Gospel Story Finder

Benjamin Ballam is the special spina bifida child of Michael and Laurie Ballam. He has been such a blessing to them and many others. Also spiritually precocious, Benjamin is a constant source of love and reassurance. Having had 17 surgeries, resilient Benjamin knows all about hospitals and doctors. Once, when an overwhelmed attendant became vocally upset—not at Benjamin, but over stressful circumstances—little three-year-old Benjamin exemplified the words of another Benjamin about our need to be childlike and “full of love” (Mosiah 3:19). Little Benjamin reached out, tenderly patted the irritated attendant, and said, “I love you anyway.” A similar episode occurred recently in an Israeli hospital, where little Benjamin, going through a necessary but very painful procedure, used the same loving words to reassure a physician. No wonder, brothers and sisters, in certain moments we feel children are our spiritual superiors.

Four years ago I spoke in this setting about couples serving full-time missions. My prayer was that “the Holy Ghost [would] touch hearts, and somewhere a spouse … [would] quietly nudge his or her companion, and a moment of truth [—a moment of decision—would] occur.” One sister later wrote me about that experience. She said, “We were sitting in the comfort of our family room enjoying conference on television. … As you spoke, my heart was touched so deeply. I looked over at my husband and he looked at me. That moment changed my life forever.”

“What’s the matter?” Phebe asked.
“Just thinking,” Sadie answered.
“About Christmas?”
“Yes,” Sadie sighed. “This morning I was all excited about the day but now it doesn’t seem like Christmas with Papa plowing, Mama milking, and us working in here just like any other day. Shouldn’t we do a little more than what Mama has planned to celebrate this Christmas?”
“Well, you know what Mama said.”
“I know. There’s too much work, not enough extra anything, so no gifts, and we’ll have a small Christmas dinner. Just an ordinary day,” Sadie repeated mechanically. “But this is our very first Christmas in the Salt Lake Valley—maybe the very first time anyone has celebrated Christmas here! It seems as though it should be special.”
Phebe lifted the black cooking kettle out of the big pot. “Then let’s make it special!”
“Sure, but how?” Sadie asked sadly.
Before Phebe could answer someone walked past the cabin whistling, “Come, Come Ye Saints.” Suddenly Sadie’s face beamed. “I have an idea,” she said and jumped up and ran to the window. “Where’s Abigail?”
“Out getting wood, why?” Phebe asked.
“To make sure this Christmas will be special!”
Phebe laughed. “And how are you going to make it special?”
“Not me, we! Let’s get Abigail!”
“But Mama said to start the bread before she got back from milking.”
“I’ll get it started while you help Abigail. Now hurry!” Sadie grabbed the kettle as Phebe shrugged her shoulders and threw on her shawl.
“This better be good,” Phebe said as she disappeared through the door.
Soon she was back carrying an armload of wood, with Abigail tagging along behind. They dumped the wood by the fireplace and turned to Sadie.
“Now what?” Phebe asked.
“Sit down and I’ll tell you. Do you remember what made the trip across the plains easier?” she asked.
“The oxen,” Phebe laughed.
“Now, be serious,” Sadie said. Then she continued, “Remember those terrible dust storms, and the times when we stumbled through buffalo tracks with the sun burning down on us? Remember how we’d all want to just give up, and then what would always pull us through?”
“Someone would start singing Brother Clayton’s hymn,” answered Abigail, whose puzzled face showed she didn’t understand what these questions had to do with Christmas.
“Right!” said Sadie excitedly. “Through the whole chain of wagons you could hear ‘Come, Come Ye Saints’ ringing out over the empty prairie.”
“What does that have to do with Christmas?” asked Phebe, just as puzzled as her little sister.
“Well if ‘Come, Come Ye Saints’ could make those hard times seem almost good, a song could surely make this Christmas special,” Sadie replied.
“What song?” her sisters asked together.
“Our song!” Sadie could hardly contain her excitement. “We’ll compose our own Christmas song and sing it for Mama and Papa after dinner tonight.” Sadie held her breath as she waited for their response.
Abigail and Phebe looked at each other, then back to their sister, their eyes brightening. “So far this has been just another Saturday, not like other Christmases,” Phebe said. “Let’s try it!”
“All right,” Abigail agreed.
Just then the door opened and Mama lugged the heavy milkpail into the cabin. “Girls, your father wants you to unhitch the oxen for him. He had to go help the Carters.”
“Right now?” Abigail asked.
“Come on,” Sadie whispered. “We can compose out there.”
Hurriedly the three girls put on their shawls and left.
“What should our song be about?” Abigail asked when they were outside.
Sadie’s eyes were far away in thought. “It has to be a song about Christmas and love.”
“Well, like Mama says, all we have this Christmas is love.”
“Then we’ll call it ‘Christmas Love.’”
“I have an idea too,” Abigail almost shouted. “We could sing our song and then tell the story of Jesus.”
Phebe’s eyes sparkled as she said, “I never thought I’d be excited about a song for the first Christmas in our new home, but I am!”
“Come on,” Sadie called as she started running. “Let’s get the oxen unhitched and put in the barn.”
After the oxen were bedded down and fed, the girls worked on their song in the barn. They worked quickly so Mama wouldn’t miss them and Papa wouldn’t find them still there.
That night when the family gathered around the table, the girls were hardly able to sit still as they ate their dinner.
“I told you this wild turkey I shot would make it Christmas,” Papa said with a smile.
“Turkey isn’t all there is to Christmas,” Abigail said laughingly.
“Then what’s causing all the excitement?”
“It’s Christmas!” they all shouted at once.
“You didn’t seem to think it was so exciting when we all had to work today,” Mama said, her eyes twinkling.
“I guess we finally caught the spirit of Christmas,” Sadie answered.
Mama wrinkled her forehead, but she didn’t ask any questions. “Let’s get these dishes —” she began, but before she could finish, Abigail, Phebe, and Sadie were busy clearing off the table.
“What about pudding?” Papa protested.
“Let’s have it later,” Sadie suggested.
“What’s going on?” Mama asked. “All through dinner you girls have been acting like bottled thunder.”
“I think it’s about to be uncorked,” their father answered with a wry smile on his face.
“We have a surprise!” Abigail could no longer keep the secret. “A Christmas surprise just for you!”
A smile replaced the tired lines in their mother’s face. “Well, what is it?” she asked.
“Something to make Christmas special. Please sit down,” Sadie instructed. “We started out with just a song, but now we have a whole program.”
Slowly the three girls began to sing their song, “Christmas Love.” When they finished singing, Abigail and Phebe went on humming while Sadie told the Christmas story.
“Once an angel visited a woman named Mary and told her that she would be the mother of Jesus. The angel also visited Joseph who was to be her husband and told him the wonderful news.
“They had to go to Bethlehem to pay taxes and while they were there the baby was born in a manger. It was such a beautiful and important event that even the angels seemed to sing.
“There were some shepherds who heard the angels and they were so excited they traveled through the night to see the little Christ Child.
“Later a star guided some wise men who went to visit Jesus. All of this was a part of the very first Christmas, a Christmas of love.”
When Sadie finished the story, the girls began to softly sing the song again.
“Christ was born in a lowly stable
But a stable filled with love. …”
Then Phebe said, “And this is a Christmas of love. We have a new, safe home and we have the gospel of Jesus Christ.”
“And a Christmas song from our very own daughters,” Papa said, as he dished up the pudding.
“This is the best Christmas I can remember,” Mama said, her eyes misty.
Mama is pleased, Sadie thought, and a warm, tingly feeling tickled her spine.

Sarah was unpacking a box in her room when Mom walked in.
“Can we paint the walls yellow?” she asked Mom.
They had just moved into a different house. Sarah had been able to pick out a quilt and curtains for her new room!
“I think so,” Mom said. “Yellow is a happy color.”
Sarah put a few books on a little shelf by her bed. Mom didn’t always feel happy lately, not since Dad had died in the accident. Sarah carefully put her favorite picture of Dad next to the books, where she could see it every morning when she woke up.
She heard a sniffle and saw tears in the corners of Mom’s eyes.
“I love you, Mom,” Sarah said, wrapping her arms around Mom’s waist and squeezing tight.
“I love you more.”
The Saturday before school started, Mom and Sarah put on old clothes, moved the furniture to the middle of Sarah’s room, and carefully pushed paint rollers into trays of yellow paint. After a while, the walls were covered in yellow—and so were their faces and clothes!
“You look like you’ve got sunshine splattered all over you,” Mom said with a laugh.
Sarah giggled. “And you look like a banana exploded next to you!”
They were still laughing as they cleaned up. But Sarah’s smile faded when she thought about going to Primary tomorrow and school the day after that.
“I’m worried about church and my new school,” she told Mom as they rinsed paintbrushes in the sink. “I won’t know any of the teachers or kids or anybody.”
Mom turned off the water and pulled Sarah into a hug.
“You’ll make friends. You have a kind heart that will draw others to you. Be your wonderful self, and friends will come.”
Sarah felt a little better, but she was still nervous.
“I wish Dad were here to give me a blessing,” she said. “Like he always used to before I went back to school.”
Mom was quiet for a minute. “What about Uncle Wyatt?” she said. “I’m sure he’d be happy to give you a blessing.”
Sarah nodded. Maybe a blessing would help.
That night, Sarah’s uncle put his hands on her head to give her a blessing.
“I bless you to know that the Savior is mindful of you as you start this new chapter in life,” he said. “He will not leave you alone.”
Sarah paid special attention to the words new chapter. She loved to read and was always excited to start a new chapter in a book.
The next morning Sarah and Mom went to church. After sacrament meeting Mom helped Sarah find the Primary room. A girl inside smiled at her and said hello.
“You can sit here if you want,” she said, patting an empty chair next to her.
“Thanks,” Sarah said. “My name’s Sarah. I’m new here.”
“I’m Melody. And I’m new too! This is only my second week.”
Soon Melody and Sarah were talking with the other Primary kids. Their teacher was really nice.
“I hope school goes this well!” Sarah thought as she went to bed that night.
The next day, Sarah rode the bus to her new school. She was excited to see a few kids from Primary in her third-grade class.
“Thank you, Heavenly Father,” Sarah prayed silently as she ate lunch with her new friends. “Maybe this will be a good chapter, after all.”

Five-year-old Wesley Larsen of Layton, Utah, lies in a hospital bed surrounded by balloons, posters, get well cards, and large stuffed animals. But the thing he keeps closest to him is a small, homemade, brown double knit teddy bear. The bear is a gift from the paramedics, but Wesley does not know the bear is also a gift from the West Point Utah Stake Young Women.
Wesley tosses his red hair as he tells about the day three weeks earlier when a little girl chased him and tackled him during recess. He becomes sad when he talks about how bad his leg hurt. His freckled face shows surprise as he exclaims, “I didn’t know a girl could be that strong.”
Wesley tells about the paramedics who came to school to take him to the hospital and gave him the small bear because he was “brave.” The humble bear gave the little boy something else to think about instead of his fractured left femur. During the weeks he spent in traction, the bear was never far from his side.

When I was a very small boy, my father found a lamb all alone in the desert. The herd of sheep to which its mother belonged had moved on, and somehow the lamb got separated from its mother, and the shepherd must not have known that it was lost. Because it could not survive alone in the desert, my father picked it up and brought it home. To have left the lamb there would have meant certain death, either by falling prey to the coyotes or by starvation because it was so young that it still needed milk. My father gave the lamb to me and I became its shepherd.
For several weeks I warmed cow’s milk in a baby’s bottle and fed the lamb. We became fast friends. I named him Nigh—why I don’t remember. It began to grow. My lamb and I would play on the lawn. Sometimes we would lie together on the grass and I would lay my head on its soft, woolly side and look up at the blue sky and the white billowing clouds. I did not lock my lamb up during the day. It would not run away. It soon learned to eat grass. I could call my lamb from anywhere in the yard by just imitating as best I could the bleating sound of a sheep.
One night there came a terrible storm. I forgot to put my lamb in the barn that night as I should have done. I went to bed. My little friend was frightened in the storm and I could hear it bleating. I knew that I should help my pet, but wanted to stay safe, warm, and dry in my bed. I didn’t get up as I should have done. The next morning I went out to find my lamb dead. A dog had also heard its bleating cry and killed it. My young heart was broken. I had not been a good shepherd or steward of that which my father had entrusted to me. My father said, “Son, couldn’t I trust you to take care of just one lamb?” My father’s remark hurt me more than losing my woolly friend. I resolved that day, as a little boy, that I would try never again to neglect my stewardship as a shepherd if I were ever placed in that position again.
Not too many years thereafter I was called as a junior companion to a home teacher. There were times when it was so cold or stormy that I wanted to stay home and be comfortable, but in my mind’s ear I could hear my little lamb bleating, and I knew I needed to be a good shepherd and go with my senior companion. In all those many years, whenever I have had a desire to shirk my duties, there would come to me a remembrance of how sorry I was that night so many years ago when I had not been a good shepherd. I have not always done everything I should have, but I have tried.

On the way to a Sunday meeting, the stake president and I saw a couple walking along the road with a baby and two small children. We stopped to offer them a ride. They were surprised and delighted. When I asked how far they needed to walk to the chapel, the father replied that it could take 45 minutes to an hour, depending on the children’s pace. They faced this journey back and forth, every Sunday, with no complaints—only smiling faces and grateful hearts.

While teaching the Saints in Costa Rica, I held up a copy of Teaching, No Greater Call and asked, “So how many of you have a copy of this manual?” Nearly everyone raised a hand. With a smile, I said, “And I bet you’re reading it every single day.” To my surprise, a sister on the front row raised her hand, indicating that she was reading it every day. I asked her to come to the podium and explain. She responded, “I read the Book of Mormon every morning. Then I read something in Teaching, No Greater Call so I can teach my children in the very best way what I’ve just learned.”
She wanted to learn and teach His word in His way, so she studied His word in the scriptures and then studied how to teach His word so that her children could be fully converted. Her pattern of gospel learning and teaching did not happen, I believe, all at once. She made a decision to do something. And the more she did what she knew she should do, the more the Lord strengthened her to walk in His way.

Today I desire also to pay tribute to another Primary leader—a noble woman and personal friend. I speak of LaVern W. Parmley, former president of the Primary Association of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and former member of the National Advisory Council, Boy Scouts of America. Sister Parmley, as she was affectionately addressed by those who knew her, completed her mission here on earth on Sunday, 27 January 1980. Her funeral services followed a few days later, where in word and song eulogies were expressed and comfort extended to those in attendance.
LaVern Parmley and Naomi Shumway, together with their counselors, gave freely of their time and talents over a span of many years, teaching little children to walk in the light of the gospel of Christ. They taught each child to sing with personal conviction:
I am a child of God, …
Lead me, guide me, walk beside me,
Help me find the way.
Teach me all that I must do
To live with him someday
(“I Am a Child of God,” Sing with Me, B-76).
Part of their great love was teaching boys. Their inspired objective was to prepare them to receive the Aaronic Priesthood and to walk uprightly along the Scouting trail.
Under their direction, all eleven-year-old boys were asked to commit to memory the Articles of Faith of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. You remember them. May I mention just two:
“We believe in God, the Eternal Father, and in His Son, Jesus Christ, and in the Holy Ghost” (A of F 1:1).
“We believe in being honest, true, chaste, benevolent, virtuous, and in doing good to all men; indeed, we may say that we follow the admonition of Paul—We believe all things, we hope all things, we have endured many things, and hope to be able to endure all things. If there is anything virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy, we seek after these things” (A of F 1:13).
Can you think of a more firm foundation, a more basic philosophy to guide a boy, than the Articles of Faith? What a gift these noble women imparted when they expected each boy to know and indeed live by such a standard. They personally accepted the divine injunction, “Feed my sheep; feed my lambs” (see John 21:15–16).
Some may inquire: What is the significance of the Aaronic Priesthood for which such preparation takes place? Is it all that important in the life of a boy? The Priesthood of Aaron “is an appendage to the … Melchizedek Priesthood, and has power in administering outward ordinances” (D&C 107:14). John the Baptist was a descendant of Aaron and held the keys of the Aaronic Priesthood. Perhaps we could review the life and mission of John, so that the importance of the Aaronic Priesthood might be more fully appreciated.
Long years ago and distant miles away, in the conquered country of Palestine, a marvelous miracle occurred. The setting was bleak, the time one of tumult. In these, the days of Herod, king of Judea, there lived a priest named Zacharias and his wife, Elisabeth. “They were … righteous before God” (Luke 1:6). However, long years of yearning had returned no reward—Zacharias and Elisabeth remained childless.
Then came that day of days ever to be remembered. There appeared to Zacharias the angel Gabriel, who proclaimed: “Fear not, Zacharias: for thy prayer is heard; and thy wife Elisabeth shall bear thee a son, and thou shalt call his name John.
“He shall be great in the sight of the Lord” (Luke 1:13–15).
Elisabeth did conceive. In due time a son was born, and according to the angel’s instruction he was named John.
As with the master, Jesus Christ, so with the servant, John—precious little is recorded of their years of youth. A single sentence contains all that we know of John’s history for a space of thirty years—the entire period which elapsed between his birth and his walk into the wilderness to commence his public ministry: “The child grew, and waxed strong in spirit, and was in the deserts till the day of his shewing unto Israel” (Luke 1:80).
His dress was that of the old prophets—a garment woven of camel’s hair. His food was such as the desert afforded—locusts and wild honey. His message was brief. He preached faith, repentance, baptism by immersion, and the bestowal of the Holy Ghost by an authority greater than that possessed by himself.
“I am not the Christ” (John 1:20), he told his band of faithful disciples. “But I am sent before him.” “I indeed baptize you with water … but one mightier than I cometh … : he shall baptize you with the Holy Ghost, and with fire (see Matt. 3:11).
Then there transpired the climactic scene of John’s mission—the baptism of Christ. Jesus came down from Galilee expressly “to be baptized” by John. Humbled of heart and contrite in spirit, John pleaded, “I have need to be baptized of thee, and comest thou to me?” The Master’s reply: “It becometh us to fulfil all righteousness.” (See Matt. 3:13–15.)
“And Jesus, when he was baptized, went up straightway out of the water: and, lo, the heavens were opened unto him, and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove, and lighting upon him:
“And lo a voice from heaven, saying, This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased” (Matt. 3:16–17).
John’s testimony that Jesus was the redeemer of the world was declared boldly. Without fear, and with courage, John taught: “Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world” (John 1:29).
Of John, the Savior later testified, “Among them that are born of women there hath not risen a greater than John the Baptist” (Matt. 11:11).
John’s public ministry moved toward its close. He had, at the beginning of it, condemned the hypocrisy and worldliness of the Pharisees and Sadducees; and he now had occasion to denounce the lust of a king. The result is well known. A king’s weakness and a woman’s fury combined to bring about the death of John.
The tomb in which his body was placed could not contain that body. Nor could the act of murder still that voice. To the world we declare that at Harmony, Pennsylvania, on 15 May 1829, an angel, “who announced himself as John, the same that is called John the Baptist in the New Testament” (D&C 13, section heading), came as a resurrected personage to Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery. “The angelic visitant averred that he was acting under the direction of Peter, James, and John, the ancient Apostles, who held the keys of the higher Priesthood, which was called the Priesthood of Melchizedek” (D&C 13, section heading). The Aaronic Priesthood was restored to the earth.
Thanks to that memorable event, I was given the privilege to bear the Aaronic Priesthood, as have millions of young men in these latter days. Its true significance was taught me by my former stake president, the late Paul C. Child.
When I was approaching my eighteenth birthday and preparing to enter military service in World War II, I was recommended to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood. Mine was the task of telephoning President Child for an appointment and interview. He was one who loved and understood the holy scriptures. It was his intent that all others should similarly love and understand them. Knowing from others of his rather detailed and searching interviews, our telephone conversation went something like this:
“Hello, President Child. This is Brother Monson. I have been asked by the bishop to seek an interview with you.”
“Fine, Brother Monson. When can you visit me?”
Knowing that his sacrament meeting time was six o’clock, and desiring minimum exposure of my scriptural knowledge to his review, I suggested, “How would five o’clock be?”
His response: “Oh, Brother Monson, that would not provide us sufficient time to peruse the scriptures. Could you please come at two o’clock, and bring with you your personally marked and referenced set of scriptures.”
Sunday finally arrived, and I visited President Child’s home on Indiana Avenue. I was greeted warmly, and then the interview began. He said: “Brother Monson, you hold the Aaronic Priesthood. Have you ever had angels minister to you?”
My reply was: “No, President Child.”
“Do you know,” said he, “that you are entitled to such?”
Again came my response: “No.”
Then he instructed, “Brother Monson, repeat from memory the thirteenth section of the Doctrine and Covenants.”
I began, “Upon you my fellow servants, in the name of Messiah I confer the Priesthood of Aaron, which holds the keys of the ministering of angels …” (D&C 13:1).
“Stop,” President Child directed. Then in a calm, kindly tone he counseled: “Brother Monson, never forget that as a holder of the Aaronic Priesthood you are entitled to the ministering of angels.” It was almost as though an angel were in the room that day. I have never forgotten the interview. I yet feel the spirit of that solemn occasion. I revere the priesthood of Almighty God. I have witnessed its power. I have seen its strength. I have marveled at the miracles it has wrought.
Almost thirty years ago I knew a boy, even a priest, who held the authority of the Aaronic Priesthood. As the bishop, I was his quorum president. This boy, Robert, stuttered and stammered, void of control. Self-conscious, shy, fearful of himself and all others, he had an impediment of speech which was devastating to him. Never did he fulfill an assignment; never would he look another in the eye; always would he gaze downward. Then one day, through a set of unusual circumstances, he accepted an assignment to perform the priestly responsibility to baptize another.
I sat next to him in the baptistry of this sacred tabernacle. He was dressed in immaculate white, prepared for the ordinance he was to perform. I asked Robert how he felt. He gazed at the floor and stuttered almost incoherently that he felt terrible.
We both prayed fervently that he would be made equal to his task. Then the clerk read the words: “Nancy Ann McArthur will now be baptized by Robert Williams, a priest.” Robert left my side, stepped into the font, took little Nancy by the hand, and helped her into that water which cleanses human lives and provides a spiritual rebirth. He then gazed as though toward heaven and, with his right arm to the square, repeated the words “Nancy Ann McArthur, having been commissioned of Jesus Christ, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost” (see D&C 20:73). Not once did he stammer. Not once did he stutter. Not once did he falter. A modern miracle had been witnessed.
In the dressing room, as I congratulated Robert, I expected to hear this same uninterrupted flow of speech. I was wrong. He gazed downward and stammered his reply of gratitude.
To each of you this day, I testify that when Robert acted in the authority of the Aaronic Priesthood, he spoke with power, with conviction, and with heavenly help.
Such is the legacy of one called John, even John the Baptist. We hear his voice today. It teaches humility; it prompts courage; it inspires faith.
May we be motivated by his message. May we be inspired by his mission. May we be lifted by his life to a full appreciation of the Aaronic Priesthood and its divine power, I pray, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

“You pray funny!” Lucia said after Whitney finished saying a blessing on their lunch.
“No, I don’t,” Whitney said. “Why did you say that?”
“We don’t say prayers like that at my church,” Lucia said.
“What do you mean?” Whitney asked as she picked off the crusty part of her grilled cheese sandwich.
“When you pray it sounds old-fashioned.”
“It’s just the words you read in the scriptures,” Whitney said. “I don’t think it’s weird.”
A car horn honked outside. Whitney looked at the kitchen clock. “That’s probably your mom to take us to soccer practice.”
The girls grabbed their sandwiches and raced out the door. “Bye, Mom,” Whitney called. “See you after practice.”
Whitney didn’t think much about what Lucia had said about her prayer until later that evening when Dad gathered everyone for family prayer.
“Whose turn is it tonight?” Dad asked.
“I think it’s Russell’s turn,” Mom said.
Russell bowed his head and began to pray. He thanked Heavenly Father and asked for blessings. Whitney listened closely as Russell prayed. His words did sound different from the way people usually talk: “We thank Thee. … We ask that Thou wilt bless. … Help us follow Thy prophet .…” Russell finished and everyone stood.
Whitney went to get ready for bed. She changed into her pajamas and brushed her teeth. Then she opened her closet and chose one of her best dresses for church the next day. She took it off the hanger and laid it across the back of her desk chair.
“Hey, Whit,” Dad said as he came into her bedroom with a stack of folded clothes. “Mom told me what Lucia said at lunch. Did that bother you?”
“No, not really,” Whitney said. “Well, kind of. Why do we pray with fancy words? Why not just talk the way we usually do?”
Dad picked up Whitney’s soccer uniform from off the floor where she had dropped it earlier that day. “Why don’t you wear this to church tomorrow instead of that dress on your chair?”
“Very funny, Dad,” Whitney said as she grabbed her shorts and shirt. “This is what I wear to soccer—not to church.”
“There’s a difference?” Dad asked.
“Of course,” Whitney replied.
“Right,” Dad said. “The reason we wear our Sunday best to church is to show respect and reverence for Heavenly Father. We dress differently than we do for other occasions. It’s the same way with the words we use when we pray. The words we say show love and respect.”
“So when we say those words, Heavenly Father knows we are treating Him in a special way?”
“That’s right,” Dad said. “I’m sure Heavenly Father listens and understands either way, but when we use words like Thy blessings instead of your blessings and Thou hast seen or Thou seest instead of you have seen or you see, it’s kind of like…”
Whitney lifted the dress from the chair. “It’s like our prayers are all dressed up in their Sunday best!”

I stood under the mistletoe. The green, leafy clusters speckled with waxy-white berries hung from the branches of every apple tree.
That’s the same stuff they sell in the stores for Christmas decorations, I said to myself. Why can’t I sell mistletoe too? Christmas was three weeks away. Selling mistletoe would be a perfect way to earn money to buy a gift for my brother, Derek.
I took a few steps back, ran, leaped, and reached as high as I could. But the lowest mistletoe cluster was too high. I missed it by a mile. So that was that.
I had started for home, when something strange caught my eye. At the edge of the apple orchard, one tree stood bare. Of course I knew the leaves and apples fell off months ago. But all the mistletoe, every sprig of it, had fallen off the branches also. It lay in a neat pile at the foot of the tree, as if put there just for me.
Delighted, I carefully picked out the best sprigs and put them in my lunch box. When it was jam-packed, I sprinted across the flattened cornfield to the mobile home where I lived.
I entered the side door, listening. Yes, a guitar was playing. I walked down the narrow hall to my bedroom and pounded on the door. “Derek, are you in there?”
The guitar stopped. “One sec,” came a grumpy reply. A moment later the door was flung open. My brother stood there wearing his brown leather jacket.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“None of your business,” he muttered, sailing past me.
It wasn’t easy sharing that cramped bedroom with my older brother. We got on each other’s nerves a lot. That whole trailer was far too small for our family.
With Derek out of the room, I emptied the contents of my lunch box onto my bed. I split the sprigs of mistletoe into smaller ones and carefully picked off every dead leaf and berry. In my mom’s sewing box, I found a roll of red ribbon. I used it to tie bows around the sprigs, then put each one into a little plastic bag.
As I looked for something to put the mistletoe in, I saw Derek’s guitar on his bed, wrapped in an old towel. That guitar was the only beautiful thing Derek owned, and I knew what to buy with the mistletoe money: a case for that guitar. Even if Derek was grumpy sometimes, he was still my brother, and I loved him.
The next day I took my mistletoe packages—ten in all—to school. During lunchtime I sold every one. My pockets jingled with change as I walked home that day. But it was hardly enough money to buy a guitar case.
After school, I cut through the apple orchard again. A surprise awaited me—two more trees were bare, and under each one lay a pile of mistletoe! I loaded my lunch box, filled my pockets, then raced for home.
Derek was striding across the cornfield as I approached the trailer. His head was lowered. His hands were jammed into the pockets of his leather jacket.
“Derek! Derek!” I hollered as friendly as I could. But when he looked up and saw me, he stopped and turned in another direction.
That night I made twice as many mistletoe packages. After school the next day, I walked to the shopping center office and got permission to sell my mistletoe there. Then I found a wooden box to use as a sales stand. I thumb-tacked a sign on it that read: Christmas Mistletoe, 25¢. Within an hour the mistletoe was sold out.
I hurried over to the music store. In the front display window, on cotton snow, lay a row of wooden recorders. I had learned to play a plastic one at school, and more than anything, I wanted one of those wooden ones, which sounded so much better. Each year that was at the top of my Christmas list. But each year there wasn’t enough money.
I was calculating how much more money I’d need to buy a recorder when I saw the towers of guitar cases in the back of the store. As much as I wanted a recorder, I wanted to buy Derek a guitar case more. Even if he had been a grouch lately, he was a pretty neat brother. Going inside the store, I found the perfect case for Derek, a brown one with gold buttons. It cost a bundle, though. Much more than I had. I hoped that there would be lots more mistletoe in the orchard when I got there.
I reached the orchard after the sun had just set, and the air was icy. The shadowy crooked branches of the apple trees appeared as grabbing fingers against the purple sky. Something rustled in a distant tree. Rotten apples squished under my feet as I tried to creep closer to see what it was.
Then I tripped. My knees sunk into a pile of something scratchy. Mistletoe! Another big heap of it. It was a miracle!
I was filling my lunch box, when a voice right behind me softly said, “Chilly night to be out, young man.”
I spun around. “I’m collecting m-m-mistletoe,” I stuttered, half from cold, half from fright.
“Sorry I scared you,” the man said with a friendly smile. “The fact is, I’m paying a guy to cut all that mistletoe out of my trees.”
“What!” I exclaimed, puzzled.
“My apple trees are loaded with mistletoe. That very plant people kiss under can do these old trees harm. It attaches itself to their branches and sucks out a lot of food and water. Eventually it could kill these trees. Anyway, you’re welcome to take all you want.”
The man wished me a merry Christmas, then walked on across the orchard. He stopped under a tree about thirty yards away and looked up. Out of that tree tumbled a big clump of mistletoe. Then another and another. An instant later two legs dangled down from the lowest branch. All of a sudden someone dropped down next to the man. It was Derek! He didn’t see me in the shadows.
“A few more nights ought to do it,” the man said.
“Yeah,” Derek replied, brushing off his jeans.
“So what are you doing with all the money I’m paying you?” asked the man. “Are you going out and having a good time?”
“Nah,” said Derek, shuffling his feet. “I’m saving up to buy my kid brother something for Christmas.”
“Is that right?” said the man.
“Yeah, he’s been wanting a wooden recorder for ages. He can play pretty well. And you know how it is—he’s my brother.”

Many years ago a friend of ours who had not married at the age when most people marry selected a young woman to be his wife. His choice surprised a number of us because we were unable to feel she was as insightful, socially adaptable, or as wise as he was—to the extent that it almost appeared to be a mismatch. Then we observed that during social engagements, in Church situations, and at other places, he would kindly talk with her about everything that was going on. He brought books home from school and read with her. In many other ways he helped her develop into a more mature and lovely person, and, of course, at the same time he also grew. That man and wife now serve in a distant place on a mission, living a full life because of his desire to be helpful and sensitive and because of the deep love they have for each other.

The first cornerstone of my testimony was laid a long time ago. One of my early recollections was having a frightening nightmare as a small child. I still remember it vividly. I must have screamed in fright during the night. My grandmother woke me up. I was crying, and she took me in her arms, hugged me, and comforted me. She got a bowl of some of my favorite rice pudding that was left over from dinner, and I sat on her lap as she spoon-fed me. She told me that we were safe in our house because Jesus was watching over us. I felt it was true then, and I still believe it now. I was comforted in both body and soul and went peacefully back to bed, assured of the divine reality that Jesus does watch over us.

Elder F. Burton Howard was born in Logan, Utah. His family later moved and lived in a number of different places in Utah, Arizona, and Wyoming. “I didn’t know then that moving around so much should have been a problem, so it wasn’t. My two grandmothers then lived in Malad, Idaho, and wherever we lived, we would make a long pilgrimage in the car to see them once a year.”
Elder Howard’s father worked for the Soil Conservation Service, and he would occasionally take his son on one of his work excursions into the desert. “One time when I was five years old, he took me out just so that I could see what a rattlesnake looked like,” Elder Howard said. “We found a big one, and that was very impressive to me.”
“My father was a very good basketball player. In a time when people weren’t as tall as they are now, he measured six feet four inches. In the 1930s he played what was called semipro ball. When I was small, Dad didn’t try to teach me to be a ball player. We never had a basketball standard or a ball; we couldn’t afford them, and neither could anybody else in our neighborhood. But we always had a softball and a baseball and played those sports a lot.
“My mother was an accomplished pianist and singer. During my childhood, she and my father sang in church, at funerals, and in the civic opera.
“I took piano and voice lessons, but I’m sure that I must have been a disappointment to my parents. I didn’t like practicing the piano, but I did learn to read music and sing. I used to play in a band, and I learned to play the piano well enough that I can still play all the hymns.”
Elder Howard is the oldest of three children; he has a younger brother and sister. “My brother and sister and I used to put off going to bed by asking Mother to read us a story. She had an old book of Book of Mormon stories that she’d read to us. Sometimes she’d slip in a story from the Bible. When I was young, I didn’t know the difference between the stories from the Bible and the Book of Mormon. I just knew that they were scripture stories and that I loved them all.
“I was a good reader, and we always had books. Dad made a special effort when we were quite young to buy an encyclopedia for our family. There was a time when I read almost everything that I could get my hands on, but there were still more books in our home than I could ever read.
“When I was in my first year of college at Logan, Utah, I bought an old car for a hundred dollars. I was eighteen and thought that I knew all about driving. It was Christmastime, and my parents were living on a ranch in Wyoming. I picked up my two grandmothers and took them to my parents’ home for Christmas. We had a grand time there. When it was time to return to school, the weather had changed and the roads were treacherous. That morning as we were ready to leave, we held a family prayer in the living room. My father prayed that we would have a safe journey. After we had loaded my car with suitcases, blankets, tuna fish sandwiches, and a thermos bottle full of Postum, Dad walked out to the car and said, ‘I want to talk to you.’ We went over and stood by the fence. ‘You have a very valuable cargo,’ he said, nodding at my grandmothers. ‘I want you to promise me that if the roads are bad and it’s snowing when you get down to Lander, you won’t go over South Pass. I want you to take the long way.’
“I promised him that I would. My parents kissed us good-bye, and we were on our way. We had nice weather until we got to Riverton; then it started to snow. By the time we got to Lander, it was snowing pretty hard. I remembered my promise, so when we came to the intersection where you turn to go up the mountain, I made a conscious turn to go the long way. I remember thinking then that it was going to take us five hours longer to get to Utah. I knew the road, and I was absolutely certain that I had made the right turn. As we drove along, we were joking and laughing, although the snow was getting thicker. Then I saw a sign that read, ‘Historic Old South Pass City,’ and I realized that I had somehow become confused in the snowstorm and had taken the wrong road! I thought, Dad will be angry with me! I don’t know how this happened—it wasn’t intentional. I had only two choices: I could keep on going, or I could turn around and go back. By this time, we were at the summit, so I decided that we might as well keep going and that I would apologize to Dad later. As we came down the mountain, the snow stopped and the roads were clear. We drove to Logan and then to Malad without any problems.
“On my way to school the next day I happened to see the front-page headline of a newspaper: WORST BLIZZARD OF THE YEAR STRANDS HUNDREDS IN CENTRAL WYOMING. I bought a paper, and it was full of stories about people who had been stranded, lost, or killed on the road that I had promised to take. I realized that the prayer our family had offered had been answered. I knew that the Lord had gotten us on the right road, and I realized how He had protected us. I was never the same after that.”
Elder Howard’s message to the children of the Church is this: “Be helpful in your home. Learn to do things well, and always do your best. Read more good books and watch less television. Be truthful and prayerful. Keep the commandments, follow the prophet, and always be proud that you are a Latter-day Saint.”

Lisa was relatively young at when she joined the Church. She attended meetings with her friends and their families. One day her class got up to sing a special musical number in sacrament meeting. No one had told her anything about it. She’d never heard the song before, and she sat in agonized silence as the rest of her class smiled and sang from the pulpit.

After church, she asked why she hadn’t been included. She was informed that since her parents were not members and she lived several blocks away, they didn’t think anyone would bring her to rehearsals, so they hadn’t invited her to participate. Lisa was devastated, and her parents weren’t very impressed with the lack of compassion that was shown either.

A young sister shared that she often feels nervous about ministering because she doesn’t know how others will respond. I asked how she works through that. She smiled and said, “I go—and it usually turns out much better than I thought.” She exercises faith, and the Lord helps her.
As we minister in faith, we do not go alone. The Lord will be with us. He will “provide [the] means whereby [we] can accomplish the thing which he has commanded”—including the blessing of God’s priesthood power as we keep our covenants and His priesthood authority to represent Him through our assignment. The Lord knows the hearts of those we minister to. He loves them and He loves you. He will help you to bless them in the ways they need.

One day during my junior year of high school, my friend Nedra asked me, “Russ, why aren’t you going to seminary?”
At that time, my parents were not attending church. I attended only occasionally with my friends, and I did not participate in seminary. The next day, I attended seminary at 6:30 a.m. After that, I went every day—even on cold, snowy winter mornings.
The things I learned in seminary touched my heart. My testimony grew as I learned more about Jesus Christ and His restored gospel. This prepared me to serve my mission in England and to continue in a lifetime of service to the Lord and His Church.
Nedra’s inviting me to seminary helps me see, in a personal way, that there are countless opportunities for you to help others come unto the Lord Jesus Christ. In simple but powerful ways, you can show your love, share your beliefs, and invite those around you to experience the joy and peace the Savior and His gospel bring.

When I was in the National Football League, I looked up to Gifford Nielsen, who had also played for BYU before going on to the NFL, eventually becoming a sportscaster and later a General Authority Seventy. I ran into him one day on a golf course, and he gave me advice that changed the course of my professional career.
We were sitting in a golf cart, just me and him, and after I told him about my plan to go into television like he had after I finished playing football, he gave me advice to not continue pursuing a career that would require me to be at the games on Sundays. That way, I’d always be able to have a calling on Sundays and serve in the Church.
It was that simple, but it was advice that I hadn’t thought about. And that changed the course of my life.

For example, the Sydney Australia Hebersham Stake Young Men and Young Women take a turn each month with other churches in the area driving a van in a citywide project called Night Patrol. Two adults and two young people take food and offer comfort to those living on the streets. The teens who have had a chance to work in the Night Patrol van quickly found it was interesting work and are the first to volunteer to go again.

My mind goes back in memory to a general priesthood meeting held in 1956. At that time I was serving in the stake presidency of the Temple View Stake here in Salt Lake City. Percy K. Fetzer, John R. Burt, and I, the stake presidency, had come to the Tabernacle early, that hopefully we might find a place to sit. We were among the first to enter the Tabernacle and had almost two hours to wait before the meeting would begin.
President Fetzer related to President Burt and me an experience from his missionary days in Germany. He described how one rainy night he and his companion were to present a gospel message to a group assembled in a schoolhouse. A protester had broadcast falsehoods concerning the Church, and a number of people threatened violence against the two missionaries. At a critical moment, a woman who was a widow stepped between the elders and the angry group and said, “These young men are my guests and are coming to my home now. Please make way for us to leave.”
The crowd parted, and the missionaries walked through the rainy night with their benefactress, arriving at length at her modest home. She placed their wet coats over the kitchen chairs and invited the missionaries to sit at the table while she prepared food for them. After eating, the elders presented a message to the kind lady who had befriended them. A young son of the woman was invited to come to the table, but he refused, preferring his position of solitude and warmth directly behind the kitchen stove.
President Fetzer concluded the account with the comment, “While I don’t know if that woman ever joined the Church, I’ll forever be grateful to her for her kindness that rain-drenched night thirty-three years ago.”
The brethren sitting in front of us here in the Tabernacle had been speaking to one another also. After a while, we began listening to their conversation. One asked the friend sitting next to him, “Tell me how you came to be a member of the Church.”
The brother responded, “One rainy night in Germany, my mother brought to our house two drenched missionaries whom she had rescued from a mob. Mother fed the elders, and they presented to her a message concerning the work of the Lord. They invited me to join the discussion, but I was shy and fearful, so I remained secure in my seat behind the stove. Later, when I once more heard about the Church, I remembered the courage and faith, as well as the message, of those two humble missionaries, and this led to my conversion. I suppose I’ll never meet those two missionaries here in mortality, but I’ll be forever grateful to them. I know not where they were from. I think one was named Fetzer.”
At this point, President Burt and I looked at President Fetzer and noticed the great tears which coursed down his cheeks. Without saying a word to us, President Fetzer tapped on the shoulder of the man in front of us who had just related his conversion experience. To him he then said, “I’m Bruder Fetzer. I was one of the two missionaries whom you befriended that night. I’m grateful to meet the boy who sat behind the stove—the lad who listened and who learned.”
I do not remember the messages delivered during the priesthood meeting that night, but I shall never forget the faith-filled conversation which preceded the commencement of the meeting.