Gospel Story Finder

Ministering on the Sabbath is something Sister Zola Adjei came to love while growing up in the Kpong Branch in Ghana. While home from boarding school during the summers, she and other youth would go in groups to visit members of their branch they hadn’t seen in a while. “It was a sacrifice because most of us felt very hungry after church, and we were so far from our homes that we didn’t have time to eat and gather again,” Sister Adjei said. But the sacrifice was worth it, as they were able to pray and sing hymns with their fellow branch members and invite them to church and activities. One of the youth would offer to walk with them to church the next Sunday.

“This practice formed a bond amongst us,” Sister Adjei said. “Some of us have stayed strong friends from the decisions we made to go out and bring back our lost friends by giving up a few hours of our Sabbath day.”

Last Christmas I received a special gift from my mother. She had carefully kept in her possession over these many years a little book I first received from my parents in 1944, when I was 10 years of age.
This is the book. It is a journal in which I was taught to record on a weekly basis my income and expenses.
As an example, my entry for the week of 29 July 1944 records that I started the week with $24.05 on hand and earned $7.00 working on our family farm. For expenses, I spent 5 cents for candy, $3.45 for a purchase, 20 cents for a movie, and $2.37 for personal clothing. I also invested $20.00 in a war savings bond and paid 70 cents tithing. I ended the week with $4.28 on hand.
I remember questioning my father whether my wage of 25 cents an hour might be increased. But remembering that a movie was 20 cents and candy cost only 5 cents, I now realize I was probably overpaid.
As I looked through this journal of more than 50 years ago, I noted that every week during the years 1944 and 1945, I paid tithing of 10 percent of my income for that week. In December 1944 I recorded that I had paid $12.35 in tithing that year—a full tithing.
This is where and how I learned to pay tithing.

The story is told there of the grandfather who took his five-year-old grandson for a walk around town. Ultimately, they found themselves at a small grocery store on Main Street where they stopped for a cold soda pop. A car from out of state pulled up and the driver approached the old-timer. Pointing to a small cloud in the sky, the stranger asked, “Do you think it’s going to rain?”
“I certainly hope so,” replied the old man, “if not for my sake, for the boy’s. I’ve seen it rain.”
Hope is an emotion which brings richness to our everyday lives. It is defined as “the feeling that … events will turn out for the best.” When we exercise hope, we “look forward … with desire and reasonable confidence” (dictionary.reference.com/browse/hope). As such, hope brings a certain calming influence to our lives as we confidently look forward to future events.

In the summer of 1921, at age twenty-one, Ezra received a letter from President Heber J. Grant calling him on a mission to Great Britain. July 14, 1921, he went through the Logan Temple with his parents, and two days later, he said good-bye to his parents and girlfriend and started on his way to England (see Ezra Taft Benson, p. 50). Elder Benson studied and worked hard but didn’t feel like he was doing too well and wrote in his journal that he was disgusted with his “‘frail attempt at speaking.’” But as he matured spiritually, he was invited to speak at the South Shields Branch. He was assigned to speak on the Apostasy, but instead he “‘gave a strong and impressive discourse of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon.’” He later said, “‘I spoke with a freedom I had never experienced. Afterwards, I couldn’t recall what I had said, but several nonmembers surrounded me and said, “Tonight, we received a witness that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God, and we are ready for baptism.” It was the experience of a lifetime. … It was the first experience of that kind I’d had, where I knew that the Lord was with me’” (Ezra Taft Benson, p. 55).

As the Simarróns shared the gospel with Chachi friends and neighbors, however, a serious conflict developed. Some Chachis felt that Virgilio Simarrón’s beliefs made him a heretic and even considered violence against him. Others felt that, as a governor, he should not participate in a new faith that might divide the people. With this concern, they took him to be tried by the communal council. It would be one of the most difficult experiences of Virgilio’s life.
Wilson relates what happened: “The council, in full assembly, told my father, ‘You will remain as our governor if you renounce the Church of Jesus Christ; you must retract.’ My father said, ‘I made a commitment to God, and when a man makes a commitment to God, it is not retractable. I cannot give up the Church. If you think I’m a governor who has divided the Chachi people, then oh my people, choose you this day another one in my place.’ Then I saw the scene of my father crying. The council was in total silence for more than five minutes—nobody said anything. Then someone said, ‘Then Governor, leave.’ Slowly my father stood, so my mom, my sister, and I went down and left the council.”

Let me tell you of a man I know. I will not mention his name lest he feel embarrassed. His wife felt there was something missing in their lives. She spoke with a relative one day who was a member of the Church. The relative suggested that she call the missionaries. She did so. But the husband was rude to them and told them not to come again.

Months passed. One day another missionary, finding the record of this visit, decided that he and his companion would try again. He was a tall elder from California who carried a big smile on his face.

They knocked on the door; the man answered. Could they come in for a few minutes? they asked. He consented.

The missionary said, in effect, “I wonder if you know how to pray.” The man answered that he knew the Lord’s Prayer. The missionary said, “That is good, but let me tell you how to give a personal prayer.” He went on to explain that we get on our knees in an attitude of humility before the God of heaven. The man did so. The missionary then went on to say, “We address God as our Father in Heaven. We then thank Him for His blessings, such as our health, our friends, our food. We then ask for His blessings. We express our innermost hopes and desires. We ask Him to bless those in need. We do it all in the name of His Beloved Son, the Lord Jesus Christ, concluding with ‘amen.’”

It was a pleasant experience for the man. He had gleaned a little light and understanding, a touch of faith. He was ready to try another step.

Line upon line, the missionaries patiently taught him. He responded as his faith grew into a dim light of understanding. Friends from his branch gathered around to reassure him and answer his questions. The men played tennis with him, and he and his family were invited to their homes for dinner.

He was baptized, and that was a giant step of faith. The branch president asked him to be a Scoutmaster to four boys. That led to other responsibilities, and the light of faith strengthened in his life with each new opportunity and experience.

That has continued. Today he stands as a capable and loved stake president, a leader of great wisdom and understanding, and above all, a man of great faith.

My parents were baptized when they were grownups. They loved learning about the prophets and Heavenly Father and then teaching our family.
On Sundays, my father would sit in a comfy chair and put me on his lap. Then we would read Bible stories together.
One day, my father read this story to me. Then he did something I’ll never forget. He traced four letters on my forehead with his finger: T-E-S-T.
“Sharon,” he said, “you will have tests in your life, just like Daniel did. But remember these letters on your forehead. They will remind you to always follow Heavenly Father and not give in to fear.” And they always have.

I recall when my wife and I invited our teenage sons and daughters to take a challenge, one which they accepted. They were to pray earnestly that the Lord would help them identify a person they were to help come into the Church. There would be no time limit. They were to pray and search and wait until the Spirit spoke to them, until they found that special person who would accept the invitation to either participate with them in a Church activity or to listen to the message of our missionaries.
We promised them that they would know for sure because it would be just as though the Lord were pointing his finger at that person. They were also to pray that they would know what to say to that person at the time.
One son returned in about two weeks with the story that he definitely had been impressed to approach a young man who sat by him at the university. He approached him about the Church and was rejected. Naturally he felt discouraged and questioned the validity of our project.
“Did you truly love him?” I asked. “Or were you just trying to compile a statistic? Did you have love in your heart and in your eyes when you approached him? Were you listening to the Spirit to help you as you approached him?”
“Let me try again,” our son asked. “Let me fast and pray about it. Then I`ll try again.”
After fasting and praying about it, he still felt impressed that this was the young man he should introduce to the Church. He approached him once more, this time with great love in his heart, in his eyes, and in his soul. The young man agreed to meet with our son and the missionaries to learn about the Church.
Not only was the young man baptized but his inactive wife was reactivated and their three children will now have the blessings of being reared in an LDS home.

Conner was learning so many new, wonderful things, but he had a hard time understanding a key principle. “There’s just so many people,” he says. “How could God know everything about me?” So he asked the missionaries.
Sister Jin and her companion prayed to know how they could show Conner that Heavenly Father cares about him personally. Inspiration hit. Conner had recently shared with them how he felt homesick for China and missed his favorite Wuhan noodles.
The missionaries prayed, asking Heavenly Father to help them find these noodles. A couple hours before their next lesson with Conner, Sister Jin and her companion felt impressed to walk to an area they didn’t regularly visit. Not long after they got there they were approached by a Chinese family. It turned out they were from Wuhan, too!
Sister Jin told them about Conner and how he missed his homeland. The family went to their car, pulled out a bag full of Wuhan noodles, and asked Sister Jin to give them to Conner.
Later, during their lesson with Conner, Sister Jin told him, “Conner, Heavenly Father knows you and He loves you, and He even knows what your favorite food is.” Then she handed him the bag.
“When she gave me the bag of noodles, it was very special,” Conner says. “I really felt the Spirit and knew in that moment that God really knows me.”
Conner was soon baptized and sealed to his family in the Salt Lake Temple. “I have a great family. I don’t say that a lot in front of people, but it’s true—it’s always a party! I feel like I chose this family. I waited a long time for them. Everything is so good now.”

When I was a little older than most of you students, I moved to Utah from back East. I had made wonderful girlfriends in Boston, and a group of us moved from Boston to the West. (We’ve stayed in contact—many of us are dear friends today.) One of my friends had taken a position as a schoolteacher in Cokeville, Wyoming, and five of us planned a wonderful outing to visit her there for one day in May. We planned to go horseback riding in the afternoon, stay overnight, and return to Salt Lake the next day.

We arrived in the late morning, and within a short while we got into our friend’s very large Cadillac to drive to the riding stables, which were just over a mountain pass about 45 minutes away. It was cool in the morning, but by the time we left it was warm and pleasant. Some of us were dressed for riding—wearing boots, long pants, and a coat. Others had sneakers and sweaters. The car easily held all six of us.

We began the climb over the pass. As we made a turn, we saw an eagle in the road. It took off and soared in slow, arcing circles. It was a spectacular sight—a great omen for a wonderful day ahead, right? As we climbed higher, snow started to dot the sides of the road. The road started turning to mush, and it was getting harder to go forward. Even though we were still going up, we thought we must have been getting close to our destination. Eventually the car would go no farther—it was so mired in mud that we could not move it forward or backward. We tried everything we could think to do.

Because we were almost there, we got out and started walking toward the stables. We walked for a couple of hours, and it was hard in the muck and snow. We couldn’t see any stables, houses, or any kind of shelter, and it was starting to get cold—it even starting snowing. We knew we needed to get back to the car for safety for the night, so we headed back.

By the time we got there, it was dark. We spent the night in the car. The only food we had was a box of cereal and a few candies, but our spirits were still high. We stayed warm by turning the heater on and off, and we tried to sleep, but, as you can imagine, it did not come easily. We prayed simply and earnestly for help and courage to handle the situation.

As the sun came up the next morning, we still couldn’t get the car out. One person was only wearing sneakers, and her feet had become red and blistered from all the walking the previous day. She was unable to walk easily or quickly. Another friend stayed with her in the car while four of us started to walk back in the direction we had come.

We had walked for about an hour or two when we came upon two fishermen. They told us that they could not drive us out to the town from where they were because the roads needed to dry before their jeep could get out. They had been camping and had a campfire and food; they generously prepared a wonderful breakfast for us.

A little later, one of the men took the jeep and went in search of our car. He returned with my other two friends, who had started to walk; they were hobbling as they got out of the car. As these men were feeding my friends, one of them heated a pot of water, and after it was warm he had my friends sit down. He took each of my friends’ feet and washed them, putting some salve on their sores and blisters and socks on their feet. The tender comfort and healing efforts of these two men was in similitude of our Savior. I don’t know these men. The only piece of information that I remember was that they worked for the Ogden Standard-Examiner. A couple of hours later they drove us to my friend’s house, and we returned to Salt Lake later that day.

As I recall that day, I don’t remember being afraid or even worried very much. Three decades later, I remember vividly not the near tragedy but the beautiful image of true compassion—a compassionate man washing the feet of a stranger.

I recently was made aware of a touching example of loving kindness—one that had unforeseen results. The year was 1933, when because of the Great Depression, employment opportunities were scarce. The location was the eastern part of the United States. Arlene Biesecker had just graduated from high school. After a lengthy search for employment, she was finally able to obtain work at a clothing mill as a seamstress. The mill workers were paid only for each of the correctly completed pieces they sewed together daily. The more pieces they produced, the more they were paid.
One day shortly after starting at the mill, Arlene was faced with a procedure that had her confused and frustrated. She sat at her sewing machine trying to unpick her unsuccessful attempt to complete the piece on which she was working. There seemed to be no one to help her, for all of the other seamstresses were hurrying to complete as many pieces as they could. Arlene felt helpless and hopeless. Quietly, she began to cry.
Across from Arlene sat Bernice Rock. She was older and more experienced as a seamstress. Observing Arlene’s distress, Bernice left her own work and went to Arlene’s side, kindly giving her instruction and help. She stayed until Arlene gained confidence and was able to successfully complete the piece. Bernice then went back to her own machine, having missed the opportunity to complete as many pieces as she could have, had she not helped.
With this one act of loving kindness, Bernice and Arlene became lifelong friends. Each eventually married and had children. Sometime in the 1950s, Bernice, who was a member of the Church, gave Arlene and her family a copy of the Book of Mormon. In 1960, Arlene and her husband and children were baptized members of the Church. Later they were sealed in a holy temple of God.
As a result of the compassion shown by Bernice as she went out of her way to help one whom she didn’t know but who was in distress and needed assistance, countless individuals, both living and dead, now enjoy the saving ordinances of the gospel.

Mine has been the opportunity to meet many wonderful men and women in various parts of the world. A few of them have left an indelible impression upon me. I share with you a story I spoke of some years ago. I met a naval officer from a distant nation, a brilliant young man who had been brought to the United States for advanced training. Some of his associates in the United States Navy, whose behavior had attracted him, shared with him at his request their religious beliefs. He was not a Christian, but he was interested. They told him of the Savior of the world, of Jesus Christ born in Bethlehem, who gave his life for all mankind. They told him of the appearance of God, the Eternal Father, and the resurrected Lord to the boy Joseph Smith. They spoke of modern prophets. They taught him the gospel of the Master. The Spirit touched his heart, and he was baptized.
He was introduced to me just before he was to return to his native land. We spoke of these things, and then I said: “Your people are not Christians. What will happen when you return home a Christian, and, more particularly, a Mormon Christian?”
His face clouded, and he replied, “My family will be disappointed. They may cast me out and regard me as dead. As for my future and my career, all opportunity may be foreclosed against me.”
I asked, “Are you willing to pay so great a price for the gospel?”
His dark eyes, moistened by tears, shone from his handsome brown face as he answered, “It’s true, isn’t it?”
Ashamed at having asked the question, I responded, “Yes, it’s true.”
To which he replied, “Then what else matters?”
These are questions I should like to leave with you: “It’s true, isn’t it? Then what else really matters?”

I was down in a husbands-and-wives meeting in Provo years ago when a lovely sister bore her testimony as to the joy that had come into her home since her husband had become active in the Church. She told about going through the temple with her husband. She told how he had been inactive, how he had smoked and hadn’t been advanced in the priesthood, and how someone took hold of him and finally helped him to become worthy and ready to receive the priesthood; and the bishop had finally given him a recommend to go to the temple. After she had described that wonderful evening, she said, “Here, five little girls came in to be sealed to their father and mother. This man of God pronounced us a family for the eternities.” And as she finished this story and bore her testimony, she looked over the pulpit and down in front of her where her husband was seated. She seemed to forget for that moment that there was anybody there but just the two of them, and she said to him, “Daddy, I can’t tell you how happy the girls now are and how grateful we are for what you have done for us, because, you see, Daddy, except for you who holds the priesthood, neither the children nor I could be together as a family in the hereafter. Thank God for our daddy who holds the key and unlocks the door to an eternal family home.”

Years ago, I was serving as the bishop of a ward in southern California. Because of a change in employment circumstances, our family was moving to another community. It would be necessary to replace me as bishop. The stake president asked me for my thoughts concerning possible successors. I gave him the names of several good men.

As to one of these he said, "I don't know him very well. I will find an opportunity to get acquainted." A couple of weeks later, I was again speaking with the stake president and the same subject arose in our conversation. The stake president then made this insightful observation that I have remembered ever since. Said he:

Well, I interviewed Brother So and So. But I do not think he is the man. If the Lord wants me to call him, He is going to have to tell me because I do not think he is the man.

There is a great principle here with much broader application than merely choosing a bishop. The Lord expects you to use your own good sense.

Like my mom, I too attended BYU. Unlike my mom, at the age of twenty-one I sent in my mission papers. I made it clear to my father, who was serving as my stake president, that the only place in the world I did not want to serve was the Spanish-speaking mission in the Los Angeles Temple Visitors’ Center. Let’s just say that the tears I shed when I opened my call were not tears of joy. During my mission the Lord proved to me over and over again that His ways truly are higher than mine. I loved my mission!

Some years ago I heard a story about a little boy in Primary class who was asked to say the opening prayer.
“Heavenly Father,” said the boy, “I thank thee for the letter A. I thank thee for the letter B. I thank thee for the letter C.”
The teacher realized this could be a very long prayer, but she restrained herself from stopping him.
He went on to give thanks for every letter of the alphabet through Z. Then he said, “And Heavenly Father, I thank thee for the number one. I thank thee for the number two.” And so on he went.
His teacher nearly panicked. She didn’t know how high the boy could count. She felt she had to stop him, but again something seemed to restrain her. The boy kept on praying until he reached the number twenty. And then he said, “And Heavenly Father, I thank thee for my Primary teacher, who is the only grown-up that ever let me finish my prayer.”

Abel had an interview with the bishop to talk about receiving the Aaronic Priesthood. “I’m grateful for my bishop and other leaders who guide me,” he says. Abel and his family recently attended a Priesthood Preview. All the boys turning 12 during the year were invited to attend the program with their parents and families. They heard talks and testimonies by leaders, teachers, and one of the boys. Abel and some of his friends stood up in front and sang “A Young Man Prepared” (Children’s Songbook, 166–67), a song about the priesthood. Parents gave letters to their sons encouraging them in their preparation. “I felt the Spirit there,” says Abel.

The next year we enrolled in junior high school. But the building could not accommodate all the students, and so our class of the seventh grade was sent back to the Hamilton School. We were insulted. We were furious. We’d spent six unhappy years in that building, and we felt we deserved something better. The boys of the class all met after school. We decided we wouldn’t tolerate this kind of treatment. We’d go on strike.
The next day we did not show up. But we had no place to go. We couldn’t stay home, because our mothers would ask questions. We didn’t think of going downtown to a show. We had no money for that. We didn’t think of going to the park. We were afraid we might be seen by the truant officer. We didn’t think of going out behind the school fence and telling shady stories because we didn’t know any. We’d never heard of such things as drugs or anything of the kind. We just wandered about and wasted the day.
The next morning, the principal, Mr. Stearns, was at the front door of the school to greet us. His demeanor matched his name. He said some pretty straightforward things and then told us that we could not come back to school until we brought a note from our parents. Striking, he said, was not the way to settle a problem. We were expected to be responsible citizens, and if we had a complaint, we could come to the principal’s office and discuss it.
There was only one thing to do, and that was to go home and get the note. I remember walking sheepishly into the house. My mother asked what was wrong. I told her. I said I needed a note. She wrote one. It was very brief. It was the most stinging rebuke she ever gave me. It read as follows:
“Dear Mr. Stearns,
“Please excuse Gordon’s absence yesterday. His action was simply an impulse to follow the crowd.”
She signed it and handed it to me.
I walked back over to school and got there about the same time a few other boys did. We all handed our notes to Mr. Stearns. I do not know whether he read them, but I have never forgotten my mother’s note. Though I had been an active party to the action we had taken, I resolved then and there that I would make my own decisions on the basis of my standards. I would not be pushed in one direction or another by those around me.
That decision has blessed my life many times. It has kept me from doing some things which could at worst have resulted in serious injury and trouble, and at the best would have cost me my self-respect.

In college I was given the privilege of joining a very elect honorary engineering society. As I attended the initiatory activities, everyone was drinking. I asked for a soft drink and was handed a glass. As I raised it to my lips, I could smell alcohol. I looked around the room. All the eyes were on me. These were professionals who had just given me a great honor. Should I pretend to drink so as not to offend? No. I set the glass down and then noticed that three other inductees also set their glasses aside. Do what is right, and others will follow your example. Every time you make the right choice in the face of potential criticism, you build strength that makes it easier the next time. The reverse is also true. Satan counts on that.

In 1951 and 1952 I attended the Frankfurt Branch, which was not as big as the one in Zwickau. The Frankfurt meetinghouse was small, and we had classes in the basement. I recall missionaries teaching us important gospel principles. One missionary, Elder Stringham, impressed me very much with his teaching about the Pearl of Great Price, especially where Moses is being taught he is a son of God. Another thing Elder Stringham taught me was the scripture that says, “If God be for us, who can be against us?” (Rom. 8:31). This gave me comfort and courage, because at that time the future looked bleak in Germany. The city of Frankfurt was in ruins with bombed-out buildings. That teaching has stayed with me throughout my life. It taught me I need to be on the Lord’s side. I cannot afford not to be on the Lord’s side.