Gospel Story Finder

I know of another young man who recently returned from Vietnam. He told of the close bond of love in his family. He said, “My buddies tried to persuade me to go into Saigon and ‘live it up.’ This went on day after day, but I kept thinking of my family and their influence and the memories of our family home evenings and of my patriarchal blessing. It seemed to give me the courage I needed to resist them.”
He then said, “I got out my blessing and read it and reread it. It promised me a temple marriage if I was worthy. After a while, my buddies were impressed with my conviction. They started to respect me and then wanted to know more.”

On 12 June 1983, Elder Howard W. Hunter created the Suva Fiji Stake and called Inosi as its first president. “I didn’t know what to say, because I think there were men who were more capable of fulfilling the calling,” he remembers. “But I am grateful to have been able to serve my brothers and sisters on this island. It has been a great privilege and opportunity.”

The woods were quiet where I walked;
No songbirds sang, no squirrels talked.
The leaves were crumbled on the ground,
Not rustling with a treetop sound.
The stream that bubbled in the fall
Was ice and didn’t speak at all.
I heard some footsteps on the stone;
They were just mine and mine alone.

When I want to take the dollar that is sitting on the shelf
And go down to the drugstore so I can treat myself,
And I’m sure Mom won’t remember that she left it there last night,
I tell myself that only I
Can make me choose the right.

Which of the following possible solutions would you prefer if you were the roommate at fault?
5. Bring your concerns to her attention after prayer and a good family home evening lesson on “cleanliness is next to godliness” or “do unto others as you would have them do unto you” or “you are a good roommate and I enjoy living with you, and because of my feelings for you, I thought you might want to know of my discomfort and concern for the way we manage our apartment—mainly dirty dishes in the sink.” Then, under the influence of the Spirit and your love for her, work out a satisfactory solution that is comfortable for both of you. Honest evaluation and sharing of ideas in the spirit of helping is generally successful.

Recently our seven-year-old son, Wade, had his appendix rupture. The infection had spread throughout his abdomen, yet from outward appearances nothing seemed seriously wrong. Without proper medical care and attention he would have surely died.

Not long after that, on a sunny morning in May 1966, something remarkable occurred in Walter’s life, and in the lives of all Latter-day Saints in Brazil and Latin America: The first stake in this part of the world was organized in the city of São Paulo, Brazil. It consisted of seven wards and three branches, and Elder Spencer W. Kimball proposed that they sustain as their president Brother Walter Spät.

The stake included far-flung regions of the largest city in South America, one of the most heavily populated in the world. President Spät relied on the strength of his high council to help the wards and to train new leadership. His efforts to establish and strengthen ward and stake leadership in an area that had been a mission earned him the respect of the members.

Mark Grover, a missionary in Brazil at the time Walter was stake president, recalls: “He didn’t show emotion easily, but he cared tremendously. He was an incredible stake president. He got things done—and made sure they were done right, and in the way the Lord would have him do it.”

I was stressed out. I’d lost one of my library books and my teacher told me I had to bring it in the next day or I’d get in trouble. My mum and I looked around the whole house, searching under every couch and looking through every bookcase. We couldn’t find it anywhere. I was nervous about getting in trouble at school. My mum suggested we take another look around the house. We double-checked every place and looked in places we hadn’t thought about before. But we still had no luck.
Then my mum suggested that we say a prayer. We knelt down together on the wooden floors and prayed, asking Heavenly Father that we might be able to find my lost book and that everything would be OK. We closed the prayer together and then my mum looked at me and asked, “Where do you feel we should look?” I answered immediately, “My bookshelf.” We’d looked a number of times all through that bookshelf and hadn’t been able to find it, but we still walked into my bedroom to search again. Something immediately caught my attention: a book was hanging on its side, halfway out among the other books. I pulled it out and, sure enough, it was my lost book. I was overjoyed and then knelt down again with my mum and thanked Heavenly Father for answering my prayers.

One of the things my family and I do to overcome challenges—or to keep from having them—is to have a family council during family home evening. My mom and dad take turns leading, and we discuss what we need to improve.
For example, recently my family and I haven’t been doing very much service. So my parents challenged us to write on pieces of paper “You have just been served. Now it’s your turn!” We left these pieces of paper after performing a secret service. These papers got passed along and made everyone happier and more willing to serve others.

“I grew up in the city, but each summer I stayed with a farmer in our branch for two or three weeks, and I learned to enjoy farming. One day while we were working in a field and the cows needed to be brought up the hill to pasture, the farmer said, ‘I’ll take the wagon down to get the cows.’ I asked, ‘Can I do that?’ He replied, ‘Do you think that you can do it?’ I was small for my age, but I was happy that he thought that I could do the job.”

One thing that seemed to contradict some people’s preconceptions was Joseph Smith’s friendly disposition. Even members of the Church who met him for the first time were pleasantly surprised to find him to be such an agreeable, cheerful person. One Latter-day Saint, whose initial act upon arriving in Kirtland, Ohio, was to visit Joseph, wrote: “I thought he was a queer man for a Prophet. … He didn’t appear exactly as I expected to see a Prophet of God. However, I was not stumbled [did not waver] at all. I found him to be a friendly, cheerful, pleasant, agreeable man. I could not help liking him.”2 And a convert remarked to a friend in England that Joseph Smith was “no saintish long-faced fellow, but quite the reverse. Indeed some [had second thoughts] because he is such a straight forward, plain spoken, cheerful man, but that makes me love him the more.”3

Joseph enjoyed his family. There are dozens of references in his official diary that read like this one of March 27, 1834: “Remained at home and had great joy with my family.” Indeed, according to a cousin, George A. Smith, one convert-family apostatized because, when they arrived in Kirtland from the East, Joseph came downstairs from the room where he had been translating “by the gift and power of God” and began to romp and play with his children.7 In their view, this was not proper behavior for a prophet! The Prophet’s journal mentions going with his family to musical concerts, the theater, circus performances, and taking excursions on Mississippi River boats.

With just a handful of minutes left, David’s agent, Bob Bernhardt, came up to the fence. A jockey himself until he got too heavy, Bob is aware of the qualities it takes to make a good rider. “I watched David ride in Denver this spring. I asked someone if he had any experience and was told to keep an eye on him, that he would probably make a rider. He was getting up early in the morning and galloping but wasn’t racing much. I knew he was light, that he worked hard and deserved a shot at it. So, we got together. It was one of those things that you do because you feel you should.”
As his agent, Bob talks with the various owners and trainers to arrange rides for David. He promotes his jockey, even to the point of boasting, by pointing out when he is riding well. Bob also handles travel and living arrangements for the two of them.
Others advised Bob to choose other jockeys instead of David. “I don’t know, there was just something about Dave that made me want to become his agent. As far as I was concerned, he had a lot more potential than other apprentice jockeys in Denver at the time. It’s working out that way; he’s going to be a good rider. He had ridden only eight head the first three weeks of the meet; then we were able to arrange over 30 rides the following week. One day he rode three winners in six races.
“Dave takes care of himself. He doesn’t party, smoke, or drink. He’s serious about racing.”

I would like to thank you for Elder Delbert L. Stapley’s message on standards in the May issue. I was really becoming discouraged because many of my friends at school have low standards. This article made me thankful for who I am and for the standards that I follow.
Mary Ellen DavisColumbia, Missouri

The ancient Greeks of Sparta used a scytale, or wooden baton, to code their messages. A leather strip was wound in a spiral around the baton, and a message was then written along the wrapped strip. When the strip was removed, the message resembled a jumbled group of letters and half-letters. The person who received the message wound the strip around another scytale, and the message became visible.

“My grandparents … taught me about tithing with examples of one egg or one bushel of peaches out of ten. Years later I used those same kinds of examples to try to teach the principles of tithing to our own children.
“Parents are always looking for better ways to teach, and the results of their efforts are sometimes unexpected. Attempting to teach tithing to our young son, I explained the principle of a tenth. … When I finished what I was sure was a clear explanation, I wanted to test whether our seven-year-old had understood. I asked him to imagine that he was a farmer with a harvest of eggs and young animals. I supplied the figures and then asked our little boy what he would give to the bishop as tithing. He thought deeply for a moment and then said, ‘I would give him a very old horse.’
“We obviously had some further conversations on the principle of tithing, and I am proud of the way he and his brother and sisters learned and practiced that principle. But I have often thought of that little boy’s words as I have observed how some adult Church members relate to the law of tithing. I think we still have some whose attitude and performance consist of giving the bishop something like ‘a very old horse.’

I saw a boy at school who was alone. I invited him to be friends with me, and now we are friends!
William P., age 7, Durham, England

As a young girl growing up in communist Czechoslovakia, I was always trying to discover the purpose of my life. As I looked at my parents and at other adults around me, I wondered: Is this the life I will have to live after finishing school? Will I always be tired, unhappy, without any freedom? Life seemed meaningless.
I didn’t believe in God, because nobody had ever taught me about him. In fact, the communists taught us in school that there is no God, no life after death, and no spirit. So why do I live? I wondered. Without a purpose in life, I did not have any desire to be better. I was very unhappy.
One day in 1989, while I was a student at a university, one of my schoolmates took me to a meeting where a small group of young people were listening to the words of an older man. He spoke with great authority, and I was impressed. I learned that he was Otakar Vojkuvka from Brno, Czechoslovakia, and that he was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. As he spoke about God and about the purpose of our lives, I knew he was telling the truth. His words were medicine for my spirit! I was so happy.
Suddenly I knew that I was not a worthless piece of matter living just by chance—but that I was actually a child of God! I received the Book of Mormon, read it, and had no doubts about its truthfulness. And as I discovered these truths, I had the feeling that I had known these things before. It seemed to me that I was awakening, taking off dark glasses, and seeing the truth clearly.
At that time, missionaries were not allowed in Czechoslovakia. But that fall, Czechs gained freedom through the “velvet revolution,” and the Church received official recognition in the country in March 1990. I was baptized in May of that year.
My life totally changed. It became a joy to study, because now there was purpose in life. I made many friends, tried to be a better person and to do what is right, and started to realize what it means to be happy. I finally knew why I was alive.
With this new-found happiness and purpose, I had great desires to serve a mission. In May 1992, two years after my baptism, I received a call to serve a mission in my native Czechoslovakia. Soon I found myself standing with my suitcases at the bus station in my first city, which was not too far from my home. I was really happy on my mission. I learned patience and tolerance—and had the wonderful privilege of sharing with others what I had learned about the purpose and meaning of life.
Now I have completed my full-time mission and live in Prague, Czech Republic. Occasionally I see people I taught as a missionary, some of whom were baptized. We are still friends. I am happy now because I know what love, charity, and service are. I want to live in such a way that I can fulfill the meaning of my life on this earth. And that is possible only through the gospel of Jesus Christ.

My father’s a soldier and is fighting in a war a long way from us. But Mother and I get letters regularly that help bring him home for a while. First, we read my letter and laugh at the funny things he writes. When my mother opens her letter, however, she sits by the window and reads it alone. Once in a while she reads me part of it, but mostly she reads it silently, then stares out over the fields for a quiet time.
Once I even saw Mother cry, and I knew she must really be missing him. That was only for a minute, though, and I pretended not to see. Then she wiped her eyes on her apron, folded the letter, and put it into a box. When she stood up, she smiled. “We must keep busy, Carrie,” she said as she smoothed my hair with a gentle hand. “Would you like to pin the pattern for me so I can cut more material?”
I like to work with Mother. We talk about many things, like Father and the war or school; and before I even know it, time has passed, and I am hemming one apron as she is sewing the seams of the second.
One day as we worked, a heavy knock sounded at our door and I jumped up from my chair to see who it was. “Hello, Mr. Briggs,” I said as I swung the screen door wide. “Will you please come in? Mother is sewing, but I’ll get her for you.”
He nodded and stood with his hat in his hand, waiting.
“Mother!” I said excitedly. “Mr. Briggs has come to see you.”
She smiled and smoothed her hair, then untied and removed her apron. With her head held high, she went to greet our visitor. “May I offer you a lemonade, Mr. Briggs?” she asked.
“No, thank you, ma’am,” he replied.
I left them alone and stood by the front door, looking at his motor truck parked beyond the front fence, with BRIGGS EMPORIUM emblazoned on the side of it in bold red letters. After only a few minutes, Mr. Briggs came out onto the porch with Mother.
“I’m sorry,” he was saying quietly. “If you’d like, I can keep the aprons and see how business is in Clarion County. The agreement will be the same, Mrs. Clancey. But with times as they are, well …” He shrugged and waited for my mother’s reply.
She nodded and folded her hands, then forced a halfhearted smile. “Yes, do that, Mr. Briggs. It’s the only way they’ll have a chance of being sold. And you did sell quite a few in Nelson last month. Maybe Clarion County will be a better territory.”
Mr. Briggs quickly nodded and said, “I certainly hope so, Mrs. Clancey, for both of us. But may I give you an advance?” he offered. “Just a little, to help you get by? I’m bound to sell some, you know.”
Mother raised her chin slightly and shook her head. “Thank you, but no,” she replied. “If they don’t sell, I’d only have to pay it back. I’ll just wait and see. Now, how much do I owe you for thread?”
After they settled their account, we stood on the porch and waved good-bye as Mr. Briggs and his traveling emporium drove down the dusty lane. Then Mother seemed to slump ever so slightly against the porch railing. She reached into her pocket and drew out some change.
“He could only sell three aprons, Carrie,” she said with a sigh. “It paid for the thread, and that’s about all. What’s left is for tithing. Would you please put it in the jar for me, dear?”
I took the change and frowned. “Maybe you should have taken the advance Mr. Briggs offered, Mother. We’re running out of a lot of things.”
“Mr. Briggs would not have minded, dear, but I would have,” she said with a smile. “Now do as I say. Put the money in the tithing jar, then fetch the pail. We’ll forget about aprons for a little and weed the strawberries.”
I knew we were out of flour and low on soap, but mother was always firm about God’s portion, so I did as I was told. Then I grabbed the pail and joined her on the back porch. She rolled up her sleeves and talked as we walked toward the strawberry patch. As we came closer, we could see white blossoms on the stems, but the nearer we got, the more red dots we saw among the lush green plants. The strawberries were ripe!
She clasped a hand to her mouth in surprise. “Oh, look, Carrie!” she gasped. “Aren’t they lovely? And they’ve gotten ripe without our noticing them at all.”
The aprons were gone from her mind as we knelt to pick the sweet ripe fruit. As I plunked them into the pail, I thought about the aprons, however, and how hard we had worked on them. Then, without considering, I asked, “Do you mind very much that we’re poor, Mother?”
She looked up in shock and quickly brushed back her hair. “Poor … ? Carrie, do you really think we’re poor?”
I was sorry I had spoken in such a thoughtless manner. “Well,” I stammered. “The aprons … I mean, Mr. Briggs sold only three.”
She rubbed the back of her hand against her forehead, then threw back her head and laughed. “Darling, darling, daughter! Where did you ever get the idea that being without money means that we’re poor? Have I made you think that way? If I have,” she said with a smile, “let me explain something. Making and sewing aprons while your father’s away is useful. We make a little extra money and keep busy. But your father sends money home, and we have a roof over our heads, clothes on our backs, food in our stomachs, and we owe no one anything!” Still smiling, she grabbed my hand. “Besides all that, how can you think we’re poor, when we’re sitting in the middle of God’s good strawberries with the juice staining your mouth?”
She pulled me closer and put her arms around me tightly. “Look at that blue sky, Carrie,” she said, pointing heavenward. “Feel the warm breeze. And don’t you realize the amount of love your father and I have for you? All of those are riches—not riches that can be spent—but they’re riches of a far deeper, more lasting kind. They’re blessings from God. What more in all the world could we possibly want—or need?”
I looked at the sky, then smiled and asked a playful question. “Well, how do we tithe our strawberries, Mother?”
She laughed again and replied, “That’s easy, Carrie. We simply find someone to share them with. In fact, after dinner when it’s cooler, we’ll walk down the lane to Mrs. Fremont’s and give her a basketful of strawberries!”
I not only loved mother—I liked her too. She had an answer for everything, and I learned many things at her side. Maybe one of the most important things I learned was what she told me that day. For I began to look for and appreciate all I received, because I finally realized that God’s blessings don’t always come in the way or manner we expect. But somehow they always come—just when they are needed most.

Even in rich nations little children and youth are impaired by neglect. Children growing up in poverty have inferior health care and inadequate educational opportunities. They are also exposed to dangerous environments in their physical and cultural surroundings and even from the neglect of their parents. Elder Jeffrey R. Holland recently shared the experience of an LDS police officer. In an investigation he found five young children huddled together and trying to sleep without bedding on a filthy floor in a dwelling where their mother and others were drinking and partying. The apartment had no food to relieve their hunger. After tucking the children into a makeshift bed, the officer knelt and prayed for their protection. As he walked toward the door, one of them, about six, pursued him, grabbed him by the hand, and pleaded, “Will you please adopt me?”8