Gospel Story Finder

Adam and Ollie read the article about Will from Taiwan (Aug. 2013) and were excited to make the Moon Festival cakes. They worked together and had lots of fun! The cakes were really delicious!

February’s white snow piled powderpuffs on the fence posts and frosted the windows of homes in the Utah village in which I now resided. It had been seven months since I left Liverpool. Perhaps Lucifer had heard my parting words about tithing and decided to mock me. The lack of prospects for work dulled the beauty of the winter day. I was homesick, disappointed, and lonely.
The postman crunched up the sidewalk and slid an envelope through the slot in the door. It was a letter from my mother. She, too, was struggling. My brother stared death in the face every day in the trenches of France; Father’s location on the ocean was unknown, except perhaps to a periscope prowling icy waters. And she wasn’t worrying alone, she said. Neighbors worried, too. Everything was secret and suspense clouded the atmosphere.
My patriarchal blessing appointment was scheduled that afternoon, and I should have been busy preparing myself for it. But even through my fasting and prayer, my concerns about my family floated to the surface of my mind. I wished my family could join me to hear the patriarch’s words! I dropped the letter from my hands as I sobbed, releasing tears I had stored inside since the day I had last seen England.
I dropped to my knees by my bed and uttered the most sincere, heartrending prayer of my 19-year life. I told Heavenly Father I was sorry to be so weak, but that he knew how homesick I was, how disappointed to be out of work, how concerned about my family.
I said that if he could see fit to give me two promises in my patriarchal blessing, then I could be brave enough to endure anything the future held. I pleaded that my family and friends might someday come to this country and that I would someday be married in the temple.
I left the house and walked a block to the patriarch’s home. I spoke to no one and saw no one. But my Father knew of my prayer. That good patriarch came in from working in his fields and invited me to dinner. The food fortified me, and I was able to restrain my tears. We went to a private place, with his granddaughter along to act as scribe.
He described glorious promises, many of them. Then I heard, as it were, my own words, the ones I had spoken to my Father about one hour before: “Your loved ones from whom you have been parted—the Lord will bless and protect them, and many of them will follow you to the fold of the Good Shepherd and bask in the life-giving light of the gospel of their Redeemer. With them you will sing the songs of Zion and have much joy in their society. You shall have the privilege of going to the house of the Lord to receive a worthy helpmate and companion to be with you for time and all eternity.”
The patriarch continued outlining the blessings the Lord planned for me if I lived worthily. While he did, quiet tears trickled down my face. Heaven was in my heart.
When the patriarch had finished, I thanked him, tried to dry my face, and rushed home. I walked into my room, picked up my pen and wrote, “It’s all right now, Mother; Heavenly Father will protect George and Father. And you will come to Zion. Our Heavenly Father has said it. Be brave until we meet again. Much love, Mary.”
Many prayers in my life have been answered just as rapidly as the one concerning my patriarchal blessing, but time has not dimmed that miracle to me. I felt power, exultation, and gratitude; it seemed that my Father in heaven had come down and answered my requests in my own words through the patriarch. The promises all came true after many trials. Through the difficult times, the blessing fortified me. We are finer for the things we learn through the ups and downs of life, but the joy always outweighs the pain. Through my patriarchal blessing, I learned the happiness of compliance with the divine instruction given in Proverbs 3:5–6 [Prov. 3:5–6]:
“Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.
“In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.”

President Gordon B. Hinckley’s article “Family Home Evening,” in the March 2003 Liahona, helped me realize that even though I am the only member of the Church in my family, I can still hold family home evening. I began to set a special time apart each week to study the scriptures, learn about the teachings of the modern prophets through the Liahona, sing hymns, and ponder how I could be a better son of God—and of my earthly parents. President Hinckley’s message helped me improve my life.Sergio Adrián López, Solis Pizarro Ward, Salta Argentina West Stake

Marjon had some definite things she wanted to accomplish as queen, and not long after she was crowned, Kickin’ up Kindness made its debut. She had 20 minutes to speak in front of a group of elementary school students.
“I needed to keep them really involved because I could easily lose their attention,” she says, remembering the day. After she spent some time explaining Kickin’ up Kindness, she handed each child a pencil and paper. “The more I could have them doing things, the better. So I asked them to write about kind deeds.”
The results were both heartwarming and fascinating.

When I came home for a quick weekend visit, I asked Todd about his adventure. He was kind of quiet until he started talking about his mission and the money he’d saved. When I asked him about his job, I was surprised at his answer.

“The fun house? Oh, I quit that.”

I felt a little let down. So much for the new-and-improved Todd who was sticking to hard jobs.

“How come?” I asked.

“Well, I was working a lot of Sundays, and I realized my priorities were out of whack. I mean, Jolene only ever looked at me like I was a reflection of one of those fun house mirrors, you know, with eight-foot legs and no body or a giant forehead and hardly any face. And I was like that. I was only thinking about entertaining myself, not about anyone else.”

I smiled. It was the new-and-improved Todd.

“I guess my nursery kids taught me about being concerned about others and sharing. I should have figured this out years ago. Guess I’m a slow learner,” he said, grinning at me.

I said, only half sarcastically, “Todd, who knew you were such a lovely human being?” I punched him in the shoulder.

Agnes wrote of one incident that took place shortly before they got to the Salt Lake Valley: “Just before we crossed the mountains, relief wagons reached us, and it certainly was a relief. The infirm and aged were allowed to ride, all able-bodied continuing to walk. When the wagons started out, a number of us children decided to see how long we could keep up with the wagons, in hopes of being asked to ride. At least that is what my great hope was. One by one they all fell out, until I was the last one remaining, so determined was I that I should get a ride.
“After what seemed the longest run I ever made before or since, the driver, who was William Henry ‘Heber’ Kimball, called to me, ‘Say, sissy, would you like a ride?’ I answered in my very best manner, ‘Yes sir.’ At this he reached over, taking my hand, clucking to his horses to make me run, with legs that seemed to me could run no farther. On we went, to what to me seemed miles. What went through my head at that time was that he was the meanest man that ever lived or that I had ever heard of, and other things that would not be a credit nor would it look well coming from one so young. Just at what seemed the breaking point, he stopped. Taking a blanket, he wrapped me up and lay me in the bottom of the wagon, warm and comfortable. Here I had time to change my mind, as I surely did, knowing full well by doing this he saved me from freezing when taken into the wagon.”

Thomas S. Monson
(85) Thomas S. Monson gives a priesthood blessing to an elderly brother who can no longer see or hear.

When I graduated high school and left my home of Hawai’i to come to the continental United States for college, I did not anticipate how difficult the transition would be for me. I was always excited to leave home and explore the world outside of what I had always known, but it did come with a lot of growing pains, especially during my first winter.
The first time I saw snow fall was both magical and awful. It was apparent how much I was not mentally or physically prepared for the cold when my mind and heart could not escape the sadness I felt. When I talked to my mom about my depression, she reminded me of my courageous and faithful Hawaiian ancestors who left their homes in the Pacific to come to Utah to participate in and receive the blessings of the temple.
Iosepa Colony was established in 1889 by Hawaiian and Polynesian members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. There in the desert of Skull Valley, Utah, USA, my ancestors built and beautifully crafted their new home and faithfully journeyed to Salt Lake City often to do temple work.
My mom asked me what I thought our ancestors felt in their first winter. I imagined how difficult and trying that season would have been for them. I am blessed with heaters, access to warm clothing, buildings that are well insulated, and much more, but this was not the case for the Iosepa Saints.1
As I thought about what their experience might have been like, I felt less alone in my depression, and I also became curious. I knew that if my ancestors could survive and thrive in challenging and unfamiliar surroundings, I could too.
But remembering my ancestors’ story affected me beyond just helping me get through that winter. Although I don’t have personal records of what my immigrant Iosepa ancestors experienced in their first winter, I used my imagination and humanity to guide me to believe that they were helped. I know that there were people that looked out for my family and were kind. I imagine that these acts of goodness buoyed the Iosepa Saints even under the climate, social, and political stresses of their time. Now I ask myself: “How can I be more loving to those who are in need around me?”
When I see others who are experiencing their own winters of the mind and heart, I am reminded of my experience of being depressed, and I am moved to help as best as I can through love and service. I am especially moved when I see immigrants in my country who are here to try to make a better life for themselves. Now more than ever, I feel responsible to love and support them just as I hope others did for my ancestors.

“Yes. Just an hour ago. It was in the holy temple across the way. The sealing room was shut off from the noisy world by its thick, white-painted walls; the drapes, light and warm; the furniture, neat and dignified; the mirrors on two opposite walls seeming to take one in continuous likenesses on and on into infinity; and the beautiful stained-glass window in front of me giving such a peaceful glow. All the people in the room were dressed in white. Here were peace and harmony and eager anticipation. A well-groomed young man and an exquisitely gowned young woman, lovely beyond description, knelt across the altar. Authoritatively, I pronounced the heavenly ceremony which married and sealed them for eternity on earth and in the celestial worlds. The pure in heart were there. Heaven was there.
“When the eternal marriage was solemnized, and as the subdued congratulations were extended, a happy father, radiant in his joy, offered his hand and said, ‘Brother Kimball, my wife and I are common people and have never been successful, but we are immensely proud of our family.’ He continued, ‘This is the last of our eight children to come into this holy house for temple marriage. They, with their companions, are here to participate in the marriage of this, the youngest. This is our supremely happy day, with all of our eight children married properly. They are faithful to the Lord in church service, and the older ones are already rearing families in righteousness.’
“I looked at his calloused hands, his rough exterior, and thought to myself, ‘Here is a real son of God fulfilling his destiny.’
“‘Success?’ I said, as I grasped his hand. ‘That is the greatest success story I have heard. You might have accumulated millions in stocks and bonds, bank accounts, lands, industries, and still be quite a failure. You are fulfilling the purpose for which you were sent into this world by keeping your own lives righteous, bearing and rearing this great posterity, and training them in faith and works. Why, my dear folks, you are eminently successful. God bless you.’”

One Christmas, an 11-year-old girl was sad because she did not get a new doll that she had wanted for a long time. She wondered if she was getting too old for Christmas. “You aren’t outgrowing Christmas at all,” her father said. “But you are getting old enough to understand more about it.”
He explained more. “You have heard that we give gifts at Christmas because the shepherds and Wise Men brought gifts to the Christ child,” he said. Then he told her about the very first Christmas gift. It was when Heavenly Father gave us His Son, Jesus Christ, to be our Savior. Heavenly Father knew that His Son would suffer on earth, but He still gave Jesus to the world. And Jesus willingly gave Himself so that we could have eternal life.
That night the girl didn’t go to sleep with a Christmas doll on her pillow. But in her heart she had a new feeling of peace. She had a gift that could never wear out or be lost. It was Heavenly Father’s great gift of love.
“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son.” John 3:16

His mother was baptized in 1951 and eventually moved to Provo, Utah, so her children could attend Brigham Young University. David was 18 when he arrived at BYU. During a visit to the health center, David mentioned to the doctor that he had been investigating the Church. The doctor asked for how long. “For two or three years,” replied David. The doctor looked at him and said, “If you don’t make decisions in time, time makes decisions for you.” The words lodged in his mind, and David decided to pray for an answer. He was baptized six weeks later.

When I was young and new to the Church, I was assigned to minister to an elderly man who lived by himself. He lived on the edge of town in an old motel room that had become an extended-stay residence for those who couldn’t afford apartments. He didn’t appear to have many possessions or family in the area and lived a lonely life. During one visit, he told me about the child who was stillborn to him and his wife. I marveled that he was brought to tears by the recollection of something that must have happened at least 50 years before. It would only be a brief time before I better understood his feelings.

Their original goal was to sew 100 dresses for needy children in Africa, but when they were finished, the women of the Coventry Ward in England had made more than 230. The simple dresses, made from pillowcases, are easy to complete. One sister, who had not previously sewn, was able to make 3 of them.

We always enjoy the articles in the New Era. They bring an extra lift to our missionary life. We thought “A Merry Missionary Christmas” in the December issue was just splendid. As we looked at the pictures of missionaries, the loneliness left our hearts. We knew there were 26,000 other missionaries serving the Lord and sharing this great message with others throughout the world during this season. The mission field is one of the greatest places to be for Christmas, and we’re happy we were able to have at least one Christmas in our lives here.
Sister Eileen McGarvy, Sister Carol Lee ChristensenIllinois Chicago Mission

We know the story of President Brigham Young (1801–77) entering the Salt Lake Valley on July 24, 1847. President Young had seen the valley in vision and knew it when he saw it. As President Russell M. Nelson has said, “Begin with the end in mind.”1 Brigham Young did that.
Our first recorded account of the historic declaration “This is the right place. Drive on” comes from Elder Wilford Woodruff (1807–98). Speaking at a Pioneer Day celebration in July 1880, Elder Woodruff recounted: “On the 24th, I drove my carriage, with President Young lying on a bed in it, into the open valley, the rest of the company following. … While gazing upon the scene before us, he was enwrapped in vision for several minutes. He had seen the valley before in vision, and upon this occasion he saw the future glory of Zion and of Israel, as they would be, planted in the valleys of these mountains. When the vision had passed, he said, ‘It is enough. This is the right place. Drive on.’”3

In March of 1976, my wife, my two children, and I were baptized. We were very happy, feeling that we were starting a whole new life. That summer for our holiday, we rented a log cabin in Jotunheimen, one of the most scenic areas of Norway.
In a little sod-roofed cabin, surrounded by Norway’s highest mountains, my family and I had some wonderful days together. Although we lived almost fourteen kilometers from our nearest neighbor, we never felt lonely. We felt very strongly the spirit of the Lord with us. That summer we had an experience that even today makes me tremble with humility and gratitude for the great love the Lord has for his children.
Early one beautiful, cloudless morning, we started on a long hike. We saw deep ravines and snowy mountain peaks reflected in blue mountain lakes. The hike was a little more difficult than we had anticipated, but we enjoyed the solitude and the magnificent scenery. Three or four kilometers from our destination, we needed to cross a steep, narrow ridge called Besseggen to get to a mountain called Veslefjeldet. I felt we could cross it safely, but a still, quiet voice within me seemed to whisper that we should not go that way. I had been baptized only four months before, and was still unfamiliar with the promptings of the Holy Ghost, so I took no notice of the warning.
As we got closer to the mountain, I again heard the voice warning me, so I stopped and studied the map. If we did not make the short climb over Besseggen and Veslefjeldet, we would have to walk around a mountain and a lake. It would take until midnight to reach our destination. I thought about our tired legs and empty food bag and decided that we should continue the way we were going.
When we reached the foot of the mountain, the small voice clearly repeated, “Hans, you must not go over the mountain.” Again we stopped and looked up toward the narrow mountain ridge. The sun was shining and the air was calm, and I still saw no reason to heed the warning. We began to climb.
I led the way while my wife, Lise, came last, keeping the children safely between us. We experienced little difficulty climbing, yet I still felt that I was doing something wrong. Halfway up, we stopped to admire the view. On our left was a sheer drop of 150 meters, while on our right, the mountainside dropped away abruptly for 500 meters.
Lise and the children were excited about the stillness and the wonderful view, but I continued to feel anxious. Suddenly I felt a gust of wind from the north, and I heard a rushing sound that grew louder. Within minutes we were in the middle of a howling storm. I cried out to my family to lie down and hold on tight. We each clung desperately to the mountain, trying to dig our fingers into the earth, but the gusts of wind were so violent we were slowly being blown toward the edge.
Suddenly I understood what I had done. The missionaries’ words about the Holy Ghost’s quiet whisperings came back to me, and I realized that during the last half hour I had ignored the Holy Ghost three times. I prayed that the Lord would save my wife and children. Full of remorse, I cried for forgiveness.
Then, through the storm’s howling, I heard a deep and powerful voice within me telling me to go back down the mountainside. The voice warned me that he who does not obey the voice of the Lord shall be cast out from His presence.
Suddenly a calm stillness replaced the storm. Amazed, I pushed myself to my knees to give thanks and to acknowledge the Lord’s power. My wife and children shouted for me to hurry so we could climb to the top of the mountain. But now I knew better. We must go down, I commanded, immediately! Without knowing why, my family obeyed. As we reached the foot of the mountain, we again heard a rushing noise, and in a few moments the storm was gusting even stronger than before. I told my family what had happened to me on the mountain ridge. Together we knelt to thank the Lord for preserving our lives.
To this day, more than ten years later, I cannot think about this experience without great emotion. On that summer day, while I clung to a Norwegian mountainside, the Lord taught me and my family the value of listening to the whisperings of the Holy Ghost.

Hello, Crow by Jeff Daniel Marion A quiet sort of book about a crow and about the boy’s greeting it—and every other crow he sees all the rest of his life—with “Hello, Crow.”

“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.”

Recently I met with a group of people from another faith who were very impressed with the willingness of Church members to share our time and talents helping others. They wanted to know how we teach our children to become like this.
I explained that the family is central to our Heavenly Father’s plan and that parents have the primary responsibility for teaching and training their children. Leaders and teachers simply support the efforts of the parents.
The goal in all our teaching, I told them, is to do what the Prophet Joseph Smith said he did when asked how he led the Church: “I teach them correct principles, and they govern themselves.”1
“And what are those principles?” the group asked. “Where do you find them?”
“In the words of Christ,” I responded.

On September 4, 1893, Peter Rabbit was “born” in a letter written by Beatrix Potter to a sick child. In the first paragraph, she wrote:
“My dear Noel, I don’t know what to write to you, so I shall tell you a story about four little rabbits whose names are Flopsy, Mopsy, Cottontail, and Peter. They lived with their mother in a sandbank under the foot of a big fir tree. …”