Gospel Story Finder

Wilford loved to play with his two brothers, Thompson and Azmon. They spent many happy hours playing in the barn or outside in the fields.
One Saturday evening the boys were sitting around the house with nothing to do. Thompson suggested that they explore the attic.
The boys’ father had told them not to play in the attic. It was dark and dangerous. Wilford hesitated because he didn’t want to disobey his father. But the mystery of the attic attracted him, and he agreed to join in the adventure.
The boys raced up the stairs, eager to see what treasures they would find in the forbidden room.
Just before Wilford got to the top stair, he tripped and fell all the way to the bottom of the stairs.
Wilford felt a horrible pain in his arm, and he knew that he had broken it. It took a long time for his arm to heal, and Wilford learned how important it was to be obedient.
From then on, not only did Wilford obey his parents, but he also obeyed the Lord. And many years later, Wilford Woodruff became the fourth President of the Church.

A dear friend of mine, as a young graduate student, moved with his family to a large American city to continue his education. He was immediately called to preside over the elders quorum. A little nervous about his first interview with the stake president, he was determined to go prepared. He told the stake president that he had three goals for the upcoming year: (1) 90 percent ministering, (2) a substantive gospel lesson each week, and (3) a well-planned quorum activity every month.

Smiling at my friend, this wise stake president asked, “Can you name a less-active quorum member who you could help get to the temple with his family this year?” That caught my friend by surprise. He thought carefully and came up with a name. “Write that down,” directed the stake president. Then this experienced leader asked the same question three more times—and the interview was over. This young man walked out of that interview having learned one of his greatest lessons on leadership and ministering. He went into the interview with programs, lessons, and activities. He walked out with names! Those four names subsequently became a major focus of his ministry and that of his quorum.

Habits are hard to break, but one must first recognize the bad habit. A friend is the best help, next to oneself, in alleviating such a problem. Once you have gotten a person to recognize his problem, promise to help him overcome it. While in navy bootcamp I had this habit myself. Here is my solution: I asked a friend to catch me every time I said something wrong and correct me. I soon caught myself, and with a little extra effort, I overcame the problem. It took some effort though.
Frederick M. Beall, U.S.N.N.A.S. Imperial Beach, California

“But the teacher I remember best was Sister Call. She was just a jewel. I remember how impressed I was that she was willing to go on hikes with the Trail Builders. She’d plan scavenger hunts but they were not just the regular kind. Each one would have a connection with some part of the lesson. As we would find each thing, it would teach us another part of the lesson. Then there was always a nice reward—some special treat at the end. I can’t believe the creative ways she used to keep our attention as young boys.
“Sister Call is a person who keeps on giving. Recently I received a phone call from her son. He wanted to bring a gift Sister Call had just completed for me. He brought to my office a beautiful quilt she had made. Thousands of careful stitches prepared in a beautiful pattern. She is ninety-one years young. I could not hold back a tear as I thought of the kindness of this great teacher.”

I remember one particular day when my commitment to those principles was put to the test. I was 14 years old; I loved to swim and dreamed of swimming in the Olympics. I did not compete on Sundays, but still I progressed. Finally, as the Olympics in Mexico City were approaching, a coach invited me to participate in special training.
The training, however, was every Sunday morning during Sunday School. I rationalized that I could go to practice and miss Sunday School because I would be back at church in time for the evening sacrament meeting. I saved for the bus fare and planned everything. The Saturday before the first training, I told my mother of my plan.
I saw the sadness and disappointment in her eyes, but her only reply was that the decision was mine and I had been taught what was right. That night I could not get the words to “Choose the Right” (Hymns, no. 239) out of my mind. The words sounded in my head like a broken record.
On Sunday morning, I had my swim bag in one hand and my music bag in the other, hoping to lead my mother to believe I was going to church. I went outside to the bus stop. It so happened that the bus stop going to the swimming hall was on my side of the street and the one going to the chapel was on the opposite side. While I waited, I became irritated. My ears were ringing with the music of “Have I Done Any Good?” (Hymns, no. 223)—the hymn planned for Sunday School that day. I knew from experience that, with the difficult rhythm, complicated lyrics, and high notes, this hymn would become a disaster without strong accompaniment.
As I was deliberating, both buses approached. The bus to the swimming hall stopped for me, and the driver of the bus to the church stopped and looked at me, puzzled because he knew I always took his bus. We all stared at each other for a few seconds. What was I waiting for? I had chosen the Lord (see “Who’s on the Lord’s Side?” Hymns, no. 260). I had promised to go where He wanted me to go (see “I’ll Go Where You Want Me to Go,” Hymns, no. 270). My decision to keep the commandments had been made long before (see “Keep the Commandments,” Hymns, no. 303).
Before my brain caught up with my heart, my body took over. I made a mad dash across the street and waved the other bus driver on. I paid the fare and went to the back of the bus headed to the church, watching my swimming dreams drive in the opposite direction.
Everyone thought I cried that day because I felt the Spirit. But really I cried because my childhood dream had just come crashing down and because I was ashamed that I had even entertained the idea of swimming on the Sabbath. But that Sunday, like those before and after, I fulfilled my calling.

After Paulo came up out of the baptismal font, he and Dad got dressed in dry clothes. Then Dad and Grandpa and the bishop laid their hands on his head and confirmed him. Now he was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
“I feel so great,” Paulo said. He touched his heart. “In here.”
Mom hugged him tight. “That’s because you received the gift of the Holy Ghost when you were confirmed.”
Paulo nodded. He didn’t want to do anything to make that great feeling go away. He wanted to always follow Jesus.
But the very next day, his little brother Carlo broke Paulo’s toy plane. Paulo had saved up for months to buy it!
“Look what you did!” Paulo yelled. “Why can’t you leave my stuff alone?”
“I’m sorry,” Carlo said. Tears rolled down his cheeks. “Maybe we can fix it.”
“It won’t be the same!”
Carlo ran out of the room crying.
Paulo sighed. He wished he hadn’t gotten so mad. Hadn’t he promised when he was baptized that he would always follow Jesus? He knew Jesus would have been kind.
“I promised I would try to be like Jesus,” he told Mom, his voice shaking. “But I’ve already messed up! How do I get back that good feeling from my baptism?”
Mom hugged him tight. “We all mess up. But Jesus gave us a way to have the Holy Ghost with us again after we do something wrong.”
Paulo could guess what she was going to say. “You mean repentance, right? I have to ask for forgiveness.”
Mom nodded. “And when you take the sacrament, you’ll renew the promise you made to follow Jesus. Then you’ll be just as clean as you were right after you were baptized and confirmed.”
Paulo went to find Carlo. “I’m sorry I yelled at you,” he said. “Let’s fix the plane together.”
Carlo smiled, and Paulo felt like he had done what Jesus would do. When he said his prayer that night, he asked Heavenly Father to forgive him and to help him be nicer to Carlo. A warm feeling filled his heart.
That Sunday at church, Paulo paid extra attention to the sacrament prayers. He listened carefully to the words and remembered how he’d repented that week. As he took the bread and water, he felt Heavenly Father’s love for him. And it was such a great feeling!

I lived with my father and family that winter and even attended school. Because of the love they showed me, the prejudices and the hate for Mormons I had grown up with began to fade. Late in the winter my father asked me if I’d thought about being baptized. I told him I didn’t know. He said I could do what I wanted, but that if I believed in the gospel he would like to see me baptized.

He told me that before he had left my mother and Aunt Emily, he had given my brother Isaac and me a blessing. While his hands were on my head he prophesied I would come to the valley of the mountains and afterwards return with my brother. He told me he wanted me to go back in the spring and get my brother Isaac.

Nothing more was said on the subject of baptism for several months, and then I was asked again if I had thought about it. I had felt the healing warmth of the gospel and of members of the Church. I knew it was right. I told my father I wanted to be baptized.

We went up to City Creek. The water was cold, iced over, but I didn’t notice it much. After the baptism my father confirmed me and set me apart for the mission of bringing my brother back.

When I arrived at my old home in May of 1863, my grandparents, brother, and friends were happy to see me. A few days after my arrival, my grandmother and most of the family went to visit some friends for the day. My grandfather was ill and couldn’t go with them. He asked me to stay with him while they were away.

When we were alone he started to ask me questions about my trip to Utah. He asked me if I’d seen my father. I told him I had. He said he was glad I’d seen him. He asked me if I’d been baptized, and I told him I had. To my surprise he also said he was glad for that.

“I have suffered you to be prejudiced towards the Mormons and your father.” He closed his eyes while he talked. “And now I feel it is my duty to remove that prejudice.

“I knew Heber C. Kimball was your father, and I knew he was a good man; but I didn’t want you to know it. I wanted you and Isaac to be the means for my support while I lived. It’s a hard thing to be old and sick. You’ve been to your father now. That’s the way it should be. I’ve been wrong.

“I know Joseph Smith was a prophet of God, and I know Brigham Young is his legal successor. I always did know it. The trouble with me was that I wanted to lead and could not be led. I’ve run my race and sealed my doom. I know what I’ve got to meet.”

My grandfather closed his eyes again and cleared his throat.

“I want you to go back to your father and take Isaac. I know that’s right. I want you to remain steadfast to the gospel, to Mormonism. Never, never yield that point; it will save and exhalt you in the kingdom of God.”

My grandfather wept like a child then.

After hearing the truth about our father, Isaac was willing to go back to Utah with me. We left just a few days after the talk I’d had with my grandfather. When we arrived in Salt Lake City, our father was very happy to see us. He welcomed us into his home, and we contentedly settled down there, feeling more loved and more at home than we had ever felt in our lives.

However, because of our conversion, my father changed and gave up his bad habits. He quit drinking, smoking, and leaving his family hungry on weekends. I was so happy and wanted to tell my father that I loved him, but I was afraid to. I also wished my father would express his love for me. I never heard him say how he felt about me as I was growing up.
Then I was called to serve in the Micronesia Guam Mission. While I was in the mission field, I received a letter from my father. He said, “Son, you have made me a very happy man serving on your mission.” At the end of the letter, he wrote, “Son, I love you. Keep up the good work of the Lord.”
My eyes filled with tears of joy. It was the first time he had ever said those words to me. I replied to my father’s letter and returned a gift to him. I said, “Dad, I love you too!”

I think of a young man whose mother died when he was twelve and whose father responded to that loss by locking his son in his room, then drinking alcohol and entertaining women in the house. When he would come to let the boy out, he would beat him senseless, sometimes breaking bones and causing concussions.

As might be expected, the young man grew up full of confusion, self-hate, and resentment. Yet the Lord did not leave him so, but provided friends and opportunities for growth. Today, through a series of spiritually healing miracles, this young man is preparing for a temple marriage to a good woman. Together they are committed to bringing children up in righteousness and gentleness and love.

At the end of January 1831, Joseph and Emma Smith traveled to Kirtland, Ohio, in a horse-drawn sleigh. It was very cold, and Emma was expecting a baby. They arrived safely in front of Newel K. Whitney’s store in Kirtland the first part of February. As they stopped, the prophet sprang from the sleigh, entered the store, and approached Brother Whitney, whom he had never met before. “Newel K. Whitney!” he declared, extending his hand to shake. “Thou art the man.”

“You have the advantage of me,” replied Brother Whitney. “I could not call you by name as you have me.”

“I am Joseph the Prophet. You prayed me here, now what do you want of me?” Joseph then explained that while he was still in New York he had seen Brother Whitney in a vision, praying for him to come to Kirtland. With great joy the Whitneys made room in their home for the Smiths until they could find another place to live.**

Our next project began when our oldest son started mowing lawns the year before his mission. We bought a 1962 truck that ran most of the time, and some lawn-care equipment. That first year he did most of the work himself and occasionally took a younger brother with him. The next year dad decided to get involved, since none of the younger boys had drivers’ licenses. We advertised, gave bids, received referrals, and increased the number of our customers. Then came the day when dad mowed his first lawn. First the edger didn’t start, so he traveled across town to find out what to do. When he returned, one mower had broken down so he went back across town again to find out what to do. After several hours on that job, the second oldest boy looked at his dad and asked, “And is this what we are going to do all summer?”
We stuck with it and are now completing our fourth year. We have learned to keep our sense of humor through broken sprinklers, a flooded basement, unexpected rain, a burned-out truck engine, broken equipment, dad pulling up someone’s prized miniature tree, and the front wheel coming loose off the truck in busy traffic. And then there are those days when every piece of equipment is working, the truck is running, the sun is shining, we are on schedule, and someone forgets to fasten the tailgate of the truck. One by one our equipment slides out as we travel to the next customer.

Sister Groberg remembers with deep appreciation the closeness among the youth of her age in their ward. She gives thanks, in part, to the quiet, powerful influence of a humble, dedicated Sunday School teacher whose life and example made a lasting impression. She explained: “Brother Richard Maxwell was our teacher. He was self-educated,” she recalled. “He never knew his real name, his parents, or any of his ancestors: He had been raised in an orphanage. Someway in his wandering through life, he found the true church. He had such a beautiful testimony that the gospel was what life was all about, and he had a wonderful, understanding way with young people. He loved us,” she declared, then continued with warmth in her voice: “He was able to teach and reach us in his own humble way.”
When Brother Maxwell died of a heart attack, Jean, along with the other youth in the North Hollywood Ward still in their teens, felt so grateful for his life and his love and influence in their lives that they felt they had lost a dear friend. Sister Groberg remembered that her sister, Marilyn, was invited to speak at his funeral. “She went around to all his students to get their feelings for this humble, great man who had become such a friend to each of us. Our feeling for Brother Maxwell,” Sister Groberg said, “was a very special thing.”
These grateful students felt a strong desire to somehow express their appreciation for their friend and teacher. “It took some time after he died to collect the money,” she recalled. “Several months, I believe. We sponsored many projects. We took a little box to all our firesides and finally collected the money we needed. We wanted to buy a redwood tree. We all agreed that a redwood tree, when it grew up, would appropriately symbolize Brother Maxwell’s great strength and stature.” The youth were united in this special project. Someone was responsible for having a plaque made to place at the base of the tree, and others arranged for a fitting program. On the appointed date the members of Brother Maxwell’s Sunday School class gathered together for this special memorial service. Together they planted the tree, which they knew would become in time a mighty redwood. This living tribute stands today tall and stately by the side of the chapel and a beautiful bronze plaque at its base reads, “In memory of Richard Maxwell, our beloved teacher whose example was like the redwood, tall and masterly.”

My grandparents weren’t members of the Church. After they passed away, my family was able to serve as proxies for their baptism and temple ordinances. It’s amazing to know that even though those loved ones we had here on earth are gone, we can still be with them in the next life. Before entering the baptismal font when I was a proxy for my grandma, I was overwhelmed by the Spirit, and I knew that what I was doing was right—not just for me, but also for my grandma. After the baptisms for them, my parents and I felt the Spirit much stronger, knowing that our ancestors can be with us in the next life. I miss my grandparents, but I know that we can all be together one day in the presence of God.

The 1890s were not easy years to be a missionary in England. Some people there were telling false stories about the Mormons and stirring up trouble for the missionaries.
One night Sister Knight was out teaching a family with her new companion, Sister Chipman. A group of rowdies saw them and stirred up so much trouble with the neighbors by telling lies about the Mormons that a mob followed the sisters through the streets, calling them names and throwing rocks at windows and trash at the young ladies. Elder Ray Knight had been sent to walk them home, but the situation became so dangerous that three policemen had to escort the missionaries to the police station for their safety. Even though they were bruised and soiled with garbage, the sisters were not ready to give up. Instead, while they waited inside the police station for the crowd to go away, they discussed the gospel with the policemen. Later the chief of police helped the missionaries slip out the back door so that they could walk home safely.

Two boys in the Olathe Second Ward, Olathe Kansas Stake, recently completed unusual projects in order to earn their Eagle Scout Awards.
After visiting the Haun’s Mill Massacre Site in Caldwell County, Missouri, David Shumway wanted to do something to honor and remember the 17 Church members who were killed there in 1838. He hung signs so that visitors could find the site, and he organized the Scouts in his ward in beautifying the area around the historical marker.

I recently learned about the experiences of a man in Zimbabwe named Sabbath Sibanda Maturure. Born in Shurugwe in what he describes as “an ordinary African hut,” he was the seventh of eleven children. Like three of his sisters, he was crippled from birth. At an early age he blamed God for his handicap and refused to attend the Christian church to which his parents were devoted.
When he was seven, he and his sisters were sent far away from home to attend a school for the disabled. Lonely for his mother, whom he could visit only once a year, he became even more bitter. “Life was terrible,” he remembers. “There was just no hope.”
His bitterness grew when his only two friends—his mother and another handicapped child at the school—died. “There really wasn’t anything left for me—not one ray of hope anywhere. Life was completely without meaning. God was totally unfair and not worthy of my worship or respect.”
But after he was befriended by some Christians who urged him to read the Bible, his heart began to soften. As the years passed, he found work, was married, and had two daughters.
In July 1985 a man who “looked honest, humble, and loving” came to his home and introduced himself as Elder Boyd Lake. Elder and Sister Lake, a missionary couple from Oakley, Utah, had met Sabbath’s wife, Susan, at work, and she had asked them to visit her husband. “Anything that is about Christ makes our lives more sweet,” says Sabbath, “so I welcomed Elder and Sister Lake to our home.” Their message sounded so good that the Maturures invited the Lakes to meet all of their friends at the handicapped center where they worked. And Sabbath and Susan began studying the Book of Mormon.
After several visits from the missionaries, Sabbath became ill. But a priesthood blessing helped to restore his health. He was impressed by the power of the priesthood and the teachings about home evening, fast offering, tithing, and chastity. “I also learned about the eternal family, whereby if we believe and are worthy, we can be married in the temple and be sealed forever as husband and wife and family.”
On 2 August 1986, Sabbath was baptized by the branch president, and Elder Lake baptized Susan and one of their daughters. “What joy we received in our home to be in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints—a church that the Lord himself restored!” says Sabbath. Three weeks later, a third daughter, Helen Happiness, was born. (The baby was named in honor of Sister Lake, whose first name is Helen.)
For the Maturure family, Elder and Sister Lake were instruments in the hands of the Lord in working a mighty miracle. How could the Lakes have guessed before they left their home in Utah that they would have such a rich experience in faraway Zimbabwe?

Sandra, a BYU Relief Society president, told the following story. “I got up one morning and went out to my car. The tire was flat. Luckily it was Saturday and I didn’t have to be anywhere right away, so I called my home teacher and asked him if he could come over and fix it for me. He said sure, and a while later, there he was at my doorstep. I walked out to the parking lot with him, all set to give him moral support and compliments on his chivalry in coming to my rescue. Was I surprised when, upon arriving at my car, he handed me the jack and said, ‘Okay, Sandra, this is your car. You had better learn how to change a tire.’ At the time I wasn’t so sure I agreed with his reasoning, but I did change the tire! And I’m kind of glad now that I know how.”

Photograph courtesy of Katie B.
One day my family visited a barn to play with some baby goats. When we arrived, we found out there was a newborn goat whose mother could not take care of it. The owner of the goats needed someone to nurse the baby goat back to health. I jumped at the opportunity, and we decided it would be my Knowledge value project for Personal Progress (see PersonalProgress.lds.org).
When we picked up the goat the next day, we learned that triplets had been born the night before and were very weak. I volunteered to care for one of them. So there I was with a Personal Progress booklet, two baby goats, goat-milk formula, and little experience.
First I did my research. I found out that baby goats love to climb, run, and snuggle in dark corners. They need to be fed every four to six hours, and you have to teach them how to drink from a bottle. Next, I laid down blankets and bedding in a pen and set up a box for the goats to sleep in. I also set up a ramp and stand for them to play on. Throughout the project, every night I woke up in the middle of the night to feed them, I cleaned a lot, and I struggled to feed the animals with a bottle, but overall I had lots of fun.
This Personal Progress project increased my knowledge and helped me grow. I learned many new skills, such as being patient, keeping a schedule, caring for an animal, converting measurements, and keeping a journal. I love Personal Progress.

A simple act of caring helped Judy* learn from a difficult experience. “It was probably the bleakest time in my life,” she recalls. “My divorce had been long and bitter, and I missed being with my four children. For six months I had been working with Dr. Susan Nelson,* a therapist who helped me recognize that I was partially responsible for what had happened. For the first time, I had to confront my personal weaknesses that, until then, I had denied. It all seemed so overwhelming to me.
“One afternoon in Dr. Nelson’s office, as I was speaking of everything precious I had lost, I looked up to see tears slipping down her cheeks. It surprised me. ‘If a paid therapist can care so much about me,’ I thought, ‘why can’t I care that much about myself?’ Tears began to roll down my face for the first time in years. It was the turning point. In her loving and caring way, Dr. Nelson reminded me that I am a child of God. I could then value myself enough to let go of the past and move on with my life.”

President Brigham Young first became aware of the perilous situation of these companies on October 4, 1856. The next day he stood before the Saints in Salt Lake City and said, “Many of our brethren and sisters are on the plains, … and they must be brought here; we must send assistance to them … before the winter sets in.”
He asked the bishops to provide 60 mule teams, 12 or more wagons, and 12 tons (10,886 kg) of flour and proclaimed, “Go and bring in those people now on the plains.”
The combined number of pioneers in the Willie and Martin handcart companies was approximately 1,100. Some 200 of these precious Saints died along the trail. Without the timely rescue, many more would have perished.
The winter storms began nearly two weeks after the first rescuers left Salt Lake City. The accounts of members of the Willie and Martin companies describe devastating challenges after the storms began. These accounts also depict the great joy when the rescuers arrived.
Describing the arrival scene, Mary Hurren said: “Tears streamed down the cheeks of the men, and the children danced for joy. As soon as the people could control their feelings, they all knelt down in the snow and gave thanks to God.”