Gospel Story Finder

I was playing at my friend’s home. It is a lot of fun to play outside in the sunny Arizona winter. We rode bikes and played basketball until we were tired.
My friend thought that it might be fun to play in their van, so we got in. I had a feeling to not play in it, so I got out and started riding a bike again. I rode by myself for a while, then thought that it would be more fun to play with my friend again, so I got back in the van. We played a game in which I had to keep my friend from getting out of the van until my mom came to pick me up.
I heard the Holy Ghost tell me to leave the van, but I didn’t listen. When I closed the door, I slammed it on my hand. Now I know that when the Holy Ghost tells you to do something, you should do it, because there are consequences you pay if you don’t listen.
Elizabeth Shafer, age 9Tempe, Arizona

A friend told of an experience that ended his relationship with a business he had regularly patronized. He had received a letter in the mail with a coupon entitling him to a free oil change at a particular car dealership. After the work was done, he was presented with a bill for the oil. When he objected, he was told that the coupon did not cover the price of the oil, only the cost of the labor to change it. Technically and legally that may have been correct, but my friend, feeling that he had been deceived, never went back to that business.

In 1932 the Olympic Games tryouts and the national A. A. U. (Amateur Athletic Union) championship meet were combined. Colonel M. J. McCombs called Babe into his office at the insurance company where they worked. He told her that he thought that she could represent the company team and win the national championship all by herself!
Over two hundred entrants were competing in the women’s events, and “for two-and-a-half hours I was flying all over the place. I’d run a heat in the eighty-meter hurdles, and then I’d take one of my high jumps. Then I’d go over to the broad jump and take a turn at that. Then they’d be calling for me to throw the javelin or put the eight-pound shot.”
Babe placed fourth in the discus and the hundred-meter dash at that meet. She tied for first in the high jump, and she won the running broad jump, the eighty-meter hurdles, the javelin throw, the baseball throw, and the eight-pound shot put. Along with the six gold medals she won, she set four world records and scored thirty points for her company’s “team.” The second-place team—with twenty-two members—scored only twenty-two points!

During a youth conference in the Uintah Mountains, I convinced my dad to hike with me to the top of a mountain. While waiting for him, I sprawled out on a rock and fell asleep. However, the medication I was taking at the time warned against staying out in the sun for too long, so when I awoke, I had a pounding headache.
My dad and I headed out, but I knew there was a problem. With every step I took, my head pounded, and I began to feel lightheaded and dizzy. I got slower and slower and fell farther behind my dad. All I could think about was the pain I was in, and how I wasn’t going to be able to finish.
My dad guided me to a rock, where we sat down. When I explained what was wrong and that I wanted to turn around, he offered comfort. He said, “I would do anything to take the pain away from you. I wish I could feel it for you, just so you wouldn’t have to feel an ounce of it.” He reminded me of my desire to hike the mountain and offered to go slower so that we could finish.
Once again we began. This time I was in the front so I could take it at my own pace. Although the headache was still painful, I was no longer sick to my stomach and dizzy, and we proceeded to work our way up the rocks.
My dad had just given me an example of true love and of what Christ has done for all of us. Christ took our sins upon Himself in the Garden of Gethsemane and on the cross so that we, through repentance, might not have to suffer and so that we may return to our Heavenly Father forever and be with our families. I’ve had many lessons on the Savior’s love, but until that moment I hadn’t ever truly made that connection. I not only realized how much my dad loved me but also how much my Savior and Heavenly Father must love me.

Ben will never forget the baseball game his girlfriend’s parents came to watch. He hadn’t played at all until the last inning, when the coach put him in as a pinch hitter against a powerful pitcher. The game was at stake, and the pressure was on Ben. He whiffed the first two pitches, then made contact on the third—hard contact that sent the ball rocketing up the right field line for an easy single, a double if he hustled. Ben got so caught up in watching the ball that he tripped and fell on his way to first base. The other team made an easy out—the last one of the game. He was devastated.
“I was glad,” Ben says, “that baseball was not the only thing I had going for me. I had other interests in life, like art. When I didn’t excel in one thing, I would apply myself harder in another. My entire self-image was not based on success in one area.”

Charlie Hays died on January 30, 1997. He was 12 years old. On his first day of first grade, he was diagnosed with medullary thyroid cancer. It turns out he was born with this rare mutation. After the initial diagnosis, doctors gave 7-year-old Charlie only six months to live. They told his mother his windpipe would close because of the tumors between the esophagus and the trachea.
“Charlie lived five and a half more years,” his mother, Susan, said. “His first goal was to live until he could be baptized, which he accomplished. He was so excited on that day. At his baptism, the entire room at the church was filled to capacity. After Charlie was immersed in the water, the audience clapped because it was made up mostly of children. We all giggled because you usually don’t hear clapping in church. But the children were so happy Charlie had reached his goal. Then he went for the tougher goal, and that was to live long enough to become a deacon and to be able to pass the sacrament.”

We show our integrity by caring for and serving others. Let me cite an instance where family members, a Christlike bishop, home teachers, visiting teachers, and ward members so lived.

A young mother of eight children was left without a husband. The oldest child was twelve, the youngest barely one, and one daughter was confined to a wheelchair. This mother moved to a ward that was close to her family and friends. Being single and divorced, she feared that she might be ignored or shunned. However, as she was moving in, ward members streamed in to welcome her, bring food, and offer assistance. She hardly had time to direct those who were unloading the moving van.

After getting settled, she and her family received innumerable expressions of service and love. Her home teachers repaired her appliances and other household items. Her visiting teachers kept very close and made sure she never had to go alone to a Church activity. At Christmastime, she found money left anonymously on her porch or had it given to her in a handshake. She received hundreds of dollars toward the purchase of a wheelchair lift for her van. After being out of town briefly, she returned home and found that ward members had renovated her kitchen.

Her parents, brother, and sisters provided financial and emotional support. They helped take care of her children, accompanied her to the emergency room with a daughter who was very ill, built a ramp to the front door for the wheelchair, built shelves for food storage, and helped with yard work.

All of this kindness lifted her spirits and gave her courage to meet the trials and hardships of each day. Those who looked after this young mother practiced “pure religion” (James 1:27) because of their integrity. Let us “go, and do … likewise” (Luke 10:37), as the Savior taught in the parable of the good Samaritan.

Elder Meurs told the story of his parents, who lived in the area, joining The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in 1958.
Fred and Lois Meurs, strong Christians from different faiths were actively searching for someone to answer their gospel questions. After carefully studying the New Testament, they began to search for a church that had teachings that were consistent with Jesus’s teachings.
They had questions about the purpose of life, priesthood authority, what happens when we die, ordinances like baptism, and the role of prophets and apostles. They had spoken to the religious leaders of the community, but no one could give them the answers they were searching for. They began to earnestly pray for someone to answer their questions.
That same week, two full-time missionaries, Elder Jones and Elder Erikson, knocked on their door and said they had a message about Jesus Christ to share with them. Fred and Lois asked them all their questions, and the missionaries answered every one. Three weeks later the Meurs were baptised and confirmed. Some other families joined soon after, and the first Warrnambool Branch was formed.

When the bottle quilt was completed, Lynda began working on a quilt featuring family stories. Other quilts have followed, including a memory quilt for each of her children. The tradition began when Lynda’s oldest child, Janelle, was seven years old. Lynda and Janelle collected Janelle’s best childhood drawings, special notes, and even a math problem and transferred them to blocks of white fabric. Lynda then assembled the blocks and quilted them on her kitchen table. By the time Janelle was baptized, her childhood was preserved in a quilt. Six other quilts, each unique and reflective of the child who helped create it, have followed. Lynda and her youngest daughter, Jesse, are now assembling the artwork for the eighth quilt.

I had learned of the Mormon church through a friend of mine, and when I was 13 years old I was baptized. One of the main reasons I was attracted to the Church was the love and concern I felt from the members of my ward.
I had become quite close to a family in my ward—the Fishers. I was their babysitter. They were my friends, and I grew to love them very much. I loved to babysit for them, and they accepted me for the person I was. I knew they cared about me, and I felt secure when I was with them.
To make a long story short, in the next few months I ran away from home twice. The Fishers went to Social Services and requested that I come live with them. I was surprised but thrilled! After several court trials, I was placed in their home as a foster child. I was 14 years old.
That was eight years ago. As I look back over the years, there are many memories. But perhaps the greatest memory I have is being legally adopted and going to the St. George Temple to be sealed to my parents. My whole family was present, grandparents and all, and it was a peaceful, beautiful, and glorious day.
My parents have worked very hard with me. They encouraged me to go back to school, and I graduated from Brigham Young University. It was a great day, and my parents helped me to make it possible.
There are so many other things my parents have done for me, I could never name them all. However, the most important thing they did was to take me into their home and to love me. My parents helped me to learn to love others. They taught me about the gospel. They answered my questions. They had faith. And they were and still are my examples. My parents gave me the opportunity to have a family and to experience the security of belonging.
When I first went to my foster home I was bitter and felt sorry for myself. I often asked myself, why me? It all seemed so unfair. Fortunately, I have since learned that the experiences I had during my first 14 years of life were meant to be. Those experiences have made me into the person I am today. Those experiences were to teach me. Yes, I had to learn to have compassion for others who may be hurting. I have promised myself to never forget how it hurts to be lonely and frightened.
There is no doubt in my mind that my parents were to be mine. My patriarchal blessing tells me so. We just all came together in a different way. I want to repay my parents for their love, help, and understanding, and I know I can do this by living a good life, helping others, and remaining faithful to the gospel. This is what they would want me to do. I know because it is what they have done in their lives.

A couple of years ago, Sister Johanson and I were visiting the island of Maui. On the Sunday of our trip, we attended the Lahaina First Ward. A while ago, we decided that unless there were extenuating circumstances, we would attend the entire three-hour block of Church meetings when we traveled. As we went through Sunday School and Priesthood and Relief Society meetings, we discovered that this ward was planning a temple trip to the Laie Hawaii Temple, and they were trying to find housing for the group. The options were slim and as you can imagine very expensive. When we asked about the dates of the temple trip, we found that it would be during the same time that we were going to be on a family trip and that our home would be vacant. We offered the use of our home, and it ended up being used for several of those who came to serve in the temple.

Now, this was, in my eyes, a mundane act on our part, but the point I want to make is that by Being There, we were able to help meet the needs of these faithful saints. Had we stopped in for Sacrament meeting only, we would have missed the opportunity to perhaps be the answer to someone’s prayer.

I pressed a criss-cross design on the last ball of peanut butter cookie dough and placed it on the baking sheet. Another pan of cookies was ready for the oven. My girlfriend, Michelle, and I had eaten a dozen before carefully arranging a plate of the best-looking cookies. Ever since our Beehive lesson on giving service without being asked, Michelle and I had been motivated to give service to one of the widows in our ward. We chose Sister Andrews. She had been a widow for at least 20 years and had no children.
Michelle and I organized a plan. Once a month we would take something over to Sister Andrews. We didn’t let anyone know of our plans. After all we wanted to serve without being told. The cookies were our first gift. We jumped on our bikes, with me balancing the plate of cookies on the handlebars, and rode over to Sister Andrews’s tiny home.
When she answered the door, Sister Andrews was wearing a plain blue house dress with a crocheted collar. Proudly, I held out the plate.
“We brought you some peanut butter cookies,” I said.
“Oh, you girls are so sweet, but I can’t have any sugar on my diabetic diet. Why don’t you take these home and share them with your families.”
Surprised and a little confused, we stood wondering what to do next. There were plenty of cookies at home, and Michelle and I could not possibly eat one more ourselves. We left a little discouraged.
We tried to think of another idea. Flowers were a sure thing. All women love flowers, we thought. My mother’s rosebushes were in bloom. We picked red, yellow, and pink roses and placed them in a mason jar.
Again Michelle and I rode our bikes to Sister Andrews’s home. “We brought these for you,” Michelle said and held out the flowers.
“Thank you so much. They are beautiful. But I get hayfever, and I can’t have flowers inside the house,” was her reply. We visited with her for a few minutes and left.
Michelle and I were quite discouraged now. Flowers and treats were off the list. We decided Sister Andrews would like some fruit. We filled a bowl full of the prettiest ripe raspberries we could find. Pleased with our gift, we got on our bikes a third time and rode to Sister Andrews’s home.
“We brought you some fresh raspberries,” I said.
“My, they look delicious. I used to love eating raspberries when I was your age. I can’t eat them anymore. The seeds get caught under my dentures. Why don’t you girls eat them with your supper tonight,” she replied.
I couldn’t believe it. We had struck out. Finally, we told our parents of our failed attempts to offer service. They helped us learn a little more about Sister Andrews. She had a great talent for crocheting and loved to spend her time making items for her friends and neighbors such as baby afghans, hot pads, and slippers. She had a small income which limited how much she could crochet for others. Because of her poor circumstances, she hated to see things wasted. That’s why she turned down our gifts rather than just taking them and discarding them after we left.
Michelle and I pooled our baby-sitting money and went to the store and purchased skeins of yarn for Sister Andrews. This time our gift was perfect. She delightedly showed us some of the things she was working on. And we learned a valuable lesson about service. True service is not just giving what we choose to give, but giving what is really needed.

One of the most remarkable stories is about my great-grandfather, who was Liberia’s first doctor. His mission was to bring healing and hope to those in need. He was later transferred to the deep forests of what is now the Nimba region, where he was granted vast lands to establish his medical mission.
This land became the foundation for a legacy of service and family. My great-grandfather had 24 wives and many children, and from generation to generation, his family grew. My grandfather, Samuel J. Mentee, was among them, and he continued the family legacy. By the time of his passing, he left behind an incredible record of 170 grandchildren, of which I am one.

Rhett Wyatt, a priest in the Gresham Fourth Ward, Gresham Oregon Stake, runs on a busy schedule. Each morning at 7:00 A.M. Rhett, who’s blind, runs two miles holding onto the arm of a classmate or gym teacher. He also works out on the trampoline, thanks to a safety invention of his brother, and ran a mile race in a Special Olympics track meet. Rhett recently performed in his school’s productions of Oklahoma and West Side Story and delivered a Bill Cosby routine at his senior class banquet. A stake missionary and member of the Gresham seminary executive council, Rhett plans to serve a mission soon.

I know of a man raised in India and educated in England as an attorney. He loved his native land and longed for the time that she would be free from the domination of Great Britain. Most of his life he lived in a mud hut that had no electric lights, no running water, no telephone. He didn’t own an automobile, and he never sought or held a public office. By some he was thought to be the most Christ-like person who had ever lived, and yet he was not even a Christian. To India he was the “Mahatma” or “The Great Soul.” He described himself as a “self-remade man.”

When Britain was struggling for survival against the Axis powers during World War II, and some prominent Indian leaders wanted to revolt and throw off her authority, he said, “We will not steal even our independence.” In his efforts to stop the continual fighting between India and Pakistan he often subjected himself to prolonged fasts. During one of those lengthy ordeals a medical doctor tried to get him to take a small portion of beef broth, to which he commented, “Even for life itself we may not do certain things. There is only one course open to me—to die, but never to break my pledge.” And as they begged him to eat or drink, fearing for his life, for his kidneys had begun to fail, he simply said, “Life is more than science and God more than chemistry” (see Sterling W. Sill, The Glory of the Sun [Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1961], pp. 309–10).

Someone has said, “When Cicero speaks, the people say, ‘How eloquent!’ When Demosthenes speaks, the people say, ‘Come, let us march!’” When this humble Indian went out from his house to walk, multitudes followed him. Thousands were willing to submit to death rather than take up arms against their enemies because he did not believe in violence, but rather in the principles of peace and love.

On 30 July 1948, as he hurried to the village prayer ground, blessing the people as he went, a religious fanatic shot and killed him. The Mahatma was gone. His name was Mohandas K. Gandhi. Only one man! Yet through his efforts, India was granted her freedom. The name Gandhi will live on forever—in the annals of time.

Meagon Doering knows how to get the job done. This 16-year-old Laurel from Rock Island, Tennessee, has organized fundraising efforts for the Hospital Hospitality House in Nashville, raising a total of $2,400. Meagon and her family were grateful to find the HHH when Meagon’s dad, Michael, was hospitalized for nearly three months 90 miles from their house. The house provided a very inexpensive place to stay so that the family could be near Meagon’s dad for long periods of time without having to make the long drive from home. Meagon says this project was her way of saying thanks.

I have a sweet memory of a prayer that I treasure. For one of my summer breaks from college, I accepted a job in Texas. I had to drive hundreds of miles from Idaho to Texas in my old car, a car I had affectionately named Vern. Vern was packed to the roof, and I was ready for the new adventure.

On my way out the door, I gave my dear mother a hug and she said, “Let’s say a prayer before you leave.”

We knelt and my mother began to pray. She pleaded with Heavenly Father for my safety. She prayed for my non-air-conditioned car, asking that the car would function as I needed. She asked for angels to be with me throughout the summer. She prayed and prayed and prayed.

The peace that came from that prayer gave me the courage to trust in the Lord and lean not to my own understanding. The Lord directed my path in the many decisions I made that summer.

The second story has to do with an experience I had after I finished graduate school and was working as a full-time member of the Harvard Business School faculty. There I learned how to teach by the case method. And I also learned about a market for corporate executive education that I had no idea existed. I remember sitting in my office at Harvard one afternoon and receiving a phone call from a senior professor by the name of Jay Lorsch. "Doug," Jay said. "I am calling you because of an emergency. "We're teaching a group of executives out in Cincinnati tomorrow, and the fellow who was supposed to do it has become terribly sick with food poisoning. I wonder if you can help out." "Jay," I said. "I'd be happy to help out if I can. What's the case?" [I knew there had to be a case.] "You'll be teaching a case on competition in the jet engine business." "And who are the executives?" "They are all middle managers at General Electric's jet engine business in Evendale, Ohio." "Wait a minute, Jay," I said. "You want me to teach a case about the jet engine business, about which I know nothing, to a bunch of people who are experts in the business?" "That's right," he said. "When do I get the case?" I asked. "We can bring it right over. You can prepare it on the plane tonight when you fly out there." Well, I did it. And it went really well. That teaching experience really taught me how powerful the case method was. It was like walking a tight rope without a net, but what a great learning experience it was!

I learned how to perform in that very unique marketplace: a marketplace that only a couple of years before I had no idea even existed. I learned that as a teacher I did not have to have all the answers. In fact, I was more effective if I didn't. My role was to be the concept leader, and to ask the questions. I discovered the power of questions, and learned that I could help people get better answers by helping them ask better questions.

This discovery opened up another new door of opportunity for me. A few years later some other Harvard professors and I decided we enjoyed this type of teaching so much we would try to make a business out of it. In 1987 we co-founded the Center for Executive Development in Cambridge, Massachusetts, dedicated to helping companies build strategic capability through customized executive education. The 20 years that I spent as managing partner for CED provided deeply rewarding work for me and my partners, and I think for our clients as well. And I discovered it by accident!

“Papá, Alan’s hurt!” Nicole cried as she and her friend Nathalia quickly rode into our camp on their four-wheeled all-terrain vehicle.
We were camping in central Utah with two other families. While my son Alan and his friend Kurt were out riding, they hit a ditch and flipped their four-wheeler. It had landed on top of Alan, but somehow Kurt lifted it off of him.
When I arrived at the scene a few minutes later with two friends, Alan was lying in the ditch, surrounded by several men. He was having trouble breathing, and Kurt looked sick with worry. When Alan tried to get up, a man with a medical bag told him to stay down as he administered first aid and checked his vital signs.
“You’re the father, correct?” he asked as he looked up at me.
“Yes.”
“Stay with Alan a minute.”
To my friends Hector and Carlos, he said, “I need to speak with you.”
They went off by themselves, which raised a red flag in my mind. The man’s name was Mike Staheli. Mike, a medical nurse, was camping with some friends. They had planned to return home that morning but felt prompted to stay one more day. His son had seen the accident and immediately called his father for help.
I learned later that Mike had told Hector and Carlos that Alan was in serious condition. Mike feared that Alan might die in the ditch if he didn’t receive medical help soon. Alan’s left leg had swollen to twice its normal size, and Mike feared that Alan had suffered a hip or femoral fracture. Mike was convinced that Alan had broken his now Z-shaped left arm and perhaps some ribs. Mike also feared that Alan had injured some internal organs.
To get Alan to the hospital quickly, Mike said we should call for a medical helicopter, which we did.
“Luis,” Hector said for the second time, “we need to give Alan a blessing.”
I hadn’t really heard Hector the first time because I was too focused on Alan. Hector was right.
“We’re going to give you a blessing,” I said to Alan, who had recently been ordained a deacon. “You understand what that means?”
“Yes,” he replied.
“But you have to do something,” I said. “You have to have faith in Jesus Christ and the power of the priesthood. Do you have faith that the Lord can help you and heal you?”
“Yes, Papá,” he told me, “I do have faith.”
I anointed Alan, and then Hector, Carlos, and I gave him a blessing, with Hector sealing the anointing. Hector’s words were simple, but we all felt the powerful presence of the Holy Ghost.
Alan’s breathing slowed, and his vital signs stabilized almost immediately. The wind stopped, a calmness settled over us, and some of the men began to weep. It was a cold fall day, but afterward, Alan said he felt warmer as Hector pronounced the blessing.
Soon the helicopter arrived, and I joined Alan on the flight to the hospital. When we landed, he was rushed inside, where he underwent several examinations and tests, including an MRI. As I waited, I expected the worst. But the worst never came. Doctors found no internal injuries and no broken femur, hip, arm, or ribs—nothing.
“Alan,” one of the doctors told him, “it looks like you can go home tonight.”
Alan had difficulty walking, so he stayed overnight in the hospital for observation. When we brought him home the next morning, he wore only a brace on his left wrist. Six weeks later, he was preparing for soccer season.
A week after the accident, we went to Mike’s house to thank him for his help. He could hardly believe his eyes when Alan walked in and sat on his couch.
“I’ve taken care of a lot of people, and I’ve seen a lot of people pass away,” he told us. “Medically, Alan should not have made it. What I saw that day was truly miraculous. It was divine intervention.”

Teachers Camron Stewart (right) and James Decker of the Sigonella Branch painted the bus stop at the Navy Air Station Sigonella in Sicily, Italy. With a little help from their youth leaders and a few of the boys’ friends who stopped by to help out, the bus stop looked great after the service project.
The young men had fun painting. Camron summed it up in these words: “It made me feel good, like I was making a difference in my community.”
Branch president Brian Stewart says this project, along with other activities the youth have recently participated in, has opened many doors for the young men to share their beliefs with friends and teachers at school.