Gospel Story Finder

The Lord said to his own, “O ye of little faith.” Aren’t we all? Once when far away from home, after three days of quite intense suffering, I finally admitted to my companion, Brother Harold B. Lee, that I was in distress. He gave me a sleeping pill he had, then knelt by my bed and blessed me. Though I had gone through three nights in pain and almost without sleep (it was then 3:00 A.M.), I was fast asleep moments after the blessing. I am now ashamed to confess that the next morning when I awakened, my first thought was of the potency of the pill. Then, as hours passed and I knew the effect of the pill must have passed, the distress did not return, and I fell on my knees in remorse to ask forgiveness of the Lord for having given credit to the medicine rather than to him. Months passed and still there was no return of pain or distress. I am ashamed, but I probably represent numerous people who have done likewise. O we of little faith! “Brother A. was not healed.” “Sister B. got well, but it was a long process.” “Brother C. would have gotten well anyway.”

First, let’s focus on the comforting power of the Holy Ghost. When I was just a young girl, I became seriously ill. Each day the illness became increasingly severe. Nothing the doctor recommended helped. At that time the dreaded disease of polio was raging in almost epidemic proportions in the land. It was taking the lives of many, and those who didn’t die were often left crippled. Polio was everyone’s worst fear in those days.
One night my illness became critical, and my father and grandfather administered to me using consecrated oil, and through the power of the holy Melchizedek Priesthood, which they held worthily, they called upon God for healing, help, guidance, and comfort. And then my parents took me to a doctor in another town who immediately sent us to Salt Lake City—two and one-half hours away—with the admonition to hurry. I overheard the doctor whisper that he was certain it was polio.
When we finally arrived at the hospital in Salt Lake, there were medical personnel waiting for us. They grabbed me from my parents’ arms and whisked me away. Without a word of good-bye or explanation, we were separated. I was all alone, and I thought I was going to die.
Following the painful diagnostic procedures, including a spinal tap, they took me to a hospital isolation room, where I would stay all by myself with the hope that I would not infect anyone else, for indeed I did have polio.
I remember how very frightened I was. It was dark and I was so sick and so alone. But my parents had taught me to pray. I got on my knees, and I knelt beside the railing in the criblike bed and asked Heavenly Father to bless me. I was crying, I remember. Heavenly Father heard my prayer even though I was only a child. He did. Heavenly Father sent His comforting power, which enveloped me in quiet love. I felt the power of the Holy Ghost, and I was not alone.

When my son Daniel was six years old, he saw that I was worried because I had to attend a stake conference. I was unsure about what to teach the Saints. He came up to me and said, “Daddy, that’s really easy.” That’s how children see everything.
“Let’s see, Son,” I told him. “Since it’s easy, tell me what I can talk to them about.”
“Talk to them about prayer,” he told me.
“That’s a good subject,” I told him, “but they’ve heard a lot of talk about prayer; what could I tell them that’s new?”
“That’s easy too, Daddy. First tell them, ‘Before you start to talk to Heavenly Father, think about the things you want to tell Him.’”
“That sounds like a magnificent idea,” I replied. “And then?”
“Well, once you’ve thought of it, tell it to Him! When you finish, wait and see if He has something to tell you.”
So, through our prayers, the Spirit speaks to our spirit and testifies to us of the reality of our Savior.

Recently our presidency was meeting with a Church leader. He commented that he wished Relief Society and priesthood meetings would be places where we would be able to say to one another, “Sisters, or brothers, I’m struggling right now. Will you help me?” I have been in Relief Society meetings like that. I will always remember the Sunday morning when testimonies were being borne and a single sister shared with us the loneliness of her life. She had experienced betrayal, a divorce, and subsequent financial hardships as she tried to work and raise her children on a small income. Now she knew the pain of loneliness as her grown children were gone from her home. The moment was sweet, the Spirit strong, and I saw sisters rallying around her, doing what we do best: love. The Relief Society room was a holy place that day. It was what every Relief Society room should be for each sister.

When I was baptized in 2001, I began paying tithing every month. Then just eight months later, my husband passed away. I became a widow with two small children at home and one son on a mission. Although my financial problems were serious, I never stopped paying tithing. I have been blessed with more and more work, which has enabled me to earn more money. But even more important, because I pay my tithing I always feel at peace with the Lord.
Today my small house seems big and comfortable. I feel calm with my two little children. I will never stop paying tithing because I know the Lord has blessed me not only with physical and spiritual health but also with wisdom and peace.
Josefa Margarida dos Santos Fontes, Rio Grande da Serra Ward, Ribeirão Pires Brazil Stake

Some time later, after the mission was divided, President McKay came to Scotland, and all of the missionaries serving in Scotland at that time—I think approximately 40 in number—had the privilege of being taught by him for several hours. Time does not permit an account of the impressiveness of this master teacher except for one very remarkable episode.

During this time the new mission was being established, and we met with considerable opposition and some hostility. As President McKay was teaching us, a small phalanx of newspaper reporters barged right into the room and confronted the prophet. I think most of us young men felt disposed to physically remove the intruders, but President McKay motioned for us to remain seated and in a direct but kindly way answered their question as to whether or not he was really a prophet. He responded by asking the reporters a question that caused them to bow their heads and withdraw from the room without further comment. He simply and quietly said: “Look me in the eyes. Can you tell me that I am not a prophet?” It was a tremendous moment in my life because I knew then better than ever before that he truly was the Lord’s prophet and we as young, inexperienced, and unpolished missionaries were really on the Lord’s errand.

Fern attended high school in a small town. She was one of those nice but unnoticed girls who don’t become much but a face on a yearbook page and a name on the rolls. Her family was poor, and they lived out of town. She was not part of the “in crowd,” and the only time her name came up in a conversation of other students was in that mocking, sarcastic way that seems funny when you are young, insecure, and need to ridicule someone else to take the pressure off yourself. Her name became synonymous with anything dumb or out of style. If a thing was unacceptable or ridiculous, the students called it “Ferny.”
Young people can be so cruel.
It was an annual tradition in the school to recognize the student who showed the most school spirit and support for the athletic teams. When the assembly came to honor that student, as expected, they called out the name of one of the more popular girls in the school. She bounced up the aisle smiling and waving to all her friends. But then a miracle happened. As she took the stage, she said, “I can’t accept this award. Yes, I have loved the teams and cheered for them at every game. But Fern has come to every game, too. I came in a nice, warm car surrounded by my happy friends. She came alone and walked all the way—two and a half miles—sometimes in the rain or snow. She had to sit by herself, but I don’t know anyone who cheered with as much spirit as Fern. I would like to nominate her for the most enthusiastic student in the school.”
Fern was escorted to the stage to a spontaneous standing ovation from her fellow students.
Youth can be so kind.
Fern is a mature woman today, her hair streaked with gray. Many things have happened to shape her life, but nothing more important than that outburst of acceptance and appreciation from her peers on that memorable day.
And there are mature men and women today who can’t remember how many games their teams won or lost that year, but who have never forgotten the warm feeling they had when they stood up and cheered for Fern and welcomed her into their friendship and society.
Attending a stake conference in the Lancaster California Stake, I heard Marianne Mortensen, a lovely Laurel, tell this story as she developed the theme of showing charity toward our peers.

“Kids, I’m leaving now,” Mom called from downstairs. “David is in charge.”
“Bye, Mom,” I yelled. I was trying to finish my math homework so I could watch my favorite TV show. We weren’t allowed to watch TV until our homework was done. I solved the last problem, then snapped the book shut. “Finished!”
I strolled into the family room, settled into the couch, and clicked on the TV.
Suddenly, my older brother David barreled into the room. He grabbed the remote control and pushed me off the couch.
“Ow!” I cried as I hit the floor with a thud. “Hey, I was here first!”
“Yeah, but Mom left me in charge. And I say we’re going to watch my favorite show.”
“Fine,” I said. “I have a new book I want to read, anyway.” I walked back to my room. Pulling the book off a shelf, I sat in my special reading chair.
“Heather, go get me something to eat,” David called.
“I’m busy,” I called back, turning a page.
“So am I. This is the best part of the show. Go get me something to eat.”
“Why should I?” I asked. “You can do it yourself.”
“If you don’t I’ll take your book and hide it.”
I sighed. If I got him a snack, maybe he’d stop bothering me. “David is such a bully,” I thought as I grabbed some chips. “Why can’t I have a nice older brother?”
At dinner, I noticed the red plate by my seat at the table, which meant I had done something special. “Why do I have the red plate?” I asked.
“Your teacher called me today,” Mom said. “Your reading and writing skills are very good, and your teacher wants to challenge you more. So, during your class’s English section, you will go to the fourth-grade class.”
I couldn’t believe it! They were moving me up two whole grades!
“That’s my girl. So smart,” Dad said.
David didn’t say anything. He was quiet during dinner. Was he mad at me?
The next day, I was nervous as I made my way to the fourth-grade class. My teacher had given me directions and a note, then sent me off. As I made my way to the upper elementary classrooms, I felt like I was entering enemy territory. Our playgrounds didn’t even mix—first through third grade were on one side, and fourth through sixth on the other. I was sure that at any moment someone was going to shout: “Stop! You don’t belong here!”
But the fourth-grade teacher, Mrs. Randall, helped me feel better with her smiling face. She introduced me to the class and pointed me to an empty desk.
I listened carefully to the lesson, and tried not to stand out. When Mrs. Randall dismissed me, I hurried back to the safety of the second grade.
After school, I waited for the bus with the other kids.
“Hey. Hey, you!” someone yelled. I turned around and saw two girls coming toward me. I recognized them from Mrs. Randall’s class.
“Hi, little second grader,” the taller girl said. “My name is Janna, and this is Kylie. So how’d you like class today?” she asked sweetly.
“Oh, it was … fine,” I stammered.
Janna made a face. “You must think you’re so smart being in our class. Smarter than us, even.”
I looked down at my feet. “I don’t think that.”
“Good! Because you’re not smart. You’re a freak!”
“Yeah.” Kylie laughed. “And a geek.”
Janna stepped closer. “I don’t like you,” she said, “and I don’t like you in our class.”
“What’s the problem?”
I turned to find my brother David standing beside me.
Janna stepped back. “This little nerd thinks she’s smarter than me.”
“She’s not a nerd. She’s my sister.” David put his hand on my shoulder. “And she hasn’t done anything to you. If you keep being mean to her, I’m going to hear about it.”
Janna looked at my brother. He was taller and wider than she was. “What grade are you in?” she asked.
“Sixth.”
“Oh,” she said. She and Kylie took a few more steps back. “Well, OK. We’ll leave her alone.”
David turned me around and guided me to the bus. Then he went to join his friends.
I got on the bus and sat down, feeling a little dazed. I couldn’t believe it. David had stood up for me! I knew then that even though we didn’t always get along, David was my brother and he loved me. I suddenly felt very grateful for him.
At dinner that night, David seemed surprised when he noticed the red plate at his seat. “What’s this for?” he asked.
“I put it there,” I said. “It’s for being a great older brother.”
David laughed as I told our parents what had happened. I made David sound like a superhero.
“We’re proud of you for helping your sister,” Dad said.
David smiled. “It’s good to be a hero,” he said.
I grinned at him. “It’s even better to have one as an older brother.”

Heavenly Father certainly sends us things when we need them most! I’ve just said good-bye to my boyfriend prior to his departure on a mission, and I was missing him very much and writing him very miserable letters. Then the December New Era arrived with “The Way to a Missionary’s Mailbox,” which uplifted me so much, and I’m sure that his mission will now be much more successful because of it. My nonmember family also realizes this.
Susan AyerChristchurch, New Zealand

It seems like all my life I’d been worrying about Danny, trying to keep him straight. Sometimes he just doesn’t understand things too well.

Once when we were shopping, Dan picked up a record that was left lying in the road outside the store. He started toward the car.

“Danny,” I said, “you take that record back inside the store.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s not ours.”

“So what? It’s nobody’s when it’s out in the middle of the road.”

“Dan, somebody might have dropped it. Maybe they’ll come back for it.”

“Fat chance. If somebody just bought it, it would have been in a sack. Some car has probably run over it anyway.”

“Daniel O’Brien Hertz, you either take that record into the store, or give it to me and I will. It’s not ours.”

Finally, Dan let me take the record back in the store.

When I came out, he said, “Sometimes, Mauri, you don’t have the sense of a flea.”

Mexico City, 1972: Those Saints came from the deserts. They came from the industrial cities of the north. They came from the small pellittos in the east and west. They came from the tropical coastlines down south in Central America. Throughout the summer those Saints had saved and borrowed and sold whatever they had to try to get together the two hundred pesos per person that was necessary for bus tickets. I’ll just use one illustration. Four busloads came from a very distant area. There was no money left over for food, but that didn’t matter. This group decided that they could fast for the three or four days of the conference. Most of the Saints arriving at the area general conference in Mexico City didn’t have two pesos (about sixteen cents American currency) for a cot, and so they spent those nights on hard floors. But, oh, what an inspiration it was to witness sixteen thousand members of the Church sustain President Harold B. Lee for the first time in a general conference as the President and the prophet, seer, and revelator of the Church! There were so many choice experiences that time will not permit me to relate all of them.

In 1959, I received that invitation. I did not even know of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. At a dance, I met a young lady who was raised in the gospel. I was attracted to her. She said to me, “You know, I could never consider marrying you unless it were in the temple.” I responded to that invitation and was taught the gospel. She is now my eternal companion. I will ever be grateful that was the invitation she extended to me, for it has transformed my life.

A few years passed, and a pair of young missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints came to our home. With my wife and our five children (the other three lived with their mother), I began to hear the discussions, attend church, and get acquainted with the members and their beliefs. After several months we made the wise decision to join the Church, and 17 years have now gone by.

"We are all privileged to belong to a wonderful family. Genealogical research has so far traced our ancestors back to the 16th century, and further research continues to push back the sands of time.
"As far as the branch of the family which belongs to the Church goes, that began a few years after the Church was organized, when a 16-year-old apprentice shoemaker in Scotland heard two Mormon missionaries. He knew from the very beginning that what he heard was the truth. He wrote to his parents and asked for permission to be baptized. They wrote back and said that if he joined the Church, he would no longer be considered a member of the family. The man he worked for told him that if he joined the Church, he could no longer work for him.
"What a difficult choice for a 16-year-old boy to make. He must have agonized over the decision. To lose everything considered of value in life—his family and a chance to earn an income.
"If he had chosen to reject the gospel, this family would not be meeting here this year, all of us members of the Church, all of us committed to upholding the standards of the gospel of Jesus Christ.
"Every person at some time in his or her life must make the same kind of decision. Each of us must decide, once and for all; we must say to ourselves, ‘This is who I am, and these are the standards I live by.’ Until we do that, we are continually tossed to and fro, not knowing what to do when we face difficult decisions.
"Archibald McKinnon made the decision to join the Church. He came to America and crossed the plains with a handcart company. In time he married a beautiful young woman in the Manti Temple, and from their union, all of us have descended."

Last July our family had the opportunity of attending Philmont Scout Camp in New Mexico where my dad was receiving training. During that week I celebrated my 10th birthday. Shortly after my family and new friends had sung “Happy Birthday” and I had blown out the candles, Sister Cheryl Lant, the Primary general president, who was also participating in the training, came in with her husband. Sister Lant said, “I heard that someone was having a birthday!” They stayed and enjoyed cake with us and visited. It was fun to have Sister Lant take time from her busy schedule to come and wish one of her Primary children a happy birthday.Katelyn B., age 10, Utah

In 1931, Vashni [H.P.] Young wrote a popular best-seller entitled A Fortune to Share (Bobbs-Merrill). Vashni Young had worked as a salesman during the lush, easy, prosperous years of the late 1920s, and then the market crash of October 1929 had plunged Vashni Young, with a few million other people, into the bottomless economic pit of the early 1930s. But he did not like the depression and he had become pretty sour on this world generally. And so he bought a gun and decided to have a look at the next world by committing suicide. But before he pulled the trigger, he spent a little time thinking about his wife and children and he decided that suicide was not a very manly way to solve a problem. And so instead of shooting himself, he did a little analyzing and he discovered that his mind had been operating like a giant junk factory, turning out all kinds of mental, emotional, and spiritual junk.

Then he remembered William James, the great Harvard psychologist who said, “The greatest discovery of my generation is that you can change your circumstances by changing your attitudes of mind.” And while everybody wants to change his circumstances, Vash Young decided to change himself. He said: “I got tired of being a fool.” He wanted to get out of the junk business and so he dumped overboard a lot of his bad habits of liquor, tobacco, and irresponsibility. He decided to adopt some good attitudes, think like a man, be responsible, and go to work.

It wasn’t long before Vash Young discovered that life was much more pleasant and that his prosperity level was going up by leaps and bounds. And then he made a great discovery that he had personal possession of a vast fortune which he could share with every other person in the world without lessening his own supply.

He wrote his great book, A Fortune to Share, and gave it as wide a circulation as possible, telling people about his discovery. Then he set aside one day each week which he called “trouble day” during which he worked with other troubled people trying to persuade them to get out of the junk business and share in this great fortune which was so readily available.

Early one morning as I quickly got off an elevator with my briefcase on wheels, the bag with additional files that rested on top of the briefcase fell off and was dangling from the handle. I was in a hurry to get to a meeting so didn't take time to stop and adjust the dangling bag. I just tried to fix it while I continued to walk. I wasn't paying attention to where I was going and when I finally looked up I was face to face with Elder Scott!

He didn't say anything to me but simply looked into my eyes. When an Apostle engages you with his eyes, you don't move because you can't! And you don't want to anyway. I felt that Elder Scott was looking deep into my heart and I hoped that he would find something good there!

I don't know how long the experience lasted, but soon Elder Scott smiled at me, nodded his head and walked on, into the doors of the temple. I watched him until he was out of sight and then I burst into tears! I was weeping! I was really surprised by my emotion and wondered why I was responding this way.

I walked into my meeting, trying to compose myself, but still in tears. Everyone was concerned and asked if I was okay. The only thing I could say was, "Yes, I'm fine. Elder Scott just smiled at me!"

I wanted to understand why this brief encounter had caused such an emotional reaction, what was it that caused this deep emotion to surface? I prayed to know and came to understand that what I felt from Elder Scott was 'pure love.' I felt for a moment what it may feel like to be in the presence of the Savior, because that's who Elder Scott represents. Elder Scott is a special witness of the Savior. He is like Him. He knows Him. I felt the Saviors 'pure love' through him.

While riding the bus on a school field trip, I was sitting in front of a girl who kept making rude comments and jokes that made me feel uncomfortable. My teachers and other students told her to stop, but she kept going. I didn’t know what to do, so I decided to pull out my iPod and listen to some of my favorite music.
I turned it on shuffle and one of the first songs that came on was a song from lds.org/youth/music. I was about to skip over it when something inside told me that I should just listen to the music. I kept listening to inspirational music for the next 20 minutes. The lyrics encouraged me to hold on, and they reminded me that I was a beloved daughter of Heavenly Father.
I know that music can have a profound influence in our lives. I know that listening to the inspirational music on my iPod a couple of days before had helped give me the courage I needed to leave the dance. These experiences helped me get much closer to my Heavenly Father.

Zoe and Michael are a couple with two young children. Before the fires, they were living in a small town in the Bega Valley called Cobargo. They had purchased a remote rural property complete with house and an orchard and were about to move in when the fires destroyed both their rural property and their house in Cobargo. Since the fires they have been living rough, camping in a borrowed caravan on the rural property. They received a water tank, a shed (donated by another group) and a bathroom pod built into the shed and connected to the water tank (which will be added to their house when it is rebuilt).
Even though the location of the shed and tank is quite a distance from their current camp, they are very appreciative as they can now bathe their children properly—one of whom had been regularly ill, and one who’d had a broken leg. They say that the newly donated infrastructure has helped to reduce their anxiety levels.
Mark and Denise noted, “During the inspection weekend, we were shown properties, such as Zoe and Michael’s, which had not only received one of our tanks, but the households had also received a bathroom pod and shed donated by another organisation that were willing to provide the pods because we had provided the tanks.”

I lived with my father and family that winter and even attended school. Because of the love they showed me, the prejudices and the hate for Mormons I had grown up with began to fade. Late in the winter my father asked me if I’d thought about being baptized. I told him I didn’t know. He said I could do what I wanted, but that if I believed in the gospel he would like to see me baptized.

He told me that before he had left my mother and Aunt Emily, he had given my brother Isaac and me a blessing. While his hands were on my head he prophesied I would come to the valley of the mountains and afterwards return with my brother. He told me he wanted me to go back in the spring and get my brother Isaac.

Nothing more was said on the subject of baptism for several months, and then I was asked again if I had thought about it. I had felt the healing warmth of the gospel and of members of the Church. I knew it was right. I told my father I wanted to be baptized.

We went up to City Creek. The water was cold, iced over, but I didn’t notice it much. After the baptism my father confirmed me and set me apart for the mission of bringing my brother back.

When I arrived at my old home in May of 1863, my grandparents, brother, and friends were happy to see me. A few days after my arrival, my grandmother and most of the family went to visit some friends for the day. My grandfather was ill and couldn’t go with them. He asked me to stay with him while they were away.

When we were alone he started to ask me questions about my trip to Utah. He asked me if I’d seen my father. I told him I had. He said he was glad I’d seen him. He asked me if I’d been baptized, and I told him I had. To my surprise he also said he was glad for that.

“I have suffered you to be prejudiced towards the Mormons and your father.” He closed his eyes while he talked. “And now I feel it is my duty to remove that prejudice.

“I knew Heber C. Kimball was your father, and I knew he was a good man; but I didn’t want you to know it. I wanted you and Isaac to be the means for my support while I lived. It’s a hard thing to be old and sick. You’ve been to your father now. That’s the way it should be. I’ve been wrong.

“I know Joseph Smith was a prophet of God, and I know Brigham Young is his legal successor. I always did know it. The trouble with me was that I wanted to lead and could not be led. I’ve run my race and sealed my doom. I know what I’ve got to meet.”

My grandfather closed his eyes again and cleared his throat.

“I want you to go back to your father and take Isaac. I know that’s right. I want you to remain steadfast to the gospel, to Mormonism. Never, never yield that point; it will save and exhalt you in the kingdom of God.”

My grandfather wept like a child then.

After hearing the truth about our father, Isaac was willing to go back to Utah with me. We left just a few days after the talk I’d had with my grandfather. When we arrived in Salt Lake City, our father was very happy to see us. He welcomed us into his home, and we contentedly settled down there, feeling more loved and more at home than we had ever felt in our lives.