Gospel Story Finder

This is my friend Vinod. He is from India and grew up very poor. He had to get a job when he was seven years old because his mother was sick. He joined the Church in 2012, and his mom was very angry that he abandoned his Hindu faith. But he found everlasting joy in the Plan of Salvation. He went on a mission. Priesthood blessings saved him from malaria. He failed the exams to get into BYU–Hawaii four times. God gave him the courage to try the fifth time. He has had trial after trial in his life. But he is grateful for trials because God always gives him enough strength to overcome them.
Vinod says, “I always find a way to show gratitude to God, because He gives more blessings than trials.” Vinod watches out for ingratitude.

Sister Pálinkás is from Dunaújváros, where there were no churches at all until just recently. “My parents are not believers in God,” she says. “But somehow I felt close to him and felt that he loved me.”
When she was almost 20, two American missionaries came into the store where she sold office supplies. “My co-workers and I could tell from the very first that these young men were different from others,” she remembers.
Bernadett and a co-worker arranged to hear the first discussion. Although her friend soon lost interest, Bernadett attended sacrament meeting the following Sunday and, after being taught by the missionaries and converted by the Spirit, was baptized a month later, on August 22, 1992.

I can still remember my mother speaking softly to me one Saturday afternoon when, as a little boy, I asked her for permission to do something I thought was perfectly reasonable and which she knew was dangerous. I still am amazed at the power she was granted, I believe from the Lord, to turn me around with so few words. As I remember them, they were: “Oh, I suppose you could do that. But the choice is yours.” The only warning was in the emphasis she put on the words could and choice. Yet that was enough for me.

Her power to warn with so few words sprang from three things I knew about her. First, I knew she loved me. Second, I knew she had faced similar situations and had been blessed by making the right choice. And third, she had conveyed to me her sure testimony that the choice I had to make was so important that the Lord would tell me what to do if I asked Him. Love, example, and testimony: those were keys that day, and they have been whenever I have been blessed to hear and then heed the warning of a servant of the Lord.

Many nights my choice is between doing scripture study or homework first. On those nights when there is too much to do, I get a little prompting to put away the homework, put my faith in the Lord, and spend my more awake time in the scriptures. It is pretty safe to say that every time I have chosen to study spiritually first, the Lord has made sure my other work was taken care of on time.Michelle Nielson, 17Basin City Second Ward, Pasco Washington Stake

He had not always had that confidence. His life as a young man, before he encountered the gospel, was gloomy. Born 1 June 1801 in the state of Vermont, Brigham came to believe in God but could not find him, and he often doubted his own purpose. But his conversion and baptism into the Church in 1832 at age 30, after many months of investigation and introspection, transformed him. With “fire in [his] bones,” 4 as he later said, he suddenly faced the world with weighty new goals and with a faith in God that experience only increased.

A college student who was a client of mine several years ago related this story about his perfectionism:
I set such high standards for the projects I did for class that when I thought about even starting a project I would feel anxious and nauseated. That would lead me to procrastinate beginning the project or doing even one section of it. Eventually it led to me feeling paralyzed. I remember staring at the instructions from the professor, getting anxious, then waiting until the last minute to quickly do the project and turn it in the next day. My perfectionism led to me getting less-than-perfect grades on projects.
When I asked this young man to make a list of the advantages and disadvantages of his perfectionism, he came up with four advantages (e.g., he thought he did a better job when he was perfectionistic, although his grades did not show it). He then listed 17 disadvantages to perfectionism, some of them just discussed. He then started reconsidering the value of perfectionism in his life!

He stood about three yards onto the rickety bridge with my two-year-old brother on his back. “Come on, Sian. Hold my hand and we’ll cross together.” His voice was reassuring, but my knees were shaking. I was scared. From where I stood I could see the swaying rope bridge stretch under the weight of the walkers. I could hear the rope creak above the roar of torrential waters in the gully far below. My knowledge of engineering skills was very limited at that young age, but I was convinced that the bridge was unsafe. I quivered with fear and took a step back.
“Sian,” my father’s voice was gentle but insistent, “look at me.” I looked up into his strong, caring face. “Trust me. You’ll be okay.” He held out his hand. I looked into his eyes and stepped onto the quaking bridge. It groaned and I let out a small sob. My father clasped my hand tightly and started forward. I held on and suddenly knew that we would be all right.

I would like to share with you a very personal family story that happened almost 21 years ago. The day after Christmas in 1977, a little redheaded girl was born to our family. Although she came a few weeks early, she appeared to be healthy and happy, and we all loved her very much. When she was about two months old, she became quite ill and spent a few days at Primary Children’s Hospital in the semi-intensive care unit. After some treatments and special medications, she improved enough for us to take her back home. But she never totally recovered. In fact, her condition worsened until we took her back to the hospital again a month and half later. This time she did not respond to the treatments, and a diagnosis of the problem was not readily evident. As her lungs began to fail, she was transferred to the intensive care unit, where, on a respirator, she gradually moved to 100% oxygen.

We were told this was an essential treatment for her at the time, but high doses of oxygen for an infant could in the long run result in blindness. Also, lack of adequate oxygen to the brain could cause some long-term brain damage. Because of the numerous blood tests required, a shunt was put into her tiny arm to facilitate the process. Again we were warned of potential problems. In fact, the very day the shunt was inserted, a nine-month-old baby in the same unit had his arm amputated because of a severe infection associated with the shunt he had received.

At first the doctors were optimistic, stating that there were many possible reasons for her condition and, as soon as they could identify the cause, appropriate treatment could be administered. Test results gave no useful information, and nothing seemed to help this little life that was slipping away from us. On a Saturday evening the doctors told us Holly had stabilized, and they suggested we go home and get some rest. If there was a problem, they would call us immediately. The dreaded call came during the very early hours the following morning. We were told that both of Holly’s lungs had collapsed and that doctors would try to keep her alive until we arrived so that we could be with her as she died. We threw on our clothes and jumped in the car. On the way to the hospital I thought to myself, “This is one of those times when people bargain with the Lord for something they dearly want.” But, try as I might, I couldn’t think of anything I could offer that was a worthy trade for the life of my little daughter. So instead I prayed with all the energy I had that the Lord would help me handle whatever was to come.

Forever etched on my mind will be the scene inside the intensive care unit when we arrived of doctors holding the limp little girl in their arms, hand-pumping the oxygen that was keeping her alive. We asked if we could give her a blessing before taking her off the oxygen. Literally as soon as the amen was said, a lobe in one of her lungs spontaneously inflated. It wasn’t a lot, but it was enough. She had been given a little more time.

Unfortunately we still didn’t know what was wrong with her. Our pediatrician, Stanley Child, was relentless as he began searching the medical journals until he read of a very rare condition that could be causing the problems. In order to make a definitive diagnosis, an angiogram was required—a very risky procedure for a child so young and so critically ill. There was a big chance that the angiogram could cause a stroke or, worse, death. Without a diagnosis, however, it was essentially guaranteed that she would die. After much discussion the cardiologist moved ahead with the procedure. The doctors did, in fact, discover the problem, and open-heart surgery was scheduled immediately. This was a dangerous operation under the best of circumstances, especially 21 years ago, and Holly was given very low odds of surviving.

Here is where I would like to make an important point. I tend to be an emotional person, and I can cry with little prompting. To face the probable death of my child would seem to be almost unbearable. And yet, as I sat in the waiting room of Primary Children’s Hospital after the operation began, I felt calm and peaceful. In fact, I was the one who was offering reassuring words to the others who had come to be with us as we waited. At times I could feel the presence and strength and warmth of others behind me; but when I turned around, no one was there. Almost suddenly I understood. The Lord was answering my prayer to be able to handle whatever was to come. I was experiencing the gift of the Holy Ghost as a comforter.

In the operating room an incision was made from Holly’s sternum around the left side of her chest to her backbone. The surgeon needed to reach into her tiny body with his adult male hands and reroute an artery that was only the size of a pencil lead. After a time we received word that all had gone well. The next challenge was to take Holly off the heart/lung machine so that her heart could begin beating on its own once again. With great relief for all involved, she successfully made that transition. After several weeks she was strong enough to be taken home. Her little body had been paralyzed, she had no voice because of trauma to her vocal chords, and she weighed less than what she had at birth. The next months were challenging, but little by little she regained full strength.

In less than one month, on December 26, Holly will be 21 years old. She loves to play the piano with two hands, she sings with a lovely soprano voice, she has 20/20 vision, and she is an honor student. In high school her heart and lungs were strong enough for her to run track. There are not many around who are more energetic, fun loving, or who seem to enjoy more from life.

I often reflect back to that time and to doctors who listened and were guided to know how to best help our child. I think of friends and family who gave more to us during that difficult time than I could have imagined possible. And I can never deny the hand of a loving Heavenly Father who heard my prayer and gave me the strength I needed to handle the situation, both while Holly was in the hospital and during the time that followed. Obviously, I have shared with you an experience that turned out exactly the way I wanted.

The young men and women of the Cannon Seventh Ward in Salt Lake City enjoyed a unique service project last October when they cleaned house for some ghosts. It started with a deserted, trash-cluttered barn and workshop on the one hand and a desire for a Halloween spook alley on the other. The young people decided that a family of spooks and their Halloween guests could be quite comfortable in the barn if it were cleaned out first, so they got together one day at noon and made the dust fly. The refuse, including, believe it or not, an old discarded Halloween mask, was dumped into burlap sacks and hauled away. The spook alley turned out to be as clean as any moderately tidy ghost could wish. The cobwebs, of course, were left where they were, except when occupied by spiders.

Some months ago I heard that the wife of a friend was again threatening miscarriage. I hurried, along with others who were concerned about the baby, to make sure that things would be well. While arrangements were still being made, we were told that it was too late. This was the third time she had gone through this painful experience. I asked myself: What can I say to comfort them? How will the Lord help them overcome this new blow?
The day she left the hospital she heard about another sister from her stake who was going through the same experience. Full of trust in the Lord, she went to visit the sister and give her support. She changed her own tragedy into a blessing of comfort for others.

Years ago I was sitting in a sacrament meeting with my father, whose name is the same as my own, Henry Eyring. He seemed to be enjoying what I thought was a terrible talk. I watched my father, and to my amazement, his face was beaming as the speaker droned on. I kept stealing looks back at him, and sure enough, through the whole thing he had this beatific smile.

Our home was near enough to the ward that we walked home. I remember walking with my father on the shoulder of the road that wasn’t paved. I kicked a stone ahead of me as I plotted what I would do next. I finally got up enough courage to ask him what he thought of the meeting. He said it was wonderful.

Now I really had a problem. My father had a wonderful sense of humor, but you didn’t want to push it too far. I was puzzled. I was trying to summon up enough courage to ask him how I could have such a different opinion of that meeting and that speaker.

Like all good fathers, he must have read my mind because he started to laugh. He said: “Hal, let me tell you something. Since I was a very young man, I have taught myself to do something in a church meeting. When the speaker begins, I listen carefully and ask myself what it is he is trying to say. Then once I think I know what he is trying to accomplish, I give myself a sermon on that subject.” He let that sink in for a moment as we walked along. Then, with that special self-deprecating chuckle of his, he said, “Hal, since then I have never been to a bad meeting.”

I don’t suppose he used all of the steps I have described to you. He may very well have prayed for that speaker. Over a lifetime he had studied. When he knew what the speaker was trying to say, he had a deep well to go to so he could give himself that sermon.

My father was the kind of man who would have listened to that high council visitor. If he had felt a little pricking in his heart to do something, Dad would have done it. He could listen to anybody. He used to embarrass me when we stopped to get gas because he would seek advice from the gas station attendant. Dad would always treat him as an equal. Dad would say: “Look, I can learn something from anybody. They have had experiences I haven’t had.”

Two twins get in a rocket ship.
Wait, no, that’s not it.
One twin gets in the rocket ship, and the other stays behind. And when the twin in the rocket ship gets back he’s older. No … he’s younger than the one who stayed at home. And this all has something to do with traveling at the speed of light?
I stopped to scratch my head and let out a long sigh. The theory of relativity was one of the first things we had studied in my physical science class, and here I was, just about to take my first-ever university final and still completely in the dark about the speed of light.
Everything else in the class was as clear as a newly polished test tube, but for some reason my brain couldn’t wrap itself around Einstein’s theory. And I had to understand it since it would make up a significant part of my final exam.
I had been praying for help to understand it all semester. I had put all my effort into it and still wasn’t any closer to even a glimpse of comprehension. Why wasn’t the Lord helping me? Didn’t He know how important this class was to me?
On the day of my physical science final, I answered every question until I got to the dreaded relativity essay. “Heavenly Father,” I thought. “I’ve done my best, now please help me to get this right!”
I sat and I sat, and nothing came. Finally I just finished the rest of the test and left downhearted.
As I stepped out the door of the testing center, into my mind came the theory of relativity but, this time, I completely understood all I had been taught. And I knew that this flash of pure knowledge came from Heavenly Father. After months of struggle, it was just there all of a sudden. I wondered why the Lord couldn’t have revealed this knowledge to me a few minutes earlier while I was still taking the test.
As I pondered, the Lord taught me something else I needed to learn. The grade wasn’t the most important thing. It was learning that mattered. And more important than learning the theory of relativity, I learned that all knowledge comes from the Lord. He can help me to understand anything if I do my part, regardless of whether I have an exam or not.
Years later I still have a clear understanding of what I learned about relativity, and the Lord continues to teach me about many other subjects as I diligently seek His help.

A few weeks before I became eight years old, my father was killed in a trucking accident. A month later, we moved to a new home in St. George, Utah, across the street from the beautiful St. George Temple.
Mother was soon called to be the stake genealogy secretary. Whenever a group assigned could not make it, a member of the temple presidency would call mother to ask if her sons could come to the temple to do baptisms for the dead. Mother never turned the Lord down. My two older brothers and I often went to the temple to do baptisms.
One summer’s day, I had cut my hand severely on an empty tin can. I begged Mother not to take me to the doctor to have the wound stitched together, so she cleaned my hand, applied a bandage, covered that with adhesive tape, and then wrapped everything in gauze.
No sooner had she finished than the telephone rang. It was the brethren from the temple, wanting us boys to come over to do baptisms. Because my two older brothers had been very busy lately, I had been going to the temple on a regular basis. I had by now compiled a lengthy list of baptisms for the dead that ran into thousands. Once again, my older brothers were not around, so I hurriedly bathed, dressed, and ran over to the temple.
Several hours and four hundred names later, Brother Edwards and I stopped for the night. I remember him well, his right arm to the square revealing a hand missing most of the fingers because of an accident he had had in his youth. After every baptism, he would carefully help me up into the stainless steel chair for the confirmation. After every twenty or thirty baptisms, Brother Edwards would look down at me and say, “Brother Fish, can you do some more?” I would answer yes, and we would work our way through another batch of names.
As I returned home, exhausted, Mother spotted the dripping wet gauze on my hand and helped me into the bathroom to re-dress the wound. I was so tired and hungry I just wanted to eat and sleep. I wasn’t paying attention to my hand. I let her unwrap the bandage.
The gauze came off first, then the adhesive tape, and finally the bandage. My mother looked shocked. I looked down. Not a trace of a cut remained—no scar, no redness, nothing!
I remember my mother quietly hugging me. As we cried together, sharing that moment, the Spirit bore witness to me that I had been healed because of my service in the temple of the Lord.

September Roses, by Jeanette Winter. Based on a true story, this book tells about two sisters stranded in New York in the aftermath of September 11. The women, who are flying with thousands of roses for a flower show, land right after the Twin Towers are hit. A stranger offers them a place to stay. Wanting to repay this kindness, they take their flowers to Union Square and arrange them in the shape of the fallen towers.

During the Korean War missionary service was restricted, so President Eyring served in the U.S. Air Force instead of serving a full-time mission. While in the Air Force, he was called to be a district missionary. He spent his nights and weekends for the next two years serving the Lord and preaching the gospel. After he was released from the Air Force, he went back to school and met his wife, Kathleen. They have six children and twenty-five grandchildren. His family is a most important part of his life.

Change your attitude. By looking at a problem in a different way, it may be possible to reduce discouragement. I have been impressed with the pioneer story told about Zina Young. After experiencing the death of parents, crop failure, and sickness, she was encouraged with a spiritual experience that changed her attitude. While attempting to seek divine help, she heard her mother’s voice: “Zina, any sailor can steer on a smooth sea, when rocks appear, sail around them.” A prayer came quickly: “O Father in heaven, help me to be a good sailor, that my heart shall not break on the rocks of grief” (“Mother,” The Young Woman’s Journal, Jan. 1911, 45). It is often difficult to change circumstances, but a positive attitude can help lift discouragement.

Several years ago, a dear friend married in the Salt Lake Temple. She was a convert to the Church from India, and her entire family came for her wedding. They were not members of the Church, so they waited patiently outside for the wedding to end and the bride to exit the temple. They were dressed in native Indian attire and looked beautiful. When they walked onto the temple grounds, all eyes were upon them. The thing I noticed most was how elegantly they moved and carried themselves and how modest each was. They were not apologetic for their appearance even though it made them stand out in the crowd. They simply knew who they were and were not ashamed. I observed how beautiful they were. The women seemed almost queenly in their attitude and demeanor. In their actions, movements, and conversation, they were dignified and lovely. I thought how much I would like every young woman and woman in the Church to have that same attitude—an attitude of understanding something deeper on the inside that was reflected on the outside.

Darrell graduated in 1997 and attended Brigham Young University in Utah, USA to complete his master’s degree. From there, he moved to New York City to study at the Manhattan School of Music, for his third degree in the subject he had once failed while still a struggling schoolboy.

Whilst in New York he met and married Jennifer Welch, a renowned opera singer in her own right. In 2005 Darrell, Jenny and their two little sons moved back to Utah where they were both asked to teach at BYU. Darrell was eventually offered a full-time position, and Jenny decided to be a full-time mother.

As a professor of music for 14 years, Darrell was hugely successful, with his students winning major international opera competitions. One of his students, Rachel Willis-Sørensen, was invited to sing at Prince Charles’ 70th birthday party at Buckingham Palace, who has since gone on to be a highly successful recording artist.

In 2019, Darrell was approached by the world-renowned Juilliard School and offered a full-time faculty position. Darrell, Jenny and now five children moved back to New York.

In 2021 it was announced that Darrell would be chair of the music faculty at the Juilliard School. It can be no surprise to learn that his students have also won many competitions and have appeared on The Voice and America’s Got Talent. One student has also been nominated for a Grammy award.

I counsel you to honor your father and your mother. May I share with you an example of honoring one’s mother. Some years ago Ruth Fawson, mother of six, underwent life-threatening surgery. Her devoted husband and her three sons and three daughters were all at the hospital. The physicians and nurses explained to the family that they could return to their homes and that the staff was prepared to care adequately for Sister Fawson. The family expressed their thanks to the hospital staff but indicated a determination for at least one of its number to be present at all times. A daughter expressed the feelings of all: “We wanted to be there when Mother awakened and stretched forth her hand, so that it would be our hands she would grasp, it would be our smiles she would see, it would be our words she would hear, it would be our love she would feel.” “Honour thy father and thy mother.”

Let me illustrate with a brief story how this great faith can be applied. A couple weeks ago, Brother Brad Wilcox and I visited Sister Wendy Thompson in her ward in North Ogden, Utah. Her husband had recently been killed in a tragic accident. After Sunday services, we met with her and her extended family. Their stake president invited us to share thoughts with them. Following Brother Wilcox’s inspired and inspiring remarks, I briefly shared some of these same principles of faith. Sister Thompson became emotional. She later asked me if I would write her what I shared. She said, “I was just feeling so much peace and joy knowing that my Heavenly Father and my Savior and my sweet eternal companion have prepared every needful thing for me and my boys here and in the eternities. I remembered my covenants made and also the covenants Heavenly Father made. He never breaks His promises. I love thinking that I already have those blessings . . . and [I love] what I felt.”