Gospel Story Finder

The following day the American Explorers and Ecuadorian Rovers set up a joint camp on a beach near Salinas, Ecuador, where they learned of one another’s camping methods. The beach was part of an equatorial desert where it rains only once every three years. They had an ocean at their tent doorways but no water to use other than what they brought with them.
Religious services were held Sunday morning. Catholic Mass was celebrated by an Ecuadorian Scout leader who was also a priest, and another Ecuadorian Scouter—a Protestant minister—held services for Scouts of various protestant denominations. I conducted religious services for the Mormon Explorers.
“It was a humbling experience,” reports Dean Norris, an LDS Explorer. “We knelt together under a tower in an army obstacle course, and Brother Kovalenko administered the sacrament to us and then talked about our responsibilities as living examples of our priesthood and religion.”

Have you ever stood on a high cliff with your toes on its edge and your back to the abyss below? In rappelling, even though you are securely connected to a system of strong ropes and equipment that can deliver you to safety, standing on the edge is still heart-racing. Stepping backward off the cliff and swinging into thin air requires trust in an anchor secured to an immovable object. It demands trust in the person who will apply tension to the rope as you descend. And although the equipment provides you with some ability to control your descent, you must have confidence that your partner will not allow you to fall.
I vividly remember rappelling with a group of young women. I was first in the group to go. As I stepped backwards off the cliff, I began to fall without control. Gratefully, the rope jerked and my too-rapid descent was stopped. As I dangled halfway down the jagged rock face, I prayed fervently for whomever or whatever was keeping me from dropping onto the rocks.
Later, I learned that the anchor bolt had not been securely set, and as I stepped off the edge, the person belaying me was jerked on his back and pulled towards the edge of the cliff. Somehow, he wedged his feet against some rocks. Stabilized in that position, he was able to laboriously lower me, hand over hand, with the rope. Although I couldn’t see him, I knew he was working with all his strength to save me. Another friend was at the bottom of the cliff, prepared to catch me if the rope ceased to hold. As I came within reach, he caught my harness and lowered me to the ground.

I would like to tell you about a group of loud young men who came into my life when I was a young bishop in Seoul, Korea, many years ago. These were boys who lived in the neighborhood. Only one or two of them were members of the Church at the time. The boys who were members were the only members in their family. They were all friends, and they came to the church to play and to be together. They liked to play Ping-Pong during the weekdays, and they liked to have fun activities on Saturdays. Most of them were not good students in school and were considered by many to be troublemakers.
I was a young father of two sons, who were seven and nine years old at the time. I did not know what I could do for these young men. They were so rowdy that once my wife, Bon-Kyoung, asked me if we could move to another ward so that our sons could see good examples from other young men. I pondered and prayed to Heavenly Father to help me to find the way to help these young men. Finally I made the decision to try and teach them how they could change their lives.
A vision came upon my mind very clearly. I felt that if they were to become missionaries, their lives would be changed. From that moment on, I became very excited, and I tried to spend as much time as possible with them, teaching them the importance of missionary service and how to prepare for a mission.
At that time, Elder Seo, a full-time missionary, was transferred to our ward. He was one who had grown up in the Church and as an Aaronic Priesthood youth had participated in a young men’s singing group with his friends. He met those boisterous boys in our ward. Elder Seo taught those who were not members the missionary discussions, and he also taught them the songs he used to sing. He made a triple quartet with those loud boys and named them the Hanaro Quartet, which means “be as one.” They were happy to sing together, but we all needed “big” patience when we listened to their singing.
Our home was open to the members anytime they wanted to visit. The boys visited our home almost every weekend and even on some weekdays. We fed them and taught them. We taught them the principles of the gospel as well as the application of the gospel in their lives. We tried to give them a vision of their future life.
They sang together every time they came to our home. Their loud sound hurt our ears. But we always praised them because listening to them sing was far more enjoyable than seeing them get into trouble.
Through the years these activities continued. Most of these young men matured in the gospel, and a miracle happened. Over time, nine of the boys who were not members were baptized. They changed from loud, rowdy boys into valiant stripling warriors.
They served missions, met beautiful young sisters in the Church, and married in the temple. Of course, there were different challenges for each of them as they served missions, attended school, and got married, but they all stayed faithful because they wanted to obey their leaders and please the Lord. Now they have happy families with children born in the covenant.
Nine loud boys have become 45 active members in the Lord’s kingdom, including their wives and children. They are now leaders in their wards and stakes. One is a bishop, two serve in bishoprics, one is serving on the high council, and two are Young Men presidents. There is a ward mission leader, an executive secretary, and a seminary teacher. As a group, they still sing together, and the other miracle—they actually sound good!
Now, we have three of our own sons, including our youngest, who was born during the time I served as bishop. As our sons grew, those nine boys became the leaders of the ward and the stake, and they became the teachers and leaders of our sons. They taught our boys and other boys in the same way I taught them when they were troublemakers. They loved our young boys in the same way I loved them. These loud, rowdy boys of the past became our children’s heroes. Our sons liked to follow their great examples of becoming wonderful missionaries and getting married to righteous companions in the temple.

A few months later, during Christmas time, Radmila began to hear more about Jesus Christ. There were shows on television about his life, and people talked about him more. She wanted to learn about him, and she remembered the Book of Mormon. She began to read it. “I couldn’t understand a thing,” she recalls. “It wasn’t that the German was too difficult for me, it was just that I didn’t understand words like repentance because I had never heard of them before.”
She decided she would call the missionaries for help. At the same time, two new missionaries were praying for inspiration about which investigators on their list to visit. They both felt that Radmila needed them. When they knocked, she opened the door and said, once again, “Oh, come in—I’ve been waiting for you.”
She still didn’t want to hear the missionary discussions, but she set up a study schedule with them. Each week she would read ten chapters in the Book of Mormon, write down her thoughts, and then discuss them with the missionaries.
“They were so patient with my sometimes provoking and unimportant questions,” she says. “One time I told them not to come in because I hadn’t read that week. They suggested that we read together. We started reading about Ammon, and then they said they had to leave. I couldn’t believe it. For the first time, I was beginning to feel the Spirit and get excited about the book. As soon as they left, I went to my room and finished the story.”

When I was a deacon, the ominous signs of the Great Depression began to appear. Tens of thousands lost their jobs. Money was scarce. Families had to do without.
My parents were hardworking. They made every penny stretch as far as possible. That was probably the major reason everything they gave me was always two or three sizes too large.
I was 12 years old when I received my first pair of ice skates, so large that I had to stuff a third of the toe space with cotton.
When I took them out of the box, I looked up and said, “Mother, I can’t skate with these.”
“Be grateful for what you have, Joseph,” she’d say. And then, the phrase I had become so accustomed to hearing, “Don’t worry; you’ll grow into them.”

Sometimes we turn from the Lord because other people have made or are making mistakes. I don’t want to forget the story of the farmer who felt he had been wronged in the distribution of irrigation water and that the watermaster was at fault.
Having angered himself into distraction over the seeming unfairness, he sought out the watermaster, grasped him by the shirt bitterly, and said, “Tom, as long as you are watermaster, I won’t take another drop out of that ditch.”
What happened to that farmer? Well, he was a stubborn man. He kept his foolish vow. And he and his property dried up and blew away.

Day 3: Pray about something you can sacrifice to better receive God’s word. Consider what sacrifice you might make this week to show Heavenly Father you are ready to hear more from Him. For instance, inspired by two previous invitations from President Russell M. Nelson to hold a social media fast, I’ve found it helpful to sacrifice social media (except to share about general conference) and even other non-Church media leading up to general conference. It helps to clear my mind to focus more on Jesus Christ and His word. We can each pray for inspiration to know what sacrifice would best help us individually to prepare.

Sister Howells brought to her Primary call a wealth of experience and vision. She had served as counselor to Sister Hinckley and believed in developing cultural and artistic skills in children as well as in promoting their spiritual education. She established new creative sections in the Children’s Friend, began a weekly local radio story time and a local TV quiz show, and helped to commission the Friberg paintings of the Book of Mormon scenes. Children gave dimes to “buy a brick,” and building began on the new Primary Children’s Hospital.

First, an honored and respected name. I will be eternally grateful to a father who thought enough of me to give me his name. It was a name of honor and respect in the community in which I grew up. It carried before it the title of bishop from the time I was six months old until just a few months before I left to go on my mission. How proud I was of his service. I was pleased that he had the patience to involve me in his responsibilities. Working on a welfare farm, cleaning the chapel, balancing ward financial records, carrying a sack of flour to a widow, etc., were a part of my early life. I was with him so much I received the nickname of “Bishop.” I attempted to wear it with pride and honor. It had the effect of making me reach a little higher. I wanted to try to be on the same plane as my father. Should not every child have the same opportunity?

I was born in a small southern Mississippi town in 1950. My father was a career army officer. As a result, although not completely due to his career, I became the product of a broken home. It was not until my teens that I became aware of this. It was a traumatic period in my life.
My parents were strict, and I often was denied opportunities that many youth take for granted. One privilege I was allowed was to attend a local Baptist church where I gained an independence of thought and action. I felt I was somebody and had something to contribute to the world. I became a youth minister and had hopes of gaining a scholarship so I could attend a ministerial school. But the deteriorating conditions at home and diminishing faith in my religious beliefs changed that. I had increasing questions about life. I suppose at this point I simply felt sorry for myself.
At 17 I left home. All I took with me was the memory of ruined yesterdays and a fear of uncertain tomorrows. I left in anguish and bitterness. Later I joined the United States Air Force. The first place they sent me was to Vietnam. This was a startling contrast to the sheltered environment I had experienced as a child. Needless to say, rather than helping to find peace and remedy my doubts, the futility and endless agony of life there served only to create more questions and to reinforce my defeatist attitude. I began to doubt there was a God or that there was any dignity or purpose in life. Was life just the means to an uncertain end? Where and why did it all begin? I found myself wishing that I had never been born.
I left Vietnam physically well, but I was almost spiritually dead. However, something inside seemed to urge me to give God another chance, and I did in hopes that he would do the same for me.

Unfortunately, many vital decisions are made when we are most inexperienced. Our desire for freedom can be dangerous if we have not followed the proper guidelines. The book Mythology, by Edith Hamilton, tells of a boy named Icarus and his father. Imprisoned on the isle of Crete, they made a pair of wings composed of feathers held together by wax. They hoped that they could use them to fly to their freedom, and the boy was given the chance to try them out. His father warned him not to fly too close to the sun lest the wax melt. But Icarus became exhilarated with his newfound freedom and flew too high. The wax melted, and the wings fell apart, and the boy fell to his death. Our future can be imperiled by freedom left uncontrolled (New York: New American Library, 1969, pp. 139–40).

When I turned 18, my father allowed me to be baptized in any church I wanted. I wanted to join a Christian church because I’d studied the Bible in several congregations and believed in Jesus Christ.
One day my uncle invited two sister missionaries to our home. They spoke with much conviction about their belief in the Book of Mormon as another testament of Jesus Christ, stating that He had visited the American continent.
On that point, I expressed my opinion that perhaps they were mistaken, since never in my life had I studied about that. One of the sister missionaries, with tears in her eyes and with kindness, said to me, “Brother Roberto, the fact that you do not know the Book of Mormon is true does not mean that we are mistaken. I know that Jesus Christ loves us and that He was on this continent and that He taught His gospel just as He had in the Holy Land.”
They tried to help me with my many concerns and doubts during that first discussion, agreeing that they would visit me the next week.
That night I began to leaf through the Book of Mormon. As I read the title page, one phrase caught my attention: “Jesus is the Christ, the Eternal God, manifesting himself unto all nations.” I also read 3 Nephi 11 about the Savior’s visit to the Americas, and I felt a gladness in my heart. So I did what the missionaries had told me to do: I knelt and asked my Heavenly Father if the book was true.
As I finished the prayer, I felt a peace and a surety that this was so. For a moment I thought that the tears of the sisters had moved me and caused me to believe in their testimony. So I continued reading the Book of Mormon until a little after 4:00 in the morning. Each time I prayed, I felt with more strength the confirmation that Christ had come to the Americas and that He wanted me to learn more about His true gospel.
Within weeks, I finished reading the Book of Mormon and felt a need to be baptized into the true Church.
Reading the Book of Mormon helped me to grow closer to Jesus Christ and to make Him the center of my life. I am so grateful that the Savior put the missionaries and His Church into my path.

Parents have the responsibility to teach their children. And as a grandparent, I have learned that we have to be careful not to intrude. But what if the subject does come up? I remember well a conversation I had with one of my grandsons, who is now serving a mission. He told me that youth today face choices between morality and immorality every day. Here are some of the issues we discussed together, along with suggestions for dealing with them:
Sometimes it’s necessary to make personal choices that will be unpopular or ridiculed by others. For example, how should we deal with movies or shows in which there are “just one or two bad scenes” or where the rating is “only for language and violence”?
If you’re wavering or have a question about the content of a particular show, try imagining how you would explain to your family—or perhaps to the Savior—why this show seemed valuable enough to spend your time on it.
Avoid clicking on items that undoubtedly contain content that would compromise your standards. For example, what do you really expect to find if you click on “Pictures too hot to print in the 1980s”?
People will say things like, “My parents let me watch those things.” When they do, stand firm in your personal standards rather than caving in to peer pressure.
Others will claim that “things are different today.” But in reality, there are no new sins in this generation or any other. The devil just finds new and bolder ways to present them. Consider this scripture: “I cannot tell you all the things whereby ye may commit sin. … But this much I can tell you, … watch [yourself] and your thoughts, and your words, and your deeds” (Mosiah 4:29–30).
Be fully settled in your own mind as to why you do not want some things to be seen or heard in your home. You can expect to be asked why, so have an answer already thought out in advance.
In my discussion with my grandson, I found that he welcomed my counsel. He enjoyed talking through his concerns together. His desire to talk with me reminded me that as seniors, we can play a role in helping young people to see in themselves the son or daughter that Heavenly Father hopes they will become.

Bishop Page, the bishop of our young adult ward, started by explaining that family history and temple work aren’t just for parents or grandparents—they are the responsibility of our generation and part of why we have been sent to earth at this time. Then came the challenge: FamilySearch indexing. In fact, he suggested that our ward index 100,000 names.
It would be a tremendous undertaking. Each person would need to index 1,000 names. Yet when Bishop Page asked who would commit to the goal, we all raised our hands.
The challenge quickly became important in my life. I downloaded the FamilySearch indexing software, read the tutorials, and began.
At first, it seemed difficult. The handwriting wasn’t always easy to decipher. But each time I completed a set of names, I felt more confident.
Because my family is originally from Chile, I chose to index names in Spanish. Perhaps for that reason, the experience felt particularly personal. I didn’t feel I was merely typing names because I realized that each one was a person who could receive the blessings of the temple.
I quickly discovered that indexing is a great activity to do on Sundays. Because I live far from family, I sometimes feel there isn’t a lot to do after church. But indexing helps me use my time in a productive way, and I can listen to music or talks while I do it.
I was fortified when our stake president quoted President Boyd K. Packer, President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles: “No work is more of a protection to this Church than temple work and the family history research that supports it. No work is more spiritually refining. No work we do gives us more power. … Our labors in the temple cover us with a shield and a protection, both individually and as a people.”1
It can seem that young adults are especially bombarded by the “fiery darts of the adversary” (1 Nephi 15:24), and here I was being promised protection. I felt a strong desire to help my ward members experience that same blessing, so a friend and I organized an indexing party. Many people brought laptops. People already familiar with indexing shared their computers and answered the questions of those just starting.
Over the next several months, ward leaders also held activities dedicated to our goal. When anyone got discouraged, we encouraged each other. I was amazed at the sense of unity we developed from serving the Lord and each other, together.
In the end, our ward fell short of our goal of 100,000 names, even though many individuals completed 1,000 names. Our bishop’s challenge, however, wasn’t about numbers; it was about helping us gain a testimony of family history. And because it involved service, sacrifice, and saving others, we felt its purifying effect.
I am grateful for an opportunity to participate in the Lord’s work. In doing His work, I came to know Him better as well.

I remember when I was “[baptized] by immersion for the remission of sins.” That was appealing. I assumed that all my past mistakes were now washed away, and if I never made any more mistakes in my life, I would be clean. This I resolved to do. Somehow it did not turn out that way. I found that I made mistakes, not intentionally, but I made them. I once foolishly thought maybe I was baptized too soon. I did not understand that the ordinance of the sacrament, administered by you of the Aaronic Priesthood, is in fact a renewing of the covenant of baptism and the reinstating of the blessings connected with it. I did not see, as the revelations tell us, that I could “retain a remission of [my] sins.”

Fiddler on the Roof was presented by a cast of young Mormons. Their insightful performance, enhanced perhaps by the similarities between the Mormon and Jewish cultures, brought overflow crowds.

In the spring of 1866, during what is called the Black Hawk War, our pioneers were struggling to beat back deadly Indian attacks on many settlements in southern Utah. Two of President Heber C. Kimball’s sons were called into military service for a three-month expedition against the Indians. Before they left he gave them a priesthood blessing. Apparently concerned that his sons might shed the blood of their Lamanite brothers, he first counseled them about the great promises God has made to this branch of the house of Israel. He then blessed his sons and promised them they would not see a single Indian on their campaign. His sons, full of fight and eager to smell gunpowder, were disappointed at this promise, but the blessing was fulfilled. When they returned three months later, they reported:
“We … rode hundreds of miles, following the tracks of different bands of hostile Indians, and were close upon them a great many times. They were attacking settlements all around us, killing the settlers and driving off stock.” But the company did not see a single Indian (Orson F. Whitney, Life of Heber C. Kimball, an Apostle, 2d ed., Salt Lake City: Stevens and Wallis, 1945, p. 429).

When it was time for me to go on a mission, I was very excited to serve the Lord. Just before I was to leave, however, I found out that I had bone cancer. The chance of living long enough to serve a mission wasn’t very high. I had faith that the Lord would provide a way if he wanted me to go. My father gave me a blessing in which I was told that I would serve my mission in Mexico, serve in the Church all my life, and have a family. My right arm had to be amputated above the elbow, but my life was spared, and the promises I was given have all been fulfilled.

As members of the Church today, some of us may find it easy to take these glorious eternal truths for granted. They have become second nature to us. Sometimes it is helpful when we see them through the eyes of those who learn about them for the very first time. This became evident to me through a recent experience.
Last year, just prior to the rededication of the Tokyo Japan Temple, many guests not of our faith toured that temple. One such tour included a thoughtful leader from another religion. We taught our guest about Heavenly Father’s plan of happiness, Jesus Christ’s redeeming role in that plan, and the doctrine that families can be united eternally through the sealing ordinance.
At the conclusion of the tour, I invited our friend to share his feelings. In reference to the uniting of families—past, present, and future—this good man asked in all sincerity, “Do the members of your faith truly understand just how profound this doctrine is?” He added, “This may well be one of the only teachings that can unite this world that is so divided.”
What a powerful observation. This man was not moved simply by the exquisite craftsmanship of the temple but rather by the stunning and profound doctrine that families are united and sealed to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ forever.

“I had been given the assignment to give a family home evening lesson, and as I was thumbing through the manual looking for a lesson, I noticed that there was one special lesson for husbands and wives only. I decided that next Monday would be a special family night for Mom and Dad. My sister and I fixed them a candlelight dinner, and then we quietly went downstairs for our own family night while leaving the manual with Mom and Dad with a bookmark in the appropriate spot.”