Gospel Story Finder

Tom was also a good student in high school. He won prizes in state and regional science fairs. He attended Utah State University and included some challenging courses along with his basic classes. After serving a mission, Tom transferred to the University of Utah as a pre-med major. Then came the national medical aptitude exam.
He did well, but was not accepted by any of the schools to which he had applied. He was devastated. The future, once so bright, now seemed bleak. But rather than giving up, he planned a course of action. Even though he didn’t speak Spanish, he decided to attend a Mexican school of medicine, hoping he could later transfer back to the United States. After two years of distinguished study at the University of Guadalajara, he was offered his choice of several fine universities in the United States. Today, he is a practicing physician.

I enjoyed the story “Serve it Forward” (Jan. 2007) by Jordan Muhlestein. I think he really got the point of doing things for others. When someone helped them, he promised that the next time he had a chance to help someone, he would take it, and he helped a family with a flat tire. This really inspired me to do some service work.Cody S., New Mexico

The first convert in our Gong family to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is our mother, Jean Gong. As a teenager in Honolulu, Hawaii, she listened; she knew; she was baptized and confirmed; she is continuing in faith. Faithful Church members helped my mother so that she had gospel friends, Church callings, and continued nourishment by God’s good word. In today’s parlance each new convert, young single adult, those returning to Church activity, and others bless generations when they become fellow Saints in the household of God.1

Consider, for example, ten apples. Now, all ten of these apples actually belong to the Lord, but He asks us to return to Him only one-tenth, or one apple.

Are you offering only a small bite of that apple and keeping 90 percent? Are you willing to offer the Lord such a small portion?

Are you ashamed, or do you try to patch up and hide the bitten portion of the apple and then offer that to the Lord?

We want our offerings to be full and clean. We have been taught: “Behold, the Lord requireth the heart and a willing mind; and the willing and obedient shall eat the good of the land of Zion in these last days.”

Primary children in the Virden Ward, Duncan Arizona Stake, New Mexico, USA, fill jars of pennies to buy copies of the Book of Mormon for the missionaries. Every Sunday, children who bring their scriptures get to put a penny into a jar. When it is filled, they put a child’s testimony in each Book of Mormon to share.

When I reflect on the race of life, I remember another type of race, even from childhood days. When I was about ten, my boyfriends and I would take pocketknives in hand and, from the soft wood of a willow tree, fashion small toy boats. With a triangular-shaped cotton sail in place, each would launch his crude craft in the race down the relatively rough waters of the Provo River. We would run along the river’s bank and watch the tiny vessels sometimes bobbing violently in the swift current and at other times sailing serenely as the water deepened.

During one such race, we noted that one boat led all the rest toward the finish line. Suddenly, the current carried it too close to a large whirlpool, and the boat leaned over on its side and capsized. Around and around it was carried, unable to make its way back into the main current. At last it came to an uneasy rest at the end of the pool, amid the other wreckage that surrounded it, held fast by the grasping, green moss.

The toy boats of childhood had no keel for stability, no rudder to provide direction, and no source of power. Inevitably their destination was downstream—the path of least resistance.

It was Claire’s favorite part of the school day—show-and-tell. Today it was Jackie’s and Michael’s turn. Jackie went to the front of the classroom and held up a snow globe. Its base was covered with flowers, and inside a carousel horse seemed to float in a sea of sparkles. Jackie said that her grandmother gave her this special gift for her eighth birthday. She carefully cranked the key at the bottom of the globe, and the class “ooed” and “aahed” as a beautiful tune played.
Jackie smiled and sat down. Then Michael came forward, empty-handed. Michael didn’t talk a lot, and he seemed sad most of the time. A few of the children snickered as Michael went to the front. Claire felt a knot in her stomach. She felt sorry for Michael.
Michael dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out a tiny wooden turtle. “This turtle is from my dad,” Michael said softly. “He’s in the military, and I haven’t seen him for a long time. He sent this to me from Hawaii.” Michael looked down for a moment, then said firmly, “It’s very special to me.” The class was quiet as Michael went back to his seat.
All day, Claire thought about Michael. She thought about how she would feel if her dad were gone for a long time.
When school ended, Claire got on the bus. She sat across from Michael. She watched him play with his precious turtle. She wanted to talk to him, but she didn’t know what to say. As Michael was getting off the bus, Claire noticed that his turtle was still on the seat. She jumped up, grabbed the turtle, and hurried to the door.
“Michael,” she called. “You forgot your turtle!”
Michael looked surprised. “Thanks,” he said.
The next day, Michael sat behind Claire on the bus. Claire smiled at him, and he smiled back. When Claire got home, she discovered a plastic bag in a pocket on her backpack. Inside the bag were a note and a pretty blue necklace. The note said,
Dear Claire,
Thank you so much for returning Michael’s turtle. It reminds him of his dad, so he takes it with him everywhere. It takes an honest person to return something that is lost. This is a necklace that Michael’s father sent from Hawaii. I want you to have it. Thank you again.
Mrs. Clark (Michael’s mother)
Claire put the necklace on and admired the blue beads. Her whole body seemed to fill up with warmth. For the rest of the year, Claire talked more with Michael and they became friends.

Indeed, even now astronomers are observing and studying objects in the heavens that could well have been created since the time of Christ’s earthly mission.
A prime example is the exciting discovery this past year of a newborn star in the center of the Orion Nebula, the great cloud of unorganized dust and gas in the constellation Orion. Although it is difficult to see through very dense nebulae to their centers, new instruments at the Kitt Peak National Observatory in Arizona allowed scientists there to detect the new star, as well as several other objects that may well be protostars or clumps of matter that are still in the formative stage and have not yet reached true stardom. The new star that has been identified is estimated to have “turned on” within only the past few thousand years, which is a very short time after the manner of the Lord’s reckoning.

And that brings us to Elder William A. Moody and his bride, Adelia Moody. They were called on a mission from Thatcher, Graham County, Arizona, arriving in Samoa in November 1894. They must have had the same hopes and aspirations of any young couple just starting out. She gave birth to an eight-pound daughter on May 3, 1895. Three weeks later she passed away. The daughter, little Hazel Moody, was taken care of by local Saints while her father continued his mission. Finally, one year later we read the following about a steamer leaving for the United States, whose passengers included four returning elders and “also Elder Moody’s daughter, Hazel, one-year-old, who will be delivered to loving relatives in Zion.”

Take, for example, the rather onerous task of changing diapers. It is a necessity, and we can treat it as an evil and be very unhappy about doing it over and over again. Or we can see it as a part of nurturing a precious human being—in which case we change the diaper as soon as it is necessary, making sure the child is comfortable and happy and clean and that the dry diaper fits well. We take care of the soiled diaper at once (they do not improve with age). We can even use this time alone with our baby to give him some special love and attention. When we approach the job this way, we even get a certain amount of satisfaction out of it, and why not? We have to do it anyway. It’s a matter of choice—do we want to build houses or HOUSES?

He loved the youth of the Church, as is evidenced by the experience of Heber J. Grant. Nine days after Heber’s birth, his father, Jedediah M. Grant, who was Second Counselor to President Brigham Young, died. For the next 21 years, Brigham Young took special interest in the boy Heber J. Grant.
Heber J. Grant wrote:
“I was almost as familiar in the homes of President Brigham Young as I was in the home of my own mother. In one home … if I was hungry I felt as free to go in and ask for something to eat there as in my own home. … I knelt down time and time again in his home in the Lion House at family prayers, as a child and as a young man.”

“Mother and Father packed our clothes, quilts, pots and pans, dishes, food, and everything else they could into the wagon. I put in my doll and helped with some of the smaller things. Father hitched the oxen to the wagon and we started on our long journey. I’d never seen oxen before. They looked like big brown cows to me.”
“When we first came to Utah, I helped Father and Mother plant the seeds in the ground. It took Father two days to break the hard ground before we could plant the seeds. All day we worked and dropped a seed at a time on the ground.”
“You wouldn’t remember because you were only a baby then and had just learned to walk,” Louisa answered quietly. “Anyway, when the new plants were just coming up, about this high,” Louisa measured with her fingers, “some crickets came and began eating them. More and more crickets came.”
Louisa continued her story. “Everyone got sticks and shovels and whatever they could find and began beating the crickets. But more crickets came. Finally, the people gave up. They couldn’t kill all the crickets. They were going to eat up all the food we planted.”
“Father and Mother and the rest of the people prayed to our Heavenly Father that the crops would be saved from the hungry crickets. And it wasn’t long until we were surprised to hear a noise in the sky. I looked up and saw sea gulls. At first they looked like more crickets. I hadn’t seen any sea gulls here before, although I used to watch them on the ocean before we came west in the wagon.”
“The sea gulls came to the ground and ate up the crickets,” Louisa continued. “No one had really noticed them in the valley before. Some people say they were here all the time. But I think Heavenly Father sent them to us when the people prayed. What do you think, Thomas?”

It is not hard for me to remember when I was in college. I loved many things about college life: I loved learning. I loved the comradery. And I loved football.
I had always dreamed of playing football at the university level, and during my freshman, sophomore, and junior years, I wore a crimson uniform and played running back.
At that time, the world tottered on the brink of chaos. Opposing political forces roiled and ground against each other. Tension mushroomed. Nations chafed against each other. It was as though the entire world groaned in a burgeoning rumble, a volcano that had to erupt, that ultimately would erupt. Before it was over, every nation, every people felt the effects of those dark days.
I remember the day my father came to me. It was just after the 1936 football season had ended.
“Joseph,” he said, “do you want to go on a mission?”
I told him I did.
“Then you must go now,” he said. “If you wait any longer, you’ll never go.”
I didn’t want to believe him. I wanted to pursue my dream of continuing to play football and graduating from the university. If I were to accept a mission call, I would have to give up everything. In those days a mission call was 30 months long, and I knew if I accepted, there was a good chance I would never play football again—perhaps I would not even be able to graduate.
But I also knew what my father had said was true. My bishop was Marion G. Romney (1897–1988), who later became a member of the First Presidency of the Church. He had spoken with me before about serving a mission, and I went to tell him that now was the time.
A few months later I stepped aboard the SS Manhattan and began a long voyage that would take me into the heart of the world crisis. My mission call was to the German-Austrian Mission.
My first field of labor was in Salzburg, Austria. The mission was shorthanded, and not long after I arrived, my companion was transferred to another district in the mission. Soon I found myself alone in Salzburg, a young missionary in a strange, new country.
One other thing was happening that I haven’t mentioned: a large army of Hitler’s Third Reich was gathering just over the border, not 30 kilometers from Salzburg. Everywhere you went you could sense a mounting tension in the air. No one knew if tomorrow would be the day the panzer tanks would flood across the border.
I remember those days well. I don’t suppose there has been a time in my life when I felt more discouraged, more lost. The mission was a difficult one; no one seemed to have time for me or the message I brought. I wondered if there would ever be enough members in that city to make a ward.
Six weeks I was alone. Six weeks I waited for a companion. Six weeks I wondered about what I might be doing had I stayed in Salt Lake City and continued my studies.
Even though the days and nights seemed at the time to be never ending, they eventually passed. A senior companion arrived, and we did the best we could under the circumstances to serve the Lord.
That year as Christmas Day approached, my companion and I decided we would walk to Oberndorf, a little village nestled in the beautiful Bavarian Alps. You may know that the beauty and majesty of this little village are what inspired Joseph Mohr in 1818 to write the wonderful hymn “Silent Night” (Hymns, number 204).
On Christmas Eve we walked to the village and sat quietly for a while in a small, humble church, listening to the beautiful organ music. A crisp, clear winter night enveloped us as we began our return trip. We walked under a canopy of stars and across the smooth stillness of new-fallen snow. Perhaps it was a night not unlike the one that inspired an assistant priest to write the lyrics to one of the most beloved hymns in all of Christendom more than a hundred years earlier.
As we walked, my companion and I talked of our hopes and dreams. We talked of our goals and what we wanted to have happen in our lives. The more we talked, the more serious we became about achieving the things we talked about. As we walked under the light of a full moon, we both made serious resolutions.
I committed that night that I would not waste my time. I would renew my efforts to serve the Lord. I made up my mind that I would magnify any callings I received in the Lord’s kingdom.
That was also the evening I made up my mind about whom I would marry. I didn’t know her name, but I had in my mind the type of person she would be—one who lived the gospel and who was strong spiritually. I even described her to my companion—that she would be 1.65 meters tall, that she would have blue eyes, and that she would have blond hair. Sister Wirthlin fits all of the description that I made of her at that time without knowing her. And so that night was important to me.

We are overcome by the “cares … of this life” when we are paralyzed by fear of the future, which hinders our going forward in faith, trusting in God and His promises. Twenty-five years ago my esteemed BYU teacher Hugh W. Nibley spoke of the dangers of surrendering to the cares of the world. He was asked in an interview whether world conditions and our duty to spread the gospel made it desirable to seek some way to “be accommodating of the world in what we do in the Church.”4

His reply: “That’s been the whole story of the Church, hasn’t it? You have to be willing to offend here, you have to be willing to take the risk. That’s where the faith comes in. … Our commitment is supposed to be a test, it’s supposed to be hard, it’s supposed to be impractical in the terms of this world.”5

The story “Through the Storm” in the August 2009 New Era really helped me. I liked this story because it shows that our prayers are answered and singing songs can bring peace to our hearts. My favorite Primary song is “A Child’s Prayer.” I always sing that song when I am scared at night or I just need some spiritual help. It reminds me that Heavenly Father really does listen to our prayers and will help us when we need it.
Amber T., North Carolina

Once again on December 24, my family and I will find ourselves in our little New England home. The snow will cascade outside like sifted powdered sugar. Our woodstove will glow brilliant orange with the light of burning firewood. Mom will stir dark peppermint fudge in the kitchen. Dad will study his tattered copy of the New Testament in the dining room. And my siblings will lock themselves in their bedrooms, wrapping newly purchased gifts for the family. The house will smell like fresh pine and sugar cookies, and Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas” will play softly in the living room.
This is the Christmas I cherish today. Unfortunately, however, I did not always appreciate this annual tradition. It was not until the year I turned 16—the year my parents postponed Christmas—that I understood what this holiday was really about.
I remember sitting at the dining room table in the heat of summer, eating a Spanish casserole dinner with my family. My mom cleared her throat during a lull in the conversation and called my name.
“Your grandmother,” she said, “is taking a tour of the Holy Land, and she invited us to come with her. Your father and I have saved up enough money to go.”
“For heaven’s sake, you guys,” I replied hastily. “You don’t need my permission to go on vacation. When is it?”
I remember my parents looking at each other for a second. While my mom bit her lip, my dad coughed and said in a quiet tone, “December.”
After a long pause, my mom said, “It’s a … Christmastime tour. We’ll be gone until December 28. Do you think you kids would … mind … if we postponed our family Christmas until then?”
I tried to maintain my composure, but inside I felt sick. “Well, sure,” I said. “I mean, I’m not going to stop you from going to the Holy Land. We’ll be fine.”
My mom smiled, my dad started eating his mashed potatoes, and our conversation went back to normal. However, as I tried to concentrate on my carrots, thoughts about Christmas kept racing through my mind. What would Christmas be like without my parents? I thought. I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop them from leaving, but I began to wish I could.
As the holidays loomed nearer, I found myself dwelling on Christmases past. To my great astonishment, I had much difficulty remembering any of my former gifts. I remembered family home evening Christmas carols. I remembered trying to untangle endless strands of Christmas lights with my mom. I remembered helping my dad tie our Christmas tree to the car roof with one too many Boy Scout knots. As I looked back, the realization that my parents would not be here to repeat these traditions depressed me greatly.
I spent December 23rd in New York City with my three sisters, and when my brother came on the 24th, we tried to hold a few Christmas traditions without my parents. However, it was obvious that something about the whole experience felt wrong. Dad was not there to read the Christmas story or to teach our family home evening lesson. Mom was not there to play the piano or lead our Christmas carols. Our December 25th was quiet without their laughter and love filling the home. I felt as though my whole Christmas vacation had been ruined. Without my parents, Christmas simply did not feel like Christmas.
On December 28th, however, a small miracle occurred. When Mom and Dad walked in the door at 9:00 a.m., their presence instantly lifted our spirits and brought back the much-needed feeling of Christmas to our home. We rushed to greet them at the door.
“We missed you all,” my dad said as he entered the kitchen, hauling luggage. “Everywhere we went, we said to each other, ‘We wish the kids were here to see this.’ Christmas just wasn’t the same without you.”
Hugs and kisses were exchanged. Stories and pictures were shared. The presence of my parents in that home brought our family inexplicable joy. I don’t remember what gifts I received that year. I don’t remember what we ate for breakfast that day or where we shopped at after-Christmas sales. I only remember spending time with my family and hoping that Christmas would never end.

I also had to make decisions about music beyond what I had in my own collection. One day when I was in school, a classmate started playing a bad song. I didn’t feel good about the song, so I asked him to change it, which he did. I know that each of us can have the same courage in those situations. And at times when people may not change the music for us, we still have another option: we can go somewhere else.

Following my baptism, my health improved day by day. At first I continued to arise in the morning full of aches and pains. Getting up was a painful trial. But after prayer, I was able to go about my work serenely until the evening, when the problems returned. But then, one great day, I arose and realized that I was finally free of the pains. From that time forward I have had no problems.

One of the great experiences I had before I got married was to live with several member families in the United States while I attended a university there. These parents held family home evening every week, studied the scriptures together, and had family prayer on a daily basis. Of course, they at times had challenges. But the way they solved the problems was consistent with gospel teachings.
In watching their examples and actually participating as a member of their families, I decided that someday I, too, would like to have a family similar to theirs. I observed that their families were blessed as these fathers followed the counsel now given in “The Family: A Proclamation to the World”: “By divine design, fathers are to preside over their families in love and righteousness and are responsible to provide the necessities of life and protection for their families.”1

Elder Jeffrey R. Holland and Sister Patricia Holland went with President and Sister Nelson on a trip to visit Church members around the world. They visited eight countries. At each stop they met thousands of people who were so happy to see a prophet and an apostle!
Almost all the places they stopped in either already have a temple or will have one soon!
Their first stop was Jerusalem, Israel. They saw the Mount of Olives, a place where Jesus taught His disciples, and the Old City of Jerusalem, where Jesus walked.
Next they visited Kenya, a country in Africa where a temple is going to be built. Elder Holland encouraged people to gather their family history and come to the temple when it is finished. “Nothing will bless you more,” he said.
President Nelson and Elder Holland were excited to visit Church members in India. They looked for a place to build a temple there. It will be the first temple in that country, which has more than a billion people!
“I have a testimony that God will always be with us. He has given us a prophet to guide us. He will never abandon us. We will never, ever be left alone.”