Gospel Story Finder

As I walk along the streets on my way to or from the Church Office Building, I see both young and older women, many of them “daughters of Zion,” who are immodestly dressed. I realize that times and fashions do change. Still, this reminds me of a time when I was a youth attending the Salt Lake Stake Academy and later the Latter-day Saints University.
The girls were dressed neatly from head to foot in shirtwaists and full skirts down to their ankles. I recall an incident that happened when a group of students—young girls and boys—took a short trip up City Creek Canyon. While doing a little hiking, one of the girls slipped and caught her dress on a limb, exposing her leg to the knee. She was so embarrassed that she wanted to withdraw from the group and return home. It took some persuasion by the other girls to have her remain and try to forget the incident.
It is a lot more common nowadays to see a knee than it was back then, and I’m not saying that a girl who wears a dress exposing the knees is bad. I’m trying to relay a feeling that we should have.

It was the look in his son’s eyes that forced Blaine* to recognize the truth. Suddenly he saw in his child’s hurt and confusion the disaster his adultery had made of his marriage. He felt convicted.
Years earlier, Blaine had begun complaining that his wife spent too much time with the children and Church service. “I felt neglected,” insisted Blaine, who began to view his wife’s love of the children and the gospel as a burden.
Over time, he embraced the views of the world and convinced himself that chastity was not a necessary moral commitment. “An affair is no big deal,” he said to excuse himself. “We all change as we pass through the various stages of life.” Seeking to justify himself, he blamed his wife for his behavior.
But with the disciplinary council behind him and divorce potentially ahead of him, Blaine saw his excuses for what they were—rationalizations and self-deception. He had called good evil and evil good. He was losing his Church membership and perhaps his family. As he looked into his son’s eyes, guilt washed over him, and he saw the anguish he had caused others.
Human sexuality is not just a physical matter. In fact, chastity and fidelity begin in the spirit, not in the body. They are expressions of the condition of our spirit. When our spirit is in tune with gospel truths, we want to live high standards, and our actions reflect that desire. Thus, chastity and fidelity are more than sexual abstinence before marriage and sexual fidelity after marriage. They express the quality of our spiritual life.

A few years ago I awoke in the middle of the night after dreaming that I had been asked to be a speaker in a BYU devotional. In that dream the complete outline of what I was supposed to talk about was clear to me. For the first time in my life I groped in the dark for a pencil and a Post-It pad on the nightstand and wrote the title of this talk. I promptly went back to sleep. The note was barely readable the next morning, and, worst of all, the memory of the details of the talk had faded from my mind just like dreams normally do. When I told my wife about this dream and showed her the note, we joked about the unlikely possibility of ever having to give the talk. During the next few years, however, I was intrigued by the topic and occasionally jotted down notes in my journal, not really thinking that I would have this opportunity.
Elder Scott’s advice to immediately write down spiritual impressions you receive is important for all of us. Imagine how much more I might have remembered had I followed the impression of my dream by not just recording the title but getting up and recording the impressions of that dream. I am eternally grateful for how patient and long-suffering our Heavenly Father is.

I was in a priesthood meeting a few years ago when I heard an interesting example of relying on the teachings of the Savior. A man I had never met or seen since shared a story. He said that he and his family had just moved into town and were quite nervous, they didn't know anyone and their eight year old son had been sad to leave his friends. To their surprise they found out their new neighbors also had a son that was only a year older than theirs, although the other boy was older and notably bigger, they figured the boys could be friends.

One day this father came home from work to see his son and the neighbor's boy playing in the backyard, he was happy that his son had made a friend. As he continued to watch them the father noticed that the neighbor's boy was beginning to play a little too rough. Before he could do anything the boy had begun to push and yell at his son in a very violent manner. The father ran outside the back door to stop the boy but he had already run and jumped the fence back into his own yard. The father picked up his tearful son and carried him back into the house to clean him up. While talking about the situation the father began to ask his son what they should do. Now think about how most dads respond when their sons have been treated poorly, think about how angry that would make you. The father was clearly not very happy, and formulating a plan of what they should do, out of anger, when his wife walked in the room. Moms have a more natural nurturing kind response to these sorts of situations, after hearing about the circumstance she asked the boy, "What would Jesus do?"

After speaking with his mother the young boy decided that Jesus would probably take their new neighbor some cookies and apologize for their argument. While the father was still thinking of other possible responses, the son turned and asked his father, "Dad, will it work?" The father replied in confusion, "Will what work?" to which the boy answered, "What Jesus taught, will it really work?" I think that's a great question. Sometimes we separate our experiences from the things that we are taught by the Savior. The real question is will teachings of the Savior work in our real lives? My testimony to you today is that they do, the pathway to happiness is to follow the example and teachings of Jesus Christ.

I remember attending a general conference when I was president of the stake up in Canada and meeting President Kimball with two or three others. He said, (whispering) “Hello, I can’t speak to you.” In other words, “Hello, President Tanner, I can’t speak to you.” He could not speak at all so that you could hear him any more than just a bare whisper. They didn’t know whether he’d ever be able to speak again, but he was blessed by the priesthood, and he was able to speak. Then later on, just a few years ago, they found that he had what they thought to be further cancerous growth in his organs, and they wanted to operate. But he called the priesthood to pray over him, to bless him, anoint him, and to administer to him. Now notice that it was the priesthood whom he called. It wasn’t because it was President Lee and Eldon Tanner; it was because of the priesthood we held. He was given a blessing, and it wasn’t necessary for him to have that operation.

The morning after I returned home to Ghana from my mission in the Ivory Coast, I woke up at 6:00 a.m. My appointment with the stake president to have him release me was not until the afternoon, so I decided to sleep in. While I was falling asleep, an impression flashed through my mind: “Go to the Cape Coast mission home.” I knew the Ghana Cape Coast Mission home, but I had no idea why I needed to go there that morning.

After having these thoughts, I began to feel anxious about the impression, so I headed to the mission home. On my way I worried about what I would say to the mission president. I knew he would ask me the purpose of my visit, so I tried to prepare a suitable answer.

When I arrived, I still did not know the answer. The mission president, Melvin B. Sabey, invited me into his office, thinking that I came there for him to release me. After asking a few questions, President Sabey told me to go to my stake president to be released.

“I know that, President,” I replied.

He paused for some seconds and then asked me the very question I had been striving to answer: “Why are you here this morning, Elder Mobio?”

“President Sabey, I don’t have a suitable answer to that question,” I said. “It’s just that this morning I had a strong impression to come here.”

He paused again for a moment and told me softly, “Elder Mobio, your presence here is the assistance I prayed for yesterday.” He explained that his assistants had just arrived with new missionaries. Among them was an Ivorian, the first French-speaking missionary he had ever received, and he didn’t know how he was going to communicate with him. Then he declared, “I am certain Heavenly Father heard my concern yesterday night.”

I had finally learned the reason for my morning impression. We immediately joined the new missionaries, and I interpreted for the Ivorian elder as he started his mission.

Seven months later I traveled back to the Ivory Coast to renew my passport and to share that wonderful experience with my mission president. He told me, “We are instruments in the Lord’s hands. He knows how and when to use us in His work.”

When Fausto Torales of Paraguay received word that his brother was sick, he decided to visit him—even though it would require a long journey and much sacrifice. Without realizing it, Fausto was embarking on a journey that would require many more sacrifices and would forever change his life and the lives of his family.
There is no public transportation into Natalio Diez, the nearest town. So Fausto left his wife and children at their small farm and walked for over an hour to get there. Next he caught a bus and rode two more hours to the city of Encarnación, where he visited his ill brother. That night in a boardinghouse, he learned for the first time about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints from two young men who lived there.
“We had studied various other religions and didn’t like them,” says his wife, Felicita Torales. “But my husband realized that this was very different from what he had heard before. He told the two young men that he would return in three months with all his family to be baptized.”
Filled with the spirit of the message he had heard, Fausto went back to his farm and shared the gospel with his family. Three months later, just as he had promised, Fausto, Felicita, and their children made the journey to Encarnación and went straight to the boardinghouse, ready for baptism. The missionaries taught them the discussions that day and gave them the Book of Mormon and Gospel Principles. The following day—12 May 1981—the parents and their five children who were old enough were baptized. Then they journeyed home and started studying the gospel.

Illustration by Allen Garns
During my interviews as a bishop one Sunday afternoon, I had the pleasure of sitting down with a good friend to talk about some challenges he was facing. After listening to his concerns for a few minutes, I felt that what he needed was consistency in reading the scriptures. I was also reminded that, as his bishop, I too should be more constant in my scripture study, which was something I had been struggling with. So I suggested that we become “accountability partners” in striving to study more consistently.
Every day after we finished reading our scriptures, we would text each other the word Done! Knowing that someone else was waiting to hear whether or not the other had completed his reading for the day was great motivation for the both of us. If one of us forgot, receiving a text was a reminder. If the other person did not text, he wasn’t called out on it. We let each other take this challenge on without making the other person feel guilty.
We started the challenge six months ago now, and I don’t recall a day that we have missed reading our scriptures. This brother stood up during fast and testimony meeting a couple of months ago and shared his testimony of the positive impact that daily scripture study was having on him and his family.
I am grateful for this brother and his friendship, as well as his daily texts. I have seen how technology, when used properly, can enhance our lives. I’m also thankful for the scriptures and how they testify of Christ. I know that the Savior’s atoning sacrifice makes it possible for each of us to return to live with Him someday.

About this same time, we had a neighbor who dominated and sometimes abused his wife. He roared like a lion, and she cowered like a lamb. When they walked to church, she always walked a few steps behind him. That made my mother mad. She was a strong woman who would not accept such domination, and she was angry to see another woman abused in that way. I think of her reaction whenever I see men misusing their authority to gratify their pride or exercise control or compulsion upon their wives in any degree of unrighteousness (see D&C 121:37).

Let me tell you of my own experience. As a child, I was blessed with a good and kind but also overly-busy father. He was very active in the Church as well as in politics and often had to leave his family alone.

I had wished that in my future life this would not happen to me again. The man I fell in love with, however, not only kept busy with the Church and politics like my father but he also had to serve for a long time in the Swiss army.

Believe me, there were moments when I was rather furious and, in my thoughts, wanted to abolish politics and the army and to rearrange church affairs so that I would have more time to spend with my husband and our children would have more time to spend with their father. At church, none of the sisters ever complained or talked about these problems because we were afraid of appearing critical.

A talk I heard many years ago by Lois Brown, the wife of a former Presiding Bishop, changed my attitude. She convinced me that I was not alone in my problem and that it was acceptable to talk about being alone and feeling lonely. Sister Brown said that often, even in her later years, she had to fight against feelings of disappointment when a good meal burned while she waited for her husband.

All of a sudden I didn’t feel guilty. I wasn’t ashamed of my feelings anymore; I dared talk about them—not in order to criticize, to wallow in self-pity, or to express anger, but in order to find solutions.

That strength is given to those who are older as well as the young. I know a widow more than 90 years of age. She is in a wheelchair. She prays as you do, pleading for help to solve problems beyond her human power to resolve. The answer is a feeling in her heart. It draws her to keep a commandment: “And behold, ye shall meet together oft.” So she finds a way to get to her meetings. People who attend there have told me, “We are so glad to see her. She brings such a spirit with her.”
She partakes of the sacrament, and she renews a covenant. She remembers the Savior, and she tries to keep His commandments. And so she takes His Spirit with her, always. Her problems may not be resolved. Most of them come from the choices of others, and even the Heavenly Father who hears her prayers and loves her cannot force others to choose the right. But He can send her to the safety of the Savior and the promise of His Spirit to be with her. And so I am sure that she will, in the strength of the Lord, pass the test she faces, because she keeps the commandment to gather often with the Saints. That is both the evidence that she is enduring well and the source of her strength for what lies ahead.

In closing, I wish to illustrate with a modern-day story the trust that we may place in the Savior. I know that faith in Christ and obedience to the principles of the restored gospel bring answers to prayers and divine help when the hour is darkest. The story that follows concerns a young girl, the fourth child in a family of six children. Her name is Heather. Three of the children, including Heather, suffer from a rare disease called glutaric acidemia. In each case, the onset of the disease occurred during the first year of life when an enzyme attacked the brain, causing paralysis. The disease results in acid forming in the muscles, similar to that which occurs following a period of intense physical activity. The problem faced by the children is that the acid never leaves and causes great pain. Cindy, the first child with the disease, died just over one year ago at the age of 23. She was one of the oldest living persons known with the disease. At death she weighed about 40 pounds.

Soon after Heather’s birth, the parents realized that she would be physically handicapped and that her spirit would be housed in a body with great restrictions. As she grew, she was confined to a wheelchair, unable to speak, and could only send messages with her eyes. A direct gaze and a smile meant yes. A blink meant no. Despite the handicaps, one could feel the vibrant spirit inside.

As Heather progressed, it became obvious to the parents that she was extraordinarily bright. She would play guessing games with the family using her limited means to communicate. When she was old enough, the parents enrolled Heather in a special school to see if she could learn to speak. The teacher was a gifted therapist. One morning as Heather and the teacher visited about the prior weekend, the teacher learned that Heather had attended Primary. The teacher then sang for Heather “When He Comes Again” (Songbook, p. 82). The expression on Heather’s face revealed the delight within her. When the teacher asked Heather if she had a favorite song, the young girl’s wide eyes and engaging smile left little doubt. But what was the song? Through a series of questions, the teacher learned that Heather’s song was one she had heard in Primary. She wasn’t sure which songbook it was in, but it was about Jesus. The teacher sang all the songs she could think of, but to no avail. However, Heather was not about to quit—she wanted to share her favorite song. At the end of the day, the two were still searching. The teacher agreed to bring her Primary songbooks to school the next day.

On the following morning, Heather and her teacher continued the quest. From the first hymn to the last, the little girl blinked her eyes indicating no. They were still unsuccessful. But Heather was not about to give up. She wanted to share her favorite song. Finally, the teacher told Heather that her mother would have to help her find the song and then they would sing it. The next day Heather arrived with the green Church hymnal tucked in her chair, but there was no marker. So they began with the first hymn. The teacher would sing the first part of each song and Heather would give her answer. After the first 100 hymns, there were 100 no’s. After 200 hymns there had been 200 no’s. Finally, the teacher began to sing “There is sunshine in my soul today . . .” (Hymns, 1985, no. 227). Heather’s body jumped, and a big smile crossed her face. Her eyes gazed directly into the teacher’s, indicating success after three days of searching. Both teacher and student rejoiced.

As the teacher sang the first verse and began the chorus, Heather mustered all her strength and joined in with a few sounds. After finishing the first verse and chorus, the teacher asked if she wanted to hear the rest of the verses, and Heather’s eyes opened wide with a firm yes. The teacher began to sing:

There is music in my soul today, A carol to my King, And Jesus listening can hear The songs I cannot sing.

Heather’s reaction to these lines was so strong that the teacher stopped. As the reality and significance of the words pressed on the teacher’s mind, she wondered if those lines were the reason Heather liked the song? The teacher asked: “Heather, is that what you like about the song? Is that what you want me to know? Does Jesus listen? Does he hear the songs you cannot sing?”

The direct, penetrating gaze was a clear answer.

Feeling guided by the Spirit, the teacher asked, “Heather, does Jesus talk to you in your mind and in your heart?”

Again, the child’s look was penetrating.

The teacher then asked, “Heather, what does he say?”

The teacher’s heart pounded as she saw the clear look in Heather’s eyes as the little girl awaited the questions that would allow her to share her insights.

“Does Jesus say, ‘Heather, I love you’?”

Heather’s radiant eyes widened and she smiled.

After a pause, the teacher asked next, “Does he say, ‘Heather, you’re special’?”

The answer again was yes.

Finally, the teacher asked, “Does he say, ‘Heather, be patient; I have great things in store for you’?”

With all her strength, Heather’s head became erect and her eyes penetrated the teacher’s soul. She knew she was loved, she was special, and she only needed to be patient. (Story adapted from Jean Ernstrom, “Jesus, Listening, Can Hear,” Ensign, June 1988, pp. 46–47.)

My family joined the Church when I was seven years old, and it was because of my reading and valuing the Liahona that I met my husband.
When I receive the monthly issue of the magazine, I take it with me everywhere so I can read it. One day I was calmly reading it on the bus to work when a young man stopped at my side and asked, “Are you a member of the Church?” I didn’t quite trust him, so I answered yes, then asked him what stake he belonged to. (I assumed if he wasn’t a member he wouldn’t know what a stake was.) He told me the name of his stake, and we talked until we got off the bus.
Some time after this, a regional choir was organized to prepare for the visit of the prophet. That was when this young man and I started to see each other more frequently. Later we were married and went to the Guatemala City temple to be sealed. We’ve been married for almost three years. The gospel has given me the opportunity to have a very special husband, who is faithful in the Church. I am very happy to have the gospel in my life.Rebeca Sierra de Zelaya, Fraternidad Ward, Tegucigalpa Honduras Stake

I have read some of the histories of the disaster which we commemorate this day. Of particular note is the account of the near spontaneous collection of flowers throughout Salt Lake City by young and old to be sent to Scofield to somehow alleviate the terrible suffering and grief. I was moved to tears as I read from the account.
“In Salt Lake words cannot describe the scenes that took place. Every one was anxious to do their part, and the school children, … hastened from house to house gathering flowers from all the gardens in the city until almost three carloads were furnished” (History of the Scofield Mine Disaster, 57).
The flowers were placed in the baggage compartment of a special train bound for Scofield. I quote now from the account.
The flowers “were spread out on the seats two and three feet high throughout the rest of the car. …
“Everything seemed to be there that might help to cheer those who have lived out in the hills, far away from the flowers and who are now experiencing the most dreadful calamity that has ever occurred in the western country. …
“The … car, with the lilacs and cut flowers, was switched into a sidetrack near the cemetery early in the morning. The car was next to the roadway over which the long train of wagons passed as they bore the bodies to their last resting place. The doors of the car were thrown open, and as each wagon came by, it halted while Captain Barrett and his aids, … buried the coffins under lilacs and handed each driver a bunch of cut flowers for the widows and children who accompanied the coffins. At the forward end of the car, the boys in charge were almost overwhelmed by requests for flowers. Work as fast as they could, the mournful little groups of women and children, in significant black, were still there awaiting their turn for the blossoms. If the donors of the flowers and the people who helped collect them could have seen the gratitude and appreciation of Scofield they would have been repaid an hundred fold for their work. …
“Just before noon came a plea from the Finns. Their spokesman came aboard the car and said they had sixty-one dead, none of whom had a friend in the country, aside from the people of their nationality. He asked as a favor that flowers be reserved for them until their train came down the canyon. There was an abundance for all, and the man’s face lighted with evident pleasure when he was assured that all the coffins would be decorated and the graves covered with flowers. The distribution alone took nearly all the time from nine o’clock in the morning until the heavy rain late in the afternoon stopped the melancholy procession” (57–61). To these flowers were added additional bouquets from towns along the route of the train.

Many years ago I attended a large gathering of Church members in the city of Berlin, Germany. A spirit of quiet reverence permeated the gathering as an organ prelude of hymns was played. I gazed at those who sat before me. There were mothers and fathers and relatively few children. The majority of those who sat on crowded benches were women about middle age—and alone. Suddenly it dawned on me that perhaps these were widows, having lost their husbands during World War II. My curiosity demanded an answer to my unexpressed thought, so I asked the conducting officer to take a sort of standing roll call. When he asked all those who were widows to please arise, it seemed that half the vast throng stood. Their faces reflected the grim effect of war’s cruelty. Their hopes had been shattered, their lives altered, and their future had in a way been taken from them. Behind each countenance was a personal travail of tears. I addressed my remarks to them and to all who have loved, then lost, those most dear.
Frederick W. Babbel, who accompanied Elder Ezra Taft Benson on his postwar visit to Europe to assist the struggling Saints, recounts in his book On Wings of Faith one heartrending account. A woman, even the mother of four small children, had been newly widowed. Her husband, young and handsome, whom she loved more than life itself, had been killed during the final days of the frightful battles in their homeland of East Prussia. She and her children were forced to flee to West Germany, a distance of a thousand miles. The weather was mild as they began their long and difficult trek on foot. Constantly being faced with dangers from panicky refugees and marauding troops was difficult enough, but then came the cold of winter, with its accompanying snow and ice. Her resources were meager; now they were gone. All she had was her strong faith in God and in the gospel as revealed to the latter-day prophet Joseph Smith.
And then one morning the unthinkable happened. She awakened with a chill in her heart. The tiny form of her three-year-old daughter was cold and still, and she realized that death had claimed her. With great effort the mother prepared a shallow grave and buried her precious child.
Death, however, was to be her companion again and again on the journey. Her seven-year-old perished, and then her five-year-old. Her despair was all-consuming. Finally, as she was reaching the end of her travel, the baby died in her arms. She had lost her husband and all her children. She had given up all her earthly goods, her home, and even her homeland.
From the depths of her despair, she knelt and prayed more fervently than she had ever prayed in her life: “Dear Heavenly Father, I do not know how I can go on. I have nothing left—except my faith in thee. I feel amidst the desolation of my soul an overwhelming gratitude for the atoning sacrifice of thy Son, Jesus Christ. I know that because he suffered and died, I shall live again with my family; that because he broke the chains of death, I shall see my children again in the flesh and will have the joy of raising them. Though I do not at this moment wish to live, I will do so, that we may be reunited as a family and return, together, to thee.” This prayer, this testimony sustained her until finally she reached Karlsruhe, her destination.

I recently read the account of a man who, just after the passing of his wife, opened her dresser drawer and found there an item of clothing she had purchased when they visited the eastern part of the United States nine years earlier. She had not worn it but was saving it for a special occasion. Now, of course, that occasion would never come.

In relating the experience to a friend, the husband said, “Don’t save something only for a special occasion. Every day in your life is a special occasion.”

That friend later said those words changed her life. They helped her to cease putting off the things most important to her. Said she: “Now I spend more time with my family. I use crystal glasses every day. I’ll wear new clothes to go to the supermarket if I feel like it. The words ‘someday’ and ‘one day’ are fading from my vocabulary. Now I take the time to call my relatives and closest friends. I’ve called old friends to make peace over past quarrels. I tell my family members how much I love them. I try not to delay or postpone anything that could bring laughter and joy into our lives. And each morning, I say to myself that this could be a special day. Each day, each hour, each minute, is special.”

One year in college, I was taking a test when my neck began to hurt. The pain didn’t go away when the tension of the test had passed. I consulted with doctors and therapists and tried a variety of treatments, but still the pain continued. Over the next year, as I struggled to cope with this pain, I also struggled to increase my faith. I spent much time in prayer, I studied the scriptures, and I asked for priesthood blessings. I felt that if I just had enough faith, I would be healed.
Jesus Christ healed the sick, the blind, the lame, the leprous—“according to [their] faith” (Matthew 9:29). I knew He had the power to heal me as He had so many others during His mortal life. I concluded, therefore, that only my lack of faith kept me from being healed, so I redoubled my efforts. While I continued with physical therapy, I prayed and fasted and studied and believed. Yet my pain persisted.
The scriptures teach us that with faith we can work miracles (see Matthew 17:20), yet I could not be relieved of this minor suffering. Where was the power in my faith? Finally, I quietly accepted my situation, found ways to cope with my discomfort, and became content to save full understanding of faith and healing for a future time.

A standard can be unrighteous because it is too harsh—the consequences are too severe for the gravity of the wrong and the needs of the wrongdoer. Here I remember a conversation with an LDS newspaperwoman who described what happened when she reported that the Prophet Joseph Smith received the golden plates in 1826—a mistake of one year from the actual date of 1827. She said she received about 10 phone calls from outraged Latter-day Saints who would not accept her admission of error and sincere apology and berated her with abusive language. I wonder if persons who cannot handle an honest mistake without abusing the actor can stand up to having their own mistakes judged by so severe a standard.

The gospel came into my life at an opportune time. I was 14. It came at the hands of a senior missionary couple, Glenn and JoAnne Haws, who lived every single word they taught me. They took me under their wing.
My mother didn’t share with us that she was a member of the Church. I just remember seeing some extra scriptures on her lamp desk. When Elder and Sister Haws came to fellowship and teach her, they said, “Don’t you want your daughter to know what you know?” I was baptized on May 21, 2000.

As a young woman, she was impressed with the importance of finding a worthy young man to marry and made it a matter of daily prayer and weekly fasting. After high school she attended Brigham Young University on a dance scholarship and met Mark Durham, who was attending the University of Utah. “I immediately recognized his goodness,” she said.
The couple married in June 1974 in the Salt Lake Temple. They have seven children.