Gospel Story Finder

to save money for your mission? Maybe you started putting pennies in a piggy bank when you were three or four years old, and now add to it from what you earn on a paper route or flipping hamburgers at the local drive-in. Or perhaps, like Jay Lawrence of Sparks, Nevada, or Henry Copier, Jr., of Salt Lake City, Utah, you have found different ways of earning money for your mission.
Jay mastered the drums, vibraphones, and other percussion instruments, and used these talents in accompanying such entertainers as Jerry Lewis, Tom Jones, and pianist Liberace. Henry worked for a year building a duplex that is now drawing enough rent money to support him on his mission. These are only two examples of the interesting and imaginative ways in which some of our missionaries are supporting themselves.

With thoughts of serving as a new branch president after only three months of membership, President Quashigah recalls that he was almost overcome with fear and feelings of inadequacy, but he knew that faith could replace fear. He was confident that the Savior would help him carry the burden and that God would qualify him for the responsibility of leading his newly found branch. His testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ was undeniable. He had to accept the call.

Benjamin lay back on his bed and put his feet up on the wall. He always did that when he had to think. Today’s problem was the essay Miss Hardgrave had assigned in language arts. He was supposed to write about why his parents had named him Benjamin and share it with the class.
He knew, of course. There was the picture hanging right above his feet: King Benjamin on top of the tower with everyone in tents looking up at him. Benjamin nudged the frame with his toe, and the picture tilted to one side. Usually he liked knowing he was named for a righteous king in the Book of Mormon. But nobody in his school class was going to know who King Benjamin was. Or what the Book of Mormon was, for that matter. One more thing to have to explain.
Lately it seemed like he was always explaining things: why he didn’t play in soccer games on Sunday, why he wouldn’t watch some of the most popular movies, why he hadn’t joined the same Cub Scout den everyone at school belonged to. He kicked the wall, and his door rattled.
Dad opened the door a crack and peeked in. “Aren’t you asleep yet?” he asked.
“Still doing homework.”
Dad came in and sat on the edge of the bed. “Anything I can help you with?”
“What do you know about Benjamin Franklin?”
“Hmm. United States patriot, flew a kite in a thunderstorm, and he was bald.” Dad rubbed his own bald head and smiled. “How’s that? Are you writing a report on him?”
“Well, not exactly,” Benjamin admitted. He looked down and twisted one of the quilt’s yarn ties around his finger. “I have to write about my name.” Benjamin wasn’t looking at Dad, but he felt his steady gaze.
Dad cleared his throat. “I admire Benjamin Franklin, but that’s not who we named you for.” He leaned over and straightened the picture of King Benjamin until the tower was standing straight again. “We named you after King Benjamin because we hoped you’d be like him—bold and fearless and righteous.”
“But, Dad,” Benjamin protested, “I can’t just stand up in front of my class and say I’m named after a Book of Mormon prophet.”
Dad looked surprised. “Why not?”
“This is for school. You’re not supposed to talk about religion in school. It’s illegal.”
Dad smiled. “Maybe it would be illegal for your teacher to preach to you in class, but we’re talking about answering the question she asked. There’s nothing illegal about that.”
“I bet nobody else even goes to church,” Benjamin said.
“You’d be surprised, I think. Besides, remember what King Benjamin said?” Dad pointed to the words printed below the painting. “Mosiah 5:15. ‘Be steadfast and immovable.’ That means you shouldn’t let other people decide who you are. Even at school.”
Dad stood up and kissed Benjamin on the forehead. “You’d better go to sleep soon. It’s late.”
Benjamin went to his desk and pulled out a sheet of paper. Above his bed, King Benjamin looked calm and confident. His arm was raised in a grand gesture, and the people were peering out of their tents, all their eyes fastened on him. Benjamin thought about what a hard time his teacher had getting everyone to pay attention sometimes. “I bet even King Benjamin would’ve been nervous in front of my class,” he muttered.
The paper on the desk seemed to stare up at him, still blank. Benjamin could hear his clock ticking. Finally, too tired to think anymore, he started to write. “My name is Benjamin. You’ve all heard of Benjamin Franklin. …” He didn’t have to actually say he was named for Benjamin Franklin. He’d let them draw their own conclusions.
The next morning, Benjamin yawned as he waited with Yusuf and Max for the bell to ring.
“That language arts assignment,” Max complained. “It’s so embarrassing.”
“Why?” Yusuf asked.
“My mom got my name from a TV show!” Max leaned against the wall of the school and groaned. “She thought this character named Maximilian was really handsome. She watched the show every day, and when I was born that was the first name that popped into her head.”
“Are you going to tell everyone your name is from a TV show?” Benjamin asked. Explaining you were named for a TV star would be much harder than explaining you were named for someone in the scriptures.
“No.” Max pulled his essay out of the front pocket of his backpack and smoothed out the wrinkles. “I wrote that my mom had heard the name somewhere and liked it. Where did you guys get your names?”
Benjamin leaned over and fidgeted with the zipper on his backpack. He felt uncomfortable. He couldn’t tell his two best friends that he was named for Benjamin Franklin.
Yusuf said, “My name comes from the Koran.”
“What’s the Koran?” Max wanted to know.
“It’s my book of scripture. Like your Bible. There’s a person named Yusuf in it. My parents were going to name me for my grandfather, but he told them to name me Yusuf instead.”
“You’re lucky,” Max said as the bell rang.
Right after taking roll, Miss Hardgrave called on Patricia to read her essay. Her parents had found her name in a name book and liked it because it meant “noble.” Then Maria said that her name was Spanish for Mary, the mother of Jesus, and that her mother had the same name. Yong’s name meant “courageous,” and Jasmine’s parents had liked the way her name sounded.
Now it was Benjamin’s turn. He carried his essay to the front of the room. He was always nervous when he had to speak in front of the class, but today his hands seemed extra sweaty. He leaned against the chalkboard tray and read the first line of his essay to the class: “My name is Benjamin. You’ve all heard of Benjamin Franklin. …” He looked at the rest of what he had written and then looked up at the class. Max was looking at him. Yusuf smiled and nodded. Benjamin wondered if King Benjamin’s hands had gotten sweaty up there on that tower.
He took a deep breath and folded up his paper. “But I’m not really named for Benjamin Franklin. I’m named for a king in the Book of Mormon, one of my books of scripture.” He imagined his friends peering out of tents at him, and he talked a little louder. “Let me tell you about him.”

I am a returned missionary and have had many personal trials as I have tried to live gospel principles. But the gospel and Seito no Michi strengthen me. Thank you for the comfort your articles offer.
Name withheld upon requestJapan

John Taylor served as the Church’s presiding officer in Canada for two years. In March 1837, he went to Kirtland in the United States to meet with the Prophet Joseph Smith. At the time, the Church was suffering heavy persecution, and even some of the Apostles were leaning toward apostasy. Elder Pratt approached John Taylor and expressed some disapproval concerning the Prophet Joseph, to which Elder Taylor replied: “I am surprised to hear you speak so, Brother Parley. Before you left Canada you bore a strong testimony to Joseph Smith being a Prophet of God. … Now Brother Parley, it is not man that I am following, but the Lord. The principles you taught me led me to Him, and I now have the same testimony that you then rejoiced in. If the work was true six months ago, it is true today; if Joseph Smith was then a prophet, he is now a prophet.”6

One day my piano teacher saw me talking to the Latter-day Saint missionaries. After my lesson was over, she offered me a drink of lemonade, and then she asked me how I knew the elders. I told her I was a Mormon.
She said that the elders had knocked on her door a while ago, but she hadn’t let them in. She asked if we believed in Jesus. I told her we did and recited the first Article of Faith. I also told her about Joseph Smith in the sacred grove and about how he became the first prophet of the Church.
She was really interested and asked me a lot of questions. Since that day we have talked about the Church at almost every piano lesson. When I told her about the Word of Wisdom, she said she thought it was a good rule and that it would keep our bodies healthy.
It makes me feel good to tell my piano teacher about the gospel. She is very nice and I hope someday she will become a member of the Church.

Less known, but more typical of our day, was that person of power, that cardinal of the cloth—even Wolsey. The prolific pen of William Shakespeare described the majestic heights, the pinnacle of power to which Cardinal Wolsey ascended. That same pen told how principle was eroded by vain ambition, by expediency, by a clamor for favor. Then came the tragic descent, the painful lament of one who had gained everything, then lost all. The words are beautiful; they border on scripture.
To Cromwell, his faithful servant, Cardinal Wolsey speaks:
When I am forgotten, as I shall be,
And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention
Of me more must be heard of, say, I taught thee;
Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory,
And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour,
Found thee a way … ;
A sure and safe one, though thy master miss’d it.
Mark but my fall and that that ruin’d me.
… Fling away ambition:
By that sin fell the angels; how can man then,
The image of his Maker, hope to win by it?
Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee; …
… Take an inventory of all I have,
To the last penny; ’tis the king’s: my robe,
And my integrity to heaven, is all
I dare now call my own. O Cromwell, Cromwell!
Had I but served my God with half the zeal
I served my king, he would not in mine age
Have left me naked to mine enemies.5
That heavenly rudder which would have ever been a guide to safety was ruined by the pursuit of power and quest for position. Like others before him and many more yet to follow, Cardinal Wolsey fell.

Our baseball team had seven boys and two girls, and we called ourselves the Sonoma Lions. During the summer months, we practiced and played three or four times a week in a big vacant lot after our chores were done. It was just for fun—at first.
Then one day my brother Ramie told me there was another team called the Crows a few streets away from ours. I rode my bike to their team captain’s house and asked him if the Crows would like to play with us at the end of summer.
Two days later, he rode his bike to my house and said his team would like to play against ours—and that the Crows would beat us.
“Oh yeah?” I said. “We’ll see about that!”
We practiced hard, determined to beat the Crows. The end of summer was getting closer, and we were getting excited. And then along came Forrester.
Forrester was 10, and he had some mental challenges. His family had just moved into the neighborhood.
Forrester showed up one day while our team was practicing. He was skinny and just kind of stood there, too shy to ask if he could be on our team. Nobody wanted him to ask, especially me. We didn’t need him to help us beat the Crows, and we were afraid he would make us lose.
I guess he could tell we didn’t want him to be a part of our group. He lowered his head and stood there looking at the ground, kicking at a little rock. Then he slowly turned and started walking away.
A thought came into my mind: “What would Jesus do?”
I realized the Holy Ghost had told me this because the words had come from somewhere deep inside me.
When I looked at Ramie and the other team members, I could tell they felt like I did—awful. So I hurried and caught up with Forrester and asked him to come back and play with us.
I saw a smile come into his eyes, and he looked surprised and happy at the same time.
At the big game between our team and the Crows we all played hard, including Forrester.
We lost the game, 12 to 10. But that was OK. Forrester was a good player and a good sport. He even scored one of our runs. When he ran across home plate, I was cheering and jumping up and down.
Mom and Dad said Heavenly Father cheers for us when we make good choices. And I know that inviting Forrester to join the Sonoma Lions was a good choice because it made me feel warm all over, just like the quilt Mom made me does on cold winter nights.

Although great persecution arose in Mutare at that time, it did not stop the growth of the Church. It seemed that as opposition grew, so did the number of people who wanted to learn about the Church. For example, when men from the national army came in disguise to investigate the Church for wrongdoing, they were touched by the Spirit. Many were later baptized and ordained to the priesthood.

The story was told of General Antigonus who was preparing to have his men attack the enemy. The plan was devised, the strategy decided, and the hour determined. General Antigonus’s men were outnumbered severely. The signal to attack was given. No one attacked. In fact, they were about ready to retreat ingloriously. General Antigonus asked what the problem was. The captains replied that they were outnumbered so severely that the men dared not attack. General Antigonus thought for a moment and then asked, “For how many then wilt thou reckon me?” This spirit spread through the ranks; they attacked and won a great battle.

When I was in the National Football League, I looked up to Gifford Nielsen, who had also played for BYU before going on to the NFL, eventually becoming a sportscaster and later a General Authority Seventy. I ran into him one day on a golf course, and he gave me advice that changed the course of my professional career.
We were sitting in a golf cart, just me and him, and after I told him about my plan to go into television like he had after I finished playing football, he gave me advice to not continue pursuing a career that would require me to be at the games on Sundays. That way, I’d always be able to have a calling on Sundays and serve in the Church.
It was that simple, but it was advice that I hadn’t thought about. And that changed the course of my life.

Tommaso Castro
In a dream, Tommaso Castro saw his mother, who had been dead for some years, and she made known to him that she was involved in the study of things important to eternity.
How could that be? he wondered. The religion he knew did not allow for such a possibility.
Then one of his young women friends invited him to help embarrass some American missionaries she had invited to her home. Tommaso went, but he didn’t feel good about participating in the taunting.
When the missionaries started talking about something called the plan of salvation, which would allow our dead loved ones to continue progressing after this life, they had Tommaso’s full attention immediately. He started seeing the missionaries on his own and was soon baptized.
Brother Castro, a stake high councilor, lives in Pavia, south of Milan.

While he was recovering from his illness, Elder Kikuchi stayed at his uncle’s home. In the spring of 1956, two American missionaries knocked at the door. Because he knew nothing about the real causes of World War II, Elder Kikuchi’s first response was, “No thank you. You Americans killed my father.” The missionaries, out tracting on their preparation day, told the young man that they had an important message for him and that they wanted to tell him a story about a boy his age—Joseph Smith. He said that he would listen for ten minutes.
“They taught me the most beautiful story of Joseph Smith who saw Heavenly Father and the Son,” Elder Kikuchi said. “I felt a sweet spirit. It changed my life immediately, and I requested to study more. After fourteen days I was baptized.”
After his conversion to the gospel, Elder Kikuchi found that his attitude about his father’s death changed. He followed the Savior’s teachings to “love one another” (John 13:34) and to “love your enemies” (Matt. 5:44).

Sustaining him in the many challenges of life, including a long series of life-threatening illnesses, was the inner strength he received in his devotion to Church callings. Even as a boy, he felt an urgency to be about his Father’s business. While tromping hay for his older brothers one hot summer afternoon, he heard the bell for Primary ringing about a mile away. Ignoring his brothers’ insistence that he miss Primary and stay with his job atop the hay, young Spencer slipped off the wagon, unseen by his brothers, and was nearly to the meetinghouse before they discovered his absence.

But it was his commitment to love every person that thrilled Church members. One day a Sunday School class of youth came several miles to see him, by appointment, but he had just rushed off to the hospital where his brother, Thomas E. McKay, lay near death. The following Sunday, miles away from his office, there was a knock on the door of the Sunday School classroom. When the teacher opened the door, there stood President McKay. He had come to meet the class and apologize for being gone the day they had come to see him.
After explaining why he was not in his office that day, he shook hands with the teacher and with each of the children. “I want you to know,” he said, “that the President of the Church keeps his appointments if at all possible.”

I once asked a class of Latter-day Saint teenagers why they should obey the law of chastity, which prophets define as:
“Abstinence from sexual relations outside of a legal marriage between a man and a woman.
“Fidelity within marriage.”
One student said it was to avoid diseases. Another said it was to not get pregnant outside of marriage. I said those were wise, logical answers. “But suppose you couldn’t get pregnant or contract a disease,” I responded. “Why should you still be chaste?” Suddenly, silence filled the air. The class offered no reasons beyond what they had learned in health classes—no spiritual reasons.

At once, I recalled a memory of a day when my six children were little, and they kept coming to me asking for things they must have known I would say no to.
“Mom, can I have a cookie?”
“No, we’re having dinner as soon as your dad gets home.”
“Mom, can I go to my friend’s house?”
“Are your chores done?”
“Not yet.”
“Well then, you know the answer.”
“Mom can I—”
“No.”
“Mom could we—”
“No.”
“Mom!”
“No! Would you kids just please ask me something you know I can say yes to?”
I wanted to cover my ears and curl into a ball then also.
With this memory, I felt the Holy Ghost whisper, “How about asking for something I can say yes to?”

After studying at Villareal University, Brother Aedo wanted to go to Europe for more advanced schooling in political science. He worked his way through several South and Central American countries performing as a mime until he had saved enough money to fly to Europe. “I went to Europe on my talent, nothing more,” he recalls.

“What we wanted,” said President Michael Moulton of the Heber City Utah East Stake, “was some kind of meaningful project which would unite the youth of the stake for a few days of dedicated, all-consuming service.” Then he made it even tougher. “It should not only benefit the community, but teach our youth some basic skill.”
So should we have them construct log cabins, do plumbing, or lay brick? Or should we call in the Peace Corps?
The answer came when one of the leaders contacted Uinta National Forest officials, who suggested we organize a Touch America Project, which allows volunteers to learn about America’s natural resources by working under the direction of rangers on public lands. Ranger Roy H. Daniels said that to help with flood control, a rock wall needed to be built at Whiskey Springs picnic area in Daniels Canyon, before spring runoff began.
Youth leaders were called from each of the six wards in the stake. Footings were poured with donated concrete. Sand was hauled to the site, rocks were gathered, and soon portable mixers were stirring cement. With the help of a professional stone mason and a seminary teacher with previous cement experience, the youth began building the wall.
Work progressed over a number of successive Saturdays. The Forest Service was so pleased they asked us to extend the wall an extra hundred feet. Thanks to dry weather, the runoff was lower and later than usual, and we continued working through the end of May. On May 30 the final stones were laid, a cement cap was smoothed in place, and the project was completed.
I asked Kenneth Critchfield, of the Daniel Ward, how he felt about working on the project.
“I graduated from high school last night,” Ken said, looking a little bleary-eyed. “But I wouldn’t have slept in and missed this. I got here at 7:00 A.M. I just love the way this wall looks.”
If constructed professionally, the wall would have cost more than $15,000. Instead, it cost only time and labor. And it is now a monument to the youth of our stake. Imagine how they will feel when they bring their children here and tell them, “I helped build the wall.”

On February 4 of 1990, our third son and sixth child was born. We named him Tyson. He was a beautiful little boy, and the family greeted him with open hearts and open arms. His brothers and sisters were so proud of him. We all thought he was the most perfect little boy who had ever been born.
When Tyson was eight months old, he aspirated a piece of chalk that he had found on the carpet. The chalk lodged in Tyson’s throat, and he quit breathing. His older brother brought Tyson upstairs, frantically calling, “The baby won’t breathe. The baby won’t breathe.” We began to administer CPR and called 911.
The paramedics arrived and rushed Tyson to the hospital. In the waiting room we continued in fervent prayer as we pled to God for a miracle. After what seemed a lifetime, the doctor came into the room and said, “I am so sorry. There is nothing more we can do. Take all the time you need.” She then left.
As we entered the room where Tyson lay, we saw our lifeless little bundle of joy. It seemed as though he had a celestial glow around his little body. He was so radiant and pure.
At that moment it felt as if our world had come to an end. How could we return to the other children and somehow try to explain that Tyson wasn’t coming home?
I will speak in the singular as I relate the rest of this experience. My angel wife and I experienced this trial together, but I am inadequate in expressing the feelings of a mother and would not even try to do so.
It is impossible to describe the mixture of feelings that I had at that point in my life. Most of the time I felt as if I were in a bad dream and that I would soon wake up and this terrible nightmare would be over. For many nights I didn’t sleep. I often wandered in the night from one room to the other, making sure that our other children were all safe.
Feelings of guilt racked my soul. I felt so guilty. I felt dirty. I was his father; I should have done more to protect him. If only I would have done this or that. Sometimes even today, 22 years later, those feelings begin to creep into my heart, and I need to get rid of them quickly because they can be destructive.
About a month after Tyson died, I had an interview with Elder Dean L. Larsen. He took the time to listen to me, and I will always be grateful for his counsel and love. He said, “I don’t think the Lord would want you to punish yourself for the death of your little boy.” I felt the love of my Heavenly Father through one of his chosen vessels.
However, tormenting thoughts continued to plague me, and I soon began to feel anger. “This isn’t fair! How could God do this to me? Why me? What did I do to deserve this?” I even felt myself get angry with people who were just trying to comfort us. I remember friends saying, “I know how you feel.” I would think to myself, “You have no idea how I feel. Just leave me alone.” I soon found that self-pity can also be very debilitating. I was ashamed of myself for having unkind thoughts about dear friends who were only trying to help.
As I felt the guilt, anger, and self-pity trying to consume me, I prayed that my heart could change. Through very personal sacred experiences, the Lord gave me a new heart, and even though it was still lonely and painful, my whole outlook changed. I was given to know that I had not been robbed but rather that there was a great blessing awaiting me if I would prove faithful.
My life started to change, and I was able to look forward with hope, rather than look backward with despair. I testify that this life is not the end. The spirit world is real. The teachings of the prophets regarding life after death are true. This life is but a transitory step forward on our journey back to our Heavenly Father.
Tyson has remained a very integral part of our family. Through the years it has been wonderful to see the mercy and kindness of a loving Father in Heaven, who has allowed our family to feel in very tangible ways the influence of Tyson. I testify that the veil is thin. The same feelings of loyalty, love, and family unity don’t end as our loved ones pass to the other side; instead, those feelings are intensified.