Gospel Story Finder

On the other side of town, in a fine, large home live the van Littens, a family that has preserved Christmas traditions from Holland for generations. Dirk is wistfully remembering the fun when Sinterklaas (Saint Nicholas) came to their house on December 5.
Dirk had put his shoes on the hearth and filled them with sugar and hay for Sinterklaas’s white horse. The next morning the sugar and hay were gone, and in their places were a fine set of paints and new skates for Dirk.
Dirk sighs. The saintly old bishop in his red robe is gone, along with the gay parties and nonsense of Saint Nicholas’s Eve. Christmas Day is for going to church and eating a great dinner. Dirk wishes that Sinterklaas would come again instead.

A few weeks ago I attended the baptism of a man I have known for many years. It was a joyful occasion. Surrounded by his wife of forty-seven years and his children and grandchildren and other loved ones, this good man entered the baptismal covenant. He became a member of the Church he has long sustained and supported.
From the time he brought his Mormon bride to make a home in his beloved Southland, he had respected her beliefs and her desire to teach them to their children. Because there wasn’t a branch of the Church in their small city, their home became the first meeting place for the few Church members his wife could locate and invite to worship with her. Their home was always open to the missionaries, where a good meal and a place to sleep could be counted on. (His wife recalls as many as fourteen missionaries sleeping wall-to-wall in their small home on one particular night.)
As his faithful wife and children labored with the missionaries to build up the Church and the membership outgrew the walls of their home, he gave financial support for the branch, the ward, and finally the stake center as they came to be built.
During these many years, the gospel has been a lifeline that has enabled this woman to maintain her hope and trust in the Lord. It has been the strength that has bound their family together.
However, the full blessings which the Lord has to offer were unattainable by this family until this husband and father became worthy and willing to enter the covenant of baptism and receive the priesthood of God. Now this family can look forward to the exalting temple ordinances and the lifeline to eternal life which they could not provide for themselves.

Sister Kirts, a professional hairdresser, met a family who had come to her salon for haircuts. They were donating their hair as their family’s Christmas project. From them she got the information about donating hair and did a little research. A minimum of 10 inches of hair was needed, bound in a ponytail. Especially needed was fine, light colored hair that would be more appropriate for children’s wigs.
With some hesitation, Sister Kirts presented the idea to the girls in her ward. It wouldn’t help Jessica directly, but the donation of their hair would help other girls and boys. At first, the thought was stunning. Ten inches! That was so much. “They were petrified at first,” said Sister Kirts. “I didn’t want to pressure them. But later that day, the phone just started ringing. And, one at a time, the girls called and said, ‘I’m in.’ I couldn’t believe that they would do it.”
The word spread through the ward. Even two little girls from Primary joined the Young Women in donating their hair. The local newspaper and a television station covered the event because so many girls were donating their hair at the same time. And at Christmastime, people could not help but compare this event to O. Henry’s story “Gift of the Magi,” about a young couple who each gives up the thing they value most to buy a gift for the other. In the story, the young wife sells her long hair to buy a chain for her husband’s heirloom watch. He, in turn, sells the watch to buy combs for his wife’s beautiful hair.
After the young women’s story aired on the news and was printed in the newspaper, the salon offered to cut the hair of anyone who wanted to donate it. Dozens of people responded. “Teenagers have so much power for good or for bad,” said Sister Kirts. “For these people who came to donate their hair, their biggest reason was that if an 18-year-old girl can do this, I can too.”
Rachael Ward, another of the Young Women in the Redondo First Ward, was a little frightened to go back to school after Christmas vacation with her new short hair. “It was awful waiting for that day. Everyone noticed my hair, even people I didn’t know before. A lot of people looked at me differently. They said it made them realize that people really do good deeds for each other. It’s not just a story on television. That made me feel good.”
Rachael’s friend Brittanie Streetmaker also donated her hair. “I was nervous, but now whenever I look in the mirror, I think of a little girl who will be so happy to have a cute styled wig. My friends ask me if I miss my hair, and I say I do, but I don’t regret it for a second.”
Editor’s note: Jessica is home from the hospital. She still suffers from partial paralysis and is continuing treatment for aplastic anemia. She loves the way the girls sacrificed to help others.

As soon as Samantha opened her eyes, she knew what day it was. She ran to the kitchen in her pajamas. “OK, Mom,” she said. “Let’s go to the beach. I’m ready.”
Her mom laughed when she saw Samantha. “You may feel ready,” she said, “but you don’t look ready. You’d better get dressed first and have some breakfast. Then we can get ready to go to the beach.”
Samantha ran upstairs, hopped out of her pajamas, jumped into her clothes, and skipped back downstairs again.
“Settle down,” said her mom. “You can’t eat properly when you’re a jumping bean.”
Samantha tried to drink her juice and eat her cereal slowly. She even tried to butter her toast slowly. But she was too excited.
After breakfast Samantha washed her face, brushed her teeth, and combed her hair. “Now can we go?” she asked.
“Pretty soon,” said her mom. “But first we have to decide what to take with us.”
“I know what to take,” said Samantha. She ran to her room and came back with a red bucket, a yellow spade, a swimsuit, a towel, and a beach ball. “OK,” Samantha said. “Let’s go.”
“What about lunch?” asked Mom with a smile.
“Oh,” said Samantha. “I forgot.”
They made the lunch together. Samantha washed carrots and celery, and her mom cut them up. Samantha made her favorite sandwich—peanut butter, lettuce, and tomato. Mom made some egg salad sandwiches.
They got the cooler and put the sandwiches inside with the vegetables, some fruit, and homemade cookies. Then they put ice packs on top, and Samantha shut the lid and fastened it. “Wow!” she said. “It’s cold in there now.”
“It has to be cold,” Mom explained, “or the food will spoil.”
They filled a thermos with milk, then took everything out to the car. The outside air was still cool, but Samantha knew that soon it would be very, very hot. She hopped up and down. “Come on, Mom,” she said. “Come on.”
“Samantha,” said Mom, “I want to go to the beach, too, but it’s important not to forget anything. Our day will be much more enjoyable if we prepare well. Preparation is important in just about everything we do. Now, there are still some things we need to take. Think how hot it will be. We can’t put ourselves in the cooler. But we can make our own shade.”
“The beach umbrella!” shouted Samantha.
“Right!” said Mom. “And we need little beach umbrellas for our heads.”
“Sun hats!” cried Samantha.
“Right!” said Mom again. “And when we’re in the sun, we need something creamy and smooth to spread on our skin so that the sun won’t burn us.”
“Suntan lotion!” shouted Samantha.
“You remembered!” said Mom. “And we need something for our feet in case there are sharp stones or glass on the beach.”
“Beach shoes!” shouted Samantha.
“You’re very smart,” said Mom.
They gathered all those things and put them into the car along with Mom’s bathing suit, beach coat, sunglasses, and a book. Mom also got extra towels, a change of clothes for Samantha, and a big blanket. Just before shutting the door, Mom called, “Let’s get going, Samantha.”
But Samantha didn’t answer.
Puzzled, Mom called again. Then she heard a giggle. Samantha was already in the car, waiting for her!

Some of the greatest experiences in my life have come from attending the temple in Mexico City and sacrificing things to do so.
Once, there was a misunderstanding about the time the bus left for a temple trip and it had already departed when the Church members arrived. We prayed and were able to take a later bus. Many of the members had to stand the entire 400 kilometers and we were blessed through the priesthood to be strong and healthy. We all arrived and had a very spiritual experience.
I have a testimony of attending the temple. Nothing can stop me from going. I know there is a higher spirituality when we go.
Francisco J. Reyes RodriguezOaxaca, Mexico

Every home has times when a peacemaker is needed. President and Sister Eyring have four sons and two daughters. Once when their children were young, President Eyring was teaching a family home evening lesson about peace. While he was teaching, he noticed that two of his little boys were kicking each other! But as those two boys grew older, they learned how to be peacemakers and became each other’s greatest friends and helpers.

When we moved to the United States, great trials began for me. We attended a small branch and I had great leaders who wanted to help me, but my school friends tried to pull me off the gospel path. Unfortunately, I began to speak to my mother in an unkind way and rarely listened to her counsel.
I would go to church every Sunday, but I really didn’t have the desire to go, and I didn’t know if I wanted to go on a mission anymore.
One morning I opened the Book of Mormon, and it opened exactly to the page of my favorite scripture, 3 Nephi 12:14–16:
“Verily, verily, I say unto you, I give unto you to be the light of this people. A city that is set on a hill cannot be hid.
“Behold, do men light a candle and put it under a bushel? Nay, but on a candlestick, and it giveth light to all that are in the house;
“Therefore let your light so shine before this people, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father who is in heaven.”
It gave me great joy to read this because it helped me remember what I learned in seminary and how marvelous the plan of our Father is. So I decided to try to be a light to the world.
I invited two cousins to come to church. One was less active, and he became active. The other was not a member, and I was able to baptize him.

In the same year, Dr. Hansen made his medical discovery, two ecclesiastical leaders from different faiths first made their appearance on the Kalaupapa peninsula. One was a Latter-day Saint named Jonathan Hawaii Napela, the other a Belgian priest, Father Damien J. De Veuster, who was canonized by the Roman Catholic Church in 2009. Napela was born on the island of Maui in 1813, became a district judge in 1848, and converted to Mormonism in 1852. He was a tremendous aid to early LDS missionary work on the Hawaiian Islands as he fed and housed the elders, helped them learn his native language, and aided George Q. Cannon with the translation of the Book of Mormon. Perhaps his greatest contribution was his example as a loving husband. When his beloved wife Kitty contracted the disease, Jonathan chose to remain with her in the settlement and act as her kokua, a Hawaiian word meaning “helper.” Consequently, Jonathan wrote a heart-felt letter in his native language, Hawaiian, to the Board of Health, pleading that he might be allowed to stay with his wife:

"On August 3, 1843 I took my wife as my legally married wife and on that same day I vowed before God to care for my wife in health and sickness, and until death do us part…. I am 60 years old and do not have much longer to live. During the brief time remaining, I want to be with my wife. My wife has also lived a long life, but with this disease, it will quickly shorten her life. Such is the reason for this petition."4

Fortunately, Jonathan’s request was granted, and he spent the remaining years of his life at Kalaupapa with Kitty. While there, Napela more than just his wife. Not long after his arrival, he was called as the leader of the LDS Church on the Kalaupapa peninsula, a calling he held from 1873 until his death in 1879, from the effects of Hansen’s disease.5

I am so grateful that I was born to a family that knows about the true gospel of Jesus Christ. My eighth birthday fell on Easter Sunday, and I felt great joy to be baptized on the day we celebrate the Resurrection of the Savior. I was a little nervous, but my father was there, and I knew that I could trust him. During the baptism I had a warm, happy feeling in my heart, and then I knew that I could trust Heavenly Father the same way I trust my father.
I am 11 now, and I am looking forward to going to the temple to be baptized for the dead. I know that only through baptism can we return to our Heavenly Father.
Mirjam S., age 11, Switzerland

When we stopped at the O’Briens’, there was only a small pile of newspapers, hardly enough for the stop, but before we left, Mrs. O’Brien came out and asked, “Is there a little girl in this family?”
“Trina’s four,” Jason replied.
“I have a doll—one I bought years ago, thinking I’d have a girl. I had five boys instead.” She smiled shyly. “Boys don’t take to dolls. I’ve been meaning to do something with it.” She left and came back with the biggest, prettiest doll I’d ever seen in my life. “It’s never been used,” she explained.
“Gee!” we gasped. “Are you sure you want to just give it away?”
She looked at the doll for a moment and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “I would have just given it to one of my girls had I had one.” She sighed. “If Trina will like it, I want her to have it. I would like to see her face Christmas morning when she sees it.” She took a deep breath and flashed a weak smile. “Oh, well. I guess Christmas morning I’ll have to imagine what Trina is doing.”
By the end of the day the old truck had made six trips and was about to die a second time after our rigorous demands, but we had collected just under 150 dollars worth of newspapers, not to mention the donated gifts we had received. We bought shoes and coats for the kids; a gift certificate for Sister Bradley; and two boxes of groceries, candies, and nuts for the stockings and Christmas dinner.
Christmas Eve everything was ready. Dad helped us fire up the old truck one more time. Jason and I filled it to overflowing and sputtered down the street to the Bradleys’, coasting the last block so as not to announce our arrival.
It was starting to snow as we climbed out of the truck and sneaked to the Bradleys’ front steps with our arms bulging with gifts. We could hear Sister Bradley and her three kids singing Christmas carols, and we paused for a moment in the shadows to listen before returning to the truck for the trike, the rocker, and the table and chairs.
When we had placed the last box of groceries on the step, we rapped loudly on the door and then sprinted to a clump of bushes where we could observe unseen. Sister Bradley opened the door and peered into the darkness. She was beginning to close the door when she spotted our Christmas project all over her front steps. She gasped and looked up and down the street, then back at the pile of presents. Slowly she dropped to her knees and began to cry.
My vision blurred with tears, and something swelled up inside of me until I could hardly breathe. Starting from deep in my chest and finally reaching to the tips of my fingers and toes, a gratifying warmth overwhelmed me. Never in my life had I felt such an all-consuming fulfillment. I was sure I would burst, and I wondered why I had waited so long to discover this side of Christmas.
When we returned home, all the lights were off except those on the tree, and everyone but Dad was in bed. He was there waiting for us in the dim light next to an enormous package—addressed to Jason and me!
“Where’d that come from?” I asked as soon as I saw it.
Dad smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “Someone left it on the doorstep while you were over at the Bradleys’.”
“Left it for us?” I groaned. He nodded. “You mean a Christmas package for us?” He shrugged again, obviously amused. “Well, we don’t want it!” I flared. “That’s exactly what we didn’t want.”
“They can just keep it,” Jason rebelled. “I’m not opening it.”
“It’s an insult,” I added. “I’m not taking anybody’s care package.”
Dad held up a restraining hand. “Talking isn’t going to change a thing,” I insisted, anticipating his argument. Dad motioned for us to sit down. We did, grumbling irritably. He waited for our protests to subside, and then he asked quietly, “Has this been a good Christmas?”
I looked over at Jason and he at me. “Yeah,” I muttered, staring at the floor but avoiding the package.
“Why? What’s so special about this Christmas?”
“Because … because we were giving something. We were making somebody happy.”
“Does taking this package change that?”
“It’s charity,” I flared. “We don’t want charity.”
Dad nodded. “Do you know what charity is? Real charity? Love, pure love. This package is a token of someone’s love, not of their ridicule or pity. It is the offspring of charity, of love, just as your gifts to the Bradleys sprang from love.”
“But Dad,” I protested.
Dad shook his head. “How would it have been had the Bradleys reacted to your gifts like you’re reacting to this one?” He looked at Jason and me and waited for an answer, but all we could do was shrug our shoulders and stare at the anonymous package. “You know, sons, there can never be a giver without a receiver. Both are necessary and good.”
He paused a moment. “When Luke went on his mission, I wanted to support him all by myself. I thought it only right that a father support his own son. My pride had a lot to do with it. I was being a little selfish. I didn’t realize until I started getting secret contributions that there were those who wanted to give also. I came to understand that I didn’t have the right to deny them the opportunity.”
He looked at our package. “I don’t know who left this for you. I wouldn’t tell you even if I knew. But whoever it was has as much right to the joy of giving as you two. Unless you accept the gift, they can’t enjoy the full satisfaction of giving.” He placed his hands on our knees and concluded, “At Christmas time we give generously and receive graciously. That’s the spirit of Christmas. When you can do those two things, equally well, you will have taken a giant step toward manhood.”
Long after Dad went to bed, Jason and I stayed by the tree contemplating our unexpected gift. It was the hardest gift for us to accept, but we knew Dad was right.
“I wonder what’s in it?” Jason finally mused.
We glanced at each other. A spark of curiosity glowed in our eyes. I looked around to determine whether we were alone. “We could always peek,” I suggested furtively.
Jason nodded. “I never could wait till Christmas morning.”
We both grinned, nodded our agreement, and then eagerly pulled the package toward us and began peeling off the wrapping.

Sara felt something was wrong the minute she stepped through the doors of the South Bay Winter Club. It was more than being fifteen minutes late for her session; it was a feeling she couldn’t explain. She dumped her skate bag on a bench and walked over to the rink where several friends already were at work.
“Hi, Becky!” she called. “Your loop looks great this morning.”
Becky looked up, waved with a sort of dying swan effort, then turned her back and went to work on her figures again.
Sara tried to get Mary Anne to look at her as well as Polly, who was skating on the next patch, but they acted as though she were the original invisible woman.
What’s going on? Sara wondered as she took her skates from the bag and put them on. I wonder why they’re ignoring me?
Ordinarily this was Sara’s favorite time of the day. She loved to skate in the morning, to walk into the arena and feel the cold air hit her cheeks, and then to stroke out on the rink and hear the scrape of blades on ice as she warmed up. She loved everything about figure skating, not only performing in the club shows, but the long hours of practicing and competing as well. Maybe that’s why she was advancing so rapidly and had a good chance to win the Canadian Juniors competition next week at Edmonton.
If only I didn’t have to compete against Carol. For the hundredth time she wondered why her best friend also had to be her closest rival for the figure-skating title. That’s the hard part. Will our friendship survive the competition?
Suddenly Sara looked up from her laces and glanced around the rink. “Where’s Carol?” she asked Polly, who had skated to the edge of the rink to wipe her face with a towel.
“Talking to Mr. MacGregor,” Polly answered, pointing a thumb at the rink manager’s office.
“Why? What’s she done?” Nobody was ever called to his office unless one of the skating rules had been broken.
“She hasn’t done anything,” Polly replied, placing heavy emphasis on the first word.
“Well, then, who has?” Sara asked, puzzled.
“Oh, come on, Sara,” Polly said disgustedly, and skated away without a backward glance.
Mr. MacGregor’s door opened and Carol came out. Even from a distance Sara could tell she had been crying. What’s wrong? Sara wondered.
Sara thumped along on her blade guards toward Carol, and they came face to face in front of the soft drink machine.
“Are you feeling OK?” Sara began. “Can I help?”
“Yes,” Carol began. “I mean no. Oh, I don’t know what I mean!” She headed for the rest room, then turned. “Mr. MacGregor wants to see you right away.”
Sara couldn’t believe it. Now he wanted to see her too. She skated over and knocked on his door.
“Come in,” said Mr. MacGregor, and Sara stepped into the office.
“Sara,” Mr. MacGregor said earnestly, “I’m afraid we’ve encountered a bit of a problem, and I need you to help us with it.”
“Me?” Sara heard her voice shoot up.
“Do you recognize this?” Mr. MacGregor asked and held up a skating costume. It was full of holes and the material was torn and shredded.
“Oh, no!” Sara cried. “That’s Carol’s costume. She was going to wear it to the Canadian Juniors next week.”
“Exactly,” Mr. MacGregor agreed. “Carol thought you might be able to tell us what happened to it.”
“I don’t understand,” Sara said. Her voice trembled with emotion. “Why would I know what happened to her costume? Does Carol think I would ever do anything to hurt her? We’re best friends.”
“Yes, yes, of course.” Mr. MacGregor seemed uncomfortable. “And Carol only reluctantly agreed that you might be involved after Becky told us what she saw.”
“Becky? What did she tell you?”
“Becky said you were all out on the patio eating your lunches together yesterday,” the manager said.
“That’s right,” Sara agreed. She remembered looking up into the warm spring sun and noticing the squawking blue jays building a nest in the tree that shaded the patio.
“Look,” Sara had said.
Everyone looked but Carol, who was busy sewing glitter beads on the dress that now lay in tatters on Mr. MacGregor’s desk.
“Then what happened, do you remember?” he asked.
“Sure,” Sara said. “One of the kids in the Novice class came out and said Toller Cranston had just walked in, so everyone ran inside but me.”
“Why didn’t you go too?”
“Well … I’ve seen Toller lots of times before,” Sara said finally. She didn’t add that she had his pictures pasted in her skating scrapbooks, but she still felt silly about running in with the other girls. “Carol left in such a hurry that she dropped her dress and scissors, so I picked them up.”
Sara stopped. She remembered Becky had come back just at that moment.
“Aren’t you coming?” Becky had said.
“In just a second,” she’d answered.
Now, standing before the manager’s desk, Sara fought back the tears. “Oh, now I understand. Becky saw me with the scissors and Carol’s costume in my hands. But I put them both down on the picnic table by Carol’s lunch and went indoors right after Becky.”
“I see,” said Mr. MacGregor. “Well, that’s all for now. Thank you for talking with me.”
Sara stumbled out of the office and to the rink where she removed her blade guards. Automatically she warmed up, hardly knowing what she was doing. She claimed her patch and started through her figures like a robot. Tears stung her cheeks as she traced circles that looked like pumpkins, and she changed edges in all the wrong places.
Some friends, she thought, as she nearly lost her balance on a one-foot figure eight. Why would they think I’d do something like that? Do they think I want to win that much next week? Then Sara began to get angry. I’ll show them, she decided. I’ll figure out who really did it.
As she traced her figures, she thought about each girl. Maybe Becky did it because she’s jealous. Or, what about Mary Anne and Polly? she wondered, pushing off on a loop. They could have come back and ripped Carol’s dress. Sara stopped skating suddenly and stood on the flats of her blades. What about Carol? What if she did it to point suspicion at me and force me out of the competition?
Sara started a slow spin. No, she thought, that’s too farfetched. Or is it? Carol was certainly ready to place the blame on me without waiting for an explanation. Now Sara realized as she continued to spin that it was really easy to doubt, to distrust someone, to believe whatever you heard about a person. It was the easiest thing in the world and she could understand Carol’s feelings. Maybe, she thought, maybe friendship is only a word that doesn’t mean anything anymore.
At noon, Sara took off her skates and headed for the patio with her brown paper bag. No one was there. She sat at the redwood table and ate part of a ham sandwich that tasted like it had been made from a shoe box. Suddenly she pushed it aside. A blue jay swooped down and sat on the edge of the table opposite her. “Help yourself,” she said, pushing the sandwich toward him. He began to peck at the bread, keeping a wary eye on her at the same time.
The door from the rink opened and Carol came out. There was an awkward pause before she finally said, “Hi.”
“Hi,” Sara replied.
“I … I’ve been wanting to talk to you,” Carol stammered.
“I’d like to talk to you too.”
“Sara, I didn’t want to believe what Becky said,” Carol began.
“Then why did you?”
“I don’t know. I guess when Becky told Mr. MacGregor and then he told me, well, it seemed easy to believe what they believed.”
“But we’re friends!” Sara almost shouted. “Friends don’t hurt each other like that, do they?”
The girls looked at each other. Carol said nothing, just twisted her hair with her finger. Sara stood up to leave. Carol turned to look at her, her eyes full of tears. “You forgot your lunch,” she said.
“That’s all right. I told the jay he could have it.” They watched as the bird pecked off a hunk of Sara’s sandwich, then flew to the nest in the tree above with it. At that moment, something shiny reflecting in the sun caught Sara’s eye.
“What’s that?” she said more to herself than to Carol.
“What?” Carol asked.
Sara didn’t answer because of a shivery feeling that she was about to discover something important. She stepped up onto the bench, then onto the picnic table.
Sara could almost see into the bird’s nest that was now being defended by two angry blue jays flying overhead. She reached up and felt around inside the nest and then pulled on something that felt like cloth.
“Look,” Sara said, holding a shred of material in her hand. There were several glittery beads still attached to it.
“My costume!” Carol cried out. “They did it! The blue jays did it.”
The birds swooped around them now, angry and ready for a fight. “Oh, Sara, please get down before you get hurt,” Carol said.
Sara jumped down, handed the scrap of material to Carol, and brushed off her hands.
“I’m sorry,” Carol began. “Sorry for not trusting you. Will you ever be friends with me again?”
Sara looked at her. Carol had hurt her today and now she could hurt back if she wanted to. Carol has it coming doesn’t she—a hurt for a hurt? But friendship is much more than a word. I’ve learned that today and maybe Carol will too.
“I’ve never stopped being your friend,” Sara said. They laughed as the blue jays scolded the girls from their tree branch. Then Sara continued, “Come on, there’s still time to make a new skating costume before next week, if you’ll let me help.” Then they linked arms and went back inside.

We just recently had our third child, a baby girl named Faith. During the delivery, my wife was having some complications and we were scared for our baby. I gave Julia a blessing. Then she asked me to sing to her. The Spirit brought peace to both of us. Soon baby Faith came safely into the world. It was a miracle, and she definitely lived up to her name. Faith’s beautiful smile brightens my life. I can’t express in words how much she means to me.

“So it has been all through my life. If I have undertaken to do anything, and the Lord has wanted me to do something else, He has had to tell me. When we were sent to England, we were sent by revelation. I went into the Staffordshire potteries with Brother Alfred Cordon. We were doing a splendid work, baptizing almost every night, and I thought it was the finest mission I ever was on. I went into the town of Hanley one night, and attended meeting in a large hall, which was filled to overflowing. The Spirit of the Lord came upon me and said that that was the last meeting I should hold with that people for many days. I told the people that that was the last meeting I should be with them. After the meeting, they asked me where I was going. I told them I did not know. In the morning I asked the Lord what He wanted of me. He merely said, ‘Go to the south.’ I got into the stage and rode eighty miles. The first man’s house I stopped at was John Benbow’s in Herefordshire. In half an hour after I entered the house I knew exactly why the Lord had sent me. There was a people there who had been praying for the ancient order of things. They were waiting for the Gospel as it was taught by Christ and His Apostles. The consequence was, the first thirty days after I got there I baptized six hundred of those people. In eight month’s labor in that country I brought eighteen hundred into the Church. Why? Because there was a people prepared for the Gospel, and the Lord sent me there to do that work. I have always had to give God the glory for everything good that has happened to me; for I have realized by what power it came.” (Deseret Weekly, 7 Nov. 1896, p. 643.)

If you want your influence to extend beyond the circle of your friends, you may want to prepare a Book of Mormon and then give it to the missionaries to be used wherever it can do the most good. If you wish, you can include a photo of your entire family and make it a family project. The John R. Poulton family of Salt Lake City, Utah, treasures several letters from people who have received the Book of Mormon from them in this way through the missionaries.
Lawrence C. Alamargo of the Philippines wrote to the family: “We received the Book of Mormon you sent, and we have read it already. It inspired the whole family. The Book of Mormon was handed to us by the elders who taught us the gospel of God. We were baptized December 25th, and the gift of the Holy Ghost was the most precious gift we ever received in our lives.”

It was a typical Olsen family home evening. Mother played the piano while little Christopher waved his arm and led everyone in “The Golden Plates.” After Amanda gave the opening prayer, Dad stood to give the lesson. “Who remembers what we did at the Olsen family reunion last summer?” he asked.
“Watched home movies!” Julie cried out. Then she giggled, thinking about Uncle Jack dancing the hula in Hawaii.
“Ran races!” Amanda chimed in, remembering her Best Effort award.
“Corn on the cob!” Christopher yelled, and everyone laughed.
“That’s true,” Dad said. “Now who remembers what Uncle Bob asked us to do?”
Scott frowned. “Not family history,” he groaned.
“Very good,” Dad said. “Uncle Bob challenged each family to do something new with our family history.”
“But, Dad,” Julie countered, “Uncle Bob said that the only research left had to be done overseas.”
“Do we get to go to Europe?” Amanda asked excitedly.
“Sorry, Pumpkin,” Dad answered. “I think that research is out. We’ll have to be more creative than that.”
“There’s nothing creative about family history,” Scott complained. “It’s just a bunch of old names and dates.”
“Well, when Joseph Smith first saw the golden plates,” Mom noted, “it was just a bunch of old markings until he translated them.”
“That was different,” Scott said. “The Book of Mormon was important, so Heavenly Father helped him translate it.”
“Family history is important, too,” Dad persisted, holding up his book of remembrance. “Maybe we just need help to translate ours.”
Julie looked puzzled. “What do you mean, Dad?”
“Translate means to make something understandable,” Dad explained. “Maybe we need to translate our records into something more than just names and dates.”
“Aw, Dad,” Scott said, picking up a family group sheet. “There’s nothing here except—Hey, I never noticed that!” He pointed, staring at an entry.
“What?” Amanda said, looking over her brother’s shoulder.
“This guy, Jacob Olsen, was born on October fourth, just like me.”
“That ‘guy,’” Mom said, “was your great-grandpa. He was really happy that you were born on his birthday.”
“I don’t remember him,” Scott said.
“He died when you were just a baby,” Dad explained. “He really liked it when we took you to visit him.”
“His family had two boys and two girls in it, just like ours,” Julie noticed. “But look—the last one died the day that she was born.”
“November fifteenth,” Dad said without having to look. “Grandpa told me that his sister was born prematurely and was just too tiny to live. But they always remembered Baby Annie and put a rosebud on her grave every November fifteenth.”
“That must have been a sad day,” Julie said quietly.
“It was,” Dad agreed. “But it was happy too. It reminded them that they had a sister they could see again someday.”
“I wonder,” Amanda said, “if anyone remembers Baby Annie now?”
“We can!” Scott put in. “Can’t we, Mom?”
“I think that that would be nice,” Mom said, smiling. “I’ll just mark November fifteenth on our calendar.”
“And write down Grandpa Olsen’s birthday, too,” Scott suggested.
“But at the end of the year,” Julie realized aloud, “we’ll just throw the calendar away and forget them.”
“Then I guess that we need another way to remember,” Mom said, going into the next room. “How about this?” she asked when she returned. “We never used this old 1988 calendar. I didn’t know why I was saving it, but it must have been for this project. And since it was a leap year, it even has February twenty-ninth on it, in case we need it.”
“But it’s two years old,” Julie said, giggling.
“That doesn’t matter,” Dad said. “We need a calendar for yesterdays, not tomorrows.”
“I get it!” Scott said. “We can remember our ancestors’ important days on that calendar, just like we remember our own important days on our current one. What other dates can we write on it?”
“Well, between Mom’s records and mine, there surely are enough of them here!” Dad laughed, thumbing through the pages. “How about if we study one family every week, then put all their birthdays and weddings and deaths on the calendar?”
“Starting with Jacob Olsen,” Scott proclaimed, eagerly turning to the October page. “Dad, do you think he enjoyed his birthday as much as I do mine?”
“I’m sure that he did,” Dad said. “Do you still think that family history is just a bunch of old names and dates?”
“I guess not,” Scott readily admitted. “At least, not after we translate them into people.”

She also held her own with the other missionaries. Once, as a joke, two elders replaced her coconut’s natural water with regular water at breakfast. The joke “disappointed” Emma, but she paid the elders back by serving them coconut covered with salt instead of sugar.

Such joking aside, the missionaries had an immense respect for “Sister Purcell.” One missionary observed that she was “full of the spirit of her office and calling.” Another elder wrote with appreciation about her kindness. Once, Emma left some bananas along a trail so that he and his companion had something to eat while traveling.

In the year 1968, when I was president of a stake in Buenos Aires, Argentina, I received a phone call from a young lady, a member of the Church, who wanted to talk with me as soon as possible. We made an appointment, and during the interview she said something to this effect, “President, as you know, I have a boyfriend who is not a member of the Church, but who is a very fine person. He loves me very much and I love him, and I tell him that often, but now I am confused because on our last date he asked me to prove my love to him.”
Well, you probably understand the test of love that the young man wanted. She continued, saying, “I am confused, President.”
I am sure you know what my counsel was to her, but that which worried me the most, what really concerned me, was her last statement, “I am confused, President.”
How could she be confused? How could she doubt, not knowing what to do or how to act? This type of decision, once made, constitutes the foundation on which we continue to build throughout life. Once you make the decision to live a clean life, once you decide to be chaste, you act accordingly, and you always live a pure life.
The changing circumstances of life are not important. Once the decision is made, on the basis of correct principles proceeding forth from an unchanging God, then that determines our course of action without the necessity of going through the entire process each time temptation or sin appears.

On a rainy Saturday morning prior to a Kolwezi district conference in 2013, President Ellie Monga, Counselor in the Lubumbashi Democratic Republic of the Congo Mission and Elder Jeffrey Wright, the mission finance secretary, welcomed two strangers at the mission office. Their clothes were muddy, and they were exhausted. They arrived pushing a single, beat-up bicycle and carrying a parcel that was wrapped in a torn and dirty plastic.
President Monga and Elder Wright inquired about their journey and learned that these two tired pilgrims, Brothers Yumba Muzimba Paul and Muba Wa Umbalo Delphin, had arrived from Kinkondja, a city located 600 kilometers (375 miles) north of Kolwezi. They had departed eight days earlier as part of a larger group that was traveling to attend the district conference. En route, most of the group fell sick and decided to return to their homes—but these two brothers were determined to complete the journey by themselves, taking turns between pedaling the bicycle and riding on the back. They said that they had travelled the last three days continuously through the night without stopping and without food—and after a tire went flat, they pushed the bicycle through the rain along the muddy roads. Their bicycle was broken, and these brothers had no money for tools or parts. They had not eaten for three days. They did not know how they would fund a return to their homes.
Brother Paul and Brother Delphin explained that they represented the roughly 60 Saints living in the Kinkondja area and had come to bring tithing from those Saints and to attend the district conference. This came as a surprise to President Monga and Elder Wright as there was no officially organized Kinkondja branch of the Church. Elder Wright recorded in his journal, “It was my honor to receive [the tithing envelopes]. It was my honor to process them.” Elder Wright continued, “I have never felt like I had handled such sacred money before in my whole lifetime.”
Brother Paul related that he was one of three men from Kinkondja who had begun writing to then-Church President Spencer W. Kimball in 1975, asking for missionaries to be sent to the DRC—known as Zaire at the time—and especially to their own village. Brother Delphin added that his deceased father was one of those same three men. (This was well before the Church had been formally organized in the country and before the first missionaries arrived in 1986.) These brothers said that years before, both had been baptized and ordained to the Aaronic Priesthood. But in earlier instructions from Church leaders, they were told that they could not be ordained to the Melchizedek Priesthood because at that time they lived too far away from an organized Church unit.
For the next two days, President Monga and Elder Wright taught and trained Brother Paul and Brother Delphin in the duties and obligations of the Melchizedek Priesthood. During his interview with Brother Paul, Elder Wright stressed the obligations associated with priesthood ordination, and reminded Brother Paul that “the priesthood is an irreversible event with heavy consequences based on the oath and covenant of the priesthood.” Speaking through President Monga as translator from Kiluba, his native language, Brother Paul replied, “I have waited for this event for 38 years, anticipating this happening for me. Do you think I will fall away? I will never turn away.”
Both brothers were sustained to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood in the district conference, and afterward ordained by Elder Wright with President Monga translating his words into Kiluba. After their ordinations, they were further authorized by President Monga to baptize their wives and children and to administer the sacrament to the Saints upon their return to Kinkondja. Brother Delphin, the younger of the two brothers, was given an additional instruction to dedicate the grave of his father to “honor him as one of the original converts and pioneers of the great work in the Congo.”
Elder Wright recorded in his journal: “I told the mission president [President Phillip McMullin] that night about the condition of their bike and mentioned that I was going to recondition it, buy them [a second] bike and buy them some tools to fix the bikes.” He and President McMullin also funded a ride home for them along with their bikes in one of the big trucks that travel the route to Kinkondja. Before departing, the brothers were given Church materials to take back to their village—among those materials were a sacrament tray and cups so that these newly-ordained and authorized priesthood holders would be able to conduct the ordinance of the sacrament each week.
That Kolwezi district conference in 2013 was memorable for all involved. The district president asked the Kinkondja brethren, to share their powerful testimonies in priesthood meeting and in the Sunday session of conference. They had arrived very tired and very early on Saturday morning. By the end of the conference, they—and all who heard their stories and their testimonies—left refreshed, fulfilled, and feeling God’s love in their hearts.

Illustrations by Elise Black
The front door closed behind Thomas with a swoosh and a click as he hurried to check the family calendar.
“I was right!” he called loudly. “It is my turn to teach the lesson in family home evening.”
Mom’s eyes widened. “Honey, I’m so sorry we didn’t plan your lesson last night! I thought it was my turn to teach.”
Thomas shook his head. “Don’t worry, Mom. I know what to do.” Normally she helped him prepare the day before. But he was 10 years old now. He could plan a lesson by himself.
Mom smiled and raised an eyebrow. “You’re sure? You don’t need any help?”
“Yup, I’ve got this.”
Later that night Thomas pulled out his copy of the Friend. He opened it to an article he’d read called “The Ten Commandments Teach Me to Love God and His Children” (Sept. 2012). As Thomas read it out loud to his family, he noticed Mom looking very proud of him.
After the lesson it was time for the activity on the next page. Thomas had already cut out the labels that read, “Honoring God,” “Respecting Parents and Family,” and “Respecting Others.”
As part of the activity, they took turns sharing examples of how they’d kept commandments the past week.
“I said my prayers last night,” said his big sister Ella.
“What group do we think that falls in?” asked Thomas. After discussing, they picked “Honoring God.”
After the lesson Ella served some tasty cookies she’d baked. Then they delivered some of the extras to friends.
Thomas felt so happy he could help out. That was one of his favorite family home evenings ever!