Gospel Story Finder

Carolyn sat next to a boy on a plane for an hour without saying anything but “Hello.” Then he took out his Book of Mormon. He didn’t read very far because they spent the rest of the time getting acquainted.

Two years ago, my youngest brother, Chad, stepped through the veil. His transition to the other side left a hole in the heart of my sister-in-law Stephanie; their two small children, Braden and Bella; as well as the rest of the family. We found comfort in the words of Elder Neil L. Andersen in general conference the week before Chad died: “In the crucible of earthly trials, patiently move forward, and the Savior’s healing power will bring you light, understanding, peace, and hope” (“Wounded,” Ensign or Liahona, Nov. 2018, 85).
We have faith in Jesus Christ; we know we will join Chad again, but losing his physical presence hurts! Many have lost loved ones. It is hard to be patient and wait for the time we will rejoin them.
The year after he died, we felt like a dark cloud overshadowed us. We sought refuge in studying our scriptures, praying with more fervency, and attending the temple more frequently. The lines from this hymn capture our feelings at the time: “The day dawn is breaking, the world is awaking, the clouds of night’s darkness are fleeing away” (“The Day Dawn Is Breaking,” Hymns, no. 52).
Our family determined that 2020 would be a refreshing year! We were studying our Come, Follow Me lesson in the New Testament book of James in late November 2019 when a theme revealed itself to us. James, chapter 1, verse 2 reads, “My brethren, count it all joy when ye fall into many afflictions” (Joseph Smith Translation, James 1:2 [in James 1:2, footnote a]). In our desire to open a new year, a new decade, with joy, we decided that in 2020 we would “count it all joy.” We felt so strongly about it that last Christmas we gifted our siblings T-shirts that said in bold letters, “Count It All Joy.” The year 2020 would surely be a year of joy and rejoicing.
Well, here we are—2020 instead brought the global COVID-19 pandemic, civil unrest, more natural disasters, and economic challenges. Our Heavenly Father may be allowing us time to reflect and consider our understanding of patience and our conscious decision to choose joy.

Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH by Robert O’Brien; illustrated by Zena Bernstein. Atheneum, 1971. Mrs. Frisby’s husband died suddenly last summer, and in the spring she and her four children have to move to a summer residence or be plowed under by the farmer’s tractor.
Mrs. Frisby starts out to find help. She befriends a crow named Jeremy, visits a wise owl, and then goes to the rats of NIMH for help.
These intelligent rats have a highly developed underground colony; however, they have found life too easy for them and have made plans to become self-sufficient. How the rats and Mrs. Frisby help each other is an exciting science fiction story. This book won the 1972 Newbery Award for the most distinguished contribution to American literature for children.

As he drove, he remembered his disastrous first-grade school year in a small farm community, reliving the panic as he attempted to answer a teacher’s question but stuttered so badly she finally turned to someone else for the answer. On the playground that year, other boys in the class had mimicked him day after day until finally he would not even go out for recess.
They had moved to a larger town after that year, and careful professional therapy had helped him overcome the problem, but the emotional scars were still there. He couldn’t speak to large groups.

In my youth I learned an important lesson about how our actions may limit our freedom. One day my father assigned me to varnish a wooden floor. I made the choice to begin at the door and work my way into the room. When I was almost finished, I realized I had left myself no way to get out. There was no window or door on the other side. I had literally painted myself into a corner. I had no place to go. I was stuck.
Whenever we disobey, we spiritually paint ourselves into a corner and are captive to our choices. Though we are spiritually stuck, there is always a way back. Like repentance, turning around and walking across a newly varnished floor means more work—a lot of resanding and refinishing! Returning to the Lord isn’t easy, but it is worth it.

Dan nervously checked his appearance in the hall mirror and then knocked on the door of Elizabeth’s dorm apartment.
Inside the apartment, Elizabeth finished with her hair, stepped back to examine the effect, and told her roommate, “Well, it’ll just have to do, won’t it, because that’s Dan now. Will you get the door? Tell him I’ll be ready in a minute.”
A short time later, her roommate came back. “Wow! Where did you find him?”
“We are both on a stake Young Adult committee.”
“And you think he likes you?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth smiled, “I think he does.”__________
“I hope I’m not too late,” Elizabeth said as she greeted Dan in the dorm living room.
“The way you look tonight,” Dan said, standing up to greet her, “I’d wait a long time just to catch a glimpse.” They walked to his car. “Have you ever heard of a restaurant called L’Epicure?”
“No.”
“It’s several miles from here, but it’s nice. French cuisine. I’m afraid I picked up the taste for European cooking on my mission. Are you interested?”
“It sounds fun,” she answered. “It also sounds like you’re a connoisseur of good food.”__________
As they drove to the restaurant, Dan turned on the radio for a minute to hear the score of the university football game. “Do you like football?” he asked.
“A little. I used to know a boy in high school who played. Were you on the football team in high school?”
“Yes,” he smiled, “for two days.”__________
“Did you go steady with your friend who played football?” Dan asked Elizabeth.
“No. At one time he said he was interested in me, but we never got along very well.”__________
“But my cousin says that you are a good athlete,” Elizabeth said to Dan.
“I play racquetball. I’ve been state champion three times. Since I wasn’t cut out to be a football player, I substituted racquetball.”
As he opened the car door for her outside the restaurant, she gave him a broad smile.__________
“Elizabeth, you have the most beautiful smile.”
The hostess showed Dan and Elizabeth to a table. Dan helped her be seated.__________
“Elizabeth, what would you like?”
“Everything looks good. Any suggestions?”
“May I suggest,” he said with a flourish, “La Suprême de Chapon Montmorency?”__________
“Elizabeth, what are you majoring in?”
Dan asked. “Computer science.”
“How did you ever decide on that?”
“To tell you the truth, I can’t remember. I know that I liked math in high school.”__________
“And what are you majoring in?” Elizabeth asked Dan.
“Business.”__________
“You’re from Minnesota?” Dan asked over salad. “Is that where you went to high school?”
Elizabeth nodded. “Just outside Minneapolis.”
“The great carefree happy days of high school,” Dan said with a laugh. “Was it that way for you?”
“No, often it was painful.”__________
They talked about high school over dessert.
“I never did feel very comfortable around girls,” Dan confided.
“And I was busy with my classes and other activities,” Elizabeth recalled, “but socially it was like I was watching my friends make bad choices. Eventually their choices caught up with them.”__________
“Did your friends in high school learn from their bad choices?” Dan asked Elizabeth.
“I’m afraid not.”__________
Dan paid the check and took Elizabeth’s arm as they left the restaurant. “Lisa, we can go to the movies like we planned, but there’s something else I’d rather do.”
“What’s that?”
“Take me to your computer,” he said with a metallic ring to his voice.
The remote computer terminal on campus looked more like a typewriter than a computer. Dan sat beside her as she turned it on.
“How do you address a computer?” he asked. “Hi, big fella?”
“That would work if it were programmed for that. For this one, a simple combination of numbers and letters will do.”
“Sounds sinister,” he said.
As she enthusiastically tried to teach him some computer games, he found himself just smiling, nodding his head, delighting in watching the features of her face.
“You really like this, don’t you?” he asked as they left the building.
“I really do. And your male ego isn’t threatened by a girl who enjoys computers?”
“No. Someday when I have a chain of stores all over the West, maybe I can get you to show me how to use a computer in business.”
“It’s a deal,” she answered. “Now, sir, it’s my turn. I want to learn how to play racquetball.”
“Now? The way we’re dressed?”
“Just show me where you play and explain the rules. Okay?”
Finding an empty court, they took off their shoes and entered the room. He explained the rules and strategy to her.
“Okay? I’ll serve.” Standing between the two painted lines in the room, he served an imaginary ball. In graceful slow motion, she returned his serve.
“Where’d it go?” he asked.
“It bounced off the wall an inch from the floor.”
“Wow!” he laughed. “Nice return.”
They played with the imaginary ball until they both collapsed side by side in laughter.
“Elizabeth, you know what?” Dan said while they were still sitting on the floor. “I feel terrific, just being with you. Everything is so natural. I don’t have to prove anything with you. I feel that I could tell you anything about my hopes and dreams, and even some of the dumb things I do, and you wouldn’t reject me.”
“I know. I feel the same way.”
“Let me tell you some deep secrets,” he said with a grin. “I love apples, and I use the ash tray of my car to store my apple cores.”
“I can take that,” she smiled. “Here’s one for you. About once a year I buy a can of pitted black olives, go in my room, put an olive on each finger, and pop them one by one in my mouth.”
“Here’s one,” he said. “Once I was asked not to sing in a youth conference chorus. You know, they always say we don’t care whether or not you can sing. Well, I volunteered and was told to just move my lips.”
“I know how to change the oil in a car,” she confessed.
“One of the most successful elders in our mission was Elder Reed. Once at a zone conference I got a chance to meet him. I really was excited. I walked up to him, stuck out my hand, and said, ‘Hi there, I’m Elder Reed.’ He looked at me strangely. I realized my mistake and then said, ‘No, wait. You’re Elder Reed.’ He looked at me like I was crazy and walked away.”
“I love to waltz,” she said.
“Teach me. Now.”
“Here?” she said, looking around at the empty racquetball court.
They waltzed in stocking feet to her songs and his regimental one, two, three, one, two, three.
On the way out, they decided to walk through the tunnel connecting the two buildings used for athletics.
“Have you ever heard the legend of this tunnel?” he kidded as they walked down the long hall.
“When a couple who are going to become very good friends walks down this hall, legend says they hear an echo.”
“Really?” she giggled.
“Dan and Elizabeth are falling in like!” he yelled. An echo returned his voice. “See that?” he asked. “It’s the legend of the tunnel.”
“Falling in like?” she asked.
“Sure, it’s one step before falling in love.”
They ambled down the long hall, holding hands, talking happily, the echoes of their voices, and their past, returning again and again back to them.

Now may I speak from my heart of what an honorable full-time mission has meant to me personally. I grew up in a home with very good parents, but my father was not a member and my mother was less active. After my mission, that changed. They became strong members and served devotedly in the temple—he a sealer, she an ordinance worker. But as a young man, like many of you today, I had no way to judge personally the importance of a mission. I fell in love with an exceptional young woman. At a critical point in our courtship, she made it very clear that she would only be married in the temple to a returned missionary. Duly motivated, I served a mission in Uruguay.

It was not easy. The Lord gave me many challenges that became stepping-stones to personal growth. There I gained my testimony that God the Father and His Beloved Son, Jesus Christ, did in fact visit Joseph Smith to begin a restoration of truth, priesthood authority, and the true Church on earth. I gained a witness that Joseph Smith is a singular prophet. I learned essential doctrines. I discovered what it meant to be led by the Spirit. Many a night I got up as my companion slept to pour my heart out to the Lord for guidance and direction. I pled for the ability to express effectively in Spanish my testimony and the truth I was learning to a people I had come to love. Those prayers were abundantly answered. At the same time, my future eternal companion, Jeanene, was being molded to become an exceptional wife and mother by her own mission.

Most important, all that I now hold dear in life began to mature in the mission field. Had I not been encouraged to be a missionary, I would not have the eternal companion or precious family I dearly love. I am confident that I would not have had the exceptional professional opportunities that stretched my every capacity. I am certain that I would not have received the sacred callings with opportunities to serve for which I will be eternally grateful. My life has been richly blessed beyond measure because I served a mission.

Grateful people are happy people. I’ve learned this lesson through a little experiment I started a few years ago. I like writing in a journal, but it’s intimidating to try to write every day because I’m afraid I’ll get behind and then it will take me forever to catch up.
Instead, I bought a small notebook. Every night after I read my scriptures, I take just a few minutes to write about one thing I feel grateful for that day. Because the pages are small, there’s no pressure to write a lot, but I have to be creative to think of something new to be grateful for every day.
Sometimes I feel grateful for an answer to prayer that day, or for an example in the scriptures. Other times it’s more simple, like being grateful for the smell of lilacs, or my little sister who always gets my jokes, or a favorite food.
By focusing on things I’m grateful for, it makes me realize how blessed I am. It also makes my problems seem like not such a big deal. Plus, my gratitude journals are something my children and grandchildren can read someday, and they will learn a lot about me from those short, simple entries. I’m grateful for that, and being grateful makes me happy.

I have a friend who built a beautiful home and furnished it with the very best of carpets, furniture, appliances, and all that money can buy. Within its walls he kept his fine automobiles and his expensive jewelry. Then, fearful of intruders who might enter and rob him, he had installed expensive dead-bolt locks so that he had to use a key to get out as well as to get in. He put bars on the windows and doors, and was like a prisoner looking out of his own home, as one might do out of a jail. He installed costly electronic surveillance devices to turn on lights and set off sirens should any unwelcome individual enter. He landscaped largely without trees or shrubbery so there would be no place for a thief to hide. And he smugly said to himself, “Now I am secure.”

But what he did not realize is that neither bars nor dead-bolts, neither lights nor sirens nor anything of the kind would have the slightest effect on intruders of another variety who could destroy the lives of his children, despoil the marriage which had been the source of his happiness over many years, bind him with cords of meanness and bitterness and hate toward those he had once loved, and lock him in a dungeon cell of despair and misery.

“My mother loved her family very much. She’d say “Your name might be Hales, but never forget that you are a Holbrook too.’ One of my first assignments when I got my driver’s license was to drive my mother, who was Relief Society president, on her rounds to deliver welfare goods. My parents were stake missionaries. At one time our whole bishopric had been converted by Mother and her companion and Dad and his companions.

There is great meaning in these word entitled “The Lesson.”
Yes, my fretting,
Frowning child,
I could cross
The room to you
More easily.
But I’ve already
Learned to walk,
So I make you
Come to me.
Let go now
There!
You see?
Oh, remember
This simple lesson,
Child,
And when
In later years
You cry out
With tight fists
And tears
“Oh, help me,
God—please.”
Just listen
And you’ll hear
A silent voice:
“I would, child,
I would.
But it’s you,
Not I,
Who needs to try
Godhood.”
(Carol Lynn Pearson, “The Lesson,” Beginnings, New York: Doubleday and Co., 1975, p. 18)

One day my friend was over, and we were playing with my hamster, Nibbles. We built him a house out of building blocks. My friend said that he needed a car. So she went in my room and put him in my doll’s car and ran down the hall, pushing him in the car.
The next thing we saw was Nibbles lying in the middle of the hall. He was hurt badly. He had fallen out the back of the car. I picked him up and ran crying to my mom. My friend went home.
Mom said that he was probably going to die soon. At dinner, I was still crying. I hardly ate anything. After dinner, I went to my room and said a prayer that Nibbles would be all right. When I woke up the next morning, he was OK. At that moment, I knew that Heavenly Father had helped my hamster live. He is still alive today. Heavenly Father can help you, too.
Rebecca Dawn Bingham, age 9Layton, Utah

“Dad is a twin and always shared things with his twin brother. His brother contracted rheumatic fever when they were in school and could not work, so when Dad worked, he would share his paycheck with his brother.”

When she was a little girl, she had to travel to church with her mother from Abertillery to Talywain—a distance of 20 miles each way by road, or eight miles each way over the rough mountain track. When they arrived at Talywain they would hold a cottage meeting at the home of Brother Biggs, and the grandmother of the Forward family, who are also long-serving members. Every week, Sister Howells would have to walk from Brother Biggs’ home back over the mountain to Abertillery.

In the country of Angola, opposition threatened to thwart the desire of faithful and obedient Saints to see the gospel take root in their land. The Lord had sent His servants to open the door to missionary work, but on the eve of their scheduled travel, visas still had not been granted. When Church representatives visited immigration officials about the delay, they were turned away.
With approval from the First Presidency to dedicate Angola for missionary work, Elder D. Todd Christofferson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and others awaited word in Johannesburg, South Africa. At the same time, faithful member Paulina Lassalete da Cunha Gonçalves tried to open what seemed to be a closing door. She hoped to obtain letters of invitation that would grant permission for the Church party to enter Angola. Once there, they could then obtain necessary visas.
Within minutes of government offices closing in Angola, Elder Christofferson assembled with those waiting in the Africa Southeast Area offices. Then, kneeling in prayer, he asked Heavenly Father to intervene. In that same hour, immediately following his prayer of faith, the letters of invitation were signed. A loving Father in Heaven had prepared the way for the day of dedication. At the request of Elder Christofferson, a humble prayer of thanks was offered for the granted miracle.4

My late father, Claude Roy, passed away in 2015, not long after being baptized. By then, my mother, siblings, and I had been members of the Church for some time, but for decades my father remained adamantly unwilling to join.
Over time, he said, “my heart hardened, and I became irritated by visits from my children and grandchildren and wanted to isolate myself from my family. Tensions grew in my house, and my relationship with my wife became strained.”
Around this time, he began to retrace his Canadian aboriginal ancestors, who were descendants of the Mi’kmaq and Huron-Wendat nations. After reaching out to the Mi’kmaq community near where he grew up, he was invited to a powwow, a Native American ceremony.
During the evening of the powwow, the high chief opened his arms and asked the children to come to him so he could bless them. The discourse that followed on the importance of family and descendants struck my father like thunder.
In that moment, he said, “I saw my family holding out their arms to me while I turned my back on them. I was filled with an overwhelming, indescribable sadness as though my heart was breaking in pieces. I knew in that moment that the Lord had used the words of my ancestors’ tribe to soften my heart. I knew I had to turn to my Heavenly Father and repair the damage I had caused my family.”
Dad began to make peace with our family, asking forgiveness from each family member. With the example of his wife and children, he began to pray and read the Book of Mormon. Having read many histories about the American continent, he felt drawn to the Book of Mormon. Its veracity was confirmed to him immediately.
“Surrounded by my family, I was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” he said. “That was the most beautiful day of my life! I testify of the power of a loving example. For 36 years, my wife kept her faith and was a Christlike example to me, though my heart had hardened. Then, one weekend changed everything for me.”

In 1976, as president of the Papeete Tahiti Stake, I regularly inspected the stake’s meetinghouses. One day at noon I stopped at the chapel in Tipaerui. At the time, we had paid custodians, and there I found Mama Taamino, now in her late 60s, working as a custodian to help support her large family. She greeted me with her usual “Come and eat,” but I replied, “Mama Taamino, you are not young anymore, and for lunch all you are having is a small piece of bread, a tiny can of sardines, and a little bottle of juice? Aren’t you earning enough to have more food than this?”
She replied, “I’m saving to travel to the temple again.” My heart melted with admiration for her example of love and sacrifice. Mama Taamino traveled to the temple in New Zealand nearly 15 times—every year until the Papeete Tahiti Temple was dedicated in October 1983. At the dedication she radiated joy.

I was a new member of the Church, a new wife, and now a new mother. It was fast Sunday, and our tiny daughter was about to receive a name and a blessing. I had never seen a baby blessing before because we lived in a ward with few young families. I didn’t know what to expect. Yet I felt by the Spirit that this was something very special and significant.
My husband, joined by other reverent priesthood holders, carefully cradled our precious little daughter. The sweetness of the Spirit filled me with joy. Tears ran down my cheeks, and myriad impressions flooded my mind. I knew I was only beginning to glimpse the depth and breadth of Heavenly Father’s magnificent gift of love to us—the priesthood.
Shortly after my baptism, my husband and I were married. His parents were members of the Church and his home was centered in the gospel, but I knew his testimony was not well rooted. I was not worried, though. My young faith brimmed with optimism. I would simply love him and be patient and prayerful.
During the months I carried our firstborn, I felt as mothers do—so close to my little one, so full of the wonder at this new life within me. When our daughter was born, my bond with her had become a cord of love, strong and sweet.
But I was concerned for my husband. He hadn’t had the blessing of this intense closeness to our daughter that I had enjoyed. Of course he loved her, but I wondered and worried about whether a strong bond would develop between him and her. I worried as I spent time nursing her, bathing her, and holding her, while most of my husband’s time was occupied with working to support our family.
Now, a few weeks after her birth, there we were in our chapel. A miracle was unfolding before my eyes and in my heart. My tentative husband humbly smiled at his brethren in the circle, his eyes full of light and a glint of tears. In return, love and support flowed from those brethren to him as they placed hands on shoulders and helped cradle our baby, forming a little circle bathed in pure and sacred love. As my husband began the blessing, I heard trembling in his voice, and I knew that he was feeling the Lord’s power and the honor of holding His priesthood.
I felt a great love welling up in him for our little girl, and I knew he had tried hard to prepare himself to give her the blessing Heavenly Father intended for her. My joy was full as I realized that he now felt tightly bonded to our daughter. It was a bond that was never to weaken.

One dry leaf fell.
No one noticed.
It fell very gently
through the cold morning air,
dipping and swirling,
dancing down to the earth.
It just let go,
the tree of its life
and, putting on the most gay of colors,
died.
One dry leaf fell
through the morning air,
and no one noticed.

As a student away from home, I have been unable to attend any Church meetings for two months. The September and October issues of the New Era, which my family forwarded to me, have truly helped satisfy my hunger for spiritual food and have strengthened me in my goal to set an example for those I associate with. My missionary zeal has increased as my confidence in my own testimony has grown, aided by the inspired articles in the New Era. Thank you from a student lonely for association with the Saints.
Vicki Ann BorrowmanLumby, British Columbia, Canada