Gospel Story Finder

Some among us, desperately ill, know the loneliness of a hospital room by night when loved ones have departed or are “sleeping for sorrow” (Luke 22:45), unable to “watch” another “hour” (Matt. 26:40). The night magnifies the stillness of the hospital corridors, as these individuals brush against the veil of death. Even so, whether or not “appointed unto death” (D&C 42:48), these faithful are in His hands. They can and do know of God, “Yet thou art there!”

Poinsettia & Her Family Poinsettia loves her home, but she thinks that seven brothers and sisters are too many for it. On moving day she stayed at her old home so that she could have it all to herself. An easy-to-read book.Felicia Bond6–8 years

I was really touched by the story “Please Bless Kathy” in the November 1989 issue. I had the same experience with a very good friend of mine who really hurt me. After a year of just wallowing in hate, I decided to pray about her, and though it was hard, my feelings towards her changed. I discovered that, instead of being angry towards her, I felt more sorrow, for she didn’t have the religion I have to rely upon. I also hoped that maybe I could give that to her. Thanks.
Melissa BurfordEugene, Oregon

If we make no effort to believe, we are like the man who unplugs a spotlight and then blames the spotlight for not giving any light.

Before filming at the Mount of Beatitudes, the choir boarded two boats at Tiberias and crossed the Sea of Galilee. About halfway across the sea, which can give rise to sudden storms as it did the night Christ calmed the waters, the boats stopped, a prayer was offered, and the choir and others sang “Master, the Tempest Is Raging.”
“I really felt the Spirit when we stopped out on the Sea of Galilee,” says one choir member. “I’ve really never felt it that strongly before.”

Kim Hathcock has returned to perform after graduating. “It’s one thing that makes Christmas meaningful for me,” she says.
During high school she performed as Mary. “It really made my testimony grow,” she says. “I also feel like we’re doing service, because so many people who see it comment that this is what gets them into the real Christmas spirit.”

Several years ago, I had the opportunity of traveling with the President of the Church to attend a series of area conferences. I will never forget the contrast between two conferences that were held just a few days apart.
The first area conference was held in a large arena, and as we sat on the stand, we noticed continuous movement by the people. We saw individuals throughout the arena leaning over and whispering to family members and friends seated next to them. Giving the members the benefit of the doubt, we thought that maybe the large building helped cause the lack of reverence.
A few days later, we were in another country attending another area conference in an arena much like the first. When we entered the building, however, an immediate hush came over the congregation. As we sat through the two-hour general session, there was very little movement among the people. Everyone listened intently. Great attention and respect was shown all the speakers, and when the prophet spoke, you could hear a pin drop.
After the meeting was over, I asked the priesthood leaders about what they had done to prepare the people for the conference. They told me their preparation had been simple. They had asked priesthood holders to explain to the members of their families, and also the families they home taught, that at an area conference they would have the privilege of hearing the words of the prophet and the Apostles. The priesthood leaders explained that the reverence their people felt for God and His servants was the basis for their reverent behavior at the conference.

The Ralphs’ missionary work also extends to family history. When they traced their family lines, they discovered they were descendants of King Alfred the Great. It also happens that the standing stones mentioned in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, King Alfred’s meeting place with his troops in 878 A.D. where he made plans to battle the Danes, are on the Ralphs’ land. These two five-foot stones form part of their family shield. The wooden coat of arms also displays the motto “Honor, Truth, and Excellence.” These qualities reflect in their lives as a family as they serve those in need.

JOHN WELLS (Born 1864, Carlton, England; died 1941, Salt Lake City; second counselor in Presiding Bishopric.) Served Church with dedication in England. Emigrated at 25 with wife and child. Worked in shoe factory; later accepted position at Presiding Bishop’s office. Supervised construction of the LDS Hospital in Salt Lake City and served several years as superintendent.

One powerful way to study them is by searching the scriptures to learn about the blessings that come from obedience, as this young adult did:
“When I study about a commandment, I like to read all the scriptures I can find about it and make a list of the blessings Heavenly Father promises for my obedience. Learning more about promised blessings has strengthened my testimony that Heavenly Father loves me and wants to bless me.”

It bothered me for some time that a grocery store had magazines with offensive covers in full view of everyone in the checkout line. After I returned home one day, I called the manager and explained that I enjoyed shopping at the store, but it offended me that magazines with sexually suggestive covers were in full view of everyone. The next time I shopped there, I was grateful to see that the magazines had been moved to a less conspicuous location.

The faith of a couple in Thailand stays strong after the husband is paralyzed.

Jeremy didn’t look up from the squished peel. He knew how Kaitlyn was feeling. Not too many weeks ago, at his soccer game, he’d felt the same way.
Most of the kids had dads there. Mom was OK. She cheered and knew the rules. But she couldn’t come to the final game. She’d had to work then too. Even so, before the game, he’d searched the sidelines. No Mom.
He’d played well—each time he kicked the ball, he’d think of Mom not being there and the ball would sail far. He’d scored three goals, and the score was 5–4 in favor of the opponents when he got the ball again in the final minutes. He dribbled it down the field, evaded the defense, and aimed at the goal. The ball bounded toward the goal, hit the corner of the post, and went … outside.
“I lost the game,” Jeremy moaned. Knowing that no one was there waiting for him in the bleachers, but still hoping, he trudged off the field.

Jamie knew what was happening in the kitchen that very moment. Her parents were waiting for her brother, Alex, to come home. She also knew what would happen later in the night. Maybe she would be asleep when it happened. Once she had slept through it all, but most of the time she woke up when it started and she lay in her bed and listened to the shouting and denials and slamming of doors. She hated it most when her mother cried. It always tied her stomach into knots and made her want to run away. She wondered what it would be like to never wake up listening to people yell at each other.
She was in her room ready for bed. She thought about praying but decided against it because she had prayed so many times that her brother would quit going out and getting drunk and she couldn’t see that her prayers had changed anything.
She slipped between the covers. The sheets were cold. It was November and getting colder every day. She remembered her mother telling Alex about a man who’d been drinking and passed out on the snow and froze to death. It didn’t faze Alex. Nothing fazed Alex.
Sometimes Jamie wished Alex would just go away so they could be a family again like they used to be, but she never told anyone that because she knew nobody would understand.
Jamie also knew what the morning would bring. When she got up, her father would be gone to work, even though it was Saturday. Her mother would be working in the kitchen, her eyes puffy from a night of tears and a morning of trying to figure out why Alex was out of control.
Alex would sleep until two or three in the afternoon and then watch TV for a few hours, take a shower, make a few phone calls, and be gone before supper. Sometimes he didn’t come home Saturday nights. Jamie thought it was because then he didn’t get hassled about going to church.
Jamie knew how it would be and what everyone would say and how it would go. And on Monday Alex would go to work at the auto parts store like nothing had happened. He worked hard through the week because times were tough and he knew if he messed up, he might lose his job.
Alex wanted to move out of the house and get an apartment. But not just any apartment. It had to be one of the best apartments in town. The only problem was that they required a large deposit and two months’ rent. Alex was trying to save the money, but because he partied so much, he never saved anything. That’s why he was still at home.
I know everything that’s going to happen, she thought. The whole world revolves around Alex, what he does, what he says, where he goes.
When she saw people at church, they’d come up and ask how Alex was doing. Alex isn’t the only person with problems, she thought. I have some too.
People talked about how church was a comfort to them when they were going through hard times, but for some reason, it didn’t work that way for her. All that happened when she went to church was that she kept getting more things piled on her. In the past week she had been asked to serve on a youth conference planning committee and had been told she was in charge of planning a fireside. But in all this nobody asked how she was doing; all anyone asked about was how Alex was doing.
Nobody cares about me, she thought. All they care about is Alex. Maybe I should be like Alex, and then people would notice me too.
She hated what was happening in their family. It was like she was being forced to play a part in a play. Her role was to be the good girl with no problems. She had to be perfect so her parents wouldn’t worry about her, so they could spend all their time and energy on Alex.
She felt like she had no one to go to—certainly not her parents. She felt that if she added one more burden to what they were already carrying they would break. She couldn’t even go to her friends because they all treated her like she was perfect and didn’t have any problems.
She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, wishing sleep would come to take her away. At 12:30 she heard Alex’s car pull into the driveway, heard him get out of the car and come in the house. “Oh, look at you; just look at you!” her mother cried out.
Jamie couldn’t stand to hear it all over again. She pulled a blanket off the bed, went in the bathroom, shut the door, turned on the shower but didn’t get in, wrapped the blanket around her, and sat down on the floor and cried. She stayed there for a long time. When she turned off the shower, the shouting was over. She returned to her bed and soon fell asleep.
The next morning she slept until her mother came to the door and knocked.
“What is it?” Jamie asked sleepily.
“Sister Bradford just called. She wondered if you’d forgotten you promised to help her make cookies for the fireside tomorrow night.”
“I want to sleep.”
Her mother opened the door. “She said to tell you she really needs your help. Nobody else has shown up.”
The difference between Alex and me, she thought, is Alex does what he wants to do and I do what others want me to do. Nobody calls Alex on a Saturday morning to remind him he promised to help bake cookies.
She wanted to go back to sleep, but she knew it wasn’t fair for Sister Bradford to make all the cookies for the fireside by herself. “All right, I’ll get up.”
More out of habit than anything else, she knelt by her bed to say a prayer before she got dressed. She started with her usual routine prayer but then stopped. “Heavenly Father, please help me. I feel so bad.”
Just after Jamie arrived, Sister Bradford’s husband took all the kids for a Saturday outing at the park. It was the quietest Jamie had ever seen their house.
“How are you doing these days?” Sister Bradford asked as they worked side by side, rolling cookie dough into small balls and plopping them on cookie trays.
“Fine,” Jamie said, knowing that people usually didn’t want to know the truth when they asked a question like that. She turned to look at Sister Bradford, who asked. “Really?”
Jamie looked away. “Yeah, sure, I’m doing okay.”
“I’m not asking just to pass the time of day. I really do want to know.”
Jamie paused. “You know about Alex, right?”
“Yes, I know about Alex. I don’t know about Jamie, though. You want to tell me how she’s doing?”
“Okay, I guess.”
They talked for two hours, until Brother Bradford came back with the kids and it was time for Jamie to go home.
As soon as Jamie walked into her house, she went to her father. “Dad, I need to talk to you and Mom now. Is that all right?”
“I’ll get your mother,” her dad said.
It was the one thing Sister Bradford had the hardest time convincing Jamie to do. She had not wanted to say anything to her parents because she didn’t want to hurt them any more than they already were.
Sister Bradford had talked to her about it. “They’re not porcelain dolls that are going to break with the slightest bump. They can take it, Jamie. They’d rather have you tell them the truth than hide it. You’ve got to talk to them and tell them how you’re feeling.” Jamie had finally reluctantly agreed.
“I want Alex in here too,” she said.
“I’ll go get him,” her father said.
And so there they were, gathered in the front room. Jamie took a deep breath and began, “I think our whole family needs to talk to someone who can help us. It’s not just Alex. I need some help too. Just because I haven’t said anything doesn’t mean I’m not hurting. I think we all need some help.”
“Who would you suggest we talk to?” her mother asked.
“Well, the bishop to begin with.”
They all looked at Alex. “Count me out,” he said.
“We all have to do it, Alex,” Jamie said. “If all it does is get us talking again, it will be worth it.”
“Who put you up to this?” Alex asked.
“My Laurel adviser.”
“What makes her the expert?”
“When she was growing up, there were problems in her family.”
“And going to somebody made everything perfect again?” Alex taunted.
“No, but it made it better than it was.”
“It’s not going to do anything for me,” Alex said.
“You’re not the only one in this family, Alex. We’re all hurting. It’s not just you. On the nights you come in late, you think I can sleep through all the yelling? What do you want me to do? Hide in my room and pretend nothing’s wrong? Well I can’t do that, at least not anymore.”
Her father was the first to speak. “I think Jamie’s right. We need to go in as a family.”
Later that day Sister Bradford called to ask how it had gone with her family.
“We’re all going to see the bishop next week. Thanks a lot for talking to me. It was just what I needed. I just can’t understand why none of the other girls showed up this morning to help out. They all knew about it.”
There was a long pause on the other end. “I have a confession to make. After I found out you were coming, I called the others and asked them not to come.”
“Why?”
“I woke up this morning thinking about you and wondering how you were doing.”
That night when Jamie went to bed, she thanked Heavenly Father for answering the prayer she had offered by giving her a Laurel adviser like Sister Bradford.
Alex was out again. Jamie didn’t know what would happen when he came home—except she knew it wouldn’t be the same as before. At least not for her.

The balloons made their journeys, and much like the parable in the scriptures, some seeds fell on fertile ground. A message written by Laura West in the Salt Lake Cottonwood Height Stake was found by one who desperately needed her encouragement. Laura had written, in part, “Keep your hopes up and rise like the balloon. Always have faith in Christ and Christ will have faith in you.” Her balloon was found only a couple of miles from where it was released. The man who found it wrote to Laura that he was a member of the Church but had fallen away 18 years earlier while he was in his teens. He told of his struggle to be reunited with his wife and children and the decision he made to come back to the Church. He wrote, “I’ve been reading the Book of Mormon and praying since Sunday night (the day after I got your letter). I went to the bishop of my ward that night and told him I knew it was time for me to straighten out my life. … If only you could feel the peace and tranquility that has come to me since I began the reading and prayer. It’s truly like the difference between night and day. To top off my own feelings that I’m on the right track, I picked up your letter. You said you hoped your letter would brighten my day. It not only brightened my day, it was a godsend! I will remember your letter forever.” He signed it “Your friend you’ve never met” and his name.

The first relief parties were on their way the following Monday. The description of the Willie company’s joy upon receiving that first relief party brings emotions close to the surface. Captain Willie had left his small band and gone out with a single companion in search of the relief train.
History records: “On the evening of the third day after Captain Willie’s departure, just as the sun was sinking beautifully behind the distant hills, on an eminence, immediately west of our camp, several covered wagons, each drawn by four horses, were seen coming towards us. The news ran through the camp like wildfire, and all who were able to leave their beds turned out en masse to see them. A few minutes brought them sufficiently near to reveal our faithful captain slightly in advance of the train. Shouts of joy rent the air; strong men wept until tears ran freely down their furrowed and sunburnt cheeks, and little children partook of the joy which some of them hardly understood, and fairly danced around with gladness. Restraint was set aside in the general rejoicing, and as the brethren entered [the] camp the sisters fell upon them and deluged them with kisses. The brethren were so overcome that they could not for some time utter a word, but in choking silence repressed all demonstration of … emotions. … Soon, however, feeling was somewhat abated, and such a shaking of hands, such words of welcome, and such invocation of God’s blessing have seldom been witnessed!”2

Naheed drank her breakfast of lassi (a mixture of buttermilk and sugar cane juice), but she did not really want it. She was too excited either to eat or to drink, because today she would go to school for the first time in her life.
Naheed would be eleven years old soon, and as long as she could remember, she had wanted to go to school. But in her small village in Pakistan it was unusual for girls to go to school. Naheed loved to go into the post office to watch Ali Mujuber, the calligrapher, writing letters for the villagers who could not write for themselves. She also listened as he read the replies that came back to those who sent letters.
Ali Mujuber would first ask the person who wanted to send a letter, “To whom is it to go?” and “To what village or town?” Then he would take his bamboo pen, check its point carefully, dip it into the big ink bottle while listening carefully to what the person wanted to say in the letter, and start scratching words onto the paper.
Naheed would watch closely as Ali Mujuber formed the beautiful characters. She liked to hear the scratching sound of the pen. And she enjoyed sniffing the ink smell and hearing the drone of the villager’s voice. More than anything in the world, Naheed wanted to know the mystery of the writing and the reading of the squiggly shapes … and today she would begin.
“Very soon I can do what Ali Mujuber does,” she mused.
Her brother, Bashir, heard her. He smiled, for he had gone to school for a short time himself before Father needed him in the fields. “It is not so easy,” he warned. But he cheerfully helped his sister prepare her clay slate and bamboo writing stick.
Soon Naheed left her home carrying the slate and sharpened writing stick.
“Kuda Hafiz (may the Almighty save you),” Mother called as Naheed started down the path to the great spreading banyan tree in whose shade the pupils would learn from their teacher. The small village had no school building. School would only be held on dry days, for if it rained, the students would have to run home for shelter.
Naheed dawdled on the way home, wondering just how many days it would take sitting under the banyan tree for her to know all that Ali Mujuber knew. Her head was in a spin thinking of the many, many days to come. “Maybe I was foolish to think I could ever do such an important and difficult thing as reading and writing,” she murmured half aloud. Perhaps Mother needs me at home, she pondered. Perhaps school is a waste of the hours.
Mother sat beside the fire in the courtyard making chapati, the bread for the family’s evening meal. She greeted Naheed with a smile. “And how was school?” she asked.
Naheed shrugged and went into the family’s room to put up the slate and bamboo stick.
Mother looked anxious as Naheed came back to the courtyard. “How was school?” she asked again.
“Mother, I cannot do that which Ali Mujuber can do. I can never make even one of the figures that mean so much in the letters Ali Mujuber writes.”
Mother stopped her work and looked into her daughter’s eyes for many beats of the heart. At last she spoke quietly. “Naheed, my daughter,” she began, “many of the duties of a woman’s life are learned easily in a moment or in an hour or a day. When I was a girl like you, I was given only these kinds of tasks. The school was closed to girls. But you … you, my daughter, have the chance of learning words and their sweet secrets. But such precious secrets are not given easily … surely not in one day’s time.”
Naheed’s eyes fell. Mother was right. Naheed had made a big mistake in thinking she would learn everything on the first day of school. She left her mother and skipped to the center of the village. Her heart was light. “I can do it. I know I can do it,” she hummed to herself.
She watched the village boys line up for a game of pir kaudi (tag or tackle game, having a finish line). From where she stood she saw her mother moving gracefully with the big water jug on her head along with the other women of the village toward the well.
Suddenly she was filled with a feeling of hope and gratitude. She was going to school again tomorrow and for many tomorrows to come, but she was not going to go alone. She would take with her every day the young girl her mother once was. And Naheed would learn so much so well that she could teach her mother everything she (Naheed) learned. Everyone in the family would then have a person nearby to read and to write the precious words of the world.

He had no desire to rule, but only wanted to free the people. Victor Emmanuel, who was a just man, had become king over most of northern Italy. Garibaldi had won many battles in the south. The king was afraid Garibaldi, who was very popular, might be tempted to take over the kingdom. But when the two men met, Garibaldi greeted Victor Emmanuel as his king, and he asked the people to do so too.

“Each night of December we pull a slip of paper with a scripture on it out of a basket, read it, and then pin the slip of paper on the tree. It’s like an advent calendar, and it keeps us from getting carried away with shopping and high expectations.”

Double Play at Short Danny was a cinch to be the county all-star shortstop—unless a hotshot turned up. And Amy did! There are errors in the technical aspects of the game, but the action is so exciting that you won’t mind a bit.Matt Christopher8–12 years