Gospel Story Finder

My family went to Salt Lake City for a family reunion. Before we left home, we watched the “A Year on Temple Square” videos on children.lds.org, so we knew the best places to visit!
First we went to the Church Office Building to see the observation deck. After that we went to the Lion House to eat rolls. It was Brigham Young’s old house! Later we went to the Church History Museum. The artifacts were so cool! I decided I want sunglasses like Brigham Young’s. At the kid area, I saw some blocks and made two models of Temple Square. One was smaller and had the temple, Tabernacle, office building, and Conference Center. The other had more detailed buildings.
We also went to the family history center to solve a family history mystery (which we did)! Then we came back later to tour the Conference Center (which is a lot more impressive in real life!) and saw lots of the originals of my favorite paintings. We also went to see the Christus in the visitors’ center and took our picture there. And when we came back for a Mormon Tabernacle Choir Pioneer Day concert that night, the temple was all lit up and looked so beautiful!
I really felt the Spirit the entire time because it was almost Pioneer Day, and we were in the land Heavenly Father gave the pioneers. It made me think about how the desert “blossom[ed] as the rose” (Isaiah 35:1) and how the Lord blessed the pioneers tremendously through their hard work so they could live happily. Now I can cross Temple Square off my sightseeing list!

One Sunday I was substituting in a Primary class of particularly rambunctious five-year-olds. The lesson was about love. We began by singing the song “Jesus Said Love Everyone.”
Afterward I commented, “Jesus loves everyone, and we must do that, too.”
Robbie challenged me. “Oh, no, he doesn’t love everyone—he doesn’t love the bad people!”
“Yes, Robbie, he loves everyone.”
“He doesn’t love the robbers.”
“Even the robbers.”
Robbie thought a minute and said, “I know some people he didn’t love—he didn’t love the men who killed him!”
At that point I told Robbie about the Crucifixion.
“When Jesus hung on the cross,” Robbie interrupted me, “did they really put nails in his hands and feet?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, that must have hurt.”
“Yes, it did. Even after that happened, as Jesus hung on the cross in great pain, he said, ‘Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.’ (Luke 23:34.) Jesus was speaking about the men who had placed him on the cross. He asked Heavenly Father to forgive them. Yes, Robbie, Jesus even loved these people, and he forgave them.”
Robbie looked at me, furrowed his brow, and said, “I’m going to ask my dad if Jesus really did say that.”
After class was over, I was walking into sacrament meeting with my family, and I felt a tug on my dress. It was Robbie.
“Sister Wright, my dad says you’re right.”
The tenderness of this experience was that Robbie went from challenging the idea that Jesus could love everyone to a sweet trust of Christ’s unconditional love.

As a young stake president, I met many of the General Authorities when they came to speak at our stake conference. What a wonderful experience! President Hugh B. Brown came to one of our stake conferences just a week before he was called and sustained as a member of the Council of the Twelve. We enjoyed his warm spirit and his good humor. As I helped him put his coat on and walked out to his car with him, I said, “Elder Brown, do you have any personal advice for me?”
His answer was, “Yes. Follow the Brethren.” He did not choose to elaborate or explain, but he left that powerful message: Have the simple faith to follow the Brethren.

Experience 3: One night several years ago while my family traveled home from a campus concert on winter roads, our vehicle began to slide. Unable to regain control, we spun around several times, went off the road, took out a signpost, plowed out about 20 feet of farm fence, and came to rest in a ditch with the driver’s side wheels in the air. We had barely stopped moving when several other cars stopped and their occupants came on the run to administer help. Miraculously, my pregnant wife, my children, and I were shaken but unhurt and our vehicle was largely undamaged, but compassionate, heroic strangers came to our rescue and stayed with us until we could get back out and return home. They didn’t have to, but they did anyway, and it made a difference.

I walked to school one day, my first day in fourth grade and at a new school. I was scared but got to my classroom OK. At recess, I was all alone. I saw Erin* all alone, too. She didn’t have any friends, and other kids made fun of her because she had lived in three foster homes.
I went over and said hi. She started crying. I asked what was wrong. She said that nobody had been that nice to her. It made me feel really warm inside to know that I had made someone feel better.

I remember an experience when I was a young missionary. We met a gentleman during the blessing of a child in church. After the meeting, we exchanged contact information to go to his house and give him the missionary lessons. After teaching him the first lesson, the Spirit was very strong, and the gentleman was very moved by what he had learned. That’s when he asked for our address.

Surprised by that question, my companion and I asked him the reason for such a question. He told us that this message was so important that it would be better for him to come and take the lessons with us. Knowing that the gospel message is based on families, we kindly insisted that we keep going to his house to have the opportunity to teach the other members of his family as well.

Thanks to such an experience, this family is now baptized, sealed in the temple, and live the gospel in great joy. This story teaches and confirms to me that the field is white already to harvest. It also teaches me that if we are worthy, the Holy Ghost will guide us to people that are prepared and will also guide them to us to help them find the path to eternal life.

When I drove home that night, I asked myself, “What kind of father will Pablo be?” And the answer was crystal clear: he’ll be just like his dad. Jesus said, “The Son can do nothing of himself, but what he seeth the Father do.” This is the pattern of how Heavenly Father blesses His children from generation to generation.

As I continued to think about my experience with Pablo, I felt sad because my four daughters were grown and the nine grandchildren I had at the time didn’t live nearby. I then thought, “How could I ever help them the way Pablo’s father helped him? Had too much time gone by?” As I offered a prayer in my heart, the Spirit whispered this profound truth: “It’s never too early and it’s never too late to begin this important process.” I knew immediately what that meant. I could hardly wait to get home. I asked my wife, Sharol, to call all of our children and tell them that we needed to visit with them; I had something really important to tell them. My urgency startled them a little.

We began with our oldest daughter and her husband. I said: “Your mother and I want you to know that we were your age once. We were 31, with a small family. We have an idea of what you might encounter. It might be a financial or health challenge. It may be a crisis of faith. You may just get overwhelmed with life. When these things happen, we want you to come and talk to us. We’ll help you get through them. Now, we don’t want to be in your business all the time, but we want you to know that we are always in your corner. And while we’re together, I want to tell you about an interview I just had with a young man named Pablo.”

After the story, I said, “We don’t want you to miss helping your children and our grandchildren understand these important truths.”

Last year a dear family friend passed away. Lucile was 89 years old and had been a widow for more than 20 years. She was not a rich woman, she was not famous, and most of the world knew nothing of her passing. But her family knew. Her neighbors knew. The members of her ward knew. For all who had experienced her love, her death had left the world a diminished place. During her years as a widow, Lucile had endured difficult challenges, including the death of a beloved grandson and infirmities brought on by age. But Lucile continued to nourish everyone she knew with her spirit, with her baked goods, with her quilts and afghans, with her humor and goodwill. And she loved to work in the temple. One spring day in 1981, she wrote in her journal: “This morning at 3:30 a.m., as I was walking up the path to the temple, I watched the flag gently blowing in the breeze and looked at the beautiful sky and thought how happy I was to be there. I felt sad for all the people who [were] sleeping and missing the awakening of a beautiful day.”

Most of us don’t think the world is “awakening” at 3:30 in the morning, and we’re perfectly happy to roll over in bed about then and allow Lucile to feel sorry for us. But what an attitude! Only a flow of goodness from within could explain it. Did she possess this purity of spirit at 15, at 25, or even 55? I don’t know. In most cases, it probably takes a lifetime of listening to the Holy Ghost before we know God’s voice so well and before we trust in the living waters enough to taste them throughout the entire day—especially a day that begins at 3:30 a.m. But I believe the living waters sustained Lucile during those long years when she might have given way to self-pity, and her life, her spirit, became nourishment to everyone she knew.

His favorite story is of a boy who was told by a lady whose yard he was hired to care for, “If you do a good job, I’ll pay you $3.00. If you do an extraordinary job, I’ll give you $4.00, and a $5.00 job is impossible.” One day after the boy worked harder than he imagined that he could, the amazed lady agreed that he had indeed done a $5.00 job. Devin’s motto, taken from that story, was to always try to do a $5.00 job in everything he undertook to do.

Lisa and I met in the latter part of 1985. The first day I saw her, I thought, “Wow, she is really cute!” After a few dates, I was so impressed that I wanted to see her every day. By April 1986, I knew I was in love. The big challenge was that marriage was not in my plans. I wanted to play golf.

But I quickly found out that when it’s right, it’s right!

We were married four months later. Over the next 39 years and 10 months, I came to realize just how strong, independent, hardworking, determined, and caring Lisa truly is. So often she had the responsibility of caring for our family on her own. She is a champ! She is a loving, kind, and devoted mother. Now, as a grandmother, she brings that same love, devotion, and kindness to her grandchildren. Their eyes light up whenever they see her face or hear her voice.

Newark, New Jersey, isn’t a bad place, I guess, especially for a city that’s been around since 1666. A lot of neat people live there, and there are some beautiful parks and buildings. Branch Brook has lots of Japanese cherry trees. In front of the county courthouse there’s a famous statue of Abraham Lincoln by Gutzon Borglum. Downtown, Military Park offers an oasis amid the shopping centers and offices. Its grass is as green as when colonial troops drilled there during the Revolutionary War.
But Newark’s not in great shape financially. The population is declining. A lot of people and a lot of businesses have left for the suburbs. A lot of the housing has fallen into disrepair. A Congressional Budget Office study ranked Newark as the neediest of 39 needy cities in the entire United States.
In short, Newark’s an interesting place to go tracting. Especially with Elder Michaelson. I don’t mean to complain about my senior companion, understand. But you’d think by the time somebody’s a senior, he’d at least know which train to catch to get home. Elder Michaelson was always taking the wrong train. Other than that we got along okay, but he could never remember street names either.
“After you’ve been out as long as I have, elder,” he would say, “you’ll discover that it’s people that are important, not street names.”
You get the picture. I just nodded my head and wrote down the names of the streets in my notebook. If people are that important, I figured we’d better know how to find them again.
There was one neighborhood, though, that Elder Michaelson knew very well. It was filled with orange brick apartments, rows and rows and rows of them. How he ever found his way around in there I’ll never know. But he knew that a member family lived there, and every time we were in the area, he’d look at their window and wave hello. One day when we were knocking on doors there, we even stopped by to say hi.
“Oh, how are you, elders? Come in, come in,” Sister Baichman chimed.
“We can’t stay,” Elder Michaelson said. “Just stopped by to see how you’re doing.”
Wait! I mumbled to myself. We can afford to stay a minute or two. My feet hurt. I’m tired of having doors closed in my face.
“How’s Becki?” Elder Michaelson asked. “How’s Tom?”
“They’re fine,” Sister Baichman said. “Becki’s going to have a birthday!”
A shy little four-year-old with dark hair and a beautiful smile hid behind her mother, just a little nervous as she chewed on her finger.
“Is that right? How old are you going to be, Becki?”
She didn’t say anything. But she stuck out her hand, all five fingers extended.
“I guess that means you’ll be going to school soon,” Elder Michaelson said. “What are you going to do for your birthday?”
“Nothin’,” Becki said.
“Nothing?”
“We can’t afford it right now,” her mother cut in. “We’ll sing a song and maybe I can get a cake. Ever since her father left …” Her voice trailed away.
“I understand,” Elder Michaelson said. “Well, Becki, you’ll have a good birthday anyway, won’t you? Oh, I almost forgot, this is my new companion, Elder Urrutia. Tell him hello, Becki.”
She hid behind her mother’s skirt. After a minute she looked up again.
“Do you have any other children?” I asked.
“Just one. He’s a boy. He’ll be home from school in an hour.”
“And his name is?”
“Tom.”
“Oh, that’s right. That’s who Elder Michaelson was asking about just a minute ago. It’s nice to get acquainted with all of you.”
We excused ourselves and left. It hadn’t been much of a break from tracting, but it was nice to know somebody behind a door knew how to smile.
“You know, elder,” my companion said a few minutes later, “it’s too bad about Sister Baichman. She and her husband had been married ten years. Then one day he just left.”
“Why?”
“Don’t know. She says he was a good man. Maybe the pressures just got to him. Trying to keep up with the bills is hard when you’ve got a wife and two kids. Anyway, a few months later she joined the Church. She’s got a brother in Short Hills. Maybe you’ll meet him at stake conference. He joined the Church first and got her interested. Now he’s lost his job, and they’re both hurting. The branch members here have been real good to her. I don’t know what she’d have done without the Church. And that little Becki. Isn’t she cute? You know, it’s my birthday in a few days, too. Everybody likes to be remembered on their birthday. I’ll probably get something from home.”
“That would be good,” I said. “I hope it’s something to eat.”
We continued tracting.
Two days later the package came. It was huge.
“What’s inside?” I asked, as he ripped open the paper.
“My family sent me a care package,” he said. “Oh, wow! Look at all this!”
Inside, rolled up, was a big banner that read, “Happy Birthday, Elder!” There was a cake. There were party favors, horns, shiny little hats, balloons, candles, plastic forks and spoons, and matching paper plates, napkins, cups, and a tablecloth.
“Now that’s what I call a care package!” I said.
“All the way from Wyoming,” he said. “My family loves me a lot, and we always made a big deal out of birthdays back home. What will we ever do with all this stuff?”
“We could invite the district leaders over to celebrate,” I suggested.
“I think I’ve got a better idea.”
The next evening, accompanied by some of the branch members, we walked past the orange buildings once again. This time at least I knew some of the directions: third building on the right, fourth floor, apartment 36.
I kept the children distracted while Elder Michaelson took Sister Baichman aside and whispered to her. She nodded her head, then ordered the children to go to their room and wait. Puzzled but obedient, they complied.
As soon as they were gone, the members joined us as we opened the paper sacks we had carried with us. First the banner. We had trimmed the word elder away. Now it just said, “Happy Birthday.” We spread the tablecloth on the card table, the only table in the apartment. We blew up balloons and taped them to the wall. We arranged all of the decorations.
Then we called Becki and Tom.
When they entered the room, they squeeled with delight. We lit the candles and sang “Happy Birthday.” Becki blew out the candles and made a wish. Tom hugged Becki and told her that he loved her, in front of everybody.
And we all got a piece of chocolate cake.
I never cried at a birthday party before. We were only at the Baichman’s apartment for 15 minutes. But by the time we left, I could really feel the tears.
We could have saved Elder Michaelson’s birthday package until preparation day and invited the district over to hold a party in his honor. But Elder Michaelson did have a better idea. Those kids will always remember that the members and missionaries were kind to them. Their mother, a recent convert, will know that the members and the missionaries helped her when she needed help the most. And I learned—well, I learned that even a companion who always takes the wrong train can be right.

Last summer, the Olympic Games were held in Sydney, Australia. Certain rules and disciplines were attached to the various Olympic events: runners and swimmers had to stay in their lanes, shot-putters had to stay within the circle marked on the playing field, wrestlers had to stay on the mat—or the athletes would be disqualified. In addition, the use of performance-enhancing drugs was forbidden.
One young man from Denver, Colorado, who won an Olympic silver medal later was awarded the gold because the gold-medalist in his event was disqualified for using a banned steroid. In his response, he referred to his unfortunate competitor’s loss of the medal:
“I do feel sorry for him. But we all have choices. … He made his choice, and I made my choice. …
“I believe God was watching out for me. I believe he watches out for all of us. I’ve learned so many lessons from how this has taken place. I experienced the agony of defeat before the thrill of victory. That made me so much more of a stronger person, mentally and spiritually.”6

During lunchtime at school, I was talking to my friend, and he told me that he had never been to church or read the scriptures. I told him that I could give him the scriptures. So I went home and asked my mom if I could use the Book of Mormon that the missionaries had left us to give away. I wrote my testimony in the front and took it to school the next day. I gave it to my friend, and he said thank you. I felt good because I was being a missionary.
Brendan J., age 7, Nevada, USA

Third, we must live courageously in accordance with the light and testimony that we have received. We are promised, “He that receiveth light, and continueth in God, receiveth more light; and that light groweth brighter and brighter until the perfect day.” It takes real effort and sacrifice to live the gospel courageously. For some years temple worship for the Saints who live near Manaus, Brazil, has meant traveling two days in a crowded riverboat on the Amazon River, followed by two days’ travel in buses through the hot tropics to the Recife temple. Arriving worn out and tired, they would shower, dress appropriately, and immediately begin their temple worship. After several days of service to the Lord, they would make the long, difficult journey home. The words “but as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord” were beautifully reflected by their sacrificing actions.

“I remember more than 30 years ago when I was first called to be a visiting teacher, I was assigned a young woman who never came to church,” recalls Catherine Carr Humphrey of the Hillside Ward, Rancho Cucamonga California Stake. “She impressed me in those early 1970s as a hippie type. I faithfully went every month and knocked on her door. She would open the inside door but leave the screen door shut. I was never really sure what she looked like. She would not say anything. She would just stand there. I would look cheerful and say, ‘Hi, I’m Cathie, your visiting teacher.’ And as she would say nothing, I would say, ‘Well, our lesson today is on …’ and try briefly to say something uplifting and friendly. When I was through, she would say, ‘Thank you,’ and shut the door.
“I did not like going there. I felt embarrassed. But I went because I wanted to be obedient. After about seven or eight months of this, I got a phone call from the bishop.
“‘Cathie,’ he said, ‘the young woman you visit teach just had a baby who lived only a few days. She and her husband are going to have a graveside service, and she asked me to see if you would come and be there with her. She said you are her only friend.’
“I went to the cemetery. The young woman, her husband, the bishop, and I were at the graveside. That was all. I had seen her only once a month for a few minutes at a time. I hadn’t even been able to tell through the screen door that she was expecting a baby, yet even my inept but hopeful visiting had blessed us both.”

Fast forward a decade. I was married and had three children when I got ahold of the family candle time binder. I could hardly contain my excitement to recreate the sacred and sweet memories of my childhood. However, the first night of candle time was a disaster. Pillow fights, scuffles over personal space, and bickering among my children resulted in the candle falling over and spilling melted wax on our carpet. This wasn’t how I remembered candle time!
My husband and I reflected on our family situation and talked about ways to help my childhood tradition become our family’s tradition. We learned that a family tradition must be realistic, unique, flexible, and viewed as an opportunity rather than an obligation. Identifying the purpose behind the practice increased our potential for peace and joy. Reframing my view of candle time and letting go of a set ideal helped me claim joy rather than guilt. I now look forward to our candle time, and my children love it as well.

Anthon stepped from his doorway onto the cobbled street, hesitated, and turned back to his wife—“the best in the land” he called her.
“Are you coming, Ibine?”
His wife stepped out of the doorway. She was wrapped in woolen scarves and a heavy coat. The February night was icy cold. Their destination was the seashore, a few blocks from their home. The children followed Ibine out the door. Thorvald and Astra were too young to be baptized but not too young to be excited for their parents. Only Anthon didn’t feel excited. He was quiet and pensive while walking along the clean-swept streets of Aalborg.
The night was very dark. The children cuddled close to their parents. The hand of tiny Thorvald squeezed his father’s, and pretty little Astra clung to Ibine. Anthon looked down at Thor and remembered his own childhood. He remembered the cows he had herded, the wooden shoes he had worn in winter, his own sister who had died in a terrible blizzard too far from home to get help. He remembered the worried look of his father who couldn’t support his family of nine during the mid-1800s war with Germany. He remembered working from 2:00 in the morning until 11:00 at night on a farm in order to help. He remembered crying in bed at night. “I wondered what I was sent on this earth for. I couldn’t see what good I was doing. All I could see ahead was endless work to no real worthwhile end.”
The frigid cold gripped Anthon’s face, and he wondered if the children or Ibine were uncomfortable. The chilling breeze made him think of glacier ice, and he remembered learning that ice-age glaciers had left his Denmark an undulating flatland so suited to farming and agriculture. He was grateful that at least a few years of formal education were mandatory—that his country believed in the virtues of learning and working. He saw ships’ masts in the harbor poking above the fields.
He and his family were nearing the place where they would be baptized. A sick feeling of loneliness hit him in his stomach. “My homeland, my forefathers, all that has been good to me—am I giving up their trust in me for a far-fetched religion sprouted in a distant, upstart country?”
Every member of the Mormon church who lived in Aalborg was there on the seashore, some holding lanterns. It was a small but cheery group. They sang hymns and smiled. But Anthon was still quiet. He looked into the faces of his beautiful children and wondered if he was doing what was right for them. He knew he would have to find a private school for them because the prejudice in the public schools against the few Mormon children was too much for such young children to bear.
The singing was over. A prayer was given to open the meeting. The missionaries asked a blessing on Brother and Sister Jensen that as they were baptized they would not fall ill from the freezing temperatures. A hole was chopped in the ice. The sacred ordinance was performed for both Anthon and his wife, Ibine. The two new members were welcomed with hugs and handshakes and sent quickly home to a warm fireplace. It was then that Anthon noticed something special—something unexpected. On their way home he found himself walking, almost skipping, with lightened step—his wife and children smiling at him all the way. The heavy burdens of worry had been lifted. He knew he had done the right thing, and above all he knew now that there was something important for him to do in life.
“I went to my former friend and minister the next day to bear him my testimony. I was so happy that I felt I could convert the whole world, and I wanted to,” he later recorded. “I wanted everyone to feel the peace and the joy that came with my baptism. And the most wonderful thing of all, I had an assurance that greater joys and greater knowledge were yet in store—not only for me but for my beautiful family.”

When it seems like “Been there; done that” is the reaction to every suggestion made in planning youth activities, then you might try what members in the High Wycombe Ward in the Staines England Stake did. Think of something challenging and interesting, then see if it can be done.
The teens suggested that it might be great fun to record their own CD for their super activity. That meant writing the lyrics, performing the music, and, before anything else, making assignments.
What kind of song could they write? First, it had to include everyone, and some people readily admitted that singing was something they’d rather listen to than do. They agreed that to include everyone, they really needed something simple with some sections to pull in everyone. Lindsey Judd, a Mia Maid, agreed to write the lyrics. One of the Young Men leaders agreed to compose a background track.
Next came the practicing. The date for the recording came, and 19 youth and 5 leaders drove to a small recording studio for what turned out to be a three-hour recording session. The professional musicians who ran the studio were overwhelmed to have 19 teens crowding into the small studio. Some parts took many retakes to get right, and other parts made it in one take. Every teen participated; every voice was recorded. The musicians asked some meaningful questions about the young people, who asked if they could say a prayer after the session was over.
The best parts of the day didn’t end up on the recording. MaLanie Robison said, “I learned how important it is for everyone to work together as a team. When we were all singing together, all bunched up around the microphones, I kept thinking how cool it was that each person, with his own unique talents and differences, could become one and sing about our similar belief in the Savior.”
“I think our recording of a CD was great,” said Richard Holt. “It taught us the importance of teamwork, patience, and, most important of all, we proclaimed the gospel.”
With the CD finished, the young people discovered that words put to music really make them easier to remember. “I think it was good,” said Camilla Warren, “to give the song words that remind us of our standards.”
So, as their song says, “Whether you’re in Malibu or in Timbuktu, if you pray with faith, He’ll always be there. He’ll be there to guide you and to answer your prayer.”
And in the background, you’ll hear the High Wycombe Ward youth humming along.

When Brigham Young and his brother Joseph Young went to see Joseph Smith in 1832, they found him chopping wood, for, as Wilford Woodruff said, “he was a labouring man, and gained his bread by the sweat of his brow.” The Prophet, according to the account of this meeting, “received them gladly, invited them to his house, and they rejoiced together in the Gospel of Christ, and their hearts were knitted together in the spirit and bond of union.”8

“Did you sing that song when you were in Primary?” Jessica asked.
“No, ‘Families Can Be Together Forever’ hadn’t been written yet when I was in Primary. Several years after Grandpa passed away, Grandma heard the Primary children sing it in sacrament meeting. She felt the Spirit so strongly that she was sure Heavenly Father was speaking right to her. Grandma loved the words because they gave her comfort in knowing that her family could be together forever.”