Gospel Story Finder

When I was 17, I made an agreement with my friend José Luis to teach him how to swim. So one morning we dedicated time to practice. When our lesson was over and I was leaving the pool, I heard my friend shouting for help. He was drowning in the deep end of the pool.
I threw myself into the water and swam toward him while praying for help. As I grabbed his hand to pull him to the surface, my desperate friend climbed onto my back and put me in a choke hold. Now we were both drowning. Trying my best to reach the surface, I prayed with all my might for a miracle from God. Then, slowly but steadily, the power of God was manifest as I felt a hand propelling me toward the shallow end of the pool, bringing us to safety.
This experience confirmed a profound lesson President Russell M. Nelson once taught: “When you reach up for the Lord’s power in your life with the same intensity that a drowning person has when grasping and gasping for air, power from Jesus Christ will be yours.”

The oldest of ten children, Marion was born to George S. and Artemesia Redd Romney on September 19, 1897, in Colonia Juarez, Mexico. He attended school and worked on the family farm until revolutionary activities in northern Mexico forced the American colonists to leave their homes in 1912. His father could not accompany the family, so 14-year-old Marion was put in charge of taking them safely to Texas.
On the way, armed members of the rebel army stopped them and searched the wagon. They took the family’s 20 pesos, the only money they had. Then they “drew their guns … and pointed them towards the wagon. As I looked up the barrels of the rifles, they seemed very large to me, and I suppose this was one of the most exciting moments of my life. … They did not shoot, however, and I lived to tell the story.”
From Texas, the Romneys moved to California, then to Idaho, where Marion’s father taught school for three years. Finances were tight. Young Marion couldn’t even afford a coat. Yet tithing was always paid. Marion never forgot the cold day he had to trudge to the bishop’s to deliver the tithing. He said later that it would never again be that hard to pay.
Marion’s father became president of Ricks Academy, and the family moved to Rexburg, Idaho. At Ricks, Marion played on the football team and the championship basketball team. He also met the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, Ida Jensen, just hired by his father as a teacher.
But Marion had been saving his money, and resolved to serve a mission. His father could not afford to help him, but he accompanied his son to the bank where Marion borrowed the rest of what he would need. Elder Romney served an outstanding three-year mission in Australia, and returned to pay the loan in full.
He continued school at the University of Utah and resumed his courtship of Ida. They were married September 12, 1924. They had four children, but two died in infancy.
Marion studied and worked at the same time to support his family. He would go to school during the day, work at the post office from 3:00 to 11:00 P.M., sleep, then get up at 5:00 A.M. to study until he left for school. He followed that schedule for three years, also making time each day to study the Book of Mormon.
He was admitted to the bar and practiced law in Salt Lake City for 11 years, holding a variety of city and county offices and serving in the state legislature.
He also served in Church positions, including three years as bishop and three years as a stake president. In 1941, he was called as an Assistant to the Quorum of the Twelve. His first assignment was as assistant managing director of the welfare program. Ten years later, he became a member of the Quorum of the Twelve. He continued directing the welfare program until he was called to the First Presidency, where he served from 1972 to 1985, first as a counselor to President Harold B. Lee, then as a counselor to President Spencer W. Kimball. When President Kimball died in November 1985, President Romney was called as President of the Quorum of the Twelve.
In addition to being known for his contributions to the welfare program, President Romney was known for loving the scriptures.
One night his son was lying in the upper bunk bed as they read aloud alternate paragraphs from the last chapters of Second Nephi. President Romney heard his son’s voice break and thought he had a cold. As they finished, his son said, “Daddy, do you ever cry when you read the Book of Mormon?”
“Yes, son,” he answered, “sometimes the Spirit of the Lord so witnesses to my soul that the Book of Mormon is true that I do cry.”
“Well,” he said, “that is what happened to me tonight.”
As he was promised in the priesthood blessing when he was an infant, President Romney did have a great mission to fulfill. And his love, his example, and his lifetime of service to the Church, including 47 years as a General Authority, show that the promise was indeed fulfilled.
President Marion G. Romney, president of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and former member of the First Presidency, died at his home in Salt Lake City on Friday morning, May 20, 1988, of causes incident to age. He was 90.

“At one tournament I met a soccer player from another state who wanted to know why I wouldn’t play on Sunday,” Jodi said. “That opened the way for me to tell him about the gospel. When he went home, we began writing letters to each other. I sent him a Book of Mormon. That was a little frightening for me. I didn’t know how he would react. But he read it and wanted to know more. So I sent him some Church pamphlets, and after a while he decided to be baptized.

A radio announcement asking for volunteer “victims” in a simulated aircrash brought a quick response from alert Aaronic Priesthood youths and Young Women in the Indianapolis area. Over 100 Beehive girls and Scouts participated.
The emergency situation involved three hospitals, only two of which were alerted before the emergency. The youths were prepared with signs stating the nature of their injuries and at the appointed time were hauled off in ambulances to hospitals for treatment.
Beds were prepared for the victims, with doctors and nurses using first aid in response to each young person’s needs. Emergency “operations” were performed on the more seriously injured.
When it was all over the Beehives and Scouts emerged convinced that service projects were something special.

My grandfather had been living in Farmington, Utah, for a few years before he and his family were asked to go out into south-central Idaho and help settle a new community to be named Oakley. My father, Hector, was a teenager when they moved. My mother, Clara, was a teenager living in Tooele, Utah, when her father was asked to move to Oakley and build the first flour mill there. And so Hector and Clara fell in love out in that little Idaho town.
When it was time to be married in 1890, they didn’t ask where they would be married and what they would do. They knew what to do. I remind those of you who may not have your geography straight that in that part of Idaho it is about 180 miles to the Logan Temple. But my parents went to the Logan Temple from that little town to be married on May 15, 1890. I’ve often wondered how they made the trip. Imagine one of the old double-seat surrey buggies without any sides on it, pulled by a team of horses. In spite of spring rains, they set out to go 180 miles in the buggy.
I don’t know how many were in the company, but if you would imagine a modern automobile with its steel top, glass sides, heaters, radio, comfortable seats by the side of that buggy, you would see a great difference. Imagine those young people with some of their party organizing to travel 180 miles. It would take a week. They set out to make the seven-day trip to the temple in that buggy. They were without sleeping bags or winter clothing as we know it today, but they had clothing that was appropriate for that time—blankets and quilts—and some flour sacks filled with food.
So when we sing about the strength of the hills, we should thank the Lord for the strength of where we are and who we are and what we believe in and how we live. Are the young people today wondering if it would be inconvenient for them to go a few miles to the Manti Temple or the St. George Temple or the Atlanta Georgia Temple or even to the Stockholm Sweden Temple or the Johannesburg South Africa Temple or wherever it might be? Picture in your minds what went on only a few years ago, and your travel to a temple will not seem so inconvenient.

In Basingstoke, Rebecca Barnsley used social media to promote her ward’s harvest appeal event. On the day, they had a drop-off area at their chapel with the missionaries handing out flyers at the chapel gates. Several members of the local community turned up to donate food. Rebecca said, “It was a huge success and we delivered two carloads of food to the Basingstoke Food Bank.” One of those donating said, “I have a friend who has used the foodbank, they are so important, and I wanted to give and be kind. It’s so important to be kind.”

The courage of a military leader was recorded by a young infantryman wearing the gray uniform of the Confederacy during America’s Civil War. He describes the influence of General J.E.B. Stuart in these words: “At a critical point in the battle, he leaped his horse over the breastworks near my company, and when he had reached a point about the center of the brigade, while the men were loudly cheering him, he waved his hand toward the enemy and shouted, ‘Forward men. Forward! Just follow me!’
“The men were wild with enthusiasm. With courage and resolution, they poured over the breastworks after him like a raging torrent, and the objective was seized and held” (Emory M. Thomas, Bold Dragoon: The Life of J.E.B. Stuart, New York: Harper and Row, 1986).

Last year, the branch made its first-ever temple trip. For them the closest temple is in England. A temple trip is a huge undertaking. It’s expensive and until recently, the temple ceremony was not available in Icelandic.
Hanna describes the experience of being in the temple. “Everybody greeted us and everybody was so nice and warm. It’s like being in heaven. I wanted to feel that feeling always.”
During the time at the temple, the Icelandic youth spent time each morning and again in the afternoon doing vicarious baptisms. The names were from their own ancestry. Melanie couldn’t help wondering about the people she was being baptized for. “Will they accept it? Will they be happy? Will they be thankful for what I’m doing here? It wasn’t just a name; it was a person who had a life here on earth and a family.”
When they got home, the feeling of closeness they developed as friends continued. These teens love their country and love the Church. These days sacrament meeting fills their meeting room to overflowing, and they’re glad. The message of the gospel is spreading like a light throughout the land.

Sadly, I was in an abusive marriage. I had heard that people get caught in abusive relationships, but I didn’t understand it until I experienced it.
I loved my husband and chose to focus on his positive traits despite the abuse and infidelity. I wanted to believe him when he promised it would never happen again, but it always did.
My self-worth had become so low that I was susceptible to Satan’s lies that I wasn’t worth much. I didn’t believe anyone else would ever want me. I found myself staying in the relationship partly because I feared being alone.
As I prayed for guidance and received professional counseling, I felt peace in deciding to end my marriage. I was grateful for our amicable divorce and received full custody of our son. At the time of our divorce, I was pregnant with a baby girl, and I knew I would not be able to parent an infant alone. After serious reflection and many prayers about what I should do, I was grateful that my ex-husband agreed to allow me to place our baby girl with an adoptive couple.1
The decision to place our daughter for adoption was one of the hardest decisions I have ever made. But I felt strongly she would be better off being raised in a home with two loving parents.
The pain I was feeling at this time was excruciating. I was grieving the loss of my eternal marriage, my baby girl, and the hopes and dreams I had created for my future. I was in despair and needed strength beyond my own.
I had a difficult time being a single mother in the Church, but I believe God blessed me with the gift of testimony, so I remained active.
Nevertheless, I struggled to break the unhealthy patterns in my relationship with my ex-husband. He would just drop by my home unannounced and expect to spend time with our son, and I allowed him to do it. I knew logically that I needed to set firmer boundaries, but it was so hard.
I talked to my bishop about my situation. When he asked me, “Are you reading the Book of Mormon regularly?” I admitted I was not. He invited me to start reading it.
I believed that by following my bishop’s counsel to read the Book of Mormon, I could find answers to my questions and strength to overcome my challenges. I began studying the Book of Mormon with the prayerful purpose of finding God’s strength to help me. I journaled my thoughts and the things I learned as I read. It was a way for me to recognize and remember the things the Spirit was teaching me.
As I studied the Book of Mormon and became closer to the Lord through prayer, I felt stronger than I had ever felt. I experienced increased hope and strength every day. I received power to set firmer boundaries with my ex-husband and others.
Recently, President Russell M. Nelson taught: “Few things build faith more than does regular immersion in the Book of Mormon. No other book testifies of Jesus Christ with such power and clarity.”2
When he said this, I realized I received power because the Book of Mormon testifies of Jesus Christ, and He is the source of strength! Regular immersion in the Book of Mormon builds our faith, which gives us power. I’ll share some things the Spirit pointed out to me as I read.
I knew God was aware of me and that I was not alone when I read Jacob 2.
When I read Mosiah 5, I wanted to experience the mighty change the people experienced, to enter into a covenant with God to do His will, to have my heart changed through faith in Jesus Christ, to be born of Him, and to become His daughter.
When I read Alma 14, I understood that God allows people agency even when they hurt others so His judgment of them is just.
And I trust that everything I go through in this life, good and bad, is giving me experience, which will be for my good (see Doctrine and Covenants 122:7).
This quote by President Ezra Taft Benson (1899–1994) explains my change of heart: “When we have undergone this mighty change, which is brought about only through faith in Jesus Christ and through the operation of the Spirit upon us, it is as though we have become a new person. Thus, the change is likened to a new birth. … You have no more disposition to return to your old ways. You are in reality a new person.”3
This change of heart through faith in Christ is what God blessed me with! It was His gift to me. I could finally act how I wanted to. Satan lost the powerful hold he had on me. We have to actively obey God’s commands and choose things, like studying the Book of Mormon daily, that allow us to have God’s power.
I learned that forgiveness is a gift for the person who has been hurt. I was grateful for the strength I was blessed with to end an unhealthy relationship with my ex-husband. It took longer for me to forgive him for all the pain he put our son and me through. At first, I wanted God to punish him for everything he had done. I felt like he ruined my life, left me with very little, and didn’t care. He never apologized. He showed no remorse. The Spirit taught me I was only hurting myself by holding on to pain and resentment. I had to pray for the gift of humility and trust that Jesus Christ is the only one who has the authority to judge because He is the only one who could complete the Atonement. He is the only one who knows every detail in a person’s life and what leads them to every choice they make. Jesus Christ is the only one who truly knows what a person is accountable for, and He is the only one who knows how to judge justly. (See Mosiah 3:18.)
Turning over that judgment to Jesus Christ was a huge relief. As I prayerfully pondered, the Spirit led me from wanting my ex-husband to be punished to hoping that he makes the changes he needs to be forgiven. He is the father of my son, and I want him to find peace and joy. I trust that God wants every one of His children to be happy eternally. Therefore, those things I cannot understand in this life, I trust that God will work out in eternity.
I continue to focus on being obedient and repenting in order to keep the mighty change of heart God blessed me with. I also pray for the gift of charity. I want to truly love others as God does. The gift of charity allows us to accept that people are doing the best they can with the knowledge they have at the time. I had to use this principle to forgive myself. It is not fair for us to use the knowledge we have now to judge past mistakes. Life is all about progression, so we need to learn from our mistakes and move forward. Satan wants us to hold on to our guilt and shame because that holds us back from serving God to our fullest potential.
Elder Tad R. Callister, an emeritus member of the Seventy, wrote:
“One of the blessings of the Atonement is that we can receive of the Savior’s succoring powers. …
“… His spirit heals; it refines; it comforts; it breathes new life into hopeless hearts. It has the power to transform all that is ugly and vicious and worthless in life to something of supreme and glorious splendor. He has the power to convert the ashes of mortality to the beauties of eternity.”4
The Savior transformed this into a growth experience. I am so blessed that I’ve been able to experience the succoring powers of the Savior because of His Atonement. He healed my heart so I can forgive, filling me with eternal joy. I’m grateful for my trials because they help me become a stronger, better disciple of Christ. I haven’t forgotten the abuse, but it’s no longer a painful memory. It’s an experience in my life that taught me so much about myself and helped me gain a closer relationship with God. I continue to overcome many challenges in my life by studying the Book of Mormon daily, giving me strength beyond my own.
Ideas for Coping after a Divorce
Emotional:
Grieve your loss.
Write your thoughts, feelings, and blessings in a journal.
Spiritual:
Ask for a priesthood blessing.
Read the scriptures daily, even if it’s just one verse.
Listen for the Spirit to guide your life.
Take time each day for prayer.
Attend the temple, with a friend if possible.
Social:
Stay close to family members and friends.
Reach out to your ministering brothers or sisters.
Consider your children and their needs.
Communicate about a visitation schedule for your children.

In October 2021 the Book of Mormon musical began its performances in The Millenium Centre in Cardiff. On the opening evening, I had the privilege of going to the Millennium Centre, along with Stake President Jason Spragg and Bishop Stefan Liassides of Cardiff Ward. We had all attended training in preparation for questions from the media or audience members.

We waited as the audience made their way out after seeing the show, where they were met by 40 missionaries in bright white shirts and missionary tags clearly in view. These young men and women stood firm in their beliefs and were a shining example to us who stood by. They were polite, friendly, and answered all questions. Some people stopped to listen and then while walking away would exclaim, “They are the real ones”. I remember seeing one young missionary run to his mission president in excitement proclaiming, “We need more, we need more!” He was referring to the pass-along cards, and leaflets with more information about the Church.

Due to COVID restrictions these missionaries had spent most of their mission working with social media to share the gospel and to contact people. Now they had the opportunity to meet face-to-face and to share their beliefs.

These young men and women were wonderful examples. Even though some people rushed past, or said they weren’t interested, the missionaries were not disheartened and carried on sharing what they knew to be true. How lucky we are to have real missionaries in each of our wards and stakes.

Grandpa Reilly had never been to one of his grandsons’ missionary farewells before, but at Derek’s invitation he decided to come to this particular farewell—“Just to see what all the fuss is about,” he told his daughters. So when Derek began to speak at the end of the program, he grandfather watched from the fourth row.

“I’d like to take this opportunity to thank someone who has helped me in more ways than he’ll ever know,” Derek said. “That person is my grandpa Reilly. There isn’t much that I could do to repay him for his help, except to give him my most treasured possession: my testimony of the truthfulness of this gospel.”

Derek had to pause for a few moments because tears were rolling down his cheeks, and he could no longer trust himself to speak. He regained his composure, then cleared his throat and plunged on. “I know by the power of the Holy Ghost that this is the gospel of Jesus Christ and that by following its principles and ordinances, we and our loved ones will be able to return to Heavenly Father and live with him forever. I know of no other truth more simple or precious.”

Then Derek picked up a Book of Mormon. “Because of your advice, Grandpa, I’m going to be teaching the gospel to the Portuguese people. Before I leave, though, I challenge you to read this book. I’d like you to be my first investigator.” Derek noticed that his grandpa, too, was crying.

After the meeting, Grandpa Reilly confided to him, “For 20 years I’ve wanted someone to say that to me, but I was too stubborn to ask for myself. I’m just grateful that I have a grandson who will give me that chance.”

Derek baptized and confirmed his grandfather two weeks later, three days before he entered the Missionary Training Center. Two years later, when he came home from Portugal, he had the privilege of going through the Washington, D.C., temple with his family and seeing Grandpa sealed to Grandma Reilly for time and all eternity. After the ceremony, Grandpa looked over at Derek and smiled. “She approves,” he said, pointing upwards.

When I was 17, my grandmother said something that completely changed the way I viewed marriage.
We were chatting and making dinner for a large family gathering while my grandfather was out getting last-minute supplies. At one point, Grandfather called to discuss something errand related. Their exchange was quick and ordinary, and I didn’t think much of it. But after Grandmother ended the call, she turned to me and said in her matter-of-fact way, “He’s a wonderful man. I really like him.” Then she turned back around to keep working on dinner.
Rarely have words struck me that deeply, and I still think of them often.

When I was in Barcelona on my mission, my companion and I were walking by our church building when we saw a young woman walking toward us. We felt prompted to talk to her, so we stopped her and asked the woman if she had ever seen our church building before. We learned that her name was Maya (all names have been changed), and I invited her to come to a game night that we were planning with other young adults the following Friday. She accepted.
At the game night, I still remember how Maya and Alicia, a friend of ours who was a recent convert, were laughing together. Alicia was such a good friend to Maya. She asked Maya about her family, her interests, and her religious beliefs and built a friendship with Maya over time. We learned more about Maya’s religious background and her devotion to God, and she also expressed an interest in learning more about how we communicate with God.
Over time, as my companion and I, Alicia, and the rest of the ward got to know Maya and kept inviting her and showing her love, she felt the Spirit of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ and decided to be baptized. As we remembered patience and brotherly kindness (see Doctrine and Covenants 4:6), I know that the authentic friendships Maya experienced influenced her decision.

Emmanuel introduced his younger brother, Stephen Abu (their last names differ because of Ghanaian traditions in naming children), to the gospel while Stephen was visiting in Accra. After his baptism, Stephen returned to Abomosu, their isolated home village, and began to “organize” his own family, as he says, teaching them the gospel. His teaching extended to friends, and when missionaries were finally sent to the village, there was a group of people waiting to be baptized.
From that beginning came the Abomosu Ghana District, which now has more than 600 members. With two branches in the village, Latter-day Saints are a significant portion of the population. Two miles up the road, a new meetinghouse is under construction for the branch in Sankobenase.

Two days after my mother’s funeral, I looked in the mirror. I didn’t like what I saw: dark circles under my eyes, pale skin, bad posture, and 10 to 15 excess pounds. The last three years of caring for my parents had taken a toll on me. With the stress of having both of my parents fall ill and pass away within two years of each other, it was no wonder that I looked like I hadn’t slept well or eaten a balanced meal in weeks.
At 26 years of age I was at a crossroads. I could carry on as I was and risk succumbing to diabetes, heart disease, or cancer, which ran in my family, or I could take control and make my health a priority. This was a commitment I needed to make for life—not just for a few weeks. As I stared at my unhealthy reflection, I made myself a promise. I was going to live the Word of Wisdom in a way I never had before.
My husband and I started working out two to three times a week. I became more aware of how many calories I ate. I added more fruits and vegetables to my meals. It took effort, but I learned how to read nutrition labels and make healthier food choices.
The real key to my success was setting realistic goals. I wanted to lose some weight, increase my energy level, and look healthier. With the help of Heavenly Father and a wonderfully supportive husband, I accomplished all three.
Six years later I’m still exercising regularly and watching what I eat. I continue to set fitness and dietary goals and work to reach them day-by-day. If someone had told me back then that one day I’d be this passionate about exercising, I honestly wouldn’t have believed it. I’m living proof that you can change your lifestyle if you really want to. If you will put your faith in Heavenly Father, He will support you in your efforts.
I feel good about myself as I strive to reach my optimum health. Since I made this commitment, my mind is clearer and quicker, and my body is stronger and more energized. Because of this, I’m able to enjoy the wonderful blessings Heavenly Father has promised to those who follow the Word of Wisdom. He says that all obedient Saints will “receive health in their navel and marrow to their bones; and shall find wisdom and great treasures of knowledge, even hidden treasures” (D&C 89:18–19).
Meagan Sandor, Ontario, Canada

I was praying to my Heavenly Father, and I know many other people were praying for me also. Through all of my trials, I prayed that I would be healed, that my joints would recover, and that I wouldn’t have to go through the rest of chemotherapy. I felt that my prayers weren’t being answered because I still had to go to Primary Children’s Medical Center in Salt Lake City every week for more chemotherapy. I still hurt. And I was still stuck in a wheelchair. At one point, I started to think that my parents were crazy for believing in a God who wouldn’t even listen to a poor little sick girl.
Years before, I had gone through a similar trial of my faith when I prayed for my mom to get better. She was on oxygen all the time and was too weak to even walk around the house. I prayed and hoped and prayed some more that she would miraculously be healed. However, she wasn’t. After she died, I learned that we can pray for what we want all that we want to, but we need to pray for the right things—praying that the Lord’s will be done—to have our prayers answered.
Remembering this lesson, I changed my prayers from “Please heal me” to “Heavenly Father, I would really like to be done with these trials, but I will accept Thy will.” As soon as I changed my prayers, I found that I was able to handle the chemotherapy more easily, and I had a better attitude. That was just the beginning of the blessings and the answers to my prayers and questions.
My dad and grandfather gave me many priesthood blessings. Whenever I had to go in for surgery, I would ask for a blessing. The blessings helped me and my family feel calm about the procedure. One time I had a high fever, and we had to go to the hospital. I received a blessing from my dad and a neighbor before we left. By the time we pulled up at the emergency room door, my fever was gone, and I didn’t have to stay the night in the hospital. I know that priesthood power is a gift from a loving Heavenly Father.
One moment that will always stand out in my mind was the day I came home from the hospital after I was diagnosed with leukemia. The young women and Relief Society sisters had moved my stuff from the basement into a room on the main floor so I would be closer to my parents and wouldn’t have to use the stairs. They had cleaned and decorated the room to make a great place for me to live while I was sick. My family was the recipient of many other service projects. In the beginning, it was hard for me to accept service. When people would do service for me, it would make me feel like I couldn’t do anything for myself. However, I soon learned that it was OK to ask for help. When I started feeling better, I began looking for opportunities to serve other people more. Now I try to serve as much as I can. I get a good feeling when I serve other people. I have come to realize that by letting other people serve me, I allow them the same good feelings.
I have learned to think more about the future and my choices because I was so close to death. At school, I heard girls complaining about how they were having a “bad hair day.” As I was sitting there in my hot pink wheelchair with a wig on my head, I would think, “Well at least you have hair!” Girls would also complain about their feet hurting from walking around in high heels. I would think to myself, “At least you can walk.” Now I try to focus more on the big picture instead of the small things I used to worry about.
Over the past few years I have learned many other things through the blessings of having leukemia and the complications from chemotherapy. I have become closer to my Heavenly Father. My testimony has grown. And I have learned what is truly important. I have learned to appreciate all of the small things that people do for me. I am now in remission, in less pain, and gradually getting back some of the use of my joints. As I continue to heal, the blessings and learning experiences keep coming.
So why me? Why now? I don’t ask those questions anymore because I grew spiritually during my trials. I have discovered who I really am because the Lord loved me enough to let me experience adversity and the blessings that can come with it.

With sorrow we have read of young men and those not so young who bravely die, who give their lives upon the altar of freedom. In a hurried moment, one such took in hand a pencil and a scrap of paper and wrote to a worried loved one: “Soon we go into battle. The enemy is well fortified; loss of life will be great. Mom, I hope I live, but I’m not afraid to die, for I’m right with God.”

His mother received the precious note. On the same day another message arrived; “We regret to inform you that your son has been killed in action.”

Friends visited, loved ones comforted, but peace came only from him who called Nazareth his home.

Conner’s new family got up every Sunday morning, put on their nice clothes, and went to church. “At first, church was really hard,” Conner says. Sitting for three hours with no idea what was going on wasn’t easy. “I wanted to know what they were talking about.”
But he began to understand and feel a desire to learn more about the gospel. His parents called the mission president and asked if Conner could have Mandarin speaking missionaries teach him the discussions. And it just so happened that a sister missionary, Sister Jin, was available to teach him.
On their first visit, Sister Jin and Conner were talking to each other in Mandarin when they suddenly started jumping up and down with huge smiles on their faces. They were from the same town in China! “Finding out that they’re from the same city, love the same foods, and knew the same places was so special,” said Christianne.
“I’m so lucky,” said Conner, “I had a great missionary who taught me everything about Jesus. And when I started to learn about Him, I was so happy. I didn’t know anything about Him. My mom taught me how to pray, then Sister Jin taught me simple things. It just started with wanting to learn the gospel.”

Let me share another example of what it means to be a doer of the word and not a hearer only. Several years ago, I attended a stake conference in New Orleans, Louisiana. This was the weekend of the Super Bowl. There was great excitement about what was anticipated as a great football weekend. In my remarks in the Saturday conference meetings, I told of some experiences young people had had in determining what it meant to keep the Sabbath day holy. Of course, the football game was to be played on Sunday afternoon.
After the Sunday morning session, one of the brethren handed me a regular donation envelope, indicating there was a note inside that would explain an experience he wanted to share. A little later I opened the envelope and read:
“I was going to take my son to the Super Bowl game today. He has been looking forward to this for quite some time. After your talk to the young people and to the older people, we want you to take our tickets and keep them. This is our thanks to you for sharing with us.”
I learned from the stake president that the boy and the father had made the decision not to attend the Sunday game spontaneously, together. Not only did they not use the tickets, which had cost them $30 each, but they did not sell them, which they could have done for as much as $300 each. This was not only being doers of the letter of the word but also keeping the spirit of the word. Those two tickets are permanently placed in my scrapbook as a reminder of a father and his son who together, yet independent of each other’s thinking, decided they were going to keep the Sabbath day holy.

Every year, we gathered at my grandparents’ home to hold our family Christmas pageant. The movies of the first event make it pretty clear that I thought it was a great time. But 15 years later, Christmas traditions like ours were starting to look a little stale. At least that’s what I was thinking as I helped my little brother, David, himself a big man of five, into his Wise Man costume.
“I wish I could be a shepherd like you and Daddy, Stevie.”
“Maybe next year, Dave,” I told him, giving him a poke in his tummy, anticipating his laugh.
“Yeah, but this year I wanted to be with you, Stevie, ‘cause next year you might not be here anymore. You’ll be gone on your mission by then.”
“Come on, Davie. Us brothers always stick together. Besides, who ever said I was going anywhere?” The thought of giving up my life for two years didn’t thrill me.
I gathered up my shepherd’s robes, leaving Dave to sit anxiously in his maple rocker beside the fireplace, fingering the gold braid sewn loosely to his bathrobe, wondering about stars and kings and the manger and Grandma and Grandpa’s treats, I was sure. I called up the stairs to tell my mother I was going out to start the car. It was cold. I’d left my gloves upstairs.
I hoped the new little grandson in our family would like his role as the baby Jesus this year. He was the first one who didn’t have to draw his part from the earthenware pot. We used the same ceramic jug year after year for one of the Wise Men’s gifts, and also to pick our parts from. We did the choosing every Thanksgiving. They were just little folded pieces of paper—Mary, Joseph, Gabriel, Jesus. But some years, my last thought before sleep was of my part and who I would be.
There were some pretty strange pageants. The year that Mom was pregnant, she pulled out the slip of paper that said she had to be a Wise Man. My father drew out Mary. He said it ended up being the most moving Christmas pageant for him, even though most of us kids thought it was pretty funny. He said he had begun to understand what it meant to be Mary that year. And even at 14, I got pretty choked up when my pregnant mother appeared to give her gift to the baby Jesus. David was born that January.
It was only about five years ago that we tightened up on the rules and required girls to play girls, and boys to be boys. That was because my older brother’s girlfriend hadn’t felt ready to play Joseph in front of us all the year they were engaged. This year Michelle was the narrator, and my older brother, Greg, was Joseph.
The car windows were covered with frost. I started the engine, then hunted for the scraper.
“You forgot these.” My father’s voice startled me. “It’s a cold one tonight.” He gave me my gloves.
I wasn’t sure where Dad had been when I left the house, and now he seemed to appear from nowhere. He carried robes just like mine, for the jug had decreed us both to be shepherds tonight. With a look toward the house, Dad continued, “Everybody’s ready. Why don’t you drive up front and pick them up?” Turning away, he said over his shoulder, “I’ll meet you down at the mailboxes. Nobody’s had time to check the mail all day, and you know how your mother is about mail.”
I thought to tell him we could just as easily pick up the mail from the car but said nothing. He walked down the road, his shepherd’s robes dragging in the snow a little his steps uneven, his head tilted skyward. Looking at the stars, I guessed. He stopped turned to me and called, “Get going, son. Don’t want to be late.”
I pulled the van up to the front steps, and David came bounding out of the house. Jennifer and my mother followed more sedately. Jenny was to be one of the heavenly hosts this time, but she was having trouble looking very heavenly right now.
“What’s the matter, angel?” I asked, as she plopped into the seat.
“I just hope we don’t run into anyone we know. Do you have a full tank of gas, Steve? I’d hate to pull up at the station and have Jeff see me in this.”
“Yeah, I have to admit, that halo doesn’t look very natural on you. As a matter of fact,” I added, with teasing glee, “the gas tank’s on empty.”
“Steven!” she squealed.
“Don’t worry, angel,” I said in my best Humphrey Bogart. “Just kidding, just kidding.”
Mom was almost to the bottom of the steps, then went back up again to lock the front door. Loaded down with a bag full of gifts, she looked more like Santa Claus than Gabriel. Mom struggled to get the gift bag into the van, then climbed in the back.
“On Donner! On Blitzen!” she called out in a deep voice. David giggled.
“On Rudolph!” Jennifer added.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence!”
We stopped at the mailboxes to pick up my Dad. He folded his height into the car.
“Any mail?” my mother asked.
“Mail! Everybody and his brother must have sent us a card today!” Dad’s hands were loaded with green and red and white envelopes. I turned to smile at Mom. She had complained that she hadn’t received many cards this year.
“Is there one from Boston?”
“How do I know, my dear?” Dad passed the mass of greetings over the front seat to my mother. “I haven’t examined them yet. The day when we get an envelope from Salt Lake City sending Steve on his mission, now that will be a day to investigate the mail.” I shifted the car into gear resisting the urge to return Dad’s inquiring glance.
“I don’t want Stevie to go away,” David whined. “Why does he have to go away, anyway? I’m never, ever going anywhere!”
“David!”
I eased the car onto the main road that would take us through the familiar streets to the highway. Our Connecticut backroads looked good this year. Delicate strands of lights draped many of the bare trees. At other homes, the lights were arranged precisely, evenly layering their way to the top of the tall pines. Candles flickered in windows.
“There is a card from Boston! Please turn the light on, Steven.” My mother read silently. “She’s still alive, that little lady. Lost her sight in one eye now, but still alive and faithful as ever. Isn’t that nice?”
In the rearview mirror, I watched as Mom reached out and hugged David impulsively. I knew who she spoke of, the little landlady she and my father had lived with, and who had joined the Church while they lived in her house in Cambridge.
“Those are happy, happy memories, aren’t they, John?”
“The very best,” my father replied. “Maybe you’ll have memories like those in a few years, Steven.” I said nothing for the rest of the trip.
We arrived at my grandparents’ house right on schedule. That was important, for my grandpa was somewhat fanatical about time. Greg and his wife had arrived early, as usual, their car parked close to the house. The woods were silent.
“Hello Pop-pop! Hello Nanny! I’m here!” David called, trudging up the front steps in his moonboots and Wise Man costume. The door opened, and Grandpa stooped to hug the king. My mother struggled up the steps with her bag.
“Good grief, daughter! What have you got there?” Grandpa said. “We were supposed to go light on the gifts this year.”
“I tried. I really did.” But books are heavy, I thought to myself as I swung the van door shut. Books were my mother’s traditional Christmas gift.
We settled into the living room, enjoying my grandma’s impressive collection of goodies and the warm cider. I listened as I ate. Greg was having problems in his law firm and Michelle was worried about being a new mother. She left the room to nurse her crying baby.
My grandpa looked much older to me tonight sitting before the fire. I hadn’t been up to see them in months, too busy with commuting to school and doing my work. Grandpa asked me about school and about my plans. I told him my plans were kind of tentative right now, but that I loved my pre-architectural program. I knew he was waiting for me to say something about a mission, and it hurt me to know I was disappointing him. He opened his mouth to say more, but seemed to change his mind. He stood to poke the fire. Michelle came back with the baby.
“Well,” Grandpa began, “are we ready to get on with the pageant? We can talk more later. This is our 15th one, isn’t that right, Mother?”
We stood and bundled up once again, slipping our costumes on over our coats, walking out to the accustomed Nativity spot on the front lawn. The moon was a thin sliver in the sky, the stars without number.
Grandpa had gone to extra work this year, I noticed, as I walked by the familiar manger. He had improved the temporary stable in honor of his first great-grandson, putting in real walls to block any wind. Michelle laid her son gently in the cradle, assuring grandma that he wouldn’t get hungry. Grandma, dressed in Mary’s robes, opened her arms to Michelle and gave her a hug.
“Thank you, my dear. Thank you.” Grandma took her place near the crib, and Greg joined her as Joseph. Michelle had sewn some new robes for him, and he looked quite apostolic in his cotton beard. But he always looked that way.
I took my place a little further down the hillside where the lawn curved gently. Grandpa had thoughtfully provided wood for a fire for us shepherds. My father arrived with matches. The ready warmth was reassuring.
Michelle began her narration of Luke 2, and I repeated the words with her in my mind as she spoke. They were an unavoidable part of my memory after 15 years of seasonal repetition.
Funny, I thought, as our little fire popped and hissed, that taxes started the whole business. And the swaddling clothes. What did that word mean, anyway?
Michelle began the verse about the shepherds, and I got ready for our cue. “And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flocks by night. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid” (Luke 2:8).
I cowered in the frozen grass, playing the part of the frightened shepherd to the hilt. It was more fun that way, to ham up the telling for David’s sake. But an uninvited feeling overtook me. It set my heart to pounding and it made me feel quite weak, for I realized that my cowering was real, and I knew it like never before. I was afraid of the glory of the Lord.
Michelle’s voice continued as my heart thumped quickly. “And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord” (Luke 2:10–11).
I didn’t hear the part about the babe in the manger, and I barely could make out the form of my mother, standing over me with wide-spread arms, for tears brimmed my eyes, then ran in hot tracks down my cheeks. I rubbed them off, their wetness beading up on my gloves. My mother’s words penetrated the hot glow in my mind.
“Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men” (Luke 2:14).
Michelle’s even voice continued to reach out from across the lawn. “And it came to pass, as the angels were gone away from them into heaven, the shepherds said one to another …” (Luke 2:15).
Now it was my father’s turn to speak. He extended his hand to help lift me from the snow, but I turned my head away from his outstretched hand, not wanting to let him see the tears on my face. But there was a catch in his voice, too, as he said, “Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known unto us” (Luke 2:15).
We walked to the manger together. It was a short distance, to be sure, but something had signaled the start of another, much longer journey for me. Side by side we walked, my father companion and I. And we made haste, and found Mary and Joseph, and the babe, lying in the manger.
How could I stand it, I thought as I looked. The much beloved faces of my grandma and brother, the newborn babe so still in his bed.
I knew then what I would do. There was nothing left to do but go and make known abroad concerning this child and his church. My father and I returned to our fireside, and I knew that he knew what had happened in me.
Michelle read the words about the Wise Men, and David slipped in the snow and tore some gold braid from his gown. But Grandpa, fellow Wise Man, reached to help him, and he said David’s face shone as he gave his gift to Jesus. But I missed all that. In the dim glow of our fire, all I could feel was the strength of my father as he held me, the warming joy of our tears spilled together. I would miss him for the next two years.