Gospel Story Finder

In the weeks leading up to my marriage and temple sealing, I started getting a little nervous about all the things I needed to do before I started my new family. Despite all the joy of that moment, I felt stressed about organizing our new routine, getting our finances in order, finding storage for our belongings, and all my new responsibilities as a wife. I wanted to make sure we started off our marriage the right way by making room in our activities for important things like keeping the commandments and spending time together as husband and wife in spite of our busy lives.
As the wedding day came closer, I was surprised by a series of nightmares involving all sorts of troubles that could affect a family. Because I come from a loving but afflicted family, threatened by constant and intense arguments and broken hearts, the bad dreams affected me more than they should have. So one night, after several others like it, I woke up sweating and decided to follow the advice that Sister Neill F. Marriott, Second Counselor in the Young Women General Presidency, gave in her talk “Yielding Our Hearts to God” (Liahona, Nov. 2015, 30–32). I closed my eyes and prayed, “Dear Heavenly Father, what can I do to keep these bad things away from my family?”
The answer hit me as fast and as strongly as if someone had opened a door into my head and put the thought there. The still, small voice prompted me, “Just do what you are supposed to do. Be faithful in each step.” The Spirit whispered some specific counsel, and I felt that if I did those things, everything would be fine.
I smiled and felt my chest filled with warmth. All the worries were suddenly forgotten, because I knew it was true. I had felt the Holy Ghost before, but never as strong as I did that night. I felt the love of our Heavenly Father and our Savior surround me, and I knew that the comfort and salvation of my family was as important for Them as it was for me.

About one and a half years ago I moved to Bermuda. Along with the normal hardships and adjustment of moving to a new country, I also left a ward where I had many good LDS friends to come to a tiny branch where I am the only active teenager. I love the New Era. The things I read from it have comforted and strengthened me many times. The New Era also makes me smile a lot. Thank you so much. Things here are going well, the branch is growing slowly but surely, and I am learning a lot and having many wonderful and interesting experiences.
Tori SealockWarwick, Bermuda

Allow me to share two experiences from my recent interactions with the young men of the Church that have taught me about leading and following.
Recently my wife and I attended a sacrament meeting away from our home ward. Just before the meeting started, a young man approached me and asked if I would help pass the sacrament. I said, “I’d be happy to.”
I took my seat with the other deacons and asked one who was sitting next to me, “What is my assignment?” He told me I was to start passing at the back of the chapel in the middle section and that he would be on the other side of the same section, and together we would work our way to the front.
I said, “I haven’t done this for a long time.”
He replied, “That’s OK. You’ll be fine. I felt the same way when I started.”
Later the youngest deacon in the quorum, ordained only weeks earlier, gave a talk in sacrament meeting. After the meeting, the other deacons rallied around him to tell him how proud they were of their fellow quorum member.
As I visited with them that day, I found out that each week, members of all the Aaronic Priesthood quorums in that ward reach out to other young men and invite them to be part of their quorums.
These young men were all great leaders. And they clearly had some wonderful behind-the-scenes Melchizedek Priesthood holders, parents, and others who mentored them in their duties. Caring adults like these see young men not just as they are but as they can become. When they talk to or about the young men, they do not dwell on their shortcomings. Instead, they emphasize the great leadership qualities they are demonstrating.

A true story from Nigeria.
Gift leaned against the edge of the boat and watched with wonder as the water slapped its sides. She reached down toward the waves, the spray gently tickling her arms. This was her favorite journey. She and her family were on the way to Grandfather’s village, and with each moment, she moved closer to a world more wild and free than the city she was leaving behind.
In the city, Gift blended in. She was one in millions. Sometimes that felt nice—to just be herself, without anyone caring too much about what she chose to wear or do. But in her grandfather’s village, it was different. There, Gift was unique. She was a princess—the granddaughter of a wise king.
After two hours, the boat docked. The longest part of the journey was still ahead: six hours by bus. She knew she would be tired, but soon she would be with her grandfather again. That made it all worth it.
It was a bumpy ride. Gift tried to pass the time by looking at cloud shapes she saw out the window and watching the beautiful land blur past. The sun was beginning to set when the bus pulled to a stop. Finally! Grandfather! Gift leapt from the bus and ran to the village house.
She searched inside for Grandfather. She searched the inner courtyard, where her mother had kept goats as a child. She searched the bedrooms, where at night she’d have to close the windows to keep out the mosquitoes. She searched the yard behind the house, where she’d worn the robes of royalty—bright scarves and a paper crown—to attend the village council.
There, Gift saw Grandfather peacefully sitting on a bench, overlooking the family garden. Gift smiled.
“Grandfather!” she called.
Grandfather stood and opened his arms wide. “My dear girl,” he whispered as he wrapped her in a warm hug. “Sit and rest with me.”
“I’ve missed you,” Gift said.
“I’ve missed you more. I’m glad you are here.” Grandfather paused for a moment and then asked, “Do you know how special this garden is?”
Gift shook her head.
Grandfather pointed to the tree in front of them. “This is the family tree,” he said. Gift noticed that it looked old and strong.
“The tiles on the ground around the tree have the names of our ancestors. We must always remember our family.”
Gift didn’t recognize many of the names on the tiles. How could she remember someone she didn’t know? “Tell me about them, Grandfather,” Gift said.
Grandfather read the names one by one and told Gift the stories of her ancestors. As he spoke, Gift realized that in some ways, these were also stories of her. She had a lot in common with these family members she had never met.
In that moment, Gift understood something important. It wasn’t just the waves and the land that made her feel free here. It was a connection to her family that she felt in this village with Grandfather.
Grandfather told stories until the stars danced in the sky.
Finally, Grandfather sighed. “We’d better go inside.”
“Just one more moment,” Gift said.
Gift walked to the tree and gently touched its bark. Then she looked at the tiles on the ground, remembering the story of each ancestor. One day, she would visit the temple and perform sacred ordinances for them. Because of them, she was here now. She’d do her part to return the gift they’d given her.
Grandfather reached out his hand for hers, and Gift took it. With one final look back at the family tree, Gift headed inside, where more of her family were waiting to greet her.

But let’s add a bit more BYU-Idaho light to the story. A few years later, naval personnel came to present a university forum and in part to find another intern with similarity to Brady’s high moral character, abilities, and charisma. Jeff Staker was selected. Jeff has given me permission to share some of his experience. During this time of high global security, not only did he work in Washington, D.C., but Jeff accompanied Tom Bortmes and his assistant on a trip to Europe where they participated in a gathering of international intelligence agencies. Jeff provided some of the factors in his being selected. Please note how each of these past opportunities became part of his personal “sixteen stones”; some may even be familiar to you. Jeff knew how to give a presentation (he had been doing them since he was a three-year-old Sunbeam). He had a suit (he wore it every Sunday). He had a passport (he was a returned missionary).

After fulfilling his internship, Jeff came back to BYU-Idaho to complete his senior year. One of my most cherished experiences on campus was facilitating an introduction of Jeff to Ken Howell and witnessing their tender expressions of gratitude for one another. In the 17 years since his internship, Jeff’s life has progressed with marriage, family, and vocational choices. He shares, “I don’t have adequate words to describe the path this all created in my life and career. All because Brady was, indeed, a good man. . . . I love to visit Brady’s memorial at the Pentagon. It’s a sacred place for me to reflect on the life I’ve lived and the kids I’ve started to raise. I hope in some small way it is worthy of his loss.”

Sometimes what we must give up is not a possession but a cherished dream. Growing up in Taiwan, I had always dreamed of going to school in England. After receiving a university degree and studying in the United States, I returned home and made arrangements to continue my studies in England. At this same time I received a calling in the Relief Society. At first I planned to accept the calling for a short time—just until I left for England. Then after much consideration, I decided to postpone my studies abroad for a year.
It was during this year when I was “sacrificing” my studies in England that an amazing blessing came into my life. One day as I was walking by a bulletin board at church, I saw a notice that the Church’s Translation Department was seeking to hire a Chinese language supervisor. I felt the Holy Ghost prod me to apply, but I hesitated. The year was almost up, and it was time for me to go to England. But the Spirit encouraged me, and I applied and was hired. For me, working as a language supervisor for the Church is not just a job. It is a great privilege and blessing. But I could never have received this blessing if I had not been willing to give up my dream of studying in England.

Once I had a measuring tape that didn’t work. I decided to fix it. I began to remove the side cover plate to find what was wrong. In a few moments, I knew I was in trouble. Suddenly, the whole mechanism exploded in my hands. There were tape and spring flying in all directions. My efforts to put it all back together were frustrating and often painful. Irritated, I just about threw the whole thing away. Then I thought, “Someone designed this tape. If I can discover the principles that make it function, I can fix it.” With greater patience, I began to examine the mainspring and found that if coiled in a certain way, instead of resisting and complaining, it easily responded. Soon the spring was coiled, carefully placed in its housing, the tape joined, the cover replaced, and it worked perfectly.

So it is with you. When, through violation of God’s laws, you cease to function properly, force and compulsion will not restore you. You must search out the Designer’s plan. As you follow it, you will become more pliable. You can be “repaired” more easily, and you will function well again under His divine influence.

On August 25, 1975, a big bully who operated a shoe repair shop, along busy Herran street in Paco, Manila, resenting Elder Mabunga’s protest over the obvious overcharging for the repair of Elder Larkin’s pair of shoes, held the Filipino missionary by the collar and started to manhandle him.
The ensuing commotion caught the attention of an off-duty cop who was by chance in the vicinity and who came to the aid of the missionaries. The incident ended with a brief interlude of friendship with the cop, to whom they related their experience a week before, who in turn promised to help in the apprehension of the holdup men.
They shook hands and parted ways—but the harrowing experience of two unnerving incidents in a week’s time apparently was disconcerting to the two missionaries. Both forgot to take note of the cop’s name and address! That evening, they prayed hard for an opportunity to cross paths with him again.
One evening during the same week, they were teaching the gospel to the big Molinos family residing at Fabie Estate, Paco, Manila when someone knocked on the door. The elders momentarily stopped as the head of the family excused himself to open the door.
The Lord, indeed, works in strange ways. Who should come knocking on the door but the cop whose name the two elders forgot to take note of, and who turned out to be a relative on an unscheduled visit to the Molinos family without any purpose in mind.
The reunion resulted in a new turn of events in the life of the cop. He joined the Molinos family in listening to the message of the elders, hardly realizing that Elder Larkin and Elder Mabunga were silently thanking the Lord for an opportunity that came at the least expected moment.—P. Ocampo Jr.
Notes: The cop, Patrolman Antonio Buenaflor Molinos of Precinct 5, was baptized September 27, 1975, almost a month ahead of the big Molinos family of 2174 Road 5, Fabie Estate, Paco, Manila.
One of the holduppers was apprehended and jailed.

After completing his mission in 1972, Ron found a job, enrolled at the University of Utah that fall, and joined Delta Phi Kappa, a fraternity for returned missionaries. At the fraternity’s social activities, he couldn’t help but notice an attractive young woman named Melanie Twitchell. Melanie was one of Delta Phi’s elected “dream girls,” who helped with the fraternity’s service activities.
Like Ron, Melanie came from an active Latter-day Saint family. Her father, a career military officer, and her mother never let the family’s frequent moves become an excuse for missing church.
Melanie was impressed by Ron’s kindness, courtesy, and gospel knowledge. “I said to myself, ‘He is such an amazing man that it doesn’t matter if I never get to date him. I just want to be his best friend.’”
As their relationship grew, the Spirit confirmed her impressions of Ron and of his commitment to the Lord. Soon their friendship blossomed into what Melanie calls a “storybook, fairytale romance.”
Elder Rasband says she was a perfect match. “Melanie was every bit my equal in gospel devotion and heritage. We became best friends, and that’s when I asked her to marry me.”
They married on September 4, 1973, in the Salt Lake Temple. Since then, he says, his “selfless eternal companion … has helped mold me like potter’s clay into a more polished disciple of Jesus Christ. Her love and support, and that of our 5 children, their spouses, and our 24 grandchildren, sustain me.”3

Ernie is Molly’s closest friend (besides her parents; grandmother; and older sisters, Gerri, Linda, and Sherry, who are grown up and married and living in other towns). Molly named Ernie even before he chose her. Yes, he chose her. He was one of a litter of puppies born to her grandma’s neighbor’s dog. When the puppies were old enough to leave their mother, Molly called, “Here, Ernie,” and he was the one that came! He’s a friendly dog and loves and protects her.

In Primary we have goals, such as helping in the community and sharing the gospel with others. One day we promised that we would help the elderly. I went to some neighbors’ house and began to weed their flower garden. They came out and asked why I was doing this. I explained about our goals, but they are not members of the Church and told me that I didn’t have to help them. I explained that I belong to the true Church and need to keep my promises. They understood some of the things I told them. I learned that other people need to know about the gospel so they’ll know it is good to help one another.
Tahiry Carrillo Díaz, age 10San José, Costa Rica

As a convert to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I have, right from the start of my conversion, always been greatly impressed with the importance and emphasis given to the ongoing process of teaching, training, instructing, educating, enlightening, and edifying all of our Heavenly Father’s children in His kingdom.

Maybe these strong sympathetic feelings can be explained through the fact that my native country, Holland, was from 1940 until 1945 occupied by Nazi Germany. When I finished my high school education in July 1942, it so happened that at that time a new rule was established that someone could from then on only register for classes in the Dutch universities if willing to sign a so-called “declaration of loyalty” to the occupying German forces.

This rule was initiated to oppress the ever-growing underground student activities against the Germans in Holland as part of the struggle for world peace by the Allied forces. Needless to say, the majority of Dutch students simply refused to sign such a humiliating political document and stayed away from the campuses, whether freshmen or graduate students.

In everyday life there remained only two alternatives for all young men between 18 and 30 years of age: to leave home, change names, use a faked I.D. card, and go “underground” somewhere in the country or to run the very real risk to be arrested anywhere at any moment and to be deported to Germany for slave labor in the war industry with the hundreds of thousands already there from other European nations.

How lucky I was that I managed to stay in Holland from November 1942 until V.E. Day—which is the Victory in Europe Day of the Allied forces—in May 1945 because I was able to obtain false identification papers! Most of my time during those years was used studying foreign languages through self-study and in small peer groups living under similar circumstances in the same location.

The reason that I mention these facts to you who are assembled here today as students is mainly to make you aware of your blessing to be able to receive a higher education in this great land of freedom and your personal fortune to be able to attend a university that is founded, supported, and guided by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Aid Stations
There is nothing as joyous as a well-stocked aid station when you really need one. I’ve seen all kinds of aid stations—some just have a gallon of water hidden in a bush or one kid lazily pointing the way to turn. Some have so much good food and drink you’re tempted to stop and graze for a while. The point is many courses have help along the way, especially at points where runners need it most. Aid stations are carefully planned out by course directors to provide direction, point out pitfalls, and replenish energy. As we run our races, let’s not ignore the aid stations around us.

Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin said, “You young people also have ‘aid stations’ to help you keep moving along your course. They should include your parents, other family members, ward leaders, and teachers who have ‘run more races’ and are farther along the path of life. Benefit from the experience they have accumulated.” [58]

We’re surrounded by spiritual aid stations. We have daily aid stations of scripture study and prayer. We have the weekly aid station of the Sacrament where we’re spiritually fed a reminder of the covenants we’ve made. We have an eternally significant aid station just up the hill in the temple, where we can rest from the worries of our race, remind ourselves of the straitness of the path, and fortify ourselves against whatever trials might lay ahead.

Perhaps now and then we also have the opportunity to be someone else’s aid station. As we pay attention to the runners around us, we might, now and then, share a word of encouragement or, more importantly, provide some spiritual nourishment to a fellow runner struggling along. President Monson said, “You and I do not run alone. That vast audience of family, friends, and leaders will cheer our courage, will applaud our determination as we rise from our stumblings and pursue our goal.” [59]

The Run to the Sun on Maui [60] had great aid stations, and I was grateful for each one of them. Each station had positive people and delectable food—the one at Mile 29 had whole baked potatoes!

The best part of that race, though, was that, starting at Mile 26, my eternal companion was at every aid station. She’d wait for me to come through, give me a word or two of encouragement, flash a beautiful smile, and then drive ahead to the next one and wait for me. But it’s not just at races. My wife is my everyday aid station. Through the longest day or the darkest night, I’m blessed to have her there, to help me and to forgive me, always encouraging me to be better, run my best, and endure to the end. If you haven’t yet found your eternal companion, I encourage you to think about the person who will have the qualities you’ll need at your own personal aid station. If you are married, I encourage you to consistently think of what your spouse might need at his or her aid station and be the best support you can.

The bombs were going off all around me, and gunfire zinged overhead. But I had to keep crawling, dragging the 40-pound ammunition can with me through the dirt and mud. My basic training in South Carolina was nearly finished. We were in the final ordeal to test our skills, endurance, and obedience. Each day had been challenging, and it seemed that I’d been able to meet each task and accomplish it. But I was really being pushed this time.
When I first arrived, I realized that in order to succeed, I needed to learn from those around me. Watching the people who were excelling, I followed their lead. With each new skill, I looked to see how the best men of our group worked at it, and then followed their example to develop my full potential. It was the same lesson my mother and father had taught me since childhood. They read the scriptures, and they taught me to, so I read them daily. I was shown by them to kneel and pray, morning and night. They taught me to follow the example of my Savior and live my life as He lived His.
When the going would get tough, my mother always said, “Sing a Primary song; it will carry you through.”
So there I was, with my face in the dirt, struggling through the gunfire and explosions, in the final big test of my training, and my mother’s words came to mind. I began singing, softly at first, “I am a child of God, and He has sent me here, has given me …” (Hymns, no. 301).
Suddenly, a drill instructor on the course shouted, “Recruit Letteer! What are you singing?”
I thought I had been singing to myself, but in the pressure of the moment I must have started singing out loud. Now, over the din on the field, one of my drill instructors had heard me. I lifted my face from the mud and called out, “Sir! I’m singing ‘I Am a Child of God,’ sir!”
He looked at me, paused for a moment, then shouted, “Carry on, recruit!”
And I will, I’ll carry on as a United States Marine in the Reserve Corps, and in a few months, as Elder Letteer somewhere in the world as a missionary. And when the going gets tough, I’ll just look to my example, Jesus Christ, and know how to “carry on” again.

I didn’t always pay attention. After hearing the sacrament prayers every week since childhood, I had started to tune them out. If there was something I found more interesting to think about, I’d let my mind wander.
But then one Sunday as I bowed my head to take the sacrament, I noticed my hands. They had many scrapes from various sources. One was caused by a bicycle crash on a night my parents had told me not to go out, and another scratch was from falling down stairs because I was careless. My hands had several marks caused by things I had done.
Some marks had been there longer than others, but I knew that most of them could be healed with time.
As I gently touched the scrapes on my hands, I thought of the wounds on someone else’s hands and how those scars are so vital for us. Jesus Christ went through intense suffering for our spiritual well-being.
I realized that just as my body had physical scars it was trying to heal, my spirit was also pocked and scarred by careless things I had done. Heavenly Father knew we would hurt ourselves spiritually on earth, so he sent his Son to help us heal our wounds.
I started to listen to these sacred prayers and I realized that by taking the sacrament and renewing my covenants, I could wipe away the inward bruises on my soul. Through the years, I had been unpleasant to my family, ungrateful to my Young Women leaders, and imperfect in other ways. My soul was blemished from its original perfection. I knew the formula for healing physical wounds, but the way to heal spiritual scars hadn’t seemed so obvious.
“… keep his commandments which he has given them; that they may always have his Spirit to be with them” (D&C 20:77).
By listening closely, I realized that I could be healed through the Atonement of Jesus Christ.
I’m thankful for the hint from heaven that reminded me to pay attention when my slightly scarred hands reach out to partake of the sacrament. Each Sunday I commit to try to keep myself from getting more inward scrapes during the next week, and I remember that the wounds I have on my soul can be healed as I keep the commandments and listen to the Holy Ghost.

A few weeks ago it was my privilege to meet two wonderful women, close friends, who had lost their husbands in a tragic airplane accident. Did I find them in despair and deep mourning? No, indeed. I have never witnessed greater courage and strength. They both bore witness to the fact that they had truly felt the comfort of the Spirit, that they knew there was a purpose in the call that had been given to their husbands, and that they had an assurance that all would be well with them and their families as they lived close to the Church and kept the commandments of the Lord. [Franklin D. Richards, Conference Report, April 1973, p. 171]

Amy hated riding in the car. It bumped along the road, turning corners and making her feel dizzy. She was too little to see much out the windows. “Are we there yet?” she asked Mommy a lot.
Today they were on their way to Grandma’s. Amy was eager to play with her cousins in Grandma’s big backyard. She hoped that they would pick yellow flowers out of the grass and make a pretend house under the trees. But first she had to get there—and that meant more time in the car than Amy thought she could stand.
“Mommy, my tummy hurts,” she grumbled.
Her baby brother whimpered. “I think Baby Jacob’s tummy hurts, too,” she said.
Amy wanted to cry. “At least Jacob can see out the window,” she whined. “Why can’t we go any faster?”
“Well,” Mommy said, taking a deep breath, “there are a lot of cars on the highway, and nobody is going fast.”
“Oh.” Amy scrunched her eyebrows. “So how much longer?”
“I’m not sure, sweetheart.” Then Mommy smiled, and in the mirror at the front of the car, Amy saw her eyes grow wide. “Amy,” she said, “if you look out your window, way up high, I think pretty soon you will see the top of the temple.”
“The temple? Where you and Daddy were married?”
“We were married in the temple,” Mom said, “but not this temple. This is the Seattle Washington Temple, where Grandma and Grandpa go to help with baptisms.”
Amy craned her neck to look through the window at the sky. “Mommy, I don’t see it!”
“Sit up as tall as you can, Amy. Look for the Angel Moroni on top.”
Amy said a quick prayer in her head. Heavenly Father, please help me to see the temple. Then, in the middle of dark green trees, she spotted a spire. “Mommy, Mommy! I see it! There’s the Angel Moroni!”
Amy looked to see if Baby Jacob was watching, but he was busy looking at his fingers. “That’s the temple, Jacob,” she said, pointing out the window.
“‘I love to see the temple,’”* Mommy sang, beginning Amy’s favorite Primary song.
“‘I’m going there someday,’” Amy joined in. Even when the temple disappeared behind the trees, she kept singing. “‘To feel the Holy Spirit, To listen and to pray.’”
When they finished the song, Amy asked if they could sing it again. Soon they were pulling into Grandma’s driveway.
“How’s your tummy?” Mom whispered, turning off the car. Baby Jacob was sound asleep.
“All better,” Amy said. She unbuckled her seat belt and jumped out in the sunshine. “I’m going to tell Grandma we saw the temple!”

A latter-day example of willful rebellion with a happier ending is the story of William W. Phelps. Phelps joined the Church in 1831 and was appointed Church printer. He edited several early Church publications, wrote numerous hymns, and served as a scribe to Joseph Smith. Unfortunately, he turned against the Church and the Prophet, even to the point of giving false testimony against Joseph Smith in a Missouri court, which contributed to the Prophet’s imprisonment there.

Later, Phelps wrote to Joseph asking for forgiveness. “I know my situation, you know it, and God knows it, and I want to be saved if my friends will help me.”

In his reply the Prophet stated: “It is true that we have suffered much in consequence of your behavior. … However, the cup has been drunk, the will of our Heavenly Father has been done, and we are yet alive. … Come on, dear brother, since the war is past, for friends at first are friends again at last.”

With sincere repentance, William Phelps buried his “weapons of rebellion” and was received once more in full fellowship, never again to fall away.

Brother Thomson has told his children that a mission is like a university education in the school of life, and Matthew plans to enroll. His family helps him prepare for that experience as they helped him prepare for his baptism. For many weeks before he turned eight, the family home evenings were modified missionary discussions, preparing Matthew as any convert to the Church would prepare. When his baptism day came, he was thoroughly grounded in the covenants he was making and in the eternal meaning of this earthly ordinance.

Civil government. This was another discussion group that Chauncey belonged to and provided focus for much of his reading. In part it was something of a debating society, organized along lines similar to the model United Nations of today. He notes at one point that he “gained Montana for my state to defend hereafter.” It is not surprising, since 1895 was the year of the constitutional convention prior to statehood in Utah, that these young people organized themselves as a mock constitutional convention. One of the hot topics of discussion was female suffrage, which Chauncey defended. An indication of how opinion was divided on this subject is found in his diary entry for February 28: “I quit at 7:00 and went to Civil Government where I upheld woman suffrage. The house was in disorder. The vote stood 21 to 21. The president decided in favor of woman suffrage.”