Gospel Story Finder

I prayed to find my ball. After my prayer, I found it!
Mark S., age 5, West Virginia, USA

A few years ago I was drafted to serve in Taiwan’s naval forces. I served as a chief petty officer and squad leader on a harbor support craft, assisting all incoming and outgoing ships.
One morning in early spring my colleagues and I received the routine instruction to assist a ship approaching the harbor. Initially, the weather was clear. But after leaving the harbor, we ran into heavy fog. Visibility was less than three meters. Because we had never seen such a heavy spring fog, we were tense and disoriented. We were quickly lost. We did not know where we were or where we should go.
Because I was the most experienced hand on board and the most familiar with the area, the skipper ordered me to use the boat’s compass to find our bearing, lead everyone back to the mouth of the harbor, and suspend mission operations. Otherwise, we might at any moment enter an area of submerged reefs or sail too close to mainland China.
I had never experienced fog that required a compass, and I had neglected the work of periodic compass inspection, maintenance, and repair. So when we desperately needed the compass to find our direction, it did not work at all. With rebuke in his voice, the captain said, “You’ve put us in danger. We could run into a reef at any moment!”
I realized he was right. I sadly bowed my head and silently prayed, asking Heavenly Father to forgive my negligence and help me find a way to escape the fog and return to the pier. After my prayer, a sudden thought came into my mind. I recommended to the skipper that we turn in a certain direction, travel very slowly, and find the coast. He agreed, and not long after taking this action, we arrived at the granite cliffs south of the harbor mouth and slowly followed the cliff wall into the harbor. Soon we were safely home.
Because of this experience, I know that Heavenly Father listens to my prayers. I am grateful that in spite of my neglecting proper preventative measures, the compass of spiritual guidance started to work, and it led us home.

For as long as I can remember, my family has read scripture stories every night. We started with the books that have lots of pictures, then gradually moved up to books with more words and fewer pictures. It wasn’t until my mom read the requirements for earning a Gospel in Action award that we made the jump from scriptures stories to real scriptures.
“‘Read the scriptures daily for at least one month,’” Mom read from the award form. “We could all do that together,” she said enthusiastically.
“You mean scripture stories, don’t you?” my little sister, Crystal, asked.
“I think that you’re old enough to read the actual scriptures,” Dad said.
Crystal and I looked at each other.
“I don’t think Crystal’s ready for scriptures,” I said. After all, she was only seven and hadn’t even been baptized yet.
“I am, too, ready!” she shouted, offended. She didn’t understand that I was just trying to keep Mom and Dad reading from the scripture story books.
“Then it’s settled,” Mom said. “We’ll start tonight.”
So we started reading the Book of Mormon. Dad suggested that we try to read one chapter per night. Each of us took a turn reading three verses at a time. Then we finished up by reading the chapter heading. I like the chapter headings. Sometimes that’s the only part that I understand.
We began, of course, with 1 Nephi, and after a few days, I decided that the actual scriptures weren’t as tough as I thought they’d be. We read about how Lehi’s family left Jerusalem. Then Nephi and his brothers, Laman, Lemuel, and Sam, went back and got the brass plates. I already knew the story, but it was interesting to read it the way that Nephi himself told the story. Then Nephi and his brothers went back to Jerusalem to get Ishmael’s family. And after a long time, they all sailed to the promised land.
I learned things that I had never known before, like how the Lord taught Nephi to build a boat. And how some of the sons of Ishmael were just as mean to Nephi as Laman and Lemuel were. And I had never realized how long they all lived in the wilderness before they sailed to America.
Toward the end of 1 Nephi were a few chapters that were very hard for Crystal and me to understand. The chapter headings always ended with a note that said to compare them with a chapter in Isaiah. Dad explained that Isaiah was a prophet from the Old Testament who Nephi really liked. I didn’t think much about it until we got to 2 Nephi, where we read chapter after chapter that didn’t make much sense to me. There were even parts where Mom and Dad just shook their heads and said that we’d understand them better when we’re older.
I was just about ready to tell Mom and Dad that I didn’t think I was old enough to read real scriptures, when Nephi started to use words that I understood again.
Then one Monday night we read 2 Nephi 31. Crystal was reading when we came to verse 20. She read, “‘Wherefore, ye must press forward with a steadfastness in Christ, having a perfect brightness of hope, and a love of God and of all men.’”
“Wait,” I interrupted. “That sounds familiar.”
Crystal, who is usually annoyed when I interrupt, added, “I’ve heard it before, too.”
“Where do you think you heard it?” Mom asked.
It popped into my head: “In Primary, in singing time!” I started to sing, “‘Press forward, Saints, with steadfast faith in Christ.’”
Crystal joined in. “‘With hope’s bright flame alight in heart and mind, With love of God and love of all mankind.’”
Mom and Dad sang the last line with us. “‘Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!’”
“Well done,” Dad said after clapping. “We’re impressed!”
“It’s out of the Hymns book,” Crystal said, trying to impress them a little more.
“That’s right, and I think it’s hymn number eighty-one,” I added.
I could tell that Mom and Dad were surprised, so I went over to the piano for our hymnbook. “Look it up,” I said, handing it to Mom.
She turned to hymn number eighty-one. I was right. There it was—“Press Forward, Saints.”
“We learned this hymn for the Primary program last year,” I reminded Mom. “And the words are almost the same as in the Book of Mormon.”
Mom pointed to the bottom of the page in the hymnbook. It said, “Text: Marvin K. Gardner, b. 1952; based on 2 Nephi 31:20.” Then she explained that the words to the song were written by a man named Marvin K. Gardner, who was born in 1952. He took the scripture that we had just read, and wrote it as a poem to be sung.
Mom played the piano, and together we sang all three verses. Then we went back and finished chapter 31.
“Nephi wrote those words a long time ago,” Dad said as he closed his scriptures. “But they mean as much now as they did then. We still need to ‘press forward.’”
I went to bed that night understanding that the scriptures are more than just a story about people who lived a long time ago. The scriptures are here for us to read and learn from. I felt that night as if the scriptures were talking to Crystal and me. It was as though Nephi was telling us to always press forward and do our best. I could use that kind of encouragement every day. I plan to keep reading the scriptures every night. Someday I’ll even understand the parts from Isaiah.

Some years ago in our meetinghouse in Darmstadt, Germany, a group of brethren was asked to move a grand piano from the chapel to the adjoining cultural hall, where it was needed for a musical event. None were professional movers, and the task of getting that gravity-friendly instrument through the chapel and into the cultural hall seemed nearly impossible. Everybody knew that this task required not only physical strength but also careful coordination. There were plenty of ideas, but not one could keep the piano balanced correctly. They repositioned the brethren by strength, height, and age over and over again—nothing worked.
As they stood around the piano, uncertain of what to do next, a good friend of mine, Brother Hanno Luschin, spoke up. He said, “Brethren, stand close together and lift where you stand.”
It seemed too simple. Nevertheless, each lifted where he stood, and the piano rose from the ground and moved into the cultural hall as if on its own power. That was the answer to the challenge. They merely needed to stand close together and lift where they stood.

Things were going wonderfully as the first year of my mission went by. Then, when I was serving in Córdoba, Argentina, I received some sad news from home: my father was very ill. He had recently undergone surgery, and the doctors had found that his illness was much advanced, in the terminal stage.
The mission president decided that I should go home, visit my father, and return to the mission field the next day. So I went home and found my father on the verge of death, most of the time unconscious and immobile. I spent most of my time at his bedside. Those were hours of sorrow, of peace, and of the abundant companionship of the Spirit. All my thoughts were centered on the Lord and His great plan.
At some point my father regained consciousness. He looked at me but did not recognize me. However, as I began to express how much I loved him and how grateful I was to be his son, he realized he was listening to his eldest child, the missionary. Tears started to roll down his cheeks, and making great effort to communicate, he said, “Your mother is a saintly woman; she is our example.” Then I clearly heard these words from his lips: “Even if you don’t have anything to eat, always pay your tithing.”
He did not say much more. I wrote down his words in my journal, left the house, and returned to the mission field. A few hours later my father passed away.

One of my favorite things is soccer. I participated in a soccer challenge. We demonstrated our skills, and then winners were chosen. I qualified to go to the state competition. I was so excited and really wanted to go, but it was on a Sunday. My mom and I talked about it one morning before school. We had a prayer, and she asked me to think about it. After school, my mom met me at the bus stop. I told her I was going to go to church instead of the state competition. I know I made the right decision. Every time I look at my trophy from the local competition, I will remember that it means more than winning at soccer.

Dewdrops hung on the tips of the long grass blades. Pam smiled as she made her way across the damp lawn. She loved early mornings in the country.

Stillness hung in the air. It was spring magic. She breathed in the sweet scent of lilacs. Everything was perfect.

One long, lonely howl filled the air.

“I’m coming, Lady,” Pam called, filling a bucket with water. She stepped inside the dog run and was immediately greeted by a wet tongue and happy barks. Trying to avoid Lady’s kisses, she filled the water bowl.

Suddenly, Lady ran to the gate of the dog run and barked.

Pam turned to see her best friend, Chuck, walking across the lawn.

“Hey,” he said. “You’re up early.” He reached over the fence to pet Lady. “My family’s going to an amusement park for the day, and Mom said we each could invite a friend. Do you want to go?”

Pam’s face lit up, but her smile soon faded. “I can’t. I promised Mom I’d watch my little brothers while she and Dad paint Grandma’s house.”

“Can’t someone else watch your brothers?”

She set the bucket down. “No.”

Chuck rubbed his chin. “Maybe your mom and dad could take them over to your grandma’s. Or maybe your grandma could watch them here.”

“It’s supposed to be a surprise for Grandma’s birthday,” Pam explained. “Dad took the day off from work so they could finish painting while Grandma’s staying with my sick aunt.”

“Oh.” Chuck’s smile disappeared. “I know it’s been a few years since you went to the amusement park. I thought it was a good idea.”

A sad smile crossed Pam’s face as she thought about the deep-red candy apples she loved, but wouldn’t be eating today. “It was a good idea. Thanks for inviting me.”

As Chuck said good-bye, Pam felt sad. No one had ever invited her to an amusement park before.

It was hard keeping her brothers happy all day long. They played with the dog. They rode bikes. They drew on the sidewalk with chalk. When her brothers grew tired, she put a blanket on the grass and read them the story of Noah’s ark.

Mom came home in time to put the boys to bed. Pam had never been happier to see her mom. Her brothers were a lot of work.

Glad for some quiet, Pam pulled a lawn chair off the porch and dragged it out onto the grass so she could sit under the stars. Fireflies swirled like sparks over the grass, flower beds, and trees.

“Hey there,” Chuck called from across the street.

“Hey, yourself,” Pam called back. “Did you get sunburned?”

Chuck laughed. “Yes, I did. It was awful. The lines were long, my favorite ride broke down, and the hot dog I ate was burnt. You didn’t miss much.”

“You’re just trying to make me feel better.”

“Maybe.” Chuck stepped into the dim light from the porch. “I thought you might be hungry.” Chuck pulled two deep-red candy apples from behind his back.

Pam’s eyes lit up. “Oh my! Those look great.”

Chuck grinned. “I’ll share, if you tell me why your family is so important.”

Pam knew what Chuck wanted to talk about. He wanted to hear more about the gospel and her belief in an eternal family.

He handed her one of the mouth-watering apples and then sat in the grass to listen while he munched on his own apple.

Somehow she had to help him understand that an eternal family was even more important to her than good friends and candy apples.

The last experience I’d like to share came when I passed the bar exam. A salty old trial lawyer approached me and said, “Bob, you can’t be a successful, effective trial lawyer and an active member of the LDS Church at the same time.” I considered others who were successful in their law practices and active in the Church, and I determined to be active in the Church. My decision didn’t affect my success as a trial lawyer. In fact, it enhanced it because I had balance in my life. I was trying to do what the Lord had asked me to do, and He gave me additional strength, understanding, and help.

What saved Brother Robert Wallace from getting his leg shot off in the Korean war?
(His Book of Mormon in his hip pocket. February 1976, p. 18.)

The Holy Ghost helps us remember. When President Eyring wants to remember something, he writes it down in his journal. Sometimes he also paints a picture to show how he felt.
First, he makes a pencil sketch. Then he adds a layer of watercolor. He lets it dry and adds another layer.
President Eyring likes painting pictures of boats and his family. This picture shows Sister Eyring in a little boat when she was eight years old.
When one of his grandchildren was serving a mission in France, President Eyring painted missionaries walking down a street in Paris.
This painting of his wife, Kathleen, and two of their six children reminds him of his love for his family.

“On our recent travels across the world, Harriet and I visited temples in various stages of completion. Every visit blessed us with feelings of peace and joy—whether we entered the house of the Lord or spent time on the surrounding grounds. When we visited with government or religious leaders in these countries, there was always a feeling of respect, awe, and gratitude for our doctrine of uniting families through the blessing of temples.”

My brethren and sisters, last Sunday as I sat in my study thinking of what I might say on this occasion, I received a phone call telling me that Staff Sergeant James W. Cawley of the U.S. Marines had been killed somewhere in Iraq. He was 41 years of age, leaving behind a wife and two small children.
Twenty years ago Elder Cawley was a missionary of the Church in Japan. Like so many others, he had grown up in the Church, had played as a schoolboy, had passed the sacrament as a deacon, and had been found worthy to serve a mission, to teach the gospel of peace to the people of Japan. He returned home, served in the Marines, married, became a policeman, and was then recalled to active military duty, to which he responded without hesitation.
His life, his mission, his military service, his death seem to represent the contradictions of the peace of the gospel and the tides of war.

That plan is making a difference for Humberto Canarte of Portoviejo, Manabi province, Ecuador. Humberto and his wife support five children and two grandchildren on one hectare of good farmland near the Pacific Coast. For the Canarte family, farming is survival. In past years, their living has been meager.
Two years ago, Humberto Canarte was planting just corn and peanuts. Today he is also harvesting soybeans and vegetables. He still plows by hand and clears weeds with a machete. But he now plants hybrid corn, and he plants it in rows closer together. As a result, he now harvests as much as 5,500 kilograms of corn per hectare, more than double what he used to harvest. Two years ago, it took as long as a year for Humberto’s chickens to reach market size. Now, by feeding them a better balanced diet, he can raise chickens in eight weeks using only one-tenth of the feed he previously used.
Today the Canarte family is better nourished. Not only do they eat more chicken and eggs, but they can also afford to buy rice with the money they are making on their corn. Now, too, their diet includes more vegetables from a small garden they cultivate. In fact, the Canarte family harvest has increased threefold over past years.
What has made such a startling difference? The Benson Institute calls it small-scale agriculture. Two years ago, institute personnel farmed two plots in Portoviejo, training farmers and the local agriculture department in techniques that make small-plot farming more productive. Last year, Humberto and six other farmers who have learned those techniques tripled their yields.
Two BYU graduate students are training Humberto Canarte and the other six families in Portoviejo how to farm more productively. Malaquias Flores is a master’s degree candidate from Chihuahua, Mexico. He and Neils Tidwell, an animal science major from Idaho, with their wives and children, live in Portoviejo. “We feel good being able to help them have a better way of life,” they say. They feel confident that the seven families are fully capable of carrying on the program after Benson Institute personnel leave Portoviejo.

1 Always live the standards in the For the Strength of Youth pamphlet, and avoid “unholy places.” To enter the temple, we must be worthy. It helps when we stand in holy places now. That means avoiding places and times when we would be tempted to make wrong choices. I recall a story by President J. Reuben Clark Jr. (1871–1961), a counselor in the First Presidency, about his teenage daughter. She was leaving for a dance, and he said, “Have fun, my dear. Be back by midnight.” She replied, “Daddy, this is the night of the prom. We go to the dance and are not back until early morning.” President Clark responded, “Yes, I know that is what many will be doing. But you must be back before midnight.” She, then, in desperation said, “Daddy, you just don’t trust me!” To which he replied, “My dear, in the wrong place, at the wrong time, I don’t even trust myself. Be back by midnight.”

Two hundred and six miles (332 kilometers) is the distance from Logan, Utah, to Jackson Hole, Wyoming. It’s also the distance Peter Johnson and his friends pedaled to win the relay division of the LOTOJA road cycling race, whizzing through mountain passes and three states in nine hours. LOTOJA (LOgan TO JAckson) is one of the longest single-day races in the United States. It draws some 1,500 cyclists each September, many of them pros. Peter’s relay team is the youngest ever to come in first.

Before Ray was born, we found out he was breech. The doctors worried that he would not survive the strain of normal birth, so they performed a C-section delivery. Minutes after the birth, I, along with my bishop and several others, gave Ray a priesthood blessing outside the operating room. During this chaotic, traumatic situation, I uttered several sentences and finished “in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.” Ray was then washed, bundled, and taken to his family in the hospital room.

For comfort, I tried to recall the words of the blessing, but I couldn’t.

A week later, I desperately wanted to remember the blessing. So much had happened. The blessing lasted only a few minutes, but I could not recall the words I had uttered that morning.

I got on my knees and asked for a miracle, even though I didn’t know if one would come. After the prayer, I grabbed a pencil, and then the words of the blessing flowed into my mind.

This experience reinforced my faith that the veil between life and the afterlife is thin and that we can stay connected with family members no longer with us.

I had witnessed a miracle. I know my son played an integral part in that miracle.

My wife and I are still comforted by the promise found in Romans: 8:18: “For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us.”

I have always admired my great-grandmother Mary Bommeli’s devotion to sharing the doctrine of Jesus Christ. Her family was taught by missionaries in Switzerland when she was 24.

After being baptized, Mary desired to join the Saints in America, so she made her way from Switzerland to Berlin and found work with a woman who employed her to weave cloth for the family’s clothing. Mary lived in a servant’s room and set up her loom in the home’s living area.

At that time, teaching the doctrine of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was illegal in Berlin. But Mary found she could not keep from sharing the things she had learned. The woman of the house and her friends would gather around the loom to hear Mary teach. She spoke of the appearance of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ to Joseph Smith, the visitation of angels, and the Book of Mormon. Remembering the accounts of Alma, she taught about the doctrine of the Resurrection. She testified that families can be reunited in the celestial kingdom.

Mary’s enthusiasm to share the doctrine of the restored gospel soon caused trouble. It was not long before the police took Mary off to jail. On the way, she asked the policeman for the name of the judge she was to appear before the next morning. She also asked about his family and if he was a good father and husband. The policeman described the judge as a man of the world.

In the jail, Mary requested a pencil and some paper. She spent the night writing a letter to the judge, bearing witness to the Resurrection of Jesus Christ as described in the Book of Mormon, discussing the spirit world, and explaining repentance. She suggested that the judge would need time to reflect on his life before facing final judgment. She wrote that she knew he had much to repent of, much which would deeply sadden his family and bring him great sorrow. In the morning, when she had finished her letter, she gave it to the policeman and asked him to deliver it to the judge, and he agreed to do so.

Later, the policeman was summoned by the judge to his office. The letter Mary had written was irrefutable evidence that she was teaching the doctrine of the restored gospel and, by so doing, breaking the law. However, it wasn’t long before the policeman returned to Mary’s cell. He told her that all charges were dismissed and that she was free to go. Her teaching the doctrine of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ had caused her to be cast into jail. And her declaring the doctrine of repentance to the judge got her cast out of jail.

Mary Bommeli’s teaching did not end with her release. The record of her words passed true doctrine down through generations yet unborn. Her belief that even a new convert could teach the doctrine of Jesus Christ has ensured that her descendants will be strengthened in their own battles.

On the night Ana Mercedes Torres returned from a trip to the Guatemala City Temple, her house burned down. “The members helped me with clothes, with everything,” she says. “They were there that very night and are still continuing to help.”

When the news of the awful crime reached Nauvoo, the citizens were overcome with grief and horror. Such sorrow had not been known in Nauvoo before. The warm summer sun left them cold and chill. Their prophet and their patriarch were dead. What else mattered?
When the wagons carrying the bodies were still a long way off, the entire population of Nauvoo went out to meet them. No greater tribute could be paid than was paid that day to Joseph and Hyrum Smith. Such universal love from those who knew them best could never have been won by selfish and designing men. Only love begets love. Once when Joseph had been asked how he had acquired so many followers and retained them, he replied, “It is because I possess the principle of love. All I can offer the world is a good heart and a good hand” (History of the Church, 5:498).

Around the same time, Junko Saijo, a Mia Maid, was with her friends when one of them lit a cigarette and offered it to Junko.
Fortunately, Yuriya dropped the comic book. Junko refused the cigarette. And Sho, a priest, has tried to be careful in choosing his friends.
The first time you stand up to someone can be the hardest, but it’s usually easier after that. “Cigarettes aren’t good for you,” Junko Saijo told a friend after the girl offered her a cigarette. “My friend didn’t stop smoking, but she has left me alone about it since then.”