Gospel Story Finder

I learned another lesson from my mother. As a girl she had diphtheria and nearly died. Later she had spinal meningitis. Her father died young, and so my mother and her brothers helped support their mother.
All her life, she felt the effects of the trials of illness. In her last 10 years of life, she required multiple operations. But through it all, she proved faithful to the Lord, even when bedridden. The only picture on her bedroom wall was of the Savior. Her last words to me on her deathbed were these: “Hal, you sound as if you are getting a cold. You ought to take care of yourself.”
At her funeral the last speaker was Elder Spencer W. Kimball. After saying something of her trials and her faithfulness, he said essentially this: “Some of you may wonder why Mildred had to suffer so much and so long. I will tell you why. It was because the Lord wanted to polish her a little more.”

Following the final session of general conference, we left the Conference Center, still basking in the after glory. While on the train home, a Latter-day Saint family approached us, whose soulful beauty uniquely touched our lives.

The mother, with her children, asked if they could learn more about the Jewish head covering that I was wearing. Her 14-year-old son, named Taylor, had his interest piqued by his wonderful seminary teacher. His teacher’s name, we were told, was Brother Russell, and he appears to have taught quite well on Jewish practices.

Taylor, a truly extraordinary young man, clearly had a talent for humility and soul, and the time we spent together in discussion was remarkable. The deep light of his heart was clearly nourished by his family and by his Latter-day Saint faith in Jesus Christ. That a youth of today had such humble grace and a genuine interest in the sacred of another truly leaves me with bright hope for our future.

My daughter, Yael, was also greatly taken by the beauty of Taylor’s soul. That “the eyes are the window to the soul’’ is a favorite quote of hers, and she loved Taylor for the potential she saw he could become.

For me, the encounter with Taylor and his family was a most beautiful conclusion to the glory of general conference. Two families of God were having honoring sacred dialogue, and each of us left with more reverence and belief. This is what general conference inspires. This was, for me, a general conference after-glory moment I am grateful and humbled and blessed to have received.

In the end, to our friend and dear brother Taylor, to the friend whom we met only and sadly once, please always know that our lives were deeply enhanced by our chance encounter on the train that evening. Yael and I wish you only shalom, a Hebrew word meaning “peace and wholeness.” We wish you shalom in the broadest sense of the word, as you continue on your mission to bless our world with light.

And to you, Brother Russell, my long-lost friend and seminary teacher extraordinaire, though we have never yet met, it was wonderful getting to know you through the beauty of Taylor and his holy family. And I have an extra head covering, should you ever be in need! Thank you for teaching about my faith tradition in such an honoring and lovely way. You must have done so to inspire our young friend Taylor to inquire and seek to know more about my faith. Bless you, and shalom to you always.

Another Saint who sacrificed much during this period was John Rowe Moyle, an excellent stonemason from England. It was Brother Moyle’s custom to work on his farm in Alpine, Utah, only on Friday night and all day Saturday. Then each Monday morning he walked from home back to Salt Lake City to work until Friday on the temple. Following an accident, Brother Moyle’s leg was removed in an excruciating operation. While recovering, he made himself a wooden peg leg and walked around his farm on the stump until he was able to stand the pain. Eventually, he walked to Salt Lake City—a distance of more than thirty-two kilometers—to begin his labors at the temple again.

According to a story told by his family, John Moyle “climbed up the scaffolding on the east side of the Temple and carved ‘Holiness to the Lord,’ as his contribution to the Temple building.”

Days start early in the Chung Tien household. The father, Willie Chung Tien, is the baker for the village of Mataura, located on the island of Tubuai in French Polynesia. That means most mornings he starts work at 4:00 a.m. It’s the only way bread will be ready in time for breakfast, and many people depend on Brother Chung Tien for their daily bread.
Eleven-year-old Lee Yen Chung Tien has learned a lot from her father’s example. “I don’t get up as early as he does,” she says. “But I try to work hard like he does, and to serve other people like he does.” She knows that many mornings her father takes fresh, hot bread to the missionaries serving on Tubuai. She knows that he gives many hours in service to the Church in his calling as first counselor in the Mataura Branch presidency. She also knows that many people on the island admire his friendly smile and his positive attitude. “He is a great example to our family,” Lee Yen says. “His happiness helps us all to be happy too.”

In 2016, Jayne Kyprianou was serving in the stake Primary presidency of the Poole Stake. After hearing Elder Kearon’s April 2016 talk, “Refuge from the Storm”1, the Primary presidency wanted to do something to help refugee children who were arriving in their area.
After a lot of prayer and discussion, they ended up hosting an online auction and a cake sale. They beat their goal of raising £500, by raising almost £1,800.
The money raised was used to buy items for educational packs for the refugee children. These would be packed by stake Primary children in a forthcoming Primary conference.
During that time, the stake public affairs directors, Brother Roger Head and Sister Moira Head, began to have contact with Unity in Vision, Bournemouth, a voluntary group founded by members of ethnic minorities.
Unity in Vision was invited to attend the stake’s Primary conference, and this was the start of a great working relationship between the Church and Unity in Vision.
Following this, the stake became involved in hosting monthly lunches at Bournemouth Chapel, refugees cooking the meals and practicing their English as they did so. The lunches were open to the local community.
These lunches involved not just people from Unity in Vision, but also representatives of the Westbourne Rotary Club (a local branch of the global Rotary organisation of volunteers). Through the work of Greg Singleton, of Westbourne Rotary Club, funding and grants were awarded to help with the lunches and to put on an educational course for refugees and asylum seekers.

One family, the Leotas, arrived in Hawaii on New Year’s Day 1923. Seven-year-old Vailine Leota remembered, “Our first [view] of the temple … was the most beautiful sight.”3 Just two weeks later, Vailine’s parents, Aivao and Matala, received their endowments and were sealed as a couple, and their children were sealed to them. The Leotas served faithfully in the house of the Lord for 50 years and were buried “near the temple they loved so much.”4 Today, hundreds of their faithful descendants live throughout Hawaii.

Fu Bi Hsia sprinted the last block to her home in a small Taiwanese village. The August sun poured out of the blue-glass sky, and the humid air covered her body like a hot heavy blanket. To escape the heat, she ran through the warm grass and along the edge of the benjo (open ditch) where an old woman was beating her clothes clean against a large rock.
Reaching her home, Bi Hsia paused in the front yard to look for her goose, Goldie. A few of her mother’s pigs snorted and rolled in the dirt, her father’s water buffalo lay partway in the benjo, and a stray dog nipped at her heels. But Goldie was not in sight.
Goldie and all the goose’s brothers and sisters had been purchased at the market on Bi Hsia’s ninth birthday. Over a period of many months, they had all been used for food—all except Goldie. Bi Hsia kept Goldie for a friend. They went on long walks together, clucking their way past rice fields and through ditches, walking barefoot in cold puddles, and chasing barking little dogs down narrow alleys. She had given her goose an American name, because America was so big and far away and because she believed that everyone who came from there was rich and important. Goldie was important too.
Bi Hsia bounded through the gate and up the stairs to her home. “Mother!” she called.
The two-room house was made of concrete. The main room (the living-sleeping area) was bare except for a few chairs, a television, and some rice-straw mats. These were rolled out at night and used for mattresses.
Bi Hsia found her mother in the kitchen, stirring a pot of chicken egg soup. She stuck her nose over the rim of the pot and sniffed. “Smells good.”
Her mother’s elbow nudged her aside. “Get out of there. Your father has invited guests for supper.”
“Guests? Who are they?” She stuck her finger quickly into the broth as her mother’s eyes searched the cupboard for more eggs.
“They’re Mormon elders. One is from Taipei, and the other has come all the way from America. He will be staying in Taiwan for two years to teach people about his church.”
Bi Hsia’s finger was in her mouth. She sucked the soup juice off with a loud slurp. “How did Daddy meet them?”
“At the market, quite by accident. And don’t you dare stick your finger in there again, unless you want me to spank you!”
Bi Hsia jerked her hand back. “When will they come?”
“Soon,” replied her mother. “Go get changed into your best dress. And get Sun Ming washed. He is all covered with dirt.”
The missionaries arrived in a taxi. It had a dented fender and a motor that chugged louder and louder as the car drew near. The elder from Taipei stepped out first. “I’m Elder Lin, Lin De Fu,” he said, in the custom of saying his surname before his given name. (Fu is Fu Bi Hsia’s surname.) “This is my companion, Elder Wheeler.”
“Ni hau ma (How do you do)?” Elder Wheeler stepped forward and offered his hand to Bi Hsia’s father. The American’s words sounded strange and stilted, and his thin face seemed hard and expressionless. His hair was like yellow rice straw, and his pale eyes were cold and as far away as the country he came from. Bi Hsia felt her throat tighten with apprehension.
Her father spoke up boldly. “Ni tsung nali lai (Where are you from)?”
“Utah.”
It was a strange name. Bi Hsia said it quietly to herself, over and over, Yu ta. Yu ta.
Her mother smiled, saying in Chinese, “It’s a long way for anyone to come.”
The elder’s brow wrinkled as he studied her face. “Pardon me. I do not understand.”
Elder Lin put his hand on Elder Wheeler’s shoulder and said something to him in English, too rapidly for Bi Hsia to understand. Elder Wheeler listened intently, then laughed at himself. “Yes. A long way.”
The adults moved into the kitchen. Bi Hsia sat on the back step to wait for them to eat their meal. It was not considered polite for children to be served with the guests. She held Sun Ming in her arms, listened to the murmur of their voices, and thought about the faraway places she had never been. She wondered if this elder would ever understand her country’s customs and accept her people as they were. She didn’t think so—not coming from America, where no one ever had to live without the necessities of life because people there always had lots of things of their very own.
Bi Hsia sat and reflected, and in the distance a light evening breeze tossed a weightless white feather in the air. A feather! She got up, paused for a moment, then placed Sun Ming on the grass at her feet. “Now don’t go anywhere,” she said firmly. “I won’t be gone long.”
All of Goldie’s feathers were there in a little pile by the garden. Bi Hsia knew that they were eating her goose for supper. It was not proper for her to object. Her family was very poor, and her mother needed meat to serve to the guests. Chinese custom was very strict about children honoring and obeying their parents. And Chinese pride was firm on the point of offering the best that one could.
Bi Hsia did not cry. She walked heavily, as if her limbs were lead weights. She sat on the porch for what seemed like forever and watched the sun die in the sky above Taiwan.
When the elders were ready to leave, Bi Hsia followed them out to the front of the house. The elder from America offered her his hand, and she wanted to hold hers back. He took it and squeezed, and she pulled quickly away. He reached down and lifted her chin. “I hope we can become friends,” he said in slow, painful words.
Bi Hsia kept her eyes turned away from his face, looking past him to where the lights from the houses on their street shone smaller and smaller as they receded into the distance. Her mouth remained silent, bur her heart thumped loudly inside her ribs. Never! Oh, never, never, she thought, knowing that if it wasn’t for him and his companion, she would still have Goldie. She watched the elders get into a taxi, and she was glad when it drove away.
Bi Hsia awoke early the next morning. The sun was just peeping through the sugar cane, and her parents and brother were still asleep on their mats. She rose quietly and tiptoed to the door. Outside there was a small scrape, the sound of quick footsteps on the porch, a whisper, and a wild, hissing sound. She opened the door.
At her feet lay a huge white goose, the biggest that she had ever seen. It was bound so that it could hardly move, but its head was free, and it was honking and trying to flap its wings. As she bent to free it, out of the corner of her eye she saw something move down by the benjo.
It was Elder Wheeler! He was sprinting across the grass toward Elder Lin, who waited on the road with two bikes. As Bi Hsia watched, Elder Wheeler reached his bike, paused for a breath of air, and glanced back. Their eyes met across the distance and held. Then a smile spread slowly across his somber face. It was a sad, happy smile, a smile filled with understanding. That’s when Fu Bi Hsia knew for certain that the elder from America was not so very different.

In later years my friend Clarice had permission to practice on the organ. I would go with her early in the morning before school or late at night. She would sit up on the high bench and the music would roll out. I’d sit on one of the back benches and listen, and Brother Yearsley, the janitor, would patiently wait for us. Often he would be polishing the old benches until the woodwork fairly glowed. Then when we were finished, he’d lock up after us.
Brother Yearsley was a remarkable man. He was blind. His wife helped him a lot, and they kept that building as clean and neat “as if,” he used to say, “the Lord might really visit us and sit on these benches and walk on these floors.” He taught us to love the house of the Lord. He taught us respect for every polished bench and every hall and classroom.
One evening we were having a party in the “rec room” downstairs. We had been playing games, drinking punch, and eating cupcakes. The party was just at its height with noise and jollity when the electric power failed all over the valley. It was dark down there, and everyone was running this way and that trying to get out. We were knocking into chairs, running into doors, and upsetting food. Suddenly Brother Yearsley was there. “Quiet!” he said in a voice loud enough for all of us to hear him.
“We can’t see, Brother Yearsley,” we chorused. “We don’t know how to get out. Do you have a light?”
Brother Yearsley stood still in the doorway and answered, “Yes, I have a light, so settle down. Now each one of you just take the hand of the one next to you, get in line, and we’ll go upstairs together. Follow me.”
I almost said, “But you can’t see either.” And then I realized he had been going about that building doing our Father’s business for years without eyes to guide him. And that was the light he meant that he had.
We were quiet as he led us, saying, “There is a step here. Now we turn right. Watch your feet. Don’t kick against the walls. We must love the Lord’s house.”
And we surely did—that night and ever after.

Seth loved going to church. He enjoyed singing in Primary and learning about Jesus. Seth knew attending church was important. It was one way to show Heavenly Father how thankful he was for the gospel.
One Sunday morning, Seth was getting dressed for church. Mom and Dad appeared in the doorway.
“May we talk to you, Seth?” Dad asked as he and Mom sat down on the bed.
Seth finished buttoning his shirt. “Sure.”
“Do you remember how far Dad has to drive to get to work?” Mom asked.
“Yes, it takes forever,” Seth said.
“Mom and I have been praying about it,” Dad said, “and we’ve decided it’s time for us to move closer to my job.”
“Where is our new house going to be?” Seth asked. “Will I be able to ride my bike to Aunt Spring’s house?” Aunt Spring lived just a few blocks away, and Seth couldn’t wait until he was old enough to ride over to play with his cousins.
“No,” Dad said. “I’m sorry. Our new house will be too far away for that, but our family and friends can come visit us and we can visit them.”
“Oh,” Seth said quietly.
“This will be a big move,” Mom said. “You’ll make new friends, and we’ll live in a new neighborhood. It’s important for our family so that Dad can be home more.”
Seth knew his parents wanted the best for him and his little brothers. “I guess it’s all right if we move.”
Dad gave him a big hug. “We’re glad you agree.”
Several months later, Seth’s family began packing boxes. Seth was excited. His new house had a big backyard, and there was a playground down the street. Seth was also looking forward to going to kindergarten.
Just one thing worried Seth. How would he learn about Jesus? They would live too far away for him to go to church.
“What’s wrong, Seth?” Mom asked, noticing the gloomy look on his face.
“I don’t want to move anymore,” Seth said as his eyes filled with tears.
Mom put her arms around Seth. “I know it’s hard to move away from your friends and cousins.”
“It’s not just that. How will we get to church?” Seth asked.
“Our new church will be right down the street,” Mom said.
“But I don’t want a new church, Mom. I like our church.” Seth knew there were a lot of good churches, but he knew The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was the only true church.
Mom smiled. “After we move, we’ll go to a new building on Sundays. We’ll have new teachers and meet new people, but it will still be The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. And we’ll learn the very same lessons.”
Seth smiled. He was happy he could still go to the same church and learn about Jesus.
Soon Seth and his family were busy unpacking boxes in their new house. Seth picked out the clothes he wanted to wear for church the next morning.
“Are you sure church is going to be the same?” Seth asked Mom.
“Absolutely,” Mom said. “Don’t worry, Seth. When we get to church tomorrow, listen for the Spirit to tell you if we’re at the right church.”
Seth awoke early the next morning, excited to go to Primary. He asked Heavenly Father to help him know if he was at the right church. Then, Seth got ready to go.
At church, Seth heard someone playing a familiar song on a piano. Seth felt a warm, happy feeling. He was glad to still be able to attend the true church, even after moving far away.

Twenty people crowded into the small home of Erich Konietz in Selbongen, Poland. Some had traveled more than nine hours to get to Selbongen, and among them were seven young children. These boys and girls weren’t old enough to understand just what the meeting meant, but they could feel the wonder and excitement of friends being together again.
The date was October 17, 1970. Percy Fetzer of Salt Lake City, Utah, had been specially ordained by the First Presidency of the Church to give patriarchal blessings to members behind the Iron Curtain. M. Elmer Christensen, president of the Switzerland Mission, had arranged for him to go to Selbongen and had sent word to the members of the branch to meet with him on that wonderful Saturday afternoon.
President Christensen first told the group about the death of David O. McKay, the ninth president of the Church. He had been able to bring a picture of Joseph Fielding Smith, who was now the tenth president. He told the group the names of all of the General Authorities and had them say the names again and again until even the young children could repeat them.
Sister Fetzer and Sister Christensen told the Saints about Sunday School and Primary programs for children. Young and old learned some songs, including “I Am a Child of God,” which they especially liked. No one there had heard this song before, and they learned the words quickly and sang it with great feeling. Although they couldn’t write the words down on paper, they recorded the melody in their hearts and minds.
The members of the Selbongen Branch who crowded the Konietz home had once been free to enjoy each other and their membership in the Church. They had even built a small chapel in 1928—the first chapel of the Church ever built in Germany. But in 1945 war came to their country and many of them left their homes to escape the invading Russian army.
Some of the Church members who fled walked for days, taking with them only what they could carry. Others loaded their belongings into handcarts. A few were able to scramble aboard trains. Many died trying to escape.
Those who stayed in their own homes and survived the horrors of war found afterward that they were no longer citizens of Germany. Their land had been given to Poland. Because of this the people had to endure many hardships, and they were greatly limited in where they could go and what they could do. In spite of these difficulties, however, the small group of Church members managed to meet together. They were more than six hundred miles from any other Latter-day Saints, but by a miracle their lives and their chapel had been spared. Their hearts were full of gratitude.
Now they were meeting together, hearing news of their brothers and sisters, and receiving Patriarchal blessings from Brother Fetzer. It was a wonderful day!
While giving the blessings, Brother Fetzer was inspired to promise some that if they lived the gospel, they would go to a temple. He promised others that they would go on missions. These things seemed impossible on that day in October 1970, but since that time, all German people living in Poland have been given permission to move to West Germany.
It is very possible that the promises of those blessings for the Saints of Selbongen might soon be fulfilled!

I first visited this institution 59 years ago in the fall of 1959 when I was 19 years old. I was a student body officer at Utah State University and USU was playing the University of Hawaii in football. We student officers paid our own way but accompanied the football team on the same airplane. President David O. McKay, who was then the president and prophet of the Church, learned of our trip and invited us to meet with him at Church Headquarters. It was the first time I had met a prophet, and I was impressed with his countenance and his spirit. He was warm and gracious to us.

President McKay then told us about this institution with great enthusiasm. The school had only been in existence for 4 years, and he had dedicated the first permanent buildings the year before. He asked if we would meet with the students and administrators, give them his love and blessing and encourage them in every possible way.

I can remember to this day the feelings of awe that I experienced when I first saw this beautiful setting. The ocean, the mountains, the temple, the magnificent vistas are as inspiring today as they were then. As part of that trip, we also met with the new governor of Hawaii, William F. Quinn. Hawaii had been admitted as a new state in the United States August 21, 1959, just prior to our visit.

Pioneers help my testimony of Jesus Christ to grow because of their sacrifices to follow Him. I have an ancestor named Lars Larson who listened to the missionaries and chose to follow Jesus Christ even though his parents were angry about it. They told him that if he was baptized, they would not let him live there and they would not help him at all. His testimony was so strong that he left his family to follow the Savior and be baptized. He was later called as a missionary to where his family lived. He went to their house, and when his mother answered the door, she quickly closed it on him. But he caught the door before it closed all the way and simply said, “Mother, I just want you to know that I have found the truth.” This testimony wasn’t easy to have—it meant that he lost a lot—but following the Savior was so important to him that it was worth the sacrifice.

It is through the power of the priesthood that marriage and the family unit can extend into and continue throughout all eternity. The conscientious women of this Church wish to have such a righteous influence in abundance in their homes.

Just a few weeks ago, in a stake conference, one gracious mother joyously recounted a marvelous experience of being in one of the temples with her husband and with all of her children but one and being sealed together as husband and wife and family for time and all eternity. Her husband, newly involved in the priesthood, sat in the conference audience a few rows back. For a moment she seemed to forget all of the rest of us and spoke only to him. Over the pulpit, and through the loudspeaker, with over 1,000 people in tears watching and listening, she said, “John, the children and I don’t know how to tell you what you mean to us. Until you honored the priesthood, the greatest blessings of eternity would not open up for us. Now they have. We all love you very much and we thank you with all our hearts for what you have made possible for us.”

A couple of weeks later, our branch was visited by a beloved member of our stake presidency. He gave a talk in the sacrament meeting and invited everyone to remain faithful in their trials and to prepare for the temple. He asked all the members to pray for us to go to the temple again. His talk was comforting to our wounded hearts and gave us hope that one day we will be able to attend the temple.

When my sister was single and struggling with dating, she realized she might be making this mistake. So she drew a simple picture of her desired partner:
A stick figure with three—only three—of the most important attributes she wanted in a husband. No height requirements, no six-figure salary quota.
Within several months she started dating her future spouse. He was dedicated to the gospel, hardworking, and honest. Together they are working to create an eternal marriage.

Many years ago, I observed a heartbreak—which became a tragedy. A young couple was nearing the delivery of their first child. Their lives were filled with the anticipation and excitement of this monumental experience. During the delivery, complications arose and the baby died. Heartbreak turned to grief, grief turned to anger, anger turned to blame, and blame turned to revenge toward the doctor, whom they held fully responsible. Parents and other family members became heavily involved, together seeking to ruin the reputation and the career of the physician. As weeks and then months of acrimony consumed the family, their bitterness was extended to the Lord. “How could He allow this horrible thing to occur?” They rejected the repeated efforts of Church leaders and members to spiritually and emotionally comfort them and, in time, disassociated themselves from the Church. Four generations of the family have now been affected. Where once there were faith and devotion to the Lord and His Church, there has been no spiritual activity by any family member for decades.
In the most difficult circumstances of life, there is often only one source of peace. The Prince of Peace, Jesus Christ, extends His grace with the invitation “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28). He further promises, “My peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you” (John 14:27).
My paternal grandparents had two children, a son (my father) and a daughter. After serving a mission and military service in Hawaii, my father returned to the islands in 1946 to establish himself professionally and raise his family. His parents lived in Salt Lake City, as did his sister. She married in 1946 and four years later was expecting a child. There is something very special for parents to anticipate a daughter (in this instance an only daughter) giving birth for the first time. No one knew that she was carrying twins. Sadly, she and the twins all died during childbirth.
My grandparents were heartbroken. Their grief, however, immediately turned them to the Lord and His Atonement. Without dwelling on why this could happen and who might be to blame, they focused on living a righteous life. My grandparents never had wealth; they were never among the socially elite; they never held high position in the Church—they were simply devoted Latter-day Saints.
After retiring professionally in 1956, they moved to Hawaii to be with their only posterity. The ensuing decades found them loving their family and serving in the Church, and mostly they just enjoyed being together. They never liked being apart and even spoke of whoever died first finding a way to help them reunite soon. Nearing their 90th birthdays and after 65 years of marriage, they passed away within hours of each other by natural causes. As their bishop, I conducted their double funeral.
The faithfulness of Grandpa Art and Grandma Lou, especially when faced with difficulty, has now influenced four generations that have followed. Directly and profoundly, it affected their son (my father) and my mother when my parents’ own daughter, their youngest child, died due to complications caused by giving birth. At 34 years of age, she passed away 10 days after childbirth, leaving 4 children, 10 days to 8 years old. With the example that they had seen in the previous generation, my parents—without hesitation—turned to the Lord for solace.

When I was seven, I thought I had the true meaning of Christmas all figured out. Christmas was more than just receiving gifts. You had to be willing to give a gift if you expected to receive one in return.
Each year our gifts to friends and neighbors were Mom’s holiday cookies and candies. Her walnut divinity was famous. My sisters and I would pitch in to help deliver plates of treats around the neighborhood. The neighbors would reciprocate by delivering their own favorite treats to our house—completing the exchange program.
That year the last of the neighbors came by with their gift on Christmas Eve. However, instead of a plate of cookies, they gave us a small, beautifully wrapped present. They instructed us not to open it until we had opened all the other gifts under the tree the next day. I used my best detective skills to try to determine what was inside. But the only clue I could find was a gift tag that merely added to my curiosity: “To the Luebke Family—the Greatest Gift of All.” That was quite a promise for such a small box—especially when all we had given them was homemade cookies and candy.
Christmas morning finally came, and we opened all our presents. Then, as we sat in the carnage of torn wrapping paper and opened boxes, Mom brought out the mysterious gift and read the tag. My sister and I fought over who would open it. I don’t recall who won, but I clearly remember my disappointment when I saw what was inside the box—nothing except a card. I had been skeptical that this gift would really be “the Greatest Gift of All,” but I had certainly expected more than a handwritten card. Mom, on the other hand, was visibly touched by the card.
The next year when the Christmas decorations went up, the little present was back under the tree, like an unwanted fruitcake. I lifted the lid, hoping that I had missed something the year before. But it proved again to be an empty box with a simple card in it.
As the years went by, that little gift became a family tradition. Every year it was the first present under the tree and the last one opened on Christmas morning. In my teenage years my attitude began to soften toward the little gift.
The first Christmas after my mission, I headed home for the holidays after a semester at college. As I walked through the door, the memory of many Christmases at home came flooding back. As I looked in the living room, I saw it, that unusual little present, alone under the tree. It showed the wear of having many heavy packages piled on top of it over the years. I picked it up with a reverence I had never shown it before. The tag was still attached: “To the Luebke Family—the Greatest Gift of All.” As I lifted the lid and read the card inside, I now had a testimony that it truly did represent the greatest gift our family could ever be given. It read, “From Jesus Christ—The Gift of Eternal Life.”
I am grateful for the family who gave us this family tradition that has blessed our Christmases by reminding us of the greatest gift of all.

In the final story, Verinda, a vibrant young Apache girl, was accepted into the Indian Student Placement Service. She later gave this testimony:
“When I first participated in this program eight years ago, I got off the bus with only the clothes on my back and a few small possessions in a shoebox. I came from a humble home. My people are humble. But you have opened your hearts unto me. For that I am thankful. Now I can go home with a brand new suitcase of clothes. But that is not my wealth. I am wealthy because that which is inside of me is as precious as all of the wealth in this world. I have a testimony of the gospel. I know that Jesus is the Christ and that God lives and answers prayers. I now have a goal—something I can strive for.”

When the COVID-19 pandemic disrupted my work as an immigration consultant, I sought to dedicate my time to the Lord. I applied to serve as a service missionary and temple worker. During this time, I also prayed for my daughter, who wanted to study in Canada. In the celestial room of the temple, I received the clear inspiration: “Everything is ready; go with faith.”
God provided miracles. My ex-husband agreed to pay my daughter’s school fees, and a missionary helped us find a place to live in Canada. I learned that as I drew near to God, He truly drew near to me (Doctrine and Covenants 88:63).

Shortly after my release from naval service, I accepted an engineering position at Geneva Steel. There were few Church members in that department. The plant had been built just prior to the war, and technical people generally had to be imported. After a few weeks I learned that there was to be a drinking party. All members of the department were expected to attend. When approached, I indicated that I did not plan to attend. This shocked the person approaching me.

Soon the manager of the engineering department came to see me personally. I wondered if this would terminate my employment. He walked up to my desk and told me that he had heard that I wasn’t planning on attending his party. I told him that was right. He asked me why. I told him I was a Latter-day Saint and didn’t drink and would just be in the way. He thought a few moments and observed that I would probably be the only sober one there. Then he told me I could be very helpful to him. He asked me to serve as the chairman of the party, since I would be sober. He asked me to arrange for the dinner and the entertainment and other details. They would take care of the liquor. He told me that when the party started getting rough, my wife and I could slip out and go home. He didn’t want to embarrass us. He asked me if I could help in this way.

I decided to accept this request. The other engineers and draftsmen soon began to notice that I had become the favorite of the boss. He knew I had principles and had the courage to live them. Instead of losing my job, I made very rapid headway.

I have found in each chapter of my life that keeping my priorities and not giving into the world has been a great asset. Another way of expressing this way of life is to determine to always say “yes” to the Lord and “no” to the world.