Gospel Story Finder

Ethan gazed at the colorful video game covers that lined the shelves. His parents said he could pick one game for a birthday present, and there were so many to choose from! Ethan’s eyes jumped from a car racing game to an adventure game to a dance game. Finally, he picked up the racing game and took it to his dad.
“Did you find one you like?” Dad asked.
“I think I want this racing game,” Ethan said.
“Looks fun,” Dad said. “What is it rated?”
Ethan turned the cover over. He knew he could only play games with certain ratings. When he first got his computer, his parents talked to him about the importance of following their family’s rule about video game ratings. Ethan knew that a lot of games had bad stuff in them, and he wanted to be obedient.
Ethan found the rating on the cover and showed Dad. “It’s rated for everyone,” he said.
“Great,” Dad said. “Let’s go pay for it. Happy birthday, Ethan!”
“Thanks, Dad!” Ethan grinned, excited to get home and try out his new game.
A few days later, Ethan went to his friend Chase’s house to play. He and Chase were in the same Primary class, and they played together a lot. Ethan took along his new video game.
“Hi, Ethan,” Chase said when he answered the door. “Come on in. I got a new video game we can play!”
“I did too!” Ethan said, holding out his game.
The boys settled in front of the computer, and Chase put in his game. The title flashed across the screen, and so did the rating. Ethan froze. It was a rating that he wasn’t allowed to play.
Chase eagerly navigated through the menus with his controller and started the game. Ethan didn’t see anything bad yet. He clicked his own controller to move his character in the game. It was fun, but the longer he played, the more uncomfortable he felt. He still hadn’t seen anything bad, but he wanted to follow his family’s rule.
“Hey, Chase, I’m not allowed to play games with this rating,” Ethan spoke up.
“Oh, it’s OK,” Chase said. “There isn’t anything bad in it.”
“Are you sure?” Ethan asked.
“Yeah,” Chase said. “My family plays it. I think it was given the wrong rating.”
Just then, Chase’s mom stuck her head into the room. “Hi, boys,” she said. “Is everything OK?”
Ethan swallowed hard. “Hi, Sister Murphy,” he said. “It’s just that I’m not allowed to play video games with this rating.”
“I told him there wasn’t anything bad in it,” Chase said.
Chase’s mom waved her hand. “Don’t worry, Ethan,” she said. “I know a lot of the games with that rating aren’t good, but I’m sure your mom would let you play this one.” She smiled and then left the room.
Chase continued playing, but Ethan put down his controller. “Chase, how about we play the racing game I brought?” Ethan asked.
Chase shrugged and kept staring at the screen. “Nah, I’d rather play this.”
Ethan quietly got up and went to Chase’s room, where he found some toy racing cars to play with. They weren’t as fun as his video game, but Ethan felt good knowing he was following his family’s rule.

In April 1992 my family and I were living in Provo, Utah, where we had moved from Canada so I could complete a degree in engineering at Brigham Young University. My son Jase, who was 17, had become friends with a young woman named Krista.
On the Saturday evening of general conference weekend, Jase came into the living room and asked if he could borrow the car to take Krista out for a milk shake. I tossed him the keys, and he went into the kitchen to call her. I could hear one side of the conversation, which went like this:
“Hi, Krista, it’s me, Jase. I was wondering if you would like to go out for a milk shake.” Silence. “You mean after priesthood meeting? Well, OK, I’ll call you then. See ya.”
Jase hung up the phone and came back into the living room.
“So are you going out with her?” I asked.
“She said she would like to go,” he replied, “but she told me to call her back after I get home from the priesthood session.” With a dejected look on his face, he slunk off to his room.
Something hit me like a ton of bricks. I had grown up in southern Alberta, nearly 80 miles (130 km) from the stake center. No one had expected me or even my parents, who had leadership positions in our branch, to show up for conference sessions, let alone the priesthood session. Now someone was counting on it.
What would my response be to my son’s look of sadness as he went to his room? I knew that my decision would set a precedent for years to come.
I got up from my chair and called down the hall to Jase and my second son, a newly ordained deacon, “Change your clothes. We have 10 minutes to get to the priesthood session at the stake center.” I hurried to get ready, and when I came out of my bedroom, both boys were ready, and we headed for the car.
I don’t remember the talks very well, but I remember that we felt the Spirit. It felt good to be at the priesthood session with my sons. When we came home, Jase felt good about himself, which made me feel good. He called Krista, and they went to get milk shakes.
In the two decades that have passed since that day, the priesthood holders in our family have not missed a single priesthood session of general conference. Because a righteous young woman stood up for her beliefs, our family had the opportunity to change, and we continue to hear the words of latter-day prophets and feel the Spirit in the priesthood session of general conference.

A missionary district leader was wondering why Elder Parker, who was about to conclude his mission, was successful in spite of his inability to memorize the discussions. To understand, he teamed with Elder Parker to give a discussion. Elder Parker’s presentation was so disorganized that by the end of the formal lesson, the district leader was confused and surmised that the family being taught felt the same way.

It was then that “Elder Parker leaned forward and put his hand on the arm of the family’s father. He then looked him straight in the eyes, told him how much he loved him and his family, and bore one of the most humble and powerful testimonies that the district leader had ever heard. By the time he finished, every member of the family, including the father, and both elders had tears running down their cheeks. Next, Elder Parker taught the father how to pray, and they all knelt down while the father prayed that they might receive testimonies of their own and thanked Heavenly Father for the great love that he felt. Two weeks later the whole family was baptized.”

Later, Elder Parker apologized to his district leader for not knowing the discussions. He said he struggled with memorization, even though he spent hours each day working on it. He said that he knelt in prayer before teaching each family and asked Heavenly Father to bless him when he bore his testimony so that people would feel his love and the Spirit and know they were being taught the truth (see Allan K. Burgess and Max H. Molgard, “That Is the Worst Lesson I’ve Ever Heard!” in Sunshine for the Latter-day Saint Soul [1998], 181–83).

The lady from Waukegan elbowed her way through the crowd up to the booth by the Kodak display.
“Can I buy film here?” she asked.
“No, ma’am, but we do have a film shop just across from the Mormon pavilion.”
It was July 24, Pioneer Festival Day at Expo ’74 in Spokane, Washington, and not only was the Book of Mormon Pavilion useful as a convenient focal point when giving directions, but the Church-sponsored activities and programs were the center of a week’s worth of excellent entertainment and testimony-inspiring experiences.
That week at the world’s fair there were jugglers and a carver of totem poles from Alberta, a metal-drum band from Latin America performing on the platform over the river, a comedy show starring Jack Benny, and many more professional acts and entertainers. But the real stars of “Mormon Week” were the 2,000-plus colorfully clad young dancers, singers, and performers from more than 21 stakes of the Church in the West and the Northwest.
They were stars not only as they whirled about in the spotlight or sang in chorus on stage, but their faces also shone with the happy light within them as they rehearsed for long, hot hours in the Spokane Coliseum, sat in friendly groups talking and resting, visited the international displays at the fair, and soaked weary feet in the river that runs through the fairgrounds. They sensed themselves being watched 24 hours a day and had long ago resolved to be the kind of representatives the Church would be proud of. They succeeded.
“We’re always being watched,” said a young man from the Lewiston Idaho Stake, “especially if we make it a point to tell people we’re Mormons. And we do. So we learn to always remember that to our friends, not only do we represent the Church, we are the Church.”
Representing the Church well is a habit they’ve formed over all the years of their lives, and it was superbly demonstrated during the months of preparation that went into the program they presented at Expo. Active young people—they hold jobs, serve the community, and are busy and well-liked at their high schools—they found that practices had to be scheduled at 6:30 in the morning or 9:30 at night in order not to conflict with their other responsibilities. Many cut down on their summer earnings because of their active support of the dance festival. But that didn’t seem to be too important to them.
Denise Crump of the Spokane Washington Stake summed up their feelings when she said, “Just get involved. Some kids say they don’t have time to do it. But they should just take the time. It’s worth it.” And a chorus of her friends voiced their agreement.
Some had to drive for hours to attend rehearsals, but when you agree with Pat Ream of the Coeur D’Alene Idaho Stake (“The Church is great! It’s just great!”), any sacrifice seems worth it. And Pat’s story is a special one.
“The dance festival had a lot to do with my conversion,” she said. “I was a dancer before I was a member. I was able to get a lot closer to the kids than I ever had before, and it really helped in my decision to join the Church. I’ve been a member for one year, four months, and 24 days!”
Practices went on for months in the individual stakes, with leaders traveling from one group to the other to make sure that all of them were doing the dances the same way. Months and months of man-hours were involved. And it all came together on Tuesday morning, July 23.
The 2,000 young people met with Johnny Whitaker, the D’s, the Grandland Singers, and the leaders, and they took a million pieces of puzzle and created a beautiful, finished product. They rehearsed all day.
“And it worked,” said Bruce Nelson of the Spokane Stake. “One of the greatest experiences happened when we performed for the first time on Tuesday evening. Everything came off like it was planned. It was really fantastic! The theme of the whole thing was ‘Catch a Happy Feeling!’ And we caught it!” And so did those who came to observe. Favorable comments were heard on every side, and the young performers’ enthusiasm grew as the 24th and their second performance approached.
They were jubilant over their success, but the next morning their cups ran over. President Spencer W. Kimball was attending the fair, and he called a special devotional for their benefit. They gathered in the coliseum as early as their dance-weary bodies allowed them. They sat on the floor, in the bleachers, and anywhere they could find a space, all straining to see the prophet. They listened. He counseled.
“Today make up your minds,” he said. “You don’t wait until next Sunday and say, shall I go to priesthood meeting? You decide today. You don’t wait until you get a call from the Brethren to go on a mission. You start to save money now; you start today. You don’t wait until marriage is facing you, and you have made your proposal and decided the date, to decide where you are going to be married. That is all present in your minds from the time you are little. … Wouldn’t it be a great loss of time if every Sunday you had to say, shall I or shall I not go to sacrament meeting today? Shall we or shall we not have home evening today? What a lot of wasted effort! Settle it once and for all. I am going to go on a mission; I am going to be worthy to go on a mission. I am going to get the degree that I desire. I am going to live the commandments of the Lord and live for the glorious light.”
“I think my greatest thrill in being here,” responded Brenda Barrus of the Coeur D’Alene Idaho Stake, “was being around President Kimball. He portrays the spirit of it all.” And Pat Ream chimed in: “I love him.”
After the devotional some of the young people had more rehearsing to do because they had been asked to present a special number at a program honoring the Mormons that was held in the amphitheatre on the fairgrounds. And then the afternoon was theirs to use for relaxing, visiting the fair, making friends, and talking to people about the Church.
And at some point in the day they all came, in small groups and large groups, singly or in couples, to the golden structure built out over the Spokane River. Here they met another group of young Mormons who were taking part in the activities at the fair. They were not there to dance or sing; as a matter of fact, they came when the fair was opened in May and will serve there until it concludes this month. They are the 24 elders of the Washington Mission who teach and testify two-by-two in four-hour shifts at the Book of Mormon Pavilion. Theirs is a more serious assignment, but it is carried out with all the joy that comes from serving the Lord full-time.
“There are three groups of elders, eight in each group,” explained Elder John Barlow of Visalia, California. “The morning shift goes from 10:00 to 2:00. Then another group of elders will work from 2:00 to 6:00, and then another from 6:00 to 10:00. After we’re through with our shift here at the pavilion, we go out and do regular missionary work. We all have areas and wards we are assigned to, but for part of each day we have been called by the Lord through our mission president to labor here.”
All of the people who go through the pavilion are given cards to fill out. On those cards is a place for questions and a box to check if they are interested in hearing more about the Church. The missionaries have been able to contact many interested people in the area this way and also send some referrals to other missions.
Some weeks the ratio of members to nonmembers who visit the pavilion is very high, and some weeks there are very few members in the lines of interested fair-goers. On July 24, Pioneer Festival Day, the elder waiting in front of the pavilion asked the crowd, “How many of you are Mormons? Raise your hands.” Many hands went up.
One of the members from North Dakota who was waiting at the front of the line said, “Elder, you should be asking who the non-Mormons are.”
“Okay,” said the agreeable young missionary. “How many of you are not Mormons?”
Again many hands were seen waving in the air.
“Go to it, elder,” encouraged the man who had made the suggestion.
And that’s exactly what the elders do. Many visitors are touched by the impressive Book of Mormon display and by what they hear. One of the elders told of an older man who visited the pavilion. Suffering from an ailment that was causing him to slowly lose his sight, he asked, after seeing the presentation, if he could buy a copy of the Book of Mormon so he could read it while he was still able.
Another day two young children bought a copy of the book to give to their parents because they felt that what they had heard was true.
One of the participants in the dance festival who went through the pavilion remarked, “I especially liked the way they handled the introduction to the Book of Mormon. Because they spoke about other records on metal plates that have been found by archaeologists, people in my group had much less difficulty accepting the truth of the Book of Mormon story.
“At the end, instead of asking the elders if they really believed all that, several wanted to know where the plates are now and if copies of the translation are available to nonmembers. The elders sure answered those questions, especially the second one, in a hurry!”
And then there are those who are less profoundly affected, but who are affected favorably nevertheless. Many people who visit the pavilion, say the missionaries, are surprised and pleased to learn that Mormons are Christians and that they believe in the Bible. “One of the important things we have accomplished here,” said Elder Barlow, “is to change people’s attitudes toward the Church. They leave here with a good feeling.
“The theme of the fair,” he added, “is more or less environmental cleanup (‘Progress without Pollution’), and you can’t clean up the environment unless you also clean up your people. I usually tell visitors that one of the interesting things about this fair is that after it’s over everything is going to be recycled. What we are trying to do at this pavilion is to recycle people.”
Later that evening many of the people who were impressed with the Book of Mormon presentation, and many who just wanted to be delightfully entertained for an evening, gathered in the Spokane Coliseum to see the young Mormons who had performed to such acclaim the night before. They started arriving early. The Grandland Singers were there, Johnny Whitaker was there, the D’s were there, and so were the dancers. “Catch a Happy Feeling” they encouraged, and smiles of pleasure and enjoyment certainly seemed to be a contagious virus throughout the audience as the young people danced, and sang, and joked, and cheered.
All too soon the finale arrived. All of the performers rushed out onto the floor of the coliseum. A rainbow of talented youth whirled, and waved small green and gold flags, and danced their hearts out. They were answered with an ovation from those in attendance, but they were not quite through with the evening’s program. There was one more thing they wanted to do.
And there, standing before the capacity audience, the 2,000 colorfully costumed young dancers stood and sang from their hearts, “We thank thee, O God, for a prophet To guide us in these latter days.” As the hymn continued, the lights in the house were lowered, and a single spot shone on an elderly, white-haired gentleman in the audience. He rose to his feet and smiled his acknowledgment.
Then, with whoops and cheers, the dancers ran from the floor. The evening was over, and after several minutes of applause, the appreciative audience stood and started filing out. One nonmember remarked to his wife as they stepped out into the cool evening air, “I wonder who that gentleman in the spotlight was? Those young kids certainly seem to love him.” A festival participant who had hurried into the departing crowd to listen for comments and answer questions heard the statement and replied with quiet conviction, “He’s a prophet of God, sir.”
That’s what Mormon youth participation at the fair was all about—testimony building and testimony sharing, remembering the past and building for the future.

As a mission president, Christopher focused on strengthening families by setting goals to help couples get their marriages legally recognized. Florence focused on connecting with children, especially those who lived in poverty. “The Spirit said, ‘Tell them the story of your life,’” she recalled. “I told them that I grew up in similar circumstances. I told them that I was able to overcome my shyness,” she said. “The Lord heard my prayers. . . . He understood my struggles and my search for a bright and happy future [and] crowned my efforts with blessings too many for me to express.”

No plush seats. No ornate decor. No subdued lighting. No modern sound system. No ushers. Of course not. After all, this isn’t a concert hall; it’s Montréal’s busiest metro station. And yet it is a concert hall—the home of la Chorale de l’Accueil Bonneau. Under the harsh fluorescent glare of this noisy, cavernous station stand 18 men in black pants, white shirts, and a smattering of caps, berets, scarves, and bandannas. The singers range in age from 22 to 69. Their weathered faces glow with a joy that almost masks the lingering evidence of misfortune and rejection. “Oh happy day!” they sing, and you can’t help but believe them.
A subway train rumbles to a stop and releases a host of Saturday shoppers, weary students, and weekend workers. Many pause to listen. A few step forward and drop coins into a hat resting on the floor where you would expect the director to stand.
The performers don’t look much like a choir. In fact, they look as if someone just pulled them off the street. They don’t act like a choir either. They don’t stand up straight, and they don’t stand still. One of the older singers—sporting a long, shaggy beard—wanders through the crowd, presenting roses to women. During one of the more lively numbers, two of the singers find partners among the listeners and start to dance.
The choir’s repertoire is varied—everything from “Nearer My God to Thee,” straight from the Latter-day Saint hymnbook, to the pop song “California Dreamin’.” Although some of the men have good voices, these are not professionally trained musicians. One of the soloists even sings a bit off-key. But their energy more than compensates for any lack of training or natural ability. They sing with their whole hearts, and it is clear they are enjoying themselves. So is the audience, which changes about every three minutes as trains come and go.
By the end of two hours the hat is nearly full, and the concert is over. Only then is it evident this choir has a leader. As the last song ends and the crowd disperses, a slender man with dark hair, glasses, and a radiant smile steps from the ranks. His name is Pierre Anthian, and the choir, he will tell you, is merely an extension of his religious beliefs.
The choir ascends the stairs to street level. A yellow school bus will soon arrive to take them to a Catholic church on the outskirts of Montréal where they will perform later this evening. The afternoon sun is pleasant, and the autumn leaves, though past their prime, still adorn the city with splashes of faded yellow and rusty red. While waiting for the bus, one choir member, Jean-Louis, tells how the choir has saved him from harmful addictions. “Now I get high on music,” he boasts. Others have similar stories.
It is late Saturday evening. It has been a long day for the choir, and you can tell they are tired only because their voices don’t blend as well as they did earlier in the program and they hit a few painfully flat notes. But the more than 200 listeners at the church don’t seem to mind. The singers still exude the same level of energy they did this afternoon in the metro, and several of them patrol the aisles, pulling people at random from the audience to join them onstage.
The listeners have been treated to hymns and popular songs—but now comes the audience’s favorite part of the concert. The melody and words might be unfamiliar to a visitor from outside Québec, but it is obvious this song has special meaning to the locals. Everyone is standing, holding hands, swaying back and forth in time with the music, singing with his or her whole soul. Tears flow freely. The song ends, and for a magical moment there is only silence. Then the audience, sensing that this was the final number yet not wanting the magic to end, breaks into wild applause and calls for an encore. The choir obliges, not once but twice, and finally the audience lets them go.

Ammon sighed as he and Dad left the soccer game. “I don’t get it,” he said. “We have so many good players. Why can’t we score?”
Dad was a good soccer player. Maybe he could help.
“I think you need to learn to work as a team,” Dad said. “You all want to score goals, right?”
“Yes,” Ammon said. “But we can’t all be the one to score. Is that what you mean?”
Dad nodded. “You can’t score a goal on your own. First the defenders need to take the ball from the other team, right?”
Ammon laughed. “It’s pretty hard to score if you don’t have the ball.”
“Right,” Dad said. “Then the defenders give it to someone who can score. No one can do it alone.”
“I guess,” Ammon said.
When they got home, Mom was holding the baby while she made dinner. “How was the game?” she asked.
“We lost again,” Ammon said. “But we’ll do better next time.”
“That’s a good attitude,” Mom said.
“I’m starving!” Lorrin shouted as he, Seth, and Spencer ran in.
“Boys, can you help set the table and put the toys away?” Mom asked.
All four boys groaned.
“But I didn’t play with the toys,” Seth said.
“It will take forever!” Lorrin wailed.
Dad laughed. “I think our family has the same problem as Ammon’s team.”
“What’s that?” Seth asked.
“We aren’t working together,” Ammon said. “We all want to score a goal by eating dinner. But we’re leaving it all to Mom.”
“Right!” Dad said. “How can we work as a team?”
Ammon had an idea. “What if Seth and I set the table? The other boys can pick up the toys.”
“Great idea!” Dad said.
Soon dinner was ready. Ammon folded his arms for prayer. He was glad his family had worked as a team. He hoped his soccer team could do the same thing.

Just a few months before I turned 14, I broke my leg. I was in a full-leg cast for two weeks and a shorter cast that came to my knee for four more. Because of my injury, I went to the last two weeks of school on crutches, and I couldn’t go on the girls’ camp backpacking trip or our family boating trip. I needed help getting in and out of the car, and my siblings weren’t very happy that I always needed the front seat so I would have room for my cast. Overall, I was miserable. I couldn’t walk, run, or play with my friends, and I was tired and in pain much of the time.
One day I was in the car with my mom and my brother. We were on the way home from running several errands. We stopped at one more store so my mom could quickly pick something up. She and my brother went into the store, and I opted to stay in the car. It wasn’t worth it to get out my crutches for such a quick trip. I had felt dejected all that day. I felt like I couldn’t do anything for myself except sit around. I couldn’t have any fun, and I felt like a burden to everybody around me.
At the peak of feeling sorry for myself, I noticed a copy of the Book of Mormon in a pocket of the car door. The missionaries had asked us to keep this copy in the car so we would have it handy to give away if the opportunity came. I pulled the book out and opened it to a random page. As I looked down, my eyes focused on the first few verses of 2 Nephi 2. As I read, I felt like these words in the second verse were written for me, for this very moment: “Thou knowest the greatness of God; and he shall consecrate thine afflictions for thy gain” (2 Nephi 2:2). In a moment when I felt afflicted and miserable, Heavenly Father spoke to me through the Book of Mormon and told me that He cared about me and that everything was going to be OK.
When my mom and brother returned to the car, I was smiling. They probably noticed the change, but I felt too quiet and peaceful inside to explain everything to them. I put the Book of Mormon back in its place, but I kept looking at it and remembering the words of Lehi that had brought me so much comfort. I also kept smiling. I couldn’t help but think that the missionaries’ request for our family to keep a copy of the Book of Mormon in our car wasn’t just for investigators.
At home, I pulled out my personal scriptures. I turned to 2 Nephi 2:2 and marked in red the words that had comforted me. A couple of months later I could walk and run just fine because my leg was healed. Of course, other trials came into my life later on. Many times when I feel alone and miserable, I remember how I felt that day waiting in the car. I still often turn to the passage marked in red in my scriptures, and I always find comfort there.

Rosario Saccone
Soft-spoken Rosario Saccone was elated when, in 1981, the missionaries first talked to him about the plan of salvation. He thought, “Finally! Someone who thinks like me.” Excitedly, he gathered his friends at the local pizzeria and had the missionaries explain the plan to them. (One of the those friends was later baptized.)
Rosario’s conversion did not go smoothly, however. At one point, he was going to call off the baptism. But the reassuring words that came from one of the missionaries struck Rosario so deeply that he knew they could only come from the heart of one inspired by God.
The situation nearly got out of hand when his large family learned of his impending baptism. The crying, pleading, and arguing that emanated from his family’s apartment drew the nine other families in their building into the discussion. At length, Rosario succeeded in calming the situation and convincing his mother that what he was about to do would not bring the family disgrace. Instead, it would make him better.
In time, his family came to know that he was right.
Rosario, who lives in Palermo, Sicily, has since served in the Italy Rome Mission and now is employed in microfilming birth, death, and marriage records for the Church’s Family History Department.

Winter is a cold time of year in the Russia Moscow Mission. To a missionary this sometimes seems true of not only the weather but also the people. They become introverted. Everybody seems to be rushing home after work. People are ill, the roads are terribly slick, and the cold ruthlessly bites every exposed piece of skin. Smiles are rare.
My companion and I found ourselves in these conditions during the winter of 2005. We wanted to cheer people up by sharing our message of faith, hope, and love, but nobody wanted to listen. And to be honest, my mood wasn’t all that great. I couldn’t help but feel discouraged. Day after day we walked the cold streets in search of people to teach, freezing our feet to the bone. In spite of the discouraging circumstances, we didn’t want to give up. Christmas was getting close, and we wanted to help people feel the Christmas spirit. But how?
One evening as we were on the train returning home, a small group of musicians walked into the railcar. They played wonderfully, but to my surprise, their performance didn’t have an effect on anybody. Maybe a person or two gave them some pocket change, but the rest just stared out the frosty windows. I felt bad for the performers and gave them a few coins.
Soon we arrived at the station near our apartment and ran home. As soon as I closed the apartment door, the phone rang. I picked it up and recognized the voice of our district leader. That day we were supposed to have thought of ideas for celebrating the Christmas season as missionaries. I had totally forgotten, but I didn’t want him to know that. Straining for an idea, I remembered the group of musicians and suggested that our district could sing Christmas hymns on the trains. I could accompany them on the violin. To my surprise and perhaps dismay, our district leader loved the idea. We decided on a day. “What was I thinking!” I said to myself, remembering that three of the missionaries in our district were tone-deaf.
The day came and the missionaries met on the platform. The sun had set long ago, and it was terribly cold. My feet were already numb. We rehearsed for about five minutes until the train crept slowly up to the platform. We gladly entered its open doors, getting out of the cold wind and snow. I took my violin out of its case and silently prayed that God would touch the hearts of the listeners.
As we boarded the train, most of the people didn’t pay any attention to us. My fingers hadn’t warmed up yet, so when I started to play, the tone of the violin sounded very simple but very piercing. Suddenly the mood in the railcar changed. It was almost as if something could be felt in the air. The passengers seemed to hold their breath. The other missionaries joined with me, singing the words to “Silent Night”:
Silent night! Holy night!
All is calm, all is bright
Round yon virgin mother and Child.
Holy Infant, so tender and mild,
Sleep in heavenly peace;
Sleep in heavenly peace.1
While I played and the other missionaries sang, nobody in the railcar spoke a single word. When we finished the hymn, I looked around at people’s faces. Everybody was looking attentively at us. Tears were flowing down the cheeks of several women. It was silent for a minute as nobody wanted to interrupt the moment. Finally a man standing in the back of the railcar exclaimed, “They are Saints, genuine Saints!” Everyone began to applaud.
As we walked down the aisle, many people wanted to give us money. When we didn’t accept it, they became all the more surprised. I heard somebody saying under his breath, “This just doesn’t happen.” One man even tried to give us a thousand rubles and was shocked when we refused the money. Instead, we offered him a pass-along card, which he gladly took. Soon other passengers began asking for pass-along cards. They also asked about the Church and us. It seemed like wherever we looked, our eyes were met with smiling faces and warm greetings. At the end of the railcar, we wished the passengers a merry Christmas and waved good-bye to our new friends.
On the other side of the door, we looked at each other in disbelief. “What just happened?” we asked. Then, with twice as much energy, we entered the next door. At first the passengers didn’t pay any attention to us, but after we performed the hymn, they had the same miraculous reaction. For the rest of the evening, we made our way through the railcars, experiencing the same thing in each one. Never before had I seen such acceptance and love.
Returning home that night, I realized that I had experienced a miracle wrought by music, a message about the Savior, and the spirit of Christmas. Even in the coldest times of our lives, we can be comforted by the Lord’s presence. How blessed I was to have seen how drastically people can change under the influence of the Spirit. I will always remember that evening and treasure it in my heart. May the Spirit forever work such miracles!

I had the same problem. After a friend got his, the pressure was on. My parents were asking me to think about it, and my seminary teacher did the same. Up to this point I had done nothing that concerned prayer or reading the scriptures. I did both and decided to receive my patriarchal blessing. I think what I’m trying to say is don’t let friends or family members pressure you into it, but pray, read your scriptures, and make your decision based on what you feel is right.
Boyce Campbell, 14Bakersfield, California

One Christmastime my friends and I decided to secretly do the “Twelve Days of Sharing” for a special woman. She loved little children, served in the Primary nursery, and gave out cookies to children in the neighborhood. But she was alone in her home for Christmas.
On December 14 we gave her a small, decorated Christmas tree with little birds on it. We left it on her porch, then hid in the bushes so that we could see the look on her face when she saw it. She looked all around but couldn’t see us. We waited until she went back inside before we ran home.
The second night we gave her two silver bird whistles. The third night we gave her a gallon of apple cider. Each day we gave her something different, and each day we couldn’t wait to see the different expressions on her face. Sometimes she looked concerned about opening the door, but she was always happy to find something there for her.
One night it was so cold and snowy that we thought about not going. But we knew that she would be disappointed—and we would have been too. We climbed over the fence and headed toward the front porch. I had just put the plate of cookies on the step, rung the doorbell, and started to run to my hiding place, when I heard her door opening. I slipped and fell head first into the bushes. Although I was pretty well covered with snow I was still surprised that she didn’t see me. I couldn’t keep from laughing as I headed home.
The Twelve Days of Sharing were special days to my friends and me. Later I overheard her say that that Christmas was one of the best that she had ever had.

Several years ago my oldest grandson who had been a deacon for a year came to me and said, “Grandpa, I have been a hundred percenter ever since I was ordained a deacon a year ago.” I said, “What do you mean by a hundred percenter?” Of course I knew, but he responded, “I haven’t missed a sacrament meeting, Sunday School, or priesthood meeting since I was ordained a deacon.”
I congratulated him and said, “John, if you will continue to be a hundred percenter until you are old enough to go on a mission, I will finance your mission.” He smiled and said, “I’ll do it.”
I thought I was perfectly safe, but he set about to be a hundred percenter. I remember on two occasions how he disciplined himself in order to accomplish his undertaking. One time his uncle invited him to go for a trip with him and his boys where they would be gone over Sunday. John said, “Is there any place I can attend my meetings on Sunday?” and as he was told there was not, he said, “No, I can’t go. I am going to be a hundred percenter,” and therefore sacrificed a lovely trip to the ocean and an island on which they were going to celebrate.
Another time near a weekend he broke his leg. The first thing he asked his doctor was, “Will I be able to attend Church on Sunday? I have to be a hundred percenter.” He came, of course, on crutches.
When he became 19 years of age, he said, “Grandpa, I have been a hundred percenter ever since we made that deal.” I was very happy to finance him on his mission. This achievement has been a great influence in his life. It is not so difficult for him to discipline himself and do those things which are right for him to do and which will bring him success.

I caught hold of the gospel and hung on tight. I worked furiously to catch up in knowledge with my friends who had been raised in the Church. Many of my Mormon peers thought I was terribly self-righteous. I suppose it may have seemed that way to them, but I tried to be perfect because I was convinced that I could never escape my sins. I thought that by knowing all of the answers in church and receiving awards in seminary I could somehow make up for all the mistakes I had made. I remember thinking at the time that I could never be free from my haunting past. I accepted that fact and resolved to be perfect in order to compensate.
One of the hardest steps of repentance (at least for me) was to forgive myself. For four long years I struggled. To everyone around me I seemed spiritual and well-versed in the scriptures. Others told me how far I had come and how well I was doing, but only I knew the black that lined my heart. I had forsaken my past sins, and I was sure that God was pleased with my new life. But I felt that he was holding my past over my head, waiting for me to fall again.
Finally, in despair and confusion, I asked for a blessing. Words cannot express the peace that entered my heart as I received this personal revelation: I would receive the reassurance of the Holy Ghost and know that I was in good standing with Heavenly Father.
How could that be? My mind didn’t understand it, but my heart accepted it. So I believed it.

As Bridger Pons began looking forward to helping bless the sacrament, there was something he was dreading too: reading and memorizing the sacrament prayers. Bridger has dyslexia, a learning disability where reading and spelling are hard to do.
“I’ve worked really hard to become a good reader, but I still get nervous when I have to read out loud in front of a group,” Bridger said. “When I’m nervous, I make mistakes, which makes me even more nervous.”
Bridger Pons
So Bridger and his mother printed a version of the sacrament prayers that was easier to read. It used a larger font and was separated into short phrases. After lots of practice, he was able to recite the prayers without any mistakes.
“Being able to overcome the challenge of reading in front of a large group may not be a big deal for a lot of people, but for me it was important,” Bridger said.
His extra effort ended up blessing others in unexpected ways. After the meeting, several ward members came to him and said that his slow, intentional speaking helped them focus on the Spirit during those sacred prayers. Additionally, while helping leaders understand his challenges, Bridger learned that other young men in the stake need similar help. A fear of reading was affecting their Church participation and their confidence in preparing for missionary service. Now the Pons family shares reading resources with others whenever possible.
Bridger said he hopes more people will realize that how well a person reads does not reflect their level of intelligence. He also shared these words of encouragement for those who have reading challenges like he does: “You’re not alone. And you are smart.”

When I was in grade school, my mom would pick me up from school every Wednesday so we could get a little exercise by swimming laps together. At first, I did not enjoy this. I had little to no athletic talent, and I only went because it meant I would not have to ride the bus home from school.

But I soon realized the benefits of this weekly appointment. My mom taught me how to strengthen my strokes, how to align my body in the water, and when to breathe. I found an unhurried rhythm as I pulled myself through the water.

Pull, pull, pull, breathe.

What I treasured the most, though, was the uninterrupted time with my mom. I never had to worry about keeping up with my more gifted peers or keeping track of the number of laps I swam. It was just my mom and me keeping a rhythm.

Not long ago, I started to swim again. Relearning the rhythm has been easy. Pull, pull, pull, breathe. The stillness of the experience has felt familiar and become a medicine for my often-frenzied mind. I have found that by finding a place where I can’t hear much of the noise around me, my thoughts are less susceptible to external influences.

During this dedicated time to myself, when I’m not reaching for my phone or checking things off my to-do list, I have seen just how valuable a still environment can be. Eliminating some of the excessive noises of my day-to-day life makes it much easier to turn my thoughts to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.

And by regularly seeking out this quietness, I’ve been able to invite more frequent spiritual experiences into my life. Turning off my phone or stepping away from my daily tasks for a moment is a way for me to say, “Heavenly Father, I have prepared myself to draw closer to Thee. I’m ready to listen.”

Many times, as I wait and listen, there isn’t an audible voice or even a specific thought, but instead a feeling of stillness. With the stillness comes warmth, peace, and a closeness to God and Jesus Christ (see Psalm 46:10). I can feel my efforts to be aligned with Them strengthened. Ultimately, it is the seeking of uninterrupted quiet moments like this that has allowed me to feel close to my Heavenly Father and my Savior, Jesus Christ, to know Them, and to hear Them.

Little did my grade-school self know that when my mother invited me to swim with her each week, she was also teaching me how to seek after stillness and listen to the voice of the Good Shepherd. As I have grown and practiced seeking out times and places to commune with God, the more I have realized that God is always there and has been anxiously waiting for me to draw nearer to Him.

Daniel knows that he can be a missionary now, too, by being a good example at school. He is the only member of the Church at his school. For reading time at school, he read his Book of Mormon. Being curious, his teacher asked him about the book. He was very happy to tell her all about it. Later, at a parent-teacher conference, the teacher told his parents how impressed she was with their son and his willingness to read the scriptures at school.

All the way down the long hall, Susan held on to her mother’s hand. She tried to hang back and keep from going into the Primary room.
Her mother gently pulled her along, then opened the door and tugged her into a room filled with children. They were seated with their arms folded, listening to the quiet music. Susan hid behind her mother’s skirt.
A woman came up and talked to Mother. Susan peeked around and up into the woman’s face. It looked nice. The woman smiled at her, and Susan ducked back. Then the woman beckoned to another lady, who came forward. Susan hid again.
The three women talked together, but Susan couldn’t tell what they were saying. She peeked out again at the new lady, who had gray hair and a merry face full of wrinkles. Susan knew that her smile was a permanent part of her, because all the wrinkles curved upwards.
With a flutter of her skirts, the woman knelt beside Susan so quickly that Susan didn’t have time to hide. She looked away, but the lady turned Susan’s face back toward her. Then her hands began a graceful dance.
Susan stared in amazement. Then a warm feeling began to grow inside her.
The hands were talking to her! “Hello, my name is Sister White. I am your Primary teacher. Welcome to our ward.”
Susan’s hands moved. “How do you know sign language?”
“My son is deaf. I learned so that I could talk to him.”
Susan nodded. That was good.
“Come,” her teacher’s hands insisted. “Let’s sit with your Primary class. The Star-A class is over here.”
Susan disappeared behind her mother again. She was afraid. Sometimes children made fun of her because she couldn’t hear.
Mother drew her gently out. “It will be all right,” she signed. “They will take good care of you.”
Susan put her hand into Sister White’s and walked over to her class. Her head hung down so that she couldn’t see the other children’s faces. Then she watched her teacher reverently talk with her hands, signing the scripture and the prayer. Then Sister White added, “We need to stand and sing the song.”
Susan was bewildered. She looked at Sister White, who beamed and nodded.
The children stood, and Susan watched in amazement. They were singing with their hands! Soon she recognized the song. Her hands joined in too.
As I have loved you, Love one another.
This new commandment: Love one another. … *
When the song was finished, everyone sat down. Then one by one children turned around and smiled shyly at Susan. She held her head high and smiled back. No one in this ward would laugh or make fun of her. They all welcomed her, just as Jesus welcomed everyone.

Anna’s heart sank as she walked into the room and saw the Christmas tree. The water heater in their house had burst, and water was all over the floor. Dad was still trying to clean up the mess. The few presents under the tree were completely soaked.
Anna and her little brothers grabbed some towels and tried to dry the presents. But it didn’t really work. They were a soggy mess.
Anna’s family was going through a hard time. Her dad didn’t have a job right now. Her mom was going to have a baby soon, and she felt sick a lot. And now they wouldn’t have any presents for Christmas.
That night as Anna got ready for bed, she could hear Mom and Dad talking in the kitchen.
“What are we going to do?” Mom asked. It sounded like she was crying. “We don’t have enough money for the house payment, and now we don’t even have presents for the kids.” Anna had an empty, twisty feeling in her stomach.
“We’ll figure something out,” Dad said.
Anna walked into the kitchen. Mom reached out and gave her a big hug. With her arms around Mom’s tummy, Anna felt the baby move. She smiled. “We have a new baby coming. You always say that a baby is a miracle.”
Mom smiled back. “That’s right. We have a lot to be grateful for.”
“We have each other,” Dad said. He kissed the top of Anna’s head. “It’ll be OK.”
On the way to her room, Anna heard her brothers crying. She sat down on David’s bed.
“Everyone is so sad,” David said quietly.
“And we won’t have any presents,” Robbie said, sniffling.
“It’ll be OK,” Anna said again. “You’ll see.”
Before she got into bed, Anna knelt and asked Heavenly Father what she could do for her family. She didn’t have any money to buy presents, but she still had a warm, comforting feeling in her heart.
The next morning, she stayed in bed thinking for a few minutes before getting ready for school. Then an idea came to her! That afternoon she hurried home and did her chores and homework. Then she found some paper and string and a few markers and stickers she had gotten for her birthday. She took them all to her room and closed the door.
Anna almost laughed when she thought about how surprised her family would be. First she folded the paper and tied it together with string to make four booklets. She chose a star sticker to put on Mom’s booklet and a planet for Dad’s. She put a dog for David’s booklet and a rocket for Robbie’s.
Then Anna started drawing. For Mom she drew a picture of herself sweeping the floor. She drew a picture of herself cooking dinner with Dad, one of her playing football with David, and one of her reading a book to Robbie. It took her several days to fill each booklet with pictures.
Finally it was Christmas Eve, and Anna carefully placed her booklets under the tree.
The next morning, she gave each person in her family a booklet. “I like these pictures,” David said. “I like playing football.”
“They’re not just pictures,” Anna said with a sparkle in her eyes. “They’re coupons! The pictures all show things I’ll do for you.”
“This is the nicest gift you could have given us,” Mom said as she looked through her booklet. Anna was thankful that Heavenly Father helped her think of making Christmas coupons. A new baby was coming, and with Heavenly Father’s help, everything really would be OK.

Much like Angela and Annette, Marco Dauphin is eager to spread the gospel by sharing it with anyone who will listen. Marco is pretty much like any young man his age, with a passion for basketball and a quick, easy smile. But there is something a little different about him, too. He is a leader. He introduces his friends and family to things he thinks are good and uplifting. He knows how to include everyone and make each person feel comfortable. When he first met the missionaries a few years ago, he immediately knew they had something special—something he wanted to have, too.

“I remember learning from the missionaries about the Second Coming,” he says. “I loved it.”

Soon he was ready for baptism, and so was his younger brother, Derek. Younger sister Sandra soon followed. His youngest sister, Tina, was too young then but has since been baptized. But Marco’s older sister, Rosenelle, wasn’t so sure that joining the Church was a good idea.

“I was strong in my belief that the Church was not true,” says Rosenelle.

But at Marco’s urging, Rosenelle continued to meet with the missionaries, never committing to baptism but never completely rejecting the idea either.

“I never gave up,” says Marco. “I knew it would happen.”

And it did. While reading the Book of Mormon one afternoon, Rosenelle read about Alma the Younger. Soon she was thinking about her own life and the direction it was taking. She prayed for a long time that day and started to have some feelings that she couldn’t quite describe.

“Marco told me it was the Spirit,” says Rosenelle. “I knew he was right. I became converted and was baptized. I haven’t ever regretted it.”