Gospel Story Finder

This is a peculiar building, the only one of its kind in all the world. It was built almost a century and a half ago in the days of the poverty of our people. It was literally a Tabernacle built in the wilderness. The temple was far from finished at the time. Those who built the Tabernacle did so with faith, as well as their rudimentary architectural skills. Skeptics, of whom there are always many, predicted that when the scaffolding was removed, the roof would come down with it. This did not happen, and it has remained in place through sunshine and storm through all of these many years.

Mum spent nearly two months in the hospital and doctors kept saying she might not make it. Hospital workers even discarded her clothes, thinking she wouldn’t survive. We would have family prayer every night with my mum on video call and we would hear her breathing heavily, with the beeping sound of the monitoring machines in the background.
Most nights at 7 PM sharp, Mum called to listen in on our family prayer. On nights she didn’t call, we knew she was not feeling strong enough, so our prayers were even more earnest. Our service to the other patients and our wrestling with the Lord through personal and family prayers helped us through this frightening time.
Our service might have helped others, but we were the ones being blessed—Mum came home alive!

“Step on red, and you love Tami Cobb,” Travis whispered as we filed down the hall behind our teacher, headed for the cafeteria. Twenty-five pairs of shoes, including my own sandals, zigged, zagged, and leaped to miss the red-tiled squares.
Mrs. Simon stopped and faced us. “Where’s my nice straight line?” she asked, not smiling.
We straightened up. All but Tami, whose head hung down. Her stringy red hair looked as if she hadn’t washed it for weeks. No doubt she had that ugly, mean look on her freckled face—the one it always had. I tucked my own red hair behind my ears, glad it wasn’t as bright as Tami’s—and my freckles not quite as dark. Mrs. Simon turned back around, and we continued to the cafeteria. Shoes still skipped over red tiles, but more quietly this time.
“You’re Tami Cobb’s twin sister,” Zachary said to me as we ate our lunches.
Tami looked up at me as she nibbled on the corner of her sandwich. Her dark eyes looked afraid—and hopeful.
“Am not!” I protested.
Tami looked back down at her crumpled brown lunch bag. I felt bad, but it wasn’t my fault. Maybe if she washed her hair once in a while, and stuck up for herself instead of making ugly faces all the time, people wouldn’t pick on her so much!
At recess a bunch of us played tetherball. Tami stood alone by the fence, watching. I didn’t dare ask her to join us, or Zachary would call me “Tami Cobb’s sister” again, for sure. Besides, no one would touch the ball after Tami touched it. Everything Tami touched was automatically considered to have cooties. “Touch Tami’s paper, and you’ll get cooties,” someone always whispered when we passed our papers to the front of the class to be graded.
That night the missionaries came to dinner. It was nice outside, so Dad barbecued hamburgers and hot dogs on the back porch.
“Becca, I think you know one of the investigators we’re baptizing this Saturday,” Elder Ryan said, bouncing my little brothers on his knees while we waited. “She says she’s in your class at school.”
“Who?” I asked, surprised and excited. Maybe it was Brittany. She was so pretty, and everyone liked her. Or maybe Heidi. Yes, I hoped it was Heidi. We always got the giggles together during music class when Mrs. Bradley’s voice quavered on the high notes. Then there was Alix and Kira and Emily. “Who is it?” I begged, bouncing on the edge of my lawn chair.
“Tami Cobb. We’re baptizing her whole family.”
“That’s great!” Mom said. “Isn’t that great, Becca? You’ve always wanted to have a friend at school who’s a member of the Church.”
“Yeah, great,” I mumbled. I knew that I should be happy, but I wasn’t.
The next day at school, I caught Tami watching me. Every time I glanced in her direction, she was looking at me. I wanted to say something to her, but I didn’t dare. Anyone who talked to her was teased all day long.
That night the phone rang. My dad answered, then covered the receiver with his hand. “Becca, it’s the missionaries. They want to know if you’ll sing a Primary song at Tami Cobb’s baptism on Saturday. Tami requested you.”
I didn’t know what to say. Tami knew I liked to sing, because I always volunteered to lead the class in “America the Beautiful” each morning. And just last week I sang a solo in music class for extra credit. Tami had me trapped. There was no good reason why I shouldn’t sing at her baptism—except one.
I looked at Mom. She was smiling and nodding her head. “I’ll play for you,” she volunteered.
I was doubly trapped. “Oh, all right,” I agreed reluctantly. At least no one else from school would be there to see.
At the baptism on Saturday, Elder Ryan spoke about the baptismal covenant as explained in the Book of Mormon. “When you are baptized, you promise Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ that you will bear one another’s burdens,” he explained, “and stand as a witness of God at all times, even until death.”
I remembered my dad reading those words* at my own baptism last year, but they didn’t bother me then.
“We are all children of the same Heavenly Father,” Elder Ryan continued. “That’s why we call each other ‘brother’ and ‘sister.’ When we are baptized, we also take upon us the name of Jesus Christ, which makes us brothers and sisters in the gospel, as well.”
As I sang my song, I sneaked a peek at Tami. She smiled at me. She was pretty when she smiled! It made me all warm inside, just looking at her.
I knew what I had to do.
At school Monday morning, Mrs. Simon picked us up from the gym as usual, and we began our single-file trek to our classroom to start the day. Travis whispered his usual line about Tami, and everyone began hopping over the red tiles. Except me. “Knock it off, you guys,” I said. “It isn’t funny.”
Mrs. Simon stopped and faced us. She raised her eyebrows at me and waited.
“Becca is Tami’s sister,” I heard Zachary whisper, followed by several snickers.
My face grew warm. Tami looked back at me, her eyes afraid—and hopeful.
“Would you like to repeat what you said so the whole class can hear you, Zachary?” Mrs. Simon asked.
Zachary shook his head.
My heart thumped as I raised my hand. I was going to keep my baptismal covenant and help bear Tami’s burden, even if it killed me. After all, red hair wasn’t the only thing we had in common. We were sisters.
“Yes, Becca?” Mrs. Simon said.
I swallowed hard. “Zachary said that I’m Tami Cobb’s sister.” I smiled at Tami. “And it’s true.”

Recently, after a stake conference, I was talking with a family with teenage children. I said to them, “You must live righteously so that someday you can go to the temple with your parents.” A sixteen-year-old daughter responded, “Oh, we go to the temple with our parents almost every week. We go and do baptisms for our family file names.” I thought, What a wonderful thing, for families to go to the temple together.

Another influence in my life was our bishop’s wife. She was a nurse, and she taught me about the power and authority of the Melchizedek Priesthood to heal the sick. She also taught me about the gift of being healed. One day while playing in a silo, my cousin accidently knocked over a rock that hit me in the head. Even before she bandaged my deep gash, the bishop’s wife asked my father and her husband to administer a blessing. My wound healed, and I didn’t have to go to the doctor.

Over the past number of weeks I have had some conversations that have made me ponder the meaning of the word worthy. As I recently talked to a young twenty-year-old man, I discussed his attitude about going on a mission. He said, “I wanted to go, but I am not worthy.”
“Who made that judgment?” I asked.
“I did,” was his answer.

On my first day in the mission field, I was homesick, hot, and questioning if I had what it takes to serve for two years. Why was I here at all? At church that day, the opening hymn was “Because I Have Been Given Much” (Hymns, no. 219). After singing that hymn, I knew why I was here. That hymn was the answer to my prayer.

I was born in the Church and started fasting at age eight. Until recently I didn’t see the point. Then my testimony started to grow stronger, and I have more faith that fasting and prayer work. Keep trying.
Amy Harbon, 17Southport, Merseyside, England

It was a big day for Julie. It was her first day in first grade.
It was a big day for Caroline too. It was the first day she wouldn’t have Julie to do things with.
Mother fixed a big breakfast.
After eating, Julie brushed her teeth, combed her hair, and picked up her new lunch box. Then Mother and Caroline walked with her to the corner, where Mother kissed Julie good-bye and Julie got on the school bus. Caroline and Mother waved as the bus drove away.
“I want to go to school, too,” Caroline said to Mother.
“You aren’t old enough yet, Caroline,” Mother told her. “But since this is a special day for Julie, why don’t we do some special things too?”
“Can we ride on a school bus?” Caroline asked eagerly.
“No,” Mother said as they walked home, “but we can go for a ride in the car.”
It wasn’t like riding in the car usually was, because this time Caroline got to sit in the front seat instead of the backseat. She could see everything much better.
First, they went to the library and Caroline picked out two picture books all by herself to take home.
Then they went to the park, where they fed the squirrels. And at the playground, Caroline got to go down the slide as many times as she wanted to.
They had hamburgers and french fries for lunch—with a sundae for dessert!
Next, they went shopping at the grocery store. Caroline got to help push the cart.
When they went home, Caroline helped Mother put away the groceries. Then they played her favorite board game.
Even though Caroline loved her special day, she missed not having Julie to talk to and play with.
Soon, however, Mother told Caroline, “It’s time for Julie to come home.”
They walked to the corner and waited. Along came the big yellow bus. It stopped, and Julie got off.
“We went to the library today, and I picked out two books all by myself,” Caroline told Julie as they walked home. “And I got to sit in the front seat of the car all the time! And feed the squirrels. And push the grocery cart.”
“I have my very own desk,” Julie said. “And my teacher is Miss Larson. And we had recess. And I have a new friend named Kathy.”
“I missed you,” Caroline said.
“I missed you, too,” Mother said.
“And I missed both of you,” Julie said. “School was fun, but I’m glad to be home.”

I remember attending a general conference when I was president of the stake up in Canada and meeting President Kimball with two or three others. He said, (whispering) “Hello, I can’t speak to you.” In other words, “Hello, President Tanner, I can’t speak to you.” He could not speak at all so that you could hear him any more than just a bare whisper. They didn’t know whether he’d ever be able to speak again, but he was blessed by the priesthood, and he was able to speak. Then later on, just a few years ago, they found that he had what they thought to be further cancerous growth in his organs, and they wanted to operate. But he called the priesthood to pray over him, to bless him, anoint him, and to administer to him. Now notice that it was the priesthood whom he called. It wasn’t because it was President Lee and Eldon Tanner; it was because of the priesthood we held. He was given a blessing, and it wasn’t necessary for him to have that operation.

It takes a special kind of courage to try something new, to listen to the missionaries and accept the things they teach. Bambie, 13, wasn’t sure she wanted to join the Church. The missionaries encouraged her to pray, and she did. “I felt something inside that made me want to learn. I kept praying, and I was given the courage to join the Church.” When she talks about choosing to attend church instead of going with her friends, Bambie says, “I don’t mind what people say. I know by the Holy Ghost that the Church is true.”

My name is Allison S., and I live in Nashville, Tennessee. I am eight years old, and I was just baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Some of my family members came to my baptism. My little sister, Abigail, and my brother, Daniel, were there. My grandparents came all the way from Utah. My mom helped me get dressed, and my dad baptized me. I was baptized in the same dress that my mom wore when she got baptized when she was a little girl.
I invited some of my friends to come to my baptism too. Some of them were from school and some were from Girl Scouts. None of them are members of the Church, but I knew they would want to be there on my special day.
All of my friends believe in the Bible, so we have that in common. I asked my friends to write down their favorite Bible verses and bring them to my baptism. After my baptism, I underlined the verses is my own Bible and wrote my friends’ names in the margins. My friend Katie gave me Proverbs 17:17, which says, “A friend loveth at all times.” Another friend, Molly, brought Romans 8:28. It says, “all things work together for good to them that love God.”

Permit me to give just a personal reference to this principle. Back in the 1940s, my younger brother received a mission call to New England, and (without running through all the details which really don’t matter), he was sent to a little community in Nova Scotia called Kentville. There he labored for most of his mission. As some elders and missionaries do, he came home seemingly a failure if you count the number of people he baptized. You are familiar with the situation of elder brothers teasing their younger brothers when what they do has little or no results. I constantly reminded him of how unproductive his mission was. Twenty years later, almost to the day, I, his older brother, was called to preside over the same mission. In my first district conference at Halifax, Nova Scotia, a little lady came up to me after the first session. She said, “Elder Dunn, Elder Dunn, do you have a brother by the name of David?”
And I said, “I believe I do.”
And she said, “Was he on a mission in New England?”
I said, “He was.”
And then (missionaries will appreciate this) she opened her purse and shuffled through all her pictures. She lifted one out and said, “Is that he?”
I said, “Twenty years ago, that was he.”
“Oh,” she said, “where is he?”
I said, “He’s in southern California.”
“Oh, I’d like to communicate with him. He’s responsible for bringing me into the Church.”
I said, “No, ma’am, you’re mistaken. My brother didn’t bring anybody into the Church.”
“Oh,” she said, “I hate to correct you, sir, but—.” Then she called six other people over, all with great families, who happened to be the backbone of the district at Halifax. And she said, “All of these are because of your brother. We thank God for him.”
Out of small things great things shall proceed.

You have observed in your own life and in the lives of others the miracle of happiness coming from growing holiness, becoming more like the Savior. In recent weeks, I have been at the bedside of people who could face death with full faith in the Savior and with happy countenances.
One was a man surrounded by his family. He and his wife were chatting quietly as my son and I entered. I had known them for many years. I had seen the Atonement of Jesus Christ work in their lives and in the lives of their family members.
They had together chosen to end medical efforts to prolong his life. There was a quiet feeling as he spoke to us. He smiled as he expressed gratitude for the gospel and its purifying effects on him and the family he loved. He spoke of his happy years of service in the temple. At this man’s request, my son anointed his head with consecrated oil. I sealed the anointing. As I did, I had a clear impression to tell him that he would soon see his Savior, face-to-face.
I promised him that he would feel happiness, love, and the Savior’s approval. He smiled warmly as we left. His last words to me were “Tell Kathy I love her.” My wife, Kathleen, over many years had encouraged generations of his family to accept the Savior’s invitation to come unto Him, make and keep sacred covenants, and so qualify for the happiness that comes as a result of that greater holiness.
He died hours later. Within weeks of his passing, his widow brought a gift to my wife and me. She smiled as we talked. She said pleasantly, “I expected that I would feel sad and lonely. I feel so happy. Do you think that’s all right?”
Knowing how much she loved her husband and how both of them had come to know, love, and serve the Lord, I told her that her feelings of happiness were a promised gift because she had, by her faithful service, been made more holy. Her holiness had qualified her for that happiness.

When I graduated high school, I had my whole college life planned out. I would find my first boyfriend, make a great group of friends, and eventually get married.
Instead, I found out that dating and building friendships can be hard. I would meet people who were already in relationships or already had an exclusive friend group. I kept hitting roadblocks to my life expectations.
I quickly found myself comparing my life to those who had the relationships I wished I had. I became envious and jealous. Pretty soon, I felt lonely and depressed.
I wasn’t sure if I would ever feel satisfied with my life.
I turned to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and made some changes in my life. And I’ve found three practices that have helped me feel joy as I wait for the blessings I’m seeking:

1) When I went on my mission to Switzerland in 1950, I had studied the German language in both high school and university for a total of three years. I thought I was well prepared to be a missionary, even though at that time I had not read all of the Book of Mormon. But when I heard the everyday language of the Swiss people and their dialect forms, I was overwhelmed. It became very difficult to apply what I had learned. My companion and I read aloud to each other for an hour each morning from the Max Zimmer German translation of the Book of Mormon, which was written in the old German script. It was difficult at first, but through that reading of the Book of Mormon in German, the rhythm and flow of the language came easier for me and I was soon able to better communicate with the people.
That early morning reading also helped me through the Isaiah chapters of Second Nephi, which can be difficult to understand. In the process, I was introduced to the intriguing and beautiful poetry of Isaiah, to the vision he had of the whole history of man, and to his strong concern for the poor and the widows. It began a life-long study of the whole book of Isaiah, which has been a blessing at many times of spiritual need or of spiritual high points. That reading also opened up to me the way the prophets have of placing things of our life into a perspective that gives them their true meaning in eternity. These openings and beginnings have continued to enrich my understanding of the gospel, of the plan of salvation, of my values and goals, of the meaning of my own life. This all began with that hour my companion and I spent together reading the Book of Mormon to each other in the early mornings in an attic room in Bern, Switzerland. It was not just the language, but also the beginnings of an understanding of the beauty and importance of all scripture that came to me through that experience.

With a start, I awoke and listened. It was still dark so I knew it wasn’t the breakfast call that had awakened me. I nudged my older brother. “Ben, wake up. Something strange is happening.”
Ben pushed a sleep-fogged head out of the covers and listened. “I don’t hear anything, Shrimp. Go back to sleep.”
“That’s just it,” I insisted. “There aren’t any sounds!”
Ben listened again and then he smiled. “It’s probably snowing. It’s sure cold enough for it.” His blond head disappeared under the comforter.
The first real snow this year, I thought. Maybe there’s enough for sledding on the hill. As soon as I heard Mama lighting the kitchen stove, I threw on my clothes to keep the bed warmth in and ran downstairs to the heat below.
“What brings you down without a third call and a few threats thrown in?” asked Mama.
“It snowed!” I almost shouted the news.
“It certainly did—almost two feet,” Mama said. Then Ben and the little ones came clattering in, and the kitchen became a cheery waking-up place with the smell of bacon frying and everyone talking about what to do in the snow.
“Whoa,” said Mama, moving Wyn by the shoulders to his seat at the table. “This is a school day. You’d better eat and get out of here. It will take you longer to get to the bus stop in these drifts.”
“Oh, please, let us stay home,” we chorused.
“Sorry, fellows. Only Libby stays, since she has a cold.”
Outdoors I flopped on my back in the glistening snow. “Look, I’m an angel,” I called, flapping my arms and legs to leave an angel print.
“That’s about as close as you’ll ever come to being an angel,” yelled Ben, as he pelted me with snowballs. Seeing me down, Wyn and Jon joined in. I was laughing and trying to get up when the school bus horn blared. “We’ll be skinned for sure if we miss it. Run!” cried Ben.
All day at school the class was noisy. At two o’clock our teacher announced that school would be dismissed early. She laughed as we all plunged for the coatroom.
“Let’s not wait for the bus, Ben,” I suggested. “We’re out a whole hour early so let’s walk.”
“Can’t. We’d be late and then we’d catch it.”
“Not if we cut cross-country.” Turning to Jon and Wyn I called, “Last one over the fence is a scrungy turtle.” Over they climbed and then Ben followed, just like I knew he would.
“Good thing Libby’s not with us,” Jon said, knee-deep in the snow. “She couldn’t keep up in these drifts.”
“That gives me an idea. Poor Libby’s been in all day with her cold. Why don’t we roll a couple of balls and surprise her with a gigantic snowman?” I suggested. Ben thought it would take too long, but Wyn and Jon wanted to.
It was fun racing two and two, pushing the snowballs. But soon Ben and Jon got ahead as our snowballs grew bigger and harder to push. “It must be getting late,” said Ben, looking at the lowering sky.
“Maybe it’s just darker because it’s started to snow again,” I ventured.
“Either way, we’d better leave one ball. We’ll make good time with the four of us on one.”
It was really dark when we reached our lane. Ahead we could see headlights and from the sound we guessed it was Papa’s truck. Around the corner it came and caught the four of us and our giant snowball full in the headlights. The truck skidded to a stop. Papa came flying out of the cab. “Your mother has called half the county, trying to locate you!” he shouted. “As a last resort I was on my way to town to round up a search party. We figured you’d freeze if you stayed out in this all night. Now here I find you, playing with a snowball!” He waved an arm at the back of the truck and we piled in, leaving the giant snowball behind.
When we reached home, Papa said, “You get into the house fast and think of something nice to say to your mother, to make up for all the worry you’ve caused. If you’re lucky, she may heat up some supper for you.”
When we went into the kitchen, she seemed more glad to see us than anything else. After supper Papa ordered us up to bed. I was thinking we were getting off easy when he boomed, “All except Ben.” As usual, the ideas from my shrimpy-red head got us into trouble, but it was Ben who got the blame. He’s the oldest and Papa always says he’s responsible.
I went straight to bed, but I meant to stay awake until Ben came up. Next thing I knew Mama was calling, “Breakfast!”
Ben stirred. “Gosh, Ben. I’m sorry,” I began. “What happened after we came to bed?”
“It wasn’t too bad, Shrimp. Wait and see.”
Nothing was said at breakfast. Then we all piled into the truck to ride to the bus stop. Libby was going, too, and Papa said he didn’t want her starting the day all wet.
Before we reached the end of the lane the truck stopped. From the cab we could hear Libby squealing and Papa’s deep laugh. We all hung out the back to see. By the side of the road stood the gigantic snowman we had planned for Libby!
I looked at Ben. He grinned and then explained. “When I told Papa why we were late, he said it had been a dumb thing to do. He left me squirming for a few minutes and then said, ‘Well, get some warm clothes on. If we’re going to finish that snowman, we’d better get started now that it’s stopped snowing.’”
By the truck lights they had finished him off to be a giant, taller even than Papa. He was a proper snowman, too, with rock eyes, a carrot nose, and a hat borrowed from our old horse.
“The snowman won’t mind that his hat has slits for ears,” said Libby, her eyes shining with pleasure.
“I’m sure he won’t,” Papa said. And we looked at each other and winked.

In 1980, the Saints were blessed with the announcement that a temple would be built in Santiago, Chile.
When President Spencer W. Kimball dedicated the temple lot, he was very weak; but his presence there demonstrated his love for the Saints of South America, with whom he had worked since 1959. Sister Adriana Guerra de Sepúlveda, who was interpreting for Sister Kimball at the event, said, “When I saw the prophet, a tiny person with an angelic face, I began to weep and could not find words to speak to him. It was the first time for me to be at the side of a living prophet. Seeing the Lord’s mouthpiece here upon the earth and in my country was something marvelous.”10
The temple was dedicated in 1983, becoming the second in South America and the first in a Spanish-speaking country.

I didn’t want to admit it, but no one else was going to. Even though I barely knew how to play five hymns, I was the only one in the whole seminary class willing to admit that I played the piano. It was my senior year, and I’d never had to play in class before because there was always someone else who volunteered, but not this semester. The title of official piano player gave me some confidence in my small talent—until I realized no one seemed to care.
With my new seminary responsibility, I worried that the class would get tired of singing the same songs over and over, so I tried to stumble through the top hand notes of songs I hadn’t played before. I soon stopped struggling to keep the melody going when I realized few were singing. Daily I became more and more reluctant to play. I purposely came late, hoping I’d miss that part of the devotional. I felt learning to play hymns was a waste of time, and I was ashamed to have to get up in front of the class every day.
Then one day, when I’d particularly struggled through a song I’d never practiced, my attitude changed. As I returned to my desk after playing, I found a note on my scriptures. At first, I thought it was a prank. Nevertheless, I opened it. On a paper torn from a day planner was written, “I appreciate you for playing the piano for our class. Music that you play brings a good spirit.”
I realized then my responsibility as the class piano player wasn’t just playing a song. I was inviting the Spirit of the Lord into the class. I began learning and practicing as many hymns as I could. I paid attention to the feelings they created, and I gained the confidence to play them with meaning.
I don’t know if many people noticed the improvement in my playing, but I know I helped at least a few people praise the Lord through song, even if it was only me and the person who wrote that encouraging note.

Besides tutoring staff members, David was responsible for many devotionals at the D.I.
“One day it was Elder Eves’s turn to give the devotional. Everyone was there but him. In a few minutes, in he came, walking with his braces. There wasn’t a dry eye in the room as he talked to us about overcoming adversity and working with your hand in God’s to accomplish any goal,” says Sister Scott, a welfare missionary at D.I.