Gospel Story Finder

Carl shivered as he pushed his bike against the wind. “I can’t wait to get home and get warm,” he thought. “And I can’t wait to open Christmas presents!”
He had gotten up extra early that morning to deliver newspapers. As he pushed his bike up the steep hill on his way home, he thought about Mom’s homemade Christmas cinnamon rolls. They were going to taste so good. He could almost taste the sweet creamy frosting.
Cream! Carl’s shoulders slumped. He had forgotten about milking the cow and the other chores he needed to do. Even on Christmas.
Carl parked his bike in front of the house. He and his brother had raced to see who could get their paper routes done first. He didn’t see his brother’s bike, so Carl had won!
The only problem with winning was that now he had to wait for his brother before they could open presents. Then they’d have to go back outside and do chores. Carl wished he could just stay inside and enjoy Christmas.
“I could just get my chores done now,” Carl thought. “Then I won’t have to come back out in the cold.” He hurried to the barn.
As he grabbed a pail and sat down to milk the cow, Carl looked around. All the other chores still needed to be done. Then he had an idea. If he did all the chores himself, he could surprise his family and they could spend the rest of Christmas morning together. It would be the best Christmas present ever!
Carl hurried and milked the cows. Then he cleaned the barn, fed the chickens, and collected the eggs. He smiled as he thought of how surprised his family would be.
Carl went back to the house. He peeked in the door to see if anyone was there. Then he sneaked into the kitchen. He had just finished putting the milk and eggs in the refrigerator when Mom walked in.
“Oh good, you’re home,” Mom said, giving him a hug. “We were beginning to wonder where you were.”
Mom helped him take off his coat. When Carl’s siblings saw him they shouted, “Carl’s home! Let’s open presents!” Everyone crowded around the Christmas tree and waited for Dad to hand out gifts. Carl loved watching everyone share their treasures.
“All right!” Dad said. “Now it’s time to do the chores. But first, I think we need some juice and cinnamon rolls.”
Dad walked to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. He stopped and stared.
“Well, look at that!” Dad said. “The milk jug is already full, and here are the eggs already gathered! Who could have done that?”
Dad came back into the living room. Carl tried his best to hide his smile.
“Do you know anything about this, Carl?” Dad said with a smile of his own. “It seems our chores are already done.”
“Merry Christmas!” Carl shouted.
Dad put his arm around Carl. “Thank you, son. That was very thoughtful. This might be our best Christmas yet!”
Carl grinned. He already knew this was his best Christmas ever.

“Will you accept a call to be elders quorum president?” On the surface, the request was simple enough. But for Robert D. Hales, then a graduate student working toward a master of business administration degree at Harvard University, there was no simple answer. In his heart, Robert was willing to accept the call, but he knew that professors discouraged students from any outside activities because of the intensity of the graduate program. He also knew he needed to talk it over with his wife, Mary.
The Hales family lived in an apartment with their two small children. As Robert and Mary discussed the call, they knew it would be extremely difficult for Robert to keep up with his master’s program and to serve as elders quorum president. However, after much prayer and discussion, Mary said, “I’d rather have an active priesthood holder than a man who holds a master’s degree from Harvard. We’ll do them both.” The next day when Robert came home from school, he discovered that Mary had walled off a section of the unfinished basement in their apartment. This small office would give Robert a place to study and help them both serve the Lord.
“I put myself in the Lord’s hands when I made that decision,” says Elder Hales now, nearly 40 years later. “That decision was much harder to make than when, years later, I accepted the call to serve as an Assistant to the Twelve and left my business career behind. Some people may have trouble understanding that, but I believe you really show the Lord who you are and what you are willing to become when you make those hard decisions as a young person.”

My great-grandfather was the last native te reo M?ori speaker in my family. I used to watch videos of him and listen to him speak the language of our people, wishing I could understand him. Even though he was only a few generations older than me, I didn’t have that connection to our heritage.
I served a mission in the Philippines, and I loved it. I loved the language, the people—everything. And because I spent time trying to connect with the people I was serving and teaching, I became immersed in their culture.
As wonderful as that opportunity was, I realized that I’d never tried to connect with my own culture and people in the same way. Although I had helped to gather Israel on my mission, I realized there were important ways for me to help gather Israel at home too, especially within my own family.
His dream resonated with me. I felt prompted to learn about my ancestors and connect with them like I never had before.
I had just entered medical school when I decided to learn the language of my people. So on top of my busy schedule, I took night classes to learn M?ori.
When the classes first began, I felt alone and uncertain about moving forward. But the more I talked to my classmates, the more I realized that many had also felt prompted to connect with their heritage by learning M?ori.
Over time, learning M?ori truly began to feel like a spiritual experience. I was beginning to understand the promise that Elijah would “turn the heart of the fathers to the children, and the heart of the children to their fathers” (Malachi 4:6). My ancestors were becoming more real to me.
Learning the language also opened doors in my everyday life. I found that speaking M?ori helped me better connect with the people for whom I was providing medical care. I helped establish M?ori classes at my university and discovered that many other medical students were also interested in learning to help them provide better care.
Although the language is becoming increasingly less common, being able to communicate with those who are native M?ori speakers has helped me minister to specific populations. I’ve witnessed how my native patients feel especially heard and seen when we can speak their language together. These experiences have really shown me what it means to minister to the one.

The jaded, blank-faced crowd congesting the Las Vegas strip paid little attention to the boy behind the wheel of the shiny Corvette. “Just another kid out cruising in his father’s car,” thought anyone who happened to glance his way.
But that was all right with 18-year-old Jack Farley, because he didn’t care much for the crowd, either. He had other things on his mind. He’d started working at age 14, and four years later he’d become sort of a bubble gum baron, controlling his own vending business. He’d paid for the Corvette himself and he’d driven it from the California coast to the desert resort town for an exciting weekend.
Yet something was bothering him. Something wasn’t quite right. His mind kept reverting back to what those Mormons were teaching him in the Sunday School class he’d started attending—things like service to others and eternal families. He’d be missing that church Sunday. Or maybe he wouldn’t—what was he doing here anyway? If he turned around now, he could easily make it back by morning.
The decision to drive back to his home in Mission Viejo, California, was one of the most important choices Jack ever made. Although he’d fought and won many battles in his life, the choice to go home for church led to what he considers the ultimate victory of his life so far. “I’m real thankful for the Church,” he says, “real thankful. I can’t even dream of where I’d be without it. Outside the Church, it’s like you fall into a river and it carries you wherever it goes. In the Church, you have control.”
Jack had been battling strong currents in that river for a long time. He began one major battle clear back in the third grade. Although it was obvious that he was a bright child, he couldn’t keep up with the other kids in school. “I was diagnosed as having dyslexia,” Jack explained. “That’s a reading disability where your letters sometimes appear to be jumbled up a bit. Sometimes Ds look like Ps and stuff like that. You can still read; it just takes a bit longer.”
It took Jack a lot longer. He was placed in special classes and got a lot of help from specially trained teachers, but he never quite caught up. “The gap between me and the other kids just kept getting wider and wider,” he said. “At times, when the teacher would call on me to read out loud to a class of about 30 kids, it was embarrassing when I couldn’t even sound out the word the.”
But if Jack had trouble reading, there was one thing he excelled in, and that was work. Hard work. At 14 he got a job in a print shop, sweeping and doing various other cleanup chores. After that, choosing to work diligently became easy.
Work provided the reinforcement Jack wasn’t getting in the classroom. “I was behind all my friends at school, but I was doing really well at work, and I started learning about business,” he said. He decided to try his hand at entrepreneurship. With a little training and a lot of inspiration from a concerned teacher at his high school, Jack started a vending business.
“My main thing is gumball machines,” he explains. “I have about 100 in stores—mom-and-pop type stores, where I had to get permission from the owners to put them in. I also have a few pop machines, but I like gumball machines better. It just comes down to how much time you spend on getting new locations as to how much money you make.”
And Jack did make money. Lots of it. He met his material goals of buying his own sports car and just about anything else he wanted. He joined a special school/work program, where he could incorporate his business with his studies. Before he knew it, he had graduated from high school and was out on his own. “I should be happy now,” he thought. But he wasn’t.
“There had to be more. All I had faith in was money, and that had nothing to do with happiness at all,” he said. That realization started his search for the truth. He thought it might be a good idea to thank Heavenly Father for all the blessings he’d been given, so he went to pray in the only nearby church he knew of—San Juan Capistrano, the famous Catholic Mission, built centuries ago. It seemed logical that the Lord would hear his prayers from such a place.
The Lord did. In response, he sent a messenger to Jack’s door. But it wasn’t the type in a suit, white shirt, and tie. It was Randy Smith, an insulation salesman and a recent convert with a lot of enthusiasm. He started talking to Jack about insulation, and somehow the subject got around to the gospel. It didn’t take Randy long to invite Jack out to the missionary prep class that his brother Tom taught.
“But I didn’t join right off,” Jack said. “I kind of sat back and doubted for a while, but I wish I hadn’t.” His Las Vegas excursion helped him appreciate the truths they were teaching him. “I looked around at the people there and thought ‘Lots of these people have money, but they’re still looking for something to make them happy,’” Jack said. Maybe he really could find what he was looking for in the Church.
He’d previously been attending Sunday School with a lackadaisical attitude, but now he decided to take the gospel seriously and learn some more. He began the missionary lessons and discovered that it would take the gospel to make him happy—happier than banking billions from bubble gum ever could. “Once the missionaries started teaching me, it only took about a month and a half before I was baptized,” he said.
Jack’s choices didn’t end when he joined the Church, though. Other decisions were in store. “I decided to go on a mission right after I decided to get serious about the gospel,” Jack said. “I thought, if it’s true, it’s all true, and of course you want to tell other people about it. It would be wrong not to go.”
But what about his business, and what about his car? “I sold the Corvette,” Jack says, with a surprising lack of remorse. “The insurance was costing me a fortune anyway.” The bubble gum business is still booming, however. His mother will manage it while he’s in the mission field, and the profits will help keep him afloat financially.
Jack feels he is well prepared for the mission field, but when his call came, he was stunned. He will be serving in the Japan Nagoya Mission. He was surprised that with his reading disability, he would be called to learn such a difficult language as Japanese.
“I was confident I would go to an English-speaking mission,” he said. “When I went to take the language aptitude test, I asked the girl who administered it which were the hardest languages, and she said both Chinese and Japanese were challenging. I thought, good—at least I won’t have to worry about them. Then when I got my mission call, I was surprised.”
But Jack doesn’t worry about the battle with the language. “When you’re doing the work of the Lord, he’s going to help you out. When I first got a Book of Mormon, I found it really hard to read, but since I started reading the scriptures, my reading has improved, and it’s the first time I can really see that improvement.”
Jack pulls out the scriptures, and reads, out loud, his favorite: Alma 32:28. It talks about the faith he needs to serve, and the faith the people need to receive his message: “Now, we will compare the word unto a seed. Now, if ye give place, that a seed may be planted in your heart, behold, if it be a true seed, or a good seed, if ye do not cast it out by your unbelief, that ye will resist the Spirit of the Lord, behold, it will begin to swell within your breasts; and when you feel these swelling motions, ye will begin to say within yourselves—It must needs be that this is a good seed, or that the word is good, for it beginneth to enlarge my soul; yea, it beginneth to enlighten my understanding, yea, it beginneth to be delicious to me.”
As Jack reads that scripture, you notice that he reads clearly and precisely; he doesn’t stumble over a word.
Hey Jack—did you know you just read that scripture perfectly?
“I did? Wow, well thank you. I guess I’m getting a lot of help.”
The same Spirit that helped Jack choose to head home from Las Vegas is still helping him now. And it will continue to help him as he teaches the Japanese.
Editor’s note: Since this story was written, Elder Farley has completed training in the MTC. He is now serving in the Japan Nagoya Mission.

Some time ago I went into a flower shop and started talking to the owner about the plants he was selling, and we exchanged ideas about the different ways of growing them. After that, each time I worked in that area, I would go into this shop and talk to the owner about his work and mine, until little by little I began to talk to him about the gospel of Jesus Christ.
I started by talking about God and sharing what I felt about Him. Diego, the owner of the flower business, told me he didn’t believe in Jesus Christ; he just believed in an entity who had the power to create all things. This surprised me, and I told him I wanted to give him something that was very important to me—the Book of Mormon. I also told him I wanted to introduce him to the missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Diego agreed. I set up the appointment, and later the missionaries went to his business. After he had received three discussions, he invited the missionaries to his home.
At this time my work area changed, but one day I happened to run into the missionaries who were teaching Diego. I asked about him and tried to find out what kind of progress he was making. They told me he was going to be baptized, but they didn’t know when. A week later I learned that Diego’s family had been baptized, except for his daughter Carla. I was happy to hear about their decision. My contact had borne fruit.
Two weeks later at a stake meeting, I heard about a convert named Diego Páez who had recently been baptized and who was very enthusiastic about the Church. Later the mission president told me they were going to confirm him on Sunday.
The following Sunday I went to Diego’s ward and saw him sitting with his family on one of the pews. I sat down next to him, and he smiled and said, “Thank you, Daniel.”
When Diego sat in the chair where the elders quorum president would confirm him a member of the Church, I was invited to join the circle. I did so, and when the elders quorum president said the words “Receive the Holy Ghost,” I too could feel the influence of the Spirit. My heart beat hard, and peace completely overwhelmed me.
I had never felt such joy. When Diego stood up, I embraced him. Tears sprang from my eyes. I felt strengthened, as described in Doctrine and Covenants 50:22: “Wherefore, he that preacheth and he that receiveth, understand one another, and both are edified and rejoice together.”
As for Diego’s daughter Carla, she was baptized the following week by her father. The Páez family has continued to progress. Milagros, who was three years old at the time of the baptisms, kneels down and says prayers with her parents, asking Heavenly Father to bless her family. Diego and his wife, Gabriela, work to share the gospel with others.
There must be a lot of Páez families all over the world—just waiting for someone to bring the light of truth to their lives. What a joy it is to share what we feel for the gospel of Jesus Christ and to be able to help others feel the way we do.

“When are we going camping?” four-year-old Bryce asked as he sat at the kitchen counter eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
“In three more days,” Mother said.
Bryce frowned. “That’s a long time.”
Mother nodded. “Well, you can pack some of your toys and help me make cookies so the time will go faster.”
“Hurray!” Bryce hopped off the stool and ran to get his army men. Later, as he stirred the cookie dough, he said, “We’re going to roast hot dogs and marshmallows and sleep in a tent!”
“We sure are,” Mother agreed. Then she mussed his hair. He laughed.
The next morning Bryce slept in later than usual. At the breakfast table, he didn’t touch his toast and jam.
“Are you OK?” Mother asked.
“I’m tired,” he said.
He climbed off the chair and lay down on the couch with his blanket. Mother put her hand on his forehead. “You feel warm,” she said. “I hope you’re not getting sick.”
His stomach hurt. “If I get sick, we won’t be able to go camping, will we?”
“We’ll see,” Mother said.
Bryce slept most of the day. When Mother took his temperature, she said it was high. She gave him some syrupy medicine that tasted like cherries.
“What if I’m sick tomorrow?” he asked.
“Hopefully you’ll be better by then,” she said.
But that night Bryce’s temperature rose. He fell asleep and had bad dreams. Waking up scared and thirsty, he went into the kitchen to ask for a drink of water. Then he curled up in the recliner in the family room. Mother held up a cup of water to his lips. The cold liquid cooled his mouth and throat as he sipped it.
“Dad’s going to give you a blessing,” Mother said in a soft voice.
Bryce smiled faintly. “Good. Then my fever will go away.”
His parents smiled at each other. He fell back asleep and woke up in his bed when someone touched his shoulder lightly.
“We’re going to give you a blessing now,” Dad said.
One of their home teachers was standing by the bed.
“Are you going to put oil on my head?” Bryce asked. He had seen other family members receive blessings before, and Dad had put oil on their heads.
“Yes.” Dad opened a small bottle and put a drop of oil on top of Bryce’s head.
As Bryce lay on his bed, Dad and the home teacher placed their hands on his head. They gave him a blessing that the fever would break and he would be able to go camping in the morning. When they were done, Bryce fell back asleep. He woke up to see light shining through the cracks in the window blinds. He jumped out of bed and ran to find his dad in the kitchen.
“Am I better?” he asked.
Dad felt Bryce’s forehead. “Yes, the fever’s gone.”
Bryce ran to find Mother in her bedroom. “My fever’s gone! The blessing worked,” he said.
Mother hugged him. “I’m so glad. You had faith, and Heavenly Father blessed you.”

Consider another individual weighing the consequences of her pregnancy. She was beyond the normal age for bearing children. She announced to her doctor that her husband was an alcoholic with a syphilitic infection. One of her children had been born dead. Another child was blind. Another had tuberculosis. Her family had a history of deafness. Finally she confessed that she was living in abject poverty. If this true historical situation were posed today, many would recommend abortion. The child born from that pregnancy became the renowned composer Ludwig van Beethoven.

Tina’s brown eyes flashed as she rechecked her duffle bag, making certain she had everything she would need on the vacation.
“Is everyone ready?” Dad asked. “It’s time to go.”
Soon the car was crammed with luggage and camping gear. Tina saw a suitcase next to the cooler chest. Surrounded by beach towels and sleeping bags, the suitcase looked out of place. Suitcases were for dressy clothes, and dressy clothes were for special days like Sunday. This vacation would take ten days, Dad had said, so they wouldn’t be home for Church meetings.
As Tina thought about being away from home on Sunday, she remembered what Sister Gustafson, her Primary teacher, had told the class about Sunday being a day of worship and rest. Sister Gustafson was going to ask each child how he had spent his Sundays for an entire month, and she would pay special honor to those who had kept the Sabbath days holy. Tina worried that she would probably be the only one in the class who would miss any Primary and sacrament meetings. How can Sunday be a holy day when we’re camping at the lake? Tina wondered. She turned to wave good-bye to the friend who would take care of her little kitten while she was gone.
As they drove past the church and the school and out of town, the family sang, “Give, Said the Little Stream,” “The Golden Plates,” and Tina’s favorite, “Book of Mormon Stories.” Because Josh liked “Smiles,” and because he was the youngest in the family, they sang it again and again. Mom said she liked that song, too, because it made her happy.
As soon as they arrived at their lakeside camp, everyone went swimming. After supper was over and all the marshmallows had been toasted and eaten, Tina and Josh got ready for bed and climbed into their sleeping bags. Mom and Dad listened to their prayers and kissed them good night.
All week long the children played in the sand and swam in the lake. They fished. They climbed hills. And they fed potato chips to bushy-tailed squirrels.
On Saturday evening Tina helped Mom fix a picnic lunch for the next day. Then her mother asked everyone to help carry enough water to shampoo their hair and bathe. As Tina carried her small bucket of water from the lake, she laughed and sang,
“Saturday is a special day,
It’s the day we get ready for Sunday.
We clean our tent,
And we gather the wood
So we won’t have to work until Monday.
We brush our clothes,
And we shine our shoes,
And we call it our clean-up-our-camp day.
Then we tote the water
To shampoo our hair,
So we can be ready for Sunday.”*
Tina liked feeling clean, and she was glad that the picnic lunch was already made, because that meant no cooking the next day.
Because the next day was Sunday, Tina remembered her teacher’s words, “Sunday is a day of worship and rest.” Well, she could rest, and she wouldn’t play, but how could they have a regular worship service when their family was camping?
That night, as Tina sat watching the campfire, Mom brought the suitcase from the car and opened it. Dad took a piece of wrinkled paper out of it, smoothed it with his hand, and with a twinkle in his eye announced, “Tomorrow we’re going on a treasure hunt. This map shows where we can find something to help us to be happy for the rest of our lives.”
Then Mom took four books from the suitcase. Keeping one for herself, she gave one to Tina, one to Josh, and one to Dad. Tina opened her book. It was full of blank pages. Josh’s book was the same. Someone had written in Mom’s book, and in Dad’s, too, but most of their pages were also blank. What kind of books are these? Tina wondered.
Josh was given a turn to take something from the suitcase. He found some postcards and stamps. Then it was Tina’s turn. She looked in and found her favorite Sunday dress! And there was Mom’s green dress and Dad’s suit and tie. Josh’s best outfit was there too. Then Dad said, “We’ll wear our best clothes on our treasure hunt tomorrow.”
The next morning the family got up early and dressed in their Sunday clothes. When they got into the car, Tina helped read the treasure map, directing Dad to cross a bridge and then to take Ryre’s Road west for eighteen miles to where a large red star had been penciled in on the map. That must be where the treasure is! Tina decided.
Dad drove for eighteen miles and stopped right in front of a meetinghouse.
“That’s it—the treasure is where we learn about the gospel!” Tina declared excitedly.
It was wonderful going to church in that little town. People they didn’t even know smiled at Tina and her family.
After the meetings, the family returned to camp. Taking the picnic basket, the blank notebooks, and the postcards, they walked to a small wooded area. After lunch, mother read from her little book, which she called a journal. She showed Tina and Josh how they, too, could keep a journal of the things they did.
Tina and Josh wrote in their special books. Tina also wrote some postcards to send to her friends. The message she liked best was the one she sent to her Primary teacher. It said:
“Dear Sister Gustafson,
Please tell all the class that I kept the Lord’s Sabbath-day commandment. Sunday was a day of rest and worship for our family on our vacation. It was the best day of my vacation.
Love, Tina.”

Now to Katie, the horse I acquired a few years ago. She has a very prestigious pedigree. Each of her parents was a champion. Katie is a beautiful chestnut. She is intelligent and holds her head high. Her first foal has won many ribbons in competition in harness and in the three-gaited class.
When we first got Katie she was in poor condition. She had been mistreated and not fed properly. But I felt that with proper care she would respond, and she did. She is the best bred and most handsome horse I have ever owned. She would be a real champion except for one thing—she has never learned proper discipline. Her early training was poor. She is fun to ride for a short while. She prances, holds her head high, lifts her feet, and looks wonderful; but the moment she is startled or comes upon an unknown object, she loses her head. One day she was startled by a dog. She reared up on her hind legs, causing her to fall over on her back and on me, injuring my leg. She then struggled to her feet and ran like a frightened deer. With all her beauty and intelligence, she is now out to pasture.

This pattern can be seen in the life of Jasmine B. of Washington, USA, who received help in coping with a disease. Before contracting the disease, she was a healthy young woman who excelled on her high school track team and loved getting up early for seminary.
Then she started feeling ill. She lost 15 pounds very quickly, and no matter how much sleep she got, it became harder and harder to get up for seminary. She couldn’t run as well as she used to and was hungry, thirsty, and weak all the time.
Over a month went by before she started to pray for help. “I held off so long,” she says, “because the thought of praying for help was an act of submission, admitting that something was indeed wrong with me. It scared me.”
But because she humbled herself to seek the Lord’s help, answers started to come. She went to see a doctor, who discovered she had developed type 1 diabetes, which meant her body could not produce insulin to process sugar. Diabetes has lifelong consequences and must be carefully monitored. Even as the doctors developed a plan to help her manage her condition, she began to worry that she would not be able to continue running track.
“I never ceased to pray as I struggled to understand my new life and to control my disease,” she says. “I prayed for strength and understanding and that I would be able to accept this trial. I would not have made it through those hard days and weeks without prayer.”
Jasmine made incredible strides. Within two weeks of being diagnosed, she was back practicing on the track, and later that year she did well in state competitions. “I believe Heavenly Father has blessed me with a strong, healthy body because I have been striving to be steadfast in the gospel,” she says. “Having diabetes was not the end of the world. With His help, I knew I could get through this.”
By the grace of God and through her dependence on Him, Jasmine is able to cope with her disease and have wonderful successes in her life.

When times were tough, I learned to take time to feel joy in the little moments—the gifts—that are given to us. When my son cannot help but give me a kiss, I am grateful. When I watched my son ride the bus without anyone to sit with, I was blessed to have this scripture come into my mind: “I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up” (D&C 84:88). I knew that Brad was not alone and never will be.

by Spencer Garvey
What Christmas activity do you look forward to most? The Christmas caroling party? The family Christmas dinner? Seeing your mom open the Christmas present you’ve been slaving over for months?
The youth in the Orem 15th Ward, Orem Utah Sharon West Stake, have a unique activity that they think tops all others. It combines the joy of giving with the beauty of service, and capsulizes the message the Savior brought to earth. All by themselves, the youth throw a Christmas party for the mentally handicapped adults in the ward.
Within the ward boundaries are two group homes, sponsored by the American Fork Training School. Residents of the homes, one for women and one for men, have reached a certain level of achievement, and are free to go to church and participate in ward activities. Their favorite activity by far is the annual Christmas party, and they anticipate it for months.
The youth go all out to make it an exciting experience for their special guests. Each class takes charge of one aspect of the evening, from festively decking the cultural hall, to setting up chairs, to planning games and making sure each person from the group homes receives a gift. They buy things that the guests of honor have requested like slippers, books, dominoes, and tapes.
But the preparation is only half the fun. The real excitement starts when the guests arrive, and smiles light their faces brighter than any bulbs on the Christmas tree. The youth in the ward get busy mingling and making sure that nobody stands alone.
“It’s worth it to see their smiles,” said Becky Lant, 16, who was in charge of the affair. “This helps us learn the happiness you get from serving others, and helps us learn to love those we serve.”
Soon everyone becomes involved in a game. The guests joyfully bowl plastic pop bottles over with a basketball. With delighted energy, they throw a soft football through a tire suspended from a basketball standard. The youth are quick to make sure that everyone feels like a winner, even in musical chairs.
“They always come to our basketball or volleyball games and support us,” says Jeff Nelson, 16. “This is the least we can do for them in return. They’re special, they’re nice, and they deserve it.”
But at no time is the Christmas spirit so evident as when everyone in the group sits down together, arms intertwined, and starts singing Christmas carols. As they sing about the wonders of the birth of Christ, the youth and the guests seem to exchange intangible gifts of friendship and caring with each other and with the Savior at the same time.
Later Santa comes bounding in with a bag full of presents. But the gift the guests enjoy most isn’t in the bag. It’s a videotape of the festivities so they can relive them over and over in the coming months.
Soon the party is over, the hugs are hugged, tears of happiness mingle, and Santa leads the way out. His parting cry hangs in the air for all to savor and confirm. “Merry Christmas to all,” he chuckles, “and to all a good night!”

Elder Russell M. Nelson illustrated this point. He said: “I was serving as a consultant to the United States government at its National Center for Disease Control in Atlanta, Georgia. Once while awaiting a taxi to take me to the airport after our meetings were over, I stretched out on the lawn to soak in a few welcome rays of sunshine before returning to the winter weather of Utah. … Later I received a photograph in the mail taken by a photographer with a telephoto lens, capturing my moment of relaxation on the lawn. Under it was a caption, ‘Governmental consultant at the National Center.’ The picture was true, the caption was true, but the truth was used to promote a false impression.” We do not discard something we know to be true because of something we do not yet understand.

For example, in a casual conversation I had recently with the president of one of the full-time missions of the Church, he told me that when he received his mission call from the First Presidency, he asked his employers for a leave of absence. Within three years his financial interest in the company in which he was employed would be large enough to support him and his family for the remainder of their lives.

His employers, being non-church members and unfavorable toward his going on a mission, refused to give him a leave of absence. Also, they informed him that he would lose all of his financial benefits in the company if he accepted the mission call. In spite of this terrific financial sacrifice and the loss of his job, he accepted the mission call and is now faithfully serving his church and his God.

I asked the mission president, “Why didn’t you tell the First Presidency of the financial loss you would suffer if you went on a mission at that time and ask them to postpone your call for three years?”

He replied, “The Lord didn’t call me on a mission for three years from now. He called me to serve now. My wife and I decided to obey the call of the Lord and trust that our financial affairs would be taken care of later.”

Such a sacrifice to render Christian service is certainly astounding. It is a modern missionary miracle.

My father passed away in April 2013. As I prepared to speak at his funeral, I realized how blessed I was to know and love his favorite scriptures. He shared them in family gatherings, and he read them with me when I needed counsel, guidance, or strengthening of my faith. I heard him share them in talks and assignments. I not only knew them, but I can still remember the sound of his voice and the spiritual feelings I had as he shared them. Through sharing scriptures and feelings, my father helped me to establish a firm foundation of faith in the Lord Jesus Christ.

As a boy I made a startling discovery in Sunday School one Mother’s Day which has remained with me all through the years. Melvin, a sightless brother in the ward, a talented vocalist, would stand and face the congregation as though he were seeing one and all. He would then sing “That Wonderful Mother of Mine.” The bright, glowing embers of memory penetrated human hearts. Men reached for their handkerchiefs; women’s eyes brimmed with tears.

We deacons would go among the congregation carrying a small geranium in a clay pot for presentation to each mother. Some of the mothers were young, some were middle-aged, some were barely hanging on to life in their old age. I became aware that the eyes of each mother were kind eyes. The words of each mother were “Thank you.” I felt the spirit of the statement “When someone gives another person a flower, the fragrance of the flower lingers on the hands of the giver.” I have not forgotten the lesson learned, nor shall I ever forget it.

Subject: Elizabeth
Age: 20 years
Event: Meeting Kara at the airport
Elizabeth had taken the flight from Minneapolis to Salt Lake City on her return to college. She had walked slowly past the car rental agency three times, carefully studying the features of the attractive girl at the counter. Finally she approached the girl.
“Excuse me, are you Kara?”
“Lisa?” the girl cried. “Is that you?”
They threw their arms around each other, both chattering excitedly.
“What are you doing here?” Elizabeth asked.
“I was transferred from our L.A. office six months ago. Look, I’ve got a break coming. Let’s go get something to eat so we can talk.”
They sat at a small table and talked, filling each other in on their lives since they had last been together.
“I lost track of you after you left town,” Elizabeth said. “My bishop said you never talked with him.”
“Oh, I changed my mind and just had the problem fixed,” Kara said lightly.
“Oh,” Elizabeth said, trying not to betray her disappointment.
“I guess you’re shocked, but it’s quite common these days.”
“But why did you suddenly leave town after that?” Elizabeth asked.
“I had to get away,” Kara said, pursing her lips nervously, “and so I ran away.”
“But where did you live? What did you do?”
Kara shook her head slowly. “You don’t want to hear about that.” She took a final drag on her cigarette and exhaled slowly. “But look, I’m all squared away now. I’m into group therapy, and it’s really helped me get rid of all my guilt feelings about everything. What a relief not to feel guilty about anything! But I guess you know about that, because you’ve never done anything to feel guilty about.”
A few minutes later, Elizabeth asked, “What happened to Larry Hill?”
“Last I heard he was working as a DJ in a disco in California.”
“I guess that makes him one of the real men, doesn’t it?” Elizabeth said. “He always needed that assurance.”
“I’ve heard he’s still running around just like he did in high school,” Kara added. “I guess I am, too, for that matter. I’m just not ready to settle down.”

The tall yellow weeds in the big field behind Grandpa and Grandma’s place look pretty. When the wind blows they’re like a yellow sea that rolls and whispers. I like to lie in them, especially when it’s windy. Especially with my dad. He said that when the weeds are all rustling, it’s like they’re telling a story. He listened to those stories and passed them on to me. He called them his tall-as-a-yellow-weed tales.
Sometimes we played hide-and-seek in the field. I liked that, too. Dad closed his eyes while I hid. Then he had 10 minutes to find me and tag me. If I won, he took me to the soda fountain in Hadley and bought me a milk shake. I usually won. I think he let me sometimes. He knew how much I like chocolate shakes.
I miss those times. I still like Grandma and Grandpa’s place, but the yellow field isn’t the same. It looks the same, but without Dad, it’s just … different. It’s just a field.
Mom and I live with Grandma and Grandpa now. At least for a while. Until Mom can make enough money at her new job, or until Dad gets better. Dad has a drinking problem. It got pretty bad, and he wouldn’t get help. We prayed and prayed for him, but Mom said Heavenly Father can’t help us if we don’t try to help ourselves. I know she’s right, because once I asked Him to help me on a school test that I hadn’t studied for. I failed it anyway. Mom said that if we do all we can do for ourselves, then ask Heavenly Father for help, He will then assist us.
One day my friend Barry said that if his dad were like mine, he wouldn’t love him anymore. Because if my dad cared about us, he wouldn’t keep drinking.
I couldn’t sleep too well that night. My mom came into my room and asked what was wrong. When I told her, she explained some things that helped me to feel better.
The next day when Barry and I were looking for arrowheads in Baker’s Canyon up behind the yellow field, I told him I still loved my dad. When he asked me why, I said, “Remember when your brother didn’t tie up the chain that was hanging way down from the siren on his bike?”
“Yes,” Barry said, “and I told him it could cause an accident if it got caught in the spokes, but did he listen to me? No!”
Last month Barry borrowed that bike. He was flying down a hill when, sure enough, the chain got caught in the spokes of his front wheel. All of a sudden the bike stopped, but Barry kept going, right over the handlebars. He banged himself up pretty badly. In fact, his arm was still in a cast.
“Do you still love your brother?” I asked.
“Of course I do.”
“Why?”
“Well, because … because he’s my brother. He didn’t want me to get hurt. He was just being careless.”
“I’m sure your brother feels bad about it,” I said. “My dad feels awful, too, after he sobers up.”
Barry and I sat down on a rock to drink from our canteens. Grandma’s cold lemonade tastes so good that it makes getting thirsty fun. Dad always said, “On a hot day your grandma’s lemonade takes all the discomfort out of being alive!” And he was right.
I looked at Barry seriously, trying to get the deep down inside of him to listen. I had written down some of what Mom said the night before so I wouldn’t forget. Now I read it to Barry: “‘God loves all of us, even when He doesn’t love all of our actions. It’s called charity—the pure love of Christ, and we need to try to love like Jesus does.’”
Barry nodded his head and smiled. I could tell that he knew my mom was right. Her words made me feel good inside, too. About my dad. About a lot of things. It was as good a feeling as Grandma’s lemonade going down on a hot summer day.
Mom and I kept praying for Dad. He stopped drinking, and he’s in a special program that’s helping him. He’ll be coming home in a few weeks. He says he wants to play hide-and-seek with me in the tall yellow weeds. And he wants me to win, because he misses those chocolate milk shakes as much as I do!

It had been one week since school started, and I was very discouraged. I had so many things to do. I wanted to be a cheerleader, and I wanted to take voice lessons. I was planning to take private flute lessons, as well as playing in the band. I was taking piano, and I had a big part in a play. I also had lots of homework each night. On top of that I was trying to maintain a decent social life. Every single day from September to the middle of November was booked solid. I could not fit in everything I needed to do.
The day of our annual family breakfast in Waterton, matters really came to a head. After climbing the usual mountain, we left for home with seven tired brothers and sisters cooped up in a small car. That is enough to make anyone depressed, but in addition to that I was thinking of all the things I had to do. I could not think of any way possible to accomplish it all. When we got home I was not only discouraged—I was cranky. My heart was screaming, and life didn’t seem worth living. When I get like that, I often retreat to my bedroom and read my patriarchal blessing.
As I was reading it this particular time, I thought about the day I had received it. It had been a very spiritual experience for me, and I had felt the power of the truthfulness of the gospel. I had felt so good and peaceful that day. I wanted to feel that way again.
After I finished reading my blessing, I prayed sincerely. My heart was still crying. I needed answers. I was so confused. What about school? How would I ever find time to study or do homework? What about all the things I want to do? Where will I find the time? What about piano—when will I practice?
The answer came, but not in the way I expected. I remembered the words I had read in my blessing: “Remember your father is the patriarch in your home. You can go to him for counsel, for direction, and to receive blessings for …”
I read over and over the words from my blessing. Finally I got the courage to ask my father for a blessing.
I invited my mother to listen, and my father began. “Charlotte Marie ZoBell, by the power of the Holy Melchizedek Priesthood which I hold, I lay my hands upon your head to give you a blessing. …”
The words which my father spoke answered the questions I was struggling with, calmed my aching heart, and gave me hope. I felt the same spiritual feeling that I had experienced the day I received my patriarchal blessing, and I felt good and peaceful inside. It was indeed a blessing given by God, for only God and I knew the questions that needed to be answered. It was God’s blessing given through my father.

Photographs by Ernest Chan, Adam Barnes, Joshua Meyer, and Justin Bowen
What would you prefer: enjoying a day at the beach with friends or going to a family history conference? Most teens would choose the beach, but Sierra Y., 17, chose to participate in a family history conference instead. She and other youth from Texas, USA, discovered that family history is not only uplifting but also fun and exciting.
Sierra posted an Instagram image that said: “Fall in Love with Your Family Tree” to encourage others to come to the conference. She says the conference motivated her to find ancestors’ names and do their temple work. “The conference had a wonderful spirit about it the whole time,” Sierra says. Other youth were asked not only to text and tweet but also to teach and train conference goers on how to use technology with family history. They participated in 55 classes and worked in the “Discovery Zone,” a room filled with computers where they provided hands-on help with technology.
At first, some youth presenters had no idea what a family history conference was, but they, along with other youth presenters, soon learned and were inspired with ideas of how to teach and share their technology skills with the older generation. They embraced the opportunity to be involved and willingly found time in their busy schedules to serve. Andrew P., 17, helped by sending emails encouraging youth to invite their friends to the conference. He says, “I learned that it is important to balance your schedule and to fulfill your assignments on time.”
Connor M., 15, and Kristin C., 16, taught a class together on indexing headstones and birth, marriage, and death records. Connor says, “I believe that everyone should do their family history because it really is a surefire way to take the adversary out of your life.” Kristin adds, “Learn how to do some sort of family history, and then share your learned skill with others.” Colter M., 17, also taught a workshop on indexing. When he was working in the Discovery Zone, he helped an older sister who came in with a CD sent over from Japan with her family tree in Japanese. “It was an amazing experience to be able to help her open the CD and view her family tree,” he says. “It was a very spiritual experience for me and the sister I was helping.”
Indexing is a great first step into family history (see page 16), but Coy G., 15, and Tori S., 16, taught that there’s more to learn about family history. They gave presentations using FamilySearch.org (including the new photos and stories feature) to research family history and prepare for ordinances. Hannah L., 16, taught a class entitled “Youth Involved in and Excited about Family History.” She says, “We have been blessed with the skills and talents to be able to do family history, and it is our responsibility to give our ancestors the opportunity to receive the gospel blessings that we enjoy.”
Attendees visited app stations where youth taught them how to use apps on their mobile devices for family history. Youth also helped design, build, and paint the set for “A Family History Mystery,” a class where attendees were given some basic information about a family and then were prompted by a series of questions to discover more. As they tweeted, texted, and posted answers, more hints were given, and at the end they traced three generations, explored a variety of primary sources, and pieced together a family story. Jeffrey S., 17, who helped with the set, says, “My favorite experience was working with adult leaders. I learned that the spirit of Elijah is strong.”
Texting, tweeting, apps, and a mystery that teaches about family heritage and leads to the temple—what more could you want? In fact, it left one young girl asking her dad, “Can we go to this next year?”