Gospel Story Finder

One of the great experiences I had before I got married was to live with several member families in the United States while I attended a university there. These parents held family home evening every week, studied the scriptures together, and had family prayer on a daily basis. Of course, they at times had challenges. But the way they solved the problems was consistent with gospel teachings.
In watching their examples and actually participating as a member of their families, I decided that someday I, too, would like to have a family similar to theirs. I observed that their families were blessed as these fathers followed the counsel now given in “The Family: A Proclamation to the World”: “By divine design, fathers are to preside over their families in love and righteousness and are responsible to provide the necessities of life and protection for their families.”1

Last year our members responded to Hurricane Gustav. The Church worked closely with a humanitarian organization led by Martin Luther King III. Mr. King subsequently visited Salt Lake City and said: “I originally came to express my appreciation to the Church for their humanitarian support, but I quickly learned that the essence of who you are is so much deeper and profound. Between the Humanitarian Center, Welfare Square, and the temple open house, I now have a greater appreciation for why you do what you do.”

Some people think that babies are a bother, but Hans wasn’t. He was good. He would watch us, then try to do everything we did. He used to go around the house picking up little pieces of rubbish that no one else saw. Then he would run to the wastebasket and throw them in. He always tried to help everybody. He was smart about it too. One day he decided to help Mom. He climbed up onto the stove when he was alone in the kitchen. Later we found him sitting beside the burners stirring a pot full of cold water. When we came in, he clapped his hands and said, “Oh, see!”

There are only three LDS high school students in the North Beach School District in Washington state, but when they speak people listen. All three took prizes in the local Voice of Democracy contest. Jody Powell of Ocean Shores took first place, Cheryl Shelton placed second, and Eric Holliman placed third. The theme on which they spoke was “Youth—America’s Strength.”
On the junior high level, Scott Lay came in first in the local contest. All are members of the Hoguiam Ward, Centralia Washington Stake.

Returning to my experiences as a young man, I remember one crossing of the Rocky Mountains. After passing a “Beware: Falling Rocks” sign, my father noticed pebbles and small stones landing on the pavement in front of us. He quickly slowed the car to a near stop just as a basketball-sized boulder whizzed by us. Dad waited for the rock slide to cease before continuing. My father’s constant attention and immediate action ensured that our family safely reached our final destination.

One day I attended a conference with our one-year-old daughter. In the conference, an Area Seventy talked about the responsibility of parents to teach the gospel to their children. He then made a promise that left a huge impression on me. He said: “If, after everything you can do to teach the gospel, one of your children leaves the Church, they will still be blessed because of the memory of the things they experienced at home.”

The words of that Area Seventy filled me with hope because I had nieces and nephews who had left the Church. Years later my daughter, the same one-year-old I held in my arms during that conference, left the Church when she turned 17. She had met someone who was not rooted in the gospel, and they got married. She never went to church after that.

This was painful for me. I asked myself over and over what we did wrong. Her father and I always tried to keep the commandments and serve in the Church. We love our children and want the best for them. After many tears and questions, we finally concluded that children grow, exercise their agency, and don’t always believe the things they’re taught at home.

Unfortunately, my daughter’s marriage fell apart, and she still doesn’t want to come back to the Church. All I can do is remember the promise that she will remember and be blessed because of the things she was taught at home.

I continue to pray for my daughter. I love her with all my heart, and it hurts me to see her distanced from the Church. But I know that, despite my imperfections, the things I taught her are right and true. I know that Heavenly Father is just and loving and that He listens to our prayers. Without any doubt in my heart, I know that if I do my part, He will answer them in the moment He sees right.

Miracle number two occurred when we returned to the cemetery and realized that all six of us had previously stood very near the actual site of the graves at some point as we wandered the cemetery. The reason we didn’t see the graves was they were covered entirely by a huge tree that had completely swallowed them. We had previously photographed the tree because it was so immense and imposing, but for no other reason.
We returned later to cut away some of the lower branches so that Sharon could crawl inside and read the writing on the headstones, and we discovered that we had many more relatives buried in this plot than we realized.

Joseph Smith cheerfully practiced serving others in the Lord’s way. James Leach and his brother-in-law, after looking for work in Nauvoo many days without success, determined to ask the Prophet for help. James recalled:
“I said, ‘Mr. Smith, if you please, have you any employment you could give us both, so we can get some provisions?’ He viewed us with a cheerful countenance, and with such a feeling of kindness, said, ‘Well, boys, what can you do? … Can you make a ditch?’ I replied we would do the best we could at it.
“… When it was finished I went and told him it was done. He came and looked at it and said, ‘… If I had done it myself it could not have been done better. Now come with me.’ He led the way back to his store and told us to pick the best ham or piece of pork for ourselves. Being rather bashful, I said we would rather he would give us some. So he picked two of the largest and best pieces of meat and a sack of flour for each of us, and asked us if that would do. We told him we would be willing to do more work for it, but he said, ‘If you are satisfied, boys, I am.’
“We thanked him kindly and went on our way home rejoicing in the kindheartedness of the Prophet of our God.”2

Climbing into the driver’s seat, I looked towards the house. I was surprised to see Bronwyn running toward us.
“Hey, Jason,” I called, “You’d better get up. You don’t want Bronnie to catch you flat on your back. She thinks we’re out here to work.”
Jason was on his feet in a flash. Then he straightened, and a serious look stole across his face.
“You don’t suppose something’s wrong do you?” he asked, almost in a whisper. I felt myself stiffen with that awful sense of dread which accompanies impending trouble. Then, as if to confirm our fears, we heard Bronwyn’s voice, laced with panic, carried to us on the breeze. I ran to meet her, Jason hot on my heels. As we got closer, I could see her tear-stained cheeks.
“What is it, Bronnie?” I questioned. I was fighting panic myself now. “Is it Mum?”
“She’s hemorrhaging severely,” gasped Bronwyn. “She’s being operated on now. Dad just called from the hospital. He says we’d better get out there quick!”
“All right, get in the truck,” I said. I was frightened, trembling. Saying a quick prayer, I climbed into the cabin and started the engine.
At the hospital, we found Dad sitting alone, pale and tired.
“Thank goodness you’re here,” he whispered. Although he tried not to show it, he couldn’t quite conceal the trembling of his hands or the catch in his voice.
“I just want to save your mother from all her pain,” he said. “When we were married, I vowed that I’d always be by her side. Now, when she needs me most, I can’t do anything to help her. If I could trade places with her, I would gladly.”
Now, we all sat in a little waiting room on a scorching November afternoon, waiting for the doctor’s verdict. When would the surgery end? Would our mother be all right? I guess we must have sat there for an hour or so before the surgeon finally made an appearance. He was a small man with a balding head and a grey moustache. Entering the room, he paused, studying the floor. My father stood up. “Doctor Wilson?” he said tensely. For a while, nobody made a sound. Then doctor Wilson spoke.
“We tried,” he began. I could see that this was a hard speech for him to make. “We couldn’t save her.”
There was stunned silence for a moment. Then Bronwyn burst into a flood of grief. My whole world had just fallen apart. I felt a bitter anger welling up from the deepest recesses of my soul. I had prayed desperately that my mother would be cured, but God had done nothing. Why? A gentle breeze danced in through the open window, played briefly in the corners of the room, then left the way it had come, carrying with it my faith in God.

1834–1922
“[I] wish to encourage in our children a love … for all things beautiful.”
Her family joined the Church when she was six years old.
She crossed the plains with her little siblings and took care of them alone.
With the prophet’s approval, she started the very first Primary.
She supported giving women the right to vote.
Life Sketches of Orson Spencer and Others, and History of Primary Work (1898), 229.

We were particularly impressed when we discovered that our rescuers had pressing problems of their own. A young mum had had the power cut off to her home, but she left her younger children with a kind friend and came with her older children to help us.

Margaret McNeil Ballard recalled: “I walked every step of the way across the plains and drove a cow, and a large part of the way I carried my brother, James, on my back” (in I Walked to Zion, 126). Many of you also shoulder responsibilities for your siblings with love and strength.

A friend of mine was very sick at one time. She was home alone when someone knocked at her door. She didn’t feel like getting up, but the knocking continued. Then she realized that it might be her visiting teachers. She knew they had set a goal for 100 percent; it was near the end of the month, and they hadn’t come yet.

When she saw that it was indeed her visiting teachers, she began to feel hopeful. She had a lot of undone work around her apartment. Perhaps, she thought, they might see how sick she was and offer to help. When they saw her and asked if she was all right, her hopes increased. “I’ve been so sick,” she said. “Well,” they replied, “we’ll just give you a quick lesson so you can get back to bed.”

They gave her the lesson, left, and got “credit” for their visit. My friend went back to bed and wept. She thought of times when she, too, had missed opportunities to serve because she was not as sensitive as she could have been.

The temptation your children will face will not come at home nor in the seminary class. It will come later, when they are away from both teacher and parent. One day you must set them free. When that day comes, how free will they be, and how safe? It will depend on how much truth they have received. I know of a young missionary who, half a world away from his parents and teachers, faced the testing that comes to young manhood. There, beyond the control of either of them, he made a decision. Later he wrote: “I’m so glad I stayed, because during this last month I found something—I found myself.”

On an earlier mission to New York, Joseph wrote a letter to Emma, describing his marvelous experiences in the big city. He carefully described the impressive buildings and the great inventions. His real longing, however, was not to see the wonders of the world, but to be at home. “After beholding all that I had any desire to behold I returned to my room to meditate and calm my mind and behold, the thoughts of home of Emma and Julia 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 husband” (The Personal Writings of Joseph Smith, compiled by Dean C. Jessee, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1984, page 253).

With a will to serve, Sister Marilyn Jones of Sydney, Australia, accomplished a task that at first seemed impossible. Her son had physical handicaps, and Sister Jones knew that he and others with disabilities would benefit from a neighborhood recreation center. There were zoning restrictions to change. She solicited support and filled out innumerable papers for government grants. It took hours of talking to convince others to lend their efforts.

After eight years, Marilyn and her neighbors saw the results of their charitable labors. The community program they operate blesses hundreds of children who have physical limitations.

Sarah Thompson was hurrying to gather the laundry so she could get everything finished before her husband, Ted, got home from work. She opened Melissa’s bedroom door and hurried toward her closet to retrieve the multitude of shirts, blue jeans, and socks for the washer. When she turned to leave, she realized that she wasn’t alone in the room.
“Why, Melissa, I thought you were outside playing with the rest of the children. What’s the matter, dear?”
Melissa had obviously been crying, and it took a while for her to choke out the words: “I—I don’t want to get baptized on Saturday.”
Sister Thompson quickly joined her daughter on the bed and took her in her arms. “Melissa, dear, it’s all right. But you’ve been talking about your baptism for months, and you could hardly wait for your eighth birthday. Why have you changed your mind?”
“I’m scared.”
Sister Thomspon smiled. “Melissa, you’ve been to baptisms before. What is there to be afraid of? Besides, your friends Ann and Sarah will be baptized on Saturday too. Won’t they help to give you courage?”
“But they’re different from me,” Melissa said in a soft, unsteady voice. “They’ll have their dads there to baptize them.”
Sister Thompson knew that Melissa’s nonmember father couldn’t baptize their daughter, but she had thought that Melissa was pleased that their home teacher had promised to do it. “I thought you liked Brother Adamson, dear,” she said. “He’s such a special man.”
“I love Brother Adamson,” Melissa sobbed, “but it’s not the same. He’s not Dad.”
“Sweetheart …” Sister Thompson tried to comfort her daughter. She loved her husband very much, but at the same time her own heart was breaking. She thought of all the times she had wanted to share special spiritual experiences with her husband but had been unable to. Now it was hurting their child. Maybe she had made the wrong decision when she had listened to the missionaries and had decided to be baptized. Yet she had received a strong testimony, and she had been sure that Ted would soon realize how true and good the gospel was. But that had been three years ago, and he still showed no sign of ever wanting to become a member of the Church.
“Melissa,” Sister Thompson began again gently, “do you enjoy going to Primary?”
“Oh, yes! I love the stories, and my teacher, Sister Westover, is so nice.” Melissa had stopped crying.
“Do you believe those stories?” Sister Thompson continued.
“Yes, of course I do,” Melissa answered confidently. “I know that the Church is true and that Joseph Smith was a prophet.”
“How can you show that you know it is true?” her mother urged.
Melissa realized what her mother was trying to tell her, and she knew that she would be baptized on Saturday. But without her dad to share it with—it just seemed kind of scary. Melissa smiled at her mother and said, “Maybe Dad will come to see me get baptized on Saturday. I’m going to ask him just as soon as he gets home.” Melissa went outside to wait for her dad.
Sister Thompson remained sitting on the bed, deep in thought. Ted hasn’t attended a Church meeting yet. He has gone with us to several church socials, but nothing about the gospel has really interested him. She hoped that Melissa wasn’t in for another disappointment.
Melissa saw their car turn into the driveway, and she ran across the lawn to meet her father. Ted Thompson got out of his car, took his daughter in his arms, and gave her a big hug. “What’s my little one so excited about today?” he asked with a smile.
“Oh, Daddy! I’m getting baptized on Saturday, don’t you remember?”
Mr. Thompson suddenly grew serious, “Yes, your mother told me about it.”
Melissa hurried on, not noticing her father’s concerned look. “Dad will you come and see me—will you, please? Everybody else’s father will be there. You’ll come, won’t you?” Melissa pleaded.
Mr. Thompson was caught off guard, and he didn’t know what to say. Finally he mumbled, “We’ll see. We’ll see. It’s still a long time until Saturday.”
Melissa was disappointed, but she decided that a “we’ll see” was better than a “no.” She gave her dad a final squeeze and ran next door to play with her friends.
Saturday was a beautiful, clear day, and Melissa thought that it was a perfect day for her baptism. She hadn’t talked to her father about coming with her since that day in the front yard. But he hadn’t said anything, so she assumed he would be there.
That afternoon Melissa took a long, hot bath, and her mother helped her get dressed in her prettiest Sunday dress. Hanging in the hallway waiting to be put into the car was the lovely white baptismal dress Sister Thompson had made for Melissa. When they were ready to go, Sister Thompson said, “We’d better hurry, dear, or we’ll be late.”
“I’ll get Dad,” Melissa replied. But when she entered the living room, Melissa saw that her father was still in his work clothes, reading the newspaper. “Dad, aren’t you ready for the baptism? We’ll be late!”
Mr. Thompson looked at his daughter’s anxious face and said, “Melissa, dear, I can’t go to your baptism. I’d feel out of place. I just don’t belong there. Please don’t be angry with me.”
Melissa was out of the room and running for the car before he had even finished. Sister Thompson saw the tears in her daughter’s eyes, and for the second time that week she wondered if she had made a mistake in joining the Church.
There was great excitement in the girls’ dressing room as Ann, Sarah, and Melissa changed clothes for their baptism.
“I’m so excited!” Sarah exclaimed. “Dad gave me my very own Book of Mormon. It has a leather cover, and it has my name on it and everything!”
“That’s really neat,” said Ann. “My whole family’s going over to my grandma and grandpa’s after the baptism. Grandma promised to help me start on my Book of Remembrance.”
Sarah and Ann noticed that Melissa was very quiet. “What are you going to do afterward, Melissa?” Sarah asked.
“Well, I’m not sure.” Melissa knew that they would just be going home, but she added, “Mom and Dad are probably going to surprise me.”
Melissa slipped her white dress off its hanger, and as she began to pull it over her head, she noticed a piece of paper pinned inside. She unpinned it and saw that it was in her father’s handwriting! “My dear Melissa,” she read, “I’m sorry that I won’t be there with you today. I want you to know that I am very proud of you. You have made a very important decision in your life. I only hope that I can have enough courage to make that same decision some day. Please remember that I love you very much. Daddy.”
Melissa wiped the tears from her eyes as she finished dressing. When Brother Adamson helped her down the steps of the baptismal font, Melissa had the most radiant smile that her mother had ever seen. Sister Thompson knew then that she hadn’t made a mistake three years before when she, too, had entered that same baptismal font.

Here is an example of those principles from my own life:
When I was a young boy, my parents decided to send me and my two younger siblings to one of the best private schools in the city where we lived. But it cost a lot to my family. My father, an engineer working for the government, and my stay-at-home mother were struggling to make ends meet. I was fully aware that the cost of my education was one of the main reasons. We not only had to learn to live frugally, but my mother also had to find every sort of activity to earn additional money, such as collecting used oil kegs or gathering fabric scraps from factories, which discarded them and then reselling them to other factories. The whole family participated in the work.
I also remember nights when we all stayed up late to help my mother as she sewed dozens of overalls for workers. These would be delivered shortly afterward to a nearby factory, which had ordered them. I still remember the pain I suffered using the scissors—too big for me and not fitted for the left-handed boy that I was. When the company which employed my father moved to the outskirts of the city, they housed us in a lodge with a very large courtyard. We then started to run a small family farm, and when not at school, each of us had to have a finger in the pie. That is how, as a teenager, I learned many farming skills—from planting different sorts of vegetables to skinning a rabbit or milking a cow. I am forever grateful to my parents to have prepared me and efficiently instilled in me the real value of money, the value of education, how to work hard, and how to live frugally.
My gratitude increased when I had to live and implement all these values to complete my long run medical studies, trying at the same time to earn my living without being a burden to my parents. I later became a member of the Church—and learning about the principles of self-reliance—I teach my own children these same principles by living them, while seeing the Lord’s hand providing for us.

Elder Victor Manuel Espinoza Sánchez from Abancay, Perú“Before my mission, I had only one year left to finish my medical studies at the university. When I told my friends I was going to leave for two years, they tried to talk me out of it. But in my heart I knew it was time to serve my mission. I am grateful I made that decision—and I know I am not wasting my time.”

In those days, too, the Church did not have a family home evening program like we have today, but my family did have family nights. One of the fondest memories I have is of sitting on Dad’s lap during family night as he read us stories from the Book of Mormon. It was the beginning of my testimony of the Book of Mormon, and my love for my father and mother grew as well.
After we spent this time together, we played games like Hide the Thimble, and Button, Button, Who’s Got the Button. We played basketball too. In the winter we’d take a metal coat hanger, bend it into a circle, and wedge it above a door. We’d wad up some stockings for the ball. Of course, we couldn’t dribble the ball, but we could shoot it at the hanger-basket, and we could pass it to each other. We loved playing together.