Gospel Story Finder

One of the most touching stories Nana Esi Ninsin VIII shared was about a young girl named Mary Mensah in the village, who was inspired by the queen’s example and started her own informal church group, called the Children’s Church. With no resources or formal training, the girl gathered friends and neighbors to pray, sing, and study scripture. After the children’s church service, Mary, their leader, uses their offering of one cedi each to prepare food for them, saying, “They don’t have access to their offering in the mother church.”

When Nana Esi Ninsin VIII learned of her efforts, she welcomed the girl into her fold, integrating her group into the larger church community, the Ekunfi Ekrawfo Group of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. “She had a good spirit,” Nana said. “And now she’s part of our training and outreach.”

This act of inclusion not only validated the girl’s leadership but also reinforced Nana Ninsin’s belief that spiritual growth and community development are inextricably linked.

It happened in the days when stake conferences consisted of two sessions during the day and a stake fireside in the evening. The visiting general authority always attended the 10 A.M. and the 2 P.M. sessions and occasionally remained as the speaker for the evening fireside. On one particular day it was our good fortune in the Wasatch Stake (Heber City, Utah) to have Elder Spencer W. Kimball as the guest for the day. Our family had been somewhat acquainted with Elder Kimball and were overjoyed when he accepted our parents’ invitation to have dinner with us and remain at our home until time for the evening meeting.
My eight sisters and I did a great deal of singing during the time we grew up and were accustomed to invitations that didn’t give us a great deal of time for preparation. However, on that conference afternoon, the telephone rang and I heard the voice of our stake president, H. Clay Cummings, on the other end. He told me that the person previously asked to sing the musical number for the evening fireside couldn’t perform and wondered if our family would provide some music. I placed my hand over the phone while I relayed the message and asked the others for their opinion. I mentioned to them that it was extremely short notice and that perhaps we should tell him no. While a short discussion ensued, our guest taught us all a great lesson: “Tell President Cummings we’d love to,” Elder Kimball remarked. “Your father and I will do the men’s parts and two of you girls can do the others, and we’ll sing them one of the beautiful hymns.”
I sheepishly gave the message to President Cummings and hung up the phone. Immediately, we gathered around the piano and prepared our presentation for that evening.
Can you imagine the thrill of singing that number with a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, the future President of the Church? It was an experience I shall never forget.

Let us go back to the year 1805, on the 23rd day of December, in the town of Sharon, Vermont. Will you accompany me as we look back on those dramatic events taking place on that day? As Joseph Smith Sr. and his wife, Lucy Mack, proudly looked down upon the little baby who had come into their home, I’m certain they were pleased and most grateful. A choice spirit had come to dwell in its earthly tabernacle.
Some have asked, “Did he have an unusual childhood or boyhood?” “Was the Prophet Joseph different from me or my brothers?” I think we could gain insight into the childhood of the Prophet by reading the words of his mother. She said, “I am aware that some of my readers will be disappointed, for … it is thought by some that I shall be likely to tell many very remarkable incidents which attended his childhood; but, as nothing occurred during his early life except those trivial circumstances which are common to that state of human existence, I pass them in silence.”1 This is all we have from the boy’s mother concerning his early childhood activities.
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.
When Joseph was in his 11th year, his family, which now consisted of 11 souls, left Vermont and moved to Palmyra, New York. Four years later they moved to Manchester, located in the same county. It was here that Joseph described the great religious revival that seemed everywhere present and of prime concern to every heart.
These are his words: “So great were the confusion and strife among the different denominations, that it was impossible for a person young as I was, and so unacquainted with men and things, to come to any certain conclusion who was right and who was wrong. …
“While I was laboring under the extreme difficulties caused by the contests of these parties of religionists, I was one day reading the Epistle of James, first chapter and fifth verse, which reads: If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him” (JS—H 1:8, 11).
The Prophet said that after reading this verse he knew for a certainty he must either put the Lord to the test and ask Him or perhaps choose to remain in darkness forever. He declared that as he retired to the grove to pray, this was the first time he had attempted to pray vocally to his Heavenly Father. But he had read the scripture, he had understood the scripture, he had trusted in God his Eternal Father; and now he knelt and prayed, knowing that God would give him the enlightenment which he so earnestly sought. The Prophet Joseph Smith taught us the principle of faith—by example.
Can you imagine the ridicule, the scorn, the mocking that all of his young friends, his older friends, and his foes alike must have heaped upon him as he mentioned that he had seen a vision?
I suppose it became almost unbearable for the boy, and yet he was honest with himself, for these are his words: “I had actually seen a light, and in the midst of that light I saw two Personages, and they did in reality speak to me; and though I was hated and persecuted for saying that I had seen a vision, yet it was true; and while they were persecuting me, reviling me, and speaking all manner of evil against me falsely for so saying, I was led to say in my heart: Why persecute me for telling the truth? I have actually seen a vision; and who am I that I can withstand God, or why does the world think to make me deny what I have actually seen? For I had seen a vision; I knew it, and I knew that God knew it, and I could not deny it” (JS—H 1:25).
The Prophet Joseph Smith taught honesty—by example.
The Prophet Joseph was truly blessed with the ability to inspire faith. One bright morning Joseph walked up to John E. Page and said, “Brother John, the Lord is calling you on a mission to Canada.”
John E. Page was rather astonished and said, “Why, Brother Joseph, I can’t go on a mission to Canada. I don’t even have a coat to wear.”
The Prophet Joseph took his own coat from his back, handed it to John Page, and said, “Here, John, wear this, and the Lord will bless you.” Brother Page took the coat, went to Canada, and in two years walked 5,000 miles and baptized 600 souls, because he trusted in the words of a prophet of God.3
The Prophet Joseph believed in missionary work. While he and Sidney Rigdon were proselyting at Perrysburg, New York, October 12, 1833, having been long absent from their families and feeling concerned for them, they received the following revelation:
“Verily, thus saith the Lord unto you, my friends Sidney and Joseph, your families are well; they are in mine hands, and I will do with them as seemeth me good; for in me there is all power. …
“Therefore, verily I say unto you, lift up your voices unto this people” (D&C 100:1, 5).
Joseph and Sidney continued their missionary labors.
Joseph Smith not only inspired men to volunteer for missions, but he also taught the importance of missionary work—by example.
I think one of the sweetest lessons taught by the Prophet, and yet one of the saddest, occurred close to the time of his death. He was required to leave his plan and vision of the Rocky Mountains and give himself up to face a court of supposed justice.
These are his words: “I am going like a lamb to the slaughter; but I am calm as a summer’s morning; I have a conscience void of offense towards God, and towards all men” (D&C 135:4). That statement of the Prophet teaches us obedience to law and the importance of having a clear conscience toward God and toward our fellowmen. The Prophet Joseph Smith taught these principles—by example.
There was to be one great final lesson before his mortal life ended. He was incarcerated in Carthage Jail with his brother Hyrum, with John Taylor, and with Willard Richards. The angry mob stormed the jail; they came up the stairway, blasphemous in their cursing, heavily armed, and began to fire at will. Hyrum was hit and died. John Taylor took several balls of fire within his bosom. The Prophet Joseph, with his pistol in hand, was attempting to defend his life and that of his brethren, and yet he could tell from the pounding on the door that this mob would storm that door and would kill John Taylor and Willard Richards in an attempt to kill him.
And so his last great act here upon the earth was to leave the door and lead Willard Richards to safety, throw the gun on the floor, and go to the window, that they might see him, that the attention of this ruthless mob might be focused upon him rather than the others. Joseph Smith gave his life. Willard Richards was spared, and John Taylor recovered from his wounds. “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends” (John 15:13). The Prophet Joseph Smith taught us love—by example.
I pray we may learn from his example, that we might incorporate into our lives the great principles he so beautifully taught.

“The area conference was truly wonderful,” a third letter said, “a wonderful experience to all the Filipino Mormons here. I cried when the President first entered the hall and the congregation started to sing ‘We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet.’
“We live not far from Manila. We just planned traveling home every night after the conference. Well, last Monday the conference ended at almost 10:00 p.m. We were really flying to reach home before the curfew bell at 12:00. We were still having our journey when our back tire got flat, so we had to stop. Lucky we stopped, because a Filipino constabulary told us that we’re not supposed to travel any more tonight. So we stayed in the gasoline station until 4:00 a.m. till the curfew was off. We went back to Manila again the following day for the balance of the conference.”

During the final years of his life, President Benson’s once-powerful physical body steadily weakened. At first, he met with the Saints at general conferences when he could, waving to the congregation from his wheelchair. Later, his health prevented him from attending general conference. At home, in his apartment across from the Church Office Building, he still visited with General Authorities who came to express their love and also to consult with him on matters of concern. His beloved Flora passed away on 14 August 1992, after a loving companionship of sixty-six years.

President Benson’s forceful personality likewise mellowed and softened with age, observed a close associate. “Although many people grow grouchy and demanding with advanced age and infirmity, President Benson grew even sweeter and more grateful for the things others did for him.” To the end of his life, this prophet exemplified the sweet fruits of the gospel of Christ.

There was a song I heard first when I was a little boy—a song about Christmas and home. Those were days of war when many people were away from their homes and family—a dark time for those who feared that they might not be reunited with loved ones in this life. I remember my feelings for home and family when I walked by one house on the way to school at Christmastime and saw a little flag with a gold star on it hung in the window. It was the home of a girl I knew in school. Her brother, not much older than I, had been killed in the war. I knew his parents and felt some of what they did. On the way home after school, I would feel grateful anticipation for the glad welcome I knew awaited me.
When I turned on the radio in our living room during the Christmas season, I would hear words and music that still echo in my mind. A few lines of that song touched my heart with a yearning to be with family. I was living with my parents and my brothers in a happy home, so I knew somehow that the yearning I felt was for more than to be in a house or in the family life I then enjoyed. It was about some future place and life, even better than I knew or had yet imagined.
The line of the song that I remember best is “I’ll be home for Christmas / If only in my dreams.”1 The house in which I decorated Christmas trees with my mother and father in those happy days of my childhood still stands, largely unchanged. A few years ago I went back and knocked on the door. Strangers answered. They allowed me to step into the rooms where the radio had been and where our family had gathered around the Christmas tree.
I realized then that the desire of my heart was not about being in a house. It was about being with my family, and it was a desire to feel enveloped in the love and the Light of Christ, even more than our little family had felt in the home of my childhood.

Romans 8:16 says, “The Spirit itself beareth witness with our spirit, that we are the children of God.” The first time I remember feeling with all certainty that Heavenly Father knew me, loved me, and cared for me was when I entered the waters of baptism at age 15. Before then, I knew God existed and Jesus Christ was the Savior of the world. I believed in Them and loved Them, but I had never felt Their love and care for me, individually, until that day as I rejoiced in my opportunity to make baptismal covenants.

I realized what a great miracle it had been to have been found and taught by the missionaries, especially with only a handful of missionaries amongst two million people! I knew then that Heavenly Father knew me and loved me in such a special way that He guided the missionaries to my home.

Francisco spoke frankly of a sad journey and a sweet homecoming. “I was away from the Church for some time,” he said, “and I thought I was happy, but it wasn’t as it seemed. Within myself, I was asking questions over and over: ‘Why do you smoke? Why do you drink? Why do you do these things if you know they are harming you?’ I didn’t know why. I wasn’t spiritually happy. I wasn’t free. I was, as it were, sick. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to go about finding again the happiness that I had had previously. I wanted to go back to church, but shame kept me away for a time.
“One day I finally just got on my bicycle and started out for the church without further delay. I was determined to start going back no matter what. When I got there, it seemed as if everyone was waiting for me. As soon as they saw me, they became very happy and received me with open arms. It was as if I was in my own home. I found that this was truly where I belonged. I found again the happiness that I had been looking for. It was better than ever. Since then I have felt so joyful that right now I can still feel the Spirit I felt then, a very deep happiness. I was away from the Church for six months, six months without happiness.”

I remember loading up our children in a station wagon and driving to Los Angeles. There were at least nine of us in the car, and we would invariably get lost. Instead of getting angry, we laughed. Every time we made a wrong turn, we laughed harder.
Getting lost was not an unusual occurrence for us. Once while heading south to Cedar City, Utah, we took a wrong turn and didn’t realize it until two hours later when we saw the “Welcome to Nevada” signs. We didn’t get angry. We laughed, and as a result, anger and resentment rarely resulted. Our laughter created cherished memories for us.

On Easter weekend in 2004, when I lived in Utah, a very special person in my ward passed away. It was Sister Marjorie Hinckley, President Hinckley’s wife. My mom was asked to make a dessert to take to the family dinner after the funeral. We decided to make my two favorite cookie recipes. I wanted to help my mom make the cookies, so we worked hard. While we were making them, I had a wonderful, warm, happy feeling inside. It was the Spirit letting me know that what I was doing was right. My mom and I talked about how Jesus taught that when we serve others, we are really serving God.
The next morning we put all the cookies on a platter to take to the dinner. I put on my white shirt and tie to deliver the cookies. I hope they helped make the Hinckley family feel better.

Michael gazed at the tiny, soft bed of straw. “I am glad that baby Jesus will have a soft, warm bed for Christmas Eve,” he thought.
For the past week Michael had carefully tucked little pieces of straw into this tiny manger, one piece at a time. Michael thought that it just might be the best Christmas he ever had because now he was old enough to understand what Christmas was all about.
A week ago Mom had given a family home evening lesson about the true meaning of Christmas. She said that Jesus Christ was the greatest gift Heavenly Father gave to the world. Then she presented each child in the family with a small, empty manger and a tiny figure of the baby Jesus.
“For the next week you will each have a chance to give a present back to Heavenly Father,” Mom said.
“How can we do that?” Michael asked.
“Your gift to Heavenly Father will be to serve others,” she said. “Each time you do a good deed or help another person, you may add a piece of straw to your manger. The more kindness you show to others, the softer the manger will be on Christmas Eve.”
“I hope I can get more straw in my manger than anybody else!” Michael thought.
The next day Michael started working to collect straw.
“Mom, can I help you sweep the floor?” Michael asked, when he saw her cleaning the kitchen.
“I’ll help you find your teddy bear,” he told his little brother when he cried for his lost toy.
“I want to shovel some snow too,” he said when his dad went outside to shovel the driveway.
Within a few days Michael’s little manger looked very different. It was stuffed full of straw! But Michael noticed a change in himself too. He started to enjoy doing kind things for others because he knew it was what Heavenly Father wanted him to do. Sometimes he even forgot to add a piece of straw to the manger when he helped.
Michael decided that doing nice things made him feel good inside. On Christmas Eve, as he stood by the soft lights of the Christmas tree, Michael gently laid his tiny baby Jesus in the manger, which was now overflowing with straw.
Michael knew he had done the best he could to show his love for Heavenly Father and Jesus. This was the best Christmas ever.

I have just read a copy of the New Era, which our seminary teacher let me bring home. Never have I known God lived so much as when I finished reading some of the articles. And the Church is really great for giving us this help. My father and mother were formerly active in the Church and went to the temple, but they do not live as they did once. I showed them this magazine and my father said he’d pay half of the subscription rate. He even read some of the articles about things he likes. So I want to take the magazine as much for him and mother as for myself. As a result of reading some of your articles, I am really going to try to live better and to get my parents active again.
Name Withheld—a girl

On July 26, 1847, their third day in the valley (the second having been the Sabbath), Brigham Young, with members of the Twelve and some others, climbed a peak about one and a half miles from where I now stand. They thought it a good place to raise an ensign to the nations. Heber C. Kimball wore a yellow bandana. They tied it to Willard Richards’s walking stick and waved it aloft, an ensign to the nations. Brigham Young named it Ensign Peak.
Then they descended to their worn-out wagons, to the few things they had carried 2,000 miles, and to their travel-weary followers. It was not what they possessed that gave them strength but what they knew.
They knew they were Apostles of the Lord Jesus Christ. They knew that the priesthood had been delivered to them by angelic messengers. They knew they had the commandments and the covenants to offer opportunity for the eternal salvation and exaltation for all mankind. They were sure that the inspiration of the Holy Ghost attended them.
They busied themselves plowing up gardens, putting up shelters against the winter soon to come. They prepared for others already on the prairie following them to this new gathering place.
Those Brethren on Ensign Peak knew that they were to live ordinary lives and keep the image of Christ engraven in their countenances (see Alma 5:14).
We are as much a part of this work as were those men who untied that yellow bandana from Willard Richards’s walking stick and descended from Ensign Peak. That bandana, waved aloft, signaled the great gathering which had been prophesied in ancient and modern scriptures.

Two young women who are serving as missionaries with The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Fiji made a surprising discovery recently.
Lolene Tuiqali and Josephine St. John were recently assigned to be companions, where they would live and work together.
Not long after they began their missionary service as companions, Sister Tuiqali made a video call to her father. While talking together he recognized his daughter’s companion as the daughter of a man he had served with when he was a missionary in Fiji in 1987.
Lolene Tuiqali and Josephine St. John have been teaching people the restored gospel of Jesus Christ and giving community service as missionary companions in Fiji since February this year.
The young volunteers are currently serving in the Nadi area, not too far away from where their fathers were companions.
“We emailed our mission president that day and said, ‘Fun fact: our dads were companions in Fiji,’” said Sister Tuiqali.
“I was really happy, but my dad was even happier when he found out I would be serving with Sister Tuiqali,” said Sister St. John. “He gave me lots of advice about serving in that area of Fiji.”
“Sister Tuiqali and Sister St. John have been a blessing to the Fiji Suva Mission,” said Brad Markus, president of the Fiji Suva Mission.
“The fact that they are companions is a testament that Heavenly Father is mindful in every detail of our lives. It’s gratifying to know our Father in Heaven provided an opportunity for the fathers to be companions and then 34 years later blessed them again by allowing their daughters to serve as missionary companions.”
The two sister missionaries have been able to meet many of the same people that their fathers served on their mission, and many people have shared stories with them about their fathers.
“I wanted to experience the same things that my dad always told me about his mission,” said Sister St. John. “When I found out I was going to be serving in Fiji, it really boosted my eagerness in serving.”
They also explained that before they were companions, their fathers kept in touch a little bit, but since they’ve been companions, the fathers talk every week.
“It’s been fun seeing the miracles,” said Sister Tuiqali. “They are not the exact same miracles that our fathers experienced, but miracles of our own. It has been very good for both of us, especially as companions.”
Due to COVID-19 restrictions in Fiji, missionaries have needed to be creative in finding ways to reach those around them. Many have been able to find and teach people online. Sister St. John explained that her understanding of technology has increased as she has learned to use it during her mission.
Sister Tuiqali has been serving as a missionary for over six months, and her most recent assignment has been training Sister St. John, who began her service in February.

My dad had joined the Church in Utah in December 1991. When he came back to Nigeria, we went to church for the first time. I got baptized in January 1992 when I was nine years old. When I was 14, the prophet, President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008), came to Nigeria at Port Harcourt. My family drove from Owerri to Port Harcourt. When we were driving back, the airport is along the Owerri road, we saw the prophet’s car. We told my father “Follow him”.
So, we followed the prophet to the airport. At the airport, they told the prophet some members had come to say goodbye. Nobody told us to come. We were just lucky to see the prophet on the way. While the prophet was shaking all our hands, he shook my hand and held my it and said, “Will you go on a mission?”
I said “Yes”.
The prophet said, “If you go on a mission, the Lord will bless you and your family.”
I was 14 years then and had not entered university. I got my first degree before going on a mission. I entered university life in Nigeria. University life was different and influenced me. Then the miracles began. After you get your degree, you are required to do a year of national youth service. When I was called to do my national service, I was called to Lagos. Normally, a lot of people pay money in bribes to the government to go to Lagos, but I didn’t pay anything. While I was in Lagos, I had a mighty change of heart and I prepared to go on a mission. From Lagos I was sent to Accra as a missionary. I met my wife and came back to Accra after my mission, and we got married in 2010.
I am from Nigeria; but I live in Ghana. In January 2023, I went to my village to participate in the presidential election. The Church is not there. One day a man and a woman came to visit me at my house. I am married to a Ghanaian, and they wanted to talk to me. While visiting with them, what came into my mind was the question, “what can I do for this family?” I felt like the best gift I could give this family was the gospel. I asked them if I could come to their home on Tuesday to teach them. As I was teaching them, they were responding positively. I focused on family and taught them the importance of family first. I then went to the house next door to teach their neighbors. I did not even start with my kindred. My kindred came to me later and were upset. They said to me, “how can you start a church and not even tell us?”
It was not my plan to do missionary work when I was there. I took my scriptures, but I did not even take a white shirt and tie.
As I was going around teaching the people of the village, there was a man who was baptized in 1982. He joined the Church in Lagos but when he came back to the village, the Church was not there. He became a pastor and used the Church’s Bible Dictionary and Topical Guide to teach. The people there thought he was a brilliant pastor. They didn’t know where he was getting his information from. Because he was technically a member, I focused on teaching his wife and daughter. The whole family got baptized. I was using my own money to hire a van to go to church in Umuahia, which was the closest place. The bishop and stake president were happy to receive us. My father even came from the city to the village to go to church with us.
I told my elder brother, who is a stake president in Owerri, what was going on. He said we fell under the Nigeria Enugu Mission. Eventually, we got permission to worship in my village. We decided to use my grandfather’s house to hold church in. My grandfather has passed away. When he was alive, white missionaries came to him and he said he would support the Church, this was back in the 90’s.
The people helped me move all the property and clean the house. The people cleaned the house as if they were members, but they were not yet baptized. The missionaries came and on the first Sunday, we had about 19 baptisms and later more, for a total of 39 baptisms. The stake president has applied for us to become a branch. My father came and bore his testimony and said he never thought the Church would be in his village.
The group still worships in my grandfather’s house. From my village, we now have two high councilmen called. There is someone enrolled in BYU Pathways. The Church is growing, and it makes me happy.

Timothy heard the THUMP! BANG! CLANG! of his dad’s tools come to a stop.
“I don’t think I’ll ever finish this room,” Dad told Mother. “I’ll have to stop and go home teaching this evening, and there’s still so much to do!”
“It’ll all get done, eventually,” Mother said encouragingly.
“You’re right, dear. I just wish I had more time,” Timothy heard his dad say before the banging, thumping, and clanging began again.
Five-year-old Timothy knew how he could help his dad: He’d do the home teaching! He’d gone with his dad and Brother Chun twice before, and he knew just what to do.
Timothy ran to his room and got his Scripture Stories. In the kitchen he grabbed the sack of oranges Grandma had brought him the day before. Next, he wet his hair down with water and carefully brushed it into place. Then he put on his best blue sweater. “I’m going for a walk,” he called to his mother.
“Don’t be too long,” she said.
“I won’t.” Timothy skipped down the sidewalk. First he went to Sister Back’s house. She lived right next door. He climbed the three steps to her porch and knocked on the door.
“Hello, Timothy,” Sister Back said as she greeted him with a pleasant smile.
“Hi,” Timothy said. “My dad’s real busy today, so I thought I’d help him. I’m here to do his home teaching.”
“My, my,” said Sister Back. “How very nice of you. Come in.”
Timothy sat in the green-flowered rocking chair. He put the sack on the floor and opened his Scripture Stories.
“I thought today we’d talk about Daniel,” Timothy began.
“That’s one of my favorite stories,” Sister Back told him.
“It’s one of mine, too,” Timothy said. Then he told Sister Back all about Daniel in the lion’s den and about how important it is to pray even if kings say you can’t.
“That’s a good thing to remember,” Sister Back said.
“Now,” Timothy asked, “is there anything I can do for you?”
“No-o-o,” Sister Back started to answer, then stopped. “Oh, yes, there is!” she exclaimed. “I dropped my purse behind the couch. I can’t reach it, and the couch is too heavy for me to move.”
Timothy smiled. “I can get if for you,” he said and quickly crawled behind the couch and pulled out the bag.
“Thank you, Timothy,” Sister Back said, her blue eyes twinkling. “I was wondering how I’d ever get it out from there. Now how about helping me eat some chocolate chip cookies.”
Timothy smiled. “I can do that too!”
“Good.” Sister Back gave Timothy a hug and got the cookies and two glasses of milk.
Before he left, Timothy and Sister Back prayed together, and Timothy gave her three oranges from his sack. “If you need anything else, you can call my dad or me, all right?” Timothy told her as he went down the steps.
“I sure will. Thank you for coming,” Sister Back called.
Next, Timothy went to Brother Lelac’s. He was planting violets in his greenhouse. While they talked about Daniel, Timothy helped him fill pots with rich brown soil. Then Timothy went to Sister Harper’s. She had a cold and wasn’t feeling very well. Timothy gave her three oranges and told her they would make her feel better.
When Timothy got home, the smile on his face stretched from ear to ear—but it wasn’t nearly as big as the smile he felt inside. Mother was just getting dinner started, and Dad was still banging and thumping and clanging in the new room.
“Did you have a good walk?” Mother asked.
“Yes,” Timothy answered, his smile twinkling happily in his eyes. “And I helped Dad.”
“How did you do that?” Mother asked.
“I did his home teaching. I visited Sister Back, Brother Lelac, and Sister Harper. They’re all doing fine, except Sister Harper. She has a little cold, so I told her I’d visit her again tomorrow. I taught them all about Daniel and prayer and gave each of them three of my oranges.”
Timothy’s mother smiled. “That was nice of you! But I’m sure your dad and Brother Chun will want to check on Sister Harper and the others tonight. It’s really their priesthood responsibility. When you grow up, you’ll probably be a home teacher too.”
Timothy smiled back. “I can’t wait until I can go home teaching all the time,” he said. “It’s fun!”

Ann had spent months crocheting, undoing, and crocheting again. She had wanted the yellow booties to be perfect.
More than once she had thrown them aside. Mama had always picked them up and encouraged her to start again. “A few puckers won’t matter,” Mama had said.
Ann sighed. If she had known that the baby would be a girl, she would have chosen pink. But Mama had said, “Yellow is a pretty color, nice for either a boy or a girl.”
A car pulling into the driveway interrupted Ann’s thoughts. She rushed to the door to see if it was Dad bringing Mama and the new baby home from the hospital. It was! Ann ran out to the car. She tried to hug Mama, only to be told to be careful of the new baby.
The baby’s blanket was pink. Pink for a girl, of course. Ann wished again that she hadn’t chosen yellow. The blanket loosened, and a pink sleeper showed. The baby would never wear the yellow booties!
“Here, let me take her,” Dad said, reaching for the baby. Then he helped Mama from the car.
They made a big fuss over the baby as they went up the walk. Dad worried that the blanket was too tight. Mama laughed at her cute button nose. Ann felt ignored as she tagged along behind them.
In the house, Mama sat down with the baby. “Come meet your new sister,” she said to Ann, moving the pink blanket from the baby’s face.
Ann looked at the baby.
“Isn’t she beautiful?” Mama asked, fingering a tiny hand.
“She’s pretty,” Ann said in a low voice. But she really thought that the baby looked red and wrinkled like an old apple she had once found in the back of the fridge.
The doorbell rang. Grandma and Grandpa gave Ann only hurried hugs. They had presents for the baby. Grandma held up a dainty pink dress.
“And look at these,” said Grandpa. “I chose them myself.” He took the lid off a box and showed a pair of tiny pink satin slippers.
Ann wished again that she hadn’t made the yellow booties. She could have bought beautiful satin slippers for less than the yarn had cost. She thought of the booties, puckered and ugly, on her dresser.
Friends and neighbors came. Aunts and uncles and cousins dropped by. Everybody brought presents. There were little shoes and lovely dresses in an array of pink, lavender, and blue. But Ann didn’t see one yellow dress.
Maybe I should throw the yellow booties away, Ann thought. They don’t go with anything, and nobody will miss them. She went to her room. The booties weren’t on her dresser, where she was sure that she had left them. Everything in the room looked wavy through the tears in her eyes. She wiped her wet cheeks.
Grandma came in and declared, “Here you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Your mama wants to see you in her bedroom.”
Ann went to see what Mama wanted. The baby was kicking on the bed. She was wearing slightly puckered yellow booties.
“She’s wearing my booties!”
“Of course she is,” said Mama. “I thought she should wear them home from the hospital. They’re her most precious gift—handmade with love by her big sister!”
Ann really looked at her new sister for the first time. How could she have thought the baby was wrinkled like a forgotten apple in the fridge? Her skin was as pink and soft as a new apple blossom!
“Dear, would you go with Dad to the store tomorrow and choose a beautiful yellow dress to match the booties?” Mama asked. “She needs something special to be blessed in.”
Something special to be blessed in, Ann thought to herself. And yellow, to go with her yellow booties. A big smile covered her face as she watched the baby give a last sleepy kick. The yellow booties do look nice.
“Yellow is going to be her best color,” Mama said. “You could even buy a little yellow bow for her hair. Would you like that?”
“I’d love that,” Ann said.

At about age 10, I experienced that warm feeling again when I went to stake conference with my parents. An Apostle, Elder Matthew Cowley, was the visiting speaker. He was well known for being a man of faith and miracles—he served a five-year mission to New Zealand starting when he was only 17! As he spoke, I knew for myself that he was a servant of our Heavenly Father. After the meeting, I asked my parents if I could shake his hand. We stood in line for a long time because many other people felt as I did, that Elder Cowley was a very special man. When I finally had the opportunity to shake his hand, I began to cry. I cried all the way home. As a young lad, I was very self-conscious about crying for no apparent reason. My mother explained to me that the feelings I had were a sign of the Spirit confirming that Elder Cowley was a special witness of the Savior. I often experience those same feelings when I shake hands with the Brethren whom we sustain as prophets, seers, and revelators today.

Nearby, at the home of a Polish family named Slovik, Miklaus, or Mike, as his friends call him, helps to scatter clean straw to remind the family of the manger where Christ was born. Straw is everywhere—on the floor, under the white cloth on the table, even in the children’s beds!
Mike keeps peering out the window anxiously, for only when the first star appears may the family sit down to eat their Christmas Eve feast. His mouth waters as he thinks of the twelve-course dinner to come—one course for each Apostle.
After supper the Wise Men will bring gifts, which are sent to them by the stars. At midnight the Sloviks will attend church.
“The star! The star!” Mike shouts at last. As he sits down at the family table, he glances at the extra place that is always set for the Christ Child. Could His spirit really be here this holy night? he wonders.
As we leave the Sloviks and visit the Halversson family, who have recently arrived from Sweden, dusk is gathering. Helga helps to light a candle in each window, an important ceremony in her family. The traditional Swedish Christmas season lasts for a whole month, and Helga and her mother have been busy making cookies, breads, candles, and straw ornaments.
As she helps herself to the different dishes of the smorgasbord, Helga thinks about their farm in Sweden. All the animals there were given extra food on Christmas Eve, and a bowl of rice pudding was always left in the loft for Jultomten, the mischievous elf who guards one’s home. After Jultomten ate his pudding, he would leave gifts for Helga and her family. Tonight Helga will leave Jultomten’s pudding on the table.
In the small room of the Murphys, who immigrated from Ireland, a bright wreath of holly with its shining leaves and red berries makes the walls look cheery. Colleen and her sister, Mary, help set the table, even though they have just finished their dinner. They place a loaf of bread and a pitcher of milk on the clean table, along with a large candle.
The girls’ grandmother smiles at them. “Since you have been blessed with the name Mary, you may light the candle, my dear,” she says. There is a deep hush as Mary solemnly lights the candle.
Colleen, who feels a bit left out for a moment, runs to the door to make sure that it is unlatched. The Christ Child, or any lonely wanderer, might see the Murphys’ lighted candle and know that He/he is welcome in their home for food and friendship.

Some time ago I read the following Associated Press dispatch, which appeared in the newspaper. An elderly man disclosed at the funeral of his brother, with whom he had shared, from early manhood, a small, one-room cabin near Canisteo, New York, that following a quarrel, they had divided the room in half with a chalk line and neither had crossed the line or spoken a word to the other since that day—62 years before. What a powerful and destructive hidden wedge.