Gospel Story Finder

We all need a standard, something to compare our behavior with, to help us decide what a practical goal of goodness is. And most of us choose people to compare ourselves with. I learned long ago that it matters who you choose for that comparison. Let me tell you how I learned.
Years ago, before adolescence hit me, I read a book called Gospel Ideals. It was a collection of excerpts from the talks of President David O. McKay. One chapter described how you would know when you were in love and, therefore, how you should view and treat women. His lofty words more than touched my heart: I felt a confirmation that they were true. Without telling anyone, I took David O. McKay’s words as one of my standards of goodness. Five or six years later, I was playing basketball with a very fine team in a league in a city. … Up to that point, I had never had a date. And I had no sisters, so what I thought I knew about girls and how to treat them came mostly from the visions I got from Gospel Ideals. I remember riding home one night from a game. … I sat in the back seat of the car. They talked about girls. … I can remember, as I listened to them, the thought coming into my mind: “I have been wrong. Those ideals about girls and how you should feel about them, how you should treat them, they are unrealistic.”
Luckily, in a few years I learned that they were wrong and President McKay was right. Or perhaps, in fairness to those young men, I learned that what I thought they had said, what I thought they had felt, what I thought they actually did, were not the true standard of goodness.

Fortunately, there are seldom-reported but marvelous-to-consider stories of great patience. Recently I attended the funeral of a lifelong friend. His son told a beautiful story of parental patience. When the son was in his youth, his dad owned a motorcycle dealership. One day they received a shipment of shiny new motorcycles, and they lined them all up in the store. The boy did what every boy would like to do, and he climbed up on the closest one. He even started it up. Then, when he figured he had pushed his luck far enough, he jumped off. To his dismay, his dismount knocked the first bike down. Then, like a string of dominoes, they all went down, one after another. His dad heard the commotion and looked out from behind the partition where he was working. Slowly, smiling, he said, “Well, son, we had better fix one up and sell it, so we can pay for the rest of them.”
I think my friend’s response personifies parental patience.

Each year the young men and young women from my ward take a caroling trip to a home for people with mental disabilities who don’t have families to take care of them. One year, the youth were split into three groups to sing carols to the residents. My group sang to a few older men, who sang along with us. One even helped conduct the songs!
After we finished singing to them, we joined another group of youth who were singing to women ranging in age from young adults to the elderly. Most of the people in our audience were smiling, and some were even singing along. We felt the Spirit as we saw the joy on their faces. They were so happy to have us there, because some of the residents had families who never visited them, even during the holidays.
After we finished our last song, our ward’s Young Women president told one of the elderly women that it was her turn. This woman had a song she liked to sing to every group that visited, and she was eager to share it with us.
As she began to sing her song, the Spirit in the room grew stronger with every word. Soon, some of the other women began to join in. I felt tears come to my eyes as we listened.
I doubt anyone in the room could deny that the Holy Ghost was present. We left with a reverent attitude and with a strong feeling of gratitude for the opportunity to serve.

For example, President Henry B. Eyring, First Counselor in the First Presidency, remembers when, as a young man, he’d convinced himself he couldn’t understand math. His dad thought otherwise and helped him through his homework. “I can’t remember the gifts my dad wrapped and gave to me” for holidays, he said. “But I remember the chalkboard and his quiet voice. … Because he had spent time [studying as a boy], he and I could have that time at the chalkboard and he could help me.”1

For a long time a good friend of mine has put down my religion. She is a strong Christian and her father is a minister, so she always had “facts” about how the Church was wrong. I tried to ignore her and change the subject because I didn’t want to ruin our friendship. Her comments continued, so I finally told her that even if she didn’t believe it, it was my religion. I believed it, and it hurt me and our friendship when she criticized me. We talked a little about what she said that bugged me, and we haven’t had any problems since.
Kimmie B., 16, Arizona

Basketball was just about everything to me when I was in high school. I ate, drank, slept basketball and relished being a starter and "star" on the varsity team. Knowing how much all this meant to me, my Mom and Dad gave me a most unique Christmas gift my senior year in high school--a gift that I will never forget and will always cherish. It probably didn't cost much money. I had received much more expensive gifts and all kinds of electronic gadgets that have long since been forgotten and are now moldering and rusting in some garbage dump. This gift was truly priceless, because it could never be replaced and it represented my parents' deep love for me.

My mother found a ceramic figurine of a basketball player in the dime store (for you youngsters not familiar with the term "dime store" just think of it as pre-Wal-Mart). She had it sandblasted and the paint stripped from it and then repainted it with my school colors, my jersey number on it, and my name on the back. The player even looked like me--same hair color and style--and extremely handsome and very buff--a real "hottie!" She even had our high school logo painted on the basketball the player was holding. Mom then placed the little figurine in a box and wrapped it in my school colors. It was really a cool gift! I kept it in my bedroom, took it to my dorm room when I went away to college, displayed in our apartment after we were married, moved it from house to house, and it finally landed permanently in my office when I started my teaching career. It meant so much to me. It was truly unique--because no one had one like it, but more than that, it was symbolic of the love my parents had for me.

My two oldest boys, Kahia who is nine and Makani who is six, love to surf. This slide here is a picture of my six year-old Makani. Over the last year and a half we have been taking a group of their friends on regular surfing sessions here in Laie. About three weeks ago, we all went out to Mokuauia, or Goat Island, to surf the waves that break off the island's reef. Since Mokuauia is about a ¼ mile off shore, we decided to paddle to the island on kayaks from Temple Beach. With our surfboards in tow, we headed out into the clear calm waters of Laie bay. The water was beautiful, but the waves were small. Unlike the stories I've shared thus far, our kids didn't pray for the waves to stop, they instead prayed that the waves would get. While we waited, nine year-old D'arman Natoa noticed that a large humpback whale was swimming about 200 yards directly outside of us. Staring in amazement, we then watched her slap her large white-spotted, black tail on the surface of the water. As she repeatedly slapped and splashed, the kids cheered with excitement. Moments later, waves began coming our way. The kids believed that the whale's tail splashing was making the waves bigger. Although a scientific explanation may not corroborate this story, the kids believed that the whale was sent as an answer to their prayers. As we later paddled our vessels back home, the whale, still lounging in the same spot, waved his side fin high in the air, as if saying, "A hui hou, goodbye". And To my surprise, the children waved back in gratitude, "Mahalo, see you later!" Even I, a life-long ocean goer, had never seen anything quite like this. The innocence of their belief allowed us all to witness something miraculous that day. I was also reminded why Jesus asks us to be like little children, because they are so quick to believe. Although we did not get a photograph of that whale, this shot of Kahia sharing a wave with a honu, or turtle, captures a similar experience of being watched over by God's great ocean creatures.

I have a little bit of a strained relationship with my brother, Michael. Just normal sibling stuff, like we get on each other’s nerves. But I’d been praying to God for a few weeks to bless Michael and to help me love him and be kind to him.
Then one Sunday in sacrament meeting, my brother was up at the sacrament table so that he could bless the bread. While the bread was being passed, I said another little prayer in my head: “Lord, please bless my brother Michael with happiness.”
In that moment, I just felt this enormous sense of love for my brother, and I realized how much God loved him. The feeling was quiet and reverent, but it was extremely powerful to me.
After the sacrament, Michael came and sat down. It felt so awkward, but I turned to him and told him that God loves him.
I have felt God’s love for people around me, and I’ve felt it for me personally. I know that He loves you, too.

I recently attended a YSA stake conference. I was late, as usual, and felt like all eyes were on me as I slid into an empty seat near the back. I folded my arms and sat quietly, trying to focus on the Spirit and the songs, but it all turned into garbled noise.
This sort of thing—a group of faithful peers singing and worshipping together—should be uplifting and spiritual, right? So why couldn’t I feel it? Why wouldn’t my mind stop racing? And why did this keep happening?
Eventually the meeting ended, and I left in tears.
When I was little, my hyperactive, daydreaming tendencies were written off as childhood quirks. But these struggles persisted into my teens. In Young Women, other girls shared moving experiences and spiritual growth. I struggled to remember to read my scriptures and pray. Others bore moving testimonies, while sharing mine felt like I was reciting a script.
Shortly after starting college, I was diagnosed with attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD). Suddenly a lot of struggles in my life—being constantly disorganized, distracted, and forgetful—made sense. I began treatment, found organizational strategies to help with school, and slowly learned to be more patient with myself.
Despite improvements in other areas of my life, my church experiences didn’t change. I was trying my best, but meetings remained overwhelming. Church should be something I looked forward to, but it wasn’t.
Something needed to change, but I didn’t know where to start.
A few weeks after that YSA stake conference, I listened to general conference. I was hoping to find answers from our leaders but was disheartened when the first day passed without any new direction from the Spirit.
Then, in the middle of the second day’s afternoon session, I had a prompting: start writing.
Somewhat reluctantly, I began scribbling down the thoughts that came to mind. What I ended up with was something I’d never thought to write before: a list of ways living the gospel was difficult for me specifically because of my symptoms of ADHD. Here are a few:
ADHD inhibits the ability to regulate focus. Regular study and worship are key to receiving valuable inspiration and insight, but because they are routine, it can be hard for me to concentrate on the spiritual aspect.
While some people can build a habit after a few days or weeks, someone with ADHD can find it difficult to create routines. Scripture study and prayer are meant to be daily habits. But for someone with ADHD, it can take a lot of effort to keep up with them.
ADHD can make it hard to regulate emotions. Overwhelming emotions can lead to sudden outbursts. For some, it can also be difficult to recognize their own feelings or the feelings of others.
We may desire to be meek like the Savior but find ourselves overwhelmed by frustration. We may have trouble discerning the Spirit, which can make us feel isolated when others seem to recognize the Spirit easily.
Impulsivity can make us feel like our intentions never quite line up with our actions.
The gospel preaches repentance. But sometimes, despite a sincere desire to change, we find ourselves impulsively acting on old temptations. It can be discouraging when our righteous intentions fall apart in the face of split-second impulses.
Often, those with ADHD struggle to plan, organize, prioritize, or begin tasks. Even minor tasks can become paralyzing and exhausting.
Though not in a bad way, the gospel can require more of our time. Serving others and gathering to learn are wonderful opportunities. But balancing these extra priorities can add to the feelings of overwhelm in everyday life.
After writing out how ADHD affects my discipleship, I realized something important—these challenges weren’t moral failings. They were mortal struggles.
President Russell M. Nelson taught, “As you think celestial, you will view trials and opposition in a new light.” I received that light—and with it, a new perspective. From there, I started looking for solutions.
I used to think that spiritual improvement looked the same for every person. Now I can accept that improvement may look a little different for me. The Lord knows me (see John 10:14), and He knows my specific challenges. I began praying for ideas for how to work with my challenges instead of against them.
When I use a fidget toy during personal prayers to stay focused, I know He sees my desire to communicate with Him. When I exercise to clear my mind instead of sitting quietly, I know He sees my desire for inspiration.
There are still days I struggle. Sister Joy D. Jones, former Primary General President, reminds us that “the Lord loves effort. … He doesn’t expect perfection today.” So, when I find myself slipping back into old habits, I know that I can pause and recenter myself on Christ.
With Christ’s help, I’m working to replace feelings of guilt and shame over my shortcomings with kindness toward myself—the same kindness and mercy that the Lord already has for me.
This will be a lifelong battle, but I know Jesus Christ will continue to help me face it and thrive.

Valeria Pontelli of Río Gallegos, Santa Cruz, Argentina, didn’t set out to convert her friend. She simply lived her standards with conviction. Because she is a member of the Church, there were certain things she did and certain things she didn’t do, and all her friends knew it. One of those friends was Paula Alvarez, who always watched Valeria closely and was impressed with how faithfully and consistently she lived her beliefs.
Paula had a wonderful family, but they didn’t have the gospel—at least not until Valeria came on the scene. Paula remembers, “Valeria was not ashamed of the testimony she had. She knew who she was. She knew she was a daughter of a royal and eternal King, a daughter of God.”
That knowledge and confidence impressed Paula’s uncle, Moises. He began investigating the Church and meeting with the missionaries. The day he announced he was getting baptized, Paula was a little shocked. She hadn’t expected her uncle to be willing to make such big changes in his life.
The whole family was invited to the baptism, but Paula was hesitant to attend. She didn’t know what to expect. Finally, her family convinced her to accompany them to her uncle’s baptism. Paula remembers, “As we witnessed my uncle entering the waters of baptism, the Spirit touched my heart. The impact was deep, even undeniable. In that moment I also wanted to commit myself to God and do whatever He might ask of me.”
“May I speak to you?” Paula said, pulling Valeria aside. “I felt something special at my uncle’s baptism,” she explained quietly.
Valeria told her friend she had felt the promptings of the Spirit. “He’s telling you that you need to follow your uncle’s example.”
“But I can’t do it alone,” said Paula.
“Don’t worry. I’ll help you,” assured her friend. Before long, Paula and her whole family were meeting with the missionaries and accepting the invitation to be baptized. Their lives changed forever.

Michelle and I have been best friends since last December, when she moved here. Her family went to a different church until our ward members asked them to come to our church the next Sunday. Michelle really liked Primary. Her sisters, Rachael and Molly, went to Young Women, and they loved it.
The following Sunday, only Rachael and Molly came. On Monday, I asked Michelle why she had not come. She told me that she hadn’t had time to get ready. I told her that she could be late if she needed to be, as long as she came.
I invited her to Achievement Day that week. She asked what that was. I told her that there were different groups, depending on age. She said that she was ten, so I told her that she would be in my group. She was excited and asked her parents if she could come. They said yes. She didn’t know anybody there. I introduced her to everybody. Now we are all very good friends. The next week, missionaries started to teach her family, and they are now baptized!

But I often felt out of place at church because I was learning so many new things. I bought some new long skirts to replace my short ones. When I wore them to church, I found out they were still too short to meet Church standards. I didn’t understand what my friends meant when they used Church-related abbreviations. I was too nervous and shy to ask them the meanings of things.
What helped was the teens befriending me and taking time to include me. They seemed to have a natural way of caring for new members. Another thing that helped was visualizing my family in the next life. I never wanted them to be disappointed in me for not living the gospel when I knew it to be true. Even though times were difficult when I was a teenager, I tried to think of the future and my responsibility to my family. If I did not live the gospel, how would my family ever have a chance of accepting it?

From the time of his youth, Joseph understood that a great key to cultivating humility is to seek our Heavenly Father through sincere, heartfelt prayer. Daniel Tyler, an early Church member, recalled a time in Kirtland when many had turned against the Prophet. Brother Tyler, present in a meeting where the Prophet prayed with the congregation for the Lord’s help, described the experience in these words:
“I had heard men and women pray … , but never until then had I heard a man address his Maker as though He was present listening as a kind father would listen to the sorrows of a dutiful child. Joseph was at that time unlearned, but that prayer, which was to a considerable extent in behalf of those who accused him of having gone astray … , partook of the learning and eloquence of heaven. … It appeared to me as though, in case the vail were taken away, I could see the Lord standing facing His humblest of all servants I had ever seen.”9

“I have received far too many blessings from just keeping my recommend current to not hold it dear to my heart. Twelve months after my baptism I went to my first and only young single adult convention. I was assigned to a service project at a farm, but at the last minute some spaces opened up on the temple service project. I had my recommend and appropriate clothing with me, so I went and while there I met a friend who introduced me to my future husband by the end of the week. For an assortment of reasons, we couldn’t initially be sealed in the temple, so I didn’t get endowed until later. In following a prompting to go to the temple for my endowment, I was blessed with my first child the very same week. Throughout my pregnancy, I continued to go to the temple every month until my son was born. From that, I was blessed with new friendships in a new ward and a stronger testimony and an understanding of God’s plan. Two months after the birth of my son, the temples closed and I went through some of the greatest trials of my life thus far, but because of what I’ve learned in staying worthy of my recommend and using it often, my faith never failed through my trials. I struggled, I felt weak, but my faith remained steadfast.” —Marie Cranston, Melbourne, Australia

“Dear brothers and sisters, my talk is on friendship with my next-door neighbor, Shawn Bell, whom most of you know.
“When Shawn first moved next door, there was always trouble between us. The first day I saw Shawn, he threw a toy truck at me and hit me in the face, which gave me two scars, one underneath my nose and one above my left eye.
“When I was in kindergarten, I went to the morning class and Shawn went to the afternoon class. Shawn would wait for me on his way to school as I would be coming home. He would beat me up and go on to school, and I would go home with a bloody nose or a fat lip.
“When I was nine, I was baptized into the Church. That’s when Shawn started going to church with me, and then last February he was baptized into the Church. Since Shawn and I have been going to Church together, we’ve acted like brothers and we’ve had fun in Scouts together. Scouting has helped Shawn and me do things together without much trouble.
“The meaning of this talk is the meaning of a fair friendship. I hope you, too, will bring one of your deadly enemies into the Church. I know the Church is true.” (Matt Taylor.)

My wife, Sarah, was 24 weeks pregnant when she started having a lot of pain. I gave her a blessing and then left for work. I was still at work when she called me home to take her to the hospital.
“Your baby’s coming,” we were told when we arrived. Since Sarah was only 24 weeks along, the baby’s best chance of survival was an emergency C-section.
“Your wife doesn’t need to go through any additional trauma,” the doctor told me. “She’s going to lose the baby anyway.”
Sarah and I talked and prayed about what the doctor had said. We felt that if there was any chance our baby could survive, we needed to take that chance. We had experienced difficulty having children. Our oldest son, Taylor, is adopted. When Sarah got pregnant two years after we adopted Taylor, we felt that it was a miracle. Now we needed a second miracle.
A little while later, a specialist came to us and said, “I think we may have time to get your wife to a children’s hospital in El Paso, Texas, that is equipped to care for premature and critically ill newborns. The baby will have a chance there!”
An ambulance pulled away from our local hospital with Sarah and sped toward the children’s hospital 45 minutes away. I followed close behind, pleading with the Lord in prayer to give us a miracle. I promised Him that I would stay on the gospel path and try to be better.
At the hospital, I told the doctor in the neonatal intensive care unit: “We know we have already had one miracle with my wife’s pregnancy. Now we expect another one.”
The birth went well, and our baby survived. After she spent four and a half months in the neonatal intensive care unit, we brought Shanna home. We had received a second miracle. Not many years later, we received yet another miracle—the Lord blessed us with twins.
Shanna has a slightly low IQ, and she’s in a wheelchair, but she’s full of joy, always positive, and a friend to everyone. She loves to tell you about her day, and she’s excited about life. She keeps us smiling and teaches us to be happy. We love her and are grateful for her. Shanna is truly a blessing.

Bishop Keo
David Keo was the bishop of my late teen-aged years. He was quite formidable. He came to our house one Saturday morning to see me. Mom let him in and he knocked on my bedroom door. He said, “Boy, this is Bishop.” I opened the door and he motioned for me to come and sit at the dining room table. When I sat down, he said, “You are going on a mission. This Sunday you will start your paperwork. I will sustain you as the 2nd Counselor in the Young Men’s Presidency and an Assistant Scout Master to Larry Nihipali. You will also be the Deacon’s Quorum advisor. Any questions?”
I said, “No.” And so, it was. And so, I served, in the Ward, and in The Santa Rosa California Mission; the best mission in the world.
Would I have served a mission if Bishop Keo hadn’t come to the house? At that stage in my educational life, maybe, maybe not.
Did I understand what I was getting into by accepting those callings? At that stage in my educational life, No, but I learned quickly that I had to be an example to those 12-year-olds and oddly enough, it kept me in line upon line, upon line, upon line, until I learned.

Let me tell you of another contemporary giant who, having learned the lessons of this world in an absolutely brilliant way, also loved this university with every fiber of his being and gave his life in service and sacrifice at Brigham Young University.

In the last weeks of his presidency at BYU, it was decided that Rex Lee would argue a complicated case brought by the ACLU involving BYU’s Off-Campus Housing Program to the Tenth Circuit Court of Appeals in January 1996. Several of us accompanied Rex and Janet, his wife, to Denver on January 24. The weather was cold and very wintry. Janet was worried about whether Rex was strong enough to make the trip, but earlier that week he had successfully convinced one of his doctors that it was very important that he go to Denver to make the argument. Any other outcome would have been absolutely unacceptable to him. And so it was that on January 24, this small entourage with Rex in his wheelchair, oxygen bottle on his lap, boarded a flight to Denver. The weather in Denver was bad, we were late getting into the hotel, and Rex was visibly tired by the trip.

The next morning we all left for the courthouse from the hotel in the teeth of a blizzard. It was very cold, and Rex, his little frame bundled up in a magnificent blue overcoat—a gift from his good and special friend, Jon Huntsman—looked terribly frail. But he was full of good cheer, optimistic, and cracking jokes about the handcart company on its way to the Tenth Circuit Court.

We made our way to the second floor of the courthouse to wait for our case to be called. Rex remained in his wheelchair, and the rest of us stood around discussing last-minute questions and generally passing the time. Rex’s good humor had returned, and it was obvious that he was “up” for the argument. And it is here where the true story begins. Rex Lee, a very successful lawyer, university president, law school dean, and solicitor general of the United States (often called the Tenth Justice of the Supreme Court) was in the courthouse, and most of the lawyers who walked by paid their respects either with a nod, a hello, or, in the case of several Salt Lake attorneys, with a warm personal greeting—all with an air of great respect and deference, which Rex clearly appreciated.

Finally our turn came, and Rex wheeled himself into the courtroom and to a spot adjoining one of the counsel tables. When the other lawyers finished their argument, the attorney for the ACLU took the stand to argue the appellant’s side of the case. The courtroom was full of lawyers and some clients, and during the ACLU argument there was the usual bustle and inattention on the part of everyone except those directly involved in the argument. It seemed, at that point, like simply another case—one of perhaps eight or so that morning, one involving a remote issue of law without any far-reaching consequences for anyone except the litigants involved.

At the conclusion of the appellant’s argument, Rex wheeled himself to the center of the courtroom, carefully adjusted his oxygen bottle on the floor alongside the wheel of his chair, and reached up to the microphone on the podium, bringing it down close to his mouth so that he might be heard: “Good morning, your Honors. I am Rex Lee, counsel for Brigham Young University.” Suddenly there was an air of anticipation. One of the great lawyers of this century was addressing the Tenth Circuit Court of Appeals. One or two of the lawyers who were working on their own cases set their notebooks down and began to listen. The argument followed, and Rex drew obvious strength from the exchange he had with the judges. His voice was stronger; he was animated; there was a chuckle here and a wise observation there. Soon everyone in that courtroom was watching and listening to the master at work. The place was quiet, like a church. Rex argued. The court responded. Rex, the ultimate advocate, and this fine panel of judges were completely engaged. It was his last argument—clear, lucid, direct, thoughtful, evidencing a magnificent grasp of the cases. He was in his element. It was almost a final sermon. His text was the law, his congregation the court, and his subject was Brigham Young University, his beloved alma mater—its history, its traditions, its values, and its very purpose. It was a place that had touched his very soul, and his love for the university was absolutely clear.

All too soon the argument was over, but Rex had left an absolutely indelible impression, one never to be forgotten, on everyone in that courtroom. From where I sat, it appeared to me that Janet had tears in her eyes, and maybe she, too, recognized that there would be few moments like this left for her dear husband, whom she had so fiercely protected for so long. It was a magnificent moment for us all.

The trip home was hard though, and we arrived in Provo at about midnight. The next day, a Friday, Rex was still full of good cheer, but by the day after that he was back in the hospital, worn and spent. The price Rex paid to make that argument was greater than perhaps any of us realized at the time. I think Janet knew. Rex had given everything he had to the university for a period of nearly 30 years. This was his last gift of love to BYU.

One other matter. I remember some years ago, a young man and his wife and little children moved to our Arizona community. As we got acquainted with them, he told me of the rigorous youth he had spent as he grew up. He’d had to get up at five and six o’clock in the morning and go out and deliver papers. He’d had to work on the farm, and he’d had to do many things that were still rankling in his soul. Then he concluded with this statement: “My boys are never going to have to do that.” And we saw his boys grow up and you couldn’t get them to do anything. They left off their Church activity and nothing seemed very important to them.

One Sunday morning in a nursing home in the valley, I witnessed the presentation of a beautiful gift as a young girl shared her musical talent with those lonely and elderly men and women who yearned not for food or for clothing but for someone who cared, someone who shared, and someone who provided a “hyacinth” for the soul.
A hush fell over the wheelchair-confined audience as the girl took bow in hand and played on her violin a beautiful melody. At the conclusion, one patient audibly declared, “My dear, that was lovely.” Then she began to clap her hands to express approval. A second patient joined in clapping, then a third, a fourth, and soon everyone applauded.
Together the young girl and I walked out of the nursing home. She said to me, “I have never played better. I have never felt better.” She had been guided by God and led by the Lord. Aches, pains, despair, and sadness had been conquered. Compassion had gained the victory.