Gospel Story Finder

By Rajane S., Jamaica
Photograph © iStock/Thinkstock
I have always been fascinated by genealogy work, so when our Area Presidency gave the youth the goal of gathering 10 ancestors’ names to do baptisms and confirmations for them at the temple, I was ecstatic.
I started my research without any help, but I wasn’t getting anywhere. I had three names without any information, and at that point I felt stuck both spiritually and physically. I decided to ask my mother for help. She suggested that I call her mother. When I called my grandmother, she was more than happy to help. She even gave me permission to act as proxy on behalf of the names we talked about. I was overjoyed and grateful.
The temple trip was approaching, and I had no names from my father’s side. A few hours before I was to leave home, I felt impressed to go to the cemetery and have my father call his aunt to come. We went to the cemetery, and as I watched my father and great-aunt walk around the cemetery, I felt myself being led toward some of my ancestors’ headstones. I felt their willingness to be part of the gospel. With help from the Holy Ghost and from my family members, I had reached my target. I had the names of 16 temple-ready ancestors!
When I went to the temple, I could feel the enthusiasm and excitement of my ancestors who were ready and waiting. During the baptisms and confirmations, I could feel their souls filled with joy and peace. I felt amazing, and all I wanted to do was thank them for giving me the opportunity to be a part of something so special.

Not long after becoming President of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, President McKay announced his plan to establish the Church College in Hawaii. In 1954, he selected Reuben D. Law, the Dean of Education at BYU in Provo, to be the first president of the future Church College of Hawaii. Law organized and brought a committee to Hawaii to assess and plan the beginnings of this college. Shortly thereafter, President Law ambitiously confirmed to President McKay that classes could start in September of 1956, less than two years away. To president Law’s surprise, David O. McKay instead insisted they begin classes in September 1955, less than one year away.
President Law needed the right help to execute a Prophet’s ambitious charge.

One of his first hires was a native Hawaiian woman named Ethel Helani Whitford Almodova. Her role as the Director of registrars and admissions was critical because the school needed students fast!

In 1954 Ethel was a recent graduate from BYU in Provo and only 23 years old. However, president Law offered her a full-time faculty position to run registrars and admissions for the future La‘ie college.

Although her new job in Hawaii was exciting, David O. McKay’s ambitious mandate to start classes seven months after plunging a shovel in the ground at the dedication in February 1955 did make things challenging for Ethel’s first two months on the job. Since new student admission and enrollment needed to take place well before classes started, Ethel had to find an entire student body for the college in about two months. How could she recruit so many students in so little time to a college that only existed in concept? She got straight to it.

“On several occasions, Birdie and I flew to the neighbor islands to recruit students for school. We flew to the Big Island and landed in Kamuela where Sister Thelma Lindsey met us and took us to her home in Waimea. This was in July and we nearly froze. It was so cold there. From Waimea we went to Hilo and spent time there with the Saints. We stayed at the Mission Home. Then we were off to Puna and Kona before we flew back to Oahu. We were gone for several days. Another weekend we went to Maui, returned, and then were gone to Kauai... During our trips, we recruited several students and they joined us in Laie when the college commenced in September.”

In a short amount of time, Ethel successfully recruited over 150 students from the Hawaiian islands. These Students were so anxious and blessed to enroll in a college that was affordable, close by, and most importantly tailored specifically for them by a Prophet of God.
The College began with an opening assembly in the chapel of the Laie First Ward because that was the largest facility they had to accommodate everyone.

“True to prophetic vision, the college was now a reality and the official opening an important event in history. We were pioneers and it was exciting to be involved with The Church College. The faculty and staff were very compatible and the students were wonderful. We had 153 students that first historic year and it has continued to grow.”

Recently my husband and I returned to our home on a hill overlooking the Salt Lake valley to find that all of the electrical power was off in our neighborhood. As we approached our darkened house, a young neighbor boy observed us returning home in the darkness and ran over to offer his lantern. “We have another one at our house,” he said. “You can keep this one as long as you need it.”
I was impressed by the concern of that little boy. He had a light he was willing to share. He really cared about us. He was prepared to help us in our time of need.
I thought a great deal about that little boy in the days which followed. He was so helpful, so happy, and so willing to share his light.
To me, his actions represent the fundamental message of the gospel of Jesus Christ and the motto of Relief Society as well: “Charity never faileth.” First, because my young friend was prepared. He and his family had a light on hand to help them pierce the darkness when their primary source of light was temporarily withdrawn.
We each should take seriously the counsel to prepare. Recall the parable of the ten virgins, in which they “took their lamps, and went forth to meet the bridegroom.
“And five of them were wise, and five were foolish.
“They that were foolish took their lamps, and took no oil with them:
“But the wise took oil in their vessels with their lamps.” When the bridegroom came, they were ready. They “went in with him to the marriage: and the door was shut.” (Matt. 25:1–10.)
We should have the wisdom to personally prepare by understanding truth and living it with integrity so that we might be worthy disciples of Christ. Then, with him as the center of our lives, we can develop those Christlike qualities which will make us worthy of exaltation. We will gain added strength and a greater capacity for love. We will improve the skills of giving our love in such a way that we are prepared in the time of need.
My young friend also cared enough to observe a need. He ran to us in the darkness. He held out his light to illuminate our darkened way.
Jesus directs us to do that in poignant parables, saying:
“For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in:
“Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me.” (Matt. 25:35–36.)
He clearly explains that we must care enough to offer ourselves to meet the physical and spiritual needs of those around us. Doing this is charity. It is a beginning of the pure love of Christ.

My legs felt like gelatin and there was a knot in my stomach as we approached the door. I was sure that I was going to faint as my companion told me that this was my door.
No, I wasn’t a new missionary. I was a 15-year-old home teacher climbing the stairs to the apartment of Sister Rice, a widow living in the Bountiful (Utah) First Ward. Don Gabbott, my companion, was to teach me a great lesson that night about the nurturing role of priesthood bearers to shut-ins who are cut off from the mainstream of Church activity.
Brother Gabbott had given me a topic to present to the five families assigned us, and I was frightened. Inexperienced, I was prepared with some notes on a paper, but I was unsure of how to take the lead in the presence of a high priest.
The response to our knocking was slow in coming. Even though we could see through the storm door window, I was about to suggest that no one was home. Then the shrunken figure of a frail, aged sister, came around a corner in the hallway. She seemed uncertain of what waited her answer at the door. Her face brightened as she recognized Brother Gabbott. We were invited into her living room and asked to take a seat.
After a short greeting, Brother Gabbott looked at me as if to say, “Okay, Bob, it’s time to give our message.” The knot in my stomach tightened as I began to speak. I cannot recall what I said—it doesn’t really matter—for I was the pupil in the classroom of priesthood duty and responsibility. As I glanced up from my notes at the conclusion of my remarks, my eyes fell upon the tear-stained cheeks of that sweet, sensitive sister. She expressed her gratitude for the presence of priesthood bearers in her humble home.
I was speechless. What had I done? What had I said that had been so profound? What could I do? Fortunately, Brother Gabbott came to my rescue by bearing his testimony and asking if there were any needs in the home. There were.
Sister Rice said that she had not been feeling well and asked that she be remembered as we offered our prayer before leaving. She then turned to me and asked if I would offer that prayer. By that time, I was so overcome by the spirit of the occasion that the request numbed me. I was surprised that I was asked to pray when someone older and more experienced and trusted was present. Automatically, I consented and offered a benediction upon that home teaching visit, asking that a special blessing of health and strength be given to that faithful sister whom I barely knew but quickly came to love and respect.
Twenty-five years have passed since my introduction to home teaching in the home of Sister Rice, and she has long since passed away. But I cannot pass that orange-brick fourplex on Bountiful’s Main Street without thinking about the experience provided by Brother Gabbott and a faithful sister who knew the appropriateness of calling upon the powers of heaven embodied in an obedient high priest and an insecure, frightened teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood.

Just a moment ago you heard Veronica and Kaarin sing a beautiful American hymn that became much more meaningful to me as I learned its history.

In 1876 Horatio G. Spafford bid farewell to his wife and four daughters as they departed on a ship to visit relatives in Europe. Some days later their ship collided with another steamship in the mid-Atlantic. Before it sank, Mrs. Spafford prayed with her daughters and committed them to the mercy of the Lord. She never saw her children again in mortality. Mrs. Spafford was rescued and sent this cable to her husband, “SAVED ALONE.” While on the Atlantic, on his own voyage to bring his wife home, he wrote the words to this hymn:
When peace like a river, attendeth my way, When sorrows like sea billows roll; Whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say, It is well, it is well with my soul.
What occurred here? While suffering the tragic loss of his children and undoubtedly knowing his wife’s trauma and sorrow, how is it that a man can come to such an expression? Here is a stunning example of heart and mind functioning together for the wellbeing of the soul. In sorrow, disappointment, or frustration, the answer—though seldom, if ever, easy begins with our ability to keep mind and heart connected and working together.

In April 2006 general conference, Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf shared a story from his childhood to teach the blessings associated with keeping an eternal perspective.

For his family to survive financially in the years following World War II, they operated a laundry business. Elder Uchtdorf’s responsibility was to pedal the delivery bike and pull the extremely heavy laundry cart.

Years later, a physical exam showed scars on his lungs resulting from a former lung disease. Doctor’s asked what therapy he had used to heal his lungs. In that instance, Elder Uchtdorf knew his lungs had been cured through the difficult exercise of riding the delivery bike every day.

Joseph, his family, and the many other people who embraced the Lord’s restored covenant wanted to feel God’s love for them, learn how they could draw closer to Him, or heal relationships with loved ones. Saints tells their stories.

It includes the heart-wrenching story of Amanda Barnes Smith and her family, who obeyed the Lord’s commandments and were doing His will. [18] Amanda’s husband and one of her sons were brutally killed along with 15 other Saints camped at a small settlement in Missouri called Hawn’s Mill. The Lord sustained Amanda through the horrifying experience, answered her prayers, gave her courage, and enabled her to heal her severely wounded son. [19]

Saints shows how Amanda learned to trust in the Lord through extreme adversity. It also tells what Joseph Smith learned about God’s goodness even in times of suffering. It shows that knowing the dealings of the Lord gives us eternal perspective, helps us see things as they really are and will be, and helps us exercise faith that the Lord will see us through hard times.

Representing the First Presidency of the Church, Elder W. Don Ladd, Regional Representative of the Twelve, and Brother Thomas E. Daniels, of the Genealogical Department of the Church, made a special presentation to United States President Jimmy Carter in May 1977.
They gave him a two-inch-thick, leather-bound volume of his genealogy. The record reaches back 12 generations into the early 1600s when Thomas Carter, Sr., was born somewhere in England. Thomas traveled to Virginia in 1632, long before there was a President of the United States.
The genealogical information about the President’s ancestors was gathered from census records, wills, land and probate records, birth and death certificates, and other vital statistics. The work was researched in Salt Lake City where the microfilming work done by the Church in the United States and numerous other countries has resulted in a file of vital statistics amounting to the equivalent of more than 4 1/3 million printed volumes of 300 pages each.
Included with the volume given the President was an 18-by-24-inch, framed family tree, with names of Mr. Carter’s family as far back as could be documented and a letter from the First Presidency. The letter read:
“Daniel Webster said, ‘There is a moral and philosophical respect for our ancestors which elevates the character and improves the heart.’ As you know, we as a people feel a deep reverence and gratitude for our ancestors, which in turn gives us a greater sense of responsibility to our posterity.
“In the spirit of respect and friendship, we present you with this documented genealogy of your family. May you feel a warm satisfaction as you study this record of the people who produced a president.”

Just last week a sprightly fellow accidentally jabbed my foot with his umbrella. Physical pain can cause anger, and I winced and gritted my teeth. I expected him to mumble an “excuse me” and rush off into the crowd, but he stopped dead still.
“Oh, I’m so very sorry, miss.” His accent was English. “Are you quite all right?”
“Yes, I think so,” I said.
“Are you quite sure? I do hope so!”
“I’m fine,” I said smiling. It wasn’t the charm of the accent but his total sincerity that melted away my pain and anger. Perhaps we could even say that an apology is not really an apology without sincerity, for if we speak words without the heart strings attached, we are easily recognized as hypocrites and our apology is just a series of hollow words without meaning. Only the sincere apology can melt the heart and help repair the injury. And it usually does just exactly that.

We had 7 sisters come to us from the Micronesia Guam Mission in late March. (you can see them in the lower left photo) They were serving their missions…then, when Coronavirus hit, they were told to pack up quickly, get to the airport and leave. They “thought” they were headed home to their Pacific islands…but, it turns out their borders were closed, so they landed in Hawaii, then came to us to self-isolate for 2-weeks…and stay in Laie.
They were resuming their missions in a place they weren’t even assigned. Because of the virus, we also had to get several of our international sisters to the airport to go home—many of them, long before the end of their missions. And we lost 130+ seniors from the Laie Hawaii Temple Visitors’ Center, the Polynesian Cultural Center, and BYU-Hawaii because they were over age 60 and were told to go home to safeguard their health. I will never forget that day we met with them to tell them the news. It was heart-wrenching for them to have to leave suddenly—for ALL of us. Some had even sold all they owned before their missions and had nothing to go home to. Really difficult…to leave, then wait. We hope to see them back here sooner than later.
For months—no one came. And many of our sisters still can’t get home to the islands—some have served months longer than their mission term.
Then, finally—at the end of July this year—we had dozens of young sister missionaries start to arrive almost weekly to join us in Laie, nearly quadrupling our numbers (these photos show just a few!). Many were originally assigned here—but many more had served in foreign lands and were sent home, only to be reassigned again, and even again. What a blessing they have been here, thanks to COVID! We need them to help the members and do all the missionary work connected with our Visitors’ Center Virtual Tours and in our Teaching Center…and more. So, trust in the Lord and His timing…even when it’s not what we planned.

When I was a young boy, my father saved my life. Although I do not remember the incident, it is a story that has been told many times in my family.
I was two years old at the time, and my brother was four. We were with our father as he was feeding the cattle on our family farm. He didn’t notice that my brother and I had wandered off until my brother, scared and out of breath, came running to him. My brother could hardly speak. He struggled to even say, “Rolfe’s in … !” “Rolfe’s in … !” Fortunately my father realized that my brother was trying to tell him that I had fallen in the irrigation ditch.
My father ran toward the ditch where I had slipped off the ditch bank into the running water. He ran along the ditch. When he saw my red sweater rolling in that deathly water, he jumped into the ditch and pulled me out. After administering first aid, my father was assured that I was breathing again.
I will be forever indebted to my brother for having the presence of mind to alert my father. And I will be forever grateful to my father and his quick actions that saved my life.

I’m told that no one can create something out of nothing. How powerfully I realized that truth the day I had a visit from a member of our stake presidency. His telephone call that told me to expect him made me wonder what was the purpose of his visit. But all my questions failed to prepare me for the challenge he brought. He came to ask me to write a stage production for our region. He emphasized that they wanted quality—the kind of quality that would make the production suitable for a major attractions center in our city—to which the nonmember public could be invited. And then he left.
But he left behind him a great burden. Because the expectations of my priesthood leaders were so high and my play writing experience so little, I felt very anxious. The fearful thought occurred to me that the discomfort that had settled in my stomach and my legs might not go away until after the presentation of the play.
How could I possibly live up to the expectations of my stake presidency? I had never done the kind of thing they wanted. I felt almost oppressed by a terrible cloud of doubt and helplessness. I had not even one idea. It wasn’t that I didn’t have any experience in writing, I had. But I had always had a concept to share; some ideas to work with. But now I had nothing. When I went to bed that night, my mind was still blank. I couldn’t think of any ideas that could be developed and built into a stage production.
But when I awoke in the morning I knew what I wanted to say. From the recesses of my mind came the ideas, the building blocks with which I could construct the play.
Where did the ideas come from? They came from a deep and precious source—the scriptures.
Just prior to the beginning of the Church’s program of scripture study, I had completed independently what to me was an intense, thorough, and highly rewarding study of all the standard works of the Church—a search that left my working Bible very well worn. As a result, the scriptures had provided the basic form with which to help me fulfill my assignment to build a spiritually successful stage production. But even more important, I could not help but see a comparison and realize how much more vital the scriptures are as building blocks with which to construct our testimonies, our character, and our eternal lives.
One week after receiving the assignment I was able to present to the stake leaders a rough draft of the first half of our production, a production that in final form exceeded our hopes and had a beneficial impact on many nonmember visitors.
This whole experience added more conviction to an already growing testimony of the value of the scriptures.

The second experience was incomparably greater in magnitude. My husband was a widower, and I gained an instant family of four sons when I married him. We had our fifth son and were barely expecting our sixth when my husband was called home to our Heavenly Father—only 19 months after we were married. I was devastated! I questioned God’s wisdom. It wasn’t fair.

Without going into all the details, I will admit that I continued grieving for three years—and I had only known my husband in this mortal life for two short years. I finally realized I had to make a decision. I could continue my prolonged pity party and have a soul like a wrinkled prune when I was reunited with my husband, or I could put my grief behind me and let joy into my life again. Although I did not understand God’s purposes—I still do not understand them all—I had to make a conscious decision to choose a positive outlook. I know I chose rightly.

I share this not as a model of coping with grief or disappointment—because it isn’t a very good one. Nor do I suggest that my suffering was worse than anyone else’s. We each have our own tailored challenges to endure. I offer my experience only as an illustration that sometimes we must consciously choose how we will react—and that choosing to come to the gospel feast can increase our happiness.

I’ve seen what “suffereth long” and “endureth all things” mean. A family moved into a house near us. The home was new, so I was part of the crew of Latter-day Saints who spent a number of nights putting in landscaping. I remember the last night, standing next to the husband of the family as we finished. He surveyed our work and said to us standing nearby, “This is the third yard you Mormons have put in for us, and I think this is the best.” And then he quietly but firmly told me of the great satisfaction he got from membership in his own church, a conversation we had often in the years he lived there.

In all that time, the acts of kindness extended to him and his family never ceased because the neighbors really came to love them. One evening, I came home to see a truck in his driveway. I had been told they were moving to another state. I approached to see if I could help. I didn’t recognize the man I saw loading household things into the truck. He said quietly as I drew near, “Hello, Brother Eyring.” I hadn’t recognized him because he was the son, now grown older, who had lived there, married, and moved away. And because of the love of many for him, he was now a baptized member of the Church. I don’t know the end of that story because it will have no end. But I know that it begins with love.

Then I thought of my niece Ashley. She too knows of the love her Father in Heaven has for her, yet her experience was quite the opposite of Jocelyn’s.
About a year ago Ashley was walking with her father and mother across seaside boulders near their home in northern California. Her dad was photographing beautiful scenes for watercolors he would paint. Out of nowhere and with no forewarning, a rogue wave engulfed the shore, carrying her father out to sea and dragging her mother along the boulders. Ashley was inland far enough that the killer wave missed her. Terrorized by what she had just witnessed, she ran for help.
Within minutes, a man with a cell phone called emergency numbers, and a rescue began. Her mother had landed in a precarious spot where she could be reached only by helicopter. She was in excruciating pain with a broken back and arm and with numerous cuts and gashes due to the vicious rocks and fierce ocean. Ashley’s father was nowhere to be found. As Ashley’s mother lay on the edge of the sea waiting for rescue, she felt her husband’s presence, and she knew without a doubt that he was gone. His body never was recovered.
Heavenly Father didn’t save Ashley’s dad. Yet Ashley still knows that He loves her. She says: “During that time I felt comfort from the Holy Ghost. I knew I would see my dad again. And I felt the Lord’s love through the kind care of others.”

I remember one particular day in the San Diego Mission Home, when my husband was the mission president. It was time to bid one group of missionaries good-bye and welcome and train new ones. The zone leaders were in for training. Food had to be prepared. Linens needed to be changed and laundry done. The home was crowded, full to overflowing; I was supposed to give the missionaries an encouraging, inspirational talk. I felt pressured, even desperate.
I found a quiet corner among the crowd and prayed almost out loud to Heavenly Father, asking, “What am I to do about all these responsibilities that come so fast? There is no time to prepare. Please help me.” I suppose I expected the sympathetic words of a parent to come to me, “You poor, dear child.” But instead I heard a voice saying, “This is not your time, but my time.” The voice was firm and strong, and from that I knew I should rely on the Lord and I would find help from Him.
I began my scripture study in earnest, first priority. I am so grateful now for that inspiration. I received great solace and comfort as I read the Book of Mormon. A guide came to me when I read Alma 37:35–37.

OK, I have a plan for the test. Margo will copy Heitor’s answers. Then I’ll copy Margo’s. Julia will copy mine.
That’s cheating!
So? Mr. Costa is a bad teacher.
I won’t do that.
But you sit by Heitor! He’s the smartest kid in class. If you don’t help us, we’ll all fail!
I’m just going to study and do my best.
A few days later …
Oh no. I almost failed! And I studied so hard.
But I know I did the right thing. I earned this grade on my own. I think Jesus is proud of me.
Illustrations by Katie McDee

Really for us? I honestly thought that President Hinckley must be talking to those who weren’t reading. After all, we had nightly scripture study, family home evening, and family councils; we prayed together. We thought we would just continue reading a few verses a night.It was a few days later that it hit me: a prophet of the Lord asked us to read the Book of Mormon by the end of the year, and I’m going to ignore it? That night we met as a family, and I was astonished at the resounding “Yes” I received as a commitment to meeting the goal. I told the kids that we would have to read on vacations, birthdays, nights when we were tired. “No problem” was the response.It didn’t take long for the spirit of that great book to take over. We started to understand gospel principles, to communicate more as a family. My wife and I felt our testimonies were strengthened, and I heard the kids explaining scripture stories as if they had served missions and taught the gospel for years! Taking this challenge has changed our lives forever. Shawn O’Leary, Poulsbo, Washington, USA

My mom is a great example to me and takes time to help me learn how to clean and cook better. She also tries to help me sew. When I came in last during a race, she showed me the scripture in Ether 12:27 to help me realize that Heavenly Father loves me despite my weaknesses. She teaches us about loving our family when she reads to us and gathers us all around her. Because of her, we like to be together as a family.

Let me tell you briefly about a wonderful brother down in New Zealand by the name of Hoko Whitu. Hoko Whitu no longer lives; but many years ago he lived out on the seacoast well off the beaten track in New Zealand—so far off the beaten track that the missionaries were only able to visit perhaps two or three times a year. He lived in a little fishing hut. He loved to fish, and that was his livelihood and his means of earning a living. He lived alone in this little fishing hut because he was old and his children had all gone or moved to the big city. When the missionaries came on one occasion, Brother Hoko Whitu was very pleased to see them. He could not speak English but greeted them in Maori, took them in his little hut, went right over to a particular place, took out an envelope, and presented them with it. The missionaries found it bulging with money.

The elders took a letter out of the envelope; it was written in English. Brother Whitu could not read the letter, but he could recognize the Church letterhead. He recognized the signature down at the bottom as that of Matthew Cowley, his mission president. He could also read numbers, and he knew that in the middle it talked about a certain amount of money. Upon receiving the letter, he had said to himself, “My mission president needs some more money to run this mission.” And he had saved that money in the envelope for the elders to take back. The elders read the letter to him, translating it into Maori:

Dear Brother Whitu:
This letter will serve as a receipt and an acknowledgment for all the tithing you paid last year. May the Lord bless you in it.

This brother was ready to pay the whole amount all over again, because he thought the Church was in trouble. That is the kind of Polynesian faith that you and I need.