Gospel Story Finder

I am grateful for a teacher who encouraged his students to keep a journal of the whisperings or promptings of the Spirit in their lives. He directed us to note what we felt and what resulted. Little things became evident. One day I was frantically trying to complete some assignments and prepare for a trip. I had just been down to the laundry area of the dorm to move my clothes from the washer to the dryer. Unfortunately, all the dryers were in use, and they all had many minutes to go. I went back upstairs discouraged, knowing by the time those dryers finished, I had to be on the road. I had barely returned to my room when I felt prompted to go back downstairs and check the laundry again. Foolishness, I thought—I had just been there, and I didn’t have time. But because I was trying to listen, I went. Two of the dryers were empty—and I was able to meet all my commitments. Could the Lord possibly have been concerned about smoothing my way in such a small but, to me, important matter? I have learned since through many such experiences that the Lord will help us in every aspect of our lives when we are trying to serve Him and do His will.

Darkness covered the city of Nauvoo, but there was a restlessness in the air. Here and there, windows were bright with lamp light. Chickens were stirring. Somewhere a dog howled.

Eleven-year-old Mary Ann raised up on her elbow in bed when she heard a horse gallop up to the door of their house.

“Sister Pratt!” called a voice. “Joseph and Hyrum are dead! Murdered by a mob at the Carthage jail!”

Mary Ann gasped. Barely breathing, she strained to listen as her mother went to the door and talked to the messenger in low, anxious tones. Suddenly she felt alone and frightened.

As her feet touched the wooden floor, she heard the door close and lock behind the messenger. All at once she was in her mother’s arms and both of them began to cry.

Mary Ann wished “Father” were there to tell them everything would be all right. Her real father had died suddenly when she was just a baby, but when Mother married Parley P. Pratt, Mary Ann had learned to love him and call him “Father.” Now he was away on a mission.

Mary Ann’s thoughts were interrupted when little Susan began to whimper. Her mother lifted the baby out of the cradle and rocked her. Even through her tears, Mama’s voice was sweet and clear, as if she were still singing with the choir.

“Do you think he knew it was coming, Mama?”

“Everyone was concerned for his safety. His life was constantly threatened.”

“I think he knew,” Mary Ann insisted. “Do you remember three weeks ago in the grove on Mulholland Street when the Prophet asked all the children to meet the next Sabbath for a Sunday School? Then he said, ‘I don’t know if I can be here. I will if I can, but Brother Stephen Goddard will be here to take charge.’ Don’t you think he knew, Mama?”

Mary Ann’s mother held her close, next to little Susan, who was sleeping peacefully on her mother’s lap. They both knew it was a question to which there was no answer. Together they watched the sun brighten the sky and smelled the perfume of roses and sweetbriar, brought in on the early morning breeze.

“I remember that, Mama.”

“Someday you can tell Susan all about it.”

“Oh, yes, I will!”

Mary Ann slid to the floor and knelt at her mother’s knees so she could look into the sleepy-eyed face of her little sister.

“I’ll tell her how I knew Joseph Smith was a Prophet of God the first time I saw him—and how I still know it! And some day, in heaven, Susan and I will be able to see the Prophet together.”

Some time ago I spoke with a priesthood leader who was prompted to memorize the names of all of the youth ages 13 to 21 in his stake. Using snapshots of the young men and women, he created flash cards that he reviewed while traveling on business and at other times. This priesthood leader quickly learned all the names of the youth.

One night the priesthood leader had a dream about one of the young men whom he knew only from a picture. In the dream he saw the young man dressed in a white shirt and wearing a missionary name tag. With a companion seated at his side, the young man was teaching a family. The young man held the Book of Mormon in his hand, and he looked as if he were testifying of the truthfulness of the book. The priesthood leader then awoke from his dream.

At an ensuing priesthood gathering, the leader approached the young man he had seen in his dream and asked to talk with him for a few minutes. After a brief introduction, the leader called the young man by name and said: “I am not a dreamer. I have never had a dream about a single member of this stake, except for you. I am going to tell you about my dream, and then I would like you to help me understand what it means.”

The priesthood leader recounted the dream and asked the young man about its meaning. Choking with emotion, the young man simply replied, “It means God knows who I am.” The remainder of the conversation between this young man and his priesthood leader was most meaningful, and they agreed to meet and counsel together from time to time during the following months.

That young man received the Lord’s tender mercies through an inspired priesthood leader. I repeat again, the Lord’s tender mercies do not occur randomly or merely by coincidence. Faithfulness and obedience enable us to receive these important gifts and, frequently, the Lord’s timing helps us to recognize them.

Soon after young Wilford got to Zions’ Camp, he began his great missionary career by serving as a missionary in Arkansas, Tennessee, Canada, and New England, where he often experienced the guidance of the Spirit. At the time of his departure from the mission field he wrote:
“After spending two years and a half in New England and Canada, getting the Saints out, I started back with the last lot, about a hundred from Boston. We landed in Pittsburg at dusk. We were anxious not to stay there, but to go on to St. Louis. I saw a steamer making steam ready to go out. I went to the captain and asked him how many passengers he had. ‘Three hundred and fifty.’ ‘Could you take another hundred?’ ‘Yes.’ The Spirit said to me, ‘Don’t go aboard that steamer, you nor your company.’ All right, said I. I had learned something about that still, small voice. I did not go aboard that steamer, but waited till the next morning. In thirty minutes after that steamer left, it took fire. It had ropes instead of wheel chains, and they could not go ashore. it was a dark night and not a soul was saved. If I had not obeyed the influence of that monitor within me, I would have been there.

“I have been governed and controlled by the Spirit. I have been acquainted with this Spirit. It was not the blow of trumpets nor thunder and lightning; it was the still, small voice to me.”

We slowly made our way back to the hotel in the drizzling rain. For two days, my wife and I had been copying information on her ancestors from church registers in a small German town. After deciphering so much barely legible handwriting, we were exhausted. Our heads were spinning with the names of generations we had managed to trace back to the year 1648. That date was as far back as we could go, since the church registers had been burned during the Thirty Years’ War. I suggested that now it was my turn to look up my ancestors.
My grandfather had settled in our native Holland. The only clue I had about his background was that he had lived in a German town called Solingen, not far from where we were now. I told my wife that if we left immediately, we could make it to the Solingen church archives by the next morning. So off we went, arriving at what we believed to be Solingen by nightfall.
We found a hotel and, before long, were sitting at the dinner table when the waiter brought soup. But then the waiter mentioned that we were actually in Grafrath, a suburb of Solingen. We immediately canceled our order and, much to the waiter’s surprise, rushed out and into our car. Solingen proper was a half hour away, and we couldn’t afford to waste time traveling in the morning.
Unfortunately, all the hotels in Solingen were full, so we decided to return to Grafrath. Imagine our waiter’s surprise when we returned a few hours later and reordered our dinner! When we explained to him why we had left in such a hurry, he smiled sheepishly and then informed us that all of Solingen’s church records were in Grafrath—in the building adjacent to our hotel! Then it was our turn to smile sheepishly.
After dinner we immediately went next door. There were the archives, open the next day from 8:00 A.M. until noon. We were at the door the next morning even before the archives opened. When I introduced myself to the archivist, he said, “Mr. Kirschbaum, I am so glad you have finally come.”
As it turned out, the previous archivist had compiled extensive information on the Kirschbaum family back to the year 1500. The Kirschbaums had been famous sword makers, and several of them had been mayors of the town.
As I read about my ancestors, I learned that they apparently had the typical Kirschbaum trait of a quiet, good-natured disposition—except when aggravated. I read with amusement about a local notary who apparently played a mean trick on one of my ancestors. The man later found himself shut up in his own house by a cartload of “natural fertilizer” that was delivered to his doorstep by Herr Kirschbaum himself—the mayor.
At noon we left the archives, loaded with information on hundreds of ancestors, including a pedigree chart, countless photocopies of publications on my ancestors, and a book on Solingen sword making.
We didn’t say much as we drove back to Holland, so preoccupied were we with all that had happened. In a matter of hours, we had been given the family records of hundreds of ancestors. But suddenly I broke the silence with a laugh.
I thought of my good-natured ancestors smiling contentedly as we arrived in Grafrath, where the information needed for their temple ordinances was kept. Then I imagined their frustration as we rushed off to Solingen. I could almost hear them yelling, “Hey! Where are those Dutchmen going!”

Another quality my father taught me was that of trustworthiness. When I was just barely a teenager, he would send me into town on errands. He never said, “Now remember, don’t go any further; don’t ruin the truck,” etc. He just said, “Could you get me some silage?” And I went and got the silage. It didn’t even dawn on me until years later that maybe I could have taken a spin up around the foothills or gone on into Salina and had some fun!

A couple of years ago I was invited to be a keynote speaker at an international conference in London. This was a nice professional honor and a great opportunity to represent my lab and the university before an international audience. I was excited for the trip and made the typical preparations: I made my travel arrangements, prepared my talk, provided materials to people publicizing the keynote address, and even found directions on the London Underground so that I could attend Church and see interesting sites in London that I’d not seen before. The day came, my bags were packed, and I was on my way to London.
That is when I discovered that my passport was expired. My passport was expired!
The conference had been advertising my keynote talk on their website for months. When attendees registered at the conference, they received a program that included my picture and biographical sketch. But I wouldn’t be there because my passport was expired. What I thought was going to be a nice honor instead became one of the most embarrassing events of my life. I had done a lot of things to prepare for the trip, but I had neglected one essential thing. And because I had missed that one essential thing, none of the other things mattered. The fact that I had counted out and packed just the right number of pairs of socks for the trip didn’t matter because I’d forgotten something essential.

Fourth, choose to find joy each day. Those who suffer often feel that the night just goes on and on, and daylight will never come. It is OK to weep. Yet, if you find yourself in dark nights of suffering, by choosing faith you can awake to bright mornings of rejoicing.
For example, I visited a young mother being treated for cancer, smiling majestically in her chair despite the pain and a lack of hair. I met a middle-aged couple happily serving as youth leaders though they were unable to conceive children. I sat with a dear woman—a young grandmother, mother, and wife—who would pass away within days, yet amid the family’s tears were laughter and joyful recollections.
These suffering Saints exemplify what President Russell M. Nelson has taught:
“The joy we feel has little to do with the circumstances of our lives and everything to do with the focus of our lives.
“When the focus of our lives is on God’s plan of salvation … and Jesus Christ and His gospel, we can feel joy regardless of what is happening—or not happening—in our lives.”

One night our family went out for pizza and games. When I finished eating my pizza slices, I was still hungry. I wanted to take a slice from my sister Eden, but my parents said not to. A minute later she decided to give me her last slice. That made us all smile.
Two nights later, Eden finished eating her dinner first. It was one of her favorite meals, and she wanted another helping. When I heard my mom tell her it was all gone, I decided to share mine. Eden was happy, and I felt good sharing something with her that she really likes. I remembered the good example Eden was to me when she shared her pizza.

Before I was five years old, I had discovered that the walkway of vinyl between our dining room and our kitchen was a good place to sulk, especially when I wanted my dissatisfaction to be noticed. I would sit there for a long time and feel that no one understood or loved me.
Fortunately, that wasn’t the case. My teenage sister, Rebecca, found me there one evening before dinner. She knelt down and quietly said to me, “Manda, let’s go count your freckles.”
It was a simple suggestion but so kindly put forth that I forgot my frowns and followed her to the bathroom mirror. She set up a stool for me so I’d be tall enough to see my nose up close in the mirror. With her chin resting on my head, she started with number one, and I helped her as high as I could count. I remember proudly entering the kitchen with the announcement that I had more than a thousand freckles, and we hadn’t even finished counting.
With just a small investment of her time and energy, my sister had changed my black mood. And, although my sulkiness that night probably wouldn’t have lasted very long, by giving me some positive attention, Rebecca insured me against the next time I felt unhappy.

Lance Reynolds can understand that feeling. Football had become an important part of his life at an early age, beginning with children’s football teams. He played for the team at Granite High School in Salt Lake City and was chosen to be on the team of top players of the region when he was 16 years old. He was selected to the top team in the state and again to the top team of the region.
The year Lance entered Brigham Young University was the first year that first year students were allowed to play on the first (top) team representing a university, and he played with the varsity football team enough to win a school letter. His second year he was on the starting team, and his third year promised to be a great one—he would have been the only player in his position on the team returning. But it was time for Lance to go on his mission, and although he had always planned to go, the final decision was a difficult one to make.
“At the time,” he remembers, “leaving on a mission seemed like the end of all hopes for a football career.” It seemed like a choice between football and a mission. He chose the mission.
Five years and a professional contract later, Lance no longer feels that you have to make a choice. “Why not do both?” he asks. “Young students and athletes don’t have to ‘give up’ things to go on a mission—only postpone them for two years.”
And he should know. Having kept himself in good physical condition during his mission by exercising during personal time (before 6:30 A.M.) and watching his weight, Lance was able on his return to slip back into his uniform and the game with ease. Within two weeks he felt at home on the field. The following season he was on the starting team at BYU. His fourth year he was honored by the Western Athletic Conference, received All-American honorable mention, and was chosen by the Pittsburgh Steelers, a top professional football team. He is now playing with the Philadelphia Eagles football team.
Lance feels he gained in intensity, concentration, and self-control. And all three felt an increased confidence upon returning to their sport.
Although some missionaries do return and do not continue in sports, it is usually due to a change in interests rather than inability. Ed, Mark, and Lance are convinced that any athlete who serves a mission will be able to regain his previous ability upon diligently applying himself.
And even if that were not the case, Lance wouldn’t have missed his mission for anything. “I would trade all of my athletic experiences for the opportunity of going on a mission,” he insists.

Two young missionaries knocked on a door, hoping to find someone to receive their message. The door opened, and a rather large man greeted them in a less-than-friendly voice: “I thought I told you not to knock on my door again. I warned you before that if you ever came back, it would not be a pleasant experience. Now leave me alone.” He quickly closed the door.

As the elders walked away, the older, more experienced missionary put his arm on the younger missionary’s shoulder to comfort and encourage him. Unknown to them, the man watched them through the window to be sure they understood his message. He fully expected to see them laugh and make light of his curt response to their attempted visit. However, as he witnessed the expression of kindness between the two missionaries, his heart was instantly softened. He reopened the door and asked the missionaries to come back and share their message with him.

A former missionary from Africa wrote a senior Church leader, apologising and seeking forgiveness for being offended by his teachings about a certain cultural tradition, which then led him to leave the Church. He humbly expressed: “Sadly, the fact that I took offense 15 years ago has made me pay an extremely heavy price. I lost so much—much more than I ever imagined. I am deeply embarrassed by the harm I may have caused along the way, but above all else I am pleased that I have found my way back.”

This widespread respect for Brother Vidal became apparent to missionaries laboring in Cajamarca, Peru, in late 1970. Hoping to overcome the opposition and religious superstition that greeted them, the missionaries arranged to use a municipal building to present a week-long exposition featuring displays and explanations of the Book of Mormon and its ties to ancient inhabitants of America.

The day before the much-publicized exposition was to open, city officials told the missionaries that a local religious leader had instructed them not to allow them to proceed. Frustrated and discouraged, the missionaries chanced to meet the head of the local bank, with whom they had earlier visited about the Church. Learning of their predicament, he telephoned Brother Vidal in Lima.

“Señor Vidal, I know you are a Mormon,” he said. “I have great respect for you. Some of your missionaries are in a difficult situation. I am willing to risk my influence in this community to help them if you tell me that theirs is a good cause.”

Brother Vidal urged the bank executive to help the missionaries. As a result, the exposition was a success.

I enjoy reading Q&A. A previous edition had a question about cheating (Sept. 2001). I was faced with a similar problem, where one of my classmates wanted to copy my test answers. So I was reading these young people’s responses to the question, and I took some of their advice. I prayed about it, and then I spoke to my friend, telling her that I would not break the commandment but instead I would help her as best as I could. Your magazine has not only helped me but also a lot of teenagers who were faced with the same problem.Oddett AllicockWest Coast Demerara, Guyana

In March of last year, B. Bilgee, 18, and M. Oderdene, 17, from the Mörön Branch, Mongolia Ulaanbaatar Mission, became the first young women in northern Mongolia to receive their Young Womanhood Recognition. Both girls started Personal Progress two years earlier, when it was first introduced in their country.
Bilgee fulfilled some of her requirements by tutoring children at the local school, planning a Halloween party for the branch with activities for both adults and children, and studying culinary arts. Oderdene’s projects included working as a branch missionary, studying first aid at the local Red Cross and then teaching the skills to her fellow young women, and helping branch members prepare for the bitter Mongolian winter by chopping wood and preparing food storage.
Furthering their bright examples, Bilgee and Oderdene are now Young Women teachers, helping the 20 other young women in the branch complete their Personal Progress requirements.

I'm grateful for learning that lesson through the example of a wonderful missionary companion. Throughout my mission we served in many poor areas, and sometimes I worried about teaching people the principle of tithing. I thought that even though they would be excited about the gospel, it would still be difficult to tell them about tithing, knowing that they had so little with which to care for their families. After teaching a particularly poor family I remember thinking, and I regret to admit this, that it's too bad we have to teach this family about tithing that's going to be so hard for them. Now I hadn't said aloud what I was thinking to my companion when he turned and said to me "I know we aren't supposed to teach them about tithing for a few more discussions, but can we teach them about tithing next time?" Here I was trying to stall from teaching this family while he didn't want to put it off any longer. He said, "My family lived just like them until we found the gospel, and Heavenly Father blessed us so much, I know if we teach them about tithing then the Lord would bless and help them, can we please teach them the law of tithing so that they can keep that commandment and be blessed?"

It completely changed my attitude on the things we were teaching, I was so grateful for humble, obedient missionary companions to teach me the great blessings of knowing the Lords commandments so that we may qualify for His help. My testimony is that when we rely on the teachings of Jesus Christ then the Lord will bless us.

“Are these all yours?”
It’s a question I hear often, so it didn’t surprise me when I heard it from the lady behind me in line at the grocery store. I looked at my six-year-old and five-year-old daughters standing on either side of my full cart, my toddler happily swinging her legs from the seat in front, and my four-month-old baby strapped to my chest.
“Yes, they are all mine,” I said, smiling.
From the time my husband and I started our family, our choices about how many children to have and when to have them have often come into public question. The decision to have our first child was not a logical one, at least not according to the standards of the world. We were still in our early 20s. Having just recently graduated from college, my husband was searching for a “real job.” We had a meager income and no insurance. Still, the impression was undeniable that spirits eagerly waited to come to our family, so we proceeded with faith.
We were blessed with a healthy pregnancy, a beautiful baby girl, and a stable job with a career track. I was grateful to be able to stay at home with my daughter and the three children who followed. All were brought into our family after strong divine impressions that the time was right, but that didn’t make it easy to explain to others why we would have so many children so close together.
The many inquiries I unfailingly receive often question my judgment: “Why so many?” “Do you not realize how much it costs to raise a child to age 18?” “Can you really give each child the attention and opportunity he or she needs?” And, of course, “Are you done yet?”
I hope we’re not done, even though the years of parenting small children are intense and extremely challenging physically, emotionally, intellectually, and spiritually. There are days when children need to be fed, diapers need to be changed, babies need to be soothed, and noses need to be wiped—all at the same time. At such times I question my sanity and wonder if I know what I am doing. On those days the voice of the world seems to laugh in derision, as if to say, “Told you so!”
But how grateful I am during those moments for the teachings of the gospel of Jesus Christ and the value it places on families. Every day I rely on gospel principles taught by prophets past and present to know that my work as a mother—and it is work—is the most important thing I could be doing in my life and is worth every effort. In answer to fervent prayer, I receive divine assistance daily to do what I am asked to do in my home. Through His tender mercies, a loving Father in Heaven allows those days of absolute exhaustion to come punctuated with moments of incandescent joy.
So to the woman at the grocery store and to others who wonder why I would devote my heart and soul to raising children, I proudly reply, “Yes, they are all mine—gratefully, whole-heartedly, and without hesitation!”

I saw this miracle of comfort as I arrived outside the chapel where the funeral of the little boy was to be held. I was stopped by a lovely young woman I did not recognize. She said that she was coming to the funeral to mourn and to give comfort if she could.
She said that she had come to the funeral in part for comfort for herself. She told me that her first child had died recently. She was carrying in her arms a beautiful little girl. I leaned toward her to look into the little girl’s smiling face. I asked the baby’s mother, “What is her name?” Her quick and cheerful answer was “Her name is Joy. Joy always comes after sorrow.”
She was bearing her witness to me. I could see that the peace and comfort had come to her from the only sure source. Only God knows hearts, and so only He can say, in truth, “I know how you feel.” So I can only imagine both her joy and the sorrow that preceded it, but the Lord, who loves her, knows.

I have a friend down in Honolulu. He was called one day to the hospital by one of our native sisters who had a child there with polio. She said, “Bishop, hurry up to the hospital and give my child a blessing.”

That was one morning. He never showed up all day.

The next afternoon he went up, and she started giving him a tongue lashing. “You, my bishop, your own boss. I asked you to come and bless my child seriously ill, and you didn’t show up.”

He waited until she had finished, and then he said, “When I hung up the receiver yesterday, I started to fast. I’ve been fasting and praying. Now I’m ready.”

That was early in the afternoon. He blessed the child. The child went home that evening, released from the hospital. “This kind goeth not out but by prayer and fasting.”