Gospel Story Finder

There is triumph for little Sardius Smith, a lad of about nine years who, at the Haun’s Mill Massacre on 30 October 1838, crawled under the bellows in the blacksmith shop to seek safety and, when discovered, was shot dead. There is triumph for Bishop Edward Partridge (1793–1840), who was seized in his home and dragged to the town square by brutal and heartless men who proceeded to pour hot tar over his body and sprinkle it with feathers.

When Janet and I got married, I was financially pressed, and Janet had money in the bank. When we entered into the covenant relationship of marriage, we formed a joint account at the bank. No longer was there an “I,” and no longer a “she”—now, financially speaking, it was “we.” My liabilities and her assets flowed into each other in this joint account, and for the first time in months I was solvent.

My family took some treats to our neighbors. When we rang their doorbell they were so surprised! My brother and I felt very good. I know we should treat others kindly.
Alexa B., age 8

Who would have known that one decision made when I was 11 would touch the rest of my life?
At that time, my family seldom attended church. But my brother and I attended Primary. My teacher, in her lesson on temple marriage, told us, “You have to decide now that you’re going to be married in the temple. It can’t wait. Decide today.” It’s the first time I remember feeling touched by the Spirit, and I did decide, right then, that my goal was the temple.
For a few years, nothing changed. I still seldom attended church, but I thought differently. I believed I would someday go to the temple.

A couple of years ago, in Tampa, Florida, Young Women leaders discovered that the girls in their charge did not know the values or understand how the values could operate in their lives. In order to change this, the Young Women leaders helped the girls identify a value with each goal they worked on and asked that the girls write 300 words about their experience and the value that applied to it. As one leader explained, “Our intent was not to have the girls count 300 words but for them to have significant experiences.”

1 After Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery had translated the Book of Mormon from the gold plates, the Lord wanted other people to read the book. The Lord also wanted someone besides Joseph to see the gold plates so that they, too, would know—and testify—that the plates were real. (See D&C 17:1–6.)
2 For this special privilege the Lord chose three witnesses: Oliver Cowdery, David Whitmer, and Martin Harris. One day after they and the Prophet Joseph had prayed fervently in a nearby woods, an angel of God came and showed them the plates with the writing on them. The angel instructed the witnesses to testify to others of what they had seen. (See Book of Mormon: Introduction—Testimony of the Three Witnesses.)

When the vision closed, Joseph pondered all that he had seen. The next morning, he surprised the Saints by attending the first session of the October general conference despite his poor health. Determined to speak to the congregation, he stood unsteadily at the pulpit, his large frame shaking from the effort. “For more than seventy years I have been a worker in this cause with your fathers and progenitors,” he said, “and my heart is just as firmly set with you today as it ever has been.”7
Lacking the strength to speak of his vision without being overcome by emotion, he merely alluded to it. “I have not lived alone these five months,” he told the congregation. “I have dwelt in the spirit of prayer, of supplication, of faith, and of determination, and I have had my communication with the Spirit of the Lord continuously.”
“It is a happy meeting this morning for me,” he said. “God Almighty bless you.”8

One sister who visited the spirit world and was recalled to mortality by President Lorenzo Snow had personal experience with what the Prophet taught: “Some inquired about their friends and relatives on the earth. Among the number was my cousin. He asked me how his parents were getting along and said it grieved him to hear that some of the boys were using tobacco, liquor and many things that were injurious to them.” (LeRoi C. Snow, “Raised from the Dead,” story of Ella Jensen. Improvement Era, October 1929, p. 974.) Indeed, our deceased loved ones are greatly concerned about our well-being and happiness and can be appointed, when there is need, to bring messages of warning, reproof, or instruction to us. (See Joseph F. Smith, Gospel Doctrine, p. 436.)
…
Ella Jensen had a similar experience when she visited the spirit world. Elder Rudger Clawson, a late member of the Council of the Twelve who spoke of her experience, said that a “guide was there to meet her and by him she was conducted into a very large building where there were many people, all of whom appeared to be extremely busy, no evidence of idleness whatever.” (LeRoi C. Snow, Improvement Era, Oct. 1929, p. 977.) But it is possible that not all people in the spirit world are thus organized, since all have not received the ordinances necessary for exaltation.

Hold up a sack that has scriptures inside. Give several clues to help the children guess what is in the sack. When they have guessed, open the scriptures to Malachi 3:10, and read the phrase “Bring ye all the tithes.” Ask the children to guess what commandment this scripture describes. Help the children find the scripture and read it together, listening for the promise “pour you out a blessing.”

Invite the children to name some blessings Heavenly Father has given them, and make a list on the chalkboard. Give each child a sheet of paper. Ask them to choose one blessing and draw or write the blessing on the paper. When they are finished, ask them to quietly roll their paper into a ball. Sing the chorus of “Nephi’s Courage” (pp. 120–21) as you gather the balls and place them in the sack.

Hold up the sack with the blessing balls inside. Ask a priesthood leader to come to the front of the room and hold out his hands. Before you pour the balls into his hands, ask the children what they think will happen. Pour the balls into his hands, and watch them overflow. Read the promise: “pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it.” Help the children understand that when we obey the law of tithing, Heavenly Father blesses us with so many blessings that there is not room enough to receive them.

Ask the children what happens to their tithing. Help them understand that it helps build temples. Sing the chorus of “Nephi’s Courage,” and encourage the children to “go and do” by paying their tithing.

The majority of young members in Japan are, however, converts themselves.
Hiroyuki Inoue, 17, of the Machida First Ward, remembers vividly the day he and some friends went into Tokyo “just to hang around.”
“We saw several missionaries at a display in the street. One of them held out his hand to me and said, ‘I would like to talk to you a little.’ I was strongly impressed with this missionary’s sincere eyes, his beautiful, shining eyes. He gave me a feeling that what he was telling me was of great significance to me. I promised to attend church the following day.
“At church, even though I had never been there before, I felt as if I was coming back after a long absence. The missionaries taught me the gospel. When I learned about the atonement of Jesus Christ and the many blessings the Lord has given to us, I was happy. My knowledge became sure that he is my Savior and this is his Church.”

Some years ago, I was in the mountains camping and hiking with my sons and friends. I wanted to head out on my own, so I informed the group of the terrain where I would be hiking and set off for the afternoon. As I enjoyed a beautiful, brisk, fall day, I hiked a considerable distance in just a few hours.
After a while, I determined I had better head back if I wanted to return to the campsite before dark. Too soon, however, darkness began to set in. I had a general idea where I was, and knew I couldn’t be too far from the base camp, yet the darker it became, the more difficult it was to orient myself towards camp.
I stopped and tried to logically direct myself, which became more and more difficult in the dark. As my heart started to pound harder and my breathing began to increase, fear began to take over. I found myself walking faster, almost wanting to run, but without knowing which direction to head. Adrenaline coursed through my bloodstream. I realized I needed to take special care so as to not lose rationality or allow panic to overtake my emotions. This, unexpectedly, required considerable concentration.
By now it was dark enough and the temperature cool enough for me to know that our group would be comfortably settled around a campfire, and that if I found the right vantage point, the fire would be visible from a long distance.
It was with great relief that I spotted a golden flicker far off in the distance. Remarkably, this small speck of light provided the perspective necessary to immediately reorient myself and plot my return course. The fear that had been building inside of me dissipated faster than it came and was replaced with peace.
Today’s cultural landscape is full of those who would mock and ridicule our beliefs. We worry that if we express our peculiar beliefs—and they are peculiar—that this will somehow become an embarrassment, or ultimately, a disadvantage in our relationships. But we shouldn’t hide among the shadows, trying to blend in. “Ye are the light of the world. A city that is set on an hill cannot be hid” (Matthew 5:14). Remember how far away I was from the campfire when I was lost, and how penetrating a single spark can be in the black of night.
And so we end where we began. Once again, out in the darkness, looking for the way back to camp, paralyzed by fear, and then rescued by the vision of a tiny spark of light—the fire of faith, the flame of testimony, the burning brilliance of divine strength, the shining gleam of spiritual armor, and the golden glow of selfless service. These will restore peace, provide direction, and eliminate fear.

Mr. Henry lived alone in a small house. He hardly ever went anywhere and he didn’t talk to many people because he really didn’t have any friends. He thought people didn’t like him. Every day he tended his garden in back of the house and his apple trees in front. Everyone knew that Mr. Henry grew the most beautiful apples in town.
On warm summer evenings Mr. Henry sat on his porch watching people go by. But most of the time no one stopped to visit the lonely man.
In the winter he sat by the fire and thought about the way his mother used to surprise him with treats on holidays. He remembered how happy he was when someone gave him a nice surprise. But now there was no one to give him anything and Mr. Henry was sad.
On Valentine’s Day, however, an idea came to him. The more he thought about it, the more he liked it, so he hurried out to his storehouse. He gathered up some of his juicy red apples, picking out only the best he could find, and put them into sacks. He chose some of the odd-shaped ones that looked almost like big hearts.
Carefully, he rubbed and polished each apple until they all were bright and shiny. Then after dark he took the sacks and left one on the doorstep of every house on the street. On each sack he wrote this message: Happy Valentine’s Day—A Friend.
When the last sack of apples was delivered, Mr. Henry went home with a good feeling inside. “They’ll never know who did it,” he told himself as he climbed into bed. “But that’s the fun of it!” Soon he drifted off to sleep.
Now, a curious thing happened after that night. When people walked by his house they would stop and say, “Hello, Mr. Henry,” or “Nice day, Mr. Henry.” And one Sunday, Mrs. Corey brought him a piece of chocolate cake.
“I wonder how they knew?” Mr. Henry asked himself. “It’s strange how sharing a few apples can change a person’s life.”
When Valentine’s Day came the next year, Mr. Henry took apples to his neighbors again, and the next year, and the next. In fact, he took apples to his friends every year.
Now each fall the children come and help him pick his apples. It is fun for them to pretend they don’t know who leaves apples in sacks at their homes on Valentine’s Day. And Mr. Henry is happy too. Everyone in the whole neighborhood has somehow become his friend.

The young women of the Selsdon Ward, London Wandsworth Stake, helped many Bosnians survive last winter by organizing a project to put together packs for the refugees.
The girls asked ward members, friends, and even merchants to contribute items like toiletries, candles, matches, baby bottles, nappies, and nonperishable food. A humanitarian organization told the girls exactly what was needed.
The girls then spent two nights sorting and packing contributions and adding personalized notes. All together, 45 boxes were packed and delivered to the local ambulance station, which was responsible for having the items transported. The people at the station were impressed with the size of the contribution, and the young women couldn’t have been happier about it.

During the sacrament, I take time to listen carefully to the song and the prayer. I can’t tell you how much good that does. My entire being is filled and my tears fall because I remember that Jesus Christ came to earth knowing that he must die for our sins.
Mahalani Tinirauarii, 18Papeete, Tahiti

Now I see some art, or are they music, majors smiling. You’re thinking: he surely can’t convince me there’s a gift hidden in my unfinished assignments. Let me try. Last week I went to an Eagle Scout court of honor. I’ve been to dozens. But this one had something I won’t forget. Before the Eagle badge was given there was a slide and sound show. The lights went down, and I recognized two voices on the tape. One was a famous singer in the background, and the other, the narrator, was the dad of the new Eagle Scout. The slides were of eagles soaring, and of mountains, and of moon landings. Maybe the Eagle Scout didn’t have a lump in his throat quite the size of mine. But he’ll remember the gift. The dad must have spent hours preparing slides, writing words that soared, and then somehow getting music and words at the right volume and at the right moment. You may have a boy someday, with all his cousins and aunts and uncles in a room looking on. And with your whole heart, you’ll want to tell him what he is and what he can be. Whether you give that gift then depends on whether you feel his heart now, and are touched, and start building the creative skills you’ll need. What it will mean in his life will make it worthwhile. I promise you.

Here is a true story that relates a simple experience of a nineteen-year-old who became a remarkable one. He was magnified and had great powers beyond his natural abilities as the Lord acted through him. There was a young nineteen-year-old admirer of Joseph Smith, Philemon Merrill, who had come with other loyal followers to rescue their prophet from the hands of sheriffs Reynolds and Wilson. While returning to Nauvoo, the company rested “in a little grove of timber.” One of the lawyers for the sheriff and the kidnappers boasted of his wrestling powers. He offered a wager that he could throw any man in Illinois. Stephen Markham, a bodyguard of Joseph’s and a huge man, also an experienced wrestler, took up the challenge. The boaster threw Stephen, and a taunting shout went up from the Prophet’s enemies.

As the taunts continued, Joseph Smith turned to young Philemon Merrill and said: “Get up and throw that man.”

The boy was about to refuse, to excuse himself by saying he was not a wrestler, but the look in the Prophet’s eye silenced his tongue. “He arose to his feet filled with the strength of a Samson.” Philemon “lifted his arms” and told the lawyer to take his choice of sides.

“The man took the left side with his right hand under,” which gave him a decided advantage. Philemon Merrill’s friends protested, but young Philemon felt such confidence in the words of the Prophet that it made little difference to him what advantage his antagonist took. As they began to grapple, Joseph instructed him, “‘Philemon, when I count three, throw him!’

“On the instant after the word dropped from Joseph’s lips,” Philemon Merrill, “with the strength of a giant, threw the lawyer over his left shoulder, and he fell striking his head upon the earth.”

Little wonder it is reported that “awe fell upon the opponents of the Prophet when they saw this, and there were no more challenges to wrestle during the journey” (George Q. Cannon, Life of Joseph Smith the Prophet, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1964, pp. 450–51).

Two weeks after Sage was burned, the Volkmans were offered the more specialized care available to burned children at a special hospital in Galveston, Texas. Sage was flown the 1,500 kilometers to Galveston on November 6. She was still in a coma.
Among the hospital staff were two Latter-day Saints. Jonathan Brough and Rob Durrans had seen burn victims before, but this case was different. “I had always been able to recognize what part of the patient I was looking at,” Rob wrote in his journal, a copy of which he later sent to the Volkmans.
“When Sage arrived, the doctors were not very optimistic for her future,” he observed. “‘If she makes it through the night, and that’s a big if,’ they emphasized, ‘we are expecting brain damage, loss of vision, chronic lung problems, inability to walk, and probably a major loss of hearing. Anything short of that will be a miracle.’”
In an entry he made in his journal, Jonathan describes what happened next: “Rob and I were asked to give Sage a blessing. We entered the little girl’s room, robed as if for surgery. We approached the bed to find an unresponsive, motionless figure. The respirator was pumping next to the bed, and tubes—for her lungs, for pumping her stomach, and for giving nourishment—entered every opening of her face. She was severely disfigured. Only her small feet were recognizable as those of a formerly beautiful child. If ever I wanted to give a blessing of release from this life it was then. I envisioned the unsurmountable challenges this girl would have to face, as well as the sacrifices her parents would have to make in order to nurse her back to any degree of independence.
“Rob anointed the frail remnant of that little girl’s body and then we both placed our hands on her head to seal the anointing. Few times have I felt the Spirit speak as powerfully through me as it did at that time. To my surprise I heard myself bless her with the strength to overcome the destruction that her body had sustained.”
Both Rob and Jonathan were shocked at the blessing they had just given, especially the promise of full recovery. “Yet we had both been instantaneously told that everything would be all right,” Rob wrote. “As we closed the blessing, I let my fingers linger for a moment on her head—there was a feeling that she was drawing upon my strength, and when I lifted my hands I felt completely drained.”
During the next few days Sage hovered between life and death. Bleeding ulcers set back plans for surgery, and her coma continued. Donations from friends had allowed Ruth DeBuck to come to Galveston to be with Denise, and the two would often stroke Sage’s feet and tell her stories or sing her hymns, hoping that something would get through to the dream world she was in.
Then one day Denise was lying on the bed with Sage. She looked into her daughter’s ruined face and said, “Oh, I love you, Sage.”
And Sage whispered back, “I love you, too.”

Have you ever wondered what it’s like to be buried alive? I have to admit it was never exactly on my top ten list of things to think about, until it actually happened.
And if it weren’t for a troop of LDS Boy Scouts and Hoover the Wonder Dog, I’d probably still be buried six feet under snow today.
Of course, if it weren’t for the Scouts, I wouldn’t have been buried in the first place. On one of the coldest, snowiest days Salt Lakers can remember, Scouts from Parleys First Ward and members of Utah area search and rescue units helped each other stage an avalanche rescue drill. I volunteered to be one of the victims. (Okay, so I didn’t actually volunteer. I got talked into it.)
We all met in the church parking lot early one Saturday morning, and I couldn’t help but wonder if the dark skies, subzero temperatures, impassable roads, and snow flurries would postpone our little exercise. No way. These Scouts were Wasatch Mountain born and bred. They live for snow. They ski, snowshoe, and snowboard on it all winter long. The things they were about to learn would be extremely useful to them. And they knew how important it was that the search and rescue dogs get some practice.
“We’re always in the mountains in the winter,” said Dan Kaelberer, 15. “It’s important to learn about the threat of avalanches and what to do if one happens.”
Tyler Olsen was especially unaffected by the bad weather. This would be the culmination of his Eagle Scout service project. He’d already been to sporting goods stores in the valley, distributing free backcountry safety literature for their customers. He’d helped at a special prep seminar for the Scouts, where they watched an avalanche video and received special instruction from Dan Davis, their Young Men secretary and owner of Hoover, a search and rescue dog.
So about 25 of us, including Scouts, their leaders, and a few news people, piled into four-wheel drive vehicles and headed for the hills—make that mountains. We’re talking Rockies.
Once we got up out of the Salt Lake Valley and up to Guardsman Pass where the drill was to be held, the weather wasn’t half as bad, and the scenery was incredible. Snow was everywhere, generously frosting the trees and covering the ground in a great, thick blanket. It looked soft and inviting—harmless, even. That’s probably what a lot of people think just before they put themselves in avalanche danger.
“A lot of people don’t realize that avalanches can happen so easily,” said Clark Whisenant, 13. “This project made me want to do a special research project on them for school. Avalanches are really dangerous.”
The search and rescue people had already arrived at the site. They’d brought dogs, snowmobiles, and an intimidating snow cat that moved like a tank, made strange noises, and seemed to be able to transport a number of people just about anywhere.
Before I could pull on my gloves, the Scouts were out running around with the dogs, leaping into huge snow piles and throwing snowballs at each other. “Maybe this won’t be so bad after all,” I thought, as I took a big juicy snowball right in the back of the head.
It was about a half-mile hike from the area where we left our cars into the site where the search and rescue people decided to stage the drill. Some of the Scouts walked, carrying the shovels and other equipment they’d brought along. Some went ahead on snowmobiles to prepare the site. As for me, I decided to ride the snow cat in. The dogs were riding in on it, and I wanted them to get acquainted with my scent so it wouldn’t take them long to find me when it came time for the rescue.
Once we got to the site, everyone went to work. The area was large and flat, with snow piled deep. They had been careful to select an area that really would be free of avalanche danger. The first order of the day was testing the snow, cutting a big, vertical block of it and looking at the layers for instability. If the boys were just out for a normal day of cross-country skiing, this would have determined where or if they would go in that area.
Next, they had to make the area look as if an avalanche had just occurred. That meant smearing injury makeup all over some faces, partially burying some people, and digging snow caves in which to bury others.
“It’s kind of fun to have injury makeup on your face and then be buried in the snow up to your shoulders,” said Andy Brinton. Now that’s an attitude for you! Since I was one of the lucky others who would be buried completely, I’d have to see if I could start thinking like Andy.
I’ll say this for the Scouts. All that snow camping they do every winter pays off. They dug me a snow cave about six-feet deep that was actually rather comfortable—just big enough for me to lie in. I crawled in, and then they handed me a walkie-talkie “just in case.” “Just in case of WHAT?” I wanted to ask. But they had already started filling in the entrance with snow blocks, followed by loose snow.
Now, it’s really not that bad in a snow cave. The natural insulation keeps you pretty warm. And since the snow usually has a density of 40–60 percent, there’s plenty of air. Still, I was depending on Dan to keep his promise that Hoover would have me out of there in 20 minutes at the most.
Dan O’Conner of American Search Dogs, Inc., whose dog Anderl would sniff out some of the other boys, explained to us that a dog could pick up a scent after a person has been buried only a few minutes. “The dog thinks, ‘I can smell the person, but I can’t see him, so I’d better go find him.’ That’s the name of the game.”
It wasn’t long before I heard feet crunching in the snow above me, and muffled voices talking in an excited tone. Soon I could hear frenzied digging, and then I saw the welcome sight of a pair of brown paws, then a black nose, breaking through the ceiling of my snow cave. In no time Hoover was all over me, licking my face and playing tug-of-war with my glove. He was just as happy to see me as I was to see him. He’d won the game. He scooted back up to the surface where the others were waiting, my glove in his mouth, proving that he’d found me. The others congratulated him, then helped me up and out.
What I saw when I got to the surface fascinated me. With remarkable precision, the Scouts and rescue people had organized themselves so that almost every inch of the avalanche area was being covered. The scenario was that a group of Scouts had been in the area when an avalanche occurred.
In one area, the avalanche “witnesses” were being interviewed, and the “injured” victims were being treated nearby. Another part of the area was being swept by people bearing electronic devices that would pick up signals from the transceivers that the Scouts might have been wearing at the a time of the disaster. In still another area, they’d organized a probe pole line, in which the members sank long, thin metal poles into the deep snow every foot or so, waiting for someone to sound the ominous cry, “I’ve got a hit,” if they struck something.
“I’d never been in a probe line, or anything like that, and it was really interesting,” said Joseph Mecham. “If there really was an avalanche, like at a ski resort, and you were a bystander, chances are they’d recruit you to help in the probe line if you knew what you were doing.”
When all the “victims” had been found, we gathered back at the snow cat to go over what we’d learned that day. The Scouts had been shown how to avoid avalanche-prone areas, how to be safer in winter sports, and how to assist search and rescue units if they need help when an avalanche occurs. The dogs had learned a lot too—it always helps them to sharpen their tracking skills and to be around groups of people in a rescue situation.
I’d learned all of the above, plus I’d gained a little confidence, knowing that I could handle some rather severe winter conditions.
But even with our newfound knowledge and skill, we agreed with Hoover when Dan asked him what it’s like to be caught in an avalanche.
“Rough!” Hoover responded. Or maybe that was “Ruff.”

When I was about to enter fifth grade, my parents decided to move to Salt Lake City. My mother wanted me to have the opportunities a big city could provide. Suddenly my whole way of life changed, for things were very different in the city. There were lots of different choices to be made, and I saw that people who didn’t always choose the right could still be popular, could still be thought of as “neat” and “cool” because they were going along with the crowd. However, I had the steady influence of my parents. They taught me, through example as well as through words, that it is always important to choose the right. That is the way to true happiness.

Now I had been studying the gospel and made it a matter of prayer. I knew Jesus’s answer to Nicodemus as we find recorded in the third chapter of John: “Except a man is born of water and of the Spirit he cannot enter into the kingdom of Heaven.” So on August 30, 1873, I was baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints by Mons Andersen and confirmed by Abraham Lossee in Lehi.