Gospel Story Finder

I was startled when my new ministering sister, Amy Jo, asked me for the names of all my children and then said, “I will pray for each of them and for you.” No one had ever offered to do that for me.
Every time we talk, she asks about my needs and those of my family and says she’ll pray for specific needs such as “I’ll pray for your son to find a job, and I’ll pray that you can be healed faster.” I have been extremely touched by this ongoing practice and feel the results of her efforts.

Those kinds of examples are not lost on the youth of the stake. Like many young men, 16-year-old priest Josh Reynolds from the Kettering Ward loves football and found initial success as a youngster. But conflict arose when he wanted to play alongside some of his friends on a local team whose matches were held on Sundays. “My mum and dad explained why and how as members of the Church we need to keep the Sabbath day holy. I accepted this and after a while did not feel upset. I am extremely grateful to my parents for setting a good example to me and teaching me to keep the Sabbath day holy.”

My children’s births were not easy. My son arrived a month early and had to be untangled from the umbilical cord. I was seven months along with my baby girl when our doctor said we needed to find a place with an intensive care unit for newborns and adults to immediately intervene for both of us. So, there was no time to feel not ready or busy, it was a matter of survival and bringing life into this world.

We all encounter our own struggles. I can’t imagine the fear and uncertainty that must have been felt by Mary when carrying the divine Christ child or by Eve in choosing to have progeny over remaining in the Garden of Eden.

But the choices we make define us.
The choices we make mold our character and shape our earthly experience and our spiritual growth.

Let the Savior’s birth and what His parents went through allow you to fight your fights knowing that Christ has your back.

Illustrations by Shauna Mooney Kawasaki
Matt: I don’t understand what he’s talking about.
Mom: It can be hard at your age. But if you listen carefully, you’ll understand something from each talk.
Dad: In every conference there seems to be at least one message just for me. Maybe there will be for you too.
Later—Matt: I did understand some things, but I don’t think any of it was just for me.
Mom: You know, when we listen to conference, the messages don’t come just from the speakers. The Spirit can speak to us too.
Dad: That’s right. It isn’t only what we understand that counts. It’s what we feel.
That evening—Matt: When I listened to President Hinckley, I didn’t understand everything he said. But I had a good feeling that he really is a prophet.
Dad: That was a conference message just for you—one you’ll remember your whole life.

Three to one—that was the ratio published at the beginning of fall semester. Ten to one was more like it. Susan Taylor twisted and pulled herself into a half-lotus position just minutes before midnight, grabbed a yellow, ruled tablet, a no. 2 pencil, and scribbled her New Year’s resolution: “Get a date; get two; get engaged; get married.”
Straightening her spine into correct posture and breathing correctly, she lowered her head within inches of the floor, at the same time forcing her arms into an unnatural, towering position above her contorted body.
Nineteen seventy-four clocked out and 1975 clocked in while she held her breath. Nostalgic dance-band music, filtering into her bedroom from downstairs, signaled the New Year. Hanging full-length on the wall, the mirror reflected her 19-year-old freshman image. She stood, swiveling gracefully from side to side. Would the guys notice? She was slimmer; she seemed taller and prettier. But still, her legs were straight, her shoulders narrow. She had, however, learned to disguise figure faults. Now her brown hair caressed her shoulders. Her new dresses fell full and easy at her ankles.
“If it weren’t for Cynthia,” she thought, “I might have a chance.” Cynthia stalked from male to male—sweet-talking, smooth-walking Cindy lured admirers to her like a spider, trapping them in filmy webs of flattery. Thanks to her, Susan had sat dateless for 12 weeks, eating almond-studded chocolate bars.
But the New Year brought new hopes.
The New Year’s bells could have been campus bells, so swiftly did the time pass for Susan. She and 5,000 other students had blown into Rexburg on a wind and a prayer. They settled down and snuggled in for the winter.
Susan hesitated at the water fountain near the open door of COB 478, her first class of the new semester. She listened for her cue.
“Quiet, please. I’d like to …”
Head held high, Susan swung into the room, swishing an ankle-length plaid skirt. Sashaying, she dipped in and out of regimented rows of students, working toward an empty desk near the window, while the teacher and the students looked on. She flipped the last corner with a flourish, confident she was making a good impression.
Then suddenly an overhead projector loomed large in her way. She stumbled over it, catching her skirt on the neck of the projector. She hit the linoleum with a thud, her straight legs scissored under a row of desks, her skirt bunched at her knees. Students snickered.
“Welcome to class, Miss … uh?” the teacher said with a smile.
“Taylor,” Susan volunteered with a blush and a gulp.
“Did you hurt yourself, Miss Taylor?”
“No, sir. At least I don’t think so.” She pulled herself up.
Phase 2 followed on the heels of her clumsy beginning. It was easy—three public telephones in three boys’ dorms, three slips of paper on which she had written in her best hand, “A cute coed is waiting by a telephone for your call. Why not give her a ring? 356-9927.”
Susan slipped into the dorms early on a Saturday morning. Assuring herself no one was there, she walked on feline feet to the booths, pushed back the doors as quickly and quietly as she could, and stuffed her notes in the coin return slots. After all, who doesn’t look in the slot when he hears the false drop of a coin? It was easy; it was sure. Now all she had to do was wait. Carried along by the early morning wind, she bounded back to her apartment, took the stairs three at a time, and only then caught up with her breath as she sank into a vinyl-covered chair by the phone.
Painting her nails, styling her hair, she waited. Each ring vibrated in her ears and set her to jittering in the chair. Linda’s parents called from Salt Lake; two boys called for Cindy; Susan waited for a fourth call.
Ring! Susan lunged for the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Hello, cute coed,” the masculine voice drawled. “This is the call you’ve been waiting for. What’s your name?”
“Sue.”
“Sue what?”
A flutter of the heart and a pause.
“Sue Taylor. What’s your name?”
“Joe.” The voice continued, “Joe McIntire.” And then irritatingly, “I repair phones. Now quit abusing the telephone system or I’ll report you!”
Click!
Downstairs the lounge was quiet except for the soft shuffling of papers as Sister Calder sorted through an old cardboard box. Susan shrank past her to the door. She didn’t want to talk to anyone just now, least of all to a successfully married dorm parent. Outside in the hall she slipped a dime in the vending machine, pulled the button, and waited for the sliding and drop of a chocolate bar. She stuffed it into the pocket of her coat, turned up the fur collar around her neck and ears, and walked out into the wind.
The sky was iron-gray, breaking only a little light through at the horizon. Patches of dirt-peppered snow crusted on the frozen grass and at the edges of the sidewalk. Gravel scratched between the walk and her shoes as she turned south toward the hilltop above the campus buildings. She shifted her body first one way and then the other, trying to escape the full force of the wind. She leaned into it, every step an effort; then suddenly, it swooped up behind her, thrusting her forward effortlessly.
“Just like the wind,” she thought, “my life is out of control. Why does everything have to go wrong?” Pulling the hair out of her eyes, she looked for shelter.
Susan passed one house, two houses, three, and then an open field. Bordering the open field, a woodshed extended beyond a garage. She pushed her way there, finding a protected log lying between two cords of wood piled eight feet high. When she straddled the log, the wind raged only three feet above her head but seemed a whole world away. Tucked away in the wood, her head on her knees, she confronted herself. Struggling against the wind had swept her clean. She whispered prayers there among the buoying smells of sawdust and raw, wintry air.
The oncoming night had nearly pinched out the rim of light when she reentered the dorm. It was bright and warm in the lounge. A couple clasped hands in front of the television; Sister Calder knelt on the floor surrounded by piles of papers and magazines. The cardboard box was empty and cast off to the side. She glanced up.
“Susan! You look absolutely frozen. Come and sit for a minute.” Sister Calder smiled broadly and patted a nearby chair.
Thinking it easier to obey than make an excuse, Susan dropped to the chair and rubbed her icy hands on the warm upholstery. She gazed vacantly at the neat piles.
“What are you doing, Sister Calder?” she asked politely.
“I’m trying to sort through some things. Don tells me he doesn’t have room to turn around in that small apartment of ours. The only problem is, I just can’t bear to throw anything away.” She laughed heartily and raised her arms in hopelessness. “Our love letters, my decorating books, these old prints—I can’t part with any of it. Not even this, though I have another copy.” She picked up a New Era that had been making its own pile. “Here, you look at it; maybe there’s something in it you can use.”
Sister Calder thrust the magazine into Susan’s lap. It fell open. Susan held it for a moment, then looking closer, she read: “Young women in Zion, worrying takes energy. Instead of worrying why you don’t date or while you’re not married, expend that energy positively. Take a class. Make a recipe or home decorating file. Join a service club. Spend 15 minutes a day with the written testimonies of the prophets. In short, develop yourself into the kind of person who attracts the priesthood bearer you desire. Happiness does not miraculously begin with marriage—it strengthens marriage. Create your happiness now, for someday it will guide you into eternity.”
Help lay before her on the page. Though printed months before, the words spoke to her at this moment. Susan held it to her.
“Sister Calder, I will keep this, if you don’t mind.”
When Susan opened the apartment door, Cynthia was draped over the couch dreaming, her legs dangling prettily over the couch’s arm. As if suddenly animated, she bounced to her feet and twirled excitedly. Her auburn hair shone in the light; her cheeks flushed with life—she looked more beautiful than ever.
“Guess what?” she exclaimed. “This fantastic guy called from one of the boys’ dorms. He said he found my phone number in the telephone booth. Can you believe that? Gosh, we talked for just hours and hours. And he’s coming over tomorrow night to see me. Oh, I can hardly wait! How will I ever be able to concentrate till then?” Cynthia fell back to the couch in a swoon.
“Hey, what happened to you?” Cynthia looked at Susan as if seeing her for the first time. “You look like you’ve been out in a hurricane. Seriously, where have you been?”
“Seriously, I’ve been learning.”
“Well, that’s what they tell us we’re here for. Just between you and me, though, I’m working toward my MRS degree.” Her secret hardly popped out like a genie long-corked in a bottle.
Susan was amused at her confession. From Cindy’s lips she could hear her own narrow view of life rumbling, tumbling down in a heap on the floor. She started for the bedroom.
“Where are you going now?”
“I need some privacy, Cindy,” she smiled brightly. “I’m rewriting my New Year’s resolutions.” As if lifted up by a breeze, Susan glided past Cynthia into the room beyond.

I was at the grocery store with my mom and my brothers. We got to the checkout stand, and my mom was paying for our groceries. I saw that my two-year-old brother was holding a bag of doughnuts that my mom forgot to pay for. Before we left the checkout line, I told my mom that she had forgotten to pay for the doughnuts. She was thankful that I had been honest, and I felt very happy that I did the right thing by speaking up.

Kendall A., age 10, Costa Rica
Last year when I began elementary school, I worried very much that Mama would forget to pick me up after school. I even cried when I arrived at school. But just before class began, I said a prayer and asked Heavenly Father to help me not to cry and to help Mama remember to pick me up.
After I prayed I felt much better and didn’t want to cry anymore. When it was time to go, I saw Mama waiting for me at the front gate. I was so happy that Heavenly Father listened to me and answered my prayer.

In stark contrast, consider the example of another young man. Through the years I have watched how his parents have taught him from infancy to unwaveringly live the commandments of God. By example and precept, they nurtured him, together with their other children, in truth. They encouraged the development of discipline and sacrifice to obtain worthy goals. This young man chose swimming to instill in his character those qualities. Early-morning practice sessions required discipline and sacrifice. Over time he excelled in that sport.
Then came the challenges—for example, a championship swim meet on Sunday. Would he participate? Would he rationalize an exception to his rule of not swimming on Sunday to help his team win the championship? No, he would not yield, even under intense peer pressure. He was called names, even physically abused. But he would not yield. The rejection of friends, the loneliness, and the pressure brought times of sadness and tears. But he would not yield. He was learning firsthand what each of us must come to know, the reality of Paul’s counsel to Timothy, “All that will live godly in Christ Jesus shall suffer persecution” (2 Tim. 3:12). Over the years this consistent pattern of righteous living—woven from hundreds of correct decisions, some in the face of great challenge—has developed a character of strength and capacity. Now, as a missionary, he is appreciated by his peers for his ability to work, his knowledge of truth, his unwavering devotion, and his determination to share the gospel. One who earlier was rejected by his peers now has become a respected leader of his peers. Is there a message for you in these examples?

In September 1972 President Harold B. Lee visited Israel. President Lee was accompanied by Sister Lee, Elder Gordon B. Hinckley of the Quorum of the Twelve, and Sister Hinckley.
While in the Holy Land, President Lee met with the mayor of Jerusalem and other officials of the Israeli government. He also visited Bethlehem, where Jesus was born, and Nazareth, where the Savior spent His childhood.
One of his special visits was to the Garden Tomb, a beautiful area where it is believed Jesus was buried and rose from the dead. There President Lee met with the Saints in Israel and organized the Jerusalem Branch of the Church. The Primary children of the new branch sang one of President Lee’s favorite songs, “I Am a Child of God.”
Later when President Lee spoke to members of the Church in Rome, he told them that his choicest experience in the Holy Land was hearing the children sing that lovely song. He explained that we all are truly God’s children and that our Heavenly Father wants us to do what’s right so that we can return to live with Him.
The children of the Jerusalem Branch will always remember President Lee and his visit with them. They feel blessed that a modern-day prophet visited this land where Jesus lived and taught. They are glad too that they are able to visit some of these sacred places.

Seven is Christie Kight’s favorite number these days. She recently took second place in the National Junior Olympics for the heptathlon, in which athletes compete in seven track-and-field events. Christie, a Laurel in the Auburn Washington Stake, says that after all her practice and hard work, the most important thing she did was pray to do her best.
And her best is exactly what she did, setting personal records in high jump, javelin, and shot put.

An active youth committee in Cache Valley made it their project to take care of the aged and shut-ins. Each week the girls would prepare suppers and the boys would prepare lessons or activities to take to the homes of the unfortunate, giving them plenty of tender loving care in a family home evening situation. What do you think that did for those young people to be involved in such a worthy, compassionate service? Their deep desire to be of service and to demonstrate their love can even benefit the bishop. In Sacramento, California, while the bishop was away on vacation with his family, the youth committee determined to paint his house. These young people had the time of their lives working together and anticipating the pleasant surprise of the bishop when he returned. A real bond of love was established between the youth and their bishop with such meaningful service.

When I was a young child, my grandmother Richards lived in the upstairs bedroom of our home. Although she was in her nineties and failing in health, her mind was alert, and her hands spent most of the day crocheting trim around flannel baby blankets. Grandma was such a part of our lives that I can’t ever remember her not being in our home. She was very patient. My younger brother, Rich, and I spent many hours taking Grandma “for pretend rides” in her hospital bed. The crank at the foot of the bed could be rotated so that the head or the foot could be raised or lowered. When she was resting, we would come into her room and ask her if we could crank her up or down. Once, when we tired of this game, we ran off to play, leaving Grandma with both her head and her feet in the air in a “V” position.
She never scolded us for doing this, nor would she allow our mother to, either. She understood that we were children. She simply picked up the gold bell by her side and rang it until one of our older sisters or parents came to her rescue.
Every evening, rocking in her chair, she would call us to her side and ask that we say our prayers with her. She taught us a sweet little verse which we would repeat: “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.” Afterward we offered our individual prayers to Heavenly Father. She would listen carefully and tell us that she loved us. Through her example, she taught me about patience. She taught me about prayer. She taught me about love.

As Vanessa has learned more and more, she has been able to help her younger sisters and brother learn. They have each progressed faster in their music because they’ve had the help of an older sister. In a family of performers, everything doesn’t go perfectly smooth. Practice time can get a little heated. Everyone has his own opinion about how things should be done. But all differences fade away on stage. They all get into the spirit of the performance and enjoy sharing what they do with appreciative audiences.

Anne C. Pingree, second counselor in the Relief Society general presidency: “My husband and I had traveled to one of the most remote locations in our mission so he could conduct temple recommend interviews. … After all the interviews were completed, as my husband and I drove back along that sandy jungle trail, we were stunned when we saw … two sisters still walking. We realized they had trekked from their village—a distance of 18 miles round trip—just to obtain a temple recommend they knew they would never have the privilege of using. These Nigerian Saints believed the counsel of President Howard W. Hunter: ‘It would please the Lord for every adult member to be worthy of—and to carry—a current temple recommend, even if proximity to a temple does not allow immediate or frequent use of it’” (“Seeing the Promises Afar Off,” Liahona and Ensign, Nov. 2003, 13).

In the following years, fellowshipping helped Gary return to Church activity. Jennifer would invite ward members or the missionaries over for dinner, knowing that would give them a chance to talk with Gary. He is grateful to those members and missionaries for being a good influence on him.
Dale Price, for example, home taught Jennifer’s mother and got to know Gary and Jennifer that way. When Brother Price visited with Brother Tucker, they didn’t talk about the gospel at first. They talked about a common interest: hunting. The Prices also sat with the Tuckers at ward activities, brought them food from their food storage when Brother Tucker was out of work, and gave them honey produced by their own honeybees. Honey is the Tuckers’ favorite topping on toast. That little gift, as Brother Price describes it, was “to sweeten the relationship.”

I know a woman with several small children whose husband served in a time-consuming Church calling. He often came home late from work—just long enough to say hello—then off he went to perform his Church duties. The children sometimes had to be reassured, and sometimes the mother had to reassure herself, by saying, “Aren’t we glad that Daddy is worthy to serve Heavenly Father so we can receive so many blessings?” A support instead of a murmur brought results that had a lasting influence on that home and family.

When Goethe wrote his Faust, I believe he was inspired to utter some truths about the method of attack by the enemy of our souls. You recall that the man Faust, an old man, was anxious to be made a youth again. He prayed for such a transformation. But the thing he sought for was unlawful, and the Lord had no answer for him. But he persisted in his prayers, and when we persist, not willing to say “Father, thy will, not mine, be done,” it is quite possible that the devil may answer us, as he did Faust. And so the devil said: “I will do this thing for you. I will make you a youth, and when you are a youth you will want a maiden.” And a vision of the beautiful Marguerite was shown. “But if I do this for you I want you to sign a contract that when you are done with this body your spirit belongs to me.”

It is not bodies, it is immortal spirits that the devil wants. And he tries to capture them through the body, for the body can enslave the spirit, but the spirit can keep the body a servant and be its master.

So the contract is entered into. Then as Faust is made a young man he remembers the promise of the virgin, the maiden, and the two go in search of her. They find her as she enters the church. Suddenly Faust rushes forward to seize her, but the devil holds him back and says: “Not so fast, not that way.” Here is a truth. The devil cannot capture any man or woman that way. He cannot suddenly sweep them off their feet and bind them as his slaves against their wills. The power is given to every man and woman that lives to speak as Christ did: “Get thee hence, Satan;” and he will leave you as quickly as he left the Master. He cannot capture a single soul unless we are willing to go. He is limited. He must win men and women.

So with Marguerite. He must win her. They study her and find her weakness. She is a chaste, virtuous, wonderful girl, yet she has a weakness. It is vanity. So they play upon that weak link. Jewels are placed in the garden, and with them the mirror. She discovers these things. Vanity prompts her to put the jewels on and suggests she look in the mirror and see how beautiful she is. At the psychological moment the tempter appears and offers them as a gift from her would-be lover. She is prompted to keep them.

The lovers spend the afternoon together, and the mother’s voice is heard calling Marguerite to come in from the garden, but she is loath to leave her new-found lover. Again at the psychological moment the tempter, the devil, appears, placing a pill in the hand of Faust with the assurance that if this is placed in the mother’s evening drink the mother will soon be asleep and the lovers will be undisturbed. As I have listened to the sad stories of more than one girl who has stolen away from her mother’s influence and come to sorrow and distress, I wonder why the warning is not sufficient to give every girl the assurance that the safest place in the world for her is as close to her mother as she can get.

The mother takes the potion and goes to sleep. The lovers spend the night together. Early morning brings the brother Valentino upon the scene, and he finds his mother dead—for it is the sleep of death—and a stranger in the house with his sister Marguerite. A quarrel follows, and a duel is fought in which Valentino, the brother, is slain. Now Marguerite comes to an awakening sense of her full situation and the consequences of her own act. She has slain her mother, brought the death of her brother, and—worse than her own death—she has lost her virtue. She is next seen weeping and tearing her hair, and the devil comes laughing upon the scene. He has captured another soul. Strongly fortified as she was, she had one weakness, and through that the enemy entered her citadel and she fell.

Here on my mission to the Philippines, I discovered that Christmas is celebrated from September to December. Instead of bringing the snow that I’m used to, December in the Philippines is constantly full of rainy, gray skies. It’s green everywhere you look—banana trees, coconut palms, other palm trees.
For our last appointment on Christmas Eve, we visited a family we had just started teaching. We rode our bikes through the thick jungle to the family’s bamboo-stick, tin-roofed house. When we arrived, I saw the nanay (mother) fishing in the river behind her house with a long bamboo stick and a bit of string. She told us she was trying to catch fish for their ulam (main dish) so they could eat that night. We had planned to go to a Christmas party with the other missionaries at 6:30 p.m., but we decided to spend some time catching tiny fish in the rain to help this woman feed her family instead.
That night, as my companion and I watched a video about Jesus Christ’s birth, I thought about how He came into the world with nothing and left with nothing. The family we served didn’t have much either. But I realized you don’t need much to be happy. Christmas is about more than decorations, food, or even service. It’s about God’s love (see 1 Nephi 11:13–23). It’s about charity, the pure love of Christ. It’s about loving everyone.
Although this Christmas was different for me, my experience has given me extra motivation to keep working and keep serving because the gospel of Jesus Christ can bring people so much happiness. The gospel teaches us how we can reach out in love and charity. I felt charity for that family.
The author is serving in the Philippines Antipolo Mission.

Rhett Wyatt, a priest in the Gresham Fourth Ward, Gresham Oregon Stake, runs on a busy schedule. Each morning at 7:00 A.M. Rhett, who’s blind, runs two miles holding onto the arm of a classmate or gym teacher. He also works out on the trampoline, thanks to a safety invention of his brother, and ran a mile race in a Special Olympics track meet. Rhett recently performed in his school’s productions of Oklahoma and West Side Story and delivered a Bill Cosby routine at his senior class banquet. A stake missionary and member of the Gresham seminary executive council, Rhett plans to serve a mission soon.

I remember a big group date where we ended up at a friend’s house making cookies. We had a contest to see who could do the best decorating job, and just when I thought the date was over, my friend announced we were now going to deliver the cookies to missionaries and families in the ward. “And no one better get caught,” he said smiling.
We had a blast going from door to door. One sister was too quick for us. She caught us on her front porch. When we handed her the plateful of our masterpieces, her face lit up. It was cool—cool-aid.