Gospel Story Finder

Besides my mother, I remember a Primary teacher I had when I was a young boy living in Provo, Utah. This teacher was over the Primary class that was called, at that time, the Guide Patrol. For the class we had a shoulder bandolier, and, similar to the Boy Scout program, we had to set goals and do certain things to earn emblems to put on the bandolier.
My Primary teacher made the most of her opportunity to serve. She was sincerely interested in helping us to grow and to choose the right. In true Good Samaritan fashion, she went the extra mile and frequently had us over to her home outside of Primary time. She worked individually with each member of the class to help us reach our goals, and she showed great compassion for those who needed special help and attention.
In addition to my parents and teachers, I can think of many Church leaders who are or have been Good Samaritans. A former bishop of mine, Les Goates, and a stake mission president I served with, Franklin D. Richards, are two such leaders who exemplified the traits of the Good Samaritan. Bishop Goates impressed me with his outstanding leadership ability. His example was one of unconditional love for the people he worked with and served. He knew that unselfish giving was the way to reach people and touch their hearts.
A number of years ago I was called to be a counselor to Elder Richards in a stake mission presidency in the Salt Lake East Mill Creek Stake. During that time Elder Richards was particularly instrumental in helping me to better learn the gospel and to see the importance of scripture study. He also helped me to realize what a great opportunity it is to serve.
Service doesn’t come without hard work and sacrifice, but work itself really is a blessing. Many people don’t understand that. I have learned to be grateful for work. I have seen people around me who are lazy and inclined to approach tasks with a “What’s in it for me?” attitude instead of the “What can I do for others?” attitude that the Good Samaritan had. Let us not view work and service as drudgery. Rather, let us see every day as a new opportunity and challenge to help those in need.

The Hofmanns: Early First-Generation Members. In 1937 a German immigrant couple named Hofmann accepted the gospel and were baptized. Their son, Carlos Guillermo Hofmann, born a few months later, grew up as a Latter-day Saint. “We met in a small branch in those days,” he recalls. “I was raised with the beliefs of the Church. We always stayed on the pathway.”

Staying active in those days entailed meeting in homes and being the only Latter-day Saint in school, and then, as an adult, carrying heavy leadership responsibilities almost single-handedly.

After marrying, Carlos and his wife, Irma Scholz, made the needed sacrifices to raise their children in the Church. “I am grateful to my wife, who carried the responsibility while I was working and serving in Church callings,” Brother Hofmann says. “It seemed I was often away from the family, but the children never lacked. We were diligent in holding family home evening.” Today his children and grandchildren are strong and active in the Church.

A few years ago as I was leaving Temple Square in Salt Lake City after a general conference session, I encountered a small group of people handing out anti-Mormon pamphlets. The leader of the group styled himself a “missionary to the Mormons.” I was interested to know why he spent his time in this way. Also, his pamphlets intrigued me, for they revealed that this man had very little knowledge of the Latter-day Saints’ true beliefs.
As I talked with him briefly, he pulled from his pocket a list of questions that he frequently asked members of the Church. “Is God a man?” he asked me confidently.
“No,” I replied, “God is not a man. It says so in the Bible.” (See Num. 23:19; 1 Sam. 15:29.)
“You’re the only Mormon who believes that,” he said. “Your church teaches that God is a man.”
“That’s not correct,” I countered. “Let me read to you from the Bible exactly what my church does teach.” I then quoted from Psalms 82:6, which reads: “Ye are gods; and all of you are children of the most High.”
“No,” I said, “God is not a man; man is a god—or, at least, so he may become. This is what Jesus said to the Jews in the tenth chapter of John when he quoted that very Psalm.” (See John 10:34–36.)
As I walked to my car after this unsuccessful encounter (the man soon left me to hand pamphlets to others), I thought of the many ways in which God’s true nature is distorted in the teachings of so many Christian churches. Joseph Smith taught that not only does God have a body, but that he “dwells in everlasting burnings.” (Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Company, 1938, p. 361.) (This idea is found in a number of ancient sources as well.) But many—perhaps the majority—of churches teach that it is the devil who has a body (often pictured with horns, tail, and cloven hoof) and dwells in everlasting burnings. How often I have thought that Satan must surely enjoy the visual irony that much of Christianity has reversed his position with that of God! For the truth of the matter is that it is the devil who is but a spirit.

Another time, Joseph was having difficulty going to bed. He wasn’t cooperating and was irritable. I asked him to tell me some of “The Living Christ.” As he began, I could feel the Spirit come into the room. He calmed down and changed back into his normal, happy self. Some time later, on another night when he was restless, I tried it again. This time his reply was very different: “No! I don’t want to be happy!” Our young son had learned what remembering Jesus Christ could do. Indeed, the Savior had become more real to all of us.

Let me share a story of love being manifested through the kindness, forgiveness and helping hands of others. Many years ago, a friend of mine was on a stake presidency. It was at a time when the stake presidency needed to be reorganized and when only the first presidency or one of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles could perform that sacred duty.
Elder James E. Faust was the presiding authority for that stake conference. It was and still is I believe, a normal practice to interview Melchizedek priesthood holders to get a feel of who the next stake president should be. After interviewing many, it was my friends turn for an interview. As he sat down, Elder Faust looked him in the eye and said: “Everyone loves you. Everyone wants you to be the next stake president. But this isn’t a popularity contest, The Lord doesn’t work that way—and the Lord doesn’t want you, why?”
At that moment my friend said he realized two things: that The Church really was true and that the Lord really did speak to his Apostles. My friend finally came clean with his life. He had not been living worthy of his priesthood. He was excommunicated and left to the buffetings of Satan.
Many hearts were broken and many hearts were unforgiving, but the Lord loved him and did not forget him. Years later, a sweet sister missionary loved him first. She and her companion persistently visited him every week. When it was time for her transfer, a missionary couple, with warm, friendly hands reaching out to him, withholding judgment, loving him despite of his shortcomings, loved him back into the fold. He rejoiced in the atonement of our Savior, Jesus Christ. He was re-baptized, and attended his meetings, patiently accepting and doing whatever the bishop required of him. Through patience and long-suffering and through the love of many, his long awaited temple blessings were finally restored; families were united once more, and my friend rejoiced in the few temple sessions he was able to attend before he passed away.

I would like to focus on the promise to always remember Him. Many years ago, Nuria and I were taught the restored gospel by two young full-time missionaries who brought the presence of the Holy Ghost into our home. Those are indeed days never to be forgotten. As we entered the waters of baptism, received the gift of the Holy Ghost, and were confirmed as members of His true Church, we started on the Lord’s covenant path. Walking along this path has become the most important thing in our lives, as we focus on becoming an eternal family.

It all started when my stake set up a project to help refugees. I really liked the project, so I asked my mom to tell my schoolteacher about it, and my teacher wanted to do something with the fourth grade. To set the example for the project, my sister, Maddie, and I went door to door asking for donations.
The day came to present the project to the rest of the fourth grade. I was a bit nervous. Actually, I was super freaked out, but I did my best. I told all the other fourth graders what we needed for school kits for the refugees. I told about how we went door to door, and I gave them a challenge to try to do better than me in raising money. Together we made over 100 kits! We put in notebooks, pencils, and other school supplies. We also added a note to say, “Welcome to Germany!”
My mom and I took the kits to the refugee camp. I wouldn’t say the camp was nice, but there was a playground and an area for learning academics. There was a train next to the camp that was really loud, and the kids told me it sounded like jets flying by in Syria and other places like that. Maybe it sounded like bombs to the kids who had heard them in their home countries.
I met a few kids at the camp my age, including Daniel, an awesome chess player. I didn’t get to play chess against him, which was too bad because I love chess, but they invited me to play foosball and ping-pong. The boys told me that they missed their homes and really wanted to leave the camp and go to school again.
After we played foosball and ping-pong, we handed out the kits. I feel good that I could do something kind for the kids who lived at the camps.

To help explain what the Savior has done for us, President Boyd K. Packer, Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, told the story of a man who borrowed a great deal of money. He bought something he had always wanted. But when the bill came due, he could not afford to pay it. He knew that his creditor would take away his possessions as payment and throw him in jail.
Then the man’s friend came to rescue him. The friend asked, “If I pay your debt, will you accept me as your creditor?” The man gratefully agreed, and his friend told him, “You will pay the debt to me and I will set the terms. It will not be easy, but it will be possible.”
Because the friend was willing and able to pay, the creditor received the money that was fairly owed him. At the same time, the man was able to keep his possessions and not go to jail. (See Ensign, May 1977, 54–55.)

President Spencer W. Kimball gave these two examples of marital love:
For many years, I saw a strong man carry his tiny, emaciated, arthritic wife to meetings and wherever she could go. There could be no sexual expression. Here was selfless indication of affection. I think that is pure love. I saw a kindly woman wait on her husband for many years as he deteriorated with muscular dystrophy. She waited on him hand and foot, night and day, when all he could do was blink his eyes in thanks. I believe that was love.[51]

When I was 14, I began working for a neighbor who raised bees as a hobby. My job was to take care of his horses, paint fences, mow the lawn, and weed the garden.
The beehives were located in the field behind the garden, and it seemed like every time I was there I’d end up getting stung or chased by some angry bee. I was beginning to wonder if the bees were trying to avenge the death of their long-lost ancestor.
I told my neighbor I was going to need combat pay if he wanted his garden weeded. He told me what I really needed was the right equipment. We went into his basement and he got out his bee suit: thick gloves with sleeves that went all the way up my arms, white pants and shirt because white tends to pacify bees, boots, a hat, and a screen mask that covered my face and head.
Feeling protected, I journeyed outside. Unfortunately it didn’t take long before I felt something crawling around on my head. There was a hole on the top of the mask. I’m not sure who panicked first, the bee or me. I took off running for the house, but before I got very far it was too late.
I guess you could say I got the point that day. But I really got it later when I was reading in Doctrine and Covenants 27:15 [D&C 27:15] where it says, “Wherefore, lift up your hearts and rejoice, and gird up your loins, and take upon you my whole armor, that ye may be able to withstand the evil day, having done all, that ye may be able to stand.”

We live in an environment where there is much of litigation and conflict, of suing and countersuing. Even here the powers of healing may be invoked. As a young man I worked with Elder Stephen L. Richards, then of the Council of the Twelve. When he came into the First Presidency of the Church, he asked me to assist him with a very delicate and sensitive matter. It was fraught with most grave and serious consequences. After listening to him discuss it, I said, “President Richards, you don’t want me; you want a lawyer.” He said, “I am a lawyer. I don’t want to litigate this. I want to compose it.”
We directed our efforts to that end, and wonderful results followed. Money was saved, much of it. Embarrassment was avoided. The work was moved forward without fanfare or headlines. Wounds were closed. The healing powers of the Master, the principles of the gospel of Jesus Christ, were invoked in a delicate and difficult situation to compose what otherwise could have become a catastrophe.

Several stakes chose to serve the older members of their areas. In the Salt Lake Holladay North Stake, each Young Women class adopted a “grandmother” or “grandfather” to help throughout the year. They took turns helping with transportation and home cleaning. As a special service, they made white handkerchiefs for their newfound friends to take to the Jordan River Temple dedication. In addition, the girls arranged to tape record the older members’ personal histories. They transcribed the tapes and made a typewritten copy for each grandmother or grandfather to keep, with enough extra copies to give to their children.

President James E. Faust tells a wonderful story in his message, The Shield of Faith, from the Liahona magazine July 2000. He tells of a heroic pioneer woman from Haun’s Mill, Amanda Smith and how she was able to do something beyond her abilities and the scientific knowledge of her time. It was in 1838 after the terrible attack on the mill, when she found her eldest son carrying her youngest son Alma and she believed that he was dead. He was not dead but had had his entire hipbone shot away. When she examined the wound she said it was a ghastly sight and she had no idea what to do so she prayed to Heavenly Father asking what she should do. These are her words ‘Oh my Heavenly Father; what shall I do? Thou seest my poor wounded boy and knowest my inexperience. Oh, Heavenly Father, direct me what to do! She said that she was directed by a voice telling her what to do. She was instructed to use the ashes of their smoldering fire and make a lye and put the cloth saturates with it right into the wound. She continued to saturate the cloth and put it into the hole and each time mashed flesh and splinters of bone came away with the cloth and the wound became as white as Chicken’s flesh. She then prayed again for direction and as she did she was instructed, as though a physician had been standing by her. This time she was told to make a poultice from a nearby slippery-elm tree and fill the wound with it. She dressed the wound as directed and added balsam to help soothe the pain. She asked her son if he believed that the Lord could make him a new hip. He asked her if she believed and she said yes because the Lord had shown her in a vision. So her son laid on his bed, flat on his face for five weeks until he was entirely healed, a flexible gristle having grown in place of the missing joint and socket. He was able to continue in his life and was never crippled, all because of the faith of his mother.

Brigham is an example of faith and courage. When he was three years old, he became very ill with leukemia, a cancer of the blood, and had to endure a painful treatment for two years. As he did, doctors discovered that he also had another disease, one that he cannot be cured of. It causes great pain, but he doesn’t complain. In fact, after doctors gave him a very painful treatment for his cancer, Brigham told them “thank you” through his tears.

Before my wife and I were married, I said to her, “You know, Mary, I feel that to be successful in business I will have to work hard domestically and perhaps internationally. Do you want to go on that trip with me?” She said she did. Ten years after we were married, I was asked to go to England, and there she was with me. Then we went to Germany and later to Spain. She became international, multicultural, and bilingual because she had made up her mind that we would work and grow together.

Amy trudged along the sidewalk, dragging her hand across the slats of the wooden fence that surrounded Sister Pedersen’s yard. It’s not fair, she thought. Why do I have to stay indoors reading the newspaper to an old blind lady while everyone else is going to the movies with Emily. And how can I ever be Emily’s friend if I can’t go to the movie with her?
Grudgingly Amy walked up the steps to Sister Pedersen’s house and knocked on the door.
The door swung open, and there stood eighty-year-old Sister Pedersen.
“It’s me, Amy, Sister Pedersen.”
“Come on in, Amy, and sit down here in this armchair. I believe in taking care of business first. Shall I pay you each day you come?” Sister Pedersen asked, opening her purse.
“No, ma’am. Mother said that I shouldn’t take money for reading to you. In family home evening we agreed to work on serving others, and you’re my assignment.”
Sister Pedersen snapped her purse shut, nodded her head, and said, “You may read to me now.”
Amy struggled through reading the newspaper’s front-page articles. She wondered how anyone could consider this a pleasure.
After about forty-five minutes, Sister Pedersen interrupted, “Let’s stop now, Amy. Do you like treasures?”
“I suppose so. What kind of treasures?”
“Follow me, and you’ll see,” Sister Pedersen told her.
“This is my treasure room,” Sister Pedersen announced, as she guided Amy into a small room with several cabinets filled with collectibles: red goblets, silk flowers in painted vases, tiny dolls in native costumes, crystal paperweights, and bright blue plates. “It’s like an antique shop!” she exclaimed, rushing from one cabinet to another to peer at the treasures.
“You probably wonder why a blind lady keeps so many ornaments,” Sister Pedersen said. “When I touch the smooth glass objects or the soft silk fabrics, my fingers experience beauty.”
Amy watched the old lady gently rub a delicate bird fashioned of blown glass. She traced the china roses on a pink vase. Then she picked up a crystal ball etched with an intricate pattern.
“Go ahead. Touch them, Amy,” Sister Pedersen coaxed.
Fascinated by the beauty of the bird, Amy timidly picked it up from the table. It was a swan with its neck arched proudly and its wings spread wide, ready to take flight.
“This swan is wonderful!” Amy whispered.
“A glassblower made it for me when I was very young. He created that lovely bird from liquid glass, and then let me feel all the glass figures in his store. Since that day, whenever I touch my swan, I know that I, too, have ‘seen’ beauty. Now, you look around, and don’t be afraid to handle everything. I’ll go prepare some refreshments for us. I remember how hungry young people are after school.”
Amy held the swan and imagined herself a young blind girl. Hearing sounds of laughter outside, she set the swan down and leaned over the table to look out the window. Emily and all her friends were returning from the movie. Amy didn’t feel as bad about missing it as she thought she would. As she turned away from the window, Amy’s hand accidentally bumped the swan, knocking it to the floor. She quickly picked up the pieces and frantically put them into her pocket.
Sister Pedersen called, “Come downstairs, Amy, and have some biscuits and milk. Then you’d better hurry home, or your mother might not let you come again.”
Amy gulped down her snack nervously. She was too afraid to say anything about the broken glass swan. She said good-bye and quickly left the house.
What should I do? she wondered. I can’t go back, no matter what Mother says. As Amy shut the gate, she looked up and saw Sister Pedersen waving to her. It made her feel worse, somehow.
Walking home from school the next day, Amy passed Sister Pedersen’s house and sighed with relief. At least she wasn’t supposed to read to Sister Pedersen until next week. But she still felt awful, and when she got home, she emptied a container of all the money she had saved and counted it carefully. “I hope it’s enough,” she muttered as she went to find her mother.
After school Monday, Amy slowly approached Sister Pedersen’s house, clutching a white box. When the door opened, she said, “It’s Amy, Sister Pedersen.”
“Come in, Amy. I didn’t think this was the day for your visit, but you’re welcome any time.”
After they sat down, Amy carefully opened the box and placed the new swan in Sister Pedersen’s hands. Swallowing nervously, Amy said, “This is a replacement for the one that I broke. I’m awfully sorry. It was an accident.”
“It’s all right, Amy. I heard it break. I’m glad that you told me, though,” Sister Pedersen said, adding, “I’m sure this bird cost you quite a lot of money, and I want you to keep it and enjoy its beauty. You have given me something more important. You have been an honest and good friend.”
When she left to go home, Amy happily turned at the gate to call good-bye to Sister Pedersen, her new friend, who stood in the doorway, waving.

It was on his mission that Brother Han learned a great lesson about the Book of Mormon. “As missionaries, we were told to tell the people first about the Book of Mormon and the Joseph Smith story. I felt that those things were harder to understand and accept and that it would be easier for investigators to accept the gospel principles gradually,” Brother Han says.
However, he quickly became frustrated with the lack of response from investigators. After fasting and praying, “I received my answer,” Brother Han says. “I knew I had to teach the Book of Mormon first. I recognized that I hadn’t been relying on the Spirit’s ability to touch people and change their attitudes. It surprised me, but when I was obedient, people accepted those gospel principles and ideas that I had thought would be so difficult for them.”

NORTHROP: I learned to pray when I was little, but my first testimony of prayer came when I was in middle school. And I was praying about homework and was helped by Heavenly Father to finish my homework in middle school. And the Spirit testified to me that that's what had happened, that Heavenly Father did help me.
WIXOM: Who taught you to pray?
NORTHROP: My parents.
WIXOM: Right. And your experience in church all those years? Your testimony is strong, Rachel, and I appreciate you sharing today. It's a relationship with our Heavenly Father and His Son Jesus Christ.

At age 16, Sasha was called to be first counselor in her branch’s Young Women presidency. Her friend Anya was president. The two of them were the only active young women in the branch. One day a leader told them, “You have many young women in your branch, but only the two of you come. God called you to work!”
So Sasha and Anya went to work. Within a month, nearly 15 young women were active in the branch. A few months later, Sasha was called to be branch Young Women president. And at age 17, she became first counselor in the district Young Women presidency. “Like me, many of those girls were the only members of the Church in their families, and I knew we had to be one family with them. It was my desire that we should be real friends. Then we could all be faithful to the Lord.”
The girls met often during the week for friendship, activities, and service. They took turns giving lessons. They attended branch seminary classes. They went on walks and enjoyed other activities together. “Most of those young women are still active in the Church,” says Sasha. “They have strong testimonies and are serving now in their own callings. We are still close friends.”

The day progressed better than I thought it would. Snow fell throughout the morning, giving way to an afternoon of windy sunshine. I heaved a relieved sigh when my geometry test was postponed a day. I hurried home after school to tell Topie good-bye.
Mom met me at the door. She held a dish towel in her hands. Her cheeks were wet. Why had she been crying?
“Honey,” she said, “I tried to get them to wait until you came home from school, but they left with Topie an hour ago. I know how much you wanted to say good-bye. I’m sorry, Honey. I’m so sorry.”
I felt numb and strange and sort of broken. “I’ll be okay,” I said. “I’m going to go up to my room for a while.”
I sat on my bed for a long time. I stared out the window at the ring I used to ride in and the homemade jumps Dad built for me. I stared at distant hoof prints in the mud and the bit of snow that hadn’t quite melted. There wouldn’t be any snow in California. I stared at the green and yellow wallpaper Mom had found on sale and we had hung together. I stared at everything that I would be leaving behind.
Suddenly the door cracked open and, before I could say anything, Rob was next to me on the bed.
“Why aren’t you at baseball practice?” I asked.
“I thought you might want to do something,” he said. His little boy eyes looked soft.
That’s when it hit. I didn’t just cry. I sobbed. Tears for my beautiful horse, my ugly hair, and all of the changes that jerked me so fast and hard. Rob’s hand on my shoulder moved up and down with my gulps. When I quieted, Rob turned to me.
“I’m thinking of someone,” he said.
He was playing the guessing game, a silly game we played on long car trips. By asking yes and no questions a player had to guess who the other player was thinking about. The person in mind could be rich and famous, alive or dead, or the kid next door. The only rule was that all of the players had to have heard of that person. You got a point for each question you asked and the lowest score won.
We played for a long time, our voices trailing the air. In the back of my mind I realized that my little ten-year-old brother was missing his Little League practice in order to be with me, in order to keep my mind moving and to give my soul something to grip other than loneliness. Rob beat me by one point.
“Hey, this isn’t fair,” I forced a smile. “When you were a little kid I used to let you win whenever we raced. You could at least let me win one today.”
“That’s too much to ask!” Rob laughed. “But I will let you have the mashed potatoes first tonight!” I managed a real smile. We raced down to dinner and tied.