Gospel Story Finder

In the production of Annie, Sandy, the dog, broke loose, missed his cue, entered too soon, and came in from the wings center stage. He could have spoiled the show, but Annie came to the rescue and helped him wait until it was his time to enter.

As participants on the stage of life, we too must be sensitive to the timing and must work to support each other. There are times that some will, for a brief moment, move center stage in front of the lights, then backstage or even offstage into the wings for a time, confident that the entire cast will participate in the final curtain call.

Mia Maid president Allison Wright and her classmates hand-made and delivered invitations to all the homes within the ward boundaries. Over 300 people attended, with approximately 100 being nonmember children and their parents. “It’s a great chance for us to associate with and get to know those we don’t usually meet through Church activities,” said Marianne Miner. “I was in charge of the punch and chips, and I got a big cauldron-looking pot, put dry ice in the punch to make it smoke, and asked one of my neighbors to dress up like a witch to serve it.”

Several years later, I volunteered for service in the United States Marine Corps. At the beginning of basic training, I found myself standing at attention in front of my barrack’s bunk along with 54 other Marine Corps recruits. I met my drill instructor, a battle-hardened veteran, when he kicked open the door to the barracks and entered while screaming words laced with profanity.
After this terrifying introduction, he started at one end of the barracks and confronted each recruit with questions. Without exception, the drill instructor found something about each recruit to ridicule with loud, vulgar language. Down the row he came, with each marine shouting back his answer as commanded: “Yes” or “No, Sergeant Instructor.” I could not see exactly what he was doing, because we had been ordered to stand at attention with our eyes looking straight ahead. When it was my turn, I could tell he grabbed my duffel bag and emptied the contents onto my mattress behind me. He looked through my belongings, then walked back to face me. I braced myself for his attack. In his hand was my Book of Mormon. I expected that he would yell at me; instead, he moved close to me and whispered, “Are you a Mormon?”
As commanded, I yelled, “Yes, Sergeant Instructor.”
Again I expected the worst. Instead, he paused and raised his hand that held my Book of Mormon and in a very quiet voice said, “Do you believe in this book?”
Again I shouted, “Yes, Sergeant Instructor.”
At this point I was sure he would scream disparaging words about Mormons and the Book of Mormon, but he just stood there in silence. After a moment he walked back to my bunk and carefully laid down my Book of Mormon. He then walked by me and went on to ridicule and disparage all the remaining recruits. I have often wondered why that tough drill instructor spared me that day. But I am grateful I was able to say without hesitation, “Yes, I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints” and “Yes, I know the Book of Mormon is true.” My testimony of the special messages found in the Book of Mormon is a precious gift given to me through the Holy Ghost.

Imagine putting in that kind of time and effort for an entire year. That’s what Erin Johnson of the McLean Virginia Second Ward did. She got up close and personal with the Mormon pioneers so she could make a presentation for National History Day.
“I read 45 books for the project. I got some of the books from the library, and people loaned some of them to me. I also read journals from ancestors and relatives,” says Erin.
The work didn’t stop when Erin finished reading, though. She then put together a ten-minute dramatic presentation depicting the struggles the pioneers experienced as they crossed the plains.
During that ten minutes, Erin takes the audience through trials on the plains such as a mother burying her small child by the side of the trail, and then on to Utah, where the Saints set up an orderly, productive society.
“Each family member had a job on the trail, even the children,” says Erin in her presentation. She presents a short account of a pioneer child gathering buffalo chips to burn. She points out that everyone’s job was important on the trail—glamorous or not.
All her hard work paid off when Erin won third place in the Junior National competition, as well as a special award in her state division. High praise for a 12-year-old who had to prepare, set up, and perform her presentation with no help from anyone.
“I think it’s important to be well educated and work hard,” says Erin. “I also have a much greater appreciation for my ancestors and what they went through after doing this project.”
Erin says she now also appreciates her own family even more than she did before.
“They’ve helped me a lot,” she says. “I couldn’t have done it without their support.”

When I was 14, some Latter-day Saint missionaries came to our home and taught my mother and me. They soon invited us to be baptized. My mother declined, but I said yes. Looking back, I don’t know that I was converted. I think that, like many teens, I was simply looking to do something different than the norm.
For the next year I went to church by myself. I didn’t really feel like I fit in, and I didn’t understand much of what was taught. But I was active. The next year I lived away from home and attended a Church-owned high school in Mexico City. Although I had loved the high school during my initial visit and worked hard to be accepted to the school (and to convince my parents to let me attend), I quickly found that being on my own wasn’t easy. I still didn’t have a testimony. I didn’t really understand who Joseph Smith was or what the Book of Mormon taught. More than ever I felt like I didn’t fit in.
Of course, I didn’t tell my parents. I had spent a lot of time convincing them to let me come to this school. How could I admit that maybe this wasn’t the place for me after all? Because of my pride, I just struggled silently.
My difficult situation became worse when I received news that my parents were divorcing. I felt as though my whole world was being destroyed.
It was at that point that my bishop took me aside and asked how I was doing. I told him about all of my frustrations and my sorrows. “I feel like I really don’t know anything anymore,” I said.
That good bishop started teaching me about the gospel. We started with how to truly communicate with Heavenly Father. Over time we talked about the Atonement. He taught me truths of the gospel, and for the first time, I felt I had a testimony. I was glad I had something to cling to in that shaky period. Even though I felt powerless to help my family, I was able to feel a sense of happiness in being close to Heavenly Father. I knew that He knew me, and that changed everything.
Thanks to the love and patient teaching of my bishop, high school became a positive period in my life. Attending the Church high school changed my vision of who I was and what my life could be. When I graduated, I stayed in Mexico City. The first thing I did once I found a place to live was find the local ward so I could continue to have a place of refuge, a place where I could grow in the gospel.
A short time after that, I served a mission on Temple Square in Salt Lake City. I found great joy in sharing with others the truths that had given me a solid foundation in an otherwise turbulent time of life.

Having optimism combined with an eternal perspective leads to the third result of hope: we do not give up easily. We do not give up on ourselves, and we do not give up on others. We persevere even when there is opposition. Let me share an experience I had while I was pursuing my graduate degree.

I had been working on my PhD at the University of Utah for about three years. I had taken all the necessary classes and I had completed most of my experiments in the area of laser spectroscopy. The final task was to write my thesis which I estimated would take about six to eight months. It was at this critical time that my funding ran out. It was a complete surprise to me and was quite devastating. We also had a premature baby earlier in the year, our first child, and had large medical bills. I was ready to throw in the towel and give up on my PhD. I started looking for a job, and I even applied for a few. It was my wife who wouldn’t let me give up. She saw the bigger picture. She recognized that it was important for me to have a PhD and that was the very best time to get it done. Well, she was right, and I was blessed for sticking with it! I was able to complete my thesis in a shorter length of time, and it was my wife’s graduate advisor who directed us to my post-doctorate job at Utah State University.

In contrast, Reynolds was born in the United States on July 3, 1922. He lived in Provo and Salt Lake City, Utah, and eventually graduated from East High School. His father died in 1935, when Reynolds was only thirteen. As the only son and brother to two sisters, Reynolds felt great love and concern for his widowed mother and sisters. After high school Reynolds enlisted in the military and was sent to the Philippines. Prior to leaving Utah he received his patriarchal blessing. One of the promises in his blessing stated that he would “grow strong in the face of trial and temptation, growing strong in resisting temptation and thereby becoming an example of righteousness.”

By November 1941 Reynolds was sailing toward the Philippines. In January 1942 Reynolds was writing home to his mother from Mindanao about the heavy fighting. His letters contain counsel to his family to be faithful and to pray for him. Every letter his mother received expressed his love and concern for his family, including his desire to be with them. He talked about his future, especially about what he wanted to eat when he got home and what he wanted to pursue as a profession.

Meanwhile, Reynolds was listed as a prisoner of war by the Japanese government in May 1943. His mother received two messages through the Red Cross that indicated he was alive and healthy. The few words he was allowed to write told his mother that they were holding religious services in the prison camp and that he was working in the rice fields.

In a Deseret News article dated January 20, 1945, a reporter described how a Latter-day Saint group in a Japanese prison camp in the Philippines continued to live the gospel during their captivity. They held regular Church meetings and cared for each other. There were about twenty-five Mormon soldiers in the prison camp. They took comfort from their religion and had scriptures and songbooks. One former prisoner recounted a story of a sick young man being healed by two other prisoners. A Lieutenant Brown and an Officer Parry were the soldiers who administered to him. The Officer Parry mentioned in the article was Reynolds.

In September 1944 Reynolds was put on a Japanese prison ship bound for Japan. However, just off of the west coast of Mindanao, in the Philippine Islands, the Japanese freighter carrying the prisoners was torpedoed and sunk. In February 1945 his mother was officially notified that Reynolds had been on board the ship. His body was never recovered, but eyewitness reports say that those on the ship did not survive.

Before homes could be built, the Saints had to cut down the thickets and dig ditches to drain the swamps. Unfortunately, they were unaware of the dangerous disease the pesky mosquitoes were carrying. Many workers became ill with malaria. Before long, hundreds of people in Nauvoo and across the Mississippi River in Montrose, Iowa, were very ill. Many were dying.
For a time Joseph and Emma Smith nursed and cared for the sick, but then Joseph also became ill. For several days he lay overcome with the sickness. But on 22 July 1839, the Spirit of the Lord prompted Joseph to arise and help others. He obediently arose and began to administer to the sick staying in his house and to the people in the tent city surrounding his home. Then he went down to the river, where many more lay too sick to move.
Elder Heber C. Kimball and others then accompanied the Prophet across the river to Montrose, where they visited the homes of the sick and, using the power of the priesthood, healed them. When Joseph arrived at the home of Elijah Fordham, the man was unconscious and near death. Joseph took Brother Fordham’s hand and said, “Brother Fordham, do you not know me?” There was no response at first. Then Joseph repeated his question, and Elijah whispered, “Yes!”
Joseph said, “Have you not faith to be healed?”
Elijah answered, “I am afraid it is too late.”
Joseph asked next, “Do you believe that Jesus is the Christ?”
“I do, Brother Joseph,” Elijah said. Then the Prophet Joseph said in a loud voice, “Elijah, I command you, in the name of Jesus of Nazareth, to arise and be made whole!”
Elijah Fordham arose from his bed and was healed!
Wilford Woodruff said of the miraculous healing: “The words of the Prophet were not like the words of man, but like the voice of God. It seemed to me that the house shook from its foundation.”

It’s 7:00 P.M., and you’re on problem number four of your math homework. The first three problems have taken 20 minutes. Your sister pokes her head in the room and says, “Come on. Family home evening’s about to start.” What do you do?
If you’re Tracy Brook, 15, of the Ottawa Ontario Stake, you drop your pencil and go. She says, “When I have a lot of homework, at first I think, ‘Oh, I don’t have time for family home evening.’ But then after family night is finished, I feel a lot better.”
Why does Tracy feel this way? Because family home evening blesses her life. “It strengthens everyone’s testimony,” she says. “We get to understand more about the Church and the scriptures.”

Illustrated by Mike Eagle
As a boy, David O. McKay wanted to know for himself that Joseph Smith was a prophet. One day while looking for cattle, he got off his horse and knelt under a serviceberry bush.
He asked Heavenly Father for a spiritual witness, then waited for something wonderful to happen. Nothing did.
David: If I am true to myself, I must say I am just the same “old boy” that I was before I prayed.
Disappointed, he got back on his horse and rode away.
Still, he continued faithful and in time served a mission in Scotland. One day while there, he saw an unfinished building with a stone carving over the front door. He read the inscription: “What E’er Thou Art, Act Well Thy Part.” This advice inspired him to work harder.
David: I am here as a representative of the Lord Jesus Christ. From this moment on I will do my part.
Later, during a missionary priesthood meeting, President McMurrin, his mission president, made a prophecy.
President McMurrin: Brother David, … God is mindful of you. If you will keep the faith you will yet sit in the leading councils of the Church.
During that meeting, Elder McKay received the sure witness he had prayed for as a boy. He knew the Church was true. He also knew that Heavenly Father answers our prayers in His own time and His own way.
As President of the Church, David O. McKay taught that every member of the Church is a missionary. Latter-day Saints responded by sharing the gospel with their neighbors.
If you’d like to learn more about President McKay, do the “President David O. McKay Crossword” on page 23.

I have always been drawn to associate with older people (now I am one). I remember in the Quorum of the Twelve, LeGrand Richards didn’t walk as fast as the other Brethren, and I would always wait and open the door for him and walk back to the building with him. One day one of the Brethren said, “Oh, you’re so kind to take care of Brother Richards.” And I thought, “You don’t know my selfish motive”—as we would walk back, I would just listen to him. I knew that he could remember Wilford Woodruff, and he would speak. One-on-one teaching is very powerful. Generally one-on-one teaching is what happens when you are corrected.

A young man said that while playing on his soccer and basketball teams, he had to tell his coaches that he would not be able to play on Sundays. This was hard to do as he felt a commitment to the team, but his coaches were very impressed with his commitment to his religion. Later, he invited his soccer team to visit the church meetinghouse. All the players and the parents were impressed with the beauty of the church and had lots of questions about the pictures inside.

This summer the older girls in our ward Primary went swimming at the local pool for activity day. Every girl came, and one brought a friend from another church. They were polite and courteous to each other and everyone around them. That alone would have made me proud, but the girls’ next actions were such that I’m sure Heavenly Father was proud, too.
In the pool, an argument arose between some children not in our group. They were fighting over a raft, and the tension was growing. Some of our girls stepped in and helped make peace. They spoke in soft voices and helped keep the situation calm. In the end, everyone went away happy. A woman who saw the incident was so impressed that she approached one of our leaders to praise our girls and ask who they were.
Neither the woman nor the man asked to be taught by missionaries right then and there. But if they come into contact with the Church again, perhaps they will remember the examples set by the activity-day girls.

When Leonie’s husband joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in 1965, she had little interest in the faith. Years later, her view of her husband’s church began to soften, and Leonie accepted lessons from faithful sister missionaries in Rockhampton, Queensland.
In 1968, although she still didn’t have much of a testimony, she decided to be baptised on her husband’s birthday, as a gift to him. It was probably not a great reason to take up a new religion, but Leonie said that joining the Church was one of the best decisions she ever made.

I stood and watched my sleeping son. His sleep was heavy from the sedatives the doctor had given him. My heart felt just as heavy; indeed, my whole being felt heavy, as if a great burden had been laid on my chest.
What effects would the terrible events of this day have upon my son? I wondered. He was only 20 and had watched his oldest brother and one of our best friends fall down a snow-encrusted Icelandic mountain and die. Both were young men with their whole lives ahead of them. One was our branch president. He left behind a young wife and two children, the youngest only six weeks old.
The three friends had left my home that January morning to hike up a nearby mountain. I had begged them not to go; I knew there would be ice on the mountain, and the weather report forecast poor conditions. But they had not listened. I could still see their smiling faces as they waved and drove away. I would never see two of them alive again. The sorrow was so great that I closed my eyes. Pain pierced my heart like a sharp knife.
How could the Lord allow this to happen? These young men had been almost all we had of priesthood leadership in our very small branch. I could not understand. I felt the Lord had let us down.
I undressed and as usual knelt by my bed to thank my Heavenly Father for the day that had passed. But I could not utter a word. How could I thank Him for this terrible day? What was there to thank Him for? There must be something, I remember thinking. And then I remembered my sleeping son and felt shame flood my heart. How could I have forgotten him? He had been in the same danger as the other two, but he had come back alive. I thanked my Heavenly Father for protecting him and bringing him back to me. I asked Him to help my son get through this ordeal.
And then I thanked my Father in Heaven for those two young men who had died—my oldest son and our friend, our branch president. I thanked Him that I had known them and loved them and enjoyed their friendship. I thanked Him that they had both been converted, that both had believed in Him and in His Son, our Savior, and that both had changed their lives before they died. They had both died in the Lord—oh, how grateful I was for that!
And then I thanked my Heavenly Father for my four other children who were alive and healthy, for my good children-in-law, and for my grandchildren. And I kept on. There was so much to thank the Father for; there seemed to be no end to it.
With each word of thanks, the burden on my chest lightened, and a warm, life-giving feeling started flowing through my body. My mind was filled with peace, and my heart with joy.
How could that be? I thought. How could I feel joy after what had happened? But I did, and I knew it was right. The sorrow was there still, deep and painful, but there was also joy. I had learned that even in deepest sorrow our Father in Heaven can bless us with peace and joy. The key is faith in our Lord and Savior, complete trust in him, and gratitude—gratitude to our Heavenly Father for all that we have and all that we have had.
I finished my prayer and lay down in my bed. I still didn’t know why the deaths had to happen, but it didn’t matter. I had felt my Heavenly Father’s love. We were in His hands, and everything would be all right.

Valerie Wilson, 19, Coventry Ward—I had heard that there was to be some kind of flag ceremony at the entertainment, and frankly I was doubtful. I should explain that the British as a nation are known for their lack of outward emotion. A show of patriotism in any form, short of standing to honour the Queen, is just not British! It may well be that Britain’s extraordinary history of power and influence had had the effect of making the self-conscious British loath to demonstrate their love of country in front of strangers for fear of offending them, and because of this Britishers have simply lost the habit. Whatever the explanation, that night was the first time I have ever heard “Land of Hope and Glory” played just for the sake of it, and it was a glorious moment. I saw girls march proudly, carrying the familiar flags of the United Kingdom. I joined in the cheers with everyone else as we expressed, for the first time in our lives, our deep and sincere love for our country.

Earlier this year I was offered drugs. I did not want to offend that person, but I gained the courage to tell him that I was not interested. I cannot even tell you how grateful I am for holding true to what I believe in. A couple of weeks later, the guy who offered me drugs told me that he was so impressed that I stood up for what I believe in. He told me that he had never met anyone who could do that and that it took a lot of courage. He said he would never forget that experience.
Through your example you can be a light to others and a good influence (see Matthew 5:16).
Mary T., 16, Arizona, USA

One day when the Prophet was visiting his parents’ home in Far West, a group of militiamen burst through the door.
Which one of you is Joe Smith?
We’re here to kill him!
Joseph immediately stepped forward, smiled at the men, and shook their hands.
I’m Joseph. Nice to meet you. Please, come and sit down.
The men stared in disbelief at the Prophet as he continued to speak.
We Mormons believe in Jesus Christ and just want peace. But we have had a lot of persecution these past months since we’ve moved to Missouri. As far as I know, none of us have ever broken the law. But if we have, we’re ready to be tried by the law.
Mother, I believe I will go home. Emma will be expecting me.
You shall not go alone, for it is not safe.
We will go with you and guard you.
Thank you.
We promise to disband the militia under us and go home.
If you need us at all, we’ll come back and do whatever you need.
Outside Joseph’s parents’ home, the rest of the men talked about their encounter with the Prophet.
Did you not feel strangely when he took you by the hand? I never felt so in my life.
I felt as though I could not move. I would not harm one hair of that man’s head for the whole world.
This is the last time you will ever catch me coming to kill Joe Smith or the Mormons either.

Many years ago my husband, Ken, and I moved to Provo, Utah, so he could attend Brigham Young University. Before our move, Ken had traveled there, bought a mobile home, and arranged for water, gas, and electricity to be turned on when we moved in.
We arrived in Provo on a cold December night. All our belongings were packed in the back of a rental truck. We were tired and tense from the long trip. Six months pregnant, I was feeling the effects of cleaning, packing, and traveling. Shawna, our 15-month-old daughter, was tired and crying.
As we opened the door to our home, a blast of cold air greeted us. The electricity and water had been turned on, but for some reason the gas had not. Too exhausted to do anything else, we put a mattress on the floor and plugged in an electric blanket to keep us warm. We tried to sleep with our daughter between us, but she cried most of the night. When morning came we were almost as tired as when we had gone to bed.
After we unloaded the truck, Ken left to return it, check with the gas company, and arrange for a phone to be installed. I dressed Shawna in her snowsuit. Then I placed her in her highchair to play with a few toys while I started to unpack the boxes.
When I unpacked our electric frying pan, I decided to heat water in it to wash out the cupboards. As I turned on the kitchen sink, the faucet came off and water shot up into the air. I tried to turn off the water valve under the sink but could not get it to turn. Frantically, I searched for the water shutoff valve for the house. By the time I found it, the kitchen and living room were flooded.
As I desperately started moving boxes out of the water, Shawna sensed panic and began to scream. Carrying her with one of my arms, I continued trying to lift boxes with the other arm.
At that moment I started into premature labor. Now I was truly panicked. I didn’t know anyone in the neighborhood, and I didn’t have a phone to call for help. Desperately I prayed, “Heavenly Father, please help me!”
I’ll never forget the knock that came at the door minutes later. The woman standing there was shivering, with soapsuds up to her elbows. She introduced herself as Amalia Van Tassel, the branch Relief Society president, and told me the Spirit had sent her.
I would later learn that Amalia had been standing at her sink washing dishes when she felt prompted to check on the new family who had just moved in. Sensing that it was urgent, she called to her oldest daughter to watch her other children and, without even stopping to dry her hands or grab her coat, ran to my door.
Amalia had me lie down, comforted Shawna, cleaned up all she could, and invited our family to dinner. She brought light, safety, and comfort into that dark December day. Rest stopped my premature labor, Ken fixed the sink, the gas man turned the gas on, and portable electric heaters dried the soaked carpet.
I have always been grateful to Heavenly Father for answering my prayer that day and for the loving Relief Society president who quickly followed the promptings of the Holy Spirit.