Gospel Story Finder

I used to have a 1978 Harley-Davidson motorcycle. I had invested a huge sum of money in it and was indescribably proud of it. It was everything to me. Every Sunday I joined a group of friends in Patillas, Puerto Rico, and we rode our motorbikes around the island. We forgot all our problems, our families, God—everything—for a brief period of pleasure on those bikes. In essence, my motorcycle was my idol.
That all changed when a former classmate, Jaime Rivera Gómez, introduced me to the Church. I will be eternally grateful to Jaime and to the missionaries for their teachings, patience, and genuine love. My wife and I were baptized on 31 March 1996.
Finding the gospel of Jesus Christ changed our lives completely. I immediately sold my motorcycle, for much less money than I had invested in it. But the sacrifice was worth it. As I changed my life, Heavenly Father—the only true God—poured out blessings on me. Now I am happy. My home is happy. I love my wife and my children. We hold family home evening, and we pray and serve the Lord as a family.
Three months after becoming members of the Church, we traveled to the Washington D.C. Temple and were baptized for some of our ancestors. Our second visit to the temple was in July 1997. There we received our endowments and performed sacred ordinances for our loved ones.
I know God loves me, and I am striving each day to become more like Him.

A memorial service was held for Stephen at the Vancouver stake center in British Columbia. Instead of sending flowers, friends contributed to a fund in his name set up at his former high school. Each year a graduating student who has “shown outstanding contributions in the area of helping other young people—one who has gone above and beyond the call of duty in the spirit of a true humanitarian”—will receive $100 bursary and the “Super Steve Humanitarian Award.”
The Vancouver British Columbia Stake has inaugurated a “Stephen Farrance Memorial Sportsmanship Award” to be presented to the seminary team that shows the most concern for each other, attention to rules, sincere effort, and good sportsmanship during the annual scripture chase.
At the memorial services, members and nonmembers gathered to remember Stephen. A School friend spoke on Stephen’s contributions to the school and to his fellow students. He spoke of his many talents, his desire to serve, and his example to the student body. His priests adviser talked about Stephen’s Church accomplishments, his enthusiasm for any outing, even if he knew he couldn’t participate, and his concern for the priesthood brethren. And the bishop spoke about Stephen’s spiritual achievements. He reminded those gathered of the great, strong testimony he had, and how he had made use of every opportunity to bear it. He talked of Stephen’s desire to serve the Lord in any capacity he could. For the first time members and nonmembers, brought together through love of Stephen, became aware of many sides of Stephen’s remarkable character.

“Tom? You got a minute?” Five-year-old Kevin stood outside his brother’s door.
“Sure, Kevin. Come on in,” Tom answered, looking up from his studies.
Kevin hurried to where Tom sat. “Tom, do you have to go to school tomorrow?”
“Sure. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because tomorrow is your birthday!” Kevin protested.
“That doesn’t matter. Besides, I have a test.”
“Oh.” Kevin hesitated. “Tom, do you know any secrets?”
“No, I can’t say that I do,” Tom answered, his eyes lit with amusement.
“I do,” said Kevin smugly, “but I can’t tell you, ‘cause it’s a surprise!”
“Yeah?” Tom asked, eyeing Kevin with affection.
“Yeah,” Kevin answered. His eyes searched Tom’s. “Tom, if somebody made you a picture with lots of horses on it, do you think you would like it?”
“I sure would!”
“Better than a silver belt buckle with your initial on it?” Kevin asked hopefully.
“Lots better,” Tom replied vigorously.
“Better than a pair of real cowboy boots?”
“Yep,” Tom answered. He pointed at the wall facing his bed. “If I had a picture like that, I’d hang it right there so I could see it first thing every morning.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Tom said, ruffling Kevin’s hair.
“What’s your favorite kind of cake, Tom?”
“I don’t know, Kevin. Got any suggestions?”
“Chocolate! With fudge icing!”
“Is that your favorite?” Tom asked, still smiling.
“Yeah!”
“Then it’s mine too.”
“Tom?” Kevin rubbed his eyes sleepily.
“Yeah?”
“Do you think I’ll ever get as big as you?”
“Not if you don’t get to bed. It’s way past your bedtime.”
“Will you carry me piggyback, Tom?”
“Sure.”
After Kevin was tucked snugly into his bed, Tom turned to leave.
“Tom?” Kevin called.
“Yeah?”
“I love you,” Kevin said.
“I love you, too, Kev.”
“Night, Tom.”
“Good night, Kevin.”
Kevin was still sleeping when Tom left for school the next morning. When he returned home, Kevin was waiting for him on the front steps. He tugged at Tom’s hand. “Hurry, Tom!”
“What’s the rush?”
“Come and see!” Kevin skipped as he led Tom inside the house.
Fifteen candles burned brightly on a chocolate fudge cake resting in the center of the table. Tom and Kevin’s parents came from the kitchen singing “Happy Birthday.”
“Surprise! Surprise!” Kevin yelled, jumping up and down.
“Wow!” Tom said happily.
Kevin helped Tom blow out the candles on the cake; then Tom opened his packages. He was very happy to get cowboy boots and a silver belt buckle with his initial on it from his parents. He saved Kevin’s gift for last.
Inside the package was a large white poster board. Several pictures of horses, cut from magazines, were glued to it. “This is terrific, Kevin!” Tom said, smiling.
“I made it all by myself!”
“Will you help me hang it in my room?” Tom asked.
“Yeah! Are you going to hang it in front of your bed so that you can see it first thing every morning?” Kevin asked anxiously.
“You bet!”
“Surprises are a lot of fun, huh, Tom?”
“Yeah,” Tom said, picking Kevin up and swinging him through the air. “Surprises are great!”

During the last general conference, a relatively insignificant thing caught my attention. It was a necktie! As a choir of young boys and girls was singing, one of the TV cameras happened upon a young boy in the choir. He thought he saw himself on the television monitor but perhaps wasn’t completely sure. So this is what he did: by wiggling his tie almost unnoticeably, he knew—yes—it was really him!
And now to you, my young friend with the tie, yes, it is you. You and the millions like you, if you prepare well, will be the faithful mothers and fathers in the Church and the Lord’s future leaders. You will be the teachers and leaders that will continue to establish the Church throughout the world. You will probably want to look in the mirror periodically and remind yourselves of the great mission that lies before you, and perhaps you might even want to wiggle your tie just to remind yourself of your important mission ahead. May you stand straight and noble in your callings.

A tender story from Church history illustrates the power of a forgiving heart. William W. Phelps joined the Church during the Kirtland era and became a devoted follower of the Prophet Joseph Smith. He was called to be a member of the stake presidency in Missouri. Later, as a result of some financial improprieties and an unrepentant heart, Brother Phelps left the Church. He became bitter and declared himself an enemy to the Prophet. His defection occurred at the time when the Prophet and many of the leading brethren were arrested following Governor Lilburn W. Boggs’s extermination order.
While the Prophet’s life hung literally in the balance, William W. Phelps served as a witness against him. Compounding his betrayal, William signed a certificate defending the actions of one of the Saints’ worst enemies.
As a result, his actions helped send the Prophet and several other brethren to prison. We can perhaps imagine the bitter disappointment the Prophet endured during the months of his imprisonment as he contemplated the betrayal of those he had loved and trusted.
Two years later, after great anguish and bitter remorse, Brother Phelps sent the Prophet a heartfelt letter:
“Brother Joseph: … I am as the prodigal son. … I have seen the folly of my way, and I tremble at the gulf I have passed.” He begged the forgiveness of the brethren and asked that even with severe chastisement he might return to them.4
The Prophet’s almost immediate reply stands as a worthy example of the power of forgiveness and of his great heart:
“Dear Brother Phelps: …
“You may in some measure realize what my feelings, as well as Elder Rigdon’s and Brother Hyrum’s were, when we read your letter—truly our hearts were melted into tenderness and compassion when we ascertained your resolves. …
“It is true, that we have suffered much in consequence of your behavior—the cup of gall, already full enough for mortals to drink, was indeed filled to overflowing when you turned against us. …
“However, the cup has been drunk, the will of our Father has been done, and we are yet alive, for which we thank the Lord. And having been delivered from the hands of wicked men by the mercy of our God, we say it is your privilege to be delivered from the powers of the adversary, be brought into the liberty of God’s dear children, and again take your stand among the Saints of the Most High, and by diligence, humility, and love unfeigned, commend yourself to our God, and your God, and to the Church of Jesus Christ.
“Believing your confession to be real, and your repentance genuine, I shall be happy once again to give you the right hand of fellowship, and rejoice over the returning prodigal. …
“‘Come on, dear brother, since the war is past,
“‘For friends at first, are friends again at last.’
“Yours as ever,
“Joseph Smith, Jun.”5
Brother Phelps returned to the Church with new resolve and commitment. His love for the Prophet and his gratitude for another chance were deep and sincere. It was William W. Phelps who spoke at the Prophet’s funeral service and who later penned the words of one of the great hymns of the Restoration:
Praise to the man who communed with Jehovah!
Jesus anointed that Prophet and Seer.
Blessed to open the last dispensation,
Kings shall extol him, and nations revere. …
Sacrifice brings forth the blessings of heaven;
Earth must atone for the blood of that man.
Wake up the world for the conflict of justice.
Millions shall know “Brother Joseph” again.
Hail to the Prophet, ascended to heaven!
Traitors and tyrants now fight him in vain.
Mingling with Gods, he can plan for his brethren;
Death cannot conquer the hero again.6
Joseph Smith also wrote to William W. Phelps in his letter, “Inasmuch as long-suffering, patience, and mercy have ever characterized the dealings of our Heavenly Father towards the humble and penitent, I feel disposed to copy the example, cherish the same principles, and by so doing be a savior of my fellow men.”7

When I returned home from serving in the Nigeria Enugu Mission in September 2021, it was a challenging time for me, especially to find a job. I applied to several places, but it seemed like opportunities were scarce. However, I kept trusting the Lord and fortunately for me, my patience paid off, and one day I received a call from an area I had been longing to work in. They offered me the job, and I felt a sense of relief and gratitude.
Meanwhile, my fiancée was also serving full-time in the Ghana Accra Mission and was getting closer to returning home. We had been planning our wedding, and even though my salary was modest, I did everything I could with the help of families to make it happen. I believed that by faithfully following the Lord’s commandments, blessings would come our way.
Oftentimes, my spouse and I faced questioning and skepticism about our decision to get married at a young age. Many people told us that we were too young and hadn’t experienced enough of life yet. Despite these doubts, we knew in our hearts that the Lord was guiding us and that our decision to marry was the right one.
It’s true that at 22 years old, we didn’t have all the material possessions or financial stability that some might consider prerequisites for marriage. However, we believed that self-reliance was an important quality to possess, and we had been working towards that. We understood that marriage is about more than just having a car, a house, or a successful business. It is about building a foundation of love, trust, and shared values.
All through, it wasn’t an easy task, especially balancing the financial challenges and the desire for a beautiful wedding. We had to make compromises and find creative solutions. But through it all, we held onto our faith and trusted that everything would work out in the end.
Looking back, I realize that those times of struggle and uncertainty were important lessons for us. They taught us the value of perseverance, resourcefulness, and relying on the Lord’s guidance.
Thankfully, our wedding day arrived (March 15, 2023), and it was a joyous occasion filled with love and happiness. We felt truly blessed to begin our new life together, knowing that we had overcome obstacles and emerged stronger as a couple.
In addition to that, my wife, Pauline Faith Greene, and I were sealed in the Ghana Accra Temple on July 4, 2023. It was a sacred and joyous occasion that solidified our commitment to each other and to the Lord. We felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude knowing that our obedience to the Lord’s commandments had led us to this moment.
As we embarked on our journey as a married couple, we continued to rely on our faith and trust in the Lord. It wasn’t long after our wedding, in the month of March, that I received a promotion at my office. Along with the promotion came a salary increase, which brought a great sense of relief. Finally, I was able to provide for all my family’s needs, pay an honest tithe, and even extend a helping hand to others in need.
In the end, I learned that following the Lord’s commandments doesn’t guarantee a life free of challenges, but it does bring blessings and the strength to face them. It was a humbling experience that reminded me of the power of faith and the importance of trusting in divine providence.

Elder Perry is one who understands sadness and adversity. In December 1974, Virginia died; then in March 1983, their daughter Barbara died. He has also lost two grandchildren to death. During those dark times, his faith in the Lord Jesus Christ gave him hope; today he encourages others who suffer to put their trust in the Lord: “The Lord is very kind. Even though some experiences are hard, he floods your mind with memories and gives you other opportunities. Life doesn’t end just because you have a tragedy—there’s a new mountain to climb. Don’t spend a lot of time sulking over what you’ve lost. Get on with climbing the next mountain.”

The most outstanding example of individual effort that I know of is represented in the college career of Jim Thorpe. Of Lamanite ancestry, he attended Carlisle Indian School. There he compiled a record that has never been approached. He was one of the main players on the football team and was such a hard runner that for fun he would tell the other team which way he was coming. When his team had to kick the ball, he could kick it 64 meters.
One year little Carlisle Indian School defeated mighty Harvard University, with Thorpe kicking and running to score the points that won the game. Another time against Army Academy, he picked up one Army kick and ran 82.2 meters with it to score, but it was called back on a penalty. So Thorpe picked up the next kickoff and ran 86.8 meters to score!
In track and field, Carlisle Indian School faced a tough dual meet with strong, unbeaten Lafayette College (in Pennsylvania). Jim Thorpe came to the meet accompanied by one other man. Since Lafayette College had a squad of 48 athletes, an official said, “You mean the two of you are the whole Carlisle Indian School team?”
“No,” said Thorpe. “Only me. The other fellow is the student manager.”
Against Lafayette College that day, Thorpe won the high jump, broad jump, shotput, discus throw, 109 meter hurdles, 201 meter hurdles, and finished third in the 91.4 meter dash. Carlisle Indian School won the meet 71–41.

“Mom, I’m bored,” Mindy said.
Mom had just picked Mindy up from her piano lesson, and now they were at the stake center waiting for Mindy’s sisters to finish rehearsing for the stake musical.
Her older sister, Jessica, and younger sister, Krista, had both gotten parts in the play. But Mindy didn’t get a part. She envied her sisters a little, but she was also kind of glad she wouldn’t have to perform in front of the whole stake. That sounded scary.
“Well, why don’t you go find some other kids who aren’t practicing right now?” Mom said.
“OK,” Mindy said.
Mindy left the cultural hall and followed the sound of voices to a nearby classroom. Peeking in the door, she saw several kids she didn’t know.
“They must be from other wards in the stake,” Mindy thought.
She wanted to meet them, but she was too afraid to say hello. Instead, she walked back to the cultural hall and sat down by Mom.
“Didn’t you find the other kids?” Mom asked.
“I found them, but I don’t know any of them,” Mindy said.
“It’s not that hard to meet people,” Mom said. “When I was your age, I was really shy too, but then I decided I didn’t want to be shy anymore. I made a goal to meet one new person every day.”
“I don’t know, Mom. I don’t really think I can not be shy,” Mindy said.
“If you just try, it will get easier,” Mom said. “You can start small with just one person. Look, a girl is sitting over there by herself. Why don’t you go say hello?”
Mindy tried to think of an excuse, but she knew she should take her mom’s suggestion. She said a quick prayer asking Heavenly Father to help her, took a few deep breaths, and walked over to the girl. “Meeting one person does seem a lot easier than approaching a whole group,” she thought.
“Hi,” Mindy said.
“Hi,” the girl replied. “My name is Shalee. What’s yours?”
“My name is Mindy.” There was a bit of silence, and then Mindy thought of a question to ask. “Are you in the play?”
“No,” Shalee said. “But that’s my dad up there practicing,” she said, pointing to the stage.
“My sisters are in the play too,” Mindy said.
Their conversation went on as they learned about each other. Pretty soon practice was over, and it was time to go home.
“Who is your new friend?” Mom asked on the way home.
“Her name is Shalee, and she’s 11 like me,” Mindy said. “She was really nice.”
“And it wasn’t scary?” Mom asked.
“Well, I was scared to talk to her at first, but I’m glad I did,” Mindy said. “Maybe meeting new people isn’t so hard after all.”

There are times when the feeling of love and closeness is so real that you hardly dare breathe—a feeling of warmth and caring so vivid that it seems like a loving embrace drawing everyone together.
There are times when the first few notes of a special song that you’ve rehearsed early on Saturday mornings now send electric tickles down your spine and fill your eyes with tears as the words speak your innermost thoughts.
There are times when you become so much a part of the group that you feel like you’re seeing only the best, the finest, the most beautiful in each person. It is exhilarating when you meet each other’s glances and exchange knowing smiles because you’re all sharing the same sensation.
Such rare and precious times are the Young Women in Excellence programs to be held on a stake or ward level churchwide to present the seven values as they are incorporated in the lives of Young Women. The seven values—Faith, Divine Nature, Individual Worth, Integrity, Good Works, Knowledge, and Choice and Accountability—are the basis for programs that can include displays, performances, dramatic presentations, and workshops. The programs, whether held in the evening or on a Saturday morning, are a time for joy in each young woman’s accomplishment. It is a time for recognition of achieving goals. It is a chance for each young woman to examine where she is going and what her life means.
Lisa Ward of Long Beach, California, instinctively understands what the Young Women values mean in her life. “The Young Women program is not just a meeting you go to on Wednesday night or something you do on Sunday. It’s about your whole life, everything you do.”
Jill Ensley, also from Long Beach, agreed. “The values help us to teach ourselves.”
“The values help us learn how to set our goals,” said Edie Hess, Long Beach California East Stake, “to show us that there are things you can do on your own initiative.”
Several stakes have already planned and presented their Young Women in Excellence programs. The results were especially gratifying as parents and leaders saw their young women stretch and grow. Each girl had a chance to give some deep and searching thought as to what the values meant and how they affected her life. As Melodie Lamm, a Young Women leader in the Meridian Idaho East Stake, said, “These girls had experience in the values. It went deeper than just making something with your hands. It went much deeper than that.”
The Young Women in Excellence programs were organized in a variety of ways in individual stakes. The colors, representing the seven values, were used in flags, in banners, in ribbons on displays, in streamers on a maypole, and in decorations at luncheon tables. Some stakes held workshops that addressed the dilemmas facing the young women in their area. Some had a combination of displays and talent performances that illustrated values in the lives of each young woman. Others had each ward present one of the values in any way their creativity dictated.
In the Bountiful Utah Central Stake, a symposium introduced the morning’s activities and workshops. Wendy Wiscomb and her mother were assigned to organize the symposium. “My mother and I passed out sheets of paper to the girls in the stake asking them to honestly identify their concerns. Then we took the main problems and wrote them into the script. Some of the dialogue was in the exact words of the girls. For instance, one girl said, ‘I don’t even know what I’m going to wear to school tomorrow let alone what I’m going to do with the rest of my life.’ We talked about these problems. A number of girls told me afterward that it was really wonderful to hear relevant issues presented and later discussed in the workshops.”
Displays were another way that girls were able to illustrate a value. Amberlee Stephenson, a Beehive in the Nephi Utah Stake, used her waterski to represent her efforts at gaining a feeling of individual worth. On a tag attached to her ski, she wrote, “Waterskiing helps me learn that sometimes it takes more than one try to be successful. We can learn from our attempts and failures, and when we succeed it is that much better.”
Tara Cowan, in the Nephi Utah Stake, illustrated her special singing talent with a collection of her favorite music and the story of how she started singing to her mother’s clients as they sat under the dryer or were getting their hair washed in the beauty parlor. Then she performed as part of the talent segment of her stake’s program.
Lihann Jones, of Long Beach California East Stake, used muffins she had baked to talk about integrity. One set of muffins were light and appealing because all the ingredients were used. The others were dismal failures. She wrote, “These muffins reflect a lack of integrity because certain ingredients were left out, making them incomplete, unfinished, and awful.”
Families were certainly involved as young women began planning and preparing for their parts in the programs. Often, working with the values led fathers and daughters or mothers and daughters to have meaningful, enriching conversations. Margaret Miller, stake Young Women president in the Long Beach California East Stake, said that one father told her his daughter and wife sat up late just laughing and enjoying being together as a result of working on the girl’s display.
Jonne Wheadon, stake Young Women president of the Meridian Idaho East Stake, said a woman reported that her husband and daughter had a special experience talking about and researching more information about her great-grandmother.
And families sometimes gave a little sigh of relief when the event was over. One father from the Nephi Utah Stake, obviously pleased by his daughter’s efforts, was overheard at the conclusion of the program saying, “That was great, and now we can have the kitchen table back.”
Participation was excellent, often more than expected. As girls thought about their projects and began work on them, the excitement seemed to spread and the more reluctant ones were drawn in. Vicki Jackson, stake Young Women president of the Nephi Utah Stake, said that one young girl tagged along with friends who were practicing with the chorus to sing “I Walk by Faith.” The girl asked if she could sing with the group. Then as she became more involved, she volunteered to participate in the talent presentations.” The stories of girls who were not participating fully in their wards yet became involved with the projects or displays were the ones that helped leaders see the great value of the program.
But most importantly, the Young Women in Excellence program was a catalyst for growth and introspection. Girls took each value, at first holding it cautiously, a little unsure of just what to do; then with increasing confidence turned it over in their minds as they probed for ways it worked in their lives. It seemed that each girl who participated could say, without hesitation, “I struggled, but I grew.”
And then there was that feeling, that sense of oneness, the all-encompassing embrace that validates the effort and the work.
Sister Wheadon put her arms around some girls after their program as they together treasured the feeling. She told them, “If things start to slide and life seems to get too tough, you call me and we’ll talk about this day and remember how we felt.”
“For my project on Divine Nature, I prepared a special book that included memories of my father. He was killed in an accident when I was three. I talked to people who knew him and came to understand more about him. My family was sealed in the temple, and I am thankful that I know about the eternal plan and that I’ll see my father again.”
Jamie TaylorNephi Utah Stake
“I chose Good Works. Service means you do things for people. We went to the hospital and put on a puppet show for the children. They really liked it, and we felt good because we were helping someone to be happy. They smiled a lot.”
Deborah Del BelloLong Beach California East Stake
“I’m the only LDS person on the swim team. When this program came along, it seemed natural to set a goal in swimming. I frequently set goals in competitive swimming. I decided I wanted to work hard and swim the 100-meter freestyle in 1:06. I had been doing a 1:09. I worked and worked. When we had invitationals, I was in a relay and I did a 1:06:91. This helped my feeling of individual worth.”
Shawna UlmerLong Beach California East Stake
“About a year ago I started bringing my best friend, Tami, out to church, especially Mutual activities. I’ve brought other friends to church, and they were interested in the activities, but Tami was more interested in the gospel. I knew that she would believe. It added to my faith as she gained hers. Pretty soon she started asking me questions, and I couldn’t answer them all. So the missionaries taught her the lessons, and she set a date and was baptized.”
Cami CriddleLong Beach California East Stake
“Cami asked me if I wanted to go to church. At first I thought, no, I didn’t really want to. Then I decided that since I hadn’t been baptized into any church, I ought to start looking around and seeing what I believe in. I went with Cami, and the things I was taught I believed, so I started going to church more often. When I had the missionary lessons, I felt I was ready to be baptized.”
Tami HowellLong Beach California East Stake
“For the value, Choice and Accountability, I made a game called, ‘The Choice Is Right, or Is It?’ I used my sticker collection to add pictures to the board. When you are consciously thinking of right or wrong, it’s much easier to make a right choice. Although it took lots of time to make my game, it was worth it. My whole family got involved in discussing decisions that teenagers have to make every day. And my mother and sister have noticed that I think more carefully about the consequences before I make decisions now.”
Cheri EverettMeridian Idaho East Stake
“I love to write about the things I love. One night I wrote about my horse, Missy. I had been having a hard time keeping her in the pen. The dogs were barking, so I went out to check on Missy, and she was out. It was a beautiful night with lots of stars. I could see her clearly, and she stood quietly while I put the halter on. I started to cry, I was so disappointed. It was like I was seeing how my parents feel when I disobey. I just hurt inside because I don’t like to tie her up. I explained that to her, and I felt she understood me and was sad that she had disobeyed. I forgave her and told her how much I love her. I know that my Father in Heaven loves and cares about me and how I feel. I am grateful to have Missy to help me learn the things I need to learn in life. I am grateful Heavenly Father has given me the family that he has and am grateful for each one of them and all they have done for me.”
Camille KenisonNephi Utah Stake
“Since I am the oldest with all sisters, we have lots of dolls without too many doll clothes. I started designing and making doll clothes for my sisters. Then for this project, I decided to try to make a dress from a pattern. I made a pink dress for my littlest sister, Molly Sue, with a fluffy skirt that she can twirl. It turned out really well and made me feel good about trying. I wanted to know that I could do it to increase my feelings of individual worth.”
Stephanie HowardNephi Utah Stake
“I encouraged my brothers and sisters to participate in a bike-a-thon for cancer research. We also did it to remember our friend Stan Miller. He died last year of leukemia. We rode around Rossmoor Park, and our sponsors donated money for every mile we rode. Among us we earned $250 for the hospital. When we got done, I felt good. I want to do it every year.”
Kacie SeamonsLong Beach California East Stake
“Each week for several weeks I gave a lady with five children in our ward a few hours to herself. Babysitting five kids is not easy. At times I could have pulled my hair out, but I survived and without losing my temper. I helped the children each transfer one of their drawings onto a quilt block, and we made a special quilt for their mother. Doing good works for someone else gave me a warm feeling inside.”
Heather BellMeridian Idaho East Stake
“For my project on Knowledge, I tape-recorded my grandparents telling their stories one evening. I was interested to know things about their lives; what trials and struggles they had and what joys. I learned things I hadn’t known before. It was a neat evening.”
Susan FanninLong Beach California East Stake
“To represent Faith, I drew this picture of my Savior. I looked into his eyes and his kind, compassionate face and gained a better understanding of the tremendous sacrifice he made for us.”
Holly PetersonMeridian Idaho East Stake
“I wanted to put something together out of wood so I could work with my dad. We cut a piece of walnut from a tree at my grandfather’s home. His land was formerly the old Wells Fargo station. My grandfather, as well as my own father, is a great example of the meaning of the word integrity. This plaque will always be a reminder of integrity to me because of where the wood has come from and the talents my father has shared with me.”
Tammy FarmerMeridian Idaho East Stake

Before I was five years old, I had discovered that the walkway of vinyl between our dining room and our kitchen was a good place to sulk, especially when I wanted my dissatisfaction to be noticed. I would sit there for a long time and feel that no one understood or loved me.
Fortunately, that wasn’t the case. My teenage sister, Rebecca, found me there one evening before dinner. She knelt down and quietly said to me, “Manda, let’s go count your freckles.”
It was a simple suggestion but so kindly put forth that I forgot my frowns and followed her to the bathroom mirror. She set up a stool for me so I’d be tall enough to see my nose up close in the mirror. With her chin resting on my head, she started with number one, and I helped her as high as I could count. I remember proudly entering the kitchen with the announcement that I had more than a thousand freckles, and we hadn’t even finished counting.
With just a small investment of her time and energy, my sister had changed my black mood. And, although my sulkiness that night probably wouldn’t have lasted very long, by giving me some positive attention, Rebecca insured me against the next time I felt unhappy.

Some years ago, I was with President Marion G. Romney, meeting with mission presidents and their wives in Geneva, Switzerland. He told them that 50 years before, as a missionary boy in Australia, late one afternoon he had gone to a library to study. When he walked out, it was night. He looked up into the starry sky, and it happened. The Spirit touched him, and a certain witness was born in his soul.
He told those mission presidents that he did not know any more surely then as a member of the First Presidency that God the Father lives; that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, the Only Begotten of the Father; and that the fulness of the gospel had been restored than he did as a missionary boy 50 years before in Australia. He said that his testimony had changed in that it was much easier to get an answer from the Lord. The Lord’s presence was nearer, and he knew the Lord much better than he had 50 years before.

In 1957, Sister Naomi Randall was to make arrangements for a new song to be written for Primary general conference. She called Mildred Pettit, a former Primary General Board member who had written songs and operettas for children, and asked Sister Pettit to help with the music. Sister Randall said she would write the words for the song, then send them to Sister Pettit.
Before retiring that night, Sister Randall prayed for help in finding the right words for the song. Some hours later she awakened, got out of bed, and wrote the words for three verses. Then she thanked Heavenly Father for helping her. Later she mailed the lyrics to Sister Pettit.
Sister Pettit also wanted to have the music the way the Lord wanted it. She felt that she knew how the melody was supposed to go, but she worked on the closing phrase over and over and had her children sing it many times until she was finally satisfied that it was right. The two women worked on the chorus together, and within a week the song was completed.
Later Elder Spencer W. Kimball suggested that “Teach me all that I must know” be changed to “I must do.” He explained that “to know isn’t enough, … We have to do something.”
Sister Randall believes that “we can learn the gospel through songs,” and that “the truths that are sung into our hearts will help us at critical times in our lives.”

As LuAnn Spidel greeted friend after friend during the opening moments of the Gettysburg Pennsylvania Stake youth conference, she felt warm and happy. “How very lucky we are to have been born now, in this dispensation,” she thought to herself. She and the 400 other youths and counselors who had gathered at Gettysburg College were eagerly anticipating the weekend ahead—three days planned around the theme “Ye Chosen Generation.”
The youth conference was filled with variety from start to finish—beginning with a giant-banana-split-making contest. Four groups of ten each were given three gallons of vanilla ice cream, bananas, nuts, cherries, chocolate syrup, and a set of instructions. Within about three minutes the winning team had completed its construction! Pictures were then taken, after which the yummy banana and ice cream concoctions were devoured by their creators—truly a contest where no one could lose!
Sixty-seven seminars and workshops on a wide range of topics—the millennium, leadership, quilting, dancing, exercising, and communication skills (to name a few)—followed the opening social. Ping-Pong and chess tournaments, volleyball and basketball games, and a swim meet offered some diversion during the afternoon. That afternoon a casual dance was held in the ballroom, with juggler-ventriloquist Barry Jones of York Ward entertaining during intermission.
Friday’s activities included a bowling tournament, track meet, tour of the Gettysburg Battlefield, a special event patterned after the Truth or Consequences game show, and a formal dance.
Seminars on gospel-related subjects were presented Saturday morning, setting a spiritual tone for the testimony meeting and the tearful good-byes that followed. As the young men and women piled into buses and headed for home, they felt happy and fulfilled, realizing that although the conference had come to its close, the memories they had made would last forever.

As the Bible declares, the true Church of Jesus Christ is “built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Jesus Christ himself being the chief corner stone” (Ephesians 2:20). I experienced an application of that fundamental principle of the restored gospel many years ago.
A member of the Church brought her neighbor to my office. The neighbor’s husband was a Protestant minister with a large congregation. For many years, this couple had served the Lord with great diligence in their Christian ministry. He had baptized many people into that church.
Now, through the influence of his Latter-day Saint neighbors, he had read the Book of Mormon and was converted to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He was ready to resign his ministry and join the restored Church. But first, he and his wife needed an answer to their question regarding priesthood authority. Reminding me that her husband had baptized many people, his wife asked, “Are you telling me that my husband didn’t have any authority to baptize all the people that he baptized?”
The Spirit prompted my answer, as it will in these situations.
“No,” I said. “I’m sure your husband had authority to baptize all the people that he baptized. He had all the authority that his church could give him. He could perform marriages. He could make people members of the congregation. He could hire a contractor to put a new roof on your church. But that isn’t the kind of authority we’re discussing. The authority in your question is the authority that Jesus gave to Peter, that whatsoever he did on earth would be honored in heaven (see Matthew 16:19). And because that divine authority must be traceable to Apostles, it exists only in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”

Joe shows up and things are, I’m happy to say, fairly routine around our house. Maybe part of the reason is that the twins are in bed and both my parents are at the grocery store. At last, Joe can glimpse the Grundy household in a nearly normal mode.
We get right down to it, going over the last details of our presentation and Greg’s recipe for kisseli, which we’ll prepare tomorrow at Joe’s, with some help from his mom. After a half-hour, I get up to grab Greg’s slides. The hallway is dark, but April whisks by me, without her glasses. There’s a trace of perfume in the air.
Perfume? Something is not right. April never wears perfume.
It can’t be! I stop dead in my tracks and do a hasty retreat to the den. But I am too late. April is already asking Joe out for the girls’ choice dance.
“… so if you’d like to, it would be fun if we could go together.”
What will Joe say? After he gets up off the floor laughing, that is. April, my sister, who is not even in Joe’s social league, asking him to the dance? Some things are just not done.
I peek in. April is looking nervously at Joe, as if her life hinges on his answer. Joe looks uncomfortable.
But not for the reason I expect. “Gosh, April. I’d like to. I think you’re cool. But I’ve already been asked, and it wouldn’t be fair to back out on a date. Maybe we can get together sometime other than the dance.”
What? Joe sounds as though he’d really like to go out with April. No sign of annoyance, not the slightest hint of put-down in his voice. The only thing I can detect is concern that April’s feelings—and fragile self-image—remain intact. I back away from the door, struggling to comprehend what I’ve just seen. What is it?
Cool, that’s what it is.

Geoffrey got off his bike in front of Bob Tschaggeny’s home and sat down on the front steps with him.
“Monday it will start all over again,” said Bob. “School isn’t bad except for that first day. The teacher looks at my name ‘Tschaggeny’ on the card and doesn’t know how to pronounce it. He’s embarrassed and so am I. The same thing happens every year.”
“I know just what you mean,” said Geof, “but it’s my first name they can’t pronounce. The teacher starts to say ‘George,’ then tries ‘Geeof,’ and then ends up with ‘Jeff.’ Half the time they just call me George and I have to explain that my name is pronounced ‘Jeff.’”
“What would it be like to have a simple name?” mused Bob.
“Hi, Geof,” called their friend Mary who was walking along the sidewalk. “What are you two talking about? You look like the end of the world has come.”
“Not the world,” said Geof. “It’s the end of summer.”
“I’m glad,” said Mary. “I like school.”
“You would,” said Bob, “with a name like yours.”
“My name is dull,” responded Mary. “Mary Jones—how plain and ordinary!”
“Right,” said Geof, “but you don’t have to spell it or tell people how to pronounce it. Bob hates to have his name said wrong too. No teacher has said my name right yet.”
“But your names are distinguished. They’re different. They make you a somebody. Mary Jones—how bland. I wish my name were exciting. One year a girl named Huttaballe sat in front of me. The teacher said to her, ‘What an interesting name. What nationality is it?’ Then she looked at my card and just said, ‘Oh, Mary Jones.’”
That night Bob said to his parents, “Isn’t there something we could do with our name so it would be easier to pronounce? Why do we have a silent T in front?”
“Tschaggeny is an honorable Swiss name, son. You should be proud of it,” Father replied. “Our name has been on the records since 1500.”
In the Gordon home that night, Geof said to his mother, “Why did you have to name me after the old poet Geoffrey Chaucer? If you wanted to call me Jeff, why didn’t you spell it J-e-f-f?”
“We didn’t name you after the poet, Geof,” said his mother. “We thought that spelling your name with a “G” looked better with Gordon, and it seemed to suit you very well.”
As Mary Jones helped her mother with the dishes that night, she said, “I always thought it would be nice to have a distinctive name, but Bob Tschaggeny and Geoffrey Gordon are disgusted because they have to spell and pronounce their names for our new teacher every year. I guess none of us are satisfied.”
“Mary,” said her mother, “every time I say your name I remember all the lovely Marys I’ve known or read about. It makes your name even more beautiful to me.”
Monday morning, Bob, Geof, and Mary were seated at their desks in school, waiting to welcome their new teacher. He stood behind his desk, very tall and very straight. He nodded to the class and then wrote the word “One” on the chalkboard.
When the bell rang, the teacher said, “You will each notice a number on the upper left-hand corner of your desk. That number will identify you. We will no longer use names. Your number should be put at the top of all your papers too. You are to address me as ‘One.’”
The class began, and through reading, social studies, arithmetic, and gym, each student was called by a number. No names were used. Bob and Geof thought the idea was great. Their problem seemed to be solved.
During supper that night, Bob’s father asked him if the new teacher could pronounce his name correctly.
“He didn’t have to,” laughed Bob. “We don’t have names this year. The teacher gave each of us a number instead.”
“Do you like that better?” asked his father.
“Well,” said Bob, “It’s been great so far.”
“So you really don’t need a name,” his father questioned further. “It seems very impersonal to me.”
“I still like it fine,” Bob insisted, but he didn’t sound quite so sure this time.
When Geof came home from school his mother asked, “Well, who is it this time? George, Geeof, or Geof?”
“None of those,” said Geof. “This year I’m ‘Ten.’” Then he explained the new teacher’s system of using numbers.
“That’s interesting,” said Mother, “How does he call the numbers? Does he say each one loudly with a different feeling or tone?”
“Nope,” said Geof, “he just stands tall and straight and says numbers without a smile or a nod or any feeling.”
“Guess what? We don’t need names this year,” Mary told her mother when she reached home after school.
“What do you mean?” asked Mother.
“We all have numbers so we don’t use any names. And would you believe it, I’m ‘Thirteen.’ Isn’t that different for me to be called something distinctive?”
In a few weeks the novelty of being known as numbers had worn off. Mary, Bob, and Geof were glad when Friday night came so that for two days at least they would be called by their own names. All the children agreed that school didn’t seem the same as it had other years. Everyone was disinterested. There was no spirit of competition or sharing and little concern about success or failure.
One Monday morning on the way to school Mary saw Bob and Geof just poking along.
“What’s wrong now?” she called.
“What fun is it to go to school and just be ‘Ten’ again?” Geof asked.
“Or ‘Thirteen’” Mary replied. “I don’t like being called ‘Thirteen.’ I like the way my mother calls me ‘Mary’ and I wish everyone else would too.”
“Well, I wish …” But Bob’s wish was cut off by the sound of the bell, and the three friends hurried to class.
At the door of the classroom the teacher stood smiling. He handed each of them a piece of chalk and said, “Good morning. Please take this chalk and write your full name on the board with the others.”
After the last student sat down, they all looked up at the chalkboard. It was covered with the names of everyone in class and it looked good! Across the top in large letters the name SAM SMITH was written.
The teacher turned to the class. “Thank you,” he said, “for cooperating with me in my experiment these past weeks. You helped me prove something. When you became a number, you each seemed to become less of a person. You were interested and excited boys and girls at the beginning of the school year. Now you don’t seem to care much about school or each other.”
The students looked around at their classmates as the teacher continued, “My name is Sam Smith. I’m glad to know each of you by your names—Thomas Ward, Robert Tschaggeny, Geoffrey Gordon, Mary Jones, John Martin. …”
Mr. Smith looked at each one with a friendly smile on his face as he said the names. “Now let’s remember who we really are and work together,” he suggested.
“Thank you, Mr. Sam Smith,” Bob said.
“Yes, thank you, Mr. Smith,” the other boys and girls chorused. “That’ll be great!”

This story took place in the USA.
It’s too hot. I think I’m going to melt!
Don’t worry, we’re almost there.
The wind feels nice.
This is much better!
Grandma, do you love Jesus?
Yes! I love Jesus a lot.
Me too. I just wish I could see Him. Then I’d know He’s real.
Oh sweetheart, Jesus is very real. He’s a real person, like you and me.
But how do you know? Have you seen Jesus?
No. But I feel Him every day.
Do you remember the wind we felt while we were walking?
It felt so good! I was really hot, but the wind was cool.
We can’t see the wind. But we can feel it. And even if we haven’t seen Jesus, we can still feel His love.
How can we feel Him?
I feel His love when I look at His beautiful creations. I see His love in the flowers.
I see His love in the rivers He created.
And I see His love when I look at you!
Can I help you look for Jesus again tomorrow?
Of course!
Illustrations by Pauline Gregory

Illustrations by Brooke Smart
Oliver couldn’t wait for the week to go by. Next week was the big day he had been waiting for since he was four years old. He was going to be baptized.
Oliver was so excited about his baptism that he wanted to shout it from the rooftops for all of England to hear! He couldn’t wait to tell his friend Dylan at school.
“I can’t believe it. My baptism day is finally almost here,” Oliver said. “It’s going to be brilliant!”Dylan looked confused.
“I thought only babies got baptized.”
“Kids have to be at least eight to be baptized in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” Oliver said. “That’s my Church.”
“Oh. Cool,” Dylan said.
Suddenly Oliver had a thought. “Would you like to come to my baptism?”
“Sure,” Dylan said. “But I need to ask my parents first.”
“OK!”
Oliver was excited that Dylan might come to his baptism. This gave him another idea. I don’t want to share my baptism with just one friend, he thought. I want to invite as many people as I can! Oliver rushed home to tell Mum he had a plan.
On Sunday, Oliver started his plan. He shared his testimony during fast and testimony meeting. At the end he said, “I’m getting baptized next Saturday, and I want everyone to come! Will you please invite anyone you know who isn’t a member, or who doesn’t come to church, to my baptism?” He felt like a missionary. He really liked that feeling!
Over the next week, Oliver invited friends, family members, and teachers to his baptism.
“It would mean a lot to me if you could come!” he told them.
As Saturday got closer, Oliver started to wonder how many people would actually show up. What if they were all too busy or didn’t want to come?
He said a short prayer that at least a few people would come. Then he stopped worrying about it. He knew he had done a good thing just by inviting them. Besides, the most important thing about the day was getting baptized.
When he got to church on his baptism day, Oliver could hardly believe his eyes. A lot of his friends were there to support him. He even saw a bunch of people he didn’t know. He waved when Dylan walked in with his parents.
When it was time to be baptized, Oliver stepped into the warm water. His dad took his hand, as they had practiced. Then he said the baptism prayer and lowered Oliver into the water. Before he knew it, Oliver was standing up again—dripping wet and grinning. He knew he was following Jesus’s example.
After Oliver changed into dry clothes, his dad and a few other men confirmed him a member of the Church. They gave him a special blessing and invited him to receive the Holy Ghost. Afterward, Oliver got to share his testimony.
“Thank you for coming to support me on my special day. It means so much to me,” Oliver said. “I’m grateful for my baptism, and I believe this is Christ’s Church on the earth.”
Afterward, people came up to congratulate Oliver.
“Thanks for inviting me!” Dylan said. “I had a good feeling inside.”
“Everyone has been so kind!” Dylan’s mum said. “We have felt very welcomed.”
That night, Dad sat down on the end of Oliver’s bed. “What a great day!” Dad said.
Oliver nodded. “I’m glad I could share it with my friends.”
See family manual, pages 114–115.

It was in the middle of November, when I was looking for a yardstick in Mom and Dad’s closet, that I found the skateboard and other Christmas presents hidden behind a box and a bag of old clothes.
I had ached all over to have a new skateboard because the best skateboarding hill in the world was over at Adam’s Park, not two blocks away.
My best friend, James, and I went there every chance we got and used a skateboard that we’d bought together at Tilly’s Secondhand Store for five dollars. It was small, banged up some, and had metal wheels that squeaked and rattled as we bumped down the winding walk at the park. But this skateboard wasn’t something Mom and Dad had picked up at Tilly’s Secondhand Store!
Sitting in the closet, I ran my hand across the skateboard’s shiny, smooth surface and spun the red “poly” wheels. There was a picture of a guy flying through the air on a skateboard, and underneath, in brilliant red letters, was “SPEED DEMON.”
“I found my Christmas present!” I called out as I rushed up James’s driveway and found him trying to fix a back wheel on his little brother’s trike.
“Christmas?” he muttered, looking up at me and zipping his coat tighter around his chin. “Who’s thinking of Christmas? We haven’t even had Thanksgiving.”
“I accidentally found my parents’ Christmas gift to me,” I gasped, dropping down beside him.
James set his pliers down and squinted at me. “What’re you getting?”
“A skateboard! Not a crummy one, either. You know the one we’ve looked at in the window at Benson’s Bargain Barn?”
James nodded.
“It’s as good as that one any day.”
James whistled softly. “And it’s yours?”
“With four sisters who could care less about skateboarding, it has to be mine.”
“A skateboard!” James whispered, shaking his head. “You’re a lucky dog, Aaron.” He grinned, and I knew he was happy for me, but I could see a hint of disappointment in his eyes because he knew that there would be no new skateboard for him.
Since Dad had been on just sick pay for several weeks, we hadn’t had much. But James’s family was poor all the time. His mom was a cashier at the supermarket. On Saturdays and some evenings, she cleaned people’s houses to get money for clothes and stuff like that for him, his brother, and his little sister. He didn’t even know where his dad was. James never expected much for Christmas.
That night as I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, I thought of James. I was happy about my skateboard, but I knew that having a skateboard wasn’t going to be all that great unless James had one too.
I tossed and turned, then started figuring. I’d already bought my family’s gifts, except the ones I was making in woodshop at school. The skateboard at the Bargain Barn cost over ninety dollars. I had twenty-seven dollars, money I’d been saving for months to buy a baseball glove. I had a set of baseball cards that Brandon had been coaxing me to sell him for fifteen dollars. I was sure that I could collect ten dollars’ worth of cans by Christmas. That was fifty-two dollars right there. And I could do odd jobs for folks in the neighborhood.
I had nearly six weeks till Christmas, and I was going to get James his own skateboard! Suddenly I was more excited about James’s skateboard than I was about the one Mom and Dad had tucked away for me in the closet.
“Do you still want to buy my baseball cards?” I asked Brandon the next day at school.
He stared at me. “You’re willing to sell?”
I nodded.
“Fifteen dollars?”
I nodded again.
“You have those cards over at my place this afternoon, and I’ll have your money for you.”
As soon as school was out, I sprinted home, dug my baseball cards out from under the bed, and galloped over to Brandon’s place. He had his money ready for me. Of course, Brandon didn’t ever have to worry about money. He was the only kid in his family, and his mom and dad gave him just about anything he wanted.
I checked with everyone in our neighborhood about doing odd jobs. Brother Tubbs let me clean out his garage. Sister Wells had me rake leaves and trash from her backyard. I took care of the Parkers’ dog and two cats and watered houseplants while they were gone for a week and a half.
Two weeks before Christmas I had seventy-two dollars. With my money stuffed into a bag, I entered the Bargain Barn. “I know the skateboard costs ninety-five ninety-five,” I said to Brother Benson as I pushed the bag across the counter, “but if you’ll save that skateboard for me, I promise to get the rest of the money to you as soon as I can.”
He thought a moment, rubbing his chin and gazing at my money. “Aaron, you must want that skateboard pretty bad.”
“I’m getting it for a friend.”
“He must be a pretty good friend.”
“The best a guy could have.”
“I’ll save the skateboard for you.” He hesitated, then added, “I could use a little help around here between now and Christmas. Maybe I could help you earn some of that money.”
“Would you?” I asked, hardly believing my ears.
Brother Benson’s eyes twinkled. “I think we could work something out.”
For the next two Saturdays and some afternoons after school, I worked at the Bargain Barn. I broke down cardboard boxes for recycling, straightened up the storeroom, swept the parking lot, ran errands, and did anything else I was asked to do.
“I can’t find my Christmas presents anywhere,” Brandon complained the day before Christmas vacation as we walked home from school. “Usually I’ve found where Mom and Dad have hidden them by now. They always give me one big thing that I really want, and clothes I need, and other stuff, but I haven’t found anything, and I’ve looked all over.”
I shrugged. “Why not wait and be surprised like everyone else.”
“Don’t you ever wonder what you’re getting for Christmas?”
A smile pulled at the corners of my mouth. “I don’t have to wonder this year. This is going to be my best Christmas.”
“Well, Aaron,” Brother Benson said the day before Christmas Eve as he was closing up his store, “you’ve been a real trooper. When I told you that you could work here for a few hours, I didn’t know you were going to give me such a hand.”
“How much do you figure I still owe on the skateboard?”
Brother Benson chuckled. He stepped into his office and returned with a huge oblong box, wrapped in silver paper and tied with red ribbon. “You’ve earned it,” he said, handing it to me.
I took the package with shaking hands. I could hardly wait to see James’s eyes bulge when he saw his gift.
Christmas Eve was a busy day. I helped Mom make cookies and candies for neighbors and friends. We finished doing a few decorations around the house—the Christmas tree had long since been decorated. There weren’t a lot of packages under the tree, but that didn’t bother me because I knew that the best gift was hidden away in Mom and Dad’s closet.
It was well after dinner before I could take my gift over to James. I rushed to my room, pulled the silver package out from under the bed, and ran my hand gently across the paper. “You’re going to love it, James,” I whispered. “We’ll both be skateboarding pros.”
I got up, threw on my coat, grabbed my gift, and rushed down the hall toward the back door. As I burst into the kitchen, Mom and Dad were there, and the skateboard was on the table. I froze in my tracks.
“I wish we could afford to buy one for our son,” Dad was saying to Mom, shaking his head and staring at the table.
Mom shrugged. “Janet just wanted to surprise Brandon for once, so she asked me to keep his gifts. Every other year he’s found his presents weeks before Christmas.” She laughed. “She told me yesterday that they’re sure he’s searched their house a dozen times and is pretty worried.”
“This is Brandon’s?” I asked, feeling sick.
Mom turned and saw me. She nodded. “His mother’s on her way over to pick all these things up.” She gestured to a pile of packages on the counter as well as the skateboard. “Where are you headed, and what’s that under your arm?”
“I was going to see James,” I rasped. “I have a gift for him.”
“OK. It’s nice of you to think of him.”
After I rushed out the back door, for a moment I stood in the driveway, clutching the skateboard. I’d never had a skateboard as nice as the one under my arm.
I can keep this one, I thought to myself, and find something else for James. No one would know. I deserve a good skateboard after I worked so hard. Then I thought of James and how fun it had been working to get something nice for him. And I knew that I could never truly enjoy this skateboard, knowing it had really been meant for him.
Slowly the sick feeling went away and a warm, peaceful feeling took its place. It was the same feeling I’d had since deciding to buy the skateboard for James. I started for his house.
“What is it?” James asked, surprised, as I pushed the huge silver package into his arms.
“Open it and see.”
“Now?”
“I won’t be around to watch you open it tomorrow,” I pointed out.
James hesitated, then tore the silver paper away and gazed at the skateboard. His mouth dropped open. “Are you joking, Aaron? You’re not really giving this to me, are you?”
“It’s all yours, James.”
“But—but how? … Why … ?”
“You’re my friend, and I knew you’d want one.”
“What’s yours like?”
I shook my head and laughed. “I found out that Brandon’s mother had asked Mom to hide that one for him. But I think yours is the best one around.”
James’s smile drooped. He pushed the skateboard toward me. “Aaron, I can’t take something as nice as this. But thanks for offering.”
“You have to take it,” I argued. “You can’t give a Christmas gift back.”
For a moment he just stood there holding the skateboard, blinking back tears. Then he said, “Half of it is yours, then.”
I shook my head.
“I’m giving half of it to you, and like you said, you can’t give a Christmas gift back. It will be ours together. And the day after tomorrow we’ll try it out at Adams Park!”
I nodded, fighting back tears, too, then headed home, knowing that no one—not even Brandon with all his gifts from Santa and his parents—would ever have as nice a Christmas as mine.