Gospel Story Finder

Sabrina Echols, a senior who was introduced to the Church by her friends Darilyn and Eva, said, “Don’t be afraid to try out for something just because you might not make it. Don’t get discouraged. It’s better to try.” Sabrina knows what she says is true from personal experience. She tried out several times to be a cheerleader on the rally squad but didn’t make it. Then she tried out for school mascot and was successful. Now she wears the gold and purple that represent her school.

When you are 12 years old, life is hard enough. Caught between being a child and being a teenager, you struggle to really know who you are. I was in the middle of that struggle when my parents announced we were moving to the small town over the hill. The move was only a few miles away, but to me it was a world away.
I grew up in a suburban town of 30,000. I walked to school. The playground and the youth center were a block from home. And I went to the movies every Saturday.
Our new home was different. It was a rural town of 6,000—and planned to stay that way. I was a mile and a half (2.4 km) from school and had to ride the bus. My playground would become the woods and hills nearby. Saturday matinees would become only an occasional treat.
The move itself wasn’t so bad. I was adventurous and loved exploring. But I had a hard time fitting in at school. The other students had all grown up together, and I was the outsider. To make matters worse, I didn’t hide my emotions and was an easy target for bullies.
One of the biggest bullies I had to deal with was Tracy. That wouldn’t have been so bad, except Tracy is a girl.
I had dealt with boy bullies before. You either faced them or learned to avoid them. But Tracy seemed to be everywhere: in the hall, at lunch, in my classes. She had a way with insults that just chopped you to pieces. I dreaded seeing her anywhere.
Since it seemed I couldn’t avoid her, I had to face her, but I didn’t know how. A talk I heard at church changed all that. I don’t remember who was speaking, but I remember what was said. The speaker was talking about dealing with difficult people. He said, “If you can’t beat them, try loving them to death.” He got a laugh out of the congregation, but I thought about it for some time. I finally decided what to do with Tracy. I would “smother her with kindness.”
I started looking for Tracy the next day. When I saw her, I said, “Tracy, you look nice.” She looked shocked and stammered a thank you as we passed in the hall. I kept it up. Every time I saw her, I would pay her a compliment before she had a chance to say anything. The insults stopped, and my life gained a little peace.
A few months later, the school year was coming to a close. One of the closing activities was a dance in the gym during school hours. I went to it but didn’t feel like asking any girls to dance. Frankly, I had never asked a girl before. But then a girl came up to me and asked me to dance.
I was shocked to see that it was Tracy. I said yes, and we went out onto the floor. When the song was over, I said, “Thank you,” and Tracy went on her way.
I never did see her again. She moved away that summer. I hope she fit in at her new school more easily than I had. But I learned that day that my plan had worked. Where I had an enemy, I found a friend.

One day in my fourth-grade religion class in Jamaica, my teacher asked all the students to tell about their religious beliefs. Since I was the only Mormon in my prep school, I was chosen to represent The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
By the time it was my turn, my heart was beating a hundred miles a minute. I was never much of a public speaker, and I didn’t have a loud voice. When I stood up, I just stared at the sea of eyes before me and tried to speak about some of our beliefs. I first spoke about the Word of Wisdom, then talked about the sacrament, about how we used bread and water to represent the Savior’s body and blood when he died for us.
Before I could say another word, everyone started laughing at me. Tears stung my eyes as I wondered what I had said to make them laugh. I quickly wiped my eyes and went to my seat amid chants of “Bread and water, bread and water.” By the end of the day I was still being teased, so when it was time to go home I was overjoyed. I still don’t know why they decided to make fun of what I was saying.
When I got home, I took my mother’s huge Bible off the shelf and began looking at some of the pictures. As I was flipping a page, I glimpsed a scripture and quickly turned back to it. It was Matthew 10:32: “Whosoever therefore shall confess me before men, him will I confess also before my Father which is in heaven.” [Matt. 10:32] As I read the words over and over, a feeling of peace washed over me as I realized it didn’t matter who laughed at me, as long as I was doing what was right.

Each of us remembers with affection the teachers of our youth. I think it amusing that my elementary school music teacher was a Miss Sharp. She had the capacity to infuse within her pupils a love for music and taught us to identify musical instruments and their sounds. I well recall the influence of a Miss Ruth Crow who taught the subject of health. Though these were Depression times, she ensured that each sixth-grade student had a dental health chart. She personally checked each pupil for dental health and made certain that through public or private resources, no child went without proper dental care. As Miss Burkhaus, who taught geography, rolled down the maps of the world and, with her pointer, marked the capital cities of nations and the distinctive features of each country, language, and culture, little did I anticipate or dream that one day I would visit these lands and peoples.

Lorenzo Snow was a great early missionary. He had been a member of the Church for less than a year when he set out on his first mission in 1837. He tells about his first experiences preaching the gospel in the following words:
“I … traveled about thirty miles [48 kilometers], and just as the sun was setting I made my first call for a night’s lodging, as a ‘Mormon’ Elder, and was refused; then another, and so on, until the eighth call, when I was admitted to a night’s lodging—going to bed supperless, and leaving in the morning, minus a breakfast.
“The first meeting I held was in the neighborhood of my uncle, by the name of Goddard, near the county seat of Medina County, Ohio. The people were notified and a respectable congregation assembled. It was a sore trial to face that audience in the capacity of a preacher, but I believed and felt an assurance that a Spirit of inspiration would prompt and give me utterance. … [It did, for] I baptized and confirmed into the Church my uncle, aunt and several of my cousins” (quoted in Eliza R. Snow Smith, Biography and Family Record of Lorenzo Snow [1884], 16).

Illustration by Joel Castillo
“Do you believe in God?” one of my new co-workers asked me.
“Yes, why?”
“Because Mr. Lee* doesn’t,” he said. “Whatever you do, don’t get into an argument with him about the existence of God. You’ll lose.”
It was my first day on the job at a drive-in movie theater in Arizona, USA. I’d just graduated from high school and wanted to make some money for my education and my mission, not get in a debate with an atheist boss. I took my co-worker’s advice.
My co-worker and most of the other employees, on the other hand, did believe in God. But that didn’t stop them from swearing, eating food from the snack bar without paying for it, and smoking marijuana after work.
I never joined them in any of those activities, and it didn’t take long before they wanted to know why. I told them I was a Latter-day Saint, I told them about the Word of Wisdom, and I told them I was preparing to serve a mission for my Church. They didn’t make fun of me, but they did start to call me “The Reverend.”
One night when Mr. Lee was off, another employee and I ran the cash register at the snack bar. That night after the snack bar had closed and we’d added up all the money from the register, the assistant manager told us we had $100 more than what the cash register receipts said we should have.
“There’s no record of this $100,” he said. “So it looks like we each make an extra $33 tonight.”
I didn’t feel right accepting the cash, but I put it in my pocket anyway. The longer the money stayed there, the worse I felt. About half an hour later I approached the assistant manager.
“The money may be unaccounted for,” I told him, “but it isn’t mine.” Then I handed it back.
The following week Mr. Lee called me into his office. I was hoping he didn’t want to talk about God, but actually he did. He asked some questions about the Church and my beliefs. After I’d answered, he said something that surprised me.
“You appear to be the only worker at the drive-in I can trust,” he said. “I’d like to ask a favor, and I’d like to give you some extra work.”
He told me that the other employees were, in his words, “stealing me blind.” He asked me to keep setting a good example for them and to encourage them to be honest. Then he gave me some extra after-hour security duties he didn’t trust the other workers to do. Those extra duties meant more money for college and my mission.
I didn’t ask Mr. Lee if the money I’d been given the week before was a test. But obviously, the assistant manager told him what had happened. I was just glad I’d been honest. I was also glad my boss knew that my belief in God and my participation at church had influenced my actions.
Through that experience, I learned for myself that “being honest will enhance your future opportunities and your ability to be guided by the Holy Ghost” (For the Strength of Youth [2011], 19).
I quit the drive-in job at the end of the summer and left for college. When I returned home during Thanksgiving vacation, I went to the drive-in one night to watch a movie and to say hello to my former co-workers. During the movie, one of them announced over the drive-in speakers: “Reverend Morris, please report to the snack bar. Reverend Morris, your congregation would like to see you.”
We had a fun reunion, and I was glad I’d left everyone with a positive impression. I’m especially grateful, though, that my honest behavior had made a believer out of my boss.

My soccer team went to a tournament on a Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. My mom asked me what I was going to do about Sunday’s game. I said I didn’t know what to do. My dad encouraged me to pray, so I prayed about it. That night, the song “Nephi’s Courage” got stuck in my head. I knew Heavenly Father answered my prayers through that song so I would remember to have courage to obey His commandments. On Sunday after church, I knew my team was playing. I was a little sad that I couldn’t help my team, but I knew I was doing the right thing. I am glad that Heavenly Father helped me make the right choice, even though it was hard to make.

About three years ago my son, Mark, was diagnosed with cancer. Surgeons operated on him, but the cancer continued to spread. The entire family prayed and fasted for him during those long months.
I had read in the scriptures and in various conference talks how important and real the power of faith is. I decided to fast and pray, feeling that my faith was strong enough that a miracle would occur. My son would be made well, or his cancer would go into remission. I always closed my fervent prayers with “Thy will be done.”
I read every talk on faith I could find given during past general conferences or appearing in other materials published by the Church. I found talks by President Russell M. Nelson especially comforting.
Our son died on June 28, 2021. We were all devastated and heartbroken. I felt that my faith had not been strong enough after all.
One day I looked on the back cover of a general conference issue of the Liahona and saw a photo of President Nelson standing at the pulpit. Under the photo was a paragraph taken from one of his talks. He said it takes faith to join the Church, follow the prophets, serve a mission, live the law of chastity, and teach the gospel. “It takes faith to plead for the life of a loved one and even more faith,” he added, “to accept a disappointing answer.”1
I read that sentence at least three times before I realized it was meant for me. A calm feeling came over me. I knew that our prayers for my son had not been in vain. My faith was strong in a way the Lord knew and had accepted.
Our family has experienced our share of loss, including the passing of my husband and three grandsons. My faith in Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ tells me my deceased son is with my husband and grandsons. That knowledge brings me peace. Despite our family’s adversity, we still love the Lord and His gospel, and our testimonies have grown. I testify that President Nelson is a prophet and that the counsel he gives comes from the Lord.

“Come here, over by the light.” Kitty joined him by the window. “Do you remember this?”
He held out to her a piece of white cloth. When she took it in her hand, she saw it was a dress, a tiny frothy dress, all white, with many tucks and flounces; and across the yoke in front were red and blue marching figures. It was beautiful, and somehow, she knew it had been hers.
“You looked like an angel,” her father said softly. “Your hair was blonde then, and you were all dolled up in this dress and little white shoes and white socks with—I’m almost certain—red and blue stripes matching the whatsit on the dress. It was a Primary thing, Easter, I think, and you stood right in the front row and sang every song without missing a word—three years old and you didn’t miss a word—and me sitting on the back row blubbering when you sang that one about “I Am a Child of God.” l was embarrassed like the dickens until I noticed that both of the men beside me were sniffing and honking too. Oh, your mother was so proud of you, and that dress! I guess she took a whole roll of film of you in that dress. Still has ’em someplace.”
Kitty looked more closely at the dress. Tiny stitches, many of them handmade.
“Mother made this?” Her father nodded. “But she doesn’t sew.”
“She doesn’t now. Obviously, she couldn’t do it all. She loved sewing for you, Kitten. And for herself, and Jenny, and the house. But finally she said it took too much time from other things.” He took the dress from her and began folding it very carefully.
“But she didn’t give up painting.”
“Of course not. Didn’t give up breathing, either. Your mom’s like—well—like a well that people come to, to be refreshed. But she has to be filled herself, or she’ll have nothing to give. Her painting is one place she gets renewed. Those scriptures of yours are another place too. And have you ever heard your mother make an appointment for Saturday night?”
Kitty thought a long minute, then shook her head.
“Nope, because that’s our time, hers and mine. We go out, to a movie, or to dinner, or for a drive, or a walk, or sometimes she drags me to an art gallery and sometimes I drag her to a hockey game. But it’s strictly our time.”
“You think it’s okay for me to have some ‘me’ time, even though I’m not married?”
“Absolutely. You ought to be able to take off, oh, say after noon on Saturday and not answer to anybody. Lie up here and watch the dust motes dance in the sunlight. Take your bike out in the rain. Spend the whole long afternoon getting acquainted with just what it feels like to be 13, so’s you’ll never forget. To kind of help you along with that, I hereby relieve you of your Saturday garden chores.”
“I guess mom gave up a lot of stuff besides sewing, didn’t she? I just never thought about it before.” Kitty looked again at the red and blue figures marching across the white dress.
“Sure. But she kept a lot, too. That’s what I’ve been saying. She never considered giving up painting, and you mustn’t ever consider giving up your music.”
How did he know, Kitty wondered. How did he know that of swimming and chorus and reading and all the other things, her cello was the one set apart, different, in its own special world?
“Look, Kitten, all your life you’ll be called on to do things because you have the brains and the talents and the unselfishness to do them. But you’ll have to use some of those brains to figure out how to give to others and still have something left for yourself. Now take Tami, for instance. You’ve been great with her. You’ve done things for her that her own parents didn’t seem able to do. But she takes a lot of your time. Still, she is your cousin and she does need someone to love her and work with her, so she can be every bit as much as she possibly can be, whatever that is. Now what does that brain say about a solution to that?”
Kitty got up and walked over to the window. Down the street, she could see Tami’s house. She imagined Tami helping her mother set the table, and remembered how proud she’d been when, after hours of Kitty’s help, she’d managed to do it perfectly by herself. She didn’t want to desert Tami.
“Jenny!” she suddenly said “Jenny’s old enough now, and she’s good with Tami. In fact, it would be good for her to get her nose out of that TV and start working with Tami. I could coach her in the things she’d need to know—”
“Sure you could,” her dad said. “She’s ready for that job now, just like you’re ready to take on a different leadership job.”
“The Beehive class?”
“Yep. That’s a totally different challenge—a whole bunch of girls your own age, instead of one retarded cousin. But you’ll handle it. Kitty, I really think you ought to talk with your mom. She can tell you a dozen hints about juggling these things. But never think it’s easy. It’s not, not for her, not for you. Some things you give up, some you keep, some you compromise. And sometimes you move from one thing to another because you’ve learned what you needed to learn, or given what was most important for you to give, like with Tami.”
Suddenly, from the house, Kitty heard her mom’s voice.
“Carlyle? Kitty? Where are you two? Dinner’s ready!”
“Come on, Kitten. Let’s not keep her waiting.”
“Sure thing, dad. And then after dinner, I’ve got to have a long talk with that woman. Oh, but wait—” She ran over to the window seat and picked up the neatly folded little white dress.
“I think I’ll just hang on to this for a while,” and she clambered down the stairs after her father, whistling softly “I Am a Child of God.”

About that time I was waiting in a doctor’s office, and I noticed that the young lady seated next to me had opened a book with a blue cover. The book’s text was written in columns like the Bible. I was curious to know if it was the Bible, but I also wanted to get back to the comic book I had been reading.
I directed my eyes to the blue book and read a word at the top of the page: Alma. I made an effort to remember that name from my Bible reading, then went back to my comic book. But the blue book continued to attract me, and once again I directed my eyes to that mysterious book.
When the young lady noticed my interest, I asked if the book was the Bible. She answered no and asked me what church I belonged to. I told her none, because I didn’t know which one was true.
That night I couldn’t stop thinking about that strange book. I didn’t know its name, because the young lady had said only that it belonged to the Mormon Church. I told my friend Ghersi about it, and he offered to get me a copy. Several weeks went by, and then one afternoon he handed me a book without a cover and with worn pages. All he said was, “Here’s the book.”
That afternoon I opened the book and read the testimony of Joseph Smith. I felt that it was what I had wanted to know; the feeling became stronger when I read about the visit of the angel Moroni. Unable to contain my excitement, I arose from my chair and shouted, “This is what I was looking for! Here is the truth!” I read the first chapters of 1 Nephi very slowly. I felt that I understood them as I had never understood a book before.

Our example will always speak loudly. During my years as a Church member, I have been influenced by the examples of many leaders and Church members. I remember a wonderful couple who were great examples to our family and to the entire ward. They were baptized in 1982. I was their bishop.

Celso and Irene lived quite far from the chapel. They walked 40 minutes each way to the church, and they never missed a meeting. They were always present with big smiles on their faces. It was their disposition to serve others. Celso and Irene have a son, Marcos, who was born mentally and physically handicapped. I remember well how they took such loving care of their son. In 1999 Celso had a cerebral brain hemorrhage that left his lower body paralyzed. Celso continued to come to church faithfully with his family. They were faithful in the payment of their tithing and paid generous fast offerings. Our son Moroni is now their bishop, and he shared with me that Celso and Irene continue to serve faithfully. Not only do they serve in their ward callings; they also serve faithfully as ordinance workers in the São Paulo Brazil Temple. They serve every Friday from early morning until night. They always contribute so willingly of their time and resources in faithfully fulfilling their Church responsibilities.

That is the kind of quiet service rendered by Celso and Irene.

Later on, we moved to Venezuela, where my dad is from. I lived there for two years, and we faced a lot of challenges. But there were good things too. I loved the food, and I had family there who were anxious to meet and talk to me. They were such humble people, and we all went to church together and felt the Spirit.
But even though we were going to church and I could feel the Spirit, I knew my family and I were missing something. One Sunday morning, the bishop invited everyone in the congregation to read the Book of Mormon before the end of the year. I knew this would help my parents and me more fully live the gospel of the Lord. Little by little, as we read the Book of Mormon, the Savior started giving us more knowledge and blessings, and we continued to read the scriptures regularly.
Soon, I got baptized. I could really feel the Spirit in my life, and my parents did too. My testimony started growing more. We moved to Orlando, Florida, and we had to make a lot of changes and sacrifices again, just like when we left Spain. But our testimonies were growing stronger and stronger every time we went to church. We went to church every week and kept reading the scriptures.
After a lot of effort and a lot of reading the scriptures, praying, and choosing the right, we wanted to get sealed as an eternal family. We talked to our bishop, and even though it took some time, the day finally arrived. We were so anxious to go inside the temple.
I got to do baptisms for the dead while I waited for my parents to complete temple work for themselves. I felt like I was getting baptized again. I was really happy I could help people beyond the veil. Now, my family and I go to the temple every week. I regularly do baptisms for the dead, because I love helping there. I am so glad I got to be sealed in the temple with my parents for eternity and have the opportunity to live forever with them.

I was really excited to go to the temple and do baptisms.
At first it was hard. I was worried about what the older girls would think about me. I was a little nervous until we all went to the temple together. That’s when we became good friends.
It was very special. Going inside the temple of the Lord was a spiritual experience. I’ve always wanted to go to the temple. In Primary we sang, “I love to see the temple. I’m going there someday.” Now I can say, “I love to go to the temple.”
That first time in the temple, I did baptisms for some of my aunts, some relatives of my grandmother (my mom’s mom), and other people I didn’t know. The temple and family history are part of my testimony.

It was in the middle of November, when I was looking for a yardstick in Mom and Dad’s closet, that I found the skateboard and other Christmas presents hidden behind a box and a bag of old clothes.
I had ached all over to have a new skateboard because the best skateboarding hill in the world was over at Adam’s Park, not two blocks away.
My best friend, James, and I went there every chance we got and used a skateboard that we’d bought together at Tilly’s Secondhand Store for five dollars. It was small, banged up some, and had metal wheels that squeaked and rattled as we bumped down the winding walk at the park. But this skateboard wasn’t something Mom and Dad had picked up at Tilly’s Secondhand Store!
Sitting in the closet, I ran my hand across the skateboard’s shiny, smooth surface and spun the red “poly” wheels. There was a picture of a guy flying through the air on a skateboard, and underneath, in brilliant red letters, was “SPEED DEMON.”
“I found my Christmas present!” I called out as I rushed up James’s driveway and found him trying to fix a back wheel on his little brother’s trike.
“Christmas?” he muttered, looking up at me and zipping his coat tighter around his chin. “Who’s thinking of Christmas? We haven’t even had Thanksgiving.”
“I accidentally found my parents’ Christmas gift to me,” I gasped, dropping down beside him.
James set his pliers down and squinted at me. “What’re you getting?”
“A skateboard! Not a crummy one, either. You know the one we’ve looked at in the window at Benson’s Bargain Barn?”
James nodded.
“It’s as good as that one any day.”
James whistled softly. “And it’s yours?”
“With four sisters who could care less about skateboarding, it has to be mine.”
“A skateboard!” James whispered, shaking his head. “You’re a lucky dog, Aaron.” He grinned, and I knew he was happy for me, but I could see a hint of disappointment in his eyes because he knew that there would be no new skateboard for him.
Since Dad had been on just sick pay for several weeks, we hadn’t had much. But James’s family was poor all the time. His mom was a cashier at the supermarket. On Saturdays and some evenings, she cleaned people’s houses to get money for clothes and stuff like that for him, his brother, and his little sister. He didn’t even know where his dad was. James never expected much for Christmas.
That night as I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, I thought of James. I was happy about my skateboard, but I knew that having a skateboard wasn’t going to be all that great unless James had one too.
I tossed and turned, then started figuring. I’d already bought my family’s gifts, except the ones I was making in woodshop at school. The skateboard at the Bargain Barn cost over ninety dollars. I had twenty-seven dollars, money I’d been saving for months to buy a baseball glove. I had a set of baseball cards that Brandon had been coaxing me to sell him for fifteen dollars. I was sure that I could collect ten dollars’ worth of cans by Christmas. That was fifty-two dollars right there. And I could do odd jobs for folks in the neighborhood.
I had nearly six weeks till Christmas, and I was going to get James his own skateboard! Suddenly I was more excited about James’s skateboard than I was about the one Mom and Dad had tucked away for me in the closet.
“Do you still want to buy my baseball cards?” I asked Brandon the next day at school.
He stared at me. “You’re willing to sell?”
I nodded.
“Fifteen dollars?”
I nodded again.
“You have those cards over at my place this afternoon, and I’ll have your money for you.”
As soon as school was out, I sprinted home, dug my baseball cards out from under the bed, and galloped over to Brandon’s place. He had his money ready for me. Of course, Brandon didn’t ever have to worry about money. He was the only kid in his family, and his mom and dad gave him just about anything he wanted.
I checked with everyone in our neighborhood about doing odd jobs. Brother Tubbs let me clean out his garage. Sister Wells had me rake leaves and trash from her backyard. I took care of the Parkers’ dog and two cats and watered houseplants while they were gone for a week and a half.
Two weeks before Christmas I had seventy-two dollars. With my money stuffed into a bag, I entered the Bargain Barn. “I know the skateboard costs ninety-five ninety-five,” I said to Brother Benson as I pushed the bag across the counter, “but if you’ll save that skateboard for me, I promise to get the rest of the money to you as soon as I can.”
He thought a moment, rubbing his chin and gazing at my money. “Aaron, you must want that skateboard pretty bad.”
“I’m getting it for a friend.”
“He must be a pretty good friend.”
“The best a guy could have.”
“I’ll save the skateboard for you.” He hesitated, then added, “I could use a little help around here between now and Christmas. Maybe I could help you earn some of that money.”
“Would you?” I asked, hardly believing my ears.
Brother Benson’s eyes twinkled. “I think we could work something out.”
For the next two Saturdays and some afternoons after school, I worked at the Bargain Barn. I broke down cardboard boxes for recycling, straightened up the storeroom, swept the parking lot, ran errands, and did anything else I was asked to do.
“I can’t find my Christmas presents anywhere,” Brandon complained the day before Christmas vacation as we walked home from school. “Usually I’ve found where Mom and Dad have hidden them by now. They always give me one big thing that I really want, and clothes I need, and other stuff, but I haven’t found anything, and I’ve looked all over.”
I shrugged. “Why not wait and be surprised like everyone else.”
“Don’t you ever wonder what you’re getting for Christmas?”
A smile pulled at the corners of my mouth. “I don’t have to wonder this year. This is going to be my best Christmas.”
“Well, Aaron,” Brother Benson said the day before Christmas Eve as he was closing up his store, “you’ve been a real trooper. When I told you that you could work here for a few hours, I didn’t know you were going to give me such a hand.”
“How much do you figure I still owe on the skateboard?”
Brother Benson chuckled. He stepped into his office and returned with a huge oblong box, wrapped in silver paper and tied with red ribbon. “You’ve earned it,” he said, handing it to me.
I took the package with shaking hands. I could hardly wait to see James’s eyes bulge when he saw his gift.
Christmas Eve was a busy day. I helped Mom make cookies and candies for neighbors and friends. We finished doing a few decorations around the house—the Christmas tree had long since been decorated. There weren’t a lot of packages under the tree, but that didn’t bother me because I knew that the best gift was hidden away in Mom and Dad’s closet.
It was well after dinner before I could take my gift over to James. I rushed to my room, pulled the silver package out from under the bed, and ran my hand gently across the paper. “You’re going to love it, James,” I whispered. “We’ll both be skateboarding pros.”
I got up, threw on my coat, grabbed my gift, and rushed down the hall toward the back door. As I burst into the kitchen, Mom and Dad were there, and the skateboard was on the table. I froze in my tracks.
“I wish we could afford to buy one for our son,” Dad was saying to Mom, shaking his head and staring at the table.
Mom shrugged. “Janet just wanted to surprise Brandon for once, so she asked me to keep his gifts. Every other year he’s found his presents weeks before Christmas.” She laughed. “She told me yesterday that they’re sure he’s searched their house a dozen times and is pretty worried.”
“This is Brandon’s?” I asked, feeling sick.
Mom turned and saw me. She nodded. “His mother’s on her way over to pick all these things up.” She gestured to a pile of packages on the counter as well as the skateboard. “Where are you headed, and what’s that under your arm?”
“I was going to see James,” I rasped. “I have a gift for him.”
“OK. It’s nice of you to think of him.”
After I rushed out the back door, for a moment I stood in the driveway, clutching the skateboard. I’d never had a skateboard as nice as the one under my arm.
I can keep this one, I thought to myself, and find something else for James. No one would know. I deserve a good skateboard after I worked so hard. Then I thought of James and how fun it had been working to get something nice for him. And I knew that I could never truly enjoy this skateboard, knowing it had really been meant for him.
Slowly the sick feeling went away and a warm, peaceful feeling took its place. It was the same feeling I’d had since deciding to buy the skateboard for James. I started for his house.
“What is it?” James asked, surprised, as I pushed the huge silver package into his arms.
“Open it and see.”
“Now?”
“I won’t be around to watch you open it tomorrow,” I pointed out.
James hesitated, then tore the silver paper away and gazed at the skateboard. His mouth dropped open. “Are you joking, Aaron? You’re not really giving this to me, are you?”
“It’s all yours, James.”
“But—but how? … Why … ?”
“You’re my friend, and I knew you’d want one.”
“What’s yours like?”
I shook my head and laughed. “I found out that Brandon’s mother had asked Mom to hide that one for him. But I think yours is the best one around.”
James’s smile drooped. He pushed the skateboard toward me. “Aaron, I can’t take something as nice as this. But thanks for offering.”
“You have to take it,” I argued. “You can’t give a Christmas gift back.”
For a moment he just stood there holding the skateboard, blinking back tears. Then he said, “Half of it is yours, then.”
I shook my head.
“I’m giving half of it to you, and like you said, you can’t give a Christmas gift back. It will be ours together. And the day after tomorrow we’ll try it out at Adams Park!”
I nodded, fighting back tears, too, then headed home, knowing that no one—not even Brandon with all his gifts from Santa and his parents—would ever have as nice a Christmas as mine.

The first Christmas I experienced on my mission in France was very enjoyable. We were invited to celebrate with a wonderful member family, and I felt comfortable and at home. But the second Christmas stands out in my memory and will always be precious to me.
The thrill of the holiday season was in the air in the small French town where I was serving: Christmas music in the stores, advertisements everywhere, and Christmas cards in the mail.
A few days before Christmas the missionaries in our zone went caroling in the buses, metro stations, and shopping malls. We tried to share the joy of Christmas with our French brothers and sisters by singing carols, handing out brochures, and presenting copies of the Book of Mormon wrapped in Christmas paper. We wished the people a very merry Christmas. Just like the previous year, we were planning to spend Christmas Eve at a member family’s home. My companion and I had received an invitation and were looking forward to a wonderful homemade Christmas dinner.
On 24 December we worked hard the entire morning. When we returned home for lunch, we received a call from the family who had invited us for dinner that evening. They had to cancel the appointment because of a death in the family. We couldn’t go to their home because of their family commitments, so we tried to comfort them as best we could over the telephone. After we hung up, I realized this was going to be a very lonely Christmas Eve. The other elders in our apartment had been invited elsewhere. We ate our lunch and left again to work.
The evening fell, and a cold wind blew. As I looked at the Christmas trees lit up in warm homes—homes filled with happy faces—my thoughts wandered home to my own family in the Netherlands. They would be sitting together, singing Christmas carols, and reading the story of the Nativity. Then they would listen to Christmas music while my dad lit the candles on our Christmas tree. All of a sudden I felt very homesick.
We returned to our apartment, and I sat down at my desk, feeling very sorry for myself. I turned on a Mormon Tabernacle Choir Christmas tape and started to write in my journal.
One of the many things I learned on my mission was that those I served with were always my companion for a reason. Such was the case with Elder Wagner. After a while he got up from his desk and said he had a plan. “Why don’t we take some of our wrapped copies of the Book of Mormon, go down to the metro station, and talk to those who also feel lonely on Christmas Eve?” he suggested. I said I would join him, although I was pretty reluctant about the whole idea. I just wanted to sit in my chair and feel sorry for myself.
We left our apartment and started walking toward the metro. The closer we got to the station, the more I felt this wasn’t such a bad idea and might possibly turn out to be a good experience. When we boarded the metro, it was nearly empty. A few people were scattered about. I approached a man who was sitting alone by a window. Introducing myself, I asked if we could join him. He agreed. We started talking about families—his family, my family—and Christmas. He told me he was a refugee and had had to leave his country and his family. He told me about his wife and child and how much he missed them. Though our situations weren’t the same, I could sympathize because my family was also far away. Then I started talking about Jesus Christ, how much He meant to me, and how much Christmas meant to me. “The Savior came to earth,” I testified.
Instantly there was a fire burning in my soul. I felt the same burning sensation later that evening while I talked and testified of Jesus Christ to other people on the metro. When my companion and I finally left to return to our apartment, I was filled with a wonderful sense of appreciation. As we discussed the events of that evening I learned that my companion was feeling the same thing. We had truly felt the spirit of Christmas, and I felt as if my heart would burst with joy. The Savior was born in Bethlehem for me and for the entire world! How blessed I felt to have the gospel in my life and to have felt His love for me that night.
It was a Christmas I will always cherish, for it was on that Christmas Eve I finally learned what Christmas is all about. It is about Christ and sharing my precious testimony of the living Son of God.

One day my brother came into my bedroom and started bugging me. Because I was having a bad day, I started to yell at him. After I yelled, I felt really bad. I knelt beside my bed and asked Heavenly Father to forgive me. After my prayer, I went to my brother and told him I was sorry.
I felt good inside after that. I knew it was the Holy Ghost. I have a testimony that Heavenly Father will forgive us if we just ask Him to.

As President Cowley’s traveling companion in the mission field, I received instructions from him to keep my briefcase packed with a couple of changes of clothing. He said, “When I say ‘We’re going,’ you grab your bag, start the car, and don’t ask any questions.”

When that would happen, I would grab my bag and go to the car. Being a young, eager missionary, I often wondered where we were going; but I didn’t ask.

Once, after we had driven a few kilometers, he asked, “Would you like to know where we’re going?”

I said, “Yes.”

Then he said, “So would I! I’m not sure just where we’re going, but we’ll keep going; and when the Lord tells us to turn, we’ll turn, and we’ll end up where He wants us to be.”

When our children were small, my wife Mary and I decided to follow a tradition which my father taught when I was a child. He would meet with each child individually to help us set goals. Then he would teach us how church, school, and extracurricular activities would help us achieve those goals. He had three rules:
We needed to have worthwhile goals.
We could change our goals at any time.
Whatever goal we chose, we had to diligently work towards it.
When our son, Larry, was five years old, I asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up. He said he wanted to be a doctor like Uncle Joe. Larry had experienced a serious operation and had acquired great respect for doctors, especially his Uncle Joe. I told Larry how all the worthwhile things he was doing would help prepare him to be a doctor.
Several months later, I asked him again what he would like to be. This time he said he wanted to be an airline pilot. Changing the goal was fine, so I explained how his various activities would help him achieve his new goal.
Almost as an afterthought I said, “Larry, last time we talked you wanted to be a doctor. What changed your mind?” He answered, “I still like the idea of being a doctor, but Uncle Joe works on Saturday mornings, and I don’t want to miss Saturday-morning cartoons.” Since that time our family has labeled a distraction from a worthwhile goal as a Saturday-morning cartoon.

“OK, class,” the teacher said. “We’re done with maths.* It’s craft time!”
Ismay smiled as the whole class started chatting. Ismay loved craft time. This was the only chance she had to talk with her friends during class.
“Can you believe Christmas is next month?” Mason asked.
Ismay nodded. “I can’t wait!” Ismay thought about her favorite treat. She could almost taste the pavlova, buried in whipped cream and topped with blueberries and kiwifruit. Mmmmmm …
“What’s your favorite Christmas tradition?” Ava asked.
“Oh, that’s easy,” Mason said. “Barbecue at the beach! Mum and Dad spend weeks getting ready for it. It’s the best food in the world!”
Ismay grinned. She loved doing that too. But it wasn’t her favorite. “Ours is going to see the pohutukawa trees,” Ismay said. “We have a picnic under them.”
Pohutukawa trees bloomed at Christmastime. That’s why people called them New Zealand Christmas trees. Their pretty red blossoms made Ismay think that even the trees were celebrating Jesus!
“Well, my favorite is what we do on Christmas Eve,” Ava said. “We go to a church service and talk about when Jesus was born. Then we each get to open one present.”
Everyone around her got excited about opening presents. They started talking about what they wanted for Christmas.
Just then, Charlotte dropped her scissors and crossed her arms. She looked grumpy all of a sudden. “Jesus isn’t even real! Besides, Christmas is just about giving presents that nobody needs.”
Then Charlotte picked her scissors back up and started cutting quickly. Everyone was quiet for a moment.
“Actually,” Mason finally said, “I really do need a new scooter.”
Ismay’s other friends laughed. They kept talking about what else they wanted for Christmas.
But Ismay didn’t laugh. She felt sad because of what Charlotte said about Jesus. She wanted to say something. But would that only make Charlotte more mad?
Ismay kept working on her craft for another minute.
Then she turned to Charlotte. “You know what you said about Christmas? Well, I don’t feel that way,” she said quietly. “To me, Christmas is about being with family and friends and showing love to people.” She took a deep breath. “And it’s about Jesus. He is real.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Prove it!”
Ismay blinked. Prove it? How? “I … I can’t,” she said. Then she put her hand over her heart. “But I feel it in here. I believe He’s real and that He loves me. He loves you too.”
She felt so good inside when she said that! A warm, happy feeling washed over her. For just a second, she thought she saw Charlotte’s face get brighter. But then her grumpy frown came back.
“Whatever,” Charlotte said. But her voice didn’t sound quite so angry anymore.
Later that night, when Ismay told her family what happened, Mum said, “I’m proud of you. I think you planted an important seed today. Who knows what that will grow into someday?”
A seed! Ismay thought again about the beautiful pohutukawa trees they would soon visit. Those trees started out as seeds too. Then, over time, they grew tall and beautiful.
“Thanks, Mum!” Ismay felt glad she could plant a seed about Jesus. That was the best Christmas gift she could give anyone.

Some years ago I attended a stake conference in a rural area. We were emphasizing missionary work in the Saturday evening meeting. An eighteen-year-old farm boy with freckles on his nose and a charming smile on his face was asked to tell what he had done to get ready for a mission. He listed ten things that had helped him. Here is his list:
“1. First and most important, I have had great parents to help me. They have encouraged me to go on a mission for as long as I can remember. They have helped me to save money for this purpose.
“2. I have attended church. I have learned many wonderful lessons that have helped me to understand the meaning of the gospel.
“3. I have been in Scouting for seven years. I am an Eagle Scout. I have been taught to ‘be prepared.’ I have repeated many times the Scout oath, ’to do my duty to God and my country.’
“4. I have earned a Duty to God Award. I know that this duty includes sharing the gospel with others.
“5. I am the priest quorum assistant. I work directly under my bishop, who is my quorum president. Ever since I was a deacon my bishop and his counselors have interviewed me and have spoken about my going on a mission. They have helped give me a vision of what a great opportunity and responsibility it is to serve the Lord as a missionary.
“6. I have attended seminary, where I have studied the gospel. I have had wonderful teachers and friends. I have read and studied the Book of Mormon, and I know it is the word of God.
“7. I have been a Primary teacher. This has been a great challenge. I have a small class of boys and girls who are not always easy to handle, but I love them and they know it. We are learning together.
“8. I have taken part in family home evenings from the time I was a child. My family and I have prayed together, sung together, and read the scriptures together. We have made plans together concerning our lives and the things we want to do.
“9. I have tried to live a clean life. There have been temptations; but I have a goal to go on a mission, and I want to be worthy to go. I decided a long time ago that I don’t need to drink beer, I don’t need to smoke, I don’t need drugs, and I don’t need to get mixed up in immorality.
“10. I have responsibilities in school to lead and serve. I am a student leader at school. I enjoy it, I am growing from it, and I have made many wonderful friends because of it.”
This boy concluded by saying: “I have enjoyed the story of Ammon in the Book of Mormon. He fought the robbers and protected the sheep. While others, who had run from the robbers, were bragging to the king, Ammon was down with the horses. He did what he was supposed to do when he was supposed to. If we do this and pray for help, we will be ready.”
Financial Preparation. Missions have become costly. The average expense is $250 a month, which means approximately $6,000 for a period of two years. The time to start saving is when boys are very young. Let those savings be kept in safe bank accounts and not be placed in speculative ventures. The young man to whom I referred earlier had saved money to finance his mission. Many of our young men have done so. Many more could do much more.