Gospel Story Finder

Frequently the need of the widow is not one of food or shelter but of feeling a part of ongoing events. Elder H. Bryan Richards of the Seventy once brought to my office a sweet widow whose husband had passed away during a full-time mission they were serving. Elder Richards explained that her financial resources were adequate and that she desired to contribute to the Church’s General Missionary Fund the proceeds of two insurance policies on the life of her departed husband. I could not restrain my tears when she meekly advised me, “This is what I wish to do. It is what my missionary-minded husband would like.”

The gift was received and entered as a most substantial donation to missionary service. I saw the receipt made in her name, but I believe in my heart it was also recorded in heaven. I invited her and Elder Richards to follow me to the unoccupied First Presidency council room in the Church Administration Building. The room is beautiful and peaceful. I asked this sweet widow to sit in the chair usually occupied by our Church President. I felt he would not mind, for I knew his heart.

As she sat ever so humbly in the large leather chair, she gripped each armrest with a hand and declared, “This is one of the happiest days of my life.” It was also such for Elder Richards and for me.

I never travel to work along busy Seventh East in Salt Lake City but what I see in my mind’s eye a thoughtful daughter, afflicted with arthritis and carrying in her hand a plate of warm food to her aged mother who lived across the busy thoroughfare. She has now gone home to that mother who preceded her in passing. But her lesson was not lost on her daughters, who delight their widowed father by cleaning his house each week, inviting him to dinners in their homes, and sharing with him the laughter of good times together, leaving in that widower’s heart a prayer of gratitude for his children, the light of his life. Fathers experience loneliness as well as mothers.

Taylor doesn’t seem to do anything halfway. His rodeo successes earned him a scholarship to one of the top rodeo colleges in the U.S., Southwest Oklahoma State University.

It was in Oklahoma that Taylor’s priorities shifted from rodeo to serving the Lord. At college, Taylor found himself immersed among people with different beliefs. It was quite a change from his hometown of Richfield, Utah, where it seemed everyone around him was a member of the Church. “I got to thinking, ‘There’s got to be something about these different religions and beliefs that these people have that makes them believe it’s true.’ And I thought, ‘I’ve got to find out for myself.’”

Just as Joseph Smith did, Taylor turned to the scriptures and prayer to find the truth. “I really started studying the scriptures, especially the Book of Mormon,” Taylor says. “The gospel just made so much sense once I started reading and once I really started focusing and trying to understand what I wanted. It took me going out to Oklahoma and having all those people question my faith. I had to find out for myself.”

So what is it like to ride one of those hulking bulls? “I’m scared every time I get on a bull,” Taylor says. “There’s always that little bit of fear inside of you. But that’s the neat thing—being able to overcome that fear.” And it’s preparation that helps him overcome the fear. Because Taylor has trained since he was only four or five years old, he knows what to do. “Everything happens so fast when you ride,” explains Taylor. “It’s not like when you’re playing football, where you can read what different players are doing and know what to do. I still think when I’m riding, but it’s more of a reaction than it is thinking about what you’re doing.”

Also, there’s never been a time when Taylor has climbed on a bull or a bronco without first saying a prayer. “I put my trust in the Lord,” Taylor says. “Whether it’s at practice or at a rodeo, I’ve always prayed that I’d be safe and that I’d have the Lord’s Spirit with me. God will answer your prayers. He doesn’t guarantee that you’re not going to get hurt, and He doesn’t guarantee that you’re going to ride and win, but He’s always there with you.”

Does Taylor have any fear about going on a mission? “I’m a little nervous,” he says. “I don’t know what it’s going to be like in Cambodia. I don’t know the challenges I’m going to have, but that’s what the Lord has asked me to do. I’ve heard how difficult the language is. And as time draws near, there are a lot of things I think about leaving behind, like rodeo and family. But I know I’m going for the right reason.”

The right reason is the Savior. “Jesus Christ came here and gave His life so we could have eternal life,” Taylor says emphatically. “I could spend every day of my life serving Him, and I still wouldn’t be able to repay Him for all He’s done for me. And all He’s asking is that I live my life right and serve a mission now. And that’s what I’m going to do.”

Taylor hopes the same things that have made him successful in rodeo will help him be a successful missionary: prayer, relying on the Lord, overcoming fears, and not letting anyone discourage him from his goals. He’s already done a lot of things many people have told him he’d never be able to do.

Along with setting goals, it’s important to Taylor to keep his priorities straight. He tells about one of his teachers at school who brought a glass jar to class one day. Taylor explains: “She filled it up with pretty good-sized rocks and held it up and asked, ‘Is this jar full?’ And we all said, ‘Yeah, it’s filled right to the top.’”

The teacher then filled the jar with smaller pebbles, shook it a bit to let them settle, then poured in more pebbles until they filled the jar. Again she asked the class, “Is the jar full?”

They said yes.

She then poured sand into the jar. Letting the sand sift to the bottom, she finally filled the jar to the top. Now it was full.

Her point was that the large rocks are the important things in life; you must put them in first, or they won’t fit. The smaller rocks and the sand—the less important things—can fit around them.

“To me, those important things in life are my family, the gospel, and my friends,” says Taylor. “The smaller ones are still important, like your schooling, your house. If we put the important things into our life first, and that’s our priority, then everything else will fall into place. If we put the other things in first, we won’t have room for the important things in life. And for me right now, the first one is serving a mission and living worthy to serve.”

Taylor’s priorities include serving a mission and one day being sealed in the temple. “I know helping someone understand and accept the gospel will be more exciting than my best rides,” says Taylor. “Serving a faithful mission is my top priority right now. I want to return to school and ride when I get home, but I know the day will come when I’ll need to give up riding and all the time I spend on rodeos. Having a family is more important.”

What would it be like to climb on a bicycle and pedal through the Cambodian countryside, stopping to tell the people there about Jesus Christ, the plan of salvation, and the Restoration of the gospel? Just ask Taylor White when he gets back home in two years. He’ll probably tell you it was the most rewarding ride of his life.

Brother Dadson began spending more time with his family, including getting them up at 5 A.M. for prayer and scripture study. The effect on the family was impressive.
“People would tell me what a remarkable change for good they had noticed in my children,” he recalls. His brother and sister also noticed and soon joined the Church. Kwamena Dadson is now president of the Cape Coast Branch, and his sister Elizabeth Kwaw is a Relief Society president.

Benjamin Ballam, who has spina bifida, is a special child of Michael and Laurie Ballam, of Logan, Utah. He has been a blessing to them and many others. Having had seventeen surgeries, Benjamin knows all about hospitals and doctors. Once, when an overwhelmed attendant became vocally upset—not at Benjamin, but over stressful circumstances—little three-year-old Benjamin was an example of the Lord’s commandment to be “full of love” (Mosiah 3:19). He reached out, tenderly patted the irritated attendant, and said, “I love you anyway.”

Elder Sill uses stories, scriptures, poetry, and personal experiences to make the principles of leadership understandable and exciting. He gives the example of Mohandas Gandhi, a great leader in India, a “self-remade man.” In his youth Gandhi had considered himself a coward, a man of low self-control with a bad temper, but through determination and commitment he was able to master these weaknesses. He believed strongly in the importance of commitment to principle. Because his mother felt that eating meat was wrong, he made a pledge to her to remain a vegetarian all his life. Many years after his mother had died, when Gandhi became very ill, the doctors tried to persuade him that if he would drink a little beef broth it might save his life. But Gandhi refused, saying, “Even for life itself we may not do certain things. There is only one course open to me—to die, but never to break my pledge.”
Elder Sill comments, “Just think what would happen to the Church if every one of us had that kind of integrity and self-control. Since the development of strength in one area quickly extends itself into other areas, by a practice of this kind of self-discipline we could make ourselves stronger than anything that can happen to us.” (P. 167.)

I want to mention a little incident that happened to me in the temple in Salt Lake City. As I walked down the long hall preparing to go into one of the rooms to perform a marriage for a young couple, a woman followed me out of the room after the ceremony. With great agitation, she asked, “Elder Kimball, do you re member me?” I was abashed. It seemed incredible but I could not make the connection. I was much embarrassed, as I had met thousands of people in my time. I finally said, “I’m sorry, but I cannot remember you.” Instead of disappointment, there was a great joy that came into her face. She was relieved. She said. “Oh, I am so grateful you can’t remember me. With my husband, I spent all night with you one time, while we were trying to change our lives. We had committed sin and we were struggling to get rid of it. You labored all night to help us clear it.” She said, “We have repented and changed our lives totally. I am glad you don’t remember me, because if you, one of the apostles, cannot remember me, maybe the Savior cannot remember my sins.” Her face was relieved. She said, “Thank you. Maybe the Lord will remember them no more.” The scriptures say if our sins are totally repented of, and if we totally change our lives, he will remember them no more. (Amsterdam priesthood session, August 7, 1976, p. 6.)

When I was 10, I was introduced to the gospel by my friend Stephen Bulleigh when we played together on the same little league baseball team. My parents were divorced, and my kind and wonderful mother was left to raise three children. Realizing the need for male role models in my life, my mother insisted that I participate in sports. There I made friends and grew particularly close to an LDS family, the Bulleighs.
I sometimes spent the night at my friend’s house. There I met Stephen’s family: his father, Roger; mother, Juli; and their eight other children. I saw the happiness and love that they had, and I wanted the same in my own life.
I was raised in a nondenominational church and learned a lot of misinformation about the LDS Church. Believing what I was told, I was convinced that Latter-day Saints were wrong. I often told my school buddies that they shouldn’t listen to the Mormons. I even convinced some of my friends who had an interest in the Church not to listen. I spent six years of my life as an enemy to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
I often had the opportunity to discuss religion with the Bulleighs. From them, I learned that Mormons believe in Christ. Point by point, and precept by precept, I began to see that the teachings of the gospel made sense. How could God, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit be the same person? Are we saved by faith alone or is there more? What must I do to live with God? Questions such as these and many more began to prick at my heart as I considered the things the Bulleigh family taught me.
My LDS friends invited me, at age 16, to attend a youth conference held at a Church-owned ranch in northern Oklahoma. The Church leaders asked all the youth to read 3 Nephi in preparation for the youth conference. I decided I would read it. I remember reading the last page of 3 Nephi and then going to the Bible to read. I picked up where I had left off in Acts 9. I remember the words of the Savior as he chastised Paul (Saul). “Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me? And he said, who art thou, Lord? And the Lord said, I am Jesus whom thou persecutest: it is hard for thee to kick against the pricks” (Acts 9:4–5).
I had persecuted the Lord as Paul had. I had kicked against the pricks of the Holy Spirit for nearly seven years. I decided at that moment that I would join The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I went to the youth conference. Near the end, a time was allotted for testimonies. I stood in front of more than 1,000 people and bore testimony of this gospel and of this Church. In front of the very people whom I had persecuted for nearly seven years, I expressed my desire to join the Church.
I returned from youth conference and informed my mother (who by this time had remarried) and my stepfather of my desire to be baptized. They did not like the idea and grounded me indefinitely. The tables were turned, and I spent the next two years of my life being the one persecuted. For two years I was not allowed to date any LDS girls, go to Church activities, or even have a Book of Mormon in my possession. I tried to share the beauty of the Book of Mormon with my mother and stepfather, but my stepfather threw it across the room and demanded I return it immediately.
With tears in my eyes I rang the doorbell of the Bulleigh home. Joel, one of their sons, answered, and I returned the borrowed Book of Mormon he had given me. Would my testimony of the Book of Mormon be strong enough to support me until I turned 18 and could join the Church? Sure it was.
At 8:00 A.M. on my 18th birthday, my mother and stepfather asked me to leave their home, and I joined the Church one week later. I moved in with the Bulleigh family and used the $9,000 I had saved by working between the ages of 16 and 18 to support myself until I graduated from high school seven months later. I read the entire Book of Mormon after being baptized and learned of a prophet named Alma who had also persecuted the Church of God. He spent the rest of his life preaching the gospel to amend for his past transgressions. I decided also to serve a mission.
After graduating from high school, I continued to work and save money so I could pay for my mission. I recently finished serving in the Bolivia Cochabamba Mission. Choosing to be a missionary cost me my family, my home, and a lot of money.
I am thankful that at the age of 10, God sent a Latter-day Saint to play baseball on my team. That event has changed my life forever and enabled me to help change the lives of many others with whom I labored on my mission.

Shortly after Joseph F. Smith’s birth, a company of men broke into the Smith home. His mother Mary was ill at the time and his father Hyrum was in jail. Ransacking the house, the men entered the room where the baby slept and, without realizing it, threw bedding on top of him. They would have been surprised if they had known a baby was hidden by their actions.
Everyone was relieved when the men finally left the home. After a few minutes Mary remembered Joseph, and she and her sister Mercy ran to check on him. When they saw what had happened they were fearful the baby had smothered. Fortunately, their frantic efforts to revive him were successful.

My beloved brothers and sisters, for several years and with the deepest feelings I have thought about what I would like to talk to you about this morning. The prophet Mormon tells us that “by the power of [the Lord’s] word did they cause prisons to tumble” (Morm. 8:24). In recent weeks, I have reread the stories of Jean Valjean in Victor Hugo’s brilliant novel Les Miserables and of Bob Merrick in the novel Magnificent Obsession by Lloyd C. Douglas. These two stories, though widely different in time, circumstances, and affluence, have touched my heart in many ways.
I have agonized as I have thought about the ordeal of Jean Valjean—the nineteen years in prison and the things done to him for the small transgression of stealing a loaf of bread to feed a starving family. He suffered so many indignities, even after he was finally released from the physical prison.
Some of the same feelings flood my mind as I reflect upon the self-inflicted sufferings of Bob Merrick. The life of a prominent surgeon was lost and the sight of another because of Bob Merrick’s wayward activities, selfishness, ego, and disdain for others. He suffered in a prison of his own making.
Yes, I realize these masterfully crafted episodes are fictional, but they cause me to think about the various types of prisons Satan leads us into building for ourselves and others, or that others build for us.
Haven’t we all been delivered from various forms of captivity? How did you feel when the doors were opened to your personal prison? How was it to feel free? How wonderful it is to be liberated from any kind of a prison.
I remember how I felt forty-one years ago when I was taken from a train in Europe at 2:00 a.m. by two soldiers of a hostile nation and held against my will. I was verbally and physically abused. I felt I would never see my family or my country again. I assure you that while I was held captive, the blood coursed through my veins like adrenaline. Though the captivity lasted less than a day, it seemed like an eternity. And when I was put on another train and sent back to safety, my gratitude to the Lord knew no bounds. I was free! As I talked to the train conductor, I learned that hundreds had not been so lucky.
I then was led to think of Him who really delivers us from various types of prisons into forgiveness, a newness of life, of spirit, of change, and of opportunity, and how the souls of men find such relief, fulfillment, and safety when this occurs. I thought of the Son of God and His greatest freewill offering to each of us, given at the expense of His own life and under excruciating pain. I thought of how our Father in Heaven loves each one of us. And though we sometimes walk into prisons of our own making, He is there with keys to unlock the doors that bind us. I thought of those who help along the way, who share in turning those keys which deliver others, and who care so deeply sometimes that they rebuild the trust of others—like the two men of God in the novels helped to free Jean Valjean and Bob Merrick from their prisons into magnificent new freedoms promised by the Lord.
As difficult as a physical captivity or prison is, there are other captivities or prisons even more devastating. They are very subtle and take various forms in life, like (1) taking advantage of another; (2) bearing false witness to get gain; (3) knowing things to be true and not defending them; (4) stealing the morality of another; (5) destroying the innocence of a little child; (6) being captive to alcohol or drugs; or (7) financially digging a pit for another, causing hardship and destroying his ability to take care of his needs and so on. There are many prisons which come from our sins or the sins of others “according to the captivity and power of the devil” (2 Ne. 2:27), who leads us away.
Let me take an example to illustrate the point of these prisons. The prophet Job counseled us not to “dig a pit for your friend” (Job 6:27). I understand that could mean a business associate, a neighbor, a member of the Church. How could this happen?
Several years ago, a great young man had a thriving business. He had worked long, hard hours for many years to develop the skills, reputation, and expertise necessary to build his business and provide for the needs of his young family. He loved his work, and every morning he anxiously began each new project with creativity and opportunity. His was a great life, filled with much hope and many projects. Then one major project was completed and finalized. Rather large payments were anticipated, but a shrewd businessman found that oral approvals, given to my friend to make many necessary alterations in the project, could easily be broken and not honored. After all, there was no written record of the changes requested. It was just “good business” to get it as cheap as possible, even after commitments were made. And so verbal commitments were not honored. The money due, which was considerable, was not paid.
At this point we have several prisons that are in place: the prison of deceit of the “shrewd” businessman, and the prison of the deceived, who could not now honor his own commitments. To this day the one deceived, through further industry and much hardship, is still trying to get out of the prison created by another. And he has lost confidence in others, and he and his family have lost opportunities and his business because of another.
Did not the Savior teach through the prophet Moses, “If a man shall cause a field or vineyard to be eaten, and shall put in his beast, and shall feed in another man’s field; of the best of his own field, and of the best of his own vineyard, shall he make restitution”? (Ex. 22:5).
These types of prisons often cause the offended to lose faith, hope, and even the ability to care for their own, as was the case with my young friend. But these prisons should not happen. They often cause years of anguish. They cause those involved to wonder about justice and mercy. Sometimes these people find it impossible to resolve their own personal affairs honorably.
The lessons taught by the Savior differ widely from these actions. For He taught, in effect, Do unto others as ye would have them do unto you (see Matt. 7:12; 3 Ne. 14:12). He taught, “Behold it is my will that you shall pay all your debts” (D&C 104:78). Yes, even if it takes years, pay your debts.
No Christian should ever be a challenge to another Christian. Many widows, single mothers, and older couples are victimized by those who take advantage of them, who do not honor their commitments and then put them into a type of prison. Those affected find themselves pleading for someone to open their prison doors, often while babies cry for bare necessities.
When we seek to follow Christ, we take the oath of a Christian as a member of this Church; we covenant to never put another in any sort of prison, but rather to try to liberate those who are there. We become like one man who said that when he joined this Church it changed the way he thought, the way he talked, the way he believed, the way he dressed, the way he worked and honored his employer, the things he read, the movies he saw, the way he conducted his financial affairs in absolute honesty with everyone, and the way he served others. He truly believed in the liberating power of the gospel of Jesus Christ and became free because of it. As is stated in the book of John, “If the Son therefore shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed” (John 8:36).
Years ago an acquaintance of mine was captive for over twenty years to a serious alcohol problem, which bound him every day. He would leave work, buy his alcohol, drive into the countryside, and drink until he could barely find his way home. He truly was under the captive spirit of the devil and lived in hell. A faithful home teacher loved this brother, saw him often, taught him to pray for help, and prayed for him often. One day while he was driving his pickup truck into the countryside to begin his daily alcohol ritual, he felt a powerful influence to stop his truck, walk out into a field, fall to his knees, and plead for help from his Father in Heaven. Later, he tearfully testified that as he arose from his knees, the desire to drink alcohol had completely left him. He had been delivered from a twenty-year prison. God heard his prayer, felt the desire of his heart, and opened the prison doors that bound him.
Beloved friends, it is Jesus who has unlocked and will unlock the doors of our personal prisons. It is a glorious promise to all who are captive, for whatever reasons, upon the condition of repentance.
Certainly, a Latter-day Saint will demonstrate the freedom he has received by walking in all morality and all honesty, as taught by the Lord. For his word is his bond—sacred and honored. His life becomes the testament that it is all true—every principle and every word that proceeds from the mouth of the Savior and His prophets. By living these cardinal principles, we are truly free and we become the witnesses of His word.
One of the beautiful, profound statements of the man of God to Jean Valjean was: “My brother, you belong no more to evil, but to good. It is your soul I am buying for you, and I give it to God” (Victor Hugo, Les Miserables, volume 1, book 2, chapter 12). No more prisons for others, if you will, because of my actions.
Jesus came that man might have life and have it more abundantly. He walked the path, taught the way, opened the doors to truly liberate mankind, and said, “And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free” (John 8:32). The writer, Mr. Douglas, expressed it beautifully when he said to Bob Merrick, “When you find THE WAY, you will be bound—it will become an obsession—a magnificent obsession.”
We know it works, for listen to the words which record what happened to the Saints who truly followed the Savior for two hundred years following His appearance in America:
“And as many as did come unto them, and did truly repent of their sins, were baptized in the name of Jesus; and they did also receive the Holy Ghost.
“… And there were no contentions and disputations among them, and every man did deal justly one with another.
“And they had all things common among them; therefore there were not rich and poor, bond and free, but they were all made free. …
“And surely there could not be a happier people among all the people who had been created by the hand of God” (4 Ne. 1:1–3, 16; emphasis added).
Yes, “by the power of his word did they cause prisons to tumble” (Morm. 8:24). May we live our lives so we will all be free with no prisons for ourselves or others, only a magnificent obsession filled with freedoms and blessings ahead, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Paper stars. I am half Thai and half American. I spent three years living in Laos, next to Thailand. For the first two years we were in Laos, my parents hired a pileang, or nanny, named Rojana, who took good care of me. Since she was Buddhist, I didn’t expect a gift from her at Christmas.
On Christmas morning I found a jar filled with at least a hundred tiny paper stars, folded so they were three-dimensional. They were blue and pink and glittery. Rojana had no money to buy me anything, so she spent hours folding those stars for a child who wasn’t her own.
It was a wonderful Christmas gift, a gift of time and dedication.Faye H., Virginia

A little initiative on their part netted four missionaries in Albuquerque, New Mexico, more than 70 referrals in two weeks and enabled them to place 100 copies of the Book of Mormon.
This outstanding work took place during the annual New Mexico State Fair, according to Elder Randy Smith from Elk City, Oklahoma, and Elder David Dorton of Lehi, Utah.
“We printed up an invitation for people to visit our display during the fair. We said if the person would bring us the invitation, we would provide him with a copy of the Book of Mormon,” Elder Smith said. Copies of the invitation were distributed throughout their tracting area, and many people responded.
“Man’s Search for Happiness” was shown throughout the fair. Another set of missionaries and several seventies helped to man the display. “That way we could continue to teach our contacts,” Elder Smith said.
The 70 referrals received at the fair came from persons living in various parts of the state and were forwarded to the proper mission homes.

Kate’s stomach dropped when the soccer field came into view from the car window. She knew the Bulldogs were the best in the league. But she didn’t think this many people would show up for tryouts.
She tightened her grip on her bag when she realized tryouts must have already started. It looked like they were doing drills. The girls were weaving between cones and sprinting across the grass. She was late! Kate jumped out of the car as soon as her mom pulled up.
She only made it a few steps before she remembered something important. She needed to say thank you! She circled back. “Thanks, Mom,” she called. “Thanks for driving me and for breakfast!”
Saying thank you wasn’t a big deal to a lot of people, but it was to Kate. Her favorite scripture story was the story of the ten lepers. She couldn’t believe that out of the ten people Jesus healed, only one said thank you! She’d made it a goal ever since to always say thank you.
Remembering that story made the tight feeling she had inside loosen a little bit. At least until she joined the other girls in doing drills and saw how good they were. She couldn’t help worrying. What if everyone else is way better than me? she thought. What if I’m the worst one here?
But soon the coach divided them into teams for a practice game, and Kate stopped thinking of anything other than the black-and-white ball moving like lightning from one girl to the next.
She was breathing hard by the time the coach blew the whistle to end tryouts. “Great job, everyone,” he said. “I’ll make decisions in the next few days and let you know.”
Kate walked slowly over to her bag. Her whole body was splattered with mud. And her legs felt like slow, heavy elephant legs. Worst of all, she had no idea if she’d even come close to making the team.
She was one of the last girls to leave. “Thank you,” she said, smiling at the coach. He just gave her a short nod and turned back to his clipboard. But Kate felt a little better as she walked away. She might not make the team, but at least she’d been grateful.
Later that night, Kate was washing dishes with her dad when the phone rang.
“I think it’s the soccer coach,” Dad said, looking at the number. Kate’s heart started pounding. He took the phone to the next room. Kate stayed at the sink, trying to focus all of her attention on washing the dishes.
When she heard Dad come in a few minutes later, she kept her eyes down. “What’d he say?” she asked.
“Just that my Katie is going to be a Bulldog,” he said, nudging her shoulder.
Her heart skipped a beat. “I made the team?” she said, finally looking up. Dad nodded with a big smile. Kate did a happy dance, splashing water over both of them.
“Hey!” Dad said with a laugh. “I have something even better to tell you once you quit being a human water fountain.” Kate paused mid-twirl. What could be better than making the number-one team in the league?
“Did you thank the coach at the end of tryouts?” he asked. Kate nodded. “Well, he wanted me to tell you that he was really impressed by that. Of the 34 people who tried out, you were the only one that said thank you. He said to thank you for saying thank you.”
Dad’s smile was even bigger than before. Kate knew her own smile was just as big. Just like the story of the ten lepers, she thought. Being grateful did matter!

I had been living for a few months in Kinshasa, the capital of the Democratic Republic of Congo, when the branch Relief Society president asked if she could come visiting teaching. I realize now that she waited so long to visit so I could have time to learn a little French. At that time our family was the only North American family in the branch. Some of the women spoke French, but the majority spoke Lingala, a tribal language. Although I tried not to feel alienated, I felt very different from the sisters in my branch.
The Relief Society president was a widow with two sons. She was always smiling a beautiful, big smile. When she arrived to visit me, she came accompanied by the Spirit of the Lord.
After greeting me, she asked me to get my English Bible. She spoke very slowly so I would understand her message. We read in her French Bible, and then in my English one, Ephesians 2:19: “Now therefore ye are no more strangers and foreigners, but fellowcitizens with the saints, and of the household of God.”
I smiled as I read the verse she had chosen. My Relief Society president understood the struggles I was experiencing.
As she prepared to leave, this sweet sister presented me with a gift of 10 eggs. I knew it was a sacrifice for her. I felt guilty accepting the eggs and tried to decline the gift. But her eyes told me they were given in love.
I accepted the eggs, and we basked in the love that she had brought. It filled the house and made everything seem brighter. After a prayer with her, I watched her leave the yard, her petite and gracious form wrapped in African cloth. I no longer felt a stranger, but at home with the Saints of God.

“I hate Santa Claus!” I exclaimed, glaring at the jolly old elf painted on a mall window.
Mom looked at me with raised eyebrows. “You certainly have the Christmas spirit,” she said.
I hurried with her to the car, trying to find the words to explain how I felt. “It’s just that I’m sick of Santa and Rudolph and Frosty and all that,” I said, as I put my shopping bags in the trunk. “I mean, aren’t we supposed to be celebrating the birth of the Savior?”
“I agree. Christmas is getting too commercialized,” Mom said.
We drove past the town hall. A poster told people to bring their Sub for Santa goods in. “And that’s another thing,” I blurted. “I hate the way people feel a tug of guilt on their heart strings at Christmas time and donate all their old stuff to charity. Why can’t people be generous all year long? As if they’re fooling anyone.”
Mom smiled. “Christmas is a good time to start.”
But I didn’t care what she had to say. Before long I was mad at everyone, and by the time we pulled into our driveway I had made up my mind that I wasn’t going to act any different just because it was Christmas. I wasn’t going to be hypocritical like the rest of the world. And as for the Savior’s birth, I’d just celebrate that in April.
After dinner we cleared the table and sat down to do homework. “Hey, help me with this algebra problem,” my brother Tom said.
“I’ve got homework to do,” I snapped.
“C’mon, it’s Christmas,” he pleaded. Boy, was that the wrong thing to say. I told him I didn’t care if it was Christmas. “Ask someone who has time,” I said.
“How about someone who needs blessings because she’s acting like the Grinch.”
“All right!” Mom’s stern voice cut in. “That’s enough you guys. I’ll help you Tom. Your sister’s carrying a grudge against Christmas this year.”
“I think her shoes are too tight, or her head’s not screwed on just right, or maybe her heart is two sizes too small,” Tom said as my mom dragged him to the other side of the table.
It was hard to concentrate on my homework because the ugliness inside me was growing. I couldn’t understand why I was feeling worse instead of better. After all, I wasn’t being a Christmas hypocrite, pretending to be jolly when people the world over were starving and suffering.
Just then the doorbell rang. Mom looked at me then quietly walked to the door. Her surprised gasp brought the rest of the family to her side, including me.
There stood our home teachers dressed as shepherds. They waited until everyone had gathered around, probably waiting for some of the shock to dissolve too. “We’re on our way to Bethlehem, and we thought we’d stop by and tell you what’s happened. You see, we were watching over our flocks when suddenly an angel appeared to us. At first we were terribly afraid, but the angel said, ‘Fear not, for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord’” (Luke 2:10–11).
There was something about the simplicity and sincerity of their message that got to me. My lip started quivering and I quickly bit it to keep it under control. I didn’t hear any more. I was too busy remembering how awful I’d been, all because I didn’t want to be a hypocrite. Tom was right. I had been the worst kind of Grinch, griping about how horrible everyone is, when I wasn’t willing to change myself for the better. At least the people I complained about were generous and kind part of the year. I certainly wasn’t.
“We’re going to see this miracle which has come to pass,” one of the shepherds said. With that they disappeared into the night, leaving us stunned into silence, meditating on their wonderful message.
Then it hit me. They were going to share this marvelous event with others, to help them feel the true spirit of Christmas.
I wiped my eyes and cleared my throat. “I’ve got some Christmas messages of my own to deliver,” I said. “I’ll start with you.” Turning to Mom I gave her the biggest hug I could manage. “I’m sorry for all I put you through. I know I can be a real pain sometimes.”
Mom smiled. “I guess part of being a mother is learning to take a lot of frustration.”
I looked at Tom who was grinning triumphantly.
“Probably the hardest thing I have to do is apologize to you, Tom,” I began. “But if I didn’t, you wouldn’t believe me when I tell you that my heart has really grown tonight.” He shrugged his shoulders and brushed past me. I noticed the reddening of his ears, a sure sign he was embarrassed.
I followed him to the kitchen table and sat down. “Tom,” I asked, “can I help you with your algebra?”
Tom looked up at me, and a slow smile spread across his face. “Sure,” he said. “And maybe you can help me wrap some presents too.”
I smiled back. “I’d like that.”
And for the first time that Christmas, I meant it.

A 14-year-old sister was all dressed up to go to a Young Women activity at a time in her life when she felt very unsure about herself. She was quietly and self-consciously inching her way toward the front door, hoping not to be noticed by all the young men in the living room who were visiting with her older brother Russell. She was given a life-changing boost when her older brother interrupted his conversation and said to her in front of all his friends, “My, Emily, you look pretty tonight!” A small thing? No. There are young women who claim that they would not have made it through those growing-up years without the encouragement and support of their older brothers.

“Remember a long long time ago when you were just a little kid?” I mused. “Well, you couldn’t, of course, because you were only about 18 months old, but it was the night after Robby was born in the old Dee Hospital on 24th Street. Anyway, you and I were the only ones home, and I guess it was about midnight or later. I came into your room to see if you were covered up, if everything was okay. The light from the hall was shining on your face a little, and there you were, wide awake as could be, just looking up at me and smiling—like right now. So I sat down on the edge of our old rocker, and we looked at each other. That’s all we did. We were all alone, just looking at each other through the bars of that crib—looking into each other—for maybe 15 minutes. And you know something?” I paused. “That was one of the neatest experiences your old dad has ever had.”

Let me share with you a rather private but joyful example from my own experience.
As a bishop, I worried about any members who were inactive, not attending, not serving. Such was my thought one day as I drove down the street where Ben and Emily Fullmer lived. Aches and pains of advancing years caused them to withdraw from activity to the shelter of their home—isolated, detached, shut out from the mainstream of daily life and association. Ben and Emily had not been in our sacrament meeting for many years. Ben, a former bishop, would sit constantly in his front room reading and memorizing the New Testament.
I was en route from my uptown sales office to our plant on Industrial Road. For some reason I had driven down First West, a street which I never had traveled before to reach the destination of our plant. Then I felt the unmistakable prompting to park my car and visit Ben and Emily, even though I was on my way to a meeting. I did not heed the impression at first but drove on for two more blocks; however, when the impression came again, I returned to their home.
It was a sunny weekday afternoon. I approached the door to their home and knocked. I heard the tiny fox terrier dog bark at my approach. Emily welcomed me in. Upon seeing me, she exclaimed, “All day long I have waited for my phone to ring. It has been silent. I hoped the postman would deliver a letter. He brought only bills. Bishop, how did you know today is my birthday?”
I answered, “God knows, Emily, for He loves you.”
In the quiet of their living room, I said to Ben and Emily, “I really don’t know why I was directed here today, but I was. Our Heavenly Father knows. Let’s kneel in prayer and ask Him why.” This we did, and the answer came. As we arose from our knees, I said to Brother Fullmer, “Ben, would you come to priesthood meeting when we meet with all the priesthood and relate to our Aaronic Priesthood boys the story you once told me when I was a boy, how you and a group of boys were en route to the Jordan River to swim one Sunday, but you felt the Spirit direct you to attend Sunday School. And you did. One of the boys who failed to respond to that Spirit drowned that Sunday. Our boys would like to hear your testimony.”
“I’ll do it,” he responded.
I then said to Sister Fullmer, “Emily, I know you have a beautiful voice. My mother has told me so. Our ward conference is a few weeks away, and our choir will sing. Would you join the choir and attend our ward conference and perhaps sing a solo?”
“What will the number be?” she inquired.
“I don’t know,” I said, “but I’d like you to sing it.”
She sang. He spoke to the Aaronic Priesthood. Hearts were gladdened by the return to activity of Ben and Emily. They rarely missed a sacrament meeting from that day forward. The language of the Spirit had been spoken. It had been heard. It had been understood. Hearts were touched and souls saved. Ben and Emily Fullmer had come home.

Not long after receiving my blessing, I came home from Sunday School. Our lesson had been about Joseph Smith’s First Vision, and I was wondering if it was really true. My father was leaving for a Church meeting. I stopped him and asked, “Dad, how do we really know that Joseph Smith had that vision?” My father put his arm around me, and we sat on the sofa in our living room. There he shared with me the Prophet Joseph’s account, and my father bore his own testimony of its truthfulness. That experience with my father burns in my heart today. Since then I have never doubted the Prophet Joseph’s account of his First Vision.

One evening I took three of my younger siblings to the temple to do baptisms. As the temple worker checked our recommends, he discovered that my sister’s was missing the bishop’s signature. I started filling out a form to take to the temple recorder, who would call the bishop. Then the temple worker checked my brother’s recommend and found that it had not been activated. I had the pen, so I took the form we were handed and began filling it out too.
I knew my brother and sister could not go in with errors on their recommends, but I felt responsible for them, and until I helped them take care of these errors, I could not go in either. I felt frustrated at being kept out of the temple. We left the baptistry and went upstairs to the temple entrance to explain our situation at the front desk. The temple recorder said he could fix the problem in just a few minutes, so the four of us sat down to wait in the lobby.
As I sat there, my frustration changed to discouragement. We were being kept out for such simple errors, but they were all the difference between waiting in the lobby and entering the Lord’s house. It had been a rough day, and I had counted on the temple to help me feel at peace. The mistakes weren’t my fault, but as the wait dragged on, I felt ready to cry. I was trying to be good by coming to the temple and setting an example of temple attendance for my younger siblings. So why were we being kept out when I wanted so badly to be inside?
And then I realized something: if I felt discouraged being kept out of the temple for a few clerical errors, how disappointed would I feel to be kept out for my own errors—to not be worthy to enter the temple? As I considered this, I was suddenly calm. I felt that I had learned the lesson God wanted me to learn. I promised Him that I would always try to be worthy to go inside the temple. I promised that I would never be kept out of the Lord’s house for my own errors; I never want my actions to confine me to just the lobby.
Later that night I had an appointment with my bishop to renew my temple recommend. Before I went, I checked for any errors in myself that might keep me out of the temple. When the bishop asked if I was worthy to enter the house of the Lord, I was so grateful that I could say yes.

Illustration by Brooke Smart
When I was about halfway through seventh grade, my mom told my siblings and me that she had felt prompted to remove us from public school and teach us at home. I didn’t think much would change.
I gained new friends in the homeschool group and strengthened friendships I had at church, but I still thought that my old school friends were my “best friends.” Toward the end of eighth grade, I started to contact my old friends more and more, and as I did, I realized just how much we had all changed. Whenever I spoke to them or texted them, the feeling I got was not a positive one, and I constantly felt the pull of the adversary tempting me to ignore Church standards. I started trying to impress my old school friends so that I could be accepted back in their group.
Eventually, I realized that trying to impress others was not making me happy and that spending time with those who shared my standards did make me happy. I stopped trying to impress my old friends. Though I soon lost touch with them, I no longer felt the adversary’s pull on me. I felt free and happy that I had released myself from the spiritual prison I had created.
I believe in the importance of surrounding yourself with people who support you in living righteously. Now I am blessed with good friends who help me live the standards in the For the Strength of Youth and who encourage me to build my testimony.