Gospel Story Finder

I had my mother to thank that I was cooking breakfast for 120 elderly people on Christmas morning. Instead of Santa waking us, the phone rang with a call for help from the nursing home where I worked part-time. No one, the head nurse explained, had shown up for work, and they were desperate. Could I possibly come down for a few hours. My mom said we all would!
Morning is everyone’s least favorite time except for Mom, who managed to be extra coherent with Christmas spirit as she announced the news. “Get up! They need us down at the home. We’ll have our Christmas later. First, we have to go cook lots of eggs.”
“What about the presents?” Todd and Christine, my younger brother and sister, wailed.
“We’ve waited all night,” Christine pleaded.
“It’ll be here when we get home. Now get the lead out. Mom and Dad are serious about this,” I said without much sympathy.
Somehow we managed to pile in the car, and we drove the two miles in silence. The nurse met us at the door looking disheveled and frantic. “Oh, thank goodness,” she said. Not wasting any more time with gratitude, she pushed us towards the kitchen in unison. The only cook to show up that morning, Gladys, was rushing from stove to steam table, scooping out scrambled eggs and shouting orders to Frank, the janitor.
“Get moving on that O.J., will you,” Gladys said. She hadn’t noticed her bleary-eyed crew yet. “They’ll be down in 45 minutes, and I can’t find the bread, let alone the toaster.”
“Uhmmm, maybe we could be of help,” offered my dad, a bit reluctantly.
“We’re Diane’s family,” Mom introduced us, steering Todd and Chris over to the newly found toaster. “I think the children can make toast. Oh, by the way, I’m Irene, and this is my husband, Bill,” she pointed to Dad. “You know Diane, and the toast makers are Christine and Todd.”
“Hi,” muttered Chris and Todd together. They were thinking about opening presents, not about buttering toast.
Gladys stood in the middle of the kitchen supporting her latest batch of eggs. After a moment’s hesitation, she sized us all up and decided we’d do. Gladys shoved the bowl in Dad’s stomach, “Here, you look like an egg man to me. You can take over scrambling.”
Dad caught the bowl and his breath. “Sure, I can do that,” he gasped.
“And you, Diane,” Gladys turned me toward the hot cereal. “Oatmeal duty.”
We all set to work and before we knew it the breakfast rush was on, over, and breakfast dishes were just beginning.
“Mom, can’t we go home yet?” Christine whimpered, emphasizing yet. “It’s almost eight and every child in America, probably the entire world, has opened their gifts except us. Doesn’t that bother you even a little?”
Mom didn’t mince words. “No, not even a little, Chris,” she answered watching Dad and Todd squirt each other with the high powered hoses. “I know it isn’t easy to be here on Christmas, honey, but could we really be anywhere else?” When neither Chris or I responded, Mom started humming a cheery carol. “Let’s sing a song,” she encouraged.
I honestly wasn’t in the mood. Helping others was supposed to make a person feel good, but I was right there with Chris, wanting to be opening gifts and away from the smell of eggs and nursing home.
Mom continued without us, singing her favorite, “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day.” At first she sang softly, but by the second verse she picked up the volume. Chris and I gave in, joining Mom, and sliding dishes down the metal chute on beat.
“Let’s sing ‘Rudolph,’” Todd shouted. “Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer” it was, Dad leading the family along in a loud baritone. This might have ended our musical contribution on that unusual Christmas morning, if it hadn’t been for Brother Greenwall.
I turned to pick up one of the last dish stacks, and there he stood, listening at the kitchen serving window. Brother Greenwall had lived in our neighborhood and attended church with us until his wife passed away.
“Hi, Brother Greenwall,” I said. His lonely eyes stared back, not recognizing me.
My dad smiled over his shoulder and walked to the window. “Harry, how are you? It’s Bill. Did you hear us singing away in here?” Dad chuckled, “Hope we didn’t disturb you.”
Harry Greenwall smiled back at Dad. I wasn’t sure if he remembered him or not, but something had been triggered. “Just a minute,” he muttered, hurrying off to the TV lounge.
Dad watched him go. “I wonder what he’s up to,” he said as Harry returned with two or three friends and their chairs. Before we figured out what Harry had in mind, he’d pushed open the door and seated them by the stove, then hobbled back to the TV room.
Eyebrows raised, Mom checked out the three seated in the kitchen. “Well, Bill, do you think we’re supposed to keep singing?” When no one volunteered an opinion she added, “I think Harry wants a performance.”
“Oh, Mom, do we have to?” Todd groaned, blasting his dishes with an extra hard squirt.
Dad put his arm around Todd, “You’ve heard of singing for your supper haven’t you?”
“Yeah, but …”
“Well, you get to sing for your presents.”
Chris and I laughed. “Come on and give me a hand helping Brother Greenwall with his friends,” said Dad.
By now Harry had returned, cramming in seven more concertgoers. Eight more joined the group, bringing the crowd to about twenty. Fully staffed, the kitchen never held more than eight people.
Harry stared at us without recognition, interested only in the music. Mom and Dad exchanged their you’d-better-do-something look, and Dad picked up the cue. “Well, folks, Harry thought you’d all like a little Christmas music.”
We sang, starting with family favorites like “Jingle Bells,” “Silent Night,” and “Oh, Come, All Ye Faithful.” Actually, “Oh, Come, All Ye Faithful” is Dad’s favorite. Mom says his eyes twinkle when he sings that song. I looked over at Dad to catch that twinkle, and its shine filled me with warmth. My voice cracked, and I stopped singing, bowing my head to hide the tears.
Looking down at the floor, I felt love for each of those people listening to my family sing. I tried to join in the music, but the same feeling came again, repeating the impression. This time I knew the Savior wanted them to know of his love. Doubting myself, I hesitated a moment and was overwhelmed for the third time with the same desire to comfort them.
My family finished the last few measures of music, and I began without thinking, “I just want to tell you I know Jesus lives. He is concerned for you and loves you. I didn’t really want to come here today, but I’m glad we did. Most of all, I hope you can feel the Savior’s love for you like I have. He really wants you to know this.”
Dad put his arm around me. “I couldn’t give any of you a better gift at Christmas than the knowledge that Jesus lives, as Diane has said.”
The kitchen was silent for a minute, the spirit of Christ in our hearts. “Let’s sing a carol together,” Mom suggested. “What one would you like, Harry?”
Considering all the carols available and Harry’s love for Christmas music, we should have been surprised when his choice wasn’t a traditional Christmas song.
“I Know That My Redeemer Lives,” he said.
Everyone sang his “carol,” filling the kitchen with the words, “He lives, my kind, wise heav’nly Friend. He lives and loves me to the end.”
That day became a treasure and started a family tradition of Christmas Day service we enjoy. And, out of all the carols we sing at Christmastime, Harry’s carol is our favorite and the finest way to get a twinkle in any of our eyes.
By the way, my dad says we still sound the best in kitchens.

Last October my mom told my siblings and me to listen to ward business that Sunday instead of drawing. So when sacrament meeting started, I paid close attention to the opening prayer and the hymn. Once that was over, the person conducting the meeting asked the bishop to stand up. Then he said the bishop was being released.
He asked my dad, who was first counselor at the time, to stand up. Then he announced that my dad was going to be the new bishop!
I was really worried that something about my dad would change drastically. I had always thought bishops were people who were formal and serious, most unlike my dad. That they had perfectly well-behaved kids who sat quietly on the bench every week. That was not my family.
But I realized that bishops aren’t men with perfect families. They aren’t men who are solemn and serious. They are men with the priesthood. Men with strong, good testimonies.
I don’t know why the Lord chose my dad to be the bishop, but I know that He has His reasons. And I know that my dad did change … but not into a stiff and serious man I didn’t know. I could tell his testimony grew.
And so did mine.

I still remember one:
“An older boy and his young companion were walking along a road which led through a field. They saw an old coat and a badly worn pair of men’s shoes by the roadside, and in the distance they saw the owner working in the field.
“The younger boy suggested that they hide the shoes, conceal themselves, and watch the perplexity on the owner’s face when he returned.
“The older boy … thought that would not be so good. He said the owner must be a very poor man. So, after talking the matter over, at his suggestion, they concluded to try another experiment. Instead of hiding the shoes, they would put a silver dollar in each one and … see what the owner did when he discovered the money. So they did that.
“Pretty soon the man returned from the field, put on his coat, slipped one foot into a shoe, felt something hard, took it out and found a silver dollar. Wonder and surprise [shone] upon his face. He looked at the dollar again and again, turned around and could see nobody, then proceeded to put on the other shoe; when to his great surprise he found another dollar. His feelings overcame him. … He knelt down and offered aloud a prayer of thanksgiving, in which he spoke of his wife being sick and helpless and his children without bread. … He fervently thanked the Lord for this bounty from unknown hands and evoked the blessing of heaven upon those who gave him this needed help.
“The boys remained [hidden] until he had gone.” They had been touched by his prayer and felt something warm within their hearts. As they left to walk down the road, one said to the other, “Don’t you have a good feeling?” (Adapted from Bryant S. Hinckley, Not by Bread Alone, 95).

Share in the fun of a happy Christmas feeling. On a piece of paper write the following list of words, cut out, mix up, and paste them in the blank spaces as you read this true story.
jars of jelly
candy canes for the tree
long-stemmed red roses
presents wrapped in red
bags of cookies
pieces of pink divinity
pieces of fruit
chewy popcorn balls
loaves of date bread
lace-trimmed handkerchiefs
pieces of fruitcake
pieces of candy
decorated gingerbread men
cakes
Mrs. Gallagher finished trimming her small Christmas tree. Beneath the tree she carefully placed each small figure in the manger scene.
“Dear me, dear me,” exclaimed Mrs. Gallagher, “Christmas is only twelve days away and I still haven’t felt a happy Christmas spirit. My tree looks lovely and I have received many cards and packages through the mail. Now why am I feeling sad?”
Mrs. Gallagher went to her bay window and watched the six children next door help their father bring in a large Christmas tree.
“Now there’s the answer to my question right before my eyes,” exclaimed Mrs. Gallagher. “I’m lonesome. My children are grown and can’t come home for Christmas this year. I won’t be able to share Christmas with my grandchildren.”
Mrs. Gallagher blinked and a few tears ran down the wrinkles in her cheeks.
“Say, I’ve got to do something besides stand here and cry,” said Mrs. Gallagher. “And I think I’ll start by making some ginger-cream cookies to share with my neighbors. Then I’ll sit at my old pump organ and play some Christmas songs.”
Mrs. Gallagher was taking the last batch of cookies out of the oven and was about to sit down at her organ when the doorbell rang.
“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Gallagher,” the children from next door sang out and Mary Lynn, the oldest girl, handed Mrs. Gallagher a package with a note on top.
The children stayed a little while to visit and to enjoy some fresh, warm cookies. As soon as they left, Mrs. Gallagher read the note and opened her package.
On the first day of Christmas
What did Mrs. Gallagher see?
One large loaf of bread.
“What a nice Christmasy thing to do,” said Mrs. Gallagher delightedly as she taped the note to her bay window. She enjoyed the bread and some ginger-creams with her supper that evening.
The doorbell rang before Mrs. Gallagher had even finished breakfast the next morning.
“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Gallagher,” said the children from next door again, and Erick handed Mrs. Gallagher a package with a note on top.
The children stayed just a minute. When they left, Mrs. Gallagher read the note and opened the package.
On the second day of Christmas
What did Mrs. Gallagher see?
Two ____________________.
“Another surprise!” exclaimed Mrs. Gallagher and she taped the note to her bay window. What thoughtful children I have living next door to me, she thought.
The next day the doorbell rang as Mrs. Gallagher was sitting down to lunch.
“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Gallagher,” called the children and Kathy handed Mrs. Gallagher a package with a note on top.
As soon as they left, Mrs. Gallagher read the note and opened the package.
On the third day of Christmas
What did Mrs. Gallagher see?
Three ____________________.
Mrs. Gallagher taped another note to her bay window. She was enjoying the visits and all of the presents but she had to admit she was a little surprised.
The next afternoon the doorbell rang and it was the children again. “Merry Christmas, Mrs. Gallagher,” they said all together and Robby handed her a package with a note on top. Mrs. Gallagher smiled when she read the note on the package.
On the fourth day of Christmas
What did Mrs. Gallagher see?
Four ____________________.
“Now isn’t that thoughtful of those children!” said Mrs. Gallagher. With a happy smile on her face she taped the fourth note to her bay window. The next day when the children came, she was standing near the window waiting and watching.
She opened the front door to greet them. Three-year-old Jeremy handed her a package with a note on top.
When the children left, Mrs. Gallagher read the note and opened the package.
On the fifth day of Christmas
What did Mrs. Gallagher see?
Five ____________________.
“Just what I love,” said Mrs. Gallagher and she was as happy as could be. “I wonder if the children will come again tomorrow morning,” she said to herself as she taped the fifth note to her bay window.
The children did come the following morning and every morning during the next week to wish Mrs. Gallagher a Merry Christmas. Every afternoon they worked in their kitchen preparing the next day’s note and gift for Mrs. Gallagher. This is what their notes said:
On the sixth day of Christmas
What did Mrs. Gallagher see?
Six ____________________.
On the seventh day of Christmas
What did Mrs. Gallagher see?
Seven ____________________.
On the eighth day of Christmas
What did Mrs. Gallagher see?
Eight ____________________.
On the ninth day of Christmas
What did Mrs. Gallagher see?
Nine ____________________.
On the tenth day of Christmas
What did Mrs. Gallagher see?
Ten ____________________.
On the eleventh day of Christmas
What did Mrs. Gallagher see?
.Eleven ____________________.
Mrs. Gallagher was more excited than ever on Christmas day as she waited and waited at her bay window.
“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Gallagher,” the children called as they climbed up the front steps. Cameron, the smallest child, handed her a package with a note on top.
Mrs. Gallagher smiled with delight and said, “Come in children. I have a Christmas treat for all of you too.”
While the children ate ginger-cream cookies, Mrs. Gallagher sat at her old pump organ and played Christmas songs for them.
“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Gallagher,” the children called out as they waved good-bye and, after they were gone, she read the note and opened the package.
On the twelfth day of Christmas
What did Mrs. Gallagher see?
Twelve ____________________.
On the bottom of the note it read, “P.S., We love you, Mrs. Gallagher!”
“What a happy Christmas this turned out to be,” said Mrs. Gallagher. She taped the note to her bay window beside the others.
She left them there all year. And whenever she was lonely she would stand at her bay window and reread her cheery Christmas messages.

Lucinda looked at the note and shoved it to the bottom of her scripture bag.
“Lucinda has been asked to give a talk in Primary next week,” the note said.
Lucinda did not like giving talks. Standing up at the podium and looking out at all the children seated in the Primary room terrified her. She hated the way her voice shook and sounded so strange over the microphone. Even the little Sunbeams, she thought, did a better job.
Lucinda decided she would not show the note to her mom. If Mom didn’t know about the talk, then next week Lucinda could just tell Sister Fife that she had forgotten to prepare. It sounded like a good plan.
By Friday afternoon, Lucinda really had forgotten about the talk. As she sat in her room enjoying a new art project, she heard the phone ring. A few minutes later, Mom poked her head into Lucinda’s room.
“Lucinda, that was Sister Fife reminding you that you were asked to give a talk on Sunday.”
Lucinda flopped down on her bed. “I don’t want to give a talk,” she grumbled.
“But you always prepare such nice lessons for family home evening,” Mom said.
“But that’s with our family,” Lucinda said. “This is different. I get so scared speaking in front of everyone.”
“Heavenly Father will help you,” Mom said.
“But I’m still scared.”
“Well, if you really don’t want to do it, you’d better call Sister Fife and let her know,” Mom said.
Lucinda buried her face in her pillow. She was too shy to call the Primary president. That would be as scary as giving the talk. There was nothing else Lucinda could do. She got up and started writing.
All through church on Sunday, Lucinda worried about her talk. Every time she thought about it her stomach tightened and her heart started beating faster. Soon, she was sitting up front in the Primary room for Primary closing exercises.
Sister Fife called her name, and Lucinda walked to the microphone. She placed her talk on the podium and saw all the children and teachers. Lucinda’s hands shook. She said a silent prayer and opened her mouth, but the words just wouldn’t come out. Lucinda didn’t know what to do. She stood there, staring down at her paper.
It got very quiet in the room. It seemed like a long time went by, and Lucinda was frozen with fear. Then she took a deep breath and started to speak. The words of her talk began rushing out. Before she knew what had happened, it was over.
As Lucinda sat down, a warm feeling spread through her chest. She knew that Heavenly Father had helped her. And if He could help her get through a talk, He could help her get through anything.

You will find examples of them around the world—like Lisa. Lisa, age eleven, lives in England. She came home from school one day feeling very excited. She had been asked to read a part in the school devotional assembly the following morning. She said to her mother, “But some of the words are wrong.” Her mother discovered that one paragraph referred to God and the Holy Ghost as being one and the same person. Lisa and her mother decided to write a letter to Lisa’s teacher explaining that this paragraph was contrary to Lisa’s belief, and that she would feel much happier leaving it out.
The next afternoon her mother waited anxiously for Lisa to return home from school. She came home with a big, bright smile on her face. Not only had the teacher let her leave the paragraph out, but she had asked for more information about the Church. In addition, the teacher asked Lisa to present an assembly about the Church. All this came about because Lisa lived up to the covenant she had made and was willing to witness to the world her own beliefs.

Sara quietly climbed into her family’s car after church. She sighed and leaned her head against the window.
“Why are you so sad?” Mom asked.
“Today in Primary Jonathon gave a talk about families. He talked about his grandma and the things they do when they are together. It made me think of Grandma and how much I miss her.”
“I miss her too,” Mom said.
“I know that I’ll see her again someday,” Sara said, “but right now I miss her so much. I wish I could still do things with her.”
As they walked into the house, Mom put her arm around Sara and said, “Wait in the living room. I have something to give you.”
Sara was very curious.
Mom came into the room carrying a sack. Sitting on the couch next to Sara, Mom reached inside the sack and pulled out a small wooden box. She put it on Sara’s lap.
“What’s this?” Sara asked.
“It’s a memory box,” Mom said.
Sara opened the box, but there was nothing inside.
“One thing that helps me feel better when I am missing Grandma is to think about all the special things I did with her,” Mom said. “Why don’t you see if you can find things to put into the memory box that remind you of her? When you’re feeling sad, you can open the box and remember some of the wonderful things about her. You’ll still miss her, but maybe it will help.”
Sara took the box to her bedroom. She started to remember special things about Grandma. She spent much of the evening gathering things for her box.
The next morning at breakfast, Sara asked Dad if she could share something during family home evening that night.
“Definitely,” Dad said. “What do you want to share?”
“You’ll have to wait and see,” Sara said, smiling.
That night, during family home evening, Sara stood up. Holding the box, she said, “This is my memory box.”
“What’s inside?” Eric asked.
Sara lifted the lid of the box. She pulled out a small flower called a snapdragon. “When I was at Grandma’s house last summer, she picked a bouquet of snapdragons from her garden. With one of the flowers, she made the snapdragon tell me a story.”
“How can a snapdragon tell a story?” Susan asked.
“Like this.” Sara pinched the edges of the flower together. Each time she did, the flower petals opened and closed like a mouth.
“When I was a little girl, Grandma used to tell me snapdragon stories too,” Mom said.
“What else is in the box?” Dad asked.
Sara pulled out a cupcake wrapper. “Grandma made the best cupcakes.”
“I loved her chocolate ones,” Eric said.
Next Sara pulled out a penny. “Grandma told me to be sure to pay my tithing—even if it is only a penny.”
Sara pulled out one thing after another. At last she took out a piece of paper with music on it. “I love that Grandma liked to sing as she worked. This is her favorite song. Can we sing it now, Mom?”
“Absolutely,” Mom said.
Sara smiled as her family sang “Families Can Be Together Forever.”
That night Sara placed the memory box on her bookshelf. Even though she missed Grandma, she was happy to have so many memories of her. Sara’s happy memories would keep her from being sad until she could be with Grandma again.

Dawn turned the sky a rosy red above the Idaho mountains as Toby helped Pa load the last of the wheat into the wagon. There was still room for Ma’s crocks of butter and the small basket of eggs packed in straw. Pa shook his head as he limped around the side of the wagon and pulled the canvas tarp down tightly over the load.
“I was counting on our winter wheat to make the mortgage payment,” Pa told Toby. “But since that storm ruined most of the crop, I hope that the cow will bring enough to keep the bank happy.” Pa tied down the tarp and added, “I know that you wanted to come along, Toby, but somebody has to stay home and tend the stock. Maybe your ma can trade her butter and eggs for a few supplies and enough material to make you a new shirt.”
Toby swallowed hard, and vigorously scratched Shep’s ears to hide his disappointment. The dog wagged his tail and followed Toby and Pa as they walked back to the cabin for breakfast.
When the meal was over, Pa led the brindled cow from the barn and tied her to the back of the wagon. Ma stopped and stroked the cow.
“Now that her calf is weaned, I’ve been hoping to sell her milk and butter to the miners.” Ma sighed and climbed aboard the wagon. “Mr. Pauley says that they’ve been asking for fresh milk and eggs and butter.”
“We’ll be home around nightfall,” Pa said to Toby, picking up the reins. “You take good care of things while we’re gone.”
“And see to it that my hens are safe,” Ma cautioned. “We need what few eggs they lay to get us through till the crops are harvested.”
Toby hung his head and dug his toe into the dirt, remembering that the fix they were in with the hens was partly his fault. It was his job each evening to close the little door that the chickens used to go into and out of the coop. But one night last month there had been a terrible thunderstorm, and he’d been too scared to go out and close the door. That night a fox had gotten into the coop and killed half the flock. Worst of all, it had carried off Biddie, Ma’s only setting hen, before Pa could run him off. Now there were only four hens and a rooster left.
“Don’t worry, Ma. I’ll take good care of the chickens,” Toby promised as he waved good-bye to them. Slowly the wagon disappeared around the bend at the edge of the clearing.
Toby went to the barn to feed the calf and pigs; then he fed the chickens. It was past noon before he finished the list of other chores that Ma and Pa had left for him. He made himself a sandwich and sat out on the porch in the sun while he ate. Shep sat down beside him, hoping for a piece of crust.
“We have time to go fishing before evening chores,” Toby told Shep. “We’ll surprise Ma and catch her a nice mess of trout for supper.” He tossed Shep the last bite of his sandwich and got his fishing pole from the barn.
With Shep at his heels, Toby was halfway across the clearing before he remembered the chickens. He stopped and looked back. The hens were pecking contentedly around the barnyard. “I guess no old fox is going to bother them while we’re gone,” he told the dog. Shep wagged his tail and plodded along beside Toby as they went down the path to the fishing hole.
Toby settled himself on the bank of the creek and dropped his line into the water. “I bet we catch a big one,” he said. But Shep just turned and wandered off through the bushes along the creek.
Toby pushed his hat back and leaned back on his elbows to look up at the blue, cloudless sky. He watched a black speck grow bigger and take shape. The bird glided gracefully through the air on motionless wings. An eagle, Toby thought idly. He watched and admired the bird as it made wide, lazy circles overhead. Suddenly Toby sat straight up. “That’s not an eagle,” he said aloud. “That’s a chicken hawk after Ma’s hens!” Toby dropped the fishing pole and took off running. He didn’t even wait to call Shep. He pounded up the path from the creek. The chickens were squawking fearfully by the time he burst into the clearing.
The hawk swooped down, just missing a red hen. Still too far away to scare away the hawk, Toby prayed, “Please, Heavenly Father, help me to get there in time.” Still running, he scooped up a handful of stones. “Get out of here, you old hawk!” he yelled, peppering the air with stones. The hawk gave a startled cry and excitedly flapped its wings. It screamed its anger as it swooped down one last time, then flew away.
By the time Toby reached the barnyard, all the hens had disappeared. Only the bedraggled rooster was hiding in the chicken coop. Toby sat down on the chopping block and held his head in his hands. “Now I’ve lost all the hens. What will we do without eggs?”
Just then a speckled hen stepped cautiously from the bushes. She took several jerky steps, then ran for the chicken coop. Toby rushed to close the little door behind her.
The rest of the hens must be out there, too, he thought. Maybe I can find them all before Ma comes home. He ran to the barn for a burlap sack to drop over the chickens in case they were still too excited to be caught with his hands.
By sundown Toby had found all but the red hen. He circled deeper into the woods, hoping to drive her into the clearing. It had grown almost dark under the trees. If the hen were still there, she would be roosting by now. Toby peered into the lower branches of the trees and under the bushes, watching for her dark shape. He saw nothing at first, then just ahead in a patch of tall grass, he saw several birds.
They must be quail or grouse, Toby thought as he crept closer. If I can catch them for Ma, it will make up a little for losing the hen. Toby took off his hat and sneaked up on the birds. As he slipped his hat over the first bird, he was startled to see that it was a hen with eight half-grown chicks. Slipping the hen from his hat into the burlap sack, he reached for one of her chicks.
It was fully dark when Ma and Pa came home. Toby grabbed his lantern and rushed from the cabin to meet them. “You brought the cow back!” he cried. “I thought that you were going to sell her.”
Ma smiled and climbed down from the wagon before Pa drove the team into the barn. “Pa got a hauling job up at the mine. It’s only two days a week, but it will pay enough to make the mortgage payment. Did you close the chicken coop?”
“Yes, Ma, but you’d better come have a look at the hens.” On the way to the chicken coop he told her about the hawk. Inside he held his lantern high and moved toward the roost.
“My goodness!” Ma cried. “Where did all these chickens come from?”
Toby grinned. “It’s Biddie’s brood, Ma. See—there’s Biddie too. I found them roosting in the woods while I was searching for the red hen. The young ones will soon be laying size, Ma. You can sell eggs to the miners after all. I’m just sorry that I never found the red hen.”
“That’s all right Toby. You did the best that you could, and I’m very proud of you.”
Toby and Ma both turned when they heard scratching noises at the coop door. Toby cautiously opened the door, then stood back as the lost red hen jerk-stepped into the coop.
Ma put her arms around Toby and hugged him tightly. “Heavenly Father certainly has been watching over us this day. With His help we’re going to make it just fine.”

Ryan Periga was grinning as he walked to the front of the classroom. Ryan was the president of our deacons quorum, and it was his turn to present our priesthood lesson.
“We’re going to do something a little different today,” he announced, holding out a box with a picture of Snoopy on the front. “I brought a jigsaw puzzle, and Brother Warner said we could spend a few minutes putting it together.”
He opened the box and spilled the contents out on the floor. He dropped to his knees and looked around. “Well, don’t just sit there,” he said. “Give me a hand!”
He didn’t have to ask twice. We were typical 12- and 13-year-old boys, and we were always anxious for something to do. Even if it meant working on a child’s jigsaw puzzle.
“Find all the edges first,” one jigsaw expert suggested as he sorted through the pieces.
“And the corners,” another deacon advised.
“Look, here’s part of his nose.”
“Yeah, and here’s a piece of his tail. Put it over there.”
According to the box, the puzzle was designed for three- and four-year-old children. It only contained about 30 large pieces, so it wasn’t long before we had the whole thing finished. The only problem was that one large piece was missing, right in the middle.
“Way to go, Ryan,” someone protested. “You brought a defective puzzle!”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Ryan said, eyeing the finished product. “It doesn’t look that bad.”
“What are you talking about?” someone asked. “It looks dumb.”
“Why?”
“ ’Cause it’s not all there!”
Ryan tried to look surprised. “Is that important?”
“Of course, it’s important! You can’t have a puzzle without all the pieces.”
Ryan grinned slyly: he had us right where he wanted us. He pointed toward the one empty chair in the room. “You might have noticed that Kevin hasn’t been to priesthood meeting for a while. So in a way, we’re just like this puzzle. We’re not complete. Without Kevin we’re not a whole quorum.”
Ryan had made his point. He’d taught his lesson so well that each of us understood it perfectly. And we spent the next several minutes discussing ways to bring Kevin back into the quorum.
You’ve probably had lessons on things like quorum unity before. So have I. But I’ve never seen anyone make the point quite as well as Ryan did. He focused our attention on the problem in a way that we all understood its significance.
Ryan’s lesson was effective because he didn’t just talk about quorums. He talked about our quorum. He didn’t simply talk about activating people. He talked about helping Kevin. Quorum unity was suddenly something each of us could relate to.
Ryan’s lesson is a good example. While we were busy working on the puzzle, we had no idea there was a point to what we were doing. But we were all involved; everyone was participating. And when the time came for Ryan to make his point we were more receptive to it.

Finally, here is one last special experience. For the last few months I have struggled with my 15-year-old son, Andy, to keep him practicing the piano. He made the choice to play some years ago, and I feel within my heart that he should continue. My stock remarks have included, “Someday you’ll be grateful I kept you at it. Someday you’ll have to play while on your mission or elsewhere.” How excited I was this evening when my husband picked up the June 1983 New Era and, after scanning it briefly, called our son to him and began reading aloud. All six of our children listened intently as he, with a cracking voice, read Alma J. Yates’s “A Hymn for Guaymas.” In it, Elder Richards’s curse—his mother’s insistence that he practice the piano daily—became a blessing when he was pressed into playing in that little branch.
Our son Andy is saving diligently for his stereo—and his mission. Tonight as his dad walked in to go to bed, Andy quickly found the first hymn Elder Richards had played, “Ere You Left Your Room This Morning,” and tried it himself. Thanks for the lesson I’ve been trying so hard to teach. It was perfect. Keep up your great work. The New Era is fantastic!
Jan YorkWarsaw, Indiana

Contrast that to the scene which I viewed in Munich, Germany, many years ago. It was a Sunday morning, and we were en route to a missionary conference. As I looked out the window of the mission president’s automobile, I saw a shepherd with a staff in his hand, leading the sheep. They followed him wherever he went. If he moved to the left, they followed him to the left. If he moved to the right, they followed him in that direction. I made the comparison between the true shepherd who led his sheep and the sheepherder who rode casually behind his sheep.

New Era: Speaking of losses, when you have a real setback, like an interception, how do you keep from losing concentration or becoming discouraged?
Gifford: You’ve got to develop emotional stability. I went through some adverse situations in my high school career, and I would leave the field kicking my helmet and making an idiot of myself. At that time I decided that if I was going to participate in athletics, I would have to control my emotions. I couldn’t let athletics control me, and at that time athletics were controlling me. I said to myself, “Look, the main goal in this life is to gain eternal life, and nothing else is really vital. Having those kinds of eternal feelings really helps. I had an interview down in Florida, and one guy said, “I don’t see how your church helps you in athletics.” I said, “Well, I’ll tell you something. It just gives me a purpose in life. The most important thing in my life is to prove myself and return to my Father in heaven. The Church gives me an eternal perspective of the reason why I’m playing football. Football is a very big part of my life, but it’s not the most important thing in my life.” I think if you look at sports in that light, it will really help you in adverse situations.

One of Ida’s friends, whose contributions were of major significance not only in the cultural arts but in the ecclesiastical and political affairs as well, was Mary Jane Robinson West. 15

Mary Jane’s mother was a woman of refinement and culture and had been brought up in a wealthy Southern family. She took pains to pass on this heritage to Mary Jane, who loved books and became a fine actress, speaker, and dancer. Her dance instructor was John A. West, whom Mary Jane married when she was not quite seventeen. Shortly after their marriage John was called on a mission to Hawaii, so Mary enrolled as a student in a private school. Four sons were born in the six years after her husband’s return. At that point John was called to return to Hawaii, during which time Mary Jane supported her family by teaching school. In a gesture that would seem insanity to many people, while John was in Salt Lake City preparing for his mission, he purchased an organ and sent it to Mary Jane in Parowan with an accompanying letter saying he had also arranged for Professor Thomas Durham of Parowan to give Mary Jane instruction in how to play the instrument. Mary Jane did learn to play, and the family had a full repertoire by the time John completed his mission.

John and Mary Jane were called to go to Arizona in 1879. They left in November, reached Snowflake in February, and as a symbolic gesture, Mary Jane had the boys lay strips of carpet in their tent as soon as it was pitched and set the organ down on the carpet. Then all the family joined in singing “Home Sweet Home.” Four more children were born to Mary Jane in Arizona—two of them girls to go along with the eight boys. In addition, for many years Mary Jane also looked after her widower brother Solomon and his many children.

In 1892 Elder Karl G. Maeser, Church commissioner of education, went to Snowflake to open a Church academy. As president of the ward Relief Society, a position she held for fourteen years, Mary Jane led a movement to make the academy possible. The sisters loaned their Relief Society hall for a classroom and saved their Sunday eggs to sell in Fort Apache for funds to assist in the building. Old-timers suggest that the sisters are the ones who really made Snowflake Academy possible.

In the 1890s Carrie Chapman Catt of the National Woman Suffrage Association came to ask Sister West if she would accept the county chairmanship of the Woman Suffrage movement. Upon consultation with ecclesiastical authorities, she accepted the appointment and took a lead in the territorial suffrage movement. Her sister Relief Society officers in Salt Lake City, Eliza R. Snow, Susa Young Gates, Sarah Kimball, and others, had led the movement in Utah, in which territory the women were the first in the nation to exercise the franchise.16 For a number of years Mary Jane wrote a regular column for the monthly Relief Society paper, The Pearl, proclaiming women’s rights and opportunities. After her release from her civic positions and an extended visit in Salt Lake City, Mary Jane returned to Snowflake to become stake Relief Society president, a position she held for seven years.

Riiiing!
Tony grinned as he stood up from his desk. It was finally time for recess!
Other kids ran past him toward the playground, but Tony hung back. He was waiting for Sean. Sean was new to Tony’s class. Maybe they could play together.
“Hey, Sean!” Tony said. “Do you like basketball?”
“Like it? I love it!” Sean said.
“Awesome.” Tony grinned. “Come on. Let’s play!”
Tony and Sean spent the whole recess dribbling, passing, and shooting hoops.
“That was fun!” Tony said as they walked back into the classroom. “You’re really good.”
“Thanks,” Sean said. “It’s fun to play with someone who likes basketball as much as I do!”
Every day after that, Tony and Sean played basketball together at recess. They practiced different plays they made up and perfected their dribbling. Tony loved the swoosh the basket made when the ball fell through the net.
“Here you go!” Tony called. He passed Sean the ball. Sean caught it and jumped to score. Tony noticed a flap hanging down from one of Sean’s shoes.
The basketball bounced off the rim of the hoop. “Oh, almost,” Tony said. “Good try!”
“Thanks,” Sean said. “I think I could play a little better if it weren’t for my shoes.” He laughed as he lifted up his shoe for Tony to see. “I’m going to get some new ones as soon as my dad finds a new job.”
Tony smiled. “But if you get new shoes, you’ll beat me every time!” he teased. “I won’t stand a chance!”
As Tony walked home from school that afternoon, he thought about Sean walking home with a shoe that was falling apart. Tony knew it wouldn’t only be hard to play basketball in those shoes. With the weather changing, Sean’s feet would be cold! Tony wondered if there was something he could do to help.
“Ready for bed?” Dad asked Tony later that night.
“Yeah,” Tony said. “I was just thinking. You know my friend Sean, who I play basketball with at recess? His shoes are wearing out. He needs to wait until his dad gets a job before he can get some new ones. I’d really like to help him out somehow.”
“That’s a great idea,” Dad said. “Why don’t we say a prayer? I know Heavenly Father will help you know what you can do.”
Tony nodded and knelt down with Dad to pray.
The next morning as Tony was getting ready for school, he noticed something in his closet. It was a pair of extra tennis shoes from his older brother! Tony hadn’t worn them yet because they were still a little too big. He had forgotten all about them!
I wonder if these will fit Sean, Tony thought. He put the shoes in his backpack, zipped it up, and hurried off to school.
“Hey.” Tony walked up to Sean and held up the shoes. ”I found these in my closet. They don’t fit me, and I wondered if they might fit you.”
“Wow. Thanks so much!” Sean slipped them on and tied the laces. “They fit great!”
Tony felt happy. He knew Heavenly Father had heard his prayer to know how to help his new friend. “Race you to the basketball court!”

“That was a very busy time for both of us, but I remember how one day we were out fishing not far from here. I knew that Nate and his wife were having some troubles then, though I didn’t understand all the circumstances and everything. Eventually we started talking about it. I told him that I thought he was risking a lot for this religion, with his marriage and all. He nodded, said he knew that. So then I asked him straight out why he was doing it. He was really quiet for a minute, and then he said, ‘Jack, do you remember those nights out on the trail when we slept under the stars?’
“We used to stay awake for hours talking about God and life and what we were supposed to be doing with our time. We put a lot of thought into it, but never got very far. Anyway, Nate told me, ‘I finally found answers for those questions we always wondered about.’ Sometimes Nate had told me that he was afraid of being alone. He was afraid that one day his friends and family would all be gone, and he’d be alone. But now he said that he knew that God knew and loved him. He said that God would help him in his hard times, that he was helping him right then.
“I remember being amazed at the excitement and passion he spoke with. He was a changed man, and there was something in his voice that gave me hope.”
Jack paused. A placid thoughtfulness had settled over his face. “Now, I didn’t understand everything he told me right then, and it was actually a long time before I did, but by the time he finished speaking I had this beautiful, peaceful feeling that made me want to believe everything he’d said. I never doubted Nate after that.” Jack looked at the engine, then handed Tim the wrench. “I think we’re done.”

President Brigham Young once remarked that the Spirit of the Lord would do more to convert people than the eloquence of man. The same is true of singing. It is not always the ability that a missionary has to sing in a creditable and entertaining way that will aid him most in his missionary work; but on the contrary, if he can sing some of our beautiful hymns with the spirit in which they were written, he will be able to carry conviction to the hearts of his hearers as to the truths of the gospel. As an example of this: Elders J. Golden Kimball and Charles A. Welch, neither of whom claim to sing well, while on a mission in the southern states, were about to baptize some converts; a mob had assembled, and the brethren were given to understand that if they carried out their intentions of baptizing, the mob would throw them into the river. The brethren determined to go ahead no matter what the result might be. Before doing so, however, they sang a song. The song seemed to have such an effect upon the mob that they were almost transfixed. The brethren proceeded with their baptisms, and then went some distance to attend to confirming the baptized. A message came from the mob asking them to come and sing that song again, and the request was complied with. The leader of the mob, Joseph Jarvis, afterwards joined the Church, and he stated to Elder Kimball that the sentiments of the hymn and the inspiration attending the singing converted him to the gospel. …

The Lord says in a revelation given to Emma Smith, the wife of the Prophet: “For my soul delighteth in the song of the heart; yea, the song of the righteous is a prayer unto me, and it shall be answered with a blessing upon their heads” (D&C 25:12).
My soul has always delighted in listening to singing, having been passionately fond of it all my life, and I am delighted to be able today to pray unto the Lord “in the songs of the heart.” It is my opinion that if we will all remember the words of the Lord, that the song of the righteous is a prayer unto Him and shall be answered with a blessing upon our heads, and will frequently supplicate our Heavenly Father in the sweet songs of Zion, earnestly and honestly echoing in our hearts the sentiments of our beautiful hymns, that we are bound to have the promised blessings. …
I am confident that the hymns of Zion, when sung with the proper spirit, bring a peaceful and heavenly influence into our homes and also aid in preaching the gospel of Jesus Christ. I recommend to the youth of Zion, that they go to work with determination and learn to sing; particularly is this recommendation made to the young men, because, next to a familiarity with the scriptures, the ability to sing will assist them when they are called to the nations of the earth to preach the gospel. …
I have learned to sing; you can do the same; will you make the effort?

“But you’re never a stranger to other members of the Church,” said Kerri Wade, 14, Mia Maid first counselor in the Sapulpa Ward. “That’s one of the neat things about being a member. You can instantly share some common feelings.”

She told about being the only Latter-day Saint in a private school run by another church.

“Some of the kids were talking about football, and they mentioned Brigham Young University. Then one of them turned to me and said, ‘Those Mormons are all so weird.’ I asked him if he had ever met one. He said no. And I said, ‘You’ve met one now!’ I think it shocked him.

“Another guy kept staring at me the whole year long, like I should look funny or act funny. We got to be pretty good friends after a while. Finally, the last day of class, he said, ‘Know what? Ya’ll are just ordinary people.’ That was really nice.

“My bishop said that I’m an example 24 hours a day. If I do something wrong, others may judge the Church by me. I have to be careful, which is good, because I should be careful anyway.”

And I remember hearing in New Zealand many years ago the testimony of a man from the far side of Australia who, having been previously sealed by civil authority and then joined the Church with his wife and children, had traveled all the way across that wide continent, then across the Tasman Sea to Auckland, and down to the temple in the beautiful valley of the Waikato. As I remember his words, he said, “We could not afford to come. Our worldly possessions consisted of an old car, our furniture, and our dishes. I said to my family, ‘We cannot afford to go.’ Then I looked into the faces of my beautiful wife and our beautiful children, and I said, ‘We cannot afford not to go. If the Lord will give me strength, I can work and earn enough for another car and furniture and dishes, but if I should lose these my loved ones, I would be poor indeed in both life and in eternity.’”

Katy skipped along the sidewalk toward the big oak tree at the corner of her street. The old tree made Nana’s house easy to find.
As usual, Nana was sitting in her living room, quietly braiding and sewing strips of bright cloth. The polished wooden floors of Nana’s house were decorated with beautiful rugs that Nana made herself.
“Hello, honey,” Nana said as Katy came in. Soon they were talking about what Nana called the “old days.” They looked at black-and-white photos together. Katy especially liked seeing the clothes and hairstyles her relatives wore when they were younger.
“Things were very different then,” Nana said with a sigh. “You know, we didn’t have cars or TV or cell phones.”
Katy couldn’t even imagine having to walk everywhere. “What did you do for fun, Nana?” Katy asked.
“We loved to sing together. We would gather around the piano in the evening and sing our favorite songs. Sometimes we’d sing ourselves hoarse! It was such a fun time.”
Nana looked off into the yard as if she could rewind the years and watch them over again.
Katy sat next to the coiled rug that spilled off of Nana’s lap. She traced the careful stitches with her fingers.
“I’ve been thinking,” Nana said slowly. “How would you like to make your very own braided rug?”
Katy jumped up and clapped her hands.
“I would love to, Nana! Can we start today?”
Nana chuckled. “Well, there’s something you need to do first. Go home and gather up old clothes that we can cut into strips.”
Her eyes twinkled as she leaned toward Katy, her voice quiet as if she were sharing a secret.
“That’s what makes the rug special. Because it’s made of clothes, the rug can tell the story of your life. Each braid is like a chapter in a book about you. Looking at the fabric of an old dress can help you remember the places you wore it and what you did when you had it on.”
Katy’s eyes widened. She pointed to the rug Nana was braiding.
“Do you remember all about the cloth in this rug?”
Nana smiled. “You bet I do! This red piece is from the dress I wore when you were born. I remember pressing my nose to the glass window in the nursery to get a closer look at you. You were still all pink and wrinkly.”
Katy and Nana laughed together as Nana continued to tell Katy stories from the rug. As soon as Katy got home that night, she and Mama set aside old clothes that Katy could use for her rug.
The next day, Katy took the cloth to Nana’s house. Nana showed Katy how to cut the fabric into long strips, braid them, and sew the braids together.
Every day after school Katy went to work on the rug at Nana’s house.
Little by little, the rug grew. As the days went by Katy learned many of Nana’s stories by heart. Some days she was the one who told stories to Nana.
One day, after adding a blue strip of cloth that used to be a favorite pair of jeans, Katy rubbed the palm of her hand against the colorful braids.
“Don’t you think that rug is about done?” Nana asked, looking up from her work.
“Not yet,” Katy said with a smile. She never wanted this time with Nana to end.

Most 11-year-olds are already busy with school, household chores, and activities with friends. But Alexandra C., from the state of Durango, Mexico, wasn’t a typical 11-year-old. In addition to all the normal things young people do at that age, Alexandra was making money from her own business and serving in her community.

So how does a girl that young start her own company?

It began when Alexandra heard of some classes the Church offers to help people learn to be self-reliant. The group was mainly for people 18 and older, but Alexandra was determined to join. She loved the idea of learning how to get a job or start her own business.

Could it be that she, a girl still in elementary school, might not only shape her own future but also help people who had even less than she did? After all, many of the Church members she knew from her town had little education and few resources.

Alexandra joined a group called “Starting and Growing My Business,” one of three subjects offered. Rather than being taught by a teacher, the group was led by a facilitator—a fellow group member who guides the other members through the course and encourages discussion. Alexandra met with her group every week for three months.

Photographs courtesy of Alexandra C.

As Alexandra learned how to be both temporally and spiritually self-reliant, she began to look around at the needs in her area. She noticed that there weren’t enough recreational activities for all the kids in her town, so she saved up money and bought a small trampoline. Alexandra put the trampoline in a public area and started renting it out, using ideas she’d learned about marketing and finance in her course.

The trampoline became very popular in her community.

Alexandra started using her skills in other ways too. Because she’d shown great respect for all her group members and had followed through on all her commitments, Alexandra was trusted to facilitate a new group—a position normally held by people 18 or older.

When Alexandra became a facilitator, she was by far the youngest of the six participants in her group. She carefully studied the materials before each group meeting so she’d know how to best help her fellow group members. She took her new role seriously. “She would get anxious when her group didn’t arrive on time or when the video equipment didn’t work,” said her father, David.

Alexandra learned to balance homework, the trampoline business, and her facilitator role exceptionally well. And she thinks it was well worth it. “God blessed me when He made me a facilitator,” she said. For her, one blessing was to learn about loving those you serve.

That love led her to reach out to her group with a real desire for them to succeed. For instance, each time they met, group members made weekly commitments to apply what they studied to their businesses and then teach their families the gospel principles they’d learned. When participants in Alexandra’s group didn’t reach their goals or missed a class, she’d visit them in their homes to see if they were all right and to encourage them to fulfill their commitments. “I loved visiting my group members,” she said.

Alexandra’s dad added, “I marvel to see how my little daughter could feel so strongly about the well-being of those in need. She has great compassion for those she serves.”

Now a Beehive in Young Women, Alexandra has plans to expand her trampoline business to a nearby community. By learning to be more self-reliant and helping others do the same, she said she’s already started to see changes in herself and her new friends in her group. “My testimony of Christ has grown,” Alexandra said. “I feel more sure of myself, and I want to serve.”

Alexandra said that because of this training course, she’s more aware of who she really is and how she can serve. “I learned I could improve myself. And I loved to see all of the group members improving. I know they’ll be better off now; their businesses will improve. I know that the self-reliance training was revelation from God.”

For Alexandra, her testimony, self-worth, and service to others have definitely been things worth working for.