Gospel Story Finder

One evening my children and I were driving down a hill near our home. I noticed a boy about 12 years old wearing a backpack and walking up the hill. It was a strange time for him to be coming home from school, but I didn’t think too much of it.
Then I had a strong impression that I should turn around and help the boy. But I was worried it would frighten him if a strange car pulled up next to him at night, so I continued driving.
As I got to the bottom of the hill, the impression came again: “You need to go help that boy.”
I turned the car around and drove back to the boy. I rolled down the window and said, “Do you need help? I had a prompting that I should come back and help you.”
The boy looked at us with tears streaming down his face. He said, “Would you? I’ve been praying that someone would help me.”
He had stayed after school for an activity and had missed the last bus. He had walked several miles already. It was getting dark, and he was frightened. Because of the boy’s prayer and the Spirit’s prompting, we were able to help him find his way home.
We can all pray when we need help. I received a spiritual feeling that helped the boy return home. You too can receive promptings through the Spirit that will help guide you safely home to Heavenly Father.

Once in Utah, Dan Jones settled in Manti, where he was elected the first mayor in 1851. A year later, however, he was called to serve a second mission in his native land. Again he responded without hesitation. With a few others, he began the long trek east. When about eighty miles out of Salt Lake City, he met a group of Welsh Saints coming to the Valley. They had been baptized during his first mission, and they could scarcely contain their feelings when they met their beloved leader, they on their way to the valleys of the West, and he on his way to the valleys of Wales. They sang; they wept; they spoke with words of true affection. They spent a happy day together before parting. As they were separating, Elder Jones gave William Morgan a letter to be delivered to the Presiding Bishop of the Church, Edward Hunter. It breathes the spirit of this remarkable man and his love for his Welsh brethren and sisters:
“Esteemed Bishop Hunter.—Many of my compatriots are coming across in the 13th Company; I do not know their condition; perhaps their money and their provisions are scarce. If so, when they reach the Valley, I shall be grateful to you for furnishing them their needs, through the hand of [Brother Morgan], and I shall pay you in Manti, San Pete Valley.”7

Shortly after I was baptized, I married a man who was not a member of the Church. He controlled all the money I earned and never let me pay tithing.
I suffered for 10 long, unhappy years, during which I could not progress. Eventually I was divorced and began to support my daughter and myself. However, what I earned was insufficient to pay for our rent, bills, food, clothes, and the other things we needed. If I had enough for one thing, I could not afford another.
One day I started to pay tithing anyway. As always I continued to plan my budget. And I began to realize that I had enough money for everything, even with the same salary. At first I couldn’t believe what was happening. Then I read the passage in the Bible where the Lord says, “Prove me now herewith … if I will not open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it” (Mal. 3:10). I knelt down and cried unto the Lord in gratitude. He has never forsaken me.

My late mother used to say, “You reap what you sow.” I have always believed that.
In April 2006, I married Teni Leavai in Auckland, New Zealand. Although we were both members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we weren’t active at the time, so we had an intimate civil ceremony performed by my bishop. Then we began to make changes in our lives so that we could progress spiritually, more fully participate in the gospel, and embark on our journey together as a family.
Before we knew it, it was 2012. Teni and I had grown even closer and were deeply in love—it is an amazing feeling, being married to my best friend—but something significant was missing. For six years, I just couldn’t fall pregnant. I began to think I might forever be an aunt, but never a mum.
We felt so incomplete.
One evening, we received a phone call which would change our lives! There was news of an unborn baby boy and an expectant mother determined to find a good family for him.
On the night that Kahn Ui was born, his birth mother—tears streaming down her face—delicately placed him in my arms and whispered, “He’s yours now. Thank you for loving him as much as I do.”
Alert and curious, baby Kahn looked up at me, completely unaware of the miracle that had just taken place. He fit perfectly in my arms, and it is with that same ease and sense of familiarity that he also fit into our family.
My husband and I entered the wonderful world of parenthood together. We took turns feeding our baby throughout the night; we talked to him, sung to him, and shed tears of immeasurable joy as we got to know him.
We realised a profound truth in those early days. As much as Kahn needed us, we—his new parents—needed the Lord more than ever. We prayed for His guidance as we learned our new roles.
Little did we know, another miracle was in store for us.
When Kahn turned 4, we holidayed in our homeland of Samoa, where we reconnected with Kahn’s birth family. They welcomed us with open arms, and Kahn’s birth grandmother wept when she recognised him. “Your son is gorgeous,” she said. “He’s so active, and he looks like he enjoys his food, too.”
It was an emotional reunion. They thanked us for loving and nurturing Kahn—and then they asked if we had room in our lives for another child.
My husband and I were astonished.
We discovered that Kahn’s birth mother had another baby. Naree Alalafaga was 5 months old at the time and, again, her family wanted more for this child than they were able to offer.
My mother’s words echoed softly in my mind: you reap what you sow.
It wasn’t by chance we met our miracle daughter this way. The Lord knows our deepest desires, and what is best for us. So, when our reunion with Kahn’s birth family brought a precious addition—his baby sister—to our home, it just felt right.
We relocated our growing family to Australia and then, in September 2017, our family was sealed, for time and all eternity in the Melbourne Australia Temple. It was a powerful experience; one we will cherish forever.
With hearts bursting with love for our newly sealed family, how could we know Heavenly Father had yet another miracle surprise for us?
Imagine my shocked delight only three months later when we discovered I was pregnant. How could this be? We double checked the home pregnancy test—positive! We took two tests just to make sure. We both wept. I know the Lord was with me through every step of that pregnancy. I felt the love and strength of my parents, from the other side of the veil, assuring me that everything would be fine.
In the early hours of 12 August 2018, our precious little girl was born. My husband named her after his mother—Faaifomailelagi, which in Samoan means ‘sent from heaven’.
Motherhood is one of the most difficult things I have experienced, but it is by far the most fulfilling. To this day, our children continue to make us better people and better servants of the Lord. They teach us patience, forgiveness, humility and so much more.
I know that all my challenges have been for my good. When we endure our trials well and learn from them, we discover that it is never by chance that things happen, but by divine design and all in God’s timing.

My mother was a tremendous support to us. She always cleaned our white shirts on Saturdays so they would be ready to wear on Sundays. We would polish our shoes and the shoes of our youngest brothers and sisters. We lived in a poor neighborhood in Guatemala, and our neighbors would laugh at us on Sundays as we wore our white shirts and ties to church.
My mother always gave us courage to do the right. Because of her influence, we were very active in the Church. I remember that at one time, my father served as the Sunday School president, my older sister served as the Primary president, my mother served as the Relief Society president, and four of my brothers passed, prepared, and blessed the sacrament.

“You’re unusually quiet,” Mark’s mother observed on the drive home from Church. “Is anything wrong?”
Mark found tears stinging the corners of his eyes. “Today in Primary our teacher talked about testimonies and challenged us to bear ours. I really wanted to do it in fast and testimony meeting today, but I just couldn’t. When I thought about standing up in front of all those people, I got scared. Besides, I couldn’t think of anything to say. I guess I don’t have a testimony, after all.”
“It is frightening to stand up in front of all those people, especially if you don’t know what you’re going to say,” Mark’s mother agreed with him. “But it doesn’t mean that you don’t have a testimony. Do you know what it means to ‘bear a testimony’?”
“My teacher said it means to stand as a witness for something, like at a trial.”
“That’s one meaning. But another meaning of bear is ‘carry it with you.’ Our testimonies show in what we say and do every day of the week, not just on Sundays. Do you want to know if you have a testimony?”
“Yes.”
“Pay attention to how you live your life this month. I think you’ll discover that you are bearing your testimony all the time.”
Mark hoped that what his mother said was right. He thought that he had a testimony, but he wasn’t sure. He decided that each Sunday he would write in his journal about anything that happened to him that week involving his testimony.
The first week he wrote about something his friend, Jay, had said to him. He and Jay shared a paper route after school and split their paycheck. That week Jay had said to him, “I can’t understand why you always have more money than I do—we get paid the same amount.”
“You always spend yours right away on little things,” Mark pointed out.
“I know,” Jay said. “But a lot of yours goes to your church for—what do you call it again?”
“Tithing.”
“Yeah, tithing. And into your mission savings. But you still have more left than I do.”
Mark had never thought about it before, but it was true. He did seem to have more spending money than Jay. He guessed that he was just more careful with what he had left after tithing and savings.
The next week he didn’t know what he’d write about in his journal until Saturday night. That night his friends came over and invited him to go to the movies with them. He was excited until he heard the name of the movie. “I can’t see that movie,” he told his friends.
They were surprised. “Why not? It’s a really funny movie.”
“Because the rating tells me that it has something in it that we shouldn’t see.”
“It’s just a movie,” his friends tried to persuade him.
Mark thought about a lesson his family had had at a family home evening. He knew that the prophets had warned about watching bad things on TV and in movies, or looking at bad things in magazines or books. It was almost impossible to erase those bad images from your mind.
“I’d rather not see it,” he said, and his friends went without him.
The third week, Mark knew what he was going to write about in his journal long before Sunday. It was Monday morning, in fact, when one of his friends, Rob, had come to school looking very tired.
“What’s wrong,” Mark asked him. “Are you sick?”
“No.” Rob yawned. “I didn’t sleep much last night. I ate too much candy, and my stomach was upset for a long time.”
“Too much candy isn’t good for you,” Mark said. “It’s better to snack on fruit or eat a cheese sandwich or something.”
“I know that now,” Rob said as he put his head down on his desk.
The last week of the month, Mark wrote about a very frightening thing that had happened to him. He had been out delivering his papers in the rain and was almost hit by a car. Later he remembered that in their family prayers that morning, his little sister had prayed that they would all be safe in the rain.
When fast Sunday came again, Mark was prepared. His family sat close to the front of the chapel so that he could be first to the podium when it was time for bearing testimonies. During the meeting, he offered a prayer in his heart that he would know what to say.
When it was time, he stood and walked up to the microphone. At first, he was nervous at seeing all the people looking back at him, but most of them were smiling, and he knew that they were his friends.
“I have a testimony of the law of tithing,” he began, “and of the Word of Wisdom. I know we have a living prophet today, and I know Heavenly Father answers our prayers.” Mark ended his testimony and sat down. His mom patted him on the knee.
He still felt a bit shaky, but mostly he had a really good feeling, like he was glowing from head to toe. He was glad that he had a testimony and that he could bear it every single day.

When Liisa, 20, first heard about the job at the Delfinaario (dolphin aquarium), she was excited. She had good qualifications. In the Finnish equivalent of high school, she had studied biology, but also mathematics, science, physics, and chemistry.
“All those things are part of the job,” she explains. “And I’ve always been interested in animals.” And the job would help her earn money to pay for college in Sweden. Her enthusiasm and background paid off. She was hired.

On February 2nd this year, Sister Meurs and I visited Warrnambool, Australia, for the creation of the Warrnambool Branch from a Geelong Ward group. It was a joyful day to return to my birthplace and see the branch, recreated, I had attended as a boy.
Two weeks later, we spoke to missionaries at the Pacific Area missionary training centre in Auckland. We love meeting new missionaries and feeling their anticipation and faith as they begin their consecrated service. This occasion was particularly special because our grandson, Harrison Snow, had been called to the Australia Melbourne Mission and was one of those missionaries.
Adding to our joy, Elder Snow was assigned to Warrnambool as his first area. I decided to send him an account of how our family joined the Church there. Here is an excerpt of what I shared:
Your great-grandfather Frederick Michael Wilhelm Meurs was born in Holland in 1926. He was one of 12 children. His mother was a devout Catholic who took her children to mass each Sunday. Fred attended Catholic schools and developed deep faith in Jesus Christ and a love for the scriptures.
Your great-grandmother Lois Ellen Meurs was also born in 1926 in Warrnambool. She had two brothers, Ralph and David, and was raised in a faithful Methodist home. She admired her parents’ charitable service and developed a strong Christian faith.
Fred and Lois were married in Warrnambool in January 1954. Julie was born later that year, and Peter (me) in December 1956.
In their early marriage, Fred and Lois wanted unity in their faith. They attended both the Catholic and Methodist churches and studied the New Testament together. As they read, they wrote down many questions—about the nature of the Godhead, resurrection, priesthood authority, the Church’s structure, and baptism by immersion.
They sought answers from local religious leaders, but most said those matters were “mysteries” or struggled to respond. Their search for truth led them to visit several Christian churches in Warrnambool. Still unsatisfied, they turned to God in prayer, asking Him to send them answers.
At that time, Elder Jones (from Utah) and Elder Erickson (from Canada) had been sent by President Thomas S. Bingham to open missionary work in Warrnambool. Local ministers warned townsfolk not to speak with them, claiming they would “brainwash your children.”
Elder Jones and Elder Erickson faithfully knocked on doors for three months and experienced total rejection. They were discouraged and depressed. Their faith was wavering. They wrote to President Bingham and asked to be transferred out of Warrnambool.
Eventually, a letter arrived from President Bingham. After prayerful consideration, he wrote, he had the strongest impression that there were people in Warrnambool ready to receive the restored Church. He encouraged them to go back to work and to visit places they had not been before.
The elders received the letter around the same time that Fred and Lois were praying for answers. A few days later, they knocked on the Meurs family’s front door at 68 Jamieson Street, Warrnambool. Lois answered, and the elders said they had a special message about Jesus Christ and His Church to share.
Lois replied, “We have been praying for you to come—but you can’t come in just now. Our children (two-year-old Julie and six-month-old Peter) have chickenpox, and they might infect you.” She asked them to return in a week.
Lois told Fred about the visit, and they continued to pray that the missionaries wouldn’t forget to come back. They didn’t know who they were dealing with!
Elder Jones and Elder Erickson returned the following week and began teaching Lois and Fred. As they taught, they answered every question on Fred and Lois’s long list. They explained the nature of God, priesthood authority, the Resurrection and life after death, the purpose of life, developing faith, and the ordinances of baptism and the sacrament.
Fred and Lois opened their scriptures—already marked from their earlier study—and found confirmation for everything the missionaries were teaching.
Years later, when I was called as an Area Seventy, I spoke with Elder Bruce Jones about this experience. He told me that their time in Warrnambool, up to the point of meeting my parents, had been a great trial of his faith. But teaching Fred and Lois and having them respond with confirming scriptures from the New Testament rekindled his faith and became a turning point in his life.
Lois and Fred were baptized and confirmed on 5 July 1957—just three weeks after meeting the missionaries. Soon other families joined the Church, and the new branch began holding meetings in the Meurs home on Jamieson Street.
All of us can trace our faith to a story of conversion—either our own or that of family members who responded to the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. It reminds me of these words from the first chapter of Preach My Gospel: “You are surrounded by people . . . searching for purpose in life. . . . They desire ‘peace in this world, and eternal life in the world to come’ (Doctrine and Covenants 59:23).”
“Many … are only kept from the truth because they know not where to find it” (Doctrine and Covenants 123:12).
Today we know that simply inviting our friends to come to church with us provides the best experience they can have. They will learn more about Jesus Christ, find answers to their questions, and feel welcomed by members like you. They will feel a special spirit as they participate in the sacrament. Many will desire to learn more—and ultimately begin their journey on the covenant path through baptism and confirmation.
I will forever be grateful for Elder Jones and Elder Erickson—and for the delight my parents felt when they discovered the restored New Testament Church, even The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Now, working primarily with a young adult audience, I am all about being real—being authentic about the fact that life is hard and doesn’t always go the way we want or plan. We don’t always get our ideal happy endings. I definitely understand that: when I started working at the Church magazines, I was a single 26-year-old and feeling like the oldest intern ever. As was my tendency back then (and let’s be honest, I still have my days), I often bemoaned my situation, thinking that I was maybe the only person on staff who knew what it felt like to be single—to be on the “outside,” in our Church where getting married is such a high priority.

One day during a staff meeting, something prompted this line of thinking once again. True, I was the only single person in the room, but as I looked around, I realized that everyone at the table had gone through a lot of trials. Collectively, there were those in that meeting—many who’d worked for the Church magazines for several decades—who had:
Gotten married past 30.
Married someone who had gone through a divorce.
Gone through a divorce themselves.
Been widowed.
Struggled through years of infertility.
Had amazing experiences with adoption.
Had horrible experiences with adoption.
Had family members struggle with drug addiction.
Battled challenging health issues.
Experienced mental health struggles.
Had children pass away, both newborns and grown children.

I was kind of shocked by how much of my coworkers’ life experiences I’d overlooked in my self-centeredness. No one’s life had gone perfectly. No one had been free of some real tests of faith—trials that I’m sure none of us would’ve asked for or wished upon anyone else.

Just like you, we’ve all had moments in our trials when we thought that nothing would work out, that we’d never get through our struggles or be happy again.

And yet, here we all were, joyfully plugging away at our jobs and trying to share messages with the world that say, “Yes, life is hard. Yes, we all have trials. Yes, we have been wounded. But truly, because of Christ and the joy and peace that comes from living His gospel, we can all have our own promised happy endings.”

One sister, a Relief Society instructor, was known for preparing flawless lessons. One time she decided to create a beautiful quilt that would serve as the perfect backdrop to the theme of her lesson. But life intervened—there were children to pick up from school, a neighbor who needed help moving, a husband who had a fever, and a friend who felt lonely. The day of the lesson approached, and the quilt was not completed. Finally, the night before her lesson, she did not sleep much as she worked all night on the quilt.

The next day she was exhausted and barely able to organize her thoughts, but she bravely stood and delivered her lesson.

And the quilt was stunning—the stitches were perfect, the colors vibrant, and the design intricate. And at the center of it all was a single word that triumphantly echoed the theme of her lesson: “Simplify.”

When Elder Cordón was a child, his father’s business went bankrupt and they had very little money. One day, Elder Cordón heard his parents talking about whether they should pay tithing or buy food. They decided to have faith and pay tithing. The next day, someone offered to pay his dad for work. They were always blessed with food on their table. Elder Cordón testified that we are blessed when we obey.

The balloons made their journeys, and much like the parable in the scriptures, some seeds fell on fertile ground. A message written by Laura West in the Salt Lake Cottonwood Height Stake was found by one who desperately needed her encouragement. Laura had written, in part, “Keep your hopes up and rise like the balloon. Always have faith in Christ and Christ will have faith in you.” Her balloon was found only a couple of miles from where it was released. The man who found it wrote to Laura that he was a member of the Church but had fallen away 18 years earlier while he was in his teens. He told of his struggle to be reunited with his wife and children and the decision he made to come back to the Church. He wrote, “I’ve been reading the Book of Mormon and praying since Sunday night (the day after I got your letter). I went to the bishop of my ward that night and told him I knew it was time for me to straighten out my life. … If only you could feel the peace and tranquility that has come to me since I began the reading and prayer. It’s truly like the difference between night and day. To top off my own feelings that I’m on the right track, I picked up your letter. You said you hoped your letter would brighten my day. It not only brightened my day, it was a godsend! I will remember your letter forever.” He signed it “Your friend you’ve never met” and his name.

Third, we must live courageously in accordance with the light and testimony that we have received. We are promised, “He that receiveth light, and continueth in God, receiveth more light; and that light groweth brighter and brighter until the perfect day.” It takes real effort and sacrifice to live the gospel courageously. For some years temple worship for the Saints who live near Manaus, Brazil, has meant traveling two days in a crowded riverboat on the Amazon River, followed by two days’ travel in buses through the hot tropics to the Recife temple. Arriving worn out and tired, they would shower, dress appropriately, and immediately begin their temple worship. After several days of service to the Lord, they would make the long, difficult journey home. The words “but as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord” were beautifully reflected by their sacrificing actions.

There’s a young man in the mission field who’s made that choice in the last month. I heard his story, but there must have been thousands of such choices made last month. His companion would have made Job’s critical friends seem like the Three Nephites. Just living and working with his companion required more contribution than the young missionary had dreamed he was going to have to make. The mission president authorized them to stay in their apartment because wind brought the effective temperature to 80 degrees below zero. So, the young man had to decide, “Shall we go out? We’ve been tracting and it’s produced nothing. For what it would cost us, what would we get? We haven’t got a contact, so we’d be just hitting doors.” Well, he went—that’s an odd investment decision, but he went. What he got was to meet one man, behind one of a hundred doors. In his letter about the man’s baptism, he said, “I’ve never been more happy in my life.”

I used to listen to music at every possible moment. It got me up for seminary and then on to school. I couldn’t drive unless I had a CD to play. The thing was, the music I used to listen to was not happy. It wasn’t necessarily bad, but it didn’t make me feel good.
I listened to it because it was cool, and because I always listened to it, I never felt good. It changed my attitude about everything I did, the way I saw the world and the people in it. I didn’t know how to get out of this cycle of negative emotion. It was a part of my identity, and there seemed to be no way out.
When my brother left on his mission, I was impressed by his willingness to adhere to the strict lifestyle so readily. He wouldn’t be able to choose whatever he wanted to read or listen to for two years. I thought about my music, and how I could be doing so much better. I decided that if he could go two years only listening to hymns and Primary songs, then I could at least reconsider my own listening habits.
It was hard, but I immediately gave away some CDs and threw away others. The music that I was so attached to was part of my high school identity, but thinking about my brother’s example gave me courage and resolve to change.
For nine months straight I listened to nothing but classical, instrumental, and easy listening. I noticed very quickly that I was happier, I thought more clearly, and my days seemed to go smoother. I was more prepared to feel the Spirit and learn in seminary each morning. My entire outlook on life changed for the better.
After my brother returned, I gradually started listening to some popular music, but I gravitated to positive, upbeat, and clean songs. Going through that musical cleansing period made me more sensitive to how music affected the way I thought and felt. I chose music that made me feel good instead of what was considered popular or cool. I know that these choices brought the Spirit back into my life, and because I have the Spirit with me, I feel lighter, happier, and I am able to enjoy life more fully.

When I was 13, after eight years of living in a farmhouse with acres of land, my family moved into a suburban neighborhood. Our beautiful golden retriever, Tissue, didn’t exactly like these new conditions. She barked the entire first night we were there. And our neighbors decided to pay us a visit.
Our parents weren’t home at the time, so it was my sister who had the bad luck to answer the door. The neighbors blasted into us with their angry words. They said we’d better get our dog quiet if we knew what was good for us!
I didn’t know what else to do, so I climbed into the doghouse with Tissue. I stayed there for hours with her head on my lap until she finally fell asleep.
When my parents came home, they were upset at what the neighbors had done. But after that night I never heard Mom and Dad complain about it again. So I figured they’d forgotten the whole thing. But I was wrong. A month later my dad asked me if I wanted to help him get even with the neighbors.
I nodded quickly in agreement. Payback! Dad sent me to the garage to grab two shovels. I had no idea what kind of payback he had in mind, but I walked next door with him willingly.
I should’ve known something was fishy right away. I saw our neighbor in his front yard struggling with a wheelbarrow and shovel. All by himself, he was trying to haul a huge pile of dirt to his backyard. With how big that pile was and how slow he was going, it would take him forever to finish.
Without saying a word, Dad walked up to the mound, dug in his shovel, and started filling the wheelbarrow. Our neighbor stared at him in silent confusion. Following Dad’s example, I pitched in and we quickly filled the wheelbarrow. We kept at it until the entire mound was gone.
I’m not sure exactly what the man thought about us helping. For me, though, I felt a healing in my soul as we served our neighbor.
That day my dad taught me a lesson he’s taught me many times since: being kind is much better than getting even.

Their struggles and triumphs are very real. One girl, faced with the assignment to pray, writes of her struggle to bend her “stubborn knees.”
“It was fifteen minutes before I could speak. If there really is a God, could he please let me know? I prayed like the woman who asked for the mountain to be moved and who, seeing the mountain intact the next morning, said, ‘I knew it wouldn’t work.’
“No heavenly messengers appeared; no visions manifested themselves; no inner voice acknowledged my completion of the assignment … (but) I think somebody heard me.”
Accounts of other youth “breaking through” can be of special help in moments of doubt or concern over the state of your testimony. Those youth acquiring or buttressing up a testimony will find The Faith of Young Mormons a helpful building tool. As Brother Pace wrote, “Their papers speak for themselves. The Savior is real; we can know him and be as he is. He does change lives.”

As our children’s awareness began to grow beyond the protective walls of our own home, Christmas became more and more Santa and glitter. As this excitement and anticipation grew, the birth of our Savior seemed farther and farther from our hearts and minds. My husband, Bob, and I tried to bring the true spirit of Christmas back into our celebration in ways that would be meaningful to the entire family. One year we established a pattern of traditions that has served us well and provided meaningful Christmases for many years.
We chose a family home evening lesson for the first week in December that focused on giving service as a way to celebrate the Christmas season. We made a cardboard manger and provided a container full of straw. Each time a family member performed an act of service, we put one piece of straw into the manger. The children eagerly sought meaningful acts of kindness with which to earn a straw for baby Jesus’s manger, and we filled the manger three times over that year.
Bob happened to spot an old-fashioned lantern in a store’s display of Christmas decorations. He bought it, and it provided the inspiration for the culminating event of our religious celebration. After our family party and dinner on Christmas Eve, the children dressed for bed and gathered in the largest bedroom upstairs, away from the nativity scene in the living room. We turned off all the lights in the house and explained to the children that we would be taking a pilgrimage to see the newborn King of kings. We prepared for our journey by singing traditional carols and then proceeded to the living room, singing “Oh, Come, All Ye Faithful.” Bob led the way, holding the lantern with its flickering candlelight to brighten our path.
Upon reaching the little stable, we sat quietly and sang a few more carols. Then we presented the manger to baby Jesus. It was filled with straw representing gifts of love we had given throughout the month. Everyone who wanted to do so expressed his or her love for the Savior. The Spirit of the Lord was in our home and our hearts that evening. The children went calmly and quietly to bed—still eager for the morning to come, but also feeling love and appreciation for the Christ child, whose birth we were celebrating.
Each year, as we get caught up in the frantic preparations for Christmas, we have a sense of peace, knowing that the commercialism will be tempered, at least to a degree, with a few moments of meaningful worship. Even at the height of anticipating Christmas morning, the children look forward to the special time we spend each Christmas Eve with the newborn King.

I want to talk about conditioned reflexes in our own personal lives. As young pilots, we sat for hundreds of hours in Link trainer airplanes. When the fire-warning light came on, we had to turn all of the switches off and save our lives within eight seconds. That developed a conditioned reflex. When the light came on, we literally went through the motions of turning off all the switches. For about three years I thought that was a large waste of time on my part—until the fire-warning light came on as I was on takeoff row. I can remember my crew chief saying to me, “I have never seen a man get all the switches off and be out with his parachute and raft in less than ten seconds.” And I said, “have you ever been in a burning airplane?” That is the motivation you need.

Now, I want to talk to you about your conditioned responses and your fire-warning light. As you leave here this evening, as the young man turns up the canyon instead of toward the dorm, does a fire-warning light come on? I once heard a young lady say, “Well, what can I do when that happens?” I say, “Wear a very comfortable pair of shoes.” I mean that. All of you young men, I would ask that you would not be the cause for the fire-warning light to come on in a young lady’s life.

Dickley Duck paddled sideways. Instead of paddling front and back, front and back as a proper duck should, he went SLAP—SKIDDLE, SLAP—SKIDDLE, SLAP, and PULL sideways. If he wanted to go in an easterly direction, Dickley turned his body north or south and paddled sideways.

“This is ridiculous,” said his father.

“Most unusual,” said his mother.

“He gets there just the same,” defended his sisters and brothers.

Other water creatures opened their mouths in wonder, and, being kind, said nothing. But a few, like the Heron twins Meg and Greg, laughed and laughed and shouted such things as, “Look at Silly Sider the sidewinder go! He should be in a sideshow! Ha-ha-ha!”

Dickley didn’t like to hear such remarks, of course, but they bothered his mother even more. One day when he saw tears in her eyes after some foolish goose children had said unkind things about his swimming, Dickley said to himself, “I must try to find a way to paddle like other ducks. I’ve tried by myself, but my feet just go SLAP—SKIDDLE, SLAP—SKIDDLE. Maybe somebody else can help me.”

Then Dickley Duck sidled off down the lake until he came to Muskrat’s home. “Can you think of a way to help me train my feet to go front and back, front and back, as a proper duck’s feet should go?” He asked.

Muskrat scratched his head. After thinking a while he said, “Try putting your head down into the water as you move your feet. That’s what I do. With your head down it might steer you forward.”

“Thanks,” said Dickley, and he tried the suggestion. But when his head was down his feet just turned him over and over in somersaults.

Then Dickley went to Mrs. Mink’s house. “Can you tell me a way I could make my feet go front and back, front and back, instead of sideways?” he asked.

Mrs. Mink closed her eyes and thought for two minutes. “No, I can’t,” she said. “Not unless you try using just one foot at a time. While you’re pulling with one, you could lift the other one high and put it way out in front of you and try to go forward as the high one comes down.”

Dickley looked puzzled. “Thank you,” he said. “I’ll try that.” But it was no use. Dickley turned end over end until he was dizzy.

“This isn’t getting me anywhere.” sighed Dickley. “Perhaps there isn’t a way to get my feet going in the right direction.”

Dickley felt discouraged as he came to Brother Beaver’s house. “Brother Beaver, do you know any way to make my feet go front and back, front and back, instead of SLAP—SKIDDLE?” he asked.

Brother Beaver blinked and slapped his flat tail on the ground three times. Then he said, “No, I don’t, Dickley Duck, but if anyone can help you I think it would be Clara Crane. She’s one of the wisest birds I know.”

“Thanks,” said Dickley, and he went to where Clara Crane was standing in the water watching for a fish to come along.

“Clara Crane, Brother Beaver thought you might be able to help me.” Then he told her about the way his feet always went SLAP—SKIDDLE sideways instead of front and back as they should.

Clara Crane stared into the water for so long that Dickley thought she might be falling asleep, but finally she looked up. “Dickley,” she said, after some quiet thought, “I think your main trouble is with your legs. You must first teach your legs to turn themselves in the right way and your feet will follow properly.”

“But how can I do that? My legs are hooked onto my body and they aren’t very long, and I don’t know what to do!” Dickley wailed.

“I’ll help you,” said Clara Crane. “It’s all a matter of leg exercises.”

“Oh thank you, thank you,” said Dickley. “Could we start right now?”

“Yes, indeed. Now stand tall and turn your body this way and that way, but keep your legs still. Twist—twist—twist, right and left, right and left! Do you feel your legs hurting a bit? Good! That means you are exercising them!”

Well, Clara Crane worked with Dickley for several days, but Dickley didn’t care for the exercises. Sometimes he wanted to give up because his legs were sore. “It’s too hard! It isn’t worth it!” he declared. But then he thought of his mother’s tears and of some of the water creatures’ unkind remarks. So he kept on.

After a time when Dickley swam he didn’t just go SLAP—SKIDDLE, SLAP—SKIDDLE sideways. He began to go slap and pull, slap and pull with a forward motion. Then one bright day he started swimming, slowly and carefully. Off he went in the direction his yellow bill was pointing—straight forward, front and back, front and back!

“Hooray! Hooray for Dickley!” cried all his brothers and sisters.

“Hooray for Dickley!” quacked his father and mother, and this time tears of happiness filled his mother’s eyes.

“Hooray for Dickley!” cried Meg and Greg, the Heron twins.

Then Dickley flapped his wings and shouted, “QUACK! QUACK! QUACK! Hooray for Clara Crane and all my other friends too!”