Gospel Story Finder

My mother says we came from Dublin, Ireland, with a bundle of clothes, a well-read Bible, and each other. And in our hearts we brought love and hope.
When I was barely ten, we moved to a small cottage with a plot of land near the junction of the Susquehanna and Juniata canals. Father, who was tall and muscular, pulled our plow. And Mother, small but determined, guided the prong as it turned the soil. They sang as they worked, and I was happy to follow behind and shove potato eyes into the rich black earth. Sometimes we gathered berries by the river in pails.
“I watched the canal boats today, Father,” I said, smiling. “They were full of all manner of goods.”
“Aye, it’s a wondrous land we’ve come to, Michael,” Father agreed.
Although we sold the potatoes and berries in town, we never seemed to have enough money. When I was nearly twelve Father left for a time to look for work. Before he went, he kissed Mother and, smiling at me, led me to my cot where he raised the mattress and pinned a dollar to the ticking. “There,” he said quietly. “I’m off to find work. I don’t want to go, but a man must feed his family. Take care of your mother while I’m gone, and if there’s ever a need, remember the dollar.” Father patted the mattress and asked, “Do you understand what I mean, Michael?”
I swallowed hard and nodded. “I understand, Father.”
Mother and I stood near the fence and waved until father disappeared along Old Post Road. Then she wiped her eyes and turned back to the house. “While your father’s gone, Michael, we’ll plant potatoes and pick berries just as before.”
I nodded and went to the head of the plow, determined to do my part. But no matter how hard I tugged and pulled, the furrows never looked deep enough.
Time passed—mules pulled the canal boats, potatoes sprouted, I picked berries and chopped wood. But Mother no longer sang.
Then one afternoon I saw a canal boat loaded to the brim being slowly pulled along. The mule driver cursed and beat the lead mule, but the mule balked and brayed.
“You lazy mule!” the driver shouted, and he whipped the poor animal till it struggled forward. When they neared a bend, I saw the mule drop to its knees and move its head wearily from side to side. I thought of myself behind the plow and ran to where the driver was unfastening the mule’s harness.
“Lazy, no-good mule! You’ll be sold for glue now! That’s a fact!” the driver roared.
“Oh, no!” I pleaded. “Please don’t sell him for glue. He tried the best he could.”
“Go home, boy!” the driver growled. “I can’t leave a dead mule to block the path!”
“He’s not dead yet!” I cried, “Only tired.”
“He’ll be dead soon!” the driver barked as he reached for his gun.
“Please!” I begged, raising my hands.
“Out of my way, boy!”
“I’ll buy him,” I stammered quickly.
The driver threw back his head and laughed.
“I—I have a dollar.”
The driver stopped laughing and rubbed his chin. “A dollar, huh? I suppose that’s all I’d get from the glue factory. All right,” he nodded. “Done!”
I ran home and lifted my mattress, wondering if Father would think it a foolish waste. I glanced toward the canal and thought of the mule. Surely any life is worth a dollar! I decided.
The driver laughed as he grabbed the dollar, then waved me away as he guided the mule train along the path. “Mind,” he shouted over his shoulder, “he’s your problem now! It’s up to you to get him off the path!”
I watched the canal boat disappear around the bend, then knelt and coaxed, “Come on, boy, you’ve got to come home.”
The mule rolled its big brown eyes up at me and my own eyes clouded as he stood and tried to walk, then fell into the high grass. After dinner I put a few carrots in a gunnysack and hurried back to the weak animal. Looking at me sadly, he ate but one carrot.
“It’s all right,” I sobbed. “Rest, old mule; I’ll not beat you.” I tried to cover his bony back with the sack and hurried home.
A week passed and I tended the mule in secret, praying he wouldn’t die. Then one day as I turned to go home, the mule stood on wobbly legs and brayed. I turned in surprise. “Come on, boy,” I urged. “Come on home.”
The old mule pointed its ears, took a step forward, then stopped. I hugged its neck and whispered, “It’s all right, boy. Rest.”
I hurried home to plow a plot of land, and as I slipped my arms into the traces, Mother stood between the handles. Suddenly I heard the mule braying and looked up to see it coming straight across the field toward me! Gently it shoved me aside with its nose and took my place in front of the plow.
“Well, I never!” Mother said, taken aback. “Whose mule is that, Michael?”
“He’s ours, Mother!” I laughed. “I bought him for a dollar!”
The mule plowed all morning—one straight, deep furrow after another—and never got tired. Mother smiled from the cottage window as she baked bread while the mule and I plowed.
Then one evening as we sat down to supper, we heard a knock at the door. Mother opened it, and the mule driver stood scowling. “You have my mule!” he shouted, wagging a finger at me. “I’ve come to fetch him back!”
“I bought him for a dollar!”
“That’s when he was dying!” the driver growled. “Someone saw him well and plowing! Here’s your dollar!”
“Mother,” I pleaded through my tears.
“My son does not want his dollar back,” Mother declared. “A bargain made is a bargain kept!”
The driver’s face turned purple and he threw the dollar on the porch. “I’m takin’ my mule!” he shouted.
I raced to the shed and latched the door, but the driver shoved me aside and flung it open. He grabbed the mule’s halter and raised his whip, but the mule braced its feet and balked. Then from out of nowhere, I saw a tall shadow come round the house and a powerful hand twisted the whip from the driver’s grasp.
“Who threatens my family and home?” my father’s voice boomed angrily.
The driver looked at my father, then released the harness. “Ah,” the driver mumbled, “that ol’ mule never would work anyhow!”
Father stood with his arm about Mother’s waist as the driver stumbled toward the canal. “Is it a useless mule, Michael?” Father asked.
“No. He’ll work for me,” I explained.
“Then you’ve used the dollar well,” Father assured me. “I worked and have only two weeks’ pay in my pocket, but I sorely missed my little family. I’m home to stay. We’ll make it somehow,” he said, smiling hopefully.
“We’ll make it just fine,” Mother agreed, beaming happily. “The mule does most of the hard work, and the garden’s bigger so there will be more potatoes to sell. I can bake pies with the berries, and you can build a cart for the mule to carry our goods to town.”
“Hold on,” Father laughed. “First I want a hug from my family.”
There was still barely enough money, but we were together again. I knew for sure that all riches aren’t to be laid upon a table for counting, or carted to town for selling and trading. Some riches, like the love and honest work of my parents and the loyal, faithful work of my mule, are not for hire. They are precious gifts, freely given when earned. And if the riches of the heart could be counted, then all the world would know how very prosperous we were as my mother and father sang and as I grew to be a man.

I got my mission call to the Zambia Lusaka Mission. One of the hardest things about coming home early was members not understanding early-returning missionaries.
When I came back, I had to be hospitalized for three weeks, and no members from church called or visited. The only people who came were the group leader and the missionaries to administer the sacrament to me every Sunday—and that was only because I had asked them to. I really could have used the help of members to build my strength and my faith in Jesus Christ during those first few weeks home, but I had to do it alone.
The Lord continues to teach me every day about why I am home earlier than expected, even though it’s still hard to understand sometimes. I now realize that coming home early allowed me to find my father and his family and build a relationship with them. It allowed me to discover that I have a disorder that continues to be part of my life. And I’ve learned what my strengths and weaknesses are—for example, how to say “no.” Before, it was so hard for me to say no to anything or anyone. I was always willing to do things and put others first, no matter how tired or busy I was—which isn’t wrong, but because of this trial, I’ve learned that sometimes I need to put myself first.
I still continue to discover new things about the Lord and why I had to come home early. But a lot of blessings have come my way, and I rely on the Lord daily. Even though it’s hard sometimes and people don’t always understand, I know that the Savior does. And I continue to rely on Him and His infinite Atonement.
Lindi Chibase, Gauteng, South Africa

As a youth, I wasn’t planning on serving a mission, but people constantly bugged me about going. They reminded me that the Lord expected me to go. Those telling me to go on a mission meant well, but the pressure made me not want to go.
One day, the local missionaries had an emergency. As a result, a missionary would be left alone for the day. I was asked to stay with him until his new companion arrived. That night, after we had prayed and prepared for bed, my “companion” asked me if I was thinking about serving a mission. I told him no.
He replied, “When you feel like you should do it, then do it.” In other words, if the Holy Ghost prompted me to serve, I should go. I didn’t feel any pressure when he spoke, but I did feel the Spirit. The missionary’s words stayed with me and eventually helped me to find a job and save money for a mission.
On my mission, I developed a special closeness with Heavenly Father. I learned that when the Holy Ghost tells us it’s time to do something, we need to do it.
Leonardo Z., Argentina

Some years ago, my wife, Isabelle, received an unusual ministering assignment. She was asked to visit an elderly widow in our ward, a sister with health challenges and whose loneliness had brought bitterness into her life. Her curtains were drawn; her apartment was stuffy; she did not want to be visited and made it clear that “there is nothing I can do for anyone.” Undeterred, Isabelle responded, “Yes, there is! You can do something for us by allowing us to come and visit you.” And so Isabelle went, faithfully.

Some time later, this good sister had surgery on her feet, which required her bandages to be changed every day, something she could not do for herself. For days, Isabelle went to her home, washed her feet, and changed her bandages. She never saw ugliness; she never smelled stench. She only ever saw a beautiful daughter of God in need of love and tender care.

Over the years, I and countless others have been blessed by Isabelle’s gift to see as the Lord sees. Whether you are the stake president or the ward greeter, whether you are the king of England or live in a shack, whether you speak her language or a different one, whether you keep all the commandments or struggle with some, she will serve you her very best meal on her very best plates. Economic status, skin color, cultural background, nationality, degree of righteousness, social standing, or any other identifier or label is of no consequence to her. She sees with her heart; she sees the child of God in everyone.

My father worked long and hard practically every day of his life. I’m certain that on the Sabbath he would have enjoyed just being at home. Rather, he visited elderly family members and brought cheer into their lives.
One was his uncle, who was crippled by arthritis so severe that he could not walk or care for himself. On a Sunday afternoon Dad would say to me, “Come along, Tommy; let’s take Uncle Elias for a short drive.”
Boarding the old 1928 Oldsmobile, we would proceed to Eighth West, where, at the home of Uncle Elias, I would wait in the car while Dad went inside. Soon he would emerge from the house, carrying his crippled uncle in his arms like a china doll. I then would open the door and watch how tenderly and with what affection my father would place Uncle Elias in the front seat so that he would have a fine view, while I occupied the rear seat.
The drive was brief and the conversation limited, but oh, what a legacy of love! Father never read to me from the Bible about the good Samaritan. Rather, he took me with him and Uncle Elias in that old 1928 Oldsmobile along the road to Jericho.

Shanon Graber of Virginia Beach is the type of person who dives right into things with energy and enthusiasm. That’s why she was so successful with the fund-raising projects the youth in her ward sponsored all year long.
They did pizza sales and Valentine cookie sales and doughnut sales and garage sales. The girls in the ward needed money for girls’ camp and youth conference, as well as the mother-daughter encampment, and it was taking an awful lot of work.
But Shanon shined. She put her shoulder and her heart to it and ended up making more than enough to cover her expenses. So what did she do with the excess? “Sister Murdock?” she asked her adviser, “do any of the other girls need any help?” Shanon, a Mia Maid, ended up donating enough money for two more girls to come to the encampment.
Those good works help her add a brilliant yellow to the rainbow.

When I was in seventh grade I decided to participate in a running competition against the other middle schools. What I didn’t know was that the area we were running in was hilly, and so running would be a lot harder than I was used to.
When I was a little over halfway through the race, I slowed to a walk and just decided that I couldn’t do it. Tears came, and I felt weak and embarrassed.
As I was about to stop and sit down, two eighth-grade girls from my school caught up to me and started encouraging me to keep going. I reluctantly started to slowly jog with them, with one on each side of me. My whole body was aching, but I kept on going. When we were finally in sight of the finish line, my youngest sister came to run with me too.
When we crossed the finish line, I was relieved. I received a ribbon for seventh place, and I felt embarrassed since there were only seven girls who ran. But now it reminds me of how I completed something that seemed so impossible.

In his years as a widower my father had suffered financial misfortunes, so at the time of his marriage to my mother he was practically without money. Disabilities from a serious automobile accident made it impossible for him to continue his profession as a printer, so he took several less profitable jobs one after another. Yet he never hesitated to pay his tithes and offerings. Sometimes he wore secondhand suits instead of the finely tailored suits he had worn in earlier years; but eventually, with careful saving and considerable sacrifice, he and my mother were able to purchase a simple home and begin saving for retirement.
Even during this difficult financial period, whenever the bishop asked for budget or building funds, I noticed that my father would often pay a few dollars more than the bishop requested. My father had served as a bishop for several years and knew there was a great need for the money. “You can never give more to the Lord than the Lord gives you,” he would say smiling in a way that showed he knew what he said was true.

A few months ago I was having troubles with the commandments and keeping them. I found this scripture one morning as I was reading 1 Nephi 10:18–22. Verse 18 says, “The way is prepared for all men from the foundation of the world, if it so be that they repent and come unto [Christ].” That verse stood out and gave me courage I needed to meet with my bishop. One of my closest friends who was also struggling spoke with her bishop as well. A few weeks ago we were able to go to the temple. I know Christ loves us and that He did atone for our sins. I love Him and I’m grateful for this knowledge.

The Lord declared that “this gospel of the kingdom shall be preached … for a witness unto all nations; and then shall the end come” (Matt. 24:14). Can it possibly be accomplished? I remember an insight that suggested how it can happen.

I met a woman in South America who had just joined the Church. Fired by a great love for that which she had found, she had gone about enthusiastically telling others. During a period of only seven months since her baptism, she had referred 300 acquaintances to the missionaries so that they might explain the gospel to them. At one point, 60 had come into the Church. More likely came in. In São Paulo, Brazil, I met the young missionary who first had taught her the gospel. He, too, had been a convert, had gone on a mission to represent the Church at considerable financial sacrifice. The woman of whom I speak was one of 43 he had assisted in bringing into the Church to that point. This young man of Brazil had expanded himself more than 100 times—43 converts of his own and 60 through one of those he converted, with more from others of his converts to come.

Yes, this work requires sacrifice, it requires effort, it requires courage to speak out and faith to try. This cause does not need critics; it does not need doubters. It needs men and women of solemn purpose. As Paul wrote to Timothy: “God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.
“Be not thou therefore ashamed of the testimony of our Lord” (2 Tim. 1:7–8).

I wish that every member of this church would put those words where he might see them every morning as he begins his day. They would give us the courage to speak up, they would give us the faith to try, they would strengthen our conviction of the Lord Jesus Christ. I believe that more miracles would happen over the earth.

I know that God lives, that Jesus is the Christ, that this is their holy work, and I plead with you and with the God of heaven that we shall have the power and the faith and the devotion to roll it forward to its great destiny.

Though there may be occasional setbacks, the Lord’s great latter-day work is not going to fail, and it continues to get stronger.
Within the Church there is a great host of good and decent youth, youth who are thankful for their parents and their parents’ righteous teachings.
Service will ever be this people’s watchword, particularly as youth, couples, and members throughout the Church involve themselves in service to those who need the gospel.
The Lord’s latter-day work requires sacrifice, effort, courage, and faith.
The Apostle Paul’s counsel to Timothy is counsel to us. We would be blessed to consider it daily: “God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind. Be not thou therefore ashamed of the testimony of our Lord” (2 Tim. 1:7–8).

The next Sunday, i was contacted by some missionaries who asked me if they could visit me at home during the week. I agreed and set an appointment with them. I requested that they bring a copy of the Book of Mormon to me when they came to my house. The missionaries arrived and told me amongst other things “Brother Nimako, do you know that God loves you? The gospel we teach can bless you and your family.” I enjoyed their visit and scheduled another appointment.

I read my copy of the Book of Mormon and prayed. I pondered on the message the missionaries shared and what I was reading in the book of Mormon. I had a good feeling as I did this. I couldn’t wait to be baptised!

How do you remember to choose the right? Elder L. Tom Perry of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles tells a story about a young boy and his friends who found a package of cigarettes: “They decided to go down on the cliff alongside some large boulders and smoke. … They lit up, and the young man said that as he was looking down at the smoldering cigarette that he held between his fingers, he saw his CTR ring. He quickly put the cigarette out. … He chose to choose the right, as he remembered what the emblem stood for” (“‘Choose the Right,’” Ensign, Nov. 1993, 66).

A friend and I got into a really bad fight, and we haven’t spoken to each other in almost two years. Now, my best friend likes that person who hurt my feelings, and she likes me too. It is sometimes very hard for her to choose between us. All she does is stay neutral, and she doesn’t say anything bad about either of us. And she stops us if we are starting to say something bad about each other.
Name withheld

Jonathan Remengesau also is grateful for the blessing of a new wheelchair. Diabetes had caused his leg to be amputated in 2002. When his old wheelchair finally stopped functioning, he looked around for a new one. He was dismayed at the high cost of a new wheelchair—usually more than U.S. $700—a cost he knew he could not afford on his limited income. The plywood seat on his old chair was chafing his legs and causing painful sores. He finally gave up hope and decided to avoid leaving home. He rejoiced when he heard that he was qualified to receive a free wheelchair.

“This is the first time that anyone has really helped me like this,” he said as he sat in his new chair.

Andy Mair has heard many of the stories about sacrifices made in building the first Nauvoo Temple. He knows about the men and boys who cut stone by hand, hauled heavy loads with just horses and mules, went without good food and clothing, and spent every minute they could building a beautiful House of the Lord.
Andy has plenty to eat and wear and because he’s only 14 he’s not really allowed to work on the temple site. But Andy has made sacrifices. He willingly left his friends and home to come with his family to Nauvoo where his father would oversee the reconstruction of the Nauvoo Temple. “I am not sorry that I came,” says Andy. “I have been able to learn a lot more about the history of the Church and Joseph Smith. I can say that I have walked and lived where the Prophet Joseph and the early leaders of the Church did. As I see the temple workers, I notice that they all have shoes and shirts. They also have modern equipment like cranes, lifts, cement trucks, dump trucks, tractors, and power tools. I try to imagine how people in the 1840s built such a huge building without these things.”
Also, during the construction of the temple, Andy has seen what kind of man his dad is. “It means a lot to me to have my dad be able to oversee the construction of this temple, because I know I am one of a few young men who is able to participate so closely in such an historic event. My dad is a great example to me of hard work and dedication.”

Elder Kikuchi related how, as a young missionary called to serve in Japan for two years, he was first asked to extend for six months and then for an additional 12 months. He agreed without hesitation but each time asked his mission president to call the future Sister Kikuchi. “She was so happy that the Lord needed her future husband,” he recalled.

The young couple married soon after he returned, Elder Kikuchi continued. Then a Latter-day Saint American general who had been stationed in Japan offered to provide him with a complete scholarship and living expenses at Brigham Young University in Provo. “It was a wonderful, ideal situation,” he said, “but we felt we should stay in our country and serve the Church. We kindly turned down that great scholarship.”

Ten months after enrolling in the Asia University of Tokyo—where he eventually graduated in business psychology and management—“I was called as a branch president, and one year later our first daughter came,” Elder Kikuchi said, recalling he got by on four hours of sleep a night. “Those days were the most profound experiences of our lives.”

Illustrations by Shauna Mooney Kawasaki
Great news, guys. Your cousin Anthony is home from his mission, and we’ve been invited to a family dinner this Saturday.
AT THE DINNER
Was your mission fun, Anthony—I mean … er … Elder Edwards?
Yes, it was! Fun and rewarding and inspiring and wonderful!
And was it ever … hard?
Absolutely! Hard and sometimes scary and discouraging and just about impossible. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
That bad?
Bad? Not at all! Great things are never easy. Why should they be? Almost every day I faced challenges that I didn’t feel up to. And sometimes I wasn’t—at first. But do you know what I learned?
What?
That Elder Edwards could do things that Anthony could never have imagined. Because Elder Edwards had been called of God and given authority to preach the gospel of Jesus Christ. You see, I wasn’t just Anthony anymore.
It wasn’t really me doing those things. It was mostly Heavenly Father working through me, and He can do anything. I just had to be willing and do my very best. He did the rest. Sound like something you’d like to try someday?
Yes! But I think I’ve got a lot to learn first.
I’ll get you your very own copy of Preach My Gospel, and we can look at it together.

I saw that a few years ago in a deacons quorum where I had been called to teach the lessons. A few of the deacons failed to come to the quorum meetings from time to time. I knew that the teaching in that quorum—and in every quorum—was the charge of the president, who had keys. He was to sit in council with all of them. And so I have made a habit of seeking the counsel of the one with the charge from God by asking him, “What do you think I should teach? What should I try to accomplish?”
I learned to follow his counsel because I knew God had given him responsibility for the teaching of his quorum members. I knew one Sunday that God had honored the charge to a young quorum president. I was teaching the deacons. I noticed an empty chair. There was a recording device sitting on the chair, and I could see that it was running. After the class, a boy sitting next to the empty chair picked up the recorder. As he started to leave the room, I asked him why he had recorded our discussion. He smiled and said that another deacon had told him that he wouldn’t be in the quorum that day. He was taking the recorder to his friend at home so that he could listen to our lesson.
I had trusted in the responsibility given to a young quorum president, so help from heaven came. The Spirit came to touch the members in that room and sent one of them to a friend to try to strengthen his faith and lead him to repentance. The deacon carrying the recorder had learned according to the covenants, and he reached out to help his friend and fellow member in the quorum.

My beloved sisters, I think my first awareness or consciousness of the existence and the importance of the Relief Society came very early in my life.
My family left Salt Lake City for Arizona when I was three years old. My mother then had six children, and during the time that she went through five more pregnancies and five more births, she was president of the ward Relief Society.
We went to a new land, where water was drawn out of open wells; where flies were so thick you could hardly see out of the screen door in the evening; where typhoid fever was prevalent, and many other diseases, too; where medical help was extremely limited—there were no hospitals, no nurses, and no trained people except the country doctor who had more than he could ever do.
I read in my mother’s journal not long ago such expressions as these: “I left the children with Ruth or Delbert or with Gordon and went to Sister Smith’s home where the second twin had just died and where there were other children desperately ill with typhoid fever.” Again: “Today I spent the day with other sisters making burial clothes for the two children of Sister Jones.” and on and on and on. That was my introduction to Relief Society, and I am sure that to some degree that kind of work is still going forward, for as I understand your work, it includes not only the spiritual and the moral, but also the physical well-being of the people of the ward.

The Young Men and Young Women of the Terreton 2nd Ward, Roberts Idaho Stake, collected and made toys for children in Acuna, Mexico.
The Young Women crocheted the clothing for 32 dolls. The Young Men made trucks, slingshots, and sets of blocks. A missionary couple from the Terreton 2nd Ward had been working with the people in this area of Mexico. The couple suggested the service project to the young people, who met the challenge with enthusiasm.