Gospel Story Finder

I give out lots of pass-along cards to my friends and their families. Most of them accept them gladly, and some call in about the free gift.

My daughters and I baked the cake. We frosted the cake! We even picked out some epic candles that said “Happy Birthday” on them—one letter per candle. We would present the cake in a scenic riverside picnic spot.
My wife’s birthday party was shaping up to be one my family would never forget. And, um, we certainly haven’t forgotten it.
My wife, April, normally makes all the birthday cakes in our family, including her own (by her choice). This time, though, my girls and I wanted to step it up. As Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles has taught, “We need to both express and demonstrate love.”1 We were ready to bring some razzle-dazzle.
The razzle-dazzle, however, got off to a bumpy start, as the cake came out of the oven dry and crumbly. No problem! That’s what extra frosting is for.
With all signs of dryness buried beneath the welcome folds of buttercream frosting, my daughters helped me encase the whole cake in plastic wrap so we could transport it. We would soon learn that this product happens to cling to everything it touches with the tenacity of an octopus in a death grip.
Once we were in our epic picnic spot, we presented the cake to April. I was proud of our fine work and how the night was coming together. It was time to remove the wrapping.
Much to our dismay, the plastic wrap turned octopus gashed out great swaths of perfection as it ripped loose huge slabs of frosting. And because we’d baked it dry, the cake itself crumbled freely once relieved of its frosting infrastructure.
That was about the time April lost her ability to suppress her first chuckle.
Photograph courtesy of the author
The heat of the day started taking its own toll. The remaining frosting began to melt and slide off the cake. Naturally, this was the perfect time to add flames!
I hurriedly lit all 13 letter candles of “Happy Birthday.” Then I realized something: half-melted wax letters take on a decidedly creepy effect. That was not quite the birthday look we were going for.
By now, my wife’s chuckles had become all-out peals of laughter. And she got us all laughing along, despite the fiasco. One of my favorite family photos is of April laughing so hard at this train wreck of a cake that she almost appears to be in tears!

A few years ago we decided we needed a weekly date. We go for walks. We hike up in the hills. We clean the house for a sick friend. We plan our budget or go to the library or plan outings and surprises for the kids. Sometimes if we can afford it we go to a play or a movie, occasionally with good friends.
Besides returning home feeling refreshed, we also find that our children take an added interest in us.

When Saia Paongo served a mission in 1964, he was in charge of six missionaries living on the remote island of Niua Toputapu. Often, they didn’t know where their next meal would come from. On one particular day, they visited and preached in the homes in Falehau while fasting, but then they had no food to break their fast with. As the missionaries walked out of their hut, Elder Paongo felt a distinct impression:
It was as if someone said to me, “Take your missionaries to the beach on the back side of the island.” I told my companion to bring a fishing spear, and we all headed for the rocky coast of Niua Toputapu.
Unfortunately, the ocean was already at full tide when we arrived. There was no way we could do any spear fishing on the reef. Disappointed, we sat down to rest, except for Elder Fonua, who wandered off along the beach.
Suddenly Elder Fonua yelled for us to come and look. We scrambled over to him, and there we saw a wonderful sight: a large, fat menenga, or deep ocean parrot fish, which had almost beached itself. Incredibly, it had swum right up to the sand. Nearly three feet long and a foot thick, it made a wonderful feast for us.
I know that this fish was prepared for us and that Heavenly Father loves hungry young missionaries, even in tiny remote islands.

Your Church leaders are ever ready to help you in your preparation, as are your parents. Another young man’s parents encouraged him to choose music carefully. He and his family listened to a talk by Elder Boyd K. Packer on choosing good music. He went to his room, sorted through his records, took a pile to the trash can and broke and discarded them. Following the principle of obedience prepared these young men to serve honorable missions.

I asked a girl at recess if I could play with her. She told me to go away. The same thing happened the next week. I went to her house to give her some hair bows and pudding. The next day she said I could play with her. I followed Jesus’s example by being nice to someone who was mean to me, and I gained a friend!
Liam T., age 8, Idaho, USA

Being a missionary in the newly created Minnesota-Wisconsin Mission is a very great blessing. Serving stateside is rare and beautiful. While growing up I always dreamed of going to some faraway, mystical country. But I ended up in the great United States of America. The gospel is needed everywhere, especially here. I am proud and happy to have been chosen to serve in this area. I want to commend the New Era for the missionary edition. The articles are of great worth to the elders and sisters now serving, as well as those who will serve in the future. Your contest issue was also top-notch. “The Winner,” though fictional, could easily have been factual. It helped me evaluate my own life.
P.S. I thought you might be interested in seeing this street sign in Wisconsin.
Elder John R. TitensorMinnesota-Wisconsin Mission

A fifteen-year-old Korean boy, a teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood, used his allowance each week to buy newspapers. Then he and his friends sold them on street corners in Seoul, giving the money to a classmate who couldn’t remain in school without this financial help. He wanted to know how it felt to be a Good Samaritan rather than just having an intellectual understanding of the lesson he had studied in the scriptures.

Emily buttoned her red coat as she hurried up a hill. On its crest she looked toward the east and saw a beautiful sunrise. Its pink glow lit the great empty prairie.
How far east is England now? wondered Emily. How many miles westward have we journeyed since we left the beloved green hills of home?
“Emily! We’re ready to leave,” called her father.
Slowly Emily went back down the hill. Her feet lifted puffs of dry brown dust as she walked past people whose handcarts were in the rear of the long line. Everyone in the company was ready for another day of travel.
She was glad she didn’t have to pull a handcart all day like most of the men. Some women helped too. Even children and old people helped push the heavy carts up the steep hills and clung to the rear of them to slow them going down steep slopes.
When Emily reached their own handcart, her father was fastening the ropes from the canvas top to the wooden sideboards.
“It’s a good thing you have that red coat,” Father said. “We can see you even from a long way off.”
“You shouldn’t wander so far away by yourself, though, Emily. You could get lost in this wild country,” Mother scolded.
“I’ll be more careful, Mother,” Emily promised.
As the handcarts fell into line, Emily wondered if her parents understood why she walked back every morning to look east. Maybe they aren’t as lonely for our cottage back in England as I am, she decided. Remembering their home in Dorchester with its roof of golden thatched straw and the lilac bush where robins chirped at dawn, made Emily’s throat ache.
The long line of handcarts moved forward away from the rising sun. Mother’s voice broke into Emily’s thoughts, “You better put your coat in the cart. It’s getting too hot to wear it.”
Emily hated to part with her coat even for a few hours. However, she slowly put it into the handcart. When she had it on, England didn’t seem quite so far away. Wearing it brought back all the treasured memories of home.
Emily thought about the morning Grandmother had given her the coat as she was leaving with her parents for America to join other Latter-day Saints in the faraway Rocky Mountains.
With tears in her eyes, Grandmother said to Emily’s father, “I still don’t understand why you must leave England for your new religion. I know I’ll never see you again.”
Then she took Emily’s hand. “My dear, I have a gift for you,” she said. “It’s a coat made from wool I spun and dyed myself. Wear it always to remind you of me and of your home.”
Slowly the long days went by. Each step took Emily further away from her grandmother and England. Each step took everyone in the handcart company closer to their unknown “Zion” in the mountains. Around the campfires at night they talked of a valley encircled by towering, snow-topped mountains. Emily wondered if anyone else felt as lonely and frightened as she did.
Wagon trains going to Oregon or California sometimes passed the handcart company. One day a man from a wagon train stopped and said to Emily, “My daughter could use a coat like that one you’re wearing. Would you like to sell it?”
Emily thought of what her family could buy with the money, but she shook her head. “No, thank you, sir,” she answered. She felt that selling the coat would not only be giving up something she loved very much but it would cut her last tie with her old home.
The trail the handcarts traveled became rougher. One night around the campfire Captain Ames asked everyone to listen to a special message. “I don’t need to tell you that the trail has become much more difficult and our carts are wearing out,” he announced. “Each family must discard every item that can be spared in order to lighten the loads.”
Many belongings were left beside the trail the next morning. Emily’s heart was heavy when Father said to her, “I think you should leave your heavy red coat behind.”
“Oh, please, Father,” she pleaded, “please let me keep it. I’ll carry it or wear it all the time so it won’t take up any room or add any weight to the handcart. Grandmother made the coat especially for me.”
“The weather will grow colder soon,” Mother added. “Maybe we should let Emily keep her coat. I’ll help her carry it if it becomes too heavy.”
Father looked at Emily and her mother. He saw how much the coat meant to both of them. “If you’re willing to carry or wear it, then you may keep the coat,” he said, “but it’s not to go on the handcart. We must obey Captain Ames’ rule to lighten our loads.”
One morning as Emily was walking behind her father she looked up and saw white snow-topped peaks along the western horizon. A few days later the handcart company was making its way through the mountain passes. The wheels on the worn handcarts creaked loudly with each turn. Everyone was weak and tired but they still kept going.
Late one afternoon Emily felt she could not walk any further. Her red coat seemed unusually heavy. Emily thought she couldn’t take another step before resting for just a few moments.
I’ll just climb up that little slope and rest under a bush for a few minutes, Emily decided.
While resting, Emily watched the line of carts and people toil up a winding, mountain path. She lay down to watch the clouds float by. How good the ground felt to her aching back and legs.
Suddenly Emily sat up. It was dark. She had fallen asleep! Her first thought was to run as fast as she could, calling for her mother and father. But it was too dark to see where she was going.
I must stay calm, Emily told herself. “Dear Heavenly Father,” she prayed, “please keep me safe through the night and tomorrow guide my parents to me.”
Soon a peace flooded over Emily even though the black hours of night passed slowly, slowly. She put on her red coat. Feeling it close around her brought a warmth that was more than just protection against the chill of the night.
Memories of England and Grandmother and her old home were as precious as ever. But there alone on the hillside, Emily began to think more about her new home in a valley where she could be with her father and mother. Maybe Grandmother might come there someday too, she thought.
As the morning sun lightened the sky, Emily’s sadness and loneliness seemed to leave. She climbed up on a rock to watch the sun come up as she had done so many times. Always before her thoughts had turned with a homesick feeling to the east. Now she looked toward the west. In that direction they would have a new home.
Far in the distance Emily saw several men. As they came closer one of them started waving and then she heard her father call, “It’s Emily. That red coat has brought us right to her!”
Emily ran down the hill. “Oh, Father,” she sobbed, “I’m sorry I got lost but I’m glad you found me.”
“We might not have found you,” Father replied, “if it hadn’t been for that red coat. How grateful I am that you kept it and that you had it with you to keep you warm. We spotted it a long time before you saw us.”
“I’m grateful too,” Emily answered. “It will always be something special to remind me of Grandmother and England. But now I know a home isn’t just a place, and that love is more than just a coat. I can hardly wait until we reach the Valley.”
Father smiled. “We found you,” he said, “but I guess during the night you found yourself too.” He gave Emily a warm hug.
Without looking back, Emily put the coat over her arm. Then she and Father turned their feet and their eyes to the west.

I had come to my office the other night a beautiful mother and seven children. I think I am far enough away, and probably no one would guess of whom I am speaking. She is a very talented young woman, but she said, “I have come to a time where I believe that I must think of divorcing my husband.” So I began to ask about her husband. In answer to my questions, she said he was kind to her. He was a good provider, but somehow the luster of the romance of marriage, now that their children were pretty well grown, had now brought her to a point where she had begun to think that maybe if she were footloose she could do better than she was able to do with the husband who was the father of her children. We had quite a talk about it; but the other morning, after the first session of the conference, this lovely young woman met me and she said, with tears rolling down her cheeks, “I have had the answer to every problem. This session has changed my life. I am a woman different now, because I have understanding that I never had before. I am going back. I am going to take care of my family. I am going to love my husband, and I am going to correct the mistakes that are in me, where I think most of the problem lies.”

Aug. 18 I lost my hamster. She’s in our house someplace.

Aug. 20 I prayed I would get my hamster back, and I did.

It is a cold, rainy day in Finland. My companion is sick. We have to stay in our apartment because of his illness, and we have been here for several days. As I was standing looking out our window early this morning, I was overcome by a deep sense of emptiness and discouragement. It is a feeling that can come sometimes to missionaries in lands such as Finland where an elder finds himself seemingly buried under a pile of harsh circumstances: preaching the gospel to people who are usually unreceptive, fighting temperatures of -35° C. on a bicycle, and trying to master the unbelievable Finnish language with its incredible grammar. Add to this an absence of members for miles and miles, and it all combines to give missionaries an occasional feeling of isolation.
Well, as I was standing there looking out the window, I was struck with the thought that I should go and read some old issues of the New Era that were stacked in my closet. When I started reading, the day seemed to get better and better. The articles were so uplifting and full of spiritual strength for a mind that needed a lift. The feelings I received as the Spirit bore witness to me that I was reading the words of a living prophet, real apostles, and men chosen by the Lord were so strong, I just wanted to cry for joy. After three days of reading and studying several issues of the New Era, I can more clearly see why things are the way they are. The gospel gives us so many things to experience and ways to progress toward our eventual goal of perfection. The New Era contains such a vast amount of advice and help from those who have more knowledge and experience, and I’m so grateful that I can receive that advice even though I’m so many thousands of miles from home. Thank you so much for making the words of the General Authorities available to us.

And then I thought once again of an experience I had recently. I had just arrived at the Joseph Smith memorial birthplace. I walked over to Sister Kempton, who is one of the caretakers, and as I shook hands with her I said, “Sister Kempton, would you like a special blessing?” And then she began to weep, and she said, “I have prayed this whole week that I would have enough courage to ask.” We gave her a special blessing. She apparently had a sickness that had been prolonged for ten days, with a terrible pain at the back of her head. As we prepared to retire that night, she said, “You take our room.” And I said, “How can I do this? How can I take your room? If the Lord is going to help, you had better sleep in your bed. Let me sleep on the cot you have rolled out for your husband and yourself.”

They would not let me do that, however, and so I ended up in their bed. That night as I knelt down to pray, I think my words were somewhat similar to those once uttered by President Lorenzo Snow.
I said, “Heavenly Father, please vindicate the blessing given by thy servant. This woman has given all. She has withheld nothing. Please give her the blessing.”

I didn’t sleep very well that night. The next morning when I wakened I went out for a walk around those beautiful grounds. Later, as I returned to the home, her husband came out. I asked, “How is your wife?” And he answered, “She woke this morning without any problems. She said it was the first time in ten days she hasn’t had that terrible pain at the back of her head. And I said to her, ‘What did you expect?’”

Then I thought of another verse of that hymn:
“ ’Twas night; the floods were out; it blew
A winter hurricane aloof;
I heard his voice abroad and flew
To bid him welcome to my roof.
I warmed and clothed and cheered my guest
And laid him on my couch to rest,
Then made the earth my bed, and seemed
In Eden’s garden while I dreamed.”

Recently I was on assignment in Mozambique. The citizens of this beautiful country are struggling with poverty, poor health, unemployment, storms, and political unrest. I had the honor of meeting with the country’s president, Filipe Nyusi. At his request, I prayed for him and his nation; I told him we were building a temple of Jesus Christ in his country. At the end of our visit, I presented to him a copy of the Book of Mormon in Portuguese, his native language. As he gratefully accepted the book, I testified of the hope and promise for his people, found in the Lord’s words on its pages.

Christmas was a happy and sad occasion because Mama was too wrapped up in herself to pay much attention to holidays. And Daddy was often overwhelmed with the responsibilities of a home, us children, our sick mother, and his job. Yet even though he didn’t have enough money to buy us presents, he always brought us a nice tree the day before Christmas, and he made sure that on Christmas morning we had the biggest oranges and apples and the best candy and nuts in town in our stockings. Our uncles and aunts made sure that we had toys until we got into junior high school. I remember how excited I was when I was seven to find a beautiful walking doll and a carriage for me under the tree. In my excitement, I didn’t notice that my older brothers had received only one basketball between them to share.

When we raise our arms to sustain the prophet and the Apostles, we are doing much more than acknowledging their authority over the Church. We covenant to uphold them, to pray for them, and to follow their counsel.
Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles has said, “You volunteered to uphold—or more literally ‘hold up’—the presiding officers of the kingdom, those who bear the keys and responsibility for the work, not one man of whom sought the position or feels equal to the task. And even when Jeffrey Holland’s name is proposed, … your arm goes lovingly to the square. And you say to Brother Holland through his tears and his nights of walking the floor: ‘You lean on us. Lean on us out here in Omaha and Ontario and Osaka where we have never even seen you, and scarcely know who you are. But you are one of the “Brethren,” so you are no stranger or foreigner to us, but a fellow citizen in the household of God. You will be prayed for in our family, and you will hold a place within our hearts. Our strength shall be your strength. Our faith will build your faith. Your work will be our work’ “ (“Miracles of the Restoration,” Ensign, Nov. 1994, 32).

My friend and colleague Ty Mansfield described a similar truth. As a man who experiences same-sex attraction, Ty witnessed the spiritual growth that can take place as we anchor our lives in Jesus Christ and willingly surrender our entire hearts to Him, allowing Him to consecrate all difficult experiences for our gain. For Ty, that began as the Spirit taught him “that whether I ever married, I was infinitely loved and accepted by God. My responsibility was to continue to live one day at a time while seeking and following the guidance of the Spirit.”5 And eventually, trusting God led Ty to enter into a joyful, beautiful, eternal marriage to his wife.

“My dad was a real farmer, and he had 32 hectares that he farmed, although we lived in town. Dad and I used to spend a lot of time together, and we understood each other very well. He felt obedience was the most important principle. He never questioned any instruction or guidance that was given by Church leaders. He obeyed any directive they gave, and he instilled that desire to obey in his family. I remember Dad as being a strong disciplinarian, but he always tempered his discipline with love and concern. Once when he spanked me, he cried. But he felt that he had to spank me in order to teach me obedience. I remember thinking then that it hurt him worse than it hurt me.”

I had always believed that Church callings come from our Heavenly Father and that they help us progress spiritually. But I really didn’t have a testimony of this until I had a special experience several years ago.
I had just spent a year in Utah as a high school exchange student. After I returned to Japan, I received my first calling in the Church—president of our Mia Maid class. In a letter to my host family in Utah, I wrote about my calling.
A couple of weeks later I received a letter from my host “father.” He wrote:
“I didn’t tell you then, but one month before you left for home, our bishop told me, ‘We want to assign Kazuko to be class president of the Mia Maids. How long will she be here?’
“I told him that you would be leaving the following month. So they didn’t give you the calling.”
I found it remarkable that the same calling the bishop in Utah had been inspired to extend to me was given me when I came back to Japan. It made me realize that God knows about me no matter where I am—in Utah or Japan or anyplace else. I believe he knew that particular calling was what I needed then in order to grow.
I have received various callings since then. When I look back on them, I am amazed to find that each calling was somehow necessary at that time in my life to strengthen a weakness.
I have learned to accept any calling that comes to me, even if it seems difficult. I know that it comes from Heavenly Father, who knows me.

“I went to my former friend and minister the next day to bear him my testimony. I was so happy that I felt I could convert the whole world, and I wanted to,” he later recorded. “I wanted everyone to feel the peace and the joy that came from my baptism. And the most wonderful thing of all, I had an assurance that greater joys and greater knowledge were yet in store—not only for me but for my beautiful family.”