Gospel Story Finder

With all the replays it was starting to look like Monday Night Football. Actually George Washington only crossed the Delaware River once, but don’t tell the young people in the Idaho Falls 35th Ward. They’ve had the Father of the Country crossing more water than t’s.
So successful was their winning roadshow that it turned into a service project by both choice and popular, or rather patriotic, demand. At first the show played for various wards in the Idaho Falls South Stake. After taking top honors in the stake festival, the youth were asked to stage their show for the community’s Bicentennial celebration on Washington’s birthday. More than 2,000 students and adults saw George hit the deck once more. Moving full speed ahead, the young people presented the hit at another Bicentennial program in May.
By then the young people didn’t want to abandon the ship; they decided that the residents at a learning home for the handicapped would enjoy live history. George and his friends even planned a special party for the audience. Not stopping there, the young people steered their enthusiasm and George’s boat into full throttle and prepared to launch their show in rest homes and nursing homes.
The audiences were all supportive and receptive; and the Idaho Falls youth were glad their song-and-dance roadshow had made so many waves—of laughter and cheers!

One cold, wintry morning the Miske family was awakened early by their neighbors. The neighbors, sixteen elderly patients from a nearby nursing home, were without water because their water pump had broken. The Miskes shared the water from their well all day—until the well went dry that evening. Sister Miske then purchased eighteen four-liter containers of purified water and asked other Latter-day Saint neighbors to help. They gathered sixteen large water containers and filled them at the local meetinghouse. Three sisters did the patients’ necessary laundry; one sister spent nine hours washing and drying sheets.
For three days, Sister Miske transported more than a ton of water in snowy weather, with temperatures often near the freezing mark. After three and a half days, a new pump was installed at the nursing home, and things there returned to normal.
But things were not normal for the Miske family; their own well remained dry. Members of the nursing home’s staff were more than happy to help the Miskes. The nursing home provided the family with water until spring, when the well began to flow again.

—Today, Nicole (not her real name) is an unwed mother.
But it wasn’t too long ago that she was a newly selected seminary officer, sitting with others who had been chosen, listening to their adviser tell them they were some of the best examples of righteous LDS youth in the entire school. He talked about challenges they all would face in the next few years. “Keeping your virtue will be one of them,” he said.
Nicole thought he was talking to somebody else, not her. “I thought I was invulnerable,” she said. “I didn’t need strict guidelines. Rules were for the rowdy kids, not for me.”
She laughed when her seminary teacher reminded couples about “Book of Mormon distance” at dances. She thought her dad was “out of it” when he talked about “early hours, lots of light, lots of people around.”
“I thought those were all convenient cliches,” she says. Then she met a young man she really liked, and they started spending more and more time together. One night, after spending many late evenings alone together, they lost control.
“I didn’t want it to happen. I’m not even sure how it happened. But once it did happen, it was hard not to let it happen again,” Nicole says. “I lost my virtue, I lost my self-respect, and I eventually lost my boyfriend. What’s more, I lost my future. Or at least I lost the future that I thought I once had. Everything’s different now.”

“My grandparents … taught me about tithing with examples of one egg or one bushel of peaches out of ten. Years later I used those same kinds of examples to try to teach the principles of tithing to our own children.
“Parents are always looking for better ways to teach, and the results of their efforts are sometimes unexpected. Attempting to teach tithing to our young son, I explained the principle of a tenth. … When I finished what I was sure was a clear explanation, I wanted to test whether our seven-year-old had understood. I asked him to imagine that he was a farmer with a harvest of eggs and young animals. I supplied the figures and then asked our little boy what he would give to the bishop as tithing. He thought deeply for a moment and then said, ‘I would give him a very old horse.’
“We obviously had some further conversations on the principle of tithing, and I am proud of the way he and his brother and sisters learned and practiced that principle. But I have often thought of that little boy’s words as I have observed how some adult Church members relate to the law of tithing. I think we still have some whose attitude and performance consist of giving the bishop something like ‘a very old horse.’

On Saturday, April 22, 1893, a special session for children under eight years of age was held so that many more Primary children could attend. Seven-year-old LeGrand Richards, later an Apostle, attended this session with his mother. He was impressed when he saw the prophet in the temple that day. He said later, “I always remembered exactly what President Woodruff looked like and what he wore on that day for the rest of my life.” Unlike his older sister, who saw an angel during an earlier dedication session, LeGrand said, “I looked around for angels, but I didn’t see any!”

Walnetta Broederlow McCall was only nine years old when a missionary asked if anyone could play piano for their fledgling congregation. “I gingerly put up my hand!” she recalls. The missionary, Elder Charles W. Ashman, was not deterred by her age or inexperience. He gave Walnetta hymns to practice, and the following week, she became the pianist for their meetings.
Over the years, Walnetta has served in many other callings and enjoyed those experiences too. Today, she feels just as privileged to provide prelude music in her current Taupo Ward, to invite the Holy Spirit and set a reverent tone for their sacrament meetings. Reflecting on her love for her calling, she is so grateful for the gift that Elder Ashman gave her all those years ago when he asked for a volunteer pianist. “His invitation to play for our meetings and [his] confidence in me has blessed my life,” she says.

While the formal classroom may be intimidating at times, some of the most effective teaching takes place other than in the chapel or the classroom. Well do I remember that during the spring season some years ago, members of my ward and an adjoining ward took all the Aaronic Priesthood, who eagerly looked forward to an annual outing commemorating the restoration of the Aaronic Priesthood. On this particular occasion we journeyed by bus 90 miles north to the Clarkston, Utah, cemetery. There, in the quiet of that beautiful setting, we gathered the youth around the grave of Martin Harris, one of the Three Witnesses of the Book of Mormon. While we surrounded the beautiful granite shaft which marks his grave, Elder Glen L. Rudd, then the bishop of the other ward, presented the background of the life of Martin Harris and read from the Book of Mormon his testimony and that of Oliver Cowdery and David Whitmer. The young men listened with rapt attention, realizing they were standing at the grave site of one who had seen an angel and had actually beheld the plates with his own eyes. They reverently touched the granite marker designating the grave and pondered the words they had heard and the feelings they had felt.
Then we walked a short distance to a pioneer grave. The marker bore the name of John P. Malmberg and contained the verse:
A light from our household is gone.
A voice we loved is stilled.
A place is vacant in our hearts
That never can be filled.
We talked with the boys about sacrifice, about dedication to truth. Duty, honor, service, and love—all were taught by that tombstone. In memory’s eye I can see the boys reach for their handkerchiefs to wipe away a tear. Heard yet are the sniffles which testified that hearts were touched and commitments made. I believe each youth had determined to be a pioneer—one who goes before, showing others the way to follow.
We then retired as a group to a local park, where all enjoyed a picnic lunch. Before turning homeward, we stopped at the grounds of the beautiful Logan temple. It was a warm day. I invited the boys to stretch out on the spacious lawn and with me gaze at a sky of blue, marked by white, billowy clouds hurried along on their journey by a steady breeze. We admired the beauty of this magnificent pioneer temple. We talked of sacred ordinances and eternal covenants. Lessons were learned. Hearts were touched. Covenants and promises became much more than words. The desire to be worthy to enter temple doors lodged in those youthful hearts. Thoughts turned to the Master; His presence was close. His gentle invitation “Follow me” was somehow heard and felt.

When one of our granddaughters was 3 years old, she attended a “joy” pre-school. One morning they were talking about the delights of their bodies. Among other activities, they outlined their own image on newsprint paper and they weighed themselves. When our granddaughter was measured and weighed, she was the tallest and the heaviest. Everyone cheered. It was as if she had won the prize for being the biggest. On the sidelines, her mother ruefully wondered how that scene might change in the next dozen or more years. Would she appreciate her body then, if she were the biggest?

Early in his career, Elder Tenorio was approached about a position as manager of the Church’s Genealogical Service Center in Mexico. Doing well in his job in the publishing industry, he was not sure about taking the new position. But following a series of inspired events, he realized it was a job he was supposed to take.

“It changed my life’s course,” he says. It led to a life intertwined with family history and temple work.

After seven years in that job, during which time he served as stake president, he was called as the first recorder for the Mexico City Mexico Temple and as a sealer. He left the temple to preside over the Mexico Tuxtla Gutierrez Mission. He later managed the area’s Membership, Materials Management, and Welfare Services Departments, during which time he served as regional representative and later as Area Seventy.

Elder Tenorio later became the Mexico City Mexico Temple recorder again after his replacement retired.

About a year after the death of our baby, we moved and I was assigned to minister to a young couple with two children. The older daughter had contracted an infection while in the womb and was born with a severe mental disability. Although she was nine years old at the time, she was like an infant developmentally. It was a struggle for the young family, who had limited means.
One day I received a phone call telling me she had died during the night. No member of the bishopric was available to visit just then, so I was asked to visit until they could get there. I arrived as her body was being removed, and I had a chance to talk with the father. The wife’s ministering sister arrived and did an amazing job comforting the family and taking care of the home.
I went with the father to the funeral home to make the arrangements. I suppose I was able to render some service because of my prior experiences. I don’t consider myself a great ministering brother, but I was glad I wasn’t a stranger in that home.

Derek snapped on his life preserver and pulled out his sunglasses as the boat sped up. He liked to feel the wind whip through his hair as the boat made ripples in the calm lake. The afternoon looked perfect for a fishing trip. The sun shone brightly, and the smooth water reflected the trees standing along the shore.
Dad had invited Brother Taylor and his two children, Hannah and Jake, to come along, too. Dad had asked 11-year-old Derek to help look after the children since they were only six and four. All afternoon, Brother Taylor helped Hannah and Jake hold tiny fishing poles while Derek and Dad baited their hooks. Derek had fun, even though he didn’t catch any fish himself.
When the sun rolled behind a cloud, Dad looked up at the sky and pressed his lips together in thought. “We don’t have much sunlight left,” he said.
“Good,” Brother Taylor replied. “The fishing’s better when it starts to get dark.”
“The fishing’s better, but driving the boat isn’t,” Dad said. “The lake can be dangerous in the dark. We should stay for only a few more minutes.”
The lake looked peaceful and still as the sky grew darker. Soon, the fish began to bite. After Jake and Brother Taylor had each caught a fish, Dad started the engine.
“Time to go,” he said.
Derek found a huge red towel and wrapped it around Hannah and Jake like a blanket. The air felt crisp now that the sun had melted into the mountaintops.
Dad slowly steered the boat back to the shore as the darkness grew. The boat had two little lights at the front, but they weren’t very bright. “I wonder if Dad can see anything at all,” Derek thought. He didn’t like being out on the lake in the dark. The lapping of the water against the boat sounded creepy, and the air felt cold now. He wished they would go faster.
Suddenly, Dad pulled back on the throttle and the boat drifted to a stop.
“Why are we stopping?” Derek asked.
Dad didn’t respond. He pulled a flashlight out of the glove box and shined it in front of the boat. Directly ahead of them, Derek saw a rock sticking up out of the water. Dad slowly turned the boat and drove around it.
Derek held his breath. They had almost crashed into that rock!
When they reached the dock, Dad patted Derek’s knee.
“That was close,” Derek whispered.
Dad nodded. “I saw that rock this afternoon, but I didn’t think much about it,” he said. “In the light, I could have seen it from far away, but I couldn’t see it at all in the dark. All of a sudden, something inside told me to stop the boat. I didn’t see the rock until after we had stopped. If I had waited until I saw it, it would have been too late.”
Derek’s eyes widened.
“Thankfully, the Holy Ghost could see what I could not.” Dad smiled. “He was looking out for us, and I am glad I listened to Him.”
Derek felt glad, too. A warm feeling rushed through him. He felt safe and calm knowing that Dad had listened to the promptings of the Holy Ghost. Derek knew that if he, too, listened for the still, small voice, he would know what to do—even when he couldn’t see the way.

Henry Drummond, in his classic writing on the subject of Christ’s love, tells of a man who went to see a dying boy. He put his hand on the boy’s head to comfort him and said, “‘My boy, God loves you.’” The boy soon arose “from his bed, and called out to the people in the house, ‘God loves me! God loves me!’ One word! It changed that boy. The sense that God loved him overpowered him, melted him down, and began the creating of a new heart in him. And that is how the love of God melts down the unlovely heart in man, and begets in him the new creature, who is patient and humble and gentle and unselfish. And there is no other way to get it. There is no mystery about it. We love others, we love everybody, we love our enemies, because He first loved us.” (The Greatest Thing in the World, Old Tappon, N.J.: Fleming H. Revell Co., n.d., pp. 47–48.)

Early one morning while visiting Quito, Ecuador, tour guide and naturalist André Degel was taking a Sunday walk by a Latter-day Saint meetinghouse. The year was 1997, and though he was a member of the Church, he had been less active for years after moving to the Galápagos Islands. André remembered the comforting feelings of being in church and would often intentionally walk by a meetinghouse when he was in Ecuador. He didn’t usually go inside. He just wanted to be near the building. “It made me feel better,” he says, “like I was home.”
On this day sacrament meeting was just beginning. After a moment’s hesitation, André decided to enter. It was a decision that ultimately would alter the destiny of hundreds of lives.
After the meeting the missionaries and members greeted André. He remembers the conversation fondly, especially about how surprised—and excited—they were to discover he was from the Galápagos.
At the time, there was no formal Church organization on the islands. In fact, priesthood leaders in Ecuador weren’t even aware members lived there.
The missionaries didn’t waste any time. They introduced André to the Quito Ecuador Mission president and made sure they had André’s contact information.
Shortly thereafter André returned home to Puerto Ayora, the largest town in the Galápagos, on the island of Santa Cruz. Soon the mission sent him two boxes of Church materials, including manuals for study. But perhaps most important, the mission president had acquired a list of members living on the islands, which André could use to help gather the Saints. A quick review of the list surprised André.
“There were people on the list I knew, but I didn’t know they were members of the Church,” he explains.
Once André had gathered a core group, they began meeting together regularly. At first, there were only four families and friends.
“We would meet often, sometimes daily, mostly at my house,” André says. “We studied the books the mission had sent us and the Bible and the Book of Mormon.”
“It was a beautiful time,” says Araceli Duran. “We were very united. We would gather each week to study.”
“It is something that I will never forget,” says Jeanneth, “because there was such a sense of unity, such a feeling that our Heavenly Father loved us and knew that it was now that we needed to get together.”
They depended on each other, taught each other, and built their faith together. Soon their efforts were recognized, and an official branch was organized in early 1998.

On my mission, I was in a car accident that left me with back pain and memory loss. Once I returned home, I enrolled in school, but I struggled. I couldn’t remember simple things, and I couldn’t carry more than a notebook and a pen in my backpack because of the pain.
I was angry. I had spent 18 months serving God and giving Him my all. Why wouldn’t He heal me? Where was He?
As the intense pain continued, I began to feel that I couldn’t turn to God. I began to doubt that He would—or even could—help me. And if He couldn’t help me, then I thought scripture study and temple attendance wouldn’t help either. I turned away from God because life was too hard, and I couldn’t see a way out.
On one particularly difficult day, I had failed another test after studying for hours, and the pain in my back was worse than it had ever been. I stepped outside, sat down, and cried.
A few minutes later, a girl came up to me and smiled. She handed me a note that read, “‘Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself’ [Matthew 6:34]. Heavenly Father is watching over you. I asked Him to. He loves you.”
The Spirit washed over me. I hadn’t felt God’s love for me in a long time. But the girl who handed me the note sparked feelings in my soul, brought me back to the beginning of my faith, and reminded me of my many prior experiences with the Spirit.
I began to turn to Heavenly Father more often in prayer. Even if I couldn’t see the end of my pain, I asked Him to ease my pain or to give me the strength to simply make it through the day. I concentrated more on scripture study and temple attendance.
Though my memory and my pain aren’t fully healed, I have learned to stay close to the Lord. Even when I cannot see all of what lies ahead, I know He is there. I can look forward to the future with faith in Him.

While we were growing up in a small community, my father saw the need for my brother and me to learn the principle of work. As a result, he put us to work on a small farm on the edge of town where he had been raised. He ran the local newspaper, so he could not spend much time with us except early in the morning and in the evening. That was quite a responsibility for two young teenagers, and sometimes we made mistakes.
Our small farm was surrounded by other farms, and one of the farmers went in to see my father one day to tell him the things he thought we were doing wrong. My father listened to him carefully and then said, “Jim, you don’t understand. You see, I’m raising boys and not cows.” After my father’s death, Jim told us his story. How grateful I was for a father who decided to raise boys, and not cows. In spite of the mistakes, we learned how to work on that little farm, and I guess, although they didn’t say it in so many words, we always knew we were more important to Mother and Father than the cows or, for that matter, anything else.

There’s an ancient oriental legend that tells the story of a jeweler who had a precious pearl he wanted to sell. In order to place this pearl in the proper setting, he conceived the idea of building a special box of the finest woods to contain the pearl. He sought these woods and had them brought to him, and they were polished to a high brilliance. He then reinforced the corners of this box with elegant brass hinges and added a red velvet interior. As a final step, he scented that red velvet with perfume, then placed in that setting this precious pearl.
The pearl was then placed in the store window of the jeweler, and after a short period of time, a rich man came by. He was attracted by what he saw and sat down with the jeweler to negotiate a purchase. The jeweler soon realized that the man was negotiating for the box rather than the pearl. You see, the man was so overcome by the beauty of the exterior that he failed to see the pearl of great price.

Most family calamities, given enough time, provide humor and laughter—like the time I took our misbehaving two-year-old son, Tyler, home from sacrament meeting. (We live right next door to the church.) After turning on cartoons for my son, I fell asleep and didn’t wake up when my five-year-old showed up to take Tyler back to Primary.

Sacrament meeting was not quite over, and the bishop was pouring out his soul to the congregation when the two children returned. The trouble was, Tyler had stripped down to moon boots and training pants and picked up his popgun rifle on the way out the door. It became whisper quiet when Tyler marched up the aisle with his rifle, took aim, and shot the bishop. It sure woke up the congregation.

Of course it wasn’t funny then. Time helps humor emerge gradually. The trick is finding the humor in the event now.

Not long ago a sophomore at BYU found her way to my office. Her demeanor and body language bespoke her sadness, and she lamented that she had failed to become involved or make many friends during her first year in Provo. I mostly listened as she conducted a personal therapy session with herself and as she concluded, saying, “I guess I just need to get outside myself and do something for others.” She had made a very wise and absolutely correct diagnosis of the malady from which she was suffering, and I knew I could help.

I immediately walked the young woman to the Student Leadership office, which houses the programs of the Brigham Young University Student Service Association, or BYUSA as it is better known. There she was introduced to a genuinely happy and gregarious student volunteer who took her on a tour of the office, explaining the various ways in which students may become involved and serve others. I left knowing that my young friend was in good hands. She was doing what she herself had prescribed. She was getting outside herself and finding ways to serve others.

A few days after our visit to the Student Leadership office, I returned to communicate thanks to the dedicated student volunteer who had fellowshipped my friend. The volunteer said, with excitement in her voice, “Your friend is here in the office this afternoon.”

“Where?” I questioned.

“Over there.” She pointed to a spot perhaps fifty feet from where we stood. I quickly made my way to see my once lonely and unhappy friend but opted to stay out of sight while within range of her voice. My friend had gotten involved and was giving a tour of the office to two freshmen.

I heard her say, “I didn’t get involved but kept to myself during my freshman year, and I regret it. You need to get outside yourself and find a way to serve. We can help you!” This was music to my ears, and when I made my appearance I observed the smile that had replaced the previous distressed look on my friend’s face. Similar excited and happy looks were observed on the faces of the two visitors. I had just witnessed modern fulfillment of the important Book of Mormon parallel: “And they did fellowship one with another, and did rejoice one with another, and did have great joy.”

Kip pulled out of his book of remembrance a sheet of photocopy paper containing the imprints of two hands, one large and the other small. “This is one of my favorite pictures,” he said. “I was about ten when my dad and I were playing around with a copy machine and took these pictures of our hands.” Looking again at the difference in the sizes of the handprints, he added, “Now I’m taller than my dad.”

Every June my parents go rafting on the Snake River near Jackson Hole, Wyoming. In 1991 my dad let me float the river for the first time. I had waited a long time to be able to go. I felt very excited as I dressed, first in my swimsuit, then in my wetsuit. I put on my life jacket and climbed into the rubber raft with my mom and dad and the other adults with us.
The river was muddy and running very high because of a heavy spring snow melt. The color of the water was like hot chocolate. I rode in the very front of the raft with my feet tucked under the thwart (rower’s seat), and held tightly to the front rope. I laughed and screamed as we rode through the rapids. The water was very cold, so I ducked my head as the big waves crashed over me. To keep the boat straight, the adults paddled through the rapids. During the calm parts, we would talk and laugh.
My dad thought that we had already passed a dangerous rapid called Three Ordeal. He doesn’t like going through it because it’s a hydraulic wave, which means that it’s like a big washing machine with one strong wave. He says that it’s like riding over a spillway, then getting caught on the powerful wave at the bottom.
The adults were talking during a calm stretch in the river, and the raft was floating kind of sideways. My dad looked up and realized that we were heading right for Three Ordeal. He had just enough time to get the boat straight. The grownups started paddling as hard as they could to pick up enough speed to pull us over the wave.
I ducked my head as we hit the first big wave, and when I looked up, I saw Uncle Jerry being thrown from the raft. Clinging to the rope, I looked around. The raft was empty except for me! The force of the wave had knocked all the adults into the churning river. I learned later that the force of the collision folded the raft in half, with the back almost touching the front.
While the adults were being swept downriver, the wave trapped the raft and me in the middle of the river. The raft twisted and turned and rocked up and down like a teeter-totter. I was very scared, but I clung to the rope, keeping my feet wedged under the rower’s seat. I looked for my mom and dad—where were they? Should I jump into the river with everyone else? What should I do?
Then I felt something in the middle of my heart tell me, “Stay in the raft.” Suddenly I felt calm instead of panicky. I felt I was being helped and protected. I believe it was the Holy Ghost. I obeyed the prompting and stayed in the raft. Soon it broke free of the roaring wave and started floating down the river. Oh, what a feeling to be safe and protected by the Holy Ghost!
Once I didn’t have waves crashing around me, I saw my aunt and uncle on the bank. Again I wondered if I should jump in the river and swim to the shore. Again, I had a strong feeling to stay in the raft. I kept still, and the raft floated to the bank by itself. I grabbed some branches and held on to them until a friend came and tied the raft to a bush. My parents and the other adults were all safe.
I learned many things from that experience. As soon as the adults reached shore, they prayed that Heavenly Father would protect me. Twice I had felt the promptings of the Holy Ghost. Twice I obeyed the promptings and was kept safe from the dangers of the river. I learned that maybe the raft didn’t float to the bank by itself after all. I learned that Heavenly Father can accomplish things when people can’t. He can accomplish all things.