Gospel Story Finder

One evening at Christmastime, my wife and I visited a nursing home in Salt Lake City. We looked in vain for a 95-year-old widow whose memory had become clouded and who could not speak a word. An attendant led us in our search, and we found Nell in the dining room. She had eaten her meal; she was sitting silently, staring into space. She did not show us any sign of recognition. As I reached to take her hand, she withdrew it. I noticed that she held firmly to a Christmas greeting card. The attendant smiled and said, “I don’t know who sent that card, but she will not lay it aside. She doesn’t speak, but pats the card and holds it to her lips and kisses it.” I recognized the card. It was one my wife, Frances, had sent to Nell the week before. We left Maytime Manor more filled with the Christmas spirit than when we entered. We kept to ourselves the mystery of that special card and the life it had gladdened and the heart it had touched. Heaven was nearby.

At the conclusion of his mission, Chris decided that he could not return to the atmosphere at his former college. He thought that was also a decision to give up football, and he was willing to do it.
Just as Chris was completing his mission, his mission president contacted BYU about Chris. At first, becoming a BYU football team member didn’t seem like a possibility, but he was invited to try out. He received a full-ride scholarship but was redshirted a year. Once Chris thought sitting out a year would be horrible, but now it was a blessing. He was able to concentrate on his major, a difficult one, in manufacturing engineering and technology. He feels that the Lord has guided his life because at BYU he has had the opportunity to continue missionary work as a ward mission leader. Football will fall by the wayside. That’s fine with Chris. It no longer has his heart.

Jack Stone, who was in charge of the first seminary pageant several years ago in Cardston, told of another student who had been changed by the annual event.
“One student,” Brother Stone said, “who had become inactive and dropped out of seminary, asked to be in the pageant at the last minute. We had a few extra costumes and there were several crowd scenes, so we put him in those. That year the pageant was on the Book of Mormon. As we sang the finale, the entire cast came down on the stage. It was the part in the Book of Mormon where Christ visits the people in America after his resurrection. We sang ‘I Know That My Redeemer Lives.’ It was a touching scene. I remember looking over at the boy and seeing tears stream down his cheeks. He’d been changed because of his involvement.”

It was a busy day in our Costa Mesa, California, home. But then, with ten children and one on the way, every day was a bit hectic. On this particular day, however, I was having trouble doing even routine chores—all because of one little boy.
Len, who was three at the time, was on my heels no matter where I went. Whenever I stopped to do something and turned around, I would trip over him. Several times I patiently suggested fun activities to keep him occupied.
“Wouldn’t you like to play on the swing set?” I asked again. But he simply smiled an innocent smile and said, “Oh, that’s all right, Mommy. I’d rather be in here with you.” Then he continued to bounce happily along behind me.
After stepping on his toes for the fifth time, I began to lose my patience and insisted that he go outside and play with the other children.
When I asked him why he was acting this way, he looked up at me with sweet green eyes and said, “Well, Mommy, in Primary my teacher told me to walk in Jesus’ footsteps. But I can’t see him, so I’m walking in yours.”
I gathered Len in my arms and held him close. Tears of love and humility spilled over from the prayer that grew in my heart—a prayer of thanks for the simple yet beautiful perspective of a three-year-old boy. His words reminded me of my vital role as mother.
It is sobering to realize that I am a crucial link between my children and the Savior. But I rejoice in knowing that since a mother is a partner with God, I am in a position to receive guidance from him, for he truly cares and wants all of us to walk in heavenly footsteps.

I could see the young deacons losing interest as my mission companion talked. He was explaining the importance of doing missionary work at their age—planting seeds with their friends.
One young man finally spoke up, “What can I do? I’m only 13. My friends aren’t interested in the Church, and even if they were, their parents wouldn’t let them join.” My companion persisted with the young men, but my mind drifted back to when I was about 12 years old.
Suddenly I came back to the deacons in front of me. I don’t know if it made much difference to those boys, but I was able to say it was an active young man their age who brought me into the Church. I told them they could and should do missionary work. They could plant seeds with their example, just as Chris had done.

A few months before President Boyd K. Packer passed away, general priesthood and auxiliary leaders had the precious opportunity of having him speak to us. I have not been able to quit thinking about what he said. He shared that he had searched backward throughout his lifetime, looking for evidence of the sins that he had committed and sincerely repented of, and he could find no trace of them. Because of the atoning sacrifice of our beloved Savior, Jesus Christ, and through sincere repentance, his sins were completely gone, as if they had never happened. President Packer then charged us as leaders that day to testify that this is true for each one of us who sincerely repents.

In high school I had many opportunities to drink and smoke and do a lot of other unwholesome things. It just didn’t make sense to me to participate. In fact, it seemed destructive. So I got very good at saying, “No thanks.” Sometimes I would even challenge my friends to give it up. Also, I could see the misery that immorality caused, and I wanted no part of it. I made a personal commitment to save sexual intimacy for marriage. It seemed the only right way. At times I felt pretty alone, but I held on to my personal beliefs.
My family was not religious, so I didn’t belong to a church. It was through evangelists on television that I first learned about prayer. It made sense to pray, so I did and it felt good to be able to talk to my Heavenly Father. I felt I had a friend I could talk to who understood how I felt.

“Yonder stands an old tree; cut it down, and at its roots you will find something,” the little man told the Simpleton, and so it was that the Simpleton found the golden goose!

Over the next hour it became obvious that we were no longer concerned with what we would receive, but with being able to make someone else feel good. Angie found that by expressing her love for Patrick, whom she had never gotten along with, she was better able to dispense with grudges and learn to love.

Ancient One sat in a ray of golden sunshine on the banks of a slow-moving, muddy-green river. The day was warm, but Ancient One was as wise as he was old. He knew that many cold days were soon to come. As a boy running swift and strong, he had not minded the cold. He had shouted with glee and bounded through the new-fallen snow.
While remembering the boy he had once been, Ancient One noticed a small flock of birds gathered on the opposite bank of the river. Seven birds stood in a row, as if taking turns at some game.
The first bird in line flew up, higher and higher, slowly flapping his glossy black wings, his shiny black beak pointing at a cloudless sky. His shadow chased him along the water’s rippling surface. When the bird was as high as the tallest tree, he folded his wings, pointed his sharp black beak at the water, and began to fall. Diving faster and faster, he became a blur in Ancient One’s large black eyes. Just when it seemed that he would plunge into the water, the bird spread his wings wide and sailed to shore, taking his place once again in line.
Ancient One smiled at the boy in the eyes of his memory.
The sun had sunk low in the sky, and the light of day was fading. The birds had flown off to roost in the trees. Ancient One laughed aloud and stood up. He dusted the soft, orange sand from his leathery hands and walked slowly home, his heart full of happiness.

They’ll tell you about the area’s religious climate and how it once turned chilly. Ideologically speaking, Welch and Pineville are located somewhere near the buckle of the Bible Belt. There’s a church on almost every block. Families can trace their membership in one congregation or another back for generations. These devout neighbors have sometimes had a little trouble accepting the Christian credentials of the Latter-day Saints.
A couple of years ago an anti-Mormon group sprang up in the area, preaching against the Church over the radio and in local congregations. The members responded with an unusual tactic—love. Instead of arguing, they showed increased friendship for their detractors. Instead of boycotting the businesses of these people, they went out of their way to patronize them. They prayed sincerely for the members of the group, both in meetings and privately. They came to dearly love their critics, because the branch had never been more united. As for the opposition group, it melted away without a trace, and some of the Church’s bitterest enemies became its friends.

Chrissy Peterson had her arms folded neatly in front of her. She knew that some of the other girls were crying, but she knew she wouldn’t cry. I’m not like these others, she thought. I don’t have a problem. I have everything under control. I get good grades in all my classes, I have a boyfriend, my weight’s under control now, I got a superior rating on my piano solo, and I’m a National Merit Scholarship winner. Everything’s under control. I’m not like some of these others. Like Jason Miller. He really had a drinking problem. It’s a miracle he’s still alive.

I don’t have a problem. Other people have problems but not me. There’s nobody who’s been able to achieve what I’ve done this year. In any area you pick I’ve done great.

But what am I going to do if they have refreshments? I can’t eat anything or my weight will go up. All I’ve had today is a piece of toast, and that was just because my mother made me have breakfast. I weigh less than 100 pounds now. That’s good progress. Another ten pounds or so ought to do it. And to think I used to weigh 128 pounds. I was so fat. It’s funny that even though the scale says I weigh less, I still look fat.

Julie is crying and trying to talk at the same time. Doesn’t she know how messy that looks? Somebody should at least give her a tissue so she can wipe her face.

I wish I could have refreshments. I guess I could. But then I’d feel guilty and maybe I’d go into their bathroom and throw it all up again. What I wish more than anything is that I could have refreshments without feeling guilty. Yesterday my mother said she thought I was anorexic. I don’t have a problem though. She has a problem. Everything is going my way.

Now the bishop is talking. He’s talking about the Savior. I wish he wouldn’t talk like that. What does he mean, everybody has problems? Not me—I don’t have any problems.

Who am I trying to kid? I have a problem all right. Father in Heaven, can you hear me think? I have a problem. I know it’s not right, but I can’t eat. I feel so weak all the time, trying to push myself all the time, trying to be perfect in everything. Oh Father, I can’t do it. I’m crying now. Everybody can see me, but I don’t care. I can’t handle this anymore. I’ve got to ask my parents and the bishop to help me out of this. I think I’m going to die if I don’t change the way I feel about food.

I do have a problem, and I can’t handle it all by myself.

I’ll ask the bishop if I can talk to him right after the fireside. Oh Father, please help me, like you’ve helped the others.

Before homes could be built, the Saints had to cut down the thickets and dig ditches to drain the swamps. Unfortunately they were unaware of the dangerous disease the pesky mosquitoes were carrying. Many workers became ill with malaria, or ague, as it was called then. Before long, hundreds of people in Nauvoo and across the Mississippi River in Montrose, Iowa, were very ill with severe chills and fever, and many were dying.
For a time Joseph and Emma nursed and cared for the sick, but then Joseph also became ill. For several days he lay overcome with the sickness. But on July 22, 1839, Joseph was prompted to arise and extend help to others. Filled with the Spirit of the Lord, he obediently arose and began to administer to the sick staying in his house and to the people in the tent city surrounding his home. Then he moved down to the river where many more lay too sick to move. Joseph went to the door of Brother Henry G. Sherwood’s tent and commanded him, in the name of Jesus Christ, to rise and come out. Brother Sherwood obeyed and was healed.
Elder Heber C. Kimball and others then accompanied the Prophet across the river to Montrose, where they visited the homes of the sick and, using the power of the priesthood, healed them. When Joseph arrived at the home of Elijah Fordham, the man was unconscious and near death. Joseph took Brother Fordham’s hand and said, “Brother Fordham, do you not know me?” There was no response at first, then the leaders could see the Spirit of God resting upon Elijah.
Joseph repeated his question, and Elijah whispered, “Yes!”
Joseph said, “Have you not faith to be healed?”
Elijah answered, “I am afraid it is too late. …”
Joseph asked next, “Do you believe that Jesus is the Christ?”
“I do, Brother Joseph,” Elijah said.
Then the Prophet Joseph said in a loud voice, “Elijah, I command you, in the name of Jesus of Nazareth, to arise and be made whole!”
Elijah Fordham jumped from his bed and was healed!
Wilford Woodruff said, “The words of the Prophet were not like the words of man, but like the voice of God. It seemed to me that the house shook from its foundation.”
After the people recovered, they continued to build the beautiful city on a bend in the Mississippi River and to settle many other outlying cities. Once again the hard work and abilities of the Saints began to pay off, and the towns began to flourish. Soon Nauvoo had many shops and factories, including sawmills, brickyards, printing offices, flour mills, etc. Nauvoo craftsmen also produced matches, leather goods, rope and cord, gloves, bonnets, pottery, jewelry, and watches. Professional associations and schools, including a university, were established. The people also put on plays and held dances and parties.

A few weeks ago we planted our family vegetable garden. I directed the operation and my boys did most of the work—not because I was lazy, but because I remembered that had my father not guided me through similar experiences, I would not have known how to guide them. Furthermore, they would not know how to teach my grandchildren—and I must not let that happen!

The garden project required important preparations on my part. I had to be prepared to answer all kinds of questions. Some I was able to answer with straightforward do’s and don’ts. With others, I responded by saying something like, “Pick up the hoe, hold it like this, (showing them) and pull it through the soil. Then you will begin to understand the meaning of what I have told you.”

I provided them with tools and various other kinds of helps. Most importantly, I placed in their hands some good seed. Seed, which in many ways is so much like the living seed we read about in the scriptures.

At this point I poured a few seeds into the hand of each child so he could examine them more closely. They were intrigued with the thought that one little kernel of corn, about the size of a tooth, could produce more than they would eat in an entire meal.

But hearing about such potential, or even holding the seeds in one’s hand is not enough. They must be planted. Alma goes on: “Now, if ye give place, that a seed may be planted in your heart, behold, if it be a true seed, or a good seed, if ye do not cast it out by your unbelief, that ye will resist the Spirit of the Lord, behold, it will begin to swell within your breasts; and when you feel these swelling motions, ye will begin to say within yourselves—It must needs be that this is a good seed, or that the word is good, for it beginneth to enlighten my understanding, yea, it beginneth to be delicious to me.” (Alma 32:28.)

By now the mouths of my children were watering with anticipation of how the fresh vegetables would taste. “Let’s plant it,” they said. “How long will it take?” “Will it be ready tomorrow?”

Quickly they planted the seeds. They were now personally involved and were beginning to learn for themselves.

My children had to be informed about the need for patience. The good work they had begun on this day must be continued day after day, week after week.

At this point, it seemed appropriate for me to declare, teach, preach, tell, (or whatever other word one may choose to use) some additional principles of truth. They must realize that growing, whether in the garden or in the classroom, is a process, that happens over a long period not an event. The counsel unfolded somewhat as follows:
“Not only must you wait, but that waiting must be filled with work. You must place nutrients and water into the soil. You must dig about the plants, keeping the soil fertile and well-cultivated. Especially must you be diligent on those very hot days when it will be much easier to go to sleep in the shade. The thing that will keep you going, even in the face of other interests and desires, will be your faith. You must not forget the potential of that little seed you held in your hand only a few moments ago.” Alma, referring to the seed he was describing, put it this way: “If ye will nourish the word, yea, nourish the tree as it beginneth to grow, by your faith with great diligence, and with patience, looking forward to the fruit thereof, it will take root; and behold it shall be a tree springing up unto everlasting life.” (Alma 32:41.)

Illustration by Brad Teare
“Twinkle, twinkle …” Caleb’s fingers slowly moved over the piano keys as he searched for the next note. He’d only been taking lessons for a few weeks, and playing the piano was harder than it looked. This one, he thought as he pressed a white key. Wrong! He frowned and hunched over the piano as he tried again. Oh, this one, he thought, pressing another key. Right!
“That song is challenging,” said Mrs. Lee, his piano teacher, when he finished playing. “But it sounds better than it did last week! I can tell you’ve been practicing really hard. I think you deserve a trip to the treasure chest.”
The treasure chest! Caleb’s eyes turned to the big golden box in the corner of the room. It glittered with sparkly jewels and was filled with granola bars, pads of yellow paper, stickers, candy, and other fun prizes. This would be Caleb’s first trip to the treasure chest.
As Mrs. Lee started to teach her next student, Caleb searched through the treasure chest. Should he take the pad of paper, the dog stickers, or the orange gum? Then he saw it—a neon green folder. It was his favorite color, and he could use it to carry his drawings. He reached for it.
But then he saw the fruit snacks. They were strawberry, his favorite flavor. That would be a great prize too.
The folder or the fruit snacks? Caleb knew his mom would be there soon to pick him up, but he still couldn’t decide what to pick. The folder would be perfect for his drawings, but he could almost taste the fruit snacks. His hand hovered between the two prizes as he tried to make up his mind.
Then Caleb had another thought. Maybe he could take both. Mrs. Lee had so many prizes in the chest that she would never notice. It wouldn’t even be stealing, really—next time Mrs. Lee sent him to the treasure chest, he just wouldn’t take anything. That would be OK, wouldn’t it?
Caleb looked at Mrs. Lee. She was busy helping her student with his scales. Quietly Caleb slipped the fruit snacks and the folder into his bag and crept out of the room.
But Caleb didn’t feel very good. When he left Mrs. Lee’s piano room, he felt a small knot in his stomach. By the time he reached her front door, he felt like he had swallowed a bowling ball. He looked at his prizes, hoping that would help, but seeing them only made him feel worse.
Usually Caleb said a prayer when he felt bad, but he knew Heavenly Father couldn’t make him feel good about a bad choice. And taking both prizes, he knew, was a bad choice.
He looked at the prizes again. His question wasn’t Folder or fruit snacks? anymore. It was Choose the right or choose the wrong? Caleb knew what he had to do.
Honk! That must be Mom. He opened the door and waved. “Just a minute!” he called. He took out the green folder and started back to Mrs. Lee’s piano room. Apologizing wouldn’t be easy, and he still wanted the green folder, but already he felt more peaceful. Honesty turned out to be the best prize of all.

That upward reach, drawn from a knowledge of divine doctrines, transforms souls! May I share an illustration with you? Once, Sister Nelson and I were invited to the humble home of Polynesian Saints who had relatively recently joined the Church. By walking carefully on wooden planks, we approached their house, built on wooden piles emerging from the floor of the sea. We climbed a ladder to enter their little one-room dwelling. As we were invited to be seated on freshly woven grass mats, we could peek through holes in the floor and view sea water below. That home was starkly devoid of furniture, except for a used sewing machine provided by sisters of the Relief Society. But the love and warmth of this special family were apparent as our visit continued.

“We would like to sing for you,” the father said through an interpreter. He put one arm about his wife and the other about the children, as did his wife. Five little ones, dressed in newly sewn clothing, joined their parents in singing songs the father had composed.

Concluding, he said: “These songs express our feelings of deep gratitude. Before we joined the Church, we had so little. Now we have so much!”

While wiping tears from our moistened cheeks, Sister Nelson and I looked at each other, comprehending that the gospel brings spiritual wealth which may bear little relation, at first, to tangible abundance. Conversely, people with plenty can be spiritually poor. Yet the Lord is concerned for them all!

After serving a full-time mission in Scotland for the Church, Darrell went back to work at the solicitors’ practice of Lester and Russell. He enjoyed the work and the solicitors loved him and his work ethic.

They encouraged him to go to the careers office to find out what he would need to do to become a legal executive. Darrell was encouraged to pursue the vocation that meant the most to him. It was to be a pivotal conversation, for he left the office determined to follow a career in music. The advisor had told him that such a path promised little money or future, and yet something had been sparked in the young man’s imagination; even though the path was far from straightforward, he had a vision to follow.

At the age of 23 he auditioned for the London College of Music, using both voice and instrument (piano) as part of the audition. He was successful, and in 1990 started at the college as a mature student. Darrell was mindful of the career advisor’s warning, but his love of his chosen field blossomed and overrode any other practical or financial concerns.

“Last year,” announced the oldest girl, trying hard to be sophisticated in an ill-fitting sheath and high heels much too large, “I was to a party in the Linen Makers’ Hall. Hundreds of us there was, and a tree 30 feet high.”
“Was it grand, but?” asked a slightly envious voice.
“It wasn’t, for no one had time to talk with us like these good ladies are doing.”
I thought then that I had learned something about giving, but I was shortly to learn more.
The sophisticate I noticed, had traded her beads for the clay, the clay for a toy car, the toy car for the baby’s picture book.
“Sure it’ll do,” she said, trying to rewrap it. The used cellophane tape wouldn’t stick.
“And would you have a bit of string, Missus? And a pencil, please?” I produced them, wondering.
She tied the parcel awkwardly, and in large uneven letters she printed on it “TOMMY.”
She saw me looking and she explained: “Tis me wee brother, Missus. Nobody invited him to a party, and we can’t afford him no present.”
Ragged, messy little girl in your run-over, outsized high heels, I seem to remember that you are beautiful.

Once I had to choose between attending a Church activity and going to a friend’s party. It was a difficult decision. I didn’t want to disappoint my friend, but I felt that attending the Church activity was more important. I prayed about it, and I felt peace about choosing the Church activity.
My friend was disappointed at first, but she understood my decision when I explained my reasons. My experience showed me that when I put God first, everything else falls into place. It also strengthened my belief that God will guide me when I seek His help through prayer.

By May 1887, it had become impossible to rent a hall for meetings, there being too much ill-feeling against the missionaries. However, with the season for outdoor preaching beginning, the missionaries were again preaching on the Custom House steps.