Gospel Story Finder

It wasn’t until 1975, after Bert and Amanda had returned to Hawaii, that Bert’s testimony of the living prophet was solidly confirmed. Bert had been asked to assist with security measures for President Spencer W. Kimball who was making a short visit to Bogota. Bert’s description of the experience is a moving testimony of the prophet’s influence:
“President Kimball shook my hand, and it felt like electricity going up my arm. He looked into my eyes, and that was it; I knew. We were together a good deal of the time, and it was the most wonderful experience.
“We had family home evening at the mission home, and I was the only one without my family. I sat right next to President Kimball, and he put his arm around me. Then we knelt down, and the mission president asked the President to give the family prayer. My whole life changed in those moments; I just knew he was a prophet. It was the full conversion.”
Meanwhile, Amanda recalls with a knowing smile, while Bert was with the President, “things weren’t going too well back home. I was in a car accident; I wasn’t hurt, but the car was damaged.”
“You have to understand,” adds Bert, “that I was a person who had to have everything neat and clean. You didn’t touch my car, because you might leave a fingerprint on it.”
Amanda says their two sons, “Duane and Doug, kept saying, ‘Oh, boy, wait until Dad comes home and sees the car.’ The day Bert arrived home, they wouldn’t even go to the airport with me to meet him, so I went by myself; there hadn’t been time to get the car fixed.”
But something had changed. “Bert came off that airplane, and I think he was walking above the ground. When he saw me, all he could talk about was what a great experience it was to be with the prophet. He went right past the damaged fender on the car and didn’t even see it.
“When we got home, the boys were peeking out from behind the drapes. Bert said, ‘Okay, when my boys are hiding, something’s happened.’ So I had to show him the damaged fender. He looked at it, turned to me, and said, ‘Oh, Mom, I’m really glad you didn’t get hurt.’ Then he gave me a big hug.”

I was one of the Three Witnesses, along with Martin Harris and Oliver Cowdery, who saw the gold plates that contained the Book of Mormon. An angel showed the plates to us and commanded us to write about the things we saw. You can read about it in the “The Testimony of Three Witnesses,” found in the front of the Book of Mormon. Who am I?
(See “The Testimony of Three Witnesses” in the front of the Book of Mormon for help in solving the mystery.)

A Christmas highlight for the Lee family is singing carols and reading about Jesus’ birth. Family scripture reading, however, is not limited to Christmas. They read nightly year-round. Tin-wai’s favorite scripture is 1 Nephi 3:7. She is already showing that she, too, can “go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded.” “She used this scripture to give a talk on ‘How We Follow the Prophet,’” Sister Lee said. “She did it all by herself, and it was a very good talk.”

In 1984, at the age of 15, Elder Cordón and his older brother left their home to attend school in another city where they could study technology. Living on their own, Valeri recalled his mother teaching him to always serve, so once they were established in their new home, he went straight to the bishop and asked for a calling. Since he was very young, Elder Cordon served in several callings, as a member of Aaronic Priesthood quorum presidencies, Sunday School president, auxiliary secretary to the bishopric, then at age 19, he was called to serve a mission in El Salvador.

When Junjiro was called, he approached the Lord, as the bishop suggested, in deciding upon his counselors. Two names came up: Stephen Dangerfield and Cassidy Matthew. He felt the influence of the Spirit in asking to serve with these fine young men.
Steve had been serving as a district supervisor for home teaching. “I knew he was on top of things and would get things done,” said Junjiro. Cassidy was newly called as the membership clerk in the ward. But when Junjiro talked to the bishop about him, the bishop said if that’s what the Lord wants, then that’s how it will be. The presidency is united in their goal to serve the elders of their ward.

Sean’s older sister, Amanda, is in fifth grade. She likes ice skating and practices at the same rink as the New York Rangers hockey team. There are no other members of the Church in Amanda’s grade, and she has many opportunities to set an example of what a Latter-day Saint child is like. She remembers one party at which several girls were choosing a video. They wanted to watch a PG-13 movie. Amanda said, “I’m not allowed to watch PG-13 movies.”
One of her friends said, “But your mom will never know.” Her friends went ahead and watched the movie, but Amanda didn’t. She left the room. Soon her friend Kaitlyn joined her, and the two of them found something else to do. Sean is glad that he has an older sister and brother who set a good example.

Standing on the bow of the 32-foot sailboat Polaris, Richard Andes is keeping an eye out for buoys, boats, and anything else in the harbor. Basically, it’s his job to make sure Polaris doesn’t hit anything. It’s a big responsibility, because the helmsman steering the boat is in back and can’t always tell what’s coming. Suddenly, Richard notices something right in front of him, just below the surface.
“Hard to port!” he yells, and the helmsman, 15-year-old Tony Portera, obediently yanks the wooden tiller far to the side. Tony can’t see the obstacle, a large mass of floating kelp, but he performs without hesitation and the boat passes safely on the left.
“You don’t know what’s out there, so you really have to trust,” says Richard, also 15. “If they say it’s there, you have to believe it’s there, and if you don’t move you’re going to hit it.” Obviously, trust and cooperation are vital on a sailboat.

I was called to be a General Authority twenty-five years ago and had no idea at first what I would be asked to do. I was assigned to hold a stake conference the very next weekend and went for advice to my former stake president, Elder Harold B. Lee, who was then a member of the Council of the Twelve Apostles. I asked him to tell me what to do. His answer both shocked and frightened me. He said, “Theodore, you are a General Authority now. No one tells a General Authority how to act in his special calling. If you have questions, ask the Lord and He will instruct you.” I had prayed before, never expecting a direct answer, but now I prayed soberly and with real intent.
The Lord did answer my prayers—not in ways I expected, but by speaking things into my mind. But that only happened after I had studied the problem and prepared myself to receive an answer. I have been startled by some of the things that have come to me. Scriptures I had not understood before suddenly were made meaningful. Answers I had previously passed over in reading the scriptures took on new significance. I have truly learned over these years line upon line and precept on precept. I have learned to follow living prophets as well as those prophets who have passed on. Of necessity I have learned to live by faith.

All of this does not begin to count the individual acts of kindness and support—gifts of food, clothing, money, care, and a thousand other forms of comfort and compassion—by which we may participate in the Christlike work of redemption. As a boy I witnessed my own mother’s actions to redeem a woman in need. Many years ago when her children were young, my mother underwent a serious operation that nearly took her life and left her bedridden much of the time for nearly a year. During this time, family and ward members helped Mother and our family. For additional help, the ward Relief Society president, Sister Abraham, recommended that my parents hire a woman in the ward who desperately needed work. In recounting this story, I will use the fictional names Sara and Annie for this woman and her daughter. This is my mother’s account:
“I can see it as plain as if it were only yesterday. There I lay in bed, and Sister Abraham brought Sara to the bedroom door. My heart sank. There stood the least attractive person I had ever met—so thin; scraggly, unkempt hair; round-shouldered; head bowed looking at the floor. She wore an old housedress four sizes too big. She wouldn’t look up and spoke so softly I couldn’t hear her. Hiding behind her was a little girl about three years old. What in the world was I to do with this creature? After they left the room, I cried and cried. I needed help, not more problems. Sister Abraham stayed awhile with her, and they soon whipped the house into shape and prepared some good meals. Sister Abraham asked me to try it for a few days, [saying] that this girl had had a really hard time and needed help.
“The next morning when Sara came, I finally got her to come over by the bed where I could hear her. She asked what I wanted her to do. I told her and then said, ‘But the most important thing is my boys; spend time with them, read to them—they are more important than the house.’ She was a good cook and kept the house clean, the washing done, and she was good to the boys.
“Through the weeks, I learned Sara’s story. [Because she was hard of hearing, she didn’t do well in school and eventually dropped out. She married young to a dissolute man. Annie was born and became the joy of Sara’s life. One winter night her husband came home drunk, forced Sara and Annie into the car in their bedclothes, and then dropped them off by the side of the highway. They never saw him again. Barefoot and freezing, Sara and Annie walked several miles to her mother’s home.] Her mother agreed to let them stay in exchange for doing all the housework and cooking, and caring for her sister and brother who were in high school.
“We took Sara to an ear doctor, and she got a hearing aid. … We got her to take adult schooling, and she got her high school diploma. She went to night school and later graduated from college and taught special education. She bought a little home. Annie was married in the temple and had two children. Sara eventually had some operations on her ears and was finally able to hear well. Years later she retired and served a mission. … Sara thanked us often and said she learned so much from me, especially when I told her that my sons were more important than the house. She said it taught her to be that way with Annie. … Sara is a very special woman.”

A few weeks later, another successful applicant approached us with this enthusiastic plea: “I would just love to work here, and I’ll do anything you need. Let me start as a dishwasher. I love to wash dishes!”

We hired her, too. And she didn’t remain a dishwasher for long!

While the streets showed no hint of white, our freezing hands and frosty breath told us it was cold enough to snow. Cotton capped and wrapped up tight, my family was enjoying our traditional Christmas Eve caroling. My parents and all 10 of us children had made it home for the holidays.
We had ended our family home evening that week by practicing the carols we wished to sing that year. Balancing the guitar on his knee, my father practiced the chords he would struggle to play in the frigid night. No one would ever line up to see my nine siblings, parents, and me sing; yet, undaunted, year after year, we wanted to share our Christmas spirit.
This year we had chosen to sing to some of our ward friends to thank them for their friendship and fellowship. The names on our list were crossed off one by one. A few of the families weren’t home, so we finished our planned visits early. My dad asked my mother if she knew of anyone else we should visit before returning home for hot chocolate. My mother’s eyes lit up after a moment’s thought. She felt impressed to visit the Ramage family.
The Ramages were a sweet couple, grayed with maturity and experience. Brother Ramage had recently been diagnosed with terminal cancer. We thought at first that it might be too late to visit, but, persuaded by my mother’s urgings, we filed into our van and headed to our destination.
Tiptoeing in the quiet night air, we gathered around the front porch of the Ramage’s simple home while my younger brother rang the doorbell. To our surprise, Sister Ramage, wrapped in a flannel shawl, answered the door almost immediately. Startled by her quick appearance, we falteringly began singing “Silent Night.” After croaking our way through “We Wish You a Merry Christmas,” we were surprised to see a single chilled tear hanging on Sister Ramage’s cheek. After we sang, she gave us cookies while she visited with my mother.
Our parents later told us that Brother and Sister Ramage had bravely confronted the doctor’s grim diagnosis. So on that Christmas Eve, just a few months before Brother Ramage would pass away, Sister Ramage had been especially troubled in her heart, anticipating the loss of her husband. Unable to sleep and struggling in spirit, she retired to the dark of their living room. Sitting near the door, she needed little time to respond when the bell rang. As unimpressive as our family choir was, it meant a great deal to her. Seeing our family huddled together reminded her of the promise of an eternal family.
That Sunday, as we wandered into the chapel before sacrament meeting, our eyes fell to where Brother and Sister Ramage sat together. Sister Ramage’s eyes sparkled. She welcomed us with a bright smile that warmed my spirit. Never had I expected our musical effort to be an answer to someone’s prayer.
I realized that a lot of good things can take place through seemingly unimpressive means, like our family’s caroling. The Savior came into the world in humble circumstances. In both cases, the true beauty was in the gift given, and such gifts are what make Christmas meaningful.

This story about the Aaronic Priesthood begins with a young woman, 16-year-old Lauren DellAquila of the Cary Second Ward, Apex North Carolina Stake. Lauren hadn’t come to Church for years. She had never been baptized and confirmed, “but I just knew in my heart that the Church was true.”
She also knew David Christison, 16, and Andrew Hill, 15, who attend the same school, are Latter-day Saints. “I’m in marching band with David and had a couple of classes with Andrew last year,” she says. And she knew they stood by their beliefs. “It meant a lot to see their example, because most teens at our school don’t have values like they do,” Lauren explains.
Then one day after band, some other classmates were making unkind comments about the Church. Lauren told them if they really wanted to know the truth, they shouldn’t repeat rumors; they should find out for themselves. Afterward, David thanked her and asked how she knew so much about the Church. “She said that when she was really young she went to Church, but then her parents divorced and she stopped coming,” David says. “So I invited her to come again.”
“People had tried to get me to come back before, but for one reason or another it had never happened,” Lauren explains. “But when I told David and Andrew that I did want to try again, they were excited. I started coming to meetings, and they introduced me to the bishop, the missionaries, and the young women in the ward. They helped me feel at home.”
Soon Lauren was baptized and confirmed, and today she’s a happy, confident Laurel who recently gave a sacrament meeting talk about the importance of the priesthood. “If the gospel had not been restored,” she says, “I wouldn’t have seen two young men honoring their priesthood. And I wouldn’t have had the opportunities I have had to make covenants and to draw close to the Savior.”

“If I’d been in the Church for the length of time I have now (one year), and they’d asked me to leave England and follow the Prophet, I would have said yes,” says 17-year-old Paul Lindsey, from Nottinghamshire, England.
But he admits it would have been the hardest of tests, and he’s not sure about swapping the 1800s for the 1990s. “I’m too comfortable with modern wonders—and I don’t like wearing these trousers,” he laughs.
So why is Paul in Victorian costume, parading around the streets of Preston, England? He’s one of 210 seminary students who’ve ridden into town in three coaches.
Students came from Nottinghamshire, Leicestershire, Warwickshire, and Northamptonshire. Some made outfits from curtains; some wear rented costumes or modified old clothing from their parents.
Arthur Hardy, their seminary coordinator, is about to bring Church history to life as their trip into the past begins.
“We may look a bit stupid,” grins a friend of Paul’s, Daniel Liddicott from Leicester Stake, “but it does lead to questions. One person said there’s absolutely nothing in Preston, so why are we here? It’s a good opportunity to tell them Preston was a place of great history for our church when the missionaries first came over.”
The obelisk in the market square was the scene of those mighty beginnings—a place for many outdoor sermons. The fruits of those beginnings are hard to take in. At one time, in 1850, there were 30,700 Saints in Great Britain, and only 26,000 in the United States.
But that’s jumping ahead. The adversary didn’t let the gospel into this land without a fight.
The youth are at the scene of the first battle—a tiny lodging house on the corner of Wilfred Street. There’s only room for eight students at a time. They climb a narrow, rickety staircase up two flights.
In this lodging house, the elders in England were tormented by evil spirits and feared for their lives. (See Orson F. Whitney, The Life of Heber C. Kimball, Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, pp. 129–31.)
“It’s a bit creepy thinking about what went on in this house,” says Paul, “when they were attacked by legions of Satan’s followers. I can imagine it all happening.”
“It really adds to my testimony,” admits Paul, “to know that these men made the difficult decision to leave their families, come across the seas to England, and go through so much to teach people who’d never heard of the Church.”
“The sheer number converted shows how hard the Spirit must have been working to get a good base for what would follow, right up to us today,” says Paul.
Sara-Jayne Soverall, another of Paul’s friends, adds, “I wish we could be back in those times for a moment. I’d love to have seen them all.”
Apparently so would Preston’s Evening Post reporter, according to 16-year-old Michelle Armstrong. “It’s the best thing, walking around in Victorian costume,” she says. “Especially when that newspaper bloke took photos. He was trying to get us to reenact those first river baptisms, but it wouldn’t have been proper, so he got pictures of us pretending to teach people instead.”
Paul thinks it must have been harder then for a young person to be the only family member seeking baptism.
“My own family was cautious at first,” he remembers, “but now Mum sticks up for me, and my sister lends me her car to come to church. The Church today has been established long enough to be known, but then it was so new. I think people may have been more suspicious.”
The next stop on the pilgrimage is the Cockpit, a building rented for church meetings by early Saints from the local temperance movement, where people were taught the evils of alcohol.
Then, on by coach to the beautiful villages of Downham and Chatburn. To Paul Lindsey, in the 20th century, it seems a strange thing for the whole community to get up and go to Utah. He concludes, “The Spirit must have been very strong for that to happen.”
That same Spirit is still here in 1994. And amazing things still happen in England—not the least of which is the final site, the highlight of this seminary outing, a place which unites past and present in an excellent way.
Currently, it’s an empty field. Soon it will be the site of Britain’s second temple. The youth are impressed with the architect’s plans, marvel at miracles leading to the permission to build the temple, and can’t wait to enter its doors.
Wouldn’t those early Saints have loved to be here today? Maybe the strength of their faith and ours brings them closer than we realize.

Just how the dream came to be no one really knows, but Brother Anderson envisioned a complete historical file that could vividly tell the story of the Church in pictures, with a minimum of words. Such photographs, he reasoned, would be invaluable missionary tools to interest untold thousands, perhaps millions, in the Church.
But how could these pictures be produced? If only he could study the landscapes where the Prophet Joseph Smith was born, where he had his visions and revelations, where he built cities, and finally where he spilled his blood! Such a trip would take years and something else quite out of reach—money.
An opportunity for just such a trip came in 1907. Shortly after Brother Anderson was released as bishop of his ward in Springville, Utah, he was called to go on a mission to England. To get there, he would have to pass through historic Mormon country. Receiving permission to stop off and photograph the historic sites, he visited and photographed Nauvoo, Kirtland, Independence, New York, Vermont, Pennsylvania, and many sites in between. His pictures are a documentary of what these places looked like shortly after the turn of the century, spiced by the human interest of people who lived there at the time.
On his way home from his mission, Elder Anderson stopped off again to make even more pictures of historic Church scenes.

After I received my bachelor’s degree I worked for eight months as a statistician for a government agency. They knew I was going to graduate school, so it was a temporary job. While there, I learned a lot about myself. I found working with numbers and doing detail work very tedious and uninteresting for me. I determined to avoid that kind of job in the future.

From the time my son was born, I have tried to read to him from the children’s section each month. I don’t know if he has always understood the words, but the smile on his face has confirmed to me that he is enjoying learning about the gospel of Jesus Christ.
My son is now three years old and loves the children’s section. He likes to act out the stories of Nephi; they are his favorites.
Reading the Liahona (Spanish) is a way of strengthening the bonds of love between parents and children. I am also very grateful for the Sharing Time ideas, because when we do the activities together, we have valuable spiritual experiences that build my son’s testimony.
Anabel Juarez de Mera,Tula Ward, Tula México Stake

When I was in the first grade, one of my classmates kept asking if she could copy off of my paper. I said, “Stop trying to copy off my paper. I am trying to work.” Later that day, I told my mom what happened. I said, “She was trying to cheat, and that is the same as lying.” During the school year, I tried to help my classmate with her work because I knew she wouldn’t learn anything by cheating. It made me feel good knowing I had done the right thing.

I was attending a stake conference where I was to interview some prospective missionaries. Before one boy came in the room, the stake president said to me, “Now here is a boy who has just come through a serious experience. He is just out of the service. He suffered shell shock; you had better talk carefully to him and make sure that he is prepared to go.”
So as I talked with him, I said, “Now, why do you want to go on this mission, son? Are you sure that you want to go, really, after all this harrowing experience?”
He sat thoughtfully for a few moments and then replied: “Brother Lee, I had never been away from home before I went into the service. When I arrived in the military camps, every waking hour I heard filthy, profane language. I found myself losing a certain pure-mindedness, and I sought God in prayer to give me the strength not to fall into that terrible habit. God heard my prayer and gave me strength. Then we went through the training, and it was arduous, and I asked him to give me physical strength to go through, and he did. He heard my prayer, but as we moved up towards the fighting lines and I heard the booming of the guns and the crackling of the rifles—and sometimes as we crouched down in our shell holes, it just seemed that if I put a finger up it would be shot off so intense was the fighting—I was afraid. I would lie there just waiting, and I prayed to God to give me the courage to do the task that I was there to do, and the Lord heard my prayer and gave me courage. Then they sent me up with an advance patrol to search out the enemy and to radio back to the reinforcements, telling them where to attack. Sometimes the enemy would almost hedge me around until I was cut off, and it seemed that there was no escape and that surely my life would be taken. I asked the only source of protection to guide me safely back, and God heard my prayers. Time and again through the most harrowing experiences he led me back.
“Now,” he said, “Brother Lee, I am back home. And I would like to say thanks to that power to which I prayed—God, our Heavenly Father.” And then he said, “My purpose in going out on a mission is to teach others that faith that I was taught in my Sunday School, in my seminary, in my priesthood class, in my home. I want to teach others so that they will have that same strength that guided me through this difficult experience.”

In today’s world, making Sunday a holy day will surely set us apart—giving us chances to share the gospel in a natural way as others notice the difference in our weekly routine. The Davies family experienced this while living on the island of Grenada with their young daughter, Adrielle. “None of Adrielle’s friends are members of the Church, and while many of them believe in God, Sunday to them is simply another day of the weekend,” explained Sister McKenzie Lawyer Davies, Adrielle’s mother.

A few months ago, Adrielle was invited to a birthday party at a movie theater on Sunday. Her family decided to drop off a gift instead of going to the movie and party. “Because we simply stopped by to wish them well, we were able to share our beliefs about the Sabbath with them in a friendly and open way,” Sister Lawyer Davies said. “It made me happy that my little girl was already sharing the gospel.”

As young women, you have the privilege of working on projects as part of the Young Womanhood Recognition Award. Anna Nichols of Centerville, Utah, writes about a special experience she has had:
“I did a Laurel project last year that has brought me closer to my grandma whom I never knew. She passed away when my mom was about five years old from a severe type of cancer. My mom has a collection of old slides and letters that she had kept. I went through these and picked out pictures of her and her family and letters that she had written to her sister sharing her feelings and thoughts before she died.
“I put all these in a scrapbook in memory of her and I gave it to my grandpa. To watch his face as he turned each page was the most awesome feeling as he told me the stories of each picture. We cried together. I could tell that he misses her so much and how with this book she is partly back into his life again.
“Because of this book I have a personal relationship with my grandma. I feel her spirit with me. I know she has protected me and helped me when I am in need. Now when I go and visit my grandpa we always talk about her and share stories. I always look forward to this time I get to spend with him.”