Gospel Story Finder

“So, I’m supposed to … what?”
I had listened. Really, I had. The instructor had checked my harness, had shown me exactly how to release the rope, had even looked me right in the eyes and said, “I will NOT let you fall!”
But at that crucial moment, there I stood: shaking and sweating, as I looked over my shoulder and down … way down, knowing I had to take that first step.
Off a cliff.

It had all begun under the stars and the moon one night in Wyoming in a mad flight of spinning wheels and flying shadows known forever after as the “midnight ride of the Orem 15th.” The quorum was on a camping trip and a few priests brought along their motorcycles. One night about bedtime their adviser, Dave Anderson, jumped into the saddle, called his cohorts to horse, and they flew away over mountains and moonlit meadows like so many Paul Reveres. The night seemed to be alive. More animals than they had ever seen stood watching them pass as if hypnotized by the string of moving lights.
They got back to camp about 2:00 A.M., feeling that they were much more than just a few people assigned to the same quorum. They were friends.
Fired by the enthusiasm of the midnight riders, the whole quorum joined in, and in the weeks that followed they framed a lot of territory between handlebars.

Ward members have been extremely supportive of Jeremy as well, and in return he serves as the first assistant in the priests quorum. He makes innumerable phone calls, takes his turn conducting Bishop’s Youth Committee meetings, and carries out most of the responsibilities his position requires, but there’s one thing he is still working on. “My goal is to bless the sacrament,” Jeremy says. “Now it’s set up so I can’t get up the stairs to where they bless it. The wheelchair is a problem, but we’ll get around that somehow.”

As the New Era went to press, we received word that Jeremy passed away. He did achieve his goal of blessing the sacrament before he died.

For example, when I was ordained a deacon, our bishopric stressed the sacred responsibility which was ours to pass the sacrament. Emphasized was proper dress, a dignified bearing, and the importance of being clean inside and out.

As we were taught the procedure in passing the sacrament, we were told that we were assisting every member in a renewal of the covenant of baptism, with its responsibilities and blessings. We were also told how we should assist a particular brother—Louis—who had a palsied condition, that he might have the opportunity to partake of the sacred emblems.

How I remember being assigned to pass the sacrament to the row where Louis sat. I was hesitant as I approached this wonderful brother, and then I saw his smile and the eager expression of gratitude that showed his desire to partake. Holding the tray in my left hand, I took a piece of bread and pressed it to his open lips. The water was later served in the same way. I felt I was on holy ground. And indeed I was. The privilege to pass the sacrament to Louis made better deacons of us all.

Reese Jarvis, 16, Pima Arizona Stake: “The Spirit was so strong. I was singing as loud as I could. It’s just a really life-changing experience for me. On the last verse of ‘Come, Come, Ye Saints’ I started bawling. I thought, ‘This isn’t fair. I want to be tough.’ But it didn’t happen. I just couldn’t finish the song. You can’t explain the feelings you had.”

Years later I read President Joseph F. Smith’s memory of a similar testimony and teaching by his widowed mother. In the April 1900 conference, President Smith shared this memory from his childhood:
“My mother was a widow, with a large family to provide for. One spring when we opened our potato pits she had her boys get a load of the best potatoes, and she took them to the tithing office; potatoes were scarce that season. I was a little boy at the time, and drove the team. When we drove up to the steps of the tithing office, ready to unload the potatoes, one of the clerks came out and said to my mother, ‘Widow Smith, it’s a shame that you should have to pay tithing.’ … He chided my mother for paying her tithing, called her anything but wise or prudent; and said there were others who were strong and able to work that were supported from the tithing office. My mother turned upon him and said: ‘William, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. Would you deny me a blessing? If I did not pay my tithing, I should expect the Lord to withhold His blessings from me. I pay my tithing, not only because it is a law of God, but because I expect a blessing by doing it. By keeping this and other laws, I expect to prosper and to be able to provide for my family’” (in Conference Report, Apr. 1900, p. 48).

When we choose the right, we are sometimes rewarded in our Primary by Officer Charles Theodore Rigatoni (his initials spell CTR!). He comes to Primary with a set of heart-shaped handcuffs and searches for the person who was “caught choosing the right” that week. He presents the person with a shiny gold or silver badge and then tells everyone about the good things he was caught doing. Sometimes it is making his bed, helping to fix dinner without being asked, or sharing toys with friends.
One day I was waiting to get my hair cut. A younger boy tried to knock the book I was reading out of my hand. I tried to ignore him, but he kept pushing me. Finally, I looked him right in the eye, pointed to my CTR ring, and said, “Choose the right!” He backed away and didn’t bother me again. Officer Rigatoni heard about this and gave me a badge. I am glad to have a friend like Officer Rigatoni to help me remember to choose the right.

My family and I arrived October 22, 1970 in the Philippines where I was assigned to start the Church construction program. At that time my family consisted of my wife Mary and daughters Renee and LaVonne.
President Dewitt C. Smith who was then the new Mission President gave us a lot of good counsel. We had only been in the Philippines a month when powerful Typhoon “Yoling” hit Manila causing wide destruction. It tore up our village—except our house. We were without water and electricity for several weeks. I had to take my bath in the rain and let the rain water wash the soap off my body. I collected rain water to flush the comfort rooms and take baths. During the height of the typhoon I had my family sit under a beam over the door and as I looked at their scared faces I thought “what did I bring my family into.”

As a young man, Adrián Paz Zambrano of Honduras wondered why the Bible mentions only the area around Jerusalem and wondered if Jesus Christ visited other nations.

“Years later two missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints came to my house,” wrote Adrián. “They showed me the Book of Mormon and invited me to read in 3 Nephi, which tells about Christ visiting the Americas.

“As I read, I remembered the questions I had when I was young. I had found the answers. Because of the Book of Mormon, I learned that Jesus Christ visited the Americas after His Resurrection. I was filled with joy because I knew that God loved all His children regardless of location or circumstance.”

Adrián and his wife prayed together to know if the Church was true, and both received a testimony. They were baptized and confirmed, and one year later their family was sealed in the temple.

In the year 1838, 134 years ago and only eight years after the organization of the Church, Ralph Waldo Emerson delivered an address before the senior class of the Divinity School at Cambridge University. In it he asked questions that were then unanswered and are unanswered for many individuals of our time. He said this:
“And it is my duty to say to you that the need was never greater of new revelation than now. … In how many churches, by how many prophets, tell me, is man made sensible that he is an infinite Soul? … It is the office of a true teacher to show us that God is, not was; that He speaketh, not spake. … Men have come to speak of … revelation as somewhat long ago given and done, as if God were dead.” (See The Complete Writings of Ralph Waldo Emerson, pp. 37–45.)
That is an interesting statement to have been made nearly a century and a half ago. It has the sound of an echo from some of today’s modern pulpits.

Massey Park Ward, Auckland Papatoetoe Stake
President Russell M. Nelson’s general conference talk entitled “Joy and Spiritual Survival” has impacted my life tremendously. He taught that a key principle to spiritual survival, especially in our tragedies, is that “Men are, that they might have joy.”
In August 2014, my beautiful parents, Kalisi and Fa’amanatu Alofipo, passed away in the same week due to illnesses. My parents were both converts to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, but once converted, endured to the end as true disciples of Jesus Christ. So how could I find joy in losing both my parents even though at times my grief felt overwhelming?
President Nelson reminded me that:
“We can start by ‘looking unto Jesus the author and finisher of our faith,’ ‘in every thought.’ We can give thanks for Him in our prayers and by keeping covenants we’ve made with Him and our Heavenly Father. As our Savior becomes more and more real to us and as we plead for His joy to be given to us, our joy will increase.”
I know this to be true and testify that true joy comes through Jesus Christ and His infinite Atonement. It comes through keeping my covenants, which yoke me to my Saviour and grants me access to His higher power and to face any trials or tribulations. Joy comes through being sealed as an eternal family in the holy temple—to my parents, my husband, Alofa, and our daughter, Ane.
Joy also comes through faithful ministering brothers and sisters who buoy us up in times of need.
President Nelson testified that: “Joy is a gift for the faithful. It is the gift that comes from intentionally trying to live a righteous life, as taught by Jesus Christ.”

Willard shook his head and got to his feet. “You want to see a really stupid one? Look at mine!” He aimed his arm as if he was going to throw a javelin, then ran a couple of steps and threw his ball as hard as he could into the air.
Brant squinted in the afternoon sun. “It’s going over the fence! No! Right onto Mr. Lawson’s shed!” He covered his ears as the ball thudded on the roof and rolled off the other side.
The crash of the ball against the roof brought Brant to his feet and sent Willard ducking behind a bush. Mr. Lawson’s scowling face immediately appeared at his back screen door. Brant felt like hiding, too, but his dad always told him to face what was coming.
“What broke?” Mr. Lawson shouted angrily.
From his shelter, Willard nudged Brant forward. “Nothing, Mr. Lawson,” Brant replied. “Willard’s—” Willard socked Brant’s shoulder—“I mean, our ball bounced off your shed and landed on your property.”
Mr. Lawson’s eyes narrowed. “I suppose you want to get it.”
Brant shrugged. “It would only take a minute, if it’s OK.”
“What if I said no? You kids track through my yard and garden without any regard to the time and work that went into it.” Mr. Lawson opened the screen door and came outside, waving his arms. “Get your ball, but stay off my plants—especially my everbearing strawberries! I’ll be watching.”
Brant shoved his report card back into his pocket and put his books on the curb. He felt as if he was going into a mine field. He glanced at Willard, then entered the yard through the gate. Carefully he moved along the neatly weeded stone walkway and past the porch from which Mr. Lawson glared. Brant could almost feel his neighbor’s angry breath as he hurried around the corner of the shed and down the three timbered steps into the garden.
Bright flowers bobbed beneath the shed windows and along the walkway where the plump, juicy strawberries grew. Brant located the tattered ball among the lush green leaves. Sitting on his heels, he leaned forward, carefully maneuvered among the strawberry leaves, and grasped the ball. The sweet smell of the delicious fruit made his mouth water, but he didn’t take any.
He stood and returned just as carefully along the walkway. Mr. Lawson was standing by the timbered steps, still watching him like a hawk. “Thank you,” Brant muttered.
“Next time watch where you throw that thing!” Mr. Lawson thundered.
Back on the road, Brant tossed Willard the ball, and Willard handed him his books. “I always get the dirty work,” Brant grumbled as they continued to their homes.
“You handle stuff better.”

Age 17. From Texas, USA. Likes playing tennis and basketball, running track, and listening to music.
Recently, I organized a clothing drive with some youth from my stake and high school. We collected boxes of gently used clothes to send to clothing closets in the area to help families in need and kids with special needs or disabilities. My younger brother has an autoimmune disease, so I have a special place in my heart for kids going through similar challenges.
While the outcome of this service project was important to me, it was also about bringing people together and creating a sense of community and purpose. By working together, we were able to make new friendships and connections. I felt a sense of accomplishment from doing something good for others.
This experience reminded me of how important it is to love God by serving others. It’s easy to get caught up in our own lives and problems, but when we put others first and follow the Spirit’s promptings to serve, we can bring joy and love into the world.
“We can bring joy and love into the world.”

On June 1, 1843, Addison Pratt left Nauvoo, Illinois, to preach the gospel in the Hawaiian Islands, leaving his wife, Louisa Barnes Pratt, to care for their young family.
In Nauvoo, as persecutions intensified, forcing the Saints to leave, and later at Winter Quarters as they prepared to migrate to the Salt Lake Valley, Louisa faced the decision of whether to make the journey. It would have been easier to stay and to wait for Addison to return than to travel alone.
On both occasions, she sought guidance from the prophet, Brigham Young, who encouraged her to go. Despite the great difficulty and her personal reluctance, she successfully made the journey each time.
Initially, Louisa found little joy in traveling. However, she soon began to welcome the green prairie grass, colorful wildflowers, and patches of ground along the riverbanks. “The gloom on my mind wore gradually away,” she recorded, “and there was not a more mirthful woman in the whole company.”

Seminary students at the Juárez Academy in Chihuahua, México, made a plan to help the missionaries in their area spread the gospel for Christmas. Each of the 350 students contributed a brightly wrapped Book of Mormon for the missionaries to give to investigators in the Colonia Juárez and Colonia Dublán stakes.

I was deeply touched when Brother Brian K. Ashton shared with me that he and his father read every page of the Book of Mormon together during his senior year of high school. Brother Ashton loves the scriptures. They are written in his mind and on his heart. His father planted that seed when Brother Ashton was a teenager, and that seed17 has grown into a deep-rooted tree of truth. Brother Ashton has done the same with his older children.18 His eight-year-old son recently asked him, “Dad, when do I get to read the Book of Mormon with you?”

Dr. Heyerdahl—Well, that was what caused me to take Ra II. I discovered that there were actually some people, the extreme isolationists, who still said it couldn’t be done—and they were measuring those last hundreds of yards. They said those were the most important: unless you really get to the other end, you haven’t proven that it can be done. Also, my own curiosity about reed boats continued to build. By continuing to research, I learned that the Aymara Indians of Lake Titicaca in Bolivia build boats much like those in ancient Egypt—more so than those in central Africa. I felt it was worth a second experiment because of the way they build the stern; also, the way they tie the papyrus together in bundles is much different. So I brought four Aymara Indians over to Morocco to build Ra II. We built a boat forty feet long, ten feet shorter than Ra I, and of different design. We set sail May 17, 1970, and after 57 days of sailing—3,270 miles—we reached Bridgetown, Barbados Islands. Ra I had left on May 25, 1969, and we had abandoned her July 18, about 600 miles from Barbados.

Illustration by Clayton Thompson
I still remember that cold, crisp Sunday night in December. Our mom had just made her delicious potato soup with steaming vegetables for me and my brothers to take to a few of our neighbors. When she handed me a warm bowl of soup, she said, “This one goes to Ben’s house.”
I knew of Ben, but I’d never really seen or talked to him before. So I wasn’t very excited about dropping this soup off to him. As I walked over, I noticed the run-down home with leaves everywhere, and I decided I didn’t want to stay and try to get to know this stranger. I left the soup on the porch, rang the doorbell, and hurried away. But just before I crossed the street, I hid behind a bush and watched as a tall, delicate, older man opened his door and picked up the soup. But rather than rushing inside, he stood there for a moment and looked around to see who’d left it. As I watched him, he seemed very humble, with his knitted old sweater, simple black sweatpants, and worn-out shoes. Soon, I walked home, but I couldn’t get the picture of Ben on his porch out of my head.
As I sat down for dinner, my parents asked my older brother how the neighbor he dropped off the soup to was doing, then she asked my younger brother, and then she asked me. I paused hesitantly before saying, “Well, he’s doing fine, I think.”
My mom asked, “What did he say to you?”
I stared at the plate in front of me and mumbled, “I didn’t really talk to him. I just dropped it off and hurried back home.”
At this point my parents seemed less than happy about what I’d done—or perhaps what I had not done—so I asked them what they wanted me to do differently. In a loving way, they explained that the soup was not just something to give to the neighbors but an opportunity to get to know and spend time with others, which would’ve been far more significant than just a simple bowl of soup.
Later that week, I watched Ben’s home as I went out to get the mail. I noticed he hadn’t shoveled his driveway after it had recently snowed, and I ran home to ask my brothers for help. We got our shovels and hurried across the street to the home. The more I shoveled, the more I realized this man must be all alone here in this large and empty home. We finished shoveling, and Ben came out, smiled, and motioned for us to come inside. As we entered, we were surprised to see the house was beautiful, filled with pictures of his kids, grandkids, and even great-grandkids.
As we sat down, he handed each of us a piece of candy and thanked us one by one, telling us how happy he was to have company. Later he even mentioned the bowl of soup. “The soup was delicious, but I don’t know who dropped it off. I wanted to thank them and return the bowl.”
I smiled and said, “It’s my mom’s soup, but I dropped it off.”
He brightened and replied, “Thank you so much. It was so warm and delicious.” At that moment, I felt real love for this man.
He then pointed to a picture of his wife and explained that he’d lost her a few years ago. But at that moment, he seemed so happy.
My family and I still bring soup to Ben, mow his lawn, and shovel his driveway. We also now visit him and invite him to family events, like our sports games and dinners. He’s never failed to express his appreciation with a simple “Thank you!” and a piece of candy for each of us. I’m grateful for the lesson I learned that December day and for the symbolism of the soup. Anyone can give food, clothing, and money, but giving of your time and yourself is truly one of the most valuable of all gifts.

In “The Vision of Sir Launfal,” an interesting story is told of a young knight who rode out into the world in search of the Holy Grail (the cup which the Master supposedly drank from at the Last Supper). He had dedicated his life to the quest. He was young, handsome, and strong, clothed in bright and shining armor, mounted on a gallant white charger. As he crossed the drawbridge riding out into the world, a beggar (who was a leper) put up his hand to him, begging alms. The young knight reached into his pouch, took out a gold coin and flung it to the beggar as he rode on, but he really did not give the beggar very much because no one would accept even a gold coin from a leper.
The young man searched for the cup; of course he didn’t find it, although he spent his life in the quest. He did, however, learn a lot, and at the close of his life he was returning to his castle, no longer young. He is now shrunken with age. His armor is no longer bright; his mount is no longer a charger but just a tired old gray horse. As he was about to cross the drawbridge into the castle, once again a beggar put up his hand begging for alms. This time Sir Launfal stopped, got down from his horse, reached into his knapsack and took out the only thing he had—a crust of bread. He then dipped his cup into the stream and gave the crust of bread and one cup of cold water to the beggar.
The wooden cup from which the beggar drank turned into the Holy Grail for which he had searched, and the beggar turned into a Christ and said a very interesting thing. He said:
“Not what we give, but what we share.
For the gift without the giver is bare;
Who gives himself with his alms feeds three,
Himself, his hungering neighbor, and me.”
(“The Vision of Sir Launfal,” James R. Lowell.)

One of Adam’s favorite hobbies is Cub Scouting. When he first started attending Scouts, he called his den leader two or three times a week to find out what he could do next because he completed his projects so quickly!