Gospel Story Finder

A neighbor once told me that as a missionary in earlier days he and his companion were walking along a ridge in the mountains of the South. They saw people gathering in a clearing near a cabin some distance down the hillside. They had come for a funeral. A little boy had drowned, and his parents had sent for the preacher to “say words.” The minister, who rode a circuit on horseback, would rarely visit these isolated families. But when there was trouble, they would send for him.
The little fellow was to be buried in a grave opened near the cabin. The elders stayed in the background as the minister stood before the grieving family and began his sermon.
If the parents had hoped for consolation from this man of the cloth, they were disappointed. He scolded them severely because the little boy had not been baptized. He told them bluntly that their little son was lost in endless torment, and it was their fault.
After the grave was covered and the neighbors had gone, the elders approached the grieving parents. “We are servants of the Lord,” they told the sobbing mother, “and we’ve come with a message for you.”
As the grief-stricken parents listened, the elders unfolded the plan of redemption. They quoted from the Book of Mormon, “Little children need no repentance, neither baptism” (Moro. 8:11) and then bore testimony of the restoration of the gospel.

Time passed. Brother Andelin passed away. Then on a cold December morning, our priests quorum arrived at a little house on the edge of the ward boundaries. The name on the mailbox read Andelin. At the door, leaning against a cane was a small woman with thinning white hair and a warm smile.
Our adviser introduced us to Sister Andelin as we brought in the small Christmas tree we were giving her. She made sure to learn our names as she talked to us. Sister Andelin hadn’t been able to come to church for several years, and though she didn’t recognize most of us, she knew our families.
“How’s your mother?” she asked me.
I gave the usual response. “Fine.”
“My husband used to be your home teacher when you first joined the Church. Do you remember that?”
After telling her I did, I reminded her about the board and the seesaw. She held her hands together and smiled at me as if picturing the entire thing in her mind. “You know, he was always doing good things like that for people. And now look at you,” she said, taking hold of my hand. “Passing on the good that you were taught. That’s how I get along now; all the love my husband spread around this ward just keeps flowing back to me.”
I realized that Brother Andelin took care of the widows and the fatherless as the Lord directed. But more than that, Brother Andelin passed on a spirit of giving that outlasted both him and that old teeter-totter.

Rambo, who adopted her unique English name several years ago, also credits her sister’s influence in her own conversion. “Belle has been a great example to me in my life,” she explains.
Because Rambo is the youngest Wong daughter, her parents were hesitant at first to allow her to join the Church. “When I was younger, I began going to church each Sunday even though I hadn’t been baptized,” she recalls. “At first, my parents didn’t want me to join the Church. So I would go with Belle every Sunday, but I wouldn’t take the sacrament.”
This is where the story takes on an ironic twist.
“A lot of members of the ward would look at me and think I was a member,” she continues. “They would ask me to be a fellowshipper for the missionaries’ investigators even though I was still an investigator myself. As I got older, my testimony began to develop and I learned more about the Church.”
When Rambo was finally baptized in 1990, she joined Belle in teaching gospel principles to older sisters Mandy, May, Angela, and Agnes, as well as to Simon. She also continued “officially” fellowshipping other investigators at church each Sunday. “When I was a kid, I liked to play and have fun. But when I got older, I received a testimony—a true testimony—and I wanted to share it,” Rambo says.

That fall, while the printers made steady progress on the Book of Mormon, a former judge named Abner Cole began publishing a newspaper on Grandin’s press. Working at night in the shop, after Grandin’s staff went home, Abner had access to printed pages from the Book of Mormon, which was not yet bound or ready for sale.
Abner soon began poking fun at the “Gold Bible” in his newspaper, and during the winter he printed excerpts from the book alongside sarcastic commentary.11
When Hyrum and Oliver learned what Abner was doing, they confronted him. “What right have you to print the Book of Mormon in this way?” Hyrum demanded. “Do you not know that we have received a copyright?”
“It is none of your business,” Abner said. “I have hired the press and I will print what I please.”
“I forbid you to print any more of that book in your paper,” Hyrum said.
“I don’t care,” Abner said.
Unsure what to do, Hyrum and Oliver sent word to Joseph in Harmony, who returned to Palmyra at once. He found Abner at the printing office, casually reading his own newspaper.
“You seem hard at work,” Joseph said.
“How do you do, Mr. Smith,” Abner replied dryly.
“Mr. Cole,” Joseph said, “the Book of Mormon and the right of publishing it belong to me, and I forbid you meddling with it.”
Abner threw off his coat and pushed up his sleeves. “Do you want to fight, sir?” he barked, pounding his fists together. “If you want to fight, just come on.”
Joseph smiled. “You had better keep your coat on,” he said. “It’s cold, and I am not going to fight you.” He calmly continued, “But you have got to stop printing my book.”
“If you think you are the best man,” Abner said, “just pull off your coat and try it.”
“There is law,” Joseph responded, “and you will find that out if you did not know it before. But I shall not fight you, for that will do no good.”
Abner knew he was on the wrong side of the law. He calmed down and stopped printing excerpts from the Book of Mormon in his newspaper.12

His mother, Jean, joined the Church as a teenager in Hawaii, USA, and later attended Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah, USA, where she stayed with the family of Gerrit de Jong, the first dean of the College of Fine Arts. “The de Jongs helped me understand what a gospel family is like,” she says.

After BYU, Jean attended Stanford University in Palo Alto, California, USA, where she met Walter A. Gong. “He was already a Christian and quickly understood what the restored gospel offers,” Jean says. He joined the Church, and a year later they were married in the Salt Lake Temple. Both became professional educators and collectively spent more than 70 years teaching.

“Dad also became a patriarch,” Elder Gong says, “and because patriarchal blessings were given in our home, our home was filled with a deep reverence for God’s love for each of His children.”

On December 23, 1953, in Redwood City, California, the first of Jean and Walter’s three children was born. “His given name, Gerrit, is Dutch, to honor Gerrit de Jong,” Jean explains. “His middle name is Walter, to honor his father. And our family name is Chinese, which honors his heritage.”

Jean says Gerrit was considerate to his younger siblings, Brian and Marguerite. “He liked to help them,” she says, “even with little things like teaching them to tie their shoes.” She remembers coming home from church one day and overhearing Gerrit and Brian saying they thought a sacrament meeting talk was boring. “So I challenged them: ‘Then you come up with a better talk.’ They took the challenge and started paying more attention to all the talks,” she says.

At the beginning of my next school year, I got “peer-pressured” into going to my first school dance. I asked a girl who I had sort of talked to before in a class. She probably barely knew who I was, but she said she would go with me. This forced me to talk to her. I actually enjoyed the group date and became good friends with the girl I went with.
After that, I realized that girls are just normal people too. Everyone who is different from me is just another person, same as I am. We’re all children of God, so why would I avoid someone because of their different looks, personalities, or interests?
Now, some of my closest friends are girls, and a lot of my guy friends are completely different from anyone I thought I would spend time with two years ago.

When I was only about four years old, I lived in a small town in the state of Coahuila, Mexico. The town had perhaps a hundred people in it—and Coahuilan chestnut monkeys. Here, I first became aware of the Bible. Some men who taught Bible stories to children came once a week. I don’t remember what religion they belonged to, but from the very first time I heard the Bible stories, I loved them. My older brother and my younger brother, too, liked to hear them.
My father was very fond of reading the Bible. He wasn’t a Catholic, but my mother was. She took us to the Catholic church from the time we were very small. Then, in 1956, when I was twelve, the LDS missionaries came to our home. My mother didn’t want to listen to them and, rather than offend them, told them to come only when my father was home. They did and began to teach us. Only two of my brothers were still at home with me—the others were all married.
The missionaries were not only competent but very inspired in getting my mother and us children involved. Each time they came, they read something to us from the scriptures—almost always from the Book of Mormon—and the next time they came, they asked us to report on what they had told us and on what we had read. The three of us and my father and mother were baptized six months later.
When I was baptized, I was already too old for Primary. Even so, I attended it for two years. I did hold the priesthood, but the branch was small and the Primary teachers were so good that I went there. I loved it and was grateful that the teachers didn’t tell me that I couldn’t attend because I was too old. I remember three outstanding teachers. Olga Ramos, Lida del Bosque, and Irma Torres were their names. All three cared a great deal about us children. They diligently taught us and had activities for us. They were young adults then. Now they are married women with grandchildren. I am very grateful to them because it was through their teaching that I learned the gospel.
Once I was baptized, the Church was my world. What I loved best was to be at church with the other members. I remember many times being there on Saturdays with the deacons, cleaning the chapel and preparing it for Sunday. I also participated in the branch’s Mutual activities. From seeing the missionaries in Primary and at home, I decided early in my life to go on a mission. When I served my mission, I was very happy. I served two years in the west of Mexico.

Young Harold learned what it meant to listen to the voice of the Lord from an experience he had with his father. “I think maybe I was around ten or eleven years of age … , trying to spend the day busying myself until my father was ready to go home. Over the fence from our place were some tumbledown sheds that would attract a curious boy, and I was adventurous. I started to climb through the fence, and I heard a voice … calling me by name and saying, ‘Don’t go over there!’ I turned to look at my father to see if he were talking to me, but he was way up at the other end of the field. There was no person in sight. I realized then, as a child, that there were persons beyond my sight, for I had definitely heard a voice. Since then, when I hear or read stories of the Prophet Joseph Smith, I too have known what it means to hear a voice.”
This experience with the watch-care of the Holy Spirit impressed Harold that safe passage to Heavenly Father’s kingdom depends on our willingness to hear and obey that voice. “I have learned something of what the Spirit has taught,” he later reflected, “and I know now that … security can come to Israel only when they keep the commandments, when they live so that they can enjoy the companionship, the direction, the comfort, and the guidance of the Holy Spirit of the Lord.”

I was in my fifth year of studying humanities when I received a lesson about the worth of an example. Every time our teacher entered the classroom, he found a picture of himself—drawn by some of my classmates—on the blackboard. And every time, the professor would ask us to wipe away the drawing. However, he never said anything else about it.
I was very impressed with our professor’s wise and humble way of being, and I became curious about which church he belonged to. I found out that he was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
I decided to receive the missionary discussions, and I was baptized on September 10, 2000. The man who had shown me an example through his way of living turned out to be my branch president.

I’m going to share an experience I had with President Kimball to help you understand what a choice human being he is, besides a powerful prophet, and perhaps base the rest of my remarks on this incident. I stood alone in the basement of the Church Office Building about two years ago, waiting for an elevator. It was very early on a Monday morning, well before the influx of office workers. As the elevator lowered into place, suddenly two Church security officers appeared from out of somewhere and held back the opening doors. Now, nobody does that for me, so I looked around just in time to see President Kimball and his personal secretary, Brother Haycock, entering the area. They moved quickly into the secured area, and I quickly moved out of the way. Well, as President Kimball turned and faced the front of the elevator, he saw me standing out there waiting for the next one. And he said to me very graciously, “Good morning.” And I said, “Good morning, President Kimball.” And he said, “Aren’t you going to get on?” And I said, “Well,” and hesitated for a few moments, “I didn’t think I was supposed to under the circumstances.” And then he said, “Aren’t you going up?” And I said, “Yes.” And he said, “Well, tell me, how do you intend to get there?” And then he said, “Come along.” So I got on! At the prophet’s invitation I was happy to ride up with him.

Tonight President Kimball extends an invitation to all of us, with some specifics, I am sure, for us as women to follow him as he follows the Savior. If we want to “go up,” we must “get on.” It is that simple. He is our leader; in all the world of would-be leaders, who can guide us back to the presence of God.

When I was very young I read Black Beauty and Beautiful Joe and other animal stories, and these inspired me with a desire to be kind to animals. I read books that stimulated my imagination, adventure stories. I was still very young when the “Last Days of Pompeii” come into my possession and it so stimulated my interest that I was never satisfied until I visited the buried city of Pompeii in 1937 and with my own eyes saw the devastation wrought by old Vesuvius volcano.

My friend Kimber came to school on crutches. I asked her what had happened. She said that she was playing soccer and when she tried to kick the ball she kicked a big fat root in the ground instead. I felt bad for her, so I helped her the whole day. I said a prayer that her foot would get better. As I left school, I felt that I had done a good thing. The next day she said that her foot was better. I gave her a big smile. I knew that Heavenly Father had answered my prayer.

After I came home from my mission, I suddenly had a new life to face. I had to find my way in school, navigate new friendships, attempt to date, and figure out new work schedules.
It was unfamiliar and uncomfortable.
I wanted to turn to the Lord for reassurance. I had a firm testimony that the Book of Mormon was the word of God, but I found myself feeling distant when I tried to read my scriptures. I felt like I was unable to access the peace and comfort I usually felt while reading the Book of Mormon.
I was facing a lot of big feelings, and when I tried to read my scriptures, I wanted big answers. But those answers just didn’t seem to be coming.
My feelings of discontent grew to the point where I struggled to open my scriptures at all.
As I pondered on the preservation of the Book of Mormon, I was struck by the marvelous truth that the wise purpose behind its writing includes me. Heavenly Father knew how much I would need the Book of Mormon in my life. In fact, He knew the challenges each of His children would face in mortality, and in a grand expression of love, He provided us with the scriptures to lead us, guide us, and comfort us.
So why was I not feeling comforted?
One week as I attended my church meetings, I prayed to learn something that would help me. The impression I received at church that day prepared me to hear Heavenly Father’s voice.
As I sat and listened, I was reminded of a truth I had forgotten. I wrote in my journal: “One way to work through frustration when you feel like you aren’t receiving answers is spiritual consistency. It is the daily moments of spiritual consistency that allow God to create patterns, point out subtle feelings, and convey simple but powerful, comforting truths. It’s the consistency that turns our heart to Him, that aligns our will with His.”
In that moment, I remembered the principle that Alma taught his son while instructing him to keep a record:
“Now ye may suppose that this is foolishness in me; but behold I say unto you, that by small and simple things are great things brought to pass; and small means in many instances doth confound the wise.
“And the Lord God doth work by means to bring about his great and eternal purposes; and by very small means the Lord doth confound the wise and bringeth about the salvation of many souls” (Alma 37:6–7).
These verses and the revelation I received in church that day helped me reframe my expectations for my scripture study. Instead of looking for big spiritual experiences when I somewhat sporadically read my scriptures, I began to focus on creating simple moments to connect with the Lord daily through scripture study.
By taking the pressure off, I felt a simple, sweet spirit begin to fill my life. It was small and subtle, but I was able to see that Heavenly Father truly can convey great, meaningful messages in small and simple ways. And being spiritually consistent in my scripture study helped me develop my ability to recognize those messages.

“What a day,” Tyler thought as he finished reading his basketball book and got out of bed to kneel for his evening prayer.
“You did a good job today,” Alicia told him as she peeked her head into his room on her way to bed. Tyler was glad she said it, but he didn’t feel he had made any big decision. Sure, he had made a good choice, but it came so naturally that it didn’t really feel like much of a choice at all.
The day had started out like a normal Saturday. Tyler walked a block to the neighborhood playground where there were always kids to play with. Some days he played soccer, some days he played basketball, and other days he just played tag.
When Tyler got to the park, he saw a few boys huddled in the little red clubhouse near the jungle gym.
When Tyler crawled inside, he saw Anthony, Marcus, and Stephen—all boys he had played with before. He started talking with them about things like video games and what their Halloween costumes were going to be.
Then Anthony pulled out a folded-up piece of paper. “Hey, guys. Look at this picture of a girl I took from one of my dad’s magazines,” he said.
Marcus and Stephen moved behind Anthony to see the picture. Tyler didn’t move.
“Whoa!” Marcus said. His eyes got as big as marbles.
Stephen’s cheeks turned red. He slapped his hand over his open mouth and started to laugh. Anthony and Marcus laughed too.
A chill ran up Tyler’s back. He knew the picture was something he should not look at. He turned toward the door and crawled out of the clubhouse.
Anthony crawled out after him.
“Tyler, come look at this!” Anthony said.
“No,” Tyler answered. “I don’t look at those kinds of pictures.”
“Why not?” Anthony said. His voice was so loud Tyler could hear it echo off the hills behind the playground. “Are you scared?”
The other boys laughed.
Anthony ran toward Tyler. As he got closer, Tyler saw Anthony’s hand moving upward. Tyler closed his eyes. He felt the paper brush against his face.
“Come on, look!” Anthony said as he laughed. “Look!”
Tyler jerked his head away from the paper. It didn’t matter to him how much he was teased or how much the other boys laughed. He knew he should not look.
So he ran.
Tyler ran from one side of the playground to the other, but Anthony was right behind him, holding up the picture and laughing.
Because Tyler’s home was nearby, he knew the best way to get Anthony to stop chasing him was to run home. As Tyler began to run home, he saw something he had not noticed before. His sister, Alicia, was standing by the swings. As he ran past her, she turned toward Anthony.
“Leave him alone!” she yelled. Anthony, who was already slowing down, stopped and walked back to the playground.
When Tyler ran through his front door, he made his way to the living room and crashed on the couch. Alicia walked in a few minutes later. “Don’t worry about those guys,” she said. “You did great.”
As Tyler lay in bed thinking about what had happened to him that day, he started to realize why not looking at the picture had been an easy choice for him. Tyler had already learned that he should not look at immodest pictures. Maybe today was the first time anyone had tried to show him a bad picture, but he had already made up his mind a long time ago.

This legacy was passed to me by my father, Merrill M. Oveson, the youngest in the family of 13 children. He and my mother, Mal Berg Oveson, also from a faithful lineage, were sealed in the Salt Lake Temple, boarded a train, and went to Oregon to further my father’s education. They remained for more than 40 years, during many of which they lived in a very small farming community where we were the only members of the Church.
I have often thought how easy it would have been for my parents simply to change their faith and join their many friends in the community’s Christian church. This action would have simplified life for them, especially during the World War II years, when rationing of gasoline and tires made it impossible for them to travel the 40 miles to the nearest organized branch of the LDS Church. Instead, they received authorization to have a home Sunday School, which they faithfully held weekly during all those years. There we shared the sacrament as a family. There my brother and sisters and I learned the principles of the gospel and listened to Bible and Book of Mormon stories literally at the feet of our parents.

Are these training sessions effective?
Yes, say the young men and their priesthood leaders. Randy Beddes, a priest from Lovell, Wyoming, remembers that when he was deacons quorum president, he tried to do everything himself—planning all the special activities, making all the arrangements, running the whole program. “But I’ve learned that there’s a better way to do things,” he says. Now, as the bishop’s first assistant in the priest quorum, he makes a lot of assignments to others, giving clear instructions on what is expected, and providing an opportunity for following up. “We get a lot more done” says Randy, “and a lot more priests get involved.”

Clara McMaster was the eleventh child in her family, and she learned to love music at an early age. She sang and accompanied others on the piano as she grew up in Brigham City, Utah. For twenty-two years she was a member of the Tabernacle Choir. Today she and her husband sing together for numerous church occasions. “Music is a rich gift of God, and it is in the world to make the lives of His children happier and better.” Sister McMaster says.
When serving on the Primary General Board, Sister McMaster was asked to write a song for the first reverence program. She worked hard and prayed that she would be prompted to write what would be best for the children. One day as she was looking out the window and pondering her assignment, an idea came to her. She went to the piano and quickly wrote it down. The new song was “Reverently, Quietly.” “I felt very humble,” she said. “If you prepare and do all that you can do, then Heavenly Father will help you.”

Every Saturday at ten o’clock, Mama takes Brett and me to the library. That’s when our Library Grandma reads.

The other children grab books and yell, “Read mine! Read mine!” Brett and I sit quietly, like people should in a library.

Our Library Grandma gathers the grabby grumblers and growls like a grouchy gorilla. She reads wild stories for wild children. Her hair springs from the bun on the top of her head. Her arms wave and her feet stomp. Her eyes squint and her brow wrinkles. The wide-eyed children hold their breath.

“Don’t stop, Grandma,” they beg when it’s time to go. “Read to us all day.” They love her, but we love her the best.

After our Library Grandma finishes reading to all the children each Saturday, we pick out books to take home. When Mama comes to get us, she gives our Library Grandma a ride home too. At our house, she comes in. Brett and I give her our library books and yell, “Read mine! Read mine!” Then our Library Grandma, our very own real Grandma, hugs us—and reads to us all day!

Presidents Brigham Young and Heber C. Kimball tried to discourage Thomas B. Marsh’s murmuring, but to no avail. A repentant Brother Marsh later said of that time:
“I must have lost the Spirit of the Lord out of my heart. …
“I became jealous of the Prophet … and overlooked everything that was right, and spent all my time in looking for the evil; … I thought I saw a beam in Brother Joseph’s eye, but it was nothing but a mote, and my own eye was filled with the beam; … I got mad and I wanted everybody else to be mad. I talked with Brother Brigham Young and Brother Heber C. Kimball, and I wanted them to be mad like myself; and I saw they were not mad, and I got madder still because they were not. Brother Brigham Young, with a cautious look, said, ‘Are you the leader of the Church, Brother Thomas?’ I answered ‘No.’ ‘Well then,’ said he, ‘why do you not let that alone?’”

I was an adult before I learned the truth about my family. It wasn't until my grandmother's death that I learned that my mother had taken her own life. This knowledge filled me with anger. How could she have done that to me? I sensed in a heart-wrenching way that I wasn't loved. My anger filled my heart and blocked the blessings of the Lord. It consumed my soul and prevented me from serving and helping others. One day, as I sat rocking one of our boys, the Holy Ghost whispered to my heart, "Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him and he shall direct thy paths."[7] The Lord truly had directed my path. He had placed angels along the way to bring me to this moment. I sat rocking a beautiful baby born under the covenant into a home blessed with the priesthood of God. I was His daughter and He had blessed me with an abundance of blessings and had filled my life with joy. Now I was, of my own choice, blocking those blessings because of my lack of understanding. I needed to repent of my anger, I needed to trust in the Lord to make all things right.

My anger and hurt were further enlarged with my father's death a few years later. My oldest sister called one day to let me know that our father had died. As I held the phone and listened, I felt nothing. It was as if she were telling me that someone I didn't know had died. I had had no contact with him for over thirty years. He had never made the effort to be a part of my life. He knew nothing of me or my marriage or my children. He had deprived my sons of knowing a grandfather. My heart was hard and that hardness caused me pain and sorrow. It took prayer and time to realize that the Savior's Atonement had already paid the price for what I was feeling and also for all that my mother and father had felt and experienced.

The Atonement is an infinite atonement. My Savior paid the price that I might feel whole again if I too would forgive and come unto Him. The Lord can heal our hearts when we take our burden to Him. He can help us forgive. He can help us to heal our families. He can help us to know that we are loved and cherished. The blessings of the temple can unite us again as earthy families with celestial goals. The temple work for my mother and father has been done. I pray now for their acceptance of gospel covenants and blessings. I pray to understand and to accept.