Gospel Story Finder

During his early youth, however, ill health and ill fortune seemed to pursue the family. When young Joseph was seven years old, he and his brothers and sisters were stricken with typhus fever. The others recovered readily, but Joseph was left with a painful sore on his leg. The doctors, doing the best they could under the conditions of the time, treated him—and yet the sore persisted. Finally the doctors were afraid they were going to have to amputate his leg.
Thankfully, however, one day the doctors came unexpectedly to the home and told the family they were going to try a new operation to remove a piece of the bone, hoping this would permit the sore to heal. They had brought with them some cord and planned to tie Joseph to the bed because they had no anesthetic, nothing to dull the pain, when they cut into his leg to remove the piece of bone.
Young Joseph, however, responded, “I will not be bound, for I can bear the operation much better if I have my liberty.”
The doctors then said, “Will you take some wine? … You must take something, or you can never endure the severe operation.”
Again the boy prophet said, “No, … but I will tell you what I will do—I will have my father sit on the bed and hold me in his arms, and then I will do whatever is necessary in order to have the bone taken out.”
So Joseph Smith Sr. held the boy in his arms, and the doctors opened the leg and removed the diseased piece of bone. Although he was lame for some time afterward, Joseph was healed.2 At seven years of age, the Prophet Joseph Smith taught us courage—by example.

A true story from the USA.
Water swirled around Scott’s legs as he stepped into the baptismal font. His older brother Sandy was already standing in the water. He smiled and took Scott’s hand.
Scott smiled back and looked up at the people watching. There was Dad. He looked so happy! And there was Mom. She waved at him. She was also wearing white baptismal clothes. Scott’s other brother Gerrie was going to baptize her.
When Mom had told Scott she would get baptized on the same day as him, he had been so excited. Mom hadn’t grown up going to church like Scott had. She had started going to church after she met Dad.
Scott always knew Mom loved Jesus Christ, and she came to church with them almost every week. The missionaries had come to their house a lot too. But it had taken years before Mom felt ready to be baptized. He was so happy they could share this special day together!
It was Mom who had taught him about baptism and confirmation when he turned eight.
“You’ll make a very important promise to Heavenly Father to always follow Him and Jesus Christ,” she had said. “In return, you’ll always have the Holy Ghost with you.”
And now it was time to be baptized! Scott plugged his nose when Sandy dipped him all the way under the water. When Scott came back up, he blinked water from his eyes and grinned. He felt so clean! There was a warm feeling in his heart as he stepped out of the font.
After he changed into dry clothes, Scott sat down and watched Gerrie baptize Mom. She looked so happy as she went into the water and came back out. She looked right at Scott and gave him a big smile.
The next day at church, they were both confirmed as members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Scott closed his eyes as Dad and other priesthood holders put their hands on his head. They blessed him with the gift of the Holy Ghost. Then he listened reverently as Mom was confirmed. He felt warm, happy, and safe. Scott knew he was feeling the Holy Ghost.
Afterward they sat back down to listen to the speakers. Then Scott heard a sniffle. He looked over in surprise to see a tear slide down Mom’s cheek.
Scott frowned. “Are you OK, Mom?” he whispered. “Why are you sad?”
Mom wiped her cheek and smiled. “I’m not sad,” she whispered back. She put an arm around Scott and squeezed. “Sometimes people cry when they’re happy. And I’m so happy right now.”
Scott squeezed back. “Me too.”
Illustrations by Raquel Martin

Mika always looked forward to dance class. She loved listening to the music. She loved practicing her butterfly skip and getting it just right. And she especially loved it when the whole class moved together. When they did that, it was like the dancers were all the same. It felt like she wasn’t the only one with Down syndrome.
Today they were learning a new dance step. Mika watched her teacher leap into the air. She watched the other girls try. Some figured it out right away. Mika tried over and over, but she just couldn’t get it right.
“Will you help me, Teacher?” Mika asked.
The girl next to her looked at Mika. Then she leaned over to her friend. “Why does she talk like that?” she whispered. Both girls turned and looked at Mika.
When Mika got home, Mom was kneading dough in the kitchen. She had flour on her cheek. Usually that would make Mika laugh. But today she just dropped her bag to the floor and sank into a chair at the table.
“How was dance?” Mom asked.
“Terrible,” Mika said. “I asked for help, and a girl said I talk funny. Then she stared at me.” Mika looked down. “I don’t want to go to dance anymore.”
“Oh, Mika! I’m so sorry,” Mom said. “Dad and I love watching you dance. We’re so proud of how hard you work!”
Mika felt tears starting to come. “I don’t like the Down syndrome in me. I wish it wasn’t so hard for me to learn new things. I even have to practice talking!”
Dad sat down by Mika and put his arm around her. “Mika, we love you so much. We wouldn’t change one thing about you.”
But Mika just shook her head and buried her face in her arms. “I don’t want to be different. I want my Down syndrome to be taken out of me!”
Mom and Dad were quiet for a few moments.
“I have an idea,” Mom said. Mika peeked out over her arms. “Why don’t you pray and ask Heavenly Father how He feels about you?”
Mika thought about that. She liked saying prayers. Slowly, she nodded. “Can you write down the question so I’ll remember what to ask?”
Mom wrote the question down. Then Mika took the paper and went to her room to pray.
A few minutes later, when she came into the kitchen, Mika’s face was lit up like a light bulb. “Heavenly Father answered!” she said.
“What did He say?” Mom asked.
“He said, ‘Mika, I love you just the way you are,’” she said. “And He said it with a LOUD voice!”
The next week at dance, Mika didn’t worry about what the other girls thought about her. Instead, she noticed another girl, Sara, who looked sad. Sara was having a hard time learning some of the new steps too.
When Mika got home, she decided to write a note to Sara. She drew lots of hearts. Mom helped her with the spelling.
“Dear Sara,” Mika wrote. “You’re a great dancer. I want to be your friend. I am happy you are in my dance class.”
Mika couldn’t wait to give Sara the note. She wanted Sara to feel happy and loved at dance too.

Please allow me to reminisce for a few moments and share a few of the lessons I learned from my mother about teaching the gospel in the home. My mother understood the value of teaching her children about standards, values, and doctrine while they were young. While she was grateful to others who taught her children outside the home at either school or church, she recognized that parents are entrusted with the education of their children and, ultimately, parents must ensure that their children are being taught what their Heavenly Father would have them learn. My siblings and I were quizzed very carefully by our mother after we had been taught away from the home to be certain the correct lessons were reaching our ears and shaping our minds.
I used to think some days as I ran home from school that I was through learning for the day, but this illusion was quickly destroyed when I saw my mother standing at the door waiting for me. When we were young, we each had a desk in the kitchen where we could continue to be taught by her as she performed household duties and prepared supper. She was a natural teacher and far more demanding of us than our teachers at school and church.
The scope of Mother’s teaching included both secular and spiritual lessons. She made sure none of us were falling behind in our schoolwork, which she would often supplement. She also would practice her Relief Society lessons with us. We, of course, received the unabridged versions found in her notebooks, not the abridged versions that had to fit in a single class period.
Part of our learning at home also involved memorizing scriptures, including the Articles of Faith, and the words of prophets, seers, and revelators. My mother was someone who believed a mind would become weak if it was not constantly exercised. She taught us as we would wash the dishes, churn the butter, and help in many other ways. She did not believe in letting idle thoughts enter her children’s minds, even when they were engaged in physical labor.

My best friend moved, and I knew that when school started in the fall, I would be without her. I rode my bike to the school and checked the class listing posted in the window. There would be girls I knew in my class, but not one I could really call a close friend. There was one girl, though, Katie,* who I really wanted to be friends with. We both played the violin, we had been together on the student council, we were in the same math group, and our dads had even worked at the same office long before we ever met.
On the first day of school, I was asked to be a “buddy” to Amanda,* one of the severely learning-disabled students in my class. This assignment required me to play with her at recess, take her to lunch, and generally be with her at all times to help meet her needs.
I was assigned to help Amanda for a whole week! I felt anxious about the precious time slipping away as the other girls formed into groups and began new friendships. I felt angry and resentful of Amanda because I didn’t have time to make friends with Katie. I worried that I wouldn’t ever fit in if I didn’t hurry and get into a group.
Then I remembered what I had been taught about Amanda’s sacred nature. When my mom was a teenager, she had worked with challenged children, too, and she taught me that they are precious in the eyes of the Lord. I remembered that Amanda’s spirit was innocent and pure. She had already been promised a place in the celestial kingdom, and if I live worthily, I could count on having an eternal friendship with her there.
I talked with my parents and was promised that if I loved Amanda and served her with a cheerful heart, I would be happy. They said that if I followed the Savior’s example and showed her love and kindness, a greater happiness would fill my heart than having ten friends would!
I chose to stay with Amanda, and I learned to really love her. She makes me so happy when she smiles and says my name! I can tell that she loves me too.
I know that I was blessed for making the right choice to serve Amanda. Not only do I have her for a friend, but I have become friends with Katie as well!

“Papa is ready!” cried young Charles Otis. “We must gather as many people as we can.” The people to be gathered were spectators at the 1854 Crystal Palace Exhibition being held in New York City.
Norton nodded shyly. He was content to follow his older brother, who barked louder than all the other vendors. Soon they had gathered a curious crowd in front of their father’s “safety hoist.”
Slowly a rope lifted Otis, atop a platform, 40? (12 m) into the air, then stopped. As a hush fell over the crowd, another assistant leaned over from a high scaffold and began sawing vigorously on the hoisting rope! As the frayed ends parted, there was a collective gasp, and everyone scrambled backward to avoid the expected crash.
Miraculously, the elevator platform, with Otis still aboard, remained suspended, secured by Otis’s safety device. As Elisha doffed his hat, his aerial assistant was already attaching a new rope to the hoist. When it was securely fastened, the hoist glided down safely to the exhibition floor. At long last, the world had witnessed a safe passenger lift!

Some who profess to be followers of Christ insist that members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints are not Christians. Indeed, there are those who make their living attacking our church and its doctrines. I wish all of them could have the experience I shared recently.

A friend who was making his first visit to Salt Lake City, called on me in my office. He is a well-educated man and a devout and sincere Christian. Although we have not discussed this with each other, we both know that some leaders of his denomination have taught that members of our church are not Christians.

After a short discussion on a matter of common interest, I told my friend I had something I would like him to see. We walked over to Temple Square and into the North Visitors’ Center. We viewed the pictures of Bible and Book of Mormon Apostles and prophets. Then we turned our steps up the inclined walkway to the second level. Here Thorvaldsen’s great statue of the risen Christ dominates a setting suggestive of the immensity of space and the grandeur of the creations of God.

As we emerged and beheld this majestic likeness of the Christus, arms outstretched and hands showing the wounds of his crucifixion, my friend drew a sharp breath. We stood quietly for a few minutes, enjoying a reverent communion of worshipful thoughts about our Savior. Then, without further conversation, we made our way down to the street level. On the way we walked past the small diorama showing the Prophet Joseph Smith kneeling in the Sacred Grove.

As we left Temple Square and took our leave of one another, my friend took me by the hand. “Thank you for showing me that,” he said. “Now I understand something about your faith that I have never understood before.” I hope that every person who has ever had doubts about whether we are Christians can achieve that same understanding.

Jason:
I’ve been a member my whole life, but after my mission, there were a couple of years when I was less active. I started reactivating myself two years ago. During this time, I met my wife, Jackie, at a young single adult conference a month after she got baptized. She changed my life because I felt that I needed to be a better example.

After his mission, Jason was less active for a couple of years. While returning to Church activity, he met Jackie, a recent convert, at a young single adult conference. “She changed my life,” he says, “because I felt that I needed to be a better example.”

Andrea had been saving money from her paper route and her allowance for a long time. She wanted to get a CD player for her mom for Mother’s Day. She knew her mom would love listening to music in the kitchen while she worked. Finally, after paying tithing, Andrea had saved $20. With this money she hoped to find a great deal on a good secondhand CD player.

Andrea knew Mom wouldn’t mind if it was secondhand, because Mom was always happy to find “great deals” and “the best bargains” at the store. Mom would be proud to know that Andrea was trying to get the most for her money too.

The Saturday before Mother’s Day, Andrea was excited to find a CD player at her friend Robin’s neighborhood yard sale.

“How much?” Andrea asked.

“Fifteen dollars,” Robin said.

Fifteen dollars! That meant Andrea would have five dollars left over for a fancy gift box and a card.

“I’ll take it,” she said. “But can you keep it here for me? I’ll need to sneak it home later, after my mom leaves for her hair appointment.”

“No problem,” Robin said. “I’ll put a ‘sold’ sign on it, and you can pay me when you pick it up.”

Andrea walked home smiling and humming to herself. What a good bargain shopper she was! Mom would be so proud.

Then Andrea saw another yard sale. Maybe she could find a great deal here on wrapping paper or ribbon. As she looked at the sale tables, another CD player caught her eye. This one was almost the same as the one sold by Robin—except the sign on this one read “$5.”

Five dollars! That was a better bargain than the first one. Andrea couldn’t believe her good luck. By spending only five dollars she’d have enough money left over to buy not only a fancy gift box and card but also the choir CD her mom liked so much. Mom would be twice as proud of her for finding this great deal.

Quickly Andrea bought the CD player and carried it home. By now Mom was gone, so Andrea hid it in her closet. She happily called Robin to tell her she didn’t need her CD player anymore. Robin didn’t say much.

Soon after Andrea hung up, the phone rang. It was Robin calling back.

“What you did isn’t fair,” Robin said. “Lots of people wanted my CD player but I told them it was sold to you. Now our yard sale is over and I can’t sell it. You broke your promise to me, and that’s not nice.”

After Robin hung up, Andrea sat in stunned silence. At first she felt mad. “How dare Robin talk to me like that?” she thought. “It’s my hard-earned money and I can do whatever I want with it.” Besides, getting the best deal was the most important thing, wasn’t it?

Then Andrea started feeling bad. Robin was right, she realized. Andrea had broken her agreement. While Andrea had gotten a better deal, Robin got no deal at all.

Andrea said a prayer for courage, took a deep breath, and dialed Robin’s phone number.

“You’re right,” she blurted out as soon as she heard Robin’s voice. “I’m sorry. I’ll pay you the money I promised, but you can keep the CD player. Maybe at another yard sale you can sell it to someone else. Is that OK?”

Now it was Robin’s turn to be stunned. Finally she responded: “That’s OK. You don’t have to pay me. I just remembered someone else who wanted it. I’ll give her a call. Thanks, though. I really appreciate it. See you at school, Andrea.”

When Andrea hung up, she gave a prayer of thanks that she was able to do the right thing. She knew it was the right thing because now she felt good inside. She was glad she had gotten a great deal on the CD player, but she was even happier that she had strengthened a friendship and learned to have integrity. That was the best bargain of all—one that would make her mother truly proud.

Several weeks ago in a neighborhood not far from my home, dozens of bright, yellow balloons were seen floating from every tree branch and light post lining a winding, three-block road. It was a beautiful sight on that hazy winter day. Senses were stirred as one drove with anticipation along that friendly, colorful street. Around each bend in the road rose the yellow balloons, waving upward to the top of the hill where a sign warmly proclaimed, “Welcome home, Brigham!” I had heard of Brigham Fordham only a few months ago when I was told of this young eighteen-year-old’s tragic accident that left him paralyzed. I only now discovered that this was his home and his homecoming from the hospital.
I noticed the ramp that had been built to the front of the house and thought of other changes that would have been made in his home to accommodate the changes in his life. There will be changes in Brigham’s family, too, I thought. Life will be different for all the Fordhams—and difficult.
But, as the yellow balloons brightly signaled to Brigham and to all who had the opportunity to travel this street, his was a caring home where family love and strength would be found.

After President Wilford Woodruff joined the Church he desired to serve a mission.
“I was but a Teacher,” he wrote, “and it is not a Teacher’s office to go abroad and preach. I dared not tell any of the authorities of the Church that I wanted to preach, lest they might think I was seeking for an office” (Leaves from My Journal, Salt Lake City: Juvenile Instructor Office, 1882, p. 8).
He prayed to the Lord, and without disclosing his desire to any others, he was ordained a priest and sent on a mission. They went to the Arkansas Territory.
He and his companion struggled through a hundred miles of alligator-infested swamps, wet, muddy, and tired. Brother Woodruff developed a sharp pain in his knee and could go no further. His companion left him sitting on a log and went home. Brother Woodruff knelt down in the mud and prayed for help. He was healed and continued his mission alone.
Three days later he arrived in Memphis, Tennessee, weary, hungry, and very muddy. He went to the largest inn and asked for something to eat and for a place to sleep, although he had no money to pay for either.
When the innkeeper found he was a preacher, he laughed and decided to have some fun with him. He offered Brother Woodruff a meal if he would preach to his friends.
A large audience of the rich and fashionable people of Memphis gathered and were quite amused by this mud-stained missionary.
None would sing or pray, so Brother Woodruff did both. He knelt before them and begged the Lord to give him His Spirit and to show him the hearts of the people. And the Spirit came! Brother Woodruff preached with great power. He was able to reveal the secret deeds of those who came to ridicule him.
When he was finished, no one laughed at this humble holder of the Aaronic Priesthood. Thereafter he was treated with kindness (see Leaves from My Journal, pp. 16–18).
He was under the guiding, protecting power of his Aaronic Priesthood. The same power can be with you as well.

A true story from the USA.
Matt kicked a rock as he walked home. He couldn’t figure it out. Why did he feel so awful?
He had been hanging out with his friend Joseph. But Joseph had seemed really bored, and Matt had ended up going home earlier than he had planned.
Maybe I’m imagining it, thought Matt. Maybe Joseph is just having an off day.
The next day when Matt got to school, he saw Joseph talking to a group of friends. Matt called to him and waved. Joseph looked in Matt’s direction, but he didn’t wave back. He turned back to his friends.
Joseph just didn’t see me, Matt told himself.
During class when it was time for group work, Matt walked over to Joseph. “Do you want to be partners?” Matt asked.
It was like Joseph didn’t even hear him. “Come on, Mike,” Joseph said to the boy sitting next to him. “Let’s go work over there.”
The two boys walked away. Matt’s stomach felt heavy. Something was obviously bothering Joseph. But what?
Matt couldn’t think of anything he had done to make Joseph mad at him. Sure, sometimes they were on opposite teams playing baseball at recess. But they always gave each other a high five after. Why did it feel like Joseph was choosing to be on the opposite team in everything?
At least I can talk with Joseph at recess, Matt thought.
At recess, Matt ran to join the other kids on the field.
“Hey, Joseph!” called Matt. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“The game’s about to start,” said Joseph.
“OK, I’ll come play outfield by you and we can talk,” said Matt.
“You’re too late. There isn’t room on my side,” said Joseph as he ran to join his team.
Matt watched as everyone started to play. Having too many people had never bothered Joseph before. Everyone had always been welcome.
But Matt sure didn’t feel welcomed by Joseph. Why was Joseph acting this way? Why was he not including him? Matt hadn’t done anything wrong!
“Joseph is the one who’s doing something wrong,” said Matt to his parents at dinner. “He won’t even talk with me and tell me what he’s mad about!”
“That does seem hard,” Mom said.
Matt felt hot tears in his eyes. “It feels like he just stopped being my friend, and I don’t know why.”
“I’m proud of you for trying to talk to him about it,” Dad said. “Maybe you could try telling him how you feel and that you want to help.”
Matt shrugged. The way Joseph had been acting, Matt wasn’t sure Joseph would even listen to him.
Mom squeezed Matt’s hand. “We’ll also pray for you, and for Joseph.”
That night as Matt got ready for bed, he thought about what Mom and Dad had said. He had prayed for his friends before when they were sad or having a hard time. But this was different, right? Joseph was the one being mean to him.
So why were Matt’s parents praying for Joseph? Should he pray for Joseph too?
Matt knelt by his bed. “Heavenly Father, it’s hard not to be angry at Joseph,” Matt prayed. “I can tell he’s mad, but he hasn’t told me what’s bothering him.”
Matt paused. “I want to talk with him, but I’m not sure he’ll tell me what’s wrong. Please help him with whatever’s bothering him. And whatever happens, please help me still be kind to him.”
As Matt prayed, he started to feel peaceful inside. He knew Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ were his best friends. They could help him love Joseph, no matter what Joseph chose to do. And They would be there for him even if Joseph didn’t stay his friend.
Matt smiled. Praying for Joseph had been a good idea after all.
Illustrations by Mark Robison

A student at our school, Becca (name has been changed), was scheduled to undergo surgery to remove a cancerous brain tumor. My friend Fede and I wanted to find something special the whole school could do for Becca. I remembered a Japanese tradition involving the folding of 1,000 origami cranes to show support for people in need, and I thought it was something we could do for Becca. We went to the headmaster for approval and then picked up piles of multicolored paper.
We had only two days until Becca’s surgery, but we didn’t let that stop us. That night I learned how to fold origami cranes and started to cut paper squares—hundreds of them!
The next day we announced the project to the school and invited everyone to make a crane for Becca. The entire school, including the faculty, came together to contribute. It was incredible to see.
After two days, we had over 1,000 paper cranes. We threaded them on strings and packaged them in a box, which Fede and I took to Becca at the hospital. She could feel the happiness and love that had been put into making each crane.
While leading this project, I learned that even a small gesture can show people you’re thinking about them and can make a difference. And when many people stand with you, the impact grows exponentially. I also learned that if you have a purpose, those around you can help you reach your goal. When we raised our voice and asked for people to lend a hand, many jumped at the opportunity.
Clara H., Nova Scotia, Canada

When Walnetta’s family migrated from Fiji to Devonport on Auckland’s North Shore a few years after the Second World War, her father, Oscar P. Broederlow, and his family, were the only known members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in that area. But the missionaries set to work and soon there were enough new converts to hold meetings in the Devonport Labour Hall, arranged by Walnetta’s mother, Hilda E. Lobendahn Broederlow.

Some years ago, my wife, Harriet, and I had a memorable experience in which we saw this promise fulfilled. We were in West Africa, a beautiful part of the world where the Church is growing and the Latter-day Saints are delightful. However, West Africa also has many challenges. In particular, I was sorrowed by the poverty that I saw. In the cities there is high unemployment, and families often struggle to provide for their daily needs and for their safety. It broke my heart to know that many of our precious members of the Church live in such deprivation. But I also learned that these fine members help each other to lighten their heavy burdens.
We eventually arrived at one of our meetinghouses near a large city. But instead of finding a people burdened and absorbed by darkness, we discovered a joyful people who were radiating with light! The happiness they felt for the gospel was contagious and lifted our spirits. The love they expressed for us was humbling. Their smiles were genuine and infectious.
I remember wondering at the time if there could possibly be a happier people on the face of the planet. Even though these dear Saints were surrounded by difficulties and trials, they were filled with light!
The meeting began, and I started to speak. But soon the power went out in the building, and we were left in complete darkness.
For a while I could hardly see anyone in the congregation, but I could see and feel the brilliant and beautiful smiles of our Saints. Oh, how I loved being with these wonderful people!
The darkness in the chapel continued, and so I sat next to my wife and waited for the power to be restored. As we waited, something remarkable happened.
A few voices began singing one of the hymns of the Restoration. And then others joined in. And then more. Soon, a sweet and overwhelming chorus of voices filled the chapel.
These members of the Church did not need hymnbooks; they knew every word of every hymn they sang. And they sang one song after another with an energy and spirit that touched my soul.
Eventually, the lights sparked back on and bathed the room with light. Harriet and I looked at each other, our cheeks wet with tears.
In the midst of great darkness, these beautiful, wonderful Saints had filled this Church building and our souls with light.
It was a profoundly moving moment for us—one Harriet and I will never forget.

This was not a traditional prom night in Fort Wayne, Indiana. It was September (instead of springtime). The prom was held at the Ossian Health Care Center (instead of a ballroom). The hosts were teenagers (typical), and the guests were elderly and handicapped residents of the care center (not so typical). The chaperones were the children of the guests.
This nontraditional but very special prom was hosted last year by the youth from the Fort Wayne First Ward and Decatur Branch, Fort Wayne Indiana Stake. Turning the dining room at the care center into a “Seniors’ Prom,” they decorated with balloons and crepe paper. They provided dance music, special entertainment, and refreshments. And each guest was presented with a corsage or boutonniere.
A prom is not complete without a royal couple. So a committee of four young people took turns interviewing the guests during the early part of the evening. Later, Ricky Scheumann and Helen Anderson were crowned prom king and queen.
The youth were the dancing partners for those attending from the care center. And even wheelchairs didn’t stop anyone from taking to the dance floor. “It was a wonderful success! We’re looking forward to it next year,” one of the residents exclaimed.
The spirit of this group of young women and men from Fort Wayne, Indiana, can be summed up in the words of one of the youth leaders, Vickie Houseman: “When we are serving others, we feel we are showing love for our Heavenly Father.”

But example is often not enough. We also need to guide our children’s use of agency. This must be done gently—with love, not force. Three-year-old Michael was getting ready for bed when he announced to his father, “I don’t want to say my prayers tonight.” His father did not scold or shame him or try to force him to pray. He gently lifted Michael to his lap and said, “Michael, I would like to tell you why I say my prayers.” He then told of the blessings for which he wanted to thank Heavenly Father and of the good feeling he had when he asked our Heavenly Father to watch over him. Soon Michael was naming his own blessings. After a while, he jumped down from his father’s lap saying, “Now I want to say my prayer.”

The father simply and sincerely shared his own feelings about the importance of prayer—it could have been any worthy thing—and the child could sense his father’s love, both for him and for Heavenly Father.

The area of Peru where my family lived was particularly troubled by violence. During the afternoon of 20 April, a band of terrorists came into town with guns and dynamite. They began rounding up people—including my mother, my brother, and me—threatening to kill us. Silently I prayed that, if I had to die, I would go to paradise.
The terrorists tied up all those who had stones, sticks, or any other weapon of self-defense in their possession and shot them with machine guns. Women wept for their husbands, brothers, and sons. My mother wept, too, for my brother was among the dead.
Exactly one month later, the terrorists returned at 1:00 A.M. looking specifically for my father. He was a leader in the town, and rumor had falsely accused him of organizing the town against the terrorists. This time they took my parents and several other people from their homes and murdered them. Had my brothers and sisters and I not been sleeping at our aunt’s house, we would most likely have also been killed. But we were able to flee into the hills.
Early that same morning, we were pounded by a hailstorm, but as soon as it was light, I began running to the town over the hill to get help. Suddenly I realized that some of the terrorists were also hiding in the hills and that they were coming after me. As I started down the hill, which was very slippery with hail, I pleaded with the Lord to help me. Miraculously, I was able to escape.
As soon as I was out of danger, I knelt to give thanks and to ask for protection. As I finished my prayer, I felt a wonderful peace, as if nothing bad had happened. My legs had been shaking violently. Now they felt renewed, and I had the strength to continue running. My fear completely disappeared. I had just lost my parents, but I felt a strong assurance that I had a Heavenly Father who loved me.
With help from the people in the town I fled to, I was able to get the rest of my family to safety.

For me while growing up, Christmas was the greatest time of year—not simply because of the gifts but also because Christmas was a time to share with those who mattered most in my life, my family.
Family means everything to me, and through the years, Christmas traditions were always a wonderful arrangement of family fun that still carries many cherished memories for me.
But this past Christmas was different. I had a new job that required me to be out of town on Christmas. Up to this point in my life, I had missed only two Christmases with my family—both while on my mission. Before I even left on my business trip, I was already heartsick and homesick. All Christmas Day I thought, “What a waste!” No work could possibly be worth this!
I decided to watch a movie on TV in my hotel room. In the movie, one of the characters expressed how important it is to give thanks. It wasn’t a major part of the movie, nor was it a particularly moving scene, but nothing could have touched me more.
In that moment I realized that I had never gotten on my knees on Christmas Day to thank Heavenly Father for the gift of His Son, Jesus Christ. In all the years I celebrated Christmas, I had really focused only on my family, presents, and games. Despite my parents’ and grandparents’ best efforts to teach me, I never truly appreciated just how important the Savior was to Christmas. As a family, we read the story of His birth in the scriptures, but I had never given much thought to the significance of His birth on Christmas.
Tears filled my eyes as I prayed to my Heavenly Father. I thanked Him for the sacrifice He made to have His Only Begotten Son come to earth and for His Son’s wonderful life of sacrifice and kindness. The fact that I was alone and away from my family on Christmas still made me sad, but it allowed Heavenly Father to teach me a lesson I might never have learned while surrounded by my family: the Savior is the reason I could have a family at all!
I’m grateful that being alone at Christmas brought me just a little better understanding of Heavenly Father’s loving and infinite gift of His Son.

“Hi. You’re new here, aren’t you?” asked Carl.
“Yup,” Tony answered.
“Where did you go to school before?”
“Lincoln.”
“Lincoln Elementary? Across town?”
“Nope. Lincoln, Nebraska,” replied Tony.
“Oh. I was in Nebraska once, but I was just a kid, so I don’t remember much about it. You like it here?”
“It’s all right.”
“What did you do at recess in Lincoln?” Carl asked.
“Well … we played marbles.”
“Marbles! Terrific! Are you any good?” probed Carl.
“OK, I guess,” Tony answered modestly. “Do you play?”
“Not much. Mostly I play kickball. You’ll have to meet Marvin.”
“Marvin?”
“Marvin the Marble Marvel,” Carl explained.
“Is he any good?”
“Is he any good! That’s like asking if ice is cold. That’s him, over there,” said Carl, pointing across the playground.
“What grade’s he in, first?”
“No, third—like us.”
“He sure doesn’t look like a third grader. He’s so little,” Tony declared.
“I know,” agreed Carl. “But that doesn’t stop him. He’s the best marble player in the whole school. I can’t remember anyone ever beating him. Want to meet him?”
“Yup.”
Carl and Tony walked over to Marvin, and Carl introduced him to Tony.
“Hi!” Marvin said, grinning and pushing up his glasses. “Want to play?”
“I didn’t bring my marbles,” Tony answered.
“That’s OK,” Carl said generously, handing Tony a marble. “I’ll lend you Orangy.”
“Let’s play lag-outs,” Marvin suggested.
“OK,” Tony agreed, “but no snudging.”
“What’s snudging?”
“That means that your knuckles stay on the ground when you shoot,” explained Tony.
“Oh,” said Marvin. “It doesn’t matter. I shoot flingies.”
“Flingies?” asked Tony.
“Sure. Like this,” said Marvin, snapping the marble forward with his thumb and index finger.
“Oh, snappers,” Tony replied.
“Whatever,” Marvin said, “Hurry—the bell’s about to ring. We’ll play funsies. You shoot first.”
“OK. Thanks.” Tony shot his marble.
“We play no hits on first tries,” explained Marvin, rolling a green marble in the opposite direction. “Your turn.”
Tony aimed his marble carefully. An audible click was heard as Orangy collided with Marvin’s marble.
“Wow!” exclaimed Carl. “What a shot!”
“Good hit,” complimented Marvin, handing Tony his marble.
“You said funsies,” reminded Tony, giving both marbles back to their owners. “I’ll bring my marbles tomorrow.”
By the next morning the whole school knew about Tony’s fantastic shot. Carl met Tony on the way out to recess. “Did you bring your marbles?” he questioned.
“Yup.” Tony held up a bulging brown leather bag.
“Good. That looks like enough. Sometimes Marvin likes to play undergrounds.”
“Undergrounds? You mean pots?” asked Tony.
“I guess, Don’t let Marvin fool you,” warned Carl.
“How?”
“Well, he doesn’t look or act like a marble champ.”
“What do you mean?” Tony asked.
“He brings the same marble to school every day,” confided Carl.
“Only one?”
“That’s right,” Carl replied. “He brings it in a sandwich bag, and every afternoon he goes home with a bagful of marbles that he’s won.”
“You’re joking,” Tony challenged.
“No. Honest. I’ve always wondered what he does with the marbles he wins.”
“He must have a closetful at home,” Tony said as they approached Marvin and a couple of his friends.
“Hi. Ready to play?” asked Marvin, pulling a sandwich bag containing just one marble out of his pocket.
Carl gave Tony an “I told you so” nudge as some of the other kids came over to watch the game.
“Same rules as yesterday,” Marvin announced.
“OK,” Tony agreed, “but no go-fors.”
“Gophers?” Marvin repeated.
“Go-fors.”
“What does that mean?”
“No one else can shoot for you,” Tony explained.
“Oh—no helpers. OK. Come on, Sunshine,” Marvin pleaded, rolling his shiny yellow cat’s-eye marble between his thumb and forefinger.
Tony wisely shot his blue marble some distance away from Marvin. But when Marvin shot his marble, it stopped just short of Tony’s. On the next shot Tony easily won the cat’s-eye.
“Good game,” said Tony as Marvin handed him Sunshine. “You’ll have to bring more marbles tomorrow.”
“I don’t have any more marbles,” replied Marvin quietly.
“What?” Carl protested. “How can that be? You’ve won hundreds.”
“Well … I …” Marvin hesitated.
“He always gives them back the next day,” Jenny, an on-looker, broke in. “I’m sorry, Marvin. I had to tell.”
“That’s OK,” Marvin mumbled, staring at the ground.
“You mean that you’ve been winning the same marbles over and over again?” Carl asked incredulously.
“Well, yeah,” admitted Marvin. “You see, I found Sunshine on my way home from school one day, and I’ve just always won. I give the marbles back so that everyone will keep playing with me.”
“You’re good, Marvin,” Tony said, handing Sunshine back to him.
“You won it,” Marvin insisted. “You can keep it.”
“We said we’d play the same rules as yesterday,” Tony reminded him. “We were playing funsies yesterday, remember?”
“That’s right!” Marvin replied, happily tucking Sunshine into his pocket.