Gospel Story Finder

I try not to pay attention if someone teases me. It hurts to be treated in such a way, but when I think of Jesus Christ, I realize my hardships are insignificant in comparison, and I continue trying to be kind. It is important for me to go to church not because of friends but to obey the law of the Sabbath and to worship the Lord.
Sri Martini Wardoko,Jakarta South Branch, Jakarta Indonesia District

On June 27, 1844, the persecution of Joseph Smith culminated when he and his brother Hyrum were killed by a mob in the Carthage Jail.

Soon after the Martyrdom and in fulfillment of Joseph’s vision, Brigham Young and the Church began preparations to move to the Rocky Mountains. Hardship, affliction, death, and apostasy were ever present. Still, the work moved forward. In the 1850s some 705 missionaries were called to serve in areas including Scandinavia, France, Italy, Switzerland, and Hawaii. Missionary work also began in such diverse parts of the world as India, Hong Kong, Thailand, Burma, South Africa, and the West Indies.

Among faithful converts from Scandinavia and Britain baptized during the decade of the 1850s were those who suffered and died, on land and on the seas, as they journeyed to join with the Saints here in the Rocky Mountains.

The faith of the Saints was tested in every footstep as Brigham Young led them to build temples and establish more than 350 colonies in the West. By the time Brigham Young died in 1877, worldwide Church membership had grown to more than 115,000. Despite all of the persecution, the truth of God was indeed going forth boldly and nobly.

Joseph F. Smith was the first president of the Church to visit Europe. When John Ruothoff, a young boy with failing eyesight, discovered that President Smith would be visiting in Holland, he said to his mother, “The Prophet has the most power of any missionary on earth. If you will take me with you to the meeting and he will look into my eyes, I believe they will be healed.”
After the meeting President Smith lifted John’s bandages, looked into his eyes, blessed him, and promised him that he would see again. Later at home when the bandages were removed the boy cried out, “Mama, my eyes are well; I cannot feel any more pain. I can see fine now, and far too.”

I share with you an incident or two from the early life of President Marion G. Romney, best told in his own words:
“I’m a Mexican by birth. I was born in Colonia Juárez, Chihuahua, Mexico. My parents happened to be down there at the time. I was raised there until I was about fifteen years old. During the last two or three of those years, the Madero Revolution was in progress. The rebels and the federalists were chasing each other through the country; each taking everything we colonists had, by way of arms and ammunition and by way of supplies. Finally we were forced to leave. I came out of Mexico with the Mormon refugees in 1912.
“I remember I had a very thrilling experience on the way from where we lived to the railroad station about [13 kilometers] south of Colonia Juárez. We went in a wagon. … I was riding with my mother and her seven children and my uncle (her brother) and his family of about five or six children. … We had one trunk—that was all we were able to bring. I was seated on the trunk in the back of the wagon. … The Mexican rebel army was coming up the valley from the railroad station towards our town. They were not in formation. They were riding their saddle horses. Their guns were in the scabbards. Two of them stopped us and searched us. They said they were looking for guns. We didn’t have any guns or ammunition. They did find [20 pesos] on my uncle. … They took that and then waved us on. They went up the road about as far as from here to the back of this room, stopped, turned around, drew their guns from their scabbards, and pointed them down the road at me. As I looked up the barrels of those guns, they looked like cannons to me. They didn’t pull their triggers, however, as evidenced by the fact that I am here to tell the story. That was a very thrilling experience! One of my maturing experiences.
“The rebels blew up the railroad track after the train we were on passed over it. Later, Father and the rest of the men came out to El Paso, Texas, on horseback. We never returned nor did we recover any of our property while my father lived.
“Father and I went to work to earn a living for his large family. There were no welfare programs then. We had a difficult time making a living” (To Him That Asketh in the Spirit, Salt Lake Institute of Religion Devotional [18 October 1974] 2–3).
After he was married and his family was started, President Romney worked full time at the post office in order to provide for his family while he went through law school. In those difficult conditions his marks were high and his scholarship excellent; he was later admitted to the Order of the Coif, which admits only the most distinguished scholars. He practiced law and became a bishop, a stake president, one of the first Assistants to the Twelve, a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, and a member of the First Presidency. He demonstrated his great love and compassion for people through his many years of guidance in the welfare program of the Church.

On July 30, 1899, Mischa Markow, a Serbian missionary who preached throughout Europe, baptized Argir Dimitrov, the first Bulgarian convert, near Constanta, Romania. 1
In Romania, Markow and Dimitrov preached in four languages and baptized several converts before being banished by local authorities. 2 In June 1900, Markow and Michael Dimitrov, a Bulgarian convert baptized in Bucharest, preached in Ruse and Sofia in Bulgaria. 3 After several weeks in Sofia, Markow was arrested, interrogated, and banished before baptizing any converts. 4
The restored gospel was not preached again in Bulgaria for 90 years. As the Communist era ended, then-Elder Russell M. Nelson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles traveled to Sofia with other Church leaders. In February 1990, during a meeting with government officials, Elder Nelson asked what the Church could do for Bulgaria and was asked to send English teachers.

There are other times when you might wonder if he is ever going to answer our prayers. About twenty-two years ago our fourth daughter was born. After she was born, the doctor told my wife that she shouldn’t have any more children. We talked about it, and she said. “I feel that there is another child for us.” So we decided, of course, that we were going to have another baby.

Well, a year went by, and the baby didn’t come; and two years went by. Finally, after eight years of praying, my wife said, “Guess what? We’re going to have a baby.” Prayers, you see, are sometimes answered quickly, but other times you pray a long, long time before you get what you want.

For example, I think of a young boy who, rather than join his companions one night in an unbecoming escapade, chose to walk more than six miles to his home while his friends in the car proceeded to carry out their sinful plans. I imagine that boy slept well when he did arrive at home, not only because of the long walk, but also because he had earned peace of mind. No doubt his parents were proud of him. Truly, “a wise son maketh a glad father.” (Prov. 10:1.) It requires no great moral courage to run with the pack, so to speak.

Tracy forgot about the Golden Rule when her sister Tara became sick and missed a few days of school. Tracy was jealous of the extra attention and care Tara received. She reacted by ignoring Tara. Several hours without her favorite friend’s company, however, made Tracy realize she should be giving Tara the most attention. “I finally put myself in Tara’s shoes,” Tracy said. “I would feel terrible if she treated me the way I was treating her.” Tracy played quiet games with Tara and told her of the day’s events at school.

And how uplifting it was recently to hear two Relief Society sisters talking after one had given her first lesson, a particularly inspiring one. “And you said you couldn’t do it! I’ve never been more involved in a more inspirational lesson.”

“How could I not do it with your face beaming encouragement at me,” said the first. “Thanks, friend. You’re what’s known as an answer to prayer.”

Lydia never finishes anything. Either she doesn’t have time because she is busy doing too many things, or she puts it off until later. It is fun to read how she learns that if she takes time, she has time.

For example, when you choose to see or hear that which is degrading, you may at first feel you have used up only time. However, if you persist in your choice, you will find that, in addition to time wasted, you have allowed Satan to draw you toward sin and then into it. And then you will have built up debts far beyond the time spent—debts that will burden and detract from every minute of existence that follows. The only way to relieve that burden is to find the healing balm of the atonement of Jesus Christ through repentance, which takes effort—and time.

Little is known about Margaret’s life after that seminal meeting in March 1842. In 1844, she married widower John Reid Blanchard, who had five living children; they then had four children together. The family had moved to Iowa, USA, by 1850 and then journeyed to the Salt Lake Valley, where the couple was sealed on February 6, 1853.8 The family lived in Farmington, Davis County, Utah Territory, by 1860.9

Kathleen H. Hughes, first counselor in the Relief Society general presidency: “A woman I know was struggling with anger toward someone who had hurt her and her family. Though she told her children not to become embittered and resentful, she fought those feelings herself. After weeks of entreating her Father in Heaven, she finally felt a change. She related: ‘One day, in the midst of my nearly constant prayers, the healing came. I felt a physical sensation spread through my body. After, I felt a sense of security and peace. I knew that regardless of what happened, my family and I would be all right. The anger left me and so did my desire for retaliation’” (“Blessed by Living Water,” Liahona and Ensign, May 2003, 13).

Another young couple tearfully told me they had just come from a doctor where they were told they would be unable to have children of their own. They were brokenhearted with the news. They were surprised when I told them that they were actually quite fortunate. They wondered why I would say such a thing. I told them their state was infinitely better than that of other couples who were capable of being parents but who rejected and selfishly avoided that responsibility.
I told them, “At least you want children, and that desire will weigh heavily in your favor in your earthly lives and beyond because it will provide spiritual and emotional stability. Ultimately, you will be much better off because you wanted children and could not have them, as compared to those who could but would not have children.”

I am so glad my father accepted a mission call, leaving mother at home with seven children and with the eighth being born while Father was in the mission field. His letters, which my faithful mother read to us children, brought a spirit of missionary work into that home that never left it. All the sons went on at least one mission, and eventually all the daughters served missions.

When mother announced you were coming, I knew she was crazy-bonkers-looney. Look at it from my perspective. What in the world did I need with another brother? I already had four dribbling siblings to put up with.
Another brother?
Crazy!
Bonkers!
Looney!
Now, I’d never get that
Pendleton shirt I wanted or a
fiberglass-and-resin-coated
balsa monolith.
No surfing board for me.
Another brother.
Insane!
Why Tracy, the youngest of the Jones boys, was
already in kindergarten.
Mother was infant-free at last.
Why start all over again with babies?
You came anyway,
despite my cogent, lucid, and
insightful protests.
Rationality did not prevail.
The biology was already in motion.
I was 12 at the time.
A deacon.
And before long I was ordained
your babysitter,
while mother went to Dales Market
or Giacapuzzi Dairy
or Reseda II Ward Primary.
And that was way before Pampers and
Luvs.
I hated it—tending
toddler you.
Another brother.
What had I done to deserve such a harsh
judgment?
Somehow I managed to tolerate year one of your
existence.
But year two,
that’s when I came to understand the
devastation of
atomic warfare.
Every day I’d come home from high school
to find my room
nuked.
A tornado was a birthday party
compared to what you did to my very personal and
very teenage-important things.
I’m talking about you,
Intradomicile Ballistic Missile expert,
Guy Alexander Jones.
Soon life became complicated
for me
entangled with permanent relationships and
Shock—children of my own.
You were still my brother
in a statistical sense of the word.
Of course, you were at all the Jones family
functions and get-togethers.
Even went to Niagara Falls with us one year.
But you were
just another brother.
Until last winter
when you came to live with us
up in Provo town.
I remember the first day
when you, GuyBeau, came to stay.
We trekked on down to D.I. just above Provo River
and rummaged through the salvaged bedding.
The boxspring was a steal at 8 dollars
and the mattress a real D.I. bargain at 55,
But at least you had a bed of your own.
For four months you became
part of the Utah Joneses,
part of us,
living under the same asphalt shingles
sharing the same forced-air heating
watching the same fuzzy TV.
Sometimes we’d talk late into the night
about the categorical differences between
Mod and New Wave and Prep.
(You, of course, always wore topsiders with no socks.)
And sometimes we discussed
what a tremendous spiritual experience it was
taking an exam in the
Harold B. Lee Testing Center.
When you weren’t talking with us
or sleeping
or protecting Cosmo, our cat, from the kids,
you ate
a wholesome and nutritious diet of
pork’n beans and chocolate chip cookies for
dinner
and blended eggs (not fork-whipped mind you) but
blended eggs for breakfast and …
MALTS.
Malts for lunch and
malts for any time in between and
malts for when Connie’s letters didn’t come and
malts for those times the Harold B. Lee Testing
Center wasn’t a spiritual experience.
Justin and Nathan and Kristen loved having you
around.
You were the greatest Big Kid ever
to come play at our house.
You did legos and tinkertoys,
colored Easter eggs and showed the boys
how to play soccer.
You subbed for me when I was tied up
making ends meet and
meeting the ends of professorial demands.
And every Monday you took more than your
part in our FHEs.
April 23 Winter Semester ended.
You had to go home to make money for a mission.
We watched from the big glass window
in the converted garage as you pulled away to go
back to California.
By April 24th I knew something was wrong.
Luella noticed it too.
Our family was somehow smaller
less whole
in your absence.
That’s when I knew you would no longer be
just another brother.

It was a blind man who helped me see a principle of leadership in a way that I will never forget. It happened one day on the Eagle Gate corner in Salt Lake City. I had arrived at the intersection at the same time as a blind man (I later learned his name was Jim Ganski) with his Seeing Eye dog. As the signal changed, the dog hesitated because a bus at curbside was blocking his vision and he was not sure it was safe to cross. Desiring to be helpful, I grasped the blind man’s arm and started him across the street. As we walked, I explained the reason for the dog’s hesitation. By the time I completed my explanation, we had reached the middle of the street and the dog had already turned and looked at me several times and then inquiringly at his master. The twist of the dog’s harness no doubt signaled his concern to his master. It was then that the blind man thanked me courteously for the explanation and then said firmly, “Now, if you would please let go of my arm, my dog doesn’t like people taking over his job.”
What a great lesson! Once you have delegated a job, do not take it over again.

Oh, no! That word jumped off the page at me, and the awareness of everything else in the classroom setting faded away. Our excellent, but no-nonsense, speech teacher had just assigned reading parts to the class and handed out the script. Quickly scanning the first page, I screeched to a stop when I hit that word!
You see, I knew that Connie had been assigned to read that line. With few exceptions, almost any one in the class could have read that profane word without any personal concern. But I knew Connie. I knew of her high standards in every area of her life and of her integrity in maintaining those standards with no compromise. She just exemplified purity and freshness and happiness. Clean thoughts and language were carefully guarded. Now suddenly she was expected to violate that standard by a teacher who saw nothing wrong at all with such language. The script was already being read aloud, and I wondered what she would do. Then it was time for Connie’s part.
“Oh, PUMPKIN!” she thundered! The startled class suddenly broke out in good-natured laughter. Our teacher looked up quickly from her paper with a surprised expression and momentarily studied Connie. Slowly a smile was born and then grew into full bloom as she realized that Connie wasn’t after attention or just trying to be funny. But Connie simply continued reading her part as though nothing unusual had happened.

“Stay in the Boat,” page F2: Relate Elder Russell M. Nelson’s story about his daughter who wanted to get out of the boat in the middle of the lake. What does it mean to “stay in the boat” until we reach the shore?

One Sunday the missionaries came to Primary. They talked to us about sharing the gospel, and they gave us pass-along cards. When I got home I told my mom that I wanted to give a card to our next-door neighbors. My mom and I went next door and I read 3 Nephi 11:10–11 to our neighbors. I also shared my testimony with them. I was happy to share the gospel with others.