Gospel Story Finder

One of the most challenging things I’ve ever overcome was my “I don’t care” attitude. If I wasn’t passionate about what I was doing, I was cold and impatient with people.

This all changed one school break when I was asked to care for my 76-year-old grandfather. “Dadi,” as we called him, had suffered a stroke, which left him half-paralyzed. When my family asked me to care for him for two months, I couldn’t even imagine how!

I had to wake up early to prepare his breakfast, his bath, and his medicine. I helped him walk around for his daily exercise. Since he had difficulty moving, I was by his side at all times, including during his bath and his toilet. As an 18-year-old girl, this was the hardest part.

Aside from all this, he was difficult to be with. He is not a member of the Church and has different principles than I do. He was a man full of regrets—always shouting, never smiling, and constantly saying, “I’m dying!” Because of this attitude, it was hard for us to share a good bond.

At first, I did all I could to avoid my tasks, but that didn’t work. So I decided to change my attitude and give my best effort.

After a week of this new attitude, serving Dadi became a joy to me. My patience grew, and I came to understand his affliction. As I served him, I stopped thinking of being with him as a burden but rather as an opportunity to create good times with him.

Dadi changed too. This frowning old man became a smiling, gentle grandpa. He even came to like listening to Especially for Youth songs!

One night I heard him making some noise, so I looked into his room to find out what he was doing. He was praying for the first time. I’m inspired every day by this change.

Now I’m back at college, but I still go twice a month to visit Dadi with my family. We eat with him and sing for him. His health has worsened, so now the most powerful help that I can give is prayers on his behalf.

I’m grateful for the opportunity to watch over Dadi because it helped me see what I’m capable of giving. Love is a very powerful thing—it softened both my heart and Dadi’s. I have learned the meaning of sacrifice and compassion. Truly, charity enlightens every heart!

Many times Amelia’s adventures were shared with Muriel. One time, when the family was moving and the last load was ready to go, the family cat, Von Sol, had run off, and the family had to leave without it. At the end of the next day, when nothing had been done to find the cat, Amelia and Muriel grabbed a gunnysack, climbed over a fence, went through a back alley, and set off for their former home. It was a long walk, but they made it. There by the door sat Von Sol. When the girls tried to capture him, the cat became frightened and scrambled up a nearby birch tree. The lowest limb was ten feet above the ground. Seeing no other way to get to the cat, and not being one to give up, Amelia shinnied up a porch post to the roof of the house. From there she climbed onto a branch of the tree and up to where Von Sol was crouching. After a long discussion, Amelia coaxed the cat into the gunnysack. It was a very tiring walk home for the girls, especially with the weight of Von Sol in the gunnysack. And worry about their parents’ reaction to their adventure didn’t make the trip any easier. But Amelia was happy to have rescued Von Sol.

Dora Valencia, who had lain four years in the Ajax Ontario Hospital, mustered her courage and fulfilled the desire to attend. From her hospital bed, which was wheeled into the celestial room, she not only basked in the spirit found there, but she also helped to provide that spirit. As I walked past her, upon leaving the room, and gazed at her expression of profound gratitude to the Lord, I bent low and took her hand in mine. Heaven was very near.

One such event for me involved a small boy. He was perhaps the ugliest child I had seen up until then. He was tied into a chair with a wide band of white bed sheet. His head lolled from side to side, and he drooled onto a bib tied around his neck. His face contorted into grimaces and his thin, matchstick arms flailed the air without control. I stood in the doorway, and, in spite of myself, I stared.

He was alone in the room, tied in that chair with a large white tray in front of him. On the tray was a jumble of children’s building blocks. The little boy was building something with those blocks. The structure took shape slowly as he carefully focused his rolling eyes on the block he needed; and then, with a concentration that made his entire body rigid with effort, he controlled his flinging arms and hands to reach for the block.

He’d aim for the block, reach, and overshoot. Aim again and again and finally, with a lunge, capture the block and grasp it in jerking, clawlike fingers. Then the block was lifted with intense concentration, finally wavering spasmodically into place. The entire structure tottered dangerously as the new block landed.

I found myself watching in fascination as the structure grew, my own body becoming rigid as he reached for each block, grasped it, lifted it slowly and carefully, and dropped it into place. I was beginning to turn blue when I realized that I was holding my breath with each block as the structure tottered and threatened to fall over.

The structure grew slowly and with such great, great difficulty that I found myself sweating the effort of watching. Yet I knew, somehow, that I couldn’t and shouldn’t try to help. It grew and grew into walls and parapets and minarets until at last the capstone was ready to set into place.

The final triangular block that would top the west tower was moving into place when the arm that moved it gave a sudden, convulsive jerk, and the hand that held the block struck the lower wall of the great structure. It came down with a clatter and a crash as the blocks tumbled across the tray and spilled off onto the floor.

The boy watched it go, his rolling eyes filled with a look that I have seen many times since but have never quite become accustomed to. He sat as the clatter trailed away into silence. Then he heaved a great sigh, pushed the debris aside and slowly, ever so slowly and ever so carefully, picked up the first block and set it into place again.

There were tears running down my face as I stepped into the room and, without a word, gathered the scattered blocks from the floor and piled them at the edge of the tray. Then I stood back and watched for a while longer the infinite care and patience as the second structure began to take shape.

I stood and watched for a long time, forgetting the demands for my time in another part of the building. No one else came along while I was there, and it probably was good because I’d have been embarrassed to have been found there like that with my face wet from tears. One just glancing in might not have seen what I had seen and might not have understood.

For, you see, I was silent witness to a miracle—a small miracle, but a miracle nevertheless. I had seen something of incredible ugliness turn before my eyes into something of tremendous courage and unspeakable beauty.

It etched itself, that afternoon so long ago, forever in my mind.

I once worked with a group of railroad men who seemed to pride themselves on the use of profanity. They tried to make an art of it. I recall handing a written instruction to a switchman. It was his job to take care of the matter as instructed, but he thought it inconvenient that he should have to do so at that time. On reading the order, he flew into a tantrum. He was a fifty-year-old man, but he acted like a spoiled child. He threw his cap on the ground and jumped on it and let forth such a string of expletives as to seem to cause the air to turn blue around him. Every third or fourth word was the name of Deity spoken in vain.

I thought, how childish can a grown man be? The very idea of a man acting and speaking like that was totally repugnant. I could never again give him my full respect.

One 92-year-old great-grandmother has produced several hundred blankets for the victims. In her case, both the creator and receiver have been blessed. As her son admired her handiwork, she asked, “Do you think anyone will ever use one of my blankets?” A letter from a young mother in Louisiana answers that question:
“I live in Louisiana, and I go to a local health unit for my children. While I was there, they gave me some outfits, diapers, wipes, and two beautiful baby blankets. One blanket has a yellow backing with footprints and handprints on the front, and the other blanket is tan with zebras. They are beautiful. My four-year-old loves the zebra one, and of course my seven-month-old can’t say much. I just wanted to say thank you to you and your Church members for your generosity. God bless you and your family.”

A friend of ours (and most of us were recent converts) was getting into the drug culture with all its wrong attitudes and acts. Some might say we shouldn’t have kept this kind of friend, but we did. (Later he said that he had felt he was losing us even so, but this was because he had been failing to keep his part of the relationship.) At any rate, we didn’t throw him out of our lives for taking drugs, or for any of the other sins, small or great, that it led him to. Then we saw him turn to paths of repentance, and when he finally asked, we helped him climb back. The day of his temple marriage was a day of deep joy to us all.
Sharon DequerMunrovia, California

I saw the results of another great teacher while serving as the president of a single adult stake at BYU–Idaho. That experience changed my life. On one particular Tuesday evening, I interviewed a young man named Pablo, from Mexico City, who wanted to serve a mission. I asked him about his testimony and his desire to serve. His answers to my questions were perfect. Then I asked about his worthiness. His answers were exact. In fact, they were so good, I wondered, “Maybe he doesn’t understand what I’m asking him.” So I rephrased the questions and determined that he knew exactly what I meant and was completely honest.

I was so impressed with this young man that I asked him, “Pablo, who was it that helped you come to this point in your life standing so uprightly before the Lord?”

He said, “My dad.”

I said, “Pablo, tell me your story.”

Pablo continued: “When I was nine, my dad took me aside and said, ‘Pablo, I was nine once too. Here are some things you may come across. You’ll see people cheating in school. You might be around people who swear. You’ll probably have days when you don’t want to go to church. Now, when these things happen—or anything else that troubles you—I want you to come and talk to me, and I’ll help you get through them. And then I’ll tell you what comes next.’”

“So, Pablo, what did he tell you when you were 10?”
“Well, he warned me about pornography and dirty jokes.”
“What about when you were 11?” I asked.
“He cautioned me about things that could be addictive and reminded me about using my agency.”

Here was a father, year after year, “line upon line; here a little, and there a little,”10 who helped his son not only hear but also understand. Pablo’s father knew our children learn when they are ready to learn, not just when we are ready to teach them. I was proud of Pablo when we submitted his missionary application that night, but I was even prouder of Pablo’s dad.

An acquaintance recalls that when he was a young boy, an electrician came to do some wiring. It was necessary to string some wires in a little crawl space under the house. Since the space was too small to accommodate an adult, the electrician asked the boy if he would go in and pull the wires through. When the boy had done it, the man handed him a quarter, and the proud boy went to show it to his mother. Her response was, “Oh, a quarter is too much. Go back and tell him that a dime is plenty.”
No doubt the mother was only trying to be fair to the electrician, but the fact that the man remembered the incident after thirty years seems quite significant.
How much better it would have been for the mother to have said, “A quarter is a lot of money. He must have thought you did a real good job.” Or she might have used the experience to teach him about service and help him realize the good feeling that comes from service offered freely. Such an approach would contribute to the child’s self-esteem instead of lowering it.

One such teacher was Lucy Gertsch. She knew each of her students. She unfailingly called on those who missed a Sunday or who just didn’t come. We knew she cared about us. None of us has ever forgotten her or the lessons she taught.
Many years later, when Lucy was nearing the end of her life, I visited with her. We reminisced concerning those days so long before when she had been our teacher. We spoke of each member of our class and discussed what each one was now doing. Her love and caring spanned a lifetime.
I love the Lord’s injunction found in the Doctrine and Covenants:
“I give unto you a commandment that you shall teach one another the doctrine of the kingdom.
“Teach ye diligently and my grace shall attend you.”6
Lucy Gertsch taught diligently because she loved untiringly.

Relying on prayer doesn’t mean that Lindsey and Stephanie don’t prepare for performances. Lindsey says she typically practices about two hours every day, but if she has a competition or performance coming up, she pushes it to three or four hours. As well as playing solos, the sisters play duets with each other or with their mother, so they need to practice together. Now that Stephanie is away from home at Harvard, coordinating their practicing is a challenge. They practice their pieces separately but make use of holidays such as Thanksgiving and Christmas when they are together to play their two-piano pieces. “A lot of two-piano playing isn’t just knowing the notes; it’s feeling the music together,” says Lindsey.

Claire stomped her foot and glared at her closed bedroom door. Then she collapsed on her bed in tears. It was so unfair! Claire had two younger sisters and one younger brother. All she ever did was clean up after them! At least that’s what she had told Dad five minutes ago.
Claire had been reading a book, her favorite thing to do. Danielle was at the kitchen table making an art project. Liberty was playing with her blocks and dolls, and Hyrum was playing with his farm set.
“Guess what?” Mom said as she walked into the room. “Dad checked out a fun video at the library. Please clean up quickly so there will be time to eat dinner and watch the video before bedtime,” Mom said. “Claire, please help Hyrum clean up his farm set.”
As Claire set her book down, she heard her sisters complaining. Danielle said she wasn’t done with her art project and Liberty said she was too little to clean up her toys. Claire smiled. Liberty always said she was too little when she was asked to do something.
“I have to clean up Hyrum’s toys and I’m not complaining,” Claire thought. She scooped little farm animals into the toy barn and then put the barn on the shelf in Hyrum’s room. Then she went back to the couch and opened her book.
Dad came into the room. “Claire, could you please help Liberty clean up the blocks and dolls?” he asked. “Mom and I will be busy making dinner.”
“But I didn’t play with them, Dad,” Claire said. “Mom said we needed to clean up what we were playing with. I already cleaned up Hyrum’s mess.”
“Claire, we need to work together or we won’t have time to finish the video before bedtime,” Dad said. “Please go help Liberty.”
Claire was upset. She saw all of the blocks scattered throughout the family room. They had been made into little houses for Liberty’s dolls and stuffed animals. What a mess! She stomped her foot. “All I ever do is clean up after little kids!” she said.
“Let’s go to your room,” Dad said. He walked with Claire to her room. When they got there he said, “I know you’ve already cleaned. But we are a family and we work together. We all want to watch the video, so we all need to help. Danielle is cleaning up her art project, and Mom and I are making dinner. Liberty made a big mess but she’s only three. She needs help. Can you please be more willing to help?”
Now Claire lay on her bed crying. She felt awful inside. Did her parents think she was a maid? Maybe they should call her “Clean-up Claire.” Claire felt like a dark cloud was hanging over her head. She felt angry and alone. She took a deep breath. “I’ve got to stop feeling like this,” she thought. “What can I do to feel better?”
She knew what would make her feel better. She wiped the tears out of her eyes and knelt by the side of her bed. “Heavenly Father,” she prayed, “I’m sorry for the way I’ve acted. I’m sorry that I didn’t obey and that I complained to my parents. Please help me to feel better. Please help me feel the Spirit.”
As she said those words, the dark feelings left her. She felt warm and peaceful. She stayed on her knees and enjoyed the good feelings in her heart. Then she stood up. “This won’t be so bad,” she thought. She opened her door and quickly found the bucket that the blocks went in. She scooped them up as quickly as she could. “Liberty,” she called, “come and help me put these dolls and stuffed animals away.”
“I can’t help,” Liberty said as she walked into the room. “I’m too little.”
Claire smiled at her. “No, you’re not,” Claire said kindly. “Come on, I’ll help you.” Together the girls picked up the family room. Then Claire went into the kitchen where Mom and Dad were setting the table.
“I’m sorry I complained,” Claire said.
Mom and Dad smiled at her. “Thank you, Claire,” Dad said.
As the family gathered around the table, Mom said, “I never realized how much effect one person can have on the feeling we have in our home. A little while ago, it didn’t seem like the Spirit was here. But now, I know that it is. Thank you for doing your work happily, Claire.”
Claire smiled. She knew she had helped her whole family.

As Alvin was dying, he asked that each of the Smith children come to his bedside for his parting counsel and final expression of love. According to Mother Smith’s account in her History of Joseph Smith, “When he came to Joseph, he said, ‘I am now going to die, the distress which I suffer, and the feelings that I have, tell me my time is very short. I want you to be a good boy, and do everything that lies in your power to obtain the Record. [Joseph had been visited by Moroni less than three months before this time.] Be faithful in receiving instruction, and in keeping every commandment that is given you.’”
Alvin died on 19 November 1823. Lucy Mack Smith writes of the pall of grief surrounding his passing: “Alvin was a youth of singular goodness of disposition—kind and amiable, so that lamentation and mourning filled the whole neighborhood in which he resided.”

There are always ways to support each other. Even years later while Bruce was serving as a General Authority and coping with health challenges, he still wanted to support me when I served as a Sunday School teacher. He would have discussions with me about upcoming lessons, and every Sunday when he was available, he would help me get needed supplies, set up the classroom, and offer thoughtful comments in class. Although he was limited in his time and energy, he was unlimited in his desire to support me.

We are commanded to teach our children to pray and to walk uprightly before the Lord. You may remember the story that Elder Robert L. Simpson told about a three-year-old boy who knelt down with his daddy to say his bedtime prayers. Eyes were closed, heads were bowed, but no words were spoken for several moments. Soon the little boy climbed into his bed. The daddy opened his eyes and said, “But what about prayers?”
And the boy answered, “I said my prayers.”
“But I didn’t hear you,” said the daddy.
Then followed the child’s classic comment, “But Daddy, I wasn’t talking to you.” (See Proven Paths, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1974, p. 148.)

On Church assignment in Hawaii, Sister Wirthlin and I visited the island of Molokai. As we walked back to our car after laboring up a trail in the mountains, we came upon a young man headed toward the overlook. I offered a polite greeting. From his answer, I could tell he was from Germany.
His countenance bespoke a sincere heart and an approachable personality. I spoke his language and understood his culture, having served a German-speaking mission. The Spirit prompted me to introduce the gospel to him. However, due to other people around us, our brief encounter was interrupted without my having said a word about the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. I failed to be the missionary that every member of the Savior’s Church ought to be.
As we drove away, I had the disturbing feeling that I had failed in my duty to proclaim the gospel. I was troubled while we drove around the island to see Molokai’s beautiful waterfalls. As we got out of our car, another car drove up and stopped. The young man we had seen earlier stepped out, smiled, and gave me a warm handshake. As I grasped his outstretched hand, I thought to myself, This time I will do my duty.
We introduced ourselves and I learned he was a university student in a small city south of Dusseldorf, Germany. We spoke of my fond memories of Germany, and of my admiration for the German people. Speaking of my work in Europe gave me an ideal opportunity to explain some of the basics of the gospel. As we parted, I asked for his address and telephone number, which he gladly shared. I felt he was truly a newfound friend.
Upon my return to Salt Lake City, I wrote to the Germany-Dusseldorf Mission and asked President John F. Charles to send missionaries to continue the gospel discussion. I don’t believe my wife and I met this young man twice by coincidence.
But the Lord doesn’t always give us a second chance to share the gospel. I failed to follow the Spirit the first time the still, small voice unmistakably spoke to my heart and mind.
We must act when the Spirit speaks. When I did, the young man responded positively to my message. It wasn’t really my message. It was God’s, brought to my mind by the Spirit of the Lord. I was but an instrument in the Lord’s hands.

A few weeks ago I was called to the County Hospital in Salt Lake City by a mother. I didn’t know her. She said her boy was dying from polio and asked if I would come down and give that boy a blessing. So I picked up a young bishop whom I generally take with me, for I think his faith is greater than mine, and I always like him along. We went down there and here was this young lad in an iron lung, unconscious, his face rather a blackish color, with a tube in his throat, and they said he had one lower down in his abdomen. He had been flown in from an outlying community. The mother said to me, “This is an unusual boy, not because he’s my child, but he is an unusual boy.” I think he was eight or nine years of age.
After they put the usual coverings on us we went in and we blessed that boy. It was one of those occasions when I knew as I laid my hands upon that lad that he was an unusual boy, and that he had faith. Having faith in his faith, I blessed him to get well and promised him he would. I never heard anymore about him until last Saturday. I was on my way to Murray to conference. I dropped in at the County Hospital, and I asked if I might see the lad. The nurse said, “Certainly. Walk right down the hall.”
As I walked down the hall, out came the boy running to meet me. He ran up and asked, “Are you Brother Cowley?” And I said, “Yes.” He said, “I want to thank you for that prayer.” He added, “I was unconscious then, wasn’t I?” I replied, “You certainly were.” He said, “That’s the reason I don’t recognize you.” Then he asked, “Come on in my room; I want to talk to you.” He was an unusual boy.
Well, we went in the room. He still had a tube in his throat. I said, “How long are you going to have that tube there?” He said, “Oh, two weeks. Two more weeks and then I’m all well. How about another blessing?” So I said, “Certainly.” I blessed him again, and then I was in a hurry. I wanted to get out to my conference. But he stopped me and asked, “Hey, how about my partner in the next bed?” There was a young fellow about sixteen or seventeen. I said, “What do you mean?” He said, “Don’t go out without blessing him. He’s my partner.” I said, “Sure.” Then I asked the boy, “Would you like a blessing?” He said, “Yes, sir. I’m a teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood in my ward.” I blessed him, and then my little friend left and brought another fellow in. Here was another partner. And I blessed him.
Now, except ye believe as a child, you can’t receive these blessings. We have to have the faith of a child in order to believe in these things, especially when you reach college age and your minds are so full of skepticism and doubt. I guess there are some things that you should doubt, but you can become as little children in these things. Miracles are commonplace, brothers and sisters.

First Presidency devotional. One of my favorite Christmas experiences took place when I had been a member of the Church for a year and a half. I listened to the First Presidency Christmas devotional. It’s always great to hear from the prophet, but during the Christmas season it was especially fantastic.
As we sat in the chapel and listened to the prophet’s words, we felt the Spirit very strongly. His words were meaningful, and I was able to better understand the true spirit of Christmas and the importance of loving our neighbors and rendering service. Even more important, my testimony of Jesus Christ grew stronger that day.
When I was a child, I always got the gifts I wanted on Christmas, but I have never received a better gift than hearing from a prophet that Jesus Christ lives and that this is His true Church.Alvaro M., Uruguay

I recognized the beauty of music and the total satisfaction that comes from sharing it with others. When I played in church, I felt an inner fulfillment come to me as a performer and to my friends as an audience. I experienced satisfaction each time people would thank me for touching their hearts with my music.
Just as I was realizing my musical potential, I was asked to teach the three-year-olds in church. I discovered how much happiness comes when a small hand takes mine and two big blue eyes look up to me and say, “Thanks, Michelle, for being my special friend.” Serving the Lord through working with his little children helped me understand the real meaning of the scripture, “Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God” (Luke 18:16).

Young: I could go on for an hour if you want. At the beginning of my mission, I remember praying and praying that I would feel like I was doing something worthwhile. After about two weeks, we started teaching a little family out in a village. Most of the conversation was going right by me, because I was just starting to get hold of the language. The mother started crying, and my companion asked her what was wrong. She wanted to explain that she’d had a dream. In the dream she had seen a great white building. Down in Honduras there aren’t too many of those. People were dressed in white and they were going in and out of this beautiful building. Then she said, “Outside that building, waiting to take us in, was Elder Young.”
I realized she was talking about the temple, even though she didn’t know it. And I said, “Look what I’m involved with, helping people to be eternal families.” And it happened. The family was baptized a couple of weeks later and I got a letter last summer telling me they were sealed in the Guatemala Temple.
That’s something more important than any football success I might have. That’s something I can say for myself later, that I was involved in something like that.