Gospel Story Finder

Then, a few weeks before Christmas 1989, Jaanus met 30-year-old Enn Lembit, who told Jaanus, “I have a new testimony about Christ and what prophets say nowadays. Come to my house to hear about this wonderful news.”
“Imagine that,” Jaanus thought, “a prophet speaking to people on earth today!” His spine tingled as he and his friends went to Enn Lembit’s apartment for a meeting.
At that first meeting, Enn Lembit explained, “My father-in-law, Valtteri Rötsä, was converted to the Mormon church in Finland. He returned to Estonia to his family with his pockets full of literature about the Mormon faith.” Enn’s eyes shone with enthusiasm as he explained the gospel message to Jaanus and others in that small room.
About an hour after the meeting had started, Brother Uusituba, a businessman from Finland, suggested they pray and ask God if this church were true.
Jaanus thought, “I feel really good in this home, and I like what he is saying.” When they prayed, he felt a warm glow and believed that the gospel was true. Jaanus took the news home to his mother, and together they attended the first sacrament meeting held in Estonia.
On 16 December 1989, Enn Lembit was the first convert baptized on Estonian soil. Jaanus and his mother were baptized on 6 January 1990.

Then in the afternoon as prearranged, the young priesthood bearers and their female counterparts offered their services to the town of Naramata.

“I don’t believe it!” said a member of the town council. “No one has ever asked if they could help before!”

The young Mormons not only offered, they delivered. They divided into teams and invited a member of the town council to accompany each team. One group went to the old United Church built in 1917. They mowed the lawn, raked the yard, and cultivated the garden.

“I’ve been a minister most of my life,” said the vicar who lives in back of the church, “but this is the first time I’ve been ministered to.”

“When you Mormons are finished with the church grounds,” said a neighbor over the fence, “you’re certainly welcome to come over and do my yard.”

Several strong young men went to the home of an elderly couple who, after a lifetime of community service, found themselves unable to handle the heavier work around their home. In a matter of minutes it was done.

Down on the beach several youth were joined by their mission president in Levis and work shirt as they raked through the sand and sifted out all the stones and broken glass.

And farther down the beach three access roads were cleared and leveled. A watching townsperson said, “You know, one of my best friends is a member of your church. A fine man.”

Throughout the day thoughtful, caring service was offered in large ways and small. In meetings when those on the stand didn’t have a hymnbook, someone from the audience would jump up and give his copy to the person without. If there were not enough chairs in a workshop, a dozen self-motivated volunteers would rush to find more. If a youth was walking between meetings loaded down with suitcases, chairs, or other paraphernalia, others would quietly walk up behind him and ask if they could help carry the burden. Captains of ten conscientiously watched over their companies, and none went friendless or uncomforted, not even those not officially attending the conference.

“Missionary work?” Sue Ann Yazzie, a 17-year-old Navaho from Shiprock, New Mexico, brushed long, black hair from her shoulders and smiled. Her warm, brown eyes sparkling, she said, “The best way to get someone interested in the Church is to be friends with him.”

A member of the Church for two years, Sue Ann talked about her conversion: “Even before I joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I believed that when we die, we will be able to see friends and relatives who have died before us. I lost faith in the church I was attending when the minister said, ‘If you think you will be able to see your dead ancestors when you die, you’re mistaken.’ It was then that I asked the Lord which church was true. I promised I would keep the commandments if He would help me.”

Sue Ann wanted to attend high school off the reservation. When she was asked to participate in the Indian education program in Richfield, Utah, she accepted. In Richfield, the Indian students live in a dormitory and attend local schools.

When one of the employees in the dormitory invited Sue Ann and several of her friends to a family home evening, she wasn’t really interested. “At the time, I wasn’t sure if I liked the Mormon Church. I didn’t know very much about it. But I went just to keep my friends company. That was when I first became interested in the Church. I liked what I heard.

“Later, when I read the Book of Mormon, many of the parts seemed familiar. When I was younger, my grandmother told me many of the Navaho legends. I first heard the story of the great white god, who will one day return, from her,” she said.

Jan banged the hot iron down on the pillowcase and grudgingly slid it back and forth until the fabric was smooth. I’m tired of ironing pillowcases! I’m tired of ironing everything! she thought as she looked at the pile of clean but wrinkled clothes. There’s too much to do!
The relentless howling of the fierce wind outside was interrupted only by the rhythmic sound of Jan’s iron thumping the ironing board. She glanced out the window at the raging blizzard and shivered. I wish I weren’t the oldest daughter. Then I wouldn’t have to do all the work while Mom’s sick.
Just an hour ago her mother had said, “When you’re finished with the ironing, dear, come to my room and we’ll decide what to prepare for dinner.”
Jan groaned to herself just thinking about dinner and dirty dishes. Why does it have to be me? It isn’t fair! Tears filled her eyes, and her long brown hair brushed her pale cheeks as she smoothed the pillowcase with her hand, folded it neatly, and added it to the growing pile of finished ironing. She thought of her mother resting in bed and the other four children playing quietly elsewhere in the house. The storm seemed to put a hush over everyone, as if they were just silently passing time until it was over.
Later, with a sigh of relief, Jan picked up the last item to iron—one of Dad’s handkerchiefs. I know Mom can’t help having to stay in bed so she won’t lose the baby, she reasoned as she ironed. I can tell she’s trying to act cheerful, but I know she’s pretty worried. And when Dad looks at her, he seems worried too.
Looking outside, Jan could see that the storm was getting worse. The wind shrieked louder and tore at the house, adding more gloom to her mood. Suddenly the laundry room light flickered and went out. It was still early enough so that, despite the storm, the snow reflected plenty of light through the window.
Jan became aware of a faint, musical sound. Where’s that coming from? she wondered. It can’t be the radio, because the power’s off. She moved to the doorway and listened.
“It’s really beautiful!” she whispered, still listening. She began to walk from room to room, following the flutelike sound and trying to discover where it was coming from. She wondered who could be playing it. No one in the family played the flute. The haunting sound was peaceful, smooth. It stopped, then started again, faded, then rose again.
Still following the sound, Jan came to the door of her own room! What’s going on? she wondered. The door was slightly open. Her ear tuned to the clear, gentle sound; she quietly entered. The reflection of the white snow swirling and drifting outside her window brightened the pinks and whites of her room. She followed the sound—louder now—to the window. Afraid of disturbing whatever was making the unusual music, she very cautiously reached up and moved the white, frothy curtain aside.
“Well, what do you know!” Jan exclaimed. The music she heard was being made naturally, and simply, by the raging wind! The wind was blowing so hard against her window that the air being forced through the cracks was making a delightful tune.
Jan stood there in awe, gazing at the window and the bright, drifting snow. Then, interrupting her reverie, she turned and ran to her mother’s room. Delighted to find her mother awake, Jan excitedly told her of her discovery.
Mother’s dark eyes sparkled, and her tired mouth widened into a smile. She lifted her hand for Jan to take. “Show me!” she said with excitement.
Jan supported her mother as they went to Jan’s room and quietly lay side by side on her bed. The only sound was the music of the wind.
“It’s lovely!” her mother whispered.
After listening in silence for a few more minutes, Jan said, “I’d really be scared to be out there in that blizzard all alone!”
“Yes, so would I,” agreed her mother. “But isn’t it wonderful how that wild storm can whistle through a tiny crack and provide us with such an unusual musical treat?”
“Yes.” Forgetting her fear, Jan snuggled closer and rested her head on her mother’s shoulder. Her thoughts drifted back to earlier in the afternoon. It had seemed like the end of the world then. But maybe things weren’t so bad after all. A feeling of peace and well-being swelled within her.
“Jan?” Her mother’s voice broke the silence. “With the power off, what shall we do for dinner?”
Jan giggled. “Well, I think we have enough stew left over from last night. I’ll put it in the pan and warm it up in the fireplace. Then we can sit around the fire and eat like the pioneers did!”
“Like the pioneers!” her mother echoed.
Jan remembered the peace and contentment she’d felt when she’d heard the music in the wind. She knew her life was a lot easier than that of the pioneers. She smiled and went to get the dinner ready.

Recreational Pursuits
Family Relationships
“I realized that I don’t ever play with my little sister anymore ever since I got that new video game a while back.”

The day Alma Elizabeth turned eight years old she saw some elders baptizing people in a nearby creek. Her parents did not know about the baptismal service, so she ran home to tell them. With their permission she, too, was baptized in the creek. Afterward she walked to the meetinghouse to be confirmed. But after the confirmation, she felt very tired and fell asleep on a seldom-used church bench where people could not see her. When the meeting ended everyone went home. Alma Elizabeth’s family became concerned about her long absence, and they sent her big sister Helen to search for her. She found Alma Elizabeth still asleep in the now empty meetinghouse.

A sister missionary told the story of three men she met during a district conference in Africa. They came from an isolated village far away in the bush where the Church had not yet been organized but where there were 15 faithful members and almost 20 investigators. For over two weeks these men had walked on foot, traveling more than 300 miles (480 km) over paths rendered muddy by the rainy season, so they could attend the conference and bring the tithes from the members of their group. They planned to stay for an entire week so they could enjoy the privilege of partaking of the sacrament the following Sunday and then hoped to set out on the return trip carrying boxes filled with copies of the Book of Mormon on their heads to give to the people of their village.

The missionary testified how touched she was by the sense of wonder these brethren displayed and by their wholehearted sacrifices to obtain things that for her had always been readily available.

She wondered: “If I got up one Sunday morning in Arizona and found that my car wasn’t working, would I walk to my church only a few blocks away from home? Or would I just stay home because it was too far or because it was raining?”6 These are good questions for all of us to consider.

My mother picked me up in front of the high school, and we headed for home. She asked, “Well, how did tryouts go?” I had talked about trying out as a kicker for the football team.

“They don’t start until four o’clock,” I answered slowly. “I’ve decided not to try out. I wouldn’t make it. I’m not good enough.” As I continued to give my reasons, my mom stopped the car, quickly turned around, and drove back towards town.

“Why don’t we get something to eat and talk this over? The only way to know for sure if you could have done it is to try out,” Mom said.

Fortified with my favorite fast-food meal and Mom’s encouragement, we drove back to the school. I had played soccer since I was five and had been told I had a good leg and a “big foot.” I had learned to kick fairly well that summer at an Explorer Scout tournament. I was nervous as tryouts began, especially when I saw all my old soccer teammates who also had strong legs.

My time came to kick, and I did amazingly well. I found out later that my mom and sister had been watching and cheering me on from the other side of the field as I sent footballs soaring through the uprights. I ended up playing for three years of high school and felt good about my participation and improved talent.

I also learned that day the meaning of Doctrine and Covenants 38:30, [D&C 38:30] “… if ye are prepared ye shall not fear.” It gave me the courage to try in other areas of my life. When I served my mission, I knew that if I prepared myself by studying and doing what I should, I need have no fear.

“High school opened my eyes to see a lot of things. I learned that school didn’t have to be as hard as I made it. I always tried to separate Church from school and friends. I felt that I held a heavy burden in being an example to all my friends, who were nonmembers. I felt that I was forever being analyzed. Then I learned that I could use the things I got taught at home and by my Church leaders to help me at school. My testimony grew because I knew who I was, and that made it easier. I was the same person at home, at school, and with friends. I found that being a teenager in the gospel is a joyous thing.”

Your magazine is a real miracle in my home. Every time I bring a new Liahona (Russian) home, it disappears! The next day my father, who is not a member of the Church, says he has taken it to work and has read everything in it and liked it very much. Or my mother, also not a member, says she could not stop reading it all morning. She was particularly interested in the article “Japan: Growing Light in the East” in the March 2001 issue. I thank you for this miracle. It gives me strength to continue working with my family.
Mariya Konovalova, Kurgan Tsentralny Branch, Russia Yekaterinburg Mission

A few days ago, I visited Florida, USA, after Hurricane Irma hit. I met a group of Latter-day Saints who were helping clean up. They had left Georgia at 4:00 in the morning, driven for hours, worked into the night, and worked again the next day!
As we were leaving, a man walked up to our car and said, “I’m not a member of your church. I can’t believe what you have done for us. God bless you.” Other members of the Church from that part of Florida went hundreds of miles to another part of Florida that was hit even harder.
I have heard that some people have started calling the Latter-day Saints who are wearing the yellow Helping Hands T-shirts “the Yellow Angels.”

Boyd K. Packer
(26) Boyd K. Packer is counseled to urge members of a struggling stake to read the scriptures.

My best friend lived in the apartment next door. Two years ago the missionaries came to her house and taught her the gospel. Mom and I sat with Lillie while she had the lessons. I soon turned eight, and Dad baptized both of us on the same day. I went to Lillie’s house every day after school. We always had doughnuts and played dress-ups, and we never had fights. Lillie had bright red hair, and she called me Judy even though I told her my name was Jody. She’d forget—I guess that happens sometimes when you’re almost 100 years old.
“Judy,” she’d say, “I’m so-o-o-o hungry. Let’s have a doughnut.” We’d sit down at her kitchen table. Lillie always took one bite of her doughnut and said, “This doughnut is pretty good, but it isn’t quite as good as my husband Marty’s. Did I ever tell you Marty was a baker?
“We had the nicest bakery shop. Marty got up before daybreak and baked the doughnuts; then while he slept, I waited on the customers. But he had a heart attack and died.” Lillie’s eyes filled with tears. “Did I ever show you our wedding picture?” she would ask, wiping away the tears and trying hard to smile.
I nodded my head because she showed it to me all the time. But Lillie would get out her photo album, anyway, and we would look at her pictures.
Every day Lillie asked, “How was school? You must study hard, Judy. I only got to go to the fifth grade. We didn’t have enough money. I needed to work. You are very lucky to get to go to school. Promise me you’ll study hard.”
I’d promise, and then we’d have a doughnut. Sometimes after I finished eating my doughnut and Lillie had told me about the bakery, she’d ask, “Would you like to play my piano?”
“Sure,” I always answered. I would play “I Am a Child of God” or “Book of Mormon Stories.”
“Oh, that’s just beautiful, Judy. This is my brother’s piano, you know. Mama sacrificed so that George could take lessons. He loved to play jazz. He bought this piano before he went to the war. But he died in the war. First George died, then Mama went, and then Marty. …”
I’d hug Lillie.
“I met Marty when I was seventeen. I was wearing a big satin ribbon in the back of my hair. He took me to the World’s Fair. It was in St. Louis, you know. We had to cross the Mississippi River on a ferry. I thought Marty was so handsome! Did I ever tell you that he was a baker?”
Lillie often showed me her certificate for sewing. “So many people liked my sewing that I finally put a sign in my window: Lillie’s Sewing and Alterations. Would you like to see the dresses I designed?”
Soon I’d be prancing around in a velvet evening gown with a pair of white lace gloves and gold glittery shoes. “Now for a hat. You can always tell a lady by her hat,” Lillie would tell me.
I’d add a feathery hat and twirl around.
“You look like a princess,” Lillie would say, clapping her hands.
It was at the end of fifth grade for me when Lillie moved to a nursing home. It was too hard for her to go to church anymore, but sometimes Mom took me to visit her. Lillie would be sitting in a wheelchair. “Oh, Judy, it’s so good to see you! Are you studying hard?” she always asked.
“I brought you some doughnuts, Lillie.” I’d put them on her lap and give her a hug.
“Oh, goody! I’m so-o-o-o hungry! You know, my husband was a baker, and he made the best doughnuts.” After she took a bite, she’d say, “Will you play the piano for me, Judy? George’s piano is in the dining hall.”
So I’d push Lillie to the cafeteria and play Primary songs.
One day she said, “You’ll be as good as George if you keep practicing. I don’t know where George is now, do you? George hasn’t come to see me, and neither has Marty. Where is my Marty?”
I was going to tell her they’d died long ago. Instead, I asked, “Lillie, do you like it here?”
Lillie had fallen asleep.
Every time I saw her after that, she was thinner and paler. “Judy, I’m so glad that you’re still in school. I only went to fifth grade. Judy, where is Marty?”
One day Mom got a phone call from the nursing home. She told me, “Jody, Lillie’s very sick. She wants to see you. It may be hard to see her … ?”
My stomach was in knots as I walked toward Lillie’s room. She looked tiny and frail lying in her bed, and her breathing was raspy. Her hair was white now. She was too sick to get it dyed. Mom and I went over to her bedside. I swallowed hard, then said, “Hello, Lillie—it’s me, Jody.”
“Ju-u-u-u-d-y,” she said, her voice scratchy and quiet. “Hug me,” she whispered.
I leaned over and hugged Lillie. Then I looked around her room. I saw her old dresser that held her dress-up lace gloves. On her nightstand were two books—the Book of Mormon the Elders had given her when she joined the Church and her photo album. Taped to the album cover was a picture of me. I smiled and hugged her again.
Suddenly her breathing was quiet. The nurse listened to Lillie’s heart, then turned to Mom and me and asked us to wait in the hall. Mom put her arms around me. I cried and cried. Finally the nurse came out. “Lillie is gone,” she said. She patted my shoulder and added, “Lillie loved you very much, Jody.”
That evening our bishop came to our house. “Hello, Jody,” he said to me. He shook my hand and then Mom’s and Dad’s. Then he took my hand again and patted it. “I am so sorry about Lillie, Jody. I understand that you were her good friend. I’m wondering if I could ask you a favor?”
Tears fell from my eyes as the bishop continued, “I have been asked to conduct Lillie’s funeral service, and since I’m new to the ward, I don’t know much about her. Would you mind telling me about her, Jody?”
I wiped away my tears and began to smile a little smile as I thought of all the stories I knew about Lillie. I began, “Did you know that Lillie’s husband was a baker?”

Born with a complex congenital heart defect, Jacob is the veteran of three heart surgeries and numerous medical tests, with many more surgeries anticipated. His doctor frequently comes to Idaho, but for Jacob’s surgeries and some tests, we must travel to Primary Children’s Medical Center in Salt Lake City. These trips are often filled with anxiety and worry about Jacob’s health, and we have found that a trip to Temple Square helps calm our nerves and reminds us of Heavenly Father’s plan and of our need to trust in Him.
The night before Jacob’s most recent and most complicated surgery, we took him to the Temple Square visitors’ center, where we sat together looking at that glorious statue of the Savior—the Christus. Peaceful, warm, and safe in a parent’s lap and not wanting to leave, Jacob sat uncharacteristically still and kept asking to stay for “just five more minutes,” until our time there stretched past an hour. When at long last we needed to leave, we all felt at peace and ready to cope with whatever the surgery would bring.

I have been a member of this church for more than six years and have been involved in leadership positions during most of that time. There are times when I have been tired. There are times when I have been depressed. There are times when I have felt frustrated and inadequate.

But during these times, I remember that night more than seven years ago when I went down on my knees before God and learned for myself that this church is truly his church on earth today, that the Book of Mormon is truly from him, that Joseph Smith is truly his prophet. I remember that I asked and my questions were answered.

And when I remember that, I remember my covenants. I remember how great is God and how great is his love for me. I remember how much he suffered for me. And I remember that he cares for me and supplies me with all that I need from day to day.

And when I truly remember these things by receiving that witness once more, I am renewed. I gain new strength and new insight, and my testimony increases. I fully realize once more that I am working with the Lord in building his kingdom here on earth.

Karen
Karen, 18, has been a nanny for nine weeks. She has decided that the job is not what she is looking for and is planning to go to school when she returns home.
“I love kids, and I’ve been baby-sitting since I was 11. After graduated from high school, I couldn’t decide whether to go to college or what to do. I called a nanny agency and asked them to send me an application.
“My sister had a friend who had been a nanny and hated it. I avoided talking about the subject with her. I didn’t want to know about it from someone who hated it. Now I wish I had asked her more about it before I came out.
“I thought I would have to do the shopping, run small errands, take the kids to school, and such. I knew I would have to do the laundry, but I’ve never had to do laundry for six people before. I thought I’d have to make the kids’ beds and straighten their rooms, dust and vacuum, and clean the kitchen. I agreed to all of that. But when I got out here, I had to clean the parents’ bedroom too, change the sheets, and clean up after them. I felt like saying, ‘You’re 40 years old. Pick up after yourself.’
“They told me they had two guinea pigs and said I wouldn’t have to care for them. But I do. Anything else in the house that needs to be done I just do because it bothers me. When I’m cleaning her house, I keep thinking I should be home cleaning my mother’s house instead of working for this woman I don’t even know. Why am I here? A lot of girls are running away from something. I had everything at home. Every time I think about it, I ask myself, why did I come?
“I thought there would be lots of things to do here, but I don’t know the area. It’s hard to find your way around. It’s hard to think of things to do when you don’t know what is available. On my evenings off, I just go to bed, I’m so tired.
“If I were to give advice to a friend who was thinking about being a nanny, I would sit her down and explain that she would have a lot of responsibility for the kids. The family I work for seem to take parenting as a hobby. They are part-time parents. The kids are not well disciplined. They get anything they want. And there is housework to do all the time. I would tell her to go to college or get an apartment, but don’t jump out of the frying pan into the fire. You have to be very stable and ready to take on a lot of responsibility to be a nanny.
“I’m going home and going to college. I didn’t want to go to college, but education is so important. I realize now that I don’t want to clean someone else’s house. I want to be skilled in something.”

Recently, my 16-year-old niece Megan and two of her friends came for a sleepover. As we talked that evening, one of them asked me what it had been like growing up on a farm in the olden days. … I told Megan and her friends that in the “olden days,” I had been painfully shy and had absolutely no self-confidence.
“How did you get over feeling that way?” Megan asked. A pat answer was on the tip of my tongue when I stopped, sensing that these terrific young women were receptive to more. So I told them that the reason was a spiritual one: It wasn’t until I began to understand how the Lord felt about me that my feelings about myself and my life slowly began to change. Their questions then came in a hurry: How did I know how the Lord felt? And how could they find out how He felt about them?
For several hours, scriptures in hand, we talked about how to hear the voice of the Spirit, about how eager the Lord is to unveil the knowledge stored safely inside our spirits concerning who we are and what our mission is, and about the life-changing difference it makes when we know.

He remembered the smells from when he was younger. His mother pushing him forward, he saw his grandmother’s sunken face and felt her cold skin. There had been a strong smell in her room mixed with the odors of wilting flowers and stale perfume.
He was ten then, and now he was seventeen. He pushed the memory back.
“Yeah,” he couldn’t think of anything to say. He felt empty inside. He was back again in his grandmother’s room. The smell and the sound and the sight of her dying came rushing up at him. The aching pain in his chest grew and spread to his stomach. He felt weak.

I joined the Church in England in 1965, but the hostile reaction of my father and other pressures eventually led me to become less active.
Those were painful and unhappy times. On the outside it seemed easy to stay away, and I suppose I started to break the Word of Wisdom to fool myself that I didn’t care. Eventually I convinced myself Heavenly Father no longer loved or cared about me, and I felt completely rejected and alone.
Members still visited me occasionally, but it didn’t help. I both resented and envied them.
Then one evening a pair of senior sister missionaries dropped by. I was determined to give them a hard time so they wouldn’t make a return visit, but something inside me warmed to them. They had come as friends, not to preach to me or make me feel guilty.
They returned again and again to work in my garden and to strip paint from an old chest and help restore it—but above all to be friends to me. I began to be able to feel the Savior’s love through them as they filled my home with their obvious joy in living the gospel. They gained my trust, something that was so difficult for me to give.
All too soon their missions came to an end and they returned home.

During a visiting teaching visit, Martha, a member of our ward, told my wife and her companion never to come back again. She had decided to stop coming to church. One of the visiting teachers asked Martha if they could sing a hymn together this one last time, and she agreed. As they sang, something special happened. Little by little, the Spirit began to fill the room. Each of them felt it. Martha’s heart began to soften. With her eyes filled with tears, she expressed to her visiting teachers the feelings of her heart. At that moment, she realized that she knew that the gospel was true. She now thanked her visiting teachers and expressed a desire for them to return. From that day forward, she received them with joy.

Martha began to attend church with her young daughter. For years they attended regularly, with Martha never losing hope that her husband might eventually choose to join them. At last the day came when the Lord touched his heart, and he began to attend with them, as did their other daughter soon thereafter. This family began to feel the true joy that comes from having gospel blessings in their home. Martha has since served faithfully as our ward Relief Society president, and her husband has served well in several callings within the stake. All this began with the singing of a hymn, a small and simple thing that touched Martha’s heart.