fire.”
Marta had never heard of such a thing. “What?” she asked.
“Last year in a storm like this, two homes burned,” Lisa explained. “The newspaper account said that it had something to do with downdrafts. I’m not exactly sure how the fires started, but we’d better not light one.”
Marta felt helpless. Why can’t Peter and Lisa feel like I do about storms? she wondered. Why can’t they relax and laugh at the weird sounds of the wind and makebelieve fun things about the dancing shadows the candles make on the wall? Aloud she said, “I’ll get some blankets then. At least we can keep warm until the heat comes back on.”
Marta walked out of the dim candlelight and felt her way down the hall to the linen closet. The blankets were stored on the top shelf, so she had to jump to get them down. When she managed to get three, she returned to the living room. “Lisa, you can curl up on the couch,” she said, “and Peter and I will lie down on the floor.”
“No,” Peter said.
“Why not?” Marta asked. “It will be like a slumber party.”
“No, it won’t.” Peter started to cry again.
“It’s all right,” Lisa said, hugging Peter to her. “Come on. Let’s have a slumber party.” She tried to sound excited, but the words came out stilted.
“Or we can pretend we’re pioneers,” Marta said, “It’s a game, Peter. We’re pioneers, and it’s nighttime, so we have to go to bed.”
“Pioneers didn’t have windstorms like this.”
“Yes, they did!” Marta countered. “I’ve read about them. And they were outside in the storms, not inside like we are.”
Lisa climbed onto the couch, and Peter reluctantly lay down on the braided rug. Shadows from the candles danced on the walls and ceiling of the tall, drafty room.
“Well, what did the pioneers do?” Peter asked.
That’s it! Marta realized. That’s how I can help Lisa and Peter. Aloud, she told Peter. “They prayed and did things to keep their minds off the storm.”
“That’s a good idea,” Lisa said. “Let’s say a prayer for us—and for Mom and Dad too.”
“After we’re through, I’ll tell you a story,” Marta added.
Peter prayed with them, but he stopped to look around every time another rush of wind rattled the house.
“This storm may last five more minutes or all night,” Marta said after they finished their prayer, “but we’ll have fun telling stories.”
“I hope it’s only five more minutes,” Lisa said.
Marta’s mind was racing. What story can I tell that will help Peter and Lisa? First she thought of some fairy tales, then of some stories she’d heard in school. But none of them seemed to be the kind that would give comfort … That’s it! She remembered the scripture story she’d heard in Primary last week that had filled her with a secure and comforting feeling.
Marta smiled at Lisa and Peter, then began: “One time Jesus and His Apostles were traveling in a boat when a fierce storm started tossing and turning their boat about. The Apostles became frightened, but Jesus slept through the whole noisy, scary storm.”
Outside, the wind whistled and screamed and rattled the windows and doors, while inside, Marta told the story of how Jesus had awakened and commanded the storm to stop. Marta tried to make her voice sound reassuring and comforting, but even if her voice wasn’t, she knew that the story would ease their fears.
When Marta finished, she looked over at Peter. In the dim candlelight she could see that he was already asleep.
“I’m glad you’re here, Marta,” Lisa whispered. “You’re a lot like Dad.”
Surprised by her sister’s remark, Marta didn’t say anything.
Soon Lisa went on, “It’s not that either of you really likes storms or that you wish they would come to hurt us or to do damage; but when they do come, you both manage to make the most of the situation. I wish I had such a gift.”
Marta was surprised. How often she had wished for Lisa’s long, thick hair instead of her own thin, wispy hair. Marta had never imagined that Lisa would ever be wishing for something that her younger sister had.
Lisa snuggled down on the couch, and Marta pulled her own blanket up to her chin and thought once more about the scripture story. “Peace, be still. …” Marta thought of the words from the story, the words Jesus had used to still the stormy waters. As she listened to the noises around her, Marta smiled.
Marta’s thoughts drifted to Lisa and what her sister had just said. It felt so good to comfort and to be comforted. She smiled again and then let herself relax and listen to the music of the wind as it accompanied the dancing shadows on the wall.

Some years ago I was called, with my wife, Jacqui, to preside over the Washington Spokane Mission. We arrived in the mission field with a mix of fear and excitement at the responsibility of working with so many remarkable young missionaries. They came from many different backgrounds and quickly became like our own sons and daughters.
Although most were doing wonderfully well, a few were struggling with the high expectations of their calling. I remember one missionary telling me, “President, I just don’t like people.” Several told me they lacked the desire to follow the rather strict missionary rules. I worried and wondered what we could do to change the hearts of those few missionaries who had not yet learned the joy of being obedient.
One day while driving through the beautiful rolling wheat fields on the Washington-Idaho border, I was listening to a recording of the New Testament. As I listened to the familiar account of the rich young man coming to the Savior to ask what he might do to have eternal life, I received an unexpected but profound personal revelation that is now a sacred memory.
After hearing Jesus recite the commandments and the young man reply that he had observed all these since his youth, I listened for the Savior’s gentle correction: “One thing thou lackest: … sell whatsoever thou hast, and … come, … follow me.”1 But to my astonishment, I instead heard six words before that part of the verse that I seemed never to have heard or read before. It was as if they had been added to the scriptures. I marveled at the inspired understanding which then unfolded.
What were these six words that had such a profound effect? Listen to see if you can recognize these seemingly ordinary words, not found in the other Gospel accounts but found only in the Gospel of Mark:
“There came one running … and asked him, Good Master, what shall I do that I may inherit eternal life?
“And Jesus said unto him, …
“Thou knowest the commandments, Do not commit adultery, Do not kill, Do not steal, Do not bear false witness, Defraud not, Honour thy father and mother.
“And he answered … , Master, all these have I observed from my youth.
“Then Jesus beholding him loved him, and said unto him, One thing thou lackest: go thy way, sell whatsoever thou hast, and give to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven: and come, take up the cross, and follow me.”2
“Then Jesus beholding him loved him.”
As I heard these words, a vivid image filled my mind of our Lord pausing and beholding this young man. Beholding—as in looking deeply and penetratingly into his soul, recognizing his goodness and also his potential, as well as discerning his greatest need.
Then the simple words—Jesus loved him. He felt an overwhelming love and compassion for this good young man, and because of this love and with this love, Jesus asked even more of him. I pictured what it must have felt like for this young man to be enveloped by such love even while being asked to do something so supremely hard as selling all he owned and giving it to the poor.
In that moment, I knew it was not just the hearts of some of our missionaries that needed changing. It was my heart as well. The question no longer was “How does a frustrated mission president get a struggling missionary to behave better?” Instead, the question was “How can I be filled with Christlike love so a missionary can feel the love of God through me and desire to change?” How can I behold him or her in the same way the Lord beheld the rich young man, seeing them for who they really are and who they can become, rather than just for what they are doing or not doing? How can I be more like the Savior?
“Then Jesus beholding him loved him.”
From that time forward, as I sat knee to knee with a young missionary struggling with some aspect of obedience, within my heart I now saw a faithful young man or young woman who had acted on the desire to come on a mission. Then I was able to say with all the feeling like that of a tender parent:3 “Elder or Sister, if I didn’t love you, I wouldn’t care what happens on your mission. But I do love you, and because I love you, I care about who you become. So I invite you to change those things that are hard for you and become who the Lord wants you to be.”
Each time I went to interview missionaries, I first prayed for the gift of charity and that I could see each elder and sister as the Lord sees him or her.
Before zone conferences, as Sister Palmer and I greeted each missionary one by one, I would pause and look deeply into their eyes, beholding them—an interview without words—and then without fail, I was filled with great love for these precious sons and daughters of God.