Gospel Story Finder

My Sunday School class isn’t always reverent. I love listening to the lesson every week, but sometimes it seems as though others in my class do not. Often they talk to each other or play games on electronic devices while our teacher is trying to teach us. Sadly, I sometimes find myself part of the problem.
One week we were worse than usual, and by the end of class, our teacher was reduced to tears because nobody would listen to her lesson. As we walked out of the classroom, I felt bad for her.
The next Sunday our teacher explained that she had prayed a lot that week, seeking for guidance, and it occurred to her that she needed to show us a Church film. She began the movie, which was about the life of Jesus Christ and the miracles He performed.
As I thought about the film that evening, I felt something different. Suddenly I realized that I was feeling the Spirit, more so than I ever had before. Immediately I decided that I wanted to make changes in my life to be more like the Savior, and I realized the experience in Sunday School that day had greatly strengthened my testimony. I am so thankful for my Sunday School teacher and everything she does for our class every week.

Project Mulberry, by Linda Sue Park. While working on a project for an after-school club, Julia, a Korean American girl, and her friend Patrick not only learn about silkworms, but also about tolerance, patience, and friendship.

Not long ago I was given a copy of the July 1973 New Era (my first), and I was really taken back when I turned the first page and saw a letter in Feedback from the missionary who baptized me last September. In the letter he said that the New Era feeds us the gospel with a spoonful of sugar, and I agree. I found it very hard to put down once I started reading it, and it’s surprising how many new things I learned from that one magazine. I’m looking forward to having regular copies, because I know that they will give me a better knowledge of the gospel in a simpler form. They will also be of great use when I have to give talks, not just because of the interesting articles, but also because I will be able to forget my nervousness a little beforehand by sitting down and browsing through them for a couple of hours!
Maureen Joy Patterson

For the Savior’s mandate to share the gospel to become part of who we are, we need to become converted to the will of God; we need to love our neighbors, share the restored gospel of Jesus Christ, and invite all to come and see. As members of the Church, we cherish the Prophet Joseph’s reply to John Wentworth, the editor of the Chicago Democrat, in 1842. He was requesting information about the Church. Joseph concluded his response by using the “Standard of Truth” as a preface to the thirteen Articles of Faith. The standard conveys, in a concise way, what must be accomplished:
“No unhallowed hand can stop the work from progressing; persecutions may rage, mobs may combine, armies may assemble, calumny may defame, but the truth of God will go forth boldly, nobly, and independent, till it has penetrated every continent, visited every clime, swept every country, and sounded in every ear, till the purposes of God shall be accomplished, and the Great Jehovah shall say the work is done.”

Not long ago my wife, Harriet, and I were at an airport watching magnificent airplanes land. It was a windy day, and fierce gusts of wind whipped against the approaching aircraft, causing each one to swerve and shudder during the approach.
As we observed this struggle between nature and machine, my mind went back to my own flight training and the principles I learned there—and later taught to other pilots in training.
“Don’t fight the controls during turbulence,” I used to tell them. “Stay cool; don’t overreact. Keep your eyes focused on the centerline of the runway. If you deviate from your desired approach path, make prompt but measured corrections. Trust the potential of your airplane. Ride the turbulence out.”
Experienced pilots understand that they can’t always control the things that happen around them. They can’t just turn off the turbulence. They can’t make the rain or snow vanish. They can’t cause the wind to stop blowing or change its direction.
But they also understand that it’s a mistake to fear turbulence or strong winds—and especially to be paralyzed by them. The way to land safely when conditions are less than ideal is to stay on the correct track and glide path as perfectly as possible.
As I watched one airplane after another make its final approach and recalled the principles learned from my years as a pilot, I wondered if there wasn’t a lesson in this for our daily lives.

My parents have made sure that we have always had the Church magazines in our home, but it was only a couple of years ago that I really started to take an interest in the New Era. My testimony has really been strengthened by reading and learning from other people and their experiences. I enjoy reading the comments sent in by all the missionaries around the world, and I wish them success. I am sending the New Era to a nonmember friend who is serving in the Marines, and hopefully it will be a missionary tool. If every member could bring one soul into the Church—just think!
Julie Ann ArgyleAmerican Fork, Utah

The scriptures contain many examples of righteous people who suffered: Abraham, Abinadi, Joseph of Egypt, Joseph Smith, and even Jesus Christ. The fact is, bad things happen to good people. Brother Truman G. Madsen once asked President Hugh B. Brown of the First Presidency (1883–1975) why the Lord would put Abraham through the experience of being asked to sacrifice his own son. Obviously God knew that Abraham would be willing to do anything God commanded, and if that was so, why did the Lord put him through such a test? President Brown answered, “Abraham needed to learn something about Abraham” (Joseph Smith the Prophet [1989], 93).

Thank you so much for printing the question in the July 1995 issue (Questions & Answers). I read it recently, and it answered the same question that I had. A lot of my friends ask me if I am going to pair up with someone. I shake my head and they gape at me. I always wondered if it was okay or not. Then I read Q&A and found my answer. Thanks again.
Nicole GibbonsEltopia, Washington

Nov. 1839 The Prophet met with the president of the United States, who refused the request for redress of the Saints’ grievances in Missouri.

One night, I couldn’t sleep because I was very scared about things that weren’t there. I asked my dad if he would give me a blessing. He gave me one, and my mom tucked me back in bed. Then she pulled out my Bible and starting reading from Psalms. When she got to Psalm 4:8, it was all about my trouble falling asleep! It said, “I will both lay me down in peace, and sleep: for thou, Lord, only makest me dwell in safety.” We said it was “my scripture,” and my mom typed it on a piece of paper for me, and I was able to get to sleep. I know that Heavenly Father puts things in the scriptures to help us. I also know that blessings really help you, and I’m glad my dad has the priesthood so that he can give them to me.
Melanie Fry, age 11Layton, Utah

One of the most memorable activities that I participated in as a youth was a large dance festival. I am quite certain I never would have volunteered for such an activity. However, with some coaxing, I accepted the invitation to participate, even though at first I wasn’t thrilled about the idea.
We practiced a lot, and learning the dances was a slow process. I am grateful for dedicated instructors, for a patient dance partner, and for my mother, who sewed my costume and encouraged me to do my best.
The festival was held at a football stadium. I had never participated in something so large. Each group entertained the crowd as we performed choreographed dances in colorful costumes. Then the football field literally filled with dancers as all of us performed a closing number together. It turned out to be an impressive show.
I enjoyed that dance festival a lot more than I thought I would. It allowed me to view the Church in a different way. I saw vast numbers of youth having a great time. I met new friends, I developed new skills, and I played a small part in a big production that entertained thousands.
Because I accepted the invitation to dance in that festival—and other invitations that have come to me in the Church—my life has been blessed, and I have had the chance to bless others. I feel so privileged to have had so many wonderful experiences as a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

I recall clearly my first profound experience of personal revelation. I was 17 years old. It happened in my parents’ home in Suva, Fiji. I was in my bedroom alone, reading from the Book of Mormon with a determined desire to know for myself if the book was true. This was the challenge that full-time missionaries Elder Rian Nelson and Elder Randy Price had given me after their lesson on the Prophet Joseph Smith and how he had received gold plates from an angel, and then translated the text into English.
Those missionaries read passages from the Book of Mormon during our discussion and they shared strong and enlightening testimonies. I was touched deeply, and I wanted to know for myself if what they had shared was truly of God . . . and I wanted to say what they said with the same conviction and confidence.
I read 3 Nephi chapter 11. Almost immediately I began to understand and become enlightened. I visualized the Savior, Jesus Christ, descending out of heaven and standing amidst the multitude with outstretched hands, inviting them to come unto Him, to feel the prints of the nails in His hands and in His feet. This they did one by one, and afterwards, they fell to the earth and worshipped Him as the promised Messiah2.
Feelings of warmth, comfort and peace overcame my whole person and I cried tears of love, gratitude, and appreciation for the Lord and for His mission of love and mercy. Instantly I recognized this was a spiritual witness from heaven . . . that what I was reading and feeling was true and of God.
The wonderful feelings I had experienced with the missionaries the day before returned, but this time I was alone. The influence of the Holy Ghost was personal and powerful. I did not want this precious moment to end. I knew then what personal revelation was. Whenever I have shared that experience over the past 40 years, that sweet reassuring witness of the Holy Ghost fills my heart.

In high school, the top three results of my career aptitude test were:
Model
Professional athlete
Stuntman
None of these made me think I’d be a professor at Brigham Young University studying pornography use and sexuality. But here I am.
Why? Because I’ve seen how many happy relationships are wounded by the dishonest interactions, conflict, and violations of marital commitments that sometimes occur when a partner uses pornography or has a distorted view of sex.
But I’ve also seen healing, joy, and confidence when people choose to turn to Christ and embrace a gospel-centered understanding of sexual intimacy.

The small farmhouse appeared dreamlike in the predawn Florida mist that enveloped it and the surrounding swamplands. A large white ibis resting atop a darkened tree shape started at the sound of a screen door banging closed. A young girl ran from the farmhouse toward an as yet invisible landing on the edge of the swamp. She was crying and carrying a large doll with a broken right leg.
Cassie Gunnerson climbed into one of three wooden boats, untethered the rope that secured it to the pier, and shoved off into the gray silence. Using a long pole, she pushed with angry, tearful grunts against the soggy bottom of the shallow water.
The ibis blinked its eye, and the eleven-year-old girl was gone, swallowed up by the mist.
It wasn’t long before Cassie’s twelve-year-old brother, Nathan, and their parents, were up and searching for her. “We got in a fight, Pa,” Nathan sheepishly admitted as he and his parents scoured the mangrove thickets on the outer edge of the field. No one bothered to call to Cassie because she had been born deaf. “Cassie dropped the spyglass you gave me into the water yesterday while we were fishing, because …” Nathan’s voice trailed.
“Because why?” his father gently but firmly probed.
“Well,” Nathan continued somewhat hesitantly, “I guess because I cut her line. And that’s because,” he added defensively, “she kept splashing her feet in the water and scaring away the fish!”
“You haven’t told us why she ran off,” Nathan’s mother prompted him.
Nathan’s eyes fell, then lifted slowly. “I really liked that spyglass.” His look shifted to his father’s, hoping to find some kind of sympathy. But what he saw was deepening concern. “With it I could see things in the marsh nobody knew were there,” Nathan continued. “Little things like cooties and skater bugs and cucumber beetles and potter wasps and …” Anger festered inside Nathan as he tried to justify what he was about to say. “I broke Cassie’s doll,” he declared, “because of what she did to my spyglass!”
“Do you realize how long your sister saved for that doll?” Nathan’s mother questioned sternly. “How much it meant to her?”
“I guess about as much as my spyglass,” Nathan retorted.
Father rested his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “Do two wrongs make a right?”
Nathan’s mother stared toward the swamp. “Cassie’s boat is gone!”
The swamp was deep, a maze of twisting waterways in a jungle of trees and vines. What made matters worse was Cassie’s being deaf. She couldn’t hear them call for her.
Father rested a calming hand on his wife’s arm. He turned to Nathan. “Son, I’ll take my boat; you take yours. I’ll carry my rifle; you take my Colt Dragoon. Whichever one of us finds Cassie first will fire three shots, is that understood?”
“Yes, Pa.”
Father’s eyes focused on Mother. “You stay near the house, in case Cassie shows up here first. Grandpa Sawyer’s pepperbox pistol is in the root cellar. If she does come here, fire three rounds to let us know.”
Nathan navigated his small boat through the lily-pad-laden backwater with his long pole. His eyes scanned the densely brushed islands and the countless waterways between the huge cypress trees for any sign of his sister’s boat. To his right, on some goldenrod that protruded above a log wrapped with Spanish moss, he observed a tiger swallowtail butterfly. To his left, a harmless rat snake rested in the fold of a dead tree. Directly above him on an old, dilapidated walkway that spanned two small islands, a gray squirrel chattered loudly and shook its bushy tail at him. And less than fifty yards in front of Nathan a sandhill crane waded looking for food. The young boy found himself thinking that he would gladly trade all these wondrous sights for a glimpse of his younger sister.
The boat scraped against hidden roots of cypress trees and groaned like Nathan’s conscience. He gazed into the smooth, glassy water and stared at his reflection. Then he disrupted his image with a swish of the pole—he didn’t like what he saw.
The thrashing of brushwood on one of the nearby small islands caused him to lift his eyes with a start. There, in a little clearing high atop dry ground, Nathan witnessed two male white-tailed deer contending with each other. They pushed against each other with their heads and curved antlers. Finally the fight ended when one of them tired and ran away. “I guess Cassie got tired of fighting and ran away, too,” Nathan muttered. “It was a stupid argument,” he added as he continued on down the winding, watery corridor. “Why do people who love each other fight so much? And what if something’s happened to Cassie and I didn’t tell her I was sorry!” Nathan’s pace quickened, scanning the shadows with unblinking scrutiny.
Nathan searched all day, meandering in and out of a maze of waterways. He was a few miles from home when it started to rain. He steered his little boat under the protection of an overhanging tree limb. His eyes welled up. He hadn’t heard any gunshots. Cassie hadn’t been found, nor had she returned home. He gazed through the gray curtain of falling rain. “Cassie!” he screamed, knowing full well that she couldn’t have heard him even if she was sitting right beside him. He bowed his head and beseeched his Heavenly Father to help him find his sister. He knew that Heavenly Father could hear him even through the pounding rain.
A few moments later the rain stopped as quickly as it had started, and Nathan continued his search. A great horned owl stared out of the mossy shadows with its bright yellow eyes and hooted as the little boat moved quietly by.
A short time later Nathan’s dugout floated into a clearing. He felt prompted to stop and listen. He heard someone whimpering! Rapidly poling toward the sound, he saw a small boat harbored along the shore of an island. Then he saw Cassie. She was sitting in a patch of goldenrod, her face soiled and drawn, her hair tangled. She looked very lost and very frightened. Relief washed over Nathan.
A moment later Nathan was standing before his sister. She was relieved to see him, but her reaction was dulled by leftover hurt. He glanced at the broken doll in Cassie’s boat, then at a paint-root plant in a tuft of grass. He picked some seeds from it and crushed them on a smooth rock. He dabbed his index finger in orange dye from the seeds and wrote “I love you” on Cassie’s arm. After a long look at her arm, then at Nathan, Cassie leaned forward and hugged her brother.
Smiling through his tears, he took his father’s Colt Dragoon from his boat and fired three rounds skyward.

I like the poem of Esther H. Doolittle:
Mother
Sometimes when I get home from school
And mother isn’t there,
And though I know she’ll be back soon
And I don’t really care,
Still all the furniture looks queer,
The house seems hushed and sad:
And then I hear her coming in,
And, oh boy, am I glad!

From the very start of our journey, I was moved by President Kimball and Sister Kimball’s concern for the others traveling with them. When my wife and I boarded the airplane in Salt Lake City, we took seats to the side and in back of President Kimball. A few minutes after the plane took off and the seat belt sign was turned off, President Kimball turned around and said to us, “Are you comfortable?” I was there to serve him and the others traveling with him, and yet he showed this concern for us. Throughout the entire trip this great, kind, friendly man was always interested in the welfare of the people around him. We felt so comfortable traveling with him because of his warmth and graciousness.

I was late! I threw on a nice dress, grabbed a hair tie, drove to church, parked, and hurried inside. Whew! I found a seat on the stand just as the bishop got up to start sacrament meeting.
I was speaking that Sunday, so I quickly looked over my notes, making sure I didn’t forget anything. In no time at all, it seemed like the sacrament meeting was over, and I was going to Sunday School. Another sacrament success!
But was it?
Over the next week I began to wonder. Another Sunday rolled around, and as I sat in sacrament meeting, considering what the sacrament meant to me, a thought hit me: I recommit each week to always remember Jesus Christ, but how seriously was I doing that?
I wanted to change, so I decided to come up with a weekly plan.
During the week, I would spend time considering my behavior and asking forgiveness for my sins. I would also make sure to arrive early to church so I could listen to the prelude music and feel the Spirit.
During the sacrament, I would remember Jesus Christ and His Atonement. I’d prayerfully review what I did right and what I did wrong. I’d ask myself, “Lord, what lack I yet?” (see Matthew 19:20).
Every day after the sacrament, I would pray for help to improve and to remember Christ.
As I followed my plan, I grew to really love the sacrament! I loved praying to Heavenly Father and talking with Him about my life. Regardless of my behavior the past week, I was always grateful for Jesus Christ’s Atonement and the opportunity to change and become better. Now I’ve learned that the sacrament isn’t just for Sundays; it’s for every day.

Three months after I arrived in Vietnam, just about dusk one evening, a radio call came in to the operations office requesting a patient pickup at an insecure landing zone (meaning our forces were still in contact with the enemy).
As our helicopter followed a river through the Tuy Hoa Valley into a mountain pass, we were enveloped in torrential rain. It was extremely difficult to locate the landing area. Soldiers on the ground directed us with a flashlight beam.
We wanted to land up the slope from the casualty to allow those transporting him more clearance from the rotor blade. Turbulent winds whipped across the uneven terrain, causing the chopper to fishtail wildly and aborting our first landing attempt. This also meant the enemy had seen our landing spot and would be preparing to fire on us. A lull in the wind allowed us to land, and enemy tracers ripped like fiery baseballs through the night.
Our friendly forces returned fire. We made a hasty pick-up of the wounded and asked for flares to be shot into the sky to illuminate the surrounding mountains as we departed through lightning, thunder, and heavy rain. A few bursts of enemy ground fire bid us farewell.
As a result of this action, I was recommended for a DFC. But the recommendation was reviewed and downgraded to an Air Medal with a “V” for valor. I was disappointed, but remembered my promise to the Lord and was satisfied that my life had been spared.

When I joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints at age 35, one of the many things I quickly learned was that I needed to be willing to serve others. Whether it was to help someone move, offer lawn care, do repairs, or provide transportation, I tried as much as possible to respond to requests for service from my quorum or from individuals.
I felt that I was serving in a good way. In retrospect, however, I realize that I was serving out of a sense of duty and not out of a sense of love for those who needed help. I didn’t really view my service as trying to become the Lord’s hands.1
After I moved to central Missouri, I had the opportunity to serve an older couple. Their small, old country home needed a lot of repairs, including its leaky roof. The couple, however, suffered from serious health challenges that prevented them from doing physical labor.
On a hot day in July, my good friend Dallas Martin and I were up on the roof putting down new shingles. We were uncomfortable and dripping with sweat. Suddenly, Dallas stopped nailing, stood up, and looked at me.
“Do you realize how blessed we are to be the ones capable of being up here doing this work and not the ones inside who can’t?” he asked.
His question hit me like a bolt of lightning. It was literally a life-changing moment. My whole perspective on service took on new meaning. I realized how blessed I was to be able to do all the things that I could do.
At that moment, I felt that Dallas and I were not simply helping because of a sense of duty but were helping with a sense of gratitude. The Lord had blessed us with the ability to truly be His hands. With that realization, it was easy for me to feel love for those we were helping.
Since that day, whenever I have helped with a service project, or whenever someone has needed assistance that I was capable of providing, I have tried to keep that perspective in mind. I have not always been successful, but that perspective has been a huge blessing in my life. It has truly helped me keep a positive attitude about service.
When I have problems or challenges, I try to think of people who face more serious trials than I do. Then I express my thanks to the Lord for all the blessings He has given me.

A young woman focused on the joy of staying sexually pure to help her endure the mocking of friends as she walked away from a popular and provocative, but spiritually dangerous, situation.