Gospel Story Finder

I had never understood this scripture. Jesus had healed the blind man so that the works of God could be manifest. But what about all those who are not healed? What about my sister with disabilities, who had died when I was a child? What about Cameron, our home teacher’s son who had cerebral palsy and was in a wheelchair?
As I thought of Cameron, scenes flooded my mind.
We are sitting on our back porch with our home teachers. Cameron is in his wheelchair. He is bearing his testimony, slowly, painstakingly—fighting the obstinate, uncooperative muscles in his face.
“I know God loves me,” he says. “I love God.” It takes much effort, much time before he is finished. My husband, Van, leans forward.
“Cameron,” he says earnestly, “you are improving so much on your speaking. I can understand every word!”
Cameron beams with pride. I see my husband’s tender, compassionate face, and I wonder: Are not the works of God made manifest?
At twelve, Cameron is old enough to pass the sacrament. One of the brethren in our ward has designed and fitted his wheelchair with a special tray. The bread and water are placed on his tray by members of his Aaronic Priesthood quorum.
He wheels to the end of the pew, where a member lifts the tray to partake of the sacrament. Are not the works of God made manifest in that sacred act?
I see Cameron, my sister, and others I have known who have disabilities in mind or body. Others carry them; others are their arms, their legs, their minds. I see these same individuals with disabilities giving others gifts of love and hope.
I see the works of God made manifest for them and by them.

Another senior missionary said, “Our daily personal and companionship scripture study became more meaningful because we were looking for ways to apply the scriptures, not just read them. I wasn’t just going for ‘mileage,’ as I had sometimes done in the past. In our service, it seemed that I was constantly referring to a scripture we read that day or that week, so I began expecting to use recent scriptures I had read during each day. I was less passive in my scripture study, anticipating that I would refer to something I had read during the day.”

I have time to read only one testimonial. It comes from a young man who has been blessed by this program.

He says: “It is so wonderful that I do not have to just dream anymore about my education or my future. The Lord has cleared the way, and I am doing it!
“I am currently attending a great technical institute in our country, where I am studying to become a computer technician. … By going to school, I am discovering my abilities. The discipline I developed on my mission helps me to succeed. … Never before has any young man felt more blessed than I do. The PEF has strengthened my faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. Now, more than ever, I feel the responsibility the gospel places upon me to prepare myself to be a better member, a better leader, and a better father. …
“My dear mother, who has sacrificed so much, gets so emotional that she cries when she prays at night because of her gratitude to the Lord. …
“Now, I envision my town being blessed because of me. I envision the Church with leaders who have financial stability and who can support the Lord’s work with all their might, mind, and strength. I see the Church prospering. I am excited to start my own family and teach them that we can be self-sufficient. So I must finish my education. I will then repay the loan quickly to help my fellowmen. … I am grateful for the Savior’s mercy. He truly sustains us with His love.”

I recall one night at bedtime as Devin was headed for his bedroom we passed in the hall. He extended his hand and said, “Shake, pops.” I extended my hand. Then without warning, he squeezed my hand to the point where it caused me to cry out in pain, “Let go.” Regaining my composure, I said in a challenging tone, “I didn’t know you were going to do that. Let’s try it again and this time we’ll see who’s got the strength.”
He grinned. It seemed like he was always grinning at me. But I wasn’t grinning because I felt the contest required a stern expression. Our hands met and embraced. As I squeezed with all my strength, pain went throughout my hand. I shouted, “Let go!” His grin turned into laughter. After recovering so as to be able to speak, I said, “So what? So you’ve got strong hands. Who cares? Strong hands never have proven anything.”
Then looking at him with soberness, I said, “All I care about those hands of yours is that they break the bread at the sacrament table, that they never are used to bring any dishonor to yourself or to any young lady, that they hold the holy scriptures, that they fold together in prayer, that the knuckles become raw from knocking on doors while you serve as a missionary, and that they forever remain clean.”
By now he was no longer grinning. He was always willing to listen to me. The Spirit of the Lord was there and what a thrill it was. We shook hands again and this time there was only a firm grip and a great love between a father and a son.

But the Saints could not remain at Quincy, and some wondered if they should even try to remain together as a community. Brigham Young proposed that they settle by immigrant companies, and Joseph Smith wrote from Liberty Jail in Liberty, Missouri, to advise the Saints to find appropriate places of safety; so, a committee was appointed to select a central relocation site. They chose a place called Commerce, Illinois, on the bend of the Mississippi River, and when he joined the Saints that spring, the Prophet named it Nauvoo. Land across the river in Lee County, Iowa, was also purchased and the Saints founded a settlement called Zarahemla.

In October 1981, Sister Renlund was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. She underwent two surgeries and nine months of chemotherapy. Struggling to take care of Ruth and their daughter, Elder Renlund recalls, “I was hurting, and it seemed as if my prayers wouldn’t go heavenward.”
When he brought Ruth home from the hospital, she was weak, but they wanted to pray together. He asked Sister Renlund if she would pray. “Her first words were, ‘Our Father in Heaven, we thank Thee for priesthood power that makes it so that no matter what happens, we can be together forever.’”
In that moment, he felt a special closeness to his wife and to God. “What I’d previously understood about eternal families in my mind, I now understood in my heart,” Elder Renlund says. “Ruth’s illness changed the course of our lives.”
To take her mind off the illness, Sister Renlund decided to attend law school. “I just thought, ‘This will only be a bad experience unless we make something good of it,’” Sister Renlund says. “It wasn’t in our plan for me to have cancer as a young woman and have only one child. And my survival was in doubt. But we felt like law school was the right thing.”
She pursued her studies even as she continued treatment for her illness and her husband continued his residency.

Recently I was in private conversation with one who, having committed a serious transgression, had also made intense effort to repent and receive forgiveness from those personally offended, from the Church, and from the Lord. When I asked, “Do you feel forgiven by your Heavenly Father?” he answered hesitantly with an affirmative but qualified response. “How do we obtain divine forgiveness?” I asked.
He spoke of how he had forsaken his transgressive behavior of the past, confessed to proper priesthood authorities, and attempted to make restitution to those offended. He further described his efforts to live according to gospel principles and Church standards.
The Savior and his atoning sacrifice were not mentioned. The underlying assumption seemed to be that divine forgiveness is obtained through those steps of repentance limited to changing one’s behavior. Despite the brother’s earnest efforts to repent, he appeared to be burdened still by remorse and regret and to feel that he must continue to pay for his sins.

Felicity is a member of the Dumfries Ward of the Scotland Edinburgh Stake of the Church.
“I saw the British Pageant in 2017 and thought it was incredible and immediately wanted to be part of it. My parents encouraged me to audition, knowing that it would be an amazing experience telling the story of those faithful British Church members. I enjoy performing and want to pursue acting as a career so perhaps this will lead to other opportunities.”
Felicity comes to this year’s pageant with some prior experience in the summer of 2022, as part of the Nauvoo and British pageants held yearly in Nauvoo, Illinois, USA. She says that involvement in the pageant allows you to become the best version of yourself, giving more than you thought you ever could.
She adds, “I hope that those who come to watch this incredible show will come to know the stories of the early British Saints that travelled to America to spread the gospel and to feel grateful for their many sacrifices.”
Felicity invites her peers to, “Follow your dreams because you really have everything to gain. Even the struggles can be the most fun parts of the journey.”

“Sometimes we argued,” Mommy said. “But we said sorry and tried again. We learned to get along and have fun.”

In October 1983 I was attending a party in Rosario, Argentina, when to my surprise, I noticed a young lady reading a book. It was not just any book—it looked exactly like the one I had been searching for. Rays of light actually seemed to be coming from it, as if it were saying, “Here I am.”
The young lady had not been introduced to me, but I overcame my shyness and approached her. I glanced at the open book but could see nothing except the word Alma at the top of the page. My heart beat with excitement. It had to be the right book.
“Excuse me,” I said, “but could you please let me see your book?”
Again to my surprise, she started asking me questions.
“This book?”
“Yes, that book.”
“Do you know what book this is?”
“No. That’s what I want to find out.”
“Why?”
“I’m interested in it.”
“Yes, but why?”
“Well—because. It’s very important to me.”
“But can’t you tell me why?”
I began to be exasperated. “If you don’t want to lend it to me, at least tell me the name of it.”
Again she said, “But tell me why! Why do you want to know what book this is?”
I realized I would have to explain. “I came to this country about two years ago,” I said. “I didn’t know a soul, so I spent a lot of time reading the Bible, reading it very conscientiously. The more I read, the more I became convinced that my church is in error. One day I fasted and prayed and asked the Lord if my church was the right one or if I should search for another.
“The Lord answered my prayer. I had a dream in which the Lord showed me a prophet named Joseph. I learned that he is somehow associated with the right church. The doctrine of that church is based on a book that is as important as the Bible. When I find it, I will find the true Church of Jesus Christ. The only thing I know about the book is its outside appearance and the one word I saw inside, the word Alma. I think it is the same book you have in your hand.”
Now the young lady was taken by surprise. She told me the book was the Book of Mormon, and understanding that my intentions were good, she at last gave the book to me. I glanced at the title. Then it was my turn to ask questions.
“Do the Mormons have this book?”
“Yes.”
“Who wrote it?”
“Several prophets who used to live on this continent.”
“Didn’t a man named Smith write this book?”
“No. By divine command he translated the writings found on gold plates.”
“Well, then! It is a real treasure!”
“It definitely is.”
My happiness was great. Even before I read the Book of Mormon, I was sure that it was true—and that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was the true Church.
The young lady with the book introduced me to the missionaries. They soon gave me my own copy of the Book of Mormon.
Since I found it, the Book of Mormon has been my inseparable companion. When I read it, I feel comfort from pain. I find hope when I am discouraged, and I feel the love of God when everything seems futile.

We watched our children and now watch our grandchildren leave for work or school in places far from the family. They take a little child or two and virtually nothing materially with which to establish a home.
How consoling it is to know that no matter where they go, a Church family awaits them. From the day they arrive, he will belong to a quorum of the priesthood and she will belong to Relief Society. There she will find a grandmother—someone to call in the place of her own mother when her cooking isn’t turning out right or to ask how to know if a restless child is really ill. She will find the steady, wise hand of surrogate grandmothers. They will give a word of comfort when the painful disease of homesickness hangs on too long. The young family will find security—the husband in the quorums, the sister in Relief Society. Both have as their consummate purpose to secure the family eternally.

President Charles W. Penrose used to tell the story of an officer on the Titanic who stated that there was no fear of “God, man or devil,” because the Titanic was built so solidly that it could readily withstand collision with other ships or contact with any other force, including icebergs. The Titanic was in fact three football fields in length, 12 stories high, and built of the finest steel. On that fateful night of April 14, 1912, other ships warned of ice ahead. Yet the Titanic continued to increase her speed, cutting through the cold Atlantic Ocean. By the time the lookouts sighted the iceberg, it was too late. The Titanic could not turn out of its way in time, and the iceberg scraped along the starboard side of the ship, creating a series of punctures. Two hours and 40 minutes later the brand-new Titanic sank to the bottom of the ocean. Over 1,500 people were drowned.

Usually one-eighth of an iceberg is above the waterline. The ice in the cold core is very compact, and keeps seven-eighths of the iceberg under water. As it was when the Titanic encountered the iceberg, so it is with us. We can often only see part of the danger that lies ahead.

Just recently a friend of mine, a member of the Church, was told by another that since he was a Mormon he was not a Christian. I also have faced this situation a number of times. And every time it happens I’m astonished. I usually respond by saying, “But the name of the Church is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Every prayer we utter is offered in his name. Every ordinance we perform we do in his name. We believe all the Bible says about him, and we have additional scripture about the Savior—the Book of Mormon—that serves as a second witness of Jesus Christ, telling about his appearance to people in the New World immediately following his resurrection.”
Sometimes this is what the other person needs to hear in order to understand that we are Christians. But sometimes it is not enough. After listening to this explanation, one nonmember acquaintance responded with, “But you’re still not Christian.” I was stumped, so I simply asked, “Why do you say that?” What took place at that point was most interesting as we tried to communicate our definitions of Christianity and thus of what a Christian is.

I really enjoyed the September 2007 New Era. I especially enjoyed the article “If a Bug Flies into Your Mouth.” I had troubles with bad music and language before I became a deacon. One thing that my mom taught me is that if you can’t imagine one of the prophets doing it, then neither should you. I think you should have more articles like this in your magazine because I’ve noticed that some people have had struggles with language, music, and bad computer sites. I hope we can get them to spit the bug out!
Jakob M., Utah

Disassembled and packed separately in over 200 packing cases, the gigantic statute, Liberty Enlightening the World, sailed for the United States aboard the French ship Isère in the spring of 1885. The statue was a gift symbolizing liberty from the people of France to their longtime friends in America. The idea for the Statue of Liberty, as it came to be known, began with a French historian, Édouard de Laboulaye. He envisioned the statue as a fitting memorial to the friendship between the two liberty-loving countries.
The sculptor who designed and built the Statue of Liberty and helped raise some of the money for its construction was Frederic Auguste Bartholdi. His original model of the statue was only forty-nine inches high, and portrayed the figure of a mighty woman in a flowing robe walking with a torch held high in her right hand, a crown on her head, a broken shackle at her feet (symbolizing the overthrowing of tyranny), and a book cradled in her left arm with the inscription July 4, 1776.
But when the packing cases delivered to America by the French ship were uncrated and the full-size statue assembled from the more than 300 thin molded copper sheets, it stood 151 feet high. The inner structure to support the copper-clad lady was built by another Frenchman, Alexandre Gustave Eiffel, who designed the world-famous 984-foot Eiffel Tower for the Paris Exposition of 1889.
The sculptor Bartholdi suggested that the statue be erected on Bedloe’s Island in New York Harbor, where a base or pedestal even higher than the statue was set within the walls of old Fort Wood.
Today, an elevator lifts visitors up through the inside of the monument’s base, and a double circular stairway winds on up to the crown where viewers can gaze many miles out to sea. The brilliantly lighted torch, once reached by a ladder, shines as a beacon to those who love liberty everywhere. And a plaque inside the pedestal is inscribed with a poem by Emma Lazarus:
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
“Keep ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

During those 10 years of hoping and waiting, the Church in Iceland was growing. Testimonies were being nurtured, and new members were continually adding their strength. Gudmundur Sigurdsson and his wife, Valgerdur Knutsdóttir, were baptized in 1982. He was called to be the Reykjavík Branch president in 1983, and he became the first Icelandic district president in 1986.

Gummi (as he likes to be called) remembers the struggles they faced as the Church was gaining a foothold in Iceland. “We felt so isolated because we had no background for the Church in Iceland—we had no one to ask how things should be done. Sometimes people would offer to help me, but the problem was, I didn’t know what to ask for! Now we have built a base of leadership, and they are ready to be of assistance as new leaders are called.”

At my school there are two boys who are always bothering everybody else. Everyone is afraid of them. One time these boys were bothering some girls, and the girls were almost crying. I said a prayer within myself, and feeling very confident, I firmly told those two boys to stop bothering the girls. I didn’t feel alone or scared. They just looked at me, and although they were bigger than I was, they didn’t say a single word, and they left.
At that moment I tried to do what Jesus Christ would have done. I know that He lives and He loves me. I really like going to church, especially Primary, because I learn about the gospel.

Sister Tiffany Myloan accepted the invitation to support the missionaries despite very heavy personal struggles, including questions about her faith. She recently told me that supporting the missionaries has renewed her faith and sense of well-being. In her words, “Missionary work is so healing.”

What can each of you do to be a guardian of virtue? It starts with believing you can make a difference. It starts with making a commitment. When I was a young woman, I learned that some decisions need to be made only once. I wrote my list of things I would always do and things I would never do in a small tablet. It included things like obeying the Word of Wisdom, praying daily, paying my tithing, and committing to never miss church. I made those decisions once, and then in the moment of decision, I knew exactly what to do because I had decided beforehand. When my high school friends said, “Just one drink won’t hurt,” I laughed and said, “I decided when I was 12 not to do that.” Making decisions in advance will help you be guardians of virtue. I hope each of you will write a list of things you will always do and things you will never do. Then live your list.

Mom brushed my hair gently and tied a ribbon in it before she caught my gaze in the mirror. “You look awfully grumpy this morning,” she said cheerily to my reflection.
“That’s because I am grumpy,” I replied, scrunching up my face so my lower lip stuck out in a frown.
Mom turned me around and knelt in front of me, looking me in the eye. “You will make friends in this ward. Don’t worry!”
“But, Mom, I liked our old ward! I liked my old friends! Why did we have to move, anyway?” I felt tears sting my eyes.
“Because of Daddy’s job!” a voice piped in helpfully.
My younger sister Alison peeked into the bathroom from the hallway. She smiled her biggest smile—a smile so big that it showed the gaps where her two front teeth were missing and made her eyes disappear into little half-moons. I scowled at her.
“That’s right,” Mom said to her. Alison beamed.
“But I don’t have any friends here,” I said to Mom, ignoring my sister.
“You’ve still got me!” Alison grinned at me from the doorway.
“Great.” I rolled my eyes.
Alison frowned for a few seconds and then said, “We’re best friends!” She ran off laughing before I could shout back at her that we were not best friends.
Later that day I looked glumly at all the people in sacrament meeting. I didn’t know one person in this new ward! My family had been here for only a few days. “Please, Heavenly Father,” I silently prayed, “help me make one new friend today.”
I was nervous when sacrament meeting ended and my parents took Alison and me to our Primary classes. During class, I sat alone and didn’t say anything.
When my class walked down the hall to the Primary room for sharing time, I clutched my scriptures tightly. I still felt nervous. I stopped at the drinking fountain to get a drink of water, then went into the Primary room. It was bright and cheery and full of children. As the pianist played a song I had learned in my old ward, I felt a little better.
But as I looked around, I realized that I couldn’t find the other children in my class. I didn’t know where they had gone, and I didn’t have anyone to sit by. I glanced around the room again, biting my lower lip nervously.
Then, from the corner of the room, a little girl started grinning and waving her hands at me. She pointed to a seat next to her. I smiled back at her as I walked to the empty seat. She smiled her biggest smile—a smile so big that it showed the gaps where her two front teeth were missing and made her eyes disappear into little half-moons.
That little girl rescued me. She was the friend Heavenly Father had sent for me.
I decided that sisters were best friends.