Gospel Story Finder

In the years immediately after the war, the most pressing tasks of local Church leaders were to find and care for scattered members and to build up the remaining branches. This latter work needed the strength of young priesthood holders and full-time missionaries, but it had to be carried on by women, children, and older members. However, as soon as priesthood holders began returning from the war and from prisoner-of-war camps, they were called to missionary service.
Walter Krause was released from prison on 2 July 1945 in Cottbus, near the Polish border. Several Church members lived in a refugee camp there. Toward the end of November, mission president Richard Ranglack asked Brother Krause what he would think about going on a mission, as there were many branches that needed help. “If the Lord needs me, I will go,” Brother Krause replied.
“On December 1, 1945, I set out with 20 Marks in my pocket, a piece of dry bread, and a bottle of herb tea. One Brother had given me a winter coat that had belonged to his son who did not return from the war. Another Brother who was a shoemaker gave me a pair of shoes. And so I set out on a mission with two shirts, two handkerchiefs, and two pair of socks,” Brother Krause recalled. (In an unpublished collection of autobiographical sketches edited by Manfred Schutze, page 3.)
Transportation was either difficult to obtain or nonexistent. Brother Krause reported that it was common to walk twelve or thirteen hours, for distances of up to fifty kilometers, to visit various branches of the Church. But many members, like Sister Elli Polzin, still had to be found and cared for.

One day in 1961 while Elder Slagowski and I were knocking on doors in Wilhelmshaven, West Germany, an elderly widow graciously welcomed us into her humble apartment. I was so surprised that I asked if she really understood who we were. She assured us that she did and that she had been waiting for us.
She told us that two Latter-day Saint elders had knocked on her door decades before, when she was a young mother. Because she was busy at the time, she had turned them away. Afterward she felt terrible about it and vowed that if Latter-day Saint missionaries ever knocked again, she would invite them in.
Emma Henke had a keen mind, and she listened to our message intently, but she often seemed to have a distant, far-off look. She was kind to us and was always eager to share her meager fare, but we wondered if she truly comprehended the importance of our message. Finally we decided to put her on our callback list and just drop by from time to time when we were in the neighborhood.
A few weeks later we stopped in again. As we visited, Emma suddenly announced, to our surprise, her determination to be baptized!
It was only then that she began sharing details from her difficult life. During the last days of World War I, her infant daughter had died. In 1924 a nine-year-old daughter had succumbed to diphtheria. During the winter of 1941–42 she had received her last letter from her 21-year-old son, who was fighting on the Russian front during World War II. She learned of his death a short time later.
Emma’s husband, Hugo, had despised the policies of the Nazi government. She often pleaded with him to be more cautious. Early one day in 1944, after a government radio-beam locator tracked a British Broadcasting Corporation signal to the Henkes’ home, the Gestapo broke down the door and arrested him. He was sent to a concentration camp near Hamburg, and Emma and their last surviving child, a young son, were left to fend for themselves.
Emma went to the local Nazi official responsible for her husband’s imprisonment and pleaded on her knees for his life but to no avail. She later learned of Hugo’s death in March 1945. The official himself was subsequently sentenced to life in prison but had been released shortly before we knocked on Emma’s door. She said she often saw him speeding along the streets of the city in an expensive new car. On the day she requested baptism, Emma said she had finally found the strength to forgive him for taking away her husband and rejecting her pleas for mercy. She had resolved to leave judgment in the hands of the Lord.
Emma became a faithful member of the Church and found great joy and comfort in discovering the truths of the restored gospel. In November 1966, while hurrying across a public square in Wilhelmshaven on her way to a Relief Society meeting, she collapsed and died of a heart attack.
Sister Henke refused to become embittered by the trials of her life, and she died free of the rancor of revenge. Surely this dear sister enjoyed a marvelous reunion with those she had loved and lost.

Even the hypothetical advertising agency would have a hard time casting tobacco in a favorable light today. The Prophet Joseph Smith (1805–44) received the Word of Wisdom by revelation in 1833. In 1921, President Heber J. Grant (1856–1945), inspired by the Lord, called on all Saints to more fully live the Word of Wisdom.4 At the time, mass marketing and glamorization in the movies made cigarette smoking appear fashionable, sophisticated, and fun. It wasn’t until 1964, 43 years later, that the Surgeon General of the United States concluded, “Cigarette smoking is a health hazard of sufficient importance in the United States to warrant appropriate remedial action.”5

Another early Primary memory I treasure is a gift from a much-beloved Primary presidency. When I was ten years old, I received a book, Poems That Touch the Heart, for having 100 percent Primary attendance. I still read that book, and when I do, I remember the enormous amount of love I felt when I was at Primary. I knew that my Primary teachers genuinely cared about me and what I did. This book symbolizes that love and interest.

Jules Feifer wrote the following article, “Be Yourself”:
“Ever since I was a little kid, I didn’t want to be me. I wanted to be Billie Widdledon, and Billie Widdledon didn’t even like me. I walked like he walked—I talked like he talked—I signed up for the high school he signed up for.
“Which was when Widdledon changed. He began to hang around Herby Vandeman. He mixed me up! I began to walk and talk like Billie Widdledon, walking and talking like Herby Vandeman.
“And then it dawned on me that Herby Vandeman walked and talked like Joey Haverlin. … And Joey Haverlin walked and talked like Corky Sabison! So here I am, walking and talking like Billie Widdledon’s imitation of Herby Vandeman’s version of Joey Haverlin, trying to walk and talk like Corky Sabison!
“And who do you think Corky Sabison is always walking and talking like? Of all people—Dopey Wellington—that little pest who walks and talks like me!”

One morning not long after that experience I stumbled across a passage in the Doctrine and Covenants where the Prophet Joseph Smith records the salutation to be read in the School of the Prophets:
“Art thou a brother or brethren? I salute you in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, in token or remembrance of the everlasting covenant, in which covenant I receive you to fellowship, in a determination that is fixed, immovable, and unchangeable, to be your friend and brother through the grace of God in the bonds of love, to walk in all the commandments of God blameless, in thanksgiving, forever and ever. Amen” (D&C 88:133).
I’ve never found a better definition of a friend. These were brethren who had a determination to be friends, and this prayer explained what that meant. A number of the qualities mentioned in that salutation impressed me: determined, fixed, immovable, unchangeable, loving, obedient, blameless. I realized that if these were required to be a friend of Jesus Christ, then I wasn’t qualified.

Later, when Elder Spencer W. Kimball gave the dedicatory prayer at the opening of the Central American Mission in 1952, he said:
“Bless the missionaries and the Saints that great power be given, that their devotion may increase, that their labor may be fruitful, their testimonies convincing, that this great people may be converted and be healed.”

I was called to be the Mia Maid class president in my ward when I was 15. I was semi-active in the Church at the time and not living the gospel as I should have been. I didn’t feel worthy for a calling like this and prayed about whether I should accept the calling or not. I had a strong feeling that I should. I thought there had to be a mistake. I accepted the calling but continued praying, asking why Heavenly Father wanted me to have this calling.
After I was released I received a letter from my Young Women leader, who told me that she had had an impression that she should tell me that Heavenly Father wanted me to have this calling because He wanted me to be closer to Him.
I will never forget this letter. It has increased my testimony about having a loving Heavenly Father who cares about each and every one of us, no matter what we may have done. I am grateful that my Young Women leader acted upon her impression and helped answer my prayer.

Each summer, seven-year-old Dennis helped Grandpa farm his fields, located three miles outside their hometown. Dennis loved everything about Grandpa and his farm. He marveled at the morning sun boiling up over dark hills, the liquid gold of sunset clouds, and the skill in Grandpa’s strong hands as he worked the land that meant so much to him.
Most of all, he marveled at Grandpa’s faith. Dennis could see it in his pale blue eyes that burned in his sunbaked face like fire whenever he spoke of Heavenly Father.
“Give us strength of body and spirit, dear Father, to do today that which we must,” Grandpa prayed one morning as Dennis and Grandma sat at the breakfast table with bowed heads. “Let us be of service, and let our faith be strong.” After breakfast Dennis and Grandpa climbed onto Grandpa’s tractor and set off down the lonely road to the farm.
After working a few hours, Grandpa stopped the tractor and gazed across the hilly landscape of his half-furrowed fields. “Well, son,” he said. “What do you think?”
Dennis wiped the sweat and dust from his face with the back of his hand. “I think I’m tired. There’s too much field, Grandpa. It seems to go on forever, and I’m afraid we’ll never get it done. Besides, it’s hot, and I think there’s enough dirt on me to plant a garden.”
Grandpa laughed and ruffled Dennis’s dusty hair. “You may be right, sprout. But to have a good harvest I’ve got to plow a good portion of earth. Half jobs yield half results, and half a crop just won’t do. Besides,” he added with a wink, “to put off work at my age could be fatal.” Grandpa chuckled and passed a canteen of cold lemonade to Dennis.
Dennis grinned and swallowed a few big gulps.
“You know,” Grandpa said as he squinted into the gold-brown haze of the late morning light, “President Joseph F. Smith once said, ‘We cannot give up; we must not lie down.’ He was talking about the courage of faith. He said, ‘Men who possess that divine quality go on.’”*
Dennis scrunched up his face until he looked like a dirt clod with eyes. “What’s ‘courage of faith,’ Grandpa?”
Grandpa mopped his forehead with a worn bandanna. “To go on. In our case, it means finishing these furrows no matter how hot and dirty the job, no matter how big the field. Especially when that old sun up there and the ache in my back tell me to quit right now.” He patted Dennis’s leg, raising a cloud of dust. “But your help takes the quit right out of it.”
Dennis smiled.
Later, when the canteen was empty, Grandpa decided that it was time to refresh their water supply. He turned the tractor and began to drive it up the hill toward the nearby spring.
But he misjudged the steepness of the hill. Suddenly the front of the machine began to lift off the ground, tipping them backward. “Jump!” he yelled to Dennis as the tractor arched back.
Dennis leaped to safety. Grandpa tried to follow him, but it was too late. The tractor pitched over backward, pinning Grandpa beneath it. He screamed, his face twisted with pain. He turned his head toward Dennis, who stood frozen with horror. “You’ll have to go for help,” Grandpa gasped. “And be quick, son. Be quick!”
For a moment Dennis stood there, his heart drumming. Grandpa’s life depended on him! He took a deep breath and plunged down the hill. All he had were his short legs and the knowledge that help was three long, hot, dusty miles away.
He hit the bottom of the hill at a dead run. His throat and lungs burned as he started down the road that seemed to stretch out forever. His heart and head pounded. Dark thoughts beat at him in rhythm with the hammering of his feet on the hard-baked earth. “I’m only seven. I’m not a runner. I’m already tired. I can’t do it. I’m only seven. …”
Spilling into his thoughts like a flood of light came the words of a prophet: “We cannot give up; we must not lie down.” Then Grandpa’s prayer from that morning echoed through his mind: “Give us strength of body and spirit, dear Father, to do today that which we must.”
Hot tears filled Dennis’s eyes as he ran. “Help me, Heavenly Father,” he prayed aloud in ragged, winded gasps. “Help me to do what I must.”
A little while later, Dennis burst into his house, staggering with exhaustion. “Dad!” he croaked. “Grandpa needs help!” Within moments, help was on its way.
He had done it. He didn’t know how, but Heavenly Father had made it possible. And so had the courage of faith.
Grandpa was rushed to the hospital. His leg was badly mangled. He had to stay in the hospital for several weeks and was in bed for a year after that. But in time he healed completely. The doctor told the family that if it hadn’t been for Dennis’s big run, things probably would have turned out differently. And Dennis knew that if it hadn’t been for what Grandpa had said, he couldn’t have done it. The hug Grandpa gave Dennis when he was well enough made Dennis very glad that he had.

The Mysterious Benedict Society*, by Trenton Lee Stewart. Reynie is an orphan with a talent for solving problems. When he discovers an ad in the newspaper for gifted children looking for special opportunities, he goes to apply. After a series of interesting tests, he and three other children begin a dangerous and unusual secret mission to save the world—but they’ll need each other to finish the task.

When wandering the corridors of Shoalhaven Apartment complex in Takapuna, New Zealand, one can easily identify which flats are occupied by senior missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. They each have a hand-crafted wooden sign on their door with the phrase, “Kia Ora,” a traditional M?ori greeting for welcome, good health, hello, cheers, good luck, best wishes, etc.
These signs were all made by Jiries Giacaman, known to many as “The Woodcarver.”
In 1987, he moved from Bethlehem, where his family has lived for more than 700 years and made New Zealand his home. His brothers and son own a wood shop “just across the road from the Nativity Church” in Bethlehem in which his father used to work.
When asked how he learned his craft, Jiries said he “learned from my father and skilled old carvers of Bethlehem—hard workers that have been following the footsteps of Jesus, and these carvings became part of us.”
In answer to how long he has been doing this, he noted, “Total of 55 years of carving—22 in Bethlehem with my parents and 33 in Auckland.”
Jiries starts his days at sunrise, (5 a.m. in summer and 7:30 in winter), as he says that is the best time to work. His shop is filled with his original creations, many of which are religious in nature, reflecting his Christian beliefs.
Jiries scours the countryside looking for available wood, which is often stored in the bed of his old pickup truck. He notes, “I always look around for New Zealand native wood to recycle, and it breaks my heart to see it sold as firewood with the other exotic wood. Sometimes I have to buy the whole lot to save some pieces for my work.”
He also grows his own wood, including olive trees, which he prunes, then dries for use in his carvings. He likes working with olive wood, because of its grain, smell, ease of cutting, and the reminder of home.
Jiries says, “You have to work according to the piece of wood. You have to respect the movement.”
He and his wife, Marcelle, make a good team. She traces the patterns onto wood which he cuts out. She also writes “New Zealand Made” in neat cursive on most of the finished items and runs the shop.
As a signature finishing touch, Jiries carves two small ferns on many of his pieces, representing the national plant of New Zealand.
Many senior missionaries have visited Jiries and Marcelle over the years and count them as friends.
“There’s an affinity there,” says Alisa Gubler, a senior missionary serving in the Pacific Area office. “It’s not just the beautiful carvings, and it’s not just because they are delightful people. Their focus on creating beautiful things for others really strikes a chord.”
For 55 years, Jiries Giacaman has been doing just that—taking unorganized matter in his hands and molding it into something of beauty.

The pelican is often called a walking fishnet because of a huge fish-catching pouch attached to the underside of its bill. Its appetite is enormous. Plunging into a school of fish, the pelican scoops them into its pouch. Oftentimes, because of the bird’s greediness, it does not stop to eat the first fish it catches but instead rushes on to gather up more fish until its bulging pouch will hold no more.

I have two pioneers in my family. My grandma was the first from her family to join the Church in France 40 years ago. It was not easy because her family and friends didn’t want her to. My great-grandma from the other side of my family was also the first of her family to join.
I am proud these two faithful women had the courage to follow the Spirit. I want to be as brave as them and follow the Spirit every day.
Jack T., age 7, Washington, USA

He also answers prayers in other ways. One time we were traveling and lost a ticket for the car park. We were trying to find a manager so we could get out, and I prayed silently that we would be able to find someone and that we would be OK. We did find a manager, and everything was OK. I know that Heavenly Father answers our prayers.

1. There was something in the way that you spoke to me that day
As you told me of the Savior’s love and how he showed the way.
There was something deep inside that so softly testified that it was true.
These precious seeds of truth I owe to you.
Now I will share the seeds of truth you shared with me.
Chorus:
My friend, I wonder if you will ever know
that flowers bloomed from seeds of truth you planted long ago.
I’ll always say a prayer of thanks in hushed humility
for the tiny seeds of truth you shared with me.

This past summer my wife and I had two of our young grandsons staying with us while their parents participated in a pioneer trek activity in their stake. Our daughter wanted to be sure that the boys practiced the piano while away from home. She knew that a few days with the grandparents makes it a little easier to forget about practicing. One afternoon I decided to sit with my 13-year-old grandson, Andrew, and listen to him play.
This boy is full of energy and loves the outdoors. He could easily spend all of his time hunting and fishing. While he was practicing the piano, I could tell that he would rather be fishing on a nearby river. I listened as he pounded out each chord of a familiar song. Every note he played had the same emphasis and meter, making it difficult to clearly identify the melody. I sat beside him on the bench and explained the importance of applying just a little more pressure on the melody keys and a little less on those notes that accompany the melody. We talked about the piano being more than just a mechanical miracle. It can be an extension of his own voice and feelings and become a wonderful instrument of communication. Just as a person talks and moves smoothly from one word to another, so should the melody flow as we move from one note to another.
We laughed together as he tried again and again. His dimpled-cheek smile increased as the familiar melody began to emerge from what was previously a wild set of sounds. The message became clear: “I am a child of God, and he has sent me here.”1 I asked Andrew if he could feel the difference in the message. He responded, “Yes, Grandpa, I can feel it!”

My dad invited a woman he worked with and her husband to come over for dinner on Thursday to meet with the missionaries, but on Wednesday they called to cancel. The elders couldn’t come over without a nonmember present, so I quickly called my best friend, Ashley, to see if she would come over for dinner the next night. She agreed, and I told her that the missionaries would be over for dinner as well.
Thursday night came, and we all sat down for dinner. I had told the elders that Ashley was just here to meet them and not for a lesson. But after dinner they proceeded with the first discussion. I could tell Ashley was caught off guard. I was thinking, “Oh, dear. Ashley is going to be mad at me because this is not what I told her they were going to do.” But I didn’t stop the elders from teaching, and Ashley didn’t either, so I let them continue.
Ashley answered the elders’ questions and seemed very interested. My nervousness started to go away. Throughout the lesson the Spirit was present, and there was no denying it. I knew Ashley felt it too. The lesson ended, and the elders asked to set up another appointment. She agreed, and we decided to meet the following Tuesday. The elders gave her a Book of Mormon and a chapter to read.
When I walked Ashley out to her car, she gave me a hug, said thank you, and started crying. She said she had been looking for something and had been waiting for me to ask her if she wanted to learn about my Church. I told Ashley that I had felt for a long time that I should ask her, but I never knew how.
With her parents’ permission, Ashley took all the discussions with the missionaries and was baptized within a short time. Her baptism was amazing, and the Spirit was so strong. What I really learned through this experience is that Heavenly Father is preparing people all the time to hear the gospel, and He had been preparing Ashley. I felt the prompting many times to invite Ashley to learn about the Church but never acted upon it. If my dad’s friends had not canceled, I probably still wouldn’t have asked Ashley to learn more. The Lord took it into His own hands. Now Ashley has the fulness of the gospel.

Victor was born three months premature. As a result, he has several disabilities and was unable to walk until he was seven years old.
I was born three months premature Doctors were saying that I probably could not do anything, but my mother was always trying to find different sources to help me. For years, I received different treatments, but I still couldn’t walk.
Finally, my mother found a treatment that could possibly help me start walking. She decided before doing that to ask the missionaries to give me a blessing. After I received the blessing, we went to the doctor. The treatment was just different physical exercises. Eventually, after doing those exercises, I started walking.

Recently a California family, driving through St. George, Utah, on vacation, was attracted by the unusual architecture of the St. George Temple. They walked around the building, admiring its beauty.
Having a little time to spare, the parents entered the information center; their two young children crossed the street to sit under the shade of a tree near our meetinghouse.
A teacher, calling the children in to Primary and seeing the two young visitors, said, “Come on in to Primary.” They went in.
The parents, now finished at the information center, started looking for the children. After searching for nearly an hour, they saw them come out of the chapel.
The father said, “We’ve been looking all over for you. Where have you been?”
They replied, “We’ve been to Primary.”
“Primary! What’s Primary?”
“Primary is where you learn about Jesus; and, besides, Daddy, you shouldn’t be smoking!” Their father just about swallowed his cigar.
He remarked, “Let’s get on our way. We’re way behind schedule.”
The children said, “We can’t go.”
“Can’t go! Why not?”
“We are in a play.”
“A play?” he asked.
“Yes,” they replied, “and the play isn’t until next week, and we have to stay all week for rehearsals.”
The family stayed in St. George for a week!
The children rehearsed; the parents were taught the gospel; and the whole family was baptized.

The ?rst meeting of the Beith Branch of the Church (in north Ayrshire), was held in Beith’s community centre on 8 May 1983. The membership was small with only 16 attending.
??About four years later, on 26 July 1987, a conference was held in the Usher Hall, Edinburgh. Its theme was taken from Doctrine and Covenants 65:5: “That his kingdom may go forth upon the earth, that the inhabitants thereof may receive it, and be prepared for days to come, in the which the Son of Man shall come.”
It is a theme that the Beith Branch may well have adopted as it embarked on the way to getting its chapel. Building work for the Beith Chapel was due to begin in January 1988, but after rising to the challenge and meeting the criteria for a building, everything came to a halt. Church policy for rural facilities had changed, and budgets were tight. It was a demoralising blow for Beith Saints.
??Then, in November 1996, Stake President Robert W Watson of Paisley Stake, received a letter giving formal noti?cation that building work would begin two weeks before Christmas. Brother George Dracocardos (of Area physical facilities) phoned President Weston and advised him that plans for the new building were available. They were displayed in the local library along with a model of the proposed design, to be built by Scott Gibson. Local interest from the people of the town picked up, and suddenly the Saints in Beith realised that they were about to get the Christmas gift of their lives.
Plans were made for a groundbreaking service to be held at the site on 29 December 1996, with President Watson presiding. The dreams of those few members who started off the Branch in 1983 were about to be a reality. The efforts and prayers of members from those early days in the spring of 1983 and through the following years had been rewarded.
For fourteen years, meetings had taken place in members’ homes or an often-cold community centre. Each week, hymnbooks and the lectern had been carried, and each week, wives walked home with their children while their husbands drove around the valley dropping off other members. It all seemed hard at the time, but in hindsight it was a little sacri?ce to pay for the beautiful building that was now about to be delivered.
?On 29 December 1996 it was a beautiful clear winter morning; the sun was shining in the sky above, and the high church bells pealed, as around 50 members gathered on the building site. The site had been cleared for the groundbreaking, and a golden spade had been provided. Branch President Cairns said how the sacrament would be administered here to the children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren of those present, and they would be a blessed people because of what was taking place. As President Watson dug the golden spade into the cold earth, he hailed it a new era for the Church in the Beith Branch. After the groundbreaking ceremony, President Watson thanked the Lord in his dedication prayer for the wonderful opportunity that the Saints in Beith had been given, receiving a chapel in which to worship—the community would be blessed.
???Then, over 30 years later, on 27 May 2018, a realignment of the boundaries took place and the Beith branch was discontinued. The building was put into mothballs. Yet, it may well serve again.? In years to come, all will be a distant memory for some old member sitting in the back row of the building, who will be able to say, “I was there”. Those who worked so very hard to make Beith what it is, members and missionaries alike, will not be forgotten.