Gospel Story Finder

Through quick thinking and bravery, two New Zealand Scouts helped save the life of a drowning girl who had struck her head while diving into a swimming pool. Craig Biedford and David Belbin of the Temple View Third Ward, Temple View New Zealand Stake, pulled the girl from the water after David noticed that she was in trouble. The boys then quickly called their leader, who applied artificial respiration and started the girl breathing again.

For their quick action the two Scouts were awarded the Chief Scout’s Commendation for Meritorious Conduct, an award for bravery given by the Governor General of New Zealand.

Joseph Smith learned so much from Moroni. Then in the safety and sanctity of that log home where Moroni appeared, Joseph shared much of what he had learned with his receptive family. His mother said:
“Joseph continued to receive instructions from time to time, and every evening we gathered our children together and gave our time up to the discussion of those things. … I think that we presented the most peculiar aspect of any family that ever lived upon the earth, all seated in a circle, … listening in breathless anxiety to the religious teachings of a boy eighteen years of age” (The Revised and Enhanced History of Joseph Smith by His Mother, ed. Scot Facer Proctor and Maurine Jensen Proctor [1996], 111).
As a result of these daily family home evenings, Lucy Mack Smith stated that this was a time in their home of sweet unity, happiness, and tranquility. What a model young Joseph is for us of strengthening home and family! He did not keep his testimony and spiritual experiences to himself but shared them often with his parents and siblings. We can do the same in our homes.

When I was a young man, a mere boy of 11, I received a patriarchal blessing from a man I had never seen before and never saw thereafter. It is a remarkable document, a prophetic document. It is personal, and I will not read extensively from it. However, it contains this statement: “The nations of the earth shall hear thy voice and be brought to a knowledge of the truth by the wonderful testimony which thou shalt bear.”

When I was released from my mission in England, I took a short trip on the continent. I had borne my testimony in London; I did so in Berlin and again in Paris and later in Washington, D.C. I said to myself that I had borne my testimony in these great capitals of the world and had fulfilled that part of my blessing.

That proved to be a mere scratching of the surface. Since then I have lifted my voice on every continent, in cities large and small, all up and down from north to south and east to west across this broad world—from Cape Town to Stockholm, from Moscow to Tokyo to Montreal, in every great capital of the world. It is all a miracle.

Recently I dedicated a beautiful little chapel, and at that time I was told that in order to pay the balance of the ward’s share of the construction cost ($5,000), the bishop had asked all members to limit Christmas presents to small children and to donate the amount thus saved to the building fund. The members responded beautifully, considering this an opportunity to receive a blessing rather than as a sacrifice, and at the dedicatory service many bore witness to this effect.

“Kurt is a Down syndrome Scout who also has coordination problems,” says a priesthood leader. “He went with our Scout troop on a hike of about thirty kilometers. After sixteen kilometers, he lost his walking rhythm. But with his dad in front of him and his Scoutmaster behind him, he walked every step. We waited hours for him to finish.

“When Kurt and his helpers finally appeared, a spontaneous cheer went up, and Kurt proudly ran the last part, crying, and saying, ‘I did it, I did it! They are cheering for me! They thing I’m good!’ Everyone had tears in their eyes. We will never forget that lesson.”

Only a few weeks before the earthquake, another group of young adults was giving similar service across the Atlantic. The floods that swept through western Europe in July were the most severe in decades.
When the waters finally receded, one shopkeeper in the riverside district of Ahrweiler, Germany, surveyed the damage and was utterly overwhelmed. This humble man, a devout Catholic, whispered a prayer that God might send someone to help him. The very next morning, President Dan Hammon of the Germany Frankfurt Mission arrived on the street with a small band of missionaries wearing yellow Helping Hands vests. The water had reached up to 10 feet (3 m) on the shopkeeper’s walls, leaving behind a deep layer of mud. The volunteers shoveled out the mud, removed the carpet and drywall, and piled everything in the street for removal. The overjoyed shopkeeper worked alongside them for hours, amazed that the Lord had sent a group of His servants to answer his prayer—and within 24 hours!

At the present time we need to emphasize this program. For many years following the inauguration of the program a Welfare representative, a member of the General Church Welfare Committee, was in attendance at every stake conference. We covered the Church four times a year teaching the program. President Lee at that time, as you remember, was the managing director; President Moyle was the chairman of the program; and President Clark, the member of the First Presidency assigned to carry forward that work. There was an intensive program, a training program, for nearly twenty years. For fifteen years we went around the Church every year visiting every stake president in regional meetings and presented this program. In recent years we haven’t had that intensive program of training, and I would suppose there are many bishops here today who were never trained in the fundamentals of the Welfare Program. I shall, therefore, devote what I have to say this morning to the fundamentals. What I say may be familiar to many of you, but it won’t hurt you to be reminded. Somebody said, “It is more important to be reminded than it is to be taught.” I never tire of teaching the truth. As I read the scriptures, I find that the Lord taught Adam in the same language that he taught the Prophet Joseph Smith, and in every dispensation in between.

Our Sunday School lesson on keeping the Sabbath day holy had gone well—until somebody mentioned television.
As people chimed in with their opinions regarding whether watching television on Sunday was appropriate, some class members became prescriptive. Before long, other class members became offended. The Spirit, which at first had accompanied our discussion, was replaced by a palpable tension.
Observing the growing discord, Kenneth Payne, a member of our stake presidency, asked to speak. He stood and began telling us about his son Brian, who had served in the Japan Tokyo North Mission. When President Payne and his family greeted Brian at the airport upon his return from his mission in March 2003, he complained of a stiff, sore jaw. Within weeks, Brian was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma.
A month later he began a regimen of chemotherapy and then radiation. President Payne said doctors had planned a bone-marrow transplant for September 22, but just after the first of that month, “Brian began having difficulty.”
He was hospitalized the second week of September. By then, because of the cancer’s aggressive nature, doctors determined that it was too late for a transplant. The family brought Brian home from the hospital on September 21. He passed away the next morning.
“September 22 is a special day for my family and me,” said President Payne. “On that day we slow down and think about Brian, his contributions to our family, and how he gave the last two years of his life to the Lord and to the Japanese people, whom he loved. We miss him, and on that day we reflect upon his life and honor his memory.”
For all of us, President Payne said, Sunday is a day to slow down and remember.
“We take time out to attend our Church meetings, partake of the sacrament, sorrow for our sins, and ponder the Savior’s suffering on our behalf,” he said. “We serve, we love, and we try not to be distracted by activities that would prevent us from worshipping Him.”
President Payne said that if Sunday activities are in keeping with that spirit, then we can feel right as we engage in them. But if they distract us from remembering the Savior and ministering on the Sabbath as He would minister, then perhaps we should reconsider our choice.
He then sat down and said no more. He didn’t need to. The Spirit had returned to the classroom, and we were all listening.

On one leg of their service trip, in El Dorado, Argentina, the group provided free eye exams and glasses. The Argentina trip was organized with the help of local members who rallied local news outlets and community leaders to publicize the service project.
Because of the widespread announcements of the free eye exams, it is estimated that more than 1,300 people benefited from the service provided by the Liahona group during their brief visit to Argentina.

Indeed, sometime not long after 9/11, a missionary asked me in all honesty and full of faith, “Elder Holland, are these the last days?” I saw the earnestness in his face and some of the fear in his eyes. I said, “Yes, Elder, we are in the last days, but there is really nothing new about that. The promised Second Coming of the Savior began with the First Vision of the Prophet Joseph Smith in 1820. We can be certain that we are in the last days—years and years of them.” I gave him a friendly shake of the hand and sent him on his way. He smiled, seemed more reassured to put all this in some context, and held his head a little higher as he left me.
I hasten to say that I do know what this young man was really asking. What he really meant was “Will I finish my mission? Is there any point in getting an education? Can I hope for a marriage? Do I have a future? Is there any happiness ahead for me?” And I say to you what I said to him, “Yes, certainly—to all those questions.”

Stringy orange chunks went skittering across the road. Nothing was left of the carefully-carved pumpkin face except a lonely candle stuck in the pulpy mess near my feet.
“C’mon, throw yours,” Mike said, wiping his hands on his pants.
“Do it!” Jeff urged.
Kevin pushed my shoulder. “Hurry up! Smash it, and let’s get out of here.”
My friends stood in a circle around me. The pumpkin felt smooth and cold in my hands. It was heavy, even though the stringy insides had been pulled out and holes carved for a silly face. I remembered how long it had taken me to clean and carve my own pumpkin at home, scooping out the slippery seeds and carefully slicing out sections for its eyes, nose, and mouth.
But this pumpkin wasn’t mine. I had grabbed it off a porch tonight after trick-or-treating, then waited impatiently for house lights to blink off one by one. It wasn’t my idea to smash the pumpkins, but my friends said it was great fun. They had each swiped one too.
“Everyone does it,” Mike had said. “It’s a Halloween tradition. Nobody can see you—it’s too dark out. Just hold the pumpkin up as high as you can and smash it on the road.”
“It doesn’t hurt anyone,” Kevin added. “It’s just an old pumpkin. It’ll be rotten soon anyway.”
They were right. It was great fun. My pumpkin-smashing sent chunks flying farther than anyone else’s. I laughed out loud when some gooey pieces splatted on Jeff’s pant legs. Jeff pushed me backward into some pumpkin mess on the road. Mike grabbed a pumpkin chunk and plopped it on top of Jeff’s costume wig. Soon pumpkin pieces were flying everywhere.
A porch light switched on suddenly, and a man’s voice growled from the lit doorway. “Hey you boys! What’s going on out there?”
A small figure in pajamas, clutching a teddy bear, stood by the man’s side. “Daddy, where’s my pumpkin?” asked a tiny voice. “Did the boys break my pumpkin?”
We raced through neighborhood yards until we were safely out of sight, finally crouching behind shrubs to see if anyone was following us. “Watch out! Over there!” But it was only a tree shadow stretching its long black body over the ground toward us. The wind moaned and sighed. Clawlike branches scratched unearthly noises against rooftops. I gulped deep breaths of cold night air and tried to steady my trembling legs. This was scary—but exciting too!
We listened for police sirens or neighbors yelling for us to come out. A dog howled faintly in the distance. An airplane droned in the dark overhead. But there were no footsteps, no searching flashlights, no angry voices. We were safe. We laughed, patting each other on the back. This had been easy!
But something followed me as I walked home. Something invisible wrapped its long, icy fingers around my head and invaded my ears. It was sneakier and more chilling than any make-believe Halloween ghost.
It was a tiny voice crying over a pumpkin—the one I had smashed.
The voice chased me all the way back to my house. I quietly climbed the front steps and sat down in the dark shadows. My own pumpkin scowled at me from the porch railing as if it knew that I had smashed one of its relatives. For fun. Because “everyone did it.”
The front door opened, and Dad poked his head outside, whistling for our dog. “Hey, kiddo, did you have a good time trick-or-treating? Did you get any candy for your old dad?”
I handed him my bag full of treats. “Here. Take what you want. I’m not hungry.”
Dad sat down beside me. He pulled a sucker out of the bag, unwrapped it, and pointed it at my pumpkin on the railing. “You know, Son, in a way you’re a little bit like that pumpkin over there.”
“Sure, Dad,” I said. “I have an empty space where my brains should be.”
Dad rolled the sucker over his tongue. “There’s nothing wrong with your brain—when you use it,” he said, picking at some pumpkin goo still clinging to my pants. “I meant that there’s a ‘candle’ inside you, too—a bright spark that lights up your face and makes you who you are. It’s a pure, clear, beautiful light that’s inside every person. Maybe it shines a little less when they do something they’re ashamed of, but it never goes out completely.” He gently turned my face toward his. “Your light looks a little dim tonight.”
“It’s a wonder it didn’t go out like a smashed pumpkin,” I said. “A broken pumpkin just lying in the road, waiting for a car to run over it. A pumpkin that didn’t even belong to me.”
I stood up and walked over to the railing. My hands circled the perfectly-decorated pumpkin that had taken me a whole hour to clean and carve. I picked it up and started down the front steps.
“Where are you going?” Dad asked.
I turned to face him. “A little voice is calling me,” I choked out.
Dad studied his sucker. “A voice?”
“Of a little boy in pajamas.”
Dad smiled. “Follow that voice,” he said. “Your light is getting brighter every second.”

Stephen E. Robinson’s article “Believing Christ” in the April 1992 issue of Nordstjärnan (Swedish) helped me to understand that I cannot do everything myself. I need help from Christ. I understand now that I am not required to run faster than I am able, and that I can get help. Now I try to do my best, and I know that with the Lord’s help I can keep trying. He is always there for me.
Gisela JacobiHelsingborg Branch, Malmö DistrictSvalöv, Sweden

I thrilled at recently observing a good bishop arrange an appointment with a future missionary, a faithful young man, and in the ensuing interview get to know him and share the Spirit with him. He then asked if the young man would be willing to do whatsoever the Lord asked, then stated words to this effect: “In prayer my counselors and I have gone to our Heavenly Father, and he has indicated to us that you are to serve a full-time mission. What do you say to your Heavenly Father?” The response was positive. Then the bishop talked to the future missionary about what to do with his new car, his girlfriend, his education—questions that must be resolved before he is called.

“Nature connects me to Christ. Hearing the birds singing reminds me that He cares for me. Not even a little bird falls without His knowledge, and He feeds them. The different plants, with their different sizes, shapes and colours remind me that God blesses me in many different ways.” —Rumbidzai Mambo, Zimbabwe.

Recently I was impressed by a group of teenage Aaronic Priesthood holders who were assembled together with their bishops and advisers for an informal gospel discussion. It was a small, relaxed gathering, just to talk things over, to reason together. By the initial comments and greetings, it became obvious that each young man respected his bishop and had appreciation for the quorum advisers. It was also clear from their comments that they loved the Lord. But with all of this, there were still some who were struggling and wondering about a few things. Three main concerns came out of the discussion that morning. First, the question: “Why does life have to be so hard?”
A little later, a boy about fifteen years of age, obviously worried about some mounting peer pressure at school, commented, “I am not so sure it’s worth it all.”
And finally this—they all wanted to know, “How can I be certain that the Church is true?”
Let’s start with the first question about life being hard. I like what one of the seminary students said. He commented, “Life here in mortality is no different from the explanation we received in the premortal existence.” He went on, “According to our Sunday School teacher, we shouted for joy and not only agreed to come to earth but literally clamored for the opportunity.”
One of the advisers turned to a scripture to show how the Lord is always there to help us over the rough spots if we do our part.
He read: “Behold, I stand at the door, and knock,” said the Savior. “If any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me” (Rev. 3:20). Did you catch the point, young men, that it is up to us to open the door? I think the Savior gives us another vital key as He declares, “For without me ye can do nothing” (John 15:5). That’s powerful!
Remember the next comment? “I am not sure if it is worth it all.” One of the bishops was quick to ask this question: “Do you think it would be worth it to some day become eligible to receive all that the Father has?” He went on to remind us that to receive all that the Father has is the very essence of the oath and covenant of the priesthood. Let’s reread together those words given us in the eighty-fourth section of the Doctrine and Covenants with regard to that sacred obligation, an obligation that we all share alike. Please listen carefully. I’m going to start with the thirty-third verse:
“For whoso is faithful unto the obtaining these two priesthoods of which I have spoken, and the magnifying their calling, are sanctified.”
And then skipping down to the thirty-eighth verse:
“And he that receiveth my Father receiveth my Father’s kingdom; therefore all that my Father hath shall be given unto him.
“And this is according to the oath and covenant which belongeth to the priesthood” (vs. 33, 38–39).
My young friends, please realize that these conditions that we just read are set. They have all been affirmed. We have already had priesthood authority conferred upon us. The Lord has promised a guaranteed destiny for all who magnify that priesthood; and that destiny is eternal life, which, according to scripture, is the greatest of all the gifts (see D&C 14:7). Because we have been ordained, we are on our way. Not only are we on our way, but it looks like we have reached the point of no return, for the Savior assures us that this is an oath and covenant of the Father “which he cannot break, neither can it be moved” (D&C 84:40).
Let me interject an interesting little sidelight. As we read that last scripture concerning the oath and covenant that cannot be broken and neither can it be moved, one of the lads said, “Hey, where is my free agency in all of this?” A boy who had just been ordained a priest then spoke up: “We exercised our free agency in the premortal existence; people agree to baptism before they are baptized; we choose to renew the baptismal covenant each week during the sacrament service; we agreed to the conditions of the priesthood during the bishop’s interview. No,” he concluded, “I don’t think our free agency has been violated.”
He was right. There has not been a violation of our free agency.
I would hope that no one who has taken upon himself the sacred covenant of the priesthood would ever throw his hands up, walk away, and say, “I’m sorry, it’s just too difficult.” Nephi had problems galore: Laman, Lemuel, Laban, and so on down the list. But he realized in his hour of need that all the forces of heaven were available to him. Remember when he declared, “I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded, for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them” (1 Ne. 3:7).
At this point, one of the young deacons quipped, “Yeah, but Nephi didn’t have to go to my school.” He was telling us that his problem was just about as big as Nephi’s but in a little different way. And he may be right, but the point is this: the Lord didn’t forsake Nephi. He didn’t forsake the Prophet Joseph Smith in Liberty Jail. And he won’t forsake a boy with peer pressure at school or with any other problem.

A few years ago, a reporter asked what birthday gift members worldwide could give to me. I replied, “Find someone who is having a hard time or is ill or lonely, and do something for him or her.”
I was overwhelmed when I received hundreds of letters from members of the Church telling me how they had fulfilled that birthday wish.
My heart has seldom been as grateful as it was when Sister Monson and I spent hours reading of these gifts.

Being judgmental: The fastest way to stop a person from talking, especially about painful and difficult subjects, is to criticize him. Suppose, for example, that a man tells his wife, “My boss was picking on me all day long! I don’t know what his problem was, but I wish he wouldn’t take it out on me!”
Her response might be: “I wish you’d learn to stand up to him. Why don’t you say something to him when he treats you like that?”
Instead of hearing what he was saying and empathizing with his feelings, she is expressing a judgment: if he had acted differently, he could have avoided the problem. When he senses that she is judging him, he may react with a rapid, angry, or harsh counter-judgment.
A better response from her would be: “Oh, that sounds just awful! You must really feel frustrated.” Here, the wife is acknowledging her husband’s feelings without accusing him.

Shortly after my husband received his master’s degree, he considered returning to school for a PhD. This prospect daunted us since earning his master’s degree had been so difficult. We had two small children and longed to have a good job and maybe even a house.
That October conference, Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles shared some of his experiences related to moving his young family to Connecticut for graduate school. We had also moved to Connecticut for graduate school. Then he described how he and his family had fit all of their possessions into their little car—we had done the same. He explained that when the trip began, his car had overheated and broken down not once but twice! Our vehicle also broke down twice.
Finally, he described a more recent experience of driving a reliable car by the spot where his car had broken down 30 years earlier. In his mind’s eye, he saw himself as a young father and said these words: “Don’t give up, boy. Don’t you quit. … There is help and happiness ahead—a lot of it. … You keep your chin up. It will be all right in the end. Trust God and believe in good things to come.”1Elder Holland’s experience helped me feel understood and loved. His example gave me the courage to seek the spiritual witness that more education for my husband was the will of the Lord for our family. Five years and two babies later, my husband finished his dissertation. School was definitely challenging, but we were happy. We had followed the Lord’s will, and He had blessed us physically, spiritually, and financially.
Since that conference, I have often thought of Elder Holland’s talk. I have learned that as I strive to trust God through obeying the counsel of His prophets and apostles, good things really do come.
Melinda McLaughlin, Maryland, USA

This same sensitivity he enhanced manyfold through mixing with all types of people and through coming to know their problems. When he was twenty years old, George Albert Smith was engaged as a salesman for Zion’s Cooperative Mercantile Institution, traveling through Southern Utah with a companion known to history only as Jim.
One is impressed with the ability of the future prophet even then to mix well with all types of company. He entertained on occasion with his harmonica and guitar and kept himself in good physical shape by exercising with Indian clubs and dumbbells (occasionally giving an exhibition of his prowess with the same in some of the villages).
His sense of humor, which helped him open many hearts, was evidenced from time to time. A demonstration of this is shown in an incident on the journey involving a jug of whiskey that Jim had brought on the trip to share with his customers. This fact bothered George, when he discovered it, because of his own commitment to the principles of the Word of Wisdom. However, there was no sermon preached by him to his companion, no chastisement—just an idea for a great practical joke somewhere along the route of the journey. The chance came before the two left Provo, about fifty miles south of Salt Lake City. While Jim was away from the wagon, the jug was located and carried off secretly to a friend with instructions for him to empty the whiskey and to fill the jug with water. Then the jug was put back in its original place. Several nights later it was brought out by Jim and the secret was revealed: no whiskey, just a jug full of foul-smelling sulphur water—much to the amusement of President Smith, who often loved to retell this story and others when he himself was the victim of a practical joke.

Satan has made great inroads into the lives of some Latter-day Saints through the evil in the media. I am confident that the great majority of you have not been guilty of serious sexual sin, but many are placing themselves in a path that could lead to it. A bishop reported that he had observed that the spiritual level of the young priesthood bearers in his ward was declining. Through his personal interviews with them, he discovered that many of them were watching R-rated movies. When he asked them where they went to see such trash, they said, “We don’t go anywhere. We watch them at home. We have cable television, and when our parents are gone we watch anything we want to.”