Gospel Story Finder

All told, they’ve climbed just about far enough up to put them in orbit, scaling such colorful-sounding obstacles as Chicago, Holy Moly, George, Green Monster, Lone Peak, and the Demon.

Their first major rock climb was the Purple Alvin, a 500-foot shaft of sandstone and quartzite. They started climbing too late in the day and had to spend the night on the rockface, sitting in nylon slings on a six-inch-wide ledge. Since then they have made a number of difficult climbs. Last summer they climbed a 2,500-foot cliff called the Brazos in New Mexico. They made the ascent in 27 pitches and spent a night on the cliff face.

When I became a member of a Quorum of the Seventy, I assumed that I might be accepted by my brethren in the course of time if I were able to prove myself worthy of their association. I hoped someday to measure up and be approved. I was surprised to find myself immediately welcomed and from the outset treated as a brother, as an equal by men much more talented and accomplished than I. I have been supported and encouraged, loved and tutored in my quorum from my very first day of membership in it. Consequently, I feel a deep desire to contribute to the work of the quorum and to assist my brethren as much as I can.

On one occasion when I arrived home late from an assignment, my wife expressed concern about one of our sons. She was worried that his mind was not riveted upon serving a mission, and she said as much to me. Her concerns certainly captured my attention, and I asked where the son was. She told me that he was in his room preparing to retire. Immediately I went to the room and sat on the edge of his bed. When I asked if I could speak with him a moment, he said, “Certainly.”

The hour was late. He was tired, and so was I. I, therefore, could see that nothing would be gained by a long conversation. And following the direct Alma-and-Helaman approach, the conversation went something like this:

“Son, are you still planning on serving a mission?”
“Yes,” he answered. “I’ve always planned on serving, and I haven’t changed.”
“Son, do you know what qualifies a young man to serve a mission? Do you know what worthiness means?”
“Yes, Dad,” he said. “I understand the requirements and standards of worthiness that must be met.”
I said, “Thank you. I have one last question: Are you clean and worthy to serve? Could you accept a call if one were issued you today?”
There was a moment of reflective silence; then he declared: “It isn’t easy. Temptation is real and found everywhere. However, since you’ve asked, I am clean and I am worthy to serve.”

This was a wonderful, beautiful, spontaneous, and sanctifying experience.

I thanked my son, kissed him, assured him of my love, and bid him good night. I returned to my bedroom and told my wife that all was well and that she could go to sleep.

The next day, when the kids came down the corridor of the church, they found my classroom door closed—not because I wasn’t ready for them, but because I was. A large sign taped across the entrance read, “NOTICE: This is a magic cave. Please enter quietly.” I invited them inside.
“This,” I held up the old music box, “this is magic.” As mysteriously as I could, I told Miranda’s story. By the end of the tale the class had unanimously decided my niece must be crazy.
“Why?” I zeroed in on one girl.
“Well,” she summed up the situation, “All that stuff in the box was just fake. She’s nuts.”
“Then aren’t we all?” I asked, pulling out some surprise visual aids. I held up a pair of jeans—the most popular brand; some shirts with all the stylish patches in all the stylish places; a popular magazine, complete with pictures of the latest haircuts, jewelry, and makeup.
“Do these have magical powers to make us beautiful? I thumbed the magazine open before them. “The only power they have is what we give them. Are we crazy?”
I stopped flipping pages at an appealing cigarette ad. “A magic potion to make us brave, right? All you have to do is hold this little roll of tobacco and just like that, you’re cool! You’re tough! You’re in! Right?” The bell hadn’t even rung yet, but my lesson was over. Three-year-old Miranda and I had made our point.

Soon after my decision to attend monthly, my family decided to go every month. Even if we have tests at school the day after our temple day, my family and I attend regularly. I’ve been frequently attending the temple with my family for seven years now. The temple is the house of the Lord, and we know the importance of going to the temple.

For those who, for whatever reason, fall into temptation and are dwelling upon unrighteous actions, I assure you that there is a way back, that there is hope in Christ. A few years ago, I had the opportunity to visit with a dear member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints who went through a very difficult time in his life after committing a major transgression. When I first saw him, I could see a sadness in his eyes, accompanied by a brightness of hope in his countenance. His very expression reflected a humble and changed heart. He had been a dedicated Christian and had been richly blessed by the Lord. However, he had let a single improper thought invade his mind, which then led to others. As he steadily became more and more permissive of these thoughts, soon they took root in his mind and began to grow deep in his heart. He eventually acted upon these unworthy desires, which led him to make decisions against everything that was most precious in his life. He told me that if he had not given place to that foolish thought to begin with, he would not have become vulnerable and susceptible to the temptations of the enemy—temptations that brought so much sadness in his life, at least for a period of time.

Fortunately, like the prodigal son in the famous parable found in the gospel of Luke, “he came to himself” and woke up from that nightmare. He renewed his trust in the Lord and felt true contrition and had the desire to eventually return to the Lord’s fold. That day we both felt the Savior’s redeeming love for us. At the end of our brief visit, we were both overcome with emotion, and to this day, I remember the resplendent joy in his countenance when he left my office.

“Sister Sorensen was always talking about how the world needs more organ players,” says Emily Holbrook, 17.
Emily decided to learn the organ when Sister Sorensen was tutoring her in math and mentioned she would be teaching the organ. Emily thought it sounded exciting and wanted to learn how to play.

And she has friends she knows from doing a pantomime show at the local town hall, where her mother helped make costumes for everyone in the cast.
When her mother learned that some of the cast members had questions about the Church, she invited them to visit the Portadown Ward meetinghouse. While they were there, many of them and their mothers noticed pictures of the Saviour and learned how deeply Latter-day Saints love the Lord. “Some of them didn’t know that Mormons are Christians,” Clare’s mother explains. “Now they understand that we are.”

Four days after his 16th birthday, Erastus was ordained a priest by his brother William and told to teach and baptize. He linked up with his young relative James Snow, also age 16, for a ten-day preaching mission into the Vermont countryside. Starting on November 22, 1834, they journeyed to Danville, where they “held a meeting with the brethren.” The two priests held two meetings at Sheffield, and then spoke to “a large attentive audience.” At Glover, they visited Albany, Irasburg, Troy, and Jay, “preaching and calling upon people to repent.” At Jay, they met with local Saints on the Sabbath and “administered the Lord’s supper and in the evening we held a public meeting.” The young priests visited Troy, Newport, Salem, Charleston, Newark, Burk, and Sundon.

After the trip, James Snow said, “we did exceedingly rejoice.” He and Erastus “could truly say that the Lord was merciful unto us in very deed in that he did fill our mouths with words that our enemies could neither gainsay nor resist, and prejudice gave way.”

The assignments given us may be difficult. Years ago I was on a mission in England. One day three or four of the London papers carried reviews of a reprint of an old book, snide and ugly in tone, indicating that the book was a history of the Mormons. [The mission president] said to me, “I want you to go down to the publisher and protest this.” I looked at him and was about to say, “Surely not me.” But I meekly said, “Yes, sir.”

I was frightened. I went to my room and felt something as I think Moses must have felt when the Lord asked him to go and see Pharaoh. I offered a prayer. My stomach was churning as I walked. I found the office of the president and presented my card to the receptionist. She took it and went into the inner office and soon returned to say that the president was too busy to see me. I replied that I had come five thousand miles and that I would wait. Finally he invited me in. He was smoking a long cigar with a look that seemed to say, “Don’t bother me.”

I do not recall what I said after that. Another power seemed to be speaking through me. At first he was defensive. Then he began to soften. He concluded by promising to do something. Within an hour word went out to every book dealer in England to return the books to the publisher. At great expense he printed and tipped in the front of each volume a statement to the effect that the book was not to be considered as history, but only as fiction, and that no offense was intended against the respected Mormon people.

I came to know that when we try in faith to walk in obedience to the requests of the priesthood, the Lord opens the way, even when there appears to be no way. May we place our trust in our Father in Heaven, to go forth with willing hearts, that we may be worthy of His blessings.

I recall that when I was a missionary in London, England, more than fifty years ago, we held our meetings in the Battersea town hall, which we rented. The floors were hard, and we sat on chairs. Every time a chair moved there was a noise. But this was not the worst aspect of the situation. Far worse was the noisy socializing of the members of the branch.

On one occasion we invited a family whom we had met while tracting. With great expectation we as missionaries stood by the door to welcome them. There was the usual convivial spirit in the hall, with the members talking noisily one with another. When this family came into the room, they quietly moved toward some chairs, knelt for a moment, and closed their eyes in a word of prayer. They then sat in an attitude of reverence amidst all the commotion.

Frankly, I was embarrassed. They had come to what they regarded as a worship service, and they behaved themselves accordingly.

At the close of the meeting they left quietly, and when we next met they spoke of their disappointment in what they had experienced. I have never forgotten that.

“Friendship and respect can literally be lifesaving.

“I was among those who worked to develop an artificial heart-lung machine, which in turn helped in the pioneering of open-heart surgery. There was a great spirit of cooperation and respect among the few of us working in that new area of medical research. We knew that our real competition was against disease and death. Our cooperation in the race to pioneer new medical procedures literally saved lives.

“It is possible to disagree with others without violating the Savior’s injunction to ‘love one another, as I have loved you’ (John 15:12). It is possible to have a different opinion than your neighbor while still loving that neighbor. It is even possible to ‘compete’ in a spirit of mutual respect that brings out the best in everyone.

“May we reflect personally on what we can do to eliminate contention from our own lives as we embrace … excellence, friendship, and respect.”
President Russell M. Nelson, Facebook, July 23, 2021, facebook.com/russell.m.nelson.

Annette usually goes to Great Oaks during study period—between 6:30 and 7:30 P.M. She helps the girls with their homework or reading. Sometimes they play games or put puzzles together. She remembers one evening the dorm was in the middle of several crises.
Apparently, some of the girls had tried to run away. Another one was crying uncontrollably after a day in court. Two sisters, Denise and Linda, had just found out that their grandmother had died. “I took them outside,” says Annette, “and we just walked together. The girls were quietly crying. Soon, they started talking about how much they missed their grandma and especially how long it had been since they had seen their mother. They both felt better after our walk.”

One by one I turned the pages of the Brigham Young University catalog of courses. For the sixth or seventh time, I considered each subject major: accounting, agriculture, agronomy, air science, animal science, archaeology. … Even though I had one year of college behind me, I hadn’t yet decided upon a major. From accounting to zoology, nothing seemed right.
I had always loved math, but a C+ in high school trig discouraged me from pursuing mathematics. A major in elementary education leading to a career as a teacher offered three big bonuses—June, July, and August—but even the prospect of having my summers free didn’t override what was for me a lackluster curriculum. Child development and family relationships was a popular major—too popular; something inside me cried out to be different. But what?
My older sister Kathy spied me on the back lawn, soaking up rays. Thinking I was engrossed in a novel, she stopped to see what I was reading.
“Sobby love story?” she asked.
“Not hardly,” I replied, “but I’m just about in tears trying to decide on a major.”
“I have a friend who’s majoring in advertising,” Kathy said, “and he loves it. Why don’t you look into it?”
Advertising? BYU offered no such major. The catalog skipped from accounting to agriculture—I ought to know, I had it memorized.
“It’s an area of concentration under communications,” she continued, almost as though she had read my mind.
I turned to communications and read the class offerings. I was intrigued. “Advertising Media Planning and Budgeting,” “News Writing,” and “Public Relations” sounded more like fun than work.
A few months later, A’s in two introductory advertising classes encouraged me to enroll in “Advertising Copywriting and Production,” and “Communications Law.” Advertising felt right.
One day I ran into my uncle while I was visiting at my grandparent’s house. “How’s school?” he inquired. “Have you chosen a major?”
“Yep. Advertising.”
“Advertising? Never heard of such a major. Do you think that’s wise?” Then he made a statement I’ll never forget: “The Savior spent 30 years preparing for his brief three-year ministry. You have three years of college left. Don’t you think you should spend them preparing for your lifetime ministry?”
A sword pierced clear through me couldn’t have cut any deeper. I was given cause to ponder.
I thought about my mother. Had her education prepared her for her ministry as a wife and mother? She had graduated in dramatic arts. I’d never seen her on stage, but she annually directed the winning stake road show, and every Sunday School or sacrament meeting talk I ever gave was rehearsed to perfection under her tutelage. What if I married right out of college and never worked in my field? Could I use an advertising major to further the Lord’s work? Would it be of any benefit to my children?
The puzzlement persisted, but I continued in advertising. I had never fancied myself as much of a writer (high school English themes were killers!), but in college I found myself pulling A’s in the creative classes as well as in theory. A scholarship as “outstanding junior student in advertising” convinced me I had found my niche.
Fifteen years have passed since I received my diploma in advertising, and all of them have been spent working in my field. I now sit behind a desk at my own small advertising business. Until recently no husband awaited my return from the office, and no little ones call me mommy. I would gladly welcome the title. Creating advertising ideas has never seemed quite as fulfilling as creating little tabernacles, but life has not yet offered me that opportunity. My college studies really did prepare me for my lifetime calling.

I was privileged to participate with President Henry B. Eyring at the rededication of the Suva Fiji Temple two months ago. It was a special, sacred occasion. President Eyring’s courage and strong spiritual impressions allowed the rededication to proceed in the face of the worst cyclone ever recorded in the Southern Hemisphere. Physical and spiritual protections were provided to youth, missionaries, and members. The hand of the Lord was clearly evident. The Suva Fiji Temple rededication was a refuge from the storm. Often as we experience the storms of life, we witness the Lord’s hand in providing eternal protections.

The New Era is a wonderful magazine. I am so glad I came back to read it. I quit reading it in 1991, and my dad decided to subscribe again just for me. During the last three years, everything had changed in my life and I am much better than before. Now I am looking forward to the next month’s magazine.
Tricia SaumweberSt. Paul, Minnesota

I have found that dressing correctly and modestly never feels bad. When I went to Young Women camp, youth conference, and EFY, it was impossible to doubt that being modest is the right way to be. We have to keep in mind that our clothing can’t make anyone uncomfortable if we’re dressed appropriately.
Kente B., 16, Belgium

D. Todd Christofferson(81) Youth in Italy show President Russell M. Nelson temple cards prepared for their ancestors.

“Because my dad died two years ago. At first I thought that I would never be happy again. I missed him so much! I still do, but I’m not sad anymore. My dad believed in Jesus, and so do I. Mom had us memorize that scripture so that we could be comforted.”
“Sure,” said Sarah. “I wrote it in my journal on the day that we buried my dad.”

Let us look in on one such scene which took place just last month in the Sunset Gardens Cemetery. Gathered were friends and family of Roger S. Olson, whose casket, bedecked with flowers, contained his earthly body. Claudia, his wife, six precious children, and family, friends, and associates stood in silence.
Just a few days earlier, Roger had left for his work, where he was a talented and recognized authority in his field of specialized photography. An accident resulted in the helicopter crash which took his life—all in the twinkling of an eye and without advance warning. Filled with grief but comforted by faith, those who had loved and lived together had bid but a temporary farewell to husband and father. They are sustained by the knowledge the skeptic rejects. They treasure the account recorded in Luke which describes that most significant event following the crucifixion and burial of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ:
“Now upon the first day of the week, very early in the morning, [Mary Magdalene and the other Mary] came unto the sepulchre.” To their astonishment, the body of their Lord was gone. Luke records that two men in shining garments stood by them and said: “Why seek ye the living among the dead? He is not here, but is risen.”
Against the philosophy rampant in today’s world—a doubting of the authenticity of the Sermon on the Mount, an abandonment of Christ’s teaching, a denial of God, and a rejection of His laws—the Olsons and true believers everywhere treasure the testimonies of eyewitnesses to His resurrection. Stephen, doomed to the cruel death of a martyr, looked up to heaven and cried, “Behold, I see the heavens opened, and the Son of man standing on the right hand of God.”
Saul, on the road to Damascus, had a vision of the risen, exalted Christ. Peter and John also testified of the risen Christ. And in our dispensation, the Prophet Joseph Smith bore eloquent testimony of the Son of God, for he saw Him and heard the Father introduce him: “This is My Beloved Son. Hear Him!”