Gospel Story Finder

—While in London as a missionary, he had a terrifying experience with a “prince of darkness. … As he was about to overcome me I prayed to the Father, in the name of Jesus Christ, for help. I then had power over him and he left me, though I was much wounded. Afterwards three men dressed in white came to me and prayed with me, and I was healed immediately of all my wounds, and delivered of my troubles.”

I wanted to be alone, to think, to meditate. There was something wrong, but I couldn’t tell what. Finally I arrived at the subway station; then digging into my pocket, I pulled out a quarter. I rode up to Park Street Station; a hundred blank faces rode with me. I didn’t know where they came from or where they were going; they didn’t know where I came from or where I was going. We didn’t care. The subway pulled into the station, and everyone pushed and shoved his way off. Something still haunted me. All the way home I did not see a single person although the streets were full of people. I was too involved in thought.
At home I was greeted by warm feelings. I have never felt fear or emptiness there. I was more quiet than usual at dinner. I watched as my wonderful and beautiful parents ate; I could tell, just by their actions, that they loved life and, more importantly, the gospel. What was it that made them radiate?
The following day I was in another “thinking mood.” As I walked to Longfellow Park, I thought of that great writer and the inspiration and influence he brought to so many people. Why could he do this? I was then reminded of my questions of the night before. As I thought, I remembered a little button the missionaries wear on their coats as a missionary tool. They’re red and white buttons and say, “I Care.” That was it! That was why my parents, and the missionaries, and Longfellow radiated and inspired others so much. They cared about people. That had been my problem; I didn’t care about the people I didn’t know. I decided to try it their way—I would try to care about people I didn’t even know.

I grew up on a farm and worked nearly every day during the summer. I hoed beets, hauled hay, and worked with cattle and horses. Farm work was not my favorite summer activity. The days were very hot, and I had to work hard to get all my chores done.
One day when I was about 11 years old, I finished some of my chores early and had some time before I had to start my next task. It was hot, so I sat under a tree to rest. I don’t know why, but I had the Book of Mormon with me. I picked up the book and started to read. To my amazement, I couldn’t put it down. For the next three or four days I continued to have extra time during my workday. In those few days, I read the whole Book of Mormon. Every time I opened the book, I was filled with a warm, calm feeling. The presence of the Spirit was strong and bore witness to me that the book was true, and because it was true, everything else I knew about the gospel had to be true too.
Though I was baptized when I was eight, reading the Book of Mormon on the farm marked the moment of my true conversion. I do not know why I had the Book of Mormon with me on the farm that day. I often read books back then, but the Book of Mormon struck me like no other book ever did.
To this day I still remember the testimony I received of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon. It has become an anchor in my life. Since that day, I have faced many challenges, but I have never forgotten the moment I knew for myself that the Book of Mormon was true.

In the summertime, Elder Asay and his brothers spent some time with their father on the mountain range. He was a forest guard with the U.S. Forest Service each summer, and the boys loved to go with him. This was another ideal time for teaching and training. “We spent a lot of time in the canyons and the parks, repairing, painting, clearing trails, and doing other things for the Forest Service. It was great to be together out in nature,” Elder Asay recalled.
One such learning opportunity took place one day in a park where they were all working together, repairing some tables and benches at one of the camp picnic facilities. “My brother, who was about twelve at the time, found a full pack of cigarettes. And Dad must have seen him stealthily put it into his pocket. He called us together and asked him what he had picked up. My brother pulled the cigarettes out of his pocket. Dad said, ‘Open the pack.’
“Dad instructed each one of us to take one, saying, ‘Put it in your mouth and see how it tastes.’ Very quickly he had four spitting boys on his hands. Dad asked if any of us had liked the taste. We all said no. Then he told us to remember this experience, and added, ‘Tobacco doesn’t taste good, it isn’t good for you, and it isn’t in accord with God’s law.’
“We made a pact then and there that we would never touch cigarettes again.”

Inside, Raúl helps tidy up the house. On the walls are pictures of his parents wearing white clothes, standing in front of the São Paulo Temple. The pictures were taken just a month and a half earlier, when his parents took the sixteen-hour bus ride to the temple to be sealed. Brother and Sister Aquino hope to be able to take Raúl, Luis Angel, and Luciana Andrea with them to be sealed as a family the next time they go to the temple.

“In our council, we talked about how music can invite the Spirit,” says Jocelyn Herrington, a Primary teacher in the same Minnesota ward. “Later, I was teaching the Sunbeams. I thought, ‘I’ll sing while they’re coloring, and it will be nice.’ I started to sing, and they all stopped and listened. So I kept singing. It did bring the Spirit, and when I was done, they were reverent, waiting for me to speak. We had talked about that [in council] too, to bear your testimony when the opportunity comes. So I bore testimony in words they could understand.”

“Father was a good man, but he had a problem keeping the Word of Wisdom. Some people would have called him an alcoholic. He had a drinking problem for thirty-eight years. Mother would say to us, ‘Honor your father, and someday he will honor the priesthood.’ And he did. When Max and I were sixteen, Father made the decision to stop drinking, and that was it. For the last twenty years of his life, he was just what Mother had told us all our lives that he would be.
“Mother was the strength of the family. She held us together. She was a great woman and one source of our faith.

Q: I’ve heard that while you were at the Y you spent quite a bit of time speaking to firesides and other youth groups.
Kresimir: When I was baptized I changed completely. It’s a completely different story to be a Mormon and a non-Mormon. I didn’t like to speak in public, but I got to thinking later on, “I have to.” There are some things we’ve got to help others with; it doesn’t make any difference if we like it or not. I like to live and I like to have fun. It was kind of uncomfortable to have to speak all the time. But it was okay, if people wanted to hear me. I told them what I thought, not what they wanted to hear.

In 1965, Dr. Nelson was presented with an extraordinary opportunity to assume the position of professor of surgery and chairman of the Division of Thoracic and Cardiovascular Surgery at another major university. Included in the offer was a generous salary and an arrangement to pay fully for the college education of all his children when the time came.
The Nelsons were overwhelmed by this offer and were inclined to accept. But before making a decision that affected not only their family but also his service as stake president, he sought the counsel of President David O. McKay.
After hearing the details of the situation, President McKay closed his eyes, leaned back in his chair, and pondered the matter for some time. Then he said, “Brother Nelson, it doesn’t feel good to me. I don’t think you should go.”
“That was it,” says Dr. Nelson. “We declined their gracious offer with many thanks. And here we stayed.”

The screen door rattled and pitched open, and a large man burst through the doorway, fumbling with his brown-and-white necktie.
“All you Johnsons who’re going to the bus station had better be ready pronto,” he shouted across the yard while fingering the tie and looking cross-eyed at the knot. “If we don’t get Sam to town on time, he’ll miss his bus, and then he’ll miss the airplane, and then the whole Missionary Training Center will be sore at the Johnson family.”
“I’m ready, Daddy,” said ten-year-old Jenny, who was sitting on the front porch swing.
“Oh, good, then we’ll send you instead,” he said. “Won’t even have to take you to the station. We’ll just put stamps on your head and drop you at the post office.”
“Daddy!”
“Just think, you’ll be the world’s first mail-order missionary!”
“Daddy, don’t be so silly! I’ll go see if Emily needs some help.”
On the second floor of the rambling, slightly rundown farmhouse, Samuel stood by the window, taking in the whole scene. It was a variation of something that happened every day around the farm—Dad teasing and one of the younger children getting flustered and all the while both of them loving every minute of it. Yet it was a little different this time, at least to Sam. Maybe because it might be the last time, for a while anyway, that he would be witness to such a little game.
He walked over to his bed and the worn, rounded leather suitcase at its edge. He sat down and looked around the room, staring at small things that until the last few days had not seemed at all important. The cracks in the plaster. The faded blue curtains. The lamp that hung from a long cord, stretching from the middle of the ceiling. The dresser, with countless scars, scratches and nicks, each of them a testament that a once-young family was just now starting to grow old, and perhaps, apart.
Leaving home.
The words knotted Sam’s stomach yet sparked his imagination. For a week, maybe two now, old almost-lost memories had come back to him as he tried to hold on to his home and family. Maybe he was only trying to store away a few good memories for the coming two years. Sure, he’d always known leaving home was part of going on a mission. It was just one of those things, difficult but unavoidable, like skinning knees or catching the measles during the middle of summer vacation.
But now the farewell talk, the people saying good-byes—leaving home seemed to be coming just a little too soon. Where had the countless hours with his family slipped to? Sunny days in the summer that began with a heavy dew on the ground and ended with sweat on the brow after working a dozen hours in the fields. Stiff new denim jeans on the first day of school. Good harvests and lean harvests. Christmas time, with little bright packages under the tree. Mother’s lovingly made new dresses for the girls and plaid shirts for the boys. Grandma in the kitchen fussing, fixing and baking the best cinnamon rolls. Arriving at church every Sunday morning. Long shadows drawing across the emerald green valley on fresh spring evenings.
Now Dad had some gray in his hair and Grandpa couldn’t work all day anymore. And yes, Sam was 19 and on his way to Provo.
His thoughts were broken by the sound of footsteps tapping on the staircase and the clicking of high-heeled shoes coming down the hallway. His mother, short, slender and smiling, poked her head into the doorway.
“About ready, Sambo?” she asked. “Daddy’s trying to round everybody up.”
“I guess I’m about as ready as I’ll ever be, Mom,” he said softly. He picked up the suitcase and laid it on the bed. “Uumph,” he grunted as he pushed it closed. “Didn’t you say this suitcase was Dad’s?”
She stepped inside the room and smoothed her dress with her hands. “Yes, that was Daddy’s. He bought it with a little money that Grandpa and Grandma Johnson gave him when he graduated from high school.”
Sam hoisted the suitcase off the bed, paused, and looked around the room once more. His mother said nothing. Finally he turned toward the door.
“Guess it’s time,” he said simply. “Hope Steven will enjoy the room. He’ll be the oldest now. At least while I’m gone.”
He walked through the doorway following his mother down the hall and stairway toward the front door. He made the final trip through the house almost casually, trying to pretend that he was going into the mountains for an overnight fishing trip with friends. He would have pulled off his little self-deception without any emotional tugs, except for hearing Grandma tell Grandpa to hurry along or they would miss seeing their grandson off. Sam sighed inwardly and pushed through the front door.
Outside, Dad had the dusty station wagon running and all four doors wide open.
“Last call for the Ash Valley International Bus Depot, such as it may be!” he bellowed, and a surge of brothers, sisters, and grandparents appeared and headed for the car. “Let’s see now, there’s Sam and two other boys, plus two grandparents and one mother. That makes six …”
Jenny and Emily came to the car last of all.
“… and two girls adds up to eight,” Dad counted. “That means we’re missing one, according to my calculating.”
“You didn’t count yourself, Daddy,” Jenny reminded.
“Why I believe you’re right, Jenny,” he said. “All aboard!”
The family scrambled to their places in the car, a ritual perfected by years of all traveling in one vehicle. Jenny and Emily toddled over the back seat onto a mattress that Dad kept in the rear of the station wagon. Grandma and Mother took their places on the back seat on the driver’s side, with Steven and Sam squeezed in on the passenger’s side. Dad slid behind the steering wheel, with Grandpa on his right. Mother held Tommy, the youngest, on her lap.
“Two forty-five,” Dad announced. “Not bad. We ought to get Sam there right on time.”
The car circled around and moved onto the tree-lined dirt road that led to the state highway a half-mile away. The house, the yard, the cottonwood trees and the fields were all clouded and then lost in the long plume of dust sent out as the car bounced down the road. Sam wanted to look back and see all these little pieces of his life one more time, but he knew one more glance wouldn’t help much.
“You’ve got to let go some time,” he reminded himself for the hundredth time that week. “Might just as well be now.”
Dad soon broke onto the dark, oily asphalt of the country road. The kids in the back were playing, while Tommy had already fallen asleep. Mother and Grandma talked quietly about a neighbor’s daughter who would be marrying soon. Steven looked at Sam often, smiled, but said little.
After a few miles, Dad melodramatically cleared his throat and all the others immediately knew what was on hand. A speech. Dad was renowned throughout the stake for his oratorical skills.
“Ladies and gentlemen, and most of all, my esteemed son Samuel,” he began grandly. “To my way of thinking, there are only three occasions that call for a speech. When a person’s born, when they die, and when they leave home.”
Grandpa chuckled. “That’s a couple of times too many, if you ask me.”
Grandma looked at Grandpa, a trifle annoyed.
Dad continued, more seriously now.
“Now Sam, you’ve always been a good son and a good brother. You know your mother and I are proud of you, and that your brothers and sisters look up to you.
“We think it’s a fine thing that you are going to serve a mission. Things will be a lot different in Venezuela, but I know you’ll be able to handle the changes …”
Dad paused, and for a few long seconds only the clicking of the keys hanging from the ignition could be heard. Even the girls in the back of the car were quiet.
“Well shucks, Sam,” Dad started again. “I practiced all morning in my mind what I was going to say to you, but it doesn’t seem to fit now. I guess one talk on the way to a bus station isn’t going to make much difference. Besides, I think you are a fine son, and I really wouldn’t know how to change you even if I could. Take care, son,” Dad said slowly.
Grandpa put his arm on Dad’s shoulder and looked back toward Sam and nodded.
“Just keep us proud, son,” Grandpa said. “Keep us proud.”
Sam shuffled his feet on the floorboard and felt a little too warm.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be just fine,” he said quietly, his eyes fixed downward.
“And thanks. For everything, I mean.”
He lifted his head and scanned the valley, following the lines of the round-shouldered hills and dark blue mountains. His eyes fixed on a peak, noticeably taller than the other peaks, and Sam smiled.

“Entering Ash Valley” the sign said, and Sam’s thoughts were shifted from climbing mountains to catching the bus for Spokane. Dad pulled the car up in front of Strandberg’s Hardware Store, which doubled as the bus station. The car stopped, and the Johnson family piled out.
“Afternoon, Charles, Mrs. Johnson,” greeted Mr. Strandberg. “Today must be the day for Sam.”
“Sure is, Henry. How’s the bus running?”
“Should be right on time—about 15 minutes away,” Mr. Strandberg said.
Sam pulled the luggage from the car and started inside to buy a ticket. Grandpa pulled him aside.
“Want me to tell you a secret? When you get up on the bus, you look down at all of us and close your eyes real slow. Then as soon as your eyes are shut, picture in your mind what you’ve just seen and it will always stay there. Better than a photograph. You can never lose a picture that’s in your mind.”
Grandma was next. She rummaged through her purse until she finally found a five dollar bill.
“Buy yourself something to eat when you get to Spokane,” she instructed. “Buy some stamps and stationery and write us.”
“Oh, Grandma, I don’t need your money,” Sam protested.
“I won’t have it any other way,” Grandma said firmly. “You take it. You’ve got to learn how to receive as well as give.”
“Thanks, Grandma,” Sam said meekly, giving her a hug and kiss. “Take care of Grandpa. And yourself.”
Just then the bus roared around the corner and stopped in the parking lot.
“Early. First time in two months the bus has been early,” Mr. Strandberg said, shaking his head. “Family’s saying their good-byes and wouldn’t you know it, the bus is early.”
The family instinctively circled around Sam, and farewell hugs, kisses, and handshakes came in a blur. At last Sam turned numbly toward the bus. He stopped just before getting on. Jenny and Emily were gathered around Grandma, who was again looking into her purse.
“Six dimes is all I’ve got, but they’re yours to share because I love you,” Grandma told the girls as she handed them the change.
“Look, Sam, we’ve got six dimes from Grandma, and we’ll buy you something and send it to you in the mail!” shouted Emily.
It was then that Sam decided to slowly close his eyes. The two girls were in front, down on the ground, dividing the dimes. Grandpa had his arm around Grandma, who was wiping a handkerchief near her eyes. Steven stood on the far left and was waving good-bye. Mother was on Dad’s right side, with Tommy in her arms, her head tilted down toward her daughters. Dad stood tall, steadily gazing into Sam’s eyes, looking proud and sad and dignified all at the same time. Sam pressed the picture into his mind and discovered what Grandpa meant when he said it was better than a photograph.
Sam took his seat, the door closed, the bus driver revved the engine and pulled back onto the highway. Sam kept his eyes closed most of the way to Spokane.
Three weeks later in his room at the MTC, Sam set down his Spanish books and fumbled for the letter he’d received from Jenny. He tore open the envelope and read:
“Dear Sam,
“How do you like the mission field? I hope you are okay. We are all fine here, but we miss you. After we took you to the bus station, everyone was really quiet on the way home. Daddy and Grandpa went out to the shed and worked there until way after dark. Grandma made some rolls, but we weren’t able to eat them all. She said it was because you were gone.
“Guess what happened last Saturday? Daddy and Steven got up early and climbed all the way to the top of Staley’s Butte. …”
Sam stopped reading and put the letter down. He closed his eyes, and a sweet, wonderful picture of a small knot of people standing on the side of Strandberg’s Hardware Store flashed into his mind.
And he thought about the sons he might someday have, and hoped he would be the kind of father to take them to the tops of mountains.

Side by side,
While we lay on the grass,
Grandpa and I
Watched the animals pass.
First came a dog
With a lop-sided ear,
Being chased by a tiger,
Or maybe a deer.
They then got all jumbled,
Twisted cloud-shapes galore;
Grandpa said he saw Bigfoot.
I wasn’t quite sure.
We both saw a hawk
Fluff his wings in the sky.
It’s nice when we cloud watch,
Just Grandpa and I.

His daughter Claudia says that dedication is another of Elder Abrea’s great strengths. She and Cynthia tell the same story to illustrate the point. Elder Abrea was scheduled to fill a Church assignment out of town the day after his father was buried, and he had to catch a flight out of Buenos Aires shortly after the burial. He was deeply grieved at his father’s passing, and Cynthia asked him why he was going ahead with the trip. He gently reminded her of his father’s admonition always to do his best in Church commitments (an admonition he has passed on to his daughters), and commented that he would be honoring his father by obeying that counsel.

I spoke one day to a friend escaped from his native land. With the fall of his nation, he had been arrested and interned. His wife and children had been able to get away, but for three years and more he had been a prisoner without means of communication with those he loved. The food had been wretched, the living conditions oppressive, with no prospects for improvement.
“What sustained you through all those dark days?” I asked.
He responded: “My faith; my faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. I put my burdens on him, and then they seemed so much the lighter.”

The butterflies in my stomach
Wanted to fly out and
Begin a colorful conversation,
Flitting from one flowery subject to another.
But instead, the frog in my throat
Just croaked “Hi.”

“One fall a friend asked me if I could go hunting after church. That was when we had priesthood meeting and Sunday School in the morning and sacrament meeting in the evening. I didn’t want to break the Sabbath and I didn’t want to offend my friend, so I said, ‘Why don’t you have your dad call my dad.’ The call came, and when Dad said, ‘I don’t think so,’ I was very happy.

House Build B:
Estefania and her two children, Camila (5) and Diego (2), had been living in an extremely small, one-room home with five other members of her extended family.
As she was handed the keys to her first home, Estefania was brought to tears. She thanked the youth for this act of love and service. To her and her family, it represented the love of her community and the hope of a brighter future.

• His staff work with state and federal officials enrolling young men in military service during the Korean War no doubt helped to prepare him for the chairmanship of the Special Affairs Committee to whom the First Presidency looks for aid in governmental and political matters.

All through elementary and middle school, Julie Workman dreamed of the day she’d attend Utah’s Viewmont High School with her friends.
Then one day her father announced he’d received a call to preside over the New Jersey Mission. She’d be attending high school there. It was like someone had thrown a bucket of ice water in her face.
After a soggy farewell to friends and loved ones, Julie became determined to make the best of her new life. She set herself a goal: to be a good example to everyone, especially when she found out she would be the only Latter-day Saint in her high school.
What happened to the disappointment Julie felt at not attending her hometown high school? It evaporated when she learned to care about others and share the gospel with them. Now, she says, “Moving to New Jersey has been the greatest experience of my life.”

Johannes Malzl was late for school again. The train had been too crowded and slow coming back from seminary, and he had raced to school. But he was still late. Every time he had been late, his teacher would ask what had happened. “At first I tried not to say that I was in seminary. I just said I overslept. Then one day, she asked, ‘Please tell me where you have been.’ I was in front of the whole class. Since we were working on our English, she said I had to tell her in English. All my classmates know that I’m a member of the Church, but they didn’t know about seminary. I explained that I had to get up at 5:00 in the morning and take the train to our Church house, then catch the train to school. They said, ‘Whoa, are you crazy?’”
Johannes explains, “For me, being in seminary gives me power. When I go to school and all my friends talk about all kinds of stuff, it’s good to have some spiritual strength in the mornings.”

Brandi Horsley of the Nampa First Ward, Nampa Idaho Stake, wrote this about a service project she completed for Young Women.
“For my service project I took two cats, two rabbits, and my old pony, Nugget, to the nursing home for a visit. The nurses let me take the pets into each resident’s room.
“When I took Nugget into one man’s room, he started to laugh. As he kept laughing different staff members came into see what was going on. They had never heard him laugh before.
“One lady wanted a ride. She had horses when she was little, and Nugget brought back happy memories. When someone would get hold of a cat or a rabbit, it was hard to get them back. I think they would get their fur petted off if they lived there!
“Most of the people living in the nursing home were raised around livestock and pets all their lives. When they entered the home, they lost this. I know how much my pets mean to me, and I would hate to be without them.
“It is so easy and so very rewarding to spend a little time visiting the nursing home. It makes me happy to know I can make someone else’s day a little brighter.”