Gospel Story Finder

Then there is that other promise—that they shall have “great treasures of knowledge, even hidden treasures” (D&C 89:19). I think of an experience once told me by one of our Sunday School teachers. One Sunday while they were discussing the Word of Wisdom, someone asked what was meant by hidden treasures of knowledge.
The teacher stuttered and stammered and was saved by the bell. He told the class that they would consider the matter the following Sunday.
During the week he pondered the question but felt that he could not come up with an answer. Near the end of the week, he had lunch with a colleague. The man told him that at one time while traveling, he found himself passing a Latter-day Saint Church building. He concluded to go in to see how the Latter-day Saints worshiped.
The man reported that it was a peculiar kind of service—that one after another stood up in the congregation, told of their experiences, expressed their gratitude, and then almost without exception testified that they knew that God lives, that Jesus Christ is His Son, our living Redeemer. The man drove up the highway that afternoon, saying to himself, Surely these people have knowledge hidden from the world.
Ponder that thought for a moment.

“It’s my turn to play with the ball!” Seth said. “Your turn is up.”
“No, it’s not!” Adam hugged the ball. Tears filled his eyes. “You always get to play with it longer than I do!”
The ball was from Aunt Jill. It bounced very high. It lit up when it hit the floor. It was their favorite toy from Christmas.
It was hard for Seth to share. It was hard for Adam to share.
Seth frowned. It felt like he was all scrunched up inside. He didn’t like the way he felt.
Then Seth thought about something. His Primary teacher said making good choices can help us feel good inside. She said making a bad choice can make us feel bad inside.
Am I making a bad choice? Seth wondered.
Maybe fighting with his brother wasn’t a good choice. But how could he be kind to Adam and still get to play with his favorite ball?
Seth had an idea. His angry face turned into a happy face.
“Hey, why don’t we play with it together?” Seth asked. “We can bounce it to each other.”
Question for You
How can you be kind when you are playing?
“OK,” Adam said. “That sounds fun!”
Adam bounced the ball to Seth. Seth laughed and bounced it back.
Lights flashed across the floor. Seth felt lighter inside too.

Answer: A bright spot was my Young Women class. I had a teacher who taught right at my level. She’s since moved away, and I wish I could tell her what she meant to me. I don’t remember what she taught exactly, but I remember feeling like I belonged there.
Another thing that really helped were temple trips. Even though I often felt worthless and didn’t think anyone cared about me, I enjoyed the spark of light and goodness of the temple. I often felt the Spirit there. One trip in particular made a difference. It started out bad because one of the older girls said something hurtful to me. But later that day, she apologized and gave me a hug. And I learned that I really liked hugs! After that, I asked her for a hug every Sunday. One Sunday I sat down in sacrament meeting without getting a hug from her. And she came up to me and said, “Where’s my hug?” with a smile. I felt so surprised and special that she sought me out and showed me love. She and I became closer and closer friends. I know hugs don’t help everyone, but they helped me.
Answer: Sure! She was the craziest, most energetic person I have ever known. She seemed to have never-ending amounts of happiness to share. She greeted me with so much enthusiasm and love every Sunday and gave me a hug. Her dose of goodness seemed to be just what I needed. I would carry it with me during the week. Over time, I began to accept that what she said was true. The Spirit was working on me. This is when my behavior finally started to improve in a lasting way. And my suicidal thoughts, which I’d had about a year, went away, though I still had to work on how I felt about myself.

Missionaries do not sleep in late, and David has learned to get up early: On school days, the family is usually awake by 6:00 A.M. so that everyone can eat, dress, have prayers, and read the scriptures before the bus comes at 7:15. During the summer, they get up at 6:00 A.M. to help in the family’s large garden for an hour before Dad leaves to work in nearby Lexington.

As someone with major depressive disorder and obsessive-compulsive disorder, I faced this reality for many years. I didn’t know how the Spirit felt. When my symptoms became bad during college, I ended up in the hospital for a week.
During those dark times inside my mind, I wondered how these illnesses would help me in the long run. How would God use this troubling experience for my good? What purpose did He have for me in giving me this trial?
I asked for priesthood blessings during this time, and there was always one sentence I heard repeatedly: “God has given you the resources to overcome this trial.” Having faith that He would lead me to what I needed in order to heal, I decided to trust my doctors. Little by little, I got the help I needed. Over time, I shared my mental health journey online.

There is a better gift, but it will take effort now. My dad, when he was a boy, must have tackled the rowboat problem and lots of others. That was part of the equipment he needed to become a scientist who would make a difference to chemistry. But he also made a difference to me. Our family room didn’t look as elegant as some. It had one kind of furniture—chairs—and one wall decoration—a green chalkboard. I came to the age your boy or girl will reach. I didn’t wonder if I could work the math problems; I’d proved to my satisfaction that I couldn’t. And some of my teachers were satisfied that that was true too.

But Dad wasn’t satisfied. He thought I could do it. So we took turns at that chalkboard. I can’t remember the gifts my dad wrapped and gave to me. But I remember the chalkboard and his quiet voice. His teaching took more than knowing what I needed and caring. It took more than being willing to give his time then, precious as it was. It took time he had spent earlier when he had the chances you have now. Because he had spent time then, he and I could have that time at the chalkboard and he could help me.

And because he gave me that, I’ve got a boy who let me sit down with him one year. We rowed that same boat up and down. And his teacher wrote “much improved” on his report card. But I’ll tell you what improved most: the feelings of a fine boy about himself. Nothing I will put under a Christmas tree for Stuart has half the chance of becoming a family heirloom that his pride of accomplishment does.

All of these fundamentals—telling, showing, and involving—were dynamically present in the life and work of a truly great University of Utah football coach of a generation ago. He was the unforgettable Ike Armstrong, for at least 25 years the unexcelled mentor of the Utah Redskins. As a youth I found the utmost exhilaration in playing football at the university under Coach Armstrong. I found an outlet for my love of athletics. To him football not only provided a vehicle for the development of skills, ideals, and leadership, it personified life—and life at its best. To him the game afforded an unrivaled opportunity to teach not only football prowess, but also courage, duty, dependability, perseverance, integrity, and enthusiasm, which resulted in physical, emotional, and even spiritual conditioning at the highest level. Coach Armstrong was a fierce competitor and loved to win, but even more he loved to see his players become responsible, honorable, and goal-oriented young men, faithful to the loftiest ideals. The end product was to be nothing less than character of the most solid kind.

Beyond these ideals Coach Armstrong taught basic, fundamental, hard football. He emphasized the fact that if each play were perfectly executed, it would result in a touchdown. But achieving that perfect play, he stressed, was only possible if each player performed his responsibility and assignment perfectly. This meant that each lineman and backfield man would have to do a perfect job of blocking out his opponent, that the center would have to pass the ball to the quarterback with bull’s-eye accuracy and timing, and that the ball carrier would have to execute the play as called.

I can assure you that it didn’t always work this way, anymore than life itself can be directed or lived without some trial and error. However, if ultimate success is to be achieved in either football or life, there can be no compromising of the ideals or the effort. And, as in all things, it is frequently necessary to pick up the pieces, reevaluate the resources and the goals, never tiring of making the second effort.

I recall a glorious November Indian summer afternoon at the Ute stadium in 1937. Our opponent was the University of Colorado. The star of that team was Byron “Whizzer” White, a versatile, fast, powerful, and innovative quarterback. He has since been a Rhodes Scholar and is presently Associate Justice on the bench of our country’s Supreme Court. Utah kicked off to Colorado. Whizzer plucked the ball out of the air five yards behind the goal line and with enormous speed side-stepped every one of Utah’s 11 players, each one of whom touched him as he sped past. He ran the entire length of the field, plus five yards, to a roaring touchdown. It was a heart-stopping, hair-raising performance, the longest, most spectacular run of the year in our conference.

At our post-game evaluation session, Ike demonstrated how it might have been possible for any one of the Utes to stop Whizzer, if he had played up to his potential. I recount this unforgettable experience to emphasize that success in life depends upon the development of qualities that are often neglected. A let-down in morale and high purpose is usually a forerunner of failure.

We all need to know what it means to be honest. Honesty is more than not lying. It is truth telling, truth speaking, truth living, and truth loving. John, a nine-year-old Swiss pioneer child who was in one of the handcart companies, is an example of honesty. His father put a chunk of buffalo meat in the handcart and said it was to be saved for Sunday dinner. John said, “I was so very hungry and the meat smelled so good to me while pushing at the handcart that I could not resist. I had a little pocket knife. … Although I expected a severe whipping when father found it out, I cut off little pieces each day. I would chew them so long that they got white and perfectly tasteless. When father came to get the meat he asked me if I had been cutting off some of it. I said ‘Yes. I was so hungry I could not let it alone.’ Instead of giving me a scolding or whipping, father turned away and wiped tears from his eyes.”

Several weeks ago in a neighborhood not far from my home, dozens of bright, yellow balloons were seen floating from every tree branch and light post lining a winding, three-block road. It was a beautiful sight on that hazy winter day. Senses were stirred as one drove with anticipation along that friendly, colorful street. Around each bend in the road rose the yellow balloons, waving upward to the top of the hill where a sign warmly proclaimed, “Welcome home, Brigham!” I had heard of Brigham Fordham only a few months ago when I was told of this young eighteen-year-old’s tragic accident that left him paralyzed. I only now discovered that this was his home and his homecoming from the hospital.
I noticed the ramp that had been built to the front of the house and thought of other changes that would have been made in his home to accommodate the changes in his life. There will be changes in Brigham’s family, too, I thought. Life will be different for all the Fordhams—and difficult.
But, as the yellow balloons brightly signaled to Brigham and to all who had the opportunity to travel this street, his was a caring home where family love and strength would be found.

I committed myself to prepare so that one day I’d be ready and worthy to enter. Even before receiving my temple endowment, I’d drive three hours just to sit at the temple grounds to pray, ponder, and write in my journal. Each time I left, I felt a greater sense of strength and confidence that I could face the challenges and struggles in my life.

Priscila Vital, a member of the Rio Negro stake in Manaus, Brazil, had to make a difficult choice about how to celebrate her 15th birthday. Priscila’s birthday would come while her mother, Francilene, was in the middle of a 17-day stake caravan trip to the São Paulo Brazil Temple. Francilene had saved money for three years to go to the temple for the first time, and she had enough money to either take Priscila with her or throw a traditional 15th birthday party upon her return. Priscila’s decision was further complicated because most of the relatives in her tight-knit family were members of other churches and had been eagerly anticipating her birthday for several years. They did not understand the importance of going to the temple.
“All of my aunts and uncles wanted me to stay and have the birthday party, especially because I’m the only girl in my family,” says Priscila. “When I decided to go to the temple, it was a good opportunity for me to show them just how important this was to me.”
For Priscila, giving up her 15th birthday celebration was no sacrifice. “When it was time to come home, I didn’t want to leave,” Priscila remarks. “All I want to do is save money so I can go back to the temple as quickly as possible.”

After I was baptized, the Church became my world. I loved being at church with the other members. I remember many times being there on Saturdays with the deacons, cleaning the chapel and preparing it for Sunday. I also participated in Mutual activities. From seeing the missionaries in Primary and at home, I decided early in my life to go on a mission. When I served my mission, I was very happy. I served two years in the west of Mexico.

Another evidence of the craftsmanship of the people of Takaroa is the tallest building on the island—a beautiful white church built starting in 1891. The building is remarkable for the heritage it represents. Political situations in French Polynesia and the United States forced missionaries to withdraw from the islands in 1852. Missionaries did not return until 1892. But when they did, they found a congregation of 100 on Takaroa that had remained faithful. And these Latter-day Saints were in the process of building a large chapel where they could worship together. Within a month, missionaries baptized and confirmed 33 new members, and the congregation began growing again.

“[Not long ago] I attended a graduation ceremony at a local high school. The students who had been invited to speak for their classmates expressed themselves in terms of the grand and noble challenges that lay before them as they stepped across the threshold into adult life. The adult speakers extolled the virtues and potential of today’s youth and spoke of the horizons to be conquered in future years, the new scientific frontiers to be opened by members of the graduating class, the dread diseases for which cures would be found, and the breakthroughs in diplomacy and human relations that would bring lasting peace to the earth. It was a stimulating, inspiring service.
“As I listened to the impressive addresses on this occasion, I found myself framing in my own mind the things I would have liked to say to this group of young people. I knew that most of them were Latter-day Saints. I knew they came from families where high expectations were held for them, where there was a shared pride in their accomplishments. I also knew about the experiences some of these young people had planned for themselves in the hours and days immediately following the graduation service. I found myself wanting to plead with this graduating class, not about the glorious, obscure years of the dim future when they would hopefully accomplish so much for mankind, but about the here and now. I wanted to say to them, ‘I am not so much concerned about what you do next year or in the next generation; I am worried about what you are going to do tonight and tomorrow when you have handed in your cap and gown. What have you planned? Where will you go? What will you do tonight?’
“I know now, as I record these thoughts, that there were those in that graduating class, as well as some others in similar groups, who willfully, with calculated premeditation, placed themselves in circumstances following their graduation services where they dishonored themselves, their families, their Church, and their Heavenly Father. Their behavior was not intended to become a permanent fixture in their lives. It was done as a lark, a momentary thrill, a dare. But its cumulative effect is devastating. The reverberations will [affect] their lives, and the lives of those who loved and trusted them, in unfortunate and unforeseen ways for indefinite periods of time. Humanity will have slipped inexorably to a lower level. Some will never completely recover, and all mankind will inevitably feel the loss.”

Jamie, age 8 “When my brothers were fighting over who would be first at doing something, I helped them by saying they both could be first. Because I knew I was the peacemaker, I told them in a soft voice instead of yelling at them. It felt good.”

John and I soon met with the missionaries, and they gave us copies of the Book of Mormon. John readily accepted his copy; I was more hesitant. In basic training our only free time was the four hours we had for sleep, and I did not feel like we could waste a precious minute doing anything other than sleep. But John felt differently.
That night as I climbed into my bunk, I noticed a light coming from the bunk next to me. It was John reading the Book of Mormon instead of sleeping. The night guard for our barracks later approached and asked John what he was doing. John matter-of-factly replied, “I’m reading the Book of Mormon.” The guard responded, “Oh, John, you’re not reading those lies are you?” I grimaced on the top bunk. I knew I should defend John and the Book of Mormon, but I cowardly decided to roll over and act like I was asleep.
John climbed out of his bunk, stood up, and, addressing the guard boldly, stated, “This is another testament of Jesus Christ. You take that back.”
I lay in anguish all that night. I had failed to defend my God and my training partner. I felt like I had denied my Christ and denied my discipleship. I, who was a certified minister, had lain in bed, while John, after having the Book of Mormon for only a few hours, had bravely stood up to defend it. Overcome with shame and embarrassment, I knew that the only thing I could do was to read the Book of Mormon for myself.
As I began to read, it wasn’t long before I gained a testimony that the Book of Mormon is another testament of Jesus Christ. I was so excited and knew I had to share the good word with my adopted family. I wrote home to my pastor and eagerly explained what I’d learned. I was surprised, confused, and mostly sad when he wrote back telling me I could never go home to them again unless I stopped going to the LDS Church and reading the Book of Mormon. I wanted to remain close to my family, but by then I knew the Book of Mormon is true and that I would do everything in my power never to let God down again, even if it meant giving up my family (see Matthew 10:37–39).
So I did what I had to do. I got baptized.

Janarthn liked going to church each week. He didn’t want to miss a single Sunday! He was the only child in his family, so his friends in Primary were like his siblings. He liked learning about Jesus with them and singing with them. His mom went to church with him, but his dad never did. Dad wasn’t a member of the Church.
One night at dinner, Janarthn asked, “Dad, why don’t you come to church with us?”
Dad looked up from his plate. “I’m pretty busy on Sundays.”
“But, Dad, it’s important to keep the Sabbath day holy,” Janarthn said. “It says so in the scriptures.”
Mom looked surprised. “You really listened during your lessons at church. But it’s OK that your dad doesn’t come with us. He helps us in many other ways.”
While Janarthn got ready for bed, he thought about what it would be like if Dad came to church. He sometimes felt a little sad when he saw his friends sitting with their parents. He wished Dad could be there with him and Mom.
Before bed, Janarthn knelt to pray. “Dear Heavenly Father,” he said, “please let my dad have time on Sundays so he can come with Mom and me. I’d really like to sit with him at church.”
One Sunday a few weeks later, Mom called Janarthn to her room.
“I’m sorry, but we can’t go to church today,” she said. “I’m not feeling well.”
Janarthn frowned. “But I will miss my friends and the lesson today. I really want to go to church.”
“Don’t worry,” Mom said. “It’s just one Sunday. And if you want, we can call your Primary teacher so you know what the lesson is about.”
Janarthn kissed Mom’s forehead. “It’s OK. Just rest, Mom. I know Heavenly Father will know why I can’t come to church today.”
Janarthn went to his room and grabbed a copy the Friend magazine. Even if he couldn’t go to church, he could still read the stories to keep the Sabbath holy.
“Janarthn!” Dad called.
Janarthn came out of his room. “What is it, Dad?”
Dad was smiling. “Get dressed. I know how much you like church, and I don’t want you to miss it. I’ll go with you.”
Janarthn’s eyes widened. He couldn’t believe it! He had a big smile while he hurried to get ready.
At church Janarthn introduced Dad to his friends. Dad sat beside him during sacrament meeting. Janarthn felt so happy to be with his dad at church!
After the meeting, Dad said, “I need to go somewhere. I will pick you up after your Primary class, OK?”
“OK,” Janarthn said. He wished Dad would stay, but he was glad he had come. It really was a great Sunday surprise!
Illustrations by Nadiyah Suyatna

We buy a pair of black shoes for work. Over time, we need a brown pair for weekends. Then we need a blue pair to match the new outfit we just bought, but they won’t go with our favorite outfit—white shoes would look better with that. Soon we have 10 or 15 pairs of shoes. However, we still only have one pair of feet!

When I reflect on my life there has never been a moment when I doubted that the Church was true. In my youth, raised in a Mormon community, testimony was never a question among my peers because virtually all of our activities centered on the Church. Belief was automatic. Without seminary there was almost no dialogue about our knowledge or our understanding of the gospel. The Church was just there and we were a part of it. Then I was called to serve a full-time mission in the Spanish-American Mission, working with the Mexican people.
My companion and I entered the mission field at the same time and for some reason, unknown to us, we were assigned to begin our missionary labors together. Neither one of us knew the Spanish language, and both of us were virtually illiterate in the gospel. (This was before there were any Missionary Training Centers.) We were timid, untrained, and a little frightened, but eager to start to work.
In those days there were very few member referrals. We knocked on doors from morning to night and did our best to communicate with the Mexican people, using a few words of Spanish and a lot of English. For the first time in my life I was required to bear my testimony to nonmembers who had little knowledge or respect for the Church. It was a challenging and humbling experience.
One day, to our surprise, we met a couple who brought out a Book of Mormon, saying that in their church they also used this sacred book as scripture. We were overjoyed until they began to criticize us and mock the doctrines of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. We discovered that they were missionaries from another religion who had been serving for 11 years. They were very knowledgeable and skilled in using the scriptures. My companion and I were no match for them. We were just boys fresh off the farm. They totally intimidated us, demeaned us, and tried to destroy our faith. In my heart I prayed for divine help.
Then, as I looked at that couple, a remarkable feeling came over me. For the first time in my life I felt the power of the Spirit rest upon me. Although I was somewhat ignorant, unlearned in the things of the gospel and the world, there was an absolute assurance that I held the holy priesthood of God and that they did not! That I was His minister of truth and they were not! With all the power of my soul I told them that I knew we were just boys and that we were not experts in the doctrine of our religion, but I knew that what we were doing was correct, that the Church was true, and that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God. They were silenced. They could not refute my testimony.
The testimony I bore that day was different than any other I had ever given. It was not a passive thing, nor simply an accepted thing. It was real. I knew it. And my testimony which began at that moment has grown stronger and stronger every day of my life. There is no doubt, you see, for it is true!

After learning about the importance of temples, the activity days girls of the Oakdale First Ward, Modesto California North Stake, constructed the Oakland California Temple from sugar cubes, ice-cream cones, and glue. They used approximately 1,700 sugar cubes!