Gospel Story Finder

What, then, are some of the decisions couples can make to lead fulfilled lives when the answer is that they will not have children in this life? One night, as my husband and I were seeking an answer to this question, we read from President David O. McKay, “The noblest aim in life is to strive … to make others lives … happier.” (General Conference, April 1961.)

It was like a beacon in the dark. It became a motto, a guiding light. That night, speaking I think by inspiration from the Lord, the patriarch of our family said to me, “You need not possess children to love them. Loving is not synonymous with possessing, and possessing is not necessarily loving. The world is filled with people to be loved, guided, taught, lifted, and inspired.”

My husband and I knew that parents are constantly placed in situations that develop unselfishness and sacrifice. We began to realize that if we were to learn the important lessons that our friends with children were learning, we needed to place ourselves in situations where we could serve and sacrifice. So we began to say yes to everything and to everyone.

It wasn’t long before we had many opportunities to serve and sacrifice. Often, at the end of a long week we would plan for a moment together—just the two of us—and the telephone would ring. We’d postpone our moment together and carry on with a joyful, grateful heart for our opportunities, hoping to qualify even in some small measure for the quality spoken of by Elder Neal A. Maxwell:
“So often our sisters [and I would add brothers] comfort others when their own needs are greater than those being comforted. That quality is like the generosity of Jesus on the cross. Empathy during agony is a portion of divinity! … They do not withhold their blessings simply because some blessings are [for now at least] withheld from them.” (General Conference, April 1978.)

Three young women now serving missions in Australia all have something in common. They originally grew up on islands in the Indian Ocean and were converted to the Church by friends.
Soon Lee Lim was born and raised on Christmas Island. She and her family moved to Perth, Australia, where she joined the Church and introduced it to her friend Chong Kheng Lin. Soon Lee was called to the Brisbane Mission to serve as a full-time missionary.
Chong Kheng Lin was also from Christmas Island. She and her family also settled in Perth, Australia. She attended the baptism of Soon Lee and was impressed by the Spirit and the information communicated by the missionaries. She investigated and joined the Church. Lin is serving a full-time mission in the Melbourne Australia Mission.
Maria Rogatienne Augusoa Houareau was born on the Seychelles Islands. She was introduced to the gospel by a friend, and she and two sisters were baptized. Maria is now serving a full-time mission in Melbourne, Australia.

Wilford Woodruff’s family suffered along with the others. In October, while Wilford cut timber, a falling tree struck him and broke some of his ribs. Soon after, his little son Joseph caught a severe cold. Wilford and Phebe attended to the boy constantly, but nothing they did helped, and soon they buried his body in the settlement’s newly plotted cemetery.
Some weeks after Joseph’s death, Phebe delivered a baby prematurely, and the child died two days later. One evening, Wilford came home and found Phebe distraught, looking at a portrait of herself holding Joseph. Losing the children pained them both, and Wilford longed for when the Saints would find a home, live in peace, and enjoy the blessings and safety of Zion.
“I pray my Heavenly Father to lengthen out my days,” he wrote in his journal, “to behold the house of God stand upon the tops of the mountains and to see the standard of liberty reared up as an ensign to the nations.”27

Katya, a dear sister in Ukraine, has a deep love for the temple. Before the temple in Kyiv was built, she and others in her branch sacrificed to travel 36 hours on a bus to attend the temple once a year in Germany. These devoted Saints prayed, studied scriptures, sang hymns, and discussed the gospel as they traveled. Katya told me, “When we finally arrived at the temple, we were prepared to receive what the Lord had to give us.”

After translating the Book of Mormon, the Lord commanded Joseph to revise the Bible.
As he read the Bible, Joseph was inspired by the Lord to make some changes.
Joseph asked scribes to help him.
The work was delayed when the Lord commanded the Saints to move to Ohio.
After moving to Ohio, Joseph started his revisions again with Sidney Rigdon helping as scribe.
“We need to resume our work on the Bible.”
On February 16, 1832, Joseph and Sidney were revising the book of John in the New Testament.
“… they who have done good, in the resurrection of the just; and they who have done evil, in the resurrection of the unjust.”
“What does this mean?”
An incredible vision opened up to them.
They saw Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father.
They also learned that there are three kingdoms in heaven.
They were shown that those who will inherit the celestial kingdom will be resurrected first.
“These are they who are … made perfect through Jesus.”
When the vision was over, they were amazed. Sidney was tired.
“Sidney is not as used to this as I am.”
President Wilford Woodruff said that this vision “gives more light, more truth, and more principle than any revelation contained in any other book we ever read.”
Teachings of Presidents of the Church: Wilford Woodruff (2004), 120–21.

Of course, sometimes you’ll want your mom and dad to listen, not talk. As you’ve probably noticed, many adults suffer from acute Advice-Giving Syndrome. I know I do. My daughter Christy will often start to tell me about a problem she’s having at school or with friends, and immediately I stop listening and start telling her what she should do. I know that Christy wants to express herself more than she wants my advice, but sometimes I just can’t help myself.
A student of mine has a good approach to use on parents (or any other adult, for that matter) who tend to give advice when they should be listening. “My parents love to give me advice,” he says, “and lots of times, I don’t mind. But sometimes I really want them to listen to what I have to say, so I’ll tell them, ‘Mom and Dad, I want to tell you something, and I want you to listen—without talking—until I’m finished. I really want to tell you this, but if you’re not going to listen, I’m not going to tell you. If you’ll listen to me, then I’ll listen to what you have to say.’ That usually works.”

This was the second time I had entered this town, and I remembered the first time 17 years before when I was seven years old. It had been a little cooler, a little later; the streets had been darkening, street lights shining, but the sounds, the noises, had been the same.
Only the feeling was different because then it was all new and I was frightened. Instead of my very own, hard-earned, bought-and-paid-for sports car, I had been sitting, small and still, in Grandpa’s black and white sedan with the worn, creaky seats, the dusty dashboard, and the smell of Grandpa emanating from every corner, every fiber, circling around me, descending on me, yet all culminating on the person of that tall, broad figure sitting beside me. The car seemed to live and breathe as if it were a part of the man who had driven it year after year, smelling always of the same shaving lotion, the hot chocolate he drank for breakfast every morning, the solution he soaked his teeth in every night, the mints he sucked on after every meal. Clean smells, sweet smells, Grandpa smells that had been woven through his clothes, grown into his scratchy face, and soaked into the ends of his fingertips.
I didn’t know him. We had lived far away. Every year my mother and father had talked about going to see Grandpa and Grandma, but money was short, and we needed a new bathroom. The next year I broke my arm. The next year … well that was the year I had come, without my parents, who lay, to my bewilderment, in pretty boxes called caskets under the ground. The car and the night had claimed them. I didn’t understand.
Grandpa had waited at a red light, perhaps the same one I was waiting at now, and looked down at me. I must have looked very tiny to such a man, my skinny legs sticking out from my little skirt, my thin hands clutching my eyeless teddy bear, my pale face turned toward him, round, red eyes waiting.
Then he smiled that smile, that special smile. Not a broad one, not a hearty one. Such a slight upturn of lips, a simple rounding of cheeks, a curving of heavy eyebrows. But it was mostly his eyes that, dark as they were, shone deep into mine, sparkling dark like black diamonds. I sat startled, my mouth dropped, and for just a moment I felt certain that he was this Heavenly Father that my mother had told me about so often. He put his big hand on my neatly parted hair, touched the side of my face, then lifted one long blonde braid with his fingers. His words were simple, like the rest of him.
“Move closer, Blondie.” He put his arm around me, pulling me close. “Grandpa’s gonna take care of you now. Don’t be afraid, little Blondie Boo.” The light turned green and he drove on.
The warmth of his body helped me forget how cold my mama and daddy were in those boxes, and the tears that fell were no longer frightened but relieved. With my wet face against his side I slept.

“Let’s go! They’re waiting for us,” I said anxiously. I was nervous, the crowd was waiting, and I was ready to perform.
My friends Carson, Mark, Tyson, Bryce, and I had formed a dance group called Saturday Knights. After performing well in a competition, our group had become well known in the community. Tonight we were dancing during the intermission of a scholarship pageant.
As we were about to go on stage, Mark suggested we say a prayer. We always have a prayer before and after each performance.
“No, let’s just go,” I said. “They’re waiting for us. We don’t have time.”
Mark looked at me intently and said firmly, “There is never enough time to thank the Lord for all He has given us. We have time to pray.”
I was struck dumb. I stood there feeling terrible. Correcting myself, I knelt with my friends, said a prayer of thanksgiving, and then went on stage.
Mark’s comment gave me a new perspective on gratitude. He was right. There really isn’t enough time to thank Heavenly Father for all of His countless blessings. Because of Mark’s example, my testimony was strengthened. I have never forgotten his words, and my life has been greatly blessed because of them.

Nathan started saving when he was even younger than Adam. When he was 10, he began delivering papers, shoveling snow, and mowing lawns. Now that he’s 15, he’s what he likes to call a “Babysitter Extraordinaire” for some of the families in his ward. He loves spending time with children, so it’s a great job for him. After paying tithing, he puts away 10 percent of each paycheck for his mission.
He’s had the desire to serve since Primary when he sang “I Hope They Call Me on a Mission” (Children’s Songbook, 169). “And when my brother went,” he says, “that made me want to go even more. It made a big difference for me. He set the example. He really changed his attitude toward life because of his mission.”
Going on a mission is really important to Nathan, not only because his dad thinks it’s really important or because his older brother set the example. He says, “It’s a commandment. I really need to go on a mission. It’s an important thing.”

As a family we soon learned to live with the unexpected when an act of charity was involved. We had moved to California several years ago, and while we were preparing our finances to buy a home, we rented one which furnished us with appliances we needed. We had to store ours in our garage waiting for the purchase of a home. One evening in sacrament meeting she heard an earnest appeal from the bishop of our ward to assist those who had lost so much in a devastating flood a few miles from where we lived. As I drove home from work a few nights later, I saw a trailer in my driveway. There was a man tying my appliances on his trailer. I rushed into the house to see what was going on. And I was greeted with the words, “Oh, didn’t I tell you? After sacrament meeting last week, I informed the bishop if anyone needed our appliances for flood relief, they could have them.”

It’s not unusual for Young Men and Young Women to paint a house as part of a ward service project, but the teachers quorum and Mia Maid class from the Boise 19th Ward, Boise Idaho North Stake, did it as part of a community-wide “Paint the Town Day.” They combined with 154 other teams made up of 4,200 volunteers to paint houses all over the community, with materials donated by local merchants. When they were through, they all met in a local park for a community party.
They had such a good time, in fact, that the rest of the youth from the ward decided to do a painting project the very next Saturday.
This one involved being ferried across a reservoir to camp, then painting the log picnic shelters and tables the next day. “This is a pretty place, and I like being part of keeping it nice,” said Melissa West, surveying her ward’s work. The event resulted in some sore muscles and sunburned noses, but everyone agreed they were worth the friendship and sense of service they came away with.

As part of my "summer of fun” canoeing I was blessed to take part in the N? Pali Challenge, which is a 37-mile canoe race down the N? Pali Coast of Kauai. The race consists of six women and six men. The two crews are changed every 30 minutes. To change the crews, you jump off the escort boat in the water in seat order and wait for the canoe to come “pick you up.” When you reach the canoe, the person in your seat hops out and you climb in. The race takes roughly six hours, meaning roughly six water changes. When you hop out, the escort boat comes to pick everyone up and you get a little rest until you do it all over again. If this sounds both awful and amazing, you are right!

For each water change we had a plan for how we were going to get off the escort boat, huddle together in the water, get into our canoe, and the pace we would set for the next 30 minutes. Well, you know what they say about the best laid plans! One water change we were grouped together and a wave came at the last minute and split our group, so half of us ended up on the wrong side of the canoe.

At another water change we hulied shortly after getting in the boat and I thought, so much for plans… now we are losing time and have to do the hard work of flipping the boat back over, bailing it, and getting back in. I remember thinking, this is hard, and I float pretty good. I wonder if anyone will notice if I just take off towards land. But as an answer to my prayers, the men’s crew leaped off the escort boat to help us, cutting their break short. Hats and sunglasses were lost, we all ended up with bruises and sunburnt, and it was amazing.

Even though we had a solid plan for what do to in most situations, some of the situations we encountered we couldn’t have ever planned for. Like in life, even the most well thought out plans can go out the window in the most marvelous of ways.

Certainly no one could write the life story of Jesus of Nazareth or Judas Iscariot without knowing what happened during their last hour. And I would like to tell you about some of the things that one man thought about during his last hour. This is the old legendary story of Faust. Dr. John Faust died in Wittenberg, Germany, in the year 1540. But twenty-four years before his death, he sold his soul to Satan. He said to Satan, “If you will aid me for twenty-four years, punishing my enemies and helping my friends, at the end of that time, I will forever deliver up my soul.”

Now at that time that seemed like a good idea to Faust. Twenty-four years was a long time. Twenty-four years may last forever. And anyway, what difference did it make what happened after twenty-four years? But Satan, with better perspective, said, “I will wait on Faustus while he lives and he shall buy my service with his soul.”

And then the twenty-four years began, and Faust had every experience of good and bad. But almost before he was aware, it was said to Faust as it must be said to everyone of us, “Thine hour is come.” Now this is the first time that he had ever thought about the consequences of what he was doing. Only now did he discover how badly he had cheated himself. Then he wanted to revoke the bargain, but that was impossible. And then he prayed and he said, “Oh God, if thou canst have no mercy on my soul, at least grant some end to my incessant pain. Let Faustus live in hell a thousand years or even an hundred thousand, but at last be saved!”

But he knew that, according to his own bargain, even this could never be. And then during his last hour he sat and watched the clock tick off the seconds and finally, just as the hour struck, the last words of Faust before he died were: “Faustus is gone to hell!”

Now if Faust had lived his last hour first, he never would have permitted himself to come to this unprofitable place. I have a relative who, when she reads a novel, always reads the last chapter first. She wants to know before she begins where she is going to be when she gets through. And that is a pretty good idea for life.

Carrie Hamer, 16, of the Bloomington Ward, Minneapolis Minnesota Stake, sounds almost like she’s telling a mystery story.
“In the corner of the pastor’s house in Albig, West Germany, there were these extremely old books, hundreds of years old. I was amazed that he even let us go through them. We could see right away that the records in them took our family back six or seven generations, and so we were copying as fast as we could. When he went in the other room, we kneeled and prayed that he wouldn’t get irritated and make us leave, and that we could finish quickly.
“Way off in the corner we saw a copy machine. It was really strange, because this house was ancient. But he let us use these old books and put them right on the copy machine. We copied 118 pages, about 1,500 names, half of them our direct ancestors with their complete families. Without the photocopier, I think we’d still be scribbling notes, and who knows how many errors we could have made.”

What was I thinking? Me? Run a half-marathon? No way! But there I was for the fourth week in a row, training to run a 13-mile race. Why was I pushing myself so hard to do something I had never been good at? Because I had to prove to myself that I could achieve a personal victory, symbolic of all the spiritual and temporal changes that had taken place in my life.
Before I found the gospel, I had always taken the easy road when it came to making choices. I never pushed myself. I never tried to become a better person, spiritually or physically. But things changed when I received the missionary lessons. Suddenly I was introduced to a whole new world of people striving to better themselves, working hard at self-mastery and education.
I was intrigued. My old friends were interested in parties and fun. My new friends were interested in experiencing joy by overcoming the “natural man”—a concept I didn’t quite understand. But I was awed by my new friends’ lifestyle. They worked hard in school, dressed modestly, didn’t drink or smoke, and they read scriptures every night!
At first I didn’t understand why they chose this righteous pattern of living. “Why would anyone want such a boring life?” I thought. I didn’t understand how regular scripture study and prayer could be better than watching a good movie.
Then I learned the meaning of the “natural man” when an institute teacher explained the concept in detail. From the scriptures he read, “The natural man is an enemy to God … and will be, forever and ever, unless he yields to the enticings of the Holy Spirit, and putteth off the natural man and becometh a saint through the atonement of Christ the Lord” (Mosiah 3:19).
True happiness, my teacher explained, comes only when our spirits learn to control our bodies, training them to be governed by the laws of God. When we live by the natural man’s principles, which is to do only what is easy and fun, we may feel good for the moment, but we will never find lasting peace or joy.
The words of my teacher struck me, and I decided that I should experiment. I would start working hard at being more like Christ would have me be. I would join in the marathon of righteous living, training daily by reading the scriptures and praying. Then I would decide if doing so could really bring me lasting happiness.
I began to read the scriptures. At first it was painfully boring. I didn’t understand a thing I read. But the institute teacher had planted a seed of faith in me, so I kept reading. And then, little by little, I started to understand the scriptures. Not only did I understand, but I also felt a real, lasting joy—different from the temporary joy I experienced when I watched a movie or bought a new sweater. In training for this marathon of righteous living, I realized how badly I needed to drink the “living waters,” which represent the Atonement of Christ. I found answers to my deepest problems and anxieties.
The institute teacher was right. Now that I have tasted of the true joy that comes from living the laws of God, I will never be satisfied with the easy life and fleeting, feel-good moments. I no longer see myself as living in a body that is a slave to its desires. Instead, I see myself as a spirit daughter of Heavenly Father, able to make the right choices. I’ll always remember that there is a bigger marathon to run in life. I know if I endure to the end, having faith in Christ and keeping His commandments, I can attain the prize—eternal joy.

One Christmas, our 13-year-old granddaughter, Allie, received a special gift from one of her friends. It was a temple recommend cover. Allie was thrilled. She had just had her interview with her bishop for her temple recommend to do baptisms for the dead. She discovered how preparing for the temple and attending regularly can positively and spiritually change your life.
At the beginning of the summer, Allie and a close friend decided to visit each of the temples in and around Salt Lake City, Utah, to participate in baptisms and confirmations for the dead. This experience has increased their faith and brought them joy and spiritual enrichment.
Allie told me that the feeling in the temple is totally different from the feeling in her junior high school. She said, “It’s a feeling that you want with you always. It feels peaceful and happy. There is no pressure. I feel the Spirit trying to teach me there, and it makes me want to be better. I love being able to serve others. When I go home, I feel even greater love for my brothers and sisters and for my mom and dad.”

Many years back I had been assigned to name a patriarch for a stake in Logan, Utah. I found such a man, wrote his name on a slip of paper, and placed the note inside my scriptures. My further review revealed that another worthy patriarch had moved to this same area, making unnecessary the naming of a new patriarch. None was named.

Nine years later I was again assigned a stake conference in Logan. Once more a patriarch was needed for the stake I was to visit. I had been using a new set of scriptures for several years and had them in my briefcase. However, as I prepared to leave my home for the drive to Logan, I took from the bookcase shelf an older set of scriptures, leaving the new ones at home. During the conference I began my search for a patriarch: a worthy man, a blameless servant of God, one filled with faith, characterized by kindness. Pondering these requirements, I opened my scriptures and there discovered the slip of paper placed there long years before. I read the name written on the paper: Cecil B. Kenner. I asked the stake presidency if by chance Brother Kenner lived in this particular stake. I found he did. Cecil B. Kenner was that day ordained a patriarch.

President Joseph F. Smith once told of an instance he remembered from his boyhood. He said that when he was very young he was attending a party in the Mansion House given by his uncle, the Prophet Joseph Smith. A large company was present, engaging in the festivities of the occasion. Suddenly the door opened and a man entered, dressed in ragged, shabby clothes. He was dirty, and his hair and beard were long and unkempt. He looked like a tramp. The Prophet at the time was on the other side of the room, opposite the door through which the man had come. President Smith said that Joseph, athletic man that he was, fairly sprang across the room, grabbed the shabby man in his arms, and hugged him as if he were a near and dear relative. This man was a brother in the priesthood. He had undergone a harrowing experience and made a tremendous sacrifice for his brother, the Prophet of God. (See Stephen L Richards, “The Priesthood Quorum: A Three-fold Definition,” Improvement Era, May 1939, p. 294.) The history of the Church is filled with accounts of quorum brother serving quorum brother with great love and understanding.

Some years ago one of my high school friends visited me. We talked over old times. Unfortunately he had chosen a life of moral transgression. At one point he broke out in tears and exclaimed, almost like a broken record, "I want to be clean, I want to be clean, I want to be clean." To his credit he eventually changed his life to conform to the moral standards he knew to be correct. Like my friend, I believe there is an innate desire in every man and woman to be morally clean--oh, there may be some moments of rationalization, or expressions that yield to the peer pressure and fashions of the day, but in the quiet, reflective moments of life, when one ponders who he really is and what he really wants to become, there emerges a God-given desire to be clean, to be holy, to be right with that very being who created him and planted within him the creative powers.

We can trust the Lord. He never forgets any of us or any of our needs. Sometimes we do not get what we ask for. Then we must stop and think for a minute: maybe we are not supposed to get what we think we need. Even if our desires are just, maybe it’s not the right time in our life or maybe it’s never going to be the right time in this mortal life. We need to totally trust in the Lord, put ourselves in His hands, and accept our lot in life. This is not easy, but, if we are close to the Spirit, it will be easier for us to accept what comes to us. When my father was deathly ill with cancer, I earnestly prayed that he would be healed, that his life would be spared. He was such a good man; he did not deserve to suffer so. Then, as the illness progressed, the Lord touched my heart and my prayers changed. I asked that my mother and I would receive strength, patience, and an accepting attitude for whatever we were going to face. The Lord blessed us, and we were able to accept the passing of my dad. Even if the loss was great and the loneliness in our hearts deep, we felt peace in our souls.