Gospel Story Finder

Billy Fisher pushed his cap off his forehead and wiped the beads of sweat off his warm brow. It was a good five miles from Horse Water Junction to his place on the flats, and the road under his feet was hot. But aching as he was to stop and rest under the shade of a big cottonwood tree, he knew he’d best keep traveling the rutted stage trail that pointed toward the sod house.
The sun was more down than up, and Billy had chores waiting for him, and he needed to study for a big test the following day at school. Mr. Beecher’s a tolerable enough schoolmaster, Billy pondered, but he’s awfully strict—especially toward me. “Is it because I’m a Mormon, Ma?” he had asked one day as he helped fetch water for washday.
“We are the only Mormons in all of Spillman County, but only God and Mr. Beecher know for sure, Billy,” his mother had replied as she dragged the huge black kettle into the yard.
“Why do the Saints get so tromped on sometimes, Ma? It doesn’t seem right.”
Billy’s mother had walked with him back down to the creek that trickled by the family’s vegetable garden. “Now, Billy,” she had started, with a gentle wisdom that the boy often stood in awe of, “the Lord doesn’t backhand a good person, but He just might bless him with a little trial and tribulation every now and again to keep him meek and humble. Like the bumps on the road between our place and town, there’s just enough of them to keep a body watchful.”
Billy’s mother had sat down on a fallen tree by the creek and pushed a loose strand of hair out of her eyes. Billy had plopped down beside her and let his bare feet dangle in the cool water.
“I do believe,” she had continued, “that if the righteous could stack all their hard times under them, they could rise almost to heaven.” She had brushed at the tangles in the boy’s matted hair. “I suspect a rose without a thorn is only half a rose, honey. And if the rain can make the flowers grow, why not the rest of us too?”
Billy sighed as he plodded along toward home. What his mother had said made sense, just as it had when she’d talked about a light shining its brightest when surrounded by the blackest black and about having to fight and maybe even die for what’s right. Yet, the knowledge that what Ma said was true didn’t always make life any easier.
Billy stopped to rest a moment and to pat his dog, Banjo. The dog was hitched to a travois loaded with supplies from J. D. Hollins’s mercantile store. Billy dug into his huck shirt and withdrew a crumpled list his mother had given him. “I’d better make double sure we got everything Ma wanted, Banjo,” Billy said. “It’ll be a long walk back to town if we forgot anything, and I just have to study for that test Mr. Beecher is giving us tomorrow. Let’s see. We got the flour, hardtack, dried beef, salt, four yards of gingham, the new bullet pouch for Pa, the whetstone, and the—”
“Hey, Holy Joe!” a derisive voice shouted. “You haven’t shown me your horns yet!”
Billy whirled around. The voice belonged to Silas Marsh. Twelve-year-old Silas had taunted Billy on more than one occasion, and the jeers were usually followed by shoving and blustery threats. Besides being considerably larger than Billy and most of the other children in and around Horse Water, Silas had a mean streak in him. Billy had seen the effect of that meanness more than once. He stiffened as Silas swaggered up, grabbed him by the shirtfront with one hand, and rumpled his hair with the other. “Where’d you stash those horns, Mormon?”
Banjo growled.
“You’d better let go of me,” Billy sputtered weakly, “or my dog will—”
“What could that mutt do,” Silas snarled, pulling a knife from his boot, “with this toad-sticker between his ribs?”
“Please don’t hurt him, Silas,” Billy pleaded.
Gloating because he had the upper hand, Silas slit the leather straps binding the mercantile goods to the travois and dumped the bundles out onto the road. “Looks like you had a little accident, Mormon,” he sneered, grabbing Billy by the arm. “And you’re going to have an even bigger one tomorrow after school if you don’t give me the answers to that test. I’ll pound you so far into the ground that they’ll have to drop a light to find you!” Giving Billy one last shove, Silas tromped off down the road.
Billy kicked his foot in the dirt. He didn’t like the idea of looking at the world through a couple of black eyes. He’d seen it happen to Stanley Jackson, the boy who sat three seats behind him. Silas had told Stanley to give him the piece of cherry cobbler packed in his lunch. Without thinking, Stanley had said no, and Silas had blackened both of Stanley’s eyes and had taken the cobbler too.
Won’t slipping Silas a few answers be better than taking a beating? Billy wondered.
In school the next day Billy felt a breeze on the back of his neck from the open window. It was a welcome relief as he sweated over the test questions. He had studied the night before, and although the questions were difficult, he was prepared.
Then Billy felt something else on the back of his neck—Silas Marsh’s eyes.
Silas sent a note saying, “Write the answers on this paper and slip it back to me. Or else!”
Sweat trickled off Billy’s forehead and salted his eyes. He blinked back the sting and stared numbly at the slip of paper, then glanced at Mr. Beecher. The schoolmaster was seated at his desk, busy with paperwork. Billy’s heart pounded, and his lips were dry.
The memory of Stanley Johnson getting a beating skittered across Billy’s mind. Still, Billy thought, if I cheat, I’ll have to live with my conscience a lot longer than with two closed eyes and a swollen lip. Then he remembered what Ma had told him about trials and tribulatons. Finally he wrote on the back of the note, folded it, and slipped it back to Silas.
Silas, grinning from ear to ear with cocky assuredness, opened the paper. His grin disappeared as quickly as Billy wished he could after school. On the paper Billy had written, “I won’t give you any answers. It’s just not right. I’ll meet you out back after school. I know what you are going to do to me. I can’t stop you. But I won’t let you do it without fighting back. Billy.”
An hour later the class began to file out of the sweltering one-room building. As Billy reached for his cap hanging on a wooden peg by the door, a hand rested firmly on his shoulder. Billy’s muscles tensed and he turned around, expecting to see Silas’s fist. Instead, it was Mr. Beecher grasping him. “William Fisher,” he intoned.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Beecher,” Billy responded with an unmanageable lump in his throat.
The schoolmaster displayed a piece of crumpled paper. “I procured this from the trash bucket. Silas Marsh passed this note to you.”
“You saw him pass it?” Billy blurted out with surprise. “But you were—”
“Mr. Fisher,” the schoolmaster clipped, “there are two things that rarely elude me: One is mischief, and the other is good judgment—though in relation to the latter, I must admit I have badly misjudged you.” He gestured toward the paper, and a smile trickled across his face. “I also read your response to Mr. Marsh’s demands. You did well, William. Very well indeed.” He started to turn away, then hesitated, looked back at Billy, and added, “May God be with you. Judging from the tone of that note, you’ll be needing Him.”
“Yes, sir,” Billy replied. He put on his cap, girded himself up, and walked out.
Mr. Beecher sat back down at his desk and stared at the door that closed behind Billy. That boy has more gumption than I thought he did, he mused. Then he smiled and went back to his work.
Silas was waiting for Billy when he came walking around the corner of the schoolhouse. Billy stopped a few feet from his adversary, doubled up his fists, and looked the big, brawly youth right in the eye. “Well,” Billy got out in an as-bold-as-he-could-muster voice, “let’s get it over with. I have chores waiting for me at home.”
Silas just stared at him. Then he twisted his face up like a tree knot and stared some more. “Just what is it with you Mormons?” he finally said, looking as perplexed as anyone could be. “Don’t you remember what I said I was going to do to you?”
Billy nodded.
“Well, aren’t you afraid?”
Billy nodded again. “My ma says that the time comes when a body has to face up to his fears. So here I am.”
Silas shook his head. “You’re really something, you know that?” He threw up his arms and started to walk away.
“You mean you’re not going to beat me up?”
Silas looked back, scratched his head, and said, “Maybe tomorrow.” Then he fidgeted a little and looked questioningly at Billy.
“What is it?” Billy asked.
“Nothing,” Silas returned, “except … well, you and me, we take the same road home. I was wondering if we could walk together.”
Billy tried to swallow his surprise. “Sure, I don’t mind. I don’t mind at all.”

A sea journey was the only option for converts in Europe who heeded the call to gather with the Saints in America. Jane Rio Griffiths Baker revealed something of ship life during her emigration from England:
“Sometimes a few musical ones get together and have a few tunes, sometimes [we] get together and gossip, and so … the days pass along. When we have rough weather, we have enough to do to keep on our feet, and [we] laugh at those who are not so clever as ourselves.”

The days of mirth, however, were balanced by days of distress. Jane recorded her grief at the death from illness of one of her young sons. “I did not think his death was so near, though when witnessing his sufferings I prayed that the Lord would shorten them. He has done so, and my much loved child is now in the world of spirits, awaiting the morning of the Resurrection” (Diary, LDS Church Archives, 3–4, 5; spelling and punctuation modernized).

“Thou shalt not covet.” Is not covetousness—that dishonest, cankering evil—the root of most of the world’s sorrows? For what a tawdry price men of avarice barter their lives! I recently read a book of fiction dealing with the officers of a great financial institution. With the death of the president, a senior vice-president competed for his office. The story is an intriguing account of a man who was honorable and able, but who in his avarice to get ahead compromised principle until he was utterly destroyed, and in the process almost took down to ruin the very institution he sought to lead. The account is fiction, but the histories of business, of government, of institutions of many kinds are replete with instances of covetous men who in their selfish, dishonest upward climb, destroyed others and eventually destroyed themselves.

Seek out a professional if you need more help.
By visiting a psychologist, I received medical help and tools to help me build better habits. I felt the Lord helping me be motivated and have the strength to do things I once thought were too difficult.

Several years ago we had a young paperboy who didn’t always deliver the paper in the manner intended. Instead of getting the paper on the porch, he sometimes accidentally threw it into the bushes or even close to the street. Some on his paper route decided to start a petition of complaint. One day a delegation came to our home and asked my wife, Frances, to sign the petition. She declined, saying, “Why, he’s just a little boy, and the papers are so heavy for him. I would never be critical of him, for he tries his best.” The petition, however, was signed by many of the others on the paper route and sent to the boy’s supervisors.
Not many days afterward, I came home from work and found Frances in tears. When she was finally able to talk, she told me that she had just learned that the body of the little paperboy had been found in his garage, where he had taken his own life. Apparently the criticism heaped upon him had been too much for him to bear. How grateful we were that we had not joined in that criticism. What a vivid lesson this has always been regarding the importance of being nonjudgmental and treating everyone with kindness.

Yesterday
it came—
a large, white envelope,
In it a letter
signed by the hand of a prophet.
I could have run to the highest mountain
and shouted my happiness to the world,
But volumes could not express enough joy.
Today:
Testimony meeting,
And I can only say,
I thank you, Lord.
I hear the call.
I come.

I am an avid New Era reader, but I have been disappointed recently with some of the articles about brand-new missionaries teaching battle-scarred veterans a lesson. I am a veteran of 19 months, and my companion has 23 months of dedicated service to his credit. We decided to do a bit of research in past issues of the New Era, and what we discovered renewed our faith. We really enjoyed “A Special Song” in the August 1978 issue and “The Secret of TPLOC” in August 1979, among others.
Serving the Lord is a great opportunity, and we’re truly grateful for the New Era. We’re also happy to report that our investigators enjoy the magazine just as much as we do. Keep up the good work, New Era.
Elder Scott P. BoiceCanada Vancouver Mission

I used to fight a lot with my parents too. But then I started just talking to them. When bad things happened to me, I realized that they are always there for me. Now we have a close relationship, and although we still fight sometimes, it’s gotten to be less and less. You’ll learn to love and understand your parents and realize that they know a lot more than you think.Cassidy Kremin, 16Papillion, Nebraska

One of my most insightful spiritual experiences occurred when I was thirteen or fourteen years old.
I grew up in Salt Lake City, Utah, and the Church was a large part of my life. One day the Aaronic Priesthood boys in our ward went to Welfare Square for a service project.
We were assigned to unload a large railcar full of lump coal. We were to climb up on the load and throw lumps of coal off to either side of the track.
At first, it was fun, a new adventure. It was fairly easy to toss the coal off. However, as we worked our way down into the railcar, it became necessary to pick up the lumps, raise them over our heads, and throw them over the side. By then we were getting tired and very dirty. The lumps of coal seemed heavier and heavier. It became a difficult task.
I remember going home that night and taking a bath. I had coal dust all over me. It was in my throat and nose. I could taste it and smell it. I felt terrible and decided that I would avoid doing anything like that again.
A few weeks later my family celebrated the Thanksgiving holiday. Under my parents’ guidance, we had prepared little boxes of food for the widows in our neighborhood. My sister and I made popcorn balls and wrapped them in waxed paper. My mother made cookies. We also added fruit and some candies to the boxes. We took these gifts to the homes of five or six widows.
No lights were burning in the last home. We knocked and waited, but no one came to the door. Just as we were about to leave, we saw a light appear at the end of the long hall. Then we heard the footsteps of this elderly sister, who lived alone. She opened the door, greeted us, and invited us in.
As we walked down that long hallway. I felt the cold. There was no heat at all in the house except in the small room at the end of the hall, where she invited us to sit down. A fire was burning in the small fireplace there.
We presented the elderly sister with our gift, sang some Thanksgiving songs, then began to talk about the things for which we were grateful. When it was our hostess’s turn, she said, “One of the things I am grateful for is that you came tonight instead of last night. This afternoon I received a delivery of lump coal from Welfare Square, and so we are able to all sit here and enjoy this fire.” I realized that I had helped make the coal available to her.
That was an impressive experience for me. I sensed as never before the importance of the gospel principle of caring for others. I saw the earlier experience of unloading that coal in an entirely different light and with an entirely different spirit. That Thanksgiving experience has affected me the rest of my life.

That trust has blessed my life and the lives of my family. Years ago I heard President Ezra Taft Benson speak in a conference like this. He counseled us to do all we could to get out of debt and stay out. He mentioned mortgages on houses. He said that it might not be possible, but it would be best if we could pay off all our mortgage debt.
I turned to my wife after the meeting and asked, “Do you think there is any way we could do that?” At first we couldn’t. And then by evening I thought of a property we had acquired in another state. For years we had tried to sell it without success.
But because we trusted God and a few words from the midst of His servant’s message, we placed a phone call Monday morning to the man in San Francisco who had our property listed to sell. I had called him a few weeks before, and he had said then, “We haven’t had anyone show interest in your property for years.”
But on the Monday after conference, I heard an answer that to this day strengthens my trust in God and His servants.
The man on the phone said, “I am surprised by your call. A man came in today inquiring whether he could buy your property.” In amazement I asked, “How much did he offer to pay?” It was a few dollars more than the amount of our mortgage.
A person might say that was only a coincidence. But our mortgage was paid off. And our family still listens for any word in a prophet’s message that might be sent to tell what we should do to find the security and peace God wants for us.

In our times, Sister Knell is a covenant woman who makes a difference. She is a widow in her 80s with a 47-year-old son, mentally and physically disabled from birth. A few years ago this dear sister set out to do what seemed impossible to everyone else—to teach her son Keith to read. Learning to read was his greatest desire, but doctors had said Keith was incapable of reading. With faith in her heart and a desire to bless her son’s life, this humble widow said to her son, “I know Heavenly Father will bless you so you can read the Book of Mormon.”

Sister Knell wrote the following: “It was hard work for Keith, and it wasn’t easy for me, either. At first there were some bad days, because I got upset. It has been a time-consuming, word-by-word struggle. I sit by his side each morning. I point to each word with a pencil to help him stay on track. After seven long years and one month, Keith finally finished reading the Book of Mormon.” His mother said, “Hearing him read a verse without help is a thrill I just cannot put into words.” She testifies, “I know miracles do happen when we put our trust in the Lord.”

The store’s double doors were opened for business on January 5, 1842, and Joseph was delighted with the response of the public. He wrote: “The store has been filled to overflowing, and I have stood behind the counter all day, dealing out goods as steady as any clerk you ever saw, to oblige those who were compelled to go without their usual Christmas and New Year’s dinners, for the want of a little sugar, molasses, raisins, & c. …
“Our assortment is tolerably good—very good, considering the different purchases made by different individuals at different times and … I rejoice that we have been enabled to do as well as we have, for the hearts of many of the poor brethren and sisters will be made glad with those comforts which are now within their reach” (History of the Church, 4:491–92).

During a San Francisco tour the group piled on a cable car and rode it from one end of the line to the other and back again, singing at the top of their lungs.
“It was one of our best performances,” said Sandy. “People would stop on the street and listen to us and applaud as we went by. It was great.”

Sarah Kikuchi, 16, from the same ward, was also raised in an LDS home. Her father and mother were constantly involved in church activities, always accepting church callings, and so were the children, including Sarah.
“I watched the Church grow and I thought that someday there might be a General Authority from Japan,” she said. Then on October 1, 1977, Yoshihiko Kikuchi was sustained as a member of the First Quorum of the Seventy. “I never suspected that my father would be one!” Sarah exclaimed. (In July 1982, after these interviews were held, the Kikuchi family moved to Salt Lake City, Utah.)

Remembering—and forgetting—are part of everyday life. For example, once, after looking everywhere for her new mobile phone, my wife finally decided to call it from another phone. When she heard her phone ring, my wife thought, “Who could be calling me? I haven’t given that number to anyone!”

Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles shared how Bishop Monson cared for the widows: “Many may know that young Bishop Monson took a week of his personal vacation time every Christmas season to visit all of those eighty-five widows in his ward. Many may not know that for the first several years the gift he would take them was one of the … hens raised and dressed out by him in his own poultry coops.”1

A few years ago 345 homes were destroyed in the Waldo Canyon forest fire. Two years later, damage from the fire continued as erosion caused by the destruction of vegetation and dangerous floodwaters still provoked havoc. In response, nearly 100 young men and women from Colorado Springs reported to work for a six-hour youth conference project to revitalize the forest.
Armed with shovels, safety goggles, and hard hats, the youth prepared mulch, spread seed, and raked the ground to create a proper bed for new grass to grow. Audrie P., 14, admitted that she wasn’t excited about the project at first but soon changed her attitude. “I was surprised at how much fun it could be. Who knew spreading dirt would be so much fun?”
Jamison S., 16, remembered seeing endless piles of mulch. “We created an assembly line to fill buckets and passed them down, sometimes sprinting, to where they needed to be.” Joshua G., 17, acknowledged the power of 100 youth working together: “It could have been done without us, but it would have been a lot harder and taken a lot longer.”
By the end everyone was hot, tired, and covered in dirt. The work was difficult, but a good kind of difficult. Emily L., 16, recalled, “It was really hard but fun!” Mulch colored their faces, but they were happy, and bright smiles beamed through.
Anne B., 14, said, “The service project made me realize there is more to the world than the everyday things that we do. There are people who need our help, and serving others helps us too.” Zach A., 15, who remembers being evacuated from the fire, said, “It was really cool to see our Church directly correlated with something that affected me and my neighbors.”
In the end, a hard day’s work made a difference as the youth not only rebuilt the land but also rebuilt hope for others in their area.
Ashley S., Colorado, USA

On the recent cover of a major university alumni publication, a prominent biologist-professor asserts, “There’s no room for free will.” Not surprisingly, the professor is quoted in the article as saying, “There’s no such thing as God, … and there’s no free will, … and this is a vast, indifferent, empty universe.” I could not disagree more strongly.

During my mission preparation, I have had many friends say they do not believe in God. When I hear them say this, I find myself praying for them. They may not believe in God while we are saying a prayer, but if we really believe in God, our love for Him will be demonstrated to others. Our example helps others understand that God really blesses us, that He exists, and that He loves us.
Emanuel L., age 18, State of Mexico, Mexico

The Savior’s words were written for us. It’s OK if we’re weak, as long as we don’t stay weak, as long as we do something about it. Katie is a young woman who did just that. Let me share her story with you.
“All my life I have wanted to be good, but I got to the point where I wondered, ‘How can anyone really know if the Church is true?’ I took Moroni’s challenge and for five months prayed and read my scriptures every day. One night I sat on my bed almost in tears, giving up. I decided to pray. I said, ‘Heavenly Father, help me to please just know you are there. I’ve done what Thou hast asked according to the Church and I just really need to know.’ Immediately I felt like someone had wrapped their arms around me. I didn’t hear a loud voice or see an angel, but I felt Heavenly Father telling me, ‘Sweet Katie, you’ve known all along.’ It was like a kind and loving father comforting his little girl” (letter).
One of the main functions of the Holy Ghost is to testify of truth. The Spirit testified to Katie that the gospel is true. Katie had paid the price. As the Savior said, she went to her home, studied His words, and prayed—for five whole months. Katie is developing her talent for spirituality. She can use this gift to govern her life.