Gospel Story Finder

“Whenever I do any service, I write it down on a small piece of paper and put it in a jar. Whenever I feel like I’m not important, I open the jar and read through all the amazing things I’ve done. This helps me remember that I made a difference in someone’s life, even if it was small.”
Alexandra M., 14, California, USA

On another occasion a well-known professional choreographer stopped for one show and promptly changed his schedule so that he could stay for the other two.

There weren’t many Latter-day Saints in the small town of Princeton, New Jersey, where I spent my childhood. Mine was the only Latter-day Saint family in the town when I was growing up. As a result, my friends didn’t know much about the Church. Most of my classmates were Christians, however, and each morning our teacher would have us take turns reading out loud from the Bible—something that isn’t done in public schools in the United States today.
When my turn came, I always chose to read the 13th chapter of 1 Corinthians [1 Cor. 13], which is about charity, the pure love of Christ. I had had a special experience as a little boy that impressed me that the scripture was true and was for me. Every time I read it, I had a strong feeling about my future, including my future family. It was a feeling of kindness and love for them. That seemed like a strange thing for a little boy to feel, so I didn’t tell anyone about it. I didn’t tell my brothers; they probably would have laughed at me. I didn’t tell my parents, either.
When I was 11, I received a special blessing from my uncle, a patriarch, whom I had never met. In the blessing, I was promised the very things I’d hoped for but had kept hidden in my heart—that I would have the home and family I had always dreamed about. The promises in that blessing have since been fulfilled. I have an absolute testimony of priesthood blessings, and I know that those who are worthy to give blessings are inspired by God.

I am an avid New Era reader, but I have been disappointed recently with some of the articles about brand-new missionaries teaching battle-scarred veterans a lesson. I am a veteran of 19 months, and my companion has 23 months of dedicated service to his credit. We decided to do a bit of research in past issues of the New Era, and what we discovered renewed our faith. We really enjoyed “A Special Song” in the August 1978 issue and “The Secret of TPLOC” in August 1979, among others.
Serving the Lord is a great opportunity, and we’re truly grateful for the New Era. We’re also happy to report that our investigators enjoy the magazine just as much as we do. Keep up the good work, New Era.
Elder Scott P. BoiceCanada Vancouver Mission

Two years after my father’s death, I left Uruguay on a mission to Peru. Upon my return, life blessed me with a family of my own, university degrees, and a career in business. I became an international executive, which made it necessary for us to move from country to country—Peru, Argentina, Venezuela, and the United States. My home base was then in the United States, and I eventually became a citizen.
Then life took a sudden turn. I became a diplomat for the United States government, first in Mexico, then in Chile. I sought the assignment to Chile because I desired to get to know the country where I had been born and perhaps find more about my father.
A few months after my arrival in Chile, I had the opportunity to make an official visit to Antofagasta, the city of my birth. I knew that my father, a British subject from whom I had inherited my name, had worked at the Chile-Bolivia Railroad as his own father once had. Therefore, I asked my secretary to make an appointment with the president of the Chile-Bolivia Railroad to see what I could learn about my father. As the main diplomat on commercial business, this meeting with the railroad was eminently qualified for my assignment as well.
Because the company’s president was traveling, my secretary set up an appointment with another executive by the name of Jorge Lyon on a Saturday morning. Saturday came. I put on my best suit and headed for the offices of the railroad. Mr. Lyon soon arrived, and I introduced myself as John Harris, head of commerce for the United States in Chile. He was a stately man in his sixties, who had sacrificed part of his day off to see a visitor from Chile’s main trading partner.
I started the conversation with the usual questions about goods transported, tonnage routes, and expansion plans. After a few minutes, Mr. Lyon interrupted me and said, “It is quite a coincidence, but I used to work at the railroad for a man with your same name.”
I remained silent for a moment. John Harris is not a common name in South America, much less in a railroad company in the midst of the Atacama Desert. I knew I had found someone who had known my father personally.
“How was he?” I managed to ask. But inside I was asking questions similar to those of Joseph of Egypt: Did he love me? Did he care about me?
Mr. Lyon answered. “He was a good man. He hired me and trained me. He was a patient and good teacher. He knew the railroad business better than anyone else in the company.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “He was my father,” I said, barely containing a tear.
Mr. Lyon then showed me what my father did and where he worked. I did not find out about his feelings toward me; for that I will have to wait a few years. But in my search I have been able to define my feelings toward him.
That day in the city of my birth, I learned something about my two fathers. I learned about the life of my earthly father, but more importantly, I learned that my Heavenly Father cared enough for me that 33 years after my father’s death he had helped me find the only man alive in Chile who had known my father. If the president of the railroad had been able to receive me, I would have missed the opportunity to meet Jorge Lyon and thus learn about my own father.
I have learned that our Father in Heaven lives, that He loves us, that He indeed cares for us and is always close to us. I know I was guided by the Lord to meet Jorge Lyon in order to satisfy my thirst to know my earthly father. How grateful I am for the plan of salvation and eternal life and for the opportunity to reunite with loved ones in the next life.

Then the unthinkable happened. I received a gut-wrenching, life-shattering phone call.
“Call 911!” my distressed husband yelled. “I’m pinned under the tractor!”
I called for help and then made it in record time to the land he had been clearing, passing a long line of emergency vehicles on the gravel road to our property in Pea Ridge, Arkansas, USA. Barry was alive, but he was indeed pinned beneath the engine of a tractor that had flipped.
Using hydraulic rescue tools, emergency workers lifted the tractor and pulled Barry free. His legs, soaked in diesel fuel, looked broken in several places. He was rushed to a trauma center, where he received a priesthood blessing before having his legs X-rayed.
We were surprised that not one bone was broken, but the back of one of Barry’s legs had been severely burned by diesel fuel. The crush injury had also led to toxification of his kidneys. His life was in jeopardy.
After Barry spent five tense days in the hospital, his toxin levels finally began to drop. Months of dressing changes, skin grafts, surgeries, and hyperbaric oxygen therapy followed. Once he felt well enough, Barry resumed his sales job from home.

Throughout my mission in Europe, a phrase in my patriarchal blessing about preaching the gospel in power reminded me I was on the Lord’s errand, and therefore I should speak with authority. When I returned home and began searching for a wife, I knew I must find someone who would help me be worthy. After all, my patriarchal blessing made reference to the joys of a righteous posterity. Today, I am thrilled to go to the temple with my six children and their companions, and I do find joy and rejoicing in my posterity.

Then I remembered something my mom had told me about her brother Larry. Uncle Larry served his mission in Uruguay and Paraguay in the 1970s. At first he had spent sleepless nights worrying about his inadequacies. When he felt like he couldn’t bear it anymore, he would get out of his bed, go into the bathroom, and kneel down to plead with Heavenly Father for peace. Somehow, with the Lord’s help, Uncle Larry made it through and served a faithful mission.

Hannah P., a Laurel from Illinois, USA, thought she had a handle on what it means to accept and fulfill a calling. After all, she’d already served as Mia Maid class president and later as second counselor in the Laurel class presidency. But then she was given a ward calling she never expected: family history consultant.

“This came as a shock,” Hannah says. “This wasn’t a calling for a 16-year-old. It was a calling for older, wiser people!”

Shock notwithstanding, Hannah accepted the calling and rolled up her sleeves, so to speak. Soon she realized she really could make a difference. “It doesn’t matter what age you are. Anyone can do family history,” she says.

Hannah spends one evening a week at the local family history center working on FamilySearch (see FamilySearch.org) and teaching others to do the same. “Not only do I have the opportunity to feel the Spirit of Elijah myself,” she says, “but I can also help others feel it.” She loves helping people find a family name they’ve been trying to find for months. “They’re thrilled!” she says about such moments.

One of my first assignments after I received the call to serve in the Primary General Presidency was to teach members in Brazil. This was hard for me because I don’t know the Portuguese language. I knew I needed to pray. I asked Heavenly Father to please help me so I could communicate and teach the way He wanted me to.
Again, I received a feeling of comfort and reassurance that I would be able to communicate and teach the things that the people needed to learn. I didn’t learn the language in the eight weeks before I traveled or in the two weeks I was there, but ways were opened and things happened that I knew were answers to my prayers.

In her mid-twenties, Phebe Carter was baptized and left her family to join the Saints. She once became ill and seemed to die. In a vision, two angels told her she could choose to go to the spirit world or to stay. She chose to stay and rose again after her husband finished giving her a priesthood blessing.

My first couple of months working at the grocery store were the toughest. As a courtesy clerk, I bagged and carried out groceries, cleaned toilets, swept the floors, emptied the garbage cans, and stocked the shelves. It wasn’t easy getting into the rhythm and learning where everything was, but I managed.
One day during those first two months, I was bagging groceries when I noticed a pornographic magazine cover in the magazine rack across from the checkout stand. At first I just tried to avoid it by working at other checkout stands. Eventually I realized that plan wouldn’t work, because sooner or later I would have to work in that checkout stand. So when things slowed down a little, I got one of the store advertisements from the newspaper rack and stuffed it in front of the magazine.
I hoped that my trouble was over and that eventually they’d just throw out those magazines and put new ones in. But a week later I went in to work, and the advertisement I had placed in front of the magazine wasn’t there. Someone must have taken it down.
The store was swamped with customers. I didn’t know what to do. The requirements of my job were such that I had to stay and work in that checkout stand. I was looking away as best I could, but that picture was right there, constantly tempting me. I was afraid that I would give in and look. So I said a silent prayer in my heart.
Five minutes after I prayed, the supervisor of the whole store came down from his office and placed a plastic shield in front of that magazine.
When we do our best to avoid temptation and ask Heavenly Father for help, He will hear us. Prayers are heard and answered.

We had the blessing of having children. A daughter, the first child, continues to be an enormous blessing in our lives. A couple of years later a son we named Richard was born. A few years later a daughter was born. She died after living only a few minutes.
Our son, Richard, was born with a heart defect. We were told that unless that could be cured, there was little probability that he would live more than two or three years. This was so long ago that techniques now used to repair such defects were unknown. We had the blessing of having a place where doctors agreed to attempt to perform the needed surgery. The surgery had to be done while his little heart was beating.
The surgery was performed just six weeks after the birth and death of our baby daughter. When the operation finished, the principal surgeon came in and said it was a success. And we thought, “How wonderful! Our son will have a strong body, be able to run and walk and grow!” We expressed deep gratitude to the Lord. Then about 10 minutes later, the same doctor came in with an ashen face and told us, “Your son has died.” Apparently the shock of the operation was more than his little body could endure.
Later, during the night, I embraced my wife and said to her, “We do not need to worry, because our children were born in the covenant. We have the assurance that we will have them with us in the future. Now we have a reason to live extremely well. We have a son and a daughter who have qualified to go to the celestial kingdom because they died before the age of eight.” That knowledge has given us great comfort. We rejoice in the knowledge that all seven of our children are sealed to us for time and all eternity.
That trial has not been a problem for either of us because, when we live righteously and have received the ordinances of the temple, everything else is in the hands of the Lord. We can do the best we can, but the final outcome is up to Him. We should never complain, when we are living worthily, about what happens in our lives.

The parent-pleasing thing to do.
A bore.
A chore.
That’s what it would be.
Chapter-verse cadence
to put me to sleep.
Isaiah and Isaiah and Isaiah.
And trees in vineyards growing.
And trees not growing.
And so who cares?
That’s what it would be,
would be,
would be …
But I was wrong.
Plot, plottings, peoples
come alive.
The dreams and the visions
are mine.
I rejoice: Christ in America!
I sorrow: War and battle.
The book is ending too fast, fast, fast.
Chapter-verse rhythms racing
up, down, all around.
Mormon leading armies,
abridging records,
final struggle,
Jaredite records
(amazing tale),
Moroni writes,
records hidden.
The promise.
I promise.

I served my mission in Finland from 1959 to 1962. I loved the service, and I loved my companions. I had wonderful mission presidents. I loved the Finnish people and their language. I loved my mission. To this day, I hold my mission experiences as sacred and wonderful, and I often refer to them.
After this wonderful mission in Finland, I returned home and my bishop called me in for an interview. I loved my bishop, and I expected him to say: “We are so proud of you! You have represented the ward well, and we are sure you represented the Lord well.”
But instead, he looked at me and said, “Well, Dennis, are you converted?” It was a question I did not expect.
While I was thinking about this, the bishop helped me understand why he had asked me that question. He told me that we had wonderful people in our ward, but some of them would not accept a calling or pay their tithing or keep the Sabbath day holy.
My bishop wanted me to answer the question about being converted because that would determine how I lived my life. I told the bishop that I was indeed converted.
This question burned itself into my mind and into my heart. We must do the little things in our lives every day. They not only bring conversion, but they keep us converted.
I’m pleased with the small things in my life. And I’m grateful for my bishop. Every time I see him, I thank him for asking me that question.

Julia Awashish, a 17-year-old Native American from Quebec City, agrees with Marc. “We need to always remember the covenants we made at baptism,” she says. “The promises we have made to our Heavenly Father are the things that make us strong as members of the Church. It’s been six years since I joined the Church. I’m glad my mother and I joined, because it helps me so much when I have a problem to deal with, and it helps me to remember to be happy, because the gospel is a message of joy.”
Julia says that when she and her mother returned to visit relatives in their village of Obedjiwan, which is far to the north of Quebec, at first “there was a lot of gossip about us being Latter-day Saints. But now everyone has seen by our example that we are friendly, normal people, so they accept us just fine.”

Micah serves as an ambassador at his school. An ambassador helps new students. They give school tours, show how the curriculum works, and help new students fit in.
“I helped one of my friends when he first came to our school,” Micah says. “During lunch, he asked me questions about school, and I answered them. I tried to make him feel comfortable. It’s nice to stand up for friends who might be feeling down, sad, or lonely. It makes me feel like I’m becoming more like Jesus Christ.”

Chen Shun Chun, former president of the Hua Lien district, recently drew a diagram to illustrate the far-reaching results of his baptism in 1973. Starting with his name and his wife’s name in the center, he wrote down dozens of interconnected family members and others who have joined the Church, received the priesthood, received the temple endowment, served missions and converted others, and been sealed in the temple. One special area of the diagram lists deceased people whose ordinance work has been done vicariously. President Chen estimates that a whole ward has resulted from his baptism 26 years ago.

Lisa looked at the big, empty glass jar that Dad set on the kitchen table. Then she peered at the bag of popcorn kernels sitting next to it. What was Dad up to?
“The scriptures teach us that we’re always supposed to keep our lamps full of oil,” Dad said, starting off their family home evening lesson. “Back in scripture times, lamps were what people used to see in the dark. They didn’t have lightbulbs.”
Lisa squinted at the jar. “So the scriptures say we need to keep our lights on all the time?” She liked her nightlight. That wouldn’t be such a bad thing. But how was that jar supposed to be a light?
“In a way, yes,” Dad said. “But this is more about having a light on inside you. By keeping the commandments we can feel the Holy Ghost. That’s one way to have a light on inside.”
Dad asked Mom to read a story in the Bible about 10 people who needed to go to a wedding. The wedding was at night, but only five people had their lamps ready to go. The other five had to leave to put oil in their empty lamps. By the time they got back, they were too late, and they missed the wedding. (See Matthew 25:1–13.)
“It’s a parable,” Mom said. “That’s a story that teaches a lesson.”
“What we learn from this story,” Dad explained, “is that we need to keep oil in our own lamps at all times. We always need to be ready and have light inside us.”
“But how?” Lisa asked. She didn’t really understand all this oil-lamp stuff.
Dad grinned. “That’s easy. By keeping the commandments. And guess what? We just did that.” Dad dipped a small spoon into the bag of popcorn kernels, scooped out a spoonful, and poured it into the empty glass jar. The kernels clattered on the bottom.
“We just had family home evening,” Dad said. “That’s keeping a commandment, and it puts oil in our lamps. We don’t have a real lamp, but we thought this jar could work as a substitute.”
Lisa looked down into the jar. Those kernels didn’t even cover the bottom.
“But it’s still so empty!” she said.
“It won’t be that way for long,” Mom said.
Lisa wasn’t so sure. She thought it would take forever to fill such a big jar with such tiny scoops of small kernels.
The week went on, and Lisa mostly ignored the jar. Each small scoop simply didn’t seem to make much difference. Every day, however, Mom and Dad made sure to put in a scoop whenever the family kept a commandment.
After two weeks Lisa finally took a good look at the jar. She could hardly believe her eyes. It was already halfway full!
“Mom, look!” she said, pointing to the jar.
“I know, sweetie. We’re making great progress,” Mom said.
Lisa started getting more and more excited every time they read scriptures, went to church, and kept other commandments. She felt happy knowing they were doing what Heavenly Father wanted.
Two weeks later, the jar was full to the very top.
“I’m proud of our family,” Dad said, holding up the full jar. “This is exactly what the scriptures teach us to do. We kept the commandments each day. And bit by bit the light inside us grew bright. Now who’s ready for our family home evening activity?”
Lisa cheered and clapped her hands.
But even better, she realized, was knowing they had followed the commandments.
She made a promise to herself that she would always keep oil in her lamp.

In some areas of the world, a great corps of volunteer seminary and institute teachers carry the instruction load. I talked with one of these the other day, a successful businessman who gets up at five o’clock five days a week to teach seminary. He said, “It’s the best thing I do.”