Gospel Story Finder

Friday: When your older brothers came to visit and teased you, I saw you guys start to get angry. But then instead of fighting with them, you laughed it off. You showed self-control.

That is no way to listen to conference. I have since repented. I have grown to love general conference, I’m sure partly because of my mother’s love for the words of the living prophets. I remember listening to the sessions of a particular conference all alone in an apartment while I was in college. The Holy Ghost witnessed to my soul that Harold B. Lee, the President of the Church at that time, was truly a prophet of God. This happened before I went into the mission field, and I was excited to testify of a living prophet because I had come to know for myself. I have had that same witness about each of the prophets since that time.

We were poor for the most part because my father spent his small paycheck drinking on weekends. We were always hungry. When my mother tried to make Father see how we were suffering, he would become violently angry and would strike her until she was hurt and sobbing. How hard she tried to defend us children and care for us.
One Sunday, my little sister returned home from a new church where she had gone with her cousin several times. She brought with her a missionary couple to meet the family. Elder and Sister Call were so very kind and humble. They began to teach us about the gospel of Jesus Christ and his true church. After hearing the discussions and praying much for the Spirit to guide us, we agreed to be baptized.
My father changed and gave up his bad habits. He quit drinking, smoking, and leaving his family hungry on weekends. I was so happy I wanted to tell him that I loved him, but I was afraid to.

Sumalee rested her head against the boat and watched the swallows fly over the stilt houses in the klong (canal). The rainy season was over for a few months and it was a beautiful day. But even that did not make Sumalee happy.
“Why are you so sad?” her brother, Pote, asked as he paddled down the klong. “I was very excited the first day I took the vegetables to market,” he said.
Sumalee did not answer.
“Smile, little one,” Pote encouraged.
“I cannot,” Sumalee stammered. “I am afraid.”
“Afraid!” Pote laughed.
“Do not shame me,” Sumalee whispered.
“I am sorry, little one. I did you dishonor. But why should you be afraid?”
“I do not like to talk to strangers. I cannot sell vegetables.”
“Is that all?” Pote asked. “Well, then I will teach you.”
Pote told Sumalee everything she must know, but hearing it all only made her more frightened.
“Please, my brother,” Sumalee interrupted, “could you not sell the vegetables today?”
“You already know I cannot. I have business to be about.”
Sumalee knew it was useless. She had tried everything, but still she was on her way to the market.
“Here we are!” Pote handed Sumalee the paddle. “I must get out here. It is only for one day. Just do as I told you. And remember, your family depends upon you.”
“Please, my brother. …” But Pote jumped from the boat.
“You will do fine, my sister,” he shouted over his shoulder and then disappeared into the crowds of people.
Sumalee wanted to cry. She stared at all the people and then at the children swimming under the stilt houses. More than anything Sumalee loved to swim. Then suddenly she had an idea. I will take the boat to the other shore and swim with the children until Pote is finished, she decided. I can tell him no one would buy and I could even eat a piece of the sugarcane myself!
Then she remembered Pote’s words, “Your family depends upon you.”
Sumalee’s frown returned. She knew they depended upon her. The family’s only money came from selling their vegetables.
Slowly Sumalee took the paddle and started down the river. There is no other way, she thought, I must sell the vegetables. Her heart pounded violently inside her as she maneuvered the small vegetable boat into the klong bank.
“Corn … vegetables … sugarcane,” Sumalee whispered. But of course no one heard.
“Vegetables … sugarcane … corn …” she said a little louder.
Still no one stopped. No one even looked at her.
“Please buy!” Sumalee tried again. “Vegetables! Corn! Good fresh vegetables!”
Her face felt hot, her hands were sweaty, and her voice was shaky. “Please buy! Vegetables, fresh vegetables. Buy my vegetables.”
A lady peered cautiously into the boat. Sumalee’s words froze inside her mouth.
“Fresh? You are sure?” the lady asked.
Sumalee could not speak. She nodded.
“I’ll take these.” The woman gave Sumalee the money and went on.
Sumalee breathed deeply, but before she could think about how frightened she was three other customers crowded close, feeling and smelling the vegetables.
“You are sure they are good?” they asked.
“My father is a man of honor. He makes sure they are good,” Sumalee answered slowly and with a shaky voice.
Each woman loaded her shopping bag and went on, and other customers came.
Sumalee’s heart still pounded, but she was too busy to notice. She kept on selling vegetables until they were all gone. Then she paddled back down the klong to get Pote.
“Here, Sumalee, over here!” Pote waved his arms. Sumalee steered the boat toward him.
“There now,” he said as he climbed aboard, “we will sell the rest of the vegetables to the houses along the klong as we go home.”
“But there are no more vegetables, my brother.”
“No more?” Pote glanced quickly around the boat and then frowned. “Sumalee, you did not throw the vegetables into the water?”
Sumalee didn’t answer. She just held up the money pouch.
Pote laughed. “You must not have been as frightened as you believed, little one! Even I do not sell all the vegetables at the marketplace!”
“But I was afraid! The women at the market just seemed to like our vegetables better than those of the others.”
“I think maybe they trust a little one more!” Pote said.
“Whatever, my brother. But I was afraid and I’m very glad it is over.”
“You did fine, little one,” Pote complimented her. “Our parents will be proud.”
For the first time Sumalee thought about how nice it was to have helped her family. She felt good inside, even better than when she went swimming under the stilt house or when she had a piece of sugarcane to munch on. She gave a big sigh of relief.
“Next time it will be easier and you will not be so frightened,” Pote told her.
“Next time?” Sumalee straightened up and stared at her brother.
“Don’t worry,” Pote laughed. “It will be awhile before you must do this daily.”
Sumalee smiled. “After I have learned how not to be frightened?” she asked, a little relieved.
“Yes, after awhile you will only remember the good, helpful feeling. Then you will be ready.”
Sumalee leaned against the boat. “Yes, I will concentrate on the good feeling,” she said and smiled up at the swallows.

Thank you so much for the Questions and Answers in the January 1996 issue. I have been praying about that very exact thing, and when I read it I knew that Heavenly Father had heard my prayers.
Tiffany BanksCoalville, Utah

I came home from my mission mistakenly feeling that I could check patience off my list of lessons to learn. The thing about patience, though, is that it’s not a lesson we learn only once. Elder Neal A. Maxwell (1926–2004) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles gave a talk on patience, and I read it for the first time after a rather discouraging breakup with someone I had been dating. I was feeling heartbroken and a little hopeless, and at that point, the last thing I thought I needed was a reminder to be patient. Surprisingly, though, Elder Maxwell’s insights on patience taught me some powerful concepts that totally changed my perspective (once again) and helped me recommit to patience.
For example, I learned that committing to patience doesn’t mean we shrug our shoulders and give up hope. Elder Maxwell taught: “Patience is not indifference. Actually, it means caring very much but being willing, nevertheless, to submit to the Lord and to what the scriptures call the ‘process of time.’”1 I had always thought of patience as a somewhat passive response to life’s experiences, a sort of relenting. But patience is not relenting. Patience is a manifestation of inner strength and devotion to the Lord.
Elder Maxwell also taught: “Patience is a willingness, in a sense, to watch the unfolding purposes of God with a sense of wonder and awe, rather than pacing up and down within the cell of our circumstance. Put another way, too much anxious opening of the oven door and the cake falls instead of rising. So it is with us. If we are always selfishly taking our temperature to see if we are happy, we will not be.”2 This idea really resonated with me (and not just because I am an impatient baker). It’s discouraging when plans fall through or don’t pan out as expected. To our mortal minds, divine timing can be hard to understand. But what I can understand is that God is a loving Father who has a plan that guarantees eventual happiness if we are faithful, and I am learning to accept His timing with confidence—not with anxiousness.
Because patience tests us at a very personal level, our focus is often inward. But Elder Maxwell taught that “patience also helps us to realize that while we may be ready to move on, having had enough of a particular learning experience, our continued presence is often needed as a part of the learning environment of others.”3 Not only do we need patience, but others also need our patience or the example of our patience. This idea had never dawned on me, and it helped me to view patience as a noble quality, very closely tied to charity, the pure love of Christ, which “never faileth” (Moroni 7:46).

Then I thought of my niece Ashley. She too knows of the love her Father in Heaven has for her, yet her experience was quite the opposite of Jocelyn’s.
About a year ago Ashley was walking with her father and mother across seaside boulders near their home in northern California. Her dad was photographing beautiful scenes for watercolors he would paint. Out of nowhere and with no forewarning, a rogue wave engulfed the shore, carrying her father out to sea and dragging her mother along the boulders. Ashley was inland far enough that the killer wave missed her. Terrorized by what she had just witnessed, she ran for help.
Within minutes, a man with a cell phone called emergency numbers, and a rescue began. Her mother had landed in a precarious spot where she could be reached only by helicopter. She was in excruciating pain with a broken back and arm and with numerous cuts and gashes due to the vicious rocks and fierce ocean. Ashley’s father was nowhere to be found. As Ashley’s mother lay on the edge of the sea waiting for rescue, she felt her husband’s presence, and she knew without a doubt that he was gone. His body never was recovered.
Heavenly Father didn’t save Ashley’s dad. Yet Ashley still knows that He loves her. She says: “During that time I felt comfort from the Holy Ghost. I knew I would see my dad again. And I felt the Lord’s love through the kind care of others.”

Brett was the only other Church member in my grade, and he’d never seemed very religious. I still remember being surprised my sophomore year when I first met him. He asked me why I chose not to date until I was 16. I was astounded by his question because Brett had been an active member his entire life but he somehow still didn’t know some of the basic teachings of the Church. To him, church was a Sunday thing. I remembered answering Brett’s question about my decision not to date until 16 and then enlightening him on many other standards we had as Church members.

Elder Dallin H. Oaks of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles explained this with a parable:
“A wealthy father knew that if he were to bestow his wealth upon a child who had not yet developed the needed wisdom and stature, the inheritance would probably be wasted. The father said to his child:
“‘All that I have I desire to give you—not only my wealth, but also my position and standing among men. That which I have I can easily give you, but that which I am you must obtain for yourself. You will qualify for your inheritance by learning what I have learned and by living as I have lived. I will give you the laws and principles by which I have acquired my wisdom and stature. Follow my example, mastering as I have mastered, and you will become as I am, and all that I have will be yours.’”1

I love ice cream. And not just any ice cream will do. My ice cream simply has to be the best! There’s a little shop near our home that has the creamiest, smoothest, melt-in-your-mouth ice cream in the world. One tiny scoop is all I need to put me in ecstasy. It costs a little bit more than any other ice cream, but then, I’m worth it!

I was having a hard day and had some troubling questions on my mind, so I decided to read my scriptures. Suddenly I felt like I should read the New Era, so I started reading the June issue and read “My Journey to Faith.” The last sentence really stood out to me: “I know that Heavenly Father loves each one of us and answers our prayers if we have faith in Him.” So I decided to pray about what was worrying me and trust that God would help me. Ever since, I’ve been at peace. Thank you so much!Karen A., Wyoming

For a long time in Primary, I wanted to go inside the temple and do baptisms for the dead. So when I became a Beehive, I couldn’t wait to get started. The first time I went was on my 12th birthday. My dad took me to the Ogden Utah Temple, where we did the baptisms and confirmations. I felt the Spirit so strongly, and I didn’t want the feeling to leave.
I decided that for a Personal Progress experience, I wanted to do my family history. A kind sister from my ward taught me how to use the FamilySearch program. I then searched for names with my mom, and every time I saw a green arrow pointing to the temple, I squealed with delight—it meant we’d found another name to submit to the temple for temple work!
My mother and I just went to the temple to do six of the baptisms. Temple workers said they had more names for us to do if we’d like to do them. I was overjoyed! My mom and I did at least 12 baptisms each. I felt the Spirit and always will when I go to the temple.

Hang in there. How many times had I heard that as I was growing up? My mind carried me back to my senior year in high school.
I was the Laurel class president and my mom was president of the Young Women. Each week I made what seemed like endless rounds to pick up all the less-active girls in my class to get them out to Young Women classes, basketball practices, activities, or whatever else came up. I didn’t enjoy it. “I’m not doing it anymore,” I told my mom after a particularly frustrating day and then proceeded to explain to her the heavy burden I carried as class president.
She smiled and listened patiently. “Well, Lori,” she said when I had finished, “it’s not forever. Just do your best and hang in there.”
So I tried. It wasn’t always easy and I didn’t always smile as I went, but I hung in there. And, surprisingly, as I looked back it wasn’t the hard times I remembered. What I do remember were basketball games that we almost won together, slumber parties where we stayed up talking and laughing most of the night, and Young Women classes when everyone was there for a lesson.

As the Book of Mormon was being translated in 1829, the Lord began putting His priesthood structure in place. In response to Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery’s prayer concerning baptism, the resurrected John the Baptist appeared and conferred upon them the Aaronic Priesthood, which “holds the keys of the ministering of angels, and of the gospel of repentance, and of baptism by immersion for the remission of sins” (Doctrine and Covenants 13:1). With that authority, Joseph and Oliver baptized one another and others as the Church was formally organized.

Min-Jun stared out the window at the clouds. “It looks like it will rain tomorrow,” he said.
Grandfather looked up from his newspaper and nodded. It was late summer in Seoul, South Korea, and monsoon season had begun.
Min-Jun set an umbrella next to his clothes for Sunday. “I think we should leave early tomorrow.”
Grandfather smiled. “Good idea. We’ll have to walk the longer way, in case the lower road floods.”
“Do you think the Church building will be all right?” Min-Jun asked. Last year the basement had flooded during monsoon season.
“Yes,” said Grandfather. “But it never hurts to pray.”
“Then I’ll pray for the church tonight. And that we can make it there safely. Jal-ja-yo (good night).” Min-Jun bowed and went to bed.
In the morning they left the apartment early. Min-Jun looked up at the dark clouds that filled the sky.
“Have faith,” said Grandfather.
Min-Jun followed Grandfather up the narrow staircase on the hill near their apartment. They paused at the top to catch their breath. Their white shirts were already damp from the heavy humidity in the air.
Grandfather held out his hand to feel the first raindrops. “Do you feel that? The rain is starting.”
They opened up their umbrellas. By the time they reached the next staircase, the rain was coming down fast. Min-Jun squinted to see each step through the rain. “Whoa!” he cried as he slipped and landed on his knee.
“Are you hurt?” Grandfather asked. He leaned down to look at the hole in Min-Jun’s trousers.
“It’s just a scrape,” Min-Jun said, his voice shaking.
“Let’s fix it up at the church,” said Grandfather.
Min-Jun and Grandfather climbed the rest of the stairs and turned onto the upper road.
“The wind is worse up here,” said Grandfather, clutching his umbrella. Min-Jun could barely control his umbrella. Suddenly a gust of wind came and flipped it inside out, tearing the umbrella at the seams. Min-Jun’s shoulders drooped.
Grandfather held out his umbrella. “Come under mine. We’re almost there.”
Min-Jun and Grandfather shared the umbrella, but it didn’t do much to keep out the constant rain. As they came near the church, Min-Jun heard music playing.
“They’ve already started!” Min-Jun ran to the front doors. Then he saw his reflection in the glass. His hair was matted and dripping, his trousers were torn, and his shoes were muddy. He shrank away from the door and back down the steps.
“I … I can’t go in,” Min-Jun stuttered.
“You’re just fine,” said Grandfather.
“But I’m all dirty and wet!”
Grandfather looked at Min-Jun, then looked at the rain gauge tied to the fence.
“It’s easy to measure the rain, Min-Jun, but how do we measure ourselves?”
Min-Jun blinked up at Grandfather.
“You see muddy shoes, a scraped knee, and messy hair, and you think you don’t measure up to much,” Grandfather said. “But Jesus Christ has a better way of measuring. He sees your heart and knows that you’re doing what’s right. If you measure yourself His way, you’ll see that the gauge is overflowing.”
Min-Jun looked at the rain gauge. It kept rising with each raindrop. He thought of how hard he had worked to get to church and how warm and happy he felt when he was there. He thought about how much he loved the Savior and how much the Savior loved him.
Min-Jun hugged Grandfather, and together they walked into church.

In January 2011 my mom died. It has been really hard without her, but we keep going, knowing that Heavenly Father loves us. When I read the Friend I am comforted. I can’t wait to go to heaven to be with my mom and my family and Heavenly Father and Jesus.

Recently, the New Era visited with elders and sisters at the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah. Here’s what a few of them had to say about their own decisions and reasons to serve.
Elder Johnson: “My dad would always encourage me to do what I could to have missionary experiences. Recently I was able to help teach a family which came into the Church. And I wanted to have that happen again and be part of the Lord’s work and help bring people to Christ.”

Today is the first Sunday of April 1993. Go back with me an even century to this same Temple Square. No, make it an even 101 years. It is April conference of 1892. These grounds are crowded with people. The multitude is the largest ever assembled in this area of the West. There are thousands and thousands of them. All cannot get on the grounds, so large is the number. They are on surrounding streets. Some have climbed telephone poles; others, trees. The occasion is the placing of the capstone of the temple, the great round granite sphere which crowns the highest steeple on the east end. It is a day of celebration. Atop the ball is a bronze figure gilded with gold. The figure represents Moroni—prophet, writer, and compiler of the Book of Mormon. The figure represents the angel spoken of by John the Revelator when he declared with prophetic vision:
“And I saw another angel fly in the midst of heaven, having the everlasting gospel to preach unto them that dwell on the earth, and to every nation, and kindred, and tongue, and people,
“Saying with a loud voice, Fear God, and give glory to him; for the hour of his judgment is come: and worship him that made heaven, and earth, and the sea, and the fountains of waters” (Rev. 14:6–7).
In the presence of that multitude, President Wilford Woodruff touched a switch. The capstone with the angel settled in place. President Woodruff led the multitude in a great and sacred shout: “Hosanna! Hosanna! Hosanna to God and the Lamb!”
There had been nothing before it and there has been nothing just like it since.
The shout was an expression of worship. It was an expression of gratitude. This was an unequaled day of thanksgiving. This was a day of which these people had dreamed for almost forty years. You have heard and read and seen much recently concerning that forty-year struggle.
In July of 1847 Brigham Young had pointed out the location, only four days after the pioneers arrived in the valley. That spot had been marked by Wilford Woodruff. On April 6, 1853, the cornerstones were laid. All of you are familiar with the history of the years that followed—years of effort and heartbreaking disappointment; years of labor in sunshine and storm to bring great blocks of granite from these everlasting hills and to dress that stone, each piece according to a carefully designed pattern; years of unyielding faith in the pursuit of a goal.
These were years during which three other beautiful temples had been erected in this territory—in St. George, in Logan, and in Manti.
But the greatest dream of all centered here on Temple Square. And now by April of 1892 the exterior walls, steeples, and roof had been completed. Small wonder that the people shouted hosanna. A generation and more had passed since the work had commenced. Wilford Woodruff was now eighty-five and President of the Church. Before the vast crowd assembled on that day, Elder Francis M. Lyman made a motion that they now finish the interior and dedicate the temple one year from that day, April 6, 1893, forty years from the day of the laying of the cornerstones.
A mighty shout of approval filled the air.
But it was one thing to say yes in the excitement of the occasion and another to actually accomplish the work. Some with practical minds and substantial experience said it could never be done.
The building was a shell. A mighty work of consecrated effort was commenced to finish the interior.
Floors were laid, partitions set in place, plumbing installed, and electrical lines run. And then came the tremendous finishing work.
Wooden lath by the mile was nailed to the framing. Lime by the ton was slaked to become plaster. Timber was cut, seasoned, sawed, and shaped into magnificently beautiful woodwork.
It must have appeared impossible to get all of this done in a year’s time. But craftsmen who had learned their exacting trades in Europe and the British Isles, and who had come as converts to these valleys of western America, exerted themselves unsparingly. Somehow it happened. Somehow it all came together, and this within a period of twelve months.
Wonder of wonders and miracle of miracles, it was ready on the fifth of April. Leading newspapers of America had sent correspondents. Unstinting was their praise of what they saw. The day before the dedication President Woodruff invited a substantial number of nonmembers of the Church to go through the building. They were moved. They recognized that here was beauty that had come not alone of skill but also of inspiration.

I have a testimony of those words and what comfort they give. Four years ago, when I found myself quite suddenly a widow with the youngest of my five children leaving for a mission, I felt alone. I did a lot of walking at that time, and one day I told a neighbor I found myself thinking about youth. She said, “Really? I wonder why?” I concluded that perhaps I was trying to remember who I was before I was married. I said, “If I ever have a chance to work with young people again, I will be so much more patient, so much more gentle, and so much more loving.” And I have since added, “I will do all in my power to encourage young people to prepare for the future.”

I wasn’t very good at studying the scriptures when I was young. I wish I had been! Not until I was living in Seattle, Washington, did a friend and I realize we were hungering to know what spiritual women in our ward knew. We wanted righteous children, “taught by their mothers” to be believing (Alma 56:47). And like a good dinner, the gospel becomes more exciting sharing it with a friend. I had Louise Nelson. We feasted together.