Gospel Story Finder

The last week home was sad. I wasn’t having second thoughts or anything, but I sure was scared, and I realized how homesick I was going to be.
A couple of days before I left home to enter the MTC, I decided to walk from our house to Gus’s station, about two miles away, just to visit him at work one last time.
As I walked, I thought about Gus and myself. We’re the only kids in our home. We’ve always been close, even though we’re so different and he’s five years older.
Gus used to be active in the Church. He had become a deacon. Then about the time he entered junior high school he started to rebel. My parents were patient but heartbroken.
Gus was tough and mean and popular. I was never Paul—I was Gus’s little brother. But that was okay, because the big guys left me alone.
People marveled we were brothers.
When I was a senior in high school I had already decided to serve a mission, so my hair was always cut short—missionary style. That school year Gus and I would always go to lunch together.
He’d lock up his station and pick me up in front of the high school on his mean Harley-Davidson. We sure must have looked funny riding down the street—Gus with his beard and long hair, something out of a motorcycle gang, and me, “Mr. Clean,” your basic prospective missionary.
I approached Gus’s station that day from a trail in back of it and was rounding the corner to go into the office when I overheard Gus talking to someone about me. I stopped to listen. They didn’t know I was there.
“Did I tell you Paul is going on a mission?” Gus asked.
“Yer kiddin?” It was the voice of Rod, Gus’s best friend, my worst enemy.
“Nope, I’m real proud of the kid.”
“He’s a ‘boot licker,’” Rod cynically responded. “You don’t believe all that stuff about Joseph Smith do ya?”
I doubled my fist in instant anxiety.
How would Gus answer the question? Would he say what he really felt to Rod? His influence had always persuaded Gus to do wrong, which was why I disliked him so much.
Gus thought before he answered.
I can’t explain what his words did to me when he finally spoke. There are things in life you’ll never forget.
“Well, Rod buddy,” he said, “let me tell you. I don’t know everything; neither do you. It could be true. All I know is it sure makes a difference in Paul. He loves it.”
Rod continued to attack me.
“He idolizes you, Gus. He’d do anything you told him to, even if he thought it was wrong.”
“No he wouldn’t,” Gus defended. “He’s never been anything like me. If more Mormons were like him, I could maybe stand being around them. Nothing’s worse than a self-righteous Mormon. He’s never judged me. And he hasn’t given my parents nearly the heartache I have.”
Then Gus said something that really made me think.
“Anyway, if I ever caught him doing something wrong, if he ever let me down, so help me, I’d punch him out.”
I left them talking and started back home without them ever knowing I had been there. A lump formed in my throat as I realized why Gus had seemed so excited about my mission. Now I knew why he had always supported me.
You see, he needed me to be strong where he had been weak. I vowed that very day I would be strong for him. I’d resist my temptations. I would not let him down. He needed to know someone could be good. I would be.

“What a day,” Tyler thought as he finished reading his basketball book and got out of bed to kneel for his evening prayer.
“You did a good job today,” Alicia told him as she peeked her head into his room on her way to bed. Tyler was glad she said it, but he didn’t feel he had made any big decision. Sure, he had made a good choice, but it came so naturally that it didn’t really feel like much of a choice at all.
The day had started out like a normal Saturday. Tyler walked a block to the neighborhood playground where there were always kids to play with. Some days he played soccer, some days he played basketball, and other days he just played tag.
When Tyler got to the park, he saw a few boys huddled in the little red clubhouse near the jungle gym.
When Tyler crawled inside, he saw Anthony, Marcus, and Stephen—all boys he had played with before. He started talking with them about things like video games and what their Halloween costumes were going to be.
Then Anthony pulled out a folded-up piece of paper. “Hey, guys. Look at this picture of a girl I took from one of my dad’s magazines,” he said.
Marcus and Stephen moved behind Anthony to see the picture. Tyler didn’t move.
“Whoa!” Marcus said. His eyes got as big as marbles.
Stephen’s cheeks turned red. He slapped his hand over his open mouth and started to laugh. Anthony and Marcus laughed too.
A chill ran up Tyler’s back. He knew the picture was something he should not look at. He turned toward the door and crawled out of the clubhouse.
Anthony crawled out after him.
“Tyler, come look at this!” Anthony said.
“No,” Tyler answered. “I don’t look at those kinds of pictures.”
“Why not?” Anthony said. His voice was so loud Tyler could hear it echo off the hills behind the playground. “Are you scared?”
The other boys laughed.
Anthony ran toward Tyler. As he got closer, Tyler saw Anthony’s hand moving upward. Tyler closed his eyes. He felt the paper brush against his face.
“Come on, look!” Anthony said as he laughed. “Look!”
Tyler jerked his head away from the paper. It didn’t matter to him how much he was teased or how much the other boys laughed. He knew he should not look.
So he ran.
Tyler ran from one side of the playground to the other, but Anthony was right behind him, holding up the picture and laughing.
Because Tyler’s home was nearby, he knew the best way to get Anthony to stop chasing him was to run home. As Tyler began to run home, he saw something he had not noticed before. His sister, Alicia, was standing by the swings. As he ran past her, she turned toward Anthony.
“Leave him alone!” she yelled. Anthony, who was already slowing down, stopped and walked back to the playground.
When Tyler ran through his front door, he made his way to the living room and crashed on the couch. Alicia walked in a few minutes later. “Don’t worry about those guys,” she said. “You did great.”
As Tyler lay in bed thinking about what had happened to him that day, he started to realize why not looking at the picture had been an easy choice for him. Tyler had already learned that he should not look at immodest pictures. Maybe today was the first time anyone had tried to show him a bad picture, but he had already made up his mind a long time ago.

Priesthood volunteers from the Jacksonville Florida West Stake worked all weekend cleaning up a house which had been nearly submerged by the flood. The owner, a retired nonmember named Davis, was overwhelmed by the help provided. When the work was completed, the brethren asked Mr. Davis if they could bless his house. They gathered together, and the bishop pronounced a blessing on the home and on the family. Tears ran down Mr. Davis’s cheeks, and the Spirit was very strong. Each of the volunteers hugged him and told him how glad they were to have been of help. He said they had done more than they could ever know and that he didn’t know how to thank them enough.

Training to be a helicopter pilot isn’t an opportunity that most people get. But when Pierre O., 24, decided to enlist in the French Army, he got just that. Now in his second year of the four-year training, Pierre is doing his best to live as an example of the believers, despite his environment.
Stationed about an hour and a half outside of Bordeaux, in southwestern France, Pierre is far from his friends, family, and hometown of Rennes. The nearest meetinghouse is an hour away, meaning that he doesn’t get to interact much with members during the week. “It’s not easy to be a member of the Church in the army,” Pierre says, “because there are a lot of temptations and it’s really just two opposite worlds. You’re judged a lot in the army not based on what you do but on who you are.” Pierre wants those around him to see that he doesn’t drink alcohol, smoke, view pornography, or party—commonplace activities in the army—because of who he is: a member of the Church. While he struggles to earn the respect of those around him, prayer and scripture study help keep his testimony strong. “I try to not go to sleep without having read my scriptures first,” he explains, “and I try to pray whenever I can.”
“Reading the scriptures and praying helped me a lot during all of my schooling to know that God exists, that He is there—without really understanding the rest of the gospel,” Pierre explains. “I just knew that God was there, and so that helped me to stay on the right path.”
That foundation of scripture study sustained Pierre throughout all his schooling and even now through his army training. Before enlisting, Pierre served a mission in Montreal, Quebec, Canada, where his testimony and understanding of the gospel were solidified.
“The scriptures are one of the most tangible ways Heavenly Father answers us,” he says.
Through his daily prayer and scripture study, Pierre is able not only to receive inspiration but also to be an example to those in his army unit. While he and his classmates may not have much in common besides their national pride, Pierre knows that by following the teachings of the scriptures, he will be someone they can respect because of and not in spite of his beliefs.

We sing, “Sacrifice brings forth the blessings of heaven” (“Praise to the Man,” Hymns, number 27). This is a true principle. Let me illustrate with a personal experience.
I was named bishop of a suburban Salt Lake City ward in 1958, in the days when local members paid 50 percent of the cost of constructing a building. One of the most important leadership experiences in my life came several weeks before the dedication of our building. Our ward of young families, struggling to make ends meet, still needed to raise U.S. $30,000. I fasted and prayed to know what I should say to them regarding this obligation. We already had pressed them very hard.
As the brethren gathered for priesthood meeting, I was impressed to read to them the testimony that Elder Melvin J. Ballard, my grandfather, bore when he was ordained to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles on 7 January 1919. I quote a small portion recounting his experience in 1917 when he had sought the Lord pleadingly in a situation where there were no precedents for guidance:
“That night I received a wonderful manifestation and impression which has never left me. I was carried to this place—into this room. I saw myself here with you. I was told there was another privilege that was to be mine; and I was led into a room where I was informed I was to meet someone. As I entered the room I saw, seated on a raised platform, the most glorious being I have ever conceived of, and was taken forward to be introduced to Him. As I approached He smiled, called my name, and stretched out His hands toward me. … He put His arms around me and kissed me, as He took me into His bosom, and He blessed me until my whole being was thrilled. As He finished I fell at His feet, and there saw the marks of the nails; and as I kissed them, with deep joy swelling through my whole being, I felt that I was in heaven indeed. The feeling that came to my heart then was: Oh! If I could live worthy … so that in the end when I have finished I could go into His presence and receive the feeling that I then had in His presence, I would give everything that I am and ever hope to be!” (Melvin R. Ballard, Melvin J. Ballard: Crusader for Righteousness [1966], 66).
The Spirit of the Lord touched the hearts of the faithful brethren in my ward’s priesthood meeting that day. We all knew that with greater faith in Jesus Christ, our Savior and Redeemer, we could reach our goal. During that same day, family after family came to my office with money, making personal sacrifices that were far beyond what I, the bishop, would ever have asked of them. By eight o’clock Sunday evening, the ward clerk had written receipts for a little more than $30,000.
Sacrifice truly brought forth the blessings of heaven to the members of our ward. Never have I lived among a people who were more united, more caring, more concerned for one another than those members. In our greatest sacrifice, we became bonded together in the true spirit of the gospel of love and service.

Such was Walter Stover of Salt Lake City. Born in Germany, Walter embraced the gospel message and came to America. He established his own business. He gave freely of his time and of his means.
Following World War II, Walter Stover was called to return to his native land. He directed the Church in that nation and blessed the lives of all whom he met and with whom he served. With his own funds, he constructed two chapels in Berlin—a beautiful city that had been so devastated by the conflict. He planned a gathering in Dresden for all the members of the Church from that nation and then chartered a train to bring them from all around the land so they could meet, partake of the sacrament, and bear witness of the goodness of God to them.
At the funeral service for Walter Stover, his son-in-law Thomas C. LeDuc said of him, “He had the ability to see Christ in every face he encountered, and he acted accordingly.”

I’m a convert to the Church, and I remember well the New Eras the elders brought to our house for my daughters to read when we were investigating the Church. I’m now serving as a full-time missionary in Michigan. I enjoy transfers because each new apartment has back issues of the Church publications. I’m in a position now to share the New Era with families that we teach.

I need to tell you how much I enjoyed “The Swing” in the February 1986 New Era. Stories like that are encouraging and uplifting. I’ve lived in the hospital off and on for two and a half years. I’ve been out one year this month. Depression about overcame me. My family would come and sit with me by the hour and read the Church publications to me. My health had gotten to the point that I needed to give some of what someone took time to give to me—the gospel.

My mission is about to come to an end. My health won’t let me finish at this time. But when I’m strong I’ll come back out and work again. Thank you, Sharon Bradley, for “The Swing.”

The youth of the Harbor Ward, Palos Verdes Stake, California, have been traveling across the border to help members of the Mexico Tijuana Stake for about ten years. They’ve built and repaired homes, renovated chapels, and done roofing and landscaping. This year, the youth from Tijuana returned the favor.
As part of a neighborhood anti-graffiti campaign, the Tijuana Saints came north to work with the Palos Verdes Stake to paint and clean a high school.
The Mexican youth were granted weekend visitors’ passes. They spent hours cleaning debris from the school courtyard and repainting graffiti-marred walls. After the work was finished, the youth got together for a night of multicultural food and entertainment. The Tijuana Saints performed several ethnic dances and musical numbers. They stayed in members’ homes, and on Sunday morning had a joint sacrament meeting.
“They are really a model group of Latter-day Saints,” said Bishop David Bond of the Harbor Ward. “They did a lot of good for our ward.”

While on a class outing near Kualoa Beach Park, Leandra Arlyn K. Data of the Waipahu Ward, Waipahu Hawaii Stake, helped save the lives of several of her fellow classmates. The large group was following a reef to a nearby island when several got out of line and fell off into deeper water. Leandra was one in this group. She resisted panic and helped her friend who couldn’t swim to relax and float. Then after being picked up by a rescue boat, she helped pull others to safety. Even though her friend was carried away by a current, Leandra’s quick instructions saved her life. Her friend was found in good condition still floating like Leandra had taught her.

Perhaps less visible than the Prophet’s father, but equally important in shaping and influencing his life, was his mother, Lucy Mack Smith. She gave birth to 11 children and endured faithfully as all but 4 preceded her in death. During her life, she watched six of her immediate family and one grandson die as a result of ruthless mob violence and persecution.

Early in her marriage, Lucy prepared herself to raise a prophet. On one occasion she became seriously ill, and the doctors said she would die. Lucy records that she “made a solemn covenant with God that if He would let me live I would endeavor to serve him according to the best of my abilities.” After a voice assured her that she would live, she told her mother, “The Lord will let me live, if I am faithful to the promise which I made to him, to be a comfort to my mother, my husband, and my children.”3

She gave continual encouragement, support, and strength to her son, Joseph the Prophet. His mother was the first person with whom young Joseph shared some of his momentous experiences of the Sacred Grove. Years later, he shared with her the joy and relief he felt when the Lord allowed others to view the sacred plates of gold.4

The Prophet’s mother shared also in his sorrows, sufferings, and persecutions. One time a mob took Joseph and his brother Hyrum prisoner and threatened to shoot them. The two brothers were confined under a cloth cover in a wagon. Their courageous mother risked her life and forced her way through the hostile mob to comfort her sons. Joseph and Hyrum could not see their mother and could only extend a hand from under the confining cover. As Lucy’s hand and the hands of her sons touched, the wagon drove off, literally tearing the sorrowing mother from her two sons.

Like great parents of all ages, Lucy turned to prayer for divine help to sustain her family. During the march from Ohio to Missouri known as Zion’s Camp, Joseph and Hyrum were seriously ill with cholera, and their lives were almost taken. At one point, “Hyrum sprang to his feet and exclaimed, ‘Joseph, we shall return to our families. I have had an open vision, in which I saw mother kneeling under an apple tree; and she is even now asking God, in tears, to spare our lives. … The Spirit testifies, that her prayers … will be answered.’”5

Lucy’s sons Joseph and Hyrum ultimately sealed their testimonies with their blood. As the grieving mother looked upon their lifeless remains, she cried, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken this family!” As a kind blessing to a faithful mother, the Lord softened her grief and granted to her the peace that only God can bestow. A voice spoke to her soul: “I have taken them to myself, that they might have rest.”6

One important teacher was my neighbor, Mrs. Carey. I was a young boy when World War II was raging, and every day after school she taught me about the war and the countries that were involved in it. Mrs. Carey took me through the war day by day—in Europe, city by city; in the Pacific, island by island—explaining what was happening. In the process, I learned about history and geography. My interest in other countries was sparked during the hours I spent in her home.

Let me tell you about this boy again. Now he is married. He has graduated with a degree in engineering, and he has left to go away to a big city. He and his wife were nervous—a new job, a new home, away from the family.
He told me these two experiences. He worked in a large room with a lot of engineers. After he had been there for two months, he was getting things ready so that he could leave his work on time. We had taught him to arrive at work a little early and to stay a little after time, to do a little extra. But this day he wanted to get away right on time. One of the other engineers asked him where he was going.
“What are you in such a hurry for?”
“Well, we are going to a dinner tonight.”
“What kind of a dinner?” “It’s a quorum dinner. We are taking our wives to a special dinner and a social.”
The other engineer shook his head. “I don’t understand you. I’ve been here two years; I don’t know anybody yet. My wife and I are still just by ourselves. You’ve been here for two months. Already you’ve been invited to dinner.”
The next experience. One day one of the engineers asked if my son would help him move. “We found a better apartment. Saturday we are going to move. I need some help. Will you help me?” Our son said, “Why, of course.” And then his wife made some bread for them and prepared a meal. He helped them move. Then he said this: “Dad, I’ve been thinking about that. He hardly knows me. I hardly knew who he was.” And he said, “If I’m the one who was the closest to him, the one he would dare to ask help him move, he doesn’t have anybody.” And he said, “Look what I have.”
When he and his wife arrived in the new city, they went to Church. He went to his quorum; he belonged the day he walked in. A quorum—to sustain one another, to help one another. A quorum of the priesthood.

The Primary put together a daylong activity that followed the Churchwide gospel study curriculum, Come, Follow Me.
Mahealani Tetuanui, a leader in the children’s organisation, said, “After six months at home, we wanted to touch on everything that the children have learned about the Book of Mormon since the beginning of the year, whether in Primary or in their homes.”
The activity was called “Walk for Your Faith” and was a two-kilometer hike in Faanui. On their route, each group had to find messages, complete challenges, and answer 20 questions.
Cinthias Shan, Primary president said: “The children really enjoyed being together after such a long time without interaction. And regarding the Book of Mormon, they realized that it was important to have it along the way to solve their problems at every stage of the big race, but also in everyday life.”

At a press conference following the announcement of his call on October 6, President Eyring recalled being invited into President Faust’s office shortly after being called to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles on April 1, 1995. Instead of offering expected encouragement, President Faust pointed heavenward, smiled, and said, “Don’t talk to me. Talk to Him.” President Eyring explained, “Rather than trying to solve all my problems, he sent me to God. He had that gift of being very sensitive and kind—the dearest friend and the best mentor you could have.”

I remember vividly an experience I had as a small boy. One day while playing with my friends, I accidentally broke a window in a store near our home. As the glass shattered and the security alarm blared, a paralyzing fear filled my heart and mind. I realized immediately I was doomed to spend the remainder of my life in prison. My parents eventually coaxed me out from a hiding place under my bed and helped me to make amends with the store owner. Fortunately, my jail sentence was commuted.
The fear I felt that day was overwhelming and real. You undoubtedly have experienced much greater feelings of dread after learning about a personal health challenge, discovering a family member in difficulty or danger, or observing disturbing world events. In such instances, the distressing emotion of fear arises because of impending danger, uncertainty, or pain and through experiences that are unexpected, sometimes sudden, and likely to produce a negative outcome.

Sister Groberg shared other memories about her high school friends. “There was always a surplus of girls,” she remembered, and then added, “and I was never in the real dating circle. I hardly had any dates in high school, and you know how you’d feel. The day my older sister who was always an example for me turned 16, a young man called her up, and for four nights in a row a different boy called. It was like they had all been waiting for her to turn 16. It was so exciting. I thought that was the magical thing: you turn 16 and you start dating. Well,” Jean said, with emphasis, as though she was remembering it all over again, “it didn’t happen when I turned 16.” She paused a moment, reflecting on what must have been a very disappointing experience.
“And how did you survive that situation?” I asked.
“Oh, I had a lot of good girl friends, and we had a lot of fun” she said, then thoughtfully added, “I never feel badly if a girl doesn’t have dates in high school. If you’re just a little patient, you can still have a good time. I really had fun dating in college, a lot of fun.”

About a year later, just before I was to take the long-awaited entrance test to medical school, the Lord called me again. This time I resolved to pray about it. I told the Lord that the result of the test would be the answer to my doubts. If I passed, I would understand that my mission would be medical school; if I failed, a proselyting mission would be what he wanted from me.
I passed the entrance exam. Blessings were poured upon me in an avalanche. My father changed to a better-paying job, which he needed to pay for my expensive studies. The lessons in medical school entered my mind with incredible ease, and I became an outstanding student. I became engaged to a wonderful LDS girl, even though she lived 360 miles away and we met just a few times a year. Good health, so seldom enjoyed before, became steady in my family. I was called to be a counselor in the Campinas Stake Sunday School presidency. Through the efforts of the home teachers, my younger sister became active again in seminary. The Lord was blessing us abundantly.

One morning at four o’clock my little grandson awakened me and said, “Grandpa, I throwed up.” I was pleased that he had come to me—not to his mother or father or grandmother, but to me.
I went with him to the bedroom where he and his brother had been sleeping. It was a mess. I gave two little boys a shower, then reclothed, and relocated them. They were both staggering around sleepily.
Afterward I lay in my bed, smiling. It had been an experience full of good cheer and appreciation.
Several days later, at the breakfast table, my grandson said, between mouthfuls of cereal, “Grandpa, I think you are the greatest man in the whole world.”
I said, “Well, certainly one of the best looking, but maybe not the greatest.” But he didn’t laugh. He said, “And the goodest.”
That little fellow was overgenerous to me, but he understood something very important, something the Savior taught: In serving and being served, we really do learn to love each other.

Samuel and Amanda were further integrated into the faith on September 5, 1874, when Church Patriarch John Smith pronounced patriarchal blessings upon their heads. He promised that if Samuel were faithful he would live a long life (Samuel was then 43 and he lived another 55 years after this blessing), would prosper materially, and his name would be held in remembrance among the Saints.

That Samuel held no priesthood office did not diminish his Church activity. His faithfulness is proven by the fact that the reputation, prosperity, and longevity promised in his patriarchal blessing clearly came to pass. For 85 years he maintained his faith in the message of Mormonism: from conversion as a slave boy, to faithfulness for 26 years in Mississippi without contact with the Church, to choosing on his own to come to Utah, to steadfastness during periods of Church history when many Saints fell away. Enduring to the end, Samuel passed away on November 9, 1929, at the age of 98 years, joining his Amanda who died four years before.

There are inactive volcanoes near where I live, but recently one erupted. We were all really shocked when it happened. The sky was gloomy and dark, and there were lots of ashes falling from the sky. I was afraid, because we live in a pretty safe place and usually don’t have natural disasters. The scariest part was the aftershocks that came after the volcano erupted.
When the volcano erupted, my family went to stay at the church. There were lots of people staying there, which helped me not be scared. I was happy to see so many people because then I knew that they were safe.
While we were staying in the church, it was really nice to serve and minister to other people who were coming in to stay and escape the danger. I liked being able to serve without expecting anything in return. It reminded me that we need to make good decisions every day and be generous to everyone, not just in times of natural disasters but each day.