Gospel Story Finder

During his third year of law school, his wife was pregnant with their second child and he was an associate editor of the law review when the call came to serve as elders quorum president. “At this challenging time I accepted the call and prayed to Heavenly Father to make up the difference,” he said. “I needed help to fulfill my calling, successfully complete my education, find employment, and care for my young family. The blessings we received were far beyond what we deserved. That experience gave me great faith in the goodness of the Lord and His blessings upon those who earnestly strive to serve Him.”

Sometimes cities and nations bear special labels of identity. Such was a cold and very old city in eastern Canada. The missionaries called it “Stony Kingston.” There had been but one convert to the Church in six years, even though missionaries had been continuously assigned there during the entire interval. No one baptized in Kingston. Just ask any missionary who labored there. Time in Kingston was marked on the calendar like days in prison. A missionary transfer to another place—any place—would be uppermost in thoughts, even in dreams.
While I was praying about and pondering this sad dilemma, for my responsibility then as a mission president required that I pray and ponder about such things, my wife called to my attention an excerpt from the book, A Child’s Story of the Prophet Brigham Young, by Deta Petersen Neeley (Salt Lake City: Deseret News Press, 1959, p. 36). She read aloud that Brigham Young entered Kingston, Ontario, on a cold and snow-filled day. He labored there about thirty days and baptized forty-five souls. Here was the answer. If the missionary Brigham Young could accomplish this harvest, so could the missionaries of today.
Without providing an explanation, I withdrew the missionaries from Kingston, that the cycle of defeat might be broken. Then the carefully circulated word: “Soon a new city will be opened for missionary work, even the city where Brigham Young proselyted and baptized forty-five persons in thirty days.” The missionaries speculated as to the location. Their weekly letters pleaded for the assignment to this Shangri-la. More time passed. Then four carefully selected missionaries—two of them new, two of them experienced—were chosen for this high adventure. The members of the small branch pledged their support. The missionaries pledged their lives. The Lord honored both.
In the space of three months, Kingston became the most productive city of the Canadian Mission. The grey limestone buildings still stood, the city had not altered its appearance, the population remained constant. The change was one of attitude. The label of doubt yielded to the label of faith.

On the morning of 6 April 1893, Wilford Woodruff entered the Salt Lake Temple through the southwest doors and proceeded to the fourth floor. At 10:00 A.M., with twenty-five hundred people in attendance, the first of a series of forty-one dedication services began. The dedication was the final step in a forty-year saga of sacrifice and labor surrounding the construction of the temple.
“The Heavenly Host were in attendance at the [first] dedication [service],” President Woodruff told the congregation in a subsequent dedicatory service. “If the eyes of the congregation could be opened they would [have] seen Joseph and Hyrum [Smith], Brigham Young, John Taylor and all the good men who had lived in this dispensation assembled with us, as also Esaias, Jeremiah, and all the Holy Prophets and Apostles who had prophesied of the latter day work. … They were rejoicing with us in this building which had been accepted of the Lord and [when] the [Hosanna] shout had reached the throne of the Almighty,” they too had joined in the joyous shout.

Illustration by Allen Garns
On a Saturday afternoon, I was getting ready to go to the beach with my family. They had traveled from Amazonas to La Guaira to spend a few days with me. The sun was bright, the ocean breezes were perfect, and I was happy to see my sisters’ excitement.
Once we were on the road, I remembered that I was in charge of cleaning the church building that day. I now had a choice to make: Should I fulfill my responsibility or continue to the beach with my family? I decided to talk to my mom and sisters about it. They had never been inside an LDS church and enthusiastically offered to help me clean, as long as we headed right to the beach when we finished.
When we entered the church, I explained what needed to be done and how to do it. What we thought would be a quick cleaning job ended up taking four hours because they were so interested! I showed my family each room, the paintings, and the baptismal font. An immense joy filled my heart. I couldn’t believe my family was helping me with something that meant so much to me. While we were there, my teenage sisters, Thalia and Gineska, learned some hymns and asked me questions about the Church.
On Sunday my family attended church for the first time. They were well received in the ward. The young women quickly welcomed my sisters. The sister missionaries met them and set an appointment to meet with them the next day. We held family home evening, and I taught them how to pray. We prayed together often. We also listened to hymns and watched Church videos.
Before my family returned home, I took my sisters to Caracas to see the temple and its grounds. I bore my testimony of temple blessings and encouraged them to find the Church when they returned to Amazonas.
When they left for home, I contacted the missionaries in their area. The missionaries and members of the ward council visited my family and helped them on their way to conversion. My sisters prayed often for our father to give them permission to be baptized.
With great gratitude and joy, I traveled to Amazonas to baptize Thalia and Gineska. The glow in their eyes reflected their hope and their gratitude to Heavenly Father for leading them to the gospel. Through fulfilling an assignment to clean the church, my family came closer together and was strengthened. I will never forget this experience and I know my sisters will not either.

It’s the moment every high school athlete dreams of: cameras flashing, parents beaming, coaches applauding, a gold medal, laced with a ribbon, gently placed around your neck. But for Andrea Nelson, it just wasn’t right.
All runners had crossed the line for the girls’ 3,200-meter race at the Washington State High School Track and Field Championships. They had just caught their breath when the whispers started. Someone would be disqualified.
“Is it me?” each girl asked herself. They then waited in uncertainty for more than an hour.
At last, a judge ruled that the first-place runner, Nicole, would lose her place. She had supposedly stepped outside the lane for three consecutive steps. The other runners would move up, taking the stand one place higher than the order in which they crossed the finish line. Andrea had finished three seconds behind Nicole but would now be given first place.
At that moment two-time state cross country champion Andrea Nelson (17) of the Woodridge Ward, Spokane North Stake, made a decision that would catch the attention of out-of-state newspapers, land her on ESPN, and even cause her to be featured in Sports Illustrated magazine.
“My coach asked, ‘What are you going to do?’ I said, ‘Well, I’m going to give her the medal,’” Andrea remembers saying.
After being given the gold medal, she jumped without hesitation from the highest stand, ran over to Nicole and placed the medal around her neck, saying it belonged to her because she won the race.
The energy from Andrea’s simple gesture started a domino effect of selfless giving. Next, the second-place runner gave up her medal to Andrea, followed by third to second, and so on, until all eight girls gave up their medals. The eighth-place girl, who chose to forfeit her medal without a replacement in mind, later received a medal Nicole won in another race.
Andrea’s mother, Edie, says, “There is no way to describe how that felt and the way that people were responding. You just had to be there.” After the runners exchanged medals, Edie says, “A reporter ran past Brother Nelson with tears in his eyes saying he wished he could talk but was on deadline and, besides, he couldn’t get control of his emotions anyway.”
Ten days later, race officials reinstated Nicole as the winner after reviewing video of the race. But at the time Andrea made her decision, no one knew that would happen. The reinstated winner, Nicole, told Sports Illustrated, “It gave me chills. It was just an incredible, surprising thing for Andrea to do, because it wasn’t her fault. No one would have blamed her if she kept the medal.”
But Andrea knows how it feels to win a race. And that wasn’t what she felt that day. To her, violation or not, the other girl had earned a spot on the stand. “I’d rather win it the right way instead of having it given to me,” she says. She understands the Savior’s counsel: “Therefore all things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them” (Matthew 7:12).
For a girl nearly through high school, Andrea has received a lot of attention. After the track meet and before the beginning of summer vacation, newspapers and sportswriters were calling her high school to get her out of class as many as three times in a day. “I wasn’t expecting this to be a big deal. I just thought it was the right thing to do.”
But being looked up to or talked about isn’t really what motivates Andrea. When people mention her giving up the medal, she doesn’t break stride: “I don’t want to be the center of attention.” That’s Andrea. Like the eight other runners who followed her example, she’s just glad she could do the right thing when the moment presented itself.

Early in my service as a member of the Council of the Twelve, I was attending the conference of the Monument Park West Stake in Salt Lake City. My companion for the conference was a member of the General Church Welfare Committee, Paul C. Child. President Child was a student of the scriptures. He had been my stake president during my Aaronic Priesthood years. Now we were together as conference visitors.
When it was his opportunity to participate, President Child took the Doctrine and Covenants and left the pulpit to stand among the priesthood to whom he was directing his message. He turned to section 18 and began to read:
“Remember the worth of souls is great in the sight of God. …
“And if it so be that you should labor all your days in crying repentance unto this people, and bring, save it be one soul unto me, how great shall be your joy with him in the kingdom of my Father” (vs. 10, 15).
President Child then raised his eyes from the scriptures and asked the question of the priesthood brethren: “What is the worth of a human soul?” He avoided calling on a bishop, stake president, or high councilor for a response. Instead, he selected the president of an elders quorum—a brother who had been a bit drowsy and had missed the significance of the question.
The startled man responded: “Brother Child, could you please repeat the question?” The question was repeated: “What is the worth of a human soul?”
I knew President Child’s style. I prayed fervently for that quorum president. He remained silent for what seemed like an eternity and then declared: “Brother Child, the worth of a human soul is its capacity to become as God.”
All present pondered that reply. Brother Child returned to the stand, leaned over to me, and said: “A profound reply; a profound reply!” He proceeded with his message, but I continued to reflect on that inspired response.

An experience during my first year of junior high school could have left me emotionally wounded and scarred for years; but it turned out to be one of the best times in my life—all because of a very special friend.
That year, the girls my age started forming groups. There were several different groups, but “the group” consisted of the most popular girls in the school. All of my friends belonged to the group and so did I to begin with. But then something happened. I’m not exactly sure what.
One day Bonnie, one of the most popular girls in school, came up to me and told me I was kicked out of the group.
“But why?” I asked. “What did I do?”
“We just don’t want you to associate with us anymore,” said Bonnie.
I realized then that I needed to find a new friend. I thought I could make the group jealous and they’d realized they weren’t hurting me. So I made a new friend. Her name was Vicki. I picked Vicki because I was certain that the group would never pay any attention to her. She was really short, thin, and not exactly pretty. But she turned out to be a wonderful friend.
Vicki and I shared a lot of good times together. We both seemed to enjoy doing the same kinds of things. I was beginning to like being with her so much that I decided I didn’t need the group as long as there was Vicki.
Shortly after Vicki and I became friends, we were sitting on the school lawn sharing sodas and candy and doing a lot of laughing. All of a sudden, Vicki got real serious. She stopped laughing and began fumbling with a candy wrapper. When she finally looked at me, I could tell she had something important on her mind.
“What’s up?” I asked.
Vicki struggled for a minute to control her voice before answering. “I’ve never had a best friend before,” she said looking at me straight in the eye. “Can we promise we’ll be best friends forever?”
“Sure,” I said feeling great. I smiled as I picked up a candy wrapper. “I’d like that, too.”
Some time later, the group started to take notice of Vicki. “Come on, Vicki,” they’d say. “Come eat with us,” or “Why don’t you associate with us, Vicki?”
At first, Vicki declined, but then the invitations got to be too irresistible.
I remember that day clearly. When I got to school, I headed straight for Vicki’s locker as usual. From down the hall I could see the group surrounding her. The closer I came, the louder and merrier their laughter grew. A couple of my former friends looked sideways at me before throwing their heads back in forced bursts of laughter.
Vicki didn’t look at me. She was too absorbed in all the attention. I guess I couldn’t blame her for that. But had she already forgotten our promise?
Just then the girls in the group all linked arms with Vicki in the middle and gaily marched down the hall. They went right by me as if I weren’t even there.
This time I was really upset. I tried not to let the group see how much they were hurting me, but they could tell they were getting through.
Then one day it happened—one of the greatest experiences of my life. Suddenly I realized I had a friend that the group could never take away, someone who would always be there, someone I could talk to at any time, someone who would never forsake me.
As I made this startling discovery, I noticed a warm sensation starting to grow in my heart. It grew until I felt totally engulfed in it. I realized that it was my Heavenly Father telling me that he loves me. I wanted to shout, laugh, or cry. I felt so new, so special, so loved.
A short time later, Bonnie approached me. “How are you?” she asked uncomfortably.
“Fine,” I said with a puzzled expression. There was a lengthy period of silence as she struggled to continue.
“We were just wondering,” Bonnie began, “we thought that you might like to spend some time with us again. You see, we had a vote and, well, most of us still like you.”
“Thanks,” I said, “I’ll see what I can do.” It felt good to have them want me back, but I realized then that being in the group somehow wasn’t all that important anymore.
Through that experience, I had found a true friend whom I wanted to do something for, in return for what He had done for me. I remembered the scripture that said: “Go, and do thou likewise” (Luke 10:37). So I started looking around for someone who needed a friend.

“Now, listen up, guys. This is the last game of the season,” Coach said. “We’re tied for first place with the Grizzlies. If we win today, we’re in first place. We can do it! Just go out there and play the kind of baseball we’ve been playing all season. OK now, let’s go!”
We huddled around the coach, listened to his pep talk, then broke with a big yell—it always gives me gooseflesh.
We were scoreless for the first two innings. Then the other team got two in the bottom of the third and one in the fourth, and it stayed 3–0 through the fifth. We were really down.
But in the sixth inning my dream came true. The Grizzlies pitcher was tiring, though I don’t know why—we certainly hadn’t overworked him—and walked the first batter. Then Tubby hit a line drive for a base hit. Tyler hit a long fly ball to center field, and the guy out in the daisies dropped it. I couldn’t believe it!
So the bases were loaded with no outs, and I was up.
“Stee-rike!”
I pushed my hair back up under the batting helmet and crouched lower.
“Stee-rike two!”
I hadn’t made the strike zone small enough.
“Ball.”
That was better.
“Ball two.”
“Ball three.”
The three-two pitch was on its way. I connected with a crack you could hear two blocks away! The roar from the crowd was like nothing I’d ever heard before. They knew it was a home run before I got to first base. I flew around those bases, almost catching up with Tyler. Thanks at least partly to me, we’d won four to three! We were the Bridgeville Little League champs!

That salutary respite was short-lived. Tensions and hostilities between the Saints and Missourians increased until, in October 1838, Church members were again expelled from their homes. Then, in February 1839, the Young family and more than 800 other Saints were forced to leave the state; they braved the winter cold to seek refuge in Illinois. Since their wagons and animals had been confiscated, most of the destitute Saints walked.

During this difficult exodus, Brigham Young would push ahead with his family, find lodging for them, and then return to escort the weaker and orphaned Saints onward. Mary Ann and the children lived in 11 different quarters during the three-month ordeal.

A young couple lost all of their household belongings when flood waters filled their neighborhood. Volunteers dug mud and rocks out of their home. Food, clothing, and temporary shelter were provided; the Relief Society replaced many necessary household goods. Because of this service, an incredible bond of love developed between those who helped and those who received. The Relief Society president felt that one of the purposes of Relief Society—sustaining and supporting one another—had been realized.

As each month passes by on my mission, I am always thrilled to receive the New Era. The article “We Talk of Christ” really hit me hard. As I was working with the hearing impaired in the Portland area, my companion and I met a fine young lady and became good friends. She asked a lot of questions on a lot of different subjects, especially about prophets and temples, and we answered the best we could.
After the third visit she asked us not to return. I asked myself what we had done wrong. Looking back, I remembered reading “We Talk of Christ” in the New Era two days earlier. I realized that we didn’t talk about Christ very much, perhaps leading her to suppose that we worshiped prophets.
The next day we called her and apologized. I told her that we believe in Christ as the cornerstone of our religion. She responded happily and wanted us to come back and talk to her. I pray that she will accept the gifts of the gospel.

One day in my dance class, my teacher told us that we would have to wear bikinis for our costumes in an upcoming performance. I felt very bad inside. My mother and Primary teachers have taught me that Heavenly Father likes us to dress modestly. I asked my dance teacher if I could wear something else instead. She told me that I had to dress like the other girls or I could not be in the dance.
I looked down at my CTR ring that I always wear to remind me to choose the right. I knew what I had to do. I told my teacher that if I had to wear the bikini, I would not be able to be in the dance. She got angry and told me that I couldn’t drop out now because they would have to redo all the formations. I said I was sorry but I had to do what Jesus would want me to do.
It was a very hard decision to make, but I felt good afterward. When I told my mom about it later, she was very proud of me. She talked to the director of my dance studio and they decided that the costumes could be changed. I am very happy that I chose the right.

“Sell their good qualities. Your trained approach is not mandatory like honesty is.”
Roy Stanford, Age 24Calgary, Alberta, Canada
“A cosmetics saleswoman recently demonstrated her product in my home. She seemed to know only what she had been ‘fed’ in her training sessions, and she gave what appeared to be a memorized speech. Although her product was a fine one, my mother and I could both see that she did not tell the complete truth. We refused to buy because we prefer to deal with another woman who does not push us into buying her cosmetics by misrepresenting them. It is not good to assume that you can sell your products only by using the deceiving, scientific approach you were taught. It would be better for you to be truthful, to undersell rather than be pushy, and to consider your customers’ needs and apparent financial circumstances.”

After two years, I was prompted to prepare to serve a mission together with Clint and two other friends. We were glad the announcement lowering the mission age to 18 was given two years ago, and we felt worthy and ready to serve.
I was motivated by one of my goals: to bring my family to the Church and someday be sealed in the temple with them. That is why I went ahead and served a mission despite the many educational opportunities I was getting. There were scholarship offers and family friends offering to sponsor my education, but I decided to put the Lord first and serve Him. Thank goodness my father was supportive of my decision although he has not been baptized yet.
I served in the Philippines Tacloban Mission and fell in love with the people of Tacloban and Samar. My friends and I all learned so much, and though we served in different missions, we supported each other and we all felt the Lord’s watchful gaze upon us.

The idea originated when Stake President Paul Reid asked his 21-year-old daughter, Carly, if there was anything she could do to contribute to temple work in their stake. Carly had noticed that many parents were unable to attend the temple together because one or the other had to stay home with their children. Completing the 160-mile round trip to the temple meant families were separated for the entire day. She also noticed that children left with sitters all day sometimes had a negative attitude about their parents attending the temple.

Using her training as an early childhood educator, Carly developed a child-care program to cater to these families. Now, with the help of the stake youth, temple day is a family day. The children of the stake are taken care of at a chapel near the temple while their parents attend the temple. Families can travel to the temple together, and the children only have to wait three hours for their parents.

We have a good many people who have been in the ministry join this church. I had a call last week from a minister who lives in Los Angeles, who served, as he told me, for 20 years as a Baptist minister. Then he met the Mormon elders and they taught him the gospel as it has been restored through the Prophet Joseph Smith, and he gave up his ministry and became a member of the Church. He is now working in the temple there, and he called me to thank me for writing the missionary book that helped him to understand what the Lord has done in restoring his truth to the earth in this dispensation.

In my own case, I have had the blessings of forgiveness again brought into sharp focus as I was preparing for this devotional. For several years I had a business partner, in what I thought was a successful business with a fixed limit on the financial risk involved. Unbeknown to me, the business was not succeeding and my partner was hiding the losses by inappropriately circumventing the loan limits set by the bank. This all came to light after we returned from our mission, and we found ourselves suddenly having a loan called by the bank that was five times what we had thought possible.

You can imagine the lack of peace my wife and I suddenly felt! For a few weeks, we were extremely distraught. It was hard to think about anything else. But through a series of invitations from the Lord, that experience became a wonderful blessing as sadness and frustration were replaced by faith and peace.

At the time, I was not thinking of forgiveness. I was thinking of survival. But I’m grateful that the Lord knew and loved us and was willing to guide us. First He inspired faithful friends to offer special Priesthood blessings. Second, He helped me find a lawyer, an accountant, and an operating manager who could represent us until we could sell the business. Third, He made it possible for us to quickly sell a long term investment and pay the partnership debt without losing our home or retirement. Fourth and finally, at the meeting where we settled our debt to the bank, the Lord revealed to me what would happen to my partner and his family if I did not take full responsibility for the debt and allow my former partner to continue fulfilling his duties as a husband and father.

With so many blessings from the Lord, I felt my heart softening and could see myself offering to fully forgive my former partner without delay, and experience even greater peace. That all happened three years ago. Since then we have periodically heard from the wonderful wife of this former partner, and each time have felt that special peace of knowing we have done what the Savior would have us do. In a recent letter from this dear mother, devoted wife, and daughter of God, we were again reminded of how grateful we were for the promptings of the Lord in that situation and that we acted on those. And it was indeed acting on them that brought such a sense of peace.

While I was growing up, my father was a very busy man because he had a demanding job as a truck driver for construction projects. But he always took time for me. When I was in high school, my father would ask my five sisters when he came home from work, “Where is Benjamín?”

My sisters would come to me and say, “Father wants you.”

I would leave playing with my friends and run to ask him, “What do you need, Father?”

He would say, “Bring your scriptures, and come with me.”

Two or three times a week we would read the scriptures together like that. He was a master teacher of the scriptures. At that time we did not have seminary in Mexico. Now I think of those study sessions as my own seminary class with my father as the teacher.

While reading the scriptures and hearing my father explain them to me, I learned for myself what the Spirit feels like in my heart and in my mind. Many times the Spirit was very strong as he would explain the scriptures.

These kinds of experiences with my father were the beginning of my own testimony of Heavenly Father and the Church. I always thought that the Church was true, but just thinking so was not enough. My father took my hand and put it on the iron rod. His manner of taking care of me was the key for my testimony and my inner security in the gospel.

During those meetings, not only did I learn many things from him about the scriptures, but I learned that my father loved me in a way that I couldn’t quite understand at the time. Many other times he would invite me to a movie or to eat, and I know that I was protected by my father’s care for me. Now I am a father, and I know that he loved me in a special way.

I hated early-morning seminary. I was raised in Boulder, Colorado, and all we had was early-morning seminary. I tried every excuse why I should not go: “Teenagers need their sleep.” “My life is too busy.” “I’m too tired to pay attention, so I don’t get anything out of it.” Nothing worked. Every morning around 5:45, my mom would wake me, push me in the direction of the shower, and get me out the door for seminary.
This was my pattern all four years until the late fall of my senior year. I arrived at seminary, but the teacher had not shown up. A good friend of mine stood up in front of the class and said, “Since the teacher isn’t here, I think we should just take turns reading aloud the assigned reading.”
Someone started reading 2 Nephi 33:10–11: “Hearken unto these words and believe in Christ; and if ye believe not in these words believe in Christ. And if ye shall believe in Christ ye will believe in these words, for they are the words of Christ, and he hath given them unto me; and they teach all men that they should do good.
“And if they are not the words of Christ, judge ye—for Christ will show unto you, with power and great glory, that they are his words, at the last day; and you and I shall stand face to face before his bar; and ye shall know that I have been commanded of him to write these things, notwithstanding my weakness.”
As I listened to these words, I thought, “I believe in Christ. If I believe in Him, then these words are true.” As I completed that thought, the Spirit touched me more profoundly. I was so struck by it that I remember looking around the room to see if others were feeling the same thing. They didn’t seem changed or appear as if they were feeling something different. This was a lesson that I was learning privately, just for me. The feeling didn’t go away. I carried it with me for the rest of the day. It was the beginning of a strong testimony for me.
I have often thought about that event and contemplated the act of being diligent. I had been attending seminary reluctantly for almost four years. But because I was diligent and obeying my mother’s desire that I attend, I was taught by the Spirit. If I had been at home in bed sleeping, I would have missed that opportunity. It is often when I least expect it, when I have been diligent day after day, month after month, and year after year attending church, reading the scriptures, or praying that the Spirit whispers to me and confirms the truth of the gospel. I am glad I learned that lesson at 17 while attending early morning seminary.

As volleyball tryouts approached for my senior year in high school, I couldn’t believe the thought that was running through my head: I wasn’t supposed to play volleyball. I’d played volleyball since seventh grade—why should this year be any different?
Not seeing the sense in quitting, I ignored the feeling and continued to participate in summer volleyball events. After a while the feeling came back, so I decided that if I really wasn’t supposed to be on the team, my coach would just cut me during tryouts.
Then one night at the gym, I couldn’t focus on the game at all. I felt terrible and restless inside. I came home frustrated with my team and with myself. I sat next to my mom and sister and cried. I told them how confused I was, and my mom told me to pray and ask Heavenly Father what He wanted me to do. I went up to my room and began to pray. I told Heavenly Father how I felt, then I asked Him to help me feel peace if I was not supposed to continue playing volleyball. I felt His peace in my heart and knew that I needed to quit.
I’m still not sure all the reasons why that was the right decision, but I know that it’s what the Lord wanted me to do, and that’s a good enough reason for me.
The next morning I told my coach and my teammates that I wasn’t going to be playing. Even though it was incredibly hard, I knew I was doing the right thing.