Gospel Story Finder

Most impressive to us members was our meeting with three presiding brethren in the Garden Tomb in Jerusalem on September 20. Their strong testimony of Jesus, given in this sacred spot from whence he arose from the dead, moved us to a greater determination to do good. And this being one of the essentials of the calling of a prophet, we can thereby further testify that Harold B. Lee is deserving of that title.

Deciding to Be Baptized
Kerry Johnson, 16, Farragut Ward
I remember when I was deciding whether or not to be baptized. One day, I got up really early. It was a Saturday. I went out into this field we lived by. The sun was just coming up. I was lying down, really praying a lot about if the Church was true or not. I lay there awhile just thinking. I didn’t know whether to ask for a sign or what, but I started getting a good feeling. When I opened my eyes, all these little butterflies were flying up from the grass. It seemed to fit how I felt. I knew in that moment that the Church was true.

When I got married, some people asked me if I was nervous that I would end up getting divorced like my parents. My answer has always been no. When I got married, I decided that I would do whatever it took to make my marriage work out. That meant choosing every day to follow the Savior and be joyfully married to my wife. I chose not to let fear of divorce drive me away from a good and righteous decision.

At the airport we tried to be adults—
No ransacking the gift shop, or begging
For ice cream cones. No, we were old
In our Sunday bests, your new suit hanging
A little large on your shoulders, my high
Heels concealing the run in my stocking.
We had to play grown-up to say good-bye.
If we’d kept our youth we would be running,
Hiding behind plants, jeering at tourists,
Pointing in awe at slow-rising jets.
No hesitant “Aufwiedersehen” for us;
Our childlike love could not admit that yet.
We couldn’t know that life always brings change
And soon post office wouldn’t be a game.

When we got back to our apartment, we found a package of food that Mrs. Morales had made for us. A note on it thanked us for helping Mr. Morales get a new job.
We didn’t really do much, though. Do you remember my writing about Frank Cooper, the man who went to the Hill Cumorah Pageant with us? Well, we happened to tell him about the Morales family, and he took them some food. He was impressed by Mr. Morales and offered him a job. That’s the kind of great guy Mr. Cooper is. Elder Butler and I have had some meaningful discussions and spiritual experiences with him. I’ll cherish his friendship all my life.

Although there had been meetings and conferences held in the building, it was not ready for dedication until the general conference of October 1875—one hundred years ago. By this time the railroad had been constructed and on Sunday of that week President Ulysses S. Grant, the first president of the United States to visit the Territory of Utah, arrived on a special train decorated with flags and bunting. The streets were lined from the depot to the Walker House with Sabbath School children, backed by hundreds of spectators to see the president and the long line of carriages that escorted him. The newspaper referred to Salt Lake City as having a population of about 25,000, and “more houses devoted to public religious uses in proportion to its population than any other city or town in the United States, and probably churches and meeting houses of aggregate seating capacity sufficient to accommodate every man, woman and child in the community.” (Salt Lake Herald, Oct. 3, 1875, 6:102.) The next morning President Grant, accompanied by Governor Emery, drove to the Temple Block and visited the new tabernacle.

“I liked getting my hands dirty and working alongside all the other girls,” said Brooke Matsen of the Farmington Ninth Ward. She was pitching in with the other young men and women of the ward as they helped clear, plow, cultivate, and plant a large neighborhood garden. The garden provides not only fresh produce but also opportunities for learning and service.
The youth cleared branches and pulled stumps from the area prior to plowing. Then they worked together in planting 160 tomato plants, cutting and planting seed potatoes, corn, beans, and peppers. Unfortunately, as the plants flourished, so did the weeds. Families and youth were assigned to keep rows weeded. In the end everyone helped with the harvest and learned how to bottle and preserve the food.
“It was fun to work with everyone,” said Kambria Johnson. “We got closer and there were good bonding experiences. It’s good to know the garden would benefit some in the ward.”

A young woman had almost left the Church. While I visited the distant city where she lived, she asked if we could talk for a few minutes, and I agreed. She had heard many of the misconceptions that our detractors have used to discredit the Church for decades. We read from the scriptures for about an hour together. With relief reflected in her eyes, she finally said, “I have been misled, haven’t I?”

I said, “Yes, you have.”

She was disappointed with what those erring enemies of the Church were teaching, but was excited to find herself back thinking clearly again. All we had done was read from the scriptures together. Confusion and mistakes come when we forget the importance of God’s word as our unwavering guide.

A testimony takes a lot of different things to help it grow—things like prayer, scripture study, and church attendance. Another vital ingredient is time out to think about the things you really believe. The Rochester First Ward, Rochester New York Stake Young Women had a special Sunday outing to the Sacred Grove.
The grove, which is not far from their homes, was a good place to reflect on their feelings about Joseph Smith. All the girls said it was a nice way to spend a Sunday afternoon, reverently thinking about their feelings toward the gospel.
“We went and spent time together, just thinking about Joseph Smith and sharing our testimonies,” says Laurel Sarah McKeever.
At the grove, the girls read about the Prophet’s first vision. Then they spent time in the grove and on the Joseph Smith farm, quietly contemplating what had taken place there.
“It’s a good feeling to think that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ were there,” says Mia Maid Kathy Domm. “It was really spiritual, and I think it also brought us closer together as young women.”

“Of course some of the questions they routinely ask are more humorous than challenging,” Lynn said. “Many people here still have strange ideas about us. some of my friends asked if we believe in bikes, because the missionaries always ride them. I couldn’t convince them otherwise, even though Dad has a car.”

Hmong (pronounced “mong”) don’t know how to eat with chopsticks, but then neither do I. When I go to Kou Moua’s home for dinner, I like to make white, sticky rice balls with my hands like Kou showed me. She has lots of cousins for us to play with, but no brothers or sisters. After many days of walking and hiding from the enemy in the jungle, Kou’s family, like many Hmong families who came from Laos, escaped from their country to freedom in America.

One wintry day when I was eleven, Dad took me into the foothills between Blackfoot and Idaho Falls, Idaho, to buy a riding horse. We chose a coal-black yearling that fought and reared and was really wild. I was told that when he was roped by the cowboys, it was the first time he had ever been touched by human hands. We named him Champ.
I learned that Champ had royal blood running in his veins. His grandfather was the incomparable Man o’ War, the most famous thoroughbred racehorse of all time. Dad and I trained him patiently, and Champ and I became the best of friends and partners. He was the greatest animal I had ever seen. He was swift and strong, and no local horse ever came close to winning a race with him. As I saw the qualities he had inherited from his famous grandfather, it really made me think about my own potential as a child of God.
In 1948 we moved from Idaho to Moses Lake, Washington. The wide open spaces of the Columbia basin were perfect horse country. There was nothing beyond our farm for several miles in some directions. Range cattle ruled over the territory they had grazed on for generations. Now we were putting up fences around part of their range and growing lush and tempting alfalfa, potatoes, and corn. Our fences were good but not always good enough to keep out the white-faced red Herefords. That job fell to Champ and this eager twelve-year-old who had seen western movies about cattle drives by rugged cowboys.
Champ and I had memorable drives of our own, chasing away the cattle that invaded our fields or even grazed suspiciously close, Together we learned some tricks of the cowboy’s trade, such as singling out one animal and cutting it from the herd. We developed an extraordinary oneness. Sometimes I would ride without saddle or bridle. It was just Champ and me in perfect unison, racing at breakneck speed. Even at those speeds, without artificial harnessing of any kind, we were in complete control. Just a touch on his neck would turn him. A shift in my posture would slow him down or speed him up. He was totally obedient, completely responsive.
Champ was a good-looking horse with classic markings. He won first place at the county fair, and many people offered to buy him. But he wasn’t for sale.
One Sunday after sacrament meeting, I went out to feed Champ and he was gone. Searching for a black horse at night was not easy, and morning brought no comfort. There was no hungry, thirsty Champ at the corral gate. We searched all over the farm and far beyond with no success. It appeared that Champ had been stolen!
Heartsick and unwilling to accept the obvious, I asked my cousin Kay Lybbert to lend me a horse and go with me into the wastelands beyond our farm in search of Champ. I had caught glimpses of wild horses in this country, scattered bands of mares and colts, led by dominant stallions.
We rode for hours into rocky and treacherous lands. We were tired, hungry, and discouraged and were talking of turning back, when we thought we saw a shape on the horizon. We pushed on and eventually rode over a ridge and saw a herd of about fifteen wild horses. They were startled. Their nostrils were wide, pumping cool air into deep lungs. Heads high, tails flying, muscles tensed, they burst away in wild flight. To our amazement and joy, the magnificent Champ was before them all, leading the herd, as wild and elusive as the first day I saw him as an unschooled yearling.
I have often thought about that most vivid picture. Champ was rightfully mine. We had been the best of companions. We had had great times together. He had been a disciplined and precious soul. But now he was undisciplined, out of control, and determined to stay that way. Though he was their visible leader, he was really under the control of the group of wild horses with whom he had accepted company.
We were off on a race, not on the manicured track where his grandfather had won fame, but across wild and rugged lands where a tired horse burdened with a rider could stumble and fall. At stake was the future of my beloved Champ.
I doubted our ability to stick with the wild horses, because we had been traveling half a day and they were fresh. But somehow we turned them eastward and stayed close. In time we slid over a steep hill down into Mae Valley within sight of our own fences. The herd soon thundered past our place, the steam from their bodies rising above them in a cloud. With the help of neighbors, we were finally able to channel Champ into our corral, safely behind secure barriers.
Dad was the first to get to Champ. He called him by name and approached gently, moving without disturbing gestures or sounds, easing up to him, and putting his arms around the horse’s quivering neck. I watched him give Champ an embrace that only a horse lover would understand. We were all relieved that this prized animal was back where he belonged once again, and where he was loved, protected, and cared for.
Children, honor your father and mother. Follow the Savior, your Master. Listen to them. Learn from them, and stay faithful. They have given you a noble heritage, just as Champ’s parents gave him one.

Then one day I found the book I had put on the closet shelf years before. And I began to read it. This time I found it interesting—so interesting that I began to tell my friends at work about it. Whether I was at home, at work, or at a movie, I couldn’t get it off my mind.
When I reached the point where I had to know if the book was really of God or of the devil, I considered praying about it but was afraid of being deceived. Then I read the scripture in Moroni 10:4–5 [Moro. 10:4–5]where we’re told to pray about what we have read in the Book of Mormon. I was still afraid the answer might come from Satan, but then a biblical scripture came to mind that alleviated that worry:
“What man is there of you, whom if his son ask bread, will he give him a stone?
“Or if he ask a fish, will he give him a serpent?” (Matt. 7:9–10). I know that the answer that later came was indeed from God.

We had completed all the forms for a full-time mission just before the world shut down with COVID-19. We didn’t want to get to the mission field and be sent right back home, so we met with our stake president and the Arcadia California Mission president, where we lived, to see if we could serve locally. We were immediately called to be the housing coordinators.
Just a few weeks after we began, planeloads of missionaries returned from around the world, either to be released from their missions or reassigned in the United States. The number of full-time missionaries in the Arcadia mission grew from 180 to 250. We scrambled to find housing for everyone, but the Spirit guided us.
Life experiences seem directed by the Lord to prepare us for service opportunities. Because of Relief Society, I knew sisters in the surrounding stakes who could help with zone conference luncheons. When a homeless girl appeared on the steps of the mission office, I knew the local resources that could give her aid. My husband, Mike, also had connections in the area to find solutions to seemingly unsolvable problems, from finding swimming pools for outdoor baptisms to fixing dishwashers.
Mike and I serve because we promised to devote our time and talents to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It was a blessing to love our 250 missionaries, and we are grateful for the opportunity. Service has brought us closer to Christ (see Moroni 7:44–48).
Debra and Mike O’Neil, California, USA

Members and missionaries left church after sacrament meetings on Sunday, June 10, 2007, to join sandbagging and cleanup efforts as flooding in New South Wales, Australia, caused nine deaths and left insurance companies bracing for a bill that could exceed AUS $300 million.
The floodwaters forced an estimated 1,700 families from their homes. State Emergency Services logged a total of 13,830 calls for help over the weekend of flooding.
Some businesses in the retail area of Wallsend and industrial precinct of Cardiff might never recover, said Hunter Business Chamber chief Doug Parish to The Australian.
On June 12, more than 30,000 homes were still without power, down from the 130,000 homes that were without power over the weekend.
Floodwaters at Chittaway Bay, near Tuggerah Lake, eventually receded allowing more than 400 residents to return to their homes.

As Bryce and Danielle made wedding preparations, they wanted to be sure Danielle’s dad was a part of every detail. “We had a family talk and went over the details of the day and made sure my dad was comfortable with everything,” Danielle says.

Danielle and Bryce also shared with her dad what they could appropriately tell about temple sealings. “We let him know that the sealer would give us a few words of counsel and then perform the marriage. We made it relevant to him and his experiences,” Danielle says.

As the wedding day approached, Danielle and her mom received their endowments on the same day. During Danielle and Bryce’s marriage at the Salt Lake Temple, Danielle’s dad and grandparents toured Temple Square and the visitors’ center. “The most important thing is making sure they’re not alone,” Danielle says. “A few of my relatives offered to stay with my dad instead of coming to the sealing. That helped.”

After the wedding, Danielle and Bryce had pictures taken in front of the temple, including some photos of Danielle and her parents. The group then went to a wedding luncheon, where Danielle’s dad spoke to the group about his daughter and her new husband. “Having my dad speak at the lunch made him a part of things,” Danielle says. Before and after the wedding, Danielle made sure her dad knew how much she loves him. “I think expressing that you love your parents, that you want them to be part of your day, that they’re not any less a part of your life because they can’t come to the ceremony—I think that is the most important thing.”

Danielle suggests that preparing parents for your temple marriage begins long before your engagement. “I would make sure that your parents know that it’s a priority for you, so it’s not a surprise when it comes up,” she says. “I would pray a lot. Not only do you need to be blessed with the right words, but your parents need to be softened to understand that you’re not doing this to hurt them. Be patient and loving and understanding.”

Remember that Heavenly Father answers our prayers in the way that is best for us. It may not be the answer that we want, but it is always the right answer. I remember my Primary graduation. Back then, we wore bandalos (felt bands worn around the neck and that emblems and awards were attached to), and my Primary teacher told me that I needed to wear mine. I couldn’t find it! My mother told me to pray about it, so I knelt and asked Heavenly Father for help. I soon received my answer. The Spirit told me to look underneath my dresser drawer. When I reached up under it, I found my bandalo caught on a sliver of wood. I never would have looked there if I hadn’t prayed for help. We need to always remember that if we ask, we shall receive (see Matt. 7:7–8). If we ask Heavenly Father for guidance, the Spirit will whisper to us what we should do.

My beloved wife, Jeanene, loved doing family history research. When our children were young, she would trade babysitting time with friends so she could have a few hours every few weeks to work on researching our family lines. After our youngest child left home, she recorded in her personal journal: “I have just made a decision and I want to stand up and shout about it. Mike’s old bedroom has become my genealogy workroom. It is well equipped to organize the records and work in. My life will now focus on vital family research and temple name submissions. I am so excited and anxious to get going.”8
Another journal entry reads: “The … miracle for me occurred in the Family History office of Mel Olsen who presented me with a printout of all my known ancestral pedigrees taken from the update of the Ancestral File computerized records sent into the genealogical society. They came mostly from the records of the four generation’s program the Church called for many years ago. I had been overwhelmed with the thought of the huge task ahead of me to gather all my ancestors’ research records from family organizations to get them all in the computer for the first computerized distribution of the Ancestral File. And there they all were, beautiful, organized and laser printed and sitting there on the desk before me. I was so thrilled and so overwhelmed I just sat there stunned and then began to cry I was so happy. … For one who has doggedly, painstakingly researched for thirty years, the computerization of all these records is truly exciting. And when I think of the hundreds of thousands of people who are now or soon will be computerizing huge blocks of censuses and private research disks … I am so excited. It is truly the Lord’s work and He is directing it.”9

Sister Gayle Clegg of the Primary general presidency and her husband lived for a number of years in Brazil. Recently she had a Primary assignment in Japan. As she came into the chapel on Sunday, she noticed among the Japanese Saints a Brazilian family. “They just looked Brazilian,” she said. She only had a minute to greet them and found the mother and children very enthusiastic but noticed that the father was rather quiet. “I’ll have a chance to talk with them after the meeting,” she thought as she was quickly ushered to the stand. She delivered her message in English, which was translated into Japanese, and then she felt impressed to bear her testimony in Portuguese as well. She hesitated as there were no translators for Portuguese, and 98 percent of the people would not understand what she said.

After the meeting the Brazilian father came up to her and said, “Sister, the customs are so different here, and I have been lonely. It is difficult to come to church and not understand anything. Sometimes I wonder if I would be better off just reading my scriptures at home. I told my wife, ‘I’ll give it one more chance,’ and I came today for what I thought would be the last time. When you bore your testimony in Portuguese, the Spirit touched my heart, and I knew that this was where I belonged. God knows I am here, and He will help me.” And he joined the others in putting away the chairs.

Was it a coincidence that the only Portuguese-speaking member of the Primary presidency was sent to Japan instead of to Portugal? Or was it because the Lord knew someone there needed what only she could give—and she had the courage to follow a prompting of the Spirit? One of the great blessings of having a calling in the Church is that the Lord, through His Spirit, will inspire us to help those we are called to serve.

Cranbrook First and Second Wards
The Primary children in the Cranbrook First Ward and Cranbrook Second Ward, Cranbrook British Columbia Stake, brought books and helped assemble educational bags that were sent to children in Uganda.