Gospel Story Finder

A young mother of two sons was busy with a part-time job at home and a demanding Church calling. “It seemed I had no time for my small children,” she recalled. She was often so involved in her work that her sons had to go to great lengths to get her attention—and she was often impatient with them.
So she decided to organize an “activity time” she could enjoy with her sons each morning. As she spent that time with them in prayer, singing, and fun activities, she gained a greater appreciation for each and began to really enjoy the time they spent together. She was amazed at what a little love and attention brought about!
This mother had discovered one of the “secrets” to making her home a sanctuary from the world and its cares. The early Saints were told to make the temple they were building “a house of prayer … a house of learning … a house of God” (see D&C 88:119). In the same way, we should make our homes havens of love where we and other family members can grow and learn to practice self-control and to serve, understand, and forgive each other.

Note: No matter how strong someone’s belief in the gospel of Jesus Christ, staying faithful can be difficult for new and returning members if they feel like they don’t belong. In this article we examine what members who are already in the fold can do to welcome others in. In the December issue we will look at what those who feel they’re on the outside can do to find their place.
Within a month of Melissa’s (all names have been changed) baptism in the Midwestern United States, she offered the opening prayer in sacrament meeting. She was nervous about praying publicly but “felt every confidence in my ability to speak to my Heavenly Father,” she recalls. “After all, I had been praying for years, especially while investigating the Church, and could feel the Holy Ghost helping me.”
So it was with surprise that she received an email from a ward member who described “in great detail” all of the ways her prayer was wrong. Shame, embarrassment, and an onslaught of doubt raced through Melissa until she felt prompted to call the returned missionary who had taught her. “He quickly assured me that it was totally inappropriate for this member to criticize me in such a way,” she says. “He also told me the bishopric would never ask another member, as I had assumed, to give me this kind of feedback.”
Reassured, Melissa remained active in the ward, accepted callings, and went on to flourish in her faith. But it took several months to get over the pain and lost confidence from receiving that discouraging email.
Unfortunately, Melissa’s story is not unique. Many new and returning members face significant, but often avoidable, challenges from feeling like they don’t belong. Sometimes even those with strong testimonies struggle to remain faithful when they feel excluded. In a recent video series titled Unity in Diversity, Church leaders address this issue, encouraging members to be more sensitive, inclusive, and loving in our interactions.
The following stories help to illustrate how we as members can apply these principles and offer genuine friendship and emotional support to those who hunger for heartfelt acceptance in the Lord’s Church.
“When anyone’s shadow darkens the door of a chapel, they ought to feel immediately embraced and loved and lifted and inspired …to go and be better because they know the Lord loves them and because they have friends in their faith.”
—Carol F. McConkie, First Counselor in the Young Women General Presidency
Melissa needed genuine friends, especially in her ward, she could approach when she needed advice or help. Her husband and daughter hadn’t joined the Church with her.
“Coming to church and seeing all the families made me feel deeply alone,” she says. Everyone was friendly, but even their happiness made her feel as though “I would never attain that Mormon glow because I was the only one with problems.”
In addition to the returned missionary who had taught her, Melissa was blessed with Cindy, an online friend who had first introduced her to the Church. “It was hard to watch Melissa struggling in her local area as I looked on helplessly,” Cindy explains. “So I created a private Facebook group with a few incredibly grounded, loving, diverse members who helped and befriended her in ways I could never do alone.”
The group not only offered a sense of inclusion for Melissa while she found her place in her ward but also responded to questions about lifestyle and cultural concerns. “I was raised in tank tops and short shorts,” Melissa says. She appreciated online friends who responded with photos of outfits she could check out in local stores. This encouraged her to ask sisters in her ward for movie recommendations after she no longer felt comfortable with some selections in her collection.
An important aspect of friendshipping, Melissa points out, is that she sought the advice. Unsolicited advice feels like intrusion rather than inclusion, an invasion of privacy that can be hurtful to those who aren’t prepared for it.
Eventually, Melissa was called to teach in Relief Society. Her calling provided opportunities to interact with others in the ward. Melissa shared with the sisters her difficulties not only in adjusting as a new member but also in dealing with an autistic child, some personal health issues, and “Oh, and my dog is dying.” The experience of having other sisters listen and respond with their own difficulties in class and in private conversations proved deeply healing. These connections helped Melissa feel that she finally had true friends in the faith.
“The Savior commanded His followers to ‘love one another; as I have loved you’ (John 13:34; emphasis added). So we look at how He loved us. …If we make Him our role model, we should always be trying to reach out to include everyone.”
—Elder Dallin H. Oaks of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles
Robert, an investigator in Canada, has attended a variety of LDS meetings and activities. He has researched various religions but continues studying the Church because of the inspiration he has found in its doctrine and the Book of Mormon. He attends institute to learn more and finds the social environment “refreshingly wholesome, friendly, with a really good vibe,” he says. “Mormons are the nicest people in the world.”
A self-described introvert, Robert wants to interact but says, “I tend to hug the walls, unsure of how to be part of the groups, some of them long-term LDS friends who don’t seem to need anyone else.” But it doesn’t take much to ease this sense of isolation. During an activity, he recalls, “someone came up to me after dinner and encouraged me to stay for the movie; otherwise, I would have left, but instead I had a great time. I just needed to know that someone wanted me there.”
Like Melissa, he appreciates LDS friends who explain doctrine but don’t get too specific about how to live it. Friends who listen more than they admonish are like “someone who walks beside you, as opposed to pushing from behind to make you go faster. Most of the time, you just trip and stumble.”
Robert has struggled to give up smoking. His discomfort illustrates how those who are new are deeply aware of their differences. “Not one member has ever said anything to me about smelling like smoke,” he says. “Yet if my clothes aren’t fresh out of the laundry, I will stay home from institute or church.”
We can create a greater sense of belonging as we reassure and include those who are new to the Church. Elder D. Todd Christofferson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles says, “It breaks my heart if someone comes and is very vulnerable and says … , ‘I want to be here,’ and then gets a cold shoulder or a lack of interest. That’s tragic. …We have to be better than that” (“Is There a Place for Me?” [video], lds.org/media-library).
“When you choose to put yourself out there, you are blessing someone else’s life. …Can you look for the person who is sitting on the outside, sitting on the fringe? …When you’ve opened your heart to other people, you see that we all belong.”
—Jean B. Bingham, Relief Society General President
After Elsa joined the Church in the Netherlands, she experienced a genuine connection with a loving Heavenly Father. But as a young single adult, she also dealt with loneliness when family members and friends felt uncomfortable with her new religious beliefs and habits. “The best thing members have done for me,” she said, “is to willingly befriend me outside of church. Some go to the temple to do baptisms with me even though they have been endowed. I need to interact with members beyond Sunday to get strength and endure to the end.”
Elsa feels like her biggest challenge as a recent convert is “the expectation to suddenly understand everything,” she says. “All the acronyms, events, callings. It can be a little mind-blowing, and I sometimes worry people are judging me for not learning faster.” Additionally, like many others, she experiences social anxiety that “keeps me comfortable sitting toward the back of the chapel, rarely interacting.” Large groups are daunting, and she wonders if others judge her for her lack of participation. “It’s not that I don’t want to take part in the lessons or sing hymns openly or say a public prayer,” she explains. “It’s just that I’m afraid I might actually burst out crying in front of these people I don’t really know yet.”
Sister McConkie says: “I know people who come to church every Sunday so that they can be inspired and uplifted and who just simply walk away feeling judged and unloved—unneeded, like there is no place for them at church. We need to do this differently.”
Members who are nonjudgmental, Elsa says, help her the most. “They listen to my dilemmas and don’t intrude into my personal space. They act with sincerity and patience while I learn for myself what being a member is all about.” In spite of her anxiety, she accompanies the missionaries and looks out for new members and investigators. “I know how it feels to be new,” she explains, “and want to make sure no one turns away from the gifts of the gospel that saved me from despair.”
“People can bring different gifts and perspectives. The wide range of experience and backgrounds and challenges that people face will show us what really is essential in the gospel of Christ. And much of the rest that’s been, perhaps, acquired over time and is more cultural than doctrinal can slip away, and we can really learn to be disciples.”
—Elder D. Todd Christofferson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles
In spite of having previously been critical of the Church, Jim joined because he received “an unquestionable spiritual testimony from the Holy Ghost that testified of the truth of the gospel and its doctrine.” One of his greatest challenges, however, was adapting to LDS culture.
After baptism, he discovered that many generally accepted behaviors among members were cultural rather than doctrinal. “While this happens in any organized religion,” he explains, “I felt that if I didn’t conform in certain ways, I would be accused of not fully embracing the gospel. My struggles weren’t with the gospel or doctrine but with a level of conformity that felt only cultural.”
As Elder Christofferson explains, we need our new converts, investigators, and others to help us shed non-doctrinal practices that have accumulated over time and become true disciples.
Extolling the benefits of interacting with people of different backgrounds, Elder Oaks encourages Latter-day Saints to avoid focusing on differences and, instead, begin by asking, “Where are you coming from? What are your basic values? What do you want to accomplish?” This kind of openness and acceptance, in turn, helps those new to our circle feel included, lifted, loved, and ready to embrace salvation within the body of Christ.
Like Church leaders today, the Apostle Paul worried about divisions in the ancient Church of Christ. He urged members with strong opinions to avoid offending fellow Saints about practices that did not, in the end, really matter, explaining that while “knowledge puffeth up, …charity edifieth” (1 Corinthians 8:1). He called for “no divisions among you” and to focus on “Jesus Christ, and him crucified” rather than on the ways members differ from each other (1 Corinthians 1:10; 2:2).
Today, modern apostles and prophets urge us to find unity in diversity, encouraging us to make room for each member of the Church of Christ as an important part of our purpose to come to a “unity of the faith, and of the knowledge of the Son of God …unto the measure of the stature of the fulness of Christ” (Ephesians 4:13).

Luke E., 17, and his younger companion approached the home of their assigned family to visit. A small cross hung on the front door. “With that cross on the door, I knew they were probably a pretty faithful family,” Luke says.
Inside the home they had a great spiritual discussion with the family. Luke and his companion shared their testimony and thoughts based on Christ’s words in the Bible, “If ye love me, keep my commandments” (John 14:15).
As the conversation unfolded, the couple asked a question that Luke and his younger companion hadn’t expected.
“What is the Book of Mormon?” they asked.
The adult leaders in the room remained silent in order to allow the youth to answer.
“I took this one,” Luke says. In a few minutes he explained the meaning of the title and subtitle (“Another Testament of Jesus Christ”) of the Book of Mormon, as well as a basic overview of the contents inside. He shared with them how Jesus visited and taught other nations after His Resurrection. Luke also bore testimony of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon and left them a copy.
When Luke finished answering the question, the couple was touched. They thanked everyone for coming and said, “We are grateful for young people in the world who believe something so passionately.”
For Luke, the experience was a huge boost in confidence for sharing the gospel.
“Sometimes in high school you clam up and stay quiet about spiritual things, and then you lose your confidence,” Luke says. “That day was very strengthening for me as a young man preparing to serve a mission.”

The rest of the day, I was a little subdued. We came home, and I found out that a friend had been badly hurt while riding his bike. He had been riding with another group and had gone off the edge of an embankment. He had tried to ride it out. I guess he hadn’t had time to make a decision. He ended up with multiple fractures in both arms. The doctor told him he would never be able to do much manual labor the rest of his life. He would be limited in what he could do.
That really drove home to me how grateful I was for having made my decision ahead of time. I had already visualized what I would do in the safety of my garage. So when the moment of danger came, I reacted just as I had imagined. I let the bike go and saved myself from injury.
I realized that in other areas, if I decided early in life what I was going to do, when I was faced with the dilemma there would be less problem choosing the right because the decision would already have been made.

I was only 15 when I first met the full-time missionaries—two nice young men with something unusual in their countenances. Although I didn’t remember much of what they said during the first missionary discussion, I couldn’t forget the good feeling I had when I talked with them.
I was president of my church’s local youth group, and I was not interested in changing religions. In fact, when my older brother and sister decided to be baptized, I felt betrayed. Even though I did not approve of what they were doing, I went to their baptismal service to support them. It was hard for me to admit, but at the baptism I felt that good feeling again.
As time passed, I became better and better friends with the missionaries. Finally, I resigned from my position as my church’s youth group president, but I still wasn’t sure I wanted to be baptized.
Then one day one of the elders came to my home with a ward member. I said, “Elder, I would like to work with you sometime.” He replied, “I’m sorry, but you must be a member of the Church before you can be a missionary.”
Several days later I picked up the pamphlets the elders had left at my home. Reading them one by one, I looked up the Bible and Book of Mormon scriptures they referred to. Then, putting Moroni’s promise to the test, I prayed to know if the Book of Mormon was true. The Spirit testified to me that it indeed was true, and six months after meeting the missionaries, I was baptized.
The first thing I did after my baptism was ask the missionaries if I could work with them now. “You must wait until you receive the Aaronic Priesthood,” they replied. Two weeks later I did receive the priesthood. That same day, I went out with the elders. And as I walked along with them, I decided that someday I too would be a full-time missionary.

Sara Marshall watched as Mommy brushed her hair and put on lipstick. Sara thought that Mommy was beautiful.
Then Sara remembered that Mommy was going visiting teaching. That meant that Sara had to go to Sister Morgan’s house. Sara had just turned five. She could hardly wait until fall, when she would start kindergarten and go to school like her big brothers did. She wouldn’t need to go to a baby-sitter’s house then.
“Why can’t I stay with Grandma and Grandpa Thomas?” she asked.
Mommy gave Sara a hug. “Remember? Grandma and Grandpa are serving at the temple today.”
Sara’s lips turned down into a pout. She didn’t want to go to Sister Morgan’s house. She wanted to stay with her grandparents, as she used to.
Grandma Thomas often let Sara make cookies with her. Grandpa showed Sara his collection of toy trains.
Ever since Grandma and Grandpa had started working at the Salt Lake Temple two months ago, they didn’t have as much time for her.
She knew that the temple was a special place where people wore white clothes. Mommy and Daddy went there once a month. They called it their temple date. Sara thought that that sounded funny—Mommy and Daddy going on a date. Her big brother, Steven, took girls on dates. They went to the movies or basketball games. Sometimes he took a girl he really liked to dances.
“Grandma and Grandpa love you just as much as they always have,” Mommy said. “But they promised the bishop and Heavenly Father that they would serve at the temple three days a week. What if you and I make cookies after I pick you up from Sister Morgan’s? We can make extra and take some to Grandma and Grandpa.”
Sara’s frown disappeared. “Chocolate chip?”
Mommy ruffled Sara’s hair. “Is there any other kind?”
Sara enjoyed spending the morning at Sister Morgan’s. She played with Tiffany, who was also five. They played “Primary” and took turns being the teacher.
That afternoon, Sara and Mommy made cookies, then took them to Grandpa and Grandma. They looked tired but happy.
Grandma told her about helping a young bride go through the temple for the first time. Tears shone in Grandma’s eyes. “Doing temple work is one of the greatest joys in my life. Someday, maybe I can help you when you go to the Lord’s house.”
Sara kissed them both and decided that she was glad they worked at the temple.

I had just graduated from high school and had just gone to work as a disc jockey at a radio station. As I was making money and gaining valuable experience in broadcasting, the thought of serving a mission was pushed further and further from my mind. After much deliberation I accepted a mission call. I had a great mission and grew to know that some things in life are not as important as we sometimes feel. When I got home, the radio station that I had worked for before my mission called me and asked if I would like to return. I did and had a great opportunity to report on sports, which is what I have always wanted to do.
I tremble when I think of the time that I considered not going on a mission in order to pursue my own goals. I know the Lord will bless you in your life pursuits when you decide to put his work first.
Scott C. Miller, 23Bountiful, Utah

While serving as Secretary of Agriculture in the Cabinet of President Dwight D. Eisenhower, I was invited to give the keynote address at the annual convention of the World Food and Agriculture Organization at Rome, Italy. Between sixty and seventy nations were represented at the great international conference.
Following the morning session, which included the address, an impressive luncheon was given in my honor in the International Banquet Hall, which was decorated with flags of many nations.
The customary cocktail hour preceded the luncheon. I noticed as the men held glasses in their hands that there was apparently no liquor being served but only soft drinks and fruit juices. I mentioned this to my host, Dr. Sen of India, and said, “Surely many of these men are used to their liquor, which is customary during the cocktail hour.” He said, “No, Mr. Secretary, today we honor you and respect your standards.”
Following the period of fellowship, we took our places at the banquet table. Here I was even more surprised to find that there was no coffee being served but again only soft drinks and fruit juices. I said to Dr. Sen, “Surely the men attending the luncheon expect to have their usual hot drink.” He smiled very graciously and said, “No, Mr. Secretary, I am the host. You are the honored guest, and at this luncheon we honor you and respect your standards.”
And so it was at a luncheon attended by distinguished leaders from many nations. No member of the Church will ever have cause to be embarrassed by real men or women because of his or her standards. Again, it pays to maintain the standards of the Church.

Once, following little more than a hunch, the representatives took a taxicab to a village 30.5 kilometers from the Nigerian town of Owerri, in search of a man whom they had heard was interested in the Church. Following directions from a native, they drove directly to “a little building with a sign across the front, ‘L.D.S. Nigerian Mission.’” Elder Cannon says, “We knew we had arrived.” The founders of that “mission” were later baptized into the Church.

“My parents always had Church assignments, and they taught us the importance of serving in the Church. My mother had a calling in the Relief Society and was the Mutual president. She also directed the ward choir. I remember Dad punching down bread dough or taking loaves of fresh bread out of the oven or washing and folding diapers while she was fulfilling her Church callings. As we were growing up, we would always be excused from the chores to do Church assignments.”

Throughout my life I have had ample need for pruning. For example, a few years ago I expected to receive a company promotion. I felt I had the experience, skills, and longevity required, and I hoped the choice was obvious.

At that time there was a new top manager in our company who had different priorities and goals than I did. Among other things, he expected all senior managers to work weekends in addition to weekdays. I was a stake president then and knew that to best serve the members of my stake, I needed to spend a certain amount of time fulfilling my Church responsibilities.

When the hoped-for promotion never occurred, I had to struggle to keep myself from feeling bitter. What a disappointment! I determined just to keep going, to try to do things as well as I could, and to maintain a positive demeanor. Yet my sense of self-worth had been challenged. My abilities had been called into question. Other Church leaders I knew seemed to capably manage both demanding Church callings and time-consuming employment.

In a weak moment, I even wondered whether I had made the right choice to devote so much time to the Church. Then I decided I needed to focus on what was truly important. I began to look not only at my capabilities but also at my limitations. I could see that the time I was spending in Church service was necessary and that I probably wouldn’t have been able to manage both the employment position I had sought and my Church calling.

I think the Lord was telling me I had to choose and would have to keep choosing. To have chosen to devote extra time to my employment so I could get the promotion would have disengaged me from the Lord’s work. As I look back, I can see what a blessing it was for me to devote so much of my time to the Church. The ensuing years were some of the most rewarding of my life. I felt closer to the Lord. My testimony was strengthened. My relationship with fellow Saints in the area was a great blessing, and I am sure I became more fruitful than I would have been otherwise.

An unusually warm March sun felt good on ten-year-old Jamie’s back as he sat astride the board fence and watched a large herd of sheep moving up the dirt road toward him. Men on horseback rode on each side of the herd and behind it. Dogs circled silently around the sheep, their bushy tails waving happily. The sheep bleated and pushed against each other, bells clanking merrily on some of their necks. Jamie loved seeing them come by and watched their approach eagerly. Two of the riders waved to him as they rode by, nudging the animals. Some of the sheep came so close to the fence that Jamie could almost touch their woolly backs with his shoe.
After the herd had moved far up the road, almost out of sight, Jamie jumped down from the fence. But he could still hear a soft bleating from somewhere close-by. As he walked slowly up the road, the sounds seemed nearer. Suddenly in the dry ditch by the roadside, he spotted the gray white wool of an old sheep. He ran quickly and slid down the bank into the ditch. The ewe lifted her head, and patient yellow eyes looked into his.
“What are you doing here, sheep?” he asked. The ewe bleated again and tried to get to her feet. Jamie saw that one back leg was twisted and dangling. “You poor thing! I’ll go get Grandpa.” Jamie scrambled out of the ditch and ran down the road and through the gate. His grandfather was coming around the side of the house and almost collided with him.
“Grandpa!” Jamie shouted. “There’s a sheep in the ditch, and its leg’s hurt. Come see!”
Grandpa followed Jamie silently to the ditch and looked down at the sheep. “Whose herd was it that just came by?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Jamie answered. “Some riders waved to me, but I didn’t recognize any of them.”
“Probably from over in Lansdale, bringing their sheep down for shearing.” Grandpa stooped down, put one arm around the ewe’s chest and the other around her hips, and picked her up. The animal bleated with pain and fright as he staggered up the ditch bank with her. Jamie followed his grandfather through the gate and around to the sheds where their own sheep were brought for lambing and shearing.
Grandpa lowered the ewe gently onto the straw and examined her leg. “Go ask Grandma for part of an old sheet,” he directed.
When Jamie returned with the sheet, Grandpa had straightened the ewe’s leg. He tore the sheet into strips and made a splint on the leg with a small flat stick.
“Can we keep her?” Jamie asked.
“She doesn’t belong to us,” Grandpa answered.
“The man riding on that side must have seen her in the ditch,” Jamie argued.
“Maybe and maybe not. And even if he did, she still doesn’t belong to us.” Grandpa tied the strips firmly and stood the ewe up. He looked into its mouth at her ragged yellow teeth. “This is a very old sheep, Jamie. Could be they didn’t want her. Not good for much any longer and hurt to boot.” Grandpa felt the sheep’s stomach carefully. “But she’s going to lamb any day now. That’s worth something.”
“Grandpa, could the lamb be mine since I found its mother?” Jamie asked eagerly.
“Jamie, this is not our sheep.” He looked at Jamie’s sad brown eyes. “We’ll put her in the pasture with the others. If her leg heals and if she lambs and if no one comes for her, you can have the lamb.” Jamie looked up hopefully. “We’ll have to ask around, though, and see if we can find the owner,” Grandpa concluded. Jamie smiled at his grandfather and knelt to pet the old woolly sheep.
The ewe lambed two weeks later. Grandpa had awakened Jamie before the sun was up and had taken him out to the lambing shed. The tiny white lamb stood in the dim light, wet and wobbly, bleating very softly, almost mewing. Jamie loved it instantly and named him Joshua after a white cat he once had.
Every day after school Jamie jumped off the bus and hurried to the pasture to find the lamb, to pet him, and to pick tender young weeds and grass for Joshua to nibble from his hand.
It was a very warm day in the middle of April when Jamie found Joshua and the old ewe missing from the pasture. He ran into the house where his grandmother was kneading bread in the sunny kitchen.
“Where are they?” he demanded.
Grandma glanced at Jamie, then punched the bread and smacked it onto the floured table. “Mr. Goodman came and got them.”
Jamie was stunned. “Mr. Goodman! Why? When?”
“He drove up with his wagon, loaded them in, and was driving away when I went out and asked what he was doing. He said the ewe was lost from his cousin’s herd when they came through here. His cousin said he could have it, so he was taking it. Then he just climbed onto the wagon and left. I didn’t know what to say.” Grandma rolled the dough and smacked it angrily onto the table again.
“Where was Grandpa?” Jamie asked.
“Over to Dayton getting feed. But he’s out in the granary now.”
Jamie ran out the back door and found his grandfather unloading sacks of grain from the wagon. He lowered a sack to the ground and looked at Jamie. “It wasn’t our ewe, Jamie,” he said, before the boy even spoke to him.
“It wasn’t Mr. Goodman’s either!” Jamie’s heart was pounding, and his stomach felt cold.
“It was given to him by the rightful owner, son, so it is really his,” Grandpa said, dragging the sack into the granary.
Jamie followed. “It’s not right!” he shouted, feeling tears starting up behind his eyes. “That was my lamb. You said I could have it.”
“I said you could have it if no one came for it. Someone came.”
“It’s been a month!” Jamie pursued. “When it was just a wounded old ewe, no one cared about it. Those men knew they’d left it in the ditch, and they told Mr. Goodman. But he didn’t want it then. Now when she’s well and has a nice little lamb, he comes for her. It’s not right, Grandpa, and you know it.” Tears were stinging Jamie’s eyes, and his cheeks burned.
Grandpa settled the sack of grain with the others and turned to Jamie. “Well, Jamie, if you really think that’s your lamb, why don’t you go tell Mr. Goodman.”
Jamie’s tears stopped abruptly, and his stomach lurched with fear at the very thought. Mr. Goodman was the watermaster and also the richest man in the county. He rode the ditches on a big gray horse, a forbidding figure with a shovel and a shotgun sticking up behind him. Jamie believed that the big man would shoot anyone who took more than his rightful share of water. He had thick black hair, a black mustache, and fierce, dark eyes. None of the kids took apples from his orchards, no matter how red and tempting they looked from the road. Jamie could not imagine arguing with the watermaster. “Why don’t you talk to him, Grandpa?” he suggested hopefully.
“Because, Jamie, I never considered that ewe to be mine. I don’t figure I have any claim on her or her lamb. If you’re of a different mind, then you talk to him. He’s a fair man.”
Jamie thought about it for three days. He thought of little else. In school he sat in a daze, making up conversations with Mr. Goodman, thinking of good arguments. At night he lay awake picturing himself facing the tall, stern man, the man who took what he wanted without asking or apologizing. Sometimes he saw himself angry and indignant, sometimes mild and reasonable. The more he thought about it, though, the more wrong it seemed to him. He longed for Joshua, for the feel of his soft wool and the sight of him bouncing around the pasture. By the middle of the week Jamie knew for certain that he would have no peace within himself until he talked to Mr. Goodman.
Thursday night as he lay in his bed, a plan began to form in his mind. He thought about what Grandpa had said—that Mr. Goodman was a fair man. He tried to think what might seem right to Mr. Goodman about the lamb. When Jamie awoke the next morning he knew what he would do. All day at school he pondered the idea. When he got off the bus that afternoon he went straight to his grandfather, who was cleaning out the lambing sheds.
“Grandpa, would you excuse me from my chores this afternoon?” he asked.
“Why?” Grandpa questioned.
“I’m going to see Mr. Goodman.”
“Thought you might. But why just at choring time?”
“I want to catch him at his chores so I don’t have to knock on his door and maybe go into his house or something.”
Grandpa looked at him and nodded. “All right. Take the pony. And watch what you say.” Grandpa looked at him closely again. “Are you scared?”
“Yes,” Jamie answered. He turned away and went to saddle the pony.
Jamie found Mr. Goodman cleaning his shearing shed. Great mounds of wool were stacked on one side. Jamie stood in the doorway of the shed, holding a piece of paper in one hand and waiting for Mr. Goodman to notice him. Finally, the man looked up and stopped sweeping. “Well,” he growled. “What do you want?”
“I’m James Nielsen. My grandfather—“
“I know who you are. What do you want?” The afternoon sunlight from the doorway fell across Mr. Goodman’s face, and it seemed to blaze.
“It’s about the old ewe and her lamb.” Jamie swallowed hard.
“You think they’re yours, I suppose.” Mr. Goodman walked toward Jamie. Jamie wanted to turn and run, but he didn’t.
“No, sir, but I think you owe me some money for taking care of them. I have it written down right here.” Jamie handed Mr. Goodman a piece of paper.
Mr. Goodman took off his hat and looked at Jamie for several seconds before he examined the paper. He studied it for a long time. When the man finally looked up his eyes were very black, and he frowned with his whole face. Jamie wondered why he had ever thought his idea would work.
“Three dollars is too much for feed this time of year when sheep can graze,” Mr. Goodman said.
“Grandpa gives them a supplement.”
“Ten dollars for veterinary care? You’re not a vet. Neither is your grandpa.”
“The ewe got well though. And that includes helping her with her lamb.”
Suddenly Mr. Goodman smiled. “Did your grandpa put you up to this?”
“No, sir. He said it wasn’t his ewe, and you had a right to take her and her lamb. But I think it’s wrong.” Jamie hadn’t meant to say that, and Mr. Goodman wasn’t smiling now, but the boy went on anyway. “We took care of the ewe and got her well, and her lamb was born on our place. I wondered if instead of giving me the money, you’d give me the lamb.” Jamie stopped, his heart pounding in his throat.
Mr. Goodman sat down on a box and looked at the paper again. “This list of expenses is fair enough, I guess, but the lamb’s worth more than what I owe you.” Jamie’s heart sank. “However, if you’ll come over here and help me clean up from shearing for the next three nights, the lamb’s yours.” He stood up and smiled at Jamie. His eyes were not fierce at all, but quite warm and friendly. Mr. Goodman held out his hand to Jamie. “Is it a deal?”
“Yes, sir!” Jamie smiled and shook the man’s big hand. Then he turned and ran to his pony and climbed on. As he rode away, he glanced over his shoulder and saw Mr. Goodman still standing in the doorway watching him.
When he rode into the yard, Grandpa was waiting by the gate. Jamie jumped down quickly. “You were right, Grandpa. He’s a fair man.”
Grandpa put his arm around Jamie’s shoulders and pulled him close. “And you’re a brave man, Jamie. Tell me what happened.”

That afternoon, orders came from firemen to evacuate the mission home so it could be dynamited and razed in an effort to clear a fire line. Drawers, beds, rugs, furniture, record books, and suitcases went onto a horse-drawn dray that took them to a small park two blocks away. Here the load was placed in a compact pile and covered with a carpet, under which some of the elders tried to sleep that exciting night. The fine organ recently given to the branch by the mayor and other friends was safely stored with one of the members.
On Thursday, as the fires and dynamiting continued, the Robinson family and several other Saints relocated in Golden Gate Park—a day late for the scheduled picnic! There they were better off, they knew, than other homeless members camped in Jefferson Square, where sanitary conditions were abhorrent. For food, the Saints took turns waiting in bread lines which ran four abreast and blocks long; two or three loaves per person was the limit—if supplies outlasted the line. A special pass allowed President Robinson to cross the bay to Oakland for bread, bringing back “two suitcases full each day, distributing the same to the women and children in greatest need in four parks we visited.”

Some months ago I was given the assignment to interview a young man, 21 years old, to determine if his repentance was sufficient for him to serve a mission. My heart ached as I read of the serious problems and transgressions in his past. I wondered if it would be possible that one with such a background could ever prepare himself to worthily serve a mission. At the appointed time for my interview I saw a handsome young man approaching me. He was immaculately groomed and had a wonderful countenance about him. He looked like a returned missionary, and I wondered who he was. As he approached he extended his hand and, to my surprise, introduced himself as the young man I was to interview.

During the interview I simply asked, “Why am I visiting with you tonight?” Then he laid out the sordid details of his past. After reviewing and confessing again his transgression, he began talking to me about the Atonement and the years of painful repentance that brought him to this very interview. He expressed his love for the Savior and then explained that Christ’s Atonement was sufficient to rescue even a boy like him. At the conclusion of the interview, I placed my hand on his shoulder and said, “When I get back to Church headquarters, my recommendation will be that you be permitted to serve a mission.” And then I said, “I ask only one thing of you—just one. If you are privileged to serve, I want you to be the best missionary in the entire Church. That is all.”

About four months later I was speaking at a missionary devotional at the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah. After the devotional I was standing in front of the podium greeting missionaries when I noticed a familiar face approaching me. My first thought was that I was about to be embarrassed because I was supposed to know this young man. I could not remember where I had met him, and I knew the first question that he was going to ask me. Sure enough, he extended his hand and asked, “Do you remember me?” Apologetically and somewhat embarrassingly, I answered, “I am sorry. I know I should know you, but I just do not remember.” He then said: “Well, let me tell you who I am. I am the best missionary in the MTC.” I could not withhold the tear that slowly trickled down my cheek as I thought: “Here is a man. He met his Gethsemane. He paid the painful price of repentance. He has humbled himself and submitted himself to the redemptive power of the Savior. He has met the challenges. He has measured up to true manhood.” And I say, “Behold a man,” a man humble enough to submit himself to the redemptive powers of the Savior.

We went together one night to the Washington D.C. Temple Visitors’ Center. That night Katie, Paige, and I took a long walk around the temple. There was such a feeling of peace and love. There, the three of us made a pact with one another to work towards temple marriages and to settle for nothing less. We see the eternal perspective on choosing the right day-by-day. We are striving to gain the highest reward: eternal life. The Lord provided a way for three girls to choose the right, and I have never felt so good inside.

My wife and I came to better understand this truth through the loss of our beloved son Georg, who was 27 years of age when he died. When this occurred, I was serving as president of the newly created Austria Vienna South Mission, which included the countries of the former Yugoslavia. Following a zone conference in Zagreb, Croatia, Sister Wondra and I were given a message that we should call home. Soon our beloved daughter-in-law Regina was on the telephone, crying out in the anguish of her soul, “Papa, Georg is dead. Georg is dead!” Subsequent extensive investigations were unable to provide any reason for his death. Our son had never been seriously ill. His heart simply stood still, without any medical explanation.
Georg was such a special son, full of joy and life, full of love for us and for his own family, pure in heart and without guile. In 1989 he had been one of the first missionaries to be sent to East Germany during what was a great time for missionary work. He spoke often about the baptisms in which he and his companion participated but never about the number of baptisms—he felt these experiences were too sacred to be reduced to statistics. At the end of Georg’s first letter from his mission, he wrote: “Don’t miss me too much. Life has to go forward without me.” On the day of his death, he had read President Gordon B. Hinckley’s message “The Victory over Death” and had underlined, “How tragic, how poignant is the sorrow of those left behind. The grieving widow, the motherless child, the father bereft and alone—all of these can speak of the wounds of parting” (Liahona, April 1997, 3).
Our family has suffered from these wounds. We miss Georg so very much! But there is also a burning feeling in our souls that because we believe in the Atonement, in the death and Resurrection of Jesus Christ—because we believe in the message of Gethsemane, Golgotha, and the empty tomb—we can also trust, during the sorrowful moments in our lives, that God is a God of love, mercy, and compassion, even when we don’t understand what has happened or why. God accepted the sacrifice of His Son, Jesus Christ, who suffered all things “because of his loving kindness and his long-suffering towards the children of men” (1 Ne. 19:9).

Costs of the conference, traditionally held at the Naramata Center in the beautiful, orchard-filled Okanogan Valley, were slightly higher than the year before, and the young leaders worried about those who had greater distances to travel.

“We started thinking one night in our central committee meeting,” said Donn Mason, youth chairman, “about the conference and the gospel and everything, and what it all really means to each one of us. And we felt we wanted everyone to come to conference and to have a great experience. Then Kirk Leaberry brought up the fact that some of our youth have to travel 300 miles over dirt roads and then another 600 miles on pavement to come to conference. We knew it would be difficult for them to raise the registration fee. So we tried to find a way for every youth to be able to come.”

“I figured,” said Kirk, youth vice-chairman, “that sometime we’ve got to learn to live the law of consecration, and I thought now is a good time to start. You can’t just dive in on a law like that. You have to start gradually. Now seemed as good a time as any.”

The youth of the Kalowna and Vernon branches, the groups nearest the conference site who made up the planning committee, sent letters to the other branches in the mission. They said that they knew the cost of the conference was higher than before, but they had been able, through various fund-raising activities, to earn most of the money they needed for themselves, and they would work to earn as much extra as possible to help any of the distant branches meet their expenses.

The results of this spirit of service and sacrifice were electrifying. Branches that had earlier claimed they were unable to send their youth because of the cost wrote and said that not only would they raise enough for themselves, but they too would try to raise more than was needed. Even those branches that the committee thought would have the most difficulty wrote in to say that though they probably wouldn’t be able to help other branches, they would be able to raise enough for their own youth.

“The plan was accepted, and it spread fast,” said Donn. “I think it got around faster than the dates of the conference. When we went to a promotional meeting in one of the branches, the kids knew two things—they knew how much the conference was going to cost, and they knew that we were planning to raise extra money. It caught on everywhere.”

Finally all the plans and arrangements were made, and every youth who wished to was able to attend. From all over British Columbia they came—from Bella Coola, Kamloops, Cranbrook, Penticton, Prince Rupert, Kalowna, Vernon, Terrace, Kitimat. They brought brothers, sisters, and nonmember friends. One even brought her mother. In addition the entire mission presidency and their wives attended, the district president came, and many excited adult leaders were there to serve as chaperons. Even the Regional Representative was able to take part in the activities. All were welcomed; all were cared for; all fell within the “midst of the miracle of serving.”

When we started having church at home because of the COVID-19 pandemic, I helped give the sacrament to my family. It was nice to be able to do this in my own home, and it made me realize how grateful I am for the sacrament. I am grateful that I was able to live through this time of having church at home.
One of our neighbors needed someone to bring the sacrament to her. There wasn’t anyone in her home who could prepare or bless the sacrament because her husband had passed away a few years ago. She was also being careful with visitors because of the pandemic. My dad and I are her ministering brothers, so we offered to give her the sacrament while wearing masks and taking other precautions for her safety.
She was super grateful that we could come over. It made me feel a little sad that she was lonely, since she was the only one at her house during the pandemic. But I was also grateful that I could offer her something so important to make her happy. It was nice to be able to serve her. It made me happy that my dad and I were able to go and serve our neighbor.
I’m grateful to have the priesthood because it benefits not only me but also other people. It helps me become a better person and helps me see how I can serve others. Passing the sacrament in my home and to my neighbor opened my eyes. I need to take advantage of the opportunity to pass the sacrament and serve people who can’t do it for themselves. I’m grateful I could use the priesthood to bless other people and my family.

Denise Botts of Union City, California, received a trophy for being the outstanding senior on her dance team at James Logan High School. The team competed successfully throughout California.
Denise also played the lead in the school’s musical. Even though she was involved in an automobile accident a few days before she was to audition for the part, she was released from the hospital in time to compete and was awarded the part.
Denise is secretary of her Laurel class in the Union City Ward, Hayward California Stake.

At one house, the vans were parked around the corner like they had been at previous houses. Then the assembly line of angelic hands started all over again. But somehow this experience was different. It was my assigned house, the family I had shopped for. That same good feeling went through me as the presents went through my hands. The gifts piled up on the front porch.
We decided to hide in the bushes and behind the surrounding snow mounds so that we could see the reactions of the family. I picked the nearest evergreen bush and knelt behind it. One boy rang the doorbell and hid behind the closest tree. The front door opened an inch, and then it closed. There were so many gifts that they couldn’t open the door.
A few seconds later two young children came running around the back of the house and, in surprise, they clasped their hands over their mouths. With a small push, the door opened a foot more. A little girl about age six came out of the house dressed in pink pajamas. In an excited voice she said, “Look, Mom, cereal! It’s cereal and milk, Mom!”
When I heard those innocent words, I wanted to reach out and hold her. I wanted that girl to have all that I had.
It was in that moment that I remembered back to when I was six. We had opened our front door one December night and were completely overwhelmed by the bags of gifts so generously placed on our doorstep. Our house was much warmer than usual that night because my father had been given firewood earlier that day. As a family of nine, we were barely making ends meet. That year especially, I could sense my parents’ uneasiness about Christmas day. I was limited to requesting only one toy. I had carefully chosen to ask for a “Peaches and Cream” Barbie doll, and I placed a torn-out newspaper picture of the doll up on the refrigerator. With my six-year-old heart and mind, I knew my one wish would come true.
Before heading off to bed, we knelt as a family on our old green carpet and gave a prayer of thanks for the few things that we did have. I remember going to bed feeling hungry. Each day food was practically the same—Cream of Wheat, oatmeal, or biscuits. I prayed that tomorrow—Christmas—would be different.
I snuggled in my blankets, and just as my eyes were about to close, I heard a muffled knock at the door. I followed the members of my family downstairs. As the door opened, an overwhelming feeling took over my little body. There were big black bags of gifts and food placed at our doorstep. I was so happy that I couldn’t believe my eyes. I said a whispered prayer of thanks, and I knew that my prayers that night had been heard. We carried the gifts inside and placed the bags of gifts under the tree.
Sleep did not come easily that night, but I managed a few hours before my sister Mary woke me. We eagerly ran downstairs, and to my eyes, it was as if the gifts had multiplied overnight. They were scattered around our tree. I again thought to myself about the one wish I had made. I picked up a gift that had “Meg” written on it, and I opened it carefully. I pulled out the most beautiful “Peaches and Cream” Barbie that I had ever seen. I hugged her, and I knew that I had not been forgotten. I learned several years later that my prayers were answered through the loving hands of those who generously helped out needy families.
Now as a teenager hiding behind a bush, watching that little six-year-old girl, I was so touched by the spirit of this family that my emotions overwhelmed me. The words of that sweet little girl were echoing in my mind.
I will always remember the peaceful, quiet night that I spent watching many families receive their miracle Christmas, just like the one my family received so many years before.