Gospel Story Finder

Colleen and I have a special granddaughter, Anna Josephine, who was born without a left hand. The other day a conversation was overheard between Anna Jo, almost five, and her cousin Talmage, three. Talmage said reassuringly as they played together, “Anna Jo, when you grow up you will have five fingers.” Anna Jo said, “No, Talmage, when I grow up I won’t have five fingers, but when I get to heaven I will have a hand.”

If Anna Jo, who has difficult days ahead, stays steady within what has been allotted to her, she will continue to be a great blessing to many people!

The highlight mentioned most often by the youth was the testimony meeting. Janine Gall, 17, of the Buchan Ward says, “Even though the testimony meeting was long, it wasn’t paining at all. It felt like it only lasted about 10 minutes.” She adds that “it was good to hear other people’s testimonies to strengthen yours and to come closer to each other as youth. Because we are such a small community of youth, we need to get to know each other better, and I think we do that very well at the temple.”

Christina Massey, 20, also of New Delhi, says that when the missionaries came and talked about Jesus Christ and eternal life, “it felt so good.” Since then, she and her sister Nancy, 19, have lost their mother to cancer and find great comfort in their testimony of the plan of salvation.

The following month, district and branch presidencies in St. Vincent and the Grenadines encouraged members to refocus their efforts toward being self-reliant both temporally and spiritually. Members took this counsel to heart and did what they could to increase their food and water storage despite their limited financial resources. Some even planted their own gardens. Since then, there have been many reminders to start preparing, even in small ways. Some sisters began purchasing water bottles and sharing them with others who showed interest. Others planted gardens and added to their food supply.
These preparations have been very beneficial as they have been used since the La Soufriere volcano began erupting on April 9, spewing ash into the air.

As a young couple, Marion and Ida had endured great heartache. Their first two children died in infancy. But faith softened their sorrow—and a promise, given in a blessing when Marion became a General Authority, gave them reassurance: “Blessed are you because of your faith in my work. Behold, you have had many afflictions … nevertheless I will bless you and your family, yea, your little ones, and the day cometh that they will believe and know the truth and be one with you in the Church.” (As quoted in Ensign, Nov. 1972, p. 27.)

Work on the temple continued even as the Saints began to leave. Finally, on 30 April 1846, a special nighttime dedicatory service was held for the finished building. The following day a public service was held in which Orson Hyde, one of the Apostles, dedicated the building to the Lord. By the end of the year, however, most of the Saints were gone and the building stood unused.

The story of the builders is fascinating. When they left their homes on the banks of the Mississippi, little was known of the unexplored West. After a long and hard-fought journey, blazing a trail across the Great American Desert, they entered the Salt Lake Valley on Saturday, July 24, 1847. The following day, being Sunday, was devoted to religious services and Monday and Tuesday were spent exploring the valley and surrounding country. By late afternoon of the next day, the location of the city had been determined and Brigham Young thrust his cane in the ground on the spot where the temple would be built.

After learning of this counsel, the Lugo family of Valencia, Venezuela, felt inspired to begin their own home storage. Each week they began setting aside a small amount of food, water, and money. Even with their limited resources, they were able to gather a modest reserve after only a few months. Later that year a workers’ strike in Venezuela put many local workers’ jobs in jeopardy. Brother Omar Lugo was among those who eventually lost their jobs.

It took nearly two years for Brother Lugo to find new employment. During that time, Brother Lugo and his family lived on their savings and food storage. Despite the difficult challenges of unemployment, the Lugos experienced peace and comfort because they were prepared. They faced the uncertain future with confidence, knowing they had followed the counsel to gradually build their home storage.9

But Letebure also notices that Theseus and the bed of Procrustes have a close counterpart in the story of Heracles’ most famous and sensational escape. This took place not in Greece nor in Asia, but in Egypt at the court of Pharaoh. The Greeks regarded this as the first and oldest example of the oft-repeated royal sacrifice of an honored visitor, the archetype of them all, and they always located it in Busiris, which actually was, from prehistoric times on down, the most celebrated and venerated center of human sacrifice in Egypt.

Egyptologists do not doubt the reality of a periodic sacrifice of the King of Egypt in early times, or the practice of drafting a substitute (preferably a noble redheaded stranger) to take his place, first on the throne to establish his identity with the king, and then on the altar. So we have a three-way tie-up, and a very firm one, in which Theseus is related to Heracles as an intended victim on the famous “cruel altar” of a desperate and designing king. The same Theseus is also related to Abraham in a like situation by the peculiar name and nature of his evil host Procrustes. And Abraham in turn is tied to Heracles as the intended but miraculously delivered victim on the altar of a pharaoh of Egypt.

I can remember an experience in my life that illustrates this idea. I was at Harvard Business School. I was stretched to my capacity. In a student’s first year at that institution, the teachers take away every bit of self-confidence you have, no matter what your background is before you get there, so that you learn what it’s like to have to achieve more than you’ve ever done in your life before.
At an important point in my schooling, a mission president asked me to be an elders quorum president. It is the only time in my life that I ever questioned an assignment. For every one of you the question will come in life, “When is the time to serve?” The only answer I can give you is, “When you are asked.”
So I went home and said to my wife, “There is a chance of failing in my schooling if I become an elders quorum president.” She said to me the words which have helped for many years: “Bob, I would rather have an active priesthood holder than a man who holds a master’s degree from Harvard.” But as she put her arms around me, she said, “We’ll do them both.” That is eternal partnership.

I say to you what I said to the boys—avoid pornography as you would a plague. I recall an assignment some years back to restore the blessings of a man who had been excommunicated from the Church because of his sin. He came to my office with his wife. I spoke with them individually. I asked him how it all began. He held a responsible position in the Church. He was likewise a professional man with high responsibility in the community.

His trouble began, he said, when he picked up a pornographic magazine to read on a plane. It intrigued him. It appealed to him. He found himself buying more of these things. Then he sought out movies which titillated him and excited him. Knowing that his wife would be a party to none of this, he went alone. He found occasion to leave town and go to other cities where he could more easily indulge his desires. He then found excuses to stay late at his office and asked his secretary to stay with him. One thing led to another until he succumbed.

With tears rolling down his cheeks, he sat across the desk from me and cursed the day he had read that first magazine. He spoke of his love for the wife who had forgiven him and remained true to him. He spoke of his love for his children, who had been shamed and embarrassed by his actions. He told of the hell through which he had walked for some four years from the time of his excommunication. He spoke of his love for the Church and of his desire to again enjoy its full blessings.

In the presence of his wife, I placed my hands upon his head and in the authority of the holy priesthood restored his priesthood, his temple endowment, his temple sealing, and all other blessings which he had formerly held. This great, strong man sobbed like a baby under my hands while his wife, holding her hand in his, wept like a child.

At the conclusion of that blessing, they embraced one another and he asked her to forgive him. She said she had forgiven him, and that she loved him and always would.

They were happy when they left, happier than they had been in years. And I was happy, too. But I thought of the terrible price he had paid and of the price he had exacted of his family through his foolishness and transgression.

Elder David A. Bednar told a story about two of his sons. Once, when the younger brother got a little hurt playing outside, the older brother took care of him. He washed the scrape, put on medical ointment, and bandaged his brother’s whole arm. The younger brother was so happy to feel better that he went outside and started putting ointment and bandages on his friends, so they could be happy too! Elder Bednar explained that this is like missionary work. Because the gospel has blessed our lives in many ways, we want to share that blessing with others.

Illustrations by Matt Sweeney
I’m glad we have the same piano teacher.
Yeah. It’s nice to have the same pieces to learn.
Hey, just for fun, I’ll play the bottom hand and you play the top hand.
Hey! We’re so good we can play with one hand behind our backs.
Yeah! Now let’s both play our favorite songs at the same time.
Ow! Wish I had hands to cover my ears.
Sure sounded better when we worked together.
Amen!

When times were tough, I learned to take time to feel joy in the little moments—the gifts—that are given to us. When my son cannot help but give me a kiss, I am grateful. When I watched my son ride the bus without anyone to sit with, I was blessed to have this scripture come into my mind: “I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up” (D&C 84:88). I knew that Brad was not alone and never will be.

After I graduated from law school, my wife, Marcia, and I chose to join a law firm that specialized in trial law. As I began my on-the-job training, I spent much of my time preparing witnesses to testify at trial. I quickly learned that facts were determined in a courtroom as witnesses, under oath, testified to the truthfulness of what they had both seen and heard. As witnesses testified, their words were both recorded and preserved. The importance of credible witnesses was always at the forefront of my preparation.
It didn’t take long for me to realize that the very same terms I was using every day as a lawyer were also the terms I used in my gospel conversations. “Witness” and “testimony” are terms that we use as we share our knowledge and feelings about the truthfulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ.

A few weeks ago I was returning from the East with President Hinckley. We conversed with a passenger who said something to the effect that all churches lead to heaven. How often have you heard that—the parallel path to heaven philosophy?

My mom is a great example to me and takes time to help me learn how to clean and cook better. She also tries to help me sew. When I came in last during a race, she showed me the scripture in Ether 12:27 to help me realize that Heavenly Father loves me despite my weaknesses. She teaches us about loving our family when she reads to us and gathers us all around her. Because of her, we like to be together as a family.

Born in Salt Lake City, Utah, USA, in September 1951 to Oliver T. and Myra Davies, Bishop Davies was raised in a family where love and work were guiding principles. If he wanted something, he was to earn it. When persistent pleas to his mother failed to get him a longed-for toy, he considered his options. He still remembers the physical strain and resulting satisfaction from pushing an old-fashioned lawn mower through a neighbor’s tall grass.

When I was in high school, many of my friends started smoking. I was the only member of the Church who belonged to that group of friends. They knew that I am a member of the Church. One time they asked me why I didn’t smoke. I just smiled and humbly answered, “We know that the Bible says our body is a temple, and it is a special gift given to us. Therefore, we need to love and care for the gift given to us because it comes from God.” They responded by saying that maybe I was right and that we need to care for our bodies. I shared my testimony about the Word of Wisdom with them. If we show care for our bodies, we will be blessed with good health and knowledge. I knew because of the expressions on their faces that they believed what I had shared with them. Since that day I have seen an improvement in them. Sharing your testimony with those who struggle with smoking can help them to choose the right.
Michael T., 18, Palawan, Philippines

The first things I noticed among the hustling paramedics and the wailing sirens that cold January morning in Utah were Esther’s hands. Her long, strong fingers, which had always been so busy serving others, were now cramped and motionless. My own hands reached out to warm hers, and her closed eyes fluttered open briefly. She looked around as though to identify who was near her.
“It’s okay, Esther,” I said, trying to comfort her as I straightened her nightgown and covered her with a blanket. “The doctors will find out what has happened to you.” I felt Esther relax; then we were both swept into the ambulance and rushed to the nearby hospital.
To say Esther was only a neighbor is like describing the sun as only a source of light. Esther’s hands had reached out to me when I was a teenager and had led me to the treasures in my junior high school library. For more than 40 years, her hands had dispensed knowledge and service throughout the neighborhood. She had hired and patiently taught many young people how to prune and care for her orchards, how to improve the neighborhood, and how to love their neighbors. She had reached out to old and new alike, and her hands had sewn the fabric of our block into a quilt of friendship that spread far beyond its physical boundaries.
All that busy winter, I had yearned to help someone. But I knew it was a futile desire. I was working full time in a very stressful job, and I was the harried mother of five very involved and very busy children, ages 5 to 25, including two who were getting married within weeks of each other. My family, work, Church and community responsibilities had strained my capacity to do more than survive each day. But something in the depths of my being kept calling out, wanting to help someone in some way.
Many mornings, as I checked off my accomplishments of the previous day and plotted my strategy for meeting the struggles of the dawning one, I had recalled the Lord’s admonition to “not run faster or labor more than you have strength,” (see D&C 10:4), and I had thought, “Maybe tomorrow I’ll find time to take dinner to someone or to take flowers to a sick friend.”
Service, to me, was a physical object one presented as a gift: it was homemade candy or doughnuts at Christmas, freshly baked bread for a new neighbor, or outgrown clothes for needy families. Now, as I sat at Esther’s bedside on a cold wintry day, Esther taught me that service was something else.
“Esther, squeeze my hand,” the doctor coaxed. “Come on, Esther, you can squeeze my hand.”
“I’m trying,” Esther answered, but her words collapsed into themselves, and her voice trailed off. The doctor shook his head, slipping his hand from Esther’s unmoving one.
“Esther, they are going to move you to another room now,” I explained as they wheeled her bed out of the emergency room. “It’s going to be all right.” Her frightened eyes searched mine for reassurance and then closed in peace.
Surprisingly, despite my fear for Esther, I felt an unusual sense of peace. For once in my harried, over-full life, I knew that I was where I was supposed to be. I wasn’t worried about my list of Saturday chores. I wasn’t concerned about my family. They knew I was with Esther, and their prayers were with me in that cramped, bare cubicle.
Morning edged into afternoon. I called Esther’s family in another state and told them of the situation. I served as a link between the hospital, Esther, and her family members, who were trying to cope with this emergency. And I talked to Esther.
As I sat by Esther, I watched storm clouds gather and snow begin to fall. My thoughts went back 35 years to when my grandmother had had her final stroke. Others had been frightened of the silent stranger who inhabited my grandmother’s frail body, but my mother had told us to hold her hand, to stroke it, and to talk to her.
“I think she can hear you, even if she can’t communicate,” my mother had said. “She needs to hear and feel your love. Talk to her, touch her, and let her know you love her.”
I hadn’t thought of my mother’s words for many years, but they came back as I talked to Esther, stroked her immobile hands, and filled the tiny room with my whispered prayers.
Too soon the room was crowded with Esther’s family, and I eased out of their way as they gathered around her. When they reached out to caress her still hands, stroke her hair, and talk to her, the urgent need that had held me captive all morning disappeared.
“She’s slipped into a deep coma,” the nurse explained to Esther’s loved ones. “Earlier she was trying to communicate, but now she’s unconscious and unaware.”
I stood at the doorway and took one last look at Esther’s inert hands. They were more relaxed now, but they remained open and reaching out to others. I dashed tears of appreciation from my eyes and thanked Esther for her last gift to me.