Gospel Story Finder

“Race you to the river!” Jimmy shouted to his nine-year-old twin. Charlie’s legs pumped as hard as he could make them go, but Jimmy’s light, springy bounds took him to the oak seconds ahead of his brother. “Hi!” He grinned. “Where’ve you been?”
“You always win,” Charlie pouted. “I can beat anyone else, but never you.”
Summer vacation had begun, that year of 1898, and the Thorpe boys were happy to be back on the Oklahoma ranch. The Thorpes were Sac-Fox Indians, and their home was a cozy log cabin twenty miles from the reservation.
The twins delighted their father, Hiram, who watched them wrestle, jump, and run, always winning the contests that the Indians liked to hold. Mr. Thorpe himself was never defeated, and the boys hoped to be just like him when they grew up.
Their parents told them legends of the Sac-Fox tribe. Best of all they liked the stories of the great chief Black Hawk, their great-grandfather. “You can become great braves in a different way,” Mr. Thorpe said. “You can prove that you have courage and skill. You can study in school so that you can take your place in the world. You can prepare yourselves to be winners in the things you do best.”
“What if we lose?” Charlie asked.
“Like Black Hawk did at last, my son? You must lose with honor, as he did.”
That night, Charlie whispered, “Did I lose that race with honor today, Jimmy?”
“Sure. You always do.”
“Sometimes I get mad when I can’t ever beat you,” Charlie admitted, “and I forget about being like Black Hawk.”
Jimmy hadn’t realized that his brother cared so much. “Maybe I run best,” he told Charlie, “but you are best at school. Someday you could even be a teacher.”
“Maybe so.” Charlie began to feel better.
One day in early winter, the boys planned to go hunting with their father. Charlie was so excited that he could hardly eat the spice cake Mrs. Thorpe had made for supper. “Do you feel all right?” she asked, feeling his forehead. “Why, Hiram, he has a fever!”
Charlie had to stay home. Jimmy could see that he was shivering under his pile of blankets. “I wish you could go,” he said awkwardly. His heart was heavy, for the twins had never been separated.
“Me, too,” Charlie whispered.
In two days Mr. Thorpe brought down three deer and a small bear. The third day he loaded the gun and handed it to Jimmy. “It’s your turn, son.”
Only once had Jimmy shot the big gun at a target. Although the recoil had knocked him over, he hadn’t missed! Now they were hiding in the brush near a little stream. When a big stag came to drink, Jimmy quietly sighted along the barrel. For Charlie, he thought as he squeezed the trigger. Boooom! Jimmy reeled backward, but the deer lay on the ground.
“Good work!” his father praised him. They loaded the horses, and Mr. Thorpe shouldered two deer himself for the long hike home.
“You must be as strong as Black Hawk!”
“Your eye is keen, your thinking straight, and your speed great,” his father returned the compliment. “Already you follow the path of Black Hawk.”
Jimmy thought about his Indian name, Wa-Tho-Huck (Bright Path). He hoped that whatever his “bright path” might be, it would be honorable, like Black Hawk’s.
Mrs. Thorpe met them at the door, but in spite of the great good luck of so much meat, tears streaked her face. “It’s Charlie,” she mourned. “He had pneumonia. He’s gone.”
Blindly Jimmy turned away. How could it be time for Charlie to go to the spirit world? If only he had let Charlie beat him just one time! He felt father’s strong arms around him.
For a long time, everything reminded Jimmy of his twin. Understanding his grief, the Thorpes arranged for him to go to Haskell Indian School in Kansas. There, for the first time, he saw boys kicking a strange, point-ended ball. Other boys were hitting a small, leather-covered ball with a club, and still others were using a pole to jump over high crossbars. Jimmy tried all the new sports, and he learned to love them.
Later he went to Carlisle Indian School in Pennsylvania, where he led the football team to great victories over all the big teams in the country at that time—Yale, Harvard, Pittsburgh, Chicago, West Point, and many others. No one could run as fast, dodge as well, hit as hard, kick as high, or think as fast on the field as Jim.
He represented the United States in the Olympics in Sweden in 1912. He competed in the pentathlon, a series of five grueling contests, and the most difficult event, the decathlon, a series of ten punishing contests to select the top Olympic athlete. His decathlon score set a record that was not matched for many years!
The King of Sweden placed the victory medals around Jim’s neck and gave him his personal gift, a bronzed statue, saying, “You are the greatest athlete in the world!”
But heartbreak was ahead. His Olympic medals were taken away when it was learned that he had once been paid a few dollars for playing baseball. Jim hadn’t known that it would disqualify him for the Olympics. In 1982, thirty-nine years after his death, the honors were restored to his name.
Jim played professional baseball and football, and in 1950 he was named the greatest male athlete of the half-century. To many, he is considered the greatest male athlete of all time. A town in Pennsylvania changed its name to “Jim Thorpe” in his honor, and a movie was made about his life. Truly Jim Thorpe had followed the bright path set by Black Hawk; he had won at all the things he did best.

“Stick close to me, girls. I don’t want to lose you!” Lexie said. Stacey and her friend Amanda hurried a little faster to keep up.
Stacey had been so excited when Amanda invited her to come shopping with her older sister, Lexie. Stacey wished that she could be as stylish as Lexie—Lexie always dressed like she just walked out of a fashion magazine. Stacey had saved up money so she could buy a shirt on their shopping trip. Maybe Lexie would help her pick out something really cute.
The girls walked into a clothing store and began browsing a wall lined with colorful shirts. Stacey ran her hand across the racks, feeling the soft fabrics.
“You should try that one on,” Lexie said, pointing to one of the shirts. “It would look way cute on you.”
“Really?” Stacey asked. She felt flattered that Lexie was paying attention to her. The shirt was orange—her favorite color—and it was the right price. There was only one problem.
“She can’t get that one, Lexie,” Amanda said. “It has spaghetti straps, and it’s really short.”
Stacey felt her heart drop. How could she be cool like Lexie now?
Lexie casually waved her hand. “It’s not a big deal. I mean, that modesty rule only really matters when you’re older.”
Stacey began to feel a little hopeful. Maybe Lexie was right. It wasn’t like it was that immodest. Besides, the wall of shirts she stood in front of had only a few modest shirts, and none of them were very cute. It would take more time to find a shirt that looked good and had sleeves.
Stacey was about to pick up the shirt to try it on when she noticed she felt uncomfortable. She knew what she was about to do wasn’t right and that the Holy Ghost was warning her not to do it. She knew that dressing modestly was an important way of respecting her body and being a good example.
She looked at Lexie and swallowed. She wanted to be as cool as Lexie was, but after taking one look at Amanda, Stacey knew what she had to do.
“I actually don’t want to wear this,” she said, turning away from the shirt.
Lexie shrugged. “OK, that’s fine. Hey, let’s look at that section over there.”
As Lexie walked away, Amanda looked at Stacey and smiled. “I’m glad you decided not to try on that shirt, Stacey.”
“I wanted to,” Stacey confessed. “But I knew it wasn’t right.”
“Well, come on,” Amanda said. “Let’s go find you a shirt that is right.”
They went to join Lexie, leaving the orange shirt hanging on the wall.

I had never been in Colorado before. It laid out the black ice for me. People say that in near-death situations, your life flashes before your eyes. I don’t believe it after my experience. Maria and I were in a blue Tracker going 65 miles per hour down the highway to Golden. We were on our way to visit her family and attend a wedding rehearsal. Maria was back in her hometown, back where she was a gymnast, a basketball player, and a choir girl. She was driving.
We hit black ice. I heard her gasp, and a scream got caught somewhere in her throat. We skidded across three lanes. I didn’t see my life flashing. In fact, I don’t think I saw anything except the large cement divider getting closer. I didn’t think to do any last-minute repenting. I didn’t think any great memorable thoughts. I think “this is going to really hurt” was the only thing going through my mind.
We hit the cement median, demolishing the front end of the car. It felt like a roller coaster to my midsection and a shot to the head. Fortunately, we were both wearing our seat belts.
I looked back over at Maria. “Are you all right?”
Her eyes were wide, and she was breathing heavily. “Yeah. My leg hurts a little though, and my chest.” I undid my seat belt and checked her leg. I couldn’t see anything wrong from where I was. I wanted to check the other side. I got out of the car and circled to her door. Everything looked all right.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Maria repeated, half to herself and half to me.
“Don’t worry about it.” I hugged her. “I’m sure you set up the ice to show me how exciting Colorado could be.” Sarcastic humor. I guess that was my way of dealing with the trauma.
“I’m sorry.”
A policeman was already up the road from an earlier accident. He threw his car in reverse and backed down the cement space to the side of the highway. By now a very slow lane of traffic started passing between me and him.
He tried to say something, but I couldn’t hear him over the sound of traffic. I started to walk up the street a little where I thought I could cross.
SMACK! The sound came from behind me. I whirled around. Two cars were spinning out of control toward me. I jumped against the cement median. The cars passed by. I felt one brush the back of my shirt. I was terrified.
That was the closest I had ever come to death. I stood in the same place, not thinking, not moving, just scared. It took me a few seconds before I realized that the car I had left Maria in was now spun around. One of the out-of-control cars must have hit it. I didn’t see Maria in the driver’s seat where I had left her.
I ran down the road and yanked the door open. Nothing. “Maria!” I was screaming. I couldn’t find her. If there was anything scaring me more than almost dying, it was losing my friend. My eyes and mind raced everywhere. She wasn’t in the other seat. Not in the back. Not on the ground in front of me. Nowhere.
I heard a muffled cry. It sounded like it was coming from beneath the car. I checked. Nothing. I ran around the car. Maria was lying on the road with her head up against the median. One of the cars had run into the Tracker and knocked Maria through the side window and onto the road.
The paramedics strapped Maria to a stretcher, and we both went in the ambulance. I called her parents when we got to the emergency room. They hurried to the hospital. After Maria had a few X rays and spent a few hours in the emergency room, the doctors said that despite the whiplash and the large bruise from the seat belt, she was fine. I escaped with a sore neck and a scar on my leg.
It’s a great thing to be alive. I thanked the Lord for the chance to live, the chance to try a little more, a chance to go to college, a chance to get married, a chance at my dreams, a chance at playing the guitar, a chance to hang out with my brothers, a chance to write a story, a chance for everything.

During his mission and afterward, Sipho’s pioneering spirit motivated other African young men to accept mission calls and to serve the Lord. In fact, during one of Elder Khomo’s Christmas phone calls from England, the township boys all gathered with his family to hear of his missionary experiences. The enthusiasm from that telephone call was contagious, and shortly afterward, those same township boys submitted missionary paperwork and received calls from the prophet to serve in the mission field themselves.

We have a rich tradition of the work of the Twelve as we have traveled throughout the world proclaiming the gospel of Jesus Christ. For example, it was on Sunday, June 4, 1837, that the Prophet Joseph Smith approached Heber C. Kimball in the Kirtland Temple and whispered to him, saying, “Brother Heber, the Spirit of the Lord has whispered to me: ‘Let my servant Heber go to England and proclaim my Gospel, and open the door of salvation to that nation’” (quoted in Orson F. Whitney, Life of Heber C. Kimball [1945], 104).
The account of Heber C. Kimball and Brigham Young leaving their homes for England certainly shows the sacrifice they were willing to make for the callings they had received. The account reads:
“September 14th, [1839], President Brigham Young left his home at Montrose to start on the mission to England. He was so sick that he was unable to go to the Mississippi [River], a distance of thirty rods, without assistance. After he had crossed the river he rode behind Israel Barlow on his horse to my house, where he continued sick until the 18th. He left his wife sick with a babe only three weeks old, and all his other children were sick and unable to wait upon each other. Not one soul of them was able to go to the well for a pail of water, and they were without a second suit to their backs, for the mob in Missouri had taken nearly all he had. On the 17th, Sister Mary Ann Young got a boy to carry her up in his wagon to my house, that she might nurse and comfort Brother Brigham” (quoted in Life of Heber C. Kimball, 265).
Heber C. Kimball’s family were also ill. Charles Hubbard sent his boy with a team and wagon to help them on their way. Elder Kimball records: “It appeared to me as though my very inmost parts would melt within me at leaving my family in such a condition, as it were almost in the arms of death. I felt as though I could not endure it. I asked the teamster to stop, and said to Brother Brigham, ‘This is pretty tough, isn’t it; let’s rise up and give them a cheer.’ We arose, and swinging our hats three times over our heads, shouted: ‘Hurrah, hurrah for Israel.’” Sister Young and Sister Kimball came to the door and waved a farewell which gave Brother Brigham and Brother Heber much comfort as they continued “without purse or scrip” toward England. (See Life of Heber C. Kimball, 265–66.)
The Bible Dictionary states that Apostle “means ‘one sent forth.’ … The calling of an apostle is to be a special witness of the name of Jesus Christ in all the world, particularly of his divinity and of his bodily resurrection from the dead. … Twelve men with this high calling constitute an administrative council in the work of the ministry. … Today twelve men with this same divine calling and ordination constitute the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints” (“Apostle,” 612).
An Apostle today continues to be “one sent forth.” The conditions we face are different from those of the early Brethren as we make our journeys to fulfill our assignment. Our manner of travel to all corners of the earth is very different from that of the early Brethren. However, our assignment remains the same as that which was given by the Savior as He instructed His called Twelve to “go ye therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost: teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you: and, lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world” (Matthew 28:19–20).
For you two new Brethren, I can promise you that there will be a new understanding of what it means to belong to a quorum. I wish the feeling and respect we have for our council could be transported to every quorum in the Church. Would you deacons, teachers, priests, elders, and high priests quorums listen for a moment to what I believe is one of the greatest blessings one can receive from being a bearer of the priesthood? That special blessing is belonging to a priesthood quorum.
President Stephen R. Richards, many years ago, gave us some wonderful counsel on Church government. His statement is as follows:
“The genius of our Church government is government through councils. … I see the wisdom, God’s wisdom, in creating councils: to govern his Kingdom. In the spirit under which we labor, men can get together with seemingly divergent views and far different backgrounds, and under the operation of that spirit, by counseling together, they can arrive at an accord. … I have no hesitancy in giving you the assurance, if you will confer in council as you are expected to do, God will give you solutions to the problems that confront you” (in Conference Report, Oct. 1953, 86).
And what are the great benefits you will experience from belonging to a quorum? Again from Stephen R. Richards—he said, “A quorum is three things: first, a class; second, a fraternity; and third, a service unit” (in Conference Report, Oct. 1938, 118).
I see this genius so manifestly apparent in the functions of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. We are a class as we study the doctrines of the kingdom together. Can you imagine what a special experience it would be to be in a quorum meeting and be taught gospel doctrine by Elders Ezra Taft Benson, Mark E. Petersen, LeGrand Richards, Howard W. Hunter, Bruce R. McConkie, David B. Haight, or Neal A. Maxwell? You will notice that I have used only those Brethren who have completed their earthly ministries in order not to be selective among our current Apostles. This same blessing can be yours in each of your quorums. The words of the Apostles, past and present, live in the scriptures, conference addresses, Church magazines, devotionals, and so forth. They are available to bring the power of the doctrine of the kingdom into your quorum’s class. Make of your quorum a class to increase your knowledge of the gospel of our Lord and Savior.
In our quorum, we have a special brotherhood. We are there to lift, inspire, and bless each other with the spirit of our calling. When one is burdened, there are 11 others anxious to help lift and share that burden. At times we rejoice together in feelings of accomplishment. We weep together in times of sorrow. We never feel as if we are facing a problem alone! There is always the counsel, support, help, and encouragement of our quorum members.
From the book Priesthood and Church Government, we have this statement on the brotherhood which should exist in every priesthood quorum: “The Priesthood is a great brotherhood, held together by the eternal and immutable laws that constitute the framework of the Gospel. The feeling of brotherhood should permeate the quorum. It should be the first concern of a quorum to help all members who may be in need temporally, mentally, or spiritually. The spirit of brotherhood should be the directing force in all the plans and operations of the quorum. If this spirit be cultivated, wisely and persistently, no other organization will become more attractive to the man who holds the Priesthood” (Rudger Clawson, foreword to A Guide for Quorums of the Melchizedek Priesthood [1930], 3; quoted in John A. Widtsoe, comp., Priesthood and Church Government [1939], 135). We would encourage each priesthood quorum in the Church to cultivate such a brotherhood.
Finally, the only purpose for our Quorum is to be of service. Perhaps our deep feelings of this responsibility could be characterized in an epistle dated October 26, 1886, by Wilford Woodruff, who was then serving as President of the Council of the Twelve Apostles: “I will say to the Apostles, our responsibility is very great. … What manner of men ought we to be? The whole earth is ripening in iniquity, and the Zion of God should be prepared for the coming of the bridegroom. We should humble ourselves before the Lord and be in a position to be filled with the spirit of our calling, with the Holy Ghost, and with the revelations of Jesus Christ, that we may know the mind and will of God concerning us, and be prepared to magnify our calling and bring to pass righteousness, and be valiant in the testimony of Jesus Christ to the end. … There never was a time when the work of God required a more faithful testimony and labor from the Apostles and Elders than to-day” (“An Epistle,” Deseret News, Nov. 24, 1886, 712). Make of each of your quorums a great service organization for the benefit of all your quorum members.
Now this word of warning from the scriptures:
“Wherefore, now let every man learn his duty, and to act in the office in which he is appointed, in all diligence.
“He that is slothful shall not be counted worthy to stand, and he that learns not his duty and shows himself not approved shall not be counted worthy to stand” (D&C 107:99–100).
And so I say to you two Brethren who have joined us in our quorum, and to all of you brethren who belong to the priesthood of God, may God bless each of us in our calls to serve. May our faith strengthen as we serve in righteousness, faithfully keeping the commandments. May our testimonies ever grow stronger as we seek to find the fountain of eternal truth. May the brotherhood that exists in our quorums be of comfort and strength and security as we pass through this mortal part of our existence. May the joy of gospel service ever abide in our hearts as we go forward to fulfill our duties and responsibilities as servants in our Father in Heaven’s kingdom is my humble prayer in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

The Wolfgramms took their Polynesian show on the road and traveled all over the United States and Canada. When they got a full-time offer from a Hawaiian hotel chain in Minneapolis, Minnesota, they packed their bags and moved. Minneapolis was about as far removed from Tonga as it could possibly be, but the Wolfgramms liked it there and contributed to the local ward as well as to the local entertainment industry.
They were devastated when the hotel chain they were working with went out of business. For several months the family of fifteen lived in the hotel owners’ basement. They decided that it would be more profitable to switch from Polynesian to popular music, and they began traveling in an old, uninsulated van, to whatever playing engagements they could arrange. “The van didn’t have any seats,” Leroy recalls, “and we sat in chairs against the sides. Sometimes we traveled in temperatures forty degrees below freezing, and there would be ice on the roof—on the inside.”
Finally, however, their efforts and dedication paid off. Don Powell, an entertainment industry expert who had managed some leading performing groups in the 1960s and 70s, heard them play. He had retired from entertainment because the industry had become “so bizarre,” but when he heard the Wolfgramms, he became interested again.
“The reason I reentered this business was literally because of this family,” says Don, who had had very little contact with The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints before he met the Wolfgramms. “The whole family is so loving and bright, and talented, I couldn’t help getting involved. And we’ll never have problems with drugs or alcohol or anything like that, as you do with so many entertainers. It’s absolute heaven to manage them.”
With the resultant success, every minute of every day is packed full of performances, personal appearances, interviews, recording and photography sessions, but a Monday doesn’t go by without a family home evening. If they happen to be on the road on any given Monday, the stage crew is invited, and a lot of missionary work is done at these times.

In a faraway country many years ago there lived a king who was very unhappy. He had much land and many servants. He had many riches and fine clothes and fast chariots. But he was not happy.
One day the king said, “Perhaps I would be happy if we changed the color of the velvet hangings in the throne room. Royal blue might be a better color.” And all the servants in the royal palace ran to change the color of the velvet hangings in the throne room.
When this was done the king sat on his throne and looked at the beautiful blue folds of the shimmering velvet hangings, and he liked them. But he was not happy.
Perhaps if I had white rabbit fur on my royal robe, that would make me happy, thought the king. So all the king’s trappers scurried around and caught enough rabbits to trim the royal robe with rabbit fur. Then the king sat on his throne dressed in the royal robe trimmed with rabbit fur and the people all admired him. But he was not happy.
Said the king, “Perhaps if I had six horses instead of four to pull my chariot through the streets, then I would be happy.” The servants in the fields brought in another span of fine white horses for the king’s golden chariot, and the king rode through the streets with six horses pulling his chariot. Although the people smiled and waved to him, the king still was not happy.
One day a wise man said, “Oh, king, there are many people in your kingdom who have not half as much as you and yet they are happy. Perhaps if you could wear the shirt of one of them, it would make you happy too.” The king thought about this suggestion and decided that it was a good idea. So he dressed in some old clothes and left on foot to travel throughout his kingdom, seeking a man who was perfectly happy.
The first man he came to was fishing from a small boat on a beautiful blue lake. The king beckoned to him and the man rowed to shore. “Are you happy?” asked the king.
“Of course,” said the man.
“Are you quite sure you are perfectly happy?” asked the king again.
“Well,” said the man, “if I had a bigger boat I could go out farther and get bigger fish. Then I would be even happier.”
“Too bad,” said the king and went on.
The next man he met was chopping wood in the forest with a large axe. “Are you happy?” the king asked.
“Of course,” said the man.
“Are you quite sure you are perfectly happy?” asked the king.
“Well,” said the woodcutter, “if I had a saw that would run by itself and do the cutting faster, I would be happier.”
“Too bad,” said the king.
The next man he met was plowing a field with a hand plow and a single golden ox. The sun was shining, the farmer was whistling, the birds were following in the furrows behind him, and little breezes lifted the grass along the bank where his plow went.
“Are you happy?” called the king.
“Yes,” said the man as he went whistling along.
“Are you perfectly happy?” asked the king. “Don’t you wish you had a fine team of horses to pull your plow?”
“No,” said the man. “I like the easy pace of my faithful friend, and I like to smell the good air. I enjoy watching the rich earth turn into furrows, and it gives me pleasure to whistle along with the birds.”
“Aha,” said the king to himself. “Here is a perfectly happy man.” Walking up to the farmer the king asked, “Where is your shirt that I may borrow it?”
“Oh,” said the happy man, “I have no shirt, for I need none. The sun is warm, the plowed earth is soft to my feet, the breezes keep the air sweet, the birds sing with me as I walk, and I am perfectly happy.” Then the man started down another row.
“Wait,” said the king. And he took off his shirt and laid it on the ground. He put his hand to the plow and worked all day with the man. The sun warmed him, the birds sang to him, and the man talked to him of the good and beautiful things of the earth.
And the king was happy.

The lesson that most affected my life was a Primary lesson. It was so long ago that I don’t remember the teacher’s name, but the lesson penetrated my soul so deeply that I have never forgotten it.
When I was five years old I learned that God was my Heavenly Father and that Jesus Christ was my Savior and Redeemer. I learned that They love all people and that I could speak with God whenever I needed to because He always listens to my prayers. My faith increased, something within my heart grew, and little by little I gained a testimony of the Godhead. With the pure intent of a small child, I started praying with greater fervor, and I had many wonderful experiences with prayer.
I attended church for more than a year. Then other events made my going to church difficult. But I never stopped praying.
I was finally able to join the Church when I turned 20 years old. I was baptized with the sincere feelings of a child who says to her Father, “I’m coming back home.”
The seed was planted when I was a child and then germinated when I became an adult. I don’t know whether that teacher knows how much she helped me. But her lesson transformed my soul and kept my feet on the sure path, even while I had no contact with the Church for 14 years.
Estela Santana Leitão Cavalcante, Praia Grande Ward, Praia Grande Brazil Stake

My sister and I were no doubt the envy of many during the great economic depression in the United States during the 1930s. We grew up in a comfortable home. Our father had a job and provided well for the family. Our mother put meals on the table, shopped with us for clothes, and routinely visited her aged mother. I did not know what the Depression was until I studied it in school as a teenager.
Nevertheless, my sister and I felt deprived—emotionally deprived—by our mother. As adults, we have endlessly discussed the lack of warmth, approval, constructive criticism, moral training, and hospitality in our home. Why had Mother seemed so uncaring, critical, and self-centered?
After I joined the Church, I “adopted” someone else’s tender, loving mother as my own. However, it still didn’t salve the hurt. Even Mother’s death provided no healing. It meant only that the yearning for her love and approval could not be fulfilled in mortality.
One day, I drove alone to the temple to be baptized for Mother. As I drove, I prayed for her. Hot tears stung my eyes, and choking sobs welled up inside me.
The sorrow and hurt I was feeling continued all the way to the temple and even into the baptismal font. But when I rose up out of the water, a healing balm enveloped me. It washed away all my bitterness and longing.
I saw Mother, stalwart and whole. The Holy Ghost filled me with the awareness that my mother had been handicapped in mortal life. She had had an emotional handicap, the source of which remains a secret to me. But she is handicapped no longer. And neither am I.
How thankful I am for the Savior and for his love, which extends to me and to my now-whole mother, who is learning the lessons she could not learn in mortal life. I am eager to meet her and to share the love with her that we both were deprived of on earth.

In January 1521, Luther was excommunicated from the church, and soon after he was summoned to the city of Worms to meet before an assembly of princes and representatives from the free cities of Germany. At the meeting Luther was given the opportunity to deny that he had written certain books against the church, but Luther refused. He replied, “… I cannot and will not retract anything, since to act against one’s conscience is neither safe nor right. God help me, Amen!”

Luther received safe-conduct from the meeting and for the next twenty-one days. After that he would be considered an outlaw and could be killed on sight. Midway on the trip back to Wittenberg, Luther was “kidnapped” by prearrangement with his friend, Frederick of Saxony, and taken to Wartburg Castle where Luther would be safe.

Disguised as a knight, and wearing a sword and a beard, Luther spent several months in the castle studying, writing letters to friends, and translating the New Testament from Latin into German. He completed the translation of the whole Bible thirteen years later, which allowed the common people to read that sacred book for the first time. More than three centuries later, Joseph Smith said of Luther’s Bible: “I find it to be the most correct that I have found.”

Because my father had been mean to my mother, I had a bad concept of marriage. When I was 15, I thought seriously about becoming a nun so that I wouldn’t have to get married. But a coworker told me: “There are many other ways to serve God. You can get married to a good husband, and you both can serve God together. Ask Him to tell you which path to take.”

I thought about her words that night during my late shift at the hospital. Whenever I had problems or challenges, I missed my mother. As I was reviewing hospital records, I fell asleep and dreamed about her.

In my dream, I entered an old church and sat down on the front row. When I turned around, I saw my mother. She didn’t say anything, but she had a sad look on her face and motioned for me to leave. I understood that she did not want me to become a nun.

After my dream, my aunt and I began looking for a new church to attend. We visited several. I liked them all, but I did not feel that they were right. We wanted a church where we could feel God’s presence.

As we visited the different churches, I asked their leaders my “great questions of the soul.”1 I asked, “Will I see my mother again? Will she know me as her daughter? Will I know her as my mother?” Most of them told me I would recognize her only as my sister, not as my mother. I did not think that was just.

When I met missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I finally found the answers I was looking for.

“Will my mother recognize me as the two-year-old baby girl she lost when she died?” I asked them.

“Yes,” they answered, “and you will recognize her as your mother.”

“Will I ever be able to hug her again?”

“Yes,” they told me, “but for that to happen, you have to do your part.”

“What do I need to do?”

“Let us teach you,” they said. “Then you need to pray about what you learn. And if you feel that what we teach you is true, you need to get baptized.”

That same day they also taught me about the temple. We had a very special discussion. I knew that what they taught me was true. My aunt, two of her children, and I were baptized and confirmed two months later.

After we got baptized, I was eager to have my mother’s temple work done but not my father’s work. The missionaries, however, encouraged me.

“It’s part of doing your part,” they said. “Your father is also waiting for you to have his work done.”

I told them I didn’t care. I was still upset with him.

“We have found the gospel,” my aunt told me. “You need to forgive him and do his work.”

Reluctantly, I accepted their counsel. A year after I was baptized, I took my parents’ names to the Guatemala City Guatemala Temple. It was a powerful, emotional experience. I was baptized for my mother and for several other people. Then our branch president prepared to be baptized for my father. I did not want to watch, so I began to leave.

After the branch president entered the font, I heard my father’s name during the ordinance. Immediately afterward, I felt the presence of my father. That experience left me feeling ashamed for not wanting to have his work done.

“Forgive me, Heavenly Father,” I prayed as I began to weep. “I have been selfish.”

When I returned to Nicaragua, I went to the cemetery where my father was buried. For the first time, I visited his grave and placed flowers on it. I asked him to forgive me, and I told him that I loved him. Then I wept again.

My father, like my mother, had been waiting for me to take his name to the temple, where Heavenly Father allowed me to have a wonderful experience. That experience cleansed my heart. In that moment, all of the pain and anger I had felt toward him went away.

For that, I am eternally grateful.

“When I was about nine years old, I remember Grandpa sitting in his big overstuffed chair. He allowed me to stand behind him and comb his beautiful hair. I would part it in the middle then comb it back in different ways. Sometimes I would part his hair on the side and try a new style, and I would comb it down over his face in the process. He was very patient and let me comb it until my arms were tired.”

My father and my mother were very different from each other. My mother was a singer and an artist. My father loved chemistry. Once at a symphony concert, my mother was surprised when my father stood up and began to leave before the applause began. My mother asked him where he was going. His response was, in all innocence: “Well, it’s over, isn’t it?” Only the gentle influence of the Holy Ghost got him there with her in the first place and brought him back to concerts time and time again.

My mother lived in New Jersey for 16 years so that my father could support the family by doing research and teaching chemistry. To her it was a sacrifice being separated from her widowed mother and her unmarried sister, who had cared for her in the old family farmhouse. They both died while Mother was far away in New Jersey. Those were the only times I ever saw my mother cry.

Years later my father was offered a job in Utah. He asked my mother, again in all innocence, “Mildred, what do you think I should do?”

She said, “Henry, do whatever you think is best.”

He turned down the offer. The next morning she wrote him a letter that I wish I still had. I remember that she told him, “Don’t open it here. Go to the office and open it there.” It began with a rebuke. He had promised her years before that if he ever could, he would take her to be near her family. He was surprised by her expression of irritation. He had not remembered the desire of her heart. He immediately sent a message accepting the job offer.

He said, “Mildred, why didn’t you tell me?”

She said, “You were supposed to remember.”

He always spoke of that choice to move to Utah as his own, never as a sacrifice of his professional career. They had received the miracle of becoming one. It would have been better if Dad had been reminded by the Holy Ghost of the promise he had made years earlier. But he did allow the Holy Ghost to soften his heart so that her choice became his.

The blessings for future families are already becoming evident. A young returned missionary in Mexico reports:
“In December 2001, I returned home after a full-time mission in the México Veracruz Mission. My goals were high, but it appeared that I would be unable to achieve them due to finances, even with the help of my family. It was then I discovered that through the PEF my dream could be achieved.
“Only last week I finished my studies and was immediately hired at a salary three times greater than that which I was earning before. I can now begin my family. I was married on 20 December 2002.”

As soon as I was old enough to really begin to understand the gospel, I began to have doubts about it. I often wondered if the gospel was true. But my parents insisted that I attend our ward in Germany with them each Sunday, even though I had little desire to be there. I figured I already knew everything that would be said, and I was bored by the routine.
Not wanting to be there, I was critical of the Church and Church members. I assumed members should always live perfectly what they said in their talks and testimonies. However, I noticed that some parents and children fought, some people gossiped, and some young people drank and smoked. Blinded by my prejudices, I noticed only those members who didn’t rush to help the homeless people who occasionally came into the church building. Where is that famous charity mentioned in the scriptures? I wondered. Somehow I missed seeing those who did reach out to help others.
While I was caught up in this spirit of criticism, my nonmember friends offered me cigarettes and alcohol, and I tried them. But that was not all. After a while, I stayed out at night longer and more often, and I always got home late on weekends. And then, of course, I had no desire to go to church because I was so tired.
These friends—combined with the hypocrisy I thought I saw in some Church members, the temptations I succumbed to, my boredom in church, my pride, and my disobedience—led me to not want to know anything about the Church.
Then I made a mistake that forced me to go to court. The prospect of suffering legal penalties forced me to think, and I decided I needed to make some changes in my life.
I went to a trusted Church member and talked with him about my problems. The Lord prompted him to say the right words to me. He helped me recognize that I was at a crossroad. I had to return to the Lord’s way, or I would sink in the mud and go under. This realization was difficult to come to, but it was so clear that I could not misunderstand it. My friend then spoke to my father and asked us to kneel and pray together. My father prayed, and I felt tears in my eyes because I felt such a strong spirit.
I realized then that if my parents had not insisted that I attend church with them, something worse could have happened. I could have fallen completely away.
I have learned that friends outside the Church are okay if you look for good friends with your standards. If friends offer you something and ask you to do something that is not in accordance with the gospel, you should say no. If they continue, it is best to part with those friends, even if it is difficult. It was difficult for me.
I still don’t like hypocrisy, but I now recognize that I have faults of my own to work on. The talks at church are still similar and the meetings the same—but I’m not critical of that anymore. I realize that Church meetings can be interesting in spite of that. It is not easy for me, but I try to listen. I do not want to stray away.
I am developing a greater interest in going to church and in keeping the commandments. It is difficult, but with the help of the Lord and my parents, I can and will do it. It feels good to have loving parents and friends who are active in the Church. It is good to be understood, to be taken seriously, to be loved. It is good to know the Lord is always there.

Born in Ixelles, Belgium, 5 October 1935, Charles Didier recalls that his father, Andre, a Belgian Army officer, was captured at the beginning of World War II. After escaping, he stayed hidden and saw his family only during occasional surprise visits. Elder Didier looks back on a time after his own ninth birthday:
“Because the secret police were looking for him [his father], we were searched—and barely escaped. We went to where he was hiding in Antwerp Province, and from there to live with my great-grandmother in Flanders.” Then Belgium was liberated. “I vividly remember the soldiers trying to get away on bicycles, the airplanes coming, the shooting, and the Allied troops coming into the village.”
Like those around him, young Charles was educated in Catholic doctrine as a boy. He attended mass regularly, the only one in his family to do so.
In 1950, while the family was living in Namur, Belgium, and Charles was finishing junior high school, two Latter-day Saint missionaries from the United States knocked on their door. His mother, Gabrielle, let them in and listened. During Easter vacation of the following year, she was baptized in a little font in Brussels, but Charles missed the baptism. He was in Rome to see the Pope on a trip organized by the Catholic church.
Although Charles resisted invitations to attend the local branch, he did attend an English club taught by the missionaries, leaving before the evening’s youth activities started because he “didn’t want to be trapped.” But he was asked to take part in a branch play, and then his mother persuaded him to attend church with her on a Sunday. Soon his sister, Jacqueline, was baptized. When Charles left home to go to the university in Liège, he says, “I attended youth activities from time to time. I did some little things all the time but did not want to participate. I was very shy. I really did not want to be in front of people.”
Then missionary Elder Dewitt Paul challenged him, asking why he would not be baptized, since he was “doing everything a member does,” Elder Didier recalls.
“I said I didn’t see the necessity. I had a good life. I could attend and not have responsibilities. He said, ‘Let’s pray about the Book of Mormon, about Joseph Smith. Then if you have a testimony, I think you’ll recognize that you need to be baptized.’
“And so we prayed about it. I got up from that prayer with a testimony—an answer to my prayers. It was nothing like a light, a voice—just a reassuring influence: ‘Go ahead and do it. There is wisdom. This is my commandment.’” In November 1957, Charles was baptized in a swimming pool in Brussels by Elder Paul.
Traveling between Liège and Namur, he continued his studies at the University of Liège, graduating in 1959 with a degree in economics. Then he entered the reserve officer training program of the Belgian Air Force, finishing his military service as a lieutenant and radar supervisor.
A short time later, stationed only a few kilometers from Liège, he had time to go out with a brown-eyed girl he had met in the Liège Branch, Lucie Lodomez. She had served as a missionary in France with his sister Jacqueline.
When his military service was completed, Lucie and Charles were married in Liège (they were sealed in the Swiss Temple in 1962) and moved into a tiny apartment there. Charles progressed through his job with a timber products importing company, and both he and Lucie grew through Church service. He received more and more responsibility in the Church, eventually becoming president of the 100-member branch in Liège.
But after five years of working in Liège, Charles was restless. He started investigating the possibilities of teaching or continuing his education. Then came “another answer to prayer.” He was asked to move to Frankfurt, Germany, to work as assistant to John E. Carr, director of temporal affairs for the Church in Europe.
The move lasted only nine months. He was asked to go back to Liège and take over the Church distribution center. Upon his return he was immediately called again as Liège Branch president.

Illustration by Katelyn Budge
I kind of have this face where, if I’m not smiling, I look like I’m angry. People would ask, “Why are you frowning? What’s your problem?” And I’d say, “I’m not frowning.” But their questions actually did make me angry.
My dad was worried about me. He called me to his room and said, “You know, you can’t keep having this angry attitude. What’s bothering you?” I decided I wanted to change.
I prayed and cried for Heavenly Father to help me. Over time, I started to feel different. I get less angry, I smile more often, and I love others more. Everybody said, “You are changing.” I know deep down that it isn’t by my own strength. It’s by the enabling power of the Atonement of Jesus Christ.
It’s hard to become the person you want to be. I can’t say I’m there yet, but I’m striving to get there. Our journey is supposed to be with Jesus Christ. We should invite Him along with us.
Victoria E., age 16, Lagos, Nigeria
Likes playing sports, reading, singing, doing hair, and learning new things.

Sometimes even those of us who think we practice inclusion can be unintentionally exclusionary. For example, when I served as a nursery leader, I often missed announcements that were shared during the second hour of Church meetings. When I told a leader about this concern, he said, “But doesn’t your wife hear the announcements in Relief Society?”

At the time, I just laughed. But this good man’s response represented a mindset that excluded me. Do we view our fellow Church members as part of a “family ward,” made up of married men and women with children? Or do we view one another as part of a “ward family,” made up of individuals who care for and strengthen one another? Both views are important. While remaining aware of families in our ward, we can also get to know people individually—their circumstances, interests, needs—and perhaps prevent unintentional exclusion.

If anyone ever compiles a history of Christmas magic, one chapter will record that in Salt Lake City, each Christmastime, a forest grew overnight—no ordinary woods, but a forest of Christmas trees sparkling with ribbons and candy canes, apples and ornaments, dancing with ballerinas and bright-colored birds, Santas, elves, and gingerbread men, laughing with toy trains, planes, trucks, popcorn strings, and tiny perfect loaves of wheat-good bread. And somewhere in that chapter, probably near the end, the author will explain that the magic of this forest helped heal children in pain and gave hope where hope had been lost. And the last footnote will state humbly that the forest sometimes taught people how to love and give.
If this all sounds like a children’s story, it is in a way, but mostly it’s a people-story, because this forest is grown every year by people-magic, and most authorities agree that’s the strongest and sweetest magic of all.
The magic began in the heads of people all around the Salt Lake area. These people belonged to church and civic groups, businesses and families, and soon these people and these groups were busily making Christmas tree ornaments. They worked hard to make the ornaments as beautiful and artistic as they could, but above all, they tried to make them glow with the spirit of Christmas, because that is a powerful aid in working people-magic.
One day in early December all these people appeared at the Salt Palace, Salt Lake’s beautiful convention center, with their decorations and their trees, and as they carefully hung the ornaments on the trees, a Christmas forest was born.
Meanwhile, people all over the area were working magic of their own in ovens and on cutting boards where Christmas cakes, cookies, and pastries of all kinds were being conjured up by magicians of the kitchen amid flour and eggshells and the rich, spicy aromas of December. Gingerbread castles sprang up under their fingertips, and cookie trains rolled forth on delicious wheels. In basements and sewing rooms, wizards of workshop and sewing basket were putting the finishing touches on handcrafted gift items. All these sweet-smelling and straight-stitched miracles soon found their way to the Salt Palace where the forest was glimmering. The magic was at work.
Drawn by the enchantment, thousands of people came to the Salt Palace and wandered through the trees, oohing and aahing in a slow-moving river of wonderment. They gladly made contributions at the door and often purchased Christmas gifts and Christmas confections from the gift boutique and Sweete Shoppe. The whole splendid Yuletide crunch of people and trees and treats and laughter was called the Festival of Trees, and when the festival had ended, local businessmen and other generous men and women bought the decorated trees for prices often running into four figures.
And that was only the beginning of the magic, because the proceeds of the festival were given to the Primary Children’s Medical Center where they helped provide medical care that changed children’s lives for the better.
If anyone ever compiles that book of Christmas magic, the seminary students from Magna will be mentioned in it along with a lot of other good people. And last of all it will probably have a few words to say about the magic of the Primary Children’s Medical Center and of the children it helps. There is the magic of little Kirk who was told he would never walk, but walks. There is the magic of Lynn Ann who is courageously holding her own against leukemia. There is the magic of Joey who overcame crippling emotional problems to become a happy child. The work of the hospital staff is in keeping with the spirit of the Savior who was born in Bethlehem and brought to the world something better than magic. He too loved little children.

Before I left for that mission, President Anthon H. Lund, then a counselor in the First Presidency, talked to us missionaries and told us that people would love us. Then he added: “Now don’t get lifted up in the pride of your hearts and think that it is because you are better than other people. It will be because of what you bring to them.” When he made this statement, I could hardly understand what he meant, but before I left that mission, I understood.
As I visited the Saints in Amsterdam to bid them farewell, realizing that I might never see many of them again in this life, I shed a thousand more tears than I did when I left my loved ones to go to Holland. For instance, I called at the home of a family where my companion and I had been the first missionaries to visit their home, and the mother, a small woman, said with tears rolling down her cheeks, even down the front of her apron, “Brother Richards, it was hard to see my daughter leave for Zion a few months ago [in those days the Church encouraged the Saints to immigrate to America; now it does not], but it is much harder to see you go.” Then I felt that I could understand what President Lund meant when he said: “The people will love you because of what you bring to them.”
I called on a brother who stood erect in the uniform of his country and who was old enough to be my father. He got down on his knees, took my hand in his, and hugged it and kissed it and bathed it with his tears. I felt again that I could understand what President Lund meant when he said: “The people will love you because of what you bring to them.”