Gospel Story Finder

I have been a member of the Church for more than ten years. As an officer in the Democratic Republic of the Congo military, I have experienced tremendous difficulty arranging to travel from my home to attend the Johannesburg South Africa Temple and to participate in sacred ordinances there. Over the years I made several requests to my superior officers for permission to travel to South Africa with my family, but still it was difficult to leave Kinshasa given the regime changes which had taken place in our country.
After several attempts to persuade through my chain of command—still without success—I made a decision to discuss the situation with our local priesthood leaders to seek their guidance and direction. Together we pleaded for divine help. Then one day, I was reading 1 Nephi 3:7, which says: “And it came to pass that I, Nephi, said unto my father: I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded, for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them.” I realized even more that by always obeying the commandments of the Lord, God provides the means for His children to accomplish the things which He has commanded them.
Then a few years later, at the October 2011 General Conference, then Church President Thomas S. Monson announced plans for the construction of the Kinshasa Temple. At that moment I was far away—more than 1700 km from my home, which is in Kinshasa. My wife Guylaine Kakudji Koyengule, filled with joy at hearing the announcement, phoned to tell me the news—and it was really a day of great joy for me and my family.
After this announcement we looked forward to the groundbreaking and construction. And now our Kinshasa Temple has just been dedicated!
Today I live about five to ten minutes away from the temple. Even without transportation means, I still am able to go there. I know that Heavenly Father truly listens to His children’s prayers and that He answers in due time. I also know that the temple is the House of the Lord and that through the covenants we make with our Heavenly Father in His house—the temple—we will be saved.
John Koyengule is a member of the Gombe GB Ward, Kinshasa Democratic Republic of the Congo Stake.

When Herman returned from serving in France during World War I, he and Minerva moved to the old Teichert family homestead in Idaho. Minerva loved this place, but they were eventually forced to leave by the construction of a new reservoir. They made their new home on a cattle ranch at Cokeville, Wyoming. Minerva painted scenes of the Idaho countryside around their old home in a frieze for the living room of their new home. For more than forty years, this room was both Minerva’s studio and the center of the Teichert household. She cooked meals on a wood-burning stove, occasionally adding a touch to a painting as she cooked. Every night while the family ate supper, she read to them—literature, history, and the scriptures.
In that same living room she developed a strong, original style as she painted hundreds of murals, portraits, and other works. The conditions were far from ideal for painting. The room was too small to spread out her larger murals. She sometimes had to fold the canvas, painting one section at a time. To see her murals in perspective, she would look through the small end of a pair of binoculars. Distractions were constant. But somehow Minerva persisted. “I must paint,” she once explained (unpublished manuscript, 1947).

I recall, as an 11-year-old, being reverently escorted by my bishop into the chapel of our new ward building, where he sat with me in front of the sacrament table. He said, “You know, Larry, you will soon be ordained to the office of deacon in the Aaronic Priesthood. Do you realize what a special blessing and duty that will be?” He told me that I would have the sacred responsibility to act as the Savior did in providing the holy emblems of the sacrament to those in our congregation. I was overwhelmed with the magnitude of the priesthood calling I was to receive.
My bishop asked that I memorize the two sacrament prayers and think about how they fit into my life. He said I must strive to do the things the sacrament prayers ask each of us to do if I was to act for the Savior in providing the sacrament to others. After I returned home, my father helped me locate the sacrament prayers in both the Doctrine and Covenants (20:76–79) and the Book of Mormon (Moroni 4; 5). I read them carefully for the first time in my life. I listened closely as they were offered in church. I pondered the words as the bread was being passed, but the full impact of the sacramental covenant became apparent when I heard these words in the blessing on the water: “that they do always remember him.” I asked myself, “Do I always remember Him? What does always mean? How can I remember Him always?” Every time I hear those sacred sacramental prayers I am moved to reflect on these same questions.

I would like to thank you for the article “Profanity” (May 1992). I was teaching an investigator who asked me why the Church feels it’s wrong to swear when everyone does it. All that came to mind was this article and these lines: “It’s the same mouth you use to pray, bear testimony, and bless the sacrament.” That’s all I had to say, because tears fell from my investigator’s eyes.
Elder Dwayne VictorFlorida Tampa Mission

Illustration by Lobo
The missionaries held up a photo. “What do you see?” they asked.
“A happy family,” I answered.
“Are all families happy?”
I shook my head no. “You’ve seen my family,” I explained.
I was a 16-year-old living in Brazil, where I had lived all my life. The missionaries had been teaching me for several weeks, but nobody else in my family wanted to listen. During that time, the missionaries had often seen my family fight and argue. My family and the grinning family in the photo had nothing in common.
One of the elders said, “Well, maybe your current family isn’t this way. But you can build your future family differently.”
When we ended the visit, they asked me again to pray about what we’d been studying. As always, I didn’t exactly promise to do so. I enjoyed how I felt when the missionaries visited, and the gospel made sense to me. But I was afraid of the answer I might receive. If the gospel was true, I would have to make a lot of changes.
After the elders left, I couldn’t stop thinking about happy families. Ours wasn’t even close. My dad wasn’t in my life. My relationship with my mom wasn’t great. Grandma was the one who took care of us, but none of us behaved like a family the way the missionaries taught. None of us expressed love to each other or even spent much time together.
All my life I promised myself I would be a good dad someday. I would be the parent I never had. Yet as the missionaries taught me, I started realizing that I was doing the same things my parents did at my age. I stayed out late, did whatever I wanted, and lived like a rebel. Without meaning to, I was repeating the same story.
It was time to ask God.
When I finally prayed, I received the answer I had expected all along. The Church is true! Now it was time to make a choice.
My grandmother had to give permission before I could be baptized. She was against it, but I persisted.
“Grandma, which Leonardo do you prefer?” I asked. “The one who was out drinking and smoking and coming home late? Or do you prefer who I am now? These changes are because of the gospel.”
Grandma finally agreed, and I was baptized and confirmed. From that moment, something interesting began to happen in my family—something I didn’t realize fully until a few years later.
Right before I left for my mission to southern Brazil, Grandma attended stake conference with me. Afterward we held a small testimony meeting with family and friends. To my surprise, Grandma wanted to say something.
“Ever since Leonardo joined your church, my family started becoming a real family,” she said. She then listed ways our entire family had grown closer: We now spent time together. We started saying “I love you” to each other, when we never had before. The fighting and arguing stopped. Real friendships developed among all of us. We had more to eat and were blessed with abundance in other areas.
I had noticed these changes too, but I hadn’t realized the timing could be linked back to when I was baptized.
“I may not be a member of your church,” she said, “but I am a friend of your church. And I know our family has been blessed because of Leonardo’s choice.”
I could hardly believe it! And yet, as Grandma spoke of how our family had grown closer, I suddenly remembered the photo the missionaries had shown me years before. Back then, I thought my only way to have a happy family was with my future family.
But I was wrong. My current family was happy! We had grown to love each other.
Maybe none of my family members will join the Church in this lifetime. But even if they don’t, I know that God has already blessed us in so many ways. The gospel of Jesus Christ shows us how to improve our families, no matter what our family situation looks like.

Last December, two small boys extended a very special dinner invitation to Alec Ferguson, Jimmy Rasband, and Brandon Clayton, priests in the Provo Edgemont Stake. The young boys, who came from a high-risk home, invited their teenage friends as guests of honor.
“Apparently they were in a situation where they didn’t have a dad in the family. And so they kind of looked up to us three guys as father figures,” Brandon recalls with a smile. It’s one of his favorite memories of his high school years. He loves spending time with the children who have come to know and love him, Alec, and Jimmy as “the puppet boys.”
For the past three years, Alec, Jimmy, and Brandon have been volunteering their time once a month as puppeteers at Kids on the Move, a care program for children at a local hospital. Recently, the boys added a weekly show at the Family Support and Treatment Center in their hometown of Orem, Utah. In both venues, the boys perform for children in high-risk situations. And although the work can be draining, it’s also the highlight of their week.
“It’s so fun! It’s like being a kid again,” says Brandon.
In the last year alone, Alec, Jimmy, and Brandon have performed more than 100 hours of service with their puppet shows. In doing so, they have completed the service requirements for their Duty to God awards. Each of the boys has also qualified for the Presidential Service award, which is awarded to individuals who have demonstrated outstanding volunteer service and civic participation. But for these boys, it’s not about the awards—it’s about the kids.
“It’s cool to say we did 100 hours of service in a year,” says Brandon, “but I think the best thing that’s come out of this for me is just that great feeling that you get knowing that you’ve helped someone or that you’ve brought a smile to a child’s face—a child that probably doesn’t get that happiness too often in life.”
Alec, Jimmy, and Brandon are famous among the children at both facilities. The children frequently ask when the puppet boys are coming. When the three teenagers walk through the door, they are greeted by countless hugs and shouts of delight. The puppet shows that they perform last only about 20 minutes, but the boys often stay for several hours to play with their young friends. Each of the boys has made a connection in his own way with the children they serve.
“Brandon will really get into playing with the kids, and they love him for it. Sometimes 15 kids just come to him at the same time. He’s really lovable when it comes to the kids,” says Alec.
Brandon says, “Jimmy is always there for the kids that maybe don’t look like they have someone giving them one-on-one attention. Jimmy goes right over there and makes friends. He’s always there for them when they need him.”
In addition to doing the puppet show, the boys draw pictures with the children. Alec’s artistic talents make him a favorite. “They’re fascinated by Alec’s drawing ability,” says Brandon. “I’ve seen it where literally 18 kids have come up and asked him to draw a picture for each of them. And he does it just for the kids.”
Jimmy says his friends’ enthusiasm and willingness to serve are the reasons for their special relationship with the children. “They go and actively participate and play with all the kids. I think with little kids it’s often that you just have to be there.”
Francesca Lawson, Alec’s mother, often goes with the boys when they perform their shows. She describes the response of the children’s mothers. “There was one mother who said, ‘My children don’t have many positive role models in their lives. My boys really look forward every month to coming and being with these guys, because they’re positive male role models.’ I was touched by that. I don’t think these boys totally understand what a difference they’ve made.”
All three boys feel that the experience has blessed them with greater understanding.
“It’s not like it takes special people to be able to give service,” says Alec. “It’s not difficult, and it’s not necessarily very time-consuming. A hundred hours out of a year is not a lot at all. I don’t think enough people give service.”
Jimmy says he learned the importance of taking time to get to know individual children, because “the worth of souls is great in the sight of God” (D&C 18:10).
Brandon says he has gained a closeness to the Savior and a greater understanding of charity. “It’s helped me to be more Christlike. And in a lot of ways, I feel closer to the Lord, especially when I’m serving. It makes me feel like I’m doing good in life—like I’m doing okay.”
If these three friends should ever wonder whether they’ve done any good, they need only remember the words of one small boy who recently announced that when he grows up, he wants to be a volunteer—just like the puppet boys.

In October of 2000 I experienced something I had never undergone before I went into a deep depression for several months. Oh, I had had a bad day here and there, had known frustration and disillusionment like everyone else, but I had never been trapped by the tentacles of clinical depression so severely that I simply could not be comforted and could not see the light at the end of the tunnel. For days at a time I only wanted to sleep or gaze at the walls or be alone. For weeks I felt as though I was in a closed casket, a prison cell that allowed no light or sound whatever. I prayed. Oh, how I prayed for deliverance. I sought for and received priesthood blessings. I counseled with others of my friends who had known this kind of pain and alienation from firsthand experience.

During those weeks of suffering, for some reason I had great difficulty feeling the Spirit. In my head I knew that I was "worthy," in the sense that I was striving to live in harmony with the teachings of the Savior, but I simply did not feel the peace and joy and divine approbation that I had come to expect and cherish. I knew in my mind, in my heart of hearts that the Lord was pleased with my life, but I did not feel close to God as I had felt only days and weeks before. This experience, which, by the way, passed within a short period of months, taught me something that was and is extremely valuable, namely, it is one thing to have the Spirit of the Lord with us, even the "constant companionship of that member of the Godhead" and another to always feel that influence. Many if not most times that the Spirit is enlightening us, we feel it. Many if not most times that we are being divinely led, we are very much aware of it. But there are occasions when the Holy Ghost empowers our words or directs our paths and we, like the Lamanites who had been taught by Helaman's sons (Nephi and Lehi), enjoy a mighty spiritual experience and know it not (3 Nephi 9:20). That is to say, there is a mental or intellectual component to spiritual living that is in many ways just as important as the emotional component. Sometimes God tells us in our minds, sometimes in our hearts, and sometimes both (see D&C 8:2-3; 128:1).

Some years ago on fast Sunday, an elderly sister came to the pulpit to share her testimony. She lived in the city called Iquitos, which is in the Peruvian Amazon. She told us that from the time of her baptism, she had always had the goal of receiving the ordinances of the temple in Lima, Peru. She faithfully paid a full tithe and saved her meager income for years.
Her joy upon going to the temple and receiving the sacred ordinances therein was expressed in these words: “Today I can say that I finally feel ready to go through the veil. I am the happiest woman in the world; I have saved money, you have no idea for how long, to visit the temple, and after seven days on the river and 18 hours by bus, I was finally in the house of the Lord. When leaving that holy place, I said to myself, after all the sacrifice that has been required for me to come to the temple, I will not let anything make me take lightly every covenant I made; it would be a waste. This is a very serious commitment!”
I learned from this sweet sister that personal sacrifice is an invaluable force that drives our decisions and our determinations. Personal sacrifice drives our actions, our commitments, and our covenants and gives sacred things meaning.

Not long ago, our youngest daughter, Christie, was getting ready for a party when I heard this horrible sound. It was somewhere between a scream and a groan. Fearing she had burned herself with the curling iron that had been left on for an hour (with five daughters, Rex has spent the past fifteen years running around our house unplugging curling irons—that’s how he trained for marathons), I rushed into her bathroom. There she sat on the counter with her feet in the sink and her face two inches away from the mirror.

“Gross,” she kept repeating. “Gross! I am so ugly, I can’t believe I would even go out of this house!” I stepped closer to see what was so gross, but it escaped me.

“Look at this,” she said, turning her face toward me. “Did you ever see anything so gross?”

“What? Where?” was my honest response. “You look wonderful to me!”

“Oh, you’re just saying that because you’re my mother. If you can’t see this red thing on my face then you are blind. It makes me look so ugly.”

As she turned into the light, I finally saw the object of her distress, but just barely. It was a tiny bit pink and vaguely visible. In no way did it render her whole person ugly. I stood there by her side, the two of us looking at her reflection in the mirror. She saw only one thing, yet I could see so much more. I saw a beautiful young girl and could envision her beyond the beginning of her teens and see what she would become. She could see only the moment of anguish. I could see the loving heart and caring spirit. She could see only the blemish, a magnification of what was wrong, and it became the whole of her. No amount of talking on my part could convince her that my image of her was the clear one.

I thought to myself, “How can she not see who she really is? How can she complain when she has been given so much? How can one little blemish diminish her image of herself? Why can’t she see the total picture of who she is and who she can be?”

And then I had a humbling thought. Aren’t we all at times a little like Christie? How often do we fail to see things in their eternal perspective? How often do we let one flaw, one mistake, one bad grade, one disappointment, or even many disappointments loom so large before our eyes that we fail to see circumstances as they really are?

When we were called as the Session Directing Couple (SDC) for FSY NaCoLayan (Naic, Bacoor, Balayan), we entered the experience with prayerful hearts and a deep desire to learn.
Speaking with other former SDCs, we discovered that every FSY, whether carefully organized or faced with unforeseen challenges, carried the same beautiful outcome: lives were changed, testimonies were deepened, and faith in Jesus Christ was strengthened.
As we began our own FSY session, we immediately witnessed the diversity among the youth and leaders.
For us as leaders, FSY was both a test of faith and an accelerator of blessings.
Like the youth, we were refined by witnessing our weakness and seeing that we cannot do this calling only relying in our own strength. We were taught daily to rely more completely on the Spirit, to lead with love, to forgive quickly, and to trust that the Lord magnifies humble offerings.
As we dedicated our time and efforts, we witnessed miracles far greater than anything we could have orchestrated ourselves.
In the end, the evidence of the Savior’s work was unmistakable: youth returned home with a renewed understanding of who they are as sons and daughters of Heavenly Parents, a stronger desire to keep their covenants, and a deeper love for Jesus Christ. Leaders, too, returned home changed more committed to serving, more reliant on the Lord, and more aware of the quiet but undeniable miracles that occur when we gather in His name.
We are eternally grateful for the privilege of being a part of FSY NaCoLayan and for the sacred experiences we were blessed to witness.

Finally, I was ready to change, to commit myself to God; I just couldn’t continue as I was. I went to church, talked with my bishop, and took the painful step of repentance. I was afraid of going through this process. I didn’t want to go through it again. It was too painful. It would be too easy to turn away from the Lord—I’d done it once before. Would my commitment stand firm?

But since making this momentous decision, I have learnt to love God and have gained a stronger testimony of the gospel of Christ. My conversion didn’t end there, it was just a starting point, albeit a momentous one. As I’ve attended church, studied the scriptures, and repented continually, I have become a happier person. I have learnt that accepting callings in the Church helps me grow stronger and become more faithful. It helps me develop character, but more importantly my relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, bringing me closer to them. Conversion is an ongoing process, continually trying to live in accordance with the love of God.

There was an experience in my life which has often reminded me of the joy resulting from asking the question “What would the Savior do in this situation?”
I was among the first wave of Marines to go ashore in Japan after the signing of the peace treaty following World War II. Entering the devastated city of Nagasaki was one of the saddest experiences of my life. A large part of the city had been totally destroyed. Some of the dead had not yet been buried. As occupation troops, we set up headquarters and went to work.
The situation was very bleak, and a few of us wanted to give more. We went to our division chaplain and requested permission to help rebuild the Christian churches. Because of government restrictions during the war, these churches had almost ceased to function. Their few buildings were badly damaged. A group of us volunteered to repair and replaster these chapels during our off-duty time so they would be available for the holding of Christian services again.
We had no command of the language. All we could accomplish was the physical labor of repairing the buildings. We found the ministers who had been unable to serve during the war years and encouraged them to return to their pulpits. We had a tremendous experience with these people as they again experienced the freedom to practice their Christian beliefs.
An event occurred as we were leaving Nagasaki to return home that I will always remember. As we were boarding the train that would take us to our ships to return home, we were teased by a lot of the other Marines. They had their girlfriends with them saying good-bye to them. They laughed at us and indicated that we had missed the fun of being in Japan. We had just wasted our time laboring and plastering walls.
Just as they were at the height of their teasing, up over a little rise near the train station came about 200 of these great Japanese Christians from the churches we had repaired, singing “Onward, Christian Soldiers.” They came down and showered us with gifts. Then they all lined up along the railroad track, and as the train started down the tracks, we reached out and just touched their fingers as we left. We couldn’t speak; our emotions were too strong. But we were grateful that we could help in some small way in reestablishing Christianity in a nation after the war.

I had planned to attend the University of Utah, but in August I had a strong impression that I should go to Ricks--an impression that may have been amplified by the fact that Jane Stringham was also planning to go to Ricks. I called the football coach, and he said he could offer a scholarship. Before I knew it, I was on the football field during the first day of practice. Coach Tiny Grant shook my hand, assigned two players to be my roommates, and told me to get a haircut--my hair did not quite meet the dress and grooming standards. Now, at about 6-foot-5, 300 pounds, Tiny Grant was not so tiny, so I obeyed!
I made the first team as a running back, but soon I faced a dilemma. My sister was getting sealed in the Salt Lake Temple the next weekend, so I asked Coach Grant if I could go home for her wedding. He said it was my choice, but I might not retain my starting spot when I returned. I chose to go. I got tickets for an 8 a.m. flight from Idaho Falls to Salt Lake.
This would be my first time flying alone, but I wasn't worried. I had everything planned out: I woke up that morning at 7, got ready, and made the 30-minute drive to Idaho Falls. I arrived at the airport at 7:55 feeling pretty good--I had a good five minutes to spare! On my way from the parking lot to the terminal, however, I learned that my plane was about to leave. "You'll never make it," the airport personnel told me. In a panic, I ran onto the tarmac--you could do that in a small airport in those days--and waved my hands in front of the plane, yelling, "Don't leave! I need to get on the plane! It's my sister's wedding!" The next thing I remember was two security men hauling me off the tarmac, saying, "You're not getting on that plane!"
Needless to say, I missed my sister's wedding. But I did manage to convince security that I was not a serious threat, and I caught a later flight in time for her reception. When I returned to Rexburg on Monday, I also learned that I had lost my starting spot on the team for the next week's game.
As you can see, I had plenty of growing up to do during my first few months at Ricks College.

After the Saturday evening session of stake conference, on my way to the hotel, I noticed people buying food along the road late at night. I asked my driver why they were doing it when it was so dark rather than during the day. He responded that they were working during the day to have the money to do it later.

“Oh, they were working today to eat tomorrow,” I said.

But he corrected me: “No, they were working during the day to eat tonight.” I had hoped our members might be in a better situation, but he confirmed that many faced similar challenges in that part of the country. The next morning, during our Sunday session and newly aware of their circumstances, I was even more moved by their smiling faces and grateful hearts.

From the moment the Birmingham England Temple was announced, I felt a deep sense of excitement. Great things were ahead for the Saints in our area and we all looked forward to the growth and blessings that would follow.
Flash forward three years and we were having the groundbreaking. There were limited spaces and only certain people were invited. Therefore, I was surprised when my Stake President sent me a message to say he had a ticket for me and one other person. I asked my dad to come. It was such a great day and a fantastic opportunity to witness this historical event. The Wylde Green Chapel was full of happy people and there was such a sense of welcoming and belonging.
There were some lovely words shared by members of local stakes. A Primary child, a youth and a young adult all shared their thoughts about how the new temple will bless their lives. There was a real spirit when the Birmingham Stake Choir sang ‘High on the Mountain Top’. I felt it grow stronger in the dedicatory prayer.
A few people were selected to officially do the groundbreaking, and then it was open to anyone who wanted to have a go at turning the soil. Me and my dad both had a go. It was quite humbling to be at a place that will be such a sacred site. It was also great to catch up with some people we hadn’t seen in years.?
Watching people of all ages being involved in the service just proves how important temple work is and that all of our efforts are rewarded. I know that having a temple nearby will provide all of us with many blessings. Before the temple opens I’ll strive to be a worthy disciple of Christ, so that I can help the work on both sides of the veil. I feel so lucky to be having a temple so accessible to me and my family.

It was my privilege to serve for many years with President Spencer W. Kimball when he was chairman of the Missionary Executive Committee of the Church. Those never-to-be-forgotten missionary assignment meetings were filled with inspiration and occasionally interspersed with humor. Well do I remember the recommendation form for one prospective missionary on which the bishop had written: “This young man is very close to his mother. She wonders if he might be assigned to a mission close to home in California so that she can visit him on occasion and telephone him weekly.” As I read aloud this comment, I awaited from President Kimball the pronouncement of a designated assignment. I noticed a twinkle in his eye and a sweet smile cross his lips as he said, without additional comment, “Assign him to the Johannesburg South Africa Mission.”

Too numerous to mention are the many instances where a particular call proved providential. This I know—divine inspiration attends such sacred assignments. We, with you, acknowledge the truth stated so simply in the Doctrine and Covenants: “If ye have desires to serve God ye are called to the work” (D&C 4:3).

Some years ago a newspaper reporter was assigned to interview workers on a construction site to get a firsthand story about the project. He approached one man who was breaking great rocks and filing them down in order to have smooth and even surfaces and corners.

“What are you doing here with these huge rocks?” he asked.

Looking up, annoyed, the man said, “What do you think I’m doing? I hack away at these filthy rocks all day long. My back is bent and I’m tired. Day after day I do the same thing!”

“Well,” said the reporter, “this certainly isn’t a very pleasant job. I don’t envy you.”

He approached another man who appeared to be doing the same thing. The reporter was hesitant to interrupt him but finally asked, “Can you tell me what you’re doing, sir?”

The man stood up, wiped his sweaty brow, and, pointing to a rough but very large foundation, said, “Can’t you see? We are building a cathedral. Its spires will rise to the sky, and my children and grandchildren will remember that I had a great part in it.”

“Oh,” said the reporter, “this is a very important thing you are doing.”

“Yes,” said the man. “How lucky I am.”

How long does it take to collect 10,000 pounds of food? The youth of the Marysville Washington Stake did it in about three hours! There were approximately 170 of them. And to be fair, they did get a little help from their adult leaders.
Dressed in yellow vests bearing the words “Mormon Helping Hands,” these young men and women went door-to-door in pairs gathering donations. Along the way, they had some very heartwarming experiences, most notably meeting a family who receives help from their local food bank and an obviously poor elderly woman who didn’t have much to spare. But in both cases, these people were deeply touched by the actions of the youth and still sacrificed by donating food. Talk about the widow’s mite!
The Marysville, Arlington, and Stanwood food banks were the recipients of the generous donations from individuals in each community. The directors of these three food banks were overwhelmed with gratitude for the amount of food donated by the community and collected by the youth and adults of the Marysville stake.

Nancy was excited just thinking about a horse. My very own horse for Christmas! She could almost feel its velvety-soft flanks and see its thick mane and tail streaming in the wind. And the rhythmic pounding of hoofbeats along the dusty trails near her home were just as real in her ears. “Oh, this is going to be the most wonderful Christmas in the whole world!” she murmured.
Quietly, Nancy opened the door to her father’s study and tiptoed over to his desk. She clutched the huge pickle jar, stuffed full of dollar bills and jingling with quarters, nickels, and dimes. It was a whole year’s allowance and money from babysitting and doing special chores—half the cost of a horse, as Mom and Dad had agreed. Now when they contributed their half, she could buy her horse.
“Dad?” she queried. She knew he heard her come in. But he just sat with his elbows on the desk and his forehead resting on his hands. Nancy put the pickle jar down in front of him. “Dad?” she called again.
Her father turned the jar slowly with his hand and looked up. Nancy was alarmed to see his eyes glistening with tears.
She wrapped her arms comfortingly around his neck. “What’s wrong, Dad? What’s happened?” she asked anxiously.
“Nancy,” Dad began, but his voice choked. “Sweetheart,” he started once more, “I know we made a promise to you about your horse, but …”
But what? she worried. They wouldn’t break their promise. I’ve worked so hard.
“Darling,” Dad continued, “we never dreamed they’d close the plant where I work. I have found another job, but it’s on the coast, and we have to move. I’m so sorry, Nancy.”
“That’s all right, Dad.” Nancy planted a big kiss on her father’s cheek. “I can wait for my horse until we move. There’s still time before Christmas.”
“Nancy, there isn’t room in the city for a horse.”
Nancy was beginning to feel desperate. She just had to have a horse. It was about the most important thing in her life. She had saved so long for one. “We could board it at a stable,” she persisted.
“No, dear, that’s not possible. There probably aren’t any stables near where we’ll be living. Even if there were, it would be too expensive. As it is, moving is going to cost so much I’m afraid we won’t be having much Christmas this year. I’m sorry.”
Hot tears squeezed from Nancy’s eyes. She grabbed the pickle jar and ran from the room.
Her sister Emmie was waiting outside the door, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “When do you get your horse?” she asked.
“Oh, be quiet,” snapped Nancy as she dashed past Emmie.
This is turning into the worst Christmas of my life! she fumed. It just isn’t fair!
In the days that followed, Nancy felt so upset that she could hardly talk to her parents. “They just don’t understand how much this means to me,” she complained to Emmie.
However, as the family started moving into their new house in the city, Nancy began to feel guilty. She realized that it really wasn’t her parents’ fault that they had to leave their old home.
“But a promise is a promise!” she wailed to Emmie.
Emmie didn’t pay much attention to Nancy’s feeling sorry for herself. She and Bobby and Ted were too busy thinking about Christmas, which was almost here. The boys made long lists of toys they hoped to get. One day when her parents didn’t know anyone was looking, Nancy saw tears glistening in the corners of their red-rimmed eyes.
“We won’t be having much Christmas this year,” she remembered Father had said.
Nancy suddenly felt very ashamed. There was still Christmas baking and carol singing. And they spent days making gifts for each other. Their traditional nativity scene was already in its place on the mantel. And every night when Mom and Dad tucked them into bed, they were reminded of the special feeling of love for Jesus and their family, and not just the anticipation of presents under the tree.
Nancy and Emmie were old enough to understand, but Bobby and Ted kept expecting a Christmas with lots of presents.
It wasn’t until the afternoon before Christmas that Nancy thought of an exciting plan. As she shared it with Emmie, the excitement bubbled out into loud giggles.
Nancy emptied the pickle jar into her purse, and she and Emmie took the bus to the shopping center. All afternoon they trudged in and out of stores buying Christmas gifts.
“We needed a horse to haul all this stuff home,” groaned Emmie later as they wrapped the last of the packages and hid them in the back of their closet.
“Mom and Dad are sure going to be surprised when they discover I got my horse after all,” Nancy said with a grin. Then the girls collapsed, exhausted, on the bed.
Christmas morning, Mom and Dad woke everyone with an extra hug and kiss.
“Nancy,” Father said as he put his arm around her shoulder, “Merry Christmas, honey. And thanks for being pleasant and understanding.”
Down the stairs Nancy and Emmie followed their brothers. They looked at each other and covered their mouths to keep from laughing.
“Oh, wow!” said Ted as he saw the pile of presents beneath the tree.
“Whoopee!” shrieked Bobby as he ripped the ribbons and paper off a big red fire engine.
“Oh, my gracious!” cried Mom and Dad together, their eyes bright with surprise.
Nancy and Emmie grinned and plopped down beside the tree to hand out presents.
“I don’t understand,” said Dad.
There were shiny new trucks for the boys, a doll with lots of clothes and a buggy for Emmie, puzzles and games for the whole family, perfume and slippers for Mom, and spicy shaving lotion and a bathrobe for Dad.
Nancy could feel her heart warming with happiness. Christmas has never made me feel this good before, she thought. She stroked the cool, smooth flanks of a little china horse bank that Emmie had given her. Inside clinked two quarters and a nickel, all that was left of the pickle jar money.
“See,” cried Nancy, holding up the bank, “I got my horse after all!”
“I just can’t believe it,” said Dad, shaking his head.
“I think I can,” said Mom, her eyes misty with tears. She pulled Nancy into her arms and held her so tightly that Nancy’s ribs felt as though they would snap. Her heart felt so full that it was about to burst, and she couldn’t speak if she had wanted to.

After Halloween, people’s attitudes toward me changed, and questions about my faith evolved into peers asking me for advice about their own lives. To my surprise, friends and acquaintances who had gotten over the initial shock of learning that I do not drink, smoke, or do drugs and that I am waiting to have sex until I’m married turned to me for guidance specifically on those topics.

I found myself reassuring friends who were feeling pressured into having sex that they had the power to choose, encouraging some to go to the school counselor to talk about mental health and addiction concerns, and even consoling someone who made a mistake that would likely lead to expulsion. I was baffled by the way many of my peers could transition from mocking me to seeking my advice.

Over time, I understood that being completely confident, open, and vulnerable about who I was drew others to me who were seeking a judgment-free space and a listening ear.

I am grateful for two of the many important lessons I learned that year. The first is that healthy laughter can dissolve apprehension and contention and is an excellent way to unify people. The second is that choosing to be confident in who you are brings remarkable opportunities to help others that would have never come otherwise.

There were many times when I wanted to hide my religion and be known for something else. But having a sense of humor and vulnerability about who I am allowed people to get to know me as Matteo, not just someone with different beliefs.