Gospel Story Finder

Not long ago, we invited two sister missionaries over for lunch. After we finished eating, we asked them to leave a spiritual thought with us. They were well prepared and introduced a scripture reading and marking exercise to us. They had brought a fresh copy of the Book of Mormon and a set of colored pencils. We accepted the invitation of the missionaries. Since then, our daily Book of Mormon family scripture reading has changed. In every chapter, we mark with different colors the passages related to Jesus Christ as we discover them. Every time, this little exercise reminds us of our missionaries.
When the missionaries presented this, we immediately recognized it as a scripture study exercise suggested in Preach My Gospel. As a family, we are so thankful for this great and powerful missionary tool.

Elder McKim, 19, was actually born in Glasgow, Scotland. “We moved to Australia when I was five. My parents are converts to the Church. Most of the children were born after my parents were sealed in the London Temple. My father was a stake patriarch in Glasgow. He was set apart by President Kimball, who was at the time a member of the Quorum of the Twelve.
“I was brought up in the Church, and when I was a little boy I knew I was going to go on a mission. But as the time grew near, I planned to put it off until the end of the college year. Then one night I just had this feeling that I had to go on my mission and I wasn’t to put it off. I talked to my bishop and put my papers in. And I’m glad I did. My mission has drastically changed my life and my ideals. Things which I thought were important are so trivial now. And things which I really didn’t think of before are now so important.”

God is anxious to help us feel His love wherever we are. Let me give an example.

As a young missionary I was assigned to a small island of about 700 inhabitants in a remote area of the South Pacific. To me the heat was oppressive, the mosquitoes were terrible, the mud was everywhere, the language was impossible, and the food was—well, “different.”

After a few months our island was struck by a powerful hurricane. The devastation was massive. Crops were ruined, lives were lost, housing was blown away, and the telegraph station—our only link to the outside world—was destroyed. A small government boat normally came every month or two, so we rationed our food to last four or five weeks, hoping the boat would come. But no boat came. Every day we became weaker. There were acts of great kindness, but as the sixth and seventh weeks passed with very little food, our strength slipped noticeably. My native companion, Feki, helped me in every way he could, but as the eighth week commenced, I had no energy. I just sat under the shade of a tree and prayed and read scriptures and spent hours and hours pondering the things of eternity.

The ninth week began with little outward change. However, there was a great inward change. I felt the Lord’s love more deeply than ever before and learned firsthand that His love “is the most desirable above all things … yea, and the most joyous to the soul” (1 Nephi 11:22–23).

I was pretty much skin and bones by now. I remember watching, with deep reverence, my heart beating, my lungs breathing, and thinking what a marvelous body God has created to house our equally marvelous spirit! The thought of a permanent union of these two elements, made possible through the Savior’s love, atoning sacrifice, and Resurrection, was so inspiring and satisfying that any physical discomfort faded into oblivion.

When we understand who God is, who we are, how He loves us, and what His plan is for us, fear evaporates. When we get the tiniest glimpse of these truths, our concern over worldly things vanishes. To think we actually fall for Satan’s lies that power, fame, or wealth is important is truly laughable—or would be were it not so sad.

I learned that just as rockets must overcome the pull of gravity to roar into space, so we must overcome the pull of the world to soar into the eternal realms of understanding and love. I realized my mortal life might end there, but there was no panic. I knew life would continue, and whether here or there didn’t really matter. What did matter was how much love I had in my heart. I knew I needed more! I knew that our joy now and forever is inextricably tied to our capacity to love.

As these thoughts filled and lifted my soul, I gradually became aware of some excited voices. My companion Feki’s eyes were dancing as he said, “Kolipoki, a boat has arrived, and it is full of food. We are saved! Aren’t you excited?” I wasn’t sure, but since the boat had come, that must be God’s answer, so yes, I was happy. Feki gave me some food and said, “Here, eat.” I hesitated. I looked at the food. I looked at Feki. I looked into the sky and closed my eyes.

I felt something very deep. I was grateful my life here would go on as before; still, there was a wistful feeling—a subtle sense of postponement, as when darkness closes the brilliant colors of a perfect sunset and you realize you must wait for another evening to again enjoy such beauty.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to open my eyes, but when I did I realized that God’s love had changed everything. The heat, the mud, the mosquitoes, the people, the language, the food were no longer challenges. Those who had tried to harm me were no longer my enemies. Everyone was my brother or sister. Being filled with God’s love is the most joyous of all things and is worth every cost.

Youth from the Newcastle Stake and surrounding districts in Australia make the most of their Easter break youth conference. Some 120 young people gathered for last year’s activity, with the theme, “I teach them correct principles and they govern themselves.”

They had dances. They had waterfights. They had fun old movies. They put snags (sausages) on the barby. They had firesides, church meetings, and the best-loved testimony meeting.

But a major part of the conference was spent cleaning up the land around the Richmond Vale Mine Museum, at a historic coal mine. They pulled weeds, cleared train tracks, moved logs, and basically tidied up the area.

When I was a boy, my maternal grandfather had a large cherry orchard. I had the opportunity to work in the orchard, mostly in the summer during the harvest of the cherries. As a very young boy, I found that the extent of my involvement was being handed a bucket and then sent up a tree to pick the cherries.

The harvesting of cherries changed significantly when my grandfather purchased a machine called a cherry shaker. This machine grabs the trunk of the tree and shakes it, causing the cherries to fall out of the tree onto nets that are used to collect the cherries. I noticed that when the shaker would begin to shake the tree, almost all the cherries fell out of the tree within seconds. I also noticed that it didn’t matter if the tree was shaken for 10 seconds or a full minute, some cherries would not fall. They were truly unshakable.

But back to Luchito. Even before Luis Soto and Richard Spichiger joined the Church, he had shared his new testimony with another friend—a young woman named Liliana Salazar. Like Heraldo, Roberto, Luchito, and Luis, Liliana was an English major. She would be honored that year as the top student in her class. But more important, the changes she was observing in Luchito’s life prompted her to study his beliefs. After a few months, she, too became a Latter-day Saint. Then, at her invitation, her father, mother, and sister Patricia heard and accepted the message of the Restoration. And then Liliana introduced a sixth student—her friend Guillermo Rosales—to the Church, and he also joined.
Through her activity in the Church, Liliana met another recent convert, Néstor Bravo, whom she later married in the temple.

In History of the Church, Elder B. H. Roberts quotes the following from the Newell K. Whitney family’s history:
“‘About the first of February, 1831, a sleigh containing four persons drove through the streets of Kirtland and drew up in front of the store of Gilbert and Whitney. One of the men, a young and stalwart personage alighted, and springing up the steps walked into the store and to where the junior partner was standing. “Newel K. Whitney! Thou art the man!” he exclaimed, extending his hand cordially, as if to an old and familiar acquaintance. “You have the advantage of me,” replied the merchant, as he mechanically took the proffered hand, “I could not call you by name as you have me.” “I am Joseph the Prophet,” said the stranger smiling. “You’ve prayed me here, now what do you want of me?”’ The Prophet, it is said, while in the East had seen the Whitneys in vision, praying for his coming to Kirtland. ‘Mother Whitney’ [Elizabeth Ann, wife of Newel] also tells how on a certain night prior … , while she and her husband were praying to the Lord to know how they might obtain the gift of the Holy Ghost, which of all things they desired, they saw a vision as of a cloud of glory resting upon their house, and heard a voice from heaven saying, ‘Prepare to receive the word of the Lord, for it is coming’” (History of the Church, 1:146).

I joined the Church as a single mother in 1996, several years after my twin sister, Theresa, joined. When Theresa was baptized, a mutual friend said to me, “Why would she join that church? They make their women stay in the background.”
From association with members of the Church, I knew that my friend’s understanding was inaccurate—the marriages I saw among members of the Church were some of the strongest and most equal I had ever seen. I knew that only men in the Church held the priesthood, but I sensed that they used the priesthood to benefit all.
That truth was reinforced to me when I was diagnosed with breast cancer 11 years after my baptism. Upon hearing the news, I received a spiritual prompting that I should seek a priesthood blessing, which I did that evening. In the blessing, I was promised that the cancer would leave my body, that my body would be made whole, and that the Spirit would guide my doctors.
That blessing was the first of many I would receive over the next three years of treatment and surgeries. It gave me faith to know that healing would come physically if it was the Lord’s will or that it would come spiritually—and I would be given strength to deal with my trial.
I experienced the second kind of healing one night following an operation. I remember waking up in extreme pain. Just then this thought entered my mind: “You know that you will get better. You have been promised that your body will be made whole. You know you’re going to get through this.”
On another occasion I woke up in the middle of the night worried about the future. “What is going to happen to me?” I wondered. That panic lasted for a couple of hours, but it was the only time during my three-year battle that I felt such anxiety. The peace from the priesthood blessings I received sustained me and enabled me to get through things I thought I couldn’t endure.
The priesthood continued to strengthen me through a postoperative infection and a serious fever. One night during this time my brother-in-law came to the hospital and gave me a blessing. My temperature had been rising all day, but after the blessing it steadily declined. I was amazed but not surprised.
I saw the promise come to fruition that my doctors would be guided. When I awoke after one of my operations, the surgeon came to see me.
“I was all done,” she explained, “but something told me to go deeper, and I found additional problem areas, which I was able to remove. We’re fortunate to have found them.”
She is not a member of the Church, but the promise of the blessing I had received early on had come to pass. The Spirit had guided her.
I am grateful for the worthy priesthood holders in my ward and family who have reached out to me and used the priesthood to bless my life. I am grateful for their wives who support and sustain them as they honor their priesthood and use it to bless others. Most of all, I am grateful that Heavenly Father has blessed us with His power on earth, a power that blesses all of His children.

Three months after we returned from our missions, a man killed my twin brother. My father and another brother were badly wounded in the same attack. We knew who did it, but he was never arrested. I learned what it was like to feel hate and want revenge. I even had dreams of hurting the man who had done this terrible thing. But the Lord had made clear what He expected of me:
“Ye ought to forgive one another; for he that forgiveth not his brother his trespasses standeth condemned before the Lord; for there remaineth in him the greater sin.
“I, the Lord, will forgive whom I will forgive, but of you it is required to forgive all men” (D&C 64:9–10).
With time and prayer, I did forgive that man. We all did.

Three months after our fifth baby was born, my husband took a pay cut to start a new career and begin graduate school. That required us to move two states away. Feeling financially and physically drained, and socially isolated in a new place, I became deeply depressed.
Going to church was hard. Reluctantly, I went, but I ducked out of meetings quickly to avoid acquaintances’ cheerful inquiries into how I was adjusting. They expected equally cheerful responses, but I had none. Ward members often talked about how blessed and happy they were to have the gospel of Jesus Christ. What was wrong with me?
I served in my calling, and I halfheartedly prayed and read scriptures. But my efforts didn’t feel like they were “work[ing] wonderfully” for me.1
Nearly a year later, the fog started to lift. Through a series of small mental, physical, social, and spiritual changes, I slowly improved.
Months later, with my depression behind me, I was praying when I became overwhelmed with wonder and gratitude for the blessings of gospel living. I felt that it was unreasonable for me to be so blessed. It was God who had granted me the spiritual gift of faith and a desire to know Him. I acted only on the desire He gave me.
“Why should I deserve blessings,” I prayed, “for doing only what Thou didst plant in my heart to want to do in the first place?”
To my surprise, He answered my prayer immediately with memories from my past.
“What about the times you sought me even when it was painful and hard? When you yielded your will to mine, still came to church, and still served my children anyway? My daughter,” I perceived by the Spirit, “you are blessed abundantly for your faithfulness—for choosing me even when you didn’t want to.”
I had thought that being faithful meant always reaping the fruits of His Spirit. Now I know that faithfulness means loyalty and fidelity to Him—no matter what. God’s reality isn’t changed by whether I can hear Him or feel Him. In times of joy or sorrow, if I stay with Him, He is always with me.

I have a friend who is not a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She had a party where we got our nails done and watched movies. She wanted to rent R-rated movies. I told her that I don’t watch those kinds of movies. One of the girls told me that she once watched a movie that she wasn’t supposed to watch, and her mom didn’t ever find out. I told her that I still wouldn’t see that movie. We ended up getting two other movies.
The next morning her mom made coffee. She offered me some. I told her that I wasn’t allowed to have coffee, and she told me that a little wouldn’t hurt. I politely told her that I did not want any. She didn’t say anything else after that. I’m glad that I could obey the Word of Wisdom.

With a basketball in his hand and his naturally quick feet, Dax Crum from Kirtland, New Mexico, is a fine shooting guard. He also serves as a great example to other young people in how to deal with obstacles.
When basketball commentators say that Dax Crum of Kirtland, New Mexico, is single-handedly leading the offense, they are telling the truth. Dax was born without a right hand, yet when he was growing up he refused to listen to those who said he would never play basketball. As a high school junior, he scored 22 points in the game leading up to the 2002 state championship and 17 points in the final game. He also has not listened to those who said he wouldn’t be able to play baseball (he hopes to earn a college scholarship as a pitcher). In addition, he was the leading scorer on his soccer team, and he runs sprints and anchors the relay team in track.
Dax is a priest in the Kirtland Second Ward in New Mexico and is the fourth of six children. He’s a straight-A student, loves to be with his friends, and enjoys playing his guitar. His parents, Richard and Valerie, have always encouraged their son to overcome obstacles, and they saw their son become relentless in learning to do things. Dax says, “I don’t let my hand embarrass me. I guess if people feel sorry for me, they can. But I don’t feel sorry for myself.”
Dax is the perfect person to talk to young kids about facing hard problems. Just like the advice he gave to one young boy, also born without a hand, “I just said, ‘You can do anything. Don’t let anything get in your way.’”

Illustrations by Julie Young
Sarah hopped and skipped. She was ready to hike around Silver Lake with her family. Her brother, Josh, ran ahead.
Soon the sun began to feel hot on Sarah’s arms. Her legs began to feel tired.
“Don’t worry,” Mom said. “We’re almost back to our car.”
Bridge Closed
Then Sarah saw a big orange rope blocking the path. “The bridge is broken,” Dad said. “We’ll have to walk back around the lake.”
“But I’m so tired!” Sarah said. Josh sat down in the dirt and frowned.
“Do you remember the story of the pioneers?” Mom asked.
Sarah nodded. She liked the pioneers.
“They had to walk a very long way,” Mom said. “Sometimes it was really hot, and sometimes it was really cold. But they kept walking. When they got to their new home, they built houses and temples.”
Sarah was glad the pioneers kept walking. She would keep walking too. She held her hand out to Josh. “Come on,” she said. “We have some more walking to do.”

When my grandfather James E. Fisher, born in 1865, was set apart for his mission, he was told: “You may have the gift of tongues if necessary, that you shall use the language fluently that is foreign to your mother tongue, that those who listen to you may listen in their own tongue.”
Within a few weeks after his arrival in New Zealand, a Maori boy came running to him and excitedly speaking in Maori said, “Come quickly, my father is ill. He is possessed of an evil spirit.”
Elder Fisher understood every word the boy said. He and his companion quickly followed the boy to his house and found a frightening situation. The man was entirely out of control, screaming, cursing, and leaping high into the air. When the missionaries entered, he shrank away and said in Maori, “You can do nothing. Go away.”
James E. Fisher took hold of the man and said quietly, “Be calm.” The missionaries laid their hands upon his head, blessed him, and commanded the evil spirit, by the authority of the holy priesthood, to depart. The man then thanked them for their assistance.
From that time on, James E. Fisher could understand the Maori language and rapidly learned to speak it fluently. He never lost his ability to speak the language. More than 40 years later, he met some Maori people at general conference in Salt Lake City and carried on a conversation with them easily and fluently in their native tongue.

When my parents converted to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, my father had no stable income. Back then, as today, there was much poverty in the Philippines. Work was hard to find.

So he prayed and told God that he had a testimony of the law of tithing but needed to find employment so he could live it. He promised Heavenly Father that he would pay an honest tithe all his life.

Well, my father did get a job. He found work as a cleaner in the local Coca-Cola manufacturing plant. As he began to pay tithing, his life began to change.

We used to have to walk to church since we did not have enough money to pay for public transportation. That began to change. My dad worked hard in his humble job and began to slowly rise through the ranks, ultimately becoming a sales manager. We could afford transportation in addition to food. One true miracle is that all six of my parents’ children were able to go and finish college.

Regarding that particular miracle, even my father’s coworkers seemed surprised. “How can you send all your children to college?” they would ask. “You make the same amount of money as we do. It doesn’t make sense!”

My father would always smile and say, “I have been blessed because of living the gospel. I have been blessed because I pay tithing.”

Because my father was baptized in 1963, more than 30 years ago, it might not seem too unusual that all three of his daughters were serving missions at the beginning of 1993. But those simple facts don’t tell the real story.
Although my father, Ignacio Beruben, was baptized as a young man, he drifted away from the Church. Later, he married a Catholic girl named Esther Modad, and in time, they had three daughters and a son. I am the third of those children.
Growing up in Guadalajara, Mexico, I often heard talk about the “Mormons” but never knew much about them. One day a friend told me that the real name of the Mormon church is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. What a lovely name, I thought. It gave me a beautiful feeling, and for days I kept hearing it in my head.
When I spoke to my father about my interest in the Church, he invited me and my brother, Ignacio, to go to a Church meeting with him—his first after many years. How well I remember the services held that day! I even remember the music that was sung. I especially remember the feeling of love that radiated from my father. When the meeting was over, I told him I wanted to hear the missionary discussions. Two missionaries arranged to meet with my brother and me the next Tuesday.
When I told my mother about the meeting, she replied, “Think it over carefully. Changing religions is not a game.” But I was sincerely—even desperately—seeking the truth. I had attended meetings of other religious denominations, but never in any of them had I felt the beautiful spirit I had felt in that meeting with my father.
From the very first discussion, I knew I had found what I was looking for. When the missionaries asked me if I would be baptized, I said yes without hesitation. When they asked me to pray, I felt the Holy Ghost confirm my decision.
On 29 April 1990, Ignacio and I went down into the waters of baptism. What a clean, pure feeling I had! What a sensation of spiritual freshness! My heart felt as if it would explode with joy. As I came out of the water, the first people I saw were my parents. They were holding hands and had tears in their eyes. From that day, blessings began to be poured out upon our family. Mama was baptized, then my sister Claudia, and finally my oldest sister, Labibe. On 23 July 1991, our family was sealed together in the house of the Lord. It was the most beautiful experience of our lives.
In June 1992, my sister Labibe received a call to the Mexico Monterrey North Mission. In November, Claudia submitted papers for missionary service and was called to the Mexico Veracruz Mission. Although I was not old enough to serve full time, beginning in December, I was called to serve a three-month mission in the city of Manzanillo. And so, as 1993 began, all three of my father’s daughters were serving the Lord as missionaries. My sisters and I wrote to each other frequently, expressing our happiness in the work we were doing.
How we three sisters came to be serving missions is a miracle. But it is the kind of miracle that occurs again and again among the Saints. The Lord provides a way for each of us to find the right path—or to return to it. I am filled with gratitude for my father. Because he chose the right path more than 30 years ago—and then returned to it after losing his way—I am part of an eternal family today.

I am grateful for my ten brothers and sisters, all of whom have gone on missions. Two of my sisters, widows—one the mother of ten and the other the mother of eight—after sending their children on missions, talked to their bishops about going on missions themselves.
I well remember the day they called me on the telephone and said, “Guess what? We’ve received our missionary calls.”
I said, “What missionary calls?”
They replied, “Don’t you know?” (They expected the President of the Quorum of the Twelve to know everything!)
I said, “No, I hadn’t heard.”
They responded, “Yes, we’re both going to your old field of labor in England.”
I wished them well, and I wish you could have heard the reports of those two sisters as they returned from their missions.

Recently, Sharon Eubank, the director of Humanitarian Services and LDS Charities, told of an experience shared by Elder Glenn L. Pace. There was widespread drought and extreme famine in Ethiopia in the mid-1980s. To provide relief, feeding stations with water and food were created for those who could get to them. An old man who was starving was walking a long distance to get to a feeding station. He was passing a village when he heard the cry of a baby. He searched until he found the baby sitting on the ground next to his dead mother. Picking up the baby, the man continued to walk 25 miles (40 km) to the feeding station. When he arrived, his first words were not “I’m hungry” or “Help me.” They were “What can be done for this baby?”11

President Kimball’s visit to Australia was the second official visit of a president of the Church. The first was President David O. McKay in 1955. When President McKay was in Brisbane, Australia, the mission president one day took him out to see the city. During the course of the day they were looking across the Brisbane River into a new suburb which was known as Chermside. President McKay said to the mission president, “Do we have any missionaries in that area?” The mission president said, “No.” President McKay said, “Send the missionaries in, for the people are ready.” Missionaries were sent into the area and they enjoyed tremendous success. Today Chermside is part of the Brisbane Fourth Ward of the Brisbane Australia Stake.

“Good ol’ Sam!” Willie said, petting the dog before he went into the house. He found his mother and gave her the thread.
“Thank you, Willie. I’m glad you could help me. Did you find any more treasures on the way to the store?”
“Nope—but I got rid of a few!” He told his mother what he’d done with the wire, the blue shoelace with only one plastic tip missing, the brown lunch sack, the lopsided tennis ball, and the stick.
“That really is a ‘good for something’ bag!” Willie’s mother exclaimed.
“I’m going to look for more ‘good for something’ things to put in my ‘good for something’ bag,” Willie told her.
“Well”—she handed Willie an empty thread spool, then winked at him—“will you drop this into the garbage on your way out?”
“I have a better idea, Mom,” Willie said happily as he put the spool into his green velvet bag with the gold drawstring. “You just never know when it might be good for something!”