Gospel Story Finder

As a boy I sought happiness as the world measures it. I wanted acceptance, position, fame (particularly as an athlete), and wealth. I had none of these. I was very unhappy. I thought happiness was as elusive as a shadow.
It was not until I was called on a mission that I discovered the real key to happiness. To my surprise, despite the discouragement, the disappointments, and the plain hard work associated with my missionary labors, I was happy. It was then I learned that happiness is really a by-product of service. As I forgot my own desires, my own weaknesses and frailties in my missionary service, I began to understand King Benjamin’s profound counsel to his people. “And behold, I tell you these things that ye may learn wisdom; that ye may learn that when ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God.” (Mosiah 2:17.)
That is why a missionary can return from the toughest experiences of his life and report, “These have been the happiest two years of my life!”

Claw Foot was pushed into the wigwam of Chief Broken Wing. His two captors held him rigidly as the great chief glared at him.
“This brave hunts our buffalo,” one of the captors said. “His name is Claw Foot.”
Claw Foot winced. He disliked having his name spoken before strangers.
“The herds in this valley are ours,” the chief said.
“But my people are near starvation,” Claw Foot pleaded. “Our herds are gone. We have journeyed many moons in search of new hunting grounds. We must have fertile land on which to grow our crops.”
“This land is ours. You go!” Broken Wing commanded.
Then the chief’s intelligent eyes lingered for several moments on Claw Foot’s left foot, the clawlike shape that even the brave’s carefully made deerskin moccasin could not disguise. As Broken Wing stared at the moccasin, his left hand went instinctively to his own right arm, which Claw Foot saw was twisted like a gnarled branch.
Broken Wing spoke, “You too have a lame body.”
“I was born with a foot like a claw,” Claw Foot explained.
“My arm was not always this way,” Broken Wing said sadly. “When I was a small boy, I fell from my horse.” He paused and then spoke, “You may have one buffalo, Claw Foot.”
“Only one buffalo!” protested Claw Foot, hastening to speak before Broken Wing had a chance to draw the blanket of silence about himself. “One buffalo will supply food for my people for only a few days.”
“One buffalo!” repeated Broken Wing impatiently.
Claw Foot felt the darkness of defeat as he turned to leave. Then out of the darkness came the light of an idea.
He turned to face Broken Wing once more. “And may we have the land that this one buffalo hide will cover?” he asked.
The chief laughed. “Even if you take the largest buffalo, its hide would not cover enough ground for a single wigwam.”
“Perhaps I can stretch the hide,” suggested Claw Foot.
Broken Wing looked at Claw Foot’s left moccasin again. “You may have the land one hide will cover,” he agreed.
At sunup Claw Foot mounted his pinto and rode into the valley. With the help of his scouts, he separated the biggest and finest cow from the herd of buffalo. With strong, sure aim, his arrow hit the heart of the beast and felled it.
There was great happiness and feasting that night among his people, but Claw Foot did not partake of the food. He was too concerned with tanning the hide. All through the next day he was busy cutting the hide into little pieces and conferring with his scouts, who afterward were sent out in different directions.
When they returned, Claw Foot sought admittance to the wigwam of Chief Broken Wing. “I am here for my land,” he told the chief. “Come, I will show you.”
Broken Wing mounted his buckskin while Claw Foot took the lead on his pinto. As they rode through the valley and over the ridges, Claw Foot pointed out the small pieces of buffalo hide his scouts had scattered over the land.
“The one buffalo hide covers enough ground for many wigwams, much hunting, and fine crops,” Claw Foot explained.
Broken Wing’s eyes looked like darting black clouds. He did not reply, but instead he slapped his horse and galloped away.
Claw Foot urged his pinto to follow, and his mind raced as rapidly as his horse’s hoofs.
Back at Broken Wing’s wigwam, Claw Foot stood once more before the chief, who sat cross-legged before the fire.
Broken Wing seemed thoughtful. Looking up at Claw Foot, he finally said, “Only your body is lame, not your thoughts. You have outwitted me fairly. You may have the land.”
Claw Foot made the sign of gratitude.
Then Broken Wing continued speaking. “From this day on you will not be known as Claw Foot. Your name is He Who Thinks.
And so it was.

A six- or seven-year-old boy in the car parked ahead of you turns and sticks his tongue out at you. What should you do?
This happened to Elder Wayne S. Peterson of the Seventy while he was waiting in his car. What do you think he did? Elder Peterson remembered how important it is to choose the right. He said, “I waved at the little boy. He stuck his tongue out at me again. I smiled and waved again. This time he waved back. Soon he was joined … by a little brother and sister. [When their car] pulled away, my newfound friends continued to wave for as long as I could see them.”*
Elder Peterson chose to show his faith in Jesus Christ by following His teachings. The Savior taught, “Therefore, all things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them” (3 Ne. 14:12). Elder Peterson felt good as the car drove away, because he had chosen the right.

Rookies Kenny, Jacob, and Harlan may have made the Little League Angel Park Dodgers team, but they still have problems. In Making the Team, even though they ace the tryouts, they still have to prove to the older guys that they, the rookies, really are good. In Big Base Hit, Harlan is going to be kicked off the team if he doesn’t come through for it. Find out how the team got out of its awful slump in Winning Streak. In What a Catch! veteran player Brian will have to quit the team unless he can show his dad that he can play well. Jacob and Harlan are convinced that Kenny thinks that he is too good for them in Rookie Star.Dean Hughes7–11 years

Some months ago a ninety-year-old patriarch and dear friend of my own father was quietly laid to rest in this valley. My father passed away during the height of the Great Depression in 1932, and ten days later my oldest brother, age fourteen, died. During forty-seven years of my mother’s widowhood, this gentle man frequently visited our fatherless family to give wise counsel and encouragement and priesthood blessings. His example and personal concern, coupled with the goodness of many other priesthood leaders and loving neighbors, helped my mother and her five remaining children face the problems of economic depression and wars and the many worldly influences and daily challenges with which each of us must cope. His life in many ways touched scores of others in similar circumstances.
To me he was the epitome of the “pure religion” described in the epistle of James: “To visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from the world” (James 1:27).

Recently a mother told me her family had moved from a rural, scattered ward where, of necessity, activities were consolidated into one weekday night. It was wonderful. They had time for their family. I can see them sitting around the table together.

They moved west into a larger ward where members were closer to the chapel. She said, “Now our family is scheduled Tuesday night, Wednesday night, Thursday night, Friday night, Saturday night, and Sunday night. It is very hard on our family.”

Three young women now serving missions in Australia all have something in common. They originally grew up on islands in the Indian Ocean and were converted to the Church by friends.
Chong Kheng Lin was also from Christmas Island. She and her family also settled in Perth, Australia. She attended the baptism of Soon Lee and was impressed by the Spirit and the information communicated by the missionaries. She investigated and joined the Church. Lin is serving a full-time mission in the Melbourne Australia Mission.

I recently was made aware of a touching example of loving kindness—one that had unforeseen results. The year was 1933, when because of the Great Depression, employment opportunities were scarce. The location was the eastern part of the United States. Arlene Biesecker had just graduated from high school. After a lengthy search for employment, she was finally able to obtain work at a clothing mill as a seamstress. The mill workers were paid only for each of the correctly completed pieces they sewed together daily. The more pieces they produced, the more they were paid.
One day shortly after starting at the mill, Arlene was faced with a procedure that had her confused and frustrated. She sat at her sewing machine trying to unpick her unsuccessful attempt to complete the piece on which she was working. There seemed to be no one to help her, for all of the other seamstresses were hurrying to complete as many pieces as they could. Arlene felt helpless and hopeless. Quietly, she began to cry.
Across from Arlene sat Bernice Rock. She was older and more experienced as a seamstress. Observing Arlene’s distress, Bernice left her own work and went to Arlene’s side, kindly giving her instruction and help. She stayed until Arlene gained confidence and was able to successfully complete the piece. Bernice then went back to her own machine, having missed the opportunity to complete as many pieces as she could have, had she not helped.
With this one act of loving kindness, Bernice and Arlene became lifelong friends. Each eventually married and had children. Sometime in the 1950s, Bernice, who was a member of the Church, gave Arlene and her family a copy of the Book of Mormon. In 1960, Arlene and her husband and children were baptized members of the Church. Later they were sealed in a holy temple of God.
As a result of the compassion shown by Bernice as she went out of her way to help one whom she didn’t know but who was in distress and needed assistance, countless individuals, both living and dead, now enjoy the saving ordinances of the gospel.

Kate Bateman, a Canadian and friend of the Church, arrived in the Dominican Republic as a visitor too, but upon losing her documents on the beach, she ended up staying longer than planned. The community cared for Kate in her time of need and the bond that was forged prompted her to return to Puerto Plata with suitcases full of school supplies. When the children saw the supplies, they naturally thought she was their teacher, so that is who she became. Joined by Sister Zobell, the Palmers, the Giles and others, her school was expanded, and more children were served.

These three youth from the Edmond Third Ward in Stillwater, Oklahoma, are “crazy-good” wake boarders. Last summer Rachel Orgill, Ashley Merkley, and Isaac Cordy entered the Oklahoma City River Wakeboarding tournament. Just to let everyone know who they were and what they stood for, they made a big poster and individual T-shirts declaring themselves the “Stormin’ Mormons.”
They had a great time competing on Saturday, and to their surprise, each one made the tournament finals in their divisions. The problem was, the finals were on Sunday. Without hesitation, all three notified the event coordinators that they would not be competing in the finals because they would be observing the Sabbath. The coordinators were surprised the youth were willing to pay to enter the tournament and now were giving up sure prizes and placements as finalists.
The three friends had the opportunity to explain their decision to many in the crowd and to the other competitors, who overwhelmingly thought it was “cool” that their convictions were more important to them than winning.

I think of Elder Neal A. Maxwell and some of the challenges he faced during his teenage years. His parents were very poor. It was embarrassing to him that early on, they did not have indoor bathroom facilities like so many of his friends. His 4-H project was raising pigs, and that didn’t gain him a lot of popularity at high school either. He suffered from severe acne that challenged his confidence and self-esteem. He wondered if he would ever be socially acceptable to others.
He was intensely interested in athletics—particularly basketball—and was good enough to be able to play on the team as a freshman. But in later years, he was cut from the team and the sport he loved. Consequently, as he described it, “I turned to the world of words.” That became an immense blessing for him in his political, university, and educational executive assignments, and to all of us he now serves as one of the Lord’s prophets, seers, and revelators.

It was the first night of girls’ camp. It had started to rain lightly, but we figured it would pass by. As the night went on, though, the rain got harder and the wind blew stronger. The group in my tent tried to sleep, but because we had only staked the four corners of our tent when we set it up, the sides were being pushed in and puddles started forming around the edges. It got so windy I was afraid the wind would take our tent with it!
Pretty soon our tent began to leak, and we were forced to move all of our things to the center of the tent. I huddled in a ball and started to silently cry. This was my first day of my first year at girls’ camp, and already things were going wrong.
At this point, my tent leader started to sing the song that we had chosen for our camp song, called “Sometimes He Lets It Rain.” The chorus says:
Sometimes He lets it rain
He lets fierce winds blow
Sometimes it takes a storm
To lead a heart where it can grow
He can move mountains of grief
And oceans of pain
But sometimes He lets it rain.
As we sang, we could hear the rain coming down on us, but we felt happier than before. We finally went and slept in the cars of the leaders. I only got four hours of sleep, but, amazingly, I felt energized and ready for our hike the next morning.
At our testimony meeting on the last night of camp, nearly all the girls who were in my tent bore their testimony about how that night strengthened us. He let it rain that night, but that storm led our hearts to where they could grow.

Joe and Zella Wendel went on a mission. Her legs were bothering her, and they got worse in the mission field instead of better. She wrote home, “I thought we were just to work in the office, but now we find we are to proselyte also. But my knees are so bad we just can’t go out looking for people, so we are praying very hard to find someone right here in our apartment building.” In three months they had three baptisms—new move-ins from their apartment building! Those missionaries were my parents.

Sighing, I let the pen slip idly from my fingers as my head collapsed onto the desk in front of me. “I can’t do this any more,” I groaned.
I looked up at the clock on the wall. It was 8:45 P.M. I had wanted to be in bed by 9:30. Looking back at the math exercises I had been working on, my eyes filled with tears. I was so tired. My head was pounding, and my whole body was aching, but sleep seemed unlikely tonight. The math would take me at least another hour to finish; then I had to learn my lines for tomorrow’s drama rehearsal. My English assignment was due in two days, and I hadn’t started it yet. On top of that, my piano lesson was the next day, and Mrs. Doolan was bound to be unimpressed with the limited practice I’d managed to fit in this week.
“Tammy?” The small voice roused me from my thoughts, and I turned, exasperated, towards the door.
“Ben,” I whined at my brother, “why aren’t you asleep yet?”
The six-year-old scurried happily across the room and onto my lap. “I’m not tired,” he answered simply.
Smiling, I put my arms around him and gave him a hug. It was impossible to stay angry with him for long.
“Read me a story, Tammy,” he pleaded.
“Ben,” I began, “I’d really like to, but I just can’t tonight.” I launched into a detailed account of the pressures I was under. Noting his disappointment, my excuses trailed off, and I began to feel guilty. My eyes fell on the scriptures, where they lay on the bedroom floor.
There’s another thing I have to do tonight, I thought, feeling discouraged.
Suddenly I had an idea. I’d shoot both birds with one stone! Putting Ben down on the floor, I reached for the Book of Mormon.
“You like scripture stories don’t you, Ben?” I asked. Nodding happily he settled down to listen. The seminary reading assignment was Third Nephi chapter 17, and I turned to the page quickly and began to read: “Behold, now it came to pass that when Jesus had spoken these words he looked round about again on the multitude, and …”
“Tammy, what’s a multitude?” Ben interrupted.
“It’s just a large group of people,” I answered hastily and then continued: “and he said unto them: Behold my time is at hand.”
“Tammy, what does that mean?” I groaned inwardly. This was going to take a lot longer than I had planned on.
I read on for about half an hour, in which time I had read about one page. Ben wanted to know and understand everything I was reading. Jesus directing the Nephites? Jesus healing the sick? Language that couldn’t be written? Everything fascinated him. But not me. I was simply anxious to get through the chapter, send him back to bed, and return to my mountain of homework.
“And when he had said these words,” I continued, “he wept, and the multitude bare record of it, and he took their little children, one by one, and blessed them, and prayed unto the Father for them.
“And when he had done this he wept again;
“And he spake unto the multitude, and said unto them: Behold your little ones.
“And as they looked to behold they cast their eyes towards heaven, and they saw the heavens open, and they saw angels descending out of heaven as it were in the midst of fire; and they came down and encircled those little ones about, and they were encircled about with fire; and the angels did minister unto them.”
Pausing for a breath, I suddenly realized that I had just read four verses without being interrupted once!
Puzzled I looked down at Ben and was surprised to see that there were tears streaming down his small face. My eyes met his as I searched for an explanation.
“Tammy,” he said softly, “I wish I could have been there.”
Suddenly I felt my eyes stinging with tears, and I was filled with shame. “So do I, Ben,” I whispered.
My homework, drama rehearsal, and piano practice paled in significance as I realized that it was my attitude towards spiritual matters that needed attention. I reached for the sweet little brother who had reminded me of what was really important and vowed to be better.

After one of our lengthy temple meetings, when I had been a member of the Twelve for only a short time, President Kimball took hold of my arm and said, “Will you wait just a few minutes? I want to talk to you.” Of course I waited. When we were alone he said, “I don’t want the First Presidency or the other members of the Twelve to know, but I don’t feel very good today. Will you please give me a blessing?”
This thought came to my mind immediately: “Here am I, the least and last to be ordained, and he is asking me to give him a blessing.”
I was very nervous; I do not remember all that I said, but I shall never forget how pleased I was that he thought enough of me to ask for my assistance. He was asking the newest member to give him a blessing when he could have asked any of the First Presidency or other Apostles.
Why do I love this great man? In his hour of need he was exhibiting love for and confidence in me. He has learned the art of making people feel good about themselves. By his actions we know he loves us. “But whosoever will be great among you, let him be your minister; and whosoever will be chief among you, let him be your servant.” (Matt. 20:26–27.)

My brothers and sisters, how grateful I am to be here with you in this historic Tabernacle today. Seventy-four years ago, my grandfather Lars Peter Oveson stood at this pulpit and bore his testimony as an invited stake president from Emery County, Utah.
Although he died when I was just a boy, my grandfather has always been one of my heroes. I have studied his journal, which recounts over and over again his willingness to answer the calls that came to him throughout his lifetime. He and his parents converted to the gospel in Denmark, immigrated to this country, and came across the plains to join the Saints in Utah. One of the calls that came to him required leaving his new, young wife for six months to work on the building of the St. George Temple. He left her and their young family again to serve a two-year mission in his native Denmark. Later, the calls of bishop and stake president necessitated their relocating and rebuilding their home and farm on three different occasions. Through all of these upheavals, he remained grateful, cheerful, and faithful to the principles of the gospel, leaving a great legacy of faith to those of us who bear his name.
As my grandfather so eloquently stated 74 years ago: “I rejoice to bear my testimony to the truthfulness of this work of the Lord to the world, for I know it is true; I know it is for the uplift and the advancement of the children of God, and I pray that the Lord will help … us that we may remain faithful and true, that we may be found valiant workers in the cause of righteousness and help to build up his kingdom upon the earth” (Lars Oveson, in Conference Report, Apr. 1925, 127). To these truths I add my own witness in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

• Drugs. During the years I served as a priesthood leader in Los Angeles, California, a number of parents had children who were caught up in the drug culture so prevalent in the 1960s. One father came to me for advice and comfort. Two of his sons had become addicted to hard-core drugs, resulting in nightmarish consequences to him and his wife.
During this couple’s years of child rearing and in spite of whatever normal parental mistakes they may have made along the way, they had constantly provided their children a loving example and had done their best to teach righteous gospel principles in the home. Yet two of their sons made tragic choices anyway. As the severity of the problems became known, the parents judged themselves harshly, and the father felt unworthy to continue in his priesthood responsibility. I persuaded him to continue serving in the Church and expressed confidence in the future for his children.
I shared with him then and would now like to share with all parents, especially those suffering pain and a sense of frustration as they watch their dreams for their children turn to ashes, some thoughts about relevant doctrines that provide needed hope and balm.

The Winnipeg Manitoba Stake youth have got it together. At a recent stake dance, held in the institute building, there were 50 or more youth—and almost all of them were actually dancing. And guess what else? When a slow song started, the dance floor wasn’t empty! The music was fun and tasteful, the dancing was appropriate, and the decorations were simple but effective. Large paper flowers lined the walls, and beach balls provided constant entertainment as they were swatted around the room from dancer to dancer.
How, you ask, did this stake pull off its successful dance? Well, each month the youth of one of the wards in the stake is in charge. Stake leaders assign the wards at the beginning of the year so there will be lots of time to plan. The Waverley Ward was assigned to this stake dance. Its members started planning about a month in advance, and the first thing they did was decide on a theme—“Hawaiian School’s Out.” The young men were in charge of refreshments, and the young women did the decorating. Then they publicized.
“Do lots of poster advertisements and announcements. Plan ahead. Come up with interesting themes. Maybe a ‘dress as your parents night.’ Make sure you have a good deejay with lots of appropriate music and a large selection,” says David Moore, the teachers quorum president, who helped plan the dance along with the rest of the bishop’s youth council.
Also on the council was Stephen Wood, the stake’s deejay for the dance. The stake has mixers, speakers, and other audio equipment because it doesn’t want to hire disc jockeys anymore. It was too hard to regulate the music selected by hired deejays, and it was also becoming too expensive. So Stephen was put in charge of the music, a very important responsibility, because we all know—besides the fun people, of course—it’s the music that makes or breaks a dance.
Stephen, a priest, had some deejay experience from being in charge of the youth conference dance music. “I talk to people before the dance and see what they want,” he says. But he does have some ground rules. “No swearing or unacceptable lyrics. I haven’t really played anything too heavy. Too heavy or too fast a beat isn’t good.” He usually uses his own CDs, and others bring their CDs to the dance as well.
Not that there’s a problem with inappropriate music requests. Each of the youth is interviewed by his or her bishop or branch president or one of his counselors before they come to the dance. They receive dance cards outlining what standards are expected of them while at the dance, and they need to show those cards before they can get in.
The interviews aren’t stressful. For the most part, the bishop just explains the guidelines for casual versus semi-formal attire, asks you not to dance too close to your partner, and reminds you that drugs and alcohol of any kind won’t be tolerated—things you already know. The interview is just a reminder of the appropriate behavior that will help you have more fun at the dance.
Surrounded by paper flowers and beach balls, everyone line danced, swing danced, and did other dances you might never have seen before. If you had seen how much fun they were having, you would definitely have joined in. Stephen even jumped off the stage once, leaving the deejaying duties to his older brother Richard, while Stephen and a friend taught everyone how to line dance to the song that was playing.
They also played games. There was a hula contest, the limbo (how low can you go?), and a snowball dance. Each time Stephen yelled “snowball” everyone had to trade partners fast!
As fun as all this sounds, you don’t have to go to Manitoba to find a good stake dance. You can make your stake dances the best ever. All you really need to do is go with the attitude that you’re going to have fun and that you’re not going to be a wallflower. And when you’re planning, be sure you follow the guidelines the Church has given for stake dances. Then you’ll have it together too.

I know exactly what you’re talking about. I thought I must be a terrible person to be so friendly and nice to my friends and so insensitive to my family. I heard this saying: “If you treated your friends like you treat your family, would you have any friends?” And I really started thinking about my situation. Then I considered each member of my family separately, finding things other than relation that we had in common. I found that my four little sisters, my older brother, and I have a lot in common, All of us love sports, My sisters and I love dancing. None of us likes to practice piano. We all love Mexican food, and none of us likes to fight. Also, I started to smile whenever any one of them would look at me, and I started including them in some of my activities, and now we really have some good times together. I hope you find a solution because families really are a lot of fun—if you take the time to get to know them.
Darcie Christian, 15St. George, Utah

Jasmine Paris, a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints for 23 years, lives on the windward side of the island of St. Vincent in the Grenadines, commonly known as the countryside. The area is known for its farming industry, where most of her neighbors lost their entire crops. Because of its location, Jasmine’s home was spared, but at the beginning of the hurricane, the electricity pole above her house caught fire, and the electricity went out, resulting in food spoilage. However, the most significant impact of losing electricity during the storm was the loss of communication with her family.
Sister Paris has a daughter who lived on another island of the Grenadines that was the most severely impacted by the hurricane. For three days, she had no idea if her daughter was alive or not. She panicked, cried, mourned and prayed. She said, “I would never want to relive that moment!”
When Jasmine was finally able to communicate with her daughter, she realized there was good reason to worry about her. As the hurricane approached the island, the daughter and others gathered in a building to be sheltered from the fierce winds and rain. As the building started to flood, they ran to another shelter. As they settled, the storm shattered the windows, cutting the individuals with the flying glass. As they continued to find refuge elsewhere, they found another room only to have the roof fly off. The only building left was a generator room, 4 ft x 4 ft in size, where 19 individuals, along with the generators and machines, packed themselves on top of one another for about five hours as they waited for the storm to pass. They were all wet from the rain and cut from the shattered windows, and everyone thought they would not make it out alive.
As Jasmine reflects on this experience, she shares, “As I think of how I felt about my daughter, I think about my Savior, Jesus Christ, and how much He loves us. If not for my Savior, I don’t know how I would have coped.”
As the storm raged outside, Jasmin prayed. She felt a deep peace in her heart, knowing that no matter what happened, she wasn’t alone. “I am thankful to Heavenly Father … for sparing our lives. Don’t lose hope! It will take some time for some to heal. It will take some time for others to feel at home again. It will never be the same for those who lost loved ones. But don’t give up! Put your trust in Heavenly Father. He will carry you through!”