Gospel Story Finder

—Kevin Leach, 20, from Sparks, Nevada, spent a summer as an emergency medical technician intern in Atlanta, Georgia. He was able to associate with a lot of other people in the medical field. He came to see that besides his EMT and paramedic training, a nursing degree would be important. Since returning, he’s taken the additional courses necessary, and will soon graduate with three degrees.
“I’m not only going to be able to be a paramedic out on the streets, but I’ll be able to be a nurse in the hospitals, to ride on Life Flights, to teach emergency medicine up to a certain point, and to move up into administration. What I discovered was that some extra work can open a lot of doors.”

Almost a decade ago, I read a letter from a returned missionary who described this process in his life. He had written to thank those who direct missionary work “for daring to send me where the Lord required rather than where I had deemed appropriate.” He had come, he said, “from a background of proud, competitive intellectualism.” Before his mission he was a student at a prestigious university in the eastern United States. Quote:

“I guess out of a sense of obligation and inertia, I filled out my [missionary] papers and sent them in, extremely careful to mark the column indicating greatest desire to serve abroad and in a foreign language. I was careful to make it apparent that I was an accomplished student of Russian and fully capable of spending two years among the Russian people. Confident that no committee could resist such qualifications, I rested confident that I would enjoy a wonderfully mind-expanding cultural adventure.”

He was shocked to receive a call to serve in a mission in the United States. He didn’t know anything about the state where he would serve, except that it was in his own country speaking English rather than abroad speaking the language he had learned, and, as he said, “The people I would work with would likely be academic incompetents.” He continued, “I almost refused to accept the call, feeling that I would be more fulfilled by enlisting in the Peace Corps or something else.”

Fortunately, this proud young man found the courage and faith to accept the call and to follow the direction and counsel of his fine mission president. Then the miracle of spiritual growth began. He described it thus:
“As I began to serve among the uneducated people of [this state], I struggled mightily for several months, but gradually the sweet workings of the Spirit began to tear down the walls of pride and disbelief that had wrapped themselves so tightly around my soul. The miracle of a conversion to Christ began. The sense of the reality of God and the eternal brotherhood of all men came more and more powerfully to my troubled mind.”

It was not easy, he admitted, but with the influence of his great mission president and with his growing love for the people he served, it was possible, and it occurred.
“My desire to love and serve these people who in the ultimate scale were at least my peers, almost definitely my superiors, waxed stronger and stronger. I learned humility for the first time in my life; I learned what it means to make our valuations of others [without relying on the] irrelevant details of life. I began to feel swelling within my heart a love of the spirits that came here to earth with me” (letter to General Authorities, Feb. 1994).

Hospitality is one of the fundamental principles of Islam. In social or business contacts, an Arab will express sincere concern for his guests and expect them to share his proffered coffee or tea. This courtesy has allowed me to explain the Word of Wisdom to Arab men—from the king of Saudi Arabia in his palace to camel herdsmen around their camp fires. They accept my belief without offense because it is similar to their health code, which requires abstinence from pork and alcohol. Strict Muslims also do not smoke.
Once, at the request of my employer, I accompanied him on a visit to the ruler of another Muslim country. We were part of a small group of sheikhs and government officials. We dined at the palace and were flown to the ruler’s private retreat. During one of the meals, several of the Muslims ordered wine. When I declined, someone joked about my becoming a Muslim, so I explained that I don’t drink because of my religious beliefs. Their consciences pricked, two of the men urged me to join with them. His Highness, the crown prince of Bahrain—my employer at the time—silenced them, and, turning to me, said, “Joe, don’t ever change.” I have always been thankful for my employer’s appreciation of my faith.

When the bishopric handed me a list of young single adults for the ward, I was flabbergasted.
I had graduated from high school a year early, and as soon as I did, I was called as the young single adult Relief Society representative in my ward. Not even 18 years old, I was excited but somewhat daunted.
On Sundays, a handful of young single adults would drift into our Sunday School lesson. Of varying ages and interests, they had very little to do with each other outside of church. My aim, together with the priesthood representative and our YSA advisory couple, was to strengthen and enlarge our group. We wanted the YSAs to become friends who supported and strengthened each other in their efforts to live the gospel.
And then I received the list. Page after page of names stared back at me; the percentage of active YSAs seemed tiny. I realized that this record was made up of real people who were working, studying, and struggling through the decisions inherent to young adulthood. They needed the gospel in their lives. Not only that: we needed them, too.
I set a goal to contact a certain number of people every month and started to work my way down the list. Every name was foreign to me; so, where better to start than at the top? I would report my progress at ward council each month. Phone numbers were incorrect; numbers would ring eternally; people would politely tell me they weren’t interested. My ‘progress’ consisted of informing the clerk that someone had left the ward or that we needed to track down new contact details.
One day, as the bishop listened to my report, he suddenly asked: “Have you contacted Karen?” (Name has been changed.) Surprised, I said no; Karen was quite a way down the list, and I hadn’t got that far. “I think you should call her,” he said. I noted her name along with a few others.
The month flew by, and the Saturday before the next meeting I looked at my notes and realized I hadn’t yet called Karen. No doubt it would be another failed attempt, but the bishop would want to know.
I dialed the number and jumped when she answered. Nervously, I introduced myself.
“Hi!” she said. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of you!” Karen explained she had recently looked up the number of the local chapel in the telephone book and tried to phone a few times. Each time she called it just rang. I knew that feeling.
We chatted easily for a few minutes, and then I invited her to church the next day.
“Sure!” she said. “See you then!” I almost leapt with excitement!
The following morning, I was filled with trepidation. A large part of me expected Karen to get cold feet. But a few minutes before church, in walked a beautiful, smiling young woman with sparkling eyes. She greeted me with a hug. I couldn’t stop beaming.
Karen came to church every week after that. She became an active, contributing part of our young single adult group and a good friend. As we grew into a large, united group of friends, she helped to strengthen and lift others with her testimony.
All it took was the influence of the Spirit. And one—just one—phone call.

As the date of our divorce hearing drew near, my husband sent me a 16-page letter evaluating our marriage. Despite priesthood counsel to the contrary, I began to believe my husband’s assertions that the problems in our marriage were my fault—that I was even the cause of his infidelity.
Torn with doubts, I turned to the scriptures. There I found hope and understanding in the Savior’s words. I reflected on how His words had already blessed and lifted me. I wrote in my journal: “The tides of self-pity, self-reproach, and self-destruction rage against my shore. And at my shore the Savior is ever there, building—shoring up—protecting against the onslaught—telling me I have value—telling me to believe in myself. His is the voice I prefer to hear, the voice I must heed.”
I was blessed with opportunities to rebuild belief in myself. Priesthood counsel and blessings offered me divine comfort. Through the Savior’s great love, strength and courage returned.

Daniel stared out the window. He saw his friends heading to the park with their basketballs. He wanted to go too.
““I can’t take you today, Daniel,” Mom said. “Your sister has a bad cold. And you’re not quite old enough to go alone. I’m sorry.”
Daniel frowned at his sister, Elise. She was sitting in her wheelchair with her toys on her lap. She was five, but she couldn’t walk or talk yet. Elise coughed hard. She got sick a lot, and she couldn’t go outside if it was too hot or too cold. And she had to eat through a tube in her stomach.
Daniel loved his sister, but sometimes he felt angry too. It was hard to always do what was best for Elise. He just wanted to play with the other kids. His stomach knotted in frustration.
“It’s not fair!” he said to Mom. “Everything is always about Elise!” He ran down the hall to his room.
Two days later Elise’s cough got much worse, and she had to go to the hospital. Daniel’s grandparents came to stay with him. Mom and Dad spent most of their time at the hospital with Elise for the rest of the week.
Daniel’s grandparents could take him to play with the other kids. But now Daniel was worried about Elise. He was sorry for what he had said to his mom that day. He didn’t like how sometimes he couldn’t go play because of Elise. But Daniel loved how she smiled when he talked to her, and being with her made him feel happy.
Daniel looked out the window, hoping to see Mom and Dad bringing Elise home.
Suddenly Daniel saw Mom’s car turn into the driveway. He ran to meet her.
“Mom, I’m sorry for what I said about Elise that day I got mad,” he said, hugging her tight.
“It’s OK,” Mom said as she hugged him back. “I know you love her. It doesn’t seem fair that we can’t always do the things you want to do. It’s hard sometimes for everybody. But I know we are blessed to have Elise in our family.”
Daniel said, “I miss her.”
“Me too,” said Mom. “The doctor said she can probably come home tomorrow.”
Two weeks later Daniel and Elise were both in Primary.
“Everyone find a partner and form a circle!” the Primary president said.
Daniel hurried forward and grabbed his sister’s wheelchair.
“Elise is my partner,” he told her teacher. He wheeled her up front to join the circle of children.
He looked over at Elise. She smiled at him, and he smiled back.
Daniel was glad Elise could be home again. He wanted to be a special brother to her.

Want to Help Michelle?
Michelle has inspired a lot of people with her story. And they in turn have wanted to help her. You see, sometimes Michelle has medical treatments for her unique health challenges that require her to take a break from indexing for a time.
A few people got together and decided to form an indexing group on FamilySearch so they can help index for Michelle to make up for those times when she’s unable. Anyone can join. If you want to help out, head over to FamilySearch.org and then look up the “Michelle Thornton” indexing group.

I have such fond memories of the power and blessings of prayer in the mission field. We prayed so many times—at the start of every day and over everything we did. I remember asking my first companion, “How many times can we pray?” His response taught me so much: “We really need His help, so we ‘pray unto the Father with all the energy of heart’.”9 We prayed and prayed and prayed and we were blessed.

A wonderful example of this philosophy was shared by Arthur Gordon many years ago in a national magazine. He wrote:
“When I was around thirteen and my brother ten, Father had promised to take us to the circus. But at lunchtime there was a phone call; some urgent business required his attention downtown. We braced ourselves for disappointment. Then we heard him say [into the phone], ‘No, I won’t be down. It’ll have to wait.’
“When he came back to the table, Mother smiled. ‘The circus keeps coming back, you know,’ [she said].
“‘I know,’ said Father. ‘But childhood doesn’t.’”

It wasn’t necessarily easy when, in December 1945, President George Albert Smith chose Elder Benson to serve as president of the European Mission. This was not just any mission assignment. World War II had only been over for a few months, and the Saints in Europe had largely lost contact with the Church during the war. Many of them had been scattered from their homes, had lost everything, and were in desperate need of welfare supplies. President Benson’s assignment was to locate members of the Church throughout Europe, get welfare supplies to those in need, and generally reestablish order in the Church organization there.

This was a demanding, even dangerous assignment. He knew he would be in Europe for at least one year. He could not take his family with him. Food was in short supply and being rationed in many parts of Europe. Bridges, roads, and buildings throughout the continent had been destroyed, and transportation was difficult to obtain. Even housing was hard to come by. Almost everything about his assignment was unusual and challenging. Aware of the odds he would face when he got there, Elder Benson headed for Europe with the belief that if he worked his hardest, even when things got difficult, the Lord would assist him.

Throughout the ten months he spent in Europe, Elder Benson encountered one difficult situation after another. Again and again he was faced with tough assignments that seemed impossible to perform, and repeatedly he found ways to get the job done.

By the time Elder Benson returned home he had accomplished a great deal. In a little over ten months he’d traveled 61,236 miles by plane, train, ship, automobile, bus, jeep and droshky, a two-wheeled, horse-drawn conveyance. He had located thousands of Saints throughout Europe and distributed tons of welfare supplies to those in need. Mission presidents were functioning in most European missions, and missionaries were proselyting in many countries. And the Saints had a renewed spirit of hope.

But none of it had been easy.

Sister Grassli remembers her childhood as being a happy one. “I loved to learn and do many things. I remember a Primary teacher who took us to her house one Primary day. It was so fun! We learned how to make cinnamon toast. Each of us got to make her own, and the teacher made hot chocolate for us. I realized then that Heavenly Father wants us to learn all kinds of things. It’s important to learn about the scriptures, but Heavenly Father also wants us to learn about everything that is good. That was exciting to me. I knew Heavenly Father cared about our whole selves, not just one part.”

The seventh anniversary of our arrival in New Mexico was close, and we were becoming more and more excited about getting the title to the land.
Mr. Talbot from the homestead office came by to make sure everything was in order. “How do you want your name to be printed on the deed?” he asked Papa.
“Alfred Blaine Cookson,” he said. “And Betty Harding Cookson.”
Mr. Talbot wrote that down and Papa added, “I want all the kids’ names on it too.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary,” Mr. Talbot said.
“I don’t care about necessary,” Papa said. “I care about wise. We worked too hard to get this piece of property to let it out of the family. I want them all on there in case something should happen to any of us.”
“It’d automatically go to the next of kin,” Mr. Talbot resisted.
“Don’t care about automatic either,” Papa insisted. “I just want their names on that deed.”
“How many more is that?” Mr. Talbot asked.
“Twelve,” Papa said.
“I don’t think there’s room.”
“Then make room. Every last one of them has worked along with me to get this land and I want them to look at that piece of paper and remember what it cost us and that it’s part theirs. And I want them to be proud of it.”
Mr. Talbot sighed. “How do you want them listed?”
“Oldest first,” Papa said. “That’s Caroline Catherine.”
Mr. Talbot wrote while Papa named us off in order. “I don’t know how I’ll get them all on the paper,” Mr. Talbot said. “But I’ll figure out a way and have the deed ready for you to pick up next Friday morning.”
The next Friday was a holiday at our house. We finished the chores early and dressed in our best clothes for the trip to Harmony. Mama packed a lunch to take so we could stop for a picnic on the way home, and we were parked in front of the homestead office when Mr. Talbot arrived. He had a special deed made up at the printing office that was long enough to list all our names. They were written in beautiful curly letters that twisted in spirals at the beginning and end. I never knew my name could look so beautiful. After everyone signed the paper, Mr. Talbot stamped it with a big seal to make it official, rolled it up, and handed it to Papa.
Papa gave it to Mama and kissed her on the mouth. “We’re landowners, honey,” he said. “Now let’s go celebrate.”
He took us to the general store and told us each to pick out a nickel’s worth of candy. While we were deciding what to get, he asked Mr. Younger for a picture frame for the deed. “And make it a gold one,” he added. “This is very precious.”
After they’d selected the frame, Mr. Younger filled our orders for candy, giving each of us a separate bag. It made me think of the peppermint stick back in Salt Lake the day I had my tongue cut. It was the first time since then I’d had a whole nickel to spend on candy. I chose the kinds I could make last the longest.
Then Papa told Mama to pick out the goods for a new dress. “A nice one,” he said.
She gave him her are-you-sure-we-can-afford-it look and he said, “Don’t worry. I’ve been saving for today for a long time. I want everyone to remember it.”
How could we forget? We had a place of our own at last.

When an administrator in Africa rode out to inspect land that had been devastated in a storm, he came to a place where giant cedars had been uprooted and destroyed. He said to his official in charge, “You will have to plant some cedars here.” The official replied, “It takes 2,000 years to grow cedars of the size these were. They don’t even bear cones until they’re 50 years old.”
“Then,” said the administrator, “we must plant them at once.” And this is the admonition to you.

As an elder in Boise, one evening I was working on the stake farm with Brother Olsen from the bishopric. As I recollect, only the two of us were there. Brother Olsen worked for the Idaho Power Company. Again, he was a few years older than I, and he was directing the work. One of the jobs we had to do was to repair some power lines. Ever since my childhood I have feared electricity. Even now I turn off all the power in the house if I am going to repair some electrical equipment. That evening the last thing we had to do before it got dark was to climb a telephone pole and splice two wires together that furnished power for part of the farm.

Brother Olsen offered to go up the pole. But though I feared what had to be done, I was younger and knew that I should do it. I asked him what to do. He gave me clear and complete instructions. I was to climb up the pole, take one wire and strip off the insulation about six inches, then take the other wire and strip off the insulation about six inches, join the wires together, and then reinsulate.

I asked him if the power was off. He assured me it was. I climbed the pole and followed his instructions. No one will know how difficult it was for me to take a large, high-powered line in my hand, strip off the insulation, then hold that wire and the connecting wire in my hand, splice them together, and then reinsulate them. Merlin was right. There was no power in the lines. I was absolutely safe.

The thing that I remember about that experience is that I had some doubt as to whether the power was off or not. I was fearful that someone else on the farm might throw a breaker and turn on the electricity. Nevertheless, my faith in Merlin and the fact that I was doing what the Lord wanted me to do was enough to overcome my fear.

Joseph wrote these feelings to his wife in an 1832 letter from New York City, where he had gone with Newel K. Whitney to buy goods for the Whitney store in Kirtland, Ohio. He had spent some time walking through the “most splendid part” of the city:
“The buildings are truly great and wonderful to the astonishing of every beholder and the language of my heart is like this: Can the great God of all the earth, maker of all things magnificent and splendid, be displeased with man for all these great inventions sought out by them? My answer is no. It cannot be, seeing these works are calculated to make men comfortable, wise, and happy. Therefore not for the works can the Lord be displeased, only against man is the anger of the Lord kindled because they give him not the glory.”
Then he wrote:
“I returned to my room to meditate and calm my mind. And behold, the thoughts of home, of Emma [his wife] and Julia [his daughter] rushes upon my mind like a flood and I could wish for a moment to be with them. My breast is filled with all the feelings and tenderness of a parent and a husband. … Yet when I reflect upon this great city … my bowels are filled with compassion towards them and I am determined to lift up my voice … and leave the event with God.”
He concluded,
“I prefer reading and praying and holding communion with the Holy Spirit and writing to you than walking the streets and beholding the distraction of man.”25

Eventually, I went back to my town and my branch. It was then that I decided I wanted to serve a mission. This was a difficult decision for me because I had nothing and would be leaving behind people I loved. As I was trying to decide, I read D&C 84:81 and 88, which say, “Therefore, take ye no thought for the morrow, for what ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink, or wherewithal ye shall be clothed … for I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up.” I knew the Lord would care for me, so I turned in my mission papers and was called to the Utah Salt Lake City Temple Square Mission.

The second example comes from a letter I received from a student.

My whole life I have believed very strongly in the Church, but being here at BYU–Idaho has strengthened my testimony immensely. I had an experience a couple of weeks ago that helped me realize just how much of a privilege it is to be here.

I recently attended an outdoor dance. Just before the dance was to begin, my friends and I were sitting on the grounds eating pizza. I took my wallet out of my pocket to show my friends some pictures, and then I forgot to put my wallet back as we got up and left for the dance.

Later that evening I realized what had happened, and I asked my RA if I could go out to look for the wallet. He gave me permission, and I proceeded toward what I thought should be the location of my wallet. I quickly realized that my wallet was no longer there. I knelt down right there in the grass and began to pray to my Father in Heaven to help me find my wallet.

I then returned to my dorm room with a very optimistic attitude. I walked into my room fully expecting the wallet to be sitting right there, but it wasn't. So I proceeded to check my telephone messages. And there was a message from the "Lost and Found" saying that someone had returned my wallet and I could pick it up any time.

I am so grateful to be here at a university where I can trust my fellow students. I love looking at the person in front of me in a classroom and knowing that he or she believes in what I believe. At any other university I probably would never have seen my wallet again, but here at BYU–Idaho it is different. I never found out who the person was who returned my wallet, but I have thanked him or her many times in my prayers. I have thanked them for helping me to have a spiritual experience, one that I will never forget.

I sank into my chair in shame as the teacher introduced the lesson on chastity. “Now, I know you girls don’t have trouble with the law of chastity … ,” she started off. Little did she—or anyone else—know that it was something I had struggled with as a young woman.

Lessons in church made me feel that sexual feelings were only appropriate within marriage and that sexual feelings outside of marriage were bad. I felt ashamed, weak, and alone, which led me to resent the whole topic completely.

Growing up in the Church, I used to think that talking about sex—even in appropriate ways—or acknowledging sexual thoughts and feelings was taboo or wrong unless you were married. My thoughts were skewed to think that any curiosity or question about sexuality or even chastity should be repressed because it didn’t follow God’s plan. And because I thought my questions were too shameful to discuss with anyone, I looked for answers from sources that did not reflect sexuality the way Heavenly Father intends.

I struggled with my feelings and behaviors for years. I knew they were wrong, but I didn’t know who I could turn to for help. I carried the weight of sins and shame with me every day, but I still tried to do everything else right. I seemed to be stuck in an “in-between zone”—with half of me in the world and the other half in the gospel.

I wanted more than anything to put my whole self in the gospel. So I studied my scriptures, I prayed, I participated in Church activities, and I fulfilled my callings. The gospel seemed to be the only thing that brought me relief.

As I gradually learned more and came closer to the Savior, my desire to fully live the law of chastity grew stronger. After a lot of pondering and praying, I finally decided to talk with my bishop about my struggles.

As I left my bishop’s office, that weight I had carried on my shoulders for so many years seemed to disappear. I cried with relief. I already felt the Savior’s healing power working in my life. Meetings with my bishop helped me, through the repentance process, to understand that my feelings were normal and that I wasn’t alone in struggling with chastity. I learned there are others—like me—who have suffered in silence because of shame, fear, and misunderstanding.

As young women, you have the privilege of working on projects as part of the Young Womanhood Recognition Award. Anna Nichols of Centerville, Utah, writes about a special experience she has had:
“I did a Laurel project last year that has brought me closer to my grandma who[m] I never knew. She passed away when my mom was about five years old from a severe type of cancer. My mom has a collection of old slides and letters that she had kept. I went through these and picked out pictures of her and her family and letters that she had written to her sister sharing her feelings and thoughts before she died.
“I put all these in a scrapbook in memory of her and I gave it to my grandpa. To watch his face as he turned each page was the most awesome feeling as he told me the stories of each picture. We cried together. I could tell that he misses her so much and how with this book she is partly back into his life again.
“Because of this book I have a personal relationship with my grandma. I feel her spirit with me. I know she has protected me and helped me when I am in need. Now when I go and visit my grandpa we always talk about her and share stories. I always look forward to this time I get to spend with him.”

As a young man beginning my missionary service, I boarded an airplane headed to Australia. Feeling very alone, anxious, and inadequate but having committed to serve, I desperately needed reassurance that what I believed in was true. I prayed and read my scriptures earnestly, but as the flight progressed, my self-doubt intensified and my physical condition deteriorated. After I had been struggling for several hours, a flight attendant walked down the aisle and stopped next to my seat. He took the Book of Mormon I was reading from my hands. He looked at the cover and said, “That’s a great book!” then handed the book back to me and kept walking. I never saw him again.

While his words echoed in my ears, I distinctly heard and felt in my heart, “I am here, and I know where you are. Just do your best, for I will take care of the rest.” On that airplane above the Pacific Ocean, I received a personal witness through my study of the Book of Mormon and the promptings of the Holy Spirit that my Savior knew who I was and that the gospel was true.