Gospel Story Finder

I have a dear friend with whom I went fishing. He seemed uneasy during the trip and shortly confided to me that he had just returned from a visit with his son-in-law in another state. During this visit he had a strong feeling that he should give his son-in-law a father’s blessing but felt somewhat constrained because he was not his father.
As we discussed his uneasy feelings, it was decided that he should phone his son-in-law immediately upon our return from the fishing trip. During the phone call my friend’s son-in-law, with considerable emotion and tears, confided the great need and desire he had felt for a father’s blessing. He had earnestly prayed that his father-in-law, to whom he felt very close, would know of his desires and give him such a blessing.

Susanna has courage in other areas of her life, too. A good friend taught her to jump horses. The friend wanted Susanna to compete in jumping competitions that were held on Sunday, but Susanna told her friend she wouldn’t.

On June 6, 1994, the day after Howard W. Hunter (1907–1995) was set apart as President of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, he extended two invitations to the members of the Church. Speaking with a tone of gentle encouragement, he said: “First of all, I would invite all members of the Church to live with ever more attention to the life and example of the Lord Jesus Christ, especially the love and hope and compassion He displayed. …
“I also invite the members of the Church to establish the temple of the Lord as the great symbol of their membership and the supernal setting for their most sacred covenants. It would be the deepest desire of my heart to have every member of the Church be temple worthy.”1
From that moment on, all my thoughts turned to the house of the Lord. At that time, I had been in the Church for three years and it was the first time to watch a living prophet on television. This event has remained engraved in me to this day. Fifteen years later, in 2009, I entered the temple for the first time with my wife for our endowment and sealing. It was then that I had a deeper testimony of the truthfulness of the Church of the Lord Jesus Christ—for Joseph Smith the Prophet could not have devised all of this when he himself was a man with very little formal education. Rather, that there is a Supreme Being who revealed to him all these things.

You could actually see some changes taking place right before your eyes as the day wore on. “I really don’t know where it started, but lately I’ve had a real problem with listening to what my parents say and following the counsel they give me,” Greg Harkrider, 16, told the entire group. “I just want them to know that I’m glad that I listened to what they said and came today to learn more about Christ. That’s what I need to be here for. I’ll try to be better because of this.”

Years ago I faced a temporal crisis in my business which threatened to engulf me. In answer to fervent prayer, the Savior not only comforted me, but revealed the pathway out of the crisis into light.

“I remember one lesson I taught,” says Li-anne’s sister Michel Angelene. “I gave the lesson using the poster on foul language [see New Era, Apr. 1991, 15]. We videotaped the lesson so we could send it to some of our relatives. We still watch it sometimes,” she laughs.

In early 2005, I was guided to prepare a general conference message about senior missionary couples. Following the conference, a brother recounted: “As we listened to conference, … immediately the Spirit of the Lord touched my very soul. … There was no mistaking the message for me and for my sweetheart. We were to serve a mission, and the time was now. When I … looked at my wife, I realized that she had received the very same impressions from the Spirit.”21 What had brought this strong simultaneous response? The Holy Ghost.

For instance, in Amsterdam I went into a home where I had been the first missionary there, and the mother, looking up into my face with tears rolling down her cheeks, said, “Brother Richards, it was hard to see my daughter leave for Zion a few months ago, but it’s much harder to see you go.” Then I thought I could understand what President Lund meant when he said, “They will love you.”

A year after my baptism, I received a call to serve a full-time mission in Bangkok, Thailand. My older sister also received a call to serve in the same mission.

Take eight lively people, mix them in a small van for 40 hours, adding mechanical failure, rain, car sickness—even seasickness, and what do you get? “Heaven,” according to the Marrero family.
“It was the most spiritual experience of my life,” said Raquel, 14, of her family’s trip to the temple, to be sealed together for all time and eternity.
For many people, a temple trip isn’t quite the sacrifice that it was for the Marreros. They live on the island of Tenerife, which is one of Spain’s Canary Islands, located about 50 miles off the coast of Morocco. When they were finally prepared to go to the temple, the nearest one open was in Germany, so that’s where they headed, crossing the ocean and passing through three countries to get there.
The cost of plane fare would have been outrageous for the family that consists of Luci, 6; Fabio, 8; Oliver, 10; Raquel, 14; Desiree, 16; Oscar, 18; and Miguel and Angela, the mother and father. They worked for two years as it was, the father doing carpentry, and the rest of the family taking on odd jobs at home, like assembling game pieces and cards for a toy factory, to earn the money to travel the way they did.
The way they traveled was in a van, or furgón, as they call it, that Miguel had used his carpentry skills to convert into a camper with two beds. They loaded it onto a ferry and traveled by water the 500 miles to Spain.
“We all got seasick,” said Raquel. “We were glad to see dry land again.”
But that was only the beginning of the journey. Ahead there were hours and hours of driving through Spain, France, and Germany, and sleeping under the stars at night. “To pass the time we’d honk and wave at others with Spanish license plates,” said Desiree. “And we sang every hymn and typical Spanish song we knew—many times over.”
“Dad drove and fixed the car,” added Raquel. They had electrical problems, among other things, which made it difficult to drive at night without stopping every few minutes to fix the headlights. Finally, when they made it to Frankfurt, they pulled over and waited for dawn, so they could drive undistracted to the temple in the light.
Well, almost undistracted. It seems the temple is located in Friedrichsdorf, outside of Frankfurt, and with their limited German, the Marreros couldn’t find it. They finally hired a Spanish-speaking cab driver to show them the way.
“When at last we saw the Angel Moroni on top, it was such a joy,” said Raquel. “It was beautiful—even more beautiful because we’d suffered so much to get there.”
Oh, and the things they found inside! “It was so wonderful when we were sealed—everyone in white, even the little ones, looking so beautiful,” said Desiree. “Now we know that we can be together forever with the ones we love.”
The Marreros spent about four days at the temple, the parents doing sealings, the children who were old enough doing baptisms for the dead. They were reluctant to leave, when the time came, especially since they knew all about the tedious road trip that lay ahead.
But their lives had changed in those four days. “We didn’t quarrel as much,” Raquel noted. “We knew we were an eternal family.”
“The trip was a lot like life, really,” observed Desiree. “You go through some tough times, and you work really hard, but it is worth it when you make it to the celestial kingdom. We made a lot of sacrifices so that everyone could arrive together.”

Joshua’s mommy was sick. She couldn’t get up to work in her garden or do anything fun.
“I want to help Mommy,” Joshua said.
“Why don’t you pray about how you can help her?” Daddy asked.
Joshua knelt down by his bed. “Heavenly Father, please help me find a way to help Mommy feel better.” He stayed on his knees until he thought of what to do.
He got a piece of paper and some crayons and drew a picture of Mommy’s flower garden.
Joshua made sure Mommy wasn’t sleeping before he went in her room. “I made this picture for you,” he said. “Now you can look at your flowers without getting up.”
“It’s beautiful,” Mommy said. “Thank you.”
Joshua kissed Mommy’s cheek. He was glad he had done something to help her feel better.

Last fall our oldest granddaughter was baptized and confirmed a member of the Church. After she received the Holy Ghost, her newest sister was blessed and given a name. The following month, another new granddaughter was named and blessed. Since then I have reflected often on the privileges those little girls enjoy because the priesthood of God has been restored.

Melissa whistled happily as she made her bed. Today was the day. Last night she had felt a little nervous about her decision until she said her prayers. After that, she knew that she was doing the right thing, even if she was only nine years old.
She thought of Misha, and the whistle died on her lips. Melissa had been in church when she first heard of the terrible accident. Brother and Sister Barton were in one hospital with broken bones and surgeries. Tanna and Brian were in another in traction. Misha was all by herself with a head injury in still another—and in a deep coma. Melissa didn’t understand everything about it, but she did know that it meant Misha might never wake up.
Melissa was smoothing out the bedspread when her mom called. “You’d better hurry. You don’t want to be late for school.”
Melissa smiled again. This was one morning she wouldn’t have to hurry.
“What’s taking you so long this morning?” Mom asked as Melissa came out of her room. “You should have finished breakfast by now. It’s almost time for scriptures.”
Melissa smelled the yummy aroma of orange biscuits fresh from the oven. “Oh, Mom!” she cried. “I didn’t know we were having biscuits today.”
“I know they’re your favorite,” Mom said. “I decided to surprise you.”
Melissa looked into the kitchen at the yummy biscuits and sighed. Then she walked into the living room and picked up her scriptures from the end table by the flowered couch.
“What’s going on, Melissa?” Mom asked. “You know you have to eat before we read.”
I have to tell her now, Melissa thought. I wish I could do it in secret like the scriptures teach, but I’ll have to explain to Mom. No one else, though.
“Mom,” she said, “I’m not going to eat today.”
“You certainly are!” Mom exclaimed. “You need a nutritious breakfast to do well in school.”
“I’m not just going without food,” Melissa said. “I’m fasting today for Misha. We’ve learned in family home evening and at church that we should do everything we can to help one another. Well, I’ve been praying for Misha, and I thought that that was all I could do. But then I remembered that I could fast for her, too, so I decided that today I would. Mom, I just have to do this! I know I’ll get hungry, but I know that Heavenly Father will help me. Please.”
Tears welled up in Mom’s eyes. “Oh, Melissa,” she whispered, “I’m sure that Heavenly Father will bless you and Misha both.”
By eleven thirty, Melissa began to feel really hungry. Morning recess had helped take her mind off food, but back in class, the hunger pains started to bother her again. Soon it was time for the class to line up for the cafeteria.
“Melissa, where is your lunch?” Jennifer asked. “I thought you hated the cafeteria food.”
Melissa looked at the floor. “I’m not eating today.”
“Not eating!” Jason squeaked. “Are you nuts?”
Ignoring him, Melissa hurried forward with the rest of the class. When they arrived at the cafeteria, she quickly washed her hands and moved toward their class table.
“Miss Black, are you on a diet?” the school principal teased. “Your lunch looks a little on the light side.”
“Oh, ah …” Melissa stammered, but the principal’s attention had turned to a commotion in the snack-bar line. Whew! Melissa thought. That was a close one. She walked quickly to her table and sat at the end of the bench.
“May I sit by you?” Tiffany asked.
“Sure.”
“I see you’re not eating today. Do you feel OK?”
“Oh sure, it’s just that … well, I’m just not eating.” It sure would be easier if I could just explain. I hope no one else asks me about this.
“Melissa,” said Megan, “why—”
Melissa stood up. “Excuse me.” She started toward the door.
“Where do you think you’re going, young lady?”
Melissa’s heart jumped. She turned and saw Mr. Winterton.
“Mr. Winterton,” she began. “I need to … to …” She didn’t want to lie, but she needed to be alone for a few minutes. “I need to go someplace quiet,” she finally blurted.
Mr. Winterton’s face crinkled in puzzlement. This was indeed an unusual request—one that he had never heard in three years of cafeteria duty. He studied Melissa a long moment, then surprised himself by saying, “All right, I think we can work that out. Come sit quietly outside this side door. No one should bother you there.”
Grateful, Melissa slipped through the doorway and sat down against the wall. The coolness of the cement blocks felt good against her hot back. She bowed her head and began a silent prayer. Dear Heavenly Father, please help Misha and her family get better. I know that Thou lovest me and that Thou lovest Misha. Please help her to get better and wake up. Please!
As Melissa ended the prayer in Jesus’ name, and sat quietly, a comforting warmth filled her, and she felt peaceful and happy. She knew in her heart that Heavenly Father had heard her prayer, and she was glad that she’d done everything she could to help Misha get better. She no longer felt hungry. She wasn’t worried about what to say to her friends, either. The Spirit was with her, and right now she didn’t need anything else.

Some years ago I was visiting family, when the bishop asked me to conclude the sacrament service. As I was coming down from the stand, a woman approached me with her seven children and introduced herself as Sister Rebecca Guzman.
She asked, “Elder Rasband, do you know Rulon and Verda Rasband?”
I beamed and replied, “They are my parents.”
When I met Rebecca and her family at church, we took a photograph of her family with me. I took it home to my elderly mother, and she held it close to her heart. Then she said to me, “Ronnie, this is one of the happiest days of my life.”

The following week I found myself thinking again and again about what had happened. Everytime I recited the poem to myself I felt renewed strength and happiness. The things I had read about God were more than just words. He really did know each individual on the earth and cared about everyone of us. This experience made my scripture reading alive and meaningful. I knew it would have an effect on the church meetings I attended. It had even more of an effect, however, than I had anticipated.
Sunday arrived, and I sat in our branch sacrament room. The meeting started, and all joined in singing the opening hymn. I carefully followed the words as we sang a piece I had never heard or sung before. It was a strong and pretty melody. Finishing the second verse, the conductor cut us off and gave us the upbeat for the third verse. I started in with the rest of the congregation but suddenly stopped singing. My heart beat faster as I read the words. I looked away from the hymnbook and silently repeated the verse to myself: “Fear not, I am with thee; oh, be not dismayed …”
Tears welled up in my eyes as I felt God speaking to me once again. Not only was his message poetic, but musical as well—a song of the spirit. I joined in with the rest, praising our Heavenly Father with this meaningful hymn. I knew I would never sing it again without being reminded of God’s concern for me.

Third Grade Is Terrible Liza is hurt and angry when she is separated from her best friend, reassigned to the strictest teacher in the whole school, and not invited to Monica’s party. A warm, easy-to-read book.Barbara Baker7–10 years

Are you shutting out of your life the peace and security you so much desire? Thousands of people are doing so because they are so filled with worries, doubts, and concerns. Many people are filled with fears about what will become of them as they grow older. I met a lovely lady in her 80s working in the temple. The spirit of peace and tranquillity radiated from her. She was so busy helping others that she had little concern for herself. Her needs were not great, and as she said, “The Lord is taking care of my needs.”

In another unforgettable incident they landed up against a barbed wire fence and were in the process of packing the balloon to get it back across the fence when an army of youngsters appeared from nowhere. One young lady with red hair, pigtails, and freckles stood watching with huge eyes. Finally she timidly touched the arm of one of the priests as he went past while helping to load the balloon. “Please, sir,” she said, “may I have your autograph?” She got his signature and everyone else’s and went away clutching the paper as if she had conversed with Martians or angels and was taking home the evidence.

One of my most valuable possessions is a dog-eared bundle of letters that I’ve written to myself. I wrote the first letter on my 16th birthday. I sealed it up, tucked it in my drawer, and didn’t read it until a year later on the night of my 17th birthday. So much had changed in just a year! I had written about my life, describing things I wouldn’t have remembered on my own. I had joked with myself, saying that the things I was worrying about then probably wouldn’t matter much in a year. I was right.
Best of all, I told myself why I had a testimony. A year later, my words were a timely reminder. As I looked back, I could clearly see how blessed I was and how much Heavenly Father loves me. Excited, I pulled out another piece of paper, and wrote my next letter. With each year, the bundle of letters continues to grow.

I edged my way into the back row, taking a long look round. I would miss this crowd, especially Sharon, third row from the front. Her smile always seemed sweeter for me than for anyone else. Pity I wouldn’t be getting to know her better.
The lesson didn’t start too exciting—you know, all that talk about reaching the highest degree of glory. My mind kind of switches off when those “Sunday” words begin, going into neutral with other thoughts creeping in, like working out a different way to milk the goat. (It’s all this growing that’s causing trouble. My head used to rest comfy on the bulge of her stomach, so I could milk with my eyes shut, dreaming a little about this and that. But now my head pokes out above her bony back, and my chin won’t rest easy on that ridgy spine.)
As I was saying, Teacher was going on a bit. Her long black hair swung, glinting in the sunlight as she moved around. I was leaning back, half following the words and enjoying the expressions crisscrossing her face. Then all of a sudden, she produced this piece of pie, oozing bubbly juice, and thick with chunky apple piled between covers of tawny, crumbling pastry. Now, if there’s anything I’m partial to, it’s apple pie—and there was a dollop of cream on top.
“Whatever is she going to do with that?” I asked myself, sniffing a sweet cinnamon smell. “There’s not enough for us all.” I glanced at the others. Everyone’s eyes had opened wide. They were definitely paying attention.
“I’m about to give this to one student,” Teacher continued. “Let me see now … Thomas? Looks like all that farm work is stretching you fast. I’m sure your stomach could manage this pie?”
Couldn’t it just? I hardly dared believe my luck. I had been sure she’d give it to James—he’s the smartest lad, the one whose hand flies up at every question and who knows every scripture the week before we’re asked to learn it. It was his Mum who sent the elders down our way a couple of years ago.
If not him, then surely Sarah? Sarah does everything right. Her work’s neatly handed in on time. Teacher has a special sort of smile for her, I’ve noticed.
But me! I didn’t need asking twice. Did I eat that pie fast? Every crumb tasted like it knew exactly where it should be. And I could feel 22 eyes watching every mouthful. I sat back, rubbing my stomach. She’s right—it has stretched lately.
Then she asked a kind of weird question. “How do the rest of you feel at this moment?”
I mean, how would anyone be expected to feel? Slightly sick, I should think—like they’d been cheated out of something worth having. At least, that’s what James said, and the others nodded. They weren’t too cheerful.
“Good,” said Teacher. “Remember that feeling every time you’re tempted to go astray, because it’s the kind of sensation you might get, only worse, if you don’t make it past the terrestrial kingdom.”
You know, that pulled me up short, making prickles creep up and down my spine. The feelings I’d enjoyed, munching that pie, were great. No way would I have wanted to be the one missing out. Maybe there’s something to all this.
I never did leave home. Weeks went by, and the apple pie memory faded, slipping into a corner somewhere in my mind. Something like my drawing collection—the best ones are treasured and stared at now and again but lie shut in my cupboard most of the time.