Gospel Story Finder

My wife, Wendy, experienced this difficult situation. For years she had nearly exhausted herself, thinking she had to be the perfect wife and mother, the perfect Church member, the perfect neighbor and citizen. Instead of feeling joy, she often felt overwhelmed and discouraged. Her frustration was further exacerbated when well-intentioned leaders and friends seemed to indicate that if she had enough faith, she would be able to accomplish all these things. Only after a personal crisis of depression and anxiety was she able to understand fully the source of her suffering. It was a painful time not only for her but for our entire family. We have grown stronger and learned many lessons as a result. But perhaps we could have been spared much of the pain if we had more clearly perceived the need to maintain temporal and spiritual balance.
While my wife was struggling to escape from the cycle of faithful works followed by frustration and discouragement, the Spirit of the Lord whispered to her that what she was demanding of herself was not pleasing to the Lord because she was not allowing the Atonement to operate fully in her life. It is not a sign of weakness to avail ourselves of the Atonement. Rather, it shows courage, faith, and gratitude. The Atonement allows us not only to repent of sin but also to receive an outpouring of the Savior’s grace, which strengthens us when we simply do not have the power to overcome our human weaknesses. It allows the Savior to share our burdens and compensate for our many inadequacies (see Matt. 11:28–30; Ether 12:27).

I recall in my own ministry joining with members of the Holladay Seventh Ward in the spring of 1956 as we gathered on the hillside near Mount Olympus. Under the direction of our stake president, G. Carlos Smith, we broke ground for the construction of a new ward building. At the time the ward was created, we had a total of 373 members. As I recall, more than half of them were under the age of twelve. I served as second counselor to Bishop William Partridge. Under his leadership this little band of people proceeded immediately to build a three-phase ward building.
The ward was divided in 1958, and I was named bishop of the Holladay Twelfth Ward. In those days, local members paid 50 percent of the cost of constructing a building. One of the most important leadership experiences in my life came several weeks before the announced dedication of the building. Our ward of young families, who were struggling to make ends meet, needed to raise the final $30,000 required to pay our share of the cost. I fasted and prayed, asking for help from Heavenly Father to know what I should say to our ward members regarding this obligation. We already had pressed them very hard, and they had willingly contributed money and personal labor beyond anything I believed possible. But still we needed to raise the last $30,000.
As the brethren gathered for priesthood meeting, I was impressed to read to them the testimony my Grandfather Ballard bore to the First Presidency and the Council of the Twelve on January 7, 1919, the day he was ordained an Apostle. I quote just a small portion of his testimony.
The Spirit of the Lord touched our hearts. Very little else was said because this small group of faithful people also knew in their own way that Jesus Christ is the Son of God and that He is our Savior and our Redeemer. We all knew that with greater faith in Him, we could reach our goal. During that same day, family after family came to my office with money, making personal sacrifices that were far beyond what I, the bishop, would ever have asked of them. By eight o’clock Sunday evening, the ward clerk had written receipts for a little more than $30,000.
Sacrifice truly brought forth the blessings of heaven to the members of our ward. Never have I lived among people who were more united, more caring, more concerned for one another than these ward members were when making their greatest sacrifice. In the midst of this effort, the sick of our ward were healed through priesthood blessings. The youth committed to live righteously. The young men set their goals to be fully worthy to serve missions, and most of them did; and the young women resolved to settle for nothing but a worthy temple marriage. Sisters of the Relief Society found great joy in rendering compassionate service to others, and home teaching and visiting teaching were completed every month in the spirit of joy and service. In the midst of our greatest sacrifice, our ward members became bonded together in the true spirit of the gospel of love and service.

When she was younger, Céline would go to summer camp, as most French children do. “They would offer a week of training in first aid, and I would always sign up,” she remembers. The classes were usually held at the local Red Cross. “At the end of the course, the monitors would always ask if anyone would like to attend some Red Cross meetings and see a little bit how it works,” Céline continues. “So I went for about two months to see what it was like, and I joined. I started getting more and more training and passing more and more tests.”

Now she’s as qualified in first aid as the sapeurs-pompiers, firefighters the French call when there’s an emergency.

“My desire from the first was to be able to help other people, to bless Heavenly Father’s children, to be prepared in case of an accident,” Céline says. Her Personal Progress program helped her refine that desire. “I set the goal to learn first aid before I turned 19,” she says. She met her goal and found she wanted to share what she was learning.

“I didn’t think of it as a talent until I got into it and saw that it comes quite naturally to me,” she continues. “Before, I had asked myself, ‘What can I do to help others?’ For me, first aid is a way of doing that.”

Not only does she help by being trained herself; she is also training others. She has taught first aid at Mutual activities, youth conferences, and girls’ camps. She also volunteers at a small Red Cross center in the basement of a local housing complex. There she teaches cardiopulmonary resuscitation (CPR), answers the phone, and attends to cuts and bruises of neighborhood children. They come to her as much for a hug as for a bandage.

“I’m in my final year of high school,” Céline says. “And first aid is helpful there, too. Even in school, people fall down, break a bone, or have some kind of sickness. Someone might even have epilepsy and go into a seizure. A lot of people don’t know how to react. But I know what to do. I’ve developed my skills for exactly that reason.”

Through the Red Cross, Céline is also deeply involved in feeding and caring for the homeless. “Government agencies, shelters, churches, and charities often refer people to the Red Cross,” Céline explains. “People who drink too much or have other problems don’t nourish themselves well, and so they often become weak, especially during cold weather. We dress them, nurse them, try to give them another chance.”

That may sound ambitious, but for Céline helping others is more than a desire—it’s a way of life. “They are Heavenly Father’s children,” she says. “That means they’re our brothers and sisters. If we can make an effort to get them back on their feet, we ought to.”

Of course, if there were a major natural disaster—a flood or an earthquake, for example—the Red Cross would be there, too. “Not long ago in Paris, terrorist bombs were exploding,” Céline remembers. “The Red Cross was there, helping take care of those with minor injuries and getting others ready to go to the hospital.”

Doesn’t all that volunteering take a lot of time? “I suppose it does,” Céline says matter-of-factly. She’s busy with Church activities, school assignments, quizzes, finding time for friends—the usual stuff.

“But I would prefer to give up a little of my own time rather than see someone else suffer,” she says. “Besides, it helps me feel useful. I know I’m good for something, that I serve a purpose.”

That’s the real reason why nearly everyone says bonjour when Céline walks down the street. She isn’t a Pied Piper; she’s a people person. She helps children of all ages overcome the skinned knees of life. She’s popular because she cares, because people know of her good works, and because, since all are children of God, she loves everyone. That love, quite clearly, flows back to her.

Major Brazilian cities like São Paulo equal any in the world with their forests of office towers, supermarkets, sophisticated shopping malls, and high-rise apartment complexes. They also have their share of tightly packed shanty communities, called favelas.
Maria Leopoldina do Espírito Santo lives alone at the edge of a favela in a small house made from packing cases and surplus construction material. A few years ago Maria saw another favela resident, Lindy Now, pass by each Sunday. On asking Lindy where she was going, Maria was invited to church. The missionaries visited her, and within two weeks she was baptized.
Maria used to help support herself by doing laundry for members and missionaries. Now, stricken with Parkinson’s disease, she says she gets by “on a small government pension and on the help of friends.” She can’t always make it to the Jardim Das Palmas Ward by herself, “but some of the Relief Society sisters take me by car. I love the hymns, and prayer is a part of my life.”
Born into a nation that has the largest Roman Catholic population in the world, Maria says she was never active in her former religion. “But my testimony of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is strong. I’m going to attend meetings just as long as I can.”

Two years later the Prophet came out of Liberty Jail and planned a winter trip to Washington D.C. to seek federal help for the Latter-day Saints who had lost their homes and property in Missouri. Not far from the nation’s capital, the horses pulling the stagecoach ran out of control of the driver for about four kilometers. Joseph carefully opened the door of the swaying stagecoach, pulled himself up over the side to the driver’s seat, where he got control of the reins and stopped the horses, saving the lives of the passengers. This event was confirmed by a letter of appreciation that appeared in a local newspaper.

“One time I invited a sports club friend to the English class that the missionaries were teaching at the church,” Kosei explains. “He and the missionaries became good friends with each other while he was learning English.”
However, the conversations didn’t stop at English lessons.
“My friend started to think about why these missionaries, who were almost his same age, were doing volunteer work and serving as missionaries in Japan. His next question was to ask what drives missionaries to serve. He’s now heard the missionary lessons and still has a correspondence with missionaries through video chat.”

One wintry day when I was eleven, Dad took me into the foothills between Blackfoot and Idaho Falls, Idaho, to buy a riding horse. We chose a coal-black yearling that fought and reared and was really wild. I was told that when he was roped by the cowboys, it was the first time he had ever been touched by human hands. We named him Champ.
I learned that Champ had royal blood in his veins. His grandfather was Man o’ War, the most famous thoroughbred racehorse of all time. Dad and I trained him patiently, and Champ and I became the best of friends and partners. He was swift and strong, and no local horse ever came close to winning a race with him. As I saw the qualities he had inherited from his famous grandfather, it really made me think about my own potential as a child of God.
In 1948 we moved from Idaho to Moses Lake, Washington. There was nothing beyond our farm for several miles in some directions. Range cattle ruled over the territory they had grazed on for generations. Now we were putting up fences around part of their range and growing lush and tempting alfalfa, potatoes, and corn. Our fences were good, but not always good enough to keep out the white-faced red Herefords.
Champ and I had the job of chasing away the cattle that invaded our fields. Together we learned some tricks of the cowboy’s trade, such as singling out one animal and chasing it from the herd. We developed an extraordinary oneness. Sometimes I would ride without saddle or bridle. But even without harnessing, we were in complete control. Just a touch on his neck would turn him. A shift in my posture would slow him down or speed him up. He was totally obedient, completely responsive.
One Sunday after sacrament meeting, I went out to feed Champ and found him gone. Searching for a black horse at night was not easy, and morning brought no comfort. There was no hungry, thirsty Champ at the corral gate. We searched all over the farm and far beyond with no success.
Heartsick, I asked my cousin Kay Lybbert to lend me a horse and go with me into the wastelands beyond our farm in search of Champ. I had caught glimpses of wild horses in this country, scattered bands of mares and colts led by dominant stallions.
We rode for hours into rocky and treacherous lands. We were tired, hungry, and discouraged and were talking of turning back when we saw a shape on the horizon. We pushed on and finally saw a herd of about fifteen wild horses. They were startled. Their nostrils were wide, pumping cool air into deep lungs. Heads high, tails flying, muscles tensed, they burst away in wild flight. To our amazement and joy, the magnificent Champ was before them all, leading the herd, as wild as the first day I saw him.
I have often thought about that vivid picture. Champ was rightfully mine. We had been the best of companions. He had been disciplined and responsive. But now he was undisciplined, out of control, and determined to stay that way. Though he was the group’s leader, he was really under the control of the wild horses he had chosen to run with.
We were off on a race across wild and rugged lands where a tired horse burdened with a rider could stumble and fall. At stake was Champ’s future.
I doubted our ability to stick with the wild horses, because we had been traveling half a day and they were fresh. But somehow we turned them eastward and stayed close. In time we slid over a steep hill down into Mae Valley within sight of our own fences. The herd soon thundered past our place, the steam from their bodies rising above them in a cloud. With the help of neighbors, we were finally able to channel Champ into our corral, safely behind secure barriers.
Dad was the first to get to Champ. He called him by name and approached gently, moving without disturbing gestures or sounds, easing up to him and putting his arms around the horse’s quivering neck. We were all relieved that this prized animal was back where he belonged once again and where he was loved, protected, and cared for.

I smile a little bit when I hear that now, because there is a fellow about my age that works up at the Church office near me, and he is trying to keep himself physically as well as spiritually fit. So every day he slips over to the Deseret Gym and the other day while he was working out by playing handball—and he is a very vigorous competitor—he reached for a ball that bounced out of the court, trying so hard to recover it that he snapped a hamstring muscle in his right leg. You know that that smarts a little bit.

Grabbing his leg, he hobbled back to the dressing room, showered, and then limped back to Church headquarters in excruciating pain. An elevator arrived, and who but President Kimball should get off? Seeing my friend nursing his limpy leg, he asked, “What’s the matter?”
My friend is kind of quick on the draw, and he replied, “President, I just snapped my hamstring muscle trying to lengthen my stride.” There is a lot to that.

How would you like to read a book called The Boy Who Cried Eggplant? Or how about Grandma Whiskers and Lady Chicken Squeezer? Or Tweedledee, Tweedledum, and Tweedledumber?

These are three of the many homemade books written and illustrated by Dexter and Quinlan Mann (10 and 8) of Winnipeg, Manitoba. All the books are funny, wise, and wildly creative—like the boys who wrote them.

Although Dexter and Quinlan share a whimsical sense of humor, they have different personalities. “Dexter jumps into things and is very outspoken,” Dad explains. “Quinlan is very thoughtful and philosophical.”

Dexter likes helping his mom bake—especially cookies. He also collects rocks, runs cross-country, and plays soccer at recess—even when the playground snow is deep. Quinlan, on the other hand, spent many recesses creating a play for his third-grade classmates to perform. Still, the brothers prefer doing things together. One snowy winter they built a huge snow fort in the front yard. It had several rooms and snow benches for resting.

These funny boys are serious about choosing the right and serving others. When their grandpa had cancer, they not only prayed for his recovery but also rolled up their sleeves and took care of his garden. They grew corn, cucumbers, broccoli, chili peppers, onions, peas, tomatoes, beets, some odd-looking carrots, and three pumpkins destined to become jack-o’-lanterns. The eggplants died, but nobody minded much, because Grandpa lived.

He has promised the boys that as each of them receives his mission call, he will buy them a 10-foot submarine sandwich to share. Now they can’t see a pickle or a slice of bologna without thinking of missionary work. They are already earning money for their missions by delivering flyers. By the time Dexter and Quinlan leave, their younger brothers, Heath (1) and Bailey (3 months) will be old enough to take over the flyer deliveries.

Looking ahead, Dexter announced one day that by the time Heath was old enough to be baptized, he, Dexter, would be a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood and could baptize his little brother. At this point, Quinlan jumped in and said, “Wait a minute. That means that when Bailey is eight, I’ll be old enough to baptize him!”

Mom laughs. “So Daddy has been bumped from the baptismal schedule.” But then she adds seriously, “I love the fact that at the ages of ten and eight they are already planning to be worthy priesthood holders.”

Quinlan and Dexter are the only Latter-day Saints in their school, but that doesn’t keep them from making good friends there. “They both know how to be loyal friends,” their mom says. Both boys are enthusiastic Scouts too. Dexter is a six-star Cub, and Quinlan has already earned four of his six stars. They have both earned their Religion in Life badges.

The Manns live disciplined lives. Quinlan and Dexter do most of their playing and book writing on Friday night and Saturday because weekdays are carefully scheduled. Homework starts right after dinner and is followed by chores. These include emptying the garbage, helping to tend Heath and Bailey, helping Mom with the laundry, and cleaning their rooms.

The boys attend a French-immersion school in which 75 percent of their class work is in French. French and English are the official languages of Canada, and speaking both will help them get good jobs someday.

Although the Mann family are serious about education and the gospel, they are not overly solemn. They are a laughing, game-playing, camping-out family. North of Winnipeg there are huge lakes and vast forests where they often set up their tent. They celebrate major holidays and family milestones at big dinners with their extended families and others who have been generously “adopted.” On Canada Day (July 1), the children bash away at a piñata filled with candy.

What are the boys most thankful for? They give the same answer: their family. “I feel 100 percent good about them all,” Dexter says. He stops and reconsiders. “Sometimes 99 percent,” he admits. He is an honest boy.

In Canada people often take off their shoes when they enter a home because there is so much wet weather outside. But it could also be a reminder that the home is a sacred place where love and laughter make a refuge from the world, a place where a child might feel equally comfortable reading scriptures or writing funny stories. The Mann home is that kind of place.

Looking back to that cold, lonely evening in my tent, I can see now that I was at a hinge point in my young life. When I didn’t get the answer I so desperately desired, would I stay the course? It saddens me to report that from there, I headed down a dim path. Although I managed to graduate from high school and had even been baptized, I spent the next few years stumbling around, feeling lost, and making careless decisions as I struggled to figure out who, or rather, whose, I was.

Luckily, my path crossed that of another wanderer who was going through many similar trials. Despite growing up in the Church, my wife, Tennessa, had experienced heartache in her own life and had fallen away. We were best friends instantaneously, and it wasn’t long before we married and started a family.

As time passed, Tennessa began to realize that we were missing a critical element by not having the gospel in our lives. Recognizing the changes in her as she stepped closer to the Lord inspired me to be a better man. Though the transition was slow, we managed to make small changes over time that turned us away from bad habits and behaviors and helped us align our lives more closely with the teachings of Christ. As we prepared to enter the temple to be sealed for all time and eternity, I decided it was time to get my patriarchal blessing. It had taken me eleven years to get to that point.

The patriarch had no idea about the loneliness I had experienced in my life, nor could he have understood that I was still struggling to make sense of it all. But as he began my blessing, the first words were, “Ryan, the Lord’s eye is upon you. You are not by any means lost to His sight. He has known you from the beginning.”

It wasn’t just hearing those simple words that healed my pain. It was the way the Spirit touched my soul in that precise moment and melted away years of unresolved emotion and doubt. I knew in that instant that I had never been lost to His sight.

I look at our family today and the many ways the Lord has guided our lives. Although we have battled our fair share of ups and downs, I cannot deny that He is there, that He is aware of us, and that He loves us. I echo the words of the prophet Nephi who said, “My God hath been my support; He hath led me through mine afflictions … He hath filled me with His love.” [5]

Sometimes the Lord answers prayers immediately. Sometimes, He answers them 11 years later. And sometimes, we may not recognize an answer in this life.

After the Liberty Jail experience, the Prophet gave fervent public testimony about the Book of Mormon to a congregation of about three thousand in Philadelphia. When Sidney Rigdon, in his remarks on that same occasion, seemed to neglect the Book of Mormon in favor of citing the Bible, Joseph took the pulpit and declared, “If nobody else had the courage to testify of so glorious a message from Heaven, and of the finding of so glorious a record, he felt to do it” (Words, p. 45). The atmosphere, according to one present, was electric.

This is not to say that Joseph had not earlier been clear and declarative regarding the Book of Mormon. For instance, in an 1834 sermon, Joseph observed, “Take away the Book of Mormon and the revelations, and where is our religion?” (Teachings, p. 71).

Recently we read in local newspapers an account of the devastating effects of a fire that completely gutted a low-cost housing apartment. Many people were rushed out into the street for safety. They watched their living quarters and other earthly possessions go up in fire and smoke. One elderly gentleman who had escaped the holocaust was interviewed. When he was asked, “What were you able to save?” he responded with, “Only the things that you see: my clothing.” His next comment was touching and significant. It was simply, “Thank God there were no serious injuries or casualties.”
What did we hear from this tragedy? A voice of gladness from someone who could have been bitter and angry with the situation but chose to share a mature sense of values. He was bigger than that which had happened. He saw beyond the present and gave appreciation and hope for conditions and people in the future.

When Elder Gardner H. Russell was nine years old, he helped build a chapel in his hometown. “Hand-cut stones had been purchased from an old building,” Elder Russell recalled, “and they still had mortar on them. I remember sitting outside in the cold weather, chipping the mortar off the stones so that we could reuse them. After the church was dedicated, I sometimes looked at the walls and thought that I could see some of the stones that I had worked on, and I felt a certain pride of ownership.”

When our twin sons were about five years old, they were just learning to ride their bicycles. As I glanced out the window, I saw them speeding down the sidewalk on their bikes. They were going a little too fast, and all of a sudden Adam had a terrible crash! He was tangled in the wreck, and all I could see was twisted handlebars and tires and arms and legs. His twin, Aaron, saw the whole thing happen, and immediately he skidded to a stop and jumped off his bike. He threw it down and ran to help Adam, whom he loved very much.
These little twins truly were of one heart, so it was painful for Aaron to see Adam crash! Adam had skinned knees, he was bleeding from a head wound, his pride was damaged, and he was crying.
In a fairly gentle, five-year-old way, Aaron helped his brother get untangled from the crash. Aaron checked out Adam’s wounds, and then he did the dearest thing—he picked his brother up and carried him home! Or he tried to. It was not easy because they were the same size, but he tried. He struggled and lifted and half-dragged, half-carried his brother along until they finally reached the front porch. By this time, Adam, the injured one, was no longer crying, but Aaron, the rescuer, was. When asked, “Why are you crying, Aaron?” he said, “Because Adam hurts.”

I remember just after I joined the Church, a great feeling of confidence came over me. I felt that since I had chosen the Lord’s side, he was on my side. Several remarkable things happened, of which I will recount but two.

Although I had never had the courage to stand on my feet and speak in debate, either at high school or college, I found myself asking my branch president if I might give a talk in sacrament meeting. I still have the notes of that very first talk. It was on faith and works.

A few months after my baptism, a golden opportunity presented itself at my place of work, where I was a management trainee. Again, I had that strong feeling of self-assurance, and I received my first promotion, which set my feet on the management ladder. I found that through my Church membership and the faith it engendered, I overcame the fear of taking responsibility.

What of marriage responsibility? Are there some who delay marriage for fear of the responsibility? When my wife and I were married, we had the magnificent sum of 20 English pounds between us. Although young, we felt ready for the challenges and responsibilities that we knew lay ahead. What a glorious experience it has been now for almost 40 years to shoulder responsibility and struggle together in building a happy home and a wonderful family of ten precious children.

From time to time I meet members of the Church who do not feel able to take responsibility as an officer or a teacher in the Church. I tell them of my experience in England. Literally within days of baptism, I was called to head the youth program in the Nottingham Branch. This was completely new to me, and I felt inadeqate, but I knew the Lord had need of me. There were less than 7,000 members in the whole of the British Isles where there are now 40 stakes. We all had to be “anxiously engaged” in the work of saving souls, building the kingdom, and establishing Zion. So it is with all of us. It is futile to fear responsibility when we have been called to serve “by prophecy, and by the laying on of hands by those who are in authority” (A of F 1:5).

Young people desiring to serve missions often face many challenges. This was the case for six missionaries who were not able to attain visas and travel to one of the numerous missionary training centers found in the Americas.
Four of them, Thierry Birocher, Rosylove Charles, Jennyfer Augustin, and Landy Dorce had been living in Santo Domingo and were called to serve in the Dominican Republic. The other two, Rosebelle Fanfan and Marie Jacques were living in Port-au-prince, Haiti and had received their calls to Boston, Massachusetts but were reassigned to the Dominican Republic due to visa complications.
With six missionaries not able to travel to an MTC and prepare properly for their missions, the Caribbean Area Presidency was led to resolve this problem by creating a temporary, mini-missionary training center located in the Caribbean Area offices. The three sister missionaries living in the Dominican Republic moved out of their homes and into the temple patron housing, located next to the Santo Domingo Temple.
Elder Birocher moved in with the office elders of the Santo Domingo East Mission, and Sisters Fanfan and Jacques left their homes in Haiti and participated in the mini-MTC from the Haiti, Port-au-Prince mission offices.
Although housed in various Church offices in Santo Domingo and Port-au-Prince, the six missionaries received their training virtually from the Mexico City Missionary Training Center through two amazing instructors, Gregory Jeaboin and Josue Derival.
On weekends, each missionary was assigned to a companionship of full-time missionaries to live and work with. This experience gave them real-life missionary opportunities and grew their enthusiasm for the work that they would soon be doing.

Photograph by Shaun Stahle
Elder Brandon Burton served as a proselyting missionary in the Philippines Cabanatuan Mission for eight months. “I loved teaching in Tagalog and felt that I had adjusted to the culture,” he said.
Unfortunately, he started to experience unexpected challenges.
“I felt like my life was slowly losing its color, and it was difficult to see the joy of the work,” he said. “Eventually, after I was diagnosed with depression, my mission leaders and I concluded that I should go home to navigate my new health challenges.”
Elder Burton was disappointed. He said, “I thought I was ruining God’s plan by coming home.” But he worked with his stake president to transfer to a service mission.
Through a series of miracles that took place before Elder Burton even boarded the plane home, his parents met individuals at Church headquarters who gave him the opportunity to serve the Lord with his unique skills and abilities.
The rest of his mission included teaching the gospel in the evenings, helping with articles for the Liahona magazine, working with horses, and serving in the Bountiful Utah Temple.
“God clearly showed that this was His plan and that He would provide for me,” he said.
“God clearly showed that this was His plan and that He would provide for me.”
Elder Dale G. Renlund of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles has said that “service missionaries bring great blessings to themselves, but more importantly, as they are doing this work, they’re blessing Heavenly Father’s children in unique ways.”
Elder Burton concluded, “I thought I came home because I was broken, but I learned that is not true. I transferred to a service mission because that is where God needed me, and He provided a way.”

Dear Little Carrie,
I thought about you a lot on Christmas Day. I imagined you and your mom and dad around the Christmas tree, opening presents and later eating turkey and pumpkin pie. Our Christmas in Paraguay was very different, and I thought you might like to hear about it.
We had decided to visit the Ugarte family for Christmas. They live 80 kilometers through the jungle, in a little village called Itakyry. There is a small wooden chapel there, where we could spend the night. In the Ugarte family are a grandmother, a mother and father, and 11 children. Their house has only two rooms and two beds, so we couldn’t stay with them. We packed some small gifts in the back of the car and left early in the morning of the day before Christmas. Two young elders went with us.
In Itakyry, Sister Ugarte was very sad. It was the day before Christmas, and she had no presents to give her children. It took all their money and time just to provide the essential things that such a large family needed. Nothing was left for gifts or even a special treat for Christmas dinner.
All that morning she worked. She washed clothes in the stream and spread them on the bushes to dry. She tended the garden and cooked black beans and rice for their mid-meal. After they ate, she rocked the baby and mended clothes. As she worked, she prayed. “Heavenly Father, please send our good friends, the missionaries, here for Christmas. I know it is a long way for them to come, but it would make this day special. Please, Heavenly Father.”
We didn’t know that she wanted us to come. The Spirit just told us that it would be good if we did. A bridge was washed away, so we had to walk the last few miles through the jungle. My goodness, how happy the Ugarte family was when they saw us coming through the trees!
That night we had a very special family home evening in the little wooden chapel. The beautiful story of the birth of Christ was told, and testimonies were shared. Then for a long time we sat, watching the silent stars and singing the sacred hymns of Christmas.
The Ugarte children didn’t understand when Grandpa tried to act like Santa Claus the next morning. They did enjoy the simple gifts we passed out, though. There was a small doll for each little girl, sweet-smelling soap for the older girls, and windup toys for the boys.
We missed our own dear grandchildren, but this Christmas in Paraguay was a very special one for us. The best gifts that we can give or receive at Christmastime are love and service.
I’m looking forward to hearing about your Christmas, Carrie. I hope that it was also filled with that special Christmas feeling and that you didn’t miss us too much.
Love,
Grandma and Grandpa

In 1898, Inez Knight and Jennie Brimhall were the first two single women called as sister missionaries for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Shortly after arriving on their missions to England, the two women went to preach in Oldham, a small manufacturing town near Liverpool.
Inez Knight and Jennie Brimhall prayed for help in their missionary service in England.
Right: photograph courtesy of Jennifer Whatcott Hooton
The two sisters, their mission president, and other missionaries gathered one evening. “They formed a circle on a busy street corner, offered a prayer, and sang hymns until a large crowd formed around them.” Their efforts were so successful that the mission president “announced that a special meeting would be held the following day, and he invited everyone to come and hear preaching from ‘real live Mormon women.’”

On a warm summer evening, my son Paul was playing with friends near our home. Nearby was a group of teenagers. One of the teenagers started smoking something bad. She called to Paul, “Hey, do you want to try this?”
Paul remembered what he had learned at school and Primary and from his parents. He looked right into the girl’s eyes and said, “No! Drugs are bad for you!”
The girl took the drug out of her mouth, threw it on the ground, and crushed it with her shoe.
Later, Paul curled up on my lap and told me about it. I am grateful that Paul has been taught that drugs are bad for the body and that he had the courage to try to be like Jesus Christ and obey His commandments.