Gospel Story Finder

Kevin W. Pearson leaves his employment to accept a call as a mission president.

When I was 13 years old and growing up in Orem, Utah, USA, my great-uncle Ash called and said he had a summer job for me. I gladly took it, since it wasn’t easy for a 13-year-old to get a job. On my first day, Uncle Ash brought me to a lot he owned where a grocery store was being built. Construction workers had already dug a huge hole on the land where they would put the building’s foundation. At one end of the lot they had piled up a huge mountain of dirt they had excavated for the foundation. It was so big that the neighborhood kids had turned it into a bike-riding hill, complete with jumps and paths.
Uncle Ash was a kind, older man about the age of my grandfather. He and his wife had never had children of their own. When I met Uncle Ash at the lot, he handed me an old wooden-handled shovel and a scuffed-up black wheelbarrow and told me that my job was to move the mountain of dirt to the back end of the lot, about 75 yards (69 meters) away.
As I look back on the experience now, I am sure Uncle Ash could have moved the dirt much faster and more efficiently with a backhoe, but he offered to pay me $1.40 an hour, which was good pay back then—so I took the job and went to work.
I toiled away at that mountain of dirt for weeks, one wheelbarrow load at a time. I soon settled into a pattern: Every day, I got to the lot early in the morning, while it was still cool, filled the wheelbarrow one shovelful at a time, pushed it across the field and dumped it in the location Uncle Ash had pointed to, then returned to do it again. I pushed that wheelbarrow back and forth so many times I eventually wore a smooth path between the large mountain of dirt and the little mound I was creating.
I worked from four to six hours a day, every day, pushing the wheelbarrow back and forth, back and forth, until I thought I would never see the end of it. It seemed to me that the big mountain was not getting any smaller, no matter how hard or long I toiled.
Every now and then, Uncle Ash stopped by the lot to check on my progress. I really respected him. He was one of those older men who seem a little bit gruff but are really soft-hearted on the inside. Looking back, I can see that Uncle Ash was more interested in molding my character than in moving his dirt. He had entrusted me with this job, and I was determined to complete it even if it took me the whole summer.
After a few weeks, I began to feel like I would never be able to complete the task. The original mountain of dirt didn’t seem to be getting any smaller, and I wondered if all my work and effort was making any difference at all, or if I was just wasting my summer.
Then one day, something very simple happened that changed my entire outlook. As I pushed a full wheelbarrow up my pile to dump it, I noticed I had to push the wheelbarrow up higher and higher to reach the top. Then, as I was pushing the empty wheelbarrow back to fill it again, for some reason I stopped midway between the two piles of dirt. I stood and looked at the mountain of dirt I was supposed to move. It hadn’t really changed. But, when I turned around and looked at the mound I was creating, I saw that it had become huge! I was making a mountain of my own.
Suddenly, my perspective changed. The piles were the same size they had been a few minutes before, but my new perspective allowed me to see that my efforts were amounting to something; they were not in vain. It gave me a sense of accomplishment and pride in what I was doing, though I still had a long way to go. As I bent and lifted the handles of the wheelbarrow to return to work, my attitude had changed. I was happier. I felt more worthwhile, more confident in myself.
Uncle Ash also owned a carwash. After I finished moving the mountain of dirt that summer, he hired me to work at his carwash a few days a week after school. He told me later that he gave me that job to move the dirt as a way of determining whether he wanted to hire me for other jobs. I realized that the whole point of the mountain-moving job wasn’t just hauling dirt from one place to another—it was a way for me to be tested and prove I was a diligent, hard-working young man.

After his mother died, Gordon B. Hinckley felt responsible for his younger brother and sisters and helped them in many ways. He worked hard and saved money for his schooling. When it was time for his sister Ramona to graduate, he realized how important it would be to her to have a new dress for that special time. Thinking more about her needs than his own, he used some of his hard-earned money to buy her a beautiful new dress.

Miracle number two occurred when we returned to the cemetery and realized that all six of us had previously stood very near the actual site of the graves at some point as we wandered the cemetery. The reason we didn’t see the graves was they were covered entirely by a huge tree that had completely swallowed them. We had previously photographed the tree because it was so immense and imposing, but for no other reason.
We returned later to cut away some of the lower branches so that Sharon could crawl inside and read the writing on the headstones, and we discovered that we had many more relatives buried in this plot than we realized.

On Easter Sunday some years ago, my four-year-old son Ben came down the hallway of our meetinghouse after Primary, happily waving the paper he had colored. He called out with pure excitement, “Mom, Mom, have you heard about the Resurrection?” He wanted to make sure I had heard the good news. Something his Primary teacher had said really touched Ben’s heart so that he joyfully began to understand the Resurrection. How nice it would be for all of us to feel that same joy every Easter!

At Rock Creek Hollow, on property the Church now owns, is the common grave of 13 who perished in one night. Among them was a nine-year-old girl from Denmark who was traveling alone with another family. Her name was Bodil Mortensen.
In October of 1856, wind-driven heavy snow was already two feet deep as those of the James G. Willie Company tried to find some shelter from the terrible storm. Bodil went out and gathered brush with which to make a fire. Returning, she reached her cart with the brush in her arm. There she died, frozen to death. Starvation and bitter cold drained from her emaciated body the life she had fought for.

I think nurturing looks like disciplining with love. One young mother stops her child when he doesn’t obey. She cups her hands around his face, looking him in the eyes, and says, “Listen to my words.” We must teach our children to make wise choices, but we can’t remove the consequences of their actions. Remember, the basis of our Heavenly Father’s plan is agency.

When a choice plant became root bound and began to deteriorate, a young friend of ours decided to transplant it to a larger container. Carefully he lifted the greenery from its small pot and put it into its larger home, trying to disturb the roots and soil as little as possible. The novice gardener watched and waited. To his dismay, the plant still struggled. Our friend expressed his frustration to an experienced gardener who offered his services. When the plant was placed in the gardener’s hands, he turned the pot upside down, pulled out the plant, shook the soil from the roots, and clipped and pulled all the stragglers from the root system. Replacing the plant into the pot, he vigorously pushed the soil tightly around the plant. Soon the plant took on new life and grew.

Sue Preece, the Relief Society president of the Southport Ward, initiated a huge game of virtual tag, socially distanced, to brighten and lift the local area’s spirits, but it reached beyond local.
Sue explains the event, “We wanted to remind our members to take some time in their busy lives to stay in touch with each other and try to brighten someone’s day.”
On the designated day, the game began with Sue and her two councillors contacting two more people that they knew. They could use any means to make contact and let the person know they were being thought of, asking if there was any help they needed. Each person they contacted was then asked to contact two more friends, and so on.
Rebekah Brown (pictured), who took part in the project, said, “It all started as a bit of fun really, but it just grew and grew! It was amazing and touched so many lives. People just wanted to get involved, and contacts were made not just locally but worldwide. It was such a simple thing. It didn’t take too much time but was very effective.
“A lot of people went to bed that evening feeling cared for and loved. In this unprecedented period of social isolation, it’s essential to help lift each other’s spirits. We should be particularly concerned about those who need to continue shielding because of health issues. When the rest of us start to get back to a new sort of routine, it’s increasingly vital that we don’t forget the most vulnerable in our society.”

By the time the young men and young women were ready to leave, their testimonies were strengthened and their hearts were filled with gratitude. The youth even invited the sisters who work in the temple laundry to their closing exercises so that the youth could sing a closing song to them in appreciation for their hard work. (Just imagine how much laundry needed to be washed during this temple conference!)

Elder Dallin H. Oaks of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles: When I was a boy, growing up in the Church, I imagined the prophet Joseph to be old and dignified and distant. But … Joseph Smith … was … young, emotional, dynamic, and so loved and approachable by his people that they often called him “Brother Joseph.”

Timmy* had seen the Logan Utah Temple many times when he went shopping in Logan with Mom. He always looked for the temple during the drive. He especially liked seeing it lit up at night. It towered over everything else in the city, as if it was keeping watch over everyone.
Today as they traveled to Logan, it wasn’t for shopping, and he looked forward to seeing the temple even more. He was going there with his family to be sealed together forever. He couldn’t wait until they arrived!
He hummed “I Love to See the Temple,”† one of his favorite songs. Today it meant even more to him. Last Monday, the family had had a special family home evening to talk about what was going to happen when they went to the temple and what it would mean for their family. He knew that after today, his family could be together forever.
He was glad about that. He couldn’t imagine not having his mom and dad and sisters with him always. Even though he didn’t always get along well with his sisters—they sometimes got into his room and into his things—he still wanted to have them forever. All week they seemed especially cute, and he couldn’t help being nice to them.
They were six-year-old twins, and sometimes he felt kind of left out. No matter what, they always had each other, so sometimes he felt a little lonely. After his family had started going to church, though, he realized that he was never really alone. Heavenly Father was always with him, no matter what. He could pray to Him at any time, and He would be there to help him.
Timmy’s mom and dad had been raised in the Church, but it wasn’t until they moved back to Mom’s hometown that they started going to church every week. The missionaries had come and given them the discussions about Joseph Smith and how he had prayed in the Sacred Grove. They said that Heavenly Father had told Joseph that none of the churches were true. He had received the priesthood and restored the true church of Jesus Christ. Timmy liked to listen to these stories about Joseph Smith.
One night, the missionaries brought a video about the Savior visiting the Nephites in America. Timmy really enjoyed it. He thought about what it would be like to sit at Jesus’ knee with angels all around and to hear Jesus speak just to him. His family started to have family prayer every night, and he could tell that the spirit in their home had changed. He knew that the Holy Ghost was with them.
Now as they drove to the temple, he could feel in his heart that Heavenly Father was pleased with them. “Mom, how much longer before we get there?” he asked. He was getting impatient even though they had left the house only ten minutes ago.
“It won’t take us very long. Just watch out the window for the temple,” Mom said.
“I bet I see the temple first,” Sarah piped up.
“I bet I do!” Suzy exclaimed.
They all watched for it eagerly as they came into Logan. Suddenly all three cried out, “There it is!”
Timmy’s heart beat a little faster. Mom and Dad had come to the temple yesterday morning to receive their own endowments. Today they would all be sealed together as a family.
Dad pulled up in front of the temple to let them out while he went to park the car. Timmy’s grandparents were already there. He could see them standing inside the doorway. He wanted to run inside and give them a big hug, but this place seemed too quiet and too special to run. He walked reverently, but he couldn’t help jumping into Grandpa’s open arms.
When Dad came, a woman said that she would take Timmy, Sarah, and Suzy into another room, where they would wait till it was time to be sealed to their parents. Timmy wasn’t sure he wanted to leave Mom, but she said that it would be all right and that they would be together soon. Timmy took his sisters’ hands and followed the woman into a room like the nursery at Primary.
The temple workers had two white dresses for Sarah and Suzy to wear and a white jumpsuit (clothing in which the shirt and pants are attached) for Timmy. Mom and Dad had told him that in the temple they would wear all white, just like when Timmy was baptized.
Finally it was time to change their clothes and go upstairs to one of the sealing rooms. Sister Smith took them in an elevator to the third floor. They stood outside a door until it was opened, and then Timmy and his sisters went into the sealing room.
Their grandparents, some aunts and uncles, and Mom and Dad were in the room. Timmy thought that Mom looked beautiful all dressed in white. She and Dad, also dressed in white, looked really happy, even though she had a tear in her eye.
Timmy felt a warmth like he had never felt before. He felt like he wanted to cry, too. Mom looked at him and smiled. It took only a few minutes, and they were sealed forever.
As they stood up, Timmy’s grandmothers both came and put their arms around him and his sisters. One of them said, “Look in the mirror. See—your family now goes on forever.”
Timmy hadn’t noticed the mirrors, or even what the room looked like when he first came in, but now he could see that there were mirrors lining the walls in front of him and behind him. They went from floor to ceiling and reflected everyone in the room. A big chandelier seemed to cast a spotlight over Timmy, his sisters, and his mom and dad, who were all standing in the middle of the room with their arms around each other. Timmy couldn’t help but cry now. He felt a little silly, but Mom bent down, took him in her arms, and said, “Timmy, now you will be my big boy forever!” and Timmy could see that she was crying, too. Everyone came and gave them hugs and congratulated them.
Later, when Timmy and his sisters changed out of the white “temple clothes,” Sister White gave them each a certificate with their names and a picture of the temple on it for their books of remembrance. The certificate said that on September 11, 1998, they were sealed to their family for time and all eternity.

Not long ago, death came to the husband of a friend of ours, suddenly and without warning. Of her, these words were penned by her own sister: “Searching the years and days just past, she is awestruck, recognizing specific skills and experiences put into her life by a loving Father, things that might have seemed circumstantial at the time but that have specifically prepared her to cope successfully with this heartbreaking loss. Rather than feeling abandoned and bitter, she feels cradled and cared for. … She said to me, ‘When I see how carefully Heavenly Father has prepared and planned for my present circumstance, how can I be frightened about my future? Surely He is putting into place today all that I will need to face the unknown times ahead.’”

Recently I read a note from a man who was urging his companions to wear a suit and tie when they appeared together at a public event honoring their organization. Their service was civic, not religious in nature, and we would not term it sacred, but he understood the principle that some things deserve respect and that our manner of dress is a part of that expression. He said he was going to dress more formally “not because I’m important, but because this occasion is so important.” His comment states an important truth. It is really not about us. Acting and dressing in a way to honor sacred events and places is about God.

The privilege and opportunity to magnify our callings may come in unexpected ways. When I was a deacon, I remember sitting on the front row of benches in the chapel, along with the other deacons, as the priests prepared to bless the sacrament. One of the priests, whose name was Leland, had a “golden” voice. When he offered the prayer at the sacrament table, the words were clearly pronounced and beautifully spoken. Many would compliment him as the meeting concluded. I think he became a bit proud.
Another priest, named John, sat with Leland one day. John had a hearing impairment and an accompanying speech problem. His words were somewhat difficult to understand. Often we deacons would quietly laugh among ourselves when John prayed.
The bread was broken, the hymn was sung. All bowed their heads as Leland prepared to pray. We heard no words spoken. The silence seemed eternal. I opened my eyes and saw Leland looking frantically for the small card on which the words of the prayer were printed. It was nowhere to be found. Others began to open their eyes and raise their heads questioningly.
Just then, John, who had the hearing and speaking problems, reached forth, gently guided Leland to one side, knelt down and, from memory, spoke the words of that familiar prayer: “O God, the Eternal Father, we ask thee in the name of thy Son, Jesus Christ, to bless and sanctify this bread to the souls of all those who partake of it …” (Moro. 4:3). He never missed a word.
As we left the chapel that day, Leland said to John, “I thank you very sincerely for helping me today.”
John responded, “We are both priests in the same quorum doing our duty.”

In a school yard game, young boys sometimes form a circle, and one hits another on the shoulder and says, “Pass it on.” The one who receives the blow obediently transmits it to the next in line and says, “Pass it on.” The third recipient promptly punches a fourth, and each in succession thereafter, by “passing it on,” tries to rid himself of his pain, and the responsibility for it, by inflicting it on another.
Many of us are like these schoolboys. Perhaps without realizing it, as adults we continue to play the same childish game and risk far more than a bruised shoulder in the process. Let me explain what I mean.
When faced with the consequences of transgression, rather than looking to ourselves as the source of the discomfort which always accompanies sin, many of us tend to blame someone else. Rather than getting out of a vicious and senseless circle, we fault our neighbor for our pain and try to pass it on. But to repent we must leave the circle.
But there is a way out. We need only remember a pointless, irresponsible childhood game, and quietly walk away. Face up, quit, get out, confess, apologize, admit the harm we have done, and just plain walk away.

Before family home evening, bake a cake, a pan of brownies, or another treat that must be divided to be eaten. Invite a family member to eat the treat, but explain that it must be eaten in one bite. When it is clear this cannot be done, read “Will Heavenly Father always answer my prayers?” (page 11). Why does the Lord sometimes answer our prayers piece by piece? Why is it sometimes better to receive things in portions?

Perhaps the most fervent prayer Tamía Moreta, 13, has uttered was when her mother was having problems delivering a new baby. “I prayed,” she said, “and Heavenly Father answered my prayer. My mother had a cesarean section. My little brother is now one year old, and he and my mother are healthy.”

In Moscow, Russia, sisters in one Relief Society wanted to focus on strengthening their families and homes by learning basic homemaking skills. They began classes on cooking, sewing, and making their homes lovelier.

An elder from Mexico happily showed me a picture of his family. “Look,” he said, “my father saved for two months to buy me these shoes. My branch contributed money so I could have this suit.” They both described their missions as a privilege. One elder arrived from Samoa. When he introduced himself for the first time he walked to the front of the congregation holding up a copy of the Book of Mormon. He said, “I am here because this book is true.” He was one of fifteen children. He had been told by his father before leaving home that other men, Church leaders, would be his father for the next few years. He was to obey them. He thought his mission was a great privilege.