Gospel Story Finder

All that day Randy and I waited for the neurosurgeon to arrive with word about our baby’s test results. When he finally came at 10:30 P.M., he spoke in a cold, deliberate voice:
“Your daughter has no chance for a normal life,” he said bluntly. “She has no brain.”
Mere words can’t describe how we felt. I was stunned by his callousness as he continued, seemingly oblivious of the torture Randy and I were suffering.
“Her brain simply never formed. All she has is the brain stem, which is the bare minimum necessary to keep her alive. It controls all the involuntary functions—the heart, respiration, digestive system, and reflexes. She will never roll over or crawl or walk. She will not advance in any way. She’s blind and deaf. She will never respond to you in any way, and she will have to be fed through a tube.”
He guessed that she would live about six months at the most.
When he walked out of that hospital room, all our hopes for our baby girl left with him. Randy and I threw our arms around each other and struggled to pull our shattered emotions back together. We had tried to prepare ourselves for the news that she might be retarded, but we had never dreamed it would be this. It felt like the entire weight of the world had crashed down on top of us.
When Abby Ruth, as we named her, was three days old I had held her only a few times, and that all-important bonding relationship between mother and child hadn’t taken place. Late that night, feeling forced into making a decision that I didn’t want to make, I walked down to the intensive care nursery to see her. I stood next to her bassinet and watched her stare blankly into space. One of the nurses came to stand next to me, and I shook my head sadly.
“The poor little thing doesn’t have any idea of what’s going on, does she?” I asked quietly.
The nurse turned to me and spoke with conviction. “Maybe her mind doesn’t know, but her spirit does.”
That simple statement hit me with a tremendous impact. Why hadn’t I thought of that before?
Later that night I dreamed that a beautiful young woman with long, waving blonde hair and dressed in a flowing white robe came walking toward me through a mist, with arms outstretched to greet me. I knew then that when my time comes and I leave this world, Abby will be there waiting for me in all her perfection. Knowing that, how could I turn away from her in her hour of need?

In Mexico, hundreds of members traveled for hours to help the survivors of two major earthquakes. They came with tools, machinery, and love for their neighbor. As volunteers gathered together in one of our meetinghouses waiting for instructions, the mayor of the city of Ixhuatán broke down in tears as he saw such a manifestation of “the pure love of Christ.”

We have an LDS branch organized here in Tucson, and we enjoy many blessings of the gospel because of the volunteers who come every week. Recently, one of the inmates brought some back issues of the New Era to our Sunday evening service to share.
My roommate is not a member of the Church, but he attends with me. Later that evening I noticed he had brought the April 1991 issue of the magazine back from the meeting. I picked up the New Era to examine the graphics, which I enjoy in all the Church publications. My eyes fell on the article entitled “The Bus Stop,” with its attractive layout and illustration. The spirit touched me instantly. It was hard to fight back the tears as I read the brief account of a girl who brought the gospel to a family through small, kind acts.
I feel the need to express my gratitude to “Vicki,” whose smile of years long gone by is still touching the lives of people everywhere; C. S. Hankins, the author; Roger Motzkus, the talented illustrator; the caring inmate who brought the magazines that night, and my friend and roommate—each of whose small acts unknowingly made it possible for me to experience another important part of the gospel message.
Name WithheldArizona State Prison

It smacks of cloak and dagger, but original inventions must be guarded. Her solar tracker, “The Searcher,” which won first place honors in state as well as international competition, has been the subject of much scrutiny each place it has been displayed.
“I watched people copy down every word I’d written on my display,” says Syndi in amazement. “In Montreal, representatives from some companies came to see it. I should have had it patented, but it costs too much money.”

One Saturday morning I was on my way to fulfill an assignment on a welfare farm. We were to clean the weeds out of an irrigation ditch. My route took me past the home of an elderly widow in my ward, who was weeding her front yard. The temperature was already in the mid-eighties and she looked like she was near to having sunstroke. For a fleeting moment I thought I should stop and lend a helping hand, but my conscience allowed me to drive on by because, after all, I had an assignment on the welfare farm. I wonder what would have happened if I had followed the spontaneous prompting of the Spirit and unleashed the genuine compassion I was feeling. I wonder what would have happened to her; I wonder what would have happened to me. But I couldn’t do that because I hadn’t been assigned. We need more spontaneous acts of compassionate service.

Whenever I do things for Mom,
Dad says I “fill his shoes.”
How can that be? They’re much too large!
I’ll check each pair for clues:
My daddy’s work boots lace up high;
They’re leather, and they’re strong.
You couldn’t choose a better pair
To work in all day long.
For Sundays and dress-up affairs,
His shoes are shiny bright.
Dad looks just grand from head to toe—
He’s such a handsome sight!
He has some large black winter boots;
He wears them when it snows.
They buckle snugly ’round his feet;
They don’t have ties or bows.
Before bedtime, or after baths,
Dad’s slippers are his choice.
The shoes he wears for basketball
Sure have a squeaky voice!
My daddy’s shoes are still too large
(I’ve tried them all again),
But Dad says that I fill them
‘Cause I help like grown-up men.

We have seen the manifestation of the Savior’s power in a widow who lost her husband while they were on the Lord’s errand in Bolivia. We have seen it in a young woman in Argentina who fell under a train and lost her leg, just because someone wanted to steal her cell phone. And in her single father, who now must pick up the pieces and strengthen his daughter after such an unexplainable act of cruelty. We have seen it in the families that lost their homes and every possession during fires in Chile just two days before Christmas in 2022. We have seen it in those who suffer after a traumatic divorce and in those who are innocent victims of abuse.

When our pain or the pain of someone we love is so much that we can’t bear it, remembering Jesus Christ and coming unto Him can lighten the burden, soften the heart, and ease the pain. This is the power that enabled a father beyond his natural capacity to sustain his daughter through the physical and emotional pain of losing her leg.

When Elder Soares visited Argentina last June and asked Flavia about her tragic accident, she faithfully replied, “I experienced turmoil, bitterness, anger, and hate when [this happened]. Something that helped me was not to ask, ‘why me?’ but ‘what for?’ … This was something that brought me closer to others and the Lord. … Instead of distancing myself from Him, I had to cling to Him.”

As I was walking back from a Preach My Gospel activity with my group at Especially for Youth (EFY), I saw a man at a picnic table all by himself. I was walking back to my room, and I felt prompted to go talk to him. Shyly I went over there with my friends. We talked to him for just five minutes. It was such an amazing missionary experience to share a little bit about the gospel with someone.
The rest of the week we saw him every day! We just talked to him and shared whatever we had talked about that day in our classes with him. We ended up giving him a Book of Mormon that we had all written our testimonies in. A year later I learned that the man was baptized! I am so grateful for the opportunity I had to teach the gospel to him with the help of my friends.

But unfortunately, the explosive increase in information has not led to a parallel increase in true wisdom. For example, Medicare has one of the largest data banks in the world. Yet it sent an official letter to a retired housekeeper which explained the reason for terminating her benefits in this way: “Your benefits have been denied because of your death. If you believe this information is not correct, please contact the Social Security Administration.”

We experienced a special day in our family on January 4, 1997. My brother organized a party honoring the 200th birthday of Gustavus Adolphus Perry. He was an important member of our family tree. He was baptized in 1832 and became the first of our family to embrace the gospel. The Perry family history records this remarkable event:
As a part of the birthday celebration, my brother spent a year searching for the descendants of Gustavus Adolphus Perry. We were amazed at the record he had on the table before us as we celebrated. He had found more than 10,000 descendants of this good man. The number overwhelmed me. Suddenly I realized the value of a good name. In seven to eight generations, his family had sufficient numbers to organize three stakes of Zion.

Alexis A., 17, says the trek was a lot harder than she expected. “I walked for my Grandpa Brodowski. He actually passed away last December. He was a pioneer in his family because he converted and was the only member in his family. In the end, everything turned out OK, and he actually started a great generation of LDS members.”

Naomi W. Randall, who served as a member of the Primary general board and as a counselor in the Primary general presidency, wrote “I Am a Child of God” at the request of the Primary general board. Mildred T. Pettit, who also had served as a Primary general board member, composed the music.
Sister Randall described her process in writing the words to the song:
“That evening, I got down on my knees and prayed aloud, pleading that our Heavenly Father would let me know the right words. Around 2:00 a.m., I awakened and began to think again about the song. Words came to my mind. … I immediately got up and began to write the words down as they had come to me. Three verses and a chorus were soon formed. I gratefully surveyed the work, drank of the message of the words, and returned to my bedroom where I knelt before my Father in Heaven to say ‘Thank you!’” (in Karen Lynn Davidson, Our Latter-day Hymns (1988), 303–4).
Sister Randall sent the words to Sister Pettit, who spent many hours working on the music.

When Sister Burton and I were first married, we lived in the southeast part of the Salt Lake Valley. On occasion, as we purchased groceries from a small neighborhood store, we observed President and Sister Joseph Fielding Smith in the same store making their purchases. After several such observations, I finally mustered the courage to inquire of President Smith why it was he traveled all the way from downtown, past a dozen grocery stores, to shop at this particular store. Looking over the tops of his glasses he emphatically said: “Son! [He had my immediate attention.] Sister Smith and I patronize establishments that keep the Sabbath day holy.”

As we rocked, I thought what our last night in heaven must have been like, the night before each of us came to earth to be born. Did Heavenly Father hold us close and tell us of the joys and dancing toys which we would find on the morrow? Did we cry and wish we could stay with him forever, even though we knew earth life would bring us more joys than we could imagine? He must have held us long after his song to us had ended, asking that angels would watch over us in our earthly journey, that our years away from him would be filled with happiness and would eventually lead us back to his presence.

I Love to See the Temple
We are lucky to live close to the Cebu City Philippines Temple. I was able to tour the temple with my family before it was dedicated. It is such a beautiful, peaceful place. I am grateful that because of temples, my family can be together forever.

“The gospel fills my life with such joy!” the young woman at the pulpit in my student ward exclaimed. I could tell it was true, but my own heart was heavy. I had always been a member of the Church, and I believed in the gospel with all my heart. I followed its principles faithfully. But I didn’t feel that there was any true joy in my life, only the never-ending demands of school, Church callings, friends, and family. Why couldn’t I feel the way the girl at the pulpit did?
The question soon began to consume my thoughts. The familiar Book of Mormon scripture echoed in my head: “Men are, that they might have joy” (2 Nephi 2:25). I became determined to find an answer.
“Father in Heaven,” I prayed late one night, “please, oh please. I’m not happy, and I’m not sure why. Where can I find the joy that prophets and others speak of?”
I crossed campus the next day, sure that now I would get the answer to my prayers. Rain had been falling for three days, filling the flower beds and spilling down the sidewalks. As I plodded through the puddles, I peered into the faces of the other students and wondered if they were truly happy.
The day passed as usual, and I was still discouraged. I sat doing homework, more downhearted than ever.
The shrill ring of the telephone shattered the silence of my self-pity.
“Catherine!” It was my dad’s cheery voice. “How are you?”
“Hi, Dad,” I said. “I’m okay.”
“Just okay?” he asked.
Soon I had told him the whole problem. Finally, I asked, “Where can I find true joy?”
He was silent for a moment, thinking.
“When I was in Germany on a mission,” he said slowly, “the sun sometimes shone for only a few hours a day. Depressing darkness would fill the rest of our waking hours. I struggled with the gloominess for some time before I learned that if I wanted to have sunshine, I had to carry it with me in my heart.”
I think back on this conversation with my dad regularly. My answer came then. Joy is something inside a person. It comes from living the gospel, being grateful for the opportunity to do so, and then remembering to simply be happy about it.

The Spirit in the priesthood session was amazing! I was on the BYU–Idaho campus among hundreds of college students, and the feeling of the Spirit and the strength of the priesthood was amazing. I’ll treasure that moment in my memory forever.
Samuel S., 14, Idaho

The following year Sonora, supported by local church leaders, submitted a petition to the Spokane City Council. As a result, the mayor declared that the third Sunday in June would be observed as Father’s Day. Following Spokane’s lead, the governor of Washington made it a state holiday, and June 19, 1910, it became the first official Father’s Day in history.

On October of 1992, a new freshman without much enthusiasm for life arrived at Page (Arizona) High School. Darryle had spent the last several years in a boarding school for the handicapped. He was confined to a wheelchair because of cerebral palsy; he had no ability to speak, see, or walk; and he had limited use of his arms. When he first arrived, he was very scared, and nobody seemed to know how to help him.
As teachers we were becoming quite frustrated trying to find something that would capture his interest. Things changed when someone brought in a tape of Navajo drum music. That perked Darryle up. He loved this music, and we knew we had to capitalize on this.
It was arranged for Darryle to attend the band class, something he seemed to enjoy. I, too, was excited, but I knew I only had the personnel to take Darryle to the class once a week.
Enter Brad Ross. Brad was a quiet, shy sophomore with a great love for music. The next afternoon, about the time band began, Brad walked into my special education classroom. He was very quiet, and I could tell he was nervous. But that didn’t stop him. He marched up to me and asked if he could take Darryle to band with him.
I was stunned. I let Brad take Darryle, but I remember thinking that it wouldn’t last.
What followed was the most honest expression of heroism I have ever witnessed. For the next three years, Brad never missed a day. Each day he would come to my classroom and escort Darryle to band practice. Darryle became as much a part of the band as any other member. Every day, Brad would set Darryle up with different percussion instruments. With eager delight, Darryle would sense the music and gleefully join in the rhythms he felt. Under Brad’s patient tutoring, Darryle learned to play the snare drum, bass drum, tambourine, maracas, and the triangle. Even though Darryle’s rhythms did not always match the rest of the band’s, Darryle was totally involved.
Many changes had to be made to accommodate Darryle, but Brad always made them—never asking for help.
The things Brad did were thoughtful actions that required discipline and sacrifice. His heroic efforts affected the other students and touched the hearts of many teachers and parents. He had the bravery necessary to walk into a classroom full of special education students, make friends with someone who needed a friend, create a new program for a peer, and provide the selfless service necessary to see it through.
Brad recently completed an honorable mission in the Oklahoma City Oklahoma Mission.

Dan nervously checked his appearance in the hall mirror and then knocked on the door of Elizabeth’s dorm apartment.
Inside the apartment, Elizabeth finished with her hair, stepped back to examine the effect, and told her roommate, “Well, it’ll just have to do, won’t it, because that’s Dan now. Will you get the door? Tell him I’ll be ready in a minute.”
A short time later, her roommate came back. “Wow! Where did you find him?”
“We are both on a stake Young Adult committee.”
“And you think he likes you?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth smiled, “I think he does.”__________
“I hope I’m not too late,” Elizabeth said as she greeted Dan in the dorm living room.
“The way you look tonight,” Dan said, standing up to greet her, “I’d wait a long time just to catch a glimpse.” They walked to his car. “Have you ever heard of a restaurant called L’Epicure?”
“No.”
“It’s several miles from here, but it’s nice. French cuisine. I’m afraid I picked up the taste for European cooking on my mission. Are you interested?”
“It sounds fun,” she answered. “It also sounds like you’re a connoisseur of good food.”__________
As they drove to the restaurant, Dan turned on the radio for a minute to hear the score of the university football game. “Do you like football?” he asked.
“A little. I used to know a boy in high school who played. Were you on the football team in high school?”
“Yes,” he smiled, “for two days.”__________
“Did you go steady with your friend who played football?” Dan asked Elizabeth.
“No. At one time he said he was interested in me, but we never got along very well.”__________
“But my cousin says that you are a good athlete,” Elizabeth said to Dan.
“I play racquetball. I’ve been state champion three times. Since I wasn’t cut out to be a football player, I substituted racquetball.”
As he opened the car door for her outside the restaurant, she gave him a broad smile.__________
“Elizabeth, you have the most beautiful smile.”
The hostess showed Dan and Elizabeth to a table. Dan helped her be seated.__________
“Elizabeth, what would you like?”
“Everything looks good. Any suggestions?”
“May I suggest,” he said with a flourish, “La Suprême de Chapon Montmorency?”__________
“Elizabeth, what are you majoring in?”
Dan asked. “Computer science.”
“How did you ever decide on that?”
“To tell you the truth, I can’t remember. I know that I liked math in high school.”__________
“And what are you majoring in?” Elizabeth asked Dan.
“Business.”__________
“You’re from Minnesota?” Dan asked over salad. “Is that where you went to high school?”
Elizabeth nodded. “Just outside Minneapolis.”
“The great carefree happy days of high school,” Dan said with a laugh. “Was it that way for you?”
“No, often it was painful.”__________
They talked about high school over dessert.
“I never did feel very comfortable around girls,” Dan confided.
“And I was busy with my classes and other activities,” Elizabeth recalled, “but socially it was like I was watching my friends make bad choices. Eventually their choices caught up with them.”__________
“Did your friends in high school learn from their bad choices?” Dan asked Elizabeth.
“I’m afraid not.”__________
Dan paid the check and took Elizabeth’s arm as they left the restaurant. “Lisa, we can go to the movies like we planned, but there’s something else I’d rather do.”
“What’s that?”
“Take me to your computer,” he said with a metallic ring to his voice.
The remote computer terminal on campus looked more like a typewriter than a computer. Dan sat beside her as she turned it on.
“How do you address a computer?” he asked. “Hi, big fella?”
“That would work if it were programmed for that. For this one, a simple combination of numbers and letters will do.”
“Sounds sinister,” he said.
As she enthusiastically tried to teach him some computer games, he found himself just smiling, nodding his head, delighting in watching the features of her face.
“You really like this, don’t you?” he asked as they left the building.
“I really do. And your male ego isn’t threatened by a girl who enjoys computers?”
“No. Someday when I have a chain of stores all over the West, maybe I can get you to show me how to use a computer in business.”
“It’s a deal,” she answered. “Now, sir, it’s my turn. I want to learn how to play racquetball.”
“Now? The way we’re dressed?”
“Just show me where you play and explain the rules. Okay?”
Finding an empty court, they took off their shoes and entered the room. He explained the rules and strategy to her.
“Okay? I’ll serve.” Standing between the two painted lines in the room, he served an imaginary ball. In graceful slow motion, she returned his serve.
“Where’d it go?” he asked.
“It bounced off the wall an inch from the floor.”
“Wow!” he laughed. “Nice return.”
They played with the imaginary ball until they both collapsed side by side in laughter.
“Elizabeth, you know what?” Dan said while they were still sitting on the floor. “I feel terrific, just being with you. Everything is so natural. I don’t have to prove anything with you. I feel that I could tell you anything about my hopes and dreams, and even some of the dumb things I do, and you wouldn’t reject me.”
“I know. I feel the same way.”
“Let me tell you some deep secrets,” he said with a grin. “I love apples, and I use the ash tray of my car to store my apple cores.”
“I can take that,” she smiled. “Here’s one for you. About once a year I buy a can of pitted black olives, go in my room, put an olive on each finger, and pop them one by one in my mouth.”
“Here’s one,” he said. “Once I was asked not to sing in a youth conference chorus. You know, they always say we don’t care whether or not you can sing. Well, I volunteered and was told to just move my lips.”
“I know how to change the oil in a car,” she confessed.
“One of the most successful elders in our mission was Elder Reed. Once at a zone conference I got a chance to meet him. I really was excited. I walked up to him, stuck out my hand, and said, ‘Hi there, I’m Elder Reed.’ He looked at me strangely. I realized my mistake and then said, ‘No, wait. You’re Elder Reed.’ He looked at me like I was crazy and walked away.”
“I love to waltz,” she said.
“Teach me. Now.”
“Here?” she said, looking around at the empty racquetball court.
They waltzed in stocking feet to her songs and his regimental one, two, three, one, two, three.
On the way out, they decided to walk through the tunnel connecting the two buildings used for athletics.
“Have you ever heard the legend of this tunnel?” he kidded as they walked down the long hall.
“When a couple who are going to become very good friends walks down this hall, legend says they hear an echo.”
“Really?” she giggled.
“Dan and Elizabeth are falling in like!” he yelled. An echo returned his voice. “See that?” he asked. “It’s the legend of the tunnel.”
“Falling in like?” she asked.
“Sure, it’s one step before falling in love.”
They ambled down the long hall, holding hands, talking happily, the echoes of their voices, and their past, returning again and again back to them.