Gospel Story Finder

Now, there are obviously some infantile inclinations we don’t encourage. Twenty-five years ago, my then-three-year-old grandson bit his five-year-old sister on the arm. My son-in-law, caring for the children that night, frantically taught his daughter all the lessons on forgiveness he could think of, concluding that her little brother probably didn’t even know what a bite on the arm felt like. That ill-conceived fatherly comment worked for about a minute, maybe a minute and a half, until there was a window-rattling cry from the children’s bedroom, where my granddaughter calmly called out, “He does now.”

“Where are your new glasses, Adam?” Mother asked as Adam pulled on his backpack.
“I … uh … forgot where I put them,” Adam muttered.
“Here they are,” his older sister called out. “I found them under the sofa cushion.”
“I wonder how they got there?” Mother said. “Please be more careful where you put them next time. You don’t want them to get lost or broken.”
Actually, Adam would have been happy if his glasses got lost or broken. He knew how they got under the sofa cushion. He put them there.
Adam didn’t like wearing his new glasses. They fell off when he played soccer and were always smudged with his fingerprints. Worst of all, Adam was sure everyone at school thought he looked ridiculous in his glasses, like some four-eyed monster.
But Adam’s glasses did make it easier for him to see the blackboard. So when Adam got to school that day, he could clearly read what his teacher had written on the board: Valentine’s Day Party Tomorrow!
Adam frowned. Usually he looked forward to the Valentine’s Day party. He liked eating the cookies and playing the fun games. But this year he had mixed feelings about exchanging valentines.
After school Adam sat at the kitchen table with valentines spread in front of him. He looked at the list of his classmates and sighed.
“Need help addressing the envelopes?” Adam’s mother asked.
Adam shook his head. “I don’t think I’ll give any valentines this year.”
His mother sat down next to him. “Why not?”
“The other kids think I look dumb in my glasses, Mom.”
“Did they say that?” Mother asked.
“No. But they look at me funny. And Danielle stares at me. I thought she was my friend. I’m not giving a valentine to her or anyone else. Why should I? I probably won’t be getting any.”
“Well, Adam,” Mother said softly, “even with brand-new glasses, you can’t see clearly into the hearts of others. I think you might be misjudging your friends. But it’s your choice.”
In the end, Adam decided to give out the valentines since they had already been made. He made sure to write his name on a few envelopes so he would get at least some valentines.
The Valentine’s Day party was so much fun that Adam completely forgot about his worries until it was time to go home. On his way out the door, Adam grabbed his valentines bag and stuffed it into his backpack before anyone else could see how empty it was.
At home Adam dumped the bag out on his bed, and his jaw dropped. There was a valentine from every student in class, and two from Danielle.
“That’s quite a haul,” his mother said from the bedroom doorway. “Did you give all those to yourself?”
Adam laughed. “Only four are from me,” he said. “I guess the other kids still like me after all. Danielle even wrote that she thinks I have cool glasses.”
Adam was more careful with his glasses after that. He took good care of them and even got a special elastic band to hold them on when he played soccer. He was sure to wear his glasses every day because they not only helped him see better, they also helped him remember to look into the hearts of his friends.

Let me know how I can help. I’ve said this myself, dozens of times, but words alone are meaningless. I prefer the approach of my neighbor when a section of my backyard fence was blown over in a windstorm. He didn’t ask if there was anything he could do to help, he just came over one day, replaced a rotted post, and repaired the fence.
Are there some specific things that you could use some help with right now? When my neighbor saw my broken fence and fixed it, he knew that I needed help. But other needs aren’t as easily determined without asking. Gently ask or suggest ways in which you might help. For example, I was concerned that the financial provisions for my family were in order, but didn’t quite know how to go about determining whether or not they were. One day my bishop, who is a certified public accountant, came to see me. “If you’d like me to,” he said, “I’d be happy to review your financial affairs with you and your wife.” I was grateful for his tact, and relieved to learn after his review that things were as we wished them to be.

Before any temple is dedicated, children and adults can go to the temple open house and see what a house of the Lord looks like on the inside.
Aubree, Reese, and Ellee M. live a few blocks from the Draper Utah Temple, so they watched as it was built week by week. They even saw a big crane lifting the angel Moroni into place. “That was really awesome!” 10-year-old Aubree said. “But the best day ever was when my family and I got to go inside.”
As soon as they walked through the temple door, the children felt a special spirit. Their tour guide explained that “everything in the temple is sacred,” Aubree said.

“I was pretty weak in the Church, and I wasn’t planning on going on a mission,” said Cary Scherer, a 19-year-old college student. “But because of this I feel I need to straighten out my life and get closer to the Lord, because when these kinds of things happen I’m going to need his help.”

The Obedoza family is a great example of this. Brother Obedoza was my branch president when I was a young man. Brother and Sister Obedoza’s greatest desire was to be sealed to their family in the Manila Temple. They lived in General Santos City, 1,000 miles (1,600 km) away from Manila. For the family of nine, making the journey to the temple seemed impossible. But like the merchant man who went and sold all he had to buy one pearl of great price (see Matthew 13:45–46), this couple decided to sell their house to pay for the trip. Sister Obedoza was worried because they would have no home to return to. But Brother Obedoza assured her that the Lord would provide.

They were sealed as a family for time and all eternity in the temple in 1985. In the temple they found joy incomparable—their priceless pearl. And true to Brother Obedoza’s words, the Lord did provide. On their return from Manila, kind acquaintances gave them places to stay, and they eventually acquired their own home. The Lord takes care of those who demonstrate their faith in Him.

Lidia Gantier, a Quechua sister living in Bolivia, exemplifies the Savior’s love by sharing her limited resources. As she helps prepare food at work, she saves the meat and poultry trim for the needy in her ward. She also sets aside unpopped kernels from popcorn. “These are for the birds,” she says. “They are hungry, too.” Her concern for all of God’s creatures is demonstrated in her daily actions as she lovingly gives whatever she has to help others.

“Father came home every night shortly after six o’clock, and dinner was always at six-thirty. I remember wonderful evenings at the dinner table. The moment dinner was over, Dad would help clear the table; then we would go into the living room. He would be at one end of the room, totally absorbed in the work he’d brought home. Even so, he always knew what we were doing. If we listened to some good program on the radio, we would keep it down low so that it wouldn’t disturb him. Then, in the middle of the program, he’d look up and smile and say, ‘Turn it up a little. I can’t hear what’s happening.’”

Natanael held Mom’s hand tightly as they walked into the Primary room. Today was Natanael’s second week in the Sunbeam class. His stomach felt fluttery, and with each step, he walked a little more slowly.
Last week, Primary had been kind of confusing. During singing time, Mia kept standing up and turning around in circles. Natanael was tired of sitting, so he stood up too. But then his teacher asked him to sit back down. During sharing time, some of the older children talked and laughed. Sometimes it was too noisy to hear what Sister Miranda, the Primary president, was saying. When his friend Cara started crying, it made Natanael feel like crying too.
As he got closer to the front row, Natanael didn’t want to let go of Mom’s hand. He was worried that Primary would be confusing this week too. Then he saw his teacher.
“Hi, Natanael,” Sister Tejada said. “I’m glad to see you.” Sister Tejada patted the seat next to her.
Natanael liked his teacher’s friendly smile. He let go of Mom’s hand and sat down by Sister Tejada.
“I’ll be back to pick you up after class,” Mom said. “Remember to be reverent.”
Natanael wasn’t sure he knew how.
After the opening prayer, Sister Miranda stood up. “Today we have a special visitor,” she said.
Suddenly, a puppet appeared from behind a table next to Sister Miranda. The puppet wiggled, waved his arms, and said, “Is it time to go yet? I need a drink!”
Some of the children giggled.
“This is Arlo’s first time in Primary,” Sister Miranda said, “and he doesn’t know how to be reverent. But before he can be reverent, he needs to learn good Primary manners.”
Natanael was surprised. At dinner Mom sometimes reminded him to put his napkin on his lap. That was good manners. And Dad always asked everyone to thank Mom for the nice meal before they started clearing off the table. That was good manners too. But what were Primary manners?
Arlo leaned backward over the front of the table. “Hey, everybody looks funny upside down!” he said.
“Good manners are rules that show we respect other people,” Sister Miranda explained. “Arlo doesn’t know the rules for good Primary manners. Do you think we could teach him?” she asked.
Sister Miranda went to the chalkboard and drew an arm. “What should Arlo do with his arms?” she asked.
“Fold them!” Mia called out.
“That’s right,” Sister Miranda said.
Arlo sat up. He folded his arms and raised them over his head. “Oh, you mean like this?” he asked.
Natanael knew that wasn’t right.
Sister Miranda asked if everyone in Primary could show Arlo how to fold his arms.
Natanael quickly folded his arms. Arlo folded his arms too.
On the chalkboard, next to the drawing of the arm, Sister Miranda wrote, “Fold our arms.”
As Sister Miranda drew more pictures, the children taught Arlo the rules for good Primary manners. Natanael was glad that he knew most of them already.
Now Arlo wasn’t wiggling or waving his arms or calling out. His legs were still, and his arms were folded. The children were listening quietly too. Primary didn’t seem noisy and confusing anymore. Natanael felt calm and happy. It wouldn’t be too hard to be reverent in Primary. He already knew how.

Some years ago a British jet plane crossed and recrossed the Atlantic Ocean in a short few hours. Shortly thereafter a cartoon appeared in the New York Times which pictured the jet plane traveling at a fantastic speed. The plane was labeled “Man’s Scientific Progress.” On the ground was a huge turtle, moving slowly and ponderously. It was labeled “Man’s Moral Progress.”
One writer added this:
“In a vivid way this cartoon symbolizes what could be the tragedy of the modern age, and what is without doubt one of the most compelling reasons for greater attention to moral and spiritual values in our homes and in our schools.”

Most of us have memories of perfect days—days that stand apart from the rest because something or someone made them unforgettable. One of mine happened when I was in the fifth grade. On a particularly bleak Saturday morning in January, my father suddenly announced that we were going skiing.
“All of us?” I asked, thinking of my brothers, John and Jim.
“No,” he responded, “just you and I.”
He urged me to finish my breakfast in a hurry as he gathered our equipment together. Half an hour later we were heading up Provo Canyon to the old Timp Haven ski resort. Dad and I spent the entire morning there, perfecting our snowplows and challenging one another to races. Later that day, after thoroughly exhausting ourselves on the slopes, we traveled to my Grandpa Edwards’s warehouse where we helped him and other family members bag potatoes for hauling. Although it was cold outside, dad worked so hard that huge beads of perspiration rolled freely off his forehead. Afterwards, he and I went to a nearby drive-in and had hamburgers, fries, and shakes—just the two of us.

The happiness I feel in seminary is a lot like the happiness I feel when I’m in the temple. Before I turned 11, my siblings and friends had all been to the temple and I hadn’t. When they would go inside, I always waited outside. I kept hoping for the day I would be old enough to go inside myself.
When I was finally old enough to go inside and do baptisms for the dead, I felt a great peace. Even though my family and friends had described to me the feeling of being in the temple, I was so excited that I was able to feel that for myself.

As the mother of three preschoolers, Geri Brinley was trying to live the gospel and to rear her family in righteousness. But she didn’t think she had time to study the scriptures.
“What did Lehi’s journey to the promised land have to do with my problems?” she wondered. “Where was the chapter and verse in the Book of Mormon that tells how to toilet-train a stubborn two-year-old or get a four-year-old to pick up his toys? I was sure I had more relevant things to worry about than who was going to win the next Nephite-Lamanite war.”
Her answer came when she was called to be a Relief Society Spiritual Living teacher. As she studied the scriptures to prepare for her lessons, she found that they contained the answers to many questions. She began to look for scriptural answers to her questions about rearing children.
“I began reading the Book of Mormon with a purpose,” she recalls. “Whenever I discovered an example of parenting, I wrote down the reference with a brief note. When I finished, I organized the examples I’d discovered into principles taught and my applications of each principle.” The scriptures became a guide to rearing her children. (See “The Book of Mormon as a Guide to Parents,” Tambuli, August 1989, page 33.)

A few years ago, I was working full-time and finishing an evening program to earn my Master of Business Administration degree. When I finished my MBA, I wanted to use that “extra” time for something meaningful.
The advice from a trusted professor was simple and clear—I needed to find opportunities to serve. While he knew of my Church responsibilities, he suggested I look beyond my regular circle of influence.
I started a prayerful search to know where my skills and talents were needed and where I could do the most good. I was soon led to a community center that needed mentors for their teen program. I began mentoring a teenage girl whose family had left Somalia as refugees. Each week we practiced reading, writing, and math skills. But beyond that, we developed a friendship and learned about each other’s cultures and dreams for the future. When she moved, I was assigned another girl. Her family had fled Myanmar, and she had been raised in a refugee camp in Thailand. Along with studying, we also discussed the challenges of life and how to respond to them.
I’ve found many other opportunities to use my skills in different ways and serve in the community.
Get out of your comfort zone. With mentoring, at first I wasn’t comfortable working with teenagers or with tutoring in all subjects. But sometimes my main job was to provide motivation and encouragement. We don’t have to be the perfect fit to make a difference. Most of the time, our main impact could be being there, listening, and building a long-term relationship of trust and stability.

I have friends at school who are not members of the Church but who still respect my standards. Once I said we should pray, and they agreed! I was very happy.
Ivana A., age 11

When Elder Jeremy R. Jaggi was a teenager, his seven-year-old sister, Kristen, contracted a bacteria that attacked her brain. Doctors said she wouldn’t survive.
Young Jeremy knelt beside his bed in the family’s home in Salt Lake City, Utah, USA, and pleaded with the Lord to know why she had to die so young. His sister, however, received a priesthood blessing and lived.
This was a catalyst for 17-year-old Jeremy to “get himself right with God,” leading him to seriously read the Book of Mormon for the first time. Later he served as a full-time missionary in the Ohio Cleveland Mission.

“Then there was the time on the bus. (The girls and boys teams ride together.) I was reading the Book of Mormon. I have a big quadruple combination, and it was kind of conspicuous. One of the guys who had been living in Utah said he’d never seen a Book of Mormon before and wanted to see it. He started looking through it and asking me questions about it. Before long, the whole back of the bus was involved in a discussion about the Book of Mormon. It was as if a curtain had been drawn between the front of the bus and the back, because up in front they were telling dirty jokes.”

David Eves discovered life can change quite quickly when, on 20 September 1997, he and his friends were riding an off-road vehicle in southern Utah.
“We hit a bump and lost control,” explains David. “I remember flying through the air, then waking up in excruciating pain. When I saw my friends looking down at me and I told them I couldn’t feel my legs, I knew I would never be the same.”
David was flown to a hospital in Salt Lake City and underwent eight hours of surgery. He spent the next three months fighting for his life.
David, a member of the La Verkin Second Ward, La Verkin Utah Stake, had been a sports star, but now he faced new challenges. He couldn’t keep food down or speak, and he was in extreme pain. His weight dropped from 170 to 100 pounds (78 to 45 kilograms) in two months.
The days and nights were long and hard to endure. “I wanted to get off the painkillers, but the pain was unbearable,” David recalls. “I asked my dad to read to me from the Book of Mormon, and as he did a miracle happened. The spirit of that book brought so much peace, I was able to rest.”
But David was not improving. Jill Eves became alarmed at her son’s severe weight loss. She prayed for inspiration and felt impressed to call a specialist. The new doctor repaired a hole in David’s esophagus. Two weeks later, David came home from the hospital.

When we were baptized into the church in 1971, there were no temples in the Philippines, the nearest temple was in Tokyo, Japan. Upon learning about the ordinances of the temple and the sealing power that binds families to the eternities, we were so eager for the temple in the Philippines. It was a long wait until 1984 when the Manila Temple was dedicated by President Gordon B. Hinckley.
We were one of the many Filipino saints who rushed to the Manila Temple to be sealed as a family. Our joy was full when we received the ordinances and were sealed as a family. From that time on we never neglected our covenants with God, we regularly went to the temple despite the distance from Pangasinan to Manila. Like most Filipinos, we faced economic difficulties but we saved money to be able to enter the temple regularly. It was a joy to renew our covenants with God and perform ordinances for our dead.

The angle iron clanged on the farmhouse porch as an old woman rattled a steel bar around the inside of the triangle. “Even Elias should be able to hear that,” she said.
He did. The old man in the timeworn poncho turned away from the chicken coop toward the house. “Too early for supper,” he said, peering through the haze of falling snow. Raising a bushy eyebrow, he absentmindedly picked up his hammer and started across the snow-muddied yard. Fixing the gate would have to wait until he saw what all the clamor was about. “Nothing worse than stopping a job when it’s half done!” he grumbled to a hen that scooted out of his path and under a motorcar.
He stopped at the porch and spoke to his wife. “What’s so important that I have to stop in the middle of my work? And what’s Ethel Kramer doing here?” he asked, gesturing to the Model A parked next to their house.
Grandma planted her hands on her hips. “You’ll have answers to both those questions if you’ll get yourself inside, Elias Palmer Thorton.”
Inside, he gasped at the sight of his granddaughter lying on the sofa, bruised and scraped from head to foot. “What happened to you?”
“Nellie,” she answered with a grunt of pain, turning to see him better as he brushed snowflakes from his often-patched, two-sizes-too-small poncho. “Mrs. Kramer saw me on the road and brought me home.”
Grandpa nodded a thank-you to the stout, red-haired woman. “Much obliged, Ethel.” He pulled up a chair and sat down. “What did this Nellie do to get you so banged up?”
Twelve-year-old Melody’s eyes filled with tears. “I was walking home from school. She ran up behind me and took my umbrella. She said that since she was bigger than I was, she should have it. Then she laughed and pushed me hard. I tripped over something in the weeds and fell down the little hill by Sutter’s Bridge.” Her eyes narrowed with anger. “Ever since I came to live with you and Grandma, Nellie’s been making life hard for me.”
Grandpa nodded. “And what are you planning to do about it?”
“What can I do about it, Grandpa? I’d defend myself, but Nellie’s a lot bigger and meaner than me. She’d bust me up into little pieces if I tried to fight back. I hate her, Grandpa! I wish she’d never been born!”
Grandpa and Grandma exchanged concerned looks. “Hate is an ugly thing, Melody,” Grandpa said. “It can scar and bruise us inside a lot worse than any hurts we receive on the outside. Your grandma can cleanse and bandage those cuts and scrapes, and in a few days you’ll be good as new. But hateful feelings toward others are another thing. If we don’t doctor them, they grow and fester like a sore. And in the end they consume us, along with our chance of ever being truly happy.”
Melody looked confused. And angry. “So I should say, ‘That feels good, Nellie. Do it again!’?”
“Quite the contrary, Pumpkin,” the old man chuckled, patting her hand. “If it happens again, I’ll get on the phone on that wall over there and raise enough dust to plant a field of corn. But I don’t think it needs to happen again. It’s quite possible that Nellie is feeling bad about what she did.”
“Is that why she laughed so hard when I tumbled down the hill? Because she felt bad?”
Grandpa’s eyes bored deep into his granddaughter’s. “Someone who treats others the way Nellie treats you can’t be happy. My guess is that she’s a very unhappy person. And when people hurt inside, they often take it out on others. Maybe Nellie’s striking out blindly at an easy target because her pain is too big to face. And misery loves company, even if the only way to get it is by being unkind.”
“Maybe this, maybe that,” Melody protested. “All I know is that I’m being turned into a human punching bag, and I don’t like it.”
“Nor do I,” Grandpa said. “So I want you to do something about it.”
Melody looked dumbfounded. “I’m doing all I can, Grandpa. I try to stay away from her and not pay any attention to her. In fact, I pretend that she doesn’t even exist. But she keeps showing up to remind me that she’s real—as real as the bad names she calls me, and—”
Grandpa placed a wrinkled finger gently across her lips. “I want to tell you about an experience I had when I was about your age. Then I want you to apply what I learned, and if it doesn’t make a difference, then your grandpa will.”
Melody sighed and nodded slowly.
There was a long silence. Finally Grandpa stood with a grunt. “Well, I’d better get back out there and fix that gate before the hens are everywhere but in the coop.”
A few days later, he was in the barn repairing a plow when he saw Melody crossing the yard with a bigger girl, who seemed shy, even a bit uneasy, although the two were talking and laughing. As they passed the barn, Melody spied him through the partially open doors. She picked up a rabbit, handed it to the girl to pet, and told her that she’d be right back.
“Grandpa!” she said in a low, excited voice as she hurried inside, “that’s Nellie! She walked home from school with me. I’m going to show her the dress Grandma is helping me sew. Can she stay for supper, Grandpa? We can drive her home in the truck, and—”
“That’s the Nellie?” Grandpa interrupted. “What happened?”
“All she had in her lunch yesterday was half a piece of bread and a stick of candy. So I sat by her on the steps and shared my lunch with her. I gave her some of the blackberry strudel Grandma made, half my jar of goat milk, and—”
“She let you sit by her?” Grandpa interrupted again.
“I guess she was so surprised that she didn’t know what to say, so I just did. While we were eating, her voice got all funny, and she looked away. I think she was trying to wipe away a tear. When I asked her if she was all right, she said, ‘Haven’t you ever gotten something in your eye?’ Then today after school she asked if she could walk home with me. And here she is.”
Melody hugged her grandfather so hard that he dropped the wrench he was holding. “Thanks, Grandpa,” she said, pulling away and half hiding her face with a hand.
“What’s the matter, Pumpkin?”
Melody brushed a finger quickly across her cheek. “Haven’t you ever gotten something in your eye, Grandpa?” With that, she turned and hurried back to Nellie.
Grandpa watched the two girls stroll toward the farmhouse. “Well, how about that,” he said, taking out his handkerchief. “I have something in my eye too.”