Gospel Story Finder

President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008), writing about the association said, ”The British Mission Association is active in keeping alive the happy memories of saints and missionaries who have lived in Britain. More than that, it is endeavouring in every way possible to cultivate the spiritual interests of its members.“
To the latter end of President Hinckley’s statement, its first annual winter social recreated a traditional British event—the fish and chip supper. At the door, the members paid 15 American cents and received in exchange one British penny, to be placed on a counter between vinegar bottles and salt shakers in payment for fish and chips, served in a piece of the previous day’s newspaper. That was the easy bit. In order to buy fresh suitable fish, it was necessary to telegraph to Seattle and import it by special delivery, a distance of 800 miles!
Dancing followed and the evening closed with the singing of “God Save the King.”
As one lad from Lancashire left, he opened the kitchen door slightly, took a deep breath and remarked, ”Eh, ba gum, ’twas a good party.“3

As an example of this I would like to tell you about a wonderful mission president and his darling wife I met while I was on was on a church assignment in Argentina. I had occasion to ask him how he came to join the church. He told me that as a teenager, one day he was with some friends looking for something to do. They invited him to come to a church dance with them that night. So he did. He said, “I loved the way everyone treated me. I loved the music they played. I loved the way I felt while I was there.” So he asked his friends if he could come to church with them the next day and they happily agreed to take him. He had those same kinds of feelings when he was at church. By the way, that teaches the principle that the spirit can be felt when we are participating in good, wholesome recreation as well as in the reverence of a church meeting. Remember the thought “when I do good, I feel good.” Well, one thing led to another and he was taught the gospel, joined the church and soon went on a mission. When he returned from his mission he began going to institute and young adult activities where he met the lovely young woman who became his wife. They were married in the temple and in due time had their first baby. With reverence in his voice he said “When it was time for that baby to receive a name and a blessing, I could do it because I held the Priesthood. That day I was so thankful for the great blessing of the Priesthood. When it was time for the child to be baptized he, of course was able to baptize and confirm the child because, and he said it with awe, I held the priesthood.

The years passed and he continued to faithfully serve where called in the church, always thankful for the blessings his membership brought. Then he told me, “When my child was ready to receive a patriarchal blessing, I was serving as the Stake Patriarch and I was able to give the blessing to my own child. Time went on and so did his service in the church and then the day came when his child was ready to be married in the Temple of the Lord. At that time he was serving as a sealer in the temple and had the humbling privilege of performing the eternal marriage ordinance for his own child.”

He was overwhelmed with the blessings that had come into his life because he had gone to a church activity to have fun, where he felt the spirit of the Lord.

“Why did I ever listen to those Mormon missionaries, anyway?” thought Johanna Anderson, as the boat pitched wildly beneath her feet. The voyage had been a difficult one, and today was especially rough. Just about everyone she knew on board was ill, and her faith began to waver as she thought, “Why must this journey be so long and hard?”
She could, at this very moment, have been home in her beloved Sweden with her caring parents. They had been converted by LDS missionaries in the early 1800s, and it was their greatest desire to send their family to the Salt Lake Valley. When their eldest son, Neils, earned enough money for passage to America for himself and his wife, his parents decided it would be a wonderful opportunity to send 14-year-old Johanna with them.
Johanna remembered the care her mother had taken in packing her trunk, and the surprise package she’d hidden in the bottom of it. “Johanna,” her mother told her, “when you are far from home, when your faith in God is low, or when you most need help, open the package in the bottom of your trunk. It will cheer your spirits and give you faith to go on to Utah.”
Well, Johanna’s spirits were certainly low at this point. Not only had the storms relentlessly punished their small ship, but the water for the three-month journey had gone stale. Many passengers were terribly sick, and some had even died and been buried at sea. Everything looked so bleak. Perhaps now was the time to open the package her mother had sent.
Quietly and unseen, she crept to the hull of the ship and found her trunk. She opened it and felt her precious package. Tears formed in her eyes when she saw what it contained. It was the most beautiful red coat she had ever seen. Her mother must have spent hours making it for her. She slipped into its warm softness and did a little dance on the heaving floor.
She hadn’t been this happy in a long time. She wanted to show her beautiful coat to all the others on the ship, but she thought again. This was her secret. This red coat was for Utah. She would wear it again when she arrived in the new land. Tenderly she returned the coat to her trunk.
The knowledge of her beautiful secret gave her courage for the rest of the journey. When no one else seemed able to eat, Johanna found herself hungry. She had become a special friend of the ship’s cook, and he would prepare her the Swedish pancakes she loved. He would place the big bowl in her lap while he added the ingredients, and would instruct her to “lean with the toss of the ship” so the batter would stay in the container.
Finally, after three months, the ship reached America. It took another three months for the Andersons to travel to St. Louis. There they purchased a wagon, ox teams, and supplies for the long trek across the plains.
While Neils and his wife drove the team, Johanna walked. She was young and strong and loved the wilderness, with its birds and animals. Every day she saw some new sight that stirred her. Occasionally she would see friendly Indians in the distance. And always, as she walked, she would think of the secret in her trunk—the soft, beautiful red coat—and how she would wear it when she reached her new home in Utah.
But unknown to the company she traveled with, hostile Indians had been following them since they crossed Wyoming. Johanna sensed things were not right and felt apprehensive. Finally, when evening came, the captain of the company moved the wagons together, forming a tight circle. The cattle and oxen were driven into the center, and there was no campfire, music, or dancing as there had been on other nights. The Saints were told to go to bed and stay quiet.
Johanna, exhausted from her long walk, fell into a deep sleep. But just at daybreak, she was awakened by voices and stamping horses’ hooves. Her sister-in-law motioned for her to lay quiet. Neils was not in his bed.
The voices grew louder and nearer, and Johanna noted the language was different. Her people were talking to the Indians.
She could hear rummaging in the wagon above her. Her trunk was at the end of the wagon, and she could tell it was being opened. She heard Neils’s voice dealing with the Indians.
Suddenly the voices ceased, and the men jumped down from the wagon. Their dealings had ended, and she could hear the Indians riding away.
Neils returned and took Johanna to the front of the wagon. In his firm Swedish, he said to his sister, “Johanna, stay here. Let nothing permit you to look back or go to the rear of our wagon. You have faith and the Lord will take care of all of us.”
The temptation was too great for Johanna, and she turned to look at the Indians riding away, single file and bareback on their ponies. Heading the warriors was Chief Walker, yelling and screaming and riding at top speed. Around his shoulders he wore her beautiful red coat.
Neils caught his sister in his arms. “Johanna, your coat saved your life—not only yours, but the lives of all in our company. The bright red color caught the chief’s eye. When he saw your coat, he was satisfied and then left us all unharmed.”
The Andersons soon reached Salt Lake City, and Johanna eventually married James Hansen, a Danish convert. They had ten children, and her descendants still tell her story to their children today.

He also served several missionary assignments, accompanying American missionaries to other areas for proselyting. On one of these journeys, Opapo, his long-time friend Elisala, and one of two American missionaries went to the island of Manu‘a. Upon arriving they found that the local king, Tuimanu‘a, had forbidden anyone from receiving or assisting the Latter-day Saints in any way—the punishment for disobedience was immediate stoning. However, the missionaries were determined to succeed and stayed for two months, eating fallen coconuts from the beaches and sleeping each night in holes. They covered their heads with leaves to protect themselves from the mosquitoes, each one taking a turn nightly to help the others arrange their leaves and then unassisted himself, suffering from bites the rest of the night.
After several weeks of this grueling ordeal, Opapo was awakened by the smell of some freshly baked food in a nearby basket. The missionaries did not know whether through a human or a divine source; but after weeks of coconuts, they were profoundly grateful. Near the end of their stay the incident was repeated when an elderly woman brought them some food, saying that if she had to die for her kindness, she would, but she did not fear Tuimanu‘a.
A few weeks later, after exhausting every possible avenue, the missionaries prepared to depart. Ceremonially, Opapo and Elisala spoke directly to Tuimanu‘a and his people, warning them that they would feel the wrath and power of God if they did not repent. As his last act before boarding the longboat, Opapo paused at the edge of the village and dusted off his feet as a witness against the island. A couple of weeks later a devastating hurricane struck the island, killing many, destroying all of the crops above ground, and leveling every house except one—the fale (hut) in which lived the elderly lady who had helped the missionaries.
It is true that miracles strengthen the faith of believers but do not necessarily give faith to the unbelieving. It was not until 1974 that a branch was actually organized in Manu’a. On the other hand, the Saints to whom Opapo returned heard of the incident and increased in faithfulness.

The story is told of a 14-year-old boy who had come to Nauvoo in search of his brother who lived near there. The young boy had arrived in winter with no money and no friends. When he inquired about his brother, the boy was taken to a large house that looked like a hotel. There he met a man who said, “Come in, son, we’ll take care of you.”
The boy accepted and was brought into the house, where he was fed, warmed, and was given a bed to sleep in.
The next day it was bitter cold, but in spite of that, the boy prepared himself to walk the eight miles to where his brother was staying.
When the man of the house saw this, he told the young boy to stay for a while. He said there would be a team coming soon and that he could ride back with them.
When the boy protested, saying that he had no money, the man told him not to worry about that—that they would take care of him.
Later the boy learned that the man of the house was none other than Joseph Smith, the Mormon prophet. This boy remembered this act of charity for the rest of his life.

One of the first devotionals I remember was when I was a freshman at the school formerly known as Ricks College. I was raised in a faithful LDS home, and my patriarchal blessing said that I was blessed with a testimony through my earthly parents, which was true. But I was determined to strengthen my personal testimony of the restored gospel before serving a full-time mission.

At age eighteen I also had another gospel-related concern. I grew up in the Pacific Northwest, and most of my friends, neighbors, teachers, and coaches were not members of the Church. Using my developing powers of observation, I noticed that many of these people seemed to be happy, and many were interesting characters with a healthy sense of humor. My concern was that, up to that time in my life, my limited observations of senior Church leaders suggested that they were quite formal and proper. As a young man I had this nagging question: Would the highest degree of glory in heaven be a very nice but humorless place?

The devotional speaker in January 1982 was the oldest living apostle, ninety-five-year-old LeGrand Richards. Elder Richards was seven years old in 1893 and in attendance when President Wilford Woodruff dedicated the Salt Lake Temple.

Elder Richards rarely delivered a message from a written text. He spoke from his heart, drawing upon a lifetime of experience, study, and inspiration. I’d like to share a minute of his remarks so that you can get a sense of Elder LeGrand Richards. At this point in his message he is talking about a Sunday School conference he attended as a boy. The conference was taught by Brothers Karl G. Maeser and George Goddard of the general Sunday School presidency.

I can remember to this day—and it has been over 80 years—the songs Brother Goddard taught us to sing in that Sunday School conference. And when I didn’t know I couldn’t sing, I tried to sing with them. I don’t do it anymore.

The first song goes like this: “Take away the whiskey, the coffee, and the tea. Cold water is the drink for me.” And then it repeats and goes on. That made such an impression on me as a boy that I’ve hardly been able to drink anything but cold water since that time.

I was riding on the train a few years back—when we used to travel by train—headed for California. I went in the diner in the morning for breakfast, and the waiter said, “Are you ready for your coffee?”

“No, thank you.”

“Would you like some tea?”

“No, thank you.”

“Will you have some Postum?”

“No, thank you.”

“Would you like a glass of milk?”

“No, thank you.”

“What do you want to drink?”

I said, “A glass of cold water, please.”

He said, “You’re the funniest man I ever did see.” [“His Life Experiences,” BYU–Idaho devotional address, 19 January 1982]

Elder Richards was a man of wit and good humor. My concerns about fitting in with people who qualified to return to our Heavenly Father simply faded away that day. More important, as I listened to Elder Richards speak from his heart and share his experiences and testimony, my faith in the Restoration deepened. He was a man of unwavering conviction of the truthfulness of the gospel.

The fact that Elder Richards had personal connections to President Wilford Woodruff, who was a member of Zion’s Camp, and to his great-uncle Willard Richards, who was in Carthage Jail with Joseph and Hyrum Smith, made the restoration of the gospel all that more real to me. After the devotional I stood in a long line to shake Elder Richards’ hand. I consider that day and the increased faith and testimony I received a tender mercy. I had no doubt that Elder Richards knew the gospel to be true, but I, like you, needed to continue to build my testimony line upon line, precept upon precept.

One morning I said our family prayer. I asked that we could show Heavenly Father how kind we could be that day. Later I got upset with my brother and was sent to my room to calm down. When my mom came to talk to me, I told her I remembered what I had said in my prayer that morning and that I didn’t feel upset with my brother anymore. She said the Holy Ghost was helping me remember those words about being kind. I was able to make better choices the rest of the day. I’m grateful for prayer and for the Holy Ghost.
Maren E., age 5, Utah, USA

In ninth grade, Tami had a friend who was good at everything. Tami’s friend, Sandy, was popular. She ran track and won. Tami joined the track team just to be like Sandy. But Tami never won a race. Usually she came in last. Sandy could tell a joke. And boys liked Sandy.
Just before Christmas, the school announced a writing contest. Tami decided to enter. She spent her evenings writing her poem instead of talking with Sandy on the phone as she usually did. She worried about entering the contest. It wasn’t the kind of thing Sandy would do. Tami didn’t even tell her friend she was doing it. Sandy might laugh, or maybe even make fun of her. But it was thrilling to find how much she liked writing. When the results were announced, Tami’s poem won second place.
Encouraging herself to try something on her own wasn’t easy. But Tami discovered something—deciding for herself what she wanted made her happier than trying to imitate her friends. It gave her strength to make more decisions on her own.
In the next few years, as some of her friends began making choices that were against Tami’s standards, it was easier to make her own choices, even when they were less popular.

Suellen (Su) Moraes is a member of the Church and a third-year student at Birmingham City University. She applied to the ParliaMentors programme after she followed a link sent to her by her stake president via a young adult group chat.
Su has been recognised as an outstanding ParliaMentors student, and Sister Tracey Prior and ParliaMentors Programme organiser, Ben Shapiro, wanted to show appreciation for her involvement.
Su, and three other students studying at Birmingham City University, knew that there were homeless people in the city. During the coronavirus pandemic, they recognised that homelessness would be a greater challenge.
At first, they wanted to collect supplies to give to the homeless, but this wasn’t possible with no one on campus. They kept looking for ways to help, however, and explored the matter through networking.
Su reconnected with a friend who worked with her a few years earlier. She discovered his passion for politics and was amazed at his desire to do meaningful work. That’s when she felt prompted to mention the homeless project. Her friend was able to link Su’s group to a company certified in construction-industry training. She was told that if the group had homeless people. they would train them free of charge.
Su then went back to her group to get their thoughts on the construction-industry training opportunity.
The construction-training opportunity is a huge success, and Su’s group are pleased with their efforts. They said that giving the homeless in their areas skills would help them in the long run.
Now Su’s group is working with homeless charities to refer individuals to them so they can liaise with the construction company to enrol the candidates into courses.
Ben is very impressed with their efforts, mostly because networking was in socially distanced ways, primarily online.
Sister Prior congratulated Su, saying she was “changing someone’s future, not just today.”
Su’s group is continuing its referral project, even after graduation, to help homeless people to be trained for careers. They started a society at their university, and they hope it will continue with other ParliaMentors participants.

I came home from my mission mistakenly feeling that I could check patience off my list of lessons to learn. The thing about patience, though, is that it’s not a lesson we learn only once. Elder Neal A. Maxwell (1926–2004) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles gave a talk on patience, and I read it for the first time after a rather discouraging breakup with someone I had been dating. I was feeling heartbroken and a little hopeless, and at that point, the last thing I thought I needed was a reminder to be patient. Surprisingly, though, Elder Maxwell’s insights on patience taught me some powerful concepts that totally changed my perspective (once again) and helped me recommit to patience.
For example, I learned that committing to patience doesn’t mean we shrug our shoulders and give up hope. Elder Maxwell taught: “Patience is not indifference. Actually, it means caring very much but being willing, nevertheless, to submit to the Lord and to what the scriptures call the ‘process of time.’”1 I had always thought of patience as a somewhat passive response to life’s experiences, a sort of relenting. But patience is not relenting. Patience is a manifestation of inner strength and devotion to the Lord.
Elder Maxwell also taught: “Patience is a willingness, in a sense, to watch the unfolding purposes of God with a sense of wonder and awe, rather than pacing up and down within the cell of our circumstance. Put another way, too much anxious opening of the oven door and the cake falls instead of rising. So it is with us. If we are always selfishly taking our temperature to see if we are happy, we will not be.”2 This idea really resonated with me (and not just because I am an impatient baker). It’s discouraging when plans fall through or don’t pan out as expected. To our mortal minds, divine timing can be hard to understand. But what I can understand is that God is a loving Father who has a plan that guarantees eventual happiness if we are faithful, and I am learning to accept His timing with confidence—not with anxiousness.
Because patience tests us at a very personal level, our focus is often inward. But Elder Maxwell taught that “patience also helps us to realize that while we may be ready to move on, having had enough of a particular learning experience, our continued presence is often needed as a part of the learning environment of others.”3 Not only do we need patience, but others also need our patience or the example of our patience. This idea had never dawned on me, and it helped me to view patience as a noble quality, very closely tied to charity, the pure love of Christ, which “never faileth” (Moroni 7:46).

In the faraway islands of the Pacific, hundreds who were near-blind now see because a missionary said to his physician brother-in-law, “Leave your wealthy clientele and the comforts of your palatial home and come to these special children of God who need your skills and need them now.” The ophthalmologist responded without a backward glance. He has commented quietly that this visit was the best service he ever rendered and the peace which came to his heart the greatest blessing of his life.

When I was a young missionary serving in Mexico, I was called to serve as branch president in a small town in the state of Veracruz. When my companion and I were reviewing the membership records of our little branch, we found the record of a brother who had been ordained a deacon but had not been attending the meetings.
We arranged to make a visit with him. While visiting him, we invited him to come to the meetings and serve in his priesthood responsibilities. The following Sunday he came but was not properly dressed and was unshaven. So we taught him about being clean and neat when he officiated in those sacred priesthood responsibilities, which included passing the sacrament. His life changed considerably as he served faithfully. That branch was my last assignment in the mission before returning home. When I was ready to leave the branch, this good brother came and put his arms around me, picked me up, and with a big hug swung me around. As he did, the tears rolled down his cheeks, and he said, “Thank you for coming and helping me.”

One of the first steps in building a new temple is a special meeting called a “groundbreaking.” Elder Neil L. Andersen and Sister Kathy Andersen traveled to Ivory Coast for the groundbreaking for a new temple.
Elder Andersen gave a prayer to dedicate the land for the new temple. He and Sister Andersen gave talks in French, the official language there. Sister Andersen said it makes her happy that Jesus lets us go inside His house, the temple. We receive blessings there that we can’t receive anywhere else on earth.
Children used gold-colored shovels to help “break the ground” for the temple. Then construction could begin! It will take about two years to build the temple.
Right now members in Ivory Coast have to travel 12 hours to the closest temple, in the country of Ghana. In a few years, children who are old enough to do temple baptisms will be able to go to a beautiful temple in their own country!
“Let us devote ourselves … to better shaping our character and souls to be ready to enter the dedicated temple. Let us be more true to following the Savior.”
—Elder Neil L. Andersen

While my husband, Brandon, was in Orlando, Florida, on business, he woke up one night with a high fever and difficulty breathing. He called for an ambulance to take him to the hospital, where he learned that he had a serious case of pneumonia.

Because Brandon and I have toddler-age sons, I couldn’t immediately travel from our home in Pennsylvania to Florida. I called Brandon daily, hoping for his improvement so that he could return to us.

However, Brandon’s condition worsened. When a nurse at the hospital urged me to come to the hospital as soon as possible, I started thinking about who might be able to take care of our boys.

My mother agreed to take time off from work and said she would come as soon as she could, but the flight I needed to take left before she would arrive. I called a few friends to see if they could watch the boys until my mother arrived. A friend from Relief Society, Jackie Olds, said she’d be happy to watch them.

“Just bring their clothes and diapers,” she said, “and I’ll keep them for however many days you need to be gone.”

I started to refuse because this sister, with three children of her own, had a busy life, but she insisted. When I dropped our boys off a short while later, she comforted me by saying, “Don’t worry about them. Worry about getting Brandon better and getting him home. I’ve taken care of toddlers before.”

I knew then that the boys would be safe, happy, and well taken care of, which they were. I was able to be with my husband, who was seriously ill by the time I arrived at the hospital. But after a few days, he was well enough to return home.

I am grateful for a good friend who responded—far beyond what I would have asked of her—and ministered to us in a time of need.

Kelly Parks, Pennsylvania, USA

My father’s patriarchal blessing was brief, and at first he felt it was somewhat generic. However, he later realized the significance of one of the promises. He was told he would play a key role in bringing the gospel to many countries. As a young man he served in the Germany Frankfurt Mission, so he initially thought that promise referred to just two countries: the United States and Germany. But in 1990 he was called to preside over the Austria Vienna Mission. In 1991, Slovenia, Croatia, and Serbia were added to his mission, and in 1992 he brought the first missionaries into Albania. Since then, my parents have served in Salzburg, Austria, the Johannesburg South Africa MTC, and Thailand. As a young man, my dad didn’t know what God had planned for him, but God did—and it was all foretold in his patriarchal blessing.

The Scouts of the Millcreek Sixth Ward, Salt Lake Millcreek Stake, found a way to help one of their fellow Scouts and good friend earn his Eagle Award.
Kim Berry, 15, was diagnosed as having terminal bone cancer. When he realized the seriousness of his illness, he set three goals for himself: to get his patriarchal blessing, to read the Book of Mormon, and to finish the requirements for his Eagle Award.
Kim completed all his merit badges. But as his strength began to fail, he needed some assistance in completing his Eagle project. He turned to the members of his Scout troop. After receiving permission from the local council, Kim and his mother prepared a flyer announcing that his Eagle project would be gathering canned goods for the state food bank. His friends delivered the flyers door-to-door. Then all the boys in the troop, with the help of adult leaders in pickup trucks, collected the donated goods and delivered them to the food bank. The response was tremendous, and the troop gathered hundreds of pounds of food.
Craig Larson, Scoutmaster, said that the Scouts in the troop were very serious about helping Kim. They worked hard to get his project done quickly. They appreciated the chance to do something for their friend.
Kim received his Eagle Award one week before his death. He also completed his other two goals.

When we stopped at the O’Briens’, there was only a small pile of newspapers, hardly enough for the stop, but before we left, Mrs. O’Brien came out and asked, “Is there a little girl in this family?”
“Trina’s four,” Jason replied.
“I have a doll—one I bought years ago, thinking I’d have a girl. I had five boys instead.” She smiled shyly. “Boys don’t take to dolls. I’ve been meaning to do something with it.” She left and came back with the biggest, prettiest doll I’d ever seen in my life. “It’s never been used,” she explained.
“Gee!” we gasped. “Are you sure you want to just give it away?”
She looked at the doll for a moment and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “I would have just given it to one of my girls had I had one.” She sighed. “If Trina will like it, I want her to have it. I would like to see her face Christmas morning when she sees it.” She took a deep breath and flashed a weak smile. “Oh, well. I guess Christmas morning I’ll have to imagine what Trina is doing.”
By the end of the day the old truck had made six trips and was about to die a second time after our rigorous demands, but we had collected just under 150 dollars worth of newspapers, not to mention the donated gifts we had received. We bought shoes and coats for the kids; a gift certificate for Sister Bradley; and two boxes of groceries, candies, and nuts for the stockings and Christmas dinner.
Christmas Eve everything was ready. Dad helped us fire up the old truck one more time. Jason and I filled it to overflowing and sputtered down the street to the Bradleys’, coasting the last block so as not to announce our arrival.
It was starting to snow as we climbed out of the truck and sneaked to the Bradleys’ front steps with our arms bulging with gifts. We could hear Sister Bradley and her three kids singing Christmas carols, and we paused for a moment in the shadows to listen before returning to the truck for the trike, the rocker, and the table and chairs.
When we had placed the last box of groceries on the step, we rapped loudly on the door and then sprinted to a clump of bushes where we could observe unseen. Sister Bradley opened the door and peered into the darkness. She was beginning to close the door when she spotted our Christmas project all over her front steps. She gasped and looked up and down the street, then back at the pile of presents. Slowly she dropped to her knees and began to cry.
My vision blurred with tears, and something swelled up inside of me until I could hardly breathe. Starting from deep in my chest and finally reaching to the tips of my fingers and toes, a gratifying warmth overwhelmed me. Never in my life had I felt such an all-consuming fulfillment. I was sure I would burst, and I wondered why I had waited so long to discover this side of Christmas.
When we returned home, all the lights were off except those on the tree, and everyone but Dad was in bed. He was there waiting for us in the dim light next to an enormous package—addressed to Jason and me!
“Where’d that come from?” I asked as soon as I saw it.
Dad smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “Someone left it on the doorstep while you were over at the Bradleys’.”
“Left it for us?” I groaned. He nodded. “You mean a Christmas package for us?” He shrugged again, obviously amused. “Well, we don’t want it!” I flared. “That’s exactly what we didn’t want.”
“They can just keep it,” Jason rebelled. “I’m not opening it.”
“It’s an insult,” I added. “I’m not taking anybody’s care package.”
Dad held up a restraining hand. “Talking isn’t going to change a thing,” I insisted, anticipating his argument. Dad motioned for us to sit down. We did, grumbling irritably. He waited for our protests to subside, and then he asked quietly, “Has this been a good Christmas?”
I looked over at Jason and he at me. “Yeah,” I muttered, staring at the floor but avoiding the package.
“Why? What’s so special about this Christmas?”
“Because … because we were giving something. We were making somebody happy.”
“Does taking this package change that?”
“It’s charity,” I flared. “We don’t want charity.”
Dad nodded. “Do you know what charity is? Real charity? Love, pure love. This package is a token of someone’s love, not of their ridicule or pity. It is the offspring of charity, of love, just as your gifts to the Bradleys sprang from love.”
“But Dad,” I protested.
Dad shook his head. “How would it have been had the Bradleys reacted to your gifts like you’re reacting to this one?” He looked at Jason and me and waited for an answer, but all we could do was shrug our shoulders and stare at the anonymous package. “You know, sons, there can never be a giver without a receiver. Both are necessary and good.”
He paused a moment. “When Luke went on his mission, I wanted to support him all by myself. I thought it only right that a father support his own son. My pride had a lot to do with it. I was being a little selfish. I didn’t realize until I started getting secret contributions that there were those who wanted to give also. I came to understand that I didn’t have the right to deny them the opportunity.”
He looked at our package. “I don’t know who left this for you. I wouldn’t tell you even if I knew. But whoever it was has as much right to the joy of giving as you two. Unless you accept the gift, they can’t enjoy the full satisfaction of giving.” He placed his hands on our knees and concluded, “At Christmas time we give generously and receive graciously. That’s the spirit of Christmas. When you can do those two things, equally well, you will have taken a giant step toward manhood.”
Long after Dad went to bed, Jason and I stayed by the tree contemplating our unexpected gift. It was the hardest gift for us to accept, but we knew Dad was right.
“I wonder what’s in it?” Jason finally mused.
We glanced at each other. A spark of curiosity glowed in our eyes. I looked around to determine whether we were alone. “We could always peek,” I suggested furtively.
Jason nodded. “I never could wait till Christmas morning.”
We both grinned, nodded our agreement, and then eagerly pulled the package toward us and began peeling off the wrapping.

When we’re young, sometimes all we think about at Christmastime is what we are going to receive. In 1991 I received the best gift of all.
The previous year I had decided to serve a mission, because my mother and several other relatives had set an example for me. So I left the university after my 18th birthday and worked at a fire station for a year to save money and help relieve my family of the financial burden of supporting me on my mission.
I finally sent my papers in, certain that by 1 December I would be leaving to serve the Lord. When the first two weeks of December passed, I became more anxious to receive a reply than to get any Christmas gift. But no letter came. I thought perhaps the Lord didn’t love me or maybe my worthiness was in question; I had all kind of discouraging thoughts.
On Christmas Eve I left early in the morning to play handball with my brother at a club near our house. When I got home, I noticed several Christmas cards hanging on the tree, including a very large card wrapped in gift paper. It had my name on it. I wanted to open it, but my mother said it would be better to wait until evening when our family had gathered.
After dinner we decided to open our gifts. I headed for the biggest gift I had, but my family told me to open the card first. When I did, I saw that it was a letter and the sender was The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It was addressed to Elder Samuel Osorio.
By then all I could see were camera flashes, as my father took pictures of my astonished face. I was so happy and grateful to receive my call on Christmas Eve.
That was my best Christmas present ever. My mission was one of the greatest experiences of my life, and my call from the Lord is the best gift I’ve ever received at Christmas.

Allow me to share a little of my own experience with you.
I was raised in the gospel by loving parents, but, like Amulek, something was missing. I went to church on Sundays to keep up appearances, but I wasn’t attracted to spiritual truth. My interests were elsewhere: I lived for the present and didn’t think about the future. In fact, throughout my youth, especially my late teens, I was spectacularly selfish. I loved to laugh, but often at the expense of others. What ability to communicate I did have was often employed in self-aggrandizement and entertaining my friends, who thought and behaved as I did.
But then something changed. Amid a crescendo of parties and pub-crawls, I began to feel despondent: something hollow and unfulfilled gnawed at me. To my surprise, I felt like I should pray. I’d blessed food and took my turn in church and family settings, but this was the first time I’d prayed in earnest as an adult and meant it. It felt natural and reflexive. I don’t remember stopping praying that night, but I do remember waking up. Everything had changed. The gift of the Holy Ghost that I’d received as an eight year old was now switched on, and I was very much aware—aware of who I was as a child of God, and with a first-hand knowledge of the Savior’s power to redeem and bless our lives. I had real identity and purpose.

Three unusual Mormon missionaries attracted hundreds of people in the center of beautiful Copenhagen, Denmark, last December. The three were ventriloquist Tammy Jensen (19-year-old daughter of President and Sister Richard C. Jensen of the Denmark Copenhagen Mission) and her two talking dolls, Jerry and Danny. Seated high above the crowds on a stepladder, Tammy, Jerry, and Danny sang and talked to onlookers. Nearby, full-time Mormon missionaries sang carols in both English and Danish and distributed invitations to three free Christmas concerts to be presented at local LDS wards. Danish teenagers from those wards also assisted the missionaries in giving out the invitations.