Gospel Story Finder

As I finished my shopping, I did not consciously choose the cashier farthest from the long lines of noisy shoppers. Perhaps it was just because I felt so exhausted that I was drawn to this quieter area.
Whatever the reason, it was somehow comforting to stand quietly without making decisions for a few moments. As soon as the two customers in front of me finished with the cashier, I could pay for my items and go. My teenage daughter stood behind me in line. Wearily I allowed my mind to wander in thought, not totally aware of what was happening around me. Not until the middle-aged man ahead of me began to get restless did I realize that our line was not moving. Glancing to the far end of the counter, I saw four brown bags full of groceries loaded in a shopping cart. A humbly dressed, white-haired woman was counting her cash onto the checkout counter. Futilely she search her purse for additional change, opening one compartment after another with trembling hands.
As the tension mounted, I wished I were nearer to her. Yet this was a special group of strangers—all unusually patient, with no disgust or mockery on anyone’s face. I felt the flooding warmth of the Spirit as I almost heard the words that flowed into my mind: “Help her.”
“That’s all I have,” the elderly woman quietly said, giving up on her search.
Apologetically, the cashier removed a small sack of fruit or vegetables from the top of one brown bag and weighed it on the scales. Its value was insufficient. Her face registered embarrassment as he took a second bag of produce from her sack and weighed it.
“No, I need …” There was urgency in the woman’s voice as that second bag was removed.
Knowing that helping in the wrong way might create more awkwardness, I prayed silently. “Oh, Father, how should I help?”
I could wait no longer. Better to try and be wrong than to wait.
Leaning across the customer ahead of me, I asked the cashier, “How much does she need?”
“Ninety-five cents,” he said, grateful that someone else was getting involved.
“Add it to my bill,” I replied. But the Spirit prompted, “Pay now.”
“Better yet, here is a dollar,” I said, and reached across my groceries and the man in front of me to lay it on the counter. Relief showed in his face. Apparently he had wanted to help but had not known how. “I’ll divide the cost with you,” he said and immediately laid some coins on my dollar. I resisted the impulse to decline his offer and thanked him instead. Suddenly, I felt as though the heavens had opened, bathing our group in an unexpected warmth. We had all wanted to help.
Quickly the young cashier completed the transaction and replaced the things in the woman’s sack. Then, calmly, self-reliantly, the woman turned and faced us. Standing more erect, she began, “To whom do I owe …”
Tears blurred my vision as I pleaded for help. “Oh, Father, give me the right words to say. Please don’t let us hurt her or wound her self-esteem.”
A reply came effortlessly. “Someone who loves you, and who loves the Lord,” I heard myself saying. “Besides, you’d have done it for me.”
The white-haired woman began to relax. Her trembling stopped. A smile came slowly, thoughtfully to her face.
“You know, I would have,” she said, as if she were surprised that I would know. Then, smiling broadly, she reaffirmed, “I really would have!”
With dignity she turned and pushed her grocery cart out the open door.
A sort of reverence lingered in our line to pay. Suddenly, I didn’t feel tired anymore. The customer in front of me began to whistle a tune.
On the way home, my daughter broke the silence. “Mother, that was really nice the way you helped that lady. It made everyone happy.”
“You know,” I said, “I really didn’t know how to do it by myself. The Spirit had to teach me. All I did was pray for help.”

When President Lee passed he was attended by President Marion G. Romney, his second counselor, and President Spencer W. Kimball, the President of the Council of the Twelve. President N. Eldon Tanner was in Arizona at the time. Brother Romney, as the representative of and counselor to President Lee, was in complete and total charge at the hospital. He gave President Lee a blessing. He felt the spirit of peace and satisfaction, the calm assurance that whatever eventuated would be right. He did not promise President Lee that he would be healed. The President had become ill very rapidly, just in a matter of hours or moments. Shortly after this blessing, he passed away. At the moment he passed, Brother Romney, in harmony with the system and the established tradition and custom of the Church, stepped aside, and President Spencer W. Kimball was then in complete charge and had total direction. President Kimball was at that moment the senior apostle of God on earth. And as the last heartbeat of President Lee ceased, the mantle of leadership passed to President Kimball, whose next heartbeat was that of the living oracle and presiding authority of God on earth. From that moment the Church continued under the direction of President Kimball.

Harmonious with that policy, that counsel, and that instruction—which has been followed in previous instances—the Council of the Twelve met in the upper room of the Salt Lake Temple on Sunday, December 30, at 3:00 p.m. for the purpose of reorganizing the First Presidency of the Church. Normally in that upper room there are three chairs occupied by the First Presidency and twelve chairs in a semicircle in front of them occupied by the members of the Council of the Twelve. On this occasion, however, there were fourteen chairs in the semicircle, because there were fourteen Brethren present who had been sustained and ordained and set apart as members of the Council of the Twelve.

We took our places in those chairs, and President Kimball presided in the meeting, which lasted for about 31/2 hours. In the course of this meeting President Kimball explained the business to be transacted, the things that might be done if the Brethren felt so guided and led. He explained that when the Prophet Joseph Smith was martyred, 3 1/2 years went by before President Young was formally chosen and installed as President of the Church. He noted that almost that period went by between President Young and President John Taylor and between President Taylor and President Wilford Woodruff but that in each succeeding instance the time had varied from four to eleven days, and we were meeting on the fourth day after the passing of President Lee.

He expressed himself as to what should be done, and he said that the proposition to be first considered was whether the First Presidency should then be reorganized or whether the Church should continue to function with the Council of the Twelve as its presiding officers. He then invited each member of the Twelve, commencing with Elder Ezra Taft Benson and continuing around the circle to me, to arise in turn and express himself frankly and fully and freely as to what ought to be done.

That is what transpired the first time that the Council of the Twelve met to reorganize the First Presidency of the Church. And in essence, thought-content, and certainly in spirit, precisely the same thing occurred on the thirtieth day of December last. Each member of the Council in turn, specifically and pointedly, expressed himself to the effect that now was the time to reorganize the First Presidency of the Church, that there should not be further delay, that the effective and proper operation of this great organization that we have from the Lord needed this administrative arrangement. Each one in turn expressed himself that President Spencer W. Kimball was the man whom the Lord wanted to preside over the Church; there was no question whatever about that. There was total and complete unity and harmony. The prayer that was in the heart of every person present was “Lord, show unto thy servants whom thou hast chosen to be President of the Church.” We did not want to do anything other than what the Lord wanted done.

President Young is quoted as having said, following the death of the Prophet, “I don’t care who presides in the Church. All I want to know is what the Lord thinks about it.” The Lord made manifest his will in that day, and that’s all we wanted to know for our day. And when we met for this most recent reorganization, the Lord made manifest his will to us. It was as though the voice of God had said to each one of us individually and to all of us collectively: “Let my servant Spencer step forth and receive the full power of the presiding priesthood in my Church and kingdom.”

And so after there had been full expression and consideration, Elder Ezra Taft Benson, the next one in seniority to President Kimball, made the formal motion that the First Presidency of the Church be reorganized; that President Spencer W. Kimball be sustained, ordained, and set apart as the President of the Church; as the prophet, seer, and revelator to the Church; and as the Trustee-in-Trust. This motion was adopted unanimously.

At this point President Kimball made a speech of acceptance—a very sweet, humble, appropriate expression. In the course of our meeting he had explained, as he did at President Lee’s funeral, that no man had prayed more sincerely and devoutly, with more feeling and desire, for the life, vigor, health, and continued spiritual and physical prosperity of President Lee than he had done. But President Kimball was willing to accept the will of the Lord and the mantle of leadership that had fallen upon him.

At this point, he chose his first counselor, President N. Eldon Tanner, who responded appropriately and sweetly; he then chose President Marion G. Romney to be the second, who similarly responded. Following these appointments, Brother Benson was sustained as the President of the Council of the Twelve. And then all those present placed their hands upon the head of President Kimball, and he was ordained and set apart, with President Benson being mouth, to serve as President of the Church and as the prophet, seer, and revelator for this time and this season.

I was going to visit my uncle but when I got there, I was told that my uncle had traveled. Instead of seeing him, I was given some books and asked to read them. I met the missionaries and had some friends who met them under a mango tree in the area. The missionaries gave me a Book of Mormon, but I dumped it somewhere because I didn’t want to read it.
Later, after my sister gave me the Church manuals and magazines to read, I decided to pray about it. I was also given another Book of Mormon. I found out that everything the missionaries were talking about made sense to me. At that time, I wasn’t married but thought that if I found someone that I loved, I would want them forever. The church I was attending always said “Till death do us part”. I couldn’t understand having that be the end of the union. When the missionaries talked about the plan of salvation, I was very interested. I said “Wow”. If we can get some authority to bless our marriages here and when we die, we can find ourselves together, then I would want to be in this Church.
Secondly, I am not good at dancing. So, when I would go to the church I was attending, they would always make some music, make noise, and ask us to come and dance. And while you were dancing, you would also be paying some offering. I don’t like that. So, I said I would read about this book and pray to God to find out if it is true. And by so doing, I got baptized.
Before I was baptized, I attended church for several months and did everything but when they talked about baptism, that’s when I was hesitant. Before I started meeting with the missionaries, I had been baptized into the church I was attending. I didn’t want to be baptized again. Finally, I decided to go forward with the baptism.
The next thing I wanted to do was go on a mission. One day my father questioned me asking if the Church I was attending was restored by Joseph Smith? I said “yes”.
He said “Ahh, that church is a cult. I’ve read some things about them. You must be very careful about that church.” I told him “OK, if that is the case, I will pray over it and find out for myself”.
One day I was sleeping, and I had this dream. There were two churches, and they were built across the street from each other. There was a fire burning and people were running all around. The two churches were there, and one was big and the other small. The bigger church had lots of people running into it and a few were running to the small one. The fire was coming, and it was burning the entire city. When the flame got to the two churches, the big church was consumed by the flame and the small church was not. I beheld that the small church had an inscription on it that said, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints”.
I said, “Wow, this is wonderful”. I woke up from my dream and prayed and thanked Heavenly Father for answering my prayers because I thought I was lost, and the Church was somewhere I belonged. A place that would comfort me and where I could have a family. I told my father about it and that I had got an answer. He said, “OK, if you’ve gotten an answer, then you need to go on a mission”.
Within a year, my call came, and I went to the Nigeria Lagos Mission and served faithfully. I returned home with honors. When I was on a mission, I would always bear my testimony that I know the Church is true. This is because I have strong testimony of what I know. I wish that everyone that is investigating the Church could have the same conversion as I had. Joining the Church was not a mistake but rather, I have been saved and I’ve been blessed.
In the Church I’ve been able to educate myself. The Church has taught me a lot. At first, I couldn’t even stand in front of a few people to talk. It has given me the confidence to stand in front of a lot of people and share that the Church is true. When we are on the Lord’s errand and pray and ask Heavenly Father what He wants us to do, He will always show us the way.
I am married with three children. In my family, I am not the oldest, but they always look to me and call me if there is an issue and we discuss it. I tell them we should do things the way that the Lord wants us to. I know that the Church is true, and I am not going back, no matter what.

This advice was found and followed by Joe, who had been asked to get up at six in the morning and drive a crippled child 50 miles (80 km) to a hospital. He didn’t want to do it, but he didn’t know how to say no. A woman carried the child out to the car and set him next to the driver’s seat, mumbling thanks through her tears. Joe said everything would be all right and drove off quickly.

After a mile or so, the child inquired shyly, “You’re God, aren’t you?”

“I’m afraid not, little fellow,” replied Joe.

“I thought you must be God,” said the child. “I heard Mother praying next to my bed and asking God to help me get to the hospital, so I could get well and play with the other boys. Do you work for God?”

“Sometimes, I guess,” said Joe, “but not regularly. I think I’m going to work for Him a lot more from now on.”

Just five years ago, in August 1975, thousands of Japanese Saints assembled in Tokyo for the first area conference in Asia of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The meetings were held in the Budokan, a large public assembly hall centrally located in the heart of the metropolis and capable of seating thousands of people. On this memorable date, President Spencer W. Kimball opened the conference with the building filled to capacity and announced that a temple of the Lord would be built in Japan. As President Kimball made this announcement, the audience gasped and an excited murmur filled the air. Many of the Saints wept as they were filled with the spirit. They were witnessing the culmination of prayer, faith and hope. They envisioned where instructions from the Most High will be received, and will be so constructed as to enable all of the functions of the Priesthood to be fully exercised. They were witnessing the development of events which are unfolding in these latter days of fulfillment of prophecy.
With President Kimball’s announcement, the necessary steps were taken for the temple construction. Servants of the Lord were sent out to find a plot of land to build the temple. Several sites were considered and after much deliberation and prayer, it was decided that the temple would be located on the site of the old Tokyo Mission Home. This building and land had been purchased by the Church shortly after the end of World War II and had since been used by thousands of missionaries. For many of these missionaries, the old home was the first place they stayed upon arrival in Japan. Most would testify that many sacred and spiritual experiences were manifested here.
Seemingly this sacred and hallowed ground was divinely chosen for the construction of the House of the Lord. The site borders a beautifully landscaped Arisugawa Memorial Park along the eastern frontage separated only by a road leading from the Hiroo Subway Station which is just a few minutes walking distance away.
With the construction site selected and approved, design drawings were prepared under the direction of the church architect, Brother Emil B. Fetzer. As these were being drawn, people in Tokyo were busy gearing up for the months and years of difficult negotiations which would be necessary to obtain construction permits to build the temple in the Minami Azabu district, which is an affluent area of Tokyo with neighboring foreign diplomatic missions and embassies. Negotiations with area residents to gain approval for building the temple went slowly. Many of the local people worried about the effects the new building would have on life in the area. One big problem was conforming to the “Sunshine Law” in Tokyo, which requires a certain amount of compensation for any amount of sunlight which is lost due to the shadow cast by multi-story construction.
The months passed following President Kimball’s announcement. Months turned to years and two of the close neighbors continued to put up road blocks to impede the construction of the temple. Time and again word was passed among the Saints that everything was cleared and construction would soon begin. But new problems would arise which prevented the work from commencing. As an example, the church architects learned that the Japanese construction requirements were much more stringent in many respects than anticipated. This was mainly due to the frequency of earthquakes and typhoons in the islands of Japan. These building codes were found to be quite different from the customary standard codes and considerable additional study and architectural review were necessary to make sure that their plans did not conflict with the building codes of Japan.
In the spring of 1978, the decision was made to commence with the construction of the Tokyo Temple, though there were still many problems to be resolved. There were pockets of resistance among some of the neighbors, but it was mandatory to have on record a “commencement of construction”. This phase of work though not fully designed was the only assurance that the temple could be constructed as designed by the Church architect. The structure included a full basement, four floors above ground and a 25 meter symbol tower built into the penthouse structure located on the temple roof to house the mechanical controls. The currently approved construction permit would expire if the design did not conform with any of the newly promulgated sunshine laws. We were concerned that all of our design plans would have to be abandoned and a completely new design of less stature would have to be drawn up. To realize benefits of time and effort expended in the past in planning and design, the decision of Brother McPhie, Director of Temples and Special Projects, to proceed was an answer to our prayers. Missionaries were vacated from the mission home to start preparation for the demolition work. Kajima Corporation was awarded the Tokyo Temple construction contract and the church issued a notice to proceed commencing March 10, 1978.

During the summer of 1996, our family hosted two musicians from a Russian folk-dance group. I had recently given my husband a subscription to the Liahona (Russian), and one morning, one of our guests started to look through the June 1996 issue. He got out his reading glasses and closely studied a particular page. Then he shared that page with our other Russian guest. I learned later that the item in the magazine that had caused such great interest was “The Family: A Proclamation to the World,” issued by the First Presidency and Council of the Twelve Apostles.
At the end of the week, as they prepared to leave, our guests asked for only one souvenir—the magazine with the family proclamation in it. We gladly gave it to them—hopefully along with good experiences with our own family.
Victoria Morris,Bountiful 41st Ward, Bountiful Utah Heights Stake

I have been personally inspired by how such spiritual submissiveness to God has impacted the lives of faithful disciples of Christ as they chose to do those things that work for and are pleasing in the sight of the Lord. I know a young man who was unsettled about going on a mission but felt inspired to go and serve the Lord when he listened to a senior leader of the Church sharing his own personal testimony and sacred experience of serving as a missionary.

In his own words, this young man, now a returned missionary, said: “As I listened to the testimony of an Apostle of the Savior Jesus Christ, I was able to feel of God’s love for me, and I desired to share that love with others. At that moment I knew that I should serve a mission despite my fears, doubts, and concerns. I felt totally confident in the blessings and promises of God for His children. Today, I am a new person; I have a testimony that this gospel is true and that the Church of Jesus Christ has been restored on earth.” This young man chose the Lord’s way and became an example of a true disciple in every aspect.

My brother David (3) had a little bicycle. One day he left the bike out in the way of my dad’s car. His bike got run over, and the little axle was bent. David was sad. His bike was too broken to ride.
A couple of weeks later, I said, “David, let’s try to fix your bike.” We brought the bike out onto the driveway and tried hammering the axle to straighten it. It didn’t work. My little sister Heidi (5) came out. She had a bike like David’s, and that day her wheel had broken off. She told David that he could have the axle and the other wheel from her broken bike.
Then David scraped his knee and had to go inside. I took the axle off Heidi’s bike, and then I went and asked Dad to help us. I helped Dad get the tools to put one of Heidi’s wheels on David’s bike. Soon the bike was fixed.
I went inside to tell David. He came out, and he was really excited about his bike getting fixed. He did not care that his old wheel was black and the new wheel from Heidi’s bike was purple. He got on the bike and rode around the driveway really fast. Mom and Dad watched him ride, too.
I was happy that David’s bike was fixed. I felt glad that Heidi and I could help our little brother.

Although we lived in a town (Logan, Utah), my father, L. Tom Perry, Sr., wanted his children to have the same kind of experiences that he’d had growing up on a farm. We had a large backyard, with an aunt living on one side of our house and my grandfather on the other side. The three backyards became our farm, which included a garden, a pasture, a barn, and alfalfa fields. We learned how to cut the alfalfa with a scythe, let it dry, then store it in the barn.
We planted a garden, weeded it, and irrigated it. Some of my choicest childhood experiences were irrigating with my father. Our turn began at 2:00 A.M., so Dad and I would pitch a tent in the yard and go to bed about 9:00 at night. We’d set the alarm clock and get up at 2:00 and turn the water in. Then we’d get up every half hour until 6:00 to change its flow. During all my growing-up years, Dad and I spent many nights irrigating side by side. It’s a great experience to be with your father like that.
I also have some great memories of taking care of the family cow with my dad. We cleaned the barn, fed the cow, and got her into her stall. Then I held her tail while Dad milked. There is great discipline in having a cow. It has to be milked every morning and every night. It has to be milked in the summer, winter, spring, and fall. I didn’t particularly like the cow sometimes, especially when caring for it interfered with something that I really wanted to do. But I developed a love for work and had some great conversations in the barn with Dad about baptism, priesthood ordinations, friends, and other important subjects when we were doing chores. I loved spending that time with my father. He is one of the men whom I most admire and respect.
Dad also taught us children at an early age to work for the Lord. I was six months old when he was called as the bishop, and he served as bishop for eighteen years. He involved us in his work at Church. I remember filling the stoker at the meetinghouse in the winter—shoveling snow too. Summers were spent cleaning the chapel ceilings and taking care of the yard.
When I was six or seven, Dad had me help my mother with some Church financial records. She would call out the numbers, and I’d punch them in on our old adding machine, pull the crank, and then proofread the figures back to her. I remember lugging that old machine back and forth between our home and the meetinghouse. In winter we hauled it on a sleigh; in the summer we used a wagon.
My father was not an emotional man. One of the few times that I ever saw him shed tears was when he was released as bishop. He loved serving the Lord, and he helped to develop in all his children a great satisfaction in helping other people. He made sure that his Church calling involved our whole family and brought us together.
Because of his example, I developed a great appreciation for working and for serving the Lord. I love my father and am deeply grateful for him and for the many things that he taught me through word and example.

Lorenzo Snow was still at work in his office in the Salt Lake Temple. It was dark outside, and the stars had come out. He was the fifth President of the Church, but he was also serving as the first president of the Salt Lake Temple at the time. He often stayed late into the evening to finish his work.

President Snow’s granddaughter Allie Young loved to visit him at his office. In those days, family members of the temple president were allowed to visit him there. They were not allowed to go through the entire temple, however, until they were old enough and had been found worthy and ready to make the sacred temple covenants.

This special evening Allie was with her grandfather in his office. The doorkeepers had gone home and the night watchmen had not yet come in, so they were alone. When Allie was ready to leave, President Snow went to a dresser and took a large bunch of keys from the drawer so that he could let her out the main entrance. Together they walked down a large corridor near the celestial room.

President Snow suddenly stopped and said, “Wait a moment, Allie. I want to tell you something.” Allie listened intently as her grandfather told her of an unforgettable experience he had once had at that place in the temple: “It was right here that the Lord Jesus Christ appeared to me at the time of the death of President Woodruff. He instructed me to go right ahead and reorganize the First Presidency of the Church at once and not wait as had been done after the death of the previous presidents, and that I was to succeed President Woodruff [as President of the Church].”
President Snow held out his left hand and said, “He stood right here, about three feet above the floor. It looked as though he stood on a plate of solid gold.”
Still speaking in hushed, reverent tones, President Snow told Allie that the Savior’s appearance was so glorious and bright that he could hardly look at Him.
President Snow put his right hand on Allie’s head and said, “Now granddaughter, I want you to remember that this is the testimony of your grandfather, that he told you with his own lips that he actually saw the Savior, here in the temple, and talked with him face to face.”
Allie listened to every word of this sacred experience and never forgot that precious moment but shared it many times later in her life with her family and friends.

When my grandfather James E. Fisher was set apart as a missionary in 1892, he was told, “The Lord will provide food, raiment, and shelter for you.”
At age 19, grandfather had traveled 160 miles by horse and wagon from Meadow, Utah, to St. George to be married in the temple to Elizabeth Stewart. They returned to Meadow where they lived as farmers for the next six years. It was then that James E. received his mission call to New Zealand. It was common at that time to ask young married men to leave home and family to serve for two to five years.
For the next three years and four months, his young wife not only raised three children and (with the help of his brother Joseph) ran the farm; she also kept him on his mission by milking cows, selling eggs, and doing whatever else she could. They understood hardship and sacrifice better, I think, than we do today. But the Lord was mindful of them and blessed them according to his wisdom.
In New Zealand, Elder Fisher and his companion no doubt wondered and worried about their loved ones back home. In a new land with new customs, often relying on the kindness of others for shelter and sustenance, they must have felt out of place at times and in need of reassurance. The food commonly used by the Maori people was much different than that to which they were accustomed.
One day as the missionaries rode along on their horses, they talked about how much they missed the good, homemade bread so common back in Utah. Money from home had not yet arrived and they were, quite simply, hungry. Elder Fisher’s companion suggested that they were alone and could dismount. They went into the woods and prayed. They expressed their desire to serve, as well as their love and concern for those back home.
The two elders felt better, got back on their horses, and continued on their way. As they rode along, they noticed something just off the road. They dismounted and to their amazement found, wrapped in a white cloth, a fresh loaf of bread, the same kind of homemade bread they had talked about in their prayer. They rejoiced as they ate it, although it wasn’t the bread that was so important, but the reassurance that Heavenly Father knew who they were and where they were, that they had faithful wives and that the Lord’s kindness and goodness was over them all. Later, they both wrote home and told their wives of the incident.
At that time, it took six weeks for a letter to get from Utah to New Zealand, and it cost 50 cents for postage, which was then an enormous sum of money. Therefore letters were sent only about once a month.
About three months after the elders found the bread on the trail, Elder Fisher’s companion received a letter from his wife. She wrote that on that same day they made their discovery, she had been baking bread.
When she opened her oven to remove it, one of the pans was empty and a white cloth that had been on the table was gone. She had been home all the time and saw no one come or go.
Two missionaries in New Zealand had received an answer to prayer. The loaf of bread came to symbolize for them that it was Heavenly Father who had sent them to New Zealand and that he was supporting and watching over their families.
Incidentally, when James E. returned home, the farm had prospered and he and his wife owned more cattle and sheep and had more money than before.

My first contact with the Liahona was when a friend—who later became my husband—brought me a copy when he returned to the United States from serving a mission in Argentina and Chile. Later when I served a mission in Chile, I loved the magazine and was grateful that the members had it to help them build their faith. Now as a senior missionary in Tonga, I use it in the classes I teach at church. Thank you for the Liahona!Sister Mary Lou Ellsworth, Tonga Nuku‘alofa Mission

“Oh, I’m so glad you can come! I was afraid I might have to miss the program. I’m one of the angels in the choir.”
“Oh, we’ll all come. None of our children are in a Christmas program this year, so we’ll be happy to see yours.”
Later that evening the family sat together in the darkened auditorium, waiting for the program to begin. The curtains opened, and the program began with angels singing familiar Christmas carols. As she watched row after row of children from the audience around her go with their braces, crutches, or wheelchairs to perform on stage, Holly thought about how hard it must be for them to do things—and to do some of them in front of all these people too! She wasn’t at all surprised to see silent tears sliding down her mother’s face. Somehow after listening to Debbie all afternoon telling about her friends and the tricks they played and about how they got in trouble for racing down the hall in wheelchairs, Holly had nearly forgotten about their physical problems.
After the choir sang, a play about Santa Claus began. Santa had a bad case of gout, and he had to have physical therapy and treatment at the School for Crippled Children before he could go on his usual Christmas Eve rounds.
The part of the doctor was played by a handsome, humpbacked teenager who walked with a cane. Suddenly he lost his balance and went crashing to the floor. The audience gasped with concern. Holly felt Greg’s shoulder moving against hers, and she realized that he was struggling with the boy to stand up. Finally the boy got to his feet.
“Nurse, see that something is done about that floor!” the boy commanded, thumping the offending floor with his cane.
Waves of applause filled the auditorium along with relieved laughter. It was a Christmas program that none of them would ever forget.

Now a final example. C.O. Woody was an executive at a large power company. The company's executives asked me and some colleagues to interview employees and managers, and design a leadership program to help them improve. Everywhere I went, people's response was "Oh, C.O. helped us do that"."C.O. was the person that directed that, he will be the one to figure it out in the future." My last appointment of the day was with C.O. Woody. As I sat down and I said something like, "C.O. you are a legend around here. How do you work with these people?" C.O. was very self effacing and gave some general answers about working hard and getting other people involved. I finally pushed him a little and he said, "Well look around the office and tell me what you see." The walls were filled with pictures of his family, groups he had worked with, workers at plants he had visited. He explained, "A couple of years ago, I had a heart attack but the good Lord gave me another chance. As I was lying in the hospital recovering I decided when I came back to work I was going to treat everyone like family." We talked a bit and I think I understood what he was saying. But I finally really understood later in the lunch room. Mildred, and that is the best I can remember her name, was doing her job of cleaning tables and straightening up the area. She was looking radiant. I had seen her before so I knew a bit of her history as a single mom just trying to make it through, and I said, "Mildred, must be a good day," She said "great day, I am finally graduating." So I said "congratulations on finishing High School". And she said. "No, college". College? And then she told me how years before she was moping around the cafeteria doing her job, when C.O. asked her what was up. She explained the challenges she was facing and she reported he said something like, "Tell you what, we will support you to start taking classes at the community college. You keep going and keep your grades up and we will help you get a degree that will qualify you for a better paying job." C.O. held people to high expectations, helped them and held them accountable. Mildred was graduating and moving on. Can you think of anything Mildred would not do for C.O. Woody? Of course the answer is, Mildred would devote her full energy and creativity to helping C.O. Woody. He treated everyone that way, and they responded with high energy and high performance. The Lord's way of leading really works.

I remember being so homesick for Mama and Daddy that one day when I was about ten, I ran away from school during recess and headed down the country road to my house. The teacher saw me and called my father. He met me halfway, wiped away my tears, and told me that Mama was going to be all right and that we would be together again soon. When I got back to school, a good friend was there to comfort me. She helped me a lot through those next few months.

The Lord speaks of offerings in the plural. He expects us, as a condition of faithfulness, to pay our tithing and our fast offerings to help the poor and the needy. But we are privileged to make other offerings, not by way of assignment, assessment, or ecclesiastical direction. Among these are donations to the General Missionary Fund, Humanitarian Aid Fund, and the Book of Mormon Fund. We are also privileged to voluntarily contribute to building the new temples President Hinckley has announced.

Recently I received an anonymous letter from a person who made a substantial sacrifice for the General Temple Fund of the Church. She said: “I decided when I wanted to spend any money on myself I would forgo it and put the money into the temple fund. This meant no new clothes or shoes, books, hair appointments, necklaces, or anything of a personal nature until I reached my goal. I thought this would be a sacrifice, but instead I have found joy in it. It has been a rewarding and fulfilling experience.”

Alison listened eagerly as the bishop announced that their ward would be having a Christmas open house this year. “We want it to be a special evening,” he said. “It will be a wonderful opportunity to invite friends and neighbors.”
Alison loved the Christmas holidays. She liked shopping for presents for her family and friends and singing Christmas carols. And she loved reading the story of Jesus’s birth and thinking of Him as a small baby.
The bishop’s next words caught her attention. “Because of the open house, we won’t be having our traditional ward Christmas party this year.”
Alison frowned. “No party?” she whispered to her mother. The ward Christmas party was one of her favorite parts of the season.
Mom put a finger to her lips.
“Some of our friends and neighbors do not understand that we are Christians,” the bishop continued. “We want them to know that we believe in Jesus Christ.”
Alison turned her attention back to the bishop.
“The open house will focus on Jesus Christ,” he said. “We’re asking families to bring nativity sets, and we will have a live reenactment of the Nativity scene.”
As the time drew near for the open house, Alison started getting excited. Mom and Dad invited an elderly neighbor to go to the open house. Alison invited Erica.
The night of the open house, Alison helped Mom wrap both of the family’s nativity sets in newspaper. Then Mom and Dad drove her to pick up Erica.
When they got to the church, Alison and Erica looked at nativity sets from Japan, Austria, the Philippines, and many other countries.
Then the girls went outside where the young men and young women were acting out the Nativity. There were live cows, sheep, and even a nanny goat. “Everything but a camel,” Alison said.
The bishop asked everyone to gather in the chapel. Alison and Erica sat with the Primary children. The children sang “Picture a Christmas”1 and “The Nativity Song,”2 and the ward choir performed parts of Messiah.
“That was really great,” Erica said on the ride home. “I wish my parents could have come.”
“Maybe next year,” Alison said, smiling. She thought about the open house and realized she hadn’t missed the Christmas party after all.

Some years ago an assignment took me to one of the islands of the South Seas to dedicate a newly completed chapel. That evening, as I approached the building with some of the local leaders, we were surprised to notice that the building was completely dark.
As we entered the building and saw all the members sitting in the chapel, we inquired about the absence of lighting. The bishop informed us that earlier in the afternoon the building supervisor had inspected the building to make sure all was in readiness for the dedication. But now, as the time approached to begin the services, for some reason there were no lights, even though lights were aglow in nearby homes. All possibilities for correcting the problem were checked without success, and so the local leaders and I decided to proceed with the dedicatory services.
As the program proceeded, illuminated only by a kerosene lantern in front of the chapel, I felt sure that this would be the first dedication performed in darkness in the history of the Church!
I’m sure all those good brothers and sisters in the congregation joined me with a silent prayer in their hearts to ask the Lord to bless us with light so that the chapel could be dedicated.
One by one the speakers spoke—in the dark. The choir sang beautiful anthems—in the dark. As the concluding speaker, I, too, gave my talk in the dark. Then, as I asked the congregation to unite with me for the dedicatory prayer, the lights in the chapel suddenly flickered on. How grateful we were to the Lord for this special blessing! I was overcome with emotion and felt meek and humble that we had been so blessed, but the illumination of the chapel could not compare with the light of love in our hearts for this great blessing in answer to our prayers.
Yes, the Lord blessed us, even as our faith was tested and as we prayed with hope.

As years passed and my life experiences piled up, I began to see evidence of God’s love for everyone around me, but I did not always expect or recognize His love for myself. I questioned my worth as an individual.
In July of 2008, I felt strongly impressed to leave a job that was no longer good for me. I didn’t have another job, but it was early in my career and options seemed limitless. Also, because of my prompting, I was confident that Heavenly Father would help me find the right opportunity.
Weeks later, the world entered a financial crisis and unemployment rates soared. As weeks and then months passed, I began to panic. I heard heartbreaking stories of fathers and mothers losing their jobs. I was single and had no one depending on me, so I wondered if others needed and deserved employment more than me.
One night, I took my concerns to the Lord. I told Him I needed a job to take care of myself but that I could see there were families in greater need. It was as if I were imagining everyone getting in line to receive the blessings of the Lord, and because I was single, I was expected to allow families to cut in front of me.
As I prayed, the Spirit taught me that this was not what was expected of me. There is no line to get to our Heavenly Father. He invites all of His children to come to Him because “all are alike unto [Him]” (2 Nephi 26:33). The thought came very clearly to my mind that Heavenly Father is not limited by any circumstance of our world and that He will help every individual who comes to Him and Jesus Christ.
In that moment, I was reminded that there is no class system among Heavenly Father’s children. He blesses us as we choose to make and keep covenants with Him and Jesus Christ. We are all loved and important to Him, regardless of where we are on the covenant path.
Shortly after that, I was offered a job that put my career on the path it is on now.

“Don’t forget this is fast Sunday.” Hearing my mother’s reminder was like hearing a judge pronounce “ten years to life.” Wandering out to the kitchen on a Sunday morning and discovering that the table was bare and there was no bacon smell made me want to crawl right back under the covers. How could a word like fast be associated with something that seems to drag on forever?
I remember fast Sundays spent pacing the kitchen floor as I tried to justify eating just a little something. “I need to take something for a headache, but I can’t take aspirin on an empty stomach.” When I persisted with my grumbling, good old Mom always said, “We don’t force anyone to fast around here. You are free to eat whenever you choose.” Sure. Eat while everyone else is fasting. And feel like a total jerk.
After a while, I learned not to complain and not to hover around the pantry. Instead, I’d go outside and mess around, or go to a far corner of the house and dive into the Sunday paper or a book—anything to take my mind off my stomach.
And so I fasted. At least I went without food and drink for two meals. I had been told I was old enough to fast, so I suffered through it, one Sunday a month. Rewarding? About like a forced run in gym class. It’s painful and unpleasant, and when you get through, all you have is the satisfaction that you toughed it out. Until—
Until one Sunday. I don’t know what got into me. (It certainly wasn’t pancakes! Might have been a past Sunday School lesson, though.) At any rate, I decided that I would really see if I could get something out of fasting besides killer breath. Why go through the discomfort and come away with nothing more than relief that it’s over?
So when I woke up that Sunday morning, I made a deliberate effort to be pleasant and patient. I didn’t prowl the kitchen, growling like an echo of my stomach. Yes, I spent some time reading the Sunday paper, but I also spent time (and effort) in the scriptures. When I went off to my room, it was not to sulk, but to pray—for patience, for understanding, and for an increase of testimony.
My mouth still tasted like something small and furry had hibernated in it. But mouthwash helped. My stomach still threw tantrums for a while. But then the hunger pangs faded into the background, partly because I was tuning them out, and partly because my body seemed to shift into another gear.
As the day progressed, I actually became happy. (No, it wasn’t delirium.) In fast and testimony meeting I found myself watching the speakers and listening to their testimonies, rather than watching the clock and listening to my stomach. Being there felt good. When dinner time finally arrived, I discovered that I was able to sit calmly. A new sense of self-control allowed me to eat reasonably, instead of giving way to the usual gluttony of the “feast of the fast over.”
On the fast Sundays that followed, I often had to relearn the same lessons. It’s so easy to let the stomach control moods, thoughts, temper. And it’s easy to go through the motions and discomfort of fasting without finding joy in it. But as I persevered, I continued to learn to actually enjoy fasting.
A few years later, in the mission field, proper fasting became even more important as I sought the blessings of the Spirit. Of course, I still had a missionary’s appreciation for food. In fact, one day our new zone leader leaned toward me over the lunch table, glanced down at my well-stocked plate, and said, “I’ll bet you really hate to fast, don’t you, Elder?”
My mouth was full of food, so all I could do was dumbly shake my head. But no. I no longer hated to fast.
Before I had really put myself into it, really looked for the rewards of fasting, I wouldn’t have understood what the Lord was talking about when he said:
“Verily, this is fasting and prayer, or in other words, rejoicing and prayer” (D&C 59:14; italics added).
But now I understand: There are rewards that go far beyond the meager satisfaction of just having endured.