Gospel Story Finder

In ninth grade, Tami had a friend who was good at everything. Tami’s friend, Sandy, was popular. She ran track and won. Tami joined the track team just to be like Sandy. But Tami never won a race. Usually she came in last. Sandy could tell a joke. And boys liked Sandy.
Just before Christmas, the school announced a writing contest. Tami decided to enter. She spent her evenings writing her poem instead of talking with Sandy on the phone as she usually did. She worried about entering the contest. It wasn’t the kind of thing Sandy would do. Tami didn’t even tell her friend she was doing it. Sandy might laugh, or maybe even make fun of her. But it was thrilling to find how much she liked writing. When the results were announced, Tami’s poem won second place.
Encouraging herself to try something on her own wasn’t easy. But Tami discovered something—deciding for herself what she wanted made her happier than trying to imitate her friends. It gave her strength to make more decisions on her own.
In the next few years, as some of her friends began making choices that were against Tami’s standards, it was easier to make her own choices, even when they were less popular.

“On the first day we asked our reading and writing students what they wanted to study after they had completed the course, and they all said they wanted to read the scriptures. One of my students in Cacalotepec also said she wanted to learn how to read so she could lead the singing better. In fact, there were three other song leaders from Cacalotepec who had all come to learn so they could better fill their Church callings.
“At our farewell party each of us bore testimony to our thankfulness and love for the people. One girl got up and with almost uncontrollable tears thanked us for the work we were doing. She told us that we were making her branch better. She said that you can’t progress if you can’t read the scriptures and the words of the prophets. Then she expressed her amazement that we would come here on our vacations and work with the people when we could stay home and have an enjoyable time. Words just couldn’t express to her how much we had learned and gained from her village and that it was the best summer vacation I have ever spent.”
Betty LeiningerGreenbrae, California

A few Sundays ago as I sat in a sacrament meeting in Germany, tears of gratitude filled my eyes and my heart was full. I saw eighty-two little children sing songs of love to their Heavenly Father. I was so grateful for the Church which has been reestablished upon the earth, and that I too had one day been a Primary child, and my children also, and had learned those songs and the love they express. I’ve sung those songs thousands of times since my youth and am grateful for the love and the message they bring. On this very same day in that sacrament meeting was a new convert who is awaiting the arrival of her first child. She was so touched by the children, the Church, the Primary, and the love of our Heavenly Father that was there. She later excitedly said, “Oh, I can hardly wait to have my child so she can go to Primary.”

This Spring I was wandering through a State Park in Central Arkansas. The park is in a beautiful part of the world and the State of Arkansas has created an exceptional arboretum with tall magnificent trees, bushes and plants from all continents. It has beautiful streams and water falls. There are paths that lead to secret spots where it is easy to forget challenges and easy to remember what is important.

I was with my wife, two of our grandsons, and a brand new granddaughter. We were also with the children's mother who is our second daughter. It was the kind of day we will always want to remember. It was a day where grandparents are able to completely spoil their grandchildren. If they wanted ice cream they got ice-cream. If they made eye contact with a Snickers bar they got a Snickers bar. We were reminded that while our grandchildren enjoyed the sugar overdose what they really wanted was the undivided attention of their grandparents.

They wanted us to take the time to explore the world with them. We were gently required to look at flowers, climb on rocks, look at the fish, and allow them to explain to us the world as they experienced it. It is also a time when they ask questions that are almost impossible to answer. You know the ones, like 'are fish married?' Followed by the ubiquitous, why, and additional whys. It was during one of these required mini explorer events that the following happened.

Our grandson, Bram who was then four years old, became concerned when he discovered we were in the general proximity of a Dragon Fly. I apologize to the biologists on the faculty and the biology majors for not having the correct scientific name of the Dragon Fly on the tip of my tongue. Candidly, even if I did know the name I would likely butcher the pronunciation.

Bram exclaimed that Dragon Flies are poisonous and he was serious and deadly concerned. He did not explain how or why they were poisonous. I initially suspected his concern was because Dragon Flies do have a somewhat sinister look to them.

First the name Dragon is probably not a good way to start, and then there are the big eyes, long body, lots of wings, and an irregular flight trajectory. I asked him how he knew they were poisonous, expecting a just because response to his grandfather, instead he explained that Gary, his then six year old brother, had told him they were. I realized then that the toxicity of Dragon Flies had been established beyond doubt in Bram's mind because to a four year old there are few humans with more expertize than an older brother. And with their darting flying style and unique shape it easy to sell the story that dragon flies are deadly.

Except that six year old brothers and sisters, even if they are children of God, are often wrong. However, perceptions formed in young minds soon turn to reality and reality, right or wrong, is passed down to siblings and friends. Such perceptions are generally harmless. There will be a time when Bram will discover that his brother Gary does not have all of the answers and those he has may be wrong regardless of how logical they seem. His deference to for his brother will also change with time. Four year olds become six year olds and then they seem to know a great deal and older brothers seem to know less. Who knows, Bram may become an entomologist and spend his entire life studying Dragon Flies, and whether he becomes an expert on dragon flies or not, he will realize someday they are not poisonous and he was wrong. That is the most important part of this story we can be wrong about things and ideas and even behave inappropriately like an irrational fear of a harmless insect. We can be wrong for the most innocent of reasons -the miss guided expertize of a six year old brother ---or even the most sinister of reasons.

The women of Kettering Ward, Northampton Stake were invited to share their knitting skills with the Linus Project in Northamptonshire and knit coloured squares to make into blankets for sick and distressed children.
The ladies started to meet for one morning a month, and for the first few months shared their knowledge and skills. The less practiced knitters learnt new skills, forgotten skills were renewed and the first blankets were made. The women formed a group and called themselves the “Busy Bees” and it wasn’t long before they were able to sew the squares together and send nineteen blankets off to the Linus Project.

Some 30 years ago, while working in the corporate world, some business associates and I were passing through O’Hare Airport in Chicago, Illinois. One of these men had just sold his company for tens of millions of dollars—in other words, he was not poor.
As we were passing a newspaper vending machine, this individual put a quarter in the machine, opened the door to the stack of papers inside the machine, and began dispensing unpaid-for newspapers to each of us. When he handed me a newspaper, I put a quarter in the machine and, trying not to offend but to make a point, jokingly said, “Jim, for 25 cents I can maintain my integrity. A dollar, questionable, but 25 cents—no, not for 25 cents.” You see, I remembered well the experience of three towels and a broken-down 1941 Hudson.
A few minutes later we passed the same newspaper vending machine. I noticed that Jim had broken away from our group and was stuffing quarters in the vending machine. I tell you this incident not to portray myself as an unusual example of honesty, but only to emphasize the lessons of three towels and a 25-cent newspaper.

Let me end with an experience I hold dear. Last Christmas vacation my wife and I were privileged to spend three weeks in Israel. The first and last weeks were in Jerusalem, a city sacred to three faiths—Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. In the Old City of Jerusalem is the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. This is a building not owned by any one Christian group, but is an interesting conglomeration of various rooms and chapels and shrines belonging to different denominations. It is built over the area where many Christians (Roman Catholic, Eastern Orthodox and other Christian churches) believe Christ was crucified, buried, and where he was resurrected. It is a different place than the Garden tomb where many Protestants believe Christ was buried and resurrected.

My wife has done much study about this Church and I’ve picked up a bit of knowledge hearing her talk and reading what she’s written about it—how it was founded, how millions of Christian pilgrims from around the world had traveled there to worship in the place where Jesus was buried and resurrected, how a particular group—the Franciscans, an order of clerics in the Roman Catholic tradition—had developed a way to teach people about what Jesus Christ has done and importance of his death and burial and resurrection. The place has an interest for Jennifer and I, not because we believe one way or another that this is the exact spot Jesus was resurrected (history has made that impossible to determine with certainty), but because of what the place and the attendant message of the suffering, death, and resurrection of Christ has meant and still means to the millions of Christians who have come here for nearly two millennia.

One afternoon, slowly turning to evening, we were in this Church when the Franciscan brothers were starting to lead a small procession of people through various places in the Church, following from place to place as they commemorated the death and resurrection of Jesus. Where appropriate, and where I could be unobtrusive, I took pictures from a distance and with no flash. The procession through the building lasted a little under an hour or so. It paused for some time at the place where Jesus was crucified and lead eventually to the place where Jesus was believed to be buried, and also, therefore, the place where he was resurrected. The group then moved a little to the side in a section with an altar and benches. As they neared the culmination of their procession that afternoon, they were joined by a nun (probably in her late twenties or early thirties) who had just arrived at the Church. We immediately recognized, because of the habit or dress she was wearing, that she was of the same order of Mother Teresa of Calcutta. She appeared to be from India and this may have been her first visit in the Church. Part of the ceremony required that those following kneel. She was on the outer edge of the group—not fully in the room where they were because of the size of the group, but facing where they were. She knelt on the solid stone floor and was in that position for an extended period. After a time we noticed that tears were streaming down her face. There she was, a very short walk from where Jesus was believed to be crucified and literally just a few yards away from the place where Jesus was believed to be buried and to have resurrected. Her face reflected such humility and joy and gratitude. Jennifer and I were moved as well. I thought for only a moment to take a picture so that I could remember this happening and later use it in my classes to educate others as well, but I realized this would be imposing on a moment too personal a too sacred. We stood to the side and watched in reverence. It was a truly sublime experience. As we were leaving the building a bit later and discussing the wonder that we had seen, Jennifer exclaimed “How do you show gratitude for the Atonement of Christ?”

How, indeed. That question is one we all must ask ourselves. How do we show gratitude for all He is and all He has done for us? For my part, I hope my life is such that someday my countenance can reflect the kind of humility and radiant gratitude I saw on the face of that sister kneeling on the stone floor of the Church in Jerusalem.

Across the ocean in Clay County, Missouri, Michael Arthur, another great-great-great grandfather who was not a member of the Church, also had a choice: persecute the Mormons or help the Mormons. He chose to give jobs to Lyman Wright, Wilford Woodruff, and others and offered the use of a cabin on his farm where Joseph Smith disbanded Zion’s Camp and organized a stake. Michael Arthur also wrote to the newspapers and spoke passionately against the persecution of the Saints in Missouri.

While I was on my mission, I missed my best friend’s wedding.
I couldn’t stop thinking about her all day. We’d met as college roommates, and she quickly became like a sister to me. I knew that Heavenly Father had guided me to meet her.
But now, I couldn’t be there to celebrate one of the biggest moments of her life. And I was furious.
Before my mission, my life wasn’t perfect, but it was good. I loved college and had just formed the best friendship I’ve ever had. I was pretty happy.
I knew that serving a mission would be challenging. Still, I had this expectation that serving a mission would be the best 18 months of my life—with minimal hardship.
But six months in, my friend’s wedding became the newest entry in a list of hard things I hadn’t expected. Moving to a foreign country and learning a new language made me lonely and anxious. The rejection I experienced as part of missionary life was mentally exhausting. Honestly, I just wanted to go home.
I was tired and frustrated, and I didn’t feel like God was offering me the hope and happiness that I desperately needed. Only after exhausting every other option did I turn to a promise from my patriarchal blessing: that I would feel Heavenly Father’s love through the scriptures.
I realized that in my anger and loneliness, my perspective had become narrow. I’d been so focused on what I was missing that I’d failed to see what I had gained: a closer relationship with my Savior.
I realized I needed to repent for my poor attitude. It took time, but as I pleaded for my Redeemer’s help, I was reassured that “in this life I shall have joy” (Moses 5:10).
I was still sad that I missed my friend’s wedding, but in time, the Lord answered my prayers. I was so happy for my friend, and I found so much joy in my testimony that Heavenly Father really does see and love every one of His children. I gained so much more than I missed out on.

Lisa and Joanne Church are new Nauvoo residents. Their father is the temple engineer. They have a strong connection to both this temple and the one built last century. “My great-great grandpa Hayden Wells Church left his home in Tennessee and came to Nauvoo,” says Lisa, 17. “He heard the missionaries sing and was so impressed.”
“He came here and was baptized by the Prophet Joseph,” adds Joanne, 14. “It was hard for him to leave his home behind and come to Nauvoo. He’s such an example to me. His testimony made me want to come here and see the things he saw and share the feelings he felt.”

President Heber J. Grant tells of a different type of reward that comes from trusting in the Lord. When he was a young man, he heard his bishop in a fast meeting, which was then held on Thursdays (in the early days, we held our fast meetings on Thursdays), make a strong appeal for donations. At that time President Grant had $50 in his pocket which he intended to deposit in the bank. But he was so impressed by his bishop’s appeal that he tendered the whole $50 to the bishop. The bishop took $5 and handed him back $45, stating that $5 was his full share. Then President Grant replied, “Bishop Wooley, by what right do you rob me of putting the Lord in my debt? Didn’t you preach here today that the Lord rewards fourfold? My mother is a widow and she needs two hundred dollars.”

“My boy,” queried the bishop, “do you believe that if I take this other forty-five dollars you will get your two hundred dollars quicker?”

“Certainly,” replied President Grant.

Now here was an expression of trust in the Lord which the bishop could not withstand. He took the remaining $45.

President Grant testified that on his way back to work, “an idea popped” into his head, acting upon which he made $218.50. Speaking on this incident years later, he said, “Someone will say that it would have happened anyway.

“I do not think it would have happened. I do not think I would have got the idea.

“I am a firm believer that the Lord opens up the windows of heaven when we do our duty financially and pours out blessings upon us of a spiritual nature, which are of far greater value than temporal things. But I believe He also gives us blessings of a temporal nature.” (Improvement Era 42:457.)

I will start with a story related by M. Sue Bergin in a recent BYU Magazine; I quote:

"When Tom Puzey was a teenager, he became perplexed by arguments challenging his religious beliefs. He went to his dad ... in emotional anguish, doubting all he had been taught. His father smiled, hugged him, and said, 'This is wonderful.' Then his father told him, 'It's okay to question ... You'll figure it out. And Tommy ... you're going to be okay."[12]
Tom later noted that he believed his father, which gave him added confidence to resolve his doubts.

On the eve of our journey, the whole group met for a special family home evening at the meetinghouse. Afterwards, those who lived far away remained there all night to be on time for the bus, which came at 5:30 the following morning. Leaving early would give us enough time to get through Chilean customs.
As we traveled, everyone was filled with the spirit of love and brotherhood. Food and juice were divided generously. Each family had stories and testimonies to share, and there were many sessions of hymn singing. We looked out the windows often to admire the magnificent Andes mountains. We passed picturesque towns as our winding road traversed snowy peaks, ravines, and streams. Who could doubt that a divine hand had created this beautiful world?
We crossed the border into Chile, and before long we were making our approach to the temple. How our hearts leaped with joy when we saw the angel Moroni on the temple’s spire! We could almost hear the call of his trumpet. The temple workers were there to welcome us. They had arranged places for us to stay in homes of Chilean Saints, and we immediately went to the homes, bathed, and made ready for the special temple session that had been prepared.
Next came the sublime moment when we actually entered the house of the Lord. It was truly indescribable. Mere words can never express the spirit of that holy place. One must experience it—and that can happen only when a temple recommend is presented with a humble and contrite heart. Only then can the initiatory ordinances, endowments, marriages, family sealings, and baptisms for the dead be performed with the proper spirit.
Now we understood those who had gone before us. They had been right when they said that once we were inside the temple, we would never want to leave. Nevertheless, that wonderful day eventually came to an end. We went to the homes of our Chilean hosts, eager to return in the morning.

I did not serve a regular mission until my wife and I were called to preside in New England. When I was of missionary age, young men could not be called to the mission field. It was World War II, and I spent four years in the military. But I did do missionary work; we did share the gospel. It was my privilege to baptize one of the first two Japanese to join the Church after the mission had been closed 22 years earlier. Brother Elliot Richards baptized Tatsui Sato. I baptized his wife, Chio. And the work in Japan was reopened. We baptized them in a swimming pool amid the rubble of a university that had been destroyed by bombs.

Author’s Note: There were many more challenges for Elizabeth on the trek west. Elizabeth’s mother gave birth to a baby boy on the trail, and Elizabeth had to nurse her mother, tend the younger children, and do her mother’s chores as well as her own. Once Elizabeth was out washing when a sandstorm hit. She became lost and wandered for three days before she was found. Finally in October 1863, her family arrived in the Salt Lake Valley with little food or clothing. Later, Elizabeth married and became a mother in Israel as foretold. All the Lord’s promises to her were fulfilled.

Sister Penaloza wanted to serve a mission. Year after year she expressed this desire to her bishop but never received a call. Finally she cornered the mission president’s assistants and told them her plight. They called the president on the phone.
“This sister wants to serve a mission, but she has one problem.”
“What is it?”
“Her age. She’s 103!”
President Enrique Moreno interviewed her and called her to a two-month “summer mission” in Puebla, about two hours from her home, with a companionship of strong, capable sisters. Ward members there loved her and were eager for her to teach their friends. “What a blessing she was for the work,” says President Moreno. “What a great motivation she was for both members and missionaries!”

“My parents were not active in the Church, but they were wonderful people. I remember my mother teaching me over and over the principle of obedience. When I received my first pair of roller skates, Mother cautioned me, ‘Now, don’t go down the hill, because it will be difficult for you. The hard, level surface on the east side of the house will be much easier for you.’
“But I wanted the thrill of going down the hill, and it was probably only five minutes later that I came in crying, with both knees badly scraped. Mother pointed out that if I had been obedient, I would not have been hurt. I’ve thought about that a lot of times since then, and I think that if we obey our parents and learn to call on our Heavenly Father and obey His prompting, we will avoid many difficulties.

“And what do Mormons believe about marriage?” my high school Spanish teacher asked me.
All of my classmates turned in their seats, listening for my answer. I gulped as I wondered how our class discussion had wandered from Don Quixote and Dulcinea to dating and marriage.
There wasn’t another member of the Church in the class. What should I say? How much detail should I give? Would everyone make fun of me if I talked about eternal marriage?
“We, uh … ,” I stammered, still uncertain what to say.
Just then, my friend Denise came to my rescue. “Mormons have a beautiful view of marriage,” she said. “They believe that marriages performed in their temples can last forever.”
“That is beautiful,” our teacher replied. Even my classmates seemed satisfied.
With that, class resumed and I was left wondering why I had been sweating over a question that my nonmember friend answered so easily.

Here is an example of caring for those in need. One day a stake president in the Cúcuta stake in Colombia accompanied the stake Young Women president to visit two young women—and their older teenage brother—who were going through some terrible struggles. Recently their father had passed away, and their mother had passed away a year before. The three siblings were now left all alone in their small, humble shelter. The walls were made of crude wood lined with plastic bags, and the corrugated tin roof covered only the area where they slept.

Following their visit, these leaders knew they needed to help. Through the ward council, a plan to help them began to emerge. Ward and stake leaders—Relief Society, elders quorum, Young Men, Young Women—and many families all set themselves to the task of blessing this family.

The ward organizations contacted several ward members who work in construction. Some helped with design, others donated time and labor, others made meals, and still others donated needed materials.

When the little house was finished, it was a joyful day for those who helped and for the three young ward members. These orphaned children felt warm and reassuring bonds of their ward family to know that they are not alone and that God is always there for them. Those who reached out felt the love of the Savior for this family and acted as His hands in serving them.

Angie was one of my dearest high school friends. There wasn’t a person I could think of who didn’t like her. She was not only fun, outgoing, and beautiful; she was also kind and compassionate.
One afternoon on our way home from a youth ski trip in Colorado, we stopped for dinner. After ordering our burgers and fries, several of us followed Angie. We all crowded around her table, caught up in discussions about skiing, friends, and boys.
I didn’t even notice Sarah sitting alone, quietly eating her dinner. Without saying a word, Angie carefully slid out of her chair, picked up her tray, and walked over to her. The rest of us continued our conversations, but eventually, one by one, we all noticed what Angie had done. Sarah had always seemed a little odd and unapproachable, but her eyes seemed to light up as the two girls sat together eating dinner. It didn’t take long before the rest of us followed. For one short dinner, Sarah became the center of attention.
Twelve years later, I remember very little about that ski trip. However, Angie’s example of kindness and friendship to that awkward teenage girl has made a permanent impression in my heart and mind. I am grateful to a friend who taught me to be a better person by her quiet example.