Gospel Story Finder

One Sunday, as my husband and I sat in fast and testimony meeting with Chris’s older brother, Jeremy, fear continued to engulf me. Chris had been hospitalized again with a fever and low blood counts. We were new in our ward, and very few people knew of Chris’s condition. As I listened half-heartedly, a high councilman stood at the pulpit to bear his testimony. He talked about his love for some of the youth he’d met in another ward in our stake. He talked about how three of the priests there had shaved their heads for a friend who had cancer. Then his voice broke slightly when he said, “That boy lives in our ward now and is my home teacher.
“I wonder,” he continued, “if our youth would be that supportive.” The challenge was taken and met. That afternoon, our ward was graced by several very bald young men, including Chris’s older brother, Jeremy.
“One Sunday before sacrament meeting we were all lined up, and all of us were bald. The congregation just laughed,” Chris said.

I recall that as a graduate student I wrote a critique of an important political philosopher. It was clear that I disagreed with him. My professor told me that my paper was good, but not good enough. Before you launch into your criticism, she said, you must first present the strongest case for the position you are opposing, one that the philosopher himself could accept. I redid the paper. I still had important differences with the philosopher, but I understood him better, and I saw the strengths and virtues, as well as limitations, of his belief. I learned a lesson that I’ve applied across the spectrum of my life.

On the large Idaho farm where I grew up in the 1940s, the work horses had been displaced by the tractor, so my father left them to graze, except when we children wanted to ride them. I always chose Banner, despite his thick, aging, work-worn body.
On summer evenings, my father helped me saddle Banner, then sent us off to bring the cows home for milking. The cows pastured in a field fenced on three sides but open on the fourth to the Teton River. Beyond the river’s main channel, a large flood plain was crisscrossed by lesser channels. In springtime, the swollen river formed many islands and swamps crowded with brush.
Occasionally the cows would notice untouched grass across the river and swim across the swift current to eat it. They then wandered into the thick brush and could be hard to find. Father had given me strict orders that if the cows ventured across the river, I was never to go after them but must return home for help.
One Saturday evening in early spring just after my seventh birthday, I was in a great hurry to bring the cows home for milking because my parents had promised that we could go to a movie if we got our chores done in time. I trotted Banner as much as he could endure at his advanced age, but when I arrived at the pasture, I saw that the cows had swum across the river, even though it ran at high flood stage.
I didn’t know what to do. I knew that if I went for help, the movie would probably be half over before we could find the cows, milk them, and get the other chores done. I decided to go after the cows myself, even though I had been warned many times not to.
I knew that horses could swim well, as I had seen them cross the river before, but Banner hesitated as I urged him down into the cold, swift stream. As he swam with quick, jerking motions, his head barely cleared the water. An adult sitting on him would also have had his head above water, but at my age, the water quickly covered me. I had to grip the saddle horn to keep from washing downstream in the treacherous current. That kept me underwater, though, except when Banner lunged forward several times, bringing my head above water enough to gasp for air.
When Banner finally climbed the other bank, I realized that my life had been in grave danger and that I had done a terrible thing—I had knowingly disobeyed my father. I felt that I could redeem myself only by bringing the cows home safely. Maybe then my father would forgive me.
Banner and I wandered for some time across the flooded plain, crossing swamps and streams and searching in the thick brush for the cows. In the dusk I began to realize that I might not find them at all. Further, I didn’t know for sure where I was, and I began to fear that I couldn’t find my way back.
Finally I heard the cows in the distance and found them on a small island. We crossed to that island and began rounding up the cattle just as full darkness fell. Normally at milking time, the cows would be eager to return to the barn, but on this night, because of the darkness and the cold water they would have to swim across, they had no desire to leave. I tried every way I knew to get them to move, but just as we approached the water, they always turned and ran back to the center of the small island. Despair overwhelmed me. I was wet and cold, lost and afraid, and, worst of all, well aware that my disobedience had landed me in this fix.
I began to cry as I climbed down from Banner and fell to the ground by his feet. Between thick sobs, I tried to offer a prayer, simple but deeply sincere, as I repeated over and over to my Father in Heaven, “I’m sorry. Forgive me! I’m sorry. Forgive me!”
I prayed for some time with my head bowed, and when I finally looked up, I saw a figure dressed in white come up out of the river and walk toward me. In the dark, I felt certain it must be an angel sent in answer to my prayers. I did not move as the figure approached, but felt overwhelmed by what I saw. Would the Lord really send an angel to me, who had been so disobedient?
Then a familiar voice said, “I’ve been looking for you, Son.” I recognized my father and ran to his outstretched arms. He held me for several moments until I finally stopped the emotional sobs. He then said gently, “I was worried. I’m glad I found you.”
I tried to tell him how I felt, but only disjointed words—“Thank you … dark … afraid … river … alone”—came out of my trembling lips.
I will never understand how my father coordinated the next few minutes. We both climbed on Banner and started herding the cows. Father gave a piercing whistle, and the cows seemed to line up in single file and march through the numerous channels of the river toward home. I learned later that when my father noticed that I had not returned from the pasture, he drove the pickup truck out to investigate. When he couldn’t find me or the cows, he knew that I had crossed the river and was in danger. Because it was dark, he did not take time to go for additional help but removed his clothes down to his long white thermal underwear, tied his shoes around his neck, and swam the treacherous river in search of me.
He was a hero to me. He had saved me from the most terrible experience of my young life and replaced fear and danger with love and security. I will always remember what it was like to ride on Banner encircled by my father’s warm arms and hearing him say, “Everything is fine now. You’re safe.”
I had been disobedient and had learned the fear and regret that come with it. My father had searched for me, his lost son, and brought me safely home. I had never felt greater gratitude to my Heavenly Father, recognizing that when I exercise poor judgment and disregard his commandments, he still is willing to rescue me as I repent and turn to him again.

When I was younger, my older brother would take me out with him. I loved it because it showed his love for me and gave me someone to look up to. When I was older, I would take my little brother with me. Some of the best times I remember are when I was with my brothers. Looking back, I wish I had spent more time with them.
Elder Eric Andrew Smith, 19Illinois Chicago North Mission

“One of the Choice and Accountability experiences I completed is a good example of how Personal Progress has changed my life. To complete the project I needed to make a habit of personal prayer and scripture study. I had never been excited or willing to read the scriptures before because they confused me. I decided to try the experience anyway and planned to read a chapter in my scriptures every night.
“When I sat down to read the first night, I was hesitant. I decided to start in the New Testament because I wanted to read about the Savior. At first the scriptures didn’t make much sense. But after a while I opened up my heart and looked for understanding. Suddenly I understood the passages. Every night I kneel in prayer, and I read my scriptures. I know the scriptures are true, and I’m grateful for Personal Progress.”Kristi Hurd, 15Antioch Second Ward, Antioch California Stake

Suddenly there’s a dozen LDS girls she hardly knows at her bedroom door, and they’re giving her plates of cookies and smiling big, toothy grins.
“Why don’t you come to our church Sunday?” someone asks and they all nod and smile some more.
She grins back and wonders when they’ll leave.
But they don’t. They talk and laugh and eventually she realizes they’re not so obnoxious. She starts to catch their enthusiasm. And she begins to wonder if this is what it’s like to be LDS? Is it always fun? Her father was LDS once. She’d heard things about the Church, but …
DarLynn Hawkins, 14, is sitting on the couch between Amy Van Camp and Erica Egli, both 14. This is Amy’s house, north of Chicago, in a town called Gurnee. And as the girls explain, Gurnee is a quiet place, famous for only two things—its immense factory outlet stores, and its spectacular junior high school band (which, as a matter of fact, the girls all play in).
DarLynn’s a Church member now. And that all began one evening about a year and a half ago when Amy and Erica convinced their Beehive class to crowd into DarLynn’s room. It started then; it just didn’t start perfectly.
“It was really weird,” says DarLynn. “We’d just moved here and I didn’t really know anyone, and all of a sudden here were all these girls asking me to come to church. I mean I knew Amy and Erica from school band …”
“But we didn’t like each other,” Erica adds. They all laugh.
“No, we weren’t best friends or anything,” says DarLynn. “I thought they were snobs.” They laugh again. “Just kidding, but I did think I was being rushed at first.”
Amy admits that maybe they were pushy. But, as she points out, there are no instructions to follow when you want to talk to a friend about the Church, and every now and then you make a mistake. “We’d heard her father was a member once. Erica and I just got the feeling she might need the Church in her life. The standards of the Church are so high that it helps you through the tough times.”
When Erica and Amy sensed DarLynn was uneasy, they slowed things down. They became closer friends with her during a school band trip, gave her a copy of the Book of Mormon (she read parts during the summer), and invited her to Church activities (which made her more comfortable with the other members). Eventually, Amy and Erica gained the courage to ask DarLynn if she’d like to have missionaries visit her home.
Erica says it wasn’t that easy getting up the nerve to ask DarLynn such an important question. “You have to conquer the fear. We were afraid that if she didn’t accept it, it would hurt us because it means so much to us. I was afraid she would laugh at the lessons or think they were soooo boring.”
But DarLynn said yes. “And everything the missionaries said was so interesting. They really got through to me and made it fun. There was a time in every discussion where I’d almost cry. Then during one discussion the missionaries asked me to read, ponder, and pray. I did that night, and the Spirit was there. It was so cool. I started to cry, and I just knew the Church was true.”
DarLynn’s parents had watched her careful study of Church teachings, and when she asked for their permission to be baptized they were happy to give it.
While there are no rules to follow when talking to a friend about the Church, there is one common mistake many make—going to places or doing things you know are wrong with the idea you will have your friend come to a Church activity next time.
Not too bright, says DarLynn. “When I was in the sixth grade, I wanted to try everything—smoking, drinking, everything. Then I got to know Amy and Erica, and they were strong in the Church and I thought that was really cool. It made me want what they had. We wouldn’t be as close now if they had followed me and had done the things I wanted to do back then.”
And if Erica and Amy had not been examples to DarLynn, they would have missed a great ending. Erica says, “I’ll never forget …” and Amy joins in, “DarLynn’s baptism!”
“It was the best feeling as we watched DarLynn being baptized because we helped her find the truth,” Erica continues. “You could see how happy she was. After she had changed clothes, she came out and said, ‘I’m perfect, and you’re not!’”
“I was kidding,” says DarLynn.
They all laugh again—a trio in perfect harmony.

Of the original twelve members of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, seven apostatized and were excommunicated. Three came back into the Church through the waters of baptism and resumed activity in the Church. Four did not.

Some mothers, some fathers, some children, some families are called upon to bear a heavy burden here in mortality. Such a family was the Borgstrom family in northern Utah. The time was World War II. Fierce battles raged in various parts of the world.

Tragically, the Borgstroms lost four of their five sons who were serving in the armed forces. Within a six-month period, all four sons gave their lives—each in a different part of the world.

Following the war, the bodies of the four Borgstrom brothers were brought home to Tremonton, and an appropriate service was conducted, filling the Garland Utah Tabernacle. General Mark Clark attended the service. He later spoke with tenderness these words: “I flew to Garland the morning of June 26. Met with the family, including among others the mother, father, and two remaining sons, … one a lad in his teens. I had never met a more stoic family group.

“As the four flag-draped coffins were lined up in front of us in the church, and as I sat by these brave parents, I was deeply impressed by their understanding, by their faith, and their pride in these magnificent sons who had made the supreme sacrifice for principles which had been instilled in them by noble parents since childhood.

“During the luncheon period, Mrs. Borgstrom turned to me and said in a low voice, ‘Are you going to take my young one?’ I answered in a whisper that as long as I remained in command of the army on the West Coast, if her boy were called I would do my best to have him assigned to duty at home.

“In the middle of this whispered conversation with the mother, the father suddenly leaned forward and said to Mrs. Borgstrom: ‘Mother, I have overheard your conversation with the general about our youngest. We know that if and when his country needs him, he will go.’

“I could hardly contain my emotions. Here were parents with four sons lying dead from wounds received in battle and yet were ready to make the last sacrifice if their country required it.”

It is the gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ that touched home and heart that ever-to-be-remembered day.

It would make a good movie scene: the hymn writer, pen in hand, sighing and restless, casts eyes toward heaven. Suddenly—in one magic lightning bolt of inspiration—the entire, polished poem leaps into the writer’s mind! But that isn’t how poems get written. Any serious poet will tell you that a fine poem is mainly the result of hard, hard work.

As he speaks, his seven-year-old daughter, Wisuchalak (nicknamed Buang), sleepily walks into the room from an afternoon nap. Seeing her father is busy, she turns on the television. Although she chooses a children’s program, it contains some rather frightening animation. Her father walks over to her, puts his arm around her, quietly explains that the program really isn’t suitable for her to watch, and successfully encourages her to go outside and play with her eight-year-old brother, Wisoodthiporn, or Ben. “We call him Ben after King Benjamin in the Book of Mormon,” explains President Khanakam.

Once during a rainstorm, the front door was accidentally left open and my aunt’s four dogs got out. We couldn’t find them. I remembered to say a prayer. We soon found all of the dogs. I love Heavenly Father so much.
Divinity B., age 11, Missouri, USA

When the gospel was restored, Peter, James, and John, three of the Apostles who first received the sacrament from the Savior, appeared to Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery. Under their direction, the priesthood authority necessary to administer the sacrament to the members of the Church was restored.

Brother Carlstrom, in his daily journal, narrates the contentment he reveled in one evening: “We made camp. Some of us wanted to sleep on the beach, but after a while we were forced to higher ground by the unusually high tide. … The day’s end caught most of us watching the beauty of the coast as wild fowl flew … before us. As the sun sank … , it filled the sky with all shades of reds and oranges, with slight traces of pink. … It was replaced by the moon, almost full, as it came over the mountains in back of us, painting the ocean’s surface with flickering light. It was soon joined by other heavenly bodies and God’s handiwork was displayed before us. We had just received our compensation for an afternoon of hard, uphill riding, and we all were thankful.”

I was faced with an assignment at school that made me very uncomfortable. Our teacher asked half the class to write an essay on why we should keep the words under God in the Pledge of Allegiance (of the United States) and the other half—my half—to write an essay on why we should take them out. I was sad and felt that I could not do this. I believe in Heavenly Father and have a testimony of Him, and I wanted to keep His name in the pledge. I went to my mom with this problem, and she told me to express my true opinion. She also told me to tell the teacher how I felt. So the next day I turned in the assignment and told my teacher why I could not do as she had asked. To my amazement, that is what she wanted. She hoped we would stand up for what we believed, and gave us the assignment to see if we would make that choice for ourselves. I was the only one in the class who did not defend the assigned point of view.

Marilu Ramirez of Zacatecas, Mexico, was only eight years old when she made her startling discovery: There on the street vendor’s magazine stand—somewhere between the newspapers and the television magazines—was a book with a blue cover and a golden angel blowing a trumpet.
Who knows how the book came to be there that day. It seemed out of place there on the rack, and it seemed to cry out to her to be picked up and read. The child paid for it and took it home.
As far as her mother was concerned, this was just another in a long line of strange religious books her daughter had brought home—and she punished the child for buying and reading it. The whole family thought Marilu was odd—too introverted, too obsessed by thoughts about God and religion. How could anyone explain the child’s dissatisfaction with the family’s traditional church? Why would she choose to waste her few extra pesos on religious books and pamphlets and then waste time reading them? But no amount of ridicule or pressure from family or friends made any difference.
To Marilu, this new blue book with the golden angel on the cover was different from all her other books. Something about it made her feel strangely wonderful inside, and she was crying before she had finished even the first page. Every page added to that feeling. “It was like filling a cup drop by drop,” she says.
Where was this peculiar book from? “I though it may have been from some obscure Oriental religion, or maybe from India,” she says. “I didn’t know how to find out which church it belonged to. But I prayed that I would someday find out. I already knew it was true.”

As she became a young adult herself, Ioana wanted to do the same and help others feel welcome in the Savior’s Church. Though she felt nervous about reaching out to people she didn’t know, she was learning to listen to the Holy Ghost and trust the promptings she received.
When another young woman joined, Ioana got up the courage to talk to her. They discovered a mutual interest in music, and Ioana offered to teach her to lead the singing. Before long they were spending time together, serving as branch pianist and music leader.
“As I prepared myself to receive the guidance of the Holy Ghost, I started to notice Him putting thoughts in my head, answering my questions, prompting me,” Ioana said. “There were times I didn’t know what to say, and then something would come. It felt right when I said it. I’m learning to trust the Holy Ghost.”
She learned that often the things that help others feel like they belong aren’t big. For her, it was being included in Sunday School or activities, playing sports or crazy games, baking cookies, and having dance nights. “It wasn’t fancy. It was just having a good time or being able to talk. And when it’s connected to something spiritual, that can make it extra special.”

The place we chose to visit was the Gulf of California near Puerto Peñasco, Mexico. Our family had vacationed there before, and it was only about a six-hour drive from our home. In addition, at times of new and full moon the tides at Puerto Penasco are so extreme that the water surface fluctuates over 20 feet up and down twice daily, alternately exposing and covering a rocky reef several hundred yards out from shore. At low tide it is actually possible to wade out to this reef, where one can find a number of creatures usually not seen on the beach.
Our first trip was a two-nighter, and we had the good fortune to collect a wide variety of life forms and get most of them back alive. Included in our catch were about a dozen different species of fish, several different types of sea star, a diverse assortment of crabs, shrimp, clams, snails and barnacles, and some sea hares.
We brought our collection home in ordinary Styrofoam ice chests. To help the creatures survive the trip, we turned the car air conditioner on full blast to keep the water as cool as possible. Low temperatures reduce animals’ activity rates and decrease their need for oxygen. But we still added some oxygen to the water by means of battery-operated bubblers.
In addition to collecting specimens to add to our pond, we also collected data on sea surface and beach temperatures, so as to increase our knowledge of the best method of operating the pond’s temperature control system. To do this, we used an infrared thermometer that gave us the temperature measurements we sought by merely pointing the instrument’s heat radiation sensor at either the land or the water.
As soon as we arrived home, we added our catch to the pond. Normally, we would have taken an hour or two to get the creatures used to their new water; but after traveling so long with such a small volume of water, we felt it best to get them into the “fresh” salt water as soon as possible.
Much to our delight, everything survived and has continued to prosper to this day—except for those creatures that have served as food for others. Our bullseye puffers, for instance, ate the barnacles and sea hares, and our larger crabs devoured a lot of clams and snails as well as each other! Now, however, even they are beginning to disappear; for on our last trip, we brought home an octopus, and crab meat is a temptation he just can’t resist.

When Thousand Springs Academy Summer School ended, the old schoolhouse was soon bustling again with the Morgan children’s latest project: the Thousand Springs Rural Community Library. Ellen and her older brother and sister collected hundreds of good books for young readers. When they have finished cataloguing the books, the library will be open two days a week, and it will have guest lecturers, story hours, and plays.

As a very young boy, I was intrigued with oil paintings. I spent many hours not only enjoying, but carefully examining the brush strokes still visible in the hardened paint. I was especially fascinated with the way the colors were mixed and placed one beside another.
It was exciting. Finally, upon growing older, I could restrain myself no longer. I just had to try it!
I obtained a few supplies, and then one night, after all the rest of the family was sound asleep, I ventured to paint.
My first attempt was to copy a painting of a beautiful landscape. Carefully I painted the sky—all of it—in all its detail. I even tried to make my brush strokes look like the ones I saw on the original. When the sky was finished, I painted that magnificent mountain; every stroke of it! Then, the trees—one at a time, of course; and then, the lake. On and on, I moved downward until finally that final blade of grass was placed in the only small white space remaining at the very bottom of the canvas.
Nothing could have kept me from awaking my father and mother to show them the “masterpiece.”
Actually, considering all that I had not yet learned, the painting was not too bad. At that stage in my development, I didn’t notice that the colors reflected by the lake were not very consistent with the colors from which those reflections came, or that perspective lines and size relationships were terribly distorted.
It was not until I enrolled in college art classes that I came to realize that great artists do not produce a finished product by starting at the top of the canvas and by moving systematically to the bottom. Instead, they clearly envision the entire image they wish to portray and then proceed to develop all parts of that image somewhat simultaneously.
By adding one line here and another there, and by applying paint, here a little and there a little, a balanced and coordinated composition finally emerges into reality.

Jan. 26, 1854 A woman came from River Street, Boston, after me to go and see a sick man. … I went. He said he had faith. I administered to him and got him up.

Jan. 27, 1854 I went again (took my bottle of oil). After performing the Ordinance, he got up, walked around the house. I told him to come to South Boston on Sunday and be baptized, expecting him to take a cab.

Jan. 29, 1854 My friend Brother Joseph Bull of the Steamship Niagara was a welcome visitor with me every time they made port (in East Boston pier). The ship was in Saturday night. I gave Brother Bull an invite to the meeting. We were expecting to see a cab, but to our surprise the man came afoot with a bundle of clothes. We then went to the Bay near the Asylum. The ice cracked and opened wide enough (scarce) to perform the ordinance and the water was deep enough above the second layer of ice, and I baptized George H. Pay. Brother Bull confirmed him; then Brother Bull gave us a good discourse.