Gospel Story Finder

Benjie was smiling from ear to ear when I picked him up after Primary. In his chubby hand he held out a picture of Mary and Joseph and the Baby Jesus in a manger. “See, Dano. Baby Jesus.”
“Did you get that in Nursery, Benjie?”
His head bobbed vigorously up and down as he proudly displayed the picture.
“Hello, Daniel.” Sister Williams, Benjie’s teacher, was holding her brand-new baby. “Benjie sure had fun in Nursery today. We had a play about the birth of Jesus, and he played the part of Joseph.”
Baby Jesus was all that Benjie talked about all week. For family home evening, Mom brought out the manger scene, and Benjie arranged each figure in the stable. Instead of having the shepherds and the Wise Men and the animals all nicely spaced out, he crowded them around the manger, “so that they can see Him real good.”
It wasn’t until the Saturday afternoon before Christmas that Mom could take us Christmas shopping.
When Benjie saw all the decorations in the store, his mouth dropped open. We walked past mountains of toy trucks and rows of new bikes. There was even a “Christmas elf” dressed in a green top and red tights, handing out tiny candy canes to all the children.
I was checking out a display of radio-controlled cars, when I felt a tug on my coat. Benjie’s brow was all puckered. “Where’s Jesus?”
“What?”
“Where’s Jesus, Dano?”
I followed his gaze as he looked up and down the rows of fake Christmas trees and tinsel and toys. He’s right, I thought. There’s not a sign of Jesus anywhere, let alone shepherds and Wise Men. But how do you explain all that to a not-yet-three-year-old?
Fortunately Mom is pretty good at things like that. She leaned over, cupped his chin in her hands and looked him right in the eyes. “Benjie, lots of people don’t know about Jesus. They think that Christmastime is only about presents and Santa Claus. But we know that the real reason we celebrate Christmas is Jesus—right?”
He nodded solemnly.
She glanced at the banner hanging from the ceiling—Merry Xmas!—and sadly added to me, “The world has taken Christ right out of Christmas.” Then she looked at her watch. “Uh-oh. We have to hurry—tonight’s the ward party.”
Mom had helped plan the party for three months. This year our ward was doing something different. Instead of a fancy dinner with Santa Claus giving goodies or small toys to the little ones before someone read the Christmas story from the Bible, the cultural hall would be decorated like a marketplace in Bethlehem. Everyone would come dressed in biblical clothes. “Daniel, it’ll be just like we’re there on the night Jesus was born,” she’d told me.
I didn’t think much of getting dressed in a costume, but Benjie’s excitement kind of rubbed off on me. I helped him find his bathrobe and tied a rope around his waist. Then I put on a robe that used to be Dad’s and made a head-covering with a towel and a couple of safety pins.
When we arrived at the church, Mom dashed to help get the food ready. The sidewalk leading to the front door was lined with paper sacks with a flickering candle, nestled in sand, in each one. Benjie had to look into each sack at the tiny flame. I held his hand because I was afraid that he’d try to blow out the candles.
The foyer and hallway were dimly lit. A “Roman soldier” who looked an awful lot like Brother Bingham, our home teacher, stood guard. Benjie gave him his “taxes”—a can of vegetable soup for the needy—and solemnly signed a big squiggly B on the “census.”
In the cultural hall, white fluorescent Christmas tree decorations sparkled like stars. There were food shops, a tailor shop, and even a gift shop. It did look sort of like I thought Bethlehem would.
When Benjie spotted the bright star shining above the manger on the stage, he made a beeline toward it. We had to stand right there by the stage while he sang the first half of “There Was Starlight on the Hillside”* over and over. Finally he saw the cardboard lamb and chicks in a pen in the corner of the room and ran over to see them.
After that, we were hungry, so we “bought” our supper at the little shops, using the “gold” in the bags we were given by a “centurion.” Benjie would not have been more pleased if it had been real gold instead of spray-painted rocks.
We sat on a blanket on the floor because “there was no room in the inn,” and munched on pita bread and orange slices. Benjie had wanted to sit right by the stage, and he kept looking up at the manger. Finally he asked, “Where’s Jesus, Dano?”
“He hasn’t been born yet,” I told him.
“Oh.”
Then he started yawning. Before long he lay down on the blanket. Mom came over and sat beside us. She gently smoothed Benjie’s sweaty hair from his forehead.
He was asleep when “Mary” and “Joseph” walked through the crowd to the stage. We all sang “O Little Town of Bethlehem,”† and Brother Dickson began to read from the Bible as some of the grown-ups acted out the Christmas story.
“‘And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger …’”‡
Everyone was quiet as Sister Williams, who was Mary, cradled her baby in her arms. He made some cooing sounds that sounded just like Brother Sampson’s doves.
Then Benjie’s voice, soft with wonder, broke the stillness: “There’s Jesus, Dano! There’s Jesus!”
My little brother had awakened and was standing, pointing excitedly at the manger scene. His face was beaming with joy. I looked over at Mom. She was smiling, her eyes shiny with tears.
I felt all warm inside. Suddenly it was as though I wasn’t in the cultural hall dressed in Dad’s old robe at all. Somehow, it felt like I really was in Bethlehem—on that long-ago night.
Nobody wanted to break the magic of that moment. Then someone started quietly singing: “Silent night! Holy night!” One by one, all of us joined in: “All is calm, all is bright …”**
I put my arm around Benjie and quietly said, “Yeah, Benjie. Jesus. He truly is the Son of God.”

Painting the signs has helped Raegan and Rylyn through challenges. “When Kendall was sick, there were times we didn’t really want to be in the house because it was hard for us to see. So we decided to go and paint, and that lifted the load a lot,” Raegan says.
Kendall eventually passed away at age 16. Raegan says, “It was hard, but we knew that families are forever. We knew that even if we didn’t have much time with her, if we do our part, it’ll help us be closer to being with Kendall and Kallen again.”

I wanted to read the Bible from the time I was about 11 years old. But in the home where I was raised, the Bible was considered so sacred it was kept in a closet under lock and key. When I was 13 and my brother was 12, we went to live in the beautiful country of Canada. Between the ages of 16 and 20, I attended two Christian churches. They used the Bible to teach correct principles, but as I was investigating, I learned something about the members—that they didn’t get along with each other very well. I stopped going to these churches for three years.
When I was 23, I met a young man at a discotheque. A few months later I married him, and shortly afterwards we had our first baby. Everything was going well in our home. He worked hard, always came home from work early, and helped me with the housework. I was very happy and peaceful in my home, and I completely forgot about God.
But without any warning, one day my husband started going out to discotheques with his friends. These friends also wanted to go to bars. So in just a few months my husband had become a drunk and a carouser. Eventually I resigned from my job and left him. Soon after our separation I learned that I was expecting my second child. I felt so sad and distressed I couldn’t find peace. I would go to sleep crying and wake up crying. But thanks to a woman who was a great friend to me, I started attending a Christian church again.
This time I took the things of God more seriously. I even set a goal to investigate more churches. Before I would go to church, I would kneel down and ask Heavenly Father to give me more wisdom so that I would be able to choose good and reject evil.
I began to visit other churches in addition to the Christian church I attended, but I often felt confused by their different doctrines. The more confused I got, the more I prayed. It seemed that every time I visited a church, I felt something was missing, but I didn’t realize what it was. That’s why I set a goal to keep investigating other churches and not rest until I found the truth.
One day I was visiting my brother and sister-in-law, and it got dark before I left. I had quite a distance to walk to reach the bus stop. This was March 1992, and it was very cold with a strong wind. My baby was squirming as I carried him. I walked backwards many times so the wind would hit me and not my baby.
I became sad as I thought about how I was freezing, walking with my baby, while my ex-husband had our car. I started thinking about how cruel life had been to me and felt a great weight in my heart. I started to cry like a child. I looked around and saw I was alone, so I cried to God out loud, “Heavenly Father, help me find the light.”
Finally I arrived at the bus stop, and when the bus came I sat in the front seat as I always did. When I looked to my left, I saw two young men in white shirts and ties. One of them came up to me and said to me in Spanish that was quite limited, “You too speak Spanish?”
“Yes, of course,” I replied.
“You desire to receive the gospel of Jesus Christ?” he asked.
These words were wonderful to me. The gospel of Jesus Christ. I had investigated several churches, and in none of them had I heard this beautiful turn of phrase. I had always heard the word, the gospel, or the good news. So I very happily gave them my address and phone number.
I started taking the discussions from the missionaries, and in June 1992 I was baptized and confirmed. I will never forget that very special day. Before entering the waters of baptism I could feel a great weight, as if I were walking with feet of lead. But when I came out of the water, I felt like I was flying in the air. And when the missionaries placed their hands on my head and gave me the gift of the Holy Ghost, a warm feeling entered my body, and I was filled with a peace I had never felt before. The tears began to roll down my cheeks. To my surprise I realized I was crying not from pain or sadness but for the great joy and peace in my heart.
Some months after my baptism I was called to serve in the nursery and then as a Primary teacher. A year later I received my endowment. I also met a great man at church. In September 1994 we were sealed in the Toronto Canada Temple. Three years later we were blessed with a beautiful son.
I continue to serve in Church callings, and I share my testimony of the gospel with all my loved ones. I know that the gospel of Jesus Christ comes from the heavens in all its glory and that through this gospel we can be transformed if we are obedient to the Lord’s commandments.

“A few weeks after my family tried out for the pageant, we each got letters telling us that we all made it. My dad was assigned to be Joseph in the scene of 12-year-old Jesus in the temple, my mom got to be Mary, and I played Jesus. When I looked at our letters again, I couldn’t believe it! I know Jesus lives and the Church is true, and I’m glad I got to be a missionary by being in the Easter pageant.”–Tyler Starr, 12

During the planning and preparation for the Mexico, Central and South America area conferences in February 1977, we were scheduled to hold meetings in La Paz, Bolivia, which is twelve thousand feet above sea level. Dr. Ernest L. Wilkinson and Dr. Russell M. Nelson advised us that President Kimball should have four to six hours’ rest to acclimate his heart and blood pressure to the high altitude. President Kimball is very tightly scheduled during area conferences, and this allows little time for rest. (In reality, the doctors accompanied the General Authorities so that we could keep up with President Kimball.)

I talked with President Tanner and President Romney to seek their assistance in getting President Kimball to rest in La Paz before the start of the area conference. They only smiled and said, “You can try.”

Detailed plans were presented to the First Presidency for area conferences in Mexico, Central and South America. I saw President Kimball make two small red check marks next to La Paz, Bolivia, where there were two meetings that he was not scheduled to attend. “What are these meetings? Why am I not attending?” he asked. There was a pause; then I replied, “That’s a rest period, President Kimball.” And he remarked, “Are you tired, Elder Hales?”

We arrived in La Paz, and the first meeting was a cultural event. He would not rest. My head ached; it felt as though it would explode in adjusting to the altitude, and we breathed oxygen to attempt to speed up our being acclimated to the twelve-thousand-foot altitude; but President Kimball took no oxygen. He greeted, embraced, and shook hands with two thousand Saints.

After the last meeting, he invited one thousand more of his beloved Lamanites, who had come down from the Altiplano, to come shake his hand. They came and embraced him and shook his hand vigorously. He wanted to show his love for the Lamanites.

Dr. Wilkinson was concerned with the President’s vigorous activity at twelve thousand feet and approached him. He asked President Kimball if it would be possible for him to stop soon. President Kimball said, “If you knew what I knew, you wouldn’t ask me that question.” President Kimball is driven by the knowledge that we are preparing for the second coming of Jesus Christ. He knows that it is his responsibility, along with those who are chosen to work with him, to take the message to all nations in their own tongue and language.

It is said that “to care for those who once cared for us is one of the highest honors”.
The primary of New Delhi Ward IV visited an Old age home situated in a lush green landscaped farmhouse where more than a dozen of senior citizens are experiencing their second innings. The children were excited to meet these wonderful people whom they did as they entered the premises and saw most of them sitting outside on a cold winter morning and teaching a few under privileged children. What a beautiful sight it was to see these old yet firm individuals serving notwithstanding their infirmities.
To begin with the Primary sang Christmas carols and distributed cards and warm clothes to all and took out time to talk to these senior citizens. The interaction with them seemed to be lengthy as they had so much to talk about. Hearing them was a privilege and serving them was an opportunity to imitate the Savior’s example. The words of Isaiah rehearsed in my mind which say:
“Strengthen ye the weak hands, and confirm the feeble knees.
“Say to them that are of a fearful heart, Be strong, fear not: behold, your God will come with vengeance, even God with a recompence; he will come and save you”. (Isaiah 35:3–4)
All of us will have to pass through a stage in our lives where we will be weak and would need strength. This experience helped us to share the love of Christ and helped us in turn to reflect on our lives to be more like Him who once walked on this earth and experienced all the pain and suffering that we go through. The Savior knows how to succor those in need and this visit was an added privilege for these young children to deposit a memorable experience in their mortal account to cherish for the rest of their lives.

Spencer grew up in a tight-knit Arizona community. When he was seven years old, he went to a picnic at a nearby ranch.
Boy: Hey, why don’t we hop in the pond for a swim?
Wearing their regular clothes, they all went swimming. But Spencer had not yet learned to swim well.
Spencer: I wish I could swim like you, Pa!
Father: Don’t cling so tight, Son.
Spencer: Not the deep part! Pa, I’m scared! Take me back to the shallow water.
Father: All right, Spencer. There, now. Can you feel the ground?
Spencer climbed off his father’s back, and his father swam away.
But as Spencer stepped toward shore, he fell into a deep hole!
He struggled and thrashed but did not think anyone had seen him go under.
Spencer: Help! Oh, why can’t someone hear me scream for help?
Just when Spencer thought he would drown, his father snatched him and dragged him to shore.
Spencer later learned to swim but never felt comfortable in deep water. He was grateful the Lord had preserved his life so he could grow and fulfill his mission on earth.

My father was a rancher. The colonies are normally quite dry. At first there weren’t many deep wells, so most of our water came from the river. Rain was very important, and it was scarce. We had a couple of man-made lakes to store the water in when it did rain. We had to rely on the Lord for our blessings, and quite often the ward fasted.
I remember one time when I was about eight years old and we were in a drought situation—it had been a long time since it had rained, and we needed it desperately. Our ward had a special fast, and by the time we left our sacrament meeting, the clouds had gathered and it started to rain. We relied on the Lord because of our need. Sometimes our family fasted for the blessing of rain, and it rained. It was a matter of knowing that if we did our part, the Lord would bless us. That built great faith in me as a young boy.

My blood was boiling. These people clearly know nothing on this topic, I thought, peering down at the virtual shouting match playing out on my smartphone’s Twitter feed. I quickly crafted a perfect response to join the throng—certain that everyone would see how uninformed their opinions were when my tweet pointed out their ignorance. I was about to press send, thought clouds of contempt churning, when a still, small voice managed to pop into my head:
Would Christ say that?
My thumb paused, hovering over the “Tweet” button. My stomach sank.
No. No, He wouldn’t.
Then why would you?
I sighed, took a few deep breaths, and deleted the tweet. I felt awful. What had just come over me?

Not only do we lose the Spirit when choosing anger, but we lose the ability to see situations clearly. We can even lose the ability to act with reason. “[Intemperate anger] destroys wisdom and sound judgment. When we become upset, reason is suppressed, and anger rushes in. To make decisions while infuriated is as unwise and foolish as it is for a captain to put out to sea in a raging storm. Only injury and wreckage result from wrathful moments.”2 Just as I was on the verge of sending a tweet I wasn’t proud of, we can lose sight of who we truly are and who we’re trying to be when angry. It can become a vicious cycle if it isn’t curbed.

I’m so thankful for the whisperings of the Holy Ghost not to send my angry tweet that day. It may seem like an inconsequential example of restraint, but it taught me a lesson that I’ll never forget.

What a great day! Jody Ann thought. She loved spending Saturdays with her grandparents. Today they’d gone to the zoo, eaten a picnic lunch, and watched a movie. Now they were home. Grandpa was in the living room, reading the newspaper, Grandma was taking a bath, and Jody Ann was busily writing at the kitchen table.
“How’s it going in there, Jody Ann?” called Grandpa.
“I’m almost finished.” She got up and went into the living room and sat down close to Grandpa.
Grandpa lowered his newspaper. “What are you working on?”
“We had Career Week at school last week, and some parents came in to talk about their jobs. On Friday Mr. Clark told us to write a paper about what we want to be when we grow up.
Grandpa put the newspaper down. “What do you want to be when you grow up?”
“I’m going to be a doctor.”
Grandpa’s eyes sparkled. “That’s my girl!” he said. “Help the sick. Keep people healthy. I think that’s great!”
“I have a doctor’s kit, and I practice on my dolls.”
“I’m sure they’re the healthiest dolls in town,” Grandpa said quite seriously. Then he added, “Doctor Jody.”
Jody Ann giggled. “Yep, when I grow up I’m going to be a doctor—and a teacher.”
“A teacher too?” There was surprise in Grandpa’s voice.
“Sure, I can teach children how to count and help them learn the alphabet. I can tell them why things grow and why leaves turn yellow in the fall and … and … all sorts of things!”
“Well, it sounds like you’ll be a good doctor and a good teacher.”
“Uh-huh. And a good chef.”
Grandpa blinked. “Pardon me?”
“I’m going to be a chef, too,” she explained. “Just like Brian’s dad. He works in a fancy restaurant and wears a tall white hat.”
Grandpa licked his lips. “I’ll be your best customer,” he joked. “A doctor, a teacher, and a chef. It sounds as if you’ll be busy.”
“I sure will be,” Jody Ann replied. “I also want to sew clothing. Mom said she’d teach me how.”
Grandpa whistled. “So you’re going to be a seamstress too.”
“Yes, and an interior decorator, like Emily’s mom. She helps people pick out paints and wallpaper and furniture for their houses. She brought some pictures of rooms she’s decorated to class. They were beautiful! I want to do that too.”
Grandpa tried to look at Jody Ann with a stern expression, but there was a twinkle in his eye. “You’ll have to study hard in school to do all those things, young lady.”
Jody Ann nodded.
“So far you’ve told me that you want to be a doctor, a teacher, a chef, a seamstress, and an interior decorator,” Grandpa said. “If you’re going to be all those things, why not be an accountant, too—like your old Gramps?”
Jody Ann stood up and gave Grandpa a kiss on the cheek. “You’re not old,” she told him, sitting down again. “What’s an accountant?”
“Simply stated, I keep track of all the money that comes in and all the money that goes out,” Grandpa explained.
“Oh, that’s like the budget Mom and Dad have for our family. It tells them how much money has to go for food and clothes and”—she laughed—“well, how much is left over for allowances and fun things.”
“Does it sound interesting?” Grandpa asked.
“Yes, I’d better be an accountant too.”
A smile spread over Grandpa’s face. “Is there anything else you’d like to be?” Jody Ann’s eyes lit up. “There’s one more thing,” she said. “What would you call someone who sings and dances and makes children laugh?”
“I’d call her an entertainer. I guess you want to be one of those too?”
Once more Jody Ann nodded. She noticed Grandma standing in the doorway, listening to their conversation and trying not to laugh at the expression on Grandpa’s face.
“Let me get this straight,” Grandpa said. “When you grow up, you’re going to be a doctor, a teacher, a chef, a seamstress, an interior decorator, an accountant like me, and an entertainer. Is that right?”
“That’s right.”
Grandpa motioned Jody Ann onto his lap. “I’m really proud of you. You certainly are an ambitious young lady.” He cleared his throat, and a little frown tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t want to spoil your dreams, Jody Ann, but there is no way in the world that you or anyone else could be all those things at once.”
Jody Ann glanced at Grandma. Grandma winked. “Yes there is,” Jody Ann insisted.
Grandpa shook his head. “I don’t see how.”
Jody Ann looked into Grandpa’s puzzled face. She put her arms around his neck and told him, with a laugh in her voice, “When I grow up I’m going to be a wife and mother, just like mom and grandma. They do all of those things at home!”
Grandpa’s puzzled look was replaced with an understanding smile. “An excellent career choice!”

A friend of mine told me how she had once handled a situation that embodies the same principle. Married in a civil ceremony, Anne and Bob had set a goal to be sealed in the temple. For a time they were both active in the Church, but Bob gradually lost interest. He and his sports-minded friends looked forward to watching Sunday afternoon football on television.

Anne rose early each Sunday morning, made breakfast for her family, straightened the kitchen, and got herself and their two small children ready for church meetings. She left Bob with a kiss and a smile. In sacrament meeting, she struggled alone with the children, even though her husband had offered to care for them at home.

She said, “I knew it was critical that I set a good example for him and my children. I prayed that Bob would come around if I kept my faith in him. After church, I would pause before entering the house, clear my mind of any negative feelings, and remember how much I loved him. Sometimes the living room was messy with popcorn and cans, but I wouldn’t allow those things to interfere with our relationship.”

After asking her husband’s permission, Anne started preparing to receive her own temple endowment. At first, Bob made only small concessions to living gospel principles. Later, he resumed attending church with his family and finally joined in preparing to attend the temple. Eventually, they were sealed as a family for eternity.

Anne said, “I think he saw the difference the gospel had made in my life. He also noticed that his family was progressing. One day, he just decided to catch up.”

I used to believe that God loved me less than He loved other people. Less than people made it sound like He loved me. And less than I thought He would if I was “better.” I wondered how a divine, perfect Father in Heaven could love someone imperfect like me.
Struggling with infertility intensified these feelings. My arms remained empty for years, and I wondered if there were no spirits in heaven who wanted me to be their mother or if there were no souls God trusted me to teach, take care of, and love. I stumbled along with little fragments of comfort and counsel that the Lord gave me as I went through dietary alterations, fertility treatments, pills, shots, and surgeries. But I still wondered if God actually loved me or if this was some sort of punishment for my misdeeds. My heart was so weary.
Amidst all of this, my marriage fell apart. The return to singles wards and dating brought even more feelings of inadequacy and shame. I thought, “Surely now God doesn’t love me. Surely now His disappointment in me has reached a peak.”
A few years later, though, I found myself in a temple preparation class with a friend who was going to be entering the temple soon. The teacher said a phrase I had heard many times before pertaining to our eternal progress but hadn’t really thought about. He said that “we are embryos of Deity” with the potential to become like our Father in Heaven. That day, those words struck me differently.
I had seen embryos already—or rather, something like them. Most expectant mothers see their baby for the first time at an ultrasound appointment around eight weeks. But when I was going through fertility treatments, I would do ultrasounds earlier in the process where I would see the follicles that were growing my potential babies.
I had never prayed so hard for something to succeed. I cheered and wept for the hope of those babies. I had visions in my head of all the experiences we could have together and all they could be. I altered my diet and sleep schedule to support them as best I could. I went through pains and scars so they could hopefully live. I loved those tiny potential beings!
They were completely reliant on me to survive. They couldn’t walk or speak. They hadn’t even developed to a baby yet. I knew full well there would be poopy diapers, temper tantrums, and disobedience. I knew they would make mistakes as they grew older and potentially even break my heart. I knew that the road of motherhood would be hard and anything but beautiful at times. But I loved them. I loved them more than anything else in my world.
As I reflected on those feelings, they all came flooding back, and I heard the Lord whisper to me, “That is how I love you.”
If I, in my imperfectness, can love a potential baby that much, how much more can a perfect Father in Heaven love me?
He loves us no matter how dependent we are on Him or how many skills we lack. He loves us, knowing that we will make mistakes and do things that may break His heart. He loves us because of who we can and will be. He loves us for the experiences we will have with Him and for the hope that we will return to Him.
In hindsight, I’ve made mistakes, but my heart was always seeking the Lord and seeking goodness. I was absolutely deserving of His love! Because the truth is, His love was never something I had to earn or be worthy of. His love was always there for me, long before the moment I took my first breath and long after I made my first mistake. His love is just as infinite and perfect as He is Himself. God loves you that much too.

While in Nauvoo, John worked as a carpenter on the temple. Called on a proselytizing mission to Canada, he and his missionary companion, James Park, started preaching in the small frontier community of Brooke, Kent County, Ontario. The gospel message was received enthusiastically, and in time 250 people were baptized.
The missionaries encouraged the new members to migrate to Nauvoo. Thus, in the spring of 1845, the new Saints prepared wagons and teams for the migration. The path leading out of their small town was little more than a sled trail, so the Saints started cutting trees and clearing a road. The enthusiasm of the new members to go to Nauvoo was so compelling that the improved trail became known as the Nauvoo Road, a name that persists even to this day.

Perhaps the most coveted patch issued for the 1983 jamboree was that of Hikemaster. These were the elite corps who guided the day and overnight hikes through the mountain trails. They had to be expert woodsmen, know the area perfectly, and have the leadership, survival, first-aid, and human relations skills to be in total control of the situation. They were responsible for the lives of their charges, and they had to pass stiff competition to gain the honor. A disproportionate number of this prestigious corps were LDS. Some estimated that LDS Scouts made up three-fourths of this group.
Calvin Takahashi of the Edmonton First Ward, Edmonton Alberta Stake, was one of the hikemasters. “Three guys from my ward are hikemasters,” he reported. “I really enjoy being out on the trail. Here at the jamboree we have to get up at 6:30 to pick up food, but when we’re on an overnight hike, we go to bed at ten and get up at ten the next day.”
Serving as hikemaster has been a great leadership training for Calvin. “When you’re up on the trail it’s you that’s in charge and that’s it. If anything goes wrong, you’re responsible to make sure that those people get back safely. Before I took the first group out, it was a little bit scary thinking about it, but now it’s second nature. But you’ve got to take charge. You can’t let people go off and do whatever they want. If they’re doing something that’s dangerous to themselves or the environment, you have to stop them, even if you know it’s going to disappoint them. I’ve been president of my deacons and teachers quorums, so that’s helped prepare me too.”

The first meeting I attended was a fast and testimony meeting. I came late, and as I walked into the chapel, a young woman was crying and talking about how the gospel helped her with her problems. After listening to her and to some of the other members, I realized that all of them had problems. They weren’t perfect, and they knew it. But I could also see they had something strong inside them. Their faith in God was helping them. With that kind of faith, I thought, maybe I could overcome my problems, too.

Many teenagers have trouble getting along with their parents at some stage during their teen years. As a 16-year-old, I started to think that my mom and I would never have a conversation that didn’t end with tears and slammed doors.
During one particular argument, I shouted some angry words, stormed into my bedroom, and slammed the door as hard as I could. I threw myself onto my bed with hot, angry tears streaming down my cheeks. Thoughts ran through my head: “How can I fix this? What can I do to stop this constant arguing?”
Then as clear as if the Mormon Tabernacle Choir were in my room, I heard these words: “He lives to comfort me when faint. He lives to hear my soul’s complaint. … He lives to calm my troubled heart. He lives all blessings to impart” (“I Know That My Redeemer Lives,” Hymns, no. 136). I felt the Holy Ghost’s presence and the love of my Heavenly Father encircling me, and I knew that everything would work out.
That day was a turning point for me. Heavenly Father knew what I needed. Music is a huge part of my life, and I was blessed by listening to and learning the words of the hymns. They gave me comfort and strength when I really needed it, and they can help us through hard times.
Today my mom and I are the best of friends. We are both serving in the Primary in our ward, and I love that we can work together in our callings as well as at home.

Years before, I had gone through a similar trial of my faith when I prayed for my mom to get better. She was on oxygen all the time and was too weak to even walk around the house. I prayed and hoped and prayed some more that she would miraculously be healed. However, she wasn’t. After she died, I learned that we can pray for what we want all that we want to, but we need to pray for the right things—praying that the Lord’s will be done—to have our prayers answered.

Last June I couldn’t bring myself to attend girls’ camp, but the reports I have received are beautiful. Shannon’s group of fourth-year girls performed “Walk Tall, You’re a Daughter of God” at the first night fireside and dedicated it to my daughter. Every night thereafter they used “our song” as the closing song at the campfire meeting. The new Beehives did not know Shannon, but they could feel the Spirit as the tears flowed and the notes were sung.

I was raised in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, but I left the Church as a teenager after my family moved from Alabama. Later, I moved to California, where I worked and studied. That’s where I met Patrick. Six weeks later, we were engaged.
Once we got married and started having children, we knew it was essential that they understand the importance of faith and religion. We wanted that to be part of our family.
We became what we called “vacation churchgoers,” visiting lots of churches. We’d try this one over here and that one over there, but nothing ever felt right.
In 2012 we traveled to Alabama so I could reconnect with family members. We fell in love with the area where I lived as a child. So, we moved there in 2014, bought some land and animals, and started growing and selling produce.
One morning our seven-year-old son, Jesse, came into our bedroom with an illustrated children’s Bible.
“Mom, look at this picture of Jesus,” he said. “He’s getting baptized. Why am I not baptized?”
All the children read and loved that Bible, and they all began asking similar questions: “Why don’t we have a church? When are we getting baptized?”
About this same time we began making caramels from goat’s milk and selling them at local farmers markets. People loved them, and our caramel business took off. By that fall, we were selling our caramels in about 30 stores. By June 2015, we went to a major international market in Atlanta and added about a hundred stores. Soon, we were on television and in a couple of magazines.
We were making caramels full time leading into that fall. That’s when things took a turn in our lives.
I had what I thought I always wanted in life—a farm-based business working with my family and teaching my children about life through a farm. People had this beautiful picture of our family working together, but we were struggling big time.
We were ignoring the kids in order to make the business work. Our marriage wasn’t getting any attention. We were trying to do too much. Our priorities weren’t straight. We didn’t have a spiritual base. We didn’t have Heavenly Father guiding our lives. We were just trying to do everything by ourselves.
That fall the children all came down with strep throat. We gave them antibiotics, and soon everybody was fine except for Jesse. His cough wouldn’t go away, and his neck became swollen. Pat took him to the pediatrician for what we thought would be a second antibiotic.
Two hours later Pat called from the hospital. The pediatrician had sent Jesse there for an X-ray to check for infection in his lungs. Instead, doctors found an 11-inch tumor in his chest.
“Go home, get your family packed up, head to Birmingham, and prepare for a lengthy stay,” the doctor said.
A few days after we arrived at the children’s hospital in Birmingham, we received Jesse’s diagnosis. He had pediatric acute lymphoblastic leukemia, a rare type of aggressive leukemia.
For the next three weeks, Pat and I lived at the hospital. While I zoned in on Jesse, Pat made the 90-minute drive back and forth from our home to the hospital. He tried to keep our business going and care for our goats. My mother-in-law came from California and stayed with our other children.
Jesse’s tumor had begun to cut off his airways, but it shrank after six weeks of chemotherapy. We thought that once the cancer went into remission, it would be an easy road ahead, but then Jesse got a blood clot in his brain. After doctors dealt with that, he got fungal pneumonia. He was in and out of the hospital seven times over the next several months.
In December 2015, while Jesse was back in the hospital, I began reading the Book of Mormon. I thought, “I left the Church, and I just want to rule it out like I’ve ruled out all the other churches.” But right away, it hit me like a ton of bricks—full peace. The book just spoke to me. I didn’t even have to pray to find out it was true. I knew in my heart it was true from the very beginning. I would read for hours sitting in that hospital room.
At one point, Jesse spiked a fever, which lasted for 10 days. It wouldn’t break, and doctors decided they needed to do a bone marrow biopsy to see if the leukemia had returned. I remember lying on the floor of the hospital. I had reached bottom. That’s when I decided to call Elaine Oborn, a member of our ward while I was growing up in Alabama.
I had been best friends with Sister Oborn’s daughter. Though I hadn’t spoken to the Oborn family for 20 years, I couldn’t get Elaine’s face out of my mind. I looked her up on Facebook, and there on the hospital floor, I called her.
“Do you even remember me?” I asked.
After explaining what our family was experiencing, I told Sister Oborn: “I don’t know what I need, but I need something. I’m not active in the Church. We don’t even have a church, but I keep thinking of you. Please, can you help me?”
“We can start by getting you and Jesse a blessing,” she said. She said her husband, Lynn, would come to the hospital that evening.
After the phone call, I told Pat, “I know you’re not a member of the Church, but can we have some guys come and give Jesse a blessing?”
“Whatever it takes for him to feel better,” he said.
That evening, in came Brother Oborn with two full-time missionaries, all dressed in white medical protective clothing because Jesse was so sick.
“The angels are coming for us,” I remember thinking as I opened the door.
They gave Jesse a blessing. Then Brother Oborn lined up all the kids and gave each of them a blessing. Then he gave me a blessing. Then he gave Pat a blessing. That was one of the first experiences where we all felt the Spirit. It was powerful. The next day, Jesse’s fever broke. As soon as he was released from the hospital, we started attending church.
In February 2016, the full-time missionaries began visiting us. At first Pat thought they were coming over to help on the farm. When we accepted an invitation for them to teach us, he thought the lessons were just for the children.
As the missionaries were preparing to teach us their first lesson, Pat went out to work on the tractor. After about 20 minutes, I could see that they—two sisters and two elders—were deflated. At that moment, I felt that I should get Pat and ask him to come listen for a couple of minutes.
Later the missionaries told me that they had been praying that that’s what I would do. They knew that Pat needed to hear what they were teaching.
After the missionaries had taught us for several weeks, Jesse, Bo, and Frank wanted to be baptized. Pat thought that was great, but he felt that he was “beyond salvation.” That was before he met Von and Glenda Memory and heard Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles speak during general conference.
When we saw Brother Memory at church, I recognized him from when I was a child. He was now serving as the ward mission leader. Pat introduced himself, telling Brother Memory that he really wanted the Church for our children.
“That sounds good,” Brother Memory said with a twinkle in his eye. “We’ll do it for the children.”
A few weeks later, after a lesson from the missionaries on the plan of salvation, Brother Memory said, “Boys, we’re going to talk about your baptism.” Then he added, “And then we’re going to talk about your dad’s baptism.”
Pat said OK, but his doubts about his readiness and worthiness persisted until general conference that April.
“You may be afraid, angry, grieving, or tortured by doubt,” Elder Uchtdorf said in his talk. “But just as the Good Shepherd finds His lost sheep, if you will only lift up your heart to the Savior of the world, He will find you.”1
Pat said: “Before then, it hadn’t occurred to me that I really could be a part of this, that I was worthy of salvation. But after listening to Elder Uchtdorf, it hit me that it wasn’t too late for me. I actually have a shot to get to heaven. I had never felt anything like that. From then on I knew. This is the Savior’s Church. We found it. I got baptized and received the priesthood. A week later I baptized my boys. When our girls were old enough, I baptized them.”
A year later, we were sealed in the Birmingham Alabama Temple.
Living the gospel of Jesus Christ as members of His Church has strengthened our marriage. It has made me a better mom. It has given our kids a foundation they never would have had. We’re confident about their futures, now that they have the Church in their lives.
I’m so grateful for everything that has happened and for all the lessons I’ve learned. I think it was important for me to go through a lot of stuff, a lot of mental anguish. I needed to be humbled, feel desperate for God’s help and love and forgiveness, and forgive myself of wrongdoings earlier in my life.
Jesse completed chemotherapy and his last round of steroids in March 2019. We would be devastated if his cancer returned, but now we have an eternal perspective. Now we’re sealed as a family. I can’t imagine ever not having the Church as my go-to for everything. The gospel has changed us forever.
Whatever happens, it’s going to be OK. We’re not afraid anymore. Jesse’s illness led to the best thing that ever happened to us. It brought us to the Savior’s Church.

For one family home evening, my dad wanted to take advantage of a pause in the rainy weather to go on a walk around the neighborhood. I grumbled and complained that it was too wet and muddy to go walking. I used the excuse that I had a ballet recital that week and didn’t want to sprain an ankle, but my dad didn’t buy it. He insisted that it was going to be the activity for the evening. I murmured a bit more about the unfairness and my recital, but we left on the walk anyway.
As I glumly stomped outside for the walk with my family, I was determined not to smile or be happy. I succeeded in feeling miserable until we reached the end of the street. Then we turned the corner and I saw, in full force, nature’s beauty and wonder. Before me was a gorgeous sunset, and opposite it was a rainbow arching above our neighborhood rooftops. I immediately forgot all about being miserable and looked around in awe.
On the way home I said a prayer of gratitude, thanking God for the beauty of His creations. I later thanked my dad for choosing the activity and for allowing us to enjoy nature for that family home evening.