Gospel Story Finder

“But they won’t want to go,” Tad insisted.
Brother Feagin thought for a moment and then said, “Do you know how many years Sister Arnold has been a widow?” We shook our heads.
“Thirty-five years. Her husband was killed when she was 42. She had eight kids under 18. She went back to college, got a degree, and then taught for the next 19 years. She didn’t have much time for a social life. Have you ever wondered what it would be like to go 35 years without a date? That’s twice as long as you’ve been alive. People never outgrow their need for doing things with other people. Oh, she’s gone to a church dance occasionally, but always with a couple, always feeling like a fifth wheel. Now she has a chance to go out and be the main wheel. Going with someone young enough to be her grandkid won’t be ideal, but it beats staying home for 35 years.”

Now let’s look to another set of missionaries closer to our time, the time of the Restoration. There was considerable persecution from enemies in and outside the Church. At a time when it appeared that the Prophet needed them at home, two of the Apostles, Brigham Young and Heber C. Kimball, were called on foreign missions. The following is Elder Heber C. Kimball’s historic account of the pathetic setting at his departure:
“I went to the bed and shook hands with my wife, who was shaking with the ague, having two children lying sick by her side; I embraced her and my children, and bid them farewell; the only child well was little Heber Parley, and it was with difficulty he could carry a two-quart pail full of water from a spring at the bottom of a small hill to assist in quenching their thirst. It was with difficulty we got into the wagon and started down the hill about ten rods; it appeared to me as though my very inmost parts would melt within me; leaving my family in such a condition, as it were, almost in the arms of death; it seemed to me as though I could not endure it. I said to the teamster, ‘Hold up.’ Said I to Brother Brigham, ‘This is pretty tough, ain’t it? Let’s rise up and give them a cheer.’ We arose and swinging our hats three times over our heads, we cried ‘Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah for Israel!’ Vilate [Kimball] hearing the noise arose from her bed and came to the door; she had a smile on her face and she and Mary Ann Young cried out to us, ‘Good bye, God bless you.’ We returned the compliment and then told the driver to go ahead. After this I felt a spirit of joy and gratitude at having the satisfaction of seeing my wife standing upon her feet, instead of leaving her in bed, knowing as I did that I should not see them again for two or more years” (quoted in Helen Mar Whitney, “Life Incidents,” Woman’s Exponent, 15 July 1880, p. 25). This was one of four missions that these two Apostle missionaries served.

Martin Reynolds, 18, of Sutton Coldfield, has found extra blessings coming from hard work needed for his particular round.

“My mother and I agreed to deliver 2,800 daily papers around our area,” he explains. “These have to be dropped off at 14 pickup points in bundles of 100. We get up at 4.30 A.M. returning home by 6.00 A.M. Not only do I save for my mission and have money for other activities this way, but I also have the chance to talk with my Mum. We get along really well. And it’s been a good time for her to teach me to drive.”

When I was a deacon, my family moved to a new home in a different ward. I was beginning junior high school, so I also attended a new school. There was a marvelous group of young men in the deacons quorum. Most of their parents were active members. My mother was completely active; my father was exceptional in every way but was not an active member.
The second counselor in the bishopric, Brother Dean Eyre, was a devoted leader. When I was still adjusting to the new ward, a father-son event was announced for Bear Lake—about 40 miles (65 km) away. I did not think I would attend without my father. But Brother Eyre issued a special invitation for me to go with him. He spoke highly and respectfully of my father and stressed the significance of my opportunity to be with the other members of the deacons quorum. So I decided to go with Brother Eyre, and I had a wonderful experience.
Brother Eyre was a marvelous example of Christlike love in fulfilling the bishopric’s responsibility to support parents in watching over and nurturing the youth. He gave me an excellent start in this new ward and was a mentor to me.

Even though Pham was twelve years old, he was about to celebrate his very first Christmas.
Pham and his family had come to the United States during the great airlift of refugees from Vietnam. And although many wonderful things had happened to Pham’s family since their arrival, the most wonderful of all was when they had joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints!
Before then, Pham had only heard about Christmas. He had not been too sure how the Christmas holidays would be celebrated, but he thought that they might be celebrated like Tet, the Vietnamese New Year. During Tet everyone decorated his home with flowers, ate delicious food, and shot off fireworks. Then when the missionaries came to teach his family about the Church, Pham learned that Christmas is the celebration of Jesus’ birth. He never tired of hearing his teacher at church read the Christmas story. He especially liked to hear about the Wise Men who had brought gifts to the baby Jesus. Pham had decided that, like the Wise Men, he would give Jesus a gift.
On the Saturday before Christmas, Pham held his little sister’s mittened hand in his as they headed for the bus stop. He shoved his other hand deep into his coat pocket where his fingers found and clutched five one-dollar bills. He had worked very hard shoveling snow and running errands to earn the money, and now he was on his way to the department store to buy the special Christmas gift for Jesus.
Although the cold nipped at Pham’s nose and ears as he and Kim Li got off the bus and started down the sidewalk piled high on either side with snow, his heart was warm and singing. Soon the singing wouldn’t stay inside, and Pham’s voice rose clear and sweet in the cold air. He sang every Christmas carol that he knew, and people passing turned and smiled.
Soon Pham and Kim Li reached the department store. Its windows glittered with gold and silver tinsel and tiny star-lights that blinked off and on. The sight was so dazzling that Pham and Kim Li just stood in wonder for a moment.
Then, remembering his important mission, Pham led his sister into the store and started his search for the perfect gift for Jesus. Slowly he went up and down the long aisles, looking and looking. Ties and socks and books and shirts and jackets were fine for his father but didn’t seem quite right for Jesus. Pham looked at diamonds and watches and golden rings, but somehow even they would not have been good enough, even if Pham had had the money to buy them. Discouraged, he wondered how the Wise Men had been able to decide on their gifts of gold and frankincense and myrrh.
Pham felt a tug on his sleeve. Looking down, he saw that his little sister was so tired that she couldn’t take another step. Gently Pham picked her up and gave her a hug. He carried her to the store’s snack bar and sat her down on a bench while he went to get some hot chocolate for her. It cost fifty cents, but Pham didn’t think that Jesus would mind if he spent a little of the money on Kim Li.
After Kim Li had finished her hot chocolate and had rested a while, Pham decided to try another store. On the way, they passed a crippled man begging on the sidewalk. Pham had seen many people who were hurt and crippled during the war, and his heart went out to the man. Before he quite realized what he was doing, Pham took a dollar from his pocket and gave it to the beggar.
When they arrived at the second department store, Pham again searched down every aisle, but he still couldn’t find anything that was just right. Then he saw a little boy who was lost and crying. Pham bought the boy a small toy and told him stories while they took him to a security guard, who paged his mother.
It was getting late, and Pham and Kim Li started home without finding a gift for Jesus. They stopped for a moment to watch a fat man with a white beard, who was dressed in a red suit. The jolly man was ringing a bell above a pot that people dropped money into. “What is the money for?” Pham asked. When the man said that it was to buy food for the poor, Pham put two dollars into the pot. He knew all about not having enough food.
When Pham put his hand back into his coat pocket, he was shocked to discover that he had only one dollar left. What have I done? he wondered. It was too late to earn more money, and he couldn’t think of anything that he could buy for a dollar. Filled with disappointment, he thought of the Wise Men and their handsome gifts. He had so wanted to give Jesus a fine gift too! How could he ever do it now? By the time they reached home, great tears were sliding down Pham’s cheeks.
“What’s the matter?” his mother asked as she gently held his tear-streaked face. Pham told her about how he had wanted to give a gift to Jesus as the Wise Men had and about how he had spent nearly all his money and still didn’t have a gift.
“Oh, but you do!” his mother said, a tender smile lighting her face. “You have already given Him the only gift that He really wants—the love in your heart!”
“It is true that I have love, but how have I given Him that?” Pham asked, puzzled.
“Don’t you see?” his mother said gently. “You have given love today to Kim Li, to the crippled man, to the little boy, to the poor for food. Oh, Pham, you have given richly! Don’t you remember that Jesus said, ‘Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me’ (Matt. 25:10)? Pham, you have given Jesus the finest gift of all!”
Pham’s eyes began to shine with joy. He took the remaining dollar from his pocket. “I will give this to the bishop,” he said. “Maybe it will help a missionary teach others about Jesus and the gospel.”

I was in the ninth grade. I had friends, and I was on the yearbook staff. Things were going my way. Everything except gym class. My problem wasn’t exactly the class—it was the teacher. She was new, just graduated from college. She was strict and never smiled. It wasn’t that I didn’t try during class; it was just that my athletic ability wasn’t the greatest.
I remember the day we practiced basketball layups. The gym teacher taught us how to place our feet and shoot the ball. I tried to follow her directions, but my ball just wouldn’t go into the basket. She growled at me.
Another day we played dodgeball. When the ball hit me squarely in the shin, she yelled at me. I felt humiliated and upset. I started to dread gym class because I was afraid I would be yelled at in front of everyone. I wanted to place the blame on her. But one day I had a realization that changed everything.
I was sitting in line waiting for roll call. I watched my teacher moving up and down the line, marking her clipboard as she checked our gym uniforms. Suddenly, a thought occurred to me: “She’s your sister!”
“My sister?” I thought. How could that be? I wouldn’t claim her for all the world. But the thought came again: “She’s your sister.” And then it occurred to me. She is my sister. We are spirit sisters. We have the same Heavenly Father. We both chose to follow the Savior in the premortal world. We are both here on earth to gain a body and learn and grow. This realization was startling. It was as if someone had slipped a pair of spiritual glasses over my eyes. I began to see my gym teacher with a whole new perspective. She is a child of God.
I started to smile at the thought. What if we had actually been friends in the premortal existence? What if she had tried to teach me basketball there and we had laughed together?
I watched her make her way down the line. Soon she was in front of me, marking her chart. I couldn’t help but smile at her in a genuine, friendly way. She seemed a little shocked at my new friendliness.
The rest of the class period I thought about what I had discovered. If she really were my sister, I would want her to be successful as a teacher. Maybe there were some things I could do to make her day go better. To begin with, I could change my attitude.
The next day as I entered the gymnasium and looked at my teacher, the old distasteful feeling started to come back. “Wait,” I thought. “That’s your sister over there. Love her.”
I confidently went and sat in line. Throughout the class I tried to listen respectfully and show real interest in what she was saying. No matter what my teacher did or said to me, I appreciated her. Soon I felt genuine friendship toward her.
She must have sensed my change of attitude because she actually smiled at me a few times. I knew she could tell that I was sincere in my efforts. The rest of the semester went smoothly, and by the end of the year I had even earned an A. But the miracle of the class was not my grade; it was my change of heart.
Now sometimes when I find myself feeling dislike toward someone, I stop and mentally slip on my spiritual glasses. I try to remember that we are all brothers and sisters. My corrected vision makes all the difference. I can reach out in love to people I would otherwise turn away from. After all, that’s what we are here to learn—how to love one another. And that’s much more important than an A in gym class.

With only a few weeks left in the school year, one of my best friends wanted to have a party at his house to celebrate the end of school. Knowing I was LDS, he told me there would be no “bad things happening,” so I could attend. I told him I’d be there, but then two hours before the party started, I got a strong impression that I shouldn’t go.
It wasn’t easy, but I followed the feeling and told my friend I couldn’t come anymore for personal reasons. He was somewhat offended. He told me how other Mormons would be going and how I was just scared to go to a party. But I just thanked him for inviting me and said I hoped the night would be fun. Later I discovered that some kids came with alcohol, hookah, and even a “weed brownie.” I was told that I “missed a great night,” and since then, I haven’t been invited to another party like it—all because I followed the Spirit and put God and my standards before popularity. But because of that decision, I’ve been given a gift to see who my true friends are and whom I can trust.

Talking wasn’t always something that Shauna liked to do. In junior high school, she was really shy. But now that she’s a junior in high school, she’s found out there are lots of shy people, potential friends just waiting for someone else to talk first. When Shauna gives advice to her younger sisters, Talia and Crystal, about how to improve their junior high years, she says, “I wish I had talked to more people. I know I would have made more friends if I had talked more. I am still scared to talk to anyone …”
Shauna pauses a moment and glances at her best friend, Kristy Call, who interrupts and says, “especially boys.”
Shauna nods in agreement. “Yes, especially boys. There are people who grow up talking to people, and they are friendly and have no problem doing that. I try to smile and try not to look like I’m nervous, but it’s hard. I’ve been trying to open up more.”
Anyone who is lucky enough to meet Shauna would be shocked to find out that she thinks she’s shy and not able to talk easily with people. This is a girl who won the national Hiram Percy Maxim Award, given each year to one young person in the United States who has done the most to promote amateur radio and still live a well-rounded life filled with leadership responsibilities and good grades in school.
Outside interests are certainly not lacking in Shauna’s life. It takes her a minute to recite the whole list. “I play the piano and the flute and sing in the choir.” Then things start to get complicated. “But choir and band are the same hours at school as orchestra, so I play in the jazz band and orchestra at the college so I can still play my flute. I can’t choose between piano and flute. I don’t have a favorite; I love them both. I’m on the swim team, and we have practices before and after school. I’m in the drama club and the French club. And I’m going to enter the science fair again this year. I want to learn to play the guitar. You can’t carry a piano around with you. You can take a flute, but you can’t sing while you’re playing the flute. If you have a guitar, you can play and sing. I can take guitar lessons at school, but then I’d have to drop one of my other classes, and I don’t want to drop anything. I’ll get a job and pay for lessons. If I can’t, I’ll get a guitar book and teach myself.”
Whew! Remember, Shauna likes to talk now.
But the list isn’t finished yet. She was on the student council and plays the piano at church and loves Young Women activities. She was in dance, but had to give it up for the piano. And she’s really upset that she can’t work a speech class into her school schedule.
We have to ask her dad, Kerry. Do you see Shauna strung out doing too much? He laughs, “All the time.”
Wouldn’t it be a good thing if she just dropped a few things? That’s not an acceptable solution to Shauna. She likes to try lots of things even if she isn’t the star at any of them. It’s the way she has fun. And she’s got a great mother, Johanna, who helps her find ways to learn the things she wants to learn.
“We never told Shauna that anything is too hard,” says Johanna. “If she’s doing something to impress someone or to get attention, then we figure it’s not a good enough reason. But if she really wants to learn something, then we’ll help her find a way.”
One of the things that definitely does not get shoved aside is church. “This past year,” says Shauna, “I would say my prayers and read the scriptures, but it was just words. Then I started really reading the scriptures and listening to other people’s testimonies. I know I got extra help to make it through the day and not fall asleep in classes and get good grades. All this year, I’ve been listening to people and watching my older friends and finding out the special things they know because of the Church and seminary. I don’t have a strong, strong, strong testimony yet, but it’s growing. I know I can feel the Spirit at different times.”
Shauna is quick to acknowledge the help of her family and teachers. “There’s a lot of people who help me and encourage me. I’m not this wonderful person who can do everything on my own—like Joseph Smith who went out and found the truth by himself.”
Pretty neat girl. And she doesn’t let her handicap get in the way.
Wait a minute. What handicap?
What could possibly be wrong with this cute redhead with sparkling blue eyes and great personality?
Not much because she doesn’t let it get in her way. But one of her eyes (it’s hard to tell which) doesn’t work. She was born with sight in only one eye.
“I don’t know what it’s like to see out of two eyes,” says Shauna. “It’s harder for me to do some things, like sports. In basketball, I shoot and it looks like the ball is going to go over the top of the basket, but it doesn’t even get close. I have to practice to get the feel of how I need to shoot.
“When I draw pictures in art, they always turn out different from other people’s. But the art teachers like that, so it’s okay. Just because I can’t see out of one eye doesn’t mean I can’t play the piano.”
Shauna’s differences have made her more empathetic with others. In some important ways, Shauna sees a little more clearly than many people with two working eyes. Her dad says, “She can see when someone is hurting. She sees, in a crowd of girls, when one girl is being left out.”
Actually, amateur radio fits in with Shauna’s overriding interest in helping people. She has helped people who have been in accidents or have broken down on the highway by relaying messages to the police or tow trucks. Everything Shauna learns and every new person Shauna talks to broadens her understanding of the world. She continues to find ways to expand the boundaries of what she knows and what she can know. Shauna’s world continues to get bigger.
But it’s getting late. Time to sign off.
“Thanks for the QSO (conversation). Please QSL (send me a postcard). This is Shauna N7NGT clear. 73s (best regards).”
You can decode this message written in Morse code from Shauna by comparing each group of dots and dashes to the Morse code chart. When you figure out the letters, write them down and you will have Shauna’s message to you.
Morse Code Message
•– – • •– •–• • –• • •••– • •–• •••• •– –• •–•• •• –•–• •– •– –• •– –• • –•• ••– –• •–•• • ••• ••• •– – • – •••• •• –• –•– •– – • •– •–• • – –••– – •– –• •– –• • – – – •– –• •–•• • •– – •••• • – – – ••• ••– •– –• •– –• – – – •–• – • •– –•–• •••• – – – – •••• • •–• –•–• •– –• •– –•–• •–•–•– •– –• •–•• •• ••• •••• •– •–•• – – – – – ••• – •– –• –•– – – •••• •• –• – –• •– – •• – •••• – •••• • •–•• – – – •••– • – – – ••–• – – – ••– •–• •••• • •– •••– • –• •–•• –•– – ••–• •– – •••• • •–• •–•–•–

As I was preparing this talk, I received an unexpected email from someone in the process of repenting and desiring to return to the Church. His former wife was still suffering from the loss “of [their] eternal marriage, [difficulties with the children], the loss of financial security, … not [being] quite able to keep up with expenses, [and] the deeply suffocating feelings of being betrayed.”

He shared with me how his priesthood leader “felt impressed to [ask him] to prayerfully consider what [more he could do for his former wife and children].” With permission, I share a part of his email:

“I [first] thought the [money] I gave up in the divorce decree was more than generous, but my branch president encouraged me to fast and pray about it. …

“Initially, I struggled with the idea of further restitution. Since my sins weren’t financial, I wondered what a ‘generous restitution’ truly meant … [but] I soon realized it wasn’t just about money.

“My priesthood leaders met with [my former wife] and my children and realized they were still struggling and hadn’t healed. …

“My new goal was to move forward with faith. … I simply expressed my desire to help with no strings attached. … I decided to [send my former wife a specific amount] per paycheck, which was a significant portion of my net pay. Just before making the first payment, the Lord [impressed upon my mind that I needed] to pay [twice that amount].

“I’ve learned that restitution isn’t just about money. It’s about humbly dedicating my life to the Lord. … The money is to help replace what I took from my family due to my poor choices. It’s about making and keeping promises without expecting anything in return and helping her not worry about bills so she can seek the Spirit.”

Your efforts to restore what you have broken may have nothing to do with money, but as you humbly counsel with the Lord, you may find there is more you can do.

Currently I am swimming, serving as a student body officer, learning the piano and bass trombone, playing the piano for priesthood opening exercises, keeping an A average in AP classes, doing my duties as a priest and Eagle Scout, and holding a job to earn money for my mission. Most of the times overlap. I finally had to sit down and make a weekly schedule. This helped tremendously. I left at least 10 minutes of “me time” between each of these activities. But when work and swim continued to fill the same time slot, I had to drop swim for a while. That relieved much of the stress I was going through. Sometimes you just have to let things go, and prioritize your activities in order of importance.
Ryan G., 18, Mississippi

During a recent open house and media day for a new house of the Lord, I led a group of journalists on a tour through the sacred structure. I described the purposes of temples in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and responded to their many excellent questions.
Before entering the celestial room, I explained that this particular room in the house of the Lord symbolically represents the peace and beauty of the heavenly home to which we can return after this life. I indicated to our guests that we would not speak while in the celestial room, but I would be happy to answer any questions after we moved to the next stop on the tour.
After exiting the celestial room and as we gathered at the next location, I asked our guests if they had any observations they wanted to share. One of the journalists said with great emotion, “I have never experienced anything like that in my entire life. I did not know quiet like that existed in the world; I simply did not believe such stillness was possible.”
I was struck by both the sincerity and the starkness of this person’s statement. And the journalist’s reaction highlighted one important aspect of stillness—overcoming and tuning out the commotion of our external environment.
As I later pondered the journalist’s comment and reflected on the often hectic pace of our modern lives—the busyness, noise, diversions, distractions, and detours that so often seem to demand our attention—a scripture came to my mind: “Be still, and know that I am God.”

For the Cottonwood and Granger groups, coming to the Teton High Adventure Base was something they’d planned for all year. “We power raked lawns all summer to make money for the trip,” David Black explained, “so that everyone could go.” The Brigham City Explorers even paid for their leaders’ expenses as well as their own by pouring concrete for several months. For all the groups, the trip would be a source of memories for a long time. Like guide Bob Burk, they would remember it as the “best summer ever.” As they loaded equipment into their leaders’ cars, there was a difference in them. They’d grown from being here. When they left they were still laughing and talking about the trip.

It was Memorial Day evening. Jason Booker, 13, told his mother he was going for a walk. He headed up the hill to the creek where the night before his father and some other men had built a rock wall to contain the high runoff. Jason was just going to see how it was holding up.
“I was in the circle in front of Sims’s house when I heard a rumbling and cracking noise. I looked up the hill and saw the trees falling over, and rock and mud was coming down. I ran down the street and told my parents. Some friends who were visiting us left. We got the younger kids out of bed and into the car. I walked back up the hill with my dad. We got to the edge of the circle, and the mud was completely surrounding the Sims house up to the eaves. It started to move, and we just got out of there.
“We drove out of the area. The officials wouldn’t let us back into our house that night because more mud slides were coming down. On Tuesday they let us back in to get some clothes and necessities. Our house was still okay on Tuesday, but when we woke up Wednesday morning, we saw our house on the national news. We didn’t even know the mud had hit it until then.”
Jason’s house wasn’t destroyed, but the basement was filled to the ceiling with mud and the house was surrounded by several feet of mud. With the help of ward members and volunteers, the Bookers are restoring their home.

Tiger Brown was the meanest man I’d ever met. During the first summer after my mission I worked a highway construction job. Tiger was the foreman. He was about 60, short and stocky, with a bulldog neck and face. His eyes were small and angry, like a bear’s eyes.
My job was to follow a machine that laid down asphalt mix and to make sure the surface was clean and level. Large rocks would make their way through the machine, ending up buried in the asphalt. I would have to pick them out with a shovel and fill in the hole with hot mix from the front of the machine. Then I’d rake it smooth so it matched the rest of the road surface. We were laying a new surface on a highway in the west desert of Utah that summer. In the middle of the day the temperatures would be a hundred plus in the shade, and with the steaming hot asphalt it was nearly unbearable. The machine would often drop several big rocks at once, and I’d have to run just to keep up.
About four times a day Tiger would come by.
"Hey!" he’d growl at me above the roar of the machine. He would walk up to me with quick steps, his head down, pawing the air with his arms moving like an attacking grizzly. He always wore the same clothes—a ragged blue denim jacket, old khaki pants, a worn-out flannel shirt, and a dirty baseball hat. If you didn’t know him and saw him in downtown Salt Lake, you’d probably feel sorry for him and offer him a dollar. On the job no one ever made that mistake or even had to ask how he got his nickname.
"That’s not the way you do it," he would mumble, grabbing the shovel out of my hand. For ten minutes he would do my work. He would attack it with a vengeance terrifying to watch. No matter how far behind I was he would catch up to the machine in a quarter of the time it would have taken me. There was nothing I could do then but stand, humiliated, watching until finally he’d hand the shovel back to me.
"I should have hired your grandma," he’d snarl, and then after a disgusted glance he would stalk off.
He watched his crew like a red-tailed hawk watches a covey of mountain quail. If there was ever any indication of something out of order, the work moving just a little slow, or if the new road surface wasn’t perfectly level, or if the asphalt mix wasn’t just right, he would swoop down with that eagle nose and those fierce eyes, yelling, "Hey!"
I’m ashamed to admit it now, but I had bad feelings for the man, feelings that almost bordered on hate. I felt that way until about the second month of work.
We’d finished a stretch of road and were getting the equipment ready to move to a new location. The place looked like an ant bed that had been kicked. The work was moving fast, and the crew was on the run getting their equipment onto the back of trucks and large trailers. Tiger came suddenly into the middle of this scene waving his arms and yelling.
"Hey! Hey!"
He stopped all the work and grabbed the driver of a large crane by the arm and directed him toward the hot mix machine. The hot mix machine was a 50-foot long cylinder used to mix gravel and hot tar. When the crane reached the hot mix machine Tiger had the operator lower a hook that hung by cable from the crane’s arm. With the entire crew watching and wondering if he’d finally slipped his gears, Tiger put his foot in the hook and jerked his thumb upward. He rose up to about 40 feet, level with the top of the hot mix machine.
After reaching the cylinder, he carefully bent down and picked up a small bird’s nest full of bald-headed baby birds. The proud and very worried parents, two kingbirds, were hovering over the nest. Tiger jerked his thumb downward. When he reached the ground, he walked over to a small cottonwood tree and gently placed the nest in its branches. He had several of us put barricades around the tree.
"Hey! Hey!" he yelled when he turned around. "Get back at it. You think this is a spectator sport? I should have hired your grandmothers."
Tiger still barely nodded when I said good morning to him, and he yelled at me and took my shovel when my work wasn’t up to his standards; but after the incident with the birds I saw him in a different way.
We broke the Utah record a few weeks later for the amount of asphalt laid in a day. The inspectors said it was as smooth and as good a surface as they’d ever seen. Whenever I drive over that highway I feel a sense of pride. Tiger believed in giving a good value of work for his dollar and he expected the same from his crew. I started looking past his faults to the good in the man. By the end of the summer I not only learned to respect Tiger, but I also learned to like him.
Since then I’ve found there are many people like Tiger, and I’ve had to look past their faults to see the good. Some have become very good and valued friends.

“Hurry up, kids!” Dad called. “I found a sacrament meeting that starts in an hour.”
We had driven all the way to California for a week of going to the beach, sleeping late, eating lots of ice cream, and visiting amusement parks. But today was Sunday, and Dad had been on the phone looking for a ward for us to attend.
“It’s hard to get ready for church on vacation,” I thought. My dress was wrinkled, and my brother Mike had left his Sunday shoes at home. My little sister Ruthie kept turning on the TV and opening every drawer and closet in our small hotel room. Finally we were ready.
The drive to church was longer than we expected, and by the time we arrived, the deacons had just finished passing the sacrament. We quietly slipped into a back row and listened to the rest of the meeting. Even though we didn’t know any of the people there, it felt just like home. We sang “We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet,” and one of the speakers told a story I had heard in Primary the week before.
After the meeting, Dad disappeared for a minute. When he came back, he said, “I just talked to the bishop. Another sacrament meeting starts in 15 minutes. You can stay cozy right here.”
“What? Why? We just went to sacrament meeting!” Mike protested.
“Yes, but we missed the sacrament,” Dad explained.
“But we heard all the talks and songs. Dad, we’re on vacation,” I whined.
Dad thought for a minute. “Michelle, you remember your baptism, don’t you?”
“Yes.” I had been baptized a few months before.
“Well, you remember that Mom and the bishop gave talks, Mike played the piano, and Sister Tueller led the opening and closing songs?”
“Yes.”
“What was the most important part of your baptism? What were we all there for?” Dad asked.
“My baptism, of course!”
“Right. And taking the sacrament is the reason we come to sacrament meeting.”
I thought about how silly it would be to attend your baptism and leave before getting baptized. I realized that the sacrament must be even more important than I thought.
“Taking the sacrament is the most important thing we’ll do all week,” Dad said.
“More important than going to the beach?” Ruthie asked.
Dad smiled and pulled Ruthie onto his lap. “Even more important than going to the beach.”
We all chuckled. After all, we were on vacation.

Now, thirdly, I want to discuss a gift to self. What kind of a gift could you give to yourself this Christmas season? I am reminded of the story, and maybe some of you have heard it, about a young boy named Johnny. He went to the corner drugstore one day and asked Mr. Brown if he could borrow the phone. Mr. Brown knew him well, and said, “Sure, Johnny.” Johnny dialed the number, and Mr. Brown couldn’t help but hear the conversation which went like this:
“Hello, Mr. Green? I understand you are looking for a boy to come by your place after school and do some yardwork and help on some odd chores.”
“Oh, you already have a boy, and you’re doing fine. I see. Well, thank you very much, Mr. Green.” He hung up the phone and started out of the drugstore. The owner, Mr. Brown, felt a little bit down because of the boy’s conversation, and he said, “Johnny, I just want you to know I’m sorry you didn’t get that job.” Johnny turned around with a smile on his face, and said, “Mr. Brown, I got that job. I was just checking up on myself.”

For Donath Banamwana, his life’s path was very clear to him from an early age. His family was Catholic, the predominant religion in his home country of Rwanda. “Most Rwandan’s are very religious and over half of them are Catholic,” Donath noted.
It was a tradition in his village that every family would have at least one priest and he was very happy to take that responsibility for his family. “From the time that I was very young all I ever wanted was to be a priest,” he said, adding that all his education and life preparation was in anticipation of spending his life serving God in the priesthood.
During his late teenage years, he became confused by some of the things he heard and the feelings of doubt that continued to consume his thoughts. “I realized that I could not continue on this path, and I was devastated. I had spent my entire life preparing for this, and somehow God was preparing me for something else,” he said. But he did not know what path to take.
Donath struggled to determine what he would do with his life. Almost in desperation he decided that he would become a soldier in the Rwandan army. This was devastating for his family who were still disappointed that he had chosen not to enter the priesthood, and they were determined to do whatever it took to make sure he didn’t become a soldier.
They sent Donath to the Rwandan capital of Kigali where he had an uncle he could stay with. They hoped that he would take some time to think about his decisions. He got a job and settled into the area with his uncle’s family. One Sunday, his uncle asked him if he would like to attend church with him and his family. “I asked him what church and he said, ‘The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.’” He told his uncle he had never heard of this church but would like to attend.
He noticed how friendly the Church members were in the Kigali 3rd Branch. He wasn’t used to that type of church experience. “The opening hymn was number 136, I still remember the number, ‘I Know that My Redeemer Lives.’ It had a tremendous impact on me, I really didn’t hear or understand much else at the meeting. I had to find someone who could tell me what that song meant.”
He began meeting with the missionaries and having discussions with his uncle and began to recognize the truth of the gospel. He had moved back with his family, and going to church was very difficult because they lived nearly 10 hours away from the Kigali Branch. He was able to attend church a couple of times per month and made the decision to be baptized. He was baptized in the Kigali 3rd Branch, Kigali District in 2018.
Donath knew that he wanted to serve a mission and began preparing himself. After years of working toward this goal, Donath was called to serve in the Accra Ghana Mission in early 2022. Elder Banamwana served a very successful mission, finishing his last few months as an assistant to President Ben Beeson and Sister Julynn Beeson, mission leaders in Accra.

A young couple lost all of their household belongings when flood waters filled their neighborhood. Volunteers dug mud and rocks out of their home. Food, clothing, and temporary shelter were provided; the Relief Society replaced many necessary household goods. Because of this service, an incredible bond of love developed between those who helped and those who received. The Relief Society president felt that one of the purposes of Relief Society—sustaining and supporting one another—had been realized.

Nearly 20 years ago I received my mission call to serve in Japan. With great anticipation and some anxiety, I prepared to leave for my mission in January. Around this time both of my parents lost their jobs.
I had funding for my mission once I arrived, but our family struggled financially. I wasn’t sure where I would get money for upfront expenses like mission clothes, luggage, and other necessities. I was working a part-time job but wouldn’t have enough. I was especially concerned with how I would get money to apply immediately for a passport so I would have it in time to leave for Japan.
One afternoon, in desperation, I went to my room and pleaded with Heavenly Father. I shared my desire to serve in Japan and my gratitude that my dream of serving a mission would come true soon. I choked back tears, telling Him how I needed $75 for a passport that I just did not have. When I arose from my prayer, I knew everything was going to work out. I didn’t know how, but a quiet peace assured me that the Lord would provide.
Later that day I opened our mailbox to find a Christmas card inside. The individual who delivered it had made a concerted effort to maintain anonymity. There was no stamp on the card; it had been delivered by hand.
On the inside of the card was typed, “Congratulations! You are the recipient of random acts of Christian kindness. Merry Christmas, Hannah. Good luck on your mission.”
Inside the card was $100. I stood at my front door and cried. Who did this, and how did they know of my need?
Years later I still don’t know who brought the money to my house that day. I have thought about that person, or persons, a lot since then. They demonstrated what I believe Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin (1917–2008) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles meant when he said: “The compassion of Christlike friends deeply touches and changes our lives. … In this Church, prayers for help are often answered by the Lord through the simple, daily service of caring brothers and sisters. In the goodness of genuine friends, I have seen the reflected mercy of the Lord Himself.”1
That act of kindness changed me, helping me to leave on time for my mission and inspiring me to look for ways to be the answer to the prayers of others.

Through it all, my parents were great. They have always taught me how to make decisions. I remember when I was 14 and I was invited to play on an all-star team made up mostly of 16-year-olds. That was very exciting, but then I found out the team played every day—including Sunday. As soon as my coach said that, it just mortified me inside because I knew there was this great opportunity but there was also the issue of playing on Sunday.

I really didn’t know what to do, only that I had to make a decision before I talked to the coach. So I got down on my knees to pray, and I had this feeling that I should not play on Sunday. When I told the coach about not wanting to play on Sunday, he was totally fine with that idea. He told me he respected my decision, and that I could still play for the team.