Gospel Story Finder

George T. Benson was known for his industry and honesty. In addition to being a leading citizen in the community, he served in both the bishopric and the stake presidency. “Father was always very prompt,” President Benson recalls. “I have never known him to be late for a meeting. He would set a time when the buggy was to leave the farm and drive the mile and a half to church. Sometimes, if there was a late one, he would start the team up slowly at the appointed time, and more than once the children who were not quite ready would have to run to catch the buggy.”

In faraway Bucharest, Romania, Dr. Lynn Oborn, volunteering at an orphanage, was attempting to teach little Raymond, who had never walked, how to use his legs. Raymond had been born with severe clubfeet and was completely blind. Surgery had corrected the clubfeet, but Raymond was still unable to use his legs. Dr. Oborn knew that a child-size walker would enable Raymond to get on his feet, but such a walker was not available anywhere in Romania.
Let us turn now to Provo, Utah. The Richard Headlee family, learning of the suffering and pitiful conditions in Romania, joined with others to assemble a 40? (12.2 m) container filled with 40,000 pounds (19,000 kg) of needed supplies. The deadline arrived, and the container had to be shipped. No one involved with the project knew of the need for a child-size walker. However, at the last possible moment, a family brought forth a walker and placed it in the container.
When the anxiously awaited container arrived at the orphanage in Bucharest, Dr. Oborn said, “Oh, I hope you brought me a child’s walker for Raymond!”
One of the Headlee family members said, “I can vaguely remember a walker, but I don’t know its size.” Another family member crawled among the bales of clothes and boxes of food, searching for the walker. When he found it, he cried out, “It’s a little one!” Cheers erupted—which quickly turned to tears, for they all knew that they had been part of a modern-day miracle.
There may be some who say, “We don’t have miracles today.” But the doctor whose prayers were answered would respond, “Oh, yes we do, and Raymond is walking!” She who was inspired to give the walker would surely agree.
Who was the angel of mercy? Her name is Kristin Bestor. She was born with spina bifida, as was her younger sister, Erika.
Kristin’s father said to me at a celebration one evening, “President Monson, meet Kristin. She is the one who felt impressed to send her walker to Romania, hoping that some child there would be benefitted.”
I spoke to Kristin as she sat in her wheelchair: “Thank you for listening to the Spirit of the Lord.”
Later, as I walked out of that celebration, I looked upward toward the heavens and offered my own thank-you to God for children, for families, for miracles in our time.

Yet with undaunted faith, President Woodruff requested sufficient funds from the Saints to finish the temple. Among those who sacrificed to meet that request was a young boy who had found employment on a nearby farm where, after several long hours of work, he was paid twenty-five cents. “I clutched the coin and ran home,” he recalled. He immediately sought out his father. “Pa, look what I have!” he announced. “The next time you go to Provo,” he continued, “I can get a new pair of Levis with this money.”

The father reminded his son of President Woodruff’s request. “President Wilford Woodruff needs ten cents of this quarter for the Salt Lake Temple. Here, I’ll give you fifteen cents for the coin, and we’ll go together to give the dime to our bishop, who will send it to Salt Lake City,” the father gently suggested.

Thanks for a wonderful magazine. While I was still learning about the gospel, a close friend of mine lent me some of her favorite issues to read. I wasn’t terribly interested at first but soon found myself reading them from cover to cover. In them I found answers to my many questions. Reading the New Era brightened my day. My friend found out I enjoyed the New Era and gave me a subscription. I was 16 then. Now I am 19 and have been a member of the Church for almost three years. I’m still reading this great magazine from cover to cover.
Laurie ZamoraOgden, Utah

3) We have read the scriptures often in my family—I would not claim to be as regular at this as we are encouraged to be, but probably more than half of the time we have spent together reading the scriptures has been spent reading the Book of Mormon. We have enjoyed those times together very much. The older children have fond memories of them. As five missionaries have gone out from our family, they have been prepared about the same as I had been prepared: They accepted the book as true even though they had not read all of it many times nor had had some dramatic witness concerning it. Yet even without spectacular spiritual experiences, the Book of Mormon is an anchor to our family, to our faith, to our whole way of life. It is the keystone of our religion and gives meaning to it. When I think of the significance of the Book of Mormon to us, I wonder if any manifestation could be more important than that.

“As I attended a sacrament meeting the other day, I was so pleased to see those who administered and passed the sacrament wearing white shirts and ties, well groomed and clean; and during the whole service they were reverent.” (N. Eldon Tanner, Ensign, May 1975, p. 76.)

I was living up in Canada. I had purchased a farm. It was run-down. I went out one morning and saw a currant bush. It had grown up over six feet (two meters) high. It was going all to wood. There were no blossoms and no currants. I was raised on a fruit farm in Salt Lake before we went to Canada, and I knew what ought to happen to that currant bush. So I got some pruning shears and clipped it back until there was nothing left but stumps. It was just coming daylight, and I thought I saw on top of each of these little stumps what appeared to be a tear, and I thought the currant bush was crying. I was kind of simpleminded (and I haven’t entirely gotten over it), and I looked at it and smiled and said, “What are you crying about?” You know, I thought I heard that currant bush say this:
“How could you do this to me? I was making such wonderful growth. I was almost as big as the shade tree and the fruit tree that are inside the fence, and now you have cut me down. Every plant in the garden will look down on me because I didn’t make what I should have made. How could you do this to me? I thought you were the gardener here.”
That’s what I thought I heard the currant bush say, and I thought it so much that I answered. I said, “Look, little currant bush, I am the gardener here, and I know what I want you to be. I didn’t intend you to be a fruit tree or a shade tree. I want you to be a currant bush, and someday, little currant bush, when you are laden with fruit, you are going to say, ‘Thank you, Mr. Gardener, for loving me enough to cut me down. Thank you, Mr. Gardener.’”

A few weeks ago I boarded a plane for South America. The flight attendant directed our attention to a safety video. “It is unlikely,” we were warned, “but if cabin pressure changes, the panels above your seat will open, revealing oxygen masks. If this happens, reach up and pull a mask toward you. Place the mask over your nose and mouth. Slip the elastic strap over your head and adjust the mask if necessary.” Then this caution: “Be sure to adjust your own mask before helping others.”
The negative commentary about the Prophet Joseph Smith will increase as we move toward the Second Coming of the Savior. The half-truths and subtle deceptions will not diminish. There will be family members and friends who will need your help. Now is the time to adjust your own spiritual oxygen mask so that you are prepared to help others who are seeking the truth.21

In our ward we have had some success with two boys who had been completely inactive. We made friends with them. We took them out for pizza. We planned activities around their special interests. When we told them how much the program had to offer and showed them we really wanted them with us, they decided to give us a try.

Last week they both came to activity night. If we can care enough to make good on our campaign promises and really deliver the good program we’ve promised, and still care about them just as much, we’ll keep these boys, and they will have a chance to work out their salvation.

Then, one day your Sunday School teacher asks you who your heroes are. That’s exactly what Sunday School teacher Mark Graham of the Manhattan Second Ward asked his class. Well, that wasn’t exactly the question. Actually, the whole thing started with a discussion of greatness. The first question really was “What makes a great person so great?” From there it progressed to a class project to discover their real heroes and the qualities they have.
This being a Sunday School class, naturally the focus is on spiritual qualities of spiritual heroes—and even more specifically, people who influence your life personally. So rule out the athletes and performers, the millionaires and politicians. As one of the class members, Ben Cottam, explains: “In the beginning when we started this project, we talked a lot about people doing big things, but really, the most important thing that goes into being a great person is the love and the caring. If you love people and care about them, that’s going to make you great.”
Other qualities the class listed included determination, commitment, service to others, modesty, humility, courage, and love of God. Once class members knew what qualities they were looking for, heroes start turning up pretty close to home. Very close. In fact, the list included a number of parents, several Young Men and Young Women advisers …
Before we go any further, remember where we are: Manhattan. The chapel is on Broadway, across from the Lincoln Center. These kids attend schools all over New York. Many of them are headed for distinguished universities all over the country. They are bright and articulate and aware. Typical New Yorkers, they are not easily impressed. And here they are, listing their heroes as parents, advisers.

This month, we commemorate the historic trek of the Mormon pioneers who, 130 years ago, left the beautiful city of Nauvoo, Illinois, and their comfortable homes to escape their persecutors and march 2300 kms. across a hostile wilderness in order to worship their God according to the dictates of their own conscience. In July of 1847, they reached the Great Salt Lake Valley and founded the city which is now the headquarters of Christ’s church on earth.

When I was 12, I felt invincible, but my carefree life came to a screeching halt when I was diagnosed with spinal meningitis. Back then I had no idea what spinal meningitis was or how it would cripple my life; all I knew was that I was in the worst pain I had ever experienced. For a whole week I stayed curled up in a ball with an excruciating headache. The pain was so debilitating that I couldn’t see or even walk straight.
I was given a blessing that told me the Lord was watching out for me, He had a plan for me, and I just needed to trust Him. I kept going because I knew the Lord was testing my faith. But eight months later I still wasn’t able to get out of bed. One day, as I was struggling to just make it to the bathroom, I concluded that I was never going to be able to be a normal kid again. I fell into a deep depression; I felt that my life meant nothing.
One day while I was sitting on the couch feeling miserable and daydreaming about what life could have been like, my mom brought in my friend Nathan. When he saw me for the first time, he was shocked. Before, I had always been well-groomed, but now my eyes were dead and seemed to blend right in with my pale skin, my hair looked like a bird’s nest, and I was weak. My voice was almost too soft to hear.
After a few failed attempts at conversation, we gave up. I was just too exhausted within only a few minutes, and it was hard to concentrate on him and what he was saying. Finally, with nothing more to say, he left. Even though this had been extremely hard on me, I was strangely uplifted. Nathan’s visit had cheered me up, and it felt good to know that someone was actually thinking of me.
When he left, I was pretty sure he wouldn’t come back. To my surprise, though, he came the next week, and then the next. With each visit I felt a little bit of joy added back into my life. Soon Nathan brought over his friend, and we all laughed and talked together. Amazingly, I began to get up every day and have enough energy to accomplish things.
When I was going through the most difficult moments of this illness, the Lord sent me help. Nathan’s initial visit was painful, and I hated every minute of it, but it was what I needed most. Before his visit I was miserable and was giving in to depression, but the kindness of a friend saved me.

“How are you doing, Matte?” Grandmother asked.
“I’m about finished, Mormor (Grandmother). It will be ready on time.” She held up the sweater she was knitting for her grandmother’s inspection.
“You’ve done a fine job,” Grandmother said. “I’m sure that Jenny will love it.”
Matte’s American cousin was coming to Norge (Norway) for a visit. She was going to stay for the whole month of August, and Matte had many things she wanted to share with her. This sweater was one of them.
Matte finished the last stitch on the svetter and cut the yarn. Carefully she worked the end into the pattern so that it wouldn’t unravel. “There,” she said happily. “It’s finished. I hope she likes it.”
The next morning she and Mormor were up early. They wanted to have the house sparkling clean, with supper waiting, when Jenny and Aunt Louise arrived.
At the sound of a car horn, Matte ran to the window. They were here! Rushing to the door, she was swept into Aunt Louise’s arms for a big hug. Then she faced Jenny. It was like looking in a mirror! She had blond hair streaked by the sun, and apple-red cheeks. Blue eyes like her own looked shyly back at her.
“Welcome to Norge,” Matte said, hugging her cousin.
“Thank you, Matte.”
“Come to my room,” Matte said. “I have something for you.” In the bedroom, she handed the tissue-wrapped present to her cousin. “I made it myself!”
“It’s beautiful!” Jenny exclaimed as she unwrapped the sweater and admired the intricate pattern. “I can’t believe you knitted this yourself! Now I don’t know if I should give you the present I made. It’s not anything like this!”
“I’d love to have it. Please?”
Jenny ran into the other room and dragged a suitcase back with her. Opening the case, she pulled out a present. Matte admired the beautiful wrapping, then carefully opened it. Inside was a wooden embroidery hoop with a message cross-stitched on cloth: I can follow God’s plan for me.
Matte felt excitement build inside her. She understood English very well but wasn’t quite sure she interpreted the motto right. Finally she grinned at her cousin and gave her a hug. “You’re a Lykkefroken like me!” Seeing Jenny’s puzzled look, she added, “A Merrie Miss. You’re a Latter-day Saint too!”
Laughing and hugging, the girls eagerly told each other of their baptism days, one in Norway and one in America. It was a wonderful surprise to learn that they were both members of the Church.
“Since we can’t introduce the gospel to each other,” Matte said with a twinkle in her eye, “maybe we’ll find someone else to teach it to this summer!”

Following the children’s baptisms, we continued to meet frequently in the family’s home. We held family home evenings, shared scriptures and uplifting experiences, and introduced them to many ward members and helped them to get integrated into the ward. However, despite the continued gospel experiences and the regular Sunday attendance of the children and their mother, Kuk-Won and Mi-Jung were no closer to setting their own baptismal date. We just continued to love them and support them the best we knew how.
As the months went by, Elder Ricks was transferred, and my new companion, Elder Minor, was an elder straight from the missionary training center. He was full of faith, energy, and excitement, and I honestly had a difficult time keeping up with him! After meeting with Kuk-Won and Mi-Jung on a few occasions, Elder Minor approached me and asked whether or not my previous companion and I had fasted with them. We had not. In fact, I was a bit embarrassed to admit that the thought had not even occurred to me! So we met with this loving family and suggested a fast. I was amazed to discover that after learning of fasting from us, they had already been periodically fasting on their own, both for the health of their son and for a change in work schedule that would allow Kuk-Won to attend church with his family. We asked if we might join them in their family fast, and soon their faithful prayers were answered: Kuk-Won’s work schedule was changed. While we thought this was the only thing keeping them from getting baptized, Mi-Jung still did not feel ready to get baptized.

So Wedner invited his friend, Milsont Pierre. Milsont started coming to weeknight activities and then to Sunday meetings, and then the missionaries started teaching his family. He remembers vividly, “I felt the Spirit, over and over again, especially during the sacrament prayers. I knew this was the true Church.” Milsont and his three brothers were baptized and confirmed, as well as a cousin, a nephew, and four of Milsont’s friends.

It had been 12 years since I had left my beloved California home and ward to remarry. With the Lord’s help, I had slowly rebuilt and achieved new goals. But I longed to visit dear friends who had shared the joys and the challenge of living in an area where Church members were a minority.
“Sometimes it isn’t good to relive the past,” my family members said. Nevertheless, I made the trip. At my old house, I marveled that the seedlings I had planted years before were now large trees shading the property. Overwhelmed with emotion, I left the spot and drove down the street. Old landmarks were hazily familiar. What was I doing here?
Then I sighted the spire of the local Church meeting-house, and I drove to my favorite parking spot. Though still not sure exactly what I was looking for, I began to feel more peaceful as I strolled through the church grounds. Rounding a hedge, I nearly bumped into a young man who was pulling weeds. He jumped to his feet, and I noticed that he had a fresh missionary haircut.
As I apologized, he looked at me strangely and said, “Aren’t you the mustard-seed teacher?”
I looked at him in puzzlement.
“Yes, I think you are,” he said. “You were my first Primary teacher. I could never resist coming to your class because of the clues about the lesson you always taped to the door. The picture of the jar of mustard was my favorite. I remember obediently carrying home my bag of tiny mustard seeds after your lesson about the parable. After that, I always thought of you as the mustard-seed teacher.”
The memory flooded back to me of a recently baptized woman bringing her seven-year-old son, Chandler, to my CTR classroom. Here was the same boy, now a young man.
“Your lessons made me want to be a good Latter-day Saint,” he said.
I was thrilled to hear that Chandler had recently submitted his application for a mission. As we spoke, I realized that his testimony was another tree that I’d help plant and nourish. When he was a young boy, his testimony had been embryonic, perhaps even “less than all the seeds that be in the earth” (Mark 4:31). Now the strength of his testimony made him a mighty tree in the Lord’s vineyard.
Silently thanking the Lord, I vowed to keep sowing grains of faith and to trust in their promise and strength.

After decades of living where members of the Church are a minority, my husband and I moved into a neighborhood in Rexburg, Idaho, USA, that contained only two nonmember families. It was our good fortune to live next to one of them.
The father was mowing his lawn the first time we drove into our driveway. My husband and I crossed our lawn to get acquainted. As I put out my hand, I asked, “So what brought your family to Rexburg?”
He replied, “My job—and we searched specifically for a town that needed to be introduced to Christ.”
I felt as though a bucket of cold water had been thrown in my face, but I smiled. I determined at that moment that no matter what our new neighbor said or did, we would become the best neighbors the family ever had. We would try to respond in every interaction with them in a kind, loving, and reasonable way, as the Savior would.
The following eight years brought many shared activities between our families. The mother was invited to and attended Relief Society activities. She invited me and many of our Latter-day Saint neighbors to a Christian women’s retreat sponsored by her church. My husband and I were invited to their children’s dance and piano recitals. Their family was included in neighborhood cookouts and parties. And we received calls from their older children when they needed rides home from work and couldn’t reach their parents.
The parents worried that their children might begin to like Latter-day Saints too much, so they didn’t let their sons join our ward Scouting program. But our home was considered a safe place, where they let their children play when our grandchildren visited.
Every time our neighbors tried to help us see “the error of our ways,” we reminded them that we had the utmost respect for their beliefs and the way they lived and nurtured their children. We then added that we expected the same respect for our beliefs, which also centered on the Savior’s teachings.
When the mother tried to make our differences into a deep, uncrossable chasm by claiming that Latter-day Saints believed in a “different Jesus,” I reminded her that we both believed He is divine and the beloved Son of God. Eventually she and I enjoyed a warm and friendly relationship.
Their family moved without joining the Church. But if they can say, “We lived among Mormons; they are good and respectful people with sincere hearts,” then I feel we succeeded in being good neighbors and in helping them become more open and fair in their assessment of Latter-day Saints.

In addition to protecting scriptures, Emma helped with the translation of the Book of Mormon. She was Joseph’s first scribe—carefully writing down verses we use today. She sewed a pouch for a seer stone Joseph sometimes used to translate.

Soon after she earned an associate of science degree in family living, they moved to Portland, Oregon, and later to Santa Rosa, California, USA, where Brother Jones practiced as a chiropractic physician. Brother and Sister Jones felt impressed to move to Draper, Utah, 22 years ago. Sister Jones has enjoyed the blessing of living close to a temple ever since.
“The Jordan River Utah Temple became my sacred space,” she says. “I have a testimony of the power of the temple and the peace and direction that it has brought me in my life.”

On a Saturday in January, Amy slowly opened her eyes and stretched in the warmth of her bed. Today was the day: the first weekend after a big snow. Hopping out of bed, she whirled around the room, hummed as she dressed, then skipped into the kitchen and gave her mother a hug.

Mom, returning Amy’s hug, said, “Please set the table. Dad and Roy will be in soon.”

As Amy set the last plate on the table, Dad and Roy hurried through the back door, stomping snow from their boots. “There must be a good eight inches of snow out there,” Dad said, “and probably two feet in the mountains.”

Roy added, “And it looks like there’s more to come.”

When breakfast was over and everything had been cleared away, Dad asked, “Is everything packed and ready?”

“Yes,” Mom answered, pulling a blue and white wool cap over her head. “We’re all ready to go.”

As Dad drove slowly along the back road into the mountains, Amy, unable to contain herself, sang out, “Won’t it be fun! Won’t it just be great fun!”

One final, long, climbing curve brought them deep into the mountains. Off to the right was a snowy bowl-like meadow. The sunlight sparkling on the snow sent rainbows of color glittering into the air.

“It’s so beautiful!” whispered Amy, gazing at the snow-covered pines surrounding the meadow.

Mom whispered too. “It’s glorious! It’s one of Heavenly Father’s designs, and it’s perfect for our special day.”

Roy and Amy tossed handfuls of snow at each other as they ran to help unload the sleds. Then Roy placed their big picnic basket on the sled between Mom and Amy.

“Dad and I will beat you two down,” he challenged as he ran to sit behind his father on the other sled.

The rush of air snatched their happy cries as the sleds sped down the slope, coasting to a stop at the far edge of the meadow.

“First things first,” Mom announced, unloading the basket. Soon a big thermos of hot chocolate and slices of bread and butter were laid out on an old blanket spread on the snowy ground.

Dad, meanwhile, had lit a fire in the large sand-filled metal tub that he and Roy had brought on their sled. As soon as the charcoal was crusted with white ashes, they placed an old grill over the top and set a kettle of chili on it to keep warm while they played in the snow.

Swooping Amy high in his arms, Dad whooped, “Let’s make a snowman!” They all began rolling big balls of snow, and in just a short time they had a huge snowman. Placing eyes of charcoal in the snowman’s head, Roy tossed a handful of snow at Mom and said, “Finish him off.”

Mom pulled all kinds of leftovers from Halloween costumes out of her coat pockets, and soon the snowman was completely outfitted.

The sleds—sometimes with one rider each, sometimes with two—were soon racing each other down the slope.

Later, filled with hot food, the happy family sat around the glowing embers and talked about the fun they’d had. After they’d rested a bit, Mom declared that it was time to play fox and geese. First they stomped out a circle in the snow. Then they tramped the snow down to form paths that cut the circle into quarters. The paths crossed in the center, where they formed the safety circle.

Dad laid claim on being the fox first and warned that the geese had better look out for him. Soon they were all running around the circle, bumping into each other and shrieking happily. After each of them had been the fox several times, they flopped onto the snow and watched as long shadows from the pines crept across the meadow.

It was time to go. They extinguished the charcoal, then headed for the car. Amy turned and waved to the snowman. She was sure that he tipped his head in response. Before snuggling beneath the cozy blankets at bedtime, Amy told Heavenly Father, “Thanks for today. There is nothing as fun as a winter picnic!”