Gospel Story Finder

When Eva found that her husband was involved with pornography, she felt “intense pain, anger, heartache, depression, and obsession.” Obsession is actually a common feeling for someone who experiences the trauma of betrayal of a spouse’s pornography use, and Eva’s behavior in response to these intense emotions is also not unusual. She began to obsess about her husband and his actions. Where was he? Who was he talking to? What was he doing? His pornography and sex addiction became the center of her life, and she desperately wanted to fix him, believing that if she could get his problem under control, they would be happy.
Eva is divorced and regularly attending 12-step meetings, where she finds safety and validation as she works on her recovery. She has come to understand that while she once made her husband’s addiction the focus of her life, healing comes as she puts the Savior at the center of her life and efforts.

It may sound a little unusual, but the youth of the Spokane 19th Ward, Washington North Stake, recently adopted a room—a room at a local alcohol-free, drug-free transitional residence for people recovering from substance dependence.

The “Super-Service Project” included raising money to be able to clean, paint, carpet, rewire, hang drapes, furnish, and provide many other services for one room in Spokane’s 100-year-old Jefferson Center. The building is entirely dependent on volunteers to prepare its rooms for habitation by the homeless. According to many of the youth involved, the four-month service project was a great experience but a little too short. After a little taste of service, they’re eager for the next course.

As my senior year of high school was coming to an end, I knew that yearbooks were going to be available soon. As I considered what I would write to my best friends, the idea came to me that I could write my testimony in every yearbook that I would sign.
But I didn’t know how appropriate it would be to write my testimony. What if they didn’t take it seriously? So I prayed and asked Heavenly Father what I should do. I felt a warm burning inside. I was determined to do it.
When yearbooks came out, I wrote my testimony in the books that were handed to me to sign. One day, after school, my friend Mike’s younger brother, Ben, asked me to sign his yearbook. I barely knew Ben. I considered not writing my testimony in his yearbook since I didn’t really know him, yet I felt impressed to go ahead.
Two days later, as I was walking home from school, I felt restless. I decided I wanted to play basketball. As I was thinking of whom to call, I heard someone walking behind me. I looked back, and it was Ben. He wanted to talk to me. I suggested that we play basketball, and he agreed.
As we began to play, I was joking around and having fun. Suddenly, Ben asked, “Are you a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints?”
I stopped dead in my tracks. No one had ever asked me that before. Many people had asked me if I was Mormon, but nobody had ever known the entire name of the Church. Today I was not thinking about sharing the gospel. My attention was on basketball and having fun. I shrugged and said, “Yes,” and started dribbling the ball.
A bit later, he asked, “Where is the church that you go to?”
Still thinking of basketball, I offhandedly answered him before dribbling by him to score.
A little flustered, Ben asked, “When does church start?” Then it dawned on me that he just might be interested in the Church. I offered to give him a ride the next Sunday. He said that he would like to do that.
After church, Ben and I watched part of a church video at my house before he had to go home.
The following Sunday, my Sunday School teacher was giving us a ride home. Out of the blue, Ben asked, “What does it take to be baptized?”
My teacher slammed on the brakes. I was stunned as well. “You have to have a testimony, I said.” Then I realized how silly it was in light of the fact that Ben already believed.
My Sunday School teacher called the missionaries. They set up a time to meet Ben and teach him the gospel at my house. He accepted the baptismal commitment without hesitation.
Ben was baptized about one month after I had signed his yearbook. He asked me to give one of the talks at his baptism. His parents came to his baptism. It was an exciting experience for me.
I am thankful that the Spirit of the Holy Ghost prompted me to go ahead and share my testimony in Ben’s yearbook. I am thankful for the opportunity to be an instrument in God’s hand in bringing the gospel to one of his beloved children.

Ever since Tavita was 11, it was his dream to serve a mission—and nothing was going to stand in his way. He loved to sit and listen to returned missionaries share their spiritual experiences, and each day he grew more determined that he too would serve. By the time Tavita was a college freshman, preparing to sign scholarship agreements to play football at the University of Hawaii at Manoa, he made sure he could leave for two years to serve the Lord.
After serving an honorable mission, Tavita returned to his spot on the Hawaii roster and this fall will suit up as offensive guard.

I love nature! I like to hear the singing of the birds, the rustling of the leaves in the wind, and the sound of the sea.
Sometimes my family goes to the beach with other families. The dads play volleyball, and the moms sit under umbrellas and play with the younger children.
One afternoon I was so excited when we got to the ocean! The waves were calm, and there were small pools scattered around the shoreline. I ran to the water. I wanted to swim like a fish and collect seashells.
“Stay close, Sueli!” my mother called as she gathered the young children into the shade of the big umbrella.
“All right, Mom,” I said as I dug my toes into the wet sand.
I searched for shells and inspected the little creatures in the pools along the shore. As I splashed in one of the pools, I looked back toward my family. I could see the umbrellas in the distance. I realized I had gone too far away. I tried to swim back to the beach, but the tide had risen. The pool grew deeper as I struggled to get out.
I was getting tired, and I knew I was in danger. All I could think of was getting help from Heavenly Father. I said a prayer in my mind. As soon as I finished praying, a hand grabbed my arm and pulled me to safety. It was one of my father’s friends. I am grateful that Heavenly Father answered my prayer and held out His hand by sending someone to help me.
The next time we visited the ocean I stayed close to my family, just as I can stay close to Heavenly Father through prayer.

Meg wanted to be perfect. She brushed her hair until it was perfectly shiny. She kept her hands perfectly clean. She kept her clothes perfectly neat.
Meg didn’t like messy sandboxes. She hated it when one shoelace was longer than the other. And she really didn’t like dirt. Playing tag looked like fun … but she might mess up her hair or get her shirt dirty!
On Meg’s birthday, her mommy and daddy gave her a special gift. It was a puppy! He was tan with white paws and soft brown eyes.
“Oh, I love him!” Meg said. “I’m going to call him Mittens.”
The next day, Meg played with Mittens in the yard. She threw the ball over and over again. They had so much fun. Then Mittens jumped into Meg’s lap. With dirty paws!
“Eww!” Meg yelled. “Mommy! Mittens got me dirty!”
Mommy came outside. She gave Meg a hug. “Puppies are messy,” she told Meg. “I know it’s hard for you. But I hope you can have fun with Mittens, even if it means getting a little dirty.”
Meg looked down at Mittens. She wanted her clothes perfectly clean. But she also wanted to keep playing with her puppy. She loved him!
“I guess it’s OK to get a little messy sometimes,” Meg said.
Days went by. Meg kept playing with Mittens. Sometimes he drooled a little on her clothes. Sometimes he drooled a lot on her clothes! After a while, Meg worried less about the mess. Mittens was fun to play with! He was always happy to see her.
Soon Meg started trying other new things. She waded in the lake with her family. She played in the sandbox. She played tag at recess.
One day, Mommy even had to remind Meg to change her dirty clothes! But Meg didn’t mind. Things didn’t need to be perfect for her to feel happy.

When I was a child, I played the violin. I wanted it to sound pretty. I wanted to play for my parents and have them say, “Oh, Joy, that’s beautiful!” But it didn’t sound beautiful. It squeaked!
Sometimes when I didn’t practice, my teacher would say, “Joy, did you practice this week?” It made me want to practice so I could play better the next week.
Looking back, playing the violin was a good experience because it was hard. Even though I didn’t always like practicing, I learned so much from setting a goal to practice a little bit every day.

A friend of ours in South Africa shared how she came to this realization. When Diane was a new convert, she attended a branch outside of Johannesburg. One Sunday, as she sat in the congregation, the layout of the chapel prevented a deacon from seeing her as he passed the sacrament. Diane was disappointed but said nothing. Another member noted the omission and mentioned it to the branch president after the meeting. As Sunday School began, Diane was invited to an empty classroom.
A priesthood holder came in. He knelt, blessed some bread, and handed her a piece. She ate it. He knelt again, blessed some water, and handed her a small cup. She drank it. Diane had two thoughts in rapid succession: “Oh, he [the priesthood holder] did this just for me,” and then, “Oh, He [the Savior] did this just for me.” Through the sacrament, Diane felt Heavenly Father’s love just for her.
Her realization that the Savior’s sacrifice was just for her helped her feel close to Him and fueled an overwhelming desire to keep that feeling in her heart—not just Sunday but every day. She realized that although she sat in a congregation to partake of the sacrament, the covenants she made anew each Sunday were individually hers. The sacrament helped—and continues to help—Diane feel the power of godly love, recognize the Lord’s hand in her life, and draw closer to the Savior.13

When I was older I found work in a dressmaking shop, and learned how to make nice clothes for myself and for Mama and my little sisters too. Soon after this Jody, my childhood sweetheart, asked me to marry him. Looking closely at the temple-sawdust pincushion one day, I knew I wanted to be married in the temple. But after nearly forty years in building, the temple still was not completed, so Jody’s father solved the problem by giving us railroad tickets to Logan. On a beautiful June day we were married in the Logan Temple for time and all eternity.
The pincushion made from temple sawdust traveled with us to our home in Salt Lake City. It went with us wherever we lived. And it has been a reminder to each of our eight children that the temple is a sacred and important place. Papa was right. It has, indeed, been “a fine thing to have a pincushion made with temple sawdust.”

On March 27, 1993, when I was 13 years old, I was baptized. I have been receiving the New Era ever since, but for two years I had never read it all the way through. When my family moved from California to West Virginia, I was happy about the move but sad to leave my friends and ward behind. On my second day in our new home, my parents gave me two issues of the New Era. That night I decided to let the magazine become my friend. When I turned to “Some Friendly Advice” (Mar. 1995), I almost cried because I found the answer to my problem. I thought, Wow, this is perfect. I put the advice to use and I made a lot of friends at school. Since that night, I have faithfully read the New Era cover to cover.
Stephanie AdamsBuckhannon, West Virginia

Vivian loved to write notes on colored paper. She left them around the house for her family.
One day Mommy had a surprise. “Grammie is coming to visit,” she said.
Vivian was very happy. Grammie was her grandma. She lived far away. She couldn’t visit very often.
“I can’t wait!” Vivian said. “When will she come?”
“Tonight after your bedtime,” Mommy said. “You will see her tomorrow.”
That night Vivian was very excited. It was hard for her to fall asleep.
The next morning when Vivian woke up, Grammie was there. She would be staying for five whole days!
Vivian and Grammie did lots of things together. They made cookies. They read books. And they played lots of games.
One afternoon Vivian saw Grammie putting her clothes in her suitcase.
“Are you going home?” Vivian asked.
“Yes,” Grammie said. “I am going home tomorrow. Your grandpa misses me.”
Vivian didn’t want Grammie to go. Then she had an idea. She went to find her paper and her markers.
The next morning Grammie said, “I’ll be gone when you get home from kindergarten.”
“I’ll miss you!” Vivian said. She gave Grammie a big hug.
“I’ll miss you too,” Grammie said. She looked sad.
Vivian was sad too, but she had a happy secret.
The next day, the phone rang. Mommy answered it. Then she handed it to Vivian. “It’s Grammie,” Mommy said.
“Hi, Vivian,” Grammie said. “When I got home, I found a surprise in my suitcase. Can you guess what it was?”
“A note!” Vivian said. “I put it there when you weren’t looking.”
“Your surprise made me feel so happy,” Grammie said. “It said that you love me. And I love you too.”

Silhouetted with their boats against the evening sky, they looked like a party of mountain men or trappers. Just like the early explorers of the great Northwest, they had portaged their canoes over rugged terrain, retraced their tracks, and then carried food and equipment to the site of their camp.
They had been pushing hard. Muscles and spirits were tired. They were probably as sore and stiff as any group of travelers ever could be. But now the tents were pitched, supplies were stashed (safe from bears) high in the trees, dinner was steaming in the pot, and the campfire beckoned anyone near to mellow in its warm, yellow glow.
It was time to recover from the strains of the day, to let nature calm and soothe with a serenity unique to the out-of-doors. Snowcapped peaks stood like an honor guard in white dress uniform. The sun, small on the horizon, dipped through strands of gray, leaving an orange tinge in the sky.
“This day has not been a piece of cake,” said Eric Peterson. “But now is when you know you’ve earned it. The view is marvelous, worth every blister.”
Eric was one of the younger members of our group, but after a few days on the Bowron Lakes, he, like the other boys and fathers of Troop 266 from Tacoma, Washington, already felt like a seasoned veteran. Paddling and portaging all day, sleeping out in the woods with your father and your friends and leaders, getting up early and working hard—it makes you feel responsible for yourself.
Our decision to head north into the Canadian wilderness between Kamloops and Prince George, British Columbia, had initiated months of work, preparation, and planning. Fall and winter months had been filled with passing merit badges, repairing the troop’s canoes, fundraising, and the gathering of food and clothing, all under the direction of Scout and priesthood leaders in the Tacoma Sixth Ward. Then came the high excitement as spring gave way to early summer, school let out in June, and we were on our way. It was the second trip to the area for some of the older boys. As much as possible, fathers accompanied their sons and were assigned to the same canoe with them.
And what memories we made! Fighting stiff head winds that could have pushed us across the water easily, if only we’d been traveling in the opposite direction. Sudden storms that pelted us with rain and ice. The sweet “sleep of a labouring man” (see Eccl. 5:12). The one bear that did wander near camp climbed a tree and tried to get into our food. The aches, the pains, the blisters—and going on in spite of them. The wind that did, once, mercifully fill our makeshift sails as we raced across Spectacle Lake in record time.
It all served to bring us closer together, as young men and leaders, as brothers in the priesthood, as fathers and sons. How can you not talk to someone while paddling across the 26-miles of choppy waves on Lanezi Lake? Especially when he has struggled with you, side-by-side, to carry a canoe through rocks and underbrush on the banks of the Caribou River; and shivered with you when “deadheads and sweepers” (submerged logs in the language of Canadian rangers) tipped your canoe into the bone-chilling waters.
None of us will forget the 18 hours we spent drying out around an old potbellied wood stove heated to a red hot glow. Or the ranger who entertained us with tales of his Montana cowboy days. Or the impromptu testimony meeting when Lynn Wilbur read to us from the Book of Mormon.
Sure, we returned home eager for pizza, bathtubs, and nice clean sheets. But we returned home richer and stronger—and ready to head north of the border again just as soon as we are able.

I didn’t think that tithing settlement was such a big deal, but Brother Jacobs, our home teacher, seemed pretty excited about it. He and his son Brian were over and, like always, they asked for my dad’s permission to have a prayer. My dad grunted yes and Brother Jacobs gave the prayer. As he prayed, something he said caught my attention. Brother Jacobs said, “And bless Brother Johnson that he will respond to our message.”
My dad is really a good man, but he didn’t go to church or even want to talk about it. It had taken almost a year of the home teachers knocking on our door for my dad to let them in the house, but I’m glad he did.
I wondered what Dad would do. It was rare that he would even stay in the room when the home teachers were there, but he did nothing. Brother Jacobs was pretty brave to say what he did with my dad listening. He was lucky Dad didn’t leave the room.
Dad was his usual self. He was willing to talk about most things—sports, his yard, the weather—but not about the Church. We were talking about Dad’s favorite football team when Brother Jacobs blurted out, “Brother Johnson, we want you to come to tithing settlement.”
I thought Brother Jacobs had made a big mistake because Dad got very quiet and looked uncomfortable. Finally he said, “Why should I come to tithing settlement? I don’t pay tithing.”
Now I got quiet and felt uncomfortable. How was Brother Jacobs going to answer Dad’s question?
Brother Jacobs said, “Because the Lord loves you.” Brother Jacobs said the bishop had asked all the home teachers to go to every member and invite them to tithing settlement. He told Dad that he wanted him to go because he wanted our family to have the blessing of going. My dad got quiet again.
Brother Jacobs told Dad that tithing settlement was a simple way for the Lord to bless our lives. If we paid tithing or not the Lord would bless us for going to tithing settlement. Tithing settlement only takes a few minutes, he said, and the bishop does not make anyone feel ashamed or guilty. Brother Jacobs also promised that if Dad took his family to tithing settlement, he would have a happier home and each one of his family would become a better person.
Dad didn’t say much. He really loves us and wants to do what is right for us. When Brother Jacobs asked if he would go to tithing settlement, Dad said yes.
The end of the month came, and my Dad took us to tithing settlement. Just before the bishop called us in, I wondered what Dad was thinking. He was awfully fidgety. I think he didn’t want to be there. I remembered Brother Jacob’s promise and wondered if our lives would change.
When the bishop asked us in, he greeted Dad like his best friend. I don’t know if that made Dad feel at ease or more uncomfortable. The bishop talked to us briefly, then asked my youngest sister, Suzie, if she knew what tithing was.
Suzie said yes, tithing was when you get ten coins, you give one to the bishop. The bishop said that was true, but it was the Lord’s money and he, as the bishop, received it for Him. The bishop asked Suzie if she had received any money this year. Suzie said she had gotten some money for her allowance. The bishop asked Suzie if she paid a full tithing. She said yes.
The bishop then asked Maggie, my older sister, if she was a full-tithe payer. Maggie said yes like she was Joan of Arc going off to be burned. She said every bit of money she got was tithed and she was a full-tithe payer. Maggie was always too dramatic.
Now it was my turn to say if I was a full-tithe payer. I was about to say yes, but then I remembered that I had done some yard work last summer and hadn’t tithed the money I got for it. I had to tell the bishop no, I wasn’t a full-tithe payer.
The bishop asked me if I wanted to be a full-tithe payer. I said yes, I guess so. Then he asked if I had the money now. I pulled out my wallet and gave him what I had. It still wasn’t enough. Then I felt some pressed into my hand. It was my dad giving me the money needed to pay a full tithing. I looked at my dad and he said I could pay him back later. I gave the bishop the rest of my tithing, and he wrote down that I was a full-tithe payer. It was a pretty good feeling.
The bishop then asked my mom if she paid a full tithe. She said yes. She had tithed the money she got for watching the neighbor’s children.
It was Dad’s turn to declare. He is a proud man, and I knew he hadn’t paid any tithing this year, so I was surprised that he had come at all. What really surprised me was when my dad pulled an envelope out of his pocket and gave it to the bishop. Dad said it wasn’t a full tithing but it was a start.
The bishop became quiet. He just stared at my dad. After what seemed to be forever, the bishop told my dad he was glad that my father had set a good example for his family and as long as my father kept his promise, the Lord would keep his.
We were all pretty quiet on the way back home. I wondered what the bishop meant about promises. My dad looked pretty surprised when the bishop said it. I didn’t find out what the bishop meant until three months later, but I did find out that Brother Jacobs was right almost right away. Two weeks after tithing settlement Dad came to church for the first time in years. And he has kept going. Just last fast Sunday I found out what had happened.
It was a real spiritual meeting. Even I got up to bear my testimony. And before I was able to sit down, Dad got up to bear his testimony. He told how five years ago he had got out of the habit of going to church. Back in November he began thinking seriously about his children and how the world would affect them as they were growing up. He saw how his children’s friends were influencing them to start to do things that he knew would lead to trouble. This is what he was thinking when the home teachers came over. When Brother Jacobs promised Dad that his family would be better people if he took them to tithing settlement, he knew he had to take the opportunity.
As the time for tithing settlement got close, my dad began to think about why he didn’t pay tithing. He used to pay it and didn’t miss it at all. He only stopped paying because he stopped going to church. My dad thought that if he could believe going to tithing settlement would help his family, then he could believe that paying tithing would also help. My dad said a silent prayer where he promised the Lord that he would start paying tithing and he expected the Lord to keep his promise. Right at that moment, my dad began to change.
My dad then told the ward that when he met with the bishop, it really felt good to give, even though it wasn’t a full tithing. He learned that starting was the important part. He also told the ward that when the bishop had told him the Lord would keep his promise, my dad knew the Lord had answered his prayer. He also found out what Brother Jacobs had said about tithing settlement was true. My dad said that if he hadn’t gone to tithing settlement he would not be in church today. After going to tithing settlement my dad began to think where he was headed. He realized that it wasn’t too late to change his life, so he started by coming to church.
He told everyone that tithing was a true principle that had changed his life. And, you know something, he’s right.

Amy hated riding in the car. It bumped along the road, turning corners and making her feel dizzy. She was too little to see much out the windows. “Are we there yet?” she asked Mommy a lot.
Today they were on their way to Grandma’s. Amy was eager to play with her cousins in Grandma’s big backyard. She hoped that they would pick yellow flowers out of the grass and make a pretend house under the trees. But first she had to get there—and that meant more time in the car than Amy thought she could stand.
“Mommy, my tummy hurts,” she grumbled.
Her baby brother whimpered. “I think Baby Jacob’s tummy hurts, too,” she said.
Amy wanted to cry. “At least Jacob can see out the window,” she whined. “Why can’t we go any faster?”
“Well,” Mommy said, taking a deep breath, “there are a lot of cars on the highway, and nobody is going fast.”
“Oh.” Amy scrunched her eyebrows. “So how much longer?”
“I’m not sure, sweetheart.” Then Mommy smiled, and in the mirror at the front of the car, Amy saw her eyes grow wide. “Amy,” she said, “if you look out your window, way up high, I think pretty soon you will see the top of the temple.”
“The temple? Where you and Daddy were married?”
“We were married in the temple,” Mom said, “but not this temple. This is the Seattle Washington Temple, where Grandma and Grandpa go to help with baptisms.”
Amy craned her neck to look through the window at the sky. “Mommy, I don’t see it!”
“Sit up as tall as you can, Amy. Look for the Angel Moroni on top.”
Amy said a quick prayer in her head. Heavenly Father, please help me to see the temple. Then, in the middle of dark green trees, she spotted a spire. “Mommy, Mommy! I see it! There’s the Angel Moroni!”
Amy looked to see if Baby Jacob was watching, but he was busy looking at his fingers. “That’s the temple, Jacob,” she said, pointing out the window.
“‘I love to see the temple,’”* Mommy sang, beginning Amy’s favorite Primary song.
“‘I’m going there someday,’” Amy joined in. Even when the temple disappeared behind the trees, she kept singing. “‘To feel the Holy Spirit, To listen and to pray.’”
When they finished the song, Amy asked if they could sing it again. Soon they were pulling into Grandma’s driveway.
“How’s your tummy?” Mom whispered, turning off the car. Baby Jacob was sound asleep.
“All better,” Amy said. She unbuckled her seat belt and jumped out in the sunshine. “I’m going to tell Grandma we saw the temple!”

I remember a cold winter evening as I was on radio car patrol on the east side of Salt Lake. Suddenly the silence was broken by the beep, beep, beep of an emergency radio call. “Car 16,” came the dispatcher’s voice. “Such and such an address, 9–40.” Nine-forty was a police code meaning unknown trouble. It might be a cat in a tree, family fight, lost child, or even a homicide. Calls like this were always tense because you just didn’t know what to expect.
I arrived at the address, an old two-story home surrounded by a rickety picket fence. I made my way toward the front porch along a broken and weed-choked sidewalk. The paint was peeling off the house, and it looked like it could have been the scene for a good Halloween movie. I knocked on the door, and as I did, it came partially ajar. There was no sound. I pushed the door open a little wider and cautiously poked my head inside. “Hello. Did anyone here call the police?” No answer. I opened the door wider and stepped inside.
I found myself in a small vestibule, no more than four feet square. It was nearly dark inside and smelled of a strange and musty odor. To my left was a narrow and steep stairway going to the second floor. “Hello,” I called again. “Is anybody there?” This time I heard a sound. It wasn’t much of a sound, just a quiet sound like a sob. The beam of my flashlight cut through the gloom as I pointed it up the stairway toward the sound.
There, huddled miserably on the bare wooden stair, was a young girl. She was barefoot and poorly dressed, with long, straggly hair. Her eyes were red, and I could see she had been crying hard. Her breath came in gasps, and I inquired again concerning the call for help. “Did you call the police?” All she could do was sob and point through the open doorway at the top of the stairs.
I made my way past the girl and entered into a scene of true desolation and tragedy. The room was small. No carpet covered the bare wooden floor. It was littered with the obvious signs of drugs and alcohol. Empty beer cans were strewn about, and evidence of marijuana was everywhere. Lying in the center of the floor was a young man. A dark pool of blood surrounded his head, and near his lifeless fingers lay a small, shiny revolver. I was heartsick as I called for assistance and began the investigation of a terrible tragedy.
I share this experience to emphasize again the fickle nature of the friends that Satan might send to tempt you to take part in such parties as these. We learned from our investigation that there had been 20 to 30 young people at the party. The gun was a plaything, and a game of Russian roulette seemed exciting to those using drugs and alcohol. No one expected to be hurt, yet tragedy struck and a young man’s life was lost. No friends stayed behind to help. No friends even did anything to comfort the one who did stay—the sister of the poor dead boy.

Of course, among the greatest of gifts is the gift of love. When I was called to the holy apostleship, President Kimball gave me a kiss on the cheek. I felt his whiskers. It caused a flood of wonderful little boyhood memories of being held by strong arms and feeling Grandfather’s whiskers as he kissed me on the cheek. President Gordon B. Hinckley has characterized President Spencer W. Kimball as follows:
“Who can measure the influence of this man upon others? I suppose if we were to seek for just one word to characterize him, it would be love.
“I read from my notebook a statement he made on October 23, 1980, to a large assembly of Chinese brethren and sisters in Taipei, Taiwan. He said on that occasion:
“‘Somehow the Lord gave me from the time of my birth a spirit of love. I loved my companions in the mission field. I loved those against whom I played basketball as a boy. I loved people in all the world. I love you’” (Ensign, Nov. 1983, p. 5).
Some, like Ebenezer Scrooge in Dickens’s Christmas Carol, have a hard time loving anyone, even themselves, because of their selfishness. Love seeks to give rather than to get. Charity towards and compassion for others is a way to overcome too much self-love.
He whose birth we celebrate has told us that all of the law and the prophets is contained in loving God and our fellowmen. James called this the “royal law” (James 2:8). In the first epistle of John we are told: “Beloved, let us love one another: for love is of God; and every one that loveth is born of God, and knoweth God” (1 Jn. 4:7).
Anciently the three wise men came from afar to bring gifts to the baby Jesus. Would it not be marvelous this Christmas if we could personally give gifts to the Savior? I believe this is possible to do. Said Jesus:
“When the Son of man shall come in his glory, and all the holy angels with him, then shall he sit upon the throne of his glory: …
“Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world:
“For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in:
“Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me.
“Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink?
“When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? or naked, and clothed thee?”
“Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee?
“And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matt. 25:31, 34–40).
So as we help the sick and clothe the naked and attend to the stranger, we personally give gifts to our Savior.
Among these true gifts are some our family shared on that boyhood Christmas I told you about: the gift of peace, the gift of love, the gift of service, the gift of self, and the gift of faith.
All of us enjoy wonderful gifts from God which, if developed, can be enjoyed by others. At this Christmas, so many of us have enjoyed the musical and literary gifts of Handel, Dickens, and many others. The sharing of these natural gifts blesses both the giver and the receiver.
So this Christmas and every Christmas will be richer by sharing and enjoying gifts that cannot be held but can be felt.
A few weeks ago I went to the hospital to give a blessing to a young man named Nick and his sister Michelle. Nick is a friend of mine and former home teaching companion, and his young life was threatened by diseased kidneys. Nick had not been well for a long time. Nick’s older sister Michelle had offered to give him a precious gift to preserve his life: she offered one of her own kidneys.
The operation was successfully performed, but still in question was whether or not Nick’s body would accept this priceless gift from Michelle. You see Michelle had given the gift, not knowing if it would be accepted. Fortunately it was accepted. In like manner, our Heavenly Father has given us many wonderful gifts, not knowing if they would be accepted. He has offered us his peace, his comfort, his love. All we have to do to accept his gifts is to be obedient and follow Him.
There are many problems facing us individually and collectively. Yet I have the simple faith that many, if not all, of the questions and answers can be measured against Paul’s sublime message to the Galatians: “Christ liveth in me: and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and gave himself for me” (Gal. 2:20).
The answer in this season and throughout the year lies not in the receiving of earthly presents and treasures, but in the forsaking of selfishness and greed and in going forward, seeking and enjoying the gifts of the Spirit which Paul said are: “love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, Meekness, temperance” (Gal. 5:22–23).
With gifts such as these, I am sure everyone could feel as I did that wonderful Christmas so long ago when we had no presents to hold and play with. I would not have wanted to trade places with any prince of the world with his room full of toys. The gifts of love, peace, service. self, and faith so generously given made me feel fulfilled. It made me feel that I must be somebody special to be part of so much love. I wanted nothing else than more of these wonderful gifts that couldn’t be handled or touched but only felt.
Two days before Christmas we also honor the birthday of Joseph Smith, who is second only to Jesus in importance in our faith. To Joseph we owe the knowledge of the appearance of God the Father and his Son Jesus Christ, the Book of Mormon, the Doctrine and Covenants, the Pearl of Great Price, the priesthood, and the keys of the Restoration in its fulness.
As one of the special witnesses of Jesus and of the gospel restored to earth by God working through the Prophet Joseph, I testify that the greatest gift of this or any other Christmas is the atonement of Jesus as the Redeemer, the Son of God. Paul said this was a free gift (Rom. 5:15). It is a gift we cannot handle or touch, but we can feel the immeasurable love of the Giver.
Through this gift we can all find the pathway to eternal life. My testimony of this is sure, real, and absolute, as is my sacred testimony of Him. I invoke the blessings of God upon us all at this special time and always in the sacred name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Some of my friends have gone into Young Women, leaving me and another one of my friends behind. After the other girl turns 12, and when she leaves, I won’t have any of my friends in Primary with me. It makes me feel kind of sad and lonely.
I read the Friend from January 2017. On one page, it had mazes and pictures of people feeling different emotions like confusion and being afraid, with scriptures in the middle of each. I looked them up, and I prayed. Before I saw this, my heart was hurting a bit. But afterward, I felt peace and love from Heavenly Father. I have underlined those four verses, and I keep them with me in my heart.
Thank you for printing that. It made me feel loved and peaceful and that everything was going to be OK. I’m sure that the feeling has happened to others as well.
Robyn G., age 11, Utah, USA

There is an old story of a waiter who asked a customer if he had enjoyed the meal. The man said that everything was fine, but it would have been better if they had given him more than two slices of bread.
The next day, when the man came to eat again, the waiter gave him four pieces of bread. The man said he still wished he had more. So the next day, the waiter gave him eight pieces! But the man still wasn’t satisfied.
Finally, on the fourth day, the waiter was really determined to make the man happy. So he took a nine-foot-long (3-m) loaf of bread, cut it in half, and with a smile, served it to the customer. Instead of being grateful, the man looked up and said, “The food was good, as always. But I see you’re back to giving me only two slices of bread.”

Let’s consider some examples. I was an inexperienced priest in a large ward. My bishop called me on the phone one Sunday afternoon. When I answered, he said, “Do you have time to go with me? I need your help.” He explained only that he wanted me to go as his companion to visit a woman I did not know, who was without food and who needed to learn how to manage her finances better.

Now, I knew that he had two seasoned counselors in his bishopric. Both were mature men of great experience. One counselor was the owner of a large business, who later became a mission president and a General Authority. The other counselor was a prominent judge in the city.

I was the bishop’s newly called first assistant in the priests quorum. He knew that I understood little about welfare principles. I knew even less about financial management. I had not yet written a check; I had no bank account; I hadn’t even seen a personal budget. Yet, despite my inexperience, I sensed that he was deadly serious when he said, “I need your help.”

I have come to understand what that inspired bishop meant. He saw in me a golden opportunity to prepare a priesthood holder. I am sure that he did not foresee in that untrained boy a future member of the Presiding Bishopric. But he treated me that day, and all the days I knew him over the years, as a preparation project of great promise.

He seemed to enjoy it, but it was work for him. On our return to my home after we visited the widow in need, he parked the car. He opened his well-worn and heavily marked scriptures. And he gave me kindly correction. He told me that I needed to study the scriptures and learn more. But he must have seen that I was weak and simple enough to be teachable. To this day I remember what he taught that afternoon. But even more, I remember how confident he was that I could learn and be better—and that I would.

He saw beyond the reality of who I was to the possibilities that lie inside someone who feels weak and simple enough to want the Lord’s help and to believe that it will come.

Elder Eyring: When I came into the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, Elder Richard G. Scott suggested I buy an inexpensive set of scriptures and mark the insights and revelations I would gain in my new calling. So I did. But I went a little further.
I asked Heavenly Father what He would have me do as an Apostle. I wrote down what I felt His answers were. I typed, color coded, and pasted those answers in the front of my scriptures. For example, the first one was “I am to be a witness that Christ is the Son of God.” Then I read my scriptures looking for ideas that taught me how to witness that Christ is the Son of God. Every time I came to something, I marked it in blue. Soon I developed my own topical guide around what I thought the Lord wanted me to do. I have learned much through this process.