Gospel Story Finder

This story took place in Germany.
“Mathis! Emilian!” Mama called. “It’s time to light the candles on the wreath.”
Mathis put down his book and ran to the living room. His little brother, Emilian, followed him.
There were lots of things Mathis liked about Christmas. He liked to make lebkuchen cookies. He liked to decorate the tree. But his favorite part was lighting candles to get ready for Christmas.
They called this the Advent wreath. The wreath had four red candles that sat on green branches. In Germany, people lit the candles each Sunday in the month before Christmas Eve. The first week, they lit one candle. The next week, they lit two. The third, they lit three. And the Sunday before Christmas Eve, they lit all four.
Mathis watched Papa help Emilian light two candles. The bright flames looked cheerful.
“Mama, what does advent mean?” Mathis asked.
“Advent is the time before Christmas,” Mama said. “The candles help us count down the days. And so do our Advent calendars!”
Mama reached for the beautiful wooden house on top of the bookshelf. She put it on the table. Mathis got excited just seeing it.
They had two Advent calendars this year. They weren’t regular kinds of calendars. They were special kinds, just for Christmas! The first one was the little wooden house with 24 doors—one for each day before Christmas.
“It’s your turn to open a door!” Mama said.
Mathis grinned and opened the door for today. There were two small candies inside! He gave one to Emilian.
“You know,” Papa said, “advent also means the coming of someone or something important. Do you remember whose coming we celebrate on Christmas?”
“Jesus!” Mathis and Emilian said together.
Mama nodded. “People waited thousands of years for Jesus Christ to come. We celebrate His birth at Christmas. And someday, He will come to earth again.”
Mathis imagined what it would be like when Jesus came again. It made him feel warm inside.
“Open the other calendar, Mathis!” Emilian said.
“OK!” Mathis reached for the second calendar. Oma (Grandma) made it just for them. It was a hanger with 24 long ribbons hanging from it. Each ribbon had a folded piece of paper with a scripture about Jesus Christ tied to it. Every day before Christmas they got to read a new scripture about Jesus.
Mathis pulled the next paper off the ribbon. “Behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people,” he read. “For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.”*
Mathis felt peaceful as he and his family watched the candles glow. In two weeks, they would light all four candles, and the wait for Christmas would be over! But Mathis knew that Christmas wasn’t the only thing they were waiting for. They were waiting for Jesus Christ to come.
Illustrations by Violet Lemay

Let me tell you of some young people I know who have tried to provide for their missions, to whom you might provide additional help. A mother approached a mission president with this plea: “Could I get my son on a mission somehow? He’s my only hope! Unfortunately, his father is unable to provide well for the family. We have eight children. Our income is very meager. We eat only two meals a day. But this is a good boy. He wants to serve a mission. If we are very, very careful, we can provide a few pesos per month. Isn’t there some way he could serve a mission?”
Another young man lived on the outskirts of a large metropolitan area. There were no lights or water in the thin-walled, modest structure that served both as a home and a small shop. After his family’s conversion he attended seminary and developed an insatiable desire to learn. With great effort he entered the university, working part-time to buy books as well as to help support the family. When the desire to go on a mission became overwhelming, he had to double his efforts to save money for his mission. So he carried his books under one arm and his bag of wash rags, wax, and sponges in the other. Between classes he would go out and wash cars, then return for another class. The Lord blessed him with work. He multiplied his income until his leaders felt he had made the necessary sacrifice to help sustain himself.
There are scores of others, each one a lesson to all in the principle of obedience and sacrifice. A young lady with a great desire to fill a mission was counseled to buy ingredients, make cookies, and sell them at school during lunchtime. She did so. Then she bought more flour, baked more cookies, and continued this process for weeks, making a small amount of money each day to help toward her mission.
Are there not thousands of you listening today who are ready to match these two precious years of a young man’s life with sufficient additional funds from your abundance so that he can have the privilege of service? In this way, could you not become “nursing fathers and mothers” to these children of promise?
I call this matter to your attention for two reasons: First, time is of the essence! We need to get moving with the things of real import. The world must hear the gospel. Paul asks: “How shall they believe in him of whom they have not heard? and how shall they hear without a preacher? and how shall they preach, except they be sent?” (Rom. 10:14–15.) And I ask, how shall they be sent today without sufficient means?
The second reason is the Lord counsels rather specifically about the wise use of property. “Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.” (Matt. 6:33.)
Jacob counsels:
“Think of your brethren like unto yourselves, and be familiar with all and free with your substance, that they may be rich like unto you.
“But before ye seek for riches, seek ye for the kingdom of God.
“And after ye have obtained a hope in Christ ye shall obtain riches … to clothe the naked, and to feed the hungry, and to liberate the captive, and administer relief to the sick and the afflicted.” (Jacob 2:17–19.)
How blessed we would be if we could pattern our conduct after the Nephites described by Alma:
“And thus, in their prosperous circumstances, they did not send away any who were naked, or that were hungry, or that were athirst, or that were sick, or that had not been nourished; and they did not set their hearts upon riches; therefore they were liberal to all, both old and young, both bond and free, both male and female, whether out of the church or in the church.” (Alma 1:30.)
In our day the Lord has warned us sternly, “And again, I command thee that thou shalt not covet thine own property, but impart it freely.” (D&C 19:26, italics added.)
My brethren, we have been too casual about these matters in the past. There is work to do. We need your help to do it. The word is urgency and the time is now. Many of you have the power to open doors of opportunity for the service of others. May you see this opportunity as a means to wisely use the property with which the Lord has blessed you to help His work and to save your souls. I know many of you already contribute. I know He will keep His promises to you if you will keep your promises to serve. I testify that God lives. Jesus is the Christ. This is His church. This is His earth—and all things in it. We are but stewards over His goods. May we delight to share them, and may we realize the promise that “he who doeth the works of righteousness shall receive his reward, even peace in this world, and eternal life in the world to come.” (D&C 59:23.) In the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.

As a child she traveled with her family by train across the country to be sealed in the Manti Utah Temple.
“That was a very sweet experience,” she said. “I remember dressing in white and what that meant to my family. It was a magnificent experience, and even though I was really young, I remember the feelings I had, glimpses of white, and the beauty of that day. That experience gave me my first desire to keep the temple in my life always.”

When we are willing to serve, we strive not to complain or murmur, because we do not want to tarnish our service in any way. Complaining may be a sign of wavering commitment, or that our love for the Savior is not as it ought to be. Left unchecked, murmuring can progress to outright rebellion against the Lord. This progression is seen in the life of Ezra Booth, an early convert to the Church in Ohio who was called as a missionary to Missouri.

As he left Ohio in June 1831, Ezra was upset that some missionaries were able to travel by wagon while he had to walk in the summer heat, preaching along the way. He murmured. When he arrived in Missouri, he felt deflated. Missouri was not what he had expected. Instead, he looked around and noted that “the prospect appeared somewhat gloomy.”

Ezra became increasingly cynical, sarcastic, and critical. Upon leaving Missouri, instead of preaching as he went, as he had been asked to do, he returned to Ohio as quickly as he could. His initial murmuring evolved into wavering and finally into losing confidence in his earlier spiritual experiences. Soon Ezra left the Church and “ultimately ‘abandoned Christianity and became an agnostic.’”

On 4 Dec 2020, Bishop Les Pointer of the Telford Ward, Newcastle-under-Lyme Stake, accepted an award on behalf of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in recognition for its generous support of the Telford and Wrekin Interfaith Council. The award was presented by Raj Mehta, chair and founder of the Telford and Wrekin Interfaith Council, and a town councillor.
Since Bishop Pointer’s call in October 2017, he has led the ward members to work ever closer with the community and other local faith groups. He was invited to become a trustee of the Telford and Wrekin Interfaith Council in April 2020. Admittedly, before the COVID-19 pandemic, it was easier to serve the local community. Despite the pandemic, Ward members have been able to find appropriate and safe ways to continue serving the community throughout 2020. Bishop Pointer was also nominated for an Unsung Heroes Award from the Telford and Wrekin Borough Council, which he accepted on behalf of ward members.

I was over in Samoa. I couldn’t sleep for worrying about the centipedes and so forth, so I got up. It was three o’clock in the morning. I went in the room where they had the radio. I started turning the dials, and all of a sudden I heard a voice say, “Station KSL, Salt Lake City. Songs of Harry Clark.” I sat there and listened to Harry Clark sing for fifteen minutes. Then I had to get up the next morning at three o’clock because I’d sent him a wire and I wanted to see if he got it. He did. He mentioned it over the air. So I listened to him sing for another fifteen minutes.

You know, the strange thing about it was, I was hearing him sing four hours before he actually sang. And you talk about miracles.

Born in Semarang, Indonesia, in 1914, Julie was one of six children. Her father died when she was eight, and her Chinese mother, who had been disowned by her family for marrying a Dutchman, was unable to take care of her children. Julie lived with a foster family for several years until the family was reunited.
Julie finished school, earning a degree in education, and worked as a secretary until she met Rudolf Jacobs, whom she married in 1938. When World War II started, Rudolf, an experienced pilot, was called into action and soon became a Japanese prisoner of war.
Julie, pregnant with twins, was left to care for her infant son. As she struggled for the next three years to provide for her children, she sold knitting and other handiwork, trading everything she could to obtain food.
Rudolf returned from the prisoner-of-war camp very sick and underweight, and the family decided to move to the Netherlands, where better medical help was available. So in 1947 Julie left Indonesia, not realizing she would never return to the land of her birth.
Six years later, Rudolf Jacobs was killed in a plane crash and Julie was again left to provide for her family—four children ranging in age from five to fourteen. She went to work teaching typing and shorthand. In 1960 Julie suffered another blow when her oldest son was killed in a car accident.
Reeling under the loss—“It felt like part of my body had been torn away”—Julie experienced a crisis of faith.
“I couldn’t understand why I had to go through this,” she says. “I struggled every morning and evening to bend my knees in prayer, as I was used to doing, but I found I could not pray.”
Even though Julie had never attended a church, she had a strong belief in God that pulled her through. “After a while I heard a voice that seemed to repeat, ‘And still God is love.’”
She began to pray once more. “In thankfulness to my Father in Heaven, I searched for a church where I could serve him.” One rainy evening in 1962, two Latter-day Saint missionaries knocked on the Jacobs’s door.
Not long after, one of Julie’s sons was baptized, followed by her sister and mother. But Julie was not yet convinced. The evening before her daughter was to be baptized, a missionary challenged her to pray in an effort to gain a testimony of the gospel.
“I did not promise the missionary anything,” Julie remembers.
“And when I said my prayers that night I did not mention the Church. But in the middle of the night I woke up with an urgent need to ask Father in Heaven if this was indeed the true church where I could serve him.
“Never had I prayed so sincerely or for so long. And never had I felt God’s love and strength as I did on that night. When my prayer was over, I saw the sun shining through the curtains at my bedroom window. As I gazed outside in the early morning hour, I felt a happiness and peace I had not known since before my son’s death,” she recalls, her face reflecting the wonder of that morning a quarter of a century ago. She was baptized that very day, along with her daughter.
For the next twenty-one years, Sister Jacobs served in the Relief Society. For five years she was Relief Society president of The Hague Netherlands Stake. “It wasn’t always easy, but during those years I learned to kneel in prayer often to receive the help and inspiration I needed.”
Three times a year a special week in the London Temple is organized for the Dutch members. “We usually leave at night, driving for several hours,” Sister Jacobs explains. “Then we take the night boat to England, and drive for three hours. Each day we are there, we arrive at the temple before 6 A.M. and stay until 6 P.M. When I get back to Holland I am tired, but happy that I was able to work in the house of the Lord.”
“Life isn’t always easy,” Sister Jacobs admits. “But our final reward will be that God will lovingly take us in his arms when we leave this world. Thinking about that gives me the courage to accept the things that happen in my life.”

High school graduation night was hectic, and I was in a hurry. The envelope lying on my bed that evening didn’t look particularly interesting, so I hurriedly opened it, figuring it was just another piece of junk mail I could throw out and get on with my night. But, to my surprise, the envelope contained a letter:
Dear Angela,
Do you get a kick out of remembering things you did when you were a kid? Good, because I’m going to ask you to turn your thoughts back to when you were ten years old. I was your Primary teacher then …
The letter went on to tell me what my teacher, Sister Bently, remembered about me and my classmates. The letter ended:
In June of the year you were in my class, I gave a lesson on the Word of Wisdom. Each of you wrote a letter to yourself that day. Today, I am mailing the note you wrote to yourself so long ago. I do not remember what you wrote. What is inside is strictly for you.
Love,
Sister Bently
I quickly opened the seal on the smaller envelope inside the letter and read the short but beautiful testimony of why it is important for me to keep the Word of Wisdom. I was glad to know that I had been true to myself and kept my standards.
In the years since I had written the note, I had observed the sometimes dire consequences of breaking the Word of Wisdom—things like cancer and car accidents. When I was ten and in Primary, I knew the Word of Wisdom. Now, I also know the wisdom in the words.

England was a busy place in the early 1800s, but John Taylor liked the exciting atmosphere of this country where his family had their farm. John worked many hours on the farm, and he also learned the skill of wood turning.
When he was twenty-four years old, John had the opportunity to migrate to Canada to join his family, who had moved there two years before.
Before John’s ship left the English Channel, however, there was a horrible storm. Many people on the ship got sick as the storm tossed the ship from side to side.
Ships all around John’s were being destroyed by the storm, and the officers and crew of his ship prepared for the worst.
But John wasn’t worried. He even walked calmly around the deck at midnight during the raging storm! He knew that he had a work to do in Canada, and he trusted Heavenly Father to protect him so that he could do that work.
After John reached Toronto, Canada, he located the Methodist Church, where he became a member and a preacher. In May of 1836, Parley P. Pratt taught him about the restored gospel of Jesus Christ, and John was baptized into the Church.
John Taylor continued to trust in the Lord, and he became the third President of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

The deacons in the Church have a sacred obligation to visit the home of every member to collect fast offerings for the poor. President Thomas S. Monson once related to me how he, as a young bishop, began to sense that the young deacons in his ward were complaining about having to get up so early to collect fast offerings. Instead of calling the young men to task, this wise bishop took them to Welfare Square in Salt Lake City.
There the boys met a disabled woman operating the switchboard. They saw a blind man placing labels on cans, and an elderly brother stocking shelves. As a result of what they saw, President Monson said, a penetrating silence came over the boys as they witnessed the end result of their efforts to collect the sacred funds that aided the needy and provided employment for those who otherwise would be idle.

When I was five years old, I became very ill. It turned out that I had polio, a disease that was completely unknown to the small-town doctor. I lay for several weeks on a World War I army cot in our front room beside a coal stove. Afterward, I could not walk. I remember very clearly sliding around on the linoleum floor and pulling myself up on chairs, learning to walk again. I was more fortunate than some. A friend walked with crutches and steel leg braces all of his life.
As I moved into school, I found that my muscles were weak. I was very self-conscious. I knew that I could never be an athlete.
It did not help a lot when I read about the man who went to a doctor to find a cure for his inferiority complex. After a careful examination, the doctor told him, “You don’t have a complex. You really are inferior!”
With that for encouragement, I set about through life and determined to compensate in other ways.
I found hope in my patriarchal blessing. The patriarch, whom I had never met before, confirmed to me that patriarchs do have prophetic insight. He said that I had a desire to come to earth life and was willing to meet the tests that would accompany life in a mortal body. He said that I had been given a body of such physical proportion and fitness to enable my spirit to function through it unhampered by physical impediment. That encouraged me.

A testimony takes a lot of different things to help it grow—things like prayer, scripture study, and church attendance. Another vital ingredient is time out to think about the things you really believe. The Rochester First Ward, Rochester New York Stake Young Women had a special Sunday outing to the Sacred Grove.
The grove, which is not far from their homes, was a good place to reflect on their feelings about Joseph Smith. All the girls said it was a nice way to spend a Sunday afternoon, reverently thinking about their feelings toward the gospel.
“We went and spent time together, just thinking about Joseph Smith and sharing our testimonies,” says Laurel Sarah McKeever.
At the grove, the girls read about the Prophet’s first vision. Then they spent time in the grove and on the Joseph Smith farm, quietly contemplating what had taken place there.
“It’s a good feeling to think that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ were there,” says Mia Maid Kathy Domm. “It was really spiritual, and I think it also brought us closer together as young women.”

It was odd, Andrew thought as he looked in the mirror and tried to force the cowlick at the back of his head to lie flat; he was actually looking forward to tonight’s “date.” He hadn’t been enthusiastic about it at first, but now that it was almost time to go, he was excited.
His friend Jim had suggested a “practice run” before his big date with Alyssa Adams, his first since turning 16 last month. Jim said if they were going to double then Andrew needed practice—“so you won’t act like a goon and spill soup on your date or something.” Andrew agreed because (1) he didn’t have his driver’s license yet and Jim did; (2) he was nervous about going on his first date with a girl he really had a crush on; and (3) Jim had been on a couple of dates already, so he must know what he’s talking about.
Andrew talked to his dad about the idea too, and he agreed that practice might be a good idea. “Besides,” he said, “I know just who you should ask. She’d love to do something like that.”
At first, his father’s suggestion—and his enthusiasm—caught Andrew off guard. But dad persisted. “You’ve known her since … well … forever. She’s fun, and she’ll understand. She’s the kind of person who has as much fun playing ball with the guys as she does dressing up and going to dinner. She won’t even mind that she’s helping you get ready for a big night with somebody else.”
“You mean I have to tell her why I’m asking her out? That’ll make it worse,” Andrew said, ready to forget the whole thing.
“Of course you do; it’s only fair. Besides, if she knows ahead of time, she’ll probably be able to give you some pointers. I’ve seen her, and she’s pretty knowledgeable about those kinds of things. You’d feel rotten if she found out later that the only reason you asked her out was to practice for a date with someone else.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Andrew said reluctantly.
Nevertheless, Andrew still felt nervous when he thought about asking someone else out so soon. It had been murder trying to find the courage to ask Alyssa out. Now he was faced with the problem of having to ask someone he’d known all his life, and it wasn’t any easier. What if she laughed at him or told him his idea was dumb? He felt he had to do it, though, and after school one day he worked up the nerve to ask her.
“Hi,” he said, almost choking because his mouth was so dry.
“Oh, hi Andrew,” she said, looking up from her book. “What’s up?”
“Oh, nothing much, but I was wondering, uh, are you doing anything special Friday night?” he asked, looking everywhere but at her.
“I don’t think I’ve got anything planned. Why do you ask?” Finally he looked directly at her. “Well, I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind going to dinner with me?” He looked at her for a change in expression. What showed looked more like surprise. “It wouldn’t be a real date,” he said quickly. “It would be sort of a practice date. I’ve never been to dinner with a date before, and I want to make sure I do it right.”
There was a pause, and Andrew didn’t know whether or not to keep talking. Suddenly, however, she smiled. “Sure! That sounds like fun. I’d love to.”
Soon the “rehearsal” was under way. They planned to go to La Traviata, the same Italian restaurant he and Jim would be taking their dates to next week. As they made preparations it became painfully apparent that Jim had been right all along. Andrew needed this trial run more than he thought. But she seemed to know exactly what to do. First, she helped him call and make reservations.
“What do I say?” he asked as he nervously dialed the number. “Just say, ‘I’d like to make reservations for two at eight o’clock tonight, and then tell them your name when they ask.”
“She says things so easily,” he thought. “I wish I had her confidence.” Then she helped him pick out the clothes he was going to wear. He had picked out his best pair of blue jeans, his favorite shirt and his cleanest, basketball shoes. She wisely chose the gray Sunday slacks with the blue blazer and firmly insisted that while inflatable shoes were quite fashionable in the gym, they were out when it came to dinner at a nice restaurant.
Finally, with his help, she took some plates and silverware from the cupboard and created an elegant setting on the kitchen table.
“Wow,” Andrew said, sitting down to the beautiful array of china and silverware in front of him. “I think I know some of this stuff,” he said, swallowing hard. “But maybe you could help me with a pointer or two. What’s this tiny little knife for?”
She gave Andrew a description of all the various utensils and their uses. She talked about the proper way to handle a salad and where the bread goes—everything. She even reminded him that it was not a good idea to tuck the napkin under his collar, or use his thumb to slide a stubborn vegetable onto his fork as she had seen him do before. He thanked her and said he’d try to remember.
She continued her explanation, but Andrew was only half listening. As he watched her he couldn’t help feeling like a jerk for using her to impress another girl. He noticed, probably for the first time, how pretty she was and how much effort she was going to in order to make things nice for him. What made it worse was that she had been so cheerful and enthusiastic about it from the beginning. She approached this like she approached so many things, happily and without a thought for herself. She was doing it all for him and he knew it. She really was a good friend, better than most, he thought. This date was going to be fun for both of them, but he couldn’t help feeling a bit guilty about it.
“Huh, what?” he said, quickly aware he had drifted too far.
“I said, ‘This fork is for seafood,’” she said, teasingly shaking it at him. “You use it on things like crab or shrimp cocktail, and no, there’s no alcohol in shrimp cocktail so it’s okay to eat. That about wraps it up. Any questions?”
“Nope, no questions, but it sure is a lot to remember.”
“Don’t worry. As a rule, you use the utensils on the outside and work your way in as you go. If you absolutely don’t know what to do, watch your date or the people at the table next to you. They might be able to help you out.”
“Got it,” he said.
“Good. Now I’ve got to rush or I’m going to be ‘unready’ for this ‘undate.’”
Andrew waited a bit before getting ready, then dressed quickly and found he still had a few minutes before it was time to leave. He went to the backyard and picked out the prettiest rose he could find. He carefully picked it as far down the stalk as he could and then bent the thorns off the stem. He resisted the temptation to put one of the thorns on his nose and play rhinoceros. He walked around the block, up the front steps, and rang the doorbell.
“Wow!” he said when she opened the door.
“Hi, Andrew. What do you think?”
“You look beautiful,” he said, visibly impressed.
“Thank you very much. You look rather handsome yourself. Good choice of wardrobe, if I do say so myself.”
“Thanks a lot,” he said, smiling back. “Oh, here,” he said, remembering the flower in his hand. “This is for you.”
“Why, Andrew, how sweet. Thank you. Let me put it in a vase.” She returned a moment later. “Are you ready?”
“Sure. Let’s go!”
At first, the rehearsal appeared to have worked. He offered her his arm, opened the car door, and let her in on the driver’s side since she had the driver’s license and he didn’t. They talked and laughed on the way to the restaurant, and when they arrived he was quick to get the door and offer an arm to his “undate.”
“I’m impressed,” she said, while walking to the door with her arm in his. “Someone must have taught you well.”
“Yeah, I had a pretty terrific teacher,” he said, smiling.
Suddenly, Andrew tensed and tried to look away, but it was too late. Their eyes had already met. Directly in front of them stood Ryan Adams, the captain of the basketball team and, worse, Alyssa Adams’s big brother. He was leaving the restaurant with his date.
He had seen them together and Andrew was positive he was going to hear about it at practice next week. Not only that, but Alyssa was sure to find out, and trying to explain would only make things worse. In an instant he made a decision. He’d tough it out. “Hi, Ryan,” he said.
“Hi, Andrew. How’s it going?”
“Fine. How’s the dinner?”
“Terrific. Watch out for the antipasto, though; it’s a killer.” Ryan rolled his eyes and pretended to spray some breath freshener into his mouth.
“I’ll think about it. Thanks.”
“See ya.”
“Bye.”
Andrew breathed a sigh of relief as he opened the door to the restaurant and they walked inside. At least he didn’t say anything then, he thought. He could only imagine what he was going to say at practice Monday.
The dinner was excellent, a true dining experience, and Andrew handled himself extremely well. He thought the dinner was over, though, when the waiter brought out small servings of sherbet for them. The waiter had to explain that the sherbet was merely a “palate cleanser,” something to eat so the taste of the previous course wouldn’t interfere with the taste of the next. Other than that, he managed to impress her by remembering everything she had taught him. He even proved to be a very good conversationalist by asking questions and paying attention to what she said.
At the end of the meal when the waiter presented the check, she reached into her purse and tried to pass some money to Andrew under the table. “For my half,” she said quietly.
“No way,” said Andrew. “I invited you here and I’m going to pay for it.”
“I just thought that since this was a “nondate” it might be different.”
“It’s not that different. Besides, with the way you’ve helped me I’d say it was worth every penny.”
He paid the waiter and left an adequate tip. They left the restaurant and he opened the car door again for her. “You’re spoiling me,” she said as she got in. “I might get used to this.”
“I suppose I could make it a habit. I probably should have all along, huh?”
“That’s okay. You haven’t done too badly. You’ve become quite a gentleman. Alyssa Adams is in for a treat.”
“Thanks.”
She pulled the car into the driveway and he escorted her to the door.
“Thanks for going along with my ‘trial-run’ idea. It really helped.”
“You’re welcome. Thank you for a wonderful evening. There’s just one thing, though.”
“What’s that?” he said, wondering what he could have done wrong.
“Don’t worry about Alyssa’s brother seeing you with me tonight. I’m sure he recognizes that his sister will be treated with as much courtesy as I received. If he’s any kind of brother, I think he’ll like that. I don’t think Alyssa will mind either. If you treat all your dates as I was tonight, you’ll have a lot of fun dating.”
At first, Andrew was surprised that she knew what he had been thinking at the restaurant when he saw Ryan. Then he realized he wasn’t surprised at all. He put his arm around her and kissed her on the cheek.
“Thanks, Mom,” he said. “You’re terrific.”

Two ranchers who lived side by side in southwestern Montana argued and fought. Each thought that he was being cheated by the other because a rusty barbed wire fence that separated their ranches was not the true property line. The real estate records were unclear on the matter.
They told their children not to play with one another. The conflict became worse until 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 to his neighbor’s.
“What do you want?” his neighbor 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 quarreling. I want us to be friends.”
His rawboned 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 friends with the family next door.

We were packing for a short trip to the mountains of northern New Mexico, and I was loading the last of the children and supplies into the car. My wife appeared at the door and said cheerfully, “Well, we’re all set!” As she was pulling the locked door closed, I realized I didn’t have my keys! I yelled quickly, “DON‘T SHUT THAT … door.” Too late.
In an instant I was irritated. I said to my wife, implying she was to blame, “My keys are in the house!”
Fortunately, a forgotten open window allowed us access to the house without the loss of much time, and my feelings dissipated. I “forgave” my wife for having caused me emotional pain.
Later, as I thought of the experience, I realized I had found it convenient to blame my wife because it was a way of justifying my own failure. By my hostile feelings I could make it appear that she was the guilty one and that I was a helpless victim.
The truth is that my irritation was not due to her behavior at all. It was, instead, the product of my own unwillingness to accept the responsibility of my actions, and obviously, she hadn’t needed my forgiveness—but I certainly needed hers.
The real issue was my need to repent of the feelings I had. Had she been in some kind of transgression, then the solution to the problem would have been for her to repent and me to forgive. In this case, however, only my repentance was necessary to restore us to oneness. I understood also that my repentance, my giving up of my feelings of resentment, would have been necessary whether she had been guilty of anything or not. I saw that I could not be both unrepentant (or unforgiving) and compassionate at the same time. These are two incompatible attitudes.

I wish to share with you a very special family experience. This is an interview I had with my grandson. Several years ago, when I was preparing myself spiritually in prayer to interview one of my daughters, I felt inspired to interview Kemish, my grandson who was a little over three years old and was living with us. Kemish was a bundle of energy and could not stay quiet for more than a minute, always running, jumping, and playing. So I let that feeling pass, thinking that I would wait until he was a little older and able to pay attention.

Several months later, while praying, the feeling came again; only this time it was stronger, and I heeded it. I went to Kemish and told him, “Tomorrow you and I will have an interview.” The next day, at the beginning of the interview, I told him that during an interview we had to look each other in the eye and remain seated all the time, among other things. It was a real miracle; Kemish sat and stayed quiet for almost ten minutes. But more marvelous than that, however, was that I got to know his thoughts and feelings. The thing that worried him the most was when he could get a two-wheel bicycle. When I explained to him that he would have to wait until he was a little older, he understood perfectly. He then told me the story he had learned about Nephi and his brothers. But the greatest thrill for me, as his grandfather, was when he told me that he knew who Jesus Christ was and bore his testimony of the Savior to me. Nowhere could you ever find more truth and purity than in the testimony of a three-year-old boy.

Preparing for and faithfully serving a mission has never been and will never be easy or convenient. The reasons not to serve can seem overwhelming unless we put our trust in the Lord. I joined the Church in Germany shortly before turning 18, the only one in my family to do so. Taking two years of my life to serve a mission was never in my plans. My future beyond my mission was uncertain. My family did not want me to go. My friends did not want me to go. My soccer team did not want me to go. But the Lord wanted me to go, and so I went. And the blessings I received from serving a mission can hardly be put into words. Whatever the Lord commands is always right, and his blessings are always sure.

That help came to my father years ago when his work took him to Australia. He was alone on a Sunday, and he wanted to take the sacrament. He could find no information about Latter-day Saint meetings. So he started walking. He prayed at each intersection to know which way to turn. After walking and making turns for an hour, he stopped to pray again. He felt an impression to turn down a particular street. Soon he began to hear singing coming from the ground floor of an apartment building close by. He looked in at the window and saw a few people seated near a table covered with a white cloth and sacrament trays.

Now, that may not seem like much to you, but it was something wonderful to him. He knew the promise of the sacrament prayer had been fulfilled: “Always remember him and keep his commandments which he has given them; that they may always have his Spirit to be with them” (D&C 20:77).

There is an example that expresses my meaning well. Some years ago a young lady missionary shared with me some of the circumstances of her call. Her humble father, a farmer, had willingly sacrificed much for the Lord and his kingdom. He was already sustaining two sons on missions when he talked with his daughter one day about her unexpressed desires to be a missionary and explained to her how the Lord had helped him to prepare to help her. He had gone to the fields to talk with the Lord, to tell him that he had no more material possessions to sell or sacrifice or to use as collateral for borrowing. He needed to know how he could help his daughter go on a mission. The Lord, he said, told him to plant onions. He thought he had misunderstood. Onions would not likely grow in this climate, others were not growing onions, he had no experience growing onions. After wrestling with the Lord for a time, he was again told to plant onions. So he borrowed money, purchased seeds, planted and nurtured and prayed. The elements were tempered, the onion crop prospered. He sold the crop, paid his debts to the bank and the government and the Lord, and put the remainder in an account under her name—enough to supply her wants on a mission.
I will not forget the story or the moment or the tears in her eyes or the sound of her voice or the feeling in me as she said, “Brother Hanks, I don’t have any trouble believing in a loving Heavenly Father who knows my needs and will help me according to his wisdom if I am humble enough. I have a father just like that.”

Elizabeth headed the ball and skillfully let it drop near her feet. As she tried to pass off to her teammate, Central’s right-winger lost her balance and careened into Elizabeth, sending them both sprawling. For a moment Elizabeth couldn’t breathe. She tried to stand, but her legs buckled. There was only one person on the bench to replace her. Oh, no, she thought, not Kristen! She’s not ready yet. But Coach Fulton was already sending her in.
It didn’t take Central long to discover that they were dealing with a beginner. When the pass came, Kristen dribbled downfield. Central moved in and pressured her. She tensed, lost her concentration, and tripped over the ball. Central gained control and quickly scored the winning goal.
As the field cleared, Kristen slowly walked away, pulling a wad of crumpled paper from her pocket.
Elizabeth hadn’t known Kristen long. She wasn’t an easy person to get to know, but she seemed to need a friend. Elizabeth knew she was discouraged—maybe discouraged enough to quit. Even the practice sessions were tough for her. Perhaps that was because she didn’t have any friends to buddy practice with.
“Kristen, wait up,” Elizabeth called.
Kristen looked up, surprised. “Sorry about the game,” she said quietly, shoving the wad of paper into her pocket. “I guess I just wasn’t cut out for soccer. The team would be better off without me. I can’t seem to do anything right.”
Elizabeth didn’t know what to say. She put her arm gently around Kristen’s shoulder, and they walked away together. It isn’t just soccer, Elizabeth thought. At school Kristen had a difficult time following directions. She couldn’t remember what their teacher, Mr. Kelly, told her to do. She often wrote numbers and letters backward. And she just couldn’t seem to pay attention, even though she tried very hard.
“A learning disability” was what Kristen’s special teacher, Mrs. O’Brien, called it. For some reason, Kristen’s brain wasn’t able to process information normally. The right messages didn’t always get through, just as a phone call doesn’t go through when the wires are jammed or broken. Because of her difficulties, Kristen spent a part of each school day with Mrs. O’Brien, who helped Kristen and other children like her.
Elizabeth had never met anyone like Kristen before. The more time she spent with her, the more she noticed all those wads of paper that Kristen always had in her pockets. She wanted to ask her about the paper, but the two of them were just becoming friends, and Elizabeth didn’t want to spoil it. Perhaps Mrs. O’Brien, who knew Kristen well, could help her understand Kristen better.
“Kristen is a very bright girl, as are many learning disabled children,” Mrs. O’Brien explained when Elizabeth stopped by the next day after school. “She’s making progress, but slowly. Unfortunately, she’s been hurt too often by thoughtless teasing. Many children just don’t understand. They never take the time to get to know her. That’s why she’s so shy about making friends.”
“Do you know why she always carries those little wads of crumpled paper?” asked Elizabeth.
“That’s something Kristen will have to tell you herself.”
I’ll ask her at soccer practice, Elizabeth decided as she hurried to the soccer field.
“Kristen,” she began slowly when practice was over, “I’ve been wondering why your pockets are always full of crumpled paper.”
“It’s nothing much, just doodles,” said Kristen.
“Really? May I see them?”
Reluctantly Kristen reached into her pocket and retrieved a wad of paper.
Elizabeth put it on her knee and smoothed it out carefully. “Kristen, this is me!” she said in surprise. “You’ve drawn a sketch of me!”
“Sometimes—especially when I’m feeling discouraged—I doodle. It helps me feel better,” Kristen explained nervously.
“This is terrific, Kristen! Do you have any more?”
Kristen emptied the contents of her pockets and handed them to Elizabeth. “I have lots more at home,” she added, feeling more confident.
There was a sketch of Kristen’s puppy chewing an old sneaker, a drawing of their teammates playing soccer, and a picture of E. T. Elizabeth was astonished. They were really good! “Has anyone else ever seen these?” she asked.
Kristen shook her head.
“Well, they should!” A smile spread across Elizabeth’s face. She knew what to do to help the other kids at school to look beyond Kristen’s difficulties and get to know her better. “I have an idea,” Elizabeth said. “Come with me.”
First they went to see Mr. Kelly, then they hurried to Kristen’s house, where they gathered all of her drawings and mounted them on construction paper.
When their classmates arrived at school the next morning, they found the walls of their room covered with Kristen’s artwork. “Hey, that’s me!” several of them shouted.
“Who drew these?” others asked.
“They’re terrific!” they all agreed as they milled around, trying to see all the pictures.
After they had settled down, Mr. Kelly announced, “The artist is someone you all know. It’s—”
“It’s Kristen!” Elizabeth blurted out before Mr. Kelly could finish. She began to applaud enthusiastically. And the whole room clapped with her.