Gospel Story Finder

There were some pretty strange pageants. The year that Mom was pregnant, she pulled out the slip of paper that said she had to be a Wise Man. My father drew out Mary. He said it ended up being the most moving Christmas pageant for him, even though most of us kids thought it was pretty funny. He said he had begun to understand what it meant to be Mary that year. And even at 14, I got pretty choked up when my pregnant mother appeared to give her gift to the baby Jesus. David was born that January.

While in Germany, I attended a series of lectures delivered by a prominent professor at the University of Regensburg, one of which was on chiasmus (kiazmus) in Matthew and Mark. Chiasmus is an ancient literary art form, often used in the Bible. A chiastic passage is one that is arranged so that the first element in the passage parallels the last, the second parallels the next to the last, and so forth into the center. In his lectures, the professor made several strong statements about the way in which the presence of chiasmus, especially in Matthew, was evidence of Near Eastern rather than Western thought. Shortly after these lectures, I arranged a conference with the professor in his office. My purpose was to show him four of the intricate chiastic passages I had located in the Book of Mormon. (Mosiah 3:18–19, Mosiah 5:10–12; Alma 36, and the book of 1 Ne., for example.) The meeting was brief since this evidence of ancient Near Eastern thought in the Book of Mormon needed little explanation, and the professor, openly frustrated by the inescapability of the conclusion for which he himself had laid the premises, was convinced and had little to say.

Raquel “Liriel” Domiciano was about to sing in front of millions of people. Was she worried about messing up? A little. Was she worried about what to wear? Naturally. But what worried her most?
Only 19 at the time, Liriel, a member of the Church for five years, wanted to stand as a witness “of God at all times and in all things, and in all places” (Mosiah 18:9).
Liriel was about to perform in Brazil’s largest televised talent competition, the Raul Gil Amateur Show. She had been told she couldn’t say anything about her religion. But she knew that many of Brazil’s Latter-day Saints would be watching, and she wanted everyone to know she wasn’t ashamed of the gospel. After praying in her room before her first performance, she looked up and saw her Young Women medallion. It was the answer she had been looking for.
Liriel wore her medallion during every level of the competition. Eventually she and her partner, tenor Rinaldo Viana, won the contest, signed a recording contract, and watched as their first CD became the second-highest classical best-seller in Brazil’s history, with more than one million copies sold.
Almost overnight, Liriel and Rinaldo were a huge hit. But Liriel’s success is based on years of preparation, during which she trained herself as a lyric soprano. She credits her participation in the Young Women program with preparing her for life.
Wearing the medallion as she performed was her way of letting people know she was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and willing to stand as a witness, even in front of millions.

“Kish!” the young Eskimo girl exclaimed, jumping to her feet. Thinking that she heard Kish, the family’s lost Siberian husky, scratching at the outside door, Jen-ni threw aside her stitching and dashed across the one-room sod house. Pushing aside the heavy furs hanging from the first doorway, she moved swiftly through the partially underground tunnel to the outside door.
Frigid Arctic air thrust itself like a thousand sharp ice needles against her face as her eyes searched the sunless, semidarkened landscape. “It’s only a loose fitting on the door,” Jen-ni commented as her mother stepped up behind her.
“Is it because it’s Christmas Eve that you think you hear these sounds?” her mother asked. “Kish disappeared three months ago. Is it reasonable for you to expect her back?”
“You’re right,” Jen-ni admitted, “but I often think I hear her scratching outside the door.”
Jen-ni knew that neither her mother nor her father could explain the beloved dog’s sudden disappearance. The big husky had been the only sled dog allowed inside as a family member, and Jen-ni yearned for her canine companion. She missed their daily romps. Once, Jen-ni had lain ill for days with a high fever, and Kish would not leave her side. The dog had growled when anyone attempted to move her away.
“Come back to your work,” her mother urged, stepping back into the dim tunnel. Inside the living quarters, Jen-ni dropped down on the white bearskin rug beside the round table where she had been stitching faces on the small Eskimo dolls her mother had fashioned.
The family’s handmade articles—the small dolls, Father’s carved buckles of bone and ivory, and Mother’s fancy fishbone necklaces—were sold regularly to Mr. Morris, a Christian missionary who operated the village trading post in connection with the missionary school. The handmade articles helped pay for her brother Rira’s board and room at the school.
“Mr. Morris will be here before the day hours are over,” Jen-ni’s mother remarked as she moved the Caribou stew to a hotter spot on the small stove. “He’ll pick up all the things we have finished.”
“He’ll have a message from Rira, too,” Jen-ni eagerly added, “and the gift!” Jen-ni’s eyes brightened when she thought about the gift Rira had written he was sending to his sister. She hoped that the gift would be the daintily dressed, lifelike doll Rira had described seeing at the trading post. Her excitement kept growing, along with her hunger.
The bowls were on the table and Father had the items packed inside the deep hide bag by the time they heard Mr. Morris stomping the crusty snow off his boots. Stepping inside, the fur-covered man seemed to fill the room. The babble of friendly greetings commenced.
As soon as she could politely do so, Jen-ni’s mother asked, “What is the message from Rira?”
“Rira was fine, the last I saw him,” Mr. Morris replied. “I’ve been on a two-week trek down the strait where I’m starting a new school. In fact, I traveled out of my way to pick up your items. However, as soon as I see Rira, I’ll tell him that his family is fine and wishes him a merry Christmas.”
Jen-ni’s spirits fell, causing a lump in her throat and bringing tears to her eyes. She realized that if Mr. Morris had not been at Rira’s school for two weeks, he couldn’t deliver the gift. Now there would be no Christmas gift to unwrap.
The minute their guest was seated, Mother served the steaming stew.
Although Jen-ni no longer felt hungry, she tried to show her good manners. She listened intently while the adults talked, and before they left the table, Mr. Morris retold the Christmas story. Jen-ni felt thankful that she knew the story, and she visualized every scene. She pictured the bright star lighting the countryside—a countryside very different from her own.
In less than an hour the family watched Mr. Morris depart, cracking his long whip above the barking dog team as the sled creaked across the snow.
The oily lamp smell lingered in the room long after Mother blew out the flame and the family retired upon their sleeping platforms.
Jen-ni curled up in the soft furs, but she could not sleep.
It was such a tiny noise at first that Jen-ni didn’t stir. When it came again, she raised up on her elbow. Then she scrambled to her feet and stumbled in her haste to get through the tunnel. Why is Mr. Morris back? she wondered.
She pulled open the door, and Mr. Morris stepped in, carrying something furry and bulky in his arms. In the vague light Jen-ni recognized the familiar shape and reached Kish just as the bedraggled husky jumped excitedly down against her, knocking her backward. Jen-ni’s joyful cries mingling with the dog’s happy barking brought her parents hurrying into the tunnel, where they all joined in the happy homecoming.
Jen-ni fastened her arms tightly around Kish’s neck while Mr. Morris told about finding her.
“Your home was hardly out of sight when I saw this dim figure creeping toward me in the snow. As it made my dogs grow restive, I stopped my sled. Fortunately I heard her whining before I drew my gun. Knowing it was a dog, I went closer. I could see that she was all right, but her paws were badly torn from her trek across the ice needles with no protective sealskin boots.
“She was headed this way, so I brought her back by dogsled.”
“You found the right place,” Jen-ni’s father replied. “We’ll always be grateful to you.”
“I’m just glad I saw her,” the missionary answered. “Now I must go, for I have a long journey ahead of me.”
As the man’s tall frame disappeared into the landscape, Jen-ni looked skyward a moment. “Although you can’t see the Christmas star,” she whispered to Kish, “if there’s happiness and wonder in your heart, it’s there.”

During the beginning months of my mission, I heard many things from many friends about the progress of my parents in the Church. They had been attending church off and on and had allowed the missionaries to come by every so often. I was always excited to hear news. Then one Saturday morning my mission president told me he had just spoken with my stake president about my parents. My parents had decided to join the Church. The gospel had now changed their lives for the better, just as it had mine only two years before.

While most of their southern California peers were out soaking up rays at the beach, the youth of the Glendora California Stake spent their spring break getting dishpan hands, aching muscles, and sore feet from serving at a mission for the homeless in the heart of Los Angeles.
And they wouldn’t trade the experience for anything. “Serving at the mission was the greatest thing we could have ever done for a youth conference,” said Heath Hamilton, 17.
Two three-hour shifts of 12 young people each went to the Los Angeles Mission daily, where they served a noon meal and an evening meal to nearly 600 homeless people. They also sorted clothes and helped prepare for the Easter meals.
In addition, the youth filled more than 150 Easter baskets with toothbrushes, toothpaste, soap, and other personal hygiene items. Collection boxes had been placed in each ward building and in several community locations to receive the donated items. Some candy and stuffed animals were included for the children, and the baskets were distributed Sunday afternoon.
On Sunday, the youth committee and leaders traveled the 25 miles from their suburban homes to downtown Los Angeles, in two shifts, so no one would have to miss any meetings. Tables were set up next to the Union Rescue Mission, where breakfast was served in the early morning and a traditional Easter dinner was served in the afternoon. Nearly 2,500 meals were served on each shift.
When the bulk of the serving was complete, the youth were invited to sing. “As I Have Loved You” and “I Am a Child of God” brought tears to everyone involved, and “Because I Have Been Given Much” took on a whole new meaning.
Of course, the youth conference did include the traditional activities like a “Funniest Ward Video” contest, breakfast prepared by the bishops, workshops, games, and a dance. But at the fireside capping the conference, the main topic of the testimonies was the service project and how it had affected their lives.
“I know that you who had a negative attitude going down there definitely changed your attitude about the needy. It was by far the most rewarding youth conference I have ever participated in,” said Lisa Summerhays, 17, youth co-chair of the conference.
Justin Beck, the other youth co-chair said, “I know the people at the mission have problems, but we still need to appreciate them because Heavenly Father loves each of them.”
Becky Patterson, 17, agreed. “One thing I have learned this week is that everybody is equally important. It doesn’t matter who or where you are; Heavenly Father loves you.”
“The bottom line,” said Sister Arnetus Raymond, second counselor in the stake Young Women presidency who worked with the young people to help plan the conference, “is that we learned that to develop love and unity, we have to serve. Service is the key. Our youth learned firsthand the meaning of serving ‘one of the least of these.’”

While working for Stowell, Joseph stayed with the family of Isaac Hale and became acquainted with a daughter, Emma. She and Joseph were married on January 18, 1827, and moved to the Smith family farm near Palmyra. That fall, at the end of the four years, the Prophet received the ancient plates from Moroni at the Hill Cumorah. At the same time he was given the power to translate, aided by two transparent stones called Urim and Thummim that had been deposited in the stone box with the plates. Joseph Smith said the stones were set in the rim of a bow fastened to a breastplate. “Through the medium of the Urim and Thummim,” he said, “I translated the record by the gift and power of God.” (History of the Church 4:537, Wentworth Letter, IM Jun 1978.)

No sooner did Joseph obtain the sacred records than some people plotted to steal them from him. The Prophet changed their hiding place several times—trying a hollow birch log, a barrel of beans, a space under the hearthstone—and finally he and Emma decided to move to Harmony, Pennsylvania, where Emma’s father offered them refuge. Joseph and Emma were without the means to make the 240-km trip, so Martin Harris, a prosperous farmer who believed Joseph’s account of the origin of the plates, contributed fifty dollars to help them.

Not long ago, a friend recounted to me an experience he had while serving as a mission president. He had undergone a surgery that required several weeks of recuperation. During his recovery, he devoted time to searching the scriptures. One afternoon as he pondered the Savior’s words in the 27th chapter of 3 Nephi, he drifted off to sleep. He subsequently related:
“I fell into a dream in which I was given a vivid, panoramic view of my life. I was shown my sins, poor choices, the times … I had treated people with impatience, plus the omissions of good things I should have said or done. … [A] comprehensive … [review of] my life was shown to me in just a few minutes, but it seemed much longer. I awoke, startled, and … instantly dropped to my knees beside the bed and began to pray, to plead for forgiveness, pouring out the feelings of my heart like I had never done previously.
“Prior to the dream, I didn’t know that I [had] such great need to repent. My faults and weaknesses suddenly became so plainly clear to me that the gap between the person I was and the holiness and goodness of God seemed [like] millions of miles. In my prayer that late afternoon, I expressed my deepest gratitude to Heavenly Father and to the Savior with my whole heart for what They had done for me and for the relationships I treasured with my wife and children. While on my knees I also felt God’s love and mercy that was so palpable, despite my feeling so unworthy. …
“I can say I haven’t been the same since that day. … My heart changed. … What followed is that I developed more empathy toward others, with a greater capacity to love, coupled with a sense of urgency to preach the gospel. … I could relate to the messages of faith, hope, and the gift of repentance found in the Book of Mormon [as] never before.”19
It is important to recognize that this good man’s vivid revelation of his sins and shortcomings did not discourage him or lead him to despair. Yes, he felt shock and remorse. He felt keenly his need to repent. He had been humbled, yet he felt gratitude, peace, and hope—real hope—because of Jesus Christ, “the living bread which came down from heaven.”20
My friend spoke of the gap he perceived in his dream between his life and the holiness of God. Holiness is the right word. To eat the flesh and drink the blood of Christ means to pursue holiness. God commands, “Be ye holy; for I am holy.”21

There’s not much sadness in her voice. No trace of anger. All the upheaval took place when Vani Tanumi had just learned to walk and talk, so she doesn’t remember any of it.
Her story about her parents is more matter-of-fact than anything. Her mom died before Vani turned two, and her dad left the family. Vani, age 19, has no recollection of her mom or dad. Fortunately, she was reared by Grandma and Grandpa, her mom’s parents. It’s the only life Vani has ever known, and so she smiles. She smiles because she is happy. Truly.
Despite the chaos in her life, Vani’s grandparents were able to give her the one thing she needed most: stability. And with that came one other thing she learned she couldn’t do without: the gospel. “The Church has been a great help to me,” she says.

“Easter is a good time to think about Jesus and to remember His Resurrection,” Sister Rojas said. She held up a picture of Jesus. “Because of Him, people who have died will live again.”
Alonso looked up at his Primary teacher. Does that mean I can see my parents again? he wondered.
Mamá had died years ago when Alonso was very young. Alonso didn’t remember her very well, but he liked looking at pictures of her. Then Papá died too.
Now Alonso lived with Abuela, his grandmother. She had been teaching him about her church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He was going to be baptized and confirmed next year, when he was old enough.
Sister Rojas held up a picture of a white building. “Another amazing gift from Jesus is temples. This is one of the temples here in Chile.”
Alonso looked at the gold statue on top of the building. It was beautiful! He wondered what happened inside.
“Temples are where families are sealed together forever,” Sister Rojas said. “This temple in Santiago is where I was sealed to my parents after we joined the Church. Because we were sealed, I can be with them even after this life.”
Alonso felt excited when he heard that. “Could I be sealed to my parents?” he asked. “Even though they already died?”
Sister Rojas nodded. “Yes! That’s one of the reasons temples are so important. They bless all of our family members, including those who have died.”
For the rest of the day, Alonso kept thinking about temples. He asked Abuela to teach him more. She talked about the white clothes people wear inside and the beautiful artwork on the walls.
“Best of all, it’s where you can be sealed to your parents,” Abuela said. “We’ll ask two people from the ward to stand in for them during the sealing.”
“Can we go tomorrow?” Alonso asked. “I want to be with Mamá and Papá forever!”
Abuela smiled. “I’m glad you want to go,” she said. “But the nearest temple is in Concepción. We don’t have enough money for bus tickets.”
“I’ll help save for the trip!” Alonso said.
From then on, whenever Alonso found a coin on the street or had a chance to earn some money, he paid tithing and then added the rest to their temple fund.
After months of saving, Alonso and Abuela finally had enough money to travel to the temple. They asked Brother and Sister Silva to come with them. On the day of the trip, they took a long bus ride to the city of Concepción. It was almost sunset when Alonso spotted something gold in the distance.
“I can see the angel Moroni!” Alonso said, pointing to the statue on top of the temple’s blue dome roof.
They spent the night at an apartment next to the temple. In the morning, Alonso went inside the temple for the first time. He saw a big picture of Jesus. He and Abuela got dressed in white. He felt happy and peaceful.
When it was time for the sealing, Alonso walked into a beautiful room with mirrors on the walls. A temple worker showed Alonso, Abuela, and the Silvas how to kneel around a special table called an altar. It was covered in soft fabric.
Brother and Sister Silva were there for Alonso’s mom and dad. Abuela was there for his sister who died before Alonso was born.
Closing his eyes, Alonso imagined his family all together.
I can’t wait to see them again, Alonso thought. I’m so grateful families can be together forever!
See Come, Follow Me for Easter.

As each month passes by on my mission, I am always thrilled to receive the New Era. The article “We Talk of Christ” really hit me hard. As I was working with the hearing impaired in the Portland area, my companion and I met a fine young lady and became good friends. She asked a lot of questions on a lot of different subjects, especially about prophets and temples, and we answered the best we could.
After the third visit she asked us not to return. I asked myself what we had done wrong. Looking back, I remembered reading “We Talk of Christ” in the New Era two days earlier. I realized that we didn’t talk about Christ very much, perhaps leading her to suppose that we worshiped prophets.
The next day we called her and apologized. I told her that we believe in Christ as the cornerstone of our religion. She responded happily and wanted us to come back and talk to her. I pray that she will accept the gifts of the gospel.

When Marie married Tony, a nonmember, she was sure that he would not long resist the beauty and grace of the church that contained the full gospel of Jesus Christ. She loved the gospel, she loved him—surely the two would naturally come together. But, as the years went by, and even after six children, Tony was no closer to becoming a member of the Church.
All this time, Marie suffered the dilemma that many active Latter-day Saint members married to less-active or nonmember spouses share. She had two loves that she couldn’t bring together.
The gospel grew to be more precious as Marie became a wife and then a mother. More than anything, she wanted to share the gospel message with her husband. At times, she wanted to shake the earth with her testimony so that he, her best friend and confidant, would suddenly understand. Her existence, as well as that of her children and husband, had been enriched by the Church’s teachings and standards. Couldn’t he see that?
Although she wanted Tony to understand her regard for the Church, she recognized that using the Church as a wedge would split, rather than solidify, her marriage. She had seen it happen before when husbands and wives tried to force the Church into their relationships, only to have anger and rebellion result.
Marie determined not to have to force a choice between the Church and her husband, making the Church her husband’s enemy. If anything, the gospel was an ally, teaching her how to love, and understand, and forgive.
She felt that, aside from one’s own personal relationship with God, a good marriage relationship was the most sacred concern of a husband and wife. She decided that converting Tony to the Church ought not be her primary goal, nor should the marriage be sacrificed to that end. “After ten years of disappointment,” she says, “I decided to stop putting pressure on Tony to join the Church. Before we were married, my parents were upset about our engagement. They tried hard to discourage us, but, from the moment we married, they ceased their opposition and gave us 100 percent of their love and support. I should have followed their good example years earlier.
“So one day I said to Tony, ‘You are more important to me than anything else, regardless of whether you join the Church.’ Since then, we have been happier, and I have felt more peaceful.
“Tony treats me well; he has good values, and he is honest. But I had been feeling sorry for myself because he wasn’t a Church member. I decided to stop complaining and start being grateful. The Church doesn’t make marriage work—love, acceptance, and trust do that. The Church is a guide, not a guarantee.”

In my middle school I’m one of the only members of the Church. One day in class the girl sitting next to me said a man who was Mormon wasn’t treated fairly because of his religion. I spoke up and said I was a Mormon too. A lot of people had questions about the Church, and I was able to answer them. It has come up again in class, and I’ve been able to share what I know is true. I know that by sharing my testimony I can be a good missionary to those around me.
Jemma P., age 11, North Carolina

President James E. Faust (1920–2007), Second Counselor in the First Presidency, once told of applying for Officer’s Candidate School in the United States Army. He said:
“I was summoned before the board of inquiry. My qualifications were few, but I had had two years of college and had finished a mission for the Church in South America.
“The questions asked of me at the officers’ board of inquiry took a very surprising turn. Nearly all of them centered upon my beliefs. ‘Do you smoke?’ ‘Do you drink?’ ‘What do you think of others who smoke and drink?’ I had no trouble answering these questions.
“‘Do you pray?’ ‘Do you believe that an officer should pray?’ The officer asking these questions was a hard-bitten career soldier. He did not look like he prayed very often. … I wanted to be an officer very much. …
“I decided not to equivocate. I admitted that I did pray and that I felt that officers might seek divine guidance as some truly great generals had done. …
“More interesting questions came. ‘In times of war, should not the moral code be relaxed? Does not the stress of battle justify men in doing things that they would not do when at home under normal situations?’
“… I suspected that the men who were asking me this question did not live by the standards that I had been taught. The thought flashed through my mind that perhaps I could say that I had my own beliefs, but I did not wish to impose them on others. But there seemed to flash before my mind the faces of the many people to whom I had taught the law of chastity as a missionary. In the end I simply said, ‘I do not believe there is a double standard of morality.’
“I left the hearing resigned to the fact that these hard-bitten officers would … surely score me very low. A few days later when the scores were posted, to my astonishment I had passed. I was in the first group taken for Officer’s Candidate School!”
And then President Faust, realizing how small decisions can have large consequences, said, “This was one of the critical crossroads of my life.”4

There weren’t many Latter-day Saints in the small town of Princeton, New Jersey, where I spent my childhood. Mine was the only Latter-day Saint family in the town when I was growing up. As a result, my friends didn’t know much about the Church. Most of my classmates were Christians, however, and each morning our teacher would have us take turns reading out loud from the Bible—something that isn’t done in public schools today.
When my turn came, I always chose to read the thirteenth chapter of 1 Corinthians, which is about charity, the pure love of Christ. I had had a special experience as a little boy that impressed me that the scripture was true and was for me. Every time I read it, I had a strong feeling about my future, including my future family. It was a feeling of kindness and love for them. That seemed like a strange thing for a little boy to feel, so I didn’t tell anyone about it. I didn’t tell my brothers; they probably would have laughed at me. And I didn’t tell my parents, either.
When I was eleven, I received a special blessing from my uncle, a patriarch, whom I had never met. In the blessing, I was promised the very things I’d hoped for but had kept hidden in my heart—that I would have the home and family I had always dreamed about. The promises in that blessing have since been fulfilled. I have an absolute testimony of priesthood blessings, and I know that those who are worthy to give blessings are inspired by God.
As I was growing up, there were no Church chapels in the entire state of New Jersey, and so for a time our little branch met in a hotel in a nearby town. My earliest memory of having a testimony of the gospel was when I was five or six years old and we were having a meeting in the ballroom of the hotel. An important visitor was there. I don’t remember now who he was, but he was very thin and tall, and I believe he had white hair.
I had grown restless near the end of the meeting as he was speaking, and my mother had been trying to keep me quiet, but she finally let me sit backward in my chair so that my legs were dangling from it. Although I wasn’t facing the speaker, I was listening to him. Suddenly I felt a burning in my heart, just like the burning described in Doctrine and Covenants 9:8: “And if it is right I will cause that your bosom shall burn within you; therefore, you shall feel that it is right.” [D&C 9:8] I remember turning around and seeing this tall man with the light streaming in from the large windows behind him, and I knew that he was a servant of God and that what he was saying was true. The feeling I had then was as clear and sure as anything could be.
During World War II, the Latter-day Saints in Princeton met for church in our house. I learned then that the Church is not a building; the Church isn’t even a lot of people. I felt close to Heavenly Father and knew that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is His church; it didn’t matter that our little branch met in our dining room. It was fun because when you came downstairs on Sunday, you were in church. The branch members were my father, the branch president; my mother, who played the piano; my two brothers and me, the only youth in the branch; a few graduate students or servicemen; and a few older women who were converts to the Church and whose husbands were not members. Rarely would there be more than ten or fifteen people attending. The sacrament was prepared on the dining room table, which also served as the pulpit. During fast and testimony meeting, I always wondered why the older women cried. I later realized that they cried because they were so happy and grateful to be with the Latter-day Saints in that little branch.
It’s nice to have lots of Latter-day Saints in our meetinghouses. It’s wonderful to have the full programs of the Church. But even where there are only a very few members of the Church, the Lord is there, and He can bless people in wonderful ways. I know that God reaches out to all His children. In the scriptures it says, “Where two or three are gathered together in my name, … there will I be in the midst of them” (D&C 6:32).
Some of you children may live in places where there aren’t many other members of the Church. And some of you may feel lonely even where there are many members, perhaps because you feel that no one understands you or that you aren’t a part of things. But as long as you are faithful and reach out to the true Church of Jesus Christ, and as long as there is even one holder of the priesthood and one or two faithful people to help you, you can have tremendous spiritual experiences and learn and grow in the gospel.

Laurie hung the little drum ornament on the Christmas tree. How many times had she heard her mother say that the drum was at least seventy-five years old and had hung on her great-grandparents’ tree!
She stepped back and studied the tree. It looked awful! The branches were loaded with mismatched ornaments, most of them older than she was. Aluminum foil stars that she had made in school and lace angels that her younger sister, Angie, had made were bent and tattered. As usual, Dad had strung homemade popcorn and looped it over the branches. Mom had even added some pinecones from last summer’s vacation.
Laurie felt ashamed of the tree. It wasn’t nearly as pretty as her friends’ trees. Tracy’s had matching red ornaments and twinkling white lights. Debbie’s looked very modern with candy-striped ribbons and bows and shiny gold balls.
Laurie dropped onto the sofa. “Mom, why don’t we throw out these junky old ornaments and buy new ones?”
“Honey, these old ornaments are very dear to us. Each of them is full of memories. Remember when you and I made this Santa out of dough the year of the bad snowstorm?”
Laurie did remember. The storm had raged outside as she and Mom sat at the kitchen table, carefully forming the little Santa. They had also baked gingerbread men with raisin buttons, and the warm kitchen had smelled deliciously of Christmas spice.
“But our tree looks so old-fashioned and cluttered.”
“I guess we’re just an old-fashioned family,” Dad said.
“Why don’t you like our tree, Laurie?” Angie asked. “I think it’s beautiful!”
“Oh, you just don’t understand!” Laurie shouted, pushing herself up from the sofa and stamping out of the room. Angie’s too young, she thought. I used to think our junky tree was beautiful too. Now I can see how ugly it is!
She went to her room and sat on the edge of her bed. “I can’t let my friends see our tree,” she murmured. “They’d laugh at it.”
“Laurie,” Angie said the next day when Laurie came home from the store with Mom, “Tracy’s waiting for you in the living room.”
“Tracy’s in by our tree? Oh, no!”
With a sinking feeling, Laurie entered the living room. Tracy was kneeling on the floor, looking at the tree, but she wasn’t laughing. “Where’s the little bluebird ornament?” she asked.
“Ah, over here.” Laurie pointed to a faded little bird among the branches.
“I just love that!” Tracy sighed. “And look, here’s the bell ornament you made in Miss Miller’s class. Wasn’t that fun! Mine got thrown out.”
Tracy eagerly searched the branches of the tree, delighting in the ornaments that hung thickly there. Soon Laurie was lying on the floor beside her, gazing up into the branches. When she told her friend about the drum, Tracy reacted enthusiastically. “Really? This little drum was on your great-grandmother’s tree? Wow! What a great Christmas tree!”
“But it isn’t as beautiful as your tree, Tracy.”
“Yes, our tree is pretty, but there’s more to your tree than can be seen with just the eyes. I don’t know. …” She seemed to be searching for the right words. “I guess your tree brings back lots of neat memories.”
After Tracy left, Laurie remained on the floor, chin propped on her hands, and stared at the Christmas tree. Funny, she thought, a few hours ago I thought this tree was ugly. I envied Tracy’s red and white Christmas tree. I was looking at it—and ours—with only my eyes.
“What are you doing, Laurie?” asked Angie, coming into the room.
Laurie smiled at her little sister. “I’m must lying here admiring our beautiful Christmas tree.”

Retired couple, Peter and Phyllis McLennan are helping Tasmanian communities and families by cleaning, painting and restoring markers in cemeteries in the state’s northeast.
Awarded the Australian Citizen of the Year award by the Dorset Area Council, this Scottsdale couple tells how a local cemetery with hundreds of unmarked graves sparked a desire to honor the pioneers who gave life to this Tasmanian community.
The McLennans often visited the cemetery in Scottsdale where Peter’s ancestors are buried. They discovered, through plot maps dating back to the 1850s, hundreds of infants’ unmarked graves in the grassy areas between headstones.
“We thought of the pioneers who had settled their community, forging the path for others to follow. They had no doctors, no services. It was normal for a family to have four or five children who didn’t live more than a year or two,” Peter laments. Yet, here they lay without so much as a marker to be remembered by. “We thought it was sad that these people weren’t recognized.”
The McLennans approached the council, who, in time, saw the validity of the project. “It’s something we do together,” explains Phyllis. With a grant, the McLennans proceeded to create plaques for these plots to mark the graves.
They begin with a concrete paver, onto which is mounted a stainless-steel plaque with the name, birthdate, and death date of the deceased. The pavers are then recessed in the lawn so gardeners can mow over the top. Roger McLennan (Peter’s brother) of the Historical Society comes up with the birth and death certificates to verify the dates.
The McLennans also use their own funds to restore headstones in need of cleaning and repairs. After receiving permission from relatives, they have a system to brighten the lettering to make it legible.
ABC Television recently interviewed the couple about their service to the community.
Phyllis and Peter have worked on this project in six different cemeteries for two years and will continue to volunteer their time and means to this work. “There are a couple more cemeteries further out that need work on headstones.”
Both at age 76, Peter and Phyllis have been members of the Church for nearly 48 years. Phyllis serves as the organist in the Tamar Ward of the Devonport Stake.
“We are very close,” says Peter. “We’ve been told we’re joined at the hip. Not that we have to keep an eye on each other!”
When asked what this project has meant to them, Peter says that they “had the ability, time, and means to do something lasting and important.”

I stood in my room dressing for the stake dance with the usual painstaking care, wondering why I was going at all. I think the girls that go hold some endless hope of finding him, that sweet, wonderful guy who would never let you stand alone by the wall. I had thought by that third year I had rid myself of that kind of hope, but maybe it would always be there.
That Saturday night was cloudy and breezy as I rolled away in the old family station wagon to pick up the seven people who depend on me for rides.
It began to rain very hard as we reached the stake center, and my carefully fixed hair quickly lost its bounce in the rain. That was enough to make me want to go back home and watch TV, but by then I had to stay.
I stumbled into the bathroom with the intention of repairing what rain damage I could. There I found a group of perfectly dressed, perfect-looking, happy, chattering girls, and I felt crushed. One of the tall, blonde ones asked me if it was raining. I resisted the impulse to say, “No! I just poured a bucket of water over my head to achieve the wet look,” and just said yes, knowing that it was probably going to be a very long night.
By then I had run a brush through my hair and with a sigh pushed open the bathroom door to face the noisy, social atmosphere of the dance. Many of my friends weren’t there, so I just mingled for a few minutes saying hello to various people. I was not in a great frame of mind even with the music and all the people there dancing and having a good time. I’m sure I wouldn’t have recognized Prince Charming if he had sat down next to me.
About 20 minutes after I arrived, I noticed a guy sitting all alone by the stage. He stood out because there was absolutely no expression on his face, and it was obvious by looking at him that he was not “normal.” His face was a little misshapen, he wore big glasses, and I got the impression that he was slow. I began to make assumptions about what he was like, and I even wondered why he would come to a dance at all. I was pretty ashamed of myself as I realized that I’m no Miss America myself, and I would hate for people to glance over me as though I were inconsequential. I tried to push all of these thoughts aside in my mind and just watched people dancing, but I found myself glancing at him every few minutes.
Soon one of my favorite songs came on. I just couldn’t sit there depressed any more, so I made up my mind to ask him to dance. As I made a move to get up, I looked over just in time to see him walking out the door. Without thinking I followed him and saw him throw something in the trash can which I recognized as a tissue. He was heading for the door to leave, so I had to do something quickly. I did the only thing I could: I tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention. As he turned around I saw that his eyes were red and tears were welling up.
It’s hard to describe what I felt during the seconds that followed. I guess it was compassion and guilt (my worries about the car, my hair, and getting asked to dance seemed so trivial now). I wondered at the cruelty of people, myself included, who take it upon themselves to classify people according to those who are “cool” and those who aren’t. I also wondered what Heavenly Father thinks about his children and how they treat one another.
After those few seconds of realization, I remember saying, “Why are you leaving? I really wanted to ask you to dance.” Then he smiled, and his smile was more beautiful to me than any I had ever seen. I felt so good and so touched by what he was teaching me about life and Christlike love.
Well, he danced, or he tried to, but to me he danced beautifully, and I gave no thought to anything but the expression of contentment and happiness I saw on his face. You would have thought he had won the sweepstakes and I was Miss America herself. It was just one little dance, but for me it was a very important lesson.

In the November 2008 Friends by Mail section, I liked reading about how the children received answers to their prayers. It reminded me of how my own prayers have been answered. I once told my mom that I didn’t think Jesus was real. My parents asked me to pray to Heavenly Father to ask Him if Jesus is real. I prayed and was excited when I could tell my mom a week later that I felt a good, warm feeling when I prayed that let me know Jesus is real. I’m glad that I can ask Heavenly Father for help and get answers to my prayers.

At 53, Elizabeth seized another learning opportunity. She and her daughter Jessie were walking down the street in Bendigo when a man in a black coat and top hat introduced himself as a missionary from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He offered them a book and said it would teach them God’s plan for His children. Elizabeth always eagerly accepted free books, but this one would change their lives.
All through that night, Jessie read The Book of Mormon to her mother, and the Holy Spirit affirmed to them this book was true.
Elizabeth and three of her children were baptized on 2 February 1902. A couple years later, her two grandsons were baptized.