Gospel Story Finder

Pat Morrell didn’t let her age prevent her from starting something new either. Needing to supplement the family’s income, she returned to school after her children were grown and studied to be a nurse. Several years later, she graduated from nursing school and is doing work she has always wanted to do. “I wasn’t a good student in high school, so I was unsure whether I could complete requirements for nursing,” she says. “It took six years of squeezing classes in between a day job cleaning houses and caring for others to finish my degree. Besides time, it also took persistence, patience, and support from others—and many blessings.”

The Mendez family lives in a small mountain town near the city of Oaxaca, in southern Mexico. They say, “There are challenges of time, finances, and distance, but the will to do what our Savior wants us to do motivates us to overcome any obstacle.”

Gonzalo Mendez, age 15, says, “When you live in a place where there is danger, temptations can be very difficult, but with the help of prayer we don’t partake of the enticements of the world, and we stand as witnesses to a better way of life.”

The gospel has long been established in Mexico, but there are still areas where the Church is developing. Jaime Cruz, age 15, and his family are the only members of the Church in their small town in the mountains above Oaxaca City. He and his friend Gonzalo work on home-study seminary during the week. Every Saturday they travel two hours by bus to go to the nearest chapel for seminary class with other youth from their ward. Jaime shares what he learns in seminary with his classmates at school and answers their questions. Jaime’s younger brother, Alex, a deacon, is a leader among his friends. Alex says that when he asks them nicely not to use bad language or wear inappropriate clothing, they listen to what he says. Jaime and Alex both know that holding the priesthood is an honor and a responsibility. “I know that the priesthood is given to young men to glorify God’s name by serving others and preaching the gospel,” Jaime says.

During a recent visit to Mexico, Elder Neil L. Andersen of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles met with the youth from three stakes in the city of Cancun. Of his time with these youth, he said, “We saw the light in their eyes and the hope in their faces and the dreams they have. I kept thinking about what a beautiful future Mexico has.”16

May 26, 1853 I went to Fourchu, a place 6 or 7 miles from Gabarouse. On my way along the beach I saw a large duck on the waves, picking among the kelp. This was a desolate place, no houses for 6 or 7 miles. The Spirit said to me, “You are going among strangers. No Saints there. Take the bird with you.” So I sat down right where the wave broke and the bird floated straight towards me, picking among the kelp and sea weed. When it got close to the shore it put its head under its wing, so I jumped and caught it. It was lively enough then and tried to get away. So when I got to Fourchu (6) I went to a house, asked if that was Mr. Cann’s. They said yes. I told them I had come over from Gabarouse to preach the Gospel to them. I had forgotten the duck. I then happened to notice them looking at it. Says I, “Here is a bird. I saw it out on the water and I thought I would bring it along, that it might be good to eat.” Says he, “Is it hurt?” “No, Sir.” I handed it to him. Heexamined it very close and said it was all right. It was cooked. We ate it. It was fat and good. A few came in. We had a meeting. The sectarian minister had poisoned the minds of the people, but Mr. Cann and family treated me very kindly … and spoke favorably to others of me.

One day my twin sister, Maddie, our younger brother Nathan, and I wanted to do something together. Since we were really busy that week, we hadn’t had much time to be together. We all chose to do service. Our mom suggested that we do a service club! We all agreed and turned the room under our stairs into a meeting room.
For our first service project, we made a list of people around our neighborhood that we appreciated. We decorated cards and wrote letters that thanked them and told them we love and appreciate them. We signed the letters with a big question mark.
The next day we rode our bikes all around the neighborhood to our friends’ houses and stuck the letters on their front porches. By the time we had delivered all the letters, we all felt really happy. We had so much fun being together and—even better—serving!
Later that week we were at our summer cooking class. We had given our teacher a letter. We saw that same letter hung up on her bulletin board! We all felt excited that she had felt our love.
We continued the service club and also started making delicious treats to give to people we love. We gave a treat we called “The Butterscotch Supreme” to a lady in our ward who had gotten a concussion. Our mom got a text saying that the lady loved it and appreciated our kindness. That led to more baking for friends.
I am so glad that we can show people we love them. It makes me feel good to know that I am serving Heavenly Father when I serve others.

When it was time for Erik’s Eagle project, he found plenty of people willing to help. “I always went out helping the other guys with their projects, and they helped me in return,” he says.
The cemetery in Patagonia sits on a hill and overlooks the town. Although it is still used, the cemetery doesn’t receive continual maintenance, and many of the headstones were buried, and weeds and trash had covered others. For his Eagle project, Erik, with the help of his family, ward members, and friends from the community, cleaned the cemetery.

Although he’s still relatively new in the gospel, you’d never know that Cesar hasn’t been a member all his life. He learns quickly and has a great desire to know the truth. But Cesar says that there’s another, more important reason he’s learned so much so fast.
“When I was reading the Book of Mormon before I joined the Church, I came to the part about Jesus Christ in America, and I knew it was true,” says Cesar. “At the time, I didn’t recognize the Holy Ghost, but I felt very peaceful. That moment was a new beginning in my life. I felt I could start over and do things in a different and better way.”

I’ve always been drawn to the scriptures, largely because of my home environment. I could feel my parents’ love of the scriptures. When I was twelve or thirteen years old, I asked for a Bible for Christmas. I still have that Bible, and it is a treasured possession. Soon after receiving it, I began reading Genesis. It took me a long time to read the Bible from cover to cover, but I really learned to love the Old Testament as well as the New Testament. It taught me a lot of things.

I once heard President Hugh B. Brown relate this inspiring story: Some time ago a great actor in the city of New York gave a wonderful performance in a large theater, at the close of which there were rounds of applause. He was called back again and again. Finally someone called to him, “Would you do for us the Twenty-third Psalm?”
“Why yes. I know the Twenty-third Psalm.”
He recited it as an actor would, perfectly, with nothing left to be desired as far as a performance was concerned. When he was finished, again there was thunderous applause. Then the actor came to the front of the stage and said: “Ladies and gentlemen, there is an old man sitting here on the front row whom I happen to know. I am going to ask him without any notice if he will come and repeat the Twenty-third Psalm.”
The elderly gentleman, of course, was frightened. Trembling, he came to the stage. Fearfully he looked out over the vast audience. Then, as though he were at home only with one, he closed his eyes against the audience, bowed his head, and talked to God, and said:
“The Lord is my shepherd: I shall not want. …”
When the old man finished, there was no applause, but there was not a dry eye in that house. The actor came to the front of the stage and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, I know the words of the Twenty-third Psalm, but this man knows the Shepherd” (adapted from Hugh B. Brown, The Quest, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1961, pp. 335–36).

I know of one family who took their children to a welfare farm in the Salt Lake valley. The three-, ten-, and eleven-year-old children were given the opportunity of pulling weeds in a sugar beet field with their father. As the work became harder, the ten-year-old girl suddenly stopped, turned to her father, and asked, “Why are we doing this, Dad?”
He explained that all the work they were doing was helping the sugar beets grow. After the beets were grown, harvested, and processed, the sugar would be taken to the Bishops Central Storehouse. The processed sugar, along with all the other different kinds of food from welfare farms throughout the Church, would be put into bishops storehouses for those members of the Church who don’t have enough money to buy the food they need.
The Welfare Services program, however, involves more than this. It means learning and planning how to help ourselves and our families in many areas.

The third poster is entitled “America Rediscovered.” Centuries passed before the Lord guided Christopher Columbus to the New World. On several occasions Columbus gave credit to the Almighty. In writing to the Spanish leaders, he said, “Our Lord unlocked my mind, sent me upon the sea, and gave me fire for the deed. Who heard of my enterprise, called it foolish, mocked me, and laughed. But who can doubt but that the Holy Ghost inspired me?” (Jacob Wassermann, Columbus, Don Quixote of the Seas, trans. Eric Sutton, Boston: Little, Brown, and Co., 1930, p. 20.) During the voyage, after weeks of sailing with no land in sight, mutiny raised its head. Finally Columbus promised the captains of the two other ships that they would turn back if land was not sighted in 48 hours. Then he went to his cabin and in his words “prayed mightily to the Lord.” The next day, October 12, they sighted land. We know a land of liberty and religious freedom was a necessary ingredient in the plan of God. Thus, Columbus and others, particularly those seeking religious freedom, were led to the shores of America.

Brethren, during my Aaronic Priesthood years I was a swineherd! Way back then, by means of a 4-H Club project involving purebred Duroc pigs, I became familiar with work! As proof that what follows is not merely swollen memory, may I, with Elder Nelson’s help, display very briefly this blanket of nearly 100 ribbons won by my prize pigs at various fairs over several years.
Up near Elder Nelson’s hand is a pink ribbon, won 60 years ago. It was the very first ribbon I ever won. I think the judge had a tender eye, and the pig wasn’t really so choice, but he knew I needed encouragement and hence the fourth prize. The purple ribbons were for champions that were exhibited later on!
Thank you, Elder Nelson.
Brethren, I learned the hard way about the need to watch shifting pork prices at the local meat-packing plant. Careful records of profits and losses were kept with the help of my bookkeeper father. As in all things, my parents, so supportive, even ended up doing some of the perspiring themselves, including a special mother born 95 years ago today. She showed me how to work, and she loved me enough to correct me.
In order to obtain low-cost pig feed, I regularly bought dozens and dozens of three-day-old loaves of bread at a bakery for a mere penny a loaf. Additionally, if present at the right time at a local dairy, I could get about 70 gallons of skim milk free! Now I pay $2.50 a gallon—an amusing irony. By saving in these ways, I could buy the needed grain for the pigs with the little hard cash that I had.
There were many times when a pregnant sow would give birth to her litter after midnight. The resultant weariness of attending to all that, and more, was real. Yet through it all, there was a sense of some accomplishment, including contributing to our family menus. Most young men my age did similar work. Back then, brethren, we were all poor together, and we didn’t know it. Work was a given. Today, for some, receiving is a given.
However, there were real social downsides to raising pigs. Already shy, I remember vividly the principal of the junior high school coming into my class once and saying aloud in front of everybody: “Neal, your mother just called. Your pigs are out!” I felt like crawling under my desk but instead ran home to help round up the pigs.
My father was loving but exacting. He noted that while I worked hard, my work was often not carefully done. I was a stranger to excellence. One summer day I determined to please Dad by putting in a number of needed fence posts, firmly implanted and fully aligned. I worked hard all that day and then expectantly scanned the lane down which my father would walk home. When he arrived, I watched anxiously as he carefully inspected the fence posts, even checking them with a level bar before pronouncing them to be fully satisfactory. Then came his praise. My sweat of the brow had earned Dad’s commendation, which, in turn, melted my heart.
Please forgive this brief autobiographical note, which I have used to express my deep appreciation for learning to work at an early age. Even so, brethren, I certainly did not always put my shoulder to the wheel with “a heart full of song” (Hymns, no. 252), but I did learn about shoulders and wheels, which helped later in life when the wheels grew larger. Some of today’s otherwise good young men mistakenly think that putting their shoulders to the wheel is the same thing as putting their hands on a steering wheel!

The first event took place in Tonga during World War II.
It was nighttime, but the moon and the stars gave Finau a feeling of assurance as he carefully guided his canoe across the wide expanse of the gently undulating Pacific Ocean. He constantly studied the stars, so he knew he was going in the right direction. The moon was up, and its brightness was only obscured by occasional wisps of high clouds.
He had heard something about a “war” going on. Several of his friends had gone to the main island and traded their carved tikis and woven baskets to the American soldiers for money—more money than they had seen in all their 16 or so years of life. Finau had collected his very best baskets and carvings and was already anticipating what he would do with the money he was sure to get from the Americans.
The sky was starting to lighten a little, and he could see the waves breaking on the reef in the distance. He knew he was about there.
The sun had just come up as he paddled his canoe through the reef opening and into the quiet lagoon. He saw an American soldier with a gun standing on the shore and made his course towards him. He had heard of guns and of the war and of the American soldiers and of all the money they had and of all the things that money could buy. But now as he actually saw an American and observed his gun and realized he would have to talk to him, he became very nervous and uncertain of just what to do. Finau had learned a few words of English in his local school, but would it be enough? How much should he ask for his goods? He only knew pence and shillings and pounds, and he’d heard that the Americans used dimes and dollars. What were they worth? What would they buy? How should he begin?
Finau felt a little fear as he pulled his canoe up to the beach and the soldier came over. There was no one else on the beach. Would the soldier just take his goods? Would he shoot him? Uncertainty gripped his feelings as he climbed out of the canoe and pulled it onto the beach. He was here and he had traveled all night, so despite his fear he must go ahead.
“You buy?” he said to the soldier as he lifted a few baskets and tikis from the boat.
The young American soldier came over and looked at the items. “How much for this?” he asked, taking a beautifully carved tiki in his hand.
Finau almost panicked. He wasn’t sure of the meaning of the strange words, but he felt he wanted him to say a price, so he blurted out, “Very good. Number one tiki. You buy. One pound.”
The soldier looked quizzically at him, “You’re new at this, aren’t you? How about two dollars for the tiki and these three baskets?”
Finau wondered, “Is that enough? Maybe I should ask more and see what happens.”
“Number one tiki, number one basket. Two dollars tiki, two dollars basket.”
“Oh, you’re a little bargainer are you? I’ll tell you what. I’ve got a carton of cigarettes here. Cigarettes are worth more than money. I’ll give you this whole carton for everything you have here. I guarantee you it’s a good deal. They are good cigarettes. Here, I’ll show you.” The soldier lit one and took a puff and then offered it to Finau.
Up to now Finau had been uncertain of himself, but as he recognized the cigarettes and realized the intent of what was being said, he straightened up and firmly replied, “No!”
“Oh, come on. One sale and you’re all through. Think of the time you’ll save, and if you don’t want to smoke them all yourself you can trade them for other things—even money if you want. They’re rationed, you know. Who can tell their value under these circumstances and in this faraway place? Come on, let’s trade.”
“No,” retorted Finau.
“Come on, come on. What’s the matter? I’ll give them to you first, and you can unload your goods and leave them on the sand. You won’t get a better deal.” The soldier was noticeably irritated by this “stupid native’s” refusal. He looked down at him with all the superiority he felt and again said, “Go ahead. It’s okay. Cigarettes are valuable. Don’t be so stupid.”
Finau, groping for words, stood erect and said, “No, me no smoke. Me Mormon.”
It was as though he had shot the young American. The soldier jerked in startled surprise. He carefully studied Finau, then looked past him and stared longingly into space. He looked again into the lowly native’s eyes. Then he took the carton of cigarettes from under his arm, placed it in his right hand, crushed it, and heaved it far into the lagoon.
Finau wondered, “Why?” He looked at the carton with its bobbing packages scattered about. Then he looked again at the soldier as he turned to walk away from the shore and heard him say, “Yeah, I know. So am I.”

It was almost Christmas. I arrived home fatigued from walking and disappointed with the day’s events. It had been three months since I had graduated from the Church College of Hawaii and returned home to my family in the Philippines. But the only work I had been able to get was selling encyclopedias door to door.
“Any luck today?” Mother asked hesitantly, seeing the tired look in my eyes.
“Oh, not really, I guess encyclopedias aren’t popular Christmas gifts these days.” There was pain in my voice. I needed to sell at least one set of encyclopedias so I could buy Christmas presents for my family. For three years I had missed spending the holidays with my family. I had yearned for this moment. But even more I had looked forward to showering them with presents. Now with only two days until Christmas, I had no money. Suddenly, I felt two loving hands around me. It was Mila, my youngest sister. “Don’t worry about my chocolates,” she whispered. “Sweets aren’t good for me, anyway.”
Then she took my hand and lovingly led me to the dinner table. As we ate, I explained to my family how sorry I was I hadn’t sold enough books to buy them Christmas presents. Then, hoping to end the discussion, I stood and started to clear the table.
Now my father began to speak. “You are already giving us the best Christmas gift possible,” he said. Then he continued. “You were planning to stay in Hawaii and get a good job after you graduated. But we told you how much we missed you and asked you to consider coming home. What you are giving us is more important than any material gift. Your love for us is something money cannot buy.”
By this time, tears were in my eyes.
“Besides,” he said, “sometimes, the Lord delays a blessing so that we can appreciate more important blessings. It would be nice to get a new pair of shoes from you this Christmas, but what good would a new pair of shoes be if you were not around to make our holidays complete?”
Suddenly, I realized how many gifts I had been given. I had a loving family. I had been able to finish school and had good prospects of a better-paying job in the coming year. Most important, I had the capacity to love and care for those around me. This, then, would be my gift to my loved ones. And perhaps it was the best gift of all.
“By the way,” father added, smiling, “Mrs. Cruz called and said she has decided to pay cash for that set of encyclopedias for her children.”
“Hurrah!” Mila exclaimed. “Now you can get me a box of chocolates for Christmas!”
I was crying more than laughing. What a wonderful way to celebrate Christmas. I was at home with my family, and I had a new perspective.

There’s a girl in our school who doesn’t have many friends. The other day I was walking into school with some of my friends when I saw her. She walked to the doors just in front of me and very shyly said hi. I didn’t want my friends to think I was weird so I wasn’t sure what to do, but I walked in the door and said hi back. Immediately, I knew that simply saying hi was the right thing to do.
Sometimes just saying hi can brighten someone’s day, and I try often to say hi and be more kind in my day-to-day life. It’s made me a better person.

When I finished telling this story in the Sunday School class, a member who had recently returned from his mission asked me where I had served.

“In the Japan Sapporo Mission,” I answered.

“Was it in Asahikawa that you helped this child?” he asked.

“Yes,” I answered.

Then he said, “The child in your story was baptized by my companion. One week after the baptism, I was transferred to Asahikawa and I met him. He mentioned that a missionary had saved him from drowning in a river.”

The Lord guides us in miraculous ways. It was not mere chance that my companion felt inspired to work in a distant area that afternoon despite his difficulty with walking or that we walked along the river at just the right moment.

Now the young man who was saved wants to be a missionary, just like the one who saved him. I thought I had completed my mission 14 years ago, but when this young man goes on a mission, in a sense my mission will continue.

Sister Julie B. Beck: I remember a reporter who attacked our standards as restrictive. She had read the For the Strength of Youth book, and she felt that it was all about rules. So I talked to her about safety and choices, and I used the words liberate and free and protect. I said, for instance, if a young woman keeps our standard not to drink alcohol or take drugs, she will never be a slave to those habits. She’ll be free, and her ability to make choices will be multiplied because she won’t have the problem of addiction. The reporter started to nod her head when she understood that standards are not a fence to keep us in. Standards are what help us go out and function in a world full of choices. We can contribute in this world and live happy, productive lives because we are protected.

I returned home early from the Philippines Cebu East Mission. The “what ifs” and not fitting the “returned-missionary mold” made adjusting hard. Since I served in my home country, I struggled with thinking that I had let my branch down and knowing that I did not meet their expectations. Comparing myself to “legit” returned missionaries made me see myself as less worthy or as an outcast.
Eventually, the Lord taught me that a mission is just one of the many ways to serve Him. It is not where or how long but how you serve that counts. He taught me to be humble and to stay on the gospel path even if things get rough and do not go my way.
Jasper Gapuz, Philippines

“Becky, could you please ask your brothers to come to the family room?” Mom said. “Dad and I have something to tell everyone.”
I went and got Chip and Keith, and we gathered in the family room.
“I received some great news today,” Dad said. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope. “Grandpa Greer sent us a letter saying that Great-Grandma Meikle is going to be baptized.”
“Who is Great-Grandma Meikle?” Chip asked.
“She is Grandma Greer’s mother,” Dad said. “Do you remember when we visited Grandma and Grandpa last year? We also visited Great-Grandma Meikle in the nursing home where she lives.”
“But Great-Grandma must be 100 years old!” Keith said. “She can hardly walk. How can she be baptized? When I was baptized, I was eight years old. Grandmas can’t be baptized.”
“Great-Grandma’s birthday is next week,” Mom said. “She will be 88 years old. She wants to be baptized on her birthday. To be baptized, a person needs to be eight or older. Remember when Brother Garcia was baptized? He wasn’t eight years old.”
Brother Garcia’s daughter Maria was in my class at school. We ate lunch together. She told me the missionaries had been visiting her dad. She loved to have the missionaries in her home. “Did Great-Grandma Meikle have the missionaries visit her?” I asked.
“Yes,” Dad replied. “They visited her every week and answered her questions. Grandpa Greer has also been helping her learn the gospel. And Great-Grandma attends church meetings in the nursing home. She has made many friends in the Church.”
“Who is going to baptize her?” Keith asked. “Dad baptized me. Great-Grandma doesn’t have a dad.”
“The missionaries could do it,” Mom said, “but Great-Grandma has asked Grandpa Greer to do it.”
“Can we go?” Chip pleaded.
“I’m afraid not,” Dad said. “It’s too far away.”
“Can I write a letter?” I asked.
“What a great idea!” Mom said, smiling. “Let’s all write her letters telling her how happy we are for her.”
“I’ll tell her about my baptism so she won’t be nervous,” Keith said on his way to get a pencil and paper.
After everyone finished their letters, we put them in a big envelope and addressed it to Great-Grandma Meikle in the nursing home. Maybe she would write back and tell us all about her special day. It was great news knowing that even great-grandmas can be baptized.

On 24 January 1988, as her group is about to leave the Mexico City Missionary Training Center and enter their fields of labor, Sister Marilu Ramirez stands during a meeting to bear her testimony. Her jet black hair, pulled back and held in place with two blue hair clips, almost reaches her waist.
At the pulpit, she stands on a short stool in order to speak into the microphone. Her petite frame suggests that she might speak timidly, but her voice is powerful and her testimony is that of a mature disciple. “I have had to fight to get here,” she says with emotion, “and I have learned that without the Lord, I am nothing. But I have felt his infinite love for me, and I know in whom I have confided.”
The next day, as she meets her new mission president and his assistants, she again bears powerful witness of the Father’s love. “When I entered the temple for the first time a few days ago, I felt his Spirit and was overwhelmed by his love,” she says. “As I prayed to him, I asked, ‘Why do you love me so much?’ And I seemed to hear an answer: ‘Don’t you know I love all the world—all my children? I don’t want anyone to be lost.’ And I began to comprehend the great love he has for each one of us.” Her voice again fills with emotion. “I know that our Heavenly Father and his son Jesus Christ live and love us. I feel very honored to be a daughter of God and to serve him as a missionary.”

At one community event he and Sister Faust attended, a leader of another faith criticized the Church. Sister Faust recalled, “I became steamier and steamier as he went on, but Jim just listened patiently. Afterwards, he went up to this man and said, ‘Now, Reverend, if you feel that way, we must be doing something wrong. I’d like for us to have lunch together so that you can let me know what your concerns are.’ They did, and the two have been good friends ever since.”