Gospel Story Finder

We all know that reading the scriptures can be a struggle. How many of you have tried to start reading the Book of Mormon and haven’t been able to get past 1st or 2nd Nephi? Yeah, that was me so many times until I came up with a plan. One day I decided to skip 1st and 2nd Nephi and start with Jacob. Sometimes I have to play tricks on my mind and it worked because I felt I was getting somewhere when I quickly completed 5 books (Jacob, Enos, Jarom, Omni, and Words of Mormon). Of course, all but one of those books has only one chapter but I nonetheless had finished 5 books. By that time I felt the desire to feast upon the words and I wanted to keep reading. Alma didn’t even seem that long anymore as I became immersed in the scriptures. Once I finished Moroni I started at the Title Page and read right through 1st and 2nd Nephi as I continued reading through the Book of Mormon once again. By reading the scriptures, especially the Book of Mormon, I have been able to recognize how these ancient records apply to our times. It has helped me be more aware of how Satan tries to deceive us and try to destroy us. It has also helped me see how much Heavenly Father and Jesus love us and how patient they are with us.

I have discussed the duty of priesthood leaders and members to care for their families, quorums, wards, and stakes. I should like now to discuss another aspect of priesthood responsibility, which is our privilege to sustain those in authority over us. Wilford Woodruff recorded a remarkable account which illustrates the importance of this responsibility.
In the early days of the Church, President Brigham Young asked Wilford Woodruff to take his family to Boston and gather the Saints from New England and Canada and send them to Zion. With a company of 100, they arrived at Pittsburgh at sundown. Brother Woodruff recorded:
“We did not want to stay there, so I went to the first steamboat that was going to leave. I saw the captain and engaged passage for us on that steamer. I had only just done so when the spirit said to me, … ‘Don’t go aboard that steamer, nor your company.’ Of course, I went and spoke to the captain, and told him [that] I had made up my mind to wait.
“Well, that ship started, and had only got five miles down the river when it took fire, and three hundred persons were burned to death or drowned.” What if the Saints had not followed the counsel of Wilford Woodruff? All wisely chose to be obedient. Had they not done so, they would have perished.

Let me tell you about Alice. She is trained as a pediatrician. She is happily married and the mother of six children. She has served in many ways in the Church, including serving in a Relief Society presidency, and now she is the Cub Scout leader. She sews Halloween costumes and volunteers at the elementary school in the science lab.

Right now Alice is a full-time mother. Undoubtedly she will return to her medical practice when her children are raised, but that doesn’t mean that she isn’t using her medical education. Teenagers from the neighborhood have been known to appear on her porch with all kinds of symptoms.

One dramatic event occurred when a vacationing mother telephoned Alice. Her daughter’s baby-sitter had reported that the little girl was coughing and seemed sick. After apologizing for bothering her, the mother asked Alice for a favor. Could she please find time during the afternoon to check on her little girl, who appeared to have croup? For some reason, Alice immediately put aside what she was doing and went right down. She found the girl not breathing and in full cardiac arrest. She applied CPR. By the time the paramedics arrived, the little girl was breathing again. Alice’s education and her skills saved the child’s life.

Not too many miles from Boston rests a large boulder on Lexington Green. Inscribed on this rock, which I read again a short time ago, are the words which Captain Parker gave to his minutemen on April 19, 1775, nearly 200 years ago:
Stand your ground, don’t fire unless fired upon, But if they mean to have a war Let it begin here. And it began.
Said Webster, “They poured out their generous blood like water before they knew whether it would fertilize the land of freedom or of bondage.”
But they aroused their fellow Americans. Within one year John Adams faced the body of men who were deliberating on whether to adopt the Declaration of Independence. With the inspiration of heaven resting on him, Adams was said to have declared:
Sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, I give my hand and my heart to this vote. It is true, indeed, that in the beginning we aimed not at independence. But there’s a Divinity which shapes our ends. . . . Why, then, should we defer the Declaration? . . . You and I, indeed, may rue it. We may not live to the time when this Declaration shall be made good. We may die; die Colonists, die slaves, die, it may be, ignominiously and on the scaffold.
Be it so. Be it so.
If it be the pleasure of Heaven that my country shall require the poor offering of my life, the victim shall be ready. . . . But while I do live, let me have a country, or at least the hope of a country, and that a free country.
But whatever may be our fate, be assured . . . that this Declaration will stand. It may cost treasure, and it may cost blood; but it will stand and it will richly compensate for both.
Through the thick gloom of the present, I see the brightness of the future as the sun in heaven. We shall make this a glorious, an immortal day. When we are in our graves, our children will honor it. They will celebrate it with thanksgiving, with festivity, with bonfires, and illuminations. On its annual return they will shed tears, copious, gushing tears, not of subjection and slavery, not of agony and distress, but of exultation, of gratitude and of joy.
Sir, before God, I believe the hour is come. My judgment approves this measure, and my whole heart is in it. All that I have, and all that I am, and all that I hope, in this life, I am now ready here to stake upon it; and I leave off as I began, that live or die, survive or perish, I am for the Declaration. It is my living sentiment, and by the blessing of God it shall be my dying sentiment, Independence now, and Independence forever.

When I was 11 years old, I was baptized as a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, a decision that stands out as the most significant in my life. I am thankful for the gospel’s influence on me as a young girl. My dreams were always centered around having an eternal family. Because of the covenants I would one day make in the temple, I knew that I could be with my loved ones forever.
I met my husband when I was a young woman, and after he served his mission, we got married in 1999. We had our first child a year later, the same year that the Santo Domingo Dominican Republic Temple was dedicated. We were sealed in the temple when our baby was just three months old. I remember when they brought him dressed in white into the sealing room. It was one of the happiest moments of my life, achieving the goal I had set as a young woman—to be sealed for eternity with my family.
Our second child was born four years later, and I was happy because everything I had planned and prayed for was coming true. We had faced difficulties, but I felt like I was a beloved daughter of God, blessed with an eternal family.

The binding and strengthening power of covenants in our lives became very real to me recently as our dear friends experienced a tragic loss in their family. While Catherine and Kimball Herrod and their four young children, ages nine months to seven years, were driving home from a family dinner at their grandparents’ place, a double wheel from a huge semitruck on the opposite side of the freeway suddenly sprang loose, flew across the median, and pounded into the driver’s side of the family van. Kimball, the driver, husband, and father, was severely injured and unconscious. Catherine somehow guided the car to the shoulder and called for emergency help. While she watched the paramedics work on her husband and two older children, she sat in a police car with her two little ones on her lap and prayed vocally, “Heavenly Father, we know that Thou hast the power to heal Kimball if it is Thy will, but if not, we have faith that somehow Thou wilt sustain us through this.” Kimball was life-flighted to the hospital, but he did not make it there alive.

After the children were treated for cuts, bruises, and other minor injuries, dismissed from the hospital, and safely home in bed, Catherine returned to the hospital to say her final earthly good-bye to her husband. As difficult as it was, she declared to her parents, who were with her, “I know that Kimball and I are sealed by our temple covenants, and we will be together again someday.” In the most terrible trial of a young mother’s life, her covenants sustained her.

At the funeral, we were reminded of the power of covenants to sustain us in moments of distress and grief. As we joined in the closing song, we all heard above the crowd the voice of Taylor, the five-year-old son, loudly singing, “Families Can Be Together Forever” (Hymns, no. 300). It was joyous for the congregation to know that a child had been taught of the sealing covenants that would bind him to his father and mother.

We were also taught the power of covenants in the sermon offered by Catherine’s father. He quoted a scripture from the precious record that Moroni had sealed up and then brought forth to the Prophet Joseph, reminding us that the gospel promises us a rock in the storms and whirlwinds, not an umbrella:
“Remember, remember that it is upon the rock of our Redeemer, who is Christ, the Son of God, that ye must build your foundation; that when the devil shall send forth his mighty winds, … it shall have no power over you to drag you down to the gulf of misery … , because of the rock upon which ye are built, which is a sure foundation” (Hel. 5:12).

The profound strength the family exhibited comes from the knowledge that they are eternally bound to each other as a family, and they are bound to Heavenly Father and cannot be separated from Him.

My grandfather was also the source of several stories about living conditions and other circumstances that existed during that late nineteenth-century colonization period. Let me share one of them with you.

In the 1890s, as the Salt Lake Temple was nearing completion, a request went out from the First Presidency under Wilford Woodruff that members of the Church contribute whatever money they could toward the completion of the temple. My great grandfather called a family council, and all agreed that they should donate their entire savings, consisting of about $5, which they kept in a jar on the top shelf in the kitchen. It was the family’s mite—everything they had—and they gave it for a cause in which they believed and in response to a prophet’s request. It was the same spirit, undergirded by the same conviction, that had sustained their own forebears in Missouri, in Illinois, and on the trek across the plains—a conviction that Joseph Smith really saw the Father and the Son, that once again there are prophets on the earth. The account of this $5 contribution has come down from generation to generation as a valuable part of our family heritage.

The youth performed three times before the dedication, but the final performance was most special because it was for the prophet. President Gordon B. Hinckley spoke to the youth between their performances, which filled the Arrowhead Pond arena. He said, “How thankful I am for you, for your courage, for your faith, for your determination to stand against the world in this age of so much that beckons you to do the wrong thing.” President James E. Faust was also in attendance.

For Jennifer Stowell, this was the highlight of the whole event. “When President Hinckley and President Faust both came in,” she remembers, “you could feel the Spirit, and that was a testimony-builder right there—just as soon as they entered the room.”

We can also encourage our associates to do likewise. Where we have the courage to make a friendly request, like Elder Kimball, we will often receive a respectful and cooperative reply. Our married daughter who lives in Illinois had such an experience. As she took her turn carpooling the twelve-year-olds home from the soccer game, her noisy passengers filled the air with profanity. Firmly, but with good humor, she told the boys, “In our family we only use that name when we worship, so we ask you, please don’t say that name disrespectfully in our car.” The boys immediately complied, and, what is even more surprising, most of them still remembered the next time it was her turn to drive.

Braden and Dad carried heavy buckets of alligator pellets toward the feeding dock. The tops of the alligators’ heads came to the surface and glided toward them. When Braden and Dad reached the feeding spot, some of the alligators had their mouths open.
But Braden wasn’t scared. Working with Dad on the alligator farm was the best.
“Feeding time!” Braden said. He picked up a scoop of pellets and tossed them into the water.
Chomp. Chomp. Splash.
Some of the alligators caught the pellets in the air. Others snapped at them when they hit the water. Braden and Dad kept tossing the food until their buckets were empty.
“Thanks for helping me,” Dad said. “Let’s go. The missionaries will be coming soon.”
Braden and his family had started talking with the missionaries a few months ago. He liked the missionaries! And he liked learning about the Church. Dad was a member of the Church, but he hadn’t been going to church very much. Mom and Braden had never been baptized.
“Last week you set a goal to read Mosiah 18,” Sister Cox said that evening. “How did that go?”
Mom and Dad looked at each other and were quiet for a moment. “We were busy this week,” Mom said.
“I read it!” Braden said.
“Great job!” Sister Blood said, reaching over for a high five. “How did you feel after you read it?”
Braden gave a big smile. “Really good. And I prayed about being baptized. I really want to.”
“That’s great! I know that makes Heavenly Father very happy,” Sister Cox said. She turned to Braden’s mom. “How are you feeling about it?”
“I’m still not sure. I think I need a little more time,” Mom said.
Braden felt a little sad during the rest of the lesson. He wished both his parents were members of the Church. And he wanted to be a member of the Church too!
When the missionaries left, he told his parents that he meant what he said earlier. “I really want to be baptized. And …” Braden took a deep breath. “I really want Dad to baptize me.”
After a moment, Dad spoke up. “I really want that too.”
Mom was quiet. “Let’s pray about it.”
Braden knelt down with his family and asked Heavenly Father if he and Mom should be baptized. He felt warm and loved.
For the next few weeks, Braden read the scriptures and prayed every day. At first, he was always the one asking his parents if they would pray and read with him. But soon, they started asking him. When he and Dad fed the alligators, they would talk about the scriptures or what they learned at church. He and Mom would talk about the missionary lessons. Every day, Mom and Dad seemed a little happier.
One day during a lesson with the missionaries, Mom said the words Braden had been waiting for: “I want to be baptized.”
For the next few weeks, Braden felt like he was floating on clouds.
Finally, it was the day of Mom and Braden’s baptism. When Braden came up out of the water, he felt Heavenly Father’s love for him and his family. He gave Dad a big hug.
Dad held Braden close and whispered, “Thank you for being a good example and helping us. I love you.”

There is a message for Latter-day Saints in a seldom quoted revelation given to the Prophet Joseph Smith in 1838. “I remember my servant Oliver Granger; behold, verily I say unto him that his name shall be had in sacred remembrance from generation to generation, forever and ever, saith the Lord” (D&C 117:12).
Oliver Granger was a very ordinary man. He was mostly blind, having “lost his sight by cold and exposure” (History of the Church, 4:408). The First Presidency described him as “a man of the most strict integrity and moral virtue; and in fine, to be a man of God” (History of the Church, 3:350).
When the Saints were driven from Kirtland, Ohio, in a scene that would be repeated in Independence, in Far West, and in Nauvoo, Oliver was left behind to sell their properties for what little he could. There was not much chance that he could succeed. And, really, he did not succeed!
But the Lord said, “Let him contend earnestly for the redemption of the First Presidency of my Church, saith the Lord; and when he falls he shall rise again, for his sacrifice shall be more sacred unto me than his increase, saith the Lord” (D&C 117:13).
What did Oliver Granger do that his name should be held in sacred remembrance? Nothing much, really. It was not so much what he did as what he was.
When we honor Oliver, much, perhaps even most, of the honor should go to Lydia Dibble Granger, his wife.
Oliver and Lydia finally left Kirtland to join the Saints in Far West, Missouri. They had gone but a few miles from Kirtland when they were turned back by a mob. Only later did they join the Saints at Nauvoo.
Oliver died at age 47, leaving Lydia to look after their children.
The Lord did not expect Oliver to be perfect, perhaps not even to succeed. “When he falls he shall rise again, for his sacrifice shall be more sacred unto me than his increase, saith the Lord” (D&C 117:13).

While living in Singapore, I came home late one afternoon to find our children strangely alert to my arrival. They greeted me, smiled, and seemed unusually attentive. Clearly, something was up. “What is going on?” I finally asked. “Nothing,” they said with smirks impossible to hide.
I coaxed until someone finally revealed that they had made blue slime … which somehow ended up plastered to a very high ceiling. “But don’t worry Mom, we cleaned it all up! Look!” I looked up, and they had done an impeccable job; only a slightly damp spot remained. They were so proud and even showed me a time-lapse video of their "successful" endeavor. I saw a mix of tennis racquets, broomsticks, and dust pans. Their ingenuity was impressive.
With their camera angle, I still couldn’t figure out how they had reached such heights. But they had photo evidence. They enthusiastically described how they had carefully constructed a mountain of kitchen chairs to support a step stool. My heart skipped a beat. A topple from that height onto a hard tile floor could have landed someone in the hospital with broken bones or worse. While I was grateful for their cleanup, I was more grateful we weren’t in the emergency room!
That moment caused me to reflect on my parenting. They were clearly more scared of asking me for help than they were of risking injury!

Years ago I was sitting in a sacrament meeting with my father, whose name is the same as my own, Henry Eyring. He seemed to be enjoying what I thought was a terrible talk. I watched my father, and to my amazement, his face was beaming as the speaker droned on. I kept stealing looks back at him, and sure enough, through the whole thing he had this beatific smile.

Our home was near enough to the ward that we walked home. I remember walking with my father on the shoulder of the road that wasn’t paved. I kicked a stone ahead of me as I plotted what I would do next. I finally got up enough courage to ask him what he thought of the meeting. He said it was wonderful.

Now I really had a problem. My father had a wonderful sense of humor, but you didn’t want to push it too far. I was puzzled. I was trying to summon up enough courage to ask him how I could have such a different opinion of that meeting and that speaker.

Like all good fathers, he must have read my mind because he started to laugh. He said: “Hal, let me tell you something. Since I was a very young man, I have taught myself to do something in a church meeting. When the speaker begins, I listen carefully and ask myself what it is he is trying to say. Then once I think I know what he is trying to accomplish, I give myself a sermon on that subject.” He let that sink in for a moment as we walked along. Then, with that special self-deprecating chuckle of his, he said, “Hal, since then I have never been to a bad meeting.”

I don’t suppose he used all of the steps I have described to you. He may very well have prayed for that speaker. Over a lifetime he had studied. When he knew what the speaker was trying to say, he had a deep well to go to so he could give himself that sermon.

My father was the kind of man who would have listened to that high council visitor. If he had felt a little pricking in his heart to do something, Dad would have done it. He could listen to anybody. He used to embarrass me when we stopped to get gas because he would seek advice from the gas station attendant. Dad would always treat him as an equal. Dad would say: “Look, I can learn something from anybody. They have had experiences I haven’t had.”

In college I had a friend who didn't know anything about our church. I told her there was a prophet on the earth who received revelation for his people. She quizzically said, "Oh really?" And then without hesitating she asked, "What has he told you?" I was caught off guard. But I vowed right then that I would learn what our prophet has told us. This is how I would answer her today.

He has told us to get out of debt.He has urged us to pay an honest tithing.He has encouraged us to seek education.He has pled with us to reach out in love and kindness to all people.He has asked us to be honest in all our dealings.

Two young women in this seminary class, both 16, are named Brigitta. “From my classmate Seres Brigitta I heard about the Church for the first time,” says Bozó Brigitta. “I began attending sacrament meeting and made a lot of friends here. So when youth conference came, I naturally thought I needed to go. At the conference, I felt for the first time that I needed to belong to this church. I was baptized a week later.”

Two months after Brigitta’s own baptism, her mother and her 15-year-old brother, László, were baptized. (Her father had died six years earlier.) “Now the three of us—our whole family—are members of the Church. It’s wonderful!”

“At first I thought just my friend would be baptized,” says her classmate Seres Brigitta. “I was amazed that her family also joined the Church.”

6. Avoid conveying the impression that you are applying for a certain job, program, or fellowship simply as a hedge. No one wants a halfhearted appointee who clearly feels that he is in a second- or third-choice deal. Apply for opportunities that truly interest you, and tell your recommenders as many things as you can that will be considered plus values. My heart sank a few times when, during an interview for admitting a student into teacher training, he or she would make a remark like this: “What I really want to go into is marine biology [or fashion design, or professional baseball], but if that doesn’t work out, I’d like a teaching credential to fall back on.”
But I must also tell you about one rare graduate-to-be who went job hunting, portfolio in hand, hoping to get on with a radio station. He saw KLM on a plate glass front in San Francisco, went in, asked for and received an interview. Fortunately, his personality and his qualifications were strong enough to get him hired—not by station KLM, as he’d figured, but by KLM Dutch Airlines, beginning a long and rewarding career in sales promotion and public relations.

Matt, 16, and Camille Baughman, 18, of the Summerville Ward were told by their parents to get together a change of clothes, their scriptures and journal, and a flashlight, in case they had to leave home quickly. Camille said, “It was hard because Mom said we should get two things we wanted to save. At first I wanted to take all my clothes, but then I decided on my violin.”
After the hurricane Matt pitched in to help his father, who as stake president was coordinating relief efforts. Camille saw a side of her brother she had never seen before. “I was impressed,” she said. “He got up early, worked all day, and went to bed exhausted. I thought, ‘Wow, that’s not the brother I knew.’”

As a young man of Primary and Aaronic Priesthood age, I attended church in the grand old St. George Tabernacle, construction for which had begun in 1863. During very lengthy sermons I would amuse myself by gazing about the building, admiring the marvelous pioneer craftsmanship that had built that striking facility. Did you know, by the way, that there are 184 clusters of grapes carved into the ceiling cornice of that building? (Some of those sermons were really long!) But most of all I enjoyed counting the window panes—2,244 of them—because I grew up on the story of Peter Neilson.
In the course of constructing that tabernacle, the local brethren ordered the glass for the windows from New York and had it shipped around the cape to California. But a bill of $800 was due and payable before the panes could be picked up and delivered to St. George. Brother David H. Cannon, later to preside over the St. George Temple being built at the same time, was charged with the responsibility of raising the needed funds. After painstaking effort, the entire community, giving virtually everything they had to these two monumental building projects, had been able to come up with only $200 cash. On sheer faith Brother Cannon committed a team of freighters to prepare to leave for California to get the glass. He continued to pray that the enormous balance of $600 would somehow be forthcoming before their departure.
Living in nearby Washington, Utah, was Peter Neilson, a Danish immigrant who had been saving for years to add on to his modest two-room adobe home. On the eve of the freighters’ departure for California, Peter spent a sleepless night in that tiny house. He thought of his conversion in far-off Denmark and his subsequent gathering with the Saints in America. After coming west he had settled and struggled to make a living in Sanpete. And then, just as some prosperity seemed imminent there, he answered the call to uproot and go to the Cotton Mission, bolstering the pathetic and sagging efforts of the alkali-soiled, malaria-plagued, flood-bedeviled settlers of Dixie. As he lay in bed that night contemplating his years in the Church, he weighed the sacrifices asked of him against the wonderful blessings he had received. Somewhere in those private hours he made a decision.
Some say it was a dream, others say an impression, still others simply a call to duty. However the direction came, Peter Neilson arose before dawn on the morning the teams were to leave for California. With only a candle and the light of the gospel to aid him, Peter brought out of a secret hiding place $600 in gold coins. His wife, Karen, aroused by the predawn bustling, asked why he was up so early. He said only that he had to walk quickly the seven miles to St. George to give $600 to Brother David H. Cannon.
As the first light of morning fell on the beautiful red cliffs of southern Utah, a knock came at Brother Cannon’s door. There stood Peter Neilson, holding a red bandanna which sagged under the weight it carried. “Good morning, David,” said Peter. “I hope I am not too late. You will know what to do with this money.”
With that he turned on his heel and retraced his steps back to Washington, back to a faithful and unquestioning wife, and back to a small two-room adobe house that remained just two rooms for the rest of his life. (See Andrew Karl Larson, Red Hills of November, 1957, 311–13.)

Although 16-year-old O. J. Hawea is a star softball player and an integral part of a championship team, he’s never played in the finals.
“They’re held on Sunday, so I don’t play in them. It’s all right,” he says.
There is no softball team at O.J.’s school in Temple View, New Zealand, so he plays in a league a few towns away. Although he has been one of the youngest players on the team, he’s also been one of the strongest, quickest, and best. His teammates, who are mostly not members of the Church, miss him in the championship games, but they respect his commitment and sometimes ask him about the Church.
O. J. enjoys seminary and Scouting and is preparing to serve a mission.

When he returned home, William picked up his music career where he had left off, gaining a strong fan base through self-released albums. His incredible talent with the piano enabled him to compose his own New Age-style pieces, while at the same time performing classical pieces to perfection. His unique style soon caught the attention of producer David Foster, senior vice president of Warner Brothers records, who happened to be in Phoenix for a charity event.
“I was introduced to David four hours before the event, during sound check. The person who introduced me asked, ‘Could he play your piano?’ and David said, ‘Yeah, yeah, bring him up.’” David put William on stage and instructed him to “play something.”
“I definitely felt like this would be a good time to not mess up,” William says. He began to play a song he had written called “Within.” After just a few seconds, David led the band on stage to play along.
“I’m totally playing my heart out, and the next thing I know I’m playing with this world-class band, and they join in on the spot, while David’s conducting over me. And, when I finished, everyone in the room was clapping. He gave me a high-five and said, ‘What was that song?’ I said that it was a song that I wrote, and he said, ‘I want you to come back tonight for the show.’ It was the biggest show of the year in Arizona, and he said, ‘You’re going to open the show.’”
After a successful performance at the concert, David Foster signed William to a record deal, and they produced an album in only two months. He opened for Josh Groban’s 2004 tour, and toured with Clay Aiken in 2005.