Gospel Story Finder

Not long ago, one of our sons was married in the Idaho Falls Temple. We had assembled in the sealing room for the ceremony when the sealer asked me and the bride’s mother to bear our testimonies before he performed the marriage ceremony. As I spoke, I noticed that my oldest daughter was sobbing. Later, outside the temple, she told us that as I stood to speak, Matthew had entered the room accompanied by so much spiritual power that she could not control her feelings. As she was about to leave the room, lingering behind all the others, she had felt something warm touch her shoulder. A still, small voice had whispered, “That was your brother Matthew. He is the one who stood by your bed one night.”
The peace and joy this beautiful experience brought to us is inexpressible. What comfort there is in knowing that we are important to Matthew and that he cares about what we are doing, and to know that God loves us and has let us feel Matthew’s presence so that we can have that assurance.

Shawn stared at the cracked picture frame lying on the floor. He knew that he shouldn’t have been tossing his football in the house. He certainly hadn’t meant for the ball to hit the picture of Grandma and Grandpa and knock it off the table.

Mother was going to be upset when she saw it. She always dusted the frame carefully and placed it just so on the table. It was a very special picture to her. Grandma had given it to her when Grandpa died. The frame had been made by Grandpa. The more Shawn thought about what he’d done, the worse he felt.

He put the frame back on the table, stood back, and squinted his eyes. He could still see the ugly black line running through the side of the carved frame. He knew that it wasn’t possible, but the line seemed to be growing bigger and blacker.

No one had seen him kick the ball or break the frame. No one else knew he had broken the family’s rule about playing ball in the house. Only he knew how the frame had been broken. But he did know—and Heavenly Father knew too.

Shawn could hear Mother out in the garden, pulling weeds and singing. “She won’t be singing when she sees this,” he said to himself.

He knew what he should do, but he didn’t want to make Mother unhappy. He liked to hear her sing. He liked to see her smile and hear her happy voice. Shawn knew that when she found out what he had done, she wouldn’t be singing or smiling or saying happy words.

“I guess I’d better get it over with,” he said to himself as he walked through the house and out the back door to the garden.

“Mom, can we talk about something?”
“Sure. What’s up, Shawn?”
He hung his head. “I don’t think you are going to like me very much any more. I did something awful.”
She pulled him down to sit by her in the garden. “Whatever you have done, Shawn, I will still love you. Remember how we talked about Heavenly Father’s love for us? He loves us even when He doesn’t love the thing we have done. That is how I love you. Now tell me about what you did.”

Shawn began to tell her about the picture frame and the football. His voice shook and tears rolled down his cheeks as he told his mother how sorry he was for not obeying the rules and for breaking the frame. “Maybe I could earn some money and pay for a new frame,” he offered.

“Let’s go in and see just how bad it is.” After looking at it, she said, “Shawn, I think we can mend this with some glue.”

Shawn ran to get the glue while Mother slipped the picture out of the frame. Together they glued the crack securely. When it was dry, Mother put the picture back in the frame and placed it on the table. “There,” she said. “It’s fixed.” Shawn stared at the frame. Even with the pieces glued together, the ugly black crack stretched across one side of the frame. How could Mother say it was fixed? “It looks terrible!” he groaned.

Shawn’s mother put her arms around him. “Not to me,” she said gently. “To me it looks wonderful. When I look at the picture, I think of your grandma and grandpa and how much I love them. When I look at the frame, I think especially of Grandpa and all the great times we had together. And when I look at the crack in the frame, I think about a son who told the truth even when it was hard—and that’s the best treasure in the whole world!”

The choir’s effectiveness as missionaries for the Church can be attested to by their August 1985 trip to Japan. Choir members made a commitment to do more personalized missionary work, and distributed more than a thousand Japanese copies of the Book of Mormon. In addition, they distributed more than 3,000 brochures about the choir, and approximately 3,200 Articles of Faith cards.
Within two months of the choir’s visit, Elder William H. Bradford, Area Administrator in Japan, “told us that several baptisms had been traced directly to the copies of the Book of Mormon that had been distributed by choir members,” related Brother Ottley. “We may never know the total number of people we influence through our music or through the personal contacts we make.
“While in Japan, I met and talked with one lady who had been studying the gospel for months but committed to baptism that very night at the concert. That’s the most gratifying part of our work. While we like to do things that are musically viable and important, if we can touch someone’s heart and spirit through our music and cause them to feel about the gospel of Jesus Christ the way we do, then we are doing what we are supposed to be doing.”
As an example, on the 1985 trip, Marilyn Smith was introduced to a Japanese woman who attributed her membership in the Church and the mission she just completed to the spirit she felt when Marilyn sang a solo during the choir’s previous trip to Japan.

A father or a bishop or a senior home teaching companion who shows that he trusts a young priesthood holder can change his life. My father was once asked by a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles to write a short paper on science and religion. My father was a famous scientist and a faithful priesthood holder. But I can still remember the moment he handed me the paper he had written and said, “Here, before I send this to the Twelve, I want you to read it. You will know if it is right.” He was 32 years older than me and immeasurably more wise and intelligent.

I still am strengthened by that trust from a great father and priesthood man. I knew that his trust was not in me but that God could and would tell me what was true. You seasoned companions can bless a young priesthood holder in preparation whenever you can show him that kind of trust. It will help him trust the gentle feeling of inspiration for himself when it comes as he someday places his hands to seal the blessing to heal a child the doctors say will die. That trust has helped me more than once.

It did not take long for me to realize that my mission was going to be very different than I had expected. I was faced with some unexpected challenges. I tried to stay positive, but my attempts often failed, leaving me feeling discouraged. Thankfully, I received encouragement at zone conferences, which always concluded with a testimony meeting.
I remember one particular zone conference when each missionary took the stand, expressing the joy of serving a mission. As the meeting progressed, I began to feel uncomfortable. I had been a missionary for a full year but had never felt the joy others were describing. I left that conference heavyhearted and confused, questioning why I was even serving a mission. What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I feel that same joy? Later that night I expressed my concerns to Heavenly Father and asked Him how I could feel such joy.
Several weeks later, while attending stake conference, I received my answer during a talk by my mission president. Although he spoke to the hundreds in the audience, I felt that he spoke directly to me. He talked about the joy of Christ’s Redemption that each of us can feel every day. He testified that even during difficult and uncertain times, we can feel joy from understanding the significance of the Savior’s Atonement.
I knew those words were for me. Heavenly Father had answered my prayer. Perhaps my mission was not going as I had thought it would, but the Savior loved me and had atoned for my sins. The joy I thought I had never experienced was all around me. I just hadn’t opened my heart to feel it.
My challenges continued, but this experience taught me that I could feel joy by choosing to open my heart to the Savior’s redeeming power and by sharing my testimony of that power with others.
Since my mission I have come to understand that situations and surroundings have no lasting impact on our ability to feel joy. Instead, true joy comes from obeying and believing in Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, who made life here—and hereafter—“that [we] might have joy” (2 Nephi 2:25).

I remember that there were buckets and kegs of nails—rusty, crooked nails. When I was just a small boy, Dad put me to work straightening those nails with a hammer. Years later, at Dad’s funeral, I reflected on that experience. I realized that he had been teaching me not only how to work but also a basic principle of the gospel.

We have become a throwaway society. No one thinks about straightening nails these days. We throw away anything that is damaged, including human souls. I learned from those hours of straightening rusty nails that even things terribly bent can be saved for a good and wholesome purpose.

Perhaps that discovery was the beginning of my great desire to recover every human soul. I know that they can be recovered, and that lives can be improved, corrected, and renewed to fulfill the full measure of their creation. My father instilled that faith in me.

The most important teachers I’ve had in my life have been women. When I was young, my father died, and my mother became very ill when she was studying at a university. My grandmother was like another mother to me, even after my mother got better. Both of them taught me about the gospel, service, and family responsibilities. My faith in the Lord came almost entirely from them.
My wife June was also a wonderful companion and teacher for me. After June died, I married my wife Kristen. She has had a great influence in my life.
I will always be grateful for the faithful examples and teachings of these women.

Karen and Emily, still doing things together, had baby girls within a week of each other. I took a pink dress to Emily’s little Julie and absolutely fell in love with her. Karen’s mother told me in church one day that Karen, David, and their little Melissa would be coming in March to show off the baby and get her blessed where Grandpa and all three of Karen’s adoring older brothers could stand in the circle.
As I made my way down the stairs and into the chapel, I met Emily and her baby in the foyer. It was her first time back to church since Julie’s birth. We talked for a minute and then entered the chapel. Emily and her mother sat in the row in front of me, and just before the meeting, Emily leaned back guiltily and whispered to me, “I forgot this was fast Sunday until I looked at the program. We just finished eating a turkey dinner at Ted’s, so I guess I’ll have to fast twice next month.” I smiled and just then my stomach growled uncomfortably, testifying to the fact that I had remembered.
Through the rows of heads and shoulders that I saw from my position on the fourth row from the back, I caught a glimpse of Karen and the rest of her family taking up an entire center bench. I was glad that she had made it but sorry I’d missed her before the meeting. I’d have to hurry to the front after the closing prayer to talk to her.
After the songs and announcements were over and after we had taken the sacrament, Bishop Edwards stood behind the pulpit and said, “This afternoon we have a special treat. I know many of you have known Karen Evans since she was a little girl.” Emily looked back at me and winked knowingly, but then turned her head sharply forward as the bishop went on. “Well, this afternoon Karen, now Karen Sanders, has brought her own little girl to receive a name and a blessing from her husband. Assisting in the circle will be her father and brothers.”
As I watched David take his little girl from Karen and carry her almost reverently to the front, I could see a side view of Emily. Tears were rapidly filling her deep blue eyes and streaming down her face onto Julie’s downy head. Her shoulders shook violently as she buried her head in her baby’s neck. Emily’s mother tenderly put her arm around her daughter’s throbbing shoulders, and I could see that she, too, was crying. Emily looked up, and I heard her gasp in a desperate whisper, “Oh Mama! Who is going to bless my baby?”
“I bless you, Melissa, with a sound mind and body,” I heard David Sanders say at the front of the room, “and that you will live a righteous life, that when the time comes, you will meet a choice son of our Father in heaven, one who honors his priesthood and who will take you to the temple of the Lord to be sealed to him for eternity.” Through the entire blessing and for the rest of the meeting, Julie’s baby shawl absorbed her tears.
And now, even though a year has passed, and even though the dark-haired women in this once strange country contrast vividly with blonde Emily, whenever my companion and I are out tracting, or we go to a branch meeting and I see a mother and baby alone, something grabs at my heart. For I keep seeing Emily.

Riley and Ted were not only frightened when they heard voices and saw the light from flashlights darting about at the Indian digging grounds, they were angry too.
Grandfather had never plowed nor planted the south slope because he had discovered that the area was the site of an ancient Indian village. For many years he had tried to preserve the land even though he was poorer because of the loss of crops he might have raised there.
As a boy Grandfather had found a number of arrowheads and pieces of flint-edged tools on the slope. When he was older he had written many letters trying to interest scientists into exploring the area. Finally, a university archaeology team became interested in excavating the slope.
After a preliminary investigation, they had sent several crews of students to work under the direction of two experienced archaeologists. As various layers of earth were carefully stripped away, the teams became excited when they discovered that more than one ancient civilization had occupied the slope at different times.
Every arrowhead and fragment of bone or clay pot had to be tagged as they were removed so that the separate cultures could be studied. And now, looters were endangering the project!
The students and professors went home on weekends and Grandpa had gone to town to deliver a load of grain. He had not yet returned and Riley and Ted were the only ones left to protect the ancient site. They wondered how they could possibly stop the looters.
“If only we had a telephone, we could call the police,” Ted suggested as he watched the looters’ light.
“But we don’t have one, so there’s no use iffing,” Riley said. “Maybe I could slip through the trees and try to see who the thieves are while you run over to Mr. Howard’s and have him call the sheriff.”
“Okay, Riley,” Ted murmured uneasily, “but be careful. They might be armed.”
“I’ll be careful,” Riley assured him and then continued, “Lots of people have come to watch the digging, but I’ve noticed it’s Jim White and his friends who keep asking Professor Jackson how much money a war club or spearhead is worth. Maybe they’re the looters. They wouldn’t care about reconstructing history. They’d only want to find a two-dollar arrowhead or a bone knife they could sell. Wouldn’t it be great if some Indian ghosts showed up to haunt them? I’ll bet we’d see some hard-running thieves take off then!”
“Yes,” Ted said quietly as an idea began to form in his mind. That would beat running all the way to the Howard’s, he thought. But he didn’t mention it to his older brother who had already disappeared into the trees.
Grandfather had left a wide wooded area between the excavation site and his cultivated land that provided cover for Riley as he climbed the slope. Three-fourths of the way up the hill he stopped. The flashlights had converged on the canvas-covered area where boxes of tagged artifacts were stored before being taken to the university. It was Jim White and his friends all right. One of the lights passed over Jim’s face as he used a rock to hammer at the lock on a toolbox.
“Take the shovels and dig like crazy all along the trenches where those students work with tiny brushes and metal picks,” Jim ordered. “Don’t bother with junk like fragments. We just want stuff we can sell. We’ll show Professor Jackson how to grub out Indian relics!”
Riley felt sick as he thought of the slow, painstaking work of the students. They knelt in cramped positions for hours, hardly noticing the hot sun as they brushed soil away from a potsherd. And he was helpless to prevent the destruction of months of hard work!
Not only was he outnumbered, but the looters were much bigger than Riley. When the sheriff arrested them he could identify all the looters, but that wouldn’t restore the relics Grandpa had protected for so many years.
Suddenly Riley’s breath caught in his throat and he felt the hair stir on the back of his neck as an eerie moan sounded in the darkness. A voice rose and fell in angry waves but Riley couldn’t distinguish any words. In a few seconds he realized it was drifting down from the summit of the hill and not from the young men who had frozen in a huddle around the battered toolbox.
Riley shuddered and his heart began to thud like a tom-tom when Jim’s flashlight picked out a figure coming down the slope. It was an Indian dressed in a loin cloth and an elaborate war bonnet, astride a brown horse! His bronze skin glistened in the dim ray of light.
“A ghost! He’s gotta be a ghost!” someone shouted. No one took time to argue about it. The terrified group broke up and ran off in all directions, leaving behind any thoughts of looting.
Riley ran too, going as fast as he dared down the steep slope. He had never believed in spooks, but he was convinced he had just seen his first! And his last, too, he hoped.
“Wait a minute!” Riley gasped, tripping over a log and rolling against a tree. “That horse looked exactly like Grandpa’s Benjo! And the war bonnet is the one I wore in the Thanksgiving Day play at school!
“It worked, Riley! It worked! They thought I was a real Indian ghost!” Ted cried, as he caught up with Riley. “You said you wished a ghost would scare them away, so I rubbed brown shoe polish all over myself and got your old school costume out of the trunk. Did you see the way they took off? I guess those guys were really scared.”
“Yes, they were,” Riley agreed. Then with a sheepish grin he added, “And you had me fooled for a minute too.”

I have also seen this principle work among other friends of mine. One week in Sunday School, the class was laughing about a girl they called “pit face” who had asked one of the boys, Mike, to the girls’-choice dance. I brought in a filmstrip about a girl renowned in her village for her ugliness. The filmstrip taught the class that after a young man was willing to treat her as if she were beautiful, the girl became very attractive. The class was touched, and they learned the Dulcinea principle. Mike went out with the girl and had a great time. Within a few weeks, two of the girls were able to report that they were becoming good friends with this girl and that she was really very nice.

Otavalo, a beautiful city in northeastern Ecuador, is even more beautiful in my memory because of an experience I had there while serving in the Ecuador Quito Mission. One afternoon in September 1996 my companion and I were walking to a teaching appointment. Suddenly, some children ran out of a small, humble house, crying, “A blessing! A blessing! Give us a blessing!”
We were astonished and didn’t know what to think. We considered ignoring them and continuing on, but something prompted us to find out what was happening. We feared something terrible had taken place.
The children quickly ran back inside the house. We followed them and found a lady who was as surprised to see us as we were surprised to see her. We explained what had happened, and smiling, she told us, “The children were just playing.” We talked for a few minutes, took her name as a referral, then left.
Two days later we returned and discovered she was a member of the Church. She hadn’t gone to church for a long time, she said, mostly because she hadn’t felt anyone had encouraged her. Her children were not members of the Church. We sensed that she wanted the gospel of Jesus Christ to be part of her and her children’s lives.
We shared the message of the gospel with her children, and they were baptized two weeks later. At the baptismal service, one of the children began to cry with joy. He said his mother had changed, and he was very happy the Lord had sent the missionaries to their house.
Little did those children know that when they so playfully asked for a blessing, the Lord would answer them—in abundance. Today, the family continues to be strong and faithful in the Church.

Sofía was almost eight years old. She was getting ready to be baptized. She was learning lots of important things. One thing she had learned about was prayer. She knew she could pray to Heavenly Father anytime. She knew she could pray anyplace.
One day Sofía and her mom decided to visit her dad at work. It would be a long trip. Her dad worked in another town. They would have to ride on a bus, then in a truck, and then in a taxi.
During the bus ride, Sofía fell asleep. She woke up when she heard a baby crying. A mom and dad with a baby had gotten on the bus. The baby was sick and crying loudly. The baby’s parents looked worried.
Sofía felt sorry for the baby. She felt sorry for the parents too. Then she had an idea. She whispered in Mama’s ear. “Could I say a prayer and ask Heavenly Father to bless the baby?”
“Of course,” Mama said with a smile.
Sofía bowed her head and said a silent prayer. She prayed hard. She asked Heavenly Father to bless the baby. She asked Him to help the baby feel better and stop crying.
Sofía knew that we do not always get what we pray for. She also knew that our prayers are not always answered right away. But in a short time the baby calmed down. Then the baby stopped crying. She seemed to feel better. Her parents did not look so worried.
Sofía felt warm and happy inside. She was happy for the baby—and for the baby’s parents. She knew Heavenly Father had heard her prayer.

Take the month’s Young Women–Young Men combined activity, for example. The activity is a special-needs night. They are going to learn what it’s like to be restricted to a wheelchair or find out how handicapped accessible their building is. They are also going to have someone give demonstrations on how it feels to be blind or deaf. But this isn’t just a nice activity. The youth are learning what some of their own ward members are going through. The mother of two of the young men is confined to a wheelchair. It would help if some of their friends knew what they could do to help her on occasion. The other youth of the ward need to learn in what ways she struggles.
One young woman’s grandfather is blind. She will demonstrate how to be an effective guide. Another ward member is hearing impaired. A young woman is planning to demonstrate some of the things that restrict this sister because of her deafness. The activity is a good one, but it is even better because it meets the needs of several of the youth and ward members.
In youth council, the group in charge has divided the work for the activity night into six assignments. One group quickly volunteers to round up some wheelchairs. Another offers to bring refreshments. Another offers to do the publicity. Soon the last assignment, cleanup, needs to be made. Again, it goes to the deacons. Everyone starts to laugh. The deacons haven’t learned how to speak up quickly enough on assignments and usually wait too long and get stuck with cleanup. But they are good-natured about it. It’s a job they know how to do well.

Bishop Brown’s relationship with his family is one of respect and love, of understood meanings, and of honest and helpful criticism. Joanne, Bishop Brown’s oldest daughter, remembers that when she went to BYU there was a lesson given in her student ward about loving your parents, and the counsel was given to the new students at BYU to write their parents and tell them of their love for them. Joanne said, “In our home we didn’t say I love you, we just loved each other.” But Joanne followed instructions and wrote her father and mother telling them how much she really did love them. When Bishop Brown received that letter he called his daughter immediately. Joanne says she will always remember how touched and grateful her father was for her expression of love to him.

When Jane Seppings, of Victoria, Australia, discovered that Cardinia Shire was calling for cloth face masks for refugee and migrant residents, the busy mother and youth leader with The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, set to work with her sewing machine.
She made 22 cloth face masks of varying sizes.
“I’m grateful that the gospel of Jesus Christ encourages us to love and serve others,” she said.
As a nurse and midwife, Jane says she values her health and the health of her family and her patients.
“This was a way I could further contribute to other families in the community by doing something as simple as making masks for those that don’t have access to them,” Jane explained. “It is always nice to help out where I can.”
The masks were acknowledged gratefully by the Shire’s cultural diversity facilitator, Glenda George.

One Sunday in testimony meeting, nine-year-old Angie told the congregation that her favorite song was “Families Can Be Together Forever.” Angie said how great it is that Heavenly Father has a wonderful plan for us to be together forever.
Angie’s parents had not been sealed in the temple. Soon after that day, Angie’s sister Katie left a letter on their parents’ pillow, urging them to go to the temple.
Angie and Katie wanted so much for their family to be sealed together. Their parents prayed about going to the temple. Their family worked hard to prepare. When the time was right, their family was able to go to the temple and be sealed together forever.

One Saturday night when I was about eleven, many of Mother’s relatives came from out of town to have dinner with us. Such visits were rare, so she spent the whole day getting the dinner ready. She prepared a pot roast and all the vegetables to go with it, mashed potatoes and gravy, salads, hot rolls, and dessert. She cooked all day, and soon the dirty dishes started stacking up.
After dinner, everyone brought the leftover food to the kitchen, then went into the living room and began to visit. I remember going back to the kitchen, thinking, Mother works all week long, and now she’ll have to do the dishes late at night after everyone leaves. Then I thought, I’ll do the dishes for her.
In those days, we didn’t have a dishwasher; the dishwasher was either me or someone else. I filled up the sink and started washing. I stood there for three hours, washing every dish—and I learned that when dishes or pans are dirty, it’s best to clean them immediately, before the food hardens!
Finally I finished drying the last dish, wiping off all the counters, and scrubbing the floor. I heard the relatives walking out onto the porch, and I heard Mother bidding them good-bye.
The kitchen door swung open, and Mother entered. She stopped and looked around and then looked at me. I cannot describe the look on her face. I think that at first it was shock, then appreciation, and then I think it was more than that. It was a feeling of love and pride, and of something I couldn’t measure. I think you understand. There was a light in her eyes. I made the decision then that I would like to put that kind of light into people’s faces.
Mother hugged and thanked me, and I went to bed contented and happy, knowing that she wouldn’t have to stand there doing dishes until two o’clock the next morning.

My father and I hadn’t always gotten along perfectly, but things were getting better. Then one day he confessed to our family that he’d been unfaithful to my mother for some time.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing—the words wouldn’t register in my mind. For the next several weeks I felt sick every time I thought about my dad. I was mad at him for doing such a horrible thing, for disrespecting my mom so completely. I often couldn’t even fall asleep at night, wondering how I could ever trust a person again after this.
Anger was all I could feel, and I realized that it was making me think of everything in my life negatively. I began to pray, asking Heavenly Father to help me deal with this situation. I knew my dad was wrong and that I deserved to be upset with him, but I also knew that I couldn’t keep obsessing about it.
An account early in the Book of Mormon came to me as I was thinking about how to handle the problems in my family. Nephi’s brothers Laman and Lemuel got angry with him and then tied him up and planned to kill him. Only a few verses later, Nephi says that he “did frankly forgive them all that they had done” (1 Nephi 7:21). Nephi was able to quickly forgive his brothers for treating him maliciously.
I also thought about the Savior, who said on the cross, “Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do” (Luke 23:34). Both Nephi and Jesus didn’t hold on to anger over what had been done to them—instead they forgave.
It didn’t happen overnight, but as I wanted to forgive my dad and prayed for help doing it, I stopped thinking about his sins all the time. I felt sorry for him for making such a terrible decision, and I felt a desire to support my mom. Heavenly Father softened my heart and helped me forgive him instead of being torn up by anger and revenge.

But in addition to the blessings, life for the Pitakpongs has had its traumas, too. Some seven years ago, President Pitakpong was out of town on business when an intruder in his home struck Sister Pitakpong with a wrench and stole a gold necklace she was wearing. “My son, Wuthikrai, went to his mother’s aid, and he, too, was hit, as was my wife’s mother. The man ran away as my daughter screamed for help.
“My wife had to be hospitalized, and she still suffers from severe headaches that make it difficult for her to concentrate.”
But the family finds comfort in living the gospel of Jesus Christ. “Being sealed together in the temple brought a special spirit into our family,” says President Pitakpong. “It strengthened our individual testimonies. Now, not only does our sixteen-year-old son want to go on a mission, but his two younger sisters want to go, too.”

Think about this next story.
In Thailand in 1955, a nearly 10-foot sculpture of a Buddha was being moved to a new building. Made of plaster and very heavy, it didn’t appear all that remarkable.
But as the statue was being lifted from its pedestal, the ropes broke and the sculpture fell to the ground. The anxious movers quickly checked the statue for damage, and to their dismay they discovered cracks in the plaster. Then a glint of color caught their attention.
Where the plaster was removed, they discovered that the sculpture was really made of gold!
Buddha statue: 9.8 feet tall, weighs 6.1 tons, worth $250 million.
Photograph from Getty Images
Apparently, hundreds of years earlier, the golden statue had been covered in plaster, perhaps to protect it from thieves, and over time the secret was forgotten until the fall revealed its true inner beauty. Today the gold alone is valued at $250 million, and the statue is housed in a building of honor as a beautiful, historic, religious work of art.2
The temple of Wat Traimit, Bangkok, Thailand.
Photograph from Getty Images