Gospel Story Finder

On decisions: “Decisions ought to be made in favor of our Heavenly Father. When I had an opportunity as a young woman to become a contralto with the Metropolitan Opera, I told them I’d have to pray about it. I also studied my patriarchal blessing, which promised me that my success would come in the service of the Lord. So I came home and rejoined the Tabernacle Choir.” She has the longest service record in the choir—over fifty years—making the phrase “He that hath clean hands and a pure heart” from “King of Glory” not only a sermon in song but a symbol of her life.

Growing up, Sue was just part of the gang until the gang started going a direction she did not care to follow. Her upbringing in the Church gave her a different perspective than her friends.
“In my sophomore year, my friends started doing awful things that would make me cry for them. I just wanted to shake them and ask, ‘What are you doing?’ but you can’t. It was frustrating. I started saying to myself, ‘Hey, Sue, no one is going to stick with you through this. You’re on your own.’”
That’s when she decided to make her own choices and possibly lead her friends in the right direction as well. Her bishop, Allen Dance of the Snoqualmie Valley Ward, noticed her ability to bring people up to a higher level. “Sue has always been a magnet towards the good. She has pulled up the weak in our ward and in the school. She goes out of her way to be friends to people who need a friend. As a result of her example, others have been affected.”

For over a year I tried to memorize the Articles of Faith, but I was having a hard time because I’m deaf. I worked on it every Sunday, but I just couldn’t do it. I wanted to give up many times, but I kept on trying.
I decided I needed help, so I went into my room and knelt down and prayed to Heavenly Father. When I got up, I started trying to memorize the Articles of Faith again, and it was so much easier. I finished all 13. My mom was amazed at how well I had memorized them. I know now that whenever I need help I can pray to my Heavenly Father, and He will help me.
Sam McGrath, age 9Mesa, Arizona

His courageous faith is also shown when he was called to serve one of his missions in England. After a difficult journey from Far West, Missouri, Elder Taylor arrived in New York with only one cent in his pocket. But he was not one to plead poverty, and in answer to questions if he had any money, he said he did. The next day, Elder Parley P. Pratt approached him:

“Brother Taylor, I hear you have plenty of money.”

“Yes, Brother Pratt, that’s true.”

“Well,” said Elder Pratt, “I am about to publish my Voice of Warning and Millennial Poems; I am very much in need of money, and if you could furnish me two or three hundred dollars I should be very much obliged.”

“Well, Brother Parley, you are welcome to anything I have, if it will be of service to you.” At that he put his hand in his pocket and gave Elder Pratt the penny.

They both laughed heartily, and then Elder Pratt said, “But I thought you gave it out that you had plenty of money.”

“Yes, and so I have,” replied Elder Taylor. “I am well clothed, you furnish me plenty to eat and drink and good lodging; with all these things and a penny over, as I owe nothing, is not that plenty?”

That evening, at a meeting of some of the Brethren who were preparing to go to England, Elder Pratt proposed that they assist Elder Taylor with means to pay his passage. Elder Taylor objected, saying that if they had anything, they should give it to Elder Pratt instead, because he had a family to support and needed money for publishing. Wilford Woodruff, a great man of faith himself, expressed regret at Elder Taylor’s position.

“Oh there will be no difficulty about that,” replied Elder Taylor. “Go and take passage for me on your vessel, and I will furnish you the means.”

Then—from various persons who were moved upon by the Spirit of the Lord—Elder Taylor received voluntary donations that were sufficient for him to pay not only his own passage, but also that of another elder. (See Roberts, pages 72–74.)

When I was 11, my parents dropped me off at the Salt Lake City home of my great uncle Gaskell Romney. He was a patriarch, and, because he was my father’s uncle, he could give me, a boy from the mission field, a patriarchal blessing. I don’t think he even sat down to visit with me. He didn’t know me except as my father’s son. He just led me through the house to a room where a recording device was on a table. He sat me down facing a fireplace, put his hands on my head, and began to give first my lineage and then a blessing.
He began to tell me about the home in which I would someday be the father. That’s when I opened my eyes. I know the stones in the fireplace were there because I began to stare at them. I wondered, “How can this man know what is only in my heart?” He described in concrete detail what had been only a yearning, but I could recognize it. It was the desire of my heart, that future home and family that I thought was secret. But it was not secret, because God knew.

I can still remember when my parents took our family to the newly erected Swiss Temple, the first in Europe, to become a forever family. I was 16 then and the youngest of four children. We knelt together at the altar to be sealed on earth by the power of the priesthood, with a wonderful promise that we could be sealed for eternity. I will never forget this magnificent moment.
As a boy I was quite impressed that we crossed country borders to be sealed as a family. To me it symbolizes the way temple work crosses worldly boundaries to bring eternal blessings to all the inhabitants of the earth. The temples of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints are truly built for the benefit of all the world.

One of my assignments at BYU is to direct a performing folk dance company called Traditionz. This ensemble provides outreach performances in elementary and middle schools during spring term. For four weeks, we perform two or three times a day. It’s exhausting, but it’s a lot of fun!

One day a few months ago, we had a three-and-a-half-hour break in the middle of our two shows, which is atypical. While the students were cleaning up their costumes after the first show, I mused on how we would pass the time during the long lunch break. The weather was too chilly to spend several hours outside at a park.

As I was trying to think about what there was to do in the area, I remembered the previous year when we had performed nearby and had gone to the Taylorsville Utah Temple open house. “It’s too bad that we don’t have a temple open house to go to,” I thought. And then I realized, “Wait—there is one going on in Syracuse right now!” I mapped out the distance and, surprisingly, it was only a forty-minute drive there and a twenty-five-minute drive back to our afternoon school. Three-and-a-half hours would be enough time to drive to Syracuse, go through the open house, get some lunch, and drive back to West Valley City for our second show.

As I pitched my idea to the students, there were mixed reactions: Some were excited and immediately cheered, “Yes!” More than a few, though, were concerned about the way we were dressed. You see, the dancers were in casual traveling clothes that consisted mostly of sweats. I had considered this and was appreciative of their desire to show respect for the house of the Lord, but I persisted. “If we had planned for this in advance, we would have dressed up,” I reasoned, “but there actually isn’t an official dress code for an open house. People come dressed in all types of clothing. I think the Lord will understand why we are dressed this way, and He’d rather have us come than stay away. If we don’t go today, we won’t have another opportunity to do this during our tour.”

We put it to a straw poll, and it was decided that we would attend the open house. As we got out of the vans and approached the temple grounds, I could tell that some students were still feeling uncomfortable about their appearance. We got our shoe covers on and proceeded to the front doors, where we were stopped and asked to wait a few minutes for a tour to begin.

Looking across the threshold, I noticed a group of about seven people signing to each other. I glanced over at one of my students, Betsy, who had served an American Sign Language mission and now teaches ASL at the Missionary Training Center, to see if she would try to converse with them. After a moment of visually eavesdropping on their conversation, she realized they needed help. She swiftly stepped over to them and chimed in, “I can interpret!”

We proceeded into the temple with this group and stayed with them all the way through the temple tour with Betsy as their interpreter. My students and I watched her in amazement. Some of my students were grinning. Others, like me, had tears rolling down their cheeks. Betsy’s hands were deftly flying, her face was expressive, and her countenance was radiant as she confidently and beautifully served. Her many years of language study and previous service as an ASL missionary enabled her to speak fluently and with love for the gospel. She was dressed in a pink BYU Dance T-shirt and a pair of black joggers, but that didn’t seem to matter anymore. Any self-consciousness about our casual appearance had evaporated.

One by one, students sidled up to me quietly. “We needed to be here,” they whispered in amazement. “They needed Betsy.”

Unspoken, but in all of our minds, was the thought, “What if we had stayed away because of our appearance?”

And then, audibly, the question came: “How did you know? How did you know we needed to come?”

“I . . . I didn’t,” I stammered. And that was true. I was as amazed as they were! I hadn’t followed what I considered to be a strong feeling or what we might think of as a prompting. It was just an idea of a good thing to do with our time.

At the conclusion of the tour, our group waited outside at a distance as Betsy was thanked and hugged by her new friends. Through tears, they signed, “We know you were sent to help us.” It was at this point that they shared their story with her. They had come from a Deaf branch in Ogden, Utah. Unlike us, they had made an appointment for the open house in advance and had requested that interpretation services be provided for them. However, when they arrived, for some unknown reason there was no one there who could assist them. They were understandably very disappointed. It was at this point that the BYU folk dancers walked up to join the tour.

As Betsy’s new friends departed, the rest of my students waved goodbye and silently cheered for them, many signing, “I love you.” This spontaneous gesture touched my heart because it was so genuine and joyful. We were all just Betsy’s ride, but truly, we all felt enveloped in charity, the pure love of Christ.

I left the temple awestruck and filled with gratitude that I was able to witness this beautiful display of God’s awareness of and merciful love for His children. I knew that God knew Betsy. He knew her unique talents and abilities just as He knew the disappointed hearts of those visitors who were Deaf. In ways I am incapable of understanding with my mortal mind, He was able to bring them together in perfect timing.

Do I know how it happened? No. But what I can attribute part of this miraculous experience to are the prayers we prayed together as a group before embarking on our day. Each morning we asked our Heavenly Father for opportunities to connect with those in our path. We included God in our plans and He, like a master choreographer, provided the design.

Martin follows Jesus by learning about Him. When Martin met the missionaries, they gave him a pamphlet about Jesus Christ. Martin is visually impaired, so he couldn’t read the small words. But he still wanted to learn more.
The missionaries gave Martin a copy of the Book of Mormon in braille. Braille is a form of written language for people who are blind or visually impaired.
Martin chose to be baptized with his dad. “I’m thankful for the Church of Jesus Christ,” Martin says. “I know it’s true.”

The service activity is on Wednesday to help with the park cleanup, Will. Can I count on you being there?
Yes, Bishop. I said I’d help, and I’ll keep my word.
I’ll keep MY WORD.
Isn’t the football game on Wednesday? I was going to watch that …
Maybe I should do my homework now while I have time so I won’t be tempted to do it later.
Hey! Come hang out with us on Wednesday!
I could just take a quick nap before I go—I’d still have time, right?
I kept my word. I’m ready to work!

Sighing, I let the pen slip idly from my fingers as my head collapsed onto the desk in front of me. “I can’t do this any more,” I groaned.
I looked up at the clock on the wall. It was 8:45 P.M. I had wanted to be in bed by 9:30. Looking back at the math exercises I had been working on, my eyes filled with tears. I was so tired. My head was pounding, and my whole body was aching, but sleep seemed unlikely tonight. The math would take me at least another hour to finish; then I had to learn my lines for tomorrow’s drama rehearsal. My English assignment was due in two days, and I hadn’t started it yet. On top of that, my piano lesson was the next day, and Mrs. Doolan was bound to be unimpressed with the limited practice I’d managed to fit in this week.
“Tammy?” The small voice roused me from my thoughts, and I turned, exasperated, towards the door.
“Ben,” I whined at my brother, “why aren’t you asleep yet?”
The six-year-old scurried happily across the room and onto my lap. “I’m not tired,” he answered simply.
Smiling, I put my arms around him and gave him a hug. It was impossible to stay angry with him for long.
“Read me a story, Tammy,” he pleaded.
“Ben,” I began, “I’d really like to, but I just can’t tonight.” I launched into a detailed account of the pressures I was under. Noting his disappointment, my excuses trailed off, and I began to feel guilty. My eyes fell on the scriptures, where they lay on the bedroom floor.
There’s another thing I have to do tonight, I thought, feeling discouraged.
Suddenly I had an idea. I’d shoot both birds with one stone! Putting Ben down on the floor, I reached for the Book of Mormon.
“You like scripture stories don’t you, Ben?” I asked. Nodding happily he settled down to listen. The seminary reading assignment was Third Nephi chapter 17, and I turned to the page quickly and began to read: “Behold, now it came to pass that when Jesus had spoken these words he looked round about again on the multitude, and …”
“Tammy, what’s a multitude?” Ben interrupted.
“It’s just a large group of people,” I answered hastily and then continued: “and he said unto them: Behold my time is at hand.”
“Tammy, what does that mean?” I groaned inwardly. This was going to take a lot longer than I had planned on.
I read on for about half an hour, in which time I had read about one page. Ben wanted to know and understand everything I was reading. Jesus directing the Nephites? Jesus healing the sick? Language that couldn’t be written? Everything fascinated him. But not me. I was simply anxious to get through the chapter, send him back to bed, and return to my mountain of homework.
“And when he had said these words,” I continued, “he wept, and the multitude bare record of it, and he took their little children, one by one, and blessed them, and prayed unto the Father for them.
“And when he had done this he wept again;
“And he spake unto the multitude, and said unto them: Behold your little ones.
“And as they looked to behold they cast their eyes towards heaven, and they saw the heavens open, and they saw angels descending out of heaven as it were in the midst of fire; and they came down and encircled those little ones about, and they were encircled about with fire; and the angels did minister unto them.”
Pausing for a breath, I suddenly realized that I had just read four verses without being interrupted once!
Puzzled I looked down at Ben and was surprised to see that there were tears streaming down his small face. My eyes met his as I searched for an explanation.
“Tammy,” he said softly, “I wish I could have been there.”
Suddenly I felt my eyes stinging with tears, and I was filled with shame. “So do I, Ben,” I whispered.
My homework, drama rehearsal, and piano practice paled in significance as I realized that it was my attitude towards spiritual matters that needed attention. I reached for the sweet little brother who had reminded me of what was really important and vowed to be better.

While I was in the mission field a few years ago, I observed one of the missionaries who always had people to teach and baptize. Wherever he went, he went with such commitment, happiness, and love for others that he was accepted. It was said of him that when he would come back into an area, many of the people would peek through their windows just to get a glimpse of this unusual young man. Though he was not particularly gifted in language skills, he succeeded in bearing a strong testimony to thousands of people.
Again, like my friend, he only did what everybody could do, but usually doesn’t.

The tenacity and determination that took Bernard Lefrandt through jungles and enemy territory now found a purpose in the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. Bert and Nora became faithful servants and pioneers not only in the Netherlands, but in New Guinea, where Bert was later transferred by the Dutch government from 1954 to 1956. There the Lefrandts held Sunday School and sacrament meeting in their home for their family and the two other members stationed in New Guinea. Bert introduced the gospel to other naval officers and held monthly meetings with local priests and church ministers to teach them about the Restoration and the Book of Mormon.
Always mindful of God’s goodness to their family, Bert and Nora exemplified His love and generosity, earning a reputation of fairness, generosity, and open-mindedness wherever they went. Bert spoke enthusiastically about the gospel whenever the opportunity arose, and he left New Guinea having given away a large supply of Church books and pamphlets in an effort to build the kingdom.

Some years ago I received a letter in reference to recognition being given to a man in a community where I had once lived. The man and his wife were leaving the community where they had spent most of their lives. Local citizens were organizing a special event to honor him for the service he had given and the influence he had had in so many of the lives of the people. My life was one that he had touched. Receiving the announcement reminded me of the many ways in which I had been benefitted, encouraged, and guided by this man’s concern and kindness for me.
The community in which the man had lived was a small one. He had never accumulated much in the way of worldly goods. The little business he had operated could have been profitable enough, but he was too interested in people to be much concerned with building up his standard of living. He was always available to people, but he never demanded anything of them. Most of us had learned to take him very much for granted. It is unlikely he would ever have been given any public recognition until his funeral service, had not his unexpected move from the community prompted this effort to honor him.
On the evening of the special event, I was intrigued by the arrangements that had been made. All who entered the gathering place were asked to sign their names on slips of paper that were then folded and dropped into a box. When the large crowd was seated, and the honored guest had taken his place on the stand, the chairman announced the proceedings. No speakers had been assigned for the evening, he said, but names would be drawn from the box. Those who were chosen would be asked to represent all in offering expressions of appreciation and love for our friend.
One by one the names were drawn. As the hour passed, a procession of unrehearsed speakers revealed the story of selfless service that our friend had given to members of the community.
As the meeting drew to a close, the name of a local physician was drawn from the box. For many years the good doctor had lived as a neighbor to our honored friend. He had recently returned to his home following treatment in another state for what had proved to be a near-fatal illness. As he spoke, he explained that for many years he had contemplated how his own life and that of our friend had been devoted to serving others. He told of leaving his home to make professional visits at hours both early and late, and of frequently encountering our friend departing on what appeared to be responses to the call for help from someone with a problem. At these times, the doctor said, he felt particularly close to his neighbor in the fellowship of service they shared.
At this point in his remarks, the doctor paused, and his voice became touched with emotion. Making reference to his recent illness, he related how he had left this same community several months before, not knowing whether he would ever recover and return. No farewell testimonial had been held in his honor. He confessed that he had been upset by the obvious difference in the feelings of the community toward himself and our friend, especially considering the service that both of them had given. Tonight, he said, he had learned why this was so.
With all of the apparent parallels between his life and that of his friend, there was one very important difference that had set them apart from each other in the eyes of the people in the community. For all of his services, the doctor pointed out, he had collected a fee. That was the difference. He had not realized until tonight how much his fees had cost him.
All of us who knew the good doctor and had benefitted from his kindly ministrations realized that he was being too critical of his own compassion and charity. But he succeeded, in those dramatic circumstances, in teaching all of us a lesson that we would not soon forget.

“The greatest gift that you can give is when you give of yourself.” I have often heard this, but it never really affected me until one Christmas—a Christmas I will never forget.
It all started with a seminary project. We were asked to take a fruit basket to an elderly person. I had not wanted to go, but somehow I found myself at the seminary waiting for my class to arrive.
Some would call it a mere coincidence, but I saw the hand of the Lord in it when my class did not show up. Fortunately, my friend’s class was also going, and I was able to go along with them. I remember the conversations that we had on the way to the elderly man’s house:
Cindy, who was a little insecure but tried to cover up for it by talking incessantly, picked Jody out as an easy target for her taunting remarks. “Jody, who did you ask to the dance?”
Lisa understood Jody’s needs and shyness and answered quickly as Jody hesitated. “I’m taking Dave, in my history class. Jody, maybe we could double.”
Jody responded to Lisa’s sensitivity. “We really should. That sounds like a lot of fun. I’m taking Tom. I thought he played so well in the football game yesterday.”
That ended the dance conversation, but the radio kept playing and the conversation moved to another subject. No one in the car was really thinking about the old man we were going to see or what was in store. We were thinking more in terms of ourselves, and maybe that was why it came as such a shock when our car stopped in front of a worn-down house that looked deserted. There were tall weeds that had taken over the front lawn, the paint on his home was chipped, and there was a long crack in his front window.
As we got out of the car and looked around the neighborhood, we noticed that all the houses looked just the same as this man’s. The rain was pouring down, disturbing the sleeping dog that was lying in the gutter.
Not wanting to go any further, yet knowing we had better unless we wanted to drown in the rain, we proceeded to his front door. After ringing the doorbell and waiting for about two minutes, we turned around to go back to the car. Then we heard the screen door open. As we turned back to the house, we saw an elderly man clad in worn dresspants and an old sweater. He gave us a smile that without words said, “I wouldn’t even care if you had the wrong house; can we talk for a moment?”
We told him that we were from a local high school and that if he would allow us to we would like to come in and talk with him. He looked very shocked but welcomed us just the same.
As we entered the house, we were touched by a very strong spirit. His house wasn’t much—it consisted of a threadbare couch, a table, a small lamp, a chair, and one small evergreen branch that was decorated and served as his Christmas tree. You could see he didn’t have many material comforts, but we sensed he had something more; he had the Spirit of the Lord.
He invited us to sit down and chat for a few minutes. We sat down and told him we had prepared a story and a song that we would like to share with him. He said that would be just fine, and we proceeded with our program.
We told him our story and began our song. As we were singing “I Am a Child of God,” each of us felt his spirit and noticed the tears, but we continued on as best we could. As we came to the conclusion of the song, we were all in tears due to the special feeling radiating through the home.
When we stood up to leave, not wanting to but knowing we had better, the elderly man said, “This has meant so much to me. You see, last week my wife died, and we had the funeral two days ago. I have really dreaded this Christmas.”
As we gave him a final hug, he continued on with what he was saying. “You girls have brought a new light to this special occasion. I thank you, and I want you to know that you have made a lonely old man very happy.”
With tears in our eyes, we left his house very humbled and filled with the Spirit of the Lord. As we rode home in the car, there was no loud music, there was no talk of boys and dates. The car was filled with silence, but there was a joy that was felt by everyone.

When I decided to go to the temple, it meant that I committed to following the Ten Commandments and the rules and regulations of the Church. But I also knew that I would get lot of blessings if I went to the temple. My goal in life is to return to live with Heavenly Father.
Nepali people can’t afford to go to the temple again and again, but with help from the Temple Patron Assistance Fund, I was able to go at least once.
I had to arrange time off of work and arrange things financially at home to be able to go. My wife is not a member of the Church, so she could not go. It was difficult for me to leave her alone at home.
Getting a passport was not a problem, but there were concerns about getting needed visas for travel. (No visa was needed to enter the Philippines, but depending on the route of travel and airlines, visas might be needed. The group ended up traveling through Malaysia. It was not the direct route, but no visa was needed.)
Getting an airline ticket proved difficult. The less expensive flights didn’t have enough seats available for our group of ten. But we finally made it to the temple.
When I saw the angel Moroni on the top of the temple, I felt peace, happiness and comfort. There were several housekeeping things we had to do before we entered the temple. We had to check into patron housing and go to the distribution center to buy garments. We had to eat meals and dress in our best clothes. At last we were ready to go inside the temple. I was so excited and felt more and more happiness as we did all we needed to do to be ready to go inside. Once there, we all changed into white clothing. I saw many people from different countries, but we were all dressed in white. I felt like I was I heaven. I felt so peaceful inside.
I want to go to the temple again.

Recently a prominent family in my neighborhood suffered a great tragedy. Their troubled teenage son committed suicide. Under the influence of drugs and alcohol, he apparently sought peace in this desperate way. His fine family felt his loss intensely. Despite an enormous level of effort and outpouring of love to this son throughout his life, his parents agonized, wondering if they’d done everything. His siblings probably wondered the same. Neighbors and friends, in and out of the Church, responded with love, sympathy, and support.
The family sat together at stake conference just days after this tragic experience. The main speaker, who knew of this incident, gave a long talk about the problems families get into when they spend too much time on Church duties and not enough time with each other. Some members of the congregation visibly winced as they thought of this family and how the message might affect them. Right message. Wrong time. How we wished our speaker had taken off the blinders and seen the needs of our brothers and sisters.

“My older brother Bobby is retarded, so it’s natural that I’d associate with other retarded children,” said Cathy. “I couldn’t ask for a better brother. He’s seven years older than I am, and I was born on his birthday. He’s always said that I was his birthday present. We’ve been very close.”
Cathy would go to parties for her brother Bobby and his friends and sing for them. “I’ve always wanted to be an entertainer, so it was fun for me. They don’t care how bad you sing. They appreciate even small things. The rest of us need to be more like they are.”

In 1989, Yuri and Liudmila Terebenin of St. Petersburg (then called Leningrad) and their daughter, Anna, were visiting friends in Budapest, Hungary. A Latter-day Saint friend invited them to church, where they felt the Spirit and decided to meet with the missionaries. They were eventually baptized. Though initially the only members of the Church in St. Petersburg, the Terebenins were not left alone for long. Members of the Church from Finland were already sharing the gospel with Russians, including Anton Skripko, who became the first Russian baptized in Russia.

S: The term “peer leader” reminds me of a class a grandson was just chosen to be in called Peer Leadership. That title piqued my interest. Peer Leaders in his school are expected to teach and exemplify good behaviors among their peers. They also make visits to 5th graders who will be entering middle school to teach them about the dangers of substance abuse and appropriate abstinence. The administration has found that these seniors have a magnetic appeal and special influence upon their peers as well as the younger students.
This grandson is also choosing to be a peer leader on his own with some of his buddies. He recently organized a weekly Book of Mormon reading class with some of his peers. He purposely reached out to several young men who did not have a good group of friends. By pulling them into this positive activity with other good youth he has literally changed their lives both socially and spiritually. The mothers of these boys have come to our daughter in appreciation that her son is doing something for their sons that they could not do for them.

As a young boy, I had great aspirations. One day after school, I asked, “Mom, what should I be when I grow up: a professional basketball player or a rock star?” Unfortunately, Clark “the toothless wonder” showed no signs of future athletic or musical glory. And despite multiple efforts, I was repeatedly denied admission to my school’s advanced academic program. My teachers finally suggested I should just stick to the standard classroom. Over time, I developed compensating study habits. But it wasn’t until my mission to Japan that I felt my intellectual and spiritual possibilities begin to emerge. I continued to work hard. But for the first time in my life, I systematically involved the Lord in my development, and it made all the difference.