Gospel Story Finder

Perhaps like most teenagers, I have taken my parents’ love for granted. I never really considered the immeasurable amount of time, effort, money, or patience they spent on me. Particularly with my mother was this the case.
It seems, now, that many times I resented my mother, resented things she stood for, things she asked me to do, things she told me about her childhood life. I resented the fact that I, as the eldest of seven children, had all the responsibility; or so I felt. It was up to me to set the example—a word I grew to hate—to lead the way, to try things and get into trouble so that, it seemed, the way was clear for the other children to do just about what they would. I remember how I resented the certain tone of voice Mother used to call me to help her. Certain phrases stand out in my mind, and I can hear the tone even now:
“Kristy, help me with dinner.”
“The twins need their shoes cleaned.”
“Kristy, Sue and Gay are quarreling; can’t you do something?”
“Nancy needs some attention; would you read her a story?”
I always felt like saying, “No,” but, of course, I didn’t.
Then September came and I went away to school. All my younger life the school had carried with it a romantic aura to me. It was there my parents met; there they fell in love and were married; there I was born. So I anxiously looked forward to going—for me—“home.”
But at that time, in September, there was more to it than that: I wanted to get away from home—my real home. And yet, as time passed and I read my mother’s letters telling me about the day-to-day things she did, I began to realize, deep within me, that she gave all her time, money, effort, and thought to her children. I learned that all the meetings, all the shopping, all the housecleaning, all the teaching—actually everything—was directly or indirectly related to serving her family. And all this I learned so slowly and subtly that I barely realized the knowledge was there.
Then one day I came home from my morning classes and found a letter from my mother. It was a simple, ordinary letter, full of the news of home. It told how Dave and Dan, the twins, had flushed a whole roll of tissue paper down the toilet, which flooded over just as Mother was ready to leave for Relief Society. It told of how Mother simply had to find the time to give Sandy a haircut. It told of Mother taking Nancy to dancing lessons, and watching her, and being so proud of her.
It was just a regular, everyday letter, but I had scarcely reached the second page when a feeling suddenly started within me and spread throughout me. It was like the sun bursting from behind a cloud, spreading its sunshine. I could all of a sudden see my mother as she really was—an unselfish, loving, and celestial being, the person who had done more for me than anyone else, and yet the person to whom I gave the least credit.
I threw myself on my bed and cried; cried with the gladness of the sudden discovery; cried with the unhappiness of my ingratitude, and how it had undoubtedly hurt my mother. I quickly wrote her a letter and told her of my love and appreciation for her. It wasn’t a good letter, but it was a sincere one; and she wrote back just as quickly:
“Dearest Kristy, I read your letter, and I wept.”

Brenna was crying. She sat in a barber’s chair, hair pulled back, her ponytail just moments away from being cut off. The hairdresser holding the scissors was crying. Those watching the scene were also in tears.
Snip! Brenna’s long hair, which had taken years to grow out, was gone. Her ponytail would now become a gift, a donation to an organization called Locks of Love. It would be combined with other donated hair and made into wigs for children who had lost their hair because of cancer treatment or who suffer from alopecia, a permanent hair-loss condition.

In British Columbia, Canada, Scouts of the Fifth Kelowna Troop arranged a special Remembrance Day recognition evening. The young men, ranging in age from 11 to 13, moved out of their comfort zones to interview LDS veterans in the Vernon British Columbia Stake, the troop’s sponsor.
Patrol leader Michael Edis of the Kelowna Second Ward conducted the evening as master of ceremonies. After a flag ceremony, the singing of the Canadian national anthem, and a presentation on the history of Remembrance Day, each Scout gave a short biography about the veteran he had interviewed. Each veteran was then presented with a “thank you” crest.
“They risked their lives for us,” said Brady Wilson. “It was fun to give out the thank-you awards and listen to their stories.”

As a young woman, I came to downtown Salt Lake one wintery day. I had parked in front of the Church Administration Building and was just putting a nickel in the meter when I noticed a man leaving the building. He wore a dark overcoat and a wool hat. But he had something more: a spirit that stirred my soul. I could not take my eyes off him, and as he descended the steps, I suddenly realized he was President David O. McKay. He said nothing as he passed me; he merely smiled gently and tipped his hat. The Spirit literally filled my being. I knew I had seen a prophet of God.
Not everyone will have the opportunity to see a prophet face-to-face. Fortunately, that isn’t necessary. We can all receive the same witness I did on those steps long ago. More important than seeing a prophet is understanding the message he has for us. Applying that message is a sure way to gain a testimony of his holy calling.

President Faust had to leave his studies at the University of Utah twice. He first left in 1939 to serve as a missionary in Brazil, where he learned to love the people and strengthened his testimony. It was a hard mission with few baptisms. Speaking of himself and one of his companions he said, “We didn’t accomplish much except for the changes in ourselves. I feel it was one of the most productive and valuable times in my life.”4
He left the university a second time to serve in the U.S. Army Air Force during World War II.
At war, President Faust was sometimes lonely. He had left behind his beloved Ruth, whom he had met in high school. They were married in the Salt Lake Temple on April 21, 1943, while he was on 10 days of military leave.
As the only Church member assigned to his ship in the South Pacific during the war, he would often go to the front of the ship—one of the only places he could find privacy. There he would sing hymns, study the scriptures, and pray.
He also wrote to his wife every day. Sometimes the letters would not be delivered to her regularly. One day she received 90 letters, and her boss gave her the afternoon off to read them.
President and Sister Faust have two daughters and three sons. President Faust always put a high priority on caring for his wife and family. “This is the kind of person he has been all his life,” Sister Faust said. “Family and loved ones have come first!”5
“We … bear our testimonies by our lives,” President Faust once said.6 Truly, James Esdras Faust bore his testimony of the Savior not only with his words but through his exemplary life.

Thank you for sharing “A Year on Temple Square” in your magazine and online at friend.lds.org. My family has enjoyed it so much that we decided to spend a day on Temple Square during a recent trip to Utah. We got to see the temple where our mom and dad were married. We also toured the Beehive House and talked to the sister missionaries. Our favorite part was seeing the Christus statue and watching videos about how families can be together forever. We had so much fun!

This story took place in Nigeria.
Ephraim ran as fast as he could. His heart pounded. Each step sent clouds of dust into the air. He reached his arm out. He was so close!
“You’re it!” Ephraim said as he tagged his brother, Uchenna, on the arm.
“Ephraim! Uchenna!” Mom called from the house. “Time to come in. We still have a lot of work to do.”
“Yes, Mom,” Ephraim said. He and Uchenna went inside.
Today was their younger sister Johanna’s birthday. They were having guests over for her birthday dinner. There was a lot to do.
Ephraim helped Mom make Johanna’s birthday cake. He liked to help Mom cook. Especially when they made cake.
Ephraim looked over at his brother and sister. Uchenna was working hard to clean the house. But Johanna wasn’t helping at all. She was just reading a book.
“Why isn’t Johanna helping?” Ephraim asked as he stirred the cake batter.
“It’s her birthday,” Mom said. “We’ll do all her work for her.”
“But that’s not fair! Johanna wouldn’t help me if it was my birthday.” Ephraim felt a little mad. He stirred the bowl faster, and bits of batter hit his face.
Then Ephraim grinned. He had an idea. He would make Johanna promise to help him on his birthday. If she didn’t promise, then Ephraim wouldn’t help today! Then it would be fair.
He told Mom about his plan. But she didn’t seem very happy about it.
“Remember to think about what Jesus would do,” she said.
Ephraim thought about Jesus. Jesus helped others, but He didn’t ask for anything back. Ephraim knew that Jesus wanted him to serve others, like He did.
“I think Jesus would want me to help Johanna without making her promise me anything,” Ephraim said.
“I think so too,” Mom said. She helped Ephraim pour the cake batter into the pan.
Mom put the cake into the oven. Then Ephraim helped Mom make meat pie for dinner. He was excited to have some.
Ephraim saw that Uchenna wasn’t cleaning anymore. He was playing a game with Johanna.
Ephraim felt mad again. Why was he the only one helping? Maybe he should get two pieces of the meat pie. And Johanna and Uchenna shouldn’t get any! It was only fair.
But Ephraim thought about Jesus again. Jesus would want all of us to have a piece, he thought.
Ephraim helped Mom finish dinner. He even helped set the table without being asked. He felt a lot happier. He knew that the Holy Ghost was telling him he had made the right choice.
When they all sat down to eat, they sang a birthday song to Johanna. Ephraim sang as loud as he could.
Mom cut the meat pie, and Ephraim quickly reached to grab some. But then he stopped.
“You can have the first piece,” he said to Johanna. “Happy birthday!”
Illustrations by Corey Egbert

I recall an incident from early Church history, from the days of persecutions and difficulties. Heber C. Kimball, then a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, found himself in circumstances where he sought hospitality from a member of the Church, a widow woman. She offered him what she had—bread and milk—and provided a room with a bed for him. He went to retire. She thought: “Here’s my opportunity. I would like to find out [and this is, in effect, the same old question: Are General Authorities human?] I would like to find out what an Apostle says when he prays to the Lord.” So after the door was closed, she crept quietly up to it to listen. She heard Brother Kimball sit down on the bed. She heard each of his shoes fall to the floor. She heard him lean back on the bed and then utter these words: “Oh Lord, bless Heber; he is so tired.”

This is the story behind the painting:
“In Missouri in 1862, the 14-year-old Mary Wanlass promised her dying stepmother that she would see to it that her disabled father [and her four much younger siblings would all make] it to the Valley of the Great Salt Lake. … Mary drove the oxen and milk cows that pulled the wagon, in which her father [was bedridden, and] she cared for her … siblings. After each day’s journey, she fed the family by foraging edible plants, flowers, and berries. Her only compass was the instruction she had received to keep traveling west ‘until the clouds become mountains.’
“They reached [the] Utah Valley in September, having traveled all spring and summer. Her father died not long after the family settled in Utah County, where Mary later married and raised her [own] family.”

I remember the same mixture of feelings on a much smaller scale when I was a teacher in Provo Ninth Ward. When the presidency of the quorum became vacant, I felt qualified to assume the position. However, another young man was selected. I did not question his worthiness and capacity, but I did ask myself if I were not as worthy or prepared as I should have been. I resolved to try to keep my life constantly in order and to improve myself so I would be ready for any future church calling which might be extended to me.

Robert, an investigator in Canada, has attended a variety of LDS meetings and activities. He has researched various religions but continues studying the Church because of the inspiration he has found in its doctrine and the Book of Mormon. He attends institute to learn more and finds the social environment “refreshingly wholesome, friendly, with a really good vibe,” he says. “Mormons are the nicest people in the world.”

A self-described introvert, Robert wants to interact but says, “I tend to hug the walls, unsure of how to be part of the groups, some of them long-term LDS friends who don’t seem to need anyone else.” But it doesn’t take much to ease this sense of isolation. During an activity, he recalls, “someone came up to me after dinner and encouraged me to stay for the movie; otherwise, I would have left, but instead I had a great time. I just needed to know that someone wanted me there.”

Like Melissa, he appreciates LDS friends who explain doctrine but don’t get too specific about how to live it. Friends who listen more than they admonish are like “someone who walks beside you, as opposed to pushing from behind to make you go faster. Most of the time, you just trip and stumble.”

Robert has struggled to give up smoking. His discomfort illustrates how those who are new are deeply aware of their differences. “Not one member has ever said anything to me about smelling like smoke,” he says. “Yet if my clothes aren’t fresh out of the laundry, I will stay home from institute or church.”

The final blessing of the sealing is one that we never see in this life. On a recent fast Sunday, a sister named Sharon told of her little son, Paul. Paul had drowned in an irrigation ditch near their home, and Sharon told of how she and her husband, Max, had felt a sinking hopelessness almost to the point of despair. They had been childless for years; Paul had come only after several miscarriages and much prayer. From the beginning they felt his love and intelligence and his strong obedient personality. Paul’s presence in their family had been much sought; his death brought great suffering.

Three weeks after the tragedy, Sharon stood before her ward telling how she had responded to this test. Her eyes were dry, but those close to her knew that she was crying inside.

“Brothers and sisters, I want to thank you all for the help and support you have given us in these past few weeks. It has been very difficult—” she paused and looked down at the pulpit. When she began again her voice caught and she had to struggle to speak clearly. “But I want you to know that I know more than ever before that our Father in heaven loves me. It’s very special to us to know that little Paul has already attained the goal that Max and I have been working for all our lives. I’m just comforted to know that we have been sealed as a family by the holy priesthood. If we hadn’t been, all this would have been impossible to bear. But instead I know that if we’re worthy, we’ll be together again.”

Recently I finished serving as the Mission President in Toronto Canada, I resolved I was going to follow Elder Scott's counsel and write down every impression I felt, however small it may be. Those impressions didn't always come when I was sitting at a table with pen in hand. Sometimes they came at the most inconvenient times. One night, I kept getting out of bed to record impressions that had come. Finally my wife said to me, "Why do you keep popping out of bed?" But I had learned a sad lesson from the past—if I waited until the morning I would usually forget the impression. There is an urgency about recording our impressions while we are still in the spirit.

As a mother of three young children, I have often found it difficult to take time for personal scripture study. And sometimes when our children are restless, our family scripture study has not been very rewarding.
One Sunday during a moment of quiet contemplation, I pondered these problems. Softly the answer came. If I studied at least one chapter in the scriptures daily, then at night I could review the chapter with my family.
The review is simple. First, I give a brief overview of the chapter. Next, I relate my feelings and impressions about it. Finally, I read several phrases and verses I feel are important.
Through my studying, I have gained a greater understanding of the scriptures. My husband learns from my summaries even while he plays with our children, and I can speak in terms my toddler understands. Our family has received many blessings from this answer to prayer.

Illustration by Toni Oka
Taking the step to leave her family and gather to Zion was a profound choice for 20-year-old Cyrena Dustin. Baptized in Portage, Ohio, in March 1837, she was the only member of her family to accept the message of the restored gospel. Joining the Church brought opposition from her family, but rather than abandon her faith, Cyrena held fast to her testimony.
In the summer of 1837, she traveled to Kirtland, Ohio, and visited the recently dedicated temple. She described that meaningful experience: “Truly I felt like thanking God that my mind had been enlightened and that I had been permitted to embrace the gospel and partake of its blessings.”
The next year she felt the desire to gather to Zion and join her fellow Latter-day Saints in Missouri. This decision not only separated her from her family but required her to, in her words, “start out alone in the world to fight the battle of life among strangers.”
Cyrena trusted in the promises of her patriarchal blessing, which brought her comfort and gave her the “necessary faith, courage, and fortitude to make the sacrifice of leaving home and friends.” She wrote of her determination: “I went forth trusting in the Lord in full faith that he would give me grace sufficient to overcome all obstacles and difficulties which might be thrown in my way, and that I might endure to the end.”
Her final farewell with her parents and siblings before leaving for Far West, Missouri, was filled with tears, pleas for her to stay, and even threats to have her forcibly returned home. Despite the sadness, Cyrena left holding firm to the conviction that she had heard the voice of the Lord.
“As I was leaving the house,” she recalled, “I turned back at the door and bore a faithful testimony to the truth of the gospel, and that was the last time I ever saw any of my father’s family.”
Quotations come from Cyrena Dustin Merrill, Autobiography, L. Tom Perry Special Collections, Harold B. Lee Library, Brigham Young University.
A longer version of this article can be found in this issue at liahona.ChurchofJesusChrist.org or in the Gospel library app.

In my high school there were only two boys who were members of the Church: myself and another boy who was inactive. On a whim I decided that on Fridays, for a few weeks, I would wear a white shirt and tie to school. Surprisingly, after the first week, many followed my lead and came dressed in white shirts and ties. One day the principal called me into his office. I had been there before for reasons that I would not care to mention today, but on that occasion he thanked me for setting a standard of dress for the rest of the boys, which he felt improved the spirit of the school. I felt good to know that I had led my friends to do a simple but uplifting thing and that it had been recognized by the school administration.

A young woman found that she had developed a spirit of criticism. She felt that this was hampering her spiritual growth. As she partook of the sacrament, she promised the Lord that she would not criticize anyone in her family for one week.

Each week she renewed her effort and asked for the Spirit to be with her. She overcame this weakness, though it was not easy and progress was slow. Her friends now use her as an example of one who never speaks unkindly of others.

Elder Renlund: I would like to share what we learned about the sacrament from members of the Church in Kigali, Rwanda. The background to the story is that in 1994 there was a horrific genocide in Rwanda. Between 600,000 and 900,000 people were killed in a matter of 60 to 90 days.
Eventually, the Church established a branch in the capital city of Kigali. The branch was doing well, without full-time missionaries. In 2011, Ruth and I were serving in that Africa Southeast Area when we learned, sadly, that our registration as a church with the country of Rwanda was invalid, which meant that we were functioning illegally as a church. We also learned that our meetinghouse, a converted two-story home, was not appropriately zoned to hold church meetings. For these reasons, the Area Presidency, in consultation with our first contact in the Quorum of the Twelve, made the agonizing decision to close the branch. Our members were no longer able to meet for church meetings.
Lawyers in Kigali, Johannesburg, and Salt Lake City began working fervently and feverishly and hopefully to resolve the problems. Nothing seemed to work. Brick walls were hit at every turn. All the while, the Saints kept asking when they could meet together again. Months went by without resolution or progress.
After 9 to 10 months, Ruth and I decided to fly to Kigali to visit those Saints and try to buoy up their spirits. Before we did, I asked that the matter be placed on the temple prayer roll of the weekly meeting of the First Presidency and Quorum of the Twelve.
The Tuesday before our scheduled trip from Johannesburg to Kigali, we were notified that, in a surprising move, the government had granted the Church provisional registration in the city of Kigali. Then, on Thursday of the same week, in another surprising move, the Zoning Commission granted an exemption from the zoning ordinance. The Kigali Saints could once again meet in our building without violating the law.
This was miraculous! Members were quickly notified that the branch would be meeting on Sunday. Ruth and I arrived on Friday and invited members to come to church. The members cleaned and prepared the building enthusiastically. When Sunday came, all the members--all of them--and many of their friends came to church. They arrived early, eager to be together again. As the sacrament was blessed and passed, we all experienced an extraordinary renewing, refreshing, and cleansing spirit.
I remember, in the meeting, wondering why I did not feel this same spirit every week as I partook of the sacrament. I looked around at the Saints, and I realized that they had come hungering and thirsting for the sacrament. Their faith, diligence, and patience brought all of us blessings. I pledged to myself that whenever I again partook of the sacrament, I would remember this experience with the Kigali Saints. I committed that I too would hunger for the blessings of partaking of the sacrament of the Lord's Supper.
Sister Renlund: I remember that sacrament meeting so well. The Kigali Saints had anticipated for months the opportunity to partake of the sacrament. They brought a remarkable spirit that inspired me.

My family had an amazing mystery adventure in a cemetery. We felt like explorers—or detectives! We followed a map, looked for clues, and made it through lots of obstacles.
The mystery started when Grandma found a list of family members who were buried in a family cemetery. She wondered why her own grandpa wasn’t on the list.
Grandma knew he was buried there, but she had never visited the cemetery before because she lived far away.
“I wish we could help Grandma,” I said during dinner. I felt sad that Grandma couldn’t find out about her grandpa.
“I do too,” Dad said. “Maybe we can take a trip to the cemetery and find her grandpa’s headstone.”
I was excited to solve the mystery. My little brothers, Joseph, Hyrum, and Daniel were excited too!
First we had to drive a long way and do some detective work before we even found the cemetery. We stopped to ask a man if he knew where it was. Guess what! It was hidden down a road on his farm!
The cemetery was in the middle of a muddy field. It was surrounded by a cinder-block wall and covered with overgrown plants. We had to cut through vines just to open the gate.
It was like a jungle inside! Big trees filled the cemetery, and thorny vines wrapped around the headstones. We had to clear them off to read the names.
“Who is Marenda Ann Thomas Humphrey?” I asked, pulling plants off a headstone.
Dad ran over. “She’s your great-great-great grandmother!” he said. “Hopefully your great-great grandpa’s headstone is nearby.”
We looked and looked for his headstone but couldn’t find it anywhere. Mom and Dad cut and cleared vines. My brothers and I cleaned off dirt, bugs, and spider webs. It was gross! Some headstones had tipped over because tree roots grew under them. They were heavy, but we worked together to lift them up again.
We worked hard all day. When the sun was going down, Dad said it was time to go.
“I don’t think we’re going to find it today,” he said. He sounded pretty disappointed.
I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to find the headstone for Grandma.
“Let’s say a prayer,” I said.
“That’s a great idea. Heavenly Father can help us find it,” said Mom.
We said a prayer and looked one last time. Dad found a long wire and used it to poke the ground. Suddenly the wire hit something solid. Maybe a headstone?
“I think Dad found something!” I said.
We knelt down and cleared away vines and weeds. Under a thin layer of dirt, we found a headstone. The name on it was Rodolph Jackson Humphrey.
“Dad, do you know who this is?” I asked.
When I looked at Dad, he had tears in his eyes. “This is exactly what we were searching for! It’s your great-great grandpa’s headstone,” he said.
“Yay!” we all shouted.
I gave my brothers high fives. “I knew we’d find it! We just needed a little help,” I said.
Mom smiled. “That’s what prayer is for.”
It was tricky and fun searching through the cemetery. We had to overcome walls, mud, thorns, and vines. But it was all worth it to get to know more about my great-great grandpa.
I know that the Holy Ghost helped us and that Heavenly Father answered our prayer. And the best feeling of all was hearing Grandma cheer when we told her all about it.

After President Hardy died we had a memorial service for him. I’ll never forget the native who was up speaking, saying what a calamity it was to the mission to lose this great New Zealand missionary who could do so much for them as one of the Authorities of the Church.

He was talking along that line, and all of a sudden he stopped and he looked around at me and said, “Wait a minute. There’s nothing to worry about, not a thing to worry about. When President Cowley gets home he’ll fill the first vacancy in the Council of the Twelve Apostles, and we’ll still have a representative among the Authorities of the Church.” Then he went on talking about President Hardy. When I arrived home the following September I filled the first vacancy in the Quorum of the Twelve. Did that just happen by chance? Oh, I might have thought so if it had been one of you … that had prophesied that, but not from the blood of Israel. Oh no, I could not deny, I could not doubt it.