Worse than that? It was way too small. Dan would never be able to run faster than the wind, faster than lightning, even faster than a superhero before he reached the back fence.

Mom took her hands off the steering wheel and looked over her shoulder at Dan. “Your sister’s almost at the slide. Don’t you want to go with her?”

Dan squirmed within his seat belt. “Not really.”

“Are you sure? Your dad and I used to love to play here when we were kids,” Mom said.

Dan slipped his hand into his pants pocket and squeezed the hard, gold medal.   “Fastest Boy in Mrs. Peabody’s Class,” it said. He’d won it last month before school ended.

“I’m sure,” he said.

Mom sighed, opened her car door, and stepped outside.

Dan watched her through the window. Any minute now, she would call Page back, and the three of them would return to the house where Grandpa lived before he disappeared. It was the same house he and his family now lived in.

Mom glanced down at Dan. “You’ll like it here,” she said.

“No I won’t,” Dan said.

Mom cocked her head to one side. She smiled the way she did when she hid a Christmas or birthday present behind her back. “Try the swings first, Page,” she called to Dan’s sister. “They’re amazing.”

Page turned and waved.

Dan undid his seatbelt. He opened his door. “What’s so amazing about the swings?”

Mom smiled her secret smile again. “You’ll have to find that out for yourself.”

“Oh, all right.” Dan climbed out of the car.

“Race ya, Dan!” Page called. She started running.

Dan ran too. Within seconds, he zipped past Page and jumped onto the first tree swing.

“Take care of your little sister,” Mom called.

Why? They weren’t going anywhere. “All right,” Dan called back. He then pushed his air-light sneakers into the sky.

Page jumped onto the tree swing next to his. She kicked off her sandals.

“Look! I’m higher than the other trees!” Dan said.

“So am I,” Page said.

“Now I’m higher than the Rocky Mountains.” Dan pumped his swing higher, but when it also went faster, he gritted his teeth. He clenched the swing chains.

“What’s happening?” Page yelled.

“We’ve got to jump off these swings!” Dan said. Then he jumped.

Clouds whisked past him. Wind whooshed like the inside of a hollow tunnel. The playground . . . then Mom . . .   disappeared.

THE HIDDEN KINGDOM

Dan landed on his stomach with his face pressed flat against the ground.

“Are you all right?” Page whispered.

Dan moaned. He wanted to say, “I don’t know. Are you?” But his mouth was full of dirt.

“I think so,” Page said. “Nothing hurts.”

That’s weird! Dan thought.

“What is?”

Dan spit out the dirt. “Page?” he thought again. “Are you moving your mouth when you talk?”

“No,” Page answered. “Are you?”

“No. All I do is think the words and you hear them.”

“Same with me. Cool, huh?”

“Cool. And strange. Have you opened your eyes yet?”

“Nope. I’m afraid to look. When we jumped, I couldn’t see the playground anymore.”

“Me neither,” Dan said. “Let’s both open our eyes at the same time. Okay?”

“Okay. On the count of three. One . . .”

“Two. . .”

“Three,” they said together. Both opened their eyes.

“Where are we?” Page said.

Right in front of them, Dan saw a tall, rocky mountain. It went straight toward the sky.

“I don’t know,” he answered. “Mom said we would be surprised. Do you think this is what she was talking about?”

“Maybe.” Page frowned.

“Your voice is wobbling,” Dan said. “Are you all right?”

“I feel like I did the first day I went to Kindergarten.”

That’s how Dan felt too—all scared inside—but he didn’t want his sister to know. He wanted her to think he was brave. So he looked over his shoulder away from her.

“AAAAAAAH!” Page screamed. “We’re on the edge of a mountain!”

“Don’t look down!” Dan grabbed her hand. “We’ll be all right. Let’s climb away from here.”

Inch after inch, Dan and Page climbed up the face of the rocky mountain until it flattened into a large, green field. The grass was sprinkled with tiny gold and purple flowers.

They crawled a few more feet into the field then stood. Safe again.

Page squeezed Dan’s hand tighter. “Are we still in the Rocky Mountains?”

Dan looked around him. He saw a circle of sharp, jagged mountains with a valley in the middle. The mountains were covered in thick, moss-like grass and lots of tall, bushy trees.

Some of the trees were dark green. Some were deep red. And some were bright gold. A shimmering castle stood on top of the tallest mountain on the other side of the valley.

“I don’t know where we are,” Dan said.

“You are in the Hidden Kingdom,” said a gravelly voice.

A number of years ago, my husband and I had a difficult time getting along with one of our neighbors. Not even quick fixes, like cookies at the door, seemed to solve our grievances (although the cookies didn’t hurt J). To make matters more difficult, we were in the same ward, and the wife and I were serving in the same organization. Needless to say, we frequently felt offended and angry with one another.

Eventually, our bishop called my husband and me in to talk with him about the situation. After listening to our side of the story, we discussed possible solutions, including “cookies-at-the-door,” but ultimately, he said something like, “Read the scriptures, and when you find your answer, tell me about it.”

Several weeks later, I found my answer in Doctrine and Covenants 38:27, “I say unto you, be one; and if ye are not one ye are not mine.”

Prior to this, I knew I needed to turn the other cheek and love my “enemies”—Isn’t that what the cookies were all about?—but when I read that scripture I realized I had to do more than try to show love; I had to become united with my neighbors or I wouldn’t belong to Christ. That knowledge stung. Worse, how could I accomplish it?

Although I’m still working on becoming “one” with others, over the ensuing years, I’ve come to know that being offended has nothing to do with the offense or the person who committed that offense. Instead, it has everything to do with ourselves and how we handle the situation. I’ve also learned there are four truths—albeit personal assessments—I’ve had to make on my continuing journey to become one with Christ.

1)    1) Am I choosing to not be offended?In a recent conference address, Elder Bednar stated: “To be offended is a choice we make; it is not a condition inflicted or imposed upon us by someone or something else.

"In the grand division of all of God’s creations, there are things to act and things to be acted upon (see 2 Nephi 2:13-14). As sons and daughters of our Heavenly Father, we have been blessed with the gift of moral agency, the capacity for independent action and choice. . . To believe that someone or something can make us feel offended, angry, hurt, or bitter diminishes our moral agency and transforms us into objects to be acted upon. As agents, however, you and I have the power to act and to choose how we will respond to an offensive or hurtful situation.”

 2)      Is my testimony based on Jesus Christ, the Book of Mormon, and His church—the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints—or on some other thing or person?If it is, then I must keep these truths from 3 Nephi in mind: “For verily, verily I say unto you, he that hath the spirit of contention is not of me, but is of the devil, who is the father of contention, and he stirreth up the hearts of men to contend with anger, one with another.

“Behold, this is not my doctrine, to stir up the hearts of men with anger, one against another; but this is my doctrine, that such things should be done away.

“By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another.”

3)      Am I striving to become like Christ?Again, from Elder Bednar: “The Savior is the greatest example of how we should respond to potentially offensive events or situations.

“ And the world, because of their iniquity, shall judge him to be a thing of naught; wherefore they scourge him, and he suffereth it; and they smite him, and he suffereth it. Yea, they spit upon him, and he suffereth it, because of his loving kindness and his long-suffering towards the children of men” (1 Nephi 19:9).

4)   4)  Do I fully trust Christ? While sometimes I might forget I know I can trust Christ, the truth is, I do know that I can. A few years after the event I mentioned at the beginning of this article, my family and I faced another, even more difficult challenge which involved lawsuits, large monetary loss, and great fear and distrust. After several years of trying to resolve the issue, I felt very angry and bitter. I knew these feelings were wrong, and yet no matter how hard I tried to get over them, I couldn’t do it.

One day, as I was folding laundry and feeling overwhelmingly upset, I prayed, “Heavenly Father, please help me! I can’t do this on my own.” Suddenly, just as the people of Alma had their burdens lightened so they could not feel them (Mosiah 24:14), I, literally, could no longer feel the burden of my anger and bitterness. I then knew the Lord was carrying that burden for me while I worked through my feelings. Christ does visit us in our afflictions.

A final note. I believe life is a laboratory, where each person has the opportunity to become more like Christ. Because of, or perhaps in spite of, that fact, we often find our own wills and weaknesses at odds with the wills and weaknesses of others. While such experiences may hurt us, they also provide the challenging friction that adds to our refiner’s fire and offers the double-edged opportunity to be saviors ourselves. I mean, through what other experiences can we better develop love and forgiveness for “enemies” who are, in fact, our beloved brothers and sisters—people we once, desperately, wanted to bring back home?

When I was a child, Christmas Eve was a magical night of lying in bed and rapidly kicking my legs and feet between my sheets because I couldn’t contain my excitement; morning held the promise of long awaited dreams coming true. One particular year, I imagined the large box under the tree, addressed only to me, would be something expensive and wondrous, something like an elaborate dollhouse.

But as sometimes happens on Christmas morning, when I opened the box, instead of a dollhouse, I found a children’s novel buried under wadded newspaper. Although disappointed, I accepted the gift and read the book. It wasn’t until years later that I, with older and somewhat wiser eyes, realized the book was actually the better gift. As a child, had I played with dolls? Not much. Did I read books? Yes. The novel, though not what I’d thought I’d wanted, turned out to be the better gift.

Now, Christmas means so much more to me than temporal gifts. Besides being a time of giving, it’s also a time of gratitude for answered prayers and a time of rejoicing in God’s never-ending love and involvement in our lives. Actually, Christmas is becoming more like Thanksgiving to me, in that I enjoy the traditions that go along with the holiday, but like giving thanks for blessings, the deep and lasting, Eternal impressions that fill my heart and lift my sights closer to heaven are gifts that are always with me. I believe cherishing these spiritual witnesses is the real secret to keeping Christmas in my heart all year long.

However, just as that long ago holiday brought me disappointment, Heavenly Father’s gift of life to us also brings tribulations and heartache. Years ago, my husband and I faced an enemy—a hardship—from which we couldn’t walk away nor eliminate. We dealt with it as best we could, relying on the Lord for help, but we still couldn’t find relief. Eventually, I felt very bitter against “the enemy,” and though I knew I had to forgive, I couldn’t seem to find a way out of that bitterness. Finally, one day as I was folding laundry and feeling overwhelmed by my emotions, I prayed, “Please help me, Heavenly Father. I can’t do this on my own.” Instantly, my burden was gone. Literally. I knew the bitterness and the associated problems were still there somewhere, but I couldn’t feel them, and I knew then as I do now that the Lord had taken my burden for me and carried it as I struggled through the situation. This experience happened to me during the summer, but my joy and amazement felt like Christmas.

That is why this Christmas I’ve chosen to share with you a few gifts of comfort that only Christ can give during some of this life’s greatest trials. I don’t know whether or not I’ve chosen the right quotes that will lift you in your circumstances, but if I haven’t, please know the answers—the peace—you seek is out there and can be found through the mouths of our prophets and the whisperings of His Spirit to your soul. I know this to be true. Merry Christmas.

Suicide:

“I feel that judgment for sin is not always as cut-and-dried as some of us seem to think. The Lord said, ‘Thou shalt not kill.’ Does that mean that every person who kills will be condemned, no matter the circumstances? I feel the Lord recognized differences in intent and circumstances: Was the person who took his life mentally ill? Was he or she so deeply depressed as to be unbalanced or otherwise emotionally disturbed? Was the suicide a tragic, pitiful call for help that went unheeded too long or progressed faster than the victim intended? Did he or she somehow not understand the seriousness of the act? Was he or she suffering from a chemical imbalance in their system that led to despair and a loss of self-control?

“Obviously, we do not know the full circumstances surrounding every suicide. Only the Lord knows all the details, and he it is who will judge our actions here on earth.” (Russell M. Ballard ) 

And . . .

“we have our ‘second estate,’ which is the mortality we are now experiencing and our sojourn in the spirit world following death (italics added,Pres. Marion G. Romney )

Victims of Abuse:

If you struggle with abuse, you may want to read this article in its entirety.  Here’s a snippet:

“Satan uses your abuse to undermine your self-confidence, destroy trust in authority, create fear, and generate feelings of despair. Abuse can damage your ability to form healthy human relationships. You must have faith that all of these negative consequences can be resolved; otherwise they will keep you from full recovery. While these outcomes have powerful influence in your life, they do not define the real you. ” (Richard G. Scott)

To Those With Heavy Burdens:

You who may be momentarily disheartened, remember, life is not meant to be easy. Trials must be borne and grief endured along the way. As you remember that “with God nothing shall be impossible” (Luke 1:37), know that He is your Father. You are a son or daughter created in His image, entitled through your worthiness to receive revelation to help with your righteous endeavors. You may take upon you the holy name of the Lord. You can qualify to speak in the sacred name of God (see D&C 1:20). It matters not that giants of tribulation torment you. Your prayerful access to help is just as real as when David battled his Goliath (see 1 Sam. 17). . . “For with God all things are possible” (Mark 10:27)— Russell M. Nelson

“These are the reasons for the continual trials with which we are all faced. We need these experiences so that we might draw closer to the Lord and learn to depend on him for everything.” –Bishop H. Burke Peterson   

“The fullness of the gospel of Jesus Christ brings great comfort in stressing times of mortality. It brings light where there is darkness and a calming influence where there is turmoil. It gives eternal hope where there is mortal despair. It is more than just beautiful doctrine. It is a reality in our lives that if we can be obedient and obtain the eternal rewards that God grants us, if we will draw nigh unto Him and embrace the eternal doctrine, we will be blessed.” Robert D. Hales  

In preparation for this year’s holiday season, I experimented with what I called “The 12 days of Thanksgiving.” For twelve consecutive days (I actually went 15), I kept track of any “extra” blessings that came that day or “things” for which I felt especially or unusually grateful. The results amazed me. Every single day, I received answers to prayers, or "saw" amazing-to-me blessings.And you know what? As soon as I recognized them, I felt gratitude.

While these statements about gratitude are correct, through further study, I’ve come to see that not only is there a slight difference between the meanings of “Thanksgiving” and “gratitude,” but there is also an increased power that comes from combining the two.

The dictionary defines gratitude as a “feeling” of thanks and thanksgiving as an “act” of thanks, such as through prayer, acknowledgement, or praise. A feeling versus an action. Hmmm. To me, that sounds very much like sorrow for sins versus confessing and forsaking those sins, or even more profoundly, Nephi’s faithful “I know” compared with “I will go and do." Each, like the joining of gratitude and thanksgiving, are spiritual laws where obeying the individual commandments increases righteousness, but obeying its companion at the same time opens the windows of heaven.

One of the greatest scriptural examples of this principal is contained in the book of Luke:

 “And as he entered into a certain village, there met him ten men that were lepers, which stood afar off:

“And they lifted up their voices, and said, Jesus, Master, have mercy on us.

“And when he saw them, he said unto them, Go shew yourselves unto the priests. And it came to pass, that, as they went, they were cleansed.

“And one of them, when he saw that he was healed, turned back, and with a loud voice glorified God,
"And fell down on his face at his feet, giving him thanks and he was a Samaritan.

“And Jesus answering said, Were there not ten cleansed? but where are the nine?

“There are not found that returned to give glory to God, save this stranger.

“And he said unto him, Arise, go thy way: thy faith hath made thee whole.”

In this Biblical account, ten deathly ill men obeyed the Lord and were healed from their disease. It is reasonable to me that each must have felt some measure of happiness, wonder, and perhaps even gratitude for the relieving of their suffering, but only one—the one who returned and physically thanked the Lord for His merciful gift—received the greater blessing.

Elder Merrill J. Bateman  said, “As part of the great miracle of the Atonement and the Savior’s power to mend broken hearts, to heal from within, the parable of the ten lepers takes on new meaning. Luke describes Jesus meeting ten lepers. Upon seeing the Savior, they cried, “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us.” Jesus responded, “Go shew yourselves unto the priests.” As they went their way, they were cleansed. One returned, fell on his face at the Master’s feet, and gave thanks. Jesus said, “Were there not ten cleansed? but where are the nine?” And then the Lord said to the one who returned, “Arise, go thy way: thy faith hath made thee whole” (see Luke 17:12–19). In becoming a whole person, the grateful leper was healed inside as well as on the outside. That day nine lepers were healed skin deep, but only one had the faith to be made whole. The tenth leper was changed eternally by his faith in the Savior and the healing power of His Atonement.”

Modern scripture also reiterates this truth: “And he who receiveth all things with thankfulness shall be made glorious; and the things of this earth shall be added unto him, even an hundred fold, yea, more (D&C 78:19).”

After studying this principal, I began to wonder. During my 12 Days of Thanksgiving, did I allow heaven’s greater blessings to come into my life as well as perhaps bless the lives of others by immediately expressing thanks when I recognized them? In some instances, I’m sure I did, but in all cases? I don’t know. I simply can’t remember. But what I do know is now—right now—I have some thanking, some praising, and definitely some praying to do. For I am grateful.

My family lives on a small farm. We raise hay, cows and goats, but we also try to raise a garden. I say try because over the years I’ve learned that animals and gardens don’t necessarily mix. Take my strawberry “patch” for instance. Strawberries are among my favorite fruits, so every year I try to grow them. Before we became farmers, I was successful at growing them, but when adversity—i.e., goats—entered my life, I discovered that they, too, like to eat strawberries. Not a good thing.

Because goats are so prone to finding ways out of their pens and then making a beeline for the garden, every year for the past several years, I’ve tried to outsmart them by planting new strawberry plants in hidden or remote areas of our yard. But without fail, and no matter how hard we try to maintain their pens, the animals manage to break out, find my strawberries, and eat them either before or just after the plants have begun to bear fruit. Two years ago I finally, dejectedly, gave up my quest to grow strawberries.  

And then a new spring arrived. While I was weeding the flower garden and preparing it for a new year, I found a single strawberry plant growing amid the other perennials. I was SOOO excited. It had survived not only the goats but also my neglect because I hadn’t known it was there.

At first, I considered digging it up and moving it, yet again, to a new location, but I eventually decided to leave it where it was. I also told my husband about it, and he, knowing the struggles I’d had, directly put up a metal panel fence around the flower bed. I wasn’t sure it would be enough protection, but I hoped, and nourished, watched. After a few months, it began to bear a few berries. I thought they were among the most delicious berries I’d tasted, but before the season had ended . . , yup! You guessed it. The goats escaped, went straight for the flower garden, and ripped the top right off the strawberry plant.

Again summer, fall, and winter passed into a new spring—this spring—and I began to prepare the flower garden for the coming season. To my delight, I found not only one living strawberry plant, but FIVE! Strawberries are prolific, and such growth is not uncommon, but after all the adversity I’d had with them, I felt they were the most wonderful plants in the world.

One righteous person has the same thriving, fruit-bearing power. Over the course of time, the world has faced innumerable hardships and conflicts, but in spite of them, righteous men and women have stepped forward and changed the course of man’s downward spiral. While the scriptures overflow with powerful examples of such people, like David fighting Goliath, Esther saving the Jews, and Captain Moroni raising his coat of freedom and leading others against a wicked king, these righteous people are not the only ones who’ve stood—or now stand—for righteousness and make a difference in this struggling world.

In fact, if we are watching, we’ll see that in spite of the world’s growing degradation and perniciousness, modern LDS youth and adults have increased their devotion to temple attendance, scripture study, and kindness. In the July, 1985 Ensign, Gail Argetsinger, costume director for the Manti pageant, saw the results of a good man living his religion:

When I decided to make the armor for the pageant’s “Moroni and the Title of Liberty” scene out of leather, I visited several dealers in New York City. One place, in a rough section of Manhattan, had exactly what I was looking for.

The store was run by a blunt but friendly man who introduced himself as “Sam.” My husband, Jerry, and I explained what we were looking for and that we represented the Hill Cumorah Pageant, sponsored by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Sam lit up like a candle. “The Mormons! Well, come right in, make yourselves at home.”

Jerry and I looked at each other. Usually our introduction drew no response except, “So? You got cash?” This leather dealer was actually glad to see us!

He gave us advice on selecting hides and how to cut them to best advantage. Then, as we worked, Sam began to talk about his experience with Latter-day Saints.

When he had joined the United States Air Force at the outbreak of World War II, his basic training had been at Hill Air Force Base in Utah. It was his first time out of New York City. Like many good Jewish boys, he had been raised in fear of the gentiles. He had never seen a Latter-day Saint. But as he got to know the many LDS airmen in his group, he learned to love them. “I don’t believe I’ve ever been treated better by anyone,” he said. “But the reason I’ll always love the Mormons is for something that happened later in the war.”

In 1942 Sam was flying bombing missions over North Africa. His commanding officer, Major Hawkins, was a Latter-day Saint from Salt Lake City.

As Passover approached, Sam and the other Jews in camp discussed how they would celebrate it under combat conditions. To start with, there was no unleavened bread. They thought they would have to use soda crackers.

On the night before the Passover celebration, when Major Hawkins returned from a combat mission about midnight, he went to Sam’s tent and awakened him. “Sam,” he whispered, “I just heard you boys have no unleavened bread for Passover.”

“That’s right,” Sam told him.

“Well, come on,” said the major, pulling Sam to his feet. “There’s still time. I’ll fly you to Tel Aviv to get some.” So Sam and the major squeezed piggyback into the cockpit of a small plane and flew all the way to Palestine.

“I still can’t believe it,” Sam told us. “I asked myself what kind of a man would understand the importance of our sacred rituals. This was the middle of a war, and we didn’t exactly own the skies at that point. He risked his life to get us that unleavened bread. The Mormons are something special, all right!”

Sam gave us a good price break on the leather. And it was all because forty years before a righteous man had lived the teachings of the gospel.

When we went back to his store the next year, Sam was unable to give us the same price break on his leather. I told him it was quite all right. We greatly appreciated his generosity the first time, but to expect such a deal the second time would be taking advantage of him. We expected to pay a fair price.

He smiled. “A Mormon would understand that.” Then he told us the whole story of his war experience again. “The Latter-day Saints are something special,” he kept repeating. “I really love them.”

Thank you, Major Hawkins, wherever you are!

I agree. Thank you to Major Hawkins and to everyone else who lives the principles of the gospel. Like a strawberry plant, righteousness has the power to spread and grow good fruit that leads ourselves, our families, and our nations back to Christ. I mean, remember Joseph from the Old Testament? After being sold into slavery, taken far from his family, and imprisoned through false accusations, his faithful obedience eventually spread so far and bore enough good fruit that he saved himself, his family, and his people from starvation. Not only that, but he also restored peace and goodness to his family. Isn’t that what we all want?

The October General Conference marks the beginning of a beloved time of year. With Thanksgiving reunions just around the corner, Christmas surprises close on its heels, and inspired words from our prophet ringing through our hearts, we can’t help but rejoice. And that rejoicing is only increased when we add music to our celebrations.

Consider the Christmas season. Each year, we observe through sacred words, nativities, and gift-giving the birth of our Savior, Jesus Christ. However, some of my most memorable celebrations have come through my participation in music. For example, each year when I hear “Silent Night” on Christmas Eve or sing the words “yet in my flesh shall I see God” from Handel’s “Messiah,” I inwardly rejoice.

Special commemorations are not the only ways we can celebrate our faith. According to the dictionary, to celebrate also means to proclaim widely and favorably, so when we bear our testimonies in Sacrament Meetings or express our gratitude to God around our Thanksgiving tables, we are, in fact, celebrating our faith. But if we combine those proclamations with music, our rejoicing becomes even more profound. For example, if it wasn’t for the musical celebrations performed each Sunday morning by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, my husband’s father would not have found the church. According to him, years ago neither he nor his family belonged to a church, but they did regularly listen to the Tabernacle Choir’s Sunday radio broadcast. One day, the missionaries came to the door and asked him if he’d like to learn about the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He refused. The missionaries then asked him what church he did belong to, and he, not knowing what else to say, said, “The Church of Richard L. Evans.” The two missionaries looked at each other and then said, “That’s us!” Needless to say, my father-in-law let the missionaries in, and his family later joined the church.

This leads me to another way we celebrate our faith. It is not defined in the dictionary, nevertheless, it is very real and comes nearest, I believe, to true heavenly rejoicing. It is the method born of Spirit speaking to spirit and is one of the tender mercies given to us from the Lord. The only feeling I can think of that comes closest to it is like what we feel those first moments after the birth of a baby. But more frequently, that spiritual celebration comes through our hymns.

Elder Merrill J. Bateman told the following story :

“. . . When she was old enough, the parents enrolled Heather in a special school . . .One morning as Heather and the teacher visited about the prior weekend, the teacher learned that Heather had attended Primary. The teacher then sang for Heather “When He Comes Again.”

“The expression on Heather’s face revealed the delight within her. When the teacher asked Heather if she had a favorite song, the young girl’s wide eyes and engaging smile left little doubt. But what was the song? Through a series of questions, the teacher learned that Heather’s song was one she had heard in Primary . . . (and after three days of painstaking work) the teacher (finally) began to sing, “There is sunshine in my soul today.” Heather’s body jumped, and a big smile crossed her face. Her eyes gazed directly into the teacher’s, indicating success . . . Both teacher and student rejoiced.

“. . . After finishing the first verse and chorus, the teacher asked if she wanted to hear the rest of the verses, and Heather’s eyes opened wide with a firm yes. The teacher began to sing:

There is music in my soul today,

A carol to my King,

And Jesus listening can hear

The songs I cannot sing.

“Heather’s reaction to these lines was so strong that the teacher stopped. As the reality and significance of the words pressed on the teacher’s mind, she asked: “Heather, is that what you like about the song? . . . Does Jesus . . . hear the songs you cannot sing?”

“The direct, penetrating gaze indicated yes.

“Feeling guided by the Spirit, the teacher asked, “Heather, does Jesus talk to you in your mind and in your heart?”

“Again, the child’s look was penetrating.

“. . . Does Jesus say, ‘Heather, I love you’?”

“Heather’s radiant eyes widened, and she smiled.

“After a pause, the teacher asked next, “Does He say, ‘Heather, you’re special’?”

“The answer again was yes.

“Finally the teacher asked, “Does He say, ‘Heather, be patient; I have great things in store for you’?”

“Heather summoned all her strength, and her head became erect and her eyes penetrated the teacher’s soul. She knew she was
loved, she was special, and she needed only to be patient.

“Two years later, Heather died . . .Her younger brother Mark also suffers from the disease but not to the extent of his older sisters. . . As the parents discussed Heather’s passing and the funeral that would take place, Mark exclaimed, “No go Heather’s funeral!” . . . For two days he could not be persuaded.

“On the morning of the funeral, the father went to Mark’s room to get him up. As he entered the room, Mark was sitting up in bed with a big smile on his face. His first words were, “Dad, go Heather’s funeral!”

“The father responded, “Mark, what has changed your mind?”

“. . . Dad, dreamed about Heather.”

“Mark, what was Heather doing?”

“Oh, Dad, Heather running and jumping and singing, ‘There is sunshine in my soul today.’ Dad, go Heather’s funeral.”

It’s no secret that I love music, especially the hymns of the church. Perhaps that’s because music is one of my talents, or maybe it’s because I grow closer to God through the hymns, but whatever the truth, I am grateful I can celebrate my faith in Jesus Christ through music.

“Because I have loved so deeply,

Because I have loved so long,

God in His great compassion

Gave me the gift of song.” (Paul Laurence Dunbar)

"Secrets thrive in my family.” I wasn’t sure if I’d said the words or dreamed them, but when I heard a drawer slide open in the empty bedroom next to my own, my heartbeat jumped into overdrive, and I pulled the comforter up to my neck. “Sylvie? Is that you, kitty?” Suddenly, a beam of light flashed across the hall wall just opposite my open doorway, pausing momentarily on my mother’s favorite Mansfield painting, and I no longer doubted what the noise was.
    Barely breathing, I stared wide-eyed at the now-dark hallway, my ears tuning out the sounds of rain and thunder to focus on the groan of the floorboards as the intruder crossed my mother’s room just through the wall. Then I heard a soft, metallic thwack. A click. A jingle of music. My mother’s jewelry box!

I clamped my lips over my mouth, silencing a gasp.

The intruder padded quickly across my mother’s bedroom carpet and into the hall, where his footsteps were still soft on the hardwood floor. He moved toward my bedroom door and stopped.

If only I could cry for help without him hearing me! But my mother’s neighbor, Oliver, was the only one close enough to hear me, and the intruder would certainly get to me before Oliver, pounding on the door with his cane, could fumble his key into my mother’s front-door lock. Besides, what could he do besides get himself hurt?

Silently, I reached to the nightstand and felt across the top of it. My cell phone was gone.

An ominous shiver trickled across my skin. I tried to remember the last time I’d had my cell phone. Oh, yes. When I’d arrived earlier that evening, I’d slipped it inside the pocket of my leather jacket just before unlocking the front door and then . . . My breathing quickened. The jacket was in the entryway closet.

White lightning flashed. Thunder cracked and rain pelted the window glass like heavy, driving sand, filling the room with so much clatter I had to strain even harder to hear the thief’s movements.

Finally, I heard him again, creeping away from my door toward my mother’s office. Another metallic scrape and then joggling. Her locked desk drawer.

For a crazy, hair-raising moment, I thought of charging after the thief, but as I held myself there in the bed, clenching and unclenching my fists beneath the sheet, I knew I had only one real alternative: to get out of the house without him seeing me.

I scanned the room. The closest window was only a few feet from my bed, but to get to it, I’d have to clamber over the dresser, slide open the window glass, then force out the screen. I could do it, but if the heavy rain and howling wind blasted through the window, blew paper across the room, or—heaven forbid—slammed my door shut, the thief would be in my room before I could get outside.

The other windows in the house were even more insurmountable, and the back door had two noisy locks and a hard-to-open knob. That left the front door.

Quick, dull thuds sounded in my ears. The thief was still trying to break into that drawer, which meant he was probably standing in front of the desk with his back to the doorway. This is my chance!

Quietly slipping from beneath the covers, I placed my bare feet on the floor and stepped gingerly onto the carpet. Blessedly, the floorboards didn’t creak. The thuds from the office continued.

I crept into the hall and inched my hand toward Oliver’s condo key on the wall hook. I grasped it.

The jimmying stopped. Warily, I leaned forward and glanced into the room. The thief was looking the other way, so I gathered the skirt of my blue silk nightgown with one hand and, still clutching Oliver’s house key with the other, dashed past the doorway. I crouched behind the brown leather armchair closest to the front door. I waited, listening, barely daring to breathe.

The rustling stopped. A lean, broad-shouldered shadow stepped into the hall and paused. He looked toward the bedroom where I’d been sleeping and then swiftly moved to it.

Guessing I had only a few seconds before the man returned to my mother’s office, I raced to the front door—it was unlocked!—and leapt down the two porch steps and around the dividing wall to Oliver’s side of the double condo. By then my heart beat so fast and my fingers trembled so violently I could barely shove the key into the lock.

Hearing my mother’s front door bang open from next door, I hurtled into Oliver’s dark entryway and bolted his door behind me. “Oliver!”

“Emi?” Oliver’s tired voice, followed by a harsh cough, came from the living room.

“I need your phone!” I rushed to him through the dark and swept my hand across the nearby end table where he usually kept it. “There’s a man in Mama’s house! He’s stealing her stuff.”

“What?” Oliver groggily pushed up from the couch, his white hair gleaming through the dark like a slow-rising moon. “Are you hurt?”

I brushed the rain from my face. “I’m fine, but I’ve got to call the police.” My teeth chattered as I groped for the lamp switch, but by the time I found it and clicked on the light, Oliver had swiped his newspaper off the coffee table and grabbed the telephone that lay beneath it.

He pulled the russet afghan from his lap. “Here, Emi. Put this around your shoulders. Let me call them.” He patted the couch cushion next to him.

Still trembling in fear over who might be outside, I gratefully lowered myself onto the couch. “Thank you, Oliver. You’re a lifesaver.”

He nodded slightly and punched in 9-1-1.

The dispatcher kept Oliver on the telephone until the Tampa police arrived about ten minutes later. After verifying that the thief was gone and that we were all right, two officers searched my mother’s condo, while another questioned me about where I was during the crime, what I had witnessed, and who else had access to my mother’s home.

“Oliver’s the only other person who has a key,” I told him.

As proof, Oliver held it out to him.

Detective Cole, a tall, black man, looked only at me. “So you don’t live here, Miss Warrin?”

“I have my own apartment.”

“And you were here tonight because . . .?”

“I’m cat- and house-sitting for my mother. She’s on a cruise in Greece doing research for her next novel. She writes romantic suspense. Joanna Michaels?”

He lifted his eyebrows.

Okay, so he didn’t recognize the name.

“Anyway, I’d told her Oliver would be happy to take care of things for her, but she insisted it had to be me. Mama just can’t get used to the idea of me living alone—uh, sorry. Too much information, huh?”

“That’s perfectly fine. You’ve had a rough night.” Detective Cole took several seconds to write something in his notebook. “Did the man threaten you in any way?”

I hugged the afghan even tighter around my shoulders. “I don’t think he even knew I was there.”

“So he was noisy?”
    “No. Well, sometimes, but mostly he was so quiet I could hardly hear him. It was like he was trying not to wake—” I caught my breath. Had the thief known I was in the house the whole time? No. That couldn’t be.

The officer looked at me for a moment before moving on. “How tall would you say he was?”

“I’m not sure. The best view I had of him was during the few seconds I hid behind the chair. Several inches taller than me, maybe.”

As the detective continued writing, Oliver placed his hand on my shoulder. “You’re doing fine, Emi.”

“Thanks.”

The interrogation ended about ten minutes later when another officer tapped on Oliver’s door. Oliver opened it, and Sylvie raced inside.
    When did she get out of the house? I wondered.

“Miss Warrin,” the second officer said, “we need you to return to your mother’s condo and give us a detailed report of everything that’s been stolen. We’ll need serial numbers and identifying characteristics.” He scrutinized my face with wide, rounded eyes. “And any other facts you can give us about you—or, I mean, your family—will be extremely helpful.”

I wish I knew more about my family, I thought, barely refraining from rolling my eyes. I scooped Sylvie into my arms before moving to the doorway. “Hmm. I’m not familiar with where my mother keeps that sort of information,” I said aloud. “I’m pretty sure her file cabinets are filled with her writing research and book contracts, but I’ll see what I can find.” I scratched between Sylvie’s ears, and instead of cuddling against me the way she usually did, she yowled and leapt from my arms. “Sylvie! What’s the matter with you?”

“Would you like me to go through the house with you?” Oliver asked.

I watched as Sylvie ran down the hallway and disappeared. Then I looked into Oliver’s thin, pallid face, noticing the concern etched into the wrinkles around his blue eyes.

“No, thanks, Oliver,” I said, motioning to the policemen. “I’ll be fine. Besides, I’d hate myself if you—”

He coughed.

“—caught pneumonia or something from going out in that rain.” I squeezed his hand with both of mine, stilling my trembling fingers in the process.

“Why don’t you call your mother and ask her?” Oliver said.

I groaned.

Detective Cole paused inside the doorway. “Is that a problem?”
    “No, it’s not that. It’s just she won’t . . . uh . . . she worries so much, I know she’ll blow this all out of proportion and make me—”

Detective Cole lifted his eyebrows again.

“How about I call her?” Oliver asked, releasing my hand. “Maybe I can smooth things over for you.”

“Could you?”

“Of course.” He took his long, wool overcoat from the coat rack. “I’ll do my best. But here, trade me. This will protect you better.”

I slipped the damp afghan off my shoulders and handed it to him in exchange for the coat. As I shrugged into it, I noticed it smelled of coffee and peppermint—and a bit like Oliver’s favorite steak.

“Ready?” Detective Cole asked me.

“Yes.”

Just before I followed the officer outside, Oliver held up his cell phone to let me know he was about to try to reach my mother.

A few moments later, Detective Cole held his large hand firmly on the front doorknob of my mother’s condo. “Before we go in, I want to prepare you for what you’re about to see. I’m guessing things are . . . not as you left them.”

Overturned drawers, missing electronics, that sort of thing, I supposed. “I understand,” I said.

He nodded and we entered the condo.

I know I never have. In fact, rather than reaching upward to attain similar spiritual gifts, I too often compare myself to others in more physical ways—their homes, their bodies, their accomplishments—believing if I only had what they had or looked like they looked, I would be happy and successful. But the truth is real success has nothing to do with material wealth, honor or appearance.

In Gospel Doctrine, Joseph F. Smith states, “The great truth enunciated by the Savior seems very generally to be lost sight of in this generation, that it will profit a man nothing though he should gain the whole world, if he loses his own soul.

"The standard of success as declared by the word of God, is the salvation of the soul. The greatest gift of God is eternal life. (Joseph F. Smith, Gospel Doctrine, pg. 125).”

Such a standard is not easy—it requires constant vigilance—but that truth is the reality we should concentrate on, not on having a nice car or selling a lot of books (I’m an author, after all J).  

The Heart of the Matter 

Marvin J. Ashton wrote: “When the Lord measures an individual, He does not take a tape measure around the person’s head to determine his mental capacity, nor his chest to determine his manliness, but He measures the heart as an indicator of the person’s capacity and potential to bless others.  

“Why the heart? Because the heart is a synonym for one’s entire makeup (Ensign, November 1988 ).” 

In other words, the Lord will judge us by our characters. “Your character will be the yardstick that God will use to determine how well you have met your mortal probation,” Elder Richard G. Scott affirms. “Strong moral character results from consistent correct choices in the trials and testing of life. Such choices are made with trust in things that are believed and, when acted upon, will be confirmed as true. . . . . Satan and his troops have defined their character by resolute opposition to the will of our Father and consistent violation of His commandments. You solidify your character by consistent correct choices (Elder Richard G. Scott, Ensign, January 2007 ).”

Choice

Since correct choices are so vital to the development of our characters and thus our pathways to Eternal Life, perhaps that is the reason the Lord chose this message—the command to choose perfectly, to be perfect as He is—when he presented the Beatitudes to the Nephites shortly after His death and resurrection. Here are just a few of the character traits we must work for in our quest for Eternal Life:

      “And blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.

      “And blessed are all they who do hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they shall be filled with the Holy Ghost.

      “And blessed are the merciful . . .

      “And blessed are all the pure in heart, for they shall see God” (3 Nephi 12: 5-8).

      This character list of Christ-like perfection goes on and on, yet so do the Eternal blessings. Notice, not one of them pertains to nicer homes, expensive clothing, or worldly prestige.

Overcoming

When I began this article by mentioning that too often I compare myself to other’s achievements, I meant that literally. Especially in relation to writing success. For years, I felt jealousy when the fictitious Anne of Green Gables received her contract to have her book published. The same goes for Jo March in Little Women. I’ve had to fight jealous demons in relation to live people, too, but all the while I’ve known such feelings were wrong and I had to find a way to overcome them.

In time and after much study, I learned that at the root of jealousy is natural-man selfishness. Go figure. But I also discovered that three interconnected ways we can overcome that tendency is to develop patience, love and humility. In a talk by Elder Neal A. Maxwell, he said:
 
"The patient person assumes that what others have to say is worth listening to. A patient person is not so chronically eager to put forth his own ideas. In true humility, we do some waiting upon others. We value them for what they say and what they have to contribute. Patience and humility are special friends.

Since our competition in life . . . is solely with our old self, we ought to be free of the jealousies and anxieties of the world which go with interpersonal competition. Very importantly, it is patience, combined with love, which permits us “in process of time” to detoxify our disappointments. Patience and love take the radioactivity out of our resentments. These are neither small nor occasional needs in most of our lives!"

Once I heard that statement, I began to remind myself—whenever I felt jealousy rising within me—that any real competition I have is with me and my own progress. Conversely, everyone else also faces the same challenge and thereby deserves my encouragements and praises when they step closer toward their divine potential. We’re all on this pathway to perfection together, after all.

Final Testimony

Sometimes, in all this self-competing, we begin to see ourselves as less than we really are. We may even doubt our abilities to succeed, or worse, feel our quest for Eternal Life is a hopeless endeavor. This is wrong. Nephi said it perfectly: “I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded, for I know the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them.” The Lord has commanded us to be meek, merciful, even perfect, so that means He will—and has—provided a way for us to accomplish them. Countless scriptures speak of His outstretched arms, His unending patience, His Eternal love and interest in our lives. He has not left us alone. He will guide us, perhaps even carry us, to the top of His yardstick.

Family Home Evening Lesson #3 based on the LDS Church's Addiction Recovery Program

Purpose: Help family members understand that full repentance helps us overcome our weaknesses and develop charity, the pure love of Christ.

Preparation:
Provide each family member with a pencil and a small notebook they can use as a journal.

Scripture:
"I would that ye would come forth and harden not your hearts any longer; for behold, now is the time and the day of your salvation; and therefore, if ye will repent and harden not your hearts, immediately shall the great plan of redemption be brought about unto you.

"For behold, this life is the time for men to prepare to meet God; yea, behold the day of this life is the day for men to perform their labors" (Alma 34:31–32).

Song: “Come Unto Jesus” (Hymn #117)

REPENTANCE
Lesson 2
A series of Family Home Evening lessons based on the Purpose:
Help family members understand when we truly repent and partake of the gift of the Atonement, we grow closer to God.

Preparation: