Gospel Story Finder

About two years later, I was praying one night when a thought entered my mind: “What about a mission?” I dismissed the idea as impossible. After all, I had signed a contract and was enlisted to serve in the army for a set amount of time. The next night the same thing happened, and I shrugged it off again. But when the thought came back for the third consecutive night, I decided to ask Heavenly Father about it.
“If I really am supposed to serve a mission, help me know what to do,” I pleaded.
About 10 minutes later I was lying in my bunk when someone knocked on the door. It was my elders quorum president, looking a little uncomfortable.
Somewhat sheepishly he said, “I’m not exactly sure why, but for the past three nights the Spirit has prompted me to tell you that you are supposed to serve a mission. Tonight the prompting was so strong that there was no way I could ever think of sleeping without telling you.”
I knew my answer, and so I started to act on it. I knew it’s extremely hard to get permission to take a two-year break from the army, but after much effort and many small miracles, I was finally granted leave for two years to serve a mission. I received my call to the Alaska Anchorage Mission, where I’m now serving.

“Mais oui, Maman (Of course, Mama)!” Louis said. “First I will take the socks you knitted to Monsieur Dubois, then I will meet Pierre and Henri.” Louis glanced at the clock. He still had plenty of time. The puppet show did not start for another hour.
“Voici (Here)!” His mother handed Louis a small, brightly wrapped package. “And remember to wish Monsieur Dubois Joyeux Noël (Merry Christmas) and invite him again to have Christmas dinner with us.”
“He will not come, Maman. He will just smile and say that Christmas is a time for families as he does every year.”
“Dommage (Too bad)! Nothing is as sad as being old and alone at Christmastime. I do wish we could make him understand that our Christmas would be happier if we could share it with him.”
Louis nodded politely, though he did not think that he would be any happier if Monsieur Dubois came for Christmas. Christmas was perfect for Louis, just as it was.
“Hurry home as soon as the show is over, Louis. Grandpère (Grandfather) will be arriving soon.”
Louis grinned excitedly. “Do you think that Grandpère has finished my music box?”
“Perhaps,” his mother answered, “but do not ask him. He is always busy, and making a music box takes a long time.”
Louis was very proud of his grandfather, a fine craftsman who owned a shop in the city, where he repaired watches and clocks. In his spare time he had been making a music box for Louis, one that would play the French national anthem, “La Marseillaise.”
Louis was still thinking of the music box as he walked down the village street. He paused for a moment before the patisserie (pastry shop) and admired the special cakes in the window. They were shaped like yule logs and covered with mouth-watering chocolate frosting.
“Allons (C’mon), Louis!” Henri called from down the street. “You’re late. It’s almost time for the show to start. Pierre has gone ahead to hold seats for us.”
Louis ran to join Henri. “First I must take this gift to Monsieur Dubois. Come with me, Henri. It’s not far.”
Henri frowned. “Pierre will not be able to hold our seats much longer. Can’t you take the gift after the show?”
Louis hesitated a moment. “Oui, en effet (Yes, of course),” he agreed, hastily stuffing the package into his pocket.
The boys hurried down the street to the hall that had been rented by a traveling puppet show. They were glad that they had come when they did, because the room was already crowded. Pierre motioned to them, and Henri and Louis hurried to the seats that he had saved. In a few moments the small building rocked with merriment as the children followed the antics of Punch, or Guignol, as they called the puppet.
When the show was over, the children did not linger as was their custom. Christmas Eve was a special time, and they were all eager to get home.
Outside, Louis talked for just a moment with Henri and Pierre. Then he remembered Monsieur Dubois and felt in his pocket. His eyes widened in distress. “The gift for Monsieur Dubois is gone!” he cried. Louis ran back inside the hall, followed by his friends. They searched the hall, looking up and down the aisles and beneath the seats. The package was not there.
“Maman will be angry and disappointed in me!” Louis said.
“If you do not tell her, perhaps she will never find out,” said Henri hopefully.
“I’m sure that she will ask me,” Louis said sadly.
When Louis got home, Grandpère had just arrived from the city, and Maman was smiling and bustling about. Louis’s heart rose. He was lucky; he had only to remain silent. Maman was much too busy now to ask him about Monsieur Dubois.
His grandfather placed a hand on Louis’s shoulder. “Ah, how you have grown, mon petit (my little one)!” His dark eyes twinkled. “I have a surprise for you.”
“The music box!” Louis cried.
“Close your eyes,” Grandpère said.
Louis obeyed, smiling.
“Now!” Grandpère cried.
“La Marseillaise” tinkled and chimed from a small, beautifully carved music box, and—wonder of wonders—two tiny soldiers moved in a slow circle on top of the box.
Louis clapped his hands. “It’s wonderful, Grandpère! I have never had so fine a gift.”
Grandpère’s eyes were bright. “And without you, my grandson, and your mother and father, I would be a lonely old man.”
Louis swallowed uncomfortably, for suddenly he saw the face of Monsieur Dubois, who had no one, no one at all. All that evening he could not get the thought of the lonely old man out of his mind—not even when he placed his shoes before the fireplace so that Père Noël (Father Christmas) could find them. And when Louis awakened before daylight on Christmas morning, his first thoughts were of Monsieur Dubois. His heart was heavy. Even the music box on the table beside his bed did not help.
Suddenly Louis knew what he must do. He must take Monsieur Dubois a gift, a very fine gift, so that the old man would know that he was not forgotten at Christmas. He must go at once and be back before his parents and grandfather awakened.
As he dressed, Louis forced back a twinge of sadness. The music box was the only gift that he had that was fine enough for Monsieur Dubois.
It was still dark outside, and Louis had to ring several times before Monsieur Dubois opened the door.
“Joyeux Noël, Louis!” Monsieur Dubois greeted him. “Entre! Entre (Come in! Come in)! You are early this morning.”
“Joyeux Noël, Monsieur.” Louis smiled. “I—I was supposed to bring your gift yesterday, but I have brought it for you today, instead.”
Louis wound the music box and placed it on the table. He stood back, listening to the tinkling music and watching the proud little soldiers. “Is it not beautiful?”
“Oui, Louis, very beautiful.” Monsieur Dubois’s eyes were thoughtful. “Now tell me, Louis, why did you bring me one of your gifts?”
Louis hung his head.
“Come, Louis,” Monsieur Dubois insisted, smiling kindly.
Before he realized it, Louis poured out the whole story. “I—I’m sorry, Monsieur,” he finished. “I hoped that the music box was a fine enough gift to make up for my carelessness.”
“It is the finest gift that I have ever received, Louis,” Monsieur Dubois said softly. “But I want you to keep it for me. Each Christmas bring it here, and we will play it together.”
Louis’s face cleared. “You are not angry, Monsieur?”
“Non, Louis. I am not angry.”
“And you will have Christmas dinner with us? Please, Monsieur!” Louis pleaded. “Our Christmas will be happier if we can share it with you,” Louis said, repeating his mother’s words. And, strangely, they were no longer just words. Now he understood them. Monsieur Dubois seemed to understand, too, for his face brightened like a Christmas candle.
“Wait for me, Louis,” he cried. “I will put on my finest suit.” Then Monsieur Dubois laughed. “Today, Louis, you and I have both learned something important. We have learned the real meaning of Christmas, n’est-ce pas (isn’t that so)?”

Susan Wolf, now of the Vashon Branch, Seattle Washington Stake, remembers when she received inspiration for a special family home evening. “We had just moved, and I was expecting a new baby,” says Sister Wolf. “With two preschoolers, I wanted to find a family home evening on the topic of preparing children for a new sibling. Nothing I read seemed quite right. So I prayed. My great desire was for our children to realize that having more children in our family did not equate to less love for them. And I wanted to emphasize that Jesus Christ is the source of all love. As I got up from my knees, an idea occurred to me.
“That Monday evening after singing and having an opening prayer, I handed each child a paper cup. I poured water into each cup and asked, ‘What happens if I run out of water?’ My son answered, ‘You go to the sink and fill up the pitcher, Mommy.’
“I explained, ‘We are going to have a new baby, and Mommy will be much busier. I won’t have as much time to play with you. But Mommy won’t run out of love for you. Do you know why?’
“This time my son and his three-year-old sister looked thoughtful but didn’t have an answer. I said, ‘I’ll just pray to Heavenly Father, and Jesus will fill up my heart with more love. So everyone in the family will have all the love they need.’ My children broke into happy smiles, as did my husband. The feelings in our hearts confirmed the presence of the Holy Ghost bearing testimony of the truth that God is love.
“My daughter, now 23, recently repeated word for word this family home evening lesson of years ago. That was a testimony to me that even a very small child can be spiritually taught when love is the subject and Jesus Christ is the source.”

Everyone loves Christmas caroling! The missionaries at the Ghana Missionary Training Center were completing their classes on a Monday night before Christmas when they heard music coming from the courtyard. They went outside on that warm December night and saw the Africa West Area senior missionaries singing Christmas carols. It didn’t take long for them to join in and enthusiastically add their voices to those of the senior missionaries. The spirit of Christmas was strong as they sang well-loved Christmas carols such as Joy to the World, Hark the Herald Angels Sing and Silent Night. The final song was Called to Serve, which embodied the reason that both the young and senior missionaries were there! Singing could be heard in English, French, Portuguese and Swahili.

“Here I am, Grandfather!” shouted Barbie as she jumped out of the parked car in front of her Grandfather’s farm. “What’s the big job you want me to do?”
When Grandfather had called last night, he said the sap was flowing, it was sugar time, and he needed Father’s help. But he told Barbie he had a special and very important job for her too.
“You’re just in time,” Grandfather said as he picked Barbie up and whirled her around.
“What do you want me to do?” Barbie asked eagerly.
“You’ll see,” answered Grandfather.
He hurried toward the barn. Soon he came out leading two large powerful horses. The horses pulled a sleigh with a big tank on it that Grandfather called a gathering rig.
“You’re going to ride on the rig,” Grandfather said as he gave Barbie a boost up behind the horses.
This is my job, thought Barbie. Grandfather needs me to drive the gathering rig.
Swinging tin pails, Grandfather and Father started walking down the narrow snow-covered road.
Before Barbie could say giddap, the horses tugged at their harnesses and the creaky sleigh slowly slid along the road. Down one hill and up another went the horses, their warm breath turning misty in the chilled air.
Soon they came to a grove of maple trees. Sunlight flickered through the bare branches down to shiny buckets hanging on the trees.
“Whoa!” commanded Barbie, but the horses kept moving.
Grandfather and Father stopped at a tree where two buckets were hanging. They emptied the buckets into their big pails and then went on to other trees to empty more buckets. When their gathering pails were full, they stood by the road and waited for the sleigh so they could pour the sap into the tank.
Barbie jumped down into the snow. “I thought my job was to steer the horses,” she said. “But they don’t pay any attention to me. They already know what to do.”
“Smart horses,” commented Grandfather with a smile.
“Then what is my special job?” asked Barbie.
“You’ll see,” Grandfather promised.
Barbie tagged along to the maple trees. She spotted a small tree with a small bucket. This must be what Grandfather meant, she thought. This bucket is just my size.
Barbie tried to lift the bucket, but it wouldn’t budge. She tried again, but it was too full and too heavy. So she sat down on a tree stump and listened to the sap drip-drop into the buckets while Grandfather and Father poured more sap into the gathering rig. I’mnot big enough to help them, Barbie thought.
“It’s full!” announced Grandfather. “Come, Barbie. We’re going to the sugar house.”
They all climbed on the sleigh. Without being told, the horses began to move down the slope to the sugar house.
“Hello, Ben,” Grandfather said to the man who was waiting for them there. “This is Barbie. She’s going to do that special job for us.”
Barbie was tingling with excitement as she watched Ben attach a hose to the tank to drain the sap into a huge wooden vat.
Holding her hand, Grandfather took Barbie into the sugar house. They entered a room filled with a cloud of steam and the odor of burning pine logs mingled with the smell of something sweet. Barbie could see long trays of sap bubbling and popping over the stoves.
“Here is Barbie, Henry,” said Grandfather to a thin man who was stirring the boiling sap. “Are you ready for her to do her job?”
“Almost,” answered Henry. He scooped a dipper full of hot liquid and lifted it. Tilting the dipper, he watched the ribbon of syrup return to the pan.
“Now!” he said.
“Now?” asked Barbie in surprise. “But where is Grandfather?”
“Out here, Barbie,” Grandfather called.
Barbie ran through the door and stopped. Grandfather was standing beside a tub heaped with snow. Father and Ben were there too. Henry brought a newly filled dipper to Grandfather, who poured it on the snow. The cooled syrup changed to thick candy.
Grandfather handed a tiny wooden paddle to Barbie.
“Your job,” said Grandfather, “is to be the official taster.”
Barbie carefully scooped up the maple sugar candy and slowly tasted it. Then in her most expert voice she announced, “It’s delicious!”
Grandfather nodded his head in approval.
“M-m-m-m,” Barbie said as she took another taste of the sweet surprise. Then she looked at Grandfather. “I’ll be glad to do this job for you every year,” she promised.

“You pray funny!” Lucia said after Whitney finished saying a blessing on their lunch.
“No, I don’t,” Whitney said. “Why did you say that?”
“We don’t say prayers like that at my church,” Lucia said.
“What do you mean?” Whitney asked as she picked off the crusty part of her grilled cheese sandwich.
“When you pray it sounds old-fashioned.”
“It’s just the words you read in the scriptures,” Whitney said. “I don’t think it’s weird.”
A car horn honked outside. Whitney looked at the kitchen clock. “That’s probably your mom to take us to soccer practice.”
The girls grabbed their sandwiches and raced out the door. “Bye, Mom,” Whitney called. “See you after practice.”
Whitney didn’t think much about what Lucia had said about her prayer until later that evening when Dad gathered everyone for family prayer.
“Whose turn is it tonight?” Dad asked.
“I think it’s Russell’s turn,” Mom said.
Russell bowed his head and began to pray. He thanked Heavenly Father and asked for blessings. Whitney listened closely as Russell prayed. His words did sound different from the way people usually talk: “We thank Thee. … We ask that Thou wilt bless. … Help us follow Thy prophet .…” Russell finished and everyone stood.
Whitney went to get ready for bed. She changed into her pajamas and brushed her teeth. Then she opened her closet and chose one of her best dresses for church the next day. She took it off the hanger and laid it across the back of her desk chair.
“Hey, Whit,” Dad said as he came into her bedroom with a stack of folded clothes. “Mom told me what Lucia said at lunch. Did that bother you?”
“No, not really,” Whitney said. “Well, kind of. Why do we pray with fancy words? Why not just talk the way we usually do?”
Dad picked up Whitney’s soccer uniform from off the floor where she had dropped it earlier that day. “Why don’t you wear this to church tomorrow instead of that dress on your chair?”
“Very funny, Dad,” Whitney said as she grabbed her shorts and shirt. “This is what I wear to soccer—not to church.”
“There’s a difference?” Dad asked.
“Of course,” Whitney replied.
“Right,” Dad said. “The reason we wear our Sunday best to church is to show respect and reverence for Heavenly Father. We dress differently than we do for other occasions. It’s the same way with the words we use when we pray. The words we say show love and respect.”
“So when we say those words, Heavenly Father knows we are treating Him in a special way?”
“That’s right,” Dad said. “I’m sure Heavenly Father listens and understands either way, but when we use words like Thy blessings instead of your blessings and Thou hast seen or Thou seest instead of you have seen or you see, it’s kind of like…”
Whitney lifted the dress from the chair. “It’s like our prayers are all dressed up in their Sunday best!”

President Smith then explained:
“This custom of holding fast meetings on Thursday was continued in Nauvoo and also after the coming of the members of the Church to the Rocky Mountains. I can remember the time when certain business houses closed their doors each fast day and placed on the doors, ‘Closed for fast meeting.’ …
“The change from the first Thursday to the first Sunday of the month came about in this manner. Hyrum M. Smith, who later became a member of the Council of the Twelve, was a missionary in Newcastle, England, in the year 1896. On the Thursday of the fast meeting, members of the Church in that land had to get excused from their employment with a loss of pay. Some of them were workers in the coal mines. When these came from the pits, they had to go home, bathe, and change their clothes. This was a loss both of time and compensation. Hyrum wrote to his father, President Joseph F. Smith, and asked why, under such circumstances, the fast day had to be a Thursday and not a Sunday. President Smith took the letter to the meeting of the First Presidency and the apostles and presented it there. The following is an excerpt from the minutes of the meeting held November 5, 1896:
“‘President Joseph F. Smith introduced the subject of fast meetings, suggesting that a change of the time from the first Thursday to the first Sunday in each month would probably be beneficial. This was endorsed by President George Q. Cannon, and after other brethren had spoken on the subject, it was decided that the Tabernacle services would be dispensed with on the first Sunday of each month, and that the saints in this city as well as in the country wards, should have the privilege of meeting in their meeting houses at 2 o’clock p.m. to observe fast day.’” (Improvement Era, Dec. 1956, p. 895.)

“Somebody in the back of the room said, ‘Why don’t we just stay home?’ First there was a long silence and then we started to think. There just isn’t a more important place than right here where we are. This is the place that is ours—our home, our Zion, our place in the gospel.”
So the youth and leaders of the Norfolk Virginia Stake just stayed at home and had one of the best youth conferences they have ever had. The theme of the conference was “How To” and developed into their title “The How-to Jamboree.”
Under the direction of the stake president, Walter H. Hick, and with the help of Brother James Cole of the high council, Mark Welton and Becky Wertman began planning a one-day, stay-at-home youth conference.
They began by outlining a program. Seminars with qualified leaders would be held, and each Aaronic Priesthood and Young Women group would follow its own particular schedule through the seminars that would benefit them most. The seminars were divided into several areas: homemaking, leadership, sports, dance instruction, calendars and agendas, spirituality, and a special area for the adult leaders. In addition to these seminars, there was a visit from astronaut Don Lind, who spoke and gave some special spiritual insight into the life of an astronaut and how important the gospel can be to a man who faces the special challenges that he faces.
The Norfolk Virginia Stake youth leaders also invited Faye W. Buckley, a well-known local celebrity, to organize and conduct a special choir in just one day. It was a great success and a learning experience for music people in the stake, as well as a good chance for the youth to get together, cooperate, and produce some music in a very short time.
The day began early with registration at 7:15 A.M. There were a few wrinkled faces and shuffling steps in the beginning, but by 8:00 in the general assembly and welcome session, all were wide awake and ready to begin. Each Aaronic Priesthood and Young Women group was given a schedule to follow, and the great one-day-youth-conference-at-home experiment was about to begin.
The spirituality seminar emphasized the fact that as members of the Church we have a responsibility to be spiritual and to impart this feeling of spirituality to others. Creating or the “how to” of spirituality was the emphasis. Guidelines for spirituality were set and included things like knowing what the qualities of a spiritual person are and the importance of the physical atmosphere—or just being sure that you are in good places. The importance of modest and tasteful dress was discussed in relation to spirituality, along with care in the use of good language. Prayer was discussed as being most important to the spiritual well-being of each of us.
In the seminar for sports, even the girls were invited to participate. Jim Eakins, a member of the Church who played basketball for BYU and then professionally with the Virginia Squires before being traded to the Utah Stars, led this popular seminar. Jim talked about the over-all structure of the athletic program of the Church and emphasized the importance of good health both physically and spiritually. Jim narrowed the subject down to sports on the ward level and, as one young lady was heard to say, “made the rules so easy to understand that anybody could play.” The emphasis again was “how to” build a good ward sports program.
In the leadership seminar the principles of presidency were stressed. Leaders of quorums were challenged to teach correct principles to their quorums through having faith in their program, preparing to meet the challenge, presenting their ideas through proper and creative communication, and by realizing that good leadership is a lot of hard work. Helps were given in organizing and setting goals and priorities, and the seminar instructor said that giving excuses will not get the job done. The instructor also emphasized the point that a good leader gives credit and praise where it is deserved. If a job is praiseworthy, tell the person responsible that you appreciate his good work.
The dancing seminar and the seminar on homemaking were most popular with the ladies, but some of the males managed to get included in both. The men were persuaded to join in the dancing and really enjoyed themselves more than they wanted to admit. In the homemaking seminar the leaders arranged to have a five-foot-ten-inch “baby boy” on hand to practice their child care skills on. The baby had a giant pacifier, a doll, a giant diaper, a mustache, cried very little, and cooperated with the leaders in demonstrating several correct principles of child care.
The baby was later seen eating fried chicken and drinking root beer at the conference luncheon, and no one burped him.
At 5:00 P.M. the final seminar was finished, and it was time to dress for dinner and the activities that would follow. These included one-act plays presented by the Hampton Ward and the Williamsburg Branch. Then the choir that had been practicing in groups all day long finally got together for the big number. It was great! After the program a formal dance provided a fitting end to a unique one-day experience.
It turned out that staying at home for a youth conference was more fun than anyone had thought it would be. And just about everyone learned more, did more, and felt more than he ever had before at previous youth conferences. “The young people did the planning, they did the work, and they had a great experience with their conference,” said Brother Cole. “A youth conference at home can be great; give it a try.”
How did they have a great time at their one-day youth conference? Their first “how to” rule was—stay home!

When I was very young, my father moved our family to Provo, Utah, where he operated a dental laboratory. After school, I would run to his lab and watch him make special false teeth. Often I would take a piece of wax and try to mold a tooth or a full denture. My efforts were awful! In my early teenage years, he would have me work by his side to learn each part of his trade. He was a perfectionist, and he constantly taught me how to remake the delicate, detailed work without any criticism from him but with continued explanations and demonstrations of how to improve. Each time I made a correction, he would tell me how much he appreciated my work and my effort. This gave me self-confidence, and my work improved.
Our time together, his constant encouragement and listening ear, and the many thousands of corrective counseling moments in the dental lab led to many discussions about God, the gospel, the plan of happiness, and the various aspects of life. This was how he guided me into a framework—a template, if you will—for me to try to order my own life.

My dad is taking me to the movies on Sunday. Want to come?
Sorry, Laura. We can’t. We go to church on Sundays.
Oh. OK.
But thanks for asking us!
Can’t you come after church?
Well, Sunday is a holy day for us. We use it to remember Jesus Christ.
But do you want to come to a Church activity with us next week?
We’re going to do crafts! It’ll be fun.
OK! I’ll ask my dad.
At the activity …
I’m glad you could come.
Me too! Thanks for asking me.

I got baptized when I was a teenager, and I loved the gospel of Jesus Christ. However, over time, I felt less motivated to live the gospel because none of my family were members and it was hard to keep up with my spiritual habits all on my own.
I always knew that the Church is true, but I didn’t want to give my full heart to it, because it was such a commitment. My church attendance became inconsistent. Then I started prioritizing my social life rather than living the gospel, and eventually I stopped living the commandments. I justified my actions by saying that it was fine to do whatever I wanted, as long as I tried to be a good person.
But that decision cost me a lot.
After living outside the Church for a long time, I tested positive for human immunodeficiency virus (HIV). This condition is chronic, progressive, and has no cure. I was devastated.
I asked the same questions I’m sure a lot of us ask when faced with crippling diagnoses or other chronic challenges: How was I supposed to ever enjoy life again? How could I have hope for anything?
The answer?
Jesus Christ.
In that moment of darkness, when I received my diagnosis and pleaded for relief, I felt like Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ were fully aware of how I was feeling. The Spirit offered me clarity that helped me reflect on my decisions.
I realized that I needed to invite the Savior into my life again if I was going to find lasting peace. So, I made an appointment with my bishop and stake president to begin the repentance process.
As I worked with these wonderful leaders, I felt their love and support, and the enabling power of Jesus Christ entered my life again. My leaders helped me make goals. I began progressing on the covenant path. I put my whole heart in the gospel for the first time in my life, and I could see the difference in myself when I put my relationship with Heavenly Father and the Savior first.
This truth of joy has manifested in my life as I have continued focusing on Him and, once again, holding fast to the iron rod—the word of God—each day (see 1 Nephi 15:23–24).
As I continued to find solace and cope with my illness, my bishop directed me to the Church’s self-reliance course “Finding Strength in the Lord: Emotional Resilience.”
I believe that this course is God given, inspired, and miraculous. I learned how to transform this illness, which was making life look bleak, into a learning experience. This course taught me how to develop deep faith in the Savior, learn healthy thinking patterns, manage stress and anxiety, and ultimately move forward in my life with hope.
Even with materials like this, some days are hard and tiring. The anxiety and the sadness that sometimes accompany those moments are crippling. But following the counsel of the prophet has helped me find my path in these hard times.
So, following President Nelson’s counsel, this is what I do to help my mental health—I focus on the good. I do my best to take care of my mental health through both spiritual and temporal resources. I look at the big picture—the eternal perspective. I remember and keep my covenants.
Most of all, I look to my Savior, Jesus Christ, for hope and strength.
I thank Heavenly Father every day for helping me become more resilient in my chronic health struggles. I never thought I would give thanks for a challenge like this, but I am grateful that this struggle helped me realize how much I need my Savior in my life. I feel my heart becoming more aligned with His every day.

In my early teens, life seemed to fly by. I was testing the wings of young manhood and feeling a lot of turbulence along the way. Every turn brought new discoveries.
In the midst of this period I discovered something that I grew to cherish. It was something I never expected.
In those days our family would often spend our weekends in a small community nestled in the peaks of the Oregon mountains. As soon as my dad came home from work we would grab the fishing poles and mosquito repellent, throw them into the back of the camper, and drive off.
Full of anticipation, my sisters and I, and on occasion, our friends, would all lie on the top level of the bunk bed in the camper, leaning our faces up against the window screen to get relief from the summer heat. There we would plot out our upcoming adventures. During our planning sessions, I would never forget to tell the newcomers of the great summer attraction.
The great summer attraction was a large wooden pipe which carried water, under pressure, from a dam several miles to its powerhouse. The pipe was made of planks bound by steel bands. Over the years, time and moss had taken their toll, eating little holes in the pipe. This made the pipe resemble a gigantic lawn sprinkler, the kind that you stretch across the lawn but can never get both ends to lie right side up at the same time, resulting in water shooting for yards in every direction. This constant spraying was not only a refreshing retreat from the summer heat, but it kept the forest deep green. In winter it transformed the forest into a heavenly white, with every stream of water making its own unique ice sculpture.
On one of those summer outings, I sat in the cab of the truck and listened with the intense fascination of a boyish heart to Dad tell of his boyhood. He had grown up in this community. He told of spending the summers as a sheepherder in the alpine meadows, when the mountains would awaken and put on their summer green. In the winter, when the layers of white would again start to cover the high country, he would return to the small town below.
I had been to this community many times before and had visited his grandmother’s grave and the old house where he used to live. I had even wandered around his old high school. But never had my dad’s life seemed so real to me as it did that day. I spent the day as he had, at his old hangouts. He pointed to one of the meadows where he had herded sheep. We went to one of his favorite fishing holes, where a dam had stood. We continued to the lower dam. This was the place of the wooden pipe.
As I walked along the pipe that day, I felt different than I ever had before. I realized that there were just as many fish elsewhere. It wasn’t the fishing, or even the pipe, that was so special. It was my dad’s life. This place is my father’s link with the past, I thought. He had made a niche, a sanctuary, a home here. And his stories had become a part of me. Retracing the footsteps of my father’s childhood that day, I felt as if I was my dad. I knew that he had traveled this pipe often in his younger days, and I marveled at our newfound similarities. We were different; yet we were much the same. He wasn’t perfect, as I was not, but he, like the ice sculptures, was unique, a masterpiece of God’s creation.

Let me share a sweet story with you. A family was going through a difficult time. It was hard for them not to focus on their challenges. The mother wrote: “Our world had completely crumpled, so we turned to Heavenly Father for guidance. Almost immediately we realized that we were surrounded by goodness and were being cheered on from every side. We began as a family to express our gratitude to each other as well as to the Lord daily. A close friend pointed out to me that our family’s ‘blessing basket’ was overflowing. From that conversation came a sort of game, which my children and I grew to love. Before family prayer each night we would talk about how our day had gone and then share with each other all of the many blessings that had been added to our ‘blessing basket.’ The more we expressed gratitude, the more there was to be grateful for. We felt the love of the Lord in a significant way as opportunities for growth presented themselves.”

Illustrations by Maine Diaz
Josh showed Calvin his car. It was really cool! When Josh left the table, Calvin put the car in his pocket. Josh came back and frowned. “Where’s my car?” Calvin was quiet. The car felt heavy in Calvin’s pocket. At recess, Calvin didn’t feel like playing. He felt bad for taking the car. Calvin gave the car to Josh. “I’m sorry I took it,” Calvin said. Josh smiled. “That’s OK. Do you want to come to my house and play cars?” Calvin smiled. “Sure!”
Josh and Calvin are having fun playing with their cars. Can you find 10 more cars in Josh’s room?

Long ago in the land of old Russia there lived a young and beautiful maiden named Tamara. She gathered mushrooms each day to earn enough money to buy food. One day she wandered very deep into the forest, and there she found an enchanted well. From the well a voice called out and asked her to be his wife, and so began a magical adventure for Tamara. She married the mysterious prince and then lost him because of her own foolishness. After she had faced great danger and learned not to look back, Tamara encountered the evil Sea Witch, and the magic spell was broken!

When our eldest daughter was to be married to a fine Latter-day Saint boy the two mothers were in the corner of the room talking to each other, and the mother of our oldest daughter said, “You know, from the time my little girl was born, I have been praying all my life that somewhere a mother would be preparing a son worthy to marry my daughter.” And this other mother smiled and said, “Isn’t that strange? This is my only son who is being married to your daughter, and ever since he was born, I, too, have been praying that somewhere there would be a mother preparing a daughter worthy to meet and to marry my son.”
It is that kind of home attention—mothers preparing daughters, fathers and mothers, sons—that will make us and our homes stronger today.
President Harold B. LeeConference Report, October 1964, p. 86.

When I was real little, my family and I lived in Aleppo, Syria. I had trouble sleeping. I took my dolls and played with them on my bed. A couple of times, I took my markers and colored my sister’s face. I got in a lot of trouble for that. One night my dad came in my bedroom and brought some consecrated oil. He gave me a blessing, and since then—as far as I can remember—I haven’t had any trouble sleeping.
Ashley Miller, age 10Yona, Guam

That’s when the young missionaries found me. I have always had a soft spot for those who evangelize, knowing the rejection they often face, so I welcomed them. If they came while I was eating, I put my food aside. If I was napping, I got up. But I was a skeptical audience. When they declared, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the only true church on earth,” I almost asked them to leave. How could that be, when I had witnessed God’s work in so many other places?
Their patience was my gateway. They never dismissed my questions. When I challenged them, they often said, “That’s a good question. We need to study and come back with an answer.” Their intellectual honesty was refreshing; they weren’t selling a simple product. They encouraged me to pray about it myself. I took this challenge to the Lord in earnest prayer. “I have served You in another church,” I pleaded. “You have worked with me there. Do You mean to say all those deliverances and miracles were not from You?” The answer I felt was not a denial of my past experiences but an invitation: You’ve been here, and you’ve been there—why not be here too and find out the truth for yourself?
I began reading the Book of Mormon. I compared what I was learning with what I knew. I saw a stark contrast in missionary work. In my former church, “evangelism” often meant convincing members of other congregations to join ours. It was about numbers. But these young men had left their homes and families for two years, dedicating themselves entirely to teaching anyone who would listen. Their commitment was a testament to their belief.
The most profound shift came when I learned about the Restoration of the priesthood authority. In my charismatic background, the laying on of hands was a tense moment; we believed a person’s spiritual character could be transferred, for good or ill. The concept of authority restored by heavenly messengers, not just claimed through personal revelation, resonated with a deep need for order and divine sanction I didn’t know I had. This understanding became the keystone of my budding testimony.
As my baptismal interview approached, I wrestled intensely. The enemy of my soul whispered doubts. What if you are making a mistake? Think of the backlash from your community. The night before the interview, I prayed for a sign, a specific confirmation that I was on the right path. The next evening, while running an errand, my eye was caught by something fluttering in the middle of a busy highway. It was a 100-cedi note. As I waited for traffic to clear, a second note appeared, tumbling to meet the first. In that moment, a thought, clear and penetrating as a voice, entered my mind: Are you not the one who asked for a sign pertaining to your decision? I knew it was the Lord. He had provided both a spiritual answer and, in my time of need, temporal sustenance.
The interview itself was anti-climactic. The young elder began his questions, and I immediately stated, “Yes, of course. I believe this is the only true Church.” It was no longer a statement of theory but of settled fact in my soul.
My baptism day was the most spiritually significant of my life. Dressing in white, I felt like a king. The members of the ward had stayed after their own services to support me, a gesture of love that moved me deeply. As I stepped into the water, the symbolism of burial and resurrection with Christ, which I had taught so many times before, finally felt completely real and personal. It was a covenant, not just a ritual.

Long years ago a severe drought struck the Salt Lake Valley. The commodities at the storehouse on Welfare Square had not been of their usual quality, nor were they found in abundance. Many products were missing, especially fresh fruit. As I was a young bishop, worrying about the needs of the many widows in my ward, my prayer one evening is especially sacred to me. I pleaded for these widows, who were among the finest women I knew in mortality and whose needs were simple and conservative, because they had no resources on which they might rely.
The next morning I received a call from a ward member, a proprietor of a produce business situated in our ward. “Bishop,” he said, “I would like to send a semitrailer filled with oranges, grapefruit, and bananas to the bishops’ storehouse to be given to those in need. Could you make arrangements?” Could I make arrangements! The storehouse was alerted, and then each bishop was telephoned and the entire shipment distributed. Bishop Jesse M. Drury, that beloved welfare pioneer and storekeeper, said he had never witnessed a day like it before. He described the occasion with one word: “Wonderful!”
The wife of that generous businessman is today a widow. I know the decision her husband and she made has brought her sweet memories and comforting peace to her soul.
I express my sincere appreciation to one and all who are mindful of the widow. To the thoughtful neighbors who invite a widow to dinner and to that royal army of noble women, the visiting teachers of the Relief Society, I add, may God bless you for your kindness and your love unfeigned toward her who reaches out and touches vanished hands and listens to voices forever stilled. The words of the Prophet Joseph Smith describe their mission: “I attended by request, the Female Relief Society, whose object is the relief of the poor, the destitute, the widow and the orphan, and for the exercise of all benevolent purposes.”
Thank you to thoughtful and caring bishops who ensure that no widow’s cupboard is empty, no house unwarmed, no life unblessed. I admire the ward leaders who invite the widows to all social activities, often providing a young Aaronic Priesthood lad to be a special escort for the occasion.
Frequently the need of the widow is not one of food or shelter but of feeling a part of ongoing events. President Bryan Richards of Salt Lake City, now serving as a mission president, brought to my office a sweet widow whose husband had passed away during a full-time mission they were serving. President Richards explained that her financial resources were adequate and that she desired to contribute to the Church’s General Missionary Fund the proceeds of two insurance policies on the life of her departed husband. I could not restrain my tears when she meekly advised me, “This is what I wish to do. It is what my missionary-minded husband would like.”
The gift was received and entered as a most substantial donation to missionary service. I saw the receipt made in her name, but I believe in my heart it was also recorded in heaven. I invited her and President Richards to follow me to the unoccupied First Presidency Council room in the Church Administration Building. The room is beautiful and peaceful. I asked this sweet widow to sit in the chair usually occupied by our church President. I felt he would not mind, for I knew his heart. As she sat ever so humbly in the large leather chair, she gripped each armrest with a hand and declared, “This is one of the happiest days of my life.” It was also such for President Richards and for me.
I never travel to work along busy Seventh East in Salt Lake City but what I see in my mind’s eye a thoughtful daughter, afflicted with arthritis and carrying in her hand a plate of warm food to her aged mother, who lived across the busy thoroughfare. She has now gone home to that mother who preceded her in passing. But her lesson was not lost on her daughters, who delight their widowed father by cleaning his house each week, inviting him to dinners in their homes, and sharing with him the laughter of good times together, leaving in that widower’s heart a prayer of gratitude for his daughters, the light of his life. Fathers experience loneliness as well as mothers.

President David O. McKay used to tell a story about a railroad engineer. Let me share it with you as recorded by President Harold B. Lee:
“The engineer pulled his train into a station one dark night, and a timid passenger inquired of the engineer if he wasn’t frightened to pull his train out in the dark with 400 or 500 passengers’ lives at stake. The engineer said, pointing up to the bright headlight, ‘I want to tell you one thing: when I pull out of this station I won’t be running in darkness one foot of the way. You see that light a thousand yards ahead? I run my engine just to the edge of the light, and when I get there it will still be on a thousand yards ahead.’ Having said that, President McKay added: ‘I want to tell you something. Through all this dark night of uncertainty, I want to tell you that this Welfare Program will not be running in the dark one foot of the way. You remember it. We can only see the next October as the first circle of light. We have told you what to do six months from now. By the time we get there the light will be on ahead of us, but every step of the way that light will be there. You teach your people to follow the light and they will be safe on Zion’s hill when the destructive forces come in the world.’” (Welfare Agricultural Meeting, 5 Apr. 1969.)