Gospel Story Finder

In December 2021 there was a huge fire near my home. The winds were fanning the fire, and it got out of control. It ripped through neighborhoods and stores.
When our family first heard about the fire, we were in the temple visitors’ center. We prayed and prayed that our friends and family would be safe.
We desperately had to trust in the Lord. It gave me peace and comfort to know that if we trusted Him, we could be OK, no matter what happened. That night, the wind calmed down and firefighters were able to control the fire.
Our house was safe, though nearby towns were wiped out. I know that all those wonderful people who lost their homes will be OK. The Lord will help them.
I could feel the Lord’s love for me and all of His children. Trusting in the Lord’s love is something incredible. Put yourself in His hands, and many blessings will come to you.
Corgan W., Colorado, USA

“Oh, Sarah, that’s a beautiful sweater!”
As usual there was a crowd of girls clustered around Sarah Dunlap. This time they were admiring a pink sweater, soft and luxurious.
“It’s such a beautiful color!” one girl exclaimed.
“Where did you get it?” another asked.
“At the Mainline—yesterday.” Sarah smiled smugly. “Dad gave me the money and told me to get whatever I wanted.”
Janie Meyers stood on the fringe of the group. How she would love to have the girls crowd around her like that! If I could buy beautiful clothes like Sarah does, I’d be popular, too, Janie thought. She wished for the hundredth time that they had never moved here to Yarborough. Why did her Dad have to lose his job in Macetown? His job in Yarborough didn’t pay nearly the money that his old job did, and everything here was much more expensive. Having things seemed important to these girls at Janie’s new school. She longed for her old, comfortable, Macetown friends as she turned and started down the street by herself.
Janie heard the group giggling and talking as they left the school. She walked as slowly as she could, hoping that they would catch up with her and include her in their group.
But the girls passed her without a word. Janie blinked quickly to keep from crying. She stared down at her blue cotton dress. No wonder none of the girls will talk to me or make friends with me. My dress is two years old and looks a little worn. If we could afford to have nice things, I’d make a lot of friends, she told herself resentfully.
Janie felt guilty about her thoughts. She knew that her parents were trying as hard as they could to make things comfortable for her and her sister, Susie. Living here wasn’t easy on them either.
“Hey, Janie, wait up!” Monica Lewis ran up and swung her arm through Janie’s. “I was wondering if you could come over to my place this afternoon, Janie.”
Janie couldn’t believe it! Monica dressed even better than Sarah, and Janie knew that she lived in one of the nicest houses in town. Janie stammered in her eagerness to accept. “S-sure.” Then she remembered and added, “I’ll have to call my mom and let her know.”
Although Janie had never seen anything as large and grand as Monica’s house, she was surprised that Monica’s mother wasn’t there.
Monica shrugged it off. “Mother’s probably at some committee meeting or something. She’s never here when I get home.”
Janie couldn’t remember a time that her mom hadn’t been home when she got there after school, but she didn’t say anything.
Monica’s room almost made Janie gasp. Monica had her own record player, her own phone, even her own TV! Janie thought ruefully of the small room she shared with her sister.
About a half hour later Mrs. Lewis came home. The girls were playing records and dancing when the door burst open. …
“Monica, turn that thing off!” Monica’s mother was a small woman, but her voice was loud and harsh. “I have a splitting headache, and I certainly don’t need to hear that noise.”
“You always have a headache,” Monica muttered.
“It’s no wonder, listening to your racket. And keep a civil tongue, miss. Who’s this?”
Monica mumbled the introductions.
Mrs. Lewis acted as if she didn’t even hear. “Your friend can’t stay long. I have to leave again in a half hour, and you’ll have to fix supper for your father and brother. There’re some TV dinners in the freezer. All you have to do is heat them up and make a salad. Hurry up now, Monica.” Rubbing her head, Monica’s mother left the room.
There was dead silence. Monica looked as if she were going to cry. After a moment Janie suggested, “I guess I’d better be going.”
Monica clutched her arm. “Wait a sec, Janie. I was wondering … You’re doing pretty well in geography, aren’t you?”
Janie nodded.
“Do you think we could study together sometime? I don’t understand what we’re doing.”
Was that why Monica invited me over? Janie wondered. Just so I could help her with her studies? It was all Janie could do to agree to get together for a study session sometime soon. She left Monica’s house as quickly as she could and started for home.
The minute that Janie opened the door to her own house, she heard Mrs. Saunder’s voice in the living room. Mrs. Saunders had come over as part of the welcoming committee soon after Janie and her family had moved to Yarborough. She had a booming voice and expensive tastes. It seemed to Janie that Mrs. Saunders looked down on her mother because she didn’t live in a big house or wear expensive clothes.
“Then we can expect you to help with the charity rummage sale, dear?” Mrs. Saunder’s voice came out to the hall where Janie stood. Janie closed the door quietly and tiptoed up the stairs.
“Yes, I’d love to help.” Her mother’s quiet voice floated up to Janie. “Thank you for thinking of me.”
How can Mother be so nice to that woman? Janie wondered. She heard the rustle of movement as Mrs. Saunders rose to leave.
“Perhaps you could pick up a few things for yourself while you’re tending the booth.”
Janie stopped abruptly as Mrs. Saunders’ comments rose up to her. How dare Mrs. Saunders say such a thing!
Then she heard her mother’s voice: “Oh, I don’t think that we’ll be buying anything right now. There really isn’t that much that we need.”
“But, my dear”—Mrs. Saunders wouldn’t leave the subject alone—“it must be so hard for you. I think that you are just marvelous. You’re coping so well.”
“Hard for me?”
“Why, yes. To have to do without so much!”
“But I have the best things of all, the greatest things that anyone could have: I have my health, my family’s health, the love and companionship of a good and gentle man, and two good, happy, kind, loving daughters. What could possibly be more valuable than that?”
“Oh, well, of course,” Mrs. Saunders murmured. Janie could tell that Mrs. Saunders hadn’t understood a word that Mother had said.
Mrs. Saunders didn’t see Janie on the stairs as she said good-bye and left. In a rush Janie was down the stairs and in her mom’s arms. “Did you really mean it, Mom?” Janie whispered. “Are Daddy and Susie and I really that important to you?”
Mom gently stroked Janie’s hair. “Of course, dear. Oh, I get tired of scrimping, of not being able to get you and Susie pretty things, of worrying about paying the bills, and of all the rest of it. But, darling, when I get very discouraged, I just remember the three of you and how much I love you. You are everything that is really important to me. So whenever I get blue, I remember how blessed I am, and I try even harder.”
Janie thought about the girls at school. She remembered how hurt she’d been that none of the other girls had paid attention to her. But I didn’t really try to make friends. I was so worried that I didn’t have everything that they all had that I didn’t give them a chance, she decided. Maybe all Monica wanted right now was a tutor for geography, but it looked like she needed a friend as much as Janie did. She moved toward the phone.
“Where are you going?” Mother asked.
“To see if Monica wants to come over and study after dinner,” Janie replied. “I think she’s going to like it here almost as much as I do!”

This time things were different. President Spencer W. Kimball asked the members of the church to fast and pray about the weather situation, the bitter cold and snow in some areas and the drought in others. It was an inspiring feeling to know that I was joining hundreds of thousands of people in doing what a prophet of God asked, and that feeling motivated me to succeed.
But even though I did not eat or drink for twenty-four hours, I was not really satisfied with my effort. The day hadn’t been much different from most Sundays, and it seemed to me that if fasting were important, it should make a difference. I knew that it was important, so I concluded that I must not be doing it right.
I decided to study the scriptures concerning the principles and practices of fasting.
Then, to supplement my scripture reading, I read some fasting guidelines given us by modern-day prophets. They were clear in saying that a proper observance of fast day means abstaining from food and drink for two consecutive meals, attending fast and testimony meeting, and paying a generous fast offering.
With this information and an intense desire to really do what was right, I was ready to experiment upon the words I had studied. I knew the law of the fast, and I knew that I could observe the outward letter of the law. But it is the spirit of the law that can really change our lives. I decided to concentrate on the following five areas in trying to obtain the spirit of fasting:
1. A spirit of love for God and for my fellow beings. These two most important goals need constant work and attention. Not only is it difficult for me to love some people some of the time, but it is also sometimes difficult to want to love them. And when I think of loving God, I am overwhelmed to know that even my best love at this point is a weak and meager gift.
2. A spirit of sacrifice and service. Fast offerings are one sign of this spirit. Another is a willingness to share my testimony with others. I must also diligently seek other opportunities to give and to share my abundance of blessings with others. Sometimes I feel that I don’t even begin to understand what real sacrifice is.
3. A spirit of brotherhood and fellowship with the Saints. It gives me a wonderful feeling of joy to realize, when I fast, that I am joining the rest of the Church membership in this opportunity, and that we can gain power through unity.
4. A spirit of communion with God. For one day in each month I have an opportunity to put aside all distractions (except my three children, who cannot yet fully support me in my effort) and with “simplicity of intention” try to purify my heart to be one with God as I purify my body temple.
5. A spirit of self-control. To me, the exercise of my will in fasting is a sign of humility, that I submit my will to the Lord’s will, that I desire to strengthen my spiritual power and bodily discipline, and that I am willing to repent of wanting to do or doing other than what the Lord would desire.
With all of this in mind, I fasted. The first time, I fasted and prayed that I might withstand a particular temptation that had been bothering me. The results were miraculous. Not only did I withstand the temptation, but it ceased to be a temptation! Not only did I resist the sin, but I did not want to sin. And so I was immediately blessed.
I decided that it was important to my growth to fast again soon, and not wait for a whole month. This time I fasted and prayed about a decision I was having difficulty making. The pros and cons of the major alternatives seemed nearly equal, and I had been puzzling about it for several weeks. After fasting and praying about it, I suddenly knew what to do, and there was never another moment of wondering if it was the best choice.
After fasting I was intensely aware of what food I put into my mouth. Somehow my body seemed more sacred to me, and I did not want to eat anything that was impure or unnecessary. It almost seems as if fasting can help us sense what foods are really nourishing to us, and which ones pollute our physical system.
I seemed to be able to think more clearly and concisely. I was more able to concentrate with singleness of purpose when I went to the temple. Although I felt physically weak when fasting, it seemed that I was able to accomplish more and work with greater endurance afterwards.
I also felt an increased tenderness toward my husband and children, an overflowing of love and appreciation. And it seemed like I cried more during sacrament meeting, and appreciated it more. I’m sure that the meetings had not changed; instead, I was more emotionally and spiritually receptive.
Another important blessing I have received as a result of fasting is an increased ability to recognize evil influences and temptations—and to dismiss them without consideration.
As I have renewed my efforts to fast as the Lord would have me do, I have discovered some practical aids to help me. The following list contains some of these ideas.
1. Be united in fasting as a family. Take strength and motivation from the priesthood example and support each other in the effort. Those who are not yet old enough to abstain from eating and drinking can still participate in the spirit: praying, learning scripture stories, singing, counting blessings, planning service to others.
2. Plan specific service and sacrifice for others. Always give a generous fast offering and seek inspiration concerning other service the Lord desires.
3. Prepare carefully so that physical work can be held to a minimum. For me this means planning in advance what the children will wear and what they will eat. I also try to prepare appropriate Sunday activities for them before my fast begins on Saturday.
4. Prepare carefully so that my patience is not strained. Allow plenty of time to get ready for church meetings so that we don’t need to hurry.
5. Plan time for intense prayer. This is especially difficult for me now, with my three little girls always wanting to be involved in everything. Sometimes we can pray as a family; sometimes my husband and I can pray together while they are napping or sleeping; sometimes one of us can concentrate on them while the other prays alone. My best time for intense private prayer is in the middle of the night.
6. Fast and pray for a specific purpose or blessing. This might be a personal need, a family problem, a blessing for someone else, or something involving the whole Church or country, such as fasting for a change in the weather conditions.
7. Repent of sins. Seek strength to change and inspiration on how to change. Seek ways to make restitution and to receive forgiveness from those I have wronged.
8. Read, study, and ponder the scriptures. Seek to understand depths I have not yet understood. Use my husband’s resources to help answer my questions. Read topically as well as consecutively. Try to develop ways of teaching my children to know the scriptures and to love them.
9. Praise God. Show gratitude for his blessings. Sing hymns of praise to him. Rejoice in my relationship to him. Bear testimony of him and his goodness to others.
10. Avoid social conflicts and distractions. Saturday night wedding receptions, parties, dinners, sports, and Sunday dinners may not contribute to fasting and spiritual communion.
11. Record my experiences in my journal. Include praise to God, what I repent of and my plans for change, commentary on the scriptures I have read, service I plan to do, the purpose for which I fast each month, and my testimony. If we regularly make such entries in a journal, it can be a powerful tool in keeping our testimonies strong, providing direction and motivation for change, and inspiring our children and our children’s children. The miracles in our lives are quickly dimmed in our memories, but our journal entries can bring them clearly back and make us hunger for eternal life, a life of constant miracle.
Even though my fasting still cannot perfectly be called “rejoicing and prayer,” I feel much closer to that ideal than I did a year ago. I am grateful that I know that God lives, that we are his children, and that he desires that we find joy. And now I’m convinced that fasting is an integral part of that joy. It is a crucial element in our effort to eliminate every weakness, strengthen every talent, become perfect so that we can rejoin our Father in heaven. I am thankful to him for revealing fasting as a powerful tool that can help us find our way back to him.

Recently I heard of an excommunicated man who stormed out of his Church court bitter and unrepentant. Many of us, if we had participated in that court, might have said, “Well good, he’ll have time to make his peace”; and others might even have thought, “Good riddance.” But one of the high councilors present spent three evenings a week for the next several years visiting this man until, mellowed, repentant, and regenerated, he was reinstated in the Church.
“Nothing is so much calculated to lead people to forsake their sin as to take them by the hand, and watch over them with tenderness.”

One member was seated in his government office wondering how he could possibly pay the amount suggested by his bishop. As he prayed for guidance, the idea came to him, “Just ask for a raise in pay; that’s all you need to do.” So vivid was the message that he did just that. Calculating what he could pay from his own resources, he promptly applied for a raise equal to the amount he yet needed. To his surprise, his request was approved. Moreover, it was made retroactive for a year, enabling him to pay the amount requested much earlier than he had thought possible.

I knew a sweet sister who had a testimony of the Gospel, she loved the Savior and strived to do what was right; however, she later committed a serious sin that needed to be repented of. She valued her membership, but because she feared she would lose it, she tried to cover up what she had done. She slowly fell and drifted away from the church. Satan led her to believe that she could never go back and that she could never be forgiven.

Years went by and slowly her life got worse; she felt she was worthless and she slipped further into sin. About twenty years later, she remembered how she felt when she was active in the church, and how it felt to have the spirit with her. She also could not bear the guilt any longer; so she decided to turn her life around and she earnestly sought repentance by finding ways to make her wrongs right. She asked forgiveness to those she had wronged; she spent much time praying to her Heavenly Father seeking his help; and finally she gained courage and went to her bishop and confessed all she had done.

She exercised faith in the redeeming power of the Savior and her countenance changed, her heart changed, and she lived as one who had been rescued by the Savior's love. She had the Savior's image in her countenance. For all those years, she had suffered so much anguish and pain; where she could have had joy and happiness sooner.

Since the airmen were normally only in Berlin long enough to unload their cargo and refuel their planes, Lt. Halvorsen decided to hike in on his day off to take some pictures. As he approached the city, he came upon a barbed wire fence that separated him from some German children who were playing. They began talking to him, and the tall man with the Utah accent and the tiny children with their faltering English became friends.
After talking with them for an hour, Lt. Halvorsen started to leave but had only walked a few steps when he turned back. There was something about these children that was different from all the others he had met while a serviceman.
“Most children would clamour around us, asking us for candy or gum,” he explained. “But these were different. These children had been through so much—their city had been practically destroyed; many of them had lost family members in the war. Yet not one asked for any gum or candy.”
He reached into his pocket to see if he had any treat that he could leave with them and found only two sticks of gum. He passed them through the fence and watched as the children eagerly accepted his small gift. Without argument they divided the small pieces of gum into even smaller pieces, and when there was none left to divide, passed the gum wrappers around to smell.
A plane swooped by overhead and gave Lt. Halvorsen an idea. He told the children that he would come back the next day, and if they would share it with each other, he would drop some candy from his plane as it flew into the city.
The children had only one worry: “How will we tell which plane is yours?” they asked. Lt. Halvorsen replied that he would wiggle the wings of his plane and then drop parachutes made from handkerchiefs through the flare chute.
The next day Lt. Halvorsen dropped three candy-laden parachutes to the children waiting below. “I could see the little group of kids in a cluster, standing in the same place I had left them the day before as if they hadn’t moved at all. When we flew back out of the city later that day, they were again standing there, this time waving the three white handkerchiefs through the fence at us.”

“Am I always going to look like this?” I groaned, staring into Raelynn’s mirror. My freckled face stared back at me in dismay.
Raelynn was my best friend even though she was a little older than me. She was already in junior high, and she told me about makeup and which clothes were “cool.”
Last summer, we used to pretend we were famous singers. We pretended our dolls were supermodels we had seen on magazine covers. We curled each other’s hair and pretended we were customers in a fancy salon.
Now Raelynn acted more grown up.
Lately I was getting bored of pretending too, and the real person I saw in the mirror made me sad. My teeth seemed too big for my mouth, and my face was covered in splotchy freckles. Worst of all, I had hairy arms! Famous singers never had hairy arms.
Raelynn stood next to me and frowned at her reflection. “Maybe we’ll be prettier when we grow up,” she said.
I was surprised. Even Raelynn, who knew everything about being cool, did not feel pretty. Our moms often told us we were beautiful, but that didn’t make me feel much better. Moms always say things like that.
When I turned 12 and started Young Women, I still felt ugly. Now I was even taller than my sixth-grade teacher! The boys in my class didn’t let me forget it and often made fun of me.
One Sunday, my new Young Women leader stood up to teach. I stopped staring at my oversized feet and looked into her face. The room grew still. I felt the Holy Ghost telling me that I was about to learn something important.
“Heavenly Father loves you,” Sister Brower said. She explained that Heavenly Father is pleased with how His children look because He created them. “You are some of His most beautiful creations.”
Beautiful creations? I pictured sunsets, mountains, and beaches. I felt reverence for Heavenly Father when looking at nature, but I had never felt much reverence looking at myself.
Slowly, I started to feel light and happy. “Satan wants me to feel sad if I don’t look like the girls on TV,” I thought. “But Heavenly Father made me different on purpose.”
Satan wanted me to worry about my freckles and feel sorry for myself. Heavenly Father wanted me to feel His love and grow closer to Him. As His daughter, I had more important things to do than to try to look like someone famous.
I went home from church that day knowing I was beautiful, and not because I had changed. Now I could see what I had been all along—a unique, beloved daughter of God.

Not long after arriving in the Salt Lake Valley, the Latter-day Saints began building their holy temple. They felt they had finally found a place where they could worship God in peace and be free from persecution.
However, just as the temple foundation was nearing completion, an army of United States soldiers approached to forcibly install a new governor.
Because Church leaders did not know how hostile the army would be, Brigham Young ordered the Saints to evacuate and bury the temple foundation.
I’m sure some members of the Church wondered why their efforts to build God’s kingdom were constantly being frustrated.
Eventually, the danger passed, and the temple foundations were excavated and inspected. It was then that the pioneer builders discovered that some of the original sandstones had cracked, making them unsuitable as a foundation.
Consequently, Brigham had them repair the foundation so that it could adequately support the granite walls of the majestic Salt Lake Temple. Finally, the Saints could sing the hymn “How Firm a Foundation” and know their holy temple was built on a solid foundation that would last for generations.
This story can teach us how God uses adversity to bring about His purposes.

We will have opportunities throughout our lives to share our beliefs, although we don’t always know when we will be called upon to do so. Such an opportunity came to me in 1957, when I worked in the publishing business and was asked to go to Dallas, Texas, sometimes called “the city of churches,” to address a business convention. Following the conclusion of the convention, I took a sightseeing bus ride through the city’s suburbs. As we passed the various churches, our driver would comment, “On the left you see the Methodist church” or “There on the right is the Catholic cathedral.”
As we passed a beautiful red brick building situated upon a hill, the driver exclaimed, “That building is where the Mormons meet.” A lady in the rear of the bus called out, “Driver, can you tell us something more about the Mormons?”
The driver pulled the bus over to the side of the road, turned around in his seat, and replied, “Lady, all I know about the Mormons is that they meet in that red brick building. Is there anyone on this bus who knows anything more about the Mormons?”
I waited for someone to respond. I gazed at the expression on each person’s face for some sign of recognition, some desire to comment. Nothing. I realized it was up to me to do as the Apostle Peter suggested, to “be ready always to give an answer to every man that asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you.” I also realized the truth of the adage “When the time for decision arrives, the time for preparation is past.”
For the next 15 or so minutes, I had the privilege of sharing with those on the bus my testimony concerning the Church and our beliefs. I was grateful for my testimony and grateful that I was prepared to share it.

The weeks before Christmas were predictably hectic. I knew from past experience that there would be heavy demands on my time, but I had hoped that this year would be different. I wanted to be well organized—to have my shopping and Christmas preparations done far enough in advance that the pressures of my busy life would not interfere with the spirit of the Christmas season.
And this year was different—in fact, the pre-Christmas season presented more challenges than usual. As a member of the Tabernacle Choir, I had learned years ago that I must be ready to spend many hours at the Tabernacle at this time of year. The month of December is always crowded with special programs, extra rehearsals, and Christmas concerts. But this year, in addition to these activities, the choir was also preparing to leave on a concert tour to Israel on the day after Christmas! We had difficult music to learn which required several months of extra rehearsals. All of this, combined with my full-time work schedule and preparations for a work assignment following the choir’s tour, allowed me very little time for the joyful preparations for Christmas or for my family.
My widowed mother watched quietly as I tried to juggle my life in order to work everything in. I knew that she would like to have had me make more frequent visits, take her shopping once in a while, or just find the time to call on the phone more often. We always looked forward to having her come to dinner on Sundays, and she never complained about any lack of attention to her, but I knew that she was lonely and longed for companionship. Since my father died four years ago, there had been a great void in her life. They were eternal companions in every sense of the word. Whether working in the temple, beautifying their home, enjoying their children and grandchildren, or singing, they did it together! And now again, I knew that she was remembering the years gone by and those joyous Christmases with Dad. Those were times full of love and music as they sang together at many Christmas programs and family gatherings. And now she was alone.
My sister and I had helped Mother put up her Christmas tree and decorate her home for the holidays. We had done most of her shopping for her, but about two weeks before Christmas, Mother called, apologized for infringing on my busy schedule, and asked if I would mind taking her shopping for one afternoon. She wanted to add her personal touch to a few of the items we had already purchased. It was a welcome and delightful break from the frenzied schedule I had been keeping. We had lunch and spent a lovely afternoon together. The joy and the spirit of the season which I had not had time for before filled our hearts.
Just a few days after our afternoon together, Mother became ill with the flu. We were very concerned and kept a close watch on her at her home. She did not want to come and stay with us or with my sister, but insisted that she would be well soon. She apologized for being ill and for becoming a burden on us at such a busy time. After she suffered for several miserable days, her health seemed to improve, and we relaxed our vigil somewhat. She had predicted that she would be fine by Christmas, and that seemed to be the case.
The tempo and burdens of my life had only increased during the week that Mother was ill. It was three days before Christmas, the choir had just finished two Christmas concerts, I still had last-minute shopping to do, there were many projects to complete at the office, and in only four days we would be on our way to Israel. When my husband came into my office that afternoon, shut the door, and told me that Mother had passed away just an hour earlier, I had difficulty comprehending what he was saying. He had no explanations why this had happened—only the devastating news that she was gone. All that had been so important only minutes ago seemed to evaporate. I felt that time had stopped and that I had been suspended in some sort of vacuum.
For the next two days, my sisters and I went through the necessary motions and made preparations for Mother’s funeral. It was to be held the day after Christmas—the day the choir was leaving for Israel! Family members and friends enveloped us with love and concern, and we struggled to acknowledge the reality of what had happened. Under the circumstances, I had assumed I would not be able to make the trip to Israel; but very late one evening I received a telephone call telling me that arrangements had been made for me to travel and join the choir a few days later. I was so grateful for kind friends and their efforts in my behalf!
For the sake of the young children in the family as well as our own, we wanted Christmas to be as normal as possible. We continued to make preparations for our traditional Christmas Eve family dinner and for Christmas day, but we felt so empty—so alone. It just could not be the same! Each of us—and especially the children—felt the terrible emptiness and tried to understand why our mother and grandmother had been taken at this time.
Because of the holiday, we were advised to postpone having a viewing until just before the services, but the funeral directors invited us to come to the funeral home at any time the day before—Christmas day—and spend some time alone with Mother. Following our dinner on Christmas night, we left the children playing with their gifts and went to the funeral home.
We stood quietly around her casket and looked at our beautiful mother in her temple robes. She looked so serene, so happy. There was a spirit of peace and of love in that room—even one of happiness and joy. I closed my eyes and tried to picture the recent glorious reunion that must have taken place between my mother and father. I had the impression that if I listened carefully, I could again hear the angels singing as they did on that holy night long ago, and that the beautiful voices of my mother and father had joined that heavenly chorus. I imagined I could hear them singing, “Silent night! Holy night! … Sleep in heavenly peace.”
The understanding and comfort I had prayed for seemed to come to me as I stood there, and my worldly cares seemed far away. On that silent night, gathered with my loved ones, I thanked my Father in Heaven for that moment of heavenly peace.

When a friend invited me to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in 2020, I reluctantly agreed. At first, I didn’t feel it was the place to be, but I continued to attend sacrament meeting. Eventually, I was baptized.
I did not understand, however, the concept of having a testimony as spoken of by other members of the Church. The sister missionaries and I had read some scriptural verses together, but I had never opened the Book of Mormon on my own. Despite great efforts by members of the Church to welcome me and keep me active, I soon began coming late to church, skipping meetings, and going back to a worldly state.
Then came one day when I felt a mood swing with a troubled heart. I felt I had been too unstable, worldly, and antagonistic toward the things of God. I recognized I was not on the right track. While in this mood, I glanced toward the scriptures on my bed.
I called upon God to say something to me. I said a little prayer and waited to hear anything at all. I needed some comfort and clarity.
Then I heard something. I do not know whether the sound came from inside my mind or inside my ears, but I heard the words “Helaman 3:27.” I knew that the book of Helaman was in the Book of Mormon, so I took the scriptures and went to the table of contents to locate that book.
What I read next was a message from God to me specifically for that moment of my life: “Thus we may see that the Lord is merciful unto all who will, in the sincerity of their hearts, call upon his holy name.”
This passage changed my perception about my actions and about the Book of Mormon. I realized that my actions and insincerity toward God had been wrong and that I needed to call upon Him and repent. I know that God will not deny me His mercies and blessings so long as I am sincere in calling upon Him and following Him.
That’s how my testimony came of the Book of Mormon—a book I had showed no interest in reading. I know that God lives, that He speaks to us today, and that the Book of Mormon is true.

I had a similar experience as a young boy on my grandparents’ farm. They taught me about tithing with examples of one egg or one bushel of peaches out of ten. Years later I used those same kinds of examples to try to teach the principles of tithing to our own children.

Parents are always looking for better ways to teach, and the results of their efforts are sometimes unexpected. Attempting to teach tithing to our young son, I explained the principle of a tenth and how it would apply to the eggs gathered in a chicken farm and the young calves or horses born in a breeding herd. When I finished what I was sure was a clear explanation, I wanted to test whether our seven-year-old had understood. I asked him to imagine that he was a farmer with a harvest of eggs and young animals. I supplied the figures and then asked our little boy what he would give to the bishop as tithing. He thought deeply for a moment and then said, “I would give him a very old horse.”

We obviously had some further conversations on the principle of tithing, and I am proud of the way he and his brother and sisters learned and practiced that principle. But I have often thought of that little boy’s words as I have observed how some adult Church members relate to the law of tithing. I think we still have some whose attitude and performance consist of giving the bishop something like “a very old horse.”

I stood under the mistletoe. The green, leafy clusters speckled with waxy-white berries hung from the branches of every apple tree.
That’s the same stuff they sell in the stores for Christmas decorations, I said to myself. Why can’t I sell mistletoe too? Christmas was three weeks away. Selling mistletoe would be a perfect way to earn money to buy a gift for my brother, Derek.
I took a few steps back, ran, leaped, and reached as high as I could. But the lowest mistletoe cluster was too high. I missed it by a mile. So that was that.
I had started for home, when something strange caught my eye. At the edge of the apple orchard, one tree stood bare. Of course I knew the leaves and apples fell off months ago. But all the mistletoe, every sprig of it, had fallen off the branches also. It lay in a neat pile at the foot of the tree, as if put there just for me.
Delighted, I carefully picked out the best sprigs and put them in my lunch box. When it was jam-packed, I sprinted across the flattened cornfield to the mobile home where I lived.
I entered the side door, listening. Yes, a guitar was playing. I walked down the narrow hall to my bedroom and pounded on the door. “Derek, are you in there?”
The guitar stopped. “One sec,” came a grumpy reply. A moment later the door was flung open. My brother stood there wearing his brown leather jacket.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“None of your business,” he muttered, sailing past me.
It wasn’t easy sharing that cramped bedroom with my older brother. We got on each other’s nerves a lot. That whole trailer was far too small for our family.
With Derek out of the room, I emptied the contents of my lunch box onto my bed. I split the sprigs of mistletoe into smaller ones and carefully picked off every dead leaf and berry. In my mom’s sewing box, I found a roll of red ribbon. I used it to tie bows around the sprigs, then put each one into a little plastic bag.
As I looked for something to put the mistletoe in, I saw Derek’s guitar on his bed, wrapped in an old towel. That guitar was the only beautiful thing Derek owned, and I knew what to buy with the mistletoe money: a case for that guitar. Even if Derek was grumpy sometimes, he was still my brother, and I loved him.
The next day I took my mistletoe packages—ten in all—to school. During lunchtime I sold every one. My pockets jingled with change as I walked home that day. But it was hardly enough money to buy a guitar case.
After school, I cut through the apple orchard again. A surprise awaited me—two more trees were bare, and under each one lay a pile of mistletoe! I loaded my lunch box, filled my pockets, then raced for home.
Derek was striding across the cornfield as I approached the trailer. His head was lowered. His hands were jammed into the pockets of his leather jacket.
“Derek! Derek!” I hollered as friendly as I could. But when he looked up and saw me, he stopped and turned in another direction.
That night I made twice as many mistletoe packages. After school the next day, I walked to the shopping center office and got permission to sell my mistletoe there. Then I found a wooden box to use as a sales stand. I thumb-tacked a sign on it that read: Christmas Mistletoe, 25¢. Within an hour the mistletoe was sold out.
I hurried over to the music store. In the front display window, on cotton snow, lay a row of wooden recorders. I had learned to play a plastic one at school, and more than anything, I wanted one of those wooden ones, which sounded so much better. Each year that was at the top of my Christmas list. But each year there wasn’t enough money.
I was calculating how much more money I’d need to buy a recorder when I saw the towers of guitar cases in the back of the store. As much as I wanted a recorder, I wanted to buy Derek a guitar case more. Even if he had been a grouch lately, he was a pretty neat brother. Going inside the store, I found the perfect case for Derek, a brown one with gold buttons. It cost a bundle, though. Much more than I had. I hoped that there would be lots more mistletoe in the orchard when I got there.
I reached the orchard after the sun had just set, and the air was icy. The shadowy crooked branches of the apple trees appeared as grabbing fingers against the purple sky. Something rustled in a distant tree. Rotten apples squished under my feet as I tried to creep closer to see what it was.
Then I tripped. My knees sunk into a pile of something scratchy. Mistletoe! Another big heap of it. It was a miracle!
I was filling my lunch box, when a voice right behind me softly said, “Chilly night to be out, young man.”
I spun around. “I’m collecting m-m-mistletoe,” I stuttered, half from cold, half from fright.
“Sorry I scared you,” the man said with a friendly smile. “The fact is, I’m paying a guy to cut all that mistletoe out of my trees.”
“What!” I exclaimed, puzzled.
“My apple trees are loaded with mistletoe. That very plant people kiss under can do these old trees harm. It attaches itself to their branches and sucks out a lot of food and water. Eventually it could kill these trees. Anyway, you’re welcome to take all you want.”
The man wished me a merry Christmas, then walked on across the orchard. He stopped under a tree about thirty yards away and looked up. Out of that tree tumbled a big clump of mistletoe. Then another and another. An instant later two legs dangled down from the lowest branch. All of a sudden someone dropped down next to the man. It was Derek! He didn’t see me in the shadows.
“A few more nights ought to do it,” the man said.
“Yeah,” Derek replied, brushing off his jeans.
“So what are you doing with all the money I’m paying you?” asked the man. “Are you going out and having a good time?”
“Nah,” said Derek, shuffling his feet. “I’m saving up to buy my kid brother something for Christmas.”
“Is that right?” said the man.
“Yeah, he’s been wanting a wooden recorder for ages. He can play pretty well. And you know how it is—he’s my brother.”

Members of the São Paulo Brazil Stake felt inspired to collect sugar, oil, rice, and beans and donate the food to two charities. Then they trained representatives from the charities in the basics of food storage. Members also volunteered to present education, finance, and employment training to stake and community members to help them develop the skills necessary to compete for available jobs.
“The community we invited was delighted with the work of the Church. Many did not know us, but they went away with good feelings,” said stake member Kátia Ribeiro. “Among the members, there was a spirit of unity and service, and among those who were served, there was a spirit of deep gratitude.”

Let me begin by telling you about my grandmother and how she helped shape my attitude toward this subject. Harriett, everyone called her Hattie, Rigby was barely five feet tall. She married my Grandfather when she was only 18. The day after they were married, my Grandfather left for the Samoan Islands for a three-year mission. Hattie planned on finishing school at Ricks Academy while my Grandfather was on his mission. Grandpa was assigned to the Apollo Island, owned at that time by Germany. He told his German professor that he wished his wife were there because she had studied two years of German. Hattie was called to be a missionary with her husband, which she gladly accepted in 1913. Her father and sister took her to Salt Lake to be set apart as a missionary. She told her father, "They will surely send another lady so I won't have to go alone," but when they assembled in the room where they were to be set apart and receive their instructions, Hattie was the only woman. She wrote, "I felt like going back home with Father, but he assured me I would be all right, which I was, and happy to be the only girl as I got all the attention."

She traveled to Samoa by ship but the letter notifying my Grandfather that she was coming was on the same ship as she was traveling on. This little 18-year-old got off the ship and no one was there to meet her. After five days, she finally met my Grandpa as he was traveling in a buggy toward town. This was only the beginning of a very difficult two and one-half years but even with the struggles, my grandparents loved their mission and the Samoan people.

A defining experience for Hattie was when her first son, who was born in Samoa, contracted elephantiasis, which is usually fatal to babies. He was covered with oozing sores all over his body and had to be bathed with a disinfectant. Around this same time, my Grandfather's appendix burst sending toxins throughout his body. Hattie was advised to go home to America to receive medical care or her baby would die.

My grandparents were in charge of a church cemetery where there were six elders, a mother and a baby and four small children buried. Hatti went to this cemetery and prayed that if the Lord would spare the lives of her husband and child and she would not have to leave their bodies in this distant land, she would dedicate her life faithfully serving Him. The Lord was good to her and both her husband and son were spared. I can tell you, having lived only one mile from my grandparents, that my Grandmother absolutely spent the rest of her life supporting her husband's righteous endeavors and serving the Lord. Her "selfish support" earned her the love and devotion of seven very righteous sons and daughters and legions of grandchildren and great-grandchildren. She also earned the respect and love of many community members. Interestingly, her church callings and civic responsibilities throughout her life were more demanding than her husband's but my grandfather supported her 100 percent. He would hitch up the wagon and take her to her many assignments with no resentment.

When I was 13, my mother decided to return to her church. I went with her every Sunday for several months and soon joined the church’s youth group. I loved many things about this church, but I always felt like there was something missing. I continued to go until one day at a youth activity the other youth found out I was not a member of the church. The teenagers in the group began shunning me, and I eventually stopped going to church altogether.

Later, in high school, I took a comparative religions course. I learned a lot about many religions and realized there are a lot of good people with the best of intentions. But no religion ever seemed quite right.

I had convinced myself that no church was right and decided to live by my conscience, read the Bible (by this time I had bought my own), and do my best to live in accordance with the teachings of Jesus Christ. After all, no one in my family went to church, and they were all honest, good people.

In May of 2000, after seeing a movie about the life of Jesus Christ, I was so deeply touched that I earnestly prayed to God. I knew if I was patient, while continuing to do my best to follow Christ, I would receive answers to my prayers. I faced many tests in the months that followed. Through these tests, I became better at receiving the Spirit’s promptings.

Later that year I felt I should go to the visitors’ center at the Washington D.C. Temple to see the Christmas lights. I had been to the visitors’ center to see the lights before but had never inquired about the Church or its beliefs.

As I strolled through the visitors’ center, looking at the many displays, I thought of my cousin and another friend who were planning to serve missions for this church. I had studied about many religions but never this one. I was a little curious.

In my head I asked, expecting no answer, “Why in the world would those two men, or anyone for that matter, give up two years to serve missions—and at their own expense?” Much to my surprise, I received a humbling response. The soft whispers of the Spirit pierced my heart as my eyes fell upon a replica of gold plates. I was drawn to them. As I looked at them, I felt a powerful feeling of love, safety, and comfort, and in my mind I heard the words, “These are important. Learn about them.”

Immediately, I found a missionary and asked her about the plates. She told me about Joseph Smith translating the Book of Mormon. She also suggested I meet with the missionaries, but I declined.

The next day I went to the library to read all I could about the plates and the Church. I bought a copy of the Book of Mormon from a used-book store and began reading. I also read about the Church, but I wanted to learn more, so I decided to attend a church meeting.

I knew if I studied and prayed, God would confirm to me that this is the right church. So that’s what I did. I watched and waited patiently. And sure enough, my prayers were answered. On March 25, 2001, I was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

This is the Church of Jesus Christ. There are many good churches with many good people, but The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the church of our Lord and Savior, and it is the church with which our Heavenly Father is well pleased (see D&C 1:30). Our Heavenly Father loves us, has a plan for us, and will guide us back to Him if we earnestly seek Him.

The hardwood shook to the happy stomping as the boys’ wall swept the girls’ wall into the dance, ending all thought of wallflowers and wallweeds in a magical flash of music.
Cold February moonlight sparkled between pine shadows on the snow outside the rustic dance hall, but inside Hot August reigned as the Mormon dance band by that name made people’s feet itch. The pine trees outside seemed to sway with the rhythm, as happy, well-groomed young men and women all over the floor told a story with their smiles. They had lived the kind of lives that allowed them to meet life with joy, never looking over their shoulders. They were savoring a sweet present unmarred by the past.
The air in Denver, Colorado, is clean and almost telescopic in its clarity, a fitting home for an outstanding group of young Latter-day Saints who, thanks to the gospel, can literally “see forever.” Scattered two or three to a high school, these young men and women are very much in the world, and in order to avoid being of it, they must constantly and steadfastly say no to many things. But they get together often, because whenever they can find a wholesome activity, they lead the world in giving an exuberant, roof-rattling yes! Last February their yes took them into the Rocky Mountains on what they called a winter retreat.
The activity was well named, because winter had retreated deep into the Rockies, pursued by one of the driest years on record. Where snow drifts were normally overhead, they were now underfoot, but the group overtook the elusive white stuff at Snow Mountain Ranch, a YMCA camp about 90 miles out of and up from Denver, and gave it a pounding it will never forget.
The youth of the Denver Colorado Stake met in the afternoon at their stake center, and after a prayer, boarded Greyhound buses. The buses rolled quietly along the freeway for a while through old mining towns, but then they suddenly dropped their tails and soared like eagles on a thermal, back and forth up the face of the solemn old Rockies. At the end of every switchback it was hard to believe how high they were above where they had been seconds before. The night was fueled on song—everything from “Who Are These Children?” to “Granny’s in the Cellar.” There was time for pondering some profound questions too. These young gospel scholars may not know, like their Medieval counterparts, how many angels can dance on the head of a pin, but they can tell you with some authority how many young Latter-day Saints can fit on one Greyhound bus seat.
They could tell you some more important things too. One of the young men spoke of President Kimball’s visit to Denver to preside over a solemn assembly in the stake center. This young man had gone early to the center just to see a living prophet as he entered the building.
“I was amazed,” he said. “When President Kimball walked from his car to the building, people just kept driving on by and walking down the sidewalk without even a second glance. They didn’t know who was among them.”
The young Latter-day Saints knew, however, even if most people in Denver didn’t. These young men and women have a great love for their leaders, including the bishoprics and other officers in their own wards.
A sky-high experience was waiting for them at the 10,000-foot camp. They had been scheduled to stay in some dormitories resembling cut-rate bomb shelters, but on arrival they discovered that the camp manager had made special arrangements for them to stay in the nicest accommodations, a lodge that boasted a huge lounge with a fireplace, and comfortable, carpeted rooms. He explained that he had been so impressed with the last group of Mormons to stay at the camp that he knew he could trust LDS youth with the best. The nameless Mormon group who paved the way for this happy surprise will never know the impression they made, but these young people from the Denver area were grateful for their example.
Example is something they know a lot about, because examples are what they have to be at all times. “People expect so much more of you when they know you’re Mormon,” one girl said. “We have to be really strong to live up to our reputation.”
Another young lady said, “I know a lot of guys at school, and you can always tell the active Mormons. They look different. They talk differently. They act differently. They are a lot more concerned and caring about people. They are so much more friendly. They not only don’t do things to hurt people, but they go out of their way not to. They’re not thinking of themselves all the time. Their standards are so much higher. They still have fun, but you can tell that they’re doing what they know is right.”
One young man added, “Once a friend asked me, ‘You can’t drink, you can’t smoke, and you can’t do all those other things. What do you do for fun?’ and I told him, ‘I live! I’m alive and healthy, and I don’t need all that stuff.’”
By constantly living their religion in spite of numerous temptations, they have interested many of their friends in the Church, and as a result some of them have joined.
After checking into their rooms that night (the young men on one floor, the young women on another), the group walked through the moonlight and stillness to the dance hall where Hot August led them in wearing off some shoe leather. When the last dance had ended, the group met in the lounge to sing songs, watch the fire flicker, and eat popcorn. As they sat singing, they could see the snowy hill slanting past their picture window, the cold night washed in moonlight. The scene shimmered like a decanter of distilled Christmas.
Sleep was scheduled next, but it turned out to be a whole new style of sleep, consisting of a lot of radio music, laughing, and visiting with friends. If some of these young people had been around when the English language was being formed, the word sleep might never have been invented.
The next day dawned very cold, and the group began early by standing in line in the snow for what seemed like hours waiting their turn in the cafeteria line, an experience they enjoyed twice more during the day. Fortunately, getting up early was second nature to these young yes-sayers. Every weekday morning most of them start letting their lights shine about 4:30, when the rest of their neighborhoods are dark and silent. At 6:00 they attend early-morning seminary, their favorite class of the day. One of them said: “You’ve got to have a balance. All day long you’re bucking temptation; you’re bucking the world, and if you can start your day with the spiritual uplift of seminary, you feel that you can make it through the day. It gives you the extra momentum you need to get through. Whenever you get down during the day, you can remember what you learned in seminary that morning.”
Between meals the day was spent in several forms of Mormon madness. One was the Wonderful One-Man Plus Team Freestyle Two-Tube Ice-Eating Relays. Theoretically, one man on each team was inserted into the holes of two inflated innertubes, which were then rolled by the team to the end of the skating ice and back again. In reality, once inside the tubes, the man was often grasped by a glove or a boot and dragged unceremoniously over the course in a pretzel-puzzle of man, tube, and flying ice.
While the teams were busy pushing and pulling their hapless tube-jockeys toward the finish line, the spectators took part in a spontaneous Alice in Wonderland sort of ritual that consisted of standing on the sidelines heaving huge snowballs at the contestants as they passed. In between heats the genteel crowd threw snowballs at each other. When the races were over, this pastime degenerated slightly into a general free-for-all snowball fight. Interspersed among these rather formal events, volunteers from the group did freestyle slides on the slippery ice, a hair-raising and bump-raising crowd pleaser.
For a rest there was roller skating at the camp rink and tubing on a kamikaze run about the width of a yawn and a stretch. Hewn out of the thick timber, this chute of packed snow resembled a pinball machine as the riders caromed off mattress-and-haybale-protected trees. They came snaking down in chains of people-heaped tubes, spraying snow and sometimes exploding into tumbles of human snowbanks.
After drying out and warming up that evening, the group listened quietly as three of their bishops and a member of the stake presidency spoke to them of the joy that comes from wholehearted devotion to the gospel. Afterwards, young men and women stood to bear their own testimonies, sometimes speaking frankly of the wrestle they had had with life, and of how the gospel helped them to conquer—sometimes simply of the joy that comes from knowing something so important so surely. They all spoke of their love for one another.
“I have a lot of nonmember friends at school,” one of them said, “and their lives are so different from mine because they don’t know where they’re going, because they haven’t been taught. They’re not aiming for anything. They have no goals. I know what want to do with my life. I know where I’m going.”
As the buses glided down the mountains, back to the mile-high city of Denver, the young people knew they were going back to a world of very real conflicts where they would still have to say no many times to preserve their standards. But they also knew, and everyone with them knew, that whenever the Lord needed someone to vote yes, their voices would be among the happiest and the loudest.

I remember as a child looking at my grandmother’s wrinkled cheeks. Lines creased the corners of her eyes, and tiny lines graced her upper lip. I asked her how I could keep from getting wrinkles.
“Don’t smile,” she said. “And don’t cry.”
I followed her advice—for one day. Then I gave up. How could anyone live without smiling or crying? I decided I’d rather have a face that shows the lines of laughter and tears.

A seminary open house by students in the Bonneville Seminary near Ogden, Utah, resulted in 126 referrals in just one evening, with 30 new families receiving lessons from stake and full-time missionaries.

“We had one baptism just a few days after the program.” That was the happy report of seminary instructor and program coordinator Richard Jackson. He said that when the program, which was centered around the mission of the Savior, was introduced to the students, the reaction was overwhelming. “We needed 60 students to participate and got nearly 200.”

The program depicted scenes from the Savior’s life, the restoration, and family home evenings. “We have seven families studying the gospel as a result of the family home evening section alone.”

The seminary students staffed the presentations, ran the lights and sounds, and helped as missionary aides. Six rooms in the building were used, and the only problem seemed to be that too many people turned out for the event!

One helper, sophomore Matthew Bell, said, “It’s great knowing you’re part of a program to help bring your friends into the Church.”

Lenore Scholfield, also a sophomore, said, “The program made me want to share the truth with my friends.”

Nancy Havens, a junior, said, “It helped me to talk with my friends about the Church. I know several who came and appeared to really be interested.”

Mitchell Halverson, who worked as a missionary aide, said, “Working on the program gave me a sense of responsibility and strengthened my testimony.”

Program participants noted that about three weeks were spent preparing the various scenes and coordinating the sound and lighting. Extensive use was made of seminary materials. Special showings of The First Vision were used to enhance the program.

A fireside was held the Sunday before the open house to acquaint students with ways to contact their friends concerning the activity. Other help came through local radio and newspaper coverage of the open house.

The three goals for the program were to put Christ into Christmas, help members realize the importance of missionary work, and share the gospel with nonmember friends. The open house was so successful that plans are being made to turn it into an annual event each December.