Gospel Story Finder

Romania Pratt responded to Brigham Young’s call for more female medical doctors. Before she left to study medicine at the Woman’s Medical College in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA, Romania received a blessing from President Young, who arranged financial support for Romania from the Relief Society.6

Mike returned to BYU in 1971. It was there he first saw Curt. “I watched him get out of his car. He really handled himself well, and I thought he’d make a good player on our wheelchair basketball team. I left a note on his car inviting him to come play.” That invitation started a continuing friendship.

Then, about two years ago, a friend of mine died by suicide. The phone call I received that delivered the news will be etched in my mind for the rest of my life. I beat myself up for months, wondering what more I could have done for this person. How I could have been a better friend. How I could have called more. How I could have invited this person more. I had so many thoughts of regret and self-blame that went on and on.

I was 13 when my mom and I joined the Church. My stepdad had been a member, but he had gone inactive. One day, he decided to go back to church. My mom and I got baptized. My sister got baptized not long after that.
We were living in Missouri, USA, and we attended a teeny little branch that met in a second story room of a local building. On Saturday nights, we’d go in and clean up posters and ash trays. I played a little keyboard for our meetings. The members of our branch were like our family.

After ten years of missionary service—three in Germany and seven in Czechoslovakia—Arthur Gaeth was released. In 1936 Wallace Toronto became Czech mission president. He served 32 years—longer than any other mission president in Church history. His efforts were boosted by the visit of 81-year-old President Heber J. Grant in July 1937. The prophet’s visit resulted in the publication of 40 articles in the local press, giving the Church better visibility in the nation.

Josue Thomas G., age 6, and Alexandra C., age 13, Durango, Mexico, are cousins and best friends. When they watched general conference, Alexandra said she felt the Spirit when the prophet announced the new temples. Thomas loved the stories the prophet and apostles shared.

As a young boy I was out on a farm away from our home waiting for my father to finish his day’s work. I was playing about, manufacturing things to while away the time, when I saw over the fence in the neighbor’s yard some broken-down buildings with the sheds caving in and with rotting timbers. I imagined as a young boy that that might be a castle I should explore, so I went over to the fence and started to climb through.
Then I heard a voice as distinctly as you are hearing mine: “Harold, don’t go over there.” I looked in every direction to see where the speaker was. I wondered if it was my father, but he couldn’t see me; he was way up at the other end of the field. There was no one in sight. I realized that someone was warning me of an unseen danger—whether there was a nest of rattlesnakes, or whether the rotting timbers would fall on me and crush me, I don’t know. But from that time on, I accepted without question the fact that there are processes not known to man by which we can hear voices from the unseen world, by which we can have brought to us visions of eternity.

Gradually, the valleys and hills surrounding Shepherds’ Field are filled with the strains of “The Lord Is My Shepherd,” sung by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. “The Lord is my Shepherd; no want shall I know. I feed in green pastures; safefolded I rest.” After the final words of the hymn, “Oh, what shall I ask of thy providence more?” rise strong and clear through the air, the choir stops singing. To everyone’s surprise, the sound continues as a long, lingering echo rolls through the valley and rebounds from hill to hill. The music of the Tabernacle Choir has filled the land, and in turn, it seems that the land is reluctant to let it go.
At Shepherds’ Field, the choir entered the fenced area of the field near where the angels appeared to be shepherds. Peter Vasko, one of the Franciscan priests who cares for the area, visited the choir during the filming and told them, “I granted you permission to sing here because I recognize you as a witness for Christ.”
“I was overwhelmed when I heard the echo of our singing at Shepherds’ Field,” says Carter Knapp. “‘Angels we have heard on high … , And the mountains in reply Echoing their joyous strains.’ I’ll never sing those words again without remembering this experience and the echo.”

Many sisters’ acceptance letters were simple expressions of gratitude at the opportunity to serve, while others tell stories of incredible courage and faith. Julia Curtis’s husband died before he could fill his mission call. After her baby also died, she wrote to the First Presidency, saying, “I now am alone, ready and anxious to fill this mission and take my husband’s place.”15 Julia was called to serve in Colorado, and upon her return, she married one of the missionaries who had previously served in that mission.

On February 27, 2010, at 3:34 a.m., an earthquake of magnitude 8.8 on the moment magnitude scale violently shook much of Chile, causing panic, fear, and concern in millions of people.
A few days later, I was assigned to preside over a stake conference at a location close to the epicenter of this great quake. I wondered if the earthquake and the continuing aftershocks would affect attendance at the conference. I was surprised when attendance at each session of the conference was greater than it had ever been at previous conferences.
Apparently, the earthquake reminded stake members, at least temporarily, about the importance of getting close to God, sanctifying the Sabbath, and attending meetings. Several weeks later I telephoned the stake president. I asked if attendance at Church meetings was still high. He replied that as the number and magnitude of the aftershocks declined, so did attendance at church.

The presidencies and planning committees met several times during the winter. The young people read histories and studied pioneer journals. They learned how their ancestors had answered a mission call by President John Taylor to come to this wild corner of the world and establish a peace mission among the Indians, how in addition to this challenge they were to provide a civilized buffer in this part of Zion because to that time the San Juan country was controlled by thieves, outlaws, and murderers who used this corner of southern Utah as a place to hide out from the law.
Two hundred and fifty people, including women and children, answered the call. They brought 85 wagons and hundreds of cattle and horses with them on the journey, traveling southeast from the settlement of Escalante to what is now San Juan County. The company was made up of Saints from Cedar City, Parowan, and Paragonah. They traveled across more than 200 miles of unexplored wilderness. The pinnacle of their pioneering effort was in carving a road bed down the side of Glen Canyon to the Colorado River below. They started their descent in a notch or hole in the rim of the 1,800 foot-high canyon wall. This notch then became known as Hole-in-the-Rock. The incredibly steep grade down the upper portion of the road dropped one foot for every two feet forward.

During my second college year on December 7, 1941, the United States was attacked at Pearl Harbor. The entire nation was aroused. Patriotism swelled to great heights. Every person was deeply affected. War was declared by Congress.
Many students at Weber State, myself included, elected to join the military service at once. I decided to join the Navy with the object of becoming a naval officer. An entire day was spent in the Naval Recruiting Office filling out forms for consideration. Little did I know that I would soon face one of the most serious character tests of my entire life. It pertained to my resolution to keep the Lord’s commandments, particularly that of being honest.
One of the last questions on the naval physical fitness questionnaire startled me. It simply asked whether I had ever had “hay fever.” I remember staring at this question for a long time. Why would hay fever be of any consequence at sea? How could pollen affect anyone on a ship? Why was I being asked such a question? It was evident that my answer could affect my being accepted or rejected as a candidate for officer consideration.
The simple truth was that I had experienced hay fever all of my life and sneezed very often. It would be so easy to mark no to this question since it would probably never come up again. However, marking no would be dishonest. It was a little thing, and yet a principle was at stake. With reluctance, I marked the space for yes and handed the paper back.
As suspected, the answer to that question became troublesome. The medical officer, upon seeing my answer, looked up and exclaimed, “Don’t you know that naval officers can’t have hay fever? You will have to take a special allergy test.”
When the results of my allergy test came back, the officer studied the form intently. The test showed that I suffered a considerable number of allergies. He then took my application forms, calmly tore them up, and threw them into a waste basket. I was astonished. I stuttered, stammered, and finally asked, “What shall I do now?” The officer calmly replied that the “draft” would take care of me and not to worry. Sick at heart, I went back to school, transferring to the University of Utah for the winter quarter. My sophomore preparation classes were completed while awaiting to be drafted into one of the services. That summer I began my junior year in the school of mechanical engineering. Then an announcement was released from Washington, D.C., indicating that all upper division engineering students were to be deferred from the draft until graduation. My graduation with a Bachelor of Science in mechanical engineering occurred in December of 1943, two years following Pearl Harbor.
The day following my graduation, I again presented myself to the naval procurement office in Salt Lake City and indicated that I had just graduated from the school of mechanical engineering at the University of Utah and showed them my degree. When they learned I was interested in becoming a naval officer, I experienced “red carpet” treatment. The officer in charge told me that there were naval ships in dry dock because of the lack of engineering officers and technically trained personnel. A direct commission as an ensign was offered that day. This would be followed by a two-month indoctrination school.
Before accepting this commission, I told the officer that something had to be made clear. He was surprised. He asked me what was on my mind. I flatly stated, “Sir, I suffer severe hay fever. What do you think of that?” The officer laughed. He said that at one time it was a consideration, but not anymore. He told me to forget it, and to please sign my acceptance of a commission as an ensign. This I did.
The ship to which I was later assigned with four other officers and 50 enlisted men was the USS LSM 558. It was our understanding that this ship was destined for the invasion of Japan. We prepared ourselves for departure, but orders never came. Instead, we were given orders to patrol on the Atlantic Coast from Boston to Florida. We later learned why. Two atomic bombs were dropped on cities in Japan. The war was soon over. I left the Navy in 1946 to pursue my career, first in engineering and then in architecture.

In fact, some job experiences are so valuable that it might be worth your time to work for nothing. A young Latter-day Saint college sophomore in public relations (PR) volunteered to do publicity and general PR work for an entertainment center. At first his duties were far removed from public relations. He did errand work and was a general office boy much of the time. The next summer he was hired, this time receiving a little pay for his work. Meanwhile he was gaining experience and meeting people. When it was time for him to leave school, his first out-of-school job was helping to manage an entertainer and movie star he had worked with during the previous summer. His starting salary for his first job was higher than that of the dean of his college.

“One day I remember I was injured and knocked almost unconscious. My father was the first to the scene. He just held me close for the longest time while I cried and cried. When we walk he holds my hand. I love to sit on his lap at home.”

Cheryl Redd, a self-reliance facilitator in Utah, USA, explains how the initiative’s spiritual principles have helped her progress temporally: “I realized that these principles and foundations can apply to all aspects of our lives. These workshops have helped me become more focused on my responsibilities as a wife and mother. I now have the tools to better understand family finances. I see how working together with our spouses to manage finances is, in a way, a business. We need these tools for our families to succeed.”

Young Men in the Rocklin California Stake all had a chance to learn about being a missionary during workshops taught by their leaders at the stake center. Their activity included unusual dinner plans, including eating stew and salad with chopsticks. Missionaries need to be prepared for anything, right? The young men also learned about other mission activities, including tracting, teaching, and sharing testimonies.

I remember other Mexican Saints who, because floods had destroyed their crops, were fearful that they would not be able to attend the conference but who, after fasting and prayer, sold some of their belongings and pooled their money for transportation. For many there was no money left for food, but it did not matter. They decided they could fast for the three or four days of the conference. As you would expect, other loving Saints filled their plates as the Lord had filled their souls.

A few years ago, Elder Ronald A. Rasband of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles visited my area to give a training to local ward and stake leaders. At the end, he held a question-and-answer session in which he allowed the congregation to ask him questions. His responses were insightful and inspiring, but one particular question and answer stood out to me the most:
What did it feel like to ordain President Russell M. Nelson as the new prophet?
Elder Rasband first thanked the man who asked the question and then proceeded to describe his experience. He explained how when he first heard that President Thomas S. Monson (1927–2018) had passed away, he was sad about the passing of a beloved prophet. However, he was also full of hope, because he knew that someone was prepared to take the mantle of prophet. He knew logically that President Nelson would be the next prophet. But he also wanted to know spiritually—for himself—that President Nelson was indeed God’s prophet on the earth.
Elder Rasband spent time praying and pleading with God, asking for any sort of spiritual witness. When it came time to ordain President Nelson, Elder Rasband laid his hands on his head along with the other Apostles, and he immediately received the spiritual confirmation he was hoping for. He said it was almost overwhelming, and he knew with absolute certainty that President Nelson was indeed the prophet.
After relating his experience, Elder Rasband then encouraged and pleaded with us in the congregation to study, pray, and do the work necessary to know spiritually (and not just logically) that President Nelson is the Lord’s mouthpiece.
It seems that Elder Rasband had a “light-switch moment” when he placed his hands on President Nelson’s head and felt an undeniable witness that President Nelson was God’s prophet.

With grand optimism the Prophet Joseph wrote to the editor of the Chicago Democrat: “No unhallowed hand can stop the work from progressing; persecutions may rage, mobs may combine, armies may assemble, calumny may defame, but the truth of God will go forth boldly, nobly, and independent, till it has penetrated every continent, visited every clime, swept every country, and sounded in every ear, till the purposes of God shall be accomplished, and the Great Jehovah shall say the work is done” (History of the Church, 4:540).

W’Dojo was the oldest and wisest of the Kikuyu elders. His ears had heard many sounds, and his eyes had seen many sights. He was at peace with everything and everyone around him. It was said that W’Dojo could smell the rains long before they fell and that he could touch the soil and tell if it was time to plant. He was rarely wrong. Now W’Dojo had a feeling that he would soon die, and he was preparing for the event.
Among the young boys of the Kikuyu villages, it was a time for learning. This year they had a special honor: W’Dojo was to be their teacher.
Thirty boys sat quietly at their teacher’s feet, eager to learn. They had been sent to learn as much of the teacher’s wisdom as they could. When old W’Dojo spoke, he extended an invitation to each boy: “Those who want to learn, come follow me to the mountain. Begin at sunrise. Don’t be afraid or worried, for the way will be clearly marked.”
All the boys were anxious to learn and chorused, “We will follow you to the mountain.”
Early the next morning twenty-five boys met on the road. Five boys had decided to sleep late and muttered, “Go on. We will catch up with you later.” They never did.
By noon the sun was hot and the ground was dry and dusty. However, the path led to a water hole. The boys splashed and played in the fresh and cooling water. Five of the boys decided they would stay longer to play and have fun. “Go on. We will join you later,” they said. Of course they never did. Now only twenty boys traveled toward the mountain.
The day was long, and the way became narrow and difficult. Rocks blocked the path, and thornbushes scratched the boys’ legs. “We are tired, and our feet are sore,” five of the boys complained. “We must stop. You go on, and we will join you later.” But that evening there were only fifteen boys left.
The path led to a deep, wide river. Crocodiles, looking like sleeping logs, lined its banks. Several of the boys were terribly frightened and turned back. Only seven boys followed the path past the crocodiles to shallow water, where they crossed in safety.
It was almost sunset. The boys were tired and hungry. They hadn’t eaten all day. Suddenly, the African plains came alive with the sounds of wild animals. Several of the boys cried out: “We have no fire!” “We have no food!” “We have no spears!” “We have nothing!” Four of them hurried to a nearby village to wait until morning. When they returned the next day, they couldn’t find the path that led to the mountain. So they returned to their homes.
The three boys who had stayed on the path slept in the trees and ate wild berries. They reached the foot of the mountain the next day at midmorning. The mountain was huge, dark, and cold. The rocks were sharp and ragged. “I am afraid to climb,” said one of the boys, and he turned back.
Just before they reached the top, the last two boys came to a deep cleft in the rocks. One jumped across without any trouble. The other stood looking into the deep, dark split. “I can’t jump,” he said. “I can’t.”
“It looks hard,” cried the first boy, “but try. If old W’Dojo could jump across, you can too. He told us not to be afraid. Try.”
The second boy stood looking at the split in the rock. “No,” he said. “Learning is not worth this much.” He turned and walked away.
The last boy climbed until he came to a cave in the side of the mountain. W’Dojo sat at the entrance, waiting.
“Welcome, my brother,” the old one said. “You truly want to learn. And so it shall be. You are worthy of what I have to give. What is your name?”
The boy answered, “I am Jomo.”
“Come, Jomo,” said W’Dojo. “You have much to learn.”