Gospel Story Finder

Since Dad’s death, when Jared and I were four and five, Mom had been denied the luxury of sentimentality. There had always been so much work, so many worries, so much pressure. That’s why I was surprised after my mission to discover that she had kept the roses. I had just assumed that she had tossed them out with the wilted lettuce, the table scrapings, the cantaloupe rinds, and a host of other disposables. They were, of course, dry and brittle, mere shells of their former, fragrant selves. But there they were, wrapped delicately in the green floral paper, laid in the white oblong box, and endowed by her touch with a tender timelessness, completely impervious to the persistent onslaught of age.
In the beginning Jared and I had gone to Brother Palmer’s floral shop fully intending to send roses to the twins, girls who had earlier taken us to the Easter dance.
We pushed open the glass door with the “Yes, we’re open” sign displayed prominently on the inside. As we did, a silver bell tinkled a cheery welcome, and a wave of intoxicating flower perfumes enveloped us.
“Well, how are the handsome Hansen brothers today?” Brother Palmer called out to us as he saw us enter. We closed the door, stepped into the cool interior, and basked in the fragrance.
Brother Palmer was wearing a white shirt, open at the neck, and a pair of green faded slacks that hung low on his ample hips and supported a stomach bulge that buried his belt buckle and most of his belt. A disarming smile cut across his round perspiring face, the corners of his eyes crinkled in happy welcome, and his bald head, laced with several thin strings of graying hair, shone brightly.
He had been watering and pampering two enormous ferns he kept hanging above the counter, but when he saw us, he set his watering can on the floor, wiped his hands on the front of his shirt, and ambled toward us with an outstretched hand.
Jared and I smiled a greeting. We liked Brother Palmer. He got a little preachy at times, but under all his paternal advice and cautions, he was a good man. He was also our home teacher and had been for as long as I could remember. Mom appreciated him too. In fact, he was the only exception to her strict rule of absolute self-reliance. She would allow him to assist us as long as he disguised his service and kindness enough for her to maintain her pride.
Though Mom was a widow, she was fiercely independent, never one to run to the bishop or the Relief Society for help, refusing anything remotely resembling a handout. Ever since Dad died, she had been supporting us single-handedly. She had worked her way through college, raising us at the same time, and after graduation had finally found a teaching job. She had been working at it ever since.
“We need some flowers,” I announced to Brother Palmer, glancing about his shop, intrigued by his jungle of ferns, flowers, and creepers, mesmerized by the yellows, blues and myriad shades of red that surrounded me. I loved coming to Brother Palmer’s shop because it was like stepping into a giant, magical terrarium.
“How’s your mother, Jarom?” he asked me, ignoring my request and tugging on his sagging pants.
I pushed my hands into my pockets and nodded. “All right, I guess. She manages to stay busy.”
“I suppose she would with two boys like you to look after.” He eyed us sternly. “You treating her all right?” Jared and I nodded. “No back talk? Not too much complaining?”
Our faces colored just a little. “Well, not much,” Jared mumbled.
We were used to Brother Palmer’s interrogations, and we knew he would never talk about our flowers until he had made his inquiries. And it made no difference to him that he had seen us only two days earlier at church and had asked us other questions then. He never let an opportunity pass without inquiring about our welfare.
“Has anyone plowed your garden?”
“Brother Parks is letting us borrow his tiller,” Jared explained. “Jarom and I should be able to take care of it.”
“I have a few extra seed potatoes and tomato plants. I’ll run them over to you tomorrow.”
I grinned. “You always just happen to have a few extra ones. Just enough to plant our garden. You’d think that after all these years you could estimate a little closer than you do.”
Brother Palmer raised an eyebrow. “I estimate all right.” He rubbed his double chin and said, “Tell your mom that my wife will pick her up for leadership meeting tomorrow night.”
“We’ll tell her. And by the way, we’re having our family prayer and home evening too,” Jared grinned knowingly. “Now, what about the flowers?”
Brother Palmer plucked a dried leaf from his pet fern and dropped it into the garbage can behind the counter. “I’m just doing my job.” He heaved a sigh. “One of these days I’m going to meet your dad, and the first thing he’s going to do, even before he so much as shakes my hand, is ask about your mother.” He stared out the front window into the street without really seeing anything out there. “I remember when he courted her. I was in the temple when they were married. Your dad loved your mom.” He slapped his hand on the counter. “Now, when I meet him, I want to be able to give him a good report.” Brother Palmer cleared his throat. “I hope you two have some good answers for him too.”
His eyes twinkled, and he stepped behind the counter. “Now, what did you have in mind? Something for Mother’s Day?”
“Mother’s Day?” I asked, glancing over at Jared. “Is it Mother’s Day?”
Brother Palmer forced a cough. “I’ll bet you don’t forget dinner very often,” he muttered. “And it looks like your clothes have seen a washing machine lately, no thanks to the two of you.”
“Mother’s Day isn’t this Sunday, is it?” Jared asked.
Brother Palmer nodded. “That gives you five days.”
“We’ll have to get Mom a card,” I said to Jared. “Let’s not forget.” I turned back to Brother Palmer. “We’re taking the twins out to dinner this Saturday. We want to take them flowers when we pick them up.”
“Very romantic,” he remarked dryly. He stared at us a moment without speaking. He took a handkerchief, wiped his brow and the top of his head, blew his nose loudly. “Card for your mother; flowers for the twins,” he mumbled.
“Huh?” I asked.
He shook his head slowly and stuffed his handkerchief in his back pocket. “Nothing. Just thinking with my mouth open. I have carnations and daisies,” he said gruffly. “If you want I can even gather up some dandelions.”
Jared and I laughed. “Actually we had something a little more impressive in mind. Do you have roses?”
“Not for the twins,” he said bluntly.
“Huh?” I grunted.
He grabbed a rag and began polishing the counter. “Nope, boys, I have flowers for all occasions, but you have to fit the flower to the occasion. Now for your special occasion,” he said with not a little sarcasm, “a bouquet of daisies or dandelions will do just fine.”
“Come on, Brother Palmer, we’re trying to give you a little good business,” I said, not sure whether he was joking with us.
“You’re forgetting,” he said, jabbing a finger at me, “that I’m your home teacher first, your florist second.”
“I don’t get it,” Jared said.
Brother Palmer shook his head and began to explain as though this were the one hundredth time he had gone over it with us. “You don’t give roses to just anyone. You spoil the effect if you do. Now, I don’t know the twins. Maybe they’re good girls, but I suspect that they’re too young for roses. Maybe in a few years they’ll be old and wise enough, but not yet. Have you ever given roses before?” We shook our heads, utterly confused. “Then don’t start on the twins.” He sighed. “You can send a million carnations to almost anyone. But be careful when you send roses.”
“Brother Palmer,” I moaned.
“What will it be,” he demanded, “daisies or dandelions?”
“Roses.”
He wagged his head. “Not for the twins.”
“Brother Palmer,” I protested.
He shook his head adamantly. “I do have a good deal on roses for Mother’s Day,” he added quickly. “I don’t sell Mother’s Day cards, though.”
“Mom doesn’t even like roses. She’s too practical,” I declared. “If you can eat it, wear it, or put it in the bank, she’ll like it, but roses are just for beauty’s sake. To Mom that would be a waste.”
“Yeah,” Jared agreed. He thought and then added, “She does like potted plants. She keeps some around the house, but roses would be a waste of money because you just throw them out after a few days.”
“I know,” I called out, “we’ll get a potted plant and some roses.”
“Who gets the roses?” Brother Palmer asked. “The twins. Mom likes potted plants.”
Brother Palmer shook his head. “I don’t sell that combination.”
“But we’re getting the plant for Mom.”
Brother Palmer eyed us, the disappointment obvious. “Why not roses for your mom, the plant for the twins?”
“It’s not the same,” I complained. “Roses are …” I groped for the word.
“You’re right,” Brother Palmer said quietly. “It’s not the same. There’s a message that comes with a rose. It doesn’t come with any other flower.” He looked at us. We avoided his eyes and stared at the floor. “Don’t send that message to anyone until you’ve first sent it to your mom. Otherwise you spoil the effect. Once you’ve sent roses to your mom, you’ll know when to send them to someone else.”
“But Brother Palmer,” I complained.
“I have a good deal on a dozen roses for Mother’s Day,” Brother Palmer said, straightening up with determination. “Long-stemmed roses.”
“A dozen roses!” I choked.
“Roses come in dozens. Otherwise that magical impression is lost.”
“But we were only getting each of the twins two.” “Well, if you overspent on your mother like you planned to overspend on the twins you’d have to buy her a hundred dozen roses, but since your mother is a practical woman, let’s settle for an even dozen.”
“We can’t afford a dozen.”
Brother Palmer held up both hands. “Calm down,” he soothed, “I’m going to give you a good deal and save you money too. You’ve already planned for four roses and a potted plant. We’ll trade in the potted plant for three more roses. You can take the twins down to the Dairy Queen for an ice cream cone, and with the money you save on dinner you can easily buy the other five roses.”
“But Mom’s not the type,” I tried to explain. “Roses are you know—romantic. They dazzle.”
“Then dazzle your mom,” he said with quiet seriousness. “Don’t you think your mom would like that?”
We laughed. “You don’t know Mom.”
“No, you don’t know her,” Brother Palmer said warmly. “You think because she’s worked her fingers raw and grown gray that all she cares about is washing dishes, cleaning house, and putting food on the table for you. Well, I’ve got news for you. She doesn’t do a lot of things now, but not because she wouldn’t like to. Now she won’t tell you that, and it’s too bad I have to, but it’s better that I tell you than that than that you never learn. You don’t think anything of sending roses to the twins, and what have they done for you? Took you to a dance, smiled at you in the halls, tickled your vanity. And you were going to send roses to say thanks for that? Daisies or carnations perhaps. Roses never. Oh, the ignorance of youth.”
“Roses for Mom?” I asked incredulously.
“I’d sure hate to be in your shoes when you meet your dad,” Brother Palmer remarked. “You’ll have a hard time convincing him your mother didn’t like roses.”
I stared over at Jared, and he glanced my way. There was an annoying twitch in the pit of my stomach, the nagging by-product of a guilty conscience. Brother Palmer was right, and yet I surely had my mind set on dinner with the twins. There was no way we could do both.
Brother Palmer watched us fidget and fret. Finally he said, “Of course, you could always run down to Timmerman’s Floral. I hear he sells roses to anybody for about any reason. But then, he probably won’t ever meet your dad either.”
Glaring at the ground, I dug into my back pocket and pulled out my wallet. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jared doing the same. “All right,” I mumbled, “a dozen roses.”
“It’s for Mother’s Day, not your funeral,” Brother Palmer remarked. “Are you sure this is what you want to do?”
“Brother Palmer,” I cried out completely exasperated, “you just talked us into it. Are you going to try to change our minds now?”
He placed his elbows on the counter and held his head in his hands. “Don’t do it for me. Do it for your mother.”
Reluctantly we counted out our money. All I could think about was the dinner I would never have with the twins. I slid the money toward Brother Palmer, who ignored it completely.
“The roses will be ready Saturday afternoon,” he said as we turned and dragged our feet toward the door. We pulled the door open and the tiny silver bell tinkled softly. “Boys,” he called to us, “I’ll wager that in ten years you won’t even remember the twins’ names. If you can, come back and get a full refund. That’s a Palmer guarantee.”
The roses were forgotten until late Saturday. Most of Saturday we spent at the district track meet, trying to qualify for the state meet the following week. Unfortunately, neither of us quite made it. All we accomplished by going was pulling a hamstring, twisting an ankle, and acquiring a stinging sunburn. As soon as we stepped off the bus at the high school, all we wanted to do was go home, take a long bath, and drop into bed for about 48 hours. We forgot all about the roses until we passed Brother Palmer’s shop on our way home.
It was several minutes past closing time, but the place was still open, and Brother Palmer was waiting for us behind the counter next to our pile of money and a long white box, neatly wrapped with a giant red bow and ribbon.
Guiltily we shuffled in with our sweats tucked under our arms and presented ourselves before Brother Palmer. He eyed us for a moment, and then a faint smile pulled at the corners of his mouth and he said sheepishly, “I twisted your arms pretty hard the other day. I apologize. If you’ve changed your mind, you can take the money. Or the roses. Or both.”
We shook our heads and reached for the box. “You can take the money too, if you’d like,” he said, pushing it toward us.
I grinned tiredly. “And what do we tell Dad?”
Brother Palmer chuckled and nodded. “You better tell him you took the roses.”
I opened the door. “Boys,” he called out, “you have a good mom. Some day you’ll find good wives. But you’ll have to look pretty hard and be pretty picky before you’ll find one as good as your mom. The next time you order a dozen roses, you’ll begin to understand what I mean. You’ll be glad you gave your first dozen to your mom.”
When we finally arrived home, stumbled stiffly up the front steps and pushed open the front door, the smell of stew and baking biscuits greeted us. It wasn’t until then that I realized I was just as hungry as I was tired. But I didn’t notice that the carpet was vacuumed, that the furniture was dusted and polished, and that I had freshly pressed shirts in my closet. Nor did I take note of the warm, loving security permeating the homey atmosphere.
“Is that you, boys?” Mom called from the kitchen. “I’m running a little late. Supper will be ready in a few minutes. Why don’t you wash up and come in and tell me how things went at the meet. I’ll bet you’re exhausted.”
We tiptoed into the kitchen. Mom was hovering over the stew on the stove. “Happy Mother’s Day, Mom,” we called out. She turned around, her face flushed and her hands wet. I held out the roses and pressed them into her arms. She stared down at the box, too surprised to respond. I laughed and wrapped her arms around the box. “It’s all right,” I grinned. “It’s not a trick. They’re real, and they’re for you.”
“We didn’t qualify for the state meet,” Jared remarked, “but we did remember Mother’s Day—with a little help.”
Mom looked shocked, almost scared. Jared pulled out a kitchen chair and gently pushed her toward it and helped her sit down. With her eyes wide with anticipation and her hands trembling, she fumbled with the bow and finally pulled the lid off the box. A rich rose fragrance filled the room. Hesitantly, she pulled back the stiff, crackling green floral paper and gazed inside.
For a long time. she just stared, unable to touch or smell the roses. She didn’t even move. Then a tear glittered in the corner of her eye, soon crowded by another and another until a gentle flow of tears washed down her cheeks.
“I didn’t think I’d ever get another rose,” she whispered, dabbing at her eyes with the corner of her apron. “They’re beautiful. Just beautiful.”
Setting the box on the table, she stood and went to her bedroom. She returned a moment later, choking back her tears and holding out a plain, white vase. It was one she had always kept on her dresser, always empty. More than once I had wondered why she had kept an empty vase there. It was not pretty. There was nothing unique in its features or design.
“Your dad gave me this when he sent me my first dozen roses, the night he proposed to me. Every year on our anniversary he would give me roses for my vase. Never a dozen, but always some roses.” She swallowed. “Now I’ve received a dozen roses twice.”
A smile of expectancy touched Mom’s lips and lighted up her face. Suddenly she was like a school girl, receiving her first bouquet. Carefully she took the roses from the box, one at a time, and arranged them with tender perfection in the white vase.
That night the stew and biscuits burned. Mom was embarrassed because that was something she rarely did, but Jared and I smelled the roses and ate the stew and biscuits anyway, without comment or complaint.
Five years later, looking down at the dried and faded roses, I was filled with poignant warmth. The roses brought so many things to my remembrance. Of course, I remembered Brother Palmer, and I was grateful for his far-from-subtle prodding. But mainly I remembered Mom. I remembered the clean sheets, the pressed shirts, the thousand meals, the clean home, and the baked chocolate chip cookies. I remembered the late nights when she had waited up for me and listened to me. I remembered the pride in her eyes at each of my ordinations. I remembered her face aglow with quiet excitement at my seminary and high school graduations. I remembered the second job she took, cleaning the seminary building evenings, so that I could go on my mission. I remembered the weekly letter I had received from her every Wednesday of my mission, and I wished then that I had sent a hundred dozen roses.
I smiled, realizing that I no longer remembered the twins’ names. But, oh, how well I remembered Mom!

Lizzie wiggled and squirmed as she sat watching the deacons pass the sacrament bread. She thought, It’s sure hard to sit still and be reverent while the deacons pass the bread and water. I wonder if all my friends will be in Primary today. I want to tell them about the presents Grandma and Grandpa sent from Portugal. I can’t wait to see them when they come home from their mission!
In a few minutes, a deacon reached their row. When Lizzie took a piece of bread, Mom leaned over and whispered, “This is to help us remember Jesus.”
Lizzie tried to think about all the things that she knew about Jesus. She thought about the story of Jesus visiting the Nephites after he was resurrected. He had blessed each child; then angels had come down from heaven. If only she could have been there!
Then Lizzie remembered a bedtime song Mom sometimes sang to her and her younger brother, Paul:
I think when I read that sweet story of old,
When Jesus was here among men,
How he called little children like lambs to his fold;
I should like to have been with him then.
I wish that his hands had been placed on my head,
That his arms had been thrown around me,
That I might have seen his kind look when he said,
“Let the little ones come unto me.”*
Lizzie smiled quietly to herself and thought, I wish I could have been with Jesus then.
While she bowed her head for the prayer on the water, Lizzie listened carefully to the words. When she heard the priest say, “that they may always have his Spirit to be with them,” she wondered how she could have his Spirit with her.
The deacon passed the water to the family, and again Mom whispered to Lizzie, “This is to help us remember Jesus.”
Lizzie had a new thought. I didn’t live when Jesus was on earth, but he loves me just as much as he loved the children then. The sacrament prayer says that I can have his Spirit with me always if I remember him and am obedient. That’s great!
Lizzie snuggled up against Mom and smiled as the young men finished passing the sacrament. Thinking about Jesus had helped her be reverent during the sacrament, and she had such a good feeling inside that she knew she had done the right thing.

My family and I were driving home from my grandparents’ house after Christmas. The roads were very icy. Our minivan got stuck going up a hill. My dad got out of the van and tried to push it up the icy hill, but it wouldn’t move. We were stuck. I said a prayer and asked Heavenly Father to help us. My dad got back out of the van and pushed again, and we went up the hill! Heavenly Father does answer our prayers, and He loves us.
Andrew B., age 7, Wisconsin, USA

I wasn’t going to read my New Era last month, but I literally fell onto it and felt that maybe I was supposed to read it. I flipped through it and on page 37 of the March 1992 issue was my personal message for the month. The “Skin Deep” Mormonad hit home because for the last few months, whenever I looked in the mirror, I saw ugly brown hair, a bloated body, and blotchy skin. But now I’m happy to say that when I look in the mirror, all I see is a spirit, sent here by a loving God for some super-still-unknown reason.
Name WithheldSan Diego, California

Renee was born in Haiti, a small country on an island in the Caribbean Sea. When she was eight years old, she and her mother moved to Utah to be closer to Renee’s aunts, uncles, and cousins.
After the move, Renee’s family and friends told her and her mother about the gospel. Soon the missionaries started teaching them.
At first, Renee wasn’t sure that she wanted to be baptized. Then one day the missionaries read something special from the Book of Mormon—words of the prophet Nephi. He said that baptism is like a gate to a path that leads to Heavenly Father. He also talked about the blessings of the gift of the Holy Ghost that come after baptism.
Renee felt a warm, happy feeling in her heart. She knew that she wanted to return to Heavenly Father. And she wanted the gift of the Holy Ghost. She thought that the Holy Ghost would be a good friend and companion to help her throughout her life. She and her mother were soon baptized.

Shortly after my mother and I were baptized, she began working as a registered nurse. As a single parent, she didn’t have time to cook, so we began eating more processed and fast foods. Although I was only 12, my health began to decline. I didn’t have the energy I once had. I felt tired and anxious. I gained weight.
I asked my mom how I could get into better shape. Hoping for a medical response, I was a little surprised when she simply said, “Live the principles of the Word of Wisdom.” I thought she would give me advice on calories and carbohydrates and fats, but her answer was exactly what I needed.
For family home evening the following Monday, we reviewed Doctrine and Covenants 89 and outlined an eating and activity plan. Our lifestyle change was dramatic. We both began to feel healthier and happier. I noticed more peace in my life and more quiet promptings from the Holy Ghost.
I am grateful to a loving Heavenly Father, who wants to communicate with us. I know now that we must be prepared physically and spiritually to receive sacred, personal revelations.
Eric D. Richards, Utah, USA

“One cool summer evening when I was a freshman in college, I had a date with someone I really liked. I didn’t know him well, but I looked up to him a lot.
“When he came to pick me up for the movie, we walked to the theater, since he didn’t have a car. We had a great time getting to know each other better.
“Then the movie started. It was okay for the first ten minutes, but even though it had a PG rating, it started making me uncomfortable. The dialogue became more and more suggestive, and I started to sink lower and lower in my seat.
“And do you know what he did? Even though we’d only been there a short time, he turned to me and said, ‘I really don’t like this movie. Do you mind if we leave?’ He didn’t make a big deal over it, he just suggested we leave. I’ll always remember that date because of his integrity. That’s the kind of man I want to marry.”

The Evans family was finally moving out of the house on our homestead farm in New Mexico.
“I wish they’d hurry and leave so we can move in,” Ed said as we watched from the barn roof. No one but Papa had seen the inside of the house.
“I wonder if they’ll leave anything,” Caroline said.
“Probably not.”
“The Caldwells found all sorts of good things left in their house,” I put in.
“Like what?”
“A table and some fruit jars.”
“And a pretty good harness in the barn.”
“Don’t forget the stove. They left a good stove,” I added.
“The oven has to be propped up,” Caroline reminded us.
“It’s still good.”
By the time the Evanses had finished loading their belongings onto the wagon and started out the gate, it didn’t seem likely that anything could be left. We slid down the smooth board and ran to look inside. The house was completely empty except for one thing.
“A high chair!” Caroline exclaimed. “Look at that. Georgie can have a high chair.”
“But we don’t even have a table,” I complained.
“Papa will make us one,” she said. “Let’s go ask him.”
After we moved our things from the dugout, Ed said, “Now I get to sleep in the barn.”
“Me, too,” I said.
“Nothing doing,” Mama warned. “The barn’s for animals, not children.”
“Papa promised,” Ed told her.
“It’s all right, hon,” Papa told Mama. “The loft’s clean and warm and close enough so that we could hear them call if they needed us.”
“Well, it is pretty crowded in here,” Mama relented a little. “Just one room for the seven of us.”
“Please, mama,” Ed coaxed.
“Please,” I echoed.
“I guess it won’t hurt to try it,” she conceded, and we started out the door.
Frank grabbed my legs and shouted, “I wanna sleep with Dora! I wanna sleep with Dora!”
“Let him come, Mama. I’ll take care of him.” She knew I would too.
“Watch him, then, so he doesn’t fall down the ladder,” she cautioned.
“I don’t fall down ladders.” Frank said indignantly. “I climb down.”
So the three of us moved into the barn.
Papa began to make some furniture, first a table and then a long bench. Georgie would use his high chair. He built a stretched-out sofa, too, and Mama sewed cushions for it. In the barn Papa was working on some chairs with woven seats.
Every day Papa put a bucket down the well, hoping to bring up water, but the best he could get was damp sand on the bottom of the bucket.
“Don’t try the well till I get there,” Ed called down from the loft to Papa, when he heard the door shut after milking.
“Me, too,” I yelled and scrambled down the ladder.
One day the bucket made a splash when it went down. “There’s water,” Papa announced and pulled quickly on the rope to bring up a dripping pailful.
“Water!” Ed shouted.
“Water!” I echoed.
It was a race to the house to tell Mama, and she was so excited she said, “Let’s celebrate. I’ll make pancakes for breakfast.”
“Hurry then,” Papa said. “We have to get the pipe and sucker rods in.”
“What are sucker rods?” Ed wanted to know.
“They’re wooden poles to suck the water out of the ground.”
“Where do you put them?” I asked.
“First, we put a big pipe down to the bottom of the well. Then we put the sucker rods, one at a time, inside the pipe and push them as far as they’ll go into the sand.”
“What if they aren’t long enough?” Ed asked.
“We’ll fasten another one onto the first. They’re made so they can be screwed together.”
“Then will the water come up?”
“Yes, as soon as we build a windmill to run the pump.”
“What if it pumps water all over and makes a mud hole?”
“It won’t. We’ll have it fixed so we can turn if off.”
“What if the wind doesn’t blow when we want water?”
“We’ll have a storage tank. The pump will fill it up when the wind’s blowing, and we’ll use the water when we need it. I saw a galvanized tank in the Sears Roebuck catalogue. I’d better send off for one right away.”
“Pancakes are ready,” Mama announced, and we sat up to the table to eat them.
“Anyone want to go with me to look for a Christmas tree?” Papa said one day in December.
“I do!” Ed shouted.
“Me, too,” I declared.
Caroline had just spread out her paper dolls to play with while the little boys were having their naps, and she didn’t want to pick them up just yet, so she shook her head.
“Where can you find a Christmas tree?” Mama asked. “I haven’t seen any pine trees growing around here.”
“Don’t know,” Papa said. “Maybe we’ll have to use a cactus.”
“A cactus Christmas tree?” Ed sounded disappointed.
“Why not!” Papa said. “Think how pretty it would be with paper chains and popcorn strings.”
“I guess so,” Ed conceded.
“I’ll pop the corn while you’re gone,” Mama offered. “We’ll string it when you get back.”
We tramped around in the warm sunshine, trying to imagine it was winter and that Christmas was nearly here. Although we learned to expect some snow every year, it wasn’t really very much when compared with what we had in Utah. This year December seemed more like March.
We could find nothing on our property that would do, so we started down the road to the sand hills. This definitely was not Christmas tree country. We decided there was no use hunting for a green tree and began to search for something else.
“Look at this,” Ed said, pulling a spiky round bush from next to the fence where it had tumbled in the wind.
“Not bad,” Papa said. “Not bad at all.”
I found another like it but not so squatty. “Look!” I exclaimed.
“That’s even better,” Papa said.
Once we began to look, we found a whole little forest of tumbleweeds along the fence line and finally selected one that was nearly cone shaped. Papa carried it on his shoulder, and we sang “Silent Night” as we walked home in the desert twilight.
The “tree” was suspended from the ceiling in the corner, where Frank and Georgie could see but not touch. We draped it with popcorn strings and chains made from the bright Christmas paper our purchases were wrapped in at Younger’s General Store.
We didn’t receive many gifts that first Christmas in New Mexico. Our stockings contained an apple, an orange, a handful of nuts, and a peppermint stick.
Each of us had one package, and inside was a napkin ring carved by Papa. Tucked inside the ring was a paper Mama had decorated with pretty writing and flowers painted around the edge. It read: “Coupon for part interest in a place of our own. To be redeemed for a deed in seven years.”
It was the best gift of all—the gift of hope. I put mine in the box where I kept my precious things. (To be continued.)

There were two ranchers living side by side in southwestern Montana. They bickered and fought because each thought a rusty barbed wire fence that separated their ranches was not the true property line. Each felt the other was encroaching upon his land. The real estate records were unclear at the county courthouse.
They forbade their children to play with one another. The conflict became worse. Finally, after years of exchanging words and threats, one of the ranchers said to himself, “Enough of this.” He drove down the lane from his place onto the county road and then down the long driveway to his neighbor’s place.
“What do you want?” his adversary asked.
“Look, you take your hired men and your sons, and I’ll take mine; and we’ll put the fence wherever you’d like it. I’ve had enough of this. I want us to be friends.”
His raw-boned neighbor softened, and tears ran down both of their faces. The neighbor responded, “Hey, let’s drive to Virginia City and record that the present fence is where both of us want the property line to be.”
They did and the problem was solved. Why? Because a neighbor wanted to be one with the family next door.

During my junior year in high school, I was very involved with my drama club and was getting ready for an audition. There was only going to be one play that year, and I was auditioning for the lead role, so I worked really hard to get ready for the tryouts. As the day of the audition drew near, I felt more and more excited.
On a Sunday before my audition, my Young Women leader announced an upcoming temple trip. We would be going to the Manhattan New York Temple, which was unusual for our ward, because it was about three hours away. She told us that in the next few days, she would need to know who was planning on coming. Then she announced the date of the trip. My heart sank. It was the same day as my audition. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do. If I went on the temple trip, I might not be able to audition to be in the play.
I know that going to the temple is important, and I always look forward to going on temple trips with my ward. I love feeling the Spirit and taking time to be out of the world. At the same time, I loved performing with my drama club and being a part of a show with my friends.
It took me longer than I expected to make my decision. At first, I decided to skip the temple trip and go to the audition instead. I convinced myself that because there was only one show that year and because there would be more temple trips, it would be OK to miss just one trip to the temple—I would just go to the next one. After I made that decision, I still felt conflicted. I prayed about it and was not convinced that I’d made the right choice. I decided to skip the audition and go on the temple trip. I finally felt at peace, and I knew that the Lord was happy with my decision.
After I told my parents that I’d decided to go to the temple, my dad called my director and explained the conflict. The director told my dad that he would work with me so I wouldn’t have to miss out on the show. When my dad told me the news, I was filled with joy. I would be able to go to the temple and participate in the show! I didn’t get the lead that year, but I did learn a valuable lesson: when we choose the right, we are blessed.

I am a missionary, and I didn’t gain my own testimony until I was four months into my mission. I know what you are going through, and it isn’t easy. I wish, however, that I, like you, had had enough courage to ask someone. I would have been better prepared for my mission.
It’s not wrong to feel the way you do. Asking the question shows that you are willing to do what it takes to gain a testimony.
I like to liken a testimony to a seed. Most of us who were raised in the Church begin by relying on the testimonies of our parents, which is really not bad. We figure that since they know what they are talking about, then it must be true. So here the seed is planted.
How do you help a seed to grow? By nourishing it with the proper food. So it is with a testimony. If you want a testimony of the Church, then go to the keystone of our religion, the Book of Mormon. Read it. I don’t mean for you to sit down and in one big swoop read the whole thing. Try this method instead. It worked for me and many of my investigators.
Pick a topic—say faith, for example.
Read each verse in the scriptures that refers to faith. Read the chapter in which that verse is located. This will give you an idea of what was happening at the time.
Once you finish this, go back and just read the verse, but this time apply it to you.
4. Now do what Moroni said to do in Moroni 10:3–5 [Moro. 10:3–5]. Pray about it. I promise you that Heavenly Father will answer you through the Spirit.
I wish I had done this before my mission. All I did was read straight through, and I didn’t gain much from it. Then when I came on my mission I relied on my companions’ testimonies, which didn’t do me any good, so I decided I’d better get my own.
I nourished the seed that was planted inside my heart, and I continue to nourish it by reading, studying, pondering, and praying about it so that I might have a better understanding of what is being said. Just like a seed, if a testimony is not nourished it will die. As you nourish the seed it will swell within you. Let it happen. Then you can honestly say you are bearing your own testimony. I hope this works for you.
Elder John Hodge, 21England London South Mission

I am from Nigeria; but I live in Ghana. In January 2023, I went to my village to participate in the presidential election. The Church is not there. One day a man and a woman came to visit me at my house. I am married to a Ghanaian, and they wanted to talk to me. While visiting with them, what came into my mind was the question, “what can I do for this family?” I felt like the best gift I could give this family was the gospel. I asked them if I could come to their home on Tuesday to teach them. As I was teaching them, they were responding positively. I focused on family and taught them the importance of family first. I then went to the house next door to teach their neighbors. I did not even start with my kindred. My kindred came to me later and were upset. They said to me, “how can you start a church and not even tell us?”
It was not my plan to do missionary work when I was there. I took my scriptures, but I did not even take a white shirt and tie.
As I was going around teaching the people of the village, there was a man who was baptized in 1982. He joined the Church in Lagos but when he came back to the village, the Church was not there. He became a pastor and used the Church’s Bible Dictionary and Topical Guide to teach. The people there thought he was a brilliant pastor. They didn’t know where he was getting his information from. Because he was technically a member, I focused on teaching his wife and daughter. The whole family got baptized. I was using my own money to hire a van to go to church in Umuahia, which was the closest place. The bishop and stake president were happy to receive us. My father even came from the city to the village to go to church with us.
I told my elder brother, who is a stake president in Owerri, what was going on. He said we fell under the Nigeria Enugu Mission. Eventually, we got permission to worship in my village. We decided to use my grandfather’s house to hold church in. My grandfather has passed away. When he was alive, white missionaries came to him and he said he would support the Church, this was back in the 90’s.
The people helped me move all the property and clean the house. The people cleaned the house as if they were members, but they were not yet baptized. The missionaries came and on the first Sunday, we had about 19 baptisms and later more, for a total of 39 baptisms. The stake president has applied for us to become a branch. My father came and bore his testimony and said he never thought the Church would be in his village.
The group still worships in my grandfather’s house. From my village, we now have two high councilmen called. There is someone enrolled in BYU Pathways. The Church is growing, and it makes me happy.

It wasn’t until she attended preschool that Alba first started learning English. Even though she was very young, she remembers how frustrating it was at times. But she picked up the language quickly.

When kindergarten started, Alba’s teacher knew she was bilingual, so she assigned her a seat next to a boy who couldn’t speak any English. She asked Alba to translate basic phrases for him such as “write your name here.”

One day, a mother who couldn’t speak any English stopped by the office. The staff could not find anyone in the whole school to interpret for her. When Alba’s teacher learned of the dilemma, she immediately recommended her five-year-old interpreter. From then on—from parent-teacher conferences to phone calls—the school asked young Alba for help whenever they needed an interpreter.

“At least three times a week they would call me out of class,” she says. “It was exciting for me. I felt special,” she said with a laugh, “and I could get out of class.”

Eli looked at the pile of homework his friend had dropped off after school. Eli had missed another week of school because of an ear infection.
That evening Eli’s parents came into his room. His mom sat on the side of Eli’s bed and took his hand. “Eli, the doctor thinks you need an operation,” she said.
“What kind of operation?”
“He wants to put tubes in your ears to keep you from getting more infections,” Mom said. “It won’t hurt, and you’ll be out of the hospital in a day.” She squeezed his hand.
Eli trusted his parents. But the idea of having an operation scared him. He thought about the story he had heard in Primary about Joseph Smith. When Joseph was seven years old, the bone in his leg became infected. The infection got worse until the doctor decided that he must remove part of the bone or Joseph might lose his leg or even die.
In Joseph Smith’s day, doctors gave people liquor to help numb the pain during an operation, but Joseph refused the liquor the doctor suggested he drink. And he refused to be tied to the bed. He said that if his father held him, he wouldn’t move. Joseph’s father held him tightly in his arms throughout the painful surgery. The operation was successful, and Joseph recovered.
Eli thought about Joseph’s courage and faith in his father. “Can I have a blessing, Dad?” he asked. Eli knew a priesthood blessing could help him. At the beginning of the school year, Eli’s father had given him a blessing.
“That’s a great idea,” his father said.
Eli’s mother folded her arms and bowed her head. Eli felt his father’s hands on his head. His father’s voice grew in confidence as he blessed Eli that he would not be scared and that he would recover completely.
When the blessing was over, Eli was no longer afraid. “I can have the operation now,” he said.
Three days later he went to the hospital and returned home the next day. The ear infections soon stopped, and Eli quickly made up the schoolwork he had missed.
Eli was grateful that he was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and that he could be blessed through the priesthood.

At first, I didn’t know how to start; that task alone felt daunting. But over the next year, I relied on the Lord and His infinite goodness to get me through each day. I found so much strength and peace of mind in reading the messages of prophets, pondering the temple covenants I had made, setting even just 10 minutes aside each night to read the scriptures, and communing with Heavenly Father in prayer throughout the day.
As I did these things, I began to see His hand in my life. I didn’t know who I was or what path in life to choose. I didn’t know what path could ever make me feel good enough. But I soon realized that what I really needed was to know who I was to God.
I am now in my last semester at university. Among all the stresses of being a student, employee, daughter, sister, and friend, I have realized that knowing my worth and understanding how God feels about me are vital to my success in all that I do.
There are still many unknowns about my future, and that’s OK.
For me, knowing that I don’t have to be perfect right now helps get me through each day. I know that God is aware of me. I also know that even when I can’t feel His love, He still is patiently working with me.
Over the past few years of this struggle, God has helped me discover qualities and talents in myself that I would have never noticed before. Most importantly, in time, through personal revelation and daily efforts to understand God’s will for me, I’ve learned how He feels about me. I’ve been able to draw liberally on the Savior’s power and the blessings of His Atonement in my life. This has helped me to feel God’s love and know that I am His beloved daughter.
In reading the messages of the prophets, I was touched when I read these words from President Russell M. Nelson: “Feelings of worth come when a woman follows the example of the Master. Her sense of infinite worth comes from her own Christlike yearning to reach out with love, as He does.”
He also noted, “[A woman’s] self-esteem is earned by individual righteousness and a close relationship with God.”1 From this, I have come to understand that who I am is more than the combination of the things I do or say. I am an eternal being with an extraordinary calling to lead with love and compassion, just as the Savior did. And that understanding transcends anything my depression may try to tell me.
Even now, I still find myself sometimes forgetting what God’s love feels like and what lasting joys there are in the smallest and most ordinary moments of life. But the miracle of Christ’s Atonement is that it is not only for repentance; His grace also enables us to get through each day and to love ourselves. I forget that fact a lot, but it is still true.
There is no escaping that we are prone to human nature and that these moments of divine clarity and inspiration may not always feel so true. So to help us, we can write down and look back on the times when we have felt God’s love. We can keep trying to seek ways to feel that love. Our daily worship and continued efforts to deepen our personal holiness will not only strengthen our relationship with our Heavenly Father but also increase our personal happiness and self-esteem. Christ can magnify these efforts to help us become who our Father in Heaven wants us to be.
I am determined to keep trying because I have hope in Christ. I know that life will continue to get better and that I will grow as I rely on Him. Once I discovered how infinite God’s love for me was, I was able to find greater strength each day to push past heartbreaks and overcome my feelings of inadequacy and my need for perfection.
When I find myself falling back into my insecurities, I remember that God thinks that I am funny, kind, giving, and beautiful. Most of all, I remember that He sees me trying.
President Thomas S. Monson (1927–2018) declared: “God’s love is there for you whether or not you feel you deserve [it]. It is simply always there.”2 I am so grateful for this truth. In our deepest struggles, we can see God’s glory in helping us move forward. He is always cheering us on.

Three months passed before I was interviewed and ordained a deacon. That Sunday morning I stood in front of the sacrament table to distribute the emblems of the Atonement of the Lord Jesus Christ. I still remember the surroundings: The dining room of a home had been transformed into a meeting hall for sacrament meetings that were attended by a few members. It was my first opportunity to magnify my priesthood calling. Nine months later I was ordained a teacher and learned how to teach and to watch over the few members of the branch.
Another four months passed, and I was ordained a priest. Now I stood on the other side of the sacrament table. The decor was the same, but I felt different. It impressed me that now I was blessing the emblems of the Atonement and memorizing “that they may eat in remembrance of the body of thy Son, and witness unto thee, … and always remember him and keep his commandments … that they may always have his Spirit to be with them” (D&C 20:77).
Two years passed after my baptism, and the day arrived for me to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood and to be ordained an elder. The mission president once again laid his hands upon my head. The higher authority and power to act in the name of the Lord were given.
The Church is a divine institution led by the authority of the priesthood. I testify that Jesus lives, that this is the only true church, that the priesthood of the Son of God is vested herein, and that the prophets, seers, and revelators who preside over this church are appointed to preserve the pure doctrine of Jesus Christ and the authority of his priesthood for the salvation of his people.

While we were in the sacred city of Jerusalem, we also had the unique blessing of being able to visit the tomb of the Saviour. As Gaby and I were making our way to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, for some reason I cannot remember, I was overwhelmed with anxiety. Looking back, I wouldn’t doubt that I was hungry and being bumped by thousands of people didn’t help.
In the queue to enter the tomb, it was uncomfortably warm. There was a lot of talk in many different languages, which now brings me joy—Christ truly is the Saviour of the world—but caused sensory overload at the time.
With all the people around and the heat stressing me out, I went onto my phone and tried to ignore everyone.
When Gaby and I were finally at the front of the line and walked into the tomb, all anxiety, discomfort and stress fled.
An almighty, miraculous peace, comfort and joy replaced them. In that location so sacred, so holy, I experienced yet another undeniable manifestation of the love of the Lord and I knew Jesus Christ was my personal Saviour.
He died for me personally. He died for all of us. He suffered, and bled, and died for us all. Three days later, scriptures tell us, He walked out of that tomb.
I have seen the tomb of the Lord Jesus Christ, and I testify that it is empty. Along with the angels who spoke to Mary Magdalene, I say this: “He is risen” (Matthew 28:6).

I like sports a lot, especially football. I was very excited when Jacksonville, Florida, got a professional football team, the Jaguars. Each time the players signed autographs, I asked my parents to please take me to see the players. I began collecting cards and knew all the players’ statistics.
When the games began, I was offered many really, really good seats to their games for free. But they were always on Sunday! One day, I asked Mom if I could go to a free game on a Sunday. She said that it was up to me. I needed to pray about it.
I remembered all the happy feelings that I’d had when I went to baptisms in our ward. My dad was ward mission leader, and we went to many baptisms. Each time I went, I was very happy and could hardly wait for my own baptism and then to be given the gift of the Holy Ghost.
When I prayed about going to the Sunday game, I felt so much happiness and peace because I could tell my mom that I didn’t want to go to that game.
Not long after that, I was given tickets to a game that wasn’t on Sunday. Dad took me, and we had a great time, especially when the Jaguars won. I am baptized now, and I know that by keeping my baptism covenant, I will always have peace and happiness in my life.
Hannah Mandel, age 10Orange Park, Florida

When I started college, I was prompted to join the cross-country team. The team watched everything I said and did, not only because I was the captain, but because I was a member of the “Mormon” Church.
I was asked questions about the Church constantly. They were amazed that I wouldn’t drink coffee or party on weekends. Before every race we huddled and I would offer a prayer to help us do well. It was great to share my testimony and beliefs with the team.
Our season was ending, and we had one more race in Spartanburg, South Carolina. We stayed at a Marriott hotel, which had a Book of Mormon in every room. I found a teammate reading a copy. When I asked her why she was reading it, she replied that she was interested in what it was about. Excited, I bore my testimony to her of its truthfulness. Many of the other girls on the team had joined us in the room, and they asked me questions about the Book of Mormon.
When we got home I invited my best friend on the team, Rosa, to go to church with me. She enjoyed the meetings and felt peaceful there. After that, Rosa came to church almost every week. It was so wonderful to see the gospel touch her life.
About a month later I received an unexpected phone call from a young man on the men’s cross-country team, Brendan. He told me that he had taken the missionary lessons and was getting baptized in a week! I was so happy and thrilled for him. Both Rosa and I attended Brendan’s baptism. Rosa also took the missionary lessons and later chose to be baptized.
Looking back on these wonderful experiences, I am amazed that so many blessings resulted from joining my college cross-country team. I learned you don’t have to be set apart or wear a badge to be an instrument for Heavenly Father. Through my actions and living the gospel, my teammates wanted to know more about the gospel, which led them to baptism. I found that truly “by small and simple things are great things brought to pass” (Alma 37:6).

I recall an event described by a man I met at a stake conference in the Midwest more than a decade ago. The setting was a beautiful campus in central Illinois. My informant, a participant in a summer workshop, saw a crowd of young students seated on the grass in a large semicircle about 20 feet from one of the large hardwood trees that are so common and so beautiful there. They were watching something at the base of the tree. He turned aside from his walk to see what it was.
There was a handsome tree squirrel with a large, bushy tail playing around the base of the tree—now on the ground, now up and down and around the trunk. But why would that beautiful but familiar sight attract a crowd of students?
Stretched out prone on the grass nearby was an Irish setter. He was the object of the students’ interest, and, though he pretended otherwise, the squirrel was the object of his. Each time the squirrel was momentarily out of sight circling the tree or looking in another direction, the setter would quickly creep forward a few inches and then resume his apparent indifferent posture. Each minute or two he crept closer to the squirrel, and the squirrel apparently did not notice. This was the scene that held the students’ interest. They were silent and immobile, attention riveted on the drama—the probable outcome of which was becoming increasingly obvious.
Finally the setter was close enough to bound at the squirrel and catch it in his mouth. A gasp of horror arose, and the crowd of students surged forward and wrested the beautiful little animal away from the hound, but it was too late. The squirrel was dead.
Anyone in that crowd of students could have warned the squirrel at any time by waving their arms or crying out, but none had done so. They just watched while the inevitable consequence got closer and closer. No one asked “Where will this lead?” and no one wished to interfere. When the predictable outcome occurred, they rushed to the defense, but it was too late. Tearful and regretful expressions were all they could offer.