Gospel Story Finder

Shortly after this call came to me, I was traveling by plane from Baton Rouge, Louisiana, to Salt Lake City. A young businessman stepped to my seat in the plane and introduced himself as a Latter-day Saint. He asked if I was traveling to attend meetings, and I answered, “Yes.”
“Will you see President Benson?”
“I think that is unlikely in view of the nature of the meetings.”
“When you see him, will you tell him that though we have never met, I have a deep love for him?”
He returned to his seat.
It was late in the day; soon the lights were dimmed, giving me ample opportunity to think about that experience.
Brothers and sisters, there is great safety in having a love for the Brethren. As we traveled through the night, I remembered an experience that had come to me in this tabernacle some years ago. It was, I believe, the last time that President Joseph Fielding Smith spoke in a general priesthood meeting. He said:
“Now, brethren, I think there is one thing which we should have exceedingly clear in our minds. Neither the President of the Church, nor the First Presidency, nor the united voice of the First Presidency and the Twelve will ever lead the Saints astray or send forth counsel to the world that is contrary to the mind and will of the Lord” (in Conference Report, Apr. 1972, p. 99; or Ensign, July 1972, p. 88).
When President Smith made that statement, the Spirit bore witness to me that it was true. That same Spirit bears witness anew today.

Everything that summer seemed to be a dream or some kind of miracle. My awareness of how much families and gospel principles mean to me came so clear one week in July. This week wasn’t a normal one for the Clarks, Carters, and Tanners. It was an unforgettable family reunion in Hawaii.
In Hawaii there are many great places to go and things to see. My fondest memory is of Diamond Head because it not only opened my eyes to the beauty of the island of Oahu, but also opened my eyes to eternal beauty.
The entire hike was a quarter of a mile long, but you’d never know it the way it seemed to stretch. When my cousins and I began the hike, all we could see was a path that seemed to last a lifetime. We reached an area where some people were stopped along the path saying, “I can’t believe we are doing this. I really see no point in going on any farther.” After I heard this, I began to doubt myself, but I still kept walking.
Next, we reached this long, dark tunnel. My cousins and I went inside. We could hardly see. The only way we could get through this dark tunnel was to hold to an iron railing. We became excited when we could see, in the distance, the end of this long tunnel. We were so happy because we thought our hike was over.
When we reached the end of the tunnel, one of my cousins screamed. There before our eyes was a flight of steps carved out of the mountain. All I could think was, I can’t believe I am actually doing this.
Then my uncle turned to me and said quietly, “I’ve been here before. I know that it is worth it.” As I walked up the steps with aching legs, I thought about his gentle words, “I know that it is worth it.”
When we finally reached the top of the crater, I was completely overwhelmed at the sight, a panoramic view of the island.
As I stood there, I thought how the hike was like our earthly lives. We begin by seeing how far we have to go to become like Christ. We are overwhelmed, but we keep going forward. At times we may listen to people say, “I don’t see the point of going farther.” Even then, we continue through the darkness holding the iron rod. We may think our trials are over, and we find we only have more challenges ahead. We press on, yielding to the words, “You can make it. It is worth it.” When we finally reach our goal, we can look back and know it was worth it.
Since hiking Diamond Head, I have realized our challenges can make us stronger. I have since centered my goals around more spiritual things, such as attending early-morning seminary every day. We can all succeed if we have the faith and courage to keep going through the hard times in our lives.

“I had a friend who began to encourage me to disregard my standards, and for a while I listened. I finally decided that enough was enough and I wasn’t going to let her influence me anymore. I prayed for strength and guidance, and because I was again living the way I know I should, I received the guidance I asked for. I eventually stopped hanging out with her, and in the months that have passed, my testimony has grown so much. Who you are friends with definitely makes a difference in your ability to live the way the gospel teaches.”

Margaret K., 17, Utah, USA

Sometimes we turn from the Lord because other people have made or are making mistakes. I don’t want to forget the story of the farmer who felt he had been wronged in the distribution of irrigation water and that the watermaster was at fault.
Having angered himself into distraction over the seeming unfairness, he sought out the watermaster, grasped him by the shirt bitterly, and said, “Tom, as long as you are watermaster, I won’t take another drop out of that ditch.”
What happened to that farmer? Well, he was a stubborn man. He kept his foolish vow. And he and his property dried up and blew away.

Elder Sebastian Fuller said, “We were hot, tired, and thirsty, but I realized that if I looked outward at the needs of others who had no shelter, I was able to look beyond myself and why I was there. We set up a tent for a woman without a home. Her home was lying on the ground in splinters. I felt a great love for the people we were helping. … The Church has no presence in Carriacou, so this was a great first step in introducing them to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.”

Growing up, Sue was just part of the gang until the gang started going a direction she did not care to follow. Her upbringing in the Church gave her a different perspective than her friends.
“In my sophomore year, my friends started doing awful things that would make me cry for them. I just wanted to shake them and ask, ‘What are you doing?’ but you can’t. It was frustrating. I started saying to myself, ‘Hey, Sue, no one is going to stick with you through this. You’re on your own.’”
That’s when she decided to make her own choices and possibly lead her friends in the right direction as well. Her bishop, Allen Dance of the Snoqualmie Valley Ward, noticed her ability to bring people up to a higher level. “Sue has always been a magnet towards the good. She has pulled up the weak in our ward and in the school. She goes out of her way to be friends to people who need a friend. As a result of her example, others have been affected.”

As the years go by, I continue to reflect on the Sabbath days of my youth and young adulthood. I still remember the first day I passed the sacrament as a deacon and the little glass cups I passed to the members of our ward. A few years ago a Church building in my hometown was remodeled. A compartment in the pulpit had been sealed. When it was opened, there were some of these little glass cups that had remained hidden for years. One of them was presented to me as a memento.
As I think about those sacrament cups from my youth, one in the sheltered valley of my boyhood home and the other thousands of miles away in the Pacific, I am filled with gratitude that the Savior of the world was willing to drink from the “bitter cup”17 for my sake. And because He did, I can say with the Psalmist, “My cup runneth over”18 with the blessings of His infinite and eternal Atonement.

I know exactly what it’s like to carry the burden of having a guilty conscience. I had something I needed to confess to my bishop, but it was of such a personal nature that I was horrified of telling him about it. To make matters worse, my bishop was also my neighbor. Every day I would see him and I would feel so uncomfortable when he’d smile at me and ask me how things were going. I knew deep in my heart that I needed to talk to him, but I needed strength and courage. I decided one day to fast and pray and search the scriptures for an answer and strength. I came across several scriptures that seemed to help me: Doctrine and Covenants 64:7; 82:1; 95:1; 98:47 [D&C 64:7; D&C 82:1; D&C 95:1; D&C 98:47]; Mosiah 26:29–30.

It is never easy for one to confess something one has done wrong, but if you will ask Heavenly Father for strength, he will bless you for it. He loves you as he loves all his children. I testify to you that by confessing and sharing your problems with your bishop, you will feel so much better. It will help take the weight off your shoulders and you can start on the road to forgiveness.

Name withheld

As a teenager, there were many times when I felt the Spirit of the Lord. When I was 16, I participated in a dance festival at the University of Utah’s stadium. It was June, and the sky was completely overcast and threatening to rain. As we were ready to march onto the field with our flags, the opening prayer was given. In the prayer it was asked that the weather be tempered so it wouldn’t rain. I vividly remember marching onto the field, looking up, and seeing the clouds part. The Lord had answered our prayers, and having watched it happen, I felt the warmth of the Spirit and knew the Church was true.

I have had many such teachers since. One was a prophet of the Lord, Spencer W. Kimball. I was visiting from England for general conference and asked if I could see him. I was told that he was in his office and no one was with him. I knocked on the door and his familiar voice said “Come in.” I started to open the door, but before it was fully open, he was there already. I felt a sense of urgency and real caring. He took me by the arm, showed me round his office, then sat me down across the desk. “How is the work going in England?” he inquired. I gave a brief report, but he knew already; he was teaching me the principle of stewardship and accountability. Then he reached up to his bookshelves, took down a book, and handed it to me. “Have you read this?” he asked. He smiled, took a pen, opened the book and wrote a message, and then gave it to me. I shall always treasure that copy of The Life Story of Heber C. Kimball, the first missionary to England.

It had been several years since my husband, Jerold, passed away. The cancer had come quickly and aggressively, and in three months he was gone. Now I was thinking of him as I worked in my yard.
As I was repotting a plant, I had a thought. Before I intervened, the plant was doing OK. It was at home in the pot it was already in, but it was not flourishing. I knew if I didn’t repot it at some point, it most likely would stop flowering and maybe even stop growing. It certainly wouldn’t be able to do its best.
So, I decided to give the plant room to grow by transplanting it to a larger pot. Not a great big pot—one that was just two inches larger in diameter. If I gave it too much space, it could end up overwatered and die from root rot.
I expected the plant to struggle as it tried to adapt. It had been quite comfortable, all snug in the pot that it had become accustomed to. It wasn’t aware that change would help it to keep growing. I needed to nurture it along, giving it proper light, water, and the extra nutrients required during this time of adaptation. I knew it would, eventually, flourish and flower again.
As I thought about my life as a widow, I realized that I was like that plant. I had been comfortable. I had been doing fine. But when my husband passed away, I heard the Spirit whisper that I was entering a new phase of growth. I still had things I needed to learn and do in this life.
Over the next two years, seven other men in our ward also passed away. I started asking my newly widowed friends to get together, to talk, to visit, to serve others—so that each of us could feel just a little less lonely. None of us would have chosen to be “repotted.” But as I adapted to mortal life without my husband, I found that I could provide support to others who faced a similar challenge. I also found there were many opportunities to spend time with children and grandchildren and reassure them that through the Atonement of Jesus Christ, in the next life our family can be together again.
I never would have anticipated the growth that would come to me because of the loss of my spouse. But Heavenly Father stepped in and “repotted” me, giving me room to grow by placing me in a little bit larger pot—a new challenge that provided an opportunity for growth.
I still miss Jerold every day. Years later, I still struggle as I am trying to adapt to the change of being without him. But I know the Lord will nurture me along the way. With time, and with trust in Him, I will flourish and flower once again.

One night after I came out of the church, my new silver CTR ring fell out of my pocket. My dad and uncle shined the headlights of their cars into the bushes, but I still couldn’t find it. I was feeling sad. My mom said we should have a family prayer. After the prayer, I walked through the bushes and felt a prompting to look down. There was my ring under a bush! I know that my prayer was answered and that yours can be, too.Brian Seegmiller, age 10Fairfield, California

One day I went to the beach with my brother and my mom. When our mom sat down to rest for a minute, she told us to wait for her, but my brother and I kept walking. Suddenly, we realized we were lost. We went back to where Mom had been, but we could not find her. I started to cry, and some people tried to help us. Finally our aunt found us.
While we were lost, I said a prayer. Our dad taught us that if we do not know what to do, we can say a prayer. I said one, very quietly, and then we were found. I learned that we should always obey our parents. And I know Heavenly Father hears us when we pray.

When I was growing up, playing soccer brought me confidence and happiness. So it was difficult when my soccer team began losing games. We had a history of winning, but now our confidence as a team was shaken. I also got injured and missed some games and practices. I felt disappointed in myself because I wasn’t performing at the level others expected of me.
One evening before a game, the coaches told me that a teammate would be starting in my place. I wasn’t surprised, but I felt discouraged. This teammate and I competed for the same position and had developed an unspoken and unfriendly rivalry.
As I watched my team struggle, I noticed the teammate playing in my spot get pulled from the game. She walked off the field, looking really disappointed. I felt impressed to talk to her. I approached and offered her some words of encouragement. She was surprised, because we hadn’t been friendly to each other before. As I walked away, I felt joy and peace come over me. From that day on, we weren’t rivals but friends.

“I bet I can ride faster than you!” Diego called to his older brother, Caesar, as they ran through the house. It was Saturday, and their family was going on a bike ride. Diego couldn’t wait to enjoy the sunny day.
“Don’t forget your helmets!” Mom reminded them as they headed for the door.
Diego groaned. He hated wearing his helmet. It made his head sweaty. Plus, his friends said helmets were for babies and old people.
“But we’re not going far,” Diego said. “And I’m a really good bike rider.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Mom said. “Whether we’re going five feet or five miles, everybody wears a helmet.”
Dad poked his head around the corner. “That’s the family rule, remember?”
Diego sighed. “OK.” He and Caesar went back to their room. They grabbed their helmets and snapped them in place before heading outside.
Soon Diego and his family were all pedaling down the street. After a while, the road narrowed, and the pavement turned into gravel. Diego smiled and gripped the handle bars tighter. He loved this part! He imagined himself as a mountain biker, bumping down a rocky trail.
Then it happened.
He felt his bike jolt to a stop, and suddenly he was flying over the handlebars!
THUD. The next thing he knew, Diego was lying on the ground. He could hear his family’s voices.
“Is he OK?”
“What happened?”
“Looks like his wheel hit some metal on the road.”
Diego opened his eyes. Everyone was kneeling around him.
“Are you all right?” Mom asked.
“I … I think so,” Diego said. It felt like his mouth was full of dirt! He stretched out his leg and winced. His knee and elbow were stinging, but nothing hurt too much. After Diego rested for a few minutes, Mom helped him sit up. Diego took off his helmet.
“Oh wow,” Dad said. “Look at this.” He held Diego’s helmet out for everyone to see. The back of the helmet had a big dent in it.
“Woah!” Caesar said. “That could’ve been your head!”
When Diego felt well enough to walk, he and his family pushed their bikes back home. Then Mom carefully washed Diego’s scrapes, dabbing ointment and smoothing bandages over the sore spots.
“Thanks, Mom,” Diego said.
“No problem, kiddo. Our first-aid kit comes in handy every once in a while.”
“I mean thank you for making me wear my helmet,” Diego said. He ran a hand through the hair on the back of his head.
Mom nodded and pulled him into a gentle hug. “Rules are hard to follow sometimes, and we might not always understand why they’re important,” she said. “But rules from those who love you—like Heavenly Father and Dad and me—those rules are meant to keep you safe.”
Caesar popped into the doorway. “Dad told me to tell you that lunch is almost ready. He made quesadillas.”
“Mmmmm,” Diego said. “Maybe some salsa will get the taste of gravel out of my mouth!”
Everyone laughed and walked to the kitchen.
“Don’t forget to wash your hands before we eat,” Dad said, setting a plate of the warm tortillas and melty cheese onto the table.
“But I don’t want to wash my ha—” Diego started to say. Then he stopped himself. Maybe this was one of those rules Mom was talking about.
“You got it, Dad,” he said. He turned to Caesar with a grin. “Race you to the sink!”

In April of 2000, I received a phone call from Rosa Salas Gifford, whom I did not know. Her father, Bernardo Agusto Salas, had liver cancer. Her father’s great desire, she explained, was to meet me before he died.
I felt impressed that I should visit Brother Salas that very evening. I drove past the location where the road to the house should have been. I could see nothing. However, I don’t give up easily. I drove around the block and came back. Still nothing. One more time I tried and still no sign of the road. I offered a silent prayer for help. The inspiration came that I should approach the area from the opposite direction. I turned the car around so that I was now on the other side of the road. As I neared the location once again, I could see a street sign lying on its side at the edge of the road and a weed-covered track leading to a single, tiny residence. As I drove toward it, a small girl in a white dress waved to me, and I knew that I had found the family.
I was ushered into the room where Brother Salas lay. With some prompting, Brother Salas opened his eyes, and a wan smile graced his lips as I took him by the hand. I spoke the words, “I have come to meet you.” Tears welled up in his eyes and in mine.
I proceeded to provide a priesthood blessing. The words seemed to flow freely under the direction of the Spirit of the Lord. Following the blessing, I offered a few words of comfort to the grieving family members. With my limited Spanish language ability, I let them know that I loved them and that our Heavenly Father would bless them.
As I drove homeward, I reflected on the special spirit we had felt. I experienced a sense of gratitude that my Heavenly Father had answered another person’s prayer through me. May we ever be on the Lord’s errand, that we might ever be entitled to the Lord’s help.

Clop-clop, clop-clop.
Joseph watched horses tug their wagons down the main street of Provo, Utah.
People walked quickly past the brick buildings that lined the street, eager to get home at the end of the day. Joseph had only one more newspaper to sell, and then he could go home too.
“Get your paper!” He waved it over his head.
Some newsboys thought this job was boring, but not Joseph. It reminded him of the busy marketplaces in Syria, where his family used to live.
“You are the oldest son, and your siblings look up to you,” his father had told Joseph one day as they walked through the market. “You must set a good example.”
Joseph’s memories were interrupted by a man walking toward him.
“Would you like to buy a paper?” Joseph asked him.
“Yes. Thank you, lad.” The man handed a few coins to Joseph. He couldn’t wait to add them to his savings at home!
A few minutes later, Joseph stepped onto his front porch. He took a deep breath. The air smelled delicious. “Lahmajoon,” Joseph said with a happy sigh. He loved the taste of the pizza-like meat pies from his home country. He hoped it was time to eat.
But when he opened the door, instead of seeing dinner already on the table, he saw his mother struggling to take the meat pies out of the oven. His little sister, Leah, cried loudly and tugged at Mother’s skirt.
“Let me help you with that,” Joseph said.
“Thank you.” Mother strained to lift Leah.
“She’s getting too big to carry,” Joseph said.
“My children are never too big for me to comfort,” Mother answered.
A few days later, Joseph
walked down the street, thinking of all Mother did for their family. And that’s when he saw it! A baby buggy in the furniture store window. Suddenly he knew what he needed to do.
He ran inside.
“What can I do for you?” a gentleman asked.
“I want to buy a baby buggy for my mother.”
“That is thoughtful, but do you have enough money?”
“I have two dollars now. If you will keep the buggy here, I’ll come in every week and give you more until I’ve paid for it.”
The man nodded. “Let’s go and pick one out.”
Joseph chose a brown leather buggy. It cost five dollars. He thought about how long it would take to earn the money.
Helping Mother will be worth it, he thought.
Weeks later, Joseph opened the kitchen door.
“You’re home early,” Mother said. She was facing away from Joseph, and he quietly pushed the buggy inside behind her back.
“Mother,” he said, “I got you something!”
Mother turned around and saw the buggy. Her brown eyes grew round with surprise, and tears started flowing down her cheeks. “Oh, thank you, son,” she said, hugging him tightly.
Later that night, when Joseph’s father came home, Mother showed him the buggy. Father put his hand on Joseph’s shoulder.
“I am proud of you. Very, very proud. You are a good example to the family.”
Joseph couldn’t stop smiling. It was amazing what hard work, stacks of newspaper, and a baby buggy could do.

For Pele Mika Ah Lam of Samoa, there’s another important consideration about time that she lives by: “I make the most of it wherever I am.”
Pele grew up in a village where families—including her own—live off the land. Running water and electricity are never a given, and the homes are simple and beautiful. Education is not easy to pay for. “Our whole family helps support each other with education costs,” Pele says. “It’s the Samoan way.”
After working hard and getting top marks in school, Pele was accepted to attend the National University of Samoa. She chose to study accounting, mathematics, and computing. She also made room in her schedule for institute classes.
Along the way, Pele participated in another activity that would change her life in the near future, though she didn’t realize it at the time. For fun, every Friday evening she met with other Church members attending the university to discuss the gospel and learn new skills. These activities varied from week to week with one exception: on the last Friday of each month, they had a standing tradition of learning how to cook a different meal.
“I paid close attention,” Pele says. “I didn’t want to waste a chance to learn something new.”
That decision would yield big dividends in the future.
The cost of a university education can be a major obstacle to nearly anyone. For Pele, when her funding ran out, she had to leave school. She had worked hard, however, and learned all she could while there—including how to cook many different meals.
As a wife and as a mother of young children, she thought hard about how she might use what she had learned to help support her family. Throughout her life, Pele has been taught to believe in God and to work hard.
“I decided to start my own business,” she says. “I now run a barbecue and salad stand, cooking food that I learned how to make while going through school!”
Because of her business success, Pele makes enough money to take care of her immediate family, as well as help care for her parents and siblings.
“Our family believes that ‘faith without works is dead’ [James 2:20],” she says. “We have faith in God and believe that He will help us in every way. But we have to do our part.”
Pele still lives life on “island time.” She rises and retires with the sun and embraces the simple, peaceful Samoan lifestyle. And she understands and lives the following truth: “Time flies on wings of lightning; we cannot call it back.”1
Because Pele is trying to make the most of the time she has, God has prospered her and her family, and they have found joy even in the midst of challenges. She has a strong testimony, a successful business, and a bright future.
“We are very blessed,” she says.

One sunny day when I was seven years old, I was playing outside my grandmother’s home while my family visited on the front porch. As I walked along a shrubbery-lined path by the side of the house, I suddenly felt a sharp, terrible pain in my ankle. My family heard my screams and rushed to my side. To their shock they saw that I had been bitten by a snake.
I had to get to a doctor, but we were out in the country and didn’t have a car. My uncle ran several miles to a neighbor’s home to borrow a cattle truck, and once we were in the truck, we even had to stop to get gasoline. My leg started swelling, and we didn’t know what kind of snake had bitten me.
We finally reached the hospital—a little one-story frame building—and after some tests, the doctor determined that I had been bitten by a rattlesnake. Judging from the fang marks, it had been a huge snake—about five feet long! As the poison from the bite rose in my blood, it turned my skin black, until it was black only two or three inches below my heart.
I was in the hospital for many days, and it was a painful and difficult time. I can remember having nightmares and screaming. One time, a young medical student who lived in a house across the street heard my screams as he was taking a shower. He dashed over to the hospital to help me with just a towel wrapped around him. Another time, the owner of a small restaurant about two blocks away became alarmed when he heard me, and he called the hospital, wanting to know what was going on.
I’m told I almost didn’t survive, but while in the hospital I was given a blessing. Because I was unconscious at the time, I didn’t hear the words, but my family later told me that I had been blessed that my life would be preserved for a special purpose. My relatives later told and retold this experience at family gatherings. This has given my life special meaning, and it has strengthened my testimony of the importance and power of the priesthood.

Tangible evidence of Maurice’s example to other Aaronic Priesthood holders in his ward came in the way of service for his Eagle Scout project he completed last year. Maurice organized a child identification day where he invited people in his community to bring their children to the ward on a Saturday so the children could be fingerprinted and videotaped. After police gave a presentation on ways to protect children, the parents in attendance took the fingerprint cards and the videotapes home. Now, if ID information is ever needed, it will be at the parents’ fingertips.
Maurice spent numerous hours coordinating this project that attracted close to 100 children. As a bonus, he also asked people who came to bring one or two cans of food that he could then donate to a food bank. He eventually filled three big boxes with canned goods.
“What I enjoyed about that project is that it was different,” Maurice says. “I really wanted to make a difference. I hope people never have to use their video or the fingerprint cards. I don’t want it ever to come to that point. But they are a good safety net.”