Gospel Story Finder

Choosing to be modest has always been easy for me. I grew up in a house where standards were high, and when I married in the temple, my garments reminded me to dress modestly.
Swimsuit shopping, however, turned out to be a struggle for me. Without the guideline of garments, I found myself wanting to wear swimsuits that I would be ashamed for anyone I knew to see me in.
My husband and I were planning a cruise for just the two of us. I thought the cruise would be the perfect time to wear such a swimsuit. I wouldn’t see anyone I knew, and therefore I wouldn’t feel guilty. No one would know I was a Latter-day Saint, and all the other women on the ship would most likely be dressed like me.
Because I was already married, there was no real reason for me to have a modest swimsuit, or so I thought. Modesty guidelines were just for teenagers, right? But I had a nagging feeling in the back of my mind. I had been married in the temple. I had accomplished my goal to stay worthy and find a worthy husband. And I wanted to continue choosing the right.
I decided to look up “Dress and Appearance” in For the Strength of Youth. It had been a while since I had reviewed the booklet, so the words jumped out at me: “Through your dress and appearance, you can show that you know how precious your body is. You can show that you are a disciple of Jesus Christ and that you love Him” ([2011], 6).
Those words echoed in my head. Was I a disciple of Jesus Christ? Was I willing to be true at all times and in all places (see Mosiah 18:9)?
Since then I have decided that even in my late 20s, I must maintain the principles I learned in my youth. Those principles definitely still apply to me. I want to be a good example to my children. I want them to know that I am a disciple of Jesus Christ.

The proprietor of Dick’s Cafe in St. George, Utah, is such an example. Dick Hammer came to Utah during the Depression years with the Civilian Conservation Corps. During that period, he met and married a Latter-day Saint young woman. He opened his cafe, which became a popular meeting spot. Home teacher to the Hammer family was Willard Milne. Since I knew Dick Hammer and had printed his menus, I would ask my friend Brother Milne when I visited St. George, “How is our friend Dick Hammer coming?”
The reply would generally be, “Slowly.”
The years passed by, and just a year or two ago Willard said to me: “Brother Monson, Dick Hammer is converted and is going to be baptized. He is in his 90th year, and we have been friends all our adult lives. His decision warms my heart. I’ve been his home teacher for many years—perhaps 15 years.”
Brother Hammer was indeed baptized and a year later entered that beautiful St. George Temple and there received his endowment and sealing blessings.
I asked Willard, “Did you ever become discouraged teaching for such a long time?”
He replied, “No, it was worth the effort. I am a happy man.”

When an eighteen-month-old Bolivian boy, Danny, was flown to Primary Children’s Medical Center in Salt Lake City for corrective surgery on his feet and hips, Relief Society sisters devotedly cared for him during his three-month recovery period.

Holladay Utah North Stake Relief Society president Sharon Kasteler reports, “The sisters who cared for Danny have the heart of the gospel in their lives today because they have shared and given.”

Sydney knows it’s important to have friends during times of trial, and she always strives to be that friend for people in times of need. When she heard of another young girl in the community who was just diagnosed with type 1 diabetes, Sydney immediately reached out and met with her. The girl’s mother later told Sydney about the great influence she had on her daughter. The daughter had felt alone in her trial because no one else she knew had diabetes. But immediately after Sydney’s visit, she had a friend, and that made all the difference.

Now I can hear the young deacons saying, “Well, now, that may be fine for you, but surely you don’t think that’s going to help me in my assignment down here in this deacons quorum.” Oh yes, I do. I was a deacons quorum adviser. A boy, the president, presided in the meetings, and I taught the lessons out of the scriptures and out of the manual.
I remember one boy in the quorum had to miss a few meetings, and so he sent his brother to the class with a tape recorder. His brother recorded our meeting and took it home. It happened more than once. When the deacon came back, I asked him why. I don’t remember his words, but I remember that it was clear he knew what I knew. God was trying to speak to that deacons quorum. The boy wasn’t anxious to have a tape recording to hear me; he was trying to hear God. He knew where to listen and how to hear.
He’d read the scriptures for us in class, and I knew he knew them and loved them. And so, even when I wasn’t teaching very well, by the power of the Holy Ghost and from knowing the Master’s voice in the scriptures, he could hear what he needed to hear. The memory of that black recorder with its tape turning will always remind me of the scripture which says, “He that hath ears to hear, let him hear” (Matthew 11:15).
I spoke at his funeral just a few years later. He lived about as many years as the Prophet Joseph had lived when he saw God the Father and Jesus Christ in the grove. My deacon hadn’t seen a vision, but he had heard the voice of God through His servants in a deacons quorum. He wanted to hear, he knew how, and he had the faith he could. Like the boy prophet Joseph, he knew the heavens were open.

I am so thankful for “All Is Not Well” in the November 1997 issue. I, too, at one time was the only active member of the Church in my family. I know of the pain and frustration of an upset home. I found the strength to endure when I immersed myself into the gospel. Life was not easy during those years, but it was more than worth it. The struggle is worth it because today I know my Savior is real. There is hope. It took three years for my family to come back, but when we did we brought my sister-in-law as well. I want to thank the New Era for this article. The scriptures were my guide then and today I know how to use them as my guide home.
Name WithheldUtah

When it was time for Erik’s Eagle project, he found plenty of people willing to help. “I always went out helping the other guys with their projects, and they helped me in return,” he says.
The cemetery in Patagonia sits on a hill and overlooks the town. Although it is still used, the cemetery doesn’t receive continual maintenance, and many of the headstones were buried, and weeds and trash had covered others. For his Eagle project, Erik, with the help of his family, ward members, and friends from the community, cleaned the cemetery.

One of the most touching events I have ever witnessed took place at the auction three years ago. We had sat most of the day on aluminum bleachers, listening to the auctioneer’s bark, the crowd’s babble, and the animals’ bleating, mooing, and squealing. Suddenly we heard another sound—the wind pelting a freezing rain against the building.
Soon, in addition to parents and extended family attending the auction, we had many other people seeking shelter inside the metal livestock pavilion. They were quite surprised to find an auction taking place. Most were from the big city of Las Vegas and had never experienced a real animal auction before. They apparently found the auction entertaining, and a few even bid on animals. Of course, after the auctioneer explained that the price was per pound, the bidding slowed considerably.
Our boys’ pig came up for auction, and I remember feeling quite relieved when it was sold. All I could think of was getting home, away from the people, the noise, and the smell. It was still raining outside, so while I waited for my brother-in-law to get the car, I listened involuntarily to the auctioneer as he started the bidding on lambs.
A young girl brought out her lamb, and the bidding commenced. I don’t remember the exact amount, but I do remember thinking, “That’s a lot of money for a lamb.” Then a most amazing thing happened. The auctioneer explained that the person who had purchased the lamb was donating it back to the little girl to be resold. He went on to explain that this little girl’s father, who normally would have been there with her, was in the hospital. He had cancer, and the prognosis was not good. The family had no medical insurance, and the father was their sole support.
What happened next will burn in my mind and heart forever.
The bidding resumed, and again the little lamb was sold for an unheard-of amount of money. Again the lamb was donated back to be resold. About that time my brother-in-law returned, wet and windblown, but I couldn’t move. I told him something remarkable was happening, and though I tried, I could not stop my tears.
That lamb was sold again and again, and all those people, many of them from the city, were bidding and giving donations for that local family.
As I stood there in amazement, I couldn’t help but think of another lamb—not one that was sold again and again to benefit just one family, but One who allowed Himself to be sacrificed for all of God’s children. It seemed fitting that Easter was just around the corner. The Spirit bore witness to me that day of the significance of sacrifice in behalf of others and the importance of community.

One night before bed I was thinking about what to pray for when I felt prompted to pray for my uncle’s family. I prayed that they would feel the Spirit. Two days later I learned that my uncle had lost his job and that his family would have to move.
It was then I realized that what I had prayed for was a prompting from the Holy Ghost, and I felt grateful that I had listened to the still small voice. In a situation where I could not do much else to help, I felt good knowing my prayers could help. Sometimes instances like this may seem insignificant, but I know that seeking personal revelation, listening to promptings, and following them—even small ones—can increase our faith and strengthen others.

As a member of the German military, I spent more than half of 1999 in Sarajevo, the capital of Bosnia and Herzegovina. My military assignment came with great challenges and long hours, but I always took time off to attend church in a small chapel used by various denominations in our camp of 750.
When I arrived at the chapel one Sunday afternoon, I found the doors locked. I learned that the other members of the Church in the camp had been transferred. I was disappointed because I had looked forward to worshipping and partaking of the sacrament. Before coming to Sarajevo, I had been busy serving as a branch president in Germany and was able to partake of the sacrament regularly.
Several weeks later, I was assigned to accompany my general on a visit to an American division. During lunch, an American captain who had seen me talking to other soldiers asked if I was a member of the Church. After I told him I was, he gave my name and contact information to the senior group leader of the Church there.
Soon a Brother Fisher contacted me. Following an interview, he set me apart as the group leader of the Church in Sarajevo with the assignment to set up a group. (A group is a Church unit in military installations, similar to a branch.)
I began posting meeting times on bulletin boards and sending out invitations, hoping to find other Latter-day Saints in military barracks in Sarajevo. For the first few weeks, no one else attended. So on Sundays, I sang, prayed, and gave talks by myself. Following Church guidelines for leaders and members in the military, I was able to bless and partake of the sacrament without a second priesthood holder. This brought me great joy.
I held my solitary meetings in English so I could improve my English language skills. The first talk I gave was about Joseph Smith. No one visible was in the room, but I sensed the presence of others. The Holy Ghost strengthened me and revealed to me how important it was for the work of the Lord to begin anew in this place.
A few weeks after I held my first Sunday meeting, a young American soldier entered the chapel. She had been baptized only a few months before. I was so happy! Two weeks later, another sister arrived. Then two brothers came. With the help of the Lord, the Church began growing in Sarajevo.
Now the Church has a branch in Sarajevo. As I remember my time there, I reflect on the honor the Lord gave me to serve in a special way—to be a little cog in His work and to know that “out of small things proceedeth that which is great” (D&C 64:33).

Wilford Woodruff was with Joseph before and after his death. He traveled thousands of miles with him and often acted as scribe for him—it was Brother Woodruff who wrote the revelation given through Joseph Smith concerning the Civil War. (See D&C 87.) In the Millennial Star he recounts the delightful and revealing first meeting with the Prophet Joseph:
“Before I saw Joseph I said I did not care how old he was, or how young he was; I did not care how he looked—whether his hair was long or short; the man that advanced that revelation was a Prophet of God. I knew it for myself. I first met Joseph in the streets of Kirtland. He had on an old hat, and a pistol in his hand. Said he, ‘Brother Woodruff, I’ve been out shooting at a mark, and I wanted to see if I could hit anything;’ and says he, ‘Have you any objection to it?’ ‘Not at all,’ says I; ‘there is no law against a man shooting at a mark, that I know of.’ He invited me to his house. He had a wolf skin, which he wanted me to help him to tan; he wanted it to sit on while driving his wagon team. Now, many might have said, ‘You are a pretty Prophet; shooting a pistol and tanning a wolf skin.’ Well, we tanned it, and used it while making a journey of a thousand miles. This was my first acquaintance with the Prophet Joseph. And from that day until the present, with all of the apostacies that we have had, and with all the difficulties and afflictions we have been called to pass through, I never saw a moment when I had any doubt with regard to this work. I have had no trial about this. While the people were apostatizing on the right hand and on the left, and while Apostles were urging me to turn against the Prophet Joseph, it was no temptation to me to doubt this work or to doubt that Joseph Smith was a Prophet of God.” (Millennial Star, vol. 53, pp. 627–28.)

Auditions for the school play are tomorrow! I’m so scared!!! What if I forget my lines? Mom said I could ask Dad for a blessing, and he blessed me to not feel too nervous. I feel a little better now. Dad told me that giving a blessing is an act of service for someone else, just like everything else we do with the priesthood. He said that when he needs a blessing, he asks our home teachers. I’d never thought about it that way.
I’m 12 now! My birthday was pretty crazy because it was also the last performance for the play. I only forgot one line! So today was Sunday, and I had my first meeting as part of the Beehive presidency. We talked about what we can do to help Sara feel comfortable at church. I had no idea. Then I remembered what the bishop said when he set me apart for my new calling. He said that God would help me know the needs of the girls in my class. When I remembered that, I had an idea of an activity that Sara might like.
Sara loved our activity on Wednesday and even came to church today! Travis and Luke are both passing the sacrament now. I think I understand what Dad meant about all of us having different jobs. We use priesthood power in different ways, but we all serve each other.
Hello, old journal! I’m 24 now and—wow—I’ve learned a lot! I understand way more about the priesthood now than I did when I was 12. If you’re looking for answers, don’t stop! Heavenly Father and Jesus love you and want to bless you.

Studying abroad had always been a dream of mine, so when the opportunity came to study Spanish in Chile, I packed up my bags and flew 12 hours to stay with a Chilean family and attend school there. Morgan,* a girl I met in Chile, was also in the same Spanish program and the only other member of the Church I knew. We instantly became good friends and made plans to attend church the following Sunday morning.
I set my alarm for 8:30 a.m. that Sunday and texted Morgan to make sure she was awake. I started getting ready for church, but even as 9:00 rolled around, I hadn’t heard from Morgan. My heart slowly sank. I sat on my bed and thought, do I go alone? I felt scared. I was in a place I barely knew, I spoke minimal Spanish, I didn’t know anyone who would be at church, and I would have to walk eight blocks in cold rain. To make matters even harder, my Chilean family wasn’t LDS, and they were still asleep.
Once 9:30 passed, I figured I wasn’t going to hear from Morgan after all. But I still felt too nervous to go by myself.
10 o’clock came—the time church started—and by now I was sitting on my bed, having changed back into my pajama pants to keep me warm from the Chilean winter air. Not knowing what else to do—and wanting to feel the Spirit—I pulled out my laptop to watch Mormon Messages videos.
I was really touched by the second one I watched: “Dare to Stand Alone,” with a story from President Thomas S. Monson.
As I saw that, I realized I wasn’t being courageous enough to dare to stand alone.
I was afraid to go to church because I was by myself. As that realization sank in, I threw on my skirt and ate a speedy breakfast. I pulled on my yellow rain boots, packed my church shoes in my purse, and marched off to church just like President Monson. The whole time I walked to church, I wondered how I was brave enough to travel 5,728 miles away from my family and friends, live with a foreign family, speak a foreign language, and yet not be brave enough to walk eight blocks alone to church.
Going to church in Chile was an incredible experience. The members took me under their wing from the very first day, making sure I felt welcomed and loved. They were so kind and found ways to include me in their lives, including teaching me how to make Chilean dishes and inviting me to clean the church with them on a Saturday morning.
I learned that through the gospel we have family everywhere. No matter where we go in this world, we’ll always have a place to go that we can call home, with people who will change our lives forever. We may not speak the same language, wear the same clothes, or have the same customs, but we do have one heart to love each other.

I have been flying many kinds of aircraft for the last 30 years, both in the United States and in Latin American countries. Not too long ago when I had returned to the States after an absence of some years, a very dear friend offered me the use of his new, twin-engine Cessna. It just happened to be one of my favorite aircraft. It not only had the special, powerful engines with turbo-superchargers that could take it up to very high altitudes, but it had all the radios, all the electronic navigational aids, the transponder, the distance-measuring equipment, full instruments for all-weather flight, oxygen, and so on, just like the commercial airliners. I couldn’t think of a more enjoyable plane to fly, but with so much equipment (this was a very expensive, sophisticated bird), I reluctantly passed up the chance, saying, “Someday we’ll go to Mexico together.”
A few months passed, and every time I saw my friend he offered his plane again, but I never felt I should accept, even though the offer was very sincere. Then one day my friend brought to my office a set of keys and a pilot’s manual as evidence that he really would be pleased if I would use his beautiful aircraft sometime. The keys in my hand generated an overwhelming desire to go down to Mexico to my favorite spot for deep-sea fishing. Unfortunately Jack couldn’t go the days I had free but assured me that I should go alone. We discussed my qualifications of being covered under his insurance policy, and it turned out that I needed a check ride with a qualified inspector as it had been some time since I had flown that particular type of plane.
The arrangements were made, and I met the inspector at the side of the airplane at the appointed hour with my licenses from the USA, Argentina, Paraguay, and Ecuador, and logbooks showing flights in Cessna 310s across jungles, mountains, deserts, international boundaries, etc. He smiled calmly but was unimpressed and said, “I’ve heard about you, and I have no doubt about how much flying you have done, but I have to assume that those flights were when nothing went wrong. Now let’s fire up this bird and see how well you fly it when everything goes wrong!”
For the next hour he made everything go wrong! He simulated every emergency he could think of. He turned things off that should have been on. He turned things on that should have been off. He tried to create disorientation or panic. He really wanted to know how well I could fly when everything did go wrong! In the end he climbed out, signed my logbook, and announced, “You’re okay. I’d let my wife and kids fly with you.” I took that as being a great compliment.

When it seems that events conspire to prevent us from going to the temple, we can remember Jesus Christ’s assurance: “In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world” (John 16:33). As we persevere and attend the temple despite stumbling blocks, we’ll have the Savior’s help to overcome the world in which we live. One time as my husband and I were preparing to leave for the temple, one problem after another cropped up. Finally, as we were nearly out the door, we had a strained “marital moment.” As the two of us walked silently to the car, we could hear our oldest daughter reassure her sister, “Don’t worry; they always come home happy from the temple.” And she was right!

Some years ago an associate of mine lost his beloved wife. She died after a lingering illness, and he watched in helpless agony as the doctors withdrew all hope.

One day near the end she told him that when she was gone she wanted him to marry again and he was not to wait too long a time. He protested! The children were nearly grown and he would go the rest of the way alone.

She turned away and wept and said, “Have I been such a failure that after all our years together you would rather go unmarried? Have I been such a failure?”

In due time there came another, and their life together has reaffirmed his faith in marriage. And I have the feeling that his first beloved wife is deeply grateful to the second one, who filled the place that she could not keep.

Several years ago my wife, Susan, and I had the opportunity to tour the New Zealand Christchurch Mission with President and Sister Melvin Tagg. President Tagg suggested that as part of the mission tour we include a preparation day and take a bus trip to see the beautiful Milford Sound. Part of the trip involved stopping at several beautiful scenic sites along the way. At one of those stops, as we walked back to the bus, I became curious about a group of passengers standing in a circle on the road taking photographs. As I peered over the people, I saw in the circle a frightened little baby lamb on wobbly legs. It appeared to be no more than a few hours old. I have seen a lot of sheep in my life, since my father-in-law was in the sheep business. Consequently, I had no interest in taking a photograph of a solitary lamb, so I boarded the bus and waited.
After all the passengers finally boarded the bus, the driver picked up the frightened little lamb in his arms, held it tenderly against his chest, and brought it on the bus. He sat down, closed the door, picked up his microphone, and said to us, “Undoubtedly a band of sheep has gone through here this morning, and this little lamb has strayed. Perhaps if we take it with us, we might find the band of sheep farther up the road and return this baby lamb to its mother.”
We drove through several kilometers of beautiful forests and finally came to a beautiful meadow of tall, flowing grass. Sure enough, there in the meadow was a band of sheep feeding. The bus driver stopped the bus and excused himself. We all thought he would put the lamb down on the side of the road and come back, but he didn’t. With the lamb in his arms, he carefully and quietly walked out through the grass toward the band of sheep. When he got as close as he could without disturbing them, he gently put the lamb down and then remained in the field to make sure the baby lamb returned to the fold.
As he returned to the bus, he once again picked up his microphone and said, “Oh, can’t you hear that mother sheep saying, ‘Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you for bringing my lost lamb back home to me!’”

Close isn’t good enough—especially in horseshoes—for Kelly Jean O’Brien.
Kelly is the new junior girls Horseshoes Pitching World Champion. The Mia Maid president from Spokane, Washington, won her title in LaFayette, Indiana, by defeating seven other girls in the final competition.
Kelly won her state title twice, at ages 12 and 13. She took third place in the world competition in Eureka, California, two years ago. This year, at 15, she worked her way up through all the intermediate contests and qualified for the world pitching at LaFayette. To win she had to pitch against each of the other finalists once. She plans to defend her title this year in the junior girls’ division at Bristol, Pennsylvania, and then compete in the women’s world title bracket in 1977.
Kelly started pitching horseshoes when she was 11 years old after watching a neighbor pitching in his backyard. Kelly is a self-taught student of the game and practices every day during the summer. Now she plays three or four matches a week in club competition.
A convert to the Church of two years, Kelly throws 60 percent ringers, often pitching five or six in a row. Her best string is 16 straight.

“Wake up, Joseph Fielding,” whispered his mother as she gently nudged his shoulder. The boy rose automatically from bed and dressed in the dark. He knew that some woman was having a baby and that she needed his mother’s help. Being the oldest child, Joseph Fielding often drove his mother to one of her patients. Reminiscing once, he said, “I remember getting up in the middle of the night, taking the lantern to the dark barn and hitching up the horse to the buggy. I would drive my mother to the home of an expectant mother so she could serve as midwife and help with the new baby. I would sit in the buggy and wait. I wondered why babies were so often born in the middle of the night.”

On the night of June 20, 2000, several colleagues and I were working late in the executive offices of then Ricks College in Rexburg, Idaho. We were making final preparations for an unexpected and historic assembly on our campus the next morning and the announcement by President Hinckley that Ricks College would become a baccalaureate-degree-granting institution and take on the name of Brigham Young University–Idaho. As an administrative team we were just beginning to realize the monumental nature of the responsibility and challenges that were before us.

As we walked out of the building that night, one of my colleagues asked, “President, are you scared?” As best as I can recall, I answered something like this: “If I thought we had to execute this transition relying exclusively upon our own experience and our own judgment, then I would be terrified. But we will have help from heaven. Because we know who is in charge and that we are not alone, then no, I am not scared.” And we who serve at BYU–Idaho unitedly testify that there has been help from heaven, miracles have occurred, revelations have been received, doors have been opened, and we have been greatly blessed as individuals and as an institution.