Gospel Story Finder

Shortly after I was called to serve as a stake president in 1987, I talked with a good friend who recently had been released as a stake president. During our conversation I asked him what he would teach me about becoming an effective stake president. His answer to my question had a profound impact upon my subsequent service and ministry.
My friend indicated he had been called to serve as a temple worker soon after his release. He then said: “I wish I had been a temple worker before I was a stake president. If I had served in the temple before my call to serve as a stake president, I would have been a very different stake president.”
I was intrigued by his answer and asked him to explain further. He responded: “I believe I was a good stake president. The programs in our stake ran well, and our statistics were above average. But serving in the temple has expanded my vision. If I were called today to serve as a stake president, my primary focus would be on worthiness to receive and honor temple covenants. I would strive to make temple preparation the center of all that we did. I would do a better job of shepherding the Saints to the house of the Lord.”
That brief conversation with my friend helped me as a stake president to teach relentlessly about and testify of the eternal importance of temple ordinances, temple covenants, and temple worship. The deepest desire of our presidency was for every member of the stake to receive the blessings of the temple, to be worthy of and to use frequently a temple recommend.

On a beautiful summer morning, our family attended the Special Olympics to watch our son Scott participate. The Special Olympics are held each year to allow people with disabilities to enjoy friendly competition. We observed that as the runners were taking their positions for the fifty-yard dash, they were being encouraged by special friends affectionately known as huggers. Seconds before the start of the race, these huggers took their places at the finish line of the race. It didn’t matter who crossed the finish line first. What did matter was that every runner completed the race and that every runner received a congratulatory hug. Both the courageous runners and the caring huggers taught important principles of truth.

It happened on December 16, 1991—our eighth wedding anniversary. On that day our first son died as the result of a babysitter’s actions. He was only two and a half months old.
The following months and years were clouded by sadness, anger, disappointment, and hopelessness. The personal turmoil that overcame me is indescribable. Nothing anyone said or did eased my pain.
I read many books and scriptures, but none of them satisfied my cry for answers.
I had the rare opportunity to counsel with Elder James E. Faust (1920–2007), then of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, because of his friendship with my parents. (He met my mother, Flavia, and her family while serving his mission in Brazil.) I was certain Elder Faust would be able to comfort me.
I asked many questions while he patiently listened. Elder Faust acknowledged that what I had experienced was certainly painful and extremely difficult. He shared several scriptures and talked about the need to work through my grief and find total submission to the Lord’s will in order to be reunited with my son again. He said, “Sylvia, this is about you now. I realize you are worried about your son, but in reality, you should be worried about yourself and how to rebuild your life. It won’t be easy, but you can mend your heart through the Atonement of Jesus Christ.”
He then gave me a blessing that I would be able to understand the vital role Jesus Christ plays in our existence and allow Him to be the source of strength I needed.
I left our meeting still discouraged; his counsel seemed so simple and yet so unattainable. My mother felt hopeless as well since nothing she said to me seemed to help. I recall her saying, “Please have faith and hope in our Savior, and allow time to heal your wounds.”
In my personal journey to attain joy once again, I decided to take to heart the advice I had been given and find out what it truly meant to put my faith in the Savior. Things didn’t change immediately. But day by day and year by year, with the help of prayer and a growing testimony, I came to know without a doubt that the Savior can heal our wounds.
I realize that not everyone can have the opportunity to meet with an Apostle, as I did. But everyone can—and does—have the opportunity to know the Savior and to cast his or her burdens on Him. And yes, the presence of Jesus Christ in our lives can ease any pain.
I know that having the Lord in our lives can bring joy to our existence. He is our friend, our teacher, and an example of enduring to the end. He truly endured all things, and He knows what we are suffering (see Alma 7:11–12). His Atonement has brought about the miracle of putting broken pieces back together in this life in preparation for the next.
I will always be grateful for Elder Faust’s and my mother’s words. They helped me realize that whatever my hardship may be, Jesus Christ is the one constant source of support and hope I have.

Guy de Maupassant, the French writer, tells the story of a peasant named Hauchecorne. While walking through the public square, he caught sight of a piece of string lying on the cobblestones. He picked it up and put it in his pocket.
Later in the day the loss of a purse was reported. Hauchecorne was arrested and taken before the mayor. He protested his innocence, showing that it was only a piece of string that he had picked up. But he was not believed and was laughed at.
The next day the purse was found, and Hauchecorne was absolved [cleared] of any wrongdoing. But, resentful of the false accusation, he became embittered and would not let the matter die. Unwilling to forgive and forget, he thought and talked of little else. Everyone he met had to be told of the injustice. Obsessed with his grievance, he became ill and died.
In his death struggles, he repeatedly murmured, “A piece of string, a piece of string.” (See “The Piece of String,” in The Works of Guy de Maupassant [n.d.], 34–38.)

My father helped me see the consequences of trying something “just once.”
He and I are industrial mechanics. One day he suggested that I should go to work wearing a white shirt instead of my regular work clothes. I couldn’t do that, I said. The shirt would be badly stained by the grease and powder from the machinery. Oh, it’s all right, my father replied; it’s only for one day. But again, I protested that the stains and dirt would be difficult to remove. That’s when he explained that trying alcohol or tobacco “just once” would be like wearing a white shirt to work. The alcohol and tobacco may not harm my body, he said, but using them even once would harm my spirit.
Sin is like grease; it stains us, and the stain can be hard to remove. Repentance is possible, but it is never easy. It is better to never sin—even if it is for just one time, or just a little bit.
Fábio Máximo, 20,Campinas Fourth Ward, Campinas Brazil Stake

Before joining The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I was confused about facts pertaining to life—the origin of man, the purpose of our existence, and our destination after death. Frustrated with trying to find answers to these and other basic mysteries of life, I persuaded myself that God didn’t exist. During high school I stopped attending the Orthodox Church. I was attending boarding school, so my parents were not there to take me to church. I felt I needed a rest from the worries pertaining to these ambiguities since there were no agreeable answers anywhere. I also stopped relying upon the Bible as the word of God since those who professed its teachings didn’t agree upon its meaning and couldn’t provide satisfactory answers to my questions. This remained my state of belief for six years or more, until I saw a copy of the Book of Mormon for the first time. By then I was 21 years old and was nearing graduation from university.
When I opened the Book of Mormon, I felt something pure and divine. It was a strange but familiar feeling, yet I had never experienced or remembered feeling that way. It was reassuring, affirmative and desirable. The impression was calm, warm, and sobering and seemed to enlighten my mind. I loved and enjoyed every bit of it and the desire to continue this enjoyment made me study the book daily despite my upcoming final year examinations. I would rather read The Book of Mormon than my school books. Academic studies became a burden while studying the Book of Mormon remained a joyful activity.
The Book of Mormon provided answers to most of my queries, but beyond that, it also invited into my soul, a feeling of awe, reverence and respect for the things of God. This was obviously a manifestation of the existence of a Supreme Being. Within a few days of studying the record, I knew there was a God. I could feel His presence each time I read the sacred book. I didn’t hesitate to rethink my prior opinion about His existential reality. I knew that God lived. In addition, I knew the actuality of a Savior of mankind and His atoning sacrifice. This I had been taught as a child, but my many unanswered questions had dispelled my belief in that truth. I knew that Jesus Christ lived and that He is truly the Son of God and the Savior of the world. I comprehended that He loved me. I felt deep love and gratitude to Him and especially for His atoning sacrifice. I was willing to do whatever He would require of me to be His disciple and friend. The Book of Mormon often referred to Him as the Lamb of God and I understood what that meant and the importance of His blood in atoning for our sins.
As I studied the Book of Mormon, my love for the records and for Joseph Smith, the translator, grew. I had great respect for him. I knew he was a prophet of God and that the Book of Mormon he translated was true. From the Book of Mormon, I learned in clear terms where the spirits of men go when they die and the state of the soul between death and the Resurrection—one of the many questions that bothered me from childhood and which no one ever satisfactorily answered until I read the words of Alma. (See Alma 40.)
My discovery and realization that the many witnesses of God and Jesus Christ as contained in the Book of Mormon helped me re-believe that the Bible, which I had discontinued reading long ago, was also the word of God. The Book of Mormon rekindled my belief in the Bible and led me eventually to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. There I was baptized, confirmed, and received the Melchizedek Priesthood. After my graduation from the university, I served a full-time mission, eventually received my endowment, and got married to my beloved wife in the temple.
By honoring covenants made with Heavenly Father in and out of the temple, I feel an ever-increasing measure of the presence of the light, peace and warmth I felt the very first day I read The Book of Mormon. I later learned this tender feeling was the influence of the Holy Ghost confirming to me that the record was true. This gift which all new converts receive as a constant companion upon their confirmation as members of the Church has remained a reliable influence to provide the needed comfort, guidance, enlightenment and inspiration as I search the scriptures and seek answers to my prayers. President Russell M. Nelson taught, “In coming days, it will not be possible to survive spiritually without the guiding, directing, comforting, and constant influence of the Holy Ghost.”

Now, don’t second-guess the Lord’s anointed servants. Sometimes we get the idea that the bishop just doesn’t recognize our ability or he wouldn’t call us to such menial tasks. I had missionaries who wondered sometimes about my transfers. I might move them from Jacksonville, Florida, where there were 750,000 people (which they figured was commensurate with their ability) to the small town of Bristol, Florida, where there were less than 5,000. I got a letter from a missionary who got such a transfer one day. He said, “President, is this inspiration or desperation?”

I learned a verse that I think depicts the attitude that we must cultivate if we’re going to accomplish the work the Lord has given us to do, for it’s a mountainous task:
“Where shall I serve today?” I said, And my love flowed warm and free. Then he pointed me out a little spot and said, “There, tend that for me.”
I said, “Oh no, not that, Why, no one would ever see— No matter how well my work was done— Not that little spot for me.”
And the words he spoke, they were not stern, He answered me tenderly, “Little one, search that heart of thine, Art thou serving them or me? Nazareth was just a little spot And so was Galilee.”

You see, there are no small, small spots in the kingdom of God. There are no small jobs in the kingdom.

For some time I had wanted to take pictures of Temple Square in Salt Lake City—including the reflection pool, the fountains, and the sidewalks—covered with freshly fallen snow void of any footprints. To get a picture of fresh snow without footprints, I knew I had to arrive at Temple Square early in the morning following a nighttime snowstorm.
One evening after a forecast of snow overnight, I prepared myself. Because Temple Square groundskeepers start plowing the sidewalks at 5:00 a.m., I set my alarm for 3:00 a.m. and got my gear together.
Driving on unplowed roads the next morning, I arrived at Temple Square at 4:15 a.m. while it was still snowing. Then I proceeded to drive around the square, looking for someplace to park that would give me easy access to take pictures.
On my first pass around Temple Square, I noticed that the walkway to the entrance of the Salt Lake Temple was covered in fresh snow—without any footprints! I knew I was going to get my perfect photo. Excited, I drove around the block again to find a parking spot.
As I proceeded east on North Temple Street, I thought I would find a spot close to the walkway. Before I realized it, however, I had run out of parking spots and was again near the sidewalk to the temple entrance.
As I sat at a red light, I looked to my right at the fresh, undisturbed snow. When I looked to my left toward the Conference Center, I noticed an elderly woman dressed in her Sunday best, her head tilted into the falling snow as she headed toward the temple.
“Oh, no,” I thought. “I’m not going to get my shot!”
As the woman crossed in front of me, I turned and looked toward the soon-to-be-ruined walkway and saw that another sister had already gone down the walkway and was turning into the temple entrance. Then I looked back to the first sister now walking down the walkway. With snow clumped around her shoes and ankles, and following the footsteps of the first, she walked slowly but surely down the walkway, through the gates, and into the entrance to the temple.
As I contemplated what I was seeing, I looked at the clock in my car: 4:20 a.m. Sitting in my warm car and looking at the footsteps in the freshly fallen snow, I was humbled by the faithfulness of these two sisters on their way to perform their appointed duties.
I drove around the block again, parked, grabbed my camera, and took a picture of footprints in the snow—a far greater picture than the one I had envisioned.

Tracy sat very still. She was almost five, but it was very hard to sit quietly. Today was supposed to have been a special day. Tracy and her mother had planned to go to the zoo! They had been all ready to go when the phone rang. Mother had answered and had listened for a long time before she finally said good-bye. She was crying when she turned to Tracy and said, “Honey, I need to talk to you.”
Now Tracy and Mother were visiting Sister Abbot, and Sister Abbot was crying. Tracy’s mother said, “Sister Abbot, I know how hard it must be for you. I’ll be happy to listen if you want to talk, or to help in any other way that I can.”
Sister Abbot put her arm around her three-year-old son, Jimmy, and cried harder. She hardly seemed to have heard Tracy’s mother.
Tracy watched, feeling uncomfortable. She knew that her mother was a visiting teacher and that Sister Abbot was one of the women whom she visited each month. Earlier Mother had told Tracy that Jimmy’s brother, Alan, had died that morning. Tracy knew about dying. Her cousin, Marnie, had been hit by a car last year, and she had died two weeks later. Tracy had cried and cried. Mother had told her that this life was only part of Heavenly Father’s wonderful plan. Tracy remembered that she had wanted to be with Marnie again right then, but her mother had explained that we all have to wait until the right time.
As Tracy thought about this, Sister Abbot said, “Why would God want to punish me so? First my husband, now my son.” She began to cry even harder.
Then Tracy spoke. At first no one heard her, so she spoke a little louder. “He loves me,” she said.
“What?” Sister Abbot asked, between sobs.
“He loves me,” Tracy repeated, looking at Sister Abbot.
“Who loves you, child?” Sister Abbot said, looking confused.
“Heavenly Father,” Tracy replied.
Sister Abbot looked puzzled, so Tracy tried to explain. “My cousin Marnie died last year, and Mommy told me that death isn’t forever. Heavenly Father loves me, so He let Jesus die so that we could all live again and be with Him.”
Sister Abbot still looked puzzled, so Tracy tried again. “He must love me very much to let His Son die so that we can all be together.”
Tracy looked at her mother. Her mother smiled at her with tears in her eyes. Sister Abbot had stopped crying and seemed more calm. She hugged Tracy and her mother before they went home.
The next Sunday, in testimony meeting, Sister Abbot went up to the pulpit and told everybody how grateful she was for a visit from a little girl who knew that her Heavenly Father loved her.

Tosiwo Tosie came from a prominent family of ministers in the Island of Kosrae. The very first time I met Tosiwo was in the municipal jail. He was a regular inmate, in and out for misdemeanors, feared by the people in the Village of Malem. His countenance reflected his chaotic and disorderly life. But the gospel changed his life. He now reflects the joys of membership in the Church.

I had the privilege to witness his baptism. It was attended by many, even those who were not members of our faith. Everyone in the village was curious about the church that changed Tosiwo's life. In his testimony, he told us that his family, especially his brothers, had given up on him until they all unitedly encouraged him to go to the Mormon missionaries and see what they can do for him. The feelings he felt with the missionaries healed his heart.

Surely, the power of the true gospel of Jesus Christ transformed Tosiwo to a new person. He later became the branch president of Malem branch in the Island of Kosrae.

When I was a boy, childhood diseases appeared regularly in every community. When someone had chicken pox or measles or mumps, the health officer would visit the home and place a quarantine sign on the porch or in the window to warn everyone to stay away. In a large family like ours, those diseases would visit by relay, one child getting it from another, so the sign might stay up for weeks.
We could not blockade ourselves inside our homes or stay hidden away to avoid those terrible contagions. We had to go to school, to employment, to church—to life!
Two of my sisters were stricken with very severe cases of measles. At first they seemed to recover. A few weeks later, Mother glanced out of the window and saw Adele, the younger of the two, leaning against a swing. She was faint and weak with a fever. It was rheumatic fever! It came as a complication from measles. The other sister also had the fever.
There was little that could be done. In spite of all of the prayers of my parents, Adele died. She was eight years old.
While Nona, two years older, recovered, she had fragile health for most of her life.
Nona recovered from measles and rheumatic fever. She lived long enough to benefit from open-heart surgery and enjoyed years of much improved health. Others spoke of her newly acquired energy. She said, “I have a Cadillac engine in a Model T frame.”
As an innocent child, my sister Adele’s life was cruelly interrupted by disease and suffering. She and all the others so taken continue the work of the Lord beyond the veil. She will not be denied anything essential for her eternal progression.

In many areas, the situation is even more difficult because transportation is limited and finances scarce. Sisters Parkin and Pingree and I had the unique experience of being part of a Relief Society teleconference with women who live in the Bush District of Alaska. These women and families, who often live on islands in the Aleutian chain or in remote areas of the state, have food and home supplies flown into them a few times a year. There is not a Smith's food market or Target in their towns. Where there is more than one family who is LDS, they meet together in a home; but most often, they are the only family in their area, and they meet together each week to partake of the sacrament and to hear the word of God. They must do it themselves. The sisters visit teach and share the gospel messages with women they have never met. The internet or a phone is their connection to each other and to the fellowship or sisterhood with the Saints. And yet, in spite of these difficult circumstances, they have made the choice to continue to grow toward the Lord and desire that their children have this same blessing and opportunity.

After more than two years, it was as if dawn finally began to pierce the long, dark night and the sun began to rise again. My heart began to heal, shadows gave way to light, and despair blossomed into a newfound hope and joy. Allow me to explain.

I had a biology class in the Tanner Building. During that class I saw Nancy for the first time, and it felt as if the world lit up and time paused. She was the kind of person who made the whole room seem brighter. She had an air of quiet reassurance that made me want to know more about her. But I couldn’t help but think, “How could someone like her even notice someone like me?”

I wanted so badly to ask her out, but fear held me back. What if she, like others before her, kindly found a reason to say no when she learned I had a little girl? I couldn’t bear the thought of being rejected—not just for myself but because of Aubrey. As I wrestled with my hesitation, the end of the semester was looming, and I knew I might soon lose my opportunity.

One day in class I happened to glance over Nancy’s shoulder and notice her name written neatly at the top of her paper. That was all the information I needed to embark on a quest. Armed with her name, I headed straight to the microfiche machines in the Wilkinson Center. For those unfamiliar, these microfiche machines held a treasure trove of information—a miniaturized printed directory on film of every BYU student, complete with their home address, phone number, and class schedule. Clearly, data privacy wasn’t even a concept back then. As I scrolled through the tiny, glowing slides, my heart raced. Eventually I found Nancy’s contact information.

Looking back now, I can laugh at how strange and bold that moment was. At the time it felt like a covert operation, but it was fueled by a sincere desire to get to know this incredible girl who had so effortlessly captured my attention. Little did I know that finding her name on that microfiche would mark the beginning of something far more significant than I could ever have imagined.

And then the Lord, in His perfect timing, provided a tender mercy. One day Nancy and I finished a biology test in the Testing Center at the exact same moment. As we stood there waiting for our scores, we struck up a casual conversation. Nancy sighed and mentioned that biology just didn’t come naturally to her. My heart was pounding. I knew this was my chance. So, mustering every ounce of courage, I suggested that she join a small study group I was in with another friend. To my amazement, she smiled and said sure! That simple conversation, sparked by a shared moment of vulnerability, opened the door to something extraordinary that would change our lives forever.

One of our first dates was a pivotal moment—one in which I decided it was time to tell Nancy about my daughter. Up until then I had been hesitant, knowing from experience that this conversation could often change everything. But something about Nancy’s warmth and openness gave me the courage to be honest.

As we were driving together on our way to meet dear friends who were watching Aubrey, I cautiously explained my situation. I told her about my sweet little child who was the center of my world. I braced for the usual pause and the polite but awkward response. But Nancy’s reaction was anything but typical. She just shrugged her shoulders and casually said, “That’s interesting. I recently dated another single guy who also has a little daughter named Aubrey. What are the odds of that?”

I was stunned—what were the odds of that indeed? It felt like a moment straight out of a Hallmark movie—hopeful in the very best way, yet still impossibly perfect. God surely was in the details. Nancy’s nonchalant reaction melted away all my fears.

When Nancy and Aubrey met for the first time, it was magic. Aubrey’s bright eyes and Nancy’s irresistible charm created an instant connection beyond anything I could ever have imagined. Nancy and Aubrey loved being together—it was the beginning of something truly special, a powerful bond that exists to this day. From that moment on, our dating took off. Aubrey wasn’t just a part of my life anymore—she became a part of our lives. And, well, since Nancy and I are both here at BYU today, I think it’s safe to say things worked out quite well!

The fact that he wrote every day makes clear to me that he knew his ordinary life was historic because it was part of the building of Zion in the latter days. The few entries which record his testimony seem to appear when death took a child. His testimony is to me more powerful because he offered it when his soul was tried.

Here is his record of one of those times. His daughter Elizabeth died in his arms. He reported her burial and the location of her grave in a few lines. But then, the next day, November fourth of 1863, this is the entire entry:

“Wednesday. Repairing up the stable my little children [chattering] around me but I miss my dear Lizzy. I pray the Lord to help me to endure faithful to his cause to the end of my days, that I may be worthy to receive my children back into the family circle, who have fallen asleep in Christ in the days of their innocence[:] Ann, Moroni, Esther Ellen & Elizabeth, blessed & happy are they because of the atonement of Jesus Christ.” …
He taught the truth. He testified that it was true. He lived consistent with his testimony and prayed that he might endure faithful until he could be united with his dear family. I feel his love and a desire to be included in that circle. …
I know that we can live together in families in eternal life, the greatest of all the gifts of God.

Five-year-old Jill Lam giggled nervously when her mother asked her to bless the food. She wasn’t used to praying in front of guests. Hesitantly, she stood up to offer a brief blessing.
She stumbled over the first few words, self-consciously aware of the strangers in her home. “We’re thankful for the food,” she mumbled quickly. “Please bless it.”
Then Jill paused. Despite her eagerness to end the prayer, there was another desire even stronger, one her family shared and had uttered in every prayer in their home for the last year. “And Heavenly Father, bless that the temple will be finished quickly and that we can live worthy of going there someday,” Jill concluded breathlessly.
Jill’s poignant prayer was one shared by thousands of Church members in Hong Kong since October 1992 when President Gordon B. Hinckley, then First Counselor in the First Presidency, announced the building of the Hong Kong Temple. Those prayers were abundantly answered when President Hinckley, as President of the Church, dedicated the Hong Kong Temple on 26 and 27 May 1996.

I could go on and tell of similar experiences with other General Authorities. Just before a recent general conference, we attended a luncheon at the Hotel Utah. Elder LeGrand Richards had recently undergone an operation and was walking with his cane. Elder Packer gave him his arm to steady him going down the steps and along the walk to the Church Office Building, matching his steps to those of Elder Richards in a show of affection. As we passed them, Elder Franklin Richards said, “Take good care of him, Elder Packer.” He replied, “I surely will. He’s precious.” And he is.

Two and one-half years passed, and before I knew it, I was home again. I remember hearing someone mention a name: Elisa Rogers, a young woman who was in charge of a university dance at the Hotel Utah. There was something special about that name. I decided I ought to meet her.
I remember the first time I saw her. As a favor for a friend of mine, I had gone to her home to pick up her sister. Elisa opened the door, and I stared. There she was, beautiful, 1.65 meters tall, blue eyes, blond hair.
She must have had a feeling also, because she said to me, “I know who you was.”
She quickly realized she had made a grammatical error. To fully appreciate that, you have to remember that she was an English major.
Even after all of these years, she has remembered the embarrassment of that moment. Of course, my retelling this story doesn’t make matters better, but I trust she will forgive me.

Last spring my husband and I attended a soccer game of our four-year-old grandson. You could feel the excitement on the field as the players ran in every direction chasing the soccer ball. When the final whistle blew, the players were unaware of who won or who lost. They had simply played the game. The coaches directed the players to shake hands with the opposing team members. Then I observed something quite remarkable. The coach called for a victory tunnel. All the parents, grandparents, and any spectators who had come to observe the game stood up and formed two lines facing each other, and by raising their arms they formed an arch. The children squealed as they ran through the cheering adults and down the path formed by the spectators. Soon the children from the opposing team joined the fun as all the players—the winners and the losers—were cheered on by the adults as they ran the path of the victory tunnel.

Our family were the only Latter-day Saints in our town of 60,000 people. We did our best to live the gospel. I felt the Spirit often, and I never really doubted that the Church was true. But while serving in the military, I felt a strong desire to know for myself that the Book of Mormon is true. So I went to a private place and did just as the Book of Mormon counsels (see Moroni 10:4–5). I asked God. And I received a witness—a spiritual feeling of warmth, comfort, peace, and great happiness that I shall never forget.