Gospel Story Finder

All the young women in my ward were happily splashing in the swimming pool when a man from New York came over to the pool and asked us what we were all doing there.
As soon as he heard the word church, he let us know that he did not believe in any churches. His dad was a preacher and was the “meanest man alive.” That New Yorker was the angriest person I had ever met. I got out of the water and went off to be by myself. I knelt down and said a little prayer that I would be able to say something to Mr. New York that would be meaningful to him and would help him overcome his anger.
When I came back, it was obvious nothing had changed. Mr. New York was still talking in angry tones about how there couldn’t possibly be a God. “If there was, He wouldn’t have let my wife and daughter die,” he said. The words came to me without my even thinking: “You can be sealed to your wife and daughter in the temple,” I said.
Mr. New York stopped and asked me to repeat what I had just said. After I did, there was silence. His countenance softened and his voice became calm. He asked about the temple and how he could be sealed to his family. I was able to tell him everything I had learned about temples. I don’t know what happened to him, but my little prayer was answered in a big way!
Twila H., Arizona, USA

Elder Phil and Sister Brenda Frandsen are one such couple. They served in Kaohsiung, Taiwan. In addition to his other responsibilities, Elder Frandsen served as a counselor to the mission president. The following brief interview with the Frandsens illustrates the thoughts and feelings of many couples and may provide insight to those considering missionary service.
Sister Frandsen: “We had always talked about serving a mission after our children were grown. When the time came, it was hard to agree on where we would go and what we would do. After much discussion, Elder Frandsen suggested that we leave the choice up to the Lord. When we received our mission call, it could not have been more exciting. We consider it a very special blessing!”
Elder Frandsen: “Returning after a 44-year absence has been a most rewarding experience. In an area where there was once a tiny branch in a rented building, there now stands a beautiful stake center. An eight-year-old boy I knew then is a devoted stake president now. Progress in this part of the world has been truly marvelous. Every day there is a new spiritual experience as Sister Frandsen and I labor to help individuals gain or strengthen their testimonies.”
Elder Frandsen: “We have been able to use our talents and experiences, and we have discovered talents that we didn’t know we had. I have been able to relearn much of my Chinese. Sister Frandsen can answer the phone in Chinese and is able to read names in order to forward the mail. We feel that learning new skills at our age is good for old brains!”
Sister Frandsen: “I worried about being away from children and grandchildren. However, there are amazing technological advances in communication available to senior missionaries. In some respects, I hear from and see more of our family than we ever did when we were home. We will have at least four grandchildren born while we are here, which we count as one of the greatest blessings of all. Although I will miss holding the newborn babies, we will get to see pictures and videos as soon as each event happens. Rather than taking us away from family, in many ways our mission has brought us closer together.”
Elder Frandsen: “Actually, we feel that we have enlarged our family by going on a mission. We are ‘grandparents’ to the missionaries. Each day we are excited for young missionaries to share their missions with us. We love them—and they love us back! Don’t you enjoy hearing returned missionaries report their experiences of sharing the gospel? We get to hear those experiences every day while they are fresh and largely unedited. Watching the missionaries mature and grow into effective gospel teachers and leaders is priceless!”
Sister Frandsen: “While we have been gone, we have still been doing missionary work back in Arizona. Two of our best friends have invited the missionaries into their homes. Additionally, our daughter and her husband decided to share the gospel with someone. As a result, one of their friends was recently baptized. The more we try to serve, the more blessings we receive. It is impossible to get ahead of the Lord.”
Elder Frandsen: “Missionary work is never boring! There are new challenges and new adventures every day. In addition to our office duties, we teach an English class on Saturday morning and a Gospel Doctrine class on Sunday morning. Twice a week we teach college-preparation English classes for returned missionaries. We are also involved in finding and teaching investigators. Every opportunity for service opens up new doors for teaching the gospel.”
Sister Frandsen: “Perhaps one of my biggest fears was health concerns; instead, we have experienced health blessings. Our missionary schedule is healthful. We get up early, retire early, exercise daily, and eat nutritious foods. The Lord blesses missionaries with strength to perform their labors. You need not be afraid!”
Elder Frandsen: “We sometimes smile when those back home think that we are making a sacrifice. The sacrifice is minuscule compared to the blessings, joy, and satisfaction that God gives us each day.”

Forced by mob persecution to leave their homes in Nauvoo, Illinois, many members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints looked to the West to find a new Zion. The next year, 1847, under the direction of President Brigham Young, they migrated to the Great Salt Lake Valley. The first pioneer colony to arrive at the valley numbered one hundred forty-three men, three women, and two children. Among these first settlers was Green Flake, a former slave of a North Carolina planter, who had been converted earlier to the Church.
Born in Anson County, North Carolina, in 1825, Green was inherited by Madison Flake after his father’s death. As was the custom of the time, Green took the surname of his master. After Madison Flake joined the Church, he offered Green his freedom. However, Green chose to remain with Madison, and he moved to Nauvoo with the Flake family. In Nauvoo Green served for a short time as one of the Prophet Joseph Smith’s bodyguards.
Madison asked Green to go with the first wagon train of Saints to help prepare for the subsequent arrival of the Flake family. Life was hard for all of the pioneers. Green proved himself strong and reliable as the small band set up winter quarters in Nebraska; forged a trail along the Platte River to Ft. Laramie, Wyoming; in the spring, and conquered the Rocky Mountains.
President Young became ill with a fever when they arrived at Echo Canyon, which cut through the eastern slopes of the Wasatch Range fifty miles from the Great Salt Lake. He sent Orson Pratt ahead with a company of forty-two men, instructing them to build bridges and roads as they went. Green Flake was included in this group, which pushed on and reached the Great Salt Lake Valley on July 21, 1847. He rode in the first wagon to move through Emigration Canyon into the desert valley, later called by Brother Young a promised land.
Orson Pratt immediately dedicated the land to the Lord and blessed the seed that they had carried with them over a thousand miles. He then ordered the first crops to be planted. Green Flake plowed and sowed his seed before building a log house for the Flake family. He had chosen a site on the Amasa Survey in Cottonwood so that the Flakes could live near the Southern Saints who had come west with the Mississippi Company. It was they who established the first settlement in Utah outside of Salt Lake City.
When Madison Flake arrived a year later, he found a beautiful home ready for his family. At this time Green was only twenty-two years old. Shortly afterward Green married Martha Crosby, and they had two children. After his wife died in 1885, Green went to live near his son and daughter in Gray’s Lake, Idaho. He returned to Salt Lake City in 1897 to attend the Jubilee Pioneer Celebration and to receive a special certificate for being one of the first pioneers to enter the valley. He died six years later in Gray’s Lake at the age of seventy-eight.

Because the Church can’t spell out how to act in every situation, Saane has created her own guardrails by deciding ahead of time how to apply gospel standards to the circumstances she is likely to face.

She has created a poster that lists nine promises to herself and to her Heavenly Father that act as her personal guardrails, including the kind of people she will date, clothing she will wear, and language she will use. Other personal guardrails could include deciding how to avoid viewing, reading, or listening to anything that can arouse sexual feelings.2

“Setting my standards high will help keep me safe,” Saane says.

Dr. William Ghormley served as president of the stake in Corpus Christi, Texas. He bought his gasoline at a particular station. Each time he filled his tank he would leave a piece of Church literature with the station owner. It might have been a tract or a Church magazine or the Church News, but he never went there without leaving something. The man who ran the station was converted by the power of the Spirit as he read that literature. When last I checked, he was serving as a bishop.

Thank you so much for “Journal Excerpts from a Single Girl.” Since I fit into this category, the title caught my eye immediately. I was deeply impressed by the beautiful thoughts expressed. Carol Clark must be a sincere, spiritual person. It’s reassuring to know that I’m not alone in my sometimes impatient quest for “the white knight à la white charger.” I hadn’t realized that other women in my position also wonder, “What is wrong with these men? Don’t they recognize quality when they see it?”
I have realized that I too must dedicate myself to “be the right person.” Thank you.
Sidni JonesMurray, Utah

President Pace shared how when he was 11, his mom asked if he knew for himself that the gospel is true. He decided to read the Book of Mormon and pray to know. As he did, he felt comfort and peace from the Holy Ghost. This helped him gain his own testimony.

One day I was walking with my friend Alexis. Out of nowhere an older schoolmate said to me, “Move, nerd!” I asked myself, “What would Jesus do in this situation?” I told her that I liked the way she does her hair and the way she picks out her clothing. I felt a good feeling inside telling me I did a good job. My friend Alexis asked, “Why didn’t you say anything mean to her?”
Later after class, the girl came up to me and told me she was sorry. I accepted her apology.

For a goal, I went through Come, Follow Me and found scriptures and quotes to share on social media. I received several comments from people saying they felt the Spirit through my posts. Sharing the gospel can help others in ways we can’t imagine in the moment.
Raquel, Brazil

Three of the interns had already told me that I was well enough to leave the next day—the day before Christmas—and then come back to the hospital after a short holiday respite. I was sure that I would get final confirmation of this pleasant news from Dr. Sherman, department chief of staff, when he made his usual rounds later in the day. He finally appeared and stopped at my bedside. His examination was routine; in fact, it was too routine.
“You’re doing fine, just fine,” he assured me, and turned to leave the room. But he had nothing to say about me leaving the hospital for Christmas.
I gulped down my alarm and asked, “I’ll be leaving tomorrow for a few days, won’t I?”
The only indication of his surprise was the way his gray eyebrows lifted themselves a little higher on his forehead. He slowly answered, “I’m sorry, son, but you’re not going anywhere for at least two more weeks.”
His voice was kind, but it was also firm and definite. I lay there speechless as he left the room. The one thing I had been holding to for the last few days was gone. My one firm hope had just been stepped on, had just been crushed.
It wasn’t fair—none of it was fair! I had been on my mission for over a year when it happened. I was happy in my calling; teaching the gospel in New York City was challenging and exciting. And lately it had begun to be productive—our labors were being blessed with success. And I had been blessed with good health—at least I had been healthy until two weeks earlier when my right arm suddenly became paralyzed for a few minutes and my speech left me for more than two hours.
No one knew what had happened to me, so I had been brought to this hospital in the Bronx to find out. No one at the hospital seemed to know for sure just what had happened to me either. I had overheard whispered conversations about strokes, seizures, tumors, and syndromes. Dozens of inconclusive tests had left me exhausted and more ill than when I had entered the hospital. It just wasn’t fair for me to be wasting my time in the hospital when there were investigators to be taught; it wasn’t fair that the mysterious affliction had appeared in the first place.
I called my folks in Utah almost every night, assuring them that I was all right and that there was nothing to worry about. My mother wanted to fly out and be with me, but I knew that they couldn’t afford it and that I would feel even more self-conscious about my hospital stay if she were to come. So I joked about my mysterious malady over the phone and carefully acted the role of nonchalant victim so they would not worry about me so much.
The small hospital in the Bronx, famous for its work with neurological problems, had to be the most desolate and cheerless place on earth; I was sure of it after spending just one night in the place. As the days became weeks, my hopes of leaving for the Christmas holidays had made my suffering bearable. Thoughts of Yuletide excitement and activity alleviated the boredom and discomfort.
“You’re not going anywhere for at least two more weeks.” Dr. Sherman’s pronouncement lodged in my mind and filled it with a sense of nostalgia and finality. As a child, I would dream of Christmas for months ahead. As a young man, I found that my childish pleasures had been only partially replaced with a deeper appreciation of friends, family—and Jesus Christ.
I lay unmoving in the hospital bed for at least 15 minutes before I shifted position enough to reach the radio and turn it on; it had been my only pleasure and diversion in my lonely room since coming to the hospital. But even listening to it made my mood darken. My disappointment had been replaced with resentment and anger; I was totally miserable. I felt it within me, discoloring my personality from some corrupt inner well.
Still, I stubbornly listened to the radio, preferring it to the routine sounds from the corridor and the nearby kitchen. Every station seemed to be blasting me with Christmas carols. Happy voices proclaimed joy to the world. Singers reminded me again and again that “there’s no place like home for the holidays.”
I wasn’t full of joy. I wasn’t home. I wouldn’t even be going home to my missionary and member friends here in New York. For me there would be no Christmas this year.
December 23 slowly passed and became December 24. Then it was Christmas Eve. The hospital was hushed and quiet. Many of the patients had been allowed to go home for Christmas. But not me. I was alone. I was lonely, small, and unimportant.
I glumly lay in bed, listening to the radio carols, mocking them in my mind, and fervently wishing that the night would quickly pass. Around 8:00 there was a knock at the door, and Ed Cazakoff, one of the recent converts I had helped teach, walked into the room. His arms were full of packages, and his face was covered with a big grin. He greeted me with a cheery “Merry Christmas,” put down the packages, and warmly shook my hand.
It was astonishing to see him away from his family tonight. This was not just Christmas Eve—it was Hannukah, a special family time in Judaism. There had been much family difficulty because of Ed’s conversion to Christianity and the restored gospel, and he spent as much time as possible with his family to reassure them of his continued love and loyalty.
Ed’s face was radiant as he talked with me that evening. His warmth and enthusiasm and vulnerability made him seem younger than his 24 years. He smiled continually as he talked about his Church work, his delight in the gospel, and his concern and love for our mutual friends and for his family. For several hours we talked, listened to the radio carols, and opened the gifts he had brought with him. Some were from him; others had been gathered and sent by other friends.
After he left, I thought about the hours he would now spend waiting for the subway and traveling home this wintry night. I looked around at the once bleak room. Holiday paper tumbled from the waste basket, a small stack of opened gifts graced the solitary chair, and a row of red and white candy canes paraded around the sides of my bed. But more than the room, I must have looked vastly different. My heart had been touched; his happiness and radiance had warmed my soul. I had been wallowing in momentary concerns when I should have been thanking God for the rich blessings I could enjoy forever.
This had been Ed’s first Christmas Eve, and he had given it to me. His sincerity and loving concern exemplified true Christianity. He had sacrificed for me—he had cared. He had been deeply aware of the significance of Christmas—I had been ignoring it. The pleasures I had lamented missing weren’t really important at all. They were, by themselves, artificial and shallow.
For the next several hours, I lay there in the darkness and listened to the radio carols with a humble awareness of their meaning. I thought of a night many years before in a land across the sea; I delighted in the life of the Child born that night and thrilled at the spirit of the approaching day. I peacefully fell asleep, grateful for the Christmas presents I had been given by two of my brothers.

The occasion for this most recent journey was the rededication of the Freiberg Germany Temple and the dedication of The Hague Netherlands Temple. It was my opportunity to dedicate the Freiberg Temple 17 years ago. It was a rather modest building constructed in what was then the German Democratic Republic, the east zone of a divided Germany. Its construction was literally a miracle. President Monson, Hans Ringger, and others had won the goodwill of East German government officials who consented to it.

Britta and Peter go to the Hyde Park Ward in Chicago. The building where they meet is very crowded because many people have been joining the Church. The ward is trying to raise money to help pay for a new building. At a yard sale for the building fund, Britta sold a pot holder that she made. “Every penny counts!” Britta says. Peter is always proud to pay his tithing on the money that he earns doing special projects, such as folding clothes for his family.

My older brother, Gary, is two years my senior and was born mentally retarded. He attended public schools until about fourth grade. Part of my early years were spent defending him from the teasing and taunts of his classmates. I couldn’t understand how anyone could be so unfeeling of his situation. Because of my experiences with my brother, I developed a sensitivity to people who are different in any way. We all need to be like Jesus and reach out to those who are different from us. Thinking about the Savior and making Him a part of our lives helps us develop compassion. Jesus ought to be our best friend. Through prayer and thinking about Jesus, we can develop a greater sensitivity to other people and their needs.

At first, I was embarrassed and ashamed.
I mean, how would you like it if you were always the object of the ward service projects? I came from a single-parent home, and we were considered “underprivileged.” All that service was a little hard to accept.
But when I started noticing the joy in the faces of the kids in my ward, my feelings began to change. It wasn’t right for me to deny them the joy of service just because I was a little ashamed. They weren’t there to embarrass me and my family. They were there because they loved us and were aware of my mom’s struggles, and wanted to offer their time and labor.
And would you believe that participating in a ward service project at my own house made one of the best days of my life? The youth of the ward came to spend an entire Saturday sanding and painting our house. The brushes were set out; paint had been bought; razor blades, sandpaper, and ladders were all ready for action. Before we knew it, there was paint everywhere, with extra amounts splattered on the advisers.
By the end of the day, we were all tired and thirsty, but no one could wipe the smiles off our faces or wipe away the friendships we had just cemented. My heart filled with warmth and my eyes stung from the oncoming tears as I looked at the newly painted house that was our little home.
Now, every time I look at our house the memory of hitting the advisers with paint brings on a smile, but I also see something else. One of the deacons walked across the roof with paint on the bottom of his shoes. It was the funniest thing to look up and see white footprints across the roof.
With time, the footprints have faded, but what the youth and the ward have done will never fade. The love they extended to us through service means so much to me, and my mom said that she will always be grateful to those who have taken time out for us.
So my advice to you, if you ever get the chance to be charitable, is to enjoy it. The blessings will be great. But if you get the chance to receive, do it, knowing that people’s motives are pure. They love you and want to serve you.

For me, the key to choosing to serve a mission was gaining a testimony of the Book of Mormon. When I was 15, living near St. Louis, Missouri, my seminary teacher challenged us to read the Book of Mormon not just once, but twice during the school year. As a reward, she offered a steak dinner. Eating a steak dinner with the girls I knew would take the challenge sounded very appealing to me.
For the first time in my life I began a committed attempt to read the entire Book of Mormon. I had tried many times before, but I always got stuck in the Isaiah chapters. I pushed past those, and within a few months I had read all the way through for the first time. When I finished, I thought, “This is a really good book! But is it correct?”
I started reading again with the intent of determining whether it was factual or fabricated. I checked for consistency in dates and calculated the ages of the various prophets to see if they were realistic. I found evidence supporting the reliability of the Book of Mormon as an ancient text. When I finished reading the second time, I was convinced that it was correct.
At this point I had reached the original goal to read the Book of Mormon twice. I was surprised to realize that I was no longer interested in the steak dinner—this was becoming too important, too sacred, for such a reward. I was now convinced the Book of Mormon was good and correct, but was it true? To answer that question, I read it for a third time.
Before I read, I said a short prayer, asking, “Father, is what I’m about to read true? If so, please tell me through Thy Spirit.” Then, when I was finished reading for the day, I’d close the book and ask, “Father, is what I have just read true?” I read it through this way the third time, and not long after that, the Spirit bore witness of its truthfulness in an unmistakable manner. I had found out for myself that the promise found in Moroni 10:3–5 really works!

Paula says, “The standards I always saw my friend live were now mine. My friend’s testimony was now mine.” Not long after, Paula began to feel an intense desire to share with others what she had been given. When she had been a member for one year, she filled out her mission papers, met with her priesthood leaders, and received a call to serve in the Chile Santiago East Mission.
Valeria says, “As I watched my friend prepare to serve her mission, the Spirit touched my heart. I wanted to commit myself to serve God the way she was.”
“May I speak to you?” This time it was Valeria who had pulled Paula aside. “I’ve felt something special as you have been preparing to leave on your mission.”
Paula told her friend the same thing her friend had once told her: “It’s the Spirit telling you what you need to do.”
Valeria’s plans hadn’t included a full-time mission. She wasn’t quite sure how to proceed. “I can’t do it alone,” she told Paula.
“Don’t worry. I’ll help you,” her friend assured.
Later, when Valeria opened her call, she was surprised to be going to the same mission as her friend. Paula began serving in October 2002; Valeria joined her in February 2003.

First, let me give you the words of the young man speaking to a ward sacrament meeting. I was there. Try to remember what you were like when you were 14 years old and listen to hear him say more than so young a man could reasonably know:
“I have really liked being a member of the teachers quorum in our ward since I turned 14 last year. A teacher still has all the responsibilities of a deacon plus some new ones.
“Since some of us are teachers, others will be someday, and everyone in the Church is blessed by the priesthood, so it’s important for all of us to know more about the duties of a teacher.
“First of all, Doctrine and Covenants 20:53 says, ‘The teacher’s duty is to watch over the church always, and be with and strengthen them.’
“Next, Doctrine and Covenants 20:54–55 says:
“‘And see that there is no iniquity in the church, neither hardness with each other, neither lying, backbiting, nor evil speaking;
“‘And see that the church meet together often, and also see that all the members do their duty.’”
The young man continued:
“The Lord is telling us it’s our responsibility to not only care for the Church but to also care for the people within the Church the way that Christ would because this is His Church. If we are trying to keep the commandments, be kind to each other, be honest, be good friends, and enjoy being together, then we will be able to have the Spirit with us and know what Heavenly Father wants us to do. If we don’t, then we can’t fulfill our calling.”
He went on to say:
“When a teacher chooses to set the right example by being a good home teacher, greeting the members at church, preparing the sacrament, helping at home, and being a peacemaker, he’s choosing to honor his priesthood and fulfill his calling.
“Being a good teacher doesn’t only mean being responsible when we are at church or at Church activities. The Apostle Paul taught, ‘Be thou an example of the believers, in word, in conversation, in charity, in spirit, in faith, in purity’ (1 Timothy 4:12).”
Then the young man said:
“No matter where we are or what we are doing, we can be a good example of righteousness at all times and in all places.
“My dad and I home teach the Browns. Every time we go over there, I have a great time visiting and getting to know them. One thing I really like about the Browns is whenever we go over there, they are all willing to listen and they always have good stories to share.
“When we know people in the ward well because of home teaching, it makes it easier to do the next duty of a teacher, and that’s greeting the members at church. Helping people feel welcome and included at church helps all the members of the ward feel loved and prepared to take the sacrament.
“After greeting members who have come to church, teachers help each Sunday by preparing the sacrament. I really enjoy passing and preparing the sacrament in this ward because everyone is so reverent. I always feel the Spirit when I prepare and pass the sacrament. It’s a real blessing to me that I’m able to do it every Sunday.
“Some service like passing the sacrament is something people see and they thank us for doing it, but other service like preparing the sacrament is usually done without anyone noticing. It isn’t important if people see us serving; what’s important is that the Lord knows we have served Him.
“As teachers, we should always try to strengthen the Church, our friends, and our family by fulfilling our priesthood responsibilities. It’s not always easy, but the Lord gives no commandments to us ‘save he shall prepare a way for [us to] accomplish the thing which he commandeth’ (1 Nephi 3:7).”
As that young man concluded, I continued to be amazed at his maturity and wisdom. He summarized by saying, “I know we will become better if we choose to follow [Jesus Christ].”

During my mission, I was really concerned about not having all of my family together in the Church. One day I read this verse: “Behold, you have had many afflictions because of your family; nevertheless, I will bless you and your family, yea, … and the day cometh that they will believe and know the truth and be one with you in my church” (Doctrine and Covenants 31:2).
I felt the Spirit so strong that I knew this verse was speaking to me. It took 14 years for that promise to come true in my family. But three years ago, I baptized both of my parents. Now we are all members of the Church except for one of my brothers.

Recently, I had a phone call with one of my close friends. It went like most of our conversations do—we laughed, joked, and talked about our lives.
But my heart sunk as it became clear to me that this friend, one of my very favorite people in the whole world, was no longer living in accordance with the gospel of Jesus Christ. I remained neutral and kind during our call but hung up feeling disappointed. I was sad that this friend and I no longer shared the same values.
I wondered if I should have said more. Should I have stood up for what I still believed in? I didn’t agree with the decisions my friend was making, but I also didn’t want her to feel like I was trying to condemn her. And I certainly didn’t want to jeopardize our friendship.
Five different points have helped me as I’ve pondered this situation.
Now, going back to the phone call with my friend. Should I have said something more to her?
When I find myself in conversations over a situation I may not agree with, I’ve decided to seek the guidance of the Holy Ghost to know how to respond. Sometimes I may feel that the right thing is to share my opinion; sometimes I may feel guided to share less. But in all cases, it is important to follow the Savior and not judge unrighteously.
My friend and I still talk about the gospel, and our openness with one another has helped deepen our relationship. Even though I don’t try to convince her of my beliefs, I still try to be an example of a disciple of Christ. Elder Gary E. Stevenson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles said, “Each time you bear vocal witness or demonstrate through your actions your commitment to follow Jesus Christ, you invite others to ‘come unto Christ.’”6

I did not get baptized when I turned eight years old because my dad would not give his permission. He is not a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I tried to convince him for two long years. One day I prayed to Heavenly Father to help my dad say yes soon. Dad said yes that very day! I’m so glad I am a member of the Church now.