Gospel Story Finder

Anson B. Call was the bishop when I was a young boy. He was bishop for twenty-five years. He was a man of great faith. Pancho Villa was one of the leaders of the revolutionaries in Mexico. He had sworn in his wrath that he was going to kill all the North Americans living in northern Mexico. He killed some United States soldiers and was headed toward the Latter-day Saint colonies.
When the Saints in the colonies heard about this, they were concerned because they were right in his path. Bishop Call and some of the other leaders were asked what to do. Bishop Call said that he felt impressed that all the families should go home, say their prayers, turn out their lights, go to bed, and trust in the Lord. I imagine that many didn’t go to sleep. When Pancho Villa was near, a miracle happened. It looked to him like the town was lighted. He thought another army was there, so he went around it. Hearing these stories and seeing great men like Bishop Call and others strengthened my faith.

Alice held the crumbled paper in her hand. She clenched her fist tightly and tried hard to erase the horrible words that now burned in her mind.
Alice is an idiot, the paper read. Alice didn’t know who had written the words—someone nearby, no doubt—but she had found the mean little message sitting on her desk when she had returned to her seat. Now, defeated and miserable, she wished she had never signed up for this section of Speech 1. She wished even harder that she had never had to stand up to give her presentation. And she wished even harder still that she could believe that the words written on the paper were lies. But she couldn’t. She was an idiot, she was sure.
Minutes before, Alice had walked to the front of the class to deliver her speech. She had prepared for her presentation carefully, had even read the book for her report twice. But something unexplained had snatched her confidence from her the moment she had opened her mouth to speak. Her voice had trembled as she spoke, unrecognizable, wobbling foolishly, and her hands had shaken so badly she was afraid she would knock the podium over. She had barely made it through her speech. By the end of it, she was visibly on the verge of crying. During the long walk back to her desk, she had been afraid to look at the students in the class.
Why? she had thought miserably to herself. Why did I have to go to junior high school? Why did we have to move? Couldn’t I have stayed in the sixth grade forever? Everything within her young, thin frame wanted to be back in Mrs. Martin’s class, to be back in her old neighborhood, where all was familiar and sweet.
And then she had sat down at her desk, and there she had found the nasty message she was certain was true.
I am a jerk, she thought bitterly to herself. I’m stupid and dumb and I have no confidence. I have no friends, either. And I hate this stupid school.
The angry bath of self-hatred washed over her, spilled out of the corners of her eyes, made her feel peculiarly numb in her misery.
But the horror was not over yet.
"Alice?" Mr. Goldstein’s voice called to her, as the bell sounded to switch classes. "Alice, can I see you up front for a minute?"
Alice heard some snickers from a group of boys as she gathered her books. She swallowed, then walked up the aisle to Mr. Goldstein’s desk.
"Alice," he began. "I was so surprised by your performance today. I know you’re a bright and talented girl. I think you just need another chance." He paused thoughtfully, then continued, "What if I schedule you to give it another try next time we meet?"
Alice opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Panic filled her. Wasn’t one humiliation enough? Couldn’t he see she was no good at speaking? But Mr. Goldstein’s soft voice rumbled on, something about fitting her in easily at the end of the next class, that he was certain her classmates wanted her to get another chance, too.
Alice walked home from school alone that day. Tami and Susan had offered to walk with her, but she had declined. They weren’t in her speech class, and she didn’t want to have to tell them the sad story of how foolish she had felt. If she didn’t walk with them, she wouldn’t have to speak to any one until she got home. By then, she hoped she could muster a calm hello to her mother, and then take refuge in the room she shared with her older sister until dinner. If she was lucky, Karen would stay late at school, practicing her part for the Autumn Festival play.
Alice walked the blocks home from school, acutely conscious of herself. In every storefront, in the windows of every parked car, she saw her face, her thin and sorrowing face.
Why can’t I wear eye makeup yet? she wondered angrily to herself. Everyone else does, even most of the girls in the ward.
She held her head down before the gusty wind, couldn’t bear to let her bangs blow upward, exposing her large forehead. Oh! it was miserable to be almost 13.
Alice managed to pass by her mother’s scrutiny. Something inside her wouldn’t let her tell her mother. She wanted to keep her horrible failure inside. She wanted to be by herself. Alice closed the door to her room, lay on her bed, face down on the pillow, alone in the safety of her home. Her father had been transferred again. They had lived in this new neighborhood just three months. Alice remembered her painful good-byes now. She rolled over, looked up to the ceiling, felt a flash of nervousness. She was terrorized at the thought of having to present her speech again. How could Mr. Goldstein be so mean?
Dinner passed.
"What’s the matter with the kid, here?" her older brother had asked, affectionately winking at Alice. "You’re quieter than usual."
Karen gave the family home evening lesson that night on joy, of all things. Alice listened stonily.
Who could feel joy when everyone thought you were an idiot? she thought bitterly. Worse yet, who could feel joy when you had to go through another horrible day at school? Alice hardly heard her older sister’s comments about how prayer had sustained her during the first weeks of their move.
Tuesday passed. Alice saw only two of the students that were in her speech class, and both of them were girls. They smiled at her, and Alice felt no menace in them. Inevitably, though, Tuesday evening came, the good-nights, the walk up the stairs to bed, the certainty that tomorrow was coming.
Alice turned restlessly in bed. She was still awake when Karen came in. Alice watched the easy confidence with which Karen removed her makeup, fluffed her hair, then reached for the light. There were a few moments of silence as Karen said her prayers beside her bed, then the comforting sound of the bedsprings, the rustling sheets, of Karen settling into sleep. But Alice was still awake.
Hours passed, it seemed, but always the horror of the morning prevented Alice from surrendering to the black walls of her heavy eyelids. She had said her speech 300 times by now, had practiced taking deep breaths, had even imagined the entire occasion from start to finish, the perfect delivery and confident self-assurance. But reality always filled her. Alice was afraid. This wasn’t Primary, this wasn’t Young Women, this wasn’t even sacrament meeting. It was a class full of strangers, some of them older than she was, and all of them better at speaking than she would ever be.
Alice sat up in bed. She looked over at her sleeping sister, peaceful and at rest. Maybe being 17 did that to a person, Alice thought hopefully.
A thin column of white penetrated the dark room, the glow from the streetlight on the corner reaching in from behind the shade. A car passed by, its headlights shadowing wild patterns in the room. The pipes knocked in the basement, followed by the pleasant sound of steam hissing in the radiator.
Prayer is the best way to get through the tough times, Karen had said the other night. Alice had not wanted to think about it then, had thought it sounded corny and dumb. After all, Alice wasn’t a Merrie Miss anymore. She no longer had to sit uncomfortably in the back of Primary opening exercises.
But prayer?
Alice pushed the covers off. The floor felt cold on her feet. She bent down, then knelt awkwardly. Should she fold her arms, or was it enough just to kneel?
It was an awkward prayer, she knew, her first attempt since the faith of her family had begun to seem something weird and distant to her, something not to tell her new friends about, something that had to be done, she guessed, when her parents made her, a burden more than a blessing.
Alice opened her eyes after the amen, lingered for a moment on her knees, beside her bed, looking at the shadows in the light. And then a feeling warmed her, something real and sweet, a glow not from the hissing radiator, but a quiet warmth just the same. Quite simple, really. As Alice pulled the covers over herself, though, the moment lost its simplicity and became profound. The Holy Spirit had filled her, she knew, had warmed her and given her peace.
Alice walked slowly down the hall to her speech class. She avoided the boys who had laughed. She tried hard not to think of her failure or of the horrid little note, or of the minutes until she must surely try again.
"Alice? Are you ready to give it another try now?" It was Mr. Goldstein’s voice, of course, calling her to her second death, she was sure.
Alice stood slowly, picked up her paper, told her legs to move to the podium in the front of the classroom.
She knew her heart was beating too fast already. She was cold and trembling. She took a deep and trembling breath, smiled weakly to the class, then opened her mouth to speak.
And in a timeless moment, suspended somewhere between her trembling breath and her first uneven words, she remembered the warmth of the night before, the sense that her Father loved her, had heard her.
"Mr. Goldstein. Students. Good morning."

Jesus Christ’s Church is organized again upon the earth. Joseph Smith is sustained as prophet, seer, revelator, translator, and Apostle of Jesus Christ.

My father especially encouraged me to pay my tithing, so one day I asked him about his testimony of this principle. “When did you really know the importance of paying your tithes?” I asked. In response to my question, my father told me a story about his parents paying their tithing.
When my father was growing up in Utah, his family was poor. His shoes were so worn out that the soles had holes in them and were barely attached to his shoes.
One day his father gave him an envelope full of money and said, “Take this to the bishop. This represents our tithing to the Lord.”
So my father started walking through the fields to the bishop’s house. It was winter, and there was snow on the ground. As my father walked, his feet were very cold. He felt the money in his hand and thought how much he could use a new pair of shoes.
But my father kept walking, and he thought to himself, “I guess this has to be a very important thing, so important that my father would take this money and give it to the bishop even when we need it so badly.”
Walking through the snow that day, my father realized the importance of tithing. He came to understand that tithing is more a matter of faith than of money.

In October 1981, at the first general conference after his call to the First Presidency, President Hinckley looked back on his service as a General Authority under “four great and inspired men [who] have presided over the Church—David O. McKay, Joseph Fielding Smith, Harold B. Lee, and Spencer W. Kimball” (“Faith: The Essence of True Religion,” Ensign, November 1981, 5). He reflected on some of the challenges, progress, and growth that had come to the Church during that time, voicing gratitude “for the great development of the work of the Lord.” And then he added, “Whether this assignment be lengthy or brief, I pledge my best effort, given with love and faith” (Ensign, November 1981, 6).

1 Tomorrow would be Father’s Day, and Jimmy, Henry, and Bob were busy making cards for Dad. Jimmy was trying to think of something special he could do for Dad.
“How do you like my card?” Henry asked as he held up a piece of paper with a picture of a boy and a lawn mower drawn on the outside. On the inside Henry had printed:
Happy Father’s Day!I will mow the lawn.Love, Henry
2 “I like it,” Jimmy said. He wished he were as old as Henry so he could draw nice pictures and use the lawn mower.
“Look at my card!” cried Bob. His card had a picture of a shiny car pasted on the outside. Inside he had printed:
Happy Father’s Day!I will wash and shine the car.Love, Bob
3 “That’s nice,” Jimmy said. Bob was ten, and he was big enough to do lots of things.
Jimmy used a yellow crayon to color a sun in the blue sky on the outside of his card. “I wish I could think of something to do for Dad too,” he said as he bent over his card.
4 “Maybe you could bring in the paper every afternoon,” Henry said.
“I do that all the time anyway,” Jimmy replied. “I want to do something special.”
5 “You could try to find the nozzle for the water hose,” Henry suggested. “When Dad was washing the car this morning, he couldn’t find it.”
6 Henry and Bob picked up their cards and crayons and left Jimmy all alone.
Jimmy tucked his card inside his shirt pocket and put away his crayons. Then he began to try to find the lost nozzle for Dad.
7 He went out to the garage and looked on all the shelves, in the corners, and even inside Mother’s watering can. He looked inside Dad’s tool box and behind his own toy box. But he couldn’t find the nozzle anywhere.
8 Jimmy looked again at his toy box. Maybe I should straighten it up a bit, he thought. So he carefully took all of his toys out of the box and put them on the floor. Then one by one he replaced them—all except an old pair of cowboy boots with the toes worn out. As he picked the boots up, something fell on the floor with a clatter.
What a surprise! There on the floor lay the lost nozzle.
9 The next morning Henry and Bob gave Dad their Father’s Day cards, and Dad was very happy.
Then Jimmy handed Dad the hose nozzle and his card. On the inside of the card, Henry had helped him write:
I will help find things!Love, Jimmy
10 Dad laughed and put his arm around Jimmy’s shoulders. “I have one boy to help me keep the lawn mowed,” he said. “I have another boy to help me keep the car shined. And I also have a boy who finds things for me. This is a happy Father’s Day.”
Jimmy was happy too. Finding things is a very special kind of gift, he decided.

In December 2005 some relatives who are members of the Church visited my wife and me in Colombia. Before they returned home, my uncle gave me two wonderful gifts—a triple combination and some old issues of the Liahona.
I began to read the November 2004 issue, which contained the talks from October conference. I read “Condition of the Church,” by President Gordon B. Hinckley, and “Prophets, Seers, and Revelators,” by Elder Jeffrey R. Holland. The testimonies of these great men led me to begin reading the Book of Mormon and the Bible.
The result was the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to us. My wife and I made the best decision we have ever made—we were baptized members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Edgar Henry Muñoz Porras, Colombia

This work has helped me stand in holy places, stay active in the Church, and accept the calling to serve the Lord on a mission.
I have a testimony that the work of salvation done by this Church on both sides of the veil is true and inspired by our Heavenly Father. Before my mission, I had the opportunity to do baptisms for my ancestors, and now as a missionary I have the opportunity to baptize people who are alive and want to change their lives forever.

Passionate prayer challenged darkness that morn.
I gazed in disbelief.
A sunburst lit the forest—
A warmth only Father’s arms could provide.
God and man were one.

Serving God is a choice, says Elder Stanley Gareld Ellis, recalling his days as a student at Harvard University. “As I looked around, I saw that there was no way you can prove God exists by any scientific means. Believing in Him is a choice we have to make,” he says. “I still remember as a freshman making that choice.”

I recall an experience which I had two years ago, bearing witness to my soul of the reality of his death, of his crucifixion, and his resurrection, that I shall never forget. I bear it to you tonight, to you, young boys and girls; not with a spirit to glory over it, but with a grateful heart and with thanksgiving in my soul. I know that he lives, and I know that through him men must find their salvation, and that we cannot ignore this blessed offering that he has given us as the means of our spiritual growth to prepare us to come to him and be justified.

Away on the Fort Peck Reservation where I was doing missionary work with some of our brethren, laboring among the Indians, seeking the Lord for light to decide certain matters pertaining to our work there, and receiving a witness from him that we were doing things according to his will, I found myself one evening in the dreams of the night in that sacred building, the temple. After a season of prayer and rejoicing I was informed that I should have the privilege of entering into one of those rooms, to meet a glorious Personage, and, as I entered the door, I saw, seated on a raised platform, the most glorious Being my eyes have ever beheld or that I ever conceived existed in all the eternal worlds. As I approached to be introduced, he arose and stepped towards me with extended arms, and he smiled as he softly spoke my name. If I shall live to be a million years old, I shall never forget that smile. He took me into his arms and kissed me, pressed me to his bosom, and blessed me, until the marrow of my bones seemed to melt! When he had finished, I fell at his feet, and, as I bathed them with my tears and kisses, I saw the prints of the nails in the feet of the Redeemer of the world. The feeling that I had in the presence of him who hath all things in his hands, to have his love, his affection, and his blessing was such that if I can receive that of which I had but a foretaste, I would give all that I am, all that I ever hope to be, to feel what I then felt!

During the days of Joseph Smith, there were some who were pretenders to apostolic authority. One such was an elder who was sent by Joseph Smith to preach the gospel. It was not long until he proclaimed himself a high priest and that he had been ordained by an angel from heaven. He deceived some Church members. He was called back to Ohio by the Prophet Joseph Smith and questioned about his claims. He soon confessed that he had lied and begged forgiveness. Orson Hyde, one of the Twelve Apostles, recorded the principle that the Prophet then taught all those who were assembled in the School of the Prophets:
“No true angel from God will ever come to ordain any man, because they have once been sent to establish the priesthood by ordaining me thereunto; … the priesthood being once established on earth, with power to ordain others, no heavenly messenger will ever come to interfere with that power by ordaining any more. … You may therefore know, from this time forward, that if any man comes to you professing to be ordained by an angel, he is either a liar or has been imposed upon in consequence of transgression by an angel of the devil, for this priesthood shall never be taken away from this church” (“Although Dead, Yet He Speaketh,” Millennial Star, 20 Nov. 1846, p. 139).

So Granny told it. “Once upon a time there was a very good little boy. His daddy took him in the car to see his granny. When they got to Granny’s house. Daddy stopped the car in the driveway. He smoothed Jeff’s hair and tucked Jeff’s shirttail in. ‘Be a good boy,’ Daddy said.
“Jeff climbed out of the car and waved good-bye to Daddy. Then Jeff rang Granny’s doorbell.
“When Granny opened the door, she pretended that she didn’t know him. ‘Good morning,’ Granny said. ‘Are you selling something? I don’t think I need anything today.’
“Jeff began to giggle. ‘Don’t you need a good little boy?’
“Granny made her face look surprised. ‘How did you know? That’s the only thing that I need.’
“Jeff laughed out loud. ‘I’m just what you need!’ he said.”

Let me cite an instance: A young [man] was invited to a wedding in a foreign country, at which two of his acquaintances were joined together in the bonds of matrimony, the ceremony being performed by a minister of another church. This young man was the only Latter-day Saint present among the 100 or more guests at the table in the hotel. By each plate was a wine cup, filled to the brim, and also a glass of water.
After the ceremony, as the guests were all in their places, the minister arose and said, “Now I propose that the company drink the health of the newly married couple.” They all arose. Politeness suggested that he take the wine cup. He was a missionary; he belonged to the Church that preaches the Word of Wisdom, revealed directly from God to the Prophet Joseph. Science since then has proved it to be indeed a word of wisdom. He was preaching that, and he was living it. Yet here was a time when he could indulge, no one would know. But he resisted. Now was the time to defend his Church, and that is what he did.
He took the glass of water, and some of his friends by him, dropping their wine cups, followed his example, and at least half a dozen wine glasses remained untouched. Others saw it, and the circumstance gave an excellent opportunity to talk with these guests about the Word of Wisdom.
Was he humiliated? No, he was strengthened. Were the guests embarrassed? No. Did they feel to condemn him? No. Condemnation was replaced by admiration, as it always is in the hearts of intelligent and God-fearing men and women. …

Gradually I discovered that the gospel was what I needed and wanted for my family. I gained a strong testimony, went through a very painful period of repentance, and dedicated my life to the Lord. In 1956 I received my patriarchal blessing and in it the comforting assurance: “If you are faithful and prayerful the Lord shall go before you and by his messenger shall prepare the way that in due time the righteous desire of your heart, and the prayer of your life, shall be answered, and all shall be well.”
What happiness I now knew! Yet it was not without its sadness, because my dear husband would have none of it. I was stubborn and I tried to force the gospel on him. I wanted him to understand and accept this wonderful thing that I had found. With me pushing and pulling, we came close to divorce in 1958.
This crisis completely humbled me and I spent a great deal of time in prayer, putting the matter in my Heavenly Father’s hands. I knew that there must be no more pushing and pulling, no more making my husband feel guilty that he did not attend church with us. And I began trying to make a truly happy home for him. I resolved to be an exemplary and loving wife in every way and leave him his free agency. Norman, being an honorable man, held to his agreement to let me raise the boys in the Church. This was admirable, because his deep prejudice had been there since childhood. My boys and I accepted every call to serve in the Church, and we always returned home with happy smiles and love for dad. We prayed for him, fasted for him, but above all, we loved him. He was always the head of the family.
I felt I must know the gospel well in order to answer any questions Norman might ask, so for fourteen years I studied diligently—and the more I learned, the more important the gospel became. I spoke of it to him only when moved by the Spirit, and many times I received definite promptings as to what to say and when to say it. To talk about these fourteen years in just a few sentences is not really enough. There were many setbacks and much heartache, but the boys and I never ceased to live the gospel.

The teaching of Mary Bommeli touched more than those women around the loom and the judge. My father, her grandson, talked to me during the nights as he approached death. He spoke of joyous reunions that were coming soon in the spirit world. I could almost see the bright sunlight and the smiles in that place of paradise as he talked about it with such assurance.

At one point, I asked him if he had some repenting to do. He smiled. He chuckled softly as he said, “No, Hal, I’ve been repenting as I went along.” The doctrine of paradise that Mary Bommeli taught those women was real to her grandson. And even the doctrine Mary taught the judge had shaped my father’s life for good. That will not be the end of Mary Bommeli’s teaching. The record of her words will send true doctrine to generations of her family yet unborn. Because she believed that even a new convert knew enough doctrine to teach it, the minds and hearts of her descendants will be opened, and they will be strengthened in the battle.

I am an 11-year-old member of the Church. I read the Mormonad “Friends Are Easy to Talk To” in the July New Era and tried it with a friend. After two weeks our relationship was not that close anymore. I have learned from this article that if I do not communicate with my Heavenly Father, our relationship will suffer.
Loni Van WagonerBessemer, Alabama

When Elder Bednar moved away from Provo, he left with more than a degree. It was there that he met his future wife, Susan K. Robinson. She was at BYU studying to receive a degree in education, and they were in the same student ward. One Monday night their family home evening groups got together to play a game of flag football. Susan was on the receiving end of a long pass by Elder Bednar, who had been a quarterback for his high school team. He was very impressed by her catch, but he didn’t know that the pass reception was the only one she can remember ever catching (see “I’m a Teacher Who Is Now a College President,” Summit, 1997, 10). Still, there was a connection made, and the couple was sealed in the Salt Lake Temple in 1975. They now have three sons and three grandchildren.

The craze to pierce or not to pierce seems to occur and recur. I know of no pronouncement or stand that Church authorities have made in this regard. I recall with what disfavor I looked upon one of my granddaughters piercing her ears. I believe she did pierce them but then let them grow together again.

My great-grandfather, Christian Frederick Nelson Twede, was converted to the gospel and was baptized around 1850 by Elder Erastus Snow (1818–88), one of the Twelve Apostles who was serving a mission in Copenhagen, Denmark. Christian had some amazing spiritual experiences that confirmed the truth of the gospel to him. His decision to be baptized came at a high personal cost. His family disowned him, and his fiancée broke off their engagement. Despite these setbacks, he continued to believe in the gospel and emigrated to the United States to join the pioneers on their trek to Utah.