Gospel Story Finder

One member was seated in his government office wondering how he could possibly pay the amount suggested by his bishop. As he prayed for guidance, the idea came to him, “Just ask for a raise in pay; that’s all you need to do.” So vivid was the message that he did just that. Calculating what he could pay from his own resources, he promptly applied for a raise equal to the amount he yet needed. To his surprise, his request was approved. Moreover, it was made retroactive for a year, enabling him to pay the amount requested much earlier than he had thought possible.

“The first day I walked into the Salt Lake Temple when I was a young man, I had the feeling that I had been there before. In an instant, the thought came to me that what I recognized was a sense of peace beyond anything I felt before in this life, but that I seemed to recognize and almost remember from before I was born.”

When I was singing in general conference, I thought of my great-grandmother. She was in the Tabernacle Choir, but in 1955 she died in a plane crash on the way back from a choir tour. Every time I sang I felt like she was singing with me.
Emerie T., age 9

After I heard President Hinckley’s message, I made many resolutions in my life. I decided I would give every effort to obtaining a better education. I’m a university student right now, and sometimes it has been hard for me to do well in my academic classes and take institute at the same time. Sometimes I have neglected one or the other. But now I realize that the Lord wants us to be intelligent and to accomplish things, so I have decided to graduate from institute as well as from the university.
I took notes at the fireside, but having the complete text of the talk in the Liahona (Spanish) has enabled me to review President Hinckley’s words. And they are still having an influence on me, as if I had just heard them. No matter where we live—in a small country like mine or in a large nation—I know that if we will listen to the prophet’s voice and follow his counsel, the Lord will bless our lives and help us become better people.
Jenny Elisa Jaimes Utani, age 23,Job Ward, Lima Perú Las Violetas Stake

During May, I had the opportunity to run in the Utah High School State Track Championships. I ran in three events, and it was a great experience. But my state track experience did not compare to the experience I had the day before the meet.
For a few months, my ward had been planning to go to the Manti Utah Temple to perform baptisms for the dead. I was so excited to go, but then I found out it was the day before the state track meet. I wasn’t sure what I should do. I had been working all season to prepare for my events, and I thought I needed as much rest as possible before I ran. We’d definitely get home from the temple late, and I needed to be in bed earlier than that.
I asked myself, “What is more important: getting rested for state track or serving at the temple?” I knew where the Lord wanted me to be and where I wanted to be, so I was determined to be there.
At the temple, I felt the Spirit of the Lord, and it brought me great peace. I didn’t even think about running the whole time I was there. I knew I was in the right place, helping others who had gone before me. The feeling was wonderful!
The next day, my nerves were calm, and I ran the best I ever had. I knew I was blessed because of my faith in choosing to go to the temple. I have a testimony of the temple, and I know the value of the work that goes on there. This experience is one that I will treasure in my heart forever.

Fourth and finally, may I remind you that you cannot give yourself poor in this work; you can only give yourself rich. I have satisfied myself regarding the truthfulness of the statement made to me by Elder Melvin J. Ballard as he set me apart for my mission in 1920: “A person cannot give a crust to the Lord without receiving a loaf in return.”

A few months ago, I was kneeling in prayer with a young family in Albuquerque. I had a wonderful warm feeling as I opened my eyes and looked around that circle. It was as if I imagined families in homes throughout the world having that same experience. Hopefully, if the pattern of prayer is established in our homes, individual family members will help reproduce that pattern for others as my roommates did for me.

As the Alberta Temple neared completion in the early 1920s, the Church sent several artists to Canada to paint the murals for the ordinance rooms. The artists were also given space along the top of the walls in the baptistry, chapel, and terrestrial room to paint scenes focusing on the Savior’s atonement. The murals in the baptistry and chapel featured here are the work of Alma Brockerman (A. B.) Wright, a professor of art at the University of Utah. The scene from the terrestrial room is among the murals done by LeConte Stewart, a talented young artist who later went on to international acclaim as a landscape artist (see Paul L. Anderson, Ensign, July 1977, pages 6–11; July 1978, pages 40–45).
For seven decades now, those murals have inspired temple patrons to anchor their faith in Jesus Christ. Like the Alberta Temple itself, which stands rock-solid on the windswept prairie of western Canada, faith so centered in Christ stands firm against the winds of adversity.

That someday came only a few years later. I met very dedicated, young, full-time missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. And I soon met a small group of kind and joyful Latter-day Saints striving to follow Jesus Christ. Despite it taking me a while to fully trust them, I came to see in the restored gospel what I yearned for when I studied the New Testament—the words of Jesus Christ and the hope and peace that come from them.

During the summer, I did odd jobs to earn money. That summer I was working as a service station attendant. A man who worked there was a member of the Church, and he invited me to attend MIA (Mutual). At first I hesitated, but he persisted, and I finally gave in. The warmth and friendliness of the members and missionaries impressed me, but again the music influenced me most. Their hymns sounded different from any I had ever heard.

The assignments given us may be difficult. Years ago I was on a mission in England. One day three or four of the London papers carried reviews of a reprint of an old book, snide and ugly in tone, indicating that the book was a history of the Mormons. [The mission president] said to me, “I want you to go down to the publisher and protest this.” I looked at him and was about to say, “Surely not me.” But I meekly said, “Yes, sir.”

I was frightened. I went to my room and felt something as I think Moses must have felt when the Lord asked him to go and see Pharaoh. I offered a prayer. My stomach was churning as I walked. I found the office of the president and presented my card to the receptionist. She took it and went into the inner office and soon returned to say that the president was too busy to see me. I replied that I had come five thousand miles and that I would wait. Finally he invited me in. He was smoking a long cigar with a look that seemed to say, “Don’t bother me.”

I do not recall what I said after that. Another power seemed to be speaking through me. At first he was defensive. Then he began to soften. He concluded by promising to do something. Within an hour word went out to every book dealer in England to return the books to the publisher. At great expense he printed and tipped in the front of each volume a statement to the effect that the book was not to be considered as history, but only as fiction, and that no offense was intended against the respected Mormon people.

I came to know that when we try in faith to walk in obedience to the requests of the priesthood, the Lord opens the way, even when there appears to be no way. May we place our trust in our Father in Heaven, to go forth with willing hearts, that we may be worthy of His blessings.

“That’s really interesting, but I disagree on the blind faith idea,” replied Richard. “I thought about that same question not long ago. The first thing I asked myself was, what has the Lord already told us about it? I read some passages in the Doctrine and Covenants (see D&C 88:62–63) and also found a great statement by President John Taylor:
“‘We are told in relation to these matters that the hairs of our heads are numbered; that even a sparrow cannot fall to the ground without our Heavenly Father’s notice; and predicated upon some of these principles are some things taught by Jesus, where He tells men to ask and they shall receive. What! The millions that live upon the earth? Yes, the millions of people, no matter how many there are. Can He hear and answer all? Can He attend to all these things? Yes.’ (Journal of Discourses, vol. 26, p. 31.)
“Since I already have a testimony of the scriptures and the living prophets, the next thing I wanted to know was what do I have to do in order to understand more about how God hears and answers prayers.
“I’ve been praying about it, and last fast Sunday afternoon I was reading Doctrine and Covenants 88 [D&C 88] about the light of Christ and how it is in all and through all things. Of course, I know our Father in heaven is a distinct personage, but this taught that his power, spirit, glory, and influence emanate throughout the universe and create a channel through which light and life are given to all that live. As I’ve been thinking about this, I think l’m starting to realize how our Father can be in personal contact with all his children. I’ve concluded that God hears all who pray, but for us to receive his answers, we must live the commandments and seek him. I don’t feel like that is blind faith.”

Some time ago I spoke with a priesthood leader who was prompted to memorize the names of all of the youth ages 13 to 21 in his stake. Using snapshots of the young men and women, he created flash cards that he reviewed while traveling on business and at other times. This priesthood leader quickly learned all of the names of the youth.
One night the priesthood leader had a dream about one of the young men whom he knew only from a picture. In the dream he saw the young man dressed in a white shirt and wearing a missionary name tag. With a companion seated at his side, the young man was teaching a family. The young man held the Book of Mormon in his hand, and he looked as if he were testifying of the truthfulness of the book. The priesthood leader then awoke from his dream.
At an ensuing priesthood gathering, the leader approached the young man he had seen in his dream and asked to talk with him for a few minutes. After a brief introduction, the leader called the young man by name and said: “I am not a dreamer. I have never had a dream about a single member of this stake, except for you. I am going to tell you about my dream, and then I would like you to help me understand what it means.”
The priesthood leader recounted the dream and asked the young man about its meaning. Choking with emotion, the young man simply replied, “It means God knows who I am.” The remainder of the conversation between this young man and his priesthood leader was most meaningful, and they agreed to meet and counsel together from time to time during the following months.
That young man received the Lord’s tender mercies through an inspired priesthood leader.

Ellie loved hugs. Hugs from Dad. Hugs from Grandma and Grandpa. Hugs from Mom. Hugs made her feel warm. And safe. And happy.
That’s why Ellie hugged Mom during church. She loved sitting on Mom’s lap. Mom always held her close.
Then sacrament meeting ended. It was time for Primary. Ellie loved Primary. She was a big girl now. Three years old! She even had her own scriptures!
But today Ellie just wanted to keep hugging Mom forever.
Mom carried Ellie down the hall. In the Primary room, Mom sat Ellie down on a chair.
“Can I go with you?” Ellie said.
“No,” Mom said. Her voice was kind. “You need to be in your class,” she said. “And I need to be in my class.”
Mom kissed Ellie’s cheek. Then she walked out the door.
Ellie felt tears rolling down her cheeks.
She thought about Mom holding her. Mom always held her when they read the Book of Mormon. They usually read with the family. But sometimes Ellie and Mom read by themselves.
Ellie picked up her Book of Mormon. Inside was a picture of Jesus.
Ellie closed the book and hugged it. She felt like she was hugging Jesus. She felt warm. And safe. And happy. It was the best hug ever!

An adjacent farm was owned by Joseph and Sarah McKune. Their granddaughter later reported that Joseph McKune had been allowed “to take in his hands a pillow-case in which the supposed saintly treasure was wrapped, and to feel through the cloth that it had leaves.”

“I started ballet at age seven because I wanted to be a princess,” says Bianca Carnovale, from Sydney, Australia. Soon after she began training, she learned that the dance world does not stop to remember the Sabbath day. She had to decide where she stood.
Not wanting to let anyone down, knowing that Sunday pieces would have to be choreographed without her, Bianca also struggled. Her teachers would say, “No company will want you; why would they choose you over someone who will dance on Sunday?”
But Bianca remembers, from as young as seven, talking with her mother about dancing on Sundays. When she had to miss out on exams and performances, those talks helped Bianca understand that pleasing God was more important.

I was reading through some New Eras and came across the article “Celestial Marriage” by Elder Bruce R. McConkie in the June issue. It has really affected my life. I have been guided by the Lord to a worthy priesthood holder who will love and help and trust me and take me to the temple. The June New Era has helped both of us understand celestial marriage. I am so grateful to know that the Lord is going to give me and my companion the opportunity to go to his house and walk by his Spirit always.
Patricia FaustiniEast Branxton, Australia

“The people were the most loving I’ve ever met in my whole life. For instance, I was waiting for the bus one night, in a pouring rain, and I didn’t have a coat on. It was miserable! An older lady was standing at the bus stop, and we began conversing in Spanish. When the bus came, we talked all the way to my stop. To get up and leave her was the hardest thing to do. It was just as if I had known her forever. I said, ‘Adiós. Buena suerta.’ (Goodbye. Good luck.) She reached up, hugged me, and kissed me on both cheeks. After I got off the bus and glanced back, she was still waving good-bye.

Megan compared the name on the warm, paper-wrapped parcel against the name carved into the board hanging from a pole by the gate: M. Maybaum. This was it. Slowly, carefully, so that she wouldn’t drop Grandma’s package, Megan lifted the latch on the gate and walked up the uneven path to the squat, ramshackle house. She almost expected the seven dwarfs to come heigh-hoing in answer to her timid ring instead of the old lady with twinkling, violet eyes.
“Landsakes! Do we know you, girl?”
“No, ma’am,” Megan said.
“Oh. Well, you’d best come in, anyway.” Mrs. Maybaum stood back, pulling the door wider, and Megan edged in.
The inside of the house was dim and cluttered and smelled of flowers. Megan followed the old lady down the tiny hall to the living room, where she perched on an overstuffed chair and asked, “What brings you to see us?”
As Megan held up the parcel, she glanced around but couldn’t see anyone else in the room.
“A package for us? And what might be in it?”
“It’s bread. My grandma made it.”
“Ah, bread!” Mrs. Maybaum studied Megan. “You’re Helen’s grandchild, then. You have the look of Helen.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m Megan.”
“And where might your mother be? Why hasn’t she come to see us?”
“The hospital sent her on a seminar to be trained on a new invention.”
“More training! Well, Marian always did like to keep up on the latest. Old things too—like our honey taffy. Hollyhocks.”
“Excuse me?”
“Hollyhocks. Your mother was a one for hollyhocks—made dolls out of them, she did.” Mrs. Maybaum hopped up and scuttled over to Megan. “I’ll just take that package and put it in the kitchen. We expect that you’d like a bit of our honey taffy, too, so I’ll get it for you.”
Alone, Megan looked around again. The room was so full of things, most of which looked breakable, that she was afraid to move. On one wall were a lot of interesting looking pictures, and she edged carefully closer. They were all different sizes and shapes and had stitched pictures of houses and flowers and alphabets and sayings. They all looked very old and beautiful, though Megan noticed that one of them wasn’t finished. Leaning closer, Megan saw “Lovina Maybaum, 1945” neatly stitched at the bottom. The poem centered in the frame read:
The rising morning can’t assure
That we shall end the day,
For death stands ready at the door
To take our lives away.
“Oh, do you like samplers?” Mrs. Maybaum asked from the doorway.
“Is that what they are?”
Walking over to Megan, Mrs. Maybaum pointed to one. “That’s mine. The family tree. Maybelle Trimble. I was nine years old when I started it. All the girls in my family started one when they were nine. That was one of our family traditions.”
“It’s a beautiful sampler. They’re all beautiful.” Megan pointed to Lovina’s. “I think that one’s interesting, but the poem is so sad, and the sampler isn’t finished. Why wasn’t it finished?”
Mrs. Maybaum gently traced the stitching to where it stopped. “This was our daughter’s sampler. She was a good girl—too good to live.”
“I’m sorry.” Megan reached out and squeezed the old lady’s hand.
“It’s all right, dear,” she said. “She died a long time ago. We wish … well … we’re sad that there won’t be any more samplers.”
That evening Megan looked up from her position on the floor to where Grandma was working out on her walking machine. “Grandma, why does Mrs. Maybaum say ‘we’ when she talks to me? She lives alone, doesn’t she?”
Grandma paused in her walking and looked at Megan. “Yes, but I guess that she doesn’t feel alone and still includes her husband in her conversation. Does it bother you?”
“A little,” Megan admitted. “She’s the first really old, old person I’ve known.”
“And what do you think of her?”
“Well, she’s weird, but it’s a nice sort of weird. Do you think she’d mind if I visit her again?”
Grandma smiled. “I’m sure that she’d enjoy another visit.”
Megan sat up and traced the pattern in the rug with her finger. “Have you seen her samplers?”
“Of course. Why do you ask?”
“Then you’ve seen the one that isn’t finished, the one her daughter did.”
“Yes, Lovina died before she could finish it.”
“Did you know her, Grandma?”
“Oh, yes. In fact, we were friends.”
“Why did she die?”
“Lovina died because no one knew how to make her better, Megan. She was always sickly. She couldn’t go out, so I used to visit her once a week. We would make dolls—hollyhock dolls, cornhusk dolls, and paper dolls. Sometimes we had tea parties with honey taffy and lemonade for them. Lovina’s dolls looked alive, and she made the most beautiful clothes for them. She couldn’t wait to make her sampler. On her ninth birthday she got a basket and some little embroidery scissors shaped like a stork.”
“Why did Mrs. Maybaum say that there wouldn’t be any more samplers?”
“Well, she has only a son left. And he has only sons.”
“I wish that I could make her a sampler. But I guess that it wouldn’t be the same.”
“No, it wouldn’t be the same,” Grandma said, “but if you’re serious, I think that it would be very special for her.”
“Could you show me how?”
“Don’t you want her to show you?”
“I wanted to surprise her.”
“Surprises are fun, Megan,” Grandma said, sitting down by Megan and putting her arm around her, “but Mrs. Maybaum’s family weren’t just handing down stitched pictures. The art of making the pictures was the real treasure being passed on. I think that it would mean a lot to Mrs. Maybaum to pass her art on to someone.”
“Is a family treasure the same as a family tradition? That’s what she called it. Do we have any family traditions?”
“Yes, a family tradition really is a treasure—and yes, we have some family treasures.”
“What are they, Grandma?”
Grandma smiled mysteriously. All she said was, “The best treasures have to be discovered, don’t they?”
It was several days before Megan knocked at Mrs. Maybaum’s door again.
“Well, it’s Helen’s granddaughter again. Come in! Come in! We were hoping you’d come see us again.”
When they were settled in the living room, Megan blurted out, “Mrs. Maybaum, would you teach me how to do a sampler? I’m nine now, and I’ll be here five more weeks.”
Mrs. Maybaum leaned back in her chair. “Are you sure? It’s not as easy as it looks. And you’d have to do it right.”
Megan smiled eagerly. “I’m sure. And I promise to do it just like you want.”
When she talked to Grandma later, Megan said, “I’m to design my sampler before I go back. She said that it should be something that’s important to me.”
Megan was very nervous when she showed her design to Mrs. Maybaum the following week. “This is my family,” she explained to the old lady. “Mom’s in her uniform, Dad’s on his oil rig, and my two brothers—they’re visiting my other grandparents right now—are playing ball. In the middle I want it to say, ‘Home is where the heart is,’ because even though we move a lot, we love each other and take care of each other wherever we are. That’s our family tradition. What do you think?”
“We think that it’s exactly right. Now you’re ready to start.”
Mrs. Maybaum showed Megan how to trace her pattern onto the fabric, then put it in the hoop. She showed her how to hold it while she pushed the needle through.
When Megan went home that day, she was carrying a practice scrap of fabric, fabric for her sampler, and a pair of small, stork-shaped scissors in Lovina’s basket. “Mrs. Maybaum insisted that I borrow them, Grandma,” she said.
Megan’s hands were clumsy at first as she tried to make the tiny stitches, and they got tired and crampy. The thread kept knotting up, and many times Megan longed to throw the sampler away. Then she’d look at the stork scissors and the basket and try again.
After a while, the front began to look a little like her drawing. But the back was a mess! There were knots that she couldn’t get out, and big clumps and crisscrosses of thread. Mrs. Maybaum would be very disappointed.
Suddenly Mom was back from her seminar, and it was time for Megan to go home. She hurried over one last time to Mrs. Maybaum’s.
“We were afraid that you wouldn’t have time to come and say good-bye,” the old lady said. “Here’s some honey taffy for you and your mother.” She held out a parcel with a hollyhock doll for a bow. “Now, let us have a last look at your sampler.”
Megan handed her the sampler with the top side up. She thrust Lovina’s basket and scissors along with it, trying to prevent Mrs. Maybaum from turning the sampler over. “Here are Lovina’s things, Mrs. Maybaum. I took good care of them.”
“Megan, we’d like you to have them if you want them. It would please us to know that they were being used and appreciated.”
“I’d love to have them—but I just can’t take them. I don’t deserve them, Mrs. Maybaum. My sampler isn’t right.”
“It looks fine to us. What’s wrong with it?”
When Megan turned the sampler over, the old lady held it up. “It certainly is a mess,” she acknowledged. She got up and took Lovina’s off the wall, pulled the cardboard backing from it, and showed the back of it to Megan.
Megan stared in astonishment. It was every bit as messy as hers!
“Mine’s even worse,” Mrs. Maybaum laughed. “Most of them are. Samplers are for learning—you’ll do better next time.”
Megan got up and gave the old lady a big hug. “Thank you, Mrs. Maybaum. Thank you for everything.”

As Heber J. Grant matured, his faith in God also matured. His wife lay critically ill, and Heber J. Grant called his children into her hospital room and told them that their mother was going to die. President Grant’s daughter, upon learning of this, pleaded with her father not to let her mother die. She pleaded with him to exercise his priesthood in her behalf. She and his other children left the room and President Grant knelt by his wife’s bed. Of that prayer President Grant said:
“I told the Lord, I acknowledged his hand in life and in death, in joy or in sorrow, in prosperity or adversity. I did not complain because my wife was dying, but that I lacked the strength to see my wife die and have her death affect the faith of my children in the ordinances of the gospel. I therefore pleaded with him to give to my daughter Lutie a testimony that it was his will that her mother should die. Within a few short hours, my wife breathed her last. Then I called the children into the bedroom and announced that their mamma was dead. My little boy Heber commenced weeping bitterly, and Lutie put her arms around him and kissed him, and told him not to cry, that the voice of the Lord had said to her, ‘In the death of your mamma the will of the Lord will be.’ Lutie knew nothing of my prayers, and this manifestation to her was a direct answer to my supplication to the Lord, and for it I have never ceased to be grateful.”