Gospel Story Finder

President Faust shows how selfless service made an empty cart full and a full cart empty.
Some years ago a priests quorum decided to gather food for the needy as a service project. Jim, one of the priests, was excited to participate and was determined to collect more food than anyone else. The time arrived when the priests met at the chapel. They all went out at the same time and returned at a specified time later in the evening. To everyone’s surprise, Jim’s cart was empty. He seemed rather quiet, and some of the young men made fun of him. Seeing this and knowing that Jim had an interest in cars, the adviser said, “Come outside, Jim. I want you to look at my car. It’s giving me some trouble.”
When they got outside, the adviser asked Jim if he was upset. Jim said, “No, not really. But when I went out to collect the food, I really got a lot. My cart was full. As I was returning to the chapel, I stopped at the home of a nonmember woman who is divorced and lives within our ward boundaries. I knocked on the door and explained what we were doing, and she invited me in. She began to look for something to give me. She opened the refrigerator, and I could see there was hardly anything in it. The cupboards were bare. Finally, she found a small can of peaches.
“I could hardly believe it. There were all these little kids running around that needed to be fed, and she handed me this can of peaches. I took it and put it in my cart and went on up the street. I got about halfway up the block when I just felt warm all over and knew I needed to go back to that house. I gave her all the food.”
The adviser said, “Jim, don’t you ever forget the way you feel tonight, because that’s what it is all about.” Jim had tasted the nutrient of selfless service.

A few years ago, I was with my noble 97-year-old grandmother. As she sat curled in her wheelchair, weak and nearly blind, she talked quietly of her life. I said: “This is a wicked world. There are so many temptations and challenges. Is it possible to stay worthy and return to our Heavenly Father?” She slowly raised herself tall and erect and said in a commanding voice: “Yes! You must! That’s why you’re here!” Thank you, Grandma, for teaching me about hope.

James Arrington, the character actor and returned missionary who portrays Brother Brigham, said, “I first got the idea of doing somebody after seeing a one-man show on Will Rogers. I loved it! Right then I decided our people are great enough to have something done about them. I saw other one-man shows—Clarence Darrow, Harry Truman, Mark Twain—on TV and on stage, and wished somebody would write a script I could use. Then I thought, ‘Hey, I could write the script!’”
After concluding that Brigham Young would be a suitable subject for that type of theater, James went to work. For two years he gathered all the information he could find on the pioneer prophet. The more he learned about the colonizer, the more he grew to appreciate Brigham Young.

I have found happiness in doing as the prophet asks, so when President Ezra Taft Benson urged us to read the scriptures every single day, I wanted to do this.
But I began making up excuses. I went about my busy days as usual. I decided that I had too much homework to begin my scripture study that day. I did this for weeks, even months, while my conscience ate away at me.
One night while I was frustrated over my math homework, I knelt in prayer to ask for strength. When I looked up, the first thing I saw was the Book of Mormon sitting on my dresser. I picked it up and began to read, not really knowing why since I had a lot of math left to do. I finished a chapter in 1 Nephi, then went back to my treacherous math problem. I found I could solve it.
I made a decision to be obedient. I would read the Book of Mormon each night aside from my regular studies. Then I would see if taking the time to study the scriptures had any effect on my grades. I found that this habit of reading every night, even though it took some time, helped me achieve more academically. I was able to understand and have the patience to stick with my work. Not only did my grades improve, but I was easier to get along with and happier than I have ever been.
Reading the scriptures didn’t cause my grades to improve directly. I still had to do the work for myself. But the blessing that came from reading gave me that extra push. It motivated me in ways that nothing else could.
If you need a little help in your busy life, try the experiment. I’m sure you will see a positive difference in some aspect of your life. The prophet knew what he was talking about when he gave us this challenge. Try it.

More than 70 Church members evacuated their homes, many of them staying with other member families, because of wildfires in Utah and California, USA, in September 2009. Fires burned more than 123,000 acres (50,000 ha) in the Sacramento and Los Angeles, California, areas, killing two firefighters and destroying more than 100 buildings. In the area of New Harmony, Utah, fires consumed more than 10,000 acres (4,000 ha) and several buildings. In both states, local priesthood leaders assisted affected members.

I remember a marvelous sister who served for 25 years as the president of the New Zealand Mission Relief Society. In her home Elder Matthew Cowley, as a young missionary, translated the Doctrine and Covenants and the Pearl of Great Price into the Maori language. As mission president he loved to go back to that home. To me she was one of the great women in the history of the Church. Her leadership lifted a whole nation of Latter-day Saints. To me she was a heroine in every way.

Today is one of those days when getting out of bed is nothing but a trial. Six o’clock is just too early for any sane soul to be up. Even the birds aren’t yet awake! And besides, it’s Sunday—a day when I should be resting from my labors. But I have to go to work, and needless to say, I’m not thrilled. But I’ll go, grudgingly. Just let me sleep ten more minutes.
My name is Jana, and that is the attitude I had on that certain Sunday morning. Even though I love my work as a nurse at LDS Hospital in Salt Lake City, I just wasn’t in the mood to be there.
I staggered into the hospital promptly at 7:05; I was supposed to arrive at 7:00. Seeing the time on the clock in the hall, I panicked and pushed the elevator button several times, only to see that the elevator was on the fifth floor and not coming down. No time to waste. I ran up the six flights of stairs. By the time I reached the top, I was exhausted—huffing and puffing, my heart pounding in my ears in rebellion against the sudden exertion. I was relieved to know that I was in a hospital and if I had a heart attack, someone could save me.
I dragged myself down the hall, passing the clerk who looked up from her work and said without emotion, “They’ve started without you.” I smiled and stumbled into the report room where all the other nurses were gathered, none of whom glanced up at me. And even if they had done so, it wouldn’t have mattered. I was still alive, and that was all I cared about.
In the meeting I received a list of patients to care for and instructions for the day. Several patients were assigned to me, each with special problems and needs. I had baths to give, bed linens to change, equipment to monitor, temperatures to check, food trays to deliver, charting to do, medications to administer, bandages to change, tubing to check, sore muscles to rub, and to top it all off, doctors to please. I had no choice but to dig right in. Unfortunately, the work was not going to get done by itself.
In the midst of all the hubbub, a voice came over the intercom, “Any patient who would like to go to church, please notify your nurse.” Oh yes, I had almost forgotten; it was Sunday. I asked each of my patients if they wanted to attend the short half-hour meeting. No one seemed interested; most were too ill or too tired. That was how I felt too. Only one little lady, Mrs. Whitmer, an arthritis and bone cancer patient, answered my question with a quiet yes. This dear woman—who was confined to bed and in pain with every movement, every touch—desired to attend the meeting.
I requested that Mrs. Whitmer be wheeled to church in her bed. Then without delay, I hurriedly prepared her for the trip, combing her hair, washing her face, and changing her gown and bed linen. She grimaced with pain at every move, but she never uttered a word of complaint. No sooner had I finished sprucing her up than the brethren came for her, and off she went. I turned my attention to other patients without giving her another thought.
The day progressed, and finally my shift was over. I could relax! Before leaving duty I checked once more on the patients who had been under my care. Mrs. Whitmer had long since returned from church and was resting calmly—and so was everyone else, thank goodness. As quickly as I had sprinted to work that morning, I sprinted back to my apartment, ending another working day.
A few days later when I was working the evening shift, just as I was ready to sign off, the call light went on in room 4. “Oh boy,” I thought. “Why do they wait until I’m ready to leave before they call for me?” But I really didn’t mind. I went down the hall and groped my way through the darkness to the patient’s bedside. It was Mrs. Whitmer.
“Jana?” she asked.
“Yes,” I answered.
She reached out and gently took my hand. In a quiet, quivering voice she said, “I just wanted to thank you for helping me get to church last Sunday. I haven’t been for awhile because I’ve been so ill, and you’ll never know how much it meant to me that day to go. When I partook of the sacrament …” There was a long pause; then in trembling words she continued: “I felt God’s Spirit, and I just knew that Christ is my Savior.” And with that she began to cry. I realized that I too was shedding some tears. This beautiful woman, as weak as she was, was stronger than I had ever been. She had a glowing testimony.
I couldn’t help but recall the times when I had only gone to church out of habit, never partaking of the Spirit, though I always partook of the bread and water. I also recalled the Sunday when I prepared Mrs. Whitmer for church and how hurriedly I had done so, as if it were a burden on me. Never would I feel that way again.
The two of us cried together that night, only for a few minutes, but it was long enough to share our souls. No other words were spoken; none needed to be. The tears and the touch of our hands had said it all.
I no longer live in Salt Lake, and I don’t know what happened to Mrs. Whitmer, but I’ll never forget her and her radiant testimony of Christ.

When he tried out for the school basketball team, the coach encouraged him to try out for the soccer team, and he loved it!

Jonathan Fell, a teacher in the Sutton Coldfield Ward, Lichfield England Stake, loves sports. Jonathan plays for the junior Birmingham basketball team, the Junior Bullets, and has toured in Europe with the team.
In addition, Jonathan plays rugby, golf, and basketball for his school and helped them win the Sutton Schools League and Birmingham League basketball trophies. Among the nine O-level GCE examinations he hopes to pass are physics and chemistry. He stays in shape by riding his bike to school and church meetings.

I’ve been a convert to the Church for almost two years, and the New Era played no small part in my conversion. My favorite parts of the magazine are the Q and A section, the fiction, and the articles dealing with practical application of the gospel today. Especially timely and useful to me was the article on computer careers in the April issue. I’m graduating with my master’s in computer science this spring and am looking for a job. Since my conversion I’m amazed at the changes the gospel has brought into my life. Three years ago I was practically friendless, and now I have hundreds of friends at the institute. I’ve overcome to a great degree personal problems that have held me back, and best of all, I’ve found a wonderful girl to whom I will be sealed in the Arizona Temple on July 20. All of this has come about through the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Gary L. RogersUniversity of Arizona

In high school, I had several friends who would hang out with others thinking they could maybe help them be better. But all too often it resulted in my friends lowering their standards too because they got so used to being around it all. I found the best thing to do is just let them know that we still care for them but don’t agree with their actions.
Micah Christensen, 21Watkins Glen, New York

A mission president’s prompting keeps missionaries safe during an earthquake in Japan.

As a child matures and starts working for money, whether for his parents or his neighbors, he will deal honestly and give honest labor for the returns he gets. Often the earliest employment for a young man is as a newsboy. Countless numbers of our successful businessmen today got their start in this occupation. They learned to be prompt and dependable. I knew a newsboy who always had his papers delivered on time regardless of the weather, and he handled his collections in a pleasant, courteous, and businesslike manner. He had many satisfied customers and had no difficulty in getting new subscriptions. This early training helped him to become a most successful businessman.

Several months ago I attended a training meeting where a number of General Authorities had spoken. After commenting on the excellent instruction that had been given, Elder David A. Bednar asked the following question: “What are we learning that has not been said?” He then explained that in addition to receiving the counsel that had been given by those who had spoken or who would yet speak, we should also carefully listen for and record the unspoken impressions given by the Holy Ghost.

Her marriage to John Mavimbela was happy and provided both with opportunities for personal growth. “We felt that if we could work together, there would be progress,” she says. “So I gave up my teaching and went to help my husband run a little butcher and grocery shop. My husband was a very special man, one out of one hundred. He gave me a salary, and the money was my own. When I was with my friends, he would go to the kitchen and wash up the dishes. When there was a baby, he would help me wash the diapers.” The two were very much in love.

John had two children from a previous marriage, so Julia built a loving relationship with her husband’s former wife and raised the two children as her own. Her first child died at birth. She later had six children.

In 1955, when Julia was two months pregnant with her last child, her husband was tragically killed in a head-on automobile collision. He was on a business trip, with a large amount of cash, when a drunken white driver crashed into his car. After the police investigated the accident, she asked for her husband’s belongings. They gave her only a small portion of the money she knew he had been carrying and ruled that her husband was at fault for the accident, even though the other driver was on the wrong side of the road. Julia became very bitter.

Some time later, Julia found enlightenment in the scriptures. “I was touched by what the Lord said: ‘Forgive them, for they know not what they do.’ I began to feel that I should never throw a stone at other people and that I should have forgiveness. But I was not yet in a church that could really help me forgive.”

When I was a boy growing up in the First Ward in Liberty Stake, the president of the Relief Society was Elder Mark E. Petersen’s mother-in-law, Sister Sarah McDonald. She was also the teacher of the Gospel Doctrine class in the Sunday School. The men, as well as the women, profited from her down-to-earth wisdom, her unique sense of humor, her tremendous scholarship and familiarity with the scriptures, and her unyielding testimony which came of the great sacrifice she had made for membership in this Church.

The Search for Delicious, by Natalie Babbitt. This story is about a quest, a young boy, a mermaid, a key, and an ancient land and its residents. When Prince Gaylan searches the kingdom for the definition of the word “delicious,” he finds what he’s looking for and more.

Oliver didn’t want his baby sister! He began to ask people if they would take her, but he found it wasn’t easy to find a new home for Bonnie. Just when Oliver thought he had a home for the baby, he changed his mind!

It was my experience as a small boy to come under the influence of such a teacher. In our Sunday School class she taught us concerning the Creation of the world, the Fall of Adam, and the atoning sacrifice of Jesus. She brought to her classroom as honored guests Moses, Joshua, Peter, Thomas, Paul, and even Christ. Though we did not see them, we learned to love, honor, and emulate them.

On June 11, 1979, I climbed aboard a DC-3 that was headed for the Moose Creek Ranger Station in northern Idaho where I was to spend my summer working for the forest service. The station is 21 miles from the nearest road and about 60 air miles from the forest headquarters at Grangeville.
At about 9:30 A.M. the plane left the Grangeville airfield. Everything went fine until about halfway through the 30-minute flight. Suddenly the plane’s engines got very quiet. When I looked out the windows, I noticed that only one engine was running. A few seconds later the starboard engine exploded, and flames enveloped the entire right side of the plane. Everyone aboard (10 forest service employees and 2 crew members) was very quiet and frozen with fear, it seemed.
Never in my life had I been as terrified as I then was. All I could think about was the life I had led up to this time. I wasn’t so much afraid of dying, but I was terrified at the thought of having to come to judgment so soon. I have a terrible habit of procrastinating, and I had always had the idea that I could “play today and repent tomorrow.”
Meanwhile, the plane was steadily losing altitude and was pitching and bucking fiercely. I wanted desperately to get out alive so that I could get my life in order.
In the midst of this turmoil a voice seemed to speak to me. It said, “Bryant, why don’t you pray?” So I prayed, desperately and fervently. I asked for many things, but I clearly remember asking the Lord to help me accept his will. I also asked him to comfort me and to help my family understand. As I finished praying, we were just on the verge of crashing, perhaps 100 feet above the treetops. The pilot had been giving us instructions to fasten seat belts.
I was at this time very calm and collected. I no longer feared dying. In fact, I was actually curious as to what it would be like to die and who I might meet in the next world. About this time the plane hit a tree and veered sharply into the river. Authorities say that the plane hit the water at about 100 miles per hour.
When the plane hit, there was a terrific jolt, and several aftershocks. As the plane came to rest in the Selway River, I was thrown hard against my seat belt. I then came to my senses and thought, “I’m alive.” But what I saw made my blood run cold. The plane was floating down the river, which was at flood stage. The water was very high and very rough. Debris from the wreck was floating all around, and there was a sickening silence. I was still fastened to my seat by my safety belt, and I was sitting waist-deep in water. The water itself was colored a deep red with the blood of the passengers whom I could see in the plane. They looked unconscious. I tried to release some of them from their seat belts, but I couldn’t because the swirling water made it too difficult, and I was forced to abandon the plane.
The cargo doors of the plane were ripped open, so I let myself down through them, then tried to swim. The water was very fast and extremely hard to keep afloat in. I was caught in an undertow and forced to the bottom of the river.
One more time I asked the Lord to preserve my life and give me the strength I needed to pull myself from the river. Once again, as instantly as in my earlier prayer, confidence came to me. I felt a terrific amount of renewed energy, and when I was released from the eddy, which was holding me to the bottom, I found myself being swept down the river, right next to the bank. I grabbed hold of a tilting rock and easily pulled myself from the river.
Upon getting ashore I saw two other survivors, so I treated one for shock, then stopped the bleeding of the other and splinted his fractured leg. Then I started to walk the 12 miles to the Moose Creek Ranger Station to obtain help. The first two miles were very steep and without trails, but I’d worked in that area before so I knew which direction to go. I got very tired but eventually found help. Later I found out that one of the people I’d helped didn’t live. Only I and one other person survived the crash.