Gospel Story Finder

The Young Women of the Mountain Home Fourth Ward, Mountain Home Idaho Stake, undertook a special service project for the mothers in the ward. On Mother’s Day the Young Women took over the entire Primary to give the leaders and teachers a chance to attend Relief Society and Sunday School.

Each girl was assigned a position, from leading sharing time and the music to teaching a class. Some of the younger girls chose to team teach. The Young Women dedicated themselves to preparing excellent lessons for the children.

In preparation for the service project, the Young Women received instruction on teaching lessons. They were anxious to put into action the things they learned.

In addition to this service project, the Young Women also set up baby-sitting services for ward temple day.

“Can you see where that smoke is coming from? It seems awfully close. I wonder what’s burning?”
“Could be just a brush fire.”
“It’s not that close. It just seems that way.”
“Yeah! Could be somewhere around … our … Oh, no!”
It was our 13th wedding anniversary. Because of other commitments that evening, we had decided to celebrate with a fancy restaurant lunch and include our five children in the festivities. We had barely ordered our meal when one of the children had spotted the smoke and our spirit of celebration was all but ruined. We tried to tell each other that it just couldn’t be anywhere near our home and thus somehow got through the lunch. But that was about it. Hurriedly we scampered into our car and started the drive home.
It was only about ten miles, but what a long distance it seemed to be. The closer to the smoke we came, the more worried we got. It sure looked like it was coming from our neighborhood. I can still remember the fear and anxiety reflected on each face during that drive.
We lived in southern California, where after a dry summer terrible fires were rather commonplace. Our home was situated near the top of the hill, and the road leading to our home ran higher on top. In back of the house and down the hill were thousands of acres of grassy undeveloped land with some clusters of trees here and there. The grass that summer had grown high and then, due to a lack of rain, had died and dried standing up. Somehow that grass had caught on fire.
As we arrived home the police and a couple of fire trucks were already positioned on the road up the hill. The wind was toward us, and the fire was advancing with unbelievable speed.
I whispered a quick prayer, “Dear God, save our home.”
It is interesting to see what a person thinks important and valuable when faced with the fact that there is just a small pickup truck in the driveway with which to haul his prized possessions to safety. In our case, sentimentality played a bigger role than monetary value. The family records came first, and the only piece of furniture we even thought of bothering with was my great-grandparents’ untunable piano. The girls, with their selected valuables, were sent off with a ward member, but our 11-year-old twin boys stayed around placing wet blankets on the top of the roof and keeping them wet.
There were only a few houses on that hill, all some distance from one another. We started, as did all our neighbors, to clear away the dry grass and the shrubbery surrounding our property. It seemed like useless work, but we had to do something; we couldn’t just stand there waiting.
“Dear God, save our home.”
The fire was getting closer, and the place was getting hotter. And we were becoming newsworthy! The cameras were whirring away, and we were being interviewed for the evening news.
“How does it feel to wait for your home to burn down?”
“It might not burn.”
“Yeah, well, tell us how you feel right now.”
“Terrible. Scared.”
The police had long since cut off all the traffic to our area. Only the people living there and close relatives were admitted. Suddenly a station wagon full of men from our ward arrived. They were all anxious to help, and we were grateful for their concern. Then other elders started to come. We knew about the roadblock and wondered how these good men had been able to come through.
“Brother Ellett,” I said to one of them, “how did you get past the police?”
“That was easy,” he chuckled. “I just told them that my brother lives there!” That seemed to be the way all the other brethren had come through the roadblock.
A few minutes later, while the elders were still pouring in, one young policeman came walking down the driveway.
“I came to see the man,” he said, “who has so many brothers.”
I went out to the patio and counted all the men from our ward that I could see. I counted 39. Thirty-nine brothers!
Thirty-nine priesthood holders, I thought. There they were fighting the fire with every possible means they could lay their hands on. They fought it with shovels, with hoes, with rakes, and even with sticks. And right then and there I realized that they had even stronger power than those few helpless tools in their possession. Great feelings of peace filled my soul. I knew then as surely as I have ever known anything that no fire could get through that line of fire fighters.
Anybody who has ever seen a group of full-grown trees, or even one of them, explode with fire will know how scary such a thing is, especially when seen at close quarters. There I stood watching the flames that seemed to lick the sky, and still I knew that I and all that was mine were safe from that raging inferno. The peace and calmness that filled my being is something I will never be able to fully describe. I was so grateful, oh, so grateful for my membership in the Church and for the knowledge I had. Tears running down my cheeks, I thanked the Lord, not so much for the material things he would preserve, but for the spiritual things nothing can destroy.
Somebody had bulldozed a big gully between the burnt area and us. The TV cameras were whirring “happily” in all this commotion, recording what to them was news. The bulldozed area would not have been wide enough to stop the fire if something else had not happened suddenly. The wind that had all the time blown briskly toward us turned unexpectedly and completely and began to blow now in the direction of the already burnt area. The fight was now easier, and the fire never crossed the bulldozed area to our home.
“My brother lives there,” they had said.
My brother! I felt then stronger than ever before the bond that ties us together in the Church. I felt it loving and caring for my family. We are not alone. We have one another.
Often, when I travel at night and see a light in the distance all by itself, I wonder who might live there. And then I remember, and this thought comes to me like a flash, “My brother lives there!”

I spent hours playing computer games every day for years. I found friends, and I felt important. But after playing, I would feel empty, like something was missing. I wasn’t fully happy.

I wanted to focus on things that would actually make me happy and help me improve. I started praying often. When I expressed what was in my heart to Heavenly Father, I felt a strong feeling of love.

I wanted to do things that would keep me coming closer to Christ, so I focused on simple things like daily scripture study and prayer, spending time with people who had the Spirit, and trying not to get distracted by things that would make the Holy Ghost leave. My life changed. It’s more joyful for me.

When I come closer to Christ, I know that there are more important things than computer games if I want to be truly happy. There are things that are eternal.
Alina U., 18, Lithuania

When she was 17, she crossed Lake Ontario to visit her sister in Detroit. On the voyage she met the tall, dark-eyed pilot of the ship, Frederick Granger Williams. Their frequent visits quickly transformed affection into love, and the two were married in late 1815. The Williamses moved around the great Western Reserve of Ohio, USA, before finally settling in Kirtland around 1828. Her husband took up the practice of medicine and became rather well known for his abilities, and Rebecca learned to help him with procedures. Together they had four children.

Rain poured as a cold wind blew. I saw trees that had been uprooted and lost all their leaves. The power was off in some areas due to damaged electrical lines. The scene before me was now like a haunted place. Everything had been blown away. People were starving for food and longing for shelter.
My heart was filled with the desire to serve. My family and other members of the Church had traveled to a poor community where a typhoon had devastated thousands of homes and taken thousands of lives. We were there to give relief goods to the victims.
When we first arrived, I had seen the mourning in people’s faces. I realized then how blessed we were that our homes hadn’t been destroyed.
It was still raining when we started handing out relief packs at a muddy, roofless gym, but that didn’t matter to us. The relief packs—sets of plastic trays, kettles, plates, spoons, forks, glasses, and flasks—we nicknamed “home-return kits.” As my family and I handed relief packs to the people, they gave us warm smiles and thank-yous.
The priceless gratitude of the people uplifted me, and I felt the influence of the Spirit. Their smiles manifested that there is hope and that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ will never leave us and will always bring light to our dark days.
I know that if we serve and love one another, we will gain eternal blessings and inherit Christlike attributes. The blessings of serving do not always come right away, but they will come if we continue to serve others with a sincere heart. I know that “when ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God” (Mosiah 2:17).

They called the Prophet “Brother Joseph,” and he always had a smile for them. Once a group of children were playing in a home where the Prophet was hiding from wicked men who wanted to kill him. They overheard the older people tell of the Prophet’s danger, and one seven-year-old girl said, “I know what we can do. We can pray and ask our Father in heaven to keep Brother Joseph safe from harm.”
A few minutes later the Prophet went past a bedroom door in time to see the children kneeling together and to hear their simple prayer for his safety. Tears filled his eyes and then rolled down his cheeks. As the children rose from their knees, one of them said, “Now I know Brother Joseph will be safe.”
Then the Prophet returned to the room where his older friends had come to guard him through the night. He told them that they could go to their own homes, for he knew that prayers of children are heard and answered and that he could sleep in peace that night. And he did!

While sailors rigged a jury mast to replace the broken foremast, passengers crowded onto the deck. Saints and nonmembers joined together in prayers of thanksgiving. The passengers put on clean clothes, and for the first time since leaving Liverpool, newly shaved faces appeared. A delegation of Saints obtained Captain Wilson’s permission to hold Sabbath religious services.
That day, March 23, after sermons and hymns, a baptismal service was conducted. During the three-week voyage a number of non-LDS passengers had been converted and wanted to be baptized. The captain gave approval for a large water barrel to be brought out on deck, the top removed, and short ladders placed beside and inside it. The barrel was filled waist deep with sea water. Twenty-one persons, male and female, were then baptized. The next day the converts were confirmed, the sacrament administered, and the sick anointed.

The night before our oldest son left for his mission, we put together “the family slide show”—the best and funniest pictures of our family for 20 years. At the end of the show, we knelt in prayer together. There were plenty of tears and hugs that night. No more curtain climbers or rug rats—just imperfect young men and young women, and their imperfect parents, who felt an honest love for each other. And those feelings have kept growing.

I attended the Hamilton School. The bane of my first-grade teacher’s life was my friend Louie. He had what psychologists might call some kind of a fixation. He would sit in class and chew his tie until it became wet and stringy. The teacher would scold him. Louie eventually became a man of substance. I learned never to underestimate the potential of a boy to make something of his life, even if he chews his tie.

I remember especially one occasion. My brother and I were returning from school during the aftermath of a severe tropical storm. The trail that we usually followed had been covered by a mud slide. Being the resourceful young boys that we were, we decided that nothing could keep us from going home. On a nearby steep hillside was a drainage pipe situated quite high above the rocky ground. If we were to get to our village, we would need to walk along that pipe. The pipe was suspended over a stream which, although normally small, had turned into a rushing torrent of mud and water. Carrying our school bags, we went up the hill and continued our expedition.
We both began cautiously treading along the narrow, slippery drainage pipe. As I approached the other side, I looked back to see how my brother was doing. I was startled to see that he had made his way only halfway and had come to a complete stop. He, being older and wiser, had realized what a precarious perch we were on and had instinctively frozen in his tracks, unable to continue. It was a terrifying moment for us as we realized the danger he was in, paralyzed by fear and perched there on a slippery, narrow drainage pipe suspended above a torrential river.
Then I got a big surprise. I heard the loudest scream for help I have ever heard in my life. His incredible bellow echoed through the hills and valleys. Luckily, Aunt Gu Ma was working in the fields below and heard us. She came quickly to his rescue. She lovingly guided him along and led us both home to safety.

Leoncio Cauzon Alegre (the Spanish word “alegre” means happy or merry) has plenty of reasons to be a happy man, the foremost of which is that nine years ago, the truth was unfolded to him in, of all places, a grocery store located about 200 meters away from the former site of the Manila Distribution Center and Seminaries & Institutes offices of the Church.
The year was 1968. Bro. Alegre decided on buying some refreshment items from the grocery store after wasting the whole morning looking for an acquaintance in the Reposo area of Makati from whom he was to receive a reference book.
Two young missionaries were also in the store and in a few moments, he found himself conversing with the pair. One of them asked two golden questions. And the day, far from being wasted, suddenly turned into an eventful one that led this elderly man into greater and more enlightening doorways to the truth than he ever thought of in six decades of his life. The 7th of July that year, at the age of 61, he was baptized.

Overindulgence and poor money management place a heavy strain on marriage relationships. Most marital problems, it seems, originate from economic roots—either insufficient income to sustain the family or mismanagement of the income earned.

One young father came to his bishop for financial counseling and told an all-too-frequent story:

“Bishop, I have been well trained as an engineer, and I earn a good salary. It seems that all through school I was taught how to make money but no one taught me how to manage money.”

Some people divert their best efforts from constructive accomplishment by investing them in mental anguish and continual worry. The Lord has taught me a great lesson about worry that I now share with you. After completing meaningful full-time missions, my lovely Jeanene and I were sealed in the temple. We began life together with every expectation of happiness. I was blessed through the kindness of the Lord to obtain a job in a new, highly developmental pioneer effort to place a nuclear power plant in a submarine. The work was fascinating, challenging, and absorbing. When combined with the natural growth experiences that come with the formation of a new family and Church assignments, I found each day filled to overflowing.

Within eight months I was being examined by a doctor to determine if I had ulcers. For weeks I returned home from work each night with a severe headache, and only after long, quiet periods of isolation could I calm my nerves sufficiently to sleep briefly and return to work the next day. I began to prayerfully consider my plight. All I wanted to do was to be a worthy husband and father and honorably carry out my Church and professional assignments. Yet my best efforts produced frustration, worry, and illness. In time the Lord led me to a solution. I was prompted to divide mentally—and physically, where possible—all of the challenges, tasks, and assignments given to me into two categories. All of the things for which I felt responsibility but for which I could do nothing to resolve I put in a basket called “worry.” Then all of those things for which I had some ability to control or resolve I put into a basket called “concern.” I realized I could not resolve those things in the worry basket, so I tried hard to forget them. Later in the process I learned that putting them into the worry basket didn’t mean they wouldn’t be taken care of. They were resolved by those who could best handle them—and most often that was the Lord Himself. The items in the concern basket were ordered in priority. I conscientiously tried to resolve them to the best of my ability. Although I could not always fulfill all of them on schedule or to the degree of competence I desired, I did my conscientious best.

As I was learning to control worry, occasionally I would feel my stomach muscles tighten and tension overcome me. I would cease whatever I was doing and, with earnest prayer for support, concentrate on relaxing and overcoming the barrier that worry produced in my life. I would mentally say, “I am not going to do another thing until I begin to control my emotions.” Over a period of time those efforts were blessed by the Lord. I came to understand how He is willing to fortify, guide, and direct every phase of life. The symptoms of illness passed, and I learned how to face tasks under pressure.

Earlier this year, I had a precious experience that opened my eyes to His simple yet tender mercies. I was having a hard day. I stopped the project I was working on and said a little prayer at my desk. As I ended the prayer, a thought entered my mind: “This is a chocolate kind of day!” Taking this as direct, personal revelation, I stepped away from my office and headed to the Wilkinson Center to buy some chocolate.

It was a beautiful day, and the quad was filled with students sitting on the grass and eating lunch, talking, studying, and enjoying the nice weather. But there was one student who caught my attention. Sitting on the grass, she took a bite of her sandwich while giant tears streamed down her cheeks. I didn’t know the burden she carried, but I felt God’s love for one of His children. I thought, “Yep, this is definitely a chocolate kind of day!”

I walked into the BYU Store and purchased two Dove chocolate bars with the intention of sharing one with the student I had seen crying. I started to walk in the direction where she sat on the grass, but doubt quickly entered my mind: “What if I embarrass her?” and “What am I even going to say?” The Spirit nudged me on, and as I extended my hand to offer her the chocolate, the thought—as clear as someone talking to me—entered my mind: “God sees you!” I shared this message with her.

As I walked away, I saw that she still had a tear running down her cheek, but she had a smile too—and so did I!

So, to the student I saw on the grass and to every one of you, I testify that you are a child of God. He sees you and loves you enough even to send someone for chocolate.

The story of a young man’s wrestle 30 years ago with whether to be honest helps to illustrate the point further. Brother Warren Johnson related this poignant experience in a June 1989 Ensign article:

My friend Bob had to do a lot of persuading in order to get another Marine to loan him his new camera to take to a servicemen’s conference in Japan. But Bob assured him that he would take good care of it, and the Marine consented.

We were stationed in Vietnam at the height of the war. For months the Latter-day Saints in our battalion had looked forward to this conference, and Bob wanted to take the camera along.

Our departure from Vietnam was hectic, with lots of red tape and much confusion. Two of the men in our small group could travel only if space was available, and we were all grateful for the two extra seats on the huge jet bound for Japan. The Spirit was mindful of us! At last we were on our way.

For three days we attended meetings, talent shows, dances, and other social activities at the conference, held at beautiful Mount Fuji. After months of exposure to the ugliness of war, we enjoyed the kindness of the members and appreciated the spiritual uplift of hearing a General Authority speak. Battle-hardened men shed tears in some of the meetings because of the great joy they felt in the fellowship of other Saints.

As we neared the end of one of our last meetings, Bob quietly excused himself to return to the hotel and get the camera, which he had left in the room we had shared.

When he returned, we could tell by his expression that something was very wrong. He said that he couldn’t find the camera. I reassured him that it had to be in our room and told him to look again.

He was even more visibly upset when he returned the second time. He knew where he had left the camera in the room, and he knew that it was gone. Locks to hotel room doors were not common then, and both of us realized the possibility of someone entering our room and taking the camera. We knew what a burden it would be to try to replace it on his corporal’s pay, especially with a wife and two small children to provide for. Our elation of the three previous days was gone, and our good feelings were replaced with regret and misgivings.

Bob said that he would pray about the matter and ask the kindly hotel manager if he had noticed anyone carrying that particular kind of camera.

The meeting was over when Bob returned again, this time smiling, with the camera in his hand. He related what the hotel manager, in his halting English, had told him he had seen: an American had come downstairs into the lobby carrying the camera. He had then sat down and looked at it for a long time, as if he were contemplating something or wrestling with himself. Suddenly he had stood up, placed the camera where the manager could retrieve it, and departed.

Since the only Americans in the hotel at the time were those attending the conference, the manager assumed the man was one of our group.

The servicemen’s conference had uplifted all who had attended it—including, quite possibly, a young man who, though tempted to steal a camera, had ultimately obeyed his conscience. [Warren Johnson, “The Camera and the Conscience,” Ensign, June 1989, pp. 69–70]

In spite of Talica’s happy smile and cheerful attitude, she has known sadness. When she was ten months old, unusual circumstances made it necessary for her parents to send her to live with her grandmother, who lived on a small island with only one village. Talica loved village life, and she grew up thinking of her grandmother as her mother. Then, when she was four years old, her parents reclaimed her. It was a difficult adjustment for both Talica and her brothers and sisters, and there were some painful times for the homesick newcomer. But she has a large heart and has learned to understand the feelings of others.

I remember one particular student who was a freshman from Singapore. He first started out in BYUHSA organizing shuttles for service projects and putting together notes for meetings. He soon moved on to organizing and conducting meetings. He later told me that he was naturally shy speaking in front of other people, and that this was his first time ever running a meeting by himself. You can imagine my surprise when a few weeks later I saw him in the Aloha Center with a megaphone wearing a full-body costume of a drop of blood, and advertising the campus blood-drive. He is currently serving a full-time mission, and I am sure that many of these pre-mission experiences no doubt have helped him and blessed the lives of others.

Leola Chandler felt overwhelmed by caring for her ill husband and their four children. So she decided to set aside time each Tuesday to attend a nearby temple. It became a source of peace and power in her life.
One day she heard that a few elderly sisters in her ward desperately wanted to attend the temple, but they had no means of transportation. Leola offered to give them a ride. For the next 40 years, she rarely went to the temple alone.2
Leola was blessed, and she blessed others when she offered to take them with her to the temple.

Serving a mission was a sacred time of my life. In my last interview with him as a full-time missionary, President Blair Pincock spoke of the upcoming change in mission leaders, as he and his wife were also nearing the completion of their service. We were both sad to be leaving something we loved so much. He could see that I was troubled by the thought of not being a full-time missionary. He was a man of great faith and lovingly taught me as he had for the previous two years. He pointed to the picture of Jesus Christ above his desk and said, “Elder Olsen, it is all going to be OK because it is His work.” I felt reassured knowing that the Savior will help us, not just while we are serving but always—if we will let Him.

Twenty-three boys in the Ontario First Ward, Nyssa Oregon Stake, earned the rank of Eagle in the same year.
It all started when their Scoutmaster, Glen Banner, challenged them to make it a “Year of the Eagle.” The troop set a goal to complete their Eagles before the year was up. Each had to set intermediate goals, and each encouraged and reminded his friends of their common goal. Several mothers made a banner proclaiming the “Year of the Eagle” and this banner was displayed at each court of honor and all Scout activities.
As the 23 boys were ready to participate in their Eagle projects, the Scoutmaster contacted the mayor to offer the time and talents of his Scouts. In total, this single troop donated more than 2,000 hours of service to their community, doing such things as renovating playground equipment, planting shrubs, marking a segment of the Oregon Trail, and volunteering for other community service.
When their goal had been reached, a special program was held honoring the troop. The mayor made a proclamation, and special speakers were Elder Paul H. Dunn, of the First Quorum of the Seventy, and Danny White, quarterback of the Dallas Cowboys football team.