Gospel Story Finder

The greatest Christmas present I ever received came early one Christmas morning. At some point during the night the furnace in our house had gone out, and there was no heat for us on that snowy morning. We huddled in blankets close to the Christmas tree and opened presents. While it wasn’t physically the warmest Christmas ever, it was one of the most memorable, as we spent time together trying to keep each other warm and enjoying each other’s company.
—Kasen Christensen

Nothing important had ever happened to Little Brave. He had never found a beautiful rock with a yellow streak like Yellow Rock Finder had found. He had never run a race like Fast Runner had run. He had never sat quietly for a very long time watching butterflies as Butterfly Watcher had done.
“No Name! No Name! Little Brave No Name!” the other boys often chanted as they circled around Little Brave. Then Little Brave would drop his head and clench his hands and wait until he had a chance to get away.
One day Little Brave No Name went to his grandfather’s lodge to hide. Grandfather was not there, but hanging on posts were many masks the wise old man had carved from wood. One very fierce face lay on a log near the entrance. It had great big eyes and a long pointed nose.
Little Brave picked up the mask and swung it by the rawhide laces. As it moved back and forth, Little Brave No Name said, “I wish I could, I wish I could—” Suddenly he stopped swinging the mask and cried, “I will!” Then he ran quickly out of Grandfather’s lodge with the mask in his hand.
The boy hid the mask at the edge of the woods and hurried back to his own lodge. There he found a tough piece of smoked deer meat and placed it in the beaded pouch he wore at his waist. Then he returned to the woods.
Little Brave put the mask on his face and tied the rawhide laces firmly behind his head. “Now,” he whispered, “I will go out and find a name! I will scare some creature so much it will not be able to move. Then I will grab it and take it home to the chanting boys.”
The eyes in the mask were so far apart, Little Brave couldn’t see very well out of the eyeholes. He stepped carefully along the forest path, and with one eye he searched the bushes and trees. Little Brave crouched low so that the mask was very close to the bushes.
Suddenly a rabbit jumped in front of him. Little Brave stopped and moved his head slowly from right to left. The rabbit stopped and looked at Little Brave. The rabbit’s nose quivered and its eyes blinked excitedly. Then its ears stood straight up, and with a wild jump the rabbit leaped away.
Little Brave laughed. “Ki, yie! The long-eared one is very frightened. But I will not chase him. I would not want to be named for a rabbit.”
Now the forest seemed very still to Little Brave. “I hear no birds. I see no bees. Perhaps they know a fearful face is walking in the woods and they are hiding.”
A noisy chattering broke out beside the trial, and a fluffy-tailed gray squirrel scolded from a branch of a tree.
“The bright-eyed one is not afraid, because he is safe high up in the tree. Oh, well, I do not want to be called Little Brave Squirrel.”
Soon Little Brave came upon a round bushy fellow slowly moving through the forest.
I will scare Mr. Porcupine! thought Little Brave as he left the trial and moved around through the bushes. Then Little Brave hunched himself together and moved his masked head slowly before the porcupine. “Boo-boo! Googy-boo!” he hissed in a deep scary voice.
The porcupine stopped. It slowly raised its head and looked at the big mask. It hesitated just a moment and then put its head down again and started forward, straight for the mask and Little Brave.
Little Brave did not want to feel the prickly quills of that animal. “A porcupine is an honorable animal,” he whispered, “but I would not want to be called Sticky One, so I will let it go. I will leave the trial and go through the thick woods to find a better animal to scare.”
Traveling through the woods was not as easy as walking on the trial.
It was very still in the woods. A stick cracked under his feet, and Little Brave stumbled. Down he went, and the fierce-looking mask tumbled off his face.
He moved over beside a big log and hung the mask on a dead limb. Little Brave reached into his beaded pouch for the smoked deer meat. I will eat a little and then I will return the mask to Grandfather’s lodge, he decided.
As Little Brave ate, he watched an ant crawl from under the log and stop to twitch its feelers in every direction. The boy broke off a small piece of meat and put it before the ant. He watched as the ant worked to carry the tiny bit away.
Then Little Brave heard a twig snap. He turned just in time to see a golden fox reach its head through the loop made by the laces of the mask and snap up the rest of the meat off the log. As the fox drew its head back through the loop, the mask dislodged from the twig and the loop fell around its neck. As the mask dropped to the fox’s chest, the animal gave a startled yelp, whirled around, and then ran off through the forest.
“Come back!” screamed Little Brave. “That is Grandfather’s mask! Come back!”
Little Brave had taken the mask without permission, and he knew that his grandfather would be very angry if it were not returned. “Come back with that mask!” cried Little Brave as he ran after the fox.
Over logs, through brush, and out into meadows went the golden fox. Finally it ran beside the river, where Yellow Rock Finder, Fast Runner, and Owl Catcher were splashing in a swimming hole.
The boys gasped in surprise when they saw the fox dart from the woods with Little Brave chasing right behind the animal and yelling at the top of his voice!
When the fox and boy disappeared, Fast Runner cried, “Did you see that? Little Brave No Name has put a mask on a swift fox, and now he is chasing the golden one!”
“I can’t believe it!” Yellow Rock Finder exclaimed. “I did not know Little Brave had such courage!”
“Let’s hurry to the village!” suggested Owl Catcher, who was anxious to tell what he had seen.
Before long the fox grew tired. In one last effort to be rid of the mask, it jumped into a thicket and rolled in the brush. The stout rawhide strings held, but the mask moved up over the fox’s head and settled tightly about its eyes and nose.
There Little Brave No Name found the animal lying, defeated by the mask.
“Poor fellow,” said Little Brave. “How you run! But do not fear, for I will help you get the mask off. I know how it feels.”
Then Little Brave knelt down and worked the mask from the fox’s head. As soon as the mask was free, the golden fox darted away.
Little Brave No Name started back to the Indian village with the battered and scratched mask in his hand. “Grandfather will be angry, but he will not be nearly as angry as if I had lost the mask,” he said to himself.
As soon as the villagers saw Little Brave No Name coming, they all went out to meet him. Little Brave looked down at the ground and dug his toes into the soft earth as he waited to hear Grandfather scold him.
But instead of angry words, Little Brave heard Grandfather say, “Little Brave, though you took a mask without permission, I am not going to scold you. The boys have told us you were chasing a golden fox in the forest—a fox wearing a mask. No one will ever question your secret magic, for now you no longer are a brave without a name. You have proved your right to a name that is for you alone. From now on you will be called Fierce Fox Chaser!”
So that’s how the name of Little Brave No Name was changed to Fierce Fox Chaser. And always he was kind to the creatures of the woods, but he was especially kind to golden foxes.

The afternoon my mother died, we went to the family home from the hospital. We sat quietly in the darkened living room for a while. Dad excused himself and went to his bedroom. He was gone for a few minutes. When he walked back into the living room, there was a smile on his face. He said that he’d been concerned for Mother. During the time he had gathered her things from her hospital room and thanked the staff for being so kind to her, he thought of her going into the spirit world just minutes after her death. He was afraid she would be lonely if there was no one to meet her.
He had gone to his bedroom to ask his Heavenly Father to have someone greet Mildred—his wife and my mother. He said that he had been told in answer to his prayer that his mother had met his sweetheart. I smiled at that too. Grandma Eyring was not very tall. I had a clear picture of her rushing through the crowd, her short legs moving rapidly on her mission to meet my mother.
Dad surely didn’t intend at that moment to teach me about prayer, but he did. I can’t remember a sermon from my mother or my father about prayer. They prayed when times were hard and when they were good. And they reported in matter-of-fact ways how kind God was, how powerful and how close. The prayers I heard most were about what it would take for us to be together forever. And the answers which will remain written on my heart seem most often to be the assurances that we were on the path.
When I saw in my mind my grandmother rushing to my mother, I felt joy for them and a longing to bring my sweetheart and our children to such a reunion. That longing is why we must teach our children to pray.

Miss Fee pointed to the enormous paper tree hanging on the back wall of the fifth grade classroom. “What’s missing?” she asked.
“Leaves,” our class chanted together.
“You’re going to help it grow leaves,” she said as she held up a green paper maple leaf. “Each leaf has a place on it to write the name of a book, its author, and what it is about.”
Some of the kids started groaning, but Miss Fee kept smiling. “It’s going to be a contest,” she said.
“Whoever reads the most books this week and collects the most leaves will win first prize.”
Now she had our attention. Everyone likes contests, especially when there’s a prize.
“First prize is a gift certificate for a large pizza,” the teacher said, and the class started cheering.
“Quiet down, please,” Miss Fee instructed. She gave us the rules on how long the books had to be, and what kinds would be included.
I walked home after school with Susan. We each had checked out a couple of books to read.
“You’ll probably win,” Susan said. “No one reads books as fast as you do.”
“I love reading,” I said. “Once I get started, I can’t stop. In fact, Mom usually has to tell me to shut off the light and go to sleep at night.”
“Look!” Susan whispered to me. “Look at Robert.”
Up ahead, Robert carried a stack of six books. He didn’t have many friends. His shirts were a little too big and worn, and his pants had patches on them. He sat by himself at lunchtime and didn’t ever talk to anyone. Robert ignored all the kids, even when they teased him.
“Do you think you’re going to win?” Susan asked him, laughing.
Robert glanced up at us, then looked down again and hurried past us.
“Let’s go,” I said. I didn’t feel right provoking him, but I didn’t want to admit it.
The next night I stayed after school and headed for the library. I wanted to get a couple of books on fishing, which is the thing I love best, next to reading. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Standing in front of the fishing books was Robert, holding one about trout.
“That’s a good book,” I whispered. “I read it last week.”
Robert nodded and didn’t say anything. I think he was almost afraid of me.
“I want to get a book about making flies,” I added. “Dad said he’d help me learn how to tie one.”
Robert hesitated a second, then bent over and pulled a slim volume out from the bottom shelf. “This is the best book about that,” he said softly. “It helped me a lot.”
“Do you know how to tie flies?” I asked, surprised.
“My grandpa is teaching me. We both like fishing.”
“Me too,” I said. It was a good feeling to find someone else who liked the exact same thing. Susan didn’t like fishing.
“Getting lots of reading done?” I asked as I took the book he offered.
“I’m trying to,” Robert said. He paused for a second. “I want to win the contest so that I can take my mom out for a pizza and surprise her. It’s her birthday this Saturday.”
“That’s a neat idea,” I agreed. “Good luck.”
The next morning, I found a wadded up piece of paper in my desk. I almost tossed it out, when I saw the note:
To Mike,
My Grandpa tied this for you.
Robert
I opened up the crumpled paper, and inside was an artificial fly. I picked it up and examined how it had been expertly put together. After math class, I stopped Robert in the hallway. “Thanks,” I told him. “I can’t wait to try it out.”
Robert smiled. “My grandpa’s taking me fishing along Silver Creek Saturday morning. You’re welcome to come with us.”
Before I could say yes or no, Susan walked up. “Come on,” she said. “I want to show you the book I found about dinosaurs.”
I know I should have said something to Robert, but I didn’t want Susan to start teasing me, so I walked away. My stomach felt funny for the rest of the day whenever I thought about it.
On Friday afternoon, Miss Fee declared the contest over. She asked everyone to get out their completed leaves.
“Who has more than five?” she asked. Eleven hands went up in the air.
“How about more than ten?” Only four hands stayed up.
“More than twelve?” Just Robert and I still had our hands up.
“How many leaves do you have?” Miss Fee asked Robert.
“Fourteen,” Robert said proudly. I could see that everyone in the class was surprised.
At that moment, I decided what I wanted to do. I slipped one leaf back into my desk, and when Miss Fee asked me, I said I had thirteen. I guess I wanted Robert to win more than I wanted myself to. I could imagine him telling his mom about the pizza and how happy they’d both be.
When Miss Fee gave Robert the gift certificate, everyone started clapping. I clapped the loudest. After school, I waited by the front door for him.
“Dad said I could go fishing with you tomorrow if you still want company,” I told him.
Right then Susan came walking up. “We’re going fishing tomorrow,” I told her before I chickened out.
“Don’t you want to come over and play basketball?” she asked.
“Tomorrow afternoon, if I get my chores done after I get home,” I said. “I have to try out this new fly.” I took it out of my pocket to show her.
“Did you make that?” Susan asked.
“Robert’s grandpa made it. I’m going to ask him to show me how.”
“Think he’d show me?” she asked.
“Of course,” Robert said. Then he smiled and waved at us. “I have to get home and tell my mom about our pizza date.”
I waved and smiled too. Robert had the gift certificate, but I still felt like I had won first prize.

Coming back to the modern day, I recently heard of a woman who wrote to one of the national columnists—whose name you would know if I shared it with you—and said, “I am a nurse working at a hospital in the child abuse section. Every time they bring children in, it just about breaks my heart; I can’t stand to see these little children beaten, mutilated, bruised, and hurt. I guess the straw that broke the camel’s back came the other day when they brought in a little five-year-old girl. As I held her in my arms, her mother said, ‘I didn’t think I was hitting her that hard.’”

The nurse said, “The little girl passed away in my arms. Just before she passed away, she opened her eyes and said, ‘My mommy says I’m a bad girl.’”

I would have given anything to have been the national columnist responding to that letter. It would have said something like this: “No, sweetheart, you are not a bad girl; your mommy is a bad mommy.”

Of course, sometimes you’ll want your mom and dad to listen, not talk. As you’ve probably noticed, many adults suffer from acute Advice-Giving Syndrome. I know I do. My daughter Christy will often start to tell me about a problem she’s having at school or with friends, and immediately I stop listening and start telling her what she should do. I know that Christy wants to express herself more than she wants my advice, but sometimes I just can’t help myself.
A student of mine has a good approach to use on parents (or any other adult, for that matter) who tend to give advice when they should be listening. “My parents love to give me advice,” he says, “and lots of times, I don’t mind. But sometimes I really want them to listen to what I have to say, so I’ll tell them, ‘Mom and Dad, I want to tell you something, and I want you to listen—without talking—until I’m finished. I really want to tell you this, but if you’re not going to listen, I’m not going to tell you. If you’ll listen to me, then I’ll listen to what you have to say.’ That usually works.”

In the George household, there are cherished memories about their ancestors that help strengthen the faith of family members. Elder George relates one beautiful story his grandfather told them:
“One man told my Grandpa about being in a stake conference when he was twelve years old, and he became nervous when Elder Kimball [then an Apostle] asked all of the twelveyear-old boys to come to the front. Elder Kimball lined them all up and gave each one of them a crisp, new one-dollar bill. He told them that that was the start of their missionary fund. The man never forgot that experience and he said that it helped give focus to his life.”

Cooper’s video game system was getting old. Whenever he raced cars, the screen froze and he had to restart the game.
“Can I get a new game system for my birthday?” Cooper asked Dad.
Dad shook his head. “I don’t think it fits into our budget. Remember how we spent quite a bit of money last year to buy your guitar and pay for music lessons?”
Cooper frowned. He wasn’t taking music lessons anymore.
“What if I earn the money?” Cooper asked. “Then maybe you could help me order one online.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” Dad said.
Cooper went to work doing extra chores and mowing lawns for neighbors. He saved all summer.
Finally he had enough money, and Dad sent it to an online seller advertising the best price for the gaming system Cooper wanted.
Cooper couldn’t wait. Whenever the mailman came, Cooper checked the mailbox. When a delivery truck came down his street, Cooper hoped it was bringing a package for him. But none of the trucks stopped at his house. Weeks went by.
“When is it going to get here?” Cooper asked.
Dad looked worried. “I’m not sure. The seller never sent me the tracking number.”
A few days later, Dad told Cooper some bad news. “I think the seller we chose is dishonest. I can’t contact him on the phone or through email.”
Cooper couldn’t believe it. “You mean he stole my money?”
“It looks that way.”
Cooper hoped it wasn’t true. At night he prayed for a way to still get the gaming system he’d earned. The next day he asked Dad if he could have one for Christmas, but Dad just said, “I’m sorry this happened. Next time we’ll both know to be more careful.”
It seemed there was only one thing left to do: start saving money again. But school had started and Cooper didn’t have as much time for extra chores. “It isn’t fair,” he complained to himself as he sat moping in his room one afternoon. Then he noticed something he hadn’t paid much attention to for a while—his guitar.
Cooper picked it up and tuned it. He strummed a few chords and played through the songs he’d learned. It didn’t take long because he hadn’t had many lessons. He sat with the guitar on his lap, his fingers itching to play something new. He wondered if he could make up a song of his own.
A few hours later, Cooper played his brand new song all the way through. It felt so great that he couldn’t wait to write another one.
Cooper practiced his guitar all winter. He read books about playing the guitar. And when he had time, he earned a little extra money.
When spring came, Dad said, “How are the savings coming? Are you ready to pick out a new gaming system?”
Cooper thought about it. “I don’t know if I want one anymore.”
Sometimes he played video games at his friends’ houses, but he hadn’t really missed playing them at home. Playing guitar was fun, and he felt like he’d accomplished something great every time he wrote or learned a new song.
“I think I’ll leave the money in savings until I know what I want to use it for,” Cooper said.
“Sounds smart.”
Cooper was surprised at how much fun he was having playing his guitar. All year long, his plan had been to play video games. Now he didn’t even miss them. Heavenly Father hadn’t helped him get the video game system, but He had blessed Cooper with something better—the ability to be happy without it.

Another time when I was feeling aimless was during my final year of university. Life was tough. It was during the pandemic, so I was depressed while I was stuck at home finishing classes. There was such a lack of direction and connection in my life.
I even struggled with church at this time. I often had to make myself roll out of bed in my pajamas to listen to sacrament meeting online because that’s all the motivation I could muster.
During this dark period, I reached out to my family and friends and explained to them how aimless and depressed I felt. I didn’t feel like I had any hope for the future and didn’t know how things were going to work out. And that’s when they told me that they were praying for me and supporting me even though they were far away.
As I reached out to loved ones who have deep faith and as I prayed to Heavenly Father with just an inkling of spiritual motivation, I felt sustaining support and love.

I wish I could say that my Viennese premiere had been brilliant, that I had stepped onto the stage and evoked bravos and a standing ovation from the audience. But, as it turned out, even with two years of preparation my nerves got the better of me. My first public performance as a member of the Vienna Volksoper ensemble did not go as well as I had hoped. To make matters even worse, I had to read about my inadequacies in several Viennese newspapers the next day. Every day for two years I had worked on that killer aria. What had gone wrong? The performances that followed went very well indeed, but my dream of “making a big splash” in the international opera scene did not happen. We were devastated, and it took some time before the sting of this experience subsided.

Over the next few years, however, as I watched some of my colleagues experience the instant stardom for which I had hoped, I began to understand. To my sorrow I often saw their marriages dissolve and families suffer in the wake of long absences born of international singing contracts.

Who knows what would have happened to me, my marriage, my family, and my eternal welfare if things had happened that quickly? Would I have been spiritually mature enough at that time to say “no” to prestige and wealth if it would have compromised my goals as a father? The Lord knows infinitely better than we do what will help and what will harm us. If we allow Him, He will open doors or shut them hard for our spiritual protection and eternal progress.

Eventually the international contracts and membership in the Vienna State Opera ensemble did materialize. But in addition to these worldly blessings came great spiritual blessings: being present as my sons grew to maturity, serving the Lord in my calling as bishop, and interviewing each of my sons for their foreign missions—from Austria to the United States.

I look back with incredible gratitude to a loving Father who, for my own welfare, tempered my ambition and allowed me to wait for success.

“What did you say?” I replied to my mother as she informed me of her plans to take the family to Nauvoo. I could already feel the Laman-and-Lemuel-like murmurings enter my heart. I even let a few of them slip. I complained about how I had to work and how unbelievably boring that town would be. But my wonderful mother persisted and tried to convince me that it would be “cool.”
A few months passed and it came time for our trip. We were in Nauvoo for only three days, but for those days I was filled with the Spirit. I was blessed to visit many sites of historical significance. I was even able to perform baptisms for the dead in the beautiful Nauvoo temple with my father, grandfather, and a few friends who were also there. Although the trip was going better than expected, it was still to hold more meaning for me.
Only one week before we left for Nauvoo, I received my patriarchal blessing. In it I was told that my testimony of the Restoration and of Joseph Smith would be strengthened. I thought little of it at the time and simply figured it would just happen over time.
On the final day we spent in Nauvoo, we went and visited Carthage Jail, where the Prophet Joseph and his brother Hyrum were killed. We walked the grounds and read many quotes from the Prophet, and I felt the Spirit very strongly. During our tour of the jail, I felt the Spirit even stronger. We ended up in the upstairs room where the mob broke in and killed Joseph and Hyrum in cold blood. As I sat there and learned of that great man and listened to the hymn “A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief,” the words of my patriarchal blessing, which I had received only 10 days before, entered my mind. I have never felt like I received such a blessing as my trip to Nauvoo was. It was amazing that barely one week had passed since my blessing, and I could already see it being fulfilled.
On my trip to Nauvoo I learned more about the Prophet Joseph Smith, the Restoration, and the early pioneers than I ever have at one time in my life. I already had a testimony of Joseph Smith and the Restoration before that trip, but afterwards I realized how small that testimony was. I knew before, but now I know with a greater surety that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God. He did restore the gospel to the earth. I also know that Heavenly Father loves each one of us and answers our prayers if we have faith in Him.

My mother and father separated when I was two and a half years old. I would go visit my father every month, and when I was younger, this was really fun. But when I got older, we had a couple of disagreements and things got worse and worse.
I remember crying to my mother that I did not want to visit my father anymore. She said, “Pray, and everything will be better.” And I did.
God helped me and my father. Now we have a better relationship. We talk, and he calls me when he goes to his home country, Macedonia, so I can talk with my family there.

Please notice the Lord's pattern of providing spiritual knowledge in the following statement by President Joseph F. Smith.

When I as a boy first started out in the ministry, I would frequently go out and ask the Lord to show me some marvelous thing, in order that I might receive a testimony. But the Lord withheld marvels from me, and showed me the truth, line upon line, precept upon precept, here a little and there a little, until he made me to know the truth from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet, and until doubt and fear had been absolutely purged from me. He did not have to send an angel from the heavens to do this, nor did he have to speak with the trump of an archangel. By the whisperings of the still small voice of the Spirit of the living God, he gave to me the testimony I possess. And by this principle and power he will give to all the children of men a knowledge of the truth that will stay with them, and it will make them to know the truth, as God knows it, and to do the will of the Father as Christ does it. And no amount of marvelous manifestations will ever accomplish this. It is obedience, humility, and submission to the requirements of heaven and to the order established in the kingdom of God upon the earth, that will establish men in the truth. Men may receive the visitation of angels; they may speak in tongues; they may heal the sick by the laying on of hands; they may have visions and dreams; but except they are faithful and pure in heart, they become an easy prey to the adversary of their souls, and he will lead them into darkness and unbelief more easily than others.

It is interesting to note how as a young man President Smith expected a big answer quickly and all at one time. Ultimately, however, he received many small answers over an extended period of time; and thereby his testimony grew ever stronger.

When I first moved out here to Laie, I attended the 2nd ward. At the end of one day, I went to Elders' Quorum, and I ran across a very handsome young man, who had many dreams of what he wanted to do with his life. His name is Shaka Malufau, and Shaka is in the audience today. He's wearing a military uniform and is as handsome as he ever was. As he sat in this Elder's Quorum, he talked about the dreams that he had for his life. I won't go through those dreams, but Shaka has dreams! At the end of the quorum, I pulled him aside. I said, "Shaka, you have marvelous dreams. You no doubt will be somebody someday, and the Lord has a place for you. But in all those dreams, I didn't here anything about a mission."

And Shaka said, "Well, you know, my mother is poor, and I need to help take care of the family. My income is important to her."

And I said, "Shaka, do you believe in the Book of Mormon?"
He said, "Oh yes!" and you could tell from the depths of his heart, Shaka Malufau believed in the Book of Mormon.
"Shaka, do you believe the Joseph Smith was a prophet of God?"
"Yes. I believe it with all of my heart."
"Do you believe that there is a prophet of God on the earth today?"
"Yes, I do."
"If God Himself came down into this room today and gave you instructions for your life, would you take those instructions?"
"Oh yes! Absolutely."
"What happens if God tells the prophet what you should do with your life? Then would you do it?"
"Absolutely! I would do it."
"Then Shaka, of all those choices you've got ahead of you, only one matters today, and that is, are you going to follow the prophet or not?"

Shaka thought about that for a while. I think he thought about it for a long while. The next week, Shaka came back to quorum, and he said, "Brother Carrington, I'm going to go on a mission."

Shaka did go on that mission. He put his papers in, and he served a mission in the Philippines. From what I hear, he served as a great missionary in the Philippines. He made that tough choice.

Sam looked sad.
“What’s the matter?” Jackie asked.
“There’s still no snow,” Sam said. “What fun is winter without snow?”
Jackie had an idea. She went into her room and shut the door.
“What are you doing?” Sam asked.
“You’ll see,” she called.
Sam waited. He heard crinkle, crinkle, snip, snip, snip. He was curious! So he knocked on the door. “What are you doing?” he asked again.
“Be patient,” Jackie said. “You’ll see.”
Sam was tired of waiting. He sat on a chair in the living room and read a book. After a while he felt something fall softly on his head. He picked it up.
“A snowflake!” he declared.
Then more snowflakes fell on him. He looked behind the chair.
“Surprise!” Jackie shouted. “It’s snowing!”
Sam laughed as he held up a snowflake. “This is the best kind of snow,” he said. “It never melts.”

She seemed to know instinctively that selfishness never led to happiness. I remember one summer being eager to give a birthday present to a young boy whom I babysat regularly. My mother didn’t give me a lecture on resources. Instead, we walked down to Main Street, where she purchased thirty-five cents’ worth of white broadcloth.
I helped tend my little brother as I watched her cut out a shirt with sleeves, interfacings, and a collar. After she carefully sewed the shirt together, she put on buttons from a worn-out shirt and made carefully hand-stitched buttonholes. The process seemed to take forever, but the new shirt was pressed and wrapped in time for the birthday, I remember the wonderful feeling I had as I presented the gift to the young neighbor. My mother’s gift to me was her time and effort and her support of my own desire to give.

I was in his office on one occasion prior to my call to the Twelve. I did the printing of his books, as I did for many of the other Brethren. On that particular occasion I noticed a painting on the wall, and I said to him, “President McKay, that’s a lovely painting. Is it a rendition of your childhood home in Huntsville, Utah?”

President McKay sat back in his chair, gave a familiar David O. McKay chuckle, and said, “Let me tell you about that picture. A sweet woman came in to see me one day and presented to me that beautiful painting, framed and ready to be placed on the wall. She said, `President McKay, I have spent the entire summer painting this picture of your ancestral home.’” He said he thanked her profusely and accepted the gift. “Do you know, Brother Monson,” he continued, “that sweet woman painted the wrong house. She painted the house next door! I didn’t have the heart to tell her. She may come back, so that’s why it’s hanging on the wall.” But then he made this comment, and here is a vital lesson for us. He said, “In reality, Brother Monson, she painted the right house, because when, as a young boy, I would lie on the bed which was on the front porch of my ancestral home, the view I had through that screened porch was of the very house she painted. She did paint the right house for me.”

I was born and raised on a small farm in Waterflow, New Mexico. In that desert climate it took a lot of effort to make things grow. My father worked hard irrigating the orchard, garden, and hay fields so that the family and the farm animals would have food to eat.

Because water turns were regulated, when it was our turn for taking water, Dad would spend hours out with his shovel guiding the water through the ditches, letting it run for just the right amount of time onto each thirsty piece of the farm. There was no extra time to turn the water onto the yard for a lawn, so we had a yard of hard-packed dirt paths, sandstone, sagebrush, and a few lilacs and hollyhocks that my mother watered by carrying water from the ditch. A few cottonwood and elm trees grew beside the ditch in front of the house to provide us with shade. It was a wonderful playground.

But . . .
I always dreamed that some day we would move into town where we could have a yard with sidewalks and lawns. Then we could walk out of the house without getting our shoes muddy on a rainy day, and my sisters and I could practice our somersaults and cartwheels in soft green grass on sunny days.

One spring as we were playing in the yard, we could see off in the distance the alfalfa field where the new grass looked just like the beautiful lawn of which we had always dreamed. That field beckoned to us; so we found our way across the cattle pasture to the barbed-wire fence surrounding the field, and with some effort we were able to work the wire back and forth until it loosened enough so that we could squeeze through without ripping our clothes on the barbs. There we were in that beautiful sea of grass!

We learned quickly, however, that it wasn’t what it seemed. One attempt at executing a somersault revealed that the ground underneath that grass was uneven and full of ruts and gullies. We investigated a little further into the field and were unable to find what we were looking for. But we had a good romp in the grass there anyway.

That night when Dad came in for dinner we were in trouble. He had noticed a trampled corner of the alfalfa field and on closer inspection discovered where we had loosened the fence. He explained, not too calmly, that a trampled field of alfalfa would yield very little hay and that the loosened fence might allow a breakthrough by the cows that would further trample the grass and they would become very sick from eating the green alfalfa.

We said we were sorry and that we wouldn’t do it again. “Besides,” we said, “that field is all full of ruts and gullies and is very bumpy—not at all good for playing in.”

I’m sure Dad chuckled at our naiveté—and was glad to know that his fields would be safe from us in the future.

I understand now that he was grateful for and appreciated those ruts and gullies in the alfalfa. They were absolutely essential to the health of the grass. They facilitated the efficient flow of the irrigation water through the field, allowing it to pool at just the right places where the grass roots could get their life-giving drinks.

Christmas is a time of coming together as families. I would like to share with you another time when I desired to return home to my family for Christmas. Our family had recently moved from Georgia to Rexburg for my new job at BYU-Idaho. My family had made the move earlier in the fall for schooling, but I, however, remained in Georgia to finalize details with my previous employment. A few days before Christmas, I packed up our remaining belongings and began the 2,000 mile trek to Idaho. The plan was for me to arrive at home on Christmas Eve. My wife had just delivered our tenth child, Rachel, two weeks prior. I could hardly wait to be with them. I had driven about 1,000 miles, when my vehicle broke down in the remote town of Abilene, Kansas. It became apparent that I was not going to be home for Christmas with my family, and would instead spend Christmas Day alone in a small hotel room. I remember on Christmas Eve, kneeling next to the bed, broken hearted. Sharing my predicament with my wife, I was overcome with emotion when she told me that the children had agreed that they wanted Dad home for Christmas to celebrate and open presents. Even though they were young and excited for some of the temporal aspects of Christmas, they were willing to wait until we could be reunited as a family to celebrate. On the evening of December 28th, I finally arrived home. I thought that they would be excited to open presents, however, we have a tradition in our family to read the nativity on Christmas Eve and act it out as a family. Before any presents were opened, my young family read Luke 2 and re-enacted the birth of our Savior.

I will always remember that Christmas as one which touched my heart with love and joy as we reunited as a family and my children showed me that they were more focused on being together as a family and celebrating the true meaning of Christmas than just opening presents.

The Relief Society general presidency met with some young women to learn how they feel about making the transition from the Young Women organization into Relief Society. Their comments reflect a mixture of uncertainty and anticipation.
“I’m a little bit scared to go into Relief Society,” said one young woman. “In Young Women, the lessons pertain to what I’m going through. But when I think of Relief Society, I think of older women talking about what concerns older women and maybe not what concerns me.”
One young woman commented: “I think I’ll be entering into a formal situation in which the ladies are quiet and always well behaved. I just hope I’ll be able to belong and have fun with them.”