From the Millennial Star, 19 December 1935 –

A Deeper Hunger

By Ramona W. Cannon

The following incident occurred in the childhood of Brother N. L. Nelson, who was to become a professor of English in the Brigham Young university, and the author of Scientific Aspects of Mormonism and other works widely read among the Latter-day Saints. In recording this little story I am obliged to depend on memory alone, as the narrator is not here to verify details. However, the true Christmas spirit shone forth so brightly in his own account of the event that I am passing on the little tale for you to enjoy its savour.

As I recall it, a few years ago Brother Nelson was in Salt Lake City and was unable to return to his home for Christmas. For this reason we had the pleasure of his company at our own Christmas dinner. Falling into a reminiscent mood, he confided to us this early experience.

The Nelson family had emigrated from Denmark and settled in the little town of Goshen, a dry, sandy, unyielding part of “Zion” at the foot of the Utah lake. Only with great difficulty could they eke out the humblest sort of living. This condition was particularly true when the father left his family to go on a mission.

The children and their mother suffered, sometimes acutely, from physical hunger — especially the hunger for fruit, which would not grow in Goshen. The Golden Apples of mythology, eagerly as they were sought, were less desirable to Kings and Princesses than were the luscious rosy apples of nature to the fruit-starved children of this little southern Utah settlement.

Christmas was approaching, but the Nelson family were not excited about what Santa Clans would bring them. Of one thing they felt sure — he would bring them no surprises.

Then one day the Nelson children saw something — something mysterious — something they felt they should not have seen. Mother was going into the house with a small packet, and an air of great secrecy.

Next day when mother was out working, temptation assailed the children. They stole up to the attic and came close to the old trunk, where the family treasures were kept, and where things were hidden when hiding was necessary.

They did not open the trunk— that would not have been right — but they did wish to haunt the scene of mystery. Yet already the mystery was disclosed. Uhm ! What a delicious aroma! “Apples!” they cried, and again in an awed voice, “Apples.”

Next day and each day thereafter until Christmas, the children returned to the attic to smell the fragrance of those apples and to anticipate the pleasure of setting teeth in their juicy firmness.

On Christmas morning each child received his round, rosy apple, and felt that indeed Santa Clans had been good. The other children ate theirs slowly, but Nels looked at his, felt it, inhaled its fragrance, and held on to it.

In the afternoon, when the children went out to play, Nels carried his apple. A little neighbour girl came out. She had been very ill and looked pale and thin and starved. Many times Nels had felt sorry for her, and had wished he might do something for her.

“Look!” he cried, as she came nearer. “Look! This is my Christmas present!”

She looked and gasped and as Nels watched her, the fragile little body seemed to fade away, and he saw only a pair of eyes — great burning eyes fixed on his rosy apple. They did not ask — those eyes — nor did her voice make petition. But Nels knew that here was the opportunity to do something for his friend who had been ill. The deeper hunger to be kind — to give joy to another — waged war with the sharp pangs of physical need for the luscious fruit. With a great inner wrench, he forced a smile, thrust the apple into her hand, and said, “You keep it for your Christmas.” Then he wheeled about very suddenly and was off. But first he had seen something which he never forgot — an expression of ineffable joy on the face of the little girl who had been ill.