Gospel Story Finder

When the phone rang, Michael had no idea that the call would turn a good deed into a bad one.
Dad got up from the dinner table and answered the phone. When he returned a few minutes later, he looked excited. “Great news!” he shouted. “The company has called me back to work. I start next month.”
It was great news. Dad had been laid off from the steel mill nearly two years ago. They had lost their house and now lived in a small apartment. It had been a difficult adjustment.
“Congratulations, Dad,” Michael said.
Crystal jumped up from the table, threw her arms around Dad’s neck, and squealed, “Oh, Daddy!”
Michael hadn’t seen her do that for a long time.
Mom sat quietly, smiling.
“Donna,” Dad told her, “this spring we hunt for a new house.”
A tear slid down over Mom’s smile. She got up from the table and gave Dad a long, tender hug. “Sit down and finish your supper, Fred.” She put on a coat and took the storage shed key from the key rack. “Wait here,” she said, heading for the door. “I have a surprise for you.”
That’s when Michael realized that he might have a problem. He knew that Mom had gone after Dad’s company coat. Dad had been proud of the coat, an award for ten years’ service at the steel mill. But he had refused to wear it after the layoff. Mom had stored it for safe keeping, though—just in case.
Several weeks ago, while Michael and Crystal were doing the dishes, he had overheard his mom and dad talking. She had suggested that Dad wear his company coat since the weather was getting very cold.
“No,” Dad had said sternly. “I’ll freeze before I give the mill free advertising. Just get rid of it.”
The next day Michael had gone to the park as usual. He enjoyed seeing the pigeons and squirrels there on his way to school. He had paid little attention to the old man collecting empty bottles and cans from the garbage cans. But that particular morning he noticed the old man sniffing and sampling food scraps, stuffing what he liked into his pockets.
From then on, whenever he could, Michael smuggled biscuits or waffles or jam-covered toast from his own breakfast plate and left it in a neatly wrapped package for the man. Normally the man smiled gratefully when he found the food. It made Michael feel good inside.
But one morning the man reacted differently. He searched about the park with angry glances. When he saw Michael, he marched over, shook the wrapped breakfast in Michael’s face and yelled, “What is this! I don’t need charity from any young do-gooder like you.”
Mortified, Michael had run.
He hadn’t left anything for the man again until yesterday. The weather had turned extremely cold, and on his way to school, he saw the man again—wearing a thin, ripped jacket and huddling under the viaduct near the park. Michael ran home, scavenged two leftover chicken legs from the refrigerator, wrapped them in a napkin, then stuffed them into a pocket of Dad’s coat and hurried back to the park. He jammed the coat into the garbage can, trying to make it look discarded, then fled—it was almost time for the man to get there on his daily round.
Michael’s recollections were interrupted when his mother came back. “Fred, your company coat is gone! Did you throw it away?”
“No,” Dad said. “Didn’t you get rid of it?”
“No,” Mom said. “Just last week I had it out, thinking that maybe I could talk you into wearing it while it’s so very cold. But it had a big grease stain on it, so I put it back until I had a chance to take it to the cleaners.”
Michael looked worriedly at Crystal. She had seen him with the coat. But she just looked at the ceiling and didn’t say anything. He knew that he should tell what happened, but he was afraid to. I’ll wait to tell them tomorrow and not spoil Dad’s good news today, he rationalized.
The next day, when the family was returning home from church, Mom gasped and said, “Fred, that man is wearing your coat!”
Michael spun around to look.
Dad stared at the old man. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure,” Mom said. “See that grease stain?”
Michael blurted, “I think I’d better ex—”
“No need to concern yourself with this, son,” Dad interrupted. “Donna, go ahead with the kids up to the apartment. I’ll take care of this.”
“But, Dad, I want to—”
“It’s all right, Michael,” Dad cut him off again. “Go upstairs now.”
While Michael paced the floor, Mom sat watching out the window. Crystal’s gaze went back and forth from Michael to Mom as if she were watching a tennis match.
When Dad came in, he stared at Michael for a long moment. He didn’t hear Mom’s questions till she tugged at his sleeve and asked again, “Where’s your coat? Wouldn’t he give it back to you?”
“We were mistaken,” Dad said. “It’s not my coat.”
“Fred, I’d know that coat anywhere,” Mom said, astonished. “It’s your coat.”
“It’s his coat, Donna,” Dad said. “He said that his boy gave it to him.”
“Highly unlikely,” Mom said indignantly. “If he had a son, he wouldn’t let his father live on the streets and eat out of garbage cans.”
“It’s not really his son,” Dad replied. “The old man said that ‘his boy’ is like an angel, showing up just when he is most in need. When he’s starving, this boy shows up with food. When he was freezing, the boy brought the coat. Who could ask for more than that?” Dad said, gazing intently at Michael. “In my book, he’s a wonderful son.”
The next morning after breakfast, while Michael got ready for school, Mom said, “Michael, while you’re going by the park, would you care to dump those scraps for me? I’ve cleaned out the refrigerator, and the garbage man won’t come until Thursday.”
“OK, Mom,” Michael said. On the counter he found a nearly wrapped paper plate, piled with leftover food, sitting on Dad’s old work boots. “The boots, too?”
“The boots, too,” Mom said. “Your dad is getting a new pair.”
Now both Dad and Mom knew! And better still, they cared, too. Michael smiled to himself as he gathered up the plate full of “scraps.” Who had ever heard of warm scraps from the refrigerator?

After the battalion departed, Brigham turned again to the next stage of the Saints’ journey. Cooperating with the United States had allowed him to secure permission to establish a winter camp on Indian lands west of the Missouri River. He now planned to winter the Saints at a place called Grand Island, two hundred miles west, and from there send the advance company over the Rocky Mountains.4
As the apostles counseled together, Wilford spoke of other important Church matters that needed their immediate attention. Reuben Hedlock, the man he had appointed to preside over the British mission, had alienated many British Saints by squandering funds they had consecrated for emigration. Wilford foresaw problems within the mission, including the loss of many new converts, until Reuben was released and replaced by more responsible leadership.5
The quorum also knew that impoverished Saints were still in Nauvoo at the mercy of mobs and false prophets. If the apostles did not do more to help these Saints, as they had promised to do in the temple at the October conference, then the quorum would be breaking a solemn covenant with the Saints and the Lord.6
Acting decisively, the quorum resolved to send three of the apostles in camp—Parley Pratt, Orson Hyde, and John Taylor—to England to lead the British mission. They then sent wagons, teams, and supplies back to Nauvoo to evacuate the poor.7
As the quorum sent men and provisions east, Brigham realized his plan to push farther west that year was no longer possible, especially since the battalion had reduced the number of able-bodied men in camp. Thomas Kane recommended building their winter camp at the Missouri River, and Brigham ultimately agreed.8
On August 9, 1846, the apostles announced that the Saints would spend the winter in a temporary settlement just west of the river. Brigham wanted to go over the Rocky Mountains and build a temple as soon as possible. But before then, he would gather the Saints together and look after the poor.9

Lately our family had been praying to strengthen the family bond. The answer to our prayer really came in a shocking way. Can you imagine this? Three teenagers and a nine-year-old down with the chicken pox the last week of summer vacation. We had to live together 24 hours a day in the same house for a week and a half straight. That was a trial! We all learned to get along. Each day we compared our skin to see whose was worse. My oldest brother won. We made this awful experience fun. We talked about walking down the beach looking like this in our swimsuits and other crazy ideas that made the situation seem funny. Unfortunately it did not ease the itch. We decided to be more specific when we prayed. We are all involved with each others’ lives and feelings. We are now closer than ever.

As Latter-day Saints we have been taught to strive for perfection. I think my parents must have been aware of the potential for discouragement that a quest for perfection can bring. They told me on many occasions, “This doesn’t have to be perfect, only sufficient.” That gave me comfort and caused me to be more determined.

But the bus rides, the spit-shined shoes, and the practices have one major purpose—influencing people’s lives. Once the group was greeted with booing from a high school audience, but before the program was finished, the students were applauding loudly. At the end of the program the students gave the Footprints a standing ovation.

Trying to find his father’s golf balls, which he had lost, is one of Michael Antone Neider’s first memories concerning the development of his faith.
Growing up in the small farming community of Tyhee, Idaho, he had sneaked his father’s golf clubs out of the garage and hit all the golf balls into their horse pasture. “I had no idea it would be so hard to find those balls in the tall grass. I felt a pressing need for divine help. After praying I went back out and found all but one of them, as well as a never-to-be-forgotten lesson that God loves me.”
Brother Neider says he’s not sure if the Lord would help him find those balls today. “As I’ve learned and grown, the Lord has expected more from me. I feel He has taught me to use more wisdom and faith in moving closer to Him.”

A personal history Joseph wrote around the summer of 1832. Joseph explained that he went to the woods to pray because he was confused about spiritual things. He also wanted his sins forgiven.

“I had a chance for a job at the beginning of the summer,” said one of the girls sitting on the grass at the main camp. She paused as the squeals from the canoe races drifted up from the waterfront. “I told them that if I couldn’t come to camp, I didn’t want the job. That’s what it means to me.”
Had it been worth it, you might be tempted to ask, and the answer, not from one voice but from 620, is a resounding yes!

A true story from the USA.
“What’s this, Mom?” Sadie pulled a big tin can out of the back of the cupboard. “It has no label on it.”
“I forgot about that,” Mom said. “The labels had come off some canned goods, so the store was selling them for cheap. I bought one. I figured it was probably canned peas.”
Sadie made a face. Canned peas were not her favorite.
Mom picked up the can and turned it over. “They’ll go bad soon. We’d better eat them today.” She put the can on the table.
“What’s that?” Sadie’s big brother, Jason, asked.
“Who knows?” Sadie said. “Mom thinks it’s peas.”
Jason shook the can. “Doesn’t sound like peas. My guess is beans.”
That gave Sadie an idea. She grabbed some tape and a marker and wrote “peas” on one piece of paper and “beans” on another. She taped them to the can.
Then she thought for a minute and wrote “tomato sauce” on another piece.
Just then Dad came into the kitchen. “What’s going on?”
“We’re playing a game,” Mom said. “Guess what’s in the can.”
Dad picked up the can, shook it hard, and gave it a sniff. “Mushrooms!” he announced.
Everyone groaned. “Not mushrooms!” Sadie said. That was worse than peas, beans, and tomato sauce. “Maybe we should just throw the can away.”
“Aren’t you curious to know what’s really inside?” asked Mom.
Dad grabbed the can opener. “I am!”
As Dad opened the can, Sadie covered her eyes. But when he pulled back the lid, she was surprised. The can was full of delicious fruit.
“Yummy!” she said as she looked at the cut-up pears, grapes, cherries, and peaches.
Jason brought over bowls and spoons. “Let’s eat!”
Sadie spooned some fruit from the can into her bowl. “I can’t believe we were all wrong,” she said. “I was sure there was something yucky inside.”
“Do we ever label people like that?” asked Mom.
“What do you mean?” Sadie asked.
Dad set his bowl on the table. “We decide what they are like on the inside, when all we can see is the outside.”
Sadie thought about that. “When Samara was new at school, I thought she wasn’t friendly. But then I learned she just couldn’t speak our language very well. Now we play all the time!”
“That’s a good example,” said Mom.
“Sometimes I feel labeled,” Jason said softly. “Kids at school say I only get good grades because the teacher likes me. But the truth is, I work hard and do all my homework.”
“Labels can hurt, can’t they?” said Dad.
Jason nodded.
Sadie finished her last bite of fruit. “But are all labels bad? At the store you need to know what you’re actually buying.”
“You’re right,” Dad said. “So when are labels good?”
Jason held up his spoon. “When they’re true!”
“And who knows what’s truly inside a person?” asked Mom.
“Heavenly Father,” Sadie and Jason said together.
“I get it!” Sadie said. “I am a child of God. That’s the right label for me.”
“And me,” said Jason.
“And me!” said Dad.
“For everyone.” Mom smiled. “So we shouldn’t label people based on what we see on the outside, or believe false labels given to us. Because only God knows what we truly are inside.”
Sadie wrote on a new piece of tape and stuck it on her sweater. “A child of God,” she said. Sadie smiled. She liked that label best of all.

Listening to her mother sing, Mary Ann recalled a meeting she had attended in the grove by the temple. The Prophet, noticing that the choir seats were empty, asked all those with hymnbooks, who could sing, to step forward. He beckoned for Mary Ann to come and sit in front of the stand. His eyes were twinkling when he said, “You can sing, can’t you?”

Just thinking about it brought fresh tears to her eyes. The children in Nauvoo would surely miss the Prophet!

For Vishakha it all started in India. That was where Vishakha Ram was invited to go to something called “institute” with a friend. She hesitated because she didn’t really think religion was her thing, but she finally agreed. On her first visit, she found a small class studying about preparing for an eternal marriage. Vishakha was amazed. “They were actually talking about these things. I grew up as a Hindu, and we don’t have the concept of eternal marriage. But in this class it was interesting to me because everything was so pure and clear. It was just like looking at pearls. It was really beautiful.”
Vishakha didn’t have the opportunity to join the Church in India because she went to Berlin, Germany, on a student exchange program. But she remembered the Church and the institute class she had found so interesting. When she arrived in Berlin, she called the missionaries, and they also took her to institute. She arrived just in time to see a great change take place at the Berlin institute. The Church had finished building a new institute addition adjoining the stake center. This shared building provides room for sports such as volleyball and basketball, a kitchen, a lounge, a library, and plenty of classrooms. The center would now support a new emphasis called institute outreach.
Just a year and a half since her baptism, Vishakha, 26, from the Lankwitz Ward, was called as student council president at the institute. Now there are activities or classes nearly every night of the week at the Berlin outreach center. She is attending the Church history class with 25 other students. For their institute, Vishakha says, “the class is mighty big.” She is excited to get some more activities going, more chances to go out to museums and concerts, more fun activities like playing games, maybe an evening to watch movies, and more testimony meetings. “So far,” says Vishakha, “there hasn’t been a dance course. We want to do that.”

While serving as Secretary of Agriculture in the Cabinet of President Dwight D. Eisenhower, I was invited to give the keynote address at the annual convention of the World Food and Agriculture Organization at Rome, Italy. Between sixty and seventy nations were represented at the great international conference.
Following the morning session, which included the address, an impressive luncheon was given in my honor in the International Banquet Hall, which was decorated with flags of many nations.
The customary cocktail hour preceded the luncheon. I noticed as the men held glasses in their hands that there was apparently no liquor being served but only soft drinks and fruit juices. I mentioned this to my host, Dr. Sen of India, and said, “Surely many of these men are used to their liquor, which is customary during the cocktail hour.” He said, “No, Mr. Secretary, today we honor you and respect your standards.”
Following the period of fellowship, we took our places at the banquet table. Here I was even more surprised to find that there was no coffee being served but again only soft drinks and fruit juices. I said to Dr. Sen, “Surely the men attending the luncheon expect to have their usual hot drink.” He smiled very graciously and said, “No, Mr. Secretary, I am the host. You are the honored guest, and at this luncheon we honor you and respect your standards.”
And so it was at a luncheon attended by distinguished leaders from many nations. No member of the Church will ever have cause to be embarrassed by real men or women because of his or her standards. Again, it pays to maintain the standards of the Church.

Elder Gary G. Johnson recalled an experience that happened in the college town of Mankato, a community nestled in farmland on the banks of the Minnesota River.

“We baptized a woman, Gayle Von Ohlen, and her 12-year-old son, John Chambard. As a baptism present, we gave him a subscription to the New Era, and he really liked it. He was impressed with the way it was written, and I think he was amazed that there was so much about spiritual matters in a teenage magazine. His mother was impressed too. The New Era helps kids feel like they’re a part of something.”

There are so many things in life that can be solved in advance and but once. We have to make decisions, I believe, when we’re emotion-free, when we’re clear to think and to think rationally. In baseball, for example, prior to the game, the two managers or the two coaches meet with the umpires and go over what are called the “ground rules.” The ground rules are unique little rules that pertain just to a particular baseball park. For example, if the ball rolls into the dugout, the ball is dead and the runners advance a base. This is decided before the game ever starts. But can you imagine making that kind of decision when rivals such as the University of Utah and BYU are already playing a baseball game? We’d never arrive at a logical decision because in the middle of the game we are not emotion-free.

Setth S., 16, from Florida, explains that although everyone in his family is Deaf, they attend a hearing ward. “I like the people and they are nice to me, but I don’t always understand enough of what’s going on,” he says. “But when I add ASL seminary, I get the best of both worlds. Seminary helps me understand better so that I can learn the gospel and strengthen my testimony.”

I was in the ninth grade. A year in which it seemed I was halfway to nowhere. Confidence was not part of my nature. My actions were largely controlled by my feelings of inferiority. Perhaps it was the low light of self-doubt that made the following experience such a bright and guiding star.
Third hour I sat near the back of the classroom. My feet extended as far forward as I could stretch them. By sitting in this manner I was scarcely visible from where the teacher sat at her desk in the front.
Friday was the day for current events. When the roll was called, each student had two choices—he could either answer “Prepared” or “Unprepared.” If his response was “Prepared,” he had to give a talk. If his response was “Unprepared,” he didn’t have to do anything. I quickly grasped the idea that the word unprepared was the word that would get me off the hook.
As the weeks went by, each time my name was called I responded almost with dignity, “Unprepared.” My friends also mastered this word. We all, as a group, made it easier for each of us as individuals.
Once as I was visiting with the teacher, I noticed my name in the performance roll book, and behind my name was a long series of negative signs. This worried me but not enough to make me stand up in front of my friends and give a talk. Speaking to a group seemed like the most frightening of all things.
A girl that I liked very much sat in front of me. I liked her so much that on the way to school I would think of clever things to say to her, but when in her presence, my mind would go blank and I would become almost tongue-tied.
One day when the teacher called the roll and got to my name, I replied, “Unprepared.” It was then that this girl did me a great favor. She turned around, looked back at me, and said, “Why don’t you get prepared?” I was not able to listen to any of the reports that day. I kept thinking of all sorts of wonderful things like, “What does she care, unless she cares.”
I went home, found an article in the newspaper, and read it time and again until I had finally committed it to memory. I cut the article out, folded it, placed it in my wallet, and carried it with me all week.
The next Friday I was there in my usual seat in the back. The teacher started to call the roll without looking up. Finally she got to my name; she said, “George.” And very quietly I gave a great speech—I said, “Prepared.” She stopped calling the roll and looked up at me. I poked my head up as far as I could and nodded. The girl turned around and smiled. My friends looked over at me like, “Traitor.” Then I sat waiting my turn, saying to myself, “What have I done?” I was scared. Then I made a magnificent discovery. It was all right to be afraid if I didn’t let it stop me from doing what I should.
My turn came. I went to the front and started to speak. I remembered every word, and after the last word had crossed my lips, I stood there for just a second, and a priceless thought passed my mind and found its way to my heart. I said to myself, “I like you.”
I returned to my seat and sat down. I didn’t hear any of the reports, but as my heart pounded within me, I kept feeling over and over again, “This is the only way to live.”
I have since learned that the word unprepared really does take you off the hook and lead you away from pressure. By learning to say that word you really don’t have to do anything, but you never know the joy of doing something that causes you to say to yourself, “I like myself.”

Ethan M., age 8, Coahuila, Mexico
I was invited to a pool party on Sunday, but I chose not to go. I felt good because I was keeping the Sabbath day holy.

In the marvelous experience of Brigham Young in February of 1847, when the Prophet Joseph appeared to him in a dream or vision, Brigham pleaded to be reunited with the Prophet. Brigham Young asked the Prophet if he had a message for the Brethren. The Prophet said:
“Tell the people to be humble and faithful, and to be sure to keep the spirit of the Lord and it will lead them right. Be careful and not turn away the still small voice; it will teach them what to do and where to go; it will yield the fruits of the kingdom. Tell the Brethren to keep their hearts open to conviction, so that when the Holy Ghost comes to them, their hearts will be ready to receive it.”
The Prophet further directed Brigham Young as follows: “They can tell the Spirit of the Lord from all other spirits; it will whisper peace and joy to their souls; it will take malice, hatred, strife and all evil from their hearts; and their whole desire will be to do good, bring forth righteousness and build up the kingdom of God.” (Manuscript History of Brigham Young: 1846–47, Historical Dept., The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, pp. 528–31.)

For a school project, two of my friends and I decided to raise money to donate to a foundation for children. We worked together to bake cakes and then sold them for a dollar a slice. I was blessed with a warm, happy feeling, and I grew closer with my friends as we worked on this project. I learned how good it feels to serve.
Patrick M., Prince Edward Island, Canada

Children in the Peachwood Ward, Salt Lake Granger Stake, Utah, USA, put together notebooks of the “I Can Play It!” songs. After they practice the songs, they get to play them as prelude music for sharing time.