Gospel Story Finder

The next Sunday was fast Sunday. I had hoped to make a discreet entry, but when we arrived it seemed that everyone greeted us with a smile and a kind word. Many people welcomed me to the ward and asked if I was new. However, when I quietly passed along the sacrament tray without partaking, my three-year-old loudly asked, “Mom, aren’t you hungry?” Then my 11-year-old stood up to bear her testimony and said how happy she was that her mom had quit drinking beer and had started coming back to church. So much for quietly sneaking in!

The story of the train is one of Brian’s favorites. One explanation of the drawing is that many years ago an important chief of the tribes who lived near Storybook Canyon was invited by the big chief of the white men (the president of the United States) to visit Washington, D.C. The Indian chief and many important leaders from nearby tribes traveled by steam train to the East. There they spent several weeks as the honored guests of the president.
When the Indians returned from Washington, the chief climbed onto the ledges of Storybook Canyon and there, like his people had done for many generations before him, he carefully carved into the soft rock the story of that important event. The train that the chief drew on the ledge is over ten feet long.

Howard Long was a World War II vet, and he wasn’t in the best of health. Of course, he and his wife, Stella, managed all right. They were pretty independent and really active in the Church. They didn’t need much more than a short home teaching visit to keep their spirits up.

While walking home from school that Tuesday afternoon, I was mulling over in my mind how to out-campaign Tony Toronto, Jill’s opponent. I was piecing together terse, catchy campaign slogans when I spotted Howard Long a half-block down the street. He was on his front lawn, trying to start his mower. My first inclination was to move to the opposite side of the street and pass by as inconspicuously as possible.

Just as I started across the street, Sister Long opened the front door and called out, “Howard, just leave it alone.” There was genuine worry in her voice. “Get one of the neighbors to give you a hand. You’re going to have a heart attack if you’re not careful.”

“It’s always hard to start,” Brother Long huffed.

Generally I was on the shy side, especially around adults. But for some reason I cut back to the sidewalk running past the Longs’ front yard. “Hi, Brother Long,” I called out awkwardly. He looked in my direction, nodded and smiled. “Could you use a hand?”

Howard took a breath and shook his head. “Oh, I think I can get it, Kyle. But I appreciate your asking. I just …”

“Howard,” Sister Long cut him short, stepping out the door and onto the front step. “Don’t be so bullheaded. Let the boy help you.”

Brother Long glanced over his shoulder toward his wife and then looked back at me, winking. “Well, if you don’t mind,” he conceded, stepping back. “I better not rile the boss. I wanted to get the lawn mowed before the garbage truck comes tomorrow.”

I didn’t say anything. I just grabbed the pull rope and worked on starting the motor. It wasn’t long before I was wiping at my brow with the back of my hand. “Doesn’t look like it’s going to start, Brother Long,” I concluded.

“It was getting a little sluggish last fall,” he admitted. I could see the worry in his eyes.

“Look, my friend Joel Manning knows a bunch about engines,” I offered. “If it takes gas, he can fix it. I’ll give him a call.”

“Oh, we don’t need to bother you anymore,” Sister Long said. “You’ve got plenty to do without worrying about us. We’ll make out.”

“It’s no problem. Can I use your phone?” I asked, moving toward the house.

A moment later I jabbered into the phone. “I need your help, Joel, old buddy. I told the Longs you could fix anything that guzzles gas.”

“Huh?”

“Get over here. Their lawn mower’s dead and I’ve been bragging about you so long and hard that they insist you come over or they’ll call me a liar.”

“That sounds like your problem.”

“Come on, Joel. You’ll be helping me make my home teaching visit,” I joked.

Fifteen minutes later Joel and I were hunched over the mower. Joel figured out the problem right away: a loose spark plug connection. He was magic. It wasn’t long before that mower was just humming. The Longs didn’t have a huge yard so while Joel mowed, I grabbed a leaf rake and cleaned up the dead grass. There were also some leaves and branches in the backyard, so we hauled those out to the curb for the garbage truck to pick up the following morning.

It was pushing 6:30 when we finally finished, and both Brother and Sister Long were shaking their heads and apologizing for taking our whole afternoon. “I just didn’t know how Howard was going to get all of this done,” Sister Long commented in amazement.

Brother Long pulled out his wallet and started digging for a few dollar bills. “How much do I owe you?” he asked.

Joel turned to me with a quizzical expression and asked seriously, “Does your bishop let you take money for home teaching? Mine doesn’t.” He winked and grinned.

I coughed and shook my head, trying to appear serious myself. “I don’t think we accept pay for home teaching unless we get it done the first part of the month. Maybe next time.”

Turning to Brother Long, Joel said, “I guess you got the famous end-of-the-month home teaching bonus package. It’s a special deal for families that have to wait to the end of the month for the home teachers to show up,” he joked. “I figure that Kyle’s families probably qualify for this bonus package every month.”

I felt good leaving the Longs’ place that afternoon, but I didn’t think any more about further home teaching. After all, it wasn’t something that preyed on my mind often. I had lots of other things to worry about.

A brilliant and highly educated young woman spoke in Berchtesgaden, Germany, to a conference of American military personnel who were members of the Church. I was there and heard her. She was a major in the army, a medical doctor, a highly respected specialist in her field. She said:
“More than anything else in the world, I wanted to serve God. But try as I might, I could not find him. The miracle of it all is that he found me. One Saturday afternoon in September 1969 I was at home in Berkeley, California, and heard my doorbell ring. There were two young men there, dressed in suits, with white shirts and ties. Their hair was neatly combed. I was so impressed with them that I said: ‘I don’t know what you’re selling, but I’ll buy it.’ One of the young men said: ‘We aren’t selling anything. We’re missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and we would like to talk with you.’ I invited them to come in, and they spoke about their faith.
“This was the beginning of my testimony. I am thankful beyond words for the privilege and honor of being a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The joy and peace this glad gospel has brought to my heart is heaven on earth. My testimony of this work is the most precious thing in my life, a gift from my Heavenly Father, for which I will be eternally thankful.”

Jared Womack, of Franklin, Idaho, knows what team spirit is all about. After managing the Preston High School football team for five years, he received his letter in the sport. Jared also plays basketball and is a great example of good sportsmanship; he is always cheering for his teammates on the basketball team and finding ways to serve those around him.
“That’s just Jared,” says one classmate.
Although Jared has Down’s Syndrome, he is able to participate in school activities and hold an after-school job at a local grocery store. Jared is active in his priests quorum and blesses the sacrament regularly.

In November 1914, I was back in my native Italy, and called to serve in the Italian army and fought in France. Once I told some men in my company the story of the people of Ammon—how they had refused to shed the blood of their brothers and had buried their weapons rather than be guilty of such great crimes. The chaplain reported me to the commanding officer, and the next day I was escorted to his office. He asked me to tell him the story I had told. Then he asked how I had come into possession of the book. I received as punishment a ten-day sentence of bread and water, with the order that I was to speak no more of the book.
After the end of the war, I returned to New York, where I met an old friend, a pastor of my former church. He interceded for me with the synod, and I was finally admitted to the congregation as a lay member. As an experiment, it was agreed that I should accompany one of the pastors on a mission to New Zealand and Australia.
In Australia, we met some Italian immigrants who asked questions about the errors in some Bible translations. They were not satisfied with my companion’s answers. When they asked me about it, I once again told the story of Christ’s appearance to the people of America. When they asked me where I had learned such teachings, I told them of the book I had found. The story was good to them but bad for my colleague. He reported me to the synod, and once again they cut me off from the church.
I returned to Italy shortly after. Then, in May 1930, while looking in a French dictionary for some information, I suddenly saw the entry “Mormon.” I read the words carefully and found that a Mormon Church had been established in 1830 and that this church operated a university at Provo [Brigham Young University, Utah]. I wrote to the university president, asking for information about the book and its missing pages. I received an answer two weeks later telling me that my letter had been passed on to the president of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
On June 16, 1930, President Heber J. Grant answered my letter and sent a copy of the Book of Mormon in Italian. He informed me that he would also give my request to Elder John A. Widtsoe, president of the European Mission, with headquarters in Liverpool, England. A few days later, Elder Widtsoe wrote to me, sending me a pamphlet that contained the story of the Prophet Joseph Smith, the gold plates, and the coming forth of the Book of Mormon. Finally, I had learned the rest of the story of the torn book I had found on top of a barrel of ashes.
On June 5, 1932, Elder Widtsoe came to Naples to baptize me, but a revolution had started in Sicily, and the police at Palermo refused to let me leave the island. The following year, Elder Widtsoe asked me to translate the Joseph Smith pamphlet into Italian and to have 1,000 copies published. I took my translation to a printer, Joseph Gussio, who took the material to a Catholic bishop. The bishop ordered the printer to destroy the material. I sued the printer, but all I received from the court was an order to him to return the original booklet.
When Elder Widtsoe was released as president of the mission in 1934, I started correspondence with Elder Joseph F. Merrill, who succeeded him. He arranged to send me the Millennial Star, which I received until 1940 when World War II interrupted the subscription.
In January 1937, Elder Richard R. Lyman, successor to President Merrill, wrote that he and Elder Hugh B. Brown would be in Rome on a certain day. I could meet them there and be baptized. However, the letter was delayed because of war conditions, and I did not receive it in time.
From then until 1949, I was cut off from all news of the Church, but I remained a faithful follower and preached the gospel of the dispensation of the fulness of times. I had copies of the standard works, and I translated chapters into Italian and sent them to acquaintances with the greeting, “Good day. The morning breaks—Jehovah speaks!”
On February 13, 1949, I sent a letter to Elder Widtsoe at Church headquarters in Salt Lake City. Elder Widtsoe answered my letter on October 3, 1950, explaining that he had been in Norway. I sent him a long letter in reply in which I asked him to help me to be quickly baptized, because I felt that I had proven myself to be a faithful son and servant of God, observing the laws and commandments of his kingdom. Elder Widtsoe asked President Samuel E. Bringhurst of the Swiss-Austrian Mission to go to Sicily to baptize me.
On January 18, 1951, President Bringhurst arrived on the island and baptized me at Imerese. Apparently, this was the first baptism performed in Sicily. Then, on April 28, 1956, I entered the temple at Bern, Switzerland, and received my endowment. At last, to be in the presence of my Heavenly Father! I felt that God’s promise had been fully fulfilled—the day had come indeed when the source of the book was known to me and I was able to enjoy the effects of my faith.

Tanya had an uncle problem. Her mom had brothers but no sisters. Her new dad had brothers but no sisters. She couldn’t remember her other dad, who had died when she was very young, but he had brothers and no sisters too.
There were Uncle Max, Uncle Al, and Uncle Ed. There were Uncle Gerry and Uncle Bob. There were Uncle Vince, Uncle Rick, and Uncle Tony. Not one of her uncles was married, so there were no aunts for Tanya to visit and no cousins for her to play with.
Tanya’s uncles always made a fuss over her. Uncle Max played football with Tanya, Uncle Al read her stories, and Uncle Ed made her carvings out of soap. Uncle Gerry helped Tanya with her schoolwork, and Uncle Bob helped her with her stamp collection. Uncle Vince sang with Tanya, Uncle Rick played his guitar, and Uncle Tony told Tanya jokes. It was never boring when her uncles were around.
At school concerts, Tanya’s mom and dad sat in the front seats. Next to them sat all her uncles. They took up the whole row. They didn’t just clap when Tanya’s class was on stage—they stomped and whistled and cheered.
“There are Tanya’s uncles,” everyone said. Sometimes it embarrassed Tanya a little bit.
At picnics in the park, her uncles played football, baseball, and tag with Tanya. They raced each other across the park and whooped and hollered and laughed.
“There are Tanya’s uncles,” everyone said. And Tanya would blush.
At Halloween her uncles dressed Tanya up as the front part of a dragon and gave her two flashlights to use for its eyes. Behind her was a lumpy, bumpy, green garbage-bag dragon with eight pairs of uncle legs. The back end of the dragon thumped and bumped and giggled.
“There are Tanya’s uncles,” everyone said. Tanya wished that her uncles wouldn’t be so noisy.
One day Tanya asked her mother, “Can we have just one uncle visit at a time?”
“Why, honey?” Mother asked. “Don’t you think it’s fun when we’re all together?”
“Well, there are so many of them that sometimes it seems noisy and confusing,” Tanya said.
“You’re lucky to have so many uncles, Tanya. Lots of kids don’t have any relatives nearby,” Mother reminded her. “Besides, which ones would we leave out?”
Tanya thought for a moment. She loved all her uncles. “I guess we couldn’t choose just one,” she said with a sigh.
One day Dad came home from work looking worried. “Our company’s closing down here,” he said. “We have a choice—we can move to a city where the company has a job for me, or we can stay here and look for other work.”
“There probably aren’t any other jobs in this area in your field,” said Mom.
“I know,” Dad replied, “but how can we move away? All our relatives are here.”
“I think it would be fun to live in a different place,” said Tanya. “Can we, Dad? Please?”
Tanya and her mom and dad talked it over. The uncles came and talked it over too. Finally they all decided that it would be best for Tanya’s family to move. Tanya could hardly wait.
When moving day came, Uncle Max, Uncle Al, and Uncle Ed carried boxes outside. Uncle Gerry and Uncle Bob helped Dad carry furniture. Uncle Vince, Uncle Rick, and Uncle Tony packed everything carefully into the rented truck. The uncles did not sing or whistle or laugh. One by one they quietly hugged Tanya and Mom and Dad good-bye.
Tanya sat in the cab of the truck between Mom and Dad. Her uncles stood in the driveway and waved as the truck pulled away.
Tanya didn’t sniffle like Mom or look miserable like Dad. She was too excited thinking about the trip to her new home more than a thousand miles away.
Soon they were all settled in their new house. Dad thought that his new job was even better than the one that he had left. Mom loved their new house and neighbors. Tanya liked everything about the new city, especially her new friends at school and at church.
But at school concerts Mom and Dad sat in the front row next to people that they didn’t know. Nobody stomped or whistled or cheered when Tanya’s class was on stage. The audience just clapped politely for every class.
At picnics in the park Tanya’s new friends played football, baseball, and tag with her. They raced each other across the park and whooped and hollered and laughed. But it wasn’t the same as the picnics she remembered.
When Halloween came, Tanya made her own costume; it was just for her. Afterward there was homemade pizza at her home. She and her friends played spooky games together. And though they laughed and yelled together, somehow it seemed too quiet.
“I wonder what the uncles are doing,” said Tanya one day.
“They keep pretty busy,” Mom answered. “Someday we’ll visit them, Tanya, but we have to save the money. It costs a lot to go that far.”
“I know,” Tanya said, sighing a bit wistfully.
The first year there was not enough holiday or vacation time to make the big trip to see the uncles. The next year Mom was sick for a while, and they had to pay medical bills. The third year their old car broke down, and they had to get a new one.
“I guess we’ll have to wait another year, Tanya,” Dad said. “I’m sorry.”
That week there was a public speaking contest at school. Tanya had never entered one before, but the prize was five hundred dollars, so she signed up just before the deadline. The local service organizations that were sponsoring the contest had chosen “Peace in Our World” as the topic.
The day of the contest came, and Mom and Dad sat in the front row. All the other contestants had written careful notes. Their speeches were clear and confident. They talked about world affairs, strong armies, and good government. The audience clapped enthusiastically after each one.
Tanya spoke last. She had not written any notes. She talked about the lumpy, bumpy Halloween dragon. She talked about soap carvings, stamp collecting, singing, and picnics in the park. Most of all she talked about her uncles.
“People all over the world can love each other, look after each other, and have fun together,” she said, “just like families. That’s what peace is all about.”
Tanya sat down, and the audience was quiet. At first she was afraid that everyone thought that her speech was dumb. Then they began to clap—and they kept on clapping! The judges had no trouble making their decision: Tanya was the winner!
“What will you do with all that prize money?” one of the judges asked.
“Buy some plane tickets,” Tanya replied happily, hugging Mom and Dad.
That summer when the three of them left the plane and entered the airport waiting area, there were Uncle Max, Uncle Al, and Uncle Ed … and Uncle Gerry and Uncle Bob … and Uncle Vince, Uncle Rick, and Uncle Tony! They were stomping and whistling and cheering. They were hollering and whooping and laughing. They were thumping and bumping and giggling.
But Tanya didn’t care if they were being noisy. “There are my uncles!” she squealed, running happily toward eight pairs of outstretched uncle arms.

“I prayed with such a tiny seed of faith, and still I felt Their love.”
Theo’s dad is diabetic and has relied on a dialysis machine (a machine that cleans blood for those who have damaged kidneys) for the past 18 years. Growing up, it was hard for Theo to think of what the future might hold for his dad.
“When I was just starting high school, his health declined to the point where losing him became a very real possibility,” Theo says. “There was no stopping the fear and sadness of knowing that could happen.”
On top of this trial, Theo didn’t feel worthy enough to pray. “Church just wasn’t as important to me as it should be,” he says. “I didn’t think I was in the right mind-set.”
But when the day came that Theo thought his dad was ready to go, Theo felt a clear prompting that he needed to turn to God.
On the day he thought his father would die, Theo decided to get on his knees and pray. “I began that prayer not expecting a response. But instantly I felt comfort and strength.”
Today, Theo’s dad is still alive and defying all medical odds. Theo recognizes how big of a miracle that is, especially since a lot of people don’t survive illnesses like these. Most of all, he’s grateful he felt God’s love. “Heavenly Father and the Savior are so generous. I prayed with such a tiny seed of faith, and still I felt Their love.”

Many months passed; this man of strong determination to duty had completed his mission and was about to return to his home:

“On the morning when I left Chatburn many were in tears, thinking they should see my face no more. When I left them, my feelings were such as I cannot describe. As I walked down the street I was followed by numbers; the doors were crowded by the inmates of the houses to bid me farewell, who could only give vent to their grief in sobs. … While contemplating this scene I was constrained to take off my hat, for I felt as if the place was holy ground. The Spirit of the Lord rested down upon me and I was constrained to bless that whole region of country. … My heart was like unto theirs, and I thought my head was a fountain of tears, for I wept for several miles after I bid them adieu” (in Life of Heber C. Kimball, p. 187).

Behind the auditorium was a doubly large cultural hall, with offices and rooms off to one side. Shirley Rudd found herself cornered back in those inner reaches of the huge building. She was the one who changed all the bouncy, modern, wedge haircuts to 19th century pioneer bobs at the nap of the neck.
“At first I had to do 40 or 50 hairdos—that was during dress rehearsal. Then most of the kids got the idea and started doing their own hair. By closing night, I just did a few repair jobs, helped some of the guys change from young, black-haired dancers to powdered-haired grandpas for different scenes, and that was it.”

When Nora woke up to the clip-clop of horses’ hooves on the rocky road, her ear was aching. At first she tried to keep her mind off the pain by watching for falling stars. But the ache worsened, and Nora twisted and turned under the heavy quilts, forgetting the stars.
“Hold still, Nora! You’re kicking me,” muttered her brother, Emery. “Scoot over. You’re taking all the room.” Nora moved closer to her side of the wagon. It had been fun to spend a week with her cousins in Panguitch. But tonight, with her ear throbbing, Nora wished that she were home in Enterprise.
Trying to protect her ear from the cold air, Nora pulled the covers over her head. Try as she might, though, she couldn’t hold still.
“Your knee’s in my back, Nora,” Emery said, yanking at the covers. “What’s the matter?”
“I have an earache,” said Nora, holding her hand over her ear. “It’s been hurting for a long time. How soon will we be home?”
“Not for hours,” Emery said, sitting up and looking around. “We’re just now to the big stand of cottonwoods. Do you want me to call Papa?”
“No,” said Nora, trying not to cry. “If we stop, it’ll just take longer to get home. If only the wagon didn’t jolt so!”
Emery lay back down. Nora’s whole body stiffened in an effort to be still. The horses plodded on. The wagon jostled and bumped along. With every joggle, the pain got worse. It seemed to Nora that they had been traveling forever. Not wanting to wake Emery again, she gritted her teeth until finally the tears came.
Burying her head deeper under the covers to muffle the sound, Nora clenched her fists, and tried to cry quietly. She managed for a time. Then the wagon started up a rough hill. The wagon bobbled and shook until Nora thought her head would explode. She could no longer control the sobs.
Alarmed, Emery sat up. “Papa! Mama! You’d better see about Nora. She’s in a bad way.”
Papa stopped the horses. He climbed down from the wagon seat. With Mama following, he came around to where Nora was huddled against the side of the wagon.
“Land sakes!” Mama said. “She’s burning up with fever.”
Papa lifted Nora from the wagon. “There, little girl,” he said holding her head against his shoulder. “What’s the trouble?”
“Oh, Papa,” cried Nora, “I’ve had an earache for the longest time! The jolting wagon hurts it so.”
“There, now.” Papa patted her heaving shoulders. “You’ll be all right. We’ll give you a blessing and ask Heavenly Father to make you well. Mama, you hold her while I get the consecrated oil.”
Mama took Nora and sat on a big boulder surrounded by chaparral and sagebrush barely visible in the dim moonlight. Papa found the oil and put a drop on Nora’s head.
Nora was sobbing so hard that she didn’t hear the words of the blessing until Papa got to “in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.”
Papa lifted her from Mama’s lap. She rested her head against his chest. He put his big, gentle hand over her ear and rubbed it ever so tenderly. Nora felt the pain go out of her head and ear.
“There, child, You’ll be all right,” Papa said.
Nora relaxed, exhausted from pain. Her tired eyes closed. Papa put her back into her warm place in the wagon. Mama rearranged the heavy quilts around her. It felt so good to have the hurt all gone.
The wagon seat squeaked as Mama and Papa settled onto it. Nora felt the wagon lurch, and heard the clop of hooves scattering loose rocks. Her mind felt fuzzy with sleepiness. The next thing she knew, Papa was lifting her into her own bed.

Working with youth can be difficult. How is your relationship with the young people of the Church?
Our youth in Russia seem to lack initiative, self-esteem, and confidence in social situations. We must develop all of these things in our youth and be able to reach their hearts. Going on picnics together, I felt a mutual understanding grow, and we became friends. The same thing happened when I began to invite youth from all the six St. Petersburg branches. Now our youth gladly come out to activities.

I was excited when Mom told me Sean was coming for dinner. He’s my big brother, but he moved away from home when he finished high school. My brother Mike went on a mission when he finished high school, but Sean doesn’t even go to church. He’s a great brother, though, and I love him. I especially love it when he plays with me. When I was smaller, I’d take horse rides on his back. He ran all over the yard with me hanging onto his neck and him holding onto my legs. He snorted and bucked around like a real horse.
I’m too big for that now, so he shows me wrestling moves instead. He won the city wrestling championship in the 11th grade. Sometimes we play ball, and sometimes we just sit and talk. I was really looking forward to his coming over tonight because I wanted him to help me make a model race car. Sean is good with his hands, and I like to work with him.
I helped Mom set the table to make the time go faster. As I put the knives and forks out, I noticed something was wrong. “Hey, you have too many plates on the table,” I said.
“No, dear. Sean is coming tonight, and so are the missionaries.”
“The missionaries!” I cried, slamming down the last fork. “Why do we have to have the missionaries when Sean is here? I want to have him to myself. I want it to be a special night.”
Mom looked at me in surprise. “It can still be a special night,” she replied gently. “The missionaries are nice young men. I’m sure you’ll like them.”
That’s what she thought. How could Sean play and work with me when the missionaries were here? I knew he’d be polite and spend his time talking to them.
By the time Sean arrived, I was upset. He could tell I wasn’t happy, but I knew better than to tell him why. Mom and Dad would be really disappointed if I ever complained about the missionaries to him. More than anything else, they wanted him to come back to church. So did I, but I didn’t think talking to the missionaries all night would make it happen.
When the missionaries arrived, Mom had dinner ready, so we sat down to eat. Everyone had a good time. Mom was right—the missionaries were great guys. They cracked jokes with Sean, and both faked surprise when he told them he wrestled in high school. Sean’s not my big brother just because he’s older, but also because he’s big—tall and strong and big.
Dinner ended with everyone laughing. Then it happened. Elder Blair asked if they could leave a message and a prayer before they went to their next appointment. This is the end of the night for me, I thought, disappointed. Sean won’t be helping me with my model car tonight. He’ll escape before anyone talks religion to him.
I waited to hear his chair move and the excuse why he couldn’t stay. But nothing happened. Slowly I looked up, and he was still there, watching Elder Blair thumb through his Book of Mormon. When Elder Blair found what he wanted, he read a few verses. Then he started asking Sean questions. Mom and Dad looked worried and hopeful. Sean answered each question in a humorous kind of way. He had stayed because he was having fun with the missionaries, and now he was going to go on joking even though the elders were being serious.
Suddenly Elder Peterson, the short, skinny one, caught on to what Sean was doing. “Sean,” he said, looking him in the eye, “do you believe in Jesus Christ?”
Everything seemed to change. Sean looked back at Elder Peterson, and instead of answering with a joke, he very softly said, “Yes.”
“Then why are you making fun of what we’re saying?” Elder Peterson asked.
I looked at Mom. She had tears in her eyes. Dad did, too. What’s the matter with them? I wondered. Were they upset with Sean or with the missionaries?
Sean and Elder Peterson continued talking, Elder Peterson asking questions and Sean giving him honest answers. Finally Elder Peterson said, “Sean, when was the last time you went to church?” Sean shrugged and looked at Mom and Dad for help, but they both shook their heads. They couldn’t remember either.
I could remember—not the date but how happy I had felt sitting beside him, proud to be his brother, glad to sing along with him, even though he couldn’t sing very well. I wanted to tell him, but suddenly there was a big lump in my throat, and I wasn’t sure I could talk.
“Sean,” Elder Peterson asked, “will you go to church with us on Sunday?”
Sean was looking at his hands. I couldn’t see his face, but we could all see his head slowly nod up and down. The lump in my throat grew bigger, and now I had tears in my eyes, too. Everyone was crying, but we all had smiles on our faces.
As I looked at Sean and Elder Peterson, I didn’t see a scrawny elder and a big wrestling champion. I saw David and Goliath. David had saved the day because he had the Spirit of the Lord with him. That’s why we were all crying—we could feel that Spirit, and it felt good.
I love my brother Sean, but at that moment I wanted to be like Elder Peterson. I wanted to have the Lord on my side, and I think Sean wanted that, too. Mom was right. This had been a special evening. I had seen David, unafraid, go into battle with Goliath. Fortunately, they both won!

Twenty-two-year-old Caroline Tippets sat in the congregation listening to her brother Alvah Tippets address the branch in Lewis, New York, USA, over which he presided. As with her fellow branch members, she had come to this meeting in September 1834 in fasting and prayer to hear an important message from Alvah. He read from a revelation that the Prophet Joseph Smith had received in December 1833 about how the Saints could redeem land lost when Church members were expelled from Jackson County, Missouri, a few months earlier:
“Let all the churches gather together all their moneys; let these things be done in their time, but not in haste; and observe to have all things prepared before you.
“And let honorable men be appointed, even wise men, and send them to purchase these lands.
“And the churches in the eastern countries, when they are built up, if they will hearken unto this counsel they may buy lands and gather together upon them; and in this way they may establish Zion” (Doctrine and Covenants 101:72–74).1
Alvah then opened the meeting for discussion about how the Saints in Lewis could fulfill this commandment. They decided that members should contribute whatever they could. Caroline’s brother Joseph Harrison Tippets and their cousin John H. Tippets would then take the money to Missouri and give it to Church leaders there.2 As Caroline heard these words, she decided that she would contribute what she had. As a single, 22-year-old woman, she wanted to do her part to fulfill what the Lord had asked, and she gave almost $150 as her donation.
Although $150 does not sound like much to us today, it was a significant sum of money in 1834—the equivalent of about $4,000 today.3 Who was this young woman who contributed so much money?
Caroline Tippets was born on October 21, 1812, to Joseph and Abigail Tippets in Lewis Township, New York, where her family had lived since 1805. Along with her older brother, Alvah, she had an older sister, Permillia, and a younger brother, Joseph Harrison. In 1826 their father died, and she and her siblings went to live with their cousins William and Abigail Tippets in Lewis.
In March 1832, John H. Tippets, who was working about 12 miles away, heard about the Book of Mormon, likely from Amasa Lyman, William E. McLellin, and Jared Carter, who were preaching in the area. He shared the news with his cousins. There is no record of how Caroline responded, but she must have gained a testimony of the book and the man who translated it—Joseph Smith. In May or June 1832, Caroline and the rest of her family were baptized.4
Caroline’s brothers worked in sawmills, but there is no record that tells us how she earned money. Perhaps she sewed clothing or worked in the homes of others in the area, both of which were common occupations. Whatever the case, she saved the money she earned, and her $150 contribution was about 20 percent of the branch’s total contribution ($850) in 1834 for the purchase of lands in Zion.5
After the branch decided to consecrate the money and have Joseph and John take it to Missouri, Caroline expressed a desire to accompany the two. The three left Lewis in October 1834, and in November they arrived in Kirtland, Ohio, where Joseph Smith was living. Because it was late in the season, the three decided to stop in Kirtland and counsel with Joseph Smith and the Kirtland high council as to whether they should continue on to Missouri or stay in Kirtland for the winter. On November 28, Joseph and John met with the high council, with Joseph Smith presiding. After discussion, the high council told Joseph and John that they should stay in Kirtland for the winter. Since they wouldn’t need the money for Missouri land purchases until the following spring, the high council asked them if they would be willing to loan some of the money to Church leaders in Kirtland to help with debts, some of which had been contracted as part of the construction of the Kirtland Temple.
According to the minutes of the meeting: “It was ascertained by the council [that] Sister Caroline Tippets held $149.75 of the money. … She was accordingly called into the council and expressed a willingness to loan the same. A note … in favor of Caroline Tippets of $150 [was given] due April 15, 1835, [and] signed by Joseph Smith Jr., Oliver Cowdery, and F[rederick] G. Williams.”6
Caroline’s willingness to loan the money was a great blessing to Joseph Smith and the Church at that time. The day after the meeting, November 29, Joseph and Oliver knelt in prayer and gave “thanks for the relief which the Lord had lately sent” through the Lewis branch and Caroline.7
The following spring, having been repaid, Caroline, Joseph, and John departed Kirtland for Missouri with the money. Later that year, Caroline married William Plummer Tippets, her first cousin and John Tippets’s brother. In 1836 she died giving birth to their first child, who died as well.8
Caroline’s life was short, and she is not well-known by most in the history of the Church. In many ways, she is like millions of other members who go about their lives quietly serving without recognition and without fanfare. At a time when the Lord asked Church members to contribute what they had for the redemption of Zion, she heard Him and followed His direction. Her willingness to listen to the Lord’s word through the Prophet Joseph and then act on it helped the Church in a time of need and helped her contribute to the work of the Lord.

Katsumi Nakahara of the Iwamizawa Branch has been a member for a little more than a year. He met the missionaries when they were proselyting on the street. “I did not think it was strange,” he says. “But they were foreigners. So I thought I would go and visit the church. I received a brief lesson. But during that lesson I felt the Holy Ghost. Since then it has been a process of following the Spirit from one step to the next.”

“Do you know what I like best about Christmas?” five-year-old Sara asked, her big brown eyes shining.
Her mother stopped wrapping gifts. “Santa?”
“I like Santa, but the most fun is wrapping presents for you and Daddy and Mike and Tim.”
Mom was pleased with Sara’s answer. Tim and Mike, her older brothers, had long lists of expensive items they wanted. Sara had no list. She was more excited about the gifts she was wrapping.
“Hi, everyone!” Dad called. “I’m home early so we can go get our tree.”
“Hurray!” Sara shouted. “Then we can decorate it.”
But later, when Mom pulled out the boxes of ornaments, both boys groaned.
“Do we have to do that tonight?” Mike asked. “I have math homework.”
“Me too,” Tim moaned.
“How about helping for just a half hour?” Dad suggested.
While her brothers argued about where decorations should go, Sara quickly and quietly placed red bulbs on the tree.
“Sara,” Tim said, “your bulbs are all at the bottom. That doesn’t look right.”
Sara’s eyes lost their sparkle.
“We need lots of bulbs on the bottom,” Dad said. “Sara’s friends aren’t as tall as you boys, and when they visit us, we want them to see lots of bulbs.” He handed Sara another bulb, and a smile lit up her face.
That night at supper, Mom said quietly, “I think we’ve all lost the spirit of Christmas—that is, all of us except Sara.”
“Oh, Mom,” Mike protested, “we all decorated the tree. And we’ve bought most of our presents.”
“I think Mom’s talking about the real meaning of Christmas,” Dad said. “And she’s right. It’s like we’re getting ready for a big party, but we’ve forgotten whom the party is for.”
Tim rolled his eyes. “We all know it’s to celebrate the Savior’s birth,” he murmured.
“But, Tim,” Dad persisted, “how was your birthday party different from the one we’re planning for Jesus Christ?”
“Well, Jesus isn’t here to get His presents.”
“What presents?” Dad asked.
“How would you have felt if all your friends brought presents for each other but no presents for you?” Mom added.
“That wouldn’t have been much of a party,” Tim admitted.
“Well,” Dad asked, “do you have a gift for the Savior on December 25th?”
“You’re trying to tell us that we need to buy gifts for Jesus?” Mike wondered.
“You don’t buy gifts for Jesus,” Tim interrupted. “You give Him gifts in other ways—like doing something good for someone.”
“Now you have the idea,” Dad said. “Do you think there’s still time to do something good for someone else?”
“It’s over a week before Christmas,” Mom put in. “Sister Altos told me about a family across town whose father is out of work and who have huge medical bills to pay. Shall I find out more about them and see if we can help them this year?”
“Won’t they be embarrassed to have us take them presents?” Mike asked. “What if the kids go to our school?”
“We could do this anonymously,” Dad said. “We could sneak our things for them onto their doorstep on Christmas Eve, and they’d never have to know who did it.”
“How can we know what they need or want?” Tim asked.
“I’ll check with Sister Altos,” Mom said. “She might be able to get sizes and ideas without letting the family know.”
Sara had been listening quietly. Now she shouted, “I hope they have a little girl! She can have some of the presents Santa was going to give me this year.”
“Does this mean that we’re giving away the presents we’d be getting?” Mike yelped.
“How about if everyone gets just one gift from Santa,” Dad said, “and the rest of Santa’s gifts go to our ‘Christmas family’?”
“That’s fair,” both boys agreed.
The following night, Mother had a list from Sister Altos of sizes and ages. There were two boys, a younger sister, and a six-month-old baby.
“Remember,” Dad said, “you can still ask for one gift from Santa. Now, let’s make a list of gifts for these children.”
“I’ll start shopping tomorrow for the things we decide on,” Mom said.
“Can I go too?” Sara pleaded. “And can I help you wrap the presents?”
“Of course.” Mom looked at Tim and Mike. “It’d be fun if you’d wrap presents too. I think you’ll find it rather exciting.”
The days rushed by as everyone bought and wrapped gifts for their Christmas family. Finally Christmas Eve arrived, snowing and cold. Sara hopped up and down with excitement. Even the boys were eager to deliver the gifts.
Father drew them all around him. “I think that this is the best Christmas I’ve ever had,” he said, his voice choking with emotion. “I’m so proud of you children for giving your presents away to someone you don’t even know.”
“I just hope Santa remembers my roller blades,” Tim joked.
Everyone laughed. Dad pulled out a red envelope. “Mom, will you write a message to our Christmas family?” he asked. “We could put some money inside to help with the medical bills—what do you think?”
“I’ve saved about six dollars,” Mike volunteered. “They can have that.”
“I have about five,” Tim chimed in. He rushed to get his savings.
Sara hurried to get her piggy bank. “I have all this money!” she squealed, opening it to let a cascade of pennies, dimes, and nickels clatter to the table. “Can we wrap it in a box for the children?”
Soon every cent of her money was in a box with “Kids’ Money” written on a tag next to the bow.
Mom disappeared for a few moments. “I’ve been saving this for new curtains, but we can wait for those.” She slipped two fifty-dollar bills into the red envelope.
Dad took out his wallet. “I stopped by the bank today, thinking that they could use this.” He put a hundred-dollar bill into the envelope.
Mother placed a card with a note inside the envelope last, then sealed it.
Sister Altos had written down the address. The car resounded with Christmas songs until the correct street sign was spotted and everyone searched for the house number of their Christmas family.
“There it is!” Tim whooped. “They’re home!”
Dad drove past the house so that their car would be out of sight. “OK,” he said, “I’ll open the trunk, and we’ll load up with gifts. Be really quiet so that they don’t hear us. When all the presents are on the porch, we’ll all get back in the car except Mike. Mike, you wait until I’ve started the engine, then ring the doorbell and run.”
No one made a sound as they piled the gifts high on the front porch. Mom held up the red envelope. “I sure hope they see this,” she whispered, tucking it into the top present.
Everyone except Mike rushed to the car, Dad started the engine, and Mike rang the doorbell and raced to the car. As he jumped inside, the front door of the house opened and a little girl shouted, “Daddy! Daddy! Santa has come!”
All the way home the family chattered excitedly about how their Christmas family must be opening their gifts and how surprised they must be.
“I just hope they see the red envelope,” Mom worried aloud again.
When the family gathered for prayers that night, it was Sara’s turn. She blessed everyone in the family and their friends, adding, “Please bless our Christmas family that they’ll like our presents for them. Bless them to have a Merry Christmas.”
Early Christmas morning, the family gathered around their tree. “I got my roller blades,” Tim shouted.
Mike held up a snowboard. “Wow! This is the greatest!”
Sara discovered a doll with a white wicker bed. “Look what Santa brought me!”
They gathered into a circle and exchanged the gifts they had for each other. Mom kept wiping her eyes. Never before had she seen her children so happy.
“I hope our Christmas family is having lots of fun,” Sara said as she tucked her doll into the white bed.
Bright and early Sunday morning, the family hurried off to church. They still radiated with the glow of Christmas.
The last speaker, an elderly gentleman from another stake, was introduced.
Tears trickled down Mom’s cheeks. Father clasped her shoulder tightly. Tim, Mike, and Sara scooted closer to them.
“I hope we can find another Christmas family next year,” Mike whispered.
Tim and Sara nodded vigorously.

Now I add this does not represent the surrender of his free agency. Brother Maeser in spite of his obedience was very vigorous in the expression of his feelings. Another incident will illustrate.

During his labors in England he met a very wealthy and well-educated man who became very much interested and impressed with Brother Maeser and invited him to bring some of the missionaries to have dinner with him at the hotel. The table manners of the elders were so annoying to Brother Maeser that he said later: “I will go through poverty, I will suffer persecution, I will go to hell with the elders, but I will not go to dinner with them again.”

Just as a little child starts to develop a sense of identity as he or she repeatedly hears a name, I believe our names are important to our identity always. As a young mother I returned to take a class from the university I had previously attended and found naturally that things were very much changed from the time when I had begun my studies. I didn’t know anyone. One day one of my past professors came into the room, noticed me, and said, “Janette Callister, how nice to see you.” She turned to my current professor and said she remembered me as a good student. I still remember the good feeling I had that somebody really knew me and remembered me for good.

Clay, Ron, and Dean proved themselves to be young men of action and compassion as they rescued a young woman from her burning car.
Returning home from a movie, the trio discovered the burning, wrecked car on the freeway exit. The driver was seriously injured, unable to move, and calling for help. Bystanders were doing nothing.
Ignoring personal risk, Clay approached the car and was forced back. “I backed off once,” he said. “I was afraid it was going to blow up. She was kind of groggy and she said, ‘Help me, please, someone help me.’
“The second time, I just said to myself, ‘It’s for her good. If it blows up on me, that’s it.’” With that thought, Clay helped the badly injured woman out of her car. With a compound ankle fracture, she relied on Clay to carry her to the curb.
Meanwhile, Ron used the fire extinguisher from his car to attack the flames. When that and another extinguisher provided by a bystander failed to completely douse the fire, Ron and Dean ran to a pay phone and called for paramedics. Arriving police and firemen completed extinguishing the fire.

Jane Johnson
Although I have been a member of The Church all my life, I have never felt as close to the Saviour as I do now. I was brought up in a home with faithful parents who served the Lord to the fullest.
I had bad epilepsy for most of my life, which in turn caused me to have depression, a skin graft on my arm, and two unsuccessful brain surgeries. Losing my memory and losing our family home were also among things that happened while my husband was Stake President.
Fasting and praying during these times comforted us.
However, it wasn‘t until I had cancer that things seemed to change about the way I felt. As a result, I had to have my full leg amputated. My sister passed away while I was in hospital.
A year later I started to feel angry. A good friend, who is paralysed from the waist down, said it might be because I was mourning the loss of my leg. I was feeling sorry for myself. I had to pray for help to get over how I was feeling. I had a blessing which said I‘d been given this to help others. Since that blessing, four members of my Ward were diagnosed with cancer and others around the country have called to speak to me. I was able to be there for them.
In 2020, my cancer unexpectedly returned! After the initial crying from us all, I felt calm. I had another wonderful blessing and could feel peace. I play the piano, and playing songs helped me get through it.
I love the April 2020 General Conference talk from President Nelson called Hear Him.1 Playing and listening to music is a way I Hear Him. I prayed to Heavenly Father and said I didn‘t mind having chemo as long as I suited being bald.
The cancer went, which was a surprise, and a nurse who was an atheist said, “You know I don‘t believe in God, but someone is watching over you”. I‘d spoken to them all during my treatment about members fasting and praying.
In June 2022, the cancer had returned for the third time in 4 places! I‘ve never been an anxious person but waiting for the result was horrible. My husband and I hugged and cried yet again. We said a prayer to ask Heavenly Father to help us get through it. Another talk from President Nelson came to mind. It was Let God Prevail.2
This time the monthly chemotherapy has affected me psychologically. I‘m a strong-willed person and I‘ve never said, “Why me?”. Instead, I ask the Lord what I need to learn. My prayers have never been as heartfelt. Yes, sometimes I cry out during the night when I‘m so fatigued with my chemo. We have a picture of Christ on our bedroom wall, and when I‘m awake during the night I ask for His help. I have the words ‘Let God Prevail‘ in my mind every day. Whenever my husband is stressed about his business, he knows I‘m going to smile and he says, “Let God Prevail.”
Although we‘re going through these trials, and I still have down days where I cry and feel hopeless, most days I Let God Prevail and feel at peace. I‘m still serving as our Ward Relief Society President, and blessed to be able to help the members with their trials in their lives.
Let us not put off praying and asking for help getting through challenges in our lives. The Lord is there, waiting for us to ask for help- “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28).