Gospel Story Finder

If ye had but the faith of a tiny—I’m trying to think of the name of that little tree. [President Hinckley says, “Mustard.”] Mustard! Thank you, President. (I keep the President around to help me.) If you had but the faith of a mustard seed. Perhaps not many of you have seen a mustard seed. A few years ago in Jerusalem we were in a car with a driver, and he said, “Oh, there’s a mustard tree.” And I said, “Let’s see it.” We got out to look at that mustard tree, and it had a little pod on it, and I was able to open the pod, which was like those on a locust tree, and see those tiny little seeds, not much larger than a grain of pepper.
Just imagine the analogy that the Savior was teaching the people. If you only had as much faith as that little tiny mustard seed—and I held it in my hand, and I could hardly see it—if you had that much faith you would say to the mountain, “Move hence,” and it would move, if you had that much faith (see Matt. 17:20). “O ye of little faith,” he told us.

Young members of several Brigham City wards have been called to rather unique service. They have been called to work as name-extraction missionaries.
Jeff Wilks, 16, of the Brigham City 20th Ward, Brigham City Utah Stake, spends at least three hours each week copying names from microfilmed records onto standardized cards. His assignment is to work with Norwegian, Swedish, and Danish names. Jeff learned to read the old-style alphabet in special training sessions.
Jeff says he realized the importance of his calling when he participated in baptisms for the dead. “When I go to the temple, I feel just wonderful because I feel I am doing both ends of the work.”
Nancy Francis, 17, of the Perry Second Ward, Willard Utah Stake, has been a name-extraction missionary for two years. She can record 100 names in a three-hour sitting, and she believes the Spirit is there helping her while she works.
All of the young name-extraction missionaries have felt the Spirit while they work, because they are doing the Lord’s work. They not only feel they are helping those who have died, but they feel they are helping themselves as well.
“If I were to die right now, I would meet hundreds of people who are terribly joyful at what we have done for them,” says Jeff. “But even if it had just been one name, it would be worth it.”

1 Joseph and Emma Smith lived in Pennsylvania on a small farm. They loved each other and worked hard, but they were poor and had many troubles.
2 They wanted very much to have children. A son was born, but he soon died. Later Emma and Joseph had more children.

In Italy there is a majestic sculpture of Moses with a crack on one of the knees. A tour guide may say that Michelangelo, viewing the masterpiece, hurled a chisel at the sculpture and exclaimed in disdain, “Why doesn’t it speak?”

While President David O. McKay served as prophet, seer, and revelator of the Church, he traveled over a million miles throughout the world. He enjoyed meeting with Saints in other countries, and he made friends for the Church among many government leaders.
On one trip in 1952, President McKay and his wife, Emma, were invited to visit with Queen Juliana of the Netherlands in the Soestdijk Palace. During that visit, the McKays showed how they were able to make friends without sacrificing their religious beliefs.
The queen had scheduled half an hour for the visit with President and Sister McKay. The President carefully watched the time. When the half hour was up, he politely thanked the queen and began to leave. “Mr. McKay,” she said, “sit down! I have enjoyed this thirty minutes more than I have enjoyed any thirty minutes in a long time. I just wish you would extend your visit a little longer.”
After more persuasion from her, he sat down again. At that point, a coffee table was wheeled in, and the queen poured three cups of tea, pushing one each to President and Sister McKay. When neither of the McKays began to stir their tea, the queen asked, “Won’t you have a little tea with the queen?”
President McKay politely explained that Latter-day Saints did not believe in drinking stimulants and that they believed tea to be a stimulant.
The queen was very surprised! “I am the queen of the Netherlands,” she said. “Do you mean to tell me you won’t have a little drink of tea, even with the queen of the Netherlands?”
To this, President McKay politely asked, “Would the queen of the Netherlands ask the leader of one million, three hundred thousand people* to do something that he teaches his people not to do?”
The queen smiled and sat back in her chair. “You are a great man, President McKay,” she told him. “I wouldn’t ask you to do that.”

That had been a painful experience. But I got a grasp on myself, thought over what my father had said, and decided that one thing he had said was right. Religion should not be just a two-day spree, but a life-long adventure! I began attending seminary and studying the Old Testament in earnest. Fun lessons helped me gain insight into a subject new to me, and my knowledge of the gospel became fuller. However, I could not buy the home study manuals because that year was also the year for high school entrance exams, and my parents wanted me to spend time on school work, not religious homework.
I was overjoyed when the students in the class gave the manuals to me as a present! What could I give them in return? The best thing was to study those manuals hard. Even though my progress was slower than others, I was able to finish the manuals and turn them in to the teacher.

In his ward Dale met a young woman named Ruth. She was the daughter of a member of the stake presidency, Merlin R. Lybbert, who later served in the Seventy. Dale’s recollection is that he mustered the courage to ask Ruth out on a date, but she said no. When he tried again a few months later, she said yes. Ruth’s version is a little different. She remembers that when he spoke in sacrament meeting about his mission, she was impressed. They got better acquainted, and she was thrilled when he asked her to go on a date, but she was hosting a party that required her to decline. She was pleased to accept when he asked again.

A caravan is like a camper or RV.
One Easter holiday I went to Scotland with my mum, my two sisters, and my grandparents. We stayed in a caravan just a few metres away from a large field with trees and some friendly horses. Every day my sisters and I would go and feed the horses. It was fun. Mum didn’t mind because she could see us and knew we were safe.
One day, though, I went on my own to the play area, which was quite far from our caravan. Mum had told me to never go there on my own, but I went anyway.
When I finished playing, I started back towards the caravan, but I didn’t know which way to go. All the caravans looked the same. I walked all over the place but could not find my way; every way seemed to be a dead end with bushes. What I did not know was that my mum and granddad were looking all over for me and getting worried.
After a while I was very frightened, so I thought to myself, I should pray to my Heavenly Father. After I finished my prayer, I knew I had to go through the bushes. I pushed through them and could see the trees up ahead and knew that was where the field and horses were. I knew I was near the caravan and ran as fast as I could. I said another prayer thanking my Heavenly Father for showing me the way back.
When I got back, my mum and granddad were still looking for me. They were so pleased to see me. They hugged me, and I told them what happened. They were cross because I had gone away but very happy I had prayed when I was lost and afraid.

As I was walking to the parking garage at the end of the last day of the fair, I noticed a family in the crowd in front of me talking animatedly about their experiences at our booth.
The words of President Russell M. Nelson came to my mind:
“I call upon you to help gather scattered Israel and to prepare the world for the Second Coming of the Lord. I call upon you to talk of Christ, testify of Christ, have faith in Christ, and rejoice in Christ!”
I am grateful for the many opportunities to do just that.

It’s a bright, sunny morning on June 26, 1999. The green grass at the Indiana State Capitol building is looking a little shabby. A trailer pulls up, and as 14-year-old Ryan Tripp unloads a lawn mower, it becomes obvious this is no ordinary lawn job.
There are green balloons on the lawn in the shape of a big ribbon—the symbol for organ donation—and Ryan is thronged by Indiana state officials and a large crowd. Flashing a smile, he talks from the podium about the importance of people becoming organ donors.
But Ryan didn’t see this as the end of his goal. Throughout his trip he had become increasingly concerned about the 63,500 people in America waiting for organ donors. So, even before he and his dad left Washington, D.C., they formulated a plan to further raise awareness for organ and tissue donation: they would mow every state capitol building lawn in the country, including those in Juneau, Alaska, and Honolulu, Hawaii.
Two summers later, on June 1, 1999, Ryan set out on his second mission. This time he had a lot more company—his mother, his sisters, his brother, his Grandpa and Grandma Tripp, and his Grandpa Meidlinger.
The next 72 days were a whirlwind of state capitol buildings, governors, news reporters, talk-show hosts, and families involved in organ donation. The stories they heard from the many recipients, donors, and donor-hopefuls, buoyed them up at each stop.

I have a friend who was blessed with a beautiful family and a promising career. This changed when an illness left him unable to work, which was followed by a divorce. The years since have been difficult, but his love for his children and the covenants he has made with God have sustained him. One day he learned that his former spouse had remarried and had requested a cancellation of their temple sealing. He was troubled and confused. He sought peace and understanding in the house of the Lord. The day after his visit, I received the following message from him:
““I had an amazing experience in the temple last night. I think it was obvious that I still held quite a bit of resentment. … I knew that I must change, and I have been praying all week to do so. … Last night in the temple I literally felt the Spirit remove the resentment from my heart. … It was such a relief to be freed from it. … An ominous physical burden bearing down on me has been lifted.””
While he still has his challenges, my friend treasures that experience in the house of the Lord, where the liberating power of the love of God has helped him to feel closer to God, more optimistic about life, and less anxious about his future.

Fast forward a decade. I was married and had three children when I got ahold of the family candle time binder. I could hardly contain my excitement to recreate the sacred and sweet memories of my childhood. However, the first night of candle time was a disaster. Pillow fights, scuffles over personal space, and bickering among my children resulted in the candle falling over and spilling melted wax on our carpet. This wasn’t how I remembered candle time!
My husband and I reflected on our family situation and talked about ways to help my childhood tradition become our family’s tradition. We learned that a family tradition must be realistic, unique, flexible, and viewed as an opportunity rather than an obligation. Identifying the purpose behind the practice increased our potential for peace and joy. Reframing my view of candle time and letting go of a set ideal helped me claim joy rather than guilt. I now look forward to our candle time, and my children love it as well.

They were jubilant over their success, but the next morning their cups ran over. President Spencer W. Kimball was attending the fair, and he called a special devotional for their benefit. They gathered in the coliseum as early as their dance-weary bodies allowed them. They sat on the floor, in the bleachers, and anywhere they could find a space, all straining to see the prophet. They listened. He counseled.
“Today make up your minds,” he said. “You don’t wait until next Sunday and say, shall I go to priesthood meeting? You decide today. You don’t wait until you get a call from the Brethren to go on a mission. You start to save money now; you start today. You don’t wait until marriage is facing you, and you have made your proposal and decided the date, to decide where you are going to be married. That is all present in your minds from the time you are little. … Wouldn’t it be a great loss of time if every Sunday you had to say, shall I or shall I not go to sacrament meeting today? Shall we or shall we not have home evening today? What a lot of wasted effort! Settle it once and for all. I am going to go on a mission; I am going to be worthy to go on a mission. I am going to get the degree that I desire. I am going to live the commandments of the Lord and live for the glorious light.”
“I think my greatest thrill in being here,” responded Brenda Barrus of the Coeur D’Alene Idaho Stake, “was being around President Kimball. He portrays the spirit of it all.” And Pat Ream chimed in: “I love him.”

It was Little Wind’s unusual compassion and regard for the buffalo that caused his father to give the old four-legged special consideration. A great scaffold was prepared and its body carried on a litter to the sacred burial grounds that stood on the high jagged cliffs above the village. It was the first time such a thing had been done for any but a Sioux in the history of their people.
Little Wind climbed the steep trail in the icy November wind to the top of the butte to pay final tribute to the old buffalo. He watched as the mighty beast was hoisted up onto the scaffold, covered with furs, and secured with rope. Little Wind’s mother and little sister, Night Fawn, along with a few other village women, heaped brambles at the base of the scaffold to keep away wild animals. Then Ten Days Walking and the others left Little Wind alone to express his mourning.
When the sun had made its journey across the heavens, Little Wind turned from the wind-lashed scaffold and descended the darkened mesa to the village below.

My family went to the temple 45 years ago. My parents made covenants, and then our family was sealed in the Washington D.C. Temple. I was almost 2 years old at the time, so I do not remember what happened there, but I remember many other things after. I remember watching my parents strive to live and persevere on the covenant path, making our home a piece of heaven. I watched them fulfill their Church callings and take care of their children so that we would not stray from the covenant path. I learned many of the things about being successful in my callings from my father. I watched how he ministered to the brothers, how they came to our home seeking help, and how he loved them, just as my mother did with the sisters.

Because they stayed on the covenant path and persevered, they and their family received blessings. Their three children served full-time missions, have been sealed to their families in the temple, and have seen blessings and the fruit of their efforts. Although it takes a little work, the rewards of living on the covenant path can be seen, as it happened with the inhabitants of ancient America who “taught, and did minister one to another; and they had all things common among them, every man dealing justly, one with another.”

On 28 April 1961, Elder Gordon B. Hinckley met with a small group of Church members at the Fort McKinley War Memorial Cemetery in Manila and offered a special prayer for the work. Missionaries arrived a week later. Rubé Gápiz, now a mission president, was one of the early members of the Church in the Philippines. “When President Hinckley said his prayer at the cemetery,” Rubén says, “he prayed that there may be many Filipinos who would be baptized and become leaders of the Church here. That was very prophetic. It’s happening.”

The Gadfield Elm chapel was built in 1836 by a Christian congregation called the United Brethren. Donated to the Church by the United Brethren, who joined the Church during the spring and summer of 1840, the chapel was used extensively until most of the newly baptized Saints emigrated to Nauvoo. The chapel was sold at that time to raise funds for their emigration.
Although the Gadfield Elm chapel fell into disrepair, local members purchased it in 1995 and restored it to look as it did 160 years ago, based on original drawings and descriptions. In April 2000 Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, a descendant of one of the original United Brethren leaders, rededicated the chapel. It will be used for occasional Church gatherings; those interested in Church history may also visit the site.

Let’s look at a comparison: When a bicyclist uses his legs, the bicycle moves and the rider remains balanced. But if he doesn’t use his legs and the bicycle stops moving, he loses his balance and falls over.
The same is true when we are depressed or halted in our progress by a problem. By remaining inactive, waiting for the many demands to come to an end, we begin feeling sorry for ourselves, and our perspective becomes distorted. Movement and activity, on the other hand, help us maintain balance and keep our lives productive and in proper perspective.

When I was 17, I was assigned as my father’s home teaching companion. We visited a few families in our ward and gave them a message from the bishop or read an article from a Church magazine. Home teaching was actually not so bad. Some of our families really appreciated our company.
We visited an older couple who always looked forward to our coming. They were talkative and gave us cookies when we were there.
Another of our families was actively involved at church. They were easy to home teach. The TV would be turned off, and the family always gathered around, sitting quietly while my dad and I gave our message.
Our ward was spread out over a large area of farms and small communities outside of Pocatello, Idaho. Many of the people had chosen the semi-country life to escape from the city. They liked being away from the traffic noise. Some simply wanted to get away from society. The Browns, a family newly assigned to us, fit right into that last category. As I look back, I wonder at the patience my father showed.
It was my job to set up our home teaching appointments. Brother Brown answered the phone and told me they were too busy this month and to maybe call back later if I wanted to. The same results occurred four weeks later on my second attempt. My father decided we needed a more direct approach.
The next month came, and after visiting our other families, we drove straight to the Browns’ house. A pickup truck and a car were in the driveway. Our printout showed a family of three: a father, a mother, and a 9-year-old boy. We went up to the door and knocked. No answer.
A month passed and again it was time for home teaching. Visiting our regulars went smoothly, and then it was time for our not-so-regular.
“Do they really want us to come?” I asked.
“We don’t know for sure,” was the answer from my senior companion. “They haven’t told us to go away, and we haven’t done anything they could get mad at, have we? We can’t give up so soon.”
We drove to their house. This time the cars were switched. They had to be home. There were only two drivers. We went up to the door and knocked. Silence.
“Knock again,” said my dad. I heard some noise inside the house, but the door stood still. From the corner of my eye, I saw motion. I turned to the window and, for a split second, locked eye contact with a brown-haired child, who disappeared. We left. It seemed apparent that this family did not want us around. I did not know if I wanted to be around them. I suggested to my father that we report back to the high priests group leader that this family did not want home teachers and call it good.
“Hm.” My dad was not a man of many words, but I knew well the meaning of this. We would be going back.
The next month came all too soon. It was, again, time to do our home teaching. Our visits with the regular families quickly came and went. I then found myself standing in front of the door with the two cars in the driveway. My dad motioned me, and I timidly knocked. No answer. “There, that’s that. They won’t answer, Dad. Let’s go home.” A nod from my senior companion prompted me to knock again. I reluctantly did so, keeping my thoughts to myself. Then it opened; not the door, but a window. A gruff male voice asked what we wanted. A waft of cigarette smoke followed his question. I was ready to bolt. My dad smiled. He told the voice who we were and why we were there. He explained that we wanted to get to know this family and become friends. Then he asked if we could come back next month. That was all he said, nothing more. Hesitating, the faceless voice behind the window agreed and we left.
“He knew exactly who we were,” my dad said as we drove away. “He gets new home teachers every couple of years. He just knows how to get rid of us.”
The next month was much the same—the same voice from the window, the same brief conversation, and the same hesitation to let us come again next month.
Our third month was not the same, however. The pickup was not in the driveway. We went up to the door and knocked. We both looked toward the window in anticipation. To my surprise, the door opened! That same child I had seen earlier poked his head out, glanced down the street, and then at us. “Please, come in,” he said.
A lady was standing in the front room. “Thank you for coming, we only have a few minutes,” she said. “Do you know when Cub Scouts meet?”
“We will find out for you, Sister Brown,” my dad answered.
The child was staring at me. I was in shock now that we were standing in the house and not on the porch. Had he said something? “Can you baptize me?” he repeated, with a sincere ring in his voice.
His smile was contagious, but all I could say was “What?”
“He wants to become a member of the Church like his cousins in town. He has been watching you come to the door each month. I told him you could probably baptize him.”
“Can you baptize me into the Church?” he asked a third time.
I was beginning to recover. “Yes, uh, I think so.”
My dad helped me out. “Let’s talk to the bishop,” he said. “He can tell us what you need to do to get ready. Can both of you and Brother Brown come to church on Sunday?”
That was our whole visit. Then we were gone. I contemplated the entire situation during the quiet drive home. Being a home teacher was something more than cookies and pleasant conversations. Being a home teacher could be seriously important. Why had I suggested we give up on this family? The example my father gave me was beyond my years. I was experiencing guilty exhilaration, guilt because of my murmuring and exhilaration because of the unexpected results of our visit. I glanced at my dad.
“You did good,” he said, reading my mind. “Let’s watch for them on Sunday.”
I have always cherished my memories of home teaching with my father. I can remember some of the families we taught better than others. I will never forget the Browns.
We saw the mom and the boy at church that next Sunday and many other Sundays. We saw the boy at Cub Scouts the next week and many other weeks. I’m sure some deep conversations were held at the Browns’ house, because the door always opened for us, even when Brother Brown was home. He even learned how to smile and shake hands.
Then came the baptism. I felt the smiling eyes of the city cousins looking down on the boy and me. The bishop had let them kneel by the baptismal font, which was recessed into the floor at the stake center. A deep, peaceful feeling swept over me as this wet, glowing boy and I stepped up and out. I almost felt that it was I who had been baptized. The boy’s parents were beaming. I saw Sister Brown brush a tear from her cheek. I looked up at my father; he nodded his approval.
Warmth grew inside me as I realized the wisdom of His patience, His patience for this little family and for me.

The wind is cold;
The air is damp.
We stay indoors
And light the lamp.
We build a fire,
Warm and bright,
And watch it shine
Its golden light.
We read a book
And play a game,
While we forget
November came.