Gospel Story Finder

Rigas Pofantis and Nicholas Malavetis had been looking for religious truths for three years when they happened upon a newspaper article in 1898 that discussed Mormonism. They were intrigued and wrote to Church headquarters to learn more. Church leaders dispatched the president of the Turkish Mission to visit and teach the pair in Greece. In 1903 Nicholas Malavetis died, but two years later, Rigas Pofantis again wrote to Church headquarters and asked to be baptized. Church leaders again sent the Turkish Mission president, who baptized Brother Pofantis and five others, including Nicholas Malavetis’s widow.

One bright, warm Saturday morning, gangs of teenagers invaded the little town of Guadalupe, Arizona. They were all dressed alike. They were spraying paint, breaking up concrete, hanging out at the park, and having a loud, noisy time.
Of course, they were also laying sod, repairing mailboxes, cleaning up empty lots, building handicapped ramps, landscaping homes, restoring the median in the middle of the main road, interviewing residents for town and family histories, furnishing some temporary homes, and, in general, doing good wherever they went.
Persuading more than a thousand teens to donate their muscles and their time on a Saturday was due to the efforts of the East Valley Youth Service Committee, an organization combining youth in Gilbert, Arizona, from St. Anne’s Catholic Church with the youth from five Gilbert LDS stakes.
The whole idea of interfaith service projects got started when Father Doug Lorig of St. Anne’s Catholic Church wrote a letter to Salt Lake City asking how the youth in Gilbert of both the Catholic and LDS faiths could become united. The answer came through President John Lewis of the Gilbert Arizona Stake. The youth could become united as they served together.
But where? Who needed lots and lots and lots of helping hands?
The town of Guadalupe was the answer.
Guadalupe is the name of a major road that runs through the towns of Tempe and Gilbert, Arizona. Everyone knows Guadalupe Road. It’s a major thoroughfare lined with fast-food restaurants, gas stations, churches, and neighborhoods. But most teens didn’t know what is at the end of Guadalupe Road, right where the street ends. At that spot, just a little over a mile square, is the tiny town of Guadalupe.
Several members of the East Valley Youth Service Committee were assigned to do some calling. Their quest, to find some places that needed service. One young woman contacted Mary E. Hoy, the assistant town manager of Guadalupe. “She called and said, ‘We’d like to do a project in your town. What would you like us to do?’” said Mary. “I had a couple of pages of things that needed to be done because we have so much need here.”
To Mary’s great surprise, instead of picking one or two items off her list, the report came back that the committee had anticipated being able to do almost everything on her list. “The town has been very excited,” reports Mary. “They love the idea of these teens coming to help.” With nearly 1,500 teens and their adult leaders attending, the town’s population doubled for that one day.
Mary’s list included turning a flood retention basin into a park, painting a mural on a noise wall, replacing or repairing all mailboxes, building ramps for houses of handicapped residents, hauling rubbish from the lots of elderly residents, painting homes and repairing roofs, interviewing families for the town’s historical record, beautifying the town’s center street median, and collecting furniture for and landscaping around emergency housing.
The first meeting was at a public auditorium, when the whole idea of working together in service, in addition to gathering support and donations from the community, was presented to anyone interested. Chad Heywood, 16, of the Freestone Park Ward in the Gilbert stake, said, “I’ve had a lot of kids come up to me and ask how they can get involved in it. It’s a fun thing to do now.”
Jennifer Barger, the adult volunteer supervisor from St. Anne’s Catholic Church, said, “I think the more they got involved, the more eager they were to participate. It’s a growing thing, with each other and with the town. It’s been quite a neat experience.”
As the planning for the project progressed, the teens involved started to discover a change in their attitudes. Aubree Wright, 17, of the Gilbert Ninth Ward, Gilbert Val Vista Stake, said, “The first couple of meetings, I was not feeling like I wanted to go. The more I went, it just became such a neat thing. I was looking forward to it. I’ve seen it in other kids too. You can tell that it’s starting to touch them.”
You might not think that getting together on one Saturday and hauling sod or painting a house would do all that much for world peace. But each action, each person doing one good thing, can begin to change the world. Standing shoulder to shoulder with shovels and rakes in hand with God’s children of other beliefs and cultures can make a difference. Melissa Geiger, 19, of St. Anne’s Catholic Church, was asked to be a youth representative on the planning committee. She said, “It sounds like an enormous task, making peace in the world. We can start small and meet on a common ground of service. That was our basis.”
Whether it’s spending four hours at a cannery, packing boxes at a food bank, or getting your hands blistered while raking gravel, service improves most those who give it.
The youth of Gilbert, both Catholic and LDS, now know each other a little better. And with each opportunity to serve, they will learn a little more what it means to live a Christlike life.

My parents’ lives together began in an unusual way. It was 1936. They were dating seriously and were planning to marry, when my dad received a letter inviting him to serve as a full-time missionary in South Africa. The letter said that if he was worthy and willing to serve, he was to contact his bishop. You can quickly see that the process of being called as a missionary was very different in those days! Dad showed the letter to his sweetheart, Helen, and they determined without question he would serve.

For two weeks before he left, Mom met Dad each day for a picnic lunch in Memory Grove near downtown Salt Lake City. During one of their lunches, having sought direction through fasting and prayer, Mother told her dear Claron that if he still wanted to, she would marry him before he left. In the early days of the Church, men were sometimes called to missionary service and left wives and families at home. So it was with my mother and dad. With the approval of his priesthood leaders, they decided to be married before he departed for his mission.

In the Salt Lake Temple, Mother received her endowment, and then they were married for time and all eternity by President David O. McKay. Theirs was a humble beginning. There were no photographs, no beautiful wedding dress, no flowers, and no reception to celebrate the occasion. Their clear focus was on the temple and their covenants. For them, the covenants were everything. After only six days of marriage and with a tearful good-bye, my dad left for South Africa.

But their marriage was more than just the deep love they had for each other. They also had a love of the Lord and a desire to serve Him. The sacred temple covenants they had made gave them strength and power to carry them through the two years of separation. They had an eternal perspective of life’s purpose and of promised blessings that come to those who are faithful to their covenants. All these blessings transcended their short-term sacrifice and separation.

While it certainly wasn’t an easy way to begin married life, it proved to be an ideal way to lay a foundation for an eternal family. As children came along, we knew what mattered most to our parents. It was their love for the Lord and their unwavering commitment to keeping the covenants they had made. Though my parents have both passed away, their pattern of righteousness is blessing our family still.

The example of their lives is reflected in the words of Sister Linda K. Burton: “The best way to strengthen a home, current or future, is to keep covenants.”

Their season of hardship and trial was not over. Three years after Dad returned from his mission, World War II was raging, and like so many others, he enlisted in the military. He was away from home for another four years as he served in the navy aboard battleships in the Pacific.

It was a difficult time for my parents to be separated again. But for my mother, those days of loneliness, worry, and uncertainty were also marked by whisperings of the Spirit that spoke of eternal promises, of comfort and peace amid the storm.

Despite her challenges, my mother lived a rich life, full of happiness, joy, love, and service. Her love of the Savior was reflected in the way she lived her life. She had a remarkable connection to heaven and a gift and capacity to love and bless everyone around her. Her faith in God and hope in His promises are reflected in President Thomas S. Monson’s words about the temple when he said, “No sacrifice is too great, no price too heavy, no struggle too difficult in order to receive those blessings.”

In all the seasons of her life, Mother was strengthened and blessed by her love of the Lord and by the covenants she faithfully made and kept.

His courageous and daring faith is shown in another incident. He was called to serve a mission in England. After a difficult journey from Far West, Elder Taylor arrived in New York with only one cent in his pocket. But he was the last man to plead poverty, and in answer to questions if he had money, he said he did. So the next day Elder Parley P. Pratt (the man who baptized him) approached him:
“Brother Taylor, I hear you have plenty of money?”
“Yes, Brother Pratt, that’s true.” “Well,” said Elder Pratt “I’m about to publish my ‘Voice of Warning’ and ‘Millennial Poems;’ I am very much in need of money, and if you could furnish me two or three hundred dollars I should be very much obliged.”
“Well, Brother Parley, you are welcome to anything I have, if it will be of service to you.” At that he put his hand in his pocket and gave Elder Pratt the penny. A good laugh followed and then Elder Pratt said, “But I thought you gave it out that you had plenty of money.” “Yes, and so I have,” replied Elder Taylor. “I am well clothed, you furnish me plenty to eat and drink and good lodging; with all these things and a penny over, as I owe nothing, is that not plenty?”
That evening at a council meeting of some of the brethren preparing to go to England, Elder Pratt proposed that the brethren assist Elder Taylor with means to pay his passage, since Wilford Woodruff was waiting for Elder Taylor to go with him. At the close of the meeting, Elder Taylor objected and said if they had anything they should give it to Parley Pratt because he had a family to support and needed money for publishing. Wilford Woodruff, a great man of faith himself, expressed regret at Elder Taylor’s position. Then said Elder Taylor: “Well, Brother Woodruff, if you think it best for me to go, I will accompany you.” “But where will you get the money?” asked Elder Woodruff. “Oh, there will be no difficulty about that. Go and take a passage for me on your vessel, and I will furnish you the means.” Elder Woodruff did as he was asked—and then from various persons who were moved upon by the Spirit of the Lord, voluntary donations, unasked for by Elder Taylor, came into him, sufficient for him to not only pay his passage but that of another elder.

When a twelve- or thirteen-year-old boy is called to be the president of a quorum and is left alone by his adult leaders, he might well flounder and fail. It is critically important that his adviser and others teach him how to be an effective president. To do this, the adviser, who has a major role to play, will not take over his responsibility but rather will coach him in order to help him grow in the office. One deacons quorum president must have been taught well by his adviser to have had the following experience:
A stake Aaronic Priesthood committee member attended one of the quorum meetings for several weeks in a row. One Sunday morning, he noticed a boy in attendance who had not been there before. To his dismay, this inactive boy was called on to offer one of the prayers. Anyone would know that the first time an inactive boy comes to priesthood meeting he should not be embarrassed by being asked to pray.
After the meeting, this high councilor asked the adviser why the president of the quorum would do such a foolish thing. The adviser said, “Why don’t you ask him?” When asked, the quorum president replied, “I just spent three days this week teaching him how to pray.” Sometimes these young people have a special touch which only peers seem to have. However, they do need to be taught well how to lead.

When I was about twelve years old, my family was involved in a serious car accident. We were driving my oldest sister, Maurine, to meet her husband in their new home in Washington. As we drove through Oregon, it was raining and the roads were slippery. For some reason, my mother, who was driving, lost control of the car, and it started sliding into the ditch along the side of the road. Mother turned the steering wheel sharply to bring the car back onto the road, but the angle was too steep. Before we knew what was happening, the car had flipped over and rolled two and a half times.
When we came to a standstill, my father and I, who had been sitting in the front seat, were able to crawl out the passenger side. We went around to the other side to see if everyone else was all right. My sister Maurine and her baby daughter, Joy, were fine, but both my mother and my youngest sister, Ruth Ann, were pinned underneath the car. We were twelve miles from the nearest town, and no one was around to help us.
Then something happened that I will never forget. I watched my father, who always had a great deal of faith, bow his head in prayer and ask for the Lord’s help. Then he placed his hands on the side of the car and lifted our big, heavy car all by himself. Ruth Ann was able to crawl out, but Mother was too seriously injured to move. Father told us to pull her out, and I can only imagine the pain she suffered as we did.
We thought Mother was going to die. Her collarbone and six of her ribs were broken, and her pelvis was crushed. She even said that she felt herself going, and she was telling us all good-bye. I’ll never forget how she looked at me and said, “Mary Ellen, always be a good girl.”
But my father gave her a blessing, and she survived. She was even able to walk again, despite the doctors’ predictions that her legs would never again be normal. Later, she told us that she had asked the Lord to let her live just long enough to see all six of her daughters married the right way, in the temple. She died of cancer about fifteen years later, but not before she attended her youngest daughter’s wedding in the temple, the last of six.

Another principle I learned from working was the principle of paying tithing. My family did not have very much money, but my parents paid us a small amount for the work we did. I learned from my parents and from my Church leaders that the Lord required only that I recognize that all these things came from Him and that 10 percent should be returned to Him.
It always gave me great satisfaction to fill out the envelope and give the small amount of tithing I owed to the Lord. The few nickels and dimes I gave as a young boy set a pattern that was easy to follow when I later received more money for my work. I still felt that same powerful feeling of satisfaction in knowing that by paying my tithing, I was doing what the Lord wanted me to do.

The Primary. How did it come about? Did not the Lord promise the Saints at Kirtland that if they would be patient and faithful, all things would work together for their good, and that as the gospel unfolded, they would be taught line upon line, precept upon precept? (See D&C 98:2, 3, 12.)
The inspiration for a children’s class came to Aurelia Rogers of Farmington, Utah, one hundred years ago. There was a need to teach children the principles of the gospel in children’s language along with good manners and dress.
In 1878 Farmington, Utah, was a cultured community with over 1,200 people and a beautiful stone chapel. They had a Relief Society, Young Men’s Literary Association, and a Young Ladies’ Mutual Improvement Association, along with a brass band.
But with all this spiritual and cultural influence, Farmington, like other communities, had its juvenile problems—little boys out late at night; darkness and mischief made the boys into a challenge.
Bishop John W. Hess, a Mormon Battalion veteran, called a meeting of parents and urged them to look after their children. These conditions also concerned Aurelia Rogers. She pondered and prayed.
In March 1878, Eliza R. Snow and others attended a Relief Society conference in Farmington. Aurelia Rogers later wrote:
“After the meeting, … when on their way to the depot, these sisters … stopped at my home. … The topic of our conversation was the young people, and the rough, careless ways of many of the young men and boys. … I asked the question, “What will our girls do for good husbands, if this state of things continues? … Could there not be an organization for little boys, and have them trained to make better men?” (Aurelia S. Rogers, Life Sketches, Salt Lake City: George Q. Cannon and Sons Co., 1898, pp. 207–8.)
Eliza R. Snow seemed deeply impressed with the question and indicated she would speak to the Brethren.
Brigham Young had died a few months before. The Twelve, with John Taylor as president of the council, presided over the Church.
Shortly, approval was received by Bishop Hess for a new organization of children. Bishop Hess asked Aurelia Rogers if she would be willing to preside over such an organization. She was willing.
Aurelia wrote that in contemplating the possibility of an organization for boys, “A fire seemed to burn within me. … The query then arose in my mind could there not be an organization for little boys wherein they could be taught everything good, and how to behave.” (Rogers, p. 207.)
Up until that time little girls had never been mentioned, but Aurelia felt the class would not be complete without them. The name Primary was suggested as “the first” or “original.”
On August 11, 1878, Aurelia Spencer Rogers was set apart to preside over that first Primary Association by Bishop Hess. At his suggestion, Aurelia Rogers and her new counselors, Louisa Haight and Helen Miller, visited all the homes to secure the names of the children and to see if their parents were willing to send them to Primary. Following this careful preparation, 115 boys and 100 girls came to the stone chapel on August 25, 1878, for the first meeting. Citizens passing the meetinghouse that eventful day heard the children’s voices singing:
In our lovely Deseret,
Where the Saints of God have met
There’s a multitude of children all around;
They are generous and brave,
They have precious souls to save,
They must listen and obey the gospel’s sound.
Hark! hark! hark, ’tis children’s music,
Children’s voices, O how sweet,
When in innocence and love
Like the angels up above,
They with happy hearts and cheerful faces meet.
(Sing with Me, B-24.)

Of all the experiences I enjoyed as a mission president, one of the most exciting was the glorious sight of seeing the missionaries baptize converts to the Church. The elders felt the same way about that privilege. One of my fine missionaries had been very adventurous. He loved to rappel cliffs, hang glide, and parachute jump. When I asked him how he felt when he stood in the baptismal font with a convert, he replied, “It’s as exciting as jumping out of an airplane.”

Some men and boys were stretched out under a large tree in a little grove near Nauvoo. Among them were loyal followers of the Prophet Joseph Smith, but there were also several of his enemies.
A young man by the name of Philemon Merrill rested quietly by the side of the Prophet, listening to a large and powerful man boast that he could throw anyone in the group. “In fact,” he said, “I can throw anyone in the whole state of Illinois.”
Stephen Markham was a bodyguard of Joseph Smith. He was a huge man and noted for his ability to wrestle. He accepted the challenge and, much to everyone’s surprise, was quickly thrown.
This only served to whet the appetite of the boaster who insisted that someone else become his victim. The enemies of the Prophet began to insult him and his followers, calling them cowards because they didn’t quickly send another man to meet the challenge.
Joseph Smith turned to the young man beside him and said, “Get up and throw that boaster.” Surprise and fear gripped Philemon who, since he was not a wrestler, was about to refuse. However, the look in the Prophet’s eyes stopped him.
Joseph Smith’s followers knew he was a man of great faith. So strong was his faith that his followers felt they could do anything the Prophet asked of them.
Philemon arose to his feet to obey the strange command given him. As he did so, his body was suddenly filled with unusual strength. He lifted his arms and stood ready for action. Despite the protests of his friends, Philemon even gave the boasting wrestler his choice of sides.
As they began to grapple, the Prophet said, “Philemon, when I count three, throw him!”
Philemon’s whole body and soul swelled with an unquestioning faith in his ability to carry out the command of Joseph Smith. As the word “three” was pronounced by the Prophet, the young man, with the strength of a giant, lifted his large opponent and threw him over his left shoulder while the amazed group watched in silent awe. Then a cheer rang through the little grove.
There were no more challenges to wrestle that day.

“Hi, Stori.”
“I love you, Stori.”
“Stori, you’re so pretty.”
Everyone wants to talk with Stori B. And Stori talks with everyone. In many ways she is a typical three-year-old. But there is one big difference—Stori is totally deaf. She uses her hands to speak in sign language. She is the only deaf person in her ward, so almost everyone is learning sign language.
Stori has taught the Primary children that talking with their hands is fun. She’s always willing to talk with anyone, even if they know only a few words of sign language. Kaylie learned the letters of the deaf alphabet and can say “I love you.” Joseph learned some sign language words in school, and he enjoys practicing with Stori. The entire Primary is learning to sign the song “I Will Follow God’s Plan.” Stori likes watching them sing to her.

Graduation day was approaching. There were finals to prepare for, college applications to finish, and homework assignments to complete. Life was crazy! Then there was the church stuff: read my scriptures, pray, go to seminary, and serve in the priests quorum. I felt like the weight of the world was on my shoulders. Lastly, many of my friends relied on me for support. They were having problems and needed someone to talk to. I couldn’t keep up with everything, and unfortunately, the first thing to go was scripture reading.
One day I felt especially overwhelmed. Everything happening in my life just seemed to take over. I felt like I had no control. I went to my bedroom to escape. I sat on my bed and tried to forget about everything for a few minutes.
While I was sitting there, I had the impression to pray. I got on my knees, bowed my head, and prayed to Heavenly Father. I explained that I needed help, that I could not do everything by myself.
After closing my prayer, I looked across my bedroom. I could see the corner of my scripture case underneath a pile of schoolbooks. I felt ashamed that I had neglected the scriptures so much. As I looked at them, I felt the peace of the Spirit. I knew I could find an answer in the scriptures.
As I thumbed through my scriptures, I read Helaman 12:1, which states, “And thus we can behold how false, and also the unsteadiness of the hearts of the children of men; yea, we can see that the Lord in his great infinite goodness doth bless and prosper those who put their trust in him.”
This verse spoke to me strongly. I had been trying to do everything myself. If I would really put my trust in the Lord, He would bless and prosper me. I needed to prioritize my life and make sure that I made time for the important things, like reading my scriptures.
I have remembered this verse throughout my life. It has helped me to remember the Lord and that He is mindful of us and will help us if we put our trust in Him.

I grew up on a farm outside of town. One evening, my parents were away at church meetings, and I was left in charge. One of my younger brothers ran into the house and told me the garage was on fire. The garage was only a few feet away from our house.
The one side of the garage where my father had been repairing a tractor was on fire, and flames had reached the car on the other side. I told my brothers to get far away from the garage so they wouldn’t be hurt. Then I grabbed a broom and started beating out the fire.
One of my brothers came to help, but he suddenly caught on fire and started to run. I yelled at him to stop and roll, but he just kept running. I chased after him and pulled him down to put out the flames. The thought came to me to have him stand in the canal near our home. I told him to do that while I put out the rest of the fire.
I know I had Heavenly Father’s help in knowing what I needed to do to put out the fire that day. The doctors said that if I hadn’t told my brother to stand in the cold water of the canal, he would have needed surgery from the burns. Instead he healed so well that there was only one small scar on his foot. It was a miracle.
I know that Heavenly Father listens to our prayers and that He watches over us. He stands ready to help us when we pray, listen, and follow the promptings of the Holy Ghost.

“How many pies are we baking?” Jared asked. He pulled a chair up to the counter to help his mother make the pies.
“A lot—one for Grandpa, one for your baby-sitter, one for Mr. Gomez next door, and pies for lots of other people. It’s my way of thanking them for all they do to help us.”
“And we’re going to deliver them tomorrow, on Thanksgiving?”
“First thing in the morning.”
Jared helped his mother roll out crusts, mix and pour fillings, and pinch the crust edges. Soon the kitchen smelled like pumpkin pies.
“There’s someone else I want to make a thank-you pie for,” Jared said.
“Who?”
“It’s a surprise. Can we make an extra pie?”
“Sure.”
Jared rolled out the crust for another pie while his mother mixed the filling.
In the morning, Jared and his mother carried the pies to the car. She drove very carefully to each house.
“Thank you for everything you do,” Mother said to each person as they delivered the pies.
Finally, there was only one pie left.
“Where do we take your pie, Jared?” Mother asked.
“To the fire station.”
Mother looked surprised, but she turned onto the street that led to the fire station.
“I want to thank the firefighters for being there to help us,” he explained. “They work even on holidays, when most people get to be home with their families.”
“That’s a great idea, Jared.”
He carried the pie into the fire station. The firefighters looked up from polishing their trucks.
“What’s this?” the nearest firefighter asked.
“It’s for you.” Jared handed the pie to the firefighter. “I want to thank all of you for being here on a holiday, ready to help everybody.”
“No one’s ever done this for us before,” the firefighter said. “Thank you. We’ll really enjoy it.”
“I think they liked the pie,” Jared told his mother as they returned to their car.
“Yes, but I think that they liked your idea of thanking them best of all.” Mother hugged him. “And so did I.”
“Let’s go home and bake another pie for us,” Jared suggested.
“I think that’s another great idea!”

I have related before my experience with a friend who took me to his ranch. He unlocked the door of a large new automobile, slid behind the wheel, and said proudly, “How do you like my new car?” We rode in luxurious comfort to a beautiful new landscaped home, and he said with no little pride, “This is my home.”

He drove to a grassy knoll. The sun was setting behind the distant hills. Pointing to the north, he asked, “Do you see that clump of trees yonder?”

With a wide sweeping gesture, he boasted, “From the clump of trees to the lake, to the bluff, and to the ranch buildings and all between—all this is mine. And the dark specks in the meadow—those cattle are also mine.”

And then I asked from whom he obtained it. The chain of title of his abstract went back to land grants from governments. His attorney had assured him he had an unencumbered title.

“From whom did the government get it?” I asked. “What was paid for it?” There came into my mind the declaration of the Psalmist, boldly restated by Paul: “The earth is the Lord’s, and the fulness thereof” (1 Cor. 10:26).

And then I asked, “Did title come from God, Creator of the earth and the owner thereof? Did He get paid? Was it sold or leased or given to you? If a gift, from whom? If a sale, with what exchange or currency? If a lease, do you make proper accounting?”

And then I asked, “What was the price? With what treasures did you buy this farm?”

“Money!”

“Where did you get the money?”

“From my toil, my sweat, my labor, and my strength.”

And then I asked, “Where did you get your strength to toil, your power to labor, your glands to sweat?”

He spoke of food.

“Where did the food originate?”

“From sun and atmosphere and soil and water.”

“And who brought those elements here?”

I quoted the Psalmist: “Thou, O God, didst send a plentiful rain, whereby thou didst confirm thine inheritance, when it was weary” (Ps. 68:9).

“If the land is not yours, then what accounting do you make to your landlord for his bounties? The scripture says: ‘Render therefore unto Caesar the things which are Caesar’s; and unto God the things that are God’s’ (Matt. 22:21). What percentage of your increase do you pay Caesar? And what percent to God?”

I said again: “I seem to find no place in holy writ where God has said, ‘I give you title to this land unconditionally.’

“I cannot find such scripture, but I do find this from Psalms: ‘Those that wait upon the Lord, … shall inherit the earth’ (Ps. 37:9).

“It seems more of a lease on which a rental is exacted than of a simple title. This does not seem to convey the earth but only the use and contents which are given to men on condition that they live all of the commandments of God.”

But my friend continued to mumble, “Mine—mine,” as if to convince himself against the surer knowledge that he was at best a recreant renter.

That was long years ago. I later saw him lying in his death among luxurious furnishings in a palatial home. And I folded his arms upon his breast, and drew down the little curtains over his eyes. I spoke at his funeral, and I followed the cortege from the good piece of earth he had claimed to be his grave.

Later I saw that same estate, yellow in grain, green in lucerne, white in cotton, seemingly unmindful of him who had claimed it.

Image from Getty Images
Christmas wasn’t Christmas. Although I tried to be merry with carols playing in the background, I pulled out the storage bins with a heavy heart. The snowman cookie jar only reminded me that there was no one to bake with. The Santa figurine seemed to say that there was little reason to hang stockings, and the peppermint-striped wrapping paper reminded me that morning wouldn’t bring the voices of excited children.
This year our youngest had left for college, and our house felt lonely and quiet. I chose only the non-Santa type decorations and placed everything else back in their boxes.
With my husband out of town, I decorated the tree alone. My daughter-in-law posted pictures online of my grandchildren hanging ornaments on their tree, and my heart yearned for yesterday. I wondered how time had slipped by so quickly. How had my children grow so fast? Lost in my thoughts, I looked down at the light bulb in my hand. It was a single red bulb.
I examined the color, a deep red. Crimson. I looked around at the simplicity of what was left of the decorations: a few nativities, a manger built from popsicle sticks, and a decoration that spelled out NOEL in gold letters. My eyes were wet. The bulb was red—red like the atoning blood of the Savior.
I thought about how I had always equated decorations, cookie cutouts, and children’s glee on Christmas morning with what made me happy at Christmastime. Then I thought about my children and their eternal families. I thought about all the joy I had in my family and the joy they had in their own. I pondered how the babe lying in the manger made that possible. A sweetness of warmth sprung in my heart as I contemplated the gift of the Savior—not just for me but for all mankind.
“And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people” (Luke 2:10; emphasis added).
As I continued decorating the tree, I meditated on the humble birth and life of Jesus Christ. He came to mend the broken, build the downtrodden, comfort the lonely, bring peace in imperfection, and give compassion for suffering. He was born and died that we might live with Him in our Father’s kingdom once more. He came that man might know true happiness. My heart swelled and I found joy in Christ because Christ is Christmas.

My bedroom is like many other teenage boys’ rooms. Yes, there are school books piled up to the ceiling. And yes, there are posters all over the walls. But next to these posters is a picture of the Savior. Now I have been in my room when friends have looked at that picture and asked, “So what does Jesus have to do with all of this?” Of course, I know why that picture is there.
It all stems from a talk Elder Richard G. Scott of the Quorum of the Twelve gave at general conference.
Elder Scott counseled us to do three things: (1) place Christ at the center of your life, (2) realize that happiness comes from what you are, not what you have, and (3) always stay morally clean. These three points, if applied, can form the basis of the strength which we need to be strong in a world such as the one we live in.
The first point, about placing Christ at the center of our lives, is the reason I have that picture of Christ in my bedroom. When I awake in the morning, I look at that picture. Because of my testimony of the Savior I consciously make a decision to honor his name during the day. Of course when I make mistakes, I look at that picture and wonder how I could have let him down.
If we do place the Savior at the center of our lives we certainly will be different to those around us. We will, as the scriptures say, be a “peculiar people” (Deut. 14:2).
Take my name, for example. I love the name Ronan because it’s unusual. But I hope I’m peculiar, not because of my name, but because I’m a representative of Jesus Christ and his gospel. I don’t think many of us are as peculiar as we need to be.
The second suggestion is that we should realize that happiness comes from what we are, not what we have. I am as guilty as anyone of the “I want” syndrome. I know I must try to ignore my peers and seek only to please God. I need to recognize the things I do have: my testimony, my family, and the many other blessings I enjoy.
The third item is to stay morally clean. In a broad sense, this means to be moral, to be righteous, and to be true. Of course, more specifically, it means to obey the laws of chastity. I was once invited to a party which I knew would be morally suspect. At first I rationalized, thinking I would be strong enough to resist whatever temptations might be around me. Fortunately, I decided not to go. I later learned about the alcohol that was consumed and the moral iniquities that took place there. I realized that was not the kind of place for a Latter-day Saint to be. If I had gone to that party, I could in no way have looked at that picture of the Savior in my room and felt at ease.
I’m glad for that picture and I know I’m going to try my best to always place the Savior at the center of my life.

When our children were young, we moved into a small house with a beautiful yard. On either side of the front door were two empty flowerbeds, and though my gardening experience was limited, I was excited to plant flowers there. I bought a gardening book and ordered plant and seed catalogs and studied them carefully.
Over the next few months I planned my garden, prepared the soil, and planted more than 200 bulbs. I knew it would be a few more months before I would see any results, but still I checked the garden often for growth. In early spring my flowers started to bloom, beginning with tiny purple irises and then daffodils. By the middle of spring my flower boxes were filled with a splendid display of tulips. I loved my garden, and I often sat on the front steps just to look at the flowers.
One afternoon our four-year-old daughter, Emily, had a friend over to play. Just before her friend’s mother came to pick her up, the girls struggled in through the kitchen door, their arms filled with heaps of tulips. “Look what we’ve brought you,” they said happily. They had picked nearly every bloom.
Tulips bloom only once a year. I was heartbroken—all that work, all that waiting. We filled my vases with flowers and sent the rest home with Emily’s friend. Later, as I complained to my mother about the disaster, she said, “Well, it’s a good thing you’re raising children and not flowers.”
I realized that I needed to change my perspective. I remembered the Primary song I had sung with my girls about gathering flowers:
Dear mother, all flowers remind me of you.
O mother, I give you my love with each flower.1
I saw the ruin of my garden, but two four-year-old girls saw a gesture of love.
Planting a flower garden had required patience, and stepping back and looking at this incident through my child’s eyes required even more patience. But learning patience as a mother draws me closer to the Lord.

We lived on a hill, but it wasn’t so steep that it couldn’t be used for pick-up games of baseball in the spring and summer. The street was the ribbon that tied together the lives of each boy on our block.
After supper was over, the boys would gather on the same corner, and when enough were there, we’d pick sides. We used a rubber ball that we bought at Mr. Pinelli’s variety store for a quarter. We’d play baseball until it became dark.
One breezy June evening, Ricky Cray, the best hitter on the block, was up to bat. My best friend, Chuck Grable, was next to me in the “outfield,” which was the stretch of road between Mr. LaSalle’s and Mr. Kominski’s.
Ricky sized up a belt-high pitch and plastered the ball a good 20 feet beyond my grasp. I put my head down and furiously chased the ball. Suddenly, I came upon two sets of the shiniest black shoes I’d ever seen. I looked up and there were two young men in suits, smiling. One of them was holding the rubber ball.
“Lose something?” he said cheerfully. He flipped the ball to me and I heaved it toward my friends, just as Ricky crossed home plate.
Chuck came over to me. “Who are those guys? That one made a nice catch.” We didn’t see men in suits in our neighborhood often.
“I don’t know. Maybe they’re selling something. Like books.”
“I think they’re police,” confided Chuck.
“No, they’re too young. And they’d be more secret. Look, they’re stopping at every house on the street.”
The next hitter popped a lazy fly ball toward Chuck who easily snagged it. We went to take our turn at bat. Home plate was near our house, and the two men in suits were just stepping to the door.
Father answered. I heard one of the young men say they were from a church and they had a message about families. Father sized them up.
“Are you selling something?” he asked.
“No, sir,” replied the one who had fielded the ball.
“Are you honest?” Father asked. It would have been an odd question from anyone but my father. That’s the way he was, a man who took himself and others at face value.
“Yes, sir, we try to be,” the same man answered without hesitation.
“Are you boys from around here?”
“No. Elder Cone is from Bountiful, Utah. And I’m from Boston.”
Father smiled. “Then come into my house. I’m Joseph Rosa, and this is my wife, Leslee.” As soon as the one said he was from Boston, I knew my father would invite them in. A little thing like that, being from Massachusetts. Yet it changed our lives forever.
We saw the young men in the suits and white shirts many times over the following weeks. Father and Mother listened to them, prayed with them, studied with them, and fed them pasta until they almost could no longer get into their suits. When the elders came, Father pulled me out of the baseball games. “If what they say is true, then you need to hear it also,” he told me. I could see how important this was to my parents. Father’s eyes blazed as the missionaries taught us. “Yes, that seems right. I’ve always believed that,” he often said.
“We have reached a decision as a family,” Father told the missionaries one night. They both looked nervously at each other. “We would like to be baptized.” The two young men almost leaped into the air. The following night, Father and I went to a department store and bought our church clothes. A week later, the four of us were baptized. Never again did my parents talk about the missing piece. We had found it.

From Frankfurt, Germany, this comes:
“We are two families in the Frankfurt Mission, and we tell you about our garden.
“It was not very easy to find a piece of land in a large city like Frankfurt—it is a tiny garden—and when we rented it, it looked like a wilderness, with a broken fence, a broken cottage, and wild grass all over. It did not discourage us.
“First we made a new fence, repaired the cottage, and digged the whole garden. In the springtime we planted vegetables and the neighbours told us that it would not grow. There is a little stream where we can go on our bikes hanged with cans, and this way we carry our water. We prayed to the Lord that he would bless our garden. The Lord did answer our prayers. Every kind of vegetable came. It is so wonderful to see the plants grow. We take turns now to go to our garden and water our plants. We are happy to have a garden.”