Gospel Story Finder

The sun has barely risen over the ocean. White morning glories cling tightly to the dunes. The strong breeze whipping in from the ocean all night long has carved the sand into waterlike ripples; no human footprint breaks the pattern. It is a deserted strip of Padre Island, off the coast of Texas.
Into this solitude roars a blue pickup truck, stopping at the edge of the wide, flat beach. Three young women haul five white Styrofoam coolers from the pickup bed. In the distance car doors slam. The high-pitched voices of teenage girls talking and laughing pierce the air.
The beginning of a wild beach party?
No way.
In the Styrofoam boxes are hundreds of newly hatched Kemp’s ridley sea turtles. This species is biologically extinct—there are so few reproducing females that its survival is considered impossible without intervention. The Young Women of Corpus Christi Third Ward are helping park rangers of Padre Island National Seashore save these turtles.
The girls stand in the surf listening attentively to instructions. Then each one arms herself with two aquarium nets. Meanwhile, a park ranger dons plastic gloves and begins taking baby turtles out of the first box, one by one. There are 66 of them, each small enough to be encircled by a bracelet.
A few do push-ups to limber up their flippers. After all, they hatched from golf ball-sized eggs only yesterday. Then the tiny black turtles crawl straight towards the ocean, following the sun.
“Oh, they’re so cute!” say the girls.
It’s hard to believe these little darlings will someday weigh 80–100 pounds and be up to two and a half feet long.
The turtles ignore three photographers. They ignore a park ranger filling in the hole of a menacing crab. They ignore a row of spectators standing just west, where their shadows won’t fall on the turtles and confuse them. They ignore a spotter yelling, “Here’s the first one … get ready!”
The lead turtle makes the water’s edge and is tossed rudely by an incoming wave. Still she crawls stubbornly forward, making a rippled track with her tiny flippers in the wet sand. After being thrown by several breakers, she finally gets deep enough in the water to swim.
Alert girls watch carefully. They must allow the turtle to swim for long enough to be “imprinted,” but not so long that she gets away. After a few moments, Michelle Boyd, 17, dips her net into the murky water and retrieves the turtle. Everyone claps.
“Yea Michelle. You got the first one!”
Not a single turtle must get away, for its chances of surviving in the wild at this age are only about one in a hundred.
“I was scared at first,” said Teresa Mareth, 14. “I thought I would lose a turtle. They would have been goners if we’d let them go.”
LDS seasonal park ranger Ann Neville trusted the girls enough to invite them to help, and their efforts were invaluable. On the day they came, there were five clutches of hatchlings to release. A clutch is the number of eggs, from 50 to 100, laid in a nest by one mother turtle. All the turtles in one clutch must be released at the same time.
“The girls did a real service,” said Ann. “We only have a staff of six to eight people. There’s no way we could do it all by ourselves, especially when we have several clutches hatch at once.”
Ann put the girls on call, since nobody knew for sure when the turtles would hatch. Once they did, the girls had to be there first thing the next morning.
None of the girls had ever seen a live sea turtle before. If their efforts indeed help save them, perhaps others will have the opportunity to see a Kemp’s ridley sea turtle someday.
“Man is not the only creature on earth that is important,” said Ann. “We are all linked together. When we help another creature to survive, we enhance our own survival.” Ann has worked with the harbor seal and the harbor porpoise in Alaska, both also endangered. “I love to be able to help an endangered species,” she says. “It helps you be in tune; makes you appreciate what’s around you.”
Each girl realized that her participation made a difference in the natural history of the world.
“I thought it was neat that we were saving little baby turtles,” said Michelle. “I felt I was a part of something. I learned a lot.”
“I learned to appreciate what we have; not to waste by killing animals just for fun,” said Beth Regen, 14. “They can become extinct.”
Sabrina Zmeskal, 13, really summed it up. “It made me feel special to know I had a part in history,” she said.
After all the turtles were recaptured, they were taken back to the ranger station. The girls celebrated with a brief dip in the ocean, then returned to Corpus Christi, leaving the beach release site as deserted as before. Only their footprints remained, to be filled in with the ever-blowing sand in a matter of hours. But if, because of their help, the Kemp’s ridley sea turtle survives, their footprints in history will remain unerased.

“Hank’s going to be our new Webelos leader?” I gasped to my best friend, Rodney. “Old Hank Thomas?”
“That’s what I heard Bishop Willis telling my mom. He said that Sister Franklin has to quit until after she has her baby.”
“But that won’t be for weeks,” I moaned. “Sister Franklin’s the best leader we’ve ever had. Why do we get stuck with Hank Thomas?”
Rodney dropped his chin into his cupped hands. “How’s Bishop Willis going to make Hank do it? He doesn’t even go to church.”
I had never seen Hank in church, although his wife came all the time. Most Sundays he was out working in his yard or driving around in his old green pickup.
The next day six of us Webelos sat on the church lawn, nervously picking at the grass and squinting down the street.
“I bet he doesn’t show,” I muttered.
“He still has two minutes,” Rodney commented, glancing at his watch.
“Here he comes!” KC shouted.
Sure enough, Hank’s pickup was rumbling toward the church. We all jumped up and stared, wondering if Hank would actually stop or drive on toward the DoNut Place, where he liked to hang out.
Hank parked his truck and climbed out. “Are you the Webelos that Bishop Willis told me about?”
One of us must have nodded. “Well, I guess I’m going to be your teacher.” Hank coughed, glaring at us. He pushed his hands deeper into his pockets and looked past us toward the church. “I haven’t been one to go to church much. Bishop Willis said we could have these meetings at my place.” He glanced at our bikes parked on the sidewalk. “Can you meet me over there in about five minutes?”
We nodded.
Nobody spoke as we all dragged up Hank’s driveway while he waited for us in his huge garage. We gaped about as we entered, eyeing the table saw, the drill press, the toolboxes, and the hammers, wrenches, and screwdrivers all carefully hung on the wall or lined neatly on shelves.
“Mrs. Franklin said I was supposed to teach you something about tools,” Hank announced. “I don’t know much about Webelos, but I know a thing or two about tools.”
Rodney raised his hand. “Brother Thomas, are we going to have a prayer? Sister Franklin always started with a prayer.”
Hank stared at Rodney. Rodney gulped.
“Just call me Hank, not Brother Thomas,” he muttered, rubbing his chin. “I guess we could all use a good prayer.” He pulled the battered baseball cap he always wore from his head. “So you give us one,” he said to Rodney.
Rodney gave a short prayer, and then Hank pulled a Webelos book from his back pocket and thumbed through it for a while. “Well,” he finally spoke, “according to this book, you’re supposed to learn to use a saw and a hammer and a few other things. Now all we have to do is figure out what you’re going to build.”
“I think all you have to do is watch us use each of the tools,” I offered. “When we were Wolves, we just had to hammer a nail and use a screwdriver to put in a screw and—”
“What did you make?” Hank cut me short.
“We didn’t make anything,” I told him. “We just had to know how to use the tools.”
“How did anybody know if you really knew how to use the tools if you didn’t make anything with them?”
I shrugged.
“Well,” Hank muttered, “I’m not planning to watch a bunch of boys hammer nails and screw screws for nothing.” He studied us from under his cap. “What do you want to build?” When we all just stared at him, he grunted, “When I was your age, I wanted to build a coaster car.”
“What’s a coaster car?” Rodney questioned.
Hank glared at Rodney like he’d asked whether the moon was really made of cheese. “You fellows have skateboards and fancy bikes,” he said. “When I was a kid, we had coaster cars.”
“But we don’t know anything about building coaster cars,” I squeaked.
For the first time a gruff smile cracked Hank’s lips. “You’re going to know something about them before you’re finished being Webelos.”
I figured we’d just watch Hank work, but he didn’t even touch a tool. He made us do it all. Before that first day was over, we had ruined a few of Hank’s good boards, but we finally got the ones cut out that we were going to need.
The next week Hank was glaring down at his watch as we pushed our bikes up his driveway. “When I say three-thirty, I don’t mean three-thirty-two.”
We all gulped and nodded.
“Let’s hurry and get started,” Rodney said, trying to make amends for us.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Hank demanded.
We all looked at each other and then back at Hank.
Hank pulled off his baseball cap and bowed his head. “Rodney forgot to say his prayer.”
I don’t remember a Webelos activity ever going so fast. Hank had us measuring with a square, using his power sander, chiseling boards so they’d fit together. We did all the work, but Hank was always right there telling us the how and why of every little thing. “How long do you fellows stay around?” he finally asked.
“Oh, about an hour,” I answered.
“Well, you’d better head home then. You’ve been here almost two.”
We all looked up in surprise.
“We just got here,” KC protested.
“May we come over a little earlier next time?” Rodney asked shyly.
Hank thought a moment, then nodded.
From then on, we were there right after school.
Gradually our coaster car started taking shape. It looked like a race car with a square back. Hank took us around to bicycle shops and junkyards until we found some good used bike wheels. He showed us how to fix the axles and mount the wheels. We cut the legs off an old kitchen chair and mounted it inside the car. Hank had an old steering wheel he let us use.
Some days we didn’t work on the car. One day Rodney asked why lumber was so expensive. Hank piled us all into his truck and took us to a nearby canyon. He had us hike up into the trees and told us why certain trees grew where they did and why some kinds of lumber cost more than others. The next week he took us to a sawmill and showed us how the lumber was made.
At first we were a little afraid of Hank, but after a while, he was a friend. Rodney and I stopped by his place one Saturday and stayed most of the afternoon. Pretty soon we were stopping by all the time. Sometimes we’d talk. Sometimes we’d help him in his shop or his yard.
One afternoon while Rodney and I were playing a Little League game, I glanced at the stands, and there was Hank cheering for us. I never played a better game, and afterward Hank took us to the DoNut Place for a soda and an eclair.
“Sister Franklin had her baby last night,” Rodney announced one afternoon when we were heading to Hank’s for Webelos.
We all stopped and stared at him.
“Does that mean she’s going to be our Webelos leader again?” KC asked.
Rodney shrugged.
“I really like Sister Franklin,” KC said, “but shouldn’t she stay home a while longer and take care of her baby?”
Finally we finished our coaster car. It had a sleek wooden body and polished bicycle wheels. We painted it blue, and on the side, in big green letters, we wrote: WEBELOS WINNER.
The next afternoon we hauled it over to the hill at Adams Park and took turns coasting down. It was better than any skateboard or fancy bike.
As we were lifting the car back into Hank’s truck, he announced, “I guess Mrs. Franklin’s about ready to take you fellows back.”
We were all quiet for a long time. Then Rodney asked, “Is there any way you can be our Webelos leader all the time, Hank?”
All of us held our breath. Hank turned away. “I was just kind of filling in for Mrs. Franklin. I think she’d feel pretty bad if someone took her job.”
“Oh, Bishop Willis can find her another job,” I assured him.
Hank chuckled. “The bishop has to decide that, boys, and I think he wants someone who will go to church and—”
“You can go to church,” Rodney spoke up. “Anybody can go to church. If we’d known you wanted to go to church, we’d have asked you a long time ago.”
Hank smiled and shook his head. “I don’t know anything about going to church.”
“We didn’t know anything about making coaster cars until you taught us. We can teach you about going to church.”
Hank shook his head. “People would drop over dead if I showed up at church. They’d wonder why I was barging in after all these years.”
“You could tell them you showed up to … well, to …” KC stopped and scratched his head. Suddenly he brightened up. “You could go to hear me talk in Primary! I’m giving a talk this Sunday. Honest.”
“Yeah, you could go to hear KC’s talk!” I burst out.
Hank slammed the tailgate of his truck and rubbed his chin. “Boys, it’s been a long time since—” He swallowed and shook his head. “No one would want to see me in church.”
“We would!” we all yelled.
“Honest, Hank,” I said. “And we want you for our Webelos leader too. You just have to.”
“We’ve built your coaster car. What else would we do?”
“We need another coaster car. How are we going to have races in just one car? And how are we going to build another car unless you help us?”
“What would the bishop say?”
“We’ll take care of the bishop,” I promised rashly.
A funny smile tickled Hank’s lips, and all of a sudden he was grinning. “Well, maybe I could—”
“We’ll pick you up Sunday at nine-twenty,” I told him.
“I meant I could help you build another coaster car. I didn’t say anything about going to—”
“And when we say nine-twenty,” Rodney interrupted with a grin, “we don’t mean nine-twenty-two.”
Hank didn’t say yes, but he didn’t say no, either, and we all knew that we were going to build another coaster car and that Hank was going to hear KC’s talk on Sunday.

Kate T., in California, USA, is like most other high school students. She spends a lot of time studying for her classes and playing sports. “High school, by design, is a lot of thinking about yourself,” she says. But she’s learned it’s important to take time to think outside yourself. So she decided to start a service club at her school.
Kate applied to the school administration for a Just Serve Club (linked with the website JustServe.org and the Just Serve app). But she got some pushback, and the club application was rejected. It took more effort, but Kate and some friends were able to get the club started.
At first the club had about 25 people and were able to do about 15 projects a year. They meet regularly at school during a lunch hour, and they do at least one service project a month. For example, they have cleaned up a beach, packed boxes at the local food bank, and decorated a youth shelter for Christmas.
Now Kate works together with her friend Anna Q. and a club council to plan projects. Council members are recruited from the high school and represent a diverse group of different faiths.
“Our projects usually come from the Just Serve app,” says Anna. Once the council chooses a project, the details are planned and shared with club members during a meeting and on the club’s social media page.
The club has grown, and now the group is able to work on many more projects to benefit the community.
Something Kate and Anna have discovered is the personal benefit of service. “The more you do to give back to your community, the closer you are going to feel to the Savior,” says Kate. “When you can look outside yourself and think about the Savior, you will feel His Spirit because that is what His whole life was about.”
Anna has found there is more happiness in serving others. “My love for those around me increases every time I serve alongside or for someone,” she says. And service has helped strengthen her relationship with Heavenly Father and the Savior. “The more I serve like Christ did, the more I become like Him and feel His love.”

It was ten-year-old Joshua’s turn to teach the family home evening lesson. It was on faith. When he finished, he told his family, “If you have faith, you can do anything.”
His mother replied, “Well, almost anything.”
“No, Mom.” Joshua said. “You can do anything.”
Little did the Dennis family know that within days, their faith would be tested. On Friday, 22 September 1989, Joshua went with his dad and other leaders and members of a Boy Scout troop from Kearns, Utah, to explore an abandoned mine. After looking around inside the mine for some time, Joshua and some of the Scouts decided to turn back. They met Joshua’s dad and some other Scouts heading out of the mine, and Joshua gave his flashlight to his dad, who was leaving the tunnel with a visually handicapped boy.
Then Joshua decided to follow some older Scouts back into the mine tunnel, but they did not know that Joshua was behind them. They began to run. Joshua couldn’t keep up with them and was soon left behind in total darkness. He couldn’t even see his hand in from of his face.
He turned around and tried to feel his way back to the entrance, but he made a wrong turn and slid down a slope. He climbed back up but went too far and ended up in an ore stope—a cavity where ore has been mined out—about two meters wide and seven meters deep. The stope was almost impossible to see from the main tunnel below because of rocks.
“I tried to find my way out for a long time,” Joshua recalled. He yelled, but his cries were muffled and no one heard him. By this time, he was tired and cold and his feet were wet. “I knew I was lost, and I realized I had better just sit down and wait,” he said.
Joshua slept a lot. Sometimes he would stand up and stretch or just sit and think. For five days Joshua had no food or water and only his coat to keep him warm in the 10° C temperature.
But he wasn’t afraid. “I prayed a lot that Heavenly Father would help me,” he said, and his prayers were answered with a feeling of comfort and with faith that he would be found. “I felt that I was being watched over by Heavenly Father.”
While Joshua was praying, friends and family were also fasting and praying that he would be found in safety. His parents waited anxiously for reports on the search for their son.
Many volunteers helped search the surrounding foothills, which are full of abandoned mines and air shafts. At least seven times some of them passed within forty meters of Joshua.
The longer the search continued, the more certain many people became that Joshua was not in the mine but had wandered away from it. Search dogs, helicopters, and people on horseback and on foot searched the cliff-lined hills of nearby Dry Canyon. There was no trace of the boy.
Inside the mine, Joshua waited calmly for someone to find him. To help pass the time, he sang “I Am a Child of God” and other songs that he had learned in Primary.
As each day passed, the chance of finding Joshua alive grew less, but members of the rescue team were determined to not give up.
When the search party came out of the mine after another unsuccessful rescue attempt on the afternoon of the fifth day, a Church member, John Skinner, persuaded the men in charge to let him go in with the other searchers for a final attempt. “I just had a feeling that he was still in the mine and that he was still alive,” he explained.
John Skinner had explored the Hidden Treasure Mine 120 times and was very familiar with the dozens of passages that wind through the eight levels. He could picture in his mind at least three places where Joshua might be. One of those places was the ore stope.
As the other searchers made another sweep through the mine, he, Ray Guymon, and Gary Christensen separated from the group, and John Skinner led them to the sections of the mine where he thought the boy might be. When they finally came to the ore cavity, they heard a faint cry for help but were not sure what it was. They remained still until they heard it again. The excitement grew as they and Joshua yelled back and forth, trying to find each other in the darkness.
“My heart just started pumping and pounding,” recalled Gary Christensen, the first to reach Joshua. “I wrapped my arms around him, and he wrapped his arms around me.”
“I felt like we were led there by the Lord,” Ray Guymon said.
All three men said it was very difficult to describe the feelings they had when they found Joshua, whom they had never seen before.
“I felt like he was my own,” Gary Christensen said. “I was just really happy inside.”
“It was an overwhelming feeling when we found him,” John Skinner said.
As Joshua was brought out of the mine, there were tears of joy and relief on the faces of many. Joshua, although excited, remained calm—he had not doubted that he would be found.
Because there was no light inside the mine, Joshua had lost track of time. He was surprised when he found out that he had been lost for so long. Dehydrated from going so long without water, and suffering mild frostbite on his feet, he was flown to a hospital, where he rested and doctors examined him.
At first the doctors thought they would have to amputate his little toes. But all he lost was some skin from his feet. He had to be in a wheelchair for about a week. Physical therapy strengthened his leg and foot muscles, and before long he was walking, running, and even riding his skateboard again.
Joshua received more than a thousand letters, many from other school children who wanted to know more about him and his experience. While he was lost, the students at Fox Hills Elementary School, where he was in the fifth grade, tied yellow ribbons on the fences all around their school to show that they were thinking about him and hoping that he would be back soon. It really made Joshua feel good to know that so many people cared about him. He tells everyone, “Heavenly Father does answer your prayers. Have faith and don’t give up.”

As the mission term for the Grant family came to a close, President Grant decided to try to get Fia into the United States. He booked passage for her as a nurse for his children and hoped that as he was prepared to support her for the rest of her life, there would be no trouble with the immigration authorities. When their ship landed in New York, the excitement of returning home was nearly forgotten in the concern the Grant family had over whether Fia would be able to remain with them. But things went much easier than they had hoped. The immigration officers asked no questions and made no examinations. Fia was in!
The Grant family arrived in Salt Lake shortly before Christmas 1906. Fia was a most welcome addition. Elder Grant even talked of adopting her legally. Perhaps because of her age this was never done, but she was no longer considered hired help; she was loved and treated as a family member.

A second way we fail to feel blessed is by giving God a timeline. I have a darling three-year-old grandson named Dalan. His family arrived at my home late one night after a seven hour drive. My exhausted daughter wanted to sleep in the next morning, but Dalan did not. He jumped on her bed very early and said, "Wake up mommy; I'm hungry."

She opened one eye and said, "Oh, Dalan, I am so tired. Just give me five more minutes."

To her surprise, he said "Ok." Then he leaned down and whispered in her ear, "one, two, three, four, five. I did it mommy. I gave you five minutes."

He was so cute she just had to get up with him. I think that sometimes our perception of time is close to Dalan's. We tell God that we have waited for five, ten, or even twenty years and that is long enough. We think God asks too much of us. What if Columbus had finally told God that he knew he was inspired with the idea to sail west and he knew he had been told he would succeed. However, he had been doing everything he could to accomplish this for almost six years--and that was long enough. We need to be faithful, patient and know that we will be blessed.

A third way we deny ourselves the blessings of the Holy Ghost is that we listen when the prompting and revelation deals with serving someone else, but fail to listen when it requires a change in our lives. Years ago I was serving in a stake Relief Society here on campus. I was driving home late one Sunday afternoon when I noticed a young woman standing on the sidewalk and received the strong prompting to pull over and offer her a ride. I pulled over, rolled down the widow and asked her if she would like a ride. She looked at me for a minute, then she said yes. She told me where she lived and I drove her to the steps of her apartment. She thanked me but didn't say more.
I spoke in stake conference the next Sunday and I received a card from her during the week. She said she didn't share her experience with me that day because she didn't know who I was. She had had knee surgery and as she was walking home, her knee began to hurt so terribly she knew she would be unable to make it to her apartment. She prayed and asked Heavenly Father to either lessen the pain so she could stand to walk on her leg, or to send someone to give her a ride. She said, "I opened my eyes and there you were. You are the fastest answer to a prayer I have ever had." I was grateful I had been blessed to receive that prompting.
However, I also received some direction from the Holy Ghost that was not as easy to follow. I had developed the habit of turning on the television at night and I was watching more than I should. The words came into my mind very clearly telling me to turn off the television and to be wise in the way I used my time. That was not as easy for me to follow. The importance of responding to guidance was emphasized by former General Relief Society President Julie B. Beck, "The ability to qualify for, receive and act on personal revelation is the single most important skill that can be obtained in this life."[13]

On her way to school, Meg passed the snow-encrusted vacant lot next door. Spotting a crumpled foil candy wrapper under a scraggly shrub, she stooped to retrieve it. Cut into strips, the foil could be used as icicles for their Christmas tree. “If we have a tree,” she muttered.
Dad had lost his job at the plant and in searching for work had moved the family to this new town. They had left many things behind in storage, including their Christmas tree decorations. “It’ll be a lean Christmas,” Dad had tried to prepare them one night after Jenny had been tucked into bed. “There’ll be no need for decorations because there won’t be a tree. I’m sorry.”
Meg had cried. No tree! It would be especially sad, she knew, for her sister, Jenny, who was in kindergarten.
Now Meg pulled her coat tighter against the cold. Longingly she eyed the big pines in the yard next to the vacant lot, then hurried on to school.
That afternoon when she got home, Meg hung her coat on a hook behind the kitchen door and removed the foil from her pocket. She’d smoothed the wrinkles from it and was cutting it into thin strips when Ryan, her younger brother, came in.
“Sort of short icicles aren’t they?” he said. “Anyway, what are you going to use for a tree?”
“I’ll think of something,” Meg answered.
“Su-u-re!” said Ryan.
“The yard on the other side of the vacant lot has beautiful pine trees,” Meg said slowly, putting the strips into a box with others she had collected.
“So? Are you figuring on cutting one down?” Ryan stirred the soup Mom had put on to simmer before going to get Jenny from kindergarten. He licked the spoon, washed it, and went into the living room.
Meg followed. She bustled about, arranging the white knit lap robe on the couch to hide the worn places. “Since Dad’s temporary job is at night, sometime after Mom goes to bed, we could slip over there and cut a few limbs from one of those trees. If we tied the branches together, they’d make a cute little Christmas tree for Jenny.”
Ryan stared at her. “That would be stealing!”
“What’s wrong with people sharing with you?”
“Sis, it isn’t sharing when people don’t know you’re taking.”
Meg sighed. “I know. I just want a tree for Jenny so bad. …” She was setting the table when Mom came in with Jenny.
“Look what I made at school today.” Jenny proudly held up an angel for them to admire. It was made from a straight wooden clothespin. Its robe, a scrap of white satin, was draped over pipe-cleaner arms. A string of tiny glass beads gathered the robe at the waist.
“See the halo?” Jenny turned the angel to show gold braid against white yarn hair. “Miss Grant said we could bring ours home for our Christmas trees.”
“It’s beautiful!” Meg looked meaningfully at Ryan over Jenny’s head.
She didn’t mention the tree to Ryan again, but Meg thought of it constantly. One day after an art project, she found some fat, fuzzy red and green yarn scraps in the wastebasket. She took them home. A week before Christmas a friend gave her a package of assorted fruit-flavored candies. She saved those too.
Every day Jenny asked why they didn’t have a tree. “All the other kids have told about their trees at Show and Tell,” she complained one day after supper.
“Don’t worry Jenny,” Meg said comfortingly. “We’ll soon have a tree—I promise.”
Mom shook her head sadly as Jenny went to bed early. “I’m going to bed too. Don’t stay up late, you two.”
Meg gathered the dishes from the table while Ryan took care of the food. “I’m getting Jenny a tree tonight, Ryan. Are you coming?”
“Sis, are you sure you want to do this?”
“Jenny needs a Christmas tree, and I promised her one.”
As soon as she was sure that Mom was asleep, Meg got her coat.
Ryan slipped into his jacket, too, and got his Scout knife. “I’ll cut—you carry the limbs.”
Rain turning to sleet stung Meg’s face as they crept past the vacant lot under the dim glow of the streetlights.
They paused outside the yard next to the vacant lot. When Ryan pushed open the gate, the hinges creaked. Meg’s heart thumped painfully in her throat.
Under a thick pine, Ryan reached for a wet branch. The wind was forcing icy rain down Meg’s neck. She suddenly sobbed, “We can’t do this, Ryan! You’re right. It isn’t sharing if people don’t know you’re taking.”
With Ryan following her, she stumbled up the steps to the house and knocked hard on the door. The door opened, and a man stood in the soft light. “What in the world are you kids doing out on a night like this?”
Trembling, Meg told about how Dad had lost his job and how Jenny needed a Christmas tree.
Ryan stammered a request to cut a couple of pine boughs to make a Christmas tree for his little sister.
“I’d be glad to give you some boughs for your sister,” said the man. He grabbed his coat, got some pruning shears from his garage, and went into the yard. Soon both children’s arms were filled with fragrant pine boughs.
With many thanks, Meg and Ryan left.
At home, they wired the branches together. They made a perfect little tree! Meg found a fat green vase for it and set it on a small table. She put Jenny’s angel on the topmost bough, then she and Ryan used snips of green and red yarn to hang the candies Meg had saved. Ryan draped longer lengths of yarn around the tree in splendid garlands, while Meg hung her foil icicles. “I wish we had something to put around the bottom,” she said.
Grinning, Ryan took the lap robe from the couch and handed it to her with a flourish.
Meg draped it gracefully around the bottom of the vase. She and Ryan sat and admired the tree for a while.
Ryan soon yawned and went to bed, but Meg sat still, thinking how the tree, with its angel on top, was a reminder of the birthday of Jesus. Suddenly she had the most wonderful feeling. It was more than the good feeling of having kept her promise to Jenny—it was a feeling that everything would be all right.

Kim Ho Jik took a deep breath. It was his first day studying and teaching at a university in the United States.
Learning was important to Ho Jik. He wanted to learn as much as he could about nutrition. Then he could make life better for people in South Korea, where he was from.
Ho Jik carried a box of books up some steps to his new office.
“Hello,” said a man from the office next door. “I’m Oliver. I’m studying here too.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Ho Jik said.
Weeks passed. Ho Jik and Oliver became friends. They talked about what they were learning. Ho Jik noticed that Oliver never drank or smoked. He didn’t work on Sundays either. I wonder why, Ho Jik thought.
One day Oliver gave Ho Jik a book. It was about the Articles of Faith. “This book tells about what I believe,” Oliver said. “Let me know if you want to learn more.”
Ho Jik finished the book in less than a week. Oliver gave him another book called the Book of Mormon. Ho Jik read it quickly too. He started going to church with Oliver. But he wasn’t sure he wanted to be baptized.
Soon it was Oliver’s last day at the university. Ho Jik saw him in the hallway. “I believe God brought you here for a special reason,” Oliver said. “But not just so you can teach your people about nutrition. You need to teach them about the gospel too.”
Ho Jik thought about Oliver’s words for a long time. Finally he decided to be baptized. He was baptized in the same river where Joseph Smith was baptized 122 years earlier!

One day his aunt, a newly baptized Latter-day Saint, introduced his family to the missionaries. Soon the Liaos family joined the Church. “We were active for about a year,” Domingos says. “Then my parents stopped going. I kept on for a while; then I started to play cricket on Sundays. But my conscience kept nagging me that I should be in church.”
It was at this time that Domingos’s grandfather, who lived in Melbourne, suffered a stroke. He wasn’t expected to live. Domingos, 16, felt compelled to pray. “I told Heavenly Father that if he would give Grandfather a chance, I would devote my life to the Church. But I didn’t just wait for him to recover. When we returned home, I returned to church. I’ve been taught that if you promise something, you should do it.”
Grandpa did get better. And by the time he did, Domingos was going to church, not just to keep a promise, but because he truly believed it was the right thing to do.

One night when it was time for home evening, Steve suggested, “Let’s do something exciting tonight—like kickball or something.”
So Becky and Julie went outside to set up bases while the older girls stayed to clean up the dinner dishes. It wasn’t long before eight-year-old Becky flew through the door, her face ashen and her voice trembling in fright. “There’s a bear out there! There’s a bear out there!”
Suddenly everyone was bumping shoulders on the porch trying to catch a good view of the bear. There he was, foraging through the bushes, pausing for a moment to watch the commotion on the Crandalls’ porch. Suddenly, a neighbor pointed his rifle out the side window and fired at the bear several times. The injured bear began to lumber away. Quickly Dad and Steve grabbed their guns to help out. “You don’t leave a wounded bear up here. They can get vicious,” Dad explained.
They never caught the bear that night. But when Mom asked, “Was that enough excitement for you, Steve?” laughter filled the tiny house.

There are many other opportunities to share the gospel. For example, just this summer I received a happy letter from a new member who learned about the restored gospel when an old classmate phoned her to inquire about an illness she was experiencing. She wrote: “I was enlightened by the way he presented himself to me. After [a] few months of learning from the missionaries, I was baptized. My life has improved since then.” We all know many whose lives would be improved by the restored gospel. Are we reaching out to them?

Many years ago, I took my sons, Josh (6) and Jared (5), on a fishing excursion in the Tarawa lagoon. I had previously taken the boys on fishing trips to some beautiful lakes and creeks in Utah while attending BYU, but fishing in an ocean lagoon was a completely new experience for them. With a narrow canoe I had inherited from my father, I sat Jared in front of me and Josh behind my back. Then, with glittering moonlight on the horizon, we paddled out into a deeper part of the lagoon. The boys were excited to be with their father on an outrigger canoe.

While watching the boys enjoy the experience, I noticed it was late in the evening, and I should head home before they got tired and sleepy. As I was preparing to pull the anchor in, I heard a sudden splash behind me. I turned around and found Joshua had fallen off the canoe! I had made the mistake of not putting life jackets on us. Josh went straight down into the water.I dashed in after him without explaining to Jared what had happened. I caught Josh by the arm and was pulling him up to the surface when, to my horror, I saw another splash directly over my head. My four-year old son, Jared, also sunk into the water—what a terrifying moment.We’re all going die!” I thought.

Frantically, I grabbed Jared with my left arm and Josh was on the other, then joggled my legs as hard as I could to the surface. Struggling under these circumstances, my legs began to cramp, and I was about to sink with the boys in my arms. But like young Joseph Smith, who was seized upon by some powers and called upon God to deliver him from the power of his enemy4, I also called upon God to deliver us from the dooming power of the ocean.

Thankfully and miraculously, the Lord came to our rescue. My boys, who could barely swim at the time, started acting like extraordinary swimmers. They moved their arms and legs in such a fashion which pushed us to the surface so we could all catch our breath. All of this happened within seconds. But our struggle was not over yet. We discovered upon reaching the surface that our canoe had drifted a few meters away. With feeble legs and two boys in my arms, a few meters seemed to be an unbearable distance for us. Would we make it there? I cried. However, through constant effort and prayer, we finally reached our canoe, and with gratitude, we thanked God for saving our lives.

My wife, Mary, and I have someone we love dearly who has struggled for much of her life with certain aspects of the Church. She loves the gospel, and she loves the Church but still has questions. She is sealed in the temple, is active in the Church, fulfills her callings, and is a wonderful mother and wife. Through the years she has tried to do those things that she knew to be right and refrain from doing those things that she knew to be wrong. She has kept her covenants and continued to search. At times she has been grateful to hold on to the faith of others.
Not long ago her bishop asked to see her and her husband. He asked them to accept a temple assignment to act as proxies for those who needed temple ordinances. This calling surprised them, but they accepted and began their service in the house of the Lord. Their teenage son had recently participated in family history research and found a family name for whom temple ordinances had not been completed. In time they acted as proxies and did the temple ordinances for this person and his family. As they knelt at the altar and the sealing ordinance was performed, this wonderful, patient woman who has searched for so long had a private spiritual experience by which she came to know that the temple and the ordinances performed therein are true and real. She called her mother and told her of her experience and said that while she still has some questions, she knows that the temple is true, that temple ordinances are true, and that the Church is true. Her mother wept with gratitude for a loving, patient Heavenly Father and for a daughter who patiently continues to search.

During our first few months as custodians we were either ignored by the members or treated with what we felt was condescending sweetness. Gradually as we became acquainted, their attitudes began to change. Ace was always there, ready to set up tables or help in any way. He made friends with the children and young adults, letting them in the building to play basketball or volleyball whenever he was there. They reciprocated by trying not to track up the foyers, especially on Saturday when he had it all cleaned for Sunday.
After the first year or so people began treating us more warmly. Some of the Primary teachers and classes brought us goodies and baskets of fruit for Christmas. One year a group of boys made a nativity scene for us out of cardboard and molded sugar. They also brought a wreath made of pine cones and nuts. Another Primary made a lovely poster with all their names on it telling us how they loved us and appreciated the way we kept the building clean.
The Relief Societies invited Ace to eat lunch on work day. Once we were even invited by the stake presidency to have dinner with them and the high council while they entertained the visiting General Authority at conference time.

SISTER BENNETT: When I was your age, I knew I was a beloved daughter of God, and my desires came from wanting to be true to that identity. I was attracted to my future husband because I could see that he was clearly guided by his identity as a son of God.
Yes, we each have difficult circumstances and challenges, but we are not our circumstances—or our challenges.[6] We are beloved sons and daughters of our Heavenly Father.
After my father passed away, I decided I wanted to serve a mission and become a nurse. I was preparing to serve a mission while enrolled in nursing school and decided one evening to attend an institute "ice cream social." While there, I noticed a seemingly shy returned missionary who had been home for only 24 hours. I felt compassion for him, filled a bowl with ice cream, approached him, and said, "Hi, I'm Shelley. Would you like some ice cream?"
ELDER BENNETT: When Shelley offered me that bowl of ice cream, I immediately fell in love—with the ice cream! I was, however, curious about this wonderfully confident, assertive, courageous, and beautiful young woman. Over the course of a few months, we became friends; in fact, we became best friends. I learned that Shelley knew who she really was, and her greatest desire was to return to live with her Heavenly Father.
As I studied the scriptures, pondered, and prayed, I realized that my best friend would make the very best eternal companion for me. After fasting, I knew that God approved of our being together forever. So I summoned the courage and asked Shelley to marry me. She smiled and then said, "NO—I promised God I would serve a mission."
I was crushed! How could I negotiate with that answer? Disappointed but not discouraged, I continued studying, praying, and fasting. Several weeks later, I again asked for her hand in marriage. This time she looked very touched, smiled, and after a long pause said, no—again. But I knew what I felt from the Spirit, and so after a few more weeks, I asked again. This time her answer was absolutely not!
SISTER BENNETT: Now, at no time was he overbearing or claiming to have received revelation for me. He was simply an undaunted returned missionary, and he knew I had to receive my own answer. So he actually did ask a fourth time, but this time he shared a general conference talk with me.
I smile today as I remember him showing me that talk, with the appropriate paragraph well highlighted! The message to me was that a young woman could choose to marry in the temple without feeling guilty about not serving a mission.
He also received a prompting I know was from the Holy Ghost and he followed it. He promised that if I would marry him, we would serve missions together after raising our family. With that promise, I said, "I'll think about it!"
As I read my scriptures and that talk, pondered, prayed, and fasted, I felt a sweet calm about accepting his proposal. I still had fears as our futures were very uncertain. I wasn't finished with university, and he had no education. He also had no job, no car, no home, and no money, and my mother thought he had no future! But faith ultimately overcame fear, and several days after his fourth proposal, I said yes.
I still felt determined to serve a mission, but marrying in the temple was a better decision—the best decision for me—and I trusted that we would eventually serve missions together. He has, by the way, kept that promise!

Because Heavenly Father is merciful, a principle of compensation prevails. I have seen this in my own life. My grandson Joseph has autism. It has been heartbreaking for his mother and father to come to grips with the implications of this affliction.
They knew that Joseph would probably never be like other children. They understood what that would mean not only for Joseph but for the family as well. But what a joy he has been to us. Autistic children often have a difficult time showing emotion, but every time I’m with him, Joseph gives me a big hug. While there have been challenges, he has filled our lives with joy.
His parents have encouraged him to participate in sports. When he first started playing baseball, he was in the outfield. But I don’t think he grasped the need to run after loose balls. He thought of a much more efficient way to play the game. When a ball was hit in his direction, Joseph watched it go by and then pulled another baseball out of his pocket and threw that one to the pitcher.
Any reservations that his family may have had in raising Joseph, any sacrifices they have made have been compensated tenfold. Because of this choice spirit, his mother and father have learned much about children with disabilities. They have witnessed firsthand the generosity and compassion of family, neighbors, and friends. They have rejoiced together as Joseph has progressed. They have marveled at his goodness.

Many years ago while serving in the United States Infantry in the South Pacific, my outfit was making a dry run on a seemingly deserted beach in the Admiralty Islands.
When my particular unit went ashore and scattered around on patrol, we came by chance upon a small native village. I will never forget one of the most interesting sights I have ever seen. All of the natives who appeared on the scene had dyed, reddish-orange hair, and every man, woman, and child—in fact, every living creature that I could see: dogs, animals of all sorts—wore a string of large green beads to the end of which were fastened three tiny shells. We learned upon inquiry from a Baptist minister who had labored amongst these natives that these beaded ornaments were used to ward off the bad results of an “evil eye” and bring good luck to the person or animal that wore it.
In this strange little village so far removed from our own culture it was believed that bad luck, sometimes even death, would follow if a mere glance from the evil eye of an enemy fell upon a person or animal. Hence, practically all of the animals and people wore such a string of beads as I have mentioned.

In December 2005 some relatives who are members of the Church visited my wife and me in Colombia. Before they returned home, my uncle gave me two wonderful gifts—a triple combination and some old issues of the Liahona.
I began to read the November 2004 issue, which contained the talks from October conference. I read “Condition of the Church,” by President Gordon B. Hinckley, and “Prophets, Seers, and Revelators,” by Elder Jeffrey R. Holland. The testimonies of these great men led me to begin reading the Book of Mormon and the Bible.
The result was the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to us. My wife and I made the best decision we have ever made—we were baptized members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Edgar Henry Muñoz Porras, Colombia

Some have thought it important to give a gift to the Savior at Christmastime. President Kimball relates one such gift he received that was earmarked for the Savior. I’d like to quote somewhat from his remarks.
“In one of the stakes of Zion lives a family who also believes in a birthday for Jesus. … They gave me a crisp fifty dollar bill [and] said, ‘Today is the Lord’s birthday. We always give gifts to our family members on their birthdays. We should like to give a gift to the Saviour. Will you please place this money where it will please the Redeemer most?’
“Two days later, Sister Kimball and I were on our way to Europe for a six-month’s tour of all the missions. As we made hasty and extensive preparations, we kept thinking about the birthday gift entrusted to us, and then the thought came to us that perhaps in Europe we would find the most appreciative recipient.
“For months we toured the missions, held meetings with the missionaries and Saints, and met many wonderful folks. There were numerous opportunities to present the gift, for the majority of the Saints over there could use extra funds. But we waited. Toward the end of the mission tour, we met a little woman in Germany. She was a widow; or was she? For she had been alone with her family of children for ten years. Whether her husband was deceased or not, she did not know. A victim of World War II, he had disappeared and no word had ever come from him. It was said that he was behind the Iron Curtain. The little folks who were but children when he was taken away were now near grown, and the son was a full-time missionary among his German people.
“It was nearing the time of the temple dedication at Bern, Switzerland. I said to this good woman, ‘Are you going to the temple dedication?’ I saw the disappointment in her eyes as she said how she would like to go, but how impossible it was because of lack of finances. ‘Here is the place for the gift’ was the thought which rooted itself in my mind. I quietly checked with the mission president as to her worthiness and the appropriateness of her going to the temple; and then I gave to him half of the gift, which he assured me would pay the actual bus transportation to Bern and return.
“A few weeks later we were in southern France. … We were one hour late for our meeting at Nice. It was a hot night. The building was filled to capacity. A woman sat at the piano, entertaining this large crowd until our arrival. For one hour she had played. I was embarrassed for our delay and so grateful to her for what she had done to hold the group and entertain them that I inquired concerning her. Her husband, a professor, had died not long ago and the widow was making a meager living through her musical talents. She was a rather recent convert. Her mission president and the elder assured me that she was worthy and deserving so I left with her mission president to be given to her the other half of the Saviour’s gift.
“We completed our mission tours … and finally returned to Bern for the dedication service of the Swiss Temple. The prophet of the Lord, President David O. McKay, was present with three of the apostles. After the glorious dedication meetings were over, the regular temple services were conducted in the various languages. As I assisted the French Saints in their session, I was conscious of the little musician; and she literally beamed as she was enjoying the Saviour’s birthday gift. She had used it to pay for her transportation to the temple. Her eyes shone with a new luster; her step was lighter; she radiated joy and peace as she came through the temple with new light, new hope. And I whispered to myself, ‘Thank the Lord for good folks who remember the Redeemer on his birthday.’”4

Other Minnesota youth are busy setting a good example, too. Maggie Albaugh, a Laurel in the Anoka stake, stepped outside her comfort zone when she taught a girl in her class to pray. Katie was one of the more popular girls in her school, and Maggie didn’t know her very well. “She’d never prayed and was never into religion,” Maggie says.
The sudden death of one of their friends brought them, and their whole class, closer together. Katie stopped Maggie in the halls of their school, knowing of her LDS standards, to ask her questions about life and death. “The only advice I could give her was the simple advice to pray,” Maggie says. “I just felt that, as Mormon youth, prayer helps us through a lot of things and a lot of people don’t have the same understanding of prayer. It is a gift that was given to us to communicate with our Heavenly Father.”
So Katie prayed, and at a memorial service for their friend, she shared with her class the comfort she had received through prayer.