Gospel Story Finder

Don’t be like the lazy bird that traded its feathers for worms.
Illustration by Greg Newbold
I remember the story of a bird that started to trade his feathers for worms. It was easy to get food that way, and the bird thought he had plenty of feathers. As he continued to trade his feathers, the bird enjoyed not having to get up early to hunt for worms anymore. He could sit in his nest all day and never have to move a muscle. Eventually, however, the bird got too used to this and realized he could no longer fly because he had lost his vital feathers.

Hailey also assists those who are curious about the gospel. She remembers a bus ride when her teammates asked questions about the Church. She was thrilled to answer.
“I explained what a temple is and what we do there. I explained what a missionary is. I explained that following the standards in For Strength of Youth leads to blessings.”

Dr. D. Elden Beck stood confidently before his biology students. In one hand he held a live rattlesnake.
He felt fortunate in having a job—a good teaching position—at a time when the effects of a devastating depression were being felt across the country. He was aware that once again the people of the small southern Utah communities were responding as they usually did during hard times, with determination and stubborn endurance.
Dixie Junior College, the pride of St. George, kept her doors open even though some students, to stay in school, paid their tuition with farm produce.
Dr. Beck was not a native of southern Utah, and neither he nor his family had been involved with the seemingly endless task of subduing the arid desert. Perhaps that was why he was able to see the country not merely as a place to overcome and endure but a place of breathtaking beauty. Like the natural coral, turquoise, and silver of a precious piece of Indian jewelry, the vermilion sands and blue sky dazzled him. A part of the world that had resisted discovery now seemed to him an endless frontier for study, an endless source of wonder.
The snake squirmed and struggled. Dr. Beck prepared to demonstrate to his students how a rattler is “milked” of its lethal venom, an act he had performed many times before. As he attempted to move the snake from one hand to the other, it suddenly lurched and slashed its fangs across his thumb. He reeled back in pain and instantly released the snake. It fell to the floor with a dull thud and lay still. The class was stunned. The rattlesnake slowly revived, and by gracefully throwing loops of its body forward, it began to move across the classroom floor. With shouts and screams, students clamored upon desks and chairs. To everyone’s amazement, it was Dr. Beck who tried to calm them. He gently captured the snake and stashed it away in the classroom snake pit. Then he firmly dismissed the students from the room. Supporting his swelling hand, he walked the two blocks from the college to the St. George Hospital only to find no rattlesnake serum was available.
Dr. McGregor eventually located serum in Cedar City, some 50 miles away, and it was agreed that someone would try to deliver it by car as soon as possible.
Hours passed, and the pain and swelling not only increased but began slowly moving up his arm closer to the elbow. Florence, Elden’s wife, kept a nervous vigil.
Late that night an old bootlegger arrived with the serum. Then Dr. McGregor faced the dilemma of how much of the serum to inject, for the vial was very large. After much concern, the doctor inserted the needle in Elden Beck’s arm and administered it all.
My grandfather, Dr. D. Elden Beck, lived!
The following year Dr. McGregor delivered, in the St. George hospital, the Beck’s baby daughter, Janet Ruth, my mother.

As a witness of the increasing faith of Manaus’s members, each year between 150 to 200 members in Manaus go on a multistake caravan to the temple in São Paulo, the most accessible temple in Brazil. Because of the dense forest that surrounds the city, the only way to travel from Manaus to São Paulo is by boat or plane. Plane tickets are very expensive, so eight years ago the stake presidencies in the city arranged a yearly temple caravan by chartering a boat and buses for those desiring to go to the temple. By sharing the costs, the members have enough money to travel to the temple with their families.
The caravan begins by traveling for four days by boat to Porto Velho, a Brazilian city near the border with Peru and Bolivia. From there, members board chartered buses to take them an additional three days and nights to São Paulo, where they stay in Church-owned apartments next to the São Paulo Brazil Temple. For four days they do temple work, then make the reverse journey homeward.

While I was on my mission, I traveled for a few days with Elder Spencer W. Kimball, then of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. I was his temporary driver and companion. It was the first time I had been so close to an Apostle of the Lord. I heard him pray and testify. I saw what he focused on, what he talked about, and what he was like when he was not in public. I saw how he treated other people and how thoughtful he was of their needs. I decided that this was the kind of man I wanted to become.

During the summer of 2003, I was in Michigan, USA, researching my great-great-uncle Robert Hall. At the end of my trip, I revisited a cemetery I had been to 20 years earlier.
When I had visited the cemetery before, I noticed flowers on one of the headstones with the last name Hall. This time I wrote a note, dated it, and laminated it to protect it from the weather. Then I prayerfully left the note at the headstone, hoping that someone who could help me learn more about Robert Hall would find it. I returned home to California hopeful but skeptical that anything would come of this note.
I prayerfully left a note at the headstone, hoping that someone who could help me would find it.
A week later I received a letter from a distant cousin named Deke Bentley.
“Yesterday I had a strange experience,” he wrote. “At 3:00 p.m. I was headed to buy strawberries when I decided to stop by the Plains Road Cemetery to check out my ancestors’ graves. I had not been there for several years. Next to the graves was your postcard.”
Deke had gone to the cemetery the same day I had left the note. I called him immediately. During our conversation I found out that he lived in Hillsdale, more than 50 miles (80 km) from the cemetery.
A few months later I eagerly returned to Michigan to visit Deke. He told me he had relatives buried in the cemetery directly across from his home, and he asked if I would like to go there. He told me that the cemetery had four gravestones of Halls, two that he knew nothing about.
At the cemetery, Deke showed me the gravestones. The two he didn’t know about belonged to Martin and Anna Hall. I hadn’t brought my records, but I distinctly remembered having researched a Martin Hall.
We rushed to the county courthouse an hour before it closed, hoping a death record would identify Martin’s parents. It did! Martin’s father was Robert Hall! The Holy Ghost confirmed to me that my long search had ended.
Deke, not a member of the Church, said finding Robert Hall seemed “almost spiritual.” I smiled, knowing that the Spirit had led me.
“You may have been disappointed that you didn’t leave your note 20 years ago,” Deke said, “but the fact is that I moved to Hillsdale just three years ago!”
This experience was a lesson to me that family history is indeed part of God’s work and that He leads us in our righteous efforts.

They became involved in this work in an unusual way.
“My friend and I were assigned to perform some vicarious ordinances in the Brisbane Australia Temple,” Michael said. “I had driven to the temple in my business van, and when I was returning to it after the completion of my assignment, a fellow approached me in the car park and said he was the facilities manager for the Church in the area.
“He asked if I would be interested in doing some work for the Church.”
Michael says, “We were asked if we would be willing to do some gilding (painting with special gold paint) on a statue of the angel Moroni. We told him that we were willing, submitted a bid, and we did that very interesting work and have since been fortunate enough to work on many other projects.”

As I sat restlessly in sacrament meeting one Sunday afternoon listening to another returned missionary speak, I entertained myself by watching two children play peek-a-boo across the back of the bench. Coming to church every Sunday seemed a meaningless ritual. None of my friends went to church or observed the Sabbath. I sat there all grumpy, determined to be miserable.
I casually looked over my right shoulder and saw my parents with tears in their eyes. I looked around the room and noticed that many people had tear-stained cheeks and wadded tissues in their hands. I turned my attention back to the recently returned elder in time to hear him say, “… and I know that my Father lives.”
That was a statement I had heard many times, especially in sacrament meetings. I always asked myself, How could they possibly know that there is a God? As the closing prayer was said, I felt a little guilty for my thoughts.
Later that evening my family sat down together for family scripture study. We were in the 30th chapter of Alma, and my older brother Jim was reading about the anti-Christ Korihor telling Alma there was no God. In verses 43–44, he read, “And now Korihor said unto Alma: If thou wilt show me a sign, that I may be convinced that there is a God, yea, show unto me that he hath power, and then will I be convinced of the truth of thy words.
“But Alma said unto him: … The scriptures are laid before thee, yea, and all things denote there is a God; yea, even the earth, and all things that are upon the face of it.” [Alma 30:43–44]
That night I lay very still and pondered the words of Alma. I thought about all the creations on the earth, about the flowers and the trees and the beautiful night stars and about me. How magnificent the creation of the human body is. I lay there a very long time until the words of a song I learned in Primary entered my head. “Whenever I touch a velvet rose or walk by a lilac tree, I’m glad that I live in this beautiful world Heavenly Father created for me.”
The tears fell down my face, and I said a prayer to Father in Heaven asking for forgiveness and thanking him for the beautiful world he created for me. I know my Father lives.

Tracy Y. Browning was about 15 years old when her mother saw a Book of Mormon advertisement on a late-night television infomercial and requested a free copy.
Within a short time, Latter-day Saint missionaries knocked on her door, presented the Book of Mormon, and began teaching her the gospel of Jesus Christ.
At the time, Tracy lived in New Jersey, USA, with her father, but she often visited her mother in New York, USA. While visiting, Tracy observed with curiosity as her mother progressed toward baptism.
With her grandmother, Tracy had attended a Christian church, where she learned foundational Christian beliefs. Soon Tracy began attending Latter-day Saint Sunday worship services with her mother.
The culminating experience came when mother and daughter attended the Hill Cumorah Pageant. Standing in the Sacred Grove, attending church, and listening to messages of the gospel in new ways moved her. Tracy told her mother she was ready to learn more about the Church.
“She put me in front of the missionaries very quickly after that,” Sister Browning said.

Mike’s interest in amateur radio (the term ham is a nickname for the same thing) began while he was young. “We set up an electric train in the basement when I was about five, and I started figuring out how it ran. I’ve been working with wires ever since.”
“My uncle gave me a home-built transmitter, which I used along with a receiver I built from a kit. You can get a novice (beginner’s) license from the Federal Communications Commission (FCC), and with less than $100 worth of equipment, be operating a Morse code station.”
Mike got his novice license in August 1975, received his general license eight months later, his advanced license “a couple of months after that,” and now holds the highest license, the extra class license. There is one other license, the technician license, but it is used mostly for business communication, and higher licenses have the same privileges, so Mike bypassed it.
A novice licensee is allowed to broadcast only in Morse code. If he attains a higher license, however, he is allowed to broadcast his voice. “I started out memorizing Morse code,” Mike says. “Then I had a record with a very slow code speed, and I practiced off the air. Once I got on the air, I didn’t have any interest in receiving from a record. The main thing that pushed me to learn code was foreign stations sending it faster than I could receive, so I kept on pushing.”

Before my eighth birthday I fasted and prayed to Heavenly Father to know if I should be baptized. The answer was yes! After I was baptized I felt a wonderful warm feeling of happiness. I was grateful to be confirmed and receive the gift of the Holy Ghost. Since my baptism I have tried to keep the commandments, be kind to my family and friends, and always set a good example.Huia K., 8, Victoria, Australia

We once had a Persian cat named Arthur. One day our nine-year-old daughter asked, “Dad, do you think Arthur knows he’s a cat?”
I answered, “Well, I don’t really think Arthur knows he’s a cat. All he knows for sure is that it is very nice when you live with someone who will love you and feed you and keep you warm.”
Actually, I know quite a few people who think that very same thing—their highest hope is just to have someone love them and feed them and keep them warm. To them, as to Arthur, that’s what it means to be “satisfied.”

He was worried when he started college and thought about giving up, but Sister Holland told him to have faith.

A few days before he finished his doctoral program and returned to Korea in September of 1951, Brother Kim attended the Hill Cumorah Pageant with Brother and sister Wood. On Sunday, they attended a special testimony meeting for local missionaries in the Sacred Grove. After the meeting, Brother Kim met Church President David O. McKay, who was also attending the meeting. “As we walked from the grove,” Brother Wood said, “Brother Kim cradled his right hand in his left and, with his cheeks still moist, he kept repeating, ‘I have shaken the hand of the Prophet of God.’”

Brother Jim Clegg, manager of the Murray Deseret Industries, attended a sacrament meeting in his son’s ward, where the program was provided by some retarded youth. The final number was a solo to be sung by a sweet mongoloid sister. Brother Clegg knew this young woman could sing because she participated in the Murray Deseret Industries choir, but little did he know that one of the seventy-year-old brethren at the Deseret Industries had been working closely with her because he recognized some natural vocal ability.
As she stood up to perform her number, she noticed Brother Clegg in the audience and cried out, “That’s my Deseret Industries manager, there in the back!” She proceeded to tell the congregation that Deseret Industries was the most wonderful place in the whole world.
As she sang “I Am a Child of God,” no one in the audience doubted that indeed Deseret Industries is the most wonderful place in the world.

With fascination I watched one evening on television the story of a family in the Midwest. It included the father and mother and three sons and one daughter.

The father and mother determined when they married that they would do all they could to see that their children were exposed to the very best educational experiences.

They lived in a modest home. They observed modest ways. But they nurtured their children with knowledge. Every one of those children achieved in a remarkable way. Every one was well educated. One became a university president; the others became heads of large business institutions, successful individuals by any measure.

The members of our ward in the Grand Junction Colorado Stake were taught the true meaning of service as we witnessed a new deacon pass the sacrament for the first time. I never thought I would be a witness to such a humbling event that had most of the members shedding a tear or two.
Brother Braden Anderson bowed his head during the sacrament prayer then looked up to get ready to pass the bread to his section of the ward. He was helped by Brother Renner as he reached to take the tray of bread. You see, Braden Anderson has cerebral palsy, which makes it difficult for him to move, talk, or reach for a tray.
As I saw a big smile cross his face, I looked immediately to our good bishop, Braden’s father. I saw the face of Bishop Anderson turn from anxiety to gratitude that his son could fulfill his duties as a new deacon.
I heard some members whisper to each other, “Look at Braden. He’s smiling, wow! He’s fulfilling his duties.” I saw some other members take off their glasses to wipe away the tears caused by understanding the important lesson that unfolded before our eyes.
For me, Braden’s strength lifted me up so much that there was not room for tears—just the excitement of knowing that he was doing something others would have deemed impossible. Though he had help from Brother Renner, it was Braden who was doing his duties as a deacon.

That truth was reinforced to me when I was diagnosed with breast cancer 11 years after my baptism. Upon hearing the news, I received a spiritual prompting that I should seek a priesthood blessing, which I did that evening. In the blessing, I was promised that the cancer would leave my body, that my body would be made whole, and that the Spirit would guide my doctors.
That blessing was the first of many I would receive over the next three years of treatment and surgeries. It gave me faith to know that healing would come physically if it was the Lord’s will or that it would come spiritually—and I would be given strength to deal with my trial.

In a big red granary that used to store threshed grain, Tyler Petersen (7) and his brother, Dain (5), have gathered some of their favorite toys. They spend hours in the old building, making up stories and playing games together. Tyler and Dain adopted the granary as their playhouse after their grandfather helped them clean it out while he was visiting their home in Hatton, North Dakota.

Valaei continues to be a supporter of missionary service. Bishop Taleni remembers that their “home was the home of missionaries in the village for many years. She called these missionaries her own children, took care of them in many ways.”