Gospel Story Finder

For the next appointment I was to meet the elders at their home. I was late and had not read the pamphlet nor the few pages in the Book of Mormon they had asked me to before our meeting. When I got to their home, no one was there. I sat on the porch and waited a few minutes. Then it began to pour down rain. I thought that instead of going home and getting soaked I could wait and see if the elders made it back.
While waiting I decided to read in the Book of Mormon about Christ visiting America. I read of cities being destroyed and of the calamities and suffering. I was captivated with the story and I had to keep reading. Soon I got to the part about God introducing his son. I could not believe what I was reading. The words were so powerful, yet they brought peace to my soul. I believed them. I knew that book contained the word of God. I knew it was true!

Before Elder M. Russell Ballard was an Apostle, he had an unusual experience on an airplane. He was flying to Salt Lake City on a very foggy day. The small plane held only four people. When they got close to the airport, the pilot radioed the control tower.
“We’re about to close the runway because the fog is so thick,” the air traffic controller told the pilot. “But I can talk you through the landing.”
The pilot asked Brother Ballard and the other passengers, “What do you want to do? The controller can guide us down. Or we can turn back and wait for the weather to clear in a day or two.” They decided to try to land in Salt Lake.
The controller could see the plane on his radar. He told the pilot when to lower the plane and when to turn. The pilot watched the plane’s controls carefully. He followed the controller’s directions exactly.
Finally the man in the front seat shouted, “I see the runway!”
They looked out the window. The runway was directly ahead. The nose of the plane was right on the centerline! They were so grateful that the controller guided them safely to the ground.
Brother Ballard thought about how this flight was like our lives. We can’t see or understand everything, so Heavenly Father has given us ways to get help. The prophet is like an air traffic controller. He gives us directions to return safely to Heavenly Father. We also have the Holy Ghost, the scriptures, and leaders and parents to guide us safely home.

My former stake president once shared an experience that made me think about media safety in a new way. It all started when his family began hearing noises in the middle of the night.
“We’d run downstairs from our bedrooms but never saw anything,” Brent Butler said. “Some mornings we’d go downstairs and find the cat food bag toppled over on the kitchen floor.”
The family also began noticing a musty smell, which wasn’t unusual given that they live in a canyon. But then they found animal droppings behind the couch. One night after their oldest daughter returned from a date, she went to the kitchen and turned on the light. Then she screamed, “There’s a skunk in the house!”
When Brother Butler ran downstairs, he saw the biggest skunk he had ever seen. As his daughter jumped on the couch, the skunk ran down the stairs to the basement.
“Apparently, the skunk had wandered into the garage, climbed through a hole around a water shutoff valve, and got behind the basement staircase,” he said. “From there he found his way into the basement. He would come upstairs at night, eat cat food, and go back down.”
Brother Butler had seen the valve hole, but he thought it was too small to worry about. “I was wrong,” he said.
Then he shared this interesting observation: “If we’re not careful, metaphoric ‘skunks’ can sneak into our phones, computers, and televisions. They can surprise us and our children. Cyberspace offers lots of wonderful things, but we have to work to keep out uninvited guests like pornography, harmful social media, and other dangers.”
After she screamed, Brother Butler’s daughter called for her parents.
“It’s important that we have a close relationship with our children so that if a cyber skunk does show up, our children will come to us,” Brother Butler said.

The Fort Union cemetery is one of the oldest in the Salt Lake Valley. For literally decades, various youth groups have sponsored cleanup efforts, but after a year or so the weeds would grow back and the cemetery would again fall into disrepair.
The Union 14th Ward, Sandy Utah Cottonwood Creek Stake, wanted to change that trend. They wanted to beautify the cemetery permanently. The Young Women and the Young Men of the ward volunteered to take on the project for the summer. They needed to raise money and obtain donations to add a sprinkling system, a black-topped driveway, electrical wiring for lighting, and grass sod. The youth rolled up their sleeves and went to work. They baked hundreds of strawberry pies for sale and staged other fund raisers. They contacted local businesses for donations of labor and materials and solicited contributions from those interested in the project.
Under the direction of some construction professionals, the youth added the muscle as the physical cleanup began. The cemetery was completed with lawn, landscaping, display area, and benches. Elder Boyd K. Packer of the Council of the Twelve presided at the outdoor dedication services. He said, “Joseph Smith said the measure and test of a people is the way in which they care for their dead.” Indicating the newly redone cemetery, Elder Packer concluded, “Through your work here, you have paid a fitting tribute to your pioneer past.”

Sister Ivone Armada from the Luanda Stake in Angola decided to use the Savior’s perspective as a guide for her gospel living. With her permission, I am sharing her comments. She wrote:
“At some point in my life, I was finally able to stop working to keep up with my children’s growth and home management. But I wanted to do something more, to contribute to the growth of one’s life.
“I prayed to the Lord, and at the end of the prayer an ‘angel’ was placed in my life—a friend who would help me become a facilitator to teach literacy classes.
“We started the training for this and when it ended, I divulged the project in the Church and in the community and thus formed a class where I could teach during a school year for children and adults with literacy needs.
“It was a great gift in my life, indeed for my whole family, since the preparation of the classes became a family project. It became a beacon—not only in the students’ lives but also in mine—I learned a lot about sacrifice with them and about perseverance.
“Three years later, on the day of the creation of the Angola Stake, I had the great blessing of meeting with several of these students (an adult and the rest—young people) and how wonderful it was to hear them say that they had never failed school again, they were so excited. My heartbeat fired and I remember looking up and saying in silence: ‘Thank you Father in Heaven’.
“Upon hearing one of the adult sisters that attended the class say that because of these classes she was able to start a small business that has provided for her family’s needs, we embraced each other, and we began to weep with gratitude. My husband and the people around me were perplexed to see this. My husband realized what was happening.
“With this experience, what is found in Doctrine and Covenants 81:5 and 84:106 gained tremendous weight in my personal and spiritual growth. I became a humbler person and had the purpose of leaving a legacy of greater service to my neighbor.”
Thanks to this experience, Sister Ivone continues to contribute in training and developing others. She went over and beyond what was being asked and used her time and talents to help others at Church and in her community. She indeed ministered to those in need and was blessed far beyond her expectations for that.

The Kandlers were the first Mormons in Eugendorf. Their close friend, Hermann Martinz, who joined the Church just a year ago, describes the difficulty they encountered: “Brother Kandler was working as a roofer and a plumber. When the townspeople found out he had joined the Church, his employees quit work, and he lost a contract to re-roof the large cathedral in town. But the stake patriarch told him not to worry, that because he was so brave, the Lord would bless him. The town boycotted him—no more jobs in Eugendorf. But now he’s got so much work in neighboring villages and in Salzburg that it doesn’t matter.”
Becoming Mormon also caused temporary setbacks for the children. “I was in a Catholic High school. When they found out we had been baptized, I was not able to return the next year,” Helga explained. Ruth, who had already registered and made a down payment on her school fees, was told she could not attend, and was not given a refund. “But the ward members helped us and made sure we knew we at least had them for friends. They helped my dad in his work. They talked to us about new schools. They showed us they cared,” Helga says. The other villagers didn’t mean to be cruel, the Kandlers explain; they just didn’t understand. “They thought we’d fallen away from God,” Brother Kandler says. “But now, with a little time to get used to us, they can see we’ve actually grown closer to him.”
Soon the family was doing well again and the girls were registered in new schools.
Now the Kandlers have moved into a new, large apartment above a store, with a spacious backyard for their garden.

Family prayer and scripture study are also important preparation. Each morning when the parents wake up the children, they all gather on the parents’ bed. There they sing a hymn, kneel and pray, and take turns reading scriptures aloud before having breakfast and getting ready for school. They talk about the principles in the scriptures.

“It’s really a challenge to get everybody up so early,” says their mom. “But since we’ve been studying the scriptures every morning, the children are understanding them better. When we didn’t do it, we felt we were sending our children out to school unprotected. But now they are going out into the world more prepared. We hope that during the day they might think of something we read about.”

“Let me take just a moment to mention a little incident that made an impression upon me when I was a boy. …

“It was on a summer day early in the morning. I was standing near the window. The curtains obstructed me from two little creatures out on the lawn. One was a large bird and the other a little bird, obviously just out of the nest. I saw the larger bird hop out on the lawn, then thump his feet and cock his head. He drew a big fat worm out of the lawn and came hopping back. The little bird opened its bill wide, but the big bird swallowed the worm.

“Then I saw the big bird fly up into a tree. He pecked at the bark for a little while and came back with a big bug in his mouth. The little bird opened his beak wide, but the big bird swallowed the bug. There was squawking in protest.

“The big bird flew away, and I didn’t see it again, but I watched the little bird. After a while, the little bird hopped out on the lawn, thumped its feet, cocked its head, and pulled a big worm out of the lawn.

“God bless the good people who teach our children and our youth” (“A Teacher,” Ensign, July 1972, 85).

My mother has always been an amazing influence in my life. She’s always taught me to do the right thing and has helped me form my testimony of the gospel.
When my freshman year of college came and I moved away to my new apartment, I didn’t realize just how much she had helped me until one night my roommates asked me to go to a party with them at a neighboring apartment.
The two other girls and I got ready and then went to the apartment where the party was being held. The shades were drawn and the door was locked. We had to knock on the door and then say who we were for them to let us in. I didn’t think much of it; I just thought of it as a way for them to control how many people came in.
As the two girls and I walked into the room, I had a feeling of unease come over me. Never having had that particular feeling before, I didn’t know what exactly it was. I just brushed it off as the uneasy feeling you get when you walk in a room full of people you don’t know.
I was sitting there with my roommate, who was talking some guy’s ear off, when I noticed that people were coming in and out of the door that led to the rooms in the back. Because my roommate had been to a party with these guys before, I quietly asked her what was going on back there. My roommate told me matter-of-factly that that’s where all the alcohol was and that they had to keep it back there in case the police showed up.
Immediately, I realized that the feeling of unease that I had felt the moment I walked through the door was the Spirit trying to tell me that this was not a place I should be. I told my roommate that I was going to go back to our apartment. She grabbed onto my hand and told me to stay. I hesitated, not knowing what to do. If I stayed, I knew that I wouldn’t have to go back behind that door and that I would be fine, but I also knew that if the police showed up and I was there, they wouldn’t believe that I hadn’t been drinking.
Then, the voice of my sweet mother came to my mind and said four words: “You know what’s right.” I left the apartment that moment and went back to my own. Even though the police didn’t show up that night, I knew that I had made the right decision and that it was the knowledge taught to me by my mother that had finally helped me do what I knew was the right thing.

Mandy: Dad, if somebody called somebody else a really mean name and then the second somebody punched the first somebody, who would need to repent?
Dad: Well, the first somebody would need to repent of the mean name, and the second somebody would need to repent of the punching.
Mandy: But wouldn’t the first somebody be worse because she started it?
Dad: Does it matter who’s worse? Both have done wrong, and both need to apologize and repent.
The next day—Mandy: Linda, I’m really sorry I punched you. How can I make it up to you?
Linda: You can get out of my sight, you toad!
Mandy: Thanks, Linda. I will.
That night—Dad: Somebody seems a lot happier.
Mandy: Somebody is.

Soon after Sabrina and Camila returned to church, they began reaching out themselves. When Ana Carolina Batista, age 14, began investigating the Church with her mother, the twins were there to help. The first time she attended church, Ana Carolina’s anxiety melted when the twins sat by her and showed her how to look up scriptures in the lesson. “This made me feel good, because I didn’t know what to do. I felt relieved to see there were people to help me,” she remembers.
Ana Carolina says the twins’ friendship made her decision to join the Church much easier. Sabrina and Camila were also happy; their little class was growing.

I was back in Omaha a few years ago on Church assignment to attend the ground-breaking exercises of the Mormon Memorial Bridge over by Winter Quarters. I met a man there who was a district president in the mission area. He had lived in Salt Lake for 17 years, and had worked in the Union Pacific office until it was transferred to Omaha. He did not join the Church in Salt Lake. When he moved to Omaha, he met the missionaries. I asked him, “Why didn’t you join the Church in Salt Lake?” He said, “No one ever invited me to.”
I was riding with a stake president toward Farmington, New Mexico, and the mission president who was riding with us had lived in Ogden for 12 years with the same experience. I asked him why he hadn’t joined the Church in Ogden. He said no one had ever invited him to.
I told those stories up in Wyoming some years ago. The stake president said that reminded him of when he was the bishop of a ward. One of the men living in his community called him up and said, “Bishop, do you think I am a good enough man to be a member of your church?” He said, “It just dawned on me that we had never invited him to be a member of the Church. So I made arrangements to baptize him Friday night. Then I called up a woman in the community and told her that this man was going to join the Church and wouldn’t she like to come along also? She said, ‘Bishop, I have wondered how long I would have to live in your community before you would invite me to join your church.’”

Two missionary couples recently shouldered much of the responsibility for sending and receiving the microfilm files. Manfred Hechtle, a native of Mannheim, Germany, and his wife, Karin, born in Königsberg, German East Prussia, moved to the United States more than 40 years ago. They returned to Germany as missionaries because “we knew it would be wonderfully rewarding to help people all over Europe discover more about their family history,” explains Sister Hechtle.
The Hechtles also spent quite a bit of their mission time traveling to various family history centers to offer assistance. “When they asked us, we taught the family history center directors and their staffs how to use Church computer programs,” says Elder Hechtle. “These visits also gave us a chance to repair and maintain the microfilm and microfiche equipment.”
The couple also helped present family history seminars.” We piled our equipment into a station wagon and headed out,” says Elder Hechtle. “We then taught members and others interested in learning about the Church’s family history programs.”

Our leaders cheerily greeted us with a smile and handed everyone pieces of paper. Looking down, I saw a mournful face in a very bad, very old photograph on a paper. Next to the small picture was the story of Bodil Mortinsen. She had traveled with the Willie Handcart Company in October of 1856. I had been assigned Bodil’s name. I folded up Bodil’s biography and stuck it in my pocket.
...
We stood there in silence. Suddenly, I realized that I had not read Bodil Mortinsen’s story. I carefully pulled out the wilted paper and looked again at the mournful black-and-white face. I read her story. I stood where she had stood and envisioned her grieving over a lost parent or brother or friend. At the bottom of the page, I read:
“Two of those buried at Rock Creek Hollow were heroic children of tender years: Bodil Mortinsen, age nine, from Denmark, and James Kirkwood, age eleven, from Scotland.
“Bodil apparently was assigned to care for some small children as they crossed Rocky Ridge. When they arrived at camp, she must have been sent to gather firewood. She was found frozen to death leaning against the wheel of their handcart, clutching sagebrush” (President James E. Faust [1920–2007], Second Counselor in the First Presidency, “A Priceless Heritage,” Ensign, Nov. 1992, 84–85).
I had imagined Bodil standing here, perhaps mourning the loss of a family member. Now I realized that she hadn’t stood here at all. She was buried here.

My husband, Larry, and I enjoy eating out at a delicious Mexican restaurant called “Mi Ranchito.” We like it so much that I keep the number stored in my smartphone.
One afternoon, we decided to order takeout. I picked up my phone and casually said, “Hey, Siri! Call Mi Ranchito.”
Siri’s chic British voice responded immediately: “OK, Lisa! From now on, I will call you ‘Ranchito.’”
Larry and I burst into laughter. It was funny. Without missing a beat, Siri changed my name to Ranchito. From that moment on, my smartphone, my husband, my children, my grandchildren, and anyone else to whom Larry related the story began to call me Ranchito. No matter what I did, Siri refused to call me Lisa again.
At first the situation was entertaining. Soon it became annoying. And as I worked to restore my true name, it became alarming. I imagined the possibility of receiving texts, emails, and snail mail addressed to “Ranchito.” I imagined pollsters soliciting polling information from Ranchito over my phone and politicians inviting Ranchito to vote for them in the next election.
“Over a very short time,” I thought, “Lisa could drop out of existence, and Ranchito could take over my social identity.”
How frightening! Siri, who doesn’t know me, doesn’t care about me, and isn’t even a real person, had effortlessly stolen my name. As I tried to figure out how to restore it, I couldn’t help but think how, if I’m not mindful, I could let technology steal away my identity, reputation, and sense of self.
I also realized how technology’s many distractions can often lead us to forget our divine identities as children of God.
Thankfully, I was able to get Siri to change my name from Ranchito back to Lisa. But this experience taught me that my most important identity is that of disciple of Jesus Christ and child of God. So I will always choose to allow a prophet of God and the Holy Ghost, rather than Siri, Facebook, Twitter, Snapchat, Instagram, Pinterest, or any other internet influence, to shape my identity and guide me along the covenant path to Jesus Christ!

I joined the Church at age 36, and at times I felt spiritually strong. Other times I just went through the motions. Between a hectic work schedule, my wife starting a new career, poor health, and other challenges, I began to struggle spiritually. I attended church and helped teach the deacons quorum, but that was all I could bring myself to do. I couldn’t find the strength to open my scriptures or kneel to pray.
I was still struggling when I left on a business trip to northern Chile. From the airport in Copiapó, we drove two hours to the site for a solar installation project in Chile’s Atacama Desert. I was surprised by how remote this region was, only red desert for miles and miles. The loneliness of the landscape was startling.
After being on site for about a week, we drove to the nearest town for supplies. There I saw a building that caught my eye. I asked the driver to pull over. The building had beautiful grounds that were surrounded by a black wrought-iron fence. On the front of the building was a familiar sign, “La Iglesia de Jesucristo de los Santos de los Últimos Días” or “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
“The Church is here?” I thought. I was amazed that the Church had made it to this remote part of the world. I took a picture of the meetinghouse and texted it to my wife. Her response had a profound effect on me: “Heavenly Father is aware of His people everywhere.”
This was a direct message for me from my Heavenly Father. In the stress of living day to day, I had forgotten, and needed to be reminded, that Heavenly Father loves all His children. He loves those Saints in that small and remote town in the middle of the desert, and He also loves me.
That night I knelt and thanked Heavenly Father for the blessings He had given me that day. Knowing that He loves me has helped me rebuild my spirituality, and it continues to strengthen me each day.

Now 150 years later, the date is June 9, 2006. One more handcart company is leaving Iowa City.
This time the company is made up of about 70 young men and young women from the Iowa City Iowa Stake. Dressed in pioneer clothing, with their handcarts full of supplies, these youth are gathered at the Mormon Handcart Park just outside of Iowa City—the same place from which the first handcart company left exactly 150 years earlier on June 9, 1856. Looking west, they can’t help but think of the original pioneers who stood here so long ago.
After a long day of trekking through the hills of Iowa, the youth now have a moment to reflect on their experience. Emma Pauley rereads Ether 12, a chapter on faith that she remembers learning about in seminary.
“I don’t know if I could have walked the whole way to Utah,” says Emma, “but the pioneers were able to do it, and I know that it was because of their faith. All great things are done by faith.”
The faith of the handcart pioneers enabled them to respond to President Young’s call to gather to the Salt Lake Valley. Their example makes it easier for the Iowa City youth to follow the counsel of the prophet today.
One way young men like Kameron Hansen can follow the prophet is by completing the Duty to God program. As he explains, “When I think of the pioneers and their sacrifice, it makes me want to finish my requirements so I can follow the prophet too.”
Following the prophet is important to these youth, and they look forward to seeing him the following Sunday at a commemorative fireside. The chance to hear the voice of a prophet will be the highlight of the celebration.
The early pioneers must have felt this same excitement as they walked to the Salt Lake Valley, knowing that with every step they were closer to their leader and hearing his voice.
“It is like a treasure waiting for me at the end,” says Skylar Hansen of the Iowa City First Ward.
After walking all day Friday and giving service on Saturday, the youth are happy it is Sunday—time to listen to the prophet in person. Now seated with their families at the commemorative fireside, the young men and young women feel grateful for their new understanding of the handcart experience. The words of President Gordon B. Hinckley inspire them to continue the legacy of faith left by the handcart pioneers. He tells them, “We must ever look back to those who paid so terrible a price in laying the foundations of this great latter-day work.”

A few years ago, my younger sister, Brooklynn, and I visited my aunt and uncle for a couple of weeks. We had only been at my aunt’s house for a few minutes when my cousin Jenna and her boyfriend, Merrick, burst inside, eager to see us.
Over the next few weeks, we did many things with Jenna and Merrick. We went swimming together, rode scooters, watched movies, and jumped on Jenna’s trampoline. We also played card games together. But my favorite activity was dressing Merrick up in costumes.
Merrick was not a member of the Church. But since we had become good friends, I decided to invite him to come to church with us. Jenna, Brooklynn, and I were very happy when Merrick said yes. It was a wonderful Sunday being able to see Merrick at church, smiling and listening to the talks about eternal families. He wanted to know more about our beliefs and came to church the next week too.
Two months later Merrick was baptized. Then he left to join the military. He and Jenna wrote to each other while he was away. After two years Merrick and Jenna were married in the Salt Lake Temple! It was wonderful to see Jenna and Merrick coming out of the temple together. Who would have guessed two years ago that an eight-year-old girl asking a simple question could help lead to a temple marriage?
Knowing the wonderful happiness that can come from inviting someone to church has given me courage and excitement to be a young missionary to my friends and neighbors.

Class was starting, and I felt as nervous as a cat in a thunderstorm.
After roll call we would be starting with Kenneth’s speech. That would give me about fifteen to twenty minutes. Why do I have to give my speech today? I thought. Why did I choose Joseph Smith as my “famous American”?
The majority of the class were Baptist, including the teacher. I was the only Mormon in the whole group. I must have felt brave the day I chose this topic.
Kenneth was almost finished. No one had any questions about his speech on President Dwight D. Eisenhower.
It was my turn.
“My ‘famous American’ is Joseph Smith,” I began. “He was born in. …” My speech lasted about ten minutes—not bad.
“Any questions?” the teacher asked.
It was so silent you could have heard a pin drop.
“Well, I have one,” my teacher replied. “What is the name of the church that Joseph started?”
I knew I had left out something and it would be the most important part. I answered, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, more commonly known as the Mormons.”
That started the questions: Where did the plates come from? Who was Moroni? How did he get the plates? And oh, yes, the usual question—What about polygamy? By this time I was feeling pretty good. I answered all of the questions that I could, and then one student, who I’ll always be thankful to, asked, “How do you know it’s true?”
This question touched me. I truly felt the Spirit in my heart and in the room.
I looked at my questioner and said, “Bill, have you ever felt so right about something that no matter what anybody else says, you know it’s true? You know in your heart, and no one can persuade you otherwise?”
A hush came over the class. Even the teacher didn’t have a reply.
I’ll always be thankful to Bill for helping me realize that I do have a testimony and that I shouldn’t keep it inside.
I had been in front of the class answering questions for over thirty minutes. We even missed part of our break. And I felt radiant the rest of the day.
This experience helped me realize that people want to know about the gospel. I also realized that I have a duty to share my knowledge with others.

Dances weren’t easy for Randa either. One night, at a church dance, one of the brighter guys made a proposition. You could show real courage by asking the “ugliest” girl there for a dance. Better yet, you could stay for a second dance just to prove your courage had staying power. That was followed by a lot of laughter, and a lot of “I will if you will” promises.
Suddenly one of the guys broke away from the group and asked Randa for a dance. Then he stayed for a second. When he returned to our group, he said, “Okay guys, you promised.” One by one, they asked Randa to dance, and stayed for a second. Randa danced 16 times that night. She had the time of her life—only to learn later that she was the object of a cruel joke.