Gospel Story Finder

As a friend and I were completing the virtue value project for Personal Progress, we read the Book of Mormon at school during breaks. Our teacher and our classmates began to make fun of us. At times I wanted to stop reading, but I simply could not leave my scriptures at home. We continued to read at school, and over time we weren’t made fun of anymore. One of our friends became interested in the gospel and in Personal Progress. We gave her the booklet and a triple combination, and since then we have been telling her about the gospel. Her brother also became interested in the gospel. They are both reading the Book of Mormon.
Kimberly A., 16, Brazil

Jeffrey R. Holland
(6) Two sister missionaries walk away without saying anything to a man who swears at them, throws food at them, and tries to hit one of them.

While this fundraising was taking place, most were unaware that a beloved child in the Ashton Stake was actually spending the remaining days of her life at the hospice. Her family were also provided accommodation and able to stay with her. This way they could spend as much time as possible together and cherish every moment they had. The parents commented that the nurses and staff had been like angels to them in their darkest moment, taking care of every family need and request. When the parents found out about the donation that had been made, they expressed how grateful and thankful they were for the efforts which had taken place.
It was all the more special and personally worthwhile when that news was shared to all those who were involved in this effort.
We do not always see the results of the kind deeds and service we give to others, especially fundraising efforts. On this occasion, we were given a very personal insight and experience which humbled us all.

The best Thanksgiving legend is the great snow turkey story. It has become a family myth. As the story has developed, it was the first year that we celebrated Thanksgiving at the ranch. This was over my mother’s objections that the house would be cold and drafty, which it was; that the roads would be icy, which they were; and that the electricity would go out, which it did. But there were also about two feet of snow, and it was just right for snowballs, forts, and snowmen—or snow pilgrims in this case.
Where there are snow pilgrims, there are snow turkeys. We sculpted a snow turkey right there on the front lawn. It had giant tail feathers, dyed with food coloring. For support it had elephantine legs and feet that looked like clown shoes. The recollections on its size vary but seem to grow bigger each year.
It was a long afternoon because, as mother had predicted, the real turkey would not thaw because the kitchen was too cold. We filled the afternoon taking pictures of everybody standing beside or riding on the snow turkey. My father’s photographic skills are nearly as legendary as the snow turkey. Not a single photo made it back from the lab. Either there was no film in the camera or the setting was wrong, but it ended up that there is not a single picture of the mythical snow turkey.
As the story is told and retold, the size and quality of this piece of art grow. At the last telling, the snow turkey was ready to take flight on its icy wings, almost as lifelike as Michaelangelo’s statue of David.
Over the last few years, the younger nieces and nephews have wanted to build another snow turkey. They have heard so much about it, and we have made that Thanksgiving sound like a perfectly fun afternoon. There is no mention of frozen mittens or the sun coming out and melting the turkey away before dinner was over. All we remember, or at least retell, is that it was beautiful beyond imagination and lent a warmth to the holiday that has been with us ever since.
The nieces and nephews can get the older kids and grownups out for snowball fights, fort building, and a snowman or two, but somehow when it comes time to sculpt a new snow turkey, we head off on the cross-country skis instead. We know that any reconstruction would only cheapen the memory of the first Thanksgiving snow turkey and show it to have been the work of soggy wet mittens, not inspired artistic hands. No, we have never attempted to reconstruct the snow turkey, and it’s probably best that the pictures did not turn out. There are, after all, some symbols that you just don’t fool around with.

When I graduated from high school, I was an accomplished tennis player, and I was selected to travel around Europe on a great team. While in France, we often played on fast indoor courts. I played well the first month and won a lot of matches.
Feeling really good about myself, I left France with my team and headed for Austria. The first tournament was on slow red clay. Going from fast indoor courts to slow red clay was a dramatic change. For the first time—and the only time in my 40 years of playing tennis—I lost 6–0 6–0, a double bagel, we call it. It rocked my world. Unwisely, I dwelt on my deficiencies from the match for days. A week later I was still dwelling on the loss.
I began to constantly doubt myself. Every time I messed up, I told myself I wasn’t good at tennis. I would miss a backhand into the top of the net and say to myself, “Not again! Your backhand stinks. You can’t make a backhand. Why do you even play this game? You just stink.”
Then I had the opportunity to play tennis at Brigham Young University, and I thought it was the perfect time to reset. However, I quickly learned that the bad mental habit of self-doubt I had created wasn’t going away anytime soon. I was working hard physically, but I wasn’t working hard mentally.
The problem was that I didn’t know how to fix my habit. How could I develop the belief that I could improve when I constantly doubted my God-given ability to do so? And my doubts didn’t just relate to sports. I had often told myself I wasn’t a good student. As a result, I didn’t study well and therefore didn’t do as well in school as I could have. Receiving low grades just reinforced the cycle of self-doubt, negative talk, and negative performance. As I prayed and pondered about these things, the Lord taught me some valuable lessons that could apply in all areas of my life.
One of the most important things I realized is how dangerous self-doubt is. When it gets into your mind, it hinders your ability to fulfill your potential and undermines confidence. However, confidence and fear, or positive and negative thoughts, cannot occupy your mind at the same time. To break my habit of self-doubt, I needed to fill my mind with the belief that I could excel.
I started working on thinking more positively. President James E. Faust (1920–2007), Second Counselor in the First Presidency, said, “We develop our talents first by thinking we can.”1
But positive thinking by itself isn’t enough. I realized that because I have a divine nature and destiny, I can trust in God to help me improve in all areas of my life. And as I listen to the Holy Ghost, I can make good choices, develop my talents, and work to reach my divine potential.
As I exercise faith in God, ask Him for guidance and help to fulfill my divine potential, and trust that He will help me, I gain trust, confidence, and a growing sense of self-worth.
The Lord also taught me that increasing confidence has a lot to do with how you talk to yourself. Every time I caught myself thinking or talking to myself in negative, reactive ways like, “Your backhand stinks” or “Don’t miss that backhand,” I would stop that thought and immediately replace it with thoughts such as, “I love my backhand” or “I am going to rip it down the line.” And instead of saying to myself, “School is tough; my classes are too hard for me,” I started telling myself, “I’ve got this; I can get good grades.”
It took some time, but everything started to change. I was playing amazing tennis (at least for me), and I was studying and getting better grades. More importantly, it chased out fear. This change in thinking was a continual work in progress, and I constantly battled to apply what I had learned. As my fear disappeared, my confidence grew.
The Lord also taught me that it was important to remind myself of my worth and potential when I started doubting or talking negatively about myself. I started thinking of short phrases that would remind me of my divine worth when I am under pressure or discouraged. Doing this is a lot like using a scripture or hymn to lift you up when you feel down or want to stay strong in the face of temptation—only personalized to your particular situation. When used at critical moments, doing this can flood the mind with positive, strong thoughts and instantly squeeze out any negative thoughts and emotions.

This temple was built by the early Saints from 1840 1846. It burned down but was rebuilt in 2002.

As an “active nonmember,” as everyone called me, I learned to have patience and hope that one day I would become a member of the Church. I knew it was a test of my faith and patience. I wondered how long it would take to be cleansed and start a new life.
That day came almost seven years after my friend took me to church on that cold February morning in 2000. I was baptized at 21 at the mission home in Sofia. My baptism day was one of the happiest days of my life. At that moment I felt the great redeeming love Heavenly Father has for me. I felt that even more when I partook of the sacrament the next day. I couldn’t hold back the tears. The Spirit burning inside me was telling me it was worth waiting for. I could finally enjoy the gift of the Holy Ghost and other blessings of being a member of the Church.

Santos Altamirano Espinosa, who has just returned from serving a mission, says: “We shouldn’t be selfish. We should let our brothers and sisters know of the truth and help them realize that they have the opportunity of gaining eternal life.”
She adds a personal experience of following the counsel of the Brethren: “I remember President Kimball as an apostle. Ten years ago he said, ‘Prepare yourselves and have provisions in your homes because difficult times will come.’ Several years ago Chile went through a difficult time when there was no food. The prophecy was fulfilled, and every time I remember this, I put more emphasis on obeying the counsel of the prophets.”

Elder William Calhoun of the Mansfield (Ohio) Ward and the Italy Rome Mission recalled how his father impressed upon him the importance of the priesthood.
“On the Sunday that I was to be ordained a deacon, I remember Dad reading to me from the Doctrine and Covenants about the duties a deacon has. It seemed so important. It is important. He helped me take it seriously, emphasizing that I wasn’t only his son, but that I was someone who was worthy to come forth in the latter days and hold the priesthood. He let me know that the tone you set for yourself in your younger years, doing what may seem at the time to be mundane—passing the sacrament, collecting fast offerings, making sure the building is clean—those are the things that set the stage for later on.”

September 1979 was only the second time the women of the global Church had met in their own general meeting. President Kimball had prepared his talk, but when the day of the conference came, he was in the hospital. So instead, he asked his wife, Camilla Eyring Kimball, to read his remarks on his behalf.
Sister Kimball read the prophet’s words, which emphasized the influence of LDS women on the good women of the world prior to the Second Coming of the Savior. Near the end, there was an electrifying charge to the women of the Church that we have been talking about ever since.
Let me quote a little of what President Kimball said:
“Finally, my dear sisters, may I suggest to you something that has not been said before or at least in quite this way. Much of the major growth that is coming to the Church in the last days will come because many of the good women of the world … will be drawn to the Church in large numbers. This will happen to the degree that the women of the Church reflect righteousness and articulateness in their lives and to the degree that the women of the Church are seen as distinct and different—in happy ways—from the women of the world.
“Among the real heroines in the world who will come into the Church are women who are more concerned with being righteous than with being selfish. These real heroines have true humility, which places a higher value on integrity than on visibility. …
“… It will be … female exemplars of the Church [who] will be a significant force in both the numerical and the spiritual growth of the Church in the last days.”

GEORGE Q. CANNON (Born 1827, Liverpool, England; died 1901, Monterey, California; apostle; first counselor to Presidents John Taylor, Wilford Woodruff, Lorenzo Snow.) Baptized as a boy by John Taylor; lived to become President Taylor’s counselor in the First Presidency. Mother died crossing ocean, father soon after, leaving him to care for family at age 17. Terrified of public speaking as a boy he became thrilling orator. While serving in England, he helped over 13,000 Saints emigrate to “Zion.” In Hawaii, translated the Book of Mormon and saw over 4,000 Hawaiians baptized. Prolific writer and editor; left more than two and a half million words in print.

After the end of the war, I returned to New York, where I met an old friend, a pastor of my former church. He interceded for me with the synod, and I was finally admitted to the congregation as a lay member. As an experiment, it was agreed that I should accompany one of the pastors on a mission to New Zealand and Australia.
In Australia, we met some Italian immigrants who asked questions about the errors in some Bible translations. They were not satisfied with my companion’s answers. When they asked me about it, I once again told the story of Christ’s appearance to the people of America. When they asked me where I had learned such teachings, I told them of the book I had found. The story was good to them but bad for my colleague. He reported me to the synod, and once again they cut me off from the church.

The elders’ first meeting with Chea was quite accidental. Looking for another family, they happened to knock on his door. Chea was the only family member who spoke English. In the course of their conversation, he told them that he loved Jesus, wanted to find a church, and made them promise to take him to church the next Sunday. Elder Gooch recalls, “I was very impressed with Chea. He was extremely mature and seemed like a 25-year-old in a 12-year-old body.” Chea’s parents told the elders that their son had visited several Christian churches on his own, but “didn’t feel right in any of them.”
After hearing the discussions and attending sacrament meeting, Chea knew he had found what he was looking for. “The people are so nice. I feel I belong. As I learn the scriptures and read the Book of Mormon, I can feel Heavenly Father’s love for me.” Chea loves to sing and adds, “The music makes me very happy.” Although his parents have taken the missionary lessons, attended church often, and fully support Chea, they have not joined the Church. (As a Buddhist monk, Chea’s father made certain commitments that he feels would be violated should he join another religion.)

Born on June 6, 1954, in St. George, Utah, USA, to Richard and Miriam Schmutz, Elder Schmutz learned early about the power of prayer. As a Cub Scout he sold U.S. $17 worth of tickets to a jamboree but couldn’t find the money when it was time to turn it in. His mother encouraged him to pray, and the Lord revealed to him exactly where the money was. It was a strong confirmation of God’s love for and awareness of him.

For you to feel that urgency, I first share the story of Noelle Pikus-Pace, one of those Latter-day Saint athletes. In Noelle’s event, the skeleton, athletes build momentum as they sprint and then plunge headfirst on a small sled. With their faces inches above the ground, they race down a winding, icy track at speeds that top 90 miles (145 km) an hour.
Remarkably, years of preparation would be considered either a success or a disappointment based on what happened in the space of four intense 60-second runs.
Noelle’s previous 2006 Olympic dreams were dashed when a terrible accident left her with a broken leg. In the 2010 Olympics her dreams fell short again when just over one-tenth of a second kept her from the medal stand.2
Can you imagine the anxiety she felt as she waited to begin her first run in the 2014 Olympics? Years of preparation would culminate in only a sliver of time. Four minutes total. She spent years preparing for those four minutes and would spend a lifetime afterward reflecting on them.
Noelle’s final runs were virtually flawless! We will never forget her leap into the stands to embrace her family after crossing the finish line, exclaiming, “We did it!” Years of preparation had paid off. We saw her Young Women medallion around her neck as the silver medal was placed there beside it.3
It may seem unfair that Noelle’s entire Olympic dreams hinged on what she did during just four brief minutes. But she knew it, and that is why she prepared so diligently. She sensed the magnitude, the urgency of her four minutes, and what they would mean for the rest of her life.

A recent issue of the Church News carried the story of a group of farmers in a small Idaho community. May I read briefly from that account?
“It is 6 a.m. in late October, and frost already hangs in the air over the sugar beet fields of Rupert, Idaho.
“The long arms of the ‘beeters’ stretch out over twelve rows, slicing the tops off sugar beets. Behind them, the harvesters thrust their steel fingers into the soil and scoop up the beets, pulling them up toward a belt and into a waiting truck.
“… This is the Rupert Idaho Welfare Farm, and those who are working here today are volunteers. … At times more than 60 machines [are] working in harmony together— … all owned by local farmers.”
The work goes on throughout the day.
“[At] 7 p.m. … the sun has set, leaving the land dark and cold once again. The farmers head home, exhausted and happy.
“They have finished well another day.
“They have harvested the Lord’s sugar beets” (Neil K. Newell, “A Harvest in Idaho,” Church News, Mar. 20, 2004, 16).
Such remarkable volunteer service goes on constantly to assure supplies for the storehouses of the Lord.

While working in the same building with A. W. White and Company, and also Wells, Fargo and Company (although I was not employed with bank work, except the collecting in the latter bank) I learned quite well, by assisting the bookkeepers and tellers, the banking business, which knowledge qualified me to accept a position as acting cashier of Zion’s Savings Bank and Trust Company, during the absence of my predecessor on a mission to Europe. Had I not been willing to sacrifice a portion of my unoccupied time while in White’s and Wells Fargo’s banks, I would not have been qualified to accept the position in Zion’s Savings Bank.

As the usual family festivities of Christmas Eve were drawing to an end, I felt that can’t-wait-until-morning feeling of excitement!
I was eight years of age and the oldest grandchild in my large extended family. Every few minutes, a parent, aunt, or uncle would open the door and exclaim about hearing the faint sound of bells. I could hardly wait for Santa to arrive! Yet Grandpa still insisted on going caroling first—a family tradition. “Santa will never come!” I thought.
As we hopped into our frost-covered cars, we realized it was a lot later than we normally left. The small town where we lived in Idaho was very quiet and cold. Some family members worried that we shouldn’t go caroling so late, but my grandpa insisted that we should visit a couple houses.
As we drove down the small, tree-covered lane, we could see no hint of light in the tiny log cabin belonging to “Old Jim.” Jim was a good friend, and he had a big heart. He had been a widower since I could remember.
“Surely Jim wouldn’t care if we didn’t stop!” I moaned. Santa Claus would miss us for sure!
But my good grandfather persisted: “Just quietly gather by the bedroom window and start with ‘O Little Town of Bethlehem.’”
Our voices were unsteady at first, but strength lies in numbers, and it wasn’t long until the music swelled into a beautiful, harmonious melody.
Yet in thy dark streets shineth
The everlasting Light.
The hopes and fears of all the years
Are met in thee tonight.
There was still no light on in Jim’s home, but we continued to sing.
O morning stars, together
Proclaim the holy birth,
And praises sing to God the King,
And peace to men on earth 1
The cabin door opened.
In the moonlight, we could see tears run down Jim’s face. As he embraced us all, he cried—really cried. After a time, he wiped the tears of joy from his face and said to us, “I have waited all year for you to come. You are my Christmas. And when the clock turned 9:30, I thought I had been forgotten. I was so disappointed. I had gone to bed, for there was no reason to stay up anymore.”
Our hearts were filled. As Jim motioned us into his home and turned on the light, we could see that he indeed had been expecting us. His kitchen table was beautifully set, and there was everything from Christmas cake and cookies to cold meats cut and laid out waiting for us to eat. The cups had been carefully counted and lovingly filled with sweet apple cider, so as “not to miss a one of you,” Jim added.
Jim said we had been his Christmas? Not so. Jim had been ours.
The gift of love we received that cold Christmas Eve was more wonderful than anything Santa could ever have left under our Christmas tree. And it was a reminder that the Lord wants us to minister to His children as He does—one by one, bringing His love with us (see 3 Nephi 11:15–17; 17:21).

Not long ago Sister Rasband and I had an experience we shall never forget. I was assigned to preside at two stake conferences in Peru. While there, we went to the city of Puno, high in the Andes Mountains, on Lake Titicaca. At 12,000 feet (3,660 m) above sea level, we were amazed at this simple and beautiful city, high on this Andean lake. We met with stake presidents in the area and had a wonderful youth fireside with hundreds of young people from the Puno area.
One morning we were invited to visit a small group of local members who lived out on the floating reed islands of Lake Titicaca. The people who live there are known as the Uros Indians of Bolivia and Peru.
We were told that a few Latter-day Saint families had joined together and built their own small, new floating island. With excitement, we took a boat out to the island and were greeted warmly by these wonderful members.
We held their babies wrapped in the most beautiful, colorful handmade blankets. We ate the fish they caught that very day from the lake, which had been so carefully prepared and generously shared. We saw their wares and handicrafts and exchanged gifts with one another.
As we visited, we learned that their children paddled by canoe 45 minutes to and from Puno for seminary and school each day. We were also pleased that these members knew the scriptures well, understood them, and loved them. Eagerly they showed us their current temple recommends, having been endowed and sealed in the Cochabamba Bolivia Temple.
Before we were to leave, one of the mothers asked if we would kneel with them and have a family prayer. I remember well kneeling on the spongy reeds with these faithful Saints. As we knelt, she asked if I would say the prayer and, using the Melchizedek Priesthood, dedicate their new island and home.
I was deeply humbled that, there on the floating islands of Lake Titicaca, these faithful Latter-day Saint families would ask me to pray for the little island of Apu Inti and ask the Lord to bless the homes and families of the Lujanos and Jallahuis.
As I consider this special experience that the Lord blessed us with, I know a new building block has been added to my house of faith. I often think of that experience in Puno as another reminder of the fulfillment of my own patriarchal blessing.

You may recall the tender conference message on depression that Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles gave a few years ago.3 From his talk, a video segment was produced that received over two million views on Facebook alone, with many thousands of likes, shares, and positive comments.4