Gospel Story Finder

I don’t know your name, how old you are, or anything else about you. All I know is that you are Joann’s visiting teacher, and I appreciate your conscientious service with all my heart.

I know that visiting a less-active sister like Joann (name has been changed), my daughter-in-law, is not easy, especially when she probably isn’t very welcoming. I doubt she even wanted you to come at first. But Joann has told me you have been a real friend to her, stopping by to see how she’s doing and accepting her as she is.

In the 19 years since Joann married my son, this is the first time she has ever mentioned having a visiting teacher. Recently she told me how regularly you visit and how thoughtful and kind you always are. She said you have helped her several times when she was sick and have even offered to take my granddaughter to Young Women.

For the past 10 years, she, my son, and their family have lived hundreds of miles from us. I have prayed that others would love and care for them as I do, and I have pleaded tearfully with Heavenly Father that others would reach out to them as I would if they lived close by. From what Joann says, you are the answer to my prayers.

Even if Joann and my son don’t obey the Word of Wisdom and don’t attend church, they are still good people and they love their children. Somehow your eyes were not clouded by Joann’s cigarette smoke. You did not define her by whether she attended church. You got to know her and learned that she is a loving mother who wants her daughter to attend church and gain a testimony. And when Joann had surgery, you brought in dinner instead of wondering if she had brought some of her health problems upon herself.

How grateful I am that you are an example for my granddaughter. She can look up to you as someone who cares about everyone and goes out of her way to show loving concern. She told me that one day when you didn’t have a car, you walked more than a mile to her house with your small children to bring cookies.

“I was thinking of you and your mom and wanted to do something nice for you—just because,” you told her.

I wish I could tell you how much I appreciate your dedication to your calling as a visiting teacher. You epitomize those women who, since the days of Nauvoo, have served each other through loving and inspired visiting teaching. You have demonstrated that service and love through the way you have affectionately visited my less-active daughter-in-law.

Thank you.

Our baseball team had seven boys and two girls, and we called ourselves the Sonoma Lions. During the summer months, we practiced and played three or four times a week in a big vacant lot after our chores were done. It was just for fun—at first.
Then one day my brother Ramie told me there was another team called the Crows a few streets away from ours. I rode my bike to their team captain’s house and asked him if the Crows would like to play with us at the end of summer.
Two days later, he rode his bike to my house and said his team would like to play against ours—and that the Crows would beat us.
“Oh yeah?” I said. “We’ll see about that!”
We practiced hard, determined to beat the Crows. The end of summer was getting closer, and we were getting excited. And then along came Forrester.
Forrester was 10, and he had some mental challenges. His family had just moved into the neighborhood.
Forrester showed up one day while our team was practicing. He was skinny and just kind of stood there, too shy to ask if he could be on our team. Nobody wanted him to ask, especially me. We didn’t need him to help us beat the Crows, and we were afraid he would make us lose.
I guess he could tell we didn’t want him to be a part of our group. He lowered his head and stood there looking at the ground, kicking at a little rock. Then he slowly turned and started walking away.
A thought came into my mind: “What would Jesus do?”
I realized the Holy Ghost had told me this because the words had come from somewhere deep inside me.
When I looked at Ramie and the other team members, I could tell they felt like I did—awful. So I hurried and caught up with Forrester and asked him to come back and play with us.
I saw a smile come into his eyes, and he looked surprised and happy at the same time.
At the big game between our team and the Crows we all played hard, including Forrester.
We lost the game, 12 to 10. But that was OK. Forrester was a good player and a good sport. He even scored one of our runs. When he ran across home plate, I was cheering and jumping up and down.
Mom and Dad said Heavenly Father cheers for us when we make good choices. And I know that inviting Forrester to join the Sonoma Lions was a good choice because it made me feel warm all over, just like the quilt Mom made me does on cold winter nights.

It was evening during the Christmas season, and a heavy blanket of snow lay on the ground. For months my companion and I had braved the cold German weather, knocked on doors, and handed out copies of the Book of Mormon. Even then, 15 years after World War II had ended, many Germans were wary of Americans.
But that night Ingeborg Bienmuller was to be baptized. On the long bus ride to the United States Air Force base, however, she was quiet. I sensed her growing feeling of distress.
As we approached the bus stop, Ingeborg turned to us and said, “Do you know how difficult this is for me? The Allied forces killed my husband in the war, and bombing raids killed many other family members.”
She touched her leg. “I was hit with shrapnel from a sulfur bomb. My leg will never heal. I don’t know if I can go in there.”
We sat silent as her words sunk in and the bus came to a stop. Ingeborg sat rigid. My heart pounded. I prayed she wouldn’t turn away in fear.
She then rose from her seat and declared, “Heavenly Father has given me a testimony of the truthfulness of the Restoration. I know the Book of Mormon is true. I can do this! Elder Atkin, please help me walk.”
We made the long walk to the gate, Ingeborg’s breath coming hard as we passed the guards. We changed into our white clothing and found the pool at the base. The pool became a sacred place, and peace settled over us. The distress on Ingeborg’s face changed to joy as she stepped into the water and was baptized a member of the Church.
That night Sister Bienmuller became a member of the Würzburg Branch and one of the many in Germany who eventually overcame their fears and joined the Church.

I have learned from personal experience that this is true. A few years ago, when my youngest child was in junior high, I began to get a prompting that I needed to go back to school and finish my education. I had only had one year of college before I was married; all I ever wanted to do was be a mom, and I loved being a mom; it was my favorite job ever, but life doesn't always work out the way you planned. It's full of surprises, so be prepared to adjust! Anyway, at that time I had a very strong impression that I needed to get an education and that I needed it NOW. I thought about all the majors that would get me a job making lots of money, but that just didn't seem to be what I was supposed to do. My great love was literature, so after some consideration, I decided that what I really wanted to do was major in English and teach at Ricks College. I prayed about it and had a confirmation of the spirit that that was what I should do. I finished my associate's degree at Ricks College and then I had to move on to a 4-year university. Just to see what my chances of teaching at Ricks College were, I went to visit with the person who was the English Department chair at that time (I won't mention any names, and I'm sure that person won't remember this). He told me that the department had all the teachers they needed and that he didn't foresee any need for more teachers for a long time. He said, "If I were you, I would change my major." Well, that was a little discouraging, but I knew what I had been told to do, so I went ahead with it in spite of the odds. I knew that if that's what the Lord had told me to do, there must be a reason, although I couldn't necessarily see it at the time. I finished my bachelor's and master's degrees at Idaho State University, and interestingly enough, the year that I finished, there was an opening in the English Department. There has been almost every year since, so here I am. Obviously, the Lord knew something that that English Department chair did not—well, actually none of us did! If I had not followed the promptings of the Lord, I would not have been prepared when the opportunity came. And, more importantly, I would not have been prepared to provide for my family when, the year after I graduated, my husband died suddenly of a heart attack. I could not have foreseen that, but my Heavenly Father knew, and He helped me to be ready. I love the Lord; I trust Him, and I absolutely know that I could not do any of the things I do without His help. I don’t know the whole plan for my life, but I know that He does, and I know that if I try to live worthy and follow the promptings of the spirit, I will be prepared for whatever happens in my life.

While I was growing up, my hero was my maternal grandfather, my acheii. He was strong in his faith. I went to a lot of different churches with him, but religion wasn’t for me.
When I met Gina, who became my wife, she was a faithful member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She wanted me to learn about the Church so we could marry in the temple. But I didn’t want that. I was not religious.
Eventually we got married civilly. After we had a child, I still wasn’t interested in the Church, but Gina kept attending.
Finally, I decided I would prove that her church was wrong by going to other churches. This went on for several years, but no matter where I went, I wasn’t comfortable.
Then, one Sunday as Gina was getting our daughter ready to go to church, I started getting dressed for church too. She looked at me and asked, “What are you doing?” I responded, “I’m going to go to church with you.” She looked at our daughter and said, “Get ready quick! We don’t want him to change his mind!”
So, off we went. Because I felt the Holy Ghost through the people at church, they were essential to my conversion. After that, the missionaries came to our home. They were awesome, the teachings they shared were beautiful to me, and the Spirit filled my heart (see Moroni 10:4–5).
When I visited my grandfather to tell him what I had found, he was not happy. But I knew I had to follow my heart.
I joined the Church, and soon Gina and I were sealed in the temple. Our daughter was sealed to us, and we now have three more children who were born in the covenant.
It took 10 years for my acheii to finally respect what we believe in the Church. At my son’s high school graduation, he told everybody in Navajo, “I enjoy this family. I support what they believe. Their children really know how to pray.”
I am the only member of the Church in my extended family, but I know they accept that my conversion was genuine, and they see the good the gospel has brought to my wife, our children, and me.

I started my freshman year at college, and everything was going great. Great, that is, until an all-too-familiar feeling of my personal shortcomings began to settle in my stomach. My second-oldest brother, who was not only co-captain of my college team but also my roommate, had just come home from the mission field. He told extraordinary stories about living in England and preaching the gospel.
I read letters from the mission presidents of both of my older brothers describing what a good missionary “Elder Bennett” was and how blessed they would be because of their obedience and faith. Again, I began feeling inadequate. How could I ever measure up to their high level of missionary success? Although my body had grown several inches taller and my muscles had doubled in size, my testimony had not grown proportionately.
I confided in my brother and roommate, “What can I do to prepare to be a great missionary like you were? How can I change people’s lives like you did?” Again I received simple counsel. “Do the things that great missionaries do. Be nice to people, read your scriptures, and pray daily.”
I took the advice to heart and could feel my spiritual growth begin to catch up with my physical body.

During my first BYU London study abroad program as a student, my father came to visit. We took an excursion to France, where his uncle is buried in a World War I military cemetery. The young Lars Lester Larsen—big brother to my dad’s mother—was sent to France as a private in September 1918 and was last seen alive filling his canteen in a small creek before enemy artillery fire set in. He was killed just weeks before the armistice.

The blue star on the banner in the Larsens’ living room window, a national tradition that indicated a son was serving in the military, was changed to gold, the sign that the son had died in combat. His mother—my great-grandmother—was heartbroken and fell ill; her health never recovered. After the war the government organized a trip overseas for those “gold star mothers” of soldiers buried in Europe to visit the graves of their sons. My great-grandmother died the day the ship set sail from New York. So my father and I were the first two relatives ever to visit his uncle’s gravesite, to dedicate it for a glorious resurrection.

When we arrived at the grave marker for Private Larsen, in the midst of thousands and thousands of crosses, with nobody else around, the first thing my father did was put on a suit coat and tie.

He said, “Son, we are here to dedicate a grave, a priesthood ordinance, and when you perform the duties of the priesthood, you do so appropriately attired.”

After his dedicatory prayer he said, “Grandmother would be happy.”

Not only did I learn to be appropriately dressed to perform the duties of the priesthood but I also learned of the terrible price that was paid for our citizenship in a free country—much like the sacrifices of our spiritual forebearers and Jesus Christ Himself to allow us to be members of “the Lord’s country and kingdom.”

One day my friend Foxx came over to my house. At night, my family reads the scriptures and prays together. Foxx is not a member of the Church, but I asked him if he’d like to join us in doing those things and he said yes. After we read the scriptures and prayed, Foxx told us his favorite Bible story. I felt good because I was being a missionary. I am going to ask him if he can come to church with me someday.

They don’t get chased by dogs or have companions. They don’t write letters home on preparation days because they still live at home, in Pleasant Grove, Utah. But the Willeys—Anthony, 18, Elizabeth, 16, and Kristina, 14—are still missionaries, music missionaries, actually. They were set apart in the Salt Lake Tabernacle.
“When I was set apart,” Elizabeth says grinning, “I was told, ‘Now you’re the youngest sister missionary.’ It made me feel special.” And she enjoyed being the youngest sister missionary until a year or so later when her little sister Kristina was set apart and took over as the youngest.
As music missionaries, Anthony, Elizabeth, and Kristina can share the gospel without ever opening their mouths. Anthony says music missionaries can reach people that regular missionaries might not be able to.
“Music reaches people who wouldn’t hear about the Church any other way. It isn’t like knocking on a door and going into someone’s house; it’s more subtle,” he says.
Elizabeth says, “People listening to good music will feel the Spirit, and when they feel the Spirit, they’re willing to learn more.”
So do the Willeys lug their violins, violas, and basses from door to door playing inspirational music for people? Not exactly. If you’ve ever seen a Church music broadcast or attended one on Temple Square, you’ve probably seen how Anthony, Elizabeth, and Kristina share the gospel through music. They are some of the youngest members of the Orchestra at Temple Square.
Being so young compared to the other members of the orchestra doesn’t bother these teens a bit. They actually love it. Elizabeth says, “Even though there are only a few members under 20 in the orchestra, I feel like I fit in. I think it’s great because there isn’t any goofing off. Everyone had to work so hard to get here.”
How did they get to be in such a prestigious orchestra at such a young age? “Lots and lots of practice,” Anthony says.
To be in the Orchestra at Temple Square you have to be one of the top musicians in the Church, able to play whatever difficult piece might be put in front of you. And it’s a huge time commitment.
Kristina says, “Being a part of the Orchestra at Temple Square is my favorite thing I’ve ever done, but it’s been a sacrifice. It’s hard to find time for homework and friends because we have to practice every day and rehearse several times a week.”
But Anthony, Elizabeth, and Kristina all say the hard work is worth it.
“It’s neat to be able to see the audience’s reaction when we perform,” Elizabeth says. “The Spirit is always there. It makes me feel like all my hard work has paid off.”
The teens’ mom and dad go to their concerts and sit up in the balcony where they can see all their children. Their mother, Denise, says, “When the music gets going, the Spirit sweeps over me and over the whole audience.”
The beautiful music the orchestra plays on Temple Square helps many people feel the Spirit. After the concerts are over, members of the audience can learn more about the Church from the full-time and Church service missionaries standing at the doors.
Anthony loves the missionary opportunities that being a member of the Orchestra at Temple Square has given him. “Being a member of the orchestra has made me want to be a better person,” he says, “and it has prepared me to be a better full-time missionary.”
Anthony, Elizabeth, and Kristina are not the only members of their family involved in music. Their younger siblings Alexander, Catherine, and Rebekah (also pictured above) have also been playing instruments nearly as long as they’ve been able to walk. The Willeys agree that music helps bind their family together. They also say that good music can bless everyone’s life, whether they play an instrument or not. Elizabeth says, “Anyone can enjoy music on some level. You don’t have to be a professional musician.”
Anthony says, “There are lots of opportunities for teens to learn music. You can sing in a ward youth choir or join your school band, choir, or orchestra.”
Alexander, 13, says listening to good music helps him with his schoolwork. He says, “Listening to Mozart before a test can help you perform well. Good music can clear your mind so you can learn or remember things better.”
Kristina listens to uplifting music when she’s sad because it makes her feel better. She says, “Good music can invite the Spirit. It’s like a prayer” (see D&C 25:12).

(Bill) Six months after we were married, we moved to Virginia where I enrolled in graduate school. Our progress in the gospel grew after several steps over a period of the next four years.
The first step in our journey was that we resolved to find a church together. Up to that time, we attended several different denominations.
(Dianna) The second step was meeting our first LDS members, another graduate student and his wife from Utah. Through their friendship and examples, several misconceptions about the LDS church were dispelled. We appreciated their strong values, religious involvement, commitment to family, and their deeper understanding of life. They were not only member missionaries, but also patient friends.
(Bill) Which led to the next step. It was during one of our visits in their home that they shared a copy of the “Book of Mormon” with us which had their testimony written inside.
(Dianna) They also introduced us to the missionaries. In fact, for the next two years we met most of the missionaries assigned to that community. After my husband accepted a position at Utah State University, we invited the missionaries to share the discussions. Needless to say, this was a big jump—even a giant leap of several steps.
(Bill) Another significant step occurred before our baptism when I received my first priesthood blessing, following a car accident which broke some bones in my hand. When the doctor learned I played the piano, he scheduled surgery to make the repairs. I received a priesthood blessing that all would heal well. During one of my final checkups, he commented that he was amazed that I was already playing the piano when another of his patients with a similar injury that occurred about the same time was still in a cast.
(Dianna) There were a series of other steps as well, including conversations with some of Bill’s curious and missionary-minded students at Utah State. As a nonmember, I was often asked by my second-graders about my membership in the church and I was invited to their baptisms. We were blessed with supportive friends and neighbors. But when we learned we were expecting our first child, we knew we needed to make a decision—four years after meeting our first LDS friends. We had procrastinated our spiritual progress long enough.
(Bill) These final steps included going to Heavenly Father in prayer and fasting, meeting with the bishop in the ward we had been attending, and then, with faith, setting a baptism date. Soon after that huge step, I received the Aaronic priesthood. Six months later, Lindsey, the oldest of our four daughters, was born and I received the Melchizedek priesthood and was ordained an elder so I could give her a name and a blessing.
(Dianna) Then we both received our patriarchal blessings, outlining some of the plans the Lord had in store for us in this life and the next.
(Bill) One year after our baptism, we prepared to go to the temple, received our endowments and were sealed to each other for time and all eternity. And Lindsey was sealed to us.
You can see there were a series of many steps —some small ones, some giant leaps—that we needed to take and each occurred. . . line upon line. . . and we progressed in our journey with faith in our relationship with Heavenly Father and his Son, Jesus Christ.

Have you memorized your monthly New Era? Kenneth Higbee did, in just a few hours.

Dr. Higbee, a psychologist at BYU, gives firesides in the Provo area explaining the “link system” of memory training.

With the “link system” a person associates easily remembered items together with mental pictures. For example, a shopping list of milk, bananas, and a can opener could easily be remembered by forming a mental picture of a banana opening a carton of milk. Before one such demonstration the youth of the Provo Utah Sharon East Stake were puzzled when asked to bring copies of the June New Era to a stake fireside.

After showing how the link system can be used to memorize lists rapidly and accurately, Dr. Higbee asked the young people to open their magazines and ask him any question about the contents. Although he couldn’t repeat the stories and articles word for word, he knew all the titles, authors, subjects, and even the page numbers of the articles.

After the New Era demonstration, the young people were asked to try and memorize a list of 20 words. Only three could do it. But after practicing the link system, over 80 percent of the group could memorize the complete 20-word list.

With a little practice you might be able to memorize the New Era too. And when you’ve got it down, pass the magazine on to a friend who “forgot” to subscribe. Or better still, subscribe for that friend!

Last Fall my wife and I set out on a drive to see the beauties of some remote wilderness high in the Wasatch Mountains East of Salt Lake. We were attempting to follow a road that not very many people travel. We had been on it a number of years before. We remembered the beautiful scenery, trees, mountains, and wildlife and hoped to have such an experience again.

Because the road is seldom used, there are no signs directing you where to go and how far it is to the next turn--or even if there is a next turn. Somewhere along the way, we found ourselves on a very rough road, steep in places, with large rocks and very rough terrain. We were grateful we were in a vehicle that was built for such country.

While technically we were lost--as my wife would say--I knew we were going in the right direction and that eventually we would come out where we originally planned to go. We just didn't know when we would get there, or how long it would take. After a significant delay, we found the road that was our original destination.

Even with this delay and a rougher road than expected, we accomplished what we set out to do. We experienced the beauties of nature, the gorgeous trees, clear blue skies and wildlife. We achieved our goal, but the road we travelled was longer, rougher and had some delays and surprises that we had not anticipated.

I stood on the step of the train and hugged my father good-bye. “Have a nice time in Wales, Hetty,” he said.
“I will,” I answered, smiling.
The spring of 1910 was one I would never forget. I had been baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints just a short time before, and now I was going on a trip all alone from Bristol, England, to Wales to visit my Aunt Nell.
“Hetty”—Father caught my hand—“don’t forget to say your prayers.”
I squeezed his hand. “I won’t, Father.” But as I turned to go, I added under my breath, “I hope.”
I had a hard time remembering to say my prayers at night. Before the missionaries visited our home, I had sometimes said a little prayer before going to sleep that started, “Now I lay me down to sleep.” But the missionaries taught us that prayer was actually talking to Heavenly Father. I wasn’t used to that—and I wasn’t always sure I had anything important to tell Him. But at Aunt Nell’s house there would be lots to tell Him. I didn’t think that I’d forget there.
That night I didn’t forget. I thanked Heavenly Father that the train hadn’t derailed and that Aunt Nell had been there to meet me. I thanked Him for the lovely green Welsh hills and for the pastures filled with sheep.
The next night was different, though. I spent all day exploring the hills with Aunt Nell. I was so tired at the end of the day that I fell into bed and went right to sleep.
“Oh, dear,” I thought the next morning. “I forgot to say my prayers. Well, I’ll say them tonight.” But we spent all day visiting Aunt Nell’s relatives in the nearby village, and the same thing happened that night. And the next.
The next morning, Aunt Nell surprised me. “Hetty,” she said, “how would you like to go into the village by yourself today and buy something for me?”
“I’d love to!”
She gave me some money and told me where to find what she needed. Then she said, “Now, remember—don’t stay too long. A fog often comes in from the sea in the late afternoon. If that happens, you might not be able to find your way home.”
I told her that I’d be careful. Then I skipped off. I had to go over a bridge, walk down a long lane, and cross two fields to get to the village. The fields were surrounded by high hedges. They had stiles, or steps, in them that allowed people but not animals to go through. After I crossed the last stile, I went straight to the village store, made my purchase, and turned toward home.
“Hetty!” someone called. I turned back and saw some of Aunt Nell’s cousins playing on their doorstep. “Can you stay and play?”
“Well …” I hesitated. The sun was still high in the sky. It wouldn’t hurt to stay a little while. “OK,” I said, “but not long.”
“Not long” turned into “too long.” The sun was getting low in the sky when I started back to Aunt Nell’s. I crossed the first field just fine, but as I entered the second field, the fog came rolling in. I walked around and around the field, but I couldn’t find the stile.
Finally I stopped and stood shivering in the thick, damp fog. My father’s words echoed in my head: “Don’t forget to say your prayers.” I knew I needed Heavenly Father’s help, but how could I pray to Him after I’d been disobedient?
I knelt in the wet grass. “Heavenly Father,” I whispered, “I’m sorry I’ve been forgetting to say my prayers. And I’m sorry I stayed too long in the village. But please help me find my way.”
Just then, a horrible “Eeee-Aaaa!” sounded right by my ear. Terrified, I leaped up and stumbled away from that awful noise. And there, right in my path, was the stile! In an instant, I climbed up and over it. Then I ran down the lane, heading straight for a lantern bobbing towards me. It was Aunt Nell! I threw myself into her arms.
“There, there,” she soothed, and she took me home. That night I knelt and thanked Heavenly Father for helping me, and I promised to never again forget to pray.
The sun was out the next morning. I asked Aunt Nell to go for a walk with me. We crossed the bridge, walked down the lane, and came to the stile. I took a deep breath and climbed it. As I reached the top, I looked down into the field and saw the answer to my prayer. There, tethered near the bottom of the stile, was a donkey.
I laughed.
“What is it?” Aunt Nell asked.
“Oh, I’m just happy,” I answered. And I was. I’d found out for sure that Heavenly Father loves me and answers prayers—sometimes in unexpected ways. He might even use a donkey to do it.

My mom is a great example to me and takes time to help me learn how to clean and cook better. She also tries to help me sew. When I came in last during a race, she showed me the scripture in Ether 12:27 to help me realize that Heavenly Father loves me despite my weaknesses. She teaches us about loving our family when she reads to us and gathers us all around her. Because of her, we like to be together as a family.

John D. Russell, a World War II army paratrooper, told of another effort to establish the Church. One time during some extremely hard fighting, John curled up in a foxhole trying to get some sleep. Two soldiers nearby asked him if he wanted to join them for church. He was dumbfounded that these two rough, tough guys would even mention church at a time like this. They spoke with sincerity and in terms that really touched him. John watched as they broke up K-ration crackers into pieces and put them in a helmet. They then said a prayer and passed the helmet, each taking a piece of cracker. John followed their example. Then they passed around a canteen after saying another prayer, and they all took a drink. Following this they took turns sharing how they felt about their faith. John tried, unsuccessfully, to fight back tears even though he knew little about their religion.

When the war ended, John returned to Council, Idaho, where he met a young girl named Betty. They dated for a couple of weeks. Betty invited John to her church, and he accepted, not knowing which church she attended. During the meeting he watched two young men administer the sacrament. He recognized the Spirit that came over him and knew that this was what he had felt in the foxhole in Europe.

“What church is this?” he asked. “I want to know more!”

He joined the Church, and he and Betty were married and sealed in the temple.

“How grateful I am,” he declared, “for those young men who invited me to my first sacrament meeting in that foxhole so far away.”

It was twenty-eight years ago that two young women brought the greatest and most precious influence into my family’s life.
We were living in a beautiful little town in Texas. Life was calm. I was very active in my church, an officer in the choir, Sunday School teacher, active in our Christian service organization. I loved my fellow church members and my neighbors dearly. We had bought a little home, and we had four lovely children, the oldest ten and the youngest just a few months old.
From my kitchen window I could look through to the end of the block and across the street and watch the construction of a building of some kind. I didn’t know what it was, but something drew me to it, and each day as I did the dishes I’d look out the window and note the progress. Our neighbors were curious, too, and when we found out it was a Mormon church, we were so upset. I didn’t know the Mormons even existed in this part of the country.
Several months passed. The little church on the corner was completed. It was small, but tastefully done in pinkish stone. I never saw anybody with long skirts or funny hats go in and out, though I expected to. I was rather disappointed that the members looked just like us.
One day there was a knock on the door. There stood two young ladies, neatly dressed. I cordially invited them into my home, and, like any good Texan, immediately asked if they’d like a cup of coffee. They politely declined, and we soon entered into a discussion about God the Father and his Son, Jesus Christ. They told me some things I’d never heard before. They said God had a body—a real body of flesh and bone—and looked much like one of us. Imagine! God, whom I loved so dearly, looking like a person. It almost seemed sacrilegious. I remember saying good-bye to them at the door, thinking, “You’re wonderful young ladies, but you certainly have some funny ideas. Your church has certainly led you astray. But you really believe it with all your hearts.”
About the same time the next week, another knock came on the door. It was the same two ladies. I invited them in, offered them coffee again, and they graciously declined again. Another discussion. Another parting at the door. This time they told me about a present-day prophet! Out loud I said, “It must give you a very good feeling to believe you have a prophet to lead you.” They assured me that it did. My inner thoughts said, “How does this church get them to believe something so strongly?”
Another meeting. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like a cup of coffee with us?” Again a polite “No, thank you.” To my amazement my husband came into the room and sat in on the discussion with us.
We had more meetings each week. They told my husband and me all kinds of things—Nebuchadnezzar’s dream, the stone cut out of a mountain without hands, Jeremiah’s prophecies, the two “sticks” that would become one. I had read all these things before. I loved the Bible—it was very dear to me. Even as a child I loved it. I read a chapter each night before I went to bed, so some of the things the young women talked about were familiar. But now they started falling into place in logical order. How exciting it was!
By now our children had joined with us in the discussions, and the two sisters who had originally knocked on our door had been replaced by another pair of lady missionaries. I would put the baby in his playpen, and then we’d start bombarding the missionaries with question after question. We found that the two sticks mentioned in prophecy were the Bible and the Book of Mormon. “Do we get to see the Book of Mormon? When? When can I read it? Next discussion?” This was going to be a long week—I could hardly wait.
The week was long. I kept thinking about the Book of Mormon and could hardly wait to get my hands on it. The day finally arrived, and I hoped in my heart they wouldn’t forget the Book of Mormon. I even thought they might finally have a cup of coffee with us.
As we discussed the Book of Mormon, they told me of a wonderful promise contained in it. Yes, we’d give it a try. We’d pray about it.
It took only a few pages of the Book of Mormon to convince me that it was true. It’s true! This is the word of God! And so, each morning at 6:00 I would take my cup of coffee out on the back steps of the house in the cool morning air and read until the children woke up. How forceful were the words! Who could ever deny, after reading this book, that it was the word of God? It is the word of God! What a feeling of excitement, of discovery, of awe, of warmth, of wonder.
We still had at least three more discussions left when we were interrupted. Our four-year-old daughter, Nancy, came down with what appeared to be polio. I was still teaching a class in my church—dreading now to go—but instead of teaching my Sunday School class that morning, I was feverishly getting Nancy ready for a spinal tap at the local hospital. Our suspicions were confirmed; she had polio. We took Nancy to the Children’s Hospital in Houston, and I packed my Book of Mormon, knowing there would be many hours of waiting ahead of me. Somehow I knew that she would be all right.
In two weeks she was released from the hospital, and I had read a great deal of my new book.
Once more the missionary discussions began. At the next meeting I finally learned why it was that the missionaries kept refusing when I asked them if they would like a cup of coffee. When they told me they abstained from coffee, tea, alcohol, and tobacco, my heart sank. I thought to myself, “Now they’re going to tell me they don’t dance, go to movies, cut their hair, and any number of things.” But I was ready to give up whatever they asked. I already knew the gospel was true.
Now we were near the end of the discussions, and the plan of salvation was being presented. I’ll never be able to describe the joy I felt when I was told that I had dwelt with God before—that he knew me and taught me before I was born. You mean he actually knows me? Me? Just think! God knows me! Me! I was overjoyed. I wept. This was the most beautiful thing I had ever hear—that I had dwelt with God before, and that he knew me personally. Now I could easily think of him as a kind Father, a God of flesh and bone.
When the elders were introduced to us, I was very excited. The sister missionaries had told us about the priesthood, and I was in awe of the elders when they came. I felt the greatest respect for someone who held the priesthood of God. It was such a new thing for me. The children loved them instantly.
Yes, we were baptized. We had knelt in prayer and for the first time, self-consciously and timidly, and prayed together vocally. In simplicity and humility we asked our Heavenly Father if these things were true, and, in answer, received the warm, sweet assurances that only the Holy Ghost can bring.
In the many years since our baptism as a family, there have been many joys—yes, and many sorrows too, especially the death of my husband. Yet we have known the security of the priesthood in our home, the comfort of home teachers. We have laughed, sung, cried; we’ve been down to the depths of despair, and up to the heights of spirituality. We have experienced the sweetness of a temple marriage, the meaning of eternal friendships, the strength of the iron rod when all seemed utterly hopeless. We have helped make peanut butter in welfare projects in Texas, and helped to weed beet fields and canned peas in Provo, where we now live with our new husband and father.
Above all, we are truly grateful to be members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and for the missionaries who made it possible. And now we have sent our own David out as a missionary, with the hope that he will find other receptive souls and bring to them the joy and happiness that the missionaries brought to us.

My mother still speaks fondly of “the wonderful time” she and my father had on their senior mission at the Church’s Deseret Ranches in central Florida, USA—a mission that almost didn’t happen.
After decades of working as an engineer for several companies, Dad finally started his own construction business. Things went well until his financial officer embezzled the company into bankruptcy. With the loss of their business, my parents also lost the comfortable retirement they had anticipated.
I thought a mission was out of the question for them until the day they excitedly phoned to say they had been called to serve. Soon, they found themselves on the Church’s sprawling 300,000-acre (121,405 ha) ranch in Deer Park, Florida.
The ranch is primarily a cow-calf operation, but it also dedicates hundreds of acres to citrus production and other products and projects. My parents and six other senior couples spent most of their time cleaning, repairing, and maintaining dozens of homes for cowboys, ranch workers, and their families. They also served in the Orlando Florida Temple and in their ward in nearby Deer Park. As soon as they arrived, they went to work.
While Jerry Morris cleans a refrigerator (above), Ivan Morris (below, left) and Albert Liston replace a window.
Photographs courtesy of the author
“Little did we know about the needs for upkeep and all that is required to maintain the housing units here,” my father wrote to us. He said they worked Monday through Wednesday and served in the temple on Thursdays.
“Then, Friday, back to work, which includes all phases of housing work and cleanup: door, window, carpet, and wall repair; pulling nails, spackling, priming, and painting. Two other elders do the plumbing and electrical. The list goes on and on.”
My mother and the other sisters cleaned the homes—“from floor to ceiling.” My mother also painted. The sisters took a break on Tuesdays to do family history work at the Cocoa Florida Family History Center.
“I just can’t believe all of this is happening for Grandpa and me,” my mother wrote. “We really feel that this is where we are supposed to be, doing more and more each day. We really are blessed. Having all of you saying prayers for us is making our time here very special.”
My parents served while they were in their 70s. I wondered if they were working too hard, but they seemed to thrive despite the workload.
“We miss not seeing you, but what a blessing it is being here,” my mother said. “Grandpa and I love what we are doing here helping in the Lord’s work. Our testimonies are growing each day.”
During their 18-month mission, my parents missed their family, especially the grandchildren. But they loved serving alongside other senior couples and the members of their Florida ward.
“The other sweet senior missionaries are great,” my mother wrote. “Dad and I feel at home with all of them. Some have health problems and family problems. We all help each other in many ways.”
My parents loved their ward callings, and they felt right at home in their ward.
“The members here in the Ellsworth Ward are as close as any family could be. They take care of each other,” my mother told us. “They are such special Saints. They show their love to us missionaries every day. It’s nice being a small part of their life.”
My parents’ temple service on Thursdays was another highlight of each week.
“While we are there, the cares of the world are locked outside,” my father wrote. “It is a real joy to be serving in the Lord’s house.”
Photograph of Orlando Florida Temple by David Bowen Newton
As outdoor enthusiasts, my parents felt blessed to serve in an area teeming with wildlife and picturesque landscapes.
“Our mission is full of great surprises. What a wonderland,” my father wrote. “We see lots of animals. Deer abound. We can look out our dining room window and see sandhill cranes. We have even seen a few alligators. In summation, this is a very beautiful place.”
“Our mission is full of great surprises,” my father wrote.
Photograph courtesy of the author
In one letter, my mother wrote, “Dad and I watched a cattle roundup a few weeks ago. What a sight!” In another, she said: “The sunsets are spectacular. If I could paint one, I would. The sky is so high here, and the stars are so bright that it seems you could almost touch them. But we don’t like being on these roads after dark. You don’t know what kinds of critters are going to jump out!”
In my mother’s words, their mission was “a humbling and faith-growing time.” Like missionaries everywhere, they found joy and spiritual growth as they lost themselves in service. They shared those blessings in counsel to their grandchildren.
“Grandma and I feel that service to others and living a gospel-based life is so important,” my father wrote. “So, set your personal goals higher than what is standard for average society.” In another letter, he said, “Stay close to the Lord. Don’t let the world get to you.”
My mother added, “Be happy, full of love and service always.”
As their mission came to a close, my mother wrote: “It’s going to be hard to leave. Many blessings have come our way. We have made good friends. But we are so excited to be home and see you all again.”
My parents had been home more than 10 years before I learned how much they had sacrificed in order to serve. But, after much discussion and many prayers, they mustered their faith and accepted a call. They never regretted it, and they often reflected on how their mission blessed them during and after their service.
“This mission has been so much more than we could have hoped for,” my mother wrote toward the end of their mission. “We have never felt so close to the Lord as we have here. He is helping us in everything we are doing. We are at our best here and loving it all.”

Tammy and I have committed to follow the prophet and live debt free and within our means. We don’t have a mortgage or any other debt. We do make a car payment each month, but instead of paying a car dealership, we make a deposit into our own car savings account. A little while ago we took about four years of car savings and went shopping for a new car. We really liked a base model Toyota, and it fit our budget perfectly. We thought we were ready to buy, but then the salesman showed us the next model up. It was much nicer but was a little more than what we had saved. But then, and this was the temptation, we were led to a top-of-the-line model—a real dream machine.

Now, I have never been infatuated with cars, but driving that vehicle was a transcendent experience; it was so smooth and so powerful. I wanted it! I really wanted it, and Tammy wanted it too. We had just one problem: the car cost much more than what we had in our car savings. The sales person enthusiastically showed us that with our large down payment, our monthly car payment would be a pittance—very affordable! What would be wrong with a little debt if we could get what we wanted now? We wouldn’t be irresponsible. We were so tempted!

Fortunately Tammy and I don’t make a major financial decision on the spot. We talk about it, pray about it, sleep on it, and make the final decision when we’re fresh and hopefully more inspired. So we went home and tried to talk ourselves into this brief excursion into debt. But alas, we didn’t feel good about it, so we decided to wait.

When I told this story to my family finance class at BYU, one student asked, “Dr. Hill, why don’t you just buy a used version of the car you want? It’s better financially anyway.” He was right. It is more economical to buy a used, low-mileage car than to buy a new car.

I got excited. Right after class I searched Carfax.com and found a beautiful car with low miles in Rexburg, Idaho, that fit our budget. My dad lives in Rexburg, so I asked him to take a test drive. He called back and said it was the best car he had ever driven and that if I didn’t buy it, he would! I bought the car on the spot over the phone on the condition that my wife approved it—though I knew she would.

Our anniversary was coming up, so I decided to surprise Tammy. I asked her to give me twenty-four hours to celebrate with a little getaway. We packed our bags and headed north on I-15. Tammy kept guessing where we were headed, and it is impossible to get anything over on Tammy, but this time I did. I just kept saying, “You’ll just have to see where we’re going, dear.” She had no clue.

When we neared the car dealership, I said, “Let’s just stop here for a minute.” We walked into the showroom, and there was our gorgeous, new-looking used car draped in Happy Anniversary! balloons.

Tammy squealed in delight and nearly hyperventilated. A few seconds later she caught her breath and got concerned. She protested, “But, Jeff, we can’t afford this.” When she heard that we could pay cash for this used car, she hugged me, gave me a kiss, and said I was the smartest husband ever!

That is an experience I will always remember. I can honestly tell you that when you are true to a commitment to live debt free and within your means, you can live joyfully and claim blessings.

Lillie Anne is our older sister, but usually Jason and I feel like big brothers to her because she has Down’s syndrome, which sets her back a little.
Lillie Anne loves everybody, and all those who really know her love her. She loves Heavenly Father, too, and always tries to do what’s right and what she thinks will please Mom and Dad. So nobody was prepared for the problem we had with her.
It started because Lillie Anne likes animals so much. She likes to hug and kiss cats and dogs, despite our warnings about germs and the dangers of strange animals. We’ve never had a pet because Mom and Jason are allergic to many animals. So whenever Mom goes to the store, Lillie Anne stops and visits Mr. Osterloh and plays with his animals. Mr. Osterloh is Lillie Anne’s friend.
One day in June, Mr. Osterloh came to the door with an onion sack in his arms. When I answered the door, I thought he was bringing us some vegetables from his little garden. But he asked for Lillie Anne. After I called her to the door, he handed her the sack. She was grinning from ear to ear as she opened it. A little floppy-eared black rabbit was inside. She hugged it tight, her face beaming like it was Christmas. The rabbit just sat there in her arms, twitching its nose.
So that’s how we got Harry. Even though they’d agreed to having the rabbit, Mom and Jason sneezed quite a lot at first because Harry ran all around the house. Then Dad bought a little cage for Lillie Anne to keep Harry in when he was inside. She carried Harry around in it all the time. She took him outside to run and play on the grass, but he slept in his cage at night in her room. They were pretty much inseparable.
There was one problem. Not what you’d think. Not the allergies or the kissing (though she does kiss Harry’s nose). You’d never guess. Lillie Anne wouldn’t go to church without Harry! She flatly refused. And when Lillie Anne flatly refuses, there’s not a whole lot anyone can do about it.
Mom and Dad talked to her a lot about how we can’t take pets to church. They explained how it would disrupt the reverence. The home teachers came and talked to her about how animals belong at home. Jason and I pointed out that Harry might get hungry or thirsty, but she didn’t see why that was a big problem. She just wouldn’t go without him.
We had a family council and decided that we’d have to take turns staying home with her until we found a solution. For the next two Sundays, Lillie Anne looked pretty sad and miserable as the rest of us left for church. But she still wouldn’t go without Harry.
Then on Wednesday, I came home from soccer practice to find her sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper. This is unusual, because Lillie Anne is still struggling with picture books. Her face was all lit up like she was looking at an angel or something.
“Michael!” she cried. “Look! Look at this boy!” I looked at the newspaper and saw a picture of a boy with very thin arms and legs holding the harness of a big black Labrador retriever. “Read it, Michael. Read it to me.”
I read the article to Lillie Anne. It was about a boy named Abram who didn’t have as many muscles as other people. He had a dog, Tacoma, that went everywhere with him. The dog helped him up if he fell, carried his books to school, and helped in many other ways. I thought Lillie Anne was just interested because she loves dogs, but I was wrong.
“A helper dog, a helper dog,” she kept saying. “Abram has a helper dog. The dog goes everywhere with him.”
Then she laid it on me. “Harry is a helper rabbit. He goes everywhere with me.”
Once she started on this, there was no getting it out of her head. Mom and Dad explained that the dog in the article had been trained for months and the boy had to leave home for a while and be trained along with the dog. Lillie Anne took a lot of interest in all this, but it didn’t change her mind. Jason pointed out that the dog wore a harness, and when he was working, people couldn’t pet him and play with him, unlike a rabbit.
“How is Harry a helper rabbit?” I asked. “How does he help you?”
She thought for a minute. “He makes me happy. He is my very own friend every minute.”
That Sunday Mom stayed home with Lillie Anne. As we left for church, my sister stood at the front gate with Harry draped over her arm. She watched us go with a sad and teary-eyed face. I couldn’t stand it. I had to do something. As we walked to church, I figured out a plan. After sacrament meeting, I found Bishop Lyman and asked if we could talk. When we went into his office and sat down, I was a little nervous.
“Michael,” he said, “what can I do for you?”
“Bishop, if someone in our ward were blind, would you let him bring a guide dog to church?”
“Well, of course. A guide dog can go everywhere.” He smiled at me in a puzzled way.
“Well, what if a person had a different problem,” I continued. “What if they couldn’t walk very well, and they had a helper dog. Could that dog come?”
He thought for a minute. “Oh, I’m sure it could. It would be trained to lie quietly during meetings.”
I squirmed a little. I felt silly comparing a little black rabbit to an intelligent, trained dog, but I could see Lillie Anne’s sad eyes in my mind, so I said it, anyway. “If someone like Lillie Anne has a rabbit that she thinks of as a helper rabbit, would it be all right if she brought it to church?”
Bishop Lyman smiled and said, “A helper rabbit. I’ve never heard of that.” Then he became serious, looked at me very kindly, and said, “Michael, I’m afraid a rabbit would hop around and distract people and make a mess on the floor.”
“Lillie Anne carries him around in a small cage, so that wouldn’t be a problem,” I said. “She hasn’t been coming to church because we told her Harry couldn’t come. But don’t you think people would get used to seeing him with her and then not take much notice after a while?”
“Hmmm.” Bishop Lyman thought for a few minutes. “Your mother and father have told me how Lillie Anne is refusing to come to church without him.” He thought some more. “Well, Michael, animals are important to us. The pioneers wouldn’t have made it across the plains without their animals. We’ll have to make sure the other children understand that Harry isn’t just a pet, that he helps Lillie Anne with her special circumstances. If we do that, we could try it.”
“Thank you!” I jumped to my feet. “It’ll work. You’ll see.”
The bishop smiled at me as I bolted out of his office and home as fast as I could to tell Lillie Anne.
The next Sunday, Lillie Anne was dressed and ready to go to church. She carried Harry in his cage as we walked to church. That really happy look was back on her face again—and on all our faces too.
At first, the kids wanted to pet Harry, but Lillie Anne explained that he was a helper rabbit and couldn’t play during churchtime. Then she told them that if they wanted to pet him, they could come over to the house sometime and play.
It wasn’t long until everyone accepted that, and now Harry sits quietly in his cage on the seat beside Lillie Anne through all the Church meetings every week. Lots of kids come to our house to see Lillie Anne and Harry, the helper rabbit. Harry loves the attention, and Lillie Anne is very happy. We’re all happy.

Heidi carefully pulled open the little door marked December twelfth on the Weihnachten calendar and looked at the tiny painting of beautifully wrapped presents.
Only fourteen more days until Weihnachten, she thought. I wish time would hurry. She looked down at the doors on the Weihnachten calendar marked December twenty-fifth and wished hard.
“Heidi!” Frau Schroeder called, “Come. There is work to be done for the advents kranz ceremony tonight.”
Heidi smiled. Not everyone made such a ritual of the lighting of the advents kranz candles as her mama and vati did. Almost everyone in Germany had an advents kranz and lighted the candles, one each week until all four were lighted by Weihnachten, but not everyone had a ceremony.
“Heidi!” Frau Schroeder called again.
“Ja, Mama.” Heidi answered, “I’m coming.”
Hurriedly she put on her apron and began to help with the baking.
“Mama,” she asked, “am I old enough to light one of the candles yet?”
“Oh, I don’t know.”
“Every year Wolfgang or Gunther or Helga has lighted the last two candles, and never me, I don’t like being the youngest! Please, Mama, could I this year?”
“It is very special to light the advents kranz candles in this house. It is an honor you must earn,” Mama said.
“I know, but what must I do?”
“When you find that out, you will be old enough.”
What a strange answer, Heidi thought. But there was no more time for questions. There was much work to be done.
That night the entire family, including Oma and Opa Schroeder and Oma Schmidt, gathered in the living room. The beautiful pine bough kranz hung from the ceiling by four red satin ribbons that came together in a bow at the top. Between each ribbon stood a tall thin white candle.
Opa Schroeder lighted the first candle last week after he read the Bible story of Mary and Joseph traveling to Bethlehem. Carefully he relighted the candle, and then Vati began this week’s ceremony.
Heidi listened as he told of how the baby Jesus was born in a stable. She knew the story by heart, but whenever Vati told it, the story seemed new and even more beautiful. Vati loved the story, and everyone who heard him could feel that love.
When he finished, Vati lighted the second candle and then they all ate cookies and little cakes and sang Weihnachten songs until it was time to go to bed.
All during the next week Heidi thought about what Mama had said. She wondered how she could earn the honor of lighting one of the last two candles. But there was not much time to wonder, for there was more baking and much work to be done for the holidays.
Next Sunday was the day that everyone had to participate in the advents kranz ceremony by doing something on the program. Heidi was going to sing her favorite Weihnachten carol, “Silent Night.” She practiced all week and memorized the words, thinking hard about the meaning so she could interpret the right feeling.
With so much to do, the time went fast and Sunday night was there before Heidi had time to think about who would be chosen to light the third candle. And besides, she was scared. Because she was the youngest, she would be first on the program.
Heidi was nervous as she waited for Opa to relight his candle and then for Vati to relight his. Vati started the program and called on Heidi.
Her knees seemed to shake and her hands were wet with perspiration, but she stood up straight next to Mama, who played the piano, and began to sing. “Silent night, holy night. All is calm, all is bright …” Suddenly the fear left her as she forgot about her audience. She remembered only the story of Jesus’ birth, and from her heart she sang her feelings.
The song ended and Heidi felt warm and wonderful inside. But suddenly she noticed a deep silence in the room. What did I do wrong? she wondered.
“That was beautiful!” Vati whispered. “I’ve heard that carol sung many times. But you, Heidi, did more than sing it. You felt and loved it. Thank you.”
There was a pause. Vati looked at Opa and Opa nodded. Then Vati spoke again. “I don’t think we need to go further to find the one who should light the third candle. I think it is agreed that this year Heidi has the true spirit of Weihnachten.”
Vati lifted Heidi up and carefully she lighted the candle. But it wasn’t as she thought it would be. Singing the song had been the important thing, not lighting the candle. She sat back down in her seat and listened to the others present their parts on the program. Occasionally her eyes peeked at the candles on the advents kranz.
The true spirit of Weihnachten, she thought, is not Sankt Nikolaus, or the Weihnachten calendar, or putting my shoes out for treats, or presents, or even the advents kranz, but a baby in a stable on a silent holy night.