Gospel Story Finder

JOHN LONGDEN (Born 1898, Oldham, England; died 1969, Salt Lake City; Assistant to the Council of the Twelve.) Emigrated with family to Utah when 10. Studied voice, violin, drama, and was known as a performer. Had sales career with life insurance and electrical firms. Became assistant LDS servicemen’s coordinator during World War II and a member of General Church Welfare Committee. Fifty-six years after first attending meetings in small corrugated metal meetinghouse in Oldham, England, returned as a General Authority to dedicate a chapel in his hometown.

He finished high school and went to work in a photo studio, developing film and studying photography while he continued searching for spiritual truth. Meanwhile, the tremor of political change had begun to softly shake Estonian life. People began to question the government openly for the first time.
One evening Jaanus and some friends carried the Estonian flag, fluttering over their shoulders, on the way to a patriotic song party. Enraged police saw the flag and chased them down. When they caught them, the police grabbed the flag and ripped it, but Jaanus and his friends were only reprimanded. This treatment by the police was a big change for the better.
“There is a special feeling in Estonia,” Jaanus later explained in an excited voice to his mother. “People are patriotic. We all feel this new warmth and happiness.”

I was baptised in 1968 at the Nottingham chapel, West Bridgford. I was 17 years old. It was not long before I was called to serve as a ward missionary. This was a challenge for me at the start, but after a short period of time I became more valiant in my call, and with the help of local full-time missionaries I began to find it easier to testify to the truthfulness of the gospel.
It was during this time that I would go out with the full-time missionaries on teaching appointments or tracting.
One day they invited me to join them in the Market Square, Nottingham. We called it “Slab Square”—Elder M. Russell Ballard (1928–2023) preached there as a young missionary. They were going to preach the gospel. They stood on a raised wall and started to preach the message of the Restoration. I was amazed when a small crowd gathered, and even more amazed when I found myself volunteering to do what they were doing. The crowd had grown to about 40, and I said a silent prayer and started to share the message of the Restoration. Individuals in the crowd started to respond with some very critical comments, until one gentleman seemed to shout with a very loud voice, “Give the lad a chance!”
It worked and I was able to finish my remarks. I’m not sure if this gentleman was a little the worse for drink but I was very grateful for his comments.
We left the Market Square and I’m not sure what good I did, but I always remember that day in Slab Square. It gave me the courage to stand up and testify, no matter what. I thought, “If I can do that, I can do anything.” Even today I think the Spirit moved not only upon me that day but also upon the gentleman who spoke up for me.

I stayed up late on New Year’s Eve,
And as I’d been assured,
A new millennium was born!
Happy cries were heard.
Just as a millennium has begun,
I will also start anew,
For this is the year I will have
A special rebirth, too.
My baptism day is coming soon,
And since I’ve come of age,
I am now accountable
For all I do and say.
I’ll take on the name of Jesus Christ
As part of His family,
Then renew my covenants each time I take
The sacrament worthily.
My baptism is the important event—
That certainly is clear.
But still I can say 2000 and I
Were born in the very same year!

For the past 17 years, I have had the privilege of serving as a patriarch. At first, I was afraid I couldn’t fulfill the calling, but I have learned that the blessings come from the Lord, not the patriarch. There are common themes in patriarchal blessings because our Heavenly Father wants many of the same things for all His children, but each blessing is different, individual, and personal.
One of the purposes of a patriarchal blessing is to help individuals see who they are as children of God and to discern how much their Heavenly Father loves them. As a patriarch, whenever I lay my hands on someone’s head to give them a patriarchal blessing, for just a few precious moments, Heavenly Father allows me to feel the love He has for that individual. It is an overpowering feeling. When I feel how much He loves each blessing recipient, I can feel that He loves me too.

Agnes marveled as she watched her mother find a way to bake food out on the prairie. Mother dug a hole in the ground, placed the food in a heavy iron kettle with a tight lid, then set it in the hole and covered it with burning buffalo chips or small pieces of wood. She prepared many tasty meals in this way.

Beauty, Brave and Beautiful The little dog’s eyes were crossed, her legs were crooked, her tail was bent, her nose was bulbous, and her fur felt like coarse straw. The children named her Beauty. They knew that “Beauty is as beauty does.” And she was as brave as she was beautiful.Dick Gackenbach5–9 years

It was my first Sunday as a member of the teachers quorum. I had served as a deacon for two years, and now I was ready for new challenges.
My first assignment was to stand by the doors during the sacrament. Our building had an entry at the rear of the chapel with a set of glass-paned double doors. As the sacrament was being passed, two of the teachers would stand at the doors to discourage unnecessary traffic that would disturb the reverence of the ordinance.
To me, this assignment was a sign of acceptance. Such a visible responsibility showed that I had the trust of the teachers quorum. I eagerly took my place at the back of the chapel. As our ward members began filing into the chapel, several of the other teachers stopped to shake my hand and offer words of welcome. It was a thrilling time for me. I was now one of the “big” boys. I felt much more grown up than I had just the week before when I had been only a deacon.
Shortly before the sacrament meeting began, someone in the deacons quorum realized there were only five of them. They needed six to pass the sacrament. The deacons quorum president came to the back of the chapel and asked if one of us could help. It really only took one teacher to watch the doors. In fact, as a deacon I had often asked the teachers to help pass the sacrament.
This time, however, I was concerned that I wouldn’t be able to perform my new role on my first Sunday as a teacher. I told the deacons quorum president to buzz off and find someone else. He gave me a disappointed look and returned to his seat by the sacrament table.
During the opening hymn he returned and asked for help again. This time I was ready. I looked at him with a triumphant smile and said, “You are the president of the quorum. I think you should get busy and activate some of those who don’t come every Sunday. Then you wouldn’t have to come back here begging for help.” I felt pretty smug. I was glad no one mentioned that I had been the deacons quorum president only one week before.
Finally it came time for the sacrament. How would the deacons pull this off? There would be confusion because there weren’t enough of them to fill all the assignments. The deacons lined up in front of the sacrament table. Sure enough, there was a vacant space. The priests finished breaking the bread. It was almost time for the sacrament prayer.
I was shocked when my bishop stood up and filled the vacant space. My bishop! A man I admired and wanted to please. He led the tiny band of deacons as they passed the sacrament to the congregation. In full view of the ward he passed the bread to everyone seated on the stand. Then he stepped off the stand and began serving those in the middle part of the chapel, in the same pattern any deacon would have done. He reverently walked back to the sacrament table and repeated the assignment with a tray of water.
At the end of the sacrament service, Bishop Cook stepped to the pulpit and spoke of the sacred ordinance of the sacrament and the importance of the Aaronic Priesthood. No one else knew he was speaking to me when he said, “I hope all of our young men will be willing to fulfill any priesthood assignment given them, even if it seems small or unimportant.”
Many times since then I have been grateful for a powerful lesson taught by a loving bishop. I am humbled that those who hold the priesthood are given the privilege of participating in the holy ordinance that reminds us of the atoning sacrifice of the Savior and allows us to renew our sacred baptismal covenants.

One evening while serving as full-time missionaries in Nigeria, my companion and I made plans to visit some of our former investigators. We were filled with the Spirit as we walked down the street. We sang some hymns softly, and I said a prayer in my heart that the Lord would help touch the hearts of these people so they could continue investigating the Church.
Our first attempt was very discouraging, and we wanted to quit. But we summoned our courage and stopped at the home of a family who had been investigating the Church. Unfortunately, nobody was at the house. A neighbor told us that the family was away traveling, and no one knew how long they would be gone. All we could do was stick a note on their door, telling them how much we loved and cared for their family.
A few days later we stopped by the house again and found our note still stuck to the door. We put up another and went on our way. Some days later we found our notes were still there, so we put up another, making three in all. Over the next few weeks we passed the house frequently. We left no more notes, but we prayed for the family.
Some weeks later, to our astonishment, this family attended church. They told us how they wept for joy when they saw our notes at the very time they needed them most. They said our little notes are among their most cherished possessions.
From that experience I learned that with one success, a thousand failures are forgotten and that hearts can be changed by our acts of love and kindness.

My parents died while I was still living at home. As the youngest and the only unmarried member of the family, I was devastated.
Alone and vulnerable, I became so distraught that I had to leave school. Concerned about my emotional state, my brothers and sisters took me to nearly every hospital in the area. The doctors said I was in shock and needed complete rest in a peaceful place away from books and anything that required concentrated thinking.
Life became even more difficult, especially as I saw my friends continuing their studies. The fact that they still had their mothers also caused me pain; my mother had been everything to me. I longed to die so I could rejoin my parents.
But my Father in Heaven had other plans for me. In His wisdom and love, He inspired my brothers and sisters to take me from the city where I had been going to school to another city to be near them. I stayed with my sister Alphonsine. She and her husband and children were so kind to me that I began to feel better. Even more importantly, my sister’s oldest son, Faet Nadege, introduced me to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It was my association with the Church and the power of the gospel that finally calmed my mind and healed my wounded heart.

One of the things that helped me decide to serve a mission was to learn about and experience true repentance. As I studied about the Savior’s Atonement and applied what I learned in my life, I felt indescribable peace. As I felt this, I wanted others to feel the same peace.
Elder Berdejo, 21, Arequipa, Peru

Travel with me to a large government hospital newly built in Tonga and equipped to provide needed services to members and nonmembers alike. But there are insufficient nurses with which to staff the hospital and only limited services can be provided.

Lots of things fall in autumn. Leaves fall. Apples fall. And sometimes teeth fall.
Andrea wanted her tooth to fall out. Her friend Jason had a tooth fall out at school. And her sister Janine had one fall out that morning at breakfast. It fell right into her grapefruit.
“My tooth is loose, too,” Andrea said. She opened her mouth wide. “See?”
Janine pushed it with her finger. “It’s not loose. You’re fibbing.”
No one at school believed Andrea either.
There was one person who would understand about an almost-loose tooth. Andrea stopped by the baker-lady’s apartment after school.
“My tooth is loose,” she said when the door opened.
The baker-lady had silver glasses that sat on the end of her nose. She looked at Andrea’s mouth carefully. “It’s going to come out one of these days for sure,” she said with a nod.
“But I want it to come out now,” Andrea said.
The baker-lady nodded again. “Waiting is hard. I hate waiting too.”
Andrea looked at the baker-lady’s mouth. “Your baby teeth already came out. What are you waiting for?”
The baker-lady leaned over. “I’ll tell you a secret. I’m waiting for a snowflake.”
Andrea giggled. That was a funny thing to wait for. You couldn’t put a snowflake under your pillow. It would melt. “Why are you waiting for a snowflake?”
“Because snowflakes mean it’s wintertime—time to visit my family in Michigan for Christmas. I have six grandchildren there.”
“Do they have loose teeth?” asked Andrea.
“Well, now,” the baker-lady said, “I don’t really know for sure. I haven’t seen them since last Christmas.” She brought out some crayons and a sewing box. “When I get tired of waiting for snowflakes, I make things. Right now I’m making gingerbread boys.”
“Like you made at the bakery before you retired?” asked Andrea.
“No. These are made out of cloth.” She showed Andrea a little brown corduroy gingerbread boy with white rickrack, button eyes, and a loop on his head.
“He’s a Christmas tree ornament!” Andrea cried, delighted.
“Yes. I’m making one for each of my grandchildren. Doing things for other people makes the waiting go faster.”
Andrea started coloring. She made a picture of the tooth fairy with a long white dress. The white crayon didn’t show on the paper unless she pushed down hard, and that made the tip break. She started to throw it away. Then she looked at it more closely. It looked like a tooth, small and round and hard.
Andrea stood up. “I’d better go home now,” she told the baker-lady. “I think my tooth is so loose that it will come out tonight.” She said it extra loud, in case the tooth fairy was nearby.
That night Andrea’s sister put her tooth under her pillow. “I guess I’ll have some money in the morning,” Janine said.
Andrea put her crayon tip under her pillow. “I guess I’ll have some money in the morning, too,” she said just loud enough for the tooth fairy to hear.
In the morning Janine found a new quarter under her pillow.
In the morning Andrea’s crayon tip was still under her pillow. She hadn’t fooled the tooth fairy at all. She put the crayon tip into her pocket and tried to wiggle her tooth on the way to school.
The baker-lady was outside planting tulip bulbs when Andrea passed her apartment. “Did that tooth come out last night?” she asked.
Andrea looked down at the sidewalk. “I guess it wasn’t ready after all.”
“Waiting is hard,” said the baker-lady. She got up with a little grunt. “Wait a minute,” she said. “I have something for you.”
She came back holding a brown corduroy gingerbread boy. He had a tiny pocket in front. “The pocket is for a tooth,” said the baker-lady. “He’s a tooth pillow. He’s for you while you wait for your tooth to fall out.”
Andrea held him tightly all the way to school. She loved his brown corduroy body. She loved his white rickrack. But most of all, she loved his tiny pocket in front. A tooth pocket.
At school she started to put the crayon tooth into his little pocket, just to see if it really was tooth-size. Then she decided that the gingerbread boy was for a real tooth. He would help her to wait for it.
Andrea looked at her crayon tip again. She had an idea. Maybe she could help the baker-lady to wait …
She rubbed the little white tip onto a piece of blue paper until there was no more crayon. Then she folded the paper into a tiny square. With her scissors she made little cuts in the folds. When she opened it up, there was a snowflake! It was the most beautiful snowflake she’d ever made.
After school she ran all the way to the baker-lady’s apartment, shoved the snowflake under her door, and ran. The baker-lady would know right away that it was a waiting snowflake and that Andrea had given it to her to help her wait to see her family in Michigan.
Andrea was happy and excited as she ran home. Doing things for other people did make the waiting go faster.

Because of the shifting population, ward boundaries were reorganized. Parts of three wards were combined into one ward, and I was called as bishop. I had a few days to think about counselors. The first name came quickly and the Spirit confirmed it. But I wasn’t immediately sure who the other counselor should be.
I considered several younger men in the new ward, but I didn’t know them well. It seemed to me that we needed them more in the Young Men organization.
I knew an older man, Larry Morgan, who had lived in the neighborhood for a long time. In fact, he had been a youth leader when I was a teenager. Now he was 76. I felt prompted to talk with him. “Maybe he’ll help me become better acquainted with some of the people I don’t know,” I thought.
He was standing in the driveway when I arrived at his home, and without a word spoken, I knew Larry was to be the other counselor. I visited with him for a few minutes; then I returned home and called the stake president. That Sunday the bishopric was sustained, with Larry as second counselor.
Larry was soft-spoken and deliberate in his manner, but when he spoke, people listened. He also had unwavering faith in the Lord. I soon learned to trust his counsel.

How can we develop a good attitude of cooperation? One wise stake president counseled priesthood and Relief Society leaders to determine their actions by asking, “What would the Savior do?” rather than “What has been done before?” With this idea in mind, ward leaders examined their “policies” in working together. Several ward “traditions” came under examination—the first, when the ward budget was presented for approval to the men in priesthood meeting, but not to the women in Relief Society.
“Would the Savior do that?” priesthood leaders wondered. They decided that he wouldn’t, and then they consulted the General Handbook of Instructions, which indicates that proposed budgets should be discussed with all ward members in a special meeting. That tradition was changed, and the sisters in the ward are much more supportive of ward activities now that they are included in the planning.

You can do this, you can do this, Sydney thought as she walked into the stake Primary activity. She saw the girls from her ward and thought about what Mom had said in the car. Maybe things would be easier once she got to know them better.
She took a deep breath and smiled. “Hi, guys!” One of the girls shot her that look—the look that screamed you don’t belong here.
Sydney’s smile wavered. Then she noticed what Libby, the leader of the group, was wearing. “Hey, we have the same hat!” Sydney exclaimed.
“It’s not a hat. It’s a beanie,” Libby said slowly, like Sydney wasn’t smart enough to understand. The girls giggled. “Or don’t you know that word? You were held back a grade, right?”
Sydney turned and walked away, trying not to cry.
Why were they always so mean to her? Ever since Sydney had moved here a few months ago, Libby and the other girls had made church and school miserable. They’d been especially horrible since finding out that Sydney had been so sick last year that she’d had to repeat a grade.
She glanced at the clock. Maybe she could call her mom and just go home.
“Want to sit in our row?” Sydney looked up to see a tall girl from another ward grinning and patting the chair beside her. Her nametag said Lauren.
“Sure.” Sydney sat down and kept her eyes glued to the ground. That was how she noticed the socks.
Cool socks. Crazy socks. Socks decorated with purple polka dots, pink stars, lime zigzags, blue smiley faces, and everything in between. Every girl in the row was wearing them.
Lauren noticed Sydney’s gaze and stuck out her foot. “Like them? They’re our mascot!”
“Mascot?” Sydney asked.
“Yup! We’re Sisters of Courage, Kindness, and Service—S.O.C.K.S.,” Lauren explained. “We made these at an activity and wear them to remind us who we should be.”
Being one of the S.O.C.K.S. sounded pretty amazing to Sydney. “Can I be one too?” she whispered.
“Of course! Anyone can join the S.O.C.K.S. That’s the best part!”
Sydney smiled and settled back in her chair as the stake Primary president started speaking.
From that day on, Sydney was a S.O.C.K.S., whether she was by herself or with the other S.O.C.K.S. girls. She made a pair of her own crazy socks, and they reminded her to be a Sister of Courage, Kindness, and Service, no matter what.
A few weeks later, she was put to the test. She and Libby were standing outside, waiting for rides home after a Primary activity, when Libby’s cell phone buzzed.
“Dad! I can’t wait to see you this weekend!” Pause. “Oh.” Longer pause. “Are you sure you can’t come?” Long pause. “OK. Bye.” Libby’s voice quavered.
Sydney knew that Libby’s parents had split up, but she never thought about how hard that must be. Libby, so cool and popular, had hard times too.
“So I guess now you’re going to tell everyone that my dad doesn’t want to see me, huh?” Libby scowled down at the sidewalk.
This is a perfect chance to get back at her! Sydney thought. What should I say?
Sydney glanced down at her socks and knew the answer.
“Of course not. I’m sorry you can’t see him this weekend.”
Libby looked up, surprised, just as both of their moms pulled up.
“I’ll see you at school,” Sydney said.
“OK. See you then.”
That night Sydney put her crazy socks away extra carefully. Today she had proved that she was a true S.O.C.K.S.—a sister of courage, kindness, and service—no matter what.

As I began to investigate the Church, I was given several issues of the Liahona (Spanish). The articles in these issues helped resolve some of my questions, and, as a result, I accepted the missionary discussions and was baptized 27 June 1987.
Since then, I have served a mission in Guayaquil, Ecuador, been sealed to a former missionary, and become a mother. I am very grateful to the good person who had the inspiration to give me the magazines. My testimony is strengthened continually as I read the Liahona.
Ruth Elena de GuaycalLas Palmas Ward, Santo Domingo Ecuador Stake

Recently while I was on the East Coast of the United States, a returned missionary spoke to me about a friend who had become disillusioned with information he had received about the Prophet Joseph Smith. They had spoken several times, and the returned missionary seemed to have some doubts himself as a result of the discussions.
Although I hoped he could strengthen his friend, I felt concerned for his own testimony. Brothers and sisters, let me give you a caution: you won’t be of much help to others if your own faith is not securely in place.

Children can change the world with their loving hearts and helping hands. About 100 years ago, Primary children helped build a hospital in Salt Lake City, Utah, USA. Every week, they brought pennies for the new hospital. When it opened in 1922, it was called the Primary Children’s Hospital. That’s because the children helped build it, bit by bit!

After recovering from a stroke when she was 16, Cristina was asked to help teach seminary. She encouraged many students as they memorized scriptures and learned from the Book of Mormon. Cristina also played the piano and loved to sing. She didn’t miss a beat when she was invited to direct a choir of 60 voices for a ward conference.