Gospel Story Finder

During my first Christmas as bishop, a single mother with three small children lived in our ward. This young woman had a strong testimony of the gospel and lived it to the best of her ability. She cleaned homes and did sewing to try to make ends meet, but often she could not.
Single-handedly raising three boys under the age of eight was a real challenge. These active, energetic youngsters always seemed to be in trouble of one sort or another. I remember pulling them from more than one tussle with their classmates.
Several good people helped this struggling family. I’ll never forget the brother who came into my office one Sunday just a couple of weeks before Christmas, asking to speak with me privately. He was concerned about the young mother and her family, and he wanted to do something for them. Would I accept his contribution and use it in the best way I could to help them? As we spoke, I hardly noticed his small son who remained in the office with us.
The man explained that he did not know what the woman and her family needed. He just wanted to help and felt that I would be inspired to know what to do. He then entrusted to me quite a remarkable sum of money—not remarkable in the amount, but remarkable in terms of his modest means, of which I was well aware. I knew that this gift meant a real sacrifice of his own family’s Christmas, at least in the temporal sense. But this wise brother knew where real rewards come from.
Seeing the resolve shining in his eyes, I protested only gently. Then I cleared my tightening throat, thanked him for his unselfish gift, and promised to do my best to make Christmas a little brighter for the young mother and her sons. I also agreed to honor his request for anonymity.
The story might well end here and still be memorable. But the event that has etched this experience in my mind was yet to occur. It wasn’t the way I was able to help the family with the unselfish contribution—although that turned out to be most gratifying—but rather what took place in my office one week following that good brother’s visit.
It was just a few days before Christmas, and I was between tithing-settlement interviews. I heard a soft knock on the office door, and when I opened it, I saw, standing quite alone, the six-year-old boy who had sat quietly in my office while his dad and I had talked the Sunday before.
He asked politely if he could talk to me for just a minute. After we walked into the office—which I presume is always a bit of a frightening experience for youngsters—I invited him to sit down. He fidgeted with something in his pocket and, after some struggle, pulled out three small coins and laid them on my desk. He apologized that the coins were all the money he had, and they were a little old and dirty, since he had had them quite a while. The money, he explained, was for me to use to help his three friends, like his dad was helping their mother. As my heart swelled and my eyes became moist, he added that he felt I would know best how to divide his treasure among his friends.
What lessons culminated in that moment—a father’s unselfish example, the trust of a small boy in his bishop, and the humble, Christlike act of a child without guile. Only a few weeks before I had pulled this boy from a scuffle involving the soon-to-be recipients of his forgiving love and charity.
I hugged him, partly to hide my tears—and mostly to tell him how much I appreciated him and how much I knew his Father in Heaven loved him. I then walked him to the door, shook his hand, and assured him that I would do the best I could to help his friends this Christmas with his generous gift. As I turned to go back into my office, he whispered after me, “And remember, Bishop, don’t ever tell anyone it was me.”
Well, I never have told anyone until now, my young friend. I hope relating our special story in this way is all right so that others might feel a bit of the quiet Christmas spirit of love and charity that we felt that day.

The clouds hung low and white over the small town of Liberty Bell that twenty-sixth day of December 1908. Sarah Moseley made her way from her family’s house at the end of the street toward the boardwalk, where her new dress would get a brief respite from mud-spraying wagon wheels.
Sarah’s family had been laboring under the stressful effects of no income in recent months, but her mother had managed to rummage up sufficient materials from an old attic chest to fashion a beautiful patchwork dress for Sarah. It was the only gift she had received for Christmas the day before, and she was fitly grateful for and proud of it.
As she continued along the street, she turned the collar of her frayed wrap up around her neck to ward off the biting chill of wind and lightly-driven snow. Suddenly someone wearing a tattered sheepskin coat stepped out in front of her. He had a tangle of red hair, and a crooked scowl on his face. Toby Wilder! Last week he had asked Sarah for some answers to a test in Miss Cornaby’s class, and Sarah had refused. Now he looked ready for revenge. “I would have passed that test if you had slipped me those answers,” he growled.
“There’s a right and a wrong to everything, Toby Wilder,” Sarah said, swallowing hard, “and cheating is wrong.”
Toby glared at her with a look that could have bent an iron poker, then pushed her back toward the edge of the boardwalk. “‘There’s a right and a wrong to everything, Toby Wilder,’” he mimicked. “You think you know all there is to know about what is and what isn’t, don’t you little Miss High-and-Mighty?”
“No,” Sarah told him, her body stiffening with growing fear, “but God does. And He’s told us in the scriptures about honesty.”
Toby glowered at Sarah. He glanced up and down the street through the haze of falling snow. No one was in sight. “Since you’re such good friends with God,” he said mockingly to Sarah, “why don’t you ask Him to keep you from falling down and getting mud all over your new dress?”
Shoving her roughly off the boardwalk, he laughed derisively and swaggered away as she pulled herself up from the street mire. Her eyes welled up with tears as she wiped at the icy ooze on her new Christmas dress and headed for the store.
The bell above the door jangled as Sarah stepped into John Walton’s Mercantile Store. The man behind the counter regarded her solicitously. “What happened, Sarah?” he queried.
“Toby Wilder,” she sighed.
Mr. Walton nodded. “That boy ought to be over somebody’s knee, getting redder than a near-set sun, if you ask me.”
“Yes sir!” Sarah heartily agreed.
“Warm yourself by the stove there.” When Sarah hesitated, he added kindly, “Go on child. There’s no sense in all that warmth going to waste, now, is there?”
“I guess not,” Sarah responded submissively. “It’s just that you’ve given us so much these past few months, all our food and such, that I just don’t feel right about hogging the only spot in front of your stove.” She motioned toward a customer who was stamping the snow from her high-button shoes just outside. “You have paying customers, Mr. Walton. They should be able to warm themselves before someone who—”
“Sarah Moseley,” Mr. Walton declared, “since when did I ever charge a body a cent for warming himself at my potbellied stove?”
Sarah smiled in gratitude and stepped in front of the stove. Mr. Walton came out from behind the counter, nodded to the woman who was making her way to a far corner, and pulled up a chair in front of Sarah. He sat down and spoke privately. “After that boxcar explosion at the depot last September, it’s a wonder your father is still alive. It’ll be a little while yet before he’s up and about.” He pushed a wisp of damp hair from Sarah’s eye. “Your father is a good man,” Mr. Walton continued. “He’ll pay me back when he’s able. Now give me that shopping list I know you have.” Sarah obliged him. “Besides,” he added as he stood with a little grunt, “it’s Christmastime, isn’t it? A time for giving? It would be a shame to deny a man the right to earn a celestial reward in the world to come.”
Sarah’s face wrinkled with curiosity. “What do you mean, Mr. Walton?”
“Christ gave His life for you and me, Sarah, not to mention for those that crucified Him. It seems the least I can do is give a can of beans and”—he checked Sarah’s list—“a box of baking soda and the like to people I love. Of course, that’s easy. The trick is giving to, or doing something for, someone you don’t like. Now there’s the real test. The problem is that I like everybody.” He laughed. “Well, almost everybody.”
Sarah watched Mr. Walton climb the ladder behind the counter. A ray of winter sun made his face radiant. “Why is it so important to be nice to people who are mean to you?” she asked.
Mr. Walton reached for a box of baking soda on a high shelf, then looked down at the girl below him. “Maybe because the Savior was. Maybe because it’s part of forgiving. It’s the same thing, wouldn’t you say?” He climbed down the ladder and began placing the few gathered items in a sack on the counter. “And maybe it’s because of a revelation the Prophet Joseph Smith received once that said, ‘For if you will that I give unto you a place in the celestial world, you must prepare yourselves by doing the things which I have commanded you and required of you.’”* He pushed the groceries across the counter to Sarah. “I have a sneaking notion that charity is one of those things, honey. And that forgiveness is another. What do you think, Sarah?”
“I guess you’re right, Mr. Walton,” Sarah answered, thoughtful.
It wasn’t until Sarah was outside again that she noticed something extra in her sack. A large candy stick. She puzzled over it a moment, then smiled at Mr. Walton’s kindness.
No sooner had Sarah started down the boardwalk in the direction of home than she spied Toby Wilder just ahead, leaning against a pole. His back was to her, and he was looking toward the sun as if he were aching for a little warmth on an otherwise bleak, unfriendly day.
Bracing herself, Sarah stepped up to him. “Toby?”
Toby whirled around. When he saw who it was, he growled, “What’s the matter, Sarah. Didn’t you get wet enough the first time?”
Sarah handed him the candy stick. “Merry Christmas,” she said.
Toby didn’t answer. He just stood there gaping.
Sarah glanced back in the direction of the mercantile store, where she could see Mr. Walton looking out the window, waving. She waved back, then turned and continued down the boardwalk toward home.

Brother David M. McConkie, first counselor in the Sunday School general presidency, illustrated the importance of the handbooks in the October 2010 general conference.
While being trained as a new stake president by an Area Seventy, Brother McConkie asked a series of questions that, to his chagrin, were all answered in the handbooks.
“I did not venture to ask any more questions. I thought it best to read the handbook,” Brother McConkie said. “It is contrary to the economy of heaven for the Lord to repeat to each of us individually what He has already revealed to us collectively” (“Gospel Learning and Teaching,” Liahona and Ensign, Nov. 2010, 13).

One day, Wilford was feeding pumpkins to his father’s cattle in a pasture.
He noticed that one large bull was eating more than his fair share, so Wilford decided to take one of his pumpkins away.
Wilford: He ate one of that cow’s pumpkins! I’ll show him who’s boss.
The bull was so mad at Wilford that he started chasing him down the pasture hill.
Luckily, Wilford tripped and fell to the ground, and the pumpkin went flying out of his hands. The bull jumped right over Wilford and tore the pumpkin to pieces with his horns.
Wilford: If I hadn’t tripped, that would’ve been me getting torn to pieces!
Years later Wilford became the fourth President of the Church. He said he believed Heavenly Father had protected him during those childhood adventures.
President Woodruff: I ascribe my preservation on earth to the watch-care of a merciful Providence, whose hand has been stretched out to rescue me from death when I was in the presence of the most threatening dangers.

When our youngest child, Daniel, was 11 years old, he told us he wanted a special gift when he turned 12. He wanted to go to the temple and be baptized for some of his ancestors. The whole family got involved in family history. We grew closer to our living relatives and found several ancestors whose temple work had not been done. On my son’s 12th birthday, he was baptized for these people. I performed the ordinances. Daniel gained a greater testimony of temple work.

One of the finest things that came out of the decade of the sixties was the trend toward and the emphasis upon individuality. This was reflected in the catchphrase “Do your own thing” and in Paul Anka’s lyrics, “I did it my way.” But that generation did not originate this idea. It is as old as the human race, even much older. At other times, it was expressed in other, perhaps more eloquent language.

It was precisely this idea that worked such a change in the attitudes and accomplishments of President David O. McKay. You will remember that at one point during his mission in the British Isles as a young man, he reached a point of discouragement when he felt inept and unproductive. In the midst of this despondency, he saw, one day, inscribed on a stone over the entryway of a building, the phrase, “What e’er thou art, act well thy part.” This short statement brought home to him a great truth he had not previously understood: It matters little where we serve or in what capacity. What does matter is how we serve.

Since I know something of the anxiety the pressure of time creates in your life, I would like to share what I have learned about how to handle that feeling of hurry. It’s important to be sure we agree on the nature of the problem. Time passes at a fixed rate and we can’t store it. You can just decide what to do with it—or not to do with it. Even a moment’s reflection will help you see that the problem of using your time well is not a problem of the mind but of the heart. It will only yield to a change in the very way we feel about time. The value of time must change for us. And then the way we think about it will change, naturally and wisely.
That change in feeling and in thinking is combined in the words of a prophet of God in this dispensation. It was Brigham Young, and the year was 1877. “The property which we inherit from our Heavenly Father is our time, and the power to choose in the disposition of the same. This is the real capital that is bequeathed unto us by our Heavenly Father; all the rest is what he may be pleased to add unto us” (Journal of Discourses, 18:354).
Time is the property which we inherit from God, along with the power to choose what we will do with it. President Young calls the gift of life, which is time and the power to dispose of it, so great an inheritance that we should feel that it is our capital. The early Yankee families in America taught their children and grandchildren some rules about an inheritance. They were always to invest the capital they inherited and to live only on part of the earnings. One rule was “Never spend your capital.” The hope was that inherited wealth would be felt a trust so important that no descendant would put pleasure ahead of obligation to those who would follow.
There is more than one way to spend time foolishly, as you know. You may sleep it away or play it away. But the bankruptcy that will cheat all those who come after you, comes after the idleness and the thoughtless seeking for thrills.
When you choose to see or hear filth portrayed, for instance, you may at first feel you have just spent some time. But if you persist, you will find that beyond time wasted you have allowed Satan to draw you toward sin and then into it. And then you will have incurred debts that will burden and diminish every minute of existence that follows, unless and until you find the healing balm of the atonement of Jesus Christ through repentance, which takes pain, and time. Oh, what Brigham Young would want for you, and what I pray you may have, is a heart that wants to invest your inheritance, time.
It’s worth doing, not only because you have life ahead but because you have eternity ahead, as well. Here is one report that suggests your reward for investing your inheritance well here will be to get to do it forever. President Wilford Woodruff gave this report in general conference in 1896.
“Joseph Smith continued visiting myself and others up to a certain time, and then it stopped. The last time I saw him was in heaven. In the night vision I saw him at the door of the temple in heaven. He came to me and spoke to me. He said he could not stop to talk with me because he was in a hurry. The next man I met was Father Smith; he could not talk with me because he was in a hurry. I met half a dozen brethren who had held high positions on earth, and none of them could stop to talk with me because they were in a hurry. I was much astonished. By and by I saw the Prophet again and I got the privilege of asking him a question.
“‘Now,’ said I, ‘I want to know why you are in a hurry? I have been in a hurry all my life; but I expected my hurry would be over when I got into the kingdom of heaven, if I ever did.’
“Joseph said: ‘I will tell you, Brother Woodruff. Every dispensation that has had the priesthood on the earth and has gone into the celestial kingdom has had a certain amount of work to do to prepare to go to the earth with the Savior when he goes to reign on the earth. Each dispensation has had ample time to do this work. We have not. We are the last dispensation, and so much work has to be done, and we need to be in a hurry in order to accomplish it.’
“Of course, that was satisfactory, but it was new doctrine to me” (Discourses of Wilford Woodruff, sel. G. Homer Durham, Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1946, pp. 288–89).
Can you see and feel the truth in these familiar words of President Benson? “You have been born at this time for a sacred and glorious purpose. It is not by chance that you have been reserved to come to earth in this last dispensation of the fulness of times. Your birth at this particular time was foreordained in the eternities. You are to be the royal army of the Lord in the last days. You are ‘youth of the noble birthright’” (Ensign, May 1986, p. 43).
When I heard those words I thought of a boy with a noble birthright, but lacking what many of you have. He was born on November 22. Thirteen days later his father was buried. He was named and blessed by the bishop of his ward, Edwin Woolley. The name he was given by the bishop was Heber Jeddy Ivins Grant. “I was only an instrument in the hands of his dead father … in blessing him,” Bishop Woolley later remarked. Heber Grant “is entitled to be one of the Apostles, and I know it” (The Presidents of the Church, ed. Leonard J. Arrington, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1986, p. 212).
People then and since have called Heber J. Grant a “child of promise.” He was. But his departed father didn’t make the promises to the child. His Heavenly Father did. Your Heavenly Father did—the same Father who chose you to come into this time and place to hold, honor, and to nurture those who hold his power. You have a right to become like your Heavenly Father. You are a royal child of God, a child of promise, chosen from among many to be here and to have your royal inheritance, time in the fulness of times.
One young man changed forever my feelings about the value of that gift, and what it means to be a child of promise. Bob Allen was an undergraduate at Stanford University when I was his bishop. He left his schooling to serve a mission in Japan. He came back to school, took up his studies, and lived in a world of too many demands and too little time.
One day I was sitting at my desk in the graduate school of business at Stanford. I looked up and saw two people. I remember that their faces seemed to shine. Suddenly, Bob Allen stepped between them and, smiling as broadly as they were, said, “These are two new bishops from Japan.” They could speak little English, but I could tell they loved Bob Allen and, because of something he must have told them, they loved me. I thought then, as I have many times since, how remarkable it was that he had found time to spend days with those young men from Japan.
I spoke in a sacrament meeting in Tokyo ten years later. The person who had introduced me mentioned that I had been at Stanford. Two young people, a couple, rushed to me after the meeting and said, “Did you know Bob Allen? We love him.”
Later I was in Tokyo again. Of all the excellent presentations made to me, one seemed most remarkable. I asked to see the man who had made it. He was introduced and then said, “We have met before, at Stanford University.” He was the young man, now older, who had stood with his fellow bishop in my office door. He told me about his life, and the life of the other man, now a great leader in Japan. In that moment, I learned again, in my heart as well as my head, what it means to have a royal inheritance of time, and how a child of promise, who believes the promises, can invest it to produce returns for eternity.
Because of that moment I’ve come to understand something that happened to me in my early teens. I was in a hurry when I felt, not heard, a voice, an impression, which I knew then was from God. It was close to these words: “Someday, when you know who you really are, you will be sorry that you didn’t use your time better.” I thought then that the impression was odd, since I thought I was using my time pretty well and I thought I knew who I was. Now, years later, I am beginning to know who I am—and who you are—and why we will be so sorry if we do not invest our time well.
You will develop your ability to invest your precious time well by gaining three confidences. First, you must gain confidence that God keeps his promises. Second, you must gain God’s confidence that you will always keep the promises, not that you choose to make, but that he asks you to make. And third, you must help others gain confidence that God keeps his promises.

One such family with four young children writes: “We decided to start small because of our children’s short attention spans. Our oldest child was not yet reading, but she could repeat our words, so we began reading the Book of Mormon, just three verses each night. My husband and I would read one verse each, and then Sydney would repeat a verse. We progressed to four verses and then five verses as the boys began to repeat their own verses. Yes, it was tedious, but we kept going. We tried to focus on consistency instead of speed. It took us three and a half years to finish the Book of Mormon. It was a great feeling of accomplishment!”

The mother continues: “Daily family scripture reading is a habit in our family now. Our children are comfortable with scriptural language, and my husband and I take opportunity to bear testimony of truths. Most important, the Spirit has increased in our home.”

Recently I searched through a journal I’ve had for years to ponder times I’ve relied on the Savior. I read about the despair I felt as I witnessed addiction in my family, experienced unemployment, navigated seasons of uncertainty and loneliness, and struggled with my physical and mental health. I read about some of the darkest moments in my life, when my spirit felt crushed by the weight of my challenges.

But as I reflected on these experiences, I was brought to tears as the Spirit showed me how Christ comforted and led me through my challenges—and still does! Despite the trials in my life, I’ve been able to find so much joy. I’ve experienced the healing balm of forgiveness, witnessed miracles, and learned how to hold on to hope each day—and I know it’s all because of my Savior, Jesus Christ. He truly helps us to overcome the impossible.

“Hurry, Cathy,” Anne called over her shoulder to her sister as they ran along the road.
“I am hurrying!” Cathy yelled back, barely three steps behind her. Laughing, they turned into the parking lot of Mr. Parkins’s Plant Place. Breathing hard, they burst through the front door into the rich smell of potting soil and damp, growing things.
“Well, hello, girls.” Mr. Parkins smiled as he looked up. “Did you come to work?”
“Yes, please,” Anne said. “Today and tomorrow too, if you need us. We want to earn money to buy a present for Mum.”
In the early spring Mr. Parkins often paid the neighborhood children to help transplant seedlings. “Where is your cousin Emmy today?” he asked.
“She went to help Granny,” Cathy said.
“Well, come along.” Mr. Parkins led them into one of the long, low greenhouses. “We’re working on the petunias right now, and I need all the help I can get.”
In the greenhouse, long tables were covered with young petunia plants. Allen, Tom, and Lance were already working and laughing loudly.
Mr. Parkins stayed long enough to make sure the girls knew what to do and to check on the boys’ work. “I’m sure glad the five of you could come,” he said as he left.
The potting soil was crumbly and moist on Anne’s fingers as she carefully separated the plants. Cathy worked beside her, filling each of the small containers with soil and planting the seedlings. For a while no one said anything.
Then Lance elbowed Allen and whispered something in his ear. Allen laughed loudly, then whispered in Tom’s ear. Tom snorted. Then Lance stopped whispering and started saying nasty things out loud.
Anne’s fingers started to shake, and she felt slightly sick. “I wish Emmy was here,” she whispered to Cathy.
Cathy nodded. “So do I.” Emmy would know what to do. She was as brave as Nephi.
But Anne wasn’t Emmy, and she didn’t know what to do. She was afraid if she asked the boys to stop, they would just get worse. Now they were using words Anne knew were not right.
She looked over at Cathy. Cathy’s lips were pressed tightly together, and she was about to cry.
“Shall we leave?” Anne whispered.
“But I want to buy something nice for Mum,” Cathy said quietly.
“Me too,” Anne said. “Besides, Mr. Parkins said he needs all the help he can get.”
Cathy nodded and blinked as two tears slid down her cheeks. She hid her eyes so Lance, Allen, and Tom wouldn’t know she was crying.
Anne moved closer to her. She was angry now. If only Emmy was here! she thought. If only I knew what to do!
Suddenly she had an idea. Softly she started humming her favorite hymn. When Cathy heard the first few notes, she looked up at Anne in surprise. Then she smiled. By the end of the hymn, they were humming softly together.
The boys were still making ugly jokes, but Anne didn’t feel angry anymore. She and Cathy hummed “I Am a Child of God” a little louder, and by the end of that song, Lance was quieter. Anne, feeling braver, gave him a big smile as she started singing a Primary song. Cathy joined in, and their voices echoed sweetly through the greenhouse, while the boys gradually became silent.
Anne and Cathy were still singing Primary songs when Mr. Parkins poked his head in an hour later. “Sounds good, girls.” He came over to the long table. “Your work is good, too. But it’s almost dark—you’d better get home. I’m glad you’ll be coming back tomorrow—I can always use good, cheerful help.”
Rubbing the soil off their fingers, the children followed Mr. Parkins out of the greenhouse and into the early evening light. Lance, Allen, and Tom scooted past Anne and Cathy.
“Babies,” Lance hissed as he ran past. Anne just smiled at him again.
The air was cooler now, but the girls didn’t feel cold.
“I feel warm and happy,” Cathy said, looking up at the pink sky.
“Me, too,” Anne said. “Race you home!”

As a mission leader in Brazil, I spent a week near the end of 2023 interviewing 60 of our 160 missionaries. One of them, a zone leader, asked to speak to me privately. When we met, he handed me a shoebox and told me his parents had bought an extra pair of shoes for someone in the mission who might need them.
Touched, I thanked him for his parents’ generosity and thoughtfulness. I silently wished, however, that the small shoes, size 8.5, had been a larger, common size worn by most of our missionaries. I was grateful nonetheless and put the shoes in my car.
Two days later, I was interviewing more missionaries, when I invited a smiling missionary into my office. He had arrived just four weeks earlier from Guatemala. When I asked him how he was doing, his smile turned into sobs.
He tearfully spoke of his embarrassment when another missionary had innocently teased him for not buttoning the top button of his shirt. He was a recent convert and had grown up in a single-parent home. His mother barely made enough money to support him and his two siblings. His donated shirts were too small, so he used the knot of his well-worn tie to hide the unbuttoned top button.
I gave him some money a Church member had donated for missionaries who needed clothing and told him to buy new shirts. Then I noticed that his shoes were falling apart. Suddenly, I remembered the shoes in my car! I asked him what size shoe he wore, realizing he had small feet.
“I wear a size 8.5,” he replied.
Tears filled my eyes as I explained that another missionary’s parents had just donated a pair of shoes in his size. We took a picture together and sent it to the zone leader. His father, who coincidentally was also Guatemalan, felt touched that he had helped a missionary from his native country.

As life became challenging in Amanda’s teenage years, she fell away from the Church looking for new experiences. After several years, Amanda felt empty. Finding happiness began with an important question.
My family was baptized in 1993. My parents divorced several years later, and slowly my three siblings fell away from the Church. In 1998, when I was in 11th grade, I stopped attending too.
I promised myself that I was going to experience new things and look into other churches. I received several invites from friends to go to their churches, but I didn’t go often. It wasn’t because I still felt any connection with the Church. It was just that for some odd reason, things got in the way. Either I wouldn’t wake up, or I had other plans, or I made excuses.
I was inactive for about eight years. During this time, I got mixed up with the wrong friends. My mom was terminally ill. I was quite down. I felt an emptiness in me. I started wondering, “When was I last truly happy?”
If you looked at my life from the outside you would think, “She’s got one of the coolest lives!” I surrounded myself with popular people and appeared to have a nice life. But I still felt empty and incomplete.
Then I thought about when I was in Young Women. I realized that’s when I last felt true happiness. I decided to go back to church the following Sunday. I met with the branch president and began my journey of repentance.
A short time later, I was called to work with the Young Women. When we recited the Young Women theme, I remembered it instantly! Today, each time I recite the theme, I receive a confirmation that the Church is where I belong.

When I began my studies at BYU after my mission, I was pretty much set on becoming a teacher. My father and two of my brothers were teachers, so I thought that would be my path. I started in that direction with great anticipation. I completed a good number of classes in my major. Then, after a day of substitute teaching at Provo High School, I felt like I should take another path. I dreaded the call to my parents to let them know I was changing my major. The problem was I had no idea what I was changing it to!

I prayed and pondered and still had no idea what to do. The clock was ticking, and I knew I needed to get things figured out fairly soon, so I didn’t waste time and money.

Is God willing to give us guidance about something like what to study in college? I believe He is. I love what President Nelson taught about revelation in his conference message Revelation for the Church, Revelation for Our Lives. I commend it to you for your diligent review and study. Here is one little bit of what he taught, “The privilege of receiving revelation is one of the greatest gifts of God to His children. Through the manifestations of the Holy Ghost, the Lord will assist us in all our righteous pursuits”. [5]

One day in the spring of 1982, I was walking across the BYU campus when I ran into a good friend who had served in my mission. I shared with him my dilemma and asked what he had decided to study. He said he was majoring in computer science. These were his exact words: “I hear this whole computer thing is going to be big!” How prophetic!

I don’t know if there has ever been a more direct answer to the prayer of a very anxious soul. I immediately enrolled in computer science classes and began my studies.

Think about the counsel Alma gave to his son Helaman: “I do know that whosever shall put their trust in God shall be supported in their trials, and their troubles, and their afflictions, and shall be lifted up at the last day.” [6]

My decision to follow that inspiration truly lifted me up and has been life changing for me and my family. This year will mark over 37 years in the technology industry in Utah. There have been many more answered prayers and inspiration throughout my career.

However, that doesn’t mean God has told me exactly what to do in every circumstance. There have also been prayers that I felt were unanswered. In those cases, I determined the Lord trusted me to make the decision for myself, so I went forward with faith, always correcting my course as I went.

I recall a few years ago I was supervising the missions in Western Europe. We needed a mission president with a certain language proficiency. Several names were brought forward, but none of them seemed to be right. Then one of the Brethren remembered that he had met a man—I think it was in Korea—several years before. He was a member of the Church, who was in the customs service. Somehow just the mention of that name and the Spirit confirmed. He was called, by virtue of the time pressures, by telephone to preside over the mission. I visited him a few weeks later. He was living in Washington, D.C. He was within reach of the number one office in his category. His lifetime had been spent progressing through the ranks, thinking that perhaps one day he would stand at the head of that division. His senior officer had indicated that because of a health problem he would retire early and that this man was being recommended for that position. It was just at that time that the telephone call came.

I wanted to get acquainted with him and was invited to stay overnight. He brought me a message from his superior. The message was this: “Tell that Brother Packer of yours that you’re no missionary; I’ve worked with you for thirty years and you haven’t converted me. Tell them they’re making a mistake. And you’re making a mistake. You’re a fool.” (I’m leaving out one word.) “If you will give up your retirement and all that you’ve reached for—why? Why would you do it?”

Simple answer: he’d been called. We live to know, in this church, that the response to a call does not depend on the testimony and witness of the one who delivers the call. It depends, rather, on the testimony and witness of the one who receives it.

It was very interesting. We were looking for a man who spoke French. It was not until after he was in the mission field, and we had some opportunities and responsibilities relating to some of the problems of some members we had in Spain, that we discovered that he wrote and spoke Spanish fluently. I suppose if we’d searched through the Church for a man who spoke French, spoke Spanish, and had had some diplomatic experience, particularly as it related to customs work, we would have gone afar in the world; and yet all it was was the chance memory of one of the Brethren that he’d met a man a few years before in Korea.

One day, Wilford was feeding pumpkins to his father’s cattle in a pasture.
He noticed that one large bull was eating more than his fair share, so Wilford decided to take one of his pumpkins away.
Wilford: He ate one of that cow’s pumpkins! I’ll show him who’s boss.
The bull was so mad at Wilford that he started chasing him down the pasture hill.
Luckily, Wilford tripped and fell to the ground, and the pumpkin went flying out of his hands. The bull jumped right over Wilford and tore the pumpkin to pieces with his horns.
Wilford: If I hadn’t tripped, that would’ve been me getting torn to pieces!

I had just finished doing baptisms for the dead when I received the message that one of my best friends had died. He was such a wonderful young man, and we had had so much fun together at Church activities.
I went to his funeral three days later and met his parents and friends. A girl from my ward and I sat down in the chapel, and the ceremony started with a song and a prayer. Some excellent talks followed, and a few songs were played.
I had never had a strong testimony about eternal life, but when we started to sing the hymn “How Great Thou Art,” I began to cry. The girl by my side asked if I was OK because she saw me crying so hard. But they weren’t tears of pain and sadness. It was because I felt the Spirit so strongly, and from that moment on I knew that I would see my friend again.

Jim had just turned 18. He was sitting across from a General Authority of the Church, obviously nervous, filled with frustration, and showing a lot of animosity. His request was forthright, simple, and came out like he couldn’t wait to say it.
“I want to be excommunicated from the Church—today!”
“How long have you been a member?”
“About three years,” came the answer.
“Why do you make such a request?”
“Because I have lost my free agency. I like to smoke, and the Church is depriving me of my free agency to live the way I want to live.”
Jim failed to recognize that his most important exercise of free agency occurred when he decided to be baptized and to live in accordance with gospel standards.
Jim had obviously acquired associations with peers outside the Church who had gradually dulled the spiritual sensitivity and uplift that he had felt at the time of his baptismal commitment.
He was no longer a free young man. He had fallen prey to one of the adversary’s many ploys and deceptions which deceives the very elect at times and entices people away from the truth. Jim complained that the Church was depriving him of his freedom. But in actuality, it is the truth of the gospel that makes us free. We all have a great need to be free.

Recently I received a letter from a young member of the Church whom I met three years ago at the Provo MTC. His words moved me to tears, and I would like to summarize them for you.

Spencer describes himself as being a proud and stubborn young man during his youth. He didn't always live according to the gospel principles and often neglected attending church. Unfortunately, when he was 17, a serious accident left him with a fracture in his spinal column. The accident also fractured his dream of enlisting in the army, a dream for which he had prepared himself many long years.

Spencer began to build a feeling of resentment toward God; how could He have done this to him? One day Spencer's bishop invited him to serve a mission. That inspired him to pray for the first time in a very long time. While he was praying, a thought came to his mind; military service had been his excuse for not serving a mission, but now he no longer had an excuse. He had to go on a mission.

With the help of his bishop, he diligently prepared himself to serve and was called to the Argentina Mendoza Mission. He entered the MTC with great excitement and anticipation in his heart. However, one morning just a week later, Spencer woke up and couldn't move his legs. He was taken to the emergency room in a panic. A couple of days later, even though he was back on his feet, he learned that at the recommendation of his doctors, he had to leave his mission and return home.

Spencer wrote: "I had never been so depressed in my life. I remember going back to the cafeteria and my zone all being there. ... I broke down in tears. I was hurt and shattered to the point where I didn't know if I would ever recover."

Back home, he didn't speak to anyone for three or four days. He sank deeper and deeper into depression and despair. He was bitter toward the Church. He didn't feel comfortable attending meetings in his young adult ward. He felt despised and rejected for not having finished his mission.

But one day he met a wonderful young woman by the name of Elizabeth. They began dating, and she convinced him to return to the Church. One year later they got married, and they are now expecting their first child in August. Spencer started his career selling shoes, but he was able to improve his employment situation to become a personal trainer. Today he and his wife work together and manage their own business that provides wedding services.

Spencer concluded his letter with these words: "I could not be more blessed... Recently, I went through a box of old things and found my missionary journal. Only six pages were filled, and four of those six were thoughts about love and impressions on how a man should love his family. I have now become aware that my mission was a short yet special moment to get my life in order and realize the man I should be. My only regret is not seeing that sooner."

When it came time for Micah to be baptized several years ago, his mom asked who he wanted to invite to his baptism. Micah invited seven friends, and they all came! “I was happy that I was supported by everyone,” he says.
During the next few days, Micah’s friends asked him about his baptism and the Church. “I brought scriptures and talked with them about what the Church is about,” Micah said. “It was really cool to tell them what the Church means to me and my family.”

My name is Ginger Lyn and I’ve always loved Christmas, but last year was the best one we’ve ever had.
It all started on Thanksgiving Day as our family knelt in prayer to give thanks for our blessings. We were all so happy that we talked about some of the things we could do to help others have that same happy feeling.
Together we came up with many ideas, but the best one of all was our plan for Christmas Day. What we like most is our large family, and the happiness the gospel brings to us. We decided to share both these blessings as our gift to others.
The Salt Lake Temple is only a short drive from our home, and going there was part of our plan. We decided that on Christmas Day, after opening our gifts and eating breakfast, we would clean up the house, fix a big dinner, and then go to the templegrounds and find someone to spend Christmas with us. Before going down to the Visitors Center on Temple Square to find our unknown guests, we would set the table with candles and our best silver and crystal, lay a fire in the fireplace all ready to light, and turn on the Christmas tree lights.
We pasted a picture of our family inside the cover of some copies of the Book of Mormon, wrote a message under each picture, and signed our names. These books were to be given to our dinner guests as we sat around the fire and talked in the evening.
We were excited about our plan, and we knew the Lord would help us. In all our family prayers from Thanksgiving until Christmas, we asked Him to prepare for us someone in need of our love who would be ready to hear the gospel.
Christmas Day finally came and we were all excited. It took us a lot longer to cook the dinner and clean the house than we thought it would. Because of this we arrived at the Visitors Center later than we had planned. We were afraid everyone would have eaten by then and we wouldn’t find anyone to share Christmas dinner with us. We talked with a number of people and invited several of them to our home. Some said they had already eaten and others looked a little puzzled and said, “No, thank you.” But we just kept asking because we knew that our Heavenly Father had prepared somebody for us. And sure enough, He had!
We found a father and mother from Michigan and their seventeen-year-old son. They were surprised at our invitation, but said they were very hungry and were just going to look in the phone book to find a place to eat. The father and mother had been to the Visitors Center before on another vacation, and on this visit they wanted their son to learn a little bit about the Latter-day Saint people. The father said, “There isn’t a better way for us to learn about your church and lifestyle than to go right into one of your homes. We’d be delighted to come!”
We also invited two young women who were on vacation from Australia to our home. They seemed excited too. They said they hadn’t eaten dinner and would enjoy being with a family at Christmastime.
We had a wonderful time on that Christmas night, eating and talking and answering questions about the Church. Before we said good-bye to our guests they thanked us over and over again. The Michigan family said they would always remember their Christmas dinner with us as a highlight of their trip, and before they left they took a picture of us around the Christmas tree.
The girls from Australia were a little teary as we gave them each a copy of the Book of Mormon with our picture inside the cover.
After the visitors had left, our family gathered in the kitchen to do the dishes. We agreed that the real spirit of Christmas had touched each one of us and that it had been the best Christmas ever. We learned, too, that we don’t have to wait for Christmas to have a Christ-like feeling—all we have to do is share the gospel with others and it can be Christmas every day of the year!