Gospel Story Finder

About 25 years ago, a good friend of mine from Logan, Utah, and I were going on a business trip to Washington, DC where he left a big impact on me.

We had just boarded a large L-1011 airplane. It holds almost 300 passengers, and it was a full flight. My wife and I were seated on one side of the plane, and my good friend and his wife were on the opposite side.

Just before we took off, with seat belts on, my friend stood up and with a loud voice said, "Bishop Watson. Hey, Bishop Watson!"

All I could think of then was, "What is my friend planning to do? Then he said, in that same loud voice, "Have we told you we love you today?"

I replied no.

Then he said, "We love you!"

If you could have seen the look on most of the passengers' faces, it was one of those priceless moments. I could see their look because they were all looking at me.

Just about the way I feel right now. I documented what I felt in my heart that day. My friend was not afraid to act upon what he felt and what he had been taught to do in his life.

“I’m making a valentine for Billy,” Jenna told her mother.
First she folded a square of cardboard in half to make a card. She glued some rice into a heart shape on the card.
Next Jenna cut a heart out of some fuzzy material. She glued it on her card too. Then she made hearts out of sandpaper, macaroni, yarn, and silk. She glued them all over her valentine card.
When Jenna was finished, she showed it to her mother. “It looks great!” Mother exclaimed.
“You have to feel it,” Jenna said. “Billy can’t see, so he’ll look at my valentine with his fingers.”
Mother touched the different hearts. “This is one valentine that feels great, too,” she said.
Jenna put on her coat and ran to Billy’s house to give him his valentine surprise.

Three Christmas trees stand out in the memory of Elder Gary B. Sabin.
The first was a beautiful Christmas tree of his youth. When Gary scaled the tree trying to reach a candy cane, the entire tree crashed to the ground.
The second was an evergreen branch he found as a missionary while serving in Belgium and the Netherlands from 1973 to 1975. Elder Sabin and his companion took the branch home to their apartment and propped it up around the Christmas cards they had received from home.
The third was a tree made of Christmas lights strung on the IV stand next to his daughter’s hospital bed. One of three Sabin children to suffer from cystic fibrosis, his daughter had received a double-lung transplant one year after the death of her brother from the same disease.
“We have learned a lot more from our children than they have learned from us,” says Elder Sabin.
As a General Authority he will remember the Christmas trees and the lessons he learned from them. Each tree highlights portions of his journey—from a young boy wanting a candy cane to a missionary teaching the plan of salvation to a father who relied on the plan and the Savior’s love to sustain his family through mortal trials.
Gary Byron Sabin was born in Provo, Utah, USA, on April 7, 1954, to Marvin E. and Sylvia W. Sabin. He married Valerie Purdy in August 1976. They are the parents of five children; a sixth child was stillborn.
After graduating from Brigham Young University in Provo, Elder Sabin earned a master’s degree in management from Stanford University.
Elder Sabin has served in numerous Church callings, including as bishop, stake president, and Area Seventy. He has worked as a founder, chairman, and CEO of several companies, including Excel Realty Trust, Price Legacy, Excel Realty Holdings, and Excel Trust.
In 1993, Elder and Sister Sabin formed Sabin Children’s Foundation, an organization dedicated to addressing the medical needs of children.

Nor do I believe that George W. Grant, C. Allen Huntington, and David Patton Kimball were simply programmed by age 18 to spend that stormswept day in early November 1856 carrying members of the Martin Handcart Company across the 100-foot-wide Sweetwater River. They and the many others who helped these poor stranded pioneers were heroes choosing to face life-threatening conditions to rescue people they had never met.

During May, I had the opportunity to run in the Utah High School State Track Championships. I ran in three events, and it was a great experience. But my state track experience did not compare to the experience I had the day before the meet.
For a few months, my ward had been planning to go to the Manti Utah Temple to perform baptisms for the dead. I was so excited to go, but then I found out it was the day before the state track meet. I wasn’t sure what I should do. I had been working all season to prepare for my events, and I thought I needed as much rest as possible before I ran. We’d definitely get home from the temple late, and I needed to be in bed earlier than that.
I asked myself, “What is more important: getting rested for state track or serving at the temple?” I knew where the Lord wanted me to be and where I wanted to be, so I was determined to be there.
At the temple, I felt the Spirit of the Lord, and it brought me great peace. I didn’t even think about running the whole time I was there. I knew I was in the right place, helping others who had gone before me. The feeling was wonderful!
The next day, my nerves were calm, and I ran the best I ever had. I knew I was blessed because of my faith in choosing to go to the temple. I have a testimony of the temple, and I know the value of the work that goes on there. This experience is one that I will treasure in my heart forever.

A little initiative on their part netted four missionaries in Albuquerque, New Mexico, more than 70 referrals in two weeks and enabled them to place 100 copies of the Book of Mormon.
This outstanding work took place during the annual New Mexico State Fair, according to Elder Randy Smith from Elk City, Oklahoma, and Elder David Dorton of Lehi, Utah.
“We printed up an invitation for people to visit our display during the fair. We said if the person would bring us the invitation, we would provide him with a copy of the Book of Mormon,” Elder Smith said. Copies of the invitation were distributed throughout their tracting area, and many people responded.
“Man’s Search for Happiness” was shown throughout the fair. Another set of missionaries and several seventies helped to man the display. “That way we could continue to teach our contacts,” Elder Smith said.
The 70 referrals received at the fair came from persons living in various parts of the state and were forwarded to the proper mission homes.

After a short time at home, my father and I (mostly my father) decided that it was time for me to pursue another chapter in my search for happiness. So I left home for the happy hunting grounds of BYU in pursuit of an education . . . okay, an eternal companion. I must mention here that at that time there was somewhere around 28,000 students in attendance there. Even with that many people around, I never felt so alone in all my life. Was this joy? I knew that the Gospel was true and I continued to follow the spirit the best I could. And I found joy in serving in serving in church.

I found a good paying job that helped me buy a brand new car! This was joy!!! So I thought! I continued to be happy, even though I had not yet found “the one”! I was so happy, in fact, that I bought a license plate holder for my new car that expressed my joy. It read “Happiness is being Single”.

The path I was traveling soon took me back home again. It was there that my license plate holder had been seen by a member of my Stake Presidency. He extended a thorough interview and after signing my temple recommend said there could only be one other piece of paper that would be more valuable and bring more joy than the one he had just signed . . . that would be the one for the living ordinance . . . meaning getting sealed in the temple. And to help me with this search for “joy”, he would set up a series of interviews over the next six months. In the first two months, I was to report to him with a list of ten young women and their finest attributes. The following two months I would narrow that list down to three, and then the last two months I would narrow the list to one . . . and he said, “You can tell her before you tell me!”

Unbeknownst to him, I had started dating a young lady that was soon to be my bride! After six weeks of intensive dating and car repairs . . . a whole other story . . . we were engaged to be married, and I had to call that counselor in the stake presidency and cancel my interviews with him. I now knew what joy was! I had fasted and prayed many days, even been to the temple, and it had been confirmed to me that she was the one I was to marry!!! I only hoped that she had experienced the same feelings!! You see, she was waiting for a missionary . . . had been for nearly 18 months . . . just the wrong missionary!!! I convinced her that she deserved the best!!! So after another long six weeks of waiting and preparation, we were sealed in the Los Angeles Temple. Truly, this was joy!!! What could possibly bring more joy than this?

There is an old Jewish tale about a soap maker who did not believe in God. One day as he was walking with a rabbi, he said, “There is something I cannot understand. We have had religion for thousands of years. But everywhere you look there is evil, corruption, dishonesty, injustice, pain, hunger, and violence. It appears that religion has not improved the world at all. So I ask you, what good is it?”
The rabbi did not answer for a time but continued walking with the soap maker. Eventually they approached a playground where children, covered in dust, were playing in the dirt.
“There is something I don’t understand,” the rabbi said. “Look at those children. We have had soap for thousands of years, and yet those children are filthy. What good is soap?”
The soap maker replied, “But rabbi, it isn’t fair to blame soap for these dirty children. Soap has to be used before it can accomplish its purpose.”
The rabbi smiled and said, “Exactly.”

The fourth lesson I would like to share with you is one I learned in Nigeria. Part of my work was an analysis of the strategies indigenous nurses used in meeting village health needs. On one occasion I went with a Nigerian nurse to do an initial family-health assessment. I did not speak Igbo and was an observer on this visit.

I can see clearly the reds of the dusty clay soil, the blues of the plastic water pitchers, the greens of the trees against a late afternoon sky. I can also feel the way the wind announced the coming of the rain that caused us to move our benches inside the small one-room home. I sat mostly in the corner with eyes like vacuums, pulling in every image: the two small cots along one wall, the faded curtain separating the parents’ sleeping area from that of the five children, the small cupboard containing all the family belongings. I can see the wedding picture of the happy, young couple who hardly resembled the worried and fatigued parents talking with my Nigerian colleague. I can hear the rain on the corrugated tin roof. My nurse colleague explained that the mother had told her they had not eaten for two days because her husband was out of work and they were out of food.

As if on cue, the oldest child came in soaked to the skin (which didn’t take much, given the thinness of his clothing), holding a rusty tray graced with two bottles of warm soda—gifts for the family’s visitors. The parents insisted I take one. I was sitting on a stool so low my knees were in my ears, and directly across from me on the cots were the children, whose eyes were glued to the bottles of soda. I tried to graciously refuse this gift because I understood the terrible sacrifice the family was making in offering it to me. However, the father insisted, telling me that though he was poor and had no work, he still had his identity as an Igbo man and that I must not take that identity away by refusing his gift. Have any of you ever tried to drink something when all you could see over the lip of the bottle were the eyes of five hungry children? Next to giving up my sins, it is probably the hardest thing I will ever have to do. I drank very little and handed the bottle to the children because I was weeping so much I could not swallow. Every part of me ached with concern for this family and thousands like them, a concern that could only be communicated through my tears because I had no other language.

As we walked away from this visit, my heart was filled with prayers and my mind was filled with possible nursing interventions for this family. My Nigerian colleague said, “Do you want to know what that woman said? She told me that she never imagined that a white woman would come to visit her in her home. Moreover, she never believed that a white woman would cry with her. She said, ‘If a white woman can cry with a black one, then maybe there is some hope for the world.’”

Shedding tears together somehow symbolized hope and understanding, the brother and sisterhood we share with all God’s children that transcends our differences.

At first I was just interested in knowing how my grandmother had managed to raise six children on very little income. I talked to her for hours, taking notes. I also asked my mother and my aunts and uncles about their memories of family events. But I didn’t know what to do with all that information until my cousin Ginny suggested that I write my grandmother’s life story.
But before I could focus my attention on our grandmother’s biography, I felt that I needed to write my mother’s. She was only fifty-one, but she was ill, and I realized that she would probably not survive another year. So I began spending more time with her, gathering information about her life. Ginny and I worked together on both histories; she documented names and dates and I wrote the stories. They were finished soon after my mother’s death.

The crowd erupts into cheers as Travis, wearing a classy suit, and Amanda, in a beautiful black dress, link arms at the archway decorated with white lights and streamers. Travis and Amanda, prom king and queen, proudly walk through and take their place on the dance floor, joining the rapidly growing circle of teens. Then another young man and young woman walk through, also joining arms. They are prom king and queen, too. In one big way, this dance is different. Everybody is prom queen and king for the evening.

I remember clearly my first experience with the sacrament. I had just been invited by the missionaries to attend church for the first time. Unfortunately I didn’t know anything about how the sacrament works or what it symbolizes, so the girls I was sitting with had to explain the whole process while it was happening.
Looking back on this experience has made me realize that it would have been helpful if I had tried to learn a little bit more about the sacrament beforehand on my own, but I was fortunate that the girls I sat with on that first day were more than willing to explain everything to me in the moment. Since then, a lot has changed in my life—including my knowledge of the gospel and the meaning of the sacrament.
There have also been many changes during the past general conferences. When President Russell M. Nelson closed the October 2019 general conference, he revealed some revisions to the questions asked in a temple recommend interview, and as he reiterated question 8, “Do you strive to keep the Sabbath day holy, both at home and at church; attend your meetings; prepare for and worthily partake of the sacrament; and live your life in harmony with the laws and commandments of the gospel?” (emphasis added).
I was struck by the word prepare.
I’ve realized that the sacrament isn’t something you prepare for just moments before the bread and water are passed. You can prepare for the sacrament throughout the week to help you feel the Spirit strongly and a sense of renewal every Sunday.
Since then, I’ve started preparing to take the sacrament throughout the week by:
Studying my scriptures through Come, Follow Me and thinking of ideas I can share with others and in the next Sunday School meeting.
Packing what I need for church on Saturday night for meetings in the morning (the joys of working the night shift!). I make sure I pack my scriptures and a notebook to take notes during sacrament meeting, and I pray to find answers during church about how I can improve myself throughout the next week.
Listening to spiritual music on Sunday morning before I attend sacrament meeting also helps me feel the Spirit and get in the right mindset.
Reading over the hymns we will sing in sacrament meeting and looking up the scriptures they refer to. This helps me fully realize the message and meaning behind the hymns and helps me ponder these things throughout the meeting.
Lastly, thinking about the reason for the sacrament before it’s passed. I remind myself that I need to always remember the “why” of the sacrament and its importance throughout the week—the Savior.
The purpose for the sacrament is to remember Jesus Christ and His atoning sacrifice for us (see Matthew 26:26–28). The sacrament also invites us to renew our baptismal covenant and to deepen our commitment to become more like Him, to remember Him, and to become better disciples. It also allows us to start the next week spiritually refreshed.
I’ve learned so much more about the sacrament since that first day at church. And I now feel so much joy every week as I walk into sacrament meeting, knowing that I am about to remember my Savior’s sacrifice for me and be more diligent in keeping my covenants. Preparing makes a positive difference in the Spirit you feel throughout the meeting. Before the sacrament was in my life, I often felt empty—like something was missing. I never knew that the missing piece of my life was an ordinance that is so simple, but so powerful at the same time. An ordinance that helps me deepen my love for the Savior and appreciate all He does for me.

I learned the significance of this early in my career. After finishing my education at Stanford Law School, I focused on working for a particular law firm. No members of the Church were associated with the firm, but its lawyers were individuals of character and ability. After a morning of interviews, the most senior partner and two other partners took me to lunch. The senior partner inquired if I would like a prelunch alcoholic drink and later if I would like wine. In both cases I declined. And the second time, I informed him that I was an active Latter-day Saint and did not drink alcoholic beverages.

I received an offer of employment from the firm, and a few months later the senior partner told me that the offer of alcoholic beverages was a test. He noted that my résumé made it clear that I had served a Latter-day Saint mission. He had determined that he would hire me only if I was true to the teachings of my own church. He considered it a significant matter of character and integrity.

“If choosing the right is supposed to bring you blessings,” I thought to myself, “then why am I sitting alone in the hall of my new junior high?”
I didn’t know many people in my new school. My music class was where I felt most comfortable because I like to sing. After weeks of being the new kid, it was nice to feel like I fit in. Today, however, was different. Mrs. Wyler (name has been changed) had brought a recording of a popular Broadway musical, one my stake president had cautioned us to avoid. Mrs. Wyler turned to the class: “Any comments before we start?” she asked.
I squirmed in my chair. Everyone was looking eagerly toward Mrs. Wyler, the disc in her hand. I thought perhaps I could sing Church songs in my head to drown out the lyrics she would play, but I knew that would be hard for me in this situation. I looked at Mrs. Wyler as my hand slowly went up in the air.
“Yes, Jill?” she said as she inserted the disc into the player. I couldn’t think of what to say. I couldn’t say that my stake president told me not to listen to this musical, because she wouldn’t know what a stake president was. I had no idea how to explain, especially in front of the entire class.
“I have religious objections to this musical,” I said, knowing it sounded lame. The class was now watching me in silence.
“Oh,” said Mrs. Wyler, glancing at the clock, “Why don’t you just take your chair and sit in the hall this period.” As the door swung shut I could hear the wave of laughter as the music began. Sitting in the hall was miserable. “So much for making friends in this school,” I thought.
A couple of weeks later in English class, my teacher passed out copies of some new poems. One student raised her hand. “I have religious objections to these poems,” she said. I glanced over at her quickly, thinking she was making fun of me, but she looked back at me and smiled a real smile.
Instead of having people think I was stupid for having standards, it became the popular thing to do. Sometimes you have to show where you stand by where you are willing to sit.

I was born in Philadelphia and lived in that general area until my middle school years. My parents divorced when I was very young and my father wasn’t able to come to visit very much. As I grew up, I became a latch key kid who would get home many hours before my mother arrived from her work as a secretary in downtown Philadelphia. I remember when it would get close to the time for her to arrive, I would stare out the window of our second-story apartment, hoping to get a glimpse of her walking home from the bus stop. You see, I was sure that something was going to happen to my mother and that I would be left with no parents at all. My fears that my mother would die were probably brought on by the culture I lived in and by what I would see on T.V. and in the movies. There are probably many children today who have similar fears and you can’t blame them.

My unreasonable fears never materialized. My wonderful mother is still very much alive. She is still very much my mother. She still gives me advice on how to properly dress. She doesn’t really like the music I listen to. She doesn’t approve of the way I part my hair. She says that a professor shouldn’t part his hair down the middle. And I tell her that many of the professors part their hair down the middle. Their parts are usually quite wide, but they still part their hair down the middle.

One man recently wrote, "I was born in...Hawaii and remember going to different churches and learning about Jesus Christ as a child. When I was a teenager, my parents separated and I chose not to go to church anymore. Around this time, I got involved with drugs, gangs, criminal activities and eventually ended up in prison....My third time back in prison I realized my actions were affecting my family...I felt like I was letting my family down, especially my sister....I decided to change who I was. I quit all my old habits....But I still felt that I wasn't whole. It wasn't until March 2008 that I found what I was missing. My fiance asked me to attend a baptism for her mother at a church called The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. At first I didn't want to go...but we got ready and went. Nothing could have prepared me for what was about to happen. During the actual baptism ceremony, I know the Spirit was present as my mother-in-law was [immersed] in the water. I can't explain what happened to me at that moment, but I know now that I felt the Holy Spirit tell me this is what I needed to do. I've never had a feeling like that before in my entire life. Ever since that day I have felt the Holy Spirit touch my heart and open my eyes. It has been only a couple of months now since [my fiance] and I were baptized, but our lives have already changed so much. I strive to do what Heavenly Father wants me to do. The blessings are pouring down on my family."

The following is a true story I share with permission, and the names have been changed. A former student at BYU shared the following experience about choosing her marriage partner:

While I was dating at BYU, the principle of honesty in my romantic relationships ultimately helped me decide whom I wanted to marry. When Sam and I were in a serious relationship, I shared with him my desire for complete transparency in my future marriage relationship. For me, transparency was very important. Sam was transparent, vulnerable, and honest about his weaknesses, even though it was hard work to be open. I knew that, through the Atonement of Jesus Christ, he was clean and worthy and could overcome his weaknesses. We dated for many more months but eventually knew it wasn’t right for us to get married at that time because of other areas in which we both needed to grow individually.

Much later I started going on dates with Jack. We both saw the potential for marriage someday. However, Jack was not willing to be transparent and vulnerable with me. I felt a renewed sense of gratitude for Sam’s willingness to be honest, even when it wasn’t easy. I desired that transparency again because I knew that being vulnerable and open ultimately could lead to a greater unity in a marriage. Through a series of small miracles, Sam and I got back together, and we both felt it was right for us to progress toward celestial marriage. A year later we chose to be sealed to each other in the temple. Now, years later, we are happily married with a family of our own and are eternally grateful for the principle of honesty.

Some of the most treasured moments in my teaching here have come during the conversations with these students after they have cheated in my classes.
During one such conversation, a student expressed his doubt that the gospel was true and told me he was considering dropping out of college. He was making a lot of money as a sales person and felt he would be just as successful without a college degree. I offered my encouragement and shared my testimony with him. Months later, I received the following message from him:
Oftentimes I think about the talk...we had in your office. Honestly, it has been [such a] treasure to me. It has literally changed my perspective towards what I really want and what is the most important thing in my life. I couldn't thank you enough for the guidance and help. I am coming back to graduate in the winter semester.
That conversation is a treasure to me as well.

I learned that through experiences on both sides of the interview table. By the time I started interviewing for a job, as a graduate student at BYU in Provo, I was at least wearing socks again. But I was still reluctant wear a suit to class. I liked dressing casually, the way everyone else did. It not only helped me fit in, it made me feel young and free. Even on an interview day I came to school in my usual jeans and tennis shoes, carrying a suit and dress shoes in a bag. Just minutes before my interview, I would go to the men’s room and put the suit on. To this day, I can’t walk into the main men’s rooms of the business or law school buildings at BYU without recalling changing in one of those stalls.

Of course, I expected that the interviewer would see only what I intended to convey: maturity and professionalism. But it felt a little funny wearing a suit. My classmates and I used the interview rooms most of the time for study groups. I had spent many long days and nights studying in those rooms. Always it was in jeans and tennis shoes. And my classmates and I spent much of our time talking about sports and TV shows instead of our homework. During those study sessions, when I was dressed casually and acting casually, it never occurred to me I might one day be in that same room with an interviewer. When that unanticipated day came, I felt very unnatural trying to present an entirely different persona. I nervously hoped that the interviewer saw only the competent professional I wanted him or her to see.

It was just one year after graduation, though, that I came back to campus and learned the truth about what an interviewer really sees. By then I was a junior consultant with a Boston-based consulting firm. I had been fortunate enough, with Heaven’s help, to convince the representatives of that firm that I was really ready to leave my jeans and tennis shoes behind. In the twelve months since then I had become quite a different person. With a fast-paced career, a family to provide for, and a significant Church calling, I had regained the focused intensity of the mission field. I was also dressing like a missionary again. Instead of only one suit, the one I had taken to school in a bag, I owned a whole wardrobe of suits. As a young consultant serving clients twice my age, I valued my suit’s signal of maturity and ability.

Of course, all of the dozen or so MBA candidates who came to interview with me dressed up. Most of them, both men and women, wore a suit. But I could tell which ones felt comfortable and which ones didn’t. Part of it was the way they wore their business attire. Some clearly felt out of place being in that familiar room in unfamiliar clothes, just as I had the year before. I found myself wondering where they had stashed the bag with their jeans and their tennis shoes.

But of course the issue wasn’t only one of clothing. The suit was just an outward manifestation that, for some, went deeper. There was a seriousness and an earnestness about a few of the candidates, a maturity that went beyond their knowledge of business school cases. They seemed to have been preparing for the interview not for a few weeks, but for years. Their outward appearance was backed up by an inner fire. I could tell that they were prepared to make the leap to professional life. Everyone who entered the room that day had been screened for top grades, and nearly all dressed appropriately. But only a few were prepared to go where they wanted to go. The others hadn’t paid the price.

This past year my two younger sisters and I traveled to Venezuela to be with our father while he had surgery there. Fortunately his surgery went well. We found ourselves together on a plane crossing the Caribbean on the way to Venezuela, just as we had done countless times during our childhood, but this time we were unsure of what we might find in Venezuela. I had not been to Venezuela for ten years. Venezuela is in the midst of an economic collapse that has resulted in the highest inflation rate in the world, shortages of food and medicine, and a mass migration out of the country. Venezuelans have settled in the United States, Colombia, Panamá, Chile, Spain, and many other corners of the world.
It was surreal to find the country of my childhood in a state of disrepair and decay and to think of the hundreds of thousands of Venezuelans who had no choice but to leave everything behind.7 I thought about my own friends and family members who are starting over somewhere new. I hope they have the same luck my father had when he came to BYU. I hope they find good Samaritans wherever they end up and that they, in turn, are good Samaritans in their new countries. I hope they encounter fellow travelers in this life who understand that we are here to love each other.