Gospel Story Finder

Another time, Joseph was having difficulty going to bed. He wasn’t cooperating and was irritable. I asked him to tell me some of “The Living Christ.” As he began, I could feel the Spirit come into the room. He calmed down and changed back into his normal, happy self. Some time later, on another night when he was restless, I tried it again. This time his reply was very different: “No! I don’t want to be happy!” Our young son had learned what remembering Jesus Christ could do. Indeed, the Savior had become more real to all of us.

I’m eternally thankful for those who ministered and shared the restored gospel in a natural way to my wife when she was fourteen years of age. She accepted the invitation to follow Christ and was baptized in Málaga, Spain.
Having been ministered by her friends, who helped in her youth to draw closer to Christ, she learnt that ministering to others is part of our own process of repentance. It is how we turn our hearts to God and his Children. Some years after her baptism she travelled all alone to the Switzerland Temple to minister those on the other side of the veil. We then met each other in Zollikofen and this is also where we got sealed for time and eternity.

Joseph V.’s great-grandmother has Alzheimer’s disease. That means that she can’t remember things and sometimes doesn’t recognize people. Joseph started keeping a journal about his experiences with his great-grandmother’s illness, and then he wrote a book. Because of his book, My Grandma Has Alzheimer’s Too, Joseph has been in the newspaper, on the radio, and on TV. Now his book is going to be published.
Joseph says, “When the media ask me how my book started, I tell them first I kept a journal for two years then started to write my book. Then they say, ‘How did an 11-year-old boy learn to keep a journal?’ I tell them, ‘My church.’ ”
Joseph is happy that he can bring people’s attention to the disease and to the Church. He also wants to encourage young people to keep records and journals.

Elder Marvin J. Ashton: “A new convert to the Church recently shared this story. ‘I was in and out of enforced confinement most of my teen years. It wasn’t so bad being there because the food was pretty good, and we were treated all right. But it did get boring, so when anyone had any reading material, funny books, magazines, or anything, we would trade our food for a chance to borrow those items. One day I saw a fellow with a nice, thick book. I knew it would take a long time to read, so I offered him my pork chops, my potatoes, and all my main course food items for a week. He accepted my offer and loaned me the book. As I read it, I knew I was reading something very special and very true. The book for which I had sacrificed my food was titled the Book of Mormon. When I had a chance, I found the missionaries, changed my habits, and am now finding a new way of life. I love that book for which I traded my food” (General Conference, April 1981).

“I always take the Book of Mormon with me on business trips,” says Pedro, who presides over the Praia Second Branch. Both well educated, he and his wife work at a state-run food-supply and construction company. Once, while on a business trip to the northern island of Santo Antão, Pedro went two and a half hours out of his way to introduce the Book of Mormon to someone who had accidentally dialed the Semedos’ phone number a week earlier.

In a country where the vast majority of the population is under 25 years old, youth and young adults make up a large proportion of Church membership. Evening classes in seminary and institute in each of the major cities help build momentum for the gospel and entourage many youths to prepare for missions. Under the leadership of energetic teachers like Milena Sa Nogueira, more than 400 students have participated in the gospel-study programs since those programs began in January 1993.

“I used to teach my children the gospel,” says Milena, a widow and mother of five who was baptized in May 1992. “Now, my children teach me.” Milena has held family home evening every week since her baptism, and today she serves as District Young Women president in Praia. Early in 1995 she helped organize shipments of food and clothing when a volcano exploded on the island of Fogo and displaced more than 1,000 people.

Because marriage has never been a strong religious or social tradition in Cape Verde, many mothers and fathers who want to join the Church must first get married. For example, Claudimire and Margarida Cardosa, merchants at Praia’s open-air market, lived together for 26 years before their oldest of eight children, 19-year-old KaiuKa, joined the Church. Three other siblings accepted the gospel before Claudimire and Margarida decided to join the Church in June 1993. Before they were baptized, they were joined as a couple in a marriage ceremony at Praia’s civil registry.

In July 1994 President Aníbal Moreira, who is a bank administrator and president of the Praia District, and his wife, Maria do Rosario (Zézá), traveled to the Washington Temple in Washington, D.C., and became the first Cape Verdean couple to be sealed in a temple. Other marriages, too, reflect a strong commitment to the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Citing more than 80 marriages and baptisms similar to the Cardosas’, President Antonio Mascarenhas, president of the Republic of Cape Verde, recently honored the Church for helping strengthen family life. Other government leaders have publicly admired Church members’ emphasis on self-reliance and caring for neighbors. As President Moreira puts it, “In the pages of the history of Cape Verde, historians will speak highly about the Latter-day Saints.”

Being still is tricky for me. I always have a never-ending to-do list. While I do get a lot done, I am often stressed and overwhelmed by everything I’ve committed myself to. When I was looking for ways to become more receptive to personal revelation, I realized that I was living my life like Martha instead of Mary.1 I wasn’t giving myself time to just be still. After reading conference talks that counsel us to create a place and time to regularly listen to the Spirit, I knew I needed to do that.2 I now do my morning scripture study at a desk (instead of in bed), and I use my paper scriptures so I won’t be distracted by my phone.

After hearing the stake patriarch speak in sacrament meeting, I felt inspired to ask my bishop for a recommend. Then the patriarch and I set a date. As I entered his house that morning, I knew I was on the right path. We told each other a little about our lives. After that, the patriarch laid his hands upon my head and began to prophesy about my life. I could feel that it was all true and that it was really God that was speaking through the patriarch. I wept. I learned many things about myself that day.
Jared Edge, 18Layton, Utah

Fortunately there are still those who observe such principles of personal rectitude. Recently we rode a train from Osaka to Nagoya, Japan. At the station were friends to greet us, and in the excitement my wife left her purse on the train. We called the Tokyo station to report it. When the train arrived at its destination some three hours later, the railroad telephoned to say the purse was there. We were not returning via Tokyo, and more than a month passed before it was delivered to us in Salt Lake City. Everything left in the purse was there when it was returned.

Many years ago while serving in the United States Infantry in the South Pacific, my outfit was making a dry run on a seemingly deserted beach in the Admiralty Islands.
When my particular unit went ashore and scattered around on patrol, we came by chance upon a small native village. I will never forget one of the most interesting sights I have ever seen. All of the natives who appeared on the scene had dyed, reddish-orange hair, and every man, woman, and child—in fact, every living creature that I could see: dogs, animals of all sorts—wore a string of large green beads to the end of which were fastened three tiny shells. We learned upon inquiry from a Baptist minister who had labored amongst these natives that these beaded ornaments were used to ward off the bad results of an “evil eye” and bring good luck to the person or animal that wore it.
In this strange little village so far removed from our own culture it was believed that bad luck, sometimes even death, would follow if a mere glance from the evil eye of an enemy fell upon a person or animal. Hence, practically all of the animals and people wore such a string of beads as I have mentioned.

Lorne C. Campbell, a priest in the Como Ward, Southern River Stake, Western Australia, has a major past, present, and future in theatre. He began dance, drama, and music lessons when he was just five. By 14 he was composing his own songs, choreographing production numbers, and teaching. At 16 he wrote and produced a full length musical play, and now, at 18, Lorne is on a Rotary Exchange Scholarship to Belgium, where he attends the multilingual Athenee Royale.
All this, and Lorne never missed a beat in Primary, priesthood, or Young Men. He plans on furthering his studies at the University of Western Australia and on serving a mission. It looks like Lorne is making all the world his stage.

Elder Nicholas D. Germer, who served in the Brazil Brasília Mission, has been on the receiving end of a family home evening activity. He writes: “I received three letters from members of a family that I knew before my mission. They wrote the letters during a family home evening, and the three-year-old daughter even got help from her father to write to me. I could feel their love and will never forget these letters.”

Most of the time Ben liked to share. He liked to share Daddy’s toast and Mom’s cookie. He liked to share Mike’s football and Anne’s book. He liked to share Max’s wagon.
But Ben did not like to share his cool cars, not even with Max. “Mine!” Ben said.
Ben filled his hands and pockets with cool cars. He hid them in the corner and under the couch pillows. If Max wanted to play with him, Ben felt angry. “My cool cars!”
One day Mom pulled Ben onto her lap. She gave him a hug and a kiss. “Does Daddy share his toast with you?” Mom asked.
“Yes,” Ben said.
“Does Mommy share her cookie with you?”
“Yes.”
“Does Anne share her book and does Mike share his football with you?”
“Yes.”
“When you play with Max, does he share his wagon?”
“Yes.”
“When we share with you, we feel happy. You feel happy too,” Mom said. “If you share your cool cars with Max, you will feel happy, and Max will feel happy. You can play together, and you won’t feel angry anymore.”
Ben stayed on Mom’s lap for a minute. Then he got down and took two of his cars out of his pocket. He gave one to Max. Ben smiled, and Max smiled. Ben didn’t feel angry anymore. Sharing made him feel happy.

In my case it was my service as a missionary. For 19 years I had enjoyed Christmas surrounded by family and friends. I suppose in my youthful self-centeredness I had never considered spending it any other way.

Then, as the Yule season approached in 1960, I found myself half a world away from all that. I had been in England less than three months when, on the first of December, I was summoned to the mission office to meet Elder Eldon Smith, newly arrived from Champion, Alberta, Canada—my first junior companion. We were sent to open missionary work in the conservative city of Guildford, in the county of Surrey, an area that had never had Latter-day Saint missionaries and, to our knowledge, had only one member hidden somewhere within its boundaries. We were young, inexperienced, and a bit overwhelmed, but we were not fainthearted.

We registered with the police, arranged for lodging, and, initially unable to locate our lone member of the Church, threw ourselves into the only thing we knew to do—knock on doors. We knocked on doors in the morning, we knocked on doors at midday, we knocked on doors in the afternoon, and we knocked on doors at night. We rode our bicycles through those streets in what must have been the rainiest British December in history—or so it seemed to us. We were wet in the morning, we were wet at midday, we were wet in the afternoon, and we were wet at night, but we kept knocking on doors. And we got in almost none of them.

So it went until Christmas Eve, when people were even less inclined to hear a couple of missionaries “from the colonies.” That evening, weary but devoted, we retired to our one-room rental and had a Christmas devotional. We sang a Christmas hymn and then offered an invocation. We read from the scriptures and listened to a tape recording titled The True Story of Christmas. Then we sang another hymn of the season, said a closing prayer, and went to bed. We were too tired to have visions of sugarplums dance in our heads.

On Christmas morning we kept our morning study schedule and opened the two or three packages that had caught up with us following our transfer. Then we went out to knock on doors. We knocked in the morning, we knocked at midday, we knocked in the afternoon, and we knocked at night. We didn’t get in any of them.

For such an uneventful Christmas—clearly the least festive of any I ever had before or since—it says something that those special days in December of 1960 remain in my heart (after more than 50 years!) as one of the sweetest Christmases I have ever had. I think that is because for the first time in my life, I found myself understanding Christmas rather than just enjoying it. I think for the first time in any truly significant way, I was getting the message of Christ’s birth and life—His message and His mission and His sacrifice for others.

I should have made that connection at an earlier age, but I hadn’t—at least not strongly enough. But that Christmas in England—as a cold, wet, somewhat overwhelmed 19-year-old—I “got it.” I can truly say that because of my mission, Christmas, like so many other aspects of the gospel, has meant more to me every year since that experience.

After the conference Brigham immediately took Willard Richards and went with Elder Woodruff to personally survey the remarkable harvest of converts among the United Brethren in Herefordshire. And there he did not merely check things out like a good administrator, but joined fully in the preaching with all its risks and rewards. As Elder Woodruff recorded in his marvelously detailed diary:
“May 14—I walked to Ledbury with Elder Young, from thence to Keysent Street and preached but amid much disturbance and as the meeting was about breaking up the congregation was besmeared with rotten eggs. …
“June 3rd … A notable miracle was wrought by faith and the power of God in the person of Sister Mary Pitt at Dymok. She had been confined six years to her bed, with the spine, which mostly deprived her of the use of her feet and ankles, and had not walked for 11 years, only with the use of crutches. Elders Young, Richards, and Woodruff laid hands upon her and rebuked her infirmity and her ankle bones received strength and she now walks without the aid of crutch or staff.”29

I learned about the gospel together with my family in Barahona. One day, the missionaries came to our home. I was 11 years old. Somehow, I was delighted by what they taught us. Right now I do not remember all my feelings clearly, but what I can tell you is that I liked what they taught. We felt very good; they brought a very special spirit into our home. Thus, when the missionaries invited us to be baptized, I did not doubt; I accepted and entered the waters of baptism together with my mother. That was how I entered into the way and made my baptismal covenants with the Lord.

Brother Law has lived in our predominantly LDS community for 36 years. For the past 13 years, since his wife passed away, he has lived alone. He is a kind gentleman and a good neighbor. But just as his large garden and row of wild yellow rosebushes shield his house, there was an unseen barrier between him and his neighbors.
He was not a member of the Church. Although ward members often extended to him a hand of fellowship and offered to include him in Church activities, he always politely but firmly refused.
The neighborhood children have always loved him, but a few years ago a special friendship grew between him and nine-year-old Jessica, who lives across the street from him.
Worried about his being lonesome, she often went to pay a visit. One day she noticed a Book of Mormon on his shelf. Missionaries had left it years earlier. Jessica picked it up and announced that she was going to read to him some of her favorite scriptures.
Amused at first, Brother Law listened only to be nice to Jessica. Then the spirit of that great book began to warm his heart. He started looking forward to her reading it to him.
In the past when missionaries had come to his door, he had politely told them he was not interested. But not long after Jessica had begun reading to him, the missionaries came again. This time he listened!
Jessica’s friend, Kristen, invited him to go to church with her family. As Sunday approached, however, he told her that he had nothing to wear and that he didn’t feel very well.
The following Sunday, Jessica invited him to join her family at church. When he again tried the excuse of nothing to wear, Jessica told him, “You can wear one of Daddy’s shirts.”
Brother Law chuckled—Jessica’s father’s shirts were several sizes larger than his.
Not one to give up, Jessica told her mom the problem, and the next week Jessica gave Brother Law an early Christmas present—a new white shirt. By this time he was running out of excuses, but he tried once more by telling Jessica he had no appropriate pants. She simply replied, “Oh, you can wear most any pants. Just make sure they don’t have paint on them.”
He didn’t have a tie, either, but Jessica’s dad promptly loaned him one. With no excuses left, Brother Law agreed to attend church with Jessica’s family. After 71 years of not going to church, Brother Law was very nervous. Once he was in the chapel, though, he felt warm and comfortable.
The next hurdle came when the missionaries approached him about baptism. He had decided the Church was a family church, so it was really no place for him.
The following Sunday one of the Relief Society sisters gave a talk at ward conference on how we are all brothers and sisters in the gospel. As she talked, the Spirit touched his heart, and he realized that he really could be a part of the ward “family.” Besides, he recalled, all the children in the neighborhood were already calling him Grandpa or Brother Law.
This story has a wonderful ending—or beginning. On 10 April 1994, he was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Today when you look at Brother Law, he literally glows with the Spirit.

Be slow to judge. From a graduate school textbook I read of an account which substantiates the wisdom of this advice. In a large factory with multiple machines, the employees had to work as a team to be successful. On a particular machine the crew was handicapped by one worker frequently arriving late. The foreman reprimanded the tardy person and told him, “If you come to work late again, you’re fired!”
The very next day the recalcitrant was again late. The class was asked, “What would you do if you were the foreman?”
About half the class said, “I would keep my word and fire the person.” The balance took pity and answered, “I’d give him another chance.” The instructor then gave us the correct answer: “I would ask him why he was late. His tardiness could well be fully legitimate.”

President Russell M. Nelson, then a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, told the following story:
“On a recent flight, our pilot announced that we would encounter turbulence during our descent and that all passengers must fasten their seat belts securely. Sure enough, turbulence came. It was really rough. Across the aisle and a couple of rows behind me, a terrified woman panicked. With each frightening drop and jarring bump, she screamed loudly. Her husband tried to comfort her but to no avail. Her hysterical shouts persisted until we passed through that zone of turbulence to a safe landing. During her period of anxiety, I felt sorry for her. Because faith is the antidote for fear, I silently wished that I could have strengthened her faith. . . .
“When we speak of faith—the faith that can move mountains—we are not speaking of faith in general but of faith in the Lord Jesus Christ.”1
Like this woman’s perilous journey, we face obstacles and trials in this life, events that can make us doubt our faith and make us lose assurance that we need prophets, seers, and revelators on our own flight leading to eternal life.

For eight American seminary students living with their families in Quito, Ecuador, Christmas is a special time of year. In an effort to give something of themselves at this time of the year, they decided to share Christmas with an orphanage in the northern city of Latacunga.
The first efforts began in making gifts for the 70 children, ranging in age from 10 days to 12 years. For the boys they made bean bag mice, and for the girls they made soft snow-women dolls. Trying his hand at running a sewing machine, Bryon Bowers said, “I felt needed making those presents.”
When the big day came, the students wrapped each gift and loaded a basket with extra goodies like formula for the babies, rice, school supplies, and candy canes for everyone. At the orphanage, the students sang Christmas carols, helped the children reenact the Christmas story, and introduced Santa. Lamont Loveland recalls, “It was a very good experience for me because I had to play the part of Santa. It was fun to see the children’s faces when I handed them their presents.” Cory Goodman adds, “I’ve been here before, but I’ve never seen the children so excited.”
The seminary students brought five piñatas filled with candy and set them up for the children to break. Brenda Reinhart observed, “Seeing the love and unselfishness these orphan children showed was a lesson to me. After the candy from the piñata was collected by the children, they looked around to see who hadn’t received any so they could share theirs.”
During the two-hour drive back to Quito that evening, Carrie Reinhart expressed a wish, “I want to spend my next birthday here sharing with these wonderful children.”
Paulette Kaudelka spoke of the yearning most of them had felt during the day. “When I left the orphanage, I wanted to take all those little children with me and give them a better life.” Penni Kaudelka and Clayton Bowers felt their testimonies grew with this opportunity to serve.
In summing up the feelings of the group, I can only say we were all touched by the love given and then returned tenfold that day.

“Come on, Rory!” Greg muttered impatiently. “I want the milk too!”
I poured some over my cereal, then passed the carton to him.
“Greg, Rory,” Mom said as she packed our school lunches. “Listen up, you two. I’ll be leaving to get your father at the airport before you get home from school. They are predicting more snow, so I don’t know if his flight will arrive on time, or how the roads will be. Don’t worry if we’re late. I made a potpie for dinner. The first one home is to pop it into the oven at 350° for about forty minutes. There are homemade doughnuts for dessert. Then,” she continued as she shoved our sandwiches into brown bags, “get the Christmas tree down and set it up. If there’s time, check the light strings and put them on too. That would be a tremendous help! I know it was a big disappointment to not have our traditional tree-trimming family home evening this week, but it couldn’t be helped, and with Christmas only two days away, we just can’t wait any longer to get it up.”
“Mom,” Greg complained, “it’s Friday—the Mutual activity starts at 6:00 so that we can get to the senior citizens’ center early.”
Mom put the lunchmeat and cheese back into the refrigerator. “That gives you more than two hours between the time you get home from school and when you are expected at the meetinghouse, Greg! I don’t want to overwhelm your dad as soon as he gets home—there’s no need to with you two strong boys in the family. Remember, 350° for forty minutes—got that?”
Greg sighed loudly. “Got it.”
Mom kissed us both, then hurried into the hall. As she slipped into her coat, she called, “I’m off to help Grandma. Have a good day, you two, and if you need anything, call!”
“Yeah, yeah! Be careful driving!” Greg called.
“Yeah, Mom—be careful!” I echoed.
She waved and was gone, leaving us staring across the kitchen table at each other. Greg ate glumly, like he was mad. I ate my cereal quickly and quietly—I didn’t want him snapping at me.
After school, my friend Eric and I trudged home through the snow. “Can you come over?” he asked with frosted breath.
I shook my head. “Nope—I have to put our Christmas tree up.”
“Oh.” He kicked at a clump of snow. “Maybe next time.”
“Yeah, sure.” I waved and turned in at our snow-covered driveway. I cleared the walk and went inside.
I slid the potpie into the oven, then went upstairs and changed my clothes before climbing to the attic. The Christmas tree box lay on the floor in a corner under the eaves. As I dragged it out to the middle of the floor, I heard a car. I looked out the window, hoping it was Greg, but the car continued slowly down the street.
As I tugged at the sturdy cardboard box, it opened and artificial pine boughs spilled onto the floor. I dug around the box and found the aluminum stem, the spreader ring, and the stand. I had to be real careful not to scratch the walls as I took them down to the living room, but I made it.
Then I went to check the potpie—it was starting to smell good. Greg still wasn’t home, so I pulled the sofa away from the picture window and set up the tree stand and the stem. By the time he finally got home, I had the tree set up, branches and all, and was in the attic, getting the decorations.
“Ho!” he shouted.
“What took you so long?” I bristled. “I made a thousand trips up and down!”
He rubbed his hands briskly, then grabbed a box of Christmas lights and decorations and lugged them down the steps. “Some kid’s car got stuck in the snow at school, and I helped get him out—that’s what took me so long! Come on, Rory, shake a leg. The potpie smells like it’s done!”
We sat down and said a blessing on the food, then ate so fast that Mom would have yelled. I got stuck putting the dishes into the dishwasher while Greg tested the lights. “Well, all the lights are good, and I’m gone!” he announced.
“Mom said we’re both supposed to do this, and it’s only 5:20—you can get to the ward in ten minutes!”
He was already putting on his jacket. “Not when the roads are bad! Besides, I helped, so quit complaining!” Ten seconds later, he was gone.
I sat on the floor to untangle the strings of lights. I was glad that Mom and Dad didn’t walk in right then and see the mess. Everyone’s in a rush, I thought as I threaded a string of lights through the branches, and I’m stuck with the work. This is fun when everyone helps. It’s notmy fault that Dad was sent out of town for a few weeks and things got behind. With drooping shoulders I reached for one string after another. Greg gladly helps everyone except his little brother. When Mom and Dad get home, I’ll tell them how little he helped. He’ll get hollered at but good, and he deserves it!
The clock was striking eight when I knelt and pushed in the plug. The room suddenly glowed—it was beginning to look a lot like Christmas. It didn’t take as long to hang the colored balls and other ornaments. By the time Mom and Dad got home, the tree was trimmed, except for the icicles. When I heard our car in the driveway, I shoved all the empty storage boxes into one corner, then collapsed onto a chair and tried to look relaxed.
“It’s wonderful to be home,” Dad said, as they came inside and gazed around, smiling. “Everything looks great!”
“You boys did a super job,” Mom added with a grateful smile.
“You certainly did,” Dad agreed, giving me a bear hug.
That was my chance—except I didn’t feel angry at Greg any more. He was right to help someone in trouble, and putting up the Christmas tree alone hadn’t been really awful—just lonesome. Besides, I decided, it is the season of peace on earth. So I just said, “Thanks, Mom, Dad. But the icicles aren’t on yet, and I can’t find the tree skirt.”
Mom smiled. “I know where it is, honey. I’ll take care of that.”
Dad sat in his recliner. “And after I get a couple of your mom’s doughnuts in me, I’ll help you put the icicles on. It surely feels good to know that your family comes through when your plans are upset. With this much done, there won’t be any obstacles for our traditional Christmas Eve gathering with your grandparents and cousins. And Mom and I will make sure that our first-family-council-of-the-new-year will include some extra family events especially of interest to you boys. We’re really proud of you.”
Later, as I was reading in my room, Greg appeared at the door. “Mom and Dad thanked me for helping with the tree,” he said meekly. “I guess you didn’t tell them how little I helped.”
I shrugged. “The tree’s up, so it doesn’t matter much who put it up—no big deal.”
He tapped the doorframe with the palm of his hand. “It is to me,” he said. “Thanks, little brother. I’ll make it up to you—and I won’t treat you like that again, honest.”
As he turned away, I smiled and closed my book. I turned off my light, said my prayers, then crawled under the covers and grinned at the ceiling. It’s funny how good keeping the peace can make you feel.