Gospel Story Finder

The Stevenson family lived in Japan for several years. In 2004 Elder Stevenson was called as president of the Japan Nagoya Mission. Following his call to the Seventy in 2008, he served as a counselor and president in the Asia North Area. He was serving as Area President in 2011 when a major earthquake struck off the coast of northern Japan, triggering a massive tsunami that killed thousands. That experience proved to be a defining moment in his life.
Elder Stevenson helped shape the response of the Church, which provided food, supplies, support, and longer-term assistance.
“That was a manifestation of the Church of Jesus Christ filling one of its divinely appointed responsibilities of caring for the poor and needy,” he recalls. He said it was a sacred privilege to “minister, and bless, and organize assistance.”

I would like to share an experience in my own life which helps me to remember that God is aware of me and that he will always take care of my needs.

The Miracle of the 13 Bok Choy

In August of 1998 our family began a one-year assignment living and teaching at the Church College in Pesega, Samoa.

My job was to teach in the in-country EIL program. Our young family lived in a campus home next to the country director’s home who at the time was Brother Tavana. Brother Fata and his family, the coordinator of religious education, lived on the other side of us. We enjoyed working and living in Samoa. Our son, Matthew, was baptized during our time there, and we became reacquainted with many of our BYU–Hawaii friends who had returned to work in the Church schools. There was no television reception at the time, so we found ourselves spending a lot of time together as a family.

Without the many distractions of today’s modern world, I also tried my hand at gardening. At that time, next to the country director’s home was a garden area. It was a fenced in piece of land about the size of a tennis court. Vines and other plants had grown up along the fence and since no one could see inside it became my secret garden. Once I caught the gardening fever, I would go there almost every night after work and tend to my plants.

The biggest challenge that I had, however, was that I could not get any vegetables to grow. I would prepare the soil, sow the seeds, and they would spring up, but then the hot Samoan sun would come out and burn them up before I could provide relief, or insects or birds would devour the plant or fruit before I could harvest them. Other times, the plants looked like they were going to make it, but a tropical storm would blow through and flood the garden and my plants would drown. I tried all sorts of vegetables with no luck.

In retrospect, I should have stuck with taro, bananas, and papayas. But this palagi wanted to do it the way he was taught. I was the grandson of Idaho potato and sugar beet farmers, and the son of parents who believed that no summer day of play should begin without first weeding the garden! Of course, it was wrong, but I was young and inexperienced and a bit too proud to admit defeat. I thought I could do it on my own, so I consulted no one.

Finally, I had a breakthrough. I went to the local garden shop and selected bok choy seeds from the seed counter. Like the other plants I had tried to grow, I prepared the soil, made a row, and planted the seeds hoping that these would be the plants that changed my unlucky streak. Within a few days, the seeds sprouted everywhere along the row. There were so many I knew thinning would be required, so I waited a few more weeks until they were large enough to do so.

After thinning the row, I had thirteen plants. These were hardy plants. They didn’t wilt under the sun, the insects for some reason didn’t eat the leaves, and no rain flooded the row. In fact, much to my surprise, my cabbage plants continued to grow and flourish. As they did, I diligently attended to them each night after work, digging around them to loosen the soil to improve aeration, water retention, nutrient uptake, and reduce competition from weeds.

After about a month of the careful nurturing of my beautiful 13 heads of bok choy, I returned to our home and excitedly made a proclamation to my wife and children that the bok choy were ready to harvest. I’m certain that they could have cared less. They had no vested interest in my final success nor could they understand the joy I felt at successfully growing a vegetable from seed to harvest in my Samoan secret garden. So, the next day after work, I returned to my garden with a knife to cut the bok choy and a basket to carry them back to our home. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with them, but I was ready to harvest. As I walked through the gate and looked at my row of bok choy, much to my dismay, I discovered that someone had sneaked into my garden, cut all 13 of my cherished plants, and taken them away!

To say that I was devastated by this turn of events is an understatement. My joy degraded into anger at the person or persons who harvested my plants, and later a mild form of depression overtook me and stayed with me for longer than it should have. It lasted about a month. After some time of wallowing in self-pity, the Holy Ghost whispered to me something like the following: “Brent you have to stop feeling sorry for yourself. Someone took your bok choy and probably enjoyed eating them. Get over it. Move on. Get a life for Heaven’s sake!” And so I did! I snapped out of my funk and decided that I would return to my secret garden and try again. On the appointed day, I arrived home from work, grabbed some garden tools, and headed to the garden. I had not been back for quite some time, so I was expecting to find quite a few weeds.

Well, you can imagine my surprise when I found that my bok choy plants, the ones that had been taken several weeks before, had all grown back. Not only were all 13 plants there, they were bigger and fuller than the ones that had been taken, and they were ready to be harvested. I was in shock. I stood for a long time looking at the row of plants dumbfounded. It appeared as if they had never been taken. At that point in an almost Elder Hugh B. Brown-like “I am the gardener” manner, I heard a voice in my mind say, “Trust in the Lord and He will bless your life. [2] Never mind who took your bok choy, trust in me and you will be blessed.” Of course, I immediately ran home for a knife and a basket, and we ate bok choy for days after. We also shared them with our neighbors and friends. Throughout my life, I have had my share of disappointments because of what I have perceived to be failed opportunities, but like the disappointment I felt with my stolen bok choy, it never really lasts long. In every case so far, I feel like the Lord is saying, “Don’t worry, that is not the path you should go. I know what is best for you. Trust in me.” Remembering the miracle of the 13 heads of bok choy has sustained my faith in a loving and kind Heavenly Father.

In Fiji, I know of a faithful wife who waited eight long years for her husband to join the Church. Eight years of attending church alone while her husband remained uninterested and hesitant. Yet she did not withdraw. She did not resent. She served.
When the wife received her patriarchal blessing, she was promised that if she remained true and faithful, a day would come when her husband would take her to the temple to be sealed for time and all eternity. Over eight years and 24 missionaries later, the husband was baptized and the couple was sealed in the house of the Lord.
To be clearer, I should say my wife, Anita, and I were sealed in the house of the Lord. My only regret? I wish I had been baptized sooner. In fact, Elder Quentin L. Cook, who spoke before me today, extended the call for me to serve as stake president while he was serving as Area President.

Oksana has had some challenges in her life. About two years ago, she developed a lot of pain in her back and legs, so much that she couldn’t walk or bend over. Her parents took her to the hospital, where the doctors discovered a tumor on her spine. As the doctors prepared to operate, they told her parents that she had a 50% chance of being paralyzed from the waist down. “I prayed that Heavenly Father would help me,” Oksana says.

“The doctors scheduled an emergency operation on fast Sunday,” Oksana’s mom, Andreé, explains. “Members of our ward fasted for her. And when the doctor came out of the operating room, he said it was like a miracle.” The doctors were able to easily remove the tumor without damaging Oksana’s spine, which they had not thought would be possible. “It was a miracle,” Oksana’s mom adds. Today Oksana is healthy and happy, though she still has one more surgery scheduled to remove some metal rods placed in her spine, which are helping it to grow straight again.

I say to you what I said to the boys—avoid pornography as you would a plague. I recall an assignment some years back to restore the blessings of a man who had been excommunicated from the Church because of his sin. He came to my office with his wife. I spoke with them individually. I asked him how it all began. He held a responsible position in the Church. He was likewise a professional man with high responsibility in the community.

His trouble began, he said, when he picked up a pornographic magazine to read on a plane. It intrigued him. It appealed to him. He found himself buying more of these things. Then he sought out movies which titillated him and excited him. Knowing that his wife would be a party to none of this, he went alone. He found occasion to leave town and go to other cities where he could more easily indulge his desires. He then found excuses to stay late at his office and asked his secretary to stay with him. One thing led to another until he succumbed.

With tears rolling down his cheeks, he sat across the desk from me and cursed the day he had read that first magazine. He spoke of his love for the wife who had forgiven him and remained true to him. He spoke of his love for his children, who had been shamed and embarrassed by his actions. He told of the hell through which he had walked for some four years from the time of his excommunication. He spoke of his love for the Church and of his desire to again enjoy its full blessings.

In the presence of his wife, I placed my hands upon his head and in the authority of the holy priesthood restored his priesthood, his temple endowment, his temple sealing, and all other blessings which he had formerly held. This great, strong man sobbed like a baby under my hands while his wife, holding her hand in his, wept like a child.

At the conclusion of that blessing, they embraced one another and he asked her to forgive him. She said she had forgiven him, and that she loved him and always would.

They were happy when they left, happier than they had been in years. And I was happy, too. But I thought of the terrible price he had paid and of the price he had exacted of his family through his foolishness and transgression.

Sitting in a hastily dug defensive position, I looked out over the sand toward the north—toward Iraq. It was December 24 during Desert Shield, and I had drawn guard duty starting at midnight.
I was the only Latter-day Saint in my battalion, so the holiday was even lonelier. We had been in the desert of Saudi Arabia since August, and now Christmas was here with a cold, star-lit night. The camp was asleep, and I had a few hours with the bluish-grey dunes and my thoughts.
I thought of my wife and son in Georgia, USA, and how I would miss the festivities back home—the tree, the presents, a real Christmas dinner. Then I began to ponder the Christmas story.
I wondered about the night that Christ was born. I wondered how dark it was and if there was a moon to cast its brightness over the landscape or if there was only starlight. Since there were no electric lights at His birth, the night must have been something like the one I was witnessing. There would have been no festivities—just dark, quiet night.
Then a wonderful thought struck me. The Bible states that Wise Men later came from the East, guided by a star that appeared in the night sky. As I looked into the dark sky, I realized I was to the east of Bethlehem and that one of the centers of knowledge at that time was Baghdad. Could the Wise Men have come from a location not far from where I was? What star shone? Was it still in the sky? Could I see it?
I gazed skyward in wonder at God’s creations and felt a warmth that came from within. It did not matter if I was in the same location or if the same star was in the sky. What mattered is that I shared the same knowledge as the Wise Men of an infant born in Bethlehem who is the King of kings.
I was not alone that Christmas; rather, I was united with all those who seek Him, whether they be Wise Men, prophets, or just lonely soldiers in a hole in the desert. That night my testimony of the birth of the Savior was strengthened, and the next morning the Holy Spirit was still with me.
Instead of being a sad Christmas that year, it became one of my most prized Christmases.

With just a month left on my mission, I felt like I needed to take action and find my family’s records before I returned home. I prayed to know if there was something more I could do, and I felt a distinct prompting from the Spirit telling me that I needed to get a copy of those vital records that I had seen months ago. I told my mission president that I felt like I needed to return to my family’s village in Switzerland and explained why. The village was 87 miles (140 km) away, but my mission president gave me permission to go anyway.
It was dusk when the narrow winding road took us up the mountain into the hamlet of Vergeletto. We stopped at the focal point of town, the Catholic church. My companion and I were then drawn to the cemetery across the street from the church that was all lit up with candles.
As we entered the cemetery, I clearly and strongly felt the Spirit guide me like I never had before. That feeling and the fresh alpine air created a sensation I will never forget. In the cemetery, it seemed that every other tombstone had my last name on it. We even saw my great-grandfather’s tomb; it said people went to him to repair their broken bones.
We returned to the church to see if we could find the priest. There we met an old man, who told us it was Il Giorno dei Morti, or a holiday known as the Day of the Dead (which would explain all the candles in the cemetery). The man told us that the priest had services in neighboring villages and would be back in two hours.
My companion and I waited, and when the priest returned, I reminded him of our encounter a few months earlier and then asked if I could see the vital records of the parish again.
He agreed.
The priest brought out a box of books that were hundreds of years old. I told the priest that our Church was microfilming parish records in Parma, Italy, 170 miles (274 km) away. I asked if he would allow us to take the records for a few weeks and have them copied.
He again agreed. I was shocked.
As we left town, I marveled at what had just happened and even checked the rearview mirror to see if the priest was running after us with a change of heart. Two weeks later, we returned the records to him, as promised.

A few weeks later President Hinckley came for the dedication. A press conference was arranged for the prophet to meet with the press. He stated nearly the same words of President Kufor. He said, "This temple will not only bless the lives of the members of the Church; it will bless the entire nation of Ghana and all of West Africa."

The day before the dedication the prophet held a fireside for members of the Church. They came, some traveling for days, to see and hear a prophet of God. As he stood to address them, he said, "I'm getting old, you probably won't see me again and I won't see you again in this life, so listen very carefully; what I have to say is very important." He continued, "I am going to tell you four things that you need to do to be acceptable to the Lord, to retain your testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ, and to be worthy to enter this beautiful house of the Lord."

"First," he said, "You must pray daily." As he talked to them about prayer, it was as if he were a loving grandfather speaking to his grandchildren. He said, "Think of the miracle of prayer! Imagine--here we are--just mortal people and we can kneel and pray to our Heavenly Father and He hears us! Now, all of our prayers might not be answered as soon as we would like, or the way we would like, but He hears them. It's a miracle."

Through all ages of time, the commandment has been, "Ask of God; ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find, knock, and it shall be opened unto you."[7] Our Heavenly Father loves you; you are His children. He is always there for you if only you will ask in humble daily prayer. President Hinckley ended by saying again, "Isn't it a miracle that we can pray to our Heavenly Father and know that He answers our prayers? Well, it's marvelous!" Can't you just hear President Hinckley saying that?

Next he counseled them to have daily scripture study.

Next, President Hinckley counseled the Ghanaian Saints to attend their meetings.

The last thing President Hinckley talked about was tithing. He admonished the Saints to pay their tithes and offerings.

Years ago, my wife and I drove to visit the Idaho Falls Idaho Temple. Our four young sons stayed home with a babysitter.
As we got ready to go home, one of the temple workers told us that the Teton Dam in eastern Idaho had collapsed! Much of our city was underwater.
My wife and I knelt and prayed to Heavenly Father for the safety of our children and the thousands of people affected by the flood. These words came clearly to my heart and mind: “Whatever the outcome, all will be well because of the temple.” We were grateful later to learn that our boys were safe.

For a long time, my dad was an assistant farm manager. He worked so hard and always dreamed of one day buying his own farm.
His work ethic inspired me, especially after I left to serve a mission in Japan. I found strength and motivation when I thought about his example.
So on one preparation day, when my dad told me he had finally bought his own farmland, I was so excited for him. He invested a lot of money into growing pumpkins and told me they were going to grow large within six weeks. He found so much joy in finally achieving his goal.
But things didn’t go according to plan.
A few weeks after I heard about my dad’s new farm, the COVID-19 pandemic began and I was suddenly released from my mission. However, I couldn’t go home because of lockdowns across Australia. I was required to isolate for two weeks before going home, and it was the loneliest time of my life.
During isolation, my dad called me. I noticed right away that he was sad. Four weeks had passed since he’d planted his pumpkins, but they were frail and tiny—smaller than his hands. He worried about losing the money he’d invested in his new farm.
My dad is a good, honest, and humble man. Seeing him so upset brought me to tears later that night. My heart broke because I couldn’t be home with my family to offer my support. It was so unfair that my dad had worked so hard only for things to fail.
I prayed to Heavenly Father to know what I could do. And that’s when I got a distinct impression:
“You can fast for the pumpkins.”
At first the thought seemed ridiculous. Fast for the pumpkins? I doubted that would make a difference! But I thought about the many times I had fasted throughout my mission and how it had brought so many miracles. Sometimes it was as small as knowing what words to say while teaching or just increasing my love for those I served, but fasting had still made a difference.
So, on a random Wednesday during my isolation, I fasted—for pumpkins.
But I also fasted for my family and me to feel the Savior’s love during a difficult time.
A few weeks later, I finally arrived home. When my dad took me to his pumpkin fields, I saw hundreds of massive pumpkins. They were huge! It was truly a miracle. I couldn’t believe it.
I felt Heavenly Father’s awareness of my family in that moment.
This experience wasn’t just about the miracle of the gigantic pumpkins (and yes, my arms still feel sore when I think about harvesting them). To me, the miracle was realizing how much love Jesus Christ can bring into our homes and into our family relationships when we act in faith.
I know that Heavenly Father sees all that we might be facing within our own families. He is aware of our worries and our struggles, and He helps us express love when we ask for His help. He even saw that something as seemingly insignificant as a pumpkin patch was important to my family and helped me find a way to channel my love for them in a meaningful and miraculous way.

As the sun set on another Sunday in 1948, I found myself walking by the Trent River in Nottingham, England. I was a 20-year-old missionary at the time. It had been a long, exhausting day, but I was happy and satisfied in the work.
As I walked along the river, I said a prayer in my heart. Hoping to feel some guidance from the Lord, I asked, “Am I doing what You want?”
An overwhelming feeling of peace and understanding suddenly came over me. At that precise moment, I came to know that Jesus Christ knew me and loved me. I didn’t see a vision or hear a voice, but I could not have known of Christ’s reality and divinity any more powerfully had He stood before me and called out my name.
From that day to today, every significant decision I have made has been influenced by my knowledge that Jesus Christ is the Son of God. I love Him more deeply and powerfully than words can express. He is my Lord, my Savior, my Redeemer, and my friend.

I am Raja Munusamy of Chennai, Tamil Nadu. This is my testimony. Before joining this church, my family and I belonged to another religion. In August 2014, I had a cardiac arrest and was hospitalized for few days. Post the discharge I rested for 20 days from my work, and during that time I was introduced to sister missionaries, Sister Shelly Arora and Sister Fernandez. They visited our family regularly and prayed for us to receive comfort and for me to recover soon.
I also felt the Spirit and peace of mind during their course of teaching about Heavenly Father and His son Jesus Christ, but soon I was thinking that they were planning to convert us. Thinking so I requested them not to come back to teach the gospel. Nevertheless, they were so valiant in the gospel. They didn’t want my family to lose the blessings. They constantly came to us. One time I felt the Spirit was strong when they asked me to pray and “ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, if these things are not true” (Moroni 10:4). That night we prayed as a family and went to bed.
Nearing midnight I suddenly woke up from my bed and asked my wife, “Are the missionaries teaching correct principles?” She replied that they were teaching correct principles and added more strength to it by affirming that our Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ are living. This answer made me think, and I had faith. The next morning, I asked her what she said last night. She replied that she didn’t know because she was in a deep sleep. Then I came to know this was the answer to our prayers that we received through the Holy Ghost.
That day we decided to join the church. On the 21 September 2014 we were baptized as a family: my wife, Usha Raja; son, Siddharth Raja; and daughter, Sangamitra Raja. My faith and character made my mother Kanaga Munusamy decide to be baptized on 7th December 2014.

At the funeral services for a remarkable daughter of God, someone shared that this sister, as stake Relief Society president, worked with others in her stake to contribute quilts to give warmth to suffering people in Kosovo during the 1990s. And like the good Samaritan, she went out of her way to do more as she and her daughter drove a truck filled with those quilts from London to Kosovo. On her journey home she received an unmistakable spiritual impression that sank deep into her heart. The impression was this: “What you have done is a very good thing. Now go home, walk across the street, and serve your neighbor!”19

Finally, here is one last special experience. For the last few months I have struggled with my 15-year-old son, Andy, to keep him practicing the piano. He made the choice to play some years ago, and I feel within my heart that he should continue. My stock remarks have included, “Someday you’ll be grateful I kept you at it. Someday you’ll have to play while on your mission or elsewhere.” How excited I was this evening when my husband picked up the June 1983 New Era and, after scanning it briefly, called our son to him and began reading aloud. All six of our children listened intently as he, with a cracking voice, read Alma J. Yates’s “A Hymn for Guaymas.” In it, Elder Richards’s curse—his mother’s insistence that he practice the piano daily—became a blessing when he was pressed into playing in that little branch.
Tears ran down my husband’s cheeks as he read that few of those members had ever even heard that piano played. They hardly dared think it possible that they would be able to sing “I Know That My Redeemer Lives” with piano accompaniment. More tears came when the elder wrote asking his mom to sell his prized stereo so that he could have the piano tuned. “Mom,” he wrote, “thanks for making me practice the piano.”

Permit me to illustrate this point. A young man of faith practiced diligently and became a champion swimmer. He excelled to the point that scholarship offers from many universities were extended. One by one he turned them down. His father asked, “Son, why won’t you accept one of these free-ride scholarships?”

“I can’t,” the boy answered. “I’m going on a mission. It would not be honest for me to accept one and then drop it before the year is gone.”

Angrily the father shouted, “How foolish can you be? You are throwing away an opportunity of a lifetime!”

“I am sorry, Dad,” the boy added respectfully, “but I take seriously what the Lord said about his coming again. And, when he does come, I don’t want to be found in the swimming pool practicing the backstroke.”

It was her first day on the job as a dietary aid for a nursing home. Dawn Dyrhaug, 15, of Arlington Heights, Illinois, could have hesitated when she heard the sound of someone choking. What if she did something wrong? She could have held back, but she didn’t.
Dawn went into action. She knew she had only about four minutes to dislodge the food that prevented Clara Lieptz from breathing. Help might not arrive in time. Besides she had been trained to help.
She clasped her hands below the elderly lady’s rib cage in the Heimlich Maneuver. Dawn had learned that in many cases it would be necessary to repeat the procedure. To her relief, however, repeated attempts were not necessary.
In the days following the incident, Clara introduced Dawn as the girl who saved her life. Dawn felt good. For four years during YW girls’ camp with her stake, she had learned lifesaving techniques and first aid.
For having the know-how and exhibiting the courage to use it, Dawn will receive the American Red Cross Certificate of Merit signed by President Reagan and Illinois Governor Thompson.
Dawn is a member of the Northwest Second Ward, Schaumburg Illinois Stake.

One Sunday morning before church I was playing our piano. I decided to open the piano top to watch the hammers move. When I lifted the top, a large glass vase full of flowers fell off the piano and crashed to the floor. My mom came running to find out what had made such a loud noise. She was unhappy when she saw that her new vase had been broken. She asked me if I had done it. At first I said “No,” but then I said “Yes,” because I knew it was the right thing to do. I asked my mum how much the vase cost, and she told me two pounds. But she said that I only needed to give her one pound to help buy a new one. I went upstairs to my room and got the money out of my piggy bank. I gave her a one-pound coin and then surprised her by hiding another one for her to find. I felt good when I told the truth and paid for the new vase. It made Mum happy too. I want to be like Jesus every day and give more than people ask of me.

As the family spent time together, the children could see not just how their parents worked but how they lived. And when the opportunity arose, their parents made the gospel a topic of conversation while they worked.

As their children grew, Brother and Sister Ordoñez often wondered if their children would listen. Would they obey? Would they want to know, like Nephi? Would they pass the gospel on to their children?

It may be too early to tell. But Brother and Sister Ordoñez have reason to hope.

Their older children are starting to pass gospel truths on. And the younger children are recognizing the importance of passing the gospel on too. “It’s hard sometimes to take counsel from your parents,” Juan says. “But I’m grateful for their help.”

“They didn’t just teach me how to cook beans and make tortillas,” Mayra says. “They have taught me the right path—to follow God.”

“No Santa this year,” my sister Lindi whispered to me. “But we have each other. Besides, next Christmas we’ll have a house.”
What! No Santa? My sister’s remark echoed in my mind. I could do without Santa, and I knew we were lucky to even have a place to live, but how would the younger children understand? Tears formed in my eyes when I thought that the lack of money would make my younger brothers and sisters learn the truth about Santa.
It was almost December. Two years earlier we had left our home in New Jersey for California to support our dad’s dream of owning his own veterinary practice. We left with the hope our house there would sell within a few weeks and we’d buy one in California. It didn’t sell, and the eight of us, and our large German shepherd, spent our first California Christmas in a 20-foot trailer.
A year later the house still hadn’t sold, but we were able to move into the back of Dad’s veterinary clinic. Six of us shared one bedroom, but we each had separate “areas” and thought it wonderful to have our own beds.
Paradise, California, was not a wealthy community. There were a lot of retired people and a lot of young families. Dad couldn’t stand charging those with financial struggles the normal fees, so we adjusted to less material lives, shopped at bargain stores, and dreamed about our future house. In those two years we made a lot of friends and not very much money.
But as Christmas approached, I knew friendship wouldn’t fill the stockings.
I was wrong.
The week before Christmas Dad came back into our apartment at least twice a day with tears in his eyes and candy, cookies, or fruit in his hands. The cards attached to these presents were messages of love and faith. Newly found friends were acting as if we were family.
On Christmas Eve we returned our clients’ kindness by caroling to their doorsteps. We gave our voices, and then a jar of honey from the bees we raised in New Jersey. Our off-key voices competed with barking watchdogs. Then we hugged a lot of adopted grand-aunts and -uncles and went home laughing.
When we got back to the clinic, my brother Vance jumped out of the Suburban. He came back quickly with a ham in his arms. “Santa came! Look! There’s a box of food and this big thing.”
We dashed to the back porch. “Cake mixes and Jello! Wow!” Laurel screamed.
“Dad, look—tamales in cans. You love tamales,” Brett said. We sat under the porch light joyously pulling things out.
Christmas morning we ran to the waiting room where our stockings had been propped in front of the reception desk. “I don’t think Santa left much this year,” Mom said. “What’s in there? Oh, look Lee, he left oranges in the toes.”
“And walnuts and almonds!” Vance said, excitedly. We dug through our stockings for the trinkets and some change Santa also left. Laurel told me she was glad Santa found out where we had moved. “They believe Santa came!” I thought.
Mom and Dad went out back to bring in their presents when we heard Mom call, “Oh, come here!” We all went running and looked outside to see two boxes this time—one full of presents and one stuffed with a turkey.
We brought it all into the cage room and unloaded our third bundle from “Santa” with excitement and disbelief. There were gifts for each of us—all from Santa Claus.
“Does Santa come more than once a year?” asked Bliss.
“I guess anything is possible,” Dad said, and I watched as he and Mom exchanged a look of shock and relief.
Later, as we ate dinner, we heard singing and then a deep voice calling, “Santa’s here!” We hurried for the fourth time to the door. There was a mobile home with Santa and Mrs. Claus out front carrying presents. “Hey, little one,” Santa said to my sister, “what would you like for Christmas? How about a big doll that walks?” He unloaded a doll for Laurel. She nearly burst saying thank you, then hugged him around the neck.
“How about you, young man?” Santa handed a packet to Vance. Vance was speechless. He gently took the package and stood staring with wonder.
The process continued. Mom tried to get their identity, but they simply said, “Merry Christmas!” and left after our abundant thank-yous.
When we got back to the cage room we looked at everything that had been brought and talked about the blessings we had. I will never forget what we learned in our home that season—that the presents were a treasure, but the real gifts were in our appreciation and the generosity of others. Our neighbors and friends shared the most priceless gift with us, the pure love of Jesus Christ.

Keeping the Sabbath day holy is important to Melynne Murdock, 14, a former Miss Hawaii National Preteen who helped change the statewide pageant because of her commitment.
When Melynne was informed that the 1989 pageant in which she was to turn over her crown was scheduled for a Sunday, she asked the director if it could be changed. The director explained that a suitable location for a Friday-Saturday event could not be found on the busy island of Oahu. But he agreed to a change if Melynne could find a place and work out the details. She did.
BYU—Hawaii hosted the 1989 pageant, and the director was so impressed that next year’s pageant has also been scheduled there.
Melynne, 14, has since moved with her family, which includes seven brothers, to Lake Arrowhead, California.