Gospel Story Finder

I vividly remember a conversation I had with my roommates during my freshman year at BYU. One night at dinner we were discussing what we would give our mothers for Christmas. I had been raised in a very middle-class family, but I attended high school with wealthy, upper-class Jewish students. I had no other point of reference, so by the standards of my peers, my family was pretty poor. As I discussed gift suggestions with my college roommates, I mentioned that I was contemplating giving my mother a telephone for Christmas. She seemed to already have everything else she needed. One of my roommates said, “I’m going to buy my mother a store-bought blouse. I don’t remember her ever owning a piece of new, store-bought clothing.” Wow, was I humbled in a hurry! My naive eyes had awakened to the real world.

Tomorrow was Christmas!
Jacob helped Mom make sugar cookies. They made them in fun shapes. Stars. Candy canes. Snowmen. Christmas trees.
Mom made frosting. Jacob helped frost the cookies. Jacob and Mom put sprinkles on the frosting. Jacob was having fun.
But Jacob kept thinking. There were lots of presents under the Christmas tree. One of them was wrapped in red paper. It had Jacob’s name on it. He thought maybe it was a soccer ball. Jacob loved soccer.
Tomorrow was so far away. Jacob wiggled in his chair. He wanted Christmas now!
“Time for dinner,” Mom said. It was chicken noodle soup. That was Jacob’s favorite! But all through dinner Jacob wiggled. It was just too hard to wait for Christmas.
After dinner the family went to the living room. Jacob tried to sit still. But he kept wiggling. He wanted to open his presents.
Jacob’s family had a Christmas program. They sang “Silent Night.” Then Dad read about when Jesus was born.
Jacob stopped wiggling. He felt peaceful. He remembered that Christmas was about Jesus.
Mom prayed. Then Jacob hugged her.
“Jesus is the best part of Christmas!” he said.

Once when I was in second grade I was riding the bus home after school. Some high school boys were sitting in front of me looking at a magazine. The one who was holding the magazine came back and sat by me. The magazine had pictures of immodest girls. I knew that the prophet had said not to look at bad magazines or pictures. I closed my eyes and turned away. The boys tried to get me to look, but I kept my eyes closed. I’m glad I chose the right by doing what the prophet said.

It was in the late 1960s when I first heard about Relief Society, and I was not yet a member of the Church.
I was excited to hear about this women’s organisation, and the missionaries had arranged for one of the sisters to pick me up for the evening homemaking meeting. It seemed like a beautiful thing to go to.
I was conscious that this was the first time to meet these women. So, with an emphasis on it being a Church meeting, my apparel was important. I was brought up in Ireland, but with the Anglican tradition that you don’t go to church without a hat. I had a hat I thought would be suitable. It happened to be quite flamboyant, with its navy and pink petals—rather like a bouquet on top of your head, but pretty. I had a matching navy coat and dress. So, well-manicured, with make-up on, and in my hat and outfit (including gloves), I was ready.
At the last minute, I thought I’d better take some food, because of the charity aspect of the organisation. So, I gathered some tins and placed them in a wicker picnic basket.
When the lovely lady arrived to pick me up, she was casually dressed in jeans and a nice sweater. I can’t remember if she had a look of shock on her face when she saw me, but it still didn’t dawn on me that I was way overdressed. Only when I went into the room did I realise they were all casually dressed — and there I was looking like the Queen Mother! I never did ask them what they thought, but they were wonderful sisters, wonderfully warm.
I’ve learned to be good at laughing at myself, but it was a serious moment for me—it was perhaps my first spiritual moment. I felt their genuine warmth, and I wanted to be connected with these sisters. I truly felt the sisterhood of which we talk and read.
I am grateful for the stability of the gospel that has helped me to ride many waves in my life. And since that first meeting I have always had an affinity with my sisters in the Church.

Gilbert Ninth Ward
The Gilbert Ninth Ward Primary, Val Vista Arizona Stake (right), had an activity day where they did several projects for the Humanitarian Center. They knitted hats, tied quilts, assembled hygiene kits, washed dolls, stuffed soft toys, and colored alphabet books. Many of the children thought it was one of the best activity days they had ever been to.

Some members of the Church have said to me, “Why should we keep a store of food on hand? If a real emergency came in this lawless world, a neighbor would simply come with his gun and take it from us. What would you do if a person came and demanded your food?” I replied that I would share whatever I had with him, and he wouldn’t have to use a gun to obtain that assistance either.

“I wouldn’t,” replied one man. “I have a gun, and I wouldn’t hesitate to use it to defend my family. Anyone would have to kill me first in order to get food away from me! After all, they bring their own misery on themselves by not being prepared!”

When I hugged Ashley good-bye a day before graduation, I thought I would see her again before she set off on a yearlong journey across the nation to help children. But less than a month after graduation, Ashley died in a car accident.
At 17, I’d never experienced the loss of a loved one, and I didn’t know how to handle this tragedy. I had never met Ashley’s family, so I didn’t feel that I could share my grief with them. My other friends hadn’t been as close to her as I had.
So I mourned alone in my room at night, with tears trickling into my ears as I lay on my bed. “Okay,” I thought, “this is natural. I’ll have my cry and then go to sleep.” But to my surprise, the pain didn’t end. I was frightened to feel a great hole growing inside of me, and it felt bottomless.
In desperation, I pulled out my scriptures and read blindly until a measure of calm stopped the aching, and I slept. But the sadness continued. For about a week it was hard to sleep, and the tears kept falling.
I started to get angry. I was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I knew that death was not the end and that Ashley was in a better and happier place. I was aware that I would see her again. I didn’t understand why I was having such a hard time getting over her death while knowing these things were true. I’d always heard that members of the Church weren’t as sad at funerals because they know about our life after death, and I felt ashamed of my sorrow.
As time passed, so did the ache, but occasionally something would remind me of my friend, and I would have a hard time controlling my emotions.
It’s now been over three years since Ashley’s death, and I’ve finally come to a better understanding of my grief. Jesus Christ blesses those who mourn and commands us to “live together in love, insomuch that thou shalt weep for the loss of them that die” (D&C 42:45).
My tears for the loss of my friend were not wrong. These tears did not indicate a lack of faith in God’s plan. Comfort can reach us. It will sit beside the grief, and while not replacing sorrow, will at least keep it from overpowering one’s heart entirely.
I still think of Ashley occasionally. I picture her in her favorite striped sweater and with the hundreds of friends she had from all areas of the high school. Many times I have thanked my Heavenly Father for not answering my prayer that first day of choir class to be seated by someone I knew. If He had, I never would have experienced the joy of knowing such an inspiring person before she left this earth.

19 Brigham Young Home
Brigham Young completed his redbrick home on May 31, 1843. After the death of the Prophet, the Young home became Church headquarters. On February 22, 1846, the Young family left their home and headed west. The home was sold at a public auction for $ 600. Later Brigham Young became the second President of the Church.

The next day was a holiday, and the young Mormons awoke with snowflakes tangled in their dreams and snowbanks turning into pillows. Today was the big day they had worked and saved for. Today they were going to Antillanca, a ski resort high in the mountains. Spring had a firm grip on the countryside, and the skiing season was past, but at Antillanca there would still be plenty of snow—and fun!
Green filled the windows of the bus as it rolled toward Antillanca—green in endless shades and patterns—green enough for a thousand springs—greens to make even an Irishman jealous. And inside the spring-dazzled bus, guitars began sprouting from nowhere, as they always seem to in a group of Chilean youth. Soon, green-tinted songs were floating around the bus as a changing orbit of voices surrounded each guitar—hauntingly beautiful folk songs, lively rounds, and romantic ballads. Many of the songs laughed and wept with an inexpressible yearning that was both heartbreaking and joyful—and very, very Chilean.
Leaving songs and lakes and valleys in its wake, the bus rose from spring to late winter, and then, with groaning gears and straining engine, into winter itself. Tall timber hugged the steep mountainside as the group jolted up the narrow road. They could look almost straight down at the tops of lofty pines and up to see pine stacked on pine to the rim of the world.
The lodge at Antillanca perched on a mountainside, and above it a snow hill slanted up against the sky—huge and overwhelming, like a mountain-sized Moby Dick hanging above a frail lifeboat. A ski lift climbed the slope at a breathtaking angle, a thin black strand rising into a mist that kept the top of the hill (if it had one) an intriguing secret.
The students had constructed a sled and toboggan just for the trip, and after struggling up a long slope to the base of the hill, and then a ways up the slope itself, some of them trusted their fate to their creations and the heavy hand of gravity. The mountain soon chewed up their sleds and spit out the pieces, but undaunted, the snowmasters fashioned skis out of the runners, and mounted another attack.
Turned loose on the vast expanse of snow, the rest of the group tumbled and jumped and scuffled until they were wet and cold and happy.
Back in the lodge after finally surrendering to the snow, they all logged some fireplace time, dried their feet, warmed their hands, and ate lunch. Fortified, they then bounced back for a round of impromptu folk dancing featuring the cueca, Chile’s national dance. Some passed the time with chess, Ping-Pong, fireplace gazing, quiet conversation, and sleep.
They also shared their feelings about the gospel as the aroma of pine and cedar filled the room and the fire crackled, soothing and rosy, behind the grate.
“There is a great happiness in my soul,” said a young lady named Margoth. “Only three months ago I became a member of the most beautiful of churches. I never thought I would be as happy as I am. I now live in a different, very pure world. I want to open my heart and tell all the youth of the world to keep the commandments. I testify to them that our Father in Heaven will fill them with happiness and with the great love he knows how to give his children.”
Marianela Patricia smiled and nodded. “I, too, have experienced the happiest moments of my life in the Church. I have always had a dream of serving a mission. I wanted to be like those special young men and women who taught me the gospel. I didn’t really know why at first. I only knew that I had a great desire to do so and to improve myself each day. Now that I am actually preparing to go on my mission, I know why I had that desire, and I want to go more than ever.
“I know that by keeping the commandments I will be able to sanctify myself and progress spiritually. I will be setting forth with sure steps to return to my Father in Heaven. I want to become a blessing to my family and everyone I know.
“My goal is to someday be a worthy wife for a great man. I don’t have a boyfriend now, but I know that he will come in time, and I want him to be the best—a worthy priesthood holder. I want to be the beloved wife who sacrifices for her husband, who will be self-denying for him and our children—in short, the best. President Tanner once endorsed the saying, ‘Behind every good man there is a good woman.’ I want to be that woman and be sealed in the temple to my family.
“Sometimes my joy in the gospel is so great that I suddenly realize I am crying and I don’t even know why. I only know that I am happy.”
In the fireplace, castles rose and vanished, bright ballerinas danced, and dark magicians fought with flaming armies. Outside the lodge it was spring and winter, but inside it was a glorious summer of the Spirit.
Miguel spread his arms wide for a visual aid and said, “I would like the young people from all around the world to meet together some time, from every country, town, province, and island, to worship God, holding hands and forming a fantastic circle, every one of us praising our Creator. There would be Indians, Chinese, Germans, Africans, Russians, English, Chileans, Peruvians, Mexicans—everybody! We would sing songs of love and tell our Heavenly Father that we have fulfilled the commandment his Son gave to us—‘Love one another.’”

4. When and where young women wear pants may be determined by those who are involved in planning the event to be held. Recently a committee of youth leaders discussed at great length whether or not young women should wear pants to a dance at a youth conference. After counseling together, the young people decided that dressy pants for both young men and young women were appropriate, but not “grubbies” or denims.

When I was young, my mother taught me how to pray, and I would attend church with her every Sunday. My sister and brother were members of the choir at the local parish church in Hertfordshire, England, and it seemed natural to follow their example and attend.
Because I was only eight years old, I wasn’t required to attend communion service early on Sunday mornings. I would sleep in but eventually would get up and cycle to the main morning service.
In the middle of the winter of 1952, with a foot of fresh snow on the ground outside and frost on the inside of my bedroom windows, I snuggled down in bed, determined not to go to church that Sunday.
My mother called for me to get up, but I pretended to be asleep. Then I could hear her footsteps as she started to climb the stairs. I called out, “It’s all right. I’m getting up.”
But then I said under my breath, “What’s the point? There is no such person named Jesus Christ anyway.” Immediately a voice came into my head and said to me, “There is, and you will serve me one day.” The voice seemed so natural, as if a friend were talking to me. The years went by, however, and I forgot about the experience.

One couple we interviewed were on their way to a special dinner when they became engaged. The fellow asked the girl to get something out of the glove compartment of the car for him. She opened the compartment, and there, propped up in and surrounded by velvet, was her diamond ring.

I looked at the photograph of her in my mother’s scrapbook, pasted in next to Grandma’s certificate of blessing. She wore plaited hair wound in a crown above her oval face. Her eyes were fine and slanted.
“That’s your great-great-grandmother Totshauna.” My mother used to point her out to me when I was a child and the relatives first started saying I favored her. “She crossed the plains with the pioneers, pulling a handcart for more than a thousand miles.”
“Is a thousand miles farther away than Grandma’s house?” We lived in Salt Lake, and my grandmother Harris lived in Spanish Fork.
“Oh, lots farther, honey. A thousand miles is … is almost as far away as the moon.” Mom was proud of her pioneer heritage, and she wanted to be sure her children appreciated their ancestry sufficiently. I still remember at five years marveling over the woman with the funny hair who pulled a cart to Utah from as far away as the moon. Now I’m 20, and three nights ago when I looked at the photograph (faded, and taped in one corner), I remembered again, and marveled.

May I share with you a personal experience? We had spent nearly four years in South America and returned just in time for our eldest son to enter Brigham Young University. Several months after school had begun we received a call—I think it was a collect call—and the conversation proceeded something like this:
“Hello, Dad?”
“Yes.”
“This is David.”
“Yes, what do you want now?”
“Oh, nothing.”
“Nothing! Well, why did you call then?”
“Oh, I just wanted to tell you about school. I love it. It’s great. I am glad to be here. I like the place where I live. I like my roommate. I like my professors and I like the spirit here.”
And I said, “Yes, but what do you need?”
“I don’t need anything.”
“Well, why did you call?”
“I just called to say ‘Thank you.’ I am grateful for your helping me to be here.”
Well, there was considerable silence on our end of the line and we muttered something about, “We’re glad you’re happy.” Later that night as his mother and I prayed, we thanked the Lord for a thankful son. The lesson, of course, came clear to me. I appreciate a son who says, “Thank you” for things that parents have done, as all parents do. But I am a son also. I have a Father in heaven, who, like me, appreciates a son or a daughter who frequently says, “Thank you.”

A few weeks later, a big, white envelope arrived in the mail. Another group gathered, this time at Fredrick and Esperance’s home. The group included family, LDS friends and neighbors, and some friends from other faiths.
Joshua, dressed in a white shirt and tie, stood up, opened the envelope, and read, “Dear Elder Mana: You are hereby called to serve as a missionary of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. You are assigned to labor in the Brazil Porto Alegre South Mission …”
There were cheers, tears, hugs, but most of all, joy. Then there was a brief moment for Elder Mana to speak.
He quoted a scripture he has learned to love: “Freely ye have received, freely give” (Matthew 10:8).
Then he shared his testimony: “The gospel has changed my life so much because it helps me to know that Father in Heaven has a plan for us, and if we follow His commandments we can go back to Him again one day. Every day I follow the Holy Ghost. He prompts me what to do, because there’s lots of work that Father in Heaven needs me to do to build His kingdom.
“Being a missionary is part of that, as well. My purpose in going on a mission is to bring people to Christ and give them the gospel.”
It’s a testimony he will share freely, and often, with the people of Brazil.

Just an example: I understand that there is a widely circulated story that I was alleged to have had a patriarchal blessing (I don’t know whether any of you have heard about that) that had to do with the coming of the Savior and the ten tribes of Israel.
In the first place, a patriarchal blessing is a sacred document to the person who has received it and is never given for publication and, as all patriarchal blessings, should be kept as a private possession to the one who has received it.
And second, with reference to that which I was alleged to have had, suffice it to say that such a quotation is incorrect and without foundation in fact.
There is one thing that shocks me: I have learned, in some instances, that those who have heard of these rumors are disappointed when I tell them they are not so. They seem to have enjoyed believing a rumor without substance of fact. I would earnestly urge that no such idle gossip be spread abroad without making certain as to whether or not it is true.

“Don’t give up! No one is ever the best at anything the first time. It may take you months or years to learn. When I started piano seven years ago, I could barely play a simple three-note song. Now I am a blooming pianist! You can ask Jesus Christ for help and strength.”
Doutzen S., 12, Utah, USA

Soon I started inviting my Church friends to go with me. Though they didn’t show much interest at first, now they go every month. Many people in the ward also started going to the temple. Now no matter how often our ward plans a temple trip, many people come—more than our stake has ever seen before.

The Remembering Box Joshua had been going to his grandma’s house on Friday afternoons since he was five years old. They helped each other celebrate the Jewish Sabbath, and she told him stories about things he found in the remembering box. This very beautiful story will have you thinking about your own grandparents, and your love for each other.Eth Clifford9–12 years

Eliza Lyman described how little her family had after moving there: “We … occupied a small brick house which my father had rented for the winter, as he had not yet had time to build. We lived very poor that winter, as the people of that country did not want much but corn bread [and] bacon and raised but very little of anything else; consequently there was but very little to be bought, but I remember we had a barrel of honey and what vegetables we could get, but no wheat bread, as wheat was not to be bought in the land.”3