Gospel Story Finder

After I had been in the hospital two and a half weeks, the doctors said I could leave. They suggested, however, that my family take me to a convalescent center. I was quite frightened at the thought of moving. I remember pleading with Cal to ask the Lord what we should do. I had been leaning very heavily on the Lord, and I didn’t want any decision made without consulting him. My family was there, and I had been leaning on them, but I knew that, above all, the Lord was caring for me.
On September 20, I was transferred to a care center. The medication was cut in half, so I became more aware of what was going on around me. For a week, I worked hard at building up my strength and learning how to get around with broken bones. Then I was moved to Cal’s house. I appreciated him and his wife for letting me stay with them. It felt good to be in their home. His children would come to my room after school and tell me what they had done that day. Their visits did much to ease me back into normal life.

At the end of my final year of university, I was to attend a graduation ceremony where all new graduates, dressed in traditional cap and gown, received degrees from a visiting dignitary. I looked forward to this moment, a celebration of four hard years of study. The morning of the ceremony, I received a letter from the university but didn’t take time to open it.
The ceremony started at 1:30 p.m., and I had arranged for a portrait photo to be taken before it began. Unfortunately, there was a queue for photos, and I watched the clock tick closer and closer to commencement. But I had waited for so long that I was determined to get my photo taken. Finally finishing 10 minutes before graduation began, I ran to the hall.
When I got there, however, the doors were closed and protected by security guards. I asked to go in, but the guards refused, telling me I had to arrive 15 minutes early for seating. That was the first I had heard about this requirement, so I protested. But the guards did not move. I had worked four years to obtain this degree, and I could not collect it at the ceremony. I had to sit in the galleries with the spectators.
When I returned home and opened the letter I had received that morning, I read a clear instruction to be seated at least 15 minutes early or be refused entry. I felt like one of the foolish virgins in the Savior’s parable:
“And while [the foolish virgins] went to buy, the bridegroom came; and they that were ready went in with him to the marriage: and the door was shut.
“Afterward came also the other virgins, saying, Lord, Lord, open to us.
“But he answered and said, Verily I say unto you, I know you not” (Matthew 25:10–12).
While I am not grateful to have missed formally receiving my degree, I am grateful for what this experience taught me in the eternal sense—that I never want to make a choice that would bar me from being welcomed into the Bridegroom’s presence. Rather than being shut out with “I know you not,” I strive to make choices that will allow me to hear Him say, “Enter thou into the joy of thy lord” (Matthew 25:21).

As a radio reporter Richard worked under considerable pressure covering a wide variety of topics on short deadlines. He soon learned that social drinking was an important way many reporters obtained information. Work became increasingly difficult because he refused to participate in the drinking.
The thought of finding a new job eased his conscience but not his challenges. His radio job had helped pacify his parents after he joined the Church. So when he left the high-paying, prestigious, full-time job for part-time contract work as a guide, his parents were disappointed for a time.
It was another difficult path to choose, but he doesn’t regret taking it because he knows that to be “exalted on high” (see D&C 121:7–8), we must first experience the lows (see D&C 122:5–7).
“We sometimes limit what God can make of us because we don’t want to experience the bad with the good,” he says.
Following the Lord led him to a job he enjoyed. It led him to serve a mission. It introduced him to his future wife, with whom he now has four beautiful children. Despite the trials, there has been no end to the blessings.

Early one morning I went out on a hill on the island of Tahiti, above the exquisitely beautiful bay where Captain Bligh anchored the Bounty. I went to that lovely spot to watch the day be born. In the soft light of the early morning I could see Mooréa, the “Bali Hai” of South Pacific fame, jutting up out of the water. The ocean was very calm, and the gentle waves lapped the black, volcanic beaches and covered them like frosting on a chocolate cake. In the distance, clouds rose up out of the ocean and poked their fingers into the sky to be illuminated by the first brilliant rays of the yet-hidden sun. Early-morning fishermen headed out to sea in their small boats to seek their fortunes for the day. There was a gentle, gray haze over the outskirts of Papeete, created by the early risers preparing their morning meal.
This seemed to be the world at its perfection. This was one of God’s most beautiful creations, and in this idyllic setting He did not seem far away. In this beautiful scene, so peaceful, so restful, it seemed as though my soul had been restored, and I recalled these lines from the 23rd Psalm: “He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake” (Ps. 23:2–3).
I have come to realize that the comfort and sense of well-being I felt on that special morning came not only from the external influence of the beauty of the landscape and the sea, lovely as they were, but from the inner peace, strength, and security of knowing that God lives and from a testimony of the divinity of His work upon the earth. It is not where but who and how. That great psalm tells us that God restores our souls. The replenishing of our inner selves occurs as we come to know the Savior through keeping His commandments and serving Him.

Over the years, Gus and his father regularly visited Sister Joyce Miller, at the time a less-active member of the Church who was battling cancer.
“The thing I remember most about Gus as a young boy was that whenever I asked him to say a prayer, he would stand up and do it,” Sister Miller says. “A lot of young boys and girls roll their eyes when you ask them to do something like praying. Not Gus.”
Now the young man who stopped by was a deacon with a priesthood responsibility. “I wasn’t active when they first started visiting me,” Sister Miller continues, “but their visits meant everything. I wanted to come back to church, but I was smoking and didn’t want to go because I was afraid people would smell the smoke on me.”
“All I knew is we always went to Sister Miller’s house and had fun when we home-taught her. I didn’t think any different of her when I found out she smoked because we were already really good friends,” says Gus. “I was pretty impressed and proud of her when she did stop smoking because I have heard how tough it is to quit.”
When she did stop smoking, Sister Miller began going to church again. “I was so glad because I liked seeing her. I would be able to see a smile on her face and be able to tell she really liked being at church,” Gus adds.

Mara buttoned her skirt and looked in the mirror. It felt funny to wear church clothes on a Saturday, but this was a special Saturday. It was general conference!
“Are you excited for the women’s session?” Mak (Mom) asked. She brushed Mara’s hair with quick, gentle strokes. “I want you to try to listen as much as you can.”
“Yes! I hope they tell pioneer stories!” Mara liked those best.
“Maybe they will,” Mak said. “Did you know your dad is a pioneer?”
Mara was confused. Her dad had never ridden in a covered wagon, like the early pioneers in the Church.
“How is he a pioneer?” she asked.
Mak nodded toward the window, toward the river. “He was fishing there when he met the missionaries. He was the first one in his family to get baptized,” Mak said. “That makes him a pioneer! Now let’s go find your grandmother.”
Yiay (Grandma) was waiting for them in the front room. Mara’s family and her grandparents all lived together. Yiay helped take care of Mara after school while her parents worked. Now Yiay stood by the moped, the big motorized scooter that carried them around the city.
“The Church has only been in Cambodia for 25 years,” Mak told Mara as she opened the door and pushed the moped onto the street. “So we’re all pioneers. Even you!”
How am I a pioneer? Mara wondered as she got on the moped. Mak drove the moped, with Yiay in back and Mara in the middle. Mara held on tight as they zoomed down the crowded street.
As they passed a café, the smell of tea wafted over them. Almost everyone here drank tea. But Mara didn’t. She followed the Word of Wisdom. Mara grinned. That’s one way she was a pioneer!
As the moped turned a corner, Mara saw a wat, a Buddhist temple. The red pointed roof rose above the other buildings. Monks with shaved heads and orange robes sat studying in the courtyard.
Mara knew that most people in Cambodia were Buddhist. They didn’t believe in Jesus Christ. But Mara did. That’s another way I’m a pioneer, thought Mara. And today she would get to listen to the prophet!
As the moped turned into the church parking lot, Mara saw lots of women arriving. Some had walked or ridden mopeds. Others arrived in tuk tuks, small carriages pulled by a motorbike. Many of the women wore dresses or plain skirts, like Mara did. And some wore sampots, beautiful long skirts made of colorful patterned fabrics.
Mara, Mak, and Yiay sat down in the chapel with the other women. Conference had actually happened a whole week ago in Salt Lake City, Utah, USA. Now the people in Cambodia would be able to watch the broadcast in Khmer. Mara spoke both English and Khmer at home, and she also learned French in school. Many Cambodians just spoke Khmer.
The first speaker didn’t tell any stories about pioneers. But then the second speaker told a story about walking up a steep dirt path on her way home from school. It was called the “boys’ trail,” and sometimes she would take off her shoes and walk barefoot. She wanted to do hard things so she could be like a pioneer! Mara smiled as she thought about all the ways she was a pioneer.
The last speaker was the prophet. He stood tall. Mara listened extra closely. “I invite you to read the Book of Mormon between now and the end of the year,” he said. “The heavens will open for you. The Lord will bless you.”
Mara knew it wouldn’t be easy to read the whole Book of Mormon. She looked at the women around her. All of them had chosen to follow Jesus Christ. All of them had come to listen to the prophet. She would follow the prophet, just like they did. She would be a pioneer!

The joy of Katya and her family continued to grow. As Katya participated in Personal Progress, she noticed that it focused on the importance of the temple. “There is a whole section dedicated to going to the temple, and I really wanted to get to the temple, but my parents weren’t ready,” she remembers.
Katya was able, however, to attend the temple with her seminary class. She recalls, “I did temple work for the first time. I was really happy, and I wanted to go again. I really wanted my family to go there and be sealed for eternity.”
Katya’s family prepared and finally felt that they were ready to go to the temple. Two years after her first visit to the temple, Katya returned, this time with her family. “I understood that it really is a place where families can become eternal,” Katya says. They were sealed in the Freiberg Germany Temple.

Even now, on the set of Center Street, Ivey is known as the one with the bad microphone. “No matter what mike it is,” Ivey says, laughing, “when they put it on me it won’t work. It takes a lot of time until they get it right. And sometimes it will ruin an otherwise perfect take. You just have to keep working. You keep working till you get it right.”

I find it interesting that our best member missionaries, those who take the opportunity of sharing the gospel, are often people who are joyful. When I was the Executive Director of the Missionary Department, we suddenly noticed some baptisms in France. Thrilled, we wondered about the reasons, and there were several. But one of the main reasons was a sister who went to work on Monday morning and talked about Sunbeams. After the Sabbath, she would—with great joy and delight—tell her co-workers about her experience teaching young children the day before. Before long, her associates could hardly wait for her to talk about the Sunbeams. And what did that do? Here was a group of people living with the same concerns we all have about our world and the future, and all of a sudden, there was a person who was not only joyful but joyful about children—who represent the future. This sister clearly loved the Savior, and that love radiated. Her co-workers wanted to know more.

When Daniel was very young, he already had a great sense of humor. He learned to tell hilarious jokes that would make my wife and me laugh. He also often said things that inspired us. Shortly after hearing President Thomas S. Monson announce the change in age requirements for young men and young women preparing to serve missions,1 we were driving in the car. Daniel announced that he would start preparing himself right then, at age six, so he would have 12 years of preparation. Then he said with a smile, “Dad, can I change the song from ‘I Hope They Call Me on a Mission’ to ‘I AM Going on a Mission’?” It was awesome.

James Metcalf, of the Alma Branch, was working at a health spa. The earthquake hit when he was lifting a heavy barbell. With one heave he replaced the weight on its rack and ducked under the door frame.
The water in the pool splashed into a high wave, dumping stunned swimmers onto the deck. Lockers fell, and hot tubs became bubbling geysers. James evacuated the building. After making sure everyone was okay, he locked the doors and headed home, a cautious drive that took more than three hours. Dozens of aftershocks bounced the car.
Finally, he made it to his house. The porches were torn away, and in panic he thought his family might still be inside. “Then I remembered our contingency plan,” James said. “They were in the orchard.” He found his family, with their camping equipment and a sleeping bag all ready for him.
The night of the earthquake, when James settled into his sleeping bag with his family in the orchard next to their damaged house, his little brother asked, “Dad, does this mean we’re homeless?”
Brother Metcalf answered, “No, son, we’re together as a family, and we have our tents. Our family is a forever family. We’ll build another house.”
At that moment James remembered a seminary scripture. “When the devil shall send forth his mighty winds, yea, his shafts in the whirlwind, yea, when all his hail and his mighty storm shall beat upon you …” (Wasn’t there anything in there about earthquakes?) “… it shall have no power over you to drag you down to the gulf of misery and endless wo, because of the rock upon which ye are built, which is a sure foundation, a foundation whereon if men build they cannot fall” (see Hel. 5:12).

That we are not alone, however, and that a loving Father in Heaven hears our prayers was more tangible. Our five children, ages four through sixteen, understood this. Their father, whose career had been in broadcasting, had often taught that their voices and thoughts are audible to the Lord, that they could reach the Lord through prayer if their lives were tuned in to the right frequency. Little David, the youngest, prayed at his grandmother’s knee on that first lonely night, “Please bless my daddy, so he will be well when I get there.”

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.

“A sincere prayer can help you shine with the Light of Christ. I remember a missionary service activity where we went to share the gospel. I was afraid at first, but I said a personal prayer and received the courage to share the gospel.”
Gerardine S., 14, Haut-Katanga, Democratic Republic of the Congo

After graduating from high school towards the end of World War II, Neal joined the army. He had a life-changing experience while in a fierce battle on Okinawa, Japan. During a battle, Neal’s mortar position was under fire. Three shells in a row had exploded, each closer to his foxhole than the previous one. He realized the enemy had determined his position. The next shell would land on top of him. He prayed “one of those selfish, honest prayers,”3 asking for protection from the next bomb. In his pocket he carried a copy of his patriarchal blessing that said his life would not be shortened and that he would not be deprived of fulfilling every assignment that was given to him in the premortal existence.

The shelling stopped. He later wrote: “I am sure the Lord answered my prayers. … The following night they began to pour shells in, but almost all of them were duds—either the ammunition had gotten wet or they were not exploding in the very thick, oozing mud. … I felt preserved, and unworthily so, but have tried to be somewhat faithful to that promise that was given at the time.”4

Eric Ault, Ryan Warner, and Jeff Olsen, of Highland, Utah, have been laying down a lot lately—a lot of sod, that is.
When Eric and Ryan’s grandfather, Howard Ault, who is also Jeff’s uncle, decided he wanted to donate more than seven acres of sod from his sod farm to be used at the new Mount Timpanogos Temple, he decided to get his family involved. Eric, Ryan, and Jeff decided that helping to lay the sod was a perfect opportunity to participate in a family project and complete their Eagle Scout projects at the same time.
“Doing this project meant a lot of commitment. I spent lots of time calling people and getting things organized,” says 13-year-old Eric.
After laying more than 10,000 squares of sod for only one section of the temple grounds, all the boys agree that they have developed a special feeling for the temple.
“I think that everybody who came and helped—we had volunteers from all over the place come lay sod with us—will feel like a little piece of the temple is theirs,” says 17-year-old Jeff.

It is time for my response. Nineteen years ago, after my being set apart by the Quorum of the Twelve in the temple as an assistant to the Twelve Apostles, Elder LeGrand Richards gave me two pieces of wisdom that have come to me over and over in the past fifty-some-odd hours that I have known of this call. First was, “Oh, to be a boy and have your whole life ahead of you.” I was forty-two years of age. I am now sixty-one and am once again a boy. There are men sitting on this stand who have been Apostles and in the First Presidency for half my age.
The second gem of wisdom that Elder LeGrand Richards gave me was that each time a new assignment in the Church came to him, it was like the shaking of an oak tree: when the tree shook, an acorn would fall and be planted, allowing him a new beginning in that assignment. “You know, my life has been like a great oak tree. From a tiny acorn, I would grow a great oak tree.” Then he said, “I did it in business, and the oak tree shook. An acorn came down, and they sent me out as a mission president. Then I grew another oak tree; they sent me out a second time as a mission president, and then a third.” Then he talked of being a Presiding Bishop. And each time the oak tree would shake, an acorn would be planted.
At this time, I understand the oak tree has shaken. An acorn has been planted; it is a new beginning.

Before starting a flight, the crew has to be extremely careful and precise in entering the geographic coordinates of the point of departure into their navigational system. This information has to be true and accurate because it will be the basis for all future references and decisions. In 1979 a flight started with wrong coordinates from New Zealand to the South Pole and crashed into Mount Erebus, killing all 257 passengers.

The kids in Capri’s class talked a lot. They liked to tell each other about their week. They liked to answer questions in the lesson.
But not Capri. She couldn’t talk. She had a disability that made it hard to speak.
One Sunday, Sister Fox had exciting news. “The Primary program is coming up,” she said. “Each of you will have a part.”
Sister Fox gave slips of paper to the other children. Each paper had a line for them to say. But Capri could not say the words. How could she have a part in the program?
“I have a special part for you,” Sister Fox told Capri. She held up a small box. It had a little handle sticking out on one side. “Watch this.” Sister Fox turned the handle around and around. Soft music played from the box.
Capri clapped her hands. She knew that song!
Sister Fox smiled. “Here, you try.” She helped Capri turn the little handle. Music played. It was like magic!
“Will you play this song for us in the Primary program?” Sister Fox asked. Capri nodded. She was happy to have a part.
Soon it was the day of the program. One by one, each child walked up to the front to say their part.
“God loves us,” said Allie.
“God is our Heavenly Father,” said Zac.
Then it was Capri’s turn. She stepped up to the front. Then she turned the little handle on the box. The soft music played. Capri thought of the words of the song in her mind as she played.
I am a child of God,
And He has sent me here,
Has given me an earthly home
With parents kind and dear.
Capri looked out at all the people. They were smiling up at her.
At the end of the program, the bishop spoke. “Each child shared their testimony today,” he said. “What they shared is true. We are all children of God.”
Capri felt something warm in her heart. She knew the bishop was right. She was a child of God. And she had an important part to play.

In the 1960s, a professor at Stanford University began a modest experiment testing the willpower of four-year-old children. He placed before them a large marshmallow and then told them they could eat it right away or, if they waited for 15 minutes, they could have two marshmallows.
He then left the children alone and watched what happened behind a two-way mirror. Some of the children ate the marshmallow immediately; some could wait only a few minutes before giving in to temptation. Only 30 percent were able to wait.
It was a mildly interesting experiment, and the professor moved on to other areas of research, for, in his own words, “there are only so many things you can do with kids trying not to eat marshmallows.” But as time went on, he kept track of the children and began to notice an interesting correlation: the children who could not wait struggled later in life and had more behavioral problems, while those who waited tended to be more positive and better motivated, have higher grades and incomes, and have healthier relationships.
What started as a simple experiment with children and marshmallows became a landmark study suggesting that the ability to wait—to be patient—was a key character trait that might predict later success in life.