Gospel Story Finder

Bryan watched his little brother Darren skip down the porch steps and dash out the gate. Darren hugged a handful of cookies to his chest as he ran. “Jonathan will like these,” he called as he disappeared around the corner.
Mom was chuckling as she shut the front door. Bryan shook his head. “Why do you let him get away with it?” he asked her. “You know he’s just making Jonathan up.”
“Darren must be growing,” Mom said. “He’s extra hungry.”
“Yeah, but he’s lying to you, Mom,” Bryan huffed.
“I know you think it’s unfair, Bryan,” Mom said. “But I want to give Darren a chance to admit he’s pretending he has a friend named Jonathan.”
Bryan snorted. “Jonathan has been getting extra after-school snacks for weeks.”
“Maybe so,” Mom said. “But Darren is sensitive. I’ll think of something.”
“Sensitive!” Bryan thought. “This sensitive kid is getting away with lying to Mom.”
Another week went by. Almost every day after school, Darren begged for extra snacks for Jonathan. Once, Bryan heard his mom asking Darren why his friend never came to the house himself. “He’s really shy,” Darren said.
“Why don’t you ask Jonathan to play soccer with us?” Bryan suggested slyly.
“Jonathan doesn’t like soccer,” Darren said.
Bryan gave up. “I guess it doesn’t hurt anything to have an imaginary friend,” he said to himself. “Maybe he’ll outgrow it.”
One chilly day, Bryan heard Mom say sternly, “Darren Robins!” She sounded upset.
“Mom is mad at Darren? I have to see this,” Bryan thought, slipping down the hall.
“I gave it to Jonathan,” Darren said.
“That was a brand-new coat!” Mom was trying not to shout.
“I know, but Jonathan doesn’t have one. I can wear Bryan’s old one.” Darren stood shivering just inside the front door.
Mom knelt down in front of Darren and looked him in the eyes. “I want you to tell Jonathan he can have the coat, but only if he will come see me and say thank you for it.”
Bryan grinned. Mom was a genius.
The next day, Bryan hurried to be there when Darren got home from school. The front door opened and Darren poked his head inside.
“Mom? Please come here. Jonathan is really shy.”
Mom went to the door. Bryan peered around her to see a boy wearing Darren’s new coat. He had longish tangled hair. His eyes seemed too big for his skinny face. Bryan saw him swallow nervously.
“Thank you for the coat,” the boy whispered, and then dashed away.
“See you, Jonathan,” Darren called as the boy disappeared around the corner. He walked into the house, seeming not to notice that Mom and Bryan were standing there, speechless. Mom finally closed the door.
Later, Mom had a quiet talk with Bryan. “I called the school,” she said. “I should have thought of that sooner. They know about Jonathan’s situation. The counselor said they’re working to help his family. I thought you should know.”
“There’s something else I know,” Bryan said. “My brother is a cool kid.”

Let me share with you a personal experience whereby the Lord schooled me on this matter. Within days after graduating from BYU–Hawai`i I reported to the Missionary Training Center in New Zealand in preparation to serve a mission to the Philippines. I felt comfort upon graduation because I knew exactly where I was going and I knew it was the right course for me. I had no doubt that the Lord had supported my decision and helped make it possible for me to serve.

As my mission drew to a close I was prayerfully asking the Lord for guidance about my future. I was uncertain about what I should do next in my life but I had a desire to attend BYU Provo. It was a righteous desire and when I took my request to the Lord I knew the Lord approved through feelings from the Spirit, and promptings from the still small voice. I had no doubt that I would attend BYU Provo. Therefore I proceeded to submit my application requesting admission shortly after being released from my mission. In my mind I planned that I would visit my family briefly and be off on my next adventure to Provo. However my plan came to an abrupt halt about two weeks prior to completing my mission. I received word from BYU Provo that I was denied admission on the grounds they did not accept individuals seeking a second baccalaureate degree. For some reason seeking a graduate degree had not entered my mind.

As you can imagine I was disappointed, I had mapped out how I thought things would go but when it didn't happen that way I became upset with the Lord. When I look back at the arrogance of my attitude I cringe but at the time I felt the Lord let me down because I knew he condoned my going to Provo so why didn't Provo get the message? I was so upset that in a prayer I said to the Lord, "I'm so disappointed right now I can't think straight. I need time to work this out. I labored three days to realign my desires with the Lord's, and eventually I came to the conclusion again that "the Lord knows best, he loves me, there was something else for me at this particular time in my life and he wanted to give me the opportunity to be where I could learn what I needed to learn. It became clear to me I did not want to be somewhere the Lord did not want me to be. I became excited about this new perspective. After three tumultuous days I was sufficiently humbled and ready to say, "Thy will be done." Two years later I got my chance to attended BYU Provo when I was accepted in to the newly developed masters of social work program which was not in existence when I initially applied.

Recalling those two years prior to eventually journeying to BYU I have wonderful memories of experiences I would have missed out on if I had gone directly to Provo. I had the opportunity and blessing of serving the Lord in building up the His Kingdom in Palmerston North, New Zealand. I shared the gospel by going on tradeoffs with sister missionaries, I fellowshipped new members who were students at the local university who were challenged daily because of their beliefs, I taught institute and I tried my best to set a good example for my nonmember roommate who was being taught the gospel by the full time missionaries.

Youth of the Lehi Utah West Stake took King Benjamin’s words seriously by helping both God and man during their conference entitled “Called to Serve.”
Starting early Friday morning, they were divided into groups and sent to various locations to do things like repainting an old shed, weeding an elderly couple’s garden, clearing an irrigation ditch, planting a welfare corn field, taking the graffiti off a large cement wall, working on a float for a parade, painting two large corral fences, and tying four quilts for Deseret Industries. All totaled with the adults who helped, they estimate about 500 hours of service were given from one ward alone.
The conference also included swimming, camping, hiking, and some inspirational speakers. Everyone was amazed that they could have so much fun for just $5.00 apiece. They discovered that youth conferences don’t have to be expensive and extravagant after all.

I first read “To Receive a Crown of Glory,” a First Presidency Message by President James E. Faust (see Liahona, Apr. 2004, 2), by myself, then we studied it in family home evening, and then we studied it again in an elders quorum meeting. At that time I was preparing to go to the temple to be sealed to my wife. When I studied President Faust’s words regarding sin and repentance, I realized that I needed to confess an old sin to my bishop. Afterward I felt the peace we are promised when we truly repent. I am grateful to the Lord for His Church and for His leaders who guide us today.Name withheld

In 2003 I was called to serve a mission in the Ivory Coast, in western Africa. As I researched, I found that the country seemed to be involved in constant civil war, but I was comforted to learn there was a ceasefire in place. Further comfort came when I was set apart. The stake president gave me a promise that while I was serving, I would at times feel the presence of angels and they would protect me. I was also promised that if I was obedient, I would return home safely.
In the first months of my mission, the mission president counseled us to be prepared. In our apartment in the capital city of Abidjan, we kept a three-day supply of food and water, and at meetings we received training on what to do if conflict broke out.
Still, we were nervous when rebels broke the ceasefire on November 4, 2004. Our mission leaders gave us a 6:00 p.m. curfew. During our last teaching appointment the next day, we heard a sudden explosion. Immediately we ended with a prayer, left the family a chapter from the Book of Mormon to read, and rushed home. The other companionship in our apartment arrived shortly after us. The assistants phoned and told us not to leave our apartments under any circumstances—not for church or even food. We learned that some French peacekeepers had been killed in air strikes, so France had attacked the military airport, crippling the small Ivorian air force. In reaction, massive riots had broken out across the capital.
Tens of thousands of protesters swarmed the streets, wielding machetes, looting French shops, and breaking into homes where they suspected the French lived. From our window, we could see the violence unfolding. We knew we were in danger because of our white skin.
On Sunday afternoon, November 7, amid the sounds of screaming, gunshots, and explosions, we held a sacrament meeting in our apartment with only four participants. After blessing and passing the bread and water from our three-day food supply, each of us shared a scripture and bore testimony. I read Doctrine and Covenants 84:88: “And whoso receiveth you, there I will be also, for 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.” As I read, I reflected on the blessing my stake president had given me, and I knew I would be safe.
We were shut in our apartment for a week. Ward leaders and members visited us and brought us food. One member even took messages from us and e-mailed our families, letting them know we were safe for now. These members’ help was amazing! Meanwhile, our families and Church members around the world were praying for our safety. As my family prayed, they felt a calm assurance that I would be OK.
On Friday, November 12, our evacuation began. Ivorian Church members led us through the streets of Abidjan, and though we heard reports of other refugees being harmed, we made it safely through the barricades to the British ambassador’s home. Then British forces evacuated us from the country, and my family’s prayers were answered when they saw two other elders and me on the news being evacuated. In the dark of the night, members took other non-African missionaries to the mission home. From there the Italian air force transported them to Ghana, where we were reunited.
Despite dozens of attacks on foreigners throughout the country, none of the missionaries were harmed during the riots, and no missionary apartments were broken into. Because we listened to the mission president’s counsel, we were safe at home when the riots broke out and we had supplies necessary for our survival. And even more comforting than military protection was knowing we had the Lord’s protection.
When we were being evacuated, I found out that on Sunday afternoon after our sacrament meeting, a group of protesters had been preparing to attack our apartment. One of our neighbors shouted, “They aren’t French!” but they would not leave. Finally, another neighbor cried, “They’re missionaries!” and the rioters dispersed. I again remembered the words, “My Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you,” and I realized that I was living the promise from my stake president’s blessing. I had seen prophecy fulfilled.

During World War II, I was in cadet training at Thunderbird Field near Scottsdale, Arizona. We would on occasion go into Phoenix on the weekend, and on Sunday afternoon, we would be finding a way back to our base. Scottsdale, Arizona, in those days was a rural suburb of Phoenix and consisted of not much more than two street crossings.
One Sunday, several of us were not able to get a ride, so we began the long walk back to the base. As we were hiking along, an old car drew up and a gentleman offered us a ride. There were more of us than could get in his old car, but there were small steps by the doors on which we could stand, and so he drove slowly along as we chatted. Several complained about the desert and how dry and dead and lifeless it was. Finally, he stopped the car and said he wanted to show us something.
He then told us he was a teacher of natural sciences, and we spent some time walking into the desert. He showed us plants and animals and living things and opened our eyes to a new world. He pointed out shriveled and supposedly dead plants.
Then he broke off a piece of a branch and held it up to us. “This,” he said, “is not dead. It is just dormant. There is life in it.” And then he explained that when the right conditions came, it would bud and bloom and become alive again.
That lesson made a deep impression on us. We had thought the desert was barren and lifeless, but he showed us that there was life there if we knew how to look for it. In the same way, the teacher must learn to see beyond the obvious and use familiar things to teach deeper truths.

The seventies led us to graduate school at the University of Iowa. Wouldn’t you know it – our babysitter for the three years there was a Primary President. Our son, Arthur, joined their then eight children (eventually ten) and became part of their family and part of their ward. We, the parents, were on the outside looking in on a wonderful transformation of the wards newest “Sunbeam.” Arthur would come home and tell us he was special and wanted a duty in the house! We did NOT know what to say or do … except be impressed. Remember the earlier quote from Richard L. Evans?
We are the sum of all our actions and attitudes and utterances,
of all things stored away in body and mind and memory.
We wanted these values in our little family. We were still experiencing turbulent times being on a college campus. We were just beginning as parents and didn’t have a clue how to continue. We watched and absorbed the Aamodt family’s activities. They eventually gave us a family home evening manual. We didn’t know what the D&C thing meant but we did sit down together on Sunday evening, pop some popcorn and watch “The Wonderful World of Disney” each week. Our babysitters became stability in a time if uncertainty.
We observed this family for three years. They took us to their daughter’s baptism, the yearly children’s sacrament program, a dessert auction, and to Nauvoo to see the “City of Joseph” pageant. We attended the ward so infrequently (once or twice a year) that we were introduced as “Arthur’s parents.”
While in Nauvoo, the testimonies of the missionary couples impressed Scarlett and questions arose as to how these couples could leave their families. “Don’t you miss your grandchildren? “You can’t go home and see them for how long?” “Why do they always end their speeches with ‘I know these things to be true…’” “Is this something they’ve memorized?” During the return trip to Iowa City, we asked, “So, where are those gold plates now?” WHERE? (we thought…) Well, that’s convenient! This trip was a definite turning point in our interest in the church even after we were told where those plates ended up.
Before graduating, I became ill and needed blood. Members of the ward donated blood while the Aamodt family moved us into their home.

“Water for life” reads a large sign fastened to the side of Sataua Primary School on the Samoan island of Savai’i.
Those are words many Pacific Islanders understand all too well as they’re often faced with the reality of little to no fresh water for drinking, cooking, or bathing.
They are also words Elder Brian and Sister Lori Bott understand all too well. As a senior missionary couple serving in Samoa, they frequently encounter families, schools, and entire villages that struggle to find and have enough clean water.
With the Botts’ help, that all recently changed for a school and several villages on Savai’i.
It was there that the Vaisigano Second District, the Samoan Ministry of Health, and The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints came together to provide two 10,000-litre water tanks for Sataua Primary School, and an additional 206 2,000-litre water tanks for homes in the surrounding villages of Fagasa, Sataua, and Papa Sataua.
That means approximately 900 villagers and 1,000 students now have a reliable source of clean water.
“For a school, the ability to capture and store this water is the difference between staying open and closing down,” said Elder Bott.
“Water is part of it, but anything to do with the health or education of the Samoan people and to let them know of God’s love for them—that’s what we’re about,” said Sister Bott.
As humanitarian missionaries, that’s their objective every day and especially each time they take the one-hour ferry ride from the island of Upolu to Savai’i.
Sometimes that love means classroom desks so students can sit and have a surface to write on or shelves to make library books more accessible. At other times it means having floor tiles installed to make school rooms more sanitary and easier to clean.
This time it was the Botts joining with school and village leaders to cut a violet ribbon wrapped around 20,000 litres of water.
“We know how important it is to have clean water, and we feel so blessed to be just a small, small, little part of the Church’s efforts to bring water—to bring blessings to the people of Samoa,” said Elder Bott.

Pierre Anthian, son of a French army officer, was born in Algeria during that country’s war for independence. When he was four years old, his family moved back to Pau, a city in southwest France. A short time later his parents divorced, leaving his mother, Michka, with custody of their four children. When Pierre was nine years old, the missionaries found them. The children were baptized first, followed by their mother.
Sister Anthian taught gospel lessons, including Christlike love and service, the best way they can be taught: through personal application. She and her children served both in the Church and in the community. Sometimes the family would invite homeless people to share a meal. Pierre’s volunteer efforts included hospitals and rest homes, homeless shelters and hostels.
After graduating from dental school, Pierre served a full-time mission in Switzerland. Upon returning home, he began making dentures, first in the French Riviera and later in Paris. By then, helping others had become a way of life, and he volunteered to serve meals at the largest homeless shelter in Paris. It was here he became troubled over merely giving handouts. “It’s good to give food,” he says, “but what do we teach in the Church? We teach people to be self-reliant. So I began looking for an idea, a special tool, to give these people dignity and autonomy.”
Eventually, it occurred to him that music might be just the tool he needed. Not only was music part of Pierre’s religious culture, it was a personal passion for him. He had studied music, particularly choral music, in conservatories of Pau, Cannes, and Paris, and he had once directed a Church choir. He determined to start a choir among society’s outcasts.

My boyhood home in California was located relatively close to large orchards of apricots, cherries, peaches, pears, and other delicious fruits. We also lived near fields of cucumbers, tomatoes, and a variety of vegetables.
As a boy I always looked forward to canning season. I did not like scrubbing the canning jars or working in our hot kitchen. But I did like working with my mom and dad. And I loved eating my work! I am sure I ate more fruit than ever made it into any of our canning jars.
My memories of time spent in the kitchen with Mom and Dad are stirred every time I see a bottle of home-canned cherries or peaches. The basic lessons I learned about temporal self-reliance and provident living while picking and canning produce have blessed me throughout my life. Interestingly, simple and ordinary experiences often provide the most important learning opportunities we ever have.

Carlomagno Aguilar from Angeles, Philippines, provides just one example. When he learned that his area would be going into quarantine because of the COVID-19 pandemic, he hurried to buy supplies—although his list was different from those around him. He had a plan to be prepared, buying seeds and fertilizer for his home garden.
Carlomagno Aguilar started an online channel to teach about urban farming.
To be more self-reliant, Carlomagno has been an urban farmer for years. He also ministers to his neighbors, both by giving them produce from his garden and by teaching them to grow their own food. He also created an online channel where his tips and tutorials are available to everyone, helping his brothers and sisters become more self-reliant and prepared for the future.

Our plane landed safely. We observed that there were three or four hundred people at the airstrip. President Strong’s son, Bert, also a stake president, was there and was very delighted to see us back safe. We asked Bert why so many people had collected at the airstrip that evening. He informed us that three Mexicans had gone in a two-motor plane across the jungles and mountains to the Usumacinta River that morning about the time we had flown there. They had not returned and the people of Tuxtla were out waiting for them. Some months later Gareth Lowe wrote informing us that the Mexican plane and its occupants had hit a mountain, and all were killed.

What are you making?” Cassie asked her older brother as he opened the oven door.
“Some cookies for the baseball game. I figure, since we just moved here, it wouldn’t hurt to go the extra mile to get to know the kids,” Chris explained.
“I’m going to make something too!”
“What are you going to make?”
Cassie thought a bit before a smile spread across her face. “It’s a secret, but I’ll give you a hint—it starts with F.”
Chris grinned. “So what ingredients do you need for your secret recipe?”
“Ingredients?”
“The things you use to make your recipe,” Chris explained. “Ingredients are very important. Use the wrong ones, and your recipe won’t turn out. Good luck.” He grabbed his mitt and the plate of cookies, then ran out the door.
Cassie got the plastic bucket out from under the sink. “Since I’m making an F recipe, I’ll need things that start with F,” she reasoned. She carried the bucket outside, where her mother was weeding.
“Flowers!” Cassie exclaimed, “Can I have some?”
“You may have all the dandelions you want,” her mother replied, gazing at their lawn in exasperation. “Pick away.”
It wasn’t long before the bottom of Cassie’s bucket was covered with yellow flowers. “I’m making an important recipe,” she told her mother. “Can I go down the street?”
“Yes, but don’t leave the block. You aren’t used to this neighborhood yet, and I don’t want you to get lost. I’ll keep an eye on you from the yard.”
Cassie carried her bucket out the gate. She still needed more ingredients for her recipe.
“Who are you, and what are you doing?” someone asked.
Cassie looked up to see a girl about her age looking at her.
“I’m Cassie, and I’m making a recipe. I need ingredients that start with the letter F.”
“My name is Rachel. I live next door. How about a flamingo? We have a plastic one in our front yard.”
“Great!” Cassie exclaimed. Soon a plastic flamingo was sticking out of her pail. She walked down the street with Rachel, the pink head bobbing with their steps.
“What are you doing?” said a voice. They turned to see a boy on a bicycle.
“This is Cassie,” Rachel told him. “She’s making a letter-F recipe. We have flowers and a flamingo for ingredients. Can you think of anything else, Steven?”
“Frogs! Come with me to the pond. There are lots of frogs there.”
He walked along with them, pushing his bike, to the pond near the corner.
While they were catching frogs and putting them into the bucket, three more kids came up. Rachel introduced them as Benjamin, Eric, and Kathryn. They seemed happy to meet Cassie and were eager to help with the recipe.
“Flowers, frogs, and a flamingo,” Eric said. “How about adding french fries? I have a couple in my pocket.” He tossed them into the bucket.
“What else?” Cassie asked.
“Ferns? Kathryn shouted, plucking some that grew near the pond. “But I think we’ll have to forget about the frogs. They’ve all jumped out.”
“Ferns, flamingo, flowers, french fries—can you think of anything else?” Cassie asked.
“I have a toy fire engine,” Benjamin said. “Let’s go to my house and get it.”
They followed him home, looking like a small parade. The fire engine went into the bucket, nearly filling it.
“Now come to my house,” Cassie said. “We can finish the recipe there.”
Her mother met them at the gate. “Cassie, what are you doing, and who are these children with you?”
“We’re making a recipe,” Cassie explained. “We need a few more ingredients, but we don’t know what.”
Her mother smiled. “Well, how about a snack? There are some bananas in the kitchen.”
“Fruit? Kathryn declared. “That’s perfect!”
All the children followed Carrie into the kitchen. Soon they came back outside with a bunch of bananas nestled among the other things in the bucket. Then they sat on the porch and ate the bananas.
Cassie’s mother looked in the bucket, then at her daughter. “That’s a rather strange recipe,” she remarked. “I’ve never seen such unusual ingredients. What are you making?”
Cassie looked at her mother and smiled. “Friends,” she said.

My brother gave me his old cell phone. It was red and shiny. A few days later my mom said that my sister who was going to college had just called. She had forgotten to take her cell phone out of her pocket and ran it through the wash. It wasn’t working, and she couldn’t afford a new one. I wrapped up my cell phone and we went to see her. I will never forget her face when she opened it. I know Heavenly Father was happy with me because of the good feeling I had inside.

Bobby and Abigail Moreno of Baguio, Philippines, know something about faith. They also know something about Moroni’s declaration that “God has not ceased to be a God of miracles” (Morm. 9:15). Their son, Kinjiro, was born with a cyst that prevented the left side of his brain from developing. He was near death, and the doctors didn’t give his parents much hope.
Abigail comes from a strong Latter-day Saint home—her father is Elder Edison M. Cabrito, an Area Authority Seventy—but her nonmember relatives were reproachful rather than reassuring in this time of trial. “It’s because you belong to another church,” they chided her. “You’d better come back to us. He will get well.”
But she stayed strong in her faith. She told them her son had been blessed by the priesthood and that members had prayed for him in the temple. “I won’t lose hope,” she said. “He’s going to live.”
And he did live. Kinjiro is now three years old, and even though the road to recovery has not been easy, he is a happy, loving little boy. When his parents first brought him home, the doctors didn’t think he would live long. But his latest examination showed that his brain has developed, and the prognosis is now much more optimistic.
“He has lived for three years,” his mother says, “and I know he will live longer, for I know he has a duty to serve our Heavenly Father.”

While in Oklahoma, I had the opportunity to meet with a few of the families devastated by the mighty twisters. As I visited with the Sorrels family, I was particularly touched by the experience of their daughter, Tori, then a fifth grader at Plaza Towers Elementary School. She and her mother are here with us today.
Tori and a handful of her friends huddled in a restroom for shelter as the tornado roared through the school. Listen as I read, in Tori’s own words, the account of that day:
“I heard something hit the roof. I thought it was just hailing. The sound got louder and louder. I said a prayer that Heavenly Father would protect us all and keep us safe. All of a sudden we heard a loud vacuum sound, and the roof disappeared right above our heads. There was lots of wind and debris flying around and hitting every part of my body. It was darker outside and it looked like the sky was black, but it wasn’t—it was the inside of the tornado. I just closed my eyes, hoping and praying that it would be over soon.
“All of a sudden it got quiet.
“When I opened my eyes, I saw a stop sign right in front of my eyes! It was almost touching my nose.”6
Tori, her mother, three of her siblings, and numerous friends who were also in the school with her miraculously survived that tornado; seven of their schoolmates did not.
That weekend the priesthood brethren gave many blessings to members who had suffered in the storm. I was humbled to give Tori a blessing. As I laid my hands on her head, a favorite scripture came to 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.”7
I counseled Tori to remember the day when a servant of the Lord laid his hands on her head and pronounced that she had been protected by angels in the storm.

People generally want to go home for the holidays. We even sing “I’ll be home for Christmas.” Being at home with loved ones and repeating family traditions is what makes Christmas special. A few years ago, however, I learned that when you are with those people you love, you can feel that you are home for Christmas anywhere.
In December of 1981 I was in the Primary Children’s Medical Center in Salt Lake City for brain surgery. The operation was scheduled for December 10 so I’d be well enough to go home before Christmas. Things didn’t turn out to be so simple. The operation lasted 14 hours, and within the next two weeks my right lung collapsed twice; so I was obviously in no condition to go home when Christmas rolled around.
Christmas in the hospital? It was not a pleasing thought for me. In fact, I became quite depressed. How could I enjoy Christmas in this situation?
A traditional Christmas at our house starts on Christmas Eve. Last minute tasks have already been taken care of because Christmas Eve is as special as the next day. It’s the time for our Christmas Eve program of songs, stories, and presentations. The last part of the program is always the reading of the Christmas story from the Bible by my mother. Then just before bed, everyone is allowed to open one present from under the tree.
Christmas morning we all get up together to see what Santa Claus has brought. Then one by one we go through the stockings stuffed with surprises. Next, all the presents are passed out, and we take turns opening each gift. These are the basic traditions that make Christmas memorable to me.
But that year in the hospital there were no presents under a tree, no stockings on the fireplace, and no piano to sing songs around. There were just a few decorations strung around the room between the machines and tubes hooked to my body, and the small Christmas tree my grandma had sent. While I was wondering what kind of a Christmas it was going to be, my family was making plans, and they were able to get me excited for the occasion even in my bleak circumstance.
I’ll bet there are few people who can say that they’ve held a family Christmas Eve program in a semi-intensive care hospital room. It may have been the shortest program in history, but we still had one. My sister, who knows three chords on the guitar, even brought her instrument to play some carols. My mother read the Christmas story as beautifully as ever.
Christmas morning Santa Claus not only came, but he awoke me personally with a large box filled with candy, games, and a homemade doll. After my morning routine with the nurses, my family arrived. They hauled all of the family’s presents up to my room, and passed out the gifts. One by one we went around the circle opening all the packages.
Because of my family’s love and our traditions, it turned out to be a wonderful Christmas after all and one of my most memorable as well. Surely, if you can succeed in making yourself feel at home for Christmas in the hospital, you can find a way to be at home for the holidays anywhere.

I caught the vision of family history by realizing I’m not so different from my ancestors. My great-grandma and I have always had a really special connection, so for a Personal Progress project, I decided to compose a family history book dedicated to her. Writing this book was such an amazing experience because it created a closer bond to my ancestors. I’m so grateful for this new perspective of family history work.
Ashley N., 16, Utah, USA

Olivio Gomes Manuel grew up in a small Angolan village. He and his seven brothers and sisters lived in a two-room mud hut with a dirt floor and thatched roof. Plumbing and electricity were unheard of.
When Olivio was nine years old, his country was thrust into an extremely violent civil war in which thousands were murdered or just disappeared. Then, when most of the fighting was over, famine swept through Angola, and thousands more died of starvation. “It was not a good life,” Olivio says, in his very deep, soft voice. Understatement is typical of him.
But Olivio was saved from starvation by his incredible height and agility. He was able to play basketball for food. “God blessed me,” he says.
By the age of eleven, Olivio was six-foot-three. He had been playing professional ball for about two years. “Professional” meant that the company that sponsored his team would sometimes feed him on game days. Some weeks, those were the only full meals Olivio ate.
And the road trips were the best of all—his meals were all taken care of. Olivio played in Nigeria, Algeria, Zaire, and even in Czechoslovakia. “I was there for ten days, and they gave us money for food,” says Olivio. “With this money I bought clothes and shoes for my family. It was difficult to buy clothes in Angola. They were so expensive.”
Olivio had been raised by his parents to be a good Christian, but at times his faith was tried. “If there is a God, how can he let so many people die—so many people suffer?” he asked. Still, Olivio could not deny that God had had a hand in his survival. He felt that he was being prepared for something.
When Olivio was seventeen, he played on a team for the Angloan military. All the boys in the country were required to go into the military for an indefinite amount of time. He also made the national team.
That’s when Olivio began to dream of playing ball in Portugal. He was fluent in Portuguese. (Angola is a former Portuguese colony, and Portuguese is the official language.) And what’s more, Olivio heard that they actually paid professional players salaries in Portugal. He would be able to send money home to his family.
It took Olivio a few years to get a visa to go. But once he arrived in Portugal, it took him only a few days to find a professional team that wanted him. At six-foot-seven, he not only had the stature they were looking for, but he also had the skill.
And it took him only a month to find something else. “I was on the metro, and I saw these two boys—they were only boys, but they were wearing nice suits—and they said they wanted to talk to me, so I said okay.
“They started to teach me the discussions. The Joseph Smith story surprised me, but it felt good. Everything felt good. One week later I went to a conference. I attended the meetings, and afterwards I was baptized. Baptism is for the remission of sins. I was a good guy, but I knew I needed to be baptized.”
Little did Olivio know what that baptism would lead to. When he wasn’t playing basketball, Olivio was at church. “I tried to go to church all the time. Every time I would go, my mind would open up, and I would learn something new. It felt good.”
Then one day, about a year later, one of Olivio’s American teammates said, “Hey—you’re Mormon. Don’t Mormons go on missions? Are you going to quit the team and go too?”
That started Olivio thinking. “The things I learned made sense to me, and I said, ‘Well, if these things come from God. I have to explain them to other people.”
But leaving basketball—that would be tough. Olivio had just made the Portuguese national team, and his professional team had offered him a very lucrative contract—lots of money, a car, and a luxurious apartment.
“It was a difficult decision to leave basketball, so I decided to get my patriarchal blessing. There it said that I was going to serve the Lord, so I decided to do it. God prepared me to come here and find the gospel by giving me these talents to play basketball. I don’t have a problem leaving it to serve him. I think I can help many people.”
And now, Elder Olivio Gomes Manuel, who left northern Portugal almost two years ago to serve in southern Portugal, is helping many people. He’s well known throughout the mission for his good nature and easy smile, his hard work, and his gentle rapport with the people he towers over.
That isn’t the kind of fame that makes you a star on national television—it’s more the kind of fame that makes you a star in the eternities. And while he won’t make lots of money from gigantic contracts and endorsements, he knows that his eternal reward will be far greater.
Still, you see his eyes light up when you put a basketball in his hands on preparation day. Watching him glide around the court, you realize basketball is as natural for him as swimming is to fish. It seems to be what he was made for. Oh, once his mission is over he would like to use basketball to earn a university education. But then he wants to return to Angola “to help the Church and help the people grow there.” Elder Manuel speaks mostly Portuguese now, but he remembers his native language, an African dialect called Quinbondo, and he knows English as well.
Even though the end of this tale is far from written, it’s already a success story as tall as Elder Manuel himself. After all, the richest pro in the world can’t buy his way into heaven. And no matter how many autographs you’ve signed, if your name isn’t written in the book of life, your fame won’t mean a thing.
Elder Manuel has already gained more success than he ever hoped to, and his secret is simple: “I listen to God, and when I do what he says, he blesses me.”

As a Brazilian, I was surprised when I received my mission call to serve not in Brazil or even in South America but in the Texas Houston South Mission in the United States. My surprise soon turned to deep gratitude.
Four days after I arrived in my first area, the bishop of the local ward invited my companion and me to go with him to the hospital to visit Brother Noel Stevenson, an older member who was ill with leukemia. When I met Brother Stevenson, I was amazed that he started speaking Portuguese. He told me he had served a mission to Brazil in the 1950s. He mentioned several cities where he had served, including Ponta Grossa in the state of Paraná.
“When you were in Ponta Grossa did you know Raul Pimentel?” I asked hesitantly.
With an expression of joy, he replied, “Yes, I knew Raul. I baptized him.”
I told Brother Stevenson that Raul Pimentel was my grandfather, the first member of the Church in our family. We embraced, and tears rolled down our faces.
Then I told him that my grandfather was 84 and still active in the Church. His 8 children were also active, all having married in the temple and 5 having served full-time missions. And his 30 grandchildren were active in the Church as well. As we talked, the Spirit of the Lord filled my heart with joy and gratitude.
My grandfather was baptized in 1958 by two American missionaries. He had heard that the other elder had now passed away, but he had never had any news about Elder Stevenson. When my grandfather learned that I had met the missionary who baptized him, he was overwhelmed with joy.
He and Brother Stevenson began exchanging e-mail messages almost every week. Then the e-mails stopped abruptly. I received a telephone call telling me that Brother Noel Stevenson had passed away.
Although I felt sad, I felt even more grateful that the Lord had allowed me to meet the man who brought the blessings of the gospel to my family. This experience helped me be a better missionary and strengthened my testimony that mission calls are inspired.