Gospel Story Finder

“Dad was the bishop during the war years. He was very involved in community affairs, being a member of several community boards, and even running for mayor. I can remember Dad coming home one time during the war and saying, ‘Guess what I have? Some real butter!’ That was a big thing for us. Getting a new pair of shoes or a new pair of pants was a big thing too. We never felt that we were poor, though. We always seemed to have enough.

Preston and the surrounding areas were the sites of some of the greatest missionary efforts in the history of the Church. In 1837 Elder Heber C. Kimball led a group of missionaries there to begin the work in Great Britain. The Wilsons have stood by the River Ribble, where the first baptisms in Britain took place. They have walked through Market Square, where the missionaries preached. They have visited many places where the Spirit was poured out upon their land. It’s no wonder that they do missionary work whenever they can. They once had the favor returned when a nonmember referred them to the missionaries! One day the sister missionaries knocked on a door around the corner from the Wilsons where some older ladies lived. The missionaries asked them if they were interested in learning about the Church, and they said no.
“Well, do you know anybody who might be?”
“There’s a lovely family around the corner,” one of the ladies answered. “They have lots of children. They’d be good Mormons.”
She was right, of course.

Most teachers never realize the full impact of their teaching. I am certain a special Primary teacher never anticipated that the way she taught would impress me so much that many years later I would emulate her teaching technique in a boardroom in New York City. She was very skilled in holding our attention by the use of visual aids. A flannel board, which she used in her presentations, was popular in those days.
Now fast-forward with me to a critical time in my professional career. In 1962 I accepted a position in New York as the controller of a large retail firm. One of my new responsibilities was to make a budget presentation to the board of directors. Weeks before the presentation, I was called into the office of the president of the firm and told how demanding the board of directors was on the person who presented the budget. I was warned to make a presentation that would captivate the board and guarantee support for our proposed budget. I left his office feeling overwhelmed and burdened with self-doubt.
The next day I visited the boardroom, looked around, and tried to find a way that I could make the presentation effective. As I sat in the boardroom, I observed a large piece of flannel that covered the better part of the wall. I’m sure it had been placed there for its acoustic value. As I looked at the large piece of flannel, I thought of my Primary teacher and the use of the flannel board. I sent to Salt Lake for some flannel-backed paper. When it arrived, I prepared three different projections of the budget on that paper. As the budget presentation was made and the discussion followed, I could pull off one budget projection and replace it with another as appropriate. The members of the board were fascinated with my presentation using the flannel board technique. Each time I would present one of our second options and tell the board the consequences, they would immediately go back to the first budget projection, the one we really wanted to have approved. The presentation seemed to be very effective, and when it was over, I was complimented, thanks to my Primary teacher. I don’t know if the presentation was the reason or not, but the following week I was called into the president’s office and informed that the board of directors had approved my promotion from the management level to the officer level.

Yet life has never been easy for Brady. When he was three years old, he was hospitalized with a collapsed lung and pneumonia. When his condition suddenly worsened, I called his father and suggested that he come back to the hospital because I was sure that Brady could not live more than a few hours. When Brother Blaser arrived, he asked me to join him in administering to Brady. Brother Blaser gave his son another powerful blessing, promising him not only that he would live but that he would be running up the hospital hallway the next day!
As a doctor, I thought, Steve, you can’t promise him that he will run tomorrow—he is struggling just to live!
The next morning Brady ran up the hospital hallway to greet me!

Two years ago, in beautiful Heber Valley just east of Salt Lake City, a loving mother and devoted father returned to that personal haven called home to discover that their three eldest sons lay dead. The night was bitter cold, and the fierce wind swept the falling snow, which covered the chimney, releasing deadly carbon monoxide fumes throughout the house.
The joint funeral service for the Keller boys was one of the most touching experiences of my life. The residents of the community had placed aside their daily tasks, children were excused from school, and all thronged to the chapel to express their deep feelings of condolence. So long as time and memory endure, I shall remember the scene of three shiny caskets, followed by grief-stricken parents and grandparents making their way to the front of the building.
The first speaker was the wrestling coach of the local high school. He paid tribute to Louis, the oldest boy. With an emotion-filled voice, and choking back the tears, he told how Louis was not necessarily the most gifted wrestler on the team, but added, “No one tried harder. What he lacked in athletic skill he made up with a determined heart.”
Then a youth leader spoke of Travis. He told how Travis had excelled in Scouting, in Aaronic Priesthood work, and was such a sterling example to his friends.
Finally, a distinguished appearing and obviously competent elementary school teacher told of Jason, the youngest of the three. She described him as quiet, even shy. Then, without embarrassment, she told how Jason had, in the scrawled penmanship of a boy, sent to her the sweetest and most welcome letter she had ever received. Its message was brief—just three words: “I love you.” She could barely complete her talk, so deep-felt were her emotions.
Through the tears and the sorrow of that special day, I observed eternal lessons that had been taught by those boys whose lives were honored and whose mortal missions concluded.
A coach expressed the determination to look beyond athletic prowess and into the heart of each boy. A youth leader made a solemn vow that every boy and girl would have the benefit which the program of the Church provided. An elementary school teacher looked at the small children, classmates of Jason. She said nothing, but her eyes revealed the determination of her soul. The message was unmistakably clear: “I will love each child. Each boy, each girl will be guided in the search for truth, in the development of talent, and be introduced to the wonderful world of service.”
And the audience, including Elders Marvin J. Ashton and Thomas S. Monson, will never again be the same. All will strive toward that perfection spoken of by the Master. Our inspiration? The lives of the boys who now rest from care and sorrow, and the fortitude of parents who trust in the Lord with all their hearts, who lean not to their own understanding, and who in all their ways acknowledge Him, knowing that He will direct their paths. (See Prov. 3:5–6.)
Let me share with you a portion of a letter sent to me by the noble mother of these three sons. It was written soon after their passing.
“We do have days and nights that right now seem so overwhelming. The change in our home life has been so drastic. With almost half our family gone now, the cooking, washing, and even shopping are different. We miss the noise and clutter, the teasing and playing together. Such are gone. Sunday is so quiet. We miss seeing the sacrament blessed and passed by our sons. Sunday was truly our family together day. We ponder the thought: no missions, no weddings, no grandchildren. We would not ask for their return, but we could not say we would ever have willingly given them up. We have returned to our Church duties and our family responsibilities. Our desire is to so live that the Keller family will be a forever family.”

I participated in a Helping Hands project and helped paint a wall at a school. I like to go to church on Sundays.
Jarede R., age 6, Paranagá, Brazil

I’m so thankful for the New Era. It is such great reading material and is just what I’ve been needing during my second year of middle school, especially with all the garbage in this world. I decided to take the idea from your September 1994 article “Picture This” and pin a picture of Christ in my locker.
Courtni HawkesPoway, California

One of my fondest childhood memories is the clicking of my mother’s high heels on the hardwood kitchen floor as she prepared our family for church. She was heavily involved in our ward and served for years as Relief Society president. I never dreamed anything would change.
When I was around 12 and she and I lived alone, she left the Church for reasons I didn’t understand. Although my mom—my role model—had decided to take a different path, I knew the gospel was true, and I continued to attend church. Even though she disagreed with my decision, Mom did drive me to and from church every week.
It was often emotionally difficult to attend church, especially sacrament meeting where, sitting alone near the back, I had a clear view of all the mothers, fathers, and children sitting together. Many times I sat with a friend’s family. I’ll always be grateful for my “Mormon family” and others in my ward who took extra care to include me during this difficult time.
My home teachers, for example, were faithful even though it was only me they came to teach and I lived farther away than most ward members. I looked forward to the opportunity to discuss the gospel and to feel the strength of the priesthood and the Spirit in my home.
Many ward members were people I had known all my life. With their familiar faces, welcoming smiles, and friendly conversation, they became my ward mothers, fathers, brothers, and sisters. Feeling a sense of belonging and love eased the heartache of attending church without my family.
How grateful I am for those who became my safety net, instilling in me a desire to do the same for others.

At night, I read the scriptures to my little sister. While I read the Doctrine and Covenants to her, she is able to go to sleep. I am thankful for my family. They help me, and I help them.
Yousuf R., age 4, Illinois

During the time of the project, the family also managed to net a new member—both for the family and for the Church. A young man named Rich, who was without family, came to spend the Christmas holidays at Ryan’s invitation. The Munnses shared not only their Christmas presents but the gospel. Rich joined the Church through baptism, and the Munns family through legal adoption. As he helped with the nursery project to help pay for his own future mission, he was also putting down his own roots.
Rich Munns is now serving in the Washington Tacoma Mission, enjoying not only his mission but the knowledge that he financed it with his own labor.

I was praying to my Heavenly Father, and I know many other people were praying for me also. Through all of my trials, I prayed that I would be healed, that my joints would recover, and that I wouldn’t have to go through the rest of chemotherapy. I felt that my prayers weren’t being answered because I still had to go to Primary Children’s Medical Center in Salt Lake City every week for more chemotherapy. I still hurt. And I was still stuck in a wheelchair. At one point, I started to think that my parents were crazy for believing in a God who wouldn’t even listen to a poor little sick girl.
Years before, I had gone through a similar trial of my faith when I prayed for my mom to get better. She was on oxygen all the time and was too weak to even walk around the house. I prayed and hoped and prayed some more that she would miraculously be healed. However, she wasn’t. After she died, I learned that we can pray for what we want all that we want to, but we need to pray for the right things—praying that the Lord’s will be done—to have our prayers answered.
Remembering this lesson, I changed my prayers from “Please heal me” to “Heavenly Father, I would really like to be done with these trials, but I will accept Thy will.” As soon as I changed my prayers, I found that I was able to handle the chemotherapy more easily, and I had a better attitude. That was just the beginning of the blessings and the answers to my prayers and questions.

The first thing my family does when we set up for Christmas is put together the Nativity scene. Our Nativity set consists of three separate scenes—the inn and innkeepers, the Wise Men with camels and tents, and the stable with Mary, Joseph, shepherds, and an angel. We place it in a central location in our house, where we can always see it. We’ve kept this tradition for around 15 years now, and because it’s the first thing we do, my mind is always turned to Christ for the rest of the Christmas season. Our Christmas tree has changed four times in my lifetime, but the Nativity scene is a constant. Christ should be the first thing we think of at Christmas—He’s in the name of the season, after all. The Nativity scene is my favourite tradition because it emphasizes the importance of Christ amidst other, more worldly traditions. It draws my focus back to the humble birth of my Saviour and the faith of His earthly parents.

I was the first member of my family to be baptized; I joined the Church when I was only 10 years old. It was difficult to remain strong. But through the blessings of my Heavenly Father, my parents and my grandmother are now faithful members of the Church. This is what is most important: being part of the gospel and sharing it with others, especially our own families.
Wandyson de O. G. Moreira,Guarus First Branch, Campos Brazil District

It was a hot day. I was excited and a little nervous. Today was a big day for me and other members of the Royal Canadian Military Force. It was the day of the endurance test.
We’d heard a lot about this test. It was tough. Sixty-pound packs would be strapped on our backs; then we would have to run five miles without stopping! And that wasn’t all. Next, we would have to turn around and walk/run five more miles back to camp.
But I was in good shape. I had been a starter on the high school basketball team. I also enjoyed many other sports. I had grown up active and healthy. But the best thing that I had done to prepare for this big test was to obey the Word of Wisdom.
The officers conducting the test signaled the beginning of the run, and we were off. Several men dropped out before we had gone two miles. As I ran on, I saw many of my friends quit. Some even passed out. They all had to be taken back to camp in a truck. But I was determined to do my best. I was tired, but I ran on.
When I reached the five-mile mark, I was exhausted. Sweat dripped down my face and drenched my clothes. Then I had to turn around and head back to camp. Even though those of us remaining were allowed to walk occasionally, it was arduous!
I had always tried to do what was right. I tried to listen to and obey my parents and Primary teachers as I grew up. They taught me that smoking, drinking, and drugs would hurt my body, and I believed them. (See D&C 89.)
I know that the Lord blessed me with the health and strength to pass that test because I kept the Word of Wisdom. Obeying the Word of Wisdom—and all the Lord’s commandments—is important for everyone. If we are obedient, the Lord will bless us.

The clock struck nine. Flora watched her father thumb through the Bible’s pages to find his place. Elder Roberts, who had been teaching them about the Church, laid down the saddlebag he was mending. Flora’s sister, Matilda, set aside her needlework to listen to Father read: “‘Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee’” (Isa. 41:10).
“Amen,” Elder Roberts said as Father finished reading.
“Now, Elder Roberts, would you read from the Book of Mormon?” Father asked.
Elder Roberts opened the well-worn Book of Mormon. He cleared his throat and began, “‘Now this is the commandment: Repent … and come unto me and be baptized in my name’” (3 Ne. 27:20).
Flora leaned closer to Matilda and whispered, “You can be baptized if you like, but I never will.”
“Why not, Flora?”
“Just look what has happened to us for even listening to the missionaries. Mr. Cardston, who has always treated us like his own daughters, will not speak to us. He won’t let Amy and Gertrude associate with us.”
“It is hard.”
“But that isn’t the worst of it. Think of Isaac, driven from the street with stones. He was almost killed just for passing out pamphlets about the gospel.”
“But do you know what he whispered to me as I fed him his supper? ‘Matilda,’ he said, ‘I am so happy that I am baptized and that I am counted worthy to hold the office of a deacon in the Church and kingdom of God.’”
“Well, you can be baptized like Isaac and Father, but I shall not,” Flora declared firmly.
“Daughters,” Father said, “please say good night to Isaac before going to bed.”
“Yes, Father,” the girls chimed.
Isaac’s arms and face were black and blue with bruises. He moaned a little as he attempted to roll onto his side, but he forced a partial smile when he saw his sisters in the doorway.
“Oh, Isaac!” Flora exclaimed. “How can you stand what they have done to you?”
“There, there, Flora. I’ll mend in no time. You’ll see.”
“Weren’t you frightened when they began stoning you?”
“Yes, little one, my knees trembled, yet I did my best to magnify my office and calling.”
“You are so brave, Isaac.”
“It isn’t bravery—just love, Flora. My whole being is filled with the love of Christ. I even love those who threw the stones today.”
“How can you love people who were trying to hurt you?”
Matilda said, “I think I understand what you mean, Isaac.” She kissed his forehead on a spot that wasn’t bruised.
“Are you girls going to be baptized?” he asked.
“Yes, I am—this Sunday, in the Matlock Baths.” Matilda’s face was radiant.
“No, Isaac.” Flora sighed. “I just can’t.”
“Is it because you don’t know if the Church is true?”
“I know it’s true. When I read the Book of Mormon, my whole mind seemed filled with light. But I just can’t be baptized.”
“Why not, little one?”
“All my friends will turn away from me. And Father said that if we all join, we will sell everything and go to America. How can I part with everything and everyone that I love and hold dear? I’m afraid, Isaac.”
“That is to be expected. You pray and let God guide you.”
On Sunday, Flora was happy that Isaac, although still weak, joined her and Matilda as they made their way to where Matilda would be baptized. At first, the neighbors silently watched them. Then some began to shout horrible lies about the Church.
Flora’s stomach churned with fear. If only Father were with them! He had gone earlier with Elder Roberts to prepare for the baptism. She glanced at Isaac’s blanched face, perspiring from the effort of walking. He looked close to collapsing.
“This is as far as you go,” spoke a harsh voice. “There will not be any of this Mormon baptizing done today.”
Flora eyed the crowd that was closing in around them. She shuddered as she looked into their faces. Former friends now seemed like strangers, their faces dark with anger. Flora winced as a stone hit her ankle. “Let’s stone them!” someone shouted.
“Heavenly Father, I am so afraid. Please guide and strengthen me,” Flora prayed. Peace and love filled her heart, and she felt stronger. Was the Holy Ghost with her? She felt that He was.
“Do not be afraid,” Flora said. Her voice, clear and steady, easily reached the back of the crowd. “We are your neighbors, and we love you. We wish to show our love for Heavenly Father this day by being baptized in the name of His Son, Jesus Christ.”
An old woman shook her cane at the crowd. “They’re just children,” she said. “Let them alone. You should all be ashamed of yourselves.”
Flora held her breath as she listened to the angry crowd murmur. “Come now,” a man growled. “Beatrice is right. These children haven’t done us any harm.” The crowd slowly scattered.
“Who is the brave one now?” Isaac whispered. He smiled, and Flora knew he was pleased with her.
“Flora, did I hear you say ‘we’ are to be baptized?” Matilda asked.
“Yes, I said ‘we.’ You and I are going to be baptized today.” Flora linked her arm with Matilda’s.
So Matilda and Flora were baptized at the Matlock Baths. Afterward, they sang:
“‘O Jesus, I have promised To serve Thee to the end;
Be Thou forever near me, my Master and my friend;
I shall not fear the battle If Thou art by my side,
Nor wander from the pathway If Thou wilt be my guide.’”

Earlier, when Oscar worked for the government, he constantly turned down offers of coffee, tea, and alcohol. “After a few years,” he says, “fellow workers became considerate and supportive and would ask, ‘What kind of soda do you want?’ Sometimes they would even become interested in the Church. That is the harvest.”

There are some in the world who might say that such parental influence is repressive and robs the child of its freedom, but quite the opposite is true. A group of young girls was overheard talking about the parents of one of their friends. Showing maturity beyond her years, one of the girls said, “Her parents don’t love her; they let her do anything she wants.” The others agreed.

I grew up on a small farm in southwest Utah. To escape the heat, our family would sometimes drive up a nearby canyon where a creek flowed year round. I can still feel the dry desert air blowing in my face in the backseat of the car. As we entered the canyon, the air became cooler and more fragrant.
My favorite place to go was the Big Spring, the major source of the creek. At the base of an almost vertical canyon wall, a steady stream of clear, cool, sweet water burst from a cleft in a large boulder.
I learned how to get a drink by watching my father kneel on a large, flat rock and scoop water from the spring. He would never drink downstream, where the water had been fouled by surface runoff. Near the source, the water would always be pure and clear.
As a young boy I learned the difference between the common, muddy water that flowed past my home and the pure, clear water from the stream in the canyon. To obtain the pure water, I had to climb to higher ground. I had to walk the narrow path, and I had to kneel. The pure, clear, sweet water came only at the source of the spring, and it was constant.

I am overjoyed that you have shed some light on sexual abuse (“Hidden Agony,” Mar. ’92), a subject often left in the dark. I was investigating the Church two years ago, but even though I knew it was true, I felt I was not worthy to receive the blessings given to Heavenly Father’s “clean” children. Later, my bishop approached me and I was ready for him to tell me to repent. Instead, he told me Heavenly Father loves me and this was not my sin. Then he gave me a blessing and I had an overwhelming feeling of comfort. Six months later I was baptized. I feel pure and new again, and my fiancé and I are now looking forward to a temple marriage.
Name Withheld

During the summer of 1996, our family hosted two musicians from a Russian folk-dance group. I had recently given my husband a subscription to the Liahona (Russian), and one morning, one of our guests started to look through the June 1996 issue. He got out his reading glasses and closely studied a particular page. Then he shared that page with our other Russian guest. I learned later that the item in the magazine that had caused such great interest was “The Family: A Proclamation to the World,” issued by the First Presidency and Council of the Twelve Apostles.
At the end of the week, as they prepared to leave, our guests asked for only one souvenir—the magazine with the family proclamation in it. We gladly gave it to them—hopefully along with good experiences with our own family.
Victoria Morris,Bountiful 41st Ward, Bountiful Utah Heights Stake