Gospel Story Finder

As Heber J. Grant matured, his faith in God also matured. His wife lay critically ill, and Heber J. Grant called his children into her hospital room and told them that their mother was going to die. President Grant’s daughter, upon learning of this, pleaded with her father not to let her mother die. She pleaded with him to exercise his priesthood in her behalf. She and his other children left the room and President Grant knelt by his wife’s bed. Of that prayer President Grant said:
“I told the Lord, I acknowledged his hand in life and in death, in joy or in sorrow, in prosperity or adversity. I did not complain because my wife was dying, but that I lacked the strength to see my wife die and have her death affect the faith of my children in the ordinances of the gospel. I therefore pleaded with him to give to my daughter Lutie a testimony that it was his will that her mother should die. Within a few short hours, my wife breathed her last. Then I called the children into the bedroom and announced that their mamma was dead. My little boy Heber commenced weeping bitterly, and Lutie put her arms around him and kissed him, and told him not to cry, that the voice of the Lord had said to her, ‘In the death of your mamma the will of the Lord will be.’ Lutie knew nothing of my prayers, and this manifestation to her was a direct answer to my supplication to the Lord, and for it I have never ceased to be grateful.”

Brother Call, my senior class seminary teacher, never knew it, but he was literally responsible for saving the lives of five young G.I.s in the steaming jungles of Vietnam. I’m sure that when he taught that heartfelt lesson on Joseph Smith in the Liberty Jail, he had no idea just how far it would reach.
By the first anniversary of my graduation from high school, I had already been in the military five months. It was 1967, and the war in southeast Asia was raging.
One terrifying day, I found myself and the four others in my patrol creeping across an opening about 300-yards wide. The only cover we had was a darkened sky and some low grass and weeds. The grass was so short, in fact, that we couldn’t even raise ourselves up on our elbows. For more than five hours we had to inch our way across that wet, muddy rice paddy. The only thing I could see for those five wet hours were the soles of Buddy’s worn jungle combat boots.
It was maddening. The enemy knew we were there. Every few minutes, without warning, they would spray the area with machine gun and automatic weapon fire. The bullets were so close I could almost see them whizzing by and hear them in stereo. To us, the real definition of relief was when the next round of ammunition actually sounded farther away than the previous round.
I couldn’t help but remember a World War II movie I’d seen in high school, where the enemy set a similar field on fire, burning the American G.I.s in the process. Though I was absolutely terrified, I was also grateful for the mud, the water, the green grass, and the ever present drizzle that kept us fireproof.
Our greatest objective during that little mission was no more than to just keep moving—no matter how slow it might be—and to stay totally quiet, so as not to give away our position.
But suddenly, two hours into the mission, Buddy was attacked by severe claustrophobia. This “abnormal dread of being in close quarters” gave him a seemingly uncontrollable urge to jump up and run, screaming, toward the other side of the clearing. He never would have made it and surely would have given away our position, making us easy targets for the enemy. It was up to me to keep him calm and quiet. I instantly offered up a prayer for help. I had nowhere else to turn, and I had to keep him calm. All our lives depended on it.
That’s when Brother Call’s lesson began to have its effect. It was the only thing that came to mind. I saw him standing in front of the class, with fervor and conviction, teaching us about the Prophet Joseph Smith and his friends spending those horrible six months in the Liberty Jail. It was a 14-foot square room with no sanitary facilities, no showers, and very little fresh air or light. And the Lord told Joseph that he should not despair, for “all these things shall … be for thy good” (D&C 122:7).
Then, quietly, in a whisper calmed by the Holy Ghost, I talked Buddy through the most awful day of his life. I told him about another day, long ago in my hometown, when I sat almost uninterested on the back row as Brother Call relived the Liberty Jail story with me and 32 other seminary students. In his beautiful high tenor voice, Brother Call sang, “… if Christ should come tomorrow, what would I do? What would I say?” And on and on.
As I retold it, I realized that that Church history class was saving my life, and the lives of four others as well. We found ourselves at that moment no worse off than brother Joseph and his friends in their cell. I had never before, or ever after, whisper-sung a song like the one Brother Call sang. But in that watersnake-infested paddy I had to do it that day.
And Buddy whisper-cried. And so did Sam behind me—only able to see the soles of my boots, but feeling the soul of my being.
Lives were changed after that terror-filled day. Complaining ceased. A true camaraderie developed. Christianity became a major factor in everything we did. Buddy and Sam never joined the Church, but I feel they owe their lives to it. They learned a great deal about Joseph Smith that day, and they learned how much the Lord loves us. And the Holy Ghost bore witness to their spirits that what they heard was true.
All of those hours of seminary, which I estimate to be at least 600, paid off that day in the jungles of Vietnam. As a high school student, I never would have believed how important they would one day be.

The desire to help another, the quest for the lost sheep, may not always yield success at once. On occasion progress is slow—even indiscernible. Such was the experience of my longtime friend Gil Warner. He was serving as a newly called bishop when “Douglas,” a member of his ward, transgressed and was deprived of his Church membership. Father was saddened; Mother was totally devastated. Douglas soon thereafter moved from the state. The years hurried by, but Bishop Warner, now a member of a high council, never ceased to wonder what had become of Douglas.
In 1975, I attended the stake conference of the Parleys stake and held a priesthood leadership meeting early on the Sunday morning. I spoke of the Church discipline system and the need to labor earnestly and lovingly to rescue any who had strayed. Gil Warner asked to speak and then outlined the story of Douglas. He concluded with the question, “Who has the responsibility to work with Douglas and bring him back to Church membership?” Gil advised me later that my response to his question was direct and given without hesitation: “It is your responsibility, Gil, for you were his bishop, and he knew you cared.”
Unbeknownst to Gil Warner, Douglas’s mother had, the previous week, fasted and prayed that a man would be raised up to help save her son. Gil discovered this when he felt prompted to call her to report his determination to be of help.
Gil began his odyssey of redemption. Douglas was contacted by him. Old times, happy times, were remembered. Testimony was expressed, love was conveyed, and confidence instilled. The pace was excruciatingly slow. Discouragement frequently entered the scene; but, step by step, Douglas made headway. At long last prayers were answered, efforts rewarded, and victory attained. Douglas was approved for baptism.
The baptismal date was set, family members gathered, and former bishop Gil Warner flew to Seattle for the occasion. Can we appreciate the supreme joy felt by Bishop Warner as he, dressed in white, stood with Douglas in water waist deep and, raising his right arm to the square, repeated those sacred words, “Having been commissioned of Jesus Christ, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost” (D&C 20:73).
He that was lost was found. A 26-year mission, marked by love and pursued with determination, had been successfully completed. Gil Warner said to me, “This was one of the greatest days of my life. I know the joy promised by the Lord when He declared, ‘And if it so be that you should labor all your days … and bring, save it be one soul unto me, how great shall be your joy with him in the kingdom of my Father!’” (D&C 18:15).
Were the Lord to say to Gil Warner today, as He said to Adam’s son long years ago, “Where is Douglas, thy brother?” Bishop Warner could reply, “I am my brother’s keeper, Lord. Behold Douglas, Thy son.”

I heard a story about a father who noticed his young daughter kneeling beside her bed, praying that Heavenly Father would protect little birds from entering a bird trap her brother had built and placed in the backyard. Later that day, the father grew concerned. He knew the trap was a good one. He had helped his son build it.
“I heard you praying this morning that Heavenly Father would protect the little birds from your brother’s trap,” he said to his daughter. “But sometimes sad things happen even when we pray that they won’t.”
She responded, “I just know he won’t catch any birds, Daddy.”
“I admire your faith, sweetheart,” the father said. “But if he does catch some birds, I hope that won’t hurt your faith.”
“He won’t, Daddy,” she said. “I know he won’t.”
The father asked, “How can you have such great faith?”
“Because after I said my prayers,” his daughter replied, “I went out back and kicked his bird trap all to pieces.”

When I served as a mission president in Canada more than 50 years ago, one young missionary who came from a small, rural community marveled at the size of Toronto. He was short in stature but tall in testimony. Not long after his arrival, together with his companion, he called at the home of Elmer Pollard in Oshawa, Ontario, Canada. Feeling sorry for the young men who, during a blinding blizzard, were going house to house, Mr. Pollard invited the missionaries into his home. They presented to him their message. He did not catch the spirit. In due time he asked that they leave and not return. His last words to the elders as they departed his front porch were spoken in derision: “You can’t tell me you actually believe Joseph Smith was a prophet of God!”

The door was shut. The elders walked down the path. Our country boy spoke to his companion: “Elder, we didn’t respond to Mr. Pollard. He said we didn’t believe Joseph Smith was a true prophet. Let’s return and bear our testimonies to him.” At first the more experienced missionary hesitated but finally agreed to accompany his companion. Fear struck their hearts as they approached the door from which they had just been ejected. They knocked, confronted Mr. Pollard, spent an agonizing moment, and then with power borne of the Spirit, our inexperienced missionary spoke: “Mr. Pollard, you said we didn’t really believe Joseph Smith was a prophet of God. I testify to you that Joseph was a prophet. He did translate the Book of Mormon. He saw God the Father and Jesus the Son. I know it.”

Some time later, Mr. Pollard, now Brother Pollard, stood in a priesthood meeting and declared, “That night I could not sleep. Resounding in my ears I heard the words ‘Joseph Smith was a prophet of God. I know it. I know it. I know it.’ The next day I telephoned the missionaries and asked them to return. Their message, coupled with their testimonies, changed my life and the lives of my family.” Brethren, teach the truth with testimony.

One thing that happens in Anne of Green Gables is that the main character has to cut off her hair after trying to dye it. I recently cut my hair short too, but for a different reason. My mom and I read in the newspaper that you can donate hair for wigs for people who are sick or don’t have hair. A couple of women in our branch had cancer and lost their hair, and I have an uncle and a cousin with a medical condition that makes their hair fall out. Thinking of them made me want to help. So I grew my hair out for more than a year and cut off nine inches to donate. Now some of my friends are donating their hair too!

I am confident you have heard this story of President Spencer W. Kimball, but I take the liberty of repeating it. He had undergone surgery in the hospital. A young male nurse had placed him on a gurney and was transporting him. When getting on the elevator, the nurse bumped the gurney and let out an oath using the name of the Lord.

President Kimball, only half-conscious, said, “Please! Please! That is my Lord whose name you revile.”

There was a deathly silence; then the young man whispered with a subdued voice, “I am sorry.” (See The Teachings of Spencer W. Kimball, ed. Edward L. Kimball [1982], 198.)

Teachers in the Church so instruct the old and the young. Sometimes the results are humorous. One leader shared this story with me:
As a little boy came home from Primary one day, his mother asked him what he had learned, and he said, “My teacher told me that I used to be dust and I would be dust again once more. Is that true, Mommy?”
“Yes,” the mother replied. “A scripture tells us so: ‘For dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return’ (Gen. 3:19).”
The little boy was amazed at this! The next morning, he was scurrying around getting ready for school, looking for his shoes. He crawled under the bed. Lo and behold, there he saw balls of dust. He ran to his mother in wonder, saying, “Oh, Mommy, somebody’s under my bed, and they’re either coming or going.”

When Student Association president Mike Peterson of Santa Maria, California, learned that the local library had only one book published by the Latter-day Saint Church and that it was a Book of Mormon, he knew something had to be done about it. Mike and Garry Moore consulted with William O. Bradford, stake president, and thirty volumes of books about the Church and a subscription to the New Era were presented to the library.

He never sought Church positions, however, or felt that calls ought to come to him. When Elder Mark E. Petersen of the Council of the Twelve came to Palo Alto to reorganize the stake presidency in 1951, David Haight had served as a bishop’s counselor and was the junior high counselor. He felt sure he did not have the qualities the Lord required in a member of the stake presidency. But the next day he was sustained as stake president.

“He really did a great work while he was Palo Alto Stake president. He could see the growth coming,” says Ruby Haight. He oversaw the construction of a stake center and several chapels and acquired the pieces of land where all but one of the present chapels in the area have been built.

But more important, perhaps, he loved the people and gained their love in return. Richard Sonne, who served as a counselor in the stake presidency (he succeeded President Haight as stake president and later was president of the Oakland Temple), said President Haight “always complimented people. He went out of his way to get acquainted.”

President Haight’s leadership skills were steady. “He would explain to people, ‘This is what we should do,’ and expect them to carry out their responsibility.”

Today, he is known and appreciated throughout the Church for his focus on and ability to train priesthood leaders in the organization and effective use of priesthood councils and quorums.

Finally, in March 2006, they came. Oksana and her friend Sasha Kubatov were the first two people baptized in Khmel’nyts’kyy.
Sasha was only 14 when he received a Book of Mormon from his older sisters, who had joined the Church in another city.
“They emphasized the fact that I was 14, just as Joseph Smith was when he had his First Vision. He was greatly blessed at a young age, and I could be too,” he says.
So he started reading. He read until he got to the Isaiah chapters in 2 Nephi, and then he stopped. He read the Book of Mormon again a year later, but as a historical document, not with a desire to know if it was true.
But when he read the Book of Mormon the third time, Sasha focused less on its history and more on the work of God it recorded.
“As I read it, I thought it was true, but I didn’t have a firm testimony yet,” he admits. “I wanted to talk to the missionaries.”
When the elders arrived a few years later, they answered all of his questions and helped him prepare to be baptized and confirmed.
“As I walked into the waters of baptism, all my doubts were gone, and I knew that Joseph Smith was a prophet and the gospel is true,” he says. “I was not afraid, even though I knew the rest of my life would be different.”
His life is different now. As a home teacher Sasha is learning how to magnify the priesthood he holds and serve in the Lord’s kingdom.
Within a year of his baptism Sasha baptized his mother and his grandfather. His entire family has now joined the Church, and Sasha is excited to bring the gospel to others.
“I am preparing to serve a mission so that I can preach the gospel and bring someone else to God,” he says. “His work must go forward.”

When my wife, Kathy, and I were in Africa a few weeks ago, we visited Mbuji-Mayi, Democratic Republic of the Congo. Because the chapel was not large enough for the 2,000 members, we met out of doors under large plastic coverings supported by bamboo poles. As the meeting began, we could see dozens of children watching us, clinging to the bars on the outside of the wrought-iron fence that surrounded the property. Kathy quietly whispered, “Neil, do you think that you might want to invite the children to come in?” I approached District President Kalonji at the podium and asked him if he would welcome the children outside the fence to come join us inside.

To my surprise, with President Kalonji’s invitation, the children not only came but came running—more than 50, perhaps 100—some with tattered clothes and bare feet but all with beautiful smiles and excited faces.

I was deeply moved by this experience and saw it as symbolic of our need to reach out to the youth who feel alone, left behind, or outside the fence. Let us think about them, welcome them, embrace them, and do everything we can to strengthen their love for the Savior. Jesus said, “Whoso shall receive one such … child in my name receiveth me.” In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

One afternoon during my internship as an air traffic controller at the airport in Tijuana, Mexico, my instructor and I noticed that a fogbank from the ocean had covered the airport and a large part of the city. Visibility, however, was within the limits allowed for aircraft to land and take off.
Soon, we detected on radar a Cessna 172 coming from the south along the coast, flying via visual flight rules (VFR). Under VFR, pilots locate themselves visually with reference points on the ground to reach their destination.
Unfortunately, the pilot had gotten lost in the fog. Flying in circles around the coastal area, he tried to locate himself in relation to the airport, but the poor visibility restricted his vision. I asked my instructor what we could do to help him.
“He needs to tune in to the tower’s airband frequency and communicate with us,” he replied. “Otherwise, we can’t do anything for him.”
I didn’t understand why the lost pilot didn’t communicate with us. Did he have a problem with his radio? Did he feel that he could get out of danger by himself?
Minutes passed. Finally, the pilot tuned in to the tower frequency. With a worried tone, he asked for help. Immediately we gave him directions to lead him safely to the airport runway. He just had to trust our instructions and his flight instruments.
Seeing the plane emerge from the fog a few minutes later and then land safely gave us indescribable joy.
On the way home, I pondered what the pilot had experienced. Calling us on the right airband frequency made the difference between receiving help or flying in circles—or worse.

A woman came home from sacrament meeting, sighed deeply, and said to her husband, “I think I’m losing my testimony. I wasn’t spiritually filled or uplifted at all today.”
A natural reaction would be to attempt to solve the problem by immediately giving advice. But if you move too fast from listening into proposing solutions, you are skipping over the chance to really understand your spouse’s feelings. And you may seem insensitive—or even smug and self-righteous. Problem-solving comes after real listening and understanding have taken place.
In this case, the husband responded, “Losing your testimony? What made you feel that way?” He showed that he cared, and he gave his wife a chance to probe her feelings more deeply.

When we first started having family home evening, I thought it was boring and tiring. My father is not a member of the Church. As the oldest child in our family, I would listen to what my mother taught us, but I did not fully participate. Then I attended some of my friends’ family home evenings, and I saw the way they interacted, talked, and played games together—even if their father was not a member.
I decided to put more zeal and determination into family home evening. Whenever I am assigned to teach, I make sure I study the lesson well and plan activities for us to do together. For the past few months, it has been a success. The Lord has been blessing our family, and we all look forward to another Monday for a beautiful and lovely family home evening.

To illustrate, may I share with you an experience which took place several years ago when Sister Monson had been hospitalized because of a fall. She asked me to go to the supermarket and purchase a few items. This was something I had not done before. I had a shopping list which included potatoes. I promptly found a grocery cart and placed a number of potatoes in it. I knew nothing of the plastic bags in which purchases are normally placed. As I moved the cart along, the potatoes fell out and onto the floor, exiting through two rather small openings in the back of the cart. A dutiful clerk hurried to my aid and called out, “Let me help you!” I tried to explain to her that my cart was defective. It was only then that I was told that all the carts had those two holes in the back and that they were meant for the legs of children.

Next the clerk took my list and helped me find each item. Then she said, “You are Bishop Monson, aren’t you?”

I answered that many years earlier I had indeed been a bishop. She continued: “At that time I lived on Gale Street in your ward and was not a member of the Church. You made certain the girls who were members contacted me each week and took me with them to Mutual and other activities. They were fine young women whose friendship and kindness touched my heart. I want to let you know that the fellowshipping you arranged for me led to my being baptized and confirmed a member of the Church. What a blessing this has been in my life,” she said, “and I thank you for your kindness.”

Some time ago, Dr. James O. Mason, who was associated with us in the Welfare Services Department, was visiting one of the developing countries of the world. A teenage boy asked him if he would please bring a gift to President Kimball. The gift was a sketch he had drawn of a peacock with its tail feather in full fan. It was done so carefully—each feather in place—in such beautiful color. As we saw it, we marveled at the artistry of the boy and asked further about him. In response, Dr. Mason handed us a picture of this lad. He had no arms. A birth defect had left him crippled, and yet he had developed his artistic talent so as to draw this beautiful, intricate rendering by holding his pencils between his toes.

We were asked if the Church had funds that could be used to fit him with artificial limbs. We assured the mission president there were funds, but only after his family had done all they could. When we had the assurance that the family had complied with Welfare Services principles, funds were made available.

We later received another picture, showing his newly acquired arms and hands, with a report of how proud he was to be able to dress himself now. He had been greatly blessed by those who lived the law of the fast and were generous in their offerings.

Can you remember the last time you wore your old snow boots, the ones that are now a size or two too small? How about those cross-trainers you bought and then decided that you really needed running shoes instead?
Youth in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho, knew that there were plenty of perfectly good pairs of shoes in the closets of the members in their stake, shoes that were going to waste. So they requested donations from each ward and were overwhelmed when 1,200 pairs of shoes arrived at the stake center. But after the initial shock wore off, the youth got to work cleaning, polishing, and disinfecting the shoes for people who might otherwise go barefoot.
“The most enjoyable thing was to think that we’re sending these shoes to someone who really needs them,” says Paula Williams, a Laurel from the Lakeland First Ward.
The shoes are now being distributed to orphans in Romania and other countries. Shoes and boots were also donated to local charities in the Coeur d’Alene area.

While he was attending a religious boarding school in Nigeria, Elder I. Raymond Egbo’s older sister kept inviting him to “come and see” what The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints had to offer. At 14 years old, he started going to seminary in the evenings.
While reading the seminary course of study, Elder Egbo came to Doctrine and Covenants 135 and the martyrdom of Joseph Smith.
“Something powerfully touched me, and I knew that the Prophet Joseph Smith was a prophet of God. I knew he was killed for the truth,” said Elder Egbo, who soon joined the Church. “I still feel right now how I felt that day when I read it.”
Later, while he was a university student, his sister encouraged him to serve a mission. Their father was angry with him for leaving his studies, but Elder Egbo regularly wrote him letters describing everything he was doing and what he was teaching.
To Elder Egbo’s amazement, near the end of his mission, his mission president read to him a letter from his father that said he had been baptized. “Tell him I will be waiting for him,” his father wrote.

As I moved to higher grades, my dad always found ways to plant these love notes. I often found them in my locker or in my sports bags. Last year when I left for college, I had forgotten about the special business cards just as I had every year before. When I got to my dorm room and began to unpack one of my boxes, a little white card slipped out from between my things and fluttered to the ground. My dad’s business cards continued to surface throughout my first few weeks of college, offering inspiration and advice.