Gospel Story Finder

I went to a bookstore with my mom, and she said I could pick out one book for myself. I found a book I liked in the kids’ section. My mom read the back of the book and decided that I could get it. When we got home, I couldn’t wait to start reading my new book. It was so good I couldn’t stop reading it. I was close to the middle when something unexpected happened. There was a bad word! I had a feeling I should tell my mom, but I didn’t think it was a big deal. So I kept reading. When I was on the next page, the feeling came to me again. This time it was stronger. I showed my mom the bad word. We returned the book to the bookstore. I found a different book that I really liked, and it had nothing bad in it. I had a great time reading it.
I am so glad I listened to the Holy Ghost. If I hadn’t, then I’d probably feel horrible right now. Sometimes one simple word can hurt you. My mom and dad are proud of me for telling them. I felt great that day!

Now, as all of you know, I am somewhat old in years. I had my 96th birthday last June. I have learned from many sources that there is considerable speculation concerning my health. I wish to put the record straight. If I last a few months longer, I will have served to an older age than any previous President. I do not say this to be boastful but rather grateful. Last January I underwent major surgery. It was a miserable experience, particularly for one who had never previously been a patient in a hospital. Following this was the question as to whether I should undergo further treatment. I chose to do so. My doctors have called the results miraculous. I know that the favorable results come from your many prayers in my behalf. I am deeply grateful to you.

One day, as I was walking on my crutches to the local grocery store, I was attacked by a large dog. It bit me on the legs and the arms and knocked me to the ground. I remember screaming for help. Suddenly, a little black shape came flying into the fight and began to help me. It was a savage battle between a crippled cocker spaniel and this much larger, ferocious animal. Pepper’s efforts gave me enough time to get one of my crutches and join in the battle. Together, Pepper and I were able to chase the dog away.
We were both hurt, Pepper much more than I. Soon, my brother arrived to help us. Pepper suffered from his injuries for a few weeks but overcame them and lived for several more years. Little Pepper saved me from potentially serious injury.

Consider Girish Ghimire, who was born and raised in the country of Nepal. As a teenager, he studied in China, where a classmate introduced him to the gospel of Jesus Christ. Eventually, Girish came to Brigham Young University for graduate work and met his future wife. They settled in the Salt Lake Valley and adopted two children from Nepal.
Years later, when more than 1,500 refugees from camps in Nepal were relocated to Utah, Girish felt inspired to help. With native-language fluency and cultural understanding, Girish served as an interpreter, teacher, and mentor. After resettling in the community, some of the Nepali refugees demonstrated interest in the gospel. A Nepali-speaking branch was organized, and Girish later served as its branch president. He was also instrumental in translating the Book of Mormon into Nepali.
Can you see how Heavenly Father prepared and is using Girish?

As a study abroad student in Jerusalem, I participated in this commemorative event. Standing with a palm reed in my hand, I was inspired by how many other Christians had traveled to the Holy City because they loved and wanted to celebrate Jesus Christ.
People sang, cheered, praised, and danced. Just like in Jesus’s time, they waved their leaves from the top of the Mount of Olives, down to the Kidron Valley, past the Garden of Gethsemane, and into the Old City. Throughout the procession, I heard continuous shouts of “Hosanna!”
It was an experience I’ll never forget.

I remember one such experience from my life. It happened when I was a young boy, and I believe it was a gift from my loving Father in Heaven to me to help me throughout my youth. To this day I can remember vivid details of the experience. I even remember the color of the shirt I was wearing and what I had eaten for breakfast that morning. I believe I was seven years old at the time.

It was a summer morning, and I was with my parents and my two little brothers and sister in a pasture at our ranch, trying to round up our horses. It was a large pasture, so we were spread out. I remember watching my dad and my little brothers as I walked in the pasture. The sky was blue, the sun was bright, the grass was green and lush, and there was a little breeze in the air. As I stood there, I looked up to the sky and the mountains and had an overwhelming feeling that Heavenly Father had created all of this and that He loved me. At that age, I had not read the Book of Mormon; my understanding of the gospel was limited. And yet I felt something very real, and it went deep into my heart. It was a warm, gentle feeling, and I captured it and have remembered it to this day.

As I grew and learned more about the gospel, faced temptation, and even made some poor choices along the way, I thought back on how I had felt as a young boy in that pasture, and I knew that Heavenly Father is real. That experience and other faith-building moments throughout my youth—such as praying, reading and studying the scriptures, bearing my testimony, serving others, attending church, and repenting—have truly helped me come unto Christ. I bear testimony that our Heavenly Father knows us and is aware of each of us, our needs, and our concerns, and He wants to bless us.

One in particular, though, seemed a real mystery: E.G. Jones gave a beautiful talk on prayer at the Salt Lake City Eleventh Ward Young Women’s Association in 1882, printed in the Woman’s Exponent. The discourse was poignant and reflected a deep personal relationship developed with Heavenly Father through prayer.

But who was this E.G. Jones? She didn’t leave any personal papers that we could unearth. With the assistance of a volunteer, Chere Clarke, and a family historian, Judy Wight, we started on a trail of census records and discovered Ellenor Georgina Jones, living in the Salt Lake City Eleventh Ward in 1870. With a name, date, and location of birth, we traced Ellenor from Nashville, Tennessee, to Cincinnati, Ohio, born into a multiracial family and raised in the South during the practice of slavery and hostility toward free blacks.

She and her family became acquainted with the Church in Tennessee in the 1840s, and she was baptized in 1844. Ellenor moved back and forth between California and Utah and married three times, having children with her first two husbands. We found a letter she wrote to Brigham Young, seeking a meeting with him. She was a member of the Eleventh Ward Relief Society, and the minute book records her comments in meetings. She participated in temple ordinances for herself and her family members and donated to temple funds.

Ellenor left footprints of her commitment to the Church and her covenants. She had important doctrine to teach us about prayer, and we need to listen.

My family used to live in a big house, but everything changed when we moved to Hanoi. We lived in a very small apartment, about 30 square meters. Living in a narrow space with three other people in my family was hard.
But I’m grateful that God can help make good things come from any situation. During that time, I was able to be an interpreter at church and for my parents. I could pray every day, I passed the sacrament, and I welcomed people investigating the gospel. I know that God has blessed me and guided me to do those things.
Through all the challenges at that time, my faith became stronger day by day. Many people don’t know about the gospel in my country, so I’m a young pioneer. I have a desire to share the gospel of Jesus Christ with people to help them have a happy life forever with Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father.

During the Korean War missionary service was restricted, so President Eyring served in the U.S. Air Force instead of serving a full-time mission. While in the Air Force, he was called to be a district missionary. He spent his nights and weekends for the next two years serving the Lord and preaching the gospel. After he was released from the Air Force, he went back to school and met his wife, Kathleen. They have six children and twenty-five grandchildren. His family is a most important part of his life.

Spring Hill provided an even more important opportunity than teaching youth. One of the teachers under Eldon was named Sara Merrill. He had never met her officially, but he had glimpsed her previously one day in Cardston and said to a friend, “Someday I’m going to marry her.” They were married on December 19, 1919. Their union was blessed with five beautiful daughters, the first being born in October 1920 and the last in August 1931.

I can’t resist one other. Once in a great while a General Authority gets a Sunday without a stake conference assignment. I had one several years ago. I decided to attend my own ward. That’s a rare and interesting experience. In the time since I had last attended, our ward had been divided. We had a new member in the bishopric that I didn’t know, and it became obvious, as I approached the door, that he didn’t know me. As I walked in, he said, “Good morning! I’m Brother ___________, and who are you?”
I said, “I’m Paul Dunn.”
He said, “Oh! You’re Jeanne Dunn’s husband.”
And I said, “Yes I am.”
He said, “We’re honored to have you at church this morning.”
I said, “I’m honored to be here.”
He said, “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to your class.”
And he did. He took me into the Senior Aaronic class. The teacher there was equally gracious and wonderful, and he didn’t know me either. He welcomed me with open arms. And, you know, it got to be kind of funny; because as he started to teach, the irony of it all was that the lesson he taught that morning I wrote. About four times during the session, I raised my hand and made a contribution. After the class the teacher said, “You know, for a guy that doesn’t come to church very often, you sure are smart.”
Well, I went up after class and said, “Sir, I just want to tell you something.”
He said, “Please do.”
I said, “I thought that was the finest lesson I’ve ever heard.”
He called me up the following Tuesday and said, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was having too much fun,” I responded, “and besides, you’re a great fellowshipper. You were tremendous.”

You may recall a story told about President Spencer W. Kimball when he helped a young mother in an airport. This act of kindness is often told, but let me share with you the result of that kindness. It came in a letter President Kimball received more than 20 years later.

Dear President Kimball: . . .

I was sitting in priesthood meeting last week, when a story was told of a loving service which you performed some twenty-one years ago in the Chicago airport. The story told of how you met a young pregnant mother with a . . . screaming child, in . . . distress, waiting in a long line for her tickets. She was threatening miscarriage and therefore couldn’t lift her child to comfort her. She had experienced four previous miscarriages, which gave added reason for the doctor’s orders not to bend or lift.

You comforted the crying child and explained the dilemma to the other passengers in line. This act of love took the strain and tension off my mother. I was born a few months later in Flint, Michigan.

I just want to thank you for your love. Thank you for your example! [Gordon B. Hinckley, “Do Ye Even So to Them,” Ensign, December 1991, p. 5]

There is a story about a young builder who had just gone into business for himself. A wealthy friend of his father came to him and said: “To get you started right, I am going to have you build a ranch house for me. Here are the plans. Don’t skimp on anything. I want the very finest materials used, and I want flawless workmanship. Forget the cost. Just send me the bills.”
The young builder became obsessed with the desire to enrich himself through this generous and unrestricted offer. Instead of employing top-grade labor and buying the finest materials, he shortchanged his benefactor in every way possible. Finally, the last secondhand nail was driven into the last flimsy wall, and the builder handed over the keys and bills, totaling over a hundred thousand dollars, to his father’s old friend. That gentleman wrote a check in full for the structure and then handed the keys back to the builder. “The home you have just built, my boy,” he said with a pleasant smile, “is my present to you. May you live in it in great happiness!”

Gift of health. In October we heard the shocking news that our beloved stake president had suffered a heart attack and was in a coma. As the weeks passed, members of our stake prayed earnestly for him. The doctors were very concerned, but then he came out of his coma and drastically improved. He lives in my ward, and one Sunday before Christmas I walked into the chapel and was surprised to see him sitting on the stand. After the speakers gave their talks, the stake president came to the pulpit and told us that he could feel the strength of our prayers. As I looked at him, tears streaming down my cheeks, I realized his return to health was a great Christmas present for all of us.Katie B., Washington

I would like to share an experience or two with you. When I was growing up, Heber J. Grant was the President of the Church. My father always prayed for President Grant. And he had great personal feeling for him because President Grant at one time was president of the Tooele Stake, and my father at that time was president of the Tooele Stake. President Grant became ill and passed away, and I can remember after the funeral kneeling in family prayer as a young boy and hearing my father praying with the same love and devotion and feeling for the next prophet, the next President of the Church, George Albert Smith.
As a youth, I was surprised because I had never heard anybody pray for any prophet other than Heber J. Grant. And I felt almost cheated—like my father was turning away from a good friend. But as the time went on, through that experience and other experiences, he taught me a very valuable lesson—you see, he had great love and appreciation for President Grant, and that would never change, but in his heart I realized that he had saved his greatest love and his greatest loyalty for his God, and whomever God would send he would sustain and uphold and pray for and embrace.

One summer we hiked with family members into Crow Basin, high in the Cascade Mountains. My mother loved to hike and fish. She made life fun! So it didn’t surprise me on that outing when Mother joined in a horse race. My brother Lynn and I watched from the side as the horses galloped across the meadow. Suddenly, one of the horses tripped and fell down. Through the big ball of dust and commotion, someone shouted, “It’s Helen’s horse!”—my mother’s.

My brother and I ran toward the fallen horse. We were the first to reach Mother. She was unconscious and covered with dust. I thought that she was dead. My father assured me that she was going to be OK, but it was many days before she felt well enough to travel home. At eight years of age, I hadn’t thought much about what my mother meant to me. That experience increased my gratitude and love for her.

For many years the girls were too shy about their writing to share it even with each other. It took a small accident by Charlotte to get them to share their work and their dreams of someday having their work published.
Charlotte was moving Emily’s notebook one day to set the table. She had done this many times in the past and had never neglected Emily’s privacy by reading her work. This day, however, the notebook fell open accidently to some poems, and before Charlotte could close it her eyes caught a few lines.
Having studied the best poets at her boarding schools, Charlotte was capable of recognizing good poetry when she saw it. Emily’s poems were good, very good, and Charlotte couldn’t put the notebook down. She knew her sister’s work must be published.
“Charlotte! How dare you!” Emily cried as she came into the dining room.
“It was an accident, Emily; really it was.” Charlotte realized what her sister must think. “Your poems are so good, though, I couldn’t quit reading them.”
Emily’s anger lasted for three days during which she didn’t speak to Charlotte. After all was forgiven, the door was open for the sisters to discuss their work with each other and make plans to try to publish it.

The black clouds hung heavily against the peaks of the faraway Santa Clara Mountains. Ben shuddered as he heard the faint sounds of thunder after each lighting flash.
“I’ll bet there’ll be a big storm,” he told himself, as he tucked his math book more firmly under his arm.
After getting off the school bus, Ben walked up the road watching the threatening streaks of light in the distance. It had rained lightly on and off for two weeks, and now more rain. A friendly “Woof” took his mind off the storm.
“Hi, Lady Belle!” he called to the big white dog who was running back and forth inside the fenced yard. Three fluffy balls were tagging right behind her. Ben reached a hand inside the wire fence to rub and scratch each of the dogs who wiggled all over with pleasure.
“Even with your new pups you came down to meet me just the way you did before they were born,” Ben said with a wide grin. Lady Belle had been his first friend when the family moved from the city.
The dogs ran along the fence on the other side, each one barking happily. When they came to the gate at the end of the long yard, Ben reached in and gave each dog another good scratching.
“You get that family back to the kennel before it rains, Lady,” Ben said as he hurried up the road toward home.
“Hello, Ben!” called Mrs. Haycock, their closest neighbor. “Mr. Larsen just took his wife to the hospital. She fell on the porch steps.”
“That’s too bad,” Ben said as he kept looking at the lightning. “Do you think there will be a storm as bad as the one two years ago?” he asked.
“Maybe even worse,” Mrs. Haycock replied. “There was one about five years ago that washed out everything. Horses, furniture, even some orange trees went down the arroyo and into the river. Mr. Larsen’s yard was filled with water and looked like a big pond just the way it was when my husband and I came here 50 years ago.”
Ben shuddered. He remembered some of the storms in the city. The lightning and thunder always frightened him a little. When the lightning crashed against the tall buildings and the water swirled down into the storm sewers, he’d run home as fast as he could.
“So you’d better hurry home,” Mrs. Haycock continued. “Will your mother be on the next bus?”
“No, she’s working late,” Ben answered.
Mrs. Haycock thought she sensed worry in his voice. “Want to keep me company?” she offered.
“No, thanks. I’m fine,” he said, turning to leave.
Ben unlocked the door and went inside. He put on some storm clothes and a pair of rubber boots. With a storm on the way there were a few things that he knew had to be done in case the storm turned out to be a bad one.
As Ben worked he remembered the first time they drove into this valley. There was a long bridge spanning a wide river filled with muddy water and tree branches. “Look, Dad,” he had said, “it must be almost a mile wide.”
“Usually it’s a big empty riverbed with just a trickle of water going down the middle,” Dad had explained. “But when it rains heavily in the mountains the water comes down in sheets, washing gravel and rocks down the stream. Sometimes it even floods over into the fields and groves.”
It began to rain a little now, and Ben kept on putting rocks and sandbags around the outside of the house. Soon he heard Lady Belle barking, and Mrs. Haycock’s words came back to him. “Mr. Larsen’s yard … a big pond.” And now with Mr. Larsen gone, Ben was worried about Lady Belle and her puppies. They were right in the middle of the yard, and in his imagination he could see them floundering in deep water.
It was raining much harder now. Ben picked up a flashlight and started down the road.
Lady Belle was barking frantically.
“I’m coming! I’m coming!” Ben shouted.
He reached the high gate but it was locked. He remembered that Mr. Larsen always kept the key in his pocket. Lady Belle’s fur was plastered down with water and the puppies were huddled against the fence in front of her, whimpering.
“Take it easy,” Ben said as much to himself as to the dog. He looked around for something to knock the lock off. Aiming his flashlight along the fence, he spotted a rock about the size of a baseball. Every time Ben hit the lock with his makeshift hammer, it stung his hand. But the lock wouldn’t budge.
Lightning cut the sky overhead, followed by rolling thunder. Great drops of water began pelting down. The sides of the roadway became small rivers. Rain dripped over the edges of his hat and down onto his hands, making his fingers stiff and cold.
Lady Belle whined and licked Ben’s hand as he tugged at the lock. Then he said, “Look out, Lady!” Ben struck the lock as hard as he could several more times. He was just about to give up, when he saw that the bottom of it had slipped down. It was open!
Ben dropped the flashlight and picked up the wet puppies. The little fellows wiggled and squirmed, but he bundled them inside the warmth of his coat and held them close with one arm. He grabbed Lady Belle’s collar with his free hand, and urged, “Come on, Lady. We’ll have to run for it.”
While he was rearranging the pups, Lady Belle placed her body squarely in front of them so that she broke the force of the storm. She was strong, for she was a Great Pyrenees, a breed of dog used to facing cold winds and snows at high mountain sheep camps.
Everything set, Ben took hold of Lady Belle’s collar again. As they slogged along, Mrs. Haycock came running out to her gate. She looked tired and worried, and her coat was flapping in the wind.
Ben edged over to the side of the road and gave a high shrill whistle. Mrs. Haycock heard it and pushed herself out toward them. Ben took her arm and guided her up to higher ground.
“Muddy water … it’s flooding … rocks bouncing all over!” she gasped.
Ben took her thin hand and put it on Lady Belle’s collar. He called to her over the storm, “Hang on. Our house is higher.” She nodded and clenched her hand on the collar.
It wasn’t until then that Ben became aware of the sounds, like artillery blasts. Rocks were bouncing down the cement drainage canal in back of the house, crashing into the walls and booming as they came.
Ben helped Mrs. Haycock up the steps of his house while Lady Belle went up them in one bound. Ben snuggled his face into the wet fur of the puppies and then put them all down on the doorstep.
Mrs. Haycock leaned against the door as Ben opened it. “Never thought we’d make it!” she wheezed. She reached over and patted Ben’s back.
At that moment the storm hit with a burst of sudden fury. The wind blew in wild gusts that rattled the windows and ripped at the shutters. There was a sudden “KER-BANG!” from the garage, followed by the sound of splintering boards and the rattle of cans.
Mrs. Haycock tried to keep her voice calm. “I am glad to be here where we’re all safe,” she said as she took off her wet raincoat and scarf and sat down on a kitchen chair.
Ben looked out of the kitchen window. The street was a muddy river by now. Branches, boxes, garbage cans, and tree limbs all went tumbling along in the water.
“I really think the storm is easing up some. Usually they end with a big fling, like that last,” said Mrs. Haycock, listening to the sounds from outside.
Flashing red and yellow lights were suddenly reflected through the window, and three people got out of a rescue truck. They came splashing up to the house. Ben opened the door and called, “Mom! Dad! Mr. Larsen!”
Lady Belle bounded out of the door. “Thought you and your puppies were goners for sure,” shouted Mr. Larsen.
Ben hugged his parents in relief while Mrs. Haycock smiled at the happy reunions.
“They let us come with the rescue crew when we told them how worried we were about our son who was all alone,” Mom explained.
“But I can see that we didn’t need to worry about you at all,” Dad said with pride as he smiled at Ben.
“That’s right!” Mr. Larsen exclaimed. “And I didn’t need to worry about Lady Belle either. I can see that Ben knows just what to do in an emergency. I’d like him to have a pup for his very own to take care of.”
Ben was so happy that for a few minutes he forgot all about the storm outside. Finally it quieted so the neighbors could go home.
“Well,” said Dad as he looked at the clock. “It’s almost morning but I think we better get a little sleep. We’ve much to be thankful for. This has been a night to remember.”
And Ben agreed. He knew it would be one he would never forget.

The work of the Lord is going very well in the Democratic Republic of Congo in spite of the war in certain provinces of the country.
One day my companion and I knocked on the door of Sister Sylvie. Two days later we met her husband, Brother Antoine. He asked us the name of our church. We answered that we were from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
“That is the church I have been looking for,” he cried with joy. “I have an old Book of Mormon, several pages of which I have lost. I am very happy to have found you.”
Three weeks later Brother Antoine was baptized. I know with all my heart that the Spirit leads those who want to be led to the work of the Lord.
Elder Mahongo Ruffin,Democratic Republic of Congo Kinshasa Mission