Gospel Story Finder

Last summer we took our family to the San Diego Zoo, the largest zoo in the world. Our twelve-year-old son, Craig, had never been there, and he was delighted with the variety of birds and reptiles and other animals. But the part of the zoo that especially interested Craig was the area where the lions and the tigers were kept.
It was a sunny day, and the big cats were all fast asleep. My son thought that they should be up growling and stalking around. All the people there seemed to think so too. They were clapping their hands, shouting, and whistling. But their noise didn’t wake up the animals at all. So my son nudged me in the ribs and said, “Dad, give them your whistle.” I have a very, very shrill whistle, and, to please my son, I whistled as loudly as I could. But the lions still didn’t move.
Then I said, “Craig, listen to this.” I imitated the quiet growl of a tiger. Grrrrr!
Those lions perked up their ears and started moving about. The yelling and whistling hadn’t even disturbed them, but the quiet growl of the tiger reached through all the noise of the crowd. I put my arm on Craig’s shoulder and said, “Now you can see why Heavenly Father speaks to us in a still, small voice in such a noisy world.” We’ve referred back to that experience at the zoo a number of times.

I continued to help with the work on the Choctaw-Armstrong Roll. Lorraine Nievar of Ardmore, Oklahoma, whose ancestors are Choctaw and French, also helped with name extraction work on the record. When the work was complete, 1,500 names from the record were sent to the temple in Dallas, Texas, so that Sister Nievar and her family could help perform their ancestors’ temple work. Another 1,500 names were sent to the Logan Utah Temple, where many of my friends and neighbors have helped with the work.

The first time I passed the sacrament as a deacon, I was nervous from start to finish. I was worried I would walk in the wrong direction or go to the wrong row. I had looked forward to passing the sacrament for as long as I could remember. I would watch the deacons every week. They looked so dignified.
I made it through my first week without messing up, and now I’m not nervous anymore. Instead, when I pass the sacrament, I feel reverent and happy. I feel the Spirit when I’m passing the sacrament.

I had planned to go to Europe since I was old enough to find it on a map. I had expectations: taste apple strudel, see the Mona Lisa, ride in a Venetian gondola. I certainly wasn’t planning on sharing the gospel, so I’m not sure why I decided at the last minute to throw an extra Book of Mormon into my bulging suitcase.
I had listened to talks on missionary work since I was a little girl, lining my dolls on the couch in their Sunday best so they could watch general conference with me. The thing is, I was born and raised in Utah where the greatest missionary opportunity I’d ever taken advantage of was bringing International Barbie to my conference couch party. In my world surrounded by Church members, it was easy to label everyone else as “non-Mormon.”
In the few weeks before my trip, my life had turned into a hurricane. The most difficult finals week I’d ever faced in school seemed to rip up an entire semester of hard work. I was swept into a whirlwind relationship with a guy I didn’t know how I felt about, and I watched my older brother get married and move away. I’d been so busy, my spiritual health was battered. I fooled myself into thinking somehow my trip to Europe would dissolve all my problems and snap my life back into perspective.
Instead, I found myself on a tour surrounded by 50 people who came to Europe to have a nonstop drinking and drug party. Luckily they all seemed to realize I preferred strudel to beer and left me alone.
When I met Jason, he had those “I am a Canadian” patches attached prominently to all his clothing and luggage. He was nice but seemed to want to party like everyone else. I listened to The Sound of Music soundtrack on my headphones, wrote postcards to my boyfriend, and ignored everyone around me.
It didn’t take long for me to realize Jason was not quite what I had expected. He wasn’t drinking with the others and even seemed interested in religion. He was curious about my beliefs and discussed his Catholic upbringing with me.
By the end of the tour, my view of Jason was altered enough for me to dare to give him that Book of Mormon I’d packed. On our last night in London I scribbled my testimony inside the book. I wasn’t sure Jason would read the book, but I was so wrapped up in myself, I didn’t give it a lot of thought. His road to salvation led back to Canada, 2,000 miles (3,200 km) away.
When I returned home, my anxious boyfriend was waiting at the airport with an armful of flowers. I had to fight the urge to turn and run back on the plane. None of my difficult choices had gone away. I felt I was drowning.
Then I got an e-mail from Jason. Much to my surprise, he was reading the Book of Mormon, attending church, and taking the missionary discussions—despite his family’s hostility toward his efforts.
Jason and I began to e-mail every day. As we became closer friends, we talked more and more about the gospel. Seeing Jason’s faith grow gave my testimony fresh perspective. Jason’s e-mails helped pull me out of my despair and gave me courage to fix what was wrong in my life. As I reached out to help him learn about the gospel, I was really helping myself. I broke up with my boyfriend, began earnestly studying my scriptures, and prayed with more sincerity than I ever had before.
Jason came to visit several times, once over general conference weekend. We watched all the sessions together. I liked watching how attentively he soaked in every talk. Sitting next to someone I would have labeled a “non-Mormon” made me realize how inappropriate it is to define someone by something they’re not. I wasn’t a non-Catholic or a non-Canadian to Jason. I was his friend.
Over the Thanksgiving break I watched Jason’s determined face enter the waters of baptism and come up smiling. I felt peace and knew that he and I didn’t end up on the same European tour by chance. We were meant to be friends.
I offered Jason a Book of Mormon, yes, but he is more than a gold star on my chart of successful missionary experiences. He is an example to me of how the gospel should be the shining star in my life no matter what obstacles I face.
Jason told me, “I didn’t ask the Lord to send me help, but He knew in my heart I wasn’t happy. He decided to help me by crossing my path with yours.”
Heavenly Father knew I needed help just as much as Jason did. We had something valuable to offer each other. I’m grateful Heavenly Father crossed Jason’s and my paths because we formed a friendship that will help us both make it to our heavenly home.

Encouraged also by the prophet’s counsel in that same message not to waste the great days of preparation for my future work, I decided to enroll in a computer engineering training college for one year. I was undertaking my one year of National Youth Service and resolved to use my time judiciously. At the end of the program, I knew how to repair and install computer systems. Now my first successful appointment after my year of National Youth Service is based on my added knowledge of computer systems.

One week, I decided to declare a holiday from practicing the piano. My piano teacher did not authorize this holiday and neither did my mom. For a full week I didn’t practice. I thought it was great because I had a good time relaxing and doing other things.
The fun stopped on Thursday night, when my mom reminded me that my piano lesson was the next morning. I thought I had a solution: I woke up an hour earlier and started to practice. But I realized that my efforts were too little, too late. I had enjoyed the freedom to choose, but I hadn’t considered the consequences.
The next morning when I met with my teacher, the consequences started to unfold. I had to admit that I hadn’t practiced, and my teacher told me I should make up all the practice time I missed, in addition to my regular practice time.
I am grateful for the lessons I learned about agency, responsibility, and accountability. Every choice has a consequence, and I learned that I will make better decisions if I take time to consider the consequences first.
Blake H., Utah, USA

Just hours after a disastrous flood in Idaho a few years ago, one man who had apparently lost every earthly possession wept bitterly. His despair was not so much over the temporal loss he had suffered, but rather, and far more important, his lovely wife and four children were unaccounted for and presumed drowned. But, within the hour good news came: his family had been miraculously saved and were waiting for him at a nearby emergency facility. The reunion that soon followed was a scene of supreme joy and happiness. His comment in the midst of the jubilation was classic: “I have my family again, and although I stand without one earthly possession left to my name, I feel like a millionaire.” Each family member nodded concurrence. For, you see, this family was a very special family; they had recently been sealed together for time and for all eternity in a temple of the living God.

I witnessed commitment when I visited with a sister in her home in the Philippines. She had nothing by the standards of the world. Her family of eight children lived clustered in a two-room nipa hut that stood on stilts. After climbing the ladder to the door, I was taken immediately to a corner where on a small table sat a portable sewing machine. This was not a new model with 320 stitches, bells, whistles, and a serger. It was a machine older than my mother’s! But she was not showing off a possession; she was sharing her commitment. For two years, she had sewn for others on that simple machine to earn the money to take her family to the temple so that they would be sealed together. The last child, she said with a smile, was born under the covenant.

Looking in my bedroom mirror,
I see a playmate there.
He wears pajamas just like me
And has my color hair.
I clap my hands and show a smile,
Then get down on one knee.
I bob my head and touch my toes;
He does the same to me.
I say good-bye and walk away.
My friend is going too.
I think I know just where he went.
Don’t you?

“Mabel became ill a few days before her death. I went to see her. She was very weak but wanted to talk to me. She told me about her daughter, not Enid who lives at the farm now, but Mary, an older daughter who went away to America as a young girl. She married an American out there, and they had a daughter.”
The rector didn’t pause in his story as Lisa looked up in surprise and recognition. “Mabel had never seen that granddaughter. I believe when Mary left, there were some bad feelings. Anyway, over the years, Mabel had come to regret the things she’d said to Mary and wanted more than anything to see her again and meet Mary’s husband and daughter. But she didn’t know how to approach her. Then last year, she received a letter from her granddaughter saying that she and her mother were going to come and see Mabel the next year. Mabel was so pleased. She wanted to apologize face to face. She talked of all the things that she wanted to show her granddaughter. Most of all, she wanted that young lady to know that she loved her.
“I think Mabel knew she was going to leave us when I sat with her that day. She drew me close and made me look into those deep blue eyes of hers. Then she said, ‘Reverend, you promise me that if I’m not here when that young girl comes, you’ll find her and tell her what a fool her Gran was not to tell her that she loved her long ago. You tell her that I kept her baby picture that Mary sent right next to my bed where I could see it every morning and every evening. You tell her to grow up to be as fine a woman as her mother is. But most of all, you ask her to forgive me.’”

While winging across the South Pacific, an airline stewardess asked me and my wife if we were Mormons after our third serving of milk. Receiving a positive answer, she said with a radiance we shall never forget: “I can hardly wait to get back to California after this trip because I am scheduled for the third discussion from the missionaries, and I already know that it is true.” Yes, she was baptized. She found a young man to match her faith. They have a beautiful little family. They’re on their way.

One unique thing about this seminary class has been how much the students enjoy being together. It seems every weekday morning isn’t enough. They now get together every Saturday night, too.
It all started when Louise’s mother told Brett that Louise’s friends always ask her to go to the pub with them on Saturdays, but she never goes. Brett said, “We can get a group of people and go out and have some fun. We decided to take the whole class, make it a seminary thing. After that, every Saturday night, we’ve been doing it. It’s good fun.”
What do they do? The first week they went to the cinema, but that quickly became too expensive. So they started going to each other’s houses to play games (the Crowthers taught them to play capture-the-flag) or watch videos or just talk and talk and talk. Elaine explains, “We used to have nothing to talk about; now we don’t have enough time to talk. It’s very fun. When I was in Primary, I never used to mix. I’d stay to myself. When I was in school, I never talked to anybody. But my confidence has grown to talk to people more since I started hanging around with the group.”
For Louise, having something else to do on Saturdays has helped her be comfortable in her decision to stay strong in the Church. “It’s not an excuse, but it’s a reason for me not to go with my friends from work because they go out every weekend. Sometimes, I used to go along. I didn’t do anything I shouldn’t, but it was just being there. It just didn’t feel good. It wears out your spirit eventually. I got so tired of trying to speak up for myself. When I go with the seminary class, I can just be me. And that’s accepted.”
And most of all, “Saturday nights are fun,” says Pamela. “Usually my friends go out on Saturday night. Their standards are completely different from mine. I prefer and feel much better going to the seminary activity. We have great fun.”
Derek adds, “Early-morning seminary has brought us closer, and we’re better friends. Definitely. Saturday evenings we have activities. It’s not planned by any adults. It’s all arranged by us. I’ve gotten a lot closer to everyone in the class, even Pamela, my sister. Most nights the kids at school would go out and get drunk and break the Word of Wisdom. I wouldn’t even consider that as a choice.”

My younger sister Judith was an author, composer, and educator. She loved many things, including the gospel, music, and archaeology. Judith’s birthday was a few days before mine. Every year I would give her a crisp one-dollar bill as my birthday present to her. Three days later she would give me 50 cents as her birthday present to me.

Judith passed away a few years ago. I miss her and think of her often.

Sister Moulder went to a training center in New York State for more than three weeks. She and Buddy learned there how to get along together. On their first Sunday together in our ward, Sister Moulder taught us how to help Buddy adjust to his new home and friends. Did you know that it helps Buddy if we do not look in his eyes, pat his head, or rub his ears? When he wears his working harness, he must not be distracted. If we invite him to play, we will be undoing the good training he has been given. We help him best by ignoring him. We must never call him by name or offer him food. He should take commands and food only from Sister Moulder. She takes good care of Buddy, and she trains him to behave nicely around people. He takes good care of her, showing her the way through the chapel door, down the hall, and into the Relief Society room.

Two years before I was born in 1942, my mother gave birth to my older brother, Gary. Gary is a very special person. When he was born, his brain was damaged by a lack of oxygen. His mind never grew above the level of a six- or seven-year-old.
For more than 60 years, I watched my parents take care of Gary. They helped brush his teeth, comb his hair, and tie his tie on Sunday. Because he loved horses and cowboys, they took him to rodeos and Western movies. They performed countless acts of love and kindness for him.
Unfortunately, people aren’t always so kind to those who are different. I’m sorry to say that some children—even children from active Latter-day Saint families—were unkind to my brother. They shut him out of games, called him ugly names, and teased him unmercifully.
Gary was a childlike person who was always quick to forgive. He loved and accepted everybody. I think that aside from my parents, this special brother did more during my childhood to shape my outlook on life than anyone else. I sometimes think how it will be after the Resurrection, when as Alma describes, “all things shall be restored to their proper and perfect frame” (Alma 40:23). Then we’ll know the real Gary, and I think we’ll be very grateful for all the good things we’ve done for him and very sad about those times when we might have been more loving and understanding of his special circumstances.

President Monson and Elder M. Russell Ballard of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles both spoke at Elder Smith’s funeral. President Monson read a letter of condolence to the family from the First Presidency, then added, “Temporarily, I have lost a good friend.”
Elder Ballard, who is also a great-great-grandson of Hyrum Smith, spoke of Elder Smith’s contributions to keeping alive the history of their family. “We celebrate him as Patriarch to the Church and patriarch of our extended family,” he said. He added that he knew Elder Smith felt his greatest accomplishment was his family.

We use coloring pages to color in the tie of the General Authority who is speaking. We enjoy coloring the ties the same color as those of the General Authorities.
–Rutz Family

Living the Young Women Values has helped Joanne Larsen of the Calgary Alberta 12th Ward introduce the Church to a friend. In Young Women meeting they talked about giving a copy of the Book of Mormon to a friend. This class goal got Joanne interested, and she gave a copy to her friend. She also invited her friend to girls’ camp and to ward activities. Now the friend is taking the discussions from missionaries in Joanne’s home.

For some time, I felt unheard and unseen. Though I was surrounded by so many people, I yearned for one to notice me for who I was, yet it never happened. I always sought to feel a sense of belonging and a sense of purpose. Only when I started becoming older did my once-young mind begin to mature, and I slowly began to realize the true meaning of life.
It wasn’t just about being around people or trying to belong somewhere; it was about having that profound love and faith in Jesus Christ and God. I struggled heavily throughout Covid, battling my own battles as well as dealing with battles of those around me. I locked away my feelings from everyone, but what I didn’t realize was that there was always one person there for me, one who I ignored and didn’t let in.
It took a situation in my family’s life that has impacted me in more than one way for me to finally turn to Him. I found myself playing hymns on YouTube, listening to Church talks, and finally beginning my journey of reading and feasting on the words of the Book of Mormon.
Never in my life have I been so at peace and so loved. I feel seen and heard, and I know someone is there for me, maybe not physically there to give me a physical hug, but that spiritual hug that wraps around me daily. A scripture that resonates with me is found in John 3:16, “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.”

The best Thanksgiving legend is the great snow turkey story. It has become a family myth. As the story has developed, it was the first year that we celebrated Thanksgiving at the ranch. This was over my mother’s objections that the house would be cold and drafty, which it was; that the roads would be icy, which they were; and that the electricity would go out, which it did. But there were also about two feet of snow, and it was just right for snowballs, forts, and snowmen—or snow pilgrims in this case.
Where there are snow pilgrims, there are snow turkeys. We sculpted a snow turkey right there on the front lawn. It had giant tail feathers, dyed with food coloring. For support it had elephantine legs and feet that looked like clown shoes. The recollections on its size vary but seem to grow bigger each year.
It was a long afternoon because, as mother had predicted, the real turkey would not thaw because the kitchen was too cold. We filled the afternoon taking pictures of everybody standing beside or riding on the snow turkey. My father’s photographic skills are nearly as legendary as the snow turkey. Not a single photo made it back from the lab. Either there was no film in the camera or the setting was wrong, but it ended up that there is not a single picture of the mythical snow turkey.
As the story is told and retold, the size and quality of this piece of art grow. At the last telling, the snow turkey was ready to take flight on its icy wings, almost as lifelike as Michaelangelo’s statue of David.
Over the last few years, the younger nieces and nephews have wanted to build another snow turkey. They have heard so much about it, and we have made that Thanksgiving sound like a perfectly fun afternoon. There is no mention of frozen mittens or the sun coming out and melting the turkey away before dinner was over. All we remember, or at least retell, is that it was beautiful beyond imagination and lent a warmth to the holiday that has been with us ever since.
The nieces and nephews can get the older kids and grownups out for snowball fights, fort building, and a snowman or two, but somehow when it comes time to sculpt a new snow turkey, we head off on the cross-country skis instead. We know that any reconstruction would only cheapen the memory of the first Thanksgiving snow turkey and show it to have been the work of soggy wet mittens, not inspired artistic hands. No, we have never attempted to reconstruct the snow turkey, and it’s probably best that the pictures did not turn out. There are, after all, some symbols that you just don’t fool around with.