Gospel Story Finder

Three Christmas trees stand out in the memory of Elder Gary B. Sabin.
The first was a beautiful Christmas tree of his youth. When Gary scaled the tree trying to reach a candy cane, the entire tree crashed to the ground.
The second was an evergreen branch he found as a missionary while serving in Belgium and the Netherlands from 1973 to 1975. Elder Sabin and his companion took the branch home to their apartment and propped it up around the Christmas cards they had received from home.
The third was a tree made of Christmas lights strung on the IV stand next to his daughter’s hospital bed. One of three Sabin children to suffer from cystic fibrosis, his daughter had received a double-lung transplant one year after the death of her brother from the same disease.
“We have learned a lot more from our children than they have learned from us,” says Elder Sabin.
As a General Authority he will remember the Christmas trees and the lessons he learned from them. Each tree highlights portions of his journey—from a young boy wanting a candy cane to a missionary teaching the plan of salvation to a father who relied on the plan and the Savior’s love to sustain his family through mortal trials.

I feel a little today like something Elder Matthew Cowley said one time. He said when he was a young man getting ready to leave on a mission, his father went to the railroad station with him and said, in effect: “My boy, when you go out on that mission, you will stand before groups to speak, and you will think you are wonderfully prepared, but when you stand up your mind will go completely blank.”
Brother Cowley said to his father, “What do you do when your mind goes blank?”
And his father said, “You stand up there, and, with all the fervor of your soul, you bear witness that Joseph Smith was a prophet of the living God, and thoughts will flood into your mind, and words to your mouth, to round out those thoughts in a facility of expression that will carry conviction to the heart of everyone who listens.”
Brother Cowley, being a man with a great sense of humor, said,
And so my mind, being mostly blank during my five years in the mission field, gave me the opportunity to bear testimony to the greatest event in the history of the world since the crucifixion of the Master.
Try it sometime. . . . If you don’t have anything else to say, testify that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God, and the whole history of the Church will flood into your mind. [Adapted from Matthew Cowley Speaks (Salt Lake City: Deseret Book, 1954), pp. 298–99]

The wind was howling and shaking the palm trees by the time Grandma’s car reached Ana Luisa’s house. “Grab your things, girls, and go inside,” Grandma said. “I’m going to find some rocks to put behind the car’s tires.”
“Why?” Rebecca asked.
“So maybe the car won’t blow away,” Grandma said.
Rebecca and Sarah looked at each other, their eyes wide.
The girls didn’t remember the last hurricane that had come to Puerto Rico eight years ago, when Sarah was two and Rebecca just one. But they knew that the Arecibo River had flooded their neighborhood and that a lot of houses had been destroyed. Now Hurricane Georges was on the way, and newscasters warned that this hurricane might be even worse.
“So, girls, are you ready for Hurricane Georges?” asked Ana Luisa as they stepped through the front door.
“Brother Soto came to our house this morning and nailed boards on all the windows. Grandma says we need to pray that everything will turn out all right,” Sarah said.
“That’s right,” Ana Luisa said. “Heavenly Father will watch over us.”
Ana Luisa was a friend from their new church. Even though the girls were worried, Ana Luisa’s comforting words and the familiar smell of rice and beans inside her cozy house made them feel better.
The sister missionaries, who had taught Grandma and the girls the gospel just three months ago, were spending the night at Ana Luisa’s, too. “It’s going to be fun,” Sister Lewis, one of the missionaries, told them, “like a party, except with really bad weather.”
For a while it was like a party. They ate dinner, then munched on cookies and listened to the radio. Every once in a while they heard a crash outside. Rebecca and Sarah wondered if Grandma’s car had blown away after all, but it was too dark to see.
Later, the lights flickered and went out. As Rebecca made a funny face in the beam of her flashlight, Grandma said, “Now is probably a good time for bed.”
After they put on their pajamas, Grandma called Sarah and Rebecca back to the living room. “We’re going to say a prayer together,” Grandma said. Sister Lewis asked Heavenly Father to keep them all safe during the hurricane and to protect Rebecca and Sarah’s house. Hearing Sister Lewis pray helped the girls feel calmer.
The next morning, when Sarah cranked open the metal window slats, Ana Luisa’s street looked like it belonged on a different planet. Grandma’s car was still there, but some trees had fallen down, and sheets of metal from people’s roofs were on Ana Luisa’s lawn. Pigeons waddled helplessly down the sidewalk, too heavy with rainwater to fly. “If Ana Luisa’s street looks like this,” Sarah asked Rebecca nervously, “what do you think ours looks like?”
Early that morning Grandma had driven over to check on their house. She finally came back around lunchtime. “The neighborhood is flooded,” she said. “I couldn’t even get near our street.”
Rebecca wanted to cry. Sarah asked, “What do we do now, Grandma?”
“If it’s OK with Ana Luisa, we’ll stay here for a few more days. Maybe by then the water will go down, and we can go home.”
Everyone from church wanted to help Grandma, Rebecca, and Sarah. Ana Luisa cooked dinner for them, and the sister missionaries brought clothes that Sister Lewis’s family had sent. Bishop Espinosa even came to give Grandma a blessing when she was feeling sick. But it was hard not to be in their own house and harder still not to know if their house was even there anymore.
After eight days the streets in their neighborhood were finally clear. Buckled into the backseat of Grandma’s car, Sarah and Rebecca felt a twist of excitement and fear in their stomachs. As they rode, they saw houses with walls that had been blown down. Broken tables, waterlogged mattresses, and mud-crusted refrigerators lay abandoned on the side of the road.
“What if our house is gone?” Rebecca asked.
“Then Heavenly Father will help us find a new one,” Grandma replied.
The streets in their neighborhood were still oozing with thick black mud, so they had to drive very slowly. Finally, Grandma turned the corner onto their street.
“I see it!” Rebecca shouted. “Our house is still there!”
“There’s a hole in the roof,” Sarah pointed out.
Inside, everything smelled musty. The girls leaned their mattresses against the wall to air them out and helped Grandma wipe up the water that had come in through the hole in the roof. “Can we stay here tonight, Grandma?” Rebecca asked.
“I don’t think so. We’ll have to wait a few more nights until we can get the roof fixed.”
Rebecca sighed and sank onto the damp couch. “I wish we could stay.”
“I’m just glad our house is still here,” Sarah said.
“Heavenly Father listened to our prayers,” Grandma said. Then, looking through the doorway, she pointed toward the street. “I think He’s still listening.”
Outside, a large truck with a crane was pulling up. Bishop Espinosa and Brother Soto hopped down, along with some other men from their ward.
“Do you need any help?” the bishop called. “Maybe some people to fix your roof?”
Sarah and Rebecca grabbed hands and squealed. “Does this mean we can stay, Grandma? Can we sleep here tonight?”
Grandma smiled and nodded. “Welcome home, girls.”

As in Christ’s time, some people in our day are not blessed with the actual gift of sight. There was a blind man who, in an effort to sustain himself, sat day after day in his usual place at the edge of a busy sidewalk in a large city. In one hand he held an old felt hat filled with pencils. A tin cup was extended by the other hand. His simple appeal to the passer-by was brief and to the point. It had a certain finality to it, almost a tone of despair. The message was contained on the small sign held around his neck by a string. It read, “I am blind.”
Most did not stop to buy his pencils or to place a coin in the tin cup. They were too busy, too occupied by their own problems. That tin cup never had been filled, even half-filled. Then one beautiful spring day a man paused and added several new words to the shabby sign. No longer did it read, “I am blind.” Now the message read, “It is springtime, and I am blind.” The compassion of human feelings could not now be restrained. The cup was soon filled to overflowing. The coins, however, were a poor substitute for the desired ability to actually restore sight.

Now, in closing, I want to share with you an important experience in my life that demonstrated to me what happens when we seek to understand a part of the doctrine of Christ and take action with that understanding.
On a later trip to Moscow, Russia, with another group of college students, we were scheduled to attend sacrament meeting in a branch just outside of the main city. It would take about forty-five minutes on the metro, and then a 15 minute walk. The metro was empty at 7:30 a.m. Interestingly enough, the nearly 40 of us all crammed into one car, so I decided to stand and hold on to a pole.When I travel short or long distances, I make it a habit to pray, to check in with Heavenly Father. As I prayed, I told him how thankful I was for a Savior who loves me. Soon, I had a distinct impression that I could do better. In fact, I felt quite chastised and ashamed to the point of a few tears. I knew that I wasn't guilty of any grievous sin, but the Holy Ghost taught me about sins of omission. I was a bit embarrassed by the tears and the tears made some of the students nervous, but I saw it as an opportunity to repent, so I asked Heavenly Father's forgiveness and promised that I would do better.
On the walk to the chapel, I kept behind the others, feeling a bit hurt that I wasn't who the Lord needed at the time. I resolved to do much better. We arrived at the chapel. There was a flurry of activity as the six missionaries from America realized that there were nearly 40 Americans who had just walked in. I sought a seat in the back. I watched carefully, as I am prone to do. As I watched and heard the details, I became a bit indignant. I had always wanted to serve a mission in Russia, but there were no Russian missions when I served in 1981. I had adored my mission to France and Belgium, but I was upset that some of the missionaries were complaining about food and culture. I reminded myself that I needed to prepare for the sacrament. We still had 20 minutes before the meeting would start.
I noticed a woman quietly going about her business. I assumed she was Russian and not a missionary. She was seated behind the piano, so I could not see her fully. I noticed that the Branch President and others spoke with her. She played the opening hymn. For some reason, the Holy Ghost whispered that she was a powerful woman, and that I needed to relay that message to her. After the sacrament and a testimony by the Branch President, she moved to the podium. I thought that she was going to bear her testimony. She sat down by the microphone, and then I realized that she was a sister missionary moving to translate for any of the Americans who wanted to bear testimony, and several did.
She had been unaffected when we arrived. She had gone about her duties as a missionary and branch member in powerful ways. The Spirit whispered, "Tell her that she is a powerful missionary, the kind you wanted to be in France and Belgium, and the kind you would have wanted to have been in Russia." This prompting occurred several times before the meeting ended.
After the meeting, I watched her speak with several of the Branch members. I positioned myself so that I could speak with her. "Sister," I started, "Are you staying for all three meetings?" She said yes. "Could I speak with you at the end of the block?" She affirmed that I could. Then she asked me if I would write down the names of the students who had participated as she had promised the ward clerk that she would get them so that he could have an accurate record. She moved on to Sunday School where she powerfully interacted with the members and helped with the lesson. I was overwhelmed at her goodness and how much the Spirit wanted her to know that she was an awesome missionary.
At the end of the block of meetings, she came to me. I did not have to find her. She asked for the list of students. Then, she said, "You wanted to talk to me?"
I replied,
"Sister, I have been overwhelmed by the Spirit wanting me to tell you what a great missionary you are. I know that some of the other Elders and Sisters have not caught on to the blessing of serving these people, but the Holy Ghost wants you to know that you are a great missionary."
Quietly she sobbed into her hands, trying to regain control of her emotions. I wasn't nervous; the Holy Ghost was present and He had carefully guided me in what I was to say. After many seconds, she looked me in the face. My tears started. She said,
"Brother, I leave for home in three days. All I ever wanted to do was serve an acceptable mission for the Savior. I have been praying for weeks for an answer; I have been fasting to know. I now know that I have."
It wasn't appropriate to hug; she never would have. She was too respectful of the Savior, of her mission, of the mission rules. We grasped hands and arms. We looked into each other's eyes and parted ways. I assume that we will never meet again.

The Savior counseled that we should pray for those who “despitefully use” us. This principle is often overlooked in our prayers. The Prophet Joseph Smith understood it clearly. His petitions were fervent, his motives pure, and the blessings of heaven regular.
Daniel Tyler, an associate of the Prophet, recalled an important occasion: “At the time William Smith and others rebelled against the Prophet [at Kirtland], … I attended a meeting … where ‘Joseph’ presided. Entering the school-house a little before [the] meeting opened, and gazing upon the man of God, I perceived sadness in his countenance and tears trickling down his cheeks. … A few moments later a hymn was sung and he opened the meeting by prayer. Instead of facing the audience, however, he turned his back and bowed upon his knees, facing the wall. This, I suppose, was done to hide his sorrow and tears.
“I had heard men and women pray—especially the former—from the most ignorant, both as to letters and intellect, to the most learned and eloquent, but never until then had I heard a man address his Maker as though He was present listening as a kind father would listen to the sorrows of a dutiful child. Joseph was at that time unlearned, but that prayer, which was to a considerable extent in behalf of those who accused him of having gone astray and fallen into sin, [was] that the Lord would forgive them and open their eyes that they might see aright—that prayer, I say, to my humble mind, partook of the learning and eloquence of heaven. There was no ostentation, no raising of the voice as by enthusiasm, but a plain conversational tone, as a man would address a present friend. It appeared to me as though, in case the vail were taken away, I could see the Lord standing facing His humblest of all servants I had ever seen. … It was the crowning … of all the prayers I ever heard.”

It was a muggy summer morning. Josh and his friend Calvin stood on the tennis court, waiting for their neighbor to come outside and give them their weekly tennis lesson. Five, then ten minutes went by. “Maybe our lesson is canceled,” Josh finally said.
The sun went behind a cloud. The air grew chilly.
“Yeah,” Calvin said. “Let’s go home. It looks like it’s going to rain.” He looked up at the billowing black cloud gathering above them. Suddenly a fierce wind kicked up. Without warning, hail and rain started pelting down.
“Quick!” Josh called above the shrieking wind. He pointed to a large pine tree. The boys ran across the lawn, the wind pulling so hard that Josh feared he’d be carried away. He and Calvin scrambled under the tree branches, listening to the storm roar around them. Josh knew that Brother and Sister Snow’s house was nearby, but he couldn’t see it through the heavy downpour.
“Let’s pray,” Calvin said. The boys knelt in the dirt and prayed that the rain would let up long enough for them to see the Snows’ house and run there for safety. As soon as they said “amen,” the rain slowed. “I see the house!” Josh cried.
Calvin dashed across the slippery, hail-covered grass to the Snows’ porch as the rain picked up again. Josh followed, but stopped next to the detached garage because it was closer than the house. He stood beside it for a moment, wondering what to do. Follow Calvin, a voice spoke to his mind. He ran toward the porch, where Calvin stood waiting. As he ran, he felt a rumble and heard a terrible CRASH!
Josh turned around and froze. Two huge pine trees had blown over onto the garage, demolishing it. Wooden beams, broken glass, and twisted metal littered the ground. A tree trunk lay where Josh had been standing.
“Come on,” Calvin called. Josh ran to the porch as Calvin rang the doorbell. No one answered. Calvin turned the doorknob and opened the door.
“Phew,” Josh said. “Now we can call our parents to come get us.” As he waited inside the Snows’ house and watched the rain pour down outside, he silently thanked Heavenly Father for protecting him from the storm.
Later that night, Josh’s mom asked, “Did you and Calvin lock the Snows’ door behind you when you left?”
Josh shook his head.
Mom’s eyes twinkled. “I just spoke with the Snows. When you and Calvin went into their house, you set off the security alarm. The house was locked.”
Josh’s mouth dropped open. “But we just opened the door and walked in!”
“When the security agent arrived, the front door was still locked. He has no idea how you boys got into the house.”
Josh thought quietly for a moment. “I know how we got in. Heavenly Father helped us.”
Josh was grateful to know that the Lord would open doors for him and help keep him safe.

One of the first commitments Elder Hurst and Elder Bekoin asked of me was to read the Book of Mormon. I replied that I couldn’t because I had been told not to read or do anything that required great concentration. The elders encouraged me to pray with sincerity and faith in Jesus Christ about their request, assuring me the Lord would give me the ability to do what was necessary.
And so I did as they counseled. I tried the experiment. I read the Book of Mormon—and did so without any difficulty. I was baptized on 18 November 1995.

On one occasion, I was with President Marion G. Romney. He spoke to a large gathering of young people. Afterwards, a returned missionary came up to shake his hand. As he did he said,
“Brother Romney, when I was a missionary I had a question that no one knew the answer to. Let me take advantage of your time for a moment and ask you.”
He then asked a rather complicated question, the answer to which could have been found in the scriptures.
President Romney listened attentively for a few moments and then replied, “That is a very good question. When you find the answer, let me know, will you please?”
As we left the hall he commented to me, obviously referring to the young man and his question,
“As a boy my father always taught me that when I wanted a drink I should go to where the spring flowed out of the ground and not downstream where the cattle had been muddying the water. He’ll be better off if he finds the answer for himself.”

No matter which MTC you attend, you will feel the Spirit as you interact with missionaries from many locations. For example, Sister Ana Victoria Ordoñez Requena is from Guatemala, is attending the MTC in Argentina, has a companion from Chile, and is preparing to serve in Uruguay. “I could feel the Spirit from the moment of my arrival,” she says. “My testimony is growing steadily.”
You will have a full-time missionary companion, an MTC president, and returned-missionary teachers. You will study the doctrine of the Church. You will learn how to teach by the Spirit—and especially how to use the Book of Mormon and other scriptures in teaching. You will learn how to present the proselyting discussions. If necessary, you will receive language training. You will attend the temple. General Authorities and Area Authorities will speak to you in devotionals—live or via satellite or video. You will learn the demeanor, rules, and routine of a full-time missionary. You will have time to get physical exercise, sing in choirs, eat, do your laundry, and write letters.
In the process, you will learn to be an ambassador of the Lord Jesus Christ. You will be able to begin your work in the mission field with confidence and humility, with faith and assurance, and with a solid foundation of gospel knowledge, teaching skills, language ability, and cultural awareness.
Still Can’t Believe It. Elder Edgar Eleuterio Quispe Pérez of Bolivia, attending the Perú MTC: “I still can’t believe it—I am really here in the MTC, and I’m wearing a missionary name tag!”
At Home. Elder William Samuel Lolani Meredith of Western Samoa, attending the New Zealand MTC: “At first I was nervous, but now I feel at home here.”
Among Those Called to Serve.Elder Choi Byung-Yong of Korea, attending the Korea MTC: “I was thrilled to see the video Called to Serve. It helped me realize I am one of 60,000 missionaries serving the Lord!”
A Friend. Elder Joseph Thomas Miller of Utah, USA, attending the Spain MTC: “I had never studied Spanish, but my companion had studied it for six years. He has helped me so much with the language, the gospel, and many things. He has been more than a companion; he has been a friend.” His companion, Elder Samuel David Norton of England, says it goes both ways: “Elder Miller is amazing. The lessons of humility and diligence that I have learned from him have really helped me.”
Patient with Me. Elder Esteban José Ventura of Uruguay, attending the Argentina MTC: “My companion has helped me know how to show love for others. He is patient with me and has helped me learn the discussions.”

On December 28 of this past year, our dear friend and beloved General Authority Elder Bruce D. Porter completed his mortality. He was 64 years old.
I first met Bruce when we were students at Brigham Young University. He was one of the best and the brightest. After he received his doctoral degree from Harvard University, emphasizing Russian affairs, Bruce’s thinking and writing brought prominence that could have derailed him, but the wealth and praise of the world never clouded his view. His loyalty was to his Savior, Jesus Christ; to his eternal companion, Susan; to his children and grandchildren.
Bruce was born with a kidney defect. He had surgery, but over time his kidneys continued to decline.
Shortly after Bruce’s call as a General Authority in 1995, we served together with our families in Frankfurt, Germany, where his work centered in Russia and Eastern Europe.
Life for Elder Porter changed dramatically in 1997 when his kidney function and health began to fail. The Porter family returned to Salt Lake City.
During his 22 years of service in the Seventy, Bruce was hospitalized numerous times, including for 10 surgeries. Doctors told Susan on two occasions that Bruce would not live through the night, but he did.
For more than 12 years of his service as a General Authority, Bruce was on dialysis to clean his blood. For much of that time, the dialysis consumed five evenings a week for four hours each treatment so that he could serve in his calling during the day and accept conference assignments on the weekends. When his health did not improve after several priesthood blessings, Bruce was puzzled, but he knew in whom he trusted.
In 2010, Bruce received a kidney from his son David. This time his body did not reject the transplant. It was a miracle, bringing renewed health and eventually allowing him and Susan to return to their beloved Russia, with him serving in the Area Presidency.
On December 26 of last year, after fighting continuous infections in a hospital in Salt Lake City, he asked the doctors to leave the room. Bruce told Susan “that he knew through the Spirit that there was nothing the doctors could do that would save his life. He knew … that Heavenly Father would take him home. He was filled with peace.”
On December 28, Bruce returned to his family home. A few hours later, surrounded by loved ones, he peacefully returned to his heavenly home.
Years ago, Bruce Porter wrote these words to his children:
“The testimony I have of the reality and love of Jesus Christ has been the compass of my life. … It [is] a pure, burning witness of the Spirit that he lives, that he is my Redeemer and Friend in every time of need.”
“Our challenge … is to come to know [the Savior] … and, through faith in him, to overcome the trials and temptations of this world.”
“Let us be faithful and true, trusting in him.”
Bruce Douglas Porter overcame the world.

I know it is important for me to keep in mind your perspective. This truth I learned from a granddaughter. I was speaking to her family about the importance of having sufficient numbers of young men and young women in a ward to maximize social opportunities and to learn together the principles of the gospel. I commented, “Why, do you know that when Elder Joseph Wirthlin was a bishop here in Salt Lake City, he had a full quorum of forty-eight boys who were priests.”

My granddaughter, who had been listening but saying little, suddenly exclaimed, “Oh, that would be wonderful!”

I came to appreciate the importance of having the right perspective. It has been said that the young want to change the world—and the old want to change the young!

Although we planted the seed, we were totally dependent upon the Lord for the harvest. A young man whose wife was a member of this Church consented to listen to the discussions. He received the first few with great delight. Then, suddenly, before our next appointment, the world got to him and he sent word for us not to come again.

We prayed and felt that we should go back, but not just then. We continued to ask the Lord for direction, and three weeks later we felt the Spirit’s confirmation that we should go to him on the following Wednesday. We prayed to know the right time, and again felt the influence of the Spirit. We knew Wednesday morning wasn’t the right time. In the afternoon we prayed again, and the answer came with urgency, “NOW.”

We immediately left our apartment, but on the way I stopped at a store to drop off a roll of film. As I put that roll on the counter a feeling of force enveloped me and the Spirit seemed almost offended as the word was repeated in my mind, “NOW!” I felt propelled out of that store and into our car. Three minutes later we were at the door of our friend. He had been reading the Book of Mormon and was thinking about us. As we talked, he became willing to listen to the discussions again.

We loved our association with the splendid elders and sisters of our mission. We were touched when an elder who was being transferred from our district said, “I looked up my new district to see if there was a missionary couple there. I hoped there would be, but there isn’t.” He was genuinely disappointed.

We are thankful for President Kimball’s message and the impact it had on us. A mission for couples? Certainly! What is it like? It is filled with wonderful surprises.

Let me share with you the true account of one sister, Ellen Yates from Grantsville, Utah. Early in October, 10 years ago, she kissed her husband, Leon, good-bye as he left to go to work in Salt Lake City. This would be the last time she would see Leon alive. He had a collision with a young man 20 years of age who was late for his first job and had tried to pass a slower vehicle, resulting in a head-on collision that killed them both instantly. Sister Yates said that after two compassionate highway patrolmen told her the news, she plunged into shock and grief.
She records, “As I tried to look ahead in life, all I could see was darkness and pain.” It turned out that her husband’s best friend was the bishop of the young man’s ward. The bishop called Sister Yates and told her that the young man’s mother, Jolayne Willmore, wanted to talk with her. She remembers “being shocked because I was so centered on my grief and pain that I had not even thought about the young man and his family. I suddenly realized that here was a mother who was in as much or more pain than I was. I quickly gave my permission … for a visit.”
When Brother and Sister Willmore arrived, they expressed their great sorrow that their son was responsible for Leon’s death and presented her with a picture of the Savior holding a little girl in His arms. Sister Yates says, “When times become too hard to bear, I look at this picture and remember that Christ knows me personally. He knows my loneliness and my trials.” One scripture that comforts Sister Yates is “Wherefore, be of good cheer, and do not fear, for I the Lord am with you, and will stand by you.”
Each October Sister Yates and Sister Willmore (both of whom are here together in the Conference Center today) go to the temple together and offer thanks for the Atonement of Jesus Christ, for the plan of salvation, for eternal families, and for the covenants that bind together husbands and wives and families on both sides of the veil. Sister Yates concludes, “Through this trial, I have felt the love of my Father in Heaven and my Savior in greater abundance than I had ever felt before.” She testifies that “there is no grief, no pain, no sickness so great that the Atonement of Christ and the love of Christ cannot heal.” What a wonderful example of love and forgiveness these two sisters have demonstrated. It has allowed the Atonement of Jesus Christ to be efficacious in their lives.

Ammon Arvidson and Brooke Noble of the Maitland Ward, Newcastle Australia Stake, were chosen to represent Port Stephens, Australia, at the first World Child Summit, held in Kushiro, Japan, last summer. The theme was “The Natural Environment and Our Future.”
Speaking of the presentations he made at the summit, Ammon, 12, said, “It makes me very aware of the beautiful world our Lord has created for us to enjoy.” Then thinking about all the people, languages, and cultures created by the Lord, Ammon added, “It makes me look forward to serving a mission wherever Heavenly Father sends me.”
Brooke, 15, added that being so far away from home also strengthened her testimony of the gospel: “It really helped me to know that the gospel goes with you wherever you go. It was such a comfort to be able to kneel down and pray to my Father in Heaven.”

As a boy in Ogden, Utah, I loved to go to the movies with my brothers on Saturdays. We were each given a dime, and we walked to the nearby theater for a double-feature movie. One of our favorite stars was a cowboy actor named Tom Mix. After the movies, we walked home.
One Saturday, my brother Phil lagged behind, and I arrived home first. “Where’s your younger brother?” my mother asked. A little later, we found out that Phil had been hit by a car while he was crossing a street on the way home. He was hurt very seriously. His skull was fractured, and when we first saw him, his eyes were swollen to several times their normal size.
Our stake president came to the hospital, and he and my father gave Phil a blessing. Then we all prayed. As we did, a calm feeling came over my dad, and he knew that Phil would live. When the doctor arrived, he immediately told the nurses to lower my brother’s head. That decision went against how such injuries are treated, but it saved his life. Years later, we learned that his brain sac had ruptured—had his head not been lowered, he would have died. Although he was in a coma for months, one day he squeezed my dad’s hand and we knew that Phil could hear us. His recovery was very long and slow, but he had no lasting mental or physical problems from that terrible accident. I know that this happened because of the power of the priesthood.

We slowly made our way back to the hotel in the drizzling rain. For two days, my wife and I had been copying information on her ancestors from church registers in a small German town. After deciphering so much barely legible handwriting, we were exhausted. Our heads were spinning with the names of generations we had managed to trace back to the year 1648. That date was as far back as we could go, since the church registers had been burned during the Thirty Years’ War. I suggested that now it was my turn to look up my ancestors.
My grandfather had settled in our native Holland. The only clue I had about his background was that he had lived in a German town called Solingen, not far from where we were now. I told my wife that if we left immediately, we could make it to the Solingen church archives by the next morning. So off we went, arriving at what we believed to be Solingen by nightfall.
We found a hotel and, before long, were sitting at the dinner table when the waiter brought soup. But then the waiter mentioned that we were actually in Grafrath, a suburb of Solingen. We immediately canceled our order and, much to the waiter’s surprise, rushed out and into our car. Solingen proper was a half hour away, and we couldn’t afford to waste time traveling in the morning.
Unfortunately, all the hotels in Solingen were full, so we decided to return to Grafrath. Imagine our waiter’s surprise when we returned a few hours later and reordered our dinner! When we explained to him why we had left in such a hurry, he smiled sheepishly and then informed us that all of Solingen’s church records were in Grafrath—in the building adjacent to our hotel! Then it was our turn to smile sheepishly.
After dinner we immediately went next door. There were the archives, open the next day from 8:00 A.M. until noon. We were at the door the next morning even before the archives opened. When I introduced myself to the archivist, he said, “Mr. Kirschbaum, I am so glad you have finally come.”
As it turned out, the previous archivist had compiled extensive information on the Kirschbaum family back to the year 1500. The Kirschbaums had been famous sword makers, and several of them had been mayors of the town.
As I read about my ancestors, I learned that they apparently had the typical Kirschbaum trait of a quiet, good-natured disposition—except when aggravated. I read with amusement about a local notary who apparently played a mean trick on one of my ancestors. The man later found himself shut up in his own house by a cartload of “natural fertilizer” that was delivered to his doorstep by Herr Kirschbaum himself—the mayor.
At noon we left the archives, loaded with information on hundreds of ancestors, including a pedigree chart, countless photocopies of publications on my ancestors, and a book on Solingen sword making.
We didn’t say much as we drove back to Holland, so preoccupied were we with all that had happened. In a matter of hours, we had been given the family records of hundreds of ancestors. But suddenly I broke the silence with a laugh.
I thought of my good-natured ancestors smiling contentedly as we arrived in Grafrath, where the information needed for their temple ordinances was kept. Then I imagined their frustration as we rushed off to Solingen. I could almost hear them yelling, “Hey! Where are those Dutchmen going!”

Recounting this history brings to my mind the experience of John E. Page as the Prophet Joseph Smith called him to serve a mission in Canada. “But I can’t go on a mission to Canada, Brother Joseph,” protested John E. Page. “I don’t even have a coat to wear.”

“Here,” said Joseph Smith, removing his own coat, “take this, and the Lord will bless you.”

John E. Page left Kirtland, Ohio, May 31, 1836, on his first mission as an elder of the Church. He labored in Canada for two years. During that time, he traveled over five thousand miles, mostly on foot, and baptized some six hundred people.

The next day Kipp and I rode out to Carlos’s place again. He was working in his garden. Kipp and I gave him a hand. He told us stories of when he was a young man. He had left home when he was twelve years old to work as a ranch hand, first in Mexico and finally in Arizona. At noon we went into his little house and ate beans and tortillas again.
Kipp and I made at least one visit a day to Carlos’s place. Sometimes we’d help him work around his house. Other times we’d just sit in the shade and he’d talk. Two days before Christmas, I asked him, “What are you doing for Christmas?”
“I’m too old for Christmas. It is for children and families.”
Kipp and I were quiet as we rode Bill back to the barn. As we stripped off the bridle and saddle, I said, “Carlos can’t spend Christmas alone.”
Kipp nodded. “We thought things were rough for us. He doesn’t have anybody. And he won’t have any presents.”
“Aunt Clara,” I asked as we burst through the front door, “do you suppose we could invite Carlos over for Christmas?”
Aunt Clara sighed. “We used to invite him every year, but the last few years he hasn’t come. He says he doesn’t care for Christmas anymore.”
“Can’t we try?” Kipp pleaded. “Spending Christmas in that little hut can’t be any fun. Christmas is for everybody. This year we can be his family, and he can be ours.”
Uncle Hank thought our idea was a good one, so the next morning we went to Tucson. It took us most of the day, but when we had finished, we had two blankets, a pair of work boots, a new hat, and a basket of fruit and nuts for Carlos.
“Now, how are we going to get him to celebrate with us?” Uncle Hank asked as we drove down the dirt road to the ranch.
“Kipp and I will worry about that,” I said with a grin.
It was turning dark, but there was a bright, full moon when Kipp and I saddled old Bill and headed for Carlos’s place. As we rode up, we saw a little light from his two windows. When he opened his door, we shouted, “Merry Christmas, Carlos!” I added, “Grab a jacket—we’re going to be late.”
“Late? Late for what?”
“It’s Christmas Eve. The party’s ready to start.”
“I thought I told you that I don’t celebrate Christmas anymore.”
Kipp said, “But we can’t celebrate Christmas without you. This year we don’t have family except you, Uncle Hank, and Aunt Clara. You have to come! You can ride old Bill. We’ll walk.”
Kipp and I had to do some more fast talking, but we finally got Carlos out of his house and onto Bill; then the three of us left for the ranch house.
Aunt Clara had a stocking for each of us, bulging with candy and nuts. We sang Christmas carols, read the Christmas story from the Bible, and snacked on popcorn, candy, and apple cider. Toward the end of the evening, we gave him our gifts.
Carlos was like a little kid! He admired the blankets and fruit basket. Then he tried on his new shoes and hat and marched around the house, studying himself in the hall mirror. Big, happy tears trickled down his cheeks.
When Kipp and I took Carlos back to his place, he paused in the doorway and said, “Maybe I am still a child, because Christmas feels good tonight. Or maybe it is because I was with family.” He grinned. “Feliz Navidad, muchachos. Y muchas gracias! (Merry Christmas, boys. And many thanks!)”
Kipp and I rode Bill back to the ranch house in silence. “You know, Jacob,” Kipp said quietly, “a week ago we thought that this was going to be our worst Christmas ever.”
“Yeah,” I answered, “but this Christmas was special, and I’m going to remember it more than any other.”

A treasured memory for them both was when they heard Elder LeGrand Richards, who was the visiting General Authority, speak at their first stake conference. My Father said he spoke about eternal marriage and about telling your wife you love her every day. My Mother said she was so impressed with the power with which he spoke.
They have been faithful members, raising six children, including five sons who served missions, and they are now seeing their grandchildren serve. And yes, my Father still tells my Mum that he loves her every day!