Gospel Story Finder

The next year I had a cast of students who were by no means religious. We had our problems, and I had the feeling it might be inappropriate to ask that group of students to calm down enough for prayer. I never suggested prayer before their first opening night.

It was a terrible performance. I’m not blaming anyone. We just did a poor job.

I had the cast stay after for a line rehearsal, but it took me more than an hour to go over my notes and point out what needed to be corrected by the next night. There was no mistaking that I was upset.

As we were leaving the theater, a few of the cast members were walking to the parking lot with me. One of the least religious of the group said, “Last year I heard you had prayer before performances.”

I was stunned. “Yes,” I said, “we did.”

“How come we didn’t have it this year?”

“I didn’t think any of you would want to have prayer,” I answered.

“I would,” he said without hesitation.

“So would I,” another added.

The next night we had prayer and our performance went off without a flaw. I’m not saying prayer can overcome poor rehearsals, failure to learn lines, or lack of preparation. But it can focus what a cast has going for it. It can bring them together in a unity of purpose.

One day at church, my Sunday School teacher spoke about how her son, who had faithfully lived the gospel and served a mission, was continually facing challenges in his life and felt like it was unfair. She described the same situation I was in!
She testified that having the knowledge of the gospel doesn’t protect us from difficulties and challenges, but having faith and keeping our covenants can help us receive strength from Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and the comfort of the Holy Ghost.

Miss Hickory*, by Carolyn Sherwin Bailey, illustrated by Ruth Gannett. Join Miss Hickory as she learns to trust new friends and helps others too. Along the way she starts a Ladies’ Aid Society for pheasants and helps Ground Hog get over his fear of his shadow. Miss Hickory’s story shows the blessings that come from serving and loving others.

My brain was exhausted! I had read one page in my history book three times without remembering one word. It was well after midnight when I rubbed my burning eyes and slammed the book shut. I wanted to do well on my final test, but the time had come to give up studying because nothing was getting into my throbbing head.
I set my history book down and, almost out of habit, picked up a different book of history. The cover of my Book of Mormon felt soothing as I opened it to Alma and started my nightly reading. I was not expecting to learn anything in this frame of mind, but to my complete surprise my pounding headache ceased and I felt a warm, comforting peace envelop my body.
My mind was calm and alert. The words were clear and easy to understand. It was as though my kind Heavenly Father were speaking directly to me.

His help has come to me on countless occasions throughout my life. During the final phases of World War II, I turned 18 and was ordained an elder—one week before I departed for active duty with the navy. A member of my ward bishopric was at the train station to bid me farewell. Just before train time, he placed in my hand a book which I hold before you tonight. Its title: The Missionary’s Hand Book. I laughed and commented, “I’ll be in the navy—not on a mission.” He answered, “Take it anyway. It may come in handy.”
It did. During basic training our company commander instructed us concerning how we might best pack our clothing in a large seabag. He then advised, “If you have a hard, rectangular object you can place in the bottom of the bag, your clothes will stay more firm.” I thought, “Where am I going to find a hard, rectangular object?” Suddenly I remembered just the right rectangular object—The Missionary’s Hand Book. And thus it served for 12 weeks at the bottom of that seabag.
The night preceding our Christmas leave, our thoughts were, as always, on home. The barracks were quiet. Suddenly I became aware that my buddy in the adjoining bunk—a member of the Church, Leland Merrill—was moaning in pain. I asked, “What’s the matter, Merrill?”
He replied, “I’m sick. I’m really sick.”
I advised him to go to the base dispensary, but he answered knowingly that such a course would prevent him from being home for Christmas. I then suggested he be quiet so that we didn’t awaken the entire barracks.
The hours lengthened; his groans grew louder. Then, in desperation, he whispered, “Monson, aren’t you an elder?” I acknowledged this to be so, whereupon he pleaded, “Give me a blessing.”
I became very much aware that I had never given a blessing. I had never received such a blessing; I had never witnessed a blessing being given. My prayer to God was a plea for help. The answer came: “Look in the bottom of the seabag.” Thus, at 2:00 a.m. I emptied on the deck the contents of the bag. I then took to the night-light that hard, rectangular object, The Missionary’s Hand Book, and read how one blesses the sick. With about 120 curious sailors looking on, I proceeded with the blessing. Before I could stow my gear, Leland Merrill was sleeping like a child.
The next morning, Merrill smilingly turned to me and said, “Monson, I’m glad you hold the priesthood!” His gladness was only surpassed by my gratitude—gratitude not only for the priesthood but for being worthy to receive the help I required in a time of desperate need and to exercise the power of the priesthood.

By that point I had made two very important decisions: I would live the gospel, and I wanted to get married in the temple. But I wasn’t going to spend two years on a mission. Then our seminary teacher gave some lessons on missionary work. By the end of the week, I knew that going on a mission was the right thing to do.

The summer I turned 12, just before I entered the seventh grade, I encountered the first doubts I’d had about the gospel. My parents seemed to know the Church was true, and so did the many Church leaders I’d had throughout my life. But I realized I couldn’t remember ever feeling the “warm, fuzzy feeling” that everyone talked about.
So for three months, I prayed hard every night to feel it too. I prayed for any sign that Heavenly Father was listening to me and ready for me to know. Still, no answer came.
I didn’t tell my parents, siblings, or friends about my inner turmoil. I was scared to think I was the only one without an answer, that I was the only one who didn’t know for sure that the gospel is true.
After those three months, at the end of summer vacation, it was time for our family’s annual father’s blessings. These were our “back-to-school blessings,” as we called them, so the things spoken for each of my siblings generally fit with that theme. My dad blessed my siblings with success in their schooling and academic goals.
When it was my turn, my dad laid his hands on my head. Just after he started the blessing, he spoke nine words without hesitation, in the surest voice I’d ever heard him use, which shocked me: “I testify to you that this gospel is true.” My dad didn’t even mention my academic life. Instead, he simply bore his testimony for the entire blessing.
My eyes welled with tears that confused the rest of my family—none of them, including my father, knew about the questions I’d been struggling with. However, as I learned then, my Heavenly Father did.
Since that day, I can testify that no matter how or when, whether it’s through a feeling or the words of another, Heavenly Father will answer every prayer.

I know a good member of the Church who had a difficult experience while in college. He was invited to a party at the house of a classmate. My friend’s college professors were also invited, especially those who were friendly to the students. The party seemed inviting and secure.
When my friend arrived, however, he quickly realized that the atmosphere was not what he had expected. Students were drinking, smoking, using drugs, and doing horrible things in every corner of the house. He became concerned and decided to leave, but the party was being held far from his home. He had gotten a ride with friends, so he had no way to leave on his own.
At that moment he prayed silently to the Lord, asking for help. After some pondering, he felt that he should go outside. He followed his feelings and stayed outside the house until the party had ended.
During the ride home, his friends talked about the horrible things that had happened during the party. My friend felt uncomfortable with the situation. It was not easy for him to bear.
However, when he partook of the sacrament the next day at church, he felt calm, peaceful, and certain he had made the correct decision. He realized what it means to grasp the iron rod and not let go, even in the mists of darkness. He understood clearly what Nephi had taught his brothers when he said that “whoso would hearken unto the word of God, and would hold fast unto it, they would never perish; neither could the temptations and the fiery darts of the adversary overpower them unto blindness, to lead them away to destruction” (1 Nephi 15:24).
Imagine what might have happened had that young man, out of embarrassment, not been strong enough to hold on to the iron rod. As a result of this and other decisions in his life, he married a young woman in the temple, formed a righteous family, and became successful. He serves faithfully in the Church today and seeks to be a good example for his children.
My college friend used these two gifts. The Light of Christ helped him to identify what was right, and the Holy Ghost guided his decision about which path to follow. These two gifts are available to those who hold on to the iron rod.

The children in the Milwaukee City Branch, Milwaukee Wisconsin North Stake, have been learning about giving acts of service. They decorated cookies and cards and delivered them to other classes at church. The children also learned sign language for the song “Love One Another” and shared it with the other members of the branch.

Admiral Lee, Soon-shin born in 1545, was one of the greatest swordsmen in Korea.
While Lee was growing up, the Japanese often invaded Korea and tortured the Korean people. Such wickedness made a deep impression on Lee, Soon-shin. He became a fierce warrior and an admiral in the Korean navy.
Today, Admiral Lee is most remembered for his invention of the turtle boat (gubooksun), the first submarine-type vessel in the world. It was made of iron and resembled the body of a turtle. Inside the head was a hollow tube that spewed out frightening sulphur gas.
Along both sides of the boat were twelve small doors and twenty-two cannons. The doors made it possible for the crew to extend oars and propel the boat in any direction. Inside the boat there were twenty-four rooms, including the captain’s cabin, two ammunition storage sections, and nineteen rooms for the crew members.
The top of the boat usually had sharp knives projecting out of the metal so that the enemy could not make entry through its ceiling. Using the turtle boat, Admiral Lee attacked and sank nearly all of the invading Japanese navy.
In 1598, at the battle of No-Ryang, Admiral Lee was shot by a Japanese soldier. At his request his injury was kept secret for as long as possible so that the crew’s spirit wouldn’t fail. After a victorious battle, Admiral Lee died. But his memory has lived on as a great leader and as the inventor of the famous turtle boat.

One song that was new to the 1985 hymnal is “Be Thou Humble.” This tranquil hymn was written by Grietje Terburg Rowley, who passed away last year. She joined the Church in 1950 in Hawaii, where she was teaching school. Sister Rowley served on the General Music Committee and helped to adapt the hymns into multiple languages. She based her text for “Be Thou Humble” on two verses of scripture: Doctrine and Covenants 112:10 and Ether 12:27. The verse in Ether reads: “And if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; … for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them.”

There is no greater promise than this. I have seen and known such men. I met some such the other day when I was at the St. George Temple. I have known and watched these brethren for many years. Their hair is now white, and they do not walk with that vitality which was once their characteristic. Those of whom I speak have never had much of wealth. But they have had much of wisdom, and they have had much of faith. They are men who since the days of their youth have held the priesthood of God, have walked in its light, and have magnified their callings. They have left home at personal sacrifice to serve as missionaries and as mission presidents. They have served as bishops and presidents of stakes. Wherever they have gone, whether in their vocational or ecclesiastical callings, they have touched a candle with the flame of their own faith and brought light where before there was darkness.
In season and out of season, in sunshine and in storm, in defeat as well as in victory, they have kept their eyes at the right end of the lens, magnifying their callings and bringing closer, as it were, the sacred and eternal things of God.

The next morning, Daniel Brewton escaped in the officer’s sea chest and returned to his home in Philadelphia to recover. James was finally released from the Jersey almost three months later. Although he was weak, he made his way on foot back to Philadelphia. He went to work for the sailmaker, Robert Bridges, who had employed James’s father for many years. Two years later, when he was only twenty-two, James was supervising twenty black and twenty white employees. He was known for his fairness and generosity to all. Later, Bridges sold his sail loft to James Forten, and he became one of the most successful and respected businessmen in Philadelphia.
Forten fought for equal job opportunities and equal citizenship for blacks in the United States. Even though he amassed a large fortune during his lifetime, at the time of his death, only a fraction of it remained. Most of it had been used for buying the freedom of many slaves and for the struggle for equal rights. He wrote eloquent pamphlets and made moving speeches against unfair laws and practices.
When James Forten died in 1842, he had earned his place in history for helping not just his country but all mankind.

Captain Howard Stansbury, the work of his army topographical engineers stopped by the 1848–49 winter, spent months in the newly created city on Great Salt Lake’s shores. When his surveys of the lake were done, he returned east and in 1852 published his official report titled An Expedition to the Valley of the Great Salt Lake. The Captain, along with critical comments, had positive things to say about the Church. Immediately popular, the book required several reprints by 1856.
His surveys of the Utah wilderness convinced him that the Saints deserved praise for establishing within three years a large and flourishing community in that remote spot, a feat he called “one of the most remarkable incidents of the present age.” Brigham Young? “A man of clear, common sense, fully alive to the responsibilities of the station he occupies, sincerely devoted to the good name and interests of the people.” Mormon courts? “Justice was equitably administered alike to ‘saint’ and ‘gentile.’ Their courts were constantly appealed to by companies of passing emigrants.” The court decisions “were remarkable for fairness and impartiality.” Honesty? “The Mormons were ever fair and upright” during his stay. “I cannot refer to a single instance of fraud or extortion to which any of [my] party was subjected.” Knowing of charges about Mormon dishonesty circulating widely in the east, Captain Stansbury suggested such reports were based on “interested misrepresentation or erroneous information.” His conclusion about the Mormons, read by thousands, was: “In short, these people presented the appearance of a quiet, orderly, industrious, and well organized society.”6

It was time to take the cows and goats to the high Alpine pastures for summer grazing. And Hansi had gotten up early to attend to his pet goat, Groffi. He remembered the summer before when the little goat was born with one leg shorter than the other. It had had a hard time even learning to hobble, and Hansi had taken care of her. Now the boy was shaking with excitement as he huddled in the dark stable with his little pet. Hansi was planning to do something that might be dangerous for both of them. But he felt it was the only way to show his father how much the little crippled animal meant to him and the only way to keep her for himself.
The goat had been no trouble during the winter when the animals were in the stable and out of the cold and snow. But his father had said, “You may keep the goat until spring. Then we must give her to old Simon up on the mountainside. He will take good care of Groffi. This little one would only be in the way during the steep climb to the meadows. I’m afraid she would never make it.”
Hansi was troubled and tried to convince his father that Groffi would be no trouble, but his father was firm about it. “Every animal must be worth its keep,” his father explained. “When you are a herdsman, you will understand.”
Hansi wanted very much to be a herdsman someday, to wear the velvet jacket with red designs on it, and to blow the long alpenhorn. But just now, what he wanted most was to keep Groffi with the other animals and not give her away. Old Simon must be a strange, gruff man, to live alone so far away from the people in the Village. How would such a man treat a goat that limps? Hansi wondered.
So on this festival day when all the villagers would travel in a procession partway up the mountain with the herdsmen and the animals, Hansi was going ahead of them alone with Groffi to the high pasture. If I do this, he thought, Father will see that Groffi can make the climb and will let me keep her.
He peeked out the stable door. His family and all the others in the village were dressing in their gay costumes, preparing to start. Dogs were barking and cowbells jangled. People would soon be busy putting garlands of flowers around the cows’ necks and loading milk pails in the cheese carts the little donkeys would pull. Maybe they’ll be too busy to notice I’m missing, he hoped.
With Groffi in his arms, Hansi stepped out of the stable and hurried behind it then over to the trail that led up the mountain. He started up the path carrying Groffi, but she soon became heavy.
Hansi put her down and she was able to climb along, but she was in no hurry. She stopped often to nibble daisies and forget-me-nots along with the grass. “Hurry, Groffi,” Hansi urged. “Wait until we get to the meadows, then you can eat. Oh, I wish you had some climbing shoes like mine!”
Hansi looked up the mountain and knew that he was doing a risky thing. Even the herdsmen who had been climbing for years were careful of every step and kept close watch on the animals. Goats have sure feet, but Groffi was not like other goats. And Hansi knew he should not be going alone with her. But he kept on, half pushing, half carrying his pet. After a while Hansi guessed they were about a mile from the village. It was a good head start from the others, who probably hadn’t left home yet.
Soon Hansi came to the place where he knew he must leave the path to circle around Simon’s hut. If the old man saw him, he would ask questions, and Hansi didn’t want to have to answer them. Off to the side it was rocky, and Hansi knew he must test every step. He put one foot on a smooth shale rock almost as big as a table. It ought to be solid, he reasoned. Then he picked up Groffi and tried his weight on the rock. But he had barely stood up on it when the rock slipped and started sliding rapidly down the mountain with Hansi and Groffi on top of it. They were thrown off when the rock hit a tree. Hansi grabbed his scraped leg and looked for Groffi. But his pet was nowhere to be seen.
Hansi knew he was in trouble and that he had acted foolishly. But for the moment he could only sit still and try to keep back the tears. After a while Hansi heard footsteps. He looked up and saw Simon coming toward him. At first Hansi was frightened, but then he saw Groffi hobbling along close to the old man. Simon’s hand was warm and his voice was soft as he helped Hansi to his feet and asked, “Are you hurt, my boy?”
“Only bruised,” Hansi replied, brushing himself off and wiping his tears with the soft handkerchief Simon handed him. And to his surprise he was soon telling Simon the whole story. At the end he admitted, “I was afraid you wouldn’t love Groffi as I do.”
The old man’s eyes twinkled. “Who should love a goat anyway? Only a little boy? I have lots of love, enough for goats as well as boys.” Groffi nuzzled Simon as he rubbed her head behind her ears.
Hansi smiled. He knew that Groffi would have a good home and that made it easier to give her up. “Can I come often to visit her?” he asked.
“Of course, come anytime. An old man needs more than animals to love.”
Hansi’s face clouded again as he remembered that he still had to go back down and face his father. “Father will be angry with me,” the boy explained.
“Yes, that’s true,” Simon agreed. “But he’ll forgive you, I’m sure. If a boy and an old man can love a goat so much, don’t you think a father can love a son even more?”

By Francisco Lázaro Campos de Sousa, Brazil

During an elders quorum presidency meeting, I felt a desire to meet a quorum member who wasn’t active, someone I hadn’t met. One day after shopping I felt an urge to go to his home. I hesitated, but the feelings to meet him intensified. I introduced myself and said things that came to mind. I told him that the Lord needed him, and he needed the Lord.

He shared his pain of loneliness and other difficulties. “You’ll find friends in the quorum who will help and support,” I told him. He readily accepted my invitation and attended Sabbath meetings.

I didn’t know him at first, but the Lord did and felt his heart. My conviction was reaffirmed. As we minister to our Father’s children and pray to know their needs, the Lord leads us to them. We share in the joyful experience of “lift[ing] up the hands which hang down, and strengthen[ing] the feeble knees” (Doctrine and Covenants 81:5).

As we minister to our Father’s children and pray to know their needs, the Lord leads us to them.

The bishop knows, as do others close to the family, just how difficult Sage’s healing has been. At times, the pain has been almost more than she could bear. Once when she was undergoing some therapy at home, she begged her mother not to hurt her anymore. Denise told her about a little girl who cried so much that her parents stopped giving her therapy. Now that little girl can’t walk.
Sage wept. “I wish I could give my body so that little girl could walk again.”

Every night I pray and ask Heavenly Father to help me be kind to my brothers and sisters. I try to be good to them, but then there are times when I lose my temper. But after I get angry I feel sorry and tell them that I am sorry. I am really trying to be kind to my family.

On Monday I woke up for school and said my prayers. Because of the Restoration, I knew I was praying to a loving Heavenly Father and that I am His daughter, created in His image. I also read from the Book of Mormon. Because of the Restoration, I have another witness that Jesus Christ really lived. That night we had family home evening. Because of the Restoration, I am blessed with loving parents who teach me the truth.

Now, there are obviously some infantile inclinations we don’t encourage. Twenty-five years ago, my then-three-year-old grandson bit his five-year-old sister on the arm. My son-in-law, caring for the children that night, frantically taught his daughter all the lessons on forgiveness he could think of, concluding that her little brother probably didn’t even know what a bite on the arm felt like. That ill-conceived fatherly comment worked for about a minute, maybe a minute and a half, until there was a window-rattling cry from the children’s bedroom, where my granddaughter calmly called out, “He does now.”