Gospel Story Finder

I am confident you have heard this story of President Spencer W. Kimball, but I take the liberty of repeating it. He had undergone surgery in the hospital. A young male nurse had placed him on a gurney and was transporting him. When getting on the elevator, the nurse bumped the gurney and let out an oath using the name of the Lord.

President Kimball, only half-conscious, said, “Please! Please! That is my Lord whose name you revile.”

There was a deathly silence; then the young man whispered with a subdued voice, “I am sorry.” (See The Teachings of Spencer W. Kimball, ed. Edward L. Kimball [1982], 198.)

Perhaps like most teenagers, I have taken my parents’ love for granted. I never really considered the immeasurable amount of time, effort, money, or patience they spent on me. Particularly with my mother was this the case.
It seems, now, that many times I resented my mother, resented things she stood for, things she asked me to do, things she told me about her childhood life. I resented the fact that I, as the eldest of seven children, had all the responsibility; or so I felt. It was up to me to set the example—a word I grew to hate—to lead the way, to try things and get into trouble so that, it seemed, the way was clear for the other children to do just about what they would. I remember how I resented the certain tone of voice Mother used to call me to help her. Certain phrases stand out in my mind, and I can hear the tone even now:
“Kristy, help me with dinner.”
“The twins need their shoes cleaned.”
“Kristy, Sue and Gay are quarreling; can’t you do something?”
“Nancy needs some attention; would you read her a story?”
I always felt like saying, “No,” but, of course, I didn’t.
Then September came and I went away to school. All my younger life the school had carried with it a romantic aura to me. It was there my parents met; there they fell in love and were married; there I was born. So I anxiously looked forward to going—for me—“home.”
But at that time, in September, there was more to it than that: I wanted to get away from home—my real home. And yet, as time passed and I read my mother’s letters telling me about the day-to-day things she did, I began to realize, deep within me, that she gave all her time, money, effort, and thought to her children. I learned that all the meetings, all the shopping, all the housecleaning, all the teaching—actually everything—was directly or indirectly related to serving her family. And all this I learned so slowly and subtly that I barely realized the knowledge was there.
Then one day I came home from my morning classes and found a letter from my mother. It was a simple, ordinary letter, full of the news of home. It told how Dave and Dan, the twins, had flushed a whole roll of tissue paper down the toilet, which flooded over just as Mother was ready to leave for Relief Society. It told of how Mother simply had to find the time to give Sandy a haircut. It told of Mother taking Nancy to dancing lessons, and watching her, and being so proud of her.
It was just a regular, everyday letter, but I had scarcely reached the second page when a feeling suddenly started within me and spread throughout me. It was like the sun bursting from behind a cloud, spreading its sunshine. I could all of a sudden see my mother as she really was—an unselfish, loving, and celestial being, the person who had done more for me than anyone else, and yet the person to whom I gave the least credit.
I threw myself on my bed and cried; cried with the gladness of the sudden discovery; cried with the unhappiness of my ingratitude, and how it had undoubtedly hurt my mother. I quickly wrote her a letter and told her of my love and appreciation for her. It wasn’t a good letter, but it was a sincere one; and she wrote back just as quickly:
“Dearest Kristy, I read your letter, and I wept.”

In my first week of junior high, my math teacher asked me to complete an equation in front of the class. Simple enough, right? Well, I couldn’t do it. Frightening thoughts raced through my mind. My heart pounded, I started sweating, my muscles tensed up, and I had difficulty breathing. I wanted to run away, but I felt trapped and afraid. For most of the year, I felt this way the moment I stepped inside the school each morning.
These kinds of feelings lasted all through high school. I worried about everything. Taking tests, meeting new people, speaking in public, going on dates, and competing in sports all made me feel uneasy. I worried about the future, and I feared I would never be good enough to face life’s challenges. I felt nervous and on edge much of the time, which made it hard for me to just get through a day.
The anxiety I felt was intense, and when the feelings came, all I wanted to do was avoid them. After a while, I noticed I was avoiding situations at school, with my friends, and even at church. Anxiety was controlling my life. I began feeling weak and too fragile to handle life’s ups and downs. I realized that I needed help with this challenge.
Sure enough, I was diagnosed with an anxiety disorder. I had a hard time dealing with it at first, but with the support of my family and others, I’ve learned a lot. I’ve learned that an anxiety disorder doesn’t mean I lack character or I’m weak. It’s like having high blood pressure or diabetes. It’s treatable and something that needs to be worked on—not something to be ashamed of. Yes, I have an anxiety disorder, but I also have hope.
I thought at first that there would be this one thing I could do that would make my anxiety go away forever. I prayed, fasted, and read my scriptures daily. I hoped that I would find permanent relief, but it never came. The treatment and assistance I’ve received have helped me learn that it takes persistence and patience to learn how to manage and cope with anxiety. I’m still learning, and I still struggle with anxiety from time to time.

Architecture and the dental profession constitute an unlikely combination, but this unorthodox blending of occupations makes life interesting indeed for Jacinto Lambino Ledesma, a 37-year old Tarlaqueño from Paniqui, who holds a degree in Architecture (MLQ University, Class of 1966).
If one visits a dentist and sits snugly on a dental chair that somehow eases the fear and pain commonly associated with the ministrations of a dentist, there is a good chance that the patient is sitting on a functional Ledesma dental chair that has been designed with a lot of psychological factors thrown in.
He cannot fill a cavity or fit a dental brace and yet his name is now a by-word in the dental profession in this country, with about 500 satisfied practitioners and users of the Ledesma chair endorsing the product of a Mormon’s ingenuity.
Not one to sit on his laurels, Bro. Ledesma forged on by inventing the first hydraulic dental chair and unit with X-Ray, panoramic light and switchboard, earning the privilege to display his invention in the National Science Development Board pavilion during the last National Inventors Week.
Bro. Ledesma is married to Julieta Villanueva Bulan with whom he was sealed at the Salt Lake City Temple (see companion article, back page of this issue: Vignette). They have four children: Judith Marie 10, Joseph Jude 7, Jesus James 6, and Jerome John 5. It is interesting to note that the first names of all members of the family begin with the letter J, reflecting a partiality for the tenth letter of the alphabet which he cannot yet explain to this day.
His first contact with missionaries is a story by itself. Brother Jay, as he is fondly called, had just been from a religious mini-course which was then the fad in the early 70’s, and it was this opportunity to be inquisitive about Jesus Christ that led him to seek spiritual enlightenment. He found it when two missionaries (Elders Gleave and Johnson) knocked on his door before Christmas of 1971.
The first question the senior Elder asked was “Do you want to know more about Jesus Christ?”—a question which he coincidentally was asking himself a few minutes before the Elders came into his life. It was as if God directed the two Elders to knock on the door at a very precise and opportune moment.
On February 12, 1972, or two and a half months after that inspiring meeting, Bro. Ledesma was baptized by Elders Adrian Pulfer and Bartolomew Birkett at the Buendia chapel.
And life has never been the same ever since for the architect turned equipment manufacturer-inventor—and Mormon missionary, whose secret formula for success, as featured in the August 27, 1977 issue of Focus (a nationally circulated weekly magazine), is the belief that challenges in life can be met and surmounted with strong faith in God and self-discipline, coupled with self-confidence and a spirit of unselfishness—the use of one’s endowments to help others find fulfillment in their lives.

CeLisa Wathen of the Virginia Branch, Minnesota Minneapolis Mission, was selected as SnoWeek Princess at her junior high school. This was special to CeLisa since she was nominated just two weeks after moving to Minnesota from American Fork, Utah.

For CeLisa it was interesting to move from a school that had predominately LDS students to one where she is one of two members of the Church in the student body. But after her selection as princess, most of the school knew of her beliefs.

About the same time that Paul found out he was diabetic, his father, also a diabetic, started having serious health problems because he wasn’t taking care of himself. One day Paul was with him when he had a seizure, and Paul had to call 911 for help. Dan realized then that he had to set an example for his son.
Paul also helps his father stay in control. Together, and with the help and support of Mom and Jimmy, they know it’s a battle they can win. It makes it easier that Mom, Carol, is a great cook who fixes all the right things for them to eat, and that there is sugar-free ice cream to celebrate special occasions with.

Twenty years later as a bishop, I had the opportunity to see the effectiveness of a council not just in the meetinghouse but also in the mountains. During a Saturday activity, a member of our quorum had been lost in the forest overnight. As far as we knew, he was alone and without warm clothes, food, or shelter. We searched for him without success.
My memory is that we prayed together, the priests quorum and I, and I then asked each to speak. I listened intently, and it seemed to me that they did too, to each other. After a while, a feeling of peace settled on us. I felt that our lost quorum member was safe and dry somewhere.
It became clear to me what the quorum was to do and not to do. When the people who found him described the place in the woods where he had gone for safety, I felt that I recognized it. But the larger miracle for me was to see a united priesthood council’s faith in Jesus Christ bringing revelation to the man with the priesthood keys. We all grew that day in the power of the priesthood.

Stepping inside for a drink, I noticed Pa’s picture on the easel by the bay window where Ma had always kept it. He still presided over the family even though he had been gone for years. I thought of Pa’s goodness and my mind reached backward. I remembered how I’d spread myself wide—couldn’t have been more than ten—trying to keep up with his long legs striding through the cane fields at irrigating time.
One day as we watched the water shimmering like quicksilver through the furrows, I had slipped my hand into Pa’s and looked up into his smiling eyes and asked, “Pa, are we rich?”
He chuckled. “Yes, son, we’re rich in all that matters.”
“What matters?”
He tousled my hair. “Loving the Lord and putting your trust in Him matters, and loving your family and neighbors.” Dropping to one knee he gave me a hug that almost knocked the breath out of me. Then he said, “Son, you matter.”
I wrapped my arms around his neck and his hearty laugh mattered too.

Not many years ago I had a similar experience. I knew that I should tell the bishop of my mistake. I knew that if I were to die without confessing, I wouldn’t be able to look my Maker in the eye without guilt. But then I thought of the bishop. I felt that he respected me. I was the Laurel president. Over the years I had held many callings in Young Women. The thought of telling the bishop crushed me. I felt that he would think less of me.
I decided to tell the bishop anyway to clear my conscience. I was extremely nervous when I called and asked if I could see him. The bishop was very understanding. He didn’t lecture me. He assured me that my sin was forgivable and that my Father in Heaven loved me very much and wanted me to be happy. As soon as I told him, the burden lifted and I felt clean once again. The next time I saw him he treated me as if nothing had happened. He never mentioned it again.
I have since thought about my past mistake, but the memory of it is as if it were another life. Two years after this incident I was married in the temple to a wonderful husband. We have now been married six months.
If I hadn’t taken that step I wouldn’t have been worthy to go to the temple.
It’s really worth it! No one needs to know but the bishop, the Lord, and you. Keep your chin up and good luck.
Name withheld

My first encounter with a Latter-day Saint bishop occurred before I was a member of the Church. I was 17 years old and was facing the confusion, doubt, and stress that many high school seniors confront. One Saturday morning I was complaining to my best friend about my woes. Even though he had good intentions, he provided me with few answers. But he did offer what turned out to be a profound suggestion. “Sometimes when I don’t know what to do,” he said, “I talk to my bishop.”
“Your bishop? Who is he?” I asked.
“He is the head of my ward,” my friend replied.
I now recognize my next question to be a distinct prompting from the Spirit, but at the time it was the most out-of-character question I could imagine coming from my 17-year-old mouth. “Do you think he’d meet with me?” I asked.
My friend said he’d call his bishop and call me right back. An appointment was quickly made for later that morning at the bishop’s house.
I didn’t know what to expect. As I pulled up in front of the modest rambler home, I was a bit surprised at its normalcy—bikes in the driveway, nicely mowed lawn. I was even further surprised by the man in the nice, casual shirt who greeted me at the door. He smiled and said, “Hi, you must be Joe. I’m Bishop Maxwell. Please come in.” As we walked to his small, in-home office, my mind was trying to justify it all. “Shouldn’t the bishop’s home be somehow different?” I asked myself. “Shouldn’t he dress in a formal robe or something?”
During the next 45 minutes, what I found was a compassionate man, someone who took a sincere interest in my struggles; an inspired man willing to spend some of his precious time on a Saturday morning to help someone, anyone, of his faith or not, make decisions and draw conclusions.
More than 25 years have passed since that meeting. I don’t recall any of the specific advice the bishop imparted that morning, but I still vividly remember the amazing clarity and lightened burden I felt as I left his home. Not until many years later would I realize that meeting was one of my first experiences in feeling the Spirit.
I joined the Church later that year. My friend Bill, who had referred me to Bishop Maxwell, baptized me. Bishop Maxwell was at the baptism. I later served a mission, married a beautiful young woman in the temple with Bishop Maxwell serving as a witness, and am now raising five wonderful children.

I know someone who had a pretty rough time keeping the commandments throughout his life: my brother. At an early age he became mixed up in drugs; even so, he tried his best to do what he knew was right. Three years ago, two of my best friends came to me with worried looks on their faces. They told me that my family had been trying to get ahold of me. My brother had passed away. I caught the next flight home. The funeral was the next day in Park City, Utah. There were so many people there. People who somehow found out about his death and, in a moment's notice, flew to Utah. My brother had a tough time keeping the commandments, but he knew how to be his "brother's keeper." That is why all those people where there. Each and every one of them had a story of how my brother helped them.

I am not saying, "Go do drugs but help out your fellow man." No. That is not what I am saying. If you want to be your brother's keeper, first be an example to him. God gave us commandments and we are to obey them. There is no leniency on that.

The reason I tell this story about my brother is because he understood that the worth of every soul is great. The most valuable lesson that my brother taught me, and I feel indebted to him for it, is that salvation is not just about me; it is about everyone.

The Mitchell family struggled much longer than the Bonds, but their son has conquered drugs and is leading a productive life as a husband, father, and faithful member of the Church. He began abusing drugs at age fourteen. As the years and his habit progressed, he eventually ruined his marriage, lost his home, and destroyed his business. Four years ago, after fifteen years of addiction, he entered a treatment program that was successful. Brother Mitchell thinks he and his wife might have helped stop their son’s abuse earlier if they had recognized the problem more quickly and dealt with it more firmly.
“We really didn’t want to believe our son was an addict. You know, you let yourself believe the things your child tells you that you want to hear. We paid his fines; we paid his legal expenses. We said, ‘Well, we’ll just help him out this one time.’ We did that for years.”
After their son entered the treatment program, the Mitchells learned the crucial concept that abusers stop abusing only when they are forced to experience the natural outcome of their behavior. “You have to help the person face the consequences of his addiction,” they say. “And the sooner you do it, the sooner he’s likely to change. He has to realize that the pleasure of using drugs isn’t worth the pain that follows.”

The first experience happened when my brother was sick. My father called a man from our ward to come to our home and help give a priesthood blessing. As our family gathered before the blessing, the man suggested that we children should leave because we might disrupt the spirit of the blessing. My father replied gently that it was important that each child be present during the blessing because our pure faith was needed.
Even at that young age, I not only felt the presence of the Spirit, but I also sensed the great love my father had for his children. My father’s love helped me believe in and understand Heavenly Father’s love for me.

Diligence was demonstrated by all members of the choir, but extraordinarily so by one precious mother whom I shall never forget. Just five days after the choir had left America, I was asked to inform her that her beautiful 37-year-old daughter had died after a long illness. The leaders of this sorrowing mother offered means for her to return home from Europe. She declined the offer. She and her family had already anticipated this possibility. Their decision had been made. It was not to be interpreted as a pattern for anyone else to follow, but for her alone. Her children and grandchildren had pleaded that she remain on assignment. So she continued in all diligence, never missing a single concert! She nobly fulfilled this scriptural counsel: “Therefore be diligent … in whatsoever difficult circumstances [you] may be” (D&C 6:18).

Her example can bless each of you, just as it did her family and me.

Natasha, Ryan, Rachel, Sarah, and Samuel’s family has family home evening every Monday night. In fact, they plan around it and make it a priority so that nothing else takes its place. For one family home evening, they read “The Big Jar” from the March 2008 Friend. Afterward, they wrote down nice things about each family member on pieces of paper. They put them in a “kindness jar,” and their mom read them so that no one knew who had said what about each person. As their mom read the nice things, each person got a big smile on his or her face. “The Big Jar” and this activity helped the family be kinder to each other, and they won’t forget the wonderful compliments they gave and received.

When I found out our ward Young Women president was moving, I immediately had the feeling that I was going to be called as the next president. I even shared that prompting with my husband. A few weeks went by and, sure enough, I received an invitation to meet with the bishop.
I was anxious. Being called into a leadership position felt foreign to me. Plus, I was baptized at age 21, so I had never attended Young Women myself. And I would be serving in Utah, USA, which was very different culturally from where I grew up in Mexico.
I thought of all my inadequacies to serve—I didn’t have younger siblings, I had many periods of inactivity as a member, and then I spent several years attending young single adult wards where there was no Young Women organization. On top of that, I could think of many other little hang-ups, like not even knowing the Young Women theme.
I was scared. The calling hadn’t even been extended to me yet, and I was already listing off the reasons I was unfit for it. I knew that thoughts of uncertainty come from the enemy, Satan, trying to prevent us from serving and edifying others in the Lord’s kingdom. But I couldn’t deny that some of my fears and thoughts had truth to them.
As I prepared for my meeting with the bishop, I was still going over all the reasons I could give the bishop to decline the calling. Then a thought crossed my mind: “Would I say no to Christ?”
The answer was pretty clear: I would never turn down an invitation from Christ, even if I did not feel like I was ready for it.
Matthew 8:8 has always touched my heart. It says, “Lord, I am not worthy that thou shouldest come under my roof: but speak the word only, and my servant shall be healed.” That truth has helped me know that the Lord can heal me of all my fears. He can dissipate the negative thoughts I have about myself. And most importantly, He can help me connect to and serve the young women in my ward.
So I walked into my meeting with the bishop. He extended the calling to serve as Young Women president. I accepted the calling, but I also felt vulnerable and expressed how I was anxious about not being the right person for the calling. My bishop reassured me that if I could put those worries toward serving and relying on the Savior, then I would be able to serve to the best of my abilities.
Now as I serve, I think of a lesson the Savior has been teaching me since even before I was a member of the Church: I am loved, and it is my duty and privilege to share His love with others—especially through my callings.
I might not always have the right words or the best solution for what the young women in my ward need, but with help from Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, I am able to make a spiritual difference in their lives.
Jessica M., Utah, USA

I remember that there were buckets and kegs of nails—rusty, crooked nails. When I was just a small boy, Dad put me to work straightening those nails with a hammer. Years later, at Dad’s funeral, I reflected on that experience. I realized that he had been teaching me not only how to work but also a basic principle of the gospel.

We have become a throwaway society. No one thinks about straightening nails these days. We throw away anything that is damaged, including human souls. I learned from those hours of straightening rusty nails that even things terribly bent can be saved for a good and wholesome purpose.

Perhaps that discovery was the beginning of my great desire to recover every human soul. I know that they can be recovered, and that lives can be improved, corrected, and renewed to fulfill the full measure of their creation. My father instilled that faith in me.

Elder Gerrit W. Gong, recently called to serve in the Presidency of the Seventy, remembers a prompting that came to him while he was serving as a missionary in Taiwan.
An investigator came into sacrament meeting. “I felt inspired to write him a short note in Morse code which said something like, ‘Welcome to sacrament meeting. Happy to see you here!’”
The investigator happened to be a radio operator and was delighted to receive the message. “I was amazed that something I had learned years earlier could help me … to reach a certain individual in a particular way,” says Elder Gong.

After many days and nights of uncertainty and worry, I was slowly falling into a bout of depression. Once again my life was in a huge upheaval. Much of the problem was the typical teenage syndrome: struggles with dear friends, worries about the future, and the stresses of daily activities. Folded into the mix was the fact of a family moving across the country.
Nothing seemed good in my life, and I felt like I had nobody to turn to, until one friend asked me if I had prayed about my adversity and asked the Lord for help. The thought immediately came to my mind: “Why haven’t I thought of that?” So I began praying to Heavenly Father about my challenges. Little did I know that the Lord was about to change my life and the lives of others in a most unexpected way.
One evening after a long practice for a school play, I was dropping off a couple of my peers in the neighborhood when I felt the prompting to ask one friend if he would like to come to a service project my stake was doing that night for Mutual. He had received the missionary lessons a few years before but had not chosen to join the Church. Immediately, I felt a slight embarrassment for asking him to a Church activity starting in only a few moments. To my complete surprise, he politely accepted the invitation, and after arranging for him to borrow some Church clothes, we were at the meeting with the other youth.
Known in my stake as the “Seminary Basket Project,” this popular activity consists of the youth’s visiting the lonely and elderly of the community during the holiday season. After visiting several homes, bringing them bags of fruit accompanied by a short message and hymn, my friend remarked on what a good time he had been having. Once again I felt awkward as I followed the prompting to invite him to the testimony meeting following the activity. He joked a little about people who cry when bearing testimony but agreed to go to the meeting to “check it out.”
At the meeting I again had a prompting, this time to bear my testimony. Unable to sit still, I walked up to the podium and expressed how grateful I was for the help of the gospel in my challenges. Sure enough, I became one of the “criers” my nonmember friend and I had been joking about just a few minutes before! The meeting continued, with a tremendous feeling of the Spirit obviously present. Many uplifting testimonies were borne, and there was something miraculous still to come.
A complete shock hit me as I watched my friend stand up, slip out of the pews and approach the stand! The feeling I had as I watched my friend bear his testimony and say, “I’m gonna be a Mormon,” is indescribable. The thought of the enormity and importance of what had just transpired stuck with me throughout the rest of the evening.
Because of the support and example of good friends and the prompting of the Lord, my friend had ended his long internal struggle with the idea of becoming a Latter-day Saint. It was a relief for those who had pretty much given up hope. What a joyous day it was when only a few short weeks later my friend informed me of his baptism date! There was hardly enough room for the supportive friends who attended his baptism, and almost no one was without a tear in his eye. The same Spirit was present for his confirmation during the next day’s fast and testimony meeting.
Many bore testimony about how my friend’s decision to change his own life had changed their lives. It was evident that not only had many pleading prayers for my friend been answered, but many others’ testimonies had been strengthened. God had brought about His great and eternal purposes by bringing one precious soul into His Church while also strengthening those involved. If we rely on the Lord, pray, and strive to be a righteous example, He will make us an instrument in His eternal plans, better our lives, and bring about great things.

So, let’s say that you’ve studied things out! You have dated various people, and you’ve found someone who seems to have many of the qualities you are looking for.

That’s an important one, for real! You both need to genuinely like each other!

It’s great! You have identified someone who “could” work. But you understand the eternal nature of the commitment. It can all feel a little bit overwhelming.

I can remember these feelings like it was yesterday. Kels and I had been dating for a few months. I knew she was special. But I felt overwhelmed. I felt like I had too many decisions to make at once. I was planning on transferring schools and moving. We had talked about breaking things off soon. Then, Kels wrote me this note. It’s become my most prized possession. It was written with the context that our relationship was probably coming to an end. She said a lot of nice things. The thing that stood out was that she said she could see how the gospel brought joy into my life, and she wanted a life built on that. She didn’t ask me to marry her, but I knew how she felt.

It was a wake-up call for me. This letter gave me enough information to take this decision to the Lord for an answer.