Gospel Story Finder

To pay my way through school and help my father support the family, I got two part-time jobs when I was 14 years old. To get to my morning job on time, I got on the bus at 6:30 A.M. In the mornings, I worked as an office boy, running errands up and down the stairs to offices in a 15-story building. In the afternoons, I made deliveries all over the city. As soon as my afternoon job was over, I went straight to school. My classes were from 7:00 to 11:00 at night. I didn’t get home until around midnight. I studied on the bus and on Saturdays. I had to give up many other activities. Later I also worked hard to attend the university.
Because I was willing to work hard, I did very well in school and later I had very good jobs. I was the director of a big company for the whole country of Brazil. I could do these things because of the sacrifices I made as a boy.

I called my dad and told him about my desire to join the Church. He asked me to wait. “Come home for the summer and then decide,” he said. I have a great deal of respect for my dad, so I followed his advice. All summer long he challenged my beliefs. I found myself continually defending my newfound faith. Not once did I feel like backing down, but instead I became even stronger in my convictions.
At the end of the summer he said, “I can see you really do believe this new religion. I was just testing you to make sure your decision was your own and not based on the influence of others. Go ahead and get baptized. You have my blessings.”

I shall never forget a lesson I learned many years ago as a boy in the little country of Wales. My family lived in a small mining village where coal not only provided us with a livelihood but was also used for cooking and was burned in the fireplaces to keep us warm when the weather was cold. So much coal was used that the chimneys would become clogged with soot, and it would be necessary to have it removed by a chimney sweep.

There was in our village a quaint little man who did this menial task. His appearance was almost repulsive. His hands were bent and gnarled, and his shoulders were bowed as if he carried a load. But the strangest thing about him was that he never talked. The only sound that left his lips, and this could only be understood by those who knew him, was the cry of “Chimney sweep, chimney sweep!” This man was Jimmy Drew.

Jimmy never bothered anyone. He would walk through the village streets with his bundle of brushes over his shoulder, calling out his strange cry. If someone accepted his services, he would sweep the chimney and load the soot into a sack that he carried away. His fee was two shillings, and the transaction was a silent one, for Jimmy was almost mute.

Ofttimes we boys in the village would make fun of Jimmy. We would walk behind him hunching up our shoulders and holding our hands like claws, just like Jimmy’s, and try to imitate his strange cry. But he didn’t seem to mind; he went about his business as if we were not there.

One day Jimmy was on our street, and as usual we proceeded to make fun of him. But it so happened that on this occasion my father came up behind us and observed what we were doing. Normally my father was a gentle man, but now he grasped my arm and unceremoniously marched me home. He took me to the big bay window from which we could see the valley below. He pointed with his finger and said to me in quite a stern voice, “Son, do you see the old Prince of Wales Colliery?”

Yes, I could see the old colliery; for as long as I could remember it had been there. The structure above the deep shaft was still there, but rust and decay were taking their toll.

The cages that lowered the coal miner down into the shaft were gone. The shaft itself was covered over with heavy boards and surrounded with a well-rusted cable. There was something about this old mine that made you feel uneasy when you were around it, and once some of us boys pried a board off the top of the shaft and dropped stones down into the inky blackness. It seemed like we waited for an age until the stones splashed into the water below.

“Yes, Father,” I replied, “I can see the old Prince of Wales.”

“Well, listen carefully,” he continued, “for I want you to always remember what I am going to tell you.”

That question was never answered, for God in his mercy had closed the mind of Jimmy Drew so that he would never tell of his terrible ordeal. I remember still how my father put his arm around me and pulled me close to him and together we shed tears.

I have never been ashamed of those tears, for even though I was only a boy, the moral of this true story was quite clear. From that day on, whenever I was tempted to ridicule any of my fellowmen who had suffered misfortune or injury at birth, I would stand once again by the big window in the little Welsh village, look down the valley to the Prince of Wales Colliery, and think of the little chimney sweep, Jimmy Drew.

It is therapeutic to step back from the details of life and reacquaint ourselves with the big picture. A few years ago our family was vacationing at Colter Bay in Grand Teton National Park. One beautiful, clear night we were walking down a trail that led to Jackson Lake. I happened to look up at the sky and was overwhelmed at the clarity of the stars and the magnitude of the universe. I wondered how long it had been since I had stared at the sky and let the grandeur of eternity and the glory of God’s creations wash over me. It had been too long, and therefore I repented and soaked it in. Later that year I was reading some excerpts from John A. Widtsoe’s A Rational Theology, which brought back some feelings of that night:

The culture of Santa Claus is very uncommon or rather unheard of in our African society—we only get to see this in movies. We sat as friends and decided to participate in the Church’s 2017 Christmas initiative. We then each contributed a little money and got donations of food items from friends and family. We bought food and made 100 packs. These included sugar, flour, soap, salt, candy, and many other items, and then drove to a nearby village which had people who really needed food.
One of us dressed like Santa, and we surprised the villagers with these Christmas gifts. The expression they had on their faces was unbelievable—they were very happy and thankful. But we were the ones who really benefited the most! We felt joy that at least we had fed the hungry just as the Saviour did. We left the village with our hearts filled with joy, and we are grateful for the experience! We are hoping to do the same thing again this year and so touch the lives of the people around us.

When I was diagnosed with breast cancer, I was serving as Relief Society president and running for reelection to our city council. My husband had lost his job, and we were hit with many other serious trials during this time. My counselors took to heart “bearing one another’s burdens” and helped spread the load I was carrying. My bishop took on some of my responsibilities. My husband took over many duties of cooking and homemaking. It was truly humbling to see that my burdens were not taken away but instead were shared by many, many people who exercised the healer’s art.

Brother Tony Wong was assigned to speak during a stake priesthood meeting. “I think the stake presidency wanted me to talk about whether emigration was right or wrong. But I didn’t know,” he says. He read books, checked references, and prepared for two weeks, but the night before the meeting, he still had no idea what he was going to say.
“I decided I’d better do something, so I knelt down and prayed. Then I opened up the scriptures.”
Again, the answer and comfort were found in Ether: “Wherefore, whoso believeth in God might with surety hope for a better world, yea, even a place at the right hand of God” (Ether 12:4).
“The reason for emigrating is looking for a better world,” Brother Wong explains. “People think it will be safer, nicer, or happier somewhere else. This scripture made me realize something. When I talked at that priesthood meeting, I didn’t talk about emigration—I talked about belief in God and Jesus Christ.
“If you ask me if I am going to emigrate, I’ll tell you no. People are worrying and fearing, but we’re forgetting that we have the gospel, we have the Helper. The gospel offers hope and the assurance that Heavenly Father knows what is going on and that he is in charge.”

Life was going to start at 16. No more having Mom drop me off at dance practice or chauffeur me on my nights out. No more watching older sophomores jingle their key chains as I stepped off a sputtering bus. I was going to get my driver’s permit!
Sure, I would have to drive with an adult in the car, but it was the first step toward freedom. Since age 12 I had been bugging my father to let me practice, but Dad always refused. I still remember the lecture he gave me on the eve of receiving my permit.
“The car is not a toy. Blah, blah, blah. Driving is a serious thing. Blah, blah, blah. People get in car wrecks. Blah, blah, blah.”
I sat in the living room, arms folded, listening quietly. But there was a gleam in my eye. I was ready to hit the road. When Dad put the keys in my hands, I felt a surge of power. Life had begun!
So think of my surprise when driving turned out to be infinitely more difficult than I’d imagined. The road looked so small from the driver’s seat. I could never shake the feeling I was overlapping into the next lane. Every time an oncoming car neared me, I swerved to get away. What’s more, I had lived in the same town all my life and never paid attention to how to get anywhere.
Now, if these had been the only crises of my driving career, I would have probably reached 17 unscarred. But I had to face another obstacle on a daily basis—our driveway.
Our driveway was five times as long as a normal one and had an uphill curve right at the end. It might have been manageable going forward, but Dad insisted we back in. He said he liked to pull out onto the road and see what was coming at him.
It was nearly impossible to negotiate the thing in reverse. To make matters worse, Dad always parked his truck right on the other side of the driveway. It was a big truck that left little room for error. And the truck was Dad’s pride and joy, a sitting duck in a bad location.
One fateful day, after I’d finished trying to find my way through town, I failed the driveway obstacle course. Dad was sitting in the passenger seat yelling his usual directions at me, “Okay, take it slowly. To the right. To the RIGHT! You need more gas. Turn it left now. LEFT! Straighten it out. Straighten it! Straightenstraightenstraighten! STOP!!!” Crunch.
My father leaped from the car and surveyed the damage. The truck had an ugly, ugly dent. He was furious.
“Why didn’t you straighten the car out? Why didn’t you stop?”
I had tried to stop, but I had pressed the gas instead of the brake. I didn’t tell him though. I went in my bedroom, and cried. Life had ended.
A while later, a knock came on the door. I opened it, and Dad stepped in.
“I owe you an apology,” he said. “I’ve always believed people are more important than things, but that’s not how I acted just now. I’m sorry.”
I was too amazed to say much. I had just smashed his truck and he was apologizing to me. He was really sorry. It was a lesson I would remember long after the other driving sessions had faded from recall.
Three days later, my younger brother noticed the dent. We were about to get in the car to leave for his soccer game.
“Wow!” my brother gasped. “What happened to the truck?”
“It was a hit and run,” Dad said calmly. Which in the broadest sense was true. I had hit the truck and run to my room. My brother didn’t notice the half smile Dad slid to me. I smiled and got in on the driver’s side.
“Okay,” I said cheerfully. “How do we get to the soccer field?”

We lost a six-year-old daughter in a car accident many years ago. I was sitting in the chapel in the temple when it happened, and my wife, the brand new Young Women's president with four young children, and a two-month old baby, was headed to a Young Women's volleyball game. That was one of our tests. Now we wait anxiously for the resurrection. We all wait for something. Know that you're not alone in your grief and struggling! Just get to work in becoming the best you can be, "wait upon the Lord,"[15] and have faith in the Lord's timing as you learn the things you need to learn.

Jenny jumped out of bed to the good smells of breakfast cooking. Mother must be feeling much better, she thought as she bounced down the stairs.
The January winds had carved a snowbank near the window, and as Jenny looked out, the lacy patterns of snowflakes appeared in the light of the kitchen. Mother greeted her with a cheery smile, and Jenny’s rosy-cheeked little brother sat in his high chair, demanding his cereal. Everything is back to normal, thought Jenny contentedly.
It had been a difficult December for the family. First, Jenny was down with the flu, then her little brother Clark, then Daddy, then the baby. Mother cared for all of them until one day she, too, was sick. Daddy took over, but he wasn’t feeling his best yet, either. So the holidays were almost forgotten. On Christmas Day there were some gifts from Santa and relatives, but the usual family gatherings and church parties passed while the family tried to get well.
Now the holidays were over, and today was the first day back to school after vacation. Jenny was eager to see her friends and teacher again.
As Clark came down the stairs, rubbing sleep from his eyes, Mother grew thoughtful. The happy expression on her face gradually changed, and she appeared sad. “What’s the matter, Mother?” asked Jenny as she ate her warm oatmeal with honey.
“Oh, I’m grateful that we’re all better now, that Daddy has returned to his job, and that you can go back to school, but I feel sad that the holidays passed us by.”
“You mean because we didn’t get a lot of presents this year?” asked Jenny.
“Not that, sweetheart,” Mother said. “I mean we didn’t give a lot of presents. Oh, we remembered our family, but we missed our special visits to our good neighbors—dear Sister Ruth, Mrs. Perkins, and Brother Billings down the road. I hope they had a nice holiday.”
Just then Jenny saw the school bus rounding the curve in the road. She quickly gathered her things, and ran to the door. “ ’Bye, Mother. I love you,” she yelled as she started for the bus, her boots making deep tracks in the snow.
At school Jenny kept busy at her assignments. Her teacher’s happy face reminded her of Mother, and Jenny remembered what Mother had said about the holidays passing them by. She kept thinking about it, even when she was playing with her friends at recess.
On the long ride home in the school bus, while Jenny gazed at rolling mounds of white that covered the farm and fields, Mother’s words were still on her mind. Then she thought, Why do we give Christmas gifts just in December? We could have our own Christmas in January! She was so excited at the idea that she could hardly wait to get home.
As she ran up the lane, Jenny could see Mother outside sweeping snow off their front steps. “Merry Christmas, Mother!” Jenny cried as she ran to greet her.
“What do you mean?” laughed Mother.
“I have the answer, Mother. We don’t have to miss the holidays, after all. We can have Christmas in January.”
Mother’s face brightened. Jenny could tell that she liked the idea.
When they went inside, Jenny smelled hot bread just out of the oven. As Mother gave her a big slice, Jenny said, “We could take something like this to give to Sister Ruth, Mrs. Perkins, and Brother Billings, just to show them we love them. You always say that we should keep Christmas in our hearts all year round.”
“You’re right,” said Mother, “but not just bread.” Her eyes twinkled as she went to the freezer and brought back a can of frozen orange juice.
Jenny was surprised. “We’re going to give them bread and orange juice?”
“Not orange juice,” Mother said. “Orange-Juice Jelly. At least, that’s its name. But we can call it January Jelly, OK?”
“OK!”
With Mother directing, Jenny added two cups of water to one box of pectin and stirred it in a pan. Mother put it on the stove, and when it had boiled for one minute, she added three and a half cups of sugar. She helped Jenny add three-fourth cup of frozen orange juice concentrate, and they let it simmer for two minutes.
In no time at all they were pouring the golden liquid into jars. As the sealing wax hardened, mother cut a piece of red ribbon to wrap around the top of each jar.
When Daddy came home, they bundled the boys up, stacked their gifts on the family sled, and started out.
As the family walked along with Daddy carrying the baby and Jenny pulling the sled, Mother began singing softly, “Oh, Come, All Ye Faithful.” Jenny felt as if she would burst with joy. She knew that Mrs. Perkins, Brother Billings, and Sister Ruth would be happy to see them and would love the bread and January Jelly, and she couldn’t wait to surprise them.

Twenty years ago, a beloved family member stepped away from the Church. He had many unanswered questions. His wife, a convert, stayed true to her faith. They worked hard to preserve their marriage in the differences that arose.

Last year he wrote down three questions about the Church that were difficult for him to reconcile and sent them to two couples who had been his friends for several years. He invited them to reflect on those questions and come to dinner to share their thoughts.

Following this visit with friends, he went to his room and started working on a project. The evening conversation and the love shown to him by his friends came to the forefront of his mind. He later wrote that he was compelled to stop his work. He said: “A bright light filled my soul. … I was familiar with this deep feeling of enlightenment, but in this case it continued to grow stronger than ever before and lasted for several minutes. I sat quietly with the feeling, which I came to understand as a manifestation of the love of God for me. … I felt a spiritual impression that told me I could return to church and express this love of God in what I do there.”

He then wondered about his questions. The feeling he received was that God honored his questions and that not having clear answers should not stop him from moving forward. He should share God’s love with all while he continued to contemplate. As he acted on that impression, he felt a kinship with Joseph Smith, who remarked after his First Vision, “My soul was filled with love, and for many days I could rejoice with great joy.”

Remarkably, a few short months later, this family member received the same calling he had held 20 years before. The first time he held the calling, he performed his responsibilities as a dutiful member of the Church. Now the question for him became not “How can I fulfill this calling?” but “How can I show God’s love through my service?” With this new approach, he felt joy, meaning, and purpose in all aspects of his calling.

It was Friday morning, June 28, 1844, and already the summer sun was hot in Illinois. Since about eight o’clock that morning Dr. Willard Richards, Samuel H. Smith, and nine others had plodded along the dusty road between Carthage and Nauvoo, Illinois. Moving along the road with the solemn procession were two wagons heaped with bushes to protect their cargo from the blistering heat of the sun.
Laid out on the wagons were the lifeless bodies of Joseph Smith, age thirty-eight, over six feet tall, and Hyrum, his brother, age forty-four, and even larger in stature than Joseph. Wearily, Dr. Richards and Samuel Smith, brother to the two murdered men, pressed toward Nauvoo and talked of the events just the day before during which Joseph and Hyrum were gunned down by an armed mob with painted faces. The two victims, along with Dr. Richards and John Taylor, were lodged in Carthage Jail, supposedly for their protection, when the mob, numbering from 150 to 200 marauders, stormed the jail and shot to death their intended victims.
Word of the deaths had already reached Nauvoo, headquarters city for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. As the wagons and their foot-weary guardians entered the city, several thousand citizens greeted the procession with the most solemn lamentations and mourning.
The bloodied bodies were tenderly removed from the wagons at the Nauvoo Mansion and were carefully washed from head to foot. The various wounds were filled with cotton, soaked in camphor, and death masks were impressed on each face. Fine, plain clothing was then placed on each body. When these preparations were completed, the bodies were viewed that night by the bereaved widows and children of the two men, along with many of their closest associates. Then on Saturday, more than ten thousand mourning Saints viewed the remains of their beloved Prophet Joseph and his brother, the Patriarch Hyrum. The bodies were then secretly and lovingly buried. (See History of the Church, 6:614–31.)

Elder Brook P. Hales related the story of Sister Patricia Parkinson, who was born with normal eyesight but by age 11 had gone blind.

Elder Hales recounted: “I’ve known Pat for many years and recently told her that I admired the fact that she is always positive and happy. She responded, ‘Well, you have not been at home with me, have you? I have my moments. I’ve had rather severe bouts of depression, and I’ve cried a lot.’ However, she added, ‘From the time I started losing my sight, it was strange, but I knew that Heavenly Father and the Savior were with my family and me. … To those who ask me if I am angry because I am blind, I respond, ‘Who would I be angry with? Heavenly Father is in this with me; I am not alone. He is with me all the time.’”

On one occasion, one of my counselors, J. B. Haws, and I were walking between apartment complexes when we met a young man in the parking lot. We stopped to say hello and found out that he was moving out of our stake. We talked for a moment and discovered that he was a returned missionary facing questions about his faith. My counselor is a master teacher who connects with people easily. Answering questions like these was natural and normal for J. B. I could see in this young man’s eye a light that may have been missing for some time reappear as they talked.
It was obvious that J. B. was interested in him and in his questions and concerns. The young man opened himself up because J. B. showed compassion. My counselor’s “bowels were filled” with love, and he had a desire to understand this young man without judging him. J. B. asked if we could visit him once he settled into his new apartment. The young man nodded, mobile numbers were exchanged, and a promise to follow up with him was made.
Before we left, we asked if there was anything we could do to help. He said, “Stopping to say hello was one of the most important things you could have done for me today.” Later that evening, I thought to myself, “If J. B. and I had not been out ministering, we may never have met this young man.”
It seems the Lord knew that we would be ministering that evening, so He placed this young man in our path—trusting we would see him and minister to him.

We must understand that our having an additional purpose for education will not be welcomed by many educators. It may even be opposed by them and others and even by government regulators. Here I remind us of BYU’s experience nearly fifty years ago when challenged by what has come to be known generally as Title IX.

A 1972 act of Congress forbade discrimination “on the basis of sex . . . under any education program or activity receiving Federal financial assistance.”13 But the proposed administrative regulations expanded that direction by asserting federal control over all programs or activities of any educational institution receiving such assistance.14

Alarmed that this would immediately extend federal control over all institutional decisions that specified differences between men and women—even possibly forbidding separate dormitories for men and women—BYU immediately challenged the breadth of the proposed regulations. Testifying before a congressional subcommittee in 1975, I expressed our support for the overall nondiscrimination objectives of Title IX but protested that the proposed regulations went too far in carrying federal control beyond the authorizing act of Congress into impermissible conflicts with the independence of private colleges and the religious freedom of Church-related institutions.15

Before 1975 ended, we had attracted significant institutional and media support for our position. In less than a year, our focused objections prevailed. The Department of Health, Education, and Welfare (HEW) scaled back its formal enforcement of Title IX. The effect on BYU is summarized in this 1976 letter from the director of HEW’s Office for Civil Rights: “BYU’s Code of Honor, which is derived from religious tenets of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, provides for evenhanded treatment of the sexes.”16 The letter further stated that

in those few instances where evenhanded treatment of employees and students would conflict with the religious tenets [of the Church under several cited sections of the regulations] . . . , BYU is granted an exemption from those requirements.17

President Kimball’s second-century address commissioned us “to break with the educational establishment” when necessary “to find gospel ways to help mankind.” Where would BYU and other Church-related colleges and universities be today if BYU had not dared to resist the government’s 1974 proposal to significantly expand its control over private higher education?

President Kimball affirmed our efforts in these words from his second-century address:

We want you to keep free as a university—free of government control, not only for the sake of the university and the Church but also for the sake of our government. Our government, state and federal, and our people are best served by free colleges and universities, not by institutions that are compliant out of fears over funding.18

The children were excited for sharing time. A returned missionary was visiting to tell about his mission in Japan. When he had arrived in Japan, everything seemed so different. The Japanese people used chopsticks instead of forks, wrote sentences using characters instead of letters, and spoke a language that was hard for him to understand. Children took their lunches to school in “bento boxes” and read books from back to front. The missionary quickly learned to love the Japanese people and the way they lived.

The Lord wants all of us to be missionaries. One way you can do that is by being a friend to those who have moved into your neighborhood or come from another country and to those who look, speak, or dress differently. As you learn to love those who are different from you, you are preparing for the day when you are called to serve a mission. It could be anywhere in the world!

At Philadelphia, Elder John E. Page lost the spirit of the mission and Orson continued on to Jerusalem alone. During his travels Orson met many notable personalities, some of whom were amazed at and interested in his mission. He enjoyed his travels through Europe and while waiting for his visa in Munich, learned to write and speak German.
Tired and weary after several months’ travel of nearly 10,000 miles, Orson’s enthusiasm was revitalized as he finally arrived at the sacred city of Jerusalem. Here he carefully walked along a dark, narrow street, avoiding the heavily loaded camels that traveled toward him. In the early morning hour he passed through the ancient gate in the old decayed wall near the brook, Kidron. As Orson crossed over the small brook and climbed up the gentle slope of the hill, bright rays of sunshine encompassed the Mount of Olives. It was a magnificent sight as he gazed upon the surrounding countryside from the top of the mount.
There, alone, on Sunday, October 24, 1841, Orson wrote and offered the prayer dedicating Palestine for the return of the Jews and for the building of a temple in the future. For the first time in 1,800 years, an apostle stood again on the Mount of Olives. After his prayer Orson Hyde built two stone altars patterned after those of ancient Israel for memorials. The first memorial was on the Mount of Olives and the second on Mt. Moriah.

Recently, I have found that kind of blessing among the Saints in Korea who participated in the celebration of the 50th anniversary of the dedication of the Church in Korea and the 200th anniversary of Joseph Smith’s birth. I would like to tell you briefly about their sacrifices and the joy and blessings they received.

To celebrate the gospel, which gave hope and courage to people in Korea who were hurt so much by the Korean War, the members started to prepare for this celebration more than a year ago. Many of the members in Korea—the Primary, young men, young women, young single adults, Relief Society sisters, and others—gathered together to practice for the celebration. They prepared many traditional folk dances, including the flower dance, circle dance, fan dance, and farmer dance. They played drums; performed tae kwon do, drama, ballroom dances, and musical numbers; showed animation; and gave choir performances.

Because the young men produced such loud drum sounds, neighbors complained, and they had to stop practicing. It was really difficult to practice for long periods of time, but they did it with joy. I could not find anyone complaining about their effort and sacrifice when they had to get up at 4:00 in the morning to ride the bus for the joint practice. They felt great joy and gratitude for the blessings of the Lord and for the opportunity to show their appreciation.

Also many returned missionaries from overseas came back to Korea with their wives and children for this celebration. They made the sacrifice when they came to Korea on their missions a long time ago. This time they made another sacrifice of time and money to bring their families and participate in the celebration during the hot summer. But they rejoiced and were grateful for all the celebrations in which they participated.

My grandfather died just three days before Christmas. That year, my family received a gift that changed our lives forever: Glenna. Glenna is my dad’s sister who was born with disabilities. She came to live with us after my grandpa passed away. Ever since that first Christmas, Glenna’s example has taught me how to be more Christlike.
Glenna was born with many physical challenges, and she’s helped me see that sometimes the most beautiful spirits are housed in different-looking bodies. Because of Glenna, I’m no longer self-conscious about the way I look, and I choose to focus on what’s inside.
Living with Glenna has taught me patience. She has difficulty speaking, she often breaks things, and she struggles to do many tasks on her own, but she’s also willing to learn. There’s no greater reward than working with Glenna until she gets something right.
Glenna has taught me to find joy in the little things. For instance, at Glenna’s birthday parties, it didn’t matter whether she received a one-dollar bill or a one-hundred-dollar bill—she was delighted. And when we drove around each year at Christmastime, Glenna would shout, “Wow!” and clap her hands at each brightly lit home we passed by. She’s taught me to see the extraordinary within the ordinary. She’s taught me to see that there’s something special in everything—and everyone.
As I look back on the past Christmases I spent with Glenna, I can see the impact she’s made on my life. Every year, the one Christmas gift I will never forget—and will be forever grateful for—is Glenna.

When I was 18, I asked my father to help me pay for my mission. At first he said, “No way. It’s too much money.” But a couple of days later, he asked me, “Do you really want to go on a mission?” And I said, “Yes. With all my heart.” My father said he would help me.
I didn’t understand why my father would pay such a great price for me. Then I realized it was because he loved me. It made me think of Jesus Christ’s sacrifice for us. He paid the highest price because He loves us.