Gospel Story Finder

In the mid-1980s, now with a young family in tow, I moved to Saipan in the Northern Mariana Islands. I continued to teach typing there, first at the local high school and then at the island’s only community college, where I got the exciting opportunity to set up their first ever computer lab. What a challenge! I eventually got the hang of computers and before long, all my students were learning to type on a computer keyboard.

Back at the Kowloon stake center, Wen Sak Han (Sonya Wen), 16, Laurel class president of the Kowloon City Ward, is busy working with the Young Men and the Young Women of her ward on a service project. They are clipping illustrations from an old manual and preparing a bulletin board about family home evening.
"I’ve been a member for a year now," Sonya said. "I am quite happy that I joined the Church. I look upon it as the turning point in my life, both in my behavior and in my psychological development. In the past, I was easily tempted by evil things. But now I have principles to follow, and though I may be tempted I have a reason not to give in."

I try to be like Jesus Christ by helping other people. When I went to Kibben-Kuster School, some of the children in my class had special needs. I helped them by talking to them and giving them hugs when they felt left out—I even learned some sign language. One of the children got hurt at recess, and I went to him and took him to the nurse. Another child lost something she had brought to class, and I helped her to find it. Now I go to a different school, but I still remember my friends from Kibben-Kuster.

In contrast, consider the attitude of the students who write me about violations of the Code of Honor. About once a month or more frequently, I receive a letter from a student confessing that he or she has plagiarized or cheated on work at Brigham Young University. Some of these letters are from the mission field or from young men or women who are or are soon to be called upon missions. They say, “I have something on my conscience that I wish to clear. In Course 100 I cheated, or I plagiarized a paper. Here is the information. I am ready to take my punishment, a reduction in grade or a loss of credit, whatever it is. But I wish to get on the path of growth.” And with love and understanding, rejoicing that someone has turned a corner on a dishonest, sinful, and degrading act, we consult with the teachers involved and assist these students in a spirit of mercy and justice, as best we are able.

I couldn’t concentrate. The city library buzzed like a beehive under attack. In my irritation, I momentarily forgot just why I was studying here rather than taking advantage of the mature silence and concentration of the university library. Then my reason walked by.
She was the assistant librarian and was easily the most beautiful girl ever to walk the earth. Her name tag told me she was Miss Burton, but that was all I knew about her. She was the motive that had driven me here for the last three nights just hoping for a chance to learn her first name. So far she hadn’t even said, “Sh-h-h, you’re in the library,” much less “hello.”
But I kept coming back, hoping that this night would be better than the last. With zero enthusiasm, I turned to my books, but it was impossible to study. I pushed American History to the side, folded my arms, and gazed at Miss Burton busily working at her desk. Occasionally she would cast a furtive glance in my direction. When she did, I would grin broadly and wink at her. She’d quickly duck her head to hide her blushing cheeks, but at least she knew I existed.
I admired her beauty and grace, but I was equally impressed by her modesty. Instead of wearing faded denim jeans and a sleazy blouse, so typical of my friends, Miss Burton was wearing a dress. One that actually came down to her knees! Her make-up was not heavy; in fact, unless you looked closely, you couldn’t even tell that she wore it. Her long hair adorned her head and shoulders like a veil. Her clothes, her actions, her very appearance declared that she was a lady!
It was weird that I should be so attracted to her. I could have passed for her exact opposite. My hair and beard were both shoulder length; I wore an old pair of faded jeans, an embroidered denim vest, and worn out sandals; I looked like the king of rebellion—she was the epitome of virtue and conformity.
I had chosen my way of life; she had chosen hers. Our differences stood as an impregnable barrier between us. To penetrate that barrier, I knew I would have to cut my hair and conform to society. No, I would not put on a suit and tie again, not even for her!
The pencil snapped in my hand. Why was I so upset over a prudish librarian? Because something in her eyes, in her smile, in her very essence affected me deeply; in spite of myself, I felt I was beginning to care about Miss Burton, and I still didn’t even know her first name!
I wondered if she could ever adopt my life-style. As she stood replacing books on a nearby shelf, I tried to imagine her with kinky, frizzed hair, but it was futile. The Mona Lisa would adjust to that more readily than Miss Burton!
She finished replacing the books and turned to walk toward the desk. Her eyes caught mine; slowly, a smile crept to her lips. As she walked by me, I pushed back my chair and unfolded all 193 centimeters of me. I stood at attention, tipped a make-believe hat and whispered loudly, “How do you do, Madam!” It was a whisper, but my voice rasped loudly enough to echo through the library, causing her face to turn a glowing crimson. A ripple of laughter flowed through the library and I sat down with a wide grin on my face.
Shortly after Miss Burton had returned to her desk and the color in her cheeks had returned to normal, a freckle-faced girl, probably about 13 years old, approached her. The girl obviously had not asked the usual “where do I find” question, because Miss Burton looked deep into her eyes and placed her slender hand over the girl’s chubby one. I caught the word rebellion as they spoke with each other.
Quietly, I moved to a table closer to the desk; I was interested in what Miss Burton had to say on the subject. Holding an open magazine as a guise, I leaned back in the plastic chair as far as I dared. I strained my ears to catch every word.
The girl spoke: “I need books on rebellion so I’ll know how to act when I go to 9th grade next year.”
I started to laugh, but Miss Burton’s serious tone told me that she did not think it was funny.
“And you think you’ll stand out in the crowd if you don’t rebel, is that right?”
“Sure! Everybody rebels! Like my sister: she’s at a demonstration tonight at the university because the president won’t make it legal to smoke marijuana on campus. And my brother, Mom and Dad are always yelling at him to cut his hair, and he won’t do it even though it’s almost as long as his.” I could feel her pointing at my direction.
She continued: “My dad is on a strike, and Mom’s always away fighting for women’s rights. That’s rebelling, too, isn’t it?”
Lines of concern wrinkled Miss Burton’s smooth forehead. She seemed deep in thought. At length she spoke:
“When we rebel, we’re being selfish. We want things done our way, and if others object, we rebel. It’s like throwing a temper tantrum. We refuse to listen to the other side of the argument because it might prove that we are wrong.
“It takes courage to do what’s right, especially when it’s easier to do what’s wrong. Remember this: cowards rebel; brave men and women obey the laws and do what they know is right. When something is wrong, though, they have the courage to speak out against the wrong doing.” I was incensed! I felt personally attacked by the girl I was beginning to care for. With effort, though. I managed to control my emotions. Maybe she hadn’t said what I thought. I’d keep listening, and maybe she would clarify or retract her statement that cowards rebel.
The little girl was puzzled. “But were George Washington and Thomas Jefferson cowards? They rebelled against England didn’t they?”
“No honey they weren’t cowards, and they didn’t rebel against England. You see, Great Britain was being unfair to the new colonists in America. She taxed them heavily, but then she wouldn’t give them a voice in government. Had she been fair to them, there never would have been a Revolutionary War.”
This is madness! I tried to stand up. I had forgotten I was leaning back and fell crashing to the floor—pulling my books down with me. Before I realized what had happened, Miss Burton and half of the library’s occupants were surrounding me.
“Are—are you hurt?” she stammered, quickly surveying the disaster area.
“No, just a little shocked,” I muttered.
As I untangled my legs from the wreckage, Miss Burton ushered the crowd away. Much to my surprise, she remained.
“Did I say something that surprised you?” she asked.
“You sure did!” I blurted, a little too brusquely. I quickly scanned her face to see if I’d offended her. More gently, I added, “Miss Burton, you’ve got some strange ideas about rebellion!”
She nodded. Her silence urged me on.
“I don’t understand how you can say that rebels are cowards! And then you say that the forefathers of the United States didn’t rebel against England! You—a librarian!” I consciously restrained myself from saying any more.
“I’m sorry if I’ve offended you …” Her voice trailed off. Walking toward us was a quaint-looking man who could have been a twin to the tall, thin character in a story by Washington Irving (an American author).
“It’s the head librarian!” she whispered. She mouthed the word later, squeezed my arm, and quickly returned to her duties at the main desk.
Sitting down again was a painful experience, but the thought of talking to Miss Burton after the library closed served as a local anesthetic to my bruises. I mulled her words over in my mind: “Cowards rebel; brave men and women obey laws …”
She’s wrong! I argued. Just like all the others. It takes courage to be different and to rebel against the traditions of society! A coward wouldn’t dare to have “long hair” and storm administration buildings! It takes fortitude to stand up for what you believe in!
An unbeckoned thought crept into my mind and whispered, “But, Dan, what do you believe in?”
“Freedom!” I retorted.
Again it whispered, “Freedom from rules, obligations, and ties that bind?”
I fell silent. I was unable to answer these queries from within. I knew that I had not displayed courage by rebelling; rather, I had taken the easy way out. Home and religion had been too restricting. I wanted to have fun, my way, with no obligations or responsibilities.
I remembered how upset Dad had been. Mom cried. I hated myself for hurting them, but still their disappointment was easier to bear than the scoffs from my friends. I grew further and further from my family. I acted like I didn’t care, but it really had hurt me, deep inside.
“Cowards rebel! Could she be right?” I asked aloud. I smiled and breathed deeply. I felt as though a heavy yoke were being lifted off my weary shoulders. For the first time in years I felt really free.
I sensed the presence of someone near and turned around. Miss Burton smiled radiantly.
“It sounds like you’ve been having an interesting conversation with yourself,” she said.
“I have, but I’d rather have one with you!”
“Could I give you a ride home?” I asked.
“I live just a few blocks from here, so I usually walk.” Pause. “But if you would like to walk me home … ”
I responsed instantly to her cue, and soon we were outside enjoying the crisp autumn twilight. We walked in silence for a minute or so.
“Miss Burton,” I said at length, “do you have a first name?”
She laughed, “Why yes, I believe I do. Before I started to work at the library, people used to call me Rebecca.”
“Becky Burton!” I said. “That’s cute!”
“Rebecca—not Becky.” We fell silent. Then, as if to pick up the strands of conversation again, she added, “Rebecca was the wife of Isaac in the Bible. Remember?”
I nodded.
“What’s your name?”
“Dan,” I replied.
“Daniel was a biblical name, too.” she offered. “Have you ever read the Bible?”
“Parts of it a long time ago,” I had not really planned to discuss the Bible tonight.
“You know, Dan, if the library were to catch on fire, I think I’d rescue that book before all the others!” Her eyes were shining. Religion must be an important part of her life.
Sensing that I didn’t share her enthusiasm, she stammered, a little embarrassed, “I—I guess I really shouldn’t be talking about the Bible right now.” Then, almost childlike, she asked, “Are you a Christian?”
“Am I a Christian, Rebecca?” I asked, as I came back to the present. “Let’s say I used to be.” She sensed my need for silence.
We walked along the dark, tree-lined street; only the crunching sound of autumn leaves under our feet interrupted the silence. I felt so alone in the cold, dark world. More than anything else, I wanted Rebecca’s friendship. She seemed so sure of herself, so at peace with herself. I wanted to draw from her strength, to learn from her wisdom. I looked down at my feet, afraid of her warm eyes.
“Rebecca,” I whispered softly. “What is it that makes you so special?”
I could have guessed that she would say it was her belief in Diety; she impressed me as a deeply religious girl. I wondered, though, which religion was to receive the credit for making her so sensitive, tender, and caring.
I pressed further, “What is your religion, Rebecca? Are you Catholic, Protestant, or something else?”
Her lips held just a hint of a smile. “I guess I fall into the ‘something else’ category, Dan. I’m searching for truth wherever I can find it. I discover it in some unusual places. But I can’t help but wonder one thing. Is there one religion that contains all of the truth?”
Her question pricked me deeply. Her eyes were searching mine, imploring. I looked away—my past blazed before me. Silently, I bowed my head and prayed. I hadn’t done that in years! After a long moment, I returned her gaze.
“Rebecca,” I slowly began, “what do you know about the Mormon church?”

For many years, my addiction to alcohol had a negative impact on my family life and prevented me from attending school as I would have liked.
Indeed, my life changed because of an addiction to alcohol and tobacco that had a profound impact on my professional, and especially on my family, life. I felt powerless, I could see my family go to waste, especially the education of my children. This was a great concern for me. This situation worried me deeply and I did not know how to get rid of it. Prayers and tears were put to work without result.
As for me, I began to take missionary lessons and to attend church intermittently because my addictions to alcohol and tobacco were a heavy burden.
I was not ready for baptism and asked for God’s help by seeking through the scriptures to find a way to put an end to this addiction.
This is how I read Doctrine and Covenants 89:18–21, “And all saints who remember to keep and do these sayings, walking in obedience to the commandments, shall receive health in their navel and marrow to their bones.
“And shall find wisdom and great treasures of knowledge, even hidden treasures;
“And shall run and not be weary, and shall walk and not faint.
“And I, the Lord, give unto them a promise, that the destroying angel shall pass by them, as the children of Israel, and not slay them. Amen”.
Miraculously, I stopped drinking alcohol and then stopped smoking. I was baptized a member of the Church in May 2002.
My life from that moment on changed radically to the astonishment of those around me. It was a true resurrection, a glimmer of hope for me and my family, so that my mother, who thought I was lost forever having seen me again, exclaimed with tears of joy in her eyes: “Truly your God whom you pray to now is strong.”

Finally, the blessings of covenant belonging come when we follow the Lord’s prophet and rejoice in temple-covenant living, including in marriage. Covenant marriage becomes supernal and eternal as we daily choose the happiness of our spouse and family before our own. As “me” becomes “we,” we grow together. We grow old together; we grow young together. As we bless each other across a lifetime of forgetting ourselves, we find our hopes and joys sanctified in time and eternity.

While situations differ, when we do all we can, the best we can, and sincerely ask and seek His help along the way, the Lord will guide us, in His time and manner, by the Holy Ghost.25 Marriage covenants are binding by mutual choice of those making them—a reminder of God’s and our respect for agency and the blessing of His help when we unitedly seek it.

The fruits of covenant belonging across family generations are felt in our homes and hearts. Please allow me to illustrate with personal examples.

When Sister Gong and I were falling in love toward marriage, I learned about agency and decisions. For a period of time, we were in school studying in two different countries on two different continents. It is why I can honestly say I earned a PhD in international relations.

When I asked, “Heavenly Father, should I marry Susan?” I felt peace. But it was when I learned to pray with real intent, “Heavenly Father, I love Susan and want to marry her. I promise I will be the best husband and father I can be”—when I acted and made my best decisions, it was then the strongest spiritual confirmations came.

Now our Gong and Lindsay FamilySearch family trees, stories, and photos help us discover and connect through the lived experience of generational covenant belonging.26 For us, respected progenitors include:
Great-Grandma Alice Blauer Bangerter, who had three marriage proposals in one day, later asked her husband to rig a foot pedal to her butter churn so she could churn butter, knit, and read at the same time.
Great-Grandpa Loy Kuei Char carried his children on his back and his family’s few belongings on a donkey as they crossed the lava fields on Hawaii’s Big Island. Generations of Char family commitment and sacrifice bless our family today.
Gram Mary Alice Powell Lindsay was left with five young children when her husband and oldest son both died suddenly just days apart. A widow for 47 years, Gram raised her family with sustaining love from local leaders and members. During those many years, Gram promised the Lord if He would help her, she would never complain. The Lord helped her. She never complained.

Kevin took the envelope Christi was waving and quickly tore it open. It read,
“Dear Kevin Richards,
Please forgive that I take so long to write. My name is Tuilolo Tuiaaga. I live with my wife and four children in Pago Pago on Samoan island called Tutuila. One day your missionaries came. I was busy in my bakery and had no time to listen. But my wife listen and keep your book and read it.
Then bad time came to my family. My bakery burn down. Our sick baby got sicker. Doctors try hard, but poor baby Sina die.
My wife say God loves Sina. God loves us. She say He cares. I get very angry. I yell, ‘If He love us, why bakery burn? Why Sina die?’
One night I hurt bad inside. I not sleep. I sit in darkness. By chair was your book. I want to burn book. I pick it up. I see your picture. I read what you write. Then I read and read and read in book. Is hard to read in English for me, but I read till morning. I read again what you write. The Spirit tells me what I read is true. I believe. I wake my wife. We cry and pray. I pray that God forgive my anger. Peace comes to my soul.
Soon will be our family baptism on 30 August. We are very happy. I thank you for sending Book of Mormon.
Peace to you, my brother,
Tuilolo Tuiaaga”

One airman who ventured to our prayer meeting just listened at first. When it came time for him to pray, he asked to be passed over. But a few weeks later, he joined in, praying one evening that his family would be helped with problems at home and that he would be strengthened during the final weeks of training. He told us he was going to miss our meetings when the training ended and that he planned to say a personal prayer each night before going to bed.
While praying with our group soon thereafter, he expressed gratitude that his prayers for his family had been answered. In addition, he said he had been strengthened, which gave him confidence to continue with basic training.
The night before we departed to our assigned technical schools, this same airman explained that before coming to basic training, he had been taught little about God and did not believe in Him. But after reading scriptures with us and seeing the example set by the other airmen who prayed, he had started to develop faith. He confided that the first prayer he had said with the group was the first prayer he had ever said.

Carly W. from Rexburg, Idaho, USA, is a busy helper. At home Carly helps out by taking care of her family’s cats, dogs, and chickens. Because Carly is one of the best students in her class at school, she helps other children with math and reading. In Primary, Carly’s singing helps other children to feel the Spirit.
Because Carly has done such a good job helping others, some of her friends decided to help her too.
Carly was born with a disease called spina bifida. This disease makes it hard for Carly to use all of her muscles. Doing things like walking on uneven ground and climbing up stairs can be hard for her. At school, Carly wasn’t able to play on the playground because the playground equipment was hard for her to use. There were other children who also couldn’t play on the playground equipment.
“Sometimes I felt bad and frustrated at recess because I couldn’t play on the playground,” Carly says.
One of Carly’s friends, Halli Jo, and Halli Jo’s mom decided to earn money to build a playground that Carly and all the other students at the school could use.
Halli Jo, her mom, and a lot of other people worked to earn money for the new playground. It took a lot of work, but they were able to earn enough money to build a new playground that all the students could play on.
“It was a lot of hard work,” Halli Jo says. “But it never made me sad to do the work—it just made me love Carly more.”
Carly is happy to be able to play on the playground with her friends. She says, “I like walking up the ramps and going down the slides. Me and my friends have fun together.”

The inspiration for this lesson comes from a small book I came across more than ten years ago by a Jewish rabbi, Jeffrey K. Salkin, called Being God's Partner: How to Find the Hidden Link between Spirituality and Your Work. Rabbi Salkin told a story of a move that his family made from Pennsylvania to New York, where he was to become responsible for a new congregation. As he tells the story, the boss of the moving crew was a dead ringer for Willie Nelson. He also noticed as the day went on that this fellow was extraordinarily cheerful and careful with his family's possessions. Curious about the man's motivation, Rabbi Salkin sought the opportunity to engage the moving boss in conversation. Why did this person seem so happy about work that many would consider mundane? His explanation went something like this: "I am a Christian," the man said. "My purpose in life is to serve others. I love my work because I know that I am helping people at a time when they feel especially vulnerable. I cherish the opportunity to take some burden off their shoulders at a time when they might otherwise feel anxious and stressed." I love that little story, and I try to remember it in my daily activities.

He had been home about seven months when he ran into “Sister Morgado” at a multistake dance. Ulisses had served as her zone leader for a time, and the two spent the evening catching up and sharing mission stories. Three weeks later, they began dating.

Rosana Fernandes Morgado was eight when her older sister, Margareth, began taking her to church. Eventually, the two faithful young investigators received permission from their father to be baptized, but each had to wait until she was 17. Rosana attended church for nine years before receiving permission to be baptized.

Ulisses lived in northern São Paulo, and Rosana lived with her parents in the city’s southern sector. Travel across the sprawling city took two to three hours by bus and subway. Fortunately, Margareth and her husband, Claudio, lived near her parents’ home.

“When Ulisses came on weekends to date Rosana, it was tough for him to return home so far at night,” recalls Elder Claudio R. M. Costa, General Authority Seventy, of his future brother-in-law. So, he and Margareth invited Ulisses to spend the night at their home after his dates. “We adopted him for a while,” Elder Costa adds.

“He would sleep on the couch in our living room,” says Sister Costa. “We were recently married, so we didn’t have extra blankets. But he would cover himself with an old curtain we had. He was happy because he could see Rosana again the next day. He was good to my sister, and my parents liked him very much.”

Ulisses and Rosana were married in the São Paulo Brazil Temple on October 30, 1982.

For Christmas one year, Russell’s parents gave him a shiny black bike. When Russell was 10, his dad asked him to come work as his errand boy. He would send Russell on his bike to deliver and pick up things all over town. Russell met lots of new and interesting people. He was excited to help!
Later Russell used the money he earned from his job as an errand boy to buy his mom a present on his birthday! He wrote her a note that said, “Thanks for having me!”

Brother Featherstone recounted an interesting story about Orson Spencer and his wife, Katherine. In the mid-1830s, the Prophet Joseph Smith sent missionaries back to Boston, Massachusetts. When they arrived, they started meeting with a man by the name of Orson Spencer; he believed and was converted. His fiancée was taught at the same time. They wanted to get married, and they both wanted to join the Church; so they went to her family to see if they could get permission. The interview did not last very long; Katherine’s father told her, “If you choose to marry Orson and if you join this Church you are no longer welcome in our home. We never want to see you again. We disown you. We disinherit you.” That was about the summary of the interview. As they left this interview, Katherine said, “Well, Orson, I only know one thing—I want to marry you and will do whatever you say.”

So they joined the Church. They were married, and they had five children back in Massachusetts. But Katherine was a frail little girl, and I guess that having five children rather close together was really too much for her. Her health was not good. They decided that they ought to move to the west with the rest of the Saints, and so they made their way to Nauvoo, Illinois; no sooner did they arrive there than Brother Brigham gave the word that they were going to move on westward.

Brother Orson was concerned; he felt that his wife would never be able to make this kind of a trip. In desperation, he wrote back to her family and he said, in essence, “Please let Katherine come home to be nursed back to health. She has been sick; I despair for her life. I don’t believe she will make it across the plains. We are going to leave soon. Please let me know.” Then he added these words, “I will do anything that you ask.”

The weeks passed and it became a month, and it was time to leave. They fixed a little pallet for a bed and put it in the wagon, and they began to roll westward. It was in the middle of the winter, as you know, and the going was very difficult. At night the roads froze hard as granite; but when the sun came out in the morning the roads became a quagmire, and the wheels were up to their axles in mud many times. They could only make a few yards an hour. Finally, about eighteen days out, they made an encirclement, and into the camp rode Porter Rockwell. He had picked up mail, and he distributed it around the camp. He gave Orson a letter written by Katherine’s parents.

He read the letter, “Yes, we would love to have our daughter come home. We’d love to see her again, but only on the condition that she leave you and leave her newfound Church. Then we will nurse her back to health. We would love to see her again, but only on these conditions. If not, we never want to see her again. We disown her. We disinherit her, and she is not welcome in our home.” Orson, feeling terrible, climbed into the wagon and gave the letter to Katherine. She read it; she had not known until then that he had written it. He said, “I told them that I would do anything. And this is their answer.”

She asked, “Orson, would you hand me the Bible?” He did. She opened to a particular scripture; you will find it in Ruth, the first chapter, verse sixteen. She handed it back to Orson and said, “Would you read this, please?”

He read, “Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God.”

“No, Orson,” she said, “I won’t leave you.”

He sat by her a while. They held hands and shared a tender moment. And then he touched her pallid face as she closed her eyes, never to open them again in mortality. The next morning they held a brief service beside a shallow grave, with nothing but the lowing of cattle as music. Then Orson climbed up onto the covered wagon and prepared to roll westward. His oldest daughter came and climbed up beside him. Her name was Aurelia Spencer Rogers; she was to become the founder of the Primary.

I love Sister Aurelia Rogers for what she did. It has affected my family, and it will affect my family’s family. It came as a result of sacrifice. But even more, I love Katherine, because it was her sacrifice that really made it possible. You see, sacrifice does bring forth the blessings of heaven, and I am convinced that sacrifice is absolutely necessary if one is to develop true spirituality. It may seem at the time to cost dearly, but in the end the Lord restores it all in full measure—pressed down, shaken together, and running over.

Rose bounced on her toes as she peeked out the window. Their friends would be here any minute!
Every year at Christmastime, Rose and her family acted out the Nativity. They always invited people to come over and join them. This time they had invited their neighbors and the missionaries! Rose was excited because their neighbors had a baby to be baby Jesus.
Everything was almost ready. Mom was taking the treats out of the oven. Rose’s little brothers had picked up all their toys. Ellen was getting the costumes. And Rose had even taped a big, yellow star to the wall for decoration.
“Rose,” Mom called from the kitchen. “Can you help Ellen get the costumes ready?”
“OK, Mom!” Rose turned to help her sister, who was carrying an armful of blankets.
“We have blankets, towels, and dress-up clothes from the closet,” Ellen said. “We can even use this basket as a pretend manger.” She handed Rose a big basket. Rose put a soft blanket inside it for the baby.
“Perfect,” said Rose.
Rose’s little brother Jack pulled a gray blanket over his head and made a funny face. “Can I be the donkey?”
Rose laughed. “No, silly! You wanted to be a Wise Man, remember?”
“Oh yeah!” said Jack. He grabbed the toy crown and put it on his head.
Then there was a knock at the door.
“They’re here!” Rose said. “I’ll get it.”
Soon the house was full of happy people. Rose helped everyone get their costumes on. The sister missionaries were the shepherds. Her brothers and sister were the Wise Men. The cute baby was baby Jesus, and his parents were Mary and Joseph.
Rose put on a soft, white hat. She was a sheep.
Finally everyone was dressed and ready to go. Elder and Sister Yancey, a missionary couple from their ward, opened the New Testament to the Nativity story. They read the verses out loud. Everyone acted out their part.
At the end of the story, everyone sang “Silent Night.” Rose felt warm and happy. She knew she was feeling the Holy Ghost. It felt like Jesus was close to her heart.
After the song, Mom played the video “Samuel and the Star.”* Ellen said a prayer. Then they brought out the treats. Everyone had fun visiting.
“So, what was your favorite part?” Sister Yancey asked.
“I liked singing the song,” Ellen said. “And playing with baby Jesus.” Ellen bounced the baby on her lap. She had been playing with him ever since the song ended.
“I liked bringing Jesus gifts,” Jack said. He was still wearing the pretend crown.
“What about you, Rose?”
Rose spread her arms out wide. “I liked everything!” she said in a loud voice. “But most of all, I liked having everyone here to celebrate Jesus. Because that’s what Christmas is all about.”

“It was a nice prayer.” This was my thought immediately following my patriarchal blessing. My patriarch had said some great words, and I had felt the Spirit, but I thought it was just a nice prayer, nothing remarkable like others had indicated were in their blessings.
I had graduated from high school and was preparing for my first year of college. Before I left home, I wanted to be ordained an elder and receive my patriarchal blessing. Two weeks before school started, I was able to accomplish both goals.
My patriarch gave a fine blessing, but I just did not feel that the experience was as great as everyone made it out to be. I admit that in a way I was even disappointed. I had expected so much, and it seemed that I did not receive what I had wanted. I questioned my own worthiness. Could it be my fault that I was not feeling anything spectacular?
After days of pondering, I knew I was at fault. I realized I needed to do some preparation in my own life to receive the personal witness that my patriarchal blessing was from God.
For the next few weeks, I fasted, prayed, and sought forgiveness of any sins I had. I was changing slowly. I could not tell a great difference, but by the time my patriarchal blessing came to me in the mail, I was ready.
I waited until Sunday evening to read it when all was quiet. Even as I opened the envelope, I could sense a different feeling come over me. I began to read. I had not read more than a few lines when amazing statements appeared. I could not believe this was my blessing! It seemed my whole blessing was full of material I had never heard before, and the things which I did remember began to have new meanings. A full-time mission, celestial marriage, eternal life—I now saw these expressions, that I had thought were trite, as the great promises they were. I had missed so much when I first received my patriarchal blessing. My “nice prayer” had turned into a personal revelation from God to me.

Dennis Largey came to BYU-H as a young non-member to play volleyball. He developed a testimony of the Gospel and was eventually baptized and had the strong desire to serve a mission. However, being the only member in his family (who were not happy with his decision to join the Church), he had no family financial help. He counseled with his bishop, Nolan Reed, who promised him that if he had the desire, a way would be opened for him. One day he went to the temple to specifically try and get some inspiration about how he might solve this problem of financing a mission. While he was there, he met a visitor from California in the dressing room and had a brief conversation. The visiting brother found out that he was a recent convert and asked if he planned to serve a mission. Dennis said yes, that he really wanted to but his family could not help him and that he had no resources. They both went through the session and afterwards the visiting brother gave him his business card and told him that he wanted to support him on his mission. He felt their meeting was inspired and said that he had supported other missionaries when moved by the spirit. Dennis Largey served an honorable mission to Ireland at age 23, and is now a professor of religion at BYU-Provo. I called him this week and verified the details of this story and tell it with his permission.

My conversion to the gospel and my baptism into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints began some thirty-seven years ago. I was in my first year of university studies when Elder Henry Eddington of Shoshone, Idaho, and Elder Eleazer Asay of Orem, Utah, began to teach me of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ.

I was intrigued with the discussions. I found that my intellect was stimulated by the new vistas of knowledge presented by these two mature representatives of the Church who had been called later in life to serve missions.

Elder Eddington was leading the discussion that last evening together before I was to return to the university. He had been reviewing why there was a need for a restoration, and then he paused and bore solemn testimony of the truthfulness of their message. Then he reached over, touching my knee with the only hand that he had, and said, “And now you will know it is true.” The Spirit of God came into my body as a fire. It felt as if it would consume me. It left me physically exhausted but totally assured that the Church was true. Now I knew for myself.

Jason fixed his gaze on the carpet below him.

It had been only two months since he had started going back to church after having been a runaway for four months.

A lot can happen in four months when you’re just going with the flow, doing whatever seems like a good idea at the time. He had done things he thought would make him happy—and yet, strangely enough, they eventually made him feel worse.

He had quit high school, left home, and moved in with some friends across town. One night late, after he’d been drinking, he was hit by a car as he tried to cross the street.

The next thing he remembered was the sound of a familiar voice. “I’m Jason Miller’s mother. How is he?” she said to the nurse in intensive care.

“So far he’s stable, but he’s still unconscious.”

“My husband will be coming soon. He was out of town when we got the news. I phoned him, and he’ll be here in an hour. Is it okay if I stay here with my son?”

“Of course. I’ll get you a chair.”

Jason felt her hand on his. “Jason, I’m here.”

“He can’t hear you,” the nurse said.

Jason could hear his mother though. He just couldn’t let her know. There was some kind of a barrier.

“Jason, I love you. I’m sorry about your accident. Everything is going to be okay. As soon as your dad gets here, he’ll administer to you. He’ll be here in just a short time.” She paused. “Jason, you don’t know how many times I’ve prayed for you. Every day, several times a day. I’ve prayed that when you grow tired of being rebellious, that you’ll know we love you and come back. We made some mistakes as parents. Maybe we were too critical of you, too quick to find fault, but we did our best. There are some things we’d do differently now, but we did the best we could at the time.

“There’s a story the Savior told—I’ve thought so much about it lately. A father had a son who wanted to be independent. He asked for his inheritance and took it to live in another town. He lived a wild life. But then there was a famine, and he ran out of money and was forced to get a job feeding swine. He was so hungry he thought about eating the husks he was feeding to the pigs. But then he thought about his father’s servants, how much better off they were than he was. He decided to return home and ask his father if he could be just one of his servants.

“His father was in the field the day the son came home. The scriptures tell us he saw his son from afar off and ran out to greet him, and when he saw him, he threw his arms around him and welcomed him back and requested the servants to prepare a celebration dinner.

“I’ll tell you a secret. It was no accident that the father saw his son from far off, because I think he looked down that road for his son many times every day. Like your father and I have. Sometimes we’ve left the lights on all night just in case you might come home during the night. We wanted you to know you were welcome, but you never came.”

His mother broke down crying.

“I’m sorry. It’s just that sometimes it’s hard to be a parent. You’ll find that out someday. It’s hard to wait for a prodigal son to come home. We love you, Jason. All we want is what’s best for you. Heavenly Father loves you. Jason, please, when you’re able, come home. Live the gospel. It’s not too late to come back.”

Jason had heard everything his mother said, but he couldn’t seem to make any movement to tell her.

Later Jason was aware that his father had come into the room with another man. He felt their hands being placed lightly on his head. And then they administered to him.

The next day Jason came out of his coma. A week later he was well enough to go home.

And now he was working with the bishop on plans to someday serve a mission.

Jason stood up, cleared his throat, and began his testimony. “I’m glad that Christ gave the parable of the prodigal son …”

The last high school basketball tournament gave our family a rallying point for a common activity. My brother’s boy participated on one of the teams. They had lost their first game, and his personal production for that game was 12 points. This was about average for what he had been doing during the regular season. Then tragedy struck the team in the second game. Their big center, who was their high scorer, was injured and was out for the balance of the tournament. The team realized that another loss meant elimination.
My nephew was placed under the pressure of having to make up for that loss. He was moved from his regular position of forward to replace the center. He met the challenge by scoring 32 points that game. Then in the final two games he led the team to victory and finished second in total scoring in the state tournament. His scoring was twice what he had normally been producing.
Bearing his testimony the following week in meeting, he remarked that when the pressure became great and the burden difficult to bear, he would hear the encouraging cries of his family above the roar of the crowd and would be inspired to try harder.
The courage of this young man taught us all a lesson that day. One of the gifts of a loving family is the encouragement and confidence we receive to magnify ourselves.