Gospel Story Finder

As members of the Church today, some of us may find it easy to take these glorious eternal truths for granted. They have become second nature to us. Sometimes it is helpful when we see them through the eyes of those who learn about them for the very first time. This became evident to me through a recent experience.

Last year, just prior to the rededication of the Tokyo Japan Temple, many guests not of our faith toured that temple. One such tour included a thoughtful leader from another religion. We taught our guest about Heavenly Father’s plan of happiness, Jesus Christ’s redeeming role in that plan, and the doctrine that families can be united eternally through the sealing ordinance.

At the conclusion of the tour, I invited our friend to share his feelings. In reference to the uniting of families—past, present, and future—this good man asked in all sincerity, “Do the members of your faith truly understand just how profound this doctrine is?” He added, “This may well be one of the only teachings that can unite this world that is so divided.”

Another lesson describes Brother Long’s frustration with students in his Primary class who don’t pay attention to his lessons. Viewers learn from Brother Long’s experience how to recognize the learning characteristics of a particular age group. Brother Long then applies this knowledge to better understand how to teach his class. The lesson then asks viewers to propose how to teach a gospel principle using activities appropriate for a child’s age.

In the fall of 1832, Brigham, his brother Joseph, and Heber C. Kimball, traveled 560 kilometers to Kirtland, Ohio, to meet the Prophet Joseph. As Brigham and Joseph shook hands, Brigham said to himself, “I know he is a prophet.” From that day on he dedicated his life to Joseph Smith and never missed an opportunity to be in his presence.

Tyson’s sister, McKenna, 16, remembers feeling nervous her first time doing baptisms for the dead. But at the open house, when she saw the Draper temple font supported by 12 white oxen, it reminded her of the blessings of temple service.
“Just entering the temple helps you feel a little calmer,” she says. “But as you do baptisms, the feeling gets even better.”

I have a friend who prays every day to meet someone who is prepared to receive the gospel. He carries with him a copy of the Book of Mormon. The night before a short trip recently, he decided not to take a copy with him but instead to carry what is called a pass-along card. But in the morning, a spiritual impression came: “Take a Book of Mormon with you.” He put one in his bag.
A woman he knew sat next to him on the plane, and he wondered, “Is this the one?” She rode with him again on the return trip. Now he thought, “How should I bring the gospel up?”
Instead, she said to him, “You pay tithing to your Church, don’t you?” He said that he did. She said that she was supposed to pay tithing to her church but she didn’t. And then she said, “What is this about the Book of Mormon?” He explained that it was scripture, another witness of Jesus Christ, translated by the Prophet Joseph Smith. She seemed interested. So he reached down into his bag and said: “I was impressed to bring this book with me. I think it is for you.”
She began to read it. As they parted, she said, “You and I are going to have to have more conversations about this.” What my friend could not know, but God did, was that she was looking for a church. God knew she had watched my friend and wondered what about his church made him so happy. God knew she would ask about the Book of Mormon, and He knew she would be willing to be taught by the missionaries. She was prepared. So was my friend. And so can you and I be.

And so it was on Tuesday morning of this week, just after 9:00 a.m. as the Bishopric was beginning a meeting with the Asia Area Presidency, who are here for conference, that I was called to meet with President Monson, along with his counselors. Moments later, as I walked into the boardroom adjacent to his office, I must have looked nervous sitting across the table, as he kindly spoke to calm my nerves. He commented, noting my age, that I seemed quite young and even looked younger than my age.

Then, within a few moments, President Monson described that acting on the will of the Lord, he was extending a call to the Quorum of the Twelve to me. He asked me if I would accept this call, to which, following what I am sure was a very undignified audible gasp, in complete shock, I responded affirmatively. And then, before I could even verbalize a tsunami of indescribable emotion, most of which were feelings of inadequacy, President Monson kindly reached out to me, describing how he was called many years ago as an Apostle by President David O. McKay, at which time he too felt inadequate. He calmly instructed me, “Bishop Stevenson, the Lord will qualify those whom He calls.” These soothing words of a prophet have been a source of peace, a calm in a storm of painful self-examination and tender feelings in the ensuing agonizing hours which have passed day and night since then.

The Kpogomous hosted the group of members in their home, in Conakry, Guinea. The father of Elder and Sister Kpogomou was a professor and lecturer who joined the Church in Paris, France. Of their family of nine, four joined the Church and are active. Brother Kpogomou led the group in his home as activities were overseen by the Africa West Area Presidency as part the Africa West Area Branch, said Elder Vinson.

Sugar Rush
I taught my Scout troop first aid for diabetes. For example, if I don’t feel well, I need to drink juice. I even showed them how to give me a special shot if I faint! Afterward we played a diabetes trivia game.

Jimmy came in from playing ball and found his big sister typing at her desk. “What are you doing, Laura?”
“I’m typing my résumé,” his sister replied.
“What’s a résumé?”
“It’s a list of the things I know how to do. I’m going to send it to people who might want to give me a job.”
“Why are you looking for a job?” Jimmy asked.
“Because I’ll soon be going to college and I want to earn as much money for it as I can,” Laura answered, pulling her finished résumé out of the typewriter.
“Can I make a résumé too?” Jimmy asked.
Laura smiled. “Of course you can!” She dug through the desk drawers and pulled out some crayons and paper. “Here, Jimmy. Since you can’t write yet, why don’t you draw some jobs you can do around the house.”
“OK.” Jimmy knew he could do a good job on his résumé. He pulled up a chair beside his sister and began to draw and color. When he was done, he had five pictures. “I’m ready for you to see my résumé!” He climbed onto her lap.
“What beautiful pictures!” Laura said, looking carefully at each one.
“Will you help me write the name of the job on each picture?”
“OK. What does this first picture say?”
“This is me washing Spot,” Jimmy explained.
Laura wrote below the picture, “Jimmy can wash Spot the dog.” When she read the title to Jimmy, he smiled.
Jimmy’s sister flipped to the second picture.
“This is me dusting the furniture,” Jimmy said with a big grin.
Laura wrote below the picture, “Jimmy can dust.”
Jimmy flipped to the third page. “I can dry the dishes,” he said happily.
Below the third picture, Laura wrote, “Jimmy can dry the dishes.”
Jimmy eagerly flipped to the fourth page. This picture was divided into halves. “This part shows me raking leaves,” Jimmy explained with a big smile. “The other part shows me shoveling snow.”
“Oh, this is the best picture yet, Jimmy! I really like the snowflakes and the colored leaves.” Laura wrote, “Jimmy can rake leaves and shovel snow” under the picture. “So far this is a great résumé—I’m proud of it.”
“Thanks, Laura! I’m real proud of it, too,” Jimmy said as he flipped to the final page. “This picture says I can take out the trash.”
“That’s wonderful, Jimmy. Now I’m going to write the last title for your résumé.” She picked up her pen and wrote, “Jimmy can take out the trash.” She laughed. “Jimmy, you’re hired! You’re going to be a big help here when I get a job. I’m very proud of you!”

I knew before the race started that it would be tough—a four-mile cross-country trek through the sandhills. There were plenty of ups and downs, and several places where your feet sank into the sandy soil and slowed you to a walk.
I knew it would be hard, because I’d helped my dad mark out the trail two days before. He’s the gym teacher at my school. It’s his job each fall to choose and mark out the route for the divisional cross-country races.
“I want it tough, David, but fair,” he said to me as we tied up small blue ribbons to mark the route. “There’ll be good runners as well as some who race just to get an afternoon off school. I want the course tough enough to challenge the serious runners.” He grinned at me and said, “You wouldn’t want it too easy, would you?”
I grinned back and shook my head. This was the first year I could be in the race. Each year I’d heard Dad talk about it, and I’d heard the older kids at school say it was really tough. I was eager to compete in it.
I’m in fine form, I thought. I’d been practicing for six weeks, and my legs and lungs felt ready. In gym class I easily beat the other boys at two miles, but we’d never run the whole four miles. That, plus all the hills, might make a difference. And, of course, kids from five other schools would be in the race too. I’d heard rumors that one of the other schools had a really good runner in my division.
When we lined up for the first race of the meet, I knew who it was. His classmates called him Mike, and urged him on. I was determined to beat him, even though he was a good six inches taller than me. That meant his legs were a lot longer—I’d probably have to take four strides to cover the same distance he did in three!
The route began with a really steep hill with stunted oak trees scattered over it. “Why did you put the start here?” I’d asked Dad when we set it up. “Do you want to scare everybody at the start?”
“That’s the idea!” He grinned, then explained that the actual reason was to make the runners spread out instead of bunching together. “They’re less likely to bump into each other that way.”
Now, racing up Heartbreak Hill, I saw what he meant. Everyone was soon walking, including me! At the top I resumed running. Only one runner—Mike—was ahead of me as I followed the course-marking ribbons down the other side. I didn’t try to catch him. This side was much shorter, but steeper, so I was careful to keep my legs under control.
At the bottom, the trail flattened out and wound through poplar trees. Then it took a sharp right turn through an open wire gate before twisting alongside a creek for half a mile or so. By the time we turned away from the creek, Mike was about a hundred yards ahead, going at a steady lope. The rest of the runners were so far behind that I couldn’t see anyone else.
We were more than halfway there, and I was beginning to wonder if I’d be able to catch Mike. My legs were straining on “automatic,” but his long legs seemed to carry him effortlessly up the hills. Even the sandy places didn’t slow him down much.
My breath was getting ragged. I thought about walking for a while, but I didn’t want to let Mike increase the distance between us. My classmates were counting on my winning, and even Dad had hinted that it would be nice to see my name on the trophy. I forced myself to keep running.
Then Mike suddenly slowed and turned his head from side to side as if he were lost. He’s right where the trail branches, I thought. He can’t tell which way to go.
The trail was marked to turn right, but he turned left and picked up speed again.
I’ll catch him! was my first thought. Then, Why didn’t he follow the ribbon?
In a moment I was up to where he’d turned off. There was no ribbon visible, though I’d seen Dad put one there. I took a few strides in the right direction, and there it was, fallen to the ground, and half hidden by grass.
He’ll soon figure out that he’s wrong, I thought and took a couple more strides. But it was almost as if I could hear Dad’s voice: “Winning is important, but it’s not the most important.”
I stopped running. “Mike!” I called loudly. “You’re going the wrong way.”
“Is this a trick?” he shouted, turning back.
“No trick,” I called. “See? Here’s the ribbon.” I held it up and tied it to a branch for the later runners to see.
I waited for Mike to pass me, and when he was a hundred yards ahead again, I started running. Even so, I figured I’d gained a small advantage, since I’d had a short rest and hadn’t gone quite as far. My breathing was easier, and slowly I managed to lessen the distance between us.
Mike went up and over the last hill. In the distance I heard a cheer as the crowd sighted him. I topped the hill and saw that he wasn’t more than fifty feet ahead.
I’m going to catch him, I thought. He was almost staggering, and I urged my legs to move faster.
The gap closed. Mike glanced back, saw me coming, and made one last effort. With two feet to spare, he crossed the finish line ahead of me.
I walked around slowly to catch my breath. Dad was standing near the finish line, recording names as later runners crossed, and he gave me a thumbs-up signal. I knew that he didn’t mind that my name wouldn’t be on the trophy—but it sure would have been nice.
When I saw Mike recovering, I went over to congratulate him. “Good race,” I said, “but just wait till next year!”
He gave me a funny look. “Why’d you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Call me back to the trail. And then give me a head start.”
I shrugged. “It was only fair,” I said. “You were ahead, and the ribbon had fallen, but I knew where to go.”
“But you’d have beaten me.”
“It wouldn’t have been right,” I said. “Not that way. You’d have done the same thing.”
“I don’t know, really,” Mike said, his smile uncertain. “What I know for sure is that I hope I would have.”
“What I know,” Dad said, coming up to us, “is that you’re both winners in my book!”

I also love to read the Book of Mormon with my family. One day when I read the story of Ammon, I felt the Holy Ghost in my heart. That night, I told my family, “Now I know why people say the Book of Mormon is true.” I felt in my heart that the stories we were reading from the Book of Mormon really happened.

I sit here on the beach
And watch the waves roll in.
The clouds silently scoot across the sky
As the sea gulls use them in a game of hide-and-seek.
A radio plays my favorite song,
While a group of children on down the beach
Cover themselves in sand.
The sun climbs to its high point in the sky,
And I feel the first tingle of sunburn.
Suddenly I remember—
A world of ringing telephones,
Bellowing teachers and taking exams,
Rushing and hurrying everywhere.
A world of heavy coats
And mufflers,
Sniffles and ice.
I shake my head a little
And shudder to myself trying to forget
What seems like a nightmare.
As the sun heads downward,
I walk along the water letting
The waves tickle my toes,
Content to remain
Here in reality.

“This year was a really hard year for me. Pretty much all of my waking hours were taken up with my schoolwork, upcoming piano exam, and seminary homework and reading assignments. It was hard to cope with, and I struggled and cried a lot in the beginning. I also fasted and prayed a lot for the Lord’s strength to help me cope and to be cheerful while I did.

“Then, in general conference, I was deeply touched by President Nelson’s talk—it was as if he was speaking directly to me. It gave me so much courage to hold on to my faith and endure to the end. When my school finals ended a few weeks later, it was tempting to dedicate all my time to practicing music for my piano exam, but I remembered what President Nelson said about how focusing on Christ will bring you joy, and I chose to work on finishing my seminary work first. After that, I focused on my music and took my piano exam.

“In the end, I passed everything! I did well in my schoolwork, in seminary, and on my music exam. Most important, my faith in the Lord was strengthened, because during the struggle I was able to feel joyful. And now I feel joyful because I endured it well.”

Victoria H., 16, Selangor, Malaysia

Paul’s wife, Julie, has also helped him see temple service in a deeper way. His assignment as an Area Seventy required his presences at many stake conferences, and when he would return home, Julie often asked, “How was the conference?” He would reply, “Great.”

When she asked, “How were your talks?” he would say, “I think they went well.” Julie, ever insightful, would passionately respond, “I’m sure it all went well; however, giving a great talk from the pulpit is not really the hard work.” Stunned, Paul would listen as she continued: “The real work is done when hearts are touched, and the work of the Lord is accomplished in the homes of members and within the Lord’s house.”

Corey remembers being 11 or so when his cousin died of cancer. He was at his funeral and struggling with questions. Why did this have to happen? He was a good kid who was strong in the gospel. Why did he have to die? His family knew they would be together again, but the loss made them so sad.
“I didn’t understand why he was taken from us. Then I heard a small voice that said, ‘I need him here.’ It was still a hard thing, but I felt better. After that experience I know that the Lord answers my prayers. That was the beginning of my testimony.”

In May 1839 Joseph directed the purchase of a large piece of swampland in Commerce, Illinois, and a great many Saints began to move into the area. Commerce was later renamed Nauvoo.
Nauvoo grew. The swampland was drained and cleared, and buildings were completed. Among other things, Joseph oversaw the building of a new temple, edited a newspaper, ran a store, and served as mayor of the city and head of the Nauvoo militia.
Once again the neighboring communities came to resent the Saints because of their strength, prosperity, and political influence. The Nauvoo Expositor, a local newspaper, added to the Saints’ trouble by printing lies about the Church leaders.
On June 10, 1844, a group of men under orders from the city council destroyed the newspaper’s press. Joseph and some of the other brethren were charged with inciting a riot, but were later found not guilty.

White Thunder He isn’t the leader of the herd, but when men on horseback come to capture it, White Thunder must challenge its leader so that the herd can be led to safety.Dave and Pat Sargent6–8 years

Spider pulled a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and wiped the perspiration from his brow. The hot afternoon sun was yellow white. He had spent the day traveling from house to house in the village, hoping to wheedle a dinner invitation. Alas! His neighbors, who were generally kind and generous, had grown weary of Spider’s shiftless, greedy ways.
“Well,” sighed Spider, “I suppose I shall have to prepare my own supper.”
He shuffled slowly to his cottage. Grumbling at every turn, he managed to put together a rather sumptuous dinner. Just as he sat down and drew his chair close to the table, he heard a rap at the door.
“What now?” mumbled Spider to himself. He opened the door a tiny crack to see a bedraggled turtle staring at him.
“Could you … would you … ,” began Turtle, standing on his hind legs and sniffing hungrily at the delicious aroma that floated through the doorway, “spare a bite for a weary traveler?”
Now Spider hated the thought of sharing anything with anybody, but he feared the ridicule of his neighbors if they should hear of his selfishness. So, reluctantly, he opened the door and nodded to an empty chair at the table. Turtle sat down gratefully and reached for the bowl of steaming yams and the platter of fish.
“Tsk, tsk, my friend,” said Spider loudly. “Where are your manners? Just look at your filthy hands! You must wash them before coming to my table.”
Turtle stared at his dusty paws. Mumbling apologies to his host, he waddled as fast as he could to the river. There he washed his hands thoroughly and scrubbed his face for good measure. As quickly as he could, he returned to Spider’s table. The dish of yams was half-gone, and several fish had been devoured. Eagerly Turtle reached again.
“Dear friend,” scolded Spider even more loudly. “You surely don’t call those hands clean!”
“But the dust from your path … ,” began Turtle. He stopped. He didn’t want to sound ungrateful. Slowly he rose from the table and waddled again to the river. On his return, however, he was careful to walk on the thick grasses so his hands would remain spotless.
Turtle climbed onto his chair only to see the last bite of fish passing Spider’s lips. The bowl of yams was licked clean.
“A delectable dinner, wouldn’t you agree?” said Spider, dabbing his mouth with his napkin.
“To be sure!” answered Turtle disgustedly. “If you are ever near my home, you must let me repay your hospitality.”
Some months later Spider wandered far from his village. Tired and hungry, he stopped beside a quiet river to rest. He spied Turtle sunning himself on a large rock. Spider called to his friend.
“Well, well,” said Turtle, smiling. “At last you have come. You will stay to supper, of course.”
“Of course,” answered Spider eagerly.
“Wait here,” said Turtle. “It will take a short while to prepare.” He disappeared beneath the water. Before long he popped to the surface, munching a juicy clam. “It’s ready,” he called to Spider.
Spider dived eagerly off the rock into the water. He sank a few inches but bobbed immediately to the surface. Try as he might, he simply couldn’t propel his spindly body to the bottom of the river. He flipped. He flopped. But nothing worked.
However, Spider was as cunning as he was greedy. He hurried to the riverbank and stuffed his jacket pockets with pebbles. This time when he jumped off the rock, he sank quickly and plopped right into a chair by Turtle’s table.
What a feast awaited him! On a bed of fresh watercress lay dozens of tiny fish. There were bowls of clams and mussels and a platter of warm eels. Hungrily Spider reached for them.
“Tsk, tsk,” said Turtle loudly. “Where are your manners? It is very rude to come to my table wearing your jacket. You must remove it at once.”
Greedy Spider didn’t stop to think. As quickly as he could, he took off his jacket. Without the weight of the pebbles, he shot to the surface of the river, barely missing a large rock in his ascent. The laughter of Turtle followed him. Realizing the lesson was deserved, Spider headed for his village, still tired and hungry, but much wiser.

“For a long time,” says Jhon Tobar, 17, of Quito, “I let myself be carried along by my friends, and I didn’t have a good relationship with my parents. But I have learned that if you lose the trust of your parents and brothers and sisters, it’s like being alone. I just had an interview with my bishop this morning—my bishop is my dad. I can say now that I have no better friend than my own father. I love him a lot. He is my best example.”

A graduate of the University of Utah with a degree in business education, Sister Wirthlin worked as a secretary in the administration office of the university until she had her first child. Later she helped her husband with secretarial work in their home while he managed the family business.