Gospel Story Finder

When Robert L. Backman was 12 years old, his father was called to be president of the South African Mission. Young Robert soon found himself living in Capetown and attending Rondebosch High School, a very strict English prep school. “The first weeks of school were a difficult time for me. I was strictly a minority and felt like a curiosity. I cried myself to sleep at night more than once, particularly when missionaries I had come to love went home. I wanted to go home with them.”
At school, Robert was indeed something of a curiosity. “Everybody wanted to hear me speak, so at recess they’d gather around me and try to provoke me into conversation, and then they’d try to mimic my accent.” Appalled at his student’s barbarous American twang, one cultured British teacher undertook to reform Robert’s speech. “Martha came down the garden path carrying a large basket of tomatoes,” he would intone in his most cultured diction, each vowel floating heavenward like a balloon. Then the young American would deliberately repeat the phrase with a Yankee accent so heavy that the good professor would shake with anguish. “He’d slam his ruler down on the desk he was so angry. We had a contest. I was just as stubborn as he was and bound and determined he wasn’t going to break me of my accent. He never did.”
To make matters worse, many of the parents of students didn’t want their children becoming too friendly with this young foreigner who might not only corrupt their speech but, since he was a Mormon, might undermine their morals as well. To a boy that age, belonging is very important, and so all this was difficult to accept.
There was another problem. After the easygoing pace of schoolwork in the United States, Rondebosch was academically tough. Robert studied English, French, Latin, math, chemistry, physics, and a couple of history courses all in the same term, attending school from 8:00 till 4:00 five days a week and till 1:00 on Saturday. And every night there was a crushing load of homework.
Discipline was also strict. Once a young school fellow made a remark that Robert took exception to, and a fight ensued. The two antagonists were ushered into the office of the headmaster, who politely asked them to please touch their toes. “He then pulled out a bamboo rod with a little steel tube right up the middle of it and gave us six good ones across our bottoms to teach us not to fight.”
But while the first weeks went badly at school, Robert turned more to the Lord and his religious faith for support, performing his duties as a deacon with great pride. His young faith grew strong. “I don’t think I’ve ever doubted. I’ve questioned. I’ve been exposed to a lot of other philosophies in my schooling, but I’ve never really had any doubt. I have always believed that Joseph Smith was a prophet. I’ve never had any question about the Savior and his mission, his death and resurrection. I suppose that part of that is due to my exposure to the missionaries quite early in my life. They buttressed me during those traumatic years when one ordinarily might be having some of those real doubts.”
And so, gradually, an unhappy situation became a happy one. “I got used to it and won my way, as youngsters usually do, and I ended up playing some rugby on the junior squads and made friends at the school and began enjoying myself.” Even the heavy academic demands turned out to be a blessing. “It was really a good discipline to my life and set me in some study patterns that have been of great benefit to me ever since.” And though it must have seemed merely a question of survival to young Robert at the time, it was a battle won, and his spiritual strength increased.

“Personal Progress helps me become a better person and develop qualities and values that will be helpful when working with other people, looking for an eternal companion, raising a family, and fulfilling Church callings. One of my most special experiences with Personal Progress happened when I was working on my Good Works project.
“To complete the project, I served candies and drinks at a transportation business in Salt Lake City. This business shipped big pieces of the buildings that were destroyed in the September 11 attacks to California. The pieces were to be melted and shaped into a memorial for the firemen and officers who died while helping others.
“It was amazing how many people came to see the pieces of the buildings. People cried and stayed for hours. The pieces had been signed by people who had been to Ground Zero in New York City. I was touched by the people’s signatures and notes to loved ones on the metal. They wrote notes of encouragement to keep going, to live life to the fullest, and to always remember. Realizing how deeply the terrorist attacks had affected people’s lives gave me an appreciation and love for what I have.
“After finishing my Good Works project, I was even more determined to finish my Personal Progress.”Cassie Holbrook, 16Oak Woods Ward, Kaysville Utah Crestwood Stake

Not long ago I went to school early on my bike as usual, because I am a crossing guard (skolepatrulje) at my school in Copenhagen, Denmark. We have to start at 7:45 A.M., and at 8:00 we go to our class. This particular day I took off my equipment in the basement when we finished and was the first to enter my classroom.
One of the boys from my class tried to block my way, and I fell. He fell on top of me, and my bike keys, which I usually carry on a chain around my neck, fell off.
Unfortunately, I didn’t notice that they came off. A girl from my class found the keys, took them, and put them in another girl’s bag. But she forgot to tell me. When the teacher came in, everybody forgot everything about the incident.
School ended at noon that day because my German teacher was ill. When I went to my bike, I found out my keys were not around my neck. I emptied my bag, but no keys. I tried to think when I could have lost my keys but didn’t remember anything. I felt sick, and it seemed as if my brain stopped.
I had to go back and ask one of the teachers to let me call my dad. He came and took me and my locked bike home. He wasn’t very happy that I had lost my keys.
When I went to bed that night, I was wondering if I would ever find my keys again. I was very worried, because if I didn’t find them, I would have to walk to school, and a new key was very expensive for me. Suddenly the thought came to me that I always could pray to Heavenly Father because He could help me and He knew where the keys were.
I got up, fell on my knees, and asked Him to help me find my keys.
The next day in school my math teacher asked me why I was so silent. I told him I had lost my bike keys.
Right then the girl who took the keys suddenly remembered that she had picked them up, so she asked the girl next to her to look in one of the small pockets in her bag. My keys were there.
I know to some people losing a set of keys may not seem very important. But to me it was very important, and I also think it was important to Heavenly Father. I know we can always ask Him for help when we need it.

How that wonderful transformation will happen is captured for me in a song written for children. I remember watching the faces of a room full of children singing it on a Sunday. Each of the children was leaning forward, almost to the front of the chair. I could see light in their eyes and determination in their faces as they sang with gusto. You may have heard the song too. I hope it will sound forever in our memories. I only hope I can give it the feeling those children had.
I’m trying to be like Jesus; I’m following in his ways.
I’m trying to love as he did, in all that I do and say.
At times I am tempted to make a wrong choice,
But I try to listen as the still small voice whispers,
“Love one another as Jesus loves you.
Try to show kindness in all that you do.
Be gentle and loving in deed and in thought,
For these are the things Jesus taught.”2
It seemed to me that they were not just singing; they were declaring their determination. Jesus Christ was their example. To be like Him was their fixed goal. And their eager looks and their shining eyes convinced me that they had no doubts. They expected to succeed. They believed that the instruction of the Savior to be perfect was not a hope but a command. And they were sure He had prepared the way.
That determination and confidence can and must be in the heart of every Latter-day Saint. The Savior has prepared the way through His Atonement and His example. And even the children who sang that song knew how.

Kinamo Williams, who ended up as Candy’s zone leader in Puerto Rico, says he hadn’t been totally solid in the Church until he arrived at the academy. “Seeing all the examples around me changed everything. Committing to serve Jesus Christ full time became a simple choice.”
The LDS institute program was also a key to maintaining spirituality, Kinamo said. “Monday was always one of my best days at the academy, because we had the opportunity to go to institute, to feast on the words of the Lord Jesus Christ and get the spiritual strength to go on.”

Michael Draper, a teacher, found a buddy on the basketball court.

“I played a lot of ball with my new friend Chris today,” he says. “At first I think we both felt a little awkward since we didn’t really know each other. But by the end of the day, he was my friend.”

Concerning his personal suffering, Joseph was promised, “Thy heart shall be enlarged.” An enlarged Joseph wrote from Liberty Jail, “It seems to me that my heart will always be more tender after this than ever it was before. … I think I never could have felt as I now do if I had not suffered” (The Personal Writings of Joseph Smith, ed. Dean C. Jessee [Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1984], pp. 387). Was Joseph not told, “All these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good”? (D&C 122:7).

I go to a small school where inappropriate language is used often. It’s hard to walk through the hallway and listen to it. I had a hard time with it at first, but when I was at a youth fireside, someone mentioned that having a playlist of Church music in your head would help you ignore the language. I tried it, and it works for me. You can also kindly ask them to avoid speaking like that around you. As you do this, you’ll need courage. Remember Joshua 1:9: “Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest.”

Emily A., 17, Missouri, USA

I am a newcomer to the New Era. I would like to say thank you to Mr. and Mrs. N. K. Rasmussen and Elise for a wonderful baptismal gift—a year’s subscription to the New Era. I got my first issue, January-February, on Valentine’s Day. I started to read it. I fell in love with it. I’m looking forward to the March issue. I like your feature articles the most. They help me understand the gospel and be a worthy Latter-day Saint. They also help me in the office of a priest in the Aaronic priesthood. I enjoyed the Message “Why Now? Why Me?” by Elder Vaughn J. Featherstone in the January-February 1984 issue. It helped me understand the role the missionaries have in the Church. I love my Heavenly Father, and I love the New Era. In the years to come, the New Era will be in my home. I’m 21 years old. The New Era makes me feel younger. Soon I will have been a member four months. It’s so wonderful that I have found the gospel in my life.
Steve MorrisonSparks, Nevada

“That’s right,” Sister Robins said. “Names can sometimes help us choose the right. My first name is Camilla. My parents named me after the wife of one of our prophets, President Spencer W. Kimball. She was a wonderful woman who spent her entire life serving other people and building up the kingdom of God. I always remember her because of my name. It makes me want to obey the Lord and serve other people as she did. Are any of you named for a special person?”

I am 16 years old, and reading the November New Era made me realize how much I have to be thankful for and how unthankful I really have been. While reading “Receive All Things with Thankfulness” I felt the Spirit reading right along with me, and I had to read it all over again because it made me feel so good. I have so much to be thankful for, including two wonderful elders who brought the gospel to my friend and me eight months ago. Thank you for a fabulous magazine.
Lynn de YagherShalalth, British Columbia, Canada

Just an example: I understand that there is a widely circulated story that I was alleged to have had a patriarchal blessing (I don’t know whether any of you have heard about that) that had to do with the coming of the Savior and the ten tribes of Israel.
In the first place, a patriarchal blessing is a sacred document to the person who has received it and is never given for publication and, as all patriarchal blessings, should be kept as a private possession to the one who has received it.
And second, with reference to that which I was alleged to have had, suffice it to say that such a quotation is incorrect and without foundation in fact.
There is one thing that shocks me: I have learned, in some instances, that those who have heard of these rumors are disappointed when I tell them they are not so. They seem to have enjoyed believing a rumor without substance of fact. I would earnestly urge that no such idle gossip be spread abroad without making certain as to whether or not it is true.

“Mother and Father packed our clothes, quilts, pots and pans, dishes, food, and everything else they could into the wagon. I put in my doll and helped with some of the smaller things. Father hitched the oxen to the wagon and we started on our long journey. I’d never seen oxen before. They looked like big brown cows to me.”
“When we first came to Utah, I helped Father and Mother plant the seeds in the ground. It took Father two days to break the hard ground before we could plant the seeds. All day we worked and dropped a seed at a time on the ground.”
“You wouldn’t remember because you were only a baby then and had just learned to walk,” Louisa answered quietly. “Anyway, when the new plants were just coming up, about this high,” Louisa measured with her fingers, “some crickets came and began eating them. More and more crickets came.”
Louisa continued her story. “Everyone got sticks and shovels and whatever they could find and began beating the crickets. But more crickets came. Finally, the people gave up. They couldn’t kill all the crickets. They were going to eat up all the food we planted.”
“Father and Mother and the rest of the people prayed to our Heavenly Father that the crops would be saved from the hungry crickets. And it wasn’t long until we were surprised to hear a noise in the sky. I looked up and saw sea gulls. At first they looked like more crickets. I hadn’t seen any sea gulls here before, although I used to watch them on the ocean before we came west in the wagon.”
“The sea gulls came to the ground and ate up the crickets,” Louisa continued. “No one had really noticed them in the valley before. Some people say they were here all the time. But I think Heavenly Father sent them to us when the people prayed. What do you think, Thomas?”

Sharing was not just a one-time thing for the Taylorsville Fourth Ward Young Women (Taylorsville Utah West Stake). They made it happen all year long and culminated their efforts in an Evening for Sharing.

Such events are suggested as part of the Young Women calendar each year. “One of the great rewards of accomplishment comes when a song, a talent, a thought, a few moments of time, an experience, or something created can be shared. Many things are of little worth until they are shared.” (Behold Thy Handmaiden, Guidelines for Adult Leaders, p. 8.) The idea is to provide young women in their own wards and stakes with opportunities to share what they have accomplished throughout the past year.

The young women themselves were the planners and did all the work for their Evening for Sharing. They decided that they would like to share their love for life, family, country, and church and created presentations of music, dance, readings, and displays. During the presentations, each class president gave a special award and thanked her adviser for all she had done for their class. Also, awards and gifts were given to the bishopric, Young Women president, secretary, and the sister who served on the service and activities committee. A gift was also given to the second-year Laurels who were leaving the program.

Pictures had been taken of the combined activities and service projects that had taken place throughout the year. Each class took pictures and kept mementos of their own special events. Such collections were displayed on tables around the cultural hall. The tables showed the end result of some of the goals the girls had set in each of the six areas of focus. They also showed hobbies, talents, and contributions the girls had made in other areas such as school, home, church, and community.

Christie Gailey, the Laurel class president, said, “It was good to see how everyone helped to make it a special night and also how everyone got a chance to do what they wanted to do.”

Jana Packer, a Mia Maid, felt that “it gave us a chance to look at other hobbies and talents, and if we wanted to learn how to do some things, we could ask them to show us.”

Beehive JoLynn Stewart said, “Our class likes to dance and have fun, and we really liked being able to make up our own dance for the program. I didn’t think we were going to make it in time, but we did. It was fun.”

“It made me feel really good inside to be able to give a tribute to my mother on the program,” said Melissa Hemsley.

There are many different ways of sharing. Girls can share silently by quietly and unboisterously serving, befriending, building, and setting a good example; or girls can share outwardly by bearing their testimony and by sharing the gospel wherever they are. They can share by making food or articles and then giving them as gifts to someone who needs them. Or they can share by demonstrating a music, art, or literary talent. There is no end to the ways a girl can share. In Taylorsville, young women shared their time and talents for more than just one evening; that one evening was just simple recognition for hundreds of hours of thoughtful service.

When Addison Pratt left Tahiti in March 1847, he had hoped to find his family in California with the rest of the Saints. Yet having received no word from them—or anyone in the Church—in the last year, he did not know if they would actually be there. “To reflect that I am now on my way to them is a pleasant thought,” he wrote in his journal. “But the next thought that arises is: Where are they? Or where am I to find them?”20
Addison arrived at San Francisco Bay in June. There he found the Brooklyn Saints awaiting the return of Sam Brannan and the arrival of the main body of the Church. Believing Louisa and their children were on their way to the coast, Addison volunteered to go to the Saints’ settlement, New Hope, with four other men to harvest the Church’s wheat.
The group left a short time later in a boat. New Hope lay more than a hundred miles inland on a tributary of the San Joaquin River. For days, the men sailed along low marshy country with tall bulrushes by the riverbanks. Nearer the settlement, the ground hardened, and they traveled the rest of the way on foot over grassy prairies.
The site for New Hope was beautiful, but a nearby river had flooded a short time before, washing out some of the Saints’ wheat and leaving behind pools of stagnant water. At night, as Addison lay down to sleep, swarms of mosquitoes besieged the settlement. Addison and the others tried to beat them away or smoke them out, but with no success. And to make matters worse, coyotes and owls howled and hooted until daybreak, robbing the tired settlers of peace and quiet.21
The wheat harvest started the next morning. But Addison’s sleepless night caught up with him by noon, and he napped beneath the shade of a tree. This became an everyday routine as mosquitoes and the din of wild animals kept him awake night after night. When the harvest was over, Addison was happy to go.
“Had it not have been for the mosquitoes,” he wrote in his journal, “I should have enjoyed myself well there.”22
Back at San Francisco Bay, Addison began preparing a home for his family. By then, some members of the Mormon Battalion had arrived in California and received an honorable release. Sam Brannan also returned to the bay, still convinced that Brigham was foolish to settle in the Salt Lake Valley. “When he has fairly tried it,” he told some battalion veterans, “he will find that I was right and he was wrong.”
Sam delivered Brigham’s letter to the Saints in California, however, and many of those who had sailed on the Brooklyn or marched with the Mormon Battalion decided to emigrate to the Salt Lake Valley in the spring. Sam also had a letter for Addison from Louisa. She was still in Winter Quarters, but she too planned to come to the valley in the spring and settle with the body of the Saints.
Addison’s plans changed immediately. Come spring, he would head east with the departing Saints and meet up with his family.23

For several years I was assigned to home teach an older sister in my ward. She did not have an easy life. She had various health problems and experienced a lifetime of pain due to a childhood accident on the playground. Divorced at age 32 with four young children to raise and provide for, she remarried at age 50. Her second husband passed away when she was 66, and this sister lived an additional 26 years as a widow.
Despite her lifelong challenges, she was faithful to her covenants to the end. This sister was an avid genealogist, a temple attender, and a collector and writer of family histories. Though she had many difficult trials, and without question she felt at times sadness and loneliness, she had a cheerful countenance and a gracious and pleasant personality.
Nine months after her passing, one of her sons had a remarkable experience in the temple. He learned by the power of the Holy Ghost that his mother had a message for him. She communicated with him, but not by vision or audible words. The following unmistakable message came into the son’s mind from his mother: “I want you to know that mortality works, and I want you to know that I now understand why everything happened [in my life] the way it did—and it is all OK.”
This message is all the more remarkable when one considers her situation and the difficulties this sister endured and overcame.

The boys like to build things together with plastic building blocks. By adding some of Damen’s blocks (used with permission) to his own, Kendon built a castle complex by himself. He worked on it several weeks, then entered it in the county fair—and won a blue ribbon and a small cash prize!

The clouds hung low and white over the small town of Liberty Bell that twenty-sixth day of December 1908. Sarah Moseley made her way from her family’s house at the end of the street toward the boardwalk, where her new dress would get a brief respite from mud-spraying wagon wheels.
Sarah’s family had been laboring under the stressful effects of no income in recent months, but her mother had managed to rummage up sufficient materials from an old attic chest to fashion a beautiful patchwork dress for Sarah. It was the only gift she had received for Christmas the day before, and she was fitly grateful for and proud of it.
As she continued along the street, she turned the collar of her frayed wrap up around her neck to ward off the biting chill of wind and lightly-driven snow. Suddenly someone wearing a tattered sheepskin coat stepped out in front of her. He had a tangle of red hair, and a crooked scowl on his face. Toby Wilder! Last week he had asked Sarah for some answers to a test in Miss Cornaby’s class, and Sarah had refused. Now he looked ready for revenge. “I would have passed that test if you had slipped me those answers,” he growled.
“There’s a right and a wrong to everything, Toby Wilder,” Sarah said, swallowing hard, “and cheating is wrong.”
Toby glared at her with a look that could have bent an iron poker, then pushed her back toward the edge of the boardwalk. “‘There’s a right and a wrong to everything, Toby Wilder,’” he mimicked. “You think you know all there is to know about what is and what isn’t, don’t you little Miss High-and-Mighty?”
“No,” Sarah told him, her body stiffening with growing fear, “but God does. And He’s told us in the scriptures about honesty.”
Toby glowered at Sarah. He glanced up and down the street through the haze of falling snow. No one was in sight. “Since you’re such good friends with God,” he said mockingly to Sarah, “why don’t you ask Him to keep you from falling down and getting mud all over your new dress?”
Shoving her roughly off the boardwalk, he laughed derisively and swaggered away as she pulled herself up from the street mire. Her eyes welled up with tears as she wiped at the icy ooze on her new Christmas dress and headed for the store.
The bell above the door jangled as Sarah stepped into John Walton’s Mercantile Store. The man behind the counter regarded her solicitously. “What happened, Sarah?” he queried.
“Toby Wilder,” she sighed.
Mr. Walton nodded. “That boy ought to be over somebody’s knee, getting redder than a near-set sun, if you ask me.”
“Yes sir!” Sarah heartily agreed.
“Warm yourself by the stove there.” When Sarah hesitated, he added kindly, “Go on child. There’s no sense in all that warmth going to waste, now, is there?”
“I guess not,” Sarah responded submissively. “It’s just that you’ve given us so much these past few months, all our food and such, that I just don’t feel right about hogging the only spot in front of your stove.” She motioned toward a customer who was stamping the snow from her high-button shoes just outside. “You have paying customers, Mr. Walton. They should be able to warm themselves before someone who—”
“Sarah Moseley,” Mr. Walton declared, “since when did I ever charge a body a cent for warming himself at my potbellied stove?”
Sarah smiled in gratitude and stepped in front of the stove. Mr. Walton came out from behind the counter, nodded to the woman who was making her way to a far corner, and pulled up a chair in front of Sarah. He sat down and spoke privately. “After that boxcar explosion at the depot last September, it’s a wonder your father is still alive. It’ll be a little while yet before he’s up and about.” He pushed a wisp of damp hair from Sarah’s eye. “Your father is a good man,” Mr. Walton continued. “He’ll pay me back when he’s able. Now give me that shopping list I know you have.” Sarah obliged him. “Besides,” he added as he stood with a little grunt, “it’s Christmastime, isn’t it? A time for giving? It would be a shame to deny a man the right to earn a celestial reward in the world to come.”
Sarah’s face wrinkled with curiosity. “What do you mean, Mr. Walton?”
“Christ gave His life for you and me, Sarah, not to mention for those that crucified Him. It seems the least I can do is give a can of beans and”—he checked Sarah’s list—“a box of baking soda and the like to people I love. Of course, that’s easy. The trick is giving to, or doing something for, someone you don’t like. Now there’s the real test. The problem is that I like everybody.” He laughed. “Well, almost everybody.”
Sarah watched Mr. Walton climb the ladder behind the counter. A ray of winter sun made his face radiant. “Why is it so important to be nice to people who are mean to you?” she asked.
Mr. Walton reached for a box of baking soda on a high shelf, then looked down at the girl below him. “Maybe because the Savior was. Maybe because it’s part of forgiving. It’s the same thing, wouldn’t you say?” He climbed down the ladder and began placing the few gathered items in a sack on the counter. “And maybe it’s because of a revelation the Prophet Joseph Smith received once that said, ‘For if you will that I give unto you a place in the celestial world, you must prepare yourselves by doing the things which I have commanded you and required of you.’”* He pushed the groceries across the counter to Sarah. “I have a sneaking notion that charity is one of those things, honey. And that forgiveness is another. What do you think, Sarah?”
“I guess you’re right, Mr. Walton,” Sarah answered, thoughtful.
It wasn’t until Sarah was outside again that she noticed something extra in her sack. A large candy stick. She puzzled over it a moment, then smiled at Mr. Walton’s kindness.
No sooner had Sarah started down the boardwalk in the direction of home than she spied Toby Wilder just ahead, leaning against a pole. His back was to her, and he was looking toward the sun as if he were aching for a little warmth on an otherwise bleak, unfriendly day.
Bracing herself, Sarah stepped up to him. “Toby?”
Toby whirled around. When he saw who it was, he growled, “What’s the matter, Sarah. Didn’t you get wet enough the first time?”
Sarah handed him the candy stick. “Merry Christmas,” she said.
Toby didn’t answer. He just stood there gaping.
Sarah glanced back in the direction of the mercantile store, where she could see Mr. Walton looking out the window, waving. She waved back, then turned and continued down the boardwalk toward home.

At Chetham’s, surrounded by people whose values and standards differ from her own, Fleur is determined to keep her Young Women values. Although students aren’t allowed to smoke or drink at school, some of them do so when they go out to Manchester, a nearby city.

Fleur explains: “When they say, ‘Come to the pub with us,’ I just say, ‘No, thanks. I don’t drink.’” Now that Fleur’s fellow students know her standards, they respect her for not drinking or smoking.

When she goes out, Fleur spends time with friends who don’t drink, or she goes shopping or to the cinema. “I make my own sort of fun,” she says.

Naomi Hug, 10, is the same age as her ward. On her ward’s 10th anniversary, she gave her first talk in sacrament meeting. She was surprised that she felt like crying! “The Spirit was so strong, I couldn’t say how much I felt it,” she wrote in her journal. She told ward members, “I’m thankful to have been born in the Church. I feel like I’m in a good place.”