Gospel Story Finder

I was very disappointed when I found out that my first baseball game of the season was on a Sunday. I wanted to keep the Sabbath day holy, so my parents told my coach I would miss the first game. Although I was sad about missing the game, I felt good that I was following Jesus. A few days before the game, my coach called to say they had rescheduled the game for Saturday. I was very glad! Not only did I get to go to my first game of the season, but I also got to be the pitcher.

July 11. Our family got back this morning from a three-day trip to Buck’s Lake. I called Billy to see if we could get together, maybe go to a Saturday matinee or hike in the hills or something. His mother said he could not play … because he’d died two days ago. She began to cry, and Billy’s father got on the phone. He told me that Billy had seen a neighbor’s puppy in the street, and when he ran out to carry it to where it would be safe, he’d been hit by a car. It wasn’t the driver’s fault, Billy’s dad said. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. It just happened. I asked Dad if he could give me a blessing of comfort. I guess I’m having a hard time dealing with it.

George T. Johannesen, Sr., of the Kalamazoo Ward, Lansing Michigan Stake, tells about his college classmate, Pete Cavallo, who wanted nothing more than to become an athlete even though he was barely 1.5 meters and weighed scarcely more than 45 kilograms. Cavallo (the name means “Horse”) decided to try cross-country running.
The first year, Pete finished the race, but only long after the stadium was empty. The next year he did a little better, and by the third year he had improved enough to finish while spectators were still left in the stands. By the fourth year, people were saying, “we sure do wish those little Cavallo legs could win this year!” But nobody thought they would.
Still, there was a feeling of expectancy. Everyone was watching the hill leading to the stadium, hoping to see Pete Cavallo at the front of the pack of runners as they made the final dash to the stadium. Then one of those big, long-legged runners charged into view, and a sigh of disappointment was heard. Fans started leaving.
But suddenly there was little Pete running over the hill. The stadium became very noisy, everyone shouting, “Run, Pete! Run, Little Horse!” The winner was forgotten as if Pete had come in first. And perhaps in a way he did, because people still remember today his example of working to do the best he could.

After his mother died, Gordon B. Hinckley felt responsible for his younger brother and sisters and helped them in many ways. He worked hard and saved money for his schooling. When it was time for his sister Ramona to graduate, he realized how important it would be to her to have a new dress for that special time. Thinking more about her needs than his own, he used some of his hard-earned money to buy her a beautiful new dress.

Illustration by Carolyn Vibbert
When I was six or seven years old, I knew I wanted to be an oceanographer. I focused on my goal, worked hard, and got into a good college. I took several courses in zoology and loved it. But as I got further into my studies, I became fascinated with the human body, particularly on the cellular level. I decided to become a pathologist.
I soon met my future husband, and we decided to get married. Having a family was always part of my plan, but while I knew I could be a great doctor and a great mother, I felt that I couldn’t be great at both at the same time. Because family is essential to the Lord’s plan of salvation, I decided to become a mother first. I figured that once my kids got into school, I could go back to school myself.
When my youngest child entered kindergarten, I began the application process for a PhD program in nutritional studies at the University of Texas in Austin. Just before submitting my application, I found out I was unexpectedly pregnant with my seventh child. I was in my 40s, and by the time this child entered school, I would be nearly 50.
“A little late to start a new career that takes extensive schooling,” I thought.
All at once I saw my life’s career dreams crumble around me. As I began to despair, a scripture came to my mind and my heart: “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends” (John 15:13). I had always considered this scripture to mean one person dying for another, but now it means so much more.
I realized that the greatest love I could show was to lay down the life I had planned for myself and give my time and energy to raising my children. I felt that for me, this was what the Lord would have me do. Yes, I could have helped a lot of people as a doctor, but I also know that the greatest eternal impact I can have is in the lives of my own children.

Fifteen years passed and then two missionary elders knocked at our door. My mother answered it and said, “No thank you”, and shut the door. When my mother told my father about the two American missionaries who had just called, my father responded in a surprising way. He jumped up and ran out of the house after them. The elders were knocking on our neighbour’s door and eagerly came back to our house at my father’s invitation.
This was 1966. The elders were dressed in dark suits and raincoats with trilby hats. They looked a bit like FBI agents. They introduced themselves as Elder Jackson and Elder Garlock. They were ushered into our front room, kept for special visitors. Elder Garlock had just come out on his mission and was suffering from jet lag. His companion kept nudging him to keep him awake. About four weeks later, my parents and my older brother were baptised at Epsom chapel. My twin brother and I were too young and had to wait a year before we were baptised, at Reading chapel.
Why did my father react so eagerly to hear the missionaries? He remembered the words and feelings he had when he heard the missionary on Brighton Beach in 1951. I believe that every testimony borne in faith can touch a heart.

I am reminded of a little village called Panacaxtlán, situated where the coastal plains meet the mountains of central Mexico, just a few kilometers off the Vía Corta (the short route) between Mexico City and Tampico, Tamaulipas. The village is situated in a lush, green, humid area known as the Huasteca, and the inhabitants are sons and daughters of Lehi. In 1979, while I was serving as president in the Mexico Mexico City North Mission, missionaries began proselyting in the Huasteca. Fifty-two people joined the Church in Panacaxtlán, along with about 400 others in nearby communities that formed the new Tempoal Mexico District.
A short time later, a meeting was called in Panacaxtlán at which Church members were given the following options: denounce the Church, leave the village, or be killed (not an idle threat).
The members, particularly the women, said they knew the Church to be true and would not denounce it. They also indicated they had worked just as hard as the rest of the community to secure their homesteads, and they would not leave. Boldly stepping forward, they told their taunters if they were going to kill them, to get on with it. The moment grew tense as machetes were raised, then finally lowered while the Latter-day Saints stood up for that which the Spirit had testified to them to be true.
These Saints eventually learned, as most of us do, that it is harder to live the gospel day by day than to die for it in an instant, but their early commitment came because the Spirit had touched their hearts and changed their lives. Their conversion had taken place as the Book of Mormon helped build their faith in Jesus Christ, the Son of God. They learned that Christ had visited their ancestors in the Americas after His Resurrection, and they were grateful for the blessings available to all our Father’s children because Heavenly Father had sent His Son. Like the Saints of New Testament times, those members in Panacaxtlán had developed faith sufficient to withstand the persecutions of people whose minds were closed.

“Our first location there was in a log stable belonging to a widow White. Some blocks east of what was known as the Temple block. This hovel was made of a small class of crooked poles, between which I often crept instead of raising the quilt hung over the doorway. This part … at that time was thickly covered with blackberry bushes mixed with oak and hazel brush. Our family were all sick with chills and fever (familiarly known as the shakes) except my mother.
“From this Mormon home … Brother George A. [Smith] started as an Apostle on his mission to England, he having to be lifted into the wagon, as he was too weak to walk. This was in September, 1839. Before leaving he placed in my hand his last quarter of a dollar with a request to get mother some tea. The next day the Prophet Joseph and his brother Hyrum visited us and administered to us all, father being delirious from the effects of the fever. Their words comforted us greatly, as they said in the name of the Lord you all shall be well again. Upon leaving the hovel Joseph placed his slippers upon my mother’s feet and sprang upon his horse from the doorway and rode home barefoot. The next day Joseph removed father to his own house and nursed him until he recovered.”3
“A few days after her [Oliver’s mother’s] death, which was the third in Nauvoo [then called Commerce], Brother Joseph seeing that we still grew worse, told William that we would all die if we stayed there, and that he must take the team and bring us down to his own house. So he took us all into his own family, but me, he sent to Hiram Clarks, about twenty rods distant, yes forty rods. Here I spent an awful summer, the most dreadful I ever experienced, or ever expect to, in that way. My ague was attended with the Cortivical Rheumatics the most painful of all afflictions wherewith I was ever afflicted. Every other day I had the ague, and the days between, the rheumatics raged. Thus I passed days and almost weeks. …”4

We attend a lot of meetings in the Church, and one meeting I attended a few years ago had a powerful effect on me. It was a testimony meeting in a ward in Barcelona, Spain.
To my surprise, around 10 youth shared their testimonies following an FSY conference they had participated in. What impressed me most was that they all bore pure, powerful testimonies of the Savior, Jesus Christ, His atoning sacrifice, and His love for all of us. I was amazed that after five days of fun activities with other youth, food, games, and dances, it was the joy they had in the Savior that really stuck with them. It left me wondering why.
Later I moved to Brazil. I learned the leaders in the area were preparing for an FSY conference. As an Area Seventy, I was invited to help organize the conference and to participate in all five days with the youth.
Before I left, the Area Presidency asked me to be prepared to give a report on my experience at FSY when I returned. My wife and I attended the conference, and for the first three days we enjoyed the planned activities, including morning scripture study, devotionals, classes, outside activities, good food, family home evening, and dances. Everything moved forward as planned, and I felt that I had seen enough to complete my report.
The next evening, we held a beautiful and touching musical program. The Spirit was so special that the owner of the conference site, not a member of the Church, told me that he would love to have our group attend FSY at his place every year.
After the musical program, the youth gathered in their groups for a testimony meeting. My wife and I went from group to group and heard touching testimonies. We could tell that the participants in the conference had been having strong spiritual experiences. We loved hearing the youth freely express their feelings of happiness. We felt like a part of a big spiritual family. We felt the love of the Savior for each one of us.
I looked to my wife and asked, “What is going on here?” She could not say a word. But we knew so many had experienced a spiritual moment and received an unforgettable testimony of the Lord, Jesus Christ.
I went to my room that night and wrote a totally different report! The following year, my wife and I went to FSY again and enjoyed the same experience. Now I understand why the youth in that testimony meeting in Spain shared such meaningful feelings for the Savior instead of relating the fun activities they had.
My desire is that you will have many similar experiences in your life, whether it is at FSY, by your bedside as you pray, when you read the scriptures, or when you share your testimony with your friends.
I testify that we are sons and daughters of a loving Heavenly Father. We came here to earth from His presence, and we are all members of His great spiritual family. Our eldest Brother is the Lord, Jesus Christ. He is our Master, and from Him we can learn and grow “in wisdom and stature, and in favour with God and man” (Luke 2:52), as He did.
Detail from Christ and the Rich Young Ruler by Heinrich Hofmann
Jesus Christ is our Savior. His power is infinite, and He stands ready to rescue us from any afflicting situation we may find ourselves in. He is our friend—a friend who loves us, knows us, and has offered His life to save us. His atoning sacrifice for us made it possible for Him to know how to succor us, to strengthen us, and to perfect us. Let us all accept His invitation: “Come, follow me” (Luke 18:22).

But the mob never returned. Len soon married a woman named Mary Pugh in 1920, and they moved to Birmingham, a large city in central Alabama. Mary’s uncle, a Baptist pastor, predicted that she would join the Church before the year was over.
Mary read the Book of Mormon and gained a testimony of its truth. It took a little longer than predicted, but after five years of marriage she decided to join the Church. On September 15, 1925, the Hopes went with two missionaries to a secluded spring near Birmingham. Mary was baptized without incident, finally becoming a Latter-day Saint, like her husband.4
“I couldn’t be anything better,” she told her uncle, “and I can see no better church.”

I was grateful for that school year to end. The summer was a welcome escape from my old friends who didn’t understand why they saw less and less of me. I knew that the less I saw of them the easier it would be to begin repenting. Every day was a constant struggle. But, by the following August, I ended my relationships with all of those old friends. Some of them didn’t care. Some hated me and my new religion. Some were hurt and just didn’t understand. But I understood, and I knew that from then on I would always be different.

When I married, I never thought that the word divorce would ever become part of my personal history. But despite my pleas and best efforts to save our relationship, my husband left and our marriage ended. I felt like a failure.
A time of deep pain, humiliation, and shattered dreams followed. I had never experienced greater loss or grief.
In the midst of my sorrow, my ministering brothers came to see me. They consoled me and gave me a blessing. Then, in their deep voices, they sang a hymn for me that I didn’t recognize. For me at that difficult time, it was the most beautiful, comforting hymn I had ever heard. They sang:
Where can I turn for peace?
Where is my solace
When other sources cease to make me whole?
When with a wounded heart, anger, or malice,
I draw myself apart,
Searching my soul? …
Where is the quiet hand to calm my anguish?
Who, who can understand?
He, only One. 1
I could not help but weep at the words and music. They confirmed for me, and strengthened my testimony of, the truth that the Savior understood me, loved me, and would never leave me alone in my sorrow.
As my ministering brothers finished singing, I remembered the words that Isaiah used to describe the Savior: “Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows. … And with his stripes we are healed” (Isaiah 53:4–5).

The Liahona (Spanish) helped bring about a complete change in my life. Prior to my baptism into the LDS church 15 years ago, I was a practicing Catholic. I was active in that church’s lay organization, serving at the national level and representing the organization at many international conventions.
My two sons, Jaime and Bernardo, were the first family members to make contact with the Church. They tried to discuss its teachings with me on several occasions, but, indignantly, I said I was not about to change my religion.
One day, out of curiosity, I picked up a copy of the Liahona that they left on a table. As I read the first article, by President Spencer W. Kimball, I felt as though I had been touched by a ray of light. His message gave me something I had hungered for all my life. Within a week, I met with the missionaries, and I was later baptized by my son, Jaime (now a bishop).
My wife has not chosen to be baptized yet. However, she supports me and loves the local church members. Patiently, I wait for the day when we can be sealed together in the temple.
Reading my first Liahona those many years ago not only brought change in my life, it also brought peace in my heart.
Jaime Rey GalvisAlhambra Ward, Bogotá Colombia Stake

When asked which merit badges had given them the most trouble, both Chad and Craig said that beekeeping was the greatest challenge. It wasn’t so much doing the work as it was finding someone who was qualified to teach them and pass them on the badge requirements. After some searching and one unsuccessful attempt to get together with a beekeeper, they finally found a man who was teaching a class in beekeeping at Weber State College, and they were able to complete the merit badge requirements with his help. By the way, Chad and Craig are still beekeepers.

“Take that!” Josh growled, jabbing the controller with his thumb and slamming a bad guy to the ground. Josh loved video games.
“Better get out of your school clothes,” Dad called. “We’re due at the priesthood preview in an hour. Your mother went to get Grandpa—they’ll meet us there.”
Josh switched off the game without the usual grumbling. “Great!”
He was clipping on his Sunday tie when Dad laid a large hand on his shoulder. “I’m glad you’re so excited about receiving the priesthood.”
“Who wouldn’t be?” Josh exclaimed. “Sister Burke says that priesthood is the power Jesus used to make the world. When I get part of that power, nobody had better mess with me!”
Dad cleared his throat. “Josh—”
“My friend Devin’s a deacon already,” Josh interrupted. “He says that I’ll have more power than the president of the United States, and he can launch missiles and order whole armies around.”
Dad sighed. “Josh, the power is the Lord’s. He’s given the priesthood to us so that we can serve others. We don’t use it to hurt people.”
“Not even bad guys?”
“Which of us is perfect?” Dad replied. “Let’s go sit at the kitchen table—I’d like you to read something in the Doctrine and Covenants.”
At the table, Dad pointed to a passage and Josh read it aloud, sounding out some of the harder words. “No power or influence can or ought to be maintained by virtue of the priesthood, only by persuasion, by long-suffering, by gentleness and meekness, and by love un-un—”
“Unfeigned,” Dad said. “It means genuine, not faked.”
“What good’s power if you have to be wimpy and weak to use it?”
“It doesn’t say wimpy and weak. It says gentle and meek.”
“Same thing.”
“Josh, will you come downstairs with me, please?”
Dad put the bracelet back into his wallet, and Josh followed him upstairs to the living room. Taking a picture of the Savior from the wall, Dad said, “On my last day of school, I hobbled into Brother Jones’s room and told him that I hoped to be as strong someday as he was. He smiled and handed me a graduation gift. ‘Thank you,’ he said, ‘but here’s a better example to follow.’ I unwrapped this picture. Since then I’ve studied the life of the Savior and done my best to follow his example.”
Dad handed the picture to Josh and got his Bible. “When Jesus was arrested, one of his disciples tried to defend him with a sword. Jesus said, ‘Thinkest thou that I cannot now pray to my Father, and he shall presently give me more than twelve legions of angels?’”*
Josh whistled. “Twelve legions! That’s a lot!”
“According to the Bible Dictionary, each Roman legion had some six thousand foot soldiers plus cavalry. If angel legions are about the same size, that would be more than seventy-two thousand angels.”
“Wow!” Josh exclaimed. “They could wipe out an army!”
Dad’s voice grew very serious. “Josh, he didn’t call for those legions. He let himself be whipped and spat upon and mocked and crucified. Instead of conquering men, he conquered death itself, even for those who had hurt him.”
“Wow!” Josh said again, softly this time.
Dad reached out and touched the picture. “The best power of all is the power to help and heal. Jesus has that power, and he’s willing to share it with those who love him and follow him. I think you’re one of those.”
Josh looked him in the eye. “I’ll try to be.”
“Good!” Dad said. “So will I. And now we’d better be on our way to the priesthood preview.”

She was my best friend, the one I had grown up with and known since that first frightful day of first grade. Since then we had shared everything from doll cradles and humpty-dumpty cookies to high school classes and slumber parties. There was only one big difference between us. You see, she did not yet know the truth and I did.
It took me 12 long years to realize that the gospel belonged not only to me but to her too and that it was through me that she might be able to find it.
I took my problem to our missionaries, thinking I would give the job to them; but I was fooled.
“You ask her and we’ll teach her,” they said.
Teaching her seemed to be no problem. I had the most difficult job of all.
I called her on the phone.
“Hey, how would you like to come and see a movie at my house tonight?” I said. “The new missionaries in our ward are showing it.”
She came. She saw the film and left without saying much about it.
A week later the elders dropped by. “Have you set up a time when she can hear the gospel?” they asked.
“Well, she hasn’t really said much about the movie. I didn’t know whether to ask her again or not.”
“Call her and ask her,” said one. He was the type who hated wasting time. Well, I couldn’t argue with an elder, so hesitantly, shakily, I picked up the receiver and dialed. I’ve always wondered why things like this are so hard.
“Hi, Cheryl,” I said. “I was wondering … well, the elders are here now and … well, I was just wondering if sometime you’d like to come and … learn some more about the Church?”
There was a long pause.
“Well, yeah, I guess so.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “When can you come?”
“Anytime you want me to, I guess.”
“Tomorrow night?”
“Yeah, that’s all right.”
I turned to the elders. “Is tomorrow night all right?”
They nodded enthusiastically. “You bet!”
“Hey thanks, Cheryl,” I said as I started to hang up.
“Just a minute, Patti.” she said. “I want you to know that I’m not going to agree with what they say.”
“Oh, that’s okay. Just come!”
“But I might argue with them, and I don’t want to.”
“If you want to disagree with them, it’s all right. They don’t mind.”
The second step was taken. By the end of the fourth visit she hadn’t argued once. In fact, she had agreed wholeheartedly with everything the elders had told her. That night the younger elder was speaking, and as he closed he looked at her and said, “We would like to set up a baptism for you on Saturday. How about it?”
The older elder gasped. He hadn’t expected it to come so soon. My heart beat faster, and all I could do was hold my breath. There was silence for a moment.
Cheryl nodded and said, “Yes.”
I did not move, but I started to tremble when they asked her to pray.
She prayed, a very simple and beautiful prayer.
I kept my head bowed. I could not look up. The missionaries left in silence.
Then I felt her arms around me, and we both wept together.
“Patti,” she said, smiling through her tears, “thank you.”
She was thanking me for something she could only give herself, thanking me, when she had given me the greatest gift I could ever hope to receive—her acceptance of my most precious possession, the gospel of Jesus Christ.

“One of the Choice and Accountability experiences I completed is a good example of how Personal Progress has changed my life. To complete the project I needed to make a habit of personal prayer and scripture study. I had never been excited or willing to read the scriptures before because they confused me. I decided to try the experience anyway and planned to read a chapter in my scriptures every night.
“When I sat down to read the first night, I was hesitant. I decided to start in the New Testament because I wanted to read about the Savior. At first the scriptures didn’t make much sense. But after a while I opened up my heart and looked for understanding. Suddenly I understood the passages. Every night I kneel in prayer, and I read my scriptures. I know the scriptures are true, and I’m grateful for Personal Progress.”Kristi Hurd, 15Antioch Second Ward, Antioch California Stake

When I was eight, my two cousins and I were sent to a nearby town to get groceries. Looking back, I am amazed how much confidence my grandmother and my aunt and uncle had in us. The morning skies were bright and clear as we left on our three horses.
In the middle of the prairie, we decided to get off our horses and play marbles. We were so interested in our game that we did not look up to see the dark clouds covering the sky. By the time we realized that a storm was coming, we didn’t even have time to get on our horses. Heavy rain and hail hit us so hard that all we could do was unsaddle the horses and take cover under the saddle blankets. Then our horses ran away.
Horseless, wet, and cold, we started walking as fast as we could toward a nearby town. It was late when we found a home and knocked on the door. The family there dried us off, fed us delicious bean burritos, and then put us to bed in a room with a dirt floor.
My cousins and I woke up in the morning to a bright sun and beautiful sky. A man knocked on the door looking for three lost boys. I will never forget what we saw on our way home—a crowd of people who had been looking for us all night. In front of them all were my loving grandmother and my uncle and aunt. They hugged us and cried, happy they had found their lost children.

Today it was raining, and I had nothing to do. My friend came to play with me. “Let’s build things with blocks,” she said.
I built a brown rocket ship that would fly to the moon. She built a red house with windows and doors that would open.
“My rocket ship can fly up to the moon,” I said. “When it blasts off, it might make a terrible noise that could break your house.”
“Please don’t break my house,” my friend said. “The mother is cooking blueberry pancakes, and all the children love blueberry pancakes. They would never get to eat them.”
“OK,” I said. “I’ll make something else, instead.”
I built a yellow backhoe with a long shovel tail. She built a little yard with trees and a white picket fence around her house.
“My backhoe could plow up a garden in your backyard,” I offered.
“Oh, that would be wonderful,” she said. “Then birds could find more worms for their babies and we could plant flowers and vegetables.”
“All right!” I said. “I’ll build something else too.”
I built a blue robot holding a big purple box. She built a blue school with desks for children to sit at.
“My robot has a big box,” I said. “It has lots of books and paper and pencils in it.”
“Oh, could she teach in my school?” she asked. “The children want to learn to spell cat.”
“I can spell cat,” I said. “C-a-t.”
“I know,” she said. “All the children in my school need to learn to spell like you can, and to read and to count.”
“Good,” I said. “My robot will help teach in your school while I build something else.”
I built a dinosaur with orange eyes and a green nose and a gray tail. She built a pink candy store. It had real black licorice sticks and red lollipops inside.
“My dinosaur is very hungry,” I said. “It’s going to eat up all the candy in your store.”
“Please don’t let it do that,” she said. “Then there would be no lollipops for all the good children.”
“Am I a good children?” I asked.
“You are a very good child,” she said.
I changed my dinosaur into a tiny mouse, then ran to give my friend a giant hug. “May I have one of your lollipops, Grandma?”
And she gave me one.

As a little boy during the Second World War, my country had been invaded; danger was all around us. My mother taught me a great lesson of trust and unity that I have never forgotten. She alerted me to the perils of war and simply said: “Trust my word and follow me; listen to my voice. If you do so, I will protect you the best I know how.” I simply listened to my mother because I loved her and trusted her.

A little later, school started, and this, for me, was a new bridge to cross. As a preparation for this new experience in my life, leaving the home, my mother told me to listen to my teacher and to be obedient. Again, I trusted my mother’s advice. I decided to be obedient to my teacher and a new code of rules. School therefore became a bridge of knowledge instead of a wall of ignorance.

That lesson of trust and unity was vital to become one with my parents, family members, and teachers. It allowed me later to become one with my Savior by being baptized into His Church. It reminded me as a husband, father, and grandfather to continue to build trust and unity among our family members by keeping the temple covenants. As President Hinckley has stated: “The temple is concerned with things of immortality. It is a bridge between this life and the next” (Stand a Little Taller [2001], 6).