Gospel Story Finder

When I was 12, my father became a mission president in Chile. While there, he worked closely with Elder Holland. One day I said, “Dad, Elder Holland is in my math book.”
“Yesterday it took Jeff Holland 1 hour to get to work. This morning, Jeff drove to the train station for 20 minutes, waited for the train for 7 minutes, rode the train for 12 minutes, and then walked for 15 minutes to get to work. How long did it take Jeff to get to work this morning?”
As a joke, my parents sent a picture of the math problem to Elder Holland with a note: “Elder Holland, could you please help Whit with her math homework?”
Elder Holland wrote back with a letter.
“Dear Whitney—I was pleased you discovered my day job. I regularly submit math problems for textbooks and sometimes I just don’t know whose name to use. I think I will use yours next. (‘If Whitney Wilcox has 5 boyfriends in Provo and gains 1 a day for 14 days in Chile, how many of them will be baptized, go on missions, and want to marry her?’) Thanks for being here! I am immensely proud of you! Jeff Holland.”
Obviously Elder Holland was joking about writing math problems (and having multiple boyfriends!). But his kind note made me feel like I was important.
When Elder Holland taught the members in Chile to read the Book of Mormon every day, I started reading on my own, as a 12-year-old. That’s when I really started to develop my testimony.
Whitney L.

Mary arrived in New York, and the immigrants continued West onto Council Bluffs, where they were outfitted with handcarts. Mary had only meager means, and handcarts were the best option for her. She and her friends were assigned to the Israel Evans Handcart Company.
Mary was a very small person. Pushing handcarts was very physical work. There were straps attached to the handcarts that made it possible to “put your back into it,” as you might say.
For Mary and her dear friends, the journey was a series of miracles. While pulling and pushing the handcart, Mary would become so exhausted and disheartened that when the camp would stop at noon and again at night she would fall to the ground in a weakened condition, and her companion Ann James would pray over her, asking God to give the frail little body the physical power and courage to reach Zion. These prayers were answered, for each time Mary was rejuvenated, and miraculous strength was added so that she could continue to another stopping place. It was actually as great a miracle in the eyes of these three struggling women as the daily supplying of manna to the children of Israel. They each bore testimony of these events for the rest of their lives. They arrived on September 12, 1857, weary, ragged, hungry, and footsore—but so grateful to have finally made it.
This experience of my great-great-grandmother was just the opposite of what Alma warned against. Ann James, who prayed over my ancestor, was like the angel that Elder Carlos A. Godoy talked about in this past general conference. Ann saw someone in great need who had no one to help her. Ann James very easily could have thought to herself, “I am also tired and alone—who is going to help me?” But instead, during the time she could have been taking rest that she needed, she tended to someone else in dire need.
When Mary died, as they were preparing her body for burial, they noticed she had deep scars on her shoulders from the straps that she used to push and pull her handcart.

I have been a member of this wonderful Church for all of my life, but I took it for granted for the first 14 years.
The summer of my freshman year of high school I realized I wasn’t very happy. I kept wondering what was wrong with me. There was something missing, and I couldn’t pinpoint what it was. Then I went to a youth conference, and it changed my life. The feelings of emptiness were finally gone. I was truly happy for the first time that I could remember. I went home and read the Book of Mormon, started praying intently, and cleaned up my life. I have seen a huge change, inside and out. But even though I had a strong testimony going into high school, I still struggled with the different views and activities of my friends.
In the summer before my junior year I got news of an LDS 11th-grader moving into our area. I was ecstatic. She was an answer to prayer. It’s amazing how much we have in common and how well we get along. Together with another senior, we made up the three LDS girls at my high school. With three boys, that made six Latter-day Saints among 950 students. While the school year was stressful for all of us, we were always there to support each other. We stuck together through bad times and great times.
We went together one night to the Washington D.C. Temple Visitors’ Center. That night Katie, Paige, and I took a long walk around the temple. There was such a feeling of peace and love. There, the three of us made a pact with one another to work towards temple marriages and to settle for nothing less. We see the eternal perspective on choosing the right day-by-day. We are striving to gain the highest reward: eternal life. The Lord provided a way for three girls to choose the right, and I have never felt so good inside.

President Thomas S. Monson shared the experience of Jay Hess, an airman who was shot down over North Vietnam in the 1960s: “For two years his family had no idea whether he was dead or alive. His captors in Hanoi eventually allowed him to write home but limited his message to less than 25 words.” President Monson asks: “What would you and I say to our families if we were in the same situation—not having seen them for over two years and not knowing if we would ever see them again? Wanting to provide something his family could recognize as having come from him and also wanting to give them valuable counsel, Brother Hess wrote [the following words]: ‘These things are important: temple marriage, mission, college. Press on, set goals, write history, take pictures twice a year.’”

Christmas was still a few weeks away, but Truman and his family had already put up the Christmas tree. He was excited as he thought about the presents he hoped to see under the tree on Christmas morning.
A few days later Truman walked into the living room and saw there was one small box under the tree. It was wrapped in red paper and tied with a green bow.
Our first present! Who sent it? Was it Grandma?
No.
Is it from one of my cousins?
No.
Truman was confused.
Well, then who sent it?
You’ll have to wait and see. All we can say is that it is a very special gift.
As days passed, more presents appeared under the tree, but Truman kept wondering about that first red present with the green bow. Where did it come from?
On Christmas morning, Truman raced to wake up his brothers and parents.
Wake up! It’s Christmas!
After arriving at the tree, Truman was excited to see the presents underneath it.
Truman, you may open the small box with the red paper and green bow.
Truman was excited to finally see what was inside.
Truman removed the lid and found a few small items. He pulled them out one at a time—a picture of Jesus Christ, a poem about Jesus’s birth, and a star. Truman showed everyone the picture, and Dad read the poem.
I put the box under the tree so we could remember the real reason we celebrate Christmas.
Truman was happy to remember Jesus.
Dad, you put the box under the tree, but now I know who really gave us this gift.
Who?
Heavenly Father.

I’m sure I’ll never forget the branch president in Semarang, Central Java—President Samad. My companion and I were assigned to serve as a resource to him as he gained more ability to lead and teach the people of his branch. Very few missionary or training materials had at that time been translated into the Indonesian language.

We met with President Samad each Sunday for about forty-five minutes. He would ask us to discuss some topic—fast offerings, teacher development, or some other gospel-related subject—and we would prepare the best we could with this still-awkward second language of ours. We always began with prayer, and then he would say, “Sisters, you just do the best you can to tell me what you’ve prepared. Every so often, I’ll have you stop, and then I’ll tell you what the Spirit has taught me.” And that’s exactly what would happen. Those were some of the most spiritual experiences of my life.

There is wisdom in the story that Dr. Robert K. Thomas, the former academic vice president of Brigham Young University, tells about his struggle to find his place in life. Early on, he decided that he would become a professional boxer. He was large in stature and seemed to possess all the qualities needed to become a world champion. Fortunately, however, he heard the “wake-up” bell through a retired pugilist who taught him a painful but impressive lesson. After suffering a humiliating beating at the hands of the old fighter, Robert returned home defeated in both body and spirit and complained to his mother about his lack of talent. His wise and loving mother comforted him by saying, “Oh, Bobby, what you have is enough!” (“Things They’re Saying,” New Era, October 1972, p. 42).

What a pity it would have been if Robert Thomas had not been forced to forsake his boxing dream! It was through defeat that he gained victory because he wouldn’t give up. One door was closed abruptly in his face, but he sought another door for the release of his special talents. In time, he was moved in the direction of writing, teaching, and other academic pursuits where greater gifts were discovered and used to bless the lives of thousands.

“Last summer I complained to a non–Latter-day Saint friend that I was exhausted, having no fun, living like an automaton. Nonsympathetically, she countered, ‘What do you think this is? A dress rehearsal? This is your life, Carol. Fix it.’ I expected a pat and a kind word. Instead, I got a splash of reality square in the face. She was, of course, quite right. I wasn’t giving my life value, so I didn’t feel it had value. I went home, reread the parables of the sower and of the talents, and regrouped” (A Singular Life, ed. Carol L. Clark and Blythe Darlyn Thatcher [1987], 35–36).

I was born in Hungary, where I became a Calvinist minister. But after migrating to Australia thirty years ago, I began to realize that I was not teaching the true doctrine of Christ.
So I started writing a book about the Apostasy. Through my study of the Bible, I knew that there must also be a “restitution of all things,” and I eventually gave up my ministry to look for that restored truth. It didn’t take me a long time to find it, though I didn’t recognize it right away.
One evening in 1956, while driving from Geelong to Melbourne in drenching rain, I gave a ride to two young men. They were Latter-day Saint missionaries. When I took them to the mission home, the mission president gave me a copy of the Book of Mormon, which I gladly accepted. At the time, though, I did not join the Church; I did not even ask to learn more about it.
Then, one night, I dreamed I was on a beautiful beach. A man with white hair was waist deep in the water. He had on white clothing and was holding up a copy of the Book of Mormon and encouraging me to come into the water, telling me that the Master wanted me. The next morning, I sketched a picture of the man I had seen in my dream. In the meantime, I continued my search for the truth.
Sometime later, two missionaries came to my home. Seeing that they held a copy of the Book of Mormon, I asked them in and showed them the picture I had drawn. The missionaries were very surprised. They told me it looked very much like a picture of President David O. McKay.
They asked if they could have the picture. Somehow the story of my dream and the picture itself got to Salt Lake City, and I received a letter from Elder Joseph Fielding Smith, who was then President of the Quorum of the Twelve. In the letter, he bore his testimony and counseled me to be baptized.
A missionary was given permission to extend his mission a week and stay in my home while we studied the gospel together. But, even after all this, my fear of making a mistake immobilized me, and I soon lost contact with the missionaries.
I continued to study the gospel, however, and one day, late in 1974, I left a note at the chapel in Wollongong, New South Wales, saying I wanted to meet with the missionaries. Once again they began teaching me. Three times they set a date for my baptism, and each time I postponed it. (Once they even had the font filled!)
My indecision came to an end when I was offered an excellent position as a translator for the Australian government. For this position I would have to travel to Canberra each Sunday, making it impossible for me to attend church. I decided not to join the Church, and to take the job.
Not long after I made the decision, I suffered a heart attack, which left me unfit to accept the position. Once again I promised to be baptized, but this time persecution from my former minister friends made me change my mind.
I was then offered a position as a Calvinist bishop, responsible for all the migrants in New South Wales. As I contemplated this offer, I suffered another heart attack—my seventh. I realized then that I could die at any time, and that I wanted to be baptized.
At last, on 15 March 1975, after knowing the truth but putting off acting on it for so long, I was baptized.
I have a great desire now to share the gospel with my fellowmen—especially those in Hungary. I have translated fourteen tracts into Hungarian, and much of the Book of Mormon. One day I hope to return to Hungary as a missionary and share with my former countrymen the restored gospel—the gospel the Lord had been preparing me to receive for so many years.

At age 18 I decided to leave the Church. For a time, leaving my Savior’s side did not seem to have any repercussions in my life. In my home country of Chile I was able to live comfortably on my salary. I felt I would always be able to finance my worldly lifestyle and could continue to ignore the promises I had made at the age of 14 in the waters of baptism.
I pursued this course for a few years, but then things stopped working out for me. Everything seemed to grow dark around me. I lost my job and had difficulty finding work. I had to do whatever kind of work I could just to survive. This should have made me wake up and find the path once again, but it didn’t.
Not long after this, my father passed away in 1998. Because I was the eldest son, a large part of the responsibility for taking care of my mother and younger brother fell on my shoulders. I bid farewell to my carefree lifestyle and came to realize that sometimes the Lord allows things to happen that we don’t understand until we see the end result.
I believe He allowed me to be drained economically to show me that the only way out was to pay tithing, which I did after returning to church and renewing my covenants. In this manner He patiently and lovingly brought me back to the fold.

Encouraging education.“We’re seeing a great miracle,” says Elder Costa. “Many people are poor when they join the Church. But the prophet tells them to see that their children get an education, and they make great sacrifices to do so. Their children are the first in their families to attend the university. Many get good employment—and they aren’t poor anymore.” One example is Luis Prieto, who grew up in a humble home in Bogotá. He was baptized in 1972, along with his parents and siblings. His parents made many sacrifices for their children to get an education. Now Luis is a successful attorney.

When young Gordon had a bout of whooping cough, his doctor suggested that he spend time in the country to recover, so his father purchased a 30-acre fruit farm in Millcreek, on the southeast side of Salt Lake City. The farm did more than help the boy regain his health—it helped him and his brothers learn to work. Each Saturday during the spring and fall, his father took them to the farm. The family lived there during the summer months and in town during the school year.

When I was a new Beehive, I enjoyed Young Women, but I was also shy and a little intimidated by the older girls. I had a hard time relating with them since their main interests seemed to center around boys and clothes—or so I thought.
One of the first Mutual activities I attended after turning 12 was held in the backyard of one of our leaders. All the girls were there, including Shannie,* one of the older Beehives. She was well-liked by everyone, and tonight she was dressed in the latest summer fashion, right down to her sparkling white tennis shoes.
When the refreshments were served near the end of the activity, we all took our cookies and purple punch over to the lawn chairs where we could eat and socialize. I sat down next to Shannie, placing my glass of punch on the ground. As the girls began to talk, I shifted my legs. To my horror, my foot knocked over my glass of punch and it spilled all over Shannie’s left foot! I sat paralyzed as the deep purple spread over the once-sparkling-white shoe. I was sure all the young women had seen it happen. I thought I would die of embarrassment!
As I began to choke out a desperate apology, Shannie put her hand out and said in a soft voice, “Hey, it’s OK. Don’t worry about it.” And she meant it. She encouraged the conversation to continue as though nothing had happened. For the rest of the evening she seemed to ignore her soggy, purple shoe.
In that moment, I realized that while Shannie was well-dressed and popular, her biggest priority was to treat others with Christlike kindness. I will forever remember the compassion she showed to me at a time in my life when I needed it most.

Jim tried his best to wipe away the tears before he got home. He didn’t want Mom to see that he had been crying.
Randy, a boy in his class, stopped Jim every day after school and called him names. Jim tried not to let it bother him, but when Randy started saying mean things about Jim being a Mormon, Jim couldn’t hold back the tears.
As Jim opened the front door, Mom looked up from the sofa. She could see that something was wrong. “What happened?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Jim mumbled.
Mom patted the cushion by her. “Tell me, please.”
Jim sat on the sofa next to her. “There’s this boy at school named Randy who keeps calling me names,” Jim said. “Today he said Mormons are weird.”
“That must have hurt,” Mom said.
Jim nodded. “What can I do?”
Mom gave him a quick hug. “I think you can figure out something. Just remember that Heavenly Father loves Randy—just like He loves you.”
Jim thought about his problem. “Maybe I could invite Randy home and make cookies,” he said.
“I think that’s a great idea,” Mom said.
The next day, Jim worked up the courage to talk to Randy. “Hey, Randy,” Jim said. “We’re going to make cookies at my house tomorrow. Do you want to come?”
Randy squinted at Jim and raised an eyebrow. “What kind of cookies?” Randy asked.
“Chocolate chip.”
“Sure. They’re my favorite!” Randy said.
The following day, Randy and Jim walked home together. Mom was waiting for them.
“Hi, Randy. It’s nice to meet you,” she said.
“Nice to meet you too,” Randy said.
“Come into the kitchen and we’ll get started,” Mom said.
In the kitchen, she pointed to the sink. “Wash first.”
After the boys washed their hands, Jim showed Randy how to measure the ingredients and mix them together.
By the time they spooned the cookie dough onto the baking pan, Randy was smiling. “Can I put them in the oven?” he asked.
“Sure. They need to bake for 12 minutes,” Jim said as he set the timer.
When 12 minutes had passed, Jim carefully removed the pan from the oven. Randy started to reach for a cookie, then stopped. “Can I have one?”
Jim smiled. “Yes. But they need to cool first.”
When the cookies had cooled, Jim and Randy each took two. Mom poured glasses of milk for them.
“These are great!” Randy said after he’d finished both cookies and his glass of milk. “Thanks for inviting me, Jim. Thank you, Mrs. Sheridan.”
Mom placed some cookies on a plate and covered them with foil. “These are for you to take home and share with your family.”
After that, Randy no longer teased Jim. The boys played together after school and on the weekends. Jim was glad a simple act could help him make a new friend.

About seven years ago, when I was 29, I moved to Utah from Oregon, USA. After weighing my options, I decided to attend my local family ward, thinking I needed a change from the singles wards I had attended.
My parents raised me to always accept Church callings, so I made an appointment with the bishop to present myself as someone who wanted to be put to work. It wasn’t long before I found myself teaching the five-year-olds in Primary, which I enjoyed. Five months later the bishop called me to be Primary president. I was stunned. “Can I do that?” I asked myself.
Being single and childless made me wonder if I was qualified to serve in that capacity. In my past experience with family wards, Primary presidents were happily married, accomplished, and devoted mothers. Remembering what my parents had taught me, however, I accepted the new assignment. The bishop truly took to heart the mandate that bishops are to “find meaningful callings for all young single adults.”1 The calling may have been a little more meaningful than I was expecting, but I was grateful for it.
As I served in my new calling, I experienced many sweet, funny, and inspiring moments with the children. One year, during Christmastime, we reenacted the Nativity for a special sharing time. We sang songs. We furnished robes and towel headdresses for the shepherds and for Joseph. We had tinsel garlands for the angels’ heads. We made cardboard and foil-covered crowns for the Wise Men.
As we reenacted the Christmas story and sang the sacred songs of the season, I noticed the beautiful young girl who was portraying Mary. Her example of reverence and gentleness as she knelt, quietly holding the doll that represented the baby Jesus, touched my heart. The spirit of that moment made me thankful to a loving Heavenly Father for our Savior and helped strengthen my testimony of His profound and loving mission. It also made me thankful for the tremendous blessing I had received in being called to serve and for an inspired bishop who helped to make that service possible.
In the Doctrine and Covenants, we read, “Therefore, if ye have desires to serve God ye are called to the work” (D&C 4:3). Though this verse is usually associated with missionary work, I like to think that it can refer to any form of gospel-based service.
Regardless of marital or social status, each of us is first and foremost a child of a loving Heavenly Father, who wants us to grow, belong, develop our talents, serve one another, and help one another return to Him.
The acceptance and love I felt in that ward was instantaneous and remains in my heart to this day. My desire to serve was recognized and utilized, many people reached out and welcomed me, and Heavenly Father truly blessed me. Because of kind and attentive leaders, I was blessed to teach and learn from some of His most wonderful children.

I play baritone sax in my high school’s marching band. One day we got on buses to go to our last competition of the season, and everyone was excited and ready to compete. We put everything we had into our final show, and it was one of our best performances. We were soon done and were waiting quietly in line with other bands to receive our awards when one of my friends behind me started to make conversation. Before long we were having a great time—talking, laughing, and joking around—while we waited to take the field again for the awards ceremony. I looked around and saw that other bands started doing the same.
One of my friends told a joke, but the punch line had a cuss word in it. I asked him to cut it out, and when everyone asked why, another one of my friends stepped in and said it was because I was Mormon and didn’t like to hear that type of language. I was relieved to see that my good friend knew about my standards and was willing to stand up for them. But I was still a little embarrassed that I was the one to ruin the fun everyone was having telling jokes, so I turned around to go join another group of friends.
Right as I turned, I heard someone to the right of me yell, “Hey! I’m Mormon too!” I glanced over to see a member of another band smiling at me. We started to talk and were soon explaining to groups of friends in both bands what our standards are and why we have them. As more and more people joined to ask questions and hear our answers, I was starting to feel overwhelmed by the questions being thrown at us—not because they were hard questions but because there were so many!
I felt a tap on my shoulder. Thinking it was another question, I continued answering the current question. I felt the tap again, so I turned and saw yet another young man from a different band smiling at me. “Are you guys talking about Mormonism? Dude! I’m Mormon too!” I couldn’t believe it! We all soon gathered up the Mormons in each of our bands to share our testimonies and experiences with everyone in the crowd. It was so fun to be surrounded by people I knew shared my same standards and beliefs and to teach others about the gospel.

Frequently the heavenly virtue of patience is required. As a bishop I felt prompted one day to call on a man whose wife was somewhat active, as were the children. This man, however, had never responded. It was a hot summer’s day when I knocked on the screen door of Harold G. Gallacher. I could see Brother Gallacher sitting in his chair reading the newspaper. “Who is it?” he queried without looking up.

“Your bishop,” I replied. “I’ve come to get acquainted and to urge your attendance with your family at our meetings.”

“No, I’m too busy,” came the disdainful response. He never looked up. I thanked him for listening and departed the doorstep.

The Gallacher family moved to California shortly thereafter. The years went by. Then, as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, I was working in my office one day when my secretary called, saying: “A Brother Gallacher who once lived in your ward would like to talk to you. He’s here in my office.”

I responded, “Ask him if his name is Harold G. Gallacher, who, with his family, lived at Vissing Place on West Temple and Fifth South.”

She said, “He is the man.”

I asked her to send him in. We had a pleasant conversation together concerning his family. He told me, “I’ve come to apologize for not getting out of my chair and letting you in the door that summer day long years ago.” I asked him if he was active in the Church. With a wry smile, he replied: “I’m now second counselor in my ward bishopric. Your invitation to come out to church, and my negative response, so haunted me that I determined to do something about it.”

Harold and I visited together on numerous occasions before he passed away. The Gallachers and their children filled many callings in the Church. One of the youngest grandchildren is now serving a full-time mission.

On the night of September 21, 1989, Hurricane Hugo passed with all its fury over the beautiful city of Charleston, South Carolina. My good friend Alvie Evans lived in a low-lying area near the water, where the maximum strength of the storm was headed. He gathered his family together and moved to higher ground, to the home of his mother.
Late in the night, 150-mile-per-hour winds raged around them, uprooting trees and ripping away parts of the house. The storm became so severe they began to fear they would experience physical harm. Alvie, with his wife and children, his mother, and his brothers and sister and their families, knelt together in the entrance hall of the home and prayed humbly to the Lord, asking for protection and for safety.
The next morning they viewed the devastation. Of the fifty or more large, strong oak trees that had been growing in his mother’s yard, only eight remained standing. There was damage to the house, the cars, the entire city, but the family was safe. The Lord had heard their prayers and had protected them through the storm. Alvie said, “I didn’t know then if we would have a house to return to, but I knew we would always have a home, because our family was intact and secure.”

I had gained a testimony of the goodness of one seed of faith, but I had yet to see it grow to fruition (see Alma 32:35–36), and I had not yet received a confirming witness of other gospel principles. My trial of faith was not yet over.
Not long after I was baptized and confirmed, doubts crept into my mind. I felt conflicted between the very personal experience I had had when deciding to get baptized and my old logic, which did not accept faith-based knowledge.
Soon I again felt the haunting feelings of confusion and sorrow, and I did not know what to believe. Nevertheless, I had made a commitment, and I determined to remain active in the Church and apply the principles I had been taught until the trial of my faith resolved my conflict one way or another.
The Lord did not leave me to wander alone. I was given a calling to serve with the missionaries, and as we went proselytizing each week, the missionaries continued to shepherd me. My home teachers were faithful. My home teaching companion was prompt and consistent. Many ward members developed friendships with me by involving me in their lives, inviting me into their homes for dinners and for family home evenings. They prayed with and for me. The bishop and his family cared for and encouraged me. I could sense the honest intentions of their hearts, and that strengthened my resolve.
One day, some months later, it dawned on me that every time I read the Book of Mormon, I felt a subtle, familiar feeling of peace, much as I had felt during the discussions and baptismal invitations. I had a sudden moment of clarity: this was the Spirit. As I thought the words—“If this is the Spirit, then this book must be true”—that subtle feeling swelled in my heart, and my faith turned to spiritual knowledge of that principle.

Several weeks after the experience with the apples, I set out to join my friends in the wooded area close to home, anticipating that we would devise some activity or game to play. As I approached them, they were huddled together. I saw smoke rising in the air above them and recognized the aroma of burning tobacco. One of them had obtained a packet of cigarettes, and they were smoking. They invited me to join them, but I declined. They persisted, suggesting that my reluctance to participate was a sign of weakness. Their taunts turned to ridicule, combined with condescending remarks. But nothing they could say or do could persuade me to change my mind. I had not been raised with a knowledge of the restored gospel and knew nothing of the Word of Wisdom, but I was restrained by a feeling within that I should not participate with them.
As I walked home reflecting on the decision I had made, I felt good inside. Although my expectations for the day had not materialized and I would have to find a way to occupy my time without my friends, I had discovered something about myself—about the source of real happiness and the invigoration that results from making the right decision, whatever the circumstances or outcome may be.